When I visited the Ghibli Museum, I wasn't allowed to take photos. It encouraged me to stay present.

• I recently visited the Ghibli Museum in Tokyo, which celebrates the work of Hayao Miyazaki.
• The museum doesn't allow any photos, so I made sure to stay present and in the moment.

I recently visited Japan for my honeymoon.

My husband and I actually got married two years ago, but our heart was set on visiting Japan. After the borders opened without COVID-19 restrictions earlier this year, we scheduled our trip for October.

Visiting the Ghibli Museum, which showcases the work of filmmaker Hayao Miyazaki and the animation studio he cofounded, was high on our list as my husband is a huge Miyazaki fan.

The museum has a really important rule, though: no photography is allowed inside.

I was curious, as a tourist, whether this would change my experience at all. In the US, I'm used to museums with lax policies when it comes to snapping photos of exhibits and taking videos of displays.

The Ghibli Museum seemed unassuming from the outside but it had plenty of fun details

The Ghibli Museum is located in the suburbs of Tokyo, and the bright-yellow building seemed small and fairly unobtrusive, surrounded by a public park.

The metal gates featured the Studio Ghibli crest, and after walking through, we encountered a glass storefront with a giant Totoro, one of the famous characters from the animation studio.

There was a long line, but it moved fast, and we were inside within 10 minutes.

The ceiling by the entrance was a bright-blue fresco with a large smiling sun surrounded by vines entwined with flowers, fruits, and mushrooms, just like the ceiling of the baby's room in "Spirited Away."

A few people tried to take sneaky pictures of the entrance but were reminded politely — but firmly — not to take photos.

I wanted to stay present as much as possible so I could take everything in and remember it

As I walked through the museum's castle-like interior, I tried to commit each exhibit and display to memory.

There was a skylight, a staircase that led to the upper floors, and a bridge on the second floor that overlooked the floor below.

One exhibit was called "The Beginning of Movement," and it focused on the start of animation. Others featured special displays and artwork from the studio's many famous films.

Another section of the museum had visitors winding through rooms reminiscent of the wizard Howl's famously cluttered space from "Howl's Moving Castle."

There were desks piled high with books and papers, model airplanes hanging from the ceilings, and sketches, as well as what looked like original concept art from the Miyazaki films all over the walls.

It was truly creative chaos. I wondered if this was possibly inspired by the filmmaker's own office.

Here is where I struggled most with not taking photos. I wanted to remember every detail, but there was so much to see that I just had to look in every direction and take in as much as possible.

I also struggled not to snap pictures of the museum's doors and windows, which featured beautiful stained glass with scenes of nature or characters from Studio Ghibli movies. I did manage to take a sneaky photo of one in the bathroom, though.

The museum was filled with special small details — even the tickets to the short film featured negative strips from Ghibli films.

I also found it endearing that all the exhibits had small steps up or were displayed at a lower level so that they were at a child's height. It truly felt like the museum was trying to appeal to all ages.

Eventually, we made our way to the rooftop garden and display.

Since it was outside, we took a few pictures together in front of a forlorn giant metal robot from "Castle in the Sky."

By the end of the trip, I didn't think not being allowed to take photos was such a bad thing

While in the museum, I overheard a woman commenting on how unique it was that we couldn't take photos and how often we take pictures of a place instead of just existing in it.

I especially thought about it as we visited the Fushimi Inari Shrine in Kyoto, where so many people were taking photos of the famous torii gates that we were forced to shuffle through them slowly.

Every photo of them online made walking under them seem serene and almost spiritual. But fighting a crowd of cell phones and selfie sticks ruined the experience.

My husband and I chose to step onto a side path and observe the gates from a distance.

Although part of me wishes I had been allowed to take pictures at the museum, and many of my memories are slightly faded now that a few weeks have passed, another part is glad I wasn't.

It allowed me to absorb everything. I also think focusing on taking pictures would have made the experience less special and encourage overcrowding, especially since the museum had so many visitors.

Even if I don't remember every aspect of my visit, I still came away with this feeling of magic and whimsy in everyday life that Miyazaki always strives for.