Serene Shrines and Sauruses
As a tourist destination for inbound visitors, Fukui Prefecture often gets short shrift, especially compared with more glamorous neighbors such as Kyoto and Ishikawa Prefectures. But this may start to change when the Hokuriku Shinkansen adds Fukui, Tsuruga, Awara Onsen, and Echizen Takefu Stations to its pit stops in March 2024.
Fukui Prefecture offers crafts, fossils, relaxation, and so much more.
Presented in partnership with Fukui Prefecture
Photos by Florentyna Leow
As a tourist destination for inbound visitors, Fukui Prefecture often gets short shrift, especially compared with more glamorous neighbors such as Kyoto and Ishikawa Prefectures. But this may start to change when the Hokuriku Shinkansen finally adds Fukui, Tsuruga, Awara Onsen, and Echizen Takefu Stations to its pit stops in March 2024.
For now, Fukui’s sightseeing spots remain relatively quiet and uncrowded, making it an ideal road-trip destination for those with a little more time to spare. Our visit this fall takes us around the cities of Katsuyama, Awara Onsen, and Echizen—all of which yield rich rewards for the visitor willing to rent a car and take the wheel.
Mossy Matters
Gently sloping and meandering, the stone path to the main building of Heisenji Hakusan Shrine is flanked by towering cedars. It is serene, save for birdsong; few visitors are here on a weekday morning. The mid-morning sunlight filtering through the canopy casts dappled patterns of light and shadow on the velvety green moss blanketing the ground, yesterday’s rain heightening the dewy verdure. It’s so absurdly beautiful that I almost want to curl up on the moss and never leave.
However, if you ask historian and resident head priest Hiraizumi Takafusa, the gorgeous mosses on the shrine precincts aren’t the be-all and end-all of these grounds. “It’s not like we promote this place with its moss. We supposedly have over 200 types of moss,” he says. “I can recognize only 20 of the varieties.” According to Hiraizumi, the history of the shrine and the surrounding area are the true highlights.
Located on the edges of Hakusan National Park in what is now Katsuyama City, Heisenji Hakusan Shrine was established as a Buddhist temple in 717 by a monk named Taicho. For centuries, it operated as both Shinto shrine and Buddhist temple—as was common practice prior to the Meiji Restoration—and served as a base for pilgrims making their long, arduous way on foot to the sacred mountain of Hakusan.
At its peak, thousands of monks lived on the precincts, which were about 10 times the size of the present-day sprawling shrine complex. It’s mind-boggling to consider. It will surprise no one familiar with Japanese temple architecture that the complex burned down in the 16th century and was subsequently rebuilt.
The formal separation of Shintoism and Buddhism in the 1870s meant that it became a Shinto shrine first and foremost. However, its name points to vestiges of its Buddhist ties from centuries past—it is a rare instance of a Shinto shrine whose name ends in -ji, meaning “temple.”
The shrine has much to offer history buffs, especially when paired with a visit to the more famous Eiheiji Temple, about 40 minutes away by car. But even without a deep interest in Japanese history, the beauty of this shrine complex alone is mesmerizing enough to warrant an hour or two spent strolling around the grounds. I could happily spend that long peering at feathery mosses, watching long-legged spiders and beetles navigate the moss-furred stumps and stone steps.
The shrine is best visited in spring, fall, or rainy season. Winter is beautiful, too, but perhaps impractical for a visit given the snowy conditions.
Coming of the Raptors
Ask the average Japanese person what Fukui is famous for, and there’s a high chance they’ll say dinosaurs. You could point to any number of reasons for this. For example, many of the dinosaur fossils discovered in Japan were found here. Six new species were identified in (and named after) Fukui: Fukuisaurus tetoriensis, Koshisaurus katsuyama, Fukuiraptor kitadaniensis, Fukuititan nipponensis, Fukuivenator paradoxus, and Tyrannomimus fukuiensis. And, Katsuyama City is home to the world-class Fukui Prefectural Dinosaur Museum (FPDM), which is also an institution dedicated to ongoing dinosaur research and education.
But really, the main reason everyone associates Fukui with dinosaurs is that the area leans hard into being the self-styled Dinosaur Capital of Japan. Dinosaur motifs are everywhere in Fukui: themed restaurants, hotel rooms, playgrounds, stationery, hand towels, and even regular road signs. You’ll find huge dinosaur animatronics outside Fukui Station (they sport Santa hats in winter) and Dr. Raptor on a bench inside. One of the prefectural mascots is a green dinosaur, Rapt-kun, named after the fukuiraptor. I should stress that all this is mostly delightful, rather than gimmicky.
Unsurprisingly, the FPDM is beloved by locals and out-of-prefecture visitors alike. It’s so popular that you’ll see a flashing sign board en route to the museum asking whether you’ve reserved your tickets, which tend to sell fast during summer vacation and major public holidays. The museum even fills up some weekdays.
In truth, I’ve never been interested in dinosaurs, but the FPDM does an excellent job of conveying just how cool these ancient animals are. The main hall is an impressive start to the museum. In a domed exhibition space crammed with dioramas, fossils, and full-body dinosaur skeletons—10 of the 50 specimens on display are actual fossils—I spent a fair amount of time staring at the all-too-realistic T-Rex animatronic glaring ferociously at all of us. If this is what our prehistoric ancestors had to contend with, I am happy to be living in modern times.
As befits one of the world’s leading dinosaur museums, the FPDM has clearly invested in competent translators: the English-language captions are well done, if a tad dry. Plus, it’s fascinating to see how giant raptors evolved into tiny birds over millions of years. It’s well worth spending a few hours here, even more so if you have kids in tow. A shopping spree at the museum’s 100-percent dinosaur-themed gift shop is optional but thoroughly encouraged.
A Bath of One’s Own
Located in what feels like the middle of nowhere (although just a short drive from the Tojinbo Cliffs), Awara Onsen is one of Fukui’s only hot spring towns of note, famous for its healing waters and local cuisine.
We spent the night at the historic ryokan Haiya, whose name translates to House of Ash, a tribute to the craftspeople who produced fine ash used in dyeing clothes worn by Kabuki and Noh theatre actors. The unintentionally amusing name notwithstanding—Uncle Roger would have a field day—Haiya is a ryokan I’d spend several nights in every month if I had the time and money.
Built in 1884, the inn sprawls over three buildings with a total of 43 rooms. The property retains its Meiji-era architectural trappings—along with modern updates like Wi-Fi and coffee machines—and is large enough that a map might almost come in handy for finding one’s way in the maze of winding corridors. All rooms in the original 1884 Shofuan Annex and the recently renovated Kangetsutei Suites, and most of the rooms in the Jurakutou Building, have traditional Japanese garden views.
According to the inn, the room assigned to me—Korin (光輪), meaning “halo” or “nimbus”—was named by Prince Takamatsu. I have no way of verifying this, but the name certainly suits the space with its high ceilings, intricate latticework on the sliding doors, tasteful tableware, 16 tatami mats of space (for up to six people), a private moss-covered garden, and outdoor cypress bath. Best of all, I have it all to myself. Perfect for pretending to be a wealthy writer on sabbatical.
Food and baths are the real draw at most ryokan, and Haiya is no exception. The kaiseki dinner was a leisurely, two-hour affair, a parade of little dishes showcasing freshly caught seafood from the Sea of Japan and produce from the nearby Sakai Plains.
Two highlights from dinner: One, a whole live abalone cooked jigokuyaki-style, or “hell-grilled,” right in front of you until it stops moving. Bouncy yet tender and ocean-fresh, this style of abalone is not for the squeamish. The other, okami’s sake purin, a creamy pot of custard made ever more beguiling with its undertones of boozy umami. To our dismay, this is not a year-round staple, but a seasonal dessert. The idiom “ichigo ichie,” or “for this time only,” has never felt so salient and cruel. (More reason to plan a return trip next October.)
But it’s Korin’s cypress bath I keep coming back to in my mind. Before I checked out, there was a moment where a shaft of sunlight pierced the gap in the bamboo screens in front of the bath just so, illuminating wisps of steam curling up from the surface of the hot water. There was something simple yet transcendent about all these elements coming together for a few minutes before the sun moved on.
The Pleasures of Pottery
In addition to crafts like making washi paper and knives, Fukui is also known for its pottery: Echizen-yaki, or Echizen ware. Notable for its understated coloring, and usually being fired sans enamel, this type of pottery centers on one of the Six Ancient Kilns of Japan, the others being Seto, Tamba, Bizen, Tokoname, and Shigaraki.
Echizen ware is, in fact, a recent term. According to the permanent display at the Echizen Old Kiln Museum, it was coined by the researcher Kuemon Mizuno and Fujio Koyama between 1942 and 1945 as a way to group a number of disparate pottery styles local to the region under a single categorical umbrella. Perhaps unintentionally, this seems to parallel the municipal mergers of the Meiji Era, where many villages and hamlets were amalgamated into new or existing cities.
Both the Old Kiln Museum and the Fukui Prefectural Museum of Ceramics (FPMC) next door have much to offer the ceramics lover by way of exhibitions and beautifully made pieces to add to one’s suitcase. There’s also a traditional teahouse and garden where you can sip on green tea from Echizen ware. But there’s nothing quite like getting your hands dirty to appreciate, on a visceral level, the craft that goes into a piece of pottery.
My visit to the FPMC included a workshop using the electric potter’s wheel. The task was to shape a vessel—anything I wanted, as long as it had a mouth. I had 30–90 minutes. As seems to be true of all craftspeople, ceramicists make their craft look easy when it is anything but. It’s more challenging than it looks to maneuver a solid, spinning hunk of clay. Too little pressure and nothing happens; too much pressure and all hell breaks loose. (Here’s a life lesson: never wear a nice white shirt when taking a ceramics workshop.)
Fortunately, there was a skilled staff member on hand to guide my hands and help fashion the clay into something vaguely presentable. Unless you’re a quick learner, it’s not possible to master the electric potter’s wheel in a single session. It takes practice and more than a little intuition. More saliently, using the wheel is hell on your lower back.
If your work primarily involves a computer, as mine does, it’s easy to forget the pleasures of creating something with your hands, no matter how messy or clumsy the result. Taking a ceramics workshop at a place like the FPMC is a great way to reconnect with the physical world. Reservations here are mandatory, particularly if you’d prefer instruction in English (there are only two English-speaking members on staff). For those living in Japan, they’ll fire and mail the finished piece to you for an additional fee.
Lustrous Lacquer
The Echizen Lacquerware Hall is not somewhere you’d chance upon unless you were looking for it. Located in Sabae City—these days more famous for spectacles than anything else—this unassuming building is all too easy to drive past. Of course, this would be a waste, since it’s a fine place to view superb examples of lacquerware, watch artisans make lacquer magic, shop for lacquerware, and even try out various types of lacquer art for yourself, from applying lacquer to plain wood or painting already-lacquered wood.
This was the final stop on our two-day tour; we were there for the chinkin experience. Briefly put, this involves carving a design onto a lacquered surface, applying a thin layer of lacquer into the engraved lines, then covering it with gold dust or leaf. You then take your finished work home. How difficult could this be?
As the saying goes, these were famous last words. After tracing a motif of your choice onto a lacquered surface—I foolishly chose a detailed crane drawing—you then use a spindly metal chisel to gouge out the lines you’ve drawn, scraping away from yourself in a single direction. Engraving is not at all like drawing; my lines were nowhere as precise as I wanted them to be. Those with fine motor skills will have a better time of it.
I had never thought much of lacquer as a craft, but I gained a newfound respect for lacquer artisans that day. Having tasted a little of what it’s like to carve a design, the exquisite details on the lacquerware on display at museums and exhibitions have taken on more weight and meaning. These days, my clumsily carved crane plate sits on my dining table, reminding me not to take for granted the craft behind beautiful handmade things.
Learn more and plan your visit …
Heisenji Hakusan Shrine
Fukui Prefectural Dinosaur Museum
Haiya
Fukui Prefectural Museum of Ceramics (Japanese only)
Echizen Lacquerware Hall
Ancient Trails, Modern Tales
Many visitors to Japan are familiar with the Tokaido Shinkansen. What they may not know is that the tracks run alongside an ancient route built not for bullet-train carriages but rather palanquins. We take a tour through Kanagawa Prefecture to explore past and present.
Traversing Kanagawa reveals paths from long ago and comforts of today.
To keep feudal lords loyal during the Edo Period, the Tokugawa shoguns forced them to live in the new capital of Edo every other year. And when they returned to their home province, they had to leave their families behind in the capital as hostages.
The back-and-forth journey they had to make was long, something we discover firsthand on a hot and sunny autumn day under the guidance of local Shin Kaneko. As the nationally licensed tour guide leads us along a stone-paved road running through the beautiful forest—beams of sunlight piercing the leafy canopy of towering cedar trees—we find ourselves on a trek made by nobles and commoners alike for hundreds of years.
Many visitors to Japan are familiar with the Tokaido Shinkansen. What they may not know is that the tracks run alongside an ancient route built not for bullet-train carriages but rather palanquins. Thankfully, unlike passengers of old, today’s travelers need not bite on rope to protect their tongues from the rough ride.
Born and raised in Hakone, Kaneko also spent six years in France and five in the United States growing up. Later, he studied business at the University of Southern California and set off on a career as a strategist for Japanese retail giant Aeon Co., Ltd. But the call of home—and nature—grew louder and louder, and he left Tokyo life in 2015 to make his way back to the lakeside haunts of his childhood.
As Kaneko observed English-speaking visitors staring holes through maps as they tried to guide their own way, he decided to create Explore Hakone, a bespoke agency that provides tours limited to one group per day. And by group, I mean a family, a couple, or a solo adventurer. This personal treatment has made Kaneko’s adventures very popular among those seeking to experience authentic Japan. And today, we get to experience it for ourselves.
The development of the Old Tokaido Road, Kaneko explains, is tied to key events in Japanese history, and the preferred paths through the Hakone area have changed over the centuries. Some 1,300 years ago, during the Nara and Heian Periods, people used the longer, flatter Ashigara Mountain Pass to the north, which runs along the border of Kanagawa and Shizuoka Prefectures. But when Mount Fuji erupted in 802, the path was covered in ash and became difficult to traverse. Travelers began opting for the shorter but more mountainous route we are taking today.
I can only imagine how difficult the climb up and down these hills must have been in those days, when the path was paved with thinly cut and dried bamboo. It wasn’t until 1860 that the large stones which now mark the trail were put in place.
As we make our way through the tranquil woods on our seven-hour, 6.5-kilometer hike, Kaneko shares an enormous amount of the trail’s fascinating history.
The section of the 500-kilometer Old Tokaido Road that we’re traversing is known as the Hakone Hachiri, the 32-kilometer stretch between the Odawara and the Mishima post stations. Hakone Sekisho is located at Lake Ashi, one of 53 checkpoints erected by the Tokugawa Shogunate. Due to the very steep climbs—the total elevation change is about 900 meters—travelers during the Edo Period needed regular breaks. There were once nine teahouses on the route offering refreshment. Today, just one remains: Amazake Chaya.
We stop for an energizing cup of amazake, the warm non-alcoholic rice drink from which the rustic rest stop takes its name. Paired with two surprisingly filling pieces of mochi rice cake, the amazake was a welcome respite, as it must have been for those ancient sojourners.
While rejuvenating for the next leg of our journey under the thatched roof of history, we talk to Satoshi Yamamoto, the current owner of the business that has been passed through his family for 13 generations.
For more than 400 years, the doors of Amazake Chaya have been open, every single day. The only time they were closed was for a brief period during the coronavirus pandemic.
“I want to keep the teahouse as it has always been, serving people in a traditional way,” Yamamoto says. “Although we own the teahouse, the atmosphere is created by our customers. We only provide service. The culture and story behind [Amazake Chaya] have been made by travelers for centuries.”
He says he also enjoys meeting travelers from abroad and learning more about other cultures while sharing his own.
“While the world might change, communication between us and the travelers will never change,” Yamamoto adds. “They may have different outfits, they may speak different languages, but the concept of welcoming guests will always remain the same.”
Back on the road with renewed energy, we pass across one of the highest points between Tokyo and Kyoto and begin our descent to Lake Ashi, our final destination.
As we near the Hakone Sekisho checkpoint, we walk under the shade of 400-year-old cedar trees planted by the shogun to shelter travelers from the elements at this key point of their long journey. A nice gesture. But off in the distance is Otamaga Pond, named after a woman who was captured and beheaded for sneaking out of Edo. So, while the shogun could show kindness, he also showed no mercy. You played by his rules. But those rules also brought peace to Japan after nearly two centuries of civil war and upheaval, allowing art and culture to bloom and the society we know today to take shape.
Kijitei Hoeiso
After the long hike along the Old Tokaido Road, my legs are demanding a reprieve. Fortunately, Kijitei Hoeiso ryokan was happy to oblige.
Nestled in the verdant hills of Hakone, the traditional Japanese inn is a delightful escape from the stresses of modern life. Like Hakone Hachiri, Hoeiso transports you to a simpler time when nature was an integral part of life.
We are welcomed by the inn’s owner, Kenichiro Hara, who shares a bit of the property’s history as we gaze out windows that dissolve against the lush backdrop of the mountainside. In the distance, we see the open-air hot springs we’ll visit later tonight.
And as a tease of the delectable flavors to come, we are offered yumochi, a traditional Japanese sweet made of rice flour. During my 27 years in Japan, I’ve enjoyed many such sweets, but this is truly a standout. (I even went out of my way to visit the shop near Hakone Yumoto Station the next day and buy more as gifts.)
After the exertion of the day’s hike, I’m certainly feeling peckish, and a highlight of my stay is the cuisine. Hoeiso is renowned for its menu that features pheasant—a game bird often associated with the British countryside that is actually native to Asia—and the chef’s creativity does not disappoint.
Of particular note is how Hoeiso can accommodate various dietary needs and preferences. While the pheasant menu is very popular, vegetarian options are readily available—something not easy to find in Japan.
I opted mostly the standard course, but, because I do not eat most seafood, Hoeiso prepared a course that was perfect for my palette. This is often a sticking point for me in Japan, but is no problem here.
Steamed pheasant egg custard with ginger and tri-colored dango dumplings lead the way ahead of pheasant round with salt from Sado Island, sashimi of fresh pheasant breast with ponzu, and pheasant and shiso porridge. Just highlights of an overflowing kaiseki course dinner bursting with color and flavor.
As dusk gives way to the darkness of night, I grab my towel and make my way to the private outdoor onsen situated alongside a mountain stream. I cannot adequately express how rejuvenating it is to sit alone in the steaming water, the sound of the trickling stream dancing in the background as I look up at the twinkling stars in the pitch-black sky. I’ve rarely felt so connected to the universe as in this moment. It’s as if the energy of distant worlds is flowing around me.
Retiring to my spacious room, I gaze out the windows at the night sky that is normally obscured by city light and recall those childhood evenings of stargazing in my grandmother’s countryside front yard.
Carefully prepared amenities make for a restful night.
The next morning, Hara and several Hoeiso staff see me off as I board the bus to Hakone Yumoto Station. An impeccable ending to an absolutely relaxing stay.
Kamakura Gardens
From Hakone, we make our way around Sagami Bay to Kamakura, seat of the first Kamakura shogun, Minamoto Yoritomo, more than 400 years before the Tokugawa shogunate developed the Old Tokaido Road. But we’re not here to see the usual landmarks such as the Great Buddha. Instead, our journey today takes us around the historic city to explore its rich heritage through gardens.
We meet our guide, Saori Imoto, just outside Kita-Kamakura Station. Imoto is a garden designer who studied in Japan before moving to the United Kingdom. The Kamakura local joined her husband there when he was transferred for work and found the perfect opportunity to build on her love of horticulture. Studying in London, she became an expert in English garden design and has won multiple awards for her work. Since returning to Japan, in addition to crafting landscapes for clients, she has been sharing the beauty and history of Kamakura with visitors through private guided tours.
Central to our adventure are the area’s Zen temples, home to many of Kamakura’s most beautiful gardens. And our first stop is Engaku-ji. Founded in 1282, it is one of Japan’s most important temples and the second of what are known as Kamakura’s Five Mountains or Gozan.
“The reason I choose this temple,” she explains, “is that it has a beautiful Japanese garden and is surrounded by mountains, so we can see a lot of natural scenery as well.”
As we approach the Butsuden main hall, small children from the nearby kindergarten are practicing in the courtyard for their upcoming undokai, or sports day. Surrounded by a circle of seven juniper trees, they run, jump, and laugh as popular kids’ music plays on portable speakers. It’s a striking juxtaposition of ancient and modern culture and traditions.
The excitement of the children also contrasts with the reason we find evergreens here.
“Zen temples are very strict, and the monks need to concentrate on meditation and train very hard every day,” Imoto explains. “If there are a lot of deciduous trees, like cherry trees or Japanese maples, the monks can enjoy the seasonal transformation. They’re not allowed to do that, so Zen temples prefer planting evergreen trees, which create a calm and unchanging atmosphere, and show longevity.”
And the reason for seven? “Odd numbers are believed to bring good fortune,” Imoto says. “When we plant symbolic trees, we never use even numbers; we use odd numbers, because they cannot be divided.”
After touring the temple’s halls, we come upon a tranquil garden that reflects the landscape of Japan. A small pond at the center represents the sea, undulations conjure mountains, and gravel paints the coast.
To Western eyes, the lack of color may seem unusual. But, Imoto explains, there’s a reason for the absence of flowers. “In Japanese gardens, we try to replicate the natural scenery of Japan.” That means mountains, not fields—some 70 percent of Japan is mountainous. “Mountains are covered with trees, so we use a lot of trees instead of flowers,” she adds. “This creates a calm atmosphere, highlighting the simple beauty typical of Japanese gardens.”
In need of a rest, we stop at Butsunichian, an open-air café on the temple grounds that serves green tea as well as other light drinks. The tea is refreshing—I opt for hot matcha despite the unseasonably warm day—and am soon ready for the hike to our next destination.
As we leave the temple grounds and walk along backstreets, the lack of tourists is noticeable. While Kamakura teems with visitors, we’re enjoying a quiet tour using routes only the locals know. And we’re learning a great deal about the area along the way as Imoto shares details about the hidden spots we pass.
After a long walk, we arrive at Eisho-ji, Kamakura’s only nunnery, founded by a wife of Tokugawa Ieyasu in 1636.
The grounds are covered by higanbana, or red spider lily. This striking flower, Imoto explains, is a symbol of Ohigan, a Buddhist period that falls around the spring and autumnal equinoxes. Higanbana mark the September observance. During this time, whose name means “other shore,” Higan, the world of enlightenment, and Shigan, our own world of greed and earthly desires, are believed to come closest to one another. This makes it the ideal time to remember those who have passed and to focus on spiritual awakening.
To end our exploration of Kamakura, we visit a cemetery at nearby Jufuku-ji Temple where Hojo Masako, the wife of the first Kamakura shogun Minamoto Yoritomo, is said to be buried. Masako was key to Yoritomo’s success and the power of the Kamakura Shogunate. Following his death in 1199, she became a nun but continued to yield great influence over the government until she passed away in 1225.
As we search for her final resting spot, we cross paths with a group of students who have dropped by the graveyard after school. Given Masako’s place in history, Imoto notes, they study about her in class and are curious to see the tomb firsthand. Like us, they use smartphones and GPS to locate the alcove tucked away in the back of the grounds.
As has happened many times during our two days in Kanagawa, past and present intersect in ways that highlight just how far back the history and culture of Japan stretch. There’s also something new to learn and explore.
Learn more and plan your visit …
Hakone Reset
✉️ info@explore-hakone.com
Kijitei Hoeiso
✉️ kiji@hoeiso.jp
Kamakura’s Gardens
✉️ info@mitate.kyoto
Juneteenth: Seeds of Hope (Audio)
The ACCJ Journal sat down with CIC founder Tim Rowe in the bustling Toranomon Hills networking hub to learn more about how he went from sharing a space with friends to leading a community for entrepreneurs that includes more than 1,000 companies at centers in eight cities around the world.
Legacy Foundation Japan's LaTonya Whitaker shares inspiration and plans to celebrate this important American holiday and build bridges between the US and Japan.
Ahead of the Juneteenth holiday, we sit down with LaTonya Whitaker, executive director of The Legacy Foundation Japan, to talk about plans for the foundation’s Seeds of Hope gala at Tokyo American Club.
As an entrepreneur, the Mississippi native is well known to many in our community for Soul Food House, the comfortable and delicious oasis of authentic Southern food in Azabu-juban. But her work extends far beyond those flavors. In this interview, LaTonya shares her experiences learning about the history of June 19, the inspiration for the gala (now in its second year), and how the business community can get involved.
Learn more about the Seeds of Hope Gala
Learn more about The Legacy Foundation Japan
Fantastical Fukui
There are many reasons to visit Fukui, a small tadpole-shaped prefecture facing the Sea of Japan. It’s home to a bevy of traditional crafts, magnificent temples, rugged landscapes, and some of Japan’s best freshly caught winter crab and sweet shrimp. All this begs the question: Why isn’t Fukui more well-known? We take you on a visit.
Nestled near the Sea of Japan, Fukui Prefecture is rich in cultural experiences
Presented in partnership with Fukui Prefecture
Photos by Florentyna Leow
An artisan at work in the Takefu Knife Village
There are many reasons to visit Fukui, a small tadpole-shaped prefecture facing the Sea of Japan. It’s home to a bevy of traditional crafts, including washi papermaking and knife forging, a world-class dinosaur museum (complete with life-sized raptor animatronics), magnificent temples, rugged landscapes, and some of Japan’s best freshly caught winter crab and sweet shrimp. Situated between tourist favorites Kanazawa and Kyoto, it’s an obvious pitstop when visiting both cities.
All this begs the question: Why isn’t Fukui more well-known?
Call it a serious case of middle-child syndrome. Although Fukui has all the ingredients for a fun weekend getaway, it’s often overlooked in favor of its glamorous neighbors. But this makes it ideal if you’re looking for travel minus the crowds. When planned right, a visit to this ferociously underrated prefecture offers an eye-opening look into Japanese craft, cuisine, and culture.
Paper Matters
Paper rarely merits a second glance in our daily lives. Money, flyers, utility bills—paper is just there in the background. But a sheet of washi is a different story. From uchiwa (summer fans) to wagashi wrapping, handmade paper has a warmth and elegance unmatched by most machine-made papers.
If Fukui has a signature craft, it’s Echizen washi paper. There are many varieties, all beautifully textured and supple, delicate yet durable. With its 1,500-year history of washi production, Echizen City is one of Japan’s top washi producers in terms of quality, quantity, and variety—more than earning its nickname "washi no sato," or the home of Japanese paper.
Faced with a decline in demand for washi—in large part due to fewer people using partitions and screen doors—papermakers have had to get creative with new paper products for contemporary consumers. These days, you can find washi earrings, bags, and even socks and jackets. The lampshades by Osada Washi, a family-run washi company in the Imadate district of Echizen City, are especially modern and striking. The intricate floral patterns are all drawn freehand with paper pulp and wrapped around acrylic stands as tall as totem poles.
But to appreciate washi, there’s no substitute for making a sheet of paper by yourself. I visited Ryozo Paper Mill, another family-run business in the Imadate district, to experience the production process.
It was early winter, and the snow was starting to pile up. Winter is the best season for papermaking, I was told, because the raw material in the pulp doesn’t spoil as quickly in the cold. I quickly realized two things: handling paper pulp feels like plunging your hands into a vat of ice-cold egg white; and papermaking is bloody hard work. Made the traditional way, tesuki washi (handmade paper) involves quickly dipping a large wooden frame fitted with a bamboo screen into a tub of paper pulp, then swishing liquid pulp back and forth until the screen is evenly coated. The frame is heavy enough that I almost dropped it the first time.
With no small amount of assistance from Kyoko Yanase, one of Ryozo Paper Mill’s main craftspeople, I finally managed to get even coverage on the screen. She set the frame on the ground and placed a large spiral-patterned metal mold on top—like a stencil, but in reverse. Following instructions, I flicked a showerhead up and down while moving it across and above, the spray of water droplets creating thousands of tiny holes in the paper. When she lifted the mold, before us lay a large sheet of perforated washi embossed with spirals. Dried, the paper resembled embroidered lace.
I had made a sheet of rakusui-shi, or “water-dropping paper,” an uncommon variety of washi made by very few craftspeople in Japan. It was gorgeous. I couldn’t believe how much fun I’d had making it. Suddenly, every sheet of washi I’d seen in Fukui made sense, each the result of skill and technique honed over a lifetime.
Sharp as a Knife
If paper is best made in the cold, the fiery process of knife-making feels like its thermal opposite. Working near the charcoal-powered forge, with its constant heat, can make your time in a knife workshop warm, toasty, and downright sweaty—from the physical labor involved in making knives, that is.
Once known as Takefu, Echizen’s history of knife-making stretches back 700 years, beginning with sickles and fighting swords to bonsai tools and chef’s knives. Today, Japanese chef’s knives are loved worldwide for their quality, sharpness, and durability. One small facility in particular attracts a steady stream of knife enthusiasts from all over the world looking to add to their collection and learn more about the traditions and techniques behind Echizen’s hand-forged knives.
Started as a cooperative between a dozen local independent knife manufacturers, Takefu Knife Village is something of a curiosity. The facility was built in 1993 but, looking at these incongruously sleek buildings in the middle of rural Fukui, you’d be forgiven for thinking it new and under-promoted. The 20-minute drive there from JR Takefu Station is poorly signposted for what’s meant to attract tourists. It’s the kind of place where “if you know, you know.”
At Takefu Knife Village, you can shop for knives, but also learn about local knife-making history, take a workshop, and watch the artisans at work from an observation deck. Because it’s a cooperative by name and in practice, the craftspeople from all the different knife companies share equipment and make their products in the same space. There’s no secretive squirrelling-away of technique and know-how; it’s an unusually democratic operation compared to many other industries.
Speaking of workshops: If you have six hours, you can learn the basics of making a knife from one of the craftspeople in the dedicated backyard building, experiencing almost every step of the process from hammering to forging to attaching the handle. If you don’t, an hour or two can give you the skills required to sharpen chef’s knives at home like a pro.
I didn’t have six hours, or even an hour, so I compromised by trying out a treadle hammer to flatten vaguely blade-shaped bits of steel. Most knifemakers work on a single blade at a time. Here, they stack two blades together and hammer them simultaneously, in what is a technique supposedly unique to the Echizen region. I appreciated the efficiency of getting to screw up two blades at the same time.
Using a treadle hammer, if you have never tried it, is an awesome and challenging feat of hand-foot-eye coordination plus some physical strength (neither of which I possess). You heat two steel molds in fire until they’re bright red, remove them with tongs, and set them under the hammer. With your right foot, you gently press a pedal to activate the murderous pulverizing hammer while simultaneously moving the blades counterclockwise, making sure the hammer pounds the surface evenly while the steel is still hot and malleable. Lose your grip and your blades will come out weird. Move too slowly and the cooled steel will simply break. The phrase “strike while the iron is hot” suddenly made complete sense.
It was one of the coolest things I’d ever done in my life. I would also never have visited this place without a car. As with most places in rural Japan, the lack of public transportation infrastructure is probably Fukui’s largest barrier to becoming a more tourist-friendly destination. Officially named “Geisha de GO,” the “one-coin taxi” service offered by Echizen City is an ingenious stopgap solution. Buy taxi tickets (each worth ¥500) at the tourist information center near JR Takefu Station, hop into a taxi (or ring one up), point at one place on a list of major tourist destinations in the area (including the paper mills and Takefu Knife Village), and they’ll drive you there.
Disappearing Art
Fortunately, not every place of interest requires a taxi ride, especially if you only have time for a quick wander around one stop in the prefecture. For example, Oyanagi Tansu, the fourth-generation maker of tansu (Japanese storage chests or cabinets), is a mere 15-minute walk from JR Takefu Station.
A workshop tour here offers incredible insight into the disappearing art of tansu-making, which requires a mastery of three separate crafts: sashimono (wood joinery), lacquering, and metalwork. A dwindling number of craftspeople specializing in each of these tasks means that Oyanagi now handles the entire process from start to finish. Completing a single tansu can take anywhere from six months to a year. I’ve never been so dazzled by cabinets, and have to hastily leave before I shell out several hundred thousand yen for a karakuri tansu full of hidden trick mechanisms and secret drawers—perfect for hiding my stack of diaries. If home ownership ever becomes a reality for me, this is where I’d order my storage chests.
Even nearer Takefu Station—seven minutes on foot—is Urushiya, a buckwheat noodle restaurant set in a traditional wooden house. Its claim to fame is having once served Echizen oroshi soba (soba with grated radish) to the Showa emperor. We ate our way through plates of pressed sushi, tempura, and an array of bite-sized appetizers. The noodles alone were worth the wait.
If you’re alighting at JR Fukui Station, you could take a 10-minute bus ride to Komego Miso for a fun afternoon diversion. Take a guided tour of the factory (they’ve been making miso for 190 years, which the staff mentioned almost as an afterthought), join a flavored miso ball-making workshop (which you then use to make instant miso soup in a mug), buy miso by weight, or have lunch at second-floor cafe misola, where everything from beer and ice cream to soup is spiked with miso.
Maybe you’re only in Fukui for a lunchtime train transfer. In that case, drop by Fukufuku Chaya in the Tourism Promotion Building next to Fukui Station for the Echizen Seikogani-zukushi, a winter-only snow crab-themed feast. A crab-stravaganza, if you will. Wedged between two souvenir shops, it’s hardly the most atmospheric restaurant, but who cares when lunch consists of four crab dishes, several sides, and soba to finish?
Morning Mantra
However, if I could only choose one experience worth the extra trek out of central Fukui, it would be joining the morning prayers at Eiheiji, whose name translates to “Temple of Eternal Peace.”
Ensconced on a cedar-covered mountain slope 15 kilometers east of Fukui City, this 13th-century Zen Buddhist temple complex is one of the largest, most-visited temples in Japan. (Fun fact: Steve Jobs almost took tonsure here.) It’s not far, but with more forest than buildings in its vicinity, this serene monastery is remote enough to feel a world away.
In 2019, Eiheiji and tourism corporation Fujita Kanko teamed up to open Hakujukan, an 18-room inn located in front of the monastery that embodies traditional Japanese aesthetics. The facility caters largely to foreign tourists interested in experiencing the world of Zen without forgoing material comforts like multi-course dinners, alcohol, and hot spring baths. This may induce mild cognitive dissonance, but Eiheiji has always been a temple and popular destination for tourists. It’s never pretended otherwise.
At 5:30 a.m., we gathered in the lobby and followed our guide up the slope to the temple, trudging through ankle-deep snow in the dark. It took us at least 40 minutes to get through the doors, remove our shoes, listen to an opening lecture by one of the senior monks, and climb a succession of staircases through winding corridors before we reached the main hall—and we’d still seen but a fraction of the 70-building complex.
At half past six, dozens of barefoot monks clad in black robes filed into the hall, sat in orderly rows, and began the morning prayers. I was raised in a culturally Buddhist environment, so listening to monks chant sutras wasn’t new, but listening to about 60 of them do it in perfect unison was. A monk at the front set the pace and rhythm with a drum. Another struck prayer bells at regular intervals, each bong echoing in the hall. I had no idea what any of the words meant. My pulse quickened, I felt compelled to sit straighter. Their voices seemed to coalesce into a single booming entity, expanding to fill the air. A tidal wave of sound enveloped us, and it felt like I was drifting on a vast, inky sea. It shifts your perspective, when you can see yourself taking part in a centuries-old practice of people coming together to pray. It felt good to feel so small.
Was this worth the trip to Fukui? I certainly thought so. Only time will tell if Fukui receives the attention it deserves. In the meantime, I’d pay it a visit before everyone else finds out.
Learn more and plan your visit …
Osada Washi
Ryozo (Japanese only)
Takefu Knife Village (Japanese only)
Oyanagi Tansu (Japanese only)
Urushiya (Japanese only)
Komego Miso
Fukufuku Chaya (Japanese only)
Eiheiji
Hakujukan
Past Meets Future
The glass panel separating the Enoura Observatory’s gallery from Sagami Bay erupts in an orange glow. It’s the summer solstice and the sun rises in perfect alignment with the long, narrow gallery designed by Japanese contemporary artist Hiroshi Sugimoto. The fiery spectacle is just one of the wonders that awaits travelers in Kanagawa Prefecture.
Kanagawa Prefecture offers travelers a gateway to Japanese culture, tradition, and breathtaking nature
Photo © Odawara Art Foundation
The glass panel separating the Enoura Observatory’s gallery from Sagami Bay erupts in an orange glow. It’s the summer solstice and the sun rises in perfect alignment with the long, narrow gallery designed by Japanese contemporary artist Hiroshi Sugimoto. The fiery spectacle, a cornerstone of this extraordinary project which intertwines art and nature, illuminates Sugimoto’s famous black-and-white seascapes photography series, which lines the wall and leads you to the edge of the water.
Visiting this gallery is an incredible start to our tour of four stops in Kanagawa Prefecture that take us through time, capturing deep tradition and forward-looking vision. While Tokyo may top the list for travelers exploring Japan, neighboring Kanagawa once played the same role and today is home to some of the nation’s most beautiful scenery and opportunities to come face to face with Japan’s deep history.
This first stop, the expansive facility nestled in the Enoura district of Odawara along the outermost edge of the Hakone Mountains in Kanagawa Prefecture, opened in 2017 and is home to many of Sugimoto’s works. It is managed by the Odawara Art Foundation, which he established in 2009.
As we stand alongside a long wooden table supported by a massive stone, Odawara Art Foundation Director Haruko Hoyle starts our tour by explaining how the observatory has grown. The striking table was designed by Sugimoto using 1,000-year-old cedar saved from Yakushima, a small island south of Kyushu, in Kagoshima Prefecture, whose ancient forest was designated a World Heritage Site in 1993. The stone was once a washbasin at a temple on Mount Koya and has been crafted into a leg for the table. The design reflects the mission of Sugimoto’s New Material Research Laboratory, which the artist set up in 2008 with architect Tomoyuki Sakakida, to preserve traditional methods of craftsmanship as well as traditional materials.
Stones play a major part in the Enoura Observatory concept. Sugimoto, who has made New York City his home since 1974, was in Japan during the pandemic and could not get back to New York for three years, Hoyle explains. “So, he kept buying more stones and developing this site.” The result is inspiring. A variety of stones from around Japan, each with an interesting history and connection to the country’s past, are preserved on 9,500 square meters of a former citrus grove.
Exploring the observatory is a contemplative experience—and that’s by design. “[Sugimoto] didn’t want people to just stay inside, looking at his artwork, so he developed this concept,” Hoyle says. “People can come here, get away from their busy life, and contemplate where they came from, where they are going, and their ideal relationship with nature.”
The architectural alignment that allows the summer solstice spectacle is an example of this intentional reconnection with nature. So is the design of a 70-meter-long tunnel of stone and rusted corten steel which runs underneath the gallery and creates a similar view of the winter solstice. A light well at its center provides a refuge for contemplation. This reflection on how ancient people looked to the sky and built astronomical markers, such as Stonehenge in England, is part of Sugimoto’s philosophy.
“He really wants this to be a future ruin,” Hoyle explains. “Five thousand years from now, all the glass will be shattered, no wooden structure will remain. All that future people might see are the stones and tunnel.”
They may also see the remnants of the hillside amphitheater, where the Odawara Art Foundation presents classical theater and avant-garde stage performances, including traditional Japanese Noh.
The stone steps and seats were meticulously designed by Sugimoto, who traveled to Italy to measure those of an amphitheater there to precisely recreate a millennium-old venue for artistic presentation. The seating looks out on a stage of optical glass that aligns with sunrise on the winter solstice.
Another reflection on Japan’s past, and a reprieve from modern life, can be found in the Uchoten teahouse, the style of which was inspired by that of a national treasure in Kyoto and designed by 16th-century tea master Sen no Rikyu. But Sugimoto gave the small space a local touch.
“As this was an abandoned citrus grove, there was a small storage [shed] which was used for harvesting,” Hoyle explains. “He took the corrugated tin roof off very carefully and placed it on top of the teahouse. Today, when it rains, you hear the ‘ton, ton, ton’ sound of the falling drops, so he named it Uchoten, ‘rain-listen-heaven’.”
Inside is a scroll bearing calligraphy, written by Sugimoto himself.
Like the stone stage, the room is aligned with the equinox. “On that morning,” Hoyle says, “we open the door and take the scroll down. The sun shines through the entrance and the alcove becomes pink.”
It’s yet another example of the precision with which Sugimoto has created a loving and visionary tribute not only to nature and art but to nature as art. It’s well worth a trip to Odawara to traverse the tunnel, stroll through the groves, and sense the pulse of history presented in unexpected ways.
Okada Museum of Art
Photo © Okada Museum of Art
From the coast of Sagami Bay, we wound our way along mountain roads into the depths of Hakone to visit the Okada Museum of Art.
The facility welcomed its first guests in 2013 and is celebrating its 10th anniversary this year. With an exhibition area of 5,000 square meters (54,000 square feet), it is the area’s largest museum.
The first glimpse of art can be seen on approach to the museum entrance. At 30 meters (98 feet) wide by 12 meters (39 feet) high, it is difficult to miss. Kotaro Fukui’s enormous mural entitled Kaze/Toki (Wind/Time) depicts the Wind God and Thunder God, painted on 640 gold-ground panels. These guardian deities of Hakone soar through the air overlooking the popular foot baths in front of the museum. The baths are continuously filled with natural alkaline hot spring water and are free to use for guests or ¥500 for those not viewing the exhibits. Drinks and sweets are available from the accompanying café.
As we made our way around the museum exterior, we came upon trails running up the hillside. The area is particularly beautiful in autumn, when the foliage is ablaze in fiery colors, but also tantalizingly tranquil in winter, when snowfall casts the sloping hill in ethereal white. A mix of wooded areas, trickling streams, delicate waterfalls, and picturesque ponds, the entire path around the garden and can take 10–20 minutes to fully traverse. Admission is currently free and open to the public.
Photos © Okada Museum of Art (except lower right)
But the true delights are inside the five-story museum, where you’ll find an extensive collection of more than 450 treasures from Japan, South Korea, China, and other East Asian countries.
As the doors slide open to the first collection, I’m astounded by the spaciousness of the presentation. Museums in Tokyo can often present challenges to the viewer, who finds themself competing for position in tight spaces just to see works amid crowds. But here, in the dimly lit vastness, there’s no difficulty in getting up close, and the austere dark blue walls provide a framing which vividly brings these incredible works of art to life.
Learning about the art is easy, thanks to the LCD touch screens placed in front of many pieces which offer notes in Japanese, English, Chinese, and Korean.
Each of the first two exhibition floors has a distinct flavor and story to tell as you stroll the timeline of artistic and cultural history.
The first houses ceramics from China’s Han Dynasty (206 BC–AD 220), Tang Dynasty (618–907), and Qing Dynasty (1644–1911), along with those from Korea’s Goryeo (918–1392) and Joseon Dynasties.
The second features Japanese art, primarily screen paintings from the Momoyama (1573–1600) and Edo (1603–1868) Periods. Taikan Yokoyama’s 1926 work Mt. Fuji, a sprawling 94x873 centimeter hanging scroll, is a centerpiece of the floor’s collection and is on display through June 4.
Images © Okada Museum of Art
The third floor is reserved for special exhibitions. For example, at the time of our visit, Jakuchu and Isson • Transcending Time, an exhibition featuring Edo-Period painter Jakuchu Ito and Isson Tanaka, an artist from the Showa Period, was on display. Part 1 of the Okada Museum of Art’s 10th anniversary celebration, the exhibition continues through June 4, and if you visit on your birthday, you and a companion can view it for free. Part 2, featuring Utamaro and Hokusai, will run from June 11 to December 10.
On the fifth floor are pieces of religious art, including sutra manuscripts, paintings, and Buddha statues from Japan’s Heian (794–1185) and Kamakura (1185–1333) Periods. The craftsmanship of these wood-carved figures is astounding.
With such a wealth of art on display, it takes about two hours to view the entire collection.
After browsing the works, return to the garden entrance and Kaikatei to unwind against the backdrop of nature as the soothing splash of a waterfall can be heard across the carp pond. Named after a hotel popular with foreign visitors that stood on the same property in the late 1800s, the renovated Japanese house is a memorable place to enjoy dishes such as horse mackerel tempura udon and dorayaki, a small pancake-like sandwich filled with sweet red bean paste.
A visit to the Okada Museum of Art is not only a delightful way to learn about the history of Japan and the region, but a refreshing escape to nature.
Admission is ¥2,800 for adults and university students and ¥1,800 for elementary through high school ages.
Jochi-ji Houan
An hour from Tokyo, hidden in a forested valley behind Jochi-ji Temple in Kita-Kamakura, is a quaint little tea house that time forgot.
Built in 1934 by journalist Tai Sekiguchi, Houan is home to three tea rooms—one an eight-tatami space that accommodates eight to 10 people and a smaller room of four mats which looks out onto the garden behind the house. Smaller still, a separate tea house based on the famous Ihoan tea hut inside Kyoto’s Kodai-ji Temple offers an intimate ceremony space for two people.
Houan was designed by Bunzo Yamaguchi, one of the leaders of Japan’s modernist architectural movement, and is an example of the sukiya style of Japanese architecture, which dates back to the Momoyama Period (1573–1600). Based on a natural aesthetic and rustic simplicity, sukiya is intended to exist in harmony with the surroundings; and Houan certainly does.
But as Yukiyo Matsuzaki, planner at Kyoto-based travel experience company Mitate, Ltd. and founder of Kamakura Mind explains, “Yamaguchi studied modernist architecture in Germany, so Houan is a fusion of traditional Japanese and modernist styles which creates a unique tea house.”
We explore the house on arrival with Matsuzaki and Southi Yokoyama, a professor of the Omotesenke school of tea ceremony. Yokoyama shares about the connection green tea has to the area, and some of its roles in Japanese history.
“Kamakura had a lot of Zen temples and many people practiced Zen meditation, so they used green tea as a sort of stimulate to keep awake during meditation,” she explains. And on a fiercer note, she adds, green tea was a favorite of samurai warriors before going into battle.
Samurai, we learn, were once buried in the caves along the back side of the garden, which were also used as a training ground and a grave for Zen monks.
We turn our attention to the main space and the tokonoma, the alcove commonly found in Japanese-style rooms, or washitsu. In the space is a kakejiku (hanging scroll) with calligraphy showing Zen words appropriate for the season, and alongside an ikebana flower arrangement. In recognition of the sacred nature of the tearoom, we bow to each and carefully read the inscription.
As we prepare to take part in the tea ceremony, we learn the proper way to wash our hands in the tsukubai (washbasin) outside before entering the tea house.
Hands cleansed, we take our positions, kneeling on the tatami, and Yokoyama explains each step of the ceremony. (Don’t worry, if kneeling for an extended period isn’t your style, Houan can provide chairs.)
Having watched the master prepare the tea, it’s now time to learn the proper way to drink and to show appreciation, as well as to savor the delectable wagashi (Japanese sweet) which accompanies the tea to take away the bitterness. I’ve eaten more wagashi than I can count in my many years in Japan, but this morsel, crafted by local artisan Kuu, is easily one of the most delicious I’ve ever tasted, with a splash of citrus that is eye opening. You can learn to make wagashi from Kuu in another experience offered here by Kamakura Mind. You can even enjoy your creation as part of the tea ceremony.
When the time comes to drink, admiring the beauty of the bowl is a key part of the experience. I take a close look at the playful yet restrained craftsmanship as I gently rotate the cup in my hands. Finally, I sip the tea and gently slice the wagashi in half. Savoring these flavors through the silent steps of this centuries-old tradition is a momentary escape into tranquility.
In addition to tea ceremony, Kamakura Mind also offers workshops for other traditional Japanese arts, hosts corporate training retreats, provides a venue for Zen meditation, and even guides hiking tours along the trail to the Daibutsu, the Great Buddha of Kamakura—a journey that takes about an hour and a half at a leisurely pace.
A mix of historical perspective and cultural immersion, our hour-long visit to Houan made for a particularly peaceful and memorable morning in this beautiful city that served as Japan’s capital for almost 150 years.
Hasedera
Just a short walk from Hase Station on the quaint and historic Enoden train line is Hasedera, an eighth-century Buddhist Temple that is one the oldest and most significant in Kamakura.
Formally the Kaikozan Jishion Hasedera, it is believed to have been founded in 736 after an 11-faced Kannon Boddhisattva statue washed ashore on Nagaiura Beach in Sagaminokuni and was brought to Kamakura.
Hasedera is the fourth of the four temples on the Bando 33 Kannon pilgrimage route, and as we arrive a group of visitors were gathering near the entrance to conclude their own journey.
We’re greeted by one of the temple’s monks who will lead us on a guided tour of the beautiful grounds featuring koi ponds, rock gardens, waterfalls, and a variety of trees and flowers. Famed for its hydrangea in summer, Hasedera is also delicately painted pink in spring, when the cherry blossoms burst forth, and brilliantly picturesque in fall, when the leaves turn. As we tour in late January, plum blossoms are beginning to dot the branches.
As we stroll through this tranquil setting, we come to Bentendo Hall, where we see the eight-armed statue of Benzaiten, the Goddess of Water and Wealth and the only female among the Japanese Seven Gods of Fortune. As we move past her, we enter the darkness of the Bentenkutsu Cave. Inside, Benzaiten and her 16 followers are chiseled out of rock walls.
As our guide explains, legend says that Kobo Daishi, known as Kukai when he was alive, traveled across Japan to spread Buddhism and secluded himself in this very cave. Here, he meditated and attained a state of spiritual communication with Benzaiten, and carved a wooden statue of the goddess with eight arms. Kukai, who lived from 775 to 835, founded the Shingon school of Japanese Buddhism.
Past the stone figures, we duck deeper into the cave. The low ceilings mean we must crouch to navigate the catacomb-like corridors. Partway through, we happen upon a small chamber filled with miniature Buddhas on which visitors have copied sutras as they wish for good fortune.
Emerging from the cave, we make our way up the hill and into Kannondo Hall, which houses the statue of the Kannon Boddhisattva that is said to have washed ashore in 736. Standing an astonishing 9.18 meters (30.1 feet) tall, it is one of the largest wooden Buddhist statues in Japan and is the centerpiece of Hasedera. According to legend, it has been enshrined here since the temple’s founding 1,300 years ago.
As the hall long predates the advent of electric lights, viewing the statue was not always as easy as it is today. Long ago, our guide explains, lanterns were hoisted up alongside the statue so that it was possible to see the Kannon Boddhisattva’s face in the darkness.
A particular treat during this part of our tour was the recitation by our guide of a sutra, “Enmei Jukku Kannon Gyo” or the “Life-Extending Ten-Line Kannon Sutra.” We joined in by following the words provided in both kanji and romaji.
In the Kannon sutra, Kannon appears in 33 different forms to best appeal to the nature of each individual whom they are guiding out of suffering and toward enlightenment. We come face to face with these 33 avatars in the form of exquisitely detailed, life-size wood carved statues as we make our way through the museum which adjoins the chamber where the nine-meter Kannon Boddhisattva resides. Opened in 1980 as one of the first temple museums in Japan, the space presents many ancient artifacts that tell the history of Buddhism and the area surrounding Hasedera.
Upper left photo © Hasedera
We also examine the bonsho (temple bell), made in 1264 and now preserved in a glass case. The third oldest bonsho in Kamakura, it bears the earliest known inscription of the name Hasedera. It was replaced in 1984 with the current bell after an astonishing 720 years of service.
As our tour draws to a close, we make our final stop at the Kaikoan Restaurant where we enjoy green tea and mitarashi dango, a Japanese sweet of three skewered rice dumplings glazed with a sweet and savory sauce. The restaurant even offers vegan options based on the traditional recipes of Buddhist monks.
As we unwind by the window, the panoramic view across Yuigahama Beach and Sagami Bay is enchanting, and it is easy to understand why Kamakura drew so many seeking connection with nature here all those centuries ago.
Learn more and plan your visit …
Enoura Observatory
📞 0465-42-9170
Odawara Art Foundation
✉️ info@odawara-af.com
Okada Museum of Art
📞 0460-87-3931 ✉️ nishidate.hiroshi@okada-museum.com
Hasedera
📞 0467-22-6300 ✉️ soumu@hasedera.jp
Yonezawa Artistry
Legacy and vision. Two words that describe and drive Gentaro Nitta’s Nitta Textile Arts and Michiko Yamakuchi’s Yozando. Both are eminent textile enterprises based in Yonezawa City, Yamagata Prefecture, and manifest a celebration of the past as the industry looks toward the future.
Local textiles reflect a passion to create and determination to preserve
Formal kimono safflower with luxurious crimson hue. Photo: Nitta Fabric Art Inc.
Legacy and vision. Two words that describe and drive Gentaro Nitta’s Nitta Textile Arts and Michiko Yamakuchi’s Yozando. Both are eminent textile enterprises based in Yonezawa City, Yamagata Prefecture, and manifest a celebration of the past as the industry looks toward the future.
Nitta Textile Art Inc.
To fifth-generation head Gentaro Nitta, “the past is not a burden, but a window.” Nitta Textile Art’s forward-thinking production model triumphantly draws on the past to produce one-of-a-kind, hand-crafted elegance made from the highest quality silk, woven on wooden looms by local experts employing skills passed down for centuries. These silk masterpieces, painstakingly colored with locally sourced dyes made from hand-picked safflowers, radiate colors ranging from the subtlest hues of pearl to the company’s renowned shades of crimson.
It’s not that Nitta’s traditions—its safflower cultivation and silk dyeing techniques—are separate processes; rather the agricultural and artistic traditions merge to form an integrated whole, developed together over centuries and applied organically and harmoniously in response to the land and local climate.
Conditions, Nitta explains, change throughout the year, according to the season. In sum, the human arts—be they agricultural or artistic—depend on and reflect the demands of the land and the challenges of the climate.
The Yoneori Komon range includes a wide variety of products with seasonal as well as traditional designs. Photo: Yamakuchi Orimono Yozando
Yamakuchi Orimono Yozando
Designer, proprietress, and curator Michiko Yamakuchi leads a whirlwind tour of her multiple facilities, including a quaint retail shop, coffee-house art gallery, and petite cabin that houses her coffee bean roasting ovens. An extraordinary manufacturing site reveals the enormous Japanese-Italian weaving machines which bring Michiko’s designs to life, while a cavernous art gallery houses art pieces by internationally recognized artist Hideo Yamakuchi.
Michiko’s creativity is manifest in the intricate, unbroken patterns of her seasonal designs (shown above), be they purses, handbags, tablemats, coasters, or traditional furoshiki wrapping cloths. The seamless patterns echo the finest, perfectly aligned wallpapers.
Colors and designs are abundant and change with the seasons; winter holiday products are currently on view. Items are reversible—for example, red on white on one side, white on red on the other.
Most other products affirm the designer’s emphasis on a practical aesthetic that instills beauty in everyday objects, such as bags for smartphones and temple diaries, and by using washable cotton fabrics and creating designs that reduce leftover materials.
Together, Nitta Textile Art and Yamakuchi Orimono Yozando provide a window not only into Yonezawa’s artistic past but also its future.
From Mist to Medals
Just over an hour by train from Shinjuku, the Godo area of Isehara, Kanagawa Prefecture, lives up to its name, which means “gate of the gods.” The mists rising from nearby Sagami Bay often shroud the peak in mysterious clouds, leading to the nickname Afuri-yama (Mount Rainfall). And tucked away in the lush foothills is Kikkawa Jozo, a century-old sake brewery that is gaining international acclaim.
Kikkawa Brewery is innovating its way to international gold
Mount Oyama, part of the Tanzawa Mountains, is one of Japan’s most sacred mountains. And tucked away in its lush foothills is Kikkawa Jozo, a century-old sake brewery that is gaining international acclaim.
Just over an hour by train from Shinjuku, the Godo area of Isehara, Kanagawa Prefecture, lives up to its name, which means “gate of the gods.” The mists rising from nearby Sagami Bay often shroud the peak in mysterious clouds, leading to the nickname Afuri-yama (Mount Rainfall).
Abundant rain filters through the rock and becomes the groundwater from which Kikkawa draws to make its sake and instill it with a rich flavor and full aroma.
For six generations, the Kikkawa family has worked its magic. Since the founding of the brewery in 1912, a long line of artisans has been combining the area’s clear water and top-quality rice to create their sake, Kikuyu.
However, in 2020, things were looking bleak. Facing bankruptcy and with no one to take over, it seemed that the sake brewery’s proud tradition was at an end.
Fortunately, the Shimada Group swept in, taking the brewery under its wing and providing a rather unusual kuramoto (brewery owner)—former architect Norimichi Goto—to lead the way. “I aimed for the sky by designing skyscrapers, but now, instead, I am diving into the deep ocean of sake-making traditions, which is very rewarding,” Goto said.
His first months on the job were not easy. “I walked into a rough situation. The brewery was on the brink of closing,” Goto recalls. “They hadn’t even ordered rice for the next season; that’s how dire things were.”
Left: Oyama Afuri Shrine (Photo: Kunihiko Meguro, Shinto Priest of Oyama Afuri Shrine)
Center: Kikkawa toji Masanori Mizuno • Right: Kikkawa Afuri sake
But he soon came to realize the strength of the brewery’s traditions and connections to the Isehara community. And he was impressed by how the toji (master brewer), Masanori Mizuno, and his team refused to abandon ship.
“I was so deeply touched that they stayed, and it is thanks to their hard work, and the support from the community and Oyama Afuri Shrine, that we got things running again so quickly,” Goto said.
While Kikkawa is still producing the locally beloved Kikuyu brand, with the change in leadership in spring of 2021 came a new brand, Afuri. Despite being new, the Afuri brews have already received gold medals at multiple world-class sake competitions. Nari, a refined junmai daiginjo, even won the Platinum Award at the prestigious Kura Master competition in 2022 in Paris.
“We want to push the boundaries of sake, creating new varieties and bringing our products to new markets, to share the culture of sake with as many people as possible,” Goto shared.
This includes combining traditional processes with innovations that allow the brewing process to be more sustainable, such as reducing waste by only polishing away 10 percent of the rice surface or switching from oil-powered steamers to more efficient electric ones.
For those interested in trying Kikkawa’s new generation of brews, why not sample Rosy-Kasumi, a low-alcohol sake (just eight percent) that is gaining attention for its beautiful, fresh flavor. The use of an unusual pink yeast gives several of the Afuri varieties, such as the floral ‘Ohana, a festive, rose-hued tinge. More expert sake drinkers will be enthralled by Terra/Y, another Kura Master gold medalist made using minimally polished rice and slowly aged at low temperatures for an elegantly sweet finish.
This is definitely a brewery to watch.
Learn more about Kikkawa:
www.kikkawa-jozo.com/en/
Plants and Trees
A stone monument, two or three feet tall, with a simple inscription stood before me. It read: “plants and trees.” Somokuto, as they are known in Japanese, are monuments concentrated mainly in Okitama, a region in southern Yamagata Prefecture in Tohoku, the northern part of Japan’s main island of Honshu. Adam Fulford shares more.
Finding the true nature of somokuto in Yonezawa
A somokuto monument inscribed with the Chinese characters for “plants and trees” stands in a forest on the outskirts of Yonezawa City. (Photo: Plat Yonezawa)
A stone monument, two or three feet tall, with a simple inscription stood before me. It read: “plants and trees.” Somokuto, as they are known in Japanese, are monuments concentrated mainly in Okitama, a region in southern Yamagata Prefecture in Tohoku, the northern part of Japan’s main island of Honshu.
I first became aware of somokuto in 2014, when I visited the small community of Nakatsugawa, in the town of Iide, also in Yamagata. I was there as a judge in a national beautiful village contest, and my hosts felt that somokuto might interest visitors.
I was certainly intrigued. Although the phrase somoku (plants and trees) occurs in Buddhist sutras, I was told that the stone monuments were erected by members of the local community, mostly in centuries past and without the direct involvement of shrine or temple representatives.
But for what purpose? At the time, relatively little information was available about somokuto online, but I interpreted them in my own way, as an opportunity to say “please” or “thank you” when entering or leaving the forest.
Later, I became a community consultant in Iide and started to consider the souvenir potential of somokuto. Under the guidance of a local pottery instructor, I made several batches of ceramic mini-somokuto.
With his help, I also made a batch with a group at Denden, a facility in Iide for those with intellectual disabilities.
But I still knew little about the origins of somokuto. And so, when Ruth Jarman of Jarman International invited me to Yonezawa to spend an afternoon learning about somokuto with Yohei Sano, an expert on the subject, I leaped at the chance.
Left: The oldest somokuto in Yamagata dates back to 1780 and is found in the Tazawa district of Yonezawa City.
Right: Ceramic mini-somokuto produced by Denden in Iide Town. (Photos: Plat Yonezawa)
Sano and I went first to Shiojidaira, the site of a once-thriving logging community in the Tazawa district of Yonezawa. Here, I saw the oldest of the 140 somokuto in Yamagata (there are only about 20 elsewhere in Japan). It dates back to 1780.
In those days, the forests of Shiojidaira were a source of “official” firewood and timber for Yozan Uesugi (1751–1822), a famous local lord whose later admirers would include US President John F. Kennedy. After Uesugi’s large mansion in Edo (now Tokyo) burned to the ground in 1772, timber from Shiojidaira would have been used to rebuild it. A few years later, more would have been needed after a big fire in Yonezawa.
For the people of Shiojidaira, a bare mountainside must have been shocking. Have we done something unforgivable? Anxious thoughts of this kind may have culminated in the erection of the first somokuto as a requiem, perhaps, for lost greenery.
Sano explained that, as the years went by, interpretations of somokuto began to shift. They came to be seen as an opportunity to express gratitude to the forest, and later as a reminder to safeguard nature.
My own view of somokuto may be somewhat out of sync with their true nature, but if I’d never encountered them, I wouldn’t have had the chance to get to know Sano, an ideal recipient of the small gift that I gratefully presented to him: a mini-somokuto from Denden.
Spirit of Yozan
The death of a close friend at college prompted Tohoku native Hiroaki Miyajima to pursue a career in advertising in the United States. Having returned to his hometown of Yonezawa, Yamagata Prefecture, in 2011, he is now part of a local business collective whose mission is to secure the town’s future prosperity. The Ukogi collective, established by Miyajima and several other Kojokan graduates, channels the spirit of Yozan in a bid to grapple with the issues facing Yonezawa and many of Japan’s rural areas.
How a samurai reformer inspires a new generation to take the lead and succeed
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The death of a close friend at college prompted Tohoku native Hiroaki Miyajima to pursue a career in advertising in the United States. Having returned to his hometown of Yonezawa, Yamagata Prefecture, in 2011, he is now part of a local business collective whose mission is to secure the town’s future prosperity.
Place of Inspiration
Those not familiar with the Tohoku region, in the far north of Japan’s main island of Honshu, may be excused for being unaware of Yonezawa. But this landlocked town has inspired some of the nation’s most successful executives and one of the United States’ best-loved presidents. When John F. Kennedy was asked after his inauguration to name a Japanese figure whom he respected, to the surprise of the Japanese press corps he answered with the name Yozan, a clan leader who ruled the domain of Yonezawa during the 18th century.
Yozan Uesugi inherited a Yonezawa impoverished by profligate leaders and entrenched interests. Heavily influenced by his teacher, Heishu Hosoi, who saw it as the duty of rulers to put the interests of their domains above their own, Yozan swore an oath to restore the prosperity of Yonezawa and its people. He is highly admired for his radical economic reforms and being an exemplar of frugality.
In Yonezawa, the figure of Yozan looms large, and in no place more so than Kojokan High School, which he founded in 1776. The school seeks to instill a sense of service and importance of action summed up by one of Yozan’s most famous sayings: “For all things, try and you will succeed; do not try and you will not succeed. Lack of success is merely due to lack of trying.”
Intellectual Foundation
The Ukogi collective, established by Miyajima and several other Kojokan graduates, channels the spirit of Yozan in a bid to grapple with the issues facing Yonezawa and many of Japan’s rural areas. The name Ukogi is that of a deciduous shrub that Yozan promoted for use in making hedgerows, while the edible leaves can serve as a food source in times of famine. Use of the shrub symbolizes the importance of creative thinking and self-reliance, which Yozan stressed to his people.
Collective member Yohei Sano, who helps with the family fish market, has a background in legal philosophy and studies local history in his free time. Known as The Professor, he is a quiet contrast to the ebullient Miyajima and provides Ukogi’s intellectual foundation. Synthesizing the virtues and lessons of the past, he is developing the philosophy of a restoration based on sustainable development and employing public–private sector cooperation. Put simply, Sano said, “I want to make Yonezawa a place to which the next generation will want to return and make their life.”
The speed of change in Japan can often be glacial, but Yozan overcame the powerful social and economic forces of the 18th century to restore the prosperity of Yonezawa. Ukogi is aiming to instigate a second restoration and make Yonezawa a place that once again inspires beyond its borders.
Of Sake and Scythe Weasels
On November 4, 2021, an evening of culture, flavors, and learning took place at Kojima Sohonten Co., Ltd., Japan’s 13th-oldest sake brewery, established in 1597. Located in Yonezawa, Yamagata Prefecture, Kojima Sohonten is best known for its award-winning Toko sake. When you’re inside the brewery, the dedication and craftsmanship of more than 400 years of brewing seem to infuse the darkened wood of the huge barrels. On this day, however, amid the ongoing travel restrictions, it was innovation—along with multiple cameras—that helped bring the historical setting to travel writers on the east coast of the United States.
A surprising view of Tohoku with Alex Kerr and John Gauntner
Listen to this story:
On November 4, an evening of culture, flavors, and learning took place at Kojima Sohonten Co., Ltd., Japan’s 13th-oldest sake brewery, established in 1597. Located in Yonezawa, Yamagata Prefecture, Kojima Sohonten is best known for its award-winning Toko sake. When you’re inside the brewery, the dedication and craftsmanship of more than 400 years of brewing seem to infuse the darkened wood of the huge barrels. On this day, however, amid the ongoing travel restrictions, it was innovation—along with multiple cameras—that helped bring the historical setting to travel writers on the east coast of the United States.
Jarman International KK proposed the special webinar as a way to satisfy the wanderlust of frustrated Japan lovers overseas. We used our Covid-induced thinking time to bring together sake expert John Gauntner and author Alex Kerr to speak about what makes the Tohoku region so culturally distinct. The event was hosted by the Japan National Tourism Organization’s New York office and co-produced with JR East Marketing & Communications, Inc., known as JEKI.
Flavorful Culture
What better way to connect with viewers than to send delicious sake to each, along with recipes which perfectly match the various brews? Perhaps having Gauntner and Kerr intertwine the story of Tohoku with an engaging discussion about sake flavor profiles and bouquets?
The evening proved to be the perfect appetizer for the travel boom we expect will hit next spring. Gauntner taught participants how to properly heat and taste sake, suggested pairings for various cuisines, and vividly showed how the flavor profile of each bottle is deeply connected to the region, its rice, and the craftsmanship.
Lost Japan author Kerr brought to life the mystical side of Tohoku. Do you know what bait to use to catch a kappa (river sprite) in Iwate? Have you heard the chilling tale of the kamaitachi (scythe weasel)?
Travel Preview
Tohoku is also filled with beautiful hamlets, forgotten by time, and is home to some of the few remaining views of old Japan, such as the now-rare red pines and the last surviving garden of the Heian Period (794–1185). As people around the world connect with Tohoku through innovative online events, we expect more travelers to follow the lead of Dr. Edwin O. Reischauer, former US Ambassador to Japan, and venture to the “other side of the mountain.” Tohoku is the cradle of Japanese civilization, and is sure to wow any visitor with colorful festivals, thatched villages, folklore, and, of course, plenty of wonderful sake.