It was approaching winter in Los Angeles, and I was missing snow.
Boston-born, I missed snow’s ozone aroma (snow does have a smell, you know). I missed its soft crunch under my feet.
And coincidentally, I was also missing Japan, a land that has fascinated me ever since third grade.
For a show-and-tell project, at the suggestion of [my teacher] Mrs Reggolino, who also had a Japan thing going on, I built a traditional Japanese home out of balsa wood and paper, complete with shoji screens (yes, I was a precocious child).
Some places I visit only once and see no need to return.
Others, such as Japan, I have visited multiple times. I love the food and culture, but mostly I love the people and the respect they show each another and to visitors.
For example: although children are as rambunctious here as anywhere, in the Japan Airlines airport lounge once I noticed a mother bringing her fidgety child inside an enclosed phone booth to avoid annoying others (and listened enviously to a public address announcement asking people to make mobile phone calls inside those booths for the same reason).
One memorable visit to Tokyo, in 2011, had not gone as planned.
My friend David and I landed on March 12. The next day we found ourselves at Tokyo Disneyland. And then the largest earthquake ever recorded struck.
All the trains stopped running, and that night we spent shivering in a light drizzle until the park thought it safe to shelter us indoors.
The following night we dined on Kobe beef at the Park Hyatt Tokyo watching the wine in our glasses shimmer slightly with each aftershock. The following day I was on American Airlines back to Los Angeles.
A post shared by Park Hyatt Tokyo / パーク ハイアット東京 (@parkhyatttokyo) on Feb 16, 2018 at 9:07pm PST
While I’d visited many times since then, I’d never made it beyond Tokyo.
So here I was again, this time in the depths of winter, in the Japanese Alps, and there was snow, freshly fallen and deep.
My journey took me to Tsumago, Magome, Takakayma, Shirakawa-go and Gokayama, getting around by train and road.
I knew about Mount Fuji (you can see it from Tokyo on a clear day), but I had no idea until I opened my Michelin Green Guide that Japan consists mostly of sparsely inhabited mountains.
In fact, I further learned, mountains cover two-thirds of Japan and most of these areas are uninhabited, so 127 million people live in the remaining topography.
Tsumago-juku, an old “post town” surrounded by mountains, is one of the 69 such towns along the Nakasendo, a stone-paved route dating from the 17th century, designed to connect Edo (modern day Tokyo) and Kyoto. Today, many of the original historic buildings remain.
A post shared by @ doordoordoor on Mar 9, 2018 at 9:02pm PST
In one of them I encountered Jun Obara, a true local “character”, as my friend Sumiko called him, as we left his shop house.
Obara grew up in Tsumago (population 600), studied art and fashion in Tokyo, and returned to look after his elderly parents.
In the traditional house of his birth, one of 223 restored and preserved buildings in the town, he makes men’s and women’s clothing in fabrics, patterns and colour combinations like nothing you’ve ever seen.
He designs and weaves the cotton fabric himself (he won’t reveal where the yarn originates) in patterns he designs.
Obara even built the loom they are woven on. The iridescent fabrics in greens, blues and burnt orange, one of which depicts Edo-era firemen, based on historic drawings, will get a conversation going anywhere in the world.
He is opening his first purpose-built shop in Osaka this spring and some of his creations are one of a kind.
“I just want to support myself doing something I love,” Obara tells me with Sumiko translating.
From Tsumago I visited Magome, another post town of restored traditional homes and shops, about a three-hour walk along the Nakasendo (you can also travel by bus, and for US$5 the tourist office will forward your bags between the two towns if you do opt for a stroll).
Here, among other relics, I saw a mill wheel powered by water melting from the mountain snow, once used for grinding grains. Many structures date from the 17th and 18th centuries.
In Takayama, surrounded by mountains reaching 10,000 feet (3,000 metres) in height, I visited several local sake breweries offering tastings, one of which has been in operation since 1695, and a museum housing the elaborately decorated floats paraded through town each year during twice-yearly festivals.
Gourmets, however, come here for the area’s famous fork-tender hida beef which, some say, rivals better-known Japanese varieties.
First time in a Kimono! I am so impressed that the lady who helped me to put on the kimono could tie such a big beautiful bow in less than a minute! She is beyond amazing! Also how amazing is this beautiful street. It was taken during mid day but everyone was shopping somewhere else. Lucky me! #visitjapanau #japanrevealed @visitjapanau
A post shared by Chloe Ting (@chloe_t) on Mar 4, 2018 at 4:01am PST
The trip from Takayama to Shirakawa-go and Gokayama, both Unesco World Heritage sites, will take you three hours along mostly traffic-free, two-lane roads, or you can take a coach tour if you’d prefer not to drive.
The larger and busier of the two, Shirakawa-go, sees over 30 feet of snow each winter, making it one of Japan’s snowiest regions.
Both villages are famous for their gassho-zukuri farm houses, dating from the 18th and 19th centuries, with steep thatched roofs designed to prevent snow from gathering.
Many of them welcome overnight guests, providing food and lodging (you’ll be sleeping on traditional futons and using shared facilities), for US$50 to US$100 a night with breakfast and dinner, while others offer tours.
The nearby and less-developed Gokayama sees fewer tourists and when I toured Suganuma and Ainokura, two smaller gassho-zukuri villages in the area, there were only a few visitors and you could stroll around without distractions.
The last stop on my tour, before heading back to Tokyo by Shinkansen bullet train from Nagano, was to Jigokudani (roughly translated as “hell’s valley”, owing to its active hot springs spewing constant plumes of sulphurous steam), home to wild troops of Japanese macaque monkeys that, in winter, enjoy steeping in the warm waters.
On my visit the monkeys were merely drinking from a pool of steaming water rather than bathing in it, as camera-toting visitors waited patiently, but to no avail, for the creatures to jump in. Perhaps the air temperature wasn’t quite cold enough.
Speaking of cold, yes it’s pretty chilly in the Japanese Alps in wintertime, so bundle up.
But they’re also beautiful in spring, summer, and especially in the autumn when the foliage is in full colour.
On my next visit to Japan I hope to explore other rural areas. Tokyo is exciting and fascinating, but hop on a train and in few hours you’ll be in a whole different world.