Tourism to the Japanese district of Tohoku is slowly picking up post-2011’s tsunami. And for good reason – from fields of springtime blossoms to fields of snow in winter, there are plenty of diversions.
Winter arrives with unmistakeable force to Tohoku, the mountainous northeastern region of Honshu, Japan’s largest island. From December to March, the district’s petite townships and verdant national parks are blanketed in several metres of snow. Looking through a fifth-storey window in one of the ski lodges, the scene outdoors resembles a scientific base in Antarctica. Only a few buildings and frosted motor vehicles remain visible, surrounded by whiteness.
This past winter, ski season in Tohoku came just as the visitors were starting to return to the region. It is close to the scene of last year’s Great East Japan Earthquake and tsunami and not far from the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant. Predictably, fewer people have been visiting Tohoku since then – it’s vanished from the latest travel guides. The summer peak season, which usually draws hikers to climb the splendid Mount Iwate (the region’s highest peak), was noticeably quiet. The snowfields of Appi or Tazawako, however, seem as festive as they are in any other winter. At the ski lodges, business is picking up again, the air is fresh, keen skiers and snowboarders are enjoying the natural trails, and the snowfall is the most generous it’s been for some years.
On a clear day, a chairlift up one of the mountains affords winter views that are just as scenic as those you’ll get in springtime, when the forests are overtaken by multicoloured blossoms; the layers of pristine white snow produce a spectacle of their own.
The view is unpredictable, however. On the day we visit Shizukuishi, whose slopes are confronting at the best of times, the snowfall is quietly relentless. Our guide calls us to follow him down the hill, and it is just as well that he is present. In his brightly coloured ski jacket, he is the only visible object, engulfed by a screen of white. We follow him with trepidation, skiing downhill, seemingly towards a void.
Tohoku remains a secret to most of the western world. When visiting Japan, winter-sports devotees from Australia, Europe or the U.S. would more likely plan a trip to the northern island of Hokkaido, which claims the world’s lightest, driest snow, or Nagano, southwest of Tohoku, which won world attention by hosting the 1998 Winter Olympics. But it would be a shame to overlook the tremendous slopes of Tohoku, with its long-distance courses and light, dry snow, at the same latitude (40°N) as such skiing meccas as Aspen, Colorado and Arlberg, Switzerland – but much easier to access.
For the beginner, the easier courses are a mixed blessing. On one hand, most of the slopes here include simple, quick trails for novices, and falling into a powdery mattress of dry snow provides a softer landing than the firm ground Australians would know from the ski fields of Thredbo or Perisher. On the other hand, there are precious few English-speaking ski instructors in the region. This makes perfect sense; most visitors are still from Japan, China and South Korea. There is little need for English, and most of the ski lodges reflect this. Many signs and menus do not provide translations for the elegant Japanese characters.
If translation is no problem, the best slope for beginners might be the Panorama Ski Area at Hachimantai Resort, which invites children to ride bobsleds, snow tubes and banana boats down its none-too-steep hills. Fittingly, it’s just a free shuttle-bus ride away from the Shimokura Ski Area, incorporating one of Tohoku’s more challenging slopes, which would strike fear into the hearts of novices – and those of several more experienced skiers. Here, daredevils negotiate the precipitous diamond course and the aptly named “white” course, on which downhill skiers vanish into a pallid mist like a scene from a Stephen King novel.
For leisure-seekers in the Shizukuishi area, the uses of snow are not limited to skiing and snowboarding. A popular annual snow festival is held in February at Koiwai Farm, a 3,000-hectare property that is best known for its products – ice cream, yoghurt, fresh meat, and cans of coffee and green tea – sold in vending machines throughout Japan.
For a week in early February, the snow festival converts much of Koiwai Farm into a village of enormous snow “buildings,” crafted on-site. They are not functional structures, of course, though children walk and toboggan over them excitedly. As well as houses and stages, they portray some of the heroes of Japanese animation and kawaii (cute) design, and some are flanked by brilliant ice sculptures.
Though it claims some degree of uniqueness, the event is one of Tohoku’s “Five Great Snow Festivals.” Another snow carnival is held simultaneously at the nearby Morioka City, the capital and largest city of the Iwate Prefecture (which encompasses most of the Tohoku snowfields). Heading from Tokyo, Morioka is the usual first stop on a skiing tour – a 400-year-old city of some 300,000 people, a major producer of soy and miso products, where you can buy surprisingly tasty soy-sauce ice cream, soft-served from the tap.
Just outside Morioka is Takizawa Village, which seems like a nondescript suburb but claims to be Japan’s largest village, with enough people (around 53,000) to be granted city status. Here, the most famous restaurant is probably Big Three Noodles – designed, like the outside street, with deceptive austerity. The restaurant’s specialty is a banquet comprised of the region’s three major types of noodles: jajamen, wanko-soba and ramen. Several bowls, to be exact. As you finish each dish, the waitress will happily refill your bowl until you can take no more. The customer record is 300 bowls of wanko-soba in one hour. For this writer, six was the limit.
Tohoku’s largest ski resort, Appi Kogen, just north of Morioka, is home to a luxury hotel, a family park and 20 runs of varying difficulty. It even provided an English-speaking ski instructor – Erland, a 19-year-old Welshman in his gap year – who proved an excellent tutor. After skiing, lunch can be enjoyed in one of the kamakura (snow domes) at the foot of the mountain – they resemble igloos but offer sit-down meals of homemade cheese fondue that the Eskimos could never have imagined. (Fondue never went out of fashion in Japan. Like karaoke, it was more than just a fad.)
A day at the snow in Tohoku is ideally followed by a bath in the onsen (natural hot springs). Despite extensive hotel facilities, few ski lodges in the region include fitness centres or swimming pools. The onsen, however, is practically mandatory. Hence, the perfect location for a ski lodge is in front of a snowfield but over geothermally heated water. Happily, Mount Iwate is an active volcano (though, just as happily, its eruptions are mild).
The attractions of Tohoku are not limited to mountains. Even in the dead of winter, you can sail the Geibikei (Geibi Gorge) in a heated yakatabune (roofed boat), surrounded by fat ducks and, in springtime, forests of wisteria.
Farther afield, the region’s history is on show at Hiraizumi, the 12th-century Chusonji Buddhist Temple and its dwindling community of monks, who now live in a line of modern houses a block away from the temple.
Other towns have their own history. Semboku City is the site of Kakunodate, a castle town during feudal times. The former Samurai houses still retain their beauty, if not their power. Along Bukeyashiki-dori (literally, “Samurai residential avenue”), Samurai descendants still live in the houses but open them to visitors throughout the year. They are well kept, just as they always have been. Yet the culture of the Samurai, it is clear to see, goes well beyond the warrior life portrayed so exuberantly in movies and on television. It was a refined culture, and the traditional doll displays would seem out of place in most action flicks. One has to enter the homes’ back rooms to see the displays of warrior gear and visit the Samurai House Museum, along the same street, to view a selection of katana (swords) proudly displayed on the wall.
As in much of Japan, the four seasons in Tohoku produce four different destinations. Only two months later, the thick layers of snow will melt in Morioka in time for the cherry blossom festival. In May, the slopes of the Geto-kogen ski area will be transformed into a 30-hole golf course, boasting some hills with 30-degree gradients. In Appi, the mountains will become a haven for hikers and climbers. At Hachimantai Resort, families will enjoy blossoms and the volcanic lakes of the Towada-Hachimantai National Park, setting up camp around the clear Lake Towada, swimming, canoeing, admiring the flowers, and avoiding the Asiatic black bears that have risen from their hibernation.
There is much reason to visit at any time of year. Yet despite the lack of blossoms, bears or golf courses, Tohoku in winter is worth its weight in snow.•
Photography by Mark Juddery and courtesy of Appi Kogen, Towada-Hachimantai National Park, Hanamakionsen spa resort and Ishiguro Samurai House.
