Many customs in the Land of the Rising Sun have evolved in isolation

over centuries. Head to

its historic heartland to experience a beguiling

culture steeped in tradition

WORDS: Zoe McIntyre,

Chris Peacock & Sarah Barrell

M

A

D

E JapanI

NIM

AGES

: GET

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O

natgeotraveller.co.uk | National Geographic Traveller 6766 National Geographic Traveller | June 2016

It’s no fun being a geisha. By

‘normal’ teenage standards, at least,

it seems the definition of purgatory:

no Facebook, no French fries and sleeping for lim

ited hours a day with

your neck positioned on a wooden

takamakura block to protect your

hair, which m

ust remain set in the

weighty nihongam

i geisha style. It’s basically akin to sleeping on a brick w

earing a crash helmet.

Tomitsuyu doesn’t seem

to mind.

This m

aiko — a young, apprentice

geiko, Kyoto’s local version of a

geisha — is clearly brim

ming w

ith pride. A

nd well she m

ay. Kyoto

might be hom

e to Japan’s largest population of geisha but Tom

itsuyu is part of a dying tradition. T

he teahouses that train and house geisha are dw

indling in number,

and with the econom

y suffering and expense accounts being cut, the call for these esteem

ed — and

expensive — hostesses to entertain

salarymen and perform

traditional arts at high-profile cultural events has long been in decline.

A century ago, geisha num

bered in the tens of thousands; today, it’s thought there are only around 1,000 rem

aining. I’m in G

ion, one of K

yoto’s five hanamachi —

‘flower

districts’, or less poetically, geisha entertainm

ent zones. A sixth K

yoto hanam

achi closed recently due to lack of business, explains R

eiko Tom

imori, ‘m

other’ of Ochaya

Tomikiku teahouse. In a pioneering

if pragmatic break from

tradition, M

s Tomim

ori started welcom

ing foreign visitors and, in the case of young Tom

itsuyu, training Kyoto’s

only English-speaking m

aiko.“M

ost guests feel very happy they can speak to m

e in English,” says

Tomitsuyu dem

urely. “Usually, they

must speak through a translator

and it doesn’t feel very intimate.”

Tomitsuyu’s easy E

nglish loosens up the beautiful if stiff rigm

arole of the tea cerem

ony, while a clapping

game descends into pure giggling

IMAGES: GETTY; CHRIS PEACOCK

Type ‘Mizuno Tanrenjo phone book’

into YouTube and you’ll find an oddly satisfying video of som

eone cutting through tw

o phone books like they w

ere butter. The blade

being used is the product of more

than 600 years of knife-making

know-how

in the city of Sakai in O

saka, which has rightfully earned

a reputation for producing the w

orld’s sharpest knives.If ever there w

as a testament

to the quality of Sakai knives, it’s the fact that m

ore than 90% of

professional chefs in Japan use them

in their kitchens. According

to Sakai blacksmith Jun M

izuno, ow

ner of the Mizuno Tanrenjo

GE

T

TO

KN

OW

A

geisha

WI

TN

ES

S

TH

E

FO

RG

IN

G

OF

TH

E

WO

RL

D’

S

sharpest

blade

workshop, there are around 300

different Japanese kitchen knives, but if you count regional variations then there are as m

any as 1,000, designed for everything from

slicing sashim

i to filleting eels. M

izuno makes up to 15 knives

every week in his fam

ily-run shop, w

hich has forged blades since 1872. W

atching the rapid pace at which

he works is transfixing —

speed is of the essence w

hen working w

ith steel and iron —

and with all the

relentless work, heat and skill

involved in the manufacturing

process, I can understand why

his knives comm

and price tags of up to ¥900,000 (£

5,750).

A visit to the nearby Sakai C

ity Traditional C

rafts Museum

reveals the long history of these highly specialised knives, along w

ith an insight into the area’s other notable crafts such as incense, cotton rugs and cooked kelp. It’s here I m

eet m

aster knife sharpener Mr A

gioka, w

ho’s been perfecting his trade for m

ore than 60 years. As A

gioka points out, Sakai blades m

ight be expensive, but they’re forged to last a lifetim

e. CP

How

to do it: A

dmission to Sakai

City Traditional C

rafts Museum

is free. M

izuno Tanrenjo workshop

tours are by appointment.

mizunotanrenjo.jp

playground fun. I cast shy glances at Tom

itsuyu’s porcelain face and doll-like red lips; she is barely m

ore than playground age herself. M

aiko m

eans ‘dancing girl’ or ‘child’, and even if she’s com

e late to training thanks to her years living abroad, Tom

itsuyu can’t be more than 19.

There are four years left of her

five years of training — in singing,

dance, tea ceremony and m

usic —

before she graduates to full geiko status. In that tim

e she will receive

just a small allow

ance from her

earnings (for entertaining in the strict, not soliciting, sense, if you’re w

ondering), two days off a m

onth and tw

o weeks off a year to visit her

family. A

fter training, of course, the earnings can be sky-high.

Still, it’s a tough alternative to a university education. “T

he most

challenging thing,” says Tomitsuyu,

“is mastering the traditional

instruments —

the taiko drum, the

shamisen [sm

all guitar]. I want to

learn the flute next.” And then, w

ith a bow

, she’s gone, her long-sashed kim

ono disappearing around the door long after she has. SBH

ow to d

o it: Inside Japan offers a 14-night B

est Of Japan self-guided

tour from £

1,520 per person, including B

&B

accomm

odation, all transport, som

e meals and guides.

insidejapantours.com

Clo

ckw

ise from

top

left: G

eisha in traditional m

ake-up and kimono

in the Gion district of

Kyoto; Jun M

izuno, owner

of the Mizuno Tanrenjo

workshop, b

eating a piece of red-hot steel into the shap

e of a blad

e; Jun M

izuno inspecting an

early Sakai b

lade

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68 Nation

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IMAGES: GETTY; ZOE MCINTYRE

A chrom

e worktop is laden w

ith plates of m

arbled wagyu beef and

heaps of uniformly chopped lotus

roots. Wooden boards are piled

high with oozing eggs benedict,

stacks of butter-soaked pancakes and doughnuts drenched in pink icing. B

owls are overflow

ing with

noodles topped with fried eggs,

and tomato-slathered spaghetti

glistening with praw

ns. I’d be in gastronom

ic heaven but for one sim

ple fact: none of this food is real.D

espite the utensils, chopping boards and tem

pting cuisine, this is no professional kitchen, and the hurried w

orkers moving betw

een cooking stations are not actually chefs. It’s the w

orkshop of Iwasaki

Mokei (Sam

ple Village Iw

asaki) in G

ujo Hachim

an, a small riverside

town in G

ifu prefecture, which

holds the unique accolade of being Japan’s capital of fake food.

The story begins in 1932, w

hen Takizo Iw

asaki, inspired by one of

his wife’s om

elettes, began creating realistic w

ax food models, from

sushi and sashim

i to noodles and tem

pura, for restaurants to display in their w

indows. Iw

asaki’s faux food w

as an instant hit, and paved the w

ay for several other sampuru

(sample) w

orkshops in Gujo, w

hich today supplies 80%

of Japan’s now

ubiquitous model food.

Sample V

illage Iwasaki alone

caters to half of the country’s replica m

arket, and while som

e of its techniques and m

aterials have changed over the years —

plastic has largely replaced w

ax — one

thing has stayed the same: every

sampura is skilfully hand-m

ade by a trained craftsm

an and has to look like the real deal, or better.

Manager Seigo K

ozakai tells me

that the premise of replica food is

not just to look appetising but also to give custom

ers an idea of what’s

on offer, as well as quantity and

price. Imitation w

indow dishes

might be a convenient advertising

tool but on a deeper level, Kozakai

believes replica food is a distinctly Japanese cultural affair, tied to the country’s obsession w

ith the visual aesthetics of food.

Visitors to the Iw

asaki workshop

can attempt to m

aster the skills for them

selves, choosing one of three different sets to m

ake during a sam

puru masterclass. I opt for

tempura praw

ns and vegetables, plus a w

hole lettuce.

A large pair of glassy eyes are

staring back at me. T

hey belong to a character w

hose cutesy looks are off

set by an explosion-shaped speech bubble delivering an im

passioned harangue in a blitz of Japanese sym

bols.T

his is my attem

pt at manga

— Japan’s strain of cartoon com

ics that started as a geeky subculture

and has become a national

phenomenon, crow

ding

bookshops, newsstands, billboards

and television screens. T

he craze is captured perfectly at K

yoto’s International Manga

Museum

, where I’ve com

e for my

hands-on tutorial. The floorboards

of this former school groan under

the load of 300,000 comic books,

ranging from m

artial art fantasy to cop-and-robber capers.

Guided by a m

anga artist, I learn to build a plot through attention to detail. T

ight ruled lines indicate fast m

ovement, w

hile altering the shape of the fukidashi, or thought bubble, reflects a particular m

ood. W

e shine hair, plot spirals within

star-struck eyes and colour abstract backgrounds to create a proud addition to m

y collection. ZMH

ow to d

o it: A one-hour group

manga w

orkshop costs ¥1,000 (£

6.50) per person. kyotom

m.jp/english

I watch closely as m

y instructor Yoko blitzes through the process of drizzling w

ax into warm

water

in a zigzag pattern before topping it w

ith a prawn, rolling it up,

trimm

ing and plunging it into cold w

ater. It’s oddly satisfying watching

the crispy creation take shape in a m

atter of seconds by an expert w

ho honed her craft over a decade. M

y fumbling hands turn out

a baseball bat-shaped mess, w

hich looks odd com

pared to the perfectly form

ed battered shrimp next to it.

It doesn’t fill me w

ith confidence for the tem

pura veg, but each new effort

looks ever more accom

plished until I’m

ready to attempt a lettuce.

This turns out to be a far m

ore challenging process. I ladle a pool of w

hite wax on to the w

ater, to create the internal leaves, before adding a strip of green w

ax above it for the outer layers and pull the w

hole sheet down into the w

ater w

ith finger and thumb to create the

leafy pattern. Next, I roll the sheet

into a loose ball, cut it in half with

a hot knife and plunge it into cold w

ater to reveal vibrantly green and incredibly realistic layers of lettuce.

With a gesturing nod from

Yoko, I feel like I’ve m

ade a fair stab at sam

puru, but after looking at phoney food all m

orning, I’m now

desperate for the real thing. C

PH

ow to d

o it: A three-set class

costs Y1,200 (£

7.50) per person. iw

asakimokei.com

CR

EA

TE

YO

UR

O

WN

cartoon

MA

ST

ER

TH

E

AR

T

OF

faking

I

T

DE

SP

IT

E

AL

L

TH

E

TE

MP

TI

NG

C

UI

SI

NE

,

TH

IS

I

S

NO

K

IT

CH

EN

AN

D

TH

E

HU

RR

IE

D

WO

RK

ER

S

MO

VI

NG

BE

TW

EE

N

CO

OK

IN

G

ST

AT

IO

NS

A

RE

N

OT

AC

TU

AL

LY

C

HE

FS

Manga artist at the M

anga M

useum w

orkshop. O

pp

osite: P

lastic food dish in the disp

lay wind

ow

of a Japanese restaurant,

Honshu, K

anto region, Tokyo p

refecture

natgeotraveller.co.uk | Nation

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IMAGES: GETTY; ALAMY

A blanket of fresh snow

shimm

ers on m

oonlit streets framed by icy

stalactites. I watch the w

indow

scene through drooping eyelids and a haze of steam

while soaking

languidly in simm

ering waters.

Who knew

sharing a bath with

strangers could be so relaxing?A

s a volcanic archipelago blessed w

ith natural geothermal springs,

Japan has a passion for comm

unal baths, know

n as onsen, w

hich date back to antiquity. To sam

ple its pleasures m

eans staying in one of its ryokan

s, or country inns, that have served as resting places for w

eary travellers since the Edo

period of the 1600s.M

ine is in a far-flung spa village on the fringes of the castle city of M

atsumoto, gatew

ay to the Japanese A

lps. Reaching it involves clattering

through bucolic countryside on the regional railw

ay and then taking a bus to its discreet front entrance, behind w

hich guests decompress in

comfortable yukata robes.

My inhibitions take a little longer

to wash aw

ay. Am

id the low-slung

furniture of my suite, I fret over

the laminated guide to bathing

etiquette, which dictates a total

strip and a thorough bucket-water

pre-spa wash. T

iptoeing into the fem

ale pool, I’m relieved to find

only two other w

omen w

ill witness

my clum

sy ablutions.T

he rest of the evening is devoted to kaiseki —

a traditional dinner com

prising a series of exquisitely prepared sm

all dishes served in guests’ room

s. There’s beef cooking

on embers, tofu soup, buckw

heat noodles and tender pink sashim

i adorned w

ith seasonal flowers.

Morning brings an equally

delicious breakfast followed by

a rejuvenating dip. It’s a routine I could get used to. ZMH

ow to d

o it: Doubles at U

menoyu

ryokan cost from ¥13,000 (£

84) including breakfast and dinner. um

enoyu.com

It starts with a slow

, primal beat.

Eyes locked in concentration, a duo

play in unison with increasing

persistence. Those sitting on the

floor join in, leaning back with

abdominals strained as they pound

out booming rhythm

s. Hands blur

and faces contort as the routine reaches its thunderous crescendo. A

bruptly they stop with heaving

chests and a theatrical cry of “ya!”T

his is my terrifying introduction

to taiko — the Japanese drum

that beats like an ancestral echo from

the sixth century. Today, the taiko still reverberates across Japanese culture, beating tim

e for military

drills, political summ

its, religious cerem

onies and village fairs.“Its vibrations inspire your spirit,”

explains my instructor Isam

u, after recovering his breath. W

e’re standing in a studio in K

yoto where,

between perform

ances, Isamu and

his percussion troupe offer lessons to rookies like m

e. He hands m

e tw

o cosh-like wooden drum

sticks. “H

ere, you have a go.”M

y taiko is hip-high with a

barrel-shaped body grafted from

the trunk of a zelkova tree, chosen for its fortitude. “C

rafting a taiko

While w

e in the West m

ight start the day w

ith cereal, Japan wakes

up to a steaming pot of nourishing

miso. A

ccording to mythology, the

umam

i-rich soybean paste was

a gift from the gods to bring health

and longevity. Curious about this

ambrosial ingredient, I veer off the

tourist trail to visit Matsukam

e M

iso, a family-ow

ned miso factory

in the city of Okaya.

Miso m

aker Mr Furuta takes m

e on a tour of his plant, past piles of rice kernels and barrels brim

ming

with unctuous brow

n pulp. The

production of miso, he explains,

involves mixing koji —

a micro-

organism found in rice —

with

crushed soybeans, rice, salt and w

ater, which are left to ferm

ent.M

aking my ow

n miso involves

a lot of elbow grease, as I squelch,

punch and knead the mixture

before squeezing it into airtight containers. “First it m

ust ferment.

Then edible in six m

onths,” grins M

r Furuta — the paste is a sw

eet, yet salty, take-hom

e treasure of delayed gratification. ZMH

ow to d

o it: The m

iso experience costs ¥2,500 (£

16), Novem

ber to M

arch. matsukam

e-miso.co.jp

MA

KE

YO

UR

O

WN

miso

ST

RI

KE

A

taiko

drum

SP

LA

SH

OU

T

IN

A

N

onsen

is long,” Isamu tells m

e, “the wood

must first dry for five years, or the

drum m

ight crack.”I adjust m

y stance: legs apart, knees bent. A

fter the oroshi — a

sequence of rapid hits to signal the start of the perform

ance — w

e learn a 400

-year-old folk song called M

itsuchi. Isamu conveys the

sequence by pronouncing its beats phonetically: ‘don, don, doko doko, don don’ in a m

usical dialect handed dow

n through history.For an exhilarating hour, w

e hone our routine, m

aking it faster and m

ore complex. O

nly when w

e bow

to finish do I notice my w

rists throb and m

y fingers are trembling.

I’ve been gripped by the visceral thrill of playing this instrum

ent.I leave know

ing why taiko

drumm

ers are renowned for their

devotion to the art: it’s infectiously uplifting. You don’t just hear the taiko but feel it resonate through your entire body. A

nd that’s a feeling that lasts m

uch longer than the pain in your forearm

s. ZMH

ow to d

o it: A one-hour group

lesson at the Taiko Center costs

from ¥5,000 (£

32) per person. taiko-center.co.jp/english

Clo

ckw

ise from

top

left: M

aking miso soup; b

eating a taiko d

rum; K

urokawa

onsen pub

lic spa, K

yushu

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INJA

DOJ

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In a shadowy den, I’m faced with a stick-wielding warrior. Garbed in dark robes, he stands deadly still, as if preparing to pounce. After a dramatic pause he turns, lifts his fukiya blowpipe to his lips and spits a staccato breath that sends a deadly dart hurtling soundlessly through the air. Bullseye.

U N L E A S H

Y O U R I N N E R

ninja

This awesome warrior is Izo Ichikawa, a sixth-generation ninja and expert in the dark arts of his ancestors. He’s dedicated years to research and trained with Japan’s only remaining ninja clan member to pass on the covert code of these fabled assassins to new apprentices in his Kyoto-based dojo.

My hazy notion of ninja conjures up superhuman attackers from martial-arts movies. From Izo, I learn they have their origins in feudal Japan, when the ruling shoguns hired trained assassins and informants during the ‘warring states’ period of the 15th century. “Their mission was to keep peace and survive,” Izo explains.

Survival starts with channelling my inner strength in a meditation ritual, before we practise ninja

breathing rhythms and walking silently like a shadow. “The secret is not moving your hips,” Izo advises.

Tapping the dojo’s back wall, Izo reveals revolving doors, secret cupboards and two katana swords. Wrestling mine from its scabbard, I try to emulate Izo’s deliverance of a fatal blow with great enthusiasm but limited skill. We feint and shimmy to launch surprise attacks and hurl sharpened star-shaped shurikens to hit targets.

Training over, Izo shows me his prized collection of original ninja tools sourced from private sellers. I leave weapon-free, albeit armed with a new set of ninja tricks to help me fight another day. ZMHow to do it: A private one-hour lesson at Ninja Dojo costs ¥8,000 (£51). ninjadojoandstore.com

natgeotraveller.co.uk | National Geographic Traveller 75

J A P A N

IMAGES: GETTY; CAMELLIA TEA CEREMONY

Japan is no place for lace-up shoes, I realise, as I hop about on the doorstep of C

amellia teahouse.

My host K

eiko waits w

ith Zen-like

patience as I yank off my footw

ear. H

er powdered face is porcelain

smooth and she’s exquisitely robed

in an embroidered lilac kim

ono secured w

ith a brocade obi sash. W

ith a courteous bow and the

swish of a long silk sleeve, I’m

ushered upstairs to the enchanted realm

of the tea ceremony.

I’ve come to the ancient im

perial capital of K

yoto to experience the spiritual discipline of sado —

the W

ay of Tea. My ow

n brewing ritual

consists of dunking a perforated bag in boiling w

ater, but in Japan, the act of preparing tea is a highly choreographed art form

steeped in detail to refresh both body and spirit. W

hile a traditional tea cerem

ony can last for four hours, C

amellia offers an abbreviated

affair — far less daunting for

a bumbling novice like m

e.I’ve left behind the historic streets

of the Higashiyam

a neighbourhood, w

here picturesque wooden houses

wend their w

ay up to the hilltop K

iyomizu-dera tem

ple. Its central thoroughfare bustles w

ith artisan shops and sw

eet stalls selling sticky m

ochi rice cakes, but in the back streets you catch a glim

pse of old Japan, one of bam

boo-screened geisha houses and serene tearoom

s oblivious to the pace of life outside.

Inside, I’m struck by the beauty

of the dimly-lit, m

inimalist

chashitsu (tearoom). A

side from

a hanging calligraphy scroll and a ceram

ic vase containing a single sprig of blossom

, it’s entirely devoid of decoration. T

he grassy perfume

of the tatami m

ats blends with

a hint of incense hanging in the still, soundless air.

I follow K

eiko’s lead as she kneels on a cushion in front of m

e, toes

bowl im

bued with centuries of

etiquette. Gently, K

eiko talks me

through the protocol. I learn how

to hold the bowl and to turn it so

the decorative pattern faces my

host as a sign of gratitude. Then

finally I take a sip.T

he matcha has none of the bitter

astringency of the green tea I’ve previously experienced. T

he taste is feather-light and blissfully cream

y. “W

e visited all the tea houses in K

yoto to find the finest blend,” reveals K

eiko. When I’m

left with

the frothy dregs, one final ritual rem

ains: the slurp. “It’s a sign of appreciation to show

you enjoyed every sip,” she tells m

e. All I can do

in response is make a feeble gurgle

that runs counter to a lifetime of

preconceived table manners.

Before I leave, I ask K

eiko about the scroll on the w

all. “It means

‘appreciate the mom

ent’,” she says. It’s a fitting final w

ord from a w

orld of infinite w

isdom I can only hope

will inspire m

y tea-drinking habits back hom

e. ZMH

ow to d

o it: A 45-m

inute tea cerem

ony at Cam

ellia costs ¥2,000 (£

13) per person. tea-kyoto.com

tucked away neatly in seiza —

a position I can only im

itate for a few

minutes before m

y legs become

numb. She takes out a fan from

a fold in her robe and sets it dow

n in front of her. “It’s a w

ay of creating an im

aginary border between the

host and guests,” she tells me.

Various implem

ents lie before her: a tea caddy, ceram

ic bowls and

a heavy iron hearth where w

ater is heating. She rem

oves the lid of a lacquer pot to reveal the em

erald green pow

der of the matcha tea.

“Japan’s finest tea is grown in

Uji, 20 m

inutes from K

yoto,” she explains. “U

nlike bagged tea, we

drink directly the ground leaves. O

nly the most delicate buds are

selected for matcha.”

Matcha originated in C

hina, w

here Buddhist m

onks used it as a m

eans of fortifying themselves

during meditation. It w

as brought to Japan in the 13th century by the w

arrior elite, who held lavish

ceremonies in displays of pow

er and prestige.

But a shift occurred in the 16th

century, when influential tea m

aster Sen no R

ikyu promoted a m

ore profound set of values. H

is idea of w

abi-sabi was to find satisfaction

through restraint and appreciation of the im

perfect, which still

remains the guiding precept of the

ceremony today.

Keiko cleans her utensils before

spooning the matcha into a tea

bowl. H

er movem

ents are slow and

purposeful, and she achieves great elegance w

ith only the subtlest of gestures. Taking a long-handled scoop, she ladles steam

ing water

over the tea. “Not too hot or it

burns the leaves,” she advises. With

a bamboo w

hisk the concoction is w

hipped into a frothy lather and it’s ready to serve.

I’m distinctly on edge as I shuffl

e forw

ards to accept the steaming

TA

KE

tea

TH

E

TR

AD

IT

IO

NA

L

WA

Y

From

top

: Cam

ellia tea cerem

ony; green tea and utensils for Jap

anese tea cerem

ony

MY

O

WN

B

RE

WI

NG

RI

TU

AL

C

ON

SI

ST

S

OF

D

UN

KI

NG

A

B

AG

IN

B

OI

LI

NG

W

AT

ER

,

BU

T

IN

J

AP

AN

,

TH

E

AC

T

OF

P

RE

PA

RI

NG

TE

A

IS

A

H

IG

HL

Y

CH

OR

EO

GR

AP

HE

D

AR

T F

OR

M S

TE

EP

ED

IN

D

ET

AI

L

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Nowhere is the marriage of Japan’s culinary traditions and its sense of aesthetic more evident than in the decorative world of wagashi. For hundreds of years, Japanese confectioners have produced sweets of incredible beauty, typically made from plant-based ingredients such as mocha (rice cake), adzuki bean paste and fruits, and served in tea ceremonies. And as with so many ancient Japanese customs, wagashi is deeply connected to the seasons with ingredients, colours, shapes and tastes designed to reflect change and the passing of time.

“Wagashi sweets change according to nature, the weather and the different tea ceremonies performed throughout the year,”

explains Daisuke Hayashi, the sixth-generation owner of Okinaya Sohonpo Co, a 150-year-old family-run sweet shop in Gifu. “There are sweets to represent every season,” he says, “as well as important celebratory events such as birthdays and weddings.”

Hayashi begins our one-on-one wagashi workshop by talking me through the three main categories: namagashi, han-namagashi and higashi. Namagashi are soft and delicate hand-crafted confections, freshly made and often reflecting seasonal plants such as autumnal mocha-wrapped chrysanthemums. Han-namagashi are slightly drier sweets that remain fresher for longer, including yokan, a bar of jellied red-bean paste, sugar and agar. Finally, higashi are made only with sugar and rice flour, typically pressed into dry moulds, emerging in flamboyant flowery shapes.

To each sweet, a series of techniques is applied, from baking and jellying to steaming, pressing and rolling. And not only must the final product reflect the season, but it should also have an impact on each of our five senses, explains Hayashi. Firstly, wagashi must

be aesthetically appealing and possess a delicate sweetness to counterbalance the bitterness of green tea. The importance of touch comes through the appreciation of different textures in the hand and palette while offering a subtle, fragrant smell. Finally, wagashi typically have elegant poetic names, often taken from classic Japanese literature and lyrical tales.

Hayashi makes the process look deceptively simple, creating beautiful iris and chrysanthemum flowers from arrowroot dough, rice flour and a multi-coloured bean paste ball known as kinton, but it’s an exquisite skill that’s taken him 20 years to perfect.

What’s more, despite changing customs, attitudes and appetites, he remains confident this ancient tradition will live on for decades to come. “Young people are starting to become interested in wagashi and traditional tea ceremonies,” he tells me proudly, and no doubt with a hint of relief. “It reminds them of family occasions while giving a sense of tradition.” CPHow to do it: A two-hour wagashi workshop costs ¥3,000 (£19) per person. okinaya-sohonpo.com

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Clockwise from top left: Wooden wagashi sweet moulds at the Okinaya Sohonpo Co sweet shop in Gifu; a selection of handmade namagashi sweets; wagashi making class at Okinaya Sohonpo Co

natgeotraveller.co.uk | National Geographic Traveller 79

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In 2014, washi, Japan’s traditional handmade paper, was added to UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage list. The award was a boon to the skilled artisans who maintain the tradition, but for many Japanese people it merely confirmed a fact they’ve long known — that for more than 1,000 years, washi has been one of the world’s finest papers.

Washi is the result of a long, complex process that begins with the soaking of raw materials — typically gampi tree bark or kozo (paper mulberry). Traditionally, washi paper has been used not only for letter writing and books but also for decorative arts and home interiors.

One of the most highly prized types of washi is produced in the mountain-fringed city of Mino, whose paper-making history can be traced to the eighth century — a single A2 sheet of Mino paper can cost more than ¥2,000 (£12).

Visitors to the Mino-Washi Museum can try their hand at traditional paper making. Each move must be exact, but the result is a beautiful material designed to stand the test of time. CPHow to do it: Entrance to the Mino-Washi Museum and a washi making lesson costs Y1,000 (£6.50) per person. mino-city.jp

When an ambitious wine merchant set about creating Japan’s first ever premium whisky in the early 1920s, everyone said it couldn’t be done. How could it compete with the great malts and blends of Scotland, Ireland or Kentucky? But by 1937, Shinjiro Torii had succeeded in creating a quality domestic liquor at his Suntory Yamazaki distillery in Kyoto that would more than match the world’s best.

Fast forward a few decades and Suntory’s firewater has not only

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been embraced by whisky-lovers the world over but won countless global awards, from its frequent ‘Distiller of the Year’ accolades at the International Spirits Challenge to the honour of best whisky on the planet in Jim Murray’s Whisky Bible. The brand even received an endorsement from Bill Murray’s forlorn movie star in Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation.

You can see what all the fuss is about with a tour and tasting session at the sprawling Yamazaki distillery. Witness all the stages of malting, mashing, distillation and cask ageing, and peruse its whisky library of more than 7,000 unblended malts, before heading to the tasting bar for a well-earned dram of Yamazaki’s 25-year-old single malt. CPHow to do it: An 80-minute distillery tour and tasting costs Y1,000 (£6.50) per person. suntory.com/factory/yamazaki

Seiichi Koshimizu, chief blender at Suntory Yamazaki whisky distillery. Above: Making traditional washi paper at the Mino-Washi Museum

Chris flew with Finnair from Heathrow to Tokyo via Helsinki. finnair.com

Zoe flew with Cathay Pacific from Heathrow to Tokyo via Hong Kong. cathaypacific.com

Japanese arts and crafts workshops can also be booked independently via the Japan External Trade Organization (JETRO) website. jetro.go.jp

seejapan.co.uk

80 National Geographic Traveller | June 2016

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