Beyond the Megacities, Uncovering Japan's Quieter Corners

Condé Nast Traveler

4 days ago

At Satoyama Jujo—a modern ryokan housed in a lovingly refurbished 150-year-old farmhouse in Niigata—the first ritual is the bath. As I lower myself into the open-air onsen, bounded by whispering trees, the setting sun paints the mountains in amber hues. Though just over an hour from Tokyo, this place feels a world away. Later, as evening deepens, I make my way to the nearby river where a flutter of fireflies performs a luminescent ballet.
After nearly two decades of calling Tokyo home, Japan continues to reveal itself to me in layers. The capital's labyrinthine sprawl—more a patchwork of village-like neighborhoods than monolithic metropolis—remains endlessly fascinating, with izakayas tucked into narrow alleys and century-old shops wedged between gleaming towers. But it was during the pandemic's forced stillness, when the borders shut for three years, that I began venturing deeper into Japan's peripheral spaces.
Previously, my work as a journalist had briefly dispatched me to Japan's distant prefectures—the island of Honshu's sake breweries in Yamagata and fishing villages in Miyagi—but I'd find myself rushing back to the capital before I could properly experience these places. These days, I've embraced being a tourist in my adopted country; lingering in ceramics villages where the potters eschew electricity, and discovering remote temples carved into mountainside cliffs. While Kyoto's famous temples groan under the weight of selfie sticks, these quieter corners offer something that feels genuine—and right now, in particular, feels like a perfect moment to explore them further.
Over the past few years, I've noticed a seismic shift in Japan's tourism landscape. Last year, the country welcomed a record 36.8 million international visitors. This momentum has continued into 2025, with over 10.5 million arrivals in the first quarter alone. During this period, foreign tourists spent ¥2.3 trillion (or $15 billion), up 28.4% from the same period last year.
The country is evolving to keep up with the demand. New rail extensions have eased access to places like Fukui, on the Sea of Japan coast, while future expansions will unlock more areas in Hokkaido and Tohoku. I've watched with interest as new hotels and design-forward ryokan blend traditional aesthetics with creature comforts in regions where finding a decent cup of coffee once felt like a quest.
Alongside these developments, small businesses have emerged to connect travelers with cultural experiences—craftspeople opening up their workshops, farmers offering culinary classes, and local guides creating bespoke itineraries. For communities facing population decline, tourism brings not just economic lifelines but something perhaps more valuable—renewed pride in cultural traditions that might otherwise fade into history.
Recently, I've sought out hidden gems like Yamanaka Onsen—a hot spring town renowned for woodworking and lacquerware—that had previously seemed just beyond reach. Thanks to the Hokuriku Shinkansen bullet train expansion last year, I found myself here in just two and a half hours from Tokyo. By day I spent an afternoon at a lacquerware atelier where a master craftsman guided a visiting artist through techniques refined over centuries. That evening, I slipped into Bar Engawa, where Yusuke Shimoki serves sake in locally crafted vessels behind a counter in a traditional house with doors featuring intricate wooden inlays. Throughout the town, a new generation of ryokan and shop owners is working to revitalize the area, creating events that showcase regional artisans alongside local cuisine—and launching a contemporary arts festival inside historic buildings.