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Condé Nast Traveler
3 days ago
- Lifestyle
- Condé Nast Traveler
Going Off-Grid in Japan's Uncrowded, Otherworldly Goto Islands
This is part of Uncovering Japan, a collection of stories that spotlight the lesser known gems that belong on your Japan itinerary, offering everything from a wellspring of local craft and a vibrant street-food culture to traditional wellness. Read more here. It's so stormy and rough when I walk onto the tarmac of Fukuoka Airport that my umbrella is blown inside out, and I wonder whether my flight will even take off. Once onboard I nervously buckle up, and we take off into an uninviting sky. But just 20 minutes into our 40-minute flight from Fukuoka to Fukue—the largest and most populated of Japan's Gotō Islands, population 38,000—the skies clear. When the small twin-propeller DHC-8-400 dips its wings to start its descent, shafts of sunlight beam down and I catch my first glimpse of this fabled, subtropical Japanese archipelago, also called the Islands of Prayer. It's fitting for the moment, since I was uncharacteristically pleading with the gods at takeoff. Strewn below, towering green peaks rise from the choppy but shimmering Sea of Japan. There are lush swaths of forests, wind-bent palms, isolated golden-sand beaches, and basalt coves and sleepy ports peppered with bobbing boats and wooden fishermen's shacks. In recent years the Gotō Islands have drawn urban transplants from Osaka, Tokyo, and Fukuoka who are seeking a more relaxed pace of life, in tune with the rhythms of nature. The result has been new cafés, izakaya, galleries, and inns across the area. But the Gotō Islands are not just a picturesque destination for visitors seeking reinvention; they've served as a cultural bridge to cosmopolitan mainland Asia ever since they became a sanctuary from insular Edo-era Japan in the 1600s. From the trail's lookout spot, the treeless and green Mount Onidake looks perfectly symmetrical, like its summit was lobbed off by a giant samurai sword. It's just one of 11 monogenetic basalt volcanoes and last erupted 18,000 years ago, but like so many volcanic landscapes I've been to, the energy of the land was alive and palpable. To really decipher the Gotō Islands requires understanding two things: their history and geography. Located just 50 miles off Japan's southwest coast in Kyushu's Nagasaki prefecture, Fukue is the largest of the 150-plus islands and home to their biggest port and city (just 146 miles west of Jeju Island, South Korea). It's 200 miles closer to Shanghai than Tokyo, and it and the other four inhabited Gotō islands have their own volcanic, subtropical flavor that's like nothing else in the Land of the Rising Sun. Fukue, the biggest island of the subtropical Gotō archipelago, has many Christian religious historic sites dating to the 1600s. Naoki Ishikawa The island is now home to around 50 Christian churches, many of which were granted UNESCO World Heritage status in 2018. Naoki Ishikawa When Japan banned Christianity in 1614 at the dawn of the Edo era, persecuted devotees, both Japanese and foreign, sought refuge in these far-flung islands. Over the years a network of hidden Christian sites emerged, and today Fukue is home to around 50 Christian churches, some of which received UNESCO World Heritage status in 2018. But don't think for a minute the islands are not Japanese; there are also numerous Shinto shrines, Buddhist temples, and plenty of izakaya and Japanese minka (farmhouses)—all things I love about Japan that have kept me coming back to the country for the last 15 years. Long before the Edo era, the Gotō archipelago was an important stop for the maritime traffic of China, Korea, and Japan between the seventh and ninth centuries during China's golden-age Tang dynasty. Back then, Japan's political and cultural envoys to prosperous China would stop on the island of Fukue before crossing the threshold onto the Asian continent. And new ideas from Asia would first land here: Japan's famous eighth-century-born priest Kukai (Kōbō Daishi) was one such passerby; he founded the Shingon school of Japanese Buddhism, which helped spread the religion to Japan. A statue of him can be found on Kashiwazaki Cape on the north shore, and in 806 CE he is said to have visited Myojoin Temple in Gotō City, the oldest wooden structure on the island and prized for its ceiling decorated with 121 paintings of flowers and birds. Shops along the street sell all manner of Gotō specialities, from local sweet potato mochi and local camellia oil especially prized across Japan to yuzu salt and flying-fish dashi stock. Like Kukai, I was only passing through. I spent three nights in Gotō, a decent amount of time to visit the main island of Fukue, though you could easily spend a week or more. For the first night I stayed in Fukue's biggest city, which was renamed Gotō in 2004, after Fukue port merged with the towns of Kishiku, Miiraku, Naru, Tamanoura, and Tomie. Just across from the port where the 30-minute long jetfoil ferries from Nagasaki drop passengers is the Goto Tsubaki Hotel, an ideal spot to get a lay of the land. Unlike many of Japan's small towns on the mainland, densely packed with historical buildings, Gotō's sites are scattered across the island. Naoki Ishikawa A short walk from the hotel took me to Ishida Castle, one of the last castles built in Japan, completed in 1863. Only its gate and moss-covered fortified walls remain, and the site now houses the Gotō Municipal High School, a cultural center, Gotō's tourism office, and a public library, all located within the former castle's walls. Next door is the former Lord Gotō Residence, a traditional house built in 1861 with tatami mats, fusuma sliding doors, a Japanese garden, and a pond shaped into the Chinese character for 'heart' (心) designed by Zensho, a Kyoto monk.
Condé Nast Traveler
3 days ago
- Business
- Condé Nast Traveler
On Japan's Rural Coast, One Sleepy Town's Locals Are Vying For the Megacities' Travelers
This is part of Uncovering Japan, a collection of stories that spotlight the lesser known gems that belong on your Japan itinerary, offering everything from a wellspring of local craft and a vibrant street-food culture to traditional wellness. Read more here. There is a small and rather unremarkable city of 30,000 people in one of Japan's rather unremarkable prefectures, located around three hours due north by train from Kyoto, called Obama. It would have remained that way were it not for something strange and serendipitous that happened in 2008: On the other side of the planet, the United States elected a president who shares his name with the oft-forgotten destination—an event that would unbury this little burg from its hardened obscurity. The town of Obama is located three hours north of Kyoto and stretches out into the Sea of Japan. William Sean Brecht Obama, in Japanese, roughly translates to 'little beach'—a fitting moniker for a city that yawns along a protected cove facing the northerly Sea of Japan. And when American political happenstance lent its name new relevance, its citizens came up with a plan to capitalize on their good fortune—not only to stoke the embers of tourism but to give their home a fighting chance of staving off the depopulation that has plagued many of the country's minor metropolises. Without the glittering towers of Tokyo, or the palaces and pagodas of Kyoto, Obama couldn't necessarily leverage its attractions, new or old. So locals made a bold bet on another cultural currency: its people. While soft smiles and polite words are the signature aspect of the Japanese hospitality experience, visitors can find it hard to pierce the veneer of 'omote'—an outward facing polish that can prove to be a major hindrance to the deeply connective experience many of us travelers crave. But this is not the case in Obama, where its citizens are focused on nurturing more genuine relationships with foreigners, duly inviting them into the fold. Without the glittering towers of Tokyo, or the palaces and pagodas of Kyoto, Obama couldn't necessarily leverage its attractions, new or old. So locals made a bold bet on another cultural currency: its people. And the wager is starting to pay off. With a soaring number of tourists—emboldened by the feeble yen—Japan's conduits of connectivity are already becoming clogged with the steadily accruing crowds. As a visitor, suddenly I craved the Japan I had discovered 20 years ago in my teens, and by the recommendation of a friend, I soon found myself at a rather unremarkable train station on a cold, snowless night late last December. Via MyTownObama, the author visited with geishas not for traditional dancing or shamisen playing; instead they talked for hours. Brandon Presser Obama's last remaining okiya, or geisha house, is inhabited by three generations who trained in Kyoto's illustrious hanamachi districts. William Sean Brecht I had arranged through MyTownObama for a locally based guide to pick me up, and not long after, we were ringing the doorbell of Obama's last remaining okiya, or geisha house, which is inhabited by three generations of these entertaining artisans. Although the grandmother of the house had retired, she briefly entered the salon in her house clothes to offer me an orange. Her daughter and granddaughter, both dressed in brilliant autumnal-themed robes, had trained in Kyoto's illustrious hanamachi districts, though there was no traditional dancing or shamisen playing tonight. Instead we talked for hours—no-holds-barred conversations that started with questions about life as a geisha before evolving into heated discussions about everything from favorite K-pop artists to post-Obama-era (the president this time, not the city) politics. Despite the late night I rose early the next morning to watch a fleet of fishing vessels bring in the latest catch and fill an entire depot with styrofoam boxes of crab, squid, and fish. Long ago, the fishermen explained, there existed what was called the saba-kaido, or mackerel highway, where local traders moved seafood from the port in which I stood across the mountain passes and down to feed the nobles in capital city Kyoto. This was also the channel through which many of Japan's major influences, including Buddhism, are thought to have reached the country's seat of power. Archaeological evidence proves that local merchants were trading with China as early as 300 CE; the elaborate pavilions Myotsu-ji temple complex were built contemporaneously with Kyoto's most storied—and most visited—places of worship, though you would never know it, as I had the entire campus to myself. The friendly abbot, on his break, walked me through. Fukui Hakusan Heisenji is in a valley an hour and a half north of us, about a 20-minute drive east of Fukui city. It's a great stopping-off point on the way into or out of Obama and/or as a day trip from Obama. William Sean Brecht Even today Obama is always looking beyond its borders. A walk down its main commercial streets will reveal a French-style bakery where staff serve the best croissants this side of the Pacific; a Thai restaurant that spins a mean curry (but only until 9:30 p.m., when the owner gets into his pajamas and crawls into bed upstairs); a chic vintage-eyewear boutique where the manager will let you try on every frame in the store; and an impossibly cool leathersmith who uses European techniques to craft one-of-a-kind wallets and satchels. He'll also brew you a thick cup of java from his proprietary batch of African shade-grown beans, if you ask nicely.
