Aizu-Wakamatsu in Fukushima Prefecture embodies the spirit of Japan's legendary samurai, with towering castles, ancient shrines and blacksmiths where samurai swords were forged.
Aizu-Wakamatsu in Fukushima Prefecture embodies the spirit of Japan's legendary samurai, with towering castles, ancient shrines and blacksmiths where samurai swords were forged.
In the mountains of Fukushima Prefecture, the spirit of Japan’s legendary samurai is still very much alive, writes Julian Ryall.
It is evident in towering castles and ancient shrines, in blacksmiths where the gracefully curved swords of these warriors were once forged, in tea houses and the schools where future generations of samurai were taught.
And the code by which these men lived is still encouraged in the people of Aizu-Wakamatsu, the domain of the Aizu clan from 1601 until the abolition of the feudal lords system in 1871. For those 270 years, the sons of samurai were instructed to live by eight cardinal rules, including never bullying anyone, obeying one’s elders and never being cowardly.
The most fundamental rule was for an aspiring samurai to have “gi”, which can be translated as a drive to do what is right.
Today, signposts dotted throughout this attractive town echo those qualities, calling on the descendants of local samurai to live by a similar code of ethics, including being polite, respecting one’s elders, working hard and being brave in the face of adversity.
Critically, residents are still reminded to know good from bad and always take the correct path.
There is a popular misconception that samurai were solely the elite warriors of their age; in truth, they were raised to be appreciative of culture, the arts and knowledge. They practised calligraphy and poetry, they studied etiquette and astronomy, mathematics and medicine, they learned restraint and respect.
The fundamental rule for aspiring samurai was to have "gi", roughly translating to a drive do what is right, and this code of ethics is still encouraged in the people of Aizu-Wakamatsu today.
On the outskirts of Aizu-Wakamatsu is Nishinkan, one of only a handful of schools for the sons of samurai that still exist in Japan today. Originally built adjacent to Tsuruga Castle, the school was faithfully replicated at its present location nearly 40 years ago, with the inner courtyard dominated by the Taisei-den, a shrine dedicated to the worship of Confucius.
Classrooms form the other three sides of the courtyard, dominated by an arc-shaped pond. And while this was where aspiring samurai expanded their minds, the outer square of buildings was where they learned the skills that would help them in battle.
Directly alongside the South Gate is a long room where students learned kendo as a precursor to being a proficient swordsman, while an outside range was where students studied rudimentary firearms. The complex also includes a pond that was the first purpose-built swimming pool in Japan, where young men learned how to swim in full armour and to perfect “nihon-eiho”, the unique strokes that permitted them to swim silently.
Archery was also an important part of the syllabus, with visitors to Nishinkan also able to test their skills on a range. But there is much more to this discipline than simply loosing an arrow towards a target.
Takahiro Iwasawa has been practising traditional “kyudo,”,or Japanese archery, for 15 years, with each session starting with a time honoured-ritual. In a white smock and with his bow held firmly in one hand and arrows in the other, Iwasawa bows to a small shrine high up on the wall of the training room before turning stiffly and stepping towards the targets. He sinks to his knees, all the while holding his weapons tight by his hips, and bows until his head almost touches the floor.
Archery, specifically traditional Japanese archery or "kyudo", was an essential part of samurai training, and visitors to Nishinkan can test their skills on a range.
With the gods duly acknowledged, he swiftly notches and fires a volley of five arrows unerringly into the target. When I am given the chance to do the same – after a far more awkward nod to the gods – my arrows fly everywhere except towards the target I was pretty sure I was aiming at. “Kyudo” is significantly more difficult than it looks.
The Nanokamachi district is in the north of the low-rise sprawl of Aizu-Wakamatsu, with a main street that still has buildings that hark back to its history. One of the most striking is Shibukawa Tonya, which prospered as a wholesaler of dried marine products in the 1880s. Transformed into a restaurant, it specialises in local Aizu cuisine, including “kozuyu” soup, dried herring and excellent horse sashimi. All best accompanied by one of Fukushima’s superb sakes.
Aizu cuisine.
A few metres from the front door of the restaurant is Amida-ji Temple, where a huge bronze bell hangs beneath a steeply pitched roof. Alongside is an elevated patch of land with three mature cherry trees. This is the mass grave for the last 1000 warriors of the Aizu clan, which was finally defeated by the government forces in 1868, bringing to an end the Boshin War.
Nearby are the premises of Tsutsumi Production, which forged the finest sword blades in the region for 400 years until the wearing of swords was banned by the government in 1876. Forced to redirect its skills in a different direction, the company today produces high-end farming and gardening implements.
In a firm nod to its past, however, visitors can use a blacksmith’s traditional tools – a white-hot fire and a heavy hammer – to transform a rod of steel into a replica of a samurai sword, although at just 20cm long, it is better suited for opening letters than decapitating an enemy.
Samurai were also expected to master the intricacies and traditions inherent in the tea ceremony, with the lord of the domain ordering the creation of a villa surrounded by parkland, ponds and, inevitably, a tea house, close to the castle. The lord subsequently started growing medicinal herbs in the garden, such as ginseng, as importing such precious medicines from abroad, primarily China and the Korean Peninsula, was expensive.
The garden became known as Oyakuen, which literally means “medicinal garden”, and is now listed as an important national asset.
The highlight of the garden is the unusually spacious tea house, on the bank of the pond and surrounded by pine trees.
Ichiro Miyazaki is a master of Urasenke, one of the main schools of the Japanese tea ceremony and directly descended from Sen no Rikyu, who is credited with having the greatest influence on the “Way of Tea”.
Carefully, deliberately, Miyazaki uses a tiny bamboo spoon to scoop green powder out of a caddy and into a deep bowl. He then uses a ladle fashioned from a length of bamboo from an earthenware pot sunk into the tatami-mat floor to transfer boiling water to the bowl. Using a whisk of split bamboo, he whips the two together into a thick, dark green drink.
The bowl is solemnly passed to his left and the ritual continues. The first guest is required to bow to the bowl as it sits on the tatami mat, then pick it up with both hands, one on the side and one on the base. The bowl must then be admired, turned clockwise a short way twice. And only then may the guest sample the tea. After a few mouthfuls, the bowl is gently put on the tatami once again, a tissue is used to wipe the rim and the bowl is passed to the next guest.
Between sips, guests are encouraged to sample locally produced sweets and compliment the tea master on the beauty of the implements he uses for the ceremony. As the snow falls soundlessly on the garden, there is a genuine sense of serenity.
The very first Tsuraga Castle was constructed in 1384, culminating in an imposing seven-storey fortification, surrounded by moats and thick defensive walls, which was completed in 1593. Less than 20 years later, the castle was badly damaged in a major earthquake. Civil war took its toll on the fortress and, when the feudal lords were finally defeated by the Meiji government, they ordered that it be demolished.
The present five-storey donjon was rebuilt in the 1960s and is approached along a lane that is flanked by cherry trees that are spectacular in the brief blossom season in early spring. Visitors must cross a bridge and pass between stone walls several metres thick that served as the outer defences.
The main tower is set amid gardens that are popular for picnickers when the cherry blossoms are out, while the outside of the structure is illuminated in a spectacular light show at night. Within the tower is a small but impressive museum detailing the history of the castle and some of the lords who used it as the source of their power.
From the uppermost level, visitors can step out onto a balcony and admire the view across the town and to the surrounding snow-clad mountains.
Fukushima is renowned in Japan for its “onsen”, hot spring baths, and there are few better places to enjoy this very Japanese pastime than Ookawaso, a luxurious hotel in the nearby mountains that will be recognised by fans of Japanese cinema as the “Infinity Castle” in the 2020 movie Demon Slayer.
Shimogo, Fukushima.
Built on a sheer-sided gorge with a tumbling river, the lobby of the hotel resembles a three-dimensional labyrinth of stairs, elevated walkways above a fast-flowing stream, the facade of a tea house and, at its centre, a stage where new arrivals are welcomed by a kimono-clad musician playing a shamisen.
The venue is also a favourite of Tetsuro Shimaguchi, founder of the samurai artist troupe Kamui and widely recognised as the foremost samurai fight choreographer in the world today. Shimaguchi shot to international fame after being hired by Quentin Tarantino to devise the combat scenes in Kill Bill: Volume 1 and then train the actors in how to perform the required moves.
Shimaguchi and his fellow fighters move with elegance and lightning speed to weave a tale of honour and anger, love and respect. Their long swords may be blunted for the performance, but the balletic shifts and leaps, the broad sweeps and thrusts that they perform would have given samurai an advantage in battle.
Shimaguchi invites onlookers to take to the stage for a crash course in samurai skills, and it is clear moves he makes look simple are anything but.
He has also brought along a 300-year-old samurai sword – he cautions me not to touch the blade – that even to these untutored hands has balance and heft. This is the work of a master craftsman and, in the hands of the initiated, a fearsome weapon.
Shimaguchi says he is committed to preserving and perpetuating the way of life of samurai, and insists that their philosophy is just as valuable today as it was in centuries gone by.
