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The Japanese region that time forgot

Life in Gifu has always been a little different than in the rest of Japan - bnoragitt
Life in Gifu has always been a little different than in the rest of Japan - bnoragitt

The first thing I notice about Kazuyoshi Watanabe is his hands. They’re blue, the colour strongest under his nails and around his cuticles, fading slightly as it reaches his fingers and covers his palms.

“It takes about three days for the blue to completely wash off your hands,” he tells us, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose with an indigo finger. “But nails are the worst – sometimes mine are still blue for a week after.”

Watanabe-san is the fifteenth-generation head of the Watanabe Dyeing Company, which has been using traditional ai-zome (Indigo) dyeing techniques here in Gujo Hachiman for centuries. He’s a thoughtful man, lean and balding, and only his nails and the rich blue haori coat he wears give a hint as to his profession.

It’s easier to spot the small details like that in Gifu prefecture, where the pace of life is as slow and gently flowing as the clear mountain water running in channels along the sides of Gujo’s streets. Though it’s under two hours from Tokyo and Osaka, a trip here feels like you’ve stepped back to an older Japan.

Gone are the neon signs and the toilets with seventeen buttons, and the skyscrapers are natural – five of Japan's ten highest mountains can be found in Gifu. The shopping is different, too, with many artisans now opening their workshops up to visitors. That’s why we’ve come: to explore the living traditions of Gifu’s crafts, starting with a visit to Watanabe-san’s shop.

Watanabe-san - Credit: Jonny Kram
Watanabe-san is the fifteenth-generation head of the Watanabe Dyeing Company Credit: Jonny Kram

“We’ve been dyeing things here for about 400 years,” he tells us, dipping a piece of fabric into a sunken pot in the shopfront, full of brackish green liquid. “In fact, these very pots were first filled in the Edo period.”

He picks up the cloth and sidles out of the shop to the street beyond, and we follow, trying to grasp the fact he’d so casually mentioned. He washes the freshly dyed cloth in the fast-flowing stream running past his shop, changing it almost instantly from greenish brown to deep, bright blue.

“This is all thanks to the natural blessings of the ai plant and Gujo’s oxygen-rich water,” he says. “Along with our traditional techniques, of course.”

Despite those natural blessings, the work of a craftsman is tough in the twenty-first century. Where there used to be 17 ai-zome shops on Gujo’s central street alone, today there’s only one in the whole Gifu prefecture. As we say goodbye to Watanabe-san, leaving the cool blue shades of his fabric-draped shop for the shimmering heat outside, I reflect on whether inviting tourists into their workshops isn’t just a way for struggling artisans to make a little extra money.

gifu - Credit: Jonny Kram
'A trip here feels like you’ve stepped back to an older Japan' Credit: Jonny Kram

“Well, perhaps a bit. But if your mind is on financial matters, honestly you’d be better off choosing another career,” Yukiyo Terada tells us later, laughing. “For me it’s more a feeling that I want to share my knowledge and spread interest in my craft.”

It’s the day after our visit to Watanabe-san, and we’ve headed south from Gujo Hachiman to Mino, where Terada-san runs her Mino-washi (Japanese paper) workshop. She’s wearing tracksuit bottoms and stripy socks with red toes and seems relaxed and happy in her work.

As we chat she sits at a large basin by the window, the rush of the continuously flowing spring water which fills it a soothing backdrop to our conversation. Her smooth hands work deftly in the water, painstakingly removing small imperfections from the bundles of soft mulberry bark from which the paper is made. One thumbnail is left longer than the other to make this work easier.

“This area is very rich in water – wherever you dig, it’ll spring up. Even just a short way away the water quality will be different, so that’s why I chose this place specifically.” She grins, looking up from her painstaking work. “And because the view is so good,” she gestures out beyond the large window onto farmland, fading into gentle hills then thickly wooded mountains.

Terada-san - Credit: Jonny Kram
Terada-san's smooth hands work deftly in the water Credit: Jonny Kram

For Terada-san, this work and this place were choices. She was born in Yokohama, a port city next to Tokyo, but felt a pull towards paper making, finally moving to Gifu to study Mino washi when she was 30 years old. Like many visitors to the prefecture, she was looking for a simpler way of living, where Japanese traditions were at the forefront.

Life in Gifu has always been a little different than in the rest of Japan, the impenetrable mountains at its heart forging a unique way of life. We’d seen glimpses of this during our time here: gazing out over the jagged, snow-dusted peaks of the Northern Alps from Mount Hotaka; exploring the smoky interiors of gassho-zukuri houses, their thatched roofs steeply pitched so they don’t collapse under the weight of each winter’s snow; eating delicately prepared mountain vegetables in sulphur-laden air at a hot-spring resort.

Though visitors today can enjoy a luxurious stay, there has always been a frisson of danger to this mountainous area. You can still visit samurai residences in Takayama, complete with secret traps and hiding places, and the area’s strategic location in the heart of Japan – combined with its rich natural resources – made it a centre of sword-making for centuries.

Seki Swordsmith Museum - Credit: Jonny Kram
Members of Kanefusa Fujiwara's family have been swordsmiths in Seki since the 13th century Credit: Jonny Kram

That tradition lives on today, though demand is now higher for knives and scissors than elegant katana blades. The city of Seki alone produces the vast majority of Japan’s cutlery, worth about ¥1 billion (over £7.2 million) every year.

At the Seki Swordsmith Museum we find ourselves sweating in the heat of a forge and I clumsily swing an enormous hammer over my head as a furnace blazes a few feet away. An elderly man is squatting by the anvil, holding the glowing piece of metal for me to strike. He’s dressed all in white to show his physical and spiritual purity, and has a grey beard and an intense focus.

This is Kanefusa Fujiwara the 25th, and gazing with equal seriousness at his work is his son, a tall man with short-cropped black hair. He is Kanefusa Fujiwara the 26th, of course. They both have strong, calloused hands, and with their sleeves rolled up you see dots and dashes of old burns latticing their forearms.

Members of their family have been swordsmiths in Seki since the 13th century, and in Kyushu before that. I imagine that legacy must be a heavy weight on a child, but the 26th Kanefusa Fujiwara shakes his head lightly when I ask him.

“I saw these swords being made right by the family home when I was a child, so for me it seemed natural,” he tells us. “It was aspirational, something I wanted to learn to do. And throughout Japan the number of swordsmiths is declining – not just among the traditional families, but in general. So if I can help pass on these traditions to the next generation, then I’m happy.”

This seems to be the case with everyone we’ve met in Gifu. There’s a desire to protect and preserve traditions, while moving with the times. Move the focus away from katana and onto kitchen knives and nail scissors – but keep that craft, share that expertise with people. Build roads and railways and ropeways, but protect the mysterious heart of the mountains and treasure the traditional architecture which kept people in this region safe and warm for generations.

The younger Fujiwara leads us over to a katana, the blade fine and beautiful, marked with a sinuous pattern which mimics the mountains ringing the horizon in Seki. The sword feels light and perfectly balanced, though as he tells us earnestly, “You lose a lot of material in production, so though it ends up being 900 grams, at the start it’s 6 or 7 kilos – like that hammer you used.”

Gifu - Credit: Jonny Kram
A gassho-zukuri house in Gifu Credit: Jonny Kram

While all that we’re learning is fascinating, and it helps us to appreciate the artistry behind Gifu’s stunning traditional crafts, ultimately, it’s the stories of the people working so hard to keep these traditions alive which stay with us. Whether they came to their work through ancient family lines or newfound interest, they all share a reverence and respect for what they produce. To be able to experience that as a visitor to Gifu is a truly enriching experience, a glimpse into the ancient traditions and ways of life which still shape Japan today.

How to do it

Air France offers flights to Tokyo and Osaka via Paris Charles de Gaulle from 9 departure points across the UK. Fares from London Heathrow start from £773 return (airfrance.co.uk).

Voyagin offers experiences of several traditional crafts in Gifu, including ai-zome, swordsmithing and paper-making (govoyagin.com).

The best way to get around Gifu prefecture is by bus; Nohi has the most comprehensive routes (nouhibus.co.jp).

The scenic Nagaragawa Railway links Seki, Mino and Gujo-Hachiman (nagatetsu.co.jp).

Takayama is a good base for exploring the area; Oyado Koto-no-Yume (from ¥20,000/£147 per night; kotoyume.com) is an excellent traditional ryokan. In the mountains, Hotakaso Sangetsu (from ¥38,000/£279 per night; okuhida-sangetsu.jp) is a good onsen hotel with easy access to the Shinhotaka Ropeway (shinhotaka-ropeway.jp).