Day Four & Five: Kanazawa

Kyoto Without the Tourists

I’ve learnt that there’s a reason Kanazawa looks like Kyoto: it also avoided the WWII bombs. So all the Edo-era bridges, houses, temples, and Geisha districts remain, but on a more walkable scale than Kyoto.

Our rented apartment was near one of those Geisha districts, and our front door was separated from the street by a small stream. It was a cold but sunny morning as we wandered past the teahouses and arrived for a tour of the famous ‘Ninja Temple.’ There are 70 temples in Kanazawa’s temple district, but this one is a level above the rest. Its actual name is 妙立寺 Myoryuji, but people call it Ninja Temple because it used to be a secret military outpost, complete with trapdoors, hidden staircases, and pitfalls. In the Edo era, the Tokugawa shogunate ruled the land, but feared uprisings from local lords. One of their closest rivals was the Maeda clan who ruled Kanazawa. The shogunate banned buildings over a certain height, so that only the shogunate could show off their power with tall buildings, and restricted how many samurai warriors the Maeda could own.

The Ninja Temple broke all these rules. From the outside, it looked like it had four floors, but secret staircases hidden behind closet doors and trapdoors led up to seven floors! There was even a hidden watchtower at the top, which was thoroughly illegal, and the water well in the centre of the temple had tunnels that led to Kanazawa Castle. There were secret rooms to house all Maeda’s extra samurai, and even a trick staircase that appeared to switch directions, confusing any pursuers. But there were also more bloody additions to the temple. The offering box where people toss in a coin and pray to Buddha doubled as a lethal pitfall. The entrance stairs were lined with paper and lit from above, so that warriors could wait underneath for people’s shadows to fall on the paper, then spear their feet. Chillingly, there was even a designated seppuku room. Seppuku is the infamous samurai tradition of honourable suicide. Lords and samurai would do it in the face of defeat, along with their wife and children. This room had four tatami mats, because the number four (し) sounds like ‘death’ in Japanese, and only opened from the outside. Once you were in there, there was no going back. It was a fascinating temple, but I found myself very glad that I didn’t live in such a harsh era. 

However, our time in the Edo era was far from over. Our next stop was Kanazawa’s teahouse district, where the geisha used to entertain (and still do today, although unfortunately we didn’t spot them!) The old townhouses with their wooden facades looked just like the ones in Kyoto, and inside were fancy shops that sold everything from delicate pottery to gold-leaf face masks. I also noticed how young and trendy the crowd was. In Fukushima, I’m surrounded by kids, parents and grandparents. Here we were flanked by couples in their twenties, and I realised how long it’d been since I’d been around people my own age. 

After buying up the local sake and eyeing the hour-long queues for ice cream, we decided to find a traditional sushi lunch. Ishikawa is famous for its fresh seafood, and our search took us through Omicho fish market 近江町市場, which was jam-packed with fish stalls, crates with crabs that were twice the size of my head, and sea urchins that you could eat on the spot. We ended up in a sushi restaurant on a backstreet, where I had the most delicious seafood I’ve ever eaten. The seared salmon was juicy and melted in my mouth, and even the fish eggs were tasty. Messages in dozens of languages covered the walls, along with photos from Germans, the Dutch, Italians and Americans. This place was famous, and for good reason.

With sushi checked off, our next goal was Kanazawa’s famous gold-leaf (金箔) ice cream, but minus the hour-long queues. Kanazawa produces over 99% of Japan’s gold leaf, which is why you can find gold-everything here. We found a quiet place that sold it for 300円; I got matcha and vanilla. You couldn’t taste the gold-leaf, but the ice cream was delicious! I also somehow managed to get gold stuck to my lips.

And now for a step up from the Edo era: Kanazawa’s 21st Century Art Museum. I’m not much of an art museum person. I like doing art and viewing traditional art, but modern stuff throws me a bit. Still, this place had some interesting concepts, such as a collection of pictures of bento boxes that a Japanese father had modelled on his kids’ drawings, and a 3D wooden temple that included its own reflection. My favourite part was probably the outdoor telephone ‘tubes,’ where you shout down one and your friend hears you on the other side of the grounds (yes, I’m a child). Oh yes, I shouldn’t forget to mention the art exhibit in the men’s bathroom. It wasn’t in the women’s one, so my friends had a peak when no one was there. 

By now it was heading for evening, and I couldn’t resist dragging my friends over to the shrine I’d been eyeing all afternoon. I took one look at the food stalls, the constant drumming, and a line of red torii gates, and knew I couldn’t miss it. It turned out to be the oldest shrine in Kanazawa. Ishiura Shrine 石浦神社was first built in the 700s and is famous for love matchmaking. We found it deserted as dusk fell; the stallholders were chatting amongst themselves, the drums kept going from within the shrine, and there were three tables of sake bottles with a sign saying: ‘free sake’. Free sake! Not ones to turn down free alcohol, we helped ourselves to a cup, said “kampai” (cheers), and toasted to our friend Youki’s birthday. Since it was her birthday, Youki decided to get an omikuji (お神じ), which told her fortune. She got good luck! With the background noise of the drums and the lanterns beginning to glow as it grew dark, this shrine felt magical. 

That evening, we enjoyed a dinner of Sri Lankan curry and managed to scrabble together a cake and candles for Youki. We couldn’t find a cake anywhere, so I had the idea of buying individual slices of cake and sticking them together. As for the candles, we managed to get them from a shop whose gate was already half shut! Overall, I think it was a success. We drank the local sake we’d bought and played card games until the early hours. The next day, I woke up feeling a bit worse for wear, but we had to be up and out the door. It was our last morning in Kanazawa.

The last day of our trip was the sunniest and warmest. I found myself wishing I’d worn a summer dress as we walked to the gardens in growing humidity. On our way, we passed a few jazz performers; their music competed with the throb of summer insects. Kenrokuen Gardens is one of the Three Great Gardens of Japan (yes, capital letters are required.) The Maeda clan constructed it over a period of 200 years, and it opened to the public in the 1800s. We strolled over stone bridges, up to rocky viewpoints, and gazed over the lake at the serene teahouse. Flowers bloomed everywhere, and golden koi circled the ponds. We also found Japan’s oldest fountain, which was powered by nothing but the drop in elevation from the lake. Some of its tranquillity was lost on me because it was quite crowded, but it was beautiful to visit under sunny skies. On our way out we dropped by Kanazawa Castle and walked along its high castle walls. The city lay below us in a thrum of traffic and people, and a bird of prey swooped above it all. 

Our five-day road trip had been a crazy mix of adventures. From the peaks of Toyama to the stormy Noto peninsula and young, trendy Kanazawa city, it felt like we’d had our fair share of what the west coast had to offer. We’d endured everything the weather had thrown at us, from sub-zero temperatures and a snowstorm on our first day, to sun and humidity on our last, and survived both a waterfall climb and a soaking from the sea. Exhausted but content, we set off on the long journey home.

Currently reading: ‘Rule of Wolves’ by Leigh Bardugo