Peering prudently round the onsen door, I’m reminded of a quote from the Yorkshire-born explorer and writer Isabella Bird. It’s a line from Unbeaten Tracks In Japan (1880) and for the past couple of days it’s rarely been far from my mind. In fact, only moments earlier, shuffling through the snow in my geta (curious two-toothed wooden clogs), I’d had the same thought: “Japan offers as much novelty perhaps as an excursion to another planet.”
Now, before me are five naked young men, crouching on the sort of tiny stools a toddler might perch on were they to shine your shoes. They seem to be in a heated discussion, all the while nonchalantly lathering their groins. In the corner, another appears to be warming his backside with a hairdryer. They throw me a cursory glance and get back to business.
It’s around 6pm by the time I’ve disrobed, taken care of the requisite ablutions and joined the quarrelling party in the steaming hot spring. As I sit back, gazing into the darkness with the snow falling on my face like icy pin pricks, I struggle not to wonder what I’d be doing had I just spent the day skiing in Europe. For here in the Japanese Alps there is no Folie Douce, fondue isn’t washed down with gluhwein, and oompah bands won’t play late into the night. The Western code of “first lift, last orders” has no footing here, at least among the Japanese.
Instead, there is a palpable level of restraint. Home before the lifts even close, straight into your samue (pyjamas) and into the spa. Dinner then bed. Aim to start skiing around lunchtime. It might not be another planet, but it feels almost contradictory to what goes on in the likes of Verbier or Whistler. And this is exactly what I’ve come for: the most authentic Japanese ski experience possible. These days, I’m told, the phenomenon is not that easy to find.
The Japanese Alps
Hiroya Nakata
In 2023, Japan welcomed over 25 million visitors, six times the amount of the previous year. A lot of that was to do with the yen dropping to a 33-year low against the US dollar, but equally, the land of the rising sun feels more accessible these days – the Western predilections of those visitors have started to rub off. Nowhere is this more evident than Niseko, Japan’s most celebrated ski resort.
The Aspen of the East, as it’s come to be known, may have paid the price for being perennially blessed with the world’s best powder. Two of Niseko’s four resorts are now owned by foreign investors. Gone are the ryokans – in favour of Hiltons, Park Hyatts and Ritz-Carltons (Aman and Rosewood will also be opening properties there soon) – and consequently the locals, too. It’s possible to go days without coming across anyone Japanese.
It’s a different story here in the Hakuba Valley, which after the 1998 Nagano Winter Olympics was touted to become the world’s next great ski resort. Only, where hotel-sized plots have been relatively easy to come by for developers in Niseko, most of the land in the basin of the Hakuba Valley is protected rice paddy fields. And so, not a great deal has changed since the year snowboarding was unceremoniously introduced to the Olympic games (Canadian Ross Rebagliati was promptly stripped of the sport’s first gold medal after testing positive for marijuana).
Indeed, arriving in Happo-One, the largest of the valley’s 10 resorts, is like stepping back into ‘98. The architecture remains largely vernacular, local businesses are prospering and unlike Niseko, one can’t move for tradition and quirk. More pertinently perhaps, and as the Japanese are keenly aware, the skiing here is just as good, if not better than in Hokkaido. Sure, the northern island might get a couple more inches of slightly lighter, drier snow, but Hakuba’s average annual snowfall of 36 feet should mean more than your fair share of fresh tracks. Plus, between Hakuba’s ten resorts, there are 85 miles of piste (over 200 runs), almost three times that of Niseko.
The onsen at KAI Alps
KAI Alps
I’m staying at Hoshino Resorts Kai Alps, certainly the most Japanese of the luxury hotels in the area, where life revolves around the irori (a traditional sunken hearth where porridge is served and folk tales are told) and masseurs are shiatsu masters. It’s located in Omachi Onsenkyo at the southern end of the valley, which perhaps isn’t ideal for those hoping to ski Hakuba’s powder capital, Cortina, at the extra-snowy northern end.
It is, however, the very best place to bathe in a different onsen every evening, which, like dressing head to toe in Japanese outdoor brand Goldwin, seems to have become customary for the country’s skiing beau monde. For as they’ve come to realise, after a week in the Japanese Alps, frequenting its vivifying slopes and springs, one can expect to leave with something approaching a squeaky clean bill of health.
Indeed, there appears to be an onsen for every ailment. Literature around the hotel informs guests that acidic and sulphuric waters can cure chronic dermatitis; CO2-rich hot springs improve circulation, while baths high in chloride help moisturise the skin. Better yet, for those susceptible to a bout of podiatric grief after a night gorging on wagyu and whisky, an onsen with trace amounts of radiation can help with gout and rheumatoid arthritis. Kai Alps is surrounded by dozens of these bathing facilities, in addition to its own stand-out example.
The Japanese have a well-documented proclivity for small things and Hakuba’s local cuisine is no exception. Breakfast, lunch and dinner incorporate a dozen or so mamezara – seemingly incongruous small plates containing anything from braised beans and bashami (horse sashimi) to miso soup and pickled pork – which combine to extraordinary effect. And in much the same way, Hakuba Valley’s ten small resorts each have their own distinct flavour, combining to create a ski area far greater than the sum of its parts.
Not only is each connected by a regular shuttle bus, but also miles and miles of world-class backcountry. In terms of pistes, all of the resorts can quite easily be completed in a day. Each, however, has its own speciality. The wide, gentle runs at Jiigatake, for example, are perfect for kids and beginners. Iwatake and Goryu offer something slightly more testing, and the latter connects to Hakuba 47 Winter Snow Park. Earlier this year, the 30th All Japan Ski Championship Snowboard Slopestyle & Big Air Event was held at Tsugaike, and the tree runs at Cortina and the lesser-known Norikura (taps nose), are widely considered among the best in the world.
Carving up a roostertail
Hiroya Nakata
Despite assuring everyone back home (I never promised) that of course I wouldn’t be foolhardy enough to attempt snowboarding this mouthwatering ungroomed terrain on my own, in the end I can’t resist. I do compromise however, vowing (to myself) to stick to the powder under the chairlifts, giving me a chance to explore a nascent hypothesis that the runs accessible underneath the rusty old lifts are better than those under the lifts with heated seats and jazz playing from the pylons.
With that in mind, I gladly disembark from one such lift – creaky, jolting and sans pull-down bar – make an about turn and head for the trees. The line I’ve spotted hasn’t been skied today so there’ll be an element of guesswork, but the deciduous trees are sympathetically spaced for a snowboarder of my variable ability – which bodes well. The snow’s deeper than I expected but lighter than I’ve ever experienced. Silently slaloming through the trees, caution’s soon pilfered by the breeze, gentle as it is, and I begin bouncing into turns, knee-deep in the confetti of the gods. But the focus required for skiing trees is incomparable, far removed from casually carving down a wide-open piste, swigging from a hip flask.
A snowboarder under a traditional Japanese archway
Hiroya Nakata
In fact, there’s absolutely nothing casual about it. Rather, lots of stopping and starting, carefully looking for the next couple of turns. It’s exhilarating and humbling in equal measure. After a few close calls, including a couple of aggressive slaps round the face from mischievous branches, I’m glad to see the lift station in the distance. Nerves frazzled, legs spent (thankfully there’s an onsen for that), I’m looking forward to a nice steady blue and a mug of hot chocolate.
But back on the chair I find myself reviewing my route through the trees. It looks overly circumspect. I’m slightly ashamed of my sheepish tracks. I remind myself I’m not going to get too many opportunities like this in Europe and give it another blast. Back in civilisation, it’s still possible to detect a lingering whiff of nihonjinron, the elevated sense of nationalism that long kept the Japanese above mixing with the rest of the world.
Apart from the odd 7-Eleven and a handful of Rhythms (a comprehensively stocked ski-hire chain that notably sells Allpress coffee), there are very few foreign franchises, and that authenticity continues up in the mountains where skiers still sip sake over steins and soba still trumps strudel. That said, Hakuba Valley has recently formed a “long-term alliance” with Vail Resorts giving five days free access to all resorts, shuttles included, to anyone with an Epic Pass. This has, however, added to the already swollen number of international seasonaires, which the locals don’t seem entirely thrilled about. I’m told that many even go into hiding when the annual Snow Machine music festival rolls into town. For as a wise man once said, “Where there are boards, so there’ll be Aussies,” and in this instance, they’re beginning to make their presence felt, for better or worse. Niseko, apparently, is overrun.
Hiroya Nakata
The snowy peaks of Hakuba Valley
In their defence, if it wasn’t for the Australian contingent, Hakuba possibly wouldn’t have any après as we know it. Echoland, the “wine and dine” district on the outskirts of Happo One, has some very good eateries and bars, the best of which are invariably Australian owned. Holy Smokes might be the pick of the bunch, a late-night speakeasy, its secret entrance disguised as a cigarette vending machine. Sadly though, like so many Japanese establishments, guests are urged to smoke indoors, so after a couple of post-piste refreshments, I must admit, I was pining for the onsen, its tiny stools, the rowdy conversation, and the invigorating effects of a long, hot, mineral-rich bath surrounded by naked strangers. For a moment of reflection. The Japanese seem to be experts at finding the time.
When not ruminating on Bird’s interplanetary theory, I’ve been exploring one of my own. At the start of a traditional Japanese tea ceremony, a piece of confectionery is eaten to sweeten the mouth ahead of the bitter matcha tea. Is it a stretch to suggest that, in the same way, a hard day’s skiing is merely a way to prepare the body for the healing effects of the hot spring? That here in the Japanese Alps, even with powder this good, the onsen has always been – and will hopefully always be – the main event. It’s by design that you leave Hakuba feeling brand new, or at the very least, a damn sight cleaner. The same can’t be said for many resorts in the West, or Japan for that matter.
