Chichibu Keeps You Coming Back

When people come to visit me in Japan, it always amazes me how much they travel around.

“We’re going up to Nagano, down to Shikoku, then we plan to hit Hiroshima, Osaka, and Kyoto before heading up to Niigata.”

“Wow, that’s a pretty full itinerary.”

“Yeah, have you ever been to Beppu?”

“Um, no.”

“Hokkaido?”

“I’d really like to someday, but…”

“Okinawa?”

“Uh…”

It’s kind of embarrassing, but in all the time I’ve lived here, I’ve seldom ventured outside of Tokyo’s 23 wards. To be honest, there are even parts of the city I’ve never explored. Part of the problem is sheer laziness, so last year I resolved to get out and see more of the country. It’s an ongoing endeavor but I’ve made some decent progress so far. It started in March with my stint as a kurabito at Daimon Shuzo in Osaka. Since then, research for my sake articles in the Japan Times has taken me to Shizuoka for an interview with Aoshima-san of Kikuyoi, then out to Ibaraki to call on Yamauchi-san of Wataribune. Plus, I’ve been out to Chichibu four times since August.

That’s right, Chichibu.

The first time my friend Hanae mentioned this sleepy little town in Saitama, I thought she was having a sneezing fit.

“I’m having and exhibition in Chichibu,” she said.

“Where?” I crinkled my nose.

“Chichibu!”

“Oh, bless you,” I muttered. “Where?”

After one more Laurel-and-Hardy-esque exchange, it became clear that she was talking about the name of a city. I’d never heard of it, but everyone else seemed to know it. Suddenly, I began to see and hear about Chichibu everywhere; it was like learning a new vocabulary word.

“Yeah, Chichibu. Penelope loved it there, she used to go like once a month…something to do with ceramics.”

“It’s great for hiking, such a wonderful area.”

“Chichibu? People go crazy for that place.”

“It’s famous for the shibazakura. Don’t you know?”

The comments piqued my curiosity and spurred me to check things out for myself. My first visit was in the summer for the Kawase Matsuri, where troops of men carry an elaborate mikoshi on their shoulders into the river. I returned to dig deeper into the mystery that is Chichibu last autumn and again to witness the spectacular Yo Matsuri last month.



Every year, thousands of people descend on Chichibu for Yo Matsuri; they come to see the giant illuminated floats and fireworks displays. Hanae and I arrived on the first day of the festival, for a scaled-back version of the parade enjoyed predominantly by the town’s inhabitants. It was a jubilantly clear afternoon, and, after depositing our bags at Fuu-chan’s, we were treated to some of the most gracious hospitality I’ve ever experienced. At one time, walking into a stranger’s home and receiving food and drink was considered normal, but it’s a custom that’s vanished from most of the developed world. It’s crazy to see that it still exists in a place just an hour outside of Tokyo. From noon onwards, we were invited to toast with cups of sake and offered plates of homemade pickles, savory Japanese crepes, sweet tofu pouches stuffed with rice, and steaming bowls of kenchin-jiru with udon noodles.



The next day, I was on a mission to have lunch at Koike a soba shop I had been dying to try since my first trip to Chichibu. Every other time I’d been there, the restaurant had been closed, but this time I lucked out. We were seated right away, and, after a little deliberation, I settled on the ten-zaru soba. My expectations were high, but Koike did not disappoint. The homemade noodles were firm to the bite and springy, while the tempura -- a medley of fat shiitake mushrooms, tender broccoli florets, slender green beans, bracingly bitter fukinoto butterbur buds, and plump shrimp tails -- was light and delicately crisp. To accompany these tasty fried morsels, I chose a fruity but substantial Junmai Ginjo Genshu from Chichibu Nishiki. The sake had a sweet, melon-pear impact that melted into a round, ricey finish; to my surprise, it paired particularly well with the broccoli. I promised myself that next time I would try the set of three kinds of soba.



We were slightly less lucky with the weather, however. Although the first day had been gorgeous, heavy rain threatened to cancel the whole event. But the people of Chichibu pressed on with astounding determination despite the storm, and we watched nervously as teams of men and women wearing only thin hapi coats maneuvered the lumbering floats around corners and under electrical wires. In the end, the rain lightened up enough to allow us to glimpse some of the magnificent fireworks, but by the time we'd boarded our train back to Tokyo, we were soaked.

"I wish we could have stayed to see the climax of the parade," Hanae sighed.

"Me, too, but it's freezing," I shivered in my seat.

We turned our heads and looked at each other.

"Well, there's always next year."