How Hoshino resorts showcase Japanese hospitality at its finest
Ensconced in the capital’s hustle and bustle, this property feels like a classic inn but with all the expected Western amenities.
A ryokan in the sky? It sounds an unlikely prospect but Japan always delivers intriguing surprises. Who would expect tatami matting (including in an elevator), sliding shoji screens, kimono-clad staff and intricate bento-box meals in the heart of a capital with a broader metropolitan sprawl of about 35 million. Hail HOSHINOYA Tokyo standing tall and bold over 17 storeys in the Otemachi business district. In surrounding bank and office buildings, salaried workers are toiling at their desks, seemingly from dawn to dusk. I spy some of these conscientious souls as I slide open the washi-paper window screens to peep through the latticed metal cladding on our 16th-floor guestroom windows. These shields act as both intricate decoration and modesty guards. Later I will discover the design is based on the repeating stencil pattern of the Edo period’s samurai clan crests. But for now, through these rather secretive silver loops, the greyish light of winter casts shadows that dance around the walls. Snowflakes drift by, seemingly choreographed in their fluttering motion.
I am with my daughter-in-law and six-year-old granddaughter in a spacious corner Kiku category room with tatami matting and soft futon bedding all in a row. The white linen expanse looks, admittedly from some distance, like a snowdrift and we sleep deep and soft and even. The style feels akin to a traditional inn but with the expected Western amenities of an urban hotel guestroom such as dining table and chairs, huge TV, low lounging seats with curved bamboo arms, and enormous grey-tiled bathroom with a square black stone tub that feels like a miniature onsen. The fairy grandchild spreads her wings and zooms about, uncovering yet more surprises, including the modesty switch to frost the glass-walled shower recess.
There are just six chambers per floor and a communal ochanoma lounge area on each level where guests can socialise (or not). These salons each have a long table, comfy seating, refrigerated drinks, snacks, coffee and tea; but we see none of our neighbouring guests padding about during this two-night sojourn. Breakfast arrives in our room tucked into bento boxes, each compartment a veritable still life of colour and texture. Some of the dainty sprigs and sprouts are barely there but hot miso soup in lacquered bowls, warm steamed rice, udon noodles and a plump omelette are just the tonic.
In the hotel proper, all is hushed, almost reverential, with a faint scent of sandalwood and no clashing colours. Huge double doors of pale cypress timbers open to communal areas. Guests wear slippers while in residence, lest the tatami be sullied; outdoor footwear is kept in storage lockers and, by an odd telepathy, staff seem to instantly know what shoes belong to which guest. A lounge area on the reception level is where drinks and snacks are served and a tea ceremony takes place. We sit cross-legged and follow all the protocols as the serene tea mistress takes us through the rituals. The grandchild trembles when it’s her turn to stir and froth but spills not a drop. Other cultural ceremonies and activities, including a martial arts session and spa treatments, can be booked via reception. The rooftop onsen, fed by mineral-rich water deep below the hotel site, is a quiet gathering place, steamy and almost supernatural.
Dining is offered in small, private rooms on the basement level, complete with huge rock formations that enforce the subterranean feel. Executive chef Ryosuke Oka’s seasonal degustation menus of “Nippon Cuisine” are a delicate fusion of multi-regional Japanese and French flavours, each course as finely formed as a miniature sculpture. The ceramic tableware is covetable and service from kimono-clad staff is faultless. It’s not a meal to rush through but one to savour slowly, relishing the opportunity to enjoy almost meditative serenity in a city that never sleeps.
“Let’s be quiet, like ants or worms, Nonna,” suggests the junior chatterbox, snuggling up and yawning.
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We flee Tokyo for Karuizawa, on the main island of Honshu in the northwest prefecture of Nagano, well known to skiers as an alternative to fabled Niseko up on Hokkaido, and popular as a mountain retreat from the summer humidity of Japan’s big cities. Many decades ago, I holidayed here by the lake one autumn, holed up in a rented chalet, witnessing the remarkable gold and russet foliage and hiking to the summit of Mt Asama, but now is my first time to witness its transformation to a world of white.
We are ensconced at HOSHINOYA Karuizawa, a ryokan-style sister property to the Tokyo flagship, and our first morning surfaces slowly and gently, a faint hint of sunshine intensifying to a golden gleam. We are fortunate, this late northern winter in Japan, to be surrounded by snow. Unheralded overnight falls have turned the countryside into a dreamscape of pure white. It feels, and looks, otherworldly, and we rush to don boots, gloves and woolly layers. Snowball jousts and the deep pleasure of leaving the first footprint tracks of the day await.
HOSHINOYA Karuizawa is a village-style complex of guest pavilions that radiate from the central amenities hub, housed in a charcoal-coloured fortress-like complex. Despite the scale, the inspiration and service delivery is that of a classical Japanese inn, with all the personalised service and expected homely touches. Our relatively spacious accommodation includes futons on an elevated tatami platform, a living room with picture windows, covered deck with lolling beds overlooking the estate, and ample-sized bathroom with an invitingly deep bathtub and sachets of herbal salts with “rich aroma”. It feels pleasingly authentic but with the welcome touches of fine linens, great pillows, and futons as deeply comfy as their Tokyo counterparts.
Larger villas suitable for families are set a little away from the main facilities on this broad estate, bordered on its southern perimeter by the Yukawa River. Its name translates to hot water and in winter the surface appears to be steaming. Walking through the ryokan’s village-like centre takes us over hump-backed bridges past a fast-rushing stream on which ducks catch the currents and speed past as if motorised. Winding paths connect all the resort’s various components but the numbers on pavilions are non-sequential and we tend to get lost. Even now, I can’t recall how many times I had to seek directions, even when I was standing right outside our door. Cue to giggling housekeepers and the eye-rolls of a certain six-year-old. Plucky little Nissan 4WDs ferry guests about when the paths are too icy. At dusk we see staff in conical hats, skimming along in pairs aboard rowboats. We watch as they light floating candle-lamps that will cast fairy-like shimmers as the sky darkens.
The ryokan concept dates back to the feudal era. Inns were built along the Tokaido Way and other routes to accommodate warlords making pilgrimages from Kyoto to the Edo seat of empire in Tokyo. Various interpretations of the inn concept have evolved and HOSHINOYA Karuizawa duly fulfils the time-honoured design ethos of a cross between teahouse and temple, albeit in a secular sense. There’s no extraneous decoration, no tricked-up design falderals, just the integrity of natural materials.
Our on-site wanderings lead to serendipitous finds such as the Meditation Bath precinct with its gender-segregated onsen indoor-outdoor bathing areas fed by hot springs; dipping in warm water as snowflakes fall is a near-transcendental experience. The granddaughter wants to learn to skate and so off she goes to the lake, supervised and with helmet supplied, and proceeds to push an ingenious wooden chair on skis across the ice.
Tsudoi Gathering Building is as sociable as the name implies, with a library lounge and Western-style cafe. In its main Kasuke dining area, in the amber glow of groovy light fittings, we dine on bento boxes in “alpine flavours” of mountain-grown watercress and golden threadfin bream. We are told to look at our black lacquered serving boxes with pale upper linings and then observe the horizontal lines and tones of the interior design around us. We do, and our containers’ design makes a perfect match to the staggered tiers of seating, ascending like rice terraces. The large glass window walls offer close-up summer twilight pinks and mauves, and as staff place outdoor lanterns on the deck, the dusk glows with an orange sparkle.
A nifty van parked onsite offers takeaway mochi steamed rice cakes. There’s afternoon tea in the Tanada Lounge but this is no scones, cream and jam affair. Dainty morsels, some in flavours so delicate as to be almost elusive, are arranged in the six generous compartments of a kaiseki-style lacquered box. We opt, a little daringly, to take the treats onto the deck and are soon equipped with blankets, shawls and a hibachi stove to stave off the cold as we sit and dangle our legs. A whirl of snowflakes caught on the cold, crisp wind drifts onto our wasabi macarons and plump strawberries. The chopstick rests are shaped like ducks. The real ones are all bottoms-up in that coursing waterway, looking for worms or some-such. It snows and snows and becomes even quieter. The crunch of a virtuous serve of our raw vegetables echoes loudly in the still air.
A satellite French restaurant, Bleston Court Yukawatan, is located in a raftered building decorated in ruby reds and forest greens. The food is as intricate as any at a hallowed Parisian venue. Our waitress Mizuki-san serves tiny courses one by one at a measured pace; ingredients such as yuzu and lily bulb are so ephemeral and fleeting as to be barely there. Micro herbs and teeny-tiny flowers are scattered like fairy dust. Beyond the huge chalet-style windows the early evening view is of bare trees and smudges of grey shadows. I find it melancholy and empty. “Nonna,” whispers the elfin granddaughter, “there are squirrels out there.” There are black Asiatic bears, too, although they fail to make our acquaintance on a very enjoyable tour next morning with Australian guide Odin Scarr, a long-time resident of Japan. Now we are deeper into stern landscapes, our footprints turning to slushy depressions in the snow as the sun peeks through. Odin points out that the bears are definitely out there but not revealing themselves today. At dusk we return in hope of spotting flying squirrels and, after a shivery interlude, our patience and frozen fortitude are rewarded. The creatures live in boxes up trees, put in place by rangers as protection for their safety against opportunistic birds of prey.
Binoculars in place, we see a doughty little squirrel take off with superhero ease, passing three trees to reach a branch where a dinner of mulberries awaits. Oh, yum. For us, soon it will be time for another lie-down and I will further dip into Nobel Prize winner Yasunari Kawabata’s subtle and strangely affecting 1956 novel Snow Country. When the granddaughter becomes an adult, perhaps she’ll read it too and think back to the eerie whiteness and silence of this magical time when three generations came together, unified so lovingly as one.
In the know
HOSHINOYA Tokyo is in Chiyoda-ku, central Tokyo, about 20 minutes on foot from the Ginza shopping district and about 10 minutes from the Marunouchi north exit of Tokyo Station. Karuizawa is an hour by shinkansen train from Tokyo Station; HOSHINOYA Karuizawa runs a free shuttle coach service from the local station for guests at scheduled times. Check website for seasonal rates across accommodation categories.
Susan Kurosawa was a guest of HOSHINO Resorts.
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