So yes, in a sense, Toyama is mountains and fish.īut actually – as I discovered on the half-hour drive from Shin-Takaoka station to my hotel – it’s also rice paddies. It’s just a mile or so between the sparse snow-capped ridges and rich seascapes. Here, 500 of Japan’s 800 seafood species thrive, delighting the Michelin-starred sushi chefs who buy them in Tokyo’s Toyosu Market. Eternal-winter peaks scraping almost 10,000ft tumble down to sunny plains, before plunging epically into a 4,000ft-deep bay. Hemmed in by the soaring Japan Alps and the Sea of Japan on the northern coast of main island Honshu, Toyama has some of the most dramatic geographical contrasts in the country. On this recommendation, I booked my ticket to Toyama. A fellow Japanophile in London had told me about a little-trodden enclave where the scenery was epic, the cultural experiences rich and the tourists blissfully few. No influencers or noisy tour groups selfie stick-free landscapes and quiet corners untroubled by crowds. Most of them – and I know because I’ve seen them there – will be cluttering shopping districts in Tokyo and temples in Kyoto.īut as a former Japan resident and frequent returnee, on my first post-pandemic visit I wanted the country’s famed omotenashi hospitality at its purest. The country received a record-breaking 32 million visitors in 2019 and despite pandemic-related setbacks (borders didn’t open to tourists until October 2022) an estimated 21 million will visit in 2023. Though, to be honest, that’s how I like it.
Despite being just a couple of hours from the capital by shinkansen and sandwiched between popular tourist stops – castle city Kanazawa, merchant hub Takayama and former Winter Olympics playground Nagano – no one I spoke to had been to Toyama.
But when I told my friends in Tokyo that I was off to explore Toyama, these were the only two things anyone could name about the prefecture. Not the most seductive holiday duo, perhaps.
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