My destination was a traditional ryokan in Nagakubo-Shuku, one of the Post Towns of the Nakasendō (meaning ‘central mountain road’ in English), a 331-mile (534km) route that was established during the Edo Period by the Tokugawa Shogunate to connect Tokyo and Kyoto.
This long trail winds through the mountains and history. Once traveled on foot by Samurai and Daimyo lords, the central mountain road can still be navigated today. Sprinkled across the trail lies open air museums in the form of Post Towns, small villages seemingly frozen in time, kept and maintained to their original form. Over the years some of the Post Towns have been consumed by urban expansion, but many of them have been preserved, creating small time capsules in the rural mountains that allow visitors to walk through a previous era of Japanese history and culture.
The trail itself mirrors Japanese culture today, a mix of traditional and modern aspects combined. Much of the trail has been converted into modern paved roads and infrastructure focused on automobile travel but many smaller sections are in their original state and can only be traversed on foot.
After almost five years of duty in Japan, with the last two at Naval Air Facility (NAF) Atsugi, I decided that walking the Nakasendō trail would be a fun challenge to test my physical endurance while immersing myself in Japanese culture. Due to a high mission tempo, I chose to complete the trail in one- and two-day segments. I followed the traditional route but completed it over several weeks, taking the train home at the end of each segment and returning later to where I left off. The perfect mix of modern and traditional travel.
Starting in Nihonbashi, Tokyo, the heart of modern Japan, the trail begins in modern times. With the subway stations, tall buildings, elevated highways, department stores, and cars surrounding the historic bridge it is hard to tell the area is rooted in history. Hidden within the bustling urban metropolis lies a few stone Nakasendō trail markers, small clues to guide travelers out of the modern era.
The first few segments of the trail looked nothing like the mountain path I was imagining. It took three daytrips to trek 60 miles across the Kanto plain from Nihonbashi to the border of Saitama and Gunma prefectures. Most of this segment was spent walking on Japan National Route 17, a major artery connecting Niigata to the heart of Tokyo. As I walked further away from Nihonbashi, things began to slow down. The distance weakened the pulse of the city center as the dense urban landscape turned to flat suburbs.
The trail changed dramatically as I passed Takasaki into a hilly and rural region of Gunma prefecture. Takasaki was the last urban area on the Kanto plain before crossing into another world. Almost immediately as if there was a line in the sand the apartment buildings were replaced by small clusters of homes with traditional tile roofs, roads were replaced by farmland, city skylines were replaced by views of the mountains, and modern infrastructure was gone. It seemed as if I had gone back in time 50 years.
I experienced another sharp change in scenery as I walked through Usui Pass, a path through the mountains connecting Gunma and Nagano prefectures. It was here I left the comfort of paved roads on the rural landscape and entered the foot trails in the woodland mountain terrain. I quickly began to miss the flat Kanto plain as I hiked up 3,800 feet of elevation to the peak of Mt. Komochi. After five days of hiking I finally realized the accuracy of the translation of the word ‘Nakasendō’.
The Nakasendō weaves through areas that have been settled for centuries, with sites that were established long before the trail itself. Near the peak of Mt. Komochi lies Kumano Kotai Shrine, a Shinto shrine that dates back more than 1,000 years. The shrine became a marker on the Nakasendō where travelers bound for Tokyo could stop to pray before crossing the difficult Usui Pass. Kumano Kotai Shrine is just one of the countless sites with ancient origins that lie throughout the trail.
Off the trails and back onto the pavement, I was back in modern civilization as I walked through Karuizawa, a small town popular for its resorts and winter mountain sports. I spent most of the day on the trail going down in elevation after I arrived at Karuizawa Station via the Shinkansen. It had gotten to the point where traveling for single-day trips was no longer practical due to the distance from home. This was the beginning of my first two-day journey.
I was able to secure a reservation at a traditional ryokan in Nagakubo-Shuku, one of the Post Towns on the trail and about 27 miles from Karuizawa. Post Towns were established to provide travelers places to stop and rest on the Nakasendō; this was the perfect way to travel in the traditional manner.
I arrived at Nagakubo-Shuku while the sun was setting. Walking down the mountain I passed through a shrine that served as the entrance into the small village. The few dozen buildings nestled in a small valley glowed orange as the setting sun reflected light off the tile roofs. As the village settled into the evening, I wondered how many travelers had ended their day in the same way over the centuries.
I left the ryokan early to hike to Shimo-Suwa Station where I would take the train back home. Another day of elevation gain where I climbed over 3,700 feet on offroad foot paths and started to regret taking the central mountain road. As I reached the height at 5,442 ft I looked across the valley to see the massive snow-peaked Japanese Alps staring back at me from a great distance. I was relieved after checking my map to ensure that the Nakasendō does in fact go around the Alps.
I finished the seventh day and boarded the train back home. One week of cumulative hiking was complete, and I was almost halfway to Kyoto. Somewhere along the trail, the journey had become more than a test of endurance. The miles had carried me from crowded city streets into quiet mountain villages along paths traveled for centuries. I had started the Nakasendō looking for a challenge, but I found myself returning for another reason: with every step, the trail seemed to pull me further into Japan’s history. Ahead lay the Kiso Valley, one of the most isolated and well-preserved sections of the route, where the Nakasendō’s past remains largely untouched.
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