Kanazawa

Kanazawa was the seat of the Maeda lords, whose domain was second in wealth only to the shōgun's — and who, forbidden political ambition, poured their fortune into beauty instead. The inheritance endures: Kenroku-en, counted among Japan's three perfect gardens; the geisha houses of Higashi Chaya; the samurai lanes of Nagamachi; gold leaf beaten so fine it breathes. Spared by war, the city kept what others lost. Snow arrives seriously here, off the Sea of Japan, and Kanazawa is at its most beautiful beneath it. Connoisseurs speak of this city the way they once spoke of Kyoto — quietly, and only to a few people.

This is the journey on which the Shinkansen shows its finest form: the Hokuriku line's Kagayaki service from Tokyo in Gran Class — eighteen leather seats, attendant service, the mountains of Nagano passing at speed — reaching Kanazawa in around two and a half hours. Your chauffeur sees you aboard at Tokyo Station; a second waits beneath the great wooden Tsuzumi-mon gate with the Toyota Century. Those who prefer the road cross the spine of Honshu by the Kan-etsu, Jōshin-etsu and Hokuriku Expressways, the Sea of Japan appearing at last on the right — a five-hour passage suited to the Lexus LM. In winter the cabin is warmed, the umbrellas large, the timing exact.

Asadaya, an eight-room ryokan founded in 1867, distils Kanazawa hospitality to its essence; the Hyatt Centric serves those who prefer the station's convenience. Dine at Zeniya, where Shinichirō Takagi refines the cuisine of old Kaga, or at the counters of Ōmichō Market at dawn, where snow crab arrives still cold from the sea — at its peak from November to March. Kenroku-en deserves its opening hour, above all in winter, when the yukitsuri ropes hold the pines against the snow. End among the teahouses of Higashi Chaya as the lamps come on, gold leaf glinting in workshop windows. Kanazawa does not seek attention. That is precisely its luxury.