From the Road: Tōhoku in Six Movements

Zen Gaijin
2 days ago
8 min read

Akiu Otaki waterfall cascading through autumn foliage in Miyagi Prefecture, Japan — Akiu Otaki — Power and Grace. Beauty here is not just seen; it is felt.

From the power of plunging waterfalls to the hush of forest shrines, our autumn road trip through Tōhoku began with a quiet series of revelations. These six short vignettes capture the opening movements of a much longer journey — two weeks in autumn exploring one of Northern Japan’s least-traveled regions--a road trip filled with serene onsen, sacred mountains, and slow journeys on country roads.

Some travel experiences reveal their essence all at once, announcing a dominant theme at the outset and interpreting subsequent events as variations on that theme. Other journeys unfold more slowly and unexpectedly, gradually acquiring form and meaning through incremental elements ― timing, pace, contrasts, and serendipity. On such journeys, experience unfolds incrementally — as a series of unique moments whose full meaning only emerges when the journey is done.

Our days on the road in Tōhoku took the latter form: planned and unplanned experiences remained in a constant delightful tension. Accordingly, the vignettes that follow are not simply a compendium of pre-planned stops, but rather an amalgam of moments, each one shaping those that came after.

Akiu Ōtaki: The Melding of Power and Grace

The richest beauty is not just seen ― it is felt.

Our Tōhoku adventure, planned in terms of visits to places we’d never been before, began with water.

Stone torii gate marking the entrance to Akiu Otaki shrine in Miyagi Prefecture, Japan — Crossing the threshold at Akiu Otaki — the quiet beginning of our Tōhoku journey.

After we arrived in Sendai from Tokyo, our rental car took us directly westward toward Akiu, abruptly leaving all vestiges of the big city behind. The roads narrowed, the air cooled, deeply forested hills moved to embrace us, and we suddenly felt ourselves in a different world.

Stone komainu guardian lion statue at Akiu Otaki shrine, set among trees in Miyagi Prefecture — Akiu Otaki’s guardian — watchful, weathered, and quietly at home in the forest.

Our first aesthetic experience was at Akiu Great Falls in Taihaku-ku, in Miyagi Prefecture, formally designated by the Japanese government as a Place of Scenic Beauty — a description that vastly understates the emotional impact that builds as you immerse yourself in the site’s sights and sounds. You progress past the small parking lot, a modest visitor center/rest stop and a posted trail map. The path leads through a Shinto shrine framed by a weathered stone torii gate and flanked by two imposing stone guardians.

Close view of a gold and black Buddhist deity statue near Akiu Otaki shrine — A quiet guardian near Akiu Otaki, where elemental force meets reverence.

The shrine itself is small but compelling, anchored by a fierce black-and-gold deity whose powerful presence feels primal, almost volcanic. You progress further, aware of a deep rhythmic pounding echoing through the trees. Now suddenly it appears: Akiu Ōtaki is a raging torrent leaping from the hillside and plunging 165 feet into a misty basin, in autumn, framed by cliffs ablaze with color.

It is important to get up-close and personal: as you stand before Akiu Ōtaki, you are immersed in a multi-sensory experience ― sight, sound, spray, vibration―aware that your heart is pounding in counterpoint with the rush of the water. It is an intensely moving sensation. Now you understand―no, you apprehend―why these falls rank among Japan’s most celebrated waterfalls.

And then…the trail takes you unexpectedly back to the mundane: at trail’s end locals hawk bundles of glowing orange persimmons, and a nearby stand serves Hokkaidō soft-serve ice cream, a dense, creamy, impossibly smooth confection destined to become our daily quest as we travel on in Tōhoku.

Shrine building at Akiu Otaki framed by yellow autumn leaves and visitors on the path — At Akiu Otaki, color gathers at the edges — and the shrine radiates its calm.

Such counterpoint: quiet after thunder, sweetness after brutal force, calm after thrilling impact. These contrasts set the tone for our journey: a constant interplay of power and stillness, surprise and repose.

Awed and thrilled, we drive on to KAI Akiu.

KAI Akiu ― A Ryokan Where Nature Provides the Décor

Stillness framed as art, as peace.

KAI Akiu is not so much a hotel as an exercise in sensory restraint, in measured understatement.

View of forested hills through a large guest room window at KAI Akiu ryokan — At KAI Akiu, the landscape does the decorating.

Tucked into the hills above a steep valley carved by the Natori River, this striking ryokan is designed to serve as a backdrop to your immersion in nature: soaring, spartan interior architecture, hushed hallways, tatami underfoot, and, most of all, windows so expansive they render interior decoration unnecessary. The view outside does it all, says it all.

Our room opens to nature—and opens us to nature. An entire wall is a sweeping panorama, with a wall-to-wall window and a couch that runs its full length—inviting you to settle in, quiet your breathing, and let the autumn colors wash over you as you gaze across the valley and up the mountainside.

Seasonal kaiseki dinner served at KAI Akiu ryokan in Miyagi Prefecture — Containment after force — dinner at KAI Akiu, where stillness returns.

Dinner, served in a private room for just us, is a remarkable, precise kaiseki experience, a dance of astonishing, adventurous pairings that left us smiling at how successfully the chefs have resolved culinary risks.

Outdoor deck and footbath overlooking wooded hills at KAI Akiu ryokan — A pause built into the architecture at KAI Akiu.

After dinner, we sit on a raised terrace, soothing ourselves with a hot spring foot bath, honoring the invitation to sit quietly, watch the shadows darken, listen to the river’s rhythms. The next morning we climb uphill in a long covered walkway and slip into the outdoor onsen, warm stones beneath us, soothing vapors caressing our skin.

Two travelers standing beside the KAI Akiu ryokan sign in Miyagi Prefecture — Arrival, acknowledged — KAI Akiu.

After the explosive beauty of Akiu Ōtaki, KAI Akiu is a trip to a completely different reality. If Akiu Ōtaki was crescendo, KAI Akiu was rest

Naruko Gorge I ― A Frustrating Lesson in Standing Still

Recognizing barriers, accepting frustration, the power of pivoting

Just this once, we said, we would tread the beaten path, because Naruko Gorge, after all, is an absolute must see, a fabled tourist attraction. Only on this day we never saw it.

We left KAI Akiu early in crisp autumn air under flawless blue skies, the autumn foliage at its absolute fiery peak. It was a Sunday; it also was a major Japanese holiday, Culture Day. Three kilometers from the gorge, traffic slowed…then stopped altogether. When they moved at all, the cars moved inches at a time. Time passed. More and more time passed until…we gave up.

Crowds and traffic congestion at Naruko Gorge during peak autumn foliage season — Naruko Gorge — Beauty at a Standstill. Timing matters.

Eventually, we admitted defeat and turned around. The lesson was clear: beauty sure draws a crowd, particularly on weekends in peak foliage season, particularly on national holidays. Another time, we told ourselves, another time. And never on Sunday.

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A • Ra • Date ― Sweet and Sour at a Michi-no-Eki

Expectation does not define reality

Crowded Royce’ chocolate counter inside A-Ra-Date Michi-no-Eki in Miyagi — A-Ra-Date Michi-no-Eki — the sweet and the sour, in equal measure.

All across Japan, travelers are treated to over 1,200 michi-no-eki, government-designated rest areas that offer local produce, souvenirs, specialty foods and confections and restaurants, often combined with funky parks and attractions. Often overlooked by Western tourists, these are not cookie-cutter oases along major highways; they are unique travel experiences.

Unique does not always mean excellent. We had eagerly anticipated this particular michi-no-eki. What we found defied description. The center resembled a crude cement fortress emblazoned with various garish signs and ringed by huge overcrowded parking lots. It was a chaotic, overcrowded zoo, plagued by some of the filthiest rest rooms we’ve ever encountered in Japan.

Yes, here we did find the wondrous Royce chocolate, a Hokkaido luxury rarely seen this far south, but even Royce couldn’t sweeten this experience―one where it took forty-five minutes to edge past uniformed marshals waving batons at us as we fought to exit the parking lot.

Lesson learned: michi-no-eki discernment is essential on the road ― if you don’t like what you see, drive on. There are far better ones down the road.

Naruko Gorge II― Second Time’s the Charm

Patience pairs well with determination

Bridge spanning Naruko Gorge surrounded by autumn foliage and drifting clouds — Naruko Gorge — Learning to Wait. When the light finally arrived.

Days after our initial no-go Naruko Gorge misadventure, we tried again, arriving on a weekday morning, before the day’s inevitable great rush. We made sure it was not a holiday of any kind. Sure enough, we found great parking, walked across the staggeringly beautiful bridge across the gorge―and waited for the show to begin.

Man standing along a forested path overlooking Naruko Gorge in autumn — Waiting rewarded — brilliance explodes.

Even the most brilliant foliage needs the right light to shine so it does not automatically provide beautiful viewing. Not until the sun rises high enough for nature to turn the lights on. Our first photos were dull and uninspiring, and then…Shazam! The color emerged in gradual stages―startling gold first, then copper, then scarlet sending fire up the lengths of soaring cliffs and then reaching down into the deep, striking gorges

Rock cliffs rising from Naruko Gorge framed by autumn foliage — The Oya River flows **about 330 feet below** the bridge at Naruko Gorge.

By midmorning, the dominant yellows had transformed Naruko Gorge into the spectacle we had envisioned all along. Now the moments were unfolding as they should. About the time we were sated and drove away to continue our Tohoku road trip elsewhere, the parking lots again brimmed to overflowing and lines of those waiting to park stretched far into the distance.

Another lesson: Naruko Gorge is intensely rewarding. But it doesn’t reward urgency. It rewards patience…and above all, it rewards timing.

Kinpo-jinja―Let Peace Descend As You Ascend

Serendipity and secrecy in purest form: Good fortune earned, pleasure in the utterly unexpected

Man walking alone along a moss-covered stone path through tall cedar trees at Kinpo-jinja — Kinpo-jinja — Stillness, earned. The path narrows, the forest closes in, and the outside world falls away.

You will not stumble across this extraordinary 8^th century Shinto shrine by accident; it is a “hidden shrine,” a designated Akita prefecture natural monument that one must take pains to visit―and yet you cannot prepare yourself for what you will find when you eventually find it nestled at the foot of a moss-covered mountain and the edge of a towering forest of 300-foot-tall Japanese cedars.

Wooden shrine gate at Kinpo-jinja flanked by guardian statues, set deep within a cedar forest — At the entrance to Kinpo-jinja, guardians stand watch as the path passes from forest into sanctuary.

What you will discover―at the shrine's base, on its long moss-covered stairway, and at its Honden, its central structure and sanctuary, nestled high up the mountain―is surprise after surprise, a sequenced revelation of enormous power that unfolds in a series of increasingly serene sensory experiences.

After a nearly a two-hour GPS-guided drive from Hiraizumi, we arrived at a simple parking area buried in the woods well off the road. The dense suginami forest hides a lichen-encrusted torii gate and a rustic enclosure with raw wood pavilions from the road and makes it blend into the natural environment. You are led toward a rustic gate guarded by two enormous “devas,” giant guardian deities carved from cedar. As you pass through this rustic gate, you discover a long stairway leading upward to an unseen destination through the awe-inspiring columns of cedars.

Moss-covered stone guardian lion statue at Kinpo-jinja, weathered by age and forest air — A silent guardian at Kinpo-jinja, shaped by time, moss, and devotion.

As you climb, you become cloaked in an overwhelming stillness. The shrine’s Honden (main sanctuary) gradually comes into view, guarded by moss-covered statues and lanterns. Seldom used except for some training events and the annual August matsuri festival, this shrine welcomes you in, while simultaneously leaving you alone…to savor, to contemplate. The shrine worships fourteen Shinto kami deities, and you may feel all of them speaking to you.

Here is the purest expression of Shinto: a profoundly moving meeting of nature and spirit, both a presence and an experience.

Stone walkway leading toward the honden (inner sanctuary) at Kinpo-jinja through a quiet cedar grov — The path to the honden — the most sacred space of the shrine — where movement finally gives way to quiet.

This is not an “attraction” that you rush to, hurriedly photograph, and rush away from. It forces you to slow down long before you arrive and rewards you with a spiritual stillness that lingers long after you depart.

We've only shown you the beginning.

These six vignettes trace the early days of our Tōhoku road trip — a sojourn that will go on to reveal even more wonders and insights. In coming weeks, we will travel onward to places steeped in history like Hiraizumi and Mt. Haguro, soak in secluded onsens like Ganiba and Nyuto, and linger by the glassy waters of Lake Tazawa and Matsushima Bay. We’ll share those stories with you — and describe the unforgettable meals we found in places like Sendai . This is Tōhoku unfolding as we lived it: slowly, deeply, and gratefully.