Whenever Japan comes up in conversation, people love dispensing advice. You’re likely to be fed an endless list of ryokans (traditional Japanese inns) and restaurants you have to try, and not one name will overlap with another—ahead of my own trip there last fall, I spent months waffling through seemingly identical options.
Then Reika Alexander, the half-Japanese, half-Taiwanese founder of the recently shuttered New York restaurant En Japanese Brasserie, told me about Asaba Ryokan. It looked different.
Asaba Ryokan is in Shuzenji, a quaint town located between Kyoto and Tokyo that’s home to the oldest onsen—hot springs—in the Izu Peninsula. A river cuts through the town’s old buildings and is flanked by red railings and small bridges. The paths alongside it are framed by rows of towering maples that turn crimson in the fall and pink with cherry blossoms in the spring.
The inn has been a fixture of the town since 1484, when the Buddhist monk Yakuro Yukitada Asaba opened it as lodging for visitors to the nearby Shuzenji Temple, a historic monument built in 807 by Kobo Daishi, the founder of Shingon, one of the major schools of Buddhism.
Over the years, Asaba Ryokan morphed into a hotel for travelers of all ilks. All the while, it has remained in the same family. The current owner, Kazuhide Asaba, is the 10th generation of Asabas at its helm.
In his book Japanese Inn, the author and Japanese-art expert Oliver Statler described how, despite calamity over the centuries—fires, earthquakes, the 1868 overthrow of Japan’s samurai-led government, the devastation of World War II—the ryokan remains gloriously unchanged.
A dark-blue curtained awning leads visitors into a solemn world of tatami-carpeted hallways and shoji sliding panels. The property sits around a traditional stage from the 1600s, relocated there in the early 1900s, that floats on a shimmering koi pond fed by a waterfall. Each month, cultural offerings—including Japanese-flute concerts and traditional puppetry—take place there. Performers row small wooden boats across the pond to get onstage.
Inside, the only sounds are muted whispers and the soft shuffle of footsteps. Any run-in with staff is met with a solemn bow.
There is just one communal space, a tea room, that looks out onto the pond. Midcentury Scandinavian furniture is scattered throughout, alongside a carefully curated selection of coffee-table books. Contemporary artwork by Yayoi Kusama, Daniel Buren, and Lee Ufan ushers the minimalist space into the 21st century. Talking feels almost unnatural—like you might perturb perfection.
There are just 12 bedrooms, so you’re unlikely to encounter other guests, and most of the rooms overlook the pond. The smaller ones have surprisingly comfortable futons, rolled out in the evenings, while the larger rooms have Western-style beds. For a couple, the most luxurious suite is the Hagoromo, spanning 1,200 square feet and including a living area and a private patio. For larger groups, the grandest suite—Villa Tenko—sleeps six.
Upon arrival, guests exchange their clothes for an ironed yukata (cotton robe). Each room has a personal attendant who bows in and out of the sliding doors to serve tea, provide directions, and even run a bath.
Dinner is served in-bedroom at around seven p.m. The menu is printed onto a hanko-stamped calligraphy scroll, which guests can take home. The multi-course meal is in the Japanese kaiseki style—where seasonality and presentation are paramount—and is served in ceramic bowls. Per Michelin policy, stars aren’t awarded for in-room dining, but in Tokyo, we learned the food here is widely regarded as some of the country’s best.
Before bed, or the next morning, guests can choose between the communal hot springs in a secluded outdoor area (it’s customary to bathe naked) or a private onsen bath in their room.
Asaba Ryokan is so serene it almost makes it hard to sleep—especially knowing a multi-course breakfast is on the horizon.
Rooms at Asaba Ryokan begin at $1,280 per night, including food
Elena Clavarino is a Senior Editor at Air Mail
