How a new tour is bringing hope to earthquake-struck Noto Peninsula in Japan

Perched along the rugged Noto coastline, Hyakurakuso is one of the region’s most exceptional ryokans, known for its kaiseki meals featuring local delicacies like ika squid and Noto beef. Guests select elegant yukatas to wear before gliding through its serene corridors en route to a soak in its various hot baths filled with deep sea water. These pristine waters are rich in minerals and are said to hydrate, promote cell renewal and enhance circulation.

But on Jan 1, 2024, when a powerful 7.6-magnitude earthquake struck the Noto Peninsula in Ishikawa prefecture, these beautifying waters also became a lifeline for the locals.

The nearby Noto Deep Sea Water Facility, which supplies water to luxury onsens like Hyakurakuso and cosmetics manufacturers, shifted gears to provide emergency water to the community when its regular pipelines ruptured.

Site supervisor Masao Yoshimura recalled the chaos, his voice cracking with emotion as he described his teenage children hauling heavy water containers to those in need. “Children this young shouldn’t have to go through this,” he said, eyes glistening. “But maybe it will build resilience.”

His words set the tone for our journey. Our group of eight, including several journalists, had been invited to experience a pre-launch tour of Walk Japan’s new Onsen Gastronomy: Noto Tour, a five-day exploration of the region’s famed cuisine, hot springs and artisanal crafts. More than a scenic getaway, the tour, with departure dates in April and May, is designed to directly support Noto’s recovery.

“The most important thing is to support businesses that can reopen,” said Paul Christie, CEO of Walk Japan. “What stands out most on this journey is the resilience of the Japanese people. The real story here is their spirit of rebuilding. And if we can help some of them get back on their feet, that recovery will ripple through the entire community.”

Over a year later, damage from the earthquake and the tsunami it triggered remained stark. Roads were buckled, rubble from collapsed wooden buildings lay abandoned, and along the western coast, portions of the seabed had lifted by up to 4 metres, exposing large swathes of the shoreline that was once underwater and rendering fishing ports unusable. The disaster has also accelerated an exodus from the already depopulating region, with regions like the town of Wajima, known for its lacquerware craft, losing up to 10 per cent of its residents.

All of this is even more jarring as I had started my journey in bustling Kanazawa, the capital of the prefecture. Notable for its 17th century Kenrokuen garden, said to be one of Japan’s most beautiful, as well as its rich heritage of traditional craftsmanship – it produces 99 per cent of the country’s gold leaf used for decorative purposes – many of its artisans continue to thrive because of strong community support.

For instance, the Hyatt Centric Kanazawa, conveniently located by the main train station, incorporates local art and contemporary versions of traditional crafts into its design. For those keen to delve deeper, the hotel can arrange a private gold leaf application session, where guests gain firsthand appreciation for the skill required to handle the impossibly thin, whisper-light sheets of gold – a craft that demands patience, precision and a steady hand.

The contrast between the two regions made me think about the fragility of tradition and culture itself and how it flourishes with support yet teeters on the edge of disappearance when disaster strikes.

Yet, despite the destruction, the indomitable spirit of the locals shine through. In Monzen-machi, chef Yutaka Kitazaki reopened his restaurant Somamichi in a former publishing house after his original location was destroyed. His inventive dishes such as beetroot hummus, grilled seabream with parsnip and sake lees seem almost out of place on a street where only a handful of families remain and where most buildings have been badly damaged. But he is determined to “bring life back to this place”, proudly serving meals on Wajima’s famed lacquerware.

Most of his diners are displaced locals in temporary housing seeking comfort in good food and a welcoming space. “We also want to show travellers that Noto is still here,” he said. (Spoiler: This was the best meal of our trip.)

Likewise, Sojiji Soin Temple, heavily damaged in the quake, requires significant restoration. Yet, temple workers remain, conducting tours and ceremonies to uphold its spiritual and cultural presence in the community.

Perhaps no monument embodies Noto’s resilience better than the giant Squid King sculpture at Noto Ogi Port. Initially criticised as a wasteful project when it was launched in 2021 to boost post-COVID-19 tourism numbers, the 13-metre hyper-realistic squid emerged unscathed from the tsunami. It has since become a symbol of post-quake determination and revitalisation, drawing visitors eager for a quirky yet deeply meaningful photo op.

Often, the juxtaposition of destruction on the streets with the lavish kaiseki meals and soothing onsen baths we got to enjoy felt dissonant and almost dystopian. There were times when I felt embarrassed that all I could do was gawk at the scenes of damage. But the locals’ intention was clear – they want to move forward. “Tell your friends to visit,” they urged. “We will show you the best of our hospitality.”

Nowhere was this more apparent than in Wajima, one of the hardest-hit towns. A fire triggered by the quake gutted its once bustling morning market. A major hub in Japan’s prized lacquer industry, many of its skilled artisans have been unable to resume work because their workshops were destroyed in the quake.

Our hotel, Route-inn Wajima, the only one that has reopened, overlooks a temporary housing project constructed out of containers. It is a stark reminder that we travellers are in fact lucky to have a solid roof over our heads.

Yet, we are offered nothing short of the best. At kappo-style Kuwagumi, arguably the finest restaurant in Wajima, chef Inoue Yusuke pulls out all the stops to impress us with the fanciest Japanese delicacies he can source for including shirako (cod milt) and seasonal hairy crab.

Every night, we stayed in ryokans that had their own stories of survival. Hyakurakuso’s solid bedrock foundation kept it largely intact, though its fishing pier and waterfront restaurant were swept away. It reopened quickly yet struggles with low occupancy as travellers mistakenly believe Noto is not ready to welcome them.

At 1,200-year-old Wakura Onsen town, most of the 22 inns suffered damage when the protective seawall collapsed and only three have reopened. At our ryokan Notoraku, repairs were ongoing to many parts of the building, but hospitality remained steadfast. We were given spacious tatami rooms with seafront views and dined in a grand banquet hall. Most of all, its expansive onsen options, both indoor and outdoor, remained a sanctuary.

As I settled into an outdoor onsen for a pre-dinner soak, the biting chill of the winter sea breeze keeping my face pleasantly cool, I had an epiphany. It has been two years of news about overtourism in major hotspots around the world, including many big Japanese cities and many of us have experienced firsthand the increasing disenchantment of locals toward tourists from wary glances to curt service.

But here in the Noto Peninsula, a place eager to share its culture and rebuild through hospitality, our interactions were imbued with warmth and a sense of genuine connection. In many ways, this experience has been an example of travel at its best, where it is not just about seeing a place but being a participant in its story.