Togakushi: The Place I Had Been Looking For All Along
There are places you visit because they are famous.
And then there are places you spend years searching for without ever knowing their name.
Togakushi was that place for me.
I just didn't know it yet.
Long before Beyond Tokyo existed, when it was nothing more than a quiet idea somewhere in the back of my mind, I found myself constantly looking for places that felt different.
Not simply beautiful.
Japan has no shortage of beautiful places.
I was searching for somewhere that demanded a little more effort.
Somewhere beyond the obvious route.
A place where the journey itself became part of the experience.
I didn't know it then, but that search would eventually lead me to Togakushi.
The bus into another world
We first visited during the winter of 2023.
I was leading what would become my very first traveller in Japan.
Beyond Tokyo didn't exist.
There was no itinerary to scout.
No business to build.
Just two people exploring Japan with curiosity.
Most visitors arriving in Nagano head straight to Zenko-ji.
We decided to do the opposite.
We boarded the morning bus to Togakushi.
Leaving Nagano, nothing seemed unusual.
The roads were clear.
The city carried only a light dusting of snow.
Then, kilometre by kilometre, everything changed.
The bus climbed steadily into the mountains.
The snow became deeper.
The forests became quieter.
Road signs slowly disappeared beneath white.
Soon the snowbanks beside the road stood higher than the cars driving through them.
In places, they almost reached the height of single-storey houses.
Neither of us said very much.
We simply watched the landscape transform outside the window.
By the time we stepped off at Chusha, we realised something.
We were completely unprepared.
“The further the bus climbed, the more it felt as though Japan was quietly disappearing behind us.”
— Abhay
The wrong shoes
We had made one very important mistake.
We thought walking in Togakushi would be just like walking anywhere else in Japan.
After all, we regularly walked several kilometres every day.
How difficult could it be?
We were wearing fashionable UGG boots.
Warm.
Comfortable.
Completely wrong.
The moment we stepped off the cleared road, we realised this wasn't going to be an ordinary walk.
Every step disappeared into deep snow.
Sometimes up to our knees.
Sometimes deeper.
Keeping our balance became a challenge.
Every few metres one of us slipped.
Sometimes we laughed.
Sometimes we simply stood there wondering how much further we still had to go.
The route that should have taken twenty or thirty minutes slowly stretched into almost two hours.
But strangely, none of it felt frustrating.
The deeper we walked into the snow, the more extraordinary the place became.
Finding what I had been looking for
The lower shrine was beautiful.
The middle shrine even more so.
Everything was wrapped in silence.
Snow softened every sound.
The cedar trees stood motionless above us.
It felt less like visiting a shrine and more like entering another world.
That was the moment something quietly changed.
I remember stopping for a few seconds, looking around, and thinking to myself:
This is it.
This is the place I have been searching for.
Not because it was dramatic.
Not because it was famous.
But because it demanded something from you.
You could not rush Togakushi.
You had to earn every step.
And that made every step meaningful.
“I realised I wasn't searching for another destination. I was searching for a feeling. Togakushi gave me that feeling.”
— Abhay
The cedar avenue
Then came the walk towards Okusha.
Nothing had prepared me for it.
The approach to Zuishinmon Gate was lined with towering cedar trees disappearing into the winter sky.
Small streams flowed quietly beside the trail beneath the snow.
Every so often, huge clumps of snow would suddenly fall from the branches above, crashing softly onto the ground below once the trees could no longer hold their weight.
Even today, I can still hear that sound.
It remains one of the most vivid memories I have anywhere in Japan.
Standing before Zuishinmon, it genuinely felt as though we were about to step through a portal.
Not into another shrine.
Into another world.
Everything beyond the gate felt untouched by time.
There were no buildings.
No traffic.
No distractions.
Only snow.
Cedar trees.
And silence.
Into another world
Beyond Zuishinmon Gate, the trail became steeper.
The snow became deeper.
And every step became harder.
Before setting off, we had asked other hikers whether reaching Okusha would be difficult.
Every one of them smiled and said the same thing.
Not at all.
What they didn't realise was that they were speaking to two people completely unprepared for what lay ahead.
Our boots weren't designed for this.
Our clothes certainly weren't.
Every few minutes one of us slipped.
Sometimes into soft snow.
Sometimes onto hard ice beneath it.
Yet neither of us wanted to turn back.
The deeper we walked into the forest, the more the outside world disappeared.
It no longer felt like a shrine.
It felt like stepping into somewhere that belonged entirely to nature.
Reaching Okusha
Eventually, together with a small group of Japanese hikers, we reached the Upper Shrine.
Neither of us said very much.
We simply stood there.
Our clothes were soaked.
Our boots were wet.
I could feel ice forming on my eyebrows and cheeks.
Yet none of it mattered.
The exhaustion somehow made the moment even more rewarding.
We paid our respects.
Took one long breath.
And quietly accepted that every fall along the way had been worth it.
“Some places reward comfort. Others reward perseverance. Togakushi belongs firmly in the second.”
— Abhay
The way down
We thought the difficult part was over.
We were wrong.
Walking downhill proved even harder.
Every attempt to stay upright ended with another fall.
Eventually I gave up trying.
I simply sat down in the snow and started sliding.
Like a child in a park.
It looked ridiculous.
It was also the safest way down.
One fall earlier had been particularly hard.
It left my chest hurting for weeks afterwards.
Still, somehow, we laughed all the way back.
Other hikers, properly equipped with snowshoes and trekking gear, watched us with expressions somewhere between amusement and concern.
Looking back, they were probably wondering how we had managed to get all the way up.
To be honest, so were we.
By the time we reached Chusha again, neither of us spoke very much.
Some experiences are too full to describe immediately.
They simply need to settle.
Returning with family
That first visit stayed with me for an entire year.
I knew I would come back.
The following winter, I returned with my family.
This time, we were prepared.
Before leaving Tokyo and Nagano, we spent an entire day buying proper winter clothing.
Snow boots.
Thermal layers.
Fleece jackets.
Caps.
Gloves.
My family thought I was over-preparing.
They had no idea what was waiting for them.
As soon as we stepped off the bus, Yash disappeared into the snow.
He laughed.
Jumped.
Rolled around in snowbanks taller than he was.
Shivani had almost the opposite reaction.
She simply looked around, shivered, and wondered how long we planned to stay.
I couldn't stop smiling.
I finally understood what it feels like to bring someone to a place you genuinely love.
The gate was closed
Everything felt familiar.
The lower shrine.
The deep snow.
The middle shrine.
The towering cedar avenue.
Then we reached Zuishinmon.
There was a sign.
No Entry.
Beyond the gate, access had been closed.
I understood there must have been good reasons.
Whether it was safety, conservation or visitor management, the shrine authorities had clearly made the decision carefully.
Still, I couldn't help feeling disappointed.
To me, the cedar avenue beyond that gate is the soul of Togakushi.
It transforms the experience from a shrine visit into something much deeper.
I have always believed remarkable places deserve protecting.
But I also believe thoughtful protection and thoughtful access can exist together.
Rather than closing places completely, I hope we continue finding ways for visitors to experience them respectfully.
After all, it is often through experiencing places like these that we learn why they deserve protecting in the first place.
Another season. Another world.
This year, I returned once again.
This time as a Beyond Tokyo trip lead.
There was no snow.
No frozen rivers.
No slipping.
The cedar forest was alive with birdsong.
Small streams flowed beside the trail.
The same path that had once disappeared beneath metres of snow was now covered in green.
It hardly felt like the same place.
That is one of the things I love most about Japan.
The same destination can feel entirely different simply because the season has changed.
Standing beneath those same cedar trees with our travellers, I watched them fall silent in exactly the same way I had years earlier.
Without needing to explain anything, Togakushi explained itself.
“Some places become favourites. Others quietly become part of who you are as a traveller.”
— Abhay
Who will love Togakushi?
Togakushi is for travellers who don't mind walking a little further to experience somewhere extraordinary.
If you enjoy forests, shrines, mountain air and places that ask you to slow down, this may become one of your favourite places in Japan.
Who may not
If you are looking for convenience, shopping or somewhere you can experience in an hour, Togakushi probably isn't for you.
It asks for time.
And gives even more in return.
Our Verdict
Every country has places that quietly shape the way you see it.
For us, Togakushi is one of those places.
It showed us that Japan's greatest experiences are not always found in its biggest cities or most photographed landmarks.
Sometimes they hide at the end of a snowy trail beneath ancient cedar trees.
Today, Togakushi has become one of the defining experiences of our Immersive Japan journey.
Not because it is famous.
But because almost every traveller who walks those cedar-lined paths comes back with the same expression we did years ago.
Quiet.
Grateful.
And wondering why more people don't know about it.
Why it matters to Beyond Tokyo
If someone asked me which place best explains why Beyond Tokyo exists, I would probably bring them here.
Not because Togakushi is the most famous place in Japan.
Quite the opposite.
It represents everything we hope our travellers experience.
Curiosity over convenience.
Discovery over checklists.
Returning instead of rushing.
Today, Togakushi has become a part of our Immersive Japan journey.
When we first bring travellers here, many have never even heard its name.
By the end of the walk beneath those ancient cedar trees, it almost always becomes one of the places they talk about most.
That never surprises us.
It happened to us too.
I spent years looking for a place like Togakushi.
In the end, it quietly found me instead.
Today, it is one of the places we are proudest to share with others.