Fujino is quiet. Not the kind of quiet that feels empty. It’s the kind that feels full. Of wind in the trees. Of clay taking shape on a wheel. Of people living gently, close to the land.
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Just beyond the reach of Tokyo’s sprawl, this hillside town has become a gathering place for artists, craftspeople, and anyone looking to slow down. Fujino isn’t on the typical tourist trail. You won’t find crowds, souvenir shops, or glossy brochures. But if you’re the kind of traveller who’s searching for something quieter, a place where art and nature still live side by side, then Fujino quietly delivers.
It’s a place where the forest is never far, and the pace of life follows the rhythm of the seasons.
I arrived in Fujino by car on a crisp March morning. The air was still holding winter’s chill, but softened by the first breath of spring. For those coming by train, it’s just 90 minutes on the JR Chuo Line from Shinjuku, followed by a short bus or taxi ride. Either way, you’ll feel the shift. The air smells different. The sky opens up. And the silence isn’t empty – it’s full of birdsong and wind in the trees.
My first stop was Mount Sekiro (石老山), a modest but peaceful peak rising above the lake. The trail begins near Kenkyou-ji, a quiet temple surrounded by enormous moss-covered stones that look like something out of a folktale.
Photos: Shusuke Murai
The path climbs gently through cedar forest, weaving between boulders and across streams until it finally opens up at the summit. From the top, I could just make out Mount Fuji, floating like a pale mirage behind the distant ridges.
More than the view, though, it was the quiet that stayed with me. Not lonely, but spacious, like the mountain was giving me room to breathe.
Back in the valley, I made my way to Gallery Studio Fujino, a cozy café that quietly reflects the creative spirit of the town. Tucked inside a renovated farmhouse, it shares its space with a working pottery studio, where shelves are lined with hand-thrown mugs, bowls, and plates, each one slightly uneven, and all the more beautiful for it.
I ordered a dark roast and a handmade custard pudding, then took a seat by the window, watching the shadows stretch and shift across the warm wooden floor. The breeze drifted in through the open door, and for a while, everything was still. A quiet, chilly moment steeped in light and softness.
Photos: Shusuke Murai
The town’s reputation as an art village is more than just a nickname. Since the 1990s, artists and makers from across Japan have settled here, drawn by affordable land, easy access to nature, and a strong sense of community. Today, Fujino is home to glassblowers, woodworkers, musicians, organic farmers, and alternative educators, many of whom open their studios to visitors and offer hands-on workshops.
At the nearby Fujino Art Village, you can try pottery, natural dyeing, or even treehouse building, depending on the season.
There’s nothing polished or packaged about it, just people living close to the land and sharing what they love.
This is also what’s known in Japan as Satoyama (里山). Rural, human-shaped landscapes where forests, farms, and villages coexist in balance. Fujino is full of these edges: Where the trail meets a rice terrace, or the studio backs onto a bamboo grove. It’s the kind of place that makes you want to live differently.
Photos: Shusuke Murai
To end the day, I made my way to Fujino Yamanami Onsen, a public hot spring nestled quietly on a hillside above town. The outdoor bath looked out over layers of mountains, their ridgelines softened by the first light of dusk. As I eased into the mineral-rich water, the last of the road seemed to melt from my body. The silence returned, this time deeper, more complete. Steam drifted into the cooling air as I closed my eyes, thankful to be here. Not just passing through, but pausing.
Fujino may not have a single landmark that draws the crowds, but that’s part of its beauty. It offers something quieter and, in some ways, more lasting.
A glimpse of rural Japan still alive with colour and craft. A place where paths through the forest lead to both old shrines and new ideas. Whether you come for the art, the hiking, the hot springs, or just to be still for a while, Fujino opens its arms without rushing you through.
And once you leave, it lingers, like the smell of woods on your coat, or the warmth of a bath that still holds the shape of your body. If Tokyo is where the story begins, Fujino is where you finally turn the page.
