Shiroiya Hotel

By the time I stepped off the train in Maebashi, in Japan's Gunma prefecture, I was fairly convinced my luck had run out. I was cold, wet and sniffling behind a face mask every two minutes; the rain had followed me from my last destination; and because I'm Irish, I don't travel with an umbrella. It's against my religion, so to speak. But staring out at the downpour in my optimistic linen shirt, I caved. The flu had won. What I didn't know yet was that being forced to slow down and stay put was the perfect prelude to my upcoming stay, because Shiroiya Hotel was my destination.

I arrived at its grassy green façade, so dense that you can’t tell where the building starts and where it ends. When you do make it inside the entrance, there’s even more to behold: huge stone columns rise through the atrium towards the ceiling, and Leandro Erlich's lighting installation threads in and out like veins delivering life to every corner. Elegant spiral staircases cut through the bold lines and then comes the biggest two tapestries I’ve ever seen — Yoko Ando's Lightfalls — falling from the ceiling to the floor. The hotel was designed by the renowned architect Sou Fujimoto, although it feels less like a building and more like a living, breathing artwork that lets you sleep in it. Everywhere I turn, there is a new visual sensation to eat up. But more on that later.

Every staff member warmly welcomes me, and after a quick rundown of the hotel and breakfast timings, comes a very important decision. Saunas. Poor Mr Smith, who left Japan just a few days prior, would’ve loved the choice between the herbal-mist option, the bedroom sauna and the traditional Finnish sauna. Me? Love a sauna, not quite sold on cold plunges. Yet the urge to try anything to rid myself of this cold overcame my fear of 10-degree water, so I booked in for the private 9pm slot.

At this point, I was positively knackered and my room was a welcome retreat. I plonked myself down on the plush bed, taking stock of the concrete walls, soaring ceilings, lighting I could adjust to within an inch of my life and best of all, my own private art exhibition — consisting of Maria Farrar’s four-part series, designed exclusively for Shiroiya. Each room across the hotel features different artworks, meaning the piece hanging above your bed is not hanging above anyone else's. Even without peeking at one of the four larger suites designed by big-name artists, I felt it was all so perfectly curated. 

Refreshed by a nap and a waterfall shower, I headed out, passing the Ryan Gander piece on my way through the lobby, to make the most of the neighbourhood. The Arts Maebashi museum, vintage shops, the Hirose River and Taro Okamoto's Bell of the Sun sculpture are all within 15 minutes on foot. Maebashi is the kind of place where the more you wander, the more it reveals, from cutting-edge exhibitions to curated clothing stores that would have queues forming outside their Tokyo counterpart.

I returned from my wanders pleasantly full — of Maebashi, not quite yet of food — with just enough room left for the main event, an eight-course tasting menu with drink pairings in the hotel restaurant. The French-haute-cuisine leanings of the menu are a welcome reprieve from my recent diet of (excellent) ramen and rice balls. But what makes the menu so special is Chef Hiro Katayama’s love and commitment to Gunma prefecture, paying homage through fresh, seasonal ingredients and tradition. The local miso butter is a treat. The okkirikomi — a popular noodle dish in Gunma, packed with veggies and mushrooms — is pared back yet packed with flavour and arrives with a delicate daikon flower adorning it. The lamb was perfect; the spring-cabbage purée alongside it, deeply indulgent.

By the end of the meal, I was approaching the point of needing to be discreetly wheeled to my room, so I did what any sensible person does: put down the weighty cutlery and watched the kitchen instead. It's open and entirely on show, the staff moving like a well-rehearsed ballet company – including Chef Katayama himself, who, alongside the team, introduces the dishes to each dinner guest.

Somehow, I made it upstairs. And, a minor miracle, I didn't feel as undone as expected, which I credit to the food being surprisingly quite light. It’s lucky that, because my 80-minute private sauna session was approaching.

The joy of a private sauna is this: no silent competition over who can stay in the longest. No-one else controlling the ladle. I chose my essential oil, I went in and out as I pleased, and I yelped freely when I finally built up the courage to take the cold plunge. I slugged water from glass bottles perched on a mountain of ice like champagne on a yacht, and went again.

And then, because this is Shiroiya, and things don't simply end as you expect, I remembered the second key card I'd been given. Robe on, electric lantern in hand, I climbed a few steps and opened a door into a private room housing a Tatsuo Miyajima installation: flashing lights, cycling numbers, the kind of thing that's either profoundly meditative or mildly anxiety-inducing, depending on your state of mind. Post-sauna, it was transcendent.

That perennial traveller's dilemma: stay in the beautiful hotel, or go out and actually see the place doesn't really apply at Shiroiya. As an art destination, it manages to be both.