Shishi-Iwa House

The bizarre-even-for-Tokyo November heatwave is a distant memory. And the chatter of the city has long since faded from our ears. We’ve travelled, Mr Smith and I, just 60 minutes outside Tokyo and yet feel transported to another world. Instead of skyscrapers there are mountains (the largest of which we soon discover is a volcano) and the air is deliciously crisp and cool. There are hillsides ablaze with orange, red and yellow acers in a vision so picture-perfectly Japanese it must make the local tourist board weep. Mr Smith steps off the bullet train and pulls on a sweater. We are finally thankful for the knitwear we’ve dragged across continents.

Our destination is Karuizawa in Nagano. Famous for apples, hiking, waterfalls and John Lennon, in that order. But we aren’t about to be sidetracked by any of those (until we are). It’s architecture, the most thrilling contemporary kind, and the opportunity to not just look at it, but to live within it, if only for a short time, that we are here for and we are high with anticipation. After an unscheduled detour to the local produce store inside Karuizawa station for a quick marvel at carefully wrapped apples the size of Mr Smith’s head and a veritable art installation of vacuum-packed pickles, we head to Shishi-Iwa House.

Don’t let the name fool you, Shishi-Iwa House is in fact three houses and growing. Rather than a single building, a trio of very different structures inhabit a roadside plot in a quiet area at the foot of the hills. Two of these are by Shigeru Ban, a great don of Japanese architecture and a personal idol. The third is by Ryue Nishizawa (of Sanaa), another great generational creative. For architectural nerds such as myself, it’s akin to having Oasis and Blur on the same billing, Messi and Pelé playing on the same team, or Nigella and Delia both cooking your dinner. Each structure is different, designed to not only be visually appealing, but also to give a completely different living experience. The most difficult decision for guests is choosing which building to stay in. Mr Smith and I deliberated hard. He chose House No 03, with its inky black façade and cool shadowy walkways, private bath house and traditional tatami rooms, but my choice was House No 01; the original Ban building, a sinuous serpentine-shaped construction made up of cosy communal living spaces from which airy bedrooms spill. A gargantuan lounge area worthy of a movie set and (the clincher) a library completes the package.

So, it was House No 01 in which we stayed. ‘A humble name for such a beautiful building,’ observed Mr Smith as we enjoyed drinks in the glass-walled lounge, the autumn breeze making the fallen leaves dance on the terrace outside and jazz playing softly in the background. A charming kitchen and dining area offered us the chance to make cups of tea and cook, had we not been well served in that department by the local restaurants just a short stroll away. The only signs that we were not alone in House No 01’s domestic spaces were the kicked off trainers outside the door and the occasional murmur of voices through the walls. Happily, we were largely left to indulge in our fantasy that all this was ours.

Would we like to join a trip to a local farm to sample produce? A sake brewery perhaps? Or tag along on a hiking tour into the mountains? Shishi-Iwa’s gently attentive staff offered us more than just beautiful spaces. But still suffering from the brain-numbing effects of jet lag, Mr Smith and I decided to take things at our own pace instead. Plus, for culinary types, the hotel frequently hosts a celebrated guest chef in residence, offering intimate dining events and special menus that bring attention to the district's prized produce, sprung from the fertile volcanic soils. Some of this we devoured at Shishi-Iwa’s most excellent breakfast. While I cooed over the furniture and settings — ingenious paper tube furniture, wafer-thin contemporary porcelain from Arita and minimalist cutlery, all designed by Shigeru Ban — Mr Smith had time for the eggs: each one sweet, soft and perfectly fried, and served individually like a precious trophy. He amused the delighted staff by ordering one after another.

Over the next days, we wandered down the hill following a babbling stream until we reached a local village. Although seemingly constructed entirely for the benefit of out-of-town tourists, complete with tasteful souvenir shops and farmers'-market fare aplenty, its charm was unreproachable. Here we sampled one of those holiday-defining meals, cold udon in a mushroom and walnut broth. 'Unbelievable!' gurgled Mr Smith. The local onsen was as authentic as any we had experienced and after an hour or two submerged in its volcanic water we felt whole again. Then, as we wandered around quaint and quiet Karuizawa, Mr Smith imagined himself walking in the footsteps of John Lennon, who regularly holidayed here with Yoko, finding sanctuary in the wholesome mountain town and becoming local legend. Finally, we hiked high into the hills, keeping a furtive eye out for the local bear population all the while, and were rewarded and exhilarated by the sight of thundering waterfalls.

Everything done, back on the bullet train once more, we marvelled at the therapeutic and restful experience Shishi-Iwa House had served us. My head was full of vaulted ceilings and tatami, memories of flickering shadows and the smell of cedar-wood beams. Mr Smith contentedly closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat, giving a little sigh. ‘You're thinking about the eggs again, aren’t you?’