Design Travel: “The Dedication to Making Things Well” at Shiguchi in Japan

Some trips are about checking boxes: famous shrine, famous noodle, famous selfie angle where you pretend you’re
“casually” holding up a mountain. Design travel is different. It’s about checking seams. You notice how a door
closes. You clock the grain direction on a beam. You get irrationally excited about a light switch that doesn’t
feel like it was engineered by a committee of raccoons.

Shiguchi in Hokkaido is the kind of place that rewards that kind of attention. Not because it’s loud about design,
but because it’s quietly confidentlike a perfectly sharpened pencil that doesn’t need to announce itself as
“premium graphite.” The name itself points to the ethos: shiguchi, traditional timber joinery, paired with
monozukuri, a devotion to making things well. Put another way: it’s a retreat built on the radical idea
that details matter, materials have opinions, and nature is not your backdropit’s your cohost.

In this article, we’ll unpack what Shiguchi is, why the concept behind it feels so refreshing, and how to plan a
trip that’s equal parts inspiration, restoration, and “wait… is that a washi print used as architecture?”
(Yes. Yes it is.)

Meet Shiguchi: Not Quite a Hotel, Not Quite a Ryokan

Shiguchi isn’t trying to be every kind of lodging for every kind of traveler. It’s not a conventional hotel, and
it’s not a strictly traditional ryokan either. The experience leans into a specific blend: renovated heritage
architecture (kominka), contemporary comfort, curated art, and a direct line into Hokkaido’s outdoors.

The property includes five villaseach a restored kominkaplus an adjacent cultural hub and restaurant called
Somoza. If you’re used to “luxury” meaning shiny surfaces and a suspiciously perfumed lobby, Shiguchi’s version
will feel more like a deep exhale: old beams, tactile finishes, deliberate silence, and the kind of views that make
you reconsider every screen-based hobby you’ve ever had.

Why the Name Matters: Shiguchi Joinery + Monozukuri Mindset

Shiguchi: The Joint That Does the Talking (Without Talking)

Traditional Japanese timber construction has a reputation for being both elegant and stubbornly durable. The secret
isn’t magicthough it can feel like it when you see massive beams locked together without obvious fasteners. It’s
joinery: carefully shaped joints designed to hold, flex, and endure through climate changes and time.

Shiguchi joinery is deceptively simple when you glance at it and astonishingly complex when you try to make it.
It asks craftspeople to understand wood as a living materialexpanding, contracting, agingand to build structures
that work with those realities instead of bullying them into submission. It’s craftsmanship as negotiation.

Monozukuri: “Making Things Well” Is a Lifestyle, Not a Slogan

Monozukuri is often translated as “the art of making things,” but the useful meaning is bigger: pride in craft,
commitment to continuous improvement, and respect for the processnot just the output. It’s a mindset where
excellence is less about perfectionism and more about care. The goal isn’t sterile flawlessness; it’s integrity.

At Shiguchi, that philosophy shows up in a hundred small decisions: how old architecture is adapted without being
stripped of its soul, how materials are chosen for their feel and performance, how spaces invite you to slow down
instead of “maximize your itinerary.”

Where You Are: Hokkaido’s Big-Sky Calm Near Niseko

Shiguchi sits in Hanazono, Kutchan, on Japan’s northernmost island of Hokkaidoroughly two hours by car from New
Chitose Airport. You’re in the wider Niseko area, famous for winter powder and an unusually international ski
scene, but Shiguchi’s setting is intentionally removed from the busier village energy.

This matters for design travelers. Because nature isn’t a “nice-to-have” here; it’s an essential part of the
experience. Panoramic valley-and-forest views, seasonal shifts that change the mood of every room, and a quiet that
makes you realize your brain has been running at 14 browser tabs for the last five years.

Winter brings deep snow and a kind of hush that makes a hot bath feel like a spiritual practice. In the green
seasons, the same landscape becomes an invitation to hike, forage, linger, and notice: moss textures, shifting
light, and the way fog can turn a terrace into a minimalist art installation.

Inside the Five Elements: Villas That Teach by Example

Shiguchi’s five villas are named after the five elemental symbolsearth, water, fire, wind, and void/spiritoften
referenced in Japanese philosophy and architecture. Each villa blends restored kominka structure with modern
amenities, including private onsen bathing and terraces with sweeping views.

Even if you don’t care about symbolism (or you’re the kind of person who says “I’m not into symbolism” while
lighting a scented candle named Ocean Truth), the naming still does something useful: it nudges you to
notice atmosphere. Each space is a different kind of calm.

Chi (Earth): Grounded Materials, Grounded Mind

Chi leans into weight and stability: stone underfoot, substantial posts and beams, and an overall feeling that the
house has been standing long enough to stop being impressed by your emails. It’s the villa that whispers, “Sit
down. Breathe. Eat something warm.”

Design detail to watch: the way heritage structure is allowed to remain visible, turning structural necessity into
visual rhythm. In great renovations, you don’t hide the building’s bonesyou let them anchor the room.

Sui (Water): Flow, Light, and the Pleasure of Negative Space

Sui is where open-plan living makes sense because it’s balanced by warm textures and careful zoning. If you’ve ever
stayed in a “modern” space that felt like a refrigerator showroom, you’ll appreciate the difference: this is
openness with softness, not emptiness with echoes.

Many rooms in Shiguchi’s villas include tatami spacesflexible rooms that can be used for yoga, meditation, or
simply letting your back remember it has the right to lie flat.

Ka (Fire): Warmth, Scale, and Social Gravity

Ka is the largest, designed for groups and gatherings without turning into a chaotic sleepover vibe (unless you
want it to, in which case: no judgment, but please respect the ceramics). Think higher ceilings, dramatic exposed
beams, and a layout that supports both togetherness and privacy.

The design lesson here is about proportion: traditional architecture often uses large structural members and
generous spans, which create grandeur without needing flashy finishes. Let the structure do the flexing.

Fu (Wind): Airy Transitions and the Art of Moving Through Space

Fu is notable for its sense of movementpassageways, shifts in floor level, framed views, and a relationship
between inside and outside that feels intentional rather than accidental. This is where you notice circulation as a
design element. You don’t just “go” from room to room; you transition.

Small pleasure: a tatami room that can be a calm studio for stretching or a soft landing zone for post-hike
decompression. Big pleasure: bathing with forest views, with the kind of quiet that makes you speak in softer
sentences.

Ku (Void/Spirit): Minimalism That Doesn’t Feel Like a Challenge

“Void” sounds intimidating, like the villa will ask you to confront your deepest thoughts and maybe also your
clutter problem. In reality, Ku is the kind of minimalism that’s livable: warm woods, tactile surfaces, a wood
stove, and the gentle encouragement to do less and feel more.

The real luxury is attention. When a space is designed carefully, you don’t need more stuff. You need better
moments.

Somoza: Dining, Gallery-Going, and the Best Kind of Homework

Adjacent to the villas, Somoza is housed in a 150-year-old kominka and functions as both restaurant and cultural
hub. It’s not a “hotel restaurant” in the sad sense of that phraseno laminated menu, no forced background jazz.
Somoza is where Shiguchi’s values become edible and interactive.

Seasonal Hokkaido Cuisine with a Craft Mindset

The cuisine focuses on seasonal Hokkaido produce, with techniques influenced by French cooking and a strong
emphasis on local ingredientsincluding items grown on-site and foraged in spring and autumn. You’ll also see
thoughtful pairings that spotlight regional wines and other local drinks.

For design-minded travelers, dining here is part of the education. You’re watching how the same “make it well”
philosophy translates from timber to food: ingredient integrity, restrained composition, and a respect for timing.
If you’ve ever over-designed a project and then realized you’d sanded all the personality out of it, you’ll get
the point.

A Gallery That Treats Craft Like Culture (Because It Is)

Shiguchi’s in-house gallery program and Somoza’s wider cultural spaces emphasize Japanese arts and crafts in a way
that feels curated rather than commercial. The goal isn’t to overwhelm you with objects; it’s to make you notice
the intelligence inside themforms, textures, and techniques that evolved through real use and real climate.

One especially compelling layer is the focus on Hokkaido’s long timeline. Somoza references artifacts spanning from
ancient Jomon-period pottery to works connected to the Indigenous Ainu culture. That’s not just “cool decor.” It’s
contextreminding you that place-based design isn’t an aesthetic trend; it’s an inheritance.

Tea, Onsen, and Wellness: Rituals as Design

Shiguchi treats rituals as a form of functional design. The onsen experiencenatural hot spring bathing with stone
and hinoki wood elementsconnects the body to the environment in a way no “spa playlist” ever could. There’s also a
contemporary take on the tea room concept: minimalist, modern materials, and a quiet respect for tradition without
turning it into a museum display.

Wellness here is designed as restoration, not performance. Think: in-villa treatments, yoga on request, and spaces
that support stillness rather than social-media proof.

What “Luxury” Means Here

Shiguchi’s version of luxury is not about maximizing spectacle. It’s about maximizing care:

• Heritage architecture, updated responsibly: Old-house structure preserved, modern comfort integrated with restraint.
• Private bathing as daily rhythm: Onsen elements that encourage slowing down, not speeding up.
• Curated objects with real craft behind them: Ceramics, textiles, and amenities designed or made in Japan.
• Nature as a design partner: Views, light, weather, and seasonality are treated as features, not inconveniences.

There’s also a subtle sustainability lesson embedded in the experience: when you maintain and adapt existing
structuresand when you choose long-lasting materialsyou’re practicing a kind of “slow luxury” that doesn’t burn
out the place it depends on.

How to Plan a Design Trip to Shiguchi

Pick Your Season Like a Designer Picks Materials

If your ideal mood board is “powder snow + hot bath + wood stove,” winter is your season. If your mood board is
“green forest + long walks + light that changes every hour,” come outside peak snow months. Either way, plan with
the understanding that Hokkaido’s weather is not a background detailit’s the headline.

Getting There Without Losing Your Zen

The most common entry point is New Chitose Airport. From there, it’s about a two-hour drive. Trains also run to
Kutchan, with local transfers available. If you’re combining Shiguchi with other stops, consider adding time in
Sapporo or Otaruboth offer their own craft and food culture, and Otaru is well-known for glasswork.

Build an Itinerary That Leaves Room for Nothing

Shiguchi isn’t a place you “do.” It’s a place you let happen. A good design-travel itinerary might look like:

• Day 1: Arrive, settle, onsen, dinner at Somoza, early sleep (your nervous system will clap).
• Day 2: Slow morning, gallery time, outdoor activity (hike/snow day), afternoon bath, long dinner, book time.
• Day 3: Tea ritual, one last walk, one last look at the beams, depart with a calmer brain.

Pro tip: If you’re the kind of person who usually over-schedules, treat this as a design exercise. Practice
editing. Remove the unnecessary. Keep the essential. Congratulationsyou just applied monozukuri to your calendar.

Design Lessons You’ll Take Home (Whether You Want To or Not)

1. Structure can be beautiful without being decorative. When the bones are good, you don’t need
   gimmicks.
2. Climate is a collaborator. Wood, stone, and plaster behave differently across seasons; great
   spaces plan for that.
3. Restraint is not emptiness. Minimalism works when it’s supported by texture, warmth, and
   proportion.
4. Ritual is a user experience. Baths, tea, and transitions between rooms are designed interactions.
5. Place-based design has a history. Understanding local culturelike Hokkaido’s deep timeline
   makes “inspiration” less superficial and more respectful.

500-Word Add-On: Design Traveler Field Notes at Shiguchi

You arrive with city posture: shoulders up, mind busy, phone doing that little glow thing like it’s trying to
convince you it has feelings. Then the door slides, and the house does what great design always doesit makes your
body understand something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.

First, you notice sound. Or rather, the lack of it. Not silence in the awkward elevator sensesilence in the
“snowfall absorbs the world” sense. The floor doesn’t squeak dramatically for attention. The walls don’t shout
“luxury!” in glossy finishes. The beams are there, calm and massive, like they’re not impressed by modern
anxieties. Somewhere in the background, a wood stove quietly negotiates with winter. You realize your breathing
has slowed down without your permission.

Morning light becomes a design seminar. It slips through openings and edges and lands on textures like it’s
highlighting a thesis: this plaster is not trying to be perfect; it’s trying to be honest. The wood grain reads
like a topographic map. You run your hand along a surface andsurpriseit’s not cold. It’s human. It’s been chosen
by someone who wants you to feel something, not just photograph something.

You make coffee and sit with a view that feels illegally spacious. The valley and forest outside don’t “frame” the
villa; they participate in it. Clouds roll in and the room changes mood. Sun breaks through and the stone bath on
the terrace suddenly looks like the best idea anyone has ever had. Design travel, you remember, is really just
paying attentionexcept now the world is doing half the work for you.

Later, you cross to Somoza. The kominka holds its age with the confidence of something that has outlasted trends.
Inside, you encounter craft in a way that doesn’t feel like retail therapy. Objects aren’t screaming for your
wallet; they’re inviting your curiosity. You find yourself staring at a ceramic glaze like it’s a sunset. (This is
when you know you’ve officially entered design-brain mode.)

Dinner is seasonal and precise, but not precious. The flavors feel like Hokkaido speaking through French technique.
You can taste the foraging logicthe “we preserved this so you could taste spring in winter” kind of care that
makes you feel oddly grateful to strangers. Between courses, you look around and realize the whole place is
practicing monozukuri: the staff, the kitchen, the architecture, even the pacing. Nothing is rushed. Everything is
made well.

At night, you return to your villa and take a bath. Steam rises. The forest is dark and present. You put your phone
face-down because, honestly, what would you even do with it right now? The house doesn’t demand your attention. It
earns it. And in that moment, you understand why shiguchijoinery that takes decades to masterbecame the name.
The real joint being perfected here isn’t wood-to-wood. It’s you-to-place.

Conclusion: The Trip That Improves Your Taste (Gently)

Shiguchi is a design travel destination for people who believe that craft still mattersand that comfort doesn’t
need to be loud to be real. It’s where heritage architecture and contemporary life meet without canceling each
other out. It’s where nature isn’t décor. It’s where “making things well” isn’t brandingit’s the operating
system.

If you go, don’t just look. Listen to the way the spaces guide your day. Notice how materials respond to weather.
Pay attention to transitions, proportions, and rituals. And when you come home, take a little of that monozukuri
energy with you: edit the unnecessary, keep the essential, and make one small thingone room, one habit, one
projectjust a little better than before.