The Founder of Aman Just Opened Japan’s Most Stylish New Farm Retreat

The first thing that hits you at Azuma Farm Koiwai is the fresh, calming smell of hinoki wood, which is layered on the lofty ceilings around the resort, and decorates the handful of quaint cabins that are dotted across its grounds.

Contained by a ring of Japanese cedars and red pines, and with variegated grasses rippling in its wide pastures, Azuma Farm offers a quieter take on Japan—a universe away from the ever-proliferating set of tourist traps and crowd-plagued photo spots in much of the country. Situated in the sleepy rural region of Iwate, a prefecture known mostly for its chocolate box-worthy landscapes, special soba noodles, and its artisanal iron kettles (more on those later), it’s just a couple of hours north on the bullet train from Tokyo but feels like a deep breath away from the buzz of the capital.

The resort sits on the grounds of Koiwai Farm, a century-old private farm (the largest in Japan) whose well-known dairy products are stocked at supermarkets around the country. Azuma itself, removed as it is from the barnyards and stables, is breezily free of the smells and sounds particular to a real farm, and there are no animals roaming the vicinity (local bears inhabit the region, though guests will be relieved to know they are kept out by a fence that spans the forest perimeter). There are plans to grow vegetables, but at the moment, this idyllic pocket of land in rural Japan is just that.

The story of its inception goes like this: Adrian Zecha, the hotelier best known as the man behind Aman, was visiting the region and took a liking to its peaceful vibe. The 93-year-old mused that, if there was an opportunity to offer a new side of hospitality in Japan, it would be here. Alongside his trusted collaborator Fumitomo Hayase (who was Aman’s representative in Japan for many years before founding his own hotel development company), the duo partnered with the Eastern Japan Railway Company to bring Azuma Farm to fruition. Their hope is that it will “preserve Japan’s rich natural landscape for future generations,” while also setting a new benchmark for slow luxury hospitality in this under-explored part of the country.

Iwate seems to be the perfect place for it. Located in Japan’s northern Tohoku region, the prefecture provides a refreshing alternative to the long-established and predictable ‘golden route’ through Tokyo, Hakone, Osaka, and Kyoto that many first-time tourists to Japan take, with a ruddy approach to living informed by the area’s mountainous topography and fertile farmlands. Currently, only 2% of visitors to Japan make it up to Tohoku, but the team behind Azuma Farm is hoping to tempt more.

What distinguishes Azuma Farm from other luxury resorts (though so far it has little competition in the region) is its already deep connections with local communities, giving guests access to unique excursions around the area. Horse riding takes you trotting through bucolic landscapes that rival the Alps, while a blustery hike to the nearby Mount Hachimantai promises a view of the Dragon Eye, a natural phenomenon of ice surrounded by a giant ring of clear blue water that sits near the summit. There are also scenic trips to the nearby Sanriku coast, wasabi harvesting and temple visits, plus historical tours of Iwate’s ancient towns.

Iwate is also famous for its Nanbu ironware, most notably its kettles that take two months to craft, and celebrated luxury objects in the most original sense. Koizumi Nizaemon—an 11th-generation ironsmith whose ancestors’ skills were so treasured that they were given special protection by the local samurai clan—doesn’t open his workshop to the public, but for guests of Azuma Farm he makes an exception. On a morning visit to the workshop, we observed Nizaemon pull a glowing red-hot kettle from a bucket of embers and listened as he spoke about the making process that has been passed down to him for hundreds of years. Nizaemon can then guide you through the decorating process, allowing guests to create their own Nanbu kettle with an original emblem.

Back at the farm, the minimalist private cabins that serve as the accommodation are dotted throughout the grounds, subtly scented with the same hinoki wood as the main building. Overlooking the scene is Mount Iwate, a 2,038-meter-high peak whose snow-capped summit shifts in color throughout the seasons. That’s because the weather in this part of Japan is in a constant state of flux: not just in the extremity of its brilliant white winters, russet-leaved autumns, and wildflower-strewn springs, but even from hour to hour. One moment might be bleak and overcast, with shadows of clouds drifting over the pastures as they make way for flawlessly sunny skies. Fortunately, Azuma Farm is picturesque enough to be charming through it all, and the grounds take on a meditative atmosphere even during a downpour as you listen to the pitter-patter of the rain on the grass.

Striking a balance between cozy and spacious, the grounds of the hotel are spread over 20 acres but are mostly walkable, and the resort’s friendly and attentive staff are on hand to drive you if necessary. There are 24 rooms in total: 22 Forest Villa rooms with views of the vast greenery outside, and two Garden Villas that offer more space and an engawa (outdoor terrace) that makes for a beautiful spot for some solo yoga or meditation in the morning as you listen to the breeze rustling through the cedars.

As well as the experiences, it was these small moments of relaxation the farm afforded that made it feel truly special. This was best felt in what the farm calls Forest Springs, a trio of spa cabins that sit in a line just apart from the main building, their chimneys billowing thin trails of smoke that hint at the wood fire sauna rooms inside. These spacious lodges are available to book for two hours at a time, and it was heaven whiling away a peaceful afternoon there, dipping in and out of the hot and cold bathtubs, sweating in the sauna, and reading a book on the reclining loungers. In winter, the frosty brilliance of the snowfall outside makes the experience all the more cosy; the Japanese tradition of yukigami (i.e. diving naked into the pillowy snow after heating up in the sauna) is nature’s more bracing—and more fun—version of the cold plunge.

Dozing off in those cabins felt like you could be anywhere on earth—except, of course, when you emerge into the soft evening light you remember that you’re on a quiet farm in rural Japan, where the only thing you can hear is the rustle of the cedar trees, and just a short walk away a kindly chef has prepared a delicious dinner for you. It’s enough to coax a sleepy smile from anyone.