Day 12 in Japan: The Silkworms of Tomioka

On my twelfth day of travelling across Japan, Brent, Joel and I visited Tomioka Silk Mill. The factory was established at the dawn of the Meiji restoration in 1872 as part of Japan’s effort to acquire money for industrialisation. Japan had already been producing copious amounts of silk before the Meiji restoration, with raw silk and silkworm cocoons accounting for 86% of its exports in 1862 – a situation greatly aided by the chaos of the Taiping Rebellion in China and a silkworm disease ravaging France and Italy. In the 1870s, however, overproduction and the recovery of Japan’s competitors in the silk market caused a collapse in raw silk prices. Japan then decided to refocus on silk products such as silk thread and silk cloth, enlisting European specialists to help construct Japan’s first silk mill.

We reached Tomioka by train from Takasaki and spent two hours in the city, although we would probably have spent much longer there had the displays all been written in English. At the visitor centre right across from the train station, two kind ladies showed us a plateau of silkworm cocoons and cut one open to reveal a meaty brown larva along with a pile of its droppings. They were greatly impressed when Joel told them he is an entomologist and assumed, because he had told them in Japanese, that our collective level of Japanese was much higher than it really was, especially since we could easily follow the instructions “watch this” and “hold that.”

One of the ladies also made a fluffy white silkworm moth walk from her index finger to Joel’s. It had dark, brush-like antennae and chubby little legs. As it fluttered its wings uselessly, Joel explained that silkworms have been bred to be unable to fly. A little sign listed the silkworm’s birthday and the day it emerged from its cocoon, after which, we all remembered not unmoved, the silkworm is unable to eat and usually starves to death within two weeks. The tragedy of the humble silkworm’s life and the cruelty of the silk industry, which requires the silkworm to be boiled in its cocoon, were glossed over by the cartoon shown in the cinema room, in which a female worker at the silk mill took turns informing and being informed by the “Silkworm Fairy” (a silkworm illuminated by rainbow sparkles) about the history of the mill.

We continued from the information centre to the silk mill itself, where visitors can still see some of the old machinery used to process silk. Back in the day, the mill provided housing to its workers and, in some cases, their families, as well as their French teachers and the mill executives. These quarters also still exist, but most of them cannot be visited. In the main buildings, the exhibits focus on the history and technology of the silk mill, sometimes delving into the material world of its workers with cute miniatures of their uniforms and other paraphernalia from their daily lives.

Remembering the timing of the Shinkansen from Takasaki, we cut our visit a little short and started our sprint to the station. Just outside the museum, however, we came across a small shuttle train whose driver told us he was heading to the station too. The service was free and likely targeted at the disproportionately old crowd that is drawn to places like silk mills. We arrived with plenty time to spare. When we made it to Takasaki around an hour later, my experience travelling with Ciaran came in handy, as I knew better than to pay extra for reserved seat tickets, which are barely ever next to each other if purchased only a few minutes in advance. We also had enough time to buy bento boxes.

After two unsuccessful attempts to find a train on which to eat a bento box, the third time was the charm. Not only did I find a fully vegetarian set – a vegetable tempura – but I am glad to report it was very tasty. We really had an all-encompassing Japanese experience, as somewhere close to Nagano, the train made a short pause to wait out a 4.9 earthquake that had just hit close to the city. The delay was minor. We arrived in Kanazawa with much more time to spare than we expected, and after we checked in, we walked around the historic centre, starting with Oyama Shrine and continuing to Kanazawa Castle before walking down to the “Samurai District” to find ourselves some dinner. I thought this last part might pose some difficulty, as Kanazawa is not known to be a particularly touristy city, but walking down one street we found a restaurant with a sign under a menu posted to its window that said, “I can’t say for certain, but there appear to be some vegetarian items available.”

Kanazawa made a very favourable impression on us. It seemed unhurried and lived-in, with parks, museums, and university buildings, as well as shrines that despite their fame appeared visited by more locals than tourists. Its history is quite interesting as well. Before its subjugation by the forces of Oda Nobunaga, modern Japan’s first unifier, the province in which Kanazawa lies was held by the Ikko-ikki, followers of the Buddhist priest Rennyo. Using mountains and rivers as natural boundaries, the Ikko-ikki founded Kanazawa as a castle town and ruled the province as a kind of theocratic feudal confederacy dubbed “The Peasants’ Kingdom.”