The Profound Beauty and Legacy of Lake Akan

Hokkaido is known for its volcanic lakes, and I have visited a few—all stunning. But Lake Akan proved to be an exceptional experience on many levels. It was breathtakingly beautiful in an intimate way, with an undeniable healing energy, yet also rich in cultural and historical complexity as the heart of an Indigenous community.

This region holds deep cultural significance as part of the ancestral homeland of the Ainu, the Indigenous people of northern Japan. For centuries, the Ainu lived in harmony with this land, their traditions woven into its rivers, forests, and wildlife. However, during the Meiji era and beyond, government policies sought to assimilate them, suppressing their language, customs, and way of life. Settlers took over their lands for industrial-scale agriculture, decimating the virgin forests and stripping the Ainu of their rights to hunt and fish.

Today, the Ainu community around Lake Akan is revitalizing its heritage through the Ainu kotan (village), a hub for crafts, a museum, and the very important Ainu Ikor theatre, where storytelling and dance performances bring their culture to life. [https://www.akanainu.jp/en/] It’s also a place that enables conversations among indigenous peoples, as I noticed the big Maori carving gifted to the museum by a prominent Maori leader, Nanaia Mahuta, whose photo was prominently placed next to it. It’s not the first time I noticed the close connection with Aotearoa’s tangata whenua.

Some criticize the village as overly touristic, with mass-produced souvenirs (many now imported from Southeast Asia). Yet, despite this, I believe what’s happening in Akan is far more significant: a symbolic act of cultural revitalization led by the community itself.

Several times, I found myself deeply moved, even wiping away tears. These emotions arose not only from the awe-inspiring natural beauty—the kind that stirs the soul—but also from the stories of the Ainu community and the powerful Indigenous dance performances I witnessed, all rooted in their belief in divine connections to nature and the animal world. Once banned, these dances now resonate with ancestral pride—their rhythmic movements and haunting chants telling stories of nature, spirits, and resilience. Witnessing them, I felt not just admiration but a profound sense of shared humanity, a connection to a history both tragic and triumphant.

The final performance I attended, The Lost Kamui, was stunning, blending tradition with contemporary elements, including mesmerizing digital projections that transported us to Hokkaido’s forests. At the end, we were invited to join the dancers in a cyclical celebration—what a way to honor the summer solstice!

While in Akan, I also visited the Ordinary Miracle, a photography exhibition by the award-winning Hokkaido nature photographer Makoto Ando . His work left me in awe of the natural world once again. I loved his storytelling, which offered an intimate glimpse into his encounters with the more-than-human world, deepening my appreciation for his art. He insisted he wasn’t a spiritual person—just a “bear guy”—but his photos captured the sacredness of nature, a core tenet of Ainu Mosir cosmology.

Later, I had the privilege of a guided forest tour with Kengo (https://en.anytimeainutime.jp/guide/kengo-takiguchi/) , a local Ainu carver and one of only three qualified Ainu forest guides in Lake Akan—a role made possible by the Maeda Ippoen Foundation, a driving force behind Ainu cultural revival here. Kengo showed me how the Ainu use plants and trees, shared forest stories, pointed out crane nests, and even spotted a pair of young deer crossing our path. The next day, he told me his private tour had been cut short due to a bear sighting—the same bear that led to the cancellation of the Lumina Kami light and sound event the night before. Disappointing, but unsurprising: this is bear country, after all.

Our conversations were the highlight of my stay in Akan. Kengo wears his heart on his sleeve, and his emotional honesty—whether sharing the Ainu community’s struggles or his own journey to reclaim his identity—left a deep impression. I left with three of his hand-carved bears (black, red, and pink). When I asked if he signs his work, he laughed and said no—nobody else carves such “ugly” bears. I disagreed. No one carves bears like his, but they’re far from ugly. To me, they felt like an extension of his Ainu identity, finally free to re-emerge after generations of suppression, shaped by a collective memory that still flows in their veins.

Even as I boarded the bus to leave, emotions welled up, and I brushed away fresh tears. What was it about this place that left such a profound mark? I may need time to fully process my experience at Lake Akan, but for now, I’m deeply grateful to have encountered both transcendent natural beauty and an Indigenous community reclaiming what was nearly lost after generations of oppression.

Lake Akan is more than a scenic place on the tourist trail —it’s a place where the past is remembered, and where healing, both personal and collective, is unfolding. There’s still much work to be done before true justice is achieved, but this is a start. Imperfect, yet necessary.

Thank you, Kengo, for making my stay in Akan so special. I’ll be back.

For Makoto Ando's work see here: https://untouchedhokkaido.jp/.../%E5%A5%87%E8%B7%A1%E3.../