Into the Forge: Visiting the TakaMi Kamisori Master in the Middle of Nowhere Japan

Into the Forge: Visiting a Takami Kamisori Master in Rural Japan

A year of planning.

Dozens of messages, introductions and favours.

All for one visit to one blacksmith in the middle of nowhere Japan –

a man who still forges Takami Kamisori, the traditional Japanese razor, the old way.

This is not a factory tour.

This is the source.

Why Travel to Kochi Nagari for a Takami Kamisori?

If you care about shaving as a craft, at some point you have to go back to where the steel is born. A Kamisori isn’t just a Japanese straight razor; it’s a piece of culture, technique and obsession beaten into shape over fire.

There are, as far as we know, only a handful of blacksmiths left in Japan who still make Takami Kamisori in the traditional way. That alone was enough reason to go. But I didn’t want to just buy one. I wanted to see it made. To understand the process, the rhythm, the small decisions that never make it into marketing copy.

So we aimed for Kochi Nagari, a small rural town in Kochi prefecture, far away from Tokyo neon and tourist trails, to visit a blacksmith who doesn’t advertise, hardly replies to messages and simply wants to make blades.

Perfect.

The Road from Osaka to Kochi: When Plans Fall Apart

The original plan was simple:

Start in Osaka, rent a car, and drive five hours into the mountains. We had:

A local interpreter who lives in the area

An importer who helped set up the introduction

A confirmed time with the Kamisori blacksmith

We even booked a tiny, traditional hotel in Nagari. Beautiful, minimal, very Japanese – and absolutely not built for someone who’s two meters tall.

Then Japan reminded us who’s in charge.

At the car rental desk, my international driver’s license turned out to be useless without an official Japanese translation. No translation, no car. No exceptions. Not even for people who just crossed half the globe.

Frustrating? Yes.

Surprising? Not really.

This is Japan: rules first, feelings second.

So we pivoted. No tantrum, no drama. We dropped the car idea and jumped on the train.

Riding the Shinkansen into the Middle of Nowhere

The trip to Kochi became a chain of trains and transfers, including the Shinkansen high-speed train. Smooth, silent, fast. Outside the window, Japan slowly shifted from city to countryside: less concrete, more mountains, more rivers, more space.

By the time we reached Kochi Nagari, we were a few train rides, some confused announcements and a lot of staring-at-signs away from Osaka.

Nagari is small. Roughly 1,200 people. No English menus, no tourist buses, no souvenir shops. Just real rural Japan: quiet streets, old houses, and the feeling that nothing here has changed in decades.

We found a local restaurant, pointed at a menu we barely understood and ended up eating pork intestines. Salty, fatty, surprisingly good. Not exactly “Instagram-friendly”, but very real.

Tomorrow: the blacksmith.

Meeting the Kamisori Blacksmith

We met him at the station. No grand entrance, no mystique. Just a small car, a quiet man and a short nod.

The blacksmith barely spoke, even through the interpreter. Timid, shy, almost trying to disappear into his own jacket. At one point he asked:

“Why did you come all this way? I’m just a blacksmith. I just make blades.”

That line says everything you need to know. No ego. No branding. No “artisanal” bullshit. Just a man who has spent his life at the forge and sees that as normal.

We drove up into the hills on narrow roads that slowly turned into something that barely counted as a road. After about fifteen minutes of off-road bouncing, we reached his place.

Inside the Forge: Where a Kamisori Is Born

Calling it a workshop would be polite. It was more like an old shed nailed to the side of a mountain.

Inside:

A coal forge.

Old steel machines that looked older than all of us combined.

Tools everywhere.

Dust. Ash. Heat.

It smelled like fire, steel and sweat. Dirty, raw, absolutely perfect.

This is where a Takami Kamisori begins.

He lit the forge. No theatrics, no speech, no “let me explain my philosophy first”. Just work. Slowly at first, then a rhythm. Steel in, steel out, hammer, heat, water, repeat.

What Makes a Takami Kamisori Different?

A Kamisori razor is deceptively simple. It’s built from two kinds of steel:

A softer, tougher steel that forms the body and spine of the razor

A hard, high-carbon steel at the edge, the part that actually does the shaving

He forges the softer steel so it supports and carries the blade. The harder steel is welded on and pushed toward the cutting edge, where it can be honed extremely fine on Japanese natural stones.

That’s the magic:

Strength in the spine.

Sharpness at the edge.

Watching him work, you see decisions in every hammer blow – how much force, where on the metal, how long in the fire, how deep in the water. It’s not just technique; it’s timing, feel, and a lifetime of repetition.

We watched the entire process. His Takami method from raw steel to Kamisori form. No shortcuts, no performance for the camera. Just the way he always does it.

“That’s Enough for Today”

At a certain point he stopped. No warning. No “finale”.

He wiped his hands and said, simply:

“That’s enough for today.”

Old-school mentality. And I love it.

He didn’t care that we came from Europe, or that we’d spent months preparing the visit. He gave what he felt was right. If we want more, we come back. We earn the rest.

For us, it was more than enough. We’d just seen a Takari Kamisori forged in front of us, from scratch, in a shed on a mountain in Kochi Nagari.

From Strangers to Fellow Craftsmen

After the forging, the atmosphere loosened.

We gave him Belgian chocolate and a bottle of ROMAIN perfume – a small piece of our world for his. He was clearly moved by the gifts, especially the perfume.

With the interpreter, I asked my questions. This time he answered in more detail. Then something shifted:

He started asking us questions.

He realised we weren’t just tourists ticking “Japanese blacksmith” off a bucket list. We were professionals. Barbers. People who live and breathe sharp steel every day.

A shy smile here, a quiet laugh there. In his world, that’s a big yes.

Out of gratitude, he handed me a Kamisori and a folding knife he made himself. Not as a sale. As a gift for the effort, the interest, the respect.

He gave us his phone number. We gave him our promise: this wouldn’t be the last time.

From a Mountain Shed to ROMAIN in Ghent

This visit wasn’t just a romantic detour. It was research. Connection. Roots.

The blacksmith doesn’t only make Takami Kamisori. He also forges kitchen knives, tools and cutting instruments – anything that needs to be sharp and honest.

One day, his work will sit in ROMAIN, in the centre of Ghent, in the oldest barbershop in Belgium. A direct line from a smoky, isolated forge in Kochi Nagari to a barbershop where we shave, teach and honour this craft.

That’s the point: not just talking about tradition, but connecting it. From Japan to Belgium. From blacksmith to barber. From forge to face.

He dropped us back at the station. No long goodbye. Just a nod, a wave, and he disappeared down the road.

This wasn’t a goodbye.

This was a “see you again”.

Why This Matters for Barbers and Razor Lovers

If you’re a barber, wet shaver or straight razor obsessive, here’s the takeaway:

A Takari Kamisori is more than a collectible. It’s a living tradition.

Understanding how a Japanese Kamisori razor is forged changes how you shave, hone and respect the tool.

Connecting directly with the blacksmith in Kochi gives every stroke of the blade a story and a face.

For me, as a barber and educator behind ROMAIN Barbershop & Academy in Ghent, this trip was not a luxury. It was part of the job. If I teach people about straight razors and Kamisori, I want to be able to say:

“I’ve seen it made. I’ve spoken to the man at the forge.”

And that makes every shave – in Ghent, far away from Nagari – just a little more honest.