Why Japanese Hell Power Walking Is Our New Favorite Exercise

If you haven’t been to Unzen Onsen, near Nagasaki, you’re missing out on one of the hottest under-the-radar towns in Japan. Come with us to this little spot in Kyushu, where the bubbles blurb, the ancient pines tower, and the tomatoes are served singularly and cold. It’s primal healing through hot lava.

IT’S 7 A.M. IN Unzen Amakusa National Park, about 50 kilometers from Nagasaki on Kyushu, the southernmost of Japan’s four main islands. I’m half asleep still but somehow power-walking with a group of tracksuit-wearing Japanese strangers over a volcanic landscape that’s burping gaseous steam and bubbling gray mud. Our guide’s morning enthusiasm is high—and borderline criminal. 

This wasn’t just basic power walking. It was Jigoku style—Hell Power Walking! Fitting, since the network of snakelike boardwalk trails was the only thing separating me and my powerwalk posse from scalding hot steam vents and hissing fumaroles fed from a lava lair deep below us. One snoozy misstep and it’s sayonara. 

In Japan, these volcanic areas are aplenty and often called “Jigoku” (hell). What made Unzen’s so different was its almost electric-green lushness and, as I would later learn, its dedication to nature, with sign-posted trails listing local flora and fauna. 

To be honest, 7 a.m. power walking isn’t my normal jam. I’m more of a last call for breakfast kind of guy. But I’d been on the road in Japan for a few weeks overindulging nightly on marbled yakiniku, sake, and 7-Eleven snacks, which I began referring to as “R&D,” and it was turning me soft and plump. So I was grateful for the chance to burn off some fat and partake in some onsen and wellness, which Unzen is all about. 

The sleepy microtown itself is home to about a dozen restaurants, thankfully none of them like the smokey sake dens I’d been hanging out in. I walked up and down the town’s main drag in about 10 minutes and wondered what I would do there for two nights. A few shops sold onsen eggs, local yuzu koshu paste and numerous salts and lotions. There were refreshingly no tourist buses or groups anywhere in sight, an increasingly hard find in Japan. 

Earlier, I’d checked in at the Hoshino Kai Unzen (from JPY13,000 per person per night), a 51-room hotel that opened in November of 2022 and is decorated with stained-glass art, a reminder of the region’s Christian heritage. It overlooks the spectacular volcanic landscape. The hotel’s acid sulfuric onsen water, rich in acidic hydrogen sulfide, was a highlight. I disrobed and stepped into my private balcony onsen, where I soaked before dinner while watching the steam puffs rise and evaporate into the sky like ghosts. Later at their public onsen, a basalt pool surrounded by ferns and trees, I watched the lanterns reflected in the rippling water and listened to melodic and piercing bird calls echo from the surrounding forests. I could feel myself sinking into a state of deep relaxation— the kind of state you don’t realize you need to be in until you’re in it. 

There’s something magical and healing about these volcanic areas. I felt it on Etna, in Iceland, and on Hawaii. Knowing that a tsunami of orange molten lava could cascade into town any minute adds an excitement to the drudgery of the everyday, but also makes you appreciate the delicacy of life. 

It also makes food taste amazing. The restaurant choices in Unzen are limited, but what I had was outstanding. At Kai, I feasted on lobster and beef shabu shabu made with a daishi of flying fish broth and daidai, a bittersweet local citrus that burst with flavor thanks to the lava. Simmered whelk, a pot of spongy pumpkin tofu, and a slab of dense foie gras with dried persimmon rounded out the meal. Visits to local joints were also rewarding. At Kinugasa Cafeteria I ordered hiyayakko, a cold block of mineraly tofu garnished with black soy, fresh ginger, katsuobushi flakes, and spring onions. I also ordered a single cold tomato, which turned out to be a highlight—lightly salted, bursting with tomato flavor, and carved ornamentally into a rose. 

Best of all were my hikes in the area, home to several trails including one starting at Manmyoji Temple, dating back to 700 AD. Along the trail were 88 moss-encrusted statues and three needled pine trees, rumored to have been first planted here by famed monk Kobodaishi, who brought Buddhism to Japan in the 9th century AD. Another brought me around aquamarine Oshidorino Pond, where Daikokuten Magaibutsu (a stone carved Buddha with mysterious and allegedly ancient origins) is etched into a giant rock. I walked the sun-dappled trail for a few hours one quiet spring afternoon and enjoyed it all to myself.  There was nothing hellish about this Jikogu. But maybe sometimes you need to go to hell to truly reach heaven. 

Lede image by pnphotos/Getty Images.

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