日本金泽：被时光遗忘的城市

The first thing I noticed as I stepped off the train in Kanazawa was the hypermodernity of its railway station， which is covered by a glittering glass dome. The second thing I noticed was the utter absence of foreign visitors. This was a contrast from the few days I had just spent in Kyoto， which is one of my favorite Japanese cities but this time seemed to be overrun with Western tourists in rented kimonos mugging for the smartphones on the ends of their selfie-sticks.

Kanazawa， for the moment， anyway， is a refreshingly low-key affair. This 16th-century castle town of some 460，000 on Japans west coast has remained blissfully off the radar of most overseas travelers， but has long been a favorite getaway for the Japanese.

Designated a UNESCO City of Crafts and Folk Art， Kanazawa has serious artistic credibility and is a center for artisans who produce lacquer ware， textiles and other crafts using traditional techniques. None of these is more identified with Kanazawa than gold leaf. True to the citys name， which means golden marsh， Kanazawa produces virtually all the gold leaf made in Japan， where they like to cover everything from monuments to food with the stuff.

At Hakuza Honten， a local store that specializes in all things gilded， I watched customers shop for varnished jewelry cases and bowls that cost many thousands of dollars， or souvenirs that they traditionally bring home for friends and co-workers. These shiny goodies glittered plenty， but what really caught my eye was the replica of a 16th-century shoguns traveling tearoom that was covered in so much gold leaf it literally glowed behind its protective glass wall.

Even more captivating than the gold-covered finery was one of the stores craftsmen， 66-year-old Shigeyo Aoshima， whom I watched hammer sheets of gold pressed between parchment into gold leaf. When he was finished， the gold leaf was a thousand times thinner than an average piece of paper and dissolved to glitter when rubbed between his fingers. When I asked Mr. Aoshima how long he had practiced to become a master craftsman his reply was quintessentially Japanese： “You never stop training，” he said.

Having been spared by earthquakes and tsunamis and having escaped the World War II air raids that decimated so many Japanese cities， Kanazawa is a living museum of sorts， and one of the best-preserved cities in the nation. With its clay-walled， shingle-roofed homes and sinewy trees， the Nagamachi quarter looks just as it must have when samurai warriors lived here from the 16th to 19th centuries.

The neighborhood was so sleepy that I began to wonder if I had wandered into a sort of Japanese Colonial Williamsburg after closing time. The stone-paved lanes were eerily silent except for an occasional gurgling sound from one of the canals， which were once used to transport goods but are so pristine its hard to believe they were ever anything but decorative. I was brought back to the present when a woman appeared， seemingly out of thin air， and slid open a large wooden door that revealed a parking lot and half a dozen cars. After steering her electric vehicle into the narrow alleyway，she closed the gate， once again hiding any trace of the 21st century.

Higashi Chaya， another historic area on the other side of the city， looks like a sound stage for a 19th-century costume drama.

But the biggest draw for Higashi Chaya are the geishas who work here. During the day， the kimono-clad ladies serve sweets and thick green tea in the courtyards of teahouses; at night， these classically trained performers put on elaborate kimonos， paint their faces white and entertain deep-pocketed patrons with drinking games and witty banter over elaborate meals.

The citys symbolic and topographic crown is the 28-acre Kenrokuen garden， created and maintained for the enjoyment of the feudal lords who lived in the neighboring castle. Typical of Japanese gardens， Kenrokuen is intersected with winding lanes and streams that flow under arched footbridges. Gnarly pine trees camouflage classical pagodas， which provide meditative spots to rest beside the flower-lined ponds.

The park embodies wabi-sabi， the Japanese aesthetic that celebrates transiency and imperfection. While grand European gardens—like those at Versailles—seem to have been designed with immortality in mind， the creators of Japanese gardens such as Kenrokuen were reaching for an earthly manifestation of the ephemeral. In spring it blushes with canopies of pink cherry blossoms; in summer its awash in blood-red azaleas. In winter， to protect the tree limbs from breaking under heavy snows， gardeners tie lengths of rope to the branches and attach them to bamboo poles that run along the trunks， making the trees look like giant chandeliers. From season to season， the very shape of Kenrokuen changes.

Just down the hill from the timelessness of Kenrokuen is the unabashedly modern 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art， a stark， circular structure built with boatloads of glass， to reflect its surroundings rather than compete with them.

I knew Kanazawa was a city with one foot planted proudly in its past. What I realized at the museum is that its other foot is striding into the future almost as swiftly as the bullet trains now rolling into its station. But the best parts of Kanazawa have remained unchanged for centuries. And I have little doubt theyll be around for centuries more.

当我走下到达金泽的火车时，我首先注意到的是金泽火车站的超现代设计，那闪闪发亮的玻璃穹顶。接着，我发现这里完全看不到外国游客，这与我前阵子在京都看到的情况形成鲜明的对比。京都是我最为喜爱的日本城市之一，但现在那里似乎满街都是穿着租来的和服，举着自拍杆，对着智能手机做各种表情拍照的外国游客。

但无论如何，就目前而言，金泽仍是一座低调而使人耳目一新的城市。金泽位于日本的西岸，人口约为46万，这座始建于16世纪的城堡小镇至今尚未受到海外游客的瞩目，但却一直是日本人非常喜爱的度假地点。

金泽被联合国教科文组织评为“手工艺与民间艺术之都”，具有极高的艺术价值，是传统工匠制作漆器、纺织物以及其他手工艺品的中心。但其中最能代表金泽的要数金箔。与其名字相符，金泽（意为金色的沼泽）几乎出产了日本所有的金箔。在日本，人们喜欢用金箔装点一切，从纪念碑到食物。

我在箔座本店（当地一间专卖镀金饰品的商店）看到许多顾客前来购买价值数千美元的镀金珠宝盒和碗，或者是一些他们习惯给朋友和同事带回去的纪念品。这些闪亮的小玩意儿都非常耀眼，但真正吸引我眼球的是16世纪一位幕府将军的随行茶室复制品，上面覆盖着无数金箔，透过展示柜的安全玻璃，那套件真的金光灿灿。

比这件被金箔所覆盖的艺术品更具吸引力的是这间店的一位工匠，66岁的青岛茂，我看着他把压在羊皮纸间的金片锤成金箔。等他完工后，金箔变得比普通的纸还要薄一千倍。当他用手指摩搓金箔时，金箔便融化在他指间，闪闪发光。当我向青岛先生询问他练习了多长时间才成为工匠大师时，他给出了一个典型的日本式答案：“训练永无止境，”他说。

逃过了地震和海啸，也逃过了曾摧毁日本许多城市的二战空袭，金泽简直是一座货真价实的综合博物馆，也是全日本被保存得最好的城市之一。泥墙瓦顶的房屋以及粗壮的大树，现在的长町区看起来一定和16到19世纪江户时代的日本武士所居住的长町区一模一样。

营业时间结束后，附近的街区一片沉寂，我开始怀疑自己是否走进了日本的殖民地威廉斯堡。走在石板小道上，周围静得诡异，只能间或听到河道那边传来的潺潺流水声。以前，人们通过这些河道来运送货物。但是这些河道非常清澈，难以想象那竟然不是装饰观赏用的。一位不知从哪里冒出来的女士出现在我眼前，她推开一扇大大的木门，里面是一个停车场和六辆汽车，我被带回了现代。她把电动车驶进狭窄的小巷，接着关上门，21世纪的痕迹再次被隐藏了起来。

东茶屋街位于该市另一面，同样也是一个历史文化街区，看起来就像是19世纪古装剧的拍摄现场。

然而，东茶屋街最大的特色是在此处工作的艺妓。白天，这些穿着和服的女士会在茶屋的庭院里为客人奉上甜点和浓浓的绿茶。夜晚，这些受过传统训练的表演者则会穿上繁饰华丽的和服，把脸涂成白色，陪那些有钱的客人享用精致的佳肴，与他们饮酒作乐、谈笑逗趣。

金泽市最具代表性的建筑是占地28英亩的兼六园，是旧时供住在邻近城堡的藩王娱乐的地方。兼六园是典型的日式花园，园内小路蜿蜒交错，分布着多座错落有致的拱桥，桥下是涓涓流水。种满成排鲜花的池塘旁是被粗壮松树遮挡住的古塔，是供人沉思休息的地方。

这座园林体现了日本美学里的“佗寂之美”，也就是不恒久，不完美之美。欧洲的园林都是富丽堂皇的——像是凡尔赛宫里面的那些，设计师们似乎都将永恒不朽的原则铭记于心。然而，日本园林（比如兼六园）的设计师们则着力传达出世间一切皆短暂这一理念。春天，满园都是漫天开放的粉红色樱花。夏天，血红色的杜鹃开满了整个园林。冬天，为了保护树枝不被大雪压断，花匠会用长长的绳子将树干和撑着树干的竹竿绑紧，看起来就像是一盏盏巨大的枝形吊灯。一年四季，兼六园呈现出不同的面貌。

沿着未受时间影响的兼六园往山下走，就是极其现代化的21世纪当代艺术博物馆，一座冷硬的圆形建筑，由大量的玻璃构建而成，显现出四周环境，而非与之争锋。

我知道金泽是一脚深植于过去的城市，从博物馆里我了解到其另一脚正在迈向未来，几乎与驶进其火车站的子弹列车一样高速。然而，幾个世纪以来，金泽最好的那些部分却未曾改变。我几乎毫不怀疑，几个世纪以后，它们也同样不会改变。