The Nobesawa Ginzan silver mine opened in 1457 during the Muromachi period. For nearly two centuries, it shaped the valley's economy and drew miners into the steep terrain of northeastern Honshu. During the Sengoku period, the powerful Mogami clan controlled the mine, using its silver to finance their wars against the Date clan. By 1598, the mine's output was reportedly compared to the famous Iwami Ginzan Silver Mine. But the wealth did not last. After the Tokugawa shogunate took direct control in 1636, production peaked during the Kan'ei era and then declined sharply. Groundwater seepage flooded the shafts, and despite large-scale drainage efforts in the 1670s, the mine was abandoned by the early 1700s. What the miners left behind, though, were the hot springs -- thermal waters that had been a comfort during the brutal work underground. The town pivoted from extraction to hospitality, and Ginzan Onsen was born.

The ryokan that line the Ginzan River today date primarily from the Taisho era (1912-1926) and early Showa period, built in a distinctive style of exposed timber framing, stucco reliefs, and multi-story wooden facades that overhang the narrow gorge. The town center is entirely pedestrian. No cars pass through. The bridges spanning the river are small and arched, and after nightfall, real gas lamps -- not electric replicas -- illuminate the streets, casting a warm amber glow against the wooden walls. In winter, heavy snowfall transforms the scene into something that feels pulled from another century entirely. The 22-meter Shirogane-no-Taki waterfall tumbles down at the far end of town, just steps from the old mine entrance. Two secluded public bathhouses, known as rotenburo, offer outdoor soaking, and a communal foot bath called warashiyu sits along the main path. Several ryokan also open their indoor baths to day visitors.

In the early 2000s, the celebrated architect Kengo Kuma -- who would later design Tokyo's National Stadium -- took on one of the town's most delicate projects: the renovation of Fujiya, a century-old ryokan. Rather than demolish and rebuild, Kuma grafted modern elements onto the historic structure, retaining the original post-and-beam facade while inserting a sliding glass entry wall, a two-story atrium, larger windows, and reflecting pools. The result has been called both radical and subtle -- a 10,000-square-foot building where old timber meets contemporary transparency. Kuma described wanting to preserve the continuity of the old facade while introducing a new spirit. The renovation exemplifies Ginzan Onsen's broader approach to preservation: honoring the architecture of the past without turning the town into a museum piece.

Reaching Ginzan Onsen requires deliberate effort, which is part of its appeal. From Tokyo, the Yamagata Shinkansen runs to Oishida Station, where buses depart every other hour for the final ride into the valley. The road narrows as it climbs, the landscape shifting from rice paddies to forested mountains. When the bus stops and passengers step out, the town reveals itself all at once -- the full length of the river corridor visible in a single glance, ryokan stacked against the hillsides, steam rising from vents and open windows. There are no convenience stores, no chain restaurants, no neon signs. The town's economy runs on the same resource that drew people here after the silver ran out: hot water rising from deep below the valley floor, as it has for more than four hundred years.