What It’s Like to Train with Samurais in Japan

What I learned training with a 16th-generation Samurai.

I’m in the back of a pickle shop on a sleepy side street of Kanazawa, in Japan’s Ishikawa Prefecture. I’ve just been handed a 400-year-old sword. Despite its age, the blade looks shiny and new, the room’s light highlighting meticulous etches toward its base. The sword is beautiful. It feels like holding a museum artifact. I’m deeply aware of the history and artistry of what’s in my hand. The sword is also…very sharp. I start to turn the steel and—

“Careful!” says the translator. “You have to handle things delicately.”

The translator gestures toward the back of the room. Masahisa Shijimaya, dressed in a jet-black hakama, smiles and motions with his arms. I saunter over and surrender the blade, suddenly feeling like my hands are too big for my body. Shijimaya bows and starts moving upstairs. I follow and immediately slip, my socked feet unable to find traction on the tatami mats. It’s not an encouraging sign for what’s about to go down.

I am half a world away from home, holed up in a Japanese pickle shop because I’m going to train with samurai.

I was invited to Japan by the Ishikawa prefecture and Shangri La Tokyo to partake in an immersion with samurai culture, including an hour-long training session with a 16th-generation samurai. My notions of samurai were primarily based on cartoons and video games—an intense wash of colors, high kicks, and obscure weapons. From my perspective, the invitation to train with a samurai might as well have been an invitation to train with Batman. But during my visit, digging deeper into the rich history, heritage, and culture of samurai served as a useful vantage point, offering context and a framework for a country that can sometimes feel overwhelming.

The term samurai refers to Japan’s military nobility and officer caste that lasted from approximately the late 12th century to the 1870s. Originally, armed supporters of the feudal lords, the samurai’s military influence gave way to political power and esteemed positions within society. In addition to their combat training, samurai were expected to be well-educated and dignified. Influences from Zen-Buddhism, Confucianism, and Shintoism dictated their behavior in the form of Bushidō, the “warrior way.”

While practices varied by region and time period—and some historians consider the term anachronistic—Bushidō emphasized frugal living, kindness, personal honor, and, above all else, a stress on duty.

Across the country, there are hundreds of attractions that document the samurai. Some offer kitschy dress-up experiences and exciting sword demonstrations, others lean into the historical aspects, and others still highlight the Zen practices associated with the samurai, such as tea ceremonies and rock gardens. For those looking to dig into the culture without being surrounded by other tourists, Kanazawa is a lesser-known gem.

Kanazawa is the capital of the Ishikawa prefecture. During my time in the city, the hosts walked me through a number of samurai-related activities. We wondered the Samurai district, a slew of middle-class residences preserved from the Kaga Domain.

Behind the ocher mud walls, shops offered souvenirs and trinkets. A number of museums contextualized the area, including the Nomura-ke, which housed both traditional armor and a truly stunning central garden. We participated in a tea ceremony, the preparation and consumption of matcha, offering time for quiet reflection under the guidance of experts, some of whom have spent years perfecting their craft.

At each event I experienced, staff related the outings to larger customs and values across the country—a value on history and family lineage. Dedication, time, and study put into the crafts that matter most to you. While the answers doled out to visitors felt well-rehearsed, the sentiments resonated because of the obvious care put into their tasks. Still, as much as I enjoyed the excursions, they all felt like a preamble to the real reason I’d taken the trip—the sword class at Shijimaya-Honpo.

Before the class, I conjured up all sorts of images of action movies and back alley brawls. After participating in exactly two jiu-jitsu classes in my life, I figured the crossover skills meant I would walk away from the hour-long class, if not a full-fledged blade master, at least a high-class amateur. But what I found was something much more fulfilling.

Masahisa Shijimaya is a 16th-generation Samurai. While Shijimaya has a black belt in martial arts and has trained extensively in kendo, his full-time job is not dedicated to training. While historically, samurai had been offered a stipend associated with their duties, the practice stopped before the 20th century. Along with his family, Shijimaya runs a shop dating back to the late 1800s which offers an assortment of pickled goods. The classes are a way to stay connected with his heritage and share his history with the public.

In a room behind the food counters, the translators and I sat with Shijimaya as he showed off his family’s swords. Originally used to defend Kanazawa, the blades have been oiled and kept in pristine condition. Walking through a descendant chart, Shijimaya spoke with pride about his ancestors. It felt like sitting in on a family dinner until he started doing tricks with the blade.

When our conversation is wrapped up, I’m handed a hakama and asked to get changed. Before being given my own sword, Shijimaya walks me through a series of simple moves. After unsheathing the weapon, he elegantly slashes through a piece of wet bamboo, set up specifically because “it feels close to cutting through a human spine.”

The gesture feels more like a dance than defense, his perfect footwork dividing the space and the swoosh of the weapon filling the room as the sword cuts the wood. Next, it’s my turn. Finally, dressed for the part, and after weeks of anticipation, I am ready to play-act as a samurai. I go to take out my sword, and…it’s stuck. I try again, and it’s still stuck.

“You need to move the blade more swiftly,” I’m told through the translator.

After finally getting out my sword, I spend the next 40 minutes or so trying and failing to emulate the moves of Shijimaya. My blade does not make the wooshing sound, and I nearly trip over my feet. As we wrap things up, Shijimaya reminds me that samurai trained for decades to perfect their craft. And clearly, after only an hour, I was no samurai.