Where Japan Chooses to Kick Back

History marks Nagasaki as one of only two places to have been devastated by an atom bomb. But four centuries before that epochal event, Nagasaki was known for something much sunnier than a dark mushroom cloud. Over a 200-year period during which Japan quarantined itself from the outside world-no explorers, no traders and above all no missionaries-Nagasaki was the one place foreigners were allowed to live. Dutch and Chinese traders, tolerated because they were not Catholic, called upon the city, leaving behind architecture, food and traditions that have been absorbed into Nagasaki's culture.

Today, Nagasaki offers a respite for travelers exhausted by Tokyo's frenetic chaos. The city is located on Kyushu, Japan's pristine southernmost island where snow-capped volcanoes punctuate patchwork landscapes of vegetable farms. Surrounding waters contain more than 500 small islands. Even the airport is located on an island, albeit one barely larger than the runway.

Upon arrival, it's immediately evident that this is Japan at a more idyllic pace: the captain of the airport ferry is fishing from a large rock while waiting for the next boatload of passengers. Once we are aboard, the local topography takes the stage. Green hills crowned by foggy halos rise from Omura Bay. The ferry lands in Togitsu and a short bus ride brings us south into Nagasaki.

The city of 450,000, built at the apex of a deep harbor, creeps up the precipitous mountainsides. Its atmosphere reflects a myriad of influences. Chinese temples share streets with grocery markets. The aroma of fresh-baked Portuguese castella cakes wafts out of bakeries standing amid sake bars decorated with red lanterns. Victorian-style European buildings have been preserved at Glover Gardens, a well-tended hilltop refuge named for Scotsman Thomas Glover who made his fortune in shipbuilding in Japan in the late 1800s. According to local lore, Glover's home inspired the setting for Puccini's Madame Butterfly.

Nagasaki's neighborhoods are closely packed, an environment ideal for a leisurely, if oftentimes uphill, wander. Start at the Nakashima River in the old downtown area. Stone bridges crisscross the ancient waterway every hundred meters or so; the most notable is Spectacles Bridge-so named because at sunset the waterborne reflection of the bridge's double arches creates the illusion that the river's orange and white carp are swimming within the frames of a pair of eyeglasses. I climb down to the bank for a better look and the fish crowd greedily around me, nudging their large snouts out of the water. "Feed them," a long-haired, young woman says to me, passing me a fistful of cracker crumbs. "It's good luck."

From the bridge, venture east through the outdoor mall, the domain of slouching teenagers wearing baggy, white socks and sporting dyed red hair. The mall is peppered with 100-yen stores, the Japanese equivalent of the dollar store, where you can buy necessities like Hello Kitty bandages and chopstick sets. In the alleys alongside the central esplanade, old women sell fresh fish using floral umbrellas to shield their catches from the sun.

Peckish? Walk south a block to the Chinese Quarter where large, red gates frame the entrances to a district of hole-in-the-wall noodle shops ($3 noodles-the cheapest in the city!). The Chinese rushed into the country when Japan, fearing the spread of Christianity, closed its doors to Westerners. Along with the Dutch whose trade-focused Protestants were considered less threatening than Portugal's Catholic missionaries, the Chinese did business with the rest of the country through Nagasaki's port, though both groups were sequestered in one area of town. Nagasaki's traditional dish-a soup of thick Chinese noodles with bits of fresh fish, shrimp and pork called champon-originates here.

For a bit of Chinese culture after the noodles, head for the hills to Tera-machi, or temple street, so named for the shrines that flank its winding path, the largest of them built by Chinese immigrants in the early 1600s. It's a great place to jog in the early morning, when the air is thick with incense and the temple keepers sweep the grounds.

Nagasaki's best experiences are its surprises-like the kind stranger on a streetcar who invites me to dinner ("I have a daughter who studied English in Canada. Let me make you sushi!"). On my last Saturday in town, I am on my way to visit the Suwa Shinto Shrine when I hear the music of a parade. Two large drums, carried on the backs of robed festival participants, keep rhythm for a 20-person contingent. Men in suits and white-faced women in bright kimonos lead the procession down stone sidewalks, beginning the 168-step ascent to the three large sanctuaries of the shrine. Koyairi, I later learn, is the ceremony that kicks off the five-month preparation period for Nagasaki's best-known event, the October Kunchi festival. Kunchi began in 1634 as part of the government's efforts to expunge foreign influences. Locals were required to open their homes for public scrutiny, a practice designed to expose Christians hidden in the community. It's ironic that the highlight of this xenophobia-inspired festival is the swirling acrobatics of the Chinese dragon dance. Once despised, Nagasaki's foreign flavor has become its greatest strength.