The signposts are ceramic, and so are the plaques in the road. The kiln walk in Shigaraki begins in front of the station and follows old lanes in which fired tiles and ceramic markers are set into the surface underfoot, so the route names itself in its own material. Climbing kilns and brick chimneys stand along the way, and in places stacks of disused hibachi braziers are still where they were left. The old block names — Tōsei-chō, Yakiya-chō — survive as well, so the map tells you what each part of the district used to do.

The Shigaraki Kōgen Railway runs down the valley to Kibukawa, which is the connection to everywhere else. Premises with a kiln attached come up for sale from time to time, and the winters are properly cold in this basin. A short way off, the ceramic park occupies a large open site, which makes an odd pair with the narrowness of the walking route: the same town gives you two entirely different experiences of moving through it, one hemmed in and one wide open.

The braziers are still stacked not because nobody has tidied up but because there is no particular reason to move them. Fired ceramic is heavy and hard to break, so disposing of it costs effort even when it has no use left, and while the question is being deferred the objects gradually become part of the view. Something of how these lanes look is owed to that: in a pottery district the equipment outlives its purpose by decades, and the leftovers accumulate faster than anyone clears them. What visitors read as atmosphere is, in the plainest sense, a backlog of unfinished tidying.