Gaia Series 109: Roadside Station Survival!

Japan’s roadside stations face growing pressure to stay afloat as costs rise and visitors fall.

Along the coast of Chigasaki in Kanagawa Prefecture, a crowd begins to form. It is early in the morning, but more than 100 people have already queued up. They are here for the grand opening of the Shonan Chigasaki Roadside Station, the first of its kind in the Shonan region.

The facility, which includes a farmers’ market and food court, offers fresh vegetables, local produce and dishes made with ingredients sourced from the area. At the food court, the sashimi platter set costs 2,500 yen (about S$23), packed with fish caught by local fishermen that same morning. “I saw it and thought, since it’s the opening day, I might as well go for it,” one customer said. “I wanted the best-tasting dish.”

Another highlight is Shonan’s famous whitebait rice bowl topped with a soft-cooked egg, priced at 1,400 yen. Upstairs, local products are on display, including ice cream made from Chigasaki milk and steamed buns filled with premium Miyaji pork, a delicacy unique to the area. The shop stocks around 2,000 items. “It feels like rediscovering the region,” said one visitor.

Behind the project is Yuzuru Matsumoto, president of Farmers’ Forest, a company that has developed several popular roadside stations across Japan. “For visitors, it showcases what Chigasaki is truly about,” he said. “For local residents, they may be surprised to learn, ‘Oh, we had this in town?’”

Japan has more than 1,200 roadside stations, or michi-no-eki, spread across the country. They were originally built as rest stops and local produce outlets, but over time many have taken on broader roles: supporting tourism, preserving regional culture and sustaining local economies.

But the boom may be slowing. In the past three and a half years, four stations have closed. It is estimated that around 30 per cent of all roadside stations operate at a loss. “This is why flexible thinking is vital,” Matsumoto said. “We need to keep driving innovation. Without such efforts, it will be difficult to survive.”

In Kyoto’s Minamiyamashiro village, a station that opened in 2017 has become a rare success story. Known for its high-quality Uji tea, the village rebranded its tea under the “village tea” label and created original products, from matcha sweets to a full tea-themed restaurant. Last year, the station welcomed over 600,000 visitors and earned around 650 million yen in sales.

“It is like coffee,” said one customer. “Some teas are sharp and acidic, while others are sweet with a strong aroma.”

The station was the idea of Kenji Morimoto, a former village government worker who left his job to run it. “If outside companies ran it and failed, they could just walk away,” he said. “In my case, if it failed, I would lose everything. Even people’s trust in me.”

By turning a traditional crop into a year-round attraction, the station has helped local farmers who once relied solely on seasonal income. “Now, thanks to the station, we have income every month,” said farmer Hidemi Tsujimoto. “That is a big attraction for us.” He estimates their annual income has risen by 30 per cent.

In contrast, not all plans are welcomed. In Naka City, Ibaraki Prefecture, a roadside station project has caused sharp division. The city, with a population of about 53,000, proposed a facility with a farmers’ market, restaurants and tourism activities, with completion scheduled for 2028.

But the three-billion-yen project, of which the city must shoulder nearly one billion yen, has sparked concerns among residents. “It is largely taxpayers’ money,” said Hideo Endo, a 69-year-old resident. “It does not look like the city is acting responsibly.”

Endo questioned the projected annual revenue of 480 million yen for the farmers’ market. His own research found that national averages hover between 200 to 300 million yen. “Even a layman like me can see that those figures don’t seem right,” he said.

Despite the city council approving the project, Endo submitted a petition calling for more public hearings and transparency. It was ultimately rejected, with only a few councillors voting in favour. Still, Endo and other residents have continued their outreach, holding informal meetings and distributing flyers. “If you are spending three billion yen, then hold as many [meetings] as needed,” one resident said.

At a community gathering in July, the concerns were clear. “If the project failed, citizens would bear the burden,” one participant said. “Especially since the estimates seem overly optimistic.”

While some support the station, others are more cautious. “There are already many [stations] in neighbouring towns,” said a housewife in her seventies. “We also have direct sales outlets. Honestly, it just makes me uneasy.”

Mayor Hikaru Senzaki stands by the decision. “Some argued we should debate until every citizen agreed. But in reality, doing so would stall all administration. That is why, with the council’s approval, we are already proceeding.”

A different kind of challenge faces the Inami Woodcarving Village in Nanto City, Toyama. The roadside station, first registered in 1993, was once a bustling site, famous for Inami’s 250-year-old woodcarving traditions. But subsidies were cut in 2018, visitor numbers fell, and the once-popular bathhouse shut down due to disrepair.

Tairo Ejiri, the 40-year-old station master, took over just as finances became critical. “Fixed costs were 103 per cent of revenue,” he said. “This is an impossible figure.” At the time, the station was losing 50 million yen annually.

Ejiri introduced large-scale novelty meals like jumbo fried chicken sets and 10-scoop soft serves to draw crowds. Visitor numbers rose and losses shrank to 12 million yen, but the situation remained precarious.

To fund renovations, Ejiri and Munetaka Sakita of the local woodcarving association launched a crowdfunding campaign seeking 10 million yen. “Regretfully speaking, the facilities are deteriorating fast,” Sakita said. “We lack the means to cover such expenses.”

The campaign failed to meet its goal. “I’m shocked. Truly shocked,” said Ejiri. “It’s beyond shock.” Yet, he pressed on. In mid-July, he invited 16 local vendors to set up stalls at a community event. “We don’t charge for stalls. All I asked was to please help bring life and bustle,” he said.

Sales reached over 300,000 yen that day, more than four times the previous Sunday’s total. “There were many vendors, and I connected with people from Inami,” Ejiri said. “It may rely on others, and I feel sorry for that. But from now on, I hope we can do things together.”

While the event offered no guarantee of long-term survival, it showed that even small steps could spark new interest. For Ejiri, who weeds the car park by hand each morning and checks every corner of the station before bed, it is not just about profit. It is about keeping a piece of Inami alive.

Across Japan, roadside stations are being pulled in different directions: economic lifelines, community spaces, tourist spots. Each one is a reflection of its town’s hopes and fears, and the people working to make them matter.

For now, the Woodcarving Village remains open. And as long as people like Ejiri continue to try, it remains more than just a building. It is a symbol of what communities can still hold on to, even when the odds are stacked against them.