Sometimes there are treasures to be found when travelling to the Far East. Check this baby out. The craftsman who forged this razor was not only obviously skilled, but humble as well. This razor bears none of the usual stamps proclaiming who made it. No, this artisan toiled in anonymity in the shadow of Mount Asiago in the Japanese Alps for the sake of his craft alone. Legend has it that he would hone his razors directly in the stream flowing down the side of Mount Asiago. He would stomp around for a while, and then sit down in the stream and hone directly on one of the flat rocks worn smooth by the passage of eons. The sediment raised by his stomping acted effectively as a slurry, the abrasives washed down from the hone quarries higher up the mountain through which this very stream passed. As he honed, the stream would slowly return to it’s former clarity, producing an exquisite dilution refinement of the razor’s edge. But the razor was not quite ready yet. The Master would then whip off his belt, that had many times been steeped in that nagura-like sediment rich stream, and proceed to strop the living daylights out of the razor on this ersatz pasted strop. The sound of one hand clapping was louder than his HHT….