2025-03-09

Bell Tower

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Echoes of Renewal: Temple Bells and Tradition
龍華寺の鐘楼:歴史ある建築と除夜の鐘


The traditional Japanese bell tower with a thatched roof that stands in the courtyard of Ryuge-ji Temple in Yokohama, Japan, has been designated as an Important Cultural Property by Kanagawa Prefecture.

The open wooden structure, supported by stout corner pillars, houses a large hanging bell, which is struck by a wooden pole. A monk pulls the pole back and drives it toward the bell with his full strength and weight. This particular design of the tower dates back to the 13th century. The thatched roof, once common, is now a rarity, with clay tiles being more prevalent today.

Although bell towers like this are most commonly found at Buddhist temples, they can sometimes be seen at larger Shinto shrines as well.

The bell in the tower is most often rung on New Year’s Eve during the festivities of ōmisoka (大晦日; lit. "great thirtieth day" of the of the Japanese lunisolar calendar). In the final moments of December 31, temple bells ring out across Japan to mark the transition from one year to the next.

At each temple, the bell is struck 108 times in a Buddhist ritual called joya-no-kane (除夜の鐘; lit. “New Year's Eve Bell"), symbolizing the cleansing of the 108 worldly passions. The final ring comes just after midnight, carrying the hope that those who hear it will enter the new year free from their burdens.

Each New Year’s Eve, Japan’s national broadcaster, NHK, airs live footage from a famous temple where monks perform this ritual. At smaller, more intimate temples, visitors are often allowed to take part in ringing the bell themselves.

At my local temple, which is also home to our family cemetery, we gather each year with relatives and neighbors to welcome the new year. The monk’s wife always prepares a large pot of warm amazake—a traditional sweet, milky sake—heated over an open fire, offering both comfort and warmth on the frigid night.

Our monk places 108 stones in a small bag, and before midnight, we take turns ringing the bell and removing a stone until only one remains. Just after midnight, the monk rings the final, 108th bell and offers a prayer for all who have gathered.

The slow, steady, rhythmic chimes mark the transition from the old year to the new, symbolizing the release of worldly desires—those emotions and attachments that lead to suffering and hinder spiritual growth. For me, simply listening to the bell brings clarity, mindfulness, and a sense of renewal, especially at our quiet, rural temple, nestled behind the hills and overlooking rice paddies, far from the distractions of city lights and noise.

  • Location: Kanazawa Ward, Yokohama, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/09 17:12
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/3.2
  • Classic Negative film simulation
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Fudōmyō-Ō

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A Small Vermilion Shrine for Fudōmyō-Ō, the Immovable Wisdom King 
華寺境内の朱色が美しい不動明王堂


A small vermilion shrine housing a statue of the Buddhist deity Fudōmyō-Ō, or the “Immovable Wisdom King.”

Although located within the grounds of Ryuge-ji, a Buddhist temple, the shrine’s architecture closely resembles that of a traditional Shinto hokora. It’s a quiet example of how Japan’s two spiritual traditions — Buddhism, introduced from China, and indigenous Shinto — once blended naturally in daily life.

This fusion is known as shinbutsu-shūgō (神仏習合), the harmonious coexistence of kami and Buddhas that flourished for centuries. While the Meiji government’s separation order in 1868 sought to divide the two, the effort was not entirely successful. Even today, small moments like this remind us of the enduring ties between them.

  • Location: Kanazawa Ward, Yokohama, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/09 17:12
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/480 sec. at ƒ/2.5
  • Classic Negative film simulation

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Sanmon Gate

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“Temple of Flowers” in Yokohama: The Storied History of Ryuge-ji Temple
花と歴史に包まれる場所〜横浜の龍華寺


Located just an 11-minute walk from Kanazawa-Hakkei Station on the Keikyu Line — itself only about a 40-minute ride from Shinagawa Station in Tokyo — Ryuge-ji Temple is one of Yokohama’s many Buddhist temples.

I stumbled upon Ryuge-ji by chance, while walking between the station and my client’s meeting site. After wrapping up a business meeting — one that, unfortunately, didn’t go as I’d hoped — I wasn’t in a hurry to return to the office. Instead, I found myself wandering toward this peaceful temple, along with the Shinto shrine next door, as a way to clear my head.

Ryuge-ji is an ancient temple that has stood here in Kanazawa Ward, Yokohama, for more than 830 years. It was first established in 1189 as Hogan-ji Temple in the nearby Mutsuura mountains. After the original structure burned down in 1499, it was merged with two other temples, giving rise to the Ryuge-ji Temple we know today.

Throughout its long history, Ryuge-ji has acquired many valuable cultural treasures, including intricate carvings, sculptures, historical documents, scriptures, and paintings — many passed down from the temples with which it merged. Five of these treasures are designated as Yokohama City Designated and Registered Cultural Properties. Among them is the only seated Bodhisattva statue in eastern Japan made of dry lacquer, with origins dating back to the Tenpyo period (729–749).

Today, the temple grounds are cherished by the local community as a place to enjoy seasonal flowers. From late March to early April, visitors can admire Omuro cherry blossoms, a rare variety in the Kanto region. In May, the temple’s peonies come into bloom, followed by vibrant hydrangeas in June. These seasonal displays have earned Ryuge-ji the affectionate nickname “Temple of Flowers” among locals.

  • Location: Kanazawa Ward, Yokohama, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/09 17:09
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 2500 for 1/250 sec. at ƒ/7.1
  • Classic Negative film simulation

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Susaki Shrine

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A Small Neighborhood Shrine in Yokohama: Susaki Shrine
横浜の住宅街にたたずむ小さな神社:洲崎神社


Located just an 11-minute walk from Kanazawa-Hakkei Station on the Keikyu Line — itself only about a 40-minute ride from Shinagawa Station in Tokyo — Susaki Shrine isn’t one of the grand tourist destinations that draw millions of visitors. Instead, it’s a quiet, everyday neighborhood shrine, the kind you can find throughout Japan, whether in bustling urban centers or tucked away in remote mountain villages. Shrines like this are woven into the daily lives of local communities.

I stumbled upon Susaki Shrine by chance, simply walking between the station and my client’s meeting site. After wrapping up my business meeting — one that, unfortunately, didn’t go as I had hoped — I wasn’t in a hurry to return to the office. Instead, I found myself wandering over to this peaceful spot, along with the temple next door, as a way to collect my thoughts.

Originally, the shrine stood in Nagahama, a coastal village about 4 km (2.5 miles) north of here. The exact founding date is unknown, lost to history after a tsunami swept the village out to sea in 1311. Survivors relocated, bringing the shrine with them to this area. Later, in 1914, the shrine was moved once more to its current location to make way for National Route 16, which now runs nearby.

The current worship hall was refurbished in 1838 and has been carefully maintained over the years. It survived both the devastating Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923 and the air raids of World War II.

I visited with mixed feelings — curiosity paired with frustration. After weeks of effort, my business objectives hadn’t been met. But as I spent a few quiet moments focusing on photographing the shrine, I found unexpected relief. It wasn’t necessarily the spiritual nature of the place that offered comfort, but rather the simple act of slowing down, observing details, and creating something with my camera. By the time I headed back to the office, my mood had lifted, and I felt just a little more at peace.

  • Location: Kanazawa Ward, Yokohama, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/09 17:07
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 1000 for 1/250 sec. at ƒ/10
  • Classic Negative film simulation

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Komainu

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Komainu at Simple Shrine in Yokohma Suburb

住宅街で小さな神社の狛犬


On my way back to Kanazawa-Bunko Station in Yokohama, I happened upon a small Shinto shrine in the middle of a suburban neighborhood after meeting with a client nearby.

The shrine, Susaki Shrine (洲崎神社), was not visually notable in any particular way. It was a quite simple shrine with the standard torii gate and a pair of komainu (狛犬). Komainu stand between the shrine’s worship hall and the torii gate to protect the grounds of Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples from evil spirits.

Typically, the komainu on the right has its mouth open, as if pronouncing “a,” the first syllable of the Sanskrit alphabet. The statue on the left, as shown in my photo, is typically carved with a closed mouth, as if pronouncing “um,” the final syllable of the Sanskrit alphabet. Together, these two syllables form the sacred Sanskrit word “aum,” meaning the beginning and the end or alpha and omega.

In my experience, the komainu on the right, a male, sometimes has one paw raised and resting upon an embroidered ball. Here, the komainu on the left, a female, is seen sheltering a komainu cub with her paw.

What caught my eye was how detailed and relatively new this komainu appeared. And to be honest, I don’t recall seeing many such statues with a cub under the paw — or maybe I just never noticed it before.

It was a reminder that even the simplest shrines hold quiet stories and details worth noticing — if I only take the time to stop and look.

  • Location: Kanazawa Ward, Yokohama, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/09 17:06
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 2000 for 1/250 sec. at ƒ/10
  • Classic Negative film simulation

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2025-01-03

Fiery Horizon

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Dramatic Skies Over Enoshima at Sunset
江ノ島のドラマチックな夕焼け空


Spending the sunny afternoon exploring Enoshima Island with my border collie—what seems to be my 16th or 18th visit over a 40-year period—I returned to the shore of Katase-Nishihama Beach to wait for the sun to break through the cloud cover.

As the afternoon light softened, I made my way to the West Promenade, a jetty that also serves as a breakwater, protecting the small fishing boats of Katase Fishing Port. This jetty, often overlooked by casual visitors, offers a peaceful vantage point away from the crowds. Reaching it is easy; from Katase-Nishihama Beach, it's just a short walk along the coast. Those arriving by train can take the Odakyu Line to Katase-Enoshima Station, which sits conveniently close to the beach and the pedestrian bridge leading to the island.

Stepping onto the jetty, I found myself slightly closer to Enoshima, with a higher vantage point above the water than from the shore. This allowed me to capture a different perspective of the island, framed by the open sea and shifting sky.

As the sun dipped lower, the slight winter breeze grew sharper, encouraging many evening strollers to retreat inland. With fewer people around, I could set up my tripod without worrying about blocking foot traffic. I welcomed the solitude; it gave me the freedom to focus on the changing light.

In this shot, the interplay of colors and textures caught my eye—the cool tones in areas where the cloud cover was absent, the fiery orange glow igniting the horizon, and the deep shadows cast upon the water’s surface by the heavy clouds. The scene felt like a living canvas, where light and shadow wove a mesmerizing tapestry across the sea.

Each visit to Enoshima brings a new experience, shaped by the season, the weather, and the ever-changing play of light over land and water. This evening was no exception—a quiet, reflective moment shared with my loyal companion, under a winter sky briefly warmed by the setting sun.

  • Location: West Promenade Breakwater, Fujisawa, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/03・16:37
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 28 mm ISO 800 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/8

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Nishihama Breakwater

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Golden Horizon, Cool Blue Waters: A Winter Evening at Breakwater
片瀬漁港西防波堤の海景:冬の夕暮れ、黄金の光と青の海


After exploring nearby Enoshima Island, I returned to the shore of Katase-Nishihama Beach in Fujisawa, Kanagawa Prefecture, off the coast of Shonan Bay, Japan, hoping the sun would break through the cloud cover for a seascape shot.

Using the breakwater as a leading line, I watched as the sun sank closer to the horizon, casting brilliant golden light across the sky. The cooler blue tones deepened over the smooth waters of Shonan Bay, a striking contrast on this cold winter day.

In that fleeting moment, as the last rays pierced through the clouds, I felt a quiet sense of stillness—the kind that only the sea at dusk can offer. It was a gentle reminder that even on overcast days, beauty has a way of finding its way through.

  • Timestamp: 2025/01/03・16:22
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 48 mm ISO 100 for 3.0 sec. at ƒ/8

  • Timestamp: 2025/01/03・16:34
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 45 mm ISO 800 for 1/250 sec. at ƒ/8

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Golden Hour

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Golden Light and Silent Silhouettes at Katase-Nishihama Beach
片瀬西浜の海景:黄金の光と静寂のシルエット


After exploring nearby Enoshima Island, I returned to the shore of Katase-Nishihama Beach in Fujisawa, Kanagawa Prefecture, off the coast of Shonan Bay, Japan, hoping the sun would break through the cloud cover for a seascape shot.

Being a cold winter day, the beach was fairly empty, but a few couples and young families still enjoyed a stroll along the boardwalk despite the overcast sky.

Finally, in the late afternoon, the sun pierced through the clouds, casting a brilliant spotlight onto the smooth waters of Shonan Bay. This fleeting moment allowed me to capture the silhouettes of visitors against the golden glow of the horizon.

I was pleased with the balance of light—warm enough to paint the horizon in golden hues yet bright enough to cast my subjects into striking silhouettes.

  • Location: Fujisawa, Kanagawa, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/03・15:22
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 105 mm ISO 200 for 1/400 sec. at ƒ/11

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Zuishinmon Gate

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Zuishin-mon: A Portal to Enoshima Shrine’s Mythical Past
瑞心門:江の島神社と龍宮伝説をつなぐ門


A visit to Enoshima Island, off the coast of Shonan Bay in Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan, led me to a grand gate marking the entrance to a complex of Shinto shrines atop the island. Stone stairways wound their way up through the lush hillside, adorned with rows of chochin paper lanterns set out in celebration of the New Year’s holidays.

The Zuishin-mon Gate (瑞心門) is designed in the style of Ryūgū-jō (竜宮城, Dragon Palace Castle), the mythical underwater palace from a famous Japanese folktale. According to the legend, a fisherman rescues a sea turtle and is invited to Ryūgū-jō as a reward. There, he is entertained by Princess Otohime, only to discover upon returning home that what felt like a few days was actually 100 years.

The name Zuishin-mon roughly translates to “Pure Heart Gate.” It was given this name with the hope that visitors would find spiritual renewal by offering their prayers here.

Surrounded by lush greenery, the gate’s imposing presence creates a distinct boundary between the sacred and the secular worlds.

Beyond the gate stands a stone sculpture of Benzaiten (弁財天), the patron goddess of water, eloquence, music, and knowledge. This statue was dedicated to commemorate the establishment of Enoshima Shrine in the year 1450, which sits atop Enoshima Island.

  • Location: Enoshima Island, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/03・14:07
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 37 mm ISO 200 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/11

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2025-01-02

Marunouchi

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          • Location: Marunouchi District, Tokyo
          • Timestamp: 2025/01/02・13:45
          • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
          • ISO 160 for 1/450 sec. at ƒ/2.5
          • Astia/Soft film simulation
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          • Location: Marunouchi District, Tokyo
          • Timestamp: 2025/01/02・13:46
          • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
          • ISO 160 for 1/450 sec. at ƒ/2.8
          • Classic Negative film simulation

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          • Location: Marunouchi District, Tokyo
          • Timestamp: 2025/01/02・13:46
          • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
          • ISO 320 for 1/950 sec. at ƒ/3.6
          • Astia/Soft film simulation
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          • Location: Marunouchi District, Tokyo
          • Timestamp: 2025/01/02・13:46
          • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
          • ISO 320 for 1/750 sec. at ƒ/3.6
          • Pro Negative High film simulation

A Geometric Tapestry of Offices: Marunouchi, Tokyo
幾何学模様のオフィス街:東京・丸の内


The sight of multiple modern high-rise buildings competing for space and natural light caught my eye while visiting Kitte Garden, a rooftop oasis near Tokyo Station in the heart of the Marunouchi financial district.

Kitte Garden sits atop what was once the central mail sorting facility of the Tokyo Central Post Office, originally a five-story building designed in 1931. While the historic exterior of the post office has been carefully preserved, a modern 38-story skyscraper now rises above the former mail sorting section. Completed in 2013, the building houses retail and office spaces, seamlessly blending history with contemporary architecture.

Spanning approximately 1,500 m² (16,146 ft²), the rooftop garden is a lush and relaxing space offering panoramic views of JR Tokyo Station. Its tranquil atmosphere makes it a popular spot for tourists, photographers, and trainspotters alike.

For me, the best part is that access to the garden is free, and it stays open until 23:00 on weekdays. I hope to return soon to try my hand at long-exposure nightscape photography the next time I am in Tokyo on business.


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Yaesu Central Tower

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Yaesu Central Tower: Centerpiece of the Tokyo Midtown Yaesu Project
八重洲セントラルタワー:東京ミッドタウン八重洲の中心


Opened in 2022, Yaesu Central Tower provides a striking contrast to the rails, power lines, and platforms of Tokyo Station, which first welcomed travelers 108 years earlier in 1914.

Its sleek steel and glass facade reflects the crisp blue winter sky, standing as the centerpiece of the Tokyo Midtown Yaesu development project.

My first visit to the Tokyo Station area was back in the late ’80s on a Hato Bus Tour with my friend’s mother. She had originally bought two tickets expecting to go with her son, but he, being a bit spoiled and uninterested in visiting Tokyo Station or the Imperial Palace with his mom, asked if I would take his place. I was more than happy to oblige! At the time, Hato Bus Tours were quite trendy, and the tour came with a free lunch—an added bonus! What started as a spontaneous day out turned into a long-term friendship with my friend’s mother, which continues to this day.

Back then, the Yaesu side of Tokyo Station looked entirely different. Standing on the eastern Marunouchi side, I could barely see any of the office buildings or hotels beyond the station—only the top floors of the Daimaru department store, which occupied the old Railway Kaikan Building (more commonly known as the Yaesu-guchi Station Building・八重洲口駅ビル). At that time, Tokyo Station itself was still just two stories high, before its 2012 restoration brought it back to its original three-story structure.

For years, Tokyo Station has merely been a transit point for me—somewhere I passed through while commuting to client meetings in the city or transferring to the bullet train for business trips to Nagano. I never considered revisiting the area for leisure.

But on this particular day, after visiting the nearby Imperial Palace, I finally took some time to explore the surroundings. I sought out a few quieter spots, avoiding the more crowded areas, and allowed myself to take in the changes.

It had been over 30 years since I last visited this area as a tourist rather than a salaryman. The transformation of the Yaesu side was staggering—I could hardly believe how much the skyline had changed over the decades! I asked myself, “How did I miss all this development?” Then I realized—just as people today are glued to their phones, I was likely buried in my newspaper during my commutes, never bothering to look up and take in the city evolving around me.

  • Location: Tokyo Station, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/02・13:41
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/950 sec. at ƒ/4.0
  • Astia/Soft film simulation

  • Location: N700A Series Shinkansen Bullet Train departing Tokyo Station
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/02・13:41
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 160 for 1/680 sec. at ƒ/3.6
  • Provia/Standard film simulation

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Tokyo Station

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Tokyo Station: Neo-Baroque Elegance in a Modern Cityscape
東京駅のレトロな優雅さと丸の内の現代的な輝き


After visiting the Imperial Palace, I walked a few blocks east and arrived at a grand view of Tokyo Station and the spacious Marunouchi Square in front of it.

Opened in 1914, Tokyo Station has preserved its elegant Neo-Baroque architecture, standing in striking contrast to the modern steel-and-glass skyscrapers of the Marunouchi business district.

Built with an extensive steel frame using materials imported from England, the station features a distinctive red-brick facade and ribbed domes crowning its north and south wings. This sturdy design allowed the three-story building to survive both the 1923 Great Kanto Earthquake and, to some extent, the wartime bombings and fires of 1945. After the war, restoration efforts reduced the station to a two-story structure, but a five-year project completed in 2012 restored it to its original three-story grandeur.

During the restoration, engineers discovered that the ten thousand pine pillars supporting the foundation were still remarkably resilient—one of the key reasons the station withstood the 1923 earthquake.

The main terminal’s dome, inspired by the British Queen Anne style, is an architectural highlight. On the exterior, red bricks are elegantly accented with white granite stripes. The central entrance, which is reserved for use by the imperial family and overseas dignitaries, sits just 370 meters (1,214 feet) from the outer moat of the Imperial Palace.

Someday, I’d love to return with my other camera and telephoto lens to capture the intricate details of the gabled dormer windows, arches above the windows and doorways, and the delicate embellishments above the arches.

  • Location: Tokyo Station, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/02・11:35
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/7.1
  • Provia/Standard film simulation
  • Location: Kitte Rooftop Garden, JP Tower, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/02・13:35
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/800 sec. at ƒ/7.1
  • Classic Negative film simulation

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Tatsumi-Yagura Guard Tower

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Tatsumi-Yagura: One of the Three Surviving Watchtowers of Edo Castle
皇居に残る江戸城巽櫓


The Tatsumi-Yagura, the only surviving sumiyagura (corner watchtower) of the former Edo Castle, stands as a testament to Japan’s feudal-era fortifications. These watchtowers, built at key points along the castle walls, played a crucial role in surveillance and defense.

This particular two-story tower is formally known as the Sakurada Tatsumi Double Yagura, though it’s more commonly referred to as the Tatsumi-Yagura (with tatsumi meaning southeast and yagura meaning guard tower or watchtower). It is one of the largest two-tiered watchtowers in Japan.

Two distinctive architectural features of the Tatsumi-Yagura are its stone drop (ishi-otoshi, 石落) and its gable-end motifs.

The stone drop is a section of the tower that projects slightly outward over the stone wall above the moat. This design allowed defenders to drop stones or pour boiling water on attackers attempting to scale the walls, while still maintaining a narrow opening that prevented enemies from using it to climb up.

Another notable feature, though not clearly visible in my photo, is the gable end on the right side of the roof, which bears a decorative seikaiha (青海波) motif—a repeating pattern of water waves that has adorned temples, halls, and gates since the pro-to-modern period (17th to mid-19th century). 

Beyond its historical significance, what captivates me most about this scene is the way the crisp blue sky and mirror-like moat frame the tower, while intricate details of the roof eaves, gable ends, and fish-shaped ornaments (shachihoko, 鯱鉾) on the roof-ridge add to its elegance.

  • Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 11:25・2025/01/02
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/8.0
  • Provia/Standard film simulation

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Kikyo-Mon Gate

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Kikyō-Mon Gate: Reflections on an Edo Moat at Tokyo Imperial Palace
皇居桔梗門:江戸の歴史を映す濠の水鏡


This photo captures a side view of Kikyō-Mon Gate, a historic entrance to Tokyo Imperial Palace that is typically closed to the general public. It serves as a side entrance for Imperial Palace volunteers and authorized visitors.

Officially named Uchi-Sakuradamon, the gate is more commonly known as Kikyō-Mon (桔梗門), a name derived from the bellflower (kikyō) family crest that is inscribed on the round eave-end tiles of its roof.

Built in 1614, the gate stands atop stone walls constructed in 1620 along Kikyo Moat. However, Edo Castle itself predates these structures, with its foundations laid in 1457 under the direction of Ōta Dōkan (1432–1486), a samurai lord, poet, and Buddhist monk. He is credited as the architect and builder of Edo Castle—what is now the Imperial Palace in modern Tokyo.

At its peak, Edo Castle had 36 gates guarding its bridges and moats. However, after the last shogun resigned in 1867, much of the land within the outermost moat was transformed into Marunouchi, which became the heart of Tokyo’s central business district. Today, Marunouchi is home to major financial institutions and Tokyo Station. Of the original 36 gates, only 11 remain, now primarily serving as security checkpoints to the Imperial Palace.

I typically avoid taking photos on bright, cloudless afternoons, but on this particular photo walk, the crisp blue winter sky and still air provided a rare opportunity. The moat’s calm surface perfectly reflected the historic gate, stone walls, and sky, creating a striking composition that I couldn't resist capturing.

  • Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/02・11:21
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/9.0
  • Provia/Standard film simulation

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Fujimi-Yagura

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Fujimi-Yagura: One of Tokyo’s Last Edo Castle Guard Towers
皇居に残る江戸城富士見櫓


The Fujimi-Yagura guard tower, originally built in 1606, was destroyed in a 1657 fire and later reconstructed in 1659. This three-story tower, standing about 16 meters (52.49 feet) high, was designed with an architectural trick—it appears the same shape from any angle, earning it the nickname “Eight-Sided Tower.”

Over the centuries, the tower endured further challenges. It suffered damage in the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, leading to repairs that shaped its present form.

For over two centuries, before Edo was renamed Tokyo and transformed into a city of high-rise buildings, the top floor of Fujimi-Yagura offered sweeping views of Mount Fuji, distant mountain peaks, and Tokyo Bay. This scenic vantage point gave the tower its name, Fujimi (富士見), meaning "a view of Mount Fuji"—a combination of "Fuji" (Mount Fuji) and "mi" (to see).

Beneath the tower, its stone wall foundation is among the oldest surviving stone walls within the former Edo Castle grounds. The base of the tower is built in the uchikomi-hagi (打込矧ぎ) style, one of the principal techniques of Japanese castle stone wall construction.

In the uchikomi-hagi method, large boulders were split into smaller pieces, and the stones' faces were carefully chipped to create a flatter surface. Smaller stones were tightly wedged into the remaining gaps, ensuring a seamless fit—all without mortar. This intricate craftsmanship allowed the wall to withstand centuries of earthquakes, a testament to the ingenuity of Japan’s castle builders.

As I viewed the Fujimi-Yagura tower through my camera’s viewfinder, I couldn’t help but reflect on how this historic watchtower has silently witnessed Tokyo’s transformation. The contrast between the centuries-old stonework and the glass-and-steel skyscrapers towering behind it stayed on my mind, and I felt grateful to capture both past and present in a single frame—an enduring piece of Edo’s history standing amid the ever-changing city skyline.

  • Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 11:10・2025/01/02
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/8.0
  • Provia/Standard film simulation

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Copyright Notice for All Images:
© 2011-2025 Pix4Japan. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized use for AI training is strictly prohibited.
Visit www.pix4japan.com to learn more.



New Year's Greeting

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Welcoming the New Year: Emperor at Chōwa-Den Hall
新年の皇居、長和殿に響く歓声


The Imperial Family greeted visitors at the Imperial Palace in central Tokyo, Japan, during the New Year’s celebration—a modern tradition that dates back to 1951.

Upon entering the palace gardens, we underwent security checks, including bag inspections and a body scan with a metal detector wand. Once cleared, volunteers handed out paper Japanese flags to visitors, a small but symbolic gesture that added to the festive atmosphere.

The wait to enter the courtyard lasted about 90 minutes, as security personnel guided groups of several hundred visitors at a time. Once inside, we only had to wait another 15 minutes before the Imperial Family appeared behind the protective glass barrier of the Chōwa-den (長和殿) Reception Hall veranda. This year, the number of visitors was notably limited, with only about 14,000 people granted access to the palace grounds.

In his greeting, Emperor Naruhito expressed his concern for those affected by natural disasters, particularly the massive earthquake that struck the Noto Peninsula on New Year's Day 2024. Acknowledging the hardships many still endure, he stated, “I am concerned about the many people who are still living a life full of hardships.” He concluded with a heartfelt wish: “I wish for the happiness of people in our country and around the world.”

Although barely visible in my shot, Emperor Naruhito and Empress Masako stood at the center, with other members of the Imperial Family to their left. To the emperor’s right, I was pleased to see Emperor Emeritus Akihito and Empress Emeritus Michiko. At 90, Michiko-sama had undergone surgery for a broken right femur in October, yet she attended the event without the aid of a cane. It was reassuring to see both the former emperor and empress present and seemingly in good health.

Having lived in Japan through the reigns of three emperors, I find that imperial succession has little impact on my daily life—except when dealing with official documents. Legal contracts, health insurance cards, driver’s licenses, tax forms, and even my car registration all adhere to Japan’s traditional era-based calendar system, where years are counted according to the reign of an emperor. For example:

・Emperor Hirohito’s reign: Showa 1 to 64 (1926–1989)
・Emperor Akihito’s reign: Heisei 1 to 31 (1989–2019)
・Emperor Naruhito’s reign: Reiwa 1 to present year 7 (2019–2025)

At my day job, unlike most of my peers, I regularly handle legal contracts and documents that use the era-based system. As a result, I keep a conversion chart on my desktop to ensure I correctly match Gregorian years with their corresponding era years when translating documents.

  • Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 11:03・2025/01/02
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/8
  • Provia/Standard film simulation

References:

Copyright Notice for All Images:
© 2011-2025 Pix4Japan. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized use for AI training is strictly prohibited.
Visit www.pix4japan.com to learn more.



Seimon-Ishibashi Bridge

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Reflections of Edo in Tokyo’s Urban Landscape
皇居の正門石橋と二重橋:歴史と現代が交わる場所


Just before entering the main courtyard, where thousands had gathered in an orderly fashion to hear the annual New Year’s greeting from Japan’s emperor and the imperial family, I crossed the moat via Nijubashi Bridge (二重橋). From here, I had a fantastic vantage point looking east—Seimon-Ishibashi Bridge (正門石橋) reflected on the moat’s still waters, the expansive Kokyo-mae Hiroba (皇居前広場) gardens stretched out in the midground, and the steel-and-glass towers of Tokyo’s Marunouchi financial district rose in the background.

It took about 90 minutes to reach Nijubashi Bridge from the plaza, where visitors patiently lined up for their turn to access the palace grounds.

Looking across the plaza, with its neatly sculpted pine trees and golden winter grass set against the gleaming skyscrapers, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the scene from this bridge over 400 years ago—when the urbanscape was still a saltwater bay.

Back in 1592, the Hibiya Inlet (日比谷入江) was an estuary that fed into Tokyo Bay. Its proximity to the Pacific Ocean allowed ships to navigate inland, transporting essential materials like lumber and quarried stone for the construction of castle structures, bridges, and fortifications. Over time, the moat before me was excavated, forming part of a vast 12-kilometer (7.5-mile) system that spiraled outward from Edo Castle. These waterways not only served defensive purposes but also enabled the marine transport of building materials and goods from distant regions, fueling Edo’s rapid expansion.

As the moats were dug, the excavated soil was repurposed to reclaim land from the Hibiya Inlet. This newly created land became the site of grand estates and meticulously designed gardens for approximately 300 daimyo feudal lords. Today, those once-private spaces have transformed into public areas—the Kokyo-mae Hiroba garden, visible in the mid-ground of my photo, and the Marunouchi district, now home to towering business complexes and Tokyo Station, hidden just beyond the skyscrapers.

What was once an undeveloped settlement along the shores of Tokyo Bay has, over four centuries, evolved into one of the world’s largest metropolises. Yet, beneath the modern cityscape, traces of old Edo remain. Many of Tokyo’s automotive expressways follow the paths of former water channels, now filled in, while railway and subway lines often align with the castle’s outer moats. Even the sites of former daimyo residences have found new purposes—housing government buildings, schools, parks, and commercial centers.

Standing on this historic bridge, I was struck by the layered history beneath my feet—a seamless blend of past and present, where echoes of Edo still shape the rhythms of Tokyo today.
 
  • Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 10:29・2025/01/02
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/5.6
  • Provia/Standard film simulation

References:

Copyright Notice for All Images:
© 2011-2025 Pix4Japan. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized use for AI training is strictly prohibited.
Visit www.pix4japan.com to learn more.