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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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

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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

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Guard Tower

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Fushimi-Yagura: One of Tokyo’s Last Edo Castle Towers
皇居西ノ丸に残る江戸城伏見櫓


While visiting Japan’s Imperial Palace in Tokyo, the historic Fushimi-yagura (伏見櫓) guard tower came into view, standing gracefully atop its stone wall with an ornate lamp post nearby, just beyond the main gate to the palace grounds.

This two-story tower, originally part of Edo Castle in the 17th century, is flanked by two galleries (多聞・tamon), which served multiple purposes: a hiding place for troops during wartime and an armory or storehouse in peacetime.

The name Fushimi supposedly comes from Fushimi Castle in Kyoto, as some theories suggest that this tower was originally built there before being dismantled and reassembled at Edo Castle during the reign of Tokugawa Iemitsu (1623–1651), the third shōgun of the Tokugawa dynasty. However, historical records remain inconclusive, and this story is considered speculative.

At its height, Edo Castle had 19 fortified towers, but due to fires, earthquakes, and the Tokyo air raids of WWII, most structures were lost. Today, only three of these historic towers remain.

  • Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 10:28・2025/01/02
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/14
  • Provia/Standard film simulation

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© 2011-2025 Pix4Japan. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized use for AI training is strictly prohibited.
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Silent Vigilance

    
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Silent Vigilance: The Imperial Guard of Japan’s Imperial Palace
静かなる威厳:正門石橋の皇宮警察


During my visit to Japan’s Imperial Palace in Tokyo, I encountered an imperial guard standing in silent vigilance before the massive main gate. His unwavering presence embodied the discipline and tradition that have safeguarded the palace for generations.

The Imperial Guard, officially established in 1886, is now a specialized division of the National Police Agency. Their primary duty is to protect the Emperor, Crown Prince, and other members of the Imperial Family, as well as imperial properties like the Tokyo Imperial Palace. Beyond security, their responsibilities extend to fire-fighting within the palace grounds—complete with their own fire engines and trained firefighters.

What surprised me most, however, was the breadth of their training. In addition to rigorous police instruction—covering judo, kendo, drills, and pistol handling—imperial guard recruits also study traditional Japanese arts such as waka (classical poetry), shodo (calligraphy), ikebana (flower arranging), and chado (the way of tea). English conversation is also part of their curriculum, highlighting the blend of tradition and modern needs.

Whether it’s a King’s Guard sentry at Buckingham Palace, a U.S. Marine at the White House, or a Swiss Guard at the Vatican, elite guards worldwide share a common thread—character, self-discipline, and an unwavering commitment to duty. Standing before this imperial sentry, I couldn’t help but admire the dedication required to uphold such a revered tradition.

  • Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 10:25・2025/01/02
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 160 for 1/450 sec. at ƒ/2.5
  • Provia/Standard film simulation

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© 2011-2025 Pix4Japan. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized use for AI training is strictly prohibited.
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Hinomaru

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Hinomaru Flag on New Year’s Day・お正月の「日の丸」


Although the Hinomaru (日の丸 / "Ball of the Sun") was officially designated as Japan’s national flag through legislation in 1999 as the Nisshōki (日章旗 / "Flag of the Sun"), it had already been in use for centuries. References to its iconic design date back as early as 645, with the first written record appearing in 797.

Regardless of the name used, one common thread is the symbolism of the sun, which has been deeply rooted in Japanese mythology and religious traditions since ancient times.

The first official use of the Hinomaru flag was during the Edo Period (1603–1868) when the Tokugawa Shogunate required Japanese merchant ships trading with countries such as Holland, China, the United States, and Russia to hoist the flag.

However, during Japan’s imperial expansion in the early 20th century, the Hinomaru became a symbol of militarism, leading to deep-rooted controversy in many parts of Asia.

After World War II, the Allied Occupation prohibited public display of the flag without permission from GHQ (General Headquarters). It wasn’t until 1949 that the restriction was lifted, allowing the Hinomaru to be flown again without special approval.

Today, I see thee flag on national holidays—waving in front of some homes in my neighborhood, adorning tiny bumper flags on my local commuter bus, and flying at government buildings, including my local ward office.

For many younger generations visiting Japan as tourists, the Hinomaru carries a different meaning from that of their grandparents. Rather than viewing it through the lens of history, they associate it with other national symbols of modern Japan—Mt. Fuji, bullet trains, cherry blossoms, sushi, temples, and shrines.

In contrast, most of my younger Japanese friends and family are largely indifferent to the flag. This apathy may stem, at least in part, from its overt use by nationalist groups, who can often be seen fanatically waving it on the streets of Yokohama, particularly in areas where large groups of tourists gather on weekends.

Personally, I’ve always appreciated the colors and patterns of various national flags. The Hinomaru, in particular, fascinates me as a photographic subject due to its simple, minimalist design and striking contrast.

  • Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 9:57・2025/01/02
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 160 for 1/2200 sec. at ƒ/8.0
  • Provia/Standard film simulation

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© 2011-2025 Pix4Japan. All rights reserved.
Unauthorized use for AI training is strictly prohibited.
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Kokyo-mae Hiroba

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Kokyo-mae Hiroba: From Samurai Mansions to Open Spaces
武家屋敷から開かれた広場へ:皇居前広場の歴史


I went on a photowalk at the Imperial Palace in central Tokyo on one of the rare occasions when the palace grounds were open to the public. This special access was for the official New Year’s greeting by the emperor.

While waiting in line to enter the inner courtyard, I captured this shot of the urban landscape—towering steel-and-glass office buildings rising with sharp, modern lines, contrasting against the neatly manicured lawns and sculpted curves of Japanese pine trees (matsu) under a crisp winter morning sky.

During the Edo Period (1603–1868), this area just outside the Edo Castle moat was lined with the grand mansions of feudal lords. When Japan transitioned from a military dictatorship to a constitutional monarchy during the Meiji Era (1868–1912), Prime Minister Hirobumi Ito confiscated these estates, replacing them with trees and open spaces. Over time, this transformation gave rise to the expansive plaza we see today, a serene green space in the heart of Tokyo.

  • Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo
  • Timestamp: 9:46・2025/01/02
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/900 sec. at ƒ/4.0
  • 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.