Ueno

Lanterns and Neon: An Evening Walk Through Ueno’s Market Streets and Temple Grounds
夕暮れの上野｜商店街と寺院を巡るフォトウォーク

As dusk approached, I continued my photowalk by retracing my steps toward Ueno Station. I walked back along Ueno-Nakadori Shotengai, stopped once more at Marishiten Tokudai-ji, and then passed through Ameya-Yokocho. By this time, the streets were lit with paper chōchin lanterns and neon signs, creating a much livelier atmosphere than during my quiet early-morning stroll and offering great opportunities for street photography.

Ueno-Nakadori, which is sometimes referred to by locals as “Uechun,” is a slightly more modern-looking shotengai (商店街; shopping street). Unlike many traditional arcades, it is not covered and is lined with newer shops and restaurants. The street runs north–south for about 250 m (823 ft) and lies almost parallel to the more famous Ameya-Yokocho, commonly known as “Ameyoko.”

Ameyoko stretches roughly 260 m (852 ft) along the elevated railway between Okachimachi Station to the south and Ueno Station to the north, forming one of Tokyo’s most energetic market streets.

Between these two shopping streets sits Marishiten Tokudai-ji (摩利支天徳大寺), a Buddhist temple dedicated to the goddess Marishiten. I wrapped up this photowalk in Ameya-Yokocho before heading back home.

For readers interested in learning more about these locations—including Ueno-Nakadori Shotengai, Marishiten Tokudai-ji, and Ameyoko—see the references at the original post for maps and additional articles: https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-ueno

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New Year’s Holiday Revelers at Nakadori Shotengai, Tokyo
東京・上野中通商店街で通りを渡る高齢の女性

Evening crowd entering Ueno-Nakadori Shotengai in Ueno, Tokyo, beneath the illuminated “Uechun” archway, with an elderly woman crossing the street in the foreground.

• Location: Ueno-Nakadori Shopping Street, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・16:39
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 250 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2

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Evening Shoppers at Ueno Nakadori Shotengai, Tokyo
東京・上野中通商店街｜夕暮れの買い物客

Evening crowds browse shops along Ueno Nakadori Shotengai in Ueno, Tokyo during the New Year holiday season.

• Location: Nakadori Shopping Street, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・16:40
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 160 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2
• Provia/Standard film simulation

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Buddhist Statue at Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple Purification Fountain, Tokyo
東京・上野｜摩利支天徳大寺 手水舎の仏像

At the temizuya (手水舎; purification basin) near the entrance to Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple along Ueno Nakadori Shotengai in Ueno, Tokyo, a small Buddhist statue watches over visitors as they rinse their hands with a ladle in the traditional purification ritual. Flowers, offerings, and lanterns decorate the basin during the New Year season.

• Location: Nakadori Shopping Street, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・16:42
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 500 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2
• Provia/Standard film simulation

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Glowing Chōchin Lanterns Above the Entrance of Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple, Ueno, Tokyo
東京・上野｜摩利支天徳大寺の入口に灯る提灯

Chōchin lanterns glow above the entrance to Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple in Ueno, Tokyo, during the New Year season. The warm lantern light and seasonal decorations create a festive atmosphere as people stop to offer prayers during the first shrine and temple visits of the year.

• Location: Marishiten Tokudai-ji, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・16:43
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 160 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2
• Provia/Standard film simulation

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Glowing Chōchin Lanterns Above the Entrance of Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple, Ueno, Tokyo
東京・上野｜摩利支天徳大寺の入口に灯る提灯

Chōchin lanterns glow above the entrance to Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple in Ueno, Tokyo, during the New Year season. Beneath them, rows of wooden ema prayer plaques hang nearby, where visitors write wishes and prayers for the year ahead. 

• Location: Marishiten Tokudai-ji, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・16:43
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 160 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2
• Provia/Standard film simulation

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Shichimen Daimyojin Shrine at Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple, Ueno, Tokyo
東京・上野｜摩利支天徳大寺・七面大明神

Within the grounds of Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple in Ueno stands a small shrine dedicated to Shichimen Daimyojin, a protective goddess associated with the Lotus Sutra. During the New Year season, offerings such as kagami mochi (rice cakes), sacred sake, and flowers are carefully arranged, while red lanterns gently illuminate the temple grounds at dusk. Although it sits beside the bustling shopping streets of Ameyoko, it remains a peaceful place where visitors can quietly offer a prayer.

上野のアメ横にある「摩利支天徳大寺」。境内の片隅には、七面大明神を祀る小さな祠があります。お正月には鏡餅や御神酒が飾られ、夕暮れ時に灯る赤い提灯がとても幻想的です。賑やかな通りから一歩足を踏み入れるだけで、静かに手を合わせられる落ち着いた時間を過ごせます。

• Location: Marishiten Tokudai-ji, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・16:46
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 1250 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2
• Provia/Standard film simulation

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A Chessboard of Light at Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple, Ueno, Tokyo
東京・上野｜摩利支天徳大寺に広がる光の碁盤

Rows of glowing paper lanterns form a perfect grid along the outer wall of Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple, like a luminous chessboard quietly waiting for the next move. Unfortunately, I never learned how to play chess, so the metaphor may not quite work.

While editing the RAW photo later, the lanterns reminded me instead of the children’s toy “Lite-Brite,” which was a colorful peg board that lit up when you pushed plastic pins through black paper. To my surprise, the toy is apparently still around today, now reimagined with LEDs and touchscreens.

I don’t think I ever had one myself, but I remember visiting friends who did. Seeing the lanterns lined up like this brought back that same quiet fascination with patterns of light against a dark background.

境内の壁一面に並ぶ提灯が、まるで光の碁盤のように整然と広がる。一つひとつの灯りが静かに揺れながら、夕暮れの境内に穏やかな時間をもたらしている。

• Location: Marishiten Tokudai-ji, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・16:47
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 3200 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2
• Provia/Standard film simulation

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Lanterns and Ema Prayer Plaques at the Entrance of Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple, Ueno, Tokyo
東京・上野｜摩利支天徳大寺の入口に灯る提灯と絵馬

Lanterns glow at the entrance of Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple in Ueno as evening settles over the temple grounds. Just beside the entrance, rows of wooden ema plaques carry the handwritten wishes and prayers of visitors, quietly swaying in the winter air. Nearby, worshippers pause at the incense burner, wafting the fragrant smoke toward themselves in a ritual known as お線香の煙を浴びる (senkō no kemuri o abiru, literally “bathing in the incense smoke”), which is believed to purify the body and ward off illness and misfortune.

• Location: Marishiten Tokudai-ji, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・16:52 & 16:53
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• ① 23 mm ISO 640 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2
• ② 23 mm ISO 2000 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2
• Provia/Standard film simulation

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Lanterns and Ema Overlooking a Passing Train in Ueno, Tokyo

東京・上野｜摩利支天徳大寺から望む電車と提灯・絵馬

The small courtyard of Marishiten Tokudaiji Temple sits just above the street, offering a quiet vantage point over the surrounding cityscape.

At first glance, it feels tucked away from the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, but a closer look closer reveals a commuter train on the Keihin-Tōhoku Line slipping past at eye level, its blue stripe and metallic body cutting through behind the scene.

Rows of glowing lanterns reveal the names of patrons, their warm light standing in gentle contrast to the cooler glow of the modern city surrounding this tiny oasis.

I am always intrigued how old and new don’t just coexist here, but they quietly overlap.

• Location: Marishiten Tokudai-ji, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・16:54
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 160 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2
• Provia/Standard film simulation

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Machiya

Traditional Machiya in Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo: Storefront Townhouses Near Yushima Tenjin
湯島の町屋：湯島天神近くに残る商家建築

After spending about an hour at the Kyū-Iwasaki-tei Gardens (旧岩崎邸庭園), I made my way toward Yushima Tenjin Shrine (湯島天満宮). As I walked through the surrounding streets of Bunkyo Ward, the grand Meiji-era estate gradually gave way to a quieter residential neighborhood. It was here that I came across a few older wooden buildings with storefronts called traditional machiya (町屋).

Machiya are a type of urban townhouse that combine commercial and residential functions under one roof. Originating in the medieval period (roughly 1185–1603), they became especially widespread during the Edo period (1603–1868) and continued evolving through the Meiji era and even into the early postwar Shōwa period. Historically, they housed merchants, artisans, and craftsmen, with the shop facing the street and living quarters extending toward the rear and the second floor.

Many of the machiya I have encountered in both Tokyo and Yokohama serve as restaurants, often specializing in traditional Japanese cuisine. Others combine residential space with workshops, small offices, or retail shops, maintaining a mixed-use character that has defined machiya for centuries.

The two examples I photographed in Yushima, Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo,  reflect this enduring versatility. The first building may once have operated as an udon shop, suggested by the small corner window where customers might have watched noodles being prepared by hand. The second machiya now houses a Chinese restaurant, a reminder that these structures continue to adapt to contemporary needs while retaining their historic form.

What particularly drew my attention to the first machiya were several architectural details. Mounted within a recessed wall panel is a brass decorative element protected by chicken wire, which was likely installed to prevent birds from nesting. Near the upper right façade, a circular emblem appears to be a kamon (家紋), or family crest, hinting at the lineage or identity of the original occupants.

My eye was also drawn to the use of namako-kabe (海鼠壁), or “sea-slug wall,” visible along the lower portion of the building. This distinctive style, characterized by raised white plaster latticework over dark tiles, is both decorative and functional. The thick plaster joints improve durability against rain and wind and, perhaps more importantly in historic urban environments, enhance fire resistance.

Seeing this detail immediately reminded me of the preserved traditional houses in Shimoda, Shizuoka Prefecture, where namako-kabe is prominently featured. In that coastal town, the striking white lattice pattern has become emblematic of Edo-period architecture, and serves as a visual link between distant regions of Japan and the shared architectural solutions that once shaped everyday urban life.

Links to Google Maps and sources for a deeper dive:

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-bunkyo

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Kyu-Iwasaki-Tei

Kyū-Iwasaki-tei Garden: A Historic Meiji-era Western-Style Estate in Tokyo
旧岩崎邸庭園：東京の歴史ある明治時代の洋風邸宅

After spending the earlier part of my day photographing around Shinobazu Pond in Ueno Park, I continued on to Kyū-Iwasaki-tei Garden (旧岩崎邸庭園, Kyū-Iwasaki-tei teien), located just south of the park.

The grounds were home to various clans from the Edo period (1603–1868) into the early Meiji period (1868–1912). A major transformation occurred in 1896, when Hisaya Iwasaki, the son of the founder of the Mitsubishi group, acquired the land. He commissioned British architect Josiah Conder to design more than 20 buildings on the expansive 49,500 m² (532,813 ft²) estate, creating a residence that reflected both Western influence and Japan’s growing international outlook during the Meiji era.

Like many elite properties in Tokyo and Yokohama, the estate’s history took a dramatic turn after World War II. The residence was requisitioned by the GHQ under the authority of Douglas MacArthur during the Allied occupation of Japan.

After the occupation, the property was returned to Japan and subsequently used by the Japanese Ministry of Justice until 1970. During this period, many of the original structures were demolished, leaving only three buildings and an estate reduced to less than half its original size. What once were elaborate gardens are now largely open lawn, punctuated by a few surviving stone monuments, lanterns, and a stone hand-washing basin dating back to the Edo period.

Given Tokyo’s relentless urban development, it is perhaps unsurprising that much of the land was sold off. In my photographs, a towering university hospital, high-rise condominiums, corporate offices, and government buildings loom over the estate from all sides; a stark visual reminder of how the city has grown around it.

Fortunately, local citizens recognized the historical value of what remained, and in 1991 the surviving structures were designated an Important Cultural Property, affording them legal protection. Today, the estate is managed by the Tokyo Metropolitan Government, which charges a modest entrance fee of around 400 yen for a leisurely self-guided tour.

One small disappointment during my visit was that interior photography was prohibited that day due to the holiday crowds, a measure intended to ensure a smooth flow of visitors. I would very much like to return on a quieter weekday to spend more time carefully observing the well-preserved British Renaissance style and the unexpected Islamic motifs incorporated into the wooden carvings and decorative detailing.

I was especially impressed by the colorful, textured Japanese leather paper and embroidered silk wall and ceiling coverings used in the guest rooms. Seeing such craftsmanship made me wonder whether artisans in Japan today still possess the knowledge to produce similar work, or whether one would need to travel back to Europe to find comparable handiwork created in the modern era.

Links to Google Maps and sources for a deeper dive:

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-iwasaki

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Stone and Brick Perimeter Wall at Kyū-Iwasaki-tei Garden・旧岩崎邸庭園の石積み煉瓦塀

• Location: Kyū-Iwasaki-tei Gardens, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・15:09
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 160 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2.8
• Classic Negative film simulation

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Former Iwasaki Residence North Entrance・旧岩崎邸 北側正面入口

• Location: Kyū-Iwasaki-tei Gardens, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・15:07
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 400 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/7.1
• Classic Negative film simulation

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Close-up of the Former Iwasaki Residence North Facade・旧岩崎邸 北側外観（クローズアップ）

• Location: Kyū-Iwasaki-tei Gardens, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・15:07
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 400 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/7.1
• Classic Negative film simulation

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Former Iwasaki Residence South Facade・旧岩崎邸 南側外観

• Location: Kyū-Iwasaki-tei Gardens, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・15:49
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 400 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/5.6
• Classic Negative film simulation

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Stone Lantern in the Gardens of Kyū-Iwasaki-tei・旧岩崎邸庭園に佇む石灯籠

• Location: Kyū-Iwasaki-tei Gardens, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・15:50
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 400 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/5.6
• Classic Negative film simulation

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Ema Plaque

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Wishes on Wooden Plaques at Bentendō, Ueno Park
上野・弁天堂の絵馬に託された願い

Wooden votive plaques hanging from racks are a scene I usually associate with Shinto shrines rather than Buddhist temples. Seeing them here at Shinobazu-no-Ike Bentendō, a Buddhist temple in Tokyo’s Ueno Park, feels like another quiet example of shinbutsu-shūgō (the historical blending of Buddhist and Shinto traditions) that I wrote about in my February 8th post on Daikokuten-dō Hall.

These wooden plaques, called ema (絵馬) in Japanese, typically feature an illustration of a horse on one side (sometimes other motifs as well), with a written wish or prayer on the reverse. While they are far more commonly found at Shinto shrines, here we see them being sold and dedicated at a Buddhist temple too.

Since the temple is associated with Daikokuten, a god of wealth and fortune, many visitors hang their ema here in hopes of financial success, good luck, success in business, a bountiful harvest, or simply good fortune and family safety.

According to Kokugakuin University, sacred white horses (shinme, 神馬) were believed in ancient times to be the mounts of the kami. Wealthy worshippers would offer live horses to shrines in order to invite the presence of the deities. As this practice became impractical, offerings evolved into horse statues, and later into painted representations of horses on wooden plaques, which we now know as ema.

The custom of dedicating ema to shrines was already widespread by the Nara Period (710–794 CE). By the late Edo period (1603–1868), the imagery expanded beyond horses to include designs related to specific shrines or their deities, with a blank space on the back for worshippers to write their wishes or words of thanks. Most ema also follow a traditional shape: a simple rectangle topped with a roof-like edge, with a hole or knot for tying them to a rack, like the one we can see in my photo.

After taking this long-exposure shot, I took a closer look at the ema themselves to see what kinds of wishes people had written. What struck me was how many were written in Hangul, Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai, and a handful in European languages, including English.

I felt a quiet sense of hope seeing that people from vastly different backgrounds, gathered at a relatively small temple in Tokyo, all expressing the same universal desires: success in their dreams, good fortune, and the safety of their loved ones.

• Location: Shinobazu-no-Ike Bentendō Temple, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・14:42
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 160 for 5 sec. at ƒ/16
• Classic Negative film simulation

Links to sources for a deeper dive are available at end of my blog post:

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-ema

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Black-Headed Gull

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Curious Black-Headed Gulls at Shinobazu Pond
不忍池で出会った好奇心旺盛な百合鴎

The black-headed gull, yurikamome (百合鴎) in Japanese, is a relatively small bird that I have only seen in some of the larger parks in Tokyo and Yokohama. I don’t recall ever seeing them along the waterfront of Tokyo Bay, which makes sense given how much of the low-lying marshland has been filled in to make room for towering high-rise condominiums, large distribution centers, numerous docks, and petrochemical facilities.

These charming birds nest on the ground in large reedbeds or marshes, or on islands in lakes. Since Shinobazu-no-ike Bentendō Temple, where I captured this image, sits on a small island in the middle of a naturally formed pond with some marsh-like features, I assume that some of these birds may actually have nests nearby in the park.

Despite the English name, the black-headed gull (Chroicocephalus ridibundus) has a chocolate-brown head and a pale gray body during the breeding season. In winter, however, the brown hood disappears and only a dark ear-like mark remains. The three birds in my photo have orange legs and beaks, indicating that they are juveniles, as adults typically have red or bright red legs and beaks.

When photographing these three gulls, they did not seem intimidated by my presence. My camera is a rangefinder-style camera with a fixed 23mm lens, so the only way to “zoom in” on a subject is with my feet. I was quite surprised by how close I could get to capture this shot.

Fortunately, I didn’t have my border collie with me that day, as she would have gotten excited, tried to herd the birds, and ended up scaring them away.

• Location: Shinobazu-no-Ike Bentendō Temple, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・14:32
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 400 for 1/1000 sec. at ƒ/4
• Velvia Vivid film simulation

Links to sources for a deeper dive: 

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-gull

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Kanzakura

Kanzakura: Early Bloomer in Winter
寒桜とは？冬から早春に咲く、ひと足早い桜

Kanzakura (寒桜), or winter cherry blossoms, are one of those small seasonal surprises that always catch me off guard—in the best possible way. They’re an early-blooming hybrid variety that flower for a short window between January and March, depending on the region. Their petals are a soft, pale pink, with subtle differences from tree to tree, and they feel almost out of place against the cold winter air.

Most people, myself included, usually think of cherry blossoms in terms of spring and the iconic Somei-Yoshino (染井吉野). Those are the ones that sweep across Japan every year, starting in the south and slowly moving north, turning parks and riversides into seas of white and pink. Compared to those, kanzakura feel much quieter and more reserved.

Kanzakura are among the earliest of the early bloomers, and in my experience, they’re not especially common. That’s probably why I always feel a little spark of joy when I come across one. It’s like a small preview of spring, or just a hint that winter frigidity doesn’t have much longer to go.

The blossoms themselves are slightly smaller than Somei-Yoshino, though that’s not immediately obvious in my photo. What stands out more is their gentle color and the way the flowers cluster along the branch. When they’re in full bloom, they look especially striking against the clear blue skies we often get in winter.

I took this photo in Ueno Park in Tokyo, but I only recently learned that Mitsuike Park, near my home in Yokohama, has around 78 different varieties of cherry trees, including kanzakura and another early bloomer, kanhizakura (寒緋桜). Apparently, it’s even listed as one of Japan’s top 100 cherry blossom viewing spots, which makes me realize I probably don’t explore my own local parks enough!

Digging a little deeper, I also discovered that kanzakura are more common around Tokyo and Yokohama than I had assumed. They’re not planted in huge numbers, but if you know where to look, you can find them scattered across larger parks throughout the region.

While sakura are usually associated with spring crowds and hanami parties, these winter blossoms felt different. Seeing them during the New Year holidays, in the middle of the cold season, reminded me how even a single delicate flower can completely change the mood of my day. I wasn’t expecting to see anything in bloom at all, so stumbling across these pale pink petals brought an unexpected moment of quiet joy, and a gentle reminder that spring is already on its way.

Links to sources for a deeper dive: 

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-kanzakura

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• Location: Shinobazu-no-Ike Bentendō Temple, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・14:21
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 160 for 1/1000 sec. at ƒ/2
• Velvia Vivid film simulation

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• Location: Shinobazu-no-Ike Bentendō Temple, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・14:22
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 160 for 1/1000 sec. at ƒ/2
• Velvia Vivid film simulation

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Daikokuten-do Hall

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Daikokuten-dō Hall: Small Details Reflecting the Coexistence of Shinto and Buddhism
神仏習合を感じさせる大黒天堂の細部

Daikokuten-dō Hall (大黒天堂) in Ueno refers to the hall dedicated to Daikokuten, the god of wealth and fortune, located within the grounds of Shinobazu-no-Ike Bentendō on a small man-made island in the middle of Shinobazu Pond. Despite being part of a Buddhist temple complex in such a unique setting, there are several features of the building that hint at strong Shinto influences.

In my younger years, I always assumed there was a clear line between Buddhism and Shinto, the animistic belief system indigenous to Japan. However, I later learned about shinbutsu-shūgō (the historical blending of Buddhist and Shinto traditions), which challenged that simple distinction.

Daikokuten-dō is associated with the Kan’ei-ji Temple complex, which is home to several Buddhist temples, mausoleums, and notable statues of Buddhist monks. The kami enshrined here, Daikokuten, is a deity of fortune, luck, and wealth. Interestingly, Daikokuten is an amalgamation of the Shinto god Ōkuninushi and the Buddhist Deva, which itself originated from the Hindu warrior deity Mahākāla.

What initially sent me down this rabbit hole, however, was what I noticed in the photograph itself: the Imperial chrysanthemum crest (菊紋・kikumon) on the paper lanterns and on the ornamental engraved metalwork known as unokedōshi (兎毛通) beneath the central portion of the Chinese-style gable (唐破風・karahafu). There are also clear Shinto elements, such as the shimenawa (注連縄) rope adorned with shide (紙垂) paper streamers. At the same time, it is unmistakably a Buddhist hall, marked by the cauldron-shaped incense burner (屋根付外置香炉・yanetsuki-gaichi kōro) at the base of the steps and the colorful banners draped across the façade in the Five Primary Colors (五正色・goseishoku) associated with Buddhism.

For me, this hall is especially compelling because it quietly embodies the long history of syncretism between Buddhism and Shinto—two belief systems that once coexisted without conflict in Japan. That balance was disrupted in 1868, when the Meiji government enforced the separation of Shinto and Buddhism in an effort to elevate Shinto as a state ideology and strengthen imperial authority. 

In the end, these policies were never fully realized. Daikokuten-dō, rebuilt in 1968, remains a subtle but powerful example of how both traditions continue to coexist in practice, visible to worshippers, tourists, and photographers alike; a reminder that what first catches my eye visually often leads me to stories I hadn’t expected.

• Location: Shinobazu-no-Ike Bentendō Temple, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・14:18
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 250 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/13
• Classic Chrome film simulation

Links to sources for a deeper dive:

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-daikokutendo

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Shinobazu Pond

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Shinobazu Pond: A Quiet Wetland Beneath Tokyo’s Skyline
不忍池：高層ビルの下に広がる静かな湿地

This view of Shinobazu Pond shows a section where lotus plants fully cover the water’s surface. In winter, much of the color is gone, so I’d like to return in summer, when the lotus flowers are in full bloom.

When I first visited Ueno Park, home to Shinobazu Pond and Bentendō Temple (弁天堂・Bentendō), which you can see in the distance at the center of the frame, I was completely unaware of the fascinating history behind this seemingly humble place.

During the Jōmon period (c. 12,000 BCE), this entire area,which is now about 5.27 km (3.27 miles) from the edge of Tokyo Bay, was once a vast coastal inlet. Over time, particularly throughout the Heian period (794–1185), the sea gradually receded due to regional cooling and sedimentation, leaving behind a naturally formed pond.

The extensive marshlands that remained became an important stopping point for thousands of migratory birds each year. By the 15th century, the surrounding area had developed into a small castle town and was already known as Shitamachi, a name that locals still use today.

In the early Edo period, during the 17th century, a Buddhist priest created a small island in the center of the pond and established Bentendō Temple, visible in the middle of this photograph. Around the same time, the southern portion of the pond was planted with lotus, which now fills the surface with pink blossoms each summer from July through August.

During World War II, water was drained from the pond and the area was temporarily used for rice cultivation due to food shortages. At one point, developers even proposed filling in the pond entirely to build a baseball field. Fortunately, wiser heads prevailed: in 1949, those plans were rejected, and Shinobazu Pond was restored to a form that we can still enjoy today.

 

• Location: Shitamachi Museum, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・14:10
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 160 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/10
• Classic Negative film simulation

Links to Google Maps and sources for a deeper dive:

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-pond

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Post Box

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Vintage Japanese Post Box: A Warm Design Rooted in the Meiji Era
火事に強い鉄製の朱色丸型ポスト（郵便差出箱１号）

After a short photowalk through Tokyo’s Ameya-Yokocho shopping district, I wandered into a nearby park where, near its entrance, I came across this vintage Japanese post box. Though its design dates back to the postwar years, it remains in everyday use, standing quietly in front of the Shitamachi Museum (台東区したまちミュージアム).

The continued presence of this post box aligns naturally with the museum’s mission to preserve and document the everyday culture of Tokyo’s Showa era (1926-1989). It serves as a small but tangible reminder of how ordinary objects once shaped daily life.

This particular cylindrical post box design traces its origins to 1949, when iron once again became widely available for civilian use following the end of World War II, allowing durable public infrastructure to return to cities across Japan.

Nearly eight decades later, I still encounter this style of post box in rural towns and older urban neighborhoods, and it is these small, human-centered design choices that continue to draw my attention. 

Unlike the boxy, utilitarian design of modern post boxes in use today, this earlier form feels warmer and more considerate: the softly rounded lip extending over the slot like a well-worn cap, designed to keep out the rain; the cylindrical body, less obtrusive and better suited to the narrow, crowded streets of Tokyo and other cities at the turn of the twentieth century; and the use of fire-resistant iron, painted in a bright vermilion red (朱色, shuiro), a color also closely associated with Shinto torii gates.

While my initial impulse to photograph this post box was rooted in a sense of nostalgia, standing in front of it prompted a deeper reflection on how thoughtful design, particularly from the Meiji era (1868–1912), seems to have been shaped by everyday needs. In cases like this, those practical considerations have allowed certain forms to quietly persist long after their era has passed, continuing to function as part of the modern city.

 

• Location: Shitamachi Museum, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・14:05
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 160 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/5
• Classic Negative film simulation

Links to Google Maps and sources for a deeper dive:

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-postbox

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Punk Icon

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Sid Vicious Imagery in Ameya-Yokocho, Tokyo
東京のアメ横に現れたパンクアイコン「シド・ヴィシャス」

I captured the back of this leather jacket worn by a middle-aged Japanese man while he was shopping at one of the small stalls beneath the railway tracks of Ameya-Yokocho in Ueno, Tokyo. What immediately caught my attention were the vivid neon colors and the unmistakable image of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen rendered across the jacket’s back panel.

I’m not entirely sure why the image felt familiar at first, especially since I was never a devoted punk rock fan. Thinking back, it may trace to a shipmate I had in the early 1980s who was deeply into the Sex Pistols and the Ramones. I likely encountered this image on an album cover or a T-shirt during that time, even if I didn’t consciously register it then.

While researching the origin of the photograph, I learned that it was taken by Steve Emberton, a staff photographer for Record Mirror, a British weekly music newspaper published between 1954 and 1991. Emberton worked extensively during the 1970s, producing images that later appeared in television commercials, album artwork, and publications connected to major artists, including the Rolling Stones.

I’m old enough to recognize many of the musicians Emberton photographed: Cher, Blondie (Debbie Harry), Rod Stewart, Kiss, the Rolling Stones, Joan Jett, Lou Reed, Billy Idol, and, of course, Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen. The photograph of Sid and Nancy carries particular weight. Emberton has spoken publicly about the shoot, which took place in an apartment in England just a few months before both of their deaths, lending the image a haunting historical proximity.

Emberton primarily worked in black and white, which raises an obvious question: why does this image appear here in such bold, saturated color? The answer seems to lie with Mosquitohead, a graphic T-shirt brand known for reworking punk-era imagery. Their versions of Sid and Nancy introduced false color treatments that became popular in vintage punk fashion during the 1980s and 1990s, extending the afterlife of these images far beyond their original documentary context.

Ultimately, I’m drawn to this photograph for its color, the smooth, worn texture of the leather jacket, and the quiet confidence of the wearer, his collar turned up in a way that recalls pop-culture archetypes like The Fonz from Happy Days. The image unexpectedly pulled me back to my late teens and my first exposure to the music of the Sex Pistols and the Ramones, often playing in the background of chaotic barracks parties during my days in the Navy. In that sense, the photograph became less about punk itself and more about how certain images resurface decades later, in places and moments I never would have expected.

• Location: Ameya-Yokocho, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・13:46
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 1000 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2
• Astia Soft film simulation

Links to sources: 

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-ameyoko

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Komo-Daru

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Komo-daru Outside an Izakaya: A Small Detail of Tokyo’s New Year
居酒屋の前に置かれた菰樽が語る東京の正月

The sake barrels (kazari-daru・飾り樽) often seen stacked high at Shinto shrines, especially around New Year’s, are purely decorative. They are left empty, partly for safety, as securing heavy, liquid-filled barrels overhead would pose a risk to worshippers. As the name suggests, kazari means “decoration,” while daru refers to a cask or barrel.

The barrel in my photograph, however, is a komo-daru (菰樽), the term used for a straw-wrapped sake barrel that is traditionally filled with sake. Komo refers to the straw matting that surrounds the barrel and serves as the surface for decorative labeling. Beneath the straw, the barrel itself is constructed from cedar planks bound together with bamboo braids. I was surprised to learn that these barrels were historically used not only for sake, but also to transport bulk liquids such as oil, soy sauce, and even lacquer.

One detail that stood out to me is that wooden barrels are not used for brewing or long-term storage of sake. Unlike oak barrels used in whiskey production, cedar would significantly alter the flavor. As a result, wooden sake barrels, which are also called sake-daru (酒樽), are typically filled only briefly. Those seen at weddings or ceremonial events usually hold sake for just a few days before it is served.

It took some back-and-forth with an older friend, but we were eventually able to decipher parts of the labeling on this particular komo-daru.

The two vertical black characters and the large central character together form a single phrase: 富久娘 (Fukumusume). Literally translated, it can mean “Daughter of Fortune” or “Lucky Maiden.” This is the name of a long-established sake brand produced by 富久娘酒造株式会社 (Fukumusume Shuzō Co., Ltd.), a brewery based in Hyōgo Prefecture with origins dating back to 1681.

The bold calligraphy feels distinctly old-fashioned to me and immediately evokes a sense of tradition. It’s a style I associate with hanging scrolls displayed behind flower arrangements whether in a tatami room or at an ikebana exhibition in my local city hall.

At the bottom of the barrel, the brand name appears again as フクムスメ in red katakana. This was likely added for clarity, as the main calligraphy is written in sōsho (草書), a highly cursive script that can be difficult to read without prior familiarity or context.

On the left side of the barrel, we struggled to fully interpret the red cursive calligraphy and the circular seal beneath it. One element, however, was immediately clear: the text at the top reads 商標 (shōhyō), meaning “registered trademark,” roughly equivalent to the ® symbol.

Resting on the wooden lid is a bamboo ladle, used to serve sake into newly made square masu cups (枡). These cups are typically crafted from hinoki (Japanese cypress) and often branded with a character, symbol, or name commemorating the occasion. Since this photograph was taken in front of an izakaya called Kassen Ichiba, the name of the pub (活鮮市場) is burned directly into the wood of each cup.

From the Edo period (1603–1867), cedar casks were the primary vessels used to transport sake from breweries to Edo (modern-day Tokyo). By the 1890s, glass bottles gradually replaced them. Today, wooden sake barrels are largely reserved for ceremonial use, such as during New Year’s celebrations, which was when I captured this photograph.

• Location: Ameya-Yokocho, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・13:39
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 320 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/5.6
• Provia Standard film simulation

Links to sources:

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-ameyoko

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Ameyoko

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A Midday Scene at an Izakaya Beneath the Tracks
ガード下の居酒屋、昼のひとコマ

Positioned between the elevated railway tracks of bullet train and commuter lines, several traditional Japanese pubs were already drawing in lunchtime customers, advertising seasonal dishes and freshly caught seafood delivered earlier that morning.

I’m not a foodie in the slightest, so I have no firsthand knowledge of the menu at this particular izakaya. However, while researching its backstory, I learned that it operates under Asakusa Mugitoro (est. 1929), an upscale kaiseki restaurant known for traditional Japanese haute cuisine. There, elaborate multi-course meals emphasize seasonality, artistic presentation, and precise cooking techniques in stark contrast with this gritty, down-to-earth pub, snugly crammed beneath rumbling train tracks and catering to the everyday working man.

While learning about the contrast between this modest izakaya and the refined kaiseki traditions of its parent restaurant, I was reminded of how differently I experience these two kinds of spaces. 

Upscale restaurants often leave me feeling self-conscious and wondering whether I’ve dressed appropriately, or struggling to make the kind of effortless small talk that seems expected in more formal settings. In contrast, mom-and-pop shops and small neighborhood izakayas allow me to relax almost immediately. 

Conversations with the owners or staff come naturally, and the atmosphere feels grounded and unpretentious. As someone who isn’t a food connoisseur, I’m rarely able to tell the difference between an expensive, meticulously plated dish and a simpler homemade one anyway, which makes these everyday places feel not only more comfortable, but also more welcoming and fun.

• Location: Ameya-Yokocho, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・13:39
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 320 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/2.2
• Classic Negative film simulation

Links to sources:

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-ameyoko

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Lively Alley Tucked between Shinkansen Tracks, Ueno, Tokyo

北陸新幹線と上越新幹線の高架下に挟まれた上野の路地

Positioned between the elevated railway tracks of the Hokuriku Shinkansen (北陸新幹線) on the left and the Jōetsu Shinkansen (上越新幹線) on the right, this narrow alley is lined with shops that make use of every last centimeter of space beneath the bullet trains and commuter trains rumbling overhead.

Set slightly apart from the wider, busier thoroughfares of the Ameyoko shopping district, this alley is easy to miss. While the main streets draw budget-conscious shoppers and steady flows of overseas tourists, this tucked-away stretch has a different character. Alongside the usual mix of eateries, bars, and cafés, there are a few adult-oriented shops that give the alley a more candid, less polished atmosphere.

I likely would have walked right past this alley if I hadn’t been intentionally slowing down and exploring every nook and cranny of the neighborhood. It was the kind of overlooked, in-between space that often catches my attention when I’m out shooting street photography.

• Location: Ameya-Yokocho, Taito Ward, Tokyo
• Timestamp: 2026/01/02・13:39
• Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
• 23 mm ISO 320 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/6.4
• Classic Chrome film simulation

If you’d like to see more from this area, you can find other related posts (1-minute reads), with links to sources for a deeper dive here:

• https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20260102-ameyoko1

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