I came across this static display of an old steam locomotive and passenger car along my way to visit the Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum (江戸東京たてもの園).
After some digging around on the web, I learned that the C57 steam locomotive and Suhafu-32 passenger car have been on display at Koganei Park since 1975, fulfilling the wishes of local residents.
I also learned that between 1937 and 1947, over two hundred Class C57 steam locomotives were built and put into service until 1975. Presently, thirty-two C57 locomotives are on display at various locations across Japan. Additionally, two locomotives have been restored and are now operational for special leisure lines and events.
The Suhafu-32 (スハフ３２) passenger cars were utilized nationwide from the late 1930s through the 1950s. The designation is as follows:
The Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923 wreaked havoc upon central Tokyo, causing the collapse of buildings and, tragically, igniting fires. In its aftermath, Tokyo embarked on an ambitious journey to rebuild the city, employing modern city planning techniques that encompassed a grid-pattern network of streets, parks, electric power lines, natural gas lines, waterworks, and sewage lines.
However, the costs associated with this modernization and urban planning surpassed the national budget, leading to a significant reduction in the scale of these developments, which were then limited to only a few specific areas of Tokyo. The Tokiwadai neighborhood was among the fortunate areas selected for city planning, resulting in the construction of modern architectural structures.
Erected in 1937 within the Tokiwadai residential neighborhood of Itabashi Ward, Tokyo, near the former Musashi-Tokiwa Station (now Tokiwadai Station) on the Tobu-Tojo Line, the Tokiwadai Photo Studio stands as a rare example to the vision that architects and city planners held for Tokyo's rebirth.
The building's first floor housed the owner's private residence, featuring a bathroom, kitchen, three bedrooms, an office, lavatory, and a small study.
On the second floor, there was an office/workspace and a spacious photo studio. This studio boasted a sloped ceiling, allowing the installation of large frosted glass windows on the northern side of the building. This architectural choice ensured ample soft lighting, a characteristic feature of early 20th-century photo studios, owing to the absence of modern lighting equipment at the time.
Nestled within the Edo-Tokyo Open-Air Architectural Museum lies a fascinating piece of history—a meticulously restored vintage bus, the TS11 model, built by Isuzu Motors after the war from 1952. As you explore the museum, you'll come across this relic, which I feel is just one testament of many to Japan's post-war resilience and innovation.
The bus in my photo is actually part of a personal collection that is on loan to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government for use at the museum. This is why when you receive your printed English guide at the museum, there will be no reference or information available regarding the bus. Please read on to learn some interesting facts and history!
The TS11 model, with its 4WD capability, played a small but influential role in post-war Japan. Its sturdy design allowed it to navigate even the most challenging terrains, including mountainous and snowy regions. In 1957, a similar bus was entrusted with the honor to transport the Emperor and Empress to Mt. Fuji for a climb to the summit, a testament to the reliability and trustworthiness of the bus.
Fast forward to the present day, vintage buses, like the TS11, are experiencing a revival, thanks to the efforts of rural bus operators. Newspaper articles from The Asahi Shimbun and The Mainichi highlight labor shortage struggles faced by bus operators who have turned to restoring old buses as a way to promote not only ridership from tourists on weekends and national holidays, but also to attract bus enthusiasts (bus spotters, bus otaku, etc.) as possible new hires at their companies.
The charm of these buses transcends generations, captivating both the young and old in Japan and even tourists from overseas who have become familiar with the retro design of these old buses from novels, anime, and manga.
If you examine my photo closely, you'll notice a replica of an old license plate near the radiator grill. Above the front window, you can also see the bus route number “47” (四七) and the route destination “Ueno-Hirokoji” (上野広小路), which is a subway station on the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line, in Taito Ward, Tokyo.
Unlike modern buses designed for maximum passenger capacity, these vintage buses, with engines positioned in front of the driver, offer several advantages: better engine cooling efficiencies, easier access for maintenance and repairs, reduced vibration and noise for passengers, and increased safety for drivers in frontal collisions.
Preserving these vintage buses not only honors Japan's history but I think they can help enrich the present and the future, connecting young and old through shared memories and appreciation for cool design and innovative engineering.
1960s Portable Sony TV was a Hit with Showa Emperor and Frank Sinatra!
Location: Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum, Koganei, Tokyo
Timestamp: 13:28 on October 25, 2023
Sony unveiled its 5-inch portable TV, the Micro-TV (Model #TV5-303), to the world on April 17, 1962, and it hit the U.S. market with a bang on October 4th of the same year. The grand launch took place at Sony’s state-of-the-art New York showroom on Manhattan’s 5th Avenue, with over 400 guests, including the esteemed Consul General of New York.
This incredibly compact micro-television, available in silver and black versions, became an instant sensation. Demand soared to unprecedented levels, leaving Sony struggling to keep pace. Despite shipping sets by sea straight from the assembly line, the company couldn’t meet the eager market's needs.
With rival manufacturers hot on their heels, Sony took a bold step by chartering a Pan American airliner to expedite the TVs to the U.S., capitalizing on the momentum they had generated.
It wasn't only six months later in early 1963 that Hayakawa Electric introduced similar portable televisions to the U.S. market, trailing behind Sony's groundbreaking Micro-TV.
During a factory tour in March 1962, the Showa Emperor and Empress of Japan received an exclusive preview of the Micro-TV. Sony's co-founders, Akio Morita and Masaru Ibuka, went to great lengths, requesting Their Imperial Majesties to maintain strict confidentiality regarding the yet-to-be-announced Micro-TV.
This act of secrecy mirrors the practices of today's tech giants like Google and Apple. However, this request sparked controversy, leading to sensational headlines in Japan's major weeklies, including articles with headlines such as "Emperor is Hushed Up!" These weekly publications (週刊誌), often regarded more as politically provocative tabloids than bastions of high journalistic standards, may have inadvertently amplified the buzz surrounding the Micro-TV.
Adding to the Micro-TV's allure was a surprise admirer – the legendary Frank Sinatra. After being given a sneak peek in April 1962, Sinatra was so captivated by the TV5-303 that he expressed a desire to take one back to the States. Acknowledging the limitations of the Japanese model in picking up U.S. channels, Morita pledged to deliver a U.S. spec model to Sinatra as soon as they were available.
True to his word, Morita personally delivered the television to Sinatra at Paramount Pictures in October, the day after the sets went on sale, fulfilling his promise and cementing the Micro-TV's status as a technological marvel of its time.
Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6
80 mm ISO 800 for 1/20 sec. at ƒ/9.0
1950s Black Japanese Desktop Telephone: NTT Model 4
Location: Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum, Koganei, Tokyo
Timestamp: 13:29 on October 25, 2023
Work to establish Japan's first telegraph line began on October 23, 1869, connecting Yokohama and Tokyo. Interestingly, this initiative came 14 years after Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone. Japan's telecommunication journey progressed further when the first rotary dial telephone, an all-black model, was introduced in 1933. This design was based on the renowned American industrial designer Henry Dreyfuss's "Type 302 Desk Telephone."
Amidst Japan's post-war rebuilding efforts, a pivotal development for domestic telecommunications took place in 1950. The Nippon Telegraph and Telephone Corporation (NTT) unveiled the Model No. 4 Automatic Desktop Phone, Japan’s first domestically designed and manufactured desktop telephone. According to NTT, this new model played a significant role in fostering social connections during Japan's postwar reconstruction period.
Notably, my photograph captures the NTT Model 4, showcasing its smaller and more compact casing compared to Dreyfuss's "Type 302" model. According to one of Japan’s major players in the telecommunications market, KDDI, the new design of the NTT Model 4 not only boasted superior call quality, but was also considered cutting-edge for its time.
The Model 4 was available exclusively in black, and became a staple in Japanese offices during its production years from 1950 to 1964. This end of this 14-year period coincided with the introduction of NTT's Model 600 desktop phone in 1964, marking another milestone in Japan's telecommunications history.
For enthusiasts and curious minds, the NTT Model 4 that I photographed can be viewed at the "House of Kunio Maekawa" within the Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum in Tokyo.
Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6
28 mm ISO 800 for 1/200 sec. at ƒ/9.0
House of Georg de Lalande (1910)
Location: Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum, Koganei, Tokyo
Timestamp: 13:50 on October 25, 2023
Constructed in 1910, the residence of Georg de Lalande was built in Shinanomachi, Shinjuku Ward, Tokyo. Lalande, a skilled German architect, expanded the original building into an impressive 3-story house. His architectural expertise extended to Japan's key port cities such as Yokohama, Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Kobe, and even Korea. Lalande was renowned for his adept use of Jugendstil architecture, a distinctive style within the Art Nouveau movement that flourished during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
Over the years, the house changed hands several times and eventually became the possession of Mishima Kaiun (三島 海雲) in 1956. Kaiun was the brilliant mind behind the widely beloved lactic acid beverage "Calpis," a drink that continues to enjoy popularity to this day. Following Kaiun's passing, his company, Mishima Foods Industry Co., Ltd. (三島食品工業株式会社), utilized the house as office space until 1999.
In 2013, the house underwent meticulous disassembly and subsequent reassembly at the museum. Notable features of its exterior include a mansard roof crafted from slate and clapboard-adorned exterior walls. The interior refurbishment drew inspiration from vintage photographs, aiming to recreate the ambiance of the early Taisho Era (1912 to 1926) when de Lalande resided there. Stepping inside, the various interior elements transported me to the sophisticated charm of a classical hotel in Europe or New York City.
On April 20, 2013, the "Cafe Musashino Sabo," a coffee and tea shop, opened on the first floor, making excellent use of the Art Nouveau interior. I was able to relish the experience of sipping coffee in what felt like the elegant tea room of a luxurious hotel in historic Europe.
Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6
28 mm ISO 400 for 1/25 sec. at ƒ/11
Home of Japanese Mitsui Baron Family (1910~1996)
Location: Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum, Tokyo
Timestamp: 13:55 on October 25, 2023
This residence, once belonging to Hachiroemon Takami, the head of the ten Mitsui clans renowned for their legacy in modern Japanese history through the Mitsui Zaibatsu--one of several large family-controlled vertical monopolies of industrial and financial conglomerates in Japan dating from the Edo Period unit the end of WWII.
Originally situated on an expansive site in Tokyo’s Nishi-Azabu neighborhood of Minato Ward, this mansion had served as the family’s main residence since 1906. Tragically, it fell victim to a devastating fire during the war, leading to the construction of a new main residence in Azabu-cho of Minato Ward in 1952. Azabu-cho is known today as Roppongi—the opulent district boasting world-class art museums, Michelin-starred restaurants, and luxurious shopping destinations.
The guest room and dining room, both dating back to 1897 in Kyoto, were painstakingly relocated after the Second World War. Additionally, a storehouse originating from 1874 was meticulously restored to its original condition. To reconstruct this historical mansion, a myriad of materials, including building components, stones, and plants, were sourced from Mitsui baron family-related facilities in Aburanokoji in Kyoto, Oiso in Kanagawa Prefecture, and Setagaya and Minato Wards in Tokyo.
Despite its reduced size compared to the original 1906 structure in Imai-cho (Roppongi), the residence still resonates with the power and grandeur of the Mitsui Baron family during the prosperous era of the zaibatsu, evident in its interior and furnishings.
Architecturally, the residence follows a mid-corridor style floor plan. Living spaces, including the guest room and dining room, are situated on the southern side of the mid-corridor, while service spaces such as an office, kitchen, and serving room occupy the northern side. This design seamlessly blends Japanese and Western lifestyles, featuring elements like rugs laid out on tatami mats and chairs and tables.
In 1996, the residence underwent a meticulous restoration process before being relocated to the Edo-Tokyo Architectural Museum in Koganei, Tokyo, where it stands today as a symbol of cultural fusion and the enduring legacy of the Mitsui family in Japanese history.
Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6
28 mm ISO 200 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/5.0
Mausoleum of Shogun’s Wife from 1652
Location: Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum, Tokyo
Timestamp: 14:40 on October 25, 2023
The former Jisho-in Otamaya mausoleum (旧自証院霊屋) stands as a testament to Japanese history and architectural craftsmanship. Erected in 1652, this beautiful structure was commissioned by Princess Chiyo, the wife of Mitsumoto Tokugawa, a prominent feudal lord of the Owari Domain. It was built to honor her deceased mother, Ofuri-no-Kata, who was the wife of the third shogun, Iemitsu Tokugawa.
Originally situated within the temple grounds of Jishōji Temple in the Tomihisacho district of Shinjuku Ward, Edo (modern-day Tokyo), the mausoleum was constructed by the same skilled craftsmen who were responsible for building the opulent mausoleum of Ieyasu Tokugawa in Nikko, commonly known as Toshogu Shrine. Ieyasu Tokugawa was the founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate, which ruled Japan for over 250 years until 1868.
In 1955, the mausoleum, which had fallen into disrepair, was acquired by Seibu Railway Co., Ltd. where they then relocated it to the grounds of the Akasaka Prince Hotel in central Tokyo. Four decades later, in 1995, it found its permanent home at the Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum. During the relocation process, both the exterior and interior were meticulously restored to their original grandeur.
This small edifice is a remarkable architectural masterpiece, adorned with vibrant wood carvings and ornate metal embellishments throughout. Not only does it represent the pinnacle of architectural technology from the early Edo period (1603 to 1868), but it also provides a glimpse into the influence and prestige of the Tokugawa family.
Today, the former Jisho-in Otamaya Mausoleum is preserved at the Edo Tokyo Open Air Museum. It holds a unique distinction as one of the few structures in Tokyo that remained unscathed during the bombings of World War II.
Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6
37 mm ISO 200 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/11
Billboard/Signboard Architecture in Tokyo from Late 1920s
Location: Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum, Tokyo
Timestamp: 15:28 on October 25, 2023
The East Zone of the Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum in Tokyo is dedicated to preserving a slice of local urban life from the early days of the Showa Period (1926-1989). This area showcases a variety of shops, a public bath, a bar, and other shops that were readily found in a typical Japanese urban neighborhood during that era.
I was most impressed with how preservation efforts went beyond the exteriors; to include meticulously recreated interiors, featuring original cabinets, desks, counters, and even products sold during that time. I was pleasantly surprised to see tools, receipts, handwritten notes, and other small relics, which helped to provide me with an authentic glimpse into the past within these preserved/restored buildings.
On the left side of my shot, there's Takei Sanshodo stationery store (武居三省堂) built in 1927. A striking feature is its signage: 堂省三. Unlike contemporary Japanese signs written left-to-right, this shop's name is read right-to-left, following the pre-war norm.
Nowadays, horizontal writing is almost always read left-to-right. However, there are still some cases where the use of right-to-left order can be seen, such as on the sides of commercial vehicles displaying a company’s name or brand. This way, the text is often written from the front to the rear on both sides of the vehicle.
I’ve also seen right-to-left writing on the signs of some food stalls when attending local festivals. There are even a few gates at temples or shrines where the wording is read right-to-left. I’ve also seen signage or ads where designers used right-to-left writing for artistic effect or to add a touch of nostalgia to the flier or signage.
In the center of the photo stands Hanaichi Florist (花市生花店), which was also constructed in 1927. This shop exemplifies "kanban-kenchiku" (看板建築), where buildings had a typical wooden-style residence (home/tenanted) behind the storefront but featured flat, modern facades to attract passersby on the street side of the building. My dictionaries translate 看板建築 as “billboard architecture” or “signboard architecture” although I am not sure if this is proper English, of even if such a style of architecture can be found outside of Japanese old-style urban neighborhoods.
After spending hours searching online, I could not find a real-world example of so-called billboard/signboard architecture outside of Japan. Yes, there are shops with signboards on the facade, but is the portion of the building behind the storefront being used as living quarters of the owner and/or tenanted spaces? Would love to find examples of kanban-kenchiku used in countries outside of Japan. Another hurdle to finding similar overseas examples might be the simple fact that billboard/signboard architecture is not really English!
On the right side of my photo is the Maruni Shoten Kitchenware Store (丸二商店・荒物屋), which was built around the 1930s. This shop illustrates how owners would create a distinct retail space in front of the living quarters on both sides facing the street.
The materials I could see being used on the facades of all three kanban-kenchiku buildings in my photo varied from mortar grafted in patterns of Greek temples with impressive classical pillars and gables. Some designs incorporated Art Nouveau decorations with copper plating and boards, which, although shiny when new, developed a patina over the decades. Some of the buildings even showed the remnants of damage caused by gunfire from the guns of soldiers/militia/police on the streets of Tokyo, or from the blasts, shrapnel, or debris caused by the intense firebombing raids over Tokyo during WWII.
Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6
28 mm ISO 3200 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/7.1
Kodakara-yu Public Bathhouse (1929)
Location: Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum, Tokyo
Timestamp: 15:41 on October 25, 2023
Japanese bathing culture is a rich tapestry woven with two main threads: the communal experience of sento and the natural wonders of onsen.
Sento, the traditional public bathhouses, offer an oasis of relaxation in urban areas, welcoming patrons to cleanse themselves, unwind, and foster connections with neighbors.
Onsen, on the other hand, harness the healing properties of natural hot spring waters, nestled in serene landscapes often associated with resorts and ryokan.
In this article, we'll explore the nuances between these quintessentially Japanese experiences, delving into their cultural significance, cost, and unique offerings. Join me on this journey through the soothing waters of Japan's baths.
Sento: An Urban Oasis
Sento, the traditional public bathhouses, serve as urban sanctuaries, inviting patrons to cleanse their bodies, unwind, and foster connections with neighbors.
Unlike onsen, sento typically utilize municipal water, heated and circulated for the patrons' comfort. The Kodakara-yu (子宝湯) public bathhouse, captured in the accompanying photo, stands as a testament to this cultural tradition, its origins dating back to 1929.
On the men’s side of the sento, a captivating mural of Mt. Fuji graces the walls, enhancing the serene atmosphere.
Over the past four decades, I've frequented three or four sento whenever one was within walking distance of my flat. One vivid memory stands out: an owner explaining that although their bath used natural spring water, it required a slight boost in temperature through the addition of municipal water. This experience illuminated the subtle yet significant differences between sento and onsen.
There are some of you who might not be fully aware of the difference between the two major types of public baths in Japan.
Sento, represented by the characters "銭湯," combine "coin/money/0.01 yen“ (銭) and "hot water" (湯), symbolizing facilities that utilize heated water and charge a fee.
In contrast, onsen, denoted by "温泉," combine "warm" (温) and "spring or fountain" (泉), signifying baths fed by natural hot spring water piped into the pools. While the prevalence of sento has diminished with modern homes incorporating bathing facilities after the war, these communal retreats remain a important communal center of Japanese urban areas.
My initial visit to a sento in the 1980s cost a modest ¥250. Today, the typical fee has risen to around ¥520. Beyond the economical aspect, what makes sento truly special is the spaciousness they offer compared to the often cramped designs of household baths.
This became acutely apparent when, in the ‘90s, I broke my arm during a Judo tournament. The sento provided a haven where I could maneuver comfortably without the risk of bumping my injury, unlike my tiny Japanese bath at home.
Beyond the physical comfort, sento offer a unique social space. Conversations sparked in the bath led to the formation of enduring bonds with my neighbors. Weekly rendezvous at the sento became a cherished ritual, an opportunity to unwind, discuss our weeks, and enjoy post-bath refreshments in the lobby, fostering a sense of community.
Discovering Onsen: Nature's Healing Retreats
Onsen, in contrast, tap into the healing properties of natural hot spring waters. Typically in picturesque landscapes or seascapes associated with resorts and ryokan, onsen provide a tranquil escape. These facilities often feature rotenburo (露天風呂) open-air baths, enhancing the experience.
Onsen experiences are often intertwined with traditional Japanese inns, known as ryokan, primarily located in scenic resort areas. These areas could be nestled by the sea, such as the picturesque town of Atami in Shizuoka Prefecture, or tucked away deep within the serene mountains, like the renowned Hakone in Kanagawa Prefecture.
In these retreats, onsen baths are a hallmark feature. While some onsen baths are exclusive, reserved solely for the ryokan's guests, others extend their warm waters to day visitors, allowing them to enjoy the soothing baths during specific hours without requiring an overnight stay.
The cost of indulging in the onsen experience at a ryokan, without the necessity of spending the night, varies widely. Depending on the location and facilities, visitors can expect to pay anywhere from ¥800 to as much as ¥3,000 for the privilege, particularly in regions like Kanagawa and Shizuoka Prefectures. These rates provide access to the tranquil ambiance and rejuvenating waters, allowing individuals to immerse themselves in the therapeutic embrace of the onsen without committing to an overnight stay.
One memorable winter evening on the shores of the Izu Peninsula stands out vividly in my memory. As I relaxed in the rotenburo overlooking the Pacific Ocean, snowflakes gently fell, creating a surreal ambiance—a blend of soothing warmth and nature's delicate touch, an experience I cherish to this day.
Whether you choose the communal charm of a sento or the natural allure of an onsen, I encourage you not to hesitate. Embrace this quintessential Japanese experience. Who knows, you might forge enduring friendships, especially within the welcoming embrace of a sento. Dive in and discover the warmth of Japan's baths and the connections they foster.
Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6
53 mm ISO 400 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/7.1
Tokyo Streetcar from 1962
Location: Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum, Tokyo
Timestamp: 15:58 on October 25, 2023
The 7500 series streetcar was once a vital part of Tokyo’s tram lines, traversing three routes connecting Shibuya Station to Shinbashi Station, Shibuya Station to Hamacho-Nakanohashi Station, and Shibuya Station to Suda-cho Station (modern-day Kanda Station).
Originally operated by a two-man crew, a shift in 1972 saw a transition to a one-man crew, aligning with Tokyo's move towards expanding bus and subway networks, eventually leading to the scrapping of Carriage No. 7514 in 1977.
In 1999, recognition of the streetcar's historical significance led to a restoration of its interior and exterior, bringing it back to its original grandeur.
Placed in the Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum, it became a captivating piece of Tokyo's past for all generations to enjoy.
According to a 2011 article posted by the Asahi Shinbun newspaper, the streetcar underwent work again to remove rust, and to add a fresh coat of paint, including the addition of the red stripe down the side of the body. Furthermore, a fresh coating of coal tar was applied to the interior’s floorboards, helping protect the wooden floorboards from rot.
Distinguishing features of the 7500 series include dual headlights and an illuminated signboard near the roofline, facilitating easy identification of destinations, especially during nighttime travels.
With 40 municipal streetcar lines and around 500 stops, the network's complexity was addressed by assigning each car a line number, prominently displayed between the headlights, a feature that was illuminated on the 7500 series.
The 7500 Series was constructed in 1962 by Niigata Iron Works, a company tracing its roots back to 1895. Unfortunately, the company, facing difficulties as streetcars were being phased out, filed for bankruptcy and was fully liquidated in 2007.
The decline of streetcars/trams continued between 1963 and 1972 as the Tokyo Metropolitan Bureau of Transportation refocused on expanding bus and subway modes of transportation. Fortunately, the Tokyo Sakura Tram (Toden Arakawa Line) is still in use on a route between Waseda Station and Minowabashi Station.
A glimpse inside the streetcar evoked nostalgia for me, reminiscent of trains I rode in the early 1980s. For example, I used to take the Sagami Line, which, at that time, still used diesel locomotives. The carriages were much like the 7500 Series streetcar, with wooden floorboards and the same type of ceiling-mounted fans that swiveled around in full 360-degree circles.
Compared to old streetcars and trains, modern transportation is more accessible, especially for non-Japanese speakers, who benefit from multilingual signage and announcements, and have access to maps on their phones in their native language.
Having lived in Japan at a time when I had to learn to read kanji and use paper maps to reach my destination helps me appreciate the modern conveniences we have today. However, if we could phase out some buses running on smokey diesel and revert to using streetcars or trams, I think I would enjoy my daily commute much more.
Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6
105 mm ISO 200 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/7.1
Restored Tokyo Imperial Palace Bridge Lamp from 1888
Location: Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum, Tokyo
Timestamp: 16:12 on October 25, 2023
Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6
105 mm ISO 200 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/7.1
Captured in my image is an ornamental electric light, a stunning example of Baroque style, originally positioned at the main gate of the Imperial Palace in Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo, from the late 1880s to the mid-1890s.
These lights, one of six affixed to the parapets on each side of the stone bridge, served as the formal entrance to the Imperial Palace grounds. They were exclusively illuminated during the Emperor's departure for significant state occasions, official visits by state guests, or when ambassadors presented their credentials.
Manufactured in 1888 by Harkort, a German company that I had initially presumed to be artisans of Baroque street lamps, these lights have a deeper historical connection.
Harkort, primarily recognized for pioneering railway bridge construction and steel structures for growing rail traffic throughout parts of the world, played a pivotal role in modernizing Japan's railway lines.
While these exquisite vintage lamps are scattered across Japan, including at the Meiji Mura open-air museum in Aichi Prefecture and the Ueno campus of the Tokyo University of the Arts in Taito Ward, Tokyo, Harkort's impact in Japan extended far beyond ornamental lighting.
In reality, Harkort's influence in Japan was more profound in promoting the country's railway modernization. The company exported steel railway bridges to Japan for use on the Kyushu Railways in Kyushu and the Kobu Railways in Tokyo during the late 1880s.
A testament to their enduring legacy, a Harkort steel truss bridge still stands today on the Koishikawa-bashi Bridge near Suidobashi Station on the JR Chuo Line in Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo.
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