Marunouchi

Marunouchi is a layered cityscape. It holds the concentrated remnants of Tokyo’s history. This is easily seen in the Imperial Palace and easily forgotten amongst the financial and commercial towers. Inner and outer moats wrap around the palace grounds and confused tourists wonder helplessly at the stone walls, unable to get a view in. This was once the home of Edo Castle and nearly three hundred years of Shogunate administration. This was the centre of the turning world for a newly unified Japan and the outlaying streets were lined with the homes of nobility and regional governors. The street names still lead back to their past presence – Sotobori Dori, Otemachi and Marunouchi itself.

The emperor moved to Edo, now Tokyo, in 1868 and the Meiji Restoration went into full swing. The sweeping cultural and political changes across Japan were played out directly and physically in Marunouchi. Especially in the architecture, as a series of western designed and inspired buildings replaced Edo mansions and structures. Western-style stone bridges, leading into the Imperial Palace, replaced Edo period wooden-draw bridges. The British Embassy saw in Japan’s first paved road and European architects were brought in to see out the construction and design of stone buildings with neo-classical columns and arches.

In 1914 Tokyo Station opened, designed by the British educated Tatsuno Kingo. The grand station had three storeys and two domes. Although still there, the old station is virtually subsumed by the exponential expansion of Tokyo station which continues to this day. The old station is the site of building work as the post-war sloping roofs are replaced by domes reminiscent of the original design and the surrounding streets are re-landscaped. Amongst the temporary walls and cramped space of the south entrance is an innocuous plaque marking the spot were Prime Minister Takashi Hara, the first commoner appointed to the position, was assassinated - a sign of the simmering political tensions underlying the transitional times. Nine years later Prime Minister Osachi Hamaguchi was shot in the same south entrance. He survived but never fully recovered, losing any effective political influence.

Despite their signalling and significance, the old Meiji buildings of Marunouchi are easily missed amongst the corporate skyscrapers and upmarket shopping plazas. They are preserved behind new glass facades or have sky high towers sprouting out of them – like the Daichi Seinei building, where the lower floors, once the hub of the American occupation (with General MacArthur’s office apparently left untouched), now have a series of modern floors above.

Marunouchi has changed and is changing. The corporate offices are giving more and more away to high end retail spaces, exemplified by the Marunouchi Buidling. From the 35th floor, among the all-too-expensive restaurants, is a view out over Tokyo and the streets below. Marunouchi is the city appliqué.

Hinotama

In Azuchi at Obon, the red moon glows high above the old temple gates, over the rice fields and down the narrow streets. It is seen through bedroom windows. And it is difficult to deny its mysticism during an evening walk. Especially looking up at Azuchi mountain which is as dark as the night itself and outlined by incandescent moonlit clouds. These clouds light up with brilliant flashes – perhaps distant lightning or far off fireworks or some ancient god beating his chest.

In Azuchi at Obon the August moon casts its red glow over lake Nishinoki. Fishing boats line the bank, half-hanging by old rope and half-sunk in the water. Covered green with seaweed, the old boats succomb more and more to the lake. Out on the pier, we listen to fish nip at the surface and gaze at the lights of Omihachiman shimmering on the far shore. And when I turn my head, I catch sight of a bolt of light streaking over the waters and rising just above the horizon. “Amazing” I say aloud and wonder if it was some bizarre lightning ball unseen except by myself, or some misfired firework shot horizontally across the lake, but without detonation or sound. Or perhaps some soul-apparition ascending in the night-heat? The red moonglow hangs heavy after this and the lake reeds rustle ominously as we walk back to the road. They shake and brush and beckon and whisper some devious siren call.