Kyoto At Midnight By Diane Durston
Kyoto at midnight is an astonishing sight, like Paris. The streets are filled with people on their way to and from cultural events. Some are wearing kimono, others are in Armani or Yamamoto.
Kyoto's is a very different sensibility from that of fast-paced, ultra-modern, development-minded" Tokyo. Indeed it was the capital for a thousand years before a cluster of small villages on Tokyo Bay became a city. Kyoto is changing rapidly, however. Diane Durston is the author of Old Kyoto and Kyoto: Seven Paths to the Heart of the City ($11.95 and 9.95 respectively from Putnam Publisbing, P 0. Box 506, East Rutherford, Nj 07073; 8001631-8571). She is an expert on the traditional arts, architecture, and culture of Kyoto, and one of the leaders in the …show more content…
movement to preserve some remnants of old Kyoto in the face of Tokyo-financed demolition/construction projects. -Howard Rheingold
IX A.M. and out of a sound sleep rolls the voice of god in the form of six tons of bronze temple bell. Time for dawn to break and Zen monks to awaken in the heart of old Kyoto - a comforting voice that has awakened the former capital for centuries, two hours ahead of the traffic and noise that is now a part of the modern city.
Slipping back for a moment into semiconsciousness,
I await a reliable second wake-up call. The voice (not god's this time) belongs to one of my neighbors, a paunchy ex-colonel in the Imperial Japanese Army. Long ago resigned to tending his bonsai, he now limits his authority to barking orders at mischievous kids as they trample his pansies.
Seven a.m.
now, and still in his pajamas, the old man sputters down the canal to make his morning call on the local Shinto kamisama (who apparently sleeps later than the Buddha). With a resolute clang of the shrine bell and two claps of old-soldier hands, he has now succeeded in awakening not only the gods, but the entire neighborhood for good. Ducks squawk. A delivery boy on a motorbike cuts the corner too close, incurring the old man's innocuous wrath. No one sleeps late in Horiike-cho. There is much to be shared in old Kyoto neighborhoods. From morning yawns to evening squabbles, the thin walls of the traditional wood-frame houses hold no secrets. Beneath their tiled rooftops, everyone knows everyone and everything: whose kid has colic, who had what for dinner, who left home at what hour. The popular local greeting is "Good morning.
Where are you going? "
It's a communal thing. You take turns sweeping up after the garbage trucks pass. Shopkeepers and housewives dust the street in front of their doorsteps, dousing the pavement each day with water. Keeping things tidy, keeping life tidy. We're still "family" in Kyoto - the streets are safe, and people belong. Many folks still work within five blocks of home. Not much crime in neighborhoods like these. Hell hath no wrath like your next-door neighbor's scorn.
Today, however, the Age of High-rise and Hamburger Stand has arrived in the ancient …show more content…
capital.
With shiny, white-tiled apartment buildings going up all over the city, old neighborhoods like Horiikecho have begun to hug the narrow sidestreets for dear life. Each day another hand-crafted wooden house is demolished, leaving gaps like missing teeth in the landscape of this nearly 1200-year-old city. And not much is being done to stop it.
Kyoto is the city of a thousand temples, where .monochrome cranes swoop down from gilded screens and medieval gardens are covered with moss so green it hurts. Home of the Emperors for ten centuries. Home of the Geisha. Of Zen. Of Nintendo.
That this city of 1,500,000 has survived at all is astonishing.
Founded in 794, it has withstood flood, famine, and fire, springing back each time to rebuild itself, fostering a culture unparalleled in history. Civil wars raged through its streets throughout the middle ages. In 1864, a revolt restored the Emperor Meiji to power and caused the last of many Great Fires, leaving 80 percent of its homes in ashes. The people rebuilt.
In 1945, the Enola Gay skipped Kyoto, originally intended as Target A for the A-bomb that struck Hiroshima. A last-minute decision on the part of U.S. Secretary of War Henry Stimson spared the city out of respect for its history and art. Because of this, it's the only city in which the traditional urban landscape of pre-war Japan can still be found. Stimson had seen it once, before the war, on a trip with his wife - and had not forgotten.
Unfortunately, it is in the process of being forgotten now. While it is true that dozens of monumental structures in the form of temples and shrines have been preserved in Kyoto, it is the fabric of the city itself that is being lost. There is Big Money to be had in dealing land in Japan. One plot of land (15 by 30 feet) on a sidestreet in midtown sold for $800,000 last year, and the prices this year have quadrupled. A square meter of land in downtown Kyoto is now worth five times that of the same square meter in Manhattan, making land prices in Kyoto among the highest in the
world.
On a visit to Kyoto back in 1968, American historian john Whitney Hall, who spent his childhood in Kyoto, saw the situation this way: "Kyoto more than Tokyo forces upon us an awareness of the conflicts and tensions which can still be found in Japanese life, posing constantly the question of where Japan's historical past fits into its modern present.'
Twenty years have passed since Professor Hall posed the question, and Kyoto is still struggling with the answer, as are many historic cities throughout the modern world. For Kyoto, however, the answers must be found amid a national climate obsessed with the future, one that challenges the world to equal it in modern technology, and refuses to be outdone in its pursuit of economic prosperity.
Kyoto, like much of the rest of the country, has begun to succumb to the national pastime of keeping up with the American Joneses. Here, too, we now seek "My House" and "My Car." Current Vice-Minister of Construction Hiroo Kinoshita stated in an interview last year (while he was Deputy Mayor of the City of Kyoto) that: "Since World War II, Japan has concentrated only on catching up with America. Now that we have, it has become evident that we have lost sight of our original ideals, and of our culture as well, especially of the aspects of our culture that belong to everyday life. This lack of confidence may be one of the main reasons why Kyoto has suffered."
The traditional wooden townhouses are no longer considered good enough for today's Japancse urbanite. Too dark, too dingy, too (god forbid) "old." The two storied, tile-roofed Kyoto machiya, as these homes are known, were constructed entirely of natural materials - wood, clay, paper, and sand from which the traditional Japanese house derives its special beauty. They are rowhouses, often sharing walls with their neighbors, and are divided into distinct neighborhood units known as cho, Each cho is made up of approximately 40 houses that function together as communities, many of which developed around a particular craft. The Nishijin district, for example, developed in the 15th century as a community of weavers that is still in existence today.
Most of the machiya that remain in Kyoto today date back no further than 1864, when the last massive fire took place. Apart from the danger of fire to traditional urban housing, the problems of preservation in Kyoto are compounded by a humid climate - the mold takes over where the termites leave off.
Without care, the average machiya has a life expectancy of about a hundred years. There are few carpenters left who can duplicate the painstaking joinery and fine craftsmanship required to build one. A new fire-prevention ordinance forbids the construction of any new wooden buildings. Those that are left are the last.
"Modern contractors say building in wood is a waste of valuable resources, but we never wasted a scrap," says traditional Kyoto builder Yasuo Namikawa. "Trees were carefully harvested as they were needed. We never cut down a whole mountainside like they do today. Now they're stripping forests all over the world, from Oregon to Southeast Asia. And that lumber isn't going into the building of traditional houses ... it's being made into cheap plywood to make forms for pouring concrete. They use it one time and throw it away. Developers who say you don't waste wood if you build in concrete are lying."
An increasing segment of the population is voicing the need to save more of their city than just the famous temples and shrines. Some residents have rallied to save the traditional character of their neighborhoods by requesting that the government enact a law to preserve them.
The first such ordinance was put into effect in 1976. Since then four small districts, mostly located on the outskirts of the city, have been declared Urban Preservation Districts for Groups of Historic Buildings, the first to be so named in Japan.
Kyoto's is a very different sensibility from that of fast-paced, ultra-modern, development-minded" Tokyo. Indeed it was the capital for a thousand years before a cluster of small villages on Tokyo Bay became a city. Kyoto is changing rapidly, however. Diane Durston is the author of Old Kyoto and Kyoto: Seven Paths to the Heart of the City ($11.95 and 9.95 respectively from Putnam Publisbing, P 0. Box 506, East Rutherford, Nj 07073; 8001631-8571). She is an expert on the traditional arts, architecture, and culture of Kyoto, and one of the leaders in the …show more content…
movement to preserve some remnants of old Kyoto in the face of Tokyo-financed demolition/construction projects. -Howard Rheingold
IX A.M. and out of a sound sleep rolls the voice of god in the form of six tons of bronze temple bell. Time for dawn to break and Zen monks to awaken in the heart of old Kyoto - a comforting voice that has awakened the former capital for centuries, two hours ahead of the traffic and noise that is now a part of the modern city.
Slipping back for a moment into semiconsciousness,
I await a reliable second wake-up call. The voice (not god's this time) belongs to one of my neighbors, a paunchy ex-colonel in the Imperial Japanese Army. Long ago resigned to tending his bonsai, he now limits his authority to barking orders at mischievous kids as they trample his pansies.
Seven a.m.
now, and still in his pajamas, the old man sputters down the canal to make his morning call on the local Shinto kamisama (who apparently sleeps later than the Buddha). With a resolute clang of the shrine bell and two claps of old-soldier hands, he has now succeeded in awakening not only the gods, but the entire neighborhood for good. Ducks squawk. A delivery boy on a motorbike cuts the corner too close, incurring the old man's innocuous wrath. No one sleeps late in Horiike-cho. There is much to be shared in old Kyoto neighborhoods. From morning yawns to evening squabbles, the thin walls of the traditional wood-frame houses hold no secrets. Beneath their tiled rooftops, everyone knows everyone and everything: whose kid has colic, who had what for dinner, who left home at what hour. The popular local greeting is "Good morning.
Where are you going? "
It's a communal thing. You take turns sweeping up after the garbage trucks pass. Shopkeepers and housewives dust the street in front of their doorsteps, dousing the pavement each day with water. Keeping things tidy, keeping life tidy. We're still "family" in Kyoto - the streets are safe, and people belong. Many folks still work within five blocks of home. Not much crime in neighborhoods like these. Hell hath no wrath like your next-door neighbor's scorn.
Today, however, the Age of High-rise and Hamburger Stand has arrived in the ancient …show more content…
capital.
With shiny, white-tiled apartment buildings going up all over the city, old neighborhoods like Horiikecho have begun to hug the narrow sidestreets for dear life. Each day another hand-crafted wooden house is demolished, leaving gaps like missing teeth in the landscape of this nearly 1200-year-old city. And not much is being done to stop it.
Kyoto is the city of a thousand temples, where .monochrome cranes swoop down from gilded screens and medieval gardens are covered with moss so green it hurts. Home of the Emperors for ten centuries. Home of the Geisha. Of Zen. Of Nintendo.
That this city of 1,500,000 has survived at all is astonishing.
Founded in 794, it has withstood flood, famine, and fire, springing back each time to rebuild itself, fostering a culture unparalleled in history. Civil wars raged through its streets throughout the middle ages. In 1864, a revolt restored the Emperor Meiji to power and caused the last of many Great Fires, leaving 80 percent of its homes in ashes. The people rebuilt.
In 1945, the Enola Gay skipped Kyoto, originally intended as Target A for the A-bomb that struck Hiroshima. A last-minute decision on the part of U.S. Secretary of War Henry Stimson spared the city out of respect for its history and art. Because of this, it's the only city in which the traditional urban landscape of pre-war Japan can still be found. Stimson had seen it once, before the war, on a trip with his wife - and had not forgotten.
Unfortunately, it is in the process of being forgotten now. While it is true that dozens of monumental structures in the form of temples and shrines have been preserved in Kyoto, it is the fabric of the city itself that is being lost. There is Big Money to be had in dealing land in Japan. One plot of land (15 by 30 feet) on a sidestreet in midtown sold for $800,000 last year, and the prices this year have quadrupled. A square meter of land in downtown Kyoto is now worth five times that of the same square meter in Manhattan, making land prices in Kyoto among the highest in the
world.
On a visit to Kyoto back in 1968, American historian john Whitney Hall, who spent his childhood in Kyoto, saw the situation this way: "Kyoto more than Tokyo forces upon us an awareness of the conflicts and tensions which can still be found in Japanese life, posing constantly the question of where Japan's historical past fits into its modern present.'
Twenty years have passed since Professor Hall posed the question, and Kyoto is still struggling with the answer, as are many historic cities throughout the modern world. For Kyoto, however, the answers must be found amid a national climate obsessed with the future, one that challenges the world to equal it in modern technology, and refuses to be outdone in its pursuit of economic prosperity.
Kyoto, like much of the rest of the country, has begun to succumb to the national pastime of keeping up with the American Joneses. Here, too, we now seek "My House" and "My Car." Current Vice-Minister of Construction Hiroo Kinoshita stated in an interview last year (while he was Deputy Mayor of the City of Kyoto) that: "Since World War II, Japan has concentrated only on catching up with America. Now that we have, it has become evident that we have lost sight of our original ideals, and of our culture as well, especially of the aspects of our culture that belong to everyday life. This lack of confidence may be one of the main reasons why Kyoto has suffered."
The traditional wooden townhouses are no longer considered good enough for today's Japancse urbanite. Too dark, too dingy, too (god forbid) "old." The two storied, tile-roofed Kyoto machiya, as these homes are known, were constructed entirely of natural materials - wood, clay, paper, and sand from which the traditional Japanese house derives its special beauty. They are rowhouses, often sharing walls with their neighbors, and are divided into distinct neighborhood units known as cho, Each cho is made up of approximately 40 houses that function together as communities, many of which developed around a particular craft. The Nishijin district, for example, developed in the 15th century as a community of weavers that is still in existence today.
Most of the machiya that remain in Kyoto today date back no further than 1864, when the last massive fire took place. Apart from the danger of fire to traditional urban housing, the problems of preservation in Kyoto are compounded by a humid climate - the mold takes over where the termites leave off.
Without care, the average machiya has a life expectancy of about a hundred years. There are few carpenters left who can duplicate the painstaking joinery and fine craftsmanship required to build one. A new fire-prevention ordinance forbids the construction of any new wooden buildings. Those that are left are the last.
"Modern contractors say building in wood is a waste of valuable resources, but we never wasted a scrap," says traditional Kyoto builder Yasuo Namikawa. "Trees were carefully harvested as they were needed. We never cut down a whole mountainside like they do today. Now they're stripping forests all over the world, from Oregon to Southeast Asia. And that lumber isn't going into the building of traditional houses ... it's being made into cheap plywood to make forms for pouring concrete. They use it one time and throw it away. Developers who say you don't waste wood if you build in concrete are lying."
An increasing segment of the population is voicing the need to save more of their city than just the famous temples and shrines. Some residents have rallied to save the traditional character of their neighborhoods by requesting that the government enact a law to preserve them.
The first such ordinance was put into effect in 1976. Since then four small districts, mostly located on the outskirts of the city, have been declared Urban Preservation Districts for Groups of Historic Buildings, the first to be so named in Japan.