The Takase Canal was a resounding success, and its construction transformed the land-locked capital into one of the busiest port towns in the region. It also catalyzed robust urban development east of the Odoi city wall. In time, the shogunate recognized the need to fortify the banks of the adjacent Kamo River, thereby addressing problems with flooding and erosion that had plagued the area for centuries. The construction of stone-lined embankments between Nijo and Shichijo in about 1669 made the land there, for the first time in the city’s history, safe for the building of permanent homes and businesses. A narrow road running parallel to the river’s west bank between Sanjo and Shijo was created. As home to the most
8.3. Shui Miyako meisho zue (section), depicting people towing supplies up the Takase Canal for the reconstruction of the Imperial Palace. Courtesy of International Research Center for Japanese Studies (Nichibunken)
Popular geisha houses, this “Pontocho,” from the Portuguese word meaning “the point,” would become early modern and modern Kyoto’s most important entertainment district. The river basin itself became a popular destination, particularly during the fair seasons. The broad open areas where the river intersected with Sanjo, Shijo, and Gojo were particularly dynamic. There, stages were built to hold kabuki and noh performances, while numerous “amusement” booths offered more intimate encounters. It was from about this time that it became common for townspeople to engage in a summertime activity known as kawara-noryo (“strolling by the river to cool off”) and to drink sake and take meals on veranda-like platforms jutting over the water (kawa-yuka, or just yuka in Kyoto today). A scene of men enjoying the company of a geisha on one such platform is immortalized in Shijo kawara yuryo, a woodblock print by Utagawa Hiroshige (1797-1858).
Development eroded the Odoi physically while the persistent state of peace undermined the wall’s function as a defensive apparatus. An illustration from 1676 shows numerous homes standing on land formerly occupied by the embankment just west of Pontocho. The accompanying caption, which refers to the area as Kawaramachi, or “Riverbank town” narrates the Odoi’s disappearance and reveals the geopolitical implications of such change:
8.4. Kyoto's urban landscape through time. Heian-kyo grid (brown); neighborhood federations (cho-gumi ) during Age of Warring States (yellow); Nijo Castle of Ashikaga Yoshiaki (blue); Jurakudai Palace (green); Nijo Castle of the Tokugawa period (blue and white); Imperial Palace (post-1336) and Kyoto Noble Village of Tokugawa era (purple); Odoi city wall (brown line).
In former times, the land within the [Odoi] embankment was defined as the “inner-capital” (Rakuchu) while that beyond was the “outer capital” (Rakugai). In this area, later generations have built homes here and there, and the Odoi now lies beneath them.19
Development soon extended further east. The urbanization of the broad and gently sloping plain between the river and the Higashiyama Hills was only partially driven by the need for more space. The area’s many temples, which thrived as the result of generous shogunal patronage, became popular destinations for pilgrims and tourists, as widely circulated guidebooks such as Kyowarabe, Kyosuzume, and Kyohabutae extolled the area’s wonders. A steady and seasonally heavy stream of visitors generated reliable demand for a variety of goods as well as lodging and leisure activities. There was an explosion in the number of shops, inns, and homes, resulting in the transformation of a disparate patchwork of “towns in front of the gates” (monzen-machi) into a more-or-less contiguous tapestry of urbanization. A popular gazetteer of the period published in 1686 reported that the roads east of the Kamo River are so well developed, “they differ not at all from those within the capital proper.”20 By the end of the Tokuga-wa period, westward expansion had also begun, putting Kyoto on track to eventually fill up a large portion of the Uta basin.
Following the emperor’s relocation to Tokyo in 1868, it was feared that Kyoto would suffer the same plight of Nara, which after losing its capital status in the eighth century had become a virtual museum: a storehouse of priceless historical and cultural treasures with almost no political or economic relevance. True to the zeitgeist, modernization became the mantra, and in several respects the “old” capital became a beacon of progress. In 1890, for example, engineers succeeded in the technologically daunting task of drawing water from Lake Biwa via a tunnel (Biwako sosui) bored six kilometers through the Higashiyama Hills. Emerging at a site near the temple of Nanzenji, the water was harnessed to turn the turbines of Japan’s first hydroelectric plant, opened in 1891. It also irrigated a large portion of the city via a carefully planned canal system (Shirakawa) that remains useful to this day. Electricity generated at the Keage plant, among other things, powered streetlights and a streetcar that, being Japan’s first, served as the national model.
Modernization had a profound impact on Kyoto’s architectural and urban heritage. With the Meiji Restoration, the Imperial Palace—the city’s philosophical and cultural heart for more than a millennium—was left essentially vacant. Many Buddhist temples were vandalized due to an organized campaign that, until 1945, persecuted the “foreign” religion.21 Machiya were dismantled at an alarming rate, usually replaced by erroconcrete structures. Many roads were widened, paved, and bathed in neon. Despite all these changes, it is still possible to argue that modernity— with its relative political and economic stability, technologies, and robust preservation regimes—has, on balance, actually enhanced Kyoto’s cultural legacy. It certainly made the city a more pleasant place to live. For all its cultural brilliance, premodern Kyoto was a dirty, dangerous, and perpetually unfinished place. Fires frequently wiped out large portions of the cityscape, and civil strife was common. The many famous temples and shrines so celebrated today were often poorly maintained, and the Kamo River was notoriously strewn with rubbish and rotting corpses.
Today, however, all that is a distant memory. Kyoto’s countless temples and shrines stand as gleaming monuments to rich histories and living traditions. Seventeen UNESCO World Heritage Sites draw visitors from around the globe, and the city is the number one destination for Japanese domestic tourism. Aggressive preservation campaigns have stemmed the tide of machiya destruction, inspiring a trend to convert many into fashionable shops and restaurants. Even the built-up commercial areas have begun to take on more of a “traditional” appearance as new laws ban the construction of high-rises and the use of bright colors and gaudy signs. Purists will always lament the loss of old buildings, and they are right to do so. At the same time, however, it should be acknowledged that Kyoto today is perhaps more beautiful than it has ever been. It is truly one of the world’s great historical cities.
World History
