Photos by Rob Gilhooly

Japanese tourists have earned themselves a reputation for turning up in some of the most far-flung and obscure spots on the planet, but there are some places that they’re unlikely to want to visit. And if they did, they’d be eyed with a fair amount of hostility.

To Japanese, the barren islands between Honshu and the Korean peninsula are known as Takeshima—but don’t utter that word around here. The locals call them Dokdo, and they’re pretty possessive about these rocky islets.

The feud over who “owns” this pair of islands has simmered for generations, and will no doubt continue for decades to come. However, the reality is that a special South Korean police unit is stationed in reinforced quarters on the peak of Dongdo, the more easterly island, while an elderly Korean fisherman and his wife live in a house built into the rock face of Seodo, across the narrow channel of water that separates them.

Life on the islands is a challenge, even on pleasant days in the Sea of Japan—which Korea insists on calling the East Sea (yet another bone of contention). Just getting to this lonely spot can be tricky, and there are no guarantees that visitors will even be able to go ashore.

The Sun Flower is a smart-looking ferry that rides low in the water as it pulls out of the industrial port of Pohang, past freighters and a South Korean Coast Guard patrol ship. The sea is calm and we quickly kick up a wake as the captain puts the vessel on course for our first destination.

All ferries to Dokdo put in at the narrow harbor of Dodong town on Ulleungdo. The scenes are chaotic as tourists are disgorged onto the concrete wharf to find restaurants or, if they’re staying overnight, accommodation. Local residents returning from a periodic trip to the mainland carry huge bundles of goods that are difficult to find on this outpost.

The guidebook from the local tourist office informs me that Dokdo is precisely 87.4 km to the east. Though much larger than its near-neighbor, Ulleungdo is a similarly craggy rock that rises steeply out of the sea. Locals are proud that Dokdo can be seen on the horizon—albeit from the highest point on the island, and only in optimum conditions. That’s about twice a year, they admit.

After the Sun Flower has had time to unload its cargo and take on the hardy souls who are making the pilgrimage on to Dokdo, it puts out to sea again. The water is noticeably choppier now, and the wind has shifted. The captain says it may not be possible to land at the dock built into the base of Dongdo, sending up a muted groan from the tourists, but we continue onward.

Dokdo reveals itself gradually through the haze, and it’s quickly apparent that we won’t be going ashore: waves are crashing into the dock and washing well up the stony beaches. So instead of setting foot on an island whose value is primarily symbolic—at least until gas or oil deposits are found nearby—the Korean tourists all get out on the deck and have to content themselves with taking photos or video of their day out at Dokdo.

Thousands of pure-white seagulls hover above and dive for fish. We cruise around to the north of the island, from where the lighthouse and police facilities, including a helicopter landing pad, are clearly visible. Sea stacks and arches have been carved by the elements.

The captain says that the best time of year to visit is May, when there is a far higher likelihood of the ship being able to dock. Once ashore, visitors have around 40 minutes, and apparently spend most of that time collecting rocks to take home (if they continue to do this in sufficient numbers, the islets will eventually disappear, solving the territorial dispute for good). They also take photos, of course, including of the stone plaque set into the wharf which declares the islands to be sovereign Korean territory.

Visitors aren’t permitted to climb the stone steps up from the landing stage to the lighthouse—a route that passes the graves of a number of seamen killed in these waters, as well as a postbox and a South Korean flag cast in concrete.

The ferry service to Dokdo was only started in early 2005, and was initially limited to 200 visitors a day. That figure has since been increased, as South Korea looks to bolster its claim to the islands. Back on Ulleungdo on our return trip, where we are obliged to take another break in the voyage, an elderly man in a shirt that says “Dokdo is Korean!” purses his lips when asked if he remembers seeing any Japanese tourists on the islands. He shakes his head.

Photo by Tom Orsman

Photo by Tom Orsman

Photo by Tom Orsman

Photo by Tom Orsman

For a gentle start to the evening, though, head to Dejima Wharf, where sailboats glide past the quiet waterfront and the lights on the surrounding hillsides twinkle. If location is everything, then Bar R-10 has it all. It’s one of a handful of places to drink on the wharf, but it’s the only one whose daytime business hours are “when the sun is shining and we’re feelin’ good.” We can vouch for the quality of the food, drinks and views, but the live entertainment is a bit hit-and-miss.

A short walk from R-10, mixed in amongst some of the city’s most dreary office buildings, stands a one-room bar with guitars, graffiti and ’70s rock posters on the walls, flags on the ceiling, and enough booze for a very good night out. Welcome to Crazy Horse. There’s a reason the locals—foreigners and Japanese alike—come here week after week: the owner, who’ll often be serving drinks one minute and performing an Eagles cover with his band the next, is as welcoming as they come. If there’s one place in Nagasaki that you shouldn’t miss, this is it.

Nearer the bright lights of Shianbashi is another fixture of the local scene. Bar G Soul boasts floor-to-ceiling views of neon Nagasaki, seasonal fruit cocktails, and DJs playing R&B and hip-hop to a crowd of well-dressed youngsters until 4am. Like most bars, this place is at its best when busy, so make sure to have a quick peek inside first before you go in.

Whether you’re looking for some live music or just a lively atmosphere, there’s no better place than Tin Pan Alley. The house band’s repertoire ranges from Culture Club to Jamiroquai and everything in between, so feel free to make requests. For a taste of something a little different, head to Psybar Space On. This unmarked bar has been designed with the look and feel of a Meiji-era home, so first-timers might hesitate before sliding open the door: only the blue neon sign and loud “Irrashaimase!” distinguish it from the old lady’s house next door. Take your shoes off, watch your head, and step inside to discover an elegant space with views out onto a small Japanese garden. It’s difficult to find, but those who make the effort will be rewarded.

Still not ready for bed? Ayer’s Rock is Nagasaki’s best-known club, and for good reason. It’s been showcasing local musicians here for over ten years, and drawing the best of Nagasaki’s large university crowd all the while. The young clientele ensures that drink prices stay reasonable, and the fun keeps going until the wee hours of the morning.

Photos by Lone Rehnström

You won’t find any souvenir shops or vending machines near Shiroyama, but the little tourist information booth will provide you with walking sticks and maps, and the friendly Japanese-speaking guides offer good advice and free tours of the area (9am-4:30pm).

Hachioji Castle was built in the 1570s by Hojo Ujiteru, but fell to the forces of Toyotomi Hideyoshi in just one day in 1590, in a battle so brutal that the Shiroyama River is said to have turned red with blood. Ujiteru was forced to commit seppuku, the castle was ordered destroyed, and for centuries the site remained abandoned, as it was believed to be haunted. There isn’t much left of the structure today, but a small portion was rebuilt in 1990.

Shiroyama offers picturesque views and an interesting historical setting, so put your hiking boots on and go explore the remains of the castle, along with the small shrines dotting the mountain. After descending, be sure to visit the site of the lord’s palace, where the bridge, walls and entrance have been reconstructed to give you a sense of its former grandeur.

Take the JR Chuo or Keio line from Shinjuku to Takao (¥540 or ¥350, respectively), then catch a No.1 bus to Reienmae (¥180, 10 minutes). Walk west for 20 minutes, following the signs.

Photos by Alena Eckelmann

Tokyo might not seem like a particularly green city, but seasoned urban ramblers know that nature abounds if you look in the right places. Once you’ve strolled the Imperial Palace grounds and municipal parks, head to the city’s waterways and you’ll find ample greenery—not to mention numerous traces of the capital’s past.

One of the best daytrips can be enjoyed by taking a bicycle along the Kanda River, which runs for nearly 25km from its source in Kichijoji’s Inokashira Park, taking in Suginami, Nakano, Shinjuku and Bunkyo wards, before flowing into the larger Sumida River near Ryogoku Bridge in Taito-ku. During the Edo Era (1603-1868), the river was diverted into a canal—the now-vanished Kanda Josui—which supplied the capital with drinking water.

Starting at the mouth of the river, the first bridge that we reach is Yanagibashi. While the current steel structure was built in 1929, there has been a bridge here since 1698. Visitors are unlikely to realize that this neighborhood was a flourishing red light district 200 years go; these days it’s rather more sedate, serving as a base for the charter boats that are frequently seen cruising around Tokyo Bay.

Following the river upstream leads to Hijiribashi, next to Ochanomizu station. This arched stone bridge was built after the 1923 Great Kanto Earthquake, which makes it positively ancient in a city where most buildings are only a few decades old, if even that. It’s worth cycling a loop around the neighborhood to take in some of its sacred sights: the Confucian temple of Yushima Seido, the Shinto shrine of Kanda Myojin, and Nicholai-do, an Orthodox cathedral.

The Kanda River feeds the ponds of Koishikawa Korakuen, a beautiful landscaped garden from the early 17th century that’s tucked away behind the Tokyo Dome City complex. A little further along, Edogawa Park is a stretch of greenery that looks best in hanami season, when the hundreds of trees lining the riverbank are in full bloom. Nearby you’ll find the back entrance to Chinzan-so, a gem of a garden set atop a hill, which is home to a three-story pagoda—relocated from a temple complex in Hiroshima Prefecture—that’s said to be 1,000 years old.

The estate next door houses a mysterious-looking stone building, the Eisei Bunko Museum. Don’t let the unkempt garden fool you—the museum actually holds immense treasures, showcasing artifacts, documents and works of fine art collected over centuries by the Hozokawa clan of Kumamoto. Following the small path through a Chinese-style round gate, we reach Shin-Edogawa Park, yet another beautiful garden where you can kick back free of charge.

Crossing the tracks of the Toden Arakawa Line—Tokyo’s last remaining tram line—we head past Takadanobaba and on to Shimo-Ochiai, where a pedestrian path runs alongside the Kanda River. This is another popular sakura spot that’s worth checking out next spring.

While Nakano-ku is mostly urban sprawl, more greenery awaits in Suginami-ku, where little parks, sports grounds and the odd local temple and shrine invite cyclists to stop for a rest and further exploration. In the Mitakadai area, monotonous apartment blocks give way to houses with gardens, each with their own charm and character. The bridges that span the Kanda River here, meant only for local traffic, offer a fine perch from which to watch the many koi in the river.

Our final destination is Inokashira Park, a popular spot for families and couples, with a long, narrow pond at its center that’s fed by the same spring as the Kanda River. It’s presided over by the Goddess of Water, who has a shrine set on a small island in one corner of the park. Here, locals fill plastic containers from a tap which turns out to provide the best natural spring water in Tokyo, pumped up directly from its source. After the journey along the Kanda River, it tastes nothing less than divine.

Photos by Brett Bull

Not long after landing at Bonriki International Airport, however, the true scale comes into focus: the average stretch separating lagoon from ocean can be reached with a golf putter (ok, maybe a nine-iron), and its highest topographical features rise to around knee height on an adult.

Kiribati (pronounced KIH-rih-bahss) has been a member of the United Nations since 1999. It spreads its collection of 33 islands and around 100,000 people over a staggering 1,351,000 square miles of ocean spaced between Fiji and Hawaii.

Tarawa, which is split between north and south, is a common point of entry. At Bonriki, visitors proceed through immigration and customs (a mere two desks apiece) and then board one of the many waiting buses, island rhythms thumping through the speakers. With only two flights arriving and departing a week, each jet engine roar takes on the feel of a rock concert spectacle, and dozens of locals cling to the chain-link security fencing, watching all the newcomers.

A drive along the bumpy main road running through South Tarawa’s center—North Tarawa is only reachable by boat—reveals thatch huts perched at the edge of beaches of white sand. Fishermen can be seen tossing nets into the lagoon, and coconut trees provide shade from the blistering sun as women seated at the edge of the road swat flies away from fish resting on scales and shout, “Yellowtail!”

The population, one third of which is located on South Tarawa, is primarily engaged in a subsistence lifestyle. In addition to fishing, foragers collect shellfish in buckets at low tide, while coconuts and breadfruit are harvested and woven crafts are made from tree leaves. The merchants peddling imported canned goods and drinks from roadside stands generally don’t speak English, but a simple greeting of “Mauri” will likely be returned with a smile.

The sea is obviously crucial here, yet it might eventually prove to be the country’s undoing. Numerous scientific studies, perhaps most notably the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change from 2007, have indicated that global warming might cause sea levels to rise by around half a meter before the end of the century. The potential for calamity is readily apparent when passing over the causeways that link the various islets making up South Tarawa: waves from the lagoon and sea lap up near the tires of passing cars at high tide.

The longest causeway is located at the southern end and breaches the span between the islets of Bairiki, a government administrative district, and Betio, the center of trade. Before crossing, many visitors check in at Mary’s Motel for the best accommodation available on South Tarawa. The air conditioned rooms include a small refrigerator and access (usually) to wireless internet. The grilled fish in garlic served in the motel restaurant is perhaps the best dish on the atoll.

Betio is most famous for its role in World War II, when Allied and Japanese forces tore across the landscape for three days of intense fighting in 1943. By the end, only a charred chunk of earth remained and over 6,000 lives had been lost, making it one of the most brutal battles in US military history.

This gruesome event has created one of Tarawa’s more interesting activities. A stroll at low tide reveals pieces of a US B-24 Liberator bomber and rusting tanks lying in the lagoon. Towards the sea, dumped munitions and random airplane parts are scattered upon the rocks, and some of the Japanese coastal guns are still in position along the shore.

Though it resembles a stereotypical Pacific Island paradise, Tarawa is no idyll. Frills are nonexistent, and space is at a premium, making garbage disposal a huge problem. Furthermore, the high population density—especially on Betio—and inadequate sanitation systems have rendered the waters off South Tarawa generally unsuitable for swimming.

For those seeking that tropical treatment, though, there is North Tarawa. Boats make the one-hour journey from Bairiki multiple times each week, and snorkeling, fishing and picnicking possibilities abound. It’s the best place to experience, as the locals say, “Te mauri, te raoi, ao te tabemoa” (Health, peace and prosperity).

Trip Tips

Air Pacific (www.airpacific.com) operates flights to Tarawa on Tuesdays and Thursdays out of Nadi, Fiji, which is accessible by Air Korea via Seoul. The currency is Australian dollars. Mary’s Motel (Tel: 686-22227) offers single ($77) and double rooms ($88), while on North Tarawa, accommodations are available at the Buota Lodge ($50). Aboy’s Kitchen on Betio serves very good rice and noodle dishes, usually for less than $10. Also on Betio is the Japanese Curry House (tel: 25257), which has a menu of sashimi and curry plates. Molly’s Tours (tel: 26409) provides guided tours of World War II relics, and chartered fishing boats can be reserved at King’s Boat Hire (tel: 26525).

Photo by James Hadfield

Squeezed between the docks and the river, “Little Okinawa” in Tsurumi Ward is home to one of Honshu’s largest Ryukyu communities. Its estimated 30,000 residents arrived here in two distinct waves. The first fled an island-wide famine in the 1920s, and the second came after World War II had reduced their farms and homes to ash and rubble. While the push factors may have been different, the pull was the same: the promise of work in Yokohama’s Keihin factory belt.

Despite the recent economic downturn, Little Okinawa is still very much an industrial neighborhood. Trucks haul freight to the harbor and machinery pumps and wheezes behind the doors of dozens of small workshops. Two hundred yards along Naka Dori, I spot my first sign of the area’s Okinawan influences: a vending machine stocked with mango and goya teas and the island’s ubiquitous Blue Seal chocolate drink.

Close by is the Okitsuru Mart supermarket, where Tokyo day-trippers pick through racks of Ryukyu CDs and mobile phone straps. Any suspicions that this is merely a souvenir store are forgotten when one of the tourists runs screaming from the frozen food section. Bracing myself, I go to see what surprised her. Behind the freezer’s glass is a row of whole pig’s faces—with their wrinkled foreheads and upturned noses, they resemble chubby children staring through the frosty window of a candy store. Next to the freezer are less grisly staples of Okinawan cooking, including shelves of bright green papaya and purple sweet potatoes, packets of sea grapes, and cans of Tulip luncheon meat.

Photo by Jon Mitchell

As I’m browsing the selection of awamori liquor, the shop’s manager brings in a tray of freshly fried sata andagi donuts. A swarm of elementary school kids emerges from thin air, but I hold my ground, and I’m able to scoop up one of the spherical treats before they’re all taken.

Standing outside the store, munching on my crumbly prize, I find my appetite whetted. The area hosts over a dozen Okinawan eateries, and I ask the kids which they recommend. They reply with a cacophony of different restaurant names, but after a few minutes, a consensus finally emerges: “Ha-chan.”

When I slide open the doors of the small bungalow store, I discover that the kids aren’t the only fans of this place. It’s just opened for the evening, but Ha-chan is already packed with construction workers and dockhands. On the advice of the owner, I order tebiki (pig’s trotter) soba. The noodles are flat and chewy and the hog’s feet succulent. The owner hands me a bowl of pickled goya. “Service,” she says with a smile. The laborer next to me slips a finger in and out of his fist and gives me a lecherous wink: “For stamina.”

My walk back to Tsurumi station takes me past an elementary school, where one of the neighborhood’s two eisa troupes is practicing a traditional Okinawan dance. Dressed in purple and yellow, 20 men and women beat drums and wave large flags as they stamp their feet on the dusty ground. A handful of elderly men watch the dancers from the shade, occasionally letting out an encouraging whistle or a puppy-like “hup-hup.” One of them forces a can of Orion beer on me, and once I’ve finished drinking it, he tops it off with a slug of awamori strong enough to bring tears to my eyes. After he’s stopped laughing, he points towards the can, then towards the dancers: “Okinawa style.”

I nod. This neighborhood is a world away from the resort hotels and white sand beaches of holiday brochures, but it’s indistinguishable from the backstreets of Naha or Nago. To be sure, Tsurumi’s Little Okinawa is rough around the edges, but chances are it’s more interesting—and closer to home—than any safely packaged island tour.

For more information, see www.flysas.co.jp

For further information, contact the hotel at 03-6739-7888, or see www.shangri-la.com

Boutique city guides are all the rage these days, promising an eclectic overview of popular destinations without the headache of trying to be comprehensive. À La Carte produces a range of hand-drawn maps printed on heavy-duty paper, accompanied by basic touring info and tips from the locals. My Tokyo À La Carte makes the city’s spaghetti road map look deceptively simple, but doesn’t skimp on the essential details. The recommendations range beyond the obvious (dirt-cheap beers at Imanari in Shimokitazawa, an onsen dip at Takaido), although you might want to check the À La Carte website for updates (“Montoak is not so hip anymore,” reveals one, with admirable candor). There are a few inspired touches, such as the guides to onigiri fillings and using the remote control at karaoke. You can also get a customizable version, which comes with stickers and ample space to scribble in your own recommendations.

Available for €8.90 at www.alacartemaps.com

Name: Sports World
Location: Izunokuni-shi, Shizuoka
Background: This large-scale amusement and sports complex opened in 1988 at the height of Bubble era prosperity. The park featured a giant wave pool, water slides, putting greens and other attractions, but its middle-of-nowhere location proved to be a handicap. Sports World shut its doors in 1993 and began its transformation into a well-known ruin—one that’s scheduled to be demolished within the next year.
Access: Approximately three hours from Tokyo by train.

Source: “Haikyo Deflation Spiral” (http://home.f01.itscom.net/spiral), a leading haikyo exploration site featuring dozens of frequently updated galleries.

Photos by Mark Andrews

To get the most out of a day in Luang Prabang, you need to get up early. First come the waves of saffron at dawn (around 6-6:30am, depending on the time of year), as monks stream from the wats to collect alms in their bowls. The ritual has become something of a tourist attraction, but it remains meaningful to the local people.

As the monks file barefoot back into their temples, the locals turn their attention to food. The fresh produce market, in an alleyway running down the side of the former Royal Palace, is at its busiest early in the morning. An old lady fries corn cakes, while hill tribe women sell banana leaves and sweet potatoes. Each stallholder has a meager selection of exotic-looking fruit or vegetables laid out on the ground in front of them, as housewives flit about examining the wares.

Luang Prabang’s small size belies the fact that it is Laos’ second city. For years a sleepy backwater in the former French Empire, it is now firmly on the more adventurous tourist’s map, thanks to its UNESCO World Heritage listing in 1995.

When Fa Ngum established the kingdom of Lan Xang Hom Khao (literally, “a million elephants and the white parasol”) in 1353, he chose Luang Prabang—then known as Xiang Dong Xiang Thong—as its capital. The city’s importance has waxed and waned over time, but during French rule and the early years of independence it remained the seat of the Lao king.

Much of the old town is sandwiched into the narrow strip of land created by the confluence of the Nam Khan and Mekong rivers. A good place to start your tour is at the former Royal Palace, which was used by the monarchy until their removal by the communist government in 1977. Built in 1904, it combines French and Lao styles and lacks the ostentation displayed by many other royal families. The patronage of various powers is also revealed: the royal garage displays two Lincoln Continentals, a Toyota jeep and a rundown Citroen DS, gifts from the US, Japan and France, respectively.

With so many wats to see, it’s easy to get “templed out.” Wat Xieng Thong is considered to be the most exquisite, with its low-sweeping roof and liberal use of gold leaf and paintings. Wat Wisunarat is easily spotted thanks to its large blackened stupa, and as the oldest operating temple in town it’s also worth a visit.

People don’t go to Phu Si Hill so much for the old temples littering its slopes as the view from the top. At dusk, crowds congregate around That Chomsi, the 24m-tall stupa at the peak, to gaze out over the rivers and town.

At night, a long stretch of Th Sisavangvong in front of the Royal Palace is closed to traffic and becomes a night market selling handicrafts, T-shirts, food and tourist trinkets. The Royal Theatre in the palace grounds has regular dance and folk music performances in the evening, and you can also look out for various traditional shows advertised around town. During the high season (October-April), Roots & Leaves restaurant has a dinner show six nights a week in its beautiful outdoor dining area.

Many visitors choose to eat at restaurants serving foreign food, ranging from French and Italian through to Thai and Indian. However, Lao food is well worth trying: it’s generally not as spicy as Thai cuisine, and makes ample use of herbs. Many of the open-air restaurants lining the banks of the Mekong are good bets. However, for a true insider’s experience, try one of the numerous cooking classes offered around town. Tamarind Café holds lessons in a lovely out-of-town location, where visitors are taught how to produce popular dishes like deep-fried lemongrass stuffed with chicken.

If your idea of a perfect vacation involves extravagant accommodation with a helicopter shuttle service, The Ryokan Collection might just have the thing for you. This recently launched website provides detailed information and reservations for a selection of luxury ryokan and hotels in the AAA category. Book the room of your dreams at Sankara, a new auberge-style hotel located amid the lush nature of Yakushima Island, or at Hokkaido’s Ginrinsou, where you can soak in a beautiful rotenburo bath while taking in panoramic views of Ishikari Bay. The Ryokan Collection offers English-speaking guides, luxury transfers and an emergency interpretation hotline.

www.ryokancollection.com

Tange’s march to fame began in 1949 when he won a bid for the design of Hiroshima Peace Park. Ten years later, he would unveil his ambitious plan for the “Structural Re-organization of Tokyo,” a large-scale redesign of the metropolis that extended it out into Tokyo Bay via manmade islands. Today, Odaiba comes close to realizing the maestro’s ideal, though his proposed “floating parking” has yet to materialize.

Tange’s best-known and most-visited creations include the Tokyo Metropolitan Government (TMG) complex in Nishi-Shinjuku, Yoyogi National Gymnasium in Harajuku and the Fuji TV building in Odaiba. However, the 1987 Pritzker Prize winner has a number of masterpieces dotted around the city that offer a glimpse into his grand vision of the capital in a future that has already begun.

click image to enlarge

Saint Mary’s Cathedral

Saint Mary’s Cathedral was built in 1964, the same year as Yoyogi Gymnasium. It’s a far cry from your usual cod-classical house of prayer: the dome is straight out of tomorrow-land, a manifestation of Tange’s futuristic visions—both spiritual and architectural. The bare concrete walls inside shimmer with a mystical light that pours in from behind the crucifix above the altar. Viewed from above, eight massive stainless steel wings converge to form a huge cross. Seen from the front, however, the building appears like an enormous bird with open wings, ready for takeoff. Fittingly, Tange’s own funeral was held here in 2005.

3-15-16 Sekiguchi, Bunkyo-ku. Nearest stn: Edogawabashi

click image to enlarge

Shizuoka Press and Broadcasting Center

The Shizuoka Press and Broadcasting Center was built in 1967, during Tange’s early cubic period. It looks like a strange bird-house tree mansion, with 13 boxes appearing to hang from a central beam. One can imagine the editors perched there, like Tokyo’s infamous crows, Googling the neighborhood for scraps of news. The building is strictly off-limits for non-media folks, but there’s no harm in sneaking a peak of the exterior.

8-3-7 Ginza, Chuo-ku. Nearest stn: Shimbashi

click image to enlarge

Sogetsu Kaikan

Sogetsu Kaikan in Akasaka welcomes another breed of worshipper—namely, students and admirers of the Sogetsu School of Ikebana. Tange’s 1977 work is as stylish as the flower arrangements displayed inside. The massive glass and steel plates covering the exterior reflect the trees of the Akasaka Imperial Palace compound on the opposite side of Aoyama Dori. This blurring of boundaries is a perfect expression of an art that values silent appreciation of beauty, be it traditional or modern, natural or manmade.

7-2-21 Akasaka, Minato-ku. Nearest stn: Aoyama-Itchome