on the Japanese urban landscape
The geographical landscape of Japan, from my recollection being upwards of 80% mountainous, means that any place we might call a city has to be built on only the remaining suitable land. In addition, it has to compete with the farmland required to sustain a population nearly half the size of that of the U.S. population, which is spread across an area more than 26 times as large as Japan’s. Crunch some numbers and it’s apparent why Japanese cities have quite a distinct feel. They’re dense, to say the least, but that means more than merely squeezing more things into a given area. I often find it difficult to distinguish between different zones or districts, it seems because everything is so crammed that drawing lines just isn’t possible. Similar to how a given Japanese person, it’s said, will likely claim to be non-religious despite participating in Shinto, Buddhist, or other rituals, the Japanese urban environment often defies delineation.
Here, a man sits at a bar itself only feet away from a small Buddhist shrine in Tsuruhashi, Osaka.
Yet, Japanese culture places great emphasis on defining where one thing starts and another ends. Their customs generally make it abundantly clear who stands in what position to another, and what sort of behavior is expected in a given situation. Homes and places of rest and relaxation are set apart from the outside by the agari kamachi, or piece of wood at the entrance way indicating that one should take off one’s shoes there, and enter wearing slippers.
Not so far from the Tsuruhashi district of Osaka is Dotonbori, a major shopping street in the Namba district of Osaka.
The signs here make it abundantly clear what one’s supposed to do in Dotonbori - spend, spend, spend.
But when there are so many people crammed into so little space, as is the case in every major city in Japan, additional problems arise. Great engineering feats allow large cities like Tokyo, for instance, to avoid catastrophes like flooding under the tsunamis that frequently hit it, but a lot of social engineering is required as well. For Japan to maintain its position as one of the world’s safest countries, it has to get its large and dense population to stay in control of itself.
Just a block or so away from my dormitory is this sign:
“Dangerous, do not enter!” it warns children, who could easily miss a step and fall behind the fence into the storm drain, on the way to school or the park across the street. I would assume that if people didn’t take heed of such dangers, and the many other dangers of dense urban areas, like moving bikes, pedestrians and cars all intermingling on the streets, then the generally very cautious Japanese government would have partitioned people off from such perils by posting up more fences and the like.
From Japan’s physical and social engineering that attempts to mold a happy, yet productive and safe society inside cramped cities emerges a distinctly Japanese urban landscape - dense and bustling, yet organized, productive, and generally safe.
2 years ago - read more...
