When you come to Japan for the first time, you probably do so with a head full of of images of what it's going to be like. You might have seen some movies, some anime, some travel shows, you've heard stories. Initially, many of your expectations will be fulfilled, and abundantly so. When I came here for the first time a couple of years ago I was just as fascinated as anyone by the controlled chaos of places like Shibuya and Shinyuku in Tokyo, as well as by the serene beauty of the temples of Kyoto - if you can get there ahead of the other tourists.
These days though, while I still love the energy of the Susukino entertainment district in Sapporo (above) or the labyrinthine restaurant arcade near Osakas Umeda Station, when I put on my walking shoes and pick up my camera, I tend to go looking for another Japan - a Japan I didn't know anything about when I first came here. Everyday Japan, you might say.
A lot can be said about Japanese cities, but rarely can you honestly call them beautiful. While there's a lot of fascinating architecture, especially if you're into concrete like me, the overall impression tends to be of an ugly mass of cheaply produced buildings crowding in on each other, many of them in various states of disrepair, often with little or no space between houses and no sidewalks. Land is said to be very expensive and many people live in houses and apartments that to a Westerner appear tiny and cramped. Being able to have a garden is a real luxury. A luxury most people can't afford.
Still, the longing for green clearly remains very strong, even in these very urban environments. If you take a walk through some ordinary residential neighborhoods, the evidence is all around you. Some people go to great lengths to insert a bit of vegetation into their concrete and asphalt world. If there's no room for a normal garden, any available space will do, and potted plants are the preferred medium.
Some efforts seem mostly symbolic, like little cries of defiance against the confines of Japanese city space. But somehow those lonely plants tend to accentuate the lack of green, rather than alleviate it.
However, there are those who go all the way too, who certainly attempt to make their part of the city just a little bit greener. The results vary a lot in terms of what impact they make though. Often it seems to me that there is a certain lack of overall plan, and that quantity far surpasses quality on the list of priorities of many an ambitious urban gardener.
The last example above is one of my favorites so far, where the plants work together with the house and the surroundings, something that, in my opinion, is often not the case.
Some landowners make do with whatever space they can find between their houses and the edge of their property, but I have also noted that there is a lot of small-scale annexation of public land going on. Placing cinder blocks, stones or metal sheets across the ubiquitous drainage ditches here in Hirakata appears to be a favorite method for creating stable platforms for pots. Small tables and benches can work too. But sometimes these miniature gardens will just venture boldly out onto the street, daring anybody to complain. After hearing a lot about how strictly regulated Japanese neighborhoods can be, this has come as something of a surprise to me.
While this longing for a garden of your own isn't a specifically Japanese phenomenon - in my home country many city dwellers keep plants on their balconies for example - it does seem to me that the scarcity of land here, perhaps combined with some peculiarities in the Japanese attitude towards gardens that is still hidden to me, has unleashed a particular kind of creativity that I look forward to exploring further in future.
