One thing I always do when travelling is find a spot early in the morning, spread out a blanket or jacket on the grass, and settle down to breakfast before the crowds arrive. Surrounded by beautiful sights, you can watch the city slowly wake up. In Tokyo, that spot was the Imperial Palace East Gardens, built on the grounds of Edo Castle, once the seat of the Tokugawa shoguns. Layered with castle ruins, centuries-old guardhouses and a surprisingly bold mid-century concert hall, it is a morning stroll made for anyone who loves art, history and architecture.
The palace stands on the site of Edo Castle. Ōta Dōkan first established a castle here in 1457, and after Tokugawa Ieyasu made Edo his base in 1590, it grew into the seat of the Tokugawa shogunate, which ruled Japan from 1603. At its height, it was reputedly the largest castle compound in the country, ringed by a vast system of moats and gates.
Fire shaped its story. The Great Fire of Meireki in 1657 destroyed the castle’s five-storey main keep, the tallest ever built in Japan, and it was never rebuilt. Further fires over the following two centuries took other parts of the inner compounds, including the shogun’s residence.
When the Tokugawa shogunate fell and the Meiji Restoration began, the emperor moved from Kyoto to the former castle in 1868–69, and it became the Imperial Palace. A new palace was built on the old Nishinomaru site in 1888, only for most of the palace to be destroyed in the firebombing of Tokyo on May 25, 1945. The area was renamed Kōkyo, the Imperial Residence, in 1948, and a new, modernist main palace was built in the 1960s.
The East Gardens came last. Construction began in 1961 on the castle’s former innermost compounds, and the gardens opened to the public on October 1, 1968.
The full palace grounds cover about 3.41 square kilometres, but only a small part is open to the public. The main palace, used for state ceremonies and receiving guests, stands on the former Nishinomaru, while the Fukiage Garden is the Imperial Family’s residential area. Neither can be visited. The inner grounds can be seen only on a guided tour reserved in advance through the Imperial Household Agency, or on two days a year, January 2 and the Emperor’s Birthday, when the public may enter through the palace’s Main Gate.
The East Gardens are the exception. They occupy the castle’s three innermost circles of defence: the Honmaru, the central compound where the shogun lived; the Ninomaru, the second circle; and the Sannomaru, the third. Together they cover about 21 hectares and are open to everyone, free of charge, on most days, which is why this is where most visitors begin. South of the moat, the outer gardens (Kōkyo Gaien) are also a public park, and they are where you can see the Nijubashi bridges.
On our first morning in Tokyo, fighting off a bit of jet lag, we got up extra early and headed outside for a walk to the gardens. It was brisk, so we grabbed a few hot vending machine coffees for the stroll. Maps are available for the grounds (the Imperial Household Agency offers an illustrated map and a free audio-guide app), or you can opt to wander aimlessly and discover all the secrets this garden has to offer. I’m a map nerd, so I opted for the map.
To enter through the Hirakawa-mon gate, you must first cross the Hirakawa-bori moat. The gate is one of the gardens’ three public entrances and was once used by the castle’s maidservants and officials. The sun was out in full force the morning we arrived, and the water was a brilliant bright green. The moat encircles the garden’s tall stone wall, once used to protect the castle.
One of the best parts of having a little picnic in Tokyo is going to the convenience stores. From there, you can grab a Breakfast bento: a set meal complete with rice, shrimp tempura, smoked salmon, pickled beans and various other things. Almost every convenience store in Japan has these on offer every day, and unlike convenience store food in Canada, this stuff is amazing! Plus, the staff will even heat it up for you, so it tastes freshly made.
From Your spot on the lawn, we had the best view of the gardens around us, but also of the city skyline behind the trees. The gardens alone cover about 21 hectares (210,000 square metres), so it was great to sit in the middle and have it all surround you.
After breakfast, we started to walk around the perimeter of the garden. Giant trees spilled over the walkways, rooted on land that was once part of Edo Castle’s inner compounds. If only they could talk, what stories they could tell…
At the heart of the gardens is the Honmaru, the castle’s innermost compound, where the shogun’s residence, reception halls and the Ōoku, the women’s quarters, once stood. The Imperial Household Agency’s map marks the site of the Matsu-no-Ōrōka, the “Great Hallway of Pines,” where in 1701 the lord Asano Naganori attacked the court official Kira Yoshinaka, the incident that set off the famous revenge of the 47 rōnin. In November 2019, the great lawn here was the setting for the Emperor’s Daijōsai, the first harvest ritual of his reign.
There were still a fair few flowers in bloom, soaking up all that sunlight. Nestled into this little sanctuary in the middle of a modern city, the Ninomaru area is planted with trees representing all 47 of Japan’s prefectures.
The Ninomaru Garden, in the castle’s second circle, follows an eighteenth-century plan, with a pond in nearly the same spot as the original garden, which is attributed to Kobori Enshū. Nearby you’ll find the Suwa-no-chaya teahouse, the Bairin-zaka slope planted with more than fifty plum trees, and an iris garden with 84 species introduced from Meiji Jingu.
In the Bamboo Garden, thirteen species of bamboo from Japan and China have been replanted in neat stands. Although it wasn’t as tall as other bamboo forests, it was still fascinating to study the different varieties up close.
Towards the north end of the park are the remnants of Edo Castle’s main keep. The stone base is all that survives of the tower that once stood here, looking out over the moat and to the city beyond. The first keep went up in 1607 and was rebuilt in 1623 and again in 1638; that third keep was the tallest ever built in Japan. But just nineteen years later, the fires that rampaged through the city in 1657 destroyed it, and it was never rebuilt. The stone base you see today was completed in 1658, ready for a replacement that never came.
Beyond the trees to the east of the old keep base stands an octagonal building, covered in bright mosaic tiles. This is Tōkagakudō, the Peach Blossom Music Hall. This building is a newer addition to the property, built between 1964 and 1966 to a design by architect Kenji Imai for Empress Kōjun’s 60th birthday. Its name refers to her peach emblem, its eight sides are meant to evoke the petals of a clematis flower, and each wall carries a different mosaic design. The blue tiles set against the sky make it seem as though the building is disappearing into the skyline.
You could spend almost a whole day here. We found so many little benches and sitting areas where you could bring a book, or a well-charged laptop, and relax all day. It is a great escape from the crowded, busy atmosphere of the rest of the city.
Towards the west side of the gardens is the orchard of heirloom fruit trees. These trees are very precious: they are old-fashioned varieties of apples, pears and citrus that were popular in Japan until the late nineteenth century but are now hardly ever seen. I wanted to pick the apples off the tree so badly and taste a piece of history… but I was too scared of getting into trouble.
The pomegranates looked like giant rubies hanging from lush branches.
Even the apples seemed almost too perfectly shaped to be real.
There were tiny purple and green plants that looked like miniature grapes hanging off low-lying bushes. A Willy Wonka-like factory full of otherworldly fruit.
Nearby stands the Fujimi-yagura, the “Mt. Fuji-view” guard tower, a three-storey turret dating to 1659. It is one of only three of the castle’s eighteen smaller turrets still standing, and after the Great Fire it took over the lost keep’s role as a lookout: the shoguns once enjoyed views from it of Mt. Fuji, Edo Bay and the Sumida River fireworks. Visitors can admire it only from the outside, and it seems oddly haunting; one can almost imagine the ghosts of old soldiers still standing guard at those darkened windows. Closed to visitors, it is a silently preserved piece of history.
Most visitors enter through the Ōte-mon, the main gate of Edo Castle, once used by the feudal lords who travelled to the castle under the Tokugawa system of alternate attendance. Low- and middle-ranking samurai had to dismount before crossing its bridge. Apart from its inner Kōrai-mon gate, the Ōte-mon was lost to the Great Kantō Earthquake and wartime air raids, and it was rebuilt in 1966 as the gardens took shape. Just inside, three guardhouses, the Hyakunin-bansho, Dōshin-bansho and Ōbansho, survive from the castle’s Edo-period security checkpoints.
Just inside the Ōte-mon gate you pass the Museum of the Imperial Collections (Sannomaru Shozokan). Beautifully designed and, despite being a newer addition, it looks as if it has been there forever. It stages rotating exhibitions from the imperial family’s art collection, which began with works gifted to the nation in 1989 and has grown to about 21,000 pieces. The one we saw was a small but fascinating exhibit on Japanese calligraphy. No photos were allowed, but trust me, it’s worth peeking your head inside.
Leaving the park you can walk along the outside of the moat, soaking in the scenic view of the famous Nijubashi. Strictly speaking, the name belongs to the iron bridge standing behind; the stone bridge in the foreground, Seimon Ishibashi, is the one everyone photographs. Together, they lead to the Main Gate, the formal entrance to the palace grounds, which gives them an element of grandeur and spectacle.
The name means “double bridge.” In the Edo period, the iron bridge’s predecessor was a wooden bridge propped up by a second wooden bridge beneath it, and both wooden bridges were replaced with stone and iron in 1887–88. Beyond them, the Fushimi-yagura rises above the trees, while the palace buildings themselves stay hidden among the trees to the right.
The stone bridge has become a beloved piece of architecture in Japan and is one of the more famous views in Tokyo. Nicknamed Megane-bashi, or Spectacles Bridge, it is made of granite with graceful double arches. Green trees with leaves that look like fluffy clouds pop up behind the bridge, and the reflection of its arches in the water makes it a photographer’s dream.
The Imperial Palace East Gardens are the place to be for some peace and quiet after busy days exploring the sometimes overwhelming city of Tokyo. Come early, find your own patch of grass, and watch the city slowly wake up around the ruins of the castle that once ruled it.
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