From afar, Himeji Castle appears almost unreal – a delicate white silhouette floating above the city. But walking through its quiet, empty interiors reveals a different story: one of defense, ritual, and a surprising lack of ornament.

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When we stepped out of Himeji Station, there was no need to look for the castle. It stood at the end of a broad boulevard, its white silhouette rising above the rooftops of the city. From that distance it looked surprisingly light and elegant, almost as if it were much smaller than its reputation suggested. It was only as we began walking towards it that I realised how deceptive that first impression was.

The closer we came, the less we could actually see. The castle that had dominated the skyline gradually disappeared behind stone walls, gates and defensive enclosures. Standing near what had once been the moat, I could no longer take in the entire complex at once. Only much later, after passing through a succession of courtyards and climbing to the upper levels of the main keep, did I understand just how vast Himeji Castle really is.

At first, I simply thought I was visiting one of Japan’s most famous landmarks. By the end of the day, I realised I had walked through one of the most sophisticated fortresses ever built in the country. The castle reveals itself gradually, and that is perhaps its greatest strength. Every gate, every turn and every courtyard changes the way you see it, until the final pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

History and First Impressions

The history of Himeji Castle began in the 14th century, when Akamatsu Sadanori built the first fortress on Himeyama Hill. At the time, Japan was divided between powerful feudal clans, and castles were built not as royal residences but as military strongholds controlling important routes and surrounding territories. Akamatsu Sadanori was a Japanese feudal lord who ruled in that time this part of western Japan. Himeji occupied a strategic position in western Japan, overlooking the approaches towards the Seto Inland Sea and the region that would later become one of the country’s most important transport corridors. Seto lies between three of Japan’s four main islands and has long served as one of the country’s principal maritime routes.

The castle seen today, however, is very different from that original medieval fortress. In 1600, Tokugawa Ieyasu won the Battle of Sekigahara, a turning point in Japanese history that ended a long period of civil war and paved the way for more than 250 years of peace under the Tokugawa shogunate. He later granted Himeji to his ally Ikeda Terumasa, who transformed the medieval fortress into one of the largest castles in Japan. The elegant white keep, the network of defensive walls and gates, and most of the buildings that survive today all date from this period of construction at the beginning of the 17th century.

Its white plaster walls later earned it the nickname White Heron Castle, as many people saw the complex as resembling a heron spreading its wings before taking flight. Seen from the railway station, the comparison is easy to understand. From a distance the castle appears light and graceful, almost floating above the city. Only after walking towards it does that elegant image begin to change.

Instead of leading directly to the main keep, the route winds through successive gates, stone walls and enclosed courtyards. At the time, I simply followed the path without giving it much thought. Like most visitors, I assumed it was just the route chosen for tourists.

It was only much later, while looking out from one of the upper floors of the main keep, that everything suddenly made sense. From above, I could finally see the entire complex spread out below me. The seemingly endless sequence of gates, baileys and narrow passages was not an accident but a carefully designed defensive system. An attacking army would have been forced to slow down, repeatedly change direction and advance through one enclosed space after another, while defenders watched from above.

The castle consists of 83 surviving buildings. Standing inside the keep, it became clear that Himeji was never intended to impress visitors with luxury. Every wall, every gate and every turn had been designed with defence in mind.

Despite being more than four hundred years old, the castle has proved remarkably resilient to earthquakes. Unlike many stone buildings, its massive wooden framework is able to absorb and distribute seismic forces, allowing the structure to move slightly rather than crack or collapse. Combined with its carefully designed stone foundations, this traditional construction technique has helped Himeji Castle survive numerous earthquakes throughout its history.

Inside Himeji

One of the first surprises came at the entrance, where every visitor was asked to take off their shoes. Removing footwear before entering a building is a long-standing custom in Japan, reflecting both respect for the interior and the practical need to protect traditional tatami flooring, which is easily damaged by shoes.

Although I was already familiar with this custom, it was the first time I had spent nearly two hours exploring a castle barefoot. At the entrance, visitors were given plastic bags to carry their shoes throughout the visit, as the entrance and exit are located in different parts of the complex. Only after leaving the castle did we put our shoes back on and return the bags.

Walking through the castle in socks also made the experience feel unexpectedly quiet. With no sound of footsteps on the wooden floors, it was easier to imagine the atmosphere of the building centuries ago.

Another surprise was finding the castle almost completely empty. There was no furniture, no decorative interiors and very few historical objects on display. At first, I found it slightly disappointing, as it offered little insight into what everyday life inside the castle might have looked like. The castle had only recently reopened to the public following several years of major conservation work, so I wondered whether some of the rooms might eventually be furnished.

As we continued our visit, however, I realised that this simplicity was also part of the experience. Traditional Japanese interiors were very different from those found in European castles. Rooms were designed to be flexible rather than permanently furnished. Instead of heavy wooden furniture, people used low tables, floor cushions (zabuton) and slept on tatami mats. Bedding was laid out only at night and stored away during the day, while sliding paper screens divided rooms according to changing needs.

Looking back, the empty rooms made more sense. Rather than recreating historic interiors with modern replicas, the castle allows visitors to appreciate its original wooden architecture. The exposed beams, polished floors and open spaces reveal the structure itself, offering a different perspective on how a Japanese castle functioned centuries ago.

The real experience, however, was not about looking at exhibits but about moving through the castle itself. Long wooden corridors connected a succession of rooms, while the staircases became progressively steeper with every floor. Reaching the upper levels of the main keep required a surprising amount of effort, and by the time we approached the top, it was easy to understand why some visitors decided not to continue.

We certainly weren’t alone. Hundreds of Japanese visitors were making the same journey, patiently climbing the narrow staircases and following the one-way route through the castle. While taking photographs, I waited for brief moments when the rooms were less crowded, so the interiors shown in my pictures appear much quieter than they usually were.

The wooden construction of the main keep was one of the most impressive features of the visit. As we climbed higher, the interiors became increasingly open, with fewer separate rooms than on the lower floors, where long corridors connected a series of smaller chambers.

It was easy to imagine how these spaces had once been organised. Rather than solid walls, many rooms would have been divided by sliding panels (fusuma) or lightweight paper screens (shōji), allowing the layout to be adapted to different needs. In several places, the original wooden grooves in the floors and ceiling were still clearly visible, marking where these movable partitions had once been installed. Without permanent walls or heavy furniture, the upper floors felt remarkably spacious.

Another surprise awaited us at the very top of the main keep. Instead of a ceremonial hall or an observation room, we found a small shrine, where many Japanese visitors paused for a moment to pray or quietly pay their respects.

By that stage of our journey through Japan, we had already realised that religion is woven naturally into everyday life. Shrines, both large and small, can be found throughout the country – in cities, villages, forests and even inside historic buildings such as Himeji Castle. Seeing one at the highest point of the fortress felt entirely natural, even if it was something we would never have expected to find in a European castle.

Below are some additional photo impressions of Himeji Castle’s interiors and exteriors.

Himeji and the Meiji Reforms

During the Meiji period (1868–1912), there were plans to demolish Himeji Castle.

This era, named after Emperor Meiji, marked one of the most profound turning points in Japanese history. The Meiji Restoration of 1868 ended more than two and a half centuries of rule by the Tokugawa shogunate and restored political authority to the emperor. The Tokugawa shogunate had ruled Japan for more than two and a half centuries. A shogunate was a system of military government in which real political power rested with the shogun – the country’s highest military ruler – while the emperor remained the formal head of state with largely ceremonial authority. Under the Tokugawa shogunate, Japan was governed through a network of regional feudal lords (daimyō), who controlled their own domains while pledging loyalty to the shogun. This political system brought long periods of internal stability but also reinforced a rigid social hierarchy and Japan’s relative isolation from much of the outside world.

Under Emperor Meiji Japan rapidly transformed from a feudal society into a modern, centralized nation-state determined to strengthen its position against the growing influence of Western powers. The new government introduced sweeping reforms. The feudal domains were abolished and replaced with a modern administrative system, a national army based on conscription replaced the samurai military class, and a new legal and education system was established. Railways, factories, shipyards and modern infrastructure were built across the country.

As part of this transformation, many castles were regarded as expensive reminders of the feudal order that the new government wished to leave behind. Throughout Japan, numerous castles were abandoned, dismantled or sold for building materials, while their stone walls and timber were reused for new construction projects. The nationwide policy known as Haijōrei (Castle Abolition Edict) accelerated the disappearance of many historic fortresses.

Himeji Castle narrowly escaped this fate. In 1871, it was sold at auction for the symbolic price of 23 yen to a local businessman who intended to dismantle it and sell the timber. However, the cost of demolishing such a massive complex proved far greater than the value of the recovered materials, and the plan was abandoned. At the same time, the castle grounds found a new purpose as military facilities for the Imperial Japanese Army. Barracks and training areas were established within the extensive castle precincts, and this continued military use also contributed to the survival of the main keep and the core defensive structures, which were no longer considered entirely obsolete.

As the modernization process continued, growing numbers of scholars, architects and local communities began to recognise the cultural and historical importance of surviving castles. Himeji Castle gradually came to be seen not as a relic of a defeated feudal past, but as an exceptional example of Japanese architecture and military engineering. Its historical significance was formally recognised in 1931, when the castle was designated a National Treasure. After surviving both the Second World War and the rapid post-war urban development that transformed much of Japan, Himeji Castle was inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List in 1993. Today, it is regarded as the finest surviving example of a traditional Japanese castle and one of the country’s most important cultural landmarks.

Walking barefoot through Himeji Castle wasn’t what I expected — and that’s what made it memorable. It wasn’t about grand interiors or displays, but about space, silence, and the way Japan chooses to protect its past. The experience stayed with me long after we left.