Himeji Castle

We got off the Shinkansen train and left the Himeji railway station. And then we saw it – a white castle on a hill. The view was impressive, but at first we didn’t realize just how large the castle actually was. We were standing at the station’s exit gate, facing a wide boulevard, with the castle still two or three kilometers away in the distance.

Himeji was established as a castle town in the 14th century, although the area had been inhabited for much longer before that. Himeji Castle, now one of the city’s most iconic landmarks, was originally built in the 14th century by a local lord named Akamatsu Sadanori. Over the centuries, till 17the century, the castle was expanded and renovated multiple times, eventually becoming one of the largest and most impressive castles in Japan. The town around it grew and prospered thanks to the castle’s presence, and eventually adopted the name Himeji. Today, the city is thriving, known for its rich cultural heritage and numerous historic landmarks.

As we approached the gateway to the castle grounds, we had to follow a series of winding, narrow paths between fortification walls, often taking sharp turns. We passed through a succession of smaller gates and baileys. At first, I didn’t think much of it.

In one of the chambers inside, as I looked out through a window, I realized that the castle was a vast complex of fortifications and buildings arranged around its main keep.

Himeji Castle, although never inhabited by a shogun (a military commander in Japan appointed by the Emperor, who held real power until the late 19th century), was under military ownership. As such, it was designed primarily for defensive purposes. The maze-like system of paths between fortifications, baileys, gates, and walls leading to the main keep was an intentional part of the castle’s defense strategy. The entire complex consists of 83 buildings. Remarkably, the structure also proved to be earthquake-resistant throughout its history. Himeji Castle is often referred to as the White Heron Castle, due to it resembles a heron soaring through the sky.

It came as a bit of a surprise that every visitor was asked to take off their shoes. Of course, this isn’t unusual in Japan, where it is a common practice in many places. Removing shoes indoors is a traditional custom deeply rooted in Japanese culture. It serves as a sign of respect and helps maintain cleanliness in homes, schools, temples, and other indoor spaces. One reason for this tradition is that many Japanese buildings feature tatami mats -flooring made from woven rush grass, which is delicate and easily damaged by footwear. Additionally, given Japan’s often wet and rainy climate, taking off shoes prevents mud and dirt from being brought inside. This act also symbolically separates the outside world from the interior, reinforcing a sense of hygiene and order.

Visitors to Japan are generally expected to follow this custom when entering private homes, traditional inns, and public spaces such as temples and museums. There are often clear signs and reminders in both Japanese and English to guide tourists.

But it was the first time in my life that I spent nearly two hours in a castle walking barefoot. The system was quite simple: at the entrance (which was located a fair distance from the exit), we were given plastic bags to carry our shoes throughout the visit. At the exit, we put our shoes back on and returned the bags.

Another surprise was that there was absolutely no furniture or other historical objects on display within the castle. As a result, and somewhat to our disappointment, we were given no real insight into daily life in the castle. Still, the building had undergone extensive restoration over several years and was only reopened to the public in 2015. Perhaps in the future, some of its chambers will be furnished with basic items of daily use. We shall see.

In this context, it’s helpful to remember that traditional Japanese interiors often feature low tables and cushions instead of chairs, allowing people to sit comfortably on tatami mats. This style of furniture includes zabuton (floor cushions) and chabudai (low tables). Himeji Castle, like many traditional Japanese castles, did not have beds – instead, people slept directly on tatami mats laid on the floor. Made from woven rush grass, tatami mats provide a soft, cushioned surface that is considered more comfortable than hard flooring.

Sleeping areas within the castle were typically separated by screens or sliding doors, offering privacy, and bedding was stored away in cabinets or chests during the day and brought out at night.

The real experience, however, was all about walking through long corridors and climbing steps that became steeper and steeper the higher we went. The most challenging part was navigating the narrow paths and steep stairs inside the main keep. And we weren’t alone – there were hundreds of Japanese visitors following the same route. (While taking photos, I tried to find moments when the space wasn’t crowded, so what you see in the pictures might be a bit misleading.)

The carpentry in the central part of the castle was particularly impressive. There were few separate chambers – mostly open space, in contrast to the lower parts of the castle, where rooms were arranged along long corridors. We could only imagine that the inhabited areas had once been divided in the traditional Japanese way, using movable panels. In some places, you could still see wooden rails in the floor and ceiling, marking where the partitions once stood.

Another surprise awaited us in the top chamber: it was a shrine, where many Japanese visitors paused to pay their respects to a deity (or deities). By this point in our journey through Japan, we had already come to understand that the Japanese approach to religion is quite different from what we were accustomed to in Europe. Shrines – large and small -can be found almost anywhere in Japan.

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

During the Meiji period (1868–1912), there were plans to demolish Himeji Castle. This era, named after Emperor Meiji, marked a time of profound transformation in Japan’s political and social landscape. During the Meiji era, Japan underwent major reforms aimed at modernization and strengthening its international position. These included the abolition of the feudal system, the introduction of a modern legal and education system, and rapid industrialization through the construction of factories, railways, and infrastructure. The period also brought deep cultural changes, as many traditional customs were modified or abandoned in favor of Western-style dress, music, and language. Traditional structures were often seen as outdated and obstacles to progress.

A number of Meiji leaders believed that Japan needed to embrace modernization and break away from its feudal past in order to compete with Western powers. This mindset led to a wave of destruction targeting traditional Japanese heritage sites, which were viewed as symbols of the old order that had to be removed to make way for the future. One notable example was the demolition of Edo Castle in Tokyo, which had served as the seat of the Tokugawa shoguns for over two centuries. It was dismantled and replaced with a modern imperial palace, symbolizing Japan’s transition from the feudal era to the modern age.

However, not all Meiji-era leaders supported the destruction of historical landmarks. Some recognized the value of preserving Japan’s cultural heritage, and actively worked to protect and restore significant sites. Himeji Castle did not share the fate of Edo Castle. Thanks to the efforts of local citizens and preservationists, it was spared from destruction. In 1931, the castle was designated a National Treasure, and in 1993, it was officially recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

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.

Himeji Castle

On a bike on Holland’s shore

Yet again on business in Brussels. Some expert work that begins on Monday and ends on Friday. This time I decided to come a bit earlier to spend the past weekend in Belgium. Yesterday I made myself a short city break in the historical city of Bruges (>>>). Today I decided to go with some friends local in Brussels on a short trip to Holland. We spent around eight hours there biking alongside the shore. We started somewhere close to the Dutch-Belgian border, where we rented the bikes and rode about 60 km there and back, making short stops to take pictures and a one-hour-long stop for lunch. We admired the landscape, nature but also ships heading or leaving the port of Antwerp. Below some photo impressions.

On a bike on Holland’s shore

Kiyomizudera

Japan is famous for its specific religious system combining Buddhism and Shinto. Buddhism that roots in India came to Japan from continental Asia. It is based on the teachings of Gautama Buddha and his successors. Shinto, on the other hand, is originally a Japanese ‘traditional religion’ based on the ancient belief in ancestors and deities. For centuries, the two confessions overlapped. Japan had times (XIX century, the so-called Meiji Restoration) of intensive politics to split Buddhism from Shinto or even disroot Buddhism as not originally the Japanese religion. Those efforts finally failed. Shinto and Buddhism coexist in Japanese culture. Many Japanese declare also being tied to both confessions. This religious coexistence is, however, not easy to tackle for an outsider.

A Shinto shrine may be a tiny spot marked by a torii (Japanese gate to a sacred place). It can, however, be a more significant complex of buildings, as well. A shrine is devoted to a specific deity. Even if in the Western nomenclature we would call it a temple, it will still be called a shrine in Japan. (This is, of course, an English description. Japanese have many different names describing different kinds of shrines.) The most of the bigger (sometimes quite huge) religious building complexes we visited in Japan were, however, Buddhist temples. Buddhist temples belong to and are run by different schools of Buddhism (sects), and simultaneously play the role of a monastery, with interiors accessible only to few. This is possibly why I had the impression that temple complexes are somehow more significant (more widespread) than shrines, which is of course not a thumb rule.

One of those famous temples we visited was Kiyomizudera, otherwise called the Pure Water Temple. The name derives from the Otowa Waterfall, at which it is located. Kiyomizudera is an independent Buddhist temple (since 1965) and belongs to the Kita Hosso sect. The complex is enormous and consists of wooden buildings, of which some, including the Jishu Shrine at the entrance, are covered with vermilion (characteristic orange paint). The temple is located in the Eastern parts of Kyoto. Walking the quarters (very picturesque by the way) located beneath the temple, you will finally get to Gion (the Kyoto geisha district).

The main building and the Kiyomizudera temple complex photographed from a terrace located in the more remote parts of the complex. On pictures below – while on the way down to the waterfall.

The impressive wooden structure beneath the main hall. It is told to be built without the usage of nails.

The Ottowa waterfall just beneath the main hall. It was divided into three streams. Each of them is supposed to bring a different kind of fortune in life: longevity, success at school, or happy love life. It is not recommended to drink water from each of the streams as you cannot merely have it all. 

As in many Japanese Buddhist temples, it is forbidden to photograph the core interior of the main hall where the sanctuary is located. Those places are well-marked as such. I made the photos at the last admissible point of the main hall. I had, however, already to take off my shoes. In front of me, a woman was kneeling and praying. Some people were waiting for their turn behind her. As I understand the very core of the temple is contrary, not a place of worship but a place where the temple holds its most sacred objects. 

Jishu Shrine at the entrance to the Kiyomizudera temple complex. On the very first photo above, it can be seen (look at the pagoda) on its left-hand side behind the main hall.

In most of the more significant temple complexes (the exceptions I remember was the Zen Buddhist temples, but I can be wrong), there are stands you can buy and later place different kinds of charms. I suppose this is a way how the temples finance some of their expenses. You can obtain lucky charms in the form of protective amulets (omamori) as well as make wishes by hanging wooden votive plaques (ema) on special stands or discharge misfortune by leaving fortune-telling pieces/rolls of paper in the temple (omikuji).

In Kyomizudera, the part devoted to charms is located behind the main hall. You climb stairs, cross a torii (on the first photo) and find yourself in a world totally different from that in the main hall.

The passage to the ‘charms’ world.

A figure of a god accompanied by a rabbit, his guardian, and messenger. Behind the rabbit, a stand, where you can live a negative reading you obtained in the temple so that the rabbit can pass it over to the deity, and the deity takes care of it for you.

Foodstuff offered to deities. The two foxes are the messengers, who will pass over your message or gratitude to them.

The purifying facility. You take a kind of wooden spoon (see pictures), hold it in the right hand, and pour water onto your left hand, then the other way round. Keeping water in hand, you can also rinse your mouth. (For hygienic purposes, it is forbidden to take the spoon directly to your mouth.)

Luck charms and votive plaques in the Kiyomizudera temple shop.

A young Japanese hanging ema on a special stand. What or whom was she thinking of?

Kiyomizudera