An effortless journey on the Shinkansen carries us 450 kilometres from Tokyo Station, through six prefectures, with a fleeting glimpse of Mount Fuji before entering Kyoto Prefecture. This experience captures the time-space compression of Japan's high-speed 'bullet' trains. Before the inauguration of the Tōkaidō Shinkansen in 1964, travelling from Tokyo to Kyoto by rail could take over eight hours. Today, thanks to decades of engineering and technological advancements, the fastest Nozomi service completes the journey in just over two hours.

Barely have we settled in, savouring our ekiben (駅弁) bento box and watching the Japanese countryside blur past, when we find ourselves gently pulling into Kyoto Station. Already, it is time to alight. Stepping from the platform into the station's vast, open atrium—a complex interplay of steel beams and glass panels—it is evident we’ve arrived at a modern landmark. Kyoto's central terminus, completed in 1997, is one of architect Hiroshi Hara's most recognisable works. Its bold, futuristic aesthetic stands in sharp contrast to the image of historical Kyoto.

The station occupies a strategic position at the crossroads of Shiokoji-dōri, an east-west avenue, and Karasuma-dōri, a north-south thoroughfare that bisects the city. From its position on the southeast edge of Kyoto's classical boundaries, the station signals a transition between the historic centre and the suburban and industrial districts to the south. 

The futuristic design drew criticism for breaking with Kyoto's past. In truth, though, the surrounding area was already predominantly commercial. The distinctly modern Kyoto Tower had stood nearby since the inaugural Shinkansen arrived in 1964. At the very least, the location shows consideration for the old city's integrity while presenting a visually commanding gateway to Kyoto.

On my first visit to Kyoto ten years ago, as I stood in the station, I opened Google Maps to get my bearings. I immediately noticed a street pattern distinct from Tokyo's. Tokyo began as a small fishing village named Edo, which developed gradually as a castle town and trading centre. Even after the Tokugawa shogunate made it the military capital in the 17th century, its growth, while influenced by urban planning, retained an organic quality. The city developed around Edo Castle, its network of winding streets shaped by defensive strategies, fire prevention measures, and the land's natural contours.

Kyoto's design, in contrast, is based on a carefully planned grid. In last week's newsletter¹, I touched on the Chinese roots embedded within Japanese culture, introducing the theme through the modest topic of machi-chūka (町中華), a style of Japanese cuisine adapted from Chinese influences. This line of analysis expands on a grander scale in Kyoto, whose initial layout drew inspiration from the Chinese urban planning principles of Chang'an, the capital of the Tang dynasty (618–907 CE).