In the courtyard of Tomioka Hachiman Shrine stands a statue of a hero of mine: Inō Tadataka (1745–1818). Inō worked as a sake merchant and village head during the late Edo Period until retiring to study calendrical science at the age of 49. I admire this steely midlife career change. It was a productive choice—his studies led him to survey all of Japan. At 56, Inō embarked on a 17-year journey to map the country’s coastlines and highways, meticulously measuring his steps and conducting astronomical observations throughout.
Initially, the survey was a personal undertaking, but it gained official recognition after Inō presented his work to Tokugawa Ienari, the shogun at the time. About 80% of the project was eventually funded by the shogun—the best investor one could hope for in Edo Japan. The output became a set of maps, with each sheet approximately the size of a tatami mat. The complete set of 214 sheets depicted the entire Japanese archipelago, marking Japan's first nationwide survey based on actual measurements.
When Inō died at 73, he left the final segments unfinished, but the Astronomical Bureau completed the project in 1821, releasing it as the Dainihon Enkai Yochi Zenzu, meaning 'Comprehensive Map of Japan's Coastal Areas'. Better known as the Inō-zu, or the 'Inō Maps', it was the first geographically accurate depiction of Japan, presenting the unmistakable silhouette we know today.
Inō lived in Fukagawa Kuroe-chō, which is now part of the first chōme of modern-day Monzen-Nakachō in Kōtō-ku. This connection explains why his statue stands in the ward’s Tomioka Hachiman Shrine. Inō's story felt especially relevant as I walked his former locale, jotting down notes and marking pins on my map to prepare for this area guide. Indeed, it has been some time, but today, we walk.
Our exploration begins late afternoon on a bright but hazy Saturday at Exit 1 of Monzen-Nakachō metro station. Traffic moves swiftly along the wide Eitai-dōri thoroughfare, but the air feels calm. The afternoon stretches ahead of us, with the evening still to come. We are now in Tomioka 1-chōme, and to the east, Monzen-Nakachō spans two chōme blocks. These administrative divisions, part of the greater Fukagawa area, flank both sides of Eitai-dōri.
I often enjoy starting a walk with a counterintuitive route, but today's itinerary is a day-to-night journey with destinations that depend on timing. With that in mind, we'll begin by immediately passing beneath the bold and striking gate to the right of Exit 1. It resembles a kabukimon, a roofless gate characterised by a horizontal beam spanning its posts. Although such gates are typically left in their natural wood finish, this one stands out with its vivid red colour and Chinese-inspired embellishments. Kabukimon are usually associated with Buddhist temples rather than Shinto shrines, and the name Naritasan (成田山), shown on the central plaque, confirms its connection to Naritasan Shinshōji Temple, a prominent Buddhist temple in Narita.
The gate's vertical inscription bears the name Fukagawa Fudōdō (深川不動堂), referring to the local temple situated at the end of the pedestrianised street ahead. We are entering Ninjō Fukagawa Gōriyaku-dōri, a serene shopping street that demands to be sauntered along slowly. Its name, which translates to something close to "Fukagawa Street of Humanity and Grace," is fitting. The street features numerous independent shops, its scale feels human, and its atmosphere preserves a sense of the area's Edo Period merchant heritage.
Monzen-Nakachō maintains its roots as a monzen machi (門前町), a temple town. Along the approach to the precincts of prominent temples or shrines, makeshift businesses would emerge to serve the needs of pilgrims and worshippers. Provided the temple or shrine permitted these opportunistic merchants to conduct their business, then, over time, they would establish themselves as permanent fixtures, transforming the vicinity into a place of commerce and entertainment.
To me, Monzen-Nakachō perfectly illustrates the monzen machi urban pattern. The town grew around Eitai-ji, a temple founded in 1627, and was known as Fukagawa Eitai-ji Monzen-Nakachō. Monzen (門前) translates to "in front of the gate," while Nakachō (仲町) means "central town." Together, Monzen-Nakachō becomes "The Central Town in Front of the Gate," encapsulating its history as a town that formed around Eitai-ji's gate.
Eitai-ji was abolished in 1868 following the Shinbutsu Bunri decree, which enforced the separation of Shinto and Buddhism. Its grounds were later transformed into Fukagawa Park, a primarily paved and gravelled space just northwest of the shopping street. The area's name evolved to Fukagawa Monzen-Nakachō and again to Monzen-Nakachō during the Shōwa Era in 1969 when the residential address system was introduced. Locals have since shortened it further to "Monnaka", a drastic abbreviation considering its original name, but one typical of colloquial Japanese.
At a crossroads, we pass a small temple on the corner. This temple, named Koyasanshingonshu Daieisan Eitai, still bears the Eitai legacy, though it is overshadowed by Fukagawa Fudōdō beyond. For now, we turn east from the temple approach onto a quiet side street. It is lined with buildings from the 1960s to modern times, housing businesses, institutions, and residences. At the end, we reach a classic red torii gate. A vertical sign tells us this is the entrance to the Tomioka Hachiman Shrine (富岡八幡宮).
Locals refer to Tomioka Hachiman as "Hachiman-sama", which Inō Tadataka once frequented and now watches over in statue form. The principal deities are Hachiman, the kami or deity of war, protection, and prosperity, and Inari, the kami of agriculture and commerce. Worshippers here pray for safety, success, and prosperity in business, reflecting the powers of these two kami.
In addition to Inō's statue, you'll spot the Yokozuna monument, reflecting the shrine's unique history as the birthplace of kanjin-zumō, or fundraising sumo. During the Edo Period, kanjin-zumō tournaments were held to support the construction, renovation, or maintenance of temples, shrines, and local infrastructure. It was urban development funded by martial combat. This unlikely connection draws sumo enthusiasts to the shrine, where they pray for the success of their favoured wrestlers. By coincidence, the January 2025 Grand Sumo Tournament begins tomorrow and so I toss a coin into the collection box at the altar and wish Tamawashi¹ continued invincibility.
After passing the Yokozuna monument and exiting to the side, we arrive at Hachiman Bridge, an iron arch bridge constructed in 1878 as ‘Danjo Bridge’ in the Kyōbashi district near Ginza. This bridge, Japan's first made of cast iron, became a symbol of Meiji-era modernisation. It was decommissioned after the Great Kantō Earthquake (1923), relocated and renamed Hachiman in honour of the nearby shrine. It marks a monumental transition in bridge construction from cast iron to steel. As one of the world's oldest surviving iron bridges, it is designated an Important Cultural Property.
We cross the bridge and make our way back toward the shrine. You will have observed that Hachiman Bridge doesn't cross over water, and those who recall last week's newsletter might recognise that beneath it lies an ankyo² . If you have time to spare or want a photograph of the sturdy red bridge, this short ankyo greenway, Hachimanbori Sanpomichi, is accessible from the path leading back into Tomioka Hachiman.
After passing through two solemn stone torii gates, we return to the shrine and follow the approach away from Hachiman-sama. Tipping our hats to Inō's statue on the right, we step onto Eitai-dori once again. This places us ideally to begin a walk along the length of Nakachō-dōri, the area's main shōtengai shopping arcade. To find its entrance, we'll head briefly west along Eitai-dori. The arcade begins where the roofing appears, decorated as it is with faux beige tiles. At this point, the busy modern thoroughfare shifts into a nostalgic passage to the 1970s.
Nakachō-dōri stretches along both sides of Eitai-dōri, and maintains many of its original establishments. Kanmidokoro Yuhara guides the way with its window display of lightly sun-bleached plastic models depicting anmitsu and parfait desserts. Nearby, the café Espoir reinforces the atmosphere with its robust Shōwa Era (1926–1989) décor and a standout tamago sando. Among tea shops, booksellers and footwear vendors, some date back to the Meiji Era, while others have remained fixtures since the postwar years.
We pass back by Exit 1 and the long-standing wagashi sweet shop Iseya. Not far ahead, a stretch of chain establishments signals the changing dynamics of the shōtengai. These units might be shuttered in less prominent arcades, but the prime location along Eitai-dōri makes it an attractive spot for brands like Tempura Tenya and KFC. The flow of modernity is briefly interrupted by Minatoya, a speciality shop selling senbei and beans before we reach the end of the line.
At this point, I feel we've earned a moment's respite, which comes in the form of Café Tōa Supply, located across the road on the second floor of a faux red brick building adorned with decorative wrought-iron railings and white awnings. It is a steadfast kissaten that exudes retro appeal. Inside, leather seating and well-worn wooden fixtures set the tone, and the menu offers all the classic favourites, including naporitan, omurice, and, during morning service, thick-cut toast drenched in butter.
The patrons here skew older—this kissa is a comfortable spot to read sports newspapers or catch up with friends. The seats by the window on the first floor provide a prime view of the intersection below. What sets Café Tōa Supply apart is its role as the flagship store of Tōa Coffee, a company better known for supplying coffee beans to kissaten across Japan than for operating its own. Unsurprisingly, they excel at running a proper kissaten, and this one delivers on almost every level.
With our cups drained, it's time to regroup and enjoy a bit of 1920s modern architecture. Leaving Tōa, we take the first left-hand turn off the main road and follow a westward side street. This path takes us through a pleasing blend of new and old homes, local businesses, overgrown vines, and potted gardens. A striking concrete building sits at the end, easily recognised by six circular windows. We have arrived at the Fukagawa Tokyo Modan-kan or Fukagawa Tokyo Modern Museum.
This structure, initially designed as a public cafeteria in 1924, has earned recognition as a Registered Tangible Cultural Property for its architectural value. Although the English translation of modan-kan as "Modern Museum" is a slight misnomer—it functions more as a Tourist Information Centre—the space does offer insights into the district’s history. Its displays showcase the neighbourhood’s Edo-period origins, merchant culture, and development over time. Exhibitions are sometimes hosted upstairs, and although there is nothing on today, an unsettling life-size plushie of Nakamon, the shōtengai mascot, is still here to greet us.
As the sleepy Modan-kan concludes business for the day, we step out onto the street, where the late afternoon light has faded into dusk. It's the appropriate moment to start the nightlife portion of our walk. Crossing southeast over the main road and turning down a side street near Akafudado, the area's primary shopping centre, we arrive at Tatsumi Shindō.
With a name combining 辰 (Tatsu, dragon) and 巳 (Mi, snake), which correspond to compass points in the traditional Japanese zodiac system and together signify the southeast direction, this discreet enclave features a single main alleyway, complemented by a narrower L-shaped branch. Both are lined with drinking establishments that cannot help but evoke the spirit of mid-century Tokyo. The tide of change is fast, so nothing is guaranteed, but during my last visit, I was all but alone in these spellbinding passages. I quietly absorbed the atmosphere and enjoyed the Saturday evening cheer radiating from its cosy micro-establishments.
A drink along Tatsumi Shindō is undoubtedly tempting. Still, at the moment, I'm not quite ready to step into a close-knit local bar. Some days, I relish that experience and the interactions it brings; today, with my social battery running low, I opt to keep walking. I am also conscious of the time, so we continue east, through Fukagawa Park with its sparse collection of play equipment to the entrance of Fukagawa Fudō-dō, or "O-Fudō-sama," whose kabukimon gate we walked beneath at the start of our afternoon.
The temple usually closes at 6 pm, but on the 1st, 15th, and 28th of each month, it hosts the Goma fire ritual at 7 pm. I planned this evening's visit accordingly, skipping O-Fudō-sama earlier to return for the event. This esoteric Buddhist ceremony attracts local crowds and domestic tourists, who gather to witness monks chanting mantras, feeding prayer sticks into a sacred fire, and invoking the guardian deity Fudō Myō to burn away worldly desires. Fukagawa Fudō's old main hall is regarded as Kōtō-ku's oldest wooden structure. Yet, the new main hall, completed in 2011, has become the centrepiece. Its cuboid, black and gold Sanskrit-adorned design makes it a unique sight.
Back outside, we find ourselves again on Ninjō Fukagawa Gōraku-dōri, walking along the segment we missed earlier. I felt it was worth experiencing this path twice—once in the afternoon and again after dark. With the fire festival underway, most of the shops remain open, and there is a convivial nighttime matsuri festival atmosphere. Families make their way up the approach, passing makeshift yatai stalls, shrine officials, and an uranai fortune teller on the street corner.
On the shōtengai we happen upon Orihara Shoten, a lower-stakes spot than Tatsumi Shindō, for an early evening aperitif. This sake retailer typifies kaku-uchi, a concept where customers can shop for sake and enjoy it on the premises. Kaku-uchi blends the practicality of a bottle shop with the atmosphere of a bar. At Orihara, red beer crates serve as makeshift outdoor seating, while inside, fridges packed with bottles, dripping with condensation surround standing tables where patrons sip their sake. A blackboard menu offers small plates like edamame and tamagoyaki to pair with your drink. Timber beams, chalkboards, and the light scent of alcohol and wood create an ambience that defines kaku-uchi: informal and approachable.
After a few cups of junmai-shu to fortify ourselves, we breeze back down the shōtengai, cross Eitai-dori, and find a discreet side passage off the main thoroughfare by a branch of the karaoke chain Big Echo. Barely noticeable during the day, the passage is now illuminated by a glowing white archway kanban listing the names of the dining and drinking establishments within. Stepping through, we enter a tightly woven network of yokochō alleyways that once functioned as a hanamachi, a former geisha district.
Two parallel alleyways joined by smaller passages run east to west, backing onto the Oyoko River. It brings a sense of place reminiscent of Ponto-chō in Kyoto, which similarly hugs the Kamogawa River. Unlike its Kyoto cousin, however, Tomioka 1-chōme is generally unaffected by tourist traffic, resulting in a rougher, naturally more urban atmosphere. Even so, it’s easy to imagine these streets once filled with tea houses where geisha performed. The layout continues to promote an intimate nightlife culture. Any area of Tokyo preserving remnants of a hanamachi reliably offers an evening rich with intrigue.
From here, I recommend patrolling the block at least once, stopping to take in the view of the cherry blossom-lined Oyoko River from each of two bridges—Ishijima and Tomoebashi—that softly signal the start and finish of the hanamachi course. I'll be heading off soon, but be sure to wander into any side passages that intrigue you and note any appealing spots for dinner that catch your attention. While the contemporary and critically acclaimed restaurants here typically require reservations, the area is rich with casual izakayas that often have room for one or two more, providing rest for weary feet.
To seal today's guide, I've carefully marked all the locations we visited on a custom Google Map, complete with detailed walking directions to help you navigate without missing a turn. The map is available in the members' section. By joining, you’ll become part of a slowly growing group of city explorers who support my freely accessible work while gaining access to a growing collection of maps and resources. Though I haven’t yet walked and mapped the entire breadth of Japan like Inō Tadataka, it is becoming the mission I find myself on.
Until we meet in Monzen-Nakachō,
AJ
Footnotes
¹ Ritual is Rhythm
² Ankyo Redemption