Despite its unique and highly accessible urbanism, Japan is strangely absent from the urbanist conversation on human-scale walkable development. In my recent trip there, which spanned both rural and urban regions, I was struck by its ubiquitous (and sometimes seemingly neurotic) obsession with pedestrian well being and accessibility.

Japan’s urbanism is easy to miss. Aesthetically, Japanese streets bear many totems of thoughtless modernity which we generally associate with dead, lifeless streets. Concrete utility poles draped with thick ropes of electrical wire line every street. Entire neighborhoods lack sidewalks, where their utility is seemingly obvious. Instead they have a single asphalt surface with only paint markings suggesting where pedestrians and cars may go. One of the most common popular images of the transportation system of Japan is of white-gloved station attendants shoving commuters into claustrophobically over-packed trains.

In Anime, power lines are popularly depicted in juxtaposition with nature and spirituality. Ubiquitous symbols of thoughtless modernity punctuate Japan’s landscape, but that should not inhibit our appreciation of its urbanism.

This cosmetic blight obscures many examples of highly cultivated, sustainable, human-scaled urbanism which ought to be celebrated, studied, and replicated.

In this essay, I will break down the urbanism of Kyoto, a mid-sized city widely considered to be the cultural and religious center of Japan. Kyoto is an ideal subject for this examination because it successfully integrates its modern downtown region with a largely intact (yet still thriving) ancient city.

Kyoto was spared from the worst of the World War II bombing campaigns, and so retains more of its original character than other cities. Yet it has also participated in Japan’s subsequent growth and urbanization. The resulting hybrid of old and new, and the careful efforts to manage the intermingling of the two, make Kyoto a unique case study in transportation and growth.

The Trains:

The heart of Kyoto’s transportation infrastructure is its central train station, which connects the commuter rail to the regional bus and subway system. Importantly, Kyoto Station also serves the Shinkansen (bullet train), which is generally used as a cheaper, faster, and more convenient alternative to domestic air travel. Kyoto Station anchors the entire downtown district, which is largely composed of mid-sized commercial office buildings separated by broad four lane roads. Like most cities in Japan, the train station is adjacent to large malls full of hundreds of ramen, sushi, and street food restaurants, multiple department stores, and dozens of boutiques, often featuring coveted international brands.

A quick mind-map sketch of Kyoto’s geography, transit, and grid. The black square is Kyoto Station, the nexus of the regional rail, bullet train, bus system, and subway. It serves as a buffer between the superblock sprawl of Osaka and Kyoto. The urban downtown fades into denser traditional blocks as one travels north.

Downtown Kyoto is largely indistinguishable from other Japanese cities in this regard. For many years, the city fought the development of Kyoto Station, which was seen as an incursion into the city’s carefully preserved and curated culture. Fortunately, the station and its tentacles of railway seemingly form a wall separating the charms of old Kyoto from the adjacent sprawling industrial exurbs of neighboring metropolis Osaka. The immediately surrounding office buildings and retail corridors provide Kyoto with a foothold in the global economy, without which tourism and related industries would likely overwhelm the cities local culture.

Kyoto proper takes up about ten square miles and is compact enough for the adventurous to navigate entirely by foot. However, its transit system facilitates easy commutes from the largely residential old city to the downtown business district. Kyoto is bordered on three sides by mountains, and the Kamo River marks the city’s core. Subways traverse the length of the river, and provide access to Kyoto’s more rural suburbs and far flung temples. A network of buses fill in the gaps when stations are too distant to easily walk to.

One of the joys of modern tourism in Japan is how its remarkable infrastructure makes the entire country easily navigable with only a map navigation app. I never found a destination that was outside the range of a 3G wireless connection and reliable public transit. It was unnecessary to purchase tickets, or even do more than the most remedial planning in advance.

Trains are far cheaper, more frequent, faster, and more reliable in Japan. A similar route in the United States is more logistically challenging and burdensome due to high cost, low speed, poor reliability, and bad frequency.

Even the Shinkansen Bullet trains departed every 20 minutes meaning I could travel from Kyoto to Nagoya, 90 miles away, on a whim (which I did). At 175 miles per hour, the journey (which would kill an afternoon in America) took less than 40 minutes. While signage was only intermittently in English, by relying on the brigades of station attendants and instructions from my iPhone, I rarely got lost.

Biking Infrastructure:

Kyoto’s streets are arranged in a strict grid system, broken only by rivers and canals. Even the old city, which is largely composed of traditional style merchant houses, adheres to a strict grid, one of the oldest in the world. Blocks are small and varied, with proudly kept inns, restaurants, and shops lining every street. Because of the relatively small size and limited kitchen amenities of dwellings, people tend to eat out more, meaning that streets remain bustling and vibrant both day and night. This creates an ideal habitat for walking and biking, which are both ubiquitous means of transportation in Kyoto.

Despite its gritty appearance and the glaring lack of sidewalks and other symbols of walkable urbanism, pedestrians and cyclists outnumber cars and enjoy an uncontested right-of-way.

Most streets in Kyoto lack sidewalks or street parking, forcing pedestrians and cyclist to negotiate with motorist for access to the same roads. One would think that this arrangement would create a stressful environment hostile to walking much as in the American suburbs, which also lack sidewalks. Fortunately, car dominance is mitigated by several factors.

First, many streets are narrow one lane, two way roadways. This means that drivers must constantly be on the lookout for oncoming traffic. When two cars pass, one must wedge onto a shoulder, much as in prewar American villages where narrow roads lined by on street parking forced vehicles to creep along at a pedestrian friendly pace.

Two cars negotiate a passing on a typical Kyoto street. Because cars must navigate ‘obstacles’ like cyclists, pedestrians, street poles, and painted-on sidewalks, they rarely exceed a safe speed. The neighborhood remains peaceful and walkable.

The design of Kyoto streets were reminiscent of the nordic traffic engineer Hans Monderman’s controversial urban plans, in which all sidewalks and road markings were removed. This planned chaos had the effect of calming traffic by foisting more responsibility and caution on motorists, who were forced to be on constant alert for pedestrians and other obstacles. In retrospect, I am surprised that I have never seen the Japanese urban experience cited as a precedent to those plans.

Virtually all streets in Kyoto are dotted with ‘sharrows’, icons painted on the pavement indicating cyclists have a right of way. In the United States, sharrows have been shunned by walkable urbanists as a fig leaf token concession to cyclists which are often placed on dangerously fast roads where they are unlikely to be obeyed. But in Kyoto they literally line every street; the abundance of sharrows seems more like an assertion of bicycle dominion, a constant reminder to motorists of who’s in charge.

Almost everyone cycles in Kyoto. Grocery stores often have space for a dozen or so bikes in front. Many railway adjacent parking lots have been repurposed to store commuter bikes, complete with vending machine operated lockers. Construction sites afford spaces for their worker’s bikes. Hotels provide bikes. Even Kyoto’s notoriously fashionable professional class cycle, and office workers can be regularly seen sporting suits, loafers, heels, and skirts that conform to the seemingly mandatory Japanese chic style, yet are durable and breathable enough to survive a morning commute. Cycling has no class, age, or gender connotations. Everyone just does it.

Because Japan is one of the lowest crime countries in the world, bikes can be left anywhere unlocked. Many bikes have a flimsy mechanism that locks the rear wheel and would keep a marauder from riding it away, but these devices seem both futile and excessive. Anyone could just pick the bike up and pick the lock in private. The point is, they don’t.

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