Kaminarimon

You are standing under Kaminarimon, the Thunder Gate, where a wall of tourists is already funneling toward the giant red lantern and the smoke rising off the incense burner beyond it. This walk starts right here and never wanders far — ten stops, under a mile and a half, about ninety minutes, all inside one dense pocket of Asakusa built around Senso-ji, the temple Tokyo calls its oldest. That claim is true, and it is also slightly beside the point. Nearly everything you are about to see has been rebuilt at least once, in wood and then in concrete, after fires, an earthquake, and a war that flattened this district along with most of the city around it. This walk will not pretend otherwise. At every stop you will get a plain answer to the question that actually matters here: is this old, or is this a faithful copy of something old? Exactly one building on this route is genuinely, physically what it looks like. You will find out which, and why the other nine still deserve your attention, before you are back at this same gate. For now, walk toward the smoke.

Stand back for a second and look at what everyone is photographing. The giant red lantern, the black gate, the two furious statues glaring out of their niches — this is the single most photographed object in Tokyo, the picture that says "old Japan" better than almost anything else in the city. Now here is the whole tour in one sentence: this gate is from 1960.

Not "restored in 1960." Built in 1960. The Kaminarimon that stood before it burned down in a fire in 1865, and for the next ninety-five years — nearly a full century, longer than most of the people reading this have been alive twice over — there was no Thunder Gate here at all. No gate, no lantern, nothing to photograph. Generations of Tokyoites walked up to Sensoji through a gap where a gate used to be, the way you'd walk past a missing tooth. If your grandparents' grandparents visited Asakusa, they didn't pass under this gate, because it didn't exist.

The man who ended that ninety-five-year gap was Matsushita Konosuke, the founder of the company you now know as Panasonic. In 1960 he fell seriously ill, made his way to Sensoji to pray for his recovery, and got better. Grateful, he funded the gate's reconstruction — the project broke ground in 1959 and the new Kaminarimon was unveiled on 3 May 1960. Look at the base of the great lantern as you pass beneath it: there's still a plaque there carrying an old, abbreviated form of his company's name, Matsushita Denki. A twentieth-century electronics fortune is the reason you have anything to photograph here at all.

That lantern above your head is worth a proper look, not just a glance. It weighs around 700 kilograms, and it doesn't last forever — Sensoji has it taken down and replaced roughly once a decade, so the one glowing red overhead right now is very possibly newer than your phone. And it hides a detail almost nobody looks for: stand directly underneath it and tilt your head back, and carved into the wooden base is a dragon, coiled and looking straight down at you. Temple legend says a golden-scaled dragon rose from the river the night this temple was born — one more guardian, hidden in plain sight above thousands of oblivious heads every single day.

The two statues glaring at you from their wooden cages are gods, not decoration. On your right as you face the gate from the street is Fujin, god of wind, with a bag of wind slung over his shoulder. On the left is Raijin, god of thunder, ringed with drums. Both are older than they look and younger than they look at the same time: the originals were caught in that same 1865 fire and survived it as little more than scorched heads, restored and remounted only when Matsushita's money rebuilt the gate around them in 1960.

So here's the deal this tour is making with you, right at the start, before you've taken a single step down the shopping street ahead. Almost nothing you're about to see in Asakusa is old. Almost everything is ancient. Those are two different claims, and I'm going to keep the difference honest at every stop — what burned, what got rebuilt, in what year, in what material. There's exactly one building on this route that really is what it looks like, untouched since long before any of this, and it isn't the gate you're standing under right now. You'll find out which one it is later. For now, walk on through — Kaminarimon means "step this way," even if it's only meant that since 1960.