The Global Grandma: November 2025

Kochi, or Off the Beaten Track.

Story Two: The Castle.

From the series, "Japan, or the Extreme Vacation of an American Senior."

Из серии "Япония, или Экстремальный отдых американского пенсионера."

Do you remember that red bridge connected to the sentimental love story of the young monk and the girl from the merchant family? You know, when the monk bought a red hairpin, which exposed their forbidden love? Well, from that bridge (I won't include a picture, it's a bright red bridge, everyone loves it in photos, and the castle might seem less impressive by comparison, which would be unfair to the castle)... so, from the bridge, we walked to the castle.

It was about twenty minutes through the streets.

We passed through the market, which we had initially planned to visit, but the trading hadn't started yet.

The streets are like those in many cities, except for the omnipresent hieroglyphs. Although sometimes you can see Japanese traditions in the architecture: the houses are white, with characteristic sloping roofs.

The castle, standing on a high hill, immediately draws attention: you can see it from afar, though it's obvious right away that it's small (probably seemed that way after visiting Osaka Castle).

Many historical monuments in Japan have a tragic fate: they burned down, were destroyed during wars or natural disasters, or suffered from earthquakes. The castle you're looking at today in Kochi (and reading the comments about!) is famous in Japan as the only castle that has retained all the original main citadel buildings after the Edo period reconstruction, including both the main tower and the feudal lord's palace.

In simple terms, this is the only complex that was damaged only once in ancient times, restored in those same ancient times, and has stood firmly on this very high hill ever since, to everyone's delight.

The sight of the castle is, of course, exceptionally beautiful, but the massive gate is no less striking.

Did you notice that the entrance doesn't open onto a direct road to the castle, but that you enter an inner courtyard?

If enemies managed to breach these gates (if there was even a weapon at the time to breach THESE gates), they would fall into a trap: a square inner courtyard that could be fired upon from three sides, where any enemy could be easily defeated. This is that inner courtyard.

No, those aren't my friends in the photo – those are random passersby. We're traveling as a trio: Rosely, Meire, and me, sailing around Japan on the Celebrity Millennium cruise ship.

The girls, as always, rushed ahead; I, as always, have to catch up. But I can't help but linger!

These are the main gates of Kochi Castle, the Otemon (Ote – "big hand" or "main direction," Mon – gate; together, Otemon – Main Gate). Originally built around 1610 and rebuilt in 1664. They look solid, strong, and at the same time very graceful. The castle burned down in 1727, but the gates stood firm. I became curious about what kind of wood was used here for the construction, wood that is almost five centuries old, hasn't burned, hasn't rotted, hasn't been eaten by insects, and still retains its beauty.

It turns out it's Zelkova serrata (Japanese Zelkova, which native to East Asia) and belongs to the Elm family (Ulmaceae). It's a large deciduous tree that can live for hundreds of years (up to 850 years). The main pillars, doors, and lintel are made of zelkova. The beams are especially large. It's a shame there are no people in the photo; it's hard to feel the grandeur of the gates. See that red fire extinguisher standing there? It looks tiny, perhaps it can help you imagine the power of this structure.

Moreover, the gate and the castle are on the same visual axis; they can be seen simultaneously. The rooflines and the white color seem to echo and repeat each other's graceful curves.

Built during the Edo period...

(Oh, I already know what the Edo period is! You do too! No, don't say you don't know, you've read the stories, well, if you've read them, of course... Okay, I'll leave footnotes below.) So, built during a time of peace in Japan, the Edo period, the castle was still one of the most fortified in the country for its time.

Oh, I've lingered at the gate. I need to catch up with my friends!

And it's a hot day, the temperature is forty Celsius. In Fahrenheit it seems even hotter: over a hundred!

It's quite a walk, though not difficult; the climb is gentle...

The road is completely empty.

Half the path to the castle is in the shade of the trees overhanging the road; the castle is only visible in the gaps between them.

(I'm afraid you didn't notice it, didn't find it in the previous photo – it's ti-i-iny, right in the center... With your eyes, the castle is immediately visible, white and shining like a pearl.)

As I wrote, it's easy to walk in the shade, but then we, all the tourists, come out onto a large open square with a wonderful view! But before the final ascent, this is the last bit of shade.

Heat... HEAT... And cicadas! Their singing, along with the heat, was perhaps our constant companion in Japan. Listen!

The walls here, perhaps even more than in Osaka Castle, impressed me just as much as the castle itself. Maybe even more.

The wall profile is similar to the wall of Osaka Castle, but there the outer surface of the granite stones is worked; here, the masonry seems rougher. Which doesn't make it any less interesting. On the contrary, there is a special charm in this rawness, a special beauty: it makes the wall seem stronger, more muscular (if one can say that about a wall), more reliable.

After the trip, I looked up the construction details. The first thing I was interested to learn was how the stones were laid. The craftsmen used the stones almost as they were extracted from the ground or river, with minimal or almost zero processing. They selected stones that more or less fit each other in shape, "listened to the stone," laid them, and filled the gaps with smaller stones. This form of masonry is called Nozura-zumi in Japanese (meaning "field-stone masonry" or "unprocessed stone masonry").

You can see it well in the photo. And it's a good shot, isn't it?

Well, it's clear they wanted to build quickly, and Yamauchi Kazutoyo didn't have the money that the Tokugawa clan had, for example. (I'll explain who he is later.)

On the other hand, I thought that it would be easier for enemies to climb such outwardly rough stones, easier to storm the castle. Although I can't imagine how that's possible. Could you climb this wall? Even lightly equipped, without armor or weapons?

It's a good thing this castle never participated in any battles or wars.

Secondly, Japan, with its earthquakes, heavy rains, high humidity... and the walls stand like new. (Well, obviously they've been restored in our century, but neither the rains washed them away nor the earthquakes destroyed them for four hundred years!) The secret is the absence of mortar. The stones seem to cling to each other; during an earthquake, they are like potatoes in a basket: the wall can slightly shift, move, and vibrate without collapsing. Plus, the walls are enormously thick. (Gravity works, we learned that in school! And inertia, remember?)

Also, the curve of the walls not only protected against assault but also shifted the wall's center of gravity inward, increasing its stability against lateral shifts during an earthquake. This free masonry, with numerous gaps, allows water to drain freely, providing excellent drainage. And the soil stays relatively dry, doesn't wash away, and remains strong. The Nozura-zumi technique. (I'm reminding you of this for the Japanese flair in the story.)

You knew much of this, you imagined it from school. I just want to remind you again: this is the 17th century!

Will something we build in our century stand for four hundred years? Name it!

The third question is, who built this?

The bulk of the workers were peasants, artisans, and even lower-ranking samurai, whom the daimyō (feudal lords) were obliged to provide as part of their feudal obligations to the Shogunate. Workers were given temporary barracks or camps, often built of straw or wood, directly on or around the castle grounds. Conditions were spartan. The work was physically hard (they weren't paid for it, I remind you; it was a feudal obligation). Food was cooked centrally in field kitchens: rice (lots of rice!) and millet, soups (miso), pickled vegetables (tsukemono), and a small amount of fish or beans for protein. Water and weak tea.

(My ancestors were peasants, but they lived in another country. They were serfs, working for the barin... And the thought: a male worker was taken for forced labor for several months, and the family was left to survive without him. Women had to plow, sow, cook porridge, and feed the children?! The types of work might be different, but you get the point.

Thank God we live in a different century!

We all live in a different century.)

Local highly skilled specialists, stonemasons, also worked here on the castle's construction. Their teams were usually provided with special, temporary residential quarters (yado-ya) near the construction site; they brought their families, and they were paid for their work.

Are you glad that it's the 21st century? Are you glad you're here as a tourist? Or not? That you're just walking and enjoying the views? (Well, or reading my story in the warmth of your home; I got a bit carried away.)

I'm rereading the story...

I see: my inner "teacher" turned on in the next paragraph. I've already written that my teaching experience is off the charts; the desire to teach (well, to share information, to put it more mildly) is stronger than losing the integrity of the story. I am aware of the limited practical use of this "lesson in Japanese history," but I can't leave it out of the story. All I can do for you is outline its boundaries. If you're not interested, that's your right; the boundaries will be marked, so skip it.

The Lesson. (If you need it...)

No, I think I'll explain to you now what the "Edo period" means. (After all, you won't re-read the stories, and I'm absolutely not offended, though there are beautiful photos to look at there.) Especially since it's hard to talk about the castle without it.

So, the shōgun Tokugawa Ieyasu lived (the colorful Kunōzan Tōshōgu Shrine in Shimizu is dedicated to him). He defeated other Japanese clans in battles, destroyed—burned their castles... (like the castle of Toyotomi Hideyoshi—you remember, the one who rose from a peasant to a ruler? Didn't recall? Well, the one nicknamed "the monkey"? Did you recall now? Of course, you did: the majestic white castle in Osaka was erected on the site of his burned castle, which looks so beautiful against the blue sky and green trees!)

So, in one of the battles (1600, Battle of Sekigahara, if anyone wants specifics), the daimyō Yamauchi Kazutoyo helped Tokugawa Ieyasu win on the battlefield. For this, he received a land allotment in the Tosa Province from Shōgun Tokugawa as a reward for his support in the battle (this is modern-day Kochi Prefecture).

(Everything is the same everywhere, everything is as always: the lands of the vanquished are distributed to the vassals of the victors. Has anything changed since then?)

On this territory, Yamauchi Kazutoyo ordered the construction of Kochi Castle. It took ten years to build (1601–1611), which seems like a very short construction period when you look at the height of the massive walls and the height of the hill where building materials and stones had to be transported.

Not far from the main gate is an equestrian statue depicting a man on a horse with a spear at the ready, erected in honor of Yamauchi Kazutoyo. (There was construction going on, though, so we didn't get close to the monument.)

By the way, this equestrian statue is known to every Japanese person.

The castle burned down in 1727 but was restored by 1753, without additions or changes to the structure.

In 1868, there was the Boshin War, the rule of the Tokugawa clan ended, and Kochi Castle was not damaged. Luckily for us, it was exempted from the order of destruction. (The Meiji clan issued an order that all remaining feudal fortifications had to be destroyed).

So, returning to the "Edo period": the peaceful time of the Tokugawa clan's rule from 1603 to 1868 is called the Edo period. (I've written so many stories about Japan that I've memorized these dates myself!)

Hurray! I figured it out myself.

Let's summarize, repeating from memory.

The history of the castle in one paragraph.

Japan is ruled by its "unifier," Shōgun Tokugawa Ieyasu. More accurately, the Tokugawa Shogunate rules. (Everything in power rests on relatives!) He has a vassal, the daimyō Yamauchi Kazutoyo, who rules in the Tosa Province gifted to him. Yamauchi builds a castle on the top of the hill to show his power, but also to see enemies from afar and be able to fight them off. What if the Chōsokabe—former vassals, dissatisfied with the rising power of the Yamauchi clan and the Tokugawa Shogunate—raise a rebellion and attack?!

The castle you see is Kochi Castle, a castle of the Edo period.

And it has stood like this for more than four hundred years.

Hooray, the numbers and historical facts are over. (Read, repeated, learned the lesson—we can continue our walk!)

The castle was built between two rivers, the Kagami and the Enokuchi, which form the castle's outer moat. The road to the castle is winding; if necessary, anyone ascending could be defeated at all the turns, and they are perfectly visible from above. (We didn't think such a serpentine road was built for the convenience of tourists, did we?!)

In addition to the comfortable, gravel-covered road, 150 steps lead up.

The castle grounds are large; now it's a public park and a popular spot for spring hanami (the spring celebration of flower viewing, like cherry blossoms).

While visiting the park is free, you have to buy tickets for the museum. I was again impressed by the very affordable price of the entrance tickets (I already compared prices in Japan with prices in Los Angeles in one of the stories). For instance, the entrance ticket to the castle was 500 yen, which is about three dollars and twenty cents!

It turned out there were many people inside, including an organized tour from our Celebrity Millennium cruise ship, but there were no queues; everything was very calm.

The castle is very graceful and relatively small (as it was built primarily as a defense against a possible rebellion by former vassals).

The central courtyard is at the top of the hill, an isolated area surrounded by walls and guard towers. If needed, the bridge connecting it to the second courtyard could be destroyed, and they could wait there until reinforcements arrived.

If it weren't for the summer heat, it would be a nice place for a walk. But we hurried to the museum, into the shade!

It's forbidden to wear shoes inside the museum.

Some people (like us, because it's interesting!) put their shoes in special storage lockers; others just left them in the sun in front of the entrance.

You can take photos in the museum!

I'll show you a couple of exhibits that caught my attention.

Here's the first one.

Pretty unremarkable, wouldn't you agree? It has an explanation in English: "The traditional means of carrying a single passenger were palanquins such as these, used by high-ranking individuals. They were constructed using long wooden poles and carried on the shoulders of two men. This type of palanquin began to be used around the 14th century, becoming an important mode of transportation by the 17th and 18th centuries."

Rich and noble people "rode" (how else to describe being carried on a litter on two men's shoulders?) in this?? My imagination pictured something grander and more elegant. Or more richly painted. (Like noble wood covered with black lacquer, with patterned red—no, vermilion—painting! But here everything is so modest and miniature. I couldn't even turn around inside that one!)

This is the costume of Chiyo (Chiyo) Yamauchi, the loyal wife of the castle's first feudal ruler.

Oh, if only!

Sorry.

I wanted so badly to mistake my wish for reality, I "stretched the truth" a little!

This is the costume of the famous Japanese actress Yukie Nakama, who played the role of Chiyo in the film Kōmyōga Tsuji ("The Path to Glory")—a popular historical series dedicated to Kazutoyo and Chiyo.

Such a costume is a traditional Japanese garment, characteristic of a high-ranking woman of the Edo period, a multi-layered kimono made of expensive fabrics.

Did you also expect something brighter? Or did you expect clothes that actually belonged to people who lived four hundred years ago?

By the way, a very popular legend is associated with Chiyo: "The Legend of the Horse and the Wife."

Kazutoyo was not yet a ruler, only a young and poor samurai. He saw an incredibly beautiful and expensive horse at the market. To help her husband advance in his career and impress his lord (names vary, Nobunaga or Hideyoshi), Chiyo sold her precious dowry to buy him this horse. The young samurai on a purebred horse caught the attention of the lord, and thus began his rapid ascent up the career ladder. And Kazutoyo received Tosa Province as his domain, built Kochi Castle, and they lived happily ever after. All thanks to Chiyo, the model samurai wife, devoted, selfless, and far-sighted.

This is the Yamauchi family crest, known as the "three oak leaves." It was used as an emblem on the ships of the Tosa domain. When Tosa native Yatarō Iwasaki founded the Mitsubishi company, he combined this Yamauchi crest with his Iwasaki family crest, thus creating the famous Mitsubishi logo.

We walked on the warm wooden floor, and the rooms had floors covered with traditional tatami mats. (Interestingly, the sizes of tatami were standardized, and the area of rooms was measured by the number of tatami.)

The Kaitokukan consists of eight traditional rooms ranging from three to twelve tatami in size. It is surrounded by a veranda on the east and south sides.

Kaitokukan is the name of the palace; the internet suggested that the word came from Chinese, where it consisted of three hieroglyphs that can be translated into English as the "Pavilion Cherishing Virtue" or the "Residence Preserving Virtue/Benevolence."

The palace, as I already wrote, burned down during the fire of 1727 but was repaired by 1749.

The tower also has a name: Tenshu.

The tower's exhibition includes two dioramas, one telling about life in the 17th century, and the second showing the construction of the citadel.

A narrow, steep, creaking wooden staircase leads upstairs.

Are you tired of reading? I'm tired of writing. Thank you for enduring and making it to the end. Not much left.

It was interesting to peek into the loopholes on the way.

This is not a fish, it is not a dolphin (I watched a YouTube video where the author called it a dolphin!)... do you remember what this is called? We saw this fish-tiger-dragon at Osaka Castle.

Okay, I won't torture you: it's a Shachihoko.

A legendary sea creature in Japanese folklore, usually depicted with the head of a tiger (or dragon), the body of a fish (usually a carp) covered in scales, and a tail and fins pointing skyward.

There is a circular balcony at the top. All of us who climbed to the height of the sixth floor lined up in a chain because there was no room for two people to pass on the balcony.
And to get onto the balcony, you have to step over a threshold.

The views of the city, the park around the castle, the roofs of the castle buildings... as you can see, were worth the climb and the trip here.

Here's a Shachihoko again! Remember, they were believed to be able to swallow a huge amount of water and could put out a fire.

Another one? Why? I already memorized it: Shachihoko! And why did I memorize it?!

Ah, maybe I didn't memorize it for nothing? After all, without them, the castle wouldn't have been protected from fire, and therefore wouldn't have reached us in this form! Don't believe it, don't believe it; I'm not sure myself, but it's better to let them stand. And protect.

That's all! I surrender!

We're leaving.

Girls, remember, that day in Kochi, we were at the red bridge, came to this castle in the heat, walked through the park and the museum, climbed the tower, and the day wasn't over yet; the most poetic walk of the entire trip was still waiting for us...