Somehow, the rain made for a perfect visit. By the time I reached the Hama-rikyu Gardens, the downpour had softened to a constant fall, and I soon perfected the art of juggling an umbrella while changing lenses on my camera.

Waiting to buy a ticket, I watched the rain overflow down a chain of tiny buckets hanging from the gutter. They were a work of art in themselves.

The Hama-rikyu Gardens, or Detached Palace Gardens, are near the famed Tokyo Fish Markets. Along with the land where the markets are, the gardens once belonged to the Tokugawa Shogun, forming part of the outer fort of their Edo-period castle. In 1654 a younger brother of the shogun built his residence here. After reclaiming much of the land from the sea he filled the gardens with pavilions, fish ponds, cherry trees and pine groves, masses of flower beds, duck ponds, plus a kitchen garden for supplying the household.

A few shoguns later and the gardens became a ‘detached’ residence, known as the Beach Palace. After the Meiji restoration of 1868, the gardens became a Detached Palace of the Imperial Family. Once more this involved a name change, from the Beach Palace to Hama-rikyu Gardens. In 1945 the Imperial Family donated the gardens to the City of Tokyo (fortunately without changing the name).

The Hama-rikyu Gardens are unique in that the ponds are actually tidal. Indeed, they are the only tidal ponds from the Edo period remaining in Tokyo. The flow of water is controlled by locks, which are opened or closed depending upon the tide.

With all the rain, however, fresh water was the main issue as many of the paths were underwater. As a consequence, I had the place virtually to myself, which gave me quite a perfect viewing.

Intriguingly, parts of the garden were quite wild, contrasting sharply to the more formal areas. With a section closed to the public and used as a nature reserve, the gardens themselves are always filled with birds and wildlife, and the ponds full of saltwater fish – an oasis in the centre of Tokyo. There are even two old Kamba, or duck hunting sites, built between 1778 and 1791. It felt quite strange to be surrounded by such greenery, while being overlooked by the skyscrapers  of Tokyo.

Near the entrance  to the gardens stands a pine tree which was planted when the 6th Shogun began renovations, making it now over 200 years old. Its gnarled black limbs were supported by bamboo props, and its branches were heavy with foliage.

The major lake in the gardens is called Shioiri-no-ike. On a small island, reached by a long wooden bridge, is the Nakajima-no-ochaya, a tea house where the shogun and members of the Imperial court would sit and contemplate the world over a cup of tea. (The current building is a reconstruction, dating to 1983). I sat on my mat, a matsua tea and Japanese sweet before me. (I grew to love this formal green tea, so different to the tea bags of home; a powdered tea made from ground up leaves, full of caffeine and very filling. It is always served with a sweet to counterbalance the bitterness of the brew. It took the place of my regular coffee.)

I took my time, staring over the lake, watching the rain dancing over its surface, for I had found the perfect spot in Tokyo to sit and just be.

The Literary Traveller

Born in 1644 and of samurai descent, Matsuo Basho is considered the greatest Japanese master of the haiku. His poems are filled with an elegant simplicity which is deceptively modern - for example, his influence is strongly felt in works by Ezra Pound.

I found Basho's works perfect to read at the end of a day of travelling in Japan, or in any quiet moment which came my way.

The temple bell stops

but I still hear the sound

coming out of the flowers.

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