All language subtitles for Monty Dons Japanese Gardens 1of2 BBC 1080p EN SUB

The snow-clad slopes of Mount Fuji

are one of the stunning images
of Japan that we all recognise.

But despite a fascination
for the country and its culture,

there remains something mysterious
and intriguing.

And although we may admire
Japanese gardens -

and our own gardens
are full of Japanese plants,

like cherries and maples
and hostas -

few of us really understand
or know them.

They remain an enigma.

So, I have set out to try and get
to the heart of the culture

that lies behind some of the most
beautiful gardens in the world.

I shall be visiting Japan during
its two most radiant seasons -

spring and autumn.

I'll follow the development
of stroll gardens,

experience the serenity
of a tea garden,

and learn the secrets
of creating a Zen landscape.

The stone said to me, "It's OK -
this angle, this position."

The stone is talking to you? Yes.

I'm setting out to relish,
contemplate,

and hopefully learn to understand
these iconic gardens of Japan.

Most of us have an idea of what
a Japanese garden should contain.

There should be
cloud pruning of azaleas,

maples with their delicate leaves
shimmering in the light,

moss gardens, rock, gravel,
water gently flowing.

And this garden has it all.

But this is not Japan.

We're at Tatton Park in the heart
of the Cheshire countryside,

and there is a story
behind this garden

because it was inspired
by an exhibition in London

over 100 years ago.

The Japan-British Exhibition
at White City in 1910

lifted the curtain
on a country shrouded in mystery.

And this was the first chance

for most people
to see anything from Japan.

Buildings, costumes, pottery and art

all dazzled audiences
with their novelty,

and on top of this, two gardens
had been brought over to England.

This inspired a craze
for building Japanese gardens.

Lord Egerton,
the owner of Tatton Park,

visited the exhibition,
fell in love with these gardens,

and decided to create
his own version at Tatton.

So, a team
of Japanese gardeners arrived

and created what we see today.

This is a lovely garden

and it certainly gives you
a real flavour of Japan,

but I want to see the real thing,

and for that, I need to go to Japan.

Talk to anybody about the best time
to come to Japan,

and they will always say spring,

when the cherry blossom
is at its best.

Well, that's all fine and good,

but the cherry blossom comes
at different times,

it only lasts for a few day
and can be destroyed by the weather.

But it looks like I've got lucky.

For this handful of precious days,

the blossom is gloriously
everywhere,

and I've decided to head first
to a garden in western Japan.

I'm beginning my journey here, at
Kenrokuen in the town of Kanazawa,

because this is one of
the three great gardens of Japan.

The name Kenrokuen means
"Garden of the Six Sublimities"

and refers to the legendary
six qualities of the ideal garden -

spaciousness, seclusion, creativity,

antiquity, water and scenic views.

Kenrokuen features ponds,
waterfalls, bridges,

and, of course, spectacular blossom.

It was originally the private garden
of the local feudal lords,

the hugely wealthy Maeda family.

They began to create it in the 1670s

as the pleasure ground
for nearby Kanazawa Castle

in order that their wealth
and power wouldn't attract

the adverse attention
of the shogun in Kyoto.

And it was developed and redesigned
for nearly 200 years until,

in 1874, at the end
of the feudal era,

the garden was made into
a public park.

Today,
Kenrokuen is meticulously tended

by an army of gardeners,

including the women
scrupulously picking through

the velvety carpet of moss,

weeding out every single
unwanted blade of grass.

Even on a site of 28 acres,

there is a fastidious attention
to detail.

So often, when I visit a garden,
people say,

"Oh, you should've come last week,"
or, "You should come next month."

But this is the first time
when I can absolutely say,

"I should be here today."

This is the sublime, perfect moment.

The cherry blossom,
briefly, for this one day,

is at its fragile,
outrageous, ecstatic best.

Before I came to Japan, people said,

"Well, you must try
and see the cherries

"because they're really lovely."

But they were wrong.
They're not really lovely.

They're amazing.
They're mind-blowing.

Although the cherry blossom lasts
for just one short week,

it is THE horticultural mascot
of Japan.

Hanami, cherry blossom festivals,

have been held in Japan
since the seventh century,

and the arrival of the blossom is
the nation's top news story for days

and the excuse for
national celebration.

And Kenrokuen is a paradise
of cherry blossom of every kind.

To understand
the cultural significance of this,

I'm meeting Professor Suzuki,

who is an expert
on traditional Japanese gardens.

Sitting here in this lovely garden

that is considered to be one of
the greatest in Japan, why is that?

This garden has a lot of features
of landscapes with water

and also a panoramic view
towards the mountain

and to the ocean.

Japan itself, it's an island nation,

so this is kind of
a compacted environment of Japan.

Clearly, the cherry blossom
is really important.

What is it about the cherry blossom
that is so special?

Just because we love it. Yes.

We celebrate spring has come.

One of the aspects
of Japanese gardens

that is very different from the West
is the huge care

given to the relationship
between solid objects,

such as the branches of a tree.

One of the things that is evident
is this careful control of space,

and also this idea of ma.

Ma is the space in between.

So, one branch and another branch,

we have to think about
the in-between.

Any visitor to Japanese gardens

is bound to notice the presence
of a lot of rocks, wood, moss.

Why is this?

Because we have really naturalistic
landscaped gardens.

So, we kind of mimic
or we learn from the nature.

So, you're saying it is part
of the natural world?

It always relates? Yes.

Despite all the thousands
of cherries

that are billowing blossom
everywhere,

this rather scrawny tree,

with just a few flowers emerging,
is really special.

It's called Tai-haku -
the great white cherry.

In 18th-century Japan,

this was the most prized cherry
of them all,

and then it disappeared.

But in 1923,
in a Sussex garden in England,

a man found a cherry growing

that he liked very much
but couldn't recognise,

so he called upon
the great cherry expert,

Captain Collingwood Ingram,

who recognised it
as the missing Tai-haku,

but couldn't work out
how it got there,

so he grafted it,
took the trees back to Japan,

and in due course,
it was acknowledged

as the missing Tai-haku,

which means, amongst other things,
that this tree here

is taken from the grass
from that Sussex garden.

Now, why it disappeared,
and even more,

why it turned up in Sussex
in the 1920s, no-one knows.

The most dramatic evidence
of the constant desire

to reflect nature at Kenrokuen

is in its hundreds of majestic,
sculpted pine trees.

This is the Karasakinomatsu pine,

and in a garden that is full
of magnificent pines,

this is probably
the best of the lot.

The 200-year-old pine
characterises the Japanese desire

for trees to look
as natural as possible

by virtue of extreme artifice,
and this isn't in any way hidden,

so the branches are propped up

and held in precise place
by wooden posts,

which is all part of the pursuit
of distilled nature.

This is something that is
very particular to Japanese gardens,

and the bigger and older the tree,

the more prominent
the props will be,

but that doesn't, in any way,
detract from their magnificence.

Pines will grow
in harsh mountain landscapes

and survive extreme cold,

and the Japanese revere them
as a symbol of man's inner strength

in the face of adversity.

For centuries,
gardeners have been trying

to recreate the natural appearance
of the weathered mountain pine,

and to that end,
have developed incredibly skilled

and intricate pruning techniques.

Kenrokuen's head gardener,
Mr Hitoshi Shishime...

Hello.

..is in charge of this vast garden,

these hundreds
of manicured ancient trees,

and he shows me what he and his team
are aiming to achieve.

The idea is to prune the branches
into a triangular shape,

creating space between them
in accordance with ma.

And if that seems
extraordinarily precise,

it is nothing
compared to the next stage.

Last year's needles
are stripped away,

leaving just the fresh new growth.

You do this by hand in the trees?

That must take a lot of man hours,
a lot of work.

Wow!

The thought of 60 gardeners
in one tree

stripping off the pine needles
is just mind-boggling.

I clearly have got a long way to go

before I really get into
the Japanese gardening psyche.

Japan might be a crowded
and often hectic country,

but like its pruning, train travel
involves precision and accuracy.

I love the way that,
when you buy a train ticket,

you don't just book a seat,

but also an exact spot
on the platform

where the door nearest to your seat
will inevitably open before you.

Japan's gardening culture
dates back over 1,500 years,

making it one of the oldest
in the world.

So, I am now heading
to its garden capital -

the ancient city of Kyoto.

For 1,000 years,

from the 8th century
to the middle of the 19th century,

Kyoto was the capital of Japan -

the centre of government,
of the military and the arts -

and there are hundreds of gardens
down there in amongst the city.

So, if you want to see
all the different styles

that evolved throughout
that 1,000-year history,

this is the place to come.

Kyoto is unique in Japan
because even in quiet backstreets,

there are temples,
one after the other,

and most of them have gardens,

so that the net effect of that is
that there are hundreds of gardens.

Nori Hamamoto
is a local garden designer,

and I'm meeting her over tea
and green-tea ice cream

to find out just why
gardens are so important.

Kyoto is a city full of gardens.
Why is that?

Kyoto City is surrounded
by mountains,

and a lot of rivers
came from the mountains.

So, the natural circumstances
were very good

for making gardens in Kyoto.

Japanese gardens have
a kind of reverence about them.

Is this directed at gardens or
just part of a reverence for nature?

Attitude to the nature, yes.

The nature of Japan
is sometimes very...strong -

sometimes too strong -
like a volcano or things like that.

So, Japanese people
traditionally think,

admire and respect the nature.

I've seen the most fabulous
cherry blossom in the last few days.

So many people enjoy
cherry blossom parties,

viewing parties.

What is it
that people are celebrating?

I know the flowers are beautiful,
but what does it mean?

Drinking. It's a drinking party,
I think. Drinking? Yes.

And so gathering with neighbours
and friends.

It's an excuse to go out and drink,
and especially outside.

Well, that explains quite a lot.
BOTH LAUGH

The cherry blossom inspires
a release from the daily grind,

and there is a real sense
of celebration and pride.

Shops rent out kimonos
for photo opportunities,

and the whole nation celebrates
with a carnival spirit.

Although the cherry-lined streets
of Kyoto are packed,

there is an atmosphere
of gentle delight.

Romance fills the petal-strewn air,

and the amazing blossom
is the ideal backdrop

for wedding photos.

This is an unforgettable experience

quite unlike anything
I've ever seen before.

It gives me a fresh insight

into the importance
of this spring flowering.

It's a mistake
to think of the cherry blossom

as being essentially a transient,
fragile beauty.

It's much more robust than that.

It's about renewal
and refreshing the world.

This is April 1st today -
the beginning of the financial year,

the beginning of a new term,
a new job,

new resolutions and a new life.

And it's that,
and the energy of that,

that the blossom symbolises
and celebrates.

However beautiful
and important it may be,

I've come to Kyoto for more
than just the cherry blossom.

Nowhere in Japan
has more garden history,

and on the edge of the city,

in the grounds
of the vast Daikakuji Temple,

is the Osawa Pond.

The temple was originally a palace

constructed for the Emperor Saga
in the ninth century,

and he created the garden
based around a large artificial lake

made by damming a nearby waterfall.

Imperial gardens of the Heian period
like this one

were all essentially water gardens

made to be enjoyed
not just from the banks,

but from on the water itself.

This is one of the earliest
of all surviving Japanese gardens,

and certainly
the earliest water garden.

It's a style known as
a pond spring boating garden,

which pretty much describes it.

And the idea was that
you both looked out onto the water

and saw the reflection
of the mountains

and enjoyed the water itself,
and also took to it on boats.

And there are stories of parties
and games enjoyed by the court.

The 11th-century Tale Of Genji

beautifully describes
these garden frolics...

..detailing the floating orchestras
and seductions

that took place on the water.

We're all very familiar

with the red bridge
in a Japanese garden

as being
a really distinctive feature,

and they're often very beautiful,
but they lead somewhere.

In this case, they lead
to islands set in the lake,

and islands are really important
in Japanese culture.

It's very aware of itself
as an island nation.

More importantly,
the gods resided on islands.

On this one is an ancient oak
that is believed to contain spirits.

Now, in Shintoism,
the indigenous religion of Japan,

many kinds of natural objects
have this property,

and they are all revered.

Could be a tree. Could be a rock.
It could even be a building.

And to protect those spirits,
the object is wrapped in rope,

hence this wonderful thick rope
bound around the oak tree.

The essence of this early style
of garden is open.

The light is reflected
on this great expanse of water.

But I now want to move on

to see a style of garden
that is different,

in that it is intimate and enclosed,
even hidden.

Around the same time
as the Osawa Pond was made,

Japanese monks travelled to China

and returned with
Buddhist teachings.

The first Buddhist temples in Japan

were built in the isolated spots
on hills and mountains

to provide quiet places
for the monks to study.

CHANTING

Half an hour north of Kyoto
is the Sanzenin Temple

built in the mountainous village
of Ohara in 1156.

The garden within its walls
couldn't be more different

from both the open expanse of water
at Osawa

or the blousy, blossom-decked
streets of the city...

..because here,
all is a glowing, velvety green,

created by a plant
that we in the West vilify,

but which the Japanese revere -
moss.

I've never seen moss like this.

It is extraordinary, the way
that it's sort of slightly rolling

and bubbling and lapping up
the trunks of the Japanese cedars.

And when you walk in,
it has a kind of green intensity

that's like walking into a vast,
cathedral-like building.

In fact, the actual temple buildings

are completely surrounded
by giant trees

growing out of the sea of moss,
which grows slowly

and can take years
to cover a large area.

So, in Japan, it has become a symbol

of the patient virtues
of tradition and antiquity.

As it's intolerant of air pollution
or too much sun,

it's also valued
for its sensitive nature

because only
precisely suitable conditions

will allow it to thrive.

Although I know
that many British people

see moss as
a particularly pernicious weed

sent to blight their lawns,
in fact, it's treasured in Japan.

There are over 2,500
different types of moss,

and a moss garden typically will
have a number of different ones,

which will be very carefully
manicured and tweaked

for their contrast and effect.

So, it is very highly prized.

The combination of the moss
and the trees

inevitably creates
a reverential air,

but that's punctured
by these little round faces

appearing out of the moss,

and that lightens
the whole atmosphere.

In fact, there is
a slightly more serious side to it

because these are Bodhisattvas,

and they're there
to protect the souls

of children that have died young
or died before birth.

Taikan Uda is a monk at the temple.

What is the relationship
between Buddhism and gardens?

Yes, absolutely.

This garden captures perfectly
the spirit of the Buddhism

that came to Japan
in the eighth century.

But then, 400 years later,
a new brand of Buddhism came here,

and with it,
a brand-new style of garden.

This is Kodaiji Temple
in central Kyoto...

..and outside,
like most Buddhist temples,

there are stalls selling omamori,

which are amulets
dedicated to Buddhist figures.

These are good-luck charms,
and they're very specific,

so you have good luck
on social success...

..protection against
traffic accidents,

good health there.

And the red one is "pass exams".

"Work luck." Probably need that.

"Love fortune." So, really,
all your needs are sorted.

The temple was originally built
in 1606 as a memorial,

and remains very calm
and beautiful today.

Kodaiji was founded
by the widow of a warlord.

She spent the rest of her life here
mourning her fallen husband.

And as well as
the spectacular covered bridge,

water and carefully placed stones,

there was another completely new
element to the garden.

Known in Japanese as karesansui,

which literally translates
as dry mountain water,

this is a Zen garden,
and this style of gardening,

with its carefully placed rocks,
raked gravel,

and minimalist planting
has come to exemplify the austerity

and intellectual rigour
of Zen Buddhism.

These were intended
for quiet contemplation,

having first, of course,
removed your boots.

This garden does have
some of the recognisable features

of trees and moss,

but that moss very quickly runs out

and laps against
a shore of raked gravel -

a great expanse of empty space.

You arrive at a couple
of very precise features,

circles with mini cones on it,
and that's it.

And that does seem like
no kind of garden at all,

but when you think
about Zen Buddhism

and how monks were trained
very rigorously

to empty their minds,
to completely remove everything

in order that there might be space
for enlightenment

and a full appreciation
of the world to come in,

then you see that these gardens
are examples of that.

They're, if you like,
pictures of the Zen mind.

Zen is really difficult
to understand

and practically impossible
for the Western mind.

But Zen gardens have to be tended,
and as a gardener,

I think I can probably relate best
to them in practical terms,

so I'm going to learn
a little piece of Zen gardening.

And my lesson
is taking place next door

in the sister temple, Entokuin,
with the monk Hiroshi Kitayama.

The rake draws rills
in the special river gravel,

so that the lines flow
with the surrounding boundaries,

curving as they bend

and keeping dead parallel
to straight edges.

OK. OK. Shall I have a go?

No stop-go. No stop. No stop-go.
No? Well, I've got to breathe!

I've raked many a furrow in my time,
but never quite like this.

The rake is very heavy.
There's a lot of weight on it.

And the teeth are bamboo.
Rather beautiful.

OK, so...

Eventually, remembering to breathe,
I do get the hang of it.

Great. Beautiful.

The raking is a form of meditation,

and the monks would do this daily,
so the breathing is very important.

So, I breathe in
and slowly breathe out.

In Zen Buddhism,
every human activity

is potentially an act of prayer,
even raking.

So, the process becomes
just as important

as the garden that it results in.

Focusing completely
on what you're doing...

..not only makes you aware
of the process,

but actually is very calming,

and the truth is,
I often find this in my own garden -

whether you're raking or mowing
or sweeping leaves,

it's a form of liberation

that I suspect
most gardeners would recognise.

Zen gardens were designed
as a way of translating

fashionable, 12th-century,
Chinese ink paintings

into three-dimensional reality.

Misty landscapes became white sand,

and jagged mountains and islands
were turned into stones.

Zen gardens were also
a practical response

to the conditions
of 15th-century Japan.

Master designer
Yasuo Kitayama explains.

Mr Kitayama also has advice on
how best to appreciate Zen gardens.

The biggest problem
for the Western visitor

is that there is so much to find out

before you can really work out
what you think or feel.

But these gardens are definitely
still relevant today,

and in modern Japan,

they can be found
in some unlikely places.

Tsurumi Station in Greater Tokyo

is probably not the first place

you'd expect to find a garden
designed for quiet contemplation.

And yet, here, amongst
the city bustle and the crowds,

is a garden on the station rooftop
every bit as peaceful as a temple.

And I'm keen to know
how this is used

by contemporary city dwellers,
so I'm meeting its designer,

the Buddhist monk Shunmyo Masuno.

Tell me how relevant
a garden like this is

in 21st-century Japan.

This society, many people work

and have very busy days,

so I hope that people
should have the good time

to feel the fresh air
and to see the beautiful sky.

So, tell me why you've chosen
the elements you have

and how that relates
to Zen philosophy.

Zen is very simple
and not decorative,

so I thought to use
only stone and soil.

Things like... You have this,
the concrete and the wood.

This is not concrete. Oh, it isn't?
It is soil. It is soil!

Well, there you are.
There you are. Yeah.

I thought humans should feel
the natural...

Yes. ..materials.

So, that's why I used stone
and wood and soil.

No artificial...
So, no artificial at all.

And how do you feel about
things like the vending machine

in your garden? Does that...?
You don't mind that?

I accept it. You accept it. OK.

The rooftop also has
a more traditional gravel garden.

Tell me about this garden.
What is happening in here?

These are stone arrangements.

Yes, I understand.
It is to make them not perfection.

Imperfection is our beauty.

So, that does seem to be the key -

that if imperfection is the beauty,

that allows room for movement
and change. Mm.

Another concept
that's illustrated here is mu -

the expression of emptiness.

This space is just vacant.

We say mu. Mu. Mu. I understand.
Nothing. Yes, nothing. Yes, yes.

We can't express everything.

That's why we keep mu -
vacant space.

How do you set about doing this,

and how do you know
when it is right?

Well, I always communicate
with each stone. OK.

My expression is,
the stone said to me,

"It's OK - this angle,
this position."

The stone is talking to you? Yes.

Well, thank you very much indeed
for talking to me.

Thank you. Thank you very much.
It's my pleasure.

Thank you very much. Thank you.

AS VOICEOVER: I'm not sure who's
supposed to stop bowing first.

There's no question that,
for the average Western gardener,

it's quite demanding to come in here

and see it as just
a place of beauty.

But this combination
of very natural materials

with these very modern
sort of intrusions

of 21st-century life
need not be mutually exclusive.

They can work together.

And it does create a place
for quiet reflection

in the middle of
a frenetically busy city.

Zen gardens can be found
right across Japan,

and with
their characteristic elements

of gravel and stone,
they've largely remained the same

since their initial creation
in the 15th century.

But in 1939,

one designer working in the grounds
of Tofukuji Temple in Kyoto

challenged that status quo.

To many modern visitors,

this is just another fascinating
rock and gravel garden,

but when this was first made,
it caused an uproar.

Mirei Shigemori,

now reckoned to be one of
the great landscape designers

of the 20th century,

was commissioned by the abbot
to create gardens around his hall.

This is the result.

The way that the stones
were laid on edge

and gathered in large groups
was considered shocking.

One of the reasons
why there was such a furore

when this garden was made
was because

it overturned conventions
and traditions

that had lasted
for over 1,000 years.

And it began with a book
called Sakuteiki -

Notes On Gardening -

which outlined
all aspects of gardening,

and amongst other things,
it said, in regard to stones,

that if you placed a stone
the wrong way up

or grouped them badly together,

it would bring bad luck
to the household.

I first visited this garden
over 10 years ago now.

I kept thinking about it
in that time,

but it's not the rocks
and the gravel

that keep nagging away at me.

It's the moss and the way
that Shigemori used it.

Instead of just stone,

Shigemori used moss
to create islands.

And on the west side of the hall,

waves of moss run into
clipped azalea bushes,

creating an abstract design.

Round the corner,

past this lovely fresh green
of the maple leaves,

is the garden that has haunted me.

It consists of a simple
chequerboard

of paving stones and moss

in a pattern
that begins geometrically uniform,

but as it moves along,
starts to unravel.

Quite soon after
I visited this garden,

I had a bout of ill health,

and I had a lot of time to think
when I was recovering.

And amongst other things,
I thought about my own mortality,

and this garden was one of
the things that kept coming back,

and particularly the way
that this pattern of life

that seems so regular
and predictable

breaks down and dissolves
and disappears,

and yet, despite all that,
retains its vitality,

retains that sense of life
running through all things.

And for a garden to do that
so simply and beautifully is,

I believe, a work of genius.

One thing that unites all styles of
Zen gardens is their use of stone,

and I've now come
to the town of Okazaki,

on Japan's east coast,

which is famous for its stonemasons.

Nicknamed the stone capital
of Japan,

with a chisel as its mascot,

it's been the centre of the craft
since the 16th century,

and at one time, was the hub
for over 350 individual craftsmen.

Today, I'm meeting one of Japan's
few female stonemasons, Azusa Ueno.

Hello. Hello. Nice to meet you.
Very nice to meet you.

This is fascinating.

How old were you when you began
to learn the stonemason craft?

And how long does it take
to become a master?

I would very much like to see
a few techniques. Could I try?

Sure. Thank you.

Konnichiwa.
Konnichiwa. Hello.

When you're striking it,
is the angle relevant?

Right, the moment has come.
SHE LAUGHS

I noticed they put their foot up,
like that. So, it's just...

Is this right? Am I doing it badly?

If I were them, I'd be very worried
about me ruining their work.

I wouldn't let someone come in
and work in my garden like that.

I love all crafts and skills,
and to be allowed to do it,

and importantly, to use their tools,
was a great privilege,

but also cos it gets you closer
to the heart of these objects.

It's not just knowledge.
It's feeling, too.

Now, if there's one type
of Japanese garden

that is almost the complete opposite
to a Zen rock landscape,

it is the traditional tea garden.

Tea arrived from China
in the ninth century

when Buddhist monks drank it
to keep them awake

during long meditation sessions.

But over the centuries,

the drinking of it
became highly ritualised,

and samurai,
monks and geishas served tea

in elaborately formal ceremonies.

Today, it's as popular as ever,

harvested, traded and enjoyed
in cafes and ceremonies

right across the country.

A style of garden
dedicated to tea drinking

emerged in the 16th century,

and was soon to be found
up and down the nation.

Tea gardens were built
around teahouses,

with the approach - very carefully
controlled and planted -

to be an essential part
of the experience.

Today, I've come to visit
the tea garden

at Kenninji Temple in Kyoto.

The temple was originally founded
by a 12th-century monk named Eisai,

who's famed for first spreading
tea culture across the country.

As people approached the teahouse,

they had to get rid of all
the status and grandeur of office

so that they entered in as equals.

And this is where it began.

Immediately, you find yourself
on a path made out of stones

that are not straight,
they're not even,

they're not evenly spaced,
so they're tricky to walk on.

It's difficult
and you have to concentrate.

This slows and focuses the mind
away from the busy world.

In fact, the tea ceremony itself

is the culmination of the approach
through the garden.

The plants and rocks along the way

are meant to look
as natural as possible,

creating the image of a winding path
deep in the mountains,

leading to a hermit's hut.

There are few flowers,
lest they distract the visitor.

As you carefully teeter along
this awkward path,

you're surrounded by green.

There's the green of the foliage,
the green of the moss on the ground,

and you get glimpses of the garden.

It's planted and pruned
so that your view is obscured,

and the effect of this
is to envelop you

and make you concentrate,
and all the cares fall away.

Everything becomes focused
on what is to come,

which is the tea ceremony itself.

Every tea garden had stone basins
at strategic points

so you could stop and wash
your hands and cleanse yourself,

and then you go and sit and wait.

And finally, when you're called...

..you have to come in

and crawl through
this very low opening,

so that the last traces
of self-importance are left behind.

I have previously attended
a formal tea ceremony in Japan,

but today, I'm going for something
a little bit more relaxed.

Thank you.

This form of tea
is incredibly intense.

It's like a sort of
double espresso of tea.

As part of the tea ceremony,

you have a little taste
of something sweet...

..before drinking
the very bitter tea...

..which is an acquired taste,
but will certainly keep you awake.

But in contemporary Japan,

not all tea gardens
are quite so traditional.

Behind this modern-looking
gatehouse...

..I'm told that there is
an unusual take on the teahouse...

..and I'm curious
to see what it looks like.

This old-fashioned temple

is also the beautiful home
of Mr and Mrs Inoue.

Thank you. Thank you.

But it is theIR garden
that I've come to see.

The previous one was destroyed
by an earthquake in 1995,

so they asked
their famous architect friend,

Terunobu Fujimori,

to design a teahouse and garden
in its place.

The smell of green tea
is so distinctive.

But this tea garden
is anything but traditional.

It is completely unique.

A traditional tea garden
is clothed in green plants,

but as with all the work
of Fujimori,

this one is totally different.

Here, there isn't
much planting at all,

but an enormous great arch
and what looks like a snake,

but in fact,
that relates to the building.

This is a Buddhist temple

and the arch is the arch to heaven
that you have to pass through.

And what might be seen
as a snake, in fact,

is the river that you have to cross
to get to heaven.

And then you approach
the teahouse itself.

Now, like all teahouses,

this has
a conventionally low opening,

so you have to abase yourself.

It's very small
so that you crawl in.

But, unlike any other,
this is a teahouse and a treehouse.

And inside here
is everything you need...

..for a proper tea ceremony.

I really like the way
that modernity and wit

mingles with the traditional,
and it's a really clever way

of keeping
those old traditions alive

in the modern world.

That compact design
is evocative of one thing

that unites the country today -
space, or rather the lack of it.

Although that was a tiny teahouse
and a tiny garden,

actually, by Japanese standards,
it was a luxury.

Most people have no space at all,

and yet that desire to grow things
is evident everywhere you go.

There are pots in the street.

There are pots outside shops
and houses.

And, actually,
that desire has been channelled

into a very traditional
art and craft,

and it's called ikebana.

Today, there are over 1,000 schools
in the world teaching ikebana,

or flower arranging,

but the oldest and perhaps
the most famous is Ikenobo,

set amidst a Kyoto temple.

The art of flower arranging
dates back to the seventh century,

when flowers were left
as offerings to gods.

The eighth shogun,
Ashikaga Yoshimasa,

a great patron of the arts,

decreed that flowers left on altars
should be placed in a way

that showed thought
in their preparation.

I've been invited
to a class here at Ikenobo,

but as it's for
the advanced flower arranger,

it isn't deemed suitable
for a rank novice like myself,

but just watching
is fascinating enough.

The class takes place
in almost total silence,

which is a mark of their respect
for the art.

However, I do have
a private lesson lined up,

although I first need to buy
all my materials in the school shop.

The idea is that you wander around,

see what you like and select it,
and then that's wrapped up for you,

and then you can go and do
your flower arranging.

What I'm thinking is

it would be nice
to do some sort of arrangement

that got the essence
of the cherry blossom,

the essence of spring here in Japan.

No doubt it's been done before,
but not by me.

And here is cherry blossom.

See, this is absolutely lovely.
It's beautiful.

OK, let's give it a go.

It's a good job
I put on my best socks

because I'm meeting
the deputy headmistress,

Senko Ikenobo.

Hello. Hello.
Hello. Nice to meet you.

I've chosen these stems. Yes.

So, please,
any advice you can give me

in the spirit of ikebana
would be very interesting.

OK. First of all, because you chose
only these cherry blossoms... Yes.

..and only one kind... Yes.
..so I think it's very unique,

because when we arrange ikebana,

we usually pick up flowers
and leaves

and we try to make a harmony
between them.

But the reason...

I'm not sure the reason
why you chose only one kind,

but it's really very...artistic.

I think you're being polite.
I clearly failed

at the first hurdle... No, no.
..but let's push on, nevertheless.

And also the very important thing
about ikebana

is we have to focus on each branch.

Right. The individual beauty. OK.
I mean, the less is the more. Right.

If possible, we have to check
which angle is the best. Mm-hm.

This way or this way
or like this or like that.

What do you think?
Oh, it's you. OK, it's me.

Because it depends on the person.

Is elegance and sophistication
important? Yes. Yes.

It's also important because,
when we look at ikebana,

people feel the wind blowing.

Right. So, the wind blowing.
Blowing. It's very important. OK.

So, you're trying to capture

the wind blowing
through the branches... Yes.

..and capturing it
at a sort of perfect moment. Yes.

It's a lot to ask, isn't it?
It's that perfect moment. Oh, yes.

It's a very high ideal. Yes.

Can I start cutting?
Yeah. Yeah, please.

Yeah, I mean,
I would just take that out there.

Is that right? Yeah.
Can I do that? Yes.

At least take that off
to start with.

We could take that out.

Cut from this point.
Yeah. This point.

I tried. Yeah.

Please be careful.
Don't worry. I've used these before.

And for example, if you find it
a little bit too flat,

looks too flat... Yes.
..you can bend. Oh.

Very soft tree. Right.

You have to be very,
very careful. Yes.

And...

You just bend, for example,
this branch.

You... Like a little bit up. OK.

I would say that was
a little bit busy,

so we cut that off, like that.

You just bend like this.

OK, you just bend it
without breaking it.

Yeah, without breaking. Yeah.

You have to be very careful.
Careful.

You need a very high technique
in bending,

because if you cut it all,
it looks a little bit empty.

I have a suspicion
that she doesn't approve.

Oh, yes, yes. No, no,
I think you had better try bending.

OK, I better try bending it.
Yeah, because cutting is easier,

but you had better use
the technique for bending.

So, we're bending. Yeah.

I think take that.

I hope to stop cutting.
I'm going to stop cutting.

Don't worry.
I'm going to stop cutting.

And it's been so, so interesting,
actually,

that I've learnt a lot.

So, thank you. It's my pleasure.
Thank you very much indeed.

And your ikebana arrangement -
very good. Thank you.

She was being very polite,

but clearly,
I was a profound disappointment.

But I enjoyed myself enormously,

although, like everything
to do with Japanese gardens,

ikebana is so much more
than first impressions may imply.

It is essentially the carefully
modulated control of space, or ma,

and that captures
a specific moment in time.

And you can see this
everywhere you look

just as clearly as you can
in a vase of flowers.

I've seen so much
and crammed so much in

that I think I need to take a break.

Japanese culture is very different
in lots of ways.

The more you learn,
the more you realise.

The meticulous attention to detail

is as evident in their sushi
as it is in their gardens,

and I'm struck just by
how deliberate everything is.

Nothing is done by accident

and everything has reference points

that you really do need
to know about

in order to fully appreciate them.

So, I'm going to go away,
think about it,

but I shall come back.

Next time,
amongst the autumn colours,

I will explore the many forms
of stroll garden...

So, you should see the garden

as a scroll
that you move along like that? Yes.

..and the ways
the Japanese are bringing nature

to their concrete jungle...

Playing with this idea
of the inside, the outside.

..with a few unexpected detours
along the way.

This is not what you would expect
to see in the middle of Tokyo.