All language subtitles for Monty Dons Japanese Gardens 2of2 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, maples, 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.

And 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.

I'm starting this trip as I did my
first one, in spring,

by coming here to Kenroku-en,
and that's because back in April

the head gardener Mr Shishime said,

"You really must come back
and see what the garden looks
like in autumn."

So here I am.

And glowing in the autumn sunshine,
it looks pretty good.

Kenroku-en was originally created
as a private garden attached

to Kanazawa Castle, and is one
of the most celebrated in Japan.

Keeping it looking as good
as this is a big job.

I saw just how labour intensive that
work was when I was here in spring.

Six months later, it's clear
that the pace hasn't let up.

The women are still hand weeding
the moss to remove any single blades

of grass, although now accompanied
by burning coils of repellent

to keep the mosquitoes at bay.

The cherry is undoubtedly
the national tree in spring,

and the celebrations for its blossom
are huge.

But there are also great
celebrations in autumn

for the colouring of the leaf,
particularly of maples.

Now, Japan has many different
kinds of maples and they all

have these glorious hues
of yellow, orange and red.

And there's a real festive air.

The weather is glorious.

People are out and about, all due
to the falling of the autumn leaves.

And being Japan, there is a specific
term for this festivity

which literally translates
as "red leaf hunting".

This couple have come to Kenroku-en
to pose for their wedding photos.

They aren't actually getting
married till next spring

but they're starting early,
whilst the garden still provides
the perfect backdrop.

They're standing in front of the
same pines that I watched

being pruned last spring.

I now want to see the process
of Yukitsiri,

where the trees
are strung with ropes

so that they look like giant
May poles.

Hello. How nice to see you.
This looks wonderful.

I'm so glad I've seen it.

It's good to meet up again with
Mr Shishime, the head gardener,

and he explains that these rope
structures are there to protect

the trees from snow damage.

He takes me off to show me
how it's done.

Vertical bamboo poles are lashed
to the trunk

and then dozens of rice straw ropes
a carefully lowered from the top

to be tied to the branches, which
prevents them from bending

and even breaking under
the weight of the snow.

The gardening team make
this complicated and precise process

looked deceptively easy.

Yes, of course. I'd love to.
I'd absolutely love to.

I realise that the invitation is
a rare honour that I can't possibly

refuse, but it is a little daunting.

OK. You show me the correct
way to do it.

Yeah.

Very simple. Very simple.
I'll do it.

I'm very honoured.

I'm fatter than you.

Cor blimey! There we are,
that's better. Very beautiful.

I have to say that wearing proper
Japanese secateurs is probably

the summit of my life's
ambitions and dreams.

I'm just going to savour this moment
for one second.

Right. Now I'm ready to go.

OK, let's come on up.

Just going up a little bit higher.

If I fall, it won't matter terribly.

Here we go. So...

Actually, no. Hang on a minute.
It wants to go...that way.

It all looks so simple on the ground

and yet now I've completely
forgotten how to tie the knot.

So we tie here.

And then like that.

Is that right?

Now cut. Yes, of course.

OK.

That's my contribution to the
garden for this year.

There is an intensive one-month
period of Yukitsiri at Kenroku-en,

and that can take up to 500
gardeners tying up over 800 trees.

The ropes then remain until March,
when the snow begins to melt.

When I was here in spring,
I wasn't quite sure how to react

to all the struts and supports
that you inevitably see

in a Japanese garden.

Some of them really quite
dominant on the larger trees.

But watching the strings being tied
and I suddenly got it.

What I realised is it's all part
of the same performance.

In other words, the strings holding
up the branches are as significant

and as important to the garden
as the branches themselves.

And the Japanese enjoy
and celebrate it all equally.

Right across Japan millions
of people make a special outing

to their favourite viewing spots

during the red leaf hunting
autumn season.

Although it's a weekday in November,
Kenroku-en is crowded

with people enjoying the beauty
of the magnificent display.

It's been an absolute joy to come
back to Kenroku-en and see it

in its autumn clothes.

But it is time to move on,
so the next stop is Kyoto.

When I first visited Kyoto
back in spring I traced some

of the history of Japanese gardens.

Eighth century boating gardens,

through the use of moss in
Buddhist temples,

to a 12th century tea garden

and the 15th century zen gardens.

I'm now back to pick up that story

at the start of the 17th century

during the Edo period.

This is Nijo Castle.

Although Japanese castles were built
as military strongholds,

by the 17th century it was a period
of sustained peace.

Their gardens were becoming
a major feature.

This one at Nijo Castle was made
in 1603 for the Shogun,

who was the political and military
leader of Japan.

The garden, set amongst the huge
halls and defensive walls,

was all part of the display
of his power,

wealth and sophistication.

And then in 1626, the Emperor
came to visit.

So the whole place was revamped,

the castle was made larger

and the garden was also rebuilt.

This was a major reconstruction
just for this one visit.

A new palace was built on the
southern side of the enlarged pond,

creating a new viewpoint to admire
the remodelled rocks and water.

The palace built specially for the
emperor has long since disappeared,

but the footprint remains
of a corridor that ran

down here and this
was the foundation stone.

And then there was a little pavilion
going out over the water.

The whole layout of the garden
was altered

to look its best viewed
from this point.

So when he sat here he would be
duly impressed

by its beauty and grandeur.

The pond features three islands -

the Island Of The Immortals,
to entice the gods to Nijo,

flanked by two smaller ones,

Crane Island and Turtle Island,

both of which represent longevity.

Over and above the history, I find
the mechanics of a garden like this

so extraordinary because all these
stones are placed

with exquisite precision and yet
they're colossal.

I mean, look at this bridge.

It's an enormous lump of rock.

And I have no idea how on earth
they managed it.

This garden has an austerity
that doesn't alter with the seasons

but just as at Kenroku-en,

the grounds here are filled
with visitors

enjoying the maples
in their seasonal glory.

People of all ages are strolling
happily in the sun.

And like me, exploring the market
stalls that sell a wide range

of suitably autumnal fare.

And although it was only available
once upon a time to a
privileged few,

any visitor can now enjoy
a traditional tea ceremony

within the historic walls
of the castle and its garden.

I'm setting off again now because
I want to visit some stroll gardens,

which are one of the most
enduring forms

of all the Japanese garden styles.

There are different kinds and forms

of stroll garden from different
historical periods

and to visit the first

means crossing the country

to the capital, Tokyo.

The garden of Rikugien is a fine
example of a classic stroll garden.

Set in the middle of this crowded
chaotic city,

it's an oasis of calm
and beautiful serenity.

Stroll gardens were a new style
of garden design that evolved

in the 17th century.

And whereas rock gardens
were completely static

and Tea Gardens just had a simple
path to the teahouse,

the whole essence of a stroll
garden was that you moved around it,

around these curving paths
along a series of viewpoints

to admire vistas that
you wouldn't otherwise see

and they were created
for a new class, really.

These were the samurai that
had evolved from being the warriors

of an earlier period
to a moneyed elite.

And they made these gardens as an
expression of privilege and power.

The garden was completed in 1702
by a samurai lord,

and it remained in private hands
until 1938

when it was donated to the Tokyo
city government

who turned it into a public park.

So whereas for centuries only
a tiny handful of the elite

had access to it,

Rikugien can now be enjoyed
by everyone.

The garden has evolved to a certain
extent

but the function
has not changed at all.

The garden's name, Rikugien, refers
to the six principles of poetry

originating from ancient China,

and the layout of the garden is
based on a collection of poems

describing the scenery of
Wakayama Bay in southern Japan.

The guide Eriko Yokohama
explained it to me.

The founder of this garden tried
to reproduce the 88 points

of beautiful scenery in the garden,
and they put the stone markers,

88 stone markers in each place.

So these are the little stone
pillars you see. Yes.

So the idea is that you walk
around and stand at each

and then look out
and there is a scene. Yes.

Now, I see the garden is beginning
to be prepared for winter.

But I don't know what these
straw mats...

Very beautiful. Yes.
Around the pine trees.

Could you tell me about them?

The bad insect go into the straw mat

and then try to keep warm during
the winter time.

They cannot go down because
the lower part is tied very tightly.

So in March they take out the
straw mats and burn it.

So that's a very ecological way
of destroying the bad insects.

In Japan even pest control
is made into

a refined and traditional
form of decoration.

Each bend reveals a dramatic vista
and to have such a superb garden,

open to all, in the heart of
one of the busiest cities

in the world is a great luxury.

I'm now going to pick up the story

of these gardens at the beginning
of the 20th century.

As we discovered in the last
programme, that's when,

as a result of a great Japanese
exhibition in 1910,

the British became fascinated
by all things Japanese

and there was even a brief fashion

for making Japanese gardens
back home.

But there is a garden not
far from Rikugien

which shows the other side
of that coin.

You would be forgiven for thinking
that here was another

typically Japanese garden.

There are maples, stone lanterns,

cloud pruning,
the familiar repertoire.

But walk up the steps
to the next level

and you are greeted with a view
that is anything but typical.

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

It's an English garden made by a man
called Josiah Conder in 1917.

He was born in Surrey and Conder had
come to Japan to be a professor.

He's regarded really as the father

of modern western Japanese
architecture.

And as a result is a revered
figure here in Japan.

This is his enduring contribution.

And what's fascinating about it
is that it is not just a slice of
the West,

it's a slice of the West
100 years ago.

At the very same time that Japanese
gardens were being introduced

to Britain, Conder was making a very
English garden here at Kyu-Furukawa.

It's strange for me to see roses
blooming in the middle of November

but because of the hot, wet Tokyo
summers they're pruned back hard

after their first May flowering

and then have this second display
in autumn.

Amongst the 90 or so varieties
are some very familiar names

including Queen Elizabeth.

And there's New Dawn

and Dorothy Perkins.

There are an unusual proportion
of hybrid teas,

which are a cross between
China and shrub roses.

But of course these were immensely
popular in the early 20th century

when this garden was made.

This is probably one of most
famous roses ever grown.

It's called Peace and I like
the story behind it,

particularly in an English garden
here in Japan.

It was developed in France just
before the Second World War

but there was no time to trademark
the name or even think of it.

And so cuttings were sent
all around the world

as the Germans were invading France.

These cuttings were grown on
by different people and all given

different names but after the war,
the French grower contacted

the British Field Marshal Alan
Brooke and said could it be

called after him. He said no, it
would be much better if the rose

was known by the name of Peace.

So that's what it was called
wherever it had been grown,

and immediately was successful.

Hundreds of millions of this rose
have been sold and grown

all over the world and it continues
to be one of the very best

hybrid teas ever developed.

The colour that these roses bring
to the garden is exceptional

here in Japan, and this clearly
delights the many visitors.

I'm hoping that the director
of the garden, Atsuko Hanafusa,

can explain that fascination.

There are lots of visitors here.

Do you think that people see
these flowers as exotic?

Because of course for us
in Britain, they're very normal.

If people like the roses so much,

why do we not see more roses

or indeed flowers
in Japanese gardens?

Conder's very British, very
Edwardian garden

reflects a period when Japan was
rapidly Westernising,

but it remains an exotic oddity
here in the middle of Tokyo.

And for me it's been a surprising
treat to see such a big collection

of superb hybrid tea roses.

They've become very unfashionable.

But this garden, locked in a time
warp on the other side of the world,

shows that they can be
exquisitely beautiful.

Before I head to my next garden
I'm going to make a detour,

to a suburb north of Tokyo called

Kawaguchi that's known for being
a gardening hub.

I'm visiting a garden centre located
at an intersection

between two motorways.

It's what is known as a roadside
station or pit stop,

which are government designated rest
areas found along major roads

and highways all over Japan.

Instead of the all-purpose
service station,

these pit stops promote tourism
and trade by only selling specific

local goods and produce.

Wherever I travel I like to visit
nurseries and garden centres as well

as the gardens of the great
and the good.

Because as a gardener it's just
as informative to find out what

real people are buying and planting
in their gardens

as admiring the finished product.

The thing that strikes me straight
away about this place

is the sheer size of it.

It's bigger than anything
I've seen in the UK,

with a huge variety of plants
and seeds.

I mean, it's actually a fascinating
mix of plants.

You would never,
never see this in Europe.

And some of the prices are
jaw droppingly high.

You wouldn't find such
expensive plants

in your average British
garden centre.

That's £1,000.

That is just amazing.

Hello. Hi. What are you buying
today? What are you looking for?

And what do you like to grow?

What's your favourite plants to grow
in your garden?

It's interesting that this lady
is buying brightly coloured plants

like violets and pansies that seem
to me to be very Western,

which is in stark contrast
to the more subdued tones

of the traditional Japanese
gardens I've seen so far.

Hello. What are you buying here?

Do you like these? Do you grow
them at home?

Do you garden a lot?
Do you have a big garden?

Coming here has been a fascinating
lesson in what private gardening

is like in Japan because it seems
that people are selecting things

that are much more ephemeral and
colourful than the received idea

of what a Japanese garden
looks like.

I'm continuing my education by
heading back to the garden capital

of Japan, Kyoto.

And I'm now going to follow the
development of the stroll garden

from the 17th century and visit one
that was made at the end

of the 19th century and that is
starting to absorb Western changes.

Murin-an is a Meiji era
stroll garden.

Its purpose was not only to show off
the wealth and power of the owner

but also to provide entertainment
for important guests.

So this garden, like all stroll
gardens of every period,

is designed to have a series of
changing views

as you follow a path that weaves
through water and rocks,

trees and shrubs and often
incorporates borrowed landscapes.

And although the garden is actually
a little more than an acre

with clever design that both reveals
distant wooded hills and hides

the surrounding city,
it seems much larger.

The garden was completed in 1898,

and was designed by one of the
leading garden designers

of the period, Ogawa Jihee,

and the home of one of Japan's
most powerful leaders -

the future prime minister
General Yamagata Aritomo.

Murin-an shows some of the growing
western influence

by successfully combining many
traditional Japanese features

with the tightly mown lawns
of an English country garden.

I think anybody who's gardened
in the West takes grass for granted,

but you can't do that in Japan.

And to see grass on this scale
is really unusual.

It's Western.

Grass and moss flow equally
into each other.

And if ever there was a symbol

for Western influence
and Japanese culture,

it's the way that those two
work together.

General Yamagata was a garden
designer in his own right

and had close involvement
with the creation of Murin-an.

He specified the exact location
of the waterfall in the far corner

of the garden, close to both the
road and the nearby Lake Biwa canal.

And the canal had been built in the
1880s to help reinvigorate industry

in Kyoto, and it was Yamagata
himself who had signed off

the permission for its construction.

Perhaps that's why he felt that he
could simply siphon off water

from it into the garden
and the pretence that he gave

was that it was necessary
for fire control.

The result is the garden now
has this splendid stream

running through it,
opening out into a pond

and creating movement and energy
right through the middle of it.

Mr Yamagata made a teahouse in the
garden and the Emperor learnt

of this and sent him a gift of two
pine trees, which he planted.

Now, because the Emperor sent them

he looked after them with special
attention.

The pines flourished and as Yamagata
wrote,

"They were like dragons rising
through the clouds."

He sent a photo of them
to the Emperor

who replied in the form of a short
poem expressing his pleasure

and the hope that the pine trees
would keep Yamagata company

for many years to come.

Now, they're no longer here
but the place is marked

by these stone squares.

In fact there's another younger pine
growing inside one of them.

But they're all part of
the history of the garden.

The use of the borrowed landscape
of the distant wooded hills

expands the sense of space.

The gardeners maintain this illusion
by pruning the surrounding barrier

of trees to just the right height
so that they frame the mountains

whilst hiding the invading
city skyline.

Two things strike me most
about this.

The first is that the trees
are actually much smaller

than they look from a distance.

And that's because the garden uses
really clever perspective.

But more importantly is
because they are pruning it,

you see the borrowed landscape.

So the hillside in the far distance
becomes part of the garden

and that makes the garden
seem much bigger.

And that feature of the
borrowed landscape

is a really important part of the
next garden I'm going to see.

This is Tairyu-Sanso, another turn
of the century stroll garden

not far from Murin-an.

I had expected that the garden
would be best appreciated

by following the paths but was told
that the most spectacular views

were from inside the building.

So I put on the clean white socks
I'd been instructed to bring...

..and gingerly stepped
into this immaculate house.

It was good advice, because the
garden does look superb from here.

At this time of year when you get
that rosy spread,

the maples and the cherries as

the autumn colour begins to hit it,

it really does feel
as good as any painting.

And someone said to me that
the European aristocracy

collected paintings for their houses

whereas the wealthy Japanese

made living art out of
their gardens.

And just like any good work of art,
there are no irrelevant

or chance details.

So the boat in the foreground
perfectly plays with perspective.

And the waterfall and the water mill
are all composed

as carefully as a painting.

If you wanted to hire someone

to create your garden as a living

work of art then you needed the best
designer,

and Jihee Ogawa was the man
of the moment.

He had designed Murin-an
ten years earlier

so he was hired here to do the same
sort of thing,

which is to create a landscape

that feels grand and dramatic,

packed with these extraordinary
tableaux and views.

And yet in the middle of Kyoto,

in a relatively small space.

This garden, believe it or not,
is only just over half the size

of my own garden at home.

Yet it seems huge.

With the water running everywhere,
trees rising up the hillside,

the scale is enormous,

even though the space
is very limited.

I'm hearing two waterfalls.

At this spot right now we pass

from one waterfall to the other,
but I can only see one.

So when I'm back there, I'm assuming

that the sound comes from the water
that I can see.

But in fact, there's another one.

And the garden is full of those
sleights of hand

so when you're sitting on the
balcony looking out on this tableau,

this beautiful scene, the sound
accompaniment is working perfectly,

but from a completely
different source.

Tairyu-Sanso is one of the few

privately-owned historic gardens
in Kyoto.

It is immaculately maintained
and exemplifies the almost

obsessional artistry and detail
behind Japanese gardens.

Stroll gardens remain as popular
today in Japan

as they were in the Edo period.

And there are lots to see in Kyoto.

But there is one modern one in
particular that I want to visit
while I'm here.

In the first programme
I went to see a garden...

..designed by Mirei Shigemori.

And he had taken a traditional idea
and given it a real modern twist.

And at this temple on the outskirts
of Kyoto,

I am told that he has done the same
thing with the stroll garden.

This is Matsuo-taisha, which is one
of Kyoto's oldest shrines.

Its origins can be traced
back to 700 AD.

The story is that a nobleman
on horseback came across a turtle

bathing under a waterfall.

This was a profoundly
auspicious sign

because turtles are considered
symbols of longevity and wisdom,

so he founded the shrine
on the spot.

In 1973, a new series of buildings
were completed.

Mirei Shigemori was commissioned
to make gardens to accompany them.

Shigemori based this garden upon
the ancient Chinese legend

of this winding stream.

And cups of sake would be put
into the water

so it would work its way downstream
to reach poets,

to give them inspiration to write
suitable verses for their masters.

And what's really unusual
is actually the water itself,

because Shigemori hardly ever
liked to use actual water.

Tending to use gravel or sand
to represent it instead.

I really like the way that Shigemori
manages to convey the idea

of a large landscape

in what is really quite a
small space.

It captures the essence

of a whole hillside,

and the stream running through it.

Tomotaka has been a priest
here for over 15 years,

so he can tell me
how this garden has evolved.

I gather that you saw this garden
very early on.

What did it look like then?

So, why do you think
that that has changed?

What has made those stones mellow?

So a new garden, sooner or later,
becomes an old garden?

Thank you very much indeed.
Thank you.

Shigemori died shortly
after this garden was made,

and it was left to his son

to realise his designs
for the rest of the shrine.

Shigemori was a master of taking
traditional styles

and combining them with modern,
conceptual ideas

to create his gardens.

However, the priest Tomotaka
told me that some feel

that this can't be considered
a proper Japanese garden,

and that it is more akin
to modern art.

Well, there are those, like myself,

who consider that not to be
criticism, but high praise.

38 million people
live in Greater Tokyo,

and the city is set to have
the world's highest population
density by 2030.

So it's not surprising
that a garden of any kind

is a luxury that many don't have.

However, the Japanese
have other ways

to bring a little greenery
into their lives.

One method is to shrink everything
down to a smaller scale.

It doesn't matter what style or age
of garden you find here in Japan,

the trees and shrubs are invariably
tightly pruned and controlled.

But none more so than bonsai.

And bonsai I think, is something
everybody associates with Japan.

And I've come to a suburb of Tokyo

which is improbably called
Bonsai Village,

to meet a bonsai master.

The word "bonsai" simply means,
"planted in a shallow container".

It originally came from China,

arriving in Japan at the start
of the 14th century.

There are different regional styles.

Tokyo encourages stubbier trees,

whereas those in Kyoto
focus more on elegance.

But every specimen starts out
as an ordinary plant,

and it's only skilful pruning
and careful training

that eventually turns it into
a miniature representation

of a fully-grown tree.

Some of which can be
hundreds of years old.

This is the bonsai nursery
Fuyo-en, run by Hiroshi Takeyama,

a world-renowned bonsai master.

And he's agreed to give me a lesson
on the essence of bonsai pruning.

Hello.

Now, I'm be very interested for you
to show me what you're doing.

Yes.

So a nice shape.

Yes. So there's your last cut,
there.

Yes. So we cut...

I just cut there, yeah? Yes, yes.

Oh, wow! Very handsome.

There, it's grown a lot.

That's got very dense, hasn't it?

It's got a smooth,
smooth triangular shape.

So you have this shape here.

Thank you very much.

It's always good to have a lesson
from a master,

although I appreciate
that was very elementary.

And I also appreciate that bonsai
is an ancient, ancient tradition

that is very popular today because
it's small, but it's not modern.

And that's what I want to go
and see now,

is modern gardening
for a modern world.

I've come here for a lesson
in kokedama,

that translates as "moss balls".

Hello. Hello.

Kokedama is becoming
increasingly popular,

and is a simple way of bringing
a piece of living garden

into the smallest home.

Chie Kishimoto runs workshops
on modern kokedama,

and has kindly agreed to give me
a crash course.

Well, I think that is
very beautiful,

so I'd love to learn how to make
something like that.

Could you show me? Hai.

So turn that over. OK.

Right. So just take this

and wrap it round, just right round
the whole thing? Mm.

So it's got a nice little blanket.
Mm.

Now, what is this?

OK, so, now we wrap it up?

Now, if you saw me wrap
my Christmas presents,

you would realise that this is going
to end badly. OK.

Well, I will do my best.

And why does it have to be cotton?

So that goes round... OK.

I'm going to have to put my glasses
on cos I can't really see it.

Ah.

OK. OK.

THEY CHUCKLE

So it's a tomato
rather than an aubergine.

Oh, come on, this is not too bad!
This could be worse.

So we cut that.

Yeah?

Gosh, that's very clever. Mm.

Clever, but difficult.

There we are. Yes! We're in! Hai.

Well, I give...

It's a sad comparison, but OK.

Well, I think it's very beautiful,
and I love the delicacy of it.

Thank you. Thank you very much
for showing me how to do that.

SHE CHUCKLES

Kokedama are fun,
as well as being a way

of bringing a touch of nature
into the home,

which is clearly a good thing.

However, on a larger scale,
the opportunities to create

new public gardens in Tokyo
are few and far between.

But the government has recognised
their importance

and is starting to do
something about that.

For all the huge buildings
and numbers of people in Tokyo,

there is a concerted effort
to green the city.

In fact, there is now a law
that every building that is either
new or refurbished

over 3,000 square metres,

must have 20% of
its exterior surface,

including the roof, that is green.

As a result, there are many new roof
gardens across the city.

Like this one, up on top of
a shopping centre,

with a bullet train running
just a few feet away.

And although it is an eclectic mix

of Mediterranean
and Japanese plants,

it is, nevertheless, a green space.

And the result is that
this overpopulated,

frenetic, extraordinarily-busy city,

is becoming more pleasant for people
to live in,

and environmentally,
much more friendly.

Another unlikely place to find
a garden

is in one of the world's
busiest airports.

Right in the middle of
the domestic departure lounge

of Tokyo's main airport, Haneda,

is a permanent growing oasis.

It's a garden made by a man
who will be familiar to millions

of people in the UK,

because it's designed by
Mr Ishihara,

who has shown at Chelsea Flower Show
for 14 years,

and, in the process, collected
no less than ten gold medals.

In fact, this garden is based upon
one that he showed

at the 2011 Chelsea Flower Show,

and was opened here after
the earthquake of the same year

as a statement of the enduring
strength and beauty of Japan.

And a garden in the middle of
a busy airport

somehow makes sense here,

because the Japanese have
clearly learnt to utilise

all the space that they can
to create little islands of calm.

Mr Ishihara, hello.
Nice to meet you.

And you. How are you?
I'm very good. Nice to see you,

and to see this garden. Thank you.

Please... I'd love to see inside it,
yes, please.

Because it's interesting, this
garden doesn't appear very Japanese

when you first see it.

And what have been the problems
of maintaining a garden here?

Because a show garden for Chelsea
is there for one week.

This has now been here
for nearly seven years.

How easy has that been?

Really? So a difficult environment
to make a garden.

Well, I look forward to seeing you
at Chelsea again.

I hope you will be coming back
next year.

Yes!

Thank you. Thank you very much.

This is clearly a very tricky place
to make a garden, but it works.

It softens what would otherwise
be a hard and impersonal space.

And this greening process is not
just working in public areas.

I've heard of a private
house recently designed and built

that has incorporated the concept
into every aspect of its fabric.

And that's what I want to go and see
next.

This building is known as
the Tree-ness House.

The owner, Taka Ishii, pulled down
his original house on the site

so he could replace it
with this remarkable building.

It took eight years to build.

Finally being completed in 2017.

And from the outset, the architect,
Akihisa Hirata,

wanted to integrate nature
and man-made structure.

As a result, the garden has been
incorporated

into the very fabric
of the building.

As you wind up the outside of
the house,

it is a bit like clambering through
the branches of a tree.

And, of course, the planting
aids that sensation.

There's also a real sense
of the external wall being removed.

So these stairs, which would
normally be on the inside
of the house,

suddenly appear and take you
outside the building.

And, of course, that's the point.

It's playing with this idea of the
inside and outside of the garden,

which is normally on
a horizontal plane,

rising up and coming along with you
on this adventure.

This garden seems to me
to be a potential model

for future urban gardens.

And I asked Taka Ishii
what it's like to live in.

Now, was this your idea to create
this combination

of garden and house in this style?

No, actually, that was
the architect's idea. Right.

But I told him
that I'm an art dealer,

so always in the white cube
all the time.

So I don't want to be in the
white cube when I'm in the home.

It's a house full of levels
and shapes and forms.

It feels organic.
It feels like the house has grown.

Yes, it is.
It's like a tree, kind of. Yes.

In the forest.
I've kind of lost where I am.

Forest? It's a maze, actually,
forest, but it's...it's very fun.

Well, it's really almost as much
a garden as it is a house.

Yeah, yeah.

I spend whole seasons here.

So you can realise the new things
each season. Yes.

It's very refreshing.

One of the things that I can't help
notice, with a western eye,

is the relationship between
a sort of very beautiful

and proportioned house like this,
and other buildings... Mm-hm.

..and the amazing tangle of wires
you have.

Is that something that you think
that people would like to change,

or that nobody notices?

You live here, you don't notice
that much, actually. Yes.

But I kind of like it.

That's Tokyo. Yes.
Downtown Tokyo, I think.

OK. So, that's just the spirit
of the place?

Yeah, I think so.

There's a strong vein of tradition
at the core of this building.

Everywhere in Japan, you see
the importance of making nature

a part of one's life.

Whether that be in the
historic stroll gardens of Kyoto,

or within the walls of
an ultramodern Tokyo house.

There has been so much to take in
on this journey

that it is a little overwhelming.

So now I want to get away
from the bustle of Tokyo

to see one last garden,
in a tranquil setting.

WAVES CRASH

I've come right across the country,

to the west coast,
by the Sea of Japan.

It's been a long journey,
but it's worth it

because I've been told about
a garden here that I must visit,

which includes components
from all the many gardens

that I've visited
throughout this series.

This is the Adachi Museum at Yasugi,

and has been voted
the most beautiful garden in Japan.

There are elements in it
of every Japanese garden style.

From Zen dry gardens,

moss gardens and stroll gardens,

to borrowed landscape,

and, of course,
the obligatory maples.

The guiding spirit behind this was
Zenko Adachi,

who was a farmer's son
born and raised in a nearby village.

He created the museum
to house his art collection,

and made its surrounding garden
to provide the perfect setting.

Zenko Adachi learnt
his business acumen very early.

As a small boy, he sold charcoal.

And he only had straw sandals
to wear,

and often, he'd have to trudge
through snow

and walk ten miles every morning.

And he worked out that if he
doubled the amount of charcoal
on his barrow,

he could make a lot more money.

And that sense of entrepreneurship

very quickly earned him
a large fortune.

Throughout his life,
he travelled across Japan,

visiting gardens
and personally selecting

trees and stones to use here.

To the end of his days,
he apparently knew every detail

of every single tree and rock
in the garden.

This was his obsession
and his masterpiece.

But like all masterpieces,

you can look, but you can't touch.

The garden can only be viewed

from these large windows
inside the building.

And that means that the design
and the maintenance

and every detail of it

is geared towards that one face.

And the garden is a series
of static scenes

to be looked at like paintings.

Everything is meticulously
thought out

and maintained
like a vast Chelsea show garden.

And every clipped shrub, rock

and sweeping curve of grass

is calculated for maximum effect.

To help unravel
this virtuoso performance,

I'm catching up again
with Professor Suzuki,

who I first met back at Kenroku-en
in April.

Professor Suzuki, could you explain,

really, the philosophy
behind the garden?

That's a museum garden.

It was kind of
the miniaturised landscape,

the landscape of the seaside,

with pine trees and white sand
and the ocean.

For us, it's kind of the typical
landscape of Japan.

Very, very popular, very calm.

And it's a mother landscape,
I think.

And it's kind of our mindscape.

As well as being a mindscape,
I like the idea of that,

and a distillation,
what is most noticeable to me

is that the whole garden is designed
to be seen from these windows.

Yeah. I mean, even us sitting here,
looking out over the pond garden...

Yeah, yeah. ..it's a series
of pictures, isn't it?

Yes, it is, yes.

He was inspired by the paintings.

Like, a western painting,
it's the framing

and also the one piece
and one piece, one piece.

And also, in Japan, the traditional
way to paint, the rolling...

So a scroll, yes. Yeah. Yeah.

So you should see the garden
as a scroll that you move along...?

Right. Exactly. Yes.

It's kind of an unique scenery,
like a sequence,

with the idea of
scrolling pictures here.

I was struck by something
Professor Suzuki said,

which was that Adachi,

with all its references
to traditional Japanese gardens,

for the first time for a long while,

is inspiring
a generation of Japanese

to look at their own history
for inspiration

to create new and beautiful gardens.

Well, I've come to the end
of my time here in Japan,

and I've been so lucky.

I've seen the cherry blossom
at its very best in spring,

and now, in autumn, gardens
just raging with a fiery glory.

And I've see a whole range
of gardens, too.

From the very earliest pond gardens,

right through the rock gardens
of the Zen period,

tea gardens, stroll gardens,
up to the most modern.

And I've really started
to understand

and learn about
the handling of space.

How that the gaps between things

can be as important as
any other aspect of the garden.

And the Japanese regard every detail
to be important,

and therefore,
worthy of being beautiful.

Modern Japan still has
a real awareness of its history.

And there is still
a reverence for nature.

And, I believe, a living delight

in its gardens.