Sapporo might have been built by some of the greatest minds from America, but the foreign influences have been effortlessly assimilated into the veins of the local residents, writes Rebecca Ilham
WHEN the rain that greets my arrival at the Sapporo train station doesn’t cease even after an hour of enjoying a cup of coffee, I open my umbrella and bravely venture out. My first intended destination is to the north of the main transportation hub in this capital city of Hokkaido Prefecture, but locating it is not difficult compared to my futile attempt not to get drenched.
In no time at all I find myself in front of Akarenga, which literally means Red Brick Building. This red clay building with a green roof, which used to house the old Hokkaido Government Office upon its completion in the late 19th century, is modelled after the Massachusetts State House in the United States. I walk around the building, marvelling and admiring its garden.
Apart from the bright-coloured flowers in front of the building, there are two ponds on either side of it, where pink lotuses bloom gracefully amidst the sea of wide, fan-like green leaves. They immediately snap me back to reality — that Akarenga, a building without the slightest trace of Japanese element, is actually situated in Japan.
AMERICANS IN SAPPORO
To err is human. After all, Sapporo, the fifth largest city in the country, was developed in the late 19th century. During the Meiji Restoration era, when Japan opened up to the outside world, American engineers, architects and scientists were invited by the local government to help plan and construct a modern city. The result is an urban area with grid-like street blocks not unlike the ones found in America, transplanted on the hostile land previously exclusively populated by the indigenous Ainu people.
So the neo-American architecture of Sapporo’s major buildings is a natural course of flow, I discover as I make my way to another local landmark — the Sapporo Clock Tower. This ivory-coloured wooden building was built in 1878 as a military drill hall for Sapporo Agricultural University (predecessor to Hokkaido University), but was later converted into a museum to commemorate the pioneers of higher education in Hokkaido.
A two-storied building, it is distinctively foreign, with large framed windows not unlike a mansion of a well to do Midwestern American family during that time. The best thing is, even though the Clock Tower now serves as a cultural attraction, its clock, which was installed in 1881, is still functional. The chime, which is accurate to the second, is an integral part of the city’s residents’ everyday’s life.
BE AMBITIOUS
Just 10 minutes on foot is the campus of Hokkaido University. To say that I am surprised is an understatement. In truth, I am shocked to see such a different ambiance inside the university’s compound.
Unlike other Japanese university campuses that have rows of gingko trees along their main streets, Hokkaido University’s central lawn is dotted with huge primal trees, while its lush green lawn invites students, staff and visitors alike to sit down and relax.
There’s a man-made pebbled stream nearby channelling water from an original river that flows through the area, providing much-needed relief to the academic community after a hard day at work. The bronze bust of the university’s founder, Dr William S. Clark, can be seen near the lawn. He is mostly famous for a gutsy quote addressed to his students: “Boys, be ambitious.”
But the gem of the campus would be the Furakawa Hall. It might look like another off-white wooden building in the city after the Clock Tower, but Furukawa Hall was completed in the French Renaissance style.
A part of the Graduate School of Medicine, it transports me to my alma mater in Colorado, where buildings of similar architecture dominate the campus ground. I can only imagine how beautiful it would look in winter, when its roof and lawn are covered in foot-deep snow!
Hokkaido University doesn’t forget its root, though. Just next to Furukawa Hall lies the 1.2km long Gingko Avenue — where the wide street is bordered by lines of tall gingko trees. In summer, the trees provide much needed shade from the harsh August sunshine, while in autumn, the leaves turn into gold, as if giving the city one last cheer before the long winter season arrives.
UNIQUE LEGACY
It is absolutely impossible to miss the ultimate feature of modern American urban planning in Sapporo — Odori Park. Spanning six blocks long, I make multiple stops at this elongated park, which was initially reserved as a firebreak that separated the downtown area from the administrative district in 1871. There are many charming spots along the separated sections that catch my fancy.
A crowd favourite the park. Designed by Tachu Naito, who is also responsible for the architecture of Tokyo Tower, this bright vermillion structure that has an electronic clock visible from far, beautifully contrasts the greenery in its surrounding. The view of the park from the tower’s observatory is said to be breathtaking, but I am satisfied with the sights from ground level.
Just like its counterpart in the United States, the famous Central Park, Odori Park not only offers greenery to the monochrome skyscrapers in the city, but is also a public space that encourages human interactions and recreational activities.
I am lucky to be able to participate in the Hokkaido Marathon, which starts and ends at the park, and see how landscape and human camaraderie transform the park into a lively area.
Sapporo might be built by some of the greatest minds from America, yet instead of consuming, the foreign influences have been effortlessly assimilated into the veins of the local residents.
This seals a long-lasting, unique legacy that is not only pleasing to the eyes but, most importantly, something we all can learn from.