Akasaka Palace

Listen first to the gravel. Every step across the wide forecourt makes a soft, dry crunch. Then the sound of the city fades behind the high iron fence. In front of you, a long pale facade spreads its two wings outward, almost like open arms. Green copper roofs sit above columns and tall windows. For a moment, it is easy to forget that you are in central Tokyo, only a short walk from a busy train station.

This is Akasaka Palace, known in Japan as the State Guest House. Today the Japanese government uses it to welcome kings, queens, presidents and prime ministers on official visits. But it was not built for foreign guests. It began life in the early twentieth century as a home for the Crown Prince, the young man who later became Emperor Taisho. Construction ran through the first decade of the 1900s, and the building was completed in 1909.

To understand why a European-style palace stands here, think about the Meiji era. In the late nineteenth century, Japan opened rapidly to the outside world. The country set out to show Western powers that it could match them in industry, law and architecture. A palace in the grand European manner was a statement. It said, quite clearly, that Japan had arrived as a modern nation and could build at the highest international standard.

The architect was Katayama Tokuma, one of the first generation of Japanese architects trained in Western design. He studied under the British architect Josiah Conder, who taught in Tokyo and shaped early modern building in Japan. Katayama travelled abroad to study palaces and gather materials and ideas. The result is in the Neo-Baroque style — a revival of the dramatic, richly decorated European architecture of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Many visitors compare the building to the palaces of France.

Here is the first surprise. Look closely, and this European palace is full of Japanese details. Along the roofline, some visitors notice figures dressed in traditional Japanese armour, standing where a European palace might place classical gods or soldiers. Inside and out, motifs such as the chrysanthemum, the flower of the imperial family, appear in the decoration. The building looks foreign at first glance. Yet it carries Japanese symbols in its stone, metal and paint.

The palace's early years did not go quite as planned. Its scale and Western luxury felt unfamiliar, and the imperial family used it less than its builders may have hoped. One often-told story says that Emperor Meiji considered it too extravagant when he saw it. That tale is popular, but treat it as a story rather than firm record. What is certain is that the building spent long stretches with only limited use as a residence.

After the Second World War, the palace passed from the imperial household to the state. For several decades it took on very practical jobs. It housed the National Diet Library, Japan's national library, for a time. Government offices worked inside it. It also served the organisers of the Tokyo Olympic Games of 1964. Imagine librarians and civil servants at their desks under gilded ceilings designed for a prince.

In the 1960s, the government decided to turn the palace into an official guest house for foreign dignitaries. A major renovation followed, and it reopened in its new role in 1974. Since then, it has hosted state guests and important international meetings, including summit gatherings of world leaders. When you walk here, you are on the same path that motorcades follow when heads of state arrive for official welcomes.

Here is the second surprise. In 2009, the building was designated a National Treasure of Japan. It was the first structure from the Meiji period to receive that status. That is remarkable in a country where the title usually goes to ancient temples, shrines and castles. A Western-style palace only a century old now stands in the same category as some of Japan's oldest wooden buildings.

Inside, the formal halls each have their own character. The Asahi no Ma, the Hall of the Morning Sun, takes its name from a ceiling painting of the sun goddess on a chariot. The Sairan no Ma is white and gold, with mirrors and chandeliers. The Kacho no Ma, the Hall of Flowers and Birds, is famous for oval panels of cloisonné — enamel work fired onto metal — showing birds and flowers in soft colours.

There is also the Hagoromo no Ma, named after a Japanese legend about a heavenly feather robe. Its ceiling shows painted musical instruments and drapery, and the room was once intended for music and dancing. As you move through these rooms, notice the mix of materials: marble, gilded plaster, silk, polished wood and crystal. Photography is not allowed inside, so this is a place to look slowly and remember with your eyes.

When you step back outside, walk around to the garden behind the palace. A large fountain stands there, ringed with sculpted figures, with neat lawns and trimmed trees on either side. The rear facade is quieter than the front, and many people find the view of the building across the water more balanced. Elsewhere on the grounds there is a Japanese-style annex with a traditional garden, which can sometimes be visited on a separate tour.

Before you leave, stand still once more on the gravel and look back at the facade. Notice how the light moves across the pale stone and catches the gilded ironwork of the gate. Listen for the fountain, the footsteps, the quiet voices of other visitors. This building was made to impress the world. Today it does something simpler. It lets anyone stand for a moment where emperors and presidents once stood, and look.