Manhole Covers

Felicia made her first visit to Japan with me in October 2018. In fact, apart from a short trip to Ireland some 15 years earlier, Japan was only the second overseas country she had ever visited. To Felicia, nearly everything in Japan was new and fascinating. She was enthralled by Japan and I was immensely happy that, some 12 years into our relationship, she was at last able to see with her own eyes a place that had meant so much to me for so long.

Our trip began in Tokyo, and continued to Kamakura, where Felicia fell in love with the beauty of the city and perhaps even more so with a ride on the Enoden  (江ノ島電気鉄道), the magical single-track private rail line that connects a half-dozen or so small towns between Kamakura Station and Fujisawa. The train runs through these towns along Sagami Bay, right between the houses, so clickety-clacking so close that passengers can practically snatch laundry off people’s drying poles and peer into their kitchens.  

Then there was the food. Felicia is a foodie and loves delicious food. I’m not so fussy. With the exception of raw fish – a non-starter even for her even before we went to Japan – she liked most of the food that was set in front of her.

We walked a lot, and as we walked, Felicia looked left, right, up….and eventually down. And in looking down, she made a discovery that filled her with delight for the remainder of our journey: manhole covers.

Yes: manhole covers. In the U.S., a manhole cover is usually a pedestrian thing, a heavy, typically round chunk of ductile iron that covers a street utility hole. Manhole covers typically have some kind of non-slip pattern cast into their surface and perhaps the name of the municipality and the word “sewer” or “water.” In Japan, however, manhole covers are something more. They are an opportunity for design and an expression of civic pride.

Here’s a manhole cover from the city of Tochigi: 

This is a basic manhole cover, and it simply says “Tochigi Gas.” But the patterning is beautiful, rhythmic, and it caught Felicia’s eye.

            The city of Chiba takes pride in its sewerage infrastructure. This sewer cover is adorned with the official flower of Chiba, the oleander (kyōchikutō, キョウチクトウ) and the city bird, the little tern (koajisashi, コアジサシ) :

             This manhole cover in the town of Mashiko celebrates the town flower, the lily (yuri, ユリ) and the town bird, the Japanese nightingale (uguisu, 鶯). But the upper right and lower left quadrants of this manhole cover celebrate the most characteristic industry of Mashiko: ceramics.  

Thanks to the quality of the local clay, Mashiko has been a folk pottery center since the mid-19th century. In 1930, Shōji Hamada (1894-1978) set up a kiln to produce pots in the folk art style ( mingei, 民藝). Hamada had been strongly influenced by Bernard Leach (1887-1979), the renowned English “studio potter/” (Studio potters are artistic potters who, in contrast to commercial potters, make unique pots or pots in short runs, again honoring and building upon folk traditions.) Leach’s had a major influence on modern Japanese ceramics, and that influence can be felt by visitors to Mashiko who participate in a tōgei taiken (陶芸体験), or “ceramics experience.”  Felicia and I tried wheel throwing at a studio run by a pair of sweet elderly potters. They were very kind and patient with us, rank amateurs. Not surprisingly, Felicia was far better at raising the clay on the potter’s wheel than I. My efforts yielded pots with thick, bulky walls and heavy bottoms, while hers were more delicate and refined. The pots were fired and shipped to us, arriving a month or so after we returned home from Japan.

            This is a sewer manhole cover from the city of Hirosaki in Aomori Prefecture in the far north of Honshu:

Aomori is known as an apple-growing region, hence the iconic apple. The swastika in the center, of course, is problematic. Tragically appropriated by the Nazis before and during World War II and favored still by far-right hate groups, the symbol actually has a history of several thousand years and is deeply embedded in Hindu and Buddhist iconography. Hirosaki was an important castle town in the feudal era (Edo Period) that ended with the 1869 Meiji Restoration and Japan’s entry in to the modern age. The town and its castle were the seat of the Tsugaru Clan (津軽家), and the manji was the symbol of the Tsugaru. It should be noted that this symbol, the manji (卍) is oriented 180° opposite to the Nazi symbol (卐). The two are not to be confused with one another. The manji is typically used in Japanese maps as the symbol for Buddhist temples.  

Here is a colorful fire hydrant cover from another castle town, Himeji:

 This cover displays the city bird, the Oriental stork (kōnotori, コウノトリ) and flower, the fringed orchid (sagisō, サギソウ).  The famous “original” castle, the White Egret Castle (Shirasagi-jō, 白鷺城), is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It has survived more or less intact for nearly 700 years. As a world-famous tourist destination, it’s only right that Himeji have fancy, colorful manhole covers.

            Felicia found the manhole covers of Japan to be utterly charming, whimsical expressions of civic pride in the most mundane and unexpected of places, the streets themselves. Felicia is an inveterate noticer of things. Once she spotted her first manhole cover, she found herself looking downward wherever we went, never downcast, but always in hopes of finding another manhole cover worthy of notice.