Machiya: What Were the Townhouses of Edo Like? – The Lives of Ordinary People During the Shogunate
"The Eel’s Bed"
Many of us, when thinking of old Japan, can easily imagine the residences of the samurai — sprawling estates behind high walls, filled with meticulously tended gardens and shadowy corridors scented with incense. Yet the real Japan of the Edo period, ruled with an iron hand by the Tokugawa shogunate, was not built on the shoulders of the aristocracy. As in every part of the world, it was the artisans, merchants, and laborers who fueled the engine of civilization. It was their lives, not the lives of samurai, that pulsed through the crowded alleyways of Edo, Kyoto, and Osaka. What did their daily surroundings look like? The answer lies in the machiya — the distinctive Japanese townhouses that formed the tight-knit mosaic of urban neighborhoods.
Looking from the street, one would see a modest shop façade — for the average edokko, a resident of Edo, was first and foremost an entrepreneur. Beneath the wooden latticework koshi, the sliding doors of the misenoma — the shop space — would open, and above them, there would typically be one or two floors of private living quarters. The buildings seemed incredibly narrow, often no wider than five or six meters — did they really have so little space to live? Nothing could be further from the truth. These houses were like unagi no nedoko, "eel’s beds" — narrow at the street front but stretching deep, sometimes extending thirty or forty meters back, containing within their depths even a small garden (tsuboniwa) or a tiny patio. This was not merely a matter of urban crowding but a clever response to tax law: taxes were levied based on the width of the façade, not the depth of the plot. The narrower the frontage, the lower the tax — even if the house, thanks to its length, had considerable floor space. So let us not be deceived by old photographs and paintings of Edo’s urban sprawl — these houses were not so small after all.
Thus, machiya were not only places of residence but also centers of work, the heart of family life, and spaces for children's games and neighbors' gossip. Inside, amidst the scent of cedar wood and steaming rice, unfolded areas such as the doma with its packed earthen floors, shaded tsuboniwa gardens bringing light into the deep interiors, and zashiki — guest rooms with soft tatami mats. In the morning, heavy amado shutters were lifted to open the house to the street and passersby, while at night, they were closed again against moisture and danger, under the flickering light of andon — paper lanterns glowing against the backdrop of the quieting street. The day ended with the sound of hyōshigi — clacking wooden blocks — and the calls of the fire-watch patrol (hi no yōjin): “Ne mae ni hi wo keshi mashō!” ("Let’s extinguish all lights before going to sleep!") — for fire was the greatest threat to this most populous wooden metropolis of the 19th century.
Let us explore now — what life was like in an ordinary urban machiya.
A Day in the Life of an Edokko Family
Morning in Edo begins early. Even before the first rays of the sun, when a cool mist hovers over the city’s narrow alleyways, life stirs within the machiya. From beyond the windows, the first cries of the botefuri street vendors are heard: "Hiyakkoi mizu da yo!", "Namadako, madai!", "Tokoroten! Tokoroten!" — a sign that Edo’s day has begun (more about them here: Wandering Street Vendors, the Botefuri – The Poor Entrepreneurs of Edo Who Carried the Metropolises of the Shogunate on Their Shoulders ).
Breakfast took place before the shop was opened and before the children left for the terakoya. In the depths of the house, in the oku space, the entire family would sit cross-legged around a low chabudai table. Breakfast typically consisted of a simple but nourishing meal: a steaming bowl of rice (gohan), miso-shiru — a light miso soup with seasonal vegetables or tofu, and sometimes a piece of grilled fish such as mackerel (saba), or pickled vegetables (tsukemono). Ceramic bowls were neatly arranged, and the quiet of the morning was broken only by the gentle sounds of slurping and the soft tapping of chopsticks, or the occasional drowsy conversation. Light filtered softly through the shōji paper screens, while the aroma of hot rice and fermented miso paste filled the house with the familiar scent of home — a smell that awakened the entire machiya to life.
After breakfast, the head of the household would descend along the creaking wooden floors lined with tatami into the doma — the earthen-floored front area where the shop, or misenoma (店の間), was located. Carefully, he would slide open the heavy amado (雨戸), the wooden shutters that protected the house during the night, revealing the delicate shōji — sliding paper doors. Beyond them, the world slowly awakened: street vendors set up their stalls, and familiar neighbors nodded in greeting. Soft light filtered through the narrow koshi lattices of the windows, softened further by bamboo blinds that shielded the interior from prying eyes.
The shop opened onto the street — a space where the boundary between home and city blurred. The misenoma smelled of warm wood and freshly displayed fabrics. Customers might pause at the engawa — the narrow wooden veranda at the entrance — to admire the wares or exchange a few words with the shop owner. Meanwhile, the mother busied herself deeper inside the house, in the oku (奥), cleaning up after breakfast.
The children prepared to leave. The eldest son, dressed in a simple kimono, gathered his school supplies. Today, he would attend lessons at the terakoya (more about urban education in Edo here: Terakoya Schools for the Children of Ordinary People in the Time of the Shogunate – There Are Still Things We Can Learn From Them in the 21st Century) — a small private school for the children of merchants and artisans, where he would learn calligraphy, arithmetic using the soroban abacus, reading classical literature, and perhaps even higher mathematics — wasan (Japanese Higher Mathematics – Wasan: The Samurai Art of Composing High-Degree Equations). Younger children helped out in the shop: handing goods to customers, organizing the shelves, eagerly learning the craft of commerce from their father.
At noon, when the sticky heat flooded Edo’s streets, life inside the machiya slowed down. Wooden sliding doors were left wide open, and at the back of the house, in the tiny tsuboniwa (坪庭) — the inner courtyard — water splashed in a simple bamboo fountain. The greenery of small trees and moss soothed the eyes and brought relief from the oppressive air. Though the house was narrow and deep like an unagi no nedoko — "eel’s bed" — thanks to the small garden, it still breathed. A breeze drifted from front to back, carrying the scent of moist earth and sun-warmed wood.
In the kitchen, known as the hibukuro (火袋) — the space through which smoke from the hearth escaped — the mother prepared the evening meal. The clay walls and wooden beams absorbed the heat, while the simple kamado stove hissed with boiling water for tea. Older children returned from lessons and helped water the garden plants, gently sprinkling them to reduce dust and cool the house — a practical and almost ritualistic custom.
As dusk cast long shadows in the narrow alleyways, the house once again sealed itself off from the world. The father slowly slid the amado shut, securing the entrance for the night. The final andon lanterns in the misenoma were extinguished, and deeper inside, the soft glow of another andon — a paper lantern lit with oil — flickered to life. Around it, the family gathered for dinner, sharing stories of the day. The warmth and scent of wooden walls, the soft rustle of kimono, the creaking of tatami under bent knees — all composed the intimate world of family life.
At the end of the day, the children helped their mother spread out the futons in the sleeping area, one of the deeper sections of the house. Silence settled over the low walls of the machiya, and the alley beyond the koshi lattice darkened. In the distance, one could still hear the clattering footsteps of the hi no yōjin fire patrol, rhythmically striking hyōshigi wooden clappers and calling out cautionary warnings about fire — "Ne mae ni hi wo keshi mashō!" ("Let’s extinguish all lights before going to sleep!") — a reminder to all.
In the shadow of their narrow, cozy world, the edokko family drifted into sleep — wrapped in the scent of wood, paper, and the quiet, eternal heartbeat of the city of Edo.
What Does the Name “Machiya” Mean?
The word machiya (町家 or 町屋) is composed of two kanji characters: 町 (machi, meaning “town” or “district”) and 家 (ya, meaning “house” or “residential building”). Combined, machiya literally means “town house” or “district house.” Thus, the name reflects the fundamental function of these structures: they served as residences for people connected with the urban environment — merchants, artisans, and laborers.
There are two different ways to write the word:
▫ 町家 — where 家 (ie, ya) emphasizes the residential aspect, highlighting the function of family life.
▫ 町屋 — where 屋 (ya) signifies a building, often also a shop, better representing the dual role of machiya as both home and place of business. The writing 町屋 was more common when referring to houses functioning as workshops or shops with a commercial space (misenoma).
The first known uses of the term machiya date back to the Heian period (794–1185), when in the developing city of Heian-kyō (modern-day Kyoto), rows of closely built houses for merchants and craftsmen began to appear. Initially, these buildings were not much different from simple peasant homes, but by the late Heian period, they began acquiring distinctive features: a functional division between commercial and residential spaces and narrow street-facing fronts.
During the Kamakura (1185–1333) and Muromachi (1336–1573) periods, the concept evolved further. Machiya became a permanent element of the urban landscape, and their architecture began to reflect new needs: greater building density, spatial divisions according to social hierarchy, and practical features (such as the introduction of tsuboniwa gardens for ventilation). The term machiya came into widespread use to refer to urban homes that were simultaneously residences and places of business.
Across Japan, various regional variations of machiya developed, but the most important and best-known is the kyōmachiya (京町家) — literally “Kyoto townhouses.” It is the architecture of Kyoto, with its characteristic elegance and subtle spatial divisions, that became the standard model for what is understood as a traditional machiya. In other cities, such as Kanazawa, Takayama, or Kurashiki, local variants emerged, differing slightly in construction materials, layout, or decorative details, but retaining the basic function and spirit of the machiya.
What Did a Machiya Look Like in Edo?
Architecture
A typical machiya during the Edo period was characterized by a narrow façade opening directly onto the street. This design was dictated by the taxation system of the time, which levied taxes based on the width of a building’s frontage — the wider the building facing the street, the higher the tax. To maximize space, the machiya stretched deep into the plot, often creating what was called unagi no nedoko (鰻の寝床) — an “eel’s bed.” These houses were thus long and narrow, sometimes with a length five times or more greater than their width.
At the rear of the house, there was a tsuboniwa (坪庭) — a small, internal courtyard garden that provided light and ventilation to the deep, dark interiors. During the sweltering summer months, the tsuboniwa significantly improved air circulation, while the greenery brought a touch of nature and coolness into the home.
Other characteristic architectural elements of machiya included:
▫ Koshibari (格子張り) — wooden latticework screens covering the windows, providing privacy and ventilation without completely closing off the house.
▫ Amado (雨戸) — sturdy wooden shutters pulled across windows at night or during storms for protection against rain, wind, and thieves.
▫ Inuyarai (犬矢来) — curved bamboo or wooden barriers at the base of the façade, protecting the walls from mud, stray dogs, and unwanted intruders.
The commercial space facing the street — the misenoma (店の間) — had a floor made of packed earth or wood, known as doma (土間), resistant to dirt and easy to clean. The residential area behind the shop was laid out with tatami (畳) mats, creating a clean and warm family living space.
Differences Compared to Samurai Residences
Unlike samurai residences, machiya were marked by their modest facades. During the Edo period, regulations prohibited merchants from displaying signs of wealth. Facades were thus understated, without ornate gates or luxurious decorations, even though their owners were often quite prosperous.
Samurai lived in estates surrounded by high walls and massive earthen barriers, hiding spacious inner gardens. In contrast, machiya opened directly onto the street, and their gardens — if they existed at all — were modest and located within the center of the house as tsuboniwa.
Another important difference was the organization of space: in a machiya, the public space (shop or workshop) was nearly equal to, or even more important than, the private living quarters. In samurai residences, there was a strict hierarchical organization of space, where representative rooms for guests were carefully separated from private and service areas.
Machiya in the Life of Edo
In the shadow of the narrow, elongated machiya houses, amid the bustling alleyways of Edo, the everyday spectacle of urban life unfolded. Within the wooden rows of houses adorned with lattice facades, a vibrant culture of neighborhood community, daily rituals, and work interwoven with family life thrived.
Each row of machiya created more than just a street — it formed a chō (町), an autonomous neighborhood community governed by a chōnaikai (町内会). Residents of the same district were closely connected: they not only traded and exchanged services but also jointly cared for safety, cleanliness, and the organization of daily life.
During the Edo period, each chō had to be self-sufficient, ready to face fires, natural disasters, or other threats. Night watchmen patrolled the evening streets carrying lanterns and striking wooden clappers called hyōshigi, calling out "Hi no yōjin!" (火の用心) — "Be careful with fire!" Their footsteps echoed against the bamboo inuyarai railings, a constant reminder that in a wooden city, even the smallest spark could lead to catastrophe.
Street Festivals, Home Festivals
During matsuri — great festivals and celebrations — machiya transformed into a dazzling display of colors and lights. Lanterns, decorative fabrics, and garlands were hung in front of homes. Special decorations made from pine branches and paper ribbons — symbols of luck and protection — were placed at the entrances. During Kyoto’s Gion Matsuri, which lasted nearly the entire month of July, every district adorned its machiya, and the miseya — the shopfront spaces — were thrown open to neighbors and passersby, showcasing their finest goods: textiles, ceramics, lacquerware.
The narrow space in front of the house played an important role. It was where brief conversations took place, where children played in the shade of the koshi, and where families, dressed in festive attire, posed for ukiyo-e portrait paintings.
Everyday Life
Daily life in machiya was as rich as the festival days. Every morning, before the first rays of the sun filtered through the lattice into the dark interiors, residents would step outside to sprinkle water on the alleyways — a ritual known as uchimizu (打ち水). This simple act not only cooled the heated air and bound the dust but also had a symbolic meaning: it was a gesture of purification of the shared space, an expression of care for the whole community.
In the evenings, after closing the amado — the heavy wooden shutters — families would gather around andon lanterns, reading, embroidering, or simply conversing and warming themselves by the hibachi (for there were no fireplaces).
What was a hibachi? It was a small, portable brazier or box, usually made of ceramic, wood, or metal, filled with glowing charcoal. Hibachi were not used for cooking, but for heating hands and faces on cold days — placed in the center of a room or beside those sitting. The embers, hidden beneath a layer of ash, provided gentle, long-lasting warmth, and because the flame was nearly invisible, it was safer than an open fire. Smaller hibachi, resembling large bowls or vases, were often placed near the zashiki (sitting room) or engawa (the narrow corridor along the garden), and in winter, they were moved closer to where the family gathered. In wealthier homes, decorative hibachi finished with lacquer or intricate designs were used. The heat radiating from a hibachi did not warm the entire house but created a small, cozy oasis within the cool, spacious interiors of the machiya.
Home and Work in One Space
In machiya, the boundary between private life and professional activity was not strongly marked (one might mischievously add that this has remained the case into modern times). The front part of the house — the miseya — was the place of trade or craftsmanship. It was there, behind the latticed koshi, lifted during the day, that families operated weaving workshops, spice shops, teahouses, paper warehouses, or lacquerware stores. A typical merchant of Edo did not separate work from home — work was part of life, and children from a young age helped in the workshop or shop.
Behind the miseya stretched the living quarters. Guests were received in the zashiki (座敷), the formal sitting room floored with carefully laid tatami mats, featuring a decorative alcove called tokonoma, where calligraphy scrolls or ikebana flower arrangements were displayed.
At the back of the house, above the kitchen, rose the hibukuro (火袋) — a vertical space often reaching up to the roof. The hibukuro functioned as a chimney, channeling smoke from the hearth and helping to illuminate the darkest corners of the house, imparting a stark yet beautiful simplicity to the interior.
Historical statistics indicate that at the peak of Edo’s development, around 70% of urban dwellings were machiya — with a predominance of small shops, workshops, and service points. Thanks to their existence, the city functioned like a living organism: on a single street, one could buy textiles, order new sandals, repair ceramics, drink tea, and send a letter.
Machiya were not just buildings — they were the living cells of urban life, weaving the community of Edo into a dense, colorful network of mutual ties through daily rituals, festivals, and work.
The Fate of Machiya After the Edo Period
When the shogunate fell in 1868 and the Meiji era began, Japan rapidly accelerated its modernization. In cities like Tokyo (the new name for what was once Edo) and Osaka, traditional machiya began to disappear under the pressure of Western-style construction: brick townhouses, office buildings, and factories. However, in Kyoto — the former imperial capital — the situation unfolded differently. The city was largely spared the destruction of World War II. Unlike many other urban centers reduced to rubble by bombings, Kyoto remained intact, preserving a significant part of its historical urban fabric — including thousands of machiya.
After the war, however, Japan entered a period of unprecedented economic boom. In the 1950s and 1960s, a wave of mass urbanization began. Old machiya, often seen as impractical, outdated, and difficult to maintain, were demolished en masse, replaced by concrete apartment blocks, office towers, and modern homes. Between 1955 and 1975, Kyoto lost over 40% of its historic machiya. It is estimated that between 2008 and 2016, an average of 800 such buildings were demolished annually — about two per day. Today, fewer than 10,000 machiya survive in central Kyoto, whereas in the 1950s there were over 40,000.
In response to this dramatic situation, grassroots movements emerged in the 1990s aimed at saving this heritage. One of the most important initiatives was the creation of the Kyomachiya Saisei Purojekuto (Kyomachiya Revitalization Project), supported also by international organizations such as the World Monuments Fund. Local authorities began offering grants for renovations, and traditional craftsmen (takumi) relearned ancient building techniques.
The saved machiya began to find new life. Many were transformed into atmospheric cafes, teahouses, restaurants serving kaiseki ryōri (traditional multi-course Japanese cuisine), artisan boutiques, art galleries, and exclusive ryokan — traditional inns where one can experience life as it was in the past. In Kyoto, machiya-stays — private whole-house rentals for tourists eager to live, even for a few days, in a traditional style — also became particularly popular.
Machiya became not only tourist attractions but also symbols of contemporary Japanese nostalgia for the "lost time" (ushinawareta jidai, 失われた時代). The revival of interest in living according to the old rhythm — closer to nature, neighbors, and family values — has meant that for many young people, restoring a machiya is not just an investment but also a lifestyle statement: slower, more mindful, and rooted in tradition.
Interestingly, today restoring a machiya is an expensive and time-consuming endeavor: the average cost of a complete renovation ranges from 30 to 50 million yen (approximately 200,000–330,000 PLN). This is due to the necessity of using traditional materials and techniques: handmade earthen plasters, special hibukuro ceilings, and joinery-based construction without nails (kumiki).
Modern Kyoto proudly promotes its machiya as part of its "living heritage" — strolling today through the alleys of Gion, Nishijin, or Higashiyama, one can see how the narrow wooden facades hide not only incense and kimono shops but also modern photography galleries and trendy cafes serving matcha lattes.
Although adapted to new times, machiya still smell of damp wood, shimmer with the warm light of andon lanterns, and remind visitors of an era when they formed the very foundation of Tokugawa shogunate Japan.
>> SEE ALSO SIMILAR ARTICLES:
The True Origins of Sushi – Fast Food in the Bustling Streets of Edo under the Tokugawa Shogunate
The Shogun Introduces Animal Cruelty Laws in 17th-Century Edo Japan
The Unidentified “Utsurobune” Object in the Time of the Shogunate – UFO, Russian Princess, or Yōkai?
"Strong Japanese Women"
see book by the author
of the page
未開 ソビエライ
An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)
Personal motto:
"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)
Mike Soray
(aka Michał Sobieraj)
未開 ソビエライ
An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)
Personal motto:
"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)
Mike Soray
(aka Michał Sobieraj)
Write us...
Ciechanów, Polska
dr.imyon@gmail.com
___________________
inari.smart
Would you like to share your thoughts or feedback about our website or app? Leave us a message, and we’ll get back to you quickly. We value your perspective!