東京の水面で江戸を感じる。
画像は著作権で保護されている場合があります。
画像は著作権で保護されている場合があります。
画像は著作権で保護されている場合があります。
画像は著作権で保護されている場合があります。
画像は著作権で保護されている場合があります。
画像は著作権で保護されている場合があります。
画像は著作権で保護されている場合があります。
画像は著作権で保護されている場合があります。
画像は著作権で保護されている場合があります。
和船友の会の特徴
月に何回か和船の櫓漕ぎ体験ができる貴重な場所です。
無料で楽しめる和船乗りが特に好評との声が多いです。
江東区海辺で和船に触れ合えるユニークな公園体験です。
和船友の会は東京で唯一、もしかしたら日本で唯一、江戸の和船の櫓漕ぎ体験ができる場所かもそれません。ボランティアの船頭さんは丁寧に櫓漕ぎの技術を教えてくれます。一年中開催されていますが、開催日はHPのカレンダーを参照してください。気温の穏やかな春や秋がおすすめです。The Wabune Tomo-no-Kai may be the only place in Tokyo — or perhaps even in all of Japan — where you can experience rowing a traditional Edo-style Japanese boat. Volunteer boatmen kindly teach participants the art of sculling with traditional oars. The experience is available year-round, but please check the calendar on their website for specific dates. The best seasons to join are spring and autumn, when the weather is mild.
和船に乗ることが出来ます。2025年夏休みは毎週日曜日にやっているようですね。
月に何回かですが櫓漕ぎの和船に無料で乗ることが出来ます。コース2周約20分ですが何隻かあるので待たずに乗れました。和船友の会の方がいろいろしてくださるお話を聞くのもまた楽しい😊
| 名前 |
和船友の会 |
|---|---|
| ジャンル |
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| 営業時間 |
[水日] 10:00～14:15 |
| HP | |
| 評価 |
4.2 |
| 住所 |
|
|
ストリートビューの情報は現状と異なる場合があります。
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周辺のオススメ
A Journey Back to Edo on the Water in TokyoRecently, Karin and I did what sensible people rarely do, we climbed into a wooden boat. A wasen, to be precise. Handcrafted, narrow, and older in spirit than anything we deserved. A dear friend had arranged the whole affair, and so there we were, lowering ourselves into the hull like offerings to the river in Tokyo.Stepping in felt like stepping through a seam in time, one of those thin places where the centuries haven’t quite been stitched shut.Our captain, our friend Katsumi stood at the stern with his single sculling oar, working it the way a cellist works a bow: unhurried, deliberate, ancient in muscle memory. Karin and I drifted along the canals of Tokyo in exactly the way people did hundreds of years ago, back when Edo was Edo, before it got ideas about becoming a metropolis.There is something uncanny about gliding through water in a vessel made of wood and intention. The gentle rhythm of the oar was the only sound breaking the stillness, and stillness, in Tokyo, is not a thing that comes cheaply.The wind, that day, was ferocious. It came at us like something with an opinion. But the captain and his friends — all volunteer boatmen — navigated with the calm confidence of those who have made peace with the elements, who welcome them, even.A great captain wants the wind to blow, wants the water to ripple, because difficulty is where skill becomes visible.These are not really hobbyists. They have passed rigorous tests of seamanship in these traditional vessels. The hearty ones pass.Modern apartment buildings rose above the banks like indifferent sentinels, but down on the water, surrounded by nothing but wood and the lapping of small waves, it was easy to imagine merchants and samurai and geisha traveling these same liquid corridors centuries ago, with their own errands, their own secrets, their own reasons for being on the water at just that hour.I have been through Tokyo by car, by train, by plane. I thought I had exhausted its angles. But a boat is an entirely different proposition. Being close to the water reorganizes the city. It instills a calm the streets will never offer, and everything looks different from below.It is the same in New York, where I live. From land, the city looks the way it does on television. From the water, it becomes a place you have never seen before, strange and luminous and a little bit yours. Tokyo, too, transforms.One can only imagine what it would mean if the metropolitan government were to empower more of these vessels, to let the old waterways breathe again with traffic that predates the automobile. How wonderful that would feel. How necessary these days.For a brief, beautiful interval, the bustle of modern Tokyo dissolved, and we were passengers in old Edo, carried forward by current and craft and the steady arm of a man who understood the water. An unforgettable crossing.I would recommend it to anyone willing to see a great city from its most ancient and intimate vantage point: just below the surface of the present.