Like the Meiji Shrine, one of the best things about the place is that even though it is only twenty minutes or so from Shinjuku Station, it is surrounded by a dense grove of trees that set it off from the city around it. The day that I went, it was pouring rain, too. Some might say that viewing an outdoor museum in a deluge is a bad idea; I beg to differ. The rain was even better than the cicadas for acoustic insulation, for ambience. Furthermore, because of the rain, my friend Nick and I had the whole place practically to ourselves.

Though the houses were transplanted from all over the country-from Iwate, Chiba, Kagoshima, Nara-and were originally built at different times, the place still has a very coherent feel to it. The way the houses are arranged in clusters between the trees gives you the distinct impression that you are, in fact, walking through a real Japanese village 200 years ago. Nick and I walked the cobblestone and dirt paths, ducking into houses when we got too wet, drying off a little while we looked over stone hearths and horse stables, admired old, battered, homey-looking tatami mats and gorgeous wood floors, and wondered at the elegant high roofs of tile or real thatch.

It wasn't just that the houses were all breathtaking (they were) that made the place magic, though; it was also the care and attention that had so obviously gone into the presentation of it all. Nowhere was there any kind of unsightly maintenance work being done (and that is rare). Nowhere were there any power lines to be seen. The electric lights were all tastefully hidden, the houses were dusty and musty enough to show their age, but clean enough to still look habitable. The staff of the place were diligent and friendly. The woman at the front desk insisted that Nick take a bigger umbrella from her rather than use his smallish collapsible one; she then gave it to him once we had circled the park and were ready to leave.

Perhaps the most pleasant surprise of all was the English on the plaques in the park and in the pamphlets we got for free. All the explanations-wonder of wonders-were fluently and naturally written, and very interesting besides.
Nick and I got so caught up in the museum and seeing every last corner of the first few houses that we ran out of time and had to skip the last few, one of which we later found out had a Kabuki stage. I regret missing them, but not much. I don't remember many specifics of those houses that I did see, anyway; I just remember the overall impression that the place made. It was an impression of peace, tranquility, and beauty that I will not soon forget.

So if you're within striking range of Shinjuku, and also in desperate need of a respite from the sight of boxy Sekisui houses prefabricated from cardboard and plastic (but earthquake safe!), I cannot recommend the Minkaen highly enough. Drag yourself out of bed on some gloomy gray Saturday morning and go; the rainier the day, the better.