Tokyo has burned to the ground more times than almost any capital on Earth: the 1657 Meireki fire, the 1868 Battle of Ueno, the 1923 earthquake, and the March 1945 firebombing each erased whole districts overnight. The city's oldest trees survived by an accident of biology as much as luck. Ginkgo bark and wood hold unusual moisture and resist igniting, which is one reason seven of these are ginkgos, scarred but alive on temple and shrine ground. The oldest dates from the Kamakura period. The newest is a hundred-year-old avenue everyone has already seen in photographs.
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1
The Zenpukuji Ginkgo
Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) · 750 years · Motoazabu, Minato
The upside-down tree Tokyo never quite got over. In 1229 the Buddhist monk Shinran planted his walking staff in the ground here before leaving Zenpukuji, or so the story goes, and the staff took root and grew into this ginkgo. Whatever the truth of the legend, tree-ring estimates put the trunk at roughly 750 years old, which makes it the oldest living thing in Tokyo and a rare tree that has outlasted the city around it more than once. Its aerial roots hang from the lower branches like stalactites, thick and pendulous enough that locals nicknamed it Sakasa Icho, the Upside-Down Ginkgo. The tree was declared a National Natural Monument in 1926, one of the first in Tokyo. Then came March 1945: American incendiary bombs burned most of the temple to the ground and scorched the ginkgo's trunk black. Ginkgos are famously fire-resistant, sappy and slow to catch, and this one kept living. New growth eventually covered the char. Every autumn it turns a shade of gold that draws photographers who have never heard of Shinran.
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2
The Sensoji War Ginkgo
Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) · 800 years · Asakusa, Taito
This ginkgo used to be a national treasure and technically is not one anymore, and the reason why says everything about it. Legend holds that a branch stuck in the ground here by the shogun Minamoto no Yoritomo, visiting around 1189, took root and grew into this tree, which would make it roughly 800 years old. The Japanese government designated it a Natural Monument in 1930. Then, on the night of March 10, 1945, American firebombs burned nearly all of Asakusa to the ground, including Sensoji's main hall and its five-story pagoda, both later rebuilt from scratch. The ginkgo was hit directly. Its trunk is still hollow and blackened five or six meters up, a permanent scorch mark from a night that killed roughly 100,000 people in Tokyo. The fire damage was severe enough that the monument designation was revoked after the war. The tree itself was not deterred: it kept growing, and it is the one part of Sensoji that watched the temple burn and rebuild around it rather than the other way around.
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3
The Ueno Toshogu Camphor
Camphor Tree (Cinnamomum camphora) · 600 years · Ueno, Taito
Ueno Park's biggest tree predates the shrine built around it by more than two centuries. This camphor was already an old tree in 1627 when Ueno Toshogu was founded to enshrine Tokugawa Ieyasu, and it has stood on this rise since before Ueno was Ueno at all, which is why the shrine's own literature calls it Ueno's ancestral tree. Its trunk runs more than eight meters around, the widest in the park by a comfortable margin. The shrine itself survived the 1657 Meireki fire, the 1868 Battle of Ueno between shogunate loyalists and the new imperial army, the 1923 earthquake, and the 1945 air raids that destroyed most of Ueno's other historic buildings, largely because an Edo-era engineer built its main hall with unusually deep foundations. The camphor watched all four disasters from a few meters away and came through each one with nothing worse than scorched leaves. Its canopy now shades the approach to the shrine's gold-leafed karamon gate, a combination that has made this corner of the park a minor pilgrimage for anyone who likes their history literally rooted in place.
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Photo : Mark Yasuda (Myasuda) (CC BY-SA 4.0)
4
The Head-Betting Ginkgo
Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) · 450 years · Hibiya, Chiyoda
An engineer once bet his own head on this tree's survival, and won. In 1901, city planners preparing to build Hibiya Park, Japan's first Western-style public park, needed the road at its edge widened, and this 400-year-old ginkgo stood directly in the way. Honda Seiroku, the park's designer, refused to let it be felled and reportedly told his superiors he would offer his own head if the transplant failed. Over 25 days in 1902, laborers moved the tree roughly 450 meters to its current spot, an operation that reportedly needed 20,000 kan, close to 75 tons, of root ball and trunk. It worked, and the tree kept the nickname Kubikake Icho, the Head-Betting Ginkgo, ever since. It survived a second scare in 1971, when a firebomb thrown by a radical group during a protest burned down the neighboring Matsumotoro restaurant and scorched the ginkgo black; it leafed out again the following spring. Honda kept his head. The tree, seven meters around and still growing, kept its park.
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Photo : Reggaeman (CC BY-SA 3.0)
5
The Shiba Toshogu Ginkgo
Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) · 385 years · Shiba Park, Minato
A shogun planted this tree with his own hands, or so Shiba Toshogu has claimed for almost four centuries. In 1641, Tokugawa Iemitsu, the third Tokugawa shogun, is said to have planted this ginkgo himself at the shrine built to deify his grandfather Ieyasu. It has been designated a Tokyo Natural Monument ever since records began keeping track, one of the city's officially protected trees. The shrine originally sat inside the vast precinct of Zojoji temple next door, the Tokugawa family's own funerary temple, until the Meiji government's forced separation of Buddhist and Shinto sites in the 1870s split them into two addresses. Zojoji's main hall was destroyed in the 1945 air raids that leveled most of Shiba; the shrine's smaller buildings burned too. The ginkgo, planted by the man whose family the whole complex was built to honor, came through the fires that took the buildings around it. Today it stands about 21 meters tall in front of the shrine's gate, with Tokyo Tower rising directly behind it, so most cameras pointed this way are aimed at the 1958 steel lattice rather than at the tree in front of it.
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Photo : Kimon Berlin and Gribeco (CC BY-SA 4.0)
6
The Three Hundred Year Pine
Japanese Black Pine (Pinus thunbergii) · 300+ years · Hamamatsucho, Chuo
The biggest black pine in Tokyo grows in a garden that floods on purpose. Hamarikyu was built on reclaimed tidal land as a shogunal duck-hunting villa, and its ponds still rise and fall with Tokyo Bay through a working seawater gate, the only tide-powered garden pond left in the city. This pine was planted around 1709, when the sixth shogun Tokugawa Ienobu rebuilt the estate into something closer to its current form, and it has spent three centuries spreading rather than climbing: its lowest branches now sprawl low and wide across log supports, some running more than 20 meters from the trunk. Locals simply call it Sanbyakunen no Matsu, the Three Hundred Year Pine. The garden survived two disasters that erased most of its original structures, the 1923 earthquake and the 1945 firebombing, and the tree's low, horizontal shape likely helped it through both: black pines built close to the ground catch less wind and radiant heat than tall ones. What is left today is one tree and one tea house rebuilt from photographs, inside a garden that Tokyo Bay still floods twice a day.
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Photo : LBM1948 (CC BY-SA 4.0)
7
The Ginkgo of the Sperm Discovery
Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) · 300 years · Hakusan, Bunkyo
In 1896, a botanist working under this tree changed what science understood about how plants reproduce. Hirase Sakugoro, an artist-turned-researcher with no university degree, spent years examining ginkgo ovules from this specimen at what was then Tokyo Imperial University's botanical garden. He discovered that ginkgo trees produce swimming sperm cells, motile and flagellated like something out of animal biology, a reproductive method no other seed plant on Earth was known to use. It overturned assumptions about the evolutionary line between ferns and flowering plants and made the ginkgo, already ancient as a genus, into a living fossil in the most literal sense: a plant still reproducing the way its ancestors did 200 million years ago. The discovery is commemorated with a stone marker at the tree's base, placed for its sixtieth anniversary in 1956. The tree itself, one of the female specimens whose ovules made the discovery possible, is estimated by ring count at around 300 years old, and it still drops a heavy carpet of ginkgo nuts every autumn, oblivious to its own scientific importance.
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Photo : Fred Cherrygarden (CC BY-SA 4.0)
8
The Kameido Tenjin Wisteria
Japanese Wisteria (Wisteria floribunda) · 150+ years (shrine's wisteria tradition dates to 1663) · Kameido, Koto
Claude Monet may owe part of his water lily garden to this shrine, according to art historians who trace a line from Hiroshige's woodblock prints to Giverny. Utagawa Hiroshige painted Kameido Tenjin's wisteria and its arched drum bridge in his 1856 series One Hundred Famous Views of Edo, and that print reportedly reached and influenced French Impressionists including Monet, who filled his own garden with wisteria decades later. The shrine was founded in 1663 on marshy ground, and its first head priest planted wisteria because the vines tolerate wet soil; the fifth and eighth shoguns, Tsunayoshi and Yoshimune, are both recorded visiting specifically to see it bloom. Today around 50 wisteria plants across 15 trellises still frame the bridge every late April, trained and pruned continuously since the Edo period even if individual vines have been replaced along the way, the way a shrine's sacred rope gets rewoven without anyone calling it a different rope. Exactly how old any single living vine is remains unclear. What is certain is that people have been coming here to see wisteria bloom for more than 360 years.
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Photo : Kentin (CC BY-SA 3.0)
9
The Meiji Jingu Gaien Ginkgo Avenue
Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) · 100+ years · Kitaaoyama, Minato
Every one of these 146 ginkgo trees was already a young adult when it was planted. In 1908, gardeners collected seeds from ginkgos at Shinjuku Gyoen and grew 1,600 seedlings in a nursery; only the straightest, best-shaped survivors, already six meters tall, were selected fifteen years later to line this avenue when Meiji Jingu Gaien opened in 1923 as a memorial to Emperor Meiji. The landscape architect who laid it out planted them nine meters apart along a 300-meter stretch running straight toward the Meiji Memorial Picture Gallery, engineering the perspective so the trees appear to funnel toward the building's dome from any angle on the street. A century on, the tallest reaches 28 meters, and every November the avenue turns the same uniform gold that has made it one of the most photographed streets in Japan, filled with tour groups and engagement shoots in equal number. A 2023 redevelopment plan for the neighboring stadium district reignited public debate over whether construction work threatens the ginkgos' roots, a reminder that even Tokyo's most photographed trees remain, legally, just trees.
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10
The Meoto Kusu
Camphor Tree (Cinnamomum camphora) · 106 years · Yoyogi, Shibuya
This is the youngest tree on this list by roughly six centuries, and also the one most people specifically travel here to touch. Two camphor trees were donated to Meiji Jingu when the shrine was built in 1920 to deify Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken, planted side by side just in front of the outer worship hall and bound together with a sacred straw rope, a shimenawa, that marks them as one connected being rather than two separate trees. They are called Meoto Kusu, the Married Couple Camphors, and generations of visitors have prayed here for good marriages and family harmony, a tradition now widened into a general wish for good relationships of any kind. Camphor trees can live over a thousand years, so at just over a century old these two are barely past childhood by the standards of their own species, let alone the 750-year ginkgo across town in Motoazabu. What they lack in age they make up in company: Meiji Jingu draws close to three million visitors in the first three days of January alone, more than any other shrine in Japan, and a large share detour past these two camphors on the way to the main hall.
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11
Kyu-Hosokawa-tei no Shii
Japanese Chinquapin (Castanopsis sieboldii) · roughly 400 years · Takanawa, Minato-ku
Eight metres around and barely eleven tall, this chinquapin is built like a barrel. The Tokyo Board of Education's plaque gives it a girth of 8.13 metres against a height of 10.8, which is the shape a tree takes when it spends centuries widening instead of climbing. It grows a minute from the ticket gates of Shirokanetakanawa Station, inside the grounds of a Minato ward community plaza, and most people walk past it.
The ground under it is darker than the setting suggests. This was the lower residence of the Hosokawa lords of Kumamoto, and after the Ako Incident of 1701 it was here that Oishi Kuranosuke and sixteen other Ako retainers were held in shogunate custody until they were ordered to commit seppuku. A monument nearby still marks the spot. Whether the tree was standing then, nobody can say. TV Tokyo's 2025 segment on it repeats the local figure of roughly four hundred years or more, and there is no ring count, register entry or planting record to tighten that. If anyone has measured it properly, we would like to know.
Tokyo lists it as a Natural Monument. Sudajii is an evergreen and does nothing dramatic in any month. It is simply very old, very wide, and still standing on the exact patch of ground where the Hosokawa mansion used to be, which is more than the mansion managed.
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Photo : se7en (CC BY 2.0)
12
The Himalayan Cedar of Yanaka
Himalayan Cedar (Cedrus deodara) · around 100 years · Yanaka, Taito-ku
This tree started as a pot plant. Around 1926 the grandfather of the Mikado bread shop, at whose door it still stands, kept a Himalayan cedar seedling in a container and watered it with the water left over from rinsing rice, until it outgrew the pot and went into the ground at the corner. It is now twenty metres tall and four metres round, and it fills a small triangular street junction in Yanaka entirely.
Nothing about it belongs here. Cedrus deodara comes from the western Himalaya, and a hundred-year-old one wedged into a lane of low wooden houses in old Tokyo is worth going to look at once. Taito ward gave it formal protection in 2006, and the junction sits on the national list of a hundred historic Japanese landscapes.
Its age is argued over by about a decade. The ward's own page says ninety years; Tokyo Shimbun ran a headline in October 2019 calling it a hundred, and a survey the following spring recorded the same. That October typhoon tore off roughly a third of the crown and shut the road for days. The ward cut back what was left in November 2020, pruned again after that, and by September 2024 the tree had been braced against the next storm.
A century on, the pot is a footnote and the cedar is the landmark. It is on open street, with no gate and no hours.
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13
Akiba no Kuromatsu
Japanese Black Pine (Pinus thunbergii) · about 300 years · Denenchofu, Ota-ku
Tokyo once designated a set of black pines as its own Natural Monuments. This is the last of them left standing. The metropolitan survey literature records it as the only survivor of that group as of 2015, and as the second-largest pine in Tokyo after the great one at Zenyoji in Edogawa.
It grows beside the Umazaka slope in Denenchofu, on ground that belonged to Shozenji, a Jodo-shu temple founded in 1639. The trunk climbs straight for about seven metres and then opens out into an umbrella, which is what a black pine does when nothing crowds it: roughly seventeen metres tall, about four metres round, and around three hundred years old, which is as precise as any source is willing to be. At its foot is a small stone shrine to Akiba, the temple's guardian deity, and that is where the tree gets its name.
Three centuries beside a road is hard work. A city survey in 1986 found it vigorous, with limbs reaching out over a neighbouring building; those were cut back for wind risk, and more came off after snow broke what remained. It was photographed on a temple walk in September 2025, still fanning out over the slope.
The city designated it on 19 March 1963. There is no gate and no ticket: the pine stands on the public path up the hill, where it has been the whole time.
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14
Yogo no Matsu
Japanese Black Pine (Pinus thunbergii) · over 600 years · Higashi-Koiwa, Edogawa-ku
Eight metres tall, and it takes eighty-two wooden props to hold it up. The Yogo Pine at Zenyoji in Edogawa grows sideways rather than upward: the limbs split about two metres off the ground and reach roughly twenty-eight metres east to west and thirty-one north to south, covering over eight hundred square metres. It is reputed to spread wider than any other pine in Japan.
It became a National Natural Monument in September 2011, the country's top tier of protection, though Tokyo had already designated it back in 1926. It is older than the temple standing behind it. Zenyoji is traditionally dated to about 1500; the pine is said to be over six hundred years old, and a temple manuscript of 1745 already describes an old pine on the site. Nobody knows who named it. Yogo means a deity appearing briefly in worldly form.
The best story about it is an argument. For decades it contested the title of Japan's finest pine with the Okano Matsu in Kagawa, and in 1980, after a row broke out at the temple, a sumo chief referee was asked to settle the matter. He ruled the two joint yokozuna. The plaque recording that verdict still hangs under the branches. The Kagawa tree died in 1993.
This one nearly went too. A pond filled in nearby choked its roots from the 1970s on, and a ten-year soil and drainage rescue finished in July 2011, weeks before the national listing.
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15
Yono no Okaya
Japanese Nutmeg-yew (Torreya nucifera) · traditionally said to be close to 1,000 years · Suzuya, Chuo-ku, Saitama City (roughly 30-40 minutes from central Tokyo by train, not within Tokyo itself)
By the temple's own history, this nutmeg-yew went into the ground in the 1030s, and four hundred years later, in the Oei era, it was already known as the largest tree in the Kanto plain and used by travellers as a landmark. That is tradition rather than measurement, and Saitama City's cultural properties page records it as tradition. Nobody has counted the rings.
What has been measured, in a 1988 survey: 21.5 metres tall, a trunk about seven metres round, a root spread of 13.5 metres, forking into two limbs less than two metres above the ground. Both the city and the national Agency for Cultural Affairs describe the tree as vigorous. It has been a National Natural Monument since 25 July 1932.
It is not in Tokyo. It stands in Suzuya, in Saitama City, about twenty-one kilometres north of the centre and a short walk from Minami-Yono station, which makes it a half-day rather than an afternoon. You will find it in the Konpira hall precinct on the south side of Myogyoji temple, and by local tradition the hall is there because of the tree: a Kamakura-period account holds that the kaya was enshrined as the sacred tree of the deity Konpira-ten, and the site is still worshipped as Kayagi Konpira.
Torreya nucifera is a slow, dense evergreen conifer with the reputation of taking centuries to get anywhere. It looks much the same in February as in August.
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16
The Yōgō Pine of Zenyoji
Japanese Black Pine (Pinus thunbergii) · over 600 years · Higashi-Koiwa, Edogawa Ward
For eleven years, from the 1970s to 1980, nobody in Japan could agree which pine had the bigger crown. This one, at Zenyoji Temple in Edogawa Ward, stands only about eight metres tall, but its branches spread over 800 square metres, the widest known canopy of any pine in the country. Its rival grew four hundred kilometres away in Shido, Kagawa, and the argument over whose spread was wider made national news until a sumo chief referee was brought in to settle it. In 1980 he ruled both trees joint champions, yokozuna, and a plaque naming them co-champions still stands under this one. The rival tree in Kagawa died in 1993.
This tree nearly went the same way. A pond beside it was filled in, the roots suffocated, and by 2001 the pine was visibly dying. The city and the temple spent a decade rebuilding the soil and drainage around it before declaring the recovery finished in July 2011. Two months later the national government upgraded its status from a Tokyo-metropolitan monument, held since 1926, to a National Natural Monument. It is thought to be over six hundred years old, older than the temple grounds it stands in, and its vast low canopy is held up today by eighty-two props, visible proof of how much weight the branches have never had to carry themselves.
Nobody has narrowed the age past "600 years or more": no source offers a tighter figure, so none is invented here.
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17
The Senbon Ginkgo of Katsushika Hachimangu
Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) · roughly 1,200 years · Yawata, Ichikawa
Lightning split this ginkgo about six metres up, and the tree answered by pushing a crowd of new trunks out of its own base. Enough of them that the shrine calls it Senbon Icho, the thousand-trunk ginkgo, and enough that it is now fatter at chest height than at the ground: 10.8 metres round against 10.2 at the roots. It stands 22 metres tall. Katsushika Hachimangu, whose sacred tree it is, was founded in the Heian period, and both the shrine and the city of Ichikawa put the ginkgo at about 1,200 years, a round traditional figure rather than a planting date anyone wrote down. Japan made it a National Natural Monument on 20 February 1931, the first such designation anywhere in what is now Ichikawa.
A white snake is said to live in the tree, and seeing it is supposed to bring happiness and long life. Mothers once scraped a breast-shaped swelling on the trunk hoping for milk, a habit the monument status put a stop to.
It is not, strictly, a Tokyo tree. The shrine stands in Ichikawa, Chiba, across the Edogawa river, six minutes and one stop down the Sobu Line from Koiwa and a short walk from Motoyawata station. Go in late November, when the shrine lights it up and the whole many-trunked thing turns gold.
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18
The Great Zelkova of Nerima Hakusan Shrine
Saw-leaf Zelkova (Zelkova serrata) · roughly 900 years (tradition) · Nerima
Six great zelkovas stood at this shrine when the Meiji era began. One is left. Two of the six were designated Natural Monuments, one above a stone stairway and one below it. The upper tree, fourteen metres tall, was designated in 1940; a typhoon split its trunk in 2016 and it had to be felled. The lower one survives, and it is the largest zelkova in Tokyo: nineteen metres tall, eight metres round, and kept going by repeated tree surgery since the early 1990s after lightning strikes and internal decay. By the shrine's own tradition both trees were planted in 1083 by the warlord Minamoto no Yoshiie, who stopped here on his way north to fight in Mutsu. That tradition is where the figure of roughly 900 years comes from, not a ring count, and the honest band is something between seven and nine and a half centuries. One caveat to carry with you. The national register entry for this shrine's zelkova records the 1940 designation, which is the date that belongs to the tree that fell, so the coordinate may mark where the dead one stood rather than the living one. The survivor is the tree below the steps.
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19
The Great Ginkgo of Oji Shrine
Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) · roughly 600 years (tradition) · Oji, Kita
The air raids of 1945 took the shrine, its halls and its other old trees. The ginkgo is what is left. Oji Shrine burned on one of the nights Tokyo burned, and the large camphor that once stood here went with the buildings; this tree came through and is now the biggest living thing on the grounds at 24 metres. The Toshima clan founded the shrine in the Genko era, between 1321 and 1324, and by the shrine's own account the ginkgo went in around the time of the founding, which is where the figure of roughly 600 years comes from. That is the shrine's claim about this particular tree rather than a ring count, so read it as tradition. Tokyo made it a designated Natural Monument in 1939; the registers say March and one local account says May, which is the sort of disagreement nobody is going to settle now. Its girth is the livelier argument. The trunk measures 5.2 metres round today, while a 1924 account of the same tree records 6.36 metres, and we cannot tell which way the difference runs: dieback, a different measuring height, or a number copied wrong somewhere. Both figures stand here until somebody with a tape settles it. The shrine is one of the Tokyo Ten pilgrimage circuit, three minutes from the station.
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20
The Kaya of Zenyo-ji
Japanese Nutmeg-yew (Torreya nucifera) · 700 to 800 years · Noge, Setagaya
The temple arrived second. When Zenyo-ji moved to this ground from the village of Fukazawa in the Keian era, between 1648 and 1651, the account of the move describes the kaya as already a large tree. Fukazawa and Noge were farming country then; what grew up around the tree afterwards is Setagaya. Sources put its age at 700 or 800 years and nobody has narrowed it further, so neither will we. It is a nutmeg-yew, 22.6 metres tall and 5.3 metres round, and a female tree: the species carries its sexes on separate plants. What people actually remark on is the shape. Its lower branches trail down the way a willow's do, which is odd enough in a nutmeg-yew that every account of this one mentions it, and it gives a slow dark conifer a surprising amount of movement. Tokyo designated it a Natural Monument in 1964. It is a quiet stop rather than a famous one: a temple yard in a residential corner of Setagaya, no ticket, no crowd, and a tree that was already worth remarking on when the buildings beside it were new.
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21
The Child-Rearing Ginkgo of Zoshigaya Kishimojin
Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba) · roughly 600 to 700 years · Zoshigaya, Toshima
Edo-period women came here to put their arms around this trunk, and people still do. The tree is the kosodate icho, the child-rearing ginkgo, and it stands beside the Kishimojin hall in Zoshigaya, dedicated to a deity of safe childbirth; the tradition holds that a woman who embraces the trunk will be blessed with children. The scale stands up on its own too. At 32.5 metres it is the second-largest ginkgo in Tokyo, after the Zenpukuji tree in Motoazabu. Its girth is less settled. Toshima Ward's own cultural-affairs page, the authority that designates it, gives 6.63 metres, while a separate summary citing the metropolitan heritage map gives 11, and nearly double is too large a gap to split: it may be that one figure takes in the buttressed root mass and the other the trunk, or that a number was copied wrong. The ward's figure is the one we carry. The ward also records the planting: by the monk Nichiyu in the Oei era, between 1394 and 1428, which puts the tree here a century and a half before the hall beside it, built around 1578. Its paperwork has had a rougher time than it has. Made a national Natural Monument in 1933, the designation was revoked in 1946, and Tokyo redesignated it at metropolitan level in 1956. Reach it by the old sweet-shop lane.
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