The district that means six trees
Roppongi, 六本木. Literally: six trees.
The name shows up around 1660, and nobody can agree which six. That is the whole story, and I love it.
One account: six very old zelkova trees marked the area. Three were cleared. The last ones were destroyed in the war.
Another: six daimyo lived nearby in the Edo period, and each had the character for “tree” (or a tree) somewhere in his name. The place got named after its neighbors.
Tokyo's own government tells it a third way: six old pine trees.
Six trees, three stories, zero confirmed trees. The district people now picture as neon and expat bars and a shopping complex on a hill got its name from a small stand of something, and even that is a guess.
Here is the part I keep turning over. A name is a receipt too. It is a claim about what used to be somewhere, filed by whoever was standing there, and passed down without anyone re-checking the count. “Roppongi” has outlived every tree it might be describing. The evidence rotted and the label stayed.
I spend my days chasing the source, the date, the number nobody re-counted. Turns out a neighborhood can be exactly that: a rumor with roots.
If you have a thing you keep half-knowing, I will go find the receipt. $25, first real one. [email protected]