In the year 660, according to the Nihon Shoki, Prince Naka no Ōe, who would later become Emperor Tenji, built a water clock, a rokoku, and let the court know the time with it. A few years later, in 671, the same chronicle records that bells and drums were sounded to mark the hours, and the water clock site in Asuka, uncovered in 1981 by archaeologists, is believed to be the foundations of the building that housed it. It is among the earliest timekeeping devices recorded in Japan, a hint that the court was serious about order and the control of time, in the Chinese manner.
What you can see at the site is a set of low stone foundations and a reconstructed model of the water clock in a nearby museum, with its stepped tanks and tubes through which water dripped steadily from one level to the next, measuring the hours by the rise of water in the lowest vessel. Pipes, stone basins and a large waterproofed structure were found beneath the ground, showing that the complex was an engineered system rather than a simple building. The details of how it all fitted together are still debated, and I will leave them to the specialists.
The setting is a green field in the Asuka countryside, with farmhouses, persimmon trees and mountains to the south. Riders arrive along narrow lanes that wind between rice paddies, with little traffic, and the scale is low and intimate. There are no large services nearby, so fill the tank in Sakurai, about four kilometres away, or in Kashihara, both of which have petrol stations, convenience stores and restaurants. The area is popular with cyclists in spring and autumn, and on weekends, tour groups follow the loop.
Spring and autumn are best, and the rainy season in June can be heavy. Winter days are clear, with sharp light on the hills.
The museum of Asuka, nearby, has displays on the water clock, the stone carvings and the tomb finds, and it is well worth an hour, particularly if the weather turns. Afterwards, a cup of local tea or a soft ice cream made from local milk fits a gentle afternoon. Sunset over the western hills turns the fields rose and amber.