21 Traditional Asian Courtyard Layouts
When you step into a traditional Asian courtyard, it feels like you’ve entered a quiet world hidden behind walls. These courtyards were more than open-air spaces; they were the heartbeat of family life, where children played, elders rested, and stories flowed like tea poured at dusk. From China’s symmetrical siheyuan to Japan’s tranquil tsuboniwa, every region developed its own way of blending architecture with nature. The beauty lies not only in how they looked but also in what they represented—family, harmony, and connection to the earth. Let’s walk through 21 traditional Asian courtyard layouts, each with its own charm, history, and practical wisdom.
1. The Chinese Siheyuan
The siheyuan is one of the most iconic traditional Asian courtyards, often found in Beijing. It follows a square layout with houses surrounding the courtyard on all four sides. Imagine stepping inside: the walls keep the chaos of the city away, and the open space in the middle becomes a private sanctuary. Families used the courtyard for daily gatherings, cooking, and even rituals. Its symmetrical design reflected Confucian values of balance and hierarchy. In modern terms, it’s like having a private park right in your home. Many siheyuan homes were passed down through generations, becoming living archives of family history.
2. Japanese Tsuboniwa
The tsuboniwa is the opposite of grandeur—it’s all about minimalism. These tiny courtyards, often no bigger than a small room, were tucked between traditional Japanese houses. They acted like green lungs, bringing light and air into tight spaces. Moss, stone lanterns, and bamboo created an atmosphere of calm. Unlike Western gardens, the tsuboniwa wasn’t about showing off but about inviting reflection. Imagine sipping tea while a single maple leaf falls into a stone basin—it’s meditation disguised as architecture. Even today, urban Japanese homes adopt mini tsuboniwa layouts to balance modern life with nature’s stillness.
3. Korean Hanok Madang
The madang, or courtyard in a traditional Korean hanok, is both practical and symbolic. Surrounded by wooden structures with tiled roofs, the madang served as a stage for seasonal rituals, weddings, and ancestor ceremonies. Children played here while elders sipped tea under the eaves. Its layout followed the philosophy of harmony with nature—homes were positioned to let breezes cool the summer heat and to capture winter sunlight. The madang was never just an empty yard; it was a shared living room without walls. If you grew up in a hanok, chances are your happiest childhood memories happened here.
4. Indian Haveli Courtyard
The haveli courtyards of India, especially in Rajasthan and Gujarat, feel like open-air palaces. They were often built with sandstone, filled with carved balconies, and decorated with intricate jali (lattice) screens. Women gathered here for festivals, and families cooled off in the evenings. These courtyards had a dual purpose: they were functional, bringing light and airflow into deep houses, but also aesthetic, designed to awe visitors. Imagine a courtyard with fountains at the center, birds fluttering around, and colored glass windows catching the sunlight—it was both practical engineering and poetry in stone.
5. Persian-Inspired Bagh Courtyard in Central Asia
Across parts of Uzbekistan and Iran, courtyards followed the Persian bagh style—designed like a four-part paradise garden. Water channels divided the courtyard into quadrants, symbolizing rivers of paradise. In summer, the sound of flowing water made the heat more bearable, while fruit trees offered shade and food. Unlike Western lawns, these courtyards were productive and symbolic. They were reminders of heaven on earth, blending faith with daily life. Sitting under a pomegranate tree while sipping tea in such a courtyard wasn’t just comfort—it was spiritual nourishment.
6. Thai Inner Courtyard
In Thai traditional houses, the courtyard served as a transition space between pavilions raised on stilts. Unlike walled courtyards, these were more open, often facing rivers or gardens. Families gathered in the courtyard for meals, weaving, or performances. What made Thai layouts unique was the relationship between indoor and outdoor space—the courtyard felt like an extension of the home rather than a separate enclosure. Imagine hearing monks chanting from a nearby temple while you sit barefoot in your courtyard, the smell of jasmine drifting by. This was daily life wrapped in gentle spirituality.
7. Vietnamese Garden Courtyard
In Vietnam, traditional homes often featured a courtyard that acted as both a connector and a cooler. These courtyards were filled with lotus ponds, bonsai, and ancestral altars. Unlike the rigid siheyuan, Vietnamese layouts were more organic, responding to climate and family needs. The courtyard was where generations bonded: elders reciting folk tales, mothers preparing herbs, children chasing fireflies at dusk. It wasn’t only about beauty but survival—these courtyards provided ventilation in hot, humid weather. Even today, modern Vietnamese houses echo this tradition by keeping a green heart at their center.
8. Balinese Family Compound Courtyard
Balinese architecture is deeply spiritual, and the courtyard reflects that. Each family compound is designed with shrines, kitchens, and sleeping pavilions around a central open space. The courtyard is where ceremonies take place, from daily offerings to large festivals. It isn’t just a family space—it’s a stage for connecting with the gods. Imagine waking up to incense smoke curling through the courtyard, roosters crowing, and temple bells ringing nearby. In Bali, courtyards aren’t passive—they are alive, constantly charged with ritual, color, and devotion.
9. Nepali Newar Courtyard (Bahals and Bahils)
In Kathmandu Valley, the Newar people designed courtyards known as bahals or bahils. These were not private family spaces but community courtyards surrounded by brick houses. At the center stood a shrine, where daily worship and festivals were held. Children played freely while elders discussed village matters. These courtyards were democratic, shared equally by everyone in the cluster. Unlike private siheyuan, they embodied the spirit of neighborhood togetherness. They remain living museums today, echoing laughter, prayer, and the steady rhythm of urban community life.
10. Malay Kampong Courtyard
In traditional Malay houses, courtyards were modest but full of life. Often sandy or grassy, they became spaces for cooking, weaving, or storytelling. What makes them special is how they connected homes to the larger kampong (village). Neighbors gathered in these open yards for shared meals, weddings, or even shadow puppet shows. Shade from coconut trees and the presence of chickens or goats made the space feel like a mini-ecosystem. The Malay courtyard wasn’t about walls or symmetry—it was about openness, trust, and community spirit, a place where boundaries blurred.
11. Bhutanese Dzong Courtyard
Bhutan’s monasteries and fortresses, known as dzongs, are built around vast courtyards. Unlike family-centered layouts, these spaces were spiritual and administrative hubs. Monks gathered here for prayer rituals, and communities used them during festivals like tsechus. Imagine a courtyard surrounded by massive whitewashed walls and golden-roofed temples, with masked dancers performing while the sound of drums echoes off the mountains. These courtyards were designed not just for beauty but for resilience against Himalayan weather. They remind us that courtyards can be places of both devotion and defense.
12. Mongolian Monastery Courtyards
In Mongolia, nomadic life rarely allowed for courtyards in homes, but monasteries made up for it. Monastic courtyards became sacred gathering spaces where rituals unfolded under the open sky. Their layouts often framed statues of Buddha or stupas, surrounded by prayer wheels. These spaces reflected the vastness of the Mongolian steppe—open, uncluttered, and deeply spiritual. Pilgrims would sit in the courtyard to listen to chants carried by the wind. Unlike urban siheyuan, these courtyards weren’t about privacy but about connecting human voices to the endless landscape.
13. Cambodian Angkor Courtyard Style
The temples of Angkor in Cambodia used courtyard layouts that mixed spirituality with grandeur. Wide stone courtyards connected shrines and galleries, with carvings narrating epics from Hindu and Buddhist traditions. Water features, symbolic of rivers, often lined the pathways. For locals, these spaces weren’t just monumental—they were community gathering spots during ceremonies. Imagine walking barefoot across ancient stone warmed by the sun, hearing cicadas buzz in the jungle, and realizing the courtyard you stand in has witnessed centuries of devotion. Angkor’s courtyards remind us how architecture can be both sacred and social.
14. Tibetan Monastic Courtyards
High up in the Himalayas, Tibetan monasteries used courtyards as platforms for debate and teaching. Monks gathered in these open squares to engage in lively discussions, clapping hands in rhythm to emphasize their arguments. These courtyards were often surrounded by colorful murals, prayer flags, and stupas, filling the air with spiritual symbolism. Unlike quiet gardens, Tibetan courtyards were dynamic and full of energy. Picture snow falling gently while monks continue their debates under crimson robes—here, learning and spirituality found a home under the wide sky.
15. Sri Lankan Ancestral Courtyards (Walauwa)
In Sri Lanka, aristocratic homes called walauwa featured courtyards as central breathing spaces. These were often rectangular, surrounded by wooden verandas. Families used them for daily life—children played here, while women dried spices in the sun. Many included wells or small shrines, connecting domestic routines with spiritual grounding. The courtyard wasn’t ornamental but essential, cooling the house in the tropical climate. Imagine sitting in a walauwa courtyard during monsoon rains, listening to water splash on clay tiles while feeling safe in a sheltered world. That was the magic of this layout.
16. Philippine Bahay na Bato Courtyard
In the Philippines, Spanish influence blended with local traditions in the bahay na bato homes. These often featured small courtyards or open-air patios that balanced the stone lower floors with wooden upper stories. The courtyard became a flexible space for fiestas, drying clothes, or hosting neighbors. Often shaded by fruit trees like mango or guava, it reflected the Filipino value of hospitality. Imagine kids running barefoot through the courtyard during Christmas while elders share stories over rice cakes. The bahay na bato courtyard wasn’t grand, but it was always alive with family warmth.
17. Burmese Bagan Courtyards
In ancient Bagan, Myanmar’s temples and monasteries were linked by spacious courtyards paved with stone. These areas hosted processions, meditation gatherings, and seasonal fairs. What set them apart were the views—temple courtyards opened toward endless plains dotted with stupas and pagodas. Standing in one feels like standing in history itself, surrounded by silhouettes of countless spires against the sunset. Unlike private family courtyards, these were spiritual commons, open to anyone seeking prayer or community. They continue to serve as timeless gathering spaces for Buddhist devotion.
18. Laotian Wooden House Courtyards
Traditional Laotian homes, often raised on stilts, incorporated open courtyards underneath or beside the main structure. These spaces were practical—used for weaving, cooking, or storing boats in flood-prone areas. Families adapted the courtyard for daily needs, transforming it depending on the season. Imagine elders sitting in low bamboo chairs weaving baskets while children chase chickens across the yard. In Laotian culture, courtyards symbolized adaptability, showing how people lived in rhythm with rivers, rains, and seasons. They weren’t about rigid design but about flowing with nature’s cycles.
19. Japanese Shoin Courtyard
The shoin style, developed in Japan’s Muromachi period, included courtyards that blurred the line between garden and architecture. These weren’t as tiny as tsuboniwa but designed as extensions of formal reception rooms. Gravel paths, koi ponds, and carefully pruned pines turned courtyards into artful landscapes. Guests enjoyed tea ceremonies with views of these serene spaces, where every stone and plant had meaning. Imagine stepping into a shoin courtyard at dawn, hearing the soft trickle of water while light filters through shoji screens. These layouts proved that courtyards could be both social and meditative.
20. Chinese Hakka Tulou Courtyard
The Hakka tulou in southern China are circular communal houses with massive shared courtyards. Families lived in individual rooms along the perimeter, but the central courtyard was for everyone—festivals, cooking, even farming small patches. These courtyards symbolized security and unity, with high outer walls defending against invaders. Imagine hundreds of people sharing meals in one courtyard, laughter bouncing against the round walls. Unlike private siheyuan, tulou courtyards celebrated community over hierarchy. They were living circles of protection, culture, and kinship.
21. Javanese Pendopo Courtyard
In Java, traditional homes often featured a pendopo, an open pavilion connected to a courtyard. This layout wasn’t walled in but flowed into gardens and pathways. The pendopo hosted gamelan music, puppet shows, and ceremonies, while the courtyard absorbed the overflow of guests. It was a space where art and life merged seamlessly. Imagine villagers gathering in the courtyard on a full moon night, the air filled with the rhythmic sounds of instruments and stories from shadow plays. The Javanese courtyard wasn’t about solitude—it was about shared cultural identity.
Closing Thoughts
The 21 traditional Asian courtyard layouts we’ve explored reveal a pattern: no matter the country, the courtyard was never just empty space. It was a stage for life, a bridge between the sky above and the home within. From the sacred chants of Tibet to the playful laughter of Malay villages, courtyards reflected values of family, faith, and community. They remind us that architecture is not only about walls or roofs but about how people breathe, gather, and dream together. Perhaps that’s why even in modern cities, we still crave open spaces—because deep down, we are all shaped by the memory of courtyards.
