Kyoto

Nozomi 207. Tokyo to Kyoto.

Shinkansen out of the early-morning chill of Tokyo, swooping telephone lines, fields and farms and towns and cities and mountains, the jolting rush of a train on the opposite track, just a blue-yellow blur.

Kyoto station feels a world away, frantic with holiday-weekend sightseers – a reminder that one can be a tourist even within one's own country, Japanese consulting maps and timetables just as I was - the sun seeming so strong for October as I wait in line for what I hope is the right bus. 

Hotel successfully located, bag left behind the desk, I waste no time striking off to get started on Kyoto’s impressive list of shrines and temples.

Silver Pavilion (ginkakuji): The sloping street leading up to the entrance is bustling with crowds,  shops selling souveneirs, handicrafts, confections and swirls of soft-serve to the many people making their way to and from the temple. I fumble for change to pay my entrance ticket, squinting, wishing it weren’t quite so warm…. but then.  A delicious cloud of cool air hovers over the grounds, with its carpet of green moss, rustling trees, unhurried streams, and serene bamboo groves…The ‘silver pavilion’ itself is a lovely building, though never actually covered in silver: perched next to a pond, raked sand emanating patterns from its base. I flow with the crowd along the well-marked path, trying to ignore their presence. Sudden exclamations erupt as the snaking line pauses for tossing coins into the pool – trying to hit the rock in the middle, which I can only assume ups one’s chances of seeing that wish come true. It’s beautiful, but the sheer number of people necessessitates what feels like a hasty visit

Striking off down the Philosopher’s Path (Tetsugaku no michi), I follow the stone walkway along a narrow canal, under cherry trees that are fading graciously into autumn, waiting their turn to show off their spring-time beauty. 

Hon-en Temple: Now this is peace. Mossy earth and gnarled limbs, the steady flow of water, the scrape of brooms gathering leaves, chanting floating on the air. Sunlight filters onto cool stone, red cedar trunks catching the rays, as I wander among the stoic, silent tombstones.

The Path leaves me near the entrance to Nanzen-ji Temple, with it’s massive entrance gate, colossal temple buildings….and…. an aqueduct. 

Red brick and out of place, full of people taking pictures, attempting to jump into a string of empty archways at just the right moment.

 The path along the top just begs to be followed, and I leave with the temple itself unexplored, opting instead for a quiet walk with views of the city. 

 At the end is an old railway bed, now laid with a semblence of stepping-stones, the momentum of the downhill slope carries my feet between them…

Templed out for the day, I head back to check into my hotel. My room is the perfect coexistence of traditional (tatami mats, futon bed, small rock garden just outside) and modern (private bathroom). After a brief regroup, I head off into the growing darkness…

Swept up by a crowd of young people leaving some sort of festival, I let myself be pulled along towards what I (correctly) assume is the direction of downtown.  Along the river, figures sit on the concrete banks – couples, families, friends – lit by the light spilling from the restaurants lining the river, as the cool air of evening sweeps down, and the full moon rises.

Down the main entertainment street –trees line the small canal that splits street in two;  the night is clearly just beginning, people scoping out options for dinner as menu boards and pretty girls with signs try to entice the passers-by. At the end is the main shopping street, so bright it makes me squint, and loud with the noise of a holiday weekend.  I tire of the retail (which seems to be quite the same, no matter where you are) and head back towards the quieter area of town I am staying in, stopping for a well-recommended bowl of ramen. 

Day 2

Life is stirring at Fushimi-Inari as dawn breaks – monks completing their cleansing ritual, drummmers preparing for the day’s festival – and I am joined by the other early-rising few: the walkers, the joggers, and the pilgrims, stopping to throw coins with a clank, give a sharp clap, and ring the bell with a clang.

Up the hillside stretch the bright red torii, emitting an incandescent glow in the shady dawn. Thousands upon thousands.... and passing beneath the first has the feeling of a beginning…. I vasciallate between awed and reverent silence and frantic camera clicking. New gates shine bright red, their kanji a bold splash of black; the dull stone of older gates an intermittent reminder of a history that is unknown, but for the moment irrelevant.

I meet the sun at the top of the mountain, where I catch my breath as other hikers sit and rest on benches in front of the unopened teahouse... and then leave them behind. Further up and further in. Astounded at the constant canopy of red. 

Small shrines and tea-houses appear at intervals – mini-torii, an abundance of fox statues, a place to make an offering and a bell to ring. Stirrings in the tea-houses as the proprieters ready for the day.

A small grotto found by following the sound of trickling water.  The torii dissapate as I follow the path down the other side of the mountain along a trickling stream, breathing deep of the morning air.

Just when I think I could be alone in the universe. Or perhaps even transported to another, with the music of falling water, the ancient scent of mossy stone....

...the glow of candles. Lit by faith, or magic, or ghosts, but surely not by human hands.

The nagging thought of further discoveries pulls me from this place, down into the world again…

A brief stop at Tofuku-ji as it opened, few people about, and the opportunity to appreciate the grandeur of the main gate in relative silence. 

On to Sanjusangen-do, to see the 1001 Statues of Buddha.

This is all I know, as I take my shoes off and pad into the entrance-way, not sure what to expect, but with mental images of small buddha statues scatted about the floor. How wrong I am.

The smoke of incense invades my nostrils, stings my eyes.  The hall opens up to my right.

Spiky lines of symmetry erupt from the ranks of life-size statues, glinting gold in the soft light, stretching away to the dim reaches of the hall. Seemingly identical until you take them in – subtle differences in the drape of the clothing, the clasp of the fingers, the slit of the eyes, the objects held in their sea of hands. Fierce statues of gods stand guard.  In the center sits the Thousand-Armed Kannon, seated in a lotus flower, eyes closed and palms together, in a swirl of grasping hands, as wind chimes hang silent above her head.

I loiter before exiting, marveling at the craftsmanship, the sheer numbers…. It’s a heady feeling to realize that you must take this in, here and now, in the almost-certain event that you never return…

On the flip side to my reflective morning, Kiyomizu-dera welcomes me with bright orange, gaudy green, and a crush of people which make the dark wood beams and the beautiful view from the balcony slightly less impressive.

 I bypass the line for sipping from the wish-granting waters and wander out down the busy street, stopping to satisfy my curiosity about the cucumbers-on-a-stick… cold, slightly spiced and delicious, a perfect snack for a sunny day. (and, as I was reassured by the lovely lady selling them, it was okay to consume it while walking down the street, a practice reserved for very few portable food items, such as ice-cream.)

Some beautiful old streets take to me to a shady rest in the park before returning to my hotel for a much-needed nap!

My evening wanderings take me through the famed geisha district of Gion. The streets are beautiful,  but  quiet, save the gaijin (foreigners) snapping photos. 

I meet up with my friend Shannon, also out and about from Tokyo, and we swap travelling stories and eat Korean barbeque, creating a smoky haze as we order through a combination of Japlish, iPhone translations, and pictures of cows (no, I'm sorry sir, we don't want cow stomach. not the first one OR the fourth one).


Day 3

 The morning haze lasts just long enough to provide a nice even light for my viewing of kinkakuji: the golden pavilion, one of Kyoto’s most famed sites, floating serenely on a still pond.

I ride the bus to Arashiyama, an area with countless shrines, temples and gardens stretching up into the hills from the rather ‘touristy’ main street.

I make my way first to my main objective – the bamboo forest. It is quite a lovely wander:

At this point, my feet are aching from all the walking I’ve done over the past few days and I’ve reached the saturation level for temple and shrine viewing, so I head back to Kyoto’s main train station to wait for my train… and this beautiful, super-modern building has enough to keep me entertained while I wait… shops, restaurants, bars and coffee shops… a city within a city!

Travelling solo in Japan was a wonderful experience. I felt safe, was able to walk a vast majority of the time, there are vending machines everywhere to cater to my needs for hydration and caffeination… as well as clean public toilets (with toilet paper!), and most major bus and train routes have the stations marked in English.

Kyoto is a beautiful place with so much that is ancient and sacred, yet at the same time so modern…. Example: walking under a seemingly endless line of bright lights, stores and stores and stores… interrupted suddenly by the dark, smoky, incense-filled entrance to a temple, nestled in all the retail madness. 

This is what I have found most fascinating about Japan so far, the juxtaposition of old and new, sacred and secular, noisy and peaceful….. I can't wait to continue exploring, puzzling, and reflecting. 

Tanglets...

...because they can't be tangents if there wasn't a topic to begin with...


***

A typhoon bears down on Tokyo, early dismissal just in time, kids shrieking and running for the busses, staff scattering to our homes… and all my thoughts of work are banished, I can’t focus on a book, as the wind howls and rain slaps against my windows. I hunker down, drink wine, stream TV, slightly on edge as darkness falls -  until the wind blows itself out and I relax into sleep...the next day dawns bright and shining clear, but the carpet of green leaves torn asunder is a solid reminder that I did not imagine it all…

****

A rainy and chilly morning transforms magically into a crisp and cool afternoon… blue sky clear and pale, high-flying clouds, park lawns and paths crowded but (as always) it seems the sound is on mute as my tires whir. 

****

Saturday dawned autumn, and I headed out on my bike to Jindaiji temple, marveling at the indescribable but oh-so-recognizable perfection, inhaling deep, as if I could breathe in the sky,  let it inhabit my lungs and flow in my veins....

Monks chant as I approach the cleansing smoke, my steps sounding too loud as I crunch across the gravel. I feel a bit like an intruder, but approach nonetheless, tossing my coin into the wooden slats with a clink, taking in the sacred, making it mine, offering a moment of thanks and appreciation....

Shops and restaurants line the road, getting ready for the day, the usual silence broken by clinking dishes and the occasional conversations, the ‘irasshaimase’ of the girls selling sticky  balls of rice and steamed dumplings…

Groups of suited and somber people start to appear, and as I wander down a path I happen upon a cemetery -  granite headstones, bright spots of fresh flowers, and the spikes of wooden slats… it’s the weekend of the equinox, and these groups of people gather around graves to pay respect to the dead – some merely following tradition, stoic faces. others clearly in the newer stages of grief... and I slip quietly away…

****

sock-clad feet shift in ryhthm

to gain a moment’s reprieve

from night-chilled boards

the silence is sharp

as the morning air

til the rooster’s call

shatters it into stirring fragments

the sun slides up,

fresh,

turning the mist from

pink to milky white

where the base of of the great mountain

rises  from the hills

We started off to KEEP (our grade 6 trip to the Kiyasato Educational Experiment Project) under deep blue skies, chatting and laughing and straining at seat belts. Surprisingly soon we are spilling from the bus to the sight of a grassy field sloping away from us, drawing our eyes to green hills, and beyond, Mount Fuji’s cone rising smooth and sporting a dusting of new snow.

Advisory pictures, lunch in the sunshine, then off on a hike – up the sun-baked road and into the welcome cool of the woods, up and down and around…. picking our way down along a trickling creek, stones and moss and muck, dipping hands into the ice-cold water, exclaiming at hoof-prints in the dark earth…. Up a rocky hill, around bends, under shady boughs  and into squinting sun… the final strectch a stony, dizzying attempt to stay on our feet…

Our reward is fresh, delicious ice-cream, enjoyed on the patio as kids run and play. As the air cools towards evening we split off to settle into our cabins, claiming beds and negotiating the shower order… dinner and evening activities stretching us into tiredness….hot chocolate and teeth-brushing and some late-night stargazing and giggling as the girls delay bedtime…

The sun continues to grace us with her presence on day two, as we collect treasures to piece together into works of art with the aid of hot glue, tape and imagination. Our afternoon walk reveals interesting nature facts and nifty tricks (if you walk with a  mirror under your eyes, you see the canopy as a dormouse sees it! You can turn a blade of grass into a whistle! This small green berry holds a powerfully potent citrus scent!), and gives us a chance to milk a cow as she gazes at us with large, patient eyes.

I have two lovely hours of freedom this night, and I sink into my book and luxuriate in a hot shower before going back to collect my charges, hyped up from scary stories and past the point of tired… we wind down with some hangman and hot chocolate as the fog rolls in.

A flurry of packing the final morning, breakfast followed by some free time to shop, eat ice cream (still delicious at 9 am), buy souveneirs, and watch the cows that appear in the neighboring field, phantoms in the mist that covers the mountains this morning.

We shake cream to make butter as the sun, butter-yellow herself, starts to force her way through, and we board the bus to return to the stifling heat of the city....

*****

Saturday soundtrack: neighboring school hosts some sort of festival. music, singing, cheering, and (when curiosity finally gets the best of me) dancing.

*******

....then something happened, on a seemingly innocuous, if somewhat cloudy, sunday afternoon.

I put on a sweatshirt.

And  I eyed the sundresses hanging in my closet and realized I won’t be wearing them until spring.

And what is this feeling my feet are getting? Is this coziness? From being encased by SOCKS?

*****

Feet cold this morning on the bike ride to work. Swan song of the sandals.

Sunset in Nogawa. Fall blooms – (who knew such a thing existed!) pink and white and yellow and crimson, dog-walkers and joggers and bikers, kids playing in the stream and running in the grass.

****

"October is a symphony of permanence and change."

-Bonaro W. Overstreet

And so it is.