Foxes, and foxes, and foxes again.

(Rickshaw Inn, Takayama)

On my last full day in Kyoto I had three goals; the Johnny Hillwalker walking tour, Ni-jo, and Fushimi-Inari Taisha. The walking tour was due to start at 10 outside Kyoto station. One flyer I picked up said the walk was three hours. Another ad said it was four. From his own mouth, it was five. It was going to be tight.

Given I was testing out the buses from my hotel to the station, I left early (still leaving time to screw up). The bus system really is excellent. Kyoto is laid out in a grid pattern, in emulation of the old Chinese cities. As such, it’s pretty straight forward getting from one side of town to the other. The buses are even designed specifically for sightseeing, which coincides with being useful for residents getting about as well. That said, just because a bus travels down one road, it won’t necessarily stop at all the bus stops. Best to check the route maps on each of the bus stops before hopping on.

I had plenty of time at the station, so indulged in breakfast. I know, crazy! When I surfaced, Johnny was already present and handing out maps. He’s a little weathered man, hair more white than black.



While waiting for everyone to turn up, a man from Dallas started chatting up a tiny little chinese woman from New York, who was standing next to me. Standard traveller talk; where are you from, where are you going, where have you been, oh, I’ve done this and this and all this.

The first place Johnny took us was Higashi-hongan-ji, again. It was much better with a knowledgable guide. Turns out, what I thought was general construction was actually a repair of the main hall, the largest wooden building in Japan. Shame. With the main hall out of order, the Amida Hall is being used for services. When we visited, there was a service to state “I am a Buddhist” being performed.

Like the Imperial Palace, this temple has burnt down several times as well. The first couple of times the Shogunate rebuilt it, but the third time not so, as the Shogun lost power. It was rebuilt by the people, by volunteers who went into the mountains looking for elms large enough to be the supporting pillars. They wove rope out of their own hair to haul the lumber down the mountain. The rope is on display, and much larger than you’d believe.


(One of the pillars in question. That's a lot of tree to lug back from the mountains.)

At the new temple, which had very strong church-like overtones, Johnny gave an abbreviated summary of Japanese Buddhism, which is different from Chinese Buddhism, which is different again from Indian Buddhism. The Japanese like the Amida Buddha, who is not popular with the Indians and Chinese, as the Amida Buddha does not deliver wealth or happiness. The Japanese already have their Shinto gods to look after wealth and happiness, and so look to the Amida Buddha for the one thing the Amida Buddha gives; Paradise. Amida only cares if you are alive or dead, and if you are dead, he takes you away.

There was a woman with us, toting around a wheeled backpack with all the zips open. When we took our shoes off to enter the Amida Hall, she left her bag there, despite being told we were putting our shoes on again elsewhere. Of course, when she went back to get her bag, it wasn’t there. Johnny sent us all on to the next stop while locating her bag for her.

Stupid woman. If your bag contains what you need to continue travelling, then don’t be a stupid daft idiot and leave it unattended and out of sight. Not to mention, duh! Security risk, of course it will be taken away.

The next stop was a fan shop, at which we were able to watch fans being made by hand. Interestingly, the fan industry in Kyoto is quite a specialised one; many people work at home, and work at doing one part of the fan making process only. One household might specialise in making paper, another in painting it, another in cutting bamboo, another in making the frames, and so on. The same with many other traditional industries. Johnny said that one kimono can go through up to forty households before being completed. It’s no wonder they cost so much.

The fan making industry is dying out though, due to the cheaper imported fans from China. Seeing as I knew what was before me was hand crafted, I splurged and bought myself a luverly one, which will never be used because it’s too pretty. Back in Tokyo I bought the cheapest, plainest fan I could find, and it’s served me well, and is already banged up as all hell.

From there we visited a Shinto shrine, Ayako-tenmangu. The tenmangu set of Shinto shrines are for ‘better head’, which is intelligence and wisdom related, and as such they’re very popular with students in the throes of exam period.

Here, Johnny explained the rituals of a Shinto shrine. Shinto tends to circulate around purity and cleanliness. The ropes around the shrine are to keep dirtiness and impurity out. Before passing beyond the rope, you must wash your hands and mouth with the water found at all Shinto shrines.

Because Shinto gods are spirits, and zoom around all over the place, it is necessary to get their attention. To do so, you ring the bell and clap your hands before praying.

Kitano-Tenmangu, at which I’d visited the market, is the head tenmangu shrine in Japan, where all donations from all the tenmangu shrines in the country go.

This was followed by a visit to a much smaller Buddhist temple, which housed a Shinto shrine in the corner. As Johnny pointed out, the many buddhas in Buddhism don’t quarrel, and the many gods in Shintoism don’t quarrel, and as such, both are quite happy to be mixed up together. I like these religions.


(The Shinto shrine tucked in the corner of the Buddhish's temple yard, both equally well maintained.)

We visited a grave yard, where the death customs were explained to us. Death anniversaries are marked on the third, seventh, and so on years. I couldn’t quite figure out the exact pattern with the numbers.

Ichihime was another Shinto shrine, this one dedicated to the protection of women.

After that, we strayed into a declining geisha district, and a geisha house was pointed out to us. The area was going down hill, and while there were still geisha operating, there were fewer and fewer each year. Johnny detailed the process girls have to go through in order to become a geisha, which sounds even harder than trying to get into university in this country. The profession appeals largely to those interested in dance and music, and apparently half of the girls who become maiko do not become fully fledged geisha.


(The lantern is the sign of a geisha house. They're were not extravagant buildings, and quiet during the day.)

Kyoto seems to be in decline, at least from Johnny’s point of view. A lot of old crafts are thinning out.

The next stop was something completely unexpected. Many years ago, a company made it big selling picture playing cards. The factory still stands, although it is no longer used, as the company is now busy doing other things.

Nintendo.



Eeee!

We were given a piece of inari sushi (you probably know it as the sushi that is rice in a jacket of sweet bean curd) before strolling about the pottery district. The house of one apparently very famous potter had bowls just drying out on the front fence. Apparently these bowls are only available at exhibitions, not in any stores, yet they were just sitting out the front for any of us to steal or knock over.

In a small bakery we were given a cup of tea and a sweet, and from there descended on Toyokuni, a shrine dedicated to Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Johnny gave a unique perspective on the Toyotomi/Tokugawa feud. The Tokugawa Shogun did unify Japan, but also sealed the country off from the outside world, and generally wasn’t all that nice a guy. When the Shogun finally lost power, they were so afraid of him that they made a shrine to keep the shogunate away using the power of Hideyoshi’s spirit.

Hideyoshi isn’t without his stains; he did some terrible things to the Koreans. But he started something.

While Johnny was telling us this, Mr Dallas and Ms New York were standing next to me. He’d maneuvered himself behind her, and stood with his hands on her waist, and she was not happy with it. I’d seen him getting man-handly with her when crossing roads, taking her by the arm and such. First chance she got, she moved away, to my other side. I tried to subtly ask if she was okay, but she waved me off.

The tour ended shortly after. I stuck close by her, in case she looked like she needed intervention. The two of them left together though, him with his hand on her forearm as they ran across the road. She’d half-attempted to brush him off when he offered to show her around a temple, pointing out he’d already been, but never actually said “no.”

Sometimes, I think being a tiny little pretty thing must suck. I’m glad I’m not. I’m also glad I’m cantankerous enough to tell people when to bugger off. Girl, it’s your holiday. You don’t owe him a thing.

Time was short. Luckily, there was a bus leaving from a stop nearby that went straight to Ni-jo, so I leapt on it. It was a very rushed tour of the castle, built by Tokugawa Ieyasu (I swear, all these guys did was build big things), but very much worth it. It was what I was expecting the Imperial Palace to be. Every room was full of gold paint and the sliding doors were covered in lush beautiful murals. Ever room and corridor was a piece of art.

Best of all was the floors. Ni-jo is full of the famed nightingale floors, and yes I tried to walk across them without making a sound, and only succeeded some of the time. The sound they make is different to what I’d expected. I’d anticipated the creak and grumble of wooden floorboards, but it is the nails themselves that sing, and they’re much sweeter. They’re like the little squeak of mice, or the peep of baby chickens. The passage of feet is pronounced, but not obnoxious.

The sun was setting by the time they kicked me out. I lept on the first bus to the station, and took the JR Nara line to Inari, where the Fushimi-Inari Taisha Temple is located. It is the head Shinto shrine of Inari, the god of rice and favourable business. Foxes are his messenger, and there were fox statues everywhere.



The main drawcard was the paths leading back from the temple up into the hills, where various smaller shrines were housed. Each path was lined thick with great vermillion torii gates. They were thick and tightly-packed. It wasn’t like strolling through the forest at all.







I walked through twisting orange corridors, as the sun set and the crows bickered and the last cicadas of summer buzzed their chorus. Gradually, the lanterns came on, and my corridors were striped with light and shadow.




(I turned around, and was startled to find all gates were carved upon, a stark contrast to their blank faces. Remember - always look behind you.)






(There were temple kitties everywhere. I assume the foxes don't mind their presence.)









There were many branches, and the few maps I encountered were entirely enigmatic, so once I reached the point where I wasn’t sure if I’d remember what route to take to get back, I turned around. I could have spent much longer there, just walking through the torii.



I ducked into the basement of a nearby department store for dinner, as I had to contain the mess in my room and sort myself out for check out. I have to say, while the Japanese excel at presentation, they overpackage. There are wrappings in boxes in wrappings in wrapping paper in bags. It’s an enormous waste. I also, er, got sucked into Tower Records kindofmaybeonpurpose. Look, when the new albums from Iron & Wine AND Jose Gonzalez are released on the same day, you’d do the same. Gonzalez does an excellent cover of Teardrops, you should seek it.

I messed up with Kyoto. I didn’t give myself nearly enough time to poke around, nor did I have my act together and have a coherent idea of what I wanted to do. Next time, I think I’ll give myself at least a week here, for a good rummage.

This morning I slept in, since check out wasn’t until 11. No that I slept, oh no, but just lazing in bed was good enough. A quick trip to the post office to send my latest batch of stuff I didn’t want to carry around back home before hitting up the station. I love the post offices here. They’re useful, unlike most of the ones I encountered in America. I have all my terms memorised, and the process is pretty painless. A newly discovered talent of mine is knowing exactly when I have enough stuff to fill a box snugly.

The shinkansen took me to Nagoya, and from there a limited express train to Takayama. The limited express alarmed me initially, as the first leg of the trip was spent travelling backwards. No way I could travel backwards for over two hours and not hurl my guts up. Thankfully, it was the train equivalent of reversing out of a driveway. The majority of the trip was spent following a river up a deep valley. The water was a fantastic colour, somewhere between blue and green, and so very clear.

Takayama is a little mountain town that has retained most of its traditional Japanese buildings and atmosphere. Just walking from the station to my hotel was enough to win me over.

(There is someone walking down the street, regularly hitting two blocks of wood together. Old school nightwatch man? Dammit, missed them. I’ll have to check again tomorrow.)

The Rickshaw Inn is great. It’s a very small ryokan, but wonderfully decorated and with an elegant feel. My room is yet another tiny tatami mat room, squeezed in behind the kitchen.



I’d intended to visit an arts and crafts museum before it shut, but, er, this town is another of those towns full of fascinating little streets lined with fascinating little shops, and I got so distracted it closed before I made it there.





There is a dead hour in most of the smaller towns, between the shops shutting and the restaurants opening. The river cutting through the centre of town seemed a nice quiet place to chill, so I found a seat and gave home a call.

The path by the river is where the locals take their little dogs to do their evening poo-poo. FYI.

Beef dishes are pushed as a great specialty in Japan, which I think is due to the scarcity of beef itself. Japan doesn’t have the space to have large herds of cows at pasture. To be honest, I’m not that much of a red meat girl back home, so I haven’t made any effort to try the beef here. But I liked Takayama, so I figured I’d try the local Hida beef.

The restaurant I found only had a Japanese menu out front, without roman numeral prices, and looked rather up market and probably wouldn’t appreciate me walking my shabby arse in off the street, so I nearly walked away. Then I slapped myself, and strode in and asked if they had an English menu, which they did. Unfortunately, the really good stuff like shabu-shabu and sukiyaki were two people minimum, which made me sad. I settled for a beef and rice claypot, and because I was feeling slightly out of character, decided to inebriate myself and ordered some hot sake.

You know I can’t drink for shit. I still managed finish half the bottle, which is a good effort by my standards.

I don’t know if they cut their cows differently, but the meat does look different. Instead of there being one concentrated strip of fat, the fat is evenly and thinly distributed through the flesh. It gives it a very creamy texture, and of course tastes nummy.

If I can find some other lone traveller tomorrow, I’ll convince them they need shabu-shabu for dinner.

(ETA: I can tell from reading this I was exhausted at the time of writing. I'm cranky, and my goodness, crappy sentence structure! I have held off from editing any of these though, just...'cause. In case you couldn't tell, I was a bit snap-happy at the Fushimi-Inari Taisha Temple, and spared you most of the photos. Will go back there. WITH A TRIPOD THIS TIME.)

Raining in Kyoto, Not Raining in Kyoto

(Hotel Unizo, Kyoto)

Fuck, I’m tired.


(a wet evening's walk in kyoto)

The performance I mentioned in the previous post was at the Gion Corner. 2800 yen for a 50 minute performance, which was like “JAPANESETRADITIONALENTERTAINMENT GOGOGOGOGO!” The tea ceremony and ikebana they melded with the koto music, all of which I’ve had the priviledge of witnessing before. This was followed by Gagaku, being traditional court music that remain exclusive to the Imperial Court and never became a popular form of entertainment taken up by the masses. This is because the masses would have none of that. My goodness, it was dire. After a while it acquired a faint hypnotic effect, but that may have been my ears protesting the shrill discord. Those priveliged with court life have too much luxury if they feel they have to do that to themselves.




(gagaku dancer who performed highly ritualised moves, and orchestra - the guy's expression is indicative of...indicatives.)

A short piece of Kyogen, comedic theatre, followed this. A most pleasant chaser. The acting and facial expresses were amusingly exaggerated as the basic plot unfolded; a lord is going to visit his warehouses, but is afraid his servants will steal his sake while he is gone. He comes up with a plan to tie them up, and goes. The servants still have their hands free, and drink his sake, becoming well plastered. The lord returns, and is appropriately outraged. He sneaks up behind them, and they see his face reflected in the sake bowl, but believe it to be a hallucination of drunkenness. The lord smacks them around, and all run off.


(tying up the first of his untrustworthy servants. the lord, the one on the right, reminds me of mister bean for some reason.)

Kyomai, a dance performed by geisha (or in this case, maiko, being apprentice geisha), was an interesting study. Each move was gracefully executed, and most were reminiscent of every day activities; brushing hair, applying make up, shopping. It added a thicker layer of voyeurism to the experience, which was then further compounded by a sort of punctuation move, of the maiko hiding their faces behind their sleeves and turning away.



The final act was far and away the greatest. Bunraku is a form of puppetry that involves large wooden puppets which require three people to operate. The sole puppet was manipulated so well, I was gobsmacked. It was brilliant! It made the whole night, it really did.



Afterwards, I wandered about the Gion district. I found dinner over looking the river (ETA: I remember this dinner being a demonstration ot the limits of picking your meal from photos; I thought I was ordering tofu and vegetables, I ended up with pork and omelette), and a craft shop where I accidentally spent money on things I most certainly don’t need.


(hand stitched sushi!)

I walked the length of Ponto-cho, a very narrow alley full of old buildings, restaurants and bars. I’ve done a lot of night strolling on this trip, it’s one of my favourite things to do. There has yet to be an instance where I’ve felt uncomfortable in my surroundings. Melbourne has more menace than all I’ve seen of Japan.


(this is not ponto-cho, this is an even narrower alley coming off ponto-cho, which probably leads to great food, but looks like it leads to certain terrible axe-murderer death.)

I have no idea how many of you watch anime. A couple, but not many of you. If you’ve watched Azumanga Daioh, you’ll remember a scene in which Yukari invades Nyamo’s house just to sleep as there are workmen at her building. She freaks out on discovering Nyamo’s funky new pillow. This hotel has that pillow! It’s a weirdarse shape and made of funkyarse foam and I <3 it. It’s the best pillow evah. In fact this bed is just fucking awesome. Didn’t sleep, but at least I was mighty comfortable.

Monday, I intended to start the day with one of Johnnie Hillwalker’s walking tours. I was prepared, with food and drink, and even found the meeting point on time. He never turned up. Various clueless travellers such as myself wandered and waited, till at last it was revealed that it was Autumn Equinox, which is a public holiday. No walking tour.

Erm. Quick change of plans. I jumped on a train to Saga Arashiyama, hoping that once I was there, I’d find my way. This was an area I’d intended to research before visiting, to at least refresh my memory, but oh well. As luck would have it, the connecting station for the ‘romance rail’ was right next to the JR station. Phew.

The place was packed. Don’t do this on a public holiday, okay?

There was also no English signage, so some wingage was required. A one way ticket on the rail was 600 yen, all seats reserved. After watching the people around me, I figured that it was possible to buy a ticket for the return river trip there as well. There was some entirely unclear process of people filling out little cards before going to the ticket desk. I winged it again. The staff are accustomed to clueless gaijin, I suspect, as most spoke English. Although my receipt and all the signs stated the trip was 3900 yen, for some reason I was charged 4200 yen. Hmm. Too tired and bewildered and language challenged to question it. 300 yen won’t kill me.

My seat wasn’t a great one, but the rail trip was pleasant regardless. The carriages were open to let the air in, and the train wound its way along the gorge over bridges and through tunnels. The valley cut by the river is very pretty. For some reason, there was a man dressed up as an oni prancing up and down the carriages, who was hugely popular. Everyone wanted a picture with him, especially when he held up a Thomas the Tank Engine mask.

At the end of the ride everyone piled off the train, rushed through the station and out to the parking lot, where several buses were waiting to take us to the docks. Bus ride not nearly so pretty.

At the dock I handed over a slip of paper that had my name and country on it, and they called people one by one as it was time to take their seats. The boats were fibreglass models of traditional wooden river boats, manned by three people; one at the rudder, one rowing on the starboard side, and the third using a large pole to alternately assist in moving the boat by pushing along the bottom and nudging the boat away from rocks.


(one of the few 'rapids' along the river, which the two boatmen take as a breather.)

It was a lovely, lovely trip. The river goes through some beautiful mountains. The trees are just beginning to turn. In a month, the place will look entirely different.

That said, two hours is an awful long time to sit on a bench. My butt has awesome sitting stamina, and it hurt.

Towards the end, a shop boat pulled up along side, and sold food and drinks. I bought some freshly grilled squid, very tasty.

Once back on land, I had intended to do a walk of the area, but that was not to be. The sky cracked open and shat down all this wet stuff. This was the sort of rain that could not be fended off by umbrellas or rain coats or standing under shelter. This was the sort of rain that would go on for hours, relentlessly. No exploring to be done. The walk back to the station saturated me. Guess what shoes I was wearing? Yeah, the pair I’ve already scrubbed mould off. Ick.

A real pity. I was looking forward to walking through the bamboo groves, and there was one temple that was just for the bones of destitute paupers that I specifically wanted to visit. Oh well.

Aside from the squid and a roll for breakfast, I hadn’t eaten. And I’d forgotten to drink. This is not a good behaviour pattern of mine. The rain kept on coming for the whole train ride back to Kyoto, and after I’d spent some time hunting dinner in the basement of a department store, it was still there when I surfaced. It was still shitting down when I left the subway to walk to my hotel.

There’s a threadless t-shirt I have that involves two ronin going at it.

The design is called ‘no more bento’, and now I get it. I must confess, I’m sick to death of bento.

I must also confess, I love bento. It’s just so…pretty. All the neat little compartments with lots of different bits and pieces to try, it’s like the ultimate play food. It’s too interesting to leave alone.

This morning I had a date with the Imperial Household Agency, for a tour of the Imperial Palace. Places on the tour need to be applied for early, as in, best not leave it to fate and just rock up. I left with plenty of time to get lost. Is it sad that I budget my time for getting lost? I didn’t need to in this case; the palace grounds are hard to miss, and there are good maps all over the place.

The tour was kind of meh. The palace itself is quite plain, after everything else I’ve seen. It was interesting to learn the purposes of the many gates to the palace grounds, and who can enter via what, (we came in through the servant’s entrance). The roofing on some of the older established buildings was also unique; made of up to 80 layers of bamboo and cedar sheets, the ceilings allowed for great ventilation and kept cool in summer. They also burnt very easily, which is why the palace has burnt down so many times. In fact, the current Imperial Palace isn’t the Imperial Palace at all; due to the number of times the damn thing burnt down, it became a custom for the Emperor to stay with various aristocrats (I can’t remember the name of this custom, and of course I shoved the flyer in the parcel I sent home this morning). What currently stands in the palace grounds is one of these houses, as they just didn’t bother building the palace again.


(this huge board is the emperor's yearly planner, i kid you not. it's all the festivals, rites, anniversaries and the like that he must acknowledge and or participate in. from memory, he has less than 10 days off in the year.)

The emperor does not stay at his quarters in the Imperial Palace when he stays in Kyoto. Aside from the large tour groups going through, his residence also has no modern conveniences, like, power, water, or a decent bathroom.


(if mobs like this were tramping through my yard every day, i'd move too. for this reason, i don't have many photos of the imperial palace.)

Happy chance, there was a monthly market on in the area, at Kitano Tenmangu Temple. It was only a short bus trip from the Imperial Palace. The bus system is more comprehensive than the train network in Kyoto, which I’m only just beginning to realise.

I spent a lot less at the market than I’d assumed I would. There was a lot to gawk at. Apart from acquiring some presents for my family, I was good, although I still spent a couple of hours just looking around.

Being as I was in the area, I decided to visit Kinkaju-ji, the Golden Pavilion. Another short bus trip, 500 yen admission, and ding! Golden Pavilion indeed. There’s an apartment block on the Docklands in Melbourne that appealed to asian investors while being built, with promises that the building would look like gold, a lucky colour of wealth and fortune. It turned out a rather drab brown. The Golden Pavilion is gold, very very gold. It’s a bit of a shock, and very striking (although the ground floor isn’t gold-coated).


(BLLLLLING!)

Because there were buses linking the two, I figured, why not? Another bus took me across town to Ginkaku-ji, the Silver Pavilion. Like Pokemon, you gotta catch ‘em all.


(the path up to ginkaku-ji. i find i like these ordinary photos best of all. wish i had taken more of them.)

Another 500 yen admission fee, and no ding. The Silver Pavilion is most certainly not silver, although it once was. The uninspiring pavilion was totally outshone by the amazing garden around it. The ground was full of maple trees, and everything was covered with moss. Moss! I’ve heard of moss-covered forest floors before, but like flower-filled meadows, I scoffed at them. But moss! There is so much water in this country, moss just grows on the ground! I have rather a lot of pictures of moss, as you can imagine.


(Look at it!)


(INSANE!)


(the green, it burns mah eyes!)

The Path of Philosophy starts at Ginkaku-ji, so in a moment of ‘what the hell’, I started down it. This was not a reprise of the Old Tokaido Highway, thank goodness. It’s a quiet walk through the trees by the old canal, and it’s very peaceful, and there is no threat of death or broken bones involved. Anywhere. Fishies live in the canal, carp behaving like real carp, and munching on the ground like bottom feeders should. There are plenty of temples along the way, but I think I’m all templed out. It was an easy afternoon stroll.

I thought I’d been good today. Plenty of drinks drunk, and I’d remembered to eat something around lunch time (mostly because there were those fish-shaped red bean pancake things right in front of me), but what with all the walking, my stomach started yelling. Tomorrow, I swear, I will eat a proper lunch.

The subway station isn’t as close to the end of the Path of Philosophy as maps would have you believe. Not far, just not that close.

I pottered around my room for a little while – it’s a mess – before hunting dinner. There was a place on Ponto-cho I’d noticed last time, with a menu that offered duck and ‘english speaking stuff’. However, I was distracted by another place offering seasame sea bream on rice with soup. Alas, they were sold out of that, so I settled on chicken and udon noodles in soup. Meh. I make that at home. Hell, I make that at work. Not a food adventure. But migosh! I don’t make it like that. They used some incredible soup base which I couldn’t in the slightest identify, but man it was tasty.

I’m tired, it’s taken me too long to type this. Every sentence begins with ‘I’ and we hates it.

And Thus Mount Tessa Becomes Dunghill Tessa

(Hotel Unizo, Kyoto)

Time to bid Osaka adieu. As I was only staying one night on Koya-san, I figured I’d give the baggage forwarding service a whirl. Most of the travel in Japan is via the trains, and the trains themselves don’t have much space for large luggage. Some carriages have compartments down the end for bigger bags, but most only offer overhead rails. To get past this, there is quite an industry of baggage forwarding. You keep an overnight bag with you, while your big luggage goes on ahead to wait for you. It only cost 1270 yen to have my bag forwarded to Kyoto for next day delivery. I appreciate not having to lug it around.

Having checked out train departures before hand, I made sure I got to Namba station with plenty of time to wander around and find the right line. I’m a smart cookie. It took me 15 minutes of walking to get from where I got off to where I needed to be, and I wasn’t lost. The station is just that big.

Unfortunately, being early can only cover so many unexpected delays. There was quite a queue at the ticket window when I arrived, as three little old people and the station staff were deeply involved in something of great complexity. Great, great complexity. The minutes ticked by. I could see my train, just sitting there, waiting, but not waiting for me.

With five minutes to go, I left the line, bought a local ticket from the machine, and sadly bid the limited express adieu. There is only 20 minutes difference in travel time between the local and the express, but I was looking forward to a big cushy chair, I was. Not buying from the ticket window also meant I missed out on a free pass which would have covered transport to and from Osaka, and the buses on Koya-san. Oh well. There’s no planning for little old people.

The trip took just under two hours, the latter part winding through increasingly steep and lush mountains. The carriage was full of a large group, which might possibly have been a photography club. They were toting about all manner of cameras, from old fold up polaroids to giant Nikons with huge lenses and aperture meters. I’m probably sulking in the background of half their carriage photos.

At Gokurakubashi Station we switched to cable car, chugga-chug-chug, up to Koya-san station. All the way out, terrible muzak was playing, as soothingly voices thanked us for choosing to ride the cable car. Choosing to? There isn’t any other way up! The forest all around was full of thin and wide spider webs, and trees that were propped up with tripods.

From Koya-san station, I hopped on the bus to Okuno-in, an enormous grave yard. The second last stop should have put me near my lodging, but the bus stop announcements went funky, and I ended up at the grave yard instead. I didn’t really want to heft my laptop around all day, but I’d done it at Nikko, I could do it again.

Beneath the trees it was cool and very quiet, and the grave markers stretched further than I could see. A Buddhist grave yard, there were monuments erected by corporations – one of the first I saw was a space rocket – and families. I found one dedicated to the Australia, Japanese and Malaysian soldiers who had died in Borneo during the second World War. There were large, majestic buddhas, and little buddhas that consisted of no more than two rocks on top of each other. Most were decked with bibs, some with bibs piled on so high and many that the statues were lost beneath them. Many of the shrines were old and moss-laden, but the majority showed signs of being regularly attended and cleaned.


(space rocket memorial)


(one of the many paths through the graveyard)


(a pile of small stone buddha - probably Jizo, from memory, he who looks over dead children - and donald duck.)


(was quite intrigued by these little markers, actual working doors a child could squeeze through. can't help wondering where they open up to.)

Mosquitos were out in clouds. I even got bitten, once. That indicates that they’ll probably eat the rest of you alive. Mosquitos don’t bite me. I think they sense bad blood, and thus opt to buzz by my ears over and over instead. Said bite didn’t actually do anything. Failure to itch is failure to mosquito.


(prime realestate high density monuments)




(the little buddha, sometimes no more than two stones, were scattered where ever there was space, on an embankment, by the gutter, in tree roots, and all of them were well dressed.)



Unfortunately, I just didn’t enjoy the place. Continual lack of sleep, early mornings, running about and not quite eating or drinking right was starting to wear me down, my shoulders were kicking up a huge fuss from carrying my backpack, a monk snapped at me for taking photos when I hadn’t, I managed to not just break my incense at the Toro-do (Lantern Hall), but burn myself on it, and generally felt that the place didn’t want me there.

Nevermind. Can’t have a happy fun time giddy glow all the time.

I hiked out of Okuno-in (it’s a very large cemetery), and stared at a map trying to find my lodging, only to turn around and find I was standing in front of it. Huzzah! It was the temple Shojoshinin. Most of the temples on the mountain are open to guests. They’re not general accommodation, guests are expected to attend the morning services and eat the temple food. Some temples even require guests to copy out scriptures. Thankfully, Shojoshinin didn’t. My handwriting is bad enough in English.

Despite claims to the contrary, the head monk’s English was very good, and his warmth made me feel much better about myself. Every monk I passed while walking about the temple, whether they were sweeping or wandering about, greeted me with a large smile, and it was such a relief.

My room was on the second floor, a large tatami mat room which had sliding fly-wire doors that looked out onto a beautiful garden. There was a very, very narrow balcony that ran the length of the building. I don’t believe the poms in the next room realised that I could hear every word of their conversation, even the whispers. I tried making some noise, to draw to their attention that if they could hear me, I could hear them, but not luck. It was peaceful there, regardless.


(from my room to the garden)

Feeling better and able to ditch my laptop, I set out again to visit some of the larger temples of note at the other end of town. Buses do run across-wise, but the town is small enough that walking isn’t a problem. I had a comfortable stroll along the main street, checking out stores and feeling slightly overwhelmed by the number of temples present. They out numbered all other buildings, all of them working, lived in and maintained.

Kongobu-ji is the head temple of all the Buddhist temples on the mountain, and where the current abbot resides. It is quite a plain building, but every room contains stunningly-painted screen doors, showing the history of the mountain. There was a set of rooms showing the story of Kobo Daishi, the founder of the mountain and the man generally credited with creating the Japanese alphabet, hiragana. Another set of rooms was painted gold, with the seasons of the mountain intricately depicted in glorious colours (no photos allowed). Admission included a tea service, and I sat by a stone garden with tea and a sweet, and watched people come and go.


(the gate of kongobu-ji, plastered with seals of families, clubs, companies and the like)


(an anti-smoking poster up in the temple foyer. from left to right: As long as you don't look around your feet, the seas of Japan are beautiful. - A portable ashtray in hand. A stranger, but probably a sensible person. - I don't smoke in a crowd...but how many people does it take to make a crowd? - Gentle, moderate or strong, every breeze carries cigarette smoke. - In summertime, the arms that pass near my lit cigarette are bare. - I was looking for shells, but all I could find were cigarette butts. - I carry a 700c fire in my hand with people walking all around me. I've kept this photo full size, so you make study it at your leisure.)

From there I continued on to the Garan, which is a set of large temples and pagodas. It was quiet there, each temple markedly different from the one beside it. I listened to two women chant a sutra outside a closed and red-painted shrine, beneath the cedar trees.






(some of the features of the garan - Kondo (main hall), Koya Shiro (clock bell), and Daito (great tower))

I had intended to check out Daimon as well, the main gate to Koya-san, but I had to be back at Shojoshinin for dinner, and the buses were infrequent.

The bath was Japanese style, and while I was prepared to strip in front of other people, the only other person present wasn’t. She fled the room as soon as I entered. More bath for me! It wasn’t quite hot enough to really work out my shoulders, but it was mighty fine.

Dinner was an elaborate affair. We guests were called down to the first floor, and then led to a sumptuous tatami mat room. The walls and screen doors were painted plain and uninterrupted gold. The alcove at the end of the room was simple and elegant, and the carvings of cranes above it gorgeous.



The food was set out on three lacquer work trays; various soups, tofus, vegetables, tempura and garnishes to go with rice and tea. I’d missed lunch, and face planted into it.


(...my mouth is watering just revisiting this photo. i see kuromame! black beans cooked and so very sweet and delicious and nom nom nom!)

The other guests with me were British and I think Russian, and seemed quite cautious about every dish they sampled. I was able to identify just about every dish, and ended up explaining most to them.

Their hesitation blind-sided me. I don’t know how you can come to this country, and not go on food adventures at every opportunity. Further, I don’t know how you can book a stay at a temple, and then baulk at the food you know is coming. I know I’m not and have never been a fussy eater, and I’m probably more accustomed to any sort of asian cuisine than they were, but it seemed like such a waste. The fact that these monks eat this food every day, and have done so for centuries, is proof that the damn stuff won’t kill you, and that totally slaughters any excuse you have to be timid.

One dish, the highlight of the meal, was plain white silken tofu, cooked exactly as we do it at home; a block steamed, with soy sauce dumped over the top. This tofu, however, was fucking boss. It was king tofu. The first mouthful was exquisite; the thickest, creamiest tofu I have ever tasted. It was wonderful! It’s that difference of body and taste you get between skinny and full cream milk. I tried to savour it, and go through it slowly, but it was hard.

With the morning service at 6am and my growing backlog of exhaustion, I figured an early night was in order. So early, that I went to bed right after dinner. 7pm hadn’t passed yet.

I didn’t sleep.

Not in an ‘oh, I wasted an evening I could have spend reading or writing,’ but in an ‘oh, FUCKING INSOMNIA MUTHAFUCKA’ sort of way. When my alarm went of at 5:10am, I was already awake. I hadn’t slept. Fuck. FUCK.

I hate myself. I just fucking HATE myself.

I’d prepared for various meltdowns I thought I would likely have while travelling alone on the other side of the world with language difficulties, but I don’t have any way of dealing with insomnia. I mean, I’m doing my usual method: exercise. Every day, I walk for ages. Physical exertion doesn’t seem to be having the slightest effect.

It’s building up. It’s wearing me down, and it’s affecting, I’m letting it affect, my ability to enjoy myself. I’m not going as far or as long as I would. I’m not pushing myself, because I’m tired and cranky and would rather just sit and watch this great alien spectacle of life than explore.

I’m taking two sleeping tablets tonight. Oh yes. Maybe that’ll get me four hours of sleep.

Luckily, the morning service required attendance only, not any form of participation. I didn’t have to think or worry about etiquette, just sit and listen to the chanting of the sutras. And the American woman next to me who insisted on sniffing every couple of seconds. The sutras sounded like one enormous tongue twister, and once both head monk and his female counterpart tripped up. I admire such articulation so early in the morning, every morning.

Breakfast wasn’t as fabulous as dinner, but still full of tasty new things. There was a tofu cake I particularly liked, the rough sort of bean curd with carrot and mushrooms mixed in. Nom nom nom.

Check out wasn’t until 10, so I went and lay down for an hour. No sleep was involved.

Then, the elaborate transport hopping saga again; bus to Koya-san station, cable car to Gokurakubashi station, train to Namba station, train to Osaka station, train to Shin-Osaka station, shinkansen to Kyoto. It’s probably a good thing most of today was spent sitting in airconditioning, considering.


(shinkansen to kyoto. looking at it now, i think australian trains are trapped somewhere in ancient history.)


(yes. you are seeing right. it's a fruit salad and cream sandwich. i wasn't even hungry, but when i saw it, I KNEW IT WAS DESTINY AND I HAD TO EAT IT and yeah, it tasted like fruit salad and cream between two bits of salty bread.)

At Kyoto Station, I explored a bit. To my glee I found Café Du Monde. Yes! Now I can claim to have visited the one in New Orleans, and the one in Kyoto. The bein…I can never remember how to say the word, let alone spell it. You smarchers know what I mean. Those donut things. They’re even more heavily coated with icing sugar here, but much smaller. Like baby cakes.


(for ze nawlins smarchermooters)


(kyoto station has a bit of a far future space port thing going on...)

I had some time to kill before I could check in, so I visited Nishi-Hongan-ji and Higashi-Hongan-ji, the original Buddhist school set up by Tokugawa Ieyasu, and the competitor he founded when he realised the school had enough strength to be a threat to him. The competitor was a fair busy place, and although there were signs asking for quiet in a place of worship, little old people were busy nattering away to each other. In the courtyard was a little old man with a neat and very white beard, feeding a stray black cat. When the cat had enough, it wandered off, and he followed it. It sat down again not far away, and he sat and talked to it while stroking its fur. It got up and wandered back to the first place, and he followed it again, and pet it again.








The original school was surprisingly quiet, and closed up. Oh.

From the station I took the subway, and found my hotel was surprising ease. The map I picked up at the info office is good, much better than the LP maps.

Now, I’m just sitting. I found a theatre that does shows not far from here, and I’m aiming for the 7pm performance. As it’s advertised all over my English language flyers, it will probably be tailored for foreigners, and it is raining quite heavily.

It isn’t like I’d sleep if I had an early night anyway.