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Knowing my keen interest in history and culture, Kyoko takes me around the Kyotamba countryside via secondary roads. Our first stop of the day is at Kurotani Japanese Paper Museum in Ayabe. Here 800 years of making traditional washi paper by hand is still alive.
Today the site is closed in preparation for a festival which begins tomorrow; however, Kyoko’s status as the (then) president of the Kyoto ISC and her pleas for her Canadian visitor gains us entry to the site even though we can’t see it in action. Bonus, we see all of it without a crush of people blocking the view. See the process here.
From this…
…and this …
… to this.
We take our time to fully enjoy the site and its excellent gift shop. As I browse through the exquisite displays, I chafe more than a little at my self-imposed one carry-on suitcase rule.
The final product
A Kurotani paper doll
I buy nothing more than a few toothpick holders in the gift shop. Those I can squeeze in without damage easily enough. The rest of the treasures I store in my heart.
Our affable tour guide Inoue-san has given Kyoko a fresh crab from Hokkaido. The large and lively beast barely wedges into her pot. Naturally, it isn’t eager to go in. Yesterday we saw others at the Tore Tore Ichiba (Maizuru’s fish market), but none as big as this. I’m guessing that this one must have set him back at least 150-200 (Canadian) dollars. When I mention it Kyoko shrugs. He’s rich, she says.
Lucky you, I answer. It’s always good to have generous, rich men as friends. She laughs and pours warmed sake into glasses. We raise them in a toast. Kampai. Domo arigato gosaimasu, Inoue-san.
I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not sure I can eat one more thing. After touring Kyoto’s Nanzen-ji we stopped for a huge sushi lunch and on our way to Hosen-in Temple indulged in dried persimmons. I figure the best way to handle the problem is to confess. I ask Kyoko to forgive me if I can’t eat more than one leg; however, she doesn’t seem perturbed.
Once cracked open we see the crab is female and full of eggs. There’s more to eat here than we suspected. Still, there’s nothing like warm sake to bolster one’s endurance and we dig in. Eggs devoured, we pour more sake and start on the legs.
As we work our way through we share stories. She tells me about her late husband who died young of leukemia. She has rebuilt a full life without him, and because she can’t travel herself, she brings the world to her home instead. A regular host to exchange students and people (like me) she befriends while guiding for Kyoto International Service Club, hers is a full life. But I sense she’d give it up in a heartbeat to have her husband back.
In true Japanese style, we do our best. After a few hours only cracked shells remain. We have demolished the whole thing! Nearing midnight we toast again: Domo arigato, Inoue-san and discover we have emptied the entire box of sake as well.
Kyoko-san, I had no idea that two women our age could still do this: tour all day and drink all evening. The kitchen is too small to dance or we might have. We look at each other, nearly collapse laughing and toast our stamina with the dregs of the sake before staggering off to bed.
Thank heaven I thought to turn the kotatsu on before we started or my futon would be an ice cube. But with this much warm sake inside, I may not have noticed.
Inoue-san, who has been our genial host and chauffeur all day, finds a parking spot in an open area and leads us into a local neighbourhood. A shortcut he says. We walk along a pleasant stream, up a short slope, stop to purchase and enjoy dried persimmons along the way.
A bridge over the stream
Inoue-san buys dried persimmons
After a few minutes we arrive at Hosen-in Temple. It’s billed as “an understated beauty away from the tourist crowds.” Strictly speaking, that’s true; however, today it’s quite literally jammed wall-to-wall with Japanese. I’m the only silvery blonde in the place.
There’s a huge crush to get into the tea room. Tea is free with admission. Perhaps that’s the draw. Ordinarily, I’d by-pass the crowd and focus on some less congested corner or sit apart to watch the throng surge like a river to the popular spots. However, today Kyoko and I are in Inoue’s charge. He hands us our tea tickets and we queue with the crowd.
The garden is renowned for its 700 year-old pine which we are about to view once we get inside. However, avoiding the unpleasant, Inoue-san neglects to mention the blood-stained ceiling built from the floorboards of Fushimi Castle. The ceiling honours the lives of the samurai who committed mass suicide there after their defeat in a late 16th century battle.
Throughout the day it has been apparent that Inoue has masterfully thought of everything. Now it’s clear he has timed our arrival to this moment: The setting sun streams through the branches of the pine.
Hosen-in pine at sunset
We inch forward. Finally we arrive in the front row where we receive a bowl of matcha (ceremonial tea) and plate of wagashi (bean paste confection).
Enjoyoing tea at Hosen-in
The art of matchless garden design and ancient pine framed by the temple pillars somehow suspends time. Even though hundreds still cue patiently behind us, the few minutes we have for our tea feel timeless.
Too bad I didn’t know about the ceiling until after. I would have appreciated the crimson dissonance.
In my province grass blooms too.
waga kuni wa kusa sae sakinu sakura kana
Kobayashi Issa
A week ago the sakura surrounding Thunderbird Plaza in Abbotsford were still in bud.
Sakura buds about to burst in Abbotsford, BC
Now they are at their peak. Continue reading
What did the Rolling Stones sing? Baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time. Story of my life. Here I am in an autumnal blog sequence as the sakura (cherry blossoms) are hitting their stride. Just one more example of mono no aware (the pathos of things). Continue reading
The sunshine and intense autumn colours added to the fact that it’s a weekend have Kyoto’s major attractions clogged with traffic and hordes of sight-seers. However, Inoue-san has no problem as he speedily navigates his scraped and battered little car through narrow streets. Continue reading
I first stood at the massive pillars of Nanzenji Temple’s Sanmon Gate in the late afternoon after walking from Ginkakuji (The Silver Pavilion) along the Philosopher’s Path. The overcast skies under which we’d started now pelted us with rain. Our group’s enthusiasm for one more temple, even one of the most important Zen temples in all of Japan, had vanished. We called it quits.
On my second attempt, a fine spring afternoon, I planned to walk the short distance from Yasaka Shrine to Nanzenji and enjoy a leisurely visit to the temple alone. However, Continue reading
John Lekich is a finalist in the running for the Sheila A. Egoff Children’s Literature Prize (under the umbrella of the annual BC Book Prizes) for his novel The Prisoner of Snowflake Falls. I commented on the book here before its launch and reprise it in honour of the announcement.
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The Prisoner of Snowflake Falls is a book rich with simple complexities and deadpan one-liners that brilliant comics will wish they had written. Continue reading
We cry out for what we have lost, and we remember you again.
(Leonard Cohen)
