Nara

We recently headed south of Kyoto to charming Nara for a couple of days. Nara was the capital of Japan for a (relatively) short time in the eighth century AD - yes that's right, the eighth century: 1300 years ago!







Some of the first things you will encounter (and I　mean truly encounter) in Nara are the free ranging deer, which themselves are actually cultural properties and said to be messengers from the Gods. Apparently the message is: "Give me thy biscuits or I'll headbutt you in the groin."



They wander the streets with aplomb - jaywalking, relieving themselves wherever and whenever they feel the need to and occasionally fighting over food. Similar, actually, to a group of rugby supporters back home, minus the face paint and beer.




Generally though, the deer are very placid (when you don't have anything they consider edible in hand) and will pose quite happily for photos, or ignore you completely as they graze on the sparse lawns of the many temple grounds and parks.





We decided to take a leaf out of the deers' book and wander around the place without any real purpose or direction. As the sun began to sink behind the pagoda of Kofukuji temple to our west, we stumbled upon a garden with an inviting plum tree in full bloom teasing us from over the gabled wall. The entry fee of ¥650 wasn't quite so inviting though, and we decided against it. Adjacent to that garden, though was another garden, named Yoshikien, with a sign saying (in English) "Free Entry for Foreign Tourists". I attempted to cajole my wife into pretending she was of non-Japanese descent, for which I got a glare that would have melted cheese and a sharp retort that I actually wasn't even a foreign tourist, but a foreign resident. So, I bit my tongue and we paid a much more reasonable ¥250 for her, plus nothing for the kids, and in we went.




Being early evening and just before closing, we were the only souls in the place. It was a beautiful garden, apparently privately owned during the Meiji era for visiting aristocrats to have their tea ceremonies, and has only been open to the public since 1989. There are 3 styles of Japanese garden here: a moss garden, a pond garden and a tea ceremony garden.




The teahouse backed out onto a moss garden which was wonderfully enhanced by the sunlight cascading through the trees. Moss gardens of course are at their lushest best after the rainy season in June, but it is still hard not to be impressed by the tricks that these masters of perspective are able to play with your eyes.







As we wound or way through the small streets and alley back to our hotel, we remembered that we had wanted to visit the famous Todaiji temple, but that didn't really seem to matter. Nara had served us a serene garden and a beautiful early spring evening to lap up.






The next day we did get to Todaiji, and although we were a bit early for the sakura there, we did see some early bloomers along the way at a shrine, not to mention some plum trees that had eluded us the evening before.

11.3.11

I was sitting at my desk nine days ago, when my phone buzzed. That was all that happened; my phone buzzed and I broke away from writing reports, rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands and picked up my phone to read a mail from a friend. It was 3:30 in the afternoon. The mail said there had been an earthquake and that a tsunami was hitting the coast of Japan. I went to the next room where my wife and kids were playing and I relayed the news to them. "There's a tsunami hitting somewhere up north." I said. "Oh dear", was the reply. Earthquakes and tsunami are part of life in Japan, this news wasn't a shock.

It was an early spring day in Kyoto. The plum blossoms were reaching full bloom, which is always a good sign that the weather is getting warmer and that winter is on its way out. I was looking forward to finishing my reports so I could go for a walk to the park with my kids if it wasn't too cold outside; there was a bag of stale bread that needed to be fed to the carp at the pond and I still had a few hours before my only class of the day. Or, I thought, I could just waste some time on Facebook inviting people to a picnic that a friend had organised for that Sunday. The weather was supposed to be good.

I walked downstairs made a coffee and turned on the TV. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw unfolding before my eyes. I couldn't make sense of the pictures at first, sort of like eyes getting used to the dark, then I realised I was watching a wharf and then dozens of cars being swept away like they were leaves in a gutter. I remember thinking: "Why are there so many cars there?" Such an inane thought, but the gravity of what I was watching was too big to grasp. It was a movie. It didn't seem real. It couldn't be real.

Of course, what unfolded over the next few hours was very real. Terrifyingly real. Words cannot describe it and I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like to have been witness to it. The devastation in the north-east of Japan is beyond words. The people of Tohoku have been dealt an unimaginable blow that will require years to come back from. But they will come back from it. The phrase that you keep hearing from people in the area is 'Ganbaro'. You hear people say it on the news every night: 'Ganbaro'. I even saw it spray painted on the side of a concrete wall in the midst of absolute ruin. Ganbaro. It is a word that has many nuances but can, I think, best be translated in this case as 'Let's Stay Strong', 'Let's Stand Firm': Ganbaro. It is a word that is part of the Japanese psyche and a word that is often overused. But not in this case, not at this time. At this time they need to keep saying it and keep believing it, because the challenge they face is immense.

Here in Kyoto, there was no direct effect from the earthquake and Kyoto is too far inland to ever be threatened by tsunami. So the feelings here are feelings, of course, of deep sympathy, but also tinged with guilt. Guilt that we have everything we need, and in some cases a glut of things that the people up north are in dire need of. Commodities such as water, electricity and food. Blankets, warm clothes, futons, a television. Not to mention a roof over our heads, a hot shower and the privacy of our own home, which for so many tonight are all hopelessly out of reach. People here have been giving money, sending packages, organising fundraising events, basically trying to do anything and everything we possibly can to help the people in the stricken areas. There is so much that is required, and everyone that I know has been involved in some way to try and get them the help they so desperately need. The sense of community in Japan is very, very strong and everyone is doing their part to help.

The weather has been unseasonably cold since that day, conversations are close and terse, people stand and stare at television sets in restaurants and diners, a look of disbelief across their faces. There is a sorrow that has fallen over the whole of Japan, but there is also an undeniable and overriding sense of purpose and promise here, too. There is still no joy, but the smiles are slowly starting to find their way back onto people's faces in Kyoto. Life goes on.

With this, the promise of spring also grows day by day and the splendor of springtime in Japan truly is a glory to behold. New life is being unleashed and the fleeting cherry blossoms - sakura - have already started to sweep their way north. Japan has a deep bond with the sakura flowers and this year, 2011, they will be of special significance, both as a harbinger of new life and as a symbol of support, blessings and encouragement sweeping up the entire island nation from south to north. These times will be tough for the people of Tohoku, but life does go on and they will get through this. They will get through this because they have the support of the whole country and because the bonds of community in Japan are strong: infinitely stronger than any force of nature. Ganbaro.

Earthquakes and Empathy

Maori legend tells of Papatuanuku, mother earth, carrying an unborn baby named Ru, who at times kicks and stretches, as babies do.



Japanese legend tells of a giant catfish named Namazu, on whose back the islands of Japan sit. The catfish is subdued by a demigod named Kashima, who wields a rock which keeps Namazu in its place. Every so often, though, Kashima is distracted and Namazu flails about.



Although these two legends are distinctly different, the result is frighteningly the same: earthquake.

The islands of Japan and New Zealand have always struck me as being very similar, although whenever I say this people look at me as if I'm crazy. But the fact is, when you strip away all of the human interference, all of the cultural differences, all of the infrastructure, all of the farming, you can't help but see the two countries as geographical companions. To break it down: Japan is an island country in the Pacific, so is New Zealand. Japan is a country where mountains jut violently out of the landscape , so is New Zealand. Japan boasts a glut of beautiful lakes, rivers, hotsprings and waterfalls, so does New Zealand. And as an unfortunate consequence of this dramatic beauty, Japan lives daily with the terrifying prospect of earthquakes, volcanoes and tsunami. And so does New Zealand. There is an undeniable affinity between the two island nations, and I have never felt it more than during the past couple of days.

In the wake of the terror and despair that hit Christchurch yesterday afternoon, I have been truly touched by what I can only describe as an outpouring of concern from family, friends, students and co-workers here in Japan. We have had emails and phone calls from every corner of the country, and thankfully we, and our friends who live here that are actually from Christchurch, have been able to reassure them that our loved ones are safe albeit displaced or out of contact for now. There is a feeling of empathy that runs very deep here, a genuine connection among people who have shared the same experiences and know how devastating an event like this can be to communities and families.
I have talked to people who experienced the Great Hanshin earthquake of 1995, when over 6000 people lost their lives in and around the city of Kobe in Japan. The look in their eyes and the emotion in their voices when they remember that time is as if it had happened yesterday, not 16 years ago. I can only suppose that kind of experience never leaves you.

Watching the footage of the Christchurch earthquake on Japanese TV and the internet has been utterly surreal for me, personally. The familiarity of the faces and the surroundings just does not match the carnage. New Zealand isn't a country that has wars, it doesn't demand revolutions or dispute borders. The violence that has caused this devastation has not come about because of government or religion, it has come about because of the land itself - te whenua. And that, I think, is why the compassion has resonated so much with everyone here in Japan. People here understand as much as New Zealanders do, the ferocious power of nature.


As we wait for news on the missing and trapped in Christchurch, Japan waits also. The 24 Japanese people who are still unaccounted for have the whole country praying for them. But the connection runs deeper than that; it runs right through an ocean, from yama to maunga, from kawa to awa from one island nation to another. Thousands of thoughts and prayers are crossing the Pacific to those in Christchurch tonight: Stay strong. Hold tight. Be safe.

Snow on, Kyoto

Of the four (or five, depending on who you talk to) distinct seasons that Kyoto morphs through each year, winter is surely the least memorable. The mountains that briefly turn a fire red during November descend into dour gray, the temperature plummets and for a lot of people the winter revelry involves cosying up to a kotatsu heater, sharing a nabe hot-pot with friends, finding a warm bar with warmer sake, or soaking in a hot spring - all fine ways to escape Kyoto's infamous wintry doldrums, by the way.

That said, whenever Kyoto gets a hit of the white stuff - snow that is - the city is transformed. The gosling gray streets are momentarily illuminated and the mountains frosted. The temples, shrines and gardens take on a surreal quality that can make you appreciate them on a whole other level: half concealed.



One of my favourite memories of Kyoto under snow is when I dragged myself from a toasty slumber and peered out the window to see my neighbourhood blanketed. I quickly made the decision to head for Ginkakuji temple with camera in hand, which turned into an experience that will never leave me. Fortunately enough it was Monday morning, so there were only a handful of people about; I swear that the only sound I could hear was that of the snowflakes patting the trees.



I had visited Ginkakuji on a couple of occasions, but to be honest this was like a different place entirely, and when the sun spilled out from behind a snow cloud it was like I was seeing it, and Kyoto below, with new eyes.





That is but one example. There are dozens more across Kyoto silently waiting to be visited. By all accounts, Ginkakuji's brother Kinkakuji - the Golden Pavillion - is breathtaking when cloaked in snow.

Another way to make the most of a snowday in Kyoto is to head to Kurama (take the Eizan line from Demachiyanagi terminal) or Ohara (Bus No. 17 will take you there from Kyoto Station, Shijo Kawaramachi Sanjo Keihan or Demachiyanagi). Both these rural towns sit just high enough in the northern mountains to be knee deep in snow when there is but a skerrick downtown. Well worth the trip.

The Eizan Line with Mt. Hiei in the background.

Rice field under snow in Ohara.

Jakkoin Temple: Ohara

So if you are in Kyoto in the next month or so, pray for snow and wake up early. Of course, being February winter is already grinding its way south, but if yesterday's dump of snow is any kind of talisman we could be in for a bit more before spring is ushered in and the snow recedes into distant memory.

The creature down the stairs

We are all creatures of habit to some degree. Whether at home, work or play, we tend to gravitate to what we feel comfortable with and there are certain places that appeal to us; nourish us; cajole us into coming back again and again. For me Cafe Independents on Sanjo Gokomachi is such a place, and I have recently been trying to work out why I am drawn down these stairs again and again.




For one thing, walking through the door always feels nostalgic to me, and although you could say it's because I've been eating lunch there for more than 5 years, I'm pretty sure I had the same feeling when I walked in for the first time. It certainly doesn't have the precise, refined atmosphere of many of Kyoto's cafes and restaurants, in fact the chipped brick walls and exposed wires hanging above you could easily make you forget you were even in Japan, let alone Kyoto.



It might be this rough and ready vibe, then, that coaxes me back. It reminds me of home. I took my students there for a drink after our final class once and one of them remarked how much is reminded her of Soho. Now, I've never been to Soho, but perhaps it's just that the cafe exudes a kind of strange familiarity - like second hand jeans from the St Vincent de Paul, but not quite as musty. On the contrary, although the surrounds down here are quite worn and dim, the staff are far from it and always on hand with a smile at the ready.




But what good is a cafe without the food? Well, this is definitely another spell that this place has over me: the plate lunch is always outstanding and the coffee some of the best around town. For less than a senner (that's ¥1000, or between ten and fifteen bucks depending on your passport), you can indulge in, depending on the day, anything from Thai green curry to Japanese style pork to Cajun chicken with the soup of the day (pictured here) as well as a freshly drawn cup of java. Blissful.



So, I guess it is a combination of these factors that has lured me back here countless times over the years, and no doubt think I'll think of another reason or two to justify my habit, the next time I'm walking by these stairs.

Well Well Well

At the urging of our fearless leader and chief, I have begun to recontemplate this blog and its place in the greater scheme of Greentour Kyoto. A kick start was required, a shot in the arm, a smack in the chops, well, whatever the wallop it means that this here blog will now entail not only trails, but tales. Tales of life in Kyoto and its surrounds, because as I was reminded recently, what has become the trivial daily grind of my life here is, in fact, pretty damned unusual for visitors to this part of the world - both present, past and potential.

Things that I of 6 years in Japan have become accustomed to seeing and doing everyday are perhaps not what the less Japanified would expect at all. Its not all neon, noodles and ninjas, you know! The modesty and simplicity of life is something I find very alluring about Kyoto, and being able to do things in my daily routine that people have been doing for literally hundreds of years, still boggles my little kiwi brain sometimes: Could you imagine drawing water from a well that precedes time eternal to fill your drink bottle? Well, indeed.



I cycle to work most days, and on the way I pass through the Kyoto Imperial Palace Grounds - incidentally right opposite the Greentour Kyoto headquarters on Marutamachi Street - where lie a number of wells, some dry, some still producing water. The well I frequent is to the east of the grounds, down a shaded lane and just inside the side entrance to a shrine. There is an honesty box to make a small donation, and a tap next to the well that draws from the table of water on which Kyoto sits. You can usually see a small line of people with containers of varying size and shape, waiting to fill up. We are experiencing a sweltering start to the summer here in Kyoto, to the extent that the well resembles a Savannah watering hole - the other day while I was there some old fella took the opportunity to stop by and soak himself by pouring ladle after ladle of water over his head, before jumping on his bicycle and going about his business - such baptismal encounters probably seen countless times throughout the course of a day.

For those of you who are in Kyoto, or planning a trip here this summer, I would suggest taking the chance to partake in a bit of local custom and rehydrate at the same time! Make your way to the Seiwan-gomon gate in the Kyoto Imperial Palace Grounds, go through the gate and take a left down the dirt road. You'll find the well on the right just inside the gates of the Nashinoki Shrine.

Kyoto Isshu Trail. part 1

The Kyoto Ishuu Trail is a continuous trail that navigates the three mountain ranges bordering Kyoto city. Having lived in Kyoto for some time now, and exploring quite a few of the individual mountains and parts of the ranges, my friend James and I decided it was time enough to "knock the bastards off", to borrow a very kiwi phrase, or "collect 'em all" if you prefer the Pokemon parlance, and walk the ranges in their entirety. During the recent Golden week holiday here in Japan, with the forecast looking good, we acquired the necessary maps and plotted our course.

We got halfway around the trail in 2 days of reasonably solid hiking, starting from Kami-Katsura station on the Hankyu-Arashiyama line and finishing at the end of day 2 at Ninose station, on the Eizan line. The trail is very well signposted and easily accessible by train. Here are some of the highlights from the first half:

Day 1: 西山 トレール (Nishiyama trail)





The initial climb from Katsura leads you first up to a view of Kyoto city from the west, before descending through bamboo groves and spilling you out to the township of Arashiyama.





The trail then peculiarly passes through the heart of the town. Arashiyama is a beautiful place to walk through however, so the urban hiking, while a little surreal, didn't feel too obtrusive. The surrounding mountains and canyons mean that you never feel too far away from nature; same goes for the mossy houses!







Once we passed through Arashiyama, it was a bit of a slog up and over the main road until we dropped down to the Hozugawa river, where we were met with the smell of barbecues and some very tempting swimming holes. Unfortunately, we were already a bit behind schedule, so we snapped some pictures of the best spots, and resolved to be back with some mates, a barbie and a few cold beers some time this summer.









Once we reached Kiyotaki, at the foot of Mount Atago, (one of the 3 holy mountains of Kyoto), we continued north along another part of the same river until we reached a small settlement called Takao, famous for its momiji trees in autumn. In total it took us about 5 hours to this point, and we had one more climb ahead of us before we would set up camp for the night.

The climb up Mount Sawano took a little longer than we thought, due we think, to our preoccupation with the promise of cold beers awaiting us at the top. We were due to meet a friend who had earlier motorcycled to the rendezvous and was keeping the beers on ice for us. What worried us though, was the fact that another group of friends had also planned to be there after cycling up the other side of the mountain. The chances of there being any beers left were getting slimmer by the minute! Needless to say, we weren't lacking incentive. Only, our 'detour' around the side of the mountain meant we got there an hour later than planned. We arrived to find that the cycling party had already left, but mercifully they had also left us a few cold beers. To say they were welcome would be an injustice to all things fizzy and brown. That first beer went down without touching the sides.

Our campsite for the night was a place called Sawano-ike; a very large pond or very small lake, depending on who you ask, which is surrounded by pine trees and easily accessible by road. It's a really idyllic spot, and if you didn't know you would never guess that Kyoto City lay just over the cusp of the treeline.




We were the only ones camping, bar a couple of people way over the other side. With the fire roaring, full bellies and a skin full of well earned beer, I was pretty happy to call it a day, dozing off in my sleeping bag, while James tended to the fire and Derryl provided the musical backdrop with the ultimate '80's collection. Beds Are Burning by Midnight Oil never sounded so good.





The next morning after a good brekky, we set off on a scaled down day 2. (The downsizing being proportionate to the amount we had drunk the night before!). We decided to try and finish the first half of the 北山 Kitayama trail, which begins at the other end of Sawano-ike, and finishes at a place called Ninose, on the Eizan line north of Kyoto city.



Day 2: 北山西　トレール (Kitayama-Nishi Trail)

Another scorching day was in store and despite it being early, we went through our water pretty quickly. Again, the previous night may have also played a part in that. We had come down the other side of mount Sawano, and started a hike up a very steep mountain road. On our map, there was an antenna at the top of the road, and very little else that we could see, so we figured we would need to fill up our water bottles asap. Luckily, the friendliness of country people came through for us.

After asking in our politest Japanese to use someone's garden hose to fill up our vessels, we were told by the owner of the house that the water wasn't nearly as good as the mountain spring water that could be found at a little shrine just down the road. We set off, but after walking for a while couldn't find any sign of said holy spring water. Despondent, and cotton mouthed, we trudged back up the road to once again grovel for some plain old tap water, when we were met by the owner in her truck. Apparently she was (justifiably) concerned that we wouldn't find the spring, so came to find us and take us to the promised water. Sure enough, 5 minutes drive away was this sight for sore eyes: a steady continuous gush of fresh mountain water as pure and cold as anything you could expect to spend money on at the shops. Bliss.



Re-hydrated and ready to go, we set off up and over the first big climb of the day. We dropped down into a hamlet and wandered past vegetable gardens, wild flower beds and rice paddies. This is the kind of place that the Japanese countryside still throws at you on a consistent basis: idyllic and seemingly the same now as it ever was and ever will be. A beautiful little snapshot of rural life in Japan.



After this settlement, the trail then wends its way through the back of someone's property, through a gate and back into the mountainside once again. After a few river crossings over some pretty rickety bridges (ones that would never pass for safe back home) we walked down to the bottom of the trail, encountering a poisonous mamushi snake on the way! (something else you wouldn't find back in NZ!)



We stopped for lunch (James coming through with an outstanding meal of miso soup, couscous and avocado) which gave us the necessary fuel for our last big climb of the day. What a climb it was! A relentless 30 minutes later, we had reached the top of one of the countless northern mountains of Kyoto. From here it was an equally steep descent to Ninose station, and the end of the 北山西 Kitayama-Nishi trail.

The next part of the trail ( 北山東 Kitayama-Higashi) is waiting for us, as we continue east along to mount Hiei, the border of Kyoto and Shiga prefectures, and then south along the 36 peaks of 東山 Higashiyama. Stay tuned! The trail continues...