The WWWT Goes to Japan .......... with the WWT
By: Pauline E. Abbott, WWWT, Wife of the World’s Worst Tourist
Japan has long been on my list of Places to Experience, and when the Aeroballistic Range Association met there in October 2002 and my husband, the WWT, invited me to accompany him, I added it to my travel plans. I’ve accompanied him to conferences before, but only in school vacation time. A leave of absence from school was needed, which turned out to be no problem if I would prepare a week's work for a substitute and forgo pay. Preparing an entire week’s lesson plans in advance certainly got me into the swing of new experiences, and prevented me from doing much personal planning, so the couple of days before we left saw me busily shopping for clothes, film, batteries, toiletries, small gifts for Japanese hosts, and a Japanese phrase book.
I broke the news of my impending absence to my students the day before I left, thinking this would leave them less time to think up tortures for my substitute. They plied me with questions and good advice. `Will you stay in a hotel? Who’s paying for it? Is your husband rich? Will you bring us back stuff? You’ll have to sleep on the floor. They eat dogs there, you know. Be careful when you change money – they’ll rip you off. Will you see Godzilla?’
Friday 18 October
I enjoyed not getting up at the crack of dawn, and not going to school but lingering over a leisurely breakfast. We left for Los Angeles airport at 9:40, and experienced a good drive but a crowded airport. At the Japan Airlines desk, among only a few westerners, I felt tall, and Jim positively towered over the throng.
Flying JAL meant that everything was Japanese as soon as we entered the plane. This included seat size and leg length. Don’t travel JAL if you are more than five feet tall! Jim folded his legs carefully each side of the window seat in front of him. I pulled out a selection of Japanese magazines from the seat pocket immediately under my chin. A Japanese gentleman next to me in the aisle seat carefully changed his outdoor shoes for a pair of slippers, and leaned back comfortably. He was about four feet three.
On the plus side, amenities had been added to the personal screen selection. Several video games were available, and one channel showed views from cameras in the cockpit, one looking ahead and one looking down. The navigation map looked most unusual to my eyes used to seeing a transatlantic view – there was a lot of ocean between us and our destination, and an International Date Line, which promised to send body clocks crazy. Meals were Japanese, with many interesting flavours I didn’t yet know but was willing to pick up with the chopsticks provided. The Japanese immigration forms had distinctly Zen connotations - `Who are you? Where are you going? What is your purpose?’
At intervals during the flight all channels would be interrupted to bring us an exercise video. A row of three happy Japanese inhaled and exhaled in unison, solemnly raised one arm and then the other, alternately tensed one leg and then the other, thoughtfully and methodically massaged their thighs, raised their arms again ….. There was no way we could have managed this much movement, but we did join in the smiles as we observed rows of happy Japanese in our plane moving as one with the models on the screen.
Saturday 19 October
At some point during the flight Friday turned into Saturday, and we landed at Tokyo Narita Airport on Saturday afternoon. Emerging into the airport, we knew we had to find the Narita Express train to take us into Tokyo. This proved not too difficult, as many signs were written both in Japanese and English. We bought tickets with cash from a person, rather than trying to decipher the vending machines. We were assigned seats 12C and 12D on car 6 on the 18:17 – all numbers easily tracked. Lines on the platforms told us exactly where to stand to step right into the correct car. We lined up trustingly behind docile Japanese who marched through the doors that opened in front of them …. making only one slight mistake. Following the crowd we accidentally marched two by two into the train two minutes BEFORE ours, but were instantly aware of our mistake as it had no seats therefore no seat numbers. We leapt off again quickly, and a smartly uniformed railway person directed us to line up again for the express. It arrived as promised, exactly two minutes later, exactly on time, in exactly the right spot, and with our seat numbers clearly marked. Off we whirled into the Japanese night.
Sitting on the train we immediately felt we looked out of place and unusual. No, not because of height or skin colour or even language, but because of our lack of a personal phone! With one accord as everyone sat down, each pulled out a tiny screen and began consulting teletext and typing busily in response.
A ticket collector made his way along the central aisle. He was smartly dressed in impeccable uniform, and took great pride in his official position. He could certainly act ticket collector! As he took and punched each ticket he exclaimed `Hai!’, which is the Japanese word we remember most clearly from our attempts to study Japanese. It means almost everything – `OK, yes, good, fine, that is just what I expected, you are doing the right thing.’ Funnily enough, even now I cannot remember the Japanese for `no, certainly not, unthinkable, you are an idiot’ - probably because no Japanese would ever utter anything so confrontational.
Heavy rain met us at the Tokyo station. According to our map, the Palace Hotel was only a couple of blocks away, but I had heard of the difficulties of navigating Tokyo streets and was ready to take the rain as a sign to call a taxi. Jim was sure he knew the way, and wanted to walk, so I dutifully followed as he stepped out into the dark, wet, unknown city. Our brave procession of two explorers shielded by umbrellas and trailing rolling suitcases was not immediately the target of dastardly oriental street gangs, as I had feared, but on the contrary was soon in sight of the friendly neighbourhood palace moat, beside which towered our welcoming hotel.
The Palace Hotel proved, indeed, palatial! Immaculately uniformed attendants bowed and smiled us inside, and ran to relieve us of our cases and umbrellas. Our room contained luxury appointments which included carefully folded kimonos, comfortable indoor slippers, hot water to make tea in pretty Japanese lidded tea cups, monogrammed soaps, shampoos, lotions galore, mints on the pillow accompanied by delicate origami swans, and a view from the window of the Imperial Palace, its moat, and illuminated fountains. We made use of most of these facilities to relax and recover from our journey, and decided on an evening walk to round off our day.
Tokyo Skyline from Palace Hotel Room-Tokyo Tower at Left Center
The fountains, we discovered, were on the Palace Plaza, an area blessed with interesting sculptures, Japanese-shaped trees, and water features to delight the eyes and ears. Rain was still falling, but it now seemed perfectly appropriate, and added to the atmosphere. Seeming to make no sound, it was the softest, gentlest rain imaginable, and its pools reflected the beautiful city lights around us. Our hotel was tastefully illuminated, and reflected in the palace moat beneath.
A final amenity discovered as we re-entered was a little coffee shop, where we chose items to make a picnic supper – a ham roll, a fruit plate, and a cheese danish. Accompanied by a glass of wine, these made a wonderful supper to be enjoyed sitting on our window seats and looking out over the city.
And speaking of seats … here amongst our appointments we found the first of a series of Japanese bidets which were to delight all of our senses, including our sense of humour! Alongside the toilet seat were arranged an impressive series of controls with instructions in Japanese, but also in universal sign language. Pressing the first control caused the initial cold water to flow through the system, and a red light glowed when the water was warm enough to be directed at sensitive body parts. The second control bore a fountain design, and would produce a light spray. The third control bore what might have been interpreted, actually, as a rounded 3, but was actually a pictogram to denote a specific body part. Pressure here directed a very purposeful jet of water towards the groove in one’s personal 3! Life surely had no more pleasant surprises for us today, so we retired to bed early, vowing to begin the next day at crack of dawn.
Sunday 20 October
Imperial Palace Plaza
Jet lag actually awoke us at around 2:00am and again at 4:00am. Soon afterwards we arose to look out of our window and contemplate the mist obliterating most of our view. Time for a Little Something, we thought, and went down to breakfast at seven. The service was unbelievable. In every room in every Japanese hotel there are people whose major function it is and whose pleasure it seems to bow you in and out of every transition. The bows are accompanied, in the morning, by a pleasant chant - `o-hai-o-go-zai-mas’ – which means good morning. Our triumphal passage from door to table was marked by bows and songs from the chorus. We ate eggs, bacon, fruit, toast, bean curd and seaweed, looking out over our first Japanese Zen garden of jagged rocks and wave-marked sand.
By 8:30 we were ready for our dawn walk. The fountains were not yet playing, but the plaza was wet with rain and the stepping stones, rivulets and sculptures already provided wonderful photographic opportunities. We were charmed by bonsai trees decorating the front of an otherwise stark building.
I was recording my trip so far on three cameras – my small Canon Sure-shot for spontaneous shots, my large Canon for more consciously photographic efforts, and Jim’s digital Sony which I would steal from him every so often to make sure we had a digital record. My small Canon now seemed to think it was not receiving enough attention, or perhaps my excitement proved too much for it, but suddenly it began disconcertingly to recycle its film wildly. Kind words had no effect, so I took it on one side, emptied it, shook it, and started again with a new film. After this small attention it appeared to calm down and behave normally – time will tell.
The Imperial Palace Gardens opened at nine o’clock, and we were among a crowd of some hundreds of Japanese waiting eagerly at the gates. Most of them were dressed extremely formally, men in suits and women in elegant dresses and high heels. We took this at first to be a simple cultural difference. There were also a few obvious tourists in casual coats and comfortable walking shoes. All were handed free plastic tokens as we entered the gates. Together we made our way through the Eastern Garden, pausing to admire interesting tree shapes, stylized rock formations, an occasional splash of colour, and stone walls apparently once part of a defence system. At the top of a slope alongside these walls the paths divided, and the well-dressed began forming an orderly line to enter another set of gates. Uniformed officials shepherded them, and we tried to ask what was going on. Neither our Japanese nor their English was up to an explanation, except it was quite clear that we were not among the chosen, and we should keep walking, along with the other hoi polloi. We did, and were soon on our way out of the gardens again. We then noticed that police and traffic officials were closing the road to motor traffic. Something was Going On, and we may never know what!
On the other hand, the universe always hands us alternatives, and we had noticed from our higher vantage point that the fountains in the Palace Plaza had gone through some kind of cycle at nine o’clock. We guessed they might do it again at ten, so we made our way back and decided to devote ourselves again to cityscapes.
At the crack of ten o’clock, sure enough, sleeping fountains began to rise out of the plaza streams and sculptures. Just when you thought they had all joined in, up would spring another surprise. We photographed various stages of the crescendo. And just when we thought we must have all the fountains, up popped an elegant Japanese family apparently celebrating some formal occasion, with one older lady dressed in full kimono. They graciously motioned consent for us to photograph them, too.
We had an appointment at 11:00 to meet our Japanese friend, Mitsuo Takeda, who had arranged to be passing through Tokyo this morning to coincide with our visit. We made our way back to the hotel, packed, left our luggage at the desk, and were just in time to greet Mitsuo as he arrived in the lobby.
`O- hi – o- go –zai – mas, Takeda-san. O genki – dess – ka?’ I greeted him. He was most impressed at my fluent Japanese, but fortunately after a brief reply continued the conversation in English, as I had just exhausted the Japanese section of my memory chip.
Mitsuo presented us with several alternatives, and the one we agreed upon was a visit to the Asakusa Kannon Shrine, which he assured us was easily accessible by subway, through which he would swiftly guide us.
Pausing only to make use of the hotel’s downstairs facilities, I found myself in a close encounter with my second bidet. Superficially like the one in our bedroom, it deceived me into going through the usual routine. The pleasant sensation in my 3 began to give way to irritation as I realized this machine was not stopping! Once seated, the controls are rather difficult to read, and as I attempted to direct my other set of cheeks towards them I naturally wriggled my 3 out of the line of the jet, which continued to spray with unabated vigour. Quickly returning to my defensive position, I felt rather like the little Dutch boy with his – er – finger the only thing preventing the entire city from flood and devastation. The bidet and I were locked in a Mexican stand-off – if I moved, could I find its vital control fast enough before it succeeded in drenching me? At this point I must have regained my presence of mind, because it occurred to me to feel along the set of controls with my fingers, and to pull rather than to push. Eureka! I was free! Once again opposable thumbs prove their superiority to mindless machinery.
With Mitsuo’s help we came swiftly to the subway station. The ticket vending machines recognized our superior intelligence and gave us tickets. We took the blue (Tongai) line, changed effortlessly to the orange (Ginza) line, and in twenty minutes emerged into more rain at the old Asakusa district.
Kaminarimon Gate to Asakusa Shrine
The shrine was approached via the Kaminarimon Gate, which is not as old as it looks, having been most recently rebuilt in 1960. The Japanese are quite happy to rebuild shrines and their surroundings from time to time, for practical and philosophical reasons. Practically, as many are constructed from wood and paper, they sometimes catch fire and burn to the ground. Philosophically, the Japanese respect change
and transition as well as tradition and stability, and frequent rebuilding is a form of homage to this concept.
From this gate we passed along an old covered street hung with paper lanterns, banners, good luck signs, snakes and dragons, sheep (for the coming New Year), sales signs - an amazing hotch-potch of confusing alternative cultures.
Shopping District Leading to Asakusa Shrine
At the far end of this street we entered via the Hozomon Gate the precinct of the Buddhist shrine and temple. Stone lanterns were set in little groves of trees and bamboo. Minor family shrines jostled for space, many containing small Buddha images, offerings, engravings. At the main entrance to the shrine were places for purification before entering. We wafted incense smoke onto ourselves, and washed our hands with the little cups provided at the fountains. With the crowd, many also jostling umbrellas, we walked up the steep steps, under the huge red lantern, and paid our respects to the divine spark within us all. In this particular place, this is represented by a gold statue in the image of Kannon, fished from the Sumida River in AD628. Mitsuo lit a candle `for my late mother’ so I sent good wishes to my ancestors, too. We threw coins into a trough which was said to convey our wishes. Time will tell.
Our time together was fated to be short this time, and we had planned to include lunch. Mitsuo began to look for a restaurant. We had seen none, until he pointed out what they looked like, and then we saw many! The one he chose was a door in a wall covered by a flapping curtain with pictograms painted on it. He went inside, ordered noodles for three, then we all waited outside to be called. There was not a westerner in sight, but the crowded Japanese clientele indicated that we had been initiated into the `in’ crowd.
Asakusa Shrine
Huge dishes of noodles arrived, which we were to eat, of course, with chopsticks. My personal technique is to raise a bunch of noodle to the mouth, suck, and at a certain point
when the mouth is full to bite down sharply, cutting off the remaining noodle-lengths which fall back into the broth ready for the next time. I was quite proud of my genteel and ladylike manner. Mitsuo began to laugh at us. `This is the only table,’ he explained, `where there is no noise.’ Apparently the thing to do is to suck LOUDLY on one’s noodles, to slurp NOISILY as one ingests, to show with great noise how much one is appreciating the meal. Sure enough, all around us tremendous slurps and sloshes were coming from every table except ours. I remembered the Japanese gentleman next to me on the plane, and the great noise he had made with his noodles, and I had thought it amazing that such an elderly gentleman couldn’t manage his food more properly!! So now we did our best to join in with more gusto.
When it came to a napkin, though, there wasn’t one, and my proposal to pull out a tissue was greeted with one or two more etiquette pointers. The Japanese think it very bad manners to blow your nose in public, or to cough – or, in fact, to let anything OUT of the body in public. A real handkerchief is carried as a decorative item, but should never, ever go anywhere near your nose. So, you should slurp, slosh and smack your lips, but you’re publicly disgraced if you burp, fart or sneeze!
These philosophical discussions took time, and we reluctantly had to leave our restaurant, get back to the subway, pick up our luggage from the hotel, and walk back to the railway station to catch the bullet train, or shinkasen, to Sendai. Mitsuo had kindly bought our tickets for us in advance, to save us time, and he also insisted on accompanying us all the way to the platform, to make sure we caught the right train. A real gentleman, he even pulled my suitcase for me all the way!
Our train left at 2:30 and we were safely on it, in the right seats, and all we had to do was sit back for a couple of hours and it would deliver us to Sendai, where the conference was to take place. The scenery began interestingly, but it soon grew dark, so the train ride was a time to rest and relax and get ready for the next excitement.
We arrived at Sendai station exactly on time at 4:40. Again our entrance to a city was marked by darkness and heavy rain, but this time we were a little less sure of our route, so we took a taxi to the Hotel Sendai Plaza.
Assigned to Room 915 we followed yet another impeccably uniformed Japanese bell-captain – this time a strong young woman who whisked my suitcase nonchalantly over the threshold. It was too dark to assess our view yet, but we could see city lights, and their reflections in the wet streets. Without much time to spare – we were due at a reception at 6:00pm – we showered and shined without passing through the neatly-folded kimonos and house-slippers.
I am sorry to report that our Sendai Plaza bidet was not the obsequious state-of-the-art supermodel we had got used to at the Palace Hotel. See how steep my learning curve is on this trip – yesterday I marvelled at bidet technology, this morning I outwitted an unknown model, this evening I’m condemning a simple bidet for its lack of sophistication! In three days I’ll probably be able to curse at one in fluent Japanese.
We were greeted at the sign-in table by Professor Takayama and his wife Chieko, our host and hostess for this week. They beamed and bowed, and presented us with packets of information neatly stowed in presentation bags decorated with the conference logo.
The reception meal was laid out in a very elegant room in Japanese style, and we enjoyed grazing among the various delicacies. I sought out and introduced myself to the ladies with whom I would be spending most of the coming week. I met Sue and Marlyse first, and noticed Sue painstakingly simplifying her English, to be more easily understood by a variety of foreigners. I was reminded of my experience of Universal Spoken English, or USE, at the Lisbon conference, and switched myself into the same patterns. I met Karen, Peggy and Jo, `senior wives’ it seemed, who each had enchanting southern accents, and who checked me out in a friendly and welcoming fashion.
The reception was informal enough that as fatigue took over it was OK to slip away to our rest. Actually, Jim went off for a quick evening walk through the streets of Sendai, and by the time he returned I was through the shower, through the kimono, and fast asleep in bed.
Monday 21 October
At around two o’clock this morning there was an earthquake. We Californians get used to such things, but it did wake us. `Was that an earthquake?’ I asked sleepily. `I think so,’ reassured my husband. Then I remembered we were on the ninth floor! Nothing more happened, however, and we followed the traditional California earthquake procedure of turning over and going back to sleep.
Breakfast seemed to follow very soon after this, at 7:30. Another team of greeters were working at this hotel - `go-zai-mas, go-zai-mas, go-zai-mas’ they sang as we crossed the dining room. We were seated next to a contingent from AEDC. Jo, the wife of Larry, I discovered was a first grade teacher, and had also taken a leave of absence to come on this trip. Larry and Jim caught up on news of mutual acquaintances. We chose an American breakfast, eggs and bacon, but it came with a mandatory salad.
Jim went off to do an honest day’s work, and I met with the ladies in the lobby at 9:15, ready for a hard day’s touristing. We had come prepared for harsh weather, which was already manifesting itself outside the wide glass doors. We all wore sensible waterproofs and carried umbrellas. I met more participants, including Kathy and her teenage daughter Jackie. Jackie’s teachers had given her several assignments to complete, one of which was to carry a bear who must get himself photographed in front of significant scenery and send back reports of his trip! I reminisced with her about Barnaby’s visit to me last year, and the good times we had shared.
By 9:30 all were assembled, and we trooped out onto a little bus which would take us first to the Akiu craftsmen village. Chieko kept up an excellent running commentary over the microphone as we travelled.
Painting Kokeshi Dolls
The rain was absolutely torrential. Our driver took us as close as he could to the place of our first visit, the `school’ of a master painter of Kokeshi dolls, the traditional doll shape of this area of Japan. Carefully shaking our umbrellas one by one as we stepped inside, we took seats at four-seater tables around the room. Each student-space had a `raw’ Kokeshi doll shape, a set of brushes, and two containers, one holding black and the other red paint. Our master stood in front of a wide board and took us through the process with the aid of diagrams and Chieko’s translation. We must begin with the eyebrows, go on to the eyes, the hair, and complete the head with a Japanese hairstyle and ornaments, before decorating the body with red and black flowers. This would produce the traditional Kokeshi doll.
You might think that this would produce identical Kokeshi dolls, but not so! As we became absorbed in our task we realized some of the difficulties in following directions to the letter, and as we looked around at our neighbours’ creations we saw the very many ways each person interpreted these directions.
As each doll was finished we presented it to the master, who lacquered it to make the result a Kokeshi doll to go. Only then did he reveal Ancient Japanese Saying that one’s Kokeshi doll revealed one’s own personality! Well, at least mine looked happy, if a little lopsided.
Moving right along, we were next due at the store of a maker of traditional wooden spinning tops, or koma. We had to walk via rain-drenched paths, protected by our umbrellas, and came safely if damply to an establishment run by the two Hiroi brothers. One brother demonstrated the amazing variety of their wares. There were tops that simply spun, in a variety of shapes and colours. There were tops that whistled, tops that turned themselves upside down, and tops that morphed themselves into a series of tiny spinning tops as they increased speed. There were tops whose tops spun separately. There were tops shaped as owls, sheep, dancers, and probably any other creature you could imagine. With unfailing patience Hiroi-san showed off his expertise, responding to our cries of `What does THIS one do?’
When all the tops had been tried, and many bought, we reformed our wet procession to visit the carver of wooden furniture. As we walked we noticed an ingenious Japanese down-drain from the constantly overflowing gutters. It looked like a large-linked chain, and kept the water cascading down within these links in a pleasing, ever-changing patterns.
At the furniture-maker’s store we had to leave our umbrellas and our shoes outside, to walk in our socks or barefoot on his pristine tatami mats. The simplicity of each room showed off the skilled woodcarving used to make the furniture.
We were then given until 11:30 to wander at will, and we made our own ways through florists, basket makers, paper folders, until we heard Chieko’s call.
Our next stop was at the Hotel Sakan, a traditional Japanese-style hotel, where lunch had been prepared for us. But first, we had to be prepared for lunch! Chieko had three helpers. One was her daughter-in-law Reiko who also carried Chi-se, Chieko’s granddaughter. Keiko was a native Japanese lady, and Natasha was Russian, but had been living in Japan for seven years. These ladies now had to instruct us carefully in the ritual use of slippers. We entered the hotel in our own shoes, but as we reached the carpeted area we had to back out of these and into two of an array of soft slippers provided. These slippers would get us as far as the dining room, where the tatami mats started, and were a sign you should not be wearing any slippers at all. So, you backed out of the hotel slippers here, so that you could walk straight into them again as you left. Should you need to visit a restroom, you would walk back via these indoor slippers to the restroom door, where you would back out of them and into special latrine slippers. These slippers were `contaminated’ and must never be worn in any other place in the building.
All this bending and stretching and concentrated thought certainly worked up an appetite for lunch, and when we saw it, there were oohs and aahs of appreciation. Our lunch was set out for us on two facing rows of individual low tables, each with its matching low chair and flat pink cushion. Each table bore a traditional Japanese lacquerware box, about a foot square, within which little bowls of various sizes and colours were fitted in an aesthetic arrangement. The bowls contained mostly unfamiliar Japanese food, which Chieko carefully enumerated. As well as soup and rice, we would eat seaweed, okra, baby mushrooms, raw fish, cooked chrysanthemums, one major shrimp still in its `armor’, a stick of ginger, bean curd and, as she disconcertingly concluded `some surprising things!’
We sat down, feet straight ahead or tucked to one side, as we were advised was equally proper. I was seated between Sue and Cathy and opposite Rita, so got an opportunity to enjoy many reactions as well as my own. I think everyone at least tried everything, though we soon began discriminating. I found I can enjoy raw fish, but only if it has texture – a fatty mass is more than I can swallow! I gave up fighting my shrimp armed only with chopsticks. And one bite from a stick of ginger was enough to flavour my meal. I enjoyed the salad, including the seaweed, and the okra and baby mushroom mixture was great.
On to the next cultural adventure … we were to visit the hot springs together. As a Californian I have been used to taking a jacuzzi, clothed or unclothed. At last night’s reception we had been forewarned most definitely that wearing clothes in a Japanese hot spring would be unacceptable. But, to get back to our natural nakedness we must now first pass through some ritualized procedures. Instructions followed.
We were handed neatly-folded kimonos and two towels and told to strip to our panties. Keep on our panties? Yes, it was carefully explained that this was to prevent public disgrace should a light breeze waft open our kimono as we walked to the bathing area. Re-wrapping ourselves in kimonos was not simple, either. It turns out there’s a right and a wrong way to wrap. Left OVER right is what you must remember if you are not to horrify those you pass. (Right over left is the way a corpse is dressed for its funeral. Alas, in my photograph no-one had told me this yet, so I can never show it to Japanese friends.)
We must make a bathroom visit before setting off, entailing a whole series of slipper exchanges to get there and back, plus the experience of our first encounter with a Japanese-style toilet.
I know you readers in whom this account is awakening a latent interest in plumbing will want details here. Well, sorry, no bidet, no buttons, no esoteric controls. You place your special-purpose latrine slippers one each side of an oblong hole in the floor which is filled with water. You squat. You direct your – er – attention towards a drain in this hole. When you rise from your meditative position the toilet knows it, and brings you back to the real world with a startling display. The water in the bowl rises up with a gurgle, spins around with a slosh, disappears with a slurp, and gradually refills again with a sigh of satisfaction at a job well done.
We carried our two towels to the segregated bathing area, and kind of assumed the larger towel of the two was to take us the final steps – not so! The kimono and the larger towel must be left neatly folded in the individual baskets provided, and the smaller towel was all that was left to protect our modesty. We were allowed to keep the smaller towel as a souvenir, so I can tell you it measures 30 inches by 13 inches, and my modesty, at least, needs rather more cover than that! Not that it mattered, because now we stepped into communal showers to hose down our grubby bodies before entering the pristine waters, and finally we stepped down into the hot springs.
Water flows up and over stones and shelves and the walking surfaces, so there is nowhere now to put your small towel except on your head. Japanese ladies know an excellent origami technique that transforms their towel into an elegant little cap that makes them look cute and oriental. Western ladies, if they haven’t already got their towel irredeemably soggy, can only struggle with ungainly attempts at bandannas, veils or something looking like two socks twisted together.
Ready for the Hot Springs
We luxuriated in the hot water which now soothed our touristed-out bodies. The atmosphere was very relaxed, with Western and Japanese ladies stretched out on shelves partially under water,, sitting on the side to cool off, or splashing themselves with the water constantly entering via a wide wooden chute. Geothermal activity has created thousands of hot springs sites all over Japan, and they are extremely popular. Single-sex baths are the norm, though there are more private facilities available if one wishes to bathe with one’s family. Two small Japanese boys joined us with their mother – apparently this was quite acceptable. Chi-se splashed happily with her mother, Reiko.
After some time Chieko offered the opportunity to move to a different bath, of a different temperature and aesthetic, and most of the ladies joined her. I was among a few who decided to leave at this point, and we went back up to our private dining area where Natasha was guarding our valuables and got dressed. This gave me an opportunity to sit quietly with Natasha for a while, and we sipped tea and had an interesting conversation about different cultures, especially our own, and what it is like to adopt a foreign country.
The other ladies eventually returned, very sleepy and extremely relaxed, so it was OK that the bus ride back took rather longer than expected because we hit rush-hour. I was back just after four o’clock, Jim soon after that, and we exchanged stories and the contents of his digital camera, which I’d stolen for the entire day.
Another reception was due at 6:00, at which we were greeted by Professor Takayama with the words `I hear you were all well cooked!’ Apparently a few of the ladies were still so enervated they never did make it to the reception this evening!
Well, they missed a very interesting ceremony introduced by one of Takayama’s ex-students, Mr Ken Uchigasaki, who had been lured from the halls of academia by the inheritance of his family’s sake-brewing business. He invited five of the senior gentlemen to participate in a traditional sake barrel opening ceremony, which involved all of them striking the barrel simultaneously with enough force to shake its lid off. He had brought many samples of his wares, and each conference participant was handed a traditional sake drinking box full of the first sample. The gentleman explained that connoisseurs believe the wood warms the sake and thus produces an aroma which adds to the total sensual delight. We eagerly tested this theory, and were invited, as the reception proceeded, to visit various drinking stations around the room to have our boxes re-filled with various kinds and qualities of sake. By the end of the evening, as you may guess, they all tasted pretty good.
Jim started a trend by asking Uchigasaki-san to sign his sake box, which he gladly did in both Japanese and western characters.
As usual at these formal occasions, Chieko was wearing one of her beautiful formal traditional kimonos. Both she and Sue have been at many earlier conferences of this group, and I was there when Sue began to compliment Chieko on yet another gorgeous outfit. Chieko is just about the most gracious and lovely lady you can imagine, and now she shared with us something of the tradition of kimonos. Many of hers, she explained, were inherited from her mother. They are passed down the family in much the same way that we might leave our daughters the family jewels. No jewelry is worn with a kimono, as each is considered a work of art, and jewelry would be a distraction. A little collar is worn to accentuate it at the neck. Traditional kimonos are made of silk, or hand-made cloth, and are treasured and stored very carefully in paper. Chieko has about 30 of her mother’s kimonos, and treasures them all. She added sadly that some Japanese ladies had had to sell their kimonos during years of hardship, and this is considered a loss that can never be replaced.
We left the reception soon after 8:00, and Jim took another of his evening walks into downtown Sendai. I thought I would relax and watch a little Japanese TV when I discovered they were showing an early Spielberg movie Running Silent, broadcast in English but with Japanese subtitles. Jim returned during this, and later we were able to catch a summary of the news. I find it very appealing that Japanese newscasters bow to the camera at the beginning and end of their reports!
Tuesday 22 October
So do Japanese weatherpersons!! The TV weather forecast this morning promised the sun would shine. Looking out, sure enough, there it was. Pity our group was destined to spend this morning at 6000 feet on top of Mount Zao, where such information was irrelevant …
Once again we chickened out and chose the American breakfast. I knew a Japanese lunch would be coming up, and thought I’d appreciate it more if I didn’t take the seaweed salad now, and Jim needed his strength and vigour to give his paper later this morning.
The Companions met at 9:15 as directed, in warm clothes and good walking shoes. We must be very careful to say `companions’ now as we are joined by Chris, the spouse of a female scientist, and we also have an extra helper who is male, the dean of one of the departments at the university.
We are very blessed with helpers who can speak excellent English, but even this does not prevent the occasional humorous misunderstanding. For example, a mistake I had just made in a conversation with Keiko. The Japanese accent often uses `R’ instead of `L’. Keiko told me that though she has been to the summit of Mount Zao four times, she has only seen the crater twice. The other times there were `too many crowds.’ It wasn’t until much later that I realised she was referring to weather conditions, and not to its popularity as a tourist attraction.
Our group was a little larger this morning, and apparently at 20 we hit the magic number to get a larger bus and a tour guide provided by the bus company. She was very sweet and extremely obliging, but could speak no English so, rather amusingly, she would address us in a stream of information unintelligible to most of us over the microphone, then pass the microphone to Chieko who would translate, and, I believe, summarize.
The weather continued fine as we drove along the highway and out into the countryside. We passed many rice fields with little rice stacks at intervals along the waterlogged rows. Among the historical information Chieko inserted the information that we were now in pear and persimmon country. She described to us the Asian pear, which she translates as apple-pear, because it is apple-shaped. To help us understand, our guide produced visual aids – slices of apple-pear which were handed out for our delectation.
We entered the Mount Zao National Park area, and to our delight the sun came out and shone brightly. With increased altitude came more and more intense autumn colours on the trees, and soon we were all exclaiming in admiration at the beauty of the scenery all around us. The road was extremely steep and extremely winding, so by turns each side of the bus enjoyed wide vistas looking out over distant multi-coloured mountainside, or close-ups of extremely Japanese-looking leaves, twisted branches and grasses. I could feel my camera trigger finger itching, and I got very excited.
Unfortunately, there was no stopping allowed on the mountain road, so these views were passed tantalizingly before our eyes but there was no way to make a pictorial record. On and on we went, up and up – until we left the sunlight far behind and entered gloom, mist, and extreme cold. We rose to 6000 feet and there the bus stopped.
We all got out, wrapped in as much clothing as we could wear, and even that wasn’t enough to protect us from the icy blast. One could scarcely breathe, the air was so cold. Our very muffled procession struggled along the well-worn path to the viewing area, passing many tourists on the return journey who looked even colder than we felt, if that were possible.
We all looked in the right direction. We photographed each other pointing at the lake, and our official photographer took a picture of us against the mist. Of the lake there was no sign.
Well, we’d been there, and done that, so in the interests of survival we now turned and got back as quickly as possible to a little gift shop perched on the slope. Thawing our fingers enough to make one or two purchases, some travellers bought snacks, and I bought a guide book and some postcards. I also asked Chieko if it was possible to get our driver to stop anywhere on the way down the mountain, and she said she’d see what she could do.
He did stop, at the one permissible spot, but unfortunately it was well above the sunshine. A few hardy photographers staggered out of the bus and attempted to stand up against the wind for long enough to shoot some distant views of forested mountainside and a spectacular waterfall. That, alas, was it. As we passed back down through the sunlit area we were once again on a road which was tricky enough for traffic to negotiate at all, and a parked bus just could not be accommodated.
My day was proving, and continued, photographically frustrating. (`Thank goodness,’ I hear some of you mutter, who are holding my complete tome - journal, photographs and souvenirs. `At least there’s one day that she has to tell in ten pages or less.’) I have noticed before how necessary it is to my enjoyment of some experience that I can somehow record it, hold on to it, relive it and sometimes share it with others. I remember another bus tour I took back in 1989 through Europe, which had similar frustrating times. I reflect to myself, `I know I’m going to get over it, so I’d better get over it now and use this opportunity to enjoy the moment.’ I did, honestly I did – though I admit to putting in a word or two to the universe to point out what I was doing, so it needn’t send me this experience again for a while.
Further consolation was provided by our guide, who apologized via Chieko that she couldn’t speak English to us, but she would make up for this by serving us tea and then singing to us while we drank it. The hot tea was very welcome after our recent cold experience, and the singing turned out to be very enthusiastic and quite appealing. We suspected we had an aspiring pop star on our hands who was guiding buses only until her big break.
Lunch time found us down at the Hotel Sansa-tei, in sunshine but below the level of the fall colours. We were old hands now – or do I mean old feet? – at the series of slipper changes, and quickly made our way to the dining room where another delightful Japanese lunch was set out for us. We thought we knew everything, but more `surprising things’ were added. Two ladies in elegant pink kimonos made their way on their knees along the rows of our tables, at each one lighting a candle, spreading a magnolia leaf over a frame above the candle, and tipping into the leaf fragments of raw meat which we would now each cook for ourselves at our tables.
Ladies Serving Lunch
Other delicacies added today included different raw fish, whole chestnuts nestling in our rice bowls, chrysanthemum flowers, Japanese radish, and what looked like a mummified tiny black fish. I hoped this was for decoration, but no, everything in the lunch box was said to be edible.
`Do we eat the magnolia leaf?’ asked someone.
`No, no,’ Chieko explained patiently, `that would be silly.’
Another unphotographable event followed – another hot spring. Apart from bright yellow towels we looked much the same as we did yesterday, and followed the same procedures. This time, though, Chieko led us to an area outside in the warm sunshine, where we reclined on what seemed like natural rocks, like so many naiads. Looking around at the naturalness with which all these ladies, many of us unknown to each other before this week, were adapting to so many new experiences, helping each other out with challenges, laughing with each other and enjoying our community experience, I thought again of my pilgrimage through Europe with that earlier group, and how much I had grown through it.
`Its about the people, stupid!’ I thought to myself. `Forget everyone who isn’t here, including the future you, and just be here now.’ So I did, and I was, and I remember this day quite as well as the ones I photographed.
After drying, many companions decided to wander around the hotel complex for a while, finding that this yielded an extensive gift store and a source of ice cream. I decided to venture outside to a beautiful garden we could see from the windows on one side, and to the rushing river on the other. The garden visit worked well, and I photographed a splendid spider. Leaving the hotel by its main door to get to the river was not so successful. Oh, it was easy enough to walk out the automatic doors, which slid aside at my approach. Not so easy was to run the gauntlet of bowing uniforms which materialized as soon as I entered the lobby. I felt I had to pop back after a while to check that I was not holding up the party – and I was bowed back in. No-one had missed me yet, so out I went again, resorting to something of a trained spy walk, moving quickly while unobserved, but intently studying the wallpaper when I though I saw a movement. The chorus were too skilled for me. Up they popped again, to bow and smile me on my way. They greeted me back in again in another ten minutes, and still the shoppers had not finished. But this time Jo and Inger joined me with their cameras, so I crept out in their wake.
We arrived back at our hotel just after 4:00pm, and knowing that the scientists had been taken on a visit to the Shock Wave Research Centre, a group of Companions decided to make use of the time before their return to walk to the local shopping mall. Pausing only to drop luggage and pick up cash and credit cards, off we went.
It was only a short walk to a covered mall, and this contained a bewildering array of stores, many of which were difficult to identify. Clothes, electronics, food, all jostled for attention, but Chieko led us first to an upper class craft store where she was sure we could find souvenirs and gifts. She was quite right, and it was a very interesting store in which to browse. The only problem was, ten or fifteen shoppers are very hard to keep together, especially if some of them take a lot of time and advice before they can make up their mind what to buy. Splinter groups kept heading off into the mall, with `I’m just going to …..’ and other groups had to keep waiting for them. I was not too worried about finding a lot of souvenirs, so stayed fairly flexible and enjoyed looking at whatever came up. I was disappointed in my search for a Japanese egg cup to add to my collection. Tea cups and sake cups abounded, but I could find nothing in between.
Eventually we all walked home again. With no clear indication when the scientists would return from their lab visit, we dispersed to wait for our spouses. I had just made a cup of coffee when Jim arrived, having agreed with Larry and Vern that they and Jo and Rita would go out to find dinner with us, if the womenfolk agreed. We confirmed that we would meet them all in a few minutes.
We retraced our steps to the mall, but this time with food in mind. It proved difficult to choose a restaurant from the dozens available, as the men had been eating regular lunches all week and were disposed to try something adventurous, and Rita had been eating Japanese lunches all week and yearned for cooked meat! We compromised with a Japanese-Italian restaurant, chosen also because it had pictures on its menu, and that way we could simply point to what we wanted without knowing the Japanese for it.
Well, that was the theory. In practice, there were choices to be made without which the first sweet Japanese waitress could not process our order. She went away to find a second waitress who spoke a little English, and we managed to make our wishes known. I noticed Jo, at the waitress end of our table, was very good at Universal Spoken English. Perhaps it is the teacher training that helps, as I believe I can do it, too, but I noticed Jo switching to clear, simple sentences, backing up when she got a look of incomprehension, using alternative words, supplementing with sign language, and all with a happy smile and friendly manner that kept great goodwill in the exchange. Not only did we get the meals we wanted, but we also found out our waitress was studying agriculture at the university, and knew of Professor Takayama. This kind of communication is a great social skill. I think the scientists, less used to being out of their field and more self-conscious at being misunderstood, would not have fared so well without Jo.
We wandered around for a while after dinner, and observed the night-life of Sendai. We had heard that Japanese men tend to work long hours, to socialize after work with colleagues, to go home late, and to spend time with their wives and families only at weekends. Certainly tonight we saw many parties made up exclusively of male Japanese in formal business suits, arriving in taxis to frequent the night clubs. We all had a long day’s touristing ahead tomorrow, though, so we continued back to our hotel, pausing only to buy a Mister Donut to eat with our late-night green tea.
Wednesday 23 October
Scientists, spouses, companions, helpers ALL met together this morning at 8:45, and made two bus loads to drive out to Shiogama to catch a boat across Matsushima Bay. Jim and I were fortunate enough to be on Bus 1 where Professor Takayama translated the Japanese guide’s commentary into English. I believe he also added some erudite comments and one or two dry asides of his own. This was for some of us the third version of local history and the Date family who once ruled the Sendai area, and it is becoming interesting to collect different versions of the anecdotes. It is also interesting to hear once again the complete acceptance of different forms of religion as temples, shrines and monuments are discussed. Shinto is the more ancient religion, corresponding somewhat to the ancient worship of many nature gods in the west. Buddhism is more of a philosophy, a way of life to be followed, rather than a form of worship. We are told that families happily have shrines of both kinds in one home, and tend to use Shinto when they want a rollicking Bacchanalian festival and a good time, and Buddhism for more solemn and thoughtful occasions, such as memorial services and honouring their ancestors. New Year, for instance, is a big family occasion, and starts with Buddhist repentance and reflection for crimes and sins, then ends with Shinto jollity and presents and fireworks. We are to visit a variety of religious sites today.
We arrived at Shiogama at about 10:00am, leaving time for a stroll around the port and a look at one street of the town. I am struck once again by the happy custom of making a little garden in whatever space is available in front of every store. Outside gas stations, hairdressers, pharmacies, hardware stores, each storefront has just as many pots and containers as can be crammed around the door, and if there is ANY soil available, three or four miniature trees at least will form an interesting group in it. The Japanese seem unwilling to allow any tree to misbehave itself. All public trees are bent, twisted, wired to grow into The Perfect Tree. Sometimes this process looks painful, but it does result in pleasing combinations of shapes and outlines.
Our boat was due to depart at 10:30 and we streamed aboard, the most intrepid of us making straight for the open top deck. We were due to sail across Matsushima Bay, said to be one of Japan’s top three scenic attractions, so we wanted to get the full benefit of all the sensations it had to offer. The day was almost perfect for such an expedition – a pale sun was shining, the sky was blue with occasional clouds, and there was a gentle breeze.
On the Boat in Matsushima Bay
Matsushima Bay is said to contain around 200 islands, most of them just small outcrops of creamy rock crowned with dark evergreen trees, but each island has its own individual shape and appeal. Apparently each has its own name, relating to some Japanese legend. There are also such interesting phenomena as seaweed beds and oyster farms to observe, highly ornate pleasure boats in the shapes of dragons and peacocks, plus photographs to be taken of all one’s fellow passengers. It was a most enjoyable voyage. We were too soon at the pier of our destination, Matsushima.
We walked in loose formation through the little town and up the hill to the Matsushima Glass Museum. This turns out not to contain a collection of old glass, but a display of the works of a local master, Kyohei Fujita. His designs were shown off in brilliantly-lit cabinets in darkened rooms, the lights bringing out the qualities of the works, their rich colours and their translucence.
The museum was part of the complex attached to the Hotel Ichino-boh, where we were to have lunch. To get to the dining room we passed above and then through a beautiful garden surrounding a simple white chapel with stained glass windows. Our hosts explained that in Japan, as in the west, it is becoming popular to be married and to hold one’s wedding reception in a hotel. Modern hotels are quickly building chapels in their grounds to cater to this trend.
The Companions had been looking forward to eating a Japanese lunch with their spouses for two reasons. One, perhaps unkind, was thwarted. We had wanted to see how large
aliens would manage to sit on the floor and cope with the traditional low tables, and we were a little disappointed to find lunch set out on western-height tables. There was, however, traditional Japanese food on these tables, so we were able to fulfil our second anticipation, which was to explain nonchalantly to our spouses what they were eating and what we as connoisseurs might recommend - `The chrysanthemums are really piquant today, aren’t they?’ I saved a tiny chrysanthemum from this happy experience, which we shared at a table with Sue and David.
Our visit to the museum and hotel could not be complete without a routing through the gift store, and here we browsed a while among some superior glass and ceramics, as well as the tacky trinkets used as tourist bait. I was delighted to find something I wanted – a set of glass chopstick-rests in the shape and colour of the fall leaves. Was the universe laughing at me? `You wanted something tangible – here, carry home some heavy orange glass, why don’t you?’ Or was it rewarding me for my patience and philosophical acceptance? You can’t always tell with the universe.
Godaido Temple
Back at the bus, after a democratic discussion about the order of our afternoon’s activities, Professor Takayama then told us what we would do. Our digestion of lunch would be helped by first walking across the famous red bridge to the little island where we would view the Godaido Temple. On the way here I was finally able to get a few longed-for close-ups of fall leaves, as we passed many golden, orange and scarlet trees.
Walking back across the red bridge and along the coastline trail brought us past a photo-opportunity view of Matsushima Bay, one of the three most popular views in Japan. Naturally we photographed it, and each other in front of it.
We moved on, I believe, to the Entsuin Temple, and at the end of our temple tour arrived finally at the Zuigangi Caves and Temple. Just inside the dark entrance to the temple complex we came upon statues carved high up in the rocks. A tree-lined avenue led us past family shrines, and past a Zen-looking telephone kiosk, to the Zen temple. The hondo is the main building where meditation takes place, and the tatami mats signalled that we must take off our shoes to enter. Even more interesting than this austere shell are the views it affords. I see lovely gardens with rocks and stone lanterns. I catch sight of a gardener scything grass. There are other signs of wood-chopping and water-drawing and the sweeping of flagstones.
Back outside, we passed the kitchen building and moved on to the Zuigangi Art Museum. This contains some interesting art works and historical artefacts, the most impressive of which was a huge gong used to call the monks to their meals, and a lifesize wooden effigy of Date Masamune Kou Kacchu-zo. Unfortunately most of the historical information was unintelligible to us, though I did manage to buy an English guide book on the way out.
Dinner was to be another gala event, and we met at the buses to drive up to the Hotel Taikan-soh. We were to eat in an upper room whose windows looked out over the magnificent view of Matsushima Bay. Even as we took our seats the scene was darkening, and the blue of the sky and sea gave way to a deep indigo picked out with the twinkling lights of the towns and villages below.
Our foursome this time was made up by two Japanese gentlemen helpers who spoke only Japanese with a few words of English. Our English could be enhanced with even fewer words of Japanese, so at first the communication was rather stilted. However, as drinks were poured Jim happened to hit on one Japanese word which broke the ice and brought smiles - `Kampai!’ We and the gentlemen clinked our glasses and joined in an international toast.
Dinner was French-Japanese, and wonderful, from the pumpkin soup through the beef fillet to the dessert samplers. A pianist accompanied our meal.
Making Rice Paper
We were actually home at our hotel by 7:30, though it felt much later. Jim took his evening walk, and on his return we shared green tea in our new tea cups and watched a Steven Spielberg interview.
Thursday 24 October
The Companions’ coach left today at 9:15. Once again we had the larger bus, so I took a double seat for myself, opposite Karen. We passed through familiar rice country, pear country and persimmon country. We skirted the foothills of Mount Zao, and Chieko showed us a local newpaper report and picture of SNOW there at the summit yesterday!
Our first stop was in the town of Shiroishi, where we were to visit a rice paper mill. Great was my surprise to learn that rice paper is not made from rice, but from the bark of the mulberry tree, several of which were growing along the approach to the building, as visual aids.
A kindly, robust Japanese lady greeted us all, and showed us the stages of the procedure for making specialty papers by hand. She puts the mushed up bark and some kind of gel in a vat, scoops up gooey liquid from this vat in a flat basket, rolls it around until it settles into a thin, flat but textured sheet, then unfolds it carefully onto a pile of other such papers to dry. This procedure looks absolutely effortless, and we wonder what the big deal is. Our demonstrator asked for volunteers to try it out for themselves, and we found out. Both Jackie and Jo appeared to follow instructions exactly, but their sheets of paper came out ridged, knobbly, lumpy … the kind lady smiled ruefully at them as she inspected their products, and poignantly tossed the goo back into the vat for recycling. Different colours are made by adding dyes, and different textures are made by adding all kinds of things, including silk. This is also, apparently, silk country – perhaps the silkworms live on the mulberry trees? We are to find out more about various kinds of paper by crossing to the gift store where wares are laid out for our enticement.
Japanese Lady in Her Garden
I didn’t get to the gift store quite as quickly as the avid shoppers, because to get to it we had to walk through the most intriguing Japanese fruit and vegetable garden. I don’t know who in the family tends the garden, but it is obviously loved and cherished. Neat little beds of vegetables are planted in straight rows, persimmon trees blaze orange in the corners, and there is a kiwi arbour! Real, live kiwi fruit are entwined around a wooden frame within which one can sit and enjoy the shade. Flowers grow in amongst the vegetables, and from a room adjacent to the gift store out pops a wonderful Japanese lady who really wants to talk about the garden and her plants. I express admiration in sign language, and fortunately our official photographer is also there and joins in. Before long she is pressing handfuls of cuttings upon us, especially from a magnificent abutilon plant which grows around her door.
Eventually I felt I had photographed everything, including this lovely lady, and took a quick look inside the gift store where Companions were choosing amongst exotic papers. Some felt almost like cloth, and were said to washable and ideal for furnishing. Even those who did not buy up the store took away a small sample of rice papers, as Chieko handed each of us a little packet with a charming smile, saying `This is a present from my husband.’
Our bus picked us up to take us to lunch, which was to be served today at the Sendai Beer Factory in Kakuda, South Sendai, but on the way we called in at an exhibition centre at Kakuda station. An exhibit of Kokeshi dolls was in place there, and Companions prioritized their respective needs for a little extra cultural information, or the relief of the public toilets, which the station also boasted. One could not help noticing a large red torii in the center of the station. I had previously only seen these at the entrance to shrines, so I asked Natasha why it was there. She explained that its significance here, as at the shrines, was to mark a transition. Passing underneath it, once should be sure to leave
behind all one’s bad stuff and go on to find only good. Though I had no train to catch, I hastily skipped around to pass through the sign.
Back on the bus, Chieko announced, to our surprise, `We will meet our husbands in 10 minutes.’ We knew that the spouses were on their own scientific tour today, but had not realized we were to lunch in the same place. There was a hasty powdering of noses and patting of hair before we emerged in the parking lot of the German Beer House, the restaurant in the beer factory’s grounds. Incongruously, oompah music was playing as we filed inside and were shown to a dining room where our lunch was set out. And where were the spouses? Oh, yes – we caught sight of them further down the hall in an entirely different dining room! (Comparing notes afterwards, we found they were just as surprised as we were, first to see us, and next, NOT to have lunch with us! I guess we had all reckoned without the Japanese custom of business colleagues socializing together, and not usually with their wives and families.)
Well, we enjoyed lunch anyway. Today it was western style – a large pork chop accompanied by beer of whatever shade one felt one could cope with. I chose the lightest, and discovered later that Jim had tried their darkest. Jim and Jack both sneaked into our dining room to say hello and goodbye before we were whirled off again on our separate trajectories.
The oompah music continued to send us on our way, and the native Japanese were surprised to see this crowd of weird aliens breaking spontaneously into dance steps, especially the chicken dance!
The Companions’ next stop was at the Kozoji Temple in Kakuda. Here we were to visit a wooden effigy of Buddha which had once been covered with gold. (The Japanese description spoke of `sand-gold’, and in my mind I translated this to mean gold dust, but I am not sure about this.) Anyway, over the years the gold has worn away, but the effigy is much revered, and Chieko explained we would only be able to look at it through a window.
She reckoned without the little jokes the universe and I were now sharing about my ability or otherwise to cope with photographic frustration! As we approached the temple housing the Buddha it was obviously in some disarray. Workmen were on the roof re-thatching it, and protective sheets seemed to indicate we would not be allowed near. `Oh, well,’ I remember was my first thought, `that’s OK because this is a very pretty garden.’ My reward came almost as instantly as the thought – the work on the roof meant that the temple was in fact open to entry, and the workmen did not mind at all that we walked up the steps, through the doors and all around the Buddha, its decorations and its offerings, photographing them as much as we pleased – provided we removed our shoes, of course, which we did. The Buddha certainly smiled at me, though perhaps I would have to admit that the wink was in my imagination.
Garden at Kosoji Temple
The temple garden was not even an anti-climax, but turned out to be probably the most beautiful garden of the trip. We had time to wander around and enjoy its features – the clipped and structured greenery, the splash of carefully placed fall colours, the stone paths and lanterns, the scattered thatched buildings, a water wheel, a red bridge leading to a tranquil lake …..
Though I thought my cup of happiness was full – truly, I felt so contented and peaceful and in love with the world – more was to come. I noticed a steep path leading out of the garden and up to a Buddhist cemetery. The climb was worth the experience. I now wandered among stone memorials, poignant little offerings of tea and fruit, flowers, engraved names and messages that were to me simple decoration, the view beyond and down the hill of the mist touching the distant forested slopes. It was so beautiful I cried. I was simply overcome with love and sadness and gratitude and laughter, it all came out in tears, up there alone among the almost tangible spirits.
I rejoined the Companions for a walk across the red bridge, and then the return home.
This evening was another time for individual exploration, and Jim and I decided to walk into town and find an interesting meal. We thought we might graze in a neighbourhood grocery store, but then we passed the craft store Chieko had shown the Companions a couple of evenings ago, so we investigated that together and bought some small souvenirs and gifts. A 100Yen Store opposite turned out to hold the solution of what to take back for my students – packets of Japanese candy. Stores began to close around us, so we returned to a row of Japanese restaurants and resolved to take the plunge of ordering for ourselves. With the aid of the pictures on the menu we did very well!
To close a day of bizarre mixtures and serendipitous happening we called in at our friendly neighbourhood Mister Donut and took back donuts again to eat with our green tea while watching The Twilight Zone!
Friday 25 October
Just when you think you must have enjoyed the most beautiful day of the trip, along comes another to surpass it! One might not expect this from a glance at today’s program,
which featured a mausoleum and a sake factory, but you never know what `surprising things’ are in store.
Driving out at 9:30 through the streets of Sendai, today’s guide mentioned for the first time, and Chieko translated, that Sendai was once known as the city of trees. In 1945 its centre was destroyed by allied bombing raids. The city fathers took the opportunity to rebuild the centre with much wider streets and a grid of modern buildings, so it is only as one drives through the outlying areas that one sees narrow, winding streets, older buildings, and those trees for which it was famous. Now we drive north to the Zuihoden Mausoleum.
A succession of well-trained guides over the past few days have made sure we are familiar with the historical figure of Masamune Date, born in 1567 and died in 1636. He was the patriarch of the Date family who were feudal lords of this area for hundreds of years. The most impressive building of the Zuihoden Mausoleum was built for him. Two further buildings house the remains of his successor, Tadamune Date (1599-1658), and the third generation, Tsunamune Date. The fourth to fourteenth feudal lords are buried here also, but in simple graves. The trend in diminishing grandiosity began even with the second lord – the patriarch is surrounded by many stone lanterns representing those of his soldiers who committed suicide in grief at the loss of their leader, his son has fewer lanterns, and Tsunamune’s death was marked apparently by the unassuageable grief of only two or three. None of the buildings are original – the originals were `disassembled’ according to the guide several times over the years, and the penultimate versions were also casualties of bombing raids in 1945. The present buildings date from 1979 and 1985.
A cedar-lined avenue and an impressive entrance gate brought us to the steep steps up to the first shrine. The Date family commanded, and got, a burial place with a view. We wandered the hillside among the three shrines and the smaller graves, and also visited a small museum which contains artefacts of the three Dates unearthed during various disassemblings. Their likenesses are displayed here, and show a strong family resemblance.
We were hurried a little at the end by Chieko, who knew, as we did not, the treat that was next in store for us, and the precise timing involved. On the bus she began to tell us about it. We were to visit the family sake factory of Ken Uchigasaki, whom we had met at Monday's reception, and he would personally show us around. Then, he had graciously opened up the traditional Japanese home nearby where his parents once lived. Making traditional noodles by hand is an art form, and Chieko has been taking a class to learn this. Her noodle-teacher and noodle-class were to honour us by preparing noodles there for our lunch. We are considerably honoured, both by the opening up of a beautiful private home, and by the personal attention of a noodle master.
We arrived some time later in the town of Tomiya, and drove through narrow streets to the entrance to the sake factory. We were greeted at the door by Uchigasaki-san and his wife, each impeccably and formally attired. We bowed and smiled and greeted, and entered the building.
It was immediately obvious that this was a small, old-style establishment. The Uchigasaki family are known for small quantities of high-class saki made in the traditional manner, and Mr Uchigasaki hinted at the difficulties experienced in competing with more commercialized ventures, whose sake may be indistinguishable by modern palates from his superior kind. At the moment, he explained, they were at the end of a completed sake cycle. His storehouses were pretty much full, by the end of December he hoped they would be empty, and another cycle would begin. Sake, unlike wine, should be drunk when fresh – it does not improve with age. Sake is made in the winter, ferments and is ready in the summer and fall. Special rice makes the best sake, and normal rice makes normal sake. We would be served special sake with lunch. We gravely admired the little still lifes around the factory, the freshly-scrubbed sake vats, the gleaming sake buckets, the crates with the proud label waiting to be shipped.
From the sublime to the mundane – we were to walk down the street to his parents’ old home, and he asked us politely that, should we feel the need, would we call in and use the facilities at his office, as the house had traditional-style facilities that we might overwhelm if we all felt called at once. Several of us popped upstairs to the two cabinets, one western and one Japanese, trying not to be embarrassed by the frank interest of the office workers in the room where we lined up. Actually, we returned their frank interest, noting that here was our chance to see what a Japanese keyboard looked like, so we nonchalantly peered over at the office machinery. We were not much wiser at what we saw and rather disappointed that the keyboard wasn’t a few feet long with thousands of characters.
Continuing down the street we came to the beautiful traditional home and garden of Mr Uchigasaki’s late parents. Bathed in sunlight, the home and garden took our breath away. Other senses were immediately assailed. We could see a team of cooks in white hats and aprons producing delectable smells and flavors. A young man in traditional dress sat on a low stool and played meditative music on a shakuhashi (a bamboo flute). A charming young student who wished to practise her English welcomed us and gave us directions. As we followed directions to step out of our shoes and into the elegant rooms, Mr Uchigasaki poured us glasses of his best sake. The rooms were unfurnished save for low
Flute Player
tables and cushions, and simple flower arrangements to accentuate the wooden walls and translucent paper windows.
I sat next to Chieko at one of the low tables for lunch, and couldn’t even begin to thank her for such a beautiful experience. She seemed to be enjoying it just as much. It was really touching how everyone wanted to honour each other – Uchigasaki-san his professor’s wife, Chieko her noodle class, the students their teacher - and we were caught in this wonderful atmosphere of goodwill.
After lunch we were invited to stroll around and look at anything we wanted – the rest of the house, the other buildings, the garden. This was an example of what the Japanese call a `walking garden’, full of twists and turns, and each turn surprising the walker with a new perspective. Little paths wound around and eventually up the hillside, so one could look back over the roofs of the buildings to the happy crowd around the house. What an amazing afternoon.
We returned to the bus via the little street and through the factory again, and I took the opportunity to buy a small bottle of the best sake to share and relive the afternoon later.
No time to spare today, though. We arrived home in the middle of the afternoon, but were due to meet at 5:30 to drive to the conference banquet at another elegant Sendai hotel. I had been forewarned that this conference banquet required elegant dress, so wore a long black silk skirt with a little black and gold top, which turned out to be just right. What a wonderful sight met our eyes, though, as we arrived at the hotel and were greeted by a welcoming committee. EVERY ONE of the Japanese ladies was magnificently attired in a gorgeous kimono. They were photographed over and over again, plus every red-blooded male wanted his picture taken with this bevy of beauty, so it took a while to get to the banqueting room.
Here another scene of great splendour met our eyes. Tables for seven were set out around the room, each with a bewildering array of silverware and glassware - the menu offered five courses. Old friends were hastily reserving spaces to sit together, so Jim and I chose an empty table to let the universe decide whom we should get to know tonight. The universe is always generous – we were joined by a most intriguing Austrian`extended family’ and an earnest young Japanese student.
At the Banquet
In the course of dinner conversation Jim mentioned that his ancestors had been Austrian, from the Tyrol, hence his name Trol – inger. Eva pointed out that Jim in fact looked Austrian, and bore quite a resemblance to her husband. Once she pointed it out, it was obvious, except that Jim and I thought he looked even more like Jim’s older son, Jimmy. We had to take photographs to document this extraordinary discovery, and to make the resemblance more obvious I took a profile shot of the two men holding cigars.
Other entertainment was provided by a piano player, by everyone wandering around to greet and photograph everyone at other tables, by a few speeches at the close of dinner, and by a presentation to Chieko of flowers and a gift to thank her for all she had done for the Companions during this most enjoyable week. Oh, yes, and not to forget the entertainment I provided when all this excitement got too much for my sang froid and one of my ear-rings flew off into my soup! What an evening!!
The main event finally came to an end, with everyone extremely mellow and friendly. Some goodbyes were said, as this was the official end of the conference, and not everyone would be participating in the post-conference trip to begin tomorrow. People exchanged addresses and emails, and promised to send photographs.
A general invitation was issued to meet later at the bar of our own hotel, but we WERE going on the trip tomorrow, and we hadn’t packed yet, so we retired to our room to do this chore and to drink our usual cup of hot green tea.
Saturday 26 October
In fact we saw several people again at breakfast the next morning. We ate with Rita and Vern, who were leaving. Sue and David waved the bus off at 9:00 – they were planning their own post-conference trip to Kyoto. However, we had a large bus full of travellers on our way to the mountain resort of Nikko, on the way back to Tokyo. All our baggage had to be stowed in the compartment under the bus, and we were just about to leave when Jim realised he hadn’t put the new memory stick in his digital camera, so we would be limited in the number of pictures we could take today. No sooner had he realised this, than it became necessary to move some of the baggage out of the underneath compartment and stow it in the back of the bus – and there, before his very eyes, wafted his hand luggage containing the memory stick!! `Whatever is necessary will be available,’ as some famous person once said ….
Finally we were off, in sunshine at first, but unfortunately soon rain began to fall. Not to worry – we had a long drive ahead of us, and the views from the windows were interesting, wet or dry.
Our itinerary said we would stop at a motorway service station for lunch. Apparently the box lunches were on board the bus, and the stop was intended as a picnic, to save time on our long journey. Now it was announced we would stop at a service station to use its restroom facilities, but in view of the rain we would return to the bus and eat the lunches while travelling.
The service station gave many opportunities for cultural investigation. Scientists used the scientific method to get various hot liquids out of a vending machine, some of which were drinkable. Jim photographed the Japanese-style restroom facilities. I photographed a vendor selling fish which she was cooking over hot sand.
Afternoon came, and found us at the Nikko Toshogo Shrine, in torrential rain. Most of us had umbrellas to hand, and for those who didn’t it turned out that they could be borrowed. Temple minions scurried around handing out matching umbrellas to various groups. Ours happened to get red umbrellas, a group before us set off under blue stripes.
There were well over 200 stone steps to be climbed in viewing this shrine, and they had been turned by the rain into cascading waterfalls. From now on the images of the umbrellas became almost as interesting to me as the historic background. The orderly movement of the crowds and their steady pace assisted the imagination. From below, as the umbrellas mounted the steps ahead they looked like brightly coloured bubbles rising from the bottom of the cascade. In amongst them, one felt rather like a salmon trying to leap up the falls. From the top, looking down, the scene resembled a hallucinogenic field of fast-growing mushrooms.
We climbed up and over and round following these crowds, and Professor Takayama, who kept up an interesting commentary. We are at an altitude of 640 metres above sea level, so pausing occasionally to breathe is an omportant part of the experience. This shrine is one of the most extensive (55 buildings) and most ornate in Japan, and is designated a National Treasure. It honours Ieyasu Tokugawa who in the sixteenth century succeeded in unifying and bringing peace to this part of Japan. The shrine was first constructed in 1616, rebuilt by Ieyasu Tokugawa’s grandson some time later, and in all has undergone some 20 extensive reconstructions.
After entering via the Omete-mon Gate our first stop was at the Sacred Stable, with the famous carving of the Three Wise Monkeys. We passed the Omizuya Building and entered a corridor of San-jinko, painted vermilion, and the Yomei-mon Gate, with rich carvings painted in many bright colours.
The most hardy of us climbed all the way to the top of the complex to see the main shrine. Outside this were hanging many wooden ema boards. These are wishes or requests left by pilgrims. Professor Takayama quoted a couple of them – one a youthful request `to be good at baseball’ and another more poignant wish `for happiness in my marriage.’
Descending, we passed again many richly carved and ornamental buildings, each of which would merit a long and detailed architectural description which is beyond my scope. I acquired a guide book written partly in English – well, English translated from the Japanese – so may some day review more slowly what became quite overwhelming at the time. One image I do remember, because of its personal nature, was a glimpse of a Shinto wedding in progress. On the way back to the bus I took one more waft of incense smoke to bless us on our way.
We had one more stop to make this afternoon, on the way to our hotel. We were to see the Kegon Falls, which my guidebook pictured, and which it describes thus - `The fall is such a sheer descent that the wind and the air twine the water into a lace-like drapery.’ Imagine our disappointment, then, when the announcement came that we would indeed make this stop, but due to the bad weather it would be impossible to see the falls! We dutifully filed out of the bus, followed the lines down the wooden steps to the overview – and looked out over a few near trees and a complete vista of mist. Ah, so.
Light was fading as we arrived at our hotel for tonight, the Nikko Prince Hotel in the mountain resort of Nikko. We could still see the beauty of its setting, and made haste to get our luggage quickly to our room. A variety of pleasures were on offer. We had coupons for the hotel dinner, which could be taken at a time of our choice, the hotel had a hot spring facility, or, drawing back our bedroom curtains, immediately outside and all around us were trees clothed in their amazing fall colours, just what I had wanted to wander in all week! This kind of made our decision, and we went out for a twilight stroll, enjoying the smell of woodsmoke and the crunching of leaves under our feet. It was rather too late for good photography, but we resolved to return at crack of dawn with our lenses.
We ran into Jo and Larry, who had also opted for an evening stroll, and arranged to meet them for dinner.
Sunday 27 October
Dawn cracked, and we were up at first light. We shared a cup of tea looking out of our bedroom window, and watched the morning mist curling itself up to reveal a bright, bright sunshiny day. Even from our window the scenery looked wonderful, but we were soon out having a more interactive experience.
We walked down to the edge of Lake Chuzenji, and marvelled at the deep blue water reflecting the sky. Amazing colour arrangements were everywhere – it almost didn’t matter where you pointed your camera, there was a Muench shot. We noticed other
Fall Colors on Lake Chuzenji
walkers enjoying a path around the lake a little higher up than we were walking, and bravely scrabbled up the steep slope to reach it. Now we could look down through the beautiful sunlit leaves to the backdrop of the lake’s surface.
Our time was unfortunately limited, as we were due on our bus at nine o’clock, and wanted a little breakfast before then, but we spent an incredible hour drinking in the beauty of the scenes around us.
There was a line for breakfast when we returned, but it moved quickly, and breakfast was buffet style, so we weren’t late. Departure time had been moved forward from 9:30 with
the deal that if we were all loaded up by 9:00 we would make another pass by the Kegon Falls. We were driving along incredible mountain roads, twisting and turning in hairpin bends, so it wasn’t a trivial detour, but it proved well worth the trip. This morning in the sunshine the falls lived up to their description.
Its all downhill from here – literally and metaphorically. We drove down the mountain, making good time back to Tokyo. When final goodbyes were said it all seemed a little rushed. Our group was deposited outside the Tokyo station, and as people got their luggage they melted away to catch trains to wherever was their next destination. For Jim and me this was a train to Tokyo Narita airport, where we caught our flight back to Los Angeles. We arrived, of course, before we set off, leaving Tokyo on Sunday afternoon and arriving in Los Angeles on Sunday morning. Time travel added its overwhelm to what had already been an amazing trip.