Scenes from the Gion Festival

We are lucky to be in Kyoto for the annual Gion Festival, which goes on for a couple of weeks in July. We took on crowds, heat, and the occasional rainstorm to participate for at least a couple of events. The Gion Festival, an annual event dating back to 869, is dedicated to the deity of the Yasaka Shrine (see Shrines posting). It began as an effort to appease the deity and stop a series of devastating plagues. In 970 it became an annual event and, except for some brief interruptions, has occurred every year since. Although the festival began as a religious ritual, by the 12th century, it had developed into a way for the wealthy Kyotoites to show off their wealth. By the 15th century, when the Kyoto kimono merchants had become fabulously wealthy, they began a fierce competition over who could build the biggest and most elaborate floats. The floats are decorated with tapestries and fabrics, mainly from Nishijin, Kyoto's famous textile district, although some were imported in the 15th century from India, Belgium, Persia, Turkey and other countries via the Silk Road. Now, the Festival is largely a social event--not unlike Mardi Gras, the float parade an excuse for a week-long street party.

On Friday, we walked around an 8-square block area of downtown where the floats were on display with explanations of the stories they depicted. We have been here long enough to have begun to recognize some of them--one about a battle on a bridge in Uji--we crossed the very bridge and read about the same story there... Kyotoites and other Japanese

tourists dress up in traditional garb; beer and sake flow freely.

On Saturday, we got up early and biked over to Shijo-dori, where the parade was to begin. At 8 am, crowds had already gathered; nonetheless, I managed to get a front row position (the Japanese are so NICE!).

There are two kinds of floats: yama and hoko. The yama are the smaller floats (pictured first here), which depict scenes from Chinese and Japanese history and are topped with pine trees, shrines, and mannequins. They weigh about 1.5 tons and are "carried" by men on their shoulders (there are small rubber wheels underneath). All ages of men participate in the parade--just men as far as I could tell although on Friday, there were plenty of women in the booths near each float selling souvenirs--I'm guessing to help finance the floats.

The older men (and I do mean older in some instances) parade in front of the floats; the younger ones do the grunt work of lifting and pulling. Even little boys parade, although some of them had a look of "anywhere but here!" on their faces during the parade (it was Hot!). You get the sense that several generations of the same families work together on the floats, some of which actually have been passed down through the centuries--they're referred to as "floating museums." This yama with a grasshopper on top that occasionally flapped its wings was a crowd favorite.

The larger floats are the hoko, massive 2-storied affairs that are pulled on huge wheels. The second story may have musicians jangling bells as the float works its way along. Some of the larger floats require up to fifty men to pull it through the streets (and those big wooden wheels are the real wheels-a bump in the road and the whole float wobbles). The men on top hold ropes attached to the giant poles in case a wobble gains momentum.

Bill here: actually, watching any given float was astonishing in terms of size (fifty men were pulling giant ropes to move these things along), organization (two men walked backwards pulling blocks of wood that could be instantly inserted under the wooden wheels as brakes!), and beauty (some of the tapestries were gorgeous). But, suddenly everything would stop for five or ten minutes. I realized how important those high school bands can be, or those clowns, or even those guys in red hats on those little scooters. Movement! After an hour we walked along the sidewalk back towards the starting point and managed to see all the floats. Our own little festival in reverse. And, by the way, the grasshopper was way cool. Movement!

Terry again--yes, that's Giorgio Armani you're seeing behind the floats. That's the real beauty, and joy, of Japan, especially Kyoto. All that centuries-old tradition, lovingly honored and repeated, juxtaposed with the astonishingly new and hip.

Pizza and tears.

Nearly 700 powerpoint slides, 3 "Legal Terms" quizzes, 5 "American Law Table" meals, 2 movie nights, a pizza party, and --I mean it--one of the best experiences of my life, "Introduction to Anglo-American Law, 2010" is over. The students still owe me a paper and I have to give grades, but the classes are finished. I had trouble saying good-by without a few tears. The students wanted to take a picture after the next-to-the last class--here it is--my fabulous group.

A trip to the country (and I get busted by a monk)

Last Saturday, we took a day trip (an hour's bus ride) to a lovely little town, Ohara, on the north side of Kyoto, tucked into the Kitayama Mountains. The chief attraction in Ohara is Sanzen-in, a temple with a famously beautiful garden, filled with images of Buddha and other whimsical statuary. This garden was again filled with moss, everywhere rolling luxuriously. Strolling through it was a lovely way to spend a couple of hours. One of our favorite sights, though, was a group of teenagers, dressed in traditional garb, boys as well as girls, taking in the Ohara temples along with us. It seems that everyone in Japan, kids included, makes a constant effort to retain the old customs and traditions. Unembarrassed, fully into the endeavor.





After Sanzen-in, we took the guidebook's advice and went to two other smaller temples that were very close by. These turned out to be wondrous surprises. In each place, matcha tea and sweets were part of the admission tickets. We were able to sit in lovely tatami-floored rooms and look out at even more lovely, but smaller, gardens. One of them, Hosen-in, purports to have a ceiling made of wood taken from the floor of a castle in which hundred of samurai committed sepuku (suicide) after a humiliating defeat. In the wood ceiling, they say, you can still see the blood stains. It sure did look like it to us. The other small temple, Jikko-in, was erected by the monk, Jakugen, who helped to introduce shomyo, Buddhist hymns intoned in a single voice or by a chorus of monks (not unlike Gregorian chant), into Japan.



The temple housed a collection of musical instruments including this xylophone-like instrument made of stone. We were allowed to try it out, and the tone, amazingly, was beautiful.

The interior of Jikko-in was exquisite (picture).



Not yet finished with our temple tour, we hiked across Ohara to a remote temple called Jakko-in. It was getting late in the day, and the walk took us initially past some small shrines (I love these little guys lined up in a row)


and finally up through a small farming village, our first up-close authentic glimpse of rural Japan.
There were no signs at all in English and the road wound around and took some unexpected turns. I remember thinking when I first visited Japan twenty years ago that it would be fun to get out of the cities, but how on earth could you do it without a guide? Turns out, it all works out somehow. This was quite remote, and quite twisty, but we did find Jakko-in.


We reached Jakko-in, we found out later, just before it was closing down for the day. We climbed up lots of steps to the small temple and this little garden with its famous (and dead) thousand-year-old Himekomatsu pine tree. This tree is mentioned in ancient texts and was carefully and lovingly preserved. In 2000, it was badly damaged by a fire, and finally succumbed in 2004. Yet it is still preserved as the centerpiece of the garden. The pamphlet piece in English says, "This garden has a quiet, elegant atmosphere that conveys a sense of the pathos of existence . . . ." Hm-m. I was happily snapping pictures of a large Buddha inside the small temple when a monk---clad in flowing orange silk, drop-dead gorgeous, right out of central casting--swooped down on me and said "No pictures!" "I'm sorry," I said and put my Iphone camera away. From then on, every time I looked over my shoulder, the monk was staring at me, sure that I was about to sneak another shot. It actually got weird--I felt like I was being stalked. He then went to the big bell and began to ring it--we got the message and got out. Pathos of existence, indeed!

Gathering moss.

Not me, gathering moss, that is, but the monks at Saiho-ji, also known as Koke-dera, the Moss Temple. Visiting it was at the top of Sondra's (pictured) list of things to do and so I wrote 3 weeks ahead of time for permission to visit. Not only is that requirement an impediment, but the garden is devilishly hard to get to--out in the middle of nowhere. We took a train, two subways, and a bus, and still had to walk about a mile, with not a sign in sight. "Sumi masen," we kept saying to strangers ("excuse me"), "Koke-dera?" and pointing. "Hai, hai," they would say, indicating we were at least on the right track. We had allowed over 2 hours to get there and still only made it 10 minutes before our 1 pm admission time. These monks don't fool around. One minute late and we would not have gotten in. Before we could view the garden, however, we had to take part in a service. We had to kneel on the tatami in the temple and trace a sutra for a while. Then there was some drumming and chanting with people reading from a kind of prayer book. It reminded me of the old Latin Mass with people chanting along --all incomprehensible to me. Then we continued to trace the sutra. Finally the monk came up to us and told us we didn't have to finish. I actually liked doing it; Bill--not so much. Then we went up to the "altar" and offered up our copying to Buddha with a prayer.

At last we could walk around this astounding garden. The limited admission is to protect the fragility of the moss, over 100 different varieties. The garden is heart-shaped and was designed in 1339 by Muso Kokushi. It was well worth the train, 2 subways, etc.

Later in the week, after Sondra left, Bill and I trekked out to Fushimi Inari Shrine, a short train ride south on the Nara Line from Kyoto Station. "Why another shrine?," you may well ask. Well, this one has thousands of torii that march up the hill. They differ in size and density, sometimes quite small and close together, other times larger and more widely spaced--but, nonetheless relentlessly marching up the thickly wooded mountainside.

Walking through them is alternately spooky and thrilling. If you walked the whole thing (which we didn't as it was pouring rain--but we recommend), it's about 4 km. one way. Smaller shrines dot the way. The shrine was dedicated to the gods of rice and sake (Fushimi, the town, is known for its sake).

The dozens of foxes that guard the place are considered the messengers of Inari, the god of cereals (and you thought it was Kellogg!). The foxes often hold a key in their mouth, the key to the rice granary. They say the fox spirits can take over your soul--they like to enter under the fingernails. As in all shrines, you can leave petitions--these in the shape of a fox's head.

The shrine is also dedicated to success in business, and despite the rain, there were some very serious pilgrims there, ringing the bell, clapping for the god's attention, and leaving petitions for good fortune in business.

Bill here: copying a sutra must be right up there with watching the paint dry (remember Kabuki) - there are columns and columns of kanji - you're supposed to finish the copying so that you can add your prayer and offer it to the spirit. I kind of figured that he'd get the message one way or the other. Despite all that, however, the garden was incredibly dramatic with lots of water and elevations and shadows and light, all accentuated by the varying greens of the moss.

Cooperative Chaos

Biking in Kyoto. In most posts, I say "we biked over to . . . " or "we jumped on our bikes and . . . ." It's our major and most frequent method of transportation. If you're picturing something orderly, like say Amsterdam, with marked-out bike paths and rules (even laws), think again. In Kyoto, bikers ride anywhere and in any direction. Bikers ride in streets and on sidewalks, on the left or on the right, in the bike path but probably not, in the rain with umbrellas, while texting, with children and huge packages aboard. Yet it all works. Everyone is polite and moves aside, or swerves, or does whatever is necessary to have harmony amidst the chaos. At first I was terrified. And I still often run an American soundtrack through my head--what you would hear on an American street: "You idiot!" as someone steps in front. "What are you thinking!" "Get the f--- out of the way." In Kyoto, never a word, not even a dirty look. Everyone just moves through it all--business as usual. Here are some pictures, but they don't capture the action very well.

The bike path--just a suggestion. I did see one sign, on the far south side of town, warning of bike-pedestrian collisions. But mostly it's a non-issue, and a non-event. Everyone bikes. The driving age is 18 here (a fabulous idea!), so teenagers use bikes; housewives bike to the grocery

store, even salarymen bike to work.

Here I am, biking in the rain. I found it a little challenging to hold an umbrella and ride, so I had an umbrella holder, fairly common, installed on my bike.

Best of all--the locks, pictured here. A thin circle that goes through the spokes. You park your bike, click the circle through, remove the key, and you're on your way. No big heavy chains, no post or bike rack necessary. "Gone in 60 seconds!"you're saying. Not in Kyoto.

Hanging out in the 'Hood

Here's a little about our neighborhood and our day-to-day life in Kyoto. We live in an area of Kyoto called Hanazono, after the Emperor Hanazono who founded a nearby temple. Hanazono is in the northwest of the city, slightly off some central city maps, but quite close to Ritsumeikan's main campus and about 2 miles from the law school. The apartment complex is large (we're in Building #24) and quite basic, as I've mentioned before. We are fully into the spirit of Kyoto life--we air our bedding and hang our clothes to dry on our little balcony, which is for exactly that purpose, not sitting.

The neighborhood has the usual Kyoto blight but also some lovely old wooden homes, called machiya. For a number of reasons (fear of fire during possible World War II bombings and misplaced "modernization"), many of the machiya were torn down and replaced with parking lots and apartment complexes. But we are lucky in that many of the streets we walk down daily have retained some machiya. Interspersed with these lovely old houses is the common Kyoto sight of a vending machine--they are found everywhere, dispensing coffee, tea, and other drinks.

Around every corner is another temple or just a little shrine next to a house like this one. There are two major temples quite nearby, Myoshin-ji, which I have mentioned many times, and Toji-in (next picture), which takes up lots of the land between our apartment compex and the Ritsumeikan main campus. Many professors' offices look down into the temple grounds, which are quite beautiful and include a splendid little tea house.

We often see monks in the neighborhood. Here are two hurrying back to Myoshin-ji at 5 pm.

Our little "main" street, Ichijo-dori ("First Street"), has a series of wonders, including Japan's only shop that sells custom-made chopsticks. I bought a pair made of ebony that were custom fit to my hands.


Another wonder on Ichijo-dori is a place called Jumbo, a little dump with lines of customers standing outside the door all the time. We finally succumbed to our curiosity and ate there. We, of course, had to wait. Then we were seated on the floor at a low table with a grill in the middle. A mixture for "Japanese pancakes" is poured onto the grill and once it's cooked, you just eat it off the grill. Oishy (delicious)!

There's lots, lots more. The neighborhood includes two high schools, so gaggles of students, in uniforms, are always around. We can hear them cheering at an athletic field close by, but the field is completely screened from view, so we don't know what they're playing.

Our time here is rapidly drawing to a close. I have only two more classes next week. This past week, Bill and Sondra visited my Wednesday class, the second of two on Sex Discrimination. Given somewhat rigid gender roles here, I thought the students might find some of the American law quite odd. But here's a surprise--Japanese sexual harassment law is actually almost just like the US version with quid pro quo (called compensatory here) and hostile environment. It is, though, a separate cause of action in Japan and not shoe-horned into general employment discrimination law. They also have something called "Power Harassment"--fascinating. Next Thursday, I'm giving a presentation to the Gender Studies group at the main campus, on Saturday we're invited by a colleague to a "Summer Music Party" at a small museum . The famous Gion Festival starts next week with a parade of floats and days of activites. So, we continue to be busy, but as we move through the days we feel less and less like the tourists we were six weeks ago. In some kind of way we have gained a sense of place that is uniquely our own.

Sushi for Breakfast

Tokyo, where else? The sushi capital of the world. We went early to Tsukiji, the site of the world's largest fish market. Fish is off-loaded on the docks at 3 am (we didn't make that part--actually, we wouldn't have been allowed into that area). We did find our way into a huge set of warehouses where the intermediary sellers were selling their fish to restaurant owners, chefs, and fish shop proprieters. Acres and acres of every kind of fish you can imagine--and quite a few you have never imagined. A wonderful, bustling part of Tokyo that we loved. Men in waders pushing carts and driving small loaders--moving constantly. In fact, we loved that most about Tokyo--it's vibrancy and busy-ness--it's over-the-top newness juxtaposed with the ancient gardens and structures of the Imperial Palace and the temples.

In Tsukiji, outside of the fish market, there are small streets lined with the tertiary sellers--small sushi bars and shops selling fish and everything else one would need to prepare the fish--spices, pickles (of course), pots, dishes, and knives. At 9:30 am we ate sushi at one of the small bars. It was by far the best sushi we have ever had. It tasted like walking on the beach with the salt foam between your toes and the occasional spray of salt water in your face. It tasted like all the sunrises and sunsets you've seen over the ocean. Yeah, we really liked it.

I had been to Tokyo before--over 20 years ago and I remembered not liking it--neon and big buildings and crowded elevators. "Lost in Translation" was not lost on me. But this time it seemed different and I was enamored. I'm guessing I've changed more than Tokyo. This time I found it one of the best cities of the world. The new skyscraper architecture is gorgeous. I was gaping with my head up--like a Texan in Manhattan.

Then there were lovely "old Japan" places, like the garden at Nezu Art Museum, where I found this wonderful little Buddha, almost covered in moss.
And the grander, but still tranquil, gardens of the Imperial Palace, right smack in the middle of the bustle.

We were in Tokyo to meet up with my friend, Sondra Byrnes, who is visiting for a few days. She had some business in Tokyo so we met her there and came back together on the Shinkansen (Sondra is off today doing an ikebana lesson, then has 2 days of tea ceremony lessons--both of which she has studied for years). In Tokyo, Bill and I wanted to tick off 4 more paintings in the "1,001 Paintings to See Before You Die" book. We went immediately from the train to the National Museum to see 2 paintings--"Beauty Looking Back" by Moronobu and "Winter Landscape" by Sesshu. We did see some wonderful paintings, but not those two as they were "not on display." Seems that the museum rotates works according to season and now had its "summer" paintings on display--the "cooler" ones, we were told. We could, however, in the museum shop buy everything from a mouse pad to a pen with "Woman Looking Back" on it. Not to be deterred, we took the complicated but efficient Tokyo Metro to the Nezu Museum across town to see "Irises," a magnificent large screen painting by Korin. We couldn't find it in the 5 rooms of the Nezu and when Bill inquired about it, he was given a brochure that explained it had been on display a month or so ago. Yes, 0 for 3 at this point. One left to go. We went to the Imperial Palace to find the last, "Chinese Lions" by Kano Eitoku, that is displayed in the Palace Collections. Closed on Friday. We returned on Saturday only to discover--you guessed it--"not on display." We are renaming the book--"1,001 Paintings You Can Try to See Before You Die."