Me and the Monks

Such amazing colours outside the train window on the way to Eiheiji. Short chartreuse fields, edged with tall, swaying, wispy-white grasses and cut across by a brown jacket on an ice blue scooter. Steel-blue waters bridged with rusty, industrial, pastel pipes. A feast of burnished saffron, pumpkin, cardamom leaves laid out over the rounded mountains.

For my two months here, I’ve been blissfully insulated from information overload. I’ve tuned out announcements and conversations because I can understand only a miniscule amount, and I don’t read because the few characters I do recognize don’t help the rest of them make any sense. So instead of reading signs and immediately having to process the function of buildings, I can simply appreciate their shapes, colours, lines, and textures. The train’s window was the perfect viewfinder.

One of Soto Zen’s two head temples, Eiheiji means “temple of eternal peace.” It dwells in the mountains of Japan’s west coast, near the city of Fukui. Eiheiji’s priests devote themselves to the practice of Shikantaza (just sitting). They also treat all their other actions—eating, sleeping, and bathing—as religious practice.

I’m excited that I’ll get to talk about Eiheiji. My small amount of time there was very special. Really remarkable. So it doesn’t seem right to try to pin it down into paragraphs. I maybe feeling that way because I’m awfully tired writing this. This morning’s meditation call was at 4:45 a.m.

Some fragments….

The entrance to the temple was all yellow leaves, orange lichen, and verdant mosses.

Because I was the only English-speaking visitor, I got to have discussion, meditation, and a tour with both a priest and a priest trainee, rather than solely a trainee. The trainee assigned to me, Kouzen, was just starting to learn English. I wish I had been told the priest’s name. I’ll always remember my time with him. He was calm yet animated. Benevolent and unassuming. I had expected our discussion would be him asking me questions as to why I had come. Not at all. In fact, I think I asked more questions. He was so interested in and so full of life. Like all Buddhist priests, he is upholding the tenet of finding happiness without greed, without causing anyone suffering. He wants peace to prevail. He made me very aware of how tiny we all are. And how we have so much to learn.

His and the trainee’s calm quietness made meditation easier. The three of us sat. I made it through the longest period I ever have – 40 minutes. The priest’s kind instructions, like his stories, made me feel honoured. And although I felt the usual relief at the end, I didn’t feel overwhelmed with thoughts as I often do.

I padded up the many cold steps to morning service, behind Kouzen in the brisk, predawn air. Feeling all of the sounds resonate in my chest – the shrill bells, the thunderous ones, and the deep and short twangs. All of them punctuated our approach and continued, and then transitioned into the monks’ deep chanting. Incredible, powerful sounds. The sight of several black and brown robes, and the glint of the altar’s gold.

We left morning service, stepping out of the temple—the highest building in the complex—and beginning our tour just as dawn was touching down. Immensely beautiful.

Once I checked out of my room, I had two hours to wait before the bus came. The other visitors and I were allowed to walk around and take pictures, but not of the priest trainees or the priests. Here are a few:

Must go and pack. See all of you very soon. Yay!

Bye Tokyo, Hallo Eiheiji

Today was my last day in Tokyo, so I’m experiencing the usual bittersweet vacation feelings. I’m sad to say goodbye, but I’m excited to go home. Tomorrow and Tuesday, I spend with the monks. On the 1^st, we leave here in the evening and eventually, after crossing a few time zones, get into Toronto around the same time.

We went to say goodbye to Harajuku yesterday and all of its punks, elegant Lolitas, preened ragamuffins, over-the-top princesses, effeminate guys, Guatemalan surfers, hip hoppers, and regular Japanese marathon shoppers. I’ll miss the overflowing stores, the intensely sweet smell of crepes, the ubiquitous Japanese pop, the yummy restaurants, and the guaranteed entertainment of people watching. Oh, speaking of effeminate, I finally got shots of the Honeymoon-Suite hair that utterly dismays, yet intrigues me. These guys rival the most done-up Toronto women.

We met up with Tei and his girlfriend, Naoko, for a goodbye dinner. Afterwards they showed us Roppongi Hills, which we had never been too despite it being only a 15-minute walk from our place. Thankfully there were markings on the sidewalks or we never would have guessed where to snap shots of the Christmas lights. But seriously, they were pretty.

I have Colin as interested as me in the Louis Vuitton obsession here. It’s outstanding. I’ve never seen such insane brand proliferation. Someone should do a study. Amused Tai and Naoko took us by what must be the largest Vuitton store – the headquarters. It resides completely comfortably in the posh Hills neighbourhood. According to the Japanese women and men whom Colin and I have met, here is why Vuitton is so popular (in spite of it being ugly and horribly expensive):

• It’s hip. ??!! Considering that most of the bags are blah brown with gold emblems and beige handles, that is the last word I’d use. Plus, they’re carried by just as many grandmothers as teenagers. Another reason in the same vein – the name sounds cool because it’s foreign.

• Status. Needs no explanation.

• It’s the easiest, most effective way for a male to show a female he loves her. Essentially, LV makes gift-giving easy for men.

• If you want to be a pretty girl, you have to have one. And having one shows you are loved.

• It’s cash. LV has good re-sale value. If you leave your boyfriend, trade in his LV presents. You’ve got yourself money for a shopping spree.

In their defence, the Japanese women we’ve met can’t stand Vuitton.

This afternoon we attempted to see a Kabuki play. Unluckily, the theatre was closed for renovations and the new program doesn’t start until after we leave. We were lucky enough to find an authentic Indian restaurant that serves wonderful curry. Crunching into a poppadom made me start to anticipate all of the great food in T.O. Since we were in the land of department stores, we decided to shop for a few more gifts before heading to Shibuya. Later on, we met up with Dan and his girlfriend, Tomoko in Shimokitazawa for another goodbye dinner. Sigh, then only one goodbye left. I’ll see Yai for the last time on Tuesday.

Monkeys and More Monkeys

Yai and I started our adventure by taking a bus from Tokyo to Nagano. Then we took a train to Yudanaka, and next a bus to the last stop. From there, we had to hike one and a half kilometres to our inn, which was right across the river from the monkey park (Jigokudani Yaen-Koen).

We decided we’d go to the park the next day, since we got to the inn late in the afternoon. En route to our rooms, we heard a crash outside. We assumed it was from the construction going on. The guy showing us the way opened the window to check. Two monkeys stared back at us. We hadn’t had to wait more than five minutes to see some!

Before supper, Yai and I went to the women’s outdoor bath. One minute we were talking and laughing in the steamy, smelly water and the next we were shouting. We thought a jumping monkey was coming in the bath with us, but he/she chose the neighbouring fence instead. The monkey gave us a disdainful look before turning to face the other way, making us realize that they didn’t mind being close but they weren’t going to try to join us. We also realized that behind the fence was a cover over the hot spring’s source. Its warmth guaranteed that we had lots of visitors. When we got out of the bath, we disturbed a sleeping monkey. He lazily lifted his eyelids, leaving his belly facing the sky, and his head and his arms thrown back over the cover’s edge. Too funny.

Although I had the best intention of trying the grilled grasshoppers at dinner, I must admit I was relieved when Yai said she doesn’t like them. I didn’t want to eat alone.

Then it was time for table tennis. We gave up trying to find the right room because we kept ending up in dark, dusty hallways. After asking, we were led down one of them by a guy from the inn. He had to change a flickering bulb before we could see that the ping-pong table shared a room with a computer server, a carnival-sized stuffed animal, two pairs of old train seats, and lots of cardboard boxes. The broken window, which was blamed on the monkeys, explained the room’s chilly temperature. But we got warm playing, and the crazy room only complemented our attire. We had on traditional robes from the inn.

The next morning, we arrived at the monkey park right after it opened. As we made our way down the trail, groups of monkeys also made their way down the opposite cliff. We were taken off guard when running monkeys started passing us. They were responding to a park ranger’s whistle. Apparently it was breakfast time. (I still don’t understand why the monkeys are fed, since they live in a national park. Guess it’s a good show for the tourists.)

I could hardly focus at first. I had prepared myself to see a few monkeys at best. But there were monkeys moving everywhere – jumping to rocks, reaching for food, craning their necks to drink from the river, grabbing babies, running to find a seat, some scrapping. It was a monkey frenzy. And they had no qualms about coming close to us while, at the same time, completely disregarding us.

When they finished eating, they just as quickly retreated to the very thing that makes the park famous. The hot spring. Japanese Macaque Monkeys are found throughout the country, but the monkeys at Jigokudani are the only ones that bathe in a hot spring.

All of a sudden they were docile. They preened each other. Some slept. And even though we had been told it was too early in the season for them to bathe, some did!

They are incredible. Their faces are so human. Wise, severe, gentle, angry, innocent, content. It was amazing to watch all of the emotions passing between them. A mother lovingly fed her baby. Another family cuddled. Adolescent monkeys mimicked their parents and boldly preened on their own. An older monkey cautiously surveyed things. A proud one caused a raucous with a bite. One looked like a loner. Another wore his great age resignedly.

I was totally intrigued until Yai ran up behind me and cried, “Wendy, monkey has your film!” Stupid me, I had left my camera bag open on a rock and gotten so caught up in taking pictures that I had moved pretty far away. Yai, a women, and I watched in disbelief as the monkey hopped up about three rocks with my canister of film in his back paw. Unexpectedly, he then hopped down to join some friends. Their attention made him loosen his grip, and the canister started to roll. The woman, who was closer, took a few steps forward and grabbed it. What a relief. The monkey may have opened it. May have choked on the lid. Who knows.

The cold forced us to go. Or rather, I clued in that we should go when I noticed Yai’s red, cold nose. I would have stayed and watched the monkeys for hours.

Our stopover in Nagano gave us enough time to see its famous temple – Zenkoji. I appreciated its austerity. Everything was black and brown, sedately adorned with linen banners that yellowed in the late afternoon sun.

By trying to take a picture of ourselves, Yai and I inadvertently beckoned three Japanese men to come over. They asked her where I was from, and then wisely said they like Canadians better than Americans. After taking our picture for us, one of them wouldn’t leave. He was determined to have his picture taken with me, which is funny considering that I’m the one who’s stuck with the silly shot. Note the vice-like grip I had to extract myself from.

Onsen!

I went to Harajuku today to buy a scarf and gloves for Yai’s and my trip. We’re heading to the mountains near Nagano tomorrow to see the snow monkeys. This site gives a glimmer of what we may see, plus its Engrish is very entertaining.

On the weekend, I also got to be in the mountains. Colin and I went to our first hot spring – Takaragawa Onsen, thanks to a friend’s solid recommendation. The four outdoor mineral baths are set in beautiful stone basins, found beside a crisp, churning river. Only the most tenacious, vibrant leaves still held onto some of the dark trees. The patchy, but still pretty canopy was made up of fiery reds and simmering yellows.

We were treated like royalty at our Japanese inn. Our dinner was served in our room after we changed into our robes and put on our two-toe socks. We ate mackerel sashimi, lobster, crab, and then grilled fish and rice just like we had had in Nikko. (A good thing, or we wouldn’t have known to eat the crispy skin too.)

A while after dinner, we were shuttled over to the night entry for the onsen. Night bathing was the best. The golden lights from the stone lanterns made the bath water look ocean-green. Sitting in the bath, I liked looking up at all of the different layers of white. There was the translucent steam of the bath, hovering just below the more opaque night clouds, and then the stars’ biting light.

When we had left for the baths, our beds were in the closet.

They were waiting for us when we got back.

The next day we soaked for a good chunk of the afternoon. The onsen’s etiquette became more obvious in the daylight, with more people. Men go naked, except for a small towel they strategically drape around themselves when moving between the baths. And women tightly wrap much larger towels around themselves, from their armpits to their knees. Those big towels didn’t make any sense to me. Mine needed constant arranging, and it was instantly heavy when it got wet. Wearing a swimsuit would have been much easier.

Commuters

We got up early yesterday morning to experience and photograph Shinjuku station at its peak – when the commuters arrive.

The two million people that pass through the station daily make it the busiest one in the world. Thick, steady rivers of commuters stream through ticket gates, into underground passageways, onto platforms, and into trains. (Station staff no longer push stragglers onto already jammed trains.) Sometimes one direction would be almost bare but the opposite way would be overflowing with dark-clothed people. As people found their way from a platform, the next group of people would line up expectantly. A new train would arrive, and the flow would immediately change. The steady beat of feet resonated throughout the corridors, punctuated by the shrill beeps and the sure thlaps of the ticket and card readers.

Observing legions of people proceed through a passageway made Colin and I decide to join them. We all moved together so consistently and rhythmically. Quite quickly.

When the throng was starting to subside and we had had enough, we headed to Nishi (West) Shinjuku to visit the skyscrapers that we had seen only at night. Up, way up to the observatory of one of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government buildings we went. Specially made to withstand the recurrent earthquakes, they proudly stand the tallest on Tokyo’s skyline. The sheer mass of buildings that we saw oddly echoed the crowds of the station.

At night, I met up with Yai and we took the subway right across Tokyo, to one of her dance lessons. My first hip-hop class. So much fun! She’s a great dancer…and teacher. She had everyone giggling as they tried to learn the parts of the routine. I’m always so surprised by the amount of spunk and sparkle she has considering she’s so tiny. It was also fun because I got to meet Miki. She’s the one who had posted Yai’s ad for an English partner. When class was over, the three of us went out for a late dinner.

That’s Yai in the middle, with Miki immediately on the right. Unfortunately I don’t remember the names of the other women.

Happoen

After Shibuya’s neon yesterday, I needed some greenery, some nature today. It was a perfect autumn day for visiting Happoen – a garden in the southwest of Tokyo, which I had read good things about.

I got there as the day’s golden light started to fall, making the colourful leaves, the twisted trunks, the meandering path, the mossy stones, and the dark pond even prettier.

The silvery green bamboo grove made me happy. It seemed magical in the fading light.

I liked that the pond’s large rose stones were uneven. They forced me to walk gingerly out to the water’s edge and gave the fish advance warning of my arrival. The bubbling group of them surprised me.

I also liked that the trees had started to get their winter clothes on.

Happoen lived up to its name, which means (according to the guidebook) “beautiful from any angle”.

Group Mentality

Yesterday evening Colin and I headed to Shibuya to hang out. We found prissy-girl Mecca and great sushi. We also went to our first movie since arriving here. (I had been having withdrawal.)

With eight floors of “ladies wear” boutiques, which boast names such as “Pinky Girls” and “Poolside”, Shibuya 109 is the shopping beacon of light for teenaged and twenty-something Tokyo females. It was crawling with the most high-maintenance princesses I’ve ever seen. They were teetering around in their stiletto-heeled boots, their arms dripping with Vuitton purses and totes. What I find shocking (and revolting) is that I’d say about 60% of Tokyo’s female population puts in that same high production effort. They just have different styles. But no matter what, every look is very, very feminine.

That high level of maintenance requires lots of unabashed public preening. No furtive glances in the subway windows here. I saw one teenaged girl fix her hair in a train window, without pause, for at least three stops. If she’d waited, she could have used one of the many mirrors actually provided on the platforms. And wherever there’s a public bench, there’s a high chance a girl will be perched on it, putting on makeup. Incredible.

On a completely different note…. Something else I’ve noticed is that tiny children, like five-year-olds, use the subway all on their own. That’s how safe it is here! Incredible, and wonderful. In Kyoto we saw two little boys, who must have been around six, walking home together well after dark, along the almost deserted Path of Philosophy. Seeing all of that prompted me to do some Googling on Japan’s crime rates. They are 70 !! times lower than those of the U.S. That’s an ENORMOUS difference and certainly one that speaks loudly for the group mentality they have here.

At the top of Shibuya 109, we found a sushi place that serves fresh and live fish. “Live” meaning it’s swimming until you order it. (Yes, somewhat disturbing.) They use no frozen fish – a rarity for Tokyo. And given the restaurant’s location, each piece cost only 109 yen (like $1.25 Canadian). We tried fish that we’ve never even seen on sushi menus at home. Yum.

Then we were off to our movie – Pieces of April, which turned out to be a pretty decent, somewhat quirky indie. I had thought it sounded the least bad when looking down the list of I, Robot; The Nightmare Before Christmas; The Punisher; Catwoman; etc.

Going to a movie in Japan was like going to the ballet or a play in Canada! I’m almost considering shelling out another whoping $20 for a ticket to see if it’s the same at other theatres. Since no food or drink were allowed inside, we got to enjoy our pre-movie drinks in the lobby at the extremely clean tables, bordered by stylishly hung movie posters. That also gave us a chance to browse the movie’s merchandise. Yep – April’s tank top was for sale, as well as Pieces of April t-shirts, which all of the staff were wearing. If we had wanted to, we could have listened to tracks from the movie’s CD before purchasing. Colin kept saying it was like an art installation. I started to agree once I saw some framed stills from the movie in the women’s washroom. The attention to detail was insane.

Then we were called into the theatre in the same order in which we had purchased our tickets. It was like boarding a plane! We were even offered blankets!! Colin was amazed at how clean the place was. I enjoyed the silence. The slight hum of muffled conversations. No awful AM radio blared. No trivia jumped across the screen. And it was just as quiet after the movie. The majority of the audience waited until the credits stopped rolling !! and then left quietly, in orderly fashion. Wow. I think I’m going to need ear plugs for my first movie back in Canada.

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

On the weekend Colin’s friend from work, Shinohara, took us to the Ghibli museum in Tokyo’s Minaka suburb. Ghibli is the studio that produces the breathtaking anime work of Hayao Miyazaki.

The museum was made for children but there were way more adults than kids roaming the corridors and crouching down to pass through the tiny passages, which create the illusion that one of Miyazaki’s fabulous creatures will appear any second. One room exhibits what must be only a small, small sample of Miyazaki’s preliminary sketches. Initial frames of Princess Mononoke, My Neighbour Totoro, and Kiki’s Delivery Service—to name only a few—cover the walls. It was astounding to see how Miyazaki can convey so much energy and expression in a single pencil line. Looking through copies of the movies’ storyboards was truly wonderful. Even those roughest of sketches are commanding.

One of my favourite characters, a robot from Castle in the Sky, fittingly presides over the museum’s only green space – the rooftop garden.

Afterwards we went for supper and tried some delicious new food called oden, which Shinohara says means health food. We had daikon, squid, and fish cake in a clear, salty fish stock. There was bream carpaccio and bream rice. Also squid with wasabi. Delicious!

Also on the weekend, Colin and I went shopping in Harajuku and Shimokitazawa. Lights, wreaths, and poinsettias are transforming the streets. We are very amused at how the Japanese have readily adopted Christmas despite the fact that a fraction of the population is Christian. Shinohara explained that it’s because they love festivals. Expensive ones, apparently. The baby trees in the front row were each selling for about $70 Canadian.

Taiwanese Massage

Walking was the best way to see Taipei, along with some help from its extremely well designed subway. Colin and I had two days to explore before the conference sucked him in. Then I had another two on my own. One of our favourite places was the memorial hall for Chiang Kai-Shek, Taiwan’s first president. What an expansive, crisp landmark, especially because we visited it on a dazzling sunny day. Everything was bold white, deep green, and marine blue.

We also went to Ximen, the shopping neighbourhood which supposedly mimics Tokyo’s Harajuku. But we found Ximen demanded more of our navigational skills. It’s a labyrinth of twisty backstreets, jam packed with tiny shops. Also unlike Harajuku, everything is really cheap. All of that compelled me to return for a second solo visit while Colin was at his conference.

Day after day of walking meant that my legs were killing on the last day. I still went exploring, but at much slower pace and with the ultimate goal of getting myself a foot and leg massage like we had been offered at the night market.

Unsure of where to find such a place during the day, I asked the woman at the hotel’s front desk. Somewhat understandably, she assumed I wanted a sanitized American experience and sent me to yet another crazy mall. This one had mini spas running shoulder to shoulder with Kenneth Cole and DKNY. I persevered in looking for her recommended place only because the card she had given me promised a free shuttle ride back to the hotel. My legs were feeling really unreliable at that point. Fortunately I couldn’t find the place.

I sucked up my courage and decided to join the locals at the brimming massage place I had passed en route to the hellish mall. After I passed through the front tea shop, I was greeted by the hostess’ surprised giggle. Next thing I knew, I was sitting in a pink tiled area on a stool, with my camera knapsack still on my back and my feet in Tupperware-contained floral bubbles. I sat there quite a while, wondering if I was supposed to go back out or if someone was going to get me. Then I peered through the doorway’s beaded curtain and saw this guy tentatively looking in at me. I guessed he was to be my masseur and got a nod when I gestured I’d come out.

He stopped me as I tried to knowingly walk towards the row of lazy boys in the awkward slippers I had been given. He barred my way with one of the longest pairs of boxer shorts I’ve seen. And then he pointed to the back. Oh oh, I thought, he thinks I want a full-body massage. I shook my head and pointed to my calves and feet. He smiled and then said (in English!), “Put on.” Ah, eureka! I was supposed to change from my skirt to the crazy shorts.

I can only guess how funny I must have looked plucking my way back out to the lazy boys in my slippery slippers and gi-normous boxer shorts. I felt a bit comforted when I sat down and realized that the women on either side of me had the shorts on too.

The place was the antithesis of a North American spa. Although clean, it was rundown. And there was almost no minimalist white. I appreciated all of the colours. The forest green row of lazy boys. The royal blue towels under my legs. The bubblegum pot of white massage lotion. Steaming green and pink candy-striped towels were wrapped around my legs when, sadly, the massage was over. It’s one of the best ones I’ve ever had.

I think the atmosphere added to my impression, though my masseur was really skilled. I liked how the female masseur curled up in one of the lazy boys to have a nap between customers. How everyone watched and commented on the news beamed down from the big-screen TV precariously mounted on the wood-panelled wall. And how the hostess would throw me motherly smiles between cat naps at her desk.

And I ended up not needing that shuttle ride any way. My legs felt all tingly new when I left.

Lovely Lungshan

On one of the days that Colin was at his conference, I decided to go to Taipei’s oldest temple - Lungshan. I wanted to explore a Chinese temple since my Kyoto temple-overload already had worn off.

The first difference was blazingly obvious. Lungshan is an ornate, intricate mass of gold and colourful enamel. Roosters caw at fire-breathing dragons, which hover by deities. Each glance felt as if I was pulling back yet another fine layer of a visual onion. Once pure colour hit me, I recognized the figures. Then, I noticed more and more details. The terracotta tiles; the gilded ceilings; the carved, bamboo window bars; the painted beams; their flower emblems; the intricate, iron incense holders; the regal orchids; the brilliant food and flower offerings; the bubbling red candles.

And the people. So many expressive faces. Some were wonderfully, wrinkly, ancient and others were fresh, taut, young. What struck me the most was how so many different ages were there, or coming and going. I could feel a definite ebb and flow in the crowd, but I also sensed the anchors. Some people just hung about. Lungshan was their resting place. Another big difference. Old women paused from their prayer beads to eat noodles in the shade. Children sat with their parents. Nuns positioned themselves carefully in order to read from lengthy prayer books.

After walking about and snapping lots of (analog) photos, I still wasn’t ready to leave the temple’s fabulous energy behind. I decided to stay too, and found a shaded step to escape the strong heat.

The sweet scents of orchids and lotus flowers mixed with the clouds of incense. Wooden, red slivers clacked comfortably on the stone floor. And one child couldn’t stop staring at me. He had an incredibly severe face for someone so wee. None of my waves, smiles, or funny faces could break it. I was strange to him and that’s the way I stayed. I came to respect his resilience.