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A Climb, a Shrine & Kabuki

Once again we were fogged out of Naoshima, so we took the train out to the town of Kotohira to investigate a popular shrine and an old Kabuki theater.
We followed the flow of pedestrians from the train station towards Kompira san or Kotohira-gu, the most popular Shinto shrine on Shikoku and said to have one of the most “difficult” approaches.
We should have taken the hint when we saw the men with the “kago” or litter for hire to carry people up the mountain.
The beginning of the climb merits some consultation.
Jim naively thought this must be our destination.
After all, other climbers were beginning to show signs of effort.
But, no, on we climbed.
Any chance to stop and take a picture was welcomed by everyone.

For some reason, there seemed to be elderly horses being taken care of at the shrine.

We felt the Asahi-sha was the most interesting building architecturally (if that’s a word).

The shrine is supported by people purchasing various fortunes or amulets.
Kompira san was founded in the 11th century and for centuries served as both Shinto shrine and Buddhist temple. When at the beginning of the Meiji period the government ordered a separation of the two religions, it became a shrine. However, it retains suggestions of both.

Another excuse to breath – this one a mythical creature.

Then upward. A total of 1,368 stone steps.

“Only” 785 steps to the main hall.

Kompira originated as a Hindu deity and found its way to Japan by way of China. Kompira is the protector of sailors, fishermen and all others who make a living from the sea (so there is a minisub here under cover).
We continued upward.
And upward.
Finally, as it began to rain, Kyle continued on his own . . .
. . . finding that at the top one can never reach the summit.
Kanamaruza, Japan’s oldest surviving and operating kabuki theater, was built in 1835. The names of the actors are featured on the white lanterns.
The actors enter the theater on this walkway . . .
. . . or are lifted up through this trapdoor by their colleagues . . .
. . . or through this one, also used for quick changes.

The percussion musicians are shielded from the audience.

Backstage . . .

. . . and under the stage the machinery is all there. Here is the turntable mechanism that can be used to rotate a large section of the main stage.

The contraption above the walkway is used for flying scenes. They’re all ready for the next performance. The man at the ticket booth handed Kyle a flyer on our way out.

On the way back to the station, we stopped off for a sweet potato soft serve ice cream as a reward for a strenuous day.

Ritsurin Garden, Takamatsu

This morning we walked through the fog past trucks lined up ready to load onto the ferry and through crowds of people to the ticket counter to purchase our tickets for Naoshima, the art island. We shouldn’t have been surprised at the news. “Our” boat was still at Naoshima and none of the ferries were going anywhere until after the fog lifted. So, we formulated Plan B, hoping for a decent sailing day tomorrow. We made for Ritsurin Garden.

The first stage of the gardens was constructed as a “strolling garden” in the 1620s by the feudal lord or “daimyo” of Takamatsu Domain. It was expanded over the next hundred years and then served as the Matsudaira family residence until the 1870s when it was opened to the public.

The black pines are especially magnificent and ancient. When we asked our volunteer guide about this one, he thought it was probably about 300 years old.

The crane and tortoise pine has been cultivated over hundreds of years with 110 rocks to (if the photo were better) suggest a crane spreading its wings on the back of a tortoise, both symbols of long life. It’s the most prized tree in the garden and is carefully shaped by the head gardener twice a year. A job that takes him two weeks, while other trees command a gardener’s attention for 3 or 4 days.

Another prized specimen is this oak tree that grew up in the decaying trunk of a pine so that when the pine tree finally sloughed away the now-exposed root structure became the trunk of the oak.

The tree on the left is known as the copper tree, being a graft of a black pine (man tree) on the right and a red pine (woman tree) on the left. The needles of a black pine are considerably tougher than those of the red pine, although that has nothing to do with the toughness of the plant, as the red pine has thrived much more in this pairing. Our guide had a good laugh.

Rocks feature prominently in the garden and are highly valued. Some were extravagant gifts to the daimyo. One that was not in a very photogenic setting was brought all the way from Korea and was huge.

An artificial waterfall was constructed opposite one of the tea houses so that guests might enjoy the pleasant sound.

This tea house, actually, that was originally built by the second feudal lord of the Matsudaira clan.
A number of tea houses grace the grounds.

These trees were brought from Okinawa, but grow much larger in Takamatsu because they keep being ravaged by typhoons on Okinawa.

Black and white stepping stones modeled on the game of Go.
A reflecting pond . . .
on the other side of this tea house, the Kikugetsu-tei – the name having been inspired by an old Chinese poem: “When I scoop up the water, I hold the moon in my hands.”

A potted bonsai tree when given as a gift in 1833.

Thermal springs allow iris to bloom in March.
 
As a parting shot, we bring you blossoming plum trees. The Sakura or blooming of the cherry trees will be in about a week.

Nagasaki

Nagasaki has a lot to offer for a small city. Perhaps that’s why it seemed to be full of Japanese tourists, clutching their one day passes, just as uncertain about the streetcar route as we were.

Dejima had been an artificial island ordered constructed just off Nagasaki in 1634 by Shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu to isolate foreigners, specifically the merchants and seamen facilitating the trickle of foreign trade. (You may remember Tokugawa from some of our postings in 2013.) Initially it was the Portuguese, then the Dutch, who inhabited the island for a rent of roughly $1 million a year. When Napoleon swept into the Netherlands and the Dutch lost their overseas possessions to Britain, Dejima became the only place in the world where the Dutch flag flew from 1811 through 1814.

Some school kids dressed up in Komonos take a break to enjoy cotton candy. The handy excuse for the attraction was a sugar warehouse where the Dutch stored this inbound commodity.
With the gradual reclamation of land from the harbor, Dejima is no longer an island. However, the long range plan is to restore it so thoroughly that it will once again be completely surrounded by water.

There are many attractive exhibits and signage in English is very good. This tiny European outpost played an outsized role in the opening of Japan to the technologies and cultures of the outside world. These are some of the plants introduced from Europe.

Still an island is Hashima, uninhabited until 1810 when coal was discovered and the island began to be developed, and better known to the Japanese as Gunkanshima or “Battleship Island.”

From certain angles the island does look like a battleship, although it is more akin to an offshore oil rig. The coal mine under the sea bed extends far beyond the outline of the island above. It operated until 1974 and supported a mini city on the island that had the highest population density of any place on earth. The island was expanded to accomodate the workers needed by the mine, and their families, by moving sea walls further out over the years so that it is now three times its original size.
Our guide sought out people who had lived on the island and they all told him that Hashima was a fun place to live. They had the highest adoption of electronic devices in Japan and lots of organized activities, including a swimming pool. Of course, the teenagers simply dove into the sea.
The force of typhoons since 1974 has devastated the island and compromised the 30′ + sea walls. Tourists are kept well away from the crumbling buildings.
We don’t know how this fisherman reached his perch and hadn’t actually noticed him until we reviewed the day’s photos.
At the Peace Park we met a man who survived the bomb only because his foreman had reassigned him to a different area of his factory just before the explosion. The complicated posture of the Peace Statue is explained as the right hand extended up in a warning against nuclear weapons, the left arm extended out in a gesture for world peace, the legs signifying both meditation and an aggressive stance to protect the world and the eyes closed in meditation.
The Jesuits arrived in Japan in 1549. Both the Shogunate and Imperial government granted permission to found a mission, apparently motivated by a desire to help counter the influence of the Buddhist monks and to encourage a trade relationship with Spain and Portugal. After seeing that Spain had taken over the Phillipines after converting the population, however, the Shogunate recognized Catholicism as a threat and banned Christianity. In 1597, Hideyoshi Toyotomi ordered the crucifixion of 26 Christians at Nagasaki – 6 Franciscan missionaries, 3 Japanese Jesuits, and 17 Japanese laypeople. They were arrested in Osaka and Kyoto then marched to Nagasaki through the snow so that their crucifixion might be a warning to Nagasaki’s large Christian population. Persecution continued through the 17th century and the church was driven underground until the reopening of Japan in the 19th century.
Yes, the architect of St. Philip Church traveled to Europe to study with Corbusier and was influenced by Gaudi. He converted to Catholicism.
The view at night from the mountains rimming the city and the harbor is . . . well, you may supply your own words.

 

Saga & the Yoshinogari Historical Park

At the Yoshinogari-koen train station, just three stops from downtown Saga, the tourist office lends bicycles for the 1/2 mile trek to the entrance to the historical park. It’s a nice ride through local rice fields.
Once inside the park, one of the first things to strike you is the seriousness of the ancient fortifications.
It reminded us of The Seven Samurai, the Kurasawa film, with row upon row of pointed stakes to blunt a mounted attack.
The reconstruction at Yoshinogari is the largest in Japan of a prehistoric moated village. It dates from the Yayoi period, roughly 500 B.C. to 200 A.D., and is unusual for covering all of the Yayoi period.
The reconstructed area is quite extensive and there is a shuttle bus to help people get around. From the size of the tour bus parking area, we were happy to have been there during the off-season.
Storage buildings were elevated. Habitations were dug into the ground to take advantage of the natural cooling and heating that comes from being in the ground. Ceremonial buildings seem to have been elevated And, of course, so were all of the watch towers and elaborate defensive positions.
We briefly joined a Yayoi king and his wife. The volunteer guide (day job: helicopter pilot for the Self-Defense Force) who briefly befriended us confided that the king’s wife is sitting Korean style (one knee raised). Scholarship indicates that the Yayoi swept into Japan from either Korea (the leading theory) or China near the Yangtze River, mostly displacing the native population (today’s Ainu).
An arms storage building for the very well-defended settlement.
Burial jars.
Birds on top of gates or tori are everywhere through the reconstruction. Birds with wings down indicate defense, while wings out signifies attack (or some such thing, according to the volunteer guide). Yoshinogari was well worth the visit.
Back in Saga, we walked to Saga Castle – also a reconstruction. It’s the largest wooden building in Japan and a special exemption was obtained for its reconstruction because it significantly exceeds the maximum size permitted for wooden buildings. Having now been in a number of large wooden castles and temples, it was interesting only for its dimensions.
Dinner was in a private room at a restaurant near the hotel, allowing us to unwind a bit.

Asian Art Museum, Fukuoka

Fukuoka – as the gateway to Kyushu – is also a gateway to Asia for Japan, with important connections by sea. The Asian Art Museum is dedicated to the art of contemporary Asia. We were drawn to the works we wouldn’t equally expect to see in Berlin or New York. To us, they were the most interesting and appealing.

Of course, we actually saw some of this Chinese artist’s work in Philadelphia and also loved it then. He explodes gunpowder to create the bursts.
A Thai artist, innovating from a Buddhist tradition.
The only title we can remember: “8 Strokes”, by a Korean artist now living in Germany and executed in 8 strokes.
A Bangladeshi artist uses traditional tapestry techniques to depict something of village life.
An Indian rickshaw painter creates works that can be enjoyed next to canvas hanging on a wall.
As a bonus to our day in Fukuoka, we stumbled upon the rehearsal of a string trio with piano and sat down to listen before heading back to our hotel.

Otaimatsu at Nara

Before Tokyo (Edo) was the capital of Japan there was Kyoto and before Kyoto there was Nara and at Nara for more than 1,250 years there has been Otaimatsu each year at Todaiji Temple.

The Temple precinct of Nara feels like the ancient capital it is, well-worn and burnished by time. Up a slope within the Temple complex is Nigatsudo Hall.

We came to experience a unique Buddhist ceremony. Eleven monks come to stay at the Temple to pray for peace and cleanse the world of sin. Bamboo poles are donated to the temple and the donor’s names are written on them. These poles are then transformed into torches with baskets attached to one end ready to be ignited for the ceremony.

Awaiting the night, people stand or kneel at the foot of the hall in the hope that sparks soon to come will land on them and protect them for the coming year. Upon the conclusion of the festival spring will have arrived. In preparation, workers with water tanks on their backs wet down the sides of the wooden structure and the slope just above the onlookers. Fire has destroyed quite a few temples in Japan, although they are quickly and faithfully rebuilt.

Each night during the annual festival the monks carry ten of the giant torches up into the hall, run across the upper porch and, culminating the firey display, waving the torches in circles and showering the crowd below with sparks, bringing oohs and ahs. Men with brooms patrol the porch above the crowd along the wooden wall, brushing the embers away.

After the ceremony the crowd goes up the steps and into the Hall, looking for bits of ashes to improve their prospects for the year . . .

and then head home.

Deep in Osaka

Up an elevator in the heart of Japan’s second largest city is a window into the
the streets of 1830s Osaka faithfully recreated inside . . .
While the 21st century remains outside the window, 8 floors down, at the Museum of Housing and Living.
In another part of town…
the crowds await the arrival of the sumo stars.
Sumo has been part of life in Japan for over 1500 years and became part of the ceremonies of the Imperial Court in the 8th century during the Nara Period. The first matches had religious importance and ritual remains an integral part of the sport. The dohyo or sumo ring is treated as a sacred space, women are forbidden from entering. The roof is meant to resemble a Shinto shrine, the four tassels representing the seasons. Here the wrestlers are led out into the dohyo and introduced by the gyoji or referee.
The wresters go through preliminaries. They clap their hands to get the attention of the gods. They throw salt to protect against injury. They slap their bodies and stomp their feet, all in preparation for the bout.
Then it can be over in seconds with an explosive burst of raw energy or the wrestlers may stagger about for a while until one of the wrestlers either touches the ground or is pushed from the ring (sometimes onto spectators seated nearby). After watching it for a while it becomes clear that there is a lot of technique and skill involved, not just massive force from the imposing size of the players. There are no weight classes. As the day progressed, the level of contestants steadily improved. Early in the day, the crowd was sparce and most matches were over in seconds. By the afternoon, the matches became more interesting to watch and by mid-afternoon the sumo stars began to arrive to prepare for the final matches of the day. A number of times it wasn’t clear who won a match. The judges in black kimonos by the side of the dohyo then confer and either decide the winner or order a replay of the match (which we saw only once).

Weirdly Wonderful

Kabuki! Men dressed in elaborate kimonos with extravagant makeup. Musicians playing the shamisen, flutes, drums, and an assortment of other instruments. Singers with a sound like cante flamenco, bending their tone in and out of tune. Extravantly stylized, but exquisitely expressive, acting and mime. Speaking voices modulated to an extreme, so much so that the limits of the human throat seem to be approached. Fable-like story lines. These are the elements of Kabuki and they are strangely compelling when all put together.

So, the four of us ventured into Kyoto to see it live and with good seats. As the time for the performance approached, the atmosphere became more surreal as uniformed young women intoning a warning chant-like against the use of photography or recording devices worked their way up the aisles, as a wood block sounded seemingly at random.

We were able to follow the stories reasonably well thanks to plot synopses in a booklet with the bios of all the actors, including this gentlemen who played a young woman who succeeded in outwitting the hermit so the dragon could be unleashed and the drought brought to an end, or something like that.

Keeping with the theme of a cultural day, we took a taxi to a candy shop where we learned how to make the traditional confections served in the tea ceremony.
We all passed the test, although the shapes Jim made were a little harder to recognize. In our boxes, we were given two candies as models and lumps of materials to try our hand at the art. It took us about an hour to complete the task, while our teacher turns out about 50 per hour that are beautifully finished.

Back in Japan

We’re back in Japan to visit Kyle & Ai.

Since it was a work day for Ai, we headed into Kyoto with Kyle for a tour of the Imperial Palace.

Even though it was a brisk day in Kyoto, we learned there were another 9 1/2 inches of snow back home. It was here in Kyoto that Shogun Tokugawa turned over power to Emperor Meiji in 1868, ending Kyoto’s 1,000 years as the capital of Japan when the Emperor moved his capital to Tokyo.

The main ceremonial building of the palace complex is the Shishinden, where enthronement ceremonies took place. When Emperor Akihito acceded to the throne in 1989, the Imperial thrones were flown by helicopter to the Imperial Palace in Tokyo.

The feet of the Emperor at Kyoto never touched the ground. The Seiryoden was the Emperor’s residence. He would sit on raised tatamis to receive people and retreat to the tent behind when he tired. If he left the building he would be carried.

Of the 1,800 paintings in the Palace, these are a few of the very few that can be seen by the public. They adorn waiting rooms for aristocrats seeking audiences with the Emperor. The lowest order of nobles were assigned to the room decorated with blossomin cherry trees and with red tapes between the tatami mats. The next highest group used the room with cranes and white tapes between the tatamis. The very highest of the nobles waited in the room with white tapes and tigers on the walls. In its adoption by the Japanese, the zodiac retained the tiger even though the only sign of tigers ever having lived in Japan are the fossil remains of prehistoric times. However, the tiger has always been a potent symbol of bravery, dignity and the power to protect.

The Oikeniwa Garden, inside the palace walls, provided a moment of traquil reflection . . .

before returning to the modern city of Kyoto and a bit of shopping and lunch.

Berlin: Day Four

We started our day at Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, originally consecrated in 1895 and named by Kaiser Wilhelm II in honor of his grandfather. It was irreparably damaged in a bombing raid in WWII and a modern church has been constructed in four buildings clustered around the ruins. The 1963 construction is undergoing renovation. The figure of Jesus is made of tombak, a metal with which we hadn’t been familiar.

We next visited one of 16 atomic bomb shelters constructed in Berlin in the 1970s. It was intended to house 3600 people for two weeks and there were rooms designed to count people through peepholes so that no more than the allotted number could enter the shelter itself. It would have been insanely cramped and claustrophobic if ever used, not to mention that the 16 shelters would only have housed 1% of Berlin’s population. There were no mirrors so as to discourage suicide and deprive the berserk of potential weapons. The kitchen in the photo would serve 1800 people. Two of the four well water pumps were left as manually operated ones to provide the opportunity for exercise or to vent pent up anger.

After a civilized lunch, a visit to the Kathe Kollwitz museum and some shoes-off time at the hotel, we returned to the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, an evocative city block near the Brandburg Gate. Our first evening we walked through in the dark. The terrain undulates across the field, so that the blocks vary greatly in height to maintain only slight variations on the visual surface. Jewish people had been deeply woven into the life of Berlin for centuries. Perhaps 10,000 live there now.

For our final dinner in Berlin, we went for sausages – good ones. We were encouraged by the warm smell of a wood fire and sausages being grilled. We weren’t disappointed.

We also returned to the Brandenburg Gate to check out the festivities marking the 25th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. The balloons lined 10 miles out of the more than 25 miles of death strip that once kept East Germans out of the west. Tonight it was the scene of a party with balloons marking the path of the Wall.

All along the path of the wall, large screens played out scenes from the time when the wall separated families and destinies: scenes like an East German official saying, “If people don’t respect our borders, they will taste our bullets” and footage showing the wide “no man’s land” on the east side of the wall laced with barbed wire and guards on both sides lobbing tear gas canisters at each other.

At Checkpoint Charlie or Potsdamer Platz it is hard to believe that 25 years ago you would be staring at a wall dividing a divided city in a divided country and that shortly before that era you would be standing in the center of capital that, to use a term often repeated on explanatory signage throughout the city, was at the heart of a period of “madness.”