Breathe in.....breathe out

J77 Wednesday, June 6th 2007

Exploring was had after my post on Sunday. Ooooooh, the exploring.

During Golden Week I went exploring for a while in Hitachi. For two days I wandered around, on bike and on foot, seeing what this little town was like away from the hustle and bustle of the main strip. I use those terms very lightly, but still. It's a totally different world. It feels like something out of a Ghibli movie. Small, cozy homes nestled in tight networks of self-referencing roads. The non-urban areas of Japan are built like brains; folded in on themselves so as to provide the greatest possible amount of space to the user.

I began my journey with a quick stop at my bank for some cash, and then a conbini for breakfast. I got off the main road quickly, and meandered through the back streets. I came to an area that had a brand-spanking new road, but was surrounded with empty grass lots and truly dilapidated housing. A common aesthetic in Japan is extreme age in buildings, though this is not on purpose from what I can glean. Housing can be very old, and people will still live in them. My apartment's age is hard to pin down, but it's well-kept and structurally stable.

I was in the (relative) flatlands of Hitachi. Hitachi is built between the Pacific Ocean and a sizeable range of small mountains, with maybe a distance of a mile between the two major land features. Hitachi runs north south for miles and miles, merging with cities to the north and south. The only low-density areas are toward the mountains themselves, and that's the part I love the best. I headed to the mountains to the north, where I had heard there was a martial arts gym of some kind. My mission for the day was to find it.

I wandered through a small neighborhood, stopping at a dry riverbank to have my breakfast. A nearby baseball field and junior high school sang with the cries of children playing sports. Across the bank, a steady trickle of young boys stomped their way through the undergrowth to parts unknown, setting off for home or grand adventure on a day that was a picturesque summer idyll. I found beehives nearby, and grabbed a few shots of the riverbed itself.

Then I ascended. Up I went, up and to the north west. I knew roughly where I wanted to go, but I wanted to get there a new way than I had before. I found myself hiking up side roads and access streets, up switchbacks and between houses, always up. I was climbing a small spur of the mountains upon which homes were built. I saw across from me, standing at the edge of one street, the local park/zoo/graveyard perched on a mountain across a wide, shallow valley. I knew that marked the far end of my search zone. Up I went, still, searching for something before my descent into the valley.

I found a road down and took it, pausing at a small dead-end street that went briefly up again. I got to the top of the dead end and saw, peeking out from the lip of a small cliff, a temple gate. I investigated, negotiated with the resident cat guardian, and found myself in a small garden. At the back of the garden was a tiny shrine. I payed my respects and thanked the tiny spirit enshrined for the view, and went back down.


I wound my way down, finding myself on the main road again, but this time much closer to my destination than when I had left it. Not a quarter mile from exiting the twisty paths of the mountain neighborhoods I found the Hitachi Martial Arts Gym. I took no pictures from the inside, out of respect for the old place, so my words will have to suffice.

It was beautiful. And old. There was no one inside, save an old caretaker who stayed locked in his little room. I left my shoes at the rack and crammed my feet into the largest pair of slippers they had. It was like walking in children's shoes. The dojo's architecture was simple enough; a giant, open, two-story tall square room ringed by two levels of hallways. I walked around as best I could; many of the corridors were sealed and blocked. I found the equipment locker covered in dust, a handful of kendo practice swords and armor pieces the nesting ground for dust bunnies. One shinai, kendo sword, stood out. It was in a beautiful black leather case. The other shinai were tattered and old, some on the verge of falling apart. But the one inside the case was beautiful. Worn, yes, old, yes, but not crumbling. It lacked a handguard, but I gingerly drew it anyway. After a moment of holding it, I reverently replaced it in its case, and put the whole thing back in the nest of swords. I thought for a moment of asking to take it with me, but I knew there would be no way.

I stayed a while longer, bowing and meditating on the hardwood gym floor. It still smelled like a dojo; sweat and uniform canvas, leather and nylon, dust and bruises. I relaxed and felt the cool afternoon breeze playing through the open doors, tickling the aged pictures and awards hanging from the walls around me.

I left, at last, and took a few parting pictures from the outside. Then I saw a small shrine at the top of a miniature mountain. I knew that was where I was going next.

Alas, that will have to wait for the next time, for now I must get ready for work.