I'm getting caught up *today*

J113.2 Monday August 13th (again, damnit)

Up I traveled. Up and up a hill that grew steeper with every dozen meters or so. There were many people traversing the road I was on, and many more taking small side streets or ducking into shops. I ran into two middle-aged couples from Connecticut. One of the couple's son was an English teacher in Nara, and they were in town to visit him and see Japan. He had settled down some years ago, marrying a local girl and starting a family. They seemed like travel veterans, though I couldn't help but detect a certain...I'm not quite sure. Not quite like they were looking down on me, but maybe they were...unimpressed? It was strange; neither of the men looked at me directly for more than a few seconds. Nothing negative happened, or was said, but it was still a weird vibe I got from the encounter.

But, nothing could dampen my enthusiasm for the hill. I neared the top of the hill, as indicated by a large swath of trees and greenery that lined where the buildings ended. The street stopped at the foot of some large switchback stairs. I scaled up, catching tantalizing glimpses of old Japanese architecture and bright colors, telltale signs of temples and shrines in this country.

I climbed to the top of the stairs, and beheld the first of many wonders of the Kyomizu temple. A massive gate, painted bright red, shone in the sun like a beacon. Through its shaded arch passed dozens of people every few seconds, and the hilltop was buzzing with people. Hundreds of people sought shelter from the sun in the shade of trees. Many more perused shops, built to resemble Edo/Meji era store fronts, but sporting such modern conveniences as electricity and air conditioning.

Looking down the hill, along a street I had paralleled as I climbed, I saw shop after shop, stretching off into the distance and ultimately disappearing behind the gentle curve of the street. Amongst the crowd was a Buddhist monk, standing quite still with her begging bowl in her praying hands. Her face was hidden by her wide straw hat, but her mouth was visible. She was constantly praying, repeating mantras and sutras in a never-ending half whisper of devotion. Every once in a while someone from the crowd would give her a few coins. She would reciprocate with a long, low bow. I gave some money of my own and joined her in prayer for a few seconds. I turned to the temple complex.

I passed through the gates, enjoying the view of Kyoto the mountainside temple had to offer. Every other person had a camera, and people were always stopping for good shots. It's nice being a photography enthusiast in a country where the camera is so loved; people don't mind when you snap a quick picture or two. In the States, I'd sometimes be met with an odd stare or two, but in Japan people accept my actions without a second thought.

The path I walked along was very broad; wide enough to accept 10 people walking shoulder to shoulder. There were many people, but it never felt crowded thanks to the wide walkways and large amounts of space devoted to pedestrian movement. The first large temple I came to was nice, very low and very wide. Near the donation box was a small set of stairs that went down into darkness. At the top of the stairs was a barker explaining the attraction below the temple.

Carved into the mountain's rock, beneath the temple's floor, was a small cave. Within the cave was a wishing wheel, a large, smooth boulder that had been carved and balanced so as to rotate easily around, like a Lazy Susan. The tunnel was quite dark, and one had to find one's own way. When you found the stone, you were supposed to turn it three times and make a wish. Admission was 100 yen. I was so on that.

I shucked my shoes, carrying them in a plastic bag provided by the temple, and descended into darkness. Just a few feet down, the cool, damp atmosphere of the cave was shockingly different from the heat of the day. It was like wading into a pool of cold water. The cave was also very much pitch black. I heard the hustle above, though, and voices before me, so I knew I wasn't alone. I put my hand to the right wall and walked forward slowly, my left hand held out in front of me so as to feel for incoming objects or people. I stooped a bit, but after lifting my free arm to feel for the ceiling and finding nothing, I stood to my full height, determining the roof to be quite tall.

Around and around I twisted through the inky blackness. The darkness was so complete that I could literally see nothing. No light reflected off of my surroundings. No guide lights or ushers lit my path. The sounds of the temple above were muted by feet of stone and soil and wood. It was quite comforting. The experience was built to evoke being within the safety of the womb, and I must say I certainly felt safe within that darkness.

After a few minutes of walking, I finally came upon the stone. It was lit from above by a single light, hidden by a clever, sharp turn of the tunnel. It seemed to float before my vision as if suspended by magic. It was like I had been blinded and then miraculously cured, and the first thing I saw was this stone. I made my wish and turned the rock, easily done given its size, and felt my way along the tunnel once more.

I found the stairs up, a twin set to the ones I had used to descend, and was greeted by the barker. I used a complimentary stool to put my shoes on, and once again ventured out into the sun. The temple's path lead up to the foot of a tall pagoda, and wrapped around a set of large temples. I followed the crowd, walking onto a large, open-air covered platform suspended above a small mountain valley. Below I saw more people meandering, and across the valley I saw a few small structures poking their spires above the treetops.

The platform was quite wide. In fact, at first, I didn't realize it was a platform; I thought it was just another temple with a large porch, but when I looked over the edge, I saw the massive support beams. The platform fed two large temples, both of which sported rest areas for pilgrims to sit, catch their breath, and recite extended prayers or devotions to the resident kami.

I walked on, finding myself in what almost looked to be a shopping district. A dozen small shrines and other builds had been built into a tiny space. The path split, going ahead in one direction, and doubling back to a higher platform with even more temples in it. I took the high road first, where I was greeted by an interesting sight.

The upper ridge was dominated by a medium-width path of smooth stone tiles. On opposite sides of the path rested two small boulders. According to a sign I found on the far end of the avenue, if a person can walk a straight line from one stone to the other, then they are destined to be with that person forever. If not...well...bad things. I watched several couples attempt it. I say couples, but in reality is was almost exclusively females, with the exception of one male who made the attempt as I watched.

The upper ridge and the lower path met with a modest ridge between them. On this middle ridge were several shrines and temples, but most eye-catching was one building where maiko kept entering and exiting. Maiko are temple maidens in Japan, young women who tend shrines and in general do neat stuff for the temple. It doesn't hurt that their outfit tends to be kind of retro, and just a little bit cute.

After taking a few pictures of a maiko and the surrounding shrines, I moved along. The crowd I was in passed two more temples, these in the shade of the tall trees on the far side of the valley, thanks to the early-setting sun. I forged ahead, thankful for th cool shadows. Alongside the temples in this area were little restaurant-style food shops. Open air tents had been set up to provide shade to patrons whilst they munched on a variety of delicious and cool treats. I decided to save my money, given that I was still possessed of a good bottle of water, and I wasn't that hungry yet.

I next came to a large bridge that spanned another stretch of the valley below. This was the first place that had an entry fee, which I readily paid. 500 yen later, I crossed through a small brass and wood gate, and found myself at the mouth of another temple. A crowd had gathered around some odd instruments, and I investigated. Set within an odd apparatus of wood were three iron implements of...something. Two monk's staves, a small one and a big one, and an over sized pair of geta, were fashioned out of solid iron. These objects were chained and locked in place to their display case, but were exposed to the crowd, allowing people the chance to lift the objects.

I could lift the smaller of the two without too much difficulty. The larger one didn't budge an inch, though; it was like trying to lift a car. The shoes were weighty, but were by far the lightest of the trio, and I could lift them too. A large contingent of Italian (I think) grad students were among the crowd, and amongst the strongest of their number sought to lift the massive implements of faith. The biggest man of the group managed to lift the larger of the two staves about a 4 inches off of the ground, to much applause.

Finally, the path curved to descend into the valley. The crowd passed shrine after shrine, pagoda after temple after graveyard. At the bottom of the valley I looked up and saw the wooden platform I had been perched atop. Crowds still gathered at its lip, looking down on the people below. Rounding a bend, I finally came to the main attraction of the temple: the Kyomizu shrine.

In a small crevasse of the mountain was nestled a stone temple. At its base was a square pool, also fashioned of carved stone. The pool was filled by three spigots that poured never-ending streams of water from the temple's roof. A small line lead up to the temple's body, where I saw people using long-handled ladles to collect the water. Some people drank it, others washed their hands in ritual cleansing. Still others collected it in cups or bottles. People took their time, but the line moved quickly enough.

I drank the rest of my bottled water, so as to have a container of my own, and I stood in line. A booth at the foot of the temple was selling traditional-looking plastic cups, but my water bottle would do nicely. After a few minutes of waiting I got to the front of the line. The ladles were stored in a rack of sterilization chambers. The little boxes used high-powered UV light to quickly kill any and all critters that clung to the dippers, for which I was thankful. I pulled a ladle from the rack and positioned myself under the temple's overhang. With a bit of wrangling, I managed to fill my bottle with the cold mountain spring water. I took a long pull from my ladle after filling it, enjoying the taste of untreated spring water. It had a slight mineral taste, with a hint of sulfur to it, but it was quite refreshing.

I tried to make my way back to the UV rack, but my passage was blocked by the crowd. A Japanese man further back in the crowd saw my plight and kindly took my ladle, replacing it himself. I thanked him and walked on.

The path turned downhill quickly, returning me to where I had first climbed the steps at the top of the mighty hill. A small snack stand, similar to the ones I'd seen within the temple, was off to the side, and I decided to get some food. It had been a long time since I'd eaten, and I was feeling it. I ordered a bowl of shaved ice (lemon flavored) and a plate of dango. Dango is a traditional Japanese treat; little, chewy balls of dough served on long bamboo skewers, slathered in a semi-sweet sauce.

The treats were delicious, but extremely sweet to my sugar-starved tongue. I've given up most sugary foods now that I'm here, and eating these confections was like drinking corn syrup from a hose.

I climbed the stairs once again and walked down the shop-lined hill I had missed on the way up. Tons and tons of tourist merchandise was for sale in these shops. I stopped at a confectioner's shop and bought a box of sweets for the office. Thin sheets of rice goo folded over small dollops of dark, sweet chocolate. Delicious.

The crowds were thinning, but the shops were still open. I saw book shops and souvenir stands. Several shops sold prayer beads like the one I had purchased at the mausoleum. The beads ranged from the affordable and simple to the ornate and expensive. They also had massive recreations of prayer beads, both short bracelets and long necklaces, that were as tall as a child. The wooden beads that composed these behemoths were easily the size of my fist. For the goth crowd (though I'm sure such is not the target audience of the original designer) there were prayer beads made from tiny skulls.

I meandered my way down the hill, pausing to catch pictures of the people and structures I saw. A pair of geisha were decked out in their full attire, posing for pictures with what looked to be a professional photographer. I snapped a few shots of my own, along with a small crowd. A large pagoda sprung from behind a building, dominating the hillside. At long last I left the fantastic area of old-fashioned shops and found myself once again on the mundane streets of Kyoto. It was getting late, now, nearing 5 PM, and I knew that I had to get to the station soon to book a trip back home.

I started walking toward the station, realizing that I'd wound up not too far from where I'd exited the overcrowded bus earlier that morning. It felt like years had passed since then. I walked along, knowing roughly where I was going, but not quite sure. I asked a passerby, a young man in a motorcycle jacket carrying a helmet, for directions. He said that he was going to the station himself, and that I could follow him. I fell in beside him, pausing every few minutes to snap a few shots of a cool monument or building. We were walking toward the setting sun, making for striking photo opportunities.

After 20 minutes of walking, we arrived at Kyoto station. I thanked my guide and hurried to the coin lockers to retrieve my blue duffel once again. I made my way to the station's ticket office and was able to get an attendant who spoke a little English. I still try to use as much Japanese as I possibly can when I talk to English speakers, but it's nice to know that they can help if I can't remember the right words.

I purchased a Shinkansen ticket that would take me to Tokyo, and then a local ticket that would take me home to Hitachi. I lugged my baggage to the platform and waited for my train. The platform was open to the air, and offered a truly majestic view of the city. The wide, low-lipped bowl of the mountains that cradled Kyoto were aflame with the setting sun, and the entire city seemed for a moment fashioned out of brass. Clouds had begun to creep up from beyond the eastern mountains, and made for a dramatic sky to compliment the sun-colored city.

I boarded my train at around 6:30PM, thankful for the lack of crowds. After a few minutes of waiting the train took off, accelerating out of the gate quickly. I got a final view of Kyoto as the dark clouds above quickened the coming night, lit from below by the last rays of the sun. The city was nearing darkness itself, its lights quickly coming on in an aggregate of pinpoints of white.

The mountains beyond Kyoto were wreathed in what looked like storm clouds, providing a dramatic exit to the city. Try as I might, I fell into a light slumber soon after, rousing myself to purchase a few sandwiches from the food cart as the attendant paced the aisle.

I arrived in Tokyo a little more than an hour and a half later, making my way through that city's mass transit system as best I could. A quick hop on the Yamanote line found me in Ueno, where I boarded a crowded Rapid local train to Hitachi. At first there was no room to sit, but as the train shed passengers I found a seat.

For hours more the train made its way north, passing ever-more familiar towns and cities as I neared my home. We stopped for nearly an hour at one point, prompting me to worry somewhat about my travel choice, but we were underway soon enough. A madman sat across from me, muttering in varying volumes in Japanese and practicing his baseball pitching skills whilst the train was stopped. Like all man-children he wore shorts that were too short. Why is that?

Finally, after what felt like years, the train pulled in to Hitachi station. I hailed a cab and dragged my worn out body up the stairs. I collapsed onto my futon and slept, marveling as I drifted off to sleep at my adventure. I had traveled farther than I ever had in Japan before, a trip of over 1000 kilometers. I had done it completely improvisational. And it worked.

Good night, readers.