12 August Kyoto Nightingale
floors, a golden building, an empty garden, a fall from grace, a
Buddhist meal, a high rise view and a request for an England
shirt.
We walked down to Kyoto station and breakfasted in the “Café du Monde”, high up above the concourse. The station, built in 1997, is a stunning architectural masterpiece. Here’s a photo of reflections in one of its façades. The public space is immensely high, served by three long escalators. From our vantage point in the café (just in front of the bank of television screens showing a noisy pop music programme) we could see down to the main concourse. There were colourfully-clad cleaning teams working enthusiastically to keep the station spotless. They even wash the handrail on the escalators. We could also see, outside, the taxis lining up to collect their passengers. It was almost balletic in that one row of cars would drive forward to the pick-up point, followed by another and another, while the emptied ranks filled with taxis returning to the station.
We
took a taxi from the pick-up point and drove to Nijo.
This was (and maybe is, for all I know) the second royal palace
of Japan. [Japanese lesson: Ni = Two, and Jo
= Castle.] It dates from 1603 and was built by Ieyasu
Tokugawa, the great shogun. Apparently he hated the place,
and only visited by imperial command. The castle is quite
impressive, and the rooms, although gloomy rather than shaded,
appear relatively cool. There is a great deal of obviously
fine painting on walls and shutters, of unmistakably Japanese
nature. Entering the castle, you (need I say?) take off
your shoes to walk round.
The
floors of the castle are cleverly constructed. As you walk,
the floorboards make a squeaking sound. These
“Nightingale Floors” (uguisu-bari) were designed
to thwart the ninja - assassins, trained to sneak up and
commit their dastardly deeds completely silently. However
light you are on your feet, the floors squeak. A Japanese
family exploring the castle had an infant who had only just
learned to walk with them, and even she made the floors squeak.
Amazing workmanship, that keeps the floors squeaking after 400
years. Mind you, the floor in my bathroom creaks, and I
can’t get rid of the wretched noise. Perhaps the
joiner was a 400 year old Japanese craftsman. Or not.
One
of the rooms had a number of mannikins dressed in formal court
robes, depicting daimyo (Barons) and court officials
kneeling before Ieyasu himself. This represented the scene
when Tokugawa Keiki returned power to the Imperial line. In
an anteroom there were mannequins depicting some court ladies,
courtesans etc., in formal court regalia, make-up and wigs.
They really did look over-dressed for the climate. I was
dripping with sweat despite my tee-shirt, shorts and bare feet.
How they survived three or four layers of heavy cloth I do not
know.
Leaving the castle, we walked through the gardens
and admired the moat and the massive walls that
support the castle complex. We hailed a taxi at the castle
entrance. It may not sound impressive, but this taxi was
the identical one we had used from the station a couple of hours
previously. The driver assured us he had driven many fares
since dropping us off. Well, we thought it was a
striking “small-world” incident, considering the huge
number of taxis in this large city.
Our
driver dropped us at Kinkakuji, joking that he’d be
waiting for us when we needed him. Kinkakuji is the Temple
of the Golden Pavilion.
It was originally built in the late 1300s by a Shogun, as a
retirement home. He retired aged 38, so I guess he liked
the place. The design accords with descriptions of the
Western Paradise of the Amida Buddha and is said to be
representative of the harmony between heaven and earth. It
was in fact a subtle assertion of the heavenly mandate to rule
granted to the Ashikaga shogunate. It was burnt down by a
lunatic monkish arsonist in 1950 (at least this time they know
who caused the fire) and rebuilt in 1955. Only the upper
floor is covered in gold leaf, but it is a strikingly handsome
building, especially viewed from across the lake that fronts it.
There is a striking pinnacle on the top.
This being a Sunday, there were hundreds of Japanese visitors who
had also come out to admire its golden charms. We walked
through the gardens, onwards to Ryoanji.
Ryoanji
(“Temple of the Peaceful Dragon”) is a Zen Buddhist
temple. Zen is the minimalist form of Buddhism, whose goal
seems to be to empty the mind and the spirit of everything.
What it is replaced with is anyone’s guess. Anyway,
Zen is anti-intellectual, stressing the “is-ness of
is”, removing the need for analysis and logic. And
here at Ryoanji someone (possibly a monk called Soami, but no one
knows for sure) created the ultimate Zen garden, designed as an
aid to meditation.
The “garden” is a
rectangle of raked whitish gravel, 38 by 10 metres. Three
sides are closed off, one by the wall of an adjoining building,
the other two by a wall made of clay and boiled oil (isn’t
that the recipe for putty?). In the garden are fifteen
rocks of varying size. They are placed in such a way that
from the viewing veranda, you can see no more than fourteen rocks
at a time. Very clever. The rocks are seen by some as
mountains soaring above clouds, by others as islands in a white
sea. I spent about half an hour (well, I didn’t have
half a lifetime at my disposal!) looking and trying to empty my
mind, seeking a revelation of the essence of meaning contained
within the garden. And my conclusion was that these are
rocks in a bed of gravel.
Lest
you think I am dismissive of Ryoanji, I do say that this is a
must-see on any trip to Kyoto. There is something
atmospheric and tranquil in its ambience. It is one of the
images of my trip to Japan that “when oft upon my couch I
lie, in vacant or in pensive mood” comes readily to mind.
Leaving
the environs of Ryoanji, we walked along a forest path and came
across a Japanese Yodofu-ya restaurant. As it was
mid-afternoon by now, and all we had had since leaving the
station was about two dozen cold fizzy drinks, we entered.
Ducking
beneath the half-curtain that heralds all genuine Japanese
restaurants, there was a short series of stone steps that a
gardener had recently hosed down. I was wearing a pair of
Clark’s “Dunerunner” sandals. These may be
all right for, well, running up and down dunes, but I can tell
you that they have very poor roadholding on wet granite. I
slipped over, bruising my person almost as much as my dignity.
I was indeed shaken by the fall.
However,
we entered the restaurant and were ushered to a low table on the
tatami floor (having of course removed our shoes – or in my
case, my Dunerunners) overlooking a water garden. The
proprietress bustled in and brought us Green Tea, which restored
my spirits somewhat. We ordered a set menu which was
eventually brought to the table. It, being Buddhist
cuisine, was 100% vegetarian. The only tricky item on the
menu was the boiled tofu that lurks in the soup or on a plate.
It has the consistency of loose egg custard and is not designed
to be picked up easily with chopsticks, at least by gaijin.
Once again, I enjoyed the pickles, which included some
unidentifiable but tasty dark brown material, possibly fungi.
I particularly liked tofu-goma, a combination of tofu and
sesame paste. It had at least a bit of texture and a nutty
flavour. Served with ice-cold beer, the meal was a gourmet
experience and a restful break from the heat of the afternoon.
Departing
the restaurant (and carefully navigating the treacherous steps)
we resumed our walk through the woods and eventually found a taxi
rank. Disappointingly, “our” taxi driver
wasn’t present, but we took a long ride via (at our request)
some interesting sights. To be honest, I nodded off during
the ride (must have been the shock of my tumble), so I have no
recollection of what we saw. We eventually disembarked at
the Kyoto Tower, which
we ascended. We had an excellent view over the whole of
Kyoto, and took childish pleasure in saying, “Been there.
Seen that. Didn’t buy the T-shirt.”
Leaving
the tower, we headed for a restaurant, whose name I have
forgotten, but it is in the hotel more or less opposite the
station. Having finished eating, we took yet another taxi
to a bar in the Gion quarter. It was (like all Japanese
bars, it seems) small and dark. We ordered drinks, and the
barman tried to bribe Stephen to let him have the new England
football shirt he was wearing. I think he had offered half
shares in the bar before realising that Stephen was not going to
part with this priceless item.
So
ended yet another fascinating day.
