Run Me Like a River

In the age of the shinkansen, it's easy to forget how isolated parts of Japan once were.  While it's not a big country in terms of landmass, mountains are an obstacle in traveling from one area to another.   You can get an idea of this even today if you travel between Arashiyama and Kameoka.  Mind you, this is something I'd never done before, because it's kind of a pain in the ass.  It sounds cool to take the "romantic" train to Kameoka and come back via boat along the river, and that's exactly what makes it a pain in the ass.  If you love tourists like I love tourists (ie, not at all, except in the old adage that the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference), this little experience is a nightmare.  

You can't just walk up to the station, buy a ticket, and board a train...I tried that once years ago with zero success (although I did find this cool little doll workshop that gave me Ideas, and Arashiyama is never a waste of time in my mind).  You have to get a ticket for THIS particular train in advance, and we're talking like well in advance.  No chance of, "Hmm, maybe tomorrow I'll take the sightseeing train to Kameoka."  On the other hand, the boat back doesn't really have a reliable advance booking.  I mean, they had something, because some people had some kind of voucher they were exchanging for a ticket, but on the websites that I read everything said you just showed up at the dock with your fingers crossed.  Given all this and the overabundance of capital-t Tourists, you may wonder if it's even worth it?

Well, maybe it's because something tells me it's going to be many moons before I make it back to Kyoto, but this time around I finally did it.  When I hadn't heard back from Ando about their doll-dressing experience, my mind turned to other things I could do, and realized that this would be an excellent chance to try something new.  Now that was a couple of weeks before I'd gotten sunburnt wandering around the flea market in the harsh morning sunlight, but when I got to Arashiyama and realized it was going to be a bright, bright sunshiny day on the Hozugawa, I scrounged around through my memory long enough to come up with the words for sun and protect...even if I got the order wrong, saying "mamoru no hi" and pointing to my arm got the message across at the Lawson's I stopped in, and I continued on my way to the train station.

The train ride really was beautiful.  When you're not going through a tunnel - and there were a lot, but their eerie beauty doesn't really lend itself well to photos - you're skirting the edge of the hills above the river.  Gold was beginning to tinge the green of the trees, and although it's supposed to be even more beautiful in November I can't really do anything about when my vacation is.  Instead, I watched the river rush by outside the windows, trying to take shots when the trees weren't whipping by in front of me.

Oh, one more thing to add...those seats are about as comfy as the dinner table chairs at your great-great grandmother's house...and don't have a lot of room for extra padding, just FYI.  Still, it does help you to get a feel for the historic nature of the train.  I guess.

I hadn't given a lot of thought to getting from Torokko Kameoka station to the dock where you embark on the river cruise - I had it marked on Google maps, so if all else failed, I figured I could walk it.  Fortunately for my already abused feet, it didn't come to that - as you exit the station, there are signs pointing to a bus that will take you straight to the dock.  One of the things that struck me the hardest from my first trip to Japan back in 2005 was how easy it is to get around, in spite of not knowing the language, and it holds true to this day.  The Japanese really know how to make systems that move people smoothly and efficiently, and this is a saving grace when it comes to shit tons of tourists being around.  So I got on the bus, got off at the dock, got a numbered ticket, and within probably half an hour was being called down to board a boat.

These boats are the old fashioned kind that used to ply the river - shallow bottomed and steered by long bamboo poles.  There were three guides in each boat that rotated between the three positions over the course of the two-hour trip - it was clearly really hard work, and I felt kind of bad about just sitting there enjoying the afternoon while they were rowing.

Okay, I wasn't just sitting there.  There was a lot to look at.  We saw ducks, turtles, herons, cormorants - even a snake on a rock at the side of the river just a foot away from my face.  The mountains we passed between were tall and imposing.  It was also interesting to me to see how the forest changes from area to area - some packed densely with shorter trees, others filled with tall ones.  There was at least one slope that had numerous trees toppled and sitting as logs on the hillside...evidence of a recent typhoon, if my experience hiking up to Kuuya-no-taki back in 2018 is any indication.  

I do wonder, sometimes, what non-artists do on long trips like this by themselves.  I was busy watching the water - especially the way it flowed over rocks, thinking about how I would paint that - and enjoying the fresh air, occasionally listening to my seatmates who would interpret some tidbit the guide shared.  But I'm kind of used to being alone in my own head, finding interest for myself in what's going on around me.  Maybe that's why I can travel alone.  Good thing I wasn't an extrovert from birth.

That is not to say that the trip was serene, smooth...er...sailing, all the way.  There were rapids.  Not bad ones, necessarily, but there was a splash guard along the sides of the boat that we lifted up from time to time to keep the water from dousing us.  The lead guide used his pole to push us along and away from some of the bigger rocks, especially in narrower passages.  It reminded me of float trips with my Dad and Shaggy when I was a kid, and with other family members when I was a bit older.  Except that after capsizing our canoe three times on one memorable trip with my sister and cousin, I'm not allowed to guide anymore.

It was also fun to see the trains pass us by.  The romantic train isn't the only one that goes between Arashiyama and Kameoka...if you really want to take the boat but can't get tickets, it IS possible just to take a normal train.  It just isn't as pretty.  There are apparently also buses - I didn't look too deeply into this possibility, because I didn't care.  But I love trains and I enjoyed seeing them flash by us as we got nearer and nearer to Arashiyama.

When we were just about there, a floating "food truck" puttered over next to us, providing snacks and lightening our wallets (literally...in Mongolia you kind of forget how heavy coins can be, and Japan's change goes all the way up to 500 yen).  After two hours I was ready to kill for a coke, and they had icy cold cans of it.  I don't even remember how much I paid.  It might have been 300 yen, but it might have been 1000.  I was thirsty enough that I didn't actually care.

The river had other boats on it by that point, people out for a paddle, so it was easy to know that we were almost there.  My back at least was glad it was over.  This trip made me realize that I'm not the same age I was when I first came to Kyoto - I can't abuse my feet all day, or sit two hours with back support, and not pay the consequences.  It's kind of sad, but I guess it was inevitable that eventually my body would remind me I'm no longer in my 20s.  But with a cold can of coke in hand, I was ready to abuse myself at least a little more.  If I hadn't had a rendezvous that afternoon with the Kawaii Kingpin, there were still so many things I would have liked to do in Arashiyama...mossy shrines and haunted tunnels.  But I guess they'll probably still be there when I finally do make it back again.

Feet in the Abyss, Heart in Paradise

Back in April, when I used the power of the pass for Evil, I realized I had miscalculated: a few hours in Kyoto wasn't really enough.  As I was on my way back to Toyama, I couldn't help thinking about all the places I didn't get to revisit, all the art experiences I still hadn't tried.  So it was probably inevitable that - six months later, I'd find myself boarding a plane to Kansai airport.

Even though this is the fifth trip I've made to Kyoto in October, there are STILL things I haven't done, or seen (or eaten...because, ya know...as soon as I get back to Japan all I can think about eating is yakiniku, Coco curry, and Denny's French toast).  Not because I turn into a lazy bum on vacation (although I have been more than I'd like to admit lately), but because Kyoto just has a disproportionate number of things to do in October.  No sooner had the sun risen on my first morning back in my otaku homeland than I was out the door of my hotel to get breakfast at McDonald's down the street from my first temple of the day, Chion-Ji.

I've written about shopping Kyoto's flea markets before, so I won't waste too many words on this one.  Hyakumanben Tendukuri-Ichi is a handicraft market that takes place on the 15th of every market, and is filled with all sorts of beautiful and/or kawaii things.  In the hour and a half that I wandered the grounds I think I only spent around 1000 yen, on a pastry, plum juice, and a cute little cat clip made with kimono fabric.  Even though I tried to keep to the shadows I still managed to get a sunburn, so I guess an argument could be made that it was a waste of my time...except that it wasn't.  It's kind of hard to explain, but there's something about browsing all the various creations of my fellow artisans that feeds my soul, like smiling at them and complimenting their work can lift a layer of the cynicism I've been accumulating for a while.

Plus I'm pretty sure I can use that cat clip to hold the accupressure point in my hand the next time I get a migraine, so completely not a waste of time.

That said, it wasn't the main event of the day for me.  The last three times I found myself in Kyoto on fall break, I passed up going to a certain Buddhist procession at Sokujo-in.  It was a matter of prioritizing, and in the past, the other options were more interesting - it's hard to compete with horseback archery, namsayin'?  Also, maybe I got my fill of Buddhism that summer in Tibet, but since I'd been working my way through a webnovel about a dragon and a monk leading up to my departure, it seemed like an ideal time.

(It was not an ideal time...the dragon calls the monk a "bald donkey" throughout the story, and it's possible that my brain very disrespectfully reminded me of this during the ceremony.)

The Nijugo Bosatsu Oneri Kuyo was one of the least crowded events I'd ever been to in Japan.  I found non-reserved seating on a bench in the shade, and the Japanese man I sat next to explained that this ceremony was at least partially intended to bless the children that participated - he had two grandchildren that were involved.  Wearing elaborate costumes, the procession moved between the main hall and Jizo's hall of the temple across an elevated wooden bridge.  They crossed back and forth three times, traveling from the Pure Land and back.

Or they did eventually.  When the clouds first condensed over the temple, I was really happy, since I wouldn't have to worry about sunburn whilst getting snap happy.  My relief was short lived, though, as a few sprinkles came down, followed by more, until everyone was either under an umbrella, or huddling under one of the tents or shelters.  The costumes and masks are actual works of art which can't get wet, so the temple made an announcement that they would postpone til 1:30.  After waiting for most of an hour already, my feet weren't thrilled, but the rain lightened up, the crew covered the bridge with plastic, and at 1:30 the show went on.

First came the monks of the temple, followed by yamabushi, mountain priests.  I found myself thinking that they seemed to be wearing the clothes that tengu are often depicted wearing, and when my new friend explained that they were Shinto priests, I felt a little justified for making that connection.  I realize I've said this before, but it bears repeating that the way that Buddhism and Shinto coexist in Japan is something that I really love.

Following the monks and priests were all sorts of kawaii kodomo.*  It's a big honor for them to be in the ceremony, but also a big responsibility.  The littlest boy's hat kept sliding around on his head, and he seemed to be DONE WITH IT, in spite of his father's attempt to fix it every two steps.  On their second journey, they scattered paper petals from the bridge to the people below.  These are supposed to be lucky, and we all scrambled to catch them or pick them up off the ground.

This went on for a while.  The entire procession travels three times, and the third time there are extra people.  Temple patrons maybe...some kind of VIP.  They threw paper petals as well, so if I ever figure out what to do with them I'm going to have lots of good art material.  Finally, after what seemed like forever, a masked Jizo led out the bodhisattvas.

If you didn't formerly spend 8 days temple crawling in Tibet, you may not know what a bodhisattva is.  

Teach Us, Becky-sensei!

So basically, in Buddhism, there are people who have basically reached enlightenment, and are able to attain Nirvana.  However, they put it off in order to help others on their journey.  These are the bodhisattvas.  In the procession, there are 25 of them.  Immediately after Jizo there are two bodhisattvas that slowly dance their way along the bridge, followed by another carrying a censer (at least I think that's what it was), and then the rest carrying musical instruments (and accompanied by a parent, because those masks make it pretty hard to see, and it would put a real damper on things if they fell off the bridge).

Eventually they made it back to the main hall, and I decided that it was time for me to head back to my usual haunts.  It was a neat experience and I'm glad I went, but my feet were killing me by that point, comfy new shoes or not.  

*All children are cute, though...until you have to teach them.

Beyond the Bucket List

I assume you've heard the term bucket list before.  It's a phrase that implies there are things you HAVE to see, generally before you kick the bucket, but people also use it for singular trips.  The bucket list of things you have to do when you visit Japan, for example.  The thing is, I don't actually like this term.  Maybe I'm too old for it - in a way similar to the fact that I'm too old to really understand bullet journals (they happened after my time, yo) - but I think the bigger problem is that they deny the reality that there are layers and layers of possibilities in every trip.

I'd been resisting the pull of Japan since leaving, telling myself that I needed to buckle down and save up before I went back, because when I went back I was going to DO ALL THE THINGS!  I'd like to say that this was very practical of me, and applaud myself for not giving in to temptation...but I'm not really a very practical person.  As you know by now if you read my last post, my resolve broke about a month ago, and I started thinking about what else I could do in my favorite city in Japan.

See, my first go-round was all about geisha, shrines, and castles.  My focus shifted before I came back three years ago, when I went to about a bajillion festivals and art workshops.  Last fall I planned my trip around art exhibits and yokai hunting.  But the thing is there is ALWAYS something else to do there.  For example, the Ningyo Kuyo at Hokyo-Ji.  I've been wanting to come to this ceremony since I first learned that doll memorials were a thing in Japan, and this time the dates finally lined up.  I went to the Ningyou Kanshasai at Meiji Jingu, but this was completely different - more intimate and ceremonial.  Hokyo-Ji is a Buddhist nunnery temple where the head priestess was traditionally an imperial princess.  Normally they hold the ceremony outside, but since it was kind of rainy, we were gathered on the porch of the garden.  I ended up with front row "seats" - before it started they ushered all the foreigners to sit on tatami mats on the left side of the ceremony - and although it was a struggle to stay awake after about five minutes of chanting while different VIPs made their presentations, I was rewarded in the end with a musical performance (how much do I miss taiko?  SO much) and maiko dances.  Sadly I still haven't gotten to see the funeral pyre, but I guess that's just another reason to go back - I hear Tokorozawa holds one in June...

Another temple I neglected on past trips was Kosan-Ji.  This is where the Choujuu-Giga - a series of scrolls depicting animals doing wild and crazy things - were created.  They're often considered the earliest manga, and although I'd wanted to see where they came from the last time I was in Kyoto, there's never enough time to do everything.

From a subway station near my hotel I could take one bus all the way to the temple parking lot, so it seemed like the time was right to finally make it.  Actually finding the bus was the hardest part - it was one of those pesky JR buses that doesn't have a number, and as much as I love Google maps, they still haven't figured out bus stops.  The temple was beautiful, and walking across its wooden floors in my sock feet as I soaked up the sun was relaxing.  But its best feature was probably how it demonstrates one of the things I love the most about this place.  Kyoto is definitely a city, but all along its fringes are these beautiful bits of nature - mountains, forests, a lake.  I've said it so many times that it hardly bears repeating:  I'm a city girl through and through.  But I grew up in the country, and I've lived in Mongolia so many years that I also enjoy leaving civilization behind every once in a while.  Kyoto gives you both.

I steered clear of art museums this time but found more than enough art along my way.  I stumbled across yet another Zen Buddhist temple as I was cycling around Gion on my fifth day, Kennin-Ji.  I decided to go in on a whim - I needed to park my bike somewhere, since I was thinking about getting some ties cut that morning and Yasui Konpiragu doesn't have bike parking - but it turned out to be a serendipitous whim.  I was struck immediately by the beauty of the gardens, most likely because I've been building one in which to display my sacred relics.  If anything, I guess that was the driving force behind a lot of the sightseeing I did during this trip - later the same day I went to Eikan-Do specifically to see their gardens.

But Kennin-Ji also had some great art.  They had screens of Fuujin and Raijin - gods of wind and lightning - possibly the originals, since they seemed to be selling an awful lot of swag featuring them.  But they also had an incredibly beautiful contemporary sumi-e painting of twin dragons in the main prayer hall, done to commemorate the 800th anniversary of their founding.  When I left the temple, I felt like I'd done my professional development for the week, and felt just that much less guilty about wasting time on shopping.

I did not, though, end up going to Yasui Konpiragu afterwards.  See, in addition to a shit ton of shopping and hanging out with my padawan, I was looking forward to some quality time with Sensei, who turned out to be on vacation the same week as me, and announced that she'd be coming through Kyoto on her way back from Shikoku after I booked my ticket.  I realized that she was the perfect person to go with to get my ties cut.  See, Yasui Konpiragu's kamisama is famous for cutting ties with prejudice, and after getting yet another email from our favorite cyberstalker, I figured I could use a good tie-cutting.  Afterwards we wandered up to Yasaka Jinja, and then back toward Sanjo where her hotel was, stopping at Red Rock for lunch.  I hadn't realized til I saw her how much I missed her.

After a full day of shopping in Osaka on Saturday, trying to scurry back to the hotel through the rain while protecting my treasures, I kind of just wanted to eat yakiniku and stay in for the rest of the night.  But there was one, last thing I had to do; after flopping on the bed for about a half hour, I realized I'd be pissed at myself if I missed it, so I blow-dried my clothes, trudged down to the bus stop, and embarked on my way to Taishogun Street.  I went there last fall to hunt yokai, but I missed the main event - the Hyakki Yagyu, or Night Parade of 100 Demons.  Given my own particular idiom, this was totally unacceptable, and since it was happening while I was there this time, I really had to make it.  The Japanese do cosplay like nobody else in the world, with the end result being that you really felt like you were mingling with myths on the street.  Eventually musicians joined us and began to play - oh my taiko! - and the ayakashi danced off into the night.

I continued down the street past the stalls of the Mononoke Ichi - a market selling yokai goods - just narrowly resisting the temptation to buy a paper kitsune lantern (it was 3,000 yen and I was already bringing back both kitsune AND a lantern, or else I might have succumbed).  Further on Daishogun Hachiman Jinja was lit up with lanterns and stalls selling food, and I couldn't resist the lure of one more kakigori before I left.  Everyone should be so lucky as to both start and end a week in Kyoto with a matsuri.

Money Can’t Buy Me Love...

Or that’s what they say at any rate.  After a week’s worth of shopping in Kyoto and Osaka, I have my reservations regarding the veracity of that statement.  Maybe money can’t buy love, but it can buy me new toys, and that’s close enough for me.

When we last left off, I was singing the praises of Nendoroids.  Until about a year ago, these were the anime figures for me.  This is largely due to the fact that the industry isn’t exactly known for catering to its female fans, and I didn’t exactly try to find out otherwise...it was just too depressing.  But everything changed when I won my first scale figure, Roy Mustang from Fullmetal Alchemist, who I snatched with the claw of doom.  Unlike a nendo he was frozen in place, but he was bigger, and had a really cool pose, and maybe he broke something in me, because I started watching for prize figures when I went to the arcade.  This isn’t the cheapest way to build a collection, but through it I was able to add a nice Rimuru to my hoard.

Meanwhile, back in April I refuted the supposition that wickedness never was happiness in my post about AnimeJapan.  I mentioned going out for yakiniku afterwards and buying something I’d been eyeing at Book-Off...an Ichiban Kuji prize of Natsume Takashi.  This was kind of where the dam broke and my money started flooding out.  In quick succession I ordered MegaHouse’s new Kitaro, as well as Kusuriuri, who I’d found at Lashinbang in Akiba (which was convenient, since I sold off a couple of touken danshi nendoroids to pay for him).  And that was about the time I left Japan, and - you might think - stopped “wasting” money on toys.

Foxes and torii from Fushimi-Inari-Taisha

You would be wrong in SO many ways.  Imma put aside the argument right now that these are not mere toys but works of art and investment pieces (or at least, they are when I’m not being self-deprecatory), and I’m not going to go into too much depth about purchasing figures online, because this is a travel blog (sorta.  Sometimes).  Instead, suffice it to say that between teaching and my two courses I’ve been eagerly curating my collection of sacred relics, finally joined by my own personal holy grail, the Yato I was, at long last, able to buy on Yahoo Auctions.  This has been equal parts delightful and frustrating, though, because I keep thinking of cool crap I could use if only I was in Japan, or had access to a real Daiso.  Someday I'll probably write more specifically about my displays.  As far as the shopping part goes, though...well...three weeks ago I decided to throw financialcaution to the wind and make my triumphant comeback.  Convenient, huh?

Gacha?  They gotcha.

Before I could even make it to Daiso, though, I came across another source of treasure - gachapon machines.  I can’t believe I wasted two years in Japan without truly appreciating the genius of their capsule toys.  Before I looked at them as a none-too-reliable source for anime swag.  As a curator, though, I now see the potential they have as accessories for nendoroids.  Mostly I just let myself discover them as I went, but I did have an eye out for two specific things - tiny gachapon machines and a drink vending machine.  The first I found in Kyoto’s Shinkyogoku arcade.  The second I never did manage to track down, although the Yellow Submarine in Denden Town had just about every other gacha I could hope for, and - among other wonderful things - a model kit for a coke machine that made me realize I could DIY myself one, which in the end sits better with my artistic tendencies.

I was supposed to make that trip with the Kawaii Kingpin, but an ill-timed bout of indigestion meant that I had to go it alone.  In some ways that sucked, but it also worked to my advantage, since it meant I could leave super early and indulge in my Saturday morning Denny’s routine, not to mention that I didn’t have to worry about him judging my choices.  Sometimes a girl needs her own bunny figure, okay???  I also didn’t have to fight him for the Goblin Slayer nendoroid I found for 3500 yen, so in the end I was able to forgive him for going and getting sick.*

The natsukashii was thick on the ground, even if I have only been gone three months.  I was kind of looking forward to playing some UFO catchers, but I’ve gotten wiser in my old age, and instead of fighting to get the damn machine to spit out what I want, I hit up the local Book-Off+ and was able to get the most recent Sasuke.  I’ve done a pretty decent job of adhering to my one character/one figure rule, with the upshot being that I resisted the temptation to get scaled versions of my Haikyuu best boys and had both the money to buy Sasuke and space in my treasure chest (carry-on suitcase).

Anyways, the moral of the story is that the Beatles didn’t know what they were talking about.  Money can buy you love, especially if the thing you love is adorable chibi figures of cute boys.  Because at the end of the day, although I love scale figures and have worked hard to diversify my collection, sometimes a girl needs a nendoroid.  Or two.  Or five.

*Also he gave me the drawing he did of Tomioka-san.  And spent Friday waiting to receive Mitsuha and Taki for me, because after we saw Weathering With You, I had to rewatch Kimi no Na Wa, which made me realize I needed their nendoroids.  There’s a reason he’s still my favorite - my disciple is saiko.

Places of Worship

Back in my Mongolia days, I wrote more food posts than anything else.  As a Japan blogger, my bread and butter has become shrines and art.  And that's all well and good, but it can get a little boring, so I developed a strategy I cleverly (or not) call one-and-one.  Basically it means I tried to limit myself to one of each on any given day.  I've mentioned most of the art I went to see, and two of the museums I went to aren't really worth mentioning (hideous work, hideous building, but otherwise...).  I will give a shout out, though, to the Forever Museum of Contemporary Art.

The Forever Museum is set up in an old-style house in the heart of Gion.  Seeing the traditional architecture and gardens is nice, but I actually was most interested in it because they had a show of Kusama Yayoi's work.  This has sort of turned into an unintentional theme for my travels in Japan...I still haven't been to her Tokyo museum but every time I've gone out in search of adventure I've bumped into her work.

This time around had me wishing I could bring my IBDP students to it.  It was an excellent example of what a cohesive body of work looks like - not just because half of the images were her pumpkins but because the pieces that weren't still looked like hers.  I was a huge fan of the "garden" they put together with a variety of her prints of plants.  Who knew that spots could make even weeds so delightful?  But of course my favorite was the big boat o' dicks, or as she titled it, A Boat Carrying my Soul.  I mean, who doesn't love seafaring vessels covered in phalli?

Two of my shrine visits actually were really shopping trips.  I'm about 90% finished with my current plush projects, but I've been intending to make Immortal Sugimoto from Golden Kamuy.  That said, it just wouldn't be me if I didn't add an element of challenge, and I decided that I wanted to use antique fabric to make his clothes - particularly a military uniform, if I could find one.  So as soon as I got into Kyoto I went to Kobo-ichi - the monthly temple market.  This is where I bought the katana handguard the last time I came to Kyoto, so I had high hopes as I wandered through the stalls selling all sorts of things.  Sadly, the closest I got was some dark blue, handwoven fabric, but it would do in a pinch.

While I was in the neighborhood I made a quick side trip.  This spring I read a bunch of (translated) Japanese literature (yes, I was watching Bungou Stray Dogs at the time.  By this point you should know I'm a weeb) and I got curious as to whether or not the gate referenced in the title of Akutagawa's Rashomon was a real thing.  The interwebs did not fail me, and I learned that once upon a time it was near To-Ji, but now there's just a stone marker where it used to be.  Apparently its state of decay was why he chose that as the setting for his story, and it's been gone a long time.  Still, the nerd in me loved getting to the root of a story like that.

Later in the week I tried my luck again at Kitano Tenman-Gu's market.  This one had a more festive atmosphere, but the end result was the same - no military uniforms.  I found a few swatches of fabric that made it worth my while, but moved on.

My last day was actually a double header - it began with a shrine and ended with a temple.  Fushimi-Inari-Taisha is actually pretty much my favorite place in the entire world, and I couldn't imagine leaving Kyoto without seeing it again.  Since I didn't feel like sharing, this meant another early roll-out, but one week away from the classroom is not enough to get back into night owl mode, so that wasn't too hard.

The quality of the light coming over the mountain at 7 in the morn is enough to break your heart, and the air was cool and still.  I knew then that I didn't want to come back.  As hard as it was to leave two years ago, without a guarantee that I'd have work in Japan the following year, at least I had my weebs waiting for me in UB.  I'm three days into the first week back, and I'm still trying to figure out how to get through the rest of the school year, and where to go from here.  But the fourth grader who asked me Monday about an anime she liked helped me to believe I'd somehow manage.

My last dance was with Shoren-in.  It was the first night of their autumn illumination, and while the trees weren't at their peak, there's still something to be said for a temple at night.  You take off your shoes and walk through the buildings, and just soak up the atmosphere.   And if you're really lucky, maybe you'll get to feel like you're finally standing on the beach at Toyama, watching the hotaruika washing up on the shore.  That's the feeling I got, anyways, as I stood in the garden with the blue lights shining around me.  Not that I'm not still planning to go back this May, because you gotta experience something like that in real life, not just your imagination.  But it was a nice way to end my trip.

Where the Wild Things Are

The post-vacation blues are hitting me hardcore right now.  With the exception of Sensei's fantastic Hallowgiving feast, I basically didn't leave the house the last two days.  I just slept and avoided my homework.  Now I'm sitting in my classroom, which is way too quiet because Horn Blower is on maternity leave, totally demotivated because I got to rehash the glory days during my discussions with the Kawaii Kingpin last week and I can't.  I just can't.  I'm sure I'll get over it eventually, but I can't even use the best holiday of all time to derail my funk because this is a "non-denominational school" so we don't celebrate it.  Sucks to be me.

I've been preparing on my own though, in my own way, by watching some spooky anime.  I started with the most gorgeous piece of horror you could imagine, Mononoke, and chased it with a more child-friendly anime with a long, distinguished history:  Gegege no Kitaro.  At the time, I didn't know that it was going to lead right into my vacation, but I started to figure it out on day 3, as I passed the Toei Studio and thought, "Wait a minute, why do I know that name?"

I stopped on my way back, but overall I felt like it was a huge waste of money, and mama always said, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."  However, you may infer from my backwards peace sign that I wasn't super happy.  That said, it at least got me thinking, and once I start thinking, that's when you have to watch out.  "And now," cried the Great One, "let the wild rumpus start!"

Because basically Kyoto is an old city filled with youkai, yurei, and all sorts of other spiritual beings.  My first encounter with them came courtesy of an article on Sora News.  It turns out that Kitaro's origin story comes from a shop in Higashiyama.  Four-hundred years ago this candy shop was repeatedly visited by a woman at midnight to buy candy.  When the curiosity of the shop owner finally got the best of him, he tailed her to a nearby graveyard, where she disappeared.  When he got to the spot where he vanished, he found a fresh grave and heard a baby crying from within.  The legend goes that the mother's ghost was trying to keep the child alive, and the shop now calls their specialty "ghost child-care candy."  Is this story full of holes?  Maybe, but supposedly it's true - the baby who was rescued from the grave went on to become a priest.  Or so they say.  I tracked the shop down and bought some of the candy, and it was alright, but I don't think I would come back as a ghost for it.

After that, I really had no choice but to visit the Mizuki Shigeru exhibit at the Ryukoku Museum.  I discovered a poster for it while wandering around Teramachi.  He's the mangaka responsible for Gegege no Kitaro, and it was interesting to see the artwork, and the ways his illustrations were different from more contemporary manga.  That said, nothing was in English.  I went in knowing that, so I don't really have any regrets especially since you don't have to read kanji to read art.  But it might have been nice to actually learn something...for example, why a museum devoted to Buddhism had an exhibit about a mangaka.  But I digress.  The art was good.  I got ideas.  It was not as crowded as many museums I've been to.  Overall it was a win.

If you're thinking this should probably be part of an Otaku Report, you're not wrong.  There's actually one coming up, but this post kind of turned into its own thing.

Let's hope that eyeball doesn't stand up...

I thought I'd seen everything after a trip to the bookstore my penultimate night in Kyoto, but then I went to the Hosomi Museum for their exhibition called "Shunga* and Youkai."  It's a slightly misleading title, because you think it's going to combine both themes simultaneously.  While there are some works that do - the scroll that showed a walking penis and vagina, for example, or the tanukis who were cuddled up under their own scrotums, giving new meaning to the phrase "hot as balls" - on the whole the exhibition showed either shunga or youkai in ukiyo-e.  Which is actually for the best...I'd already been scarred enough that week.

I had one last close encounter with the unseen world while I was on vacation, and it happened on Youkai Street.  Taishogun street - as it's officially called - is a shopping street near Kitano Tenmangu.  The catch is that many of the shops are inhabited by monsters.  According to yet another legend, once upon a time a bunch of discarded household objects felt hurt and abandoned by humanity, so they became youkai and returned to march on the area.  These days the sculptures, handmade by the shopkeepers, are pretty friendly and go about their business without causing any issues.  They hold events though, which I sadly missed - both the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons and the Mononoke Ichi happened before I got there.

With that, the school day is almost over.  What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and since I'm not dead yet I suppose I'll manage to get through tomorrow, too.  After all, it's only 35 working days til Christmas break...

*Shunga is a genre of Japanese erotic art, basically the forerunner of hentai.  So the next time someone tells you, "It's called hentai, and it's art," they're not totally inaccurate.  Just FYI.  

Chasing Waterfalls

(Subtitle: That Time I Almost Rekt Myself Again )

If you're a longtime reader, you may remember that two years ago I tried to hike up to a waterfall.  Emphasis on tried, because some dumbass went up the wrong trail.  Originally I didn't plan to rectify that this go-round because I've become fairly lazy and also, I'm pink-blooded, which I'll probably explain some other time.  Then I started looking around the Arashiyama area, and realized I actually did want to hike that mother, particularly when I realized that I could take a single bus all the way to Kiyotaki.  That was my early roll-out I was trying to manage Tuesday - which probably I shouldn't have been quite so cloak-and-daggers about, I had a couple of worst-case scenario moments when I realized nobody would have a clue where to find my body - but believe it or not, I made it.

I had Google maps plot out the bus route and watched my phone as I got closer and closer.  Finally we pulled into the last bus stop and as I hopped off the bus I clicked on the x that marked the spot (or, you know, the star, because Google Maps doesn't have an x), and hit the directions button.  And waited.  AND waited.  And looked up at the mountains surrounding me on all sides.  This was when I realized that I didn't have service, and would have to rely on my wits.  Which admittedly are not what they used to be.

That said, I have a damn good memory, and I'd looked at the course relatively recently, so I figured I might actually be okay.  I'd just stick beside the river until I got to a trail that seemed to go toward the star that I could at least see on Maps.  It didn't take long, though, to realize my lack of directions might not be my only problem.  Remember the other day how I said the typhoon had done enough damage to call off the Kurama Hi Matsuri?  Well, they didn't make that shit up.  Trees were down all over the place.  The first time the trail split, there was caution tape (aka, keep out if you know what's good for you), and although I was afraid that was the trail I needed, I took my chances on the main trail, marveling at the amount of work it must have taken to clear it.  Of course, it was too good to last, and I eventually  came to a couple of trees leaning against power lines.

All those deeply ingrained childhood warnings about falling trees and power lines were yelling at me to turn around.  You'll be glad to know I ignored them.  Unless, of course, you're one of my parents, in which case, hell, you've had plenty of time to get used to my dumbassery.

I finally got to a turning I could take, and referred to Google Maps to see roughly which direction the star was.  It seemed pretty close and to the west.  If that hadn't been my clue, there was a stream trickling down from that direction, and a family of tanuki was watching me from the side of the trail.  I was pretty sure I was going to make my mark.

Up to this point the hike had been - as Shaggy and I (on separate occasions) had proclaimed to our sainted mother about other hikes - "not that bad."  It was vaguely uphill, but paved the whole way.  I hadn't stopped to rest at all, and I'm not really in good shape.  As I branched off from the main path...well, it still wasn't that bad, but it was definitely uphill.  And the further along I got, the more trees were fallen all over the place.  Probably they hadn't gotten around to putting the caution tape up.  Maybe they didn't think they needed to, that nobody would be dumb enough to go trekking up to the waterfall given the condition of the rest of the forest.  Isn't it nice to surpass people's expectations???

Eventually I came to a stone torii and a couple of buildings that looked like they'd been abandoned long before the typhoon hit.  A bit beyond that I crested the top of the final staircase and found what I'd come looking for - Kuuya-no-taki, a mystical place where a waterfall rushes over the edge of a cliff behind a little shrine.  Standing in front of the gate, I felt a breeze coming from the force of the water, cooling me off from my hike.  It seemed like the kind of waterfall my  master would tell me to stand under as I trained to awaken my yokai powers.  (No, I didn't try it.  There was a rope at the bottom of the torii barring the way, and since I hadn't mentioned to anyone that I was planning to go there I figured I'd pushed my luck enough).

I did, on the other hand, drag Yato out of my backpack for a quick photoshoot.  I'm not 100% happy with him - the clothes are fine but the fleece I had when I started him wasn't very good and I didn't really like the way his hair turned out.  That said, the damage he and Yukine did in some of their battles provided a much more satisfying explanation for all the downed trees.

I made my way back down the hill, which is scarier than going up, by the way.  The trees are a lot closer to you and you're not working as hard to breathe.  Also, I stopped to dip my hand in the stream at one point and got the shit scared out of my by a crab.  Admittedly it was a very small one, but what the hell was a crab doing up beside a mountain stream?   I got back to the bus stop with plenty of time to massage my feet while waiting for the hourly bus back to Arashiyama.  I got off early so I could revisit the bamboo grove, which was sadly annihilated compared to two years ago.  Life lesson of the week: typhoons suck.  Luckily bamboo grows quickly and I had a different forest I wanted to check out: the kimono forest, a series of illuminated pillars set up in the train station.

Why is there a kimono forest at the train station?  Damned if I know.  I may have read somewhere that silk for kimonos was once dyed in Arashiyama, but my mind may also be making that up.  What I can tell you is that I would totally buy a kimono made in that skeleton fabric.  It was totally lit (pun totally intended.  Because.  You know.  The pillars are lit up from inside.)