Friday we spent a couple of hours over breakfast at the hostel. Susan was working the logistics for the next few days while I wrote the blog. To a Japanese the word “vacation” is almost synonymous with “Onsen”. An onsen is a natural hot-spring and this volcanic island-country is littered with them. Originally obsessed with the prospect of cheap massages and hot springs in Bali, Susan immediately took to the prospect of starting the “rest and recover” part of the trip before the “bad-ass asia adventure” part instead of after.
We've decided to venture far afield into the Noto-hanto peninsula to a little Ryokan Onsen at the very tip. It looks to be a gem of a place, with only 14 rooms, but a series of hot springs. Back in the day Japanese would spend a week or weeks there recovering from whatever ails them. It's a splurge, so sadly we won't be spending weeks and weeks, but only two nights. Here's the link to their website to stoke your envy:
www.lampnoyado.co.jp
To get there we need to take trains, buses and taxis, and it's a long way from everything. I guess that's what I get for not helping with the planning and leaving it all to Susan. The short paragraph in the guidebook says something like “romantic, beautiful” and “hot spring” and the next thing you know Susan has the train time table, the bus schedule, and a translation (courtesy of the hotel front desk) of the kanji directions for the tax driver. You gotta love her resourcefulness. If hot springs were gold mines we'd be the richst prospectors in the world.
Since its a long haul we decided to split the trip into a few days, seeing some of the recommended sites along the way. We'd take a trains on Saturday from Tokyo to Takayama, with a switch at Nagano (travel time about 5 hours). Then Sunday trains again from Takayama to Kanazawa, a switch at Toyoma (travel time about 3 hours). Then Monday a bus from Kanazawa to Suzu (3 hours) and a taxi ride (20 minutes) to the place. I sure hope there's gold in them thar hills.
Plans in place, we set off to meet Phil again for lunch, and to give him back his loaned books and cellphone. A tasty lunch in our bellies, we retreated to the lobby of his building – on the 14th floor – for coffee and to take in the view of the city. Tokyo sprawls in every direction as far as the eye can see. The city is built up like Manhattan, but since it isn't confined by the rivers it just keeps going.
From there we went to the Meiji shrine. A really beautiful Shinto shrine set in a gorgeous park. The park is mainly a dense forest. It reminded me a great deal of the woods in Virginia. The trees are mature, and the forest floor is mostly clear but for saplings and shade plants. In a few places a hole in the canopy has led to a burst of growth in the forest floor. A hundred yards from the train station you pass through the big gate as if symbolically guarding the entry, the forest serving as the moat and bailey. The city sounds fade behind you, and the concrete and straight lines of the urban landscape are replaced by the natural meanderings of the path. Another hundred steps and the city has vanished completely. You no longer notice the silence, but rather the noise – birds crying in the treetops above, the babbling of a stream beneath the delicate arch of the walkway bridge. Giggles of children on a walk through the park with their parents.
It isn't just a break in the city, some kind of physical interregnum, but a completely different place. The Shinto religion puts great import on harmony with nature and here is a physical manifestation – the park as sacred space.
The Shrine itself is very beautiful, while it was rebuilt after WWII, it is a faithful reproduction, and reflects the traditional architecture that was being called forth during its original construction under Emporer Meiji in the latter half of the 19th century. It was Emporer Meiji that opened Japan up to the outside world and brough in modernization. He was the first to cut his hair (literally removing his traditional top-knot samurai coiffure) as an aspect of moving to modernize his country. Two large trees dominate the main courtyard of the Shrine, and the sunny plaza is in contrast to the shaded walk through the forest to reach it. It was a glorious day, and the bright sun contributed to the effect.
Adjacent the shrine building is a garden, also built by order of Emporer Meiji, with a little teahouse for his wife and a fishing pond where they would both fish. In the tradition of great Japanese gardens the seemingly natural landscaping, which makes one feel as though they have come upon a meadow and pond by happenstance, belies the true nature. Even the pond itself is filled by a well made to seem like a spring.
We spent several hours in the park and gardens, including a few sitting by the pond enjoying the day and people watching as some local retirees pretended to be out photographing birds, but who really just gabbed, ignoring the waterfowl and enjoying their surroundings and friends.
These places are made to facilitate contemplation in the visitor, and we were no exception. A couple of hours in the park gets one into a completely different habit of mind. The cherry blossoms here in Tokyo are a little past their prime but still hold some blossoms. The Sakura (cherry blossoms) are a national symbol, and are planted throughout the city as accents, and in groves in the parks. But they only bloom for a couple of weeks a year. rather than see this as a drawback, the Japanese regard this as part of the beauty. The delicacy (one strong rain can strip a tree of its flowers) and transience of the blossoms is a reminder of our own fleeting nature. The trees are not merely beautiful for their aesthetic value, but also for the reflections they draw in the viewer. “Mono no aware” the bitter-sweetness of things is a cental tenet of Bhuddist thought, and central to the artistic vision of the gardener or garden visitor.
Sitting in the garden by the tearoom you can't help but think about the natural rhythems. Today it is sunny, the birds are chirping, and new flowers are emerging after the long winter. The Sakura have already come and gone. Beside us are the relaxing retirees in the Autumn of their years. The sun is warm, almost hot, and the shade path is cool. The moisture from yesterday's rain still present under the trees. We talked about how different it all is from California. The eternal summer of LA is sort of a parallel to the mindset of Americans. Always on, always going, with a sense that nature is to be ignored, dominated or banished entirely. Here the winter is as celebrated as the spring, as testified to by the woodblock prints of snowy landscapes that appear in every century of Japanese art. Without the winter, the spring would mean nothing, neh? So how can spring be more beautiful? It got us thinking that perhaps we cheat ourselves of some important truth living in the eternal summer, never allowing our gardens, or ourselves, to go dormant. Maybe winter is for more than snowboarding... I mean, I doubt that, but I'm just saying maybe...
The city area imediately adjacent the Meiji shrine is a funky, hip, young area completely different from the downtown regions we have seen so far. Whether by deliberate design or by some cultural effect Tokyo is divided into neighborhoods that are vey distinct, and internally quite homogenous (at least to the western eye). This region was sort of a Venice Beach or Greenwich Village counter-cultural center. The street was populated almost exclusively by 25-and-unders, all of them affecting a very careful image of disaffection. It's 4 o'clock on a Friday athe the place is busy, busy. The shops were all clothing stores, and many, if not most, are western brands.
This had another beneficial effect – french crepes for a late lunch!
A few blocks south and we had left the tragically hip for the button-down business crowd again. It was nearing rush hour and were approaching the Shibuya crossing. This is the famous six-way crosswalk where every light-cycle unleashes hundreds (quite possibly more than a thousand) people into the street. I had a sudden moment of feeling VERY tall when an enture intersection was awash in heads all about shoulder high. There are about six jumbo TVs, and while we didn't see the dinosaur walk across the building as seen in “Lost in Translation” we definitely felt very Blade-Runner in this Times-Square writ large.
Having not fulfilled her Bill Murray fix, Susan wanted to get a drink at the lounge atop the Park Hyatt Tokyo. This was a short walk from the square, but the dearth of street signs had us retreading the same ground a few times. Again, help came in the form of a local who walked about half a block out of his way to help us once he saw the befuddled white people with a guide book.
“Domo” and a bow and we were off in the right direction. Phil taught us “Domo” when he took us to breakfast the other day. While it means “thanks” it is sort of good for everything. “Domo” and a wiggle of the hand and you can squeeze through a bunch of people to get in a door. “Domo” and pointing to the camera gets you a personal cameraman for a minute. Spill something ... “domo”. Phil quadrupled our Japanese language skills in a single word.
After arriving at the 52nd floor we were confronted with that most urban of institutions – the dress code. I, in yoga pants, a polo shirt, hiking shoes, and looming presense over the maybe-five-foot maitre'd apparently fit the bill. However, Susan's flip-flops garnered a seemingly sincere “very sorry”. Well, turns out the very sorry wasn't that we couldn't come in, but that the poor bastard would have to handle her stinky ol' flops cause they had loaner shoes. I guess he was sincere. The view was fantastic, and after a day of urban hiking the Martini went straight to the head. Fortunately, we got on the train the right way this time.
On Saturday we caught an early train out of Tokyo, headed for Takayama, a historic town which has preserved much of it's Edo period architecture.
