Sunday, November 3
The crowds at the popular temples are extraordinary…and it isn’t even peak foliage season! We got an early start today, hoping to avoid the worst of the crowds at Kinkaku-Ji, the GoldenPavilion, but to no avail. The temples on the tourist routes are really hard work; here, as at the Silver Pavilion, you’re taken through the temple precincts on a prescribed route with about 500 of your new closest friends. The temple is extraordinarily beautiful, though, sitting behind its pond.
The Shogun Ashikaga Yoshimitsu had purchased an estate from a statesman and expanded it, centering on a new villa that he covered in gold leaf. On his death in 1408, the villa was turned into a Zen monastery—setting the example for his grandson, who did the same with the Silver Pavilion.
Although I was ready, as usual, to see more temples, the rest of the crew begged for a break. We decided to stroll through the Nishijin district, the center of textile production in Kyoto. This proved to be an inspired choice, with surprises around every corner.
The walk started with a quiet and very beautiful Geisha quarter, Kami-Shichiken, which is older than the much more famous Gion.
We made a slight detour to see a temple on the map of the neighborhood, and this temple, Senbon Shaka-Do, was a delight. The main hall, or Honden, is one of the oldest buildings in all of Kyoto, dating from 1227; it has somehow been spared the fires, earthquakes, and human folly that have destroyed so many of Japan’s temples.
We were charmed and puzzled by statues of a rather round young woman both inside and outside the temple, a mystery solved only later through a bit of research.
It turns out that a legend explains the temple’s longevity: the carpenter in charge of construction made the central pillar too short and turned to his wife Okame for advice. She suggested a novel solution, and the temple was soon completed. But before it could be unveiled, she committed suicide to atone for her husband’s loss of face, incurred by seeking the advice of a woman. Her husband carved an image of her face and attached it to the pillar so that her spirit could see the temple. There is now something of a cult of Okame, with masks available all over Japan.
From the temple we moved on to an extraordinary place, the Raku Museum. Many people associate the tea ceremony—the way of tea—with the essence of Japanese culture. The ritualistic preparation and presentation of “thick tea” (tea made from matcha, powdered green tea) has its roots in the mutual interests of the Imperial court (then in Kyoto) and the important Zen monasteries. The first great tea master was Sen no Riky; in search of appropriate implements for the ceremony, he commissioned a tile maker, Chōjirō, to make tea bowls or chawan for the ceremony in the late 16th century. His bowls, hand shaped without the use of a wheel, covered in lead glaze, and removed from the kiln red hot, were so successful that the Regent Hideyoshi conferred the name Raku on Chōjirō’s son. All the Raku ware made since is marked by these practices. The family itself is now in the eighteenth generation, with one member of each new generation named Master. The museum displays works by each master over the centuries. The tea bowls on display are both elegant and very simple, and somehow deeply moving.
Vladimir wasn’t impressed; he thought European schoolchildren could do as well. But then Croatia does serve as the measure of all human culture!
From the museum we hoofed it to the Nishijin Textile Center, which combines a textile museum with a sales floor. On the top floor there is even a running kimono show!
Sue noticed that our wandering had brought us close to the Imperial Palace…which turned out to be a public park with little trace of the palace that ruled Japan for more than 1000 years. It had started to sprinkle (our first rain in Japan), and most of the crew elected to visit the Kyoto National Museum.
I was eager to visit Daikotu-Ji, one of the most influential Zen monasteries. Founded in 1325 by the Zen monk Shuho Myocho with support from the Emperor Hanozano, the temple precincts were enormous up until the Meiji period, with more than 60 subtemples. Still huge—3 city blocks along each side of its walled enclosure—it now has 22 subtemples of which four are open to the public. Daikotu-Ji is also known as „the face of tea“ because of its long association with the tea ceremony; Sen no Rikyu, the most important tea master, developed the ceremony in consultation with the abbot of Daikotu-Ji.
I visited the sub temple Daisen-In first. This temple, designed by the founder, set the direction for an astonishing number of aspects of Japanese culture: the move from wooden shutters to paper windows and sliding panels, the use of tatami mats in special areas, and, above all, an innovative sense of the dry garden. The garden flows, as a stream of life, all the way around the Hojo or Abbot‘s quarters. Much more intimate than later versions such as the ones at Sanzen-Ji, the gardens offer a number of contemplative set pieces.
I also visited Zuiho-In, with two modern dry gardens, subtle variations on classical themes. I was by now pressed for time as it grew dark and I didn‘t have the luxury of giving this subtemple its due.
A long cab ride brought me to the hotel. My fellow travelers had been frustrated again, finding the museum closed, but they had more than compensated for this by visiting the temple next door to the hotel, Sanjusangendomawari; it is distinguished by an enormous image hall containing no fewer than 1000 statues of Kannon, the Boddhisatva of Mercy.
Dinner was something special. It is extremely difficult to get into one of the Sushi temples in Tokyo: they‘re tiny, booked for months in advance, and suspicious of foreign guests. The redoubtable concierge at the Hyatt, though, had gotten us into one of Kyoto‘s jewels, Gidon Matsudaya, a Michelin starred restaurant with just six seats at the counter. The staff consists of the chef, his wife, and his adult daughter. The other guests were two very nice women from Singapore; the conversation was lively and interesting, but most of our attention was focused on the chef and his very long and very sharp sushi knife.
We started with 8 or so pieces of sashimi; sushi then alternated with bites of things that the chef had prepared in different ways. The range of flavors and textures was the whole show; and the chef was extremely patient as he explained to us what to do at every stage. The meal lasted almost 2 1/2 hours, and was one of the most memorable in my experience. It was also the most expensive meal we’ve ever eaten.