Matsuyama Part II: Claustrophobia and Ojiisan Guides

This is the second half of my spring break trip, for part one read here! The second night in the Hostel we ventured down to the kitchen area to socialize and eat our gourmet convenience store dinners. Talking with the owner about things to do around the area he told us about an interesting hike that passes through a bamboo forest, some old Buddhist shrines eventually leading to an underpass and temple.

View from the top of the hill.

     Naturally this sounded like an adventure I'd want to pursue, so the next morning map in hand we left in search of the trail. We passed the designated landmarks he had kindly circled for us on a map, a shrine, a parking lot, large tennis courts. This all seemed relatively suburban, well maintained and almost quaint like we'd stumbled upon some type of country club. However as the tennis courts faded into the background the population started to dwindle, rice paddies replaced roads, large stalks of bamboo the tiny geometric houses, and the monotone whine of the cicada the rush of passing cars. When we had all but been engulfed in the bamboo forest and long winding road peaking through the overgrowth was forever smiling face of a Buddha. 

Fancy meetin' you here Buddha.

     I wondered why they would just leave a Buddha statue in the middle of nowhere. Was he welcoming passing cars into town? Was the decrepit stair case beside him that led to nowhere some metaphor? I didn't know all I knew was that as we continued down the road more and more decrepit, weather worn statues popped out between the bamboo.  They'd hang over the road with their twisted and missing limbs, plaster flaking off to reveal wire skeletons and inner workings. A small bridge led to off to the side and we decided to follow it. It opened into one of the most interesting shrines I've ever seen. Hundreds of carved faces greeted us, all starring up at the beaming golden mandala in the shrine's center.

     I had never seen anything like it and no signs in Japanese or English were around to describe it. Just a small and aged shrine in the middle of a long dusty road. It gave the whole area an eerie aura like i'd just wandered into someones own back yard. Or if I touched something I wasn't supposed to the carved faces might turn angry.

     Off to the corner was a large statue of the starving Buddha, incense burning at his crossed legs. and further down as I left the shrine and began to explore the area around it, decrepit statues peaked out between the overgrowth. It was beautiful, creepy, chilling, and wonderful all at the same time.

     However Japan has a way of showing me my own limitations, abilities and in this case, heart crippling and irrational phobias. ^.^" As we left the shrine and continued our hike we found an "under pass" or at least that's what it said in Japanese. And also what the hostel owner had told us.

Just an under pass

An under pass from Hell.

     We entered the "under pass" and were greeting by pitch darkness. No light flickered in the cave walls (lets stop pretending it's just an under pass now!) only the glowing sun from the entrance revealed a line of tiny red capped Buddhas snaked down the middle of the passage.

The infamous entrance to the "underpass"

As we journeyed further into the tunnel the walls grew thinner until they opened up into a large inner chamber.

What I expected to see in this chamber was another chubby smiling Buddha. What stared back and my friends and I  however were four snarling statues of anthropomorphic demons. 

Their back drop? 

Murals depicting the Buddhist rendition of Hell.

And let me tell you from the looks of it, Buddhist Hell is no picnic.

No smiles to be found.

     It was probably a few minutes after that that my claustrophobic, superstitious and sometimes highly irrational mind had had all it could take. I couldn't stand to be in the cave any longer, whether it was the weight of the statues' twisted and gnarled stares or the ground above my head something struck a down right primal cord within me. And as we walked to the end of the cave (okay I ran)  it was like we'd resurfaced, returned from some backwards and foreign place no human was supposed to set foot in.

     It was a side of Buddhism that shocked me, as it most likely was intended to. And as I tried to steady my shaking hands and wipe tears off my face I thought for a moment how something that I assumed was so peace-minded could enact from me such an intense reaction.

I regained my composure, with the help of my friends (who I had thoroughly embarrassed myself in front of) and took in my new surroundings. We had surfaced in the middle of an old temple. And in the spring sunshine I could hear the whine of cicadas mixing with the low hum of a Buddhist monk's chants and smell the comforting aroma of burning incense and age.

We explored and found an entire wall of origami cranes in various sizes and colors pouring down like cascading rainbows. A room in which  lanterns, bird houses, and dials grew from the ceiling  intermixing with talismans and colored curtains lining the entrance in sun-bleached shades of purple, red, yellow and green. 

     And in the middle of the Temple grounds was an old man with a bicycle who as I came down the steps smiled at me like he had known me my entire life, if not before.

And then he spoke to me in quick and mumbled Japanese, 

"Good Afternoon. Where are you from?"

      He asked us where we were headed and when he learned of our plans (to have Hanami in the near by park) escorted us all the way there all the while pushing his bicycle along besides us making polite conversation.

     Once we arrived in the park we said our good bye's and thank you's and I watch him and his bicycle fade away around the corner.

Call me a romantic or say I have a slight inclination towards sappiness but in that small series of events something happened. I was reminded in the wonderful dichotomy of the world. Everything is double sided and there cannot be "good" without the "frightening." My trip through the cave showed that we cannot be reborn without facing the consequences, challenges and wounds of our pasts.  It was my entire internal, emotional and physical struggle with my adventure in Japan personified. And as I sat with my friends drinking cheap beer underneath the sakura trees I felt a sudden and well deserved swell of pride and gratitude. Like I said before Japan has a way of showing me my limitations I never knew I had.

And consistently showing me ways to over come them.

Nara: Todaiji Temple and Killer Deer

      I had been planning a trip to Nara the first week I arrived in Japan. And time after time, weekend after weekend something has always come up, whether it be  lack of funds, the weather, or change of plans it seemed like going to Nara was a distant deer filled fantasy. However, the opportunity came when I was invited to tag along with my friend over spring break!

     I'm from  Upstate New York, where seeing a deer out in the open alone is an excitement so being up close and personal with about over a hundred friendly deer was endlessly fun for me. We took a bus right from Nara station to Nara park, though it turned out it was only like a 10 minute walk away. The park is about medium sized, there's benches, vendors, and the two museums filled with Buddhist art and ancient artifacts. 

My friend and her minions




Oh and over a hundred hungry deer.

     I had been warned. My Japanese professor had told our class about the over zealousness of the deer, I've heard the stories of old obaachans getting knocked over or children getting bitten. But when I looked into those cute black eyes did I believe any of those horror stories?  Nope, not one bit. In my innocence I joyfully bought some crackers and fed the herd of deer that flocked around me, took numerous deer filled selfies, snapped up close pictures, and just when I thought I was safe....they attacked.

Yeah they definitely did bite.

My friend and I had sat down to eat some green tea flavored ice cream on the curb. Things where looking good, no deer seemed to be interested in us, the ice cream was delicious, weather not too hot or too cold. A group of young Japanese kids walked by all laughing at a small deer that followed them. They stopped for a moment in front of us petting the deer and trying to take pictures.  Much to our misfortune, the moment the deer found out they were cracker-less he turned his ravenously hungry eyes on us. And in the process somehow summoned about six of his friends. We were bum-rushed  and mugged by deer like an episode of when animals attack. And worst of all, they stole my ice cream. Jerks.

Do not be deceived this is the face of evil

After the theft of my ice cream I had spied a pleasant looking old lady selling baked yams. The sign had read 200 yen, or so I thought. As the lady grabbed and wrapped my yam she asked not for a reasonable 200 yen I had already waiting and ready, but for 800 yen. For all of you who don't know me personally, I'm extremely cheap when it comes to my own money. That's an 8 dollar yam right there. You know what I can get for 8 dollars? A whole set meal, two medium Starbucks coffees, a days worth of train fare, reasonable things. Not a side street baked yam in a brown paper bag. But if you also know me personally you know that I have a horrible habit of not wanting to complicate situations. And this often means I say Yes when I really mean Hell No. So I begrudgingly handed over 800 yen and took my yam.

Post deer mugging photo

But besides over priced yams and being bullied by a four legged animals, Nara was beautiful. We had gotten to most of the temples fairly later in the day so towards sun down it seemed like we were the only people in the area. Although the major sections of Todaiji Temple were closed, we were free to walk around and take pictures without the hundreds of  temple goers. 

Main Gate of Todaiji Temple

     All the temples and shrines I've visited in Japan have had their own ethereal qualities, but Todaiji at dusk was not only the most evocative but the most other worldly place I've been to thus far. There's something about the shear size of the grounds that magnifies your singularity. Something about the worn faces of the Buddha and other statues that makes you feel like a bleep on the radar but at the same moment makes you feel entirely connected.

     It's a hard feeling to put to words, but as I ran my fingers over the wooden railings, large stone pillars and listened to the soft rustling of the budding sakura trees around me I felt in every respect, full. Of greatness, of potential, of thanks, and of a vague but growing sense that this is where I should be at the moment. I was always a person who thought that I knew myself and yet I'm constantly discovering new parts of me.

There's a proverb I learned recently in Japanese, "いのなかのかわずたいかいをしらず" or The frog in the well knows not of the great ocean. I never want to be that frog, trapped stuck in a well never knowing of what lay outside of me. And as I looked out at the skyline of Nara I think of all the ups and downs I've had in Japan. The questionings of my own abilities, the funny and awkward stories I've collected, and the people I've met and I am nothing less than eager to experience more of it. There's moments when I think I'm getting greedy, overwhelmed by this ocean outside of my well.

Happy exploring everyone!

Climbing The Steps of Fushimi Inari

           A couple weeks ago I journeyed to Kyoto to visit the Fushimi Inari Shrine. If you've seen Memoirs of a Geisha than this shrine might be familiar to you. And if you haven't, then you probably have no idea what the heck I'm talking about. Let's remedy that!

This is the scene where a young Sayuri is running through the torii gates at Fushimi Inari 

    The Fushimi Inari Shrine is dedicated to Inari the goddess of prosperity, rice, and industry. She also happens to be the patron deity of merchants and farmers. You can say that she's rather popular, the Fushimi Inari Shrine alone has more than 32,000 sub-shrines throughout Japan.

Main Gate at Fushimi Inari

     When I visited it was a perfect day sunny and cool like the autumn weather back home. And I can say that from the moment we arrived to Fushimi Inari station it was like stepping back in time. Almost every temple I've visited thus far has had this aura of the past but in Fushimi Inari the air was different.

The 狐 (fox) messengers of Inari

     Maybe it was the size, the small stolen glances of  the Miko and priests between the shrine doors, a quick flash of a red hakama, or the distant echo of a Buddhist chant, or the snarling faces of a hundred foxes jaws lulling open. Or perhaps it was it's utter foreignness to me, not only in language but in customs, practices, and religion. Everything was tainted by my distance with an air of mystery.  

As we climbed the orange torii gates wound up the side of the mountain and the light seeping in from the gaps made it seem like I was walking in the fiery belly of an old and giant snake.  The whole way up an underlying tranquility pervaded everything and in its infectious and almost jarring nature I found myself stopping and attempting to cast out my senses. Running fingers over the cold stone of shrines, the shined and sometimes splintered wood of the gates, hearing the dull gong and high twinkle of temple bells, and breathing in deep the heady mixture of temple incense and mountain air. It seemed like we were all propelled forward, old and young, singular and in groups. Feet moving of their own accord, stair after stair in a destination-less procession up the mountain.

     Small individual shrines sat in clusters on the edge of the main trail, like villages for the tiny foxes that guarded them. At times when I was snapping pictures it almost felt like they were watching me, hungry with their open mouths and tiny snake silted eyes. Waiting to gobble up offerings and prayers and in return grant prosperity. 

And as I reached the top and saw the last shrine surrounded by a hundred mirrored miniatures, I felt a near chill. Like I had walked into to an abandoned city, undisturbed and uninvited. Still, I felt draw there, drawn to put a hundred yen coin in the mouth of the kitsune and grab for myself a piece of good fortune. Climbing the steps of Fushimi Inari one realizes what it takes to receive prosperity, repetition, motivation and an audacity to disturb something in yourself that you never have before.