The Philosopher's Way, then and now

I aten't dead. Sorry for the delay - I couldn't make it to a net cafe earlier. I'm feeling rather down, so I apologise in advance for the downbeat tone and general lack of inspiration in this post.

Which begins in the North Higashiyama area, filled with temples and beautiful gardens for walking in. I started out in the various subtemples of Nanzenji, legally Kyoto's supreme temple, before wandering around the main site.

A garden in a small and otherwise fairly unremarkable sub-temple of Nanzenji.  I believe it was called the Crane and Turtle Garden, and is the only garden which can be confidently attributed to a legendary landscape architect. Very pretty, but hardly overwhelming.

A Japanese dragonfly. On average, Japanese insects seem considerably larger than any I've seen, perhaps due to the warmer, humid climate. The butterflies are amazing, and I eternally wish they stood still long enough for photos.

A small and kinda random shrine to Tokugawa Ieyasu.

Zen gardens are pretty to look at, but to me a garden that you can walk in will always be superior.

Enormous stone lanterns are dotted around near the entrance to Nanzenji proper. Scale is hard to convey in this photo, but look at the nearby car in the background.

Nanzenji's enormous gate, the San-mon. As a city, Kyoto really has a thing for big temple gates.

The San-mon, in itself a religious enough site that one had to take off shoes before entering, was notable for the Staircase of Constantly Impending Doom. The steps were just steep enough, and the distance between them just wide enough, to make you feel like you were constantly on the verge of falling. Notably, of those climbing it, many went "yoi-sho" as they climbed, from little kids to old men. Given the phrase's apparent universality, I wonder why Hiroko treats it as an embarrassing sign of age when she catches herself using it.

View from the top of the San-mon. Visible are the Higashiyama mountains and a small part of the Nanzenji complex. Also a mystery cable.

Another hypothetically famous garden, this time in the Nanzenin sub-temple. Very nice to walk around; shame that this photo practically encompasses the entirety of it.

On the two-minute walk around Nanzenin garden, a small waterfall.

There was also a very old aqueduct carrying water all the way from Lake Biwa, Japan's biggest. A number of people were making sketches and paintings of it for some reason. As for me, I recalled hearing about a hidden sub-temple in the forest just beyond the main complex, so when I discovered a small and people-free path leading up into the mountains, I followed it. No temple came in sight, but I saw periodical Buddhist milestones of unclear import, so I continued (plus, I felt like a walk through the wild, and a solitary mountain hike felt like a good change of pace). Very eventually, though, I came across a marker explaining that perpendicular to my direction of motion lay the Higashiyama hiking course, and that conversely there was nothing else in the area except paths leading out. I turned around and headed back.

However, in vaguely retracting my steps, I saw the aqueduct on a path below me, and managed to scramble onto it through a certain amount of climbing, moving through loose foliage, and dodging angry falling cicadas (they are incredibly loud up close). Perhaps the path along it was the path I sought.

I followed the aqueduct - I was not alone, but it soon became apparent to me that everyone else was on the other side (this side only being accessible to crazy people coming from the mountains), and that I needed to be there as well in order to make use of the exit at the far end. I will omit the details of my crossing because my parents read this blog - suffice to say, while not a threat to life or limb, nor was it a method for people with a heart condition.

Unfortunately, at the far end was a power plant, an old statue, and an exit back into town, but no sub-temple. I headed back to Nanzenji via the aqueduct path.

The aqueduct. Note, next to the tourist, a small stone bridge connecting the two paths, which I will SWEAR UNDER OATH was not there the first time round (believe me, I was keeping my eyes peeled for any remotely sensible route across).

Accirdubg to the LP guidebook. however, the path I was looking for was next to the aqueduct - and I'd already explored all the possibilities (and while the book mentioned a way through brightly-coloured torii, there was nothing like that anywhere). Deciding that I'd wasted enough time, I moved on. Of particular interest in Nanzenji was the Hojo, the abbot's quarters (I think), though opportunity to take photos was, of course, limited. Actually, at one point it occurred to me that these temples had incredible prank potential if one were merely to move a couple of the "no entry" signs around on a day with lots of visitors.

This wall-decorating dragon is largely ignored by tourists due to his position right before the priceless wall painting collection, and looks very grumpy as a result.

Walkways connect a multitude of small individual gardens. There were also traditional tearooms, but they had a separate fee which I did not deem worth it.

An ishitei, or traditional Japanese rock garden. Sometimes the rocks have a deliberate symbolism. These ones are just rocks.

A beautifully vague prohibition. Sadly, the individual rooms had their own, better-thought-out signs as well.

I loved the vibrant energy of this sign near the entrance, especially the English translation. A more imperssive one was yet to come, though.

At last, I left Nanzenji, choosing not to make use of the opportunity to scribe one of the names of the 3000 Buddhas and earn myself endless good karma at a reasonable price (the scribing, of course, not being free - there's a reason I'm sceptical of big temples, given the ink and paper is hardly going to bankrupt them). Instead, I headed for the smaller yet altogether more charming Enkanji.

Legend has it that Enkan, an abbot of the temple, had brought a particular image of the Buddha Amida here from his former temple after deciding that it should be available for the benefit of all rather than locked away by the priests. The actual story is a dramatic chase sequence with supernatural intervention, but the real legend begins later, when one day Enkan was walking through the temple and saw the Buddha Amida, from said image, walking in front of him. Enkan was so stunned that, thinking he must be dreaming, he stopped. At which point Amida looked back over his shoulder and said "Eikan, follow me."

The story is anticlimactically silent on what happened next, but to this day Enkanji houses a unique statue of Mikaeri Buddha, "the Buddha looking back", as Enkan was keen to preserve that particular vision. The actual building housing it offers various neat symbolic interpretations of why (e.g. it symbolises Amida constantly looking back to make sure those seeking enlightenment are keeping up with him), though it stops short of explaining why Enkan was so enraptured with the pose itself.

Slowly pour water from a ladle down this well, and it produces a remarkable natural sound like that of the koto, the Japanese harp.

The gist of this notice outside the famous statue's building, believe it or not, is a warning for those allergic to Mikaeri Buddha.

A somewhat gloomy view from next to Enkanji's hillside pagoda. It was much brighter in real life, though.

The pagoda itself, sadly closed.

Outside Enkanji main hall. One of the best things about the inside is that it featured plenty of soft benches on which one could rest while contemplating the various religious images. It was perfect both for my weary feet and as a meditation spot.

The next part of my plan was fairly straightforward. I would head straight west to Okazaki Park and its famous Heian Shrine, then double back to my point of origin and take the Philosopher's Way north, stopping along as many of the nearby shrines and temples as I had time for before ending up at the great Kinkakuji. I got the direction right, but the path was a lot longer and more complex than I thought, leading through labyrinthine residential areas. Such is the price I pay for the beeline approach to navigation, but it does mean I get to see a lot of real, non-touristy stuff on the way.

This sort of scenery is typical for northeast Higashiyama, and is why I loved it.

One hint as to why JRPGs are so successful: there is never a fear of missing plot-relevant encounters due to lack of parking.

Heian Shrine gate: not only big, but shiny.

The Heian Shrine was built for celebration of Kyoto's history, rather than for religious worship, and its feel is indeed welcoming and festive rather than spiritual - which I guess makes a nice change in some ways. Its notable features, accordingly, were less religious and more generally awesome, like a small ikebana (Japanese flower arrangement) exhibition, and a set of four great gardens, each centered around a pond and thematically reflecting a certain period of Japanese history.

The ema of the day read simply "How does retro-translocation work?" and conjured the fascinating image of someone accidentally stranded in Japan after a teleportation experiment. Which is about the only explanation I can come up with. There was also an ema reading only "glycogen-metabolic" (interpretations welcome), and a number of exam pass wishes, one reading "zettai goukaku", or "pass no matter what".

The central courtyard, just to give a sense of scale. A lot less gloomy in real life.

An ever-so-slightly creepy vending machine.

Those who receive good fortunes from oracles tie them to these trees so that they come true. With so many little strips of paper, the trees now look like they're made of people's hopes and wishes.

Ikebana, take one.

Ikebana, take two.

A wider shot of the exhibition. As you can see, there were way too many impressive arrangements to photograph them all. Also, it feels so nice being allowed to take photos indoors for once.

The welcome committee for the gardens tour consists of a number of huge carp, and this turtle, in the first of the ponds.

A typical pond, still yet teeming wtih life.

View of one of the bridges across the larger ponds. Looking carefully in the water, one could see a number of turtles of varying sizes.

One of the ponds could be crossed by means of a series of stepping stones. It is also how I got the lily photos above.

A Japanese dragonfly in all its glory. Enormous, and possibly related to Mothra.

Finally, I returned east and made my way to the Tetsugaku no Michi, or Philosopher's Way. There's little to say about it - it is a quiet, peaceful path running parallel to a river, perfect for wandering along while contemplating. I'm a little happy that, though I never got to practice logic in Oxford's Logic Lane, I was able to ponder philosophy on the Philosopher's Way.

Incidentally, one of the best things that I can confirm about the Philosopher's Way is that there is cake at the end of it. Thank God for small, charming, strategically-located cafes.

Philosopher's Way, entrance. A lengthy, gentle river runs parallel on the right.

I don't know why, but I find this sign particularly charming.

This sign, in front of a house, is rather minimalistic, reading simply "dog." Visitors are free to interpret that as they will, though I do wonder about the date and place added at the bottom.

In the event, I saw less than I expected. Just as I was drawing near the far end of the Way, with all its interesting sites, I got a phone call from Hiroko, telling me that she and Haruka would be in town shopping soon, and inviting me to join them. Since I agreed, I only really had time to go straight for the end and the famous Silver Pavilion or Ginkakuji, a place of great historical import and general beauty.

Little of which I saw, because Ginkakuji is undergoing restoration until next year. Nevertheless, what I saw, you see.

Zen garden-style sculpted sand. The lines are typically drawn with rakes.

The natural surroundings of Ginkakuji, though were very aesthetically pleasing.

This sign, not the only one of its sort in the area, suggests that visitors go no further in order to avoid getting in the way of the area's pit vipers.

A hilltop overview of the Ginkakuji area.

Ginkakuji, in all its mid-restoration glory. I gather it's meant to be somewhat more impressive. It also houses countless great relics, none of which I could get in to see.

When I finally made it to the city centre to meet the family (after some confusion over which bus stop I was aiming for), I ended up going around various shops with Hiroko while waiting for Haruka to turn up (which took a couple of hours longer than expected; she was shopping for university exam question books, which are a huge genre in Japan). We had fun looking around bookshops, pet shops and various random places of interest (I am so close to finishing my souvenir shopping - just one person left), as well as teaching each other paper games. I was also told that Haruka wanted to take a photo with me, but had yet to appreciate what this would entail.

When Haruka did turn up, it turned out that she'd had hair extensions done that day, and also happened to be dressed to the nines. As for the photo, it was in one of Japan's print club machines, which allow all manner of annotations and doodles to be added to the finished product. Haruka seemed like she was having a lot of fun, and did most of the work on these (I admit, I was kind of overwhelmed by the novelty of the concept, as well as the unfamiliar controls and being required to think like a teenage girl in style terms).

Most of the photos Haruka took were of just the two of us, but I chose this one for the blog because I came out looking a little demonic in many of the others. The text reads, left to right and top to bottom: "Alexei Haruka Hiroko mama, Yaaaay, Homestay".

We then went out for pasta together, which was fairly nice. Notably, the specials menu had "Maron no Taruto" (chestnut tart), which delighted Haruka when I pointed it out (cf. her pets' names). Incidentally, please don't get the wrong idea from any of this. While Haruka's enthusiasm was remarkable, I don't think it can really have been aimed at me, since she has been ignoring me fairly completely since (apparently, she's very introverted, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary).

Be all that as it may. my Monday's schedule was set. Dr. James Heisig, legend of kanji self-study thanks to his Remembering the Kanji trilogy, and, as a scholar of Japanese religion, someone at the other end of my current career path, had agreed to meet me. So I travelled to the Nanzan Institute for Religious and Cultural Studies in Nagoya.

After heavy WWII bombing, Nagoya was rebuilt in style, down to its subway maps.

In any case, not only was Jim Heisig (as he seems to prefer to be known) really laid-back and helpful, telling me all about the Institute and other scholars in the field (for example), but he also invited me to lunch with the rest of the English-speaking members, and they treated me to an Italian meal. They were all really warm, friendly, relaxed people, and answered all my questions. They also gave me a fair amount of advice, both on academics (none of them came straight to it the way I may end up doing, and some spent a decade or more moving between bottom-of-the-pay-scale jobs before they found the perfect place and activity) and on generally choosing one's path in life (short version: it will never be like the plan). The modern philosopher's way is a strange and winding one.

The giants of Study of Japanese Religion, plus me. It says a great deal about how friendly and laid-back they were that I could ask for a group photo (which, actually, was more so I could match and remember all their names and faces for the future).

On my way back through Nagoya, I decided to sample some of this more modern city's delights, starting with the Robot Museum. Which had closed two years ago, as I established after much searching and aid from a Portuguese man who spoke neither Japanese nor English. Instead, I moved on to the International Design Centre, housed on the 4th floor of  the very attractively designed Nadya Park Building. The exhibition was, sadly, nearly all in Japanese, but there was a striking set of displays of the Art Deco permanent collection: ten Collection Towers, like huge mechanical pieces of clockwork that shifted and rearranged themselves to present a set of displays in order. To be honest, I was more taken by the small exhibition across the hall, which showcased some beautiful and touching pieces of visual design on the topic of "Save the Earth". I even bought a booklet to take home.

On the way back: a very pretty fountain. Nagoya's centre is striking in its creative and modern design.

Less of a fountain, but still pretty cool. Outside Nagoya Station.

Have I mentioned my love for Japanese skyscraper designers?

I could go on to today, which due to much rain and suckiness of mood has contained little of interest, but, frankly, this post is long enough for now and my fingers are starting to seize up. Until next time!