Japan
by Susan Elizabeth Thomas
I rode a shaky, silent train from Kyoto, Japan to the mountain-side shrine, Fushimi Inari. The rays of the sun, dispersed over the rice fields, were ebbing to dark. I was arriving late, too late to meet my friend who had already trekked down the mountain. She had called me from the train stop.
“Be careful,” she warned. “ At this hour Fushimi Inari is completely empty and the shrine is full of fox demons.”
Fushimi Inari is a shine dedicated to Inari, the god of rice and his messenger the kitsune or fox. Fox demons are good omens in Japan, charged with warding off evil. These ethereal foxes can have multiple tails. More tails mean an older fox of greater power. Along with being messengers for Inari, who is often depicted as a large white fox, fox demons are tricksters. According to legend, foxes take humans forms for deceitful purposes. The cruel, proud and greedy were all targets. Often these crafty spirits became beautiful women. They would win the hearts of men and lure them from their families. Foxes were even known to bewitch humans, entering women under their fingernails or through their breasts.
I entered the shrine alone. Would the foxes curse me or bless me? I needed all the blessings I could get.
It was April 2011, the year of the Great Tohoku earthquake in Japan. I had fled from my home in Ibaraki, Japan not knowing when or if I would come back. There were mixed reports about the radiation levels. A nuclear plant one hour from where I lived narrowly escaped being over-flooded. I had whatever clothes I had hurriedly packed, nothing warm enough for the chilly, springtime weather. It had been a stressful, chaotic experience, but my time as a “radiation refugee” was over. Somehow this felt like end of my journey.
The very last rays of the sun created a shadow from the giant torii gate in front of the temple. Torii gates are the doorway from the secular world to the sacred. Traditionally, when you walk through a torii gate, you should stay to the side, leaving room for the god or goddess to pass through the middle. I passed beneath the tall pillars. I was now in the deity’s domain.
I stepped into the courtyard at the base of the temple. My friend was not wrong. The place was completely empty. Or was it? Like many holy places, the shrine had a feeling of presence, eyes watching. There was nothing malevolent. I felt curious and excited. It was like entering another world, a very orange world. Fushimi Inari has thousands of orange torii gates. The sea of orange gates seemed to glow in the last light. Two fox guardians stood at either side of the entrance. It was hard to believe they were not watching.
The whole shrine smelt of the evening and incense. I poured cold water from the small water basin onto my hands and into mouth. This is a Japanese ritual of purity, and I hoped that I was doing it correctly. I looked around. Hanging on lines, carefully folded, were the paper fortunes of hundreds of worshippers. Folding and hanging a paper fortune means you want it to come true.
Japanese shrines are full of wishes. Wishes could be rung into existence on large bells or painted on wooden tablets. They were strung on lines. Many buy wishes in the form of an omamori, a fabric charm with a sewn design. Others wish by tossing a coin into a container in front of an altar or statue and pulling a long rope bound to a bell. After, the tradition is to clap twice, bow twice and pray. Follow this with a final clap and bow.
There are two entrances and two exits for the torii-lined trek up the mountain. To me this looked like four possible entrances, like the beginning of a labyrinth. I picked a path on the left. As I made ascent, darkness hit. I climbed for hours. Once in a while, I would stop and make a wish. Clap, clap, bow, bow. Mostly I prayed for strength. It was a quality I sorely needed. The cold wind blew, but I felt warm and energized from the formidable climb. Again, I splashed my hands and mouth the with cold basin water.
I felt uneasy when I heard the screeches in the dark. Something rustled in the bushes. Could it be foxes? Fox demons? I know now that it must have been monkeys, but things seem different in the dark. Paranoid, I started thinking about Japanese mythology. Crazy thoughts sprang up before my logical brain could dismiss them. What if the fox spirits possess me?
Meeting a shrine worker did not calm my nerves. He seemed even more concerned for my safety than I was. As we parted, he said gravely in Japanese, “Be careful.”
I hurried up the mountain. At the top of the mountain, I saw Kyoto’s lights twinkling below. With the clinking of coins and the ringing of bells, I made more wishes. All around me, the fox statues regarded me with a calm, regal composure. I felt at peace with the spirits that inhabited my orange refuge. I had prayed for strength, and strength had come. My journey was over – not just my journey up Fushimi Inari. It was time for me to stop fleeing from the dangers of radiation. It was time to go home.
Private Tour: Arashiyama and Fushimi Inari Tour from Osaka
If You Go:
Fushimi Inari is easily accessible from Kyoto station. Take the JR Nara line to the JR Inari station at 140 yen each way. The shrine is open 24 hours a day, all year round, and the entrance is free.
Bring coins to make wishes. Making a wish with a five yen coin is a fitting amount. Making a wish with one yen is insulting, to both the Japanese and the spirits. Avoid going to Fushimi Inari, or Kyoto for that matter, during Golden Week. Golden Week is a series of holidays between April 29th and May 3rd. This is the most popular time of the year for vacationing. Everything will be packed, including trains and hotels. Accommodations may be more expensive. Another holiday season to avoid is Obon. This holiday season usually between August 8th and 16th, however it will vary on the region in Japan.
Getting there:
There are two international airports in Japan: Tokyo and Osaka. The airport in Osaka is physically closer to Kyoto. Limited express trains will take you from Osaka to Kyoto within an hour. Flights to Tokyo may be cheaper. A journey from Tokyo to Kyoto will involve taking a high speed train or bus from Tokyo to Kyoto. Times and costs for the additional transportation will vary.
Accomodations:
Kyoto has a variety of accommodation choices. There are youth hostels, hotels and ryokans, traditional Japanese bed and breakfasts. If you want the traditional Japanese experience, a stay in a ryokan is recommended. Beware, this may involve public bathing rooms.
Fushimi Inari and Sake Brewery Tour
About the author:
Susan “Eliza” Thomas is an avid traveler, writer and lover of cultural anthropology. After four years in Japan, she is currently living in France. She hopes to give readers cause to question, discuss and deepen their understanding of this ever changing world. You can follow her writing through her blog travelingmochi.wordpress.com/, Twitter @TravelingMochi or Facebook page.
All photos are by Susan Elizabeth Thomas:
My orange path through Fushimi Inari shrine
Fox fountain pouring the purifying water
If you hang your paper fortune on a line, your wish will come true
Tori-shaped wishes of good fortune
A fox statue watches quietly as I journey up the mountain
We had accepted the gracious invitation of our dear friend and former professor, Mohan, to attend his niece’s wedding in New Delhi. He assured us that a traditional Indian wedding was an experience not to be missed. Typically lasting the better portion of a week, it is a lavish celebration. Family and friends come from all parts of the globe to commemorate the nuptials, as well as catch up with those living in distant lands. Parents plan and save for weddings from the time of their child’s birth. Marriages are frequently arranged by parents; however the couple are allowed the final choice.
The official engagement party was to begin at 8 pm; we arrived at 10pm, about the same as the hosting groom’s family. Again it is over-the-top decor, flowers and twinkle lights, food galore, and an open bar. The bride’s family present gifts of jewelry, cash and sweets; a Hindu pundit (priest) blesses gifts and the exchange of rings, which seemed a bit perfunctory given all the glitz. The band cranks up and dancing begins. Jean is a desired dance partner and the only female at the hookah station. We leave exhausted at 3 am, and there are small children still dancing.
Our hennaed hands are dark, dramatic souvenirs of the mehndi. Held in the front courtyard of the bride’s parents’ home, the henna application is an informal family event. People move in and out of the house, children play, delicious smells come from the kitchen–lamb kabobs and goat curry. We sip chilled mango juice as we wait our turn with the henna artists; one of the aunts plays a drum and soft singing follows. What a privilege it has been, being folded into the family. At last night’s party, we were asked if we were relatives from Kabul! Tonight is another twinkly function of food, drinks, flowers, hookah…is that Mohan in a conga line with a basket on his head? He deems it the “Punjab Soul Train”.
We are introduced to IST: Indian Standard Time. Nothing starts on time, everything takes longer than expected, punctuality is not a prized virtue. The official wedding day has arrived. Traffic is heinous, so we are over two hours late. However, we are among the first of the 800 or so guests to trickle in. The decor of flowers, fabric and lights is amplified for tonight; an army of waiters laden with trays of hot hors d’oeuvres and drinks resembling mojitos descend as we enter. A great ruckus draws us back outside; the groom and his family have arrived.
Dusk fell as we wound through a cypress grove filled with some half a million graves. The faithful have been buried here since the Kobo Daishi died in 835 AD. Famed as a poet, painter and calligrapher, and for bringing Shingon Buddhism to Japan, the Kobo Dashi is of the most revered figures in Japanese history. He sits in repose in his mausoleum, the Oko-in, where monks still bring him food twice a day.
The journey with the Kobo Dashi begins at a stone basin. Ubiquitous to Japanese temples, these basins overflow with running water, usually from a nearby stream. After ladling icy water over our hands, we bowed on crossing the graceful Ichinohashi Bridge; the Kobo Daishi then joined us. A lady in the shop opposite smiled and waved. The path then winds through the Okunoin, a grove of cypress and tombs. Tiny tracks stray from the main walkway, leading to even more tombs hidden in dells and forgotten grottos. The only sound was the chirping of crickets, or the ring of bells as white-robe pilgrims passed. Many of the tombs are simple stone plaques or wooden markers; others are the enormous mausoleums of shoguns. Animal shaped stones are popular, often with red cloths or little aprons tied around them.
After a thirty-minute stroll, the track opens onto Oko-in, the Kobo Daishi’s temple. Suddenly the place bustles, for another path (almost a road) comes straight from the huge car park where the daily buses grind to a halt, delivering tourists intent on achieving enlightenment in a few hours. On this walkway can be found many gaudy (and theologically suspect) edifices, such as the White Ant Memorial, built as a guilt offering by a pesticide company.
Despite hosting over a million pilgrims a year, Koyasan remains a spiritual place. Most leave by mid-afternoon, and by evening we walked deserted streets. Many of the temples lie hidden behind wooden gates and guarded by stone lions, with the occasional glimpse of a balcony.
Originally laid out in 1140 CE during the Song Dynasty, this garden was abandoned for six centuries before being restored in 1770 by a retired official in the Emperor’s court. This frustrated official indicated that he would rather be a fisherman than a bureaucrat which is how this garden derives its name – Master of Nets Garden. This garden of earthly delights is hidden inside the owner’s yard and was intended for his own pleasure.
Grace mentioned that neighboring families would compete for the best garden. If one family had a pavilion constructed for a particular purpose like music or art, the other families, not to be outdone, would do the same and then downplay its significance.
On the east side of the pond, you find the hexagonal Pavilion for the Advent of the Moon and Wind whose image reflects off the calm water. Find your way there by crossing the narrow one-foot wide bridge but be careful or you will become one with the pond.
The Grand Canal, flowing from Beijing to Hangzhou, is 1,795 kilometers long. Segments of the Grand Canal were started as early as 496 BCE but it was only joined into one long artery during the Sui Dynasty (581-618 CE). Over the subsequent centuries, parts of the canal fell into disuse and became blocked up so it is not longer possible to travel to Beijing by water. Fortunately for you the Suzhou segment remains intact and the historic section of the city is still accessible by water. This is your opportunity to enjoy a 40 minute boat ride through some of the most scenic sections of this ancient city.
Over the course of our gondola ride, the width of the canal varied from about 1.5 to 6 meters wide. Along the route, the height of the greyish side walls varied. In some locations, these consisted of the 5 meter high back walls of stone homes that were over 450 years old. Along the route I began to understand how a rat feels as it runs through a maze. This feeling quickly vanished as we passed under the first of several elegant stone pedestrian bridges spanning the canal.
After dinner I sat and waited for Pyle in my room over the Catinat.”
Further along Duong Dong Khoi stands the Rex Hotel. Here the rooftop bar (complete with elephants) overlooks the heart of Saigon; perhaps this is why a bottle of champagne here comes with six waiters. The heavens of the wet season opened just as we sat down, so for an hour or so we had the place – plus waiters – to ourselves. After beginning life as a French garage, during the Vietnam War the Rex Hotel became home to the Press Corps, and probably the CIA. Now it is owned by the Communist Party.
I had seen him last September coming across the square towards the bar of the Continental.”
A few tree-lined blocks to the north of the Rex Hotel, the Cathedral Notre Dame and the Central Post Office face one another across a small square. Although Fowler was dismissive of the style, the cathedral is quite delightful, with each stone shipped from Marseilles, and the stained glass from Chartres.
by Graeme Greene – essential reading
