Kyoto felt right from the moment we arrived. The scale was right. The atmosphere was right. The attitude was right. I wish we’d bailed on Tokyo sooner and come down here.
We took a Shinkansen bullet train from Tokyo, an experience that was surprisingly ordinary. I’ve never taken the “regular” train in Japan, so perhaps the bullet trains are a major step up from those. But for all the hoopla you hear about them, they were nothing special. Frankly, the Flytoget airport train in Oslo is far more stylish.
But back to Kyoto itself.
Our friend Roberta, who is affiliated with Daishisha University in Kyoto, cautioned us against staying downtown near the train station. Too crowded, too congested, too commercial.
We tried to book ourselves into a ryokan, the traditional Japanese inns where you sleep on tatami mats. But . . . well, it just got too complicated. And too cold. We kept reading that the experience is a great one – when the weather is warm.
So since neither one of us is particularly thrilled by chilly hotel rooms, we ignored everything Roberta recommended and took the easy way out; we stayed in the Granvia Hotel, a massive place connected to the JR Kyoto train station.
There were plenty of people downtown. But because most of them were locals, they actually knew what they were doing and where they were going. If we’d been there mid-summer, surrounded by a crush of tourists, I’m sure it would have been maddening. But as it was, we lucked out. We loved the location.
It was central and we were able to catch buses 50 feet from the door. And most of all, the place was bristling with energy. The train station complex seems to be the center of things in modern-day Kyoto. There’s a massive theater in it – it was playing “Beauty and the Beast” when we were there – scores of shop, a department store, restaurants of every sort. It was just gigantic, the equivalent of two or three large city blocks. Best of all, it’s an architectural gem. You don’t have to be doing anything when you go there. It’s good enough to stand there and gawk.
It was a great start.
So much for stereotypes
We went for a walk the night we arrived. It was freezing outside – literally – so the temptation was to leap into the first restaurant we saw. But we’re patient travelers. We resisted. We wanted something that was classy but lively.
Finally, we saw it; the atmosphere inside was festive – bright red walls decorated with funky graphics and tables filled with groups of cheery friends. The mood was infectious. And best of all, they had an English menu and a server who was willing to work with us. Too late, we discovered that this restaurant had no Japanese food. It specialized in Thai, Vietnamese and Chinese. The signs were all in Japanese, so who knew?
The meal was great, though; fried pork dumplings, prawns & veggies with spinach, mushroom and tomatoes. And as an added benefit, the menu was filled with fractured English – “fravored fried frog,” “steamed dumprings” and the like. Ah well, stereotypes come from somewhere, I guess.
The real revelation that night, though, was just how hip a town Kyoto is.
Here’s an occasion where those stereotypes crumble in the face of reality. As I’ve already admitted a couple of times, I had always imagined Kyoto to be this gentle place, a quiet city hopelessly ensnared by its regal past.
Honestly, I was delighted when we stumbled onto Kawaramachi Dori (Kawaramachi Street), an area filled with clubs and restaurants and noisy young people and nifty shops and pachinko parlors and . . . well, all the elements of a dynamic, flourishing downtown.
As cold as it was – and it really was miserable – we kept walking and walking and walking. I felt like a small-town teenager visiting New York City for the first time. Everything was so alluring, so fascinating. Instead of a precious little city, I found a vivacious, seductive place.
Delightful.
On Being Kyoto
I don’t know exactly what it is that makes Kyoto feel so different than Tokyo.
Because of its wartime experience – it was mostly spared allied bombings – it has a richer architectural mix than Tokyo. But the feeling goes much deeper than having old buildings.
Kyoto is a city that is comfortable in its own skin.
Tokyo feels like it is still trying to prove something to the world. It’s like the overambitious neighbor, the guy who’s got to have the Lexus and the newest Mac and the Armani suits to show us who he is.
Kyoto, on the other hand, is more like the lifelong friend who can slip on jeans and a T-shirt and look great, the friend you haven’t seen for years but are able to slip back into easy conversation with right away. Kyoto is a confident city, a city that knows what it is and, more important, likes what it is.
Temples
Lest you think I have some sort of grudge against Kyoto’s temples, I want you to know that I did visit three of them; Nanzen-ji, Ginkaku-ji and Kinkaku-ji, the home of the famed Golden Pavilion.
They’re remarkable buildings. And, because they all charge a few dollars to get in and peek around, they’re well-maintained.
Interestingly, the temple visits were the only time I felt the same sort of shallowness that I did in Tokyo.
It’s not that the temples aren’t impressive. It’s just that there is no sense of reverence about them. As architectural objects, they’re wondrous. But I felt little warmth there, little that was particularly spiritual. It was like visiting one of those villages at Disney’s Epcot Center. They look right. But they feel empty.
Interestingly, the feeling changed as soon as we left the temples themselves. The Philosophers’ Walk, the tree-lined path that we walked between Nanzen-ji and Ginkaku-ji, was peaceful and lovely and . . . well, had much of the emotional impact that I’d hoped to experience in the temples.
By far the worst temple experience was at the Golden Pavilion, immortalized in Yukio Mishima’s “Temple of the Golden Pavilion.” Popularity is part of the problem there. Despite the frigid temperatures, the place was so crowded that they had small armies of cops on hand just to direct traffic. I hate to think what it must be like in the summer.
But what really disappointed me the most was the gift shop. It was so tacky. I know, I know – even the finest of the fine art museums have gift shops. Well, some of them are tacky, too.
Here, they were peddling every conceivable souvenir with pictures of the Pavilion engraved, painted or printed on it. There were wallets (¥2000) and lighters (¥500), posters (¥500), mugs (two for ¥1400) and magnets (¥300). You could even get cookies baked in the shape of the Pavilion for ¥500 a pop.
Sorry. I’ve been to Niagara Falls. I don’t need to come to a renowned temple to find something cheesy.
Kurama Hot Spring (Kurama Onsen)
Roberta said we just had to go to the hot springs at Kurama.
It’s not a simple jaunt. It took about 90 minutes. First you take a city train to the ‘burbs. Then you hop a creaky little train that goes up into the mountains. Once you get to the end of the line, it’s a 10-minute walk - or 2-minute van ride if you’re one of the first off the train - to reach the Kurama Onsen.
Angela and I were both a little intimidated by the prospect of the hot spring. It wasn’t the nudity that was the problem. It was the rules. Like so much else in Japan, visiting a hot spring is a highly codified undertaking.
We’d read oodles about how you must wash thoroughly before entering the pool, about how the washing is to be done seated, not standing, about how it is a cardinal sin to have any soap left on you when you enter the pool.
I thought this was supposed to be relaxing. By the time we paid our ¥1000 and went to our pools – men and women bathe separately – I was totally stressed.
I was relieved to see lockers inside the tiny changing room. Lockers with locks. Not that I didn’t trust people here, but my backpack was filled with money and my camera and my note pads.
I ran over the rules in my head. And then I began.
1.) Strip. Hey, this is easy, I thought. So far, so good.
2.) Wash. OK, this is where it got difficult. Not the washing. But I couldn’t find the washing area. I wandered back and forth through the locker room, into the toilet area, then outside to the pool, trying to look as if wandering in the frigid mountain air was a normal precursor to washing myself. Finally, I saw four tiny stools no more than 18 inches tall hiding behind a corrugated plastic divider. Thank god. I plopped down as gracefully as I could, grabbed a little green washing plastic pan like the other guys were using and turned on the water.
Holy shit!!! The water was about 40°F. It was freezing. I thought this was supposed to be a hot spring. I madly twiddled the controls to find the hot water. After 30 seconds or so of agony, the water finally grew tepid. It never did get hot. I soaped and scrubbed, soaped and scrubbed. And then I rinsed. And rinsed and rinsed and rinsed, the no-soap rule weighing heavily on my mind.
3.) Finally, I was ready. I walked outside. Very weird. It’s been 30 years or so since I’ve strolled around outside naked. And despite the anxiety of preparing for the hot springs experience, the serenity of the surroundings finally started to relax me.
There were about 15 men sitting in the steaming pool, lolling against the sides, looking at the snow-covered mountains and contemplating the heat of the water.
I found an unoccupied stretch of wall, stepped in and sat down.
Bliss.
I’m not a person who’s given to relaxation for relaxation’s sake. I mean, I use conditioner and skin creams and take care of myself like that. But this? Well, if I lived in Kyoto, I could see myself visiting this place often. There are no distractions other than the clouds and the occasional bird sailing through the sky. Like most American men, I don’t take the time to pamper my body and soul in this way. I wonder why.
This is the second time on the trip that I’ve taken the time to be good to myself like this. The first was the Liquidrom in Berlin, particularly the enormous thermal bath in the center of the building.
Like that experience, this is exquisitely soothing and restorative.
Suddenly, my reverie was interrupted by a slapping sound off to the left. In the far end of the pool, a short, stocky guy had stood up and was smacking his belly repeatedly. Occasionally, he’d give the tummy a rest and whack his butt a little. No one else seemed to notice. But I couldn’t take my eyes off him. It was like the opening scene of some weird porn movie.
Before I knew it, it was time to go. Angela and I had agreed to meet in 45 minutes. And I was pretty sure I was already late. I wish we had known how wonderful this was going to be. We could have stayed longer.
I returned to my locker, opened it up and opened the small, plastic-wrapped towel I had brought along from the hotel.
Surprise. It wasn’t a towel at all. Rather, it was a dishtowel-sized piece of woven plastic. It’s the sort of thing that would be great for scrubbing a dirty frying pan.
Trying not to look too nonplussed by my situation, I sidled to the overhead heater and stood as close as I could without looking like I was hogging it. And then I started flicking away at the water on my skin with my scratchy plastic thing.
Ten minutes later, I was dry. Damp, really. But what the plastic lacked as a drying implement, it made up for as a stimulant. My skin now had a wonderfully rosy glow. Or maybe it was scratched.
Angela was waiting for me when I walked out.
“What a screw-up,” I said. “My towel?”
Angie smirked and said nothing, just opened up her coat to reveal a slightly moist blouse that, like my shirt, was sticking to her skin.
“I know,” she said. “Perfect.”
The Ishigaki Café
Once again, it was late and cold and we were searching for a decent restaurant.
But as we walked past University of Kyoto, the scene was too fascinating to pass up. There, on top of an enormous stone wall, a group of students was camped out in a makeshift café they had created atop a flimsy aluminum scaffolding.
As soon as we stopped, they waved to us, gesturing us to come up and join them. I’d seen this thing earlier from the bus and wasn’t sure what it was. Angela paused for a second and that’s all it took for me to make my way to the rickety ladder they had propped against the wall.
“Welcome to the 24-hour Starbucks,” said Takanori Oishi, a friend of one of the organizers and the only one who felt entirely confident in his English.
For more than 50 years, he told us, this wall has been a place where students could hang posters promoting events, airing grievances or sharing any sort of information they chose to. About a month ago, though, the university administration had announced it would knock down the wall to make a new entrance to the campus.
In the way of administrations around the world, there had been no consultation with the students, no consideration about what the wall meant to them, no thought about what it had been used for besides separating the campus from the outside world.
They made an announcement and that was that.
So this bunch decided to take action. For the past three weeks, students from more than 20 campus organizations had been manning what they call the Ishigaki (Stone Wall) Café, serving tea and coffee and telling their story to anyone who dared to climb the spindly scaffolding, squat on the floor and join them.
The scene was reminiscent of student demonstration sites back in the 1960s; messy, crowded, confused, but brimming with enthusiasm and commitment.
Takahiro Suzuki, the young man who was the leader of the moment, made us some wonderfully strong drip coffee – much stronger than the curiously watered-down brew at the local Starbucks, incidentally – offered us pastries and told us why the wall was so important to them.
Japan may be at the center of the electronics revolution. But information, it seems, still flows mostly through formal channels. The wall was once place where the line of information was free and direct.
Suzuki and his friends were determined to keep it that way.
I haven’t learned the outcome of their protest, which began two months ago. When I find out, I’ll let you know.
Posted by David Lyman on April 8, 2005 at 01:16 PM | Permalink
I stumbled upon this site as I was in the process of doing some online research.
As someone who had the privilege and pleasure of living in Japan for a number of years prior to returning to the U.S., I so enjoyed your post! You've made some wonderful and insightful observations here!
Posted by: panasianbiz | Jul 31, 2006 12:25:05 PM
Heard you on Frank Beckman's show this AM on WJR, but missed the beginning of the interview. What happened to the blog? Sounds like there was a diversion with Chivas?? Shame you didn't get to continue with the blog at least once a week with your travels.
Posted by: Karen Breen-Bondie | May 9, 2005 11:30:49 AM
where are ya No word for a month
Ya home???
Posted by: phil | May 5, 2005 5:23:31 PM
Beautifully written David. I laughed out loud.
Posted by: Jim Neale | Apr 26, 2005 11:56:33 AM
