Hiraizumi (busy weekend part 2)

Ages ago before I discovered the novels hiding under my desk at school, I was reading a Japan guidebook and discovered the existence of this extremely historical little town, currently housing only 9000 residents but once a cultural capital of over 100,000 people, widely accepted to have rivaled Kyoto for culture during its height. That height was even earlier than Sendai's: about 1100-1200, although at least one temple may have existed as early as 850. Astonishingly, some of the buildings and more of the artwork and artifacts have survived in Hiraizumi than in Sendai.

I boarded a Japan Railways train at 9.01 am from Sendai, and quickly discovered that traveling on an older JR train without a Japanese speaker is quite a stressful experience. The newer trains have things like bilingual maps, LED displays of upcoming stations, and pre-recorded English messages; this train had nothing but the conductor occasionally saying "garblegarble Ichinoseki [my station] garblegarble desu." I had to just hope that he was saying "This train is bound for Ichinoseki" and not "If you wanted to go to Ichinoseki, you should have gotten off at the last station; this train is bound for Tokyo/Hokkaido/the seventh circle of hell." At one point, I was shuffled, by a kind conductor who made the correct assumption that blonde hair meant I had no idea what was going on, to the front car of the train -- at which point we continued on our way and left the rest of the train behind! Very scary stuff, traveling in a foreign language.

I did, however, make it to Ichinoseki with no problems, where I boarded, for the last eight miles of the trip to Hiraizumi, the most quintessentially Japanese train that could possibly exist:
That is a train car with tatami flooring, kotatsu tables, legless chairs, and karaoke at one end. We all say "Only in Japan" quite a lot, but I am pretty sure that this is REALLY only in Japan.

Incidentally, those old women yelled at me because I changed into the slippers that were provided at the entrance and walked onto the tatami with them. This was, sadly, only the first instance of the day in which I proved to elderly Japanese people that all Westerners were raised in barns. I still don't know where you were supposed to go with the slippers.

Upon arrival in Hiraizumi, I spurned bus tours, bike rentals, and the tourist information centre in favour of saving money and being independent. Why I felt that it would be weak to visit the info centre, I don't know. But instead I struck out, on foot, for Chusonji Temple, about a 25-minute walk from the station.

Chusonji was founded in either 850 or 1100, depending on who you ask. It stands at the top of a hill, which means that to reach it you have to climb a cypress-lined gravel path. Much of the temple as it exists today is a series of relatively small shrines. Monks still live and worship there and the Hondo, or Main Hall, still houses religious rituals. As such, it provided a rather odd atmosphere that was half-touristy and half-religious-pilgrimagey. Some people prayed and lit incense; other people (and not just foreigners!) took pictures. Some stalls sold beautifully handcrafted articles for worship; others sold cell phone charms featuring Hello Kitty, Doraemon, and Stitch.

Two of its original buildings, from the 12th century, still stand. The Konjikido, or Golden Hall, is a 5.5-square-meter sculpture of the Western Paradise of Pure Land Buddhism. It looks much like a very elaborate and detailed shrine, with the Amida Buddha in the centre, surrounded by bodhissatvas -- except that it is covered inside and out with pure gold leaf and inlay work of ivory (from Africa) and mother-of-pearl (from Southeast Asia). It is stunning and breathtaking in its beauty and scope.

It is protected behind plate glass, and photographs are strictly prohibited. It defies written description, though, so I stole this from the Visit Hiraizumi website:

The Kyozo, the other remaining building, was the sutra repository and is now much less impressive than the Konjikido. But you can also see the sutras in an on-site museum. They were written with gold ink on dark blue paper; all are beautiful even for those who don't read Japanese, but one in particular was written so that the characters created the image of a many-storied pagoda. From a distance, it looked like a very detailed painting with slightly fuzzy lines; only close-up did you realize that the lines were actually made up of tiny, perfect kanji. I found the sutras, and also the many large Buddha sculptures, each carefully covered with gold leaf and adorned with jewels, as spellbinding in their own way as the Konjikido.

On my way back to the path down the hill, I happened to be walking by the Hondo just in time for a demonstration of Kawanishi Nenbutsu Kenbai dancing by local school kids. It involved some pretty intricate fan work and a good deal of stomping, turning, and rotating in a circle. It also involved extremely elaborate costumes, topped off with feathered headdresses.
There were three costumed adults standing near me, and a tour guide offered to approach them and ask them to take a picture with me. She asked one, and he brought his buddies with him:
She also wrote down the name of the dance style in romaji (Western characters) for me. I love Japanese people.

Motsuji Temple also dates from the 12th century, but all its buildings have been destroyed by fire (some more than once) and it is now best known for its garden, which does still exist in more or less its original form. The garden is dominated by a large man-made pond, which was designed to suggest several different geographic conditions found in Japan. This is mountains:
The pond is fed by a feeder stream that was excavated in nearly-perfect condition in the early 20th century and has been flowing for over eight hundred years. It is quite awe-inspiring to stand beside it and know that you are standing where monks used to stand and meditate, looking at the same rocks, smoothed by hand to be perfectly round, that they did.
You can circle the pond in two ways. The first I took is maybe ten yards back from the pond and takes you past the sites of all the burned buildings. The second is right at the water's edge and points out the different geographic conditions created by the rocks and water. Neither lets you forget that you are essentially visiting a ruin -- although Motsuji, like Chusonji, is still fully operational. By this point, all threat of rain was gone and it was a perfect, sunny fall afternoon. I had already learned a lot and been thoroughly overwhelmed, and it was great to quietly take in the colored leaves and the sunshine in an ancient temple garden.

I didn't stay in town for dinner; by that time, I was very tired and ready enough to go home that I didn't want to wait around until I got hungry. So I ate the peanut butter sandwich I'd packed for lunch and never bothered to eat, while sitting on the train wondering all the same things I'd wondered on the way there.