Day 3: Shimogamo vs Shimogorio
Still in Osaka. The hot hot sun was beating down from Osaka-jo (castle) to Dotombori in Minami. Unfortunately the heat doesn't let up after the sun goes down, meaning one doesn't want to confuse the Kyoto shrines Shimogomo and Shimogorio after dark with a 10kg bag. I called for help.
"You had better take a taxi, it is not so far," said the Uno House comb-over man. So I obediently shelled out 880 yen for a 10-minute ride in a cab with an automatic door when I could have easily hopped on bus 4 stopping near the ryokan for 220 yen.
Uno House turns out to be a creaky wooden Japanese house sandwiched in a row of (shop)houses, boasting a curious number of interconnected tatami rooms. My room is located on the second floor and appears to be part of a larger L-shaped room which can be divided into three separate rooms through the use of the Japanese sliding doors. At the back of the house is another set of steep stairs, which different groups of Japanese youngsters thunder up in the evenings and down in the mornings, but they evidently do not lead up to my section of the second storey. Perhaps they lead to a third storey, or some other secret rooms and corridors that appear and disappear. Very curious indeed.
Have an American named Matt Potter (he oddly reminds me of the other Matt I used to know) in tow for the day, who was appointed the day's map reader. Safely navigated Nijo-jo but hit a snag in south-east Kyoto. While a tad loud, the American is intelligent and humourous, although not particularly suited to map-reading. Or perhaps its just that his inability to read Chinese makes it more difficult to recognise the kanji (traditional Chinese words). In a strange coincidence (or fate), he has been teaching in my former adopted city for 3 years and is also making his escape, via Kyoto and Taiwan.
While strolling the Nijo-jo gardens, I am educated on the harvesting of maple syrup, which apparently isn't unlike the harvesting of latex from rubber trees. The harvest can even be consumed without any processing. Amazing. I wonder why people do not harvest syrup from maple trees that grow in the parks and gardens as they picnic, with slices of bread on hand.
I also learn that Caucasians like to be in the sun because it "feels nice on the skin", and because they think a tan looks healthy. In Japan (and China), the women are all wrapped up in long gloves, long sleeves, big hats, sun umbrellas and long trousers in a bid to maintain a pearly white skin tone. The American sports a red neck by the end of the day.
Found a bus back to the ryokan thanks to a pair of helpful Japanese aunties, who tried to communicate in Japanese and then remarked to each other that I look like a Japanese when I fail to be able to respond to their satisfaction.
Day 5: More of the city
Have to get to the Nishijin Textile Centre by cutting through the Imperial Palace Park, and return by 11 am for check-out. Cursed the Japanese penchant for laying the wide park roads with gravel (or little grey pebbles). I am late for check-out by 15 minutes, but am not fined, although one of the many Uno House edicts proclaimed I would be.
The temptation to purchase a great number of goods both at the textile centre and at the Nishiki Market is great. There is a big float of white lanterns being constructed along the 2-lane Shiji-dori shopping street in preparation for Gion Matsuri, a festival which will see a large parade of floats along the Gion streets on 17 July. The lanterns of this particular float seem to be sponsored by the shops along the street. It incites the masses to whip out cameras and the traffic to bottleneck.
Day 6: Down Hozu-gawa
My feet are tired. It is thus a good day for a 2-hour boat ride down the Hozu-Gawa out in the Sagano mountains. Three men man the boat - two in front and one at the back. In front, one rows with a large wooden paddle and the other pushes the boat along with a long bamboo stick, and the fellow at the back steers (I presume).
Two of the three men are old uncles, and one is a young chap with the requisite dyed hair who also functions as a guide (but not in English). He wears funny shoes that seem to be styled after the Japanese socks worn with Japanese clogs!
I am the only foriegner in the boat, which holds 20 to 30 sight-seers. This boat-load of Japanese tourists exclaim "woooooohhhhh" everytime the boat goes down some light rapids! It's tickling!
Rain in the late afternoon. For a free bus ride with my Japan rail pass, I single out the JR 3 bus bound for a place called Syu-zan, but as it is already evening, I am unsure if there will be a return bus. A question for the tourist information counter, surely?
What do you (want to) do there, I am asked. Just to see, I shrug. It is very far, 1.5 hours, I am told. Yes, but when is the last bus back to Kyoto station? It is the countryside, you cannot stay there, I am further informed. So when is the last bus back to Kyoto station, I persist. "I do not understand why you want to go there." I give up and leave. I get on the next bus anyway. It turns out to be a cool (literally) hillside suburb.
Day 7: Ohara
I am due for Nara tonight, but I decide to visit my friend Itsuo's favourite Kyoto temple, Sanzen-in, out in Ohara in the "far northern outskirts". It is in fact only an hour's bus ride away, in the tranquil Ohara hills.
Hungry! There's food in my bag, but I dare not eat it. My suspicions are confirmed when a monk tells a couple eating some sushi that eating within the compound is not allowed. The same monk tried to educate me on the flowering plants when he noticed me picturing them. Alas, would've liked to be able to reciprocate conversationally but am reduced to the usual nodding and smiling stupidly.
There are various other shrines and temples spread across the neighbourhood, but I have to leave for Nara. Wish I discovered Ohara sooner! Console myself by consuming my sushi at a hidden playground near the forest of pine trees.
