Philosopher's Path

I woke up at 7:30 AM this morning, planning to visit Ryôan-ji, one of Japan's most famous rock gardens.
I had to wade through the sea of shoes at the front door of the hostel to escape. I was trying to beat the crowds to Ryôan-ji, so time was of the essence here. I hopped on my rented bike and headed Northwest.


Arriving around 8:45AM, I was glad that I had left early. Only 9 or so people were viewing the famous garden. I didn't really have a "zen" experience, but I did enjoy the site. People can't decide why the rocks are laid out how they are. There are 15 in all, and only 14 can be viewed from any angle. Some believe they represent Japan's islands, some believe they're a tiger and her cubs swimming to a dragon. I think it's pretty. It's raked at least once a day, and unlike other Japanese rock gardens, there is not a single plant present. As I exited the temple, 50 or so boisterous Germans quickly removed their shoes to get a glimpse of the garden. Just in time...

I rode back east, biking along the border of the Imperial Gardens, to the museum district of Kyoto. The ride was nice, and the breeze created by constant motion was a must in the stifling heat. Luckily, this leg of the journey was all downhill. At times I would prop my feet up of the bike frame and let gravity do it's work. Above is another giant torii outside one of Kyoto's museums.


My plan was to find the Philosopher's Path, a 2km route chosen by, you guessed it, a Japanese philosopher. I began exploring the area at the base of the Eastern hills, sweating like my life depended on it (I guess it does when it's over 100 degrees outside). I walk uphill, passing under a giant brick waterway. I hike about 300 or so meters and decide that I've done enough uphill hiking for one month (Fuji anyone?). A small group of French people descend the hills, their hair soaked. One says, "there's a great waterfall up there, perfect for a quick bath". Again, it pays to go off the beaten track.

I keep climbing, and suddenly realize that there is no one around me. At the base there were countless people, foreign and local. I climb further, and begin to see shrines nestled in the hillside. I reach the waterfall, strip down, and duck under the water. The temperature change is shocking, and I audibly gasp with joy as I let the cold water cover me, wetting my hair. I emerge refreshed, and continue my climb.

I don't make it very far. The mosquitoes find me and swarm around like I'm a supremely popular foreign restaurant. My adventurous spirit is sucked away as my reasonable self tells me that I don't want to be itching mosquito bites on my 11 hour plane ride home tomorrow. I literally run down the hill, stopping only momentarily to take a few breathtaking photos.

I hop on my bike and search for the philosopher's path. I finally find it, and discover that more than half the people I pass are foreign visitors. I can understand why; the shaded path follows alongside a small canal that wraps itself around the Eastern hills. The cicada's screams are deafening, but nothing could ruin this experience for me. I pass by an amazing ink artist (above), sketching the path on a postcard-sized piece of paper. His drawings are amazingly detailed and beautiful, and I realize that I chose the right place to end the day. I head back home for shelter from the heat, and a final dip in the hostel's furo (bath) before dinner.

Philosophical findings? I tried to force myself to contemplate life, the universe, and everything else on my walk on the short path, but was unsuccessful. Improperly named path if you ask me.

Sitting here, though, on this psychologist-style couch in a noisy, hip hostel lounge, I realize that being lost is only a catastrophe if you let yourself panic. Think about the troubles people go through to "lose themselves". Hell, I spent almost 25 simultaneous hours on a plane to lose myself in Japan. It is only when we are totally immersed in the unknown that we have a chance to truly grow and view ourselves in a new light. So next time you're not sure which way to go, look up and notice how different and new the world seems when your path is unclear. Then you can actually check your map, figure out which way is North, and forge a trail.

Lazy Day in Kyoto

My day today started at Kiyomizu Temple. I rented a bike and rode up the east hills that rise next to the city.
It was a tough climb on a one speed bike, but the views were amazing. There were SO many tourists and visitors, but with good reason. The temple is nestled in the tree covered hills, and was well worth the trip.

Right before entering the temple grounds, two college aged Japanese girls approach me from behind and ask, "Do you have the time?" (in English). I tell them that it's 11:45AM, in Japanese, and they still stare at me. I wouldn't have known what they actually wanted, but someone from my hostel told me a story about how a few Japanese students approached her and guided her for free, just to get practice in English. So I say "sure, I have time".

They guide me around the grounds, into what is known as "Buddha's Belly". For $2 visitors descend into the belly of a temple. It is pitch black, and I only have a rope to guide me through. I keep thinking that I'll run into my guides in front, but eventually we make it out with no injuries.

In the above picture, the deck behind me is a Kabuki and Noh stage. What I would give to have seen a show from where I stood...
Kiyomizu temple gets its name from the waters that run down the hillside (mizu is water in Japanese). The water is fresh and clean enough to drink, and visitors drink a cup from one of three separate streams. My eager Japanese guide tells me that from left to right they help you with studies, love, and health. I asked my new friends which one I should drink from. They giggle. I had told them about Kate, so they said that I did not need help in love. Being a graduate, I drank to my health from the right most stream.


We head to a sweet shop and gorge ourselves on free samples. All three of us buy famous Japanese shaved ice, as the temperature was hitting 39 degrees celsius (~102 degrees fahrenheit). We talk in English about Japan, their school, and my life back in the states. One of my favorite customs of Japanese people is their expression of disbelief. They use it often, but always sounds genuine. A slowly rising "eeeeeeaay?" or "sugoi!" comes when I speak of "circus" and being an "actor in Chicago".


My sad face since my bowl was empty.

I finished the day off with another bike ride up and down the Kamo river. Listening to the new Coldplay album, I realize that all it takes for me to feel at home is music.

The sun begins to set, and I realize that I have only one full day left in Japan. There is so much more to see, but it will all have to wait. I also long to return home, though. It's been a full 5 weeks...

Descent from 高野山 (Mt. Kôya)

My lack of Buddhism at our temple was mended this morning.

At 5:50AM, guests of the Shojoushin-in awoke to an amazingly clear sound of the temple's bell in a modest belfry. If you haven't heard a large, well constructed bell tolled correctly, then you don't really understand the expression "clear as a bell". The harmonies and harmonics that it creates penetrate your skull, and not necessarily in an unpleasant way.



By 6:00AM the guests were seated to view the morning ceremony. 3 monks dressed in traditional robes carried their beads and sutras. The center monk hits the singing bowl (an upturned bell), and all monks begin their mantra. I've heard several styles of chants, and I've got to say, Buddhists have it pinned. Though often repetitive and monotonic, when all three monks were chanting in time, again my skull was penetrated, and indeed my soul. With so few monks, every interruption of the mantra could not be overlooked. If one ran out of breath, or caught a cough, or was out of time, I longed for them to find unity again. The ceremony was modest yet ornate, repetitive yet transcendent, complex and simple all at the same time. My language may seem stereotypically contradictory, but I believe one has no choice but to talk of paradoxes when something transcends their understanding.

What I loved about the ceremony was that it was all about the individual monk's relationship to their sutra and to the symbols and metaphors within their rituals. There was no ego that I could see, and the "audience" was mostly ignored (even the monks had little interaction with each other). This is different than most western organized religions that I have observed. I was so honored to be able to view this ceremony, but also felt that it should have been more private. I felt out of place here, and again felt the guilt of supporting the commercial enterprise of an overnight temple stay. Yes, the profits would benefit the temple, but we must be a distraction to the monks. And I have just figured out what bothered me most about it; we were making a spectacle out of something that should not be spectacular: prayer, meditation, connection with something greater than ourselves. By making it a spectacle, we distance ourselves from it, and by the end of the ceremony, I only wanted to be closer to the wisdom within those sutras.

But does this mean that the temple stays are worthwhile? Spreading a way to enlightenment for those who might not be able to experience it in their own country? Needless to say, I am still conflicted.

After a vegetarian breakfast, I ventured to see the Okunoin cemetery in the daylight. It was no less moving. I was braver, and traveled further into the groves of trees, battling mosquitos to gain breathtaking views of miles of gravestones.


I walked to the end of the cemetery to find a large temple. Outside, mounds of smaller gravestones housed statues of monks and lesser deities. Like most of Japan, the experience was humbling.


You cannot look up without seeing a temple on Mt. Kôya. 120 temples and countless shrines propagate Mt. Kôya's gentle mountains. Above is konpon daitou, the central pagoda, which has probably 6 other temples within 30 seconds walk of each other. Only on a place like Mt. Kôya can something so grand become mundane.


To escape the "just another pagoda" effect that oversaturation can have on a human being, I walked away from the hordes of people to the eastern edge of Mt. Kôya. There I found a mountain path entering the hillside. A short climb up and I was confronted with the above, rows of Torii marked the path as sacred ground. Finally I had found my spiritual place: physical exertion, solitude, peace. I began the hike, unsure of where it would take me.

The sounds of birds, cicadas, and the scuttle of underbrush composed the soundtrack. The winding mountain path sometimes opens its green walls of trees to reveal breathtaking views of the mountainside. At 840 or so meters, Mt. Kôya is litearally blanketed in green. I continue to hike in solitude, thanking every step that I have found this path away from the tourists that flock to the mountain to witness its holiness.

After 3 or 4km and two separate shrines, I reach the end of the path feeling accomplished, masculine. I had entered the wilderness alone, survived the journey, and gained a bit of enlightenment to boot. I look down at a sign that says: Kôya Women's Pilgrammage Path. So much for my masculinity. I am reminded that spirituality and religion transcend gender. Above is featured a statue of Koba Daishi, founder of Mt. Kôya as a place of meditation, and creator of kana, the Japanese alphabet.

I returned down the cable car, into a mountain train, through Osaka's subway system, and back to Kyoto by shinkansen to rest my mountain weariness in the comfort of the hostel; to reflect on what I had experienced on Mount Kôya.

高野山 (Mt. Kôya)

(Note! Please click on images for larger versions!)

I had only just arrived in Kyoto for a night when I set back out for Mt. Kôya. The train system in Japan is amazing. It was extremely confusing at first, but there is method to their madness. Trains run on time, all the time. One of my favorite features is the movable seats; the seatbacks can move forward and back to allow passengers to face one another, and ALL the seats are comfortable (if you're lucky enough to get one). I'm not looking forward to returning to Chicago and being at the mercy of a sadly, badly, madly run public transportation system.

My route took me from Kyoto to Ôsaka to Mt. Kôya. I took the "slow" and cheaper train to Ôsaka which took a measly 25 minutes. I bought myself a bentô (above) and enjoyed on my comfortable ride to Mt. Kôya. A couple of kids sat across from me, staring at me from time to time. "o-bentô!" one of the kids happily exclaimed. She was 6, and her speaking ability was probably on par with mine.


I didn't bring much to do on the train, counting on the views to make the time go by. For local travelers, though, PSP handheld games and cell phones with television capability whittle the hours away.

When will the US catch up with Japanese cellular phones? Probably never. I just remember the sunset on Mt. Fuji; I felt high tech with my snazzy Nikon camera, but then my Japanese neighbors busted out their tiny solar panel cell phone chargers as soon as the sunlight touched our faces. I checked my cell phone there: full reception.

Luckily I didn't need television capability on my cell phone. The views I had counted on did not let me me down. Me and other international backpackers would spring to life as trees cleared on the steep train ride into the mountains surrounding Mt. Kôya.


I arrived at Mt. Kôya and checked into my "hotel", a genuine Buddhist temple. 清浄心院 (shojoushin in) was remarkably peaceful and beautiful. I immediately went to the bath to wash the day off. The temple included two perfectly maintained gardens, 3 stories of guest lodging, a ceremony hall, and more that we didn't even have access to.

Ikebana inside the monastery's dining hall.

We were treated to a Buddhist vegetarian dinner. I have never had better tofu before in my life. Slightly sweet, not too soft, yet still melted in your mouth. However, I was starting to notice that this was going to be less of a Buddhist experience than I had expected. The other international guests were at times loud, talked about anything but temple life, and included a family that filmed their toddler as he loudly paraded the dining hall, shouting words in a language I didn't know. My room was huge; the sleeping quarters itself was a 9 tatami mat floor (13 meters square?), and included a tea room, balcony, sink area... and an extremely Buddhist television.

I was still pleased with the accomodations though. My balcony overlooked a garden with a small pond, the room was serene, and the whole monastery was silent after dinner (luck deposited the rambunctious toddler "celebrity" in another building).


I spent the night wandering the largest graveyard in Japan, the Okonoin cemetary. I poured water over my hands and rinsed out my mouth (customary before entering a holy space in Japan), and as soon as I started walking I was surrounded my ancient monuments of stone. Confronted with simultaneous fear, awe, and knowledge of my own mortality, I was almost brought to tears. My breath quickened and my pace slowed as I walked the path at dusk. The main path was over 2km, and every few meters there were side-paths entering the dark palace of gravestones scattered amongst the trees. I thought of the massive gravestones above as smaller versions of ancient trees that sprouted all along the mounatinside. I imagined the inhabitants' souls joining the ancient trees.

I stayed well into the night, and even passed a large group of children, sitting on small steps on the main path. A teacher asked for volunteers for who wanted to go alone, first, down the path. I had seen people in masks hiding along the path, and the gloomy atmosphere was instantly lifted; the teachers had transformed the cemetary into a improvised haunted house. For the next hour, screams of glee and terror echoed off the hills of moss, stone, and maple tree trunks.

I returned to the temple exhausted and ready for sleep. The morning services would begin at 6AM the next day, and I certainly did not want to miss them...

I want to ride my 自転車！ (bicycle)

It was hard to leave the Ryokan. They do a good job at making it feel like home. It was a little lonely and quiet, though, and I was looking forward to stay in a backpacker's hostel.

I moved my bags to K's House, the hostel, and spent $7 to rent a bike for the day. It took me almost 3 minutes to figure out how to unlock it. There is a lock in the back that inserts a metal rod into the spokes of the back tire, and when you unlock it, the rod springs back into it's cover. Self contained, simple, Japanese.

Kyoto was made for bikes. The outer rims of the city are hilly, but most of the rest of it is flat. I had a few close calls due to the overwhelming pedestrian and bicycle traffic, but I enjoyed the dodging game. The Kyoto sidewalks are the most disorderly thing I've experienced in Japan. They have marked parts of the sidewalk for bicycles, but no one pays attention to them. I try to stay to the left, but this often ends in a game of chicken with an incoming pedestrian or another bike. Eventually, I get the hang of it. It reminded me of the madness of Chinese traffic patterns.I biked quite a while uphill to the Golden Pavilion. It was touristy, but pretty, and worth the trip.

The ride back was even more fun. The trek back to the hostel was all downhill, and riding through the wind cooled me down. I headed East to the Kamo river, which I had a picture of in my last post.
On either side of the river there are trails made for pedestrians and, of course, bikes. I ate lunch at a French style cafe, and parked my bike when I saw this pathway accross the river. 7 kids were armed with nets, trying to catch bugs, fish, and who knows, maybe a frog. I put my hot sandled feet into the running waters: refreshing.

I got back to the hostel with it's free, fast internet. Thank god. I'm sunburned, worn out, but sitting on a nice lounge style couch surrounded by travellers of all nationalities.

I won't be able to post tomorrow because I'm headed to Mt. Koya to do a shukubo (temple stay). I'll be sure to take pictures and let you all know about it soon!

京都に来た (Kyoto Arrival)

After getting off of Mt. Fuji, all I wanted was to take a shower. Luckily, extremely close to the Gotemba JR Train Station, there was an Onsen (public bath). I hoped on a bus, and 10 minutes later I arrived at the front of the Onsen. I removed my shoes, cleaned my disgusting feet off outside of the onsen's entrance, and went in. It was 500¥ for 2 hours, easy. I bought a wash cloth and rented a bath towel. I make this sound simple, but this involved me entering the locker room, removing my clothes, realizing I didn't have a wash cloth or towel, putting my clothes back on, going to the desk and getting the towels, removing my clothes again, before finally entering the bath. 1.5 hours of paradise. There was a nice view of the hillside, and the bath was SO hot. I had to wash myself 3 times outside the bath before the water wasn't grey from volcanic ash anymore (bathers wash themselves clean before entering the communal bath). After 1.5 hours, I had had enough of naked Japanese men. I was ready to go to Kyoto.

I had almost fallen asleep inside the onsen, so now the only thing I wanted was to sleep somewhere comfortable. Luckily, 30 minutes later I was boarding the shinkansen bound for Kyoto. I bought a small sandwich at the station, sat in my reserved seat, and promptly fell asleep.


I arrived at Kikokusou Ryokan, a Japanese style inn. I was greeted at the door and escorted to my room. The above was waiting for me: hot green tea (smelled like Dragon Well, for those who know their tea) and a small sweet treat packaged perfectly. Not moments later the Okami (lady of the house) entered my room, very politely excusing herself for disturbing me, saying that since it was so hot outside, she had prepared cold green tea for me, and also brought a pot of cold water. She excused herself to leave, bowing deeply multiple times, and left me to myself.


The ryokan is beautiful. There is a small bridge that traverses a small stream that leads to the garden. Koi swim in the small pond, and a stone garden lantern overlooks a small bridge (only the staff enter this garden). My room is on the second floor, with a small porch area overlooking its beauty. At all hours of the day, I can hear trickling water


Kyoto is a beautiful city which I believe has an identity crisis. It was once Japan's capital, and is definitely a large metropolitan city. It is famous for being like "old Japan" with many shrines, temples, and beautiful gardens. However, many of the locals obviously desire a more urban city. Vending machines are juxtaposed with old, one-story houses; beautiful irrigation systems are littered with gomi, trash. The city is fighting with itself to preserve some of the older buildings that developers wish to tear down to build more high-rises. It's still beautiful place though.


Before I had my futon prepared for me, one of the staff brought me an English map of the surrounding area with major sights clearly marked. I slept 10 hours straight, but still had trouble standing up in the morning.

The ryokan borders a beautiful garden (see above) that I couldn't get enough of. Ancient style tea-houses, cranes, koi, ravens, impecably designed flora. Despite the mid 90 degree weather, I didn't want to leave.

I then returned to my arrival point, Kyoto-eki (station). The station is ridiculously modern, with 4 story escalators, solar panels, a large department store, countless smaller shops, and taxis everywhere. I ate ramen on the 9th floor, and finished off with delicious matcha ice cream with rice-waffles on top (matcha=sweet green tea, best EVER). I now strike up conversations with anyone that gives me the time of day. They usually just want to know where I came from, and how I learned Japanese, but the conversations are getting longer and more complicated with every day. I'm finally not feeling as lonely...

I ended up at Sanjuusangen-dou, a temple recommended to me by a nice lady that I met at the matcha shop. 1001 kannon statues, the Buddhist bodhisattva for compassion, filled the long hall. Countless Buddhist statues stood in front of them, most of them National Treasures. The shoeless visitors quietly walk the length of the dimly lit hall. The smell of insense fills the air, and monks take offerings of candles, insense, and sake (rice wine) to the statues, most of them to the giant Kannon in the middle of the hall.


I returned to take a bath in the furo, the ryokan's public bath lined with rocks. At 6:30, I was treated to a 5-course Japanese style dinner by the Okami. Of course, I had a large bottle of Asahi beer to go with it.

Now my futon is calling me. The smell of the tatami grass flooring is intoxicating. I think I'll miss that, and the closest attention to aesthetic perfection, the most.

Oyasuminasai! (Goodnight!)

富士山 (Mt. Fuji)

If you haven't heard the Japanese saying, here it is.

"A wise man climbs Mt. Fuji once. A fool climbs it twice."



3776 meters. You can climb Mt. Fuji from any number of stations, and I was smart enough to choose the lowest one.

I first knew that what I was doing was stupid when I realized that I was the only person on the bus to the 5th station (basically the highest point that is bus accessible). I struck up a conversation with the bus driver, and we talked about his job and why I came to Japan. It was nice. It was my first time holding a conversation and being able to say everything that I wanted to in Japanese. A day of firsts.

I got off the bus at the Fifth Station, and I expected him to say "ganbatte", which means "do your best", the equivalent of good luck.

As with all of my Japanese expectations, I was mistaken. He said, "ki o tsukete", which means be careful.




I started climbing the Gotemba route at about 3:00PM. The bus station was at about 1400 meters. 2376 meters to go! I tried to forget this fact.

The second thing that hinted at me being an inexperienced idiot was that I never once saw anyone else climbing up the mountain. Everyone I saw was going down. Given, I was going up, so I would have to overtake someone to see them, but this did not quell the small feeling of uneasiness inside me.

However, it was only a small feeling. It was much overpowered by the joy of physical exertion, being on Japan's most famous mountain, and seeing a landscape that looked like I was on a different planet. The base of Mt. Fuji is covered in ash. It's basically black and gray gravel, and trails are carved out of it like grooves in a giant Zen Rock Garden (see above).




To add to the other-worldliness, the base of the mountain is usually covered in a lazy mist. Dew collected on my hair and eyelids, and it was a wonderful cool break from the heat of the summer. Every once in a while the haze would clear, and I was left with a beautiful view of the peak and the trails around me.

The hike wasn't bad though. Most of Mt. Fuji is a very steady climb. Only towards the top is the hiking nasty. It's just the shear MAGNITUDE of the volcano that makes it difficult. That and the fact that all the trails are covered in different sized volcanic rocks. Slipping and almost falling becomes routine.




I reach the 7th station by about 9:00PM. I realize that I left WAY too early to time my ascent to the sunrise. However, I was treated to a sunset on my ascent, and the weather was perfectly mild.

The photo above is taken from the 7th station as the moon rose well after the sun had set. On this day, even at that height I was well above the cloud line, and it began to feel like the top of the world.


At the 7th station there was a dorm-style inn, of which there were 3 on the Gotemba trail. I thought I would be tough and stay outside the night perched on a bench instead of paying the 50,000¥ for a bed. I just had to stay 5 hours, and it's summer, right?

It was freezing. It took me 30 minutes in the cold for me to fork over the money. It was worth every yen. The bed was extremely warm, and my iPod drowned out the sound of Japanese men's snoring.

I slept until 2AM. Not the best sleep. At all. But hey, I was warm. I set out to climb to the top. Slightly recharged by my sleep, I took my time to climb the last 1000 meters or so. The going was rough. I bought a nice LED lamp affixed to my head to see the trail at night. I hate rocks now, by the way. So much.

It took me 1.5 hours. The altitude wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. The problem was a distinct lack of water. As you ascend, water gets more expensive, as much as 700¥ ($7) per 250ml bottle. I set out with 1.5 liters thinking that I would ascend in one night. I bought a couple of bottles at different stations on the way, but from now on there were no stations until I reached the top, and I had taken my last sip.

I reached the top at 3:30AM. I was greeted with a burst of energy as I crossed the tori (gate) marking the peak as a holy place. When I reached the edge of the crater, my world exploded. I couldn't help but very audibly gasp seeing the cavern. Again, the thing about Mt. Fuji is the shear magnitude. The crater was massive, a gaping crevice shadowed by the moonlight.

All this said, it was freakin' freezing. I had not brought warm enough clothes, and I had to spend another hour on the peak until the sun rose.

Luckily I didn't have to wait alone. I sought out the East edge of the peak and found a large amount of people perching, waiting for the sunrise. I found a spot, and shivered away the next hour.




Longest sunrise of my life. It was an amazing feeling, wanting only one thing; the sun to rise and make the earth warmer. What made it even more amazing was that every other person perched at this spot (about 75 of them) wanted the exact same thing. And we all knew it. And we didn't need to say a thing (though some Japanese boys kept whispering "samui-yo", it's cold).

If there's one thing you can rely on, it's time. Eventually, the sun rose, and the world became warmer. And it was beautiful.

I made the hike around the crater (almost not worth the 45 minutes, beautiful, but I was EXHAUSTED and parched), and saw hundreds of people just arriving on the peak.

I descended. I hate rocks. Going down a rocky slope is worse than going up. And did I say I was exhausted?

Once I reached the ash-covered part of the mountain, though, I discovered why I had seen so many people descending, but not a single person ascending. Not many people start up the Gotemba trail since it's the lowest starting point. However, many people go down it because they like to run on the ashen part, like a giant sand dune. I read that it takes 30 minutes to descend that part of the mountain, running the whole time. I ran down much of the mountain-side, wishing that my legs were in better shape. I reached the haze and began running through mist. It was extremely liberating.




Breakdown of my Mt. Fuji climb:

Time spent on the mountain: 18 hours
Time spent climbing the mountain: 13 hours
Ascent time: 9 hours (with 1 hour food break)
Descent time: 3 hours
Vertical meters ascended: 2376m
Time before I'll do it again: Long

The third time that I realized that I was an idiot (since all good things come in threes) was when I woke up this morning. I could hardly roll out of bed. ('>.<')

I hope you all enjoyed this! I have so many more beautiful pictures. I'll probably start a flickr account when I get home and I'll send you all links.