In Kyoto, The River is Where It's At

This afternoon ("this" being Friday) I decided that I desperately needed to be surrounded by books that I could easily read (ie: in English).

Using the miracle of the internet I found a large bookstore in downtown Kyoto named "Junkudo", which supposedly had a large gathering of books in English. (I discovered earlier this week that the place I had ASSUMED would have heaps of English books--Kinokuniya Book Store--is closing at the end of this month. Weep for me).

Bob decided to accompany me on this jaunt, partly because most of the journey via bike would be along the Kamo River, and in this newly non-horribly-hot-and-humid-weather, the ride would be pleasant. And he decided to go with me partly because once I got away from the river, there was a high likelihood I'd get turned around and most likely mildly lost. Not that this is a big problem, but it is inconvenient. Especially when one wants to be surrounded by books as soon as possible.

But before I get to the books, a bit of background on why the river is such a big whoop-de-doo:

There is a popular belief that Japanese houses are small. Unless one is reasonably wealthy, this is pretty much true. Japanese houses also have many beautiful sliding doors, which are made out of beautiful things like rice paper and panes of glass and painted wood. Our house has a number of these lovely doors. I personally like these doors very much. I like the way I can take doors out from between 2 rooms and make one big room. I like being able to add doors to make 2 small rooms. I'd have these doors in every place I live from now on except....they are about as soundproof as a coffee filter.

So if one has a noisy hobby--such as playing an instrument or tap dancing--these doors don't do the trick for being soundproof. And since the houses, as I previously mentioned, are small, hobbies that require vast spaces--such as juggling, gymnastics or cheerleading-- can't be done in the average home either.

So where do people go to do indulge in their loud and/or spacious hobbies and favorite activities?

Many of them go to the river.

We rode for about 30 minutes, from our house downtown to the bookstore. Along the way we witnessed a truly amazing array of activity:

Musical instruments being played:

1 ukelele, 3 guitars, 1 slide trombone, 2 shakuhachi, 1 flute, 1 banjo, 1 trumpet, 2 clarinets,

1 harmonica

Sports activities being enjoyed:

soccer, frisbee, juggling, cartwheels, tumbles, fishing, wading, jogging, group dancing, individual dancing, tennis, badminton, skateboarding, roller skating

Herds of dogs being walked:

curly-haired dachshunds, short-haired dachshunds, doberman pinschers (ears down), chihuahuas, small and large poodles, a basset hound wearing a bandana tied around his/her head, making him/her look like a rather round, horizontally positioned old woman, a black and white Australian shepherd, several terriers, a pug, a pekinese wearing a pink and white dress and (drumroll please) an actual honest-to-goodness BOXER.

We saw the boxer as we were riding back up the ramp towards our street from the river path. I thought Bob was going to fall off his bike. Or asphyxiate. Or both.

The older man walking the boxer (whom he introduced to us as "Junie") immediately recognized the glint in Bob's eye, and walked over to us so Bob could pet it. Junie also recognized Bob's enthusiasm and stared unwaveringly at Bob until we got close enough for Bob to do some serious petting. Bob got off his bike and groveled around the dog for a few minutes. The lovely man even let Bob take a picture of Junie.

And, quite obviously, all Bob really talked about on the way home was Junie.

But I digress.

Aside from the musical performances, various sports and vast array of dogs, there were all the usual people enjoying a beautiful early Fall day. Older couples carrying shopping bags, gossiping together. Heaps of young children out with their families. Toddlers and preschoolers wading in the shallows or rolling on the grass. Babies being dangled so their toes touched the water, or being pushed in strollers, their faces reflecting various emotions ranging from enchanted to "Incoming tantrum--brace yourselves". People sat on the many benches, reading or writing, sipping from bottles of cold green tea or nibbling on bentos.

All in all, it made for a lovely bike ride.

We reached our desired ramp up to the main street level and wandered around for a bit, pushing our bikes. Eventually we found the building that housed the bookstore, and then cast about for a place to park our bikes.

It didn't take us long to discover that the riding of bikes downtown is discouraged, as was exemplified by the fact that every spot that could hold a bike had a sign plastered on it warning that bikes would be towed away.

After some fruitless searching, we parked in one of these sign-plastered places anyway, wedging our bikes in between about 30 other illegally parked bikes.

And now you know what comes next.

Yes.

The bookstore.

Okay, it wasn't a Borders superstore, or a massive Barnes and Noble. It didn't have the stock potential of Amazon.com or the quirky, intense beauty of a small locally owned bookstore.

But it was a bookstore.

And up on the 7th floor were the foreign books.

They actually had a respectable collection. Lots of fiction, classics, kids books. A tall shelf of "New Releases. Magazines from the United States, Britain, Australia, France, Germany, Spain and probably a few more places that I couldn't detect in the stacks and piles.

I found a few books I wanted. Then I turned them over and looked at the prices. Then I put them back on the shelves. It was clearly Kindle time.

In the end I got a teachers guide for the Japanese book Patrick and Aya will be using for their Japanese lessons, and I got a book for Patrick from a series he had been reading back in California.

But really, the point was not so much to BUY a book. My point was to be SURROUNDED by books. To pull them out and read their covers and then slide them back again. And to verify to myself that if I DID have a massive and dysfunctional need for a book, I would have somewhere to go for book therapy. (And like all good therapy, it is expensive)

Once we left the bookstore Bob suggested we go have a coffee at Starbucks. This particular Starbucks has a huge deck that hangs out over the river. And so there we sat like actual adults, cool breeze blowing off the nearby mountains, sipping coffee, watching the incredible array of people and sounds and languages that rolled past us, just like the river rolled past us.

And it was good.

The ride home was a bit more taxing and a lot less picturesque than our ride into town. By the time we got done drinking our coffee and had retrieved our bikes, the wind had kicked up to blow in our faces, the sun had lowered and the river paths were packed with people heading home.

As we were.

After a day along the river.

Picnics and Persnickety Appliances

I have found that when our lives are either way too busy, or way too empty, it is best that I share my stories in snippets....otherwise I'll start ranting and wandering and then who knows where we'll end up? So here are a couple of snippets for you.

1. Picnic, Kamogawa Style

Last Thursday Bob, the kids and I escaped the stuffy confines of our house and trekked down to the Kamo river. We had plans to meet one of Bob's fellow professors (and her rescue dog Jack) for a picnic.

We made it out of the house in good form. A few complaints here and there about shoes and hot weather and walking, but otherwise in good form.

It is about a 10 to 15 minute walk from our house to the closest Starbucks, where we had planned to meet Pascale and Jack. They were waiting outside the Starbucks, Pascale sitting at a metal table, Jack looking highly concerned beneath the table at her feet.

After general introductions, we collected Jack and walked a few more minutes on to the department/grocery store "Vivre", where we were going to pick up some obento for lunch. We took turns going in the store, since Jack, unsurprisingly, was not allowed to grocery shop.

Another 5 minutes walk and eventually we made it down to the Kamo River. The Kamo River is a lovely spot--wide banks with bike paths (paved with alternating patches of concrete pavement, asphalt or sand, depending on how close you were to a bridge or central part of the city), benches, grassy areas for sports and even water fountains and faucets here and there. Except for in the middle of the night (I am assuming), there is always activity by the river: joggers and walkers, bike riders taking shortcuts, people kicking soccer balls, school field-trippers, picnickers, rehearsing dance groups, skateboarders...you name it, it is probably there.

We settled ourselves on a flat series of concrete benches, pulled out our bentos and began eating. Jack, the star of the day in our dog-starved eyes, started out timid and shy, edging at the end of his leash so that he always kept Pascale between himself and us. Eventually Aya and Patrick were able to lure him out of his timidity, as they took turns running him up and down the banks of the river (although most of the time it looked more like HE was running THEM).

After a few turns of running, as well as a couple of leaps into the river itself, Jack returned panting, what could only be called a smile across his face. Pascale was thrilled, since Jack was a rescue dog she had adopted from ARK, a Kansai-based animal rescue agency in the hills outside of Osaka. She said he came to her with a lot of shyness and fears, so it made her happy to see him warm up to us.

And warm up he did. Once we finished eating, Aya took Jack out again to walk along the river banks while Bob and Patrick tossed a football back and forth. Suddenly Aya hollered, the leash contorted around her arm. The end of the leash flew out of her hand and Jack took off like a bullet, dashing madly (and incredibly rapidly) down the riverbank. Patrick and Bob immediately gave chase. After a considerable distance of flat-out running, Patrick leapt upon the end of the leash and caught Jack. All three of them walked Jack back to Pascale and I. And while my family panted and wheezed, Jack sat down next to Pascale, very proud of himself indeed.

With Jack's leash wound firmly in Pascale's hand, we collected our bottles and plastic obento containers and headed back out with the satisfaction that Jack would sleep well that night, and Patrick would be able to cross his PE off for the day.

2. Persnickety Appliances

We had not one, but two appliances fizzle out on us this week. The first one was one of our room fans, which simply burned itself out with its efforts to keep us cool. Luckily, Bob was able to find the receipt, so replacing it was as simple as having Bob walk the fan down the street to the store from which he bought it. And presto! We have a new fan. Easy as pie.

If only our second appliance was as accomodating....

The other appliance is not so easy--or affordable--to replace. Our washing machine decided to also give up on us. I had just put a load of wash into it, sprinkled in the detergent and turned it on. It got through most of the wash cycle when I heard a cacophony of buzzing and beeping erupting from it. I went into the laundry room and the control panel of the machine was glowing with blinking lights and flashing buttons. I turned it off and reprogrammed it to begin the rinse cycle. It got through the rinse cycle, only to repeat its previous buzzing, bleeping and flashing. At which point no amount of button pushing would bring it to life again, aside from a few very angry loud beeps.

So there I was. Washer full of clothes. Dead in the water, so to speak.

I wrung out all the clothing, one piece at a time, then used a plastic bowl to dip all the water out of the machine tub.

Then I tried to think outside the box. I got on my computer and looked up english translations for Japanese washing machine buttons. And, as I expected, someone somewhere along the line had created a document that showed all the washing machine button characters and their English meanings. I printed out this treasure trove and toted it back into the laundry room.

No go. I got the machine to scream at me a bit more, but I was nowhere close to having a functioning machine yet.

So I got back on the internet and looked up the company name and serial number, to see if there was an English owners manual. And lo and behold, I found an owner's manual in English for a model very like ours.

Still no help.

By this time Bob was on the job. He poked at the machine for a bit and got it to repeat the blinking and beeping, of which he took a video on his iphone. With evidence in hand, Bob walked to the (overpriced) appliance store on the corner of our street, and showed the video to one of the repairmen who seem to be ever-present outside the shop. The repairman informed Bob that the problem was most likely the computer, and that it could cost more than the machine is worth to fix it.

And so here we sit. Surrounded by ever-growing piles of dirty clothes and a broken washing machine.

Never fear however! With Bob's next paycheck will come the means with which we can buy a shiny, new washer. Or maybe a shiny used washer. I honestly don't care which, as long as it is a shiny FUNCTIONING washer.

...And so, you now have the highs and lows of the week behind us. I have high hopes for the coming week, including a functioning washing machine, a meeting with a volunteer Japanese teacher for the kids and, a planned experiment to make my own taco seasoning powder, recipe courtesy of a certain lovely friend of mine back home who keeps me supplied with notions of how I can hopefully quell my yearning for Mexican food.

Crows and Mini Sumo at Kamigamo Shrine

On Friday Bob and I left the sleepy, grumpy teens behind and pedaled through town, across the Kamo river and under the torii gate to the Kamigamo Shrine. The Kamigamo Shrine is one of the oldest in Japan, predating the founding of the capital in 794.

This day's adventure was to partake of the Crow Dance and the Karasu Sumo. When we arrived, the festivities had already started. All around us was an impressively large crowd of people, a mix of Japanese well-wishers, parents and family of the young wrestlers and a liberal sprinkling of both tourists and foreign residents. Under the brilliant vermillion roofed shrine sat a young woman carefully outfitted in a traditional kimono, beautifully done hair and smooth, white makeup. On either side of her were younger girls, similarly dressed.

In the center of the clearing in front of the temple was a sumo ring--sand filled circle with a cylindrical straw barrier surrounding it. In 2 rows along the sides of the sumo ring, sitting with clear impatience and some discomfort, were the young sumo wrestlers. They ranged in ages from 7 to probably 10 or 11, and were all clad in the traditional white mawashi, or sumo wrestler's loin-cloth style garb.

At the top of the clearing, closest to the shrine, were two large mounds of dirt, which symbolized the sacred hill onto which the shrine's kami (god) first came down.

In front of each mound was a priest. They began by bowing. Then, carrying bows and arrows (which they had fired in a ritual just before we had arrived), they stood, each directly in front of a mound. They took turns cawing, sounding amazingly like real crows. Then they took turns doing very bird-like side hops, finally ending in front of the mounds again, against which they carefully leaned the bows and arrows. This process was repeated once more.

The story goes that the Kamo clan--which had established the Kamigamo Shrine--were descended from the Crow People. As far as I can research, a priest or shaman of these ancient Crow people had assisted an emperor in his travels. Thus, the crow performance, the mounds of earth and even the sumo all come together to both honor the kami (gods or spirits) of this place, as well as to commemorate the Crow people.

After the priests finished their Crow display, the lines of young sumo wrestlers stood up and, following a kimono-clad gyoji, or referee, each took turns bowing in the direction of the shrine. The boys were trying to stay still in their lines, but they were of course in constant motion, eager to start, endlessly shaking out arms and legs, adjusting their mawashi, and making silent faces at each other. Once the bowing was done, they returned to their previous spots, each sitting carefully upon a small folded cloth.

Then the fun began. Each boy started out being paired with a similarly sized and aged boy from the opposite line. The announcer would call out each competitor's name. Each boy would shout out "Hai!" and come forward. On the announcer's cue, each boy would bow to the other, then assume their wrestling stance, knees bent, eyeing their opponent. With a sharp word from the referee they would grab each other any way they could, twisting under arms and pulling on mawashi, trying to force the other out of the ring. Gradually smaller boys would be paired with larger boys. This produced a lot of excitement from the crowd and more than a few surprises when the seemingly smaller and weaker boy would twist and contort himself around the larger boy, ending with the larger boy losing balance and falling out of the ring. The crowd eagerly offered words of encouragement ("Gambatte!") and applauded at the end of each bout.

At the completion of each pairing, the competitors would bow once more and return to their own sides, receiving pats on the back or high fives. It was interesting to note that the boys clearly saw this as a performance, not a true competition, with plenty of smiles regardless of whether they won or lost their bout.

Once the sumo was completed, the boys lined up to bow towards the shrine once more, and then were arranged into rows with the priests, referee and costumed young women so that pictures could be taken. While this was going on, large tables at the sides of the crowd, manned by more shrine devotees, dispensed small dishes of sake, each serving of sake topped with a single floating yellow chrysathemum petal. Bob elected to join the long line of sake seekers, while I stood at the side next to an older couple who, from the sounds of their discussion, might have been from somewhere in the US midwest.

Woman "What's that in those little dishes?"

Man "Dunno. Let me check"

The man went over towards the lines and peered around at the table, at the dishes being filled with a clear liquid. He returned.

Man "I think they're giving out some sort of water with flowers on it".

Woman "Now isn't that odd?"

Not long after I overheard this discussion, Bob returned with his tiny dish, saying "Take a picture of me with my fancy sake".

Both the man's and the woman's heads spun around to face us. I said, more for their benefit than ours "Okay. Hold it down so I can see the chrysathemum petal floating in the sake".

Out of the corner of my eye I saw knowing nods being exchanged between the couple.

Indirect information dispensing: my good deed for the day.

The crowds began clearing out. Bob and I wandered around the shrine grounds, enjoying how the ancient trees shaded the older thatched-roofed outbuildings and crimson-painted main shrines. A tributary of the Kamo River ran directly through the shrine grounds, the rushing water overarched by a series of stone and wood bridges. We went higher up the hill. Bob spotted a sign warning of monkeys further up, and eagerly began hiking up the promised monkey path, passing under a series of smaller, red and black painted torii gates. Alas, no monkeys were spotted, much to Bob's disappointment.

We wound our way back down, and reclaimed our bicycles from the bike lot.

Later that evening, Bob was watching the evening news on Japanese TV.

"Christina! Come in here!"

I plodded from the kitchen to the living room where a news story was on TV, reporting about that very day's events at the Kamigamo Shrine.

And in the distant background of the camera shot was my miniscule head, my constantly waving fan a blur.

Clearly the kami were smiling upon me...giving me my 5 seconds of fame.