This trip had more time than usual for recreation, which in Kyoto means the arts, temples, and contemplation. In Japan, it is truly possible to mix business and pleasure.
Ferrying across the Pacific As usual, the flight over was long. I was sitting next to an American guy who was a marine engineer. He works for a military contractor that makes a new kind of ship-- a civilian ferry that shuttles Marines to where they are being deployed. His work schedule is crazy. He does 6 weeks on, 6 weeks off, where the "on" time is 7 days a week and is spent in Okinawa, while the "off" time is totally off and is spent in his hometown in America. He has even done a shift where he was on for 3 months, and then off for 4 months. That sort of thing isn't for me, but it sounds intriguing. Upon arrival in Osaka, I took the train into Kyoto, where I was conveniently staying in a hotel right at the station. Ah, bed.
A quiet start. The first day, I didn't need to be anywhere until the late morning. I had breakfast in the 30th-floor café, and it included all my Asian favorites like seaweed salad, but of course I went for the cereal. This is the first place in Asia where I have seen granola (called "fruit crunch"), but somehow the flavor wasn't quite right. Cereal is a mystery to the Japanese.
I have begun to practice meditation, and figured this was the perfect opportunity to meditate in a real Buddhist temple. I asked the concierge for a place that was quiet and beautiful where I could sit, and she tried to direct me to all sorts of tourist places ("This area has traditional Kyoto streets." No, I'm not looking for streets, I'm looking for a place to sit where there aren't tons of people!). She never got the concept, so I headed off to Ryoan-ji, where I had gone two years earlier. I remembered it as a very nice place.
I inadvertently donated money to the JR West rail system on the trip there. I bought a ticket for twice the fare, figuring to use it for the round trip. When you do this in US subway systems, you get your ticket returned at the end because it still has money on it. Not so in Japan; my ticket was eaten when I arrived at Hanazono and I had to buy another one to get back. I chatted with the cab driver pretty well-- perhaps he had no Kyoto accent. Finally I got there, and it was just as beautiful as I remembered.
But the experience turned out different than I expected. There were many school groups trooping through. My initial meditation by the rock garden turned into a session of practice in not being distracted (staying still in the center of the whirlpool, if you will). One odd thing is that the girls and boys were separated, even when they were from the same school (I mean, I remember doing this in kindergarten, but not after). Each group was led by a headmaster or teacher who often looked strict. Some of the groups were really small, maybe 6 or 7 students. Are class sizes that small in Japan? Interesting. [I have since heard that a more typical class size is 30 or so. Perhaps these students were divided into han, or subgroups.]
Next I walked around the lake. I saw a Western woman writing in a journal, some Japanese mothers strolling, and a few businesspeople starting their day in an inspirational setting. I found myself feeling a sudden compassion for Japan in its ambivalence about joining the globalized world. They have something wonderful that they want to preserve. A place like Ryoan-ji cannot exist in the United States. If you had it, and all the trappings that support and surround it, wouldn't you want to protect it? Anyway, I felt inspired.
Ceramics, part I. I spent the early afternoon putting together a presentation for a late afternoon meeting. In the cab on the way to the meeting, my Japanese colleague pointed out a 900-year-old pagoda with five huge tiers that somehow survived all the fires and earthquakes (the temple associated with it is called Touji). Modern engineers have studied it to learn how it can handle earthquakes, and found that the central pole through the pagoda supports the bulk of the weight -- thus indicating early inspiration for the way skyscrapers have a central column to hold them. What a great concept to model steel-and-glass buildings on wooden pagodas!
The company we visited is fascinating. It is an old ceramics company that was formed when the hydroelectric power system in Kyoto was built. Ceramic insulation was needed on all the wires. It then branched out to serve the CRT and semiconductor industries. Now it has greatly expanded into all kinds of stuff like artificial limbs, ceramic knife blades, and LCD coatings. As an aside, it seems that medium-sized companies in Japan are actually doing pretty well, even as all the big ones are withering in the depressed economy. This particular company is really conservative, just like the bad old days of long hours and total devotion. (Of course, they talk about "togetherness," which is just the other side).
There is a museum of fine ceramics and art in lobby. The art is fabulous! It is being collected by the CEO as a public service; the museum is open to all. Too bad we didn't have time to see it in detail. At the meeting, I got grilled pretty hard, but it seemed to go well. This was the first time I had worked with a translator in real time. I found that you have to get into a rhythm and you have to have some communication with the translator. We got into it after a few slides. She was a sharp woman.
Business dinner with little balance. Afterward, we packed off to a nice (read: expensive) restaurant in a traditional part of town. I was told on the way that many Kyoto buildings are very narrow in front and then extend back a long way, sort of like the ones in San Francisco if you've seen them. They are called "eel houses" for this shape. They were made that way because tax was figured by the width of the house front.
The restaurant was quaint, and we were served in a private room by women in traditional dress. There was little balance to the meal, however-- it was all protein. We ate sashimi, tofu, egg with fish, some kind of curled-up fish, special mushroom soup with fish (ironically, the fancy mushrooms are now mostly grown in Korea and Canada), crab, and for variety, duck. Rice came at very end with some miso soup, followed by fruit. One interesting garnish was some baked rice, still on the stalk. I crunched a bit-- it tasted like popcorn. But overall, this was way too much protein for a normal human to eat in one sitting. I thought the Japanese prided themselves on balance.
Apparently not, however. I was also treated to some good-old Japanese prejudice, which is disguised as thoughtful insight into foreign cultures. The head guy at our table regaled us by telling about a talk he had heard recently by the CEO of another Japanese company. This company had had a joint venture with a Korean company for 30 years, but finally it had failed. Why? Well, the Koreans simply can't make high-value products, and there are two reasons for this. (1) They're still angry at Japan for all those years of occupation (said with pity, as if it's the Koreans' problem), and (2) they have no company loyalty, so the good people are always leaving to start their own companies with their good ideas. In this way, talent is not retained and companies have no substance. (Yes, there is some validity to the second point, but it has the obvious counterpoint that big corporations can suppress good ideas very easily-- and do so all the time. Letting them break out through entrepreneurship can actually help the country as a whole, even if it hurts the original company. But enough. This debate is very old).
Wait, there's more. Regarding the Chinese, Japan shouldn't underestimate their latent manufacturing strength. There are two reasons: (1) Their women work really hard because their work contracts only last for a few years (whereas the men are a bit lazy-- a downside of communism), and (2) their execs and top R&D managers were trained in the US, so they're very smart and savvy. (Apparently this stellar logic does not extend to the Korean managers who were trained in the US).
If you have ever seen Babylon 5, I can tell you that this scene reminded me strongly of the Centauri talking about the Narn.
One positive point is that the woman translator came out to dinner with us. This is the single Japanese woman I have ever dealt with at a Japanese company who wasn't just serving tea. She was some kind of sales associate, and was currently covering US sales (which is why her English is so good). She told me in the cab on the way home that I was an inspiration to her as a successful woman in the business world.
But still, I felt a pull when her speech indicated that she didn't have a feminist tradition to draw upon. She struggled for words to explain concepts that are well described in American and European feminism. She knew that women needed to change their attitude about work first (before men will, obviously), but figured the best plan was just to work hard and enjoy one's job, and the rewards would come. (In some ways this is perfectly true and I wouldn't judge anyone who follows this path. Still, some active force will be needed in Japan to get over the initial male resistance to equality). But I found that I was surprised and flattered to be considered an example.
Grilling, figurative and literal. The next day I was to give a 4-hour seminar, but beforehand I had a short meeting with a different guy. The amusing thing was that a nearby Mickey Mouse clock kept chiming. I found it distracting, but no one notices goofy music in Japan. Or goofy accoutrements-- my colleague has a pink analog alarm clock in his office.
For lunch, we just stopped by 7-11. I got something called onigiri (the same nigiri as in sushi). It's just rice with a treat in it, all wrapped in seaweed. Mine had spicy salmon in it. It's sort of Japanese fast finger food-- "like a hamburger," as my colleague said. Although this isn't the greatest image! Onigiri is healthy and actually tastes good. The funny thing is, when I picked it off the shelf, he said, "Can you eat that?" No one in America would go up to, say, a Hispanic person in McDonald's and say, "Oh, gee, can you eat this stuff?" We assume everyone can eat American food, and Japanese assume no one can handle (or appreciate?) their food.
The seminar was rough. I was speaking English to a crowd that wasn't incredibly skilled, so I had to go incredibly slow. This takes much more concentration that you might think. It is so easy to waver, and start speeding up, especially when the topic is interesting and exciting. But apparently it went well.
I was grilled pretty hard at the end, indicating that the audience must have understood. And I was pleased to see two more women in the audience, plus they asked sharp questions.
For dinner, we did literal grilling at a do-it-yourself grill place. There was a small Hibachi kind of thing in the middle of the table, and you ordered food to cook yourself. To my horror/fascination, the shrimp arrived alive! It was hard to watch them dying on the grill, but it did give me cause to reflect that they also died for me before I buy them at the store-- I just didn't have to watch in that case. We also had veggies, clam, squid, squid tentacles, flounder, whole sardine, "yakinigiri" (grilled rice ball with seaweed and fish embedded). I'm not sure how it is possible to grill rice (this one arrives already grilled). As the clams cooked, bits of shell exploded and shot onto our laps. Yow.
We entertained the barkeep with talk about America. Sometimes I suspect my colleague uses me as an excuse to talk about America, which would seem like boasting if he did it by himself (he once lived here for a 9-year period). With me there, it's a natural topic.
Ceramics, part 2. The next day was recreation! The experience in the morning was very special. I was taken to a ceramics school where my colleague works in his spare time. His teacher, who is apparently a famous Kyoto artist, was on hand instructing a group of four students. I was allowed to make a plate and a bowl under his and my colleague's guidance. With expert instruction and a helping hand here and there (not overbearing or judgmental), I felt much more confident than I had on my initial foray into pottery when I came to Kyoto two years earlier. I am thrilled to have had this opportunity.
At the end, I chose my own glaze-- I picked green to match the previous bowl I made. I look forward to receiving the finished pieces in a month or so. Really a special experience.
Then we were off to lunch at a cute little teahouse that my colleague comes to frequently. I tried one called "Christmas Eve" that sort of resembled Constant Comment. We had a small but satisfying lunch of sandwiches, salad, and rum-raisin cake served with large Japanese grapes (you are supposed to peel them first). When we ordered the salad, the shop owner dashed across the street to a fresh vegetable market to pick up supplies. I noticed that the building next door was flying two American flags by the garage. The owner said that it was a weird place possibly owned by the yakuza, and the flags changed all the time. (For instance, they had been French the day before!). As a parting gift, the owner gave me a little packet of chocolate-covered ichigo (strawberries).
Counting Buddhas. Then we were off to Sanju-sangen-do, which is a famous temple. It has 1,000 golden Buddha statues (each about 5 feet tall) arrayed like a spiritual army on 10 tiers rising upward. More than 80 artists were employed to make the statues, which were put in place over a 16-year period. Each wooden Buddha is slightly different, although all were clearly made to a spec. They have 40 arms and 11 heads (one that looks normal plus 10 small ones as if mounted on a crown-- sometimes this form is called simply "11-headed Buddha"). But the angles of the arms were slightly different, as were decorative details, the plumpness of the belly, and the shape of the lotus on which he stands. In addition to the 1,000 small statues is a huge one in the middle of the hall, for a total of 1,001 Buddhas. In one corner, three were missing, on loan to the National Museum. I imagine that it must be very difficult to repair Buddhas in the center of the array!
This is a functioning temple. It is forbidden to take pictures of the sacred Buddhas, so leave your camera behind. Buddhist disciples gave out information packets and answered questions. Most fascinating of all, a real monk was seated before the big Buddha, chanting. It is possible to buy candles to be offered to Buddha by the monks. One couple had asked for a good, long marriage in English. I learned also that the ceiling used to have vivid paintings of the Pure Land. What a sight the place must have been when it was all painted and the Buddhas were bright gold!
Incidentally, the name of the temple means "functional building of thirty-three ken," where a ken is a unit of measurement. It refers to the gallery along the side of the building that was used for archery. They held many contests there, the most famous of which required firing for 24 hours straight. One contestant fired 13,000 arrows in this time, 8,500 of which hit the target 120 meters away. The wooden beams under the roof and along the gallery walls had to be replaced many times because of damage from stray shots.
Another interesting feature of the building is its earthquake resistance (it was destroyed twice and rebuilt before they learned this). The foundation is a multilayer stack consisting of sand and a hard material. There is solid support, but the sand allows for some "give."
Next we headed across the street to the National Museum (there is one in Kyoto and one in Tokyo). But first, we stopped at a big bell behind it that has some history to tell. It was made by the son of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, a famous warlord, during the rise of Toyosaki's rival and ultimate successor, Ieyasu. The son had some characters inscribed on the bell. They contain the phrases kokka ankou (the state/secure) and kunshin houraku (ruler and subjects/rich and in comfort). But Ieyasu was not pleased. He claimed that kokka ankou split the characters of his name apart, while kunshin houraku kept the characters for "Toyotomi" together (albeit in reverse order). He also claimed that kunshin houraku could be interpreted as "to enjoy having the Toyotomis as rulers", although I am told the latter may be a bit of a stretch. Anyway, Ieyasu had many bones to pick, and ultimately killed Hideyoshi's son (and thousands of other people). Although the Toyotomis had briefly united Japan, this fell apart with their defeat at the hands of Ieyasu at Osaka Castle.
At the National Museum, we saw fabulous ceramics, katana, and scrolls. Best of all, we saw one of the Buddhas on loan from Sanju-sangen-do. And intriguingly, one undergarment to be worn with armor was colored just like the American flag! It had red and white stripes over the top portion, and was solid blue from the chest down. I noticed that the Japanese cards labeling the art had lots of explanation, but the English version just had a brief name and date. I guess this shows the museum was truly set up for Japanese people to enjoy, rather than only tourists.
Also, I had a longtime mystery solved. I had always been puzzled by the "mirrors" shown at Asian art galleries that seemed to resemble tiny shields with fancy carving and a bump in the middle. It turns out that only nobility were even allowed to use them, which explains why they were so beautiful on the back. The bump is to hold a string-- you wear it in the palm of your hand with the string around your wrist in order to look. The mirrors were mostly made of polished brass, but a few were copper (these ones are now horribly corroded).
Oh, sushi. The autumnal equinox, a national holiday, was the Tuesday after the weekend I was there, which meant everyone was just taking Monday off too. Kyoto was packed with tourists, besides the usual multitude of cars. We had trouble finding a place for dinner, so my colleague took me to a local sushi haunt that the tourists wouldn't know about. It was great! It was an intimate little bar with awesome fish, stunningly fresh. We had maguro, tai, abalone, grilled hotate, unagi, bonito, and toro soup, and some local fish variety that looked like gray coral. You can't even get it in Tokyo, it's so local. On the way out, my colleague took the wrong shoes! He noticed immediately of course, but I wonder how often that happens when people are drunk and the swap isn't noticed!
Oh, and the parking garage we used was fascinating. It consisted of a building with what was essentially a Ferris wheel inside for cars (oval, not circular). You drive into a carrier on the ground floor of the building and walk right back out. Then the attendant rotates the wheel to the next position so the next person can drive in. Just in front of the entrance is a lazy-susan-like rotator for cars, like the ones for the Cable Cars in San Francisco. So when you retrieve your car, you just back onto that, and they rotate you around to face the street. How efficient! The whole thing was much smaller than a parking garage or lot, and could hold 33 cars in each of 3 Ferris wheels.
Taking off. The last day, I had the morning free. First I went to Higashi Honganji (Pure Land Buddhism, eastern headquarters). It is a huge temple, one of the largest wooden structures in the world! One worship hall contained the Buddha and the other the founder of Pure Land Buddhism. People were there praying to both. As I watched, monks came in and arranged books near the Founder, apparently for some later purpose.
Then I went for a swim in the hotel pool. I got a little list of pool rules when I arrived, explaining who was not allowed to use the pool. Most of it made sense-- people under 20, people who are drunk, people with skin diseases. But the next one said "People with tattoos". Excuse me? Whatever, dude. I violated that one, and no one noticed.
Then it was off to the airport for a short 9-hour flight home.
Copyright © Kim Allen 2003
