Yamaguchi #5: Sakura and Graveyards

April 2009

There is no denying that sakura, or cherry blossoms, are beautiful. No matter how hard I try, no photograph can ever capture the impression they make. Each blossom is individually gorgeous, but when you see them together, thousands of tiny translucent petals bunched together on dozens of trees, it’s magical. I can’t quite describe what it’s like, riding near the river on a sunny day with rows and rows of sakura trees in full bloom, a soft white veil hanging over your head.



But there is also a deep sadness ingrained in sakura. As soon as the flowers reach the height of their beauty, the petals are already falling. But it’s not just that sakura dies quickly, for many other flowers do as well. No, what makes it sad for me is the human associations that come with it. I lost my grandpa around the time I first saw sakura bloom. The second time I saw sakura blooming in Japan, I came back to my school to find, to my surprise, that some of my teachers had left while I was on vacation. This year, more teachers left, and some of my favorite ones as well, making it all the more painful. No, happy as I am to see the lovely cherry blossoms, sakura will always be seared into my mind as a symbol of loss.

So it was fitting perhaps that on this day, I was hunting down the graves of the heroes and martyrs of the Bakumatsu.* I pushed my bicycle up a hill and found a small, obscure little graveyard. I knew the names on the headstones and I knew their stories. I also knew the age they passed away, and that’s what made the graves particularly tragic.



The headstone read Takasugi Shinsaku. He negotiated the treaty of Shimonoseki (I visited the place of the battle in the last email) and was nearly murdered by his own countrymen for it. A year later, he would lead those same people in a battle against the Shogun, which they would decisively win. He mixed peasants with samurai to create a fierce army and he trained them in the ways of modern warfare. He died of tuberculosis at the age of 28.



Another one read Yoshida Shoin. He was Takasugi’s teacher, and also the teacher of Ito Hirobumi, Kido Takayoshi, and anyone who would become anyone in Choshu at that era. He plotted to assassinate the Shogun, got caught, and stupidly confessed his scheme. He was executed and made a martyr by the Shogun just before Choshu really became involved in the effort to overthrow the Shogunate. He was 29.



I went to a temple called Toko-ji and, in the back, just before the more impressive display of stone lanterns, I found a small area with monuments to samurai who had died for the revolution. I didn’t know their names and couldn’t read the signs very well, but I did figure out their ages. It’s kind of sobering reading about people who were your age or just a little older than you when they died.



Kido Takayoshi (also called Katsura Kogoro) was one of the “three great nobles of the restoration,” and I had some of his diaries with me. In the first year of Meiji** 1868, at the culmination of all his years efforts to restore the Emperor to the throne, Kido wrote: “…the Restoration was fully realized only after many loyal and benevolent men had sacrificed their lives in the service of the Imperial family. Several dozens of my friends fell as martyrs to the cause of the Empire, but by chance I have survived to this day.” He did not survive much longer, though. Nine years later, he died too, at the ripe old age of 43.



They say that a samurai’s life should be like a cherry blossom: beautiful, but brief. I find this ideal morbid, but in this case the metaphor is apt. These men lived short, intense lives, and even now I mourn their death, people who died a hundred years before I was born in a country I didn’t know. Why did they have to die so young and so violently? It doesn’t seem fair.

It’s rarely mentioned, but even as the petals are falling, green leaves are shooting from the branches of the sakura tree. By the time the last cherry blossom is gone, the tree has a healthy crown of leaves that will last it all summer. I wonder if it’s the same thing with these samurai. Even as they died, new people were being born into an age that would be the beginning of a new Japan. Cherry blossoms can’t live forever, there must be leaves, there must be fruits. The beautiful sacrifice of the flower sustains the life and the health of the tree.



*Bakumatsu: The last years of the Shogunate. It dates from 1853, when Admiral Perry’s “black ships” entered Tokyo Bay, until 1867, when the Shogun abdicated and the Emperor was restored. The time is characterized by foreign pressure from outside Japan and revolutionary forces from within.

**Meiji: The era following the Bakumatsu, from 1868-1912. It’s characterized by the modernization of Japan, politically, economically, and militarily. During this time, Japan fought and won two foreign wars: the Sino (China)-Japanese War and the Russo (Russia) –Japanese War. The era began with the restoration of the Emperor Meiji and ended with his death. He was posthumously named after the era.

Anecdotes # 5: Imperial Palace Park, Two Temples, and the Castle in Kyoto

Day 3: Saturday, March 22nd
Kyoto

For some reason, I got stuck planning the first few days of Kyoto. Hedy hadn’t researched the area and was happy with wherever we took her. Jenny had done research, but she was rather jet lagged and only nodded along as I laid out my plans. For our first full day in Kyoto, we would start at the Imperial palace park, in the center of the city. We’d go northwest to Ryoanji, then come back a few stops to Kinkakuji. From Kinkakuji, we could easily go to Nijo-jo, the castle, if we had extra time.

“So, this was my idea,” I said. “Or would you rather go somewhere else or….”

“Nope. Sounds good,” Jenny said.

That morning Jenny wore boots. They were brown boots going up to her thighs, and they had holes in the soles. She asked if they would be all right to wear. I said I guessed so. But tennis shoes would be better. I had never been to these places and didn’t know what to expect.



We took the bus to Imperial Palace Park. There’s nothing so pleasant as a stroll through the park in the morning. It was nice weather and the park wasn’t crowded. A few people walked dogs and a few people rode bikes.

“I want to ride a bike,” Jenny said.

We walked to the wall of a minor palace. I had my friends pose so I could take a picture, and Jenny casually rested her hand on the gate. A few minutes later we heard an alarm sound. “Jenny, stop touching the gate!” I said. We walked away from that area very quickly.

After that we admired the flowers. I recognized sakura, cherry blossoms, and ume, plum, but I didn’t know what the bright red flowers were. Perhaps peach or apricot? We were so happy to see the sakura though. I had so badly wanted my friends to see the famous cherry bloom. If I knew how much we’d see of the flower later on, I wouldn’t have been so excited.

As we got toward the main part of the imperial palace, Jenny complained that her feet hurt. The roads along the park were made of loose gravel, which poked though the thin, holey soles of boots. The path along the front of the Imperial Palace was long; Jenny demanded a piggyback ride.

Somehow I ended up carrying her. She was heavy.

We couldn’t go into the imperial palace. We just saw the roof poking past the gate. It was a pretty roof.

After we passed the palace, we ended up in a wooded area. The path was dirt, much softer on Jenny’s feet. At one point, I saw a man (a foreigner) take out a flute and play a lovely tune. It was so nice, walking in the park, enjoying the good weather, and listening to music.

Suddenly Jenny cried out, “I lost my earring.”

The big dangling heart on her right ear was gone. We all looked through the grass, but it was nowhere in sight. After some discussion, we retraced our steps. Fortunately, Hedy was smart enough to think to check our digital cameras, so we didn’t have to search the whole park. By magnifying group shots, we discovered that Jenny had her earring on at the gate (where we set off the alarm), but it was gone by the time we got to the flowers.

We searched the area, but to no avail. We couldn’t find it.



After that, we went to Ryoanji, a temple famous for its rock garden. There are 15 rocks in the garden, but, no matter which angle you sit at, you can only see 14. Actually, the rock garden was smaller than I thought, and so it was a little disappointing. But we had a pleasant walk around the garden.

For lunch we had ramen (again!). It was good ramen, but when Hedy and Jenny said they could eat ramen for dinner tonight too, I put my foot down. I get sick of ramen very easily.



We went to Kinkakuji, or the Temple of the Golden Pavilion. It is perhaps the most photographed temple in Kyoto. The outside is covered with gold foil and it sits on a pond, which gives it a splendid look. A more impressive feat, however, is its ability to look relatively empty. There were hordes of people surrounding us, but when you look at the pictures, you’d swear we were the only ones there.

From Kinkakuji, we took the bus to Nijo-jo, the castle in Kyoto. It was called a castle, but to me it looked more like a palace. All castles I’ve seen in Japan are several stories high and heavily fortified. Nijo-jo appeared to be one story high, maybe two stories at the most. And I didn’t see any holes in the wall for firing guns and arrows. Still, it was beautiful.



Nestled inside the roof were carvings of phoenixes and the edges were gilded gold. We walked along the “nightingale floors,” a device a suspicious warlord had installed to warn him of spies. With so many people, the floors squeaked and whistled and sang. The insides of the palace were filled with beautiful paintings. Jenny and Hedy went ahead, but I walked slowly, savoring the art.

We walked along the garden. At the very end were benches for visitors to sit. Jenny didn’t sit. She ran through the grass in her knee-high brown boots and lay down, stomach-up, hands tucked underneath head, on the bench. Hedy and I followed suit. Lying down, we could see black branches spread along the sky.

Hard to believe then, with open space around us and the blue sky above, but not thirty minutes later we’d be pressed against a mass of humanity, squirming just to move as people pushed us from behind. Because once we got out of Nijo-jo, we had to take the bus back to our hostel.

It was about 5:00 PM and we had somehow landed in the middle of rush hour. I watched a bus heading towards Kyoto station. It was jammed packed when the bus opened its doors. The people were like a wall. But the people kept pushing their way in. One, two, three, four. The wall wriggled as more people kept squeezing in. A full dozen or more had somehow crammed themselves in before the bus’ doors closed. It was fascinating and disturbing to watch.

A few minutes later that was us.

I couldn’t see Jenny and Hedy. I could barely see through the heads in front of me to see what the next stop was. I couldn’t move, but somehow I kept inching my way forward. Whenever people got off, the rest of us moved forward. Every little bit of space was precious. And more people were coming abroad.

Jenny told me later that an old lady had pushed her rudely. This same old lady thanked her excessively when Jenny offered a free seat to her. I got separated from Jenny and Hedy, but I managed to get to the front of the bus, where I could see the stops. About two stops before ours, in the middle of downtown, the bus suddenly emptied. We could breathe again. Literally.

Spring Weather

April 25, 2008

Ochita Sakura

Hanabira ga
Uroko no you ni
Furitsumori.

Fallen Sakura

Fallen sakura
petals, like scales of a fish,
folded together.

It is now officially spring and the weather is nice. The sakura, the famous cherry blossoms, have bloomed and fallen; now the sakura trees are green with leaves. Other flowers are blooming, and the weather is warm. When it is sunny, it’s lovely weather.

When it rains, however, it pours.

The worst rain came on Wednesday a few weeks ago. I got caught in a downpour as I came home from school. The gutters, a foot deep and dangerous, were nearly overflowing with water. I huddled underneath my collapsible umbrella as if for dear life. In the fifteen-minute walk from the bus stop to my house, my pants were complete soaked. And then it got worse.

We had a drinking party later that evening, to welcome in the new staff. I changed my clothes and got out a proper umbrella. Fortunately, Rachelle offered to give me ride, so I didn’t have to traverse the waters again. Still, in the space of fifty feet from apartment to Rachelle’s car—with an umbrella—I was soaked.

And this isn’t even the zenith of rainy season. Apparently, it gets worse in June and July. Joy. I can’t wait.