Goddammit, I came to Japan for crazy pop culture and neon lights, skyscrapers and amusing japlish t-shirts. Not traditional Japan. And I’ve spent the last two days going round temples. Temples and shrines. The former buddhist, the latter shinto, and it’s not always easy to call to mind which sort of a building you’re in at any given moment. The temples have buddhas, the shrines are more orangey (vermillion, says the guidebook).
First on Tuesday a journey along the eastern side of Kyoto, where its most impressive temples are strung out along the bottom of the eastern hills. Sanjusangen-do‘s long hall has a central buddha surrounded by 1,001 gilded statues of Kannon, which with 40 arms apiece saving 25 worlds with each, and each figure representing 33 actual incarnations, can save something like 33 million worlds between them. With this crazy KPI-multiplier approach it’s like being in a room with a billion Bob Geldofs, only slightly less smug.
Kiyomizu-dera really is impressive. It takes a few hot plum jam buns to get me up the hill to a temple lodged into the hillside, standing on stilts on one side. A stunning view into Kyoto, and then gorgeous views back to the temple itself. The track around and down the hill takes you past the Otawa waterfall, where the long-handled cups usually used to ritually purify ones hands are used instead for drinking water from the fall to inspire good health. I fear rather contrarily a germfest until I see that the cups are sterilised with ultraviolet inbteween sips. Ultra-modern hygiene and ritual superstition — there’s a stereotypically Japanese combination for you.
Lastly in Kyoto, the beautiful and peaceful philospher’s path leads you along the canal and away from what few crowds there are, past quiet houses and teashops to Ginkaku-ji, the temple of the silver pavilion. The approach is a tease: you pass between high hedges that obscure the view before emerging in front of a dry garden and a simple dark two-storey building that might be nothing special elsewhere, but in this setting has some kind of ineffable serene beauty. The gardens are built for viewing: each turn and terrace offers you a new angle on the building.
No rest for the wicked because on Wednesday it’s Nara, a much smaller town about 40 mins away by train that was the Japanese capital in the eighth century. The temples are not that impressive, (except that the Kasuga Taisha shrine is very orange indeed) except Todai-ji, still the largest wooden building in the world, which houses an enormous buddha that I had to go back and have a second look at. After staring at him for a while I begin to imagine how priests could see these figures get up and walk around in front of them.
Then I race back to Tokyo because Joe has put in my mind that I must visit Kinkaku-ji, gold to Ginkaku-ji’s silver, and also Mishima’s Temple of the Golden Pavilion, burnt to the ground in 1950 by a monk obsessed with its beauty. In fully-stressed tourist mode (why aren’t these buses easier to understand? why isn’t this entrance clearly labelled?) I arrive just as the sun is getting golden on its descent. Again, the temple is hidden behind hedges on the approach, and when it appears it’s double-gold with the rays of the sun, and I have to swear softly several times, it’s so beautiful. The path takes you away and round the back without another chance to see it as you leave, so clutching my ticket I go back round to the front again for another look. (And then an officious little man won’t let me out through the entrance, so I have to do the complete circuit again.)
There are lots of little rituals and offerings to be made. Throw a five-yen piece (it’s lucky) into the wooden box where it makes a satisfying clatter, clap twice, hold your hands together and nod; make a wish (I’ve been wishing generally for the health and happiness of everyone I know). Light some incense and stick it upright in the bowlful of sand in front of the temple. I even rub the foot of a buddha affiliated to physical affliction relief and then rub my own foot to see if it has any effect on my tendonitis (not much more than the waterfall, I suspect).
These early buddhist temples are the closest I’ve seen to Chinese buddhist temples, and even show some direct Indian influence. The figures guarding the Kannons in the Sanjusangen-do are from Sanskrit scriptures, and the eyes on the buddha in Todai-ji were painted open by an Indian artist.
I briefly consider what it might like to be a buddhist, and what discipline it might offer. Then I shake my head. Get a grip, that’s no life for a committed materialist. Now get me to a pachinko parlour.
