Auspicious Number

108 is an Auspicious Number. Our guide Sonam explains that the number is important in Buddhist culture - Sonam's name actually means Auspicious. There are 108 verses in the teachings of Buddha.  A family will erect 108 tall white  prayer flags to commemorate the death of a family member. At he the top of a mountain we pass  we visit 108 white stupas that were erected by the king's mother who was actually visiting them also while we were there.

Today we set off to visit local holy site. We drive, but then start to walk after our bus has difficulty navigating a washed out bridge workaround. The walk turns into a hike and finally into a climb to find a cave that was once a shelter to Guru Rinpicne when he brought the reform form of Buddhism to Bhutan maybe a thousand years ago.  Once we reach the small temple erected in the cave, Sonam leads us in a chant of 108 repetitions of the guru's mantra. He keeps count on his prayer beads, which has 108 beads. As we repeat the mantra, thunder echoes outside. In the land of the Thunder Dragon - heavy stuff.

Later, traveling on the bus, someone starts a round of 108 Bottles of Beer on the Wall, but enthusiasm fades quickly.

Festivals

After a long day and evening at the big Cherry Blossom Festival in Kitikami, we are on our way to a smaller village festival at Kakunodate. We take the bullet train one hour north for our day trip to the town with a large neighborhood of original Samurai houses, built in perhaps the 1600's. During the day, lots of visitors flood in via tour buses and the streets are full of selfy sticks. Roads are lined with blooming weeping cherry trees. I walk the town in the heat of the day and it wears me out so I walk the riverbank and see some of our group lounging on the grass, so I join them and watch the blossoms grow. They are not yet in full  bloom, and I  swear they are fuller than this morning.

As the sun sets, many of the visitors have left the area around the food vendors, and things quiet down a bit until the local high school lets out and the students swarm the area. Bikes are left unattended, and backpacks are left on the ground as the uniformed students wander in groups - boys over here, and girls over there. The boys look a bit militaristic in trim, dark uniforms and the girls are a bit giggly in their groups. 

 Now that the sun is setting, the festival has a local feel and we are able to try chatting with some of the crowd. There is a man who is selling puffed rice that he roasts himself and then fires the rice out of a cannon (Do I remember Quaker puffed rice being shot form guns?) - he blows a whistle as warning before shooting the thing. 

I see some schoolgirls that I had met walking in town, and they are taken by our group and want to try their English on us. Our group is camped at the table in front of the liquor vendor, and Arthur is inspired to get us all to buy masks from the stall across the way. The girls think this is great and many, many cell phone photos are taken. I try some barbecue wild boar, and find that it pairs quite nicely with the sake that's sold in the individual glass jars with pop-off tops

At the end of the evening, we have to say goodbye and make our way back to the train station for the return trip. At the station, George panics when he thinks he lost key to the locker that has all our rail passes, but it is found and we return safely to the hotel.

Leaving Tokyo

We leave Tokyo and head north, first to Sendai and then west into the mountains, but it is a little more complicated than that. The sleek Shinkansen bullet train leaves Tokyo and arrives at Sendai exactly on schedule. From there we transfer to a local train set to leave in 20 minutes, until George hears an announcement and explains we have to get of the train right away. Our route through a mountain pass is closed due to a storm, and the train we are on has been redirected elsewhere. So we get to a public intercity bus full of businessmen and take that around the mountains to another local train, now heading back toward Sendai. 

 

 

A quick stop at Yamadera to visit a celebrated potter and make some dishes and cups under his direction. The results run across the spectrum of styles and refinement and they will get glazed and make our way to us in time. Back on another chartered bus that George scrounged up to get us to our hotel that is on the closed section of train line. Snow on the sides of the road and the wind is fierce and cold. The hotel is known for its natural hot springs, but I can't keep my eyes open after a multi-course private dinner and will have to try them tomorrow.

 

In the morning, it is still windy, and in the lower 40's but the rain and sleet is gone. Back to Yamadera on the working train line and a visit to the Mountain Temple complex on the top of the mountain behind the small town. One thousand steps, says the sign but there is so much to see along the way - small shrines and offerings to both Buddhist and Shinto structures, tall aromatic cedars cover the mountain, a huge troop of high spirited school kids races past us on their way to the top.

 

 We do see some cherry blossoms, but for the most part, the trees are bare or are just budding. Looking for more along the way over the next week.

Tokyo is Working

My first impression of Tokyo is 'oh my god - everything is grey!'. That is the view out the limo bus window that is streaked with rain from a spring storm. But it spite of the gloomy weather, it seems like the city is drab and grey as well. I get to my hotel with enough time to grab a quick shower before joining some of my group for a jet-lagged extended sushi dinner. I stay up as late as I can, but my sleep is fitful and I am up at 4:00 to go outside and see if I can photograph anything interesting in the rain but it really is too wet and no fun at all and I head inside and wait for 6:30 breakfast.

 

The rain lets up and I decide to explore with a possible destination in mind. The streets are full of all the office workers in identical dark suits and leather briefcases - the women are similarly attired with large purses in place of briefcases. There is a lot happening, and I take note of all the activity - window washers, street repair crews, moms with kids in the parks, a street crew flagman directs traffic with a wand and white gloves and gives a little bow to each passing car. The crew at a firehouse are doing warm up exercises next to their fire truck, with one man calling out directions. I realize that the city is not so grey after all and I am intrigued with the architecture and the massive overhead highway system. 

After about an hour of wandering I reach my destination with a gaggle of tourists outside a sumo training stable and realize something remarkable. Up until then I don't think I had seen a foreigner, had not seen a hat of any kind, nor a camera, or a t-shirt, but this group is the exception. Behind the windows of the sumo stable, the trainees are grunting and sweating their way through the early morning exercises. One of them has taken a break and is sitting dejected in the alley holding an ice bag on his ankle.

 

By this time, I am getting tired and head more or less directly back but this time I do pay a little more attention to the crowd. I spot one older gentleman wearing a fedora, and one man with a grey pin stripe suit. I also note that the younger hipper office workers have black leather backpacks instead of briefcases.