from Kyoto and Hikone: Sunday

I’m asked (in Ocean comments) about family life in Japan. I’ll say just a little, but in that “little” you’ll find a lot:

Japan continues to adhere to traditional gender roles, more so than perhaps any developed country and more so than any number of countries we think of as rigorously stratified along gender lines. Though women enter the labor force, they rarely work in managerial positions (10% of those in managerial positions are women here, compared to, say, in USA, where the number is closer to 40%). And it’s not a question of an absence of laws promoting gender equality. The cultural beliefs are such that women are well suited to care for their children at a young age (and to care for the grandparents). Women who seek advancement and are denied opportunities because of family obligations will not sue their employer because Japan is not a litigious society.

There. In a nutshell. The separate worlds of men and women. And so it is heart warming for me to see, on a train speeding to Hikone this Sunday afternoon, scenes like this one.





Six years ago I did research here on child custody and placement decisions following divorce. At the time, I predicted, merely by observing a new involvement of young fathers in childcare, that Japan is likely to reformulate its standard approach to the placement of children after family dissolution. I haven’t done a follow up on this, but I would guess now that I was too hasty in my assessments. The force of cultural factors cannot be underrated.


And speaking of role divisions, in an unusual move of taking initiative, Ed suggests we go on a day trip to Lake Biwa. It is the largest freshwater lake in Japan and it is a short train ride north of Kyoto. It remains warm and humid here and Ed is hankering for a refreshing swim.

I like Sunday outings. It’s a chance to see how a country approaches a day off from work (recognizing that this Sunday is somewhat unusual as you are supposed to visit relatives and honor the souls of their ancestors – it is the Obon week-end in Kyoto).

But we are late to start. Figuring out how to get to a respectable beach by the lake takes a while (its southern half is significantly built up and its northern shores are far and not easy to reach by pubic transportation). Finally, Ed has a plan.

We take a train to Hikone – about halfway up the eastern shore, visit a castle there and then investigate Lake Biwa swimming opportunities. Ed thinks there may be a small beach there and the water quality appears to be good.

On the train (which is fairly crowded, but it’s only a 45 minute ride and gradually passengers disembark), I remind Ed that I have not had breakfast yet and I am feeling especially morose about postponing my morning cup of coffee for so long (it is now almost 3 p.m.).

And so the first thing we do is visit a café, where I now officially begin the day with a deliciously brewed coffee and a pastry with figs. It’s 3:30 and I am ready to tackle the day.





The castle is surrounded by a moat and a walk along the water’s edge here is in itself quite attractive. Cherry trees and old pines line the walkway and black swans and the beloved cranes occasionally appear against the large boulders of the castle wall.













We are told that the castle gardens will be closing within the hour and so we head there first.





One goal of tourism here (which is geared mostly toward the Japanese) is to promote and safeguard traditional Japanese customs, including music, and the loudspeakers ensure that even those whose hearing doesn’t measure up have a full appreciation of the melodic twists and turns.





The garden is small but quite pretty. It’s not empty, but it’s not families that we really see. Sure, some, but it’s mostly young coupes and older people. Again I spot a crane, watching us, ready to take flight if anyone comes near.





From this vantage, you can see, as well, the castle towers.





As we leave the bridges and the ponds and start the climb up the hill, I am again impressed how high heels make their way along these rugged grounds (the spikes and wedges are extremely popular among young women, especially young women on dates). At one point, a damsel seems so in distress about making her way down a step, that even Ed (yes, that's right), who wears blinders to such womanly nonsense, offers a hand to help her make the transition from one step to the next.

We climb not only the hill, but also the steps leading up to the turret and then up to the castle tower itself.

The views are nice enough, but the cityscape dominates. The hills and mountains to the north are lovely and the lake looks pretty during these near evening hours, yet you are distracted by the grand sweep of commerce and urbanization. Hikone is not a big city by any means, but it’s big enough to take over the landscape here. The best view is toward the north, along the lakefront.





But the castle itself is quite lovely in its simplicity.





Indoors as well. The beams and rafters give a warm woodsy smell to the interior and as always, we all remove our shoes before entering, so that you hear only the muffled shuffle of feet along the older floors.

Outside, those who need relief from the heat can pass through a misty tent to get refreshed.





I’m getting quite used to the humid weather, but Ed is still thinking a swim might be nice and so we make our way down, past a lovely show of water lilies, just below a bamboo grove..









...all the way to where the canal empties out into the waters of the lake.





The sun is slowly receding. If ever I feel I am in South East Asia, it is now, on the edge of Lake Biwa, watching the hopeful fishermen casting their lines into the dark waters of the lake. Something about the light, the dense moist air, the breeze pulling in a fragrance like no other...





I wait to see if anyone brings anything in. One young man does.





And now Ed finds his searched out beach of sorts. There is a grassy stretch and it is incredible to us that it should be so nearly empty on a lovely Sunday afternoon and evening when the waters are indeed clear and the air is fragrant with summer.

He swims, I watch the sun set over the hills across the shore.





And soon the sun sinks behind the hill, and the sky now is a splash of blazing color.





It's time for us to head back. We walk to the train station along streets that are nearly empty. The wait for a train back isn’t long. We are in Kyoto by 9 p.m.

And I think it’s about time we have some sushi. It is unfortunate that most of my information on eateries is on places that are in the heart of the city. I am sure there are hundreds of good sushi places in town, but we head back to the hub only because I know where to look there. I find the friendly and pleasantly noisy Tomizushi just behind the halls of the now closed Kyoto market.

We sit again on tatami mats and eat a plate of sushi, sashimi and rolls...





...and they are all predictably superb even if not always predictable in the presentation (take, for example, the grilled salted prawn, which comes to the table with her top grilled, but her bottom raw).





On the walk home from the subway, for the first time there is a visible moon. The cicadas are quieter, the night air feels less sticky. I’m left wondering if a typical Japanese family takes much of a vacation in the month of August. My students tell me that, like in America, vacation time is limited here. Perhaps, then, Sundays, too are mostly at home days. Cooking days, or shopping days, or tend to your wee garden days. Maybe.



a Hikone house -- one with a delightful flower garden

from Kyoto: the philosophy of calm

It’s noon. I haven’t had a morning coffee yet but neither of us wants the workday routine of coffee and cinnamon toast.

It’s Saturday and Ed perks at the idea of going downtown to the market. To look.

To market then...





(I don’t really think she is market bound but we can pretend.)

I find a café with, as usual, exceptional coffee (so good is it, that I do not miss nor seek out espresso shops). A green tea madeline seems fitting as an accompaniment.

At the market, we concentrate on identifying what is being sold. Sometimes it’s fairly obvious, even if you can't read the signs.






Most often it’s not. Here, I suggest we're looking at eggplant smothered in soy paste or brine, but Ed thinks the crate above has something resembling sausage. But sausage is not a Japanese item. Would that be eel? Or am I off altogether?





Sometimes there is much writing and no information (for those with no Japanese skills). Sometimes there is just a little information. Here, two words are in English.





Sometimes there are the ubiquitous (though less ubiquitous than in the past; perhaps cooks are less willing to be regimented?) plastic models to help you along.





Sometimes you think you know what you’re seeing, you just can’t quite believe it. Especially when a young boy buys one (on a stick) and walks away happy.





It is (what a surprise) a very clean market and even skittish types like me, who will not eat street food in many parts of the world, has no issue with picking up items here. We buy an egg dish. Made by these wonderful cooks who make a favorite here – rolls, like sushi, but based on egg rather than rice. I’m sure it has a name. I enjoy watching them cook with chop sticks.





Slowly, you begin to recognize recurring themes. Of pickled and brined vegetables, for example.





And here is surely a common Japanese trilogy:





We’re not buying much though. We have a day of walking before us. A bag of sugared ginger and apricot. That’s it.

And now we take the subway to northeastern Kyoto. I remember falling in love with a small temple and garden here and I am curious if it is as peaceful and calm now, on this rather populated holiday week-end.

Konchi-in. Yes, it remains an oasis of solitude and a place for contemplation.





We come across a man raking the pebbles of the Zen dry garden.





We sit on the temple steps and watch. Behind us, the golden screens with graceful cranes line the temple walls.









The temple grounds are empty. One other couple comes and goes. We stay for a long time. There is something significant and special in the movement of the wooden rake, making tracks across the pebbles. If you’re like me, always preferring the calm path over the one where disputes rage and conflict is palpable, maybe you’ll have this same reaction of utter satisfaction in merely listening to the sound of the rake across the tiny stones.

In this (and in not too many other ways), my occasional traveling companion and I are exactly alike.





We leave now, stopping only for a minute to watch the turtles chat with the fish in the pond.





After Konchi-in, any temple is likely to feel crowded. Nanzen-in is just up the next street and it in fact is relatively peaceful too. But it's not Konchi-in quiet.









You get spoiled. We find a path behind the temple that climbs into the eastern hills bordering Kyoto here. We think it surely is a short path. It’s not. It continues up toward the ridge, past trees with red bark and carpets of fern...





It's been cloudy all day, but the sun breaks through for just a minute, throwing momentarily a shadow that, too me, looks like a little bird.





We are not prepared to climb mountains today, but it is so tranquil and empty here that we continue. Up, up, until we have reached whatever summit this is. And then even beyond. We go down a bit until we come to a clearing.





Not sure of what the sign says. We sit down on a felled log and listen to the noises of the forest.  A forest calm does not require a total silence.





We turn back, if only because it is humid (as always) and we are low on water.

The walk down is slippery, but we make good time. (My shoes, however inadequate for climbing, are more suited for the hills than those of a casual temple stroller. Here's an example of the latter.)





The detour up the mountain did take a slice of the afternoon out of our hands and so the itinerary must now let go of temple walks, as most temples begin to close by now. We pause to consider our route. A monk is having a conversation with a passerby and I watch, looking to see if there is a possibility of a discreet photo (I carry no great zoom on this trip). There is.





After they finish, the passerby comes over and asks if we need help, if we are lost, if we would like ideas on where to go next. We actually do have a route, but he is so anxious to tell us all he knows that we listen with enthusiasm and thank him before proceeding further.

We are now on the Walk of Philosophy. (So named because, it is said, a famous Japanese philosopher once strolled here to inspire himself and think deeply about his work.) Here, too, it is fairly quiet now. A couple walks by, a family passes us, an occasional dog walker.





On a bench, I see surely the most comfortable pair of cats on the planet.





Ah, to be that calm always...

We try to visit one more temple – the far northerly Honen-in, but it’s no use. Closed for the day. Still, it is worth the slight detour. The entrance gate is set in a forest of maple and bamboo and as we sit on the outside steps, I again think that shutting out the clamor of the outside world often makes sense. Because then you can see the delicate shades of a maple leaf and listen to the movement of bamboo leaves.









Our hike for the day is at an end. I offer eating options and again Ed is not hungry. I suggest a noodle shop that has other offerings, thinking that he wont be able to resist a bowlful of udon noodles in warm broth.

We go to Omen, a lovely little place just near the northernmost tip of the Path of Philosophy.





Inside, a few people sit at the counter...





...but most, like us, are on tatami mats. It’s early still, and so families dominate. I watch the one just to the side, where a mother and daughters and a mother-in-law share a meal.





Family relations in Japan. That’s another chapter altogether. (One that my students do not shy away from discussing.) For now though I concentrate on the set dinners we ordered. I promised Ed I’d eat anything that would be too much for him.

It is an easy promise to keep. The food – tempura vegetables and a shrimp and then bowls of noodles and broth, to be dressed with any number of offered accompaniments – is delicious. We each polish off the tempura and slurp down every last noodle.













We are far from our subway line, in this northern corner of Kyoto. But, we’re up for the walk. We cross the river where it is still quite shallow and Sunday strollers cool off on the rocks that span the waters.





Finally, we take the subway home to our last stop. It’s still a few minutes before eight. The stores are about to close, but we have time to pick up a few supplies at the small supermarket. Peaches to split and ration for a few days. The more affordable kiwi. Nuts, orange juice and ice cream bars.

The trick is to do the walk home (typically 20 minutes) quickly enough so that the ice cream doesn’t melt.

I learn that ice cream does not mind humidity. The bars are safe. Ed'll eat them first thing in the morning.