Tourist Rightly
The only time in recent memory when I have been a tourist proper, is when after cycling for a long time down to Spain with my girlfriend, we were grounded in Barcelona due financial difficulties (we couldn’t afford the flight back from anywhere else). I hated it – we were just another member of the trapped, dumb herd, following instructions dictating to go from hither to thither. It was claustrophobic, frankly boring experience never to be repeated. But of course time is the greatest enemy of truth, and I am in Japan – I had to go to Kyoto sometime.
Despite the scenery, almost hypnotic notice boards, and the pre-placed tourist entrapments, the most enthralling of all the arts (natural or otherwise) are the people in uniforms. Every one of the Artz students here has asked at some point or another to take the photo of the humble driver, conductor, information clerk, maintenance man – they are just so appealing. The living monuments, the embodiment of what is Japan. It’s not the photos of the temples, or the angular perspective ambience shot you look forward to seeing, it’s the one of Joe…(sorry)Akira Blogs standing by his equipment in his spangling uniform. Look at all the www. social photo sharing services, generally what are the most viewed photos – the one with highly evocative lighting illuminating an ambiguous object, or the one of the crazy smiling happy person? I save this digression for a later date.
Amelia and I marvelled at the maintenance man at the platforms edge at a station South of Kyoto.
Kyoto, I thought had to be better than Nagoya i.e. it had have an element of life, other than human to it i.e. it actually had to have a patch of grass. The assent to the top of Kyoto station felt like a disembodied experience, with escalator upon escalator facing the very light, pallid sky. At the top was a garden (A GARDEN) grass inclusive, but it had that element of Japanese beauty that I was certainly not craving. It was simple, it was balanced, but as far as I was concerned it was simply an overtly contrived plasticy building. My feeling was definitely in the minority with some Japanese people serenely meditating, or asleep, or quietly contemplating. I also hoped the view of Kyoto to be something different to what it was. Surrounding the garden was high, thick glass revealing the city as yet another, Nagoya-like, grey urban jungle, with little space to exhale; however, the mountains were both tantalisingly, and frustratingly close.
Kota – our friend and guide – had the whole day planned out for us. Temple after temple was the basic agenda. The first temple we entered had a disappointing surround, but inside was very interesting. Hundreds of gold statues were placed in a dazzling symetitricity. In front of these were about thirty Gods, each with a description of who and why they were. I have never been an immensely in-depth history or religion buff so it surprised me that virtually everything I read said, very basically, Chinese Buddhism appropriated a lot of their deities from Hinduism, and Japanese Buddhism appropriated from Chinese Buddhism and Hinduism. I was surprised that this was the case, but I was more surprised that they were so forthright with it. Don’t the Japanese Buddhists feel slightly cheapened by their ‘adapted’ religion? I know Christianity is the same story, but that’s my point. Every religion has based its ‘model’ on other, previously existing religions. Don’t Christians, Muslims, Sikhs, Buddhists, ever look at what was before them and question the divine truth, authority, authenticity, and originality that their own texts seemingly elucidate? As I’ve said before – what do I know?
Anyway, I wasn’t allowed to take photos – understandable, but annoying. There were more fascinating facts and accounts about the temples history, but I could feel the invisible pull of impatient friends waiting outside. Outside, one of my friends said that ‘she didn’t like it, too much like a boring museum’.
After lunch we headed to another temple near the mountains. This one was a lot more ostentatious with its colour, set in a lot nicer surround, but somehow more unpleasant. The sources of my discomfort were my simian brethren – the Americans, the Deutsch, the Indians, the Japanese – the people. Everyone taking photos to prove their holiday happened, creating and sealing that now forever happy moment. The ‘been there, done that’ culture that seems to be in all our bones. Oh yes, we all did it as well, the urge is completely surreptitious and unavoidable – ‘we were there, we smiled, we created the memory’. This time I was the one pulling the group with the invisible leash of dissatisfaction. This place would have been perfectly beautiful were it not for the smash of the city so close, and the people like my friends and I. Still, without our constant souvenir/proof of experience buying, I don’t know how long such a multitude of temples could survive.
Later on that day we wondered around fascinating small streets where they sold those ‘traditional goods’ for the tourists – we tried every sweet taste you could conceivably make from some natural flavouring and some bean paste. A friend and I also tried tiny, dried baby fish – it was interesting picking whole fish from between teeth. Then we saw what every person who visits Japan wants to see – a Maiko or Geisha. We all used the part of the mind responsible for respect and didn’t ask her to stop and pose for a photo.
For me, the best part of the day was sitting down in a café watching the people go by with their distinct sense of de rigor. Guessing the lives they lead, spying on them for the ten seconds or so, them completely oblivious to me. Also we all got to put our feet up, of which we were more than grateful.
That night Kota went home and we stayed in a unique and cheap travel house which reminded me of many a horror movie. That night I found myself defending ‘Japan’ against a barrage of complaints made by a friend. It was a strange debate involving comparisons of first hand experiences in different cultures, and third hand stereotypes of others. The whole debate twisted, turned and degraded into something else entirely as any overtly emotional, uninformed, unfocused discussion does. During in that time I heard myself saying diplomatic (‘weak’) things such as, ‘any culture is as interesting as any other culture, it’s all about trying to see the reasoning behind its development’. As I played back the nights conversations in that introspective stage I often arrive at when my mind is meant to be gearing down for sleep, lying in my bed I found myself asking myself should I be defending something I know I don’t agree with? Other such portentous questions plagued me in that twilight zone, but eventually I just gave up and went to sleep with stereo snoring beside me (thanks Pablo, and thanks Mr. American).
The next day we rented bikes that were cheap and that worked. Just. I really enjoyed being back on a two-wheeled freedom machine. You know, the wind through your hair, to be afforded an amount of therapeutic caprice, and all that stuff. Again though I could feel the anchor of other people dragging behind. I felt the pressure not to get lost, even though that’s all I wanted to do. We found our way onto the enlighteningly named ‘Philosophers Path’. Stumbling onto a lot smaller, less ornate, but infinitely more enchanting temple. There was only one other Japanese person there, it was at the foot of the mountains, and it was quiet. Sorry, it was quiet except for us – The Tourists. We were clad in the traditional dress of The Tourist – bags, sunburn, and inappropriate clothes. We also spoke in the traditional manner – loud, disrespectful, and dumb. I felt sorry for the lone Japanese person who was hoping to receive peace. For us though, it was an atmospheric and semi-spiritual experience.
We carried on along Philosophers Path to another bigger, famous temple but found out that we had to part with more cash so we went to the hidden, but I suspect nicer, free, subsidiary temple close by. Exactly the same thing happened – the person from the first small temple had chosen the same route as us. Sure enough, there we were sprawled, perhaps disrespectfully, perhaps not, along the various stairs. She left very quickly.
Everybody followed the erratic path I created with my bike and my compass. I tried to make the route interesting by keeping to the smaller roads, but instead I think that I aggravated some of my friends who just wanted to get to the next destination. We bought some food and stopped at a ‘Fine Art Garden’ to eat it. Maybe we should have known, through over two months of experience, that it wasn’t going to be what we were sure it was going to be. No – it wasn’t a beautiful garden created by Japan’s finest horticulturalists, artists and landscapers. But yes – it was a concrete area flowing with water with life size replicas of various famous pieces by Michelangelo, Monet, and the like. There was one really very interesting faux tapestry (printed into a hard surface like concrete) showing life – the technology, work, architecture etc – in ancient Japan. We promptly exited the ‘garden’ and sat on the small area of grass just outside to eat our food. Whilst eating we could see next to the Fine Arts Garden was actually a beautiful ‘real garden’ with flowers, and grass inclusive. Quite infuriatingly the entrance fee was separate for the neighbouring ‘Art Garden’ and garden of art.
Appropriately, as I am running out of vigour, and adjectives for this entry as I come to the section where I was running out of will to see anymore man-made places of ‘spirituality’. We went to probably, supposedly the most impressive of all temples Rokuon-ji. It was beautiful, all painted in gold but I don’t think I really ‘got’ anything from it. Everything was fenced off telling you where a respectful distance was, it even told where a good photo spot was (obviously the buildings flattering side). What’s the point in something being a major World Heritage tourist attraction if no one but a few in the World can truly experience and enjoy it? Especially when they charge an entrance fee!
On the train home I pondered more about things and those things connections to stuff. Despite making Kyoto sounding a bit hellish I did have that retrospective general warmth of ‘yeah, that was a ‘good-time’ wasn’t it?’. Perhaps I’ve just I realised my hypocritical approach to travelling, and I was angered by myself. But maybe I should just go with the flow, appreciate my position more and take advantage of it. Yep.
Despite the scenery, almost hypnotic notice boards, and the pre-placed tourist entrapments, the most enthralling of all the arts (natural or otherwise) are the people in uniforms. Every one of the Artz students here has asked at some point or another to take the photo of the humble driver, conductor, information clerk, maintenance man – they are just so appealing. The living monuments, the embodiment of what is Japan. It’s not the photos of the temples, or the angular perspective ambience shot you look forward to seeing, it’s the one of Joe…(sorry)Akira Blogs standing by his equipment in his spangling uniform. Look at all the www. social photo sharing services, generally what are the most viewed photos – the one with highly evocative lighting illuminating an ambiguous object, or the one of the crazy smiling happy person? I save this digression for a later date.
Amelia and I marvelled at the maintenance man at the platforms edge at a station South of Kyoto.
Kyoto, I thought had to be better than Nagoya i.e. it had have an element of life, other than human to it i.e. it actually had to have a patch of grass. The assent to the top of Kyoto station felt like a disembodied experience, with escalator upon escalator facing the very light, pallid sky. At the top was a garden (A GARDEN) grass inclusive, but it had that element of Japanese beauty that I was certainly not craving. It was simple, it was balanced, but as far as I was concerned it was simply an overtly contrived plasticy building. My feeling was definitely in the minority with some Japanese people serenely meditating, or asleep, or quietly contemplating. I also hoped the view of Kyoto to be something different to what it was. Surrounding the garden was high, thick glass revealing the city as yet another, Nagoya-like, grey urban jungle, with little space to exhale; however, the mountains were both tantalisingly, and frustratingly close.
Kota – our friend and guide – had the whole day planned out for us. Temple after temple was the basic agenda. The first temple we entered had a disappointing surround, but inside was very interesting. Hundreds of gold statues were placed in a dazzling symetitricity. In front of these were about thirty Gods, each with a description of who and why they were. I have never been an immensely in-depth history or religion buff so it surprised me that virtually everything I read said, very basically, Chinese Buddhism appropriated a lot of their deities from Hinduism, and Japanese Buddhism appropriated from Chinese Buddhism and Hinduism. I was surprised that this was the case, but I was more surprised that they were so forthright with it. Don’t the Japanese Buddhists feel slightly cheapened by their ‘adapted’ religion? I know Christianity is the same story, but that’s my point. Every religion has based its ‘model’ on other, previously existing religions. Don’t Christians, Muslims, Sikhs, Buddhists, ever look at what was before them and question the divine truth, authority, authenticity, and originality that their own texts seemingly elucidate? As I’ve said before – what do I know?
Anyway, I wasn’t allowed to take photos – understandable, but annoying. There were more fascinating facts and accounts about the temples history, but I could feel the invisible pull of impatient friends waiting outside. Outside, one of my friends said that ‘she didn’t like it, too much like a boring museum’.
After lunch we headed to another temple near the mountains. This one was a lot more ostentatious with its colour, set in a lot nicer surround, but somehow more unpleasant. The sources of my discomfort were my simian brethren – the Americans, the Deutsch, the Indians, the Japanese – the people. Everyone taking photos to prove their holiday happened, creating and sealing that now forever happy moment. The ‘been there, done that’ culture that seems to be in all our bones. Oh yes, we all did it as well, the urge is completely surreptitious and unavoidable – ‘we were there, we smiled, we created the memory’. This time I was the one pulling the group with the invisible leash of dissatisfaction. This place would have been perfectly beautiful were it not for the smash of the city so close, and the people like my friends and I. Still, without our constant souvenir/proof of experience buying, I don’t know how long such a multitude of temples could survive.
Later on that day we wondered around fascinating small streets where they sold those ‘traditional goods’ for the tourists – we tried every sweet taste you could conceivably make from some natural flavouring and some bean paste. A friend and I also tried tiny, dried baby fish – it was interesting picking whole fish from between teeth. Then we saw what every person who visits Japan wants to see – a Maiko or Geisha. We all used the part of the mind responsible for respect and didn’t ask her to stop and pose for a photo.
For me, the best part of the day was sitting down in a café watching the people go by with their distinct sense of de rigor. Guessing the lives they lead, spying on them for the ten seconds or so, them completely oblivious to me. Also we all got to put our feet up, of which we were more than grateful.
That night Kota went home and we stayed in a unique and cheap travel house which reminded me of many a horror movie. That night I found myself defending ‘Japan’ against a barrage of complaints made by a friend. It was a strange debate involving comparisons of first hand experiences in different cultures, and third hand stereotypes of others. The whole debate twisted, turned and degraded into something else entirely as any overtly emotional, uninformed, unfocused discussion does. During in that time I heard myself saying diplomatic (‘weak’) things such as, ‘any culture is as interesting as any other culture, it’s all about trying to see the reasoning behind its development’. As I played back the nights conversations in that introspective stage I often arrive at when my mind is meant to be gearing down for sleep, lying in my bed I found myself asking myself should I be defending something I know I don’t agree with? Other such portentous questions plagued me in that twilight zone, but eventually I just gave up and went to sleep with stereo snoring beside me (thanks Pablo, and thanks Mr. American).
The next day we rented bikes that were cheap and that worked. Just. I really enjoyed being back on a two-wheeled freedom machine. You know, the wind through your hair, to be afforded an amount of therapeutic caprice, and all that stuff. Again though I could feel the anchor of other people dragging behind. I felt the pressure not to get lost, even though that’s all I wanted to do. We found our way onto the enlighteningly named ‘Philosophers Path’. Stumbling onto a lot smaller, less ornate, but infinitely more enchanting temple. There was only one other Japanese person there, it was at the foot of the mountains, and it was quiet. Sorry, it was quiet except for us – The Tourists. We were clad in the traditional dress of The Tourist – bags, sunburn, and inappropriate clothes. We also spoke in the traditional manner – loud, disrespectful, and dumb. I felt sorry for the lone Japanese person who was hoping to receive peace. For us though, it was an atmospheric and semi-spiritual experience.
We carried on along Philosophers Path to another bigger, famous temple but found out that we had to part with more cash so we went to the hidden, but I suspect nicer, free, subsidiary temple close by. Exactly the same thing happened – the person from the first small temple had chosen the same route as us. Sure enough, there we were sprawled, perhaps disrespectfully, perhaps not, along the various stairs. She left very quickly.
Everybody followed the erratic path I created with my bike and my compass. I tried to make the route interesting by keeping to the smaller roads, but instead I think that I aggravated some of my friends who just wanted to get to the next destination. We bought some food and stopped at a ‘Fine Art Garden’ to eat it. Maybe we should have known, through over two months of experience, that it wasn’t going to be what we were sure it was going to be. No – it wasn’t a beautiful garden created by Japan’s finest horticulturalists, artists and landscapers. But yes – it was a concrete area flowing with water with life size replicas of various famous pieces by Michelangelo, Monet, and the like. There was one really very interesting faux tapestry (printed into a hard surface like concrete) showing life – the technology, work, architecture etc – in ancient Japan. We promptly exited the ‘garden’ and sat on the small area of grass just outside to eat our food. Whilst eating we could see next to the Fine Arts Garden was actually a beautiful ‘real garden’ with flowers, and grass inclusive. Quite infuriatingly the entrance fee was separate for the neighbouring ‘Art Garden’ and garden of art.
Appropriately, as I am running out of vigour, and adjectives for this entry as I come to the section where I was running out of will to see anymore man-made places of ‘spirituality’. We went to probably, supposedly the most impressive of all temples Rokuon-ji. It was beautiful, all painted in gold but I don’t think I really ‘got’ anything from it. Everything was fenced off telling you where a respectful distance was, it even told where a good photo spot was (obviously the buildings flattering side). What’s the point in something being a major World Heritage tourist attraction if no one but a few in the World can truly experience and enjoy it? Especially when they charge an entrance fee!
On the train home I pondered more about things and those things connections to stuff. Despite making Kyoto sounding a bit hellish I did have that retrospective general warmth of ‘yeah, that was a ‘good-time’ wasn’t it?’. Perhaps I’ve just I realised my hypocritical approach to travelling, and I was angered by myself. But maybe I should just go with the flow, appreciate my position more and take advantage of it. Yep.
posted by Shaun at 05:43
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