38°14'46"N 140°53'0"E

I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier.

Across the street, taken from the shaded pedestrian crossing just above the box:

The weather's cooling, which is a welcome sign. Wednesday the 15th was the hottest it's ever been in Sendai since records began. Aww, Japan, just for me? You shouldn't have. No really, you shouldn't. It was thirty-seven degrees. A bus drove past me on the street; the wind of its passing singed my hair and aged my skin 5 years. I saw an old man simply burst into flames.

It's getting dark earlier, too. Autumn in Japan should be a treat.

Day of Islands (Part 1)

There's a famous haiku that goes like this:

Matsushima ah!

A-ah, Matsushima, ah!

Matsushima, ah!

It's supposed to convey how the beauty of Matsushima has left the poet speechless. I reckon it's in the same artistic category as framed sheets of blank canvas that sell for thousands of dollars. But then I'm just a gai-jin, so what could I possibly know?

Matsushima is an island-filled bay to the northeast of Sendai. When I say "island-filled," don't think "Bay of Islands." Think "a bay, filled with islands." There are about 260 of them, of many sizes. It was to this destination, one of the Three Views of Japan, that I traveled with Ryan and his girlfriend Miki one glorious summer day.

The train ride took only about twenty minutes, but served to emphasise the contrasts to be found in Japanese cities. One minute it can be solid city, then in a flash it's just rice paddies with lines of towering pylons in the distance. There was also a large sign proclaiming "Bridal Fapping!" which blew my mind a little.

It turned out we'd got on the wrong line, so we had to walk for maybe fifteen minutes back to the bay, but the way the entire vista is suddenly there as you turn a corner is quite amazing (a shame it was a little too amazing for the camera to adequately capture in one go). In a stroke of luck, a convenience store nearby sold sunscreen (a rare substance in Japan). Without it I would have been neatly roasted in about half an hour.

There are four main locations at Matsushima.

Godaido is the first we visited. It is an intricately-constructed shrine housing the god of the bay. It's on a tiny island right near the shore; like the others accessible on foot it is connected to the mainland by a red bridge (anyone who's played the "Myst" series might find it familiar - this of course, for me, added to the charm). Here I got my first taste of Shinto Buddhism; many people would approach the shrine, offer a coin out of respect, ring the bell to attract the god's attention, and pray. Tied to the trees overhanging the area were bad fortunes - tied here so they could not follow their readers.

The area is strongly devoted to Date Masamune, the founder of Sendai. He was known as the "One-Eyed Tiger;" smallpox had claimed one of his eyes (which he removed himself) and he was infamous for his hot temper and compulsive nature. Many representations of Masamune can be purchased here. On a nearby sub-island was a souvenir shop; had I desired it, I could have bought a Hello Kitty Masamune keyring, complete with black armour and eyepatch. I wonder what the great man would have thought of that.

Set back within the town itself is the temple of Zuiganji. It takes as long to get there as it does to see the temple itself. It is impossible to simply walk down the long forest path that leads to the gate. You have to turn aside on another path past the cliff. Into the cliff have been hewn many small Buddhist shrines. Some of these shrines go beyond the ordinary. The trees and forest floor proved just as interesting.

Once we'd negotiated the ticket booth and bustling guided tours, we made it to Zuiganji itself. It was not the home of Masamune, but he would visit it often, especially when receiving visiting samurai lords. To one side there was a courtyard leading to the East Wing, where food was prepared. On the south side of the courtyard was the museum, containing many wonders. Just about the first thing we saw was an umpan, a solid iron gong used to summon workers for meals. It was cast in 1376. I staggered. When you live in little old only-240-years-of-recorded-history New Zealand, such things come as a shock. If the statue of Masamune we saw was life-size as touted, he must have been tiny. It was unfortunate that we were unable to take any photos.

We weren't allowed to take photos of the temple interior either, but it was spectacular. Dark polished wood floors; painted and gilt panels on the walls; a shrine to the thirty-six samurai who committed suicide upon Masamune's death. I took this photo of the exterior gardens while standing in the corridor; behind me was a small room where the Meiji Emperor spent the night in 1874; next to it was a meeting room where mighty samurai would meet to decide the fate of Japan. Again I got that feeling of history smacking me on the forehead. These times long past were so close I could touch them.

The temple grounds were very nice also.

Not far away was another temple, Sankeiden, this time in honour of Masamune's grandson Mitsumune. Rumour had it that he was poisoned by the Tokugawa family because he was becoming dangerously influential. The gardens were a mix of formal and wild, and even included a small graveyard (out of shot to the left). The main hall is used these days for calligraphy classes and tea ceremonies.

We emerged from the shaded forest into the brilliant sunshine on the wide lawn by the waterfront. It wasn't even midday yet.

The medium-sized island to the south is called Oshima (but that's nothing special; every second island in Japan is called Oshima - it means simply "island"). The path there lent an air of mystery to it, as did the bridge. Ryan and Miki had gone off in another direction, so I decided to leave them and explore the island by myself.

It was like a dream come true; a mystery made real. There was a narrow cliff path leading to a tunnel driven through the rock. On the far side I was presented with a delicious choice: sunny grove or windswept headland? I chose the headland. I was rewarded well. The headland possessed a stark nature; trees clung to the bare earth and inscribed stones jutted at skewed angles from the ground. The view, with the wind whistling in my ears, was nothing short of spectacular, mixing sublime natural scenery with the ancient man-made stone markers. In that moment, I would have been happy spending the rest of my life in that one spot.

Time for a break, I think; all that linkage wears a body out. I'll post Part 2 soon.

It never rains...

I’ve always prided myself on my sense of direction. It’s not often I can’t find my way in an environment. Chalk it up to all that Doom when I was younger; whatever. I have of late discovered a phenomenon that is my arch-nemesis, something of which New Zealand is entirely innocent. That thing is underground travel.

On my way to the Sendai Honko branch, in the centre of the busiest area in Sendai, I am above ground for perhaps four minutes of the twenty that it takes to get there. The passages of the subway twist and jink and move in odd ways; calculating direction is impossible short of gluing a compass to my face.

Going home the other night, I thought I’d be clever and visit the supermarket on the way, getting off the subway a stop early and saving myself a lot of time. So when I arrived on the street and found that it bore no resemblance to anything with which I was familiar, it was almost inevitable that I decided to set off in the wrong direction. I could have cut to the chase and just climbed back on board the train, but no, I, navigation snob extraordinaire, was not to be defeated so easily.

My defeat was, indeed, not easy. It took twenty rain-soaked minutes. At which point I decided somewhat belatedly that the losses needing to be cut were significant, and made my way back to the subway.

Getting lost in the rain isn’t entirely a bad thing, though, if you are equipped for it. That day at Honko, I planned to walk back to Sendai Station and save myself 200 yen. I set off down Sun Mall in, again, the wrong direction, but it didn’t matter so much because getting lost during the day is much more interesting than doing so at night. In the end I found myself on Jozenji-dori, a magnificent tree-lined avenue in the Kotodai-koen district. From here there were many little streets down which I could find my way back, but I chose this one:

You can see the edge of my umbrella at the top of the picture – it was this little thing that made all the difference between “pleasant walk in the rain” and “misery incarnate.”

Interesting side note: no-one here wears raincoats. Maybe a clear plastic slicker, but not an actual coat. Here, the umbrella is the rain-defence of choice. Even when riding a bicycle. Rainy days can be perilous for a tall person like me; inevitably the entire citizenry brandishes an umbrella, the pointy edges of which jostle unpredictably round at eye height. It’s a subtle hint: “avoid facial trauma, foolish gai-jin! Use an umbrella like the rest of us!”

They sent me to Ishinomaki not long ago, which is a smallish city about an hour’s bus ride north-east of Sendai. The bus drops you off right outside the mall where the school is; the train station, however, which you use to get home, is a twenty minute walk away. And of course it was raining.

It wasn’t heavy rain, just that drifting mist that nevertheless soaks you in no time. I took my jacket off so a minimum of clothing got wet. With time running short, Rie (one of the staff – pronounced “ree-ay”) made me ride her bicycle to the station so I wouldn’t miss the train. It was just a couple of minutes, but riding down a dark street in the rain was the highlight of the day.

A note on bicycles that I didn’t mention in my earlier post: Japanese bicycles are imbued with a pragmatism that is completely absent from from the New Zealand bicycling environment. Every single bike has chain- and mud-guards. In New Zealand, having those things makes you an old woman. In Japan it makes you not wet or dirty. It’s an interesting nod toward practicality in a country otherwise obsessed with saving face; I guess it’s a bit much to hope for from our macho culture.

At least rainy season’s over.