After hearing rave reviews, I ventured out to Meigetsu-in this morning. Also known as the Ajisai Dera, or Hydrangea Temple, Meigetsu-in attracts thousands of visitors each June when the hydrangeas are in bloom. I was advised to go on a weekday, preferably early in the morning, to avoid the crowds. Apparently “early in the morning” did not mean one hour after the temple opened. I should have been there waiting when they unlocked the gates at 8:30. By the time I got there, the place was mobbed by school children and tour groups of old men (each group was identified by a different brightly colored bandana tied around the neck). So, as in other sightseeing endeavors, I found myself sucked into the crowd, and propelled along with no real say in my direction of travel.
Now, I don’t know a whole lot about hydrangeas, but from my travels around town in the past few weeks, I knew that they came in a variety of colors. That’s what I expected when I walked through the grounds of the temple. I was disappointed to see that about ninety percent of the blooms were blue. I was hoping for more purples, pinks, wines, and pale yellows. (Did you know that there is an old Japanese legend that says pink hydrangeas are colored by the blood of an old man or old woman buried in the ground below?) When I mentioned the temple’s limited palette to a friend, she told me she thought hydrangea colors depended on the pH of the soil. I looked it up on Google, and sure enough, the pH and amounts of certain elements such as aluminum affect the flowers’ color. Lends some credibility to that old Japanese legend!
Thursday, June 11--Bad hair season begins
Oh yippee. The rainy season officially began yesterday. Ironically, yesterday was the sunniest day we’ve had in a week (not counting today), so I asked some of my students why yesterday was chosen as the beginning of the season. They all looked at me with puzzled expressions, and speaking to me like I was mentally challenged said, “Because the meteorology department said so.” Of course. How silly of me.
Turns out it doesn’t rain every day during the rainy season. The season lasts about six weeks, but on average only about a dozen of those days are total washouts. However the potential is always there. The humidity is up around 80 percent or so (so high you wish it would just rain already), and it’s a crapshoot whether the clouds that are constantly forming will let loose a deluge or drift off and break up.
Umbrellas are always close at hand, scooter riders are clad in rubber suits, and an amazing rainbow of galoshes and Crocs has appeared on the feet of my fellow train-riders. I have been looking in vain for Japanese who are having as bad a hair day (…week…month…) as I am. How is it they all have hair that looks perfect in the rain or in a gale or after a sweaty hike to the train station while mine resembles a Brillo pad inserted into a light socket?
Turns out it doesn’t rain every day during the rainy season. The season lasts about six weeks, but on average only about a dozen of those days are total washouts. However the potential is always there. The humidity is up around 80 percent or so (so high you wish it would just rain already), and it’s a crapshoot whether the clouds that are constantly forming will let loose a deluge or drift off and break up.
Umbrellas are always close at hand, scooter riders are clad in rubber suits, and an amazing rainbow of galoshes and Crocs has appeared on the feet of my fellow train-riders. I have been looking in vain for Japanese who are having as bad a hair day (…week…month…) as I am. How is it they all have hair that looks perfect in the rain or in a gale or after a sweaty hike to the train station while mine resembles a Brillo pad inserted into a light socket?
Friday, June 5--"The Way of Tea"
Tea was first introduced to Japan in the 9th century, but it wasn’t until the 13th century that the tea ceremony began to evolve. These somber rituals, influenced by many aspects of Buddhism, remained primarily a pastime of the wealthy until the 16th century. By that time, tea was being regularly enjoyed by all levels of society, and a prominent figure in the history of the tea ceremony, Sen no Rikyu set forth four principles that are still key to the “way of tea” today—harmony, respect, purity, and tranquility. The most important tenet of the tea ceremony (or any aspect of your life, for that matter) is “ichi-go, ichi-e,” which means that each moment is a once in a lifetime occurrence unable to be replicated, and therefore must be treasured.
The staff of JMSDF arranged for the American instructors to experience the “way of tea” this morning. We only got an introductory course to this important cultural ritual, rather than the full four-hour ceremony (much to my great relief—I was worried about having to sit Japanese-style for so long). In a demonstration, we learned the importance of simplicity of the room (the only decorations are a single scroll and an ikebana flower arrangement in an alcove) and how the design of the tea tools is to be admired and appreciated. We saw how the guests enter the tea room, how the hostess welcomes guests, and how she makes and serves the tea. Everything about the ceremony is learned through years of instruction—each movement is carefully choreographed, and many are too subtle to be noticed by an untrained eye. You can see some of this graceful action in this short video.
After observing the ceremony, we were taken to the dining room where half of us became hosts and were taught to make tea to serve to the “guest” sitting across the table from us. The tea used in the ceremony is powdered green tea, or matcha, which we carefully measured out from a lacquer container into a bowl using a bamboo scoop. Hot water was added, and then the mixture was whisked with a bamboo whisk until it was foamy. While the tea was being prepared, the guest ate a small sweet to cut down on the bitterness of the tea that was to come. The host passed the tea bowl across to the guest, who rotated it so as not to drink from the front. The tea was sipped (only about three sips-worth in the bowl), then the bowl was rotated back to its original position and returned to the host. We then switched roles, and hosts became guests. As a host, I felt like all thumbs as I was trying to handle the tea tools gracefully—I see why it takes years of practice to become proficient at this. As a guest, I was pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of the sweet (most Japanese sweets do not live up to the title), and how effectively it cut the bitterness of the tea. I was perplexed, however, by the front of the tea bowl—I saw nothing to distinguish the front from the back or the sides. Turns out you have to pay attention to the way the host presents it to you. The side facing you when she passes it automatically becomes the front, and you must remember how far you turn it before drinking, so you can restore it to its original position before handing it back.
I enjoyed this taste of Japanese culture, but I don’t think I’m up for the entire four-hour ritual. It is supposed to be a calming experience, but I would be stressed trying to figure out all of the nuances of the ceremony.
The staff of JMSDF arranged for the American instructors to experience the “way of tea” this morning. We only got an introductory course to this important cultural ritual, rather than the full four-hour ceremony (much to my great relief—I was worried about having to sit Japanese-style for so long). In a demonstration, we learned the importance of simplicity of the room (the only decorations are a single scroll and an ikebana flower arrangement in an alcove) and how the design of the tea tools is to be admired and appreciated. We saw how the guests enter the tea room, how the hostess welcomes guests, and how she makes and serves the tea. Everything about the ceremony is learned through years of instruction—each movement is carefully choreographed, and many are too subtle to be noticed by an untrained eye. You can see some of this graceful action in this short video.
After observing the ceremony, we were taken to the dining room where half of us became hosts and were taught to make tea to serve to the “guest” sitting across the table from us. The tea used in the ceremony is powdered green tea, or matcha, which we carefully measured out from a lacquer container into a bowl using a bamboo scoop. Hot water was added, and then the mixture was whisked with a bamboo whisk until it was foamy. While the tea was being prepared, the guest ate a small sweet to cut down on the bitterness of the tea that was to come. The host passed the tea bowl across to the guest, who rotated it so as not to drink from the front. The tea was sipped (only about three sips-worth in the bowl), then the bowl was rotated back to its original position and returned to the host. We then switched roles, and hosts became guests. As a host, I felt like all thumbs as I was trying to handle the tea tools gracefully—I see why it takes years of practice to become proficient at this. As a guest, I was pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of the sweet (most Japanese sweets do not live up to the title), and how effectively it cut the bitterness of the tea. I was perplexed, however, by the front of the tea bowl—I saw nothing to distinguish the front from the back or the sides. Turns out you have to pay attention to the way the host presents it to you. The side facing you when she passes it automatically becomes the front, and you must remember how far you turn it before drinking, so you can restore it to its original position before handing it back.I enjoyed this taste of Japanese culture, but I don’t think I’m up for the entire four-hour ritual. It is supposed to be a calming experience, but I would be stressed trying to figure out all of the nuances of the ceremony.
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