Buddhist shrines & puppet freakshows

Twelve days around Japan and a large chunk of token Japanese tourism can now be satisfactory crossed off. Tokyo’s futuristic architecture and acid trip teenagers have been sought out, drooled over and snapped with a digital lens. We strolled dreamily through the most beautiful gardens in Japan (located in the captivating city of Kanazawa; my first choice for my teaching placement), stood captivated beneath the breadth and beauty of a snow covered Mt. Fuji and sipping green tea in a traditional Geisha district. We even sat front row at a sumo wrestling tournament, watching hour after hour of morbidly obese men in G-strings try and wrestle each other to the ground. I’m sure there is a lot of tradition in it, but most of the westerners around us spend the whole time whispering things like “Oh my god look how fat that one is!”


The highlight of the trip was a trip to the local town of Takayama, famous for its traditional Japanese craft shops and locals wares. We stayed in a Buddhist shrine run by a bald American called Woody. He wore massive baggy jeans and stunk of cigarettes (later on, we saw him smoking in the temple). He claimed to have lived in Japan for eleven years and had run the Buddhist hostel for five. He told us he was a ‘Buddhist apprentice’ in a voice that made it clear that we would never understand his inner Zen.


The shrine itself was a rundown affair; the hot water was turned on for approximately four hours a day and the floors creaked. It appeared that Woody was the only person who lived in the temple; he informed us that the head monk was in Tokyo for a conference (??) and there were no other monks to be seen. The temple itself was off to the side, in a dusty room with the lights off and the curtains closed. Woody informed us that we could use the room for our own private meditations if we wished. We did not wish.


The walls to our room were actually made of paper, and as a result we could hear Woody’s swishing baggy jeans from the other end of the corridor. He spent most of the time in his office, smoking and watching his flat screen TV. He told us he meditated a lot, but I would have guessed something else.


The markets at Takayama consisted mainly of precious things and pickled vegetables. My hopes for a Japanese Scarborough fair faded away in a medley of wooden dolls and small gherkins on toothpicks. Dispersed throughout these delights were variants on the town mascot; a hideous, faceless rag doll thing, reminiscent of Tubbs off The League of Gentlemen.



In typical Japanese style, it was available in every colour and variant from key rings to jelly moulds. I freaked out and had to go out onto the street to escape from it. Still, it is not much better than Sapporo’s mascot, which is a small bald green man with a bulging erection.


We finally managed to find the museum Shi-shi Kaikan; a supposed must see in Takayama for having over 500 lion masks on display. Inside, we instead found ourselves at a bizarre puppet show, in which magnetised emperors hacked each other to death with samurai swords. A small child ran around the stage and showed the audience how all the tricks were done; the whole thing was in Japanese so I had no idea what was going on. The highlight came at the end, when another emperor changed from a human to a lion and fought a duel with a meddlesome pumpkin. I managed to record it through spasms of laughter.







Back at the shrine, Woody told us that there was no hot water for a shower because he forgot to turn it on, he muttered some half-assed apology and walked away scratching his ear.

I stole an umbrella when we left.