MEETING THE ZAO GONGEN

First frost in Nara last week, and now we settle into the inevitability of winter. I'm already nostalgic for the fall.  The Japanese are incredibly proud of their four distinct seasons, and rightly so.  Autumn in Japan is a glorious affair, with fairly temperate weather and riotous color.  As I make a return to sleeping in long underwear and fuzzy pajama pants, wool socks, 2 shirts, a fleece, and a ski cap, I offer a photographic homage to fall's peak this year.

Nara Park, Nara

Nara Park, Nara

The Yoshino Mountains, the most infamous viewing spot in Kansai for cherry blossoms in the spring, was a prime spot for fall foliage this year.  We followed the winding trail up Mt. Kinpu to Kinpusenji Temple, reportedly the second largest wooden structure in Japan.  I had been told that it was well worth it to see the "Blue Buddhas," which are unveiled only once a year for a few weeks.  Except they aren't Buddhas.  These three fearsome blue statues are actually called Zao Gongen, and are Buddhist representations of a Shinto mountain spirit.  Each figure represents a different period of time; past, present and future.  Their blue skin signifies ego, and the vajra (thunderbolt) is held in a threatening gesture meant to symbolize the striking down of evil.  

The Blue Buddha, Yoshino

Further up the trail, we hit a row of shops, and slowed to inspect the horagai, or trumpets made from conch shells.  The horagai are played by the yamabushi, Buddhist warrior monks, who incorporate the instruments in various rituals.  We stopped outside one of the shops, and the owner, a dapper and friendly man, offered to give us an impromptu lesson in conch-blowing.  

First, grip the conch shell with two hands, so that the fingers of one hand curl into the shell.  The other hand wraps around the mouthpiece.  Keep your lips together, and breathe into your diaphragm, forcing the air from your abdomen instead of your mouth.  Alas, the notes that I blew were high-pitched and scratchy, not the deep, bass tones I had hoped for.  However, the shop keeper seemed pleased that I had produced any sound at all, so I took it as a small victory.   

Victory!

We dallied for a while after our lesson to talk to the shop owner, Ota-san.  He was delighted to learn that we were from America, and immediately decided that we must be from San Francisco, ignoring us when we told him that we hailed from Chicago and Texas.  His father, he said, had traveled to San Francisco in 1939 as part of the Golden Gate International Exposition.  His father had been chosen to represent Japan as a wood carver, and Ota-san had a wide range of memorabilia from his father's trip, including passport photos, maps of San Francisco, pamphlets and brochures from the fair, etc.  He then offered us tea and took us through photo albums of various trips he had taken over the course of his life: Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Cambodia, Thailand, Laos, China, Australia, etc.  Here was this man who lives in a tiny village on a remote mountain in Japan, but has traveled all over the world and is genuinely fascinated by foreign cultures.  It was remarkable.  We spent far longer than we meant to in his shop, but it was absolutely worthwhile to hear his stories and to form a surprising connection over our homeland.