Autumn Winds

What is one to do when sick at home other than uploading pictures and reminiscing? (Well, watching online Seinfeld episodes, but you don't need me to tell you about that).

Autumn has come to Kyoto. With it came the cold, the Christmas themes, and...everything is made from pumpkin and yam. But you haven't experienced Japanese autumn unless you've absorbed yourself completely and actively in the admiration of the autumn leaves and their changing colours. Gazing dreamily from a window or passing by on the way to school doesn't count. Admiring or enjoying something in Japan inevitably requires a camera, and the presence of the rest of the Japanese people there with you. I believe it's a substitute to the Heian era court gatherings, there the guests would each compose a haiku about the tree in question (sakura, momiji), while enjoying tea or sake. Thus it became a shared experience.


The maple leaves are a bit late this year, but all over town the autumn is visible. Visions of autumn leaves (yellow rather than red) make my memory leap over my entire life in Israel and back to my childhood memories, at least some kind of a distant, postcard version of them. In the words of an Israeli song writer "I remember the 80's/always when it rains/as if there was winter all the time". Autumn reminds me of Petersburg, The Summer Garden and Pushkin (the poet, and all the places in the city somehow linked to his person and work). The only living memory of my own I managed to produce is of coming back from school with my friends through streets named after various revolution leaders and picking up colourful maple leaves (the leaves are big there, as the trees are tall, an image a little different than the Japanese momiji.

Here however, apart than enjoying solitary viewing of the autumn around town and uni, I also participated in a "leaf viewing tour" along the Philosopher's Road with a colourful group of ladies, as in best of Heian tradition. The maples, as I said, were still pretty green, but if you are loyal to tradition you can always find the perfect tree and admire the hell out of it.




Resting from this adventure we had a night of movies and warm wine in the Mukaijima dormitories. Warm wine reminds me of Jerusalem ("as if there was winter all the time"). Two of my most memorable encounters with it took place there. First - New Year's eve, 1998. I'm on a bus from Haifa to Jerusalem, to celebrate at the place of my brother's wife to be. Due to the rain the traffic is incredibly slow, it's taking hours more than it should have, as I'm sitting on the bus's back door stairs, and the back of the bus is stuffed with soldiers, sleeping on the floor, singing, talking on cell-phones, we all begin to fear that's how we will meet the New Year. However, we make it barely, and In the apartment warm wine is being prepared with kinds of herbs and berries and it smelled great and was very strong too.
Second one already as a student, a gathering and sleepover at my friend Noa's place. The wine was made with oranges and cinnamon, preceded by a wonderful pasta dinner and followed by Monty Pyton's Holly Grail. Definitely one of the best winter nights. This time in Kyoto was mostly practice - we made it with mandarins (that's what I call it) and cinnamon, and it had the desirable effect of making everything feel good. I'm suspecting the Kyoto winter will bring a lot of improvisations in that field.

Meanwhile - more pictures of the autumn views and more to follow.

My First Halloween

Japan, it seems, has imported a few holidays from the West, but since they really have no roots in the local culture they are mostly about decoration and highlighting the everyday life. And, of course, shopping.

Autumn is a busy season for the Japanese shop keepers / restaurant and bar owners. First come the pumpkins of Halloween, with occasional bat seasoning. (El Coyote had a Mickey Mouse with bat wings!). Not to forget, autumn is also momiji season, and the red maple leafs decorate absolutely everything long before they are seen on the actual trees. And though its only middle of November, in a few shops I've already seen the sales-ladies dragging out little Christmas trees, santas and deers. To my personal relief, they go easy on the baby Jesuses so far.

As to my personal experience - me and my group of friends who also know Halloween only from American movies decided to take a ride on the "imported Holiday" train and celebrate Halloween without much preparation and effort. This meaning minimal costume and a short appearance on a party until our last train (23-30, hate it, will be over soon as we move closer to town).
Now the party wasn't an actual Halloween party, but a regular night in the Metro club, moreover, a "Beatles and Stones" night. Thus we were the only ones dressed up, but being a foreigner in Japan you gradually lose all fear of seeming weird or inappropriate, as you are always it. Riding the train in our costumes we hardly got more looks than usual.

As we all met in Metro and had less costumes and people we passed ours around, and what came out of it was mostly a game called "fun with wig". Presenting our gallery of interracial cross dressing: Afro-Malaysians, Afro-Russian, Afro-British, Afro-Portuguese and yours truly with a hair-do not that far from original.














So, In today's issue of "Anthropology for Dummies" : what is it with people(s) and masquerades?
Since Halloween is originally supposed to be about ghosts, monsters and so on, so I would say its design is to provide a healthy way of dealing with demons and evil spirits, with your fears and with the Unknown.
Someone was explaining me once about the Rio carnival, that it has social functions, as it blurs the boundaries between classes and gives the poor a chance to celebrate, dress up and proudly march the streets, literally shaking their tail feathers.
Purim, the Jewish masquerade holiday, of which i will tell later and possibly celebrate in Japan as well, apart from dressing up, requires you to get drunk until you cant tell the bad guy in the Purim story from the good one. So I guess many cultures got the idea that occasionally one must escape the familiar and defined, shake it up a bit and look at the world from a new perspective.

My Search for Zen

Tofukuji （東福寺） temple made its way to the top of the list of places I must see for no apparent reason. I've seen a few postcards of the place and noticed the train station of same name, that's it. But somehow in past few weeks it was clear to me that next time I go traveling alone it will be to Tofukuji.


In general, of all the numerous temples and shrines in Kyoto, I love those of the Zen sects most. (So if any of my readers want to recommend one I'll be grateful). Mostly because they are less overcrowded with golden Buddha statues that don't agree with my either religious or aesthetic ideas. Instead you get quiet wooden corridors, smell of rain and forest and enigmatic stone gardens.



As I arrived to Tofukuji, my first impression was that way too many people were walking around and no Zen was likely to be had. But as it goes with the big temple complexes, you can always find a secluded corner, some tree or rock no one else is admiring at the moment. And when you breath in the temple's atmosphere, nothing disturbs you anymore. The feeling of raw wood beneath your bare feet, the open corridors drowning in green take your mind away.



I was swept by the Japanese obsession with changing seasons. I can't explain why is it that I can't wait for the leafs to change color but it's true. What do I think will happen once they do? One of the greatest things in Japanese culture is its ability to celebrate nature. The most simple things, colored by ritual, give reason for harmless and effortless joy. And I believe the human soul demands it - the promise of change, of new hope and of continuation at the same time. After all, maybe it's all there is. Flowers blossom and scatter, people live and die, and seasons come and go.



When the leaves turn red this place will be violently beautiful. Now it's just a touch of blush, a hint of change, a promise of a miracle. If I were a Japanese poet it is this passing moment I would find most beautiful.