After the disappointment of Buried Rooster Mound, we followed Pauline to the local onsen. When a departing elderly man politely informed us this probably wasn’t our destination, he gave us some confusion directions to the Visitor Centre which had been our goal. Between the three of us and over the span of ten minutes, we finally gathered his pointing and headed in the opposite direction.

The Cultural Heritage Centre wasn’t the prettiest building on the outside but it had a pretty comprehensive (if small) exhibit. Generally I avoid going to these centres when I travel because I feel they don’t offer many good photography moments. On the other hand, this one did a good job of explaining why Hiraizumi got chosen as a World Heritage Site (and not because of the 2011 earthquake, contrary to Pauline’s theory). There were quite a few pictures and accounts of the “Kyoto of the North” that was the brainchild of an overly optimistic buddhist clan called Fujiwara who thought they could create a centre of learning and the arts square in the middle of the warring states era. Apparently all that gold they found nearby and their reluctance to swear fealty to any of the neighbouring warlords isn’t the best combination for starting a pious Switzerland in terrain that’s easily traversed by armies.

Apparently the Minamoto invaders were so distraught over the ruination of the beautiful Pure Lands that they vowed to protect the city and try to keep its splendor alive. That the Heritage sites are two reconstructed gardens and two ruined ones gives a good idea over how concerned they really were.

The two workers at the front desk informed us (in basic Japanese that I could understand despite Pauline’s uncertainty) that the rear of the Cultural Heritage Centre had several interactive displays. Kait and Pauline dressed up in the bureaucratic robes of old timey Hiraizumi officials. Pauline dressed up as a boy because it’s better (obviously) and Kait fulfilled a lifelong dream of wearing a costume kimono. Then, they clambered inside an old carriage, tried a weird instrument that looked like an upside down circular pan flute and even attempted some weaving. I mostly stood on my blistered feet trying to forget how hungry I was.

By the time we finished at the Centre, Kait checked her watch just in time to start panicking about our schedule. The original plan was to take the scenic stroll along the walking path back to the station so we could grab some bicycles and head to the temple outside of town. However, the bike ride itself was about an hour to get there and we only had a little over two hours to see two major temples still in the main city. Thus, she charged us past the restaurants yet again as we headed to the furthest flung Chuuson-ji. We couldn’t cut this place out, however, as it was pretty much the only authentic still standing collection of buildings left from the ancient glory days.

And it was clearly the main attraction as tour buses lined the suddenly wide street and packs of people meandered up the wide flagged stone walkway. We debated where we should enter–whether through the old torii gate marked on the map or the very lovely manicured pathway winding its way up the hill and choked with visitors. We opted for the pathway mostly due to proximity and a fleeting hope that we could still see everything.

The path up to Chuuson-ji was very nice. Enormously tall Japanese cedars lined the route and blocked out the rusted town that surrounded it. Numerous small shrines and viewing areas branched off the side (as well as the main entrance we noted with chagrin). Despite the number of people, everything was orderly and clean. Even old stone roofing lay neatly and free of leaves in piles off the path. Kait paused at all the small shrines so she could pray–as she is want to do. And as we got to the temple complex proper, we found small covered stalls with enormous flowers (apparently chrysanthemums), manicured bonzai trees, and large shield shaped flower garlands. Apparently, we were on the tail end of a seasonal festival and though we missed the stall food, we could still enjoy everything submitted for the competitions.

Unfortunately, we ran into the large Chinese tourist group and I had to fight to get some decent pictures of the newer temple buildings that weren’t swarming with strangers. We sort of meandered through the complex, looking for the fabled gilded hall. After a few false starts, we found a rather severe concrete structure selling tickets. We managed to parse that it was both a ticket office and museum. But we were on a schedule and skipped the museum to follow the picket fence to where the famous gilded hall lay.

Much to our disappoint, the great treasure of Hiraizumi–Konjiki-do–was housed in a very plain cement box of a structure. Many “No Photo” signs were hung about, irritating me to no end. This was one of the original 1100 structures and was a gold leafed mausoleum that housed the remains of the Fujiwara elders. We showed our tickets then slipped behind the wall of people ogling the travesty.

First, when I think hall, I picture a structure you could actually stand in. Granted, I’m probably much taller than the monks bobbing around in the twelfth century, but there would be no way I could enter this thing with a modicum of dignity. You’d have to shuffle around on your knees, careful to not bang your head on the golden tie beams and dent over a million dollars worth of damage. It’s also packed full of squat statues on a raised dais, presumably some sort of representation for the bodies I can only presume are all shoved Tetris-like beneath their feet.

Oh, and all this is kept under poor lighting and behind an inch of glass. Needless to say, I couldn’t find a good angle to steal some photographs of the bashful golden dead though Kait bravely found a spot and took her first illicit photo! I’m so proud of her.

We filed out of the small cement box and moved to the sutra repository–a wood relic that has been stripped of any valuables but at least the logs are old! The old shrine that housed the mausoleum was open and we poked around inside its empty hall, marvelling at the weird stickers that have a habit of accumulating in Japanese temples and trying to appreciate the old paintings hanging on the walls while our fingers grew cold in the lengthening day.

By this time we’d resolved ourselves to just one more site, so we spent a little time poking around for the outdoor Noh stage and even taking a minute to whirlwind through the museum and its handful of random items.

We gave up on the walking path and booked it as fast as our sore, worn feet could to Moutsuu-ji. This was the site of one of the four gardens of Pure Land Hiraizumi and was one that was reconstructed. Though, I feel they used the term lightly. We arrived forty minutes before closing so the place was pretty empty when we entered. The sky was beginning to darken with the first hints of encroaching night. My batteries had died up at Chuuson-ji, so I spent the first while trying to find some that worked. Once again, the perks of Kait’s new camera ensured that we had lots of pictures of samey looking temples despite me being out of service.

Moutsuu-ji is only about a quarter of its original size. Little remains of its layout, with the main hall and two ancillary halls situated around the garden. I won’t confess to having any clue about the design or intentions of buddhist gardening, which is a simple confession to make since even Japanese scholars don’t fully understand what inspired Moutsuu-ji’s… unique design. The main feature of the grounds is a large, gangly pond with a tiny peninsula jutting up from its southern bank and about four rocks clustered in a small shoal on its left side. A few trees poke around its perimeter but judging how they burst from the old stone pathways, I doubt they were an original feature.

Otherwise Moutsuu-ji is a collection of a dozen empty plots with white markers listing what once stood there. You really have to stretch your imagination to picture what the place was. It’s much like the first empty hall we visited. It’s basically Rome all over again. Whatever rich heritage was here has long given up to the earth and grass. However, unlike Rome, it’s clear that the inhabitants would have loved to keep their old buildings. The recurring story amongst the signs I could read told of careless fires or structures being destroyed during periods of conflict. Decade by decade, Hiraizumi was picked down to its barest bones. The one bright spot is that the Japanese are not adverse to reconstructions–and they usually adhere to traditional design and building methods when they do them. Perhaps, one day, Hiraizumi will arise like the phoenix from its muddy ashes but as it is now, you have to squint really hard to overlay the artistic renditions over the gaping spaces scattered about the town.

The peace and tranquility, however, inspired us to write our own haiku with each of us contributing a solitary line:

 

Ducking mosquitoes,

you need seven syllables,

overhead the clouds break.

 

I think it puts Basho to shame.

After completing our circuit of Moutsuu-ji, it was time to head back home. By now, having near nothing to eat, I was ravenous and tired. While the girls once again tried to sort tickets for our train (assisted by a very helpful young Japanese man who kindly took charge of speaking with the ticket office to figure out our lines), I snacked on what little food Kait had brought with us. I also nursed the small package of Halloween Smarties gifted by Pauline who only upon arriving in Japan realized how poor an idea of loading up a bunch of children with sugar would be. By the time we had our route sorted, night was fully upon us and we shivered at the train platform.

Pauline and Kait rudely sat on the old, pregnant disabled seats while I properly clutched at the handrail until we made our transfer in Ichinosaki. We boarded a tiny two car seat filled to the brim with high school students (don’t ask me what they were doing all Saturday in their uniforms because it was probably boring) but kept piping warm with the heaters right beneath our butts. We saw only one person in costume board and it was a young guy sporting a half decent Baron Samedi type outfit which we all tried to admire without staring.

Though the snacks had staved off my hungry, I was getting really grumpy by the time we rolled into Sendai. Unfortunately, Pauline was dead set on going to this fabulous little eatery in Izumi that she neglected to mention was a forty minute walk from the train station. As we prowled the dark streets, passing one restaurant after another and listening to Pauline prattle on about how Germany invented daylight saving time to save oil during World War II (they didn’t if you were considering fact checking), I was told repeatedly that the restaurant was “just a little farther.”

I could tell Kait was even getting annoyed when she started commenting on random noodle places as looking good. This is the girl who confessed to having survived on yaki-soba for her first two months. We finally came to an Indian restaurant completely empty of customers. The owner greeted us first in Japanese then in English. He was more than happy to serve us directly and mentioned how glad he was to see Pauline returning. Kait ended up taking a cowardly level three of spice in her order. I had to ask how spicy level five was and was told that it was Japanese hot. My expression must have said everything since he followed-up that they offer up to level fifteen off the menu. I don’t know why, but I elected to go with twelve.

I found mine rather mild so I can only imagine how plain Kait’s was. She was even emboldened enough to try my curry and, while hotter than she’d prefer, she said she would order hotter if we returned. All three of us got an enormous piece of naan to eat with our dishes (I had chicken) and, overall, it was both a filling and (relatively) tasty meal and also made me suspect that Pauline wasn’t vegetarian.

Once done, my feet were past protesting and nearing outright rebellion as we had to double back the entire distance to return home. Pauline filled that space with a story of Japan’s rice famine that required America to step in and force them to stop exporting all their rice so they could feed their own population (I couldn’t even narrow this down at all in the history books to figure out what she meant to describe). Kait and I walked in mostly silence. By the time we waved her goodbye and arrived back in Kait’s tiny apartment, I had enough energy to peel my stinky shoes off and pass out in bed.

My feet were going to really be suffering in the morning.

Pauline Pearl – Sou sou sou means shut up.

Hold the phone, people! I’ve got some exciting news! Kait and I made the most astounding, unexpected discovery.

We’ve found the Japanese Rome.

Let me take you on a journey. It all begins on October 31st, otherwise known as All Hallow’s Eve. For most, this day involves candlelit pumpkins, elaborate and often morbid costumes as well as copious amounts of sugar as though our society sorely needs a critical mass of Type 1 diabetes. There’s probably discussion of ghouls, goblins and the like. I had something far more terrifying.

I had an early six o’clock wake up.

You see, after Kait took me to see Yama-dera, reserved the fabled Loople Bus for Tuesday and planned a jaunt to Matsushima for the next weekend, we’d all but exhausted the delights and wonders of Miyagi-ken: Kait’s home prefecture. Thus, we were headed north to Iwate prefecture. This place may or may not ring any bells for it was the centre of the 9.0 scale earthquake of 2011 that devastated Japan. Needless to say, Iwate was the prefecture hardest hit, damaging nearly all the prefecture’s piers and fishing boats and inflicting more than three hundred yen worth of damage to the area’s primary industry: fishing.

To put any early concerns at ease, however, we were not planning on spending any time near the ocean. This little historical tidbit simply helps explain the numerous “flee tsunamis and rising waters” signs scattered throughout the city’s boundaries.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

This trip to Hiraizumi was special for several reasons. For one, this was Kait’s first really planned trip. The sojourn out to Yama-dera was mostly her following a previous itinerary she did with several other ALTs. Secondly, we’d have to navigate the JR rail lines instead of relying on local trains and routes. Third, we were seeing a UNESCO World Heritage Site which are always a prime attraction for my travelling. Finally, we would not be travelling alone; Kait (after much apologizing) had invited the other ALT posted in Izumi-chuo along for the adventure.

So, even though we were at the subway in good time, Kait checked her phone to politely inform me that Pauline was running late. Oh, and we only had ten minutes to get to the station, buy our ticket and find the platform from where the train actually left.

Have I mentioned that none of us really speak Japanese? We most certainly do not read kanji. Furthermore, since we were leaving the prefecture, there weren’t many trains available for us to complete this day trip and we had a tight schedule for catching the last train back to Sendai and about twenty sites that Kait wanted to see in that incredibly narrow window.

So, of course the first thing we did when we got off the subway–which Pauline loudly talked on the entire trip down–was hustle over to Tourist Information and plead with them to help us find which ticket booth we needed to buy our ticket. Pauline and Kait then stared at the massive map and poked at buttons on the screen trying to decipher the kanji coded contraption while I read through a pamphlet of places to see in the area when we inevitably missed our ride and the whole adventure fell through.

The girls managed to procure our passes and we wandered the upper floor until Kait braved speaking to one of the employees who directed us to the gate we needed. We were almost running through the ticket stiles and up the platform steps to our train. Luckily, we made it with minutes to spare. We found our car and seats (as these were reserved tickets) and then marvelled as several old women kept poking their heads in to snap pictures of the train’s interior.

Well, at the very least we knew we were travelling with other tourists!

Apparently it’s a thing to photograph trains in Japan. You know how it is. Some travellers take shots of their shoes. Some have group shots of them jumping in the air. I’ve got Kait taking “selfies” without those sticks to hold up your camera because, damnit, we were doing this before it was cool! And most photograph the internationally famous sites. Well, I guess in Japan they like to record their trains. Maybe it is their way to prove that they were there without needing to put their faces in the frame. I can’t really think of any other explanation for the four or five people that piled out of our train in Hiraizumi to snap hasty pictures of the vehicle before it tried rolling away without people recording its bad side.

Of course, by the time we’d arrived in Hiraizumi, at least an hour had passed so the girls needed to use the bathroom. We slipped through the small station, accosted by smiling old Japanese handing out little plastic bags of goodies. Unfortunately, our Halloween fare wasn’t sugar candy but information pertaining to the various sites and history of the Pure Land of the North.

That may or may not be the official name. It’s probably going to be the one I use because I’m not too concerned about using a misnomer for a city that’s been dead for over five hundred years.

My first impression of Hiraizumi, I must confess, was rather positive. Though the aforementioned station was small, it was clean and had wide polished benches that were clearly a recent instalment. The square outside the station was surprisingly good looking. I’ve seen my fair share of small Japanese towns and you’re lucky if there’s anything more scenic than a great smear of asphalt when you first arrive. Hiraizumi, however, had a small cul-de-sac lined with clean cobblestones before the awnings of traditional Japanese architectural store fronts. A backdrop of pine crested hills rose at the end of an expansive main street shooting straight from the front doors like an arrow right into the heart of wild, untamed wilderness.

So while the clouds overhead were dark and the air crisp, I waited pleasantly outside as the two girls did their business. It was then that a large mass of foreigners passed me, following like dutiful lemmings a woman dressed in a neatly pressed uniform. It took all of seconds to gauge that this flock had landed from China. I thought this was a little odd. How many organized tours could there really be for northern Japan? I know if I had to take a bus tour, it wouldn’t be through Iwate prefecture. But these visitors piled into their massive tour bus and nearly ran over the girls as they emerged to poke around the small bike rental shop for directions and confirmation if we could take vehicles on the route clearly marked “walking path” on our maps.

Surprise! You can’t. However, we were given rough time estimates it would take to walk the main route of attractions in Hiraizumi and we’d certainly enough time to see them all and still be back for our four twenty departure. Yes, we had about five hours to take in an entire town’s worth of sites. What could possibly go wrong?

Kait and Pauline looked over the map and Kait designated the route we should take. Naturally, we all headed down the wrong street.

We didn’t know this at first, of course. We did start to get suspicious as we scampered over rail crossings into a rundown portion of town with shuttered stores, droopy workshops and the general air of decrepit misfortune. It’s starting to sound like Europe’s jolly boot already!

We doubled back and crossed a few streets to arrive at the first stop on our route (which coincidentally is the last stop on the shuttle bus). We stood before an empty field, looking over our map to ensure we were in the right place then looking around the field and wondering if maybe the site was behind the small copse of trees or not. Fortunately, we found a sign and shuffled up like ignorant little tourists to get further directions.

Turns out the muddy field was our destination. We looked at it again. We looked back at the sign. Sure enough, the World Heritage plaque was set proudly on the top. And the sign sported a lovely summer shot of our currently brown and dreary field. Course, since it is a UNESCO site, the information sign had an English section to explain why we should care about a handful of scraggly trees and drying puddle.

Apparently, we were proudly surveying the “remains” of the Buddha Hall in a historically famous temple grounds. The aforementioned hall was renown for the beauty of its surrounding park which contained a sacred garden pond (our mud puddle), a man-made island modelled after the Phoenix Hall in Kyoto (our bumpy hill) and raised earthworks that aligned with the sun and local mountain (our scraggly tree clump).

If you squint hard enough, you may even convince yourself that it’s not a glorified rice paddy!

Alright, at least Rome had some wonderful walls and foundation ruins to look at. I suppose that’s the perk of ancient construction favouring stone in Europe over the predominant wood structures of this Buddhist paradise. We took several more pictures now that we knew this brown patch of grass is important or something. We walked along the raised earthen walkway. We marvelled at how unmarvellous the trees were.

Then we turned around and immediately trudged up the street into wonderful constructions. Kait was dead set on seeing some monument at the top of a really long hill. Pauline got discouraged by the three dollar entrance fee so she opted to stay on the old bench across from the ticket booth manned by an old monk.

I kind of expected a bit more of the monument, especially after noticing the parking lot for tourist buses. There was a museum in the same sense that the top of Mt. Fuji has a shopping centre. A structure that would normally be used for an outhouse had some distressing statues and a few placards and the ubiquitous vending machines and nothing else. The monument was a mini shrine with a small board for writing wishes. I don’t even know what it was commemorating. Apparently some dead dude called Minamoto no Yoshitsune I think. Or something about family suicides. At least the view of the river valley was quaint. And there was another stone slab with Basho’s poetry written on it!

I think Kait mostly wanted a break from Pauline.

The first time I came to Japan, I reflected that the ALT position attracted certain types of people. Pauline seems like one of those individuals who falls into the “loves Japan perhaps a bit too much” camp. This can be tolerable even if said individual takes every opportunity to share every bit of information about Japan they’ve learned. It’s a little harder to swallow, however, when you can tell the person is just making shit up.

I feel the biggest issue with Pauline is that she’s just young. Hm, that’s perhaps a strong way to word things. Let’s rephrase. Pauline has a very obvious desire to impress others. This leads to her overemphasising her capabilities or her perceived capabilities. For example, Pauline is very quick to tell people that she’s studied Japanese in school and is very good at speaking it. She’ll then turn around and make declarations like “Anata-wa” means “I love you.”

For those not knowledgeable about Japanese, “anata-wa” literally means “you.” Like, that’s what you’d say (if you wanted to be polite) if you were going to make clear your statement was directed at the person to which you are talking. That’s it. This little detail would take all of five seconds to pick up and is a pretty basic grammar point that’s probably taught within the first few beginner Japanese classes.

Now, I have lived in Japan and can probably guess what Pauline meant to say. The Japanese language has a tendency to drop the subject of sentences if it’s clear so you don’t normally say “I will X,” “You should Y,” “We will Z.” You basically just say whatever it is the person is going to do. Direct translations would be in the realm of “Will study tonight.” So, it is being overly formal to use “You” in Japanese and, amongst people that are familiar with each other, it can have certain amiable connotations.

That said, Kait hears “anata-wa” in school all the time and we’re both pretty certain that her Japanese English Teacher isn’t professing his undying affection to her. I suppose it’s not impossible that he’s really hopeful Kait has a preference for older men, though.

So, while we explored the rather limited sidewalks of Hiraizumi, we were regaled with wonderful little “Pauline Pearls.” These ranged from bizarre history to descrptions of her friends in Calgary. Which, once again, wouldn’t be such a terrible offence if it wasn’t phrased in such a way to extol just how much better Pauline is than us rather maudlin peasant. Like, she will go to great lengths to describe her friend who is an Olympic speed walker while completely missing an innocent joke about how it doesn’t matter how big her thighs are since she can’t lift her feet to run after you. (“No, her legs are pretty big so she can run fast too!”).

At any rate, Kait unrolled her map and we trudged to the next marker. We had to scamper around even more construction, dodging cars as we ran from one side of the road to the other like tourist frogger. I’m not entirely sure what this stop was for, as the sign was in kanji and well beyond all our capabilities. There was a very red tree to which the girls were quick to photograph. Pauline had plotted our path while we visited the hilltop and she marched us across the railroad tracks to the thickest knot of restaurants.

But despite her clear intentions, Kait wasn’t having any of this lunch nonsense. “We’ll do it after we’ve seen the temples!” she declared, taking the lead again and force marching us around Hiraizumi’s hilly streets. We ended up looping around the back of the Golden Cockerel Mountain. I was excited for this one because it had a UNESCO designation.

Well, it turns out that Golden Cockerel Mountain is neither golden nor a mountain. It isn’t even a shrine, despite the svastika symbol. It’s mostly a dirt trail that climbs up a short but steep incline into a forested hilltop. It starts off promising with a bright vermilion torii gate (across the street from some weird blue honeycomb trailer park that doesn’t even have trailers) and a paved leaf littered trail that snakes around a small shrine for two moss covered statuettes. But it quickly leads to empty meadows and disappointment. The view from the top is too tree-lined to give you a scenic vantage point and the only thing of note we could find was a small stone “house” even less remarkable than the entrance statues.

As it turns out, the mountain is most famous as being the alleged location of a buried golden cockerel and hen pair that was meant to protect ancient Hiraizumi from tragedy. Given the state of the modern town, I hazard there were probably better ways to spend that money. At the very least they could have locked the treasures behind some glass and charged ancient entrance fees from old timey tourists. As it stands, it’s going to be a hard sell to charge tickets to this venue.

So far it’s been Japan Rome: 3 and Us: 0.