Days in Đà Nẵng (2): Our neighbourhood

The calendar tells me that we have been here four weeks. I find it hard to believe, but calendars do not lie. It may be a natural consequence of getting older, but I feel that my perception of time is increasingly at odds with the real speed of time passing by, and I am not sure whether that is a good or a bad thing. At least I am happy I do not know what boredom is like: whether I am busy reading, writing, cooking, sleeping or walking, I never feel bored, not a second. But I am a bit concerned about my inability to control the time I have been given. The obligation of submitting a fully finished PhD dissertation in August worries me sometimes.

Sure, I have been busy these weeks: I wrote a new dissertation chapter, edited another one, and read some important texts. Our apartment turns out to be a fine working place. But I have not been as productive as my optimistic dreams had promised me. Perhaps I should adjust my expectations, realise that quality is more important than quantity, and accept the fact that some highly interesting side topics and books are peripheral to my main story and should be left aside. There was a Golden Age, I have been told, when PhD candidates could spend a decade writing a thousand-page masterpiece; these days, however, there is little money available for research in the humanities - economically useless as they allegedly are - so the few of us lucky enough to get funding for doing PhD research have little choice but to accept the fact that we have to squeeze the whole project into three years. We try our best.

Being immersed in my dissertation topic, I would almost forget where I am. It is easy to spend a whole day inside the apartment, oblivious to the outside world, especially on a grey and rainy day like today. When we stay inside like this, the only things reminding us of the fact that we are in Vietnam are the occasional sound of a street vendor's tape in the distance, and the delicious tropical fruits turned into shakes and smoothies by our blender. Doing this work, one can easily get detached from the physical world. Hence the importance of going out every now and then, to experience the place where we live: a ride along the beach, a day trip to Hoi An, a visit to a local restaurant. And, of course, a walk in the neighbourhood - if only to go to the market.

And a nice neighbourhood it is. Located between the river and the sea, far from the port and the main industries, this used to be a poor suburb, inhabited by fishermen and their families. Later, during the war, the city was home to one of the most important American military bases; soldiers were sent to this beach area for a bit of fun and relaxation, bringing dollars and prostitution. But they left forty years ago, and the neighbourhood once again became what it had been before: an impoverished seaside suburb, little more than a village. Until recently. The city's population has grown significantly, as has its wealth. Slums gave way to big houses. Some members of the new middle class moved away from the crowded city centre, bought land near the sea, built houses and changed the face of the neighbourhood. Meanwhile, new hotels and seafood restaurants are emerging all over the place, anticipating the advent of large tourist crowds.

Yet, between the new houses and hotels, there is still quite a bit of open space. Some of it has been appropriated by guerrilla gardeners, growing their fresh vegetables and herbs on every available spot. If you know a bit about plants (or, alternatively, have a spouse who can teach you), you soon discover that those weeds growing next to the pavement are not weeds at all: they are chilli plants, lemongrass, sweet potatoes and mint, as well as peperomia pellucida, basella alba and sauropus androgynus. Some of them may find their way to the market, to stalls selling street food, and to your plate. Other empty pieces of land, such as the one in front of our apartment building, are surrounded by fences, so that local people cannot grow their vegetables there. But these, too, have been appropriated: by fragrant plants, birds, lizards, frogs and colourful insects. There is a lot of life in the city.

When you walk around the neighbourhood, you are likely to be approached by a street vendor on a bicycle, wearing a conical straw hat, who offers you whatever it is she is selling. If you are lucky, she has mangosteens, which she is transporting in a basket on her bicycle. They may not look appealing from the outside, but just wait until you taste the fresh white flesh inside: they are absolutely delicious. You may have to haggle a bit before buying them, though.

If the street vendor does not have what you want, you can continue your walk to the local market. Markets are always interesting places to visit, wherever you go, and you will not be disappointed here either. There is a great variety of fresh products, some of which you have never seen before: strangely shaped fish, shellfish and crustaceans; fresh herbs, vegetables and tofu; fermented eggs and eggs with whole duck embryos in them; all sorts of different (organ) meat; and beautiful flowers, used for praying. And, of course, all those wonderful fruits, some of which you will turn into juices or smoothies: pomelo, avocado, papaya, mango, lime, pineapple, dragonfruit, passionfruit, soursop, banana, rambutan, custard apple and coconut.

If you do not feel like cooking lunch today, you can sit down on a tiny plastic stool at one of the stalls selling noodle soup, rice with grilled meat, savory pancakes or rice porridge. A delicious fresh meal here will cost you less than a single drink in a bar back home in Europe. Once you have finished your bowl of noodle soup (with fresh herbs, possibly guerrilla-gardened), you can stop by at a local cafe for a cup of strong Vietnamese coffee, ideally served with condensed milk and ice.

After this nice cup of ice coffee, you may want to continue your walk around the neighbourhood. You will notice that there are several small, traditional buildings standing between houses. These are family shrines, called nhà thờ tộc, where people come to pray to their ancestors. They are not to be confused with đình, community temples, like the one you are passing by now. It has not been maintained very well, but you can still distinguish the lovely rooftop decorations. In the front yard, teenage boys are playing football. You assume it is a community temple, but you are not completely sure. It may also be a đền or a miếu, both of which would be translated as 'temple' in English, but which are not the same as a đình: they are places where individual deities are worshipped, rather than community meeting halls.

As a matter of fact, you are still not sure about the exact difference between đền and miếu. You are told that the former are associated with powerful Vietnamese deities, such as ancient kings and generals, while the latter are associated with local gods residing in nature, such as the popular tiger god. But you are pretty sure that miếu is a Chinese loanword, and that the grand Confucian Temple of Literature in Hanoi is also called miếu. You are a bit confused, and you realise how much you still have to learn about Vietnamese religion. In fact, if you were to continue your walk to the beach, you would see several other small temples there, called đền thờ. They have been built for stranded whales, who are considered gods of the sea, and are regularly offered food and incense.

The đình is standing next to a chùa, a Buddhist temple (usually translated as 'pagoda' in Vietnam). It is a lovely building, recently painted, with a large gate, a marble statue of Quan Âm, and a roof shaped in the typical East Asian way. You take off your shoes, and go inside. Two guardian deities are looking at you angrily. There is an altar, with a small statue of a Quan Âm with thousand arms. Behind, there are three large golden Buddha statues. They look pretty similar, but the nun welcoming you explains that they are Maitreya, Shakyamuni and Amitabha. She tells you that this is a Pure Land temple, and that they have regular meetings for laypeople, explaining them the principles of Pure Land Buddhism. She also tells you that in Vietnamese Buddhism, women can be ordained just like men. You would like to learn more, but your language skills are too limited to continue doing research on this topic for the time being. And anyway, it is about time to go back home. You have a lot of writing to do.

Days in Đà Nẵng (1): Arrival

It is a sunny day, 26 degrees, and I am sitting on the balcony. Motorcycles and cars are driving on the road below, but it is not very crowded. I am on the fifth floor of a new apartment building. A couple of high hotels are blocking the city from view, but there is still plenty of open space around here. In the distance I can see the sea, and the dark green mountains of Sơn Trà peninsula. I wonder whether it is possible to climb them. A giant white statue of Quan Âm, the bodhisattva of compassion (known as Guanyin, Kannon or Avalokiteshvara in other countries), is guarding the city. I still remember they were building it, a couple of years ago.

We arrived here on New Year's Eve. We had spent our Christmas holidays packing our stuff, cleaning our apartment, and moving everything to a friend's place. Next, we moved out of the apartment where we had lived the past year and a half, and went to Danang - the city where we are going to spend the next three months. It was a long journey - we had stopovers in Amsterdam, Singapore and Siem Reap - but everything went well. We even had the chance to pay a short visit to a famous Buddhist temple in Singapore, and enjoy some delicious local food. When we arrived in Danang, we were too tired to go out and clebrate the new year - but then, Vietnamese new year is not until next month.

It is windy, and not very hot yet, but I am glad it is finally sunny. The past two weeks were cloudy and a bit chilly, but it seems to be getting better. This morning, I went running along the beach, and the sea and sky were beautiful. It is hard to imagine a better place to do your morning exercises.

This is no vacation, though. I am supposed to submit my dissertation in August, and I still have a lot of reading and writing to do, so there is little time for playing or relaxing. Time is going fast. Still, I much rather read my book in a nice Vietnamese café, under a palmtree, than in a dark Norwegian apartment. And I much prefer writing my dissertation on a balcony, wearing shorts and flipflops, drinking ice tea or fresh fruit juice, to doing it at my office in Oslo - even though it is a nice office. Hence our decision to live in Vietnam for a couple of months. Of course, being able to spend some time together with our family was another important reason for coming here.

Danang is changing rapidly. It is the largest city in central Vietnam, with a population of approximately 900,000; strategically located between sea and river, it has been an important economical centre for quite some time. But in recent years 'development' has truly taken off. The city's skyline is ever-growing; more and more new shopping malls and office buildings are erected; shabby old neighbourhoods are giving way to new roads and apartment buildings; several impressive new bridges are being constructed; and last year, a brand-new airport building was inaugurated. New hotels and restaurants are eagerly awaiting foreign tourists, who have not yet shown up in very large numbers.

It remains to be seen whether the costruction craze can continue, however. Only a few years ago, Vietnam was touted as Asia's new tiger. Its economy was growing fast, impressive new buildings and roads were built in the big cities, and a middle class was emerging, leading to increasing domestic consumption. But today, there is less reason for optimism. The national currency is weak, and inflation very high. Foreign investors and companies are withdrawing, frustrated as they are by the corruption and state patronage of 'national' companies (usually owned by powerful members of the ruling oligarchy). Lack of investment is leading to the cancellation of construction projects; as a result, estate prices are dropping, and banks are getting in trouble.

I am getting thirsty. A couple of days ago, we bought a blender, and now I am experimenting with fresh fruit juices, shakes and smoothies. Thus far, I have made watermelon juice, pomelo juice, and a mango shake, all of which were very nice. The best was perhaps my soursop smoothy, with aloe and yoghurt. Today, I am thinking about making a dragonfruit-banana shake. Or shall I try passionfruit juice...?

Finally, let me apologise for not having been a very good blogger recently. I promise to update my weblog more recently this year. As I will be busy with my dissertation, for the time being I will not have time to write lengthy essays or travel stories. But I do promise some short stories about life in Danang - once a week, perhaps twice. And, who knows, some pictures. Please stay tuned.

Japanese autumn

If a novel is recommended by both Mr. DuPont and Mr. Engelen (independently, as they have not yet made each other’s acquaintance), it must be a good novel. Hence, I decided to purchase a copy of David Mitchell’s The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, and bring it with me on the airplane. No lack of airplane journeys, this week, so it did not take me very long to finish it. And I concur: this is an extraordinarily rich historical novel, full of memorable characters and events. Set against the background of the Dutch trading post Dejima (Nagasaki) at the turn of the nineteenth century, Mitchell’s latest novel is an intriguing story of hope, betrayal, prejudice, corruption, religion, imperialism, science and, inevitably, impossible love; at times sarcastic yet in the end naively romantic. The author beautifully describes sounds, smells, city life, random thoughts and other small details that may not be directly relevant to the plot, but contribute greatly to the overall reading experience. Thus, he succeeds in bringing to life his characters and the world in which they live. Frankly, I doubt the historical probability of some of the events; in particular, the morbid cult of Mount Shiranui does not seem very convincing. Nevertheless, I highly enjoyed reading this book, not in the least because it evoked nostalgia by reminding me of my own initial fascination with Japan, my first exotic Other.

The title of the novel contains the name of the main character, a devout VOC clerk from Zeeland, who resists the temptation of corruption but hopelessly falls for the temptation of female beauty. It also refers to one of Japan's nicknames: the land of the thousand autumns. Of course, the Japanese isles have four different seasons, each with their distinctive beauty – as any tourist pamphlet or kitschy ‘Zen’ book reminds us of. And of course, spring brings the annual extravagance of white and pink cherry blossoms, giving the nation an excuse for two weeks of jouissance. However, as any expert or resident will confirm, Japan is at its most beautiful in autumn, when the summer heat is gone but the winter cold has not yet arrived, when nature is at its most dynamic. In autumn, the maple trees in temples and parks turn red as fire, the ginkgo trees yellow as gold. Flocks of tourists come to the old capital to visit famous temples (and queue for hours to take pictures of themselves in front of famous sightseeing spots covered with red leaves), but the forested mountains around the city have plenty of quiet hiking trails. Throughout the country, towns and temples are covered in colourful dresses of red, yellow, green and orange. The air is fresh, but not too cold; the sky is usually clear, except for the occasional shower. Long periods of grey skies and never-ending rain, so common in the Netherlands or the UK during this season, are very rare. Autumn is also the time of many great festivals, religious ceremonies and cultural events. In sum, autumn is probably the best time to be in Japan.

Some pictures of the past few months. 

New notes from Japan (4): Pure Land, Green Shinto

The Nishi Hongan-ji is one of the most influential and wealthy Buddhist temples in the country. It is a large temple complex, located near Kyoto Central Station. It is the head temple of the Jōdo Shinshū (True Pure Land) school of Buddhism. Founded in the thirteenth century by Shinran (1173-1263) as a popular religious mass movement, it has grown to become the largest Buddhist denomination in Japan, and has also spread to a number of other countries. However, with its focus on salvation through devotion to Amida Buddha - who will allow the righteous to be reborn in his paradise - it is profoundly different from the individualistic, non-theistic type of Buddhism commonly advocated and practised in Europe and the US. 

These days, Nishi Hongan-ji anticipates a number of events to celebrate the legendary founder's 750th death anniversary, which will be attended by thousands of people. Next to the main gate is a large portrait of him, completely made of plastic pet bottle caps collected by school children all over the country. The temple precincts are full of chairs, hundreds if not thousands. They are empty, for the time being, but they are clearly awaiting some great event. All of them are wet, today.

In the main hall, a few young priests recite prayers to Amida Buddha. Afterwards, one of them gives a short sermon to the twenty-or-so people attending the meeting. "What is the best thing of travelling?" he asks rhetorically. "Is it the food, is it the sightseeing, or perhaps the hot springs? No, the best thing is that, after your journey, you have a home where you can return to. If you don't have a home, I doubt whether you can really enjoy travelling." Our lives, he continues, are like journeys. Amida's Pure Land is the home where we will one day return to. It is a short sermon, only ten minutes. The monk is too young to know much about life yet, and he has a strange accent. Nevertheless, I really like it, having had similar thoughts myself. I am not sure whether 'home' corresponds fully to notions of Amida's paradise, though.

 

The stereotypical Japanese layperson is remarkably eclectic in her ritual practices - she visits shrines on a number of occasions as a baby and a young child, prays to the deities of education in order to pass her exams and the deities of love to find a suitable partner, gets married in a Christian church, reads esoteric spirituality books every now and then, prays at shrines and temples for good fortune yet would not call this behaviour 'religious', is not quite sure if God/gods exist(s), offers incense and fruit to deceased ancestors at the family altar and rice to the kitchen deities, is cremated and guided in the right direction by Buddhist monks after she dies, yet may in the following years occasionally communicate with her living children through a shaman. And does not experience any of this as inconsistent.

The stereotypical Japanese layperson does not exist, however, that is why we call her stereotypical. Moreover, many Japanese people may be practically eclectic, but that does not mean such behaviour is approved of by religious institutions. Historically, Pure Land Buddhist monks and Shinto shrine priests have not always been good friends, to put it mildly. Whereas most other Buddhist denominations have incorporated a variety of practices based on the worship of local deities, and some temples even merged with shrines, Pure Land Buddhism has remained fairly exclusivistic - at least to Japanese standards. Unlike some other branches of Buddhism, it is primarily a salvation religion, whose raison d'être lies in the uniqueness of its truth claims. As such, it is more reminiscent of Christianity or Islam than of, say, Shinto or Taoism.

This is not, therefore, the first place where one would expect to find a scholar studying Shinto. Yet this is where I am, today, for I am visiting a professor working at Ryūkoku University. Founded in 1639 as a school for Buddhist monks, it became a private university in the late nineteenth century, and its main campus is located right next to Nishi Hongan-ji. The professor I am meeting today is not affiliated with Pure Land Buddhism, however. He teaches English literature, and has written a couple of books on Japanese cultural history, but the reason I am meeting him is because of his personal interest in Shinto. He has started an English-language weblog, Green Shinto, on which he posts accounts of shrine visits, reviews of books on Shinto and interviews with international Shinto priests. Thus, he hopes to contribute to the spread of Shinto abroad as a universal environmentalist religion based on nature worship and a celebration of life. 

 

If you are interested, please have a look at his weblog. Do bear in mind, though, that while it represents a particular current in Shinto (internationally and ecologically oriented) that seems to be growing in influence, these ideas are not necessarily shared by the Japanese mainstream, which remains fairly conservative. Nevertheless, he is an interesting man who writes passionately about Shinto and environmental issues, and his weblog is well worth a look.

Today, we have a very nice conversation, which we will hopefully continue in the future. Kyoto is a city full of interesting people and places, and I am looking forward to more such inspiring encounters.

New notes from Japan (2): Getting started

I did not book an apartment in advance. I considered doing so; before coming to Japan, I spent two days looking at websites of housing agencies, getting sneak previews of apartments, comparing apples and oranges and sending email inquiries, only to reach the obvious conclusion that images on websites are not necessarily reliable or complete. Hence, I booked three nights in a lovely small Japanese-style guesthouse, aptly named 'Bon', and decided to spend my first couple of days looking for a place to spend the next three months.

Staying at 'Bon' was a good choice, and not only because of the nearby public baths and Zen temples. The friendly owner gave me lots of advice, as well as a delicious nashi pear. He also lent me a bicycle, so I could get around easily. The first place I visited was a room in a shared house, wonderfully located near the Ginkaku-ji temple and Philosopher's Path, fairly basic but with a desk and a nice view. It was very different from the apartment I visited later; undeniably cheap and, unlike the first room, including a private bathroom and tiny kitchenette, yet old and inconveniently located in the faraway north. A shared kitchen may not be that bad after all, I realised, for it means I will have much more space to cook than in a small private apartment.

Mr. Bon made another suggestion. He knew an old monk, the proprietor of a subtemple in a famous nearby temple complex, who needed somebody to live with him and do some manual labour in the garden. His current helper was soon to return to his home country, so there might be place in the temple, and as I was interested in religion I might be the right person, he thought. I was not completely sure whether I would be able to wake up every morning at five in order to clean the grass and sweep the floor - in fact, I was pretty sure I would not really enjoy it - yet the prospect of getting an insider's view of life in a famous Zen temple naturally appealed to me, so we went to visit him. The monk, however, seemed somewhat reluctant to have another student stay at his place; he grumpily complained that students were always too busy doing other stuff, and did not work hard enough in the temple. I realised my research aims were not compatible with his expectations. Nevertheless, he kindly invited me to come and join the zazen meditation class, the next morning at 7am. I gratefully accepted. The next morning, however, I did not manage to wake up in time. I blamed my jetlag, in stead of facing the inconvenient truth - that I am too lazy to be a good Buddhist.

On Saturday, I visited a number of other apartments and guesthouses, and continued comparing apples and oranges. One was centrally located and large, yet old and expensive. One was affordable and well-furnished, yet noisy and far away. One was beautifully located in a traditional, old house in the city centre, yet dark and somewhat claustrophobic. One was fairly cheap, centrally located and new, yet empty and characterless, and with shared facilities - I realised that, if I was going to opt for a shared guesthouse in stead of a private apartment, I preferred the place I had visited first.

So I chose. As I am an incurable romanticist, I could not resist the temptation to spend three months in the vicinity of Philosopher's Path. On Sunday, I moved into the guesthouse. I installed myself in my room, met some of my new flatmates, walked around to get to know the neighbourhood and went to the supermarket. For dinner, I made fried horse mackerel, steamed rice, and stir-fried eggplant, bean sprouts, onion and tomato, spiced up with chili, garlic and, crucially, yuzu ponzu. Recommended.

On Monday, I went to Katsura, where my research institute is located. Frankly, it is not really my research institute - I am not officially affiliated - but they kindly allow me to use their library every now and then. As the main purpose of this research trip is the acquisition of, first, ethnographic data, and second, spatial and ecological knowledge, I do not intend to spend many days in libraries; however, it is important to have access to a place where I can look up things every now and then, and collect additional source materials if necessary. The research institute is somewhat inconveniently located in the western outskirts of the city, but it has a beautiful and bright modern building, and an excellent research library. Moreover, the professor who gives me advice while I am in Japan has his work place there. We had a nice conversation and lunch together, before I spent the afternoon skimming through recent shrine publications.

Today, I went for another walk. I visited the nearby Yoshida Shrine, ignored by my guidebook, but well worth a visit. It is nicely located on a quiet, forested hill in the eastern part of the city. It is also of great historical importance. It was already an important shrine in the Heian period (794-1185), founded and controlled by the powerful Fujiwara clan. Later, in the fifteenth century, it was at this shrine that Yoshida Kanetomo founded and developed a new religious movement (Yoshida or Yuiitsu Shinto) that would exercise profound influence on the construction of Shinto as an 'ancient Japanese' tradition in subsequent centuries. These days, I don't think most visitors are aware of the historical significance of the place; nevertheless, they enjoy the natural surroundings, and pray to the deities for good fortune.

Next, I passed by Kyoto University. Its campus is large, and a nice place for a walk. The atmosphere reminded me of my time as an exchange student in Tokyo, seven years ago. Seven years...? Dear God, tell me, why do the years go by so fast? And why do they seem to be going faster all the time? I feel nostalgic for those days, and wonder whether I am still the same person as I was back then. It feels like yesterday, the day I celebrated my twenty-first birthday with a group of fellow exchange students in an all-you-can-eat Italian restaurant. Now I am about to celebrate my twenty-eighth. There they are, mono no aware, melancholy, panta rhei - the whole package. Happy birthday.

Enough contemplation, time for action. As my room was still unnaturally empty, I visited one of those great Japanese institutions: a 100 yen shop. As the name suggests, every item in these shops costs 100 yen (approximately one euro). Most products are mass-produced by poorly paid factory workers in the greater Guangzhou-Shenzen area; they are not sustainable, and their quality is so-so. Worst of all, they embody hyperconsumerism, the practical ideology serving the interests of this planet's capitalist elites, which teaches consumers to constantly purchase products they don't need and constantly throw away previously purchased products in order to make space for new ones. Indeed, whenever you visit a 100 yen shop to buy two or three things you need, you end up spending twenty euros on a variety of products that at the time of buying seem useful yet often end up in a drawer, unopened and forgotten. Be that as it may, in a country with such high prices, the 100 yen shop saves one from spending tens if not hundreds of euros on random household items, so whenever I have the chance I unscrupulously take advantage. Where else could I possibly buy folders for my articles, baskets for my socks, towels, tea, dried herbs and spices, miso soup, scissors, tape, envelopes, a notebook, wrapping paper, incense, coat hangers, a lighter and even underwear, for only one euro per item...?

And so I walked home, my backpack filled with cheap products. The streets of East Kyoto were quiet. It is the end of September, but autumn is nowhere to be seen; today, it was 27 degrees, and wonderfully sunny. It is hard to imagine a better place for a city walk.

I am ready. Time to get started.

Tatou’s trips: Japan

Spring has come to Norway, as sudden as intense. The forest got its colours back, most snow and ice have disappeared, the sun is wonderfully generous and the sound of busy birds fills the air. It is a beautiful time to celebrate Easter, and a great moment to have a few days off. Some time to relax, for a change - that is, time to read a detective or two, walk in the forest and update my weblog.

As you may have read, in February and March, we were in Japan. I have told several stories about that trip, but one story has been waiting on the shelf, unfinished, for a while: Tatou's latest travel account. First delayed by unforeseen circumstances, then by work obligations, but here it finally is.

Tatou had been to many Asian countries, but never to Japan. She was very excited about going there. I had told her many things about the country, and she couldn’t wait to see it with her own eyes. She was particularly curious about Japanese gardens, as the pictures she had seen looked beautiful. She was also looking forward to learning more about Zen, as she occasionally practised Zen meditation herself; and Shinto, as she had been told that it is an animistic religious tradition whose followers worship trees, rocks and mountains. I may have expressed some of my skepticism regarding this aspect of the tradition at some point - nevertheless, being a professing animist herself, Tatou was quite curious to find out more about it. And of course, she couldn’t wait to take a bath in one of those famous Japanese hot springs.

First, she spent two weeks in Tokyo. She had never been fond of big cities, so she didn’t particularly like it. As I was busy with my workshop, I had little time for sightseeing, so Tatou didn’t get to see much of the city either. There were two things she liked, however. The first thing was the fact that the hotel where we stayed had a beautiful traditional Japanese garden. While I was attending lectures at the national library, she spent many hours wandering around the garden, listening to the quiet voices of the trees and rocks, and talking to the koi carp in the pond.

The second thing she liked was the forest around Meiji Shrine. It was in the middle of the city, but it felt like another world, and there were many big old trees. The ceremony that was being conducted at the shrine when we visited was also interesting, but unfortunately we couldn’t see clearly what the priests were doing as we were not allowed inside the building. But the traditional dance looked beautiful, even though the music made her a bit sleepy.

The trip really became interesting when we left Tokyo and went to Kamakura, a small town with hundreds of Zen temples. We arrived late because of some problem with the train, so we didn’t have time to see many temples on the first day, but the first one we saw was absolutely amazing. It had a huge wooden gate, and many lovely plum trees that were all in bloom. It was still a bit chilly, but spring had undeniably come, and made the place look very beautiful. The temple also had many small stone statues of Guanyin, Tatou's favourite bodhisattva, whom she had once met while she was living in Vietnam. And it had a nice garden, including a pond where a shiny blue kingfisher was fishing. The place made her very happy.

We visited two more Zen temples that day, and Tatou liked both. They all had plum trees and flowers and nice old buildings, and the second one had a strange statue of the happy Buddha of the future. She thought she could feel his presence.

The second day was also nice. I went to some sort of Shinto seminar, but as it was in Japanese Tatou didn’t join me. Instead, she went to see more temples with her friend Nhung, our Japanese friend Katsuo, and his father. First, they saw the Daibutsu: a famous, high statue of Amida Buddha, who once promised to save mankind. It was wonderful; even bigger than she had expected. They even went inside the statue - inside the Buddha’s body! It was a bit strange, but they had a lot of fun. Afterwards, they visited one more temple, where they saw a beautiful wooden statue of Guanyin, as well as many small statues of another bodhisattva called Jizō that all had small toys near them. But when Tatou heard they were for dead babies, she got a little bit sad.

The next day, we went to Ise, a provincial town which houses two of the most famous Shinto shrines in the country. Both are surrounded by a small forest. Tatou loved the forests, especially the second one. It was full of trees that were very old and powerful, and she could hear them whisper and sing their songs, very low and slow. The shrines were special, too – beautifully simple wooden buildings that vaguely reminded her of the houses she had seen in Tana Toraja. Sadly, as we weren’t allowed inside she could not hear the high gods very well. But then, high gods are usually distant, and most of the time they are too busy thinking about abstract matters to be able to communicate with individual people or animals. Very different from local nature spirits.

We also went to a famous shrine standing in front of two rocks in the sea, that were married by means of a long rope tied between them. Tatou liked the rocks, but she was a bit afraid of the statues of frogs standing everywhere. They looked like they were made of stone, but of course that was just outer appearance as they were actually guardian spirits. Their eyes followed us suspiciously, and although Tatou told them they need not worry, she wasn’t sure whether they understood her language.

The best part of the trip were perhaps the three shrines of Kumano, an ancient pilgrimage centre in a gorgeous mountainous area; a traditional mix of Shinto, Buddhism and mountain worship. Tatou liked all three, especially the second one, which was located next to an old Buddhist temple and pagoda, and an impressive high waterfall. But in her opinion the most special place was the small shrine on top of a mountain, overlooking the town where we were staying. It had a big rock with a rope around it, and it housed a very old mountain spirit, who had once been very powerful and angry but had become friendly and gentle now that he was old – except for once a year, during the fire festival, when he would get excited and wild again.

Finally, after we had visited the third shrine of Kumano, we went to hot springs. The first one was very special. According to the explanation it was the world’s only hot spring on the Unesco World Heritage list. It was a small wooden cabin, which individuals or couples could use for up to half an hour. The bath itself was made of stone. The water was green as jade, smelled of sulfur, and was so hot that it made Tatou feel as if she was being boiled! In fact, just ten meters further down the road people were boiling eggs in the same hot spring water… After we had put some cold water in the bath, it wasn’t so extremely hot anymore, and we enjoyed a nice, relaxing bath.

Later that day, we went to another famous place, where we could take a bath in the open air right next to a river, together with playing children and a group of old men. Eagles were flying above us, it was raining softly, and the hot water made us feel calm and sleepy. Tatou was beginning to really like Japan.

We left Kumano and went to Kyoto, Japan's ancient capital, famous for its many temples and gardens. I was quite busy, so most of the time Tatou and Nhung went out to explore the city together. They went to an old castle with a beautiful garden, and to some famous Buddhist temples with sand gardens, arranged in such a way that it reminded Tatou of the sea. She thought she could see waves, and small islands of mossy stones in the middle of the sand. She wasn't sure her interpretation was right, though.

They saw beautiful flowers and trees in the botanic garden. They visited an unknown shrine, inhabited by a group of majestic herons. They even went to a temple with a magic well - according to the sign, those who drank from it would have their wishes fulfilled. Kyoto is a rich and fascinating city, and they barely scratched the surface. But Tatou loved the many temples, gardens and picturesque alleyways she and Nhung explored. It would be great to stay here a bit longer, she thought. It would be nice to live here for a while.

Then, as everybody knows, many tragic things happened. Not to us - we were safe in Kyoto - but to many other people in Japan. When she saw the images, Tatou was very sad. We went home a little bit earlier than planned.

These past six weeks, media worldwide have published and shown pictures of Japan. Many pictures, most of which show sadness and destruction. Having seen all those pictures of violent tidal waves and broken buildings, one would almost forget what a beautiful country Japan still is. Therefore, Tatou has asked me to post some of her Japanese pictures on my weblog - to show you some of Japan's beauty.

For instance: