Blossom (Part 2)

Spring is a busy time in Japan, horticulturally speaking. Shortly after ume, there is peach blossom (momo), but these are both mere au d'oeuvres for the main course that is sakura. The national flower, and a very cheesy song, cherry blossom is a delicate bloom, lasting little more than a week, and there is much speculation about, and anticipation of, when this annual event will occur. A unexpected deluge of rain, or an unseasonally strong wind can ruin the spectacle in an instant. As the Japanese are obsessed with the weather, this allows them the luxury of killing two birds with one stone.

By general consensus the optimum day for sakura viewing this year was April 7th, coincidentally Jessica's birthday, and we took the train to Shukugawa, about halfway between Kobe and Osaka. Stretching a little over 4km, some 2,300 cherry trees line the banks of the Shukugawa River.

People back home might wonder what the big deal is about cherry blossom. We've got one in our garden and its bloody annoying actually, as all it does is drop cherry stones into the fish pond. But when you see 2,300 of them you cannot help but be impressed by their ephemeral beauty. Sarah commented that it's like being in a strange snow scene; strange because it's not cold and it's not winter.

The locals are impressed too - they flock in droves to the nearest blossom-heavy beauty spot to indulge in hanami parties - a diminution of hana mimasu, or 'looking at flowers'. They picnic along the banks of the river, munching on maki and sipping from cans of Kirin. Unlike any event in the UK where alcohol is involved, there is no lewd or disorderly behaviour, and any rubbish is neatly stacked in the correct place (no doubt sorted according to recyclability). This is Japan. You can have a good time without swearing loudly or showing anyone your buttocks.

What is a little strange is the fact that the 'river' seems more like a storm drain. We first noticed this in Kurashiki, and it turns out that all rivers in Japan are like this, because they effectively ARE storm drains. Japan's mountains are so close to the coast, and the country so prone to typhoons, that the cities are very vulnerable to flash-flooding. So the all rivers have been literally engineered - clad in concrete with deep banks - to more or less eradicate this risk. So while nature rules supreme along the river bank, cherry stones are the least of the problems facing freshwater fish, who are busy strapping on their crampons to negotiate their way upstream.

Blossom (Part 1)

Although Japan is famous for sakura, or cherry blossom, it is the plum, or ume, that is associated with the start of spring, because it flowers first. The Hanezu Odori - dance of the red plum blossom - takes place towards the end of March every year at the Zuishin-in Temple. Beautiful and curvy-rooved though they are, temples are already starting to look well, a bit like all the other temples, so the prospect of some flowers and a bit of dancing to liven up proceedings was all the incentive we needed to board the train to Kyoto.

The dance commemorates the love affair over a thousand years ago between the poetess Ono-no-Komachi and Fukakusa Shosho, a courtier who sought her hand. Shosho was supposed to make 100 nightly visits to prove his love for Ono. Sadly he died after the 99th visit. So Japanese....

What's even more impressive about this story is that I've mentioned it since to a number of people here and they ALL seem to know about it. The fact that 10th century poets are so easily recalled says a lot about the value placed on tradition in Japanese society, and compares starkly with the fact that we'd probably struggle to remember Yoko Ono, let alone someone who died in 900 AD.

From Zuishin-in it was a short subway ride to Nijo Castle. We'd been here before, almost a year ago, but it's such an impressive place that it was definitely worth another visit. Kyoto was the capital of Japan for over a thousand years up until the Meiji Restoration in 1868, when that privilege was passed to Tokyo. Nijo Castle was built in 1600 by the Tokugawa shogunate at the height of its powers and is quintessentially samurai. In fact it was here that the final Tokugawa shogun returned political power to the Emperor, effectively marking the end of the samurai.

For extra security, and to guard against incursions from ninja assassins, the floor was suspended above the frame using special iron clamps, and moved up and down over the fixing nails when walked upon. The nails rub against the wood and create a sound similar to the cheeping of a nightingale - hence the name, 'nightgale floor'. In case you're wondering, it sounds like this. A pretty tone-deaf nightingale maybe, but you get the general idea.

Tourguides R Us

Gomen nasai... it's been over a month now since we last posted anything. But with the recent visit of Sarah's sister we've engaged in a flurry of geijin activity, all of which is grist to the mill for a blog site like this. So, what's one of the first things you think about when you have visitors? Taking them on the world-famous bullet train of course.

We planned a trip on the Shinkansen to Okayama, en route to Kurashiki, a small picturesque town about 100km west of Kobe. There are three different types of 'bullet train', but the fastest, and by far the most space-age looking, is the Nozomi. Flashing through the Hyogo countryside at speeds approaching 300 km/h, the train named rather disturbingly after the Japanese word for hope deposited us at our destination in just 30 minutes. From Okayawa it was just four stops on the slow train to Kurashiki, although this journey was considerably more perilous, on account of the terrible smell emanating from the slack-bowelled old lady sharing our carriage.

Now, being British and male, I am already quite fluent in the Japanese vernacular for whiffs and pongs, from chotto kusai ("a bit smelly") to jup-pun matte kudasai ("I'd give it 10 minutes if I were you"), but mere words could not describe the sensory onslaught that was to ensue as the obasan staggered out of the lavatory. Jessica's facial expressions transcended all language barriers as we fought for breathe, trying desperately hard not to laugh at the same time.

Kurashiki is a quaint town, famous for its rows of storehouses surrounded by white walls along the Kurashiki-gawa River. Not unlike a Japanese Bourton-on-the-Water, in fact. After a while it began to rain, so we sought refuge in the nearby Museum of Folkcraft. For 700 yen each we were treated to the finest display of crappy old pots and baskets for possibly yards around. The pots weren't even that old, and many of them not even Japanese. There were pre-revolutionary ceramics from Iran, which might sound impressive, but they only pre-dated the revolution by one year, being made in 1978. I've got punk records older than that.