Photo provided by Karin Kajita
The North American Post Japan tour stops at Sensoji Temple in Asakusa, Tokyo.
Our tour group covered ages from 30 to 89 years old including a native Japanese and her young Russian companion, a Japanese American couple and two American couples. The tour was designed so that each person could stay at an activity level comfortable for them.
We had arrived the day before and stayed at the Mercure Hotel in old town Narita. We gathered in the hotel restaurant for the first of many incredible breakfasts. There was every imaginable thing you would want to eat for any meal, Japanese or Western. I was happy to discover the self-operated espresso machine!
We caught the bus back to Narita Airport, then transferred to the JR Narita Express train to Tokyo. It felt like a Swiss train, immaculate, smooth and purring like a cat. The seats reclined twice as much as our plane seats had. We passed between green fields, trees and scattered houses with the characteristic tiled roofs. We would see them all over Japan.
Blue sky started to replace the clouds. We came into endless drab Tokyo suburbs, a sea of tightly packed houses, buildings and rail yards. Two more transfers and we were at Ryogoku Station. Our hotel, the Pearl Ryogoku was directly across the street. The last two of our group met us here, full of stories of exploring Tokyo on their own the past three days.
After a short rest, most of us took the short walk to the Edo Tokyo Museum. This imposing building on four legs looked like an enormous modern shishi (mythical lion) to me, although apparently it was modeled after an Edo era storehouse.
When our eyes adjusted to the dark interior, we saw a replica of the old wooden Nihonbashi Bridge stretching away from us over the lower level. This was the main bridge leading into Edo, the 15th century fishing village that became Tokyo. It still exists but, surrounded by modern buildings and landfill with an expressway overhead, has lost its charm and traditional view of Mt. Fuji. This has upset quite a few Japanese, and there is a movement afoot to move the expressway underground.
I lined us up with Harriet, a tiny, gracious docent with lightly tinted hair. She was tired, having just given another tour but agreed to do ours. When I said there were eight of us, she looked like she would rather flee! She was entertaining and knowledgeable, and artfully guided us through some four hundred years of history.
We saw a scale model of Edo, a replica of the famous Takarazuka Theatre and various depictions of daily life. There was an enormous shoji screen with tiny figures engaged in all sorts of activities. There were Dutch in their signature dress and wooden shoes, and three depictions of the shogun with only his legs showing from beneath red umbrellas. No one was allowed to look at his face!
Several of us took turns climbing into a cramped, wheel-less kago and imagined being hoisted along bumpy dirt roads by four servants.
Seeing a model of Edo Castle led Harriet to an explanation of bushido, the samurai code of honor. An event that took place in the legendary Matsu Hall there led to the most celebrated suicide in Japanese history.
A daimyo (lord) took offense at the boorish conduct of court official Akira and drew his sword on him. For this it was decreed that he should commit seppuku (ritual suicide). This led the daimyo’s forty-eight samurai to be leaderless (and jobless). Samurai in this unfortunate position were termed ronin. Forty-seven of them plotted revenge for two years, and killed Akira, while the forty-eighth ronin documented the unfolding drama. No one really felt sorry for Akira, but the shogun eventually decided he needed to uphold bushido, and the forty-seven ronin in turn were required to commit seppuku. The account of the forty-seven ronin is the stuff of legend, and of countless movies. The latest one will be out next year, starring Keannu Reeves.
After a brief rest at the hotel, we took off on foot for Sensouji, the Buddhist temple in Asakusa. One of our over-eighty group insisted on walking although we thought we should put her in a taxi!
I led the way with the help of a map, rudimentary kanji skills, and help from passersby. Walking along narrow blind streets, we suddenly came upon the Kaminarimon (Thunder Gate) with its huge paper lantern and guardian deities who were in turn guarded from the pigeons by wire mesh.
From there the route to the temple led us along the long gauntlet of the Nakamise-dori with its tempting souvenir, sembei and mochi shops. When we reached the temple, three of us paid 100 yen apiece to take a stick out of a canister, match its number to a drawer, and take our fortunes out of the drawer.
This was a small piece of paper closely covered in mostly Japanese writing. I got “regular fortune” – fame and success. The other two got “bad fortune.” They looked stricken! The temple itself was closed, unfortunately. It was about 5:30 pm. I thought I’d take our oldest member home in a taxi, but she insisted on walking back, too!
We were joined for dinner by our Tokyo friends, Tomoko and her Indian husband Mukthar. Tomoko looked smart in a dress she had sewn herself out of an old kimono. The women in our party enjoyed talking to her about her life, her son in school, and her projects. Mukthar, a soils engineer and handsome in a dark suit, fascinated us with a description of the work he was doing to determine the safety of buildings after the recent devastating earthquake.
[Editor’s Note]
The North American Post is planning the 2012 Japan Tour. For more information, contact (206) 623-0100 or business@napost.com.
