Railroad Architecture

I travel to a few of the local train stations to teach at different GEOS schools: Iya Nyugawa, Iya Saijo, Iya Awaii. They are, respectively, 30 and 50 km southeast of Imabari, and in the case of Awaii, 35km. west.

Iya means ‘stop’, ‘place’ or ‘village’ and was the Edo and earlier name of Ehime itself. So Iya Saijo means Saijo village, and Saijo, Ehime at the same time…I think. Shikoku means 4 (Shi) areas (ko): it consists of four provinces, Ehime, Kagawa, Tokushima, and Kochi. They used to be called Iya, Sanuki, Awa, and Tosa respectively. So the Iya thing is very traditional.

The town around Nyugawa is actually called Toyo. The town around Awaii is actually called Natsume. Saijo, as well as containing a great number of o-terra (Buddhist temples), not to mention jinja (Shinto shrines), is the home of Asahi beer, perhaps because of the purity of the springwater there.


Anyway, pretty much every Wednesday I find myself standing on the #2 platform of Saijo station, waiting for the 8:32 or 9:32 Shio Kaze (Sea Breeze), the semi-express train that will take me home. I like to stand under the pedestrian overpass and look at the way it’s built. I also get a good view of the train station, which is a modernist structure from perhaps the mid-late fifties. Saijo is a node where trains from the east end of the island and those from the west stop and begin their return runs. It has 3 or 4 extra layover tracks, and I often see conductors disembarking for layovers here.



I have figured out where the guestrooms are (I think there are maybe ten rooms), where the o-furo (bath) room is (condensation) and so on. But for me, the really interesting structure at this station is this overpass allowing pedestrian access to tracks 2 and 3 from the station proper. It’s built with old railway track, welded and bolted together, and thick wooden planking. I think it’s really cool.




This is the interior, all watched over lovingly by 'Meitante Conan' (the anime boy on the poster).














My best web research indicates that the Shikoku railway line was begun in the mid 1880’s, but probably was not extended west as far as Saijo until perhaps the 1920s or so. During the second world war some towns were damaged by bombing (the downtown of Imabari was flattened) and Saijo may have been bombed as well, as a shipbuilding port. So this structure probably dates from the rebuilding just after that war, though it may date back to the twenties, or even the turn of the twentieth century.






Up on the mountain to the south one can see a buddhist temple all lit up; I haven’t figured out its name yet.

The overpass at Toyo station, 17km. closer to Imabari, is similar, though with a lower 'Blade Runner' quotient.


An acquaintance tells me that the station at Sakurai, now a southern part of Imabari, was built in 1921. So the railway was extended to Imabari at that time. The exterior of Iyo Sakurai remains essentially the same as when it was built. It’s the prettiest station I’ve seen on the line.

Hiroshima, August 6th, 2008.

The watch, which stopped 63 years ago today, reads 8:15 am.

The faint shadow of a sitting woman burned into the stone of the steps was made at the same moment.

The violence of that instant in time still resonates outwards from ground zero. A profound silence, 270,000 souls strong, follows. The dropping of the A-bomb over Hiroshima marks a watershed in human history.



Years ago, in 1985, I made a short experimental film about the A-bomb protests then occurring in Toronto, where I lived. Protestors were painting shadow outlines of themselves on the roads and sidewalks to mark the anniversary of this catastrophe. I went out one night with a super-8 camera and a flashlight, and filmed some of them.

At one point while doing this, I had a very strange experience. I felt a savage, indescribably loud and violent wind like a cyclone or hurricane blow through my mind. This became the central metaphor of the piece; I felt this wind as as a manifestation of the historical aftermath, an echo 40 years later, of the original explosion and it’s shock wave. It was coming from a place I had never been, half a world away, 13 years before I was born.

I made a 16mm. short, showed it once or twice and then put it away.

Reviewing it in 2005, back in art school to obtain a degree, I found it embarrassingly badly made, but still containing some good ideas. I tried to remake it as a video installation, without quite succeeding. I came up against a stone wall and could go no further. But the metaphor remained: of temporal mutation, time sped up, and the vortex of the shock wave generated.




What goes around comes around. On August 6th, I found myself for the first time at ground zero, Hiroshima Peace Park. I wasn’t alone, of course; there were probably 100,000 others there with me.





I went there at the invitation of my Japanese teacher, Yanagihara-san. We joined a troupe of girl scouts, and had lunch with them at a tabehodai Italian restaurant (!).


The gruesome displays of the blast’s aftermath in the main hall left me somewhat unmoved; they looked too carnival-esque, too grand guignol to me. I found myself distanced from them. Most of those around me seemed quite affected by them.



I was, however, moved to learn of the role of the river in helping those who could to survive. Images of water are very important in the Peace Park. There are a number of fountains and pools.








And I found the sculptures and installations in the Peace Hall itself very beautiful. This building is remarkable, essentially a cave with a long spiral hallway leading down and into a primary chamber, and a hallway off of it. This architecture echoes the role of caves in Japan, often as holy places for meditation (Kukai’s cave in Muroto Misaki), and refuges (the caves of Hineyuri no to in Okinawa).




There is an extraordinary piece of art: A database driving a wall of screens, containing all the known photographs of the victims of the blast. Visitors to the site can enter a name into one of the terminal keyboards at the side of the room, and some of the fields on screen rearrange themselves to display that photo and those around it. The photos fade to white when changing.



The effect, for me, was of a slowly evolving field of white energy, where photos emerge, float for a time, unmoving, then fade in a burst of light to white, to be replaced by another.

The piece is simultaneously a search engine, a display mechanism and a beautiful metaphor for death, loss, memory, meditation.






Sadako Sasaki was a 2 year old girl who survived the blast, only to succumb to radiation induced cancer ten years later. She is famous for having made 1000 origami cranes, a symbol of longevity, as a gesture to defy the cancer. She died, but some of her cranes are on display here. There is also a very popular sculpture of her at the park.




And I am reminded of an article I read in the Japan Times around this time, of a young man, not in Hiroshima when the blast occurred, who returned immediately to the city to search for his uncle. His uncle had disappeared, but in the smoking ruins of his store, the young man found a flame burning. He took the flame back to where he was living, and kept it lit. His son, a middle aged monk, tends it sixty three years later. This flame has been the single source of the numerous peace torches in Japan.

Happy Raft

Takeshi decided we should go river rafting. Brilliant idea! So on June 15th, we all (Takeshi, Mimi, Simon, Ruriko, Akiko, and me), piled into his van at 7:30 in the morning and drove to Otoyo, near Oboke.

Otoyo is situated in the Yoshinogawa Gorge, running in a North/South direction through the middle of Shikoku. It’s in Tokushima prefecture; we were going to play on the upper Yoshino river, which eventually makes its way east to Tokushima and the sea. It took us about two and a half hours to get to the Happy Raft headquarters from Imabari via the freeway.

I should mention that it started raining about 20 minutes before we were supposed to meet. This is to be expected at the beginning of the rainy season in Imabari. It rained all day…

Ruriko researched and arranged our appointment with Happy Raft, the company hosting us. They were the cheapest of the alternatives at $5,500 per person for a half-day trip – a great value, and they’re friendly, accommodating folks. We signed off the obligatory liability waivers and were led downstairs for our gear. We were two groups of six, and a couple in a small raft.

After donning wetsuits, shoes, fleece, kayak spray jackets, helmets and flotation vests, we were led through extensive instructions on rafting safety, what to do if we fall out, and so on.




It was quite thorough, though I could only follow about a third of it…but Takeshi and Ruriko helped explain things when necessary.

Finally, it was time to jump into the van, head up the road and into our waiting rafts. Out on the water, we watched a group of kayakers in tiny ‘banana boats’ enter the river. They became a sort of unofficial escort as we made our way downstream, occasionally one of them would do a nose stand in the water (!). It looked very odd.


Yoshio was our steersman and guide, and the first thing he made us do was stand up on the raft edge, and throw ourselves backward into the river!





After a moment of panic I relaxed and enjoyed floating around and practicing getting back into the raft. The water was green, cold and over my head, however, and I was glad I was in a wetsuit. Running the first set was quite exciting and a bit scary – great fun.



However, he then pulled up to a big crag of rock sticking out of the water, and had us all climb up on top of it. It was clear that we were going to have to jump off…and we did.



I don’t like heights, and this was the scariest part of the whole thing for me, but I gritted my teeth and jumped. A big part of the appeal, and satisfaction, of these adventures lies in overcoming such fears.











Two people dove off. Takeshi showed us what it looked like to do a bellyflop from 15 feet up! Luckily, he was ok.

I found the rain, the mist, the rocks and wild, green, white water, and the steep mountains taking me back to northern British Columbia and my years of treeplanting there. It was the closest thing I’ve seen to BC in Japan. Of course the buildings look different, have a different vernacular of line and space, a different presence, but the spirit, of being in the woods, was here. I felt I could breathe out. And occasionally smell some woodsmoke.

Then we jumped out of the boat again, took hold of each others flotation vests at the shoulders, feet up, and, in a six person train, ran a set of rapids! It was thrilling as I couldn’t see a thing and waves kept rolling over me…whew! Didn’t hit any rocks, though.


In the final set of rapids, we rode over a perhaps five foot dropoff , and up and over a big tooth of a rock.




It was an exciting finish to a wonderful expedition. Back onshore at Happy Raft, in our dry clothes, we drank some tea and ate fresh banana bread. We were all, to our surprise, quite tired. Yoshio burned his photos, and a video segment onto a disc for us for ¥1000 ($10).


And still hungry; we stopped and ate Iya soba at a small, roadside restaurant run by an obaachan. Delicious! Iya soba seems ‘dryer’ than other soba noodles, perhaps because it has more buckwheat in it… Then on to a local hotel for a soak in their luxurious onsen. It was deserted and a bargain at ¥400 and a Happy Raft discount. It was raining hard at this point and the soak was a great way to warm up and relax.

In the tatami rest area in the lobby, I found a Shikoku no Michu (Shikoku 88 temple) pilgrimage guidebook – in English, no less! They didn’t have any for sale, but I’ll look for it in Matsuyama when I’m there. It looked very good, and I must start thinking about saving money to make the walk…

Takeshi took us further east and north towards Takamatsu to hook up to the freeway. We ended up driving down a wonderful narrow (one lane with pullouts) road through the mountains. We stopped to admire a large hillside garden of Ajisai (Haydrangea) and buy some maki-sushi at a small village. They were having a barbeque, and were very friendly.

Eventually we found the freeway and the road home. Then it was off to Himedori itzukaya to celebrate! But that’s another story.

Thanks Takeshi and Ruriko for organizing a great trip!




Most of these photos were taken by Yoshio and the other Happy Raft guides.
Happy Raft: http://www.happyraft.com , tel.: 0887-75-0599.

Of o-Hanami and Drinking Tea.

Late April is cherry blossom viewing time around here. On April 20th., ICIEA held the 10th annual o-hanami, or cherry blossom viewing party. It took place at Shimi no Mori, (Citizen’s Park), at the top of the hill. Last year there were no trees in bloom yet. This year was perfect, with the trees in perhaps 70% full bloom.

I was asked by Tabusa-san if I wanted to serve tea in a shortened tea ceremony. She has various students do this at o-hanami every year. She asked in February…which didn’t leave much time. Having taken part in this shortened ceremony several times, I felt perhaps it was time to give it back…so I said yes.

My feeling at this time was that this art was a sort of partly idealized, partly sentimentalized call to Japan’s medieval past. I did enjoy the bitter, gorgeously green tea.

I found out, however, that o-cha is a rigorous ritual, endlessly detailed and quite difficult to master, even in the short version we were studying. It didn’t help that I can’t sit seizei for more than five minutes before my knees threaten me. During the five or six lessons my teacher gave me, she was very patient.

Tabusa-san lives in a beautiful Meiji era house in Sakurai, the south part of Imabari. It’s a forty minute bike ride from my house in Oshinden in the north. One enters her house via a very pretty moss covered garden.

Her tea room is in the shoin room of her house, quite big, and the walls are covered in black stucco made from black sand. Usually this stucco is beige, like it is in my house, and a common wall component indoors. Apparently during Edo and Meiji times, this black sand stucco was prized. It looks very odd and beautiful…six years ago, when they renovated her house, she and her husband left the shoin room with it’s original walls.

She told me her sensei, who is 94, and very, very old school, would be coming to the cherry blossom viewing. I started freaking out; there was no possibility of even approaching her standards! I was reassured, however, that she couldn’t see so well. So, Yano-san, a fellow practisioner, was then asked to lend me his kimono, under-kimono, and zori. He agreed, reluctantly, to do this.

April 20th. was sunny. Fluffy white clouds were floating around in the sky. The trees were in bloom. It looked great! Lots of people showed up. Everything started a little late; Yano-san dressed me in his really nice green kimono, muttering ‘chotto metabolic’ repeatedly. It means ‘you’re a bit over weight’. He said it six times.

Wearing kimono was really amazing this time around as it was formal; under-kimono, kimono, Hakata (pant things),and of course, obi. I quite enjoyed wearing it; it was also quite comfortable, nearly all of the time.




Taijo and my teacher, Nanae Tabusa










There were four of us serving tea: Mei-chan, Tabusa-san’s neice, Felicity, a visiting Australian high school exchange student, Taijo-kun, Yano-san’s 12 year old son, and me. We’d each serve a couple of times.

My turn came third round in, and was a complete disaster. I forgot everything I’d learned, and did everything backwards, which is my common failing in Japan. The two men I was making tea for were very kind, however, and tried to help me relax as I became increasingly nervous through the procedure. Luckily I seem to be able to make a passable cup of tea, even when I get the ritual completely wrong. Finally, trying to get up to take away the waste water container, I brought my left knee forward to stand and heard the soft sound of expensive fabric trying not to rip. Horrified, I looked over to my guests, who, looking very concerned, raised their hands, and said, in English, ‘slowly, slowly’.














Eventually I was able to stand up. I stepped off the felt tea surface into Yano-san’s zori, and walked under the cherry tree right there, to place the water container on a little table reserved for it…and walked straight into a low hanging branch I didn’t even realize was there. Standing still for a moment to collect my wits, I looked down and realized my zori had been knocked off my feet! Really. I almost laughed at that point, put them back on, and returned to the felt to bow and excuse my long suffering guests. They seemed well entertained.




Then I was privileged to watch Taisho-kun show me how to do it. He was great to watch, relaxed, totally focused, and wearing the most amazing emerald green hakama. He looked stunning against the red carpet, under the gently waving shadows of the cherry blossoms overhead. Way cool.

Tabusa san wanted to know if I’d learned anything. I said yes.

Later I found Yano-san wandering around in his bare feet (because I had his zori on…). I was appalled, and insisted he take them back. I served my second tea set in my sneakers.

Some time after this, I served tea to two young engineering students and their friend. It was much more relaxed, we talked and I enjoyed myself (still making mistakes, however!). But o-cha is about creating a relaxing experience as much as about making tea, and this round felt much closer…

Then we took some pictures, and I gave the kimono back to Yano-san. I was relieved to see that it appeared undamaged. I’d like to get one, but have not liberated the required $1,000 or so which would be a normal starting point...

I have discovered a mail order business, who buy old kimono, clean them (an expensive process where the kimono is deconstructed, dry cleaned, and re-sewn!) and sell them on the net.

I could buy the requisite inner and outer kimono, haori (a kind of overcoat), and hakama (pant things) for perhaps $500, plus another $100 for sori or geta, and wrappers. Some inner kimono and haori are hand painted works of art, signed by their painters.





My friend, Yoshio Tanaka













I signed up to serve again next April, so maybe I’ll get one this year.

Road Trip to Kompira-san.

Fujisawa-san, a fellow English teacher, called me January 1st. and suggested we drive to Kompira-san. Kompira is a large mountainside shrine in North central Shikoku. It is, along with those of Itsukushima (Miyajima) and Ise, one of Japan’s most important spiritual centers. It’s about a three hour drive from Imabari, south a bit, east and over the mountains. We were to leave at nine, and pick up Mayu, our manager, at the train station nearby. She had been visiting her mum in Anan.

After a leisurely start, Chihiro asked me to navigate, and handed me a map labelled in Japanese. ‘Where are we now?’ I asked. She waved her hand at the map, and said ‘Over here’. Chihiro and I often get into communications difficulties as, like many Japanese I have met, she does not give precise directions, and doesn’t know ordinal directions such as North, South, and so on. She also does not give precise explanations of things, perhaps because they are familiar to her…this is common, and for someone like me, frustrating. I have learned not to expect, and sometimes not to ask for such information…

Things went ok until we reached Takase, where we had to turn and take a local road through the mountains, to Kotohira. We got lost, of course, and spent 20 minutes finding the right road. By then, Chihiro did not believe we were going the right way, and so kept asking ‘Are you sure?’. It was the right way, and at 12:10 we met Mayu at the train station.

Kompira san is a fifteen minute walk west of the train station. It is a large complex of shrines which sits on the side of a mountain; the path to the main shrine contains 785 steps.



Approaching the main entrance torii is an avenue of udon restaurants, ryokan, religious art, souvenir, tradional candy and cookie shops. I'm told the cedar ball sign is an advertisement for a sake maker...It’s fascinating to wander through here. When we came back down we ate udon at one of them, in a lovely old building.







This is an Edo-era covered walkway, no longer used.





Inside the first torii is an avenue, lined with donation markers, where venders sell things under large umbrellas. There are five of them, and their families have been granted the right to do this for some 400 years.





This is a stone lantern, called a tori, where someone has placed gravel and glass inside to create what seemed to me like a small, abstract landscape...







A big shrine partway up the path. There are a number of them, large and small.

This was the fourth day of New Years, so the crowds were starting to thin out a bit. There were perhaps a couple of thousand people at the complex. At New Years many Japanese travel to shrines to pray for health and success in the coming year. Kompira –san on New Years day must have been packed wall to wall with people.


Eventually we made it to the main shrines near the top of the mountain. There is a small (inner) shrine, I’m told, at the top of the mountain, but we weren’t up to climbing another 538 steps, so left it for some other time. That's Chihiro on the left and Mayu on the right.



The Marine Shrine is very interesting, devoted to sailors, adventurers, and soldiers. Kotohiragu is the ancient name of the Kami of this shrine. Lots of old paintings, and a boat.














There is a big Kusunoki (Camphor) tree up here, where pilgrims tie their omikuji, paper good fortune omens, to be taken care of during the year by the Kami, or Shrine gods.




They can be bought for 100 yen from priests in stalls. I didn’t buy one here, as I had already done this with Chihiro and her family at their local shrine in Temagawa.













I also discovered that the one yen coin, made of aluminum, floats! I don't seem to be the only person who has noted this, however.

After we retraced our steps to the arcade at the bottom, Chihiro suggested we have some udon. We went into a beautiful old building and ate, and I expressed my appreciation of it and the food. Chihiro responded with the mysterious statement: ‘It’s ok, but it’s not sanuki udon’. Eventually, I found out that ‘Sanuki’ udon is special, tastes better, is stronger, more genki, more chewy, the best! Sanuki is the old prefectural name for the area, now called ‘Kagawa’, and Sanuki udon is the mother of all udon. Well! So she promised to take us to a ‘Sanuki udon’ restaurant.

We drove around for about forty five minutes looking for a restaurant she remembered going to, once, and finally found it. It was unobtrusive, and not in the least swank, a working man’s place.

An interesting example of lo tech recycling: the heated, stone jar of sauce brought to the table had an improvised handle attached to it, made of multicolored, woven, recycled telephone wires! Way cool.

And guess what, she was right! The udon was chewier, and was eaten by being dipped in a sauce poured from the above jug. Up till now I’d only experienced udon served in a broth.

And super cheap, I think it cost all of 300 yen. It was delicious, so I bought some for my landlady as omiyagi.


Then we went home.