Eight years ago I had my first taste of Japan. Tait and I came as part of an MTW mission team, spending two months in the city of Nagoya. Towards the latter half of our time there, we had the opportunity to visit Kyoto, considered to be the epicenter of culture in Japan. There were four of us guys who were led around by one of our older adult students and her daughter. We only had a day to spend there, and raced around the various historical sites in a mad dash to fit everything in. We managed to do surprisingly well, and as the day started to wind down were told there was just one more “must see” spot before we headed back. We were a bit tired by this point, and the sun was already starting to make its decent, but we still excitedly got into a taxi and headed off. We drove through a long winding road surrounded by a forest of bamboo, before finally being delivered next to a large river overlooked by a row of tree covered, low lying mountains. I sat there agog, trying desperately to soak in as much of the scenery as possible in the dying light. We only had a small amount of time to spend there, but it was enough to cement the place as one of the most beautiful I had ever seen.
Last month I was finally able to make it back to Kyoto, and as I made my plans I knew there was exactly one place I had to visit again; Arashiyama, the place of my memories. Heading there in the early afternoon, we were able to take our time wandering down the old streets lined with shops, passing through a large residential area on the way. It took a bit of time getting there from the station, but once you enter things start to feel transformed. No sooner had we started when we saw some shop owners dressed in festival clothes directing our attention down a little side street. Looking around the corner, my eyes landed on a stunning sight. Sitting demurely on a small bench was a young woman in a beautiful kimono, with a face covered completely in white makeup. The information centers in my brain started screaming at me, “its a maiko!! A REAL maiko!! Get out your bloody camera, you imbecile!!!” For those on the know, a maiko is of course a geisha in training, and are the ones who wear white makeup. When most westerners think of a geisha, it’s usually the image of a maiko that they’re actually conjuring. This particular maiko was working in conjunction with a group of very old kimono textile shops as part of a promotional effort. For a measly buck, you were able to get your picture taken with the maiko, and entrance to the textile shop where you were able to see some of the work that goes into making a kimono. It was easily one of the best dollars I ever spent.
The bamboo lined road was just how I remembered it, though perhaps a little longer and with hidden surprises along the way. We found a small temple in one spot that was quite scenic, and before we even started on the road stopped for soft serve ice cream in traditional Japanese flavors (i.e. not sweet…). Finally we reached the river, and as we came out of the road I was mentally preparing myself for a scene that was most likely not going to live up to my enormous expectations. As my eyes adjusted and took in the view around me however, I realized that I was about to need a whole new set of expectations. Where the mountains had been covered in green in my mind, I now found them completely covered in pink. Cherry trees blossomed along the whole ridge, and as we walked along the path my mouth hung open in the same exact way as it did eight years earlier. Arashiyama had managed to do the impossible, taking an overblown, nearly perfect memory, and making the reality so much more brilliant that it almost felt like cheating. Like being content with the best sheet cake in the world, and then being introduced to Mont Blanc from a French pastry shop. Perhaps this is what heaven will be like.
As we were heading back to the station, we walked past an entire group of maiko, talking and giggling to each other; their hands desperately trying to hold back smiles as white as the faces that held them.
