Japan: Meiji Jinggu

While on holiday in Japan, I kept a detailed series of notes in honour of Nanowrimo.  All posts about Japan comprise excerpts from my journals. 

"4th November, 2013

Going from Harajuku to the shrine is an interesting experience.  The scenery goes from bright and overstimulating to calm and serene in minutes.  In fact, on the way in, an elaborately cosplaying couple crosses paths with a quietly refined woman in a kimono.  At the Shinto gates, we bow deeply.  My mum points out the chrysanthemum on the top beam - the family was royalty.  In fact, the shrine was built for a Meiji emperor.

The path in is wide and covered with tiny grey stones.  The buzz of the city fades away and under the canopy of trees, the air is cool and heavy and fresh.  A stream runs across the grounds, cutting under what looks like an ancient bridge.  We slow down too, taking in the lush air, the thick green.

I start noticing the children very early on, toddling carefully along the path in full kimonos and the robes and pants that little boys wear, some with make up on, hair fully coiffed.  They are such perfect, enamelled little jewels that I exclaim each time one passes, walking slowly so that she doesn't trip over her heavy clogs and hems.  

Some of the mothers are dressed up too, slender and shining with pride, slowly guiding their children across steps and cobbles.

(Later, I look up the significance of the day.  Turns out we are nearing a day when children aged 3, 5 and 7 visit shrines to ask for blessings in their finest gear.)

First, I gawk, then I go mad trying to capture all the beautiful children.  I'm torn between trying to snatch candid shots as they twist this way and that, or ask politely if I can get a picture, so I end up doing both.  Parents, it turns out, are mostly proud and happy to have their young ones photographed and even encourage them to smile.  One grandmother claps delightedly when I ask if I can shoot her granddaughter and tells me to wait before running and pulling her grandson out of the crowd as well.  They both stand there, adorable in their shell-shocked state, and I bow deep thanks.

One particular girl, I follow for ages, trying to surreptitiously sneak a shot of her looking back over her shoulder.  She quickly sees me and keeps glancing back at me, almost pleading with me with her eyes to take her picture. Eventually, I wave at her.  She grins and waves back.  I raise my camera and she stands up tall and proud, a consummate model.

I am loving the fact that I got to take pictures of such lovely children.  I would've liked to take one home in my suitcase with me, but I guess these photos are the next best thing, as are the ones I managed to get of three separate Japanese brides as they prepared for their wedding ceremony, gently and beautifully stoic in their starched white clothes.  

My mother and I watched the processions across the shrine yard in awe, then went to pray at the shrine itself.  The shrine is old and solid and graceful, all dark wood and jade green roof.  The sunlight starts breaking through the clouds, turning all the wood gold.

"Learn how to say a prayer," my mother says, pointing to a sign that gives instructions.  I toss a coin into a box, bow twice, clap my hands and close my eyes.  I'm essentially atheist but I love the Universe and everything in it and so when I start to wonder what to pray for, a part of me opens up and says, as if it is the most natural thing in the world, "Thank you.  Thank you for letting me come here.  Thank you for this chance.  I am so, so lucky and I want to thank the Universe for conspiring in this."

And I open my eyes, surprised by the sudden outpouring of true gratitude.

We finish the walk with a piping hot omelette rice drenched in beef stew and molten cheese in the tiny, neatly-appointed basement of a franchise called Apple Tree.  We spend the rest of the evening at Ropponggi Hills (move along folks, nothing to see here except toilets that allow you to play sounds to mask the tones of... your business) and Shibuya, incredibly cute, kitschy shops with multitudes of beautiful clothes and stationery and decor items I do not need.

So I sit on my hands in a cafe instead, and we share two scones with jam and cream, which feels even better.

I don't mean though, that I don't do any shopping at all.  In fact, the dressing and spirit of Harajuku and Shibuya are so inspiring and infectious that I decide that I just have to do it, to buy one thing that is in keeping with the spirit of the area, one thing that is fun and loud and a little crazy.  So, I do.

On the way back to the hotel, I watch locals bound in and out of the carriages with infectious grins.  An obachan sits and reads, following each line carefully with a bookmark.  A couple leans into each other.   What a glorious day it has been, I think, and my mind stretches back to the prayer I said in Meiji Jinggu.

Thank you.  Thank you for this chance."