Day 5: Mt. Hiei, Enryaku-ji, Kurama-dera and the Best View in Kyoto
After an easy day of shopping and eating, I am ready to do a real hike. I get up early and take the earliest train I can to the base of Mt. Hiei, a famous mountain that is covered in temples and beautiful scenery. I have to catch some out of the way trains to get to the base, but eventually I make it right at 9 am, when the cable car starts running. I take the cable car up, and then the ropeway a little higher. However, there is still quite a bit of a hike, even from this point. I start following the signs for Enryaku-ji, a Pure Land Buddhist complex famous for its serene and grand temples. It used to be much larger, with several hundred temples, but now it only contains a little over 100.
The hike is similar to what one might expect in a secluded area of Rocky Mountain National Park, except there are no deer, and the weather feels more like a rainforest than a mountain. There are only 2-3 people who I pass on the trail besides myself. After huffing and puffing my way along the trail for about 45 minutes, I find the most stunning view I’ve come across. Every other view of the city, of the mountainside, and of the forest is ersatz when compared with this view.
From this high up, I can see most of Kyoto, all of Kibune, and some of Kurama. I might even see other towns, I’m not sure. In the far distance I can see a radio tower, the top of it disappearing into the clouds. These mountains are nowhere near as tall as the Rocky Mountains, but when the heavy clouds hang as low as they do, the peaks easily stretch into and above the clouds. The scene feels like a Hokusai woodblock print, although Mt. Fuji is nowhere to be found. I just stand and admire the view for about 20-30 minutes. As absurd as it sounds, a thought crosses my mind. Is this the reason I came to Japan? The longer I stare at the scene, the more I think that it must be.
Once I decide I should move or else I won’t do anything else today, I continue down the path to the first section of Enryaku-ji. There are three sections that span the entirety of Enryaku-ji. This first section requires the most hiking and is mostly out of the way of tourists. I find my way down the path and start visiting the temples. First, I come across the mausoleum of Saicho, who brought over Tendai Buddhism to Japan from China, and established Enryaku-ji. The scene is abandoned, with nothing but the sounds of a running fountain.
Next I move down the path, flanked by lanterns on either side. A giant butterfly hovers near me, fluttering around my knees in circles, and I can't help but think of Chuang-tsu.
“Once upon a time, I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was myself. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.”
-Chuang-tsu, The Butterfly as Companion
Inside, a monk sells charms, booklets, and prayer beads. I buy a prayer bracelet and was myself in the basin outside. I follow the murals that line the left-side of the building. I can’t read the text, but the pictures clearly show the progression of Gautama Buddha, from birth to enlightenment under the Bodhi tree to gathering followers to complete nirvana. I continue down the various trails that branch from this worship hall, but they seem endless. Every time I go down a new branch, three more appear. I go down as many as I can find, taking pictures along the way. I eventually wind up on a back-trail that doesn’t lead to any temples, but I follow the path, curious where it takes me. I end up in a cemetery, a dead-end if you will. You don’t have to laugh at my pun, I already did.
I make my way back, sliding and falling on my back-bone along the way. I find more temples, but decide it is finally time to move onto the next part of Enryaku-ji. I find a new trail and start up. It’s only about a kilometer to the next section, and the trail is mostly flat. I reach the gate, and realize that this is the section where I have to pay to get in. The fee is only 500 yen, so I pay, get a map and enter. I bounce around the complexes, marveling at the difference between this hub of tourism, where the buildings are polished and grand and covered in gold, and the trail I was just on with moderate, meager shrines by comparison. The giant artifices are still impressive, and the history that they explore, down the line of successors from Saicho, is impressive. I explore all of the areas within complex, and also make sure to get a view of Lake Biwa while I am on this side of the mountain.
After I browse the area for a while, I get hungry. I eat a handful of dried goods that I got at the grocery store (sorry, I don’t know the specific name or what is actually in it, but it is like a bunch of different kinds of pretzel, but different. Almost like a pub mix). I head back up the path I came, coming to the same view I saw earlier. I give this view one more once over before departing, realizing I may never see it again. Instead of taking the ropeway, I hike the rest of the way down. It is easy enough, and it is only 2 by the time I reach the bottom. I get back on the train, and quickly realize that I am already close to Kurama, which is also on my list. I transfer trains and head toward Kurama, a small hamlet with a homey Shinto village which worships a pinnochio-like kami with a bright red face.
Before I attempt to visit the temple or climb up the path, I stop for lunch at a vegetarian place just in front of the gates. Their sign reads ‘All vegetable cooking!,’ which is a dead give-a-way that it’s vegetarian. I get a set meal with rice, something with the consistency of apple sauce, miso soup, pickled ginger, and a few other random veggies. The lunch fills me up quickly. Then I make my way up. This hike, after doing Mt. Hiei, I begin to realize, was a misinformed decision. Exhaustion catches up to me quickly, and I am soaked in sweat. The path is steep enough that the caretakers of Kurama-dera have placed free to use walking sticks at various sections of the path. I take one and appreciate the help that the light, firm stick provides. Step after step, I come closer to Kurama-dera, and eventually get to the top of the mountain. The view isn’t quite as grand as the one I saw earlier, but it is still appreciable.
As I look around at the nature and the way the temple and the path have been seamlessly integrated with the surrounding forest, I realize that, more than any other major temple or shrine I’ve visited, this one has a homey, small neighborhood vibe to it. Unlike Enryaku-ji or Ginkaku-ji, Kurama-dera seems to genuinely be used by the villagers of Kurama for worship. Small complexes, like the one the women helped me wash my hands and handkerchief, are the most honest and representative of a small temple. Kurama-dera still manages to capture that while stretching across the mountainside. It’s a difficult task to accomplish.
I quickly realize that the day has been spent largely away from Kyoto, and I feel good about this. Rarely in my life do I get to go hiking in such a dense, lush forest. Despite the humidity, despite the heat, the combination of hikes that I did today was probably the best I’ve had in a while.
That night, when I get back to the hostel, I cool down, shower and switch clothes, and go out for a drink. I have a beer, which is great, and Suntory Chita whiskey (not so great). The joint is a small place with 25 taps. However, the taps aren’t running properly, and foam fills 95% of the cup. Rather than pour at a 45 degree angle and let the foam run over the side of a cup until the foam-to-beer ration is proper, the bartender fills up a cup, then uses a tool to scrape the foam out of it, fills it up again, and repeats until there is an acceptable amount of foam. They then wipe off the side of the glass and serve it to you. Watching this process made me cringe. At first I thought it might be that the person was new and just didn’t know any better. Then 3 other individuals, serving other tables, poured beer and did the exact same thing. Nothing else that the Japanese have done has shocked me. I’d not really had a culture shock until this moment. I was half tempted to hop over the counter and say “No, pour like this,” but something tells me that wouldn’t have gone over well.
To be fair, despite the sub-par pouring, the Japanese make decent beer. Their whiskey, on the other hand, has a long ways to come before it can compete with American whiskey.
With a few drinks, I walk around the town a little more, soaking up the nightlife, knowing that my time in Kyoto will soon come to an end. Tomorrow is my last day.
