Kyoto 1

The view from the coach window gradually changed from busy city street to green hills. We were driving into Kyoto. The air was crisp, rain-washed. The road was along a river, climbing against its course. The water flowed gently, its pace broken intermittently by stepped dykes. The banks were green, undulating, studded here and there with rough-hewn stone. 

Kyoto is nestled in a valley, surrounded by a ring of hills. The foothills of Mount Arashimaya, overlooking Kyoto, has been a popular destination for centuries, and we could see why. Thickly wooded, the green backdrop is a perfect foil to the river, giving the whole composition a picturesquely tenable scale. 

During fall, the woods famously change colour, breaking into clumps of yellows, oranges and reds, shimmering like an impressionist painting. The Cherry Blossom trees, Sakura, lining the banks of the river burst into flower all too briefly in late March - early May, adding to the medley. 

Hanami is the charming Japanese tradition of dining under the blossoming Sakura trees. The boughs, heavily laden with flowers, are strung with paper lanterns, and hang low over the water. Picnics are laid out on the green banks. Hanami was popularised during the Heian Period [794 - 1185], though it was in practice from much further back. 

It was also during the Heian Period that the 'Crossing the Moon', Togesu-kyo bridge was built across the river, linking the two Sakura-lined banks. This is where we were headed.

Crossing the Moon in late May, when neither the fall colours nor the Sakura blossoms were on view, was still a beautiful experience. The river went its quiet way beneath, gold and silver flecked. Its neat banks were dotted with people, in groups of twos and threes. The thick wooden railings of the bridge, strapped with metal, met at the far side, carrying the eye to the opposite bank and the green mountain slopes

Shops and eateries along the junction were bustling with tourists and school students - the latter are a common sight at all cultural spots, their visits being scheduled as a part of the high school curriculum. Caught up with the idea of the Hanami tradition, I scourged the shops to find myself a ceramic piece in a cherry-blossom design. Japanese ceramics are exquisite, and there were all sorts on sale, except for the elusive cherry blossom. 'Made in China' labels are ubiquitous. In a cotton clothing and souvenir section, they changed to 'Made in India', "Ganesha" being the brand of choice. A piping hot steamed bun with a delicious minced pork stuffing made up for the disappointment.

The Moon crossed, it was time to experience Wabi-Sabi,  the beauty in simplicity, of a Zen garden. The Temple of the Dragon at Peace, Ryoanji, a Zen Buddhist temple in Kyoto, is a UNESCO World Heritage site. The dry landscape, Karesansui, rock garden in the temple grounds is a 25 x 10 metre rectangle of white gravel, dotted with fifteen carefully positioned stones of different sizes. The stones are grouped into one group of five, two of three and two of two stones each. The gravel is carefully raked into neat lines around the stones. A clay wall behind the garden provides a defined edge to the composition. The garden is meant to be viewed in a seated position, from the verandah fronting it. The biggest stone is below eye level, the others mostly long, low and flat. The natural shapes of the groups of stone are in contrast with the clean, sharp lines raked onto the gravel surrounding it, and the rectangular boundary. 

The rock garden is from the 15th century; the aesthetics are distinctively modern. Modern art broke away from the "illusionary" obsession with realistic depiction, shifting the focus to colour and composition. A paring down, to the basics of visual language. The Karesansui is, likewise, a paring down to compositional perfection. The composition itself becomes the purpose of the garden. In the words of garden historian Gunter Nitschke, "The garden at Ryōan-ji does not symbolize anything…I consider it to be an abstract composition of 'natural' objects in space, a composition whose function is to incite meditation".

A water garden, the Kyoyoshi pond is also a part of the Ryoan-ji grounds. Viewed through a frame of fine-textured, delicate foliage, the vast, still expanse of water with clusters of tiny lotuses takes on an ethereal quality.

The Muromachi Period [1336-1573] saw a flourishing of Japanese culture, influenced by Zen Buddhism - Noh theater, Chado, the tea ceremony, the Shoin style of Japanese architecture, Ikebana flower arrangements, Sumi-e ink painting and calligraphy and the Zen garden are all gifts to humankind from this period. 

The Shoin style of architecture features Fusuma, sliding panels painted with scenes from nature, running on wooden rails and acting as room dividers, and Shoji, sheer, transluscent rice paper panels. It is based on a modular size determined by Tatami, straw floor mats. 

In the souvenir shop attached to Ryoanji, we found a metal disc with a square hole in the middle, to be used as a bottle opener. It was inscribed with four characters. The metal had taken on a blue-ish patina and the piece was beautiful. It turned out to be a replica of the surface of the stone basin, tsukubai, found near the tea house. 

Apparently, there was more to the inscriptions than met the eye. The characters 五, 隹, 止, 矢, are without significance when read alone. But, though the water basin's frame is circular, the opening in the circular face is itself a square 口. If each of the characters is read in combination with 口, then the characters become 吾, 唯, 足, 知. This is read as "ware, tada, taru, shiru" (吾 = ware = I, 唯 = tada = only, 足 = taru = sufficient, 知 = shiru = know). Or, the meaning, as Wikipedia would have it, is simply "What one has is all one needs".

Kyoto was a centre of the cultural happenings of the Muromachi period, with Shoguns patronising the arts and building temples in beautiful grounds to epitomise Zen philosophy. 

Kinkaku-ji and Ginkaku-ji, the Gold and Silver Pavilions are two such examples. The Golden Pavilion was built by Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, and the Silver by his grandson, Ashikaga Yoshimasa. Yoshimasa inspired a new outpouring of traditional culture, which came to be known as Higashiyama Bunka [the Culture of the Eastern Mountain]. Ginkaku-ji is supposed to display a more pared-down, abstract aesthetic compared to Kinkaku-ji. 

For us, it was Kinkaku-ji, the Golden Pavilion that was scheduled for a visit. Dating back to the late 14th century, the pavilion was renovated several times, most recently in 1955. It stands in solitary splendour, its roof-lines lifting at the edges, mimicking the form of the surrounding pine tree boughs.

Spanking new and overly gold-leafed, the Pavilion is set in a Kyoko-chi or Mirror Pond and the paler gold of the reflection in the still water is easier on the eye. The pond is dotted with carefully positioned islands, bridges, rocks and plants - a miniature depiction of a larger world. 


The garden surrounding the pavilion is a strolling garden in the Kaiyu-shiki-tien or go-round style, taking the viewer through a longer, circuitous route. This enables different viewpoints, a gradual unfolding and time for contemplation.

The Kiyomizu-dera temple sits dramatically on a steep slope, its long verandah jutting out and supported by massive, 13 metre high wooden columns planted further down the slope. The hipped roof is large, beautifully proportioned. Its neat form is not broken by shingles. Instead, a curious dark brown material, finely textured, almost smooth, covers it - Cypress bark. Although the views of Kyoto from the temple verandahs are much lauded, the view of the magnificent form of the temple on the slope, from the gardens across, was stunning enough. 

Oyamazaki Villa is a 1920's building, based on the Tudor style, set in vast, landscaped grounds, built by the owners of the Asahi Brewery. Tadao Ando was commissioned to add a museum to it. He has created three volumes, each acting more like landscape features than buildings. One is a horizontal, rectangular volume - a passageway that leads from the villa, stepping down to the gallery. The other is a cylindrical volume, the gallery itself, partially buried. The third is a vertical volume, the elevator. Each opens out to views, and adds geometric planes to the landscape. The roofs, when seen from the villa, are covered in gravel and grass. Although the gallery itself was closed, we spent some time wandering through the villa and marvelling at the views its generous balconies had to offer. The museum shop attached had postcards of vintage Asahi Beer advertisements, a mix of American style and Japanese elements. 

What would we get if Tadao Ando was to design a strolling zen garden? The Garden of Fine Arts, Kyoto. A garden of exposed concrete, glass and water, interspersed with fine art panels. A garden design that plays with volume: overlapping planes, pathways above and below, intersecting, crossing. And textures: light, shade, shadow, water. 

In this hardscape with the compositional focus of the Karesansui rock gardens, the gradual unfolding of the Kaiyu-shiki-tien strolling gardens, and the mastery over space and movement that is trademark Tadao Ando, one could take an unforgettable stroll with a heightened perspective.

Reproductions of famous artwork on ceramic plates are carefully positioned amidst the play of planes. Monet's Lilies are on a horizontal plane, covered by a sheet of water. It is not the fine art on display, however, but the space that is primary. The art punctuates the space, complimenting, adding colour, creating pauses. You pause, reflect, and stroll on as the space leads you, alert, onto the next revelation. 

The breathtaking views, gardens and zen aesthetic were not all there was to Kyoto. There was much more to explore in this cultural capital of Japan. Which was well enough, because though the lesson learnt in Kyoto was "What one has is all one needs", one could never get enough of its alluring charm. There is more than a lifetime of learning and seeing tucked away in its wabi-sabi.