AIU does something that I wish every university, college,
and high school did: they organized field trips. Who doesn’t love a good field
trip? Why don’t teachers do this more often? Because AIU was so invested in the
international experience, part of our tuition money went towards bus trips
during which the school took you to various tourist locations in Akita
prefecture. Unfortunately for us, these outings, which were usually numerous,
had either been cancelled or squished down to a meager two trips. This was due
to fear of the frequent aftershocks from the big earthquake. Still, each trip
was filled to the brim with fun, and although they were much too short, I was
grateful to be on them at all.
The first trip consisted of three parts. The first of those
parts was a visit to a Shinto shrine near a staggeringly beautiful river fed by
a roaring waterfall. This excursion was the first thing I had really “seen” in
Japan, and it left me with a sublime feeling I have yet to encounter since. The
day was starting out perfect, with the first sunny, blue sky since we had
landed. When the bus pulled up, we were all let out and set free to roam and
explore. Before us lay a stretch of grasses, leading up to a mostly obscured
river between two wooded hills, crossed by a bright red suspension bridge.
Although the landscape was touched here and there with splashes of bright
green, over all the colors were muted browns and pine greens, for it was still
early spring. Northern Japan, like Colorado, wakes from winter slowly. Most
people headed for the most noticeable landmark, an island-like precipice rising
from the bank, topped by a few trees and a shrine marker. Justin and I made our
way to the main shrine, into the pine trees toward a trail that wound up the
side of the hills.
As we crept through the torii,
or the gate of the shrine, a feeling of blissful calm settled over us. Justin
and I said little, content to soak in the warmth of the sunlight, and watch as
the rays burst through the trees to dapple the ground. Many people went up to
the shrine bell to ring it and perform the claps and prayers of Shinto
tradition. I wanted to, but we hesitated. We were unsure of whether we should
partake for the sake of the experience, or hold back because neither of us
actually believed in the Shinto religion. Out of respect, we chose instead to
wash our hands with the basin provided, admire the bell, but move on.
(The little basin where you wash your hands and rinse your mouth to purify yourself.)
(A signpost at the shrine).
The path along the hills was actually quite green. Below us,
we could finally see the river clearly, and I was startled by its beautiful and
rich blue color. At times deep cobalt, at others bright aquamarine, I wondered
at the mineral in the water that must turn it such a perfect shade.
Understandably, I took many pictures, and some of my best work was found on
this walk.
(The beautiful blue of the water. I wonder what makes it so blue, and so milky.)
The path was just as beautiful as the water. Every bend
seemed to offer up a new gem of natural beauty. At one turn there was a small
cave surrounded by new spring leaves. Justin and I crossed the suspension
bridge, delighting in the bounce it gave to our steps. On the other side, there
was a natural bowl-like groove in the stone that had filled with water, and
someone had put a ladle there for drinking. The water was cold and clean and
pure in taste. A cacophony of rapids sang below us. New tree leaves hovered
silently in the golden air like sprites. Little springs trickled down the
sides, teasing at the great spectacle waiting for us at the end.
(The little cave along the pathway.)
(Turquoise rapids.)
(A little spring falling down the mountain side, bathed in a column of light.)
For the most part, we had meandered down the path at our
leisure, but then suddenly people were running past us in the opposite
direction. Finally, someone paused to inform us that it was time to go, but
that there was an awesome waterfall up ahead. “If you run, you can make it.”
Not caring for the odd looks from other visitors, we instantly broke into a
run, praying we would find this waterfall before we were dragged back. We made
it. Although we were out of breath, it was so worth it.
(Roar, baby, roar!)
The photo above does not communicate how big and grand the
waterfall was. Its powerful waters broke against the rocks and threw a cool
spray over its spectators. Surely this lord of water was the inspiration for
the shrine. Its proud turbulence belied the peaceful ascent we had taken to
reach it. Thoroughly pleased, we turned back to that tranquil path, before
boarding the bus once again, ready for the next stretch of our trip.
It may seem strange that such an uneventful experience could
be among my most favorite memories of Japan. After all, we didn’t really do much at this river. But the scene was
so picturesque, the shrine was so peaceful, and the waterfall was so amazing,
that it has come to embody the essential beauty of Japan in my heart. Although
I do not practice Shinto, I can understand why one would find such a perfect
place worth worshiping.
Very beautiful! I am surprised to see how much northern Japan reminds me of British Columbia in Canada, but I guess it makes sense since they are at about the same latitude. I love the water basin and the long-handled cups you use to scoop the water - traditional and elegant!
ReplyDeleteIt is pretty similar.They get a ton of snow, but they're wonderfully green in summer. I don't think I saw any of those avalanche tunnels though. British Columbia, particularly Victoria, is still the most beautiful place I've visited so far (at least if my memory from age 12 serves me right).
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