sit quietly while listening to the low hiss of the kettle sounding like the wind through the pine trees, is a return to the heart of their culture, a respite from the demands of modern life and its interruptions. It is a journey back to their cultural identity.
Preparation for a winter tea ceremony begins with setting the iron kettle into a sunken hearth.
A tea master carefully ladles hot water into a soft-fired Raku tea bowl.
A guest closes the shoji paper window set within a black-lacquered cusped frame in this tea ceremony room. Ornamentation is kept to a minimum, with a hanging scroll in the alcove and a single seasonal bud.
With an outstretched palm, a guest receives the whisked green tea from a kimono-clad hostess.
The shadows of autumn reflect on a single bowl of powdered green tea resting on tatami flooring.
Red felt carpeting offers a bit of warmth to winter visitors in this temple. The sweet is first consumed, followed by a sip of slightly bitter powdered green tea.
KYOTO’S AMAZING ARCHITECTURAL HERITAGE
Japan’s indigenous kami, or gods, live not inside shrines but within the towering cypress trees, sacred springs and waterfalls that surround the buildings. There, in nature, devotees can stand in the spiritual presence of the gods while seeking favor and guidance. The simplicity of a Shinto shrine never competes with its natural setting.
Under Shintoism, Japanese have stood in awe of the power and beauty of nature and the religion’s simple shrines embody this reverence. The torii that identifies a shrine entrance is often constructed by four pieces of timber. These gates invite those closest to the gods, their feathery messengers the birds, to sit on the cross-beams, ready to wing supplicants’ prayers heavenward.
Temples are an entirely different affair. When Buddhism arrived in Japan in the 6th century, Japan, still without an alphabet, relied on written Chinese to convey the tenets of religion, law and philosophy. Scholars, diplomats and artisans were invited to the Nara court (60 kilometers away) to impart a culture distinctly different from—and admired as superior to—Japan’s. With its sophisticated philosophy and texts, Buddhism immediately appealed to Japan’s courtiers who controlled the privilege of literacy, but the religion rapidly reached even illiterate peasants and merchants.
The Chinese adaptation of the Indian religion brought new dimensions of the understanding of the universe and life beyond this one. This new theology was not grounded in the immensity of a cypress tree or the roar of a waterfall. It demanded human-made artifacts: a written text, a myriad of implements, statuary and, grandest of all, huge structures to accommodate believers.
By 596, temple construction had begun. Chinese carpenters were invited to Nara and introduced their techniques to a wonderstruck population. The temples we see today in Kyoto, although fairly faithful descendants of Japan’s 6th–10th century originals, differ greatly from those still in existence in China. Japan’s climate and earthquake-prone land made elevated buildings a necessity. Its rich supply of zelkova, cypress, oak and cedar forests lent itself to increasingly mammoth worship halls as the population embraced the comfort of salvation within a Buddhist paradise.
The vermilion doors of Jikido Hall at Toji Temple, a World Heritage Site, glow in the sunset.
Elaborate metal fret-work marks the eaves of the sloping cypress bark palace roofs. The Imperial chrysanthemum crest and multilayer roof tiles denote the building’s imperial status.
The Phoenix Hall at Byodo-in Temple, a World Heritage Site.
Billowy cherry blossoms and fresh green pines frame the gleaming gold-layered Golden Pavilion (Kinkaku-ji).
A late afternoon visitor poses under the gigantic gate of Nanzen-ji Temple.
Walls are works of art as well as enclosures. The layered earthen clay is interlaced with flat tile work inset with a single rounded tile.
The iconic face of Kyoto streets is its townhouse (machiya). In keeping with neighborhood expectations, Starbucks has opened a branch in a renovated old machiya along the cobblestone slope of Ninenzaka.
A feline resident of the Pontocho geiko district seeks entry into a typical townhouse characterized by a wooden lattice (koshi) frontage, curved bamboo fencing (inuyarai), clay rooftiles aligned in a one-stroke design (ichimonji), and short curtain (noren) that indicates that the shop is open for business, perhaps even furry ones?
Many traditional old homes still exist in the southeastern district of Daigo. Late afternoon sun imbues the wooden structure with warmth.
Not only did places of worship begin to be shaped in Kyoto, but some of the world’s greatest collections of Buddhist images are found here. One of Asia’s most iconic forms, the pagoda, continues to pierce the ancient skyline, serving as a reliquary for Buddha’s remains and as a revered landmark for Kyoto residents.
Abundant forests have long provided Kyoto with wood to build massive temples and the houses of commoners’ alike. The understated beauty that defines the Kyoto townhouse, the machiya, owes much to its reliance on wood, with its rich palette of hues and variety of grains, which residents lovingly buff until the surface gleams. The glow of well- cared-for wood is enhanced by the plaster and earth that form the machiya walls, the paper windows that shield inhabitants from cold, and the woven straw tatami mats that cover most floors.
Much of the present-day iconic design of these townhouses dates from the great Temmei Fire of 1788. The devastation and the need to quickly rebuild huge swathes of the city led to a uniformity of style that has left its imprint on the city.
The architectural layout of most of the inner-city houses features slatted lattice fronts; open clay “windows”; an inner garden; and a long, narrow kitchen with an overhead skylight to admit light and disperse smoke. The curved bamboo fencing
