冬 – Winter

 Kami-Daigo

Thus far, Kyoto’s clearly marked seasons have been a delight. However, I have some mixed feelings about the third season I have experienced here – winter.

dead water lillies at Daikakuji

 

It’s 6:30ish in the morning when my alarm rudely awakens me, and an unpleasant reality hits me in the face. Samui, I think to myself as I drowsily roll over, hoping it isn’t real. (Yes I talk to myself in Japanese sometimes). I feel my cheeks and nose – cold. I feel the floor beside me – cold. I exhale and see a cloud of breath in the morning light – cold. Ugh I don’t want to get out of bed. So I switch on the space-heater a few inches away and snooze for another 20 minutes, delaying reality for just a little longer.

 

Kami-Daigo

 

寒い (samui) – cold

 

It’s cold. As a SoCal native, the idea of winter actually being cold is a bit new to me. “It doesn’t sound that bad,” I said as I looked at the typical winter averages – between 35 and 45 degrees Fahrenheit. “Just wait,” my friends reassured me, “you’ll understand in February.” It’s February. I think I understand now.

 

It’s shortly before 7ish in the morning when I brave to enter the hallway from my single, now slightly less cold room. I open the door and shiver. I quickly flip on the heater in the bathroom as I grab some clothes from the closet. Are they still wet? No way, they’ve been hanging up to dry for like a week now. Maybe my hands are just numb. I pull a thermal over my head with a look of disgust on my face to match my unsightly morning hairdo. The damp-cold fabric makes me wish I hadn’t. Hastily I complete the outfit, hoping to achieve a bit of warmth.

 

even the scarecrows seem to shiver

It doesn’t snow much in Kyoto. The day-time temperature is rarely below freezing. It’s certainly no polar vortex. But there’s something a bit unique about Kyoto’s winter. It’s the humidity. Kyoto has a relatively high ground-water level – attributing to the historic sake industry and the countless scenic rivers and canals cutting through the city. But the buzz and the beauty come with a cost. The moist, cold air seems to seep up from the ground. It hovers about like a damp blanket, penetrating clothes and skin, then comes to settle in little puddles of water on my windowsill every morning. On the inside of my windowsill. Oh ya, and it’s cold inside too. Most Japanese buildings don’t have central heating. So going to the bathroom, whether it’s in my tiny apartment or down the hallway at school, is always a bit exotic – in the arctic adventure sense of the word.

 

It’s about 8ish in the morning when I’m well fed, warmed, and ready to go. Jacket? Check. Gloves? Check. Scarf? Check. Snacks? Check. I lock the door behind me and walk downstairs to the bicycle garage. I mount my granny bike, allowing a good volcanic cloud of breath to erupt from my mouth before I push off into the street. The stinging air on my face wipes any lingering residues of sleepiness from my eyes. As I push onward, the blood circulating my body spreads the warmth and energy of my morning green tea. I turn the corner and take a deep breath as the eastern mountains come into sight. Wispy clouds roll over the peak and hover down into shadowy valleys as they flee the evading morning light now cresting the summit. A thin layer of snow coats the tips of wintry pines still hiding in the shade. And it’s beautiful. My eyes widen as I start to smile, pedaling onward to another day at work.

 

The eastern mountains with a snowy farm in Ishida (my town)

雪 (yuki) – snow

 

As I mentioned, it doesn’t snow much in Kyoto these days, even less often than it used it. From a few older Kyoto natives I work with, I’ve learned that this is commonly attributed to global climate change. But there have been a few mornings where I’ve been blessed with this rare treasure, and it has been beautiful beyond expression.

 

It’s like 9ish or something on a Saturday morning when I finally get out of bed. Yes, it’s still cold. I roll over and throw open the shades. Woah! My balcony has a good inch of fluffy white snow on it, and the power lines outside my window are all iced over. My excitement begins to bubble as I text all my friends. “Let’s go to Kinkakuji!” Kyoto’s legendary golden pavilion is most famous when covered in snow. But I start to panic a bit as I notice how quickly the fresh snow has melted on the sunny banks of my local river. The friends are busy anyway. Bust. But as I look eastward inspiration strikes. Yes, that’s it. I quickly make a PBJ before lacing up my hiking boots and pedaling off to the base of the eastern mountains. About a ten minute walk from my apartment lies Daigo-ji, a World Heritage site constructed in the 8^th century. And above that, somewhere near the summit, is the legendary Kami-Daigo – an ancient temple complex nestled in the mountains. Snow crunches under my boots as I step through the stone tori gate at the base of the mountain hike, beginning my morning adventure.

entrance to the Kami-Daigo hike

Narnia? Still Kami-Daigo.

Winter is long. Winter is cold. It’s hard to find motivation to go to work in the morning. It’s hard to dry my laundry. It’s kinda a bust sometimes. But even winter – certainly my most challenging season yet, when loneliness and cultural fatigue have grown heavy with the gloomy skies – has its store of treasures. The delight of a steamy bowl of ramen on a cold night. The sensation of my toes thawing under the kotatsu (low heated table) at my pastor’s house. The exhilaration of watching snowflakes whimsically flutter through the crisp air.

wintry view of Otsu, Lake Biwa (southern tip of Japan’s largest lake).

It’s 8PMish on a Friday night. We’re shivering outside of a scummy dump in Osaka. A van-full of us had been driving for several hours on an almost failed mission. With numb fingers I clumsily unload boxes of bentos and instant miso-soup onto a cold plastic table. A small crowd of grungy men emerge from the shadows cast by the trash-can fires to form a polite line before us. One by one, we hand out steaming cups of soup and home-made bento meals until the table is empty again. And I smile. I’m blessed. Who am I to complain about winter? I’m blessed.

nabe party at the pastor’s house