The ultimate in sacrifice for others

For centuries, some individuals in Japan willingly underwent the grueling process of sokushinbutsu, 即身仏, self-mummification. This extreme ritual was believed to lead to enlightenment and would transform the practitioner into a Living Buddha. The characters of sokushinbutsu—即 “at once,” 身 “this body,” and 仏 “Buddha”—reveal its meaning. These transcendent beings are revered for their ultimate sacrifice, having dedicated themselves to alleviating the suffering of others caused by illness, epidemics, and famines. 

Self-mummification dates back to ancient China and was later brought to Japan, where it evolved under the influence of Kūkai (774–835), the founder of Shingon Buddhism. Kūkai’s esoteric teaching emphasized that through rigorous spiritual practice, one could attain Buddhahood in their present existence — a concept known as sokushin jōbutsu. 

According to tradition, Kūkai himself achieved this state over 1,200 years ago. Today, he remains in eternal meditation within his mausoleum at Okunoin—an expansive, ancient cemetery within the Kōyasan temple complex in Wakayama Prefecture. To this day, monks continue to offer him meals each morning and night.

Dewa Sanzan

I was given the rare opportunity of visiting one of these living Buddhas in the mountains of the Dewa Sanzan, which consists of the sacred peaks of Mount Haguro, Mount Gassan, and Mount Yudono in northern Yamagata Prefecture. The Dewa Sanzan is home to the most known sokushinbutsu, with six of Japan’s 18 known mummies, although both these numbers are disputed.

I use the term “known” because, at the start of the Meiji era (1868–1912), self-mummification was outlawed, and the locations of those who had recently undergone the process were lost. Many more sokushinbutsu may remain hidden in remote mountain regions, still waiting to be exhumed. In fact, several previously unknown mummies were discovered by chance in 1959.

But sokushinbutsu are not the only mummies in Japan. Four generations of the Northern Fujiwara family were embalmed, mummified, and interred beneath the altars of the golden Konjikidō at Chūsonji temple in Iwate Prefecture. Well, only the head of the youngest.

How to become a living Buddha

Achieving self-mummification required adhering to a strict diet, sometimes for as long as ten years, to prevent decomposition after eventual death by starvation. The practitioner undertook mokujiki shugyō, “tree eating,” to reduce body tissue as much as possible. Practitioners abstained from eating gokoku-dachi, the five staple grains—rice, barley, soybeans, foxtail millet, and proso millet. Instead, they consumed the products of the forest, such as nuts, berries, pine needles, bark, resin, and the cores of bamboo leaves. As the months passed, the amount eaten was reduced.

The idea was to eliminate all fat and any substances that could contribute to bodily decay after death. The long, slow process of deliberate desiccation began with the body burning fat, which reduced subcutaneous fat and moisture levels—primary causes of decay. The practitioner would remain still, allowing the body to consume muscle as an alternate source of glucose.

To further help the body transform into a state less prone to decomposition, some practitioners were said to have drunk urushi, the sap of the lacquer tree. While the reason for this is unclear, it may have been either to induce vomiting or perhaps thought to be a preservative to deter after-death decomposition.

This tortuous lifestyle continued for 3,000 days—days filled with the chanting of sutras. When his body had withered to little more than skin and bones, the practitioner moved to an underground chamber, about three meters deep, where he was essentially buried alive. A bamboo tube inserted through the ceiling provided oxygen. 

In the complete darkness of this nyūjō-zuka, chamber of enlightenment, he sat meditating, fasting, and chanting sutras while ringing a bell. When the bell ceased to ring, it signaled he had entered metsushinjō — the extinction of the mind and attainment of stillness. His chamber was then sealed for three years.

This ritual was beyond harsh, and it was hardly foolproof. Many who attempted the process failed, dying before they achieved their goal. Or perhaps their bodies decayed even after enduring the severe 3,000-day regimen.

Shonin Honmyōkai

The sokushinbutsu that I encountered was at the Honmyōji temple in Tsuruoka, Yamagata. His name is Shonin Honmyōkai, and he entered nyūjō in 1683.

In his youth, he was a samurai named Togashi Yoshibei, who served the Shonai clan. When he was 39, his lord became deathly ill. Yoshibei and other vassals went to sacred Mount Yudono to pray for his healing. His lord was, indeed, healed.

But, instead of returning to the service of his lord, as was expected, Yoshibei stayed on Mount Yudono to continue his Buddhist prayers. Enraged by what he saw as desertion, his lord punished him by canceling his marriage and withholding his salary. Undeterred, Yoshibei entered Chūrenji Temple as a disciple and took the name Honmyōkai to mark the beginning of his new life of asceticism. The “kai” in his name is the kanji kai 海, taken in honor of Kūkai.

Moved by the hardships and recurring famines endured by the villagers living near the temple, he resolved to become a Buddha who could intercede on their behalf. He yearned to help ease their suffering and save them from their difficult lives. With this goal in mind, he began his nine-year process of self-mummification.

Honmyōkai endured a life of extreme asceticism. He slept outside, experienced countless insect bites, and ate and slept little. From a spot overlooking settlements and fields, he ceaselessly prayed for the local people’s prosperity and chanted sutras. As the years passed, his body gradually shrunk and lost strength.

When sufficiently weak, he did what he could to help prepare the chamber where he would be entombed. In the darkness of this underground crypt, he continued to pray and chant. Finally, his bell ceased to ring, and those keeping vigil knew that he had entered nyūjyō—the state of eternal meditation transcending ordinary consciousness, as Kūkai had done before him.

His tomb was sealed. 

A Living Buddha

Three years later, Honmyōkai’s tomb was opened to see if he had succeeded with mummification and had thus attained a high spiritual state. His body was completely preserved. He had become a Living Buddha and could intercede for those in need. Since then, he has been enshrined at Honmyōji temple as a Buddha. He is still worshipped today.

Every twelve years, his garments are changed in a solemn and private ritual. His old robes are cut, and small pieces are enclosed in cloth packets sold as omamori, charms believed to bring blessings and protection to those who carry them. 

As the priest of Honmyōji reminded me, the blessings and conveniences we enjoy today are thanks to the sacrifices and efforts of those who came before us — Honmyōkai and countless others. This humbling realization behooves us to follow in their footsteps, ensuring future generations inherit a world enriched by our efforts, kindness, and commitment to the greater good of humanity.

The post Sokushinbutsu—The Fascinating Practice of Self-Mummification to Attain Buddhahood first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Once served to emperors, this traditional fermented fish is quietly making a comeback

From the late 7th century, Wakasa was one of three Miketsukuni, areas designated by law to provide seafood to the emperor and imperial court. The port of Obama, nestled between mountains and the sheltered waters of Wakasa Bay on the Sea of Japan, was Wakasa’s center of supply. 

From this closest seaport to the capital, porters would carry salt, seaweed, and salted fish in baskets tied to their backs directly across the rugged mountains to Nara and Kyoto. This route, known as the Saba Kaidō, or Mackerel Highway, owes its name to the abundance of mackerel in Wakasa Bay. This bounty was due to the bay’s ideal environment, created by the convergence of the warm Tsushima Current from the south and the cool Liman Current from the north.

The 72-kilometer journey from Obama to Kyoto along the Mackerel Highway took just enough time for the preserved fish to reach its optimal flavor. Seafood from Obama was highly valued in Kyoto as “Wakasa food,” and one popular dish, saba-zushi—sushi rice pressed with a fillet of salted and pickled mackerel—is still a popular washoku today and a feature of Kyoto’s annual Gion festival.

Among the foods sent to Kyoto in bygone days, one stand-out is a unique type of preserved mackerel known as Heshiko.

Heshiko

Inland along the northern section of Obama lies the hamlet of Tagarasu, meaning “crows in the rice paddies.” In one of its quiet valleys, surrounded by green mountains and picturesque rice terraces, stands a disused elementary school. Once alive with the laughter and chatter of energetic children, its classrooms fell silent more than a decade ago. Today, its schoolyard is occasionally used by elderly locals who gather for a leisurely game of gateball.

But in recent years, the school building has gained a new purpose. Its once lively classrooms are now home to hundreds, yea, thousands, of silent inhabitants—mackerel.

Tagarasu is where I was fortunate to learn about Heshiko, an ancient technique that uses salt and fermentation to preserve fish. Born out of necessity, this method helped Obama fulfill its role as a Miketsukuni, furnishing high-quality seafood from Wakasa Bay to the imperial cities of Nara and Kyoto along the “Mackerel Highway.” It also provided a vital source of protein for people living in the mountains, ensuring they had healthy food to carry them through the harsh winter months when deep snow made fresh supplies scarce.

Today, heshiko remains a local delicacy, rich in umami. Its preservation process involves salting and fermenting fish — usually mackerel, sometimes herring — for over a year.

The process begins in autumn with a fresh catch of mackerel. The fish are gutted and cleaned, their cavities filled with salt, and then they are packed into large cedar barrels.

Once a barrel is full, the fish are covered, and a two-kilogram weight is placed on top. A day or two later, the fish are removed, packed in fresh barrels, and pressed with a heavier weight. This process continues, with the weight gradually increasing, until excess liquids are removed from the fish.

When the fish are sufficiently moisture-free, they are repacked into barrels—this time filled and layered with rice bran instead of salt. Togarashi peppers are added to deter insects, and sturdy straw ropes are tied tightly around the barrel rims to seal the containers. 

Left undisturbed for about a year, the mackerel undergoes slow fermentation. The following winter, the fish have transformed into heshiko and are ready to be eaten.

Heshiko is packed with nutrition and is a rich source of protein, calcium, iron, dietary fiber, EPA, DHA, beneficial enzymes, and vitamins B and D. The family of heshiko producers I met hope that one day, heshiko will be recognized as the superfood it is and that Tagarasu’s heshiko will become a household name.

Heshiko goes well with a cup of dry sake or beer. It can be served in all kinds of ways—thinly sliced atop a wedge of daikon radish, grilled, as sushi, or in chazuke — topping on a bowl of rice with green tea poured over it.

Narezushi

Some heshiko are fermented further and made into narezushi—the earliest form of sushi. To make this, the fish are first rinsed to remove the rice bran, then skinned and soaked in water to draw out excess salt. Next, they are filled with rice and koji mold — Aspergillus oryzae, the same spores used to make sake, soy sauce, and miso paste — and packed back into barrels with more rice and koji.

A weight is placed on top, and the mixture is left to ferment for a couple of weeks. After this, the narezushi is ready to eat.

Like many fermented foods, narezushi is an acquired taste and is best served in small portions. It is not nearly as salty as heshiko, and I can see how it would be a popular snack to nibble on with sake or beer.

If you’re in Japan but can’t make it up to Obama, you can order heshiko online from https://www.kadono-heshiko.com/. Unfortunately, Kadono-san cannot ship internationally.

The post Heshiko—Japan’s (Almost) Forgotten Superfood first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Bonfires blaze across the countryside of Japan in early to mid-January each year

Dondoyaki, どんど焼き, sometimes called Sagichō, 左義長, are great bonfires where communities gather to burn their New Year‘s pine and bamboo decorations while sending the Toshi-kami, the God of the New Year, back to the realm of the spirits. This event marks the end of the New Year’s festivities.

This custom finds its roots in the Heian Era (794-1185) ceremony of Sagichō, 左義長, where aristocrats would gather at the imperial court and burn their New Year’s decorations in a carefully constructed bonfire on the top of which were hung a folding fan or tanzaku, long narrow strips of paper upon which wishes are written. A diviner would sing as the fire raged.

The sacredness of the fire led to the belief that being touched by sparks would ensure health and vigor for the year. Burning the first calligraphy of the year was a sure way for the gods to help the writer improve their skills. And as the fire died down, eating delicious dango rice dumplings and mochi roasted on the embers would protect from sicknesses during the year.

As the centuries passed, this custom made its way to the common people, and it is how people came to celebrate Dondoyaki today.

The bonfires are usually held around January 15th, a day traditionally called Koshōgatsu, 小正月, Little New Year’s Day. Although local customs respect different dates for Koshōgatsu, that day marks the end of the New Year’s celebrations. A variety of events are held across the country on Koshōgatsu — from people dressing as demons and scaring children into good behavior to peacefully eating rice gruel mixed with adzuki beans. But the most universal is Dondoyaki.

Dondoyaki

In early January, using a wide space within the grounds of a shrine, a rice field, or an empty lot, communities gather new bamboo, straw, and branches and build a tower-like pile that will be the base of the bonfire.

On the day of Dondoyaki, people bring their new year’s decorations, noshi wrapping paper from winter gifts, and the children’s first calligraphy of the year to be tossed into the flames. Simply throwing those things away is considered to be disrespectful and terribly unlucky. Using them as a means to send off the Toshi-kami is best.

Roasting mochi

As the fire dies down, young and old alike put pieces of mochi rice cakes on sticks and roast them in the fire like marshmallows, just as the Heian aristocrats did over 1,000 years ago. Sometimes the adults are served hot sake or, as in Kagoshima in the south, sweet potato shochu mixed with hot water.

Dondoyaki is not just a way to send off the Toshi-kami, but it is a wonderful way to strengthen community bonds — and enjoy nice warm roasted mochi.

There is one more fire during this period worth mentioning, and that is done exclusively by Shinto priests.

Burning the previous year’s amulets

On New Year’s Day or shortly thereafter, people pay their first visit to a Shinto shrine, called Hatsumōde, 初詣. People flock to shrines, both small and large, to bring their fuda household protection amulets, daruma dolls, and omamori lucky charms to be ritually burned by the Shinto priest. They pray for blessing, protection, success, and prosperity in the months to come. Then they line up to buy new omamori and fuda protection amulets for a fresh start for the new year.

To read about Kagoshima’s unique version of Dondoyaki, go to Giant Bonfires Banish Demons.

References:

図説民俗探訪事典 compiled by 大島 暁雄, 1982, kotobank, ウェザーニュース

The post Dondoyaki—Burning New Year’s Decorations to Send off the God of the New Year first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Old and new ways to ring in the New Year

After first arriving in Japan in 1987, I quickly learned to stock up for the first three days of the New Year since all stores would be shuttered while their owners and employees spent time with their families.

Times have changed. Today most stores remain open during the holidays and 24-hour convenience stores abound.

While modern times have brought welcome changes, perhaps along the way some of the understanding of the holiday customs has been lost, cast aside amid the hubbub of TV specials and New Year’s Sales.

To understand Japan’s New Year, we need to return to the holiday’s roots, which date as far back as the 1st century. In those days, the ancient people celebrated in three main ways.

• Welcoming the toshi-kami, the god of the new year.
• Praying for bountiful harvests in the coming year.
• Expressing gratitude for another year of life.

These practices are reflected in today’s New Year’s traditions, and each of the holiday’s countless customs is imbued with meaning.

Let’s take a look at a few of the most outstanding traditions, work our way forward in time, and end with a look at those TV specials.

Welcoming the God of the New Year, the Toshi-Kami

The Shinto Toshi-kami descends from the heavens via the pine decorations that adorn each house. Around the time families break and eat their kagami mochi, the New Year’s decorations are ceremonially burned—typically around January 15th, depending on regional customs—the smoke transports the god back to the heavens, leaving behind his blessings and protection for the year ahead.

This Toshi-kami is a busy god with a wide portfolio. Besides being the god who brings bounty and blessings in the new year, he also merges with the collective spirit of each family’s ancestors, their sorei, who visits their family at this time (although the sorei’s main holiday is Obon, in the summer). The Toshi-kami then becomes a ta no kami, rice field god, in the spring, and a yama no kami, mountain god, after harvest in the fall. He is also sometimes known as the god of lucky directions.

Reflecting the importance of purity and cleanliness in the Shinto religion, a thorough house cleaning is done at the end of December. People get rid of clutter, dust behind cabinets, change the paper in the paper doors, and make their houses spotless. Once that is done, Shimenawa ropes are hung upon the doorways signifying that the house is purified and ready to welcome the Toshi-kami.

Gratitude for Another Year of Life

Long ago in Japan, in accord with the Chinese method of counting years, newborns were considered one year old, and another year of life was added to everyone on New Year’s Day, regardless of their birthdays.

Gifts of Money, O-Toshi-Dama

As a kind of birthday present on New Year’s Day, children receive small envelopes filled with money for the year from each of their older relatives. This money is called o-toshi-dama, お年玉, literally “honorable year’s jewels.” Since Christmas is a fairly recent import into Japan and not a holiday (see my brief history of Christmas here), New Year’s Day is the day children have traditionally looked forward to receiving gifts, i.e., money.

Special New Year’s Dishes, Osechi-ryori

In order to take a holiday from cooking and enjoy time with one’s extended family, special foods are painstakingly prepared in advance — or bought — to be eaten together with the Toshi-kami during the first three days of the new year. Eating these meals with the gods is said to impart spiritual power and blessings upon the mortals.

Each food has its specific meaning, and there are too many to mention, but here are a few.

Sea Bream — Tai, for an auspicious year

The traditional Japanese calendar started in spring and so New Year’s Day used to be a springtime occasion. From the image of the first sprouts appearing came the expression mede-tai, 芽出度い (pronounced meh-deh-tie), literally “the time when sprouts emerge.” From that, mede-tai came to be used to describe something happy and auspicious.

For this reason, sea bream, called tai, 鯛, is an essential part of any osechi-ryōri. It plays on the homonym tai, “happy” and “auspicious” — everyone’s sincere wish for the new year.

Herring Roe — Kazunoko, for many children

Another popular item is herring roe, called kazunoko, 鯑. Its homonym means many children, 数の子.

Shrimp — Ebi, for long life

As a wish for long life, shrimp are eaten. Shrimp, called ebi, 海老, literally “the aged of the sea,” suggest the long beards and bent frames of the elderly.

Dried Sardines — Tazukuri, for bountiful harvests

Tazukuri, 田作り, is a dish made of dried sardines and soy sauce. Its name means “making a rice field.” Sardines were traditionally used as fertilizer in rice paddies in many areas of Japan, thus the dish expresses the wish for abundant harvests.

Rolled Omelets — Datemaki, for days of blessings

Perhaps my favorite wordplay is the name for the rolled, sweet omelet mixed with fish paste. It is called datemaki, 伊達巻 (pronounced dah-te-ma-key), so named because the samurai lords of Sendai (in Miyagi Prefecture), the Date clan (dah-te), were famous for being well-dressed.

In ancient Japan, holidays were called hare no hi, ハレの日, special days, and on such days people wore their finest clothes — what we might call their Sunday best.

From this idea of fashionable Date clan style clothing being worn on special days, the Date-maki sweet omelet expresses the wish for many such special days in the coming year.

Bell Ringing

From the introduction of Buddhism in the 6th century, Buddhist customs merged with the ancient Shinto customs. As such, at midnight on New Year’s Eve, Buddhist temple bells are rung 108 times, banishing the 108 worldly desires. This marks both a prayer for forgiveness for the past year, and a prayer for steadfastness in the next.

First Shrine Visit of the Year, Hatsumōde

On the first three days of the New Year, people flock to Shinto shrines, and many to Buddhist temples, for their first visit of the year, called Hatsumōde. Meiji Shrine in the center of Tokyo traditionally receives over 3 million visitors each year during the New Year’s holidays, but even small countryside shrines get plenty of visitors.

Visitors to shrines clap, bow, and say a brief prayer for the year. People often buy omikuji, little slips of paper picked out from a box with their fortunes for the year foretold. If they are worried that not all of their fortune is good, they can tie the paper to a tree or a wire hung at the shrine, and leave that undesirable fortune in the hands of the gods, carrying the good fortune home in their hearts.

As all their previous year’s omamori (good luck charms), daruma dolls, and household protective amulets were brought to shrines to be burned at the end of December, people buy new charms for such things as safety and protection for the new year, success in studies, or safe childbirth, new daruma for setting goals for the year, and new ema upon which to write their prayers.

Nengajo, New Year’s Greeting Postcards

On New Year’s Day, bundles of postcards are delivered to each house. These are sent by friends and associates containing words of thanks for past kindnesses, well-wishes, and yoroshiku-onegaishimasu — please, and thank you in advance — for kindnesses in the new year.

People spend time during the day nibbling on osechi-ryōri, reading over the various greetings, and remembering old friends. The cards are usually themed according to the animals of the Chinese zodiac, 2022 being the year of the Tiger.

TV Specials

A big event in many households is the yearly New Year’s Eve TV specials. The most famous by far is a good-natured singing contest, Kōhaku Uta Gassen. Musicians are divided into two teams, a red team composed of females, and a white team composed of males. The red and white division of teams gives the show its name, Kōhaku, meaning red and white.

NHK, the national TV broadcasting corporation, began airing this show from the year Japan got its first TVs, 1953. Musicians are chosen by invitation only, and performing on Kōhaku is considered quite an honor and even can be the highlight of one’s career. The spectacular lighting, costumes, and set design never disappoint.

At the end of the show, the audience, together with the judges, votes on the winning team.

Competing with Kōhaku for viewers is a bizarre show that is popular among many of the younger generation, called, Dauntaun no Gaki no Sukaiyaarahende! which defies translation.

On this year-end special, serious celebrities face off against several old-school comedians who are placed in various situations — on a bus, then in a school, or whatever the theme is that year — and the celebrities do and say outrageous things to make the comedians laugh.

If they laugh, which they inevitably do, people dressed in commando camouflage jump out and spank them with rubbery batons. The absurdity of all this is considered hilarious.

Japanese TV, truly unique, has to be seen to be believed.

This is by no means a complete list of New Year’s customs. Other traditions include making and eating delicious pounded sticky rice cakes called mochi, children flying kites in the clear breezy skies of winter, and eager shoppers hunting for “lucky bags” filled with mystery discounts at their favorite stores. In a small fishing port on the Izu Peninsula, on finds a unique New Year’s decoration welcoming the god of the New Year—Shiokatsuo, and ancient type of dried bonito. Even one’s first dream of the year is significant, but I think only in Japan does one hope it contains Mount Fuji, a hawk, or an eggplant.

By January 4th, people begin to go back to their normal routines, greeting coworkers and associates by saying akemashite-omedetō-gozaimasu, “Happy New Year,” and naturally, “For this year, too, please and thank you in advance,” kotoshi-mo, yoroshiku-onegaishimasu.

Sources:

https://maminyan.com/shogatsu/know/toshigamisama.html, https://www1.nhk.or.jp/kouhaku/, https://www.ntv.co.jp/gaki/, many years in Japan.

The post Japanese New Year — Gods, Symbolic Foods, and TV Extravaganzas first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Treasure ships that brought goods, wealth, and culture

When I visited the port of Shukunegi on Sado Island a couple of years ago, I spent time at a disused elementary school that had been repurposed as a folk museum. I was fascinated by the relics that filled the old classrooms from floor to ceiling and the plentiful information about a lucrative trade route that flourished in the 18th and 19th centuries.

That trade had been quite a bit more than a difficult get-rich-quick enterprise. It changed history.

Kitamaebune Trade

From the mid-Edo Period until the 1880s, Kitamaebune ships were both conduits for trade and, as a consequence, widespread cultural interchange. These sturdy wooden vessels, with their distinctive square sails, were not just cargo vessels — they were floating trading houses.

The shipmasters would buy and sell goods at ports along their extensive voyages, which spanned from remote Hokkaido, along the coastal regions of western Honshu, and around Shimonoseki to the bustling city of Osaka. This trade route, as well as the ships themselves, became known as Kitamaebune.

“Kitamae” was the word used by people in Osaka and the Inland Sea area for the “Sea of Japan side” of Honshu. Thus, ships arriving from the Sea of Japan were referred to as Kitamaebune, or “Sea of Japan ships.” On the Japan Sea coast, they were generally known as Sengoku-bune, although some referred to them as “Bai-bune” or “Double ships,” reflecting the potential for shipowners to double their profits in a single journey.

Such profits were made possible because of the lack of rapid communication. Before the advent of telegraphs, savvy merchants realized that they could capitalize on regional price variations to earn substantial profits. By buying goods at lower prices in one area and selling them at higher prices in another, they took advantage of price differentials to maximize their earnings.

The origin of the Kitamae sea route can be traced to Maeda Toshitsune, the third lord of the Kaga Domain, now Ishikawa Prefecture. At that time, Osaka served as the economic center and a major trading hub, and each domain had a warehouse in the area. To transport rice from Maeda’s domain to Osaka, the Kaga clan had previously unloaded the cargo at the port of Tsuruga and transported it overland and via Lake Biwa to Otsu, Kyoto, and Osaka. However, this process was laborious and inefficient.

In the early 1600s, Toshitsune decided to ship 15,000 kilos of rice from the Sea of Japan southward around Shimonoseki through the Seto Inland Sea to Osaka. In 1672, this route became official when the Tokugawa shogun ordered Edo merchant Kawamura Zuiken to chart the Sea of Japan passage connecting Hokkaido and Osaka, and the Kitamaebune route was born.

The Ships

The early Kitamaebune were small, single-sail, oared vessels that could carry up to 75,000 kilos of cargo. Due to the limitations of their design and the challenging conditions of the sea, they could only complete one round trip between northern Japan and Osaka per year, from spring to autumn. In winter, when the sea was rough, the ship would be moored near the harbor and the sailors would return home on foot. With the arrival of spring, they would reunite at the harbor and prepare to set sail.

By the beginning of the 18th century, the first 24-meter-long Sengokubune were built. Sengokubune means “1,000 koku ships.” In traditional Japanese measurement, one koku equals 150 kilos. 150 kilos of rice was considered the amount needed to feed one man for a year. Taxes were calculated in terms of koku, samurai received their wages in koku, and the wealth of daimyo lords was measured by the number of koku of rice their domains produced. Thus, a Sengokubune, 1,000 koku ship, could carry an impressive 150 tons of cargo.

These new vessels boasted solid hulls, sharp bows designed to cut through the waves, and large, single-piece square sails. With these advancements, Sengokubune could complete the journey between Hokkaido and Osaka in just 12 to 13 days, marking a vast improvement in efficiency and transportation speed. Because they could sail without the need for oarsmen, these large robust vessels could be operated by a crew of just a dozen people.

Upon arrival at a port, the shipmasters had to provide a document detailing the purpose of their voyage, the number of crew members, and proof that no Christians were on board. This paper, along with inventory lists, receipts, and other essential documents were kept in specially designed waterproof chests that would float in the event of a shipwreck.

And shipwrecks were not uncommon. Before setting out, sailors would visit Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples to pray for safety. Pictures of ships offered as votive tablets, called ema, can still be seen in shrines and temples along the Kitamaebune route. These were offered both as prayers for safekeeping and as tokens of thanksgiving. In some cases, shipwreck survivors even cut off their hair and attached it to ema tablets in gratitude to the gods.

The Cargo

The Kitamae route encompassed over 100 ports along the Sea of Japan, primarily in the Hokuriku region. These served as home ports where shipowners resided, and from there, the ships sailed to Osaka. After loading necessities such as sugar and sake in Osaka, the ships started on their journeys to Hokkaido, stopping at ports along the way to stock up on items to sell. 

The shipmasters purchased specialty items from each area. In the ports along the Seto Sea, they bought salt from the numerous salt farms that dotted the coast. From Shimane, they bought iron. In Fukui, paper and knives. To ensure stability, granite slabs were used as ballast, and on top of that, the hulls were filled with an eclectic mix of goods including vinegar, tobacco, candles, pottery, cotton, textiles, indigo, dolls, and sweets. 

Upon reaching each port, the shipmasters would sell whatever goods they had in store that would make a handsome profit. Continuing their journeys further north along the Honshu coast, they would replenish their cargo. From the Hokuriku ports, they bought buckwheat, medicine, and especially rice and straw products to sell in Hokkaido where it was too cold for rice to grow.

From Hokkaido, the Kitamaebune mainly carried marine products to Osaka and ports along the way. This included valuable commodities like kombu kelp, herring, dried sardines, dried sea cucumber, salmon, and cod. The ships would set out in August, stopping at ports to sell and pick up more goods. Aside from their main cargo of rice, other items included sand iron, kozo mulberry stalks (the raw ingredient of Japanese paper), pots, agricultural equipment, salt, and copper Buddhist implements, incense burners, and vases — and safflower, a popular item in Kyoto where it was used to make lipstick and dye.

The abundant herring from the Hokkaido seas served for decades as an important source of fuel and fertilizer. The fish were processed to extract the oil, and the remains were fermented. This nutrition-rich mash was used as fertilizer for the rapidly developing cotton industry in domains along the Seto Inland Sea. Its sales brought in five to ten times its purchase price.

The profits from a single Kitamaebune voyage could amount to 60-100 million yen in today’s currency (US $450,000-$706,000). Some shipowners amassed fleets of as many as 200 large and small ships, making some families billionaires. The Honma’s of Sakata, in present-day Yamagata Prefecture, were one such family who, through scrupulous trade, grew from lowly merchants to become the largest landowners in Japan. Their wealth surpassed that of feudal lords.

An expression of the day was, 本間さまには及びもないが、せめてなりたや殿様に, Honma-sama ni ha oyobi monai ga, semete naritaya tono-sama ni. “Becoming a Honma is too far out of reach, but let me become a lord, at least!” This phrase encapsulated the ambitions of the merchant class, whose dreams of financial success focused on the Kitamaebune trade.

The Sailors

The allure of working on these treasure ships attracted many young men, but the job had its difficulties. Sailors faced demanding work, braving the perils of shipwrecks and enduring six-hour shifts through the night. Their salaries were low, around ¥200,000 to ¥300,000 per year in today’s terms (US $1,500-2,000), yet people still clamored to work on these ships because the job also had its perks.

Shipwrights were allowed to load and sell private goods, keeping the profits for themselves. Other crew members received a bonus known as kiridashi, which amounted to 5 to 10% of the ship’s sales. It’s easy to imagine how this incentivized the crew to handle the cargo with care. On a Kitamaebune carrying 15 tons of goods, a sailor’s bonus could reach a remarkable 10 million yen in today’s value (US $70,500). It’s no wonder that these jobs were popular.

A prerequisite for employment was that prospective crew members had to be from the same village as the shipowner, or else they had to provide a guarantor. Given the substantial profits at stake, having a trustworthy and capable crew was paramount. Hiring crew from the same region engendered trust, fostered camaraderie, and strengthened bonds.

Individuals could start their career on a Kitamaebune as an apprentice ship’s cook at the age of 14 or 15 and gradually progress to become a mariner. Although it took around 30 years to advance through the ranks, the hope was that eventually, a sailor could save enough money to buy his own ship and become a millionaire. 

Cultural Impacts

The far-reaching impact of the Kitamaebune trade cannot be understated. The numerous ports along the route served as centers of shipbuilding and trade, giving rise to unique local cultures and industries. As the ships traveled, they transported not only goods, but also ideas, customs, and knowledge, contributing to the exchange and spread of cultural influences.

One noteworthy area is pottery and ceramics. The Kitamaebune trade introduced distant pottery styles from Arita and Seto to ports along the Sea of Japan coast. This allowed the people in those regions to incorporate these styles into their evolving pottery tradition.

Food culture also experienced significant transformations through the Kitamaebune trade. The introduction of kombu kelp from Hokkaido led to a thriving industry of kombu-based products in the Kansai region, such as kombu-maki rolls and umami-rich dashi broth. The popularity of kombu dashi spread throughout the country, and today it is an essential ingredient in Japanese cuisine. 

The trade also facilitated the dissemination of wagashi, exquisite Japanese sweets that originated in Kyoto to accompany bitter green tea. These artistic confections added a touch of class and sophistication to the shops that served them in the northern regions.

A lesser-known Kyoto specialty called imobo, or “potato stick,” owes its origin to the Kitamaebune. This curious dish, which is not actually made from potatoes, was created using affordable dried cod from Hokkaido and a local variety of taro root. In an attempt to imitate the new, exotic, and expensive Satsuma sweet potatoes, the fish and taro were cooked together for days until they blended, resulting in a texture and look somewhat resembling boiled sweet potato sticks.

Architectural influences also spread through the Kitamaebune trade. Construction techniques that were prevalent in Kyoto were transmitted to the northwest coast of Honshu, leaving a lasting imprint on the region.

Construction materials, such as a valuable stone called shakudani-ishi, were carried on the Kitamaebune ships. This light blue volcanic tuff, mined in Fukui Prefecture, was sought after for crafting Buddhist statuary and building shrine foundations. Even the granite stones that served as ballast were repurposed for building bridges and roads. 

Music traveled with the sailors on the Kitamaebune, resulting in the transformation and adaptation of folk songs along the route. The Kyushu song “Haya-bushi” journeyed north and evolved into local folksongs still sung in Niigata and Aomori prefectures. Similarly, a popular song originating from Sakata port near Osaka made its way to Niigata, where the lyrics were adapted to depict the people and experiences associated with the Kitamaebune ships.

The port towns along the Kitamaebune route bustled with restaurants, inns, and teahouses catering to the boatmen. Diverse populations were drawn by the lure of the trade and the prosperity it brought, from geisha to master carpenters. Boatmen became known not only for their navigation and trade expertise but also for their refined appreciation of poetry and the arts. As they returned to their respective regions from the Osaka-Kyoto area,they brought back some of the sophistication and vibrant culture they had experienced.

Fashion was another area influenced by the trading ships. During the Edo Period, cotton cultivation began in the Kansai area, but the northwestern coast of Honshu was too cold for it to grow. To acquire this coveted and versatile fabric, people in those regions purchased discarded cotton garments from Osaka, transported via the Kitamaebune ships. They recycled the cloth using a method called sakiori — tearing the cloth into strips and reweaving it with thread. This technique created a uniquely textured material. Sakiori eventually gave rise to sashiko, a renowned form of Japanese embroidery.

The Kitamaebune boatmen were easily recognizable by their distinctive attire: garments of sakiori cotton, a rope in place of an obi belt, and a portable brush and ink case attached at the waist. Their clothing was not only practical, but it revealed their identity and role in the trade.

The End of an Era

As the Meiji Period (1868-1912) unfolded, technological advancements such as railroads, steamships, and telegraph communication brought about the gradual decline of the Kitamaebune trade. The rapid dissemination of commodity prices throughout the country reduced the shipowners’ ability to capitalize on price variations, impacting their profits. The majestic Kitamaebune sailing vessels were soon replaced by more efficient steamships, and the era of these iconic ships gradually faded.

Furthermore, in 1885, a government regulation banned the construction of Japanese-style ships exceeding 500 koku. This dealt a severe blow to the shipbuilding industry along the Kitamaebune route, forcing many businesses to shut down. Some shipbuilders chose to emigrate to Hokkaido, a newly opened frontier, where they could utilize their skills in the development of the burgeoning territory.

The legacy of the Kitamaebune trade, however, endures in the economic and cultural aspects of the regions along its route. Its influence can be seen in the local traditions, culinary practices, and architectural styles that were shaped by this dynamic era of maritime commerce.

One can only imagine the anticipation felt by the locals eagerly watching the horizon for the white sails of these treasure ships. The arrival of each surely brought with it a wave of excitement and wonder, as the communities knew that within their hulls lay a wealth of goods from distant lands. The joy of being connected to worlds they could only dream of must have been an extraordinary experience for the people along the Kitamaebune route.

The post Kitamaebune— The Trade that Made Shrewd Shipowners into Millionaires first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Walking Amid Michelin Green Guide Star-Winning Beauty

I recently had the privilege of climbing Mount Haguro in northeastern Japan. The forest walk has been given 3 stars by the Michelin Green Guide, and it did not disappoint. Please allow me to share my journey with you.

Background

Mount Haguro is one of three sacred mountains known as the Dewa Sanzan, 出羽三山, meaning the three mountains of Dewa — the old name for Yamagata and Akita Prefectures. Climbing these mountains has been considered a pilgrimage of spiritual rebirth for centuries.

Each mountain in the Dewa Sanzan represents an aspect of cosmic time that pilgrims face. Mount Gassan is where we ask forgiveness for past wrongs and encounter our ancestors. Mount Haguro is where we overcome the troubles of the present world. And Mount Yudono is where we confront our future selves.

A little history

In the 6th century, Prince Hachiko, the son of the 32nd emperor of Japan, left the capital in Nara. His father, Emperor Sushin, had been assassinated, and his cousin, the influential and powerful Shotoku Taishi, advised him that discretion was the better part of valor. Hachiko accepted this advice and, difficult though it must have been, quietly left the capital.

Legend tells us that Hachiko then traveled the country, healing those wherever he went by magically absorbing their sufferings. The more hardships he took upon himself, the more disfigured he became. Yet Prince Hachiko, without concern for his earthly appearance, kept on.

Eventually, he was led to Mount Haguro by a three-legged crow. 

In a quintessential mix of Buddhism and Shinto, Prince Hachiko set up a monastery to practice Buddhism and to worship the Shinto kami of the three mountains. There he remained, teaching and healing, until his death in 641.

From the time Buddhism reached Japan in the 6th century, there was a peaceful syncretism of Buddhism with Shinto. Buddhist gods were considered manifestations of Shinto kami, and many temples and shrines shared the same grounds — some buildings even served as both Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines.

In 1868, as a means of weakening the wealth and power of Buddhist sects and to bring greater respect to the authority of the newly installed Emperor Meiji, himself a Shinto god, the government ordered the division of Buddhism and Shintoism. Temples, statues, bells, and sutras were destroyed in a frenzy of attack by Shinto nationalists. Many Buddhist priests were forced to leave the priesthood; others chose to become Shinto priests.

From that time, Buddhist images were removed from Mount Haguro. 

Climbing Mount Haguro

After consulting bus and train schedules, I took an 8:22 train from Niigata City and reached the charming city of Tsuruoka, in Yamagata Prefecture, in plenty of time to catch the 10:41 bus. The next bus was 90 minutes later, so careful planning was essential.

I had a pleasant ride past beautiful countryside with the awesome snow-covered Mount Chokai to the north providing the backdrop. After about 40 minutes, the bus drove through an enormous torii gate, along a narrow road fronting Shukubo shrine lodgings, and arrived at the foot of Mount Haguro.

My lodging for the night was easy to find.

I rang the bell at the shrine where I was going to stay and dropped off my bag. The innkeeper, the Shinto priest’s wife, visibly relaxed when she realized that the foreigner staying with her that night could speak Japanese. I thanked her for keeping my suitcase, bid her goodbye, and headed to the hiking trail.

It was 11:30 and the weather was glorious.

I bowed and passed under the torii gate, symbolizing my entry into the sacred realm of Mount Haguro, a Shinto kami. Then I approached the next gate.

The vermillion Zuishinmon Gate was previously guarded by two Buddhist Nio warriors and had been called the Niomon Gate. These statues were moved to safety and hidden during the anti-Buddhist frenzy. Today, they can be viewed at the Shozen-in Temple, a 15-minute walk from their former home. 

This gate marks the beginning of the 2,446 stone steps that lead to the summit.

In 1648, the 50th chief priest of the Dewa Sanzan, Tenyu Betto, laid the thousands of stones that lead from the vermillion gate to the mountaintop Sanjin Gosaiden shrine. It took him 13 years. Along the way, he carved 33 different Buddhist symbols into the stones. If you can find them all, it is said your prayers will assuredly be answered.

I think I found a few.

The path first leads downhill to a group of simple wooden shrines.

Then it takes us across the red, arched Shinkyo Bridge that had marked the border across which no women could pass until the 19th-century changes. To the right is the 400-year-old, man-made Suga-no-Taki waterfall, also credited to Tenyu Betto.

Soon, I meet the 1,000-year-old cedar tree affectionately called Jiji-sugi, or “Grandfather Cedar.” This majestic tree stands near the 600-year-old Go-jū-no-toh, or Five-Story Pagoda. This amazing work of architecture was originally built by none other than Taira no Masakado in the 930s. You may remember Masakado as one of Japan’s Three Most Infamous Vengeful Ghosts. 

The Go-jū-no-toh was built without using any nails. It features a large earthquake-resistant pendulum in the center which allows the building to gently and loosely sway like a snake during tremors. Its design has inspired modern techniques for constructing earthquake-proof buildings and towers, such as the 634 meter Tokyo Sky Tree. 

The current pagoda dates from 1372 when it was rebuilt by Daihoji Masauji, the chief priest of Mount Haguro. It is all that remains of a temple complex that surrounded it until the 1870s when the buildings were destroyed. Fortunately for us, the Go-jū-no-toh was rechristened as a Shinto shrine before then.

As Yamagata is deep in Japan’s snow country, each winter workers climb up inside the pagoda to sweep off the snow that accumulates on the roofs. 

After taking time to admire these awe-inspiring sights, I head up the long staircase sided by hundreds of 400-year-old cryptomeria cedar trees.

Walking through this beautiful forest, filled with the fragrance of cedar trees and joyous birdsong, I cannot think of a nicer way to spend a day.

I pass many small wooden shrines, then come upon unusual trees wrapped in a shimenawa rope, signifying that they are sacred. 

Originally two trees, through the years they reached out to each other and are now collectively known as Meoto-sugi, “The Couple Tree.” A wooden sign nearby tells us that those who hug this tree will be blessed with children.

There are three slopes along this path, each marked by a stone monument, and I have reached the third. 

I pass a shrine dedicated to the kami, Haniya-Hime no Mikoto, who was created from the feces of the creator goddess, Izanami-no-Mikoto. (I’m not making this up.) Those looking for the divine blessing of lasting relationships come here to pray.

Soon, I reach the top of the mountain, welcomed by another torii gate.

Exploring the mountaintop

I’ve climbed the 2,445 stone steps that lead from the Zuishinmon Gate to the 414 meter-high summit of Mount Haguro. I bow and enter the grounds where all three deities of the Dewa Sanzan are enshrined.

The first thing that catches my eye is a magnificent wooden shrine, a marvel of craftsmanship. It is the Itsukushima Shrine dedicated to the three deities of Munakata (in Fukuoka), and was once shared with Benzaiten, their Buddhist equivalent. These deities are incarnations of the god of water and all that flows, and they are crucial to this island nation as providers of the bounties from the sea. 

Among myriad intricate carvings are two dragons, one adorning each front pillar. Unlike the Western concept of dragons, these are helpful and wingless creatures. One is climbing up the pillar, symbolizing our struggles to attain Buddhahood through the continuous cycle of birth, death, and rebirth.

The other dragon descends, signifying its intention to come to earth and help aid the salvation of all living things.

No one knows when this building was constructed.

I pass the shrine to Prince Hachiko, then go up a few steps to pay my respects at the Sanjin-Gosaiden Shrine. This striking cedar structure was built in 1818, and it has an impressive 2.1 meter thick thatched roof, the thickest in Japan.

The gods of each of the Dewa Sanzan — Mount Haguro, Mount Gassan, and Mount Yudono — are enshrined within. This is the only mountaintop accessible all year round, so pilgrims can pay homage to all three deities here.

In front of the shrine is a pond called Kagami-ike, Mirror Pond. Although it beautifully reflects the shrine, this is not the source of its name.

In the early 20th century, the pond was drained. Over 600 ornate, bronze mirrors were recovered from its muddy bottom. Worshippers are thought to have used the mirrors as vehicles for their prayers and tossed them into the pond. Today, those mirrors have traveled as far as the British Museum and the Smithsonian Institute. Nearly 200 are on display in the nearby Dewa Sanzan Historical Museum, which, unfortunately, was closed when I visited.

Beside the pond is an ancient bell. As Shinto shrines do not usually have bells, this one is clearly a remnant of the days when Buddhism flourished in Dewa Sanzan.

The bronze bell weighs 10 tons, the 3rd largest in Japan. It was donated by the regent Hojo Tokimune as thanks for prayers offered for victory during the Mongol invasions of 1274 and 1281.

The thatched roof belfry was built in 1617, replacing the former structure that was destroyed during a typhoon.

This bell is rung only once a year, on December 31. Imagine the reverberations that echo across the mountains.

Among the other shrines on the mountaintop is Tōshō Shrine, dedicated to the deified first shogun of the Edo era, Tokugawa Ieyasu.

Another is the Reisaiden, a shrine built to house ancestral spirits. There is a spectacular painting of a dragon on the ceiling of its entranceway and a collection of Buddhist sculptural masterpieces in the building beside it. No photography is allowed.

Beside Reisaiden is a small cemetery with some unusual clothed gravestones.

Along the east side of the mountaintop, sits a row of small shrines. One of these stood out because of its collection of footwear. It is the Kensumimi Shrine, dedicated to Kamo-Taketsu-Numi no Mikoto, who, according to legend, is the kami who was incarnated as the three-legged crow.

People visit the shrine and offer footwear imbued with prayers for safe travels and healing and strength for their legs.

The climb down

After paying my respects at the modest imperial grave of Prince Hachiko, I head back to the torii gate to begin my descent.

Along the way is a sign tempting me to explore the Minami-Dani, which means southern valley. Despite the “Watch out for Bears” sign, I brave the unused trail. About 500 meters into the woods I come to a clearing that once held a temple where the great poet, Matsuo Basho, stayed while on his famous “Narrow Road to the Deep North” poetic journey in the 17th century.

There was not much left of the pond or the gazebo, but the walk is beautiful.

Back on the main path, I come across construction at a tea house. I peek into the grounds before one of the workers kindly tells me he would “appreciate me not entering.” I see enough to know that the rebuilt tea house will afford a fantastic view of the vast Shonai plains below.

Shukubo shrine stay

The innkeeper greets me at the door of the shrine lodging and shows me to my room. It is a huge 12 mat room, twice the size of a typical single room.

“Wow, this room is huge!” This is an unexpected surprise.

“You’re a foreigner, so I thought you would like a big room.”

I do!

She takes me down the hall to show me the shared bath and toilets, then back to show me the small room where my meals would be served. We agree on a 6:00 dinner, and she leaves me to wash up and relax.

Innkeepers in Japan prefer to serve dinner early, as the meals are rather elaborate, and they appreciate having plenty of time to clean up before they go to bed.

I bathe, put on the yukata robe the innkeeper provided, and before I know it, dinner is served.

It’s a feast of wild mountain vegetables and various types of tofu, including a house specialty, sesame tofu. This type of cuisine was developed in the Kamakura era by Zen monks and is called shojin-ryori.

Although Dewa Sanzan became Shinto in 1869, shojin-ryori continued to be served and adapted. Enjoying shojin-ryori is an important part of any visit to the Dewa Sanzan.

After a peaceful sleep in that quiet room between comfortable and warm futons, I wake up refreshed.

I again visit the Jiji-sugi “Grandfather Cedar” and the Go-jū-no-toh. I see many people cleaning, and learn that the mountain is cleaned one day each year.

I visit the two shrines between my inn and the Zuishinmon Gate. One is called the Tenchikon Shrine. This iteration was built in 1779 and is decorated with remarkable carvings.

The other shrine is dedicated to “The Tofu Jizō.”

With a name like that, it had to have an interesting backstory.

Before the late 19th century, this Jizō statue held pride of place on temple grounds, bringing prosperity to the worshippers on Mount Haguro and protecting pilgrims.

Sadly, when its temple compound was destroyed, this Jizō statue was cast into a ravine and forgotten.

Many years later, a mason was searching the forest for stone. He came upon the Jizō and mistook it for mere smooth stone. It seemed to him a perfect find to fashion into a stone used in making tofu. It was his lucky day — or so he thought.

The moment he struck the stone, he fell over unconscious. For three days and three nights he lay in a stupor, his mind filled with dreams.

In his dreams, Jizō appeared to him and warned him to repent of his disrespect.

When he awoke, repent, he did!

He moved the Jizō to its current position near the Zuishinmon Gate, built a shrine for him, and gave him the name “Tofu Jizō.” Today, people visit this Jizō to pray for long life, safe childbirth, and for help in raising children.

I go next door to the inn and partake of a wonderful shojin-ryori breakfast. I notice one of the dishes is a triangular chimaki, a type of rice dumpling wrapped and cooked in bamboo leaves and topped with soybean powder. It is a popular dish served on Children’s Day and one of my favorites.

After this delicious meal, I bid farewell to the kind innkeeper.

My time at Mount Haguro is up. I catch the 9:18 bus to Tsuruoka Town, satisfied after a perfect stay and looking forward to new adventures.

Mount Haguro embodies many of the reasons I write about rural Japan. Though off the beaten path, it truly is a treasure trove of culture and beauty for those who take the time to visit.

For what it’s like to stay at a Buddhist Temple, please see my article, “Shukubō — Tranquil Temple Stay in Japan.”

The post Mount Haguro—Experiencing its Rustic Magnificence first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The only double-helix wooden structure in the world

Nestled on a hillside overlooking the small city of Aizuwakamatsu in Fukushima Prefecture is an extraordinary shrine. Constructed in 1796, this architectural marvel bears the official name Entsu Sansōdō, 円通三匝堂, which translates to “the temple of three turns around.”

Above the entrance of this entirely wooden structure, an intricately carved dark wood lintel showcases two lighter-colored dragons entwined as protectors of this sacred space. But that remarkable sight pales in comparison to the building itself.

Sazaedō’s Unique architecture

Upon entering the building, visitors turn left and begin an uphill climb. The interior reveals a continuous ramp winding its way up, before passing over an arched bridge, and then descending back down. This unique double-helix design earned the shrine its popular name, Sazaedō. Sazae means spiral turban shell, and dō refers to temple or shrine.

The windows and eaves follow the incline of the ramps, tracing the spiraling path upwards and downwards. The sloping walkway maintains an unbroken course without any overlaps.

Remarkably, Sazaedō’s design did not come from the genius of an architect but rather from the ingenuity of the head priest of the nearby Shōsōji Temple, Ikudō, whose statue graces the entrance of the shrine. 

The exact source of his inspiration remains a mystery. Yet, it is believed that renewed access to Western books in 1720, thanks to Tokugawa Yoshimune lifting a long-standing ban, provided Ikudō with valuable scientific knowledge that likely influenced his design. Some speculate that he may have seen drawings of Leonardo da Vinci’s double-helix staircase at Château de Chambord in France, but there is no way to know.

One-stop pilgrimage

Sazaedō was built at a time when pilgrims undertook journeys across western Japan to visit 33 temples dedicated to Kannon, the Buddhist goddess of mercy. These pilgrimages required a significant investment in time and money. Nevertheless, people were driven by their piety to visit all the temples, offering prayers and purchasing protective amulets at each one. Sazaedō offered a revolutionary alternative.

Within its walls, all 33 Kannon statues were placed in alcoves along Sazaedō’s one-way spiral hallway, condensing the entire pilgrimage into one temple. This innovative idea made Sazaedō immensely popular, transforming it into a convenient one-stop pilgrimage destination. The success of this design inspired the construction of other spiral temples throughout Japan, although none rivaled the impressive three stories of Sazaedō.

Its official name, Entsu Sansōdō, not only alludes to its “three turns around” design but also refers to the Buddhist etiquette of walking three times clockwise around an image of the Buddha, a practice observed by all pilgrims who visit Sazaedō.

The building’s ceiling and interior walls are covered with thousands of paper stickers called senjafuda, which pilgrims used to affix to mark their visit to shrines and temples. These stickers typically display the person’s name and sometimes their place of residence. The multitude of senjafuda in Sazaedō provides a window into bygone days when visiting temples was not only a spiritual endeavor but also a popular recreational activity.

In 1868, the Meiji government ordered the separation of Buddhism and Shinto. This decree triggered the widespread destruction of Buddhist temples and statuary. During this difficult time, the 33 Kannon statues were removed from Sazaedō, and the building was redefined as a Shinto shrine.

Today, Sazaedō stands as a testament to its rich history and remains the only double-helix wooden structure in the world. Instead of statues of Kannon, the alcoves hold illustrations of moral teachings compiled by Matsudaira Katataka, the 8th lord of the Aizu clan, who ruled the area during the first half of the 19th century.

Although Aizuwakamatsu is quite far off the beaten track, it’s well worth a visit to see the amazing Sazaedō for yourself.

And while you are there, take a moment to visit the nearby shrine to the young samurai who committed seppuku, ritual suicide, during the close of the Boshin civil war in 1868.

References:

http://www.sazaedo.jp/, 朝日新聞1972年11月20日, signs.

The post Sazaedō—The Strikingly Unique Spiral Temple of Aizu, Japan first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The rise and fall of the Northern Fujiwara family

Three generations of glory

Vanished

In the space of a dream

So wrote Japan’s most famous Haiku poet, Matsuo Basho, upon visiting Hiraizumi in 1689.

Located in Iwate Prefecture, Hiraizumi is a place you may never have heard of. But it was once the capital of northern Japan, rivaling Kyoto for size, splendor, and wealth. 

The famed explorer Marco Polo described what he heard about it while in China:

They have gold in the greatest abundance, its sources being inexhaustible… The entire roof [of the sovereign’s palace] is covered with a plating of gold… The ceilings of the halls are of the same precious metal; many of the apartments have small tables of pure gold, of considerable thickness; and the windows also have golden ornaments. So vast, indeed, are the riches of the palace, that it is impossible to convey an idea of them. — The travels of Marco Polo, written 1300

This marvelous city of gold was founded by a member of the powerful Fujiwara clan, whose daughters married emperors and influenced the government in Kyoto for generations. The branch of the family that ruled in Hiraizumi is known as the Northern Fujiwara.

In order to appreciate the magnitude of what Hiraizumi once was, we need a little history.

Setting the stage

During the Heian Era (794–1185), the emperor in Kyoto ruled the area from southern Kyushu to the southern border of what now is Fukushima Prefecture. (Shown in green on the map.) 

Northern Honshu was referred to as Michinoku, “beyond the road.” It was considered wild country, the home of Emishi “barbarians.” 

Understood to have migrated from northeastern Asia, the Emishi were ethnically different from the main population of Japan. Historians theorize the name is a collective term for the various northern tribes who resisted the rule of the Japanese state. Some of the Emishi are likely the ancestors of the Ainu people, today considered the indigenous people of Hokkaido.

During the 12th century, the Emishi of northeastern Honshu were ruled over by a powerful and wealthy family, the Abe. 

Like the Kumaso and Hayato, “barbarian” people of southern Kyushu before them, the Emishi were expected to pay tribute to the court. And just like their southern counterparts, this task became so onerous that they stopped.

Because of this failure to pay tribute, Minamoto no Yoriyoshi, as Chinjufu-shōgun, “Defender of the North,” was tasked with subjugating the Emishi Abe clan. He received reinforcements from Kiyohara no Takehira, the leader of nearby Dewa Province. 

A relative of the Kyoto Fujiwara family, Fujiwara no Tsunekiyo, who had married an Emishi and moved to the hinterland, joined the Abe clan in their defense of Michinoku. 

After fighting that spanned 12 long years, the powerful Minamoto and Kiyohara allies defeated the Abe clan and Fujiwara no Tsunekiyo, who, because of his Kyoto roots, was considered a despicable traitor to the emperor.

Minamoto no Yoriyoshi, the Chinjufu-shōgun, personally exacted revenge on Tsunekiyo by publicly decapitating him — using a blunt and rusty sword to prolong the agony.

Fujiwara no Tsunekiyo left behind his Emishi wife and their son, and it is to this son that we now look.

Fujiwara no Kiyohira — the first of the Northern Fujiwara

Fujiwara no Kiyohira’s Emishi mother was taken as a concubine by one of the victors in the war, Kiyohara no Takehira, who had been named the new Chinjufu-shōgun. 

Kiyohira’s grandfather, father, and uncle had all been killed in the war. His mother’s Emishi brothers were banished to Kyushu. He was raised in a strange land in the house of his father’s enemy.

When he was 28, he found himself embroiled in another war, a vicious power struggle among his adopted family as to who would be the next to rule. Kiyohira emerged victorious, although he lost his wife and son who were viciously killed in their home by his younger half-brother.

With a heavy heart at such a tragic loss, this son of a Fujiwara and an Emishi became the next Chinjufu-shōgun, Defender of the North, ruler of the vast northern Michinoku frontiers — a land rich in gold, silver, and fine horses.

Kiyohira, whose entire life had been beset by violence, resolved to use his power to bring peace to Michinoku by turning it into a Buddhist realm.

In 1105 he moved to Hiraizumi and rebuilt Chūson-ji, 中尊寺, a temple that had been established by a Tendai Buddhist monk in 850. He wished for a Buddhist sanctuary where all people could be welcome, and he had Chūson-ji rebuilt as a place for the repose of the spirits of all those lost in the recent wars, regardless of loyalties or status.

He built Daichojuin, 大長寿院, a 15-meter-high temple that housed a 9-meter golden statue of Amida Nyōrai, the Buddha of the Pure Land. Some years later, when Japan’s first shogun, Minamoto no Yoritomo, saw Daichojuin, he was so impressed with its grandeur that he modeled Yofuku-ji temple in his capital of Kamakura after it.

Among the over 40 Buddhist temples and pagodas that Kiyohira had built, only one remains today.

It is the Konjikidō, 金色堂, Golden Hall, which was built to house a gold statue of Amida Nyōrai. Not only are the statue and altar decorations made of gold, but both the temple’s interior and exterior walls are covered with gold leaf. The pillars, altars, and beams are inlaid with jewels and mother-of-pearl, have engraved gold fittings, and are covered with makie — black lacquer sprinkled with powdered gold.

The entire temple is a glorious work of late Heian-era artistry. Today, it is housed within a protective concrete building. No photos are allowed to be taken within its walls.

When Kiyohira died in 1128, he was succeeded by his son Motohira.

Fujiwara no Motohira — the second Northern Fujiwara

As well as continuing his father’s work of expanding the Chūson-ji temple complex, Motohira also built the nearby Mōtsū-ji, 毛越寺, temple and its gardens, said to have even surpassed Chūson-ji for size and splendor.

The main hall was constructed of precious wood overlaid with gold and silver and inlaid with jewels and mother-of-pearl. It held an enormous statue of Yakushi Nyōrai, the Healing Buddha, surrounded by the Twelve Heavenly Generals, protective deities — all realistically carved with crystal eyes, the latest innovation. These statues were created by the master sculptor, Unkei. 

Amid the temples of Mōtsū-ji was a Pure Land Garden — the only part of the once-breathtaking temple complex that remains to this day.

The garden is centered on a pond and was created in the classic Heian style. It includes a magatama jewel-shaped island, peninsulas, rocky coastlines, bridges, mountain-like boulders, and a feeder stream. All these elements are in accord with Japan’s oldest garden manual, the Sakuteiki, 作庭記, “Records of Garden Making,” dating from the 11th century. Its beauty remains unchanged.

Motohira died in 1157 and was succeeded by his son, Fujiwara no Hidehira.

Fujiwara no Hidehira — the third Northern Fujiwara

Hidehira constructed the elaborate Muryōkō-in, 無量光院, modeled after the Phoenix Hall of the Byōdō-in, 平等院, just south of Kyoto. His temple in Hiraizumi, though, was said to be larger and far more grand.

Although things were peaceful in Hiraizumi, it was not the case in Kyoto. The power of the emperor was waning, the Taira and Minamoto samurai clans were growing strong and feuding, and there was great unrest in the capital.

After the first major skirmish, the victorious Taira killed the Minamoto leader and banished his sons. Young Minamoto no Yoshitsune, at age 10, ended up in a temple on Mount Hiei, where he studied Buddhism, swordsmanship, and strategy. His older half-brother, Yoritomo, was exiled to Izu (in Shizuoka). A third brother disappeared from the historical record until many years later.

In 1174, Minamoto no Yoshitsune, age 15, left the temple and traveled to Hiraizumi where he came under the protection of the Chinjufu-shōgun, Fujiwara no Hidehira. 

This seemingly small act of sheltering Yoshitsune turned out to be the spark that would lead to the downfall of the Northern Fujiwara and the eventual destruction of the architectural and artistic treasures of Hiraizumi.

The Genpei War and its aftermath

In 1180, word came that Prince Mochihito, fearing the power of the Taira clan, had asked the Minamoto clan to gather forces against them. Yoshitsune left at once for Kyoto where he joined his older half-brother, Minamoto no Yoritomo, in what came to be called the Genpei War.

This five-year epic war of the Minamoto against the Taira is filled with dramatic tales of tragedy and heroism and has become the subject of countless ballads and kabuki plays. Far too long a story to tell here.

Yoshitsune had become an expert swordsman during his years on Mount Hiei and then excelled in horsemanship in the land of the Northern Fujiwara. With his skills and cunning, Yoshitsune emerged from the Genpei War a victorious general, well-known and loved for his legendary heroics. 

Although Yoshitsune was rewarded with lands and honors by retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa, his jealous and suspicious older half-brother Yoritomo revoked them and instead tried to kill Yoshitsune.

Again, Yoshitsune sought refuge in Hiraizumi, along with his pregnant wife and his valiant friend and protector, the warrior monk, Benkei. 

Two years later, in 1187, Fujiwara no Hidehira died. Before his death, he entrusted Yoshitsune’s protection to his son, Fujiwara no Yasuhira.

Fujiwara no Yasuhira — the final Northern Fujiwara

After his victory in the Genpei War, Yoshitsune’s older half-brother, Minamoto no Yoritomo, became Japan’s first shogun. He established his capital in the natural fortress of Kamakura, just south of present-day Tokyo. 

Although firmly entrenched in power, Yoritomo was still suspicious of his younger brother. He sent word to Fujiwara no Yasuhira to have him killed.

At first, Yasuhira resisted, but his fear of Yoritomo prevailed. His soldiers surrounded Yoshitsune’s estate, his archers killed the noble Benkei, and Yoshitsune, along with his wife and child, chose suicide rather than be captured.

Yoshitsune’s head was sent to Yoritomo, yet his death and that of his household were not enough to appease the shogun. 

For the “crime” of sheltering his younger half-brother, the shogun Minamoto no Yoritomo sent forces after Yasuhira who pursued him all the way to Hokkaido. The shogun’s samurai beheaded Yasuhira, packed his head in sake, and sent it to Kamakura.

Yoritomo had Yasuhira’s head displayed publicly, like that of the worst criminals. Afterward, it was packed in a bucket and returned to Hiraizumi.

Today, Yasuhira’s head, along with the mummies of Kiyohira, Motohira, and Hidehira, are preserved within the golden Konjikidō of the Chūson-ji temple.

Lotus seeds found in the bucket in which Yasuhira’s head was sent have been planted and now bloom each year behind Chūson-ji, a fitting reminder of the glories of the peaceful Buddhist land that Kiyohira had tried to create.

The remains of the magnificent structures built by the Northern Fujiwara, as well as Chūson-ji temple, are included in the UNESCO heritage site, “Hiraizumi — Temples, Gardens and Archaeological Sites Representing the Buddhist Pure Land.”

Although Hiraizumi is off the beaten track, it is well worth a visit to have a glimpse of the fantastic glories of its bygone years.

Sources:

https://www.motsuji.or.jp/, https://hiraizumi.or.jp/index.html, 前九年の役, 前九年・後三年の役, 藤原泰衡, UNESCO website.

The post Hiraizumi — Once a Fabulous City of Gold, Now a Quiet Home of Mummies first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The Origins of Keirō no Hi

The third Sunday in September is a special holiday in Japan, Respect for the Aged Day, or Keirō no Hi. On this day, children and adults give flowers, cards, and various presents to their elders in a show of appreciation. Local communities stage performances, hold festivities, and provide special meals for their senior citizens. TV shows search out the oldest people to ask for longevity advice.

How it all started

Respect for the Aged Day traces its roots to tiny Nomotani Village in the mountains of Hyogo Prefecture, to the west of Osaka and Kyoto. In 1947, the people of Nomotani christened September 15th as Old Folks’ Day. This was done to celebrate the elderly — defined as those over age 55 — for their endurance and fortitude in surviving the difficult years of the worldwide Great Depression and the enormous upheavals and tragedies of World War II.

At that time, there were 8.4 million people over the age of 55 in Japan, of which 3.7 million were over age 65. A mere 55 people were over age 100. Disease, poverty, and war were powerful obstacles to longevity in early 20th century Japan.

As the years passed, Old Folks’ Day gained in popularity, and the practice of honoring the elderly spread. In 1963, the national government began awarding centenarians solid, 10.5 cm diameter, sterling silver sake cups in thanks for their many years of contribution to society. That year, there were 153 people who were over the age of 100.

Elderly population growth

Old Folks’ Day became a national holiday in 1966, renamed Respect for the Aged Day. The number of elderly, now defined as those over age 65, continued to climb until today they make up 30% of the population. Because the population of Japan has been declining since 2009 and the number of elderly is continuing to rise, the over-65 population is expected to reach 40% of the total population by 2055.

Due in part to the country’s extraordinary economic growth and improved healthcare, the number of centenarians has grown from the 55 identified in 1947 to 90,526 in 2022. That’s a lot of silver cups.

Apparently, the government thought so, too. In 2009, in order to cut costs, the diameter of the cups was decreased to 9 cm. Since 2016, the cups have been made from silver-plated nickel alloy.

Happy Monday

Following the passage of legislation to create Japan’s “Happy Monday System,” which moved holidays to Mondays to give workers more three-day weekends, Respect for the Aged Day was moved to the third Sunday in September beginning in 2003.

Longevity

As of 2021, the average life expectancy in Japan was the second highest in the world, being ever so slightly edged out of first place by Hong Kong. In Japan, women can expect to live 88.1 years, and men 81.9 years with an average of 85.03 years. In contrast, life expectancy in the UK is 81.77 years, and 79.11 years in the US.

Local Commendations

Prefectures across Japan have joined the national government in honoring their elderly. In Kagoshima Prefecture, in the south of Japan, newly minted 100-year-olds are visited by representatives of the city government who present them with 50,000 yen ($455 USD) and a large certificate. Kashiwa City, in Chiba Prefecture, gives 30,000 yen ($274 USD), while wealthy Tobishima Village, in Aichi Prefecture, awards each of its centenarians with 1 million yen ($9116 USD).

Could all this attention and respect be another contributing factor to the remarkable longevity of the Japanese? We’ll have to leave that one to the sociologists to figure out.

Sources:

https://nationaltoday.com/respect-aged-day/, government site on state of elderly, https://worldpopulationreview.com/, health checks, https://www.worldometers.info/demographics/life-expectancy/, https://population.un.org/, Kagoshima City homepage, Nikkei news, https://www.guinnessworldrecords.com/, https://www8.cao.go.jp/kourei/whitepaper/w-2017/zenbun/pdf/1s1s_01.pdf, http://demography.blog.fc2.com/blog-entry-6221.html

The post Respect for the Aged Day—Japan’s Unique Holiday for Honoring the Elderly first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The Obon Festival of Japan

Each year, families across Japan welcome home the spirits of their ancestors during the three-day festival of Obon. It is most widely observed in mid-August, although the timing and type of celebrations vary by region and local customs.

Some areas in northeastern Honshu follow the lunar calendar’s date for this holiday and hold their Obon festivals in July. Some areas of southwestern Honshu, Shikoku Island, and Okinawa celebrate Obon in September.

Obon’s origin

The Obon festival traces its origin to Buddha’s disciple, Mokuren, whose mother had fallen into the world of the hungry ghosts, an unpleasant realm in the afterlife. His heart ached to imagine her suffering.

In answer to his appeal for help, the Buddha instructed him to make an offering to his fellow disciple monks of a wide variety of food, and not only his mother, but also the last seven generations of his ancestors would be saved.

Mokuren obeyed the Buddha, placing his offerings of food on a tray, or obon, which is said to give the festival its name. He then danced a dance of joy, filled with a mix of newfound gratitude toward his mother, and the joy of knowing that she and his other ancestors had been released.

So Mokuren gave us three important Obon traditions:

• Offerings
• Gratitude towards mother
• Dance of joy

Now we’ll see how these have developed into today’s Obon festivities.

Welcome home, Spirits!

Families return to their ancestral homes to welcome the spirits of their departed ancestors on August 13th. Many people go to their family’s graves to accompany the spirits back to their houses, some lighting fires to guide the way. At the threshold of the house, water is set out for the spirits to wash their feet before entering.

Inside the house, a shelf is constructed with a frame of bamboo or chestnut, laid with a board. This is called a Bon-Dana, and it will hold offerings to the ancestors’ spirits. Traditionally, a rush mat is placed on the shelf, upon which are placed flowers, incense, rice dumplings, noodles, vegetables, fruit, and most importantly, water. Front and center is placed a mortuary tablet —a stone tablet inscribed with the names of the family’s deceased—like a place-marker at a banquet. Behind all this is hung a decorative scroll.

The recently deceased are honored with elaborate bamboo and cedar leaf decorations placed in the front yard or under the eaves of the house. They have not yet joined the collective ancestral spirit of their family, or Sorei. After 33 or 50 years, depending on the tradition, they will finally lose their individuality and merge with the Sorei.

Each family’s Sorei visits them four times a year, at Obon, at New Year’s, and at the spring and fall equinoxes.

But what of Homeless Spirits?

Muenbotoke are spirits of those who have died an unnatural death, at sea, along the road, or those who have no family to look after their graves. If left to themselves, it is believed that they will bring harm, so these spirits, too, are honored at Obon.

Although these strangers have no place on the family’s Bon-Dana, people may build a simple shelf and lay out food, such as eggplants and cucumbers wrapped in leaves, for the Muenbotoke. Others may lay big taro leaves upon the floor beneath the family’s Bon-Dana, upon which offerings of food are placed.

Gratitude to the living

Obon is not just about the dead. Elderly parents are given gifts of special food and drink in a show of appreciation and filial affection.

Dancing

Hearkening back to Mokuren’s dance of joy, Bon-Odori are dances held during the Obon holidays. People dress in colorful summer yukatas and dance a synchronized dance through the streets or in circles around a raised platform at shrines. Besides sending the spirits on their way to the realm of the dead with gratitude and joy, the dances also serve as prayers to ward off potential haunting or curses.

Until we meet again

On the night of August 16th, many families walk to their family graves to send their ancestors back to the spirit world. But there are other customs.

Perhaps because people in days past felt the world of the dead was across the sea, or above the sky, various traditions developed. Some people wrap offerings in lotus leaves or reeds and send their ancestors off in these makeshift boats down the river. Others form boats from straw and release their ancestors’ spirits into the sea, while others place paper lanterns on the water for their ancestors’ spirits to ride back to the spirit realm.

Most famously, the Kyoto Gozan no Okuribi is held to send the spirits off to the heavens. Five great fires are lit on five mountains surrounding Kyoto City, one by one starting at 8pm on August 16th, each forming a different Japanese character.

In some sections of the country, people prepare Shōryō-uma, horses and cows made from cucumbers and eggplants, for the spirits to ride back into the realm of the dead.

There the spirits will continue learning and growing until their next, not so widely celebrated, visit during the autumn equinox.

All photos ©Diane Tincher, unless otherwise noted.

Sources:

図説民俗探訪事典 compiled by 大島 雄, kotobank.jp, http://www.shingon.org/, and many more Japanese webpages.

The post Obon—The Happy Homecoming of the Ghosts first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.