Communing with an ancient tortoise

I made a new friend and he's been around for hundreds of years, so he was fascinating company. To back up a bit....

Decided the day was right to visit Matsue, which has been on my mind since I read a Smithsonian Magazine article (totally by chance)  a couple of years ago. The article mentioned a temple unlike any other and the giant tortoise there. If you rub his head, they say, you will have a long life. They also say he would wander around the village at night, so they placed a huge plinth on his back to prevent him from scaring folks with his lumbering about. Well, I just had to meet him.

It was not the most auspicious day. While it was merely cloudy in Hiroshima when I set out, the closer we got to Matsue, the wetter it became. So wet, the train driver had his windscreen wipers going full tilt and they were having trouble keeping up with the torrent. I kept calm, knowing there would be break in the action if I kept a good thought.

I'm not sure what I expected, but Matsue was not as I envisioned. I think I had a picture of a small seaside village snuggled into the base of the gorgeous green hills. Something quaint. Instead I alighted in a bustling good-sized town (I hesitate to call it a metropolis though it does have a highrise or two).

The rain by now had indeed backed off to a steady drizzle. I stopped at the tourist info desk and asked for a map and the best route to Gesshoji (tortoise territory). I had to ask because both in my guidebook and in the tourist magazine JTB tour company gave me as a guide, Gesshoji is not even mentioned as an attraction. SHAME ON THEM.

The sky was leaden and Lake Shinji (no relation to my dog) was the color of unburnished pewter. I painted in autumn colors and azure seas in my head, and it is a remarkable place. Skirting the lake, I forged ahead in intermittent drizzle and rain showers and finally found the entrance. As I stepped into this magical place, it stopped raining. Time was suspended and absolute quiet reigned, only to be pierced by the cry of hawks calling to each other.

Now, at this point I feel I have seen every shrine, temple and wayside offering in Japan. After awhile, they begin to run together in my mind. Not so with Gesshoji. It is utterly different, truly mystical and magical in every nook and cranny. I purposely took my time looking at everything before approaching the object of my search. The anticipation was almost unbearable. And suddenly, there he was, facing away, as if he hadn't had a visitor in awhile and was feeling shy.

So magnificent. So old and a sense of sadness that he couldn't wander around at night anymore. We had a lovely chat. I noted that in the Smithsonian picture of him, he looked very much younger. He agreed there were cracks now - perhaps from an earthquake, since I had noticed other damage on the grounds. Regardless, he maintains his silent vigil.

I had lost all track of time. As if awakening from a dream, there was a sudden intrusion of very loud music (the can-can) coming from the school just down the road. So loud in fact, it shook the clouds and it started to rain again. Time to say goodbye and think about hightailing it back.

 I was walking along a river and this boat appeared out of nowhere.

I had originally planned to visit Matsue castle and perhaps the garden, but by now, visibility was so poor, and the rain started in earnest, so I made my way back to the train station for the long ride home. The train is actually an excellent way to see the countryside without getting wet or having sore feet at the end of the day. I almost feel like a voyeur as we pass people's zen-like manicured backyards or the generally messy back areas which their own neighbors may not see. There are vegetable gardens and rice paddies creating perfect rectangular lakes between houses. We followed a wide river with rugged mountains as a backdrop, cranes, egrets, the odd cormorant or two, and class 5 rapids that would scare the most avid white water rafter.

This was one of those days which will stick in my mind as the reason for coming on this adventure in the first place (see...it isn't ALL about anime).