Detroit! American Kyoto!

What in god's name would lead me to type the title of this entry. What could a post industrial heck-hole have in common with one of the best cities I've ever visited? Its a funny thing, and it has to do with how a community deals with the shock and stress of an ever changing world. Over the past couple decades Detroit has been going through a, um, transition as the very nature of a world of which it used to be a central part has to some degree moved on. Reports of Detroit's death are, I feel, greatly exaggerated, mainly due to the fact that there's actually people who seem to think the city's worth saving and are fighting to revitalize its core image. Will it work? We'll have to wait and see, but among the many possible examples of a community coming together and looking forward after a painful transition, Kyoto is a pretty good example. Heiankyo, the place that eventually became modern Kyoto, was made the Imperial capital way on back in 794. Through wars, fires, changing political tides, natural disasters, prosperous times and poor times it remained the symbolic capital for over a thousand years until it was moved to Tokyo in 1869 as part of the massive social upheavals that came during the Meiji Restoration. That move took not just the Imperial household and all its attached community, but the craftsmen who relied on their patronage, the civil service, and perhaps most damaging the pride and prestige of being the capital city. Imagine if our capital just moved out of Washington, D.C. and you were one of the citizens left behind to pick up the pieces. It would be a moment that would affect a city from that point on, and would mark a moment of truth that would define the community as much as its past heritage, no matter how long and storied. It is truly amazing how omnipresent this narrative is as you travel around the modern city. The population plummeted, entire districts returned to farmland, the whole local economy was shaken to its foundations. But Kyoto was still a major city, and there were people within it that understood the need to redefine and modernize in order to make it relevant and begin to grow again. This was occurring at a time when Japan as a whole was beginning to rapidly transition to a modern nation. Much is made of Commodore Matthew Perry's arrival in Tokyo Bay as what opened Japan to the west, but as with many things, it was not an independent incident but part of a long narrative of friction between foreigners and Japan. For some time Japan had been wrestling with what to do to avoid the foreign domination and influence it saw as a threat. This had mainly led to a shuttering of the country and an expulsion and exclusion of foreigners from entrance to Japan itself. Some contacts (particularly with the segregated Dutch enclave at Kyushu) had been long standing and had led to a great deal of technological exchange, particularly regarding weaponry, but the very real fears of becoming a colonial battleground led to a forced isolation that kept Japan culturally intact as the world moved forward around it. Perry's clear intention to use force to create an opening had finally caused the situation to reach a tipping point. The resultant Treaty of Kanagawa (and those that followed with other European powers) was mainly meant to buy Japan some time, but it allowed a number of simmering internal problems to finally boil over, eventually leading to what was effectively a civil war. As the Shogunate collapsed (a time called the Bakumatsu), the currency plummeted, foreign incursions increased (including some skirmishes, raids and bombardments), uncertainty and fear were rampant as internal struggles threatened to tear the country apart. The end result of all this turmoil was a realization that the only way to protect Japan was to accept modernization and to adopt western methods of technology, governance and warfare. The old feudal system of clans and classes had to go (sorta), replaced by a strong central authority with a constitution. Its of particular note that this also included a clearly stated, defined policy of modernization of all aspects of society for the sake of strengthening Imperial Rule. In many ways, moving of the capital from its old site, more representative of the traditional landed gentry, to a coastal one with a good harbor is fittingly symbolic of the new direction that Meiji Japan was headed...and looking. It did Kyoto no favors, of course, removing one of its greatest symbols in the midst of an incredibly uncertain time. It did however simplify the civic dynamic, removing the complexities of the power struggles of Emperors and Warlords that had left Kyoto a smoking ruin on many occasions in the past. Instead, it allowed the people of Kyoto to recreate the city as they wanted, and the result you view today proves they did a pretty decent job. That's a VERY condensed version, of course, but the next couple places we were to visit are the direct results of all this upheaval and civic hand wringing. And the first glimpse we caught of it was right in front of us as we walked around Nanzenji.

Seeing a European style brick aqueduct on Buddhist temple grounds makes for one heck of a juxtaposition.

But Kyoto was proud of these aqueducts and the canal system they were a part of, the Lake Biwa Canal. It was conceived as a way to put Kyoto on the map as a modern city. Aside from providing clean drinking water, it also allowed barge traffic between the city and Lake Biwa to improve Kyoto's otherwise landlocked trade networks in those pre railway days. Most importantly it provided a setting to learn and apply western methods of modern engineering and construction and then display it to the world. In some ways, this last item was the most important because as the project progressed the desire to make it as modern as possible meant a new feature was added to its list of tasks, power generation. This was new, exciting stuff, even in the west, and allowed the canal project to remain relevant even as the arrival of trains made the barge traffic a thing of the past. All of this was on display in the quite wonderful Lake Biwa Canal Museum,

This is one of those fantastically specialized little museums that I personally adore. It wasn't a large museum; after all, if the main exhibit is the canal itself and the old barge haulage incline just outside it doesn't need to be. But of great interest was the collection of prints, paintings and maps that allow you to see how rapidly Japan was changing at the time. In the few years the project was being built you can clearly see just how revolutionary the new influences on Japanese society were. The illustrations morph from distinctly Japanese styles (even the survey plots have a ukiyo-e look to them) at the beginning of the project, to the more formal, photo-realistic and scientific western style in both the narrative images of the work and the various technical drawings. When you take into account that in just a few short decades Japan would transition from a feudal, almost medieval society to an industrial powerhouse, its incredible to see that process literally occur before your eyes on the Museum's walls. Fascinating. They also had a nice collection of period photos showing the benefits the canal brought, including the first fire prevention systems to battle the greatest threat to a mostly  wood-built city like Kyoto, as well as of the aforementioned electrification of the city. They also had on display one of the Pelton wheels they had originally used to drive the generators.

Plus, you could take a nice stroll up the old incline they had used to haul barges up to the canal level. If you like industrial heritage stuff it is fascinating. Its also a wonderful insight to a period of great social change in Kyoto, though our next stop was possibly even a better example of that incredible dynamic. But then you couldn't help but notice there was something a good bit different about Heian Jingu the moment you saw its tori.

In 1895, as part of an industrial exhibition to mark the 1100th anniversary of the founding of Kyoto, an immense (but still scaled down from the original) replica of the great hall of the Heian era Imperial Palace (794-1185ish) was built to showcase the new Kyoto. Like many elaborate constructions built to impress (think Eiffel Tower, here) it developed quite a life its own. Its shrine was originally dedicated to the first Emperor to reign in what would become Kyoto, and in 1940 it finished the job by also adding the last Emperor to reign there. Mainly this put the point on the notion that with the symbolic return of power to the Meiji Emperor, the old Imperial Era was Kyoto's era, the Emperor moving away be damned. That grand statement of civic pride by a city that had taken such a blow to it's collective ego is wonderful to behold, and is quite fitting because to a large degree (and quite in keeping with the changing world of Shinto in the Meiji Era) what was really being worshiped at this shrine was the community itself. Simply, the Heian Jingu Shrine is a shrine dedicated to the people and spirit of Kyoto. And its a darned nice shrine, at that. Even if it is just a baby by Shinto standards.

The massive entry gate shows two things. First, comparing this entry to the gate structures at Buddhist temples (like the Sammon at Nanzenji) just how intertwined the aesthetics of Shinto and Buddhism had become. And Second, that the builders of this shrine intended to make as big a statement as possible about their city and their national identity. Remember, this project was from the same era as the canal, and its purposes were very similar. It reflects the growing power of the new urban elites and commercial class. It is the new nationalism. Starting in the 1870's Shinto shrines were separated from Buddhist temples and declared property of the central government. Citizens were required to register as parishioners of their local shrine and shrine priests became government officials. Shinto, being seen as the indigenous belief of the Japanese people, was viewed as a force for uniting the people behind the new, rapidly modernizing state. This actually was a decent fit (for better or worse as later events were to transpire) because Shinto had always been a very communal institution. It certainly helped that it had a very unstructured hierarchy that was less likely to oppose the emerging state than, say, the Buddhist temples and their entrenched power structure. This all came to a head in the rampant and rabid nationalism and militarism that would eventually lead up to the Second World War and its messy aftermath. But oddly, with the disestablishment of State controlled Shinto and the de-deification of the Emperor at the end of the war, the shrines quite easily adapted and quietly drifted back into their traditional place. Reading about how Shinto came out of the era that began with the Restoration and ended with the war, you get the feeling that as an institution it was never really comfortable being front and center anyhow. Almost as if it was shoved onto the stage but really just wanted to go home. Which, in effect, is exactly what it did as soon as it had the chance. The local shrines seem to have a role almost like a neighborhood association, and the larger shrines are like community centers. Heian Jingu in particular still has a strong connection to the civic leaders and commercial class that was largely responsible for its construction. Its a cultural institution, clearly seen in the fact that clustered around it are municipal museums and the zoo, as well as part of the city's commercial heart with its wall of offerings of sake casks donated by the community and businesses for continued good fortune.

But perhaps nothing expresses the civic nature of Heian Jingu better than its gardens. Unlike traditional Shinto shrines which venerate nature and therefore tend to let the surrounding environment be, or Buddhist gardens which are fairly complicated and ordered affairs, Heian Jingu's garden is more like a modern botanical garden. Its a walking garden, more park than statement. Park-like, it has little monuments to the era from which it sprang, like one of the old trolley cars originally powered by the electricity provided by the Lake Biwa Canal.

Strolling along neat paths past little labels identifying the various flora and foliage, its very reminiscent of Western style gardens. A visit a few years back to the Missouri Botanical Garden (started in the late 1850's-1860's, so kinda contemporaneous and definitely representative of this modern concept) in St. Louis comes to mind, possibly because it has a wonderful Japanese garden, but also possibly because even if you know nothing of plants, shrines, Emperors or St. Louis they both are really just nice places to...well...be.

Of course, that's not a coincidence. This notion of a public space, a space for anyone's leisure, is a modern one when you think that most large gardens before this time were only to be found in the palaces and estates of the upper classes or in the sequestered confines of religious spaces. Kyoto and the Japanese were like sponges at this time, soaking in as many modern concepts as they could. So it shouldn't be surprising that this modern concept of the park is to be found at a place so representative of its time, like Heian Jingu. It is a lovely garden, and well worth a visit, especially on a warm, humid day when strolling through its lovely shady paths is as refreshing as a cool drink of water. Plus, it has a stepping stone walk called the "Bridge of the Lying Dragon" built from slices of 400 year old bridge pillars,

where I may have kept the camera on Holly because, she being a klutz, there was the possibility she might fall in...not saying I really expected it, or was preparing to laugh uncontrollably if it did happen...just that I may have been thinking it.

But sadly she was surefooted as a cat. And I think that brings us to a perfect break point, so I guess I'll leave it there for now.