Mountain of Monkeys
Trip Start
Jun 07, 2001
1
7
17
Trip End
Jun 17, 2001
Arashiyama, Japan
Monday, June 11, 2001
they should be uncomfortable, but you quickly start wondering how the
heck you ever slept on anything else. The only problem is the size.
Japan is, as many people know, the land of small things. While the
people, contrary to popular stereotype, aren't especially small, plenty
of other things are. The cars are small. The streets are narrow. The
food portions are small, at least compared to the monstrously
gluttonous American "super size extra value monster meal." For me, that
works out just about perfectly. I don't need to hulkasize my meal. When
I order pancakes, I only need a couple, not a stack of fifteen.
And
the pillows are small. Everywhere we stayed, the pillows, while
comfortable were wee little things scarcely larger than a camping
pillow or those worthless sacks of lint we got on the airplane. For a
man such as I, who demands a fair degree of head support to achieve a
comfortable sleeping position, the little pillows were something less
than I was looking for, and I found myself scrunching them up into
various shapes in an attempt to give my noggin a bit more lift. I'm
used to that luxurious American life that affords me a couple pillows
for my nightly slumber. Still, despite the lack of a whole mound of
pillows into which to bury my skull, I valiantly soldiered on and fell
asleep frequently.
The eleven hours I'd spent passed out on the
tatami mats of our Tour Club room was a godsend, though it certainly
put a damper on any of the plans we'd made for that evening. While
Ellie and Wai, still relatively unaffected by the change in time since
they were early risers to begin with, sat patiently in the living room
of Tour Club figuring out where we would have our big meal that night,
Harry, Joe, and myself diligently got our money's worth out of the
futons. When we awoke the next day, it was as if a great weight had
been lifted. As I threw on my trusty hiking sneakers in preparation for
another day of wandering Kyoto, I was gleefully aware of the fact that,
while losing a night, I'd also slept away my jetlag. After realizing
that Harry, Joe, and I probably weren't going to wake up "in about an
hour" as we had each proclaimed before hitting the hay, Ellie spent
much of the late night and early morning doing laundry. Because it was
hot as Hades out most days, we were all blowing through shirts like
nobody's business, leaving a crumpled pile of stinking tee's in the
corners of our room. Ahh, the smell of manliness.
Our itinerary
for our third full day in Kyoto was going to take us out of the city
proper and into the surrounding small mountain town of Arashiyama, and
more specifically, to the Iwatayama Monkey Park where snow monkeys --
macaques -- wandered wild and free up and down the sides of the
mountain and demanded tribute from those who passed by. We also had it
in our heads to visit the Golden Pavilion far to the north of
Arashiyama, not to mention swing by Toei Eiga Studios, something
apparently only I was interested in doing. But since everyone else had
been too unmotivated to develop itineraries of their own, they were at
my mercy.
After downing our traditional early morning Lawson
breakfast, we hopped on the Japan Rail San-in/Sagano line bound for the
outskirts of town. It looked like a lengthy train ride on the map, but
it blew by quickly. Near our stop, gazing out of the window at the
bundles of stores and close-quarter houses, I could have sword I caught
a glimpse of a huge, hideous demon's head rising up from behind a thick
row of trees. The hell? Best to let it slide, I figured, as wild
stories about giant devils jumping out at us would hardly instill
confidence in those who were depending on me to formulate the daily
itineraries.
Before too long we found ourselves stepping off at
the Saga-Arashiyama station. It was a thoroughly pleasing environment,
very much what one might expect a small Japanese town to look like.
Kyoto was still mere miles away, but you could hardly tell. The streets
were narrow and sleepy, empty of any motor traffic beyond the
occasional car. Instead, old folks and blue collar Joe's walked and
biked to and fro, lugging around crates of goods, fish, or what have
you. Ellie and Wai grabbed some vending machine ice cream while I went
for yet another Japanese drink, this one an orange flavored concoction
called Qoo. They also had grape, and if you're guessing I eventually
downed a can or two of each one, you would be right.
It had only
been a couple days, but my program of drinking as many different
Japanese soft drinks as I could was coming along swimmingly. It helped
that our primary modes of transportation were walking and biking out in
the sweltering heat. The way to the monkey sanctuary lead us down the
quaint roads of Arashiyama, out onto a main highway running along the
banks of the wide, grassy Katsura River. The sloped banks on either
side were lined with procrastinators, walkers, and the occasional
artist doing his or her best to capture the beautiful mountainous scene
while wearing the prerequisite off-white fisherman's cap all Japanese
artists seem to favor. Sure beats the beret. The river itself was
shallow on one end because of a small dam, and fishermen with massive,
long poles waded out into the waters in search of a day's meal or a
morning's sport.
We crossed the long Togetsyu-kyo bridge
alongside pedestrians, cyclists, and rickshaws being pulled by
handsome, fit young met with lean athletic builds. Ellie was quick to
notice that pretty much every rickshaw man we saw possessed a rugged
attractiveness, not unlike a surfer or a mountain climber. The build
was an obvious necessity conditioned by days spend pulling tourists to
and from various attractions, and the tan was a result of spending all
your time outside. Even the few female rickshaw pullers we saw had the
"soccer player" build and were all very cute. Must be a qualification
for the job.
On the right side of the bride, the other side of
the dam, the water was much deeper, and small boats of various types
replaced the fishermen. There were pontoons, two-person paddle boats,
small rowboats, sight-seeing boats piloted by guys with long bamboo
poles, and of course a few gaudy motorized tourist boats. The town on
the other side of the river was not so different from a riverfront
fishing town in the United States. Buildings in stilts cropped up along
the plant-covered banks of the river that wandered lazily around the
structures. Here and there were tourist shops selling trinkets of all
varieties. After a bit of poking around, we found the narrow dirt path
meandering up the side of one of the thickly forested mountains.
Standing in downtown Kyoto, it was easy to forget you were surrounded
on all sides by ancient mountains and forests, but out here in the
smaller towns there was no way around it.
The path lead up a
short distance, past a small temple, to the front gate of the Iwatayama
Monkey Park. There were no other tourists in sight as it was still
quite early in the morning, which was fine with me. As nice as the
temples and shrines had been the day before, I was happy to be in an
environment that was not only more natural, but also a lot less packed
with masses of humanity. Admission to the park itself was ¥600, which
was collected by a chipper old woman who couldn't stop talking to us
with a great smile on her face despite the fact that not even Harry
understood a word coming out of her mouth. We simply went into the
trusty "smile and nod" mode.
It was a beautiful, sunny day with
a rich blue sky dotted by pure, snowy white clouds. These are the sort
of days that are absolutely lovely up until the point you start hiking
up a steep, narrow mountain path with the sun gleefully bathing you in
all its glory. Amazing how quickly a warm and pleasant day becomes a
sweat-drenched oven of a time. It wasn't too bad, really. At least
they'd been kind enough to make a switchback trail that wound its way
up the mountain slowly rather than shooting straight up. Still, every
step was a reminder of just how quickly my body forgot everything it
had learned from a previous season's backpacking. Plus, my legs still
hadn't quite forgiven me for the impromptu hiking expedition at
Nanzen-ji.
We got a very quick pay-off however, as we were
scarcely halfway up the trail to the top of the mountain before we ran
into a couple macaques lounging about lazily in the shade, grooming one
another, yawning, stretching, and generally behaving like your average
primate. I am convinced that it is simply lower primate nature to put
on a show whenever their hairless human cousins happen by, and these
monkeys were no different. As we filed by, they decided to get
especially amorous with one another, which is one of those things that
simply never gets unfunny. Despite years of refinement and
sophistication, literary and philosophical training, I'll laugh just as
much today at a couple monkeys getting it on as I did the first time I
saw it in a zoo as a wee one.
Well, you can only watch two
monkeys fooling around for so long, especially when they get fed up
with all the picture taking and wander back into the cover of the lush
undergrowth. As we continued, with the occasional sound of monkey
shouting erupting from the canopy of trees, I couldn't help but feel
hundreds of eyes staring at me. When we finally broke through the trees
at the top of the forest, it was evident why. In this dirt, grass, and
hay covered area were dozens upon dozens of monkeys of all ages busily
capering about, begging for peanuts, and of course, showing off their
disturbing red asses.
A small tin roofed hut sat in the middle
of the grounds, with monkeys climbing around and clinging to every
surface. From inside the hut, caged humans could shuffle peanuts
through the chicken wire out to the greedy monkeys free to run amok on
the outside. It was, needless to say, amusingly ironic. There were a
few humans up here, but that was small potatoes compared to the volume
of monkeys scampering to and fro. Some drank water, others simply
reclined on top of crates and mopeds. A few wrestled with one another,
and one diligently gathered up little piles of gravel and rubbed the
rocks furiously against his crotch. I was curious, but not curious
enough to try it myself.
The area also provided a spectacular
mountaintop view of the surrounding peaks, the river far below, and the
mass of buildings off in the distance. It was fabulous, and you get
used to all the monkeys running around very quickly. After taking it
all in for a spell, we wandered back down the trail on the other side
of the mountain, stumbling upon quite a few groups of monkeys resting
in the bushes. One rather large and lazy looking monkey was sitting
quietly along the side of the path, or at least he was sitting quietly
up until the point Wai got a little too close, at which time the monkey
lunged viciously at him, hissing and baring huge white fangs as it
swatted at him and did the monkey equivalent of "made ya flinch!"
It
was going to be difficult to top Wai's monkey attack during the rest of
the day, but we figured it was worth a shot. Back down by the river, we
decided to shell out the yen for a leisurely boat ride in a rickety
wooden affair pushed along by a guy who looked like a Shaolin monk with
a long, bamboo pole. We headed up the river in the opposite direction
of Kyoto, disappearing quickly into the maze of green hills and
mountains that erupted on either side of the river. As civilization
dropped away, it was easy to lie back and simply be overwhelmed and
overjoyed by the quiet majesty of nature. Rich green dotted by pink,
white, and purple flowers. A rare old thatched-roof hut here and there.
Nothing but the smell of forest and the bubbling of the river.
At
least until the goody boat came bussing up beside us. There are guys
who make a living pulling up next to other boats on the river and
asking them if they want any snacks. Drinks, beer, crackers and chips,
that sort of thing. They even offer hot food like grilled squid they
cook right there for you on an open flame, which might not be the best
thing to do on a small wooden boat, but what the hell? They're
professionals. Their arrival in the motorized boat is a slight
intrusion, but they go away quickly if you don't want anything, and the
whole thing is simply so "river town" and reminiscent of growing up
along the banks of the Ohio River that I couldn't help but appreciate
their efforts.
After pushing our way up the river until nothing
remained but twisted old trees, mountains, and a large pool of placid
water broken only by scattered boulders and lilly pads, our boatman
turned around and we headed back to the docks, very happy with our
choice of boat tours. Once we were delivered to dry land again, we
poked around in a nearby store filled with porcelain figures and
stuffed animals. It was our first brush with consumerism since arriving
in Japan, and the consuming came in the form of a veritable army of
Totoro products, all for considerably cheaper than you could ever find
in the States.
The day was getting on, though despite the fun of
exploring the small hamlets many side streets, if we wanted to see
anything besides old fishermen and aggressive monkeys, it was time to
grab a quick lunch then head back to the train.
