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Authors who belong to Writers in Kyoto

The Boy From Across The Silver Vaults

by Richard Holmes

The view from the roof was always dynamic and inviting. I could see clearly in all directions, something odd for a big city that was supposed to be in perpetual haze.

I spent three years of my early youth on top of an eight-storey office building on Chancery Lane. This was just one of many pit stops or temporary perches I stayed at. My parents were caretakers. This meant that we led a very nomadic urban life. Despite the short time I lived there, it was to leave an indelible impression on me that would come back and prepare me well for the latter years of my life.

Chancery Lane was originally the thoroughfare for the London legal profession. It stretches from High Holborn all the way down to Fleet Street, home to the UK’s major newspapers and the Royal Courts of Justice. It dates back to the mid 12th century when the Knights Templar created New Street between their old headquarters in Holborn and their ‘New Temple.’ It was to become known as Chancery Lane by the early 15th century, named after the Court of Chancery.

Staple Inn on High Holborn, dating back to the Tudor period (1485 to 1603)
(photo courtesy Londonist)

Chancery Lane also forms the western edge of the City of London which is also referred to simply as the City or the Square Mile as it is, well, just over a square mile in area.

Looking up Chancery Lane (at one of many entrances to Lincoln’s Inn, if my memory serves me correctly) (Photo courtesy bisnow.com)

Across the way from the building where I lived were the Silver Vaults, a collection of antique and silver shops dating back to the mid 19th century. It is home to about 30 retailers and offers the largest selection of fine antiques and silver in the world.

Of course, being a curious lad I ventured inside one day only to be greeted by a gruff voice, “Ooo the ‘ell are you?” I pointed across the way, “I live over there,” I replied. “You must be Arfur’s lad, then. You’re alright. Come on in.” I visited the shops quite frequently and got to know the owners as well as Bill the doorman.

Just one of the many ‘finds’ in the Silver Vaults
(photo courtesy Tripadvisor)

The entire area is full of old historical buildings and inns of court such as Lincoln’s Inn Fields where judges and barristers have their offices.

One of the many squares in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Do I spot a ‘yaezakura’ or double cherry blossom in the foreground? (Photo courtesy parksandgardens.org)

During the week, the City was always alive and bustling with lawyers, barristers, bankers, writers, journalists, people of all trades but mostly professionals – all in some kind of flurry and hurry. Come weekend, the City was dead as a doornail. But, that’s when it would come alive for me. It turned into my own personal adventure playground. What else does a curious young lad with a thirst for adventure do but go out and explore?

Every turn on cobble-stoned streets led me to new avenues and adventures, new discoveries. On weekends, the map I drew in my mind’s eye grew. Nooks and crannies, cobblestones, stone pavements, cast iron railings, tree grilles, metal bollards, worn stone gargoyles on the sides of buildings, Victorian hand-lit street lamps, blue-enamel plaques denoting that a famous personage “lived here” all those years back, artfully carved stone window frames, vaulted stone roofs, and neatly laid brick chimneys were ingrained in my memory and became a part of my life.

I remember one particular church just off Fleet Street which opened its stone crypt to the general public from time to time. Right down in the belly of the church, they had excavated buildings and graves dating back to Roman London from around AD 50. In my youthful innocence, I imagined that everything up from there got younger.

With each weekend adventure, I was breathing and living history in the moment however insignificant the footprints I might have been leaving behind.

One favorite placed I loved to pass by was Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese. Noted for its literary associations, this pub is located in an unassuming alley just off Fleet Street and dates back to a similar establishment from 1538. As you can see from the sign outside [pic below], it was rebuilt after the Great Fire of 1666. This puts a lot of those “Since 1972” upstart logos you often see in shops and bars about town to shame. The only watering hole in Kyōto that comes close and has bragging rights is the Samboa Bar on Teramachi which was established in 1918 and is currently run by my mate Hiroshi.

I visited Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese about 30 years ago on a business trip back to London. I got chatting with the landlord and found out that if you crossed his palm with silver – “A pint will suffice, sir” – he would give you the keys to the wrought iron gate to the stairs next to the counter. Two flights down I found myself in the vaulted cellars of the basement which apparently dates back to a 13th-century Carmelite monastery. My boyhood curiosity had gotten the better of me and I was face to face with history yet again. The pints I had when I re-emerged from the cellar tasted that much better.

Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese today (photo courtesy Tripadvisor)

This picture of the pub’s frontage really does not do the establishment justice as when you venture inside and walk past the fireplace and an equally old oil painting hanging above to the main counter, you will immediately notice that you have stepped back in time. You will also see corridors going off in all directions like a maze into a set of other dimly lit rooms with their own bars. Yet, another gem of history to explore. It’s a huge pity that I didn’t have the chance (and the age) to savor the delights and have a few jars there as a young lad. Adult playgrounds, well, I suppose are for adults.

Talking of which, it is also rumored that one of the upper rooms was used as a brothel in the mid-18th century thanks to a stack of sexually explicit tiles that was found there. I have it on good authority that these tiles found a suitable home in the Museum of London.

And, what it looked like in Victorian days
(photo courtesy wikiwand.com)

When I started writing this piece, it struck me that I am quite comfortable and at home in Kyōto most probably because I am in some way subconsciously reliving those years of my early youth in the City. I’m a strong believer of fate and karma, the result of my actions whatever decisions I have consciously made. In this respect, one of my favorite Kanji characters is 縁 – connection, fate or destiny.

Was my eventual coming to Kyōto pre-ordained or completely accidental? Was Chancery Lane a training ground for my life here in the greater scheme of things? Was my learning Japanese at university a direct result of or a backlash against studying Latin and Greek – both dead languages – at grammar school?

I ought to add that the grammar school I attended dates back to 1594. Was history and the past always finding a welcoming recipient in me, or vice versa?

Whenever I go to a local shrine or temple, drop a few coins in the offertory box or light a candle for the health of my friends and family, or casually walk past a temple several hundred years old that just happens to be designated cultural history and catch the waft of some fragrant incense, I sense that I am re-enacting what I and others used to do out of habit every day of the week in Chancery Lane. Then, I see a Buddhist priest in his black livery and surplice over his shoulder riding off into the distance to visit his parishioners, locals sweeping up leaves in front of a Jizō (children’s guardian) statue and replacing old flower offerings with new ones, shopkeepers splashing water on the pavement in front of their premises, or priests in training down from Mt. Hiei walking around the neighborhood and chanting prayers, and I realize they’ve been doing this for centuries. Time-tested traditions handed down through the ages are alive and flourishing. To an outsider, they may seem arcane, but to those living here actions like these done day in and day out are taken-for-granted. They are an integral part of the Kyōto landscape, its DNA.

Any vestige of that gangly youth in his early teens has long vanished. That skinny wretch has filled out and now sports a slight paunch, well, maybe not so slightly.

When I turned 60, I had this realization that a new life was spreading out before me and that new opportunities were waiting for me. Older in body but still very young at heart, it was nice to re-discover that the youthful curiosity and spirit of adventure of my early days in Chancery Lane had not left me.

So, now that I have arrived and found the perfect perch here on Yoshida-yama Mountain – an ambitious misnomer for a bump on the landscape to the east of Kyōto University – I’ll be flying off from time to time to make the rounds of my new adventure playground. And, as all of my fellow WiK writers know, Kyōto is full of inviting alleyways like those of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, nooks and crannies, and hidden treasures just waiting to be discovered.

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For Richard’s previous piece on ‘The Old Man’ and dementia, click here.

Featured writing

71 Lessons on Eternity

A Meditation by Robert Weis

The first time that I experienced the beauty of Sakura trees was in April 2017, at the Yanaka Cemetery in Tokyo. A delicate breeze dispersed thousands of pink petals over the graves, in a poetic momentum that touched me deeply. For sure, I had seen Sakura before, in my home country, but I had barely ever taken notice of them. It was the specific Japanese atmosphere of hanami that made me receptive of the transience of Nature’s beauty and the lessons that are out there, just in front of us.

Four years later, I am not in Japan, a yet inaccessible planet in pandemic times and travel bans, but in Bonnevoie, a quiet neighborhood in the southern outskirts of Luxembourg-City. My evening stroll takes me by the local graveyard, I have passed it a hundred times, but I was never actually there with all my senses present. The wuthering eastern winds play with the Sakura petals that have fallen off the trees. It is an ephemeral epilogue that reminds me of the fragility of this world, and its rapidly fading but eternally returning beauty. The smell that lies over the cemetery is not that of death but of rebirth, as if in a syncretic flash in these Easter days. Once again, I am reminded of the connections and similarities between eastern and western religions. There is a western way of living the eastern way; it might be a narrow path to an unknown north. The aligned cherry trees show me the direction; they are 71 in number, 71 lessons on eternity, enough for a lifetime spent somewhere between Luxembourg and Tokyo.

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For more by Robert, see his account of a walk from Ohara to Kurama here, or his spiritual journey to Kyoto here. His account of Nicolas Bouvier in Kyoto in the mid-1950s can be read here.

WiK Sixth Annual Kyoto Writing Competition Update

Thank you to all who submitted their work to the WiK Sixth Annual Kyoto Writing Competition by the deadline of March 31st. This unprecedented time of lockdowns and social distancing has provided ample time for contemplation and creativity, as well as a distinct longing for the ancient capital amongst those who are currently unable to enter Japan. We are delighted to have received a very large number of international and domestic entries. The judges now have the difficult task of determining this year’s prizewinners. The results will be posted on the Writers in Kyoto website in mid-May, and a link to those results will be posted in the public WiK Facebook group.

Also, it should be noted that we experienced a slight glitch in the system this year. While some were able to send their submissions directly to this year’s competition email address, for some reason others were directed to last year’s e-mail address. Please rest assured, however, that all writings received at both addresses have been compiled and duly submitted to the judges for consideration. We deeply apologize for the confusion, and wish the best of luck to all participants.

Karen Lee Tawarayama, WiK Competition Organiser

Writers in focus

Hearn 5: Story of a Fly

(‘Story of a Fly‘ first appeared in Kotto, 1902)

Synopsis: The story takes place around 1700 in a merchant’s house in Teramachi. His name was Kyuben, and he and his wife had a maidservant called Tama of whom they were fond. Now Tama showed no interest in clothes and always looked badly dressed. One day Kyuben asked about this and why she never made an effort with her clothes.

By way of reply, Tama talked of her childhood and how when she was still young her mother and father had both died. As an only child the responsibility fell upon her for the Buddhist funeral rites and mortuary tablets but she had no means to pay for them. So she resolved to save all her money for that and not to spend any on finery for herself. Kyubei was touched by her story and commended her for wanting to fulfil her filial duty. Not long after this Tama had saved enough to pay for the religious ceremonies, and what little remained she entrusted to the merchant’s wife.

The following winter Tama was taken ill and tragically passed away, greatly saddening Kyubei and his wife. Some ten days afterwards a large fly appeared and buzzed around the merchant’s head. He was puzzled since flies don’t usually appear in winter, but being a devout Buddhist he took pains to catch the fly without harming it and released it outdoors.

Next day a similar fly appeared. ‘I wonder if it’s Tama,’ said Kyubei’s wife. He was dubious but as a test he nicked the tip of its wings and released it, but this time at a good distance from the house. When it appeared again the next day, Kyubei still could not believe it was the spirit of Tama so this time he painted it with beni. Two days later it returned, all covered in red. Supposing now that it must be Tama, the couple wondered what her purpose might be. ‘Perhaps she wants us to pay her money to the temple for a Buddhist service on behalf of her spirit,’ suggested the wife. As she spoke, the fly dropped dead.

The couple put the dead fly in a little box and took it to the temple priest, who performed religious rites for Tama, and over the fly were recited the eights rolls of the sutra Myoten. Its body was buried in the temple grounds and a sotoba set up, ‘appropriately inscribed’.


Commentary: Hearn’s retelling of a Japanese story provides a striking example of his lifelong interest in death, ghosts and the afterlife. Typically for a Romantic, he had a strong inclination to the macabre, and the notion of transmigration would have appealed to him as indeed the compassionate treatment of the fly. Though he himself did not believe in orthodox reincarnation, he did believe in cellular memory and thought that the dispersal of cells after death and their reconstitution in various forms could result in recollection of a previous existence. This explained for him phenomena that otherwise might seem inexplicable, such as deja vu or love at first sight. The convergence of fly and human in this story inevitably brings to mind the classic horror film, The Fly, and the critically acclaimed Jeff Goldblum remake. Given Lafcadio Hearn’s interest in the macabre, perhaps this is only apt.

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For an introduction to Hearn’s Kyoto stories, please click here. For coverage of three others of Hearn’s Kyoto stories, see here for ‘Common Sense’, here for ‘The Sympathy of Benten’, and here for ‘Screen Maiden’.

Writings about Kyoto, whether by Japanese or foreign observers

Impossible to Imagine (film)

Impossible to Imagine (2019) Film review: Jann Williams (March 30, 2021) Film length: 1hr 28mins

Cast: Yukiko Ito, William Yagi Lewis, Kazuya Moriyama, Marika Naito, Koko Price, Akira Nishide

Writer and Director: Felicity Tillack

Producer: Hamish Downie

Translator: Hidekazu Takahashi

Impossible to Imagine (J. Souzou Ga Dekinai), presents a slice of contemporary life in Kyoto at a time when foreign tourists flocked to the city. The movie tells the story of two female friends whose lives are irrevocably changed when they seek advice from a consultant (Hayato Arai) about their struggling traditional-culture businesses. Ami and Hayato, the main characters, embark on a journey that explores identity and connection to place, continuity and change, trust and respect, love, and the ‘other world’.

Filmed in Japanese (with English subtitles), Impossible to Imagine presents Kyoto through the lens of local neighbourhoods, the people who live there, and Ami’s attempt to make a living away from the ‘madding crowd’. Most scenes are shot in backstreets, and in people’s homes, showing a side of the city that many visitors may not have the opportunity to experience. The gentle pace of the movie gives time to appreciate the beautiful and creative cinematography and the evolving relationship between Ami and Hayato. It also reflects the ‘soft touch’ that Ami says Kyoto needs. The movie’s music score composed by Hanako Ward is splendid, creating the perfect ambience for each scene.

A feature of the movie is the many visits Ami Shimizu makes to the small temples and shrines in the side-streets of Kyoto. Her belief in prayer, and the presence of her mother who has passed to the ‘other world’, sustain her through the changes in her life. In deciding her future, Ami needs to imagine what it will be like. She gains confidence through the passing of the seasons as she experiences and contemplates the meaning of love and relationships in their different guises.

Ami’s strong connection to her family home and Japanese heritage contrasts with the unsettled nature of Hayato’s life. This allowed the Director to explore the challenges that many biracial children face in Japan, drawing on the symbolism of bridges as a connection between cultures. Another tension is between maintaining traditional Japanese ways and making changes to make people (especially foreign tourists) happy. Set in the lead-up to the Reiwa era, when over-tourism was a major issue in Kyoto, the timeless themes addressed in the movie continue to ring true in the time of COVID.

Impossible to Imagine is a thoughtful and thought-provoking movie that sensitively addresses topical social issues in modern Japan. It is also a passion project. Felicity Tillack wrote, directed, edited and helped with filming her debut production. The many skills and devotion she brought to Impossible to Imagine are admirable. So too are the talented actors and behind-the-scenes production team. The Producer, Hamish Downie, has tirelessly supported and promoted the film. Writing this review reminded me of why I am always impressed when the credits roll at the end of a movie. The amount of energy, effort and collaboration that goes into this form of entertainment is remarkable.

Impossible to Imagine can be viewed on Amazon Prime in certain countries and Vimeo in others, including Australia. The movie has a Facebook page for those interested in learning more: https://www.facebook.com/impossibletoimagine/

Leza Lowitz on Zoom

Fukushima 10th Anniversary
Report by Felicity Tillack

Leza Lowitz in the top right corner talks to members of WiK about her involvement with the Fukushima disaster ten years ago

On Saturday, the 13th of March, Leza Lowitz presented a special Zoom event for the 10th anniversary of the triple disaster that devastated north Japan on March 11th, 2011. 

Leza was a long term resident of Tokyo, and was in the city on the day that the massive earthquake struck. She quickly mobilised, fund raising through her yoga studio, Sun and Moon, and also visiting the affected regions in order to bring comfort to the survivors of the tsunami. 

During a deeply moving presentation, Leza showed us pictures from the aftermath of the disaster, and gave us an insight into how the experience inspired her beautiful book of verse: Up From The Sea. Her book, for young adults, is written from the perspective of a biracial, teenage boy growing up in a small town based off of Kessenuma, and began in response to the plea of a young boy she met while volunteering: “Don’t forget us.”

Picked up by Crown, then part of Penguin now Random House, Up From The Sea has touched the hearts of readers across the world, including children who rarely read poetry, as well as a group of Afghan students who later visited Japan. 

It was an excellent opportunity for WiK members to hear insights from a published author, and see part of what goes on behind the scenes of getting a book to print with a larger publisher, as well as such a deeply moving account of the 3/11 disaster. 

Thank you to Leza Lowitz for a wonderful Zoom session with WiK!


Writings about Kyoto, whether by Japanese or foreign observers

Dragonflies and Floating Carp

A spring walk from Ohara to Kurama-dera
by Robert Weis

Today is a good day, is my thought, observing the shades of green on the mountain slopes through the panoramic window at KULM, a simple-yet-sophisticated vegan eatery in the quaint village of Ohara, nestled in between the rice paddies and mountains that protect Kyoto from the northern winds and spirits. Yuka and I had arrived by bus from Kokusaikaikan station earlier in the morning, which is supposed to be the fastest way out of the city by public transport. My memories of Ohara were of a charming-but-crowded rural getaway. Instead, on this weekday morning, the small road leading up to the iconic Sanzen-in temple is almost devoid of human presence and the souvenir shops are still closed. Small freshwater crabs can be spotted along the stream running down the roadside and a tree frog, the Kaeru, sits on a pole as if on a throne, the undisputed king of his own microcosm, just like a character in a Miyazaki animé.

(Photos by Robert Weis)

Skipping the visit of Sanzen-in this time, we turn back and follow the signs leading to the temple of Jakko-in, in the lower part of the village. A short walk southwards along the rice fields brings us alongside carp streamer banners, on display for Children’s Day. We follow the Kyoto Trail, which heads into Ohara from the slopes of Mount Hiei. Our intention is to go for a short walk through the forest and a northern Kyoto settlement, heading for the village of Kurama, well known for both its mountain temple and hot spring with outdoor bath, Kurama Onsen, which will be our final reward for today.

The trail soon disappears into the forest, winding up towards a mountain pass. Red-bodied dragonflies are dancing in the sunshine, sitting on fresh green leaves, known in Japanese as shinryoku. We can’t get enough of observing them. At this stage, the trail is never far from signs of civilization, though a sign warns us of the potential presence of black bears. We pass a few wooden cabins in the forest, maybe weekend homes for Kyotoites who would only have to travel a few kilometers from the city. We head out into Kitayama, the northern mountains which embrace Kyoto in a long arc. Towards the west is the Shinto Atago-San and on the eastern side the Buddhist mountain Hieizan. Small statues of Tanuki-San, the frivolous figure of folklore, line the track.

The trail descends the mountain into the small hamlet of Kurama, a popular destination for daytrips out of the city. Most people come to visit Kurama-dera, the mountain temple where reiki has its origins. From the platform in front of the temple, we admire the lush scenery of the mountain valley. The contrast between the yellow-green of the fresh spring leaves, the deep blue sky, and the red painted ceilings is poignant. Japan is truly ‘the empire of the senses’. From here, a mountain trail goes further up Kurama Mountain and then down to the settlement of Kibune, famous for its restaurant decks over a cooling stream. We opt instead to head down to the village of Kurama, on the outskirts of which is the hot spring and its outdoor bath. Soaking in the hot rotenburo and enjoying the view of the surrounding forest is surely a worthy reward for our splendid spring walk. Today is a good day, indeed.

Kai Fusayoshi exhibition

report by Mayumi Kawaharada

”Reminiscence Poets“

In early 70’s to 90’s, there were several poetry readings, by both Japanese and foreign poets, (including Gary Snyder, Kenneth Rexroth, and Allen Ginsberg) held at the legendary café Honyarado where writers, activists, students, artists and musicians used to go. 

Since Kai himself is a part of Dankai-no-Sedai(Sort of beat generations in Japan), a lot of friends related to Labor Gakuen (Artist, writers, activists, and former colleagues) of that generation know the café, the bar, and Kai.

The café got fire in 2015, and ended. 

Currently the owner and the finest photographer, Kai Fusayoshi is managing reputedly “the dirtiest bar in Japan”, Hachimonji-ya on Kiyamachi St.

He is going to have a photo exhibition of (mainly Japanese) poets, artists, and writers at the Gallery Hill Gate. According to the flyer, the galley owner, Junko Hitomi was a school mate of Kai  at Doshisha Univ. and they are good friends. (Katagiri Yuzuru, poet, translator, and former head of Seika Univ. is also a good friend of Kai.) 

Entrance : Free

March 9 (Tue) to 14 (Sun)

12:00-19:00 (Last day:17:00)  

  • March 9th  From 18:30  :Opening event:  Butoh performance by Decalco Marie

At : 2nd floor of Gallery Hill gate   535 Tenshojimae-cho, Nakagyo-ku Kyoto (Stands on Teramachi, North of Sanjo)

TEL    075-231-3702(1F)  075-252-1161(2F) FAX    075-231-3750 
E-mail hillgatekyoto@gmail.com

Kai’s Facebook https://www.facebook.com/kaifusayoshi

(Kyoto’s Beat connection can be seen in a 1988 video of Allen Ginsberg at Seika University. Talk plus Q&A about 90 mins long. Ginsberg starts after about six minutes into the video… See here.)

Kai Fusayoshi’s photos can currently be seen in an outdoor exhibition by the river at Demachiyanagi. See here.

For another Beat connection with Japan, see the poster below for Gary Snyder reading with Shuntaro Tanikawa at the Shinjuku Meiji-Yasuda Seimei Hall in Tokyo, organised by Shinchosha in 2011. See here. And for the original poster, click here (see below).

[Incidentally, Mayumi has known Honyarado since her high school days. And she started going to Hachimonjiya a few years after it opened. In that way she got to know a lot of local writers, artists, academics and activists.]

Writings about Kyoto, whether by Japanese or foreign observers

Haunted Kiyotaki Tunnel

The article below first appeared in Japan Review 33 (Special Issue: War, Tourism, and Modern Japan, 2019: p. 271–297)

Down in a Hole: Dark Tourism, Haunted Places as  Affective Meshworks, and the Obliteration of Korean Laborers in Contemporary Kyoto  
by Andrea DE ANTONI

This article provides an analysis of the relation between tourists’ experiences, affect, and bodily perceptions, together with processes of remembering and forgetting, focusing on (dark) touristic practices in haunted places in contemporary Japan. It highlights the social features of oblivion, processes in the creation of memories and discourses of war, and their entanglement in the “meshwork” that constitutes a particular place. I draw on ethnographic data of a guided ghost tour that visits Kiyotaki Tunnel, one of the most renowned haunted places in Kyoto. I describe tourists’ experiences, analyze the rumors about the haunting, and show that, among the locals, memories of the death of and discrimination against Korean laborers in the tunnel were strategically forgotten. Yet, these memories were “unearthed,” appropriated and spread on the internet by visitors, attracted by the haunting. I point out that haunted places emerge as “affective meshworks” primarily as a result of bodily correspondences with affordances in the environment, rather than from narrative and belief, and that (dark) touristic practices can contribute to the construction of new discourses, thus unsettling power relationships. I argue that a focus on affect in shaping meshworks of bodies, environments, memories, and discourses through (dark) touristic practices, can provide an understanding of the experiences of visitors to places related to war and death, and that visitors contribute to the construction of new memories and discourses.

To see the Academia site for this abstract, please click here.

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The following is taken from the Hiding from Japanese Ghosts website, which carries numerous pictures including the one above.

Internationally famous for being one of the most mysterious and haunted destinations of Japan, Kiyotaki Tunnel (清滝トンネル  ) is the single-lane route connecting northern Arashiyama to the neighbouring town of Sagakiyotaki. With a history of violence, ill-omens, and suicide, Kiyotaki Tunnel is a hub of apparition sightings, bad luck, and cautionary tales. 

Originally part of the Atagoyama Railway built from 1927 – 1928, Kiyotaki Tunnel is roughly 500 metres in length, and it is claimed the tunnel was constructed by slaves (the term ‘slave’ is a loose translation as the workers were legally employed without pay). There are a number of reported fatalities including those of workers who succumbed in accidents or harsh working conditions, victims of railway incidents, and people who were executed around the area.

It is said the spirits of these fatalities can be seen wandering the tunnel at night. 

In conjunction to rumours stating the tunnel is 444 metres in length (‘4’ being an unlucky number for its reading of ‘shi / 死’, seeing spirits reflected in the road mirrors situated outside the tunnel entrances or in any car mirrors is said to bring about a violent, painful fate. There are also claims the traffic signals outside the tunnel can change suddenly from red to green at night, causing accidents with oncoming traffic. 

The area is said to be a popular suicide spot due to the woodland seclusion and sturdiness of the trees above the tunnel. There is a rumour of a woman who leapt to her death from the road located above the tunnel entrance, and there are stories of still being able to see her spirit. 

As well as the above, sources also claim: 
– ‘scary’ incidents occur late at night when entering the tunnel
– a woman’s scream can be heard at night from the forest around the area
– the length of the tunnel changes when making a return trip (though, it can be argued the slope changes depending on which side of the tunnel entered; Arashiyama to Kiyotaki slopes downwards, making it deceivingly shorter)
– a woman wearing white is known to run from the tunnel and jump on the bonnets of cars waiting at the traffic signals
– dizziness, nausea, and headaches can occur while travelling through the tunnel (though, this may be due to poor ventilation and a build up of exhaust fumes)
– it is warned all of the ghost activity occurs at night, and an alternative route is recommended 

Writings about Kyoto, whether by Japanese or foreign observers

Under Kiyomizu

by Cody Poulton

It was the last weekend in February and I was eager to leave the house, which is generally colder and a good deal darker than outside at this time of year. When I suggested to my wife that we go on an outing, she remarked it was time to pay our respects to gran at the Ōtani Mausoleum, where Gojō begins its climb over Higashiyama and down into Ōtsu. Just as we were preparing to leave, a call comes from our family doctor’s office to say the results are in from our annual general physical. Mitsuko is eager to find out, so she’s out the door in a flash. (The night before we’d watched a movie about your stereotypical mother who’d had a stroke from staying up all hours of the night to make daily obentō for her thankless adolescent daughter. It ends with her sneaking out of hospital to risk her life in making an enormous box lunch for the girl’s entire graduating class. There is, needless to say, a tearful reconciliation with the daughter.) The doctor gave me a clean bill of health, but told M her cholesterol and blood sugar were high, her blood pressure borderline, and her BMI over the acceptable limit. She blamed me for eating as much as I do, thus making her overeat, to which I replied dinner was not a competition.

Empty Kyoto – in more ways than one (pics by Cody Poulton)

We caught the train and then a practically empty bus to Ōtani. (Before Covid, it would have been packed with tourists.) Our favourite flower seller there waved happily when she saw us. How are you? We asked.  “Ichibyō sokusai,” she replied, to the effect that we’re all getting older but, knock wood, she was doing well enough. Mitsuko launched into her medical report. We bought incense and flowers for gran, then a second time for the Ohara patriarch, the ex’s grandfather. My wife never fails to mention that she never met the guy, who passed away not long before she married. I suppose she feels that since the man was a power in the city during his lifetime he must still exert influence over the living from the other world. I’ve never felt so superfluous at a ritual laying flowers at the grave of my wife’s ex’s ancestor, but maybe I ought to be thanking him for the chance to live here, especially now? Whatever she may have said to the patriarch in silence, she finished her prayer saying out loud, “Yobantoite!” (Don’t come calling for me). The movie the previous night and the doctor that morning both had her a little rattled.

Jizo statues below the Kiyomizu temple area

Rather than return down the hill to Higashi Ōji, we climbed up through the vast Toribeyama graveyard to Kiyomizu Temple. It was a weekend and the weather was good, so naturally there were quite a few visitors, but nothing like what it would be in a month or so for the cherry blossoms, and the pandemic has kept a lot of people away. They’ve recently repaired the deck, or stage, as they call it, overlooking the valley and the wood and gold fittings shone in the winter sun. Following the course round back to the Otowa falls, Mitsuko remarked on the plethora of little Jizō statues under the rafters of the stage. These, she claimed, marked the souls of every body that had fallen off the deck. Some were suicides, but many were unwanted children, she said, disposed of by courtesans and geisha. Gion is next door to Rokuhara—flesh and spirit are cheek to clerical jowl here—sex and death have always been on intimate terms, something Kyoto surely knows better than most other places. I was reminded that all this beauty has been built on the bones of the dead.

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