Really, I can't believe it's already the end of January. In fact, today marks the 6 month point of my sojourn in Japan, as I will only be staying one year. So, surprisingly, we are half way! I have mixed feelings about being at this point. In retrospect, six months here seems like a long time, and thinking about six months to go seems a long time to go as well, considering I miss everything about being back in the United States of Awesomeness. I think about Virginia and Chicago - and the sliced turkey I'd be eating, the centrally-heated apartment I'd be living in, and the cashiers I'd be speaking to IN ENGLISH - at least ten times a day. But six months is something to be proud of, and I have a lot more good to do, things to accomplish, and young scholars to teach in the next six.
Even after six months of seeing this river near by house almost every week, I'm still fascinated by the way it fits uniquely into the urban landscape here in Kyoto. In America, I think, this river - judging by the way it looks and feels and the flora and grasses that line the banks - would only be found in a small, rural town. The yellow grass reminds me of the country side (which is why, in the picture, I chose to highlight those colors and mute everything else). Yet Kyoto's historical significance and propensity for traditional, untouched natural beauty almost dictate that, over time, the aesthetics of the river be allowed to develop organically and away from the guiding hands of city planners. I just think it's beautiful to see the grassy riverbank juxtaposed against the concrete and telephone wires.
My school is one of those concrete buildings that are so typical in Kyoto. Traditional Japanese house of wood are really not in the majority here, at least in the northern section of the city where I live. The current layout and buildings of Rakuhoku High School are only 10 years old. So every concrete corner is as sharp as the day it was formed and every window remains intact and crystal clear. I'm reminded of the gym at Washington-Lee High School, where I attended, the gym of which had some crusty old windows made opaque by time and lack of cleaning. There are no remnants of duct tape that mark the hallway walls due to the actions of ill-advised students posting event flyers of years past. Although nowhere near as dramatic, these buildings sometimes remind me of the designs I pictured Howard Roark making, from Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. It was written that he was partial to designing homes whose facades were fabricated entirely out of concrete and glass. Well, anyway, I was struck to take these by the blue and gray of the sky and the concrete against the glass.
The leafless tree only adds to the starkness of the buildings.
Rakuhoku High School was founded in 1870, so it is in its 141st year. There is a small exhibit in part of the school that holds three models of the school from its present state to its original buildings. This one below is a very accurate model of the school's buildings as they are now.
This is what it looked like before it was rebuilt about 10 years ago (I think that's when it was rebuilt).
And this is it (I am assuming...) from the early 20th century and perhaps back into the 1870s. Pretty cool, huh?!
And finally, a view from my school of Mt. Hiei (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Hiei), a very famous mountain in the history of Buddhism and just a nice mountain to look at as the seasons change here in Japan.
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