Demons and gangsters

Join me as we travel back in time . . . way, way back . . . to Wednesday.

Iwakura, the suburb where Dad and Ann live, has a little local rail system they've dubbed the "toodle train." It runs from Mt. Hiei to Kurama Onsen (hot springs that feed into public baths) on the other, with the Iwakura stop just about in the middle. This route makes for a great outdoors day, even a greyish misty one.

We headed up the mountain first, leaving the cityscape behind after only a few stops. At the end of the line, we switched to a sturdy cable car that took us almost to the top, then a precarious rope cable car covered the last leg. We shared it with a cheery Irishman who was traveling alone and wanted to chat, so we adopted him for the morning.

Our band of four hardly saw anyone else during the hour we spent walking to the Enryakuji complex, founded in the 8th century by a group of warrior monks (warrior monks?) who soon numbered in the thousands.

At some point, there were 3,000 separate temples on the mountaintop. Only 200 or so remain—but hey, still a lot of temples. We narrowed in on a few, including one with two oil lamps that have been burning continuously for 1,200 years.

The views were incredible. Kyoto is laid out like a horseshoe open to the south, giving it ideal feng shui. Tradition says that demons always attack from the northeast, so temple complexes like Enryakuji are built high in the mountains to fend them off.

Makes sense to me. May as well stick it to them before they swoop into the valley to steal my mochi. Or my soul, I guess, but seems like they might want dessert after the long trip.

In the afternoon, we took the cable cars and trains all the way back down, then up again into the facing hills for a dip in the baths. With cinematic timing, it began pouring just as we arrived.

Project yourself into any Japanese scroll you've ever seen: Sitting in a pool of steaming mineral water with a closeup view of a lush mountainside, listening to the rain.

As we were leaving, Ann pointed out the attendant who came in to tidy up the changing room. "It's a good thing we're already dressed," she said.

Apparently, to keep out gangsters and other rabble from the onsen, they forbid anyone with tattoos to bathe there. I figured they'd probably have made an exception for a young female gaijin, but as I learned yesterday, rules are rules around here.

Another lucky break. But have to admit I'm a little disappointed—it's the only time in my life I'll even come close to being mistaken for a gangster. Would've made for mad street cred (at least in these parts) and a hell of a story for the grandkids.

Oh well. Leaving for Beijing first thing tomorrow, maybe I can get into some trouble there.