At first glance, Thomas Cleary is an unlikely expert on war, weaponry and man's ability to destroy.
The Oakland author and translator of some 80 spiritual texts is gentle and soft-spoken, perfectly suited for poring over ancient works in hushed libraries. Cleary reads in nine languages, and his career has focused on Buddhist, Taoist, Muslim and Confucian classics. Through his studies, though, Cleary's understanding of war spans the ages, from Japan's warrior class to the world wars and the military assaults of today.
"All campaigns for war focus on creating fear," said Cleary, known by many for his translation of Sun Tzu's Chinese classic "The Art of War." When Cleary watched the buildup to the Bush administration's invasion in Iraq and its assertion of imminent threat from weapons of mass destruction, Cleary thought "it was all too predictable."
In his writings and translations, Cleary hopes to increase "intelligence and thoughtfulness," and bring added awareness to the human condition. Much is to be learned, Cleary says, from studying the warriors of Japan - the samurai, who strove to balance truculence with culture.
"When your mind is full of death all the time, beauty is like an intense experience of life," said Cleary, sitting on a sofa in an apartment in Oakland where he sometimes goes to work. "The samurai tried to find balance."
That fragile, meticulously constructed pursuit of balance is on display at the "Lords of the Samurai" exhibition at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco. Cleary, who has written six books on the samurai, wrote the introduction in the show's catalog. The warriors' suits of armor in the show are made like haute couture, with colorful silk lacing and exquisite detail and ornamentation. Lethal swords of forged steel are displayed near beautiful scrolls and screens with pale pink tree peonies.
"All of this is a reminder of the idea that when you bear a deadly weapon, you ought to be careful about using it," said Cleary, speaking to the juxtaposition of beauty and lethality in the museum show. "Beauty is a reminder of the preciousness of life."
THE Saturday sun beamed down on central Kyoto, taking the edge off the November chill as I climbed onto my rented bicycle. I swerved through quiet alleys, past centuries-old wooden houses and Shinto shrines tended by generations of monks, and pedaled west to Arashiyama, a suburb of gardens, temples and bamboo forests at the foot of the mountains that ring this former imperial capital of Japan.
Light glinted off the wide Hozu River. Figures crossed a distant bridge. Jasmine, bean cakes, tea and roasting yams scented the autumn air. But there was a problem, a big one: tourists. Lots of tourists. In fact, there were so many high-season visitors that traffic — foot, bike, car — came to a halt. Furious at the crowds and exhausted, I turned around and rode back to Kyoto proper.
Frankly, I should have known better. With its grand Buddhist temples and tucked-away shrines, its oh-so-close mountains and trickling canals, its spring-blossoming cherry trees and autumn-flaming maples, Kyoto may be Japan’s prettiest city — and that’s a curse as much as a blessing. Like a Japanese version of Colonial Williamsburg, it is jam-packed with tourists, who come to see the religio-historical sites by day, and feast and party with geishas by night.
Indeed, more than 48 million tourists visited this city of 1.5 million in 2006, according to the Japanese National Tourism Office. So perhaps it’s no surprise that Kyoto’s citizens may be among the country’s most standoffish, a closed society that keeps strangers at a distance. Some candy stores, for example, won’t let you in without an introduction from a trusted customer. Not even wealth will buy you entree into this closed society.
A fortune does, however, come in handy in Kyoto, which can seem ridiculously expensive. A night in a ryokan, or traditional inn, can easily run 30,000 yen per person (about $291 at 103 yen to the dollar). And a multicourse kaiseki meal, a Kyoto specialty, can cost the same — again per person.
Of course, I didn’t have a fortune, just $500 for the weekend, and I was apprehensive. Could I make Kyoto my own, unearth its secrets and escape with at least a few yen to my name?
The Hotel Nishiyama, which I’d found on the comprehensive directory at www.japaneseguesthouses.com, offered a tentative yes. On a quiet street not far from the Kamo River, the Nishiyama had an immaculate courtyard garden, friendly English-speaking staff and tatami-mat rooms at a reasonable 10,500 yen a night, including breakfast. It was also the only hotel in my price range that actually had a room available — though only for one night. The next day, I’d have to move on.
I arrived too early to check in, so I wandered around, taking note of cute cafes, a Galician restaurant and a Comme des Garçons boutique — all of which suggested I’d wound up in a chic neighborhood.
When I got back to the hotel, an old friend from grad school, Tucker, was waiting outside. But before we had a chance to catch up, he was leading me down the road to the Nijo Castle, whose painted silk screens he needed to examine; he was, he claimed, writing a book on Japanese art.
Not that I minded — Nijo Castle is one of Kyoto’s prime attractions (admission 600 yen). Completed in 1623, it was home to the Tokugawas, the shoguns who ruled Japan for almost 300 years, establishing rigid caste hierarchies and essentially cutting the country off from the outside world.
It’s easy to see the castle as emblematic of its self-imposed isolation: You have to cross two sets of fortifications to reach the main residence, where arrows direct you through a precise route from room to room, allowing barely enough time to appreciate the painted screens (no photography or sketching allowed!) before the crowds jostle you onward.
After saying goodbye to Tucker — he vanished almost as mysteriously as he’d appeared — I set off for Pontocho, a long, skinny alley that is the center of Kyoto’s restaurant and bar scene. Pontocho feels like a Japanese movie-set come to life: red lanterns and looming billboards light the way past dozens of restaurants, bars and teahouses, some forbidding by design (unmarked Shoji screen doors), others by price (8,000 yen a person for sukiyaki!).
A welcome exception was Bistro Zuzu. Dim, crowded, energetic and dominated by a long bar and open kitchen, Zuzu is an izakaya, or Japanese pub, that serves homey snacks, most under 1,000 yen and many with a French twist. A mizuna salad came with a poached egg and crunchy bits of bacon, like a frisée aux lardons. And the aptly misspelled “verry tender” beef ribs were finished with butter and a sprinkle of pink peppercorns.
But not everything bore Gallic influence: horse meat “sashimi” was as Japanese as it gets, the purplish slices surprisingly clean tasting. With a couple of frosty draft beers, sea-bream sashimi and a rice ball with tart pickles, I spent 4,630 yen — a lot for one person, I suppose, but I’d eaten enough for two and, for Pontocho, it was definitely cheap.
Afterward, I wandered to Temas, a boutique that applies ancient traditions of pigment dying to modern fashions. The clothes were pricey, but I’d gone for the bar upstairs.
Huang Pu Zheng's poem about Lu Yu Saw Lu Yu off to Pick Tea Thousand mountains greeted my departing friend When spring tea blossoming again With indepth knowledge in picking tea Through morning mist or crimson evening clouds His solitary journey is my envy Rendezvous in a temple of a remote mountain We enjoyed picnic by a clear pebble fountain In this silent night Lit up a candle light I knocked a marble bell for chime While deep in thought for old time.
