Boston Homecoming

18th July - 5th August 2011 | Boston, Massachusetts, USA

The setting sun fell gently on the water's surface, as sail-boats glided serenely across the Charles River, with the familiar skyline forming the iconic Boston backdrop that I had grown so used to on my weekly weekend-walks. A cool evening breeze caressing my face gently grounded the reality of the situation - that I was back in Boston once again, and memories of all that I loved were a reality once again. Still one of my favourite cities in the world, and while some might argue that the city is not much for sight-seeing, no other place outside of Singapore feels as much like home - despite being away from her for a good three years.

In The Eagles words from their ballad "The Sad Cafe": Things in this life change very slowly, if they ever changed at all. And indeed, Boston was exactly the way I remembered it to be, where muscle memory instantly sank in within the first couple of days, and I was able to find my way around by foot to all the familiar haunts almost entirely based on some sort of intuition or a sense of subconsciousness. Regardless, there is / was still very much to love about the place...

The cool-summer climate set the tone and the backdrop for much that I loved to do in Boston - weekend walks across the river to the downtown area. Following the Freedom Trail from Downtown to Quincy market, to arrive at the all too familiar square and see identical performances by the same performers from 3 years ago. Hunting for the sweetest deals on pre-owned games, where often times the journey to the nearest Gamestop was as rewarding as the destination - as perhaps all I wanted was some sort of self-justification to validate a weekend walk when I could have been sleeping or gaming it away.

Ice-cream - lots of ice-cream - accentuated by a new Pinkberry yogurt fad in town provided the perfect partner for a mid-summer's night stroll back home; too cheesy cheesecake from Cheesecake Factory that has a level of sinfulness only found in American dining; and of course the seafood: where Clam Chowder and Lobster is the order of the day, and the freshness of the Lobsters and the creaminess of the Clam Chowder found in Boston still ranks at the top of my list for these choices, and warranted returning visits to the local seafood chains. 

But more than the physical or the gastronomical, Boston does something for me on an almost spiritual level as well. Thriving with creativity, Boston left me creatively inspired the last time after the 9-week duration, and this time around, it was hardly any different, but perhaps even more so invigorated. Perhaps the turbulent events after the last trip left me desolate and depressed enough that I hadn't been able to fully piece the pieces of that inspired-soul back together over the years; even though it has definitely been mended - but perhaps it was never complete (which might be a good or bad thing, since an incomplete soul probably has a better tendency towards introspection and reflection). Being back in Boston probably helped to put the finishing touches to that mending process, and the added insight and experience that I had gained over the years in between the visits probably allowed me to gain a bit of an even more deeply rooted wave of inspiration that fuels my soul and my mind with possibilties.

As nothing but the sound of my rhythmic footsteps rang through the evening air as I walked across the bridge, one step at a time, breathing in sync to the walking and eyes fixed towards the tall tower in a distance, I felt that I was taking one step onto familiarity, and another into the future, all at the same time. 

Photo Album:

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The Road to Rome : The Joy of Nothingness

31st May 2011 | Piazza Navona, Rome, Italy

Waters of the fountain behind trickled slowly, from the sprout into the pool; as the sound of water on water provided the perfect background piece for the sunset-sky. A truly wondrous place, these plazas; with road-side artists peddling their wares and their works, alfresco cafes fringing the borders of the plazas, and an occasional horse-carriage going by - to give the plaza an icing-on-the-old-world-cake finish.

And yet, none of this mattered as much as the main ingredient: people - lots of people. While Europeans in general are probably quite fond of people-watching, Italians are noted to be at the top of the list, and judging from the number of people gathered around a 4pm weekday afternoon, I guess I had no choice but to agree.

Couples sharing intimate words staring deep into one another's eyes, as aged-pairs catch a breath and appreciate the years between them in the silent pants, as office-workers unwind over a cuppa at the bordering cafes after a days' worth of work, while wide-eyed tourists (like ourselves) try their best to fit in and pretend that we understood what the fuss was all about.

As I stared deep into space, my mind wandering, while the corner of my eye caught her in her bright yellow-dress wandering off towards the horse-carrige, I started to understand the lure of it all. More so than really watching people for comparison and inspiration, I think the whole thing fed a slightly more innate need for community, one that allows you to sit amongst the crowd, and yet not necessarily having to say a single word to anyone; an ironic sense of community-meeting-privacy - to just be amongst people for the very sake of it, and  yet keeping your own little private space in your own little world at wherever you chose to settle yourself into.

But more so than the sense of community, I was pleasantly surprised and probably enlightened on their perception of time. While sitting around watching people and watching the sunset on a normal weekday would probably be considered a waste of time in ever-so-efficient and fast-paced Singapore, where there is so much more to do,  places to go, and appointments to keep; where the days are packed with moving from activity to activity - I think we have probably lost sight of what it feels like to just sit and let time roll by, the feeling of owning time, rather than letting time own you - and perhaps, to enjoy the simpler things in life, the joy of nothingness and freedom, the little pockets of respite, the rest-stops along the day's journey.

I looked at my watch and signalled to her that we were moving on - to the Pantheon, to the Spanish Steps, to the Vatican, to the Coliseum, to the rest of Rome - and we were on a schedule. But I knew that as important as it was for us to make the time for these sights, it was equally important for a vacation to allow us to bake the time to savour the restful-perfection in between.

Lights Brought the Future - Pieces of Japan Finale

1st January 2010
Disneysea, Tokyo, Japan

Staring across the mass of water that lay before, into the array of lights at the other end, imagining the footsteps of the shuffling exiting crowd, my breathing slowed; a stark contrast to the extended exhilaration of the day.

From the thrills of freefall in the Tower of Terror, to the constant ringing of "Compass of my Heart", to the screaming descent of Journey to the Centre of the Earth, to the tinge of Curry Popcorn still ringing atop my tongue - we had probably covered the quintessential rides in Disneysea with maximum efficiency and had gotten the  most bang for our Starlight-pass-buck, putting us in a more than apt position to cap off the amazing journey.

Disney is probably as close as to perfection that artificial beauty gets - the golden lights in the distance sparking amidst the dark winter sky, highlighting more than the silhouette of its Venice-inspired architecture; the Magical Kingdom's reach is far, sometimes even reaching into the inner chambers of one's soul, invoking a sense of almost subconscious reflection with its beauty.

I stood in place, in time, staring at the lights, thinking about the events of the day, and much beyond.

Atop the fort stood a man, peering out into the same direction, dressed in a surprisingly thin jacket for the cold winter night, the man stood still, admiring the sight that lay before him; even though it was mostly man-made lights, but queerly, amidst all that, the ill-equipped man failed to do the touristic act of whipping out a camera to capture the sight before him in eternity, while almost ironically, the shutter next to me was sounding non-stop. He stood there motionless, as if waiting for something, for someone - someone to meet up or catch up with him, just admiring the beauty.

Piqued with curiosity by his motionless gaze, I slowly crept up behind and beside him, hoping to gain his vantage point of the sights before. As I stood beside him, I subconsciously noticed that we were of rather similar height. After standing there for a few seconds, with nothing but silence between us, I couldn't help but do the instinctive but taboo act of turning to look at him.

In almost the same time, he turned and stared straight back at me, as our gazes met - when I noticed that his eyes looked exactly like mine, as my focus drew away from his eyes, I noticed that he looked just like me.

Shocked into silence, I stood there speechless and not knowing how to react.

"I know, I know," he said, with a voice that sounded exactly like mine, "I knew you would react this way. Your next question would be, 'who am I?' and knowing you, or me, the 'why' would naturally follow."

"In short," he continued, "my answer for you is.... Second Chances. And what better time for Second Chances than the turn of the New Year right?"

"Don't ask, just use your eyes to follow the lights of the buildings at the opposite end, c'mon!".

Still in semi-shock, my eyes followed the lights along the ups and downs of the rows of buildings, tracing their angular shapes further and further into the illuminated-horizon, as lights my eyes started to lose focus, blanking out into a blinding screen of white for a moment, before the warm-yellow tinge started to restore itself in my vision, as I tried hard to centre my vision of the row of lights that stood before me.

 

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Second Chance

 

Oddly, the lights yellow lights within my vision had mysteriously realigned themselves, and didn't take those angular shapes any longer, instead being neatly arranged into two neat rows.

 

I turned and looked around, and to my shock, I saw myself standing in the middle of an isolated street, dead quiet in the night save for the sound of some vehicles from a distance, surrounded by rustic traditional Japanese houses, as the gentle sound of flowing water trickled from a canal by my side.

 

Guessing from the architecture around me, I garnered that I was somehow still in Japan, but as my mind was about to make a logical guess on the exact location, I found that my index finger was used as a make-shift bookmark among the pages of a "Lonely Planet Japan" in my hand. Opening the book, I read the words:

Shirakawa Dori. Some claim it to be the most beautiful street in Asia, particularly during the Sakura Season. Looking around, I was entirely absorbed by the peace and tranquillity that surrounded me. My body hardly fatigued from the long hours of travelling via flight and bullet train, and all my initial apprehension of the initial thought of pack-and-jet subsided as I stood under the barren branches of approaching Spring.

It was February, and I was back in Japan again, except this time alone. And yet, while slightly disappointed by the lack of the company I had grown so fond and accustomed to, there was a different kind of emotion to the loneliness - one that left a lot of room for reflection, and soul-searching, especially amidst some of the most beautiful sights that the island had to offer.

Feet firmly planted on the ground, and giving it a good shuffle against the concrete pavement, the reality of the situation sank in, as the association with a Lone Wolf came into my mind - seeking, reflective and majestic.

Book in hand; I walked down the beautiful street, as the blinds got more blindingly bright the further I walked down, till I could no longer see what was in front of me...

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"Amazing, right?" a familiar voice rang through my head. "I know, this island does mysterious things to you, haha. Awe-inspiring sights, a little bit of pilgrimage, and a little bit of history; are just the perfect ingredients for a second chance, don't you think?"

"You feeling warm?" he asked me.

Still unable to answer, I shook my head at the obvious answer, my hand naturally clasping my jacket tighter to my body as I sensed the approach of a chilly wind. Puzzled at his question, I looked at him with bewilderment.

"Then why are you perspiring?" he asked me.

A sudden realisation of droplets rolling down my forehead dawned upon me, as I raised my hand to try to dab the beads of sweat off, but somehow, despite the cold winter's night, I just would not stop perspiring.

A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead and into my blind, causing a temporary irritation, as I tried my best to blink it off, only to have the situation aggravated by the dry, cold wind that was blowing across my face.

Unable to stand it any longer, I moved my hands to my eyes and tried to rub them through my gloves. A sense of relief came over me as the edges of my knuckles met the corner of my eye, but that's when I realised that my gloves were off...

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Space

In fact, so was all my winter wear, and my entire top.

I was now in an all-too-familiar space, surrounded by the four walls that have literally held me in since childhood, but yet, something was amiss, the usual furniture was missing, and all that was left was my bed and my wardrobe, both covered with a glossy, wet, black sheen of paint, with me looking down at them.

I found myself atop a ladder, with a paintbrush in hand, with its tip dipped in a dark-grey shade of paint. I tried to raise my arms to move the paintbrush, but the soreness and aches of the muscles gave a biting realization of reality.

Not having slept for almost a continuous period of 18 hours, the clock struck 7.30am as my arms continued to move up and down along the wall, while my mind yearned for something a lot less torturous and monotonous.

"Almost there, almost there. I just got to finish this for once and for all," the voices in my head willing my body to go on. Putting the final touches to the wall, I laid the instruments down and headed for a much-needed shower, one that signified the end of 3 weeks of hard, manual labour; I task I had yearned to do for over 10 years, and hope not to do for another 20 if possible.

But as I re-entered the refreshingly monochrome space after my much needed bathe, I stood at the doorstep, looking in and nodding to myself, seeing that it was good,; and more importantly, a space I was proud to call my own.

I laid down on my bed, with my hair still wet, my body automatically shutting down as I fell into a deep sleep, feeling my senses shutting down one at a time, when the last thing that I felt was a drop of water, slowly rolling down my forehead and onto my eyelids, my hand subconsciously raised to wipe it away...

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When my eyes open, blinding golden light was shining through all again. I was starting to get the idea of what this was all about, as I couldn't help by give a sly smile, upon knowing.

He knew that I had reached my realisation, and gave me a cheekier smile back - one that reminded me of when times and life was a tad simpler.

From the Fort, I looked down, and saw her, probably still oblivious to the fact that I was missing, finger still trigger-happy on the shutter, as the little Minnie Mouse ears atop her head dangled with each clumsy movement she made to get a better angle.

I looked at him, and slowly broke out into my sly smile...

"Oh, you want to know about that..." he said, hesitating briefly. "Yeah sure, why not?" he said, after 2 seconds of thought. "I can tell you though, the word is: Patience."

"Popcorn?" he said, stretching out a long box of popcorn at me.

With the tempting taste of Curry-flavoured Popcorn still etched in my mind, I reached into the box, but couldn't feel anything. Puzzled, I dug my hand a bit deeper in but still to no avail, when I lowered my head to peer into the darkness of the box, seeing something at the corner of the box, as I reached my fingers in to grab it....

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Patience

Feeling something solid between my fingertips, I inched it out of the box, only to find that a familiar golden brown French fry was in my grasp instead.

Chatter from all angles filled my auditory senses, as I picked up the familiar words of "Module, grades, and lectures". I looked around, to see myself surrounded by young faces, none of which looked familiar, while some of them stared back at me with a slight sense of wonder, as I stood out like a sore thumb amongst them in my chic office attire.

I was back at my Alma Mater, with my laptop on in front of me - fries in one hand and my other on the mouse in front of me, as trees on screen moved towards me against a black background. Dragging and Dropping, bugging and debugging, while my other hand continued to circulate the fries to my mouth.

My phone rang as I answered it, hearing her familiar voice on the other end. "I'm done, Vampy!" she said semi-excited.

"Ok," I responded, as I finished up and packed my stuff, heart full of anticipation as I walked down the stairs, ready to see her countenance again after nearly a week. Dance had come into her life in full swing, adding to an honours year of oddly-timed modules; our weekend schedule had been dramatically affected and compromised over the months.

As I walked towards her at the bus stop, I was all-smiles, having learnt to fully accommodate to the changes and learn to make the best of the time together, as I knew that we had probably entered a different phase of the relationship, one that was less wilful, and more assured; one that could was durable enough and yet malleable enough to withstand changes to lifestyle, and eventually life.

"Where do you want to go darling?" I asked her, as I reached out for her hand.

She responded with an answer and a shrug, reminding me of her rule of not showing ANY affection within campus.

Stupid perhaps, but I took little heart to it, as she walked on in front of me, her image getting blurrier and blurrier and she continued to step forward while I had seemingly become more stationary....

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"Yup, all's gonna go well in that aspect, man. Don't worry about it," he said, as I looked down at her still scurrying about, but suddenly turning around, and looking a bit lost.

"I probably need to go soon," I said to him, "but just one more thing that I really need to know."

"You mean about THAT thought?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"That's gonna be huge, you know.... but yeah, why not right?" he said, almost nonchalantly.

"Close your eyes, and reach out your hand," he told me.

Not questioning anymore, I did as I was told...

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Change

A cold metal surface touched my palm, as I grasped it within, feeling the familiar shape and texture of a metal door handle, and a white door that stood before me.

Somewhat forcefully, I pressed down on the door handle and stepped through the door, into an empty room and stood in the silence. But gradually, that silence was broken, as I heard a familiar voice uttering the words "Good Morning" and other familiar voices faintly in the background. The voices grew louder and louder, and more audible, but just before they were audible enough to decipher who they belonged to, they disappeared and silence filled the room again, where a mysterious white door just like the one before had appeared at the other end of the room.

Stepping towards it, I did the same thing again, and stepped through the next door, into the next room, and stood in the silence. Again, I heard the same words, and I heard the increase in volume, only this time the increase in volume seemed to be amplified. But still, before I could make out the identity of the people speaking, it stopped, and another door appear.

I did the same, and went to another room, where the same events occurred again. After going through the same thing for about 20 times or so, one room at a time, over and over again; I was finally able to make out the owner of those mysterious voices - they were the voices of some of the students.

The moment I had this figured out, another door appeared, but this time a golden one. As I opened the door that led to another room, a pot of gold and a mirror awaited me at the other end of the room. I first approached the pot of gold, which was hardly full, and went on to pick up a few gold coins from the pot. Realizing the authenticity of the gold, I grew excited and wanted pour all the gold out to count the number of coins.

Pouring them out onto the floor, I started counting them, and when I had tallied the final amount, I reached for the pot of gold to put the coins back in, when I realised that the pot was filled with gold coins again, roughly the same weight as before. I poured out the coins to start counting them again, and I realised that the coins were exactly as before. But while this never-ending pot of gold was strange, the even stranger thing was that I couldn't put any gold coins back.

Believing the mirror to be equally enchanted, I approached it cautiously, my mind wondering about the possible enchantments within. But as I stood in front of it, it seemed to be nothing more than an ordinary mirror. Making gestures in front of it just to make sure, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. But as I stopped to look at it for a while, I realised that the reflection within had taken on its own will, its own soul; doing as it pleases. But when I rose to perform an action again, it followed suit. A strange object indeed.

A little label was attached to the handle of the mirror, in which read the words: "Choose."

I placed the two objects on the floor, knowing fully well what each of them meant to the decision that I had to make soon, and after much contemplation, I reached out my hand to pick up the pot of gold. Stepping through the door that I came in from, and the 20 before that...

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"So, that's going to be your choice?" he said to me as I found myself back at the top of the Fort.

"I think so," I said, "I think it's time for a change; for a little bit more stability in my life you know, after the last couple of years."

Through a smile that hid a tinge of sadness, he said to me, "I guess you're ready for that. It's never going to be like it used to anymore you know? You're going to have to.... grow up... I guess..."

I paused for a moment, before I tapped him on the shoulder and said, "I know", assuringly.

"Then I guess you're all set for the New Year then?" he said, rhetorically.

"Yup, I guess this is where we have to part ways," I told him.

"Yeah, it's been one helluva ride," he said, with a forced chuckle. "One last question though."

"What?" I asked.

"Can I use your camera?" he asked. "You know I've always been dying to grab a photo with THAT camera for the longest time now, right?"

"Haha, I know." I said, as I tossed him the camera.

I slipped back down the Fort and behind her, only to find that she was not playing with her camera anymore, but instead, just staring out into the lights across the mass of water that lay before us. And I could only what the lights led her to see in her year ahead....

Pieces of Japan: Day 11 - No Man is an Island

29th December 2009

Matsushima Bay, Tohoku, Japan

The famous saying goes that "No man is an Island", supposedly hinting at how desolate a man if left in a state of isolation; and yet, as I peered out into the sea and saw a spread of beautiful little islands that sprinkled the glistering blue waters, I couldn't help but find a little irony in it all.

Hailed as one of the "Three Sights of Japan"(日本三景, Nihon Sankei), as recognized by the poet Hayashi Razen in the 1600s based on his travels throughout Japan, short-listing breath-taking views across the land and arriving at the most awe-inspiring three, Matsushima Bay lives up well to its legacy and reputation, with a breath-taking 260 islands scattered over the span of the bay (also famous for her flavourful oysters).

Mostly comprising of coniferous pines which dressed the little islands in shades of light green that provided a pleasing visual complement to the sparkling blue waters, the sunny setting provided a sharp contrast to the rainy climb up Yamadera and the harsh snows of the Hokkaido region that we had just experienced a mere days before. In fact, the sunny weather reminded us a bit of our tropical home, as Winter seemed like nothing more than a tinge at the back of our minds, as we stood at the rear of the Cruise Boat staring up into the clear blue sky, with the wind in our hair.

Squint Hard and the Monk might Stare back at You

Cruises on different routes are readily available hourly at Matsushima Bay, as we settled for 50-minute one (after some convincing, on my part) that made a short round around the bay, highlighting most of her essential sights. Almost each and every island had a name, mostly historically-named based on their resemblance to certain people or objects. The most famous of which are Niōjima, which was named for resembling the head-shape of an old monk (squint hard at the photo and you'll notice), and Senganjima, Masamune Date's favourite island, which he joked about bringing back to his palace to his men while coasting the bay.

Seagulls followed the wake of the boat tirelessly, as they were probably conditioned to understand that a moving boat equates to a free meal, as the locals and tourists alike bought packets of prawn crackers and threw them skyward, only to be quickly swooped up by the agility of the following gulls. The flock of white slowly turned to brown, as the ratio between hawks and seagulls inversed as we moved further and further out to sea, eventually evolving into a cloud of brown with specks of white, before reverting to its original form as we returned to shallow waters.

And yet, the double irony of it all is thatthe admiration of the beauty and that each of these lonesome little islands provided when standing proudly on their amidst the wavering sea-waves, my inner reflections were more akin towards the beauty of their unity, patterns and spreads, reminding me on a conscious level, of the appreciation I had for the company more than surrounded me moreso than the beauty of isolation.

Creeping up on a Sleeping Duck, exactly what I mean

Through the last 11 days, though we've shared our ups and downs, our blames and shames; braved panic attacks, emotional mood swings, constant weariness and  the freezing cold; more than that, we had built many more unforgettable memories together, and while there is a joy to be had in travelling alone (which I was to validate in the months ahead), some things are simply better shared, and some experiences were amplified simply due to the presence of another - regardless of how distracted she could sometimes be, lost in her own world taking her photos, and just wandering off randomly. But more than that, the squeals of delight and the constant sense of wonder and amazement, or sometimes, just simply the knowing of her presence, definitely added much to the experience of travelling.

A long red bridge stood before us, sharply contrasting the clear blue waters that lay underneath. A splash of green lay at the other end, beckoning to us with its oriental bonsai-like shapes and luscious green leaves. Leading to Fukuura Island, one of the few islands in Matsushima that is open to the public, the local myth is that crossing the bridge with a partner in tow will eventually lead to a breakup. Fortunately, we were not local, hardly superstitious (at least not me), but most important, very much igonrant of this fact until very much later.

A fan of bridges, she was more excited about being on and crossing the bridge than anything else. I, on the other hand - while enjoying the salty sea-breeze in my hair, and  the change in pace of the foot-bound pilgrimage, as compared to our ship-lead expedition earlier -was my usual forward-looking self and sought the treasures that awaited us on the other end of the bridge.

And true enough, the memorial-treasures that awaited us on the other end were abundant enough for our long journey and much beyond that. Walking quietly around the island, sometimes off the beaten path, bathed in the golden sunlight seeping through the rustling tree leaves, the temperate flora and fauna created an impression of land and water unlike any of the typical coconut-laden beaches we had back home, and the sheer peace of the entire scene gave the impression that the island was made nicely just for two.

Sand and water still comprised the primary elements, but with drops of bright luscious green never too far away, and the unique oriental shapes of the darker green trees that presented themselves into the distance - as the islands got nearer and nearer to the horizon, silhouetted against the sun - they created an impression of a wholly different waterside aesthetic.

I walked to the edge of the viewing platform, tired from mapping and identifying the islands that stood in front of me based on the given map-like images; shelving extraneous knowledge aside simply to admire the Zen-like view of greens and blue, a perfect composition of trees, the sand, the waters and the sky singing in perfect visual harmony before my very eyes. Awe-struck and breath-taken, but hardly exaggerated or expressed; but rather, a simple and quiet type of awe that resonated deep within me as I looked on at nothing, and yet everything, clearing my mind and soothing my soul.

Rays of gold fell onto her soft, round face, as I took a moment off the sunset to look at her, with the usual child-like wonder in her eyes; smiling secretly to myself as I felt a sense of thankfulness amidst the entire setting. Reaching out for her hand, we sat there in silence, watching the golden setting sun slowly creep downwards, behind the silhouette of trees and islands that lay in the horizon, below eventually disappearing below it.

Matsushima Bay is said to have 4 different definite views to view the bay from, each supposedly providing a different perspective and aesthetic on the bay. I saw none of them, and yet, I didn't need either to justify or validate the beauty of the visual and mental photograph that I had just taken; an image that would rather surely be etched deeply in the recesses of my memory for a long, long time to come.

As we walked hand-in-hand, back across the bridge and under the pinkish hue of the dusk sky, I turned to look at her through the silence, and saw a silhouette of her face looking back at me, hardly being able to decipher her features within the silhouette, but enough to see warmness of a gentle heart smile smiling back at me. And through the silence, words rang out to me; words of wisdom, an age-old saying, indeed : "No Man is an Island".

Pieces of Japan: Day 10 - Crying Zen

28th December 2009

Yamadera, Yamagata, Japan

The thudding sound of the footsteps through the snow-covered concrete came to a stunning halt, as I stopped short in my tracks. Silence filled the air, save for the sound of a singing winter-bird, singing her lonesome song that added much to the ambience.

Breath-taken and in awe, I stared out at the sight that lay before me. An implicit V-shaped formed by the green canopy of the coniferous trees on the left, and the cliff face of the mountain on the right, while a little red hut standing atop the cliff added a sharp colour contrast to the entire scene, as layers and layers of snow-covered mountains stretched out beyond and into the horizon through the visual-valley between. 

I have always liked mountain-top views, but this was nothing less than a perfect sight of Zen; a view befitting on of the famous mountain-temples in Japan.  

Slice of Zen on the Mountain Top

In fact, the name "Yamadera" itself simply translates directly to "Mountain Temple", probably hinting at its iconic status in the region. An age-old Buddhist temple, Yamadera was built atop and into a mountain, with the temple compound starting at the base of the mountain and stretching all the way to the top - with a view to die for, and a whole lot of Zen to gain - separated by an arduous 1,015 stone steps. It is said that the view that awaits at the end of these 1,015 steps at Godai-dou will make climbers forget about their weary feet, a visual-Nirvana I was determined to verify, as I looked up at the pavilion and knew that I only had a fraction of the ascension left to complete before I attained.

Upper Temple - The Holy Air Up There

There was just one thing left to do before making my final ascent to the peak, and that was to look for my travelling companion, however un-apt the word was for the day thus far. Visually combing the area that lay around me, I finally found her at the opposite end of a winding snow-covered walkway across me, as I saw her walking slowly in my direction. 

Winding Pathway of Death

The ascension had been a torturous one, partially physically - as I willed my feet to go on, one step at a time, watching the scenery around change from a quiet little temple at the bottom, to a quiet snow-covered path through the trees sprinkled with sacred temple monuments and statues, before arriving at the upper temple area, with the structures built into and atop the mountain, with views that would bring a Zen-tear to one's eye.

Yet, the physical toll was the least of my worries, as silence fell between us through the climb, oftentimes with her walking a good distance ahead, and me deliberately slowing down and to keep a sizeable distance between us, but still being able to keep an eye on her.

It was one of those tantrum-days, perhaps where traveller's-fatigue had already set in, and she was at best, non-conversational, and at worst, angry. They say that travelling together is potentially hazardous to a relationship, as arguments are bound to surface, and I guess I could see why.

As she made her way across the winding path towards me one step at a time, her body language indicated something was wrong, as I noticed that her steps were getting increasingly careful, and her arms were spreading out more. I stepped out onto the winding path towards her, hoping to meet her halfway, when I sensed that there was very little traction between my shoes and the snowy path, that almost had an icy-finish atop it.

As I approached her and entered within the radius of her reach, she fell into my arms, body shivering as tears rolled down her face; tears of fear and tears of foolishness - tears that were a result of the fear felt from her imagining herself slipping off the icy path and down the mountain side, perhaps tumbling to her doom. She's always had a more than vivid child-like imagination, and while I was holding her tight and comforting her, at the same time, I was secretly glad that that very same imagination broke the icy silence that fell between us for the last 2 hours of so.

They also say that travelling can help to bring 2 people closer together and strengthen a relationship; and perhaps in this almost-typical scenario of emotional support and dependency, I could see why.  I took her hand, as we walked slowly across the icy path to the base of the wooden pavilion; readying ourselves to scale the final flights of wooden steps to the view that awaited us on top.

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Soba in the Little Town Below

Best.Soba.Ever.

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Sendai: Starlight Pageant