Suzaku Avenue was the main street of Heiankyo, the capital founded in 794 that now is Kyoto. It led from the Rashomon Gate in the south up to the palace, which was situated in the north, in the middle part of the city, with Mt Funaoka at its back. Now modern Senbon Street runs here, although with a hiatus, for part of its course is blocked by the JR tracks and Umenokoji Park. It is difficult to imagine Suzaku Avenue today: 84 meters broad, it served as a sort of firebreak between the eastern and western halves of the city, running right through the center of Heiankyo.
The name Suzaku Avenue, by the way, was taken from the Suzaku, or Crimson Bird, a sort of phoenix who protected the city from the South, where he lived in a now long-drained marsh. History also knows an Emperor called Suzaku and along Senbon Street several schools have opted for the mythical name. This idea for Suzaku was initially based on a Chinese geomantic concept that also placed a White Tiger in the west, a Blue Dragon in the east and a Black Turtle on a high mountain in the north. The mountain where that turtle lived was Mt Funaoka, sailing like the ship its name in Japanese suggests through the sea of Kyoto's houses.
[Kenkun Jinja]
Today, while another Crimson Bird soars high in the sky and hits me with its hot rays, I will travel south from Mr Funaoka, to learn more about Senbon Street and its predecessor, Suzaku-Oji.
I first approach Mt Funaoka and opt for the official way, via the sando on the east that leads to the Kenkun Shrine now sitting at its summit. Mt Funaoka or “Boat Hill” is just 112 meters high and looks like a low green wall sticking out above the houses. The Kenkun Shrine standing on top of a series of broad staircases is vintage Meiji, set up by State Shinto to honor the 16th c. military lord and national reunifier Oda Nobunaga. It is surprisingly beautiful and peaceful. Elegant good taste instead of the pomp and splendor I had feared. I linger for a while, although this is not my destination.
[This is the "
nusa" of the Kenkun Shrine, a wooden wand to which
shide
(zig-zagging paper streamers) have been attached. The nusa is used in
Shinto purification rituals. It appears in the poem by Michizane in
One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each - see my
translation and discussion of this poem]
Seen from the old Heian city, Mt Funaoka was situated on the north side, outside the city walls. Courtiers would come here for outings. But just a bit further north stands the Imamiya Shrine, set up to ward off epidemics. Oda Nobunaga was a sort of human epidemic, a despot who murdered all the 22,000 monks of Enryakuji on Mt Hiei. It seems fitting that his unruly spirit has been enshrined for safety on this hill. Or is that just my personal fantasy?
[...Kyoto is a steaming sea of roofs and blocks of apartments...]
I walk away from the shrine and follow a path to the hill top. The hill is deserted and hot. Hidari-Daimonji and the Funagata or Boat Shape, two of the mountains where bonfires are lighted on the night of Daimonji on August 16, are surprisingly close. The Funagata, by the way, is a different ship from the boat-shaped hill, as it symbolizes the ship that carries the souls to Buddhist paradise. Kyoto is a steaming sea of roofs and blocks of apartments. This is the position from which Emperor Kammu must have surveyed the area, before deciding to make his capital here. He probably only saw bare fields, crisscrossed by numerous streams. The emperor relied on the assistance of the Hata clan, immigrants from Korea who possessed superior technical knowledge of water control, and who had already built Koryuji Temple and the Matsuo and Fushimi Inari Shrines in the wider area. I had hoped to see Senbon Street from here, but it is hidden among the dense buildings.
[...Senbon Enma Hall, dedicated to the Judge of the Underworld, who sits with sinister mien in the dark hall...]
I descend from the west flank of Mr Funaoka and soon stand in the northern part of Senbon Street. It is a broad street busy with cars and buses. There are still some nice traditional wooden townhouses with latticed windows left. Today, the street runs all the way from Takagamine in the north to Kujo in the south (where it becomes the Toba Highway) and is 17 kilometers long – not counting the interruption by the railway park. It has in fact a strange name: Senbon means "One Thousand Hon," or stick-like objects - “hon” is a counter. There are two theories for what those long, stick-like objects can have been. In the first place they may have been "sotoba" grave-markers – from the early 12th century this road led to Rendaino, one of the largest graveyards of Kyoto. Or, more elegantly, it may also refer to cherry trees planted along the road - but of course the one does not exclude the other. Rendaino was situated to the west of Mt Funaoka and resembled Toribeno in the east. “Graveyard” is in fact a misnomer, for there were no graves. Commoners would cremate their dead in the field, or even simply leave the body out in the open. I soon pass a temple on the northwestern part of Senbon Street that also reminds me of death – the Senbon Enma Hall, dedicated to the Judge of the Underworld, who sits with sinister mien in the dark hall. The temple dates from the 11th century and must have capitalized on the fact that the bereaved passed by in droves. A bit of hellish fantasy never hurts to press the poor and ignorant into a state of fear... and therefore willingness to part with some coppers for salvation...
[...Kuginuki Jizo, the Jizo that "pulls out nails”...]
The Enma temple looks today like a parking lot, but a bit further on I find a more interesting temple, on the left side of Senbon Street: Shakuzoji or Kuginuki Jizo, the “Jizo that pulls out nails.” The name is a wordplay on “Kunuki,” or “removing pain.” According to legend, the Jizo was carved by the famous priest Kukai from a stone he brought back from his sojourn in China. In reality, of course, it must have been one of the many anonymous carved stones standing at the wayside in old Japan. The main image of the temple, an Amida Trinity from the 13th century, was likewise set up by the wayside and later incorporated into the temple. The temple must originally have grown up on the basis of the legend that the Jizo statue could bring relief from distress. It was only in the 16th century that a new and more vivid legend took over. A certain merchant had terrible pain in his hands. In a dream the stone Jizo of this temple appeared to him and removed two nails from his hands, telling him they were a punishment because in a previous life he had felt a grudge towards another person. The next day the merchant visited the temple, and saw two bloody nails on the altar – and his pain was miraculously gone. This is based on the belief that Jizo-sama can take on our pain in this world (migawari) or even burn in Hell in our place. So from then on, when people thought the Jizo helped them find relief, they would offer a set of two nails and a nail puller attached to a small wooden board to the temple as a token of gratitude. The custom still exists and many of these sets have been attached to the outside wall of the Jizo Hall – a most original decoration. The temple is always busy with supplicants.
[...they would offer a set of two nails and a nail puller attached to a small wooden board to the temple as a token of gratitude...]
After having the nail that hurts you removed at Shakuzoji, Senbon Street gradually gets more lively. I cross to the west side where most of the shops are: pleasantly old-fashioned places selling kitchen implements, carpets, geta, clothes, toys and Japanese sweets. There are also several shops selling pickles, including the famous Imatame. But because it is a Sunday, many shops are also shuttered down.
[...pleasantly old-fashioned places selling kitchen implements, carpets, geta, clothes, toys and Japanese sweets...]
In Meiji times the area of Senbon Street between roughly Imadegawa and Marutamachi developed into an amusement center, powered by patrons from the nearby weaving district of Nishijin. There were 20 cinemas, countless bars and restaurants, and a real red-light district, Gobancho, with raucous strip joints. In those days, Senbon Street in the west was comparable to Kawaramachi in the east, but after the fifties it gradually lost its luster. The red light district was closed down by the anti-prostitution law of 1956. The cinemas lost their clientele and the streetcars also disappeared, as everywhere in Kyoto. The area became a sedate, old-fashioned, down-town shopping area. Nothing wrong with that, of course – the left-overs still make it worthwhile coming here. But the transformation was not over yet. In the nineties huge flats were built. The place of cinemas was taken by supermarkets and apartment buildings. Senbon Street lost much of its attractiveness, and I am curious what the future will have in store...
[...the only cinema in the area...]
The above-mentioned Gobancho was situated just south of Nakadachiuri Street, on the west side of Senbon. It has gone, but in the area the only cinema survives: Senbon Nikkatsu. It firmly holds on to tradition by showing triple bill porn films, of the fossilized type shown all over town thirty years ago. To the east just before the same crossing is Nishijin Kyogoku, once a bar district in a narrow alley, but now only six or seven establishments are left and the street shows big scars where buildings have just been pulled down.
I have been so occupied with the look of Senbon Street itself that I have forgotten to note I have already passed Ichijo Street. Ichijo formed the northern-most street of the Heian city, running along the wall of the palace compound. This means that the busiest part of Senbon Street lies in what are the former palace grounds. Where once elegant courtiers roamed and the romantic stories of the Genji Monogatari were acted out, a century ago townsmen amused themselves in bars and naughty theaters. And now, in our boring present, apartment buildings and supermarkets are proliferating.
[...the monument announces proudly that this was the location of the Great Hall of State in Heian times...]
Near Marutamachi street is again a small park with a monument, on the west side of the street. There are swings and a glide, but everything is dusty and bare. The monument announces proudly that this was the location of the Great Hall of State in Heian times. But the spot where it stands could not be more lacking in grandeur, making it difficult to picture palatial pomposity. The Heian Palace not only contained the living quarters for the imperial family, but also all government ministries. A combination of the present Prime Ministers Residence with Kasumigaseki, so to speak. Like Gosho, the still existing old palace in Kyoto, it was secured by a mud-wall, and also by a moat. The central southern gate was called Suzaku Gate after the avenue onto which it opened. Close to this gate stood the Daigokuden or Great Hall of State, where all sorts of official ceremonies were held. The heart of governmental Japan in the Heian-period.
The palace compound fell victim to repeated fires. After a big conflagration in 1177, the Daigokuden was not rebuilt. The compound itself was definitively abandoned in the mid-fourteenth century, when a location further east was found – the present Gosho. Another moment of glory for the area came in the late 16th century when Hideyoshi built his Jurakudai palace in this neighborhood – but that palace was so short-lived that even its exact location has never been exactly ascertained.
[...the southern part of Senbon Street does not seem very interesting...]
I suddenly realize I have not been walking on the ancient Suzaku Avenue itself yet – for that started at Nijo, at the southern edge of the palace complex, from where it was four kilometers to the Rashomon Gate. A location still a few hundred meters from where I now stand at the Senbon-Marutamachi crossing. Indeed, the palace was huge, as was Heiankyo. But the southern part of Senbon Street does not seem very interesting: there are no temples or shops anymore, but only small companies, offices and flats. And it is hot. I look at the blazing sun, the Crimson Bird in the sky, that batters me with its flames and decide it is time to beat a quiet retreat.
Bus 206 from Kyoto Station runs through Senbon Street, and passes the area described here between Senbon-Marutamachi and the bus stop for the Kenkun Jinja on Mt Funaoka.
All photos by Ad Blankestijn
