Two Turtle Rocks

Futatsugame. This is the name of these two rocky protuberances off the coast of Sado Island. Do you think they look like turtles? The last day of our trip, we drove up to the island's northern tip to take a gander at them. Thanks to the Japanese Government's hyperactive civil engineers, there is a mostly two-lane (depending on your definition of "two") road ringing the s-shaped island as well as on the flat bit connecting Sado's semi-mountainous lobes. Thanks to our trusty Harrier, we traversed most of them.

Compared to Honshu, Sado is less developed. There are many small hamlets (don't blink) along the coast as well as a few bona fide towns. The main attractions for us were the island's rustic temples and shrines (we visited many) and its natural scenery -- snow-capped mountains, sea coasts and sakura still in bloom. Most of the development is concentrated in the southern lobe where the ground is somewhat more hospitable and the water more accessible. Because of its rugged topography and steep cliffs, the northern lobe is far less populated. Here the distant views are unspoiled but the beaches are littered with trash and detritus. Most of it probably washes up with the tide. I wish someone would pick it up.

Despite my injured foot (I did not find out about the torn ligaments and tiny fracture until after we returned to Tokyo), we hiked along the coast for a stretch. This gave us the chance to admire the amphibious outcroppings from multiple angles. Our journey culminated at a temple (I think) sequestered in a cave looking out to sea.

Temple Lanterns

On my recent trip to Taiwan, my guide thought I ought to see a little bit of her home country. Since I am an architect, I asked her to show me interesting buildings. We visited two: the brick home built by an English merchant and a combination Buddhist-Daoist temple.

To get to the temple, we had to take a 10 minute ferry ride and then walk a short distance up from the port. The area was very congested and teaming with activity. The main thoroughfare was edged with a mixture of shops selling clothes, food stuffs or souvenirs and seafood restaurants whose freshly caught menu stared out at us from ice-filled cases. Breathing status unclear. Motor bikes, cars and foot traffic took over the center of the street. A riot of color, sounds and smells, the sun-baked scene was thoroughly captivating. And completely overwhelming.

Angled towards the street, the temple was tucked away, off to the side, where it was slightly removed from the fracas. Every surface of the single-story building was covered with relief and tiny sculptures, each one more brightly painted than its neighbors. Next to this, the canopy of red, paper lanterns strung up in front of the temple had a remarkably calming effect. Maybe it was their uniform color. Maybe it was the way they seemed to float effortlessly, bobbing slightly in the breeze. Maybe it was the way they muted the sun's scorching rays. Maybe I just like grids.

Once my eyes adjusted to the interior's semi-darkness, the main sanctuary's golden statuary and piles of offerings (bundles of fake money ready for burning) came into view. The clattering of wood blocks falling on the floor startled me. Had I knocked something over?

No. At the very back of the temple, facing an awe-inspiring group of gods, stood the main altar. On top of the altar were several pairs of kidney-shaped, wooden blocks. We surreptitiously watched a woman pick up a pair of blocks and drop them repeatedly on the floor as if her life depended on it. And maybe it did. If both blocks landed face up or face down, she had to keep trying. But if one faced up and the other one down she could proceed to the next step and choose a stick from a basket nearby. The stick, in turn, had a marking on it and the marking corresponded to a poem which was then subject to interpretation by the temple expert. By the time we finished our tour, she was leafing through the book, looking for her poem, hoping it would have the answer she determinedly sought.