Chaji -- Koharu 小春

February 21, 2013
Toinseki, a tea house complex built in the 20th century on the site of Hideyoshi's grave in the southeast part of Kyoto. (It may be rather unseemly to have tea on the grounds of Hideyoshi's grave-- a little like tribute, a little like dancing on it. Every way, it's a bit wrong.

Shogo chaji.
This is the "full length" standard tea gathering which we so often talk about when explaining tea and so very rarely actually do.  Aliisa was the teishu, and the rest of the ichi-b class were helping as ryori-cho (chef for the kaiseki meal) and assistants, plus two more Midorikai alumni, Sascha and Cone.

We were at Toinseki on Tuesday to tour the whole complex and see how it works (we had a lecture with slides and blueprints a few weeks ago). Here's some pictures from the tour:

Mike in the snow

Sarah in the snow

First guest and host peruse the garden.

Lindsey can attest, it isn't very warm in the tea room.

we're all in the snow!

Hamana sensei battles the cold with his furoshiki (wrapping cloth).

We returned on Wednesday to clean the inside and the garden, and then on Thursday, the ichi-a's got gussied up in semi-formal iromuji (solid color) kimono, fukuro obi, and fancy pants for boys (hakama) and went out to be guested.  It's been cold-- on touring day it snowed gorgeously the whole time we were there and on cleaning day it rained a little and shone a little.

We've been warned over and over that we will be freezing cold because there are no mechanisms to regulate the temperature inside beyond the charcoal fire in the tea room and the little charcoal teaburi (hand warmers) and hibachi (mini-braziers) in the other guest spaces.  So we chemically supplemented our winter-layers of kimono with handwarmers and foot warmers and prepared to be stoic.

On Thursday morning we went to chorei, and during the meeting and meditation it snowed gently, looking gorgeous and very cold. I hoped it would snow like that at Toinseki. Right after chorei we finished packing up our massive gift of lunch for the host side and hopped in our taxi. After all the rushing and cooking the night before and in the morning, it felt good to have half an hour in the taxi to calm down and get ready for the event. We arrived at 9:30am, precisely on time to be 15 minutes early for being 15 minutes early.  The trick was, with a massive box of food and drink in our best clothes, we weren't super mobile, so even though we were instructed NOT to hang around in front of the gate (closed until 9:45) we also didn't want to wander up into the park since the taxi driver had helpfully dropped us in front of the tea house, although we had asked for the park. So we hid just out of sight of the gate for 15 minutes to wait and try to keep arranging things. It stopped snowing, but it was coold.

We went to check the gate at 15 till, but it was still firmly closed, but while we were standing there wavering, I saw a shadow at the base of the gate and barked "they're coming! Get back! Run away!" but we didn't move fast enough not to be seen by Murata sensei opening the gate. It IS sort of hilarious to run away from your hosts, afraid they'll see you coming in to their party. But that's how we roll.

So we headed on in to the yoritsuki to change our tabi, put away our coats and get ready.  That took basically forever, and then on into the machiai, where we enjoyed the coal in the hibachi and the machiai scroll with the kozuchi lucky mallet (when you pound it, you receive treasure) and mice (traditional sign of riches), in honor of the ceramic mallet tchotchke that Damian won at Hatsugama. The poem read something like "shake me and bang me, you'll find a treasure in your heart." After the hanto Sasha served us the water (from a meisui--famous water well-- at a distillery near our homes in northwest Kyoto) we went out to the koshikakemachiai (the outdoor bench waiting area) to enjoy the garden and wait for the main event to start. Gestures of warmth continued there-- with green raku teaburi (hand warmers) and another tobacco bon with chosen karatsu hiire (even though there are never pipes anymore, so it's just a symbol of leisure and relaxation.)

Sarah likes the teaburi!

After awhile, Aliisa came out with water for the tsukubai then came to greet us in the garden-- we stand up and move forward to bow back to her silently.  When I stepped forward on to my designated stone, Aliisa was perfectly hidden behind a big tree so I bowed in unison with the people on either side of me, not actually able to see my gratitude-target.  I was guest 3 this time, which is the easiest/most sedentary spot of four.

Then, we head through the garden-- the first time, Damian took the "valley" path, so we all followed him, through the gate and to the tsukubai where we washed our hands and mouths, then into the teahouse.

Valley path is where Damian's head is facing, mountain path is over his left shoulder.

So, now the thing is really on. We entered and saw the scroll: it said Shaza (Gratitude for Tea) with smaller characters that said something about knowing one's place. Aliisa told us she chose it mostly for the big characters-- Gratitude for Tea. Which after all, has brought us all here together.  It was also nice to hear that, because the other bit, as nice and thought-provoking as the thought can be, also can be easily felt in an uncomfortable way, at least by me, when it comes within a sempai-kohai group that has sometimes been a little intense. [This is a whole other blog post-- I've thought a lot about the thought experiment that is a bunch of people not raised within such a system trying to do it for the first time. It not only must feel different for us, I'm sure we do it differently as people trying to sort of imitate the system from observation over only short periods.]

It was daaarrk in the tea room and Aliisa had a real challenge laying the charcoal, trying to pull black sumi (charcoal) pieces out of a black-interior basket and put them into a pitch black hole with three glowing starter pieces (shitabi) in the middle.  There were a few mishaps, but from our end it was magically beautiful-- we actually heard the shimeshibai falling into the ash of the ro (sunken hearth) without being able to see it--Aliisa said it was too wet, but that was what made it audible, and therefore enjoyable.  That's the kind of thing we mean when we say there are no mistakes in a chaji. The sumi went in, the incense (Wakamatsu, a Daisosho konomi from Kyokodo) went in, from a white Kyoyaki kogo with little ume (plum/Japanese apricot) blossoms.  The kogo was displayed in the room when we entered, and my first thought was, that's so Aliisa!, which was a lovely thought. As hosts we are always trying to find things to pertain to our guests, but upon seeing that kogo, I also realized that it's so nice as a guest to see something that reminds one instantly of the host--already in the room with us through her care and preparation.

After the fire was laid and the temae area swept with the big zabaki (a huge feather broom!), the meal began. Carried out one by one,we received our kaiseki trays with the fresh rice and miso soup and the mukozuke (the "opposite dish" with a delicate fish preparation that can't be eaten until after we have our first sips of sake.)

The food was all pretty great and unfolds slowly over courses and totally contravenes its official title of "ichi-ju san-sai" (one soup and three vegetables) which is supposed to mean a simple and humble meal, but in Tea kaiseki ends up meaning an endless parade of small delicately gorgeous and sparely elegant intensely refined dishes. This is the kind of Tea paradox that is sometimes irritating in that it feels like... what... hypocrisy?  But at other times feels like a delicious paradox. This is also a whole other post. Food continued, we were served sake in the little tiny hikihai saucers that travel up and down the row and then we served each other. We are also told at one point in the meal when the host leaves for awhile to eat her own meal (allegedly-- I'm sure very few hosts find time and calmness at that moment to eat) that we can clap our hands and she'll come if we need anything. AND WE DID!  Damian and I counted down and clapped in unison and it sounded like a gunshot-- to have the sake pot refilled.

Here's my hikihai reflecting the low chashitsu light and, although it's hard to see, giving off steam.

For awhile in the middle of the meal, kids at a nearby school were let out for recess and there were shouts and tumult that felt both at odds with the atmosphere of a chaji, and also really great and welcome as a sign of human happiness and the goodness of the sensible world.

At the end of the meal, the sweet for koicha is served. It was koubai-- red plum-- and filled with delicious goma miso-an.

After the sweets, it was nakadachi (middle stand up) time and we went back out into the garden to rest our legs, hit the otearai (the "hand washing place" which is obviously... the bathroom.) So, it didn't snow. There wasn't any snow but instead the opposite was starting to happen-- the sky was clearing up, the sun came out and it was really quite warm.

Here's Sarah on her way out of the tearoom for nakadachi.

We're told that an uguisu (bush warbler) sang a few notes, but I didn't hear it. Or more to the point, I didn't know what to listen for.

The host side had also left a tray of kairo, more hand warmers for us at the koshikakemachiai, which although I was feeling actually comfortable, I took anyway, since it was such a sweet gesture. We accidentally gave them a complex about us being cold when Damian asked at one point if we could shut the door during the meal because it was distinctly colder when the door was open, leeching out the warmth of Aliisa's fire in the ro. According to Sugitani sensei who was running the mizuya, it is not done to shut the door at the time he asked, so instead Aliisa was sent out with a wooden tray of kairo to give us!  That's the kind of unscripted moment that is hilarious to tea people who practice the rote memorization of order and procedure endlessly to the point where we can rather gracefully throw in something silly like this-- and all because it seems better to add this than close a door in an unspecified spot.  Really, it's hilarious. Except when it's annoying.  At Toinseki it was adorable.

Kairo in, otearai visited, the gong rang and we all started the trip back in for the tea.

Damian checked out the ro.

Paivi examined the flowers--tsubaki (camellia) and white plum (shiraume)...added during the nakadachi-- before it was the scroll in the alcove.

The sudare blinds screening the whole room are taken down after we're in the tea room, and with the clouds having been progressively disappearing, the room actually got shockingly bright. I even wished sometimes that the blinds right across from us hadn't been removed, because they were so bright they blew out my ability to see Aliisa in the corner temaeza. We were a bit worried the children would come out to scream again during this quietest most serious part, but they didn't. Instead, we heard birds singing, and the sighing of the wind-- it sounded like summer actually, brightness filtering through and birds and breeze. Paivi said it felt like we were in a Finnish summer cottage.

Aliisa prepared the koicha, which was kocchu no mukashi (in the tsubo) by Gion Tsujirien.  The name Kocchu comes from the popular ichigyo (one line/5 character phrase): Inside the tea jar, the days and nights are long. We laughed about this, because we all feel like we're in the tea jar right now (this is one reason she chose this tea to serve) and yet, inside our Midorikai tea jar, the days and nights seem very very short.

And here, the four guests were our one class, just us, which has yet to happen at a chaji this year-- in part because we need to be a flexible and welcoming unit of four, with our frequent visitors and short term additions, like Linda. I am happy for the chance to have all our additional "extended family" but it was also really a lovely moment to share that bowl of koicha with our nuclear ichi-a family. In fact-- the chashaku (tea scoop) by Daisosho is called "Ichi-e" the second half of "Ichi-go ichi-e" meaning one time, one meeting and reminding us (over and over again) that every second, every event, every day is unique.  We joked however that the tea scoop is also "ICHI-A" (it sounds the same!) so it could also be named after our group. Then when we graduate to sempai, which is usually called ichi-b, we should instead insist on being called the Ichi-Go's.

The chawan was a black with red raku bowl made by the mother of the current Katsuragama head, who we made our raku bowls with in the fall, and the chaire was Hagi katatsuki.
 After gozumi (much much brighter than shozumi, so that we also got to enjoy actually seeing inside the ro and the glow of the red coals, we started in on usucha. The higashi were green uguisu from Shioyoshiken, a fabulous old store we learned about from Murata sensei, and sembei with drums on them (a nod to Damian's drumming days). The tea was from Ryouen, and there were two different bowls which we ended up trading and having a second bowl of tea from the other one-- I think one was Korean style and the other was ume plum patterned.

After the usucha, we wound down; we did closing aisatsu (thanking the host and being thanked in turn) and then letting ourselves out after one last look at everything. After we all got out, Aliisa came to the little nijiriguchi and we bowed silently to each other before turning at leaving via the mountain path. At the other end of the path we reached the machiai and the doors-- we went back to the one we entered the garden from, but it was closed all the way (usually a sign of don't enter) and couldn't find another way out.  There WAS the bathroom door, which goes on to the inside, but it seemed sort of weird and wrong to exit through the bathroom. So I tugged on the door and it stuck. It felt locked and so we spent a few minutes laughing hysterically about being trapped in the garden, and scrabbling at the door. (We heard later that the host side were all hidden in the kitchen wondering why we wouldn't leave.) Finally, Sarah wedged her fan in the crack at the top of the door and wrenched it open and we tumbled into the machiai and on out to get our things together and get out the door. We called a taxi, put on tabi covers, got coated up and departed.

In the taxi, just as we came down the hill and into town, snow started to fall again. I didn't get my snowy chaji, but we got an even more surprising thing: a little three hour springtime that opened up like a window in the middle of snowy winter. 　小春