Dandelions in Kairakuen | Naoyuki Agawa (Vice-President in charge of Shonan Fujisawa Campus)
June 3, 2010
At the end of May, I went to Mito to attend an event called a family social gathering. Keio University holds these gatherings in various parts of the country for the parents of students attending the university. Each time, a Vice-President or a dean goes along with a head of administrative affairs. We explain matters of high interest to parents, such as academics, student life, and career prospects. My role at the gathering is to give the opening remarks as a representative of Keio. That is almost all I do, but the parents and families are naturally concerned about the students studying at Keio, so I must do it with care. And for me personally, it is a release from my usual work, a chance for a small trip, and an opportunity to take a train I have never ridden to a town I have never seen.
On the day of the gathering in Mito, I changed to the Yamanote Line at Tokyo Station and headed for Ueno. Even though I work in Tokyo, I rarely go to Ueno Station. From the Yamanote Line platform, I passed through an underpass and emerged onto an old section called the ground-level platforms. These are bay platforms, where trains stop at the end of the track, and they run from Platform 13 to 17. Apparently, there used to be up to Platform 20. It reminds me of Termini in Rome or Paddington in London. They were probably modeled after European terminal stations. I have a memory of departing on a school trip to Hokkaido on a sleeper train from this very platform when I was a third-year student at Keio High School. Just then, the "Hokutosei" limited express sleeper train was pulling into Platform 13. I walked past the locomotive and peeked inside the passenger cars. They were magnificent private sleeper compartments. I would love to ride one someday.
The 10:00 a.m. "Super Hitachi No. 15" limited express had already arrived at Platform 16, and I boarded immediately. The inside of the train was quiet and comfortable. Japanese railways are wonderful. As an aside, I had always thought the puppet that appears on a certain TV quiz show was called "Super Hitachi-kun." Since Hitachi sponsors that show, I believed it was named after the limited express that stops at Hitachi Station, but I'm told it's actually "Super Hitoshi-kun."
In any case, the "Super Hitachi No. 15" departed on time, running northeast through the old downtown area of Tokyo and crossing the Sumida, Arakawa, Nakagawa, and Edogawa rivers one after another. Just last Sunday, for a magazine interview, I had traveled up and down the Sumida and Arakawa rivers. These were the same railway bridges I had looked up at from below. The rivers of Tokyo felt strangely nostalgic. The train passed through one station after another—Matsudo, Kashiwa, Toride, Ushiku, Tsuchiura, Ishioka—and the view opened up, the green of the seedlings planted in the rice paddies and the green of the trees soothing to the eyes. Before long, the limited express train passed by the side of Kairakuen, slowed down, and glided into the grounds of Mito Station.
This was my second visit to Mito. The year before last, on a family trip to Hokkaido, we returned from Tomakomai to Oarai by ferry. We went to Mito on the Kashima Rinkai Railway and returned to Tokyo on a Joban Line limited express, but we stopped over in Mito to visit Kairakuen. It was late summer, and I completely fell in love with this tranquil garden, resolving to visit again. The family social gathering was not until two in the afternoon, but I had arrived three hours early specifically to revisit Kairakuen. After getting off the train, I asked at the information desk inside Mito Station and was told that a bus to the Kairakuen front gate area would be leaving shortly. I tossed my luggage into a coin locker, ran to the bus stop at the north exit, and successfully boarded the bus with the locals.
The front gate of Kairakuen is on the north side of the garden, deep within a quiet residential area. To be precise, it is the Kobuntei Omotemon, or front gate. It is the formal gate for heading toward the villa called Kobuntei within the garden. It is also called the Kuromon, or Black Gate, as it is painted pitch black. After entering the gate and passing through the Ichinokido, or first wooden gate, just ahead, I followed the path with a cedar grove on my right and a bamboo grove on my left. The path sloped gently downward. The air was dry and cool, and the shade of the trees was pleasant. One tends to think of Kairakuen as a plum grove, but entering from the front gate gives it more of the feel of a deep mountain. As it was a weekday, I continued along the nearly deserted path until a cliff appeared, and I descended a staircase to walk along the edge of the garden. A spring and a cave are lined up there, and right beside them are the tracks of the Joban Line I had just passed. Some people apparently dislike having a train run so close to a historic garden, but I was rather pleased. The limited express and local trains ran past as if brushing against the green of the trees. This time, I climbed a steep staircase and came out into an open place with a fine view. I backtracked a little, found the entrance to Kobuntei, and went inside.
Kairakuen is a garden conceived by Tokugawa Nariaki, the 9th lord of the Mito Domain of Hitachi Province, and opened in the 13th year of the Tenpo era (1842). This lord built the Kobuntei villa within the garden to invite not only his retainers but also the common people, serving them tea and entertaining them. The very name Kairakuen was taken from a phrase by Mencius meaning "to enjoy with others." Speaking of Tokugawa Nariaki, he was the father of Tokugawa Yoshinobu, the last shogun of the Tokugawa shogunate. He has the image of a stubborn man fixated on the *joi* (expel the barbarian) ideology who vehemently opposed the signing of the treaty with the United States. Many may remember him from his appearance in the historical drama "Atsuhime." But seeing this garden and its buildings, it is clear he was also quite a man of letters. Born in 1800, he was still only 53 when Perry arrived. He was sentenced to permanent house arrest during the Ansei Purge and died in Mito at the age of 60. That is not so different from my own age now.
Kobuntei has a two-story, three-level structure, with the third-floor section called Rakujuro. Following the designated route, I circled the interior of the villa and finally climbed the stairs to Rakujuro, where the view suddenly opened up. Below me spread the plum and cedar groves of Kairakuen, below the cliff were the tracks of the Joban Line and the park beyond them, and even farther away was the surface of Lake Senba. I have seen many gardens—Korakuen in Okayama, Kenrokuen in Kanazawa, Ritsurin Garden in Takamatsu, Shugakuin in Kyoto—but there is probably no other garden with such a magnificent view.
As I looked around, a pleasant breeze began to blow. It felt so good that I sat down in front of the drawing room where the domain lord would have sat and just spaced out for a while. Nariaki must have also sat in this spot and gazed at the scenery when he returned to Mito. I wonder if he had any moments of peace amidst the turmoil of the Bakumatsu period. There must have been various conspiracies and political upheavals, and many people were killed, but now no one is left, including the Fiery Lord of Mito. They have all fallen into a quiet sleep and become a part of this serene landscape.
One hundred and fifty years have passed since then, and the world is as noisy as ever, but people in the future will likely not even remember the great fuss made over whether a certain prime minister would resign or not. I myself have been quite busy lately, but sitting here, my hectic life in Mita feels very far away. In time, all the work I have done will be forgotten. I need not worry; young people will come to take my place. Out of the blue, I was reminded of the gentle, soft Hiroshima dialect of the late Dean of the Faculty of Letters Nakagawa, who passed away recently. Looking at the calm lake scenery, I felt a moment of quiet reflection.
I truly wanted to stay on the third floor of Kobuntei like this forever, but I had my duties at the social gathering. After about thirty minutes, I finally stood up, went downstairs, and walked out of Kairakuen through the plum grove. Small plums had fallen by the roadside. I heard there is an event called *ume-otoshi*, or plum dropping, coming up soon. At my feet, a few dandelions were also in bloom. I picked up one small plum and plucked one dandelion flower and put them in my pocket. I decided they would be my good luck charms for the day. But by the time I took a taxi back to the city center and the social gathering was over, the dandelion flower had completely wilted. Feeling just a little guilty for having broken its stem, I returned to Tokyo on a Joban Line limited express as dusk fell.
(Date of publication: June 3, 2010)