Monday, November 9, 2026
Today we left Kanazawa for Kyoto, but not before spending a morning in a Japanese home. It turned out to be one of those visits where we learned so much, and were so busy enjoying ourselves, that I almost forgot to take photographs.
A Visit to a Japanese Home
There were four of us visiting our host and hostess, both retired teachers, who welcomed us into their home and had prepared a little program of Japanese traditions to share with us.
They showed us photographs of their children and grandchildren. Their son is an interior designer, their son-in-law an engineer at Toyota, and their daughter and daughter-in-law are at home raising their children.
Their son’s profession was particularly evident throughout the house. He’d designed a refrigerator recessed into the floor, with a hatch that opened upward. Our hostess is quite petite, and this arrangement allows her to reach everything without having to contend with a tall refrigerator. He’d also devised shades that descend from the ceiling to divide rooms and keep heat contained during the winter.
The house had a dining room adjoining a central kitchen, a television/music room, and a more traditional Japanese sitting room with a low table over a recessed, heated space for one’s legs. This is called a horigotatsu. I’d heard of these but hadn’t seen one in someone’s home.
Our hosts had both traveled to the United States, including San Francisco and Hawaii. A long way from Kanazawa!
Tea, Sweets, and Ichi-go Ichi-e
We began with yōkan, a Japanese sweet made by our hostess from red adzuki beans, followed by o-cha (green tea).
Our hosts explained that they ordinarily drank tea from mugs. His mug was decorated with a crane and a turtle, both symbols of longevity and good fortune. But for guests they brought out gilded teacups, which were to be handled carefully, with two hands.
Fortunately, I had taken some Japanese tea ceremony classes before this trip!
Our hostess set down my cup with its floral design facing me. I picked it up with my right hand, supported it with my left, and rotated it so the flowers faced outward before drinking. She was quite pleased.
I had also brought my own little packet of kaishi, the special paper used when serving sweets during a tea ceremony. I unfolded it for the yōkan and discovered something I had NEVER noticed during all those classes: the paper was decorated with Mount Fuji and a flying crane!
Our hostess noticed immediately and was delighted.
Perhaps the room where I took tea ceremony lessons was too dark. Or perhaps I was so busy trying to remember how to fold and handle the paper that I never actually LOOKED at it.
I also gave them my business card, which has ichi-go ichi-e on it: roughly, “one time, one meeting,” a reminder that each encounter is unique and should be treasured. They loved it. In fact, our host asked for a card of his own.
Then came our gifts.
Lynn had brought a Chicago tea towel, and I brought Ghirardelli chocolates in a Golden Gate Bridge box. I’d wrapped both gifts in furoshiki, traditional Japanese wrapping cloths. I’d spent some time learning how to tie a particularly nice knot, courtesy of YouTube.
Our hosts made quite a fuss over the gifts.
And then they returned the furoshiki to us!
Apparently, in this circumstance, the wrapping cloth is returned to the giver. I’d had no idea. I was delighted both that they appreciated the wrapping and that I would get to use it again.
Mizuhiki: Paper That Looks Like Wire
Next our host introduced us to mizuhiki, the decorative cords used in Japanese gift wrapping, ceremonies, and celebrations.
He showed us a long board displaying elaborate mizuhiki decorations associated, I believe, with their daughter’s wedding.
I’d seen these intricate creations before—cranes, pine branches, pinecones, and other sculptural designs—but had assumed they were made from wire or something similar.
Nope.
They’re made from tightly twisted strips of washi paper!
Our host demonstrated how the strips are rolled into slender cords. Some are covered in metallic finishes, including gold, which makes the finished pieces look even less like paper.
It was another connection to the washi-making experience we’d had the previous day in Gokayama. Here was the same material, transformed into an entirely different traditional art.
Noh, Kabuki, and the Art of the Fan
Our host was also deeply involved in Noh theater. In fact, he was a Noh teacher, and this part of the visit was clearly dear to him.
Noh is one of Japan’s oldest theatrical traditions, with roots going back more than six centuries. Its performances are highly stylized and restrained, often telling stories involving historical figures, spirits, ghosts, or Buddhist themes. Movement is deliberate, and a small gesture can carry considerable meaning.
This is quite different from Kabuki, with its dramatic makeup, elaborate costumes, energetic performances, and more immediately expressive storytelling. Another form, Kyōgen, provides comic theater and is traditionally associated with Noh.
Our host explained that Noh actors often own their own masks, while the heavy and elaborate costumes are commonly maintained by Noh organizations.
He showed us several masks, including a rather fearsome horned one, and explained how important the mask’s position and angle are to conveying emotion. The masks themselves don’t change expression, of course. The actor makes them seem to.
He also introduced us to the ōgi, the folding fans used in Noh. These aren’t simply decorative accessories. They can symbolize objects, emotions, actions, or aspects of the story.
Naturally, we were invited to try some masks and fans ourselves.
As someone who spends time practicing a Japanese martial art in which the smallest movement can have a specific meaning, I found this particularly interesting.
There is something familiar about a tradition that asks the performer to communicate precisely through controlled movement, even though the purposes of Noh and iaido are quite different.
Two Shrines, Two Daily Practices
Our hosts also showed us their household religious spaces.
They had a kamidana, or Shinto household shrine, and a Buddhist butsudan.
Our hostess explained that she primarily tended the Shinto shrine, while her husband took care of the Buddhist one.
The Shinto practice was in the morning, with bows and claps, asking in essence for a good day and harmony with the natural world.
The Buddhist practice was twice daily. The morning prayer was, as they explained it to us, a request for help to live according to one’s best Buddhist nature. The evening prayer was an acknowledgment of the times during the day that one had fallen short.
It reminded me a bit of Yom Kippur—only as a daily practice.
Their butsudan was an intricately decorated cabinet, with gilded fittings, lamps, offerings, and carefully arranged sacred objects. It reminded me of the elaborate Buddhist altar we’d seen in the samurai house earlier in the trip.
Kimono, Wagasa, and a Very Large Height Difference
Next came the chance to try on traditional clothing.
Our hostess helped us into kimono, and we posed with a wagasa, a traditional Japanese umbrella made with bamboo ribs and treated washi paper. Unlike a decorative parasol, this one was designed to keep off the rain.
Our hostess was considerably shorter than I am, which made the business of arranging the kimono rather amusing.
The photograph rather tells the story.
The kimono itself was a beautiful cream-and-gold patterned fabric, with pale blue flowers. And the red umbrella was a rather nice finishing touch.
Sakura, Sakura — and the Koto
Our hostess played the koto, the traditional Japanese stringed instrument.
The one she showed us was made from paulownia wood, hollowed from a large piece of timber. Its movable bridges support and tune the strings, giving it that distinctive sound we often associate with Japanese music.
She demonstrated the instrument and then taught us to sing Sakura, Sakura, the traditional song about cherry blossoms.
If you’ve ever watched a film in which the background music is meant to say “THIS IS JAPAN,” you’ve probably heard some version of its melody.
Our hostess started us at a pitch that was rather ambitious for the four visiting singers.
We tried valiantly.
I still have the tune in my head.
She also discussed the instrument’s construction and the appearance of its bridges, which she associated with familiar forms in Japanese gardens.
We learned a little about regional drum traditions as well, including a type of smaller, hourglass-shaped taiko with a much higher-pitched sound than the large barrel drums we’d encountered in Tokyo. Our hosts also described architectural details at Kamakura Station that reference the shape and rhythms of those drums.
Four Paper Cranes
We then made origami cranes.
I used to make these when I was a child and remembered the process as relatively straightforward.
Apparently, I had forgotten quite a lot.
Under our hosts’ guidance, we folded, reversed, tucked, opened, and generally attempted to produce something resembling a crane. Eventually, we succeeded.
They asked us to write our names on one of the wings.
I assumed the cranes would remain with our hosts, perhaps to be hung somewhere in their house.
Instead, they presented each of us with a string of four cranes: the one we’d made, one made by our host, one made by our hostess, and one representing Japan.
Our hostess explained that we should hang them near a window, where the breeze would move them and bring back memories of our visit.
That was such a thoughtful gift.
Their English was limited, although considerably better than our Japanese. Even so, the meaning was perfectly clear.
A Dream to Take Home
The final item on our little program was to have been shodō, Japanese calligraphy.
We’d run short of time, so we didn’t actually do it ourselves.
As our hostess was playing the koto and teaching us to sing, our host had quietly slipped away to the more traditional sitting room. There, he settled at the horigotatsu—a low table with a sunken, heated space beneath it, allowing you to sit with your legs comfortably down in the “hole” rather than crossed on the floor. He was dutifully doing the calligraphy for us. We’d run out of time to try shodō ourselves, but he wasn’t about to let us leave empty-handed.
He presented each of us with the kanji for “Dream,” written in his own hand, along with their names and the date. Another little piece of the day to take home.
And then, just when I thought we were finished, we learned that he’d been taking photographs throughout the visit—and had PRINTED THEM OUT for us to take away!
We left with the cranes, the calligraphy, photographs, and quite a lot of new information.
What I remember most, though, is how interested our hosts were in sharing their traditions with us. This wasn’t simply a demonstration. We were being welcomed into their home and invited to participate.
Lunch, Shopping, and a Samurai Girl
Back in Kanazawa, we had lunch at a shopping mall near the station, followed by about an hour of free time.
There was a Uniqlo, so naturally I went in.
I bought another HeatTech shirt and three pairs of HeatTech socks—for less than the cost of a single HeatTech shirt back home in the United States.
And then, at 7-Eleven, I spotted a T-shirt with the rather mysterious English phrase “Born From Eggs.”
Sometimes the English you encounter in Japan raises more questions than it answers.
Next, I discovered a little sticker shop.
The young man working there noticed my necklace and exclaimed, “Harry Potter!”
It’s my Deathly Hallows necklace, the symbol combining the Elder Wand, Resurrection Stone, and Cloak of Invisibility.
That was about the extent of our shared English.
But I showed him a photograph of me practicing iaido and tried to communicate that I wanted “samurai girl” stickers.
He understood immediately and took me to a section of the shop where I would never, ever have thought to look.
I found several stickers that reminded me of women in my dojo. They’ll make nice little gifts, perhaps for their iaito cases.
I should have bought more.
And finally: One little detail I noticed at lunch: each chair had a basket underneath it for handbags and other belongings. No putting your purse on the floor! Besides keeping everything clean and out of the way, there’s an old superstition that putting your purse on the floor means you’ll lose your money.
A sensible arrangement, superstition or not.
The Twelve-Minute Connection
Then it was time for the train to Kyoto.
We boarded the Hokuriku Shinkansen for Tsuruga, where we had to transfer to the Thunderbird limited express for Kyoto.
The connection time was twelve minutes.
Twelve.
And practically EVERYONE on the train seemed to be getting off at Tsuruga.
You could see members of our group beginning to worry as we approached the station. We had luggage, a large group, and a connecting train scheduled to depart exactly twelve minutes after our arrival.
Fortunately, Utako-san knew what she was doing.
We made it.
Japan’s trains have been an education in themselves. They’re efficient, carefully scheduled, and apparently quite capable of producing anxiety among travelers accustomed to a more leisurely definition of “connecting time.”
At the station I also spotted something that seemed particularly Japanese: a Baskin-Robbins ice cream vending machine.
Of course.
Kyoto — and Less Room for Iaido
We have arrived in Kyoto!
On the taxi ride from Kyoto Station to our hotel, we passed an enormous temple complex. Immense buildings, huge grounds, and a market outside with sellers offering clothing, ceramics, and other goods.
I asked the driver what it was, but only managed to retain that the name began with an H.
I believe it was Higashi Hongan-ji. I would have liked to stop, but we were whisked past.
Our hotel rooms are getting smaller as we move through Japan.
There is now approximately a foot between the beds.
I’ve been trying to keep up with my iaido practice, which has consisted largely of mentally running through the techniques and occasionally miming the movements in whatever space I can find.
Shattō and the Shihōtō techniques are proving particularly challenging in this room. I’ve tried using a hairbrush or rolled-up papers as a substitute sword, but it’s really not the same.
And the foot I’ve been nursing is getting progressively more troublesome. I’m taping it and wearing a brace, but we’re doing a great deal of walking. I knew this was likely to happen, and I’m managing it as best I can.
Yesterday I attempted one of the Shihōtō movements and had to catch myself on a bed to avoid falling.
So perhaps a little less actual practice and a little more mental practice for the moment.
I’d hoped to visit Lady Nene’s temple and perhaps Tozando, the “all things iaido” shop. But our itinerary is packed, and I suspect those visits will have to wait for my return to Kyoto in January.
Tomorrow we’re off early again. Before lunch, we’ll visit Arashiyama for an hour-long walk through its bamboo grove and the gardens of Tenryū-ji Temple, followed by Kinkaku-ji (the Golden Pavilion). After lunch, it’s on to Nijō Castle.
For now, we’ve gone from a morning of tea, handmade paper cords, Noh masks, koto music, and origami cranes to the business of trains and finding room for our suitcases.
And somewhere in my luggage is a string of four little paper cranes, waiting for a window and a breeze.
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