I thought I'd got the hang of things at Shigeo and Keiko's and that today I'd be doing a bit of veg processing, cleaning some eggs, maybe some more rice harvesting. But at breakfast I am told, "today early lunch; make sandwich". Hmm. Why? For who? Gradually, all is revealed: after a short morning weeding the cabbage patch, Keiko's friend, Miki, will be taking me to Takehara ("bamboo field"), where her sister - a Japanese tea ceremony teacher - lives.
Until recently Takehara was a little-known town with a substantial late Edo-period historic centre. Since being used as the location for a TV serial dramatising the story of whisky introduction to Japan (see http://www.nikka.com/eng/founder/, quite a story), it is firmly on the tourist trail. But there was no time for strolling the streets; I had 2 hours of intense etiquette training ahead of me.
The four of us were seated around a low table. Miki's friend, who has been learning for several months, started us off. This is the "new style" of sencha* ceremony, which has older people and tourists in mind. Less demanding on the knees than kneeling at a low table, it is more sociable on account of the table being narrower, and communication easier. Whereas, in the past, the ceremony would have taken place in silence, today having a natter is part of the package.
Then it was my turn, and I wished I'd watched with a bit more attention. Miki's sister doesn't speak a word of English so I was guided by Miki's rough translation and her sister's gestures. It was by turns stressful ("left hand not right hand", "rotate cup once only", "don't lift cup over tray, pass it round the edge", "place handkerchief the other way up in the holder", "lay out the cups in the 1-2-3-4-5 order", "keep your elbows down"... ) and meditative, as - by the second pass - I was beginning to remember some parts with no prompting. But a naughty, rebellious internal voice kept telling me this was a heck of a palaver for three mini sips of tea.
I was beginning to wonder how much longer we'd be sipping and bowing when it was suddenly time to leave. Miki then drove me to the top of nearby Mt Shirataki. See FB for incredible views of the Seto Inland Sea (seen from my Onomichi cycle ride, but I hadn't appreciated the scale of it). I asked Shigeo how many islands he thought there were. His "300" was way short; it's in fact nearer 3000, though clearly no one can have counted.
Just below the summit was a Buddhist temple, complete with an American monk, his wife and a veggie garden. Miki knows them well as she comes to the spot regularly, particularly if she's not feeling good. The wife gave Miki some white aubergines. This seemed such a reverse of the custom of giving alms to monks that it prompted the question, how do monks survive, financially? Miki thought about it and we were both amused that she had no idea. And nor did another friend, who we visited, on the way home. Miki and her friends make a 4000¥ (£20) per year contribution to their local temples but know no more than that what sustains their spiritual leaders.
A great day. But I'm feeling guilty: I barely worked 2 hours while Shigeo was out in the fields close to 14 hours.
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* There is a formal art surrounding sencha, which is distinguished as senchadō, the way of sencha. Generally it involves the high-grade gyokuro class of sencha. This ceremony, more Chinese in style, was introduced to Japan in the 17th century by Ingen, the founder of the Ōbaku school of Zen Buddhism, which is in general more Chinese in style than earlier schools. It remains associated with the Ōbaku school, and the head temple of Manpuku-jihosts regular sencha tea ceremony conventions.
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