The Best of Wanderlust (A GeoEx eBook)

The Best of Wanderlust

On a Quest in Kyoto for Traditional Woodblock Prints

then wandered by shop after shop showcasing ancient tansu chests, ceramics, and lacquerware. Finally I came upon Ezoshi, an elegant two-floor store with a wide selection of traditional and modern woodblock prints. I was especially moved by some of the 20th-century works, which showed a delicacy and grace that I thought had disappeared at least a century before. But even though they did have some copies of the traditional works of 18th- and 19th-century masters like Hokusai and Hiroshige, I didn’t find what I was looking for. I asked the young attendant if she knew of any woodblock print shops located in a covered shopping area by the river. She cocked her head slightly. “I’m not sure, but you could try the area called Teramachi. It’s a covered shopping area just across the river. You could try there.” ~~ So I set out for Teramachi. But I had only walked a few doorways when I spotted a foot-wide stone pathway lined by green plants winding alluringly away from the street. Near the beginning of the path was a small wooden sign with the neatly ink-brushed words “Café Gallery.” I was hungry and intrigued, so I followed the pathway. It wound inward about 15 feet and then turned to the left toward a sliding doorway. As I approached, a woman in a dusky lavender kimono with her gray hair in a neat bun brushed with a quick bow by me. I slipped into an elegant spare space with six stools set at a sleek counter. Three traditional Noh theater masks were displayed behind the counter. There was no other adornment. An elderly woman with a kind, lined face welcomed me with a hearty “ Irasshaimase! ,” presented a one-page handwritten menu with a precise grace, as if it were a tea ceremony bowl, and asked what I would like. I ordered a coffee and a chocolate cake, then complimented her on the beautiful shop and asked how long it had been there. “Fifteen years,” she said. “It was started by the woman who

was leaving just as you walked in. She’s on her way to Tokyo to meet with a director. She’s one of the most famous masters of Noh mask painting in Japan.” She asked what I was doing in Japan and I told here I was on a satogaeri —a going-back-to-the-birthplace visit—with my wife. “Oh, really!” she said. “I have an international marriage in my family, too. My daughter is married to a Frenchman and they live in Normandy. He is 20 years older than her! They restore ancient homes. My daughter loves antiques—I think maybe that’s why she loves her husband,” she said with a wink. “Excuse me a moment,” she said suddenly and shuffled into another room. Minutes later she re-emerged bearing a yellowed issue of the Asia edition of Time magazine. The magazine was opened and she pressed it into my hands. “Look at this,” she said. It was an article about the ancient art of Noh mask making. “That’s the owner of this shop,” she said, pointing to the well-thumbed page. We talked about how Kyoto still nurtures old artistic traditions and how it retains a graciousness and calm that much of the rest of Japan has lost. Then I remembered my quest. “I’m looking for a woodblock print shop in a covered shopping area near the river,” I said. “Do you have any idea—?” “Go to Teramachi,” she said. “It’s just across the bridge. Maybe a 10-minute walk. Good luck!” And she bowed me out the door. ~~ As I approached Teramachi, I saw the Starbucks I had been thinking of, perched incongruously among traditional Japanese restaurants with platforms overlooking the Kamo River, where diners on fine summer nights can sit outside, eat grilled fish, and watch dusk color the sky like a kimono obi. I entered the thronging neighborhood of covered shops and stopped at a coffeehouse. “Do you know a woodblock print shop near here?” I asked. The twentysomething waitresses

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