ASIAN HUMANITIES 2000

My First Impressions of Students: Prologue, First Day..

Going into this trip I knew that ______, ______, ______, ______, and possibly ______ were excited about Asia. The first three are tea students whose papers I am familiar with, and I've seen their individual performances of tea procedures (temae) develop and improve over time. I also know how bright ______ is, and how creative! So I figure with these three tea students as a base, the group dynamic will never grow negative.

_______ is ______'s roommate, and she is clearly filled with some of the enthusiasm that _______ developed in Japan during her year at Sopia (Jochidai) University. ______, too, seems totally committed to having a good time studying Asian things. ______ strikes me as unusually mature. I know his grandparents raised him, but could that alone account for his consistently calm and open manner? I sense that he has suffered more than the others, which, if true, would explain what the Japanese would call his "calm-breath" (heiki) and "clear and optimistic" (akarui) personality.

______ seems like lots lof fun -- very outgoing and expressive -- but I imagine she may have mood swings that could put us on a roller coaster. ______ is a very bright young lady, but I am sure she will be a "loner," going her own way in what often may be a painfully headstrong manner. The only person I cannot read at all is ______. She is very quiet, and seems congenial. But she expressed some discomfort when we met together in the Zuiun-an teahouse on campus. When Jodie Miller, our Pepperdine International Program assistant asked if anyone was nervous or apprehensive about the trip, ______ immediately raised her hand. (Incidentally, Jodie, I think, will be a super assistant. She seems like the ideal Pepperdine ambassador: naturally humble, aware of the needs of others, and quick to sacrifice herself in their service.)

My only real concern as we began our fieldtrip was that none of the students had done much if any preparation. The few times we met before our departure I tried to set the stage for them, with some general information about "the Hindu and Buddhist world view" and practical advice about what to wear and how to pack (separate clothes for India and Japan, for example.) I knew most of them had not looked at the lectures I had prepared for them on the "Blackboard" interactive system. In fact, I had guessed they would not have time to do anything with that information until they returned, and so made sure their names were still on the Blackboard ISAC 301 class list. I kept telling myself that these were not Asian specialists who had read everything available on the subject of Thai, Indian and Japanese history, culture, art and religion.

Going in, therefore, I knew this would be a blank-slate tour of three quite different Asian cultures, which students would have to assess after the fact. They would have to wait until they returned home to compare their impressions with the standard accounts of the histories, religions, and arts of Thailand, India and Japan. Their 10-page papers for the two classes each of them was enrolled in would not be due until the end of July. I figured this could be a blessing as well as disadvantage, and tried not to worry about it.

(Later, as it turns out, I not only worried but became frustrated and inwardly angry when I saw some students blithely walk through places that they should have been absorbing with every ounce of their being. Would they have been more attentive if they had known more about what they were seeing? Probably. In any case, it made me angry to see them reading things like Bridges of Madison County when I expected them to be catching up on Asian things in every spare moment!)

Sun., April 30.

We left LAX together on a Thai Airlines plane (the company we would use throughout the trip) at 2:40 p.m. on Saturday, April 29. The flight to Japan's Narita airport took 11 hours. After a one-hour crew change (during which we waited in the transit lounge, sampling Japanese candies, crackers, and canned drinks) we took a 6-hour flight to Bangkok. There we were in customs for an hour, after which Pepperdine's Keiko Hirabayashi was waiting for us with our local guide, Mr. Somsak Thaipakdee, or "Sam" as he asked us to call him. We then spent 45 minutes in a bus to the hotel. In all, we spent 19 hours and 45 minutes getting to our first destination: the Amari Watergate Hotel in downtown Bangkok. By local time it was 1:30 a.m., Monday, May 1. We had lost a day.

Mon., May 1.

We got up jet-lagged, but cheerful. The hotel was very chic. The stunning morning buffet (of fruit, breads, coffee, tea, juice, eggs prepared any way you want, sausage, bacon, as well as complete Thai and Japanese breakfasts) was repeated every morning. Keiko was in her element and students seemed to enjoy their first real meal together, shared with a truly international array of guests, looking out at a modern if nondescript cityscape. There was a kind of relieved look on everyone's face that the hardships I had warned them about were not going to begin right away. Not in a 5-star hotel, certainly.

A 10 o'clock orientation session on Thailand took place in a formal-looking conference room with slide projector and screen, and water and note pads provided for each person, all prearranged by Keiko. About a month before we left Malibu I had made e-mail contact with a friend of Robin Perrin's, a sociologist by the name of Mark Ritchie, who is a professor at Kalamazoo and Chiang Mai Universities. As planned, he flew down from Chiang Mai with one of his graduate students, Baiyun, and Amy Davisson, a Pepperdine graduate who is working with a non-governmental agency (NGA) on the Thai/Burma border.

The three of them came to give us an in-depth lecture and orientation to go along with Keiko's practical one about our schedule, the rate of exchange between dollars and bahts, etc. During Mark's lecture students sometimes asked questions, and Amy (who was a student with Jodie in Heidelberg) joined in with comments about how the ancient and modern antagonisms between Thais and Burmese (her special interest) must be studied before any decisions are made as to what she (or any outsider who would like to be helpful) should do. Before talking about the specific work he was doing in Thailand as a scholar and activist, Mark made the following comments about the Thai personality:

"Thai people value a 'cool heart' [jai = Japanese 'kokoro'], which means they avoid confrontation at all costs. They never yell, and when they are angry they are taught to apologize with a smile rather than act on their anger. Their most common greeting is the hands-together bow [Indian 'namaste', Japanese 'gassho'] that indicates without words the deepest respect for others. If you believe, as Buddhists do, that we are all connected to each other, indeed are each other, then we must respect each other as Buddhas. This is especially true for Thais when they are greeting their king or monks, to whom they must always be especially respectful."

"Just remember that Thai people will be looking at your heart at all times. They believe you will show respect (which is the natural condition of your heart) by your outward behavior. [The Japanese 'tatemae' behavior comes to mind here.] As far as Thais are concerned, how you dress is also an expression of how you feel about other people. You may think the way you dress expresses your personal tastes, status, or who you think you are. Just remember that Thai people will not see you that way."

"Tank-tops and bare midriffs (chests and bellies) are out. Shirts (with or without ties), T-shirts and blouses are in. Shorts are very disrespectful. Shoes should have a back strap or be full shoes. Thong sandals are not acceptable. Feet should never be placed on chairs or tables. When sitting on the floor the feet should never be pointing towards other people. Feet are the 'lowest' part of the body and by touching others with them or thrusting feet towards others is equivalent to slapping someone's face. In general, I would say you should just watch Thai people carefully and imitate what they do. Their behavior towards each other is your model."

After talking affectionately about the Thai people, Mark showed a video about the problems of the urban poor in Bangkok. The focus was on the suffering that these people endure at the hands of unscrupulous entrepreneurs (often Indian Muslims, or so it was alleged) who use them like slaves. The session with Mark lasted until about 11:30 a.m.

Following a quick buffet lunch in the hotel we boarded the bus at noon for Wat Po, the Temple of the Reclining Buddha (Parinirvana). There was a "cultural mixup" when the driver dropped us off at the Temple of the Golden Buddha. Neither Sam nor Mark or Bai felt they could reprimand him without hurting his feelings, and so we merely got back on the bus wasting a good 30 minutes in the name of the "cool heart" Mark had told us about. (Later, something similar happened on a regular basis: bus drivers would take a wrong turn, or not follow Sam's instructions, and we would become lost, but the inevitable response of all parties was a sweet smile.)

The students seemd impressed with the beauty of the architecture of Wat Po, if somewhat bored with the many golden standing Buddha statues there. They were amazed by the old (17th-century), gigantic (150-foot-long) reclining figure of the Historical Buddha at the moment of his physical death. While we were viewing it many long lines of orange-robed monks (most of them young boys who were temporarily experiencing monk life, as is the custom for all Thai males) passed by. At those times we would have to stand back and be careful not to touch them. Students seemed puzzled but respectful. The sexism of the custom became a constant topic for our group.

(It was at this temple that I made the stupid mistake of shooting some of the video shots I was taking with my new camcorder vertically, which of course projected the images horizontally. Fortunately, I looked at enough of my efforts to see that the buildings shot that way were lying on their side, so I stopped that. Unfortunately, I continued throughout the trip to occasionally forget to punch the pause or off buttons, giving me closeup shots of my belt-buckle or my feet.)

At 2:00 p.m., as planned, we began our visit to the Duang Prateep Foundation and the Khlong Tuey "slum": Duang Prateep is a woman who established a school and foundation for the urban poor in this area of Bangkok in the 1970's. The government subsidizes some of the foundation's activities today, but the bulk of the money is raised through NGA's.

The bus driver took wrong roads several times (despite instructions offered by Mark and Sam) before finally locating the place where the school and foundation offices are located. We first met officials in the main office, where we were served refreshments. (It was very hot, and the office was cool.) I felt the people were old leftists, from their rhetoric about the rich and corrupt politicians. But there was no denying their sincere desire to help the poor. And their case against government mismanagement was compelling. We learned that several Christian groups had their headquarters in the same neighborhood slum (including one group called the Church of Christ, and another led by a single Jesuit priest who had lived there all his adult life.)

We split into two groups to take a walking tour of the heart of the slum. It was explained to us that the present inhabitants are second or third generation descendants of rural farmers who came to Bangkok to work in the city's port authority construction projects. They were used like slaves. Men, women and children worked long hours to send meager earnings back to their home villages (the poorest of which was in Isarn Province.) Now their descendants have no tie with the farmland at all, and live hand-to-mouth from one construction job to another.

They are deeply religious Buddhists who believe the teaching, "accept the fate you have in this life and use it to work hard for religious merit, a pious act that will help others now and benefit you in the next life." These Buddhist ethics were taken advantage of by businessmen who have a "good heart" (and good karma), and who know that their prosperity is dependent on cheap slave labor! Mark put it this way: "Monks in Thailand take vows of poverty; businessmen take vows of prosperity."

The Thai economy is one of the fastest-growing in the world. But it is built on the backs of what Thais actually call "buffalos" -- young men and women from impoverished areas. The gap between the rich and poor in Thailand is visible indeed. The traditional Buddhist excuse for not doing more about the gap is based in a kind of predestination: each person is paying the price in this life for actions in a former life, so each person has "made their own bed and must lie in it." Or to use the deadly accurate new-age rendering of the Hindu/Buddhist law of karma, "what goes around comes around."

Compassion, that most supreme of all Buddhist emotions, is kept oddly abstract by the law of karma in Thailand. I have to ask myself if Thai businessmen are not using Buddhism the way Calvinists have used Christianity, i.e., to justify their own wealth and free-wheeling capitalism: for the former they themselves are the cause of their good fortune; for the latter, God Himself selected them before the beginning of time for this special grace.

The walk through the slum was heart-breaking. The area floods regularly, and even at the end of the dry season all the huts are literally raised up out of a swamp. Some of the money from the foundation has paid for raised concrete walkways. But it was still sad to see the refuse and garbage everywhere. Many of the huts were built under the freeways that lace through Bangkok. I found it odd that in the tight spaces we walked through, which put us into arm's-length proximity to people who were sleeping, bathing, cooking and just hanging out, nobody accosted us (or asked us for money, which is what countless beggars in India would do later.)

A few slum-dwellers did try out some choice English phrases, such as "What are you doing here?" Several in our group couldn't figure out the answer to that question. They could not see why they should see such scenes. I'm sure they would not put themselves in downtown Los Angeles for the same reason. "The poor will always be with us," they quote, as though that somehow allows them to ignore the poor. They seem to forget all the other "In as much as you have done it to the very least of these..." passages in Christian teachings.

Back at the hotel Mark asked everyone to join him up on the pool terrace for a debriefing. Using Mark's sociological model of impression-information-interpretation, Jodie asked for personal evaluations of the day's experience, which were to be written down immediately and turned in to her. After that everyone took a bath and had their first night on their own in Bangkok. Prices were more than affordable, even cheap, so we all felt a bit prosperous. (That feeling changed dramatically later, in Japan!)

Keiko acted as the host for Carol, Mark, Bai, and me at a Japanese-owned Chinese restaurant in the hotel. Of the day's excursion, Keiko expressed the concern that our students would think most Asians are poor and will be confirmed in their belief that Westerners are superior to Asians simply because of the sight of so many poor Asians. All of us at the table were shocked at her point of view. Keiko thinks we should not have gone to the slum. I wondered what the students thought.

After we said goodbye to Mark and Bai, Keiko told us that Dr. Phillips refused to let her budget cover Mark's expenses, and that I would have to pay for his visit myself. Apparently only those things that she planned on the Thailand leg of the trip will be covered, despite the fact that I set Mark's visit up (after hearing about him from Robin Perrin) a good month before we left Malibu. Ah, well.

Tues., May 2.

I began this day at 4:15 a.m. with serious jet-lag. After showering and writing in this journal, Carol and I joined the other jet-lagged Pepperdiners in the elegant second-floor dining room. We were beginning to look forward to breakfast as a highlight to each day in Thailand.

At 9:00 a.m. we were in the bus and on our way to the Golden Buddha Temple (where our driver had inadvertantly taken us the day before) to see the 12,000-pound, 18-carat statue of the historical Buddha seated in meditation. We learned that the original 15th-century(?) statue later had been covered in plaster for some reason, and that the true nature of the material (and weight!) of the giant Buddha was not discovered until the 20th century, when rope was tied to it to lift it up to its present position, at which point the plaster broke off revealing the multi-piece gold statue underneath. Students seemed cheerful and impressed.

By 10 o'clock we were on our way to the Temple of the Emerald (Jade) Buddha and the Imperial Palace, which are in the same compound and have been the focal point for Thai and non-Thai visitors alike since being opened to the public in 1945. The heat (100 degrees and very humid) and the crowds took their toll, but everyone kept their inner "cool heart" throughout the long 2-hour trek. First, we followed Sam around the base of the Golden Pagoda and listened to him tell the stories of semi-mythological kings and demons from the Ramayana. (Had any of the students read about that pivotal Hindu epic in my Blackboard lectures?) We took two group shots, one made by a professional and one by Sam, using all our cameras.

As we approached the Hall of the little Emerald Buddha, Sam again warned everyone about respectful clothing (shirts tucked in for men, and girls' arms and bellies covered) and respectful behavior (sit on the floor, but never allow the feet to point towards the little statue on the tall main altar.) Once inside the massive hall we saw the 500 or so lay-people seated on the floor, dressed in white (death to self-craving) and chanting the scriptures we had been hearing on a loudspeaker for some time. Perched up on a high altar was the little green statue, wearing gold-filligree crown and necklace. We didn't have to worry about sitting improperly, because there was no place for us to sit down. The place was packed.

After leaving the hall we entered the Palace grounds proper, with native and European-style buildings constructed for Rama III and IV (the latter of King and I fame) - we even entered the coronation hall, where it was easy to imagine Anna Leon-Owen and Rama IV (Deborah Kerr and Yul Brynner) dancing. By the time we got to the bus it was after noon and we were very hot and hungry. Lunch was waiting -- buffets of Thai and Western food -- at a nearby hotel. Many other tired tourists were there, too. (The Thais have learned from the Peoples' Republic of China how to take care of and control tourists!)

I watched our 2 o'clock appointment with the Bovoranives Temple (Vihara) and Buddhist University officials go by. But we arrived there by 2:45 p.m., not too late to be greeted with a smile by a young monk named P. Supat Kampakaeo, who had just returned from a yearlong stay in Varanasi, India (and who was chosen to meet us because one of his teachers was the monk who had befriended me back in 1974, when I spent some time at his temple.)

We were ushered into a large, red-carpeted room, air-conditioned, where we sat on the floor facing Supat Kampakaeo and another priest (whose name I did not learn.) A microphone was provided for them and for us. Rev. Supat began by telling us cheerily, "I came back to Thailand to escape the heat in India, which you are going into next week!" We were provided with two paperbound texts, made especially for us, one on Thai Buddhist theology, another on the history of the temple and university. We waited for the abbot to appear. After a few minutes Supat left the room briefly and then returned to whisper something to the other priest. The two of them looked at us sheepishly and then Supat announced that the abbot was still tied up with some other visitors. He urged his colleague to speak to us because his English was better.

The other priest began reading from the history text, and then, sensing our boredom, launched into a more off-the-cuff presentation of Buddhism and its place in Thai life. When he asked questions of us, calling students by name, they responded, and a profitable discussion followed. I asked what Buddhism could offer the world that would promote peace. He suggested that the goal of any true spiritual practice is to recognize and eliminate from our lives three things: (1) lust and selfishness, (2) anger and hatred, and (3) delusion, which he described as an imperfect grasp of reality.

"If we each work on recognizing and eliminating these things from our lives, the result is bound to be peace," he said. If we took this goal for our own, he assured us, we would come to feel more interconnected and compassionate. The priest pointed out that from a Buddhist perspective the elimination of these three things from our lives would help us see that Buddhist teachings about Truth, i.e., the Budhha Dharma, is indeed true, and that loving kindness would automatically grow in us and in the world around us. He said we would come to recognize that reincarnation and the law of karma are connected to us as individuals, and that any problem and solution to that problem had been left squarely on our shoulders.

The implication in his response to my question was that social change leading to peace had to come from within and that we should not look to change anything "outside" ourselves until we had a sure sense of the change "inside" ourselves. "That is the correct approach to Nirvana," which he described as "the cessation of being a separate self."

Students asked really good questions. "Did Lord Buddha reach Nirvana on his own or was there some kind of divine intervention?" The priest's answer: "He did it himself. He was just a human being. There is no divine power outside of ourselves."

"How do we eliminate our anger when we obviously can't even control it very well?" Answer: "We must realize that we all have had connections with each other in past lives, and are thus related to and are part of each other. It is foolish to be angry at yourself!"

"What is the difference between Theravada (Hinayana) and Mahayana Buddhism?" Answer: "It is natural for people to want new things. Historically the Mahayana doctrine is a "new" form of Buddhist teaching. Theravada (lit., the Teaching of the Elders) is the original, "old" form of Buddhism taught by Lord Buddha himself. We Theravadins are reluctant to change or modify the original teachings."

"Do you accept Mahayana teachings? For example, do you think Japanese Buddhism is true?" The monk's answer: "People who thought up Mahayana teachings are very brave and creative. They have many different teachings and methods from ours. But their goal is the same as ours."

"How do you know for sure that Buddha reached Nirvana?" Answer: "We cannot know until we ourselves reach it. But we can see the truth, or the results of his teaching, in the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path. We must be patient. I am far from being through with reincarnation. Only after many, many more rebirths will I know the full truth."

"The text you gave us on 'Buddhism and Thai People" says (on page 18) that early Bangkok kings 'were regarded as Bodhisattvas (future Buddhas).' Does that mean your kings have a different set of rules than ordinary people? Can you ever have a 'bad' king?" Answer: "Our king is a human being and can make mistakes. But he must put the people before himself -- like a Bodhisattva. He is very much like a monk who has taken vows of selflessness and compassion for others. Just as we Thais are taught to respect monks for their hard efforts, we respect our king for his efforts. We make merit for ourselves (in future lives) by respecting monks and kings in this life."

At the end of the discussion the priest asked us to prepare for meditation. He told us to fold our legs, put our hands in our laps, and clear our minds, just breathing in and breathing out. I put on my "rakusu" -- the symbolic patchwork robe that in Japan (and other parts of East Asia) is worn by priests and non-priests alike whenever they meditate. I brought the rakusu that has written on its lining the two New Testament statements (in Luke and Paul's Letter to the Romans): "You shall know the Truth and the Truth shall set you free... for the Kingdom of God is within you."

The meditation was short but deep. I felt good about this first (and as it turned out, last) effort. Everyone seemed engaged. The words the priest spoke at the beginning and end of the meditation ran together into a soothing, droning sound, and were reassuring in their simple message of "just breathe in and out." While we meditated there was thunder, lightning and pounding rain going on outside, which let up by the time we were ready to go outside for a tour of the temple grounds. The monk Supat Kampakaeo led the tour. All along the way, as we listened to Supat tell us about each building, we were joined by other monks, as well occasional dogs and cats. One of the buildings, built in 19th-century Victorian style, complete with a prominent cross on top, looked like a church. But it was not. It was a Buddhist image hall built in Western style according to the specifications of Rama V.

This made me ask an obvious question. Do the monks at this famous national Thai Buddhist temple-university complex study other religions? I told Supat that Japanese abbots of temples I had trained in had requested that I, as a Christian, teach the Bible to novice priests. He nodded enthusiastically that yes, he and other Thai monks routinely study the Bible, and that he would welcome any lectures or lessons I might offer the monks at Wat Bovoranives.

One of the unforgetable moments of our visit came in the main hall (vihara), which is closed to non-priests as a general rule, and to all women. (Imagine! We had nine women in our group, including our Thai agent Mrs. Khun Yinglek, Jodie my asssistant, and my wife Carol. ) We sat on the floor facing a glittering assortment of huge gold statues -- of Buddhas and founding priests -- all reflected in the European cut-glass punch-bowls and vases that were placed in the very front for the offerings of flowers and fruit. We sat there quietly, in a chapel whose walls were covered with scenes from the lives of the historical Buddha, the Jatakas (all of them showing him to be filled with loving kindness, the one quality I am convinced Buddhism values above all others.) After telling us about the scenes, and warning us that before leaving there would have to be some recitation of scripture, the monk Supat and two other priests chanted a scripture of blessing: "May we learn from each other that our self-concerns are all empty, and that lives of kindness are the way to Nirvana."

Wed., May 3.

Before breakfast this morning we piled into the bus to go experience the offerings of food and flowers that devout Thais make to monks each morning -- in the procedure known as "making merit." Mrs. Yinglek (who is related to the present King of Thailand and owns the travel agency that arranged our visits to Wat Bovoranives yesterday and Dr. Suvit's talk today) met us with 15 sets of food-and-flower offerings. She and Sam helped each of us do the presentation correctly: as each monk approached, we took the food bags, slipped out of our shoes, stood on top of them, made the hands-together-in-prayer gesture ("dai" in Thai), and placed the offering on top of each monk's begging bowl.

On the way to the site where we would "make merit," while we were still in the bus, I explained how I viewed the procedure. (Two of our students did not show up for the morning venture, which puzzled me and also left us with two sets of offerings that had to be paid for but not used. So I felt obliged to try to ease some consciences, if possible.) I began by reminding everyone that all Thais assume Buddhist monks are involved in a life of self-denial that they themselves would find too strenuous. So by supporting the monks (for being pure for the rest of society, so to speak), the efforts of the monks become the efforts of the Thai people as a whole.

I explained that as a Christian I believe that all barriers between people have been removed, and that there is no distinction between "Jew or Gentile, male or female," etc., because all are one in Christ. I also pointed out that in examining Buddhism I am drawn naturally to its most profound teaching -- that of no separation of beings -- because of its compatibility with Christianity in this regard. So when I make an offering to the Thai Buddhist monks I do so as as way of showing respect for others and for myself. "Making merit" in the Thai tradition then becomes merely another way of worshipping God, who has put all people together as "one in Christ Jesus."

I do not know whether this struck the students as a reasonable excercize in comparative religious thinking for a Christian or as a false justification of a false religion. But Jodie Miller, the 25-year-old International Programs representative for the trip, told me that my personal explanation helped her, and that she thought the students appreciated it. I hope so. But it still bothers me that all students did not bother to show up for this important opportunity to see religion in action. (I was even more shocked later when the same students didn't participate in fully Christian services! What is going on? My immediate impulse is to shake them! Why can't they wake up? Are they afraid? Against all religion? Apathetic? All I can see is how rude and ungrateful they are.)

Back at the hotel, we had breakfast together and then, at 10:00 a.m., we went into the conference room where we were introduced to Dr. Suvit Yodmani, a 57-year-old Thai businessman and government official who graduated from Massacusetts Institute of Technology with a doctorate in community development. As a child he was educated in Thai, English and American schools. He was articulate and urbane. He spoke to us about Thai culture in a rambling but thoroughly entertaining manner, despite having a cold that almost prevented him from coming. It was clear that he and Mrs. Yinglek were old friends, and that he had come largely out of his loyalty to her.

Dr. Suvit (Thais traditionally refer to each other by their given names, with some affectionate or formal title that makes their direct references to each other sound very intimate, like "Brother Robert") first noted how the "old" view of Thai origins claims that Thai people came from South China just before the Christian era began, i.e., that Thai culture is actually Chinese and not very old. But he confessed that he believes in the "new" theory, which regards Thai culture to be indigenous and extremely ancient. He pointed to recent (1970's) excavations in NE Thailand with carbon-14 datings that predate the Chinese immigrations by over 1000 years. Nevertheless, he said he would focus on the historical (Christian-era) rather than archeological periods of the Thai cultural record.

After ticking off the historical periods -- Mon and Khner cultures, 9th-12th centuries; Sukhothai Period, 13th-15th centuries; Ayutthya Period, 16th-18th centuries, and then the Bangkok Period, 19th century - present -- Dr. Suvit compared Thai kings to each other. He singled out Rama V for special praise, calling him a great "Lincolnesque" liberator who dealt with Western cultures in perceptive and skillful ways.

Rama IX, the present King, is now 76 and beloved by all, according to Dr. Suvit (and I found nothing in any part of Thai society to contradict that sentiment.) "The King has said that only poverty is Thailand's true enemy. His solution is to work on agricultural reform."

Dr. Suvit spent the major portion of his lecture on Buddhism and its effect on Thai culture. "Buddhism is the core of Thai society. Thai people are peaceful, fun-loving and proud. They do not believe in a creator god. Instead, they believe in karma and reincarnation. ... Nirvana is the state of being finished, of not being, in the conventional sense of being, separate and alone. In other words Nirvana is a state of wholeness in which nothing is excluded, or in need of further rebirth. Reincarnation is an unsatisfactory conclusion to life. But Nirvana, on the other hand, is full contentment. It means you are through with life, but in the additional sense, perhaps, of being quite thorough. Nirvana is the only satisfactory conclusion to your life. ... Buddhism discourages personal ambition and all plans to 'get ahead' in life. Pressures of modern life are not to be taken at all seriously."

Just before he ended his talk, I noted that his resume listed several organizations dealing with elephants, and asked him what that was all about. Dr. Suvit said that he was on the boards of these groups because "there is a war going on in Thailand between humans and elephants." He said he wants to help find a solution to the needs of both: natural habitats for elephants, and a decent living for elephant trainers (or "mahoots"). Apparently the Bangkok city government is concerned about the traffic jams caused by elephant rides and the occasional stray elephant. But Dr. Suvit is dead set against zoos. He seeks some sort of balance between the needs of trained and wild elephants. From what he says, this has been a real problem in the legislature, where lobbyists are all-or-nothing fanatics on both sides.

After lunch and a not very interesting afternoon at the National Museum (hot, unairconditioned, second-rate collection), we returned briefly to the hotel before attending a 1940's G. I. Joe night-club review of "classical" Thai food, dance and song. Awful!

Thurs., May 4.

Today we visited the Jim Thompson House/Museum and the Palace of the Former Crown Prince, and shopped at the International Gem and Silk Shop, the place run by the government with a skill and panache unequaled in government emporiums in China (I bought a "Mother's Day" sapphire ring there for my wife Carol.) Nevertheless, no Thai state emporium begins to compare with the Jim Thompson stores.

I now realize how important this mysterious Western fan of Thai culture Jim Thompson was. (He disappeared into the jungles of Burma, apparently, and his legacy is being carried on in grand style by his foundation.) Sam and other Thais kept telling us how silly it was to shop in the dozen or so Jim Thompson stores in Bangkok because the same thing could be purchased for a fraction of the cost in government emporiums. Not true. The Thompson line invests in top designers and perfect craftsmanship, producing an effect that ordinary Thai crafts lack. (It is no wonder that 90% of the customers in the J. T. shops are Japanese, willing to pay the still-reasonable price for things that they can give as "omiage" to friends with complete pride. J. T. items are like Japanese items on the international market: perfect.)

Fri. , May 5.

This was the day we spent at the Summer Palace and the Buddhist ruins at Ayutthya. What a difference 20 years makes! In 1980 the entire Ayutthya area was populated by only a few monks (one of whom gave me his own ring, the pink rock crystal in it representing the bone-relics of the historical Buddha), and was poorly maintained. It was almost desert-like, with very little vegetation.

Now it is efficiently run as a tourist attraction. The grounds of the palace are positively country-club-like, and plumeria trees dot the ruins . I bought a tiny metal Ayutthya-style Buddha statue from a vendor for 550 Baht ($15) to commemorate the visit. Students seemed to truly enjoy both the palace and the ruins. They also saw their first female Thai priest, or "nun", which raised all sorts of questions about the place of women in Buddhism. She was busily attaching thin sheets of gold leaf to a small Buddha figure enshrined at the base of the large statue of Shakyamuni that was the main pilgrimage attraction in the Ayutthya museum. Unlike male monks, distinctive because of their yellow robes, female priests wear white cotton robes.

One of our students asked if men had to be careful not to touch the "nun", the way women had to be careful not to touch male monks. (I don't think so. More than one culture has assumed that the mere sight of a woman could inspire a sexual frenzy in men. But I've never heard of a culture that made the opposite assumption.)

After dinner, Carol, Keiko and I went shopping at Jim Thompson's main store and then at the craft shop called Tamnan Mingmuang. The former was packed with Japanese shoppers. I can see why. Really fine quality goods at a fair price. When I tired of shopping I had a nice coffee and ice cream in the upstairs coffee shop. The craft shop (which had a display in our hotel) turned out to be a treasure-trove of basket-weaving and wood carving. Some of the finest folk art I have ever seen. I wanted everything I saw, and bought more than I should have, half of it for gifts.

Sat., May 6.

The floating market in Bangkok has been severely cut back by city officials. Again, the difference between then (1970's and '80's) and now is striking. The route taken by the long sight-seeing boats, with their 250-horsepower engines, into the 45-foot-deep freshwater river, has not changed. But many of the houses have been transformed into trailer-park-chic homes complete with white-plaster garden statues. And the government has restricted the amount of selling that is done from boats, so much of the charm of the trip has been lost. I did find a lovely Hanuman Monkey King folk-art mask in the one shop we stopped at (which probably is the only stop now available to tourists.) So I went home happy.

The "Royal Barges" site on the itinerary is nothing to see: just a few of the fanacy long, gold-leafed, teak boats used in public appearances by the royal family. The boats are like the older ones we saw in the National Museum, and they are at least 50 yards away from the tour boats, tucked away in covered boat-docks that further obscure any view of them.

After having lunch at another tourist spot (and I now see how much such spots resemble the tour-group restaurants in China), we set off for the "weekend market."

This market features what I thought might be the second-largest and dirtiest and most crowded arts and crafts fair in the world. (The first prize in this category goes to almost any place where things are sold in India.) It rained a bit during our visit, which turned the dirt into mud, and the air was full of foul oders. Even so, five of the students stayed beyond the two hours we had planned, and came back to the hotel by themselves later. (______ turned 21 on this day, so we celebrated with a little cake, some flowers, and songs.) In the evening Carol and I spent some $400 on crafts (mostly tiny woven straw boxes that will make wonderful incense containers, or "kogo," for our tea friends) at the Tamnan Mingmuang store, which we had visited earlier. We collapsed into bed around 11:00 p.m. after packing for India.

Sun., May 7.

Up for breakfast and preparations for church. Jodie, ______, ______, ______, and ______ joined Carol and me in the lobby of the hotel. Following Andy Hughes' clear directions, we walked about 5 minutes down the street and around the corner to a Church of Christ.

A woman met us first, asking if we spoke Thai, and then said in English (after we all shook our heads "No" to her question), "I'm so happy you came!" (I didn't catch her name, unfortunately.) Then a man came up to us, with his two daughters, one of whom "was born in Texas!" His name is Pratiya Thitathan. When he said he was one of the church's evangelists, I asked him to write the Thai word for "evangelist" for me. He pronounced it "pu-pra-kard," but he said he had never tried to spell it with Roman letters, I just wrote it phonetically.

Another man was introduced as an elder. Everyone was friendly, and we went upstairs with them for a 9:00 a.m. worship service. I noted that a sign in stone (or bronze, possibly) at the base of the stairs says in English: "Church of Christ, established in 33 A.D., built in Bangkok in 1961."

The sanctuary in the church is very plain, but pretty, with glass windows left and right overlooking gardens below. The communion table and white blackboard and overhead projector screen down in front all looked like they had been set in place from some church in Texas, Tennessee, Arkansas or Kansas.

Before the service began we all were given headsets. The church was packed with people. The song leader began in a mellow baritone and the room was suddenly filled with singing, full-throated singing that reminded me of my childhood. English songbooks appeared for us, and a young woman behind us called out the song numbers for us. (The words of the songs were projected on the screen, but in Thai, and without page numbers!)

When I flipped on my headset to catch what was being said, I heard the voice of a gentle young woman speaking completely natural (and clearly well-educated) English. We learned later that her name is Ann and that she is a TESL instructor. (She must be American born and raised, I thought. Later she told me she went to USC.)

A few children were in almost every pew. I noticed a little boy in particular who seemed especially cheerful. He came skipping down the aisle and took a seat between two larger boys, each about 12 years old. He was smaller and younger, maybe 9.

One of the songs was recognized by our students, but the other songs were unfamiliar. We tried to sing the Romanized words. When the first prayer was offered (and beautifully translated by Ann) I was surprised by the reference to "our King" and the adoring tone: "We are so blessed to have such a loving and caring King on earth, as well as an equally loving and caring Heavenly King."

The preacher's text was Corinthians II, 4:8 - "we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair..." (The text was introduced by a young man who asked the audience to read it together twice. Then he asked half the audience (on the left side) to read it twice, and the other (right) side to read it twice. Then he asked everyone to close their books and recite the passage twice. (We did it in English, with Ann in our headphones, while everyone else spoke the words in Thai.)

I was very impressed by the sermon. But it was very dark and disturbing, too, because it made me realize that the present time in Thailand is not a very good one. The preacher predicted that many people working for the bank next door would lose their jobs the next day. And he said the pain of life was so great that the number of suicides in Bangkok had doubled in the last 3 months.

He referred to the people in Pantip Plaza (a multi-story shopping mall almost next door to the church) in two contexts: first, their despair is so great that they just go to this 4-story "Dante's Inferno" to hang out with friends, listen to gut-wrenching boom-boxes, and swap computer parts, from which they eke out a living.

The second contextual reference the preacher made to such people was to the distinction that many church members made between themselves and the "lost souls" at Pantip Plaza. The latter wish they could die, he said, and maybe be reborn in a better life. But the Christians consider themselves to be better because of their acceptance of Christianity. They feel they are on their way to heaven, whereas the Pantip Plaza people are going to hell.

The preacher went on to compare Christian churchgoers to Jonah, who felt similarly superior to the people God had asked him to work with. Like Jonah, the Thais in the Church of Christ in Bangkok felt superior (even though many of them in fact were suffering the economic reality of the present.) He scolded them for feeling superior and not wanting to associate with the suffering non-Christians. He told them they were like Jonah, trying to run away from God and what he wanted them to do.

He told them, however, that they could change their behavior. He said they (and Jonah) were guilty of committing very human mistakes, mistakes that we all make, mistakes that God will forgive if we recognize them and correct them. He said that by ignoring God's command to love the world, and feeling superior to non-Christians, we are actually playing on the devil's side, "like the UCLA halfback who ran the wrong way and scored a touchdown for the opposing team!" (At this point I was wondering where this sermon was going!)

He said that such a mistake could be corrected, with God's grace and forgiveness, if we would live our lives with more loving kindness and express that love to all of God's creatures. He related how the UCLA halfback had been encouraged by his coach at halftime to go back into the game and correct his mistake. "You can correct your mistake, too, by ceasing to make such a difference between yourselves and other Thais." (I was touched by the cultural spin on this completely Biblical lesson, and humbled by it.)

Just before communion (the Celebration of the Eucharist, the Lord's Supper), I noticed that the big boy to the left of the small boy I mentioned earlier was doing something to cause the little boy to grimace in pain. They were sitting about three rows ahead of me, but I had a good view of what was going on. The big boy had ahold of the little boy's left nipple and was twisting it. After awhile the big kid grabbed the little kid's crotch, and started squeezing his testicles. When the little guy could not push the big kid's hand away, he began punching the beg kid's leg. This led to a silent punching bout between the two, with the big kid winning out each time.

A man some two rows behind the boys reached over and tried to break it up, but the big kid kept at it. Finally the big kid sensed he had the little kid in a position of total defeat, and he reached over with his left hand, grabbing the little boy's mouth, while his right hand went back down to the little kid's crotch again.

At this point I lost it. I got up and stood in the aisle close enough to reach over and grab the big kid's left ear. He didn't flinch or let go. I squeezed his ear harder, twisting it. Again, no response. Only after I had nearly torn his ear off did he let go, and turn his head around to look at me. He was smiling.

I kept holding him by his ear and glared at him while saying "Stop it!" There was no remorse, no sign that he had done anything wrong. Only a constant smile. After letting him go and sitting back down I saw that he had the smaller kid by the nipple again. All of this was going on for at least 20 minutes!

Finally, an elder who was "passing the emblems" brought a young woman (the mother? sister?) down the aisle and she rescued the little kid, taking him out. He was red-faced from crying and totally exhausted. In my own relief I tried to concentrate on the service, and during those moments the bigger boys must have left the church. I truly wanted to get my hands on the one who had done the damage! But he was gone.

After meeting many people after the service we went back to the hotel. I could not get the morning's unpleasant experience off my mind. At 2:00 p.m. I called the church. Several times. Finally I got someone, who called the preacher (I recognized his voice) to the phone. I told him the story about the boys. He said he thought he knew who the parents of the children in question were and would talk to them. So much for outrage.

Having been the object of bullies in my early childhood I have no patience with bullies as an adult. I feel it is my duty to show them that there are people who are bigger and meaner than they are. Even if they themselves have been subjected to such bullying as children, I simply cannot let such abuse go on. If adults allow bullying to go on it will continue. It must be stopped.

At 4:30 p.m. we left the hotel for the airport to catch a 7:45 p.m. flight to New Delhi. Everyone seemed happy to be moving on to something new, but we all were sad to say goodbye to Sam. He is one nice man. He helped us check our Japan bags in storage, to be picked up on our return flight through Bangkok. After a 4-hour flight in a plane filled mostly with returning Indians, we arrived in Delhi around midnight.

Mon., May 8.

The luggage area in India's international ailrport at New Delhi was not quite like the area it was 20 years ago, when it was dark and had sleeping bodies wall to wall, but it was shockingly primitive, nonetheless.

Mr. Shantanu Roy Chowdhury, a young Punjabi Brahmin-caste Hindu, who is the CEO of Odyssey India Tours, and the man recommended to me by the people in the Melrose office of the Indian Government Tourist Agency, met us without a sign. "I knew I could recognize you even if you didn't know who I was," he said with a smile. (As I told him later, his e-mail messages were written in a kind of Victorian English, so I had pictured him as a much older genetleman, even my age. He turned out to be a slightly smaller version of Omar Sharif, very suave and good-looking!)

We piled into a decrepit (but good by Indian standards) bus, which lumbered off into the darkness. Jodie and I chatted with Mr. Chowdhury about the itinerary for about 30 minutes, until he pointed out the Prime Minister's residence, which he said was next to our hotel, the "5-star Taj Mahal, which we are so lucky to get!" Turbanned doormen (who did not open the doors) stood at the hotel entrance. By our (Bangkok) time it was 1:30 a.m., but it was only midnight. (For some reason Thai time is ahead of Indian time by one-and-a half hours!)

The lobby of the hotel was indeed reminiscent of the Taj Mahal in Agra, and indeed of all Islamic architecture, with lots of ogival arches and white marble.

But we were too tired to notice. Two sari-clad young women approached with oil lamps and marigold garlands, greeting us with, "Namaste!" Finally, after taking pictures (and another hour of waiting), we were shown to our rooms.

Our room was done in Early American style (the furniture looked like it had been ordered out of Sears), but there was a portrait painting of Emperor Shah Jahan, the Mogul ruler who built the Taj, hanging on the wall. I actually leafed through the hotel stationery and services packets, tired as I was, and found them to be somewhat soiled and dog-eared. Not unlike the wall-to-wall carpeting, which was decidedly grimy in corners and along the wall next to the baseboard.

I also found that the Taj Mahal was indeed listed in a New Delhi hotel guide as a 5-star hotel, with a room rate starting at $200 a night. (The price was given in dollars, "for non-Indian guests," and in rupies, at a rate that seemed to amount to half the price, for Indian guests. This price discrepancy remained consistant throughout our stay in India. But I still wondered if we were paying as much as $100 for our rooms, and feeling resentful if we were.) Before I went to sleep I took a long drink of the bottled water that we were warned must go with us everywhere in India if we wanted to stay healthy.

I woke up at 4:00 a.m. (after two hours of sleep) and pulled open the curtains to a beautiful view of the parliament buildings and the city beyond the green grounds of the hotel. Breakfast was a fairly elegant affair with waiters in tan summer kakhi and ascots, and in a dining room that overlooked the swimming pool. In the lobby we met Mr. Harsh Suhawney (also Punjabi upper-caste), who put us on a much nicer bus and announced in heavily accented English (which proved to be a problem for everyone) that the National Museum was closed and that our schedule had changed accordingly.

We first visited the Birla Hindu Temple built in 1937 (with Japanese assistance) by the wealthy Birla family. (The Birla name came up again many times, in connection with other temples and as a family very close to Mahatma Gandhi.) The temple was a really ugly structure with equally ugly statues inside, but it gave students an opportunity to think about Hinduism. Several of our women (including Jodie) used the toilet there and were visibly shaken by the experience. They also had to wear grimy-looking yellow shawls, which made them angry (with Mr. Suhawney and with me, for telling them they would not have to bring their own coverings, which they had learned to use in Thailand.)

On the way out we visited the Buddhist temple next door, where we interviewed a young Sri Lankan monk. He told us that Buddhism was dead in India, in as much as Hinduism had absorbed the Buddha "as an incarnation of Lord Vishnu." He also acknowledged that Mahayana Buddhism was very pervasive in India, with many more women in the priesthood than there are in Theravadin countries, and with Tibetan priests making the pilgrimage to Bodh Gaya and other Buddhist sites all the time.

After leaving that area we went to see the place where Mahatma Gandhi's body was cremated, i.e., the Gandhi Ghat. I took some video shots of the site and gave Jodie the camcorder to film me making a bow to this great man's memory.

Following lunch we went to Gandhi's museum, which is built on the Birla family property where Gandhiji had his ashram and where he was assassinated after a prayer service by radical Hindus upset at his support of Hindu/Muslim unity.

We cancelled the dinner and show scheduled for the evening, so everyone could go to bed early.

Tue., May 9.

This morning we drove by the parliament buildings, got out, took pictures, and saw our first cobra-snake-charmer: he had 3 snakes, invited Jim to sit and stroke the snake's head (Jim sat but wouldn't stroke), and when a younger boy came to take over, one of the snakes took off after Jodie! Some of it I caught on video, but I wasn't where I should have been to get the whole thing.

At 11 o'clock we were scheduled to visit the mosque in the Delhi Fort, but Harsh, our guide, told us the trip had to be cancelled. He hired some bicycle rickshaws and we took off in twos to explore Old Delhi instead. I'm sure the ride will remain in students' memories forever. Crowded, dirty streets and stalls, sweet and cloying smells masking body odor and an overpowering sewer stench. Colors everywhere popping out of a background of generally drab, delapidated buildings. People everywhere, some narrowly avoiding our careening pedicabs.

The ride ended after about 45 minutes, and as we got back on the bus we learned that the visit to the mosque was cancelled because a Vietnamese student with a French passport jumped off one of the minarets to his death. The mosque is closed until after the investigation is completed.

After lunch we went to a crafts emporium where we bought a rug and Jodie bought a ring. The day closed with a spectacular dinner in the formal dining room. We had the best Indian food I've ever eaten, and we were entertained by musicians - sitar, tabla, and harmonium, two singers amd a fabulous female dancer. A quick last look at some of the hotel shops completed the day.

Wed., May 10.

We left the Taj Mahal Hotel at 6:155 a.m. (after getting up at 3:30 to pack) to catch the 8 o'clock express train to Agra. The hotel kitchen/bakery put rolls, yogurt, an apple, and a cup in a box for each of us, because we were told the old dining car on the train (which I remember with some fondness) was no longer in use. So we took these big half-empty boxes with all our luggage and managed to push our way through the crowd to the train platform.

This was our first real trauma of the trip. Filth is my main recollection. Students appeared to go into shock the minute we got off the bus. All of them seemed filled with a combination of revulsion and fascination. First of all, the station was filled with sub-human-looking creatures, lying on the ground, sleeping, eating, running after us, calling out "bakshi" or "madame" to us, sometimes holding on to our sleeves.

An occasional great teacher (guru) or politician appeared, surrounded by followers who were frantically bowing to them, even kissing their feet. One of the latter apparently was a Muslim senator just back from his pilgrimage (haj) to Mecca. Mr. Chowdhury explained that before going the senator probably had cleared up all his debts, which together with the fact that he had undoubtedly touched the holy Kaaba (Abraham's altar) in Mecca, made him a "pure" man who was able upon his return to share his purity with followers, just by allowing them to touch him.

The coach of the train, even though it was "executive" class, was grimy beyond belief. Following the lead of Mr. Chowdhury and other upper-caste passengers, who brushed aside beggars like flies, we found our seats and tried to put away our luggage in the overhead bins. But we ended up just putting them mostly between the seats, under our legs.

A blonde couple (Australian?) just back from Kathmandu seemed as apalled as the students were, and assured us that Nepal was cleaner and more interesting. (We asked them about the violence there, and they didn't seem to know anything about it. They said they might turn around after seeing the Taj and return to Kathmandu.) I tried to comfort everyone by telling horror stories, from my previous Indian pilgrimages, of riding in local buses and ox carts, which were more crowded and dirtier than anything we were experiencing.

We arrived in Agra almost on time after the 2-hour ride. Once again we fought our way through the crowds to a waiting bus, where we met Mr. Kahn, our local guide. After freshening up and having breakfast at the hotel we took off for the Taj Mahal itself. It was getting hotter (over 100 degrees), but in the end we had a wonderful time, looking at this incredible monument, photographing it, and having ourselves photographed in front of it.

For the first time I visited the mosque to the left of the mausolum. The identical structure on the right of the Taj was a guest house for muslim pilgrims, or so the guide said. In any case, I had only visited the mausoleum itself on my previous visits, spending several days in Agra, and entering the grounds anytime morning, noon, or evening. I don't even recall an entrance fee. But now we had to pay a fee each time we entered. It was still breathtaking.

Mr. Kahn was a good guide, but his accent, like Harsh's in Delhi, was thick and hard for some students to understand. After lunch he said we would visit some "stone craftsmen". It was our second "government emporium," and it was clear that guides made a commission on each group of tourists they brought in. After awhile the students began to feel manipulated, but on this visit they seemed genuinely impressed by the incredible inlaid marble tables and plates, and even bought some of them.

Although I had scheduled a second visit to the Taj in the evening, when we learned the entrance fee had to be paid again (and we would have to pay it out of our own pockets), we decided to just relax in the hotel. I bought some 108-bead sandalwood rosaries (juzu) for Pure Land Buddhist friends in Japan, as well as some silk scarves and a shirt in the hotel shops. I arranged to walk to the Taj before breakfast the next day by myself. I got the hotel to draw me a map. ______ and ______ asked if they could go along. We agreed to meet in the lobby.

Thur., May 11.

As scheduled, I met ______ and ______ in the lobby and we set out on foot, in the cool morning (6:30 a.m.) air. As we walked along, children and some adults said good morning. One young boy, maybe 10 years old, warned us that if we were planning to go into the Taj ("and pay 500 rupies, which is what foreigners pay!") that we should be very wary about pickpockets. I asked him if he went to school. He said he did, but that it was summer vacation. I happened to have a ballpoint pen on me, which I gave to him to help with his schoolwork.

We bypassed the entrance and entered the public park that surrounds the Taj. Many people were out taking strolls and in general just enjoying themselves. Suddenly a voice offered to walk with us. It belonged to a Mr. Lal, who said he was a yoga instructor. He encouraged us to break off some jasmine flowers from the bushes, to smell as we walked along. He pointed out the festivities going on in a nearby Mosque ("Muslims celebrate on Thrusdays and Fridays"), and offered to take us down to the banks of the Jumma River to see the ghats - the places where bodies were cremated.

We followed him. Once there we ran into an untouchable (who is a typical keeper of such sites) and a wild-looking Shiva sunyasin priest from the temple connected to the ghat. Mr. Lal told us about the funeral customs of Hindus as we walked by the still smoldering remains of recent cremations.

When we indicated we needed to return for breakfast, Mr. Lal accompanied us to the gate of the Taj, where he asked cheerily if we were satisfied with his explanations, clearly intimating that we should show our appreciation. All we had were 100-rupie bills, so we each gave him one (for a total of about $7 - not a bad wage for an hour, although we had no idea we were being set up!)

After breakfast we took the bus to Fatehpur Sikri, the city built by Akbar in 1556 as the capital of the Mogul Empire in India. Seeing the remains of this city is worth the bumpy 2-hour ride from Agra. The ride also gave us our first glimpse of the Indian countryside. Mr. Chowdhury informed us that even though education is free, only about 10% of the farm children attend school. "Their parents don't send them, they just have them to work them in the fields." (Mr. Chowdhury did not tell us that his comments applied to all low-caste children and their families. His dogmatic assertion implying that the government was trying to help, but that the people wouldn't take it, turned out to be his indictment of lower-caste people in general.)

In some ways the red sandstone buildings at this extraordinary Muslim palace are more interesting than those of the Taj Mahal. Mr. Kahn went into considerable detail about Akbar the Great and his religion ("too liberal for his Muslim brothers and too strange for Hindus"), as well as his Hindu and Christian wives (the latter from Goa), whose palaces within the palace complex are fascinating relics of religious symbolism and difference. Abandonned after only seven years of use, the palace is today being scientifically studied, and is yielding new information daily.

Just in the past month an underground pool was discovered underneath the pool surrounding the musicians' platform in the main courtyard. Indian Islamic architecture has been largely ignored (by Hindu specialists who concentrate on India's Hindu heritage and by Muslim specialists who concentrate on the ancient Near East and leave India out of their study of Islamic architecture), so I am happy to see the efforts being made now to pay attention.

On the way back from Fatehpur Sikri the bus stopped at a white "former English general's mansion" where Mr. Kahn mumbled something about "cottage industries" - a euphemism for government emporiums. We first visited an embroidery and gems place that was written up in April 1984 in the National Geographic. That was interesting enough, but afterwards, when our bus stopped again and we were led into another emporium, we all tried to explain that we did not want to buy or even see anything. When they started trying to show us carpets and serve us cold drinks (the usual way of introducing us to a new set of government subsidized products, made at the expense of what I'm afraid is almost slave labor), we simply walked out and returned to the bus, leaving Mr. Kahn looking puzzled and a bit angry.

After dinner we prepared to leave for our overnight train ride to Banares (aka Varanasi or Kashi.) All of us were surprised to find that we were travelling by bus some 25 miles to a train stop outside agra. There we waited on the bus (and devoured our pizzas, provided by the hotel) for another 30 minutes. When it came time to get out and walk to the train we learned that we would have to cross over a fairly high set of stairs. So, seeing that I, at least, was not up to dragging my bags over sand and filth only to have to carry them somehow over a bridge, Chowdhury summoned a porter, who proceeded to put first Jodie's 30-pound bag on his head and then motioned to Chowdhury and Sharma (another Agra guide) to heft our 70-pound bag on top of that! He walked the entire way, through throngs of people as usual, and over the train bridge, with at least 100 pounds of luggage on his head! Then he waited patiently on the platform with us for another 20 minutes (the train was due at 8:00 p.m., but arrived at 8:20.)

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a couple of Europeans, a trekking couple, I guessed, but other than them we were the only other obvious foreigners in the huge crowd of humanity waiting to get on the train. When we finally boarded, we were astounded to find that the so-called 1-tier-4 persons "sleeping- car-compartments" were really nothing but old Pullman-type cars with four people on one side of the aisle in bunks and two people across the narrow aisle, with only some filthy curtains providing privacy. There was no security. And although only Muslims and upper-caste Hindus (who had been ignoring the unwashed creatures all around them) got into the sleeping car with us, shock was evident on our faces.

As soon as we got settled in and started creating coping mechanisms, we all got into one 4-person space and prayed for God's protection and guidance. This moment, looking back, might never have happened, i.e., with all of us huddled together in prayer, if we had not been faced with such a crisis. In that sense the experience was a blessing. For a long time after our prayer everyone talked and laughed and cried together. I even got a picture of all the students together in one crazy-angle shot. But at last all was silent.

Fri., May 12.

I slept like a log until about 5:00 a.m. Half-an-hour later, during a 15-minute stop, we got off, dragging our bags and ourselves through another nightmarish train station, out to a waiting bus. I took a video of us stepping over cows and people and their refuse, in this ancient sacred spot where Buddhism took shape for the first time in history.

Rather quickly we arrived at the Clark Varanasi Hotel, checked in, showered, had breakfast, and the students went to bed. But from 9:30 until noon, Carol and I hired a cab and a guide - Jaideep, a young (27-year-old) law student at Banares Hindu University - to the middle of town. This was the heart of India for me and I was anxious to show it to Carol. We were warned that by noon the heat would reach 115 degrees F (45 celcius), and to be back to spend the early afternoon in the air-conditioned hotel.

The taxi parked near the very center of Banares. We got out and started walking, taking narrower and narrower "lanes" as we entered the very heart and bowels (an apropriate metaphor, indeed) of the city. It was interesting to watch Carol's reaction to the places I visited 30 years ago, places that have not changed at all, other than to have new people in the stalls and apartments. Life expectancy in India is still only around 45-50, so I assume most of the people I saw then are not around now, but have been replaced by descendants. Of course, 30 years ago (1970) there was a hippie in every other apartment window, stoned on a combination of pot, acid, spiritual insights and self-indulgence.

People still thrive in a kind of slimy squalor here: dirt and filth everywhere, cows and goats and dogs lying about, leaving their shit alongside that of humans. The principal impression is of being in a sewer, with blessed whifs now and then of sickly-sweet incense. The holiest of the Hindu temples are teeming with worshippers offering flowers (marigolds and lotuses, orange and pink) and pouring holy water (from the Ganges River) or milk over the stone phalluses that represent Lord Shiva, the eternal god of the city. Watery liquid seems to seep from the vagina-shaped (yoni) bases onto the floors of the shrines and out into the streets.

Down one lane we caught a glimpse of the River Ganges, or "Ganga-ji" -- the holy mother Ganga -- and could smell the acrid smoke of burning bodies. Quickly putting away my camcorder (for photography is forbidden of the holiest temples and the gahts), we looked down at a half-dozen cremation sites -- some in full flame, others smoldering, some awaiting the torch of the eldest son of the deceased, who has shaved his head, given alms to the untouchables who sell the firewood and in general supervise the disposal of dead bodies. One man was taking some of the ashes of his father to the water. (Women are not allowed to participate in the funeral rites, although in the past -- and Jaideep said sometimes even now -- dutiful wives have felt compelled to throw themselves on their husbands' burning bodies, dying in the the flames out of loyalty and devotion. This is called "sutee" or "sati"; technically it's against modern law.)

According to Jaideep, only the bodies of children under 14, lepers, and people who die of snake bite are not cremated, but instead are taken out to the middle of the river and thrown in with a heavy weight. (Jaideep assumes, of course, that I understand this to mean young children, lepers, and snake-bite victims from upper-caste families. Of course the bodies of the low-caste are neither cremated, thrown into the Ganges or given any kind of ritual goodbye.)

Retracing our steps, we return to the taxi, stopping on the way to bring a cheap bag for our new purchases. At the hotel we had lunch but warned everyone (now awake and somewhat excited) that it was too hot to sightsee until later. So at 7:30 p.m. we met our local guide, Mr. Varma (who affected a great Hindu guru come to life), and began to listen to him tell us about Mother India. According to the script, he took us first to the Temple of Mother India built in 1931 with Japanese money. After looking at the giant relief map of India on the floor of that odd monument to prewar Asia-for-Asians sentiment, we seated ourselves two-by-two in waiting rickshaws, which took us to the same places Carol and I had been that morning. Once again it was amusing to see the look of disbelief, this time on the faces of the students, as we stepped down from the rickshaws and into the squishy chaos of the lanes of downtown Kashi, pulsing like the veins of Shiva himself.

We went to the same ghat as this morning, but this time we were fortunate to be there just when a principal mourner was setting the torch to the gold-covered body. As we moved away and towards the water I was approached by an especially bright young beggar boy selling the folk dolls I had been looking for. At first he asked for $20 (840 rupies) for both boxes. I haggled him down to half that and put them in my shoulder bag. But then he started in on postcards. I was saved by the fact that Varma was ushering everyone into a long, flat boat for a ride on the river. As we pulled away I heard the boy say, "I'll wait for you!"

The boat ride was remarkable: two ghats had ritual purifications going on, with Brahmin priests chanting Vedic scriptures and burning incense to the accompaniment of drums and horns. Huge crowds had formed. We also saw a wedding couple coming down to get into a covered boat. A Ganges honeymoon? Altogether, the effect was magical. (I just hope the pictures we took turn out.)

Sure enough, when we finished the ride and left the boat, the boy with the postcards was there, right at my side. He followed me not only through the winding lanes and to the rickshaw, but ran alongside for at least a mile, dodging cars, scooters, bikes and other pedestrians. All the while he was talking a line of philosophy ("It's OK if you have no money, just take these cards as a gift. Money means nothing!"), and economic theory ("Isn't it only reasonable that you would pay more for things than someone would who had nothing?") Turns out he also spoke Japanese fairly well, too. (He knew exactly what the ratio of yen to rupie to dollar was for that day! As he said, he was a "businessman". He didn't have to tell me he was an untouchable, as well.)

Sat., May 13.

This morning we left the hotel as a group at 4:30 a.m. in order to see Ganga-ji as she (and all the worshippers) welcomed the rising sun. So it was back to the ghats via rickshaws and lanes. After saying "Good morning!" to the young boy whose appearance from nowhere did not surprise me, we climbed into another boat, but this time for a sunrise ride.

Quite a remarkable sight! The sun came up on time, the bathers welcomed its arrival with prayers, water offerings and brisk swims. Dogs romped up and down the steps leading down to the river's edge, chasing each other and plunging into the water from time to time. Smoke from burning bodies streamed heavenward. Our effiminate guru-guide told us stories to amuse us, looking blissfully on the scene unfolding all around. He pointed out the best-known temples and mosques along the way, repeating the historically correct but tiresome mantra about Muslims tearing down Hindu temples to build their mosques. He asked rhetorically, "Is it any wonder that we Hindus resent their presence, even though we have lived together with each other in this ancient city for centuries and will continue to do so?"

When crowds of smiling young men swam out to our boat the oarsmen slapped at them with their oars. A few other boats of tourists were out for a morning ride, too, including one filled with Germans, who seemed excited that we were from Southern California. But the major impression I had was that of a voyeur, a total outsider looking at a scene that has played itself out exactly the same way every morning for thousands of years, with people dressed the same way, doing the same things, splashing in the sacred pollution that is both a river and a god. Germany, and certainly Malibu, seemed very far away.

Once off the boat, we threaded ourselves through the crowded lanes for one last time. I bought some incense from my special beggar boy and said goodbye to him as we boarded our bus. 20 minutes across town we arrived at Banares Hindu University (BHU), which is an amazing campus of tan-with-dark-brown-trim buildings that resemble very much the officers' quarters at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma (except for the occasional pointed archway and the New Vishnawat Temple, which we entered directly.)

Inside the temple in our bare or stockinged feet, we watched (and I recorded on videotape) several worshippers go through their ablutions with the help of the Brahmin priest seated next to the Shiva Lingam. Mr. Chowdhury was among the worshippers.

Outside, most of us sat on grass in the shade, for about 30 minutes of really stimulating dialogue. The guru-guide Mr. Varma tried to dominate, but this time I insisted on asking leading questions about the caste system, marriage, the educational system, and the changes in women's roles. Mr. Chowdhury (or Shantinu, as the students called him) and BHU law student Jaideep (who had accompanied us the whole way, from the hotel, on the river, and to the university) joined in the discussion. Students got into the conversation, for the first time showing some thoughtful concern for what we were seeing. (Or maybe it was the second time, if we count the discussion in the Wat Bovoranive in Bangkok.)

As the videotape will show, our three hosts expressed the predictable positions of privileged Hindu gentlemen, who accept without question their fate (karma), as determined by their many former lives, who follow the birthright and rules (dharma) of their upper-caste status, and have had (or will have, in the case of Jaideep) an arranged marriage with a woman of the same caste, with whom at least one son has been born or is expected.

In general all three believe that India is a once-great culture, perhaps the greatest in history, but that she has many difficulties in the modern world, of which two stand out in particular, namely, education and government.

Education is a problem in India because of the innate brutishness and illiteracy of the lower castes (who nevertheless deserve their fate and do not deserve special privileges in the name of democracy.) Those Indian students who want and should be given an education and suitable jobs are being discriminated against by government policies of affirmative action that allow unqualified (low-caste) students places in schools and jobs over those who are qualified (upper-caste students.)

Government is a problem in modern India because of the large number of hopelessly corrupt government officials (many of whom are low caste, and thus incapable of behaving selflessly, and who often are inclined towards communism in any case.) Total democracy will not work in India, and indeed doesn't work in America, either, judging from the failure of government policies (including those on affirmative action) that give every person equal opportunities even if they lack innate abilities to be contributing members of society. A form of enlightened socialism is thus the only reasonable choice for India, but we must be careful to have government officials in positions of power who can set the right public policies in place. (In other words, the policies should maintain the status quo, literally, of the upper-caste Hindu majority.)

This discussion was revealing, to say the least. But I don't think it sank in, even after some very thoughtful but pointed questions about women's rights in India were raised by our students, and generally dismissed with light-hearted (and certainly unsupportable) comments that made Indian women out to be the actual masters of their households.

It doesn't mean much if India has produced the largest number of female doctors in the world, even if those women were not mostly upper-caste (which they are), when government statistics show that millions of female fetuses are being aborted every year because of the traditional view in all castes of Hindu society (and in rich and poor Muslim Indian families as well) that a good wife must produce a son. Or, that over 50,000 cases of "kitchen accidents" in 1999 took the lives of wives who either did not have a male child or whose dowery was considered too low, i.e., they were covered with kerosene and burned alive by their husbands or mothers-in-law, or by themselves, when driven to suicide by the pressures of unenlightened traditional Indian views regarding women.

The depth of the unkindness ingrained for centuries in Hindu and Muslim racism and sexism was lost, I'm afraid, on most of us that hot day in May, in the year 2000, on the campus of BHU in north-central India. We couldn't wait to get back to the comfort of the bus, a late breakfast at the hotel, and a 3-hour rest before heading off to the Banares suburb of Sarnath, where the historical Buddha Shakyamuni (aka Gautama, Siddhartha, etc.) preached his first sermon.

And what was that sermon about? Something about how we can all know the Truth about ourselves and our silly, personal suffering; about how all of us should try to realize our Buddha Nature, in which realization we will see that we all are One Being, interconnected, which is the reality called Nirvana, and that that, folks, IS the Truth.

Is it any wonder that this teaching couldn't survive in India? Is it not a miracle that it has survived at all? Thank God, it has: in pockets of Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, Islam, even Hinduism, and yes, even in most corners of modern science. Regardless of what we call it, or whether we think it is true or not. Can we possibly be every being? Past, present, and future? Oh, yeah.

Once we reached Sarnath we went directly from the bus into the museum to see the Ashokan Lion Capital, the Gupta Teaching Buddha Statue, and miscellaneous masterpieces of early Buddhist art. Mr. Varma held forth in his usual eloquent style. But the museum was not air-conditioned! Ugh! Even I felt so grumpy that I wanted to let Varma know in no uncertain terms that I was looking at these works in photos when he was in diapers. Maybe before he was born! But I didn't. I kept my resentment to myself, along with my shame for being so resentful. (You mean I'm him? 'Fraid so. Jesus said so.)

The bus took us next to the entrance of the Mahabodhi Society Temple built by the Japanese in 1937. Ugly outside and inside -- where a gold replica of the Gupta Teaching Buddha sits on the altar and where three sides of the room are covered with some god-awful wall paintings by a Japanese painter, depicting ten scenes from the Lord Buddha's life - the Jatakas. Useful, if ugly? I suppose. And anyway, the Bo (Enlightenment) Tree outside marks the site of the First Sermon. Burmese artists created the calliope-like ring of over-life-size plaster statues of the Holy Participants and their Teacher. They rest under the tree like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves taking a break at Disneyland. Tibetan prayer flags ring the area (inspiring an immediate burning desire for them in the hearts of several members of our group.)

Next stop: the temple complex at Sarnath, largely destroyed, where tradition says Shakyamuni Buddha often meditated. The remains of the walls, as well as of the platforms upon which he sat, are covered with bits of gold-leaf left by pilgrims. At the entrance to the complex we were preceded by about twenty naked Jain priests and their attendants. (I caught them in my camcorder, wondering when I did it if I would have to censor my footage for Pepperdine.) The ubiquitous beggars following us around still cut a gash in my heart with every moan, making me realize that to live for a year here might turn me into a hard-hearted creature like the high-caste Hindus who seem to feel no compassion, convinced as they are that "it's in the blood" and thus perfectly appropriate for these people to be beaten down and despised as a result of their karma, or past misdeeds.

Sometimes Chowdhury and others have pointed out to me that the suffering exhibited by the beggars probably is fake. You know what? I don't care if their suffering is fake! I don't care if I'm being ripped off when I give them more money for their goods than they're worth. They still do not deserve to be treated this way! No human being does. Nothing does.

Back at the hotel we collapsed, knowing that we would be in a for a long bus ride to Bodh Gaya the next day. (We didn't know how long: we spent nearly 10 hours getting there instead of 6.)

Sun., May 14.

Just before getting on the bus I picked up from the hotel kitchen the Indian bread (nan) that I planned to use for eucharistic communion. I also picked up the half-bottle of cabernet sauvignon that the bartender sold me "for Christian puja." Finally I picked up aluminum foil from the kitchen to put over the 13 little sislver-plated goblets that I spent an hour washing and polishing the night before. (These I planned to give to everyone as a special remembrance.)

When we had gone less than a mile on a rough, crowded road, I realized we would have to stop somewhere for our church service rather than conduct it in the bus. Mr. Chowdhury (who seemed more comfortable with his given name, Shantinu, which he reminded me came from the Mahabharata) expressed his desire to participate with us. I explained what we would need, so he could tell the driver. We agreed an outdoor service would be best, but before 11:00 a.m., when the heat is still bearable.

Traffic and the road to Bodh Gaya became worse and worse. At some points we were literally standing still, with buses and trucks on all sides, on and off the road. It was impossible to sleep, because the bumps in the road were crevaces that sent shocks up the spine and into those areas of the brain where migraines live. I began to wonder if we shouldn't turn back. We stopped in a wide-place-in-the road village cafe to use bathrooms and possibly get something to eat. The heat was not as bad as the dirt, so some people stayed in the bus. I thought about buying something to eat, but changed my mind (I, who often brag about being able to eat anything.) Only the bread cooked on the griddle looked safe, but I only took pictures of the man making it and didn't try eating any. Women were threshing wheat nextdoor to the cafe, and we noticed again how field workers were always female. Returning to the cool bus we inched our way down the highway, which began to become less and less crowded. I kept looking at potential spots for a church service, and enlisted the help of five students to pray and read scripture.

We found a place after an hour with quite a few trees and no people. There were two large stone seated Buddhas, ironically, facing each other across the street. A sign in English said we were entering the traditional Buddhist pilgrimage trail. First we took another bathroom break for those who needed to take one ("go behind those trees and bushes".) Then I spread the plastic shopping bags brought for the occasion on a concrete culvert. _____ began the service with a reading from Ecclesiastes and some heart-felt personal comments and a prayer. This was followed by prayers offered by others. When time came for the "bread of the world" I passed the basket of nan. Then I poured (with great difficulty) the wine into the silver cups lined up on the tray loaned to us by the hotel. (Each person took the "emblems" except one person, whom I encouraged to at least take the cup, as a souvenir.)

By this time a crowd of people had gathered from out of nowhere. People were staring, watching all our moves. The bus driver told us later that he began to worry that he and Chowdhury could never control the crowd if they started feeling our clothing or touching our skin. He said for the locals we were like "devas" from the realm of the devas (gods)!

We offered the left-over bread and wine to the people. One man asked in English what the wine was: "What is this?" The crowd was still holding and looking at the wine bottle (like the natives in the movie "The Gods Must Be Crazy") when we piled back onto the bus.

The road went from bad to worse. At one point the traffic was stopped for about half an hour. But it resolved itself without any shouting or cursing. Horns were blaring constantly, though, because on the back of every vehicle is some version of "Please Honk" -- which seemed to be the law: you must warn someone in front of you that you are there and may pass on one side or the other.

Between the border crossing of Uttar Pradesh (UP) and Bihar State leading to Bodh Gaya the road was literally filled with craters. Presumably the road is being repaired with the money given to the province by Japan. At least that is what Mr. Chowdhury told me. But at this rate the road will never be finished.

Apparently it was first built in the 16th century by the Mogul ruler of the area (long after Buddhism had come and gone!)

We were headed due east. Suddenly we turned north (a left turn), and as soon as we were on it we realized two things: (1) the road was unusually smooth, and (2) we were virtually the only vehicle on it. Shantinu explained that this stretch of road was considered very dangerous. He pointed out that when we turned off the Mogul road there were soldiers, and that at night they actually accompany any vehicle taking the road north to protect it from the local "dacoits" -- meaning bandits or pirates. This, after all, is the neighborhood of the "Bandit Queen" film by A. Kapoor (who also directed the Academy Award-nominated "Elizabeth" last year.)

When I shared this information with the students they looked frightened, so Shantinu assured them that we were "probably very safe." He explained that the majority of the outcastes in India live in this area, and that he himself would not choose to come here, even though some of his relatives used to own land nearby. (Thanks, Shantinu, thanks a lot!)

We arrived at the Hotel Ashok in Bodh Gaya at dusk, over 3 hours late, so we checked in and immediately went to the tiny dining room for dinner. Our supply of water and "limka" (a 7-Up-like drink bottled in India for Coca Cola) had been used up, so we were thirsty as well as hungry. After we ate I offered to take everyone to the Mahabodhi Pagoda, which marks the spot where the historical Buddha, after 7 days of meditation, is said to have reached the insight referred to as his Enlightenment, on the morning of the 8th day.

I took advantage of eating faster than everyone else (while they were pigging out on cheese toast, french fries, and what amounted to coke floats) by looking at the wares offered for sale in one of the hotel gift shops. I purchased a little sandalwood Amitabha (Buddha of Infinite Light and Life) for Kannin, because it looked like her, and a larger seated Shakyamuni (also sandalwood) for my former student ________, whose temple in Osaka we are scheduled to visit. I also bought some more rosaries for the Pure Land people in Japan.

As we were walking out of the gate of the hotel and headed for the Pagoda, I encountered three boys, two on a motorbike. I at first tried to avoid them (thinking they were part of the ubiquitous outcaste begging group), but then I heard the names "Pamela" and "Simple". I knew at once that we had managed to meet up with the boy who befriended Pamela Meidell, our dear friend (and fromer Seattle Zen Center member, former office manager at Pepperdine, long-time meditation student and peace activist) when she visited Bodh Gaya last year. She called him her "son" and had told us a lot about him. His name was Simpal (or "Simple" in English.) I had dialed the public phone number Pamela gave me for him many times in Delhi and Agra and Banares, only to be told either that I had the wrong number or that Simple was no longer there.

Simple and his friends stuck with us then through the evening. I found that Simple's Japanese was far superior to his English. His friends spoke better Japanese still, and two of them had been to Kyoto, and even knew the area of Hyakumanben, where Kyoto University and Chion-in are located. It turns out that they all had been studying with the Japanese priest who serves in Bodh Gaya as the abbot of the Japanese temple and guesthouse. Also, all of them are dalits, who live in the outcaste community. Simple was clearly in love with his "mother" Pamela, and enamored of the idea of leaving India and going either to Japan or the United States.

The sight of the Mahabodhi Stupa in the moonlight, on a balmy night, was magical. The students who had been complaining regularly about having to take off their shoes every time we entered a Hindu temple kicked off their shoes eagerly so as to get on the carpet (actually a hemp runner) leading into and around the Stupa and Bodhi Tree -- which is the 4th-generation descendant of the original, a fact mentioned over and over by guides.

Several Thai and Tibetan monks (and one Chinese nun) were quietly sitting off to the side of the tree as well as in the sanctuary. I pointed out the Shunga (2nd century B.C.) and Kushan (2nd century A.D.) parts of the complex, and mentioned to Simple (in response to his frequent plea to tell him what he could get for us) that many students hoped to get Tibetan prayer flags. He assured me he could get them -- from one of his acquaintances. (When I referred to those acquaintances as his friends he always insisted that he only had a few friends -- first and foremost Pamela and "Uncle" and "Auntie" Webb -- and that the other boys were crooks and liars who preyed on foreign tourists.)

The constant chatter during our stroll around the Stupa was distracting. I was relieved when we returned to the hotel to concentrate on visiting with Simple in our room. He showed us the latest photo he had received from Pamela: of Carol and myself wearing kimono and seated in the Pepperdine Japanese teahouse, Zuiun-an. We then took several photos and discussed the logistics of the rest of our visit.

At first I agreed to go on the back of the motorbike to visit the Japanese priest who has been educating Simple and the other boys. But later Simple decided I was too tired, and that the priest could come to the hotel on the bike the next morning to meet me.

But Simple still wanted me to go outside. At the gate I discovered why: an older boy was there with about 20 strings of Tibetan prayer flags, two to a string, which had been used last year (and blessed) when His Holiness the Dalai Lama was in Bodh Gaya. I was told each string usually sold for 500-1000 rupies, but that I could buy them for 280 rupies per string. I took 12, which Simple insisted on carrying back to the hotel room in a black bag.

As we entered the hotel and began to climb the steps to the second floor, a policeman and the hotel manager met us. They started yelling at Simple, and punching him with their fists. I ordered them to stop it, and explained that Simple was my guest. They apologized, but continued to speak harshly to Simple. He explained to me in Japanese that they were scolding him for not asking their permission to enter the hotel. I grumbled to them that who I invited to my room was none of their business, and we went on upstairs.

There we made plans for the next morning. The priest was to meet me before 5:00 a.m., and then Carol, ______, ______, Simple, and I would all go see the Stupa again before the others (who were reluctant to get up so early and had set 6:30 as the time we as a group would go back to the Stupa.) Simple said I could pay the remaining 1300 rupies I owed for the prayer flags (I had only given the seller the 2000 rupies I had in my pocket.) We also decided to go see the spot near the river where the "Sunjata" event took place: the spot where Buddha Shakyamuni went after ending his meditation and fast, and met the young girl who gave him "rice pudding."

Mon., May 15.

Things went according to plan. I mentioned to Simple that he and I were selfishly speaking in Japanese, and that if he knew anyone who could speak English (and who really had an interest in Buddhism) to please contact him. Almost immediately a 25-year-old man appeared, and went off with ______ and ______. Later they met up with Carol, Simple and me outside the Stupa entrance. There we all climbed into a minivan and took off for the the Sunjata site. The ride was remarkable in itself. We crossed the river and then took a turn onto a trail that wound through a small village ("of mostly Brahmins," said our new guide.) The road had many washed-out places and frequently the vehicle had to honk wildly to make people young and old, as well as goats and other 4-legged animals of all ages, get out of our way.

When we finally got out of the minivan, on a plain with a few palm trees, the English-speaking guide explained that the little Hindu temple in the distance marked the spot where the event took place (i.e., the spot itself was Sunjata) and that the temple was also a school for local kids. He shared with us that he himself wanted to become a Buddhist priest, and was presently studying Vipashyana meditation with the great Burmese teacher Gotemba, whose ashram was in Bodh Gaya. He said his mother was very much against his plan, but that he was determined.

Walking along over the pasture towards the temple/school we were joined by some dalit beggars -- an old woman, a little girl, and two boys. I was pleased to see that the new guide spoke kindly to them, and in general treated them with more respect than most high-caste Hindus. But he himself was a Brahmin, and so he believed what his caste dharma said about outcastes: "They don't go to school or work even when they are given the opportunity." Even so, he seemed to regard Simple as his equal, and in general behaved in compassionate ways that belied his prejudiced words.

At the tiny temple he explained that there were two explanations of the Sunjata story. The Theravadin one says Lord Buddha meditated for 6 days in a cave on a nearby mountain before coming here. The Mahayana version (reiterated by the Dalai Lama when he visited in 1999) says Shakyamuni meditated here, and received the food offering here, as well.

Whatever the case, we stood on the spot where religious history was made. The young Brahmin priest and school teacher appeared and showed us the one-room school. He said thieves had broken in and stolen the rug and many supplies. I gave him a donation of about 800 rupies. We took pictures and hurried back to the hotel, retracing our perilous drive through the village.

At the hotel we found nobody in our group. But by 7 o'clock they returned for breakfast. I sat next to Simple in the restaurant, and I felt that both he and the waiter were nervous. Simple excused himself after awhile, explaining that he wanted to go get the painting he had made for Pamela.

After breakfast the students came up to our room to get their prayer flags. While we did last-minute packing, Simple returned with the picture, which was mounted on a stiff piece of wood and very carefully wrapped. When we were finally ready to leave for Rajgir we came downstairs and climbed into the bus.

Simple had on a pair of purple sun glasses and fairly glowed with joy. I pushed him into the bus and sat him down next to me, anticipating some trouble. Almost immediately the bus driver came out of his cab and started yelling at Simple to leave. I put my arm out between Simple and the driver, and began to yell, too, saying things like, "This boy is my friend and you have no right to talk to him disrespectfully! You are disrespecting me! He is going with us to Rajgir!"

The driver shot back, "This bus is my responsibility! This boy will cause trouble. He must leave, now!" About 5 minutes later (after ______ had gone to get Chowdhury, thinking innocently that he would put the driver in his place, I guess), Chowdhury came into the bus. I asked him what the legal rights were in this case. I said it looked like a simple matter of caste discrimination to me, and that I was ready to press charges. But Chowdhury reminded me that every establishment in India could refuse to admit or serve anyone for any reason, and that the driver was claiming that letting Simple ride on the bus was dangerous.

Mr. Shantinu Chowdhury was making some advantage points with Jodie, and I suspect with some of the students, by warning us of danger if Simple came with us. He said that he agreed with me that it was discrimination, but that he agreed with the driver because "these [outcaste] people are completely unpredictable," and can never be trusted. "It's in the blood," he finally said.

At this point I told him I did not want to cause trouble, but that I disagreed with him completely. I said the position he was taking was immoral and revolting, and that he had insulted me personally. Chowdhury then asked if he could talk to me outside, privately. We went out together. He kept trying to keep me from seeing what was happening to Simple, but I could see that Simple was being jerked about and pulled out of the bus by several men including the bus driver.

Some of Simple's friends stood by helplessly, begging the men to stop, trying to reason with them. The students in the bus were stunned. Some were crying. Before we left I pushed my way through to Simple long enough to say to him in Japanese, as I held him close to me, "Gomen-nasai! Kono kuni no nigen sabetsu seido was dai kirai!" ("I am so sorry! I hate this country and its system of dividing human beings like this. I just hate it!" Simple replied in Japanese, "Daijobu desu yo! Ore mo kirai! Shikashi daijobu desu!" ("It's OK. I also hate it! But it's OK.")

As the bus drove away we waved at Simple and the other outcaste boys as they walked down the road. Now, leaving Bodh Gaya, I looked out at the landscape and realized that the outcastes in this region during the 6th century B.C., as well as later during the Buddhist period that lasted through Ashoka (3rd century B.C.) and Kanishka (2nd century A.D.), and into the late Gupta (7th century A.D.) probably had made up the bulk of the Buddhist community in India. They all had converted to Buddhism, changed their names so their intolerable position in Hindu society could not be detected, and had contributed to the peace that swept over the country for over 1000 years.

But after the Theravada/Mahayana split under Kanishka it took little time for Hinduism to swallow up Buddhism (Shakyamuni is Vishnu, after all) and for high-caste people to develop a backlash and full-scale persecution of low-caste Buddhist converts that has lasted to the present day.

In other words, Simple and the millions of other outcastes in Bihar State (which is of course a bandit-filled wasteland!) are the direct descendants of the earliest Buddhists in India.

Our bus bumped along for many miles before I would talk to Chowdhury again. I wanted to kill him. Finally his efforts to engage me in conversation worked, and we began a polite argument that had him repeating over and over how horrible and dangerous Shudras and Dalits are. "I understand how you feel," he said, "and I, too, can admit that from the human point of view the caste system is unfair. But you must never seriously want to change it, because these differences in human beings are real."

"Outcastes have been given every opportunity to work but they don't want to. They had rather beg or become bandits (dacoits.) The Indian government urges them to go to school, but they don't want to. Only a small percentage in the whole country go. And if one of them tries to get into a university, even though they have a low score, they will be allowed in over high-caste Indians with high academic scores because of the affirmative action policy."

"That policy is a great mistake. I believe only the brightest students should be allowed into our schools. But the system allows these ignorant outcastes to occupy high positions in education, business and government. They show how corrupt they are as soon as they get those positions. As I've told you, it's in their blood. It is their karma. I am willing to work alongside them, but I will never socialize with them! Nor will I allow my children to do so."

I thought to myself that Chowdhury's views were exactly like those of southern whites in civil-rights America during the 1960's. My late father-in-law, Henry Sewell St. John, and all other separate-but-equal proponents said very much the same things about African Americans. They used the Bible to prove their point, just the way upper-caste Hindus use their religion to prove theirs.

I told Chowdhury that I thought he was simply wrong. I mentioned the many instances of outcastes who had become successful and important in societies outside of India. I said I admired Ambedkar, the outcaste who was given advantages by a Muslim millionaire and who went on to write the Indian Constitution in 1947. I said I considered Ambedkar to be an even greater figure in Indian history than Gandhi. Finally, I told Chowdhury that I hoped we could get Simple out of India, and into another country where I was certain he would become a great success.

"I will take great pleasure in rubbing your nose in Simple's success," I told him, adding that all the students on this trip to India would now go back to their homes with a first-hand experience of India's Hindu caste-system, an experience so vile that they could never forget it. I told Chowdhury to prepare for the worst. "We are going to dismantle your caste system, set your women free, and totally disrupt your way of life. You are in total denial and we are going to bring you out of it if it is the last thing we do!"

Mr. Chowdhury's response was to laugh nervously and fall back on the charming and oh-so-British affectations that somehow make everything alright in India, even evil and disgusting things. But for the rest of the trip he knew he was not going to have an easy time of it with his group of privileged and spoiled Americans. Clearly their belief in the Bill of Rights and Constitution of the United States is nobler than his belief in karmic predestination. The Buddha recognized the impoverishing nature of Hindu caste consciousness, which is why he spoke out against people who supported it. Modern sensibilites are against all racists, too, may God be praised!

To any hardline Buddhists out there who are reading this and thinking that racists are (from a Buddhist point of view, not to mention a Christian point of view) no less than anyone else my brothers, or sisters, or (to be absolutely correct) integral parts of my very personal being, I have only this scripturally and doctrinally unassailable thing to say: "So what?" Or, to put it a different way: in the long run, nothing may be important, but remember this: my outrage is just as unimportant as everything else!

Much later than planned we arrived in the ancient city of Patna, after stopping along the way to ride the Japanese-made cable-car up the Vulture Peak at Rajgir (where the Buddha held thousands enthralled) and to walk through the ruins of Nalanda (where the large temple and library mentioned in Chinese Buddhist pilgrims' accounts are described.)

At a hotel restaurant in Patna, ______'s nosebleed required medical attention. She had been taking too many anti-congestants, her blood had thinned, and she was weak. But she was alright. Fortunately, the plane to Calcutta was delayed, so the time we waited for the doctor's diagnosis did not make us miss the plane as I had feared.

Tues., May 16.

At the airport last night we had a prayer just before boarding the plane. As it turned out, the flight was excellent. We arrived in Calcutta, transferred to the bus, and afer a 30-minute ride pulled up to a hotel that looked like a flea-bag flop-house. Beggars lined the street outside and even though our luggage was taken off the bus, we had it put back on because there was no way we were going to spend a night there. Mr. Chowdhury quickly found us rooms in the Park Hotel, a very nice accomodation indeed (which cut into Mr. C.'s commission by some $300, I learned later.)

Calcutta was very hot and humid: 110 degrees and 98%. People in our group were so tired we decided to let them sleep and rest until 4:00 p.m. But Carol, ______, ______ and I all got up and made plans to shop, visit Mother Theresa's place, etc. First I got a haircut for 110 rupies ($2.10), then we took a cab to the Sisters of Charity (which turned out to be just down the street from the first hotel we had been taken to in Calcutta. (In fact, we had been booked there because I had told Chowdhury that we wanted to visit Mother Theresa's as a group.)

The atmosphere at the Sisters of Charity was solemn and no-nonsense. The street was like any other, filthy and full of beggars. But the sisters, dressed in their white-gauze and blue-trim habitss, floated about, praying and walking quickly from one place to another. One of them let us into the main entrance, saying matter-of-factly that we would not see any patients and that videotaping was not allowed except of the tomb of Mother Theresa in the very center of the reception room.

After spending the maximum time allowed with Mother Theresa's followers, we took a very hot ride in another dirty taxi to the 'New Market," where we found some Punjabi and fabric and jewelry. ______ and ______ purchased saris and jewelry. Unfortunately, we were followed around by a young man, who expected to be paid for his services as a guide through the maze of shops, and by a young woman with a baby, who was simply following us around looking sad and holding out her hand. The images may never fade, I believe, and will haunt me forever.

In the afternoon we met our local guide, and took a bus tour of the 19th-century Memorial of Queen Victoria and other English heritage structures. It was raining off and on, flooding the streets and making the air even more humid and heavy than it already was. We also visited the new (April 2000) Birla Hindu temple (the family has more money than Getty?), which is a reproduction of the Khujaraho style, or so our guide said (I loved the carved elephants all around the ground level.) In the evening we had dinner in a nearby restaurant with food-stained table cloths. Unremarkable otherwise.

Wed., May 17.

Early in the morning we took off for the Kali Temple famous for its daily ritual slaughter of goats. It was so hot and humid that I had trouble keeping steam from fogging up my camcorder lens. The first building we saw just to the side of the temple had been used by Mother Theresa as her first Calcutta headquarters. The Kali Temple itself is not architecturally important, but is unforgettable for its red hibiscus flowers and blood, not to mention the scary images of the Goddess Kali everywhere. I bought a set of red, white and silver bracelets that are supposed to make a wife fertile, a husband healthy, and a marriage free of evil, respectively.

They were not butchering the goats when we were there, but the goats were in a pen, bleating plaintively, and every time someone thought I might be swinging my camcorder around to take film the goats or the slaughtering place there was a great outcry of "No!" Long lines of people were waiting to go in to the three main shrines, each with several Brahmin priests running the show. As we left the Kali Temple, shoving aside the beggars, I heard a dog crying. Later I was told that some children had been torturing him.

Our next stop was the Jain Temple, famous for its stucco exterior completely inlaid with bits of glass. Our guide said it was like a fairyland. It at least was a refuge from the heat. It also had a spirit of egalitarianism (required by the religion itself) that was a relief from the blatant caste-prejudice of Hindu temples. But I must say it resembled a shoddy carnival ground more than anything of spiritual value.

We were so tired after the Jain Temple visit that we decided to go back to the hotel and finish packing for Japan via Bangkok. On the way back I asked Chowdhury if he had made any money out of this trip. He said that the change of hotels in Calcutta alone had cut deeply into his commission, and that with the other upgrades and extras he had added during the trip he doubted if he had made much more than his expenses. I told him I was sorry.

The flight to Bangkok was uneventful. I was able to sleep some on the plane. It seemed that most of the students slept, too. In the airport duty-free shop (where we ended up after claiming our stored luggage and checking it on to Japan's Kansai International Airport) we joined people from around the world in a buying frenzy. The prices reflected Thailand's depressed economy. We took advantage. Everyone was happy.

Thur., May 18.

We breezed through Japan's customs check easily (except for the usual trouble with ______'s passport), and were met by a smiling Keiko and a perfectly groomed Rev. Kato, who attended my Buddhist Texts class at Pepperdine when he was serving in the Los Angeles Jodoshu Betsuin. (He came up from his family temple in Yamaguchi to the airport just to accompany us to Kyoto and introduce us to his father -- one of the highest-ranking priests at Chion-in, the Jodoshu demonination's mother temple.)

Once the bus hit the freeway the students were sound asleep. The road was so smooth and the bus so comfortable. And they were too tired to look at the scenery. But a bit later when we came to a rest-stop they all got out, bought some food, and seemed generally happy to be in clean, efficient Japan. Back in the bus they slept until we arrived in Kyoto and pulled into the temple parking area for the Wajun Kaikan, the Chion-in guest hostel.

Room assignments in this case meant that four girls would be in one 8-mat tatami-floor room and three in another, the effect being, as one of them said, "like having a slumber party!" Instructions were given about how and when to use the large Japanese baths (ofuro), one for men and one for women, as well as the toilets ("don't forget to use the special slippers!") and washers and dryers.

Then, after taking quick showers (it was early afternoon, so the baths were not ready) and changing into "church clothes" we took a special tour of the temple grounds and main buildings. Rev. Yabuki was our guide. I translated. The climax came with a long and disjointed sermon by the the abbot of Chion-in, Nakamura Koryu, who at 95 is still active even though he suffered some impairments from a recent stroke. He apparently was determined to speak to us, even though he had to be brought into the room in a wheelchair. For our sake he tried to make connections between Buddhism and Christianity. His attempt failed to keep people awake, and as the videotape will show, I had a hard time making sense of what he was saying myself.

From the abbot's room we were taken outside and up the hill through some lovely garden areas to the temple teahouse, where we were served ritual green tea (matcha). Although I had been allowed to spend several days back in the early '60's taking photographs of the all the Kano School sliding-wall (fusuma) paintings owned by the temple (and in those days Carol and I came to Chion-in on New Year's Eve with everyone else in Kyoto to ring the temple's giant bell), being allowed to see the temple's main teahouse and enjoy its magnificent view of Kyoto was a new experience for us.

After tea we walked back down to the temple's lower precinct and were invited to climb up into the top of the famous 3-portal gate (sanmon), which as Rev. Yabuchi explained is unusual because such gates are usually found only in Zen temples: apparently Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa Shogun who paid for much of the construction of Chion-in, liked such gates and thought the temple should have one. Today it is Chion-in's most famous structure.

At dinnertime Keiko put all of us into cabs and had the drivers drop us off at the "fast-sushi" restaurant on the corner of Kawaramachi and Sanjo. Everybody seemed to enjoy it except ______, who ate at one of the three McDonald's nearby (and seemed relieved that she could get what she wanted there even though "they don't understand English!")

We broke into small groups afterwards, giving each one cabfare and instructions on how to get back to the temple. (We figured they might not be able to find their way back walking until they were a bit more familiar with the city.) Carol, Keiko, Jodie and I had dessert at Kyoto Royal Hotel while discussing the details of our Kyoto schedule. Then, Jodie, Carol and I said goodnight to Keiko and walked through Shinmonzen (the antiques street) and Pontocho (one of the old geisha streets) on the way back to Chion-in.

Fri., May 19.

After a ho-hum Japanese breakfast in the Wajun Kaikan Cafe. At 9 o'clock the Bukkyo University representatives were waiting for us in the lobby: Prof. Umeda (who visited us in Malibu with his wife and Dr. Atone of the Los Angeles branch of the University), Prof. Ibata (who brought B. U. students to Pepperdine a few years ago), and Ms. Kakiuchi, who was introduced as our interpreter. After a crosstown bus ride to the campus we were escorted up to the VIP rooms for the reception ("aisatsu") speeches.

B. U.'s highest-ranking administrators and professors were present and waiting for us. After speeches by Prof. Umeda and the University's Vice President, and a response from me, we visited the library, accompanied by some students who had been chosen to interact with us.

By 10:30 we found ourselves in the cafeteria in front of a huge table of food. B.U. students talked one-on-one with Pep U. students, and before we left there were formal individual introductions, so that everyone could at least hear everyone's name.

The ride on the Bukkyo University bus to Mr. Hiei to the northeast of Kyoto, as well as to Enryaku-ji, the mother temple of the Tendai sect of early Japanese Buddhism, was pleasant indeed: such an improvement over the bus rides we had endured in India! I was looking forward to our visit to Jakko-in, in particular, one of my favorite temples in the area. So I was shocked to hear that Jakko-in had burned to the ground last month, presumably the work of arsonists, who had taken advantage of the fact that the alarm system had been temporarily turned off.

Nevertheless, we enjoyed our visit to Enryaku-ji, where so many Japanese monks (including Honen, founder of the Chion-in Pure Land lineage) had trained. Students wandered through the grounds of the Komponchudo (the main hall) rather uncomprehendingly, finding pleasure in ringing the bell and buying prayer beads at the stalls.

We were late getting off to our next destination, which was the home of the "Ajari" or saint-like abbot of all Hieizan temples, the Rev. Yusai Sakai. This famous, pope-like figure had agreed through Rev. Furutani to see us. We learned later that he had not been born into a priest family, like most Japanese priests, but had become a priest after a traumatic moment in his life. He had neglected his wife and in general been a hard-working but rotten husband until his 40's. At that time his wife committed suicide! In shock he walked from Osaka to Kyoto and up to Mt. Hiei as an act of penitence.

Gradually his spiritual desperation turned into deep insight, which qualified him for the awesome task of Ajari-hood. This position has been filled by one extraordinary priest after another. Today it is assumed that the post will be filled by someone who regularly "walks the spine of Hieizan" as part of his spiritual training. Sakai Ajari does it regularly, at a dead run.

When our bus parked and Rev. Furutani pointed us towards a forest path, we were not prepared for the trek ahead. I knew the practice of walking mountain trails, the practice that Hieizan priests have done for centuries. To walk and clear the mind is the idea. Putting one step ahead of the other, over and over, like being born and dying, is the Tendai way of putting self-concerns aside so that the Other Side (or the Kingdom of God, as one Buddhist priest put it to me many years ago) might be glimpsed, if only for a moment before death.

I was familiar with this practice, which I had engaged in with University of Washington Zen Center students in 1970, when we spent a week in training at Enryaku-ji. The practice also calls upon trainees to do 1000 body prostrations at various intervals. The walking and prostrations together constitute a real killer of a training exercize. But I had not counted on any part of the training being required of the students I had with me this time (or of me, for that matter.)

Five minutes into our walk on this mountain trail, which was a little like a nature trail in a Washington-state rain forest, I knew we were being given a chance to "train" ourselves. I was out of breath and overdressed, but secretly grateful. I was also surprised that everyone had gone faster than I, and were up ahead, out of sight! They were also out of earshot, and I was happy not to be able to hear the complaints that I knew were filling the forest air up ahead. ("If I had known we were going to walk through mud I would have worn different shoes! Why didn't someone tell us we were going to do this? I thought we were just going to visit the university! Where are we going, anyway?" Etc., etc.)

After reaching the Ajari's house, I saw the Ajari himself bounding about, up and down, darting here and there like a little leprechaun. He was dressed in work clothes (called "samugi"), had rosy red cheeks, and had no tabi-socks on his feet. His house was packed with stuff -- boxes and statues and photos everywhere. Shortly after I came in he began a steeped-tea (sencha) ceremony, very informally. He poured the tea into little Shigaraki cups (that he had made, I think), which Carol quickly served to everybody, with a full shin bow in front of each person.

We were seated in a large circle, on a Persian rug, which itself was on top of a tatami-mat floor. The Ajari himself sat behind his cluttered low desk, within a few feet of each person. He began speaking in a high-pitched, animated voice, laughing frequently. When several people needed to use the bathroom, he himself popped up to guide them through the clutter of his home. Many of the students nearly fell asleep during his talk, but some good questions were asked. He essentially told us everything about his life -- as a businessman, husband, and Buddhist saint symbolizing the very pinacle of spiritual understanding.

At the heart of his talk was the notion that all of us must try to do something good before we die, and that doing good is a matter of "losing" yourself, of exerting effort to overcome self concerns, which automatically block us from doing good, i.e., being useful to the world. In his case he is literally walking the paths and highways of the world. People in Japan consider him to be a holy man. To the rest of the world the sight of him -- dressed in white, wearing straw sandals and his straw mat rolled up on his head like a cowboy hat, running through the street with a dozen or so assistants, body guards and TV photographers to record each pilgimage -- seems a little silly.

By the time he had finished his talk, students had warmed to him, as a person rather than as a saint (in fact, I doubt that the students ever understood how deeply the Japanese revered him), and when we took group pictures at the end of our visit it was like taking pictures with a very funny friend. The Ajari gave each person a videotape of his walking exploits and many group pictures were made both inside and outside the house.

I dreaded the return through the forest, but Rev. Furutani said we could use the delivery road, which put our fears at rest somewhat. (I noticed that a car was in a garage near the vegetable garden, and wondered how it got there.) People seemd in good spirits on the way back. Wisteria draped many of the trees on both sides of the road, and the houses and rice paddies seemed magically quiet and deserted.

As soon as we reached the bus it began to rain off and on all the way to Kyoto. During one dry moment we pulled off the road to visit the Uki Miedo Zen Temple with its "Floating Amida Hall" -- a tiny hall built out into Lake Biwa on stilts. An old pine tree reached out over it like a protective parasol. We finally reached Kyoto about one hour late, had a planning session with Keiko, and went to bed.

Sat., May 20.

This morning we got up for a walking tour from our guest house to nearby Kiyomizudera, one of Kyoto's oldest temples and a major tourist spot. Students were apprehensive about another long lecture in Japanese from the abbot we were scheduled to meet, but I assured them I would try to keep it short. (As it turned out, the abbot was unable to meet us, so the students' concerns were unnecessary.) Profs. Umeda, Itabashi and Kakiuchi were all waiting for us in the lobby. It was raining, so the priest at the desk gave us temple umbrellas.

By the time we had reached the ancient stone stairs known as Gojozaka, which was about halfway to Kiyomizudera, masses of uniformed school children on their annual fieldtrips to Kyoto filled every lane leading to the temple. We finally reached the entrance, where we waited for Umeda to get tickets and pay his respects to the Assistant Abbot Onishi. While we waited, school children came up to us to "speak English" and have their pictures taken.

At the first hall at Kiyomizu Temple we had to take off our shoes and carry them in plastic bags around the huge main statue of the Bodhisattva of Compassion, who is known affectionately in Japanese as "Kannon-sama". Then we went to another entrance, taking off and carrying our shoes again, but this time we went down some stairs into a pitch-black space that had a giant rosary with beads the size of soft-balls on our left side for us to touch and thus be guided through the dark. By touching the beads in the dark we proceeded through a winding "birth canal" to an exit of "light and life" (the meaning of the name of the Buddha Amida.)

Some of our students found that experience "terrifying" and as a result became sulky and resentful for the rest of the tour, asking when they could leave and be on their own.

After saying goodbye and offering our thanks to our Bukkyo University hosts, Carol, ______, ______ and I found a coffee shop and had toast (a "morning set") before taking a taxi to Hinodeya, the kimono shop where ______ would buy her wedding outfit and ______ and I would have kimonos made. (We also bought a formal kimono and hakama there for our friend Kap Young in Oxnard.) The sisters at the shop were their usual kind and beautiful selves. (Their great-great-grandparents started the business 200 years ago! They showed us old photos and a cash register dating to the 1890's.)

Afterwards we walked around the Urasenke area looking at tea utensils and had lunch at the little Italian trailer-sized restaurant off Horikawa. Later that night our friend Mrs. Tomoko Abe came to Wajun Kaikan from Tokyo to join us for a few days of our Kyoto stay. (She was visiting her mother and relatives in Tokyo, but lives in Palos Verdes with her husband, whose job has taken him to Los Angeles for a few years; she comes out to Pepperdine regularly to help with the tea classes. Also, Abe Sensei and Carol (Soki) both study with the same tea teacher in Los Angeles, Matsumoto Sosei Sensei.)

Sun., May 21.

Today we all piled into three cabs and went to St. Agnes Episcopal Church. Three students opted not to go in, but to just hang out across the street (Karasuma) at the Imperial Palace (Gosho) grounds.

The church service was lovely, but only a handful of Japan-born Japanese attended, with one or two second-generation Japanese Americans and as many as ten caucasian Americans. I was disappointed that when the subject of brotherhood in the early church came up during the informal homily, the priest as well as one other person (a young Japanese lady) both reassured me (when I spoke of feeling guilty and sad for not doing more than I did for the countrless beggars in India) that the brotherhood we were supposed to love and share our possessions with was limited to "people in the church." One lady even spoke up to say (contrary to every evidence I know of) that Mother Theresa herself "did not try to help all Indians." (So much for our brothers and sisters outside of Christ!)

I hope this is a minority view in the Christian world. Surely I am responsible for every creature on earth without exception, "for inasmuch as you have not done it [shown loving kindness] to the very least of these people, so have you not done it [fed, clothed, and ministered] unto me."

Certainly there is no question about this in Buddhism, even if Buddhists do not have a tradition of providing for the poor. "Thou art that," from the most ancient Hindu texts, was the bottom line for the Buddha's teaching. If I cannot accept myself as any living being, i.e., know that I am in fact that very being, then I am not a Buddhist.

From St. Agnes' we took the subway to Kyoto Station (Kintetsu Hachijo side) where we met ______, the brave student who had gotten up early to hit the monthly swapmeet/market at Toji Temple near the station. After breakfast (at Mr. Donut, for most people) we boarded the train for Saidai-ji and the little bedroom community of ___________, where the Zen hermitage of ________, former Seattle Zen Center student, is located.

On the train I realized with some horror that I did not have ______'s telephone number with me. Jodie didn't either. When we reached Hyotan-yama Station, Abe Sensei and I went to the police box (koban) to see if they knew _______. They didn't. We had the name ________ for his temple (from Keiko's schedule), but neither of us knew the Chinese characters.

I decided to look in the phone book. Nothing. So I called the number of a temple identified as Rinzai Zen (______'s sect, mine, too.) The person there said she knew the address but not the phone number, but that a person would be back in about 5 minutes who probably would know. So five minutes later I called again, and the lady turned me over to a man who gave me the number.

Rejoicing all the way back to the station, I phoned _______ on Abe Sensei's cell phone and said we were on our way. He seemed surprised (Keiko had not even told him which day to expect us, but he knew he and I had agreed that 1:00 p.m. on Sunday was a reasonable time to expect to arrive. It was just after 100 p.m.) We hailed four taxis for our ride to _________, using ______'s instructions to explain to the drivers how to get there. I smiled at _______'s suggestion that we could walk: it was definitely too far for this group to walk, even if the pace was slow.

_______ started waving when we came into view. He had on a T-shirt and khakis. The temple and its tiny rock garden (one rock!) is charming. Once we were all inside we sat in a circle and introduced ourselves. Then _______ told us his life story, short version. I asked about the TV program that NHK (Japan's education chanel) did on him, and he said we could see it before we ate lunch.

He ordered sushi from the neighborhood sushiya-san, which neighbors supplemented with delicious miso soup. While we were waiting I left the money Keiko had prepared for him (plus another 10,000 yen from my own pocket) on a tall chest (tansu) in the kitchen. Rev. Suzuki, the priest who lives across the street (and who treats _______ like a treasured younger brother) saw me do it, and we joked about ______ not finding it for years.

______ invited us to look around the temple. I noticed that the bag I had brought ______ containing the sandalwood Buddha statue from India was resting on the main altar. Each room had been thoroughly refurbished. The whole place was spotless. Outside in the vegetable garden about four neighbors were hard at work. They looked up from time to time, smiled, returned pleasantries with me, and obviously were proud of the place as well as their "gaijin bozu" (foreign priest.)

When we went into ______'s study to watch the video, ______ and _______ stayed in the other room reading books they had brought with them, books that had nothing to do with Japan or our studies in Asia. I scolded them and told them to get in front of the TV immediately. If you were in heaven, why would you bury your nose in a book about hell? For that matter, if you were in hell, why would you not want to take advantage of everything hell has to offer by reading a book about heaven? I was furious with them for not sensing ______'s goodness.

The video was so well made and interesting that everyone sat fascinated for its 30-minute running time. Afterwards we had a discussion about Zen and koans, whose enigmatic stories that are part of the Rinzai tradition (and that ______ had mentioned in his running explanation of the film.) ______ was clear and perceptive, but his remarks about Christianity were unkind.

I knew that later on we would have to have a debriefing in which I would explain some things (such as ______'s less than happy childhood on a ranch in the midwest, made more painful, I assume, by his family's strict Calvinism.) I also would have to explain the whole koan process, and say a little more about Zen meditation. ______ seemed puzzled that the students didn't know more about these matters, and wondered if they knew their teacher had more than a little experience with them. They did pick up on the fact that ______ said he would not want to do koan training with anyone in Japan, but would with me. (Two nights later, in a 2-hour before-bedtime session, I had to explain that statement along with other things, such as my own views on truth, reality, etc.)

We had a tender goodbye with ______ at the train station, and then, upon arriving in Kyoto, we walked together through Kyoto Station's amazing new section, which we had bypassed earlier. The students all took cabs to Chion-in. But Tomoko Abe, Carol and I took off for a nostalgic stroll through the heart of Kyoto. We felt very privileged and happy.

Mon., May 22.

This morning we headed out for Daikaku-ji, Tenryu-ji and Saiho-ji -- all in the Arashiyama area. The weather was perfect, as all the days in Japan have been. The palatial sweep of the Shingon temple of Daikaku-ji and its pond impressed everyone, although the historical details that make the temple important to the Japanese did not (so I didn't bother to relate them.) At Tenryu-ji I had a chance to talk about the significance of "shin, gyo and so" in garden design, as well as other traditional arts and Zen exercizes. (Actually, I had forgotten about the "so" rock-garden at Tenryu-ji -- right at the entrance, just raked gravel in parallel ridges -- which is overshadowed by the temple's famous "shin" pond-garden.)

I pointed out that with the exception of the famous rock garden at Ryoan-ji (which we visited two days later), most people prefer the natural landscape pond gardens in "shin" style over the "so"-style rock gardens in Zen temples. That makes perfectly good sense in terms of symbolism, because "shin" gardens represent our attachments to life, with its clutter of self-interests, whereas "so" gardens leave the self out, providing a kind of empty purity that makes most people uneasy, or bored. Some of the students had seen the Japanese gardens in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland, Seattle and Vancouver, all of which are loved especially for their "shin" sections. So my point was well taken.

The students all scattered for lunch in the Arashiyama area. Abe-san joined us for a lovely "hot-bean-curd" (yu-dofu) lunch (which at $30 was more than the students or Pepperdine wanted to pay), and then we looked around. I found it interesting that a lot of Japanese college kids were dressed up as rickshaw drivers and geishas, like the Disney characters at Disneyland. I presume the Arashiyama merchants pay them for their efforts at adding atmosphere.

The busride from Arashiyama to Saiho-ji, the Moss Garden, was as short (and even walkable) as I had argued with Keiko that it would be. Students were quite impressed with Saiho-ji, although at first they seemed reluctant to go by the rules. One rule required them to join other special visitors in a session of "osha-kyo" -- where you sit on the floor in front of a low table on which brush and ink and a pale-print copy of the "Heart of the Scripture of Transcendental Wisdom" (Hannya Shin-gyo) are placed, and you are expected to write over the pale characters with black ink while the scripture itself is recited.

A few of our people left before the first cycle of recitation was finished, so I decided to lead everyone out before the next cycle began rather leave in the middle of it. Sociology Lesson 101: Americans will not participate in something they cannot relate to or make sense of. It makes no difference to them if they are being rude or committing sacrilege by not participating (or just sitting still.)

Why did I not know this? Maybe because I've lived too long in Japan, where nothing has to make sense as long as everyone is doing it together? Maybe non-Japanese (especially Americans) do not trust their leaders to lead them. If they don't personally understand something they will make a decision on their own rather than obediently follow the leader.

Once in the garden each person took off independently. Freedom! Fortunately the garden is big enough to accomodate that kind of independence. Some students were deeply impressed with the quiet beauty of this ancient green paradise. A few (the same ones) breezed through and were sipping their soft drinks outside when the rest of us finished.

On the bus I agreed to Jodie's suggestion that we have a session in her room at 8:30 p.m., after baths. The session went well. I was able to soothe some of the feathers that "_____-foreigner priest" had ruffled. A fairly thoughtful discussion of three Zen koans -- that ask trainees to demonstrate their realization (in word, thought or deed) of Joshu's Mu (also known as the Puppy Koan), the Sound of One-Hand Clapping, and What the Armless-Legless-One Said (as he fell to his death) -- ended a little before 10 o'clock.

Tues., May 23.

This day's target was the Kamikatsura area in southwestern Kyoto, within walking distance of the temples we visited yesterday. But today we boarded three taxis for the long ride, and headed for Nichibunken, the Research Institute for Japanese Studies. I was surprised to learn, when I called a few days earlier, that Keiko had not contacted them to request a lecture room. So we went there only with the promise of having a tour of the library.

But after we arrived and spent some time with Mrs. Shinohara, the Director of the Library, and some of the other staff members, the atmosphere warmed up considerably. One woman remembered me from the old days when the library was part of the old Jimbun Kagaku Kenkyujo (Social Science Research Institute) connected to Kyoto University.

Students were anxious to hook up to the internet on all the computers, and were allowed to do so for a few minutes. We also learned how to access all the Institute books through OPAC, an amazing new system that puts the Nichibunken at the students' fingertips. ((((****ask Prof. W. As to how ***))))

Mrs. Shinohara made sure that students saw the big book on Japanese art ("Late Medieval to Early Modern") that I did for Kodansha in 1968. After awhile I indicated that it was time for our lecture, and asked if we could have it in the garden. Mrs. Shinohara said yes, and even offered a lecture room to us inside. We said our goodbyes, accepting the invitation to come back someday "to do serious research." I then lectured on things that I thought would prepare students for the aftrnoon tea practice.

Around 11:30 a.m. we started our trek down the hill to the Takigawa house, where Carol and Abe Sensei had gone after our taxis dropped us off at Nichibunken. The neighborhood had really changed in two years: many more houses and streets, fewer bamboo groves. I kept hugging the mountain on my left, hoping that the result would be the one I expected.

Students were very good to walk so far without complaint. Actually, the open space was a welcome sight. Finally we came out at the highway and the Volvo dealership at the entrance to the road leading up to the house. As we climbed up the stairs I heard Carol's and Shinobu's voices. (Shinobu Ura spent nearly two years with us in Malibu, but had returned a year ago, first to her parents' home in Ishikawa, and was now living in Tokyo. She was in Kyoto just to be with us.) They were getting worried that we had gotten lost.

After quick formal introductions of the Takigawas, Shinobu, and Mariko (a tea acquaintance), we began eating from the lovely box lunches (bento) laid out on the floor of the large reception room (ohiroma). The weather could not have been better: cool breezes wafting through the open doors, bright sun and blue sky with fleecy clouds outside.

While we were eating I got a glimpse of Kumagai-san, the gardener who has worked for the Takigawas for 40 years and who took on two of my University of Washington students as apprentices back in the 1970's. He came in and was quite a hit with the students, who probably did not realize what an unusual Japanese man he is. They just liked him (and his gregarious ways) at once.

He shook each person's hand and made a comment about them, like "Wow! This person has such a big heart!" or "Do American women really sit like this [cross-legged, Indian style]? Gee, you have no fear! You should sit properly, though!" To all of them he said (through me): "Each one of you must work in a garden. If you don't know yourself as a tree or bush or blade of grass you will never be a full human being! And the art of the Japanese garden is the best. It is truly art."

"I am a gardener. My father was a gardener. My stupid son went to Tokyo University and became an architect with the best company in Japan. He should have become a gardener. I am the last gardener in the Kumagai family because of my son. If you come to Japan to learn gardening from me you can carry on my tradition. I'll adopt you! I am a true expert. Most gardeners in Japan today are not."

"Two of Dr. W's students -- Barbara and Bob -- studied with me. I taught them everything. They suffered and worked hard. I've lost touch with them, but I'm sure they are making lovely gardens. Now I have two Italians and one Korean student learning from me. Before I die (in about 3 or 4 more years) I want to go to America and build a small garden. Please invite me to come. I don't speak English but I don't care. My gardens speak my real words."

Kumagai-san went on and on, until the Takigawas (and Carol) began to complain. Kumagai then shifted to his little landscape pictures drawn with colored pencils. His wife had calligraphed some poems on about six small sheets of paper. He and Mr. Takgawa urged students to write and paint on some traditional paper mounted on gold-edged boards (shikishi).

In the meantime, Carol took half the students into the teahouse where she and Abe Sensei put ______ through her paces as host, and made sure the students were proper guests. I took the other students into the living room where they could sit down in chairs and practice folding the "fukusa" -- the silk cloth used to purify tea utensils.

Then we switched groups. I took my group into the teahouse where ______ served very ably as host, and Carol worked with the other group in the living room. By the time we finished it was 4:30 p.m. and time to go. We took cabs to Pontocho where we had reservations to eat outside overlooking the Kamo River at the old but touristy restaurant called Takara (the "Treasure").

We had some time to kill before the meal, so I took Abe-san and ______ to an antique store on Furumonzen where they had seen some interesting things in the window a few days before. We also paid a visit to Nakajima-san, my old friend of 40 years, who found many of the art pieces we bought during my student days, and whose shop was nearby. When we returned to the river and entered the restaurant we were really hungry.

The students seemed happy with the first few dishes in what was advertised as a "traditional Japanese" (kaiseki) meal. But the remaining dishes were too traditional, I guess, for most students. In fact the meal was very sloppily prepared and served, and a lot of cheaper ingredients (such as makerel and tororo) were used. I made a note to myself that tempura (deep-fried fish and vegetables) or shabu-shabu (thin beef slices cooked at the table) dinners would be better for the normal American student. (After all, these two dishes were introduced by the Portuguese in Japan some 400 years ago.) However, it might be impossible to have those dinners for only $50 per person! (I heard that we spent that much for the kaiseki meal at Takara.)

Back in Chion-in's Wajun Kaikan we had our baths and I was interviewed by the 25-year-old priest and editor of the temple newsletter, "Kacho". I hope I said some intelligent things, but I was pretty tired. He seemed puzzled that American students would have an interest in Buddhism or in Japanese things in general. I tried to put my finger on what I thought our students' interests were. But I really didn't have a clue. Has this gulf between generations (not to mention cultures) always been so wide and deep?

Wed., May 24.

Our bus picked us up at 8:45 a.m. and got us to the entrance of Ryoan-ji by 9:15. This "Temple of the Peaceful Dragon" has always been famous for its rock garden. We went to the garden immediately, planning to visit the priests' training hall (sodo) of Daishu-in on the way out. As we took off our shoes I heard a familiar voice speaking in English. The speaker was Frank Chance, one of the best students I had had at the University of Washington. We had seen each other in March at the annual AAS (Asian Association) conference in San Diego. He was filling in for someone at the last minute, apparently, as the leader of a group of members of the World Affairs Council. We chatted briefly after he introduced me to his people. (They said they felt they knew me because Frank was always telling them stories about me. Sweet.)

Daishu-in, and its meditation hall where I have spent so much time over the years, was closed, so I could not show it to the few students who had stayed with me after the rock garden. We boarded the bus for Daitoku-ji, in order to meet Gary Cadwallader at 10:20 at Juko-in, the mortuary temple of the Sen family located inside this great 14th-century center of Rinzai Zen Buddhism in Japan. Gary, who has lived in Kyoto practicing tea at Urasenke for more than half his life (having spent the first half in Houston), was waiting for us.

We first visited the grave of Sen no Rikyu himself, showing our respect by sprinkling water over the top of the stone pagoda that marks the spot where his ashes were scattered over 400 years ago. Then we did the same for Tantansai and his wife, who were the parents of the present generation head, or iemoto, of the family, Sen Soshitsu, and finally, for Mrs. Tomoko Sen, Dr. Sen's wife, who died last year.

Inside the main hall of Juko-in we admired the famous paintings by Kano Eitoku, done in 1566 for the Sakai samurai family that had invited Rikyu (Sakai's most famous merchant) to use Juko-in as his family's mortuary temple in Kyoto. The Sen family (through Gary) gave a visitor's gift to the abbot, and Jodie gave him a small amount of money (which Keiko had budgeted for temple visits) wrapped in white "kaishi" paper. I remember how I learned how to give such gifts from the former director of Kyoto National Museum, Dr. H. Tsukamoto. He helped me understand the mysteries of gift-giving in Japan without thinking of gifts as fees or payment of any sort.

Juko-in's priests have remained faithful to the vow that the abbot of the temple in 1964 expressed to me: "This temple will never be put on view for a fee." I was the first foreigner he had allowed into the temple, and I think he only admitted me because I knew what paintings and texts were in the temple collection. This information was in inventories that were published as part of the National Treasures Cataloguing project conducted by Fenollosa and Okakura around 1900.

The University of Chicago happened to have these ancient publications and others, which allowed me to know which temples I wanted to visit and exactly what books, paintings and documents they had in their storehouses that I needed to see for my doctoral dissertation research. I remember bringing my gift to Juko-in in August of 1964, a hot day made a bit cooler by the block of ice the abbot had placed on a tray in the room where he received me.

I remember, too, being amazed by what Dr. Tsukamoto had suggested my gift should be and how much it cost. My gift was a picture-perfect honeydew melon, presented in a wooden box, and registered and numbered by the farmer who grew it. It cost about $20 at the time, when the yen-dollar ratio was 360Y/1$. Today, with the ratio at 100Y/1$, the same melon costs $72! In either case the price seems exhorbitant to non-Japanese unfamiliar with how the nation's give-and-take system works.

I'm sure the Sen family gave at least $100 (in crisp new yen notes) to Gary to give to Juko-in on Pepperdine's behalf. I didn't see how much Jodie gave, but temple entrance fees today start at 500 yen, so that multiplied by 12 is 6,000 yen, or $60. So our gift today of $160 was respectable. The point is, it was not a fee. (Try telling that to the accounts payable office on the Malibu campus!)

As we left Juko-in we all went in different directions for lunch, promising to meet back at the bus in time to make the 1:30 appointment we had at Urasenke. Carol, Abe-san and I took Gary to "Senzen" -- the kaiseki (vegetarian) temple-style restaurant on the Daitoku-ji grounds. It was fabulous, worth every yen of the $31 per person cost. (But that was much more than the $12 allowance provided to students by Pepperdine for meals in Japan.

Back on the bus, and with Gary as our leader, we made the short drive to Urasenke. We were let off in front of the Omote Senke gate and walked to the "Helmet Gate" (Kabutomon) entrance to the Ura Sen family estate. After waiting until the all clear ("we are ready for you") sign was given, we walked over the freshly dampened stepping stones of the "Dewy Path" (roji) to the changing room, where we left our purses, backpacks, etc., and put on white socks.

First we were led into several 16th- and 17-century rooms. In the "Throwing Away the Fish Basket" room everything was ready to serve us tea. Sumi Gyotei Sensei (one of the ten or so highest-ranking teachers) was our host. He explained everything, spoke directly to me as head guest, and Gary interpreted. The scroll was "Kissa-ko" ("Have Tea and Leave"), which neither Gary nor Sumi Sensei seemed to understand. (It is one of the koans dealing with the 8th-century Chinese Zen Master Joshu/Zhao-zho, who treated everyone the same, i.e., gave them tea, but was especially kind to those who were with him every day, like the neighborhood rag-picker.)

We then went through other rooms with Gary as our guide. I was relieved that we were not allowed to enter the room containing Rikyu's statue, because I knew some of the students would not be able to crawl in, bow, and sit properly. Also, for some of them the process might smack of idol worship!

From the main estate we moved to the new air-conditioned building where Midori-kai and Gaku-en students (the very fortunate few who are selected to train at the family estate) are put through their paces. We went upstairs where two classes of foreign students (one intermediate, one advanced) were in progress. A third space was set up for us.

______ was told to prepare for the "tana-usucha-temae" and the rest of us sat quietly, "studying with our eyes" (kengaku), as they say. Carol and ______ were the guests. All of us were served sweets and tea. (I couldn't believe that a couple of students didn't eat the sweets, which any Japanese person would die for, knowing that they were made that morning by a living national treasure of sweet-making!)

______ did very well, even with Gary correcting and refining his every move. 40 minutes later it was ______'s turn to be host. ______ and ______ were her guests. ______, too, did very well. Gary's instructions about rounding the arms and moving from the waist were very effective: the change was phenomenal. ______ looks like a Greek goddess and moves with the grace of a swan.

The group split up at 4:15 p.m. after saying goodbye to Gary and others at Urasenke. Half of us went back to Chion-in, the rest (including Carol and me) stayed behind to do more shopping for tea utensils. Ultimately the shopping group also split up, with Carol and I setting off to downtown to see if we could find 30cm zori (formal thonged shoes for tea ceremonies) for ______.

We went by bus. I was shocked that the fare had gone up to 220 yen (from 180 yen only two years ago) and that transfers were not available. So since we had to transfer to another bus to reach Shijo Teramachi, we ended up shelling out 880 yen, which is not much less than we would have paid for a taxi (about 1100 yen.) In dollars ($9-$11) the ride -- about the distance of a Santa Monica Blue Bus crosstown ride -- was exhorbitant.

We didn't find the zori afterall, so we stopped in a little pub for an Asahi Dry on tap and some cheese tempura and salted branch-beans (eda-mame). Then we drug ourselves back to Chion-in ... on foot.

Thur., May 25.

Before we got on the bus to leave Kyoto we all went over to the famous gate of Chion-in for a group picture -- taken by Rev. Tanaka, who interviewed me on the 23rd. The bus ride to Himeji took nearly 3 hours. The visit to the 16th-century castle (the only medieval castle left unbombed in the WWII) went very well indeed.

We stopped at a Mitsukoshi bakery to buy lunch, which we ate on the bus on the way to Okayama, which took another 3 hours. Chisan, the little business hotel in Okayama, has a crest featuring two monkeys flanking a shield. Clever. Nice hotel, too, with a super breakfast buffet and a location across the street from one of the pleasantest downtowns in Japan. (The Okayama mall has the best Maruzen bookstore I've seen!) It pleases me, also, that the city fathers have installed special lanes and motorized vehicles for the disabled. This is in a country that 25 years ago kept its disabled hidden away at home, in denial of their existence.

Kairoku-en, Okayama's famous garden, was a hit with the students, but is not very important historically or architecturally. Nevertheless, in one of the souvenir shops inside the garden I saw a bunch of reproductions of paintings by Takehisa Yumeji, one of my favorite early-20th-century Japanese artists. So I asked the shop clerk why they were there and found out that Okayama was Yumeji's hometown! Somehow that made the garden better for me.

Fri., May 26.

After a good night's sleep we had breakfast and drove an hour to Kurashiki. There we strolled through the charming streets, went into the Folk Art Museum, and in a gallery called "Jurou" we saw a fabulous dark blue silk (sha) kimono and white summer obi made of paper thread. Both were made by a local artisan and together cost a little over $8,000. Absolutely gorgeous! Worth the trip just to see them. At the same shop/gallery we purchased a paper-mache folk-art snake (for next year) and a beautiful indigo blue tie-dyed sashiko tablecloth.

Next stop, Hiroshima with its "atomic dome" and holocaust museum. I briefed the students on the bus just before we arrived, stressing the reasons for the war, the propaganda on both sides, the timeline for developing and dropping the bombs, and MacArthur's occupation force, SCAP. I also mentioned the circumstances of the writing of Japan's Constitution (24 young Americans wrote it in 6 days) and the sad story of Sadako and other victims of the bomb.

Students seemed to make it through the museum OK. I always tear up and feel sick, but I didn't detect anything like that from the students. Even so, I am sure they were moved. If this calm-headed, beautifully-designed exhibit of A-bomb devastation does not make you want to spend the rest of your life as an anti-nuclear-weapons advocate, you may need to check your pulse.

On the ferry ride to Miyajima (Shrine Island) the students were "interviewed" by 6th-grade kids on a school trip. Kamefuku Inn was a great success in terms of its interior design and spectacular baths. But Keiko had requested a Western breakfast for the next morning and the inn keeper refused, saying the inn had never done that before. When Keiko reminded him that the inn did it for the business group last year the manager (who had been in charge at the time) denied that it happened. For Keiko, that was the last straw. She told him he was a liar and that Pepperdine would not stay at Kamefuku Inn again.

In the evening we took a very pleasant walking tour of Itsukushima Shrine, the Shinto home of the ancestral gods of the Taira family (who were defeated in a sea battle in 1185 and forced to commit suicide ignobly by drowning themselves rather than by disemboweling themselves in a proper hara-kiri ritual.) The shrine's romantic main gate (torii), that looks like it is floating in the ocean at high tide, was being repaired and was covered with unsightly blue plastic. But we enjoyed the sights anyway. Afterwards we bathed in the wonderful, hi-tech baths overlooking the ocean and had a splendid Japanese meal, which everyone seemed to enjoy, even the two students who have consistently not eaten any food of ethnic origin. It helped that we were all dressed in yukata enjoying each other's company in a relaxed, traditional Japanese setting.

Sat., May 27.

As planned, we got up knowing that we would be transferring immediately to another inn, so we met in the lobby of Kamefuku with our bags, which were taken for us to the other place. There we were served a very nice Western-style breakfast, and for good measure the inn even delivered our bags to the ferry boat. After a 20-minute ferry ride and an another hour on the bus we reached Hiroshima Station, where we purchased food for the 4-hour train ride (on the super-fast Nozomi) to Tokyo. Exactly on time, we easily settled into the sleekest, most space-age train car I've ever seen.

From the train we filed through Tokyo Station, Hiroko running interference for us, and finally reached the bus that would take us to the B. & G. (Blue and Green) Hotel, located near the Tokai-line Monzen Nakacho #3 subway stop. Once there we went to our rooms and rested until 5:30 p.m., when we met in the lobby for a briefing on subways, meals, and schedules.

The hotel itself was built by a Japanese billionaire who wanted to provide students, teachers, and businessmen with a comfortable and inexpensive place in downtown Tokyo where they could sleep, eat, exercize and have meetings. A full gym is provided, daily swimming classes are taught in the Olympic-size pool, and the hotel has a cruise ship that takes hundreds of kids each year to Guam for weeks of island activities. The rooms were spacious by Japanese standards, and were equipped with a very efficient toilet and bath room that I wish we could purchase for our house on the Malibu campus!

Just before coming down for dinner, Carol and I thought we had lost one of our bags. Panicked, we put Hiroko and Keiko through many telephone calls, even during dinner (a very good one!) in the hotel, calling the Kyoto and Hiroshima stations as well as the bus company that we had used from Kyoto. After dinner we found the bag behind a coat in our closet. Relief and embarrassment. The episode came in handy, though, because it gave me a chance to point out to the students that (1) we had never had anything stolen during 35 years of living in Japan, and (2) that Hiroko and Keiko were both certain that if we had left the bag anywhere between Hiroshima and Tokyo it would be found and returned to us. Ah, Nippon! Is there any safer nation on earth?

At the briefing I announced that we would attend Ochanomizu Church service at 10:30 a.m. the next day and then have a light lunch and afternoon tea ceremony at Mrs. Abe's parents' home in Roppongi. Then ______ asked, "Do we have to go to church?" I felt anger rising in my heart.

My answer was, "Yes, you do, because until you have some experience riding Tokyo subways you would never be able to find Ochanomizu and Roppongi on your own, much less the two addresses! We must go together. Besides, I don't understand how you can go into a Hindu temple but not a Christian church! But if you cannot, there's a Mr. Donut near the Ochanomizu church. You can hang out there during the service and then we'll go together to Roppongi. After the things that have been carefully planned for you tomorrow are over, then you can be on your own. By that time you might be able to find your way back to the hotel. But yes, we'll go together to Ochanomizu tomorrow morning!"

I was angry once again, at how ungrateful and blind some young people can be be. Of all the effort that is being expended on their behalf, all some of them can think of is what they want to do! Dropping them off on the dark side of the moon just might be the best thing I could do for them. At the moment, if you happen to be on ______'s wave length (which tends to be narrowly focused indeed) she can be pleasant and even thoughtful. But if you are not on her wave length you might as well be dead, because you are to her.

Enough. I forgot to mention that Yumi, who worked for Pepperdine for over three years in the Ibaraki Christian University office, made a special trip from her home in Shiga to meet us on the train platform when we arrived in Tokyo. She brought her little 1-year-old son to show us. He slept most of the time until we got to the hotel lobby. There he ran around having a great time. Yumi was going with a fellow nobody liked when we knew her in Ibaraki. Apparently she dropped him for her present husband, who seems to be a fine man. It was wonderful to see her and her baby.

Sun., May 28.

Because of the opposition a few of the students have to Christian (and especially Church of Christ) practice, I dreaded this day. Everyone was waiting in the hotel lobby to take the subway journey to the Ochanomizu C. of C., but they looked tired and surly, partly because some had explored Roppongi the night before. (I made a note to tell Keiko not to suggest, as she did yesterday, that students could go clubbing in Roppongi on the night before a day filled with important activities like today.) We managed to get to the church on time, but ______ and ______ refused to go in, and remained in the new Starbucks just a few doors down from the church.

The service itself was frustrating. We were met by Bro. Ibata, who directed us upstairs where a few Japanese, five African men (and one woman), and a handful of Americans (including the Haig family who said they were leaving after 5 years in Japan to live in Sacramento) were just concluding their Bible study to begin a worship service that was to last 40 minutes, after which we were to join the Japanese congregation downstairs for "the Lord's Supper."

We sang a couple of hymns (very slowly), listened to a sermon (by Mr. Haig), and heard one scripture reading and prayer (in such heavily African accented English that I couldn't catch but a phrase or two here and there.) Downstairs the sermon in Japanese was just finishing up when we entered and sat down. After the bread was passed, Bro. Ibata came over to me to say the grape juice would be passed to us early, because he had heard me tell the two students who didn't come in we would meet them at 11:30, and it was that time already. Before I could stop him we were receiving the "blood of Christ" ahead of everyone else. I decided we would not get up and leave, however.

The hymns were sung from two different books -- one in Japanese, one in English. Sometimes the Japanese ones had more verses, so I went back to the back of the church to exchange my English version for a Japanese one. At the end of the service Bro. Ibata introduced me as "an old friend who directs the Asian Studies Program at Pepperdine, and who always visits the Ochanomizu Church when he is in Tokyo."

He then asked me to say something, so I stood and told everyone (in Japanese) that we had just spent a week in Thailand, 10 days in India, and were finishing up 2 weeks in Japan. I told them our purpose was to observe the effect of Buddhism on the lives of people in these countries and to compare Hindu, Buddhist and Christian teachings. People looked at me like I was crazy, so I ended by saying something to the effect that I thought communication between people of different faiths was essential to peace in the world, and that I appreciated the kindness the Ochanomizu Church had extended to us.

In my mind I flashed back to the times when Carol and our sons and I had visited the Ochanomizu Church, back when the Bixlers were alive. I remember (as I told students later) Mrs. Bixler playing the piano (and asking me to play) upstairs in their apartment. I also remember how fervent they were in their missionary zeal to "save" all Japan for Christ. Bro. Ibata seemed like a houseboy for them in a way, who was doing everything in a manner that any servant in middle Tennessee would do things. I just remember being amazed that he used Japanese instead of English, so complete was his transformation as a boy from the American south.

I remember wondering why the Bixlers were not interested in studying Buddhism or trying to understand the Shinto aspect of Japanese families in order to make their Christian mission more effective. But it was clear they were ministering to people who needed to turn from their heathen ways, and only those Japanese who did a complete about-face from those ways were welcome to receive the benefits of the Bixler (and Ochanomizu Church) household.

Things have not changed much in the past 40 years. I sensed that all of the Japanese at the service we attended considered themselves to be quite separate from the normal Japanese on the street. This attitude saddened me in 1964 and it saddens me now. The very last thing the world needs in the 21st century is an us-versus-them attitude!

After church I knew that several students who participated had taken offense at the words of some of the songs (even though they were the standard words about "saving the lost" and being "soldiers of Christ" that I'm sure these same students sang as children in their home congregations.) Hello? I also knew that ______ was upset because we had promised to meet the non-church-goers at 11:30 and we had kept them waiting. My initial impulse was to punch ______ in the mouth, and I wondered how on earth I was going to live through the rest of the day.

I stopped on the street to call Mrs. Abe, as promised, so that she could meet us at the Roppongi subway exit and escort us to her family's property -- the Horai Building that sits on the most expensive land in the world! But her phone was busy, so we just got on the subway and hoped for the best.

When ______ got sick on the train and decided to leave us at Otemachi and return to the hotel by herself (even though this meant she was missing one of the most important tea activities on the trip, and she was one of the three students taking the tea course for credit!), I seriously thought of cancelling everything and taking everyone back to the B. & G. As it turned out, however, the visit to Mrs. Abe's went surprisingly well.

Even the most bored and uninterested students seemed to rally and do their best. Following instructions that Mrs. Abe had given Jodie, we got off the subway and made our way to the Horai Building. Named by Mrs. Abe's Grandfather Shinbo (the third-generation Shinbo to be in charge of the land the building sits on today) after the "Land of the Immortals" of Chinese myth, the building houses a non-profit school for traditional arts, as well as English conversation, the familly's living quarters, some 10 or 11 businesses that pay a premium rent for such a prestigeous location, and at the very top, the new and magical teahouse "Horai-an" complete with garden, two formal tatami rooms, storehouse for utensils, kitchen, and preparation room.

Mrs. Abe had planned for us to leave our luggage on the 4th floor, but when _______ said she would "just not be comfortable with that" Mrs. Abe allowed us to pile our junk into the little shelves prepared for the small gifts that guests normally leave when attending tea ceremonies at this island of tranquility in the middle of modern Tokyo's urban chaos.

As we entered the first room, after purifying our hands and mouths in the little garden overlooking Keio University and the International House, Abe Sensei introduced us to her mother (who thanked us for being so kind to her daughter in California) and to her sister, sister-in-law, and niece. We met each of these people in the traditional way -- on the floor, at eye-level, and less than an arm's length away. We bowed deeply to them and they to us. With introductions over, we were divided into two groups to fit the two rooms, and were served the most expensive and exquisite "lunch boxes" (obento) in all of Tokyo.

Accompanying these were bowls of clear soup (suimono) made by Mrs. Abe's own tea teacher, Mrs. Inoue, who was later introduced to us. Then came the most delicious "main sweets" (omogashi) from the most prestigeous sweet shop in Tokyo (or all of Japan): Toraya. Mrs. Abe apologized for serving sweets that normally would be served before "thick tea" (koicha), explaining that she had hoped to serve us the thick ceremonial tea but could not. I then had to explain to the students that I had told Mrs. Abe I didn't think our group would be able to drink that wonderful tea or sit as long as that service required. (I did not tell her that I knew some students would probably get up and walk out if, when the thick tea was served, they saw that they all would have to drink out of the same bowl -- ugh, how unsanitary!)

So Mrs. Abe did not offer us the thick tea service, which she earlier compared to the Celebration of the Eucharist she experienced with us at St. Agnes Church in Kyoto: "The spirit of friendship and love seems to be the same," she had said. But she felt obliged to serve us the special thick tea sweets anyway. (Even so, ______ immediately wrapped hers up in paper, as we had told her she had to do with any food she could not eat that was served at a formal tea ceremony. She wouldn't even taste it. She just wrapped it up and gave it to ______.)

We watched Mrs. Abe prepare the charcoal for the tea, following which a young woman who had studied for "only a year and a half" did the procedure (temae) for thin tea (usucha). During the procedure Mrs. Abe told the students about the provenance of each teabowl and utensil -- the equivalent of explaining the meaning of life, I had told them earlier -- and I was pleased to see that the students actually seemed to get excited about what they were experiencing.

At the end of the service Mrs. Abe introduced us to her tea teacher and to another friend who helped in the preparation room and who told us (in English) about her benevolent work on behalf of poor children in Sri Lanka. All of the women were the very picture of humble servants who offered us the most gracious hospitality. The only sign that they were also, in fact, very wealthy women, was the off-hand comment that they all played golf and had played some of the best courses in the world. There were no paid servants or maids to help these women create the magic that surrounded us that afternoon, a magic that even ______ responded to enthusiastically!

With a few heartfelt goodbyes we all scattered into the streets of Roppongi. Shinobu Ura, our "Japanese daughter" who works in Tokyo (and had joined us at the Takigawas in Kyoto earlier) had helped Mrs. Abe behind the scenes and now joined Carol and me for the rest of the day in Tokyo's Beverly Hills. We ended up going to Starbucks, I'm embarrassed to say, mainly because smoking is not allowed there, and only partly for the better-and-cheaper-than-Japanese-coffee-house coffee there. (You can pay as much as $12 for an excellent cup of coffee in a fancy kissaten, but can get the identical cup for $6 at Starbucks!)

Back at our hotel we had a nice dinner with about half of the group (the other half didn't even show up, so lots of food was wasted) and we went to bed early, exhausted.

Mon., May 29.

This was a free day, meaning that students were on their own in the most expensive city in the world. I wondered how they would manage, and I think they were apprehensive, as well. But we decided not to worry, and took off for Takashimaya in Nihonbashi, where we were to meet Mrs. Abe and ______ to look for tea utensils (epecially for ______'s wedding teabowl) and the formal shoes (zori) that our students of tea (chado) are required to wear, but can hardly find in Los Angeles. We were only partially successful. Finding zori that are large enough (25-30 cm) and inexpensive (less than $200, instead of the usual $400-$800) is a real challenge. We spent all day (and lots of money on food and transportation) trying to meet that challenge.

In the evening we had dinner at the hotel (again with only about 6 students, so there was food that went uneaten after being carefully prepared to our specifications by the staff) and spent about four hours talking to Shinobu in our room. She had travelled an hour on trains and subways from her work to see us again, and repeated the journey after she left us around midnight.

Tue., May 30.

Kamakura. This charming little town was built 700 years ago by the victorious Minamoto (Genji) clan of samurai families as a base for a new government that would remove from all power the aristocratic (kuge) families that produced Japan's emperors. This new Shogunate was thus clearly separate from the court in Kyoto. For centuries Kamakura has been famous not for its political power (the town lost its importance as the seat of government after only a little over one century), but as the place where many of the first Zen temples in Japan were built. Over 200 new Zen temples were built in Kamakura by leading samurai families, often with government subsidies, between 1200 and 1250. Of these, about 50 have survived, including Engaku-ji, which claims to have the oldest meditation hall (Zendo) in the country.

Other sects of Buddhism are also represented in the town, including the sect linked to the famous Daibutsu, or great bronze image of Amida, the Buddha of Everlasting Light and Life,, who is the principal object of devotion revered in the Pure Land (Jodo) sect founded by Honen Shonin (d. 1212). The "mother temple" of this sect is Chion-in, which provided us with our lodging in Kyoto while we were there.

Our bus took nearly 3 hours to reach Kamakura, due to an overturned trailer-truck on the freeway. So we did not spend as much time in Kamakura as Carol and I wanted. Since we were not planning to go to the baseball game in Tokyo Stadium at 6:00 p.m., we decided not to return on the bus with the students, but to stay and visit more temples in Kamakura.

We only had a little over one hour before the temples closed, but we saw Engaku-ji and Tokei-ji (where the graves of many famous scholars are located.) The one important Tokei-ji gravesite for me celebrates the late, great Suzuki Daisetsu Sensei, or Dr. D. T. Suzuki, as most of the world knows him. He wrote dozens of books on Zen, virtually all of which are still in print (including Zen and Japanese Culture, the book I read in Oklahoma when I was 11 years old.) His books on the sect of Buddhism that he himself belonged to, the vastly popular denomination of Pure Land Buddhism known as Jodo Shin-shu, are mostly untranslated, but they have influenced countless Japanese. I had the good fortune of meeting him briefly when I was 16, and of having him as a part-time mentor during the last two years of his life, 1964-66. So it was a thrill for me to visit his grave for the first time. (My wife had never met him when he was my teacher. So, I "introduced" her to him, in Japanese style.)

It took us only 50 minutes to return to Tokyo by train. So we went to see the exhibit, at the Ginza Mitsukoshi Department Store, of Momoyama Period (16th-17th century) tea utensils from the collection of the family of Ueda Soko (1561-1650). What a splendid show! We only had about 30 minutes before the store closed at 7:00 p.m., so we'll have to go back before we leave Japan. The students should see this exhibit by all means! There will never be another show like this, because the utensils and documents of Hideyoshi and Oribe were taken from private collections and museums just for this exhibit.

Wed., May 31.

City tour and river cruise/party. The bus took us first to Edo Museum, which is worth the trip: a beautiful building, with well-planned galleries. But only about one third of the extensive Japanese labels and explanatory displays are translated into English. A very interesting special exhibit of 34rd-generation Tokugawa artifacts had no English signage at all.

Is Japan going backwards in this regard? In the 1960's a grand effort was made to put all signs in English (even if the result was "Japlish"), but now it seems some organizations (such as the Hiroshima Prefectural Government and the Ueda Foundation -- the sponsors of the otherwise excellent Mitsukoshi exhibit we saw on the 30th) do not make any effort at all!

After we left the Edo Museum we headed out to the new city in the water, Odaiba, which was originally built at enormous expense, on man-made islands in Yokohama-Yokyo bay, to accomodate international conventions and even provide housing for the elderly. But citizens voted to scratch the conventions idea and make the entire compound a kind of recreational area -- a cross between Universal Studios and Las Vegas -- for the public. However, for an American the entire enterprise is not so special (lots of American merchandise in trendy shops.) It is certainly overpriced, even by Japanese standards. We spent a fortune for a little bit of food, and if it hadn't been for the attraction of "Pepsi Man" we would have been quite bored.

Pepsi Man is an advertising genius' very successful attempt to make Pepsi competitive with Coca Cola in Japan. Each bottle of Pepsi comes with a 3-D cap of a masked man in various embarrassing situations. Example: after stepping in some pink bubblegum he is shown raising his foot and saying (according to the chart of different situations accompanying each bottle), "No Way!" Our students immediately spent the rest of the time at Odaiba buying up as many different Pepsi Man bottles as possible. The campaign has already put Pepsi ahead of Coke.

I'm afraid Odaiba may be an economic failure for investors. But then again, who knows? Odaiba is clearly the dream image for all Japanese. They live in tiny if efficient spaces, and the enormous "wasted" space at Odaiba seems luxurious in the extreme. That alone might attract enough people to make the place pay for itself. Japanese would like to live this way all the time, the way they can live at Odaiba for a day, with space for individuals to roam around in freely and even be by themselves in uncrowded cafes and malls. But to do so they would have to move to some chic city in America, like Santa Monica, where their lives would be in danger. Or they could build another island country in the ocean, a giant Odaiba that would still be Japan. Don't count it out!

It was raining when we left Odaiba for Asakusa, 2 hours away. Once there, the stalls on either side of the pathway leading to this famous temple were packed as usual by pilgrims and shoppers. All the non-Japanese who were conspicuously absent at Odaiba were there, finding bargains and enjoying the fully Japanese atmosphere. (Let's face it, Odaiba doesn't offer anything to foreign visitors that is distinctive, the way Asakusa does!) Several students found the rubber-soled socks (jikatabi) they had been searching for, along with large-size zori and other items, all on sale at reasonable prices.

From Asakusa we headed for the Shibaura boat dock for our dinner cruise in the bay. Everyone really seemed to relax and enjoy the evening. I admit to coming along reluctantly, thinking it would be boring. But I, too, enjoyed the food and friendship, highlighted by a wonderful karaoke system in a boat with tatami floors and a panoramic view of the bay. Unfortunately, at least half of the food (delicious sashimi and delicacies followed by tempura, prepared on the spot by our professional crew of four) was uneaten.

On the other hand, the ride itself was lots of fun. After dark the lights on the Odaiba buildings and ferris-wheel turned into a real light show. Everybody but us knew the words to all the songs in the karaoke system. At least we could sing "Over the Rainbow," which (as I explained) is a sad song with no connection to our lives -- blessed as we have been for 65 years. We enjoyed seeing "our kids" having such a good time together. They endeared themselves to us that night.

Carol, Jodie, Keiko, Mrs. Abe and I received individual cards with very kind words written on them by each student. The students also gave us each a pair of chopsticks and a paper origami crane. (Mrs. Abe, sad to say, had misunderstood when the boat was scheduled for and consequently missed the outing entirely. The mixup -- a FAX that was illegible -- was cleared up at the last minute over a cell phone, but it was too late for her to make the boat ride with us.) Our cruise over, we returned to the B. & G. to rest before our last day in Japan.

Thur., June 1.

On the last day of our trip we got up early to visit the National Museum. It was not a group visit, even though each student was given money for the admission fee. So I did not expect all of the students to make the effort. Carol and I left the hotel at 9:00 a.m. and met Mrs. Abe at the Monzen Nakacho #3 subway entrance at 9:15. We were at Ueno Park by 9:30, and went immediately to the new Heisei-kan to see the special exhibit of Byodo-in treasures. The latest discoveries at that 12th-century Pure Land temple in Uji were unearthed during repairs conducted in 1995-98. (Actually the temple is still partially closed, which is why we didn't schedule a trip there, knowing that we would have a chance to see the exhibit in Tokyo on our last day.)

The new old things were displayed alongside all 40 of the wood sculptures of flying angels and priest-musicians from the wall of the Phoenix Hall, as well as the two bronze phoenixes from the roof of that building, which was built in 1053. Extensive cleaning and repairs have left these masterpieces in the best of condition, and we were able to see them close up and in the most flattering light. We were even able to walk around behind some of the sculptures, which is truly an opportunity of a lifetime, for they will be put back in place on the wall of the restored building as soon as it is ready. (I was delighted to see out of the corner of my eye that four of our students had entered the gallery. All is not lost!)

While we were on the grounds of the National Museum we also visited the new Horyu-ji Treasure House (built in 1999, at the same time as the Heisei-kan), where the 48 little bronze bodhisattva statues from Japan's oldest Buddhist temple, Horyu-ji in Nara, all dating to the 7th century, were displayed on individual pedestals and special lighting. Spectacular display!

All but six of the images are of the Bodhisattva of Mercy, Avalokiteshvara, known to the Japanese as "Kannon" and identifiable by the tiny image of the Buddha Amitabha in his/her crown. How different from the situation in 1964 when, after doing my homework on each of the 48 statues using photos in books in the U. of Chicago Goodspeed Library stacks, I visited Horyu-ji expecting to see "my" statues, only to learn that they had been moved to a special building in Ueno Park in Tokyo, where, when I finally saw them there a year later, they were exhibited in such a dark and dreary building that I felt cheated and left! The new building is such a welcome improvement!

We had lunch with Abe-san at the one of the museum restaurants before taking a quick look at the ink paintings in the main exhibition hall, the old one built in the 1930's. I bought some books in the museum store before heading out for the subway to the Mitsukoshi exhibit in Nihonbashi that we had seen a couple of days earlier. Mrs. Abe was anxious to see the show, so we saw it again with her. Viewers were three deep in a line that moved as slowly as flowing glue.

At 6 o'clock we had dinner with all the students (horray!) at the B. & G. Hotel restaurant, the Kaijo (lit., "Castle of the Sea"), and then we began to pack for our return flight to LAX the next day.

Fri., June 2.

Our last breakfast at the B. & G. was like all the others: predictable, varied, and quite good. Since we were all packed, and the bus was downstairs waiting several hours for us before it actually took off, Carol and I decided to take down our bags and put them on the bus, and then go for a walk in the neighborhood. I knew there was a "culturally significant" garden almost directly nextdoor, so we took off trying to find it.

On the way we ran into a woman who was very odd by Japanese standards: uncharacteristically outgoing, loud, in-your-face, and totally unconcerned about money or social approval. She yelled a "Good Morning!" at us and then asked (in Japanese) if we spoke Japanese. I knew at once that she had to be a member of one of Japan's "new religions" (shinkyo), which range in age from over 100 years to one day old.

Actually she almost could have passed for a homeless person. She had a cartful of personal goods and was feeding a bunch of cats. Her pitch was optimistic: God is everywhere and we should just enjoy ourselves. She said she loved all the world's religions and their doctrines equally, and that human consciousness was pure spirit. She said all people were pure and holy.

When I suggested that if everyone believed the way she did the world would be wonderful indeed, she corrected me by saying it was perfect just the way it is. Now, I believe that, so why didn't my words reflect that faith? Probably because I'm an American and cannot quit trying to correct injustices. I root for the underdog and hate bullies. For me all people are the same and must be given the same opportunities in life. I was shocked at how quickly I responded negatively to her joy. I thanked her for a good lesson and asked her if she knew where the entrance to the Kiyosumi Garden was. She pointed to a gate partially hidden by shrubs. We were there. We said goodbye and shook hands.

The garden was an unexpected delight. Originally the l6th-century estate of the wealthy Kinokuniya merchant family, it was the Edo residence of the samurai lords representing the Nara region from 1716-36, and subsequently was owned by various feudal lords until Count Iwasaki took it over in the 1870's, enlarging the pond with water from the Sumida River. Of the two main buildings on the grounds, one is a reconstruction of the Western-style mansion built for Emperor Taisho's funeral in 1926 (and destroyed in WWII, but rebuilt in 1948 for Empress Jomei's funeral); the other building, is a typical Japanese sukiya-style structure built in 1909 on the occasion of a visit by Lord Kitchener of England (and also destroyed in WWII, but rebuilt in 1986.)

The garden was owned by the Iwasaki family until 1932, when it was given to the city, which maintains it as a public park "of scenic beauty." Today the two buildings are available for meetings and weddings. The garden is essentially a very large pond that can be fully explored by a path, which turns into bridges and stepping stones often, and never leads very far away from the water's edge. All kinds of trees and flowers and ducks and birds and fish and insects turned the short time we spent there into a kind of orgy of natural excitement.

But the greatest thrill of all was discovering that the great 17th-century haiku poet Basho had spent several years there, as a guest of the family, and in 1686, in a far corner of the garden, composed his most famous poem : "Old pond, jumping frog, water splashes" (furuikeya, kawazu tobikomu, mizu no oto.) A very large boulder, marking the spot, was put there by the government in 1935. We were pleased that one of our students, ______, had decided on her own to visit the garden, and was sitting on the bridge over the marsh, writing her own words in her journal, when we got there.

Back at the hotel we all said goodbye to Keiko as the bus taking us to Narita Airport pulled away. Hiroko, who accompanied us, had given each of us a little 5-yen coin, which has a hole through it in the old style, through which she had tied a paper crane. She explained the significance of this old custom, based as it is on a Japanese pun: the expressions "Our Fate" and "5-yen" are written with different Chinese characters but have the same pronunciation, "Go-en."

In practical terms the sentiment here is for us to be thankful for our time together and to meet again someday. So many other Japanese friends have said goodbye to me this way over the years, and each time I marvel at the truth of it. How wonderful and strange that out of all the times in history our lives are being lived out now, together. Your fate, my fate, our fate, his fate, her fate, their fate ... to be together, in Japan (and in the case of our students on this fieldtrip, in Thailand, and India, not to mention Malibu), how truly marvelous.

At the airport our check-in was smooth. We waved to ______, who took a different flight home, and then to Hiroko, who looked content with her cozy life in Japan. Later, sadly, as she glided past us on her way to another flight, taking her to Hong Kong and a fieldtrip for the Asian Business group, we waved goodbye to Jodie.

In LAX, every one of us floated through immigration, baggage claim and customs without a single problem. How unnatural it seemed to see the students go their separate ways, some being met by relatives and friends, and then put ourselves in a separate van, headed for our home on the Malibu campus!

Epilogue: My Thoughts on Students Now.

My original impressions of our students have proved fairly accurate. I have come to love all of them, some very much. ______ is so level-headed, and sensitive, and strong, and kind, not to mention the fact that she is such a good tea student. The same can be said of ______. He has taken everything in stride, with a sense of interest (and geographical as well as scholarly direction) that has made me confident and proud, a personal pride that is totally unjustified (his own father and mother are the ones who deserve to be proud.)

He and ______ have been a good team. When they take off together or with some of the girls I have every confidence that they will have control of the situation. ______ is a splendid tea student: so precise and thoughtful in his movements. Maybe his experience in Nigeria when he was younger (I believe his parents were missionaries) got him ready for a trip as hard as this one. As for ______, I still haven't heard of any trauma in his life, but I'm sure it was there. He is too good, in every way, not to have suffered pretty deeply. I think he has no fear of death.

______ is a constant delight. Under a veil of childishness (which is never self-centered) is an inquiring mind and searching heart. She manages to make each situation a discovery. Another searcher is ______. Her quest for meaning is pure and holy. She is so kind and thoughtful. I have no doubt that she will be a very useful person on this earth.

______, too, is searching, but in a cultural rather than spiritual way, I think, to make sense of life. She gets a pained look on her face when the topic of Christianity comes up. What is the source of that pain? If I knew I would expunge it from her memory forever!

______ has had her ups and downs, even more than I supposed she would. Fortunately the ups were more frequent than the downs. Her medical problem, which lasted from Nalanda to Patna, was scary, and I truly thought we wouldn't make the flight to Calcutta because of it. (I thank goodness in this case for Indian inefficiency: the plane was very late taking off.) She is very talented, and is usually sensitive to what is going on, even though her take on things sometimes can be slightly paranoid.

______ is a tough cookie. She can be very abrasive and seems to be controlled by some driving force outside herself. She was always a loose cannon, separate from (and usually ahead of) the group. Her dietary restrictions are severe, whether real or imagined. But she remained healthy and strong despite them (for which I am so grateful!) What I find most interesting about her is that she is so bright, but so apparently unaware of how mean she is.

______ is still a mystery to me. Most of the time she looked like she was bored to death, and would like be anywhere but where we were. She survived by eating junk food mostly (think M & M's), and by avoiding virtually every cuisine available, not to mention every way of thinking or religious tradition we were supposed to be studying. (The eating thing became a real problem, greater than the problem with theology and culture, and it must be given more consideration when selecting participants for future Asian tours.)

In general, I was delighted to be the leader of this group. We didn't really know one another before the trip began, but I think mutual affection has developed, more or less. In many ways it was refreshing for me that they were neither graduate students in Asian Studies or worshipful Zen disciples who put me on a too-high pedestal. Such groups bring their own problems.

Finally, it was a real thrill to show Thailand and India to my beloved Carol Soki Sensei, who not only covered every possible detail of the tea sessions, but acted as a mother figure for the whole group. As I write these final words it is June 18, 2000, or Father's Day. I feel most inadequate as a father to these seven young women and two young men. But I was their mentor on this fieldtrip, known as Asian Humanities 2000. I challenge them to remember and examine these days for the rest of their lives.

Postscript.

As it happens, a number of articles on modern India have appeared just in the last few days. I expect others to appear and to continue in the next few years until something happens (maybe something good but probably something very bad, like civil war) over India's insidious caste system.

A recent volume (February 2000) of The Journal of Asian Studies is devoted to this problem. Latest figures on caste distribution in India's Hindu majority (including outcastes as Hindus) suggest that the Upper Castes (Brahmin, Kshatriya and Vaisya) constitute 11%, and that "Dominant Castes" (presumably lower-ranking Upper Castes) make up 6%, whereas the Lower Castes, consisting of Sudras and Outcastes (but referred to in the report as "OBCs" or Other Backward Castes, and Backward or Scheduled Castes and Tribes) make up 67.6% of the Hindu population. (The other 15% of the Indian population is Muslim, for the most part, and Christian.) This is a much larger percentage of Lower Castes than was ever imagined up to now. And the point of the articles is that this Hindu Indian majority is becoming more and more politically active, to the horror of the Upper Castes. So the question is, "Where is the world's largest democracy going?"

Incidents of violence on both sides have increased markedly in the last few years. Last Saturday (June 17), in the village of Miapur near Patna (where our group was on May 15), 34 low-caste women, children and elderly men were executed and 15 others were wounded by "an upper-caste militia" known as Ranvir Sena, whose leaders "warned the government of more massacres" (LA Times, 6/18/00.) We, of course, had witnessed a more benign but equally reprehensible demonstration of upper-caste prejudice against outcastes in Bodh Gaya on our way to Patna.

It seems clear to me that as long as the Hindu Upper Castes believe that Lower Castes are subhumans who deserve their fate, in the face of which Lower Castes rise up and gain political power in government, true democracy cannot come about in India without bloodshed.

Finally, I was amazed to see that the lead article in the latest New Yorker (June 19 & 26, p. 94-112), is an account by Salman Rushdie, on his April visit to India with his 20-year-old son. I found it interesting to read his description of India, and especially New Delhi and Agra and Fatehpur Sikri, places we visited so soon afterwards. Particularly poignant, of course, is the fact that this famous figure from the Islamic Indian side was not granted a visa to return to his home country until now because of the Muslim threat (fatwa) against him for his "sacreligious" book, "The Satanic Verses" (1989), which has also made it necessary for him to live in hiding and under heavy guard in England for the past 11 years.

As it turned out for Rushdie father and son, they had to spend most of their time in India under guard, sometimes traveling separately, because of the danger that his own religious tradition presents. Fortunately the Muslim threat to their lives was limited to "only about two-hundred people" marching in protest in Delhi. I certainly am grateful if it indeed is true that "for the vast majority of Indian Muslims the controversy over 'The Satanic Verses' is old hat now..." (p. 112). But sometimes I wonder if religion is not the enemy of peace and justice in the world, and second only to poverty as the cause of our problems.