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Ki: Daruma dolls are hollow, round Japanese wish dolls. They are modelled on Bodhidharma, though technically have no legs and arms. When bought, the doll only has a single eye coloured in. If your goal is achieved, your hopes fulfilled or your dream comes true, then you colour in the second eye in thanks for your wishes being answered. Looking on a map of the city about our apartment I noticed Daruma-dera (Temple of Darumas) and so thought it might be interesting to investigate.
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Daruma, being round, self right themselves if pushed over. Thus they are said to represent optimism and perseverance. More than 8000 daruma are enshrined in the temple, offered so that prayers might be answered. They are everywhere you look in the tiny Daruma-dera. One proud fact is that the world's best self-righting daruma lives here. More bizarrely, the souls of 400 people who worked in the Japanese film industry are enshrined here (why?).
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Rhod: After a brief search, in vain, for the remains of the old Heian Palace (we'll find them next week), we headed for our main goal of the Daruma Temple. It's not hard to find, just a few streets behind the bustling, pachinko parlour lined main road, Marutamachi, and it proved exceptionally easy to enter. We walked straight in, feeling a bit uneasy about the lack of entry fee or, indeed, people (aside from the hose-pipe wielding contractors, in to clean up for the day).
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Having taking scores of photographs of one of the halls, I ventured towards the more splendid main temple and garden, but at this point, one of the contractors interrupted our tour. "Excuse me, you're supposed to pay to come here" he said ('Excuse me' in English, the rest his native Japanese). Not really surprised, we put on our best 'Oh, oh, how awful of us' faces and made our way towards the (seemingly shut) little shop... |
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The lady there, clearly unhappy with us for no reason other than our not being Japanese, begrudgingly sold us some trinkets (which we bought out of good will, considering our trespass) and on further enquiry from me, our belated entry fee. And so we continued our trip around the remaining rooms and garden, all the time feeling as though we were invading someone's private area rather than enjoying a tour of an open cultural property. Sneaking through the musty, dusty hallways, we were still sure that something wasn't quite right. It didn't stop us, of course, and looking around one of the daruma filled rooms in particular felt like being a schoolboy in the headmaster's office, without his knowledge. There wasn't really much to see beyond these photos, so we headed for the exit. As we approached, we overheard a conversation between the curmudgeonly old woman and the same cleaner who interrupted us earlier. "Are they allowed to go into the storage rooms?" "No, certainly not!". "I don't supposed they are allowed to take photos anywhere, either?" "No, no, of course not!". We walked past, pretending not to have understood, but grinning with a mixture of guilt, and triumph.
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