#kawachi mountains

[msp-j]

粟ヶ岳とその周辺　　弥彦山登路より

Mt. Awa-ga-take and its surroundings, seen from the west over the Niigata Plain.

[mia-japanese-korean]

Otoko-yama Mountain Seen From Hirakata, Kawachi Province, Utagawa Hiroshige, 1853, 7th month, Minneapolis Institute of Art: Japanese and Korean Art

nishiki-e Size: 13 1/2 × 9 1/16 in. (34.3 × 23 cm) (image, vertical ōban) Medium: Woodblock print (nishiki-e); ink and color on paper

https://collections.artsmia.org/art/64048/

[art-now-italy]

PURPUL, Polina Ogiy

This richly flowering plant is associated with beauty and give rise to the lunar Yin.In the small town of Kitakyushu, which is a 4-hour drive from Tokyo, there is an amazing beauty place – flower garden Kawachi Fuji (Kawachi Fuji Garden), one of the main attractions of which is the Tunnel Wisteria (Wisteria Tunnel). There are millions of different types of flowers, each of which is unique and fascinating. But the main thing that attracts not only the whole of Japan, but also tourists from other countries – the incredible beauty of the tunnels of flowers hanging garlands. Most of all in Kawachi Fuji Wisteria. It is known that Wisteria are a symbol of Japan and in Japanese they are called "Fuji". The most famous mountain in Japan – mount Fuji – is the name of this beautiful flower, and translated literally means "Mountain of Wisteria". Wisteria is a genus of climbing a high tree and subtropical plants of the Bean family with large racemes of fragrant flowers. Wisteria flowers, white, blue, purple or purple, like moths. Collected in large hanging brushes, they look extremely impressive against the background of dense foliage greenery. Fragrant clusters of lilac Wisteria resemble our white acacia, our spring southern streets and all the good that is connected with it. In Japan, "Fuji", Wisteria, or as it is also called in Europe – Wisteria, symbolizes protection, healing, pure female beauty, poetry, and youth. The flower is very popular, it is distributed throughout Japan, and, it is worth noting, in its popularity is not even inferior to Sakura — cherry blossom.

https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-PURPUL/826122/4158604/view

[braxensims]

Kawatche caves (sort of...)

Of course I’m unable to focus on playing my finished Riverblossom Valley world. Instead I went right away and started building on a Smallville world, somthing I also have been thinking about for a long time. I just couldn’t find the right world though. My one and only CAW project was (or is, I still have the files) about trying to make one all by myself. CAW is hard though.... Well, I finally decided to go with Great Bear by Johnnywr because of the allover wholesome and outdoorsy feeling it has to it. The mountains don’t actually spell Kansas, but we all know that Smallville is really in British Columbia anyway, don’t we. ;-) The world just needed a couple of extra lots to transform into (a very hilly) Smallville,, so let me present some kind of Kawachi Caves with art to look at and a nifty hidden away chamber, for which Clark will have to find the key hidden in their storm cellar at home. Kent Farm can be seen in the background in the first picture.

[chrouya]

[47/200] Chihaya Castle Ruins (2022-03-26) Spring has arrived in Japan, so it's time for another month of castle hopping! I still had castles remaining in Osaka and Nara; figured it'd be best to finish them up before I eventually have to move again. Normally I would use the Seishun 18 ticket for these trips, but after calculations it ended up being not only cheaper than 2410 yen per day, but also included non JR lines. Guess I can save the Seishun 18 ticket for an additional weekend. Sadly, while the weather forecast of the day before said there was 40% change of rainfall, it felt closer to 200%. Beggars can't be choosers - I'll just have to accept the additional challenge during hiking. Time to mentally prepare for mud stuck in my fingernails. First, I got off the bus at Kongozan Tozanguchi from Kawachi-Nagano and got my castle stamp at the foot of Mt. Kongo. The hiking path is relatively maintained as it's a popular path for hikers aiming for the top of the mountain, not necessarily the castle remains. This is where I made a big mistake. The map had indications of the first trail leading to the middle of the castle ruins (in between the "ichinomaru" and "ninomaru") so I figured I'd take a left first and see where I end up. But the trail just went on and on... After about half an hour I decided to consolidate the map and also checked my GPS coordinates. Turns out taking the left was the Mt. Kongo hiking path, and I was supposed to take the right path, which would then take me to the middle of the castle ruins. Turns out though, after slowly descending back to where the castle was supposed to be, there is actually not much to see. Chihaya Shrine was built on the location of the original keep, and the rest of the castle grounds are filled with abandoned shops that might have been used back in the Showa era. Online searches show that this is a popular hike during winter...perhaps a bit too cold for me. #千早城跡 #山城 #金剛山 #お城巡り #日本100名城 #続日本100名城 #chihayacastle #kongozan #yamashiro #japanesecastle #japanphoto #pixel6pro https://www.instagram.com/p/CcftyN9Pdi4/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[saminjapan]

Monday 6th November 2017. 13:00 Mt.Kongo Osaka.

Mount Kongo (金剛山) in Osaka, at 1,125 meters is Osaka’s tallest mountain, with the border between the Osaka and Nara prefectures slicing right through it. Mount Kongō has a rich history as the birthplace of the Shugendo, a religion where one attains enlightenment by understating the relation between humans and nature through mountain dwelling and worship. The mountain also hosted an epic battle around 1330 between imperial loyalists and the Shogunate totalitarian ruler of Japan. On clear weather days the view from the summit include the plains of Settsu, the Rokko Mountains and even as far as Awaji Island.

I love having Mondays off with Ellen because we can actually do stuff together now that we live in the same city which is so nice. We escaped to the mountains on the most beautiful day, we couldn’t have asked for better weather to hike in. We got the train to Kawachi-nagano and then jumped on a bus from here which took us to the bottom of our hiking trail.

[valhala90]

Shigure (Rain in Late Autumn, Autumn rain)

Kashu (Flower Province)

Yamaoroshi (Wind Blowing down from the Mountain, mountain wind)

Shigure (時雨, ”Drizzle”) was the second of ten Shiratsuyu-class destroyers, and the first to be built for the Imperial Japanese Navy under the Circle One Program (Maru Ichi Keikaku). Along with the destroyer Yukikaze, she developed a reputation within the Imperial Japanese Navy for being "lucky" or "unsinkable", emerging undamaged from several battles and as the sole surviving Japanese warship from two. As the flagship of Captain Tameichi Hara's Destroyer Division 27 Shigure received a prominent place in the memoirs of the only Japanese destroyer captain to survive the entire Pacific War. Shigure was torpedoed and sunk by the submarine USS Blackfin in the Gulf of Siam on 24 January 1945.

Kashu - As far as I can tell, a lot of bladesmiths carried Kashu in their name. It was because of Kashu province (Kawachi Province or Kaga Province), found lot of katana and other blades with Kashu in their name.

Yamaoroshi - Yama oroshi is a yokai. The yama oroshi is a metal grater which has been improperly cared for and has grown too dull to grate anything. It sprouts a body, and the dull slicers on the grater stick out like wild spines from its head.Origin: Yama oroshi’s name contains a double pun. First, the Japanese word for grater is oroshi, which is found in this tsukumogami’s name. Second, its name sounds like yamaarashi, the Japanese word for porcupine. This yōkai resembles a porcupine with its spines.

[milkmynk]

So I was wondering what became of Yakitate Japan...

And I dropped by the Wiki to read up on spoilers (because I’m too lazy to trawl through hundreds of chapters of it). And... I have NO idea what craziness this manga devolved into. X’D;;?????

I mean, just read the description of the main antagonist of the series (put it under the cut). I HAVE NO IDEA. WHAT. IT’S TALKING ABOUT!? XD;;;

I thought this was a story about bread baking....................

Yuichi Kirisaki (霧崎 雄一 Kirisaki Yūichi)

Voiced by: Fumihiko Tachiki

The main antagonist, owner of St. Pierre, and ironically, the same 'kind old man' who encouraged Azuma and started his baking career in the very first chapter/episode. He is in league with Yukino, who, in her struggle to dominate her sisters for control of Pantasia, betrays the store and allows Kirisaki to buy it out. The reason for Pantasia's involvement in the Monaco Cup is so that Kanmuri can organize the ten billion yen required to protect the company, but in the end, the plot fails. Kirisaki allows the team a final chance in the Yakitate!! 25 (manga) /Yakitate!! 9 (anime) competition to win back Pantasia, but his ulterior motives for this are not yet clear. Yuuichi's brilliant and estranged son Meister Silvan Kirisaki is the general manager of Pantasia, and his daughter Sophie Balzac Kirisaki assists Azuma's team during the Monaco Cup out of a desire to murder her father. Specialized in Gopan (Bread with rice or rice-based material in it), his baking ability is said to be strongest, as his bread can send even unsensitive people into a strong reactive state where they feel that they are one with the universe, and even Shadow can only copy him 98% on the first try. Ironically, Gopan is part of his dream to create a bread that can represent Japan, something Azuma's Japan is attempting to do.

At the beginning, the nature of his evil is left ambiguous, since it is implied that he only acts evil in order to push Azuma to improve his skills, and was never revealed in the anime; in the anime, when he eats Kazuma's bread in the final round of Yakitate!! 9, he experiences a change of heart and explains to Pierrot why he has been so cruel to Kazuma, but when the effect of Kazuma's bread wears off, his original attitude returns and he continues to challenge Azuma. In the manga, it was revealed that his evilness was part of a reaction to his first ultimate Gopan, known as "Devil's Gopan" or "Maou", which is so addictive that, along with its violent withdrawal symptoms, it can transform a kind person into an evil person and vice versa while at the same time causing the eater to experience orgasmic levels of bliss; eventually, he was actually possessed by an entity known as Demon King of Bread, who had entered his Gopan due to the fact that the bread was made from Kirisaki's resentment towards other bakers and baking in general, and transformed into a hybrid of bread and human called "Hu-pan". After eating Azuma's ultimate Japan, he was reverted to his old self when the Demon King of Hu-pan physically ejected him from its (by now, completely bread-based with a head of Baphomet) body. Thought the Hu-pan Demon King itself was defeated by Kawachi's reaction to the ultimate Ja-Pan however, before it is destroyed completely, the demon king made its last ditch by shooting a turtle bread to kill Kazuma, but Yuichi sacrifice himself saving Kazuma. Luckily, Yuichi can still be saved thanks to an early separation process where his body becomes part of Hokkaido, such as Daisetsuzan mountain. As Yuichi is finally recovered, he entrust his son, Silvan, as a new heir to St. Pierre's main branch, as Yuichi planned to open a new branch in France, with his daughter, Sophie as his general manager.

[msp-j]

弥彦山頂より　越後平野（三条市付近）をはさんで粟ヶ岳（1293 m）

Mt. Awa-ga-take, the highest among the Kawachi Mountains, viewed from Mt. Yahiko-yama over the Echigo Plain, Japan's largest alluvial plain fed by the Shinano-gawa River.

[magnificentuni3]

Follow 👉🏻 @magnificent.universe . . . . . . . . 📸 by @ramumi8 #nature #landscape #landscapedesign #travel #travelguide #vacation #bestvacation #igers #animals #explorejapan #explore #discovery #photooftheday #naturelovers #mountains #daily #instadaily #reflection #love #life #calm #sky #bloom #japan #japanese #awesome_earthpix #earthpix #park #fukuoka #bestoftheday (at Wisteria Tunnel, Kawachi Fuji Gardens in Kitakyushu, Japan.) https://www.instagram.com/p/BwZj9G_gl7_/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1ce73fldnuyy

[jigokuyeah]

Abura-sumashi

油すまし (あぶらすまし)

Oil Presser

From the now defunct site Obakemono Project:

The abura-sumashi is a creature said to have appeared at one time on the island of Amakusa in Kumamoto Prefecture, on a mountain pass called Kusazumigoe (草隅越). According to the story usually told about this spirit, an old woman was once walking her grandchild along this pass, when she recited a story she'd heard, in which the abura-sumashi would appear in that place, dangling an oil bottle. At that moment the abura-sumashi showed up again, proclaiming that he still appeared. This story was introduced to Japan by Yanagita Kunio, who in turn took it from the work of one Hamada Ryūichi, a folklorist who lived on Amakusa. This yōkai attained considerable popularity by appearing in the work of cartoonist Mizuki Shigeru, who drew it clad in a straw raincoat and sporting a stony, potato-shaped head. The abura-sumashi's name can be translated as "oil wringer", from abura (oil) and sumasu, a word from Amakusa dialect which means to "press, wring, or squeeze". It seems to be related to the production of katashi-abura ("hardship oil", taken from the seeds of the Camellia sasanqua plant) which was once prosperous in the Kawachi district of the island.

Art by S.H.Morgan

Read more about Abura Sumashi at Yokai.com or Yokai.wikia.com

[takinga]

There hasn't been much time to post photos during my whirlwind Kyushu tour with @bgunther68 & @aaronmneal (check their IG for many more photos), but we are now on a 2 hour local train ride so I have a moment to breathe. This morning we went to Hayashi Shuzo (林酒造湯), an Edo era distillery deep in the mountains of Kumamoto. Plenty of other Edo era shochu makers still exist, but very few of them continue to use the same building. This place is being eaten away by termites and the concrete floor has been buckled by innumerable earthquakes, but two brothers continue to make amazing rice shochu. Their main brand GokuRaku (極楽) comes in two styles. Both 25% ABV, but one with an atmospheric still and another with a vacuum still. The atmospheric still shochu is as they made it during the edo period. All that's changed is the evolution of the yeast, the still technology, and which generation is making the shochu. It's rich and umami. The current toji is 14th generation and they've made one concession to modernization. They now use a Kawachi koji machine rather than hand making their koji. This decision was made due to a lack of available labor deep in the mountains. The clay pots in picture 2 currently hold 23 year old shochu. Can't wait til they bottle that! #cooljapan #drinkingjapan #japandrinks #shochu #kumamoto #kumashochu #kumajochu #gokuraku #極楽 #焼酎 #熊本 #熊焼酎 #焼酎 #林酒造湯 (at 林酒造場)

[foundtheworl]

New Post has been published on Found The World

New Post has been published on https://foundtheworld.com/wisteria-tunnel/

Wisteria Flowers Tunnel In Kitakyushu, Japan

No matter which country you visit in the world today, there are often hidden places where you can get away from the crowded tourist sights. When visiting Japan you’ll want to find the beautiful Wisteria Flower Tunnels.

Wisteria is a hanging plant with tiny purple petals. The flowers grow in small clusters that hang down from the tips of its long vines. It’s in the legume family of Fabaceae that includes ten different species of woody climbing vines. It’s more commonly found in the eastern USA, China, Korea, and Japan.

The vines naturally climb clockwise or counterclockwise around whatever human-made available supports are present. These plants can grow to heights of as much as 20 meters from the ground. They can also spread out over spaces of 10 meters. When you put them all together, you can have vast amounts of beautiful and fragrant acreage.

Wisteria flower tunnel Kitakyushu, Japan

It’s mainly considered an ornamental plant and is not to be mixed up with the aquatic water wisteria plant which is completely unrelated.

The flowers gently move and swing with the breeze. This plant has fascinated the Japanese for many centuries. It’s no surprise that someone decided to create two tunnels for travelers to visit.

Exciting Information About the Wisteria Tunnels

The Wisteria Tunnel is located at 2-2-48 Kawachi, Yahata-Higashi-ku, Kawachi Fujien in Kitakyushu City, Fukuoka Prefecture, in southern Japan, close to the western coastline.

It’s a privately-owned garden, but for a modest admission fee, you can go and visit. The gardens became popular around 2012 when the first photos were shared online.

Kawachi Fujien Garden

Plan your visit for around late April or the beginning of May. The best time of year to visit is during the spring, and in fact, it’s the only time that the tunnels are actually open. This is when the flowers have fully opened up. The other time you’re allowed to visit is during the autumn where you can see the leaves change to beautiful colors.

Did you know that if you visited any other time of year that the gardens would be a twisted mess of dead flowers, leaves, and vines? That’s why it’s so wonderful that the owners of the Wisteria Tunnels are so dedicated to their upkeep, especially since they only gather revenue for a few months each year.

On-site are about 150 different trees that comprise 22 different types of wisteria. The garden flows over 10,000 square meters of area.

There are actually two different wisteria tunnels in this garden. One has wisteria growing along an eighty-meter long tunnel, while the second tunnel is much larger, with wisteria growing over 220 meters long.

At the ends of each of the tunnels are large wisteria trellises. There are also wisteria trees individually on site. Some of these are over 100 years old.

Today, the Wisteria Tunnels are a popular tourist attraction that attracts visitors from around the world. You can bring a picnic lunch or purchase on site. Eat and enjoy a relaxing afternoon under these beautiful wisteria trellises.

How You Can Picture This Fantastical World

The tunnels are along a long unpaved soil and stone pathway. There is a tall black wrought iron metal structure, much like a half-tubing, that covers the tunnel. This is what the wisteria grows over. It loves to clutch the frame as it grows until much of the tunnel is covered in fragrant flowers.

The tunnel has wisteria of varying colors, from white to mauve to dark purple. You’ll also be overwhelmed with the lovely fragrant and fresh scent.

Being inside the tunnel will not only shut out the busy sounds of the world but also make you feel peaceful and relaxed inside.

It’s no surprise that wisteria is the flower symbol that Buddhists use to represent prayer.

Many people may visit the gardens and find themselves imagining magical or mystical worlds full of fairies, elves, gnomes, and dragons. Many creative folks may even travel to the wisteria gardens for inspiration for their latest book, play, or painting.

Healing Aspects of the Wisteria Flower Tunnels

Many people are recovering from injuries, disease, or mental illness. Being outdoors is one of the number one cures for people who are in recovery mode. Not only does it calm and soothe the mind, but the fresh air generated by the wisteria plants can make you feel good too. And it’s also been proven that the pleasant scent from the wisteria flowers can give you a boost in the mood too.

If you have any family members who seem to be taking a bit too long to recover from their illnesses or accidents, suggest bringing them on your trip to Japan. Here they can rest and relax, while the more adventurous members of your family go running around Tokyo or the rest of Japan.

What Do I Need to Know to Plan My Visit?

The gardens are open in spring and fall from 9:00 am to 6:00 pm on these days. You will have to pay an entrance fee of 300 yen to 1,000 yen. The fee changes depending on how far along the flowers are in the season. You may not see as much in the fall, so you pay less, but still, get to enjoy the outdoors, and the changing colors of the leaves.

You should be aware that the gardens are located in the mountains and are not that easy to access. This is likely part of their hidden charm, and that they won’t be swarming with tourists when you go.

If you’re driving from Tokyo, it’s about a four-hour trip. You can also fly to Fukuoka from Tokyo airport.

If you’re traveling to Fukuoka, from the airport you can hop on the subway, then take a JR train to JR Yahata Station. This only takes about an hour. From this station, you’ll need to hop on a bus to the Kawachi Shogakko-Mae bus stop, which is about 20 minutes. From here, you walk to the garden for a 15-minute walk.

Alternatively, if you’re a senior or have kids, you may wish to rent a car or hire a taxi cab to drive you in from the station or bus stop.

You should plan on spending at least two or three hours in the gardens. If you bring a meal or purchase one in the gardens, you can add some extra time to your visit. Note that they only sell Japanese foods in the garden. But they do have this delicious wisteria-flavored ice cream that you must try! But do note that once you arrive here, it can be tempting to stay all day long.

If you plan on doing photography, you may wish to add an extra hour or two to your travel itinerary, as there is a lot of distance to walk and sights to photograph.

If you want a tip, arrive at about 8:30 am to get in the lineup. Then you can take all your amazing photographs before the crowds arrive. But don’t worry, as the garden is quite vast, so even though there could be hundreds of people there, they will be spread out over the acres, and you’ll still get to enjoy the vast peace and quiet of the park.

The Annual Wisteria Festival

If you’re excited about visiting the Wisteria Flower Tunnels in Japan but open to travel dates, you may also be excited to hear that there is an annual Wisteria Festival too! In Japanese, the festival is called “Fuji Matsuri”.

This festival occurs around April 27th to 29th each year, at the end of “Golden Week”. Be sure to check online before planning your trip. While it will be busier during these times, many events are planned, and you can share your love of these purple flowers with other people from around the world.

********************

Plan Your Wisteria Flower Tunnels Vacation Now!

It’s no surprise that many people plan their trips to Japan around the Wisteria Flower Tunnels. And if you view just some of the beautiful wisteria photos, we’re sure that you’ll be ready to buy your plane tickets right now!

Remember to check the dates on any special events or festivals in advance, and to also check hours and opening dates. Takes about six hours from Tokyo to get to the Wisteria Flower Tunnels, so you can certainly plan for a day trip away from the big city.

After you visit the Wisteria Flower Tunnels, you’ll feel recharged and energized, and ready to tackle the rest of your travel itinerary in Japan. But don’t be surprised if you find yourself back at the Wisteria Tunnels in Japan again. The pretty cool purple of the flowers, the fragrant smells, and soothing atmosphere, make many people to be drawn back to the Wisteria Tunnels.

[worldjourney11-blog]

Seven places you should visit once in a lifetime

If it is the first time you hear it, do not be surprised to exist. There are seven destinations that Bordeaux suggests this fall to visit from Europe to Asia because they are so unique that they are hardly deleted from memory.

A weekend getaway in the Austrian village of Hallstatt or in Provence, an unforgettable adventure on the spectacular Plitvice Lakes in Croatia or visit the Myra necropolis. A luxury SPA in Baden Baden Baden, a proposal for marriage to the pastel Fuji gardens in Japan or visit the village of Hobites Matamata.

Places to visit once in a lifetime:

Hallstatt (Austria) The Hallstatt village is located at the foot of the Salzkammergut mountain, with alpine houses, floral balconies and a 16th-century Gothic style church. The panorama is the most beautiful in the Autumn. Mountain peak is reached by cable car.

The village is a fortune that is protected by UNESCO. Take the train from Vienna and after 3 hours you will discover the village known for over 3,000-year-old salt tunnels that penetrate to the heart of the mountain.

Lakes Plitvice (Croatia) The Plitvice Lakes National Park is a 295-square-kilometer-long reserve, famous for the 16-story lakeside chains associated with waterfalls and a limestone canyon.

The length of the lakes that reaches the waterfall reaches 8 kilometers, with the highest point reaching 1,280 meters, while the lowest is 380 meters, although the total difference between the lakes is 135 meters, the unique feature that was included under the auspices of UNESCO. s.

Provence (France) A region that fascinates you in every season, not just when the fields cover the famous livade. Rent a villa and see an unusual panorama, where everything turns into gold from the florists of vineyards that embrace the hills.

Enjoy the chocolate festival and the chestnut cheesecake. Enjoy the best wines in the world, the essences of lavender, the soaps in perfumes, the best of them here, you can not find anywhere else.

Baden Baden (Germany) Famous for thermal springs since Roman times, here it finds an outdoor SPA. An elegant destination for those who love thermal waters, high style and scenic views.

The architecture of the residences is unique, where luxury, elegance and worldliness come to mind. The sources were discovered at the time of the Roman emperor Caracalla, whose legions were called Aquae Aureliae, whose ruins are in the center of the city.

Fuji Gardens (Japan) Nothing more than heaven on earth, can not be described as Kawachi Fuji's garden in Japan, a glamorous destination designed in the form of pastel-colored tunnels as fugitives from fairy tales.

Over 150 Wisteria plants remain flourishing, offering a screech of petals that descend from the sky into blue, purple and pink. Point them as the ideal place to make the proposal of your life, a memory that will never be forgotten.

Myra (Turkey) From far away everything resembles a miniature village on a cliff, but actually the city of the dead Myra is just a cemetery. Unlike the Pharaohs who were buried in the Pyramids, a ban on the mountain slope was built here near the temple.

Over the stone, besides the porticoes, it sees stylized engravings that adorn the façade dedicated to the homeowners-cemeteries as well as inscriptions with hymns and praise.

Hobbit Village (New Zealand) If you think that hobbit characters exist only in books, you are wrong, as their Matamata village actually exists. During the shooting of the "Lord of the Rings" saga in New Zealand, a special village was built for this film, which still exists as a tourist attraction.

Whoever steals there, believes that hobbies really exist, and this is clearly apparent from the size of the homes, the forms, and to their furnishings, increasing the curiosity to access them.

[krissysbookshelf]

Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek Of: Wicked Like a Wildfire by Lana Popovic!

All the women in Iris and Malina's family have the unique magical ability or "gleam" to manipulate beauty. Iris sees flowers as fractals and turns her kaleidoscope visions into glasswork, while Malina interprets moods as music. But their mother has strict rules to keep their gifts a secret. Iris and Malina are not allowed to share their magic with anyone, and above all, they are forbidden from falling in love. But when their mother is mysteriously attacked, the sisters discover a wicked curse that haunts their family line.

LEARN MORE

  ONE Cattaro, Montenegro

  MY SISTER AND I WERE BORN ALL TANGLED UP together, both tiny enough that our unruly descent just narrowly missed killing our mother. I liked to think there would have been a fair bit of screaming on Mama’s part in the ruckus that followed, but that’s just my wicked fancy. Maybe she was stoic and flawless as ever, Snow White giving birth under glass. Either way, tending to her, no one spared the time to note which of us had arrived first. And so although we weren’t identical, by sheer bloody technicality we were always the same age, neither a minute older nor younger than each other.

Mama kept us in a single cradle, one that ÄŒiča Jovan had carved for her from cherrywood before we were born. It was a whimsical thing fit for changeling children, wrought with mermaids trapped in ivy, open seashells with tiny apples growing in them instead of salty flesh. Sometimes I wondered if I’d have liked my own cradle as much as I would have liked having my own room once we were older. But Malina still liked to fall asleep by matching her breathing to mine, rubbing her feet together like a grasshopper.

The only real bedtime story Mama ever told us traced back to those early days, when we were both so little the tops of our skulls hadn’t yet hardened into something that could withstand the world. The mother I knew might have been tempted by that fragility, the urge to press her thumbs into such yielding clay. To see what marks she could make.

She must have been so different, then.

Instead, when we were old enough for our pale eyes to focus, she brought an assortment of offerings on a milky sea-glass platter. From it, she plucked tiny slivers of fruit and brushed them over our lips, one by one. Apple, mango, strawberry, papaya, prickly pear, some so exotic she could only have gotten them from the cruise ships that docked in the bay, rather than the open-air market outside the Old Town walls. Each was at its peak, the perfect moment of ripeness before turning. Then she passed violet petals beneath our noses, followed by jasmine, orchid, and peony; small lumps of ambergris; splinters of oud wood and sandalwood and myrrh.

Waiting to see which would bring forth the gleam, the magic that ran through our blood.

For me, it was the hibiscus flower, the petal red and fleshy as our mother trailed it over the tip of my nose, before she let me gum it to release its tart flavor. For Malina, it was a gleaming, perfect cherry, which Mama crushed into a paste that she let my sister suck from her ring finger.

It was bad luck to name a daughter after the thing that first sparked the gleam, Mama said. So I was Iris, for a flower that wasn’t hibiscus, and my sister was Malina, for a raspberry. They were placeholder names that didn’t pin down our true nature, so nothing would ever be able to summon us. No demon or vila would ever reel us in by our real names.

Even caught up in the story, Mama could never quite explain what the gleam looked like once she found it. Maybe our cloudy baby eyes cleared, like a sky swept by a driving wind. Maybe our tiny hands clenched fistfuls of air, seeking the tools that we’d use to capture the gleam once we were older. She never said.

Listening to her tell it, I could have sworn that she’d loved the needy little creatures Malina and I had been. Even if the whole thing was just a story—who rubs flowers and fruit and whale vomit on babies, anyway? What if one of us had been allergic?—it was still beautifully spun. There was love in its very fabric.

Then again, all that was seventeen years ago. These days, had someone asked me if our mother loved us, any “yes” would have caught in my throat like a fish bone. And had someone asked me if I loved my mother, I thought I knew what I would say.

But then she died without dying, and I didn’t know anything at all.

  THAT WHOLE WEEK felt like a gathering storm. It was only the end of May, but already so stifling that just the effort of breathing made you mutinous. Malina and I worked split shifts at Café Tadić since school had let out for the summer, and that Tuesday I’d drawn the early straw, which I usually preferred. On my way out at six a.m., I’d see the sunrise over the mountains that Cattaro huddled against, the sky glowing like a forge before the craggy peaks above us lit with the first slice of the sun.

It reminded me of what my world had once looked like, brilliant and blazing and alive from every angle, back when I could make almost anything bloom.

But the sky was still a barely blushing dark as I trailed the side of our tiny house just before five, wincing as the courtyard pebbles dug into my soles. I’d taken my flip-flops off to minimize crunching in the predawn hush. Mama would already be at the café—she’d been asleep long before I snuck out the night before—but Mrs. Petrović next door was a nasty, busybody hag who could have been a KGB spy in another life, or possibly this one. Ratting me out to Mama made her downright gleeful, pointless as it was. Mama knew perfectly well she couldn’t keep me inside when I wanted out. I only bothered with the skulking to avoid the fights—“What kind of mother do you make me look like, sneaking out like a thief in the night?”—and even that was mostly for Malina. She couldn’t stand the sound of our mother’s rage battering against mine.

I was still bobbing along on some mixture of high and tipsy as I hauled myself onto our window ledge and swung my legs over, the contentment lingering round and compact in my belly like a sunwarmed egg. That wouldn’t last. Soon, it would crack into a slimy nausea, just in time for my arrival at the café.

A faint rumble of triumph echoed through me. Along with most everything else that I did, Jasmina the Peerless hated it when I came to work hungover. And this morning I wouldn’t even have time to wash the alcohol fumes from my skin and hair. A small—and smelly—victory, but I’d learned to take them as they came.

Malina was still sound asleep as I gingerly dropped both feet onto our splintered hardwood floor, toe to heel, bending over to deposit my flip-flops beside them. My stomach lurched; maybe that rumble hadn’t been all triumph. I leaned my butt back against the sill, breathing deeply to settle my insides. We kept our window flung wide open in the summer, and the slight breeze stirred the multicolored Japanese parasols fanned out across our ceiling, stripped of their handles and overlapping one another.

This was one of my projects from years ago, before I graduated to proper glassblowing under ÄŒiča Jovan’s watchful eye. When my gleam began to wane, Mama had presented me with a consolation prize, an article about American artist Dale Chihuly’s largest installation: the Fiori di Como, a garden of glass flowers blossoming on the ceiling of the grandest hotel in Las Vegas. Its steel armature alone weighed ten thousand pounds; it had to, to support the forty thousand pounds of glass that clung to it. It was the biggest glass sculpture in the world.

I had painted the parasols with a painstaking, delicate rendering of the wisteria flower tunnel in Kitakyushu, Japan, gridding out the slim ribbing of the tunnel’s truss to create the optical illusion of dimensionality—so that whenever Malina and I looked up, it would feel like we stood in the Kawachi Fuji Garden, beneath a pink-and-violet, pastel rain of dripping wisteria. Mama hated it. She didn’t have to say so, but I’d seen the tightening in the small muscles of her face so many times when she came in to fetch one of us and couldn’t keep herself from looking up into the shower of flowers I had painted for Malina and me.

Maybe her distaste made me love it just that much more; I wouldn’t have put that past me. But that was a fringe benefit, far beside the point. What I really loved was looking up and knowing that a place existed for me somewhere far away from here. A place that belonged to me at least in half.

But this morning, the sight of the paper petals gave me a flutter of unease. Passed out on Nevena’s couch last night, I’d dreamed of flowers, fields of black roses that glistened wet beneath a sky hovering on the brink of storm. Each time I woke it had been gasping and sweaty, heart stuttering in my chest until the alcohol and weed dragged me back down. I hardly ever remembered my dreams, but I could still nearly smell those dark roses, taste the slippery dew on the petals as I tore them off their stems and placed them on my tongue.

Shaking off the sudden chill, I tripped over one of Malina’s strappy sandals and banged into our vanity table, cursing under my breath as our perfumes rattled. Our room was so tiny that we could reach out and bridge the gap with touched palms when we sat on the edge of our beds. On cue, Malina flung herself over from her stomach to her back, like a breaching dolphin. She draped an arm over her face and mumbled thickly. I caught a drawn-out “Riss,” followed by what sounded suspiciously like “calzone.”

“Oh, I think not, milady,” I told her. “Fetch your own lunch. You don’t have to be at the café until one anyway, so just grab a sandwich on the way or something and we can have calzones from the Bastion for dinner, if you like.”

She gave a disgruntled groan and rolled back over to face the wall. I shrugged and turned to our tarnished mirror. My black tank top from last night was at least three years old and too small, embossed with a pair of glossy red lips pursed around a sequined skull. With my low-slung denim cutoffs, it showed the canvas of lower belly pinned between my hip bones—and if there was one thing Mama couldn’t stand, it was an unseemly amount of daughterflesh on display. My hair was too straight to tangle, but the eyeliner had smeared nicely in my sleep. The overall effect was a little like something wary, pale-eyed, and possibly bitey peering out from the overhang of a cave.

Perfect. Degenerate chic, at your service.

Before I slipped out, I darted over to kiss Lina’s sleep-mussed temple. Her black curls—so dark they seemed nearly blue in certain light, but with the most surprising sable undertone where the sun caught their depths—were bird’s-nest tangled, and she smelled warm and sleepy, Dove soap and the lingering patchouli that was the base of her favorite homemade perfume. Beneath it, I could smell her skin, and my stomach bucked with love. For a moment I had a pang of powerful longing, like a gong rung inside my belly, for the nights when we had slept cuddled together, our sweet baby breath whispering over each other’s faces.

Lina stirred, scrunching up her face like a little girl. “Riss,” she mumbled, “is there a reason you’re sniffing me like a truffle pig?”

I dropped down onto my own bed as she propped herself up on her elbows, yawning hugely. “Maybe I just relish the scent of sister in the morning.”

“That sounds purely wrong.” She wrinkled her nose. “Can’t say I reciprocate, either. What were you doing at Nevena’s, anyway, bobbing for apples in a tub of rakija? I don’t know how you stand that stuff; you’d think they could make apricot brandy taste better than rat poison mixed with cheap perfume. Who else was there?”

“That is for us, the cool and popular, to know, and you to find out.” I grimaced. “Or more like the cool and the popular and yours truly, Nev’s impostor tagalong. No one else much worth talking to, really. But you should still come out with me sometime. Get all wild and free and such, for once.”

She gave me a sleepy half smile, a glossy black curl sliding over her rounded cheek. My sister had the sweetest face, a gentler rendering of our mother’s that drew from our father mostly in the slight slant of her gray eyes. Her full lower lip was cleft like a cherry, and it made all that beauty somehow both playful and kind. You could easily see the shared blood between us, and maybe on the surface, you might even mistake us for the same substance.

But like water and alcohol, the resemblance ended there.

“Maybe I like staying home?” she said. “Maybe I have better things to do with my nights than tag along to your spite parties?” It always got under my skin when Lina talked in questions; she’d picked it up from years of playing ambassador between me and Mama.

“Oh, like maybe walking on eggshells around Jasmina the Peerless while she plans the next day’s menu and ignores you?” I mimicked. “And I don’t go out just to spite her, you know. Not everything I do is about her.”

“Seems like it is, these days,” Lina said quietly. She dropped her eyes, black lashes fanning lush against her cheeks, her fingers twisting into the sheets. Her hands were the unloveliest part of her, wide palms and spidery violinist’s fingers with cuticles run ragged from her nervous nibbling. My own had gathered a respectable collection of burns and nicks from glassblowing and working at the café, but they were still fine-boned and pretty, the nailbeds slim. I won when it came to hands. At least there was that.

“A little easy for you to say, isn’t it? You can still sing like you used to, back when she still let us practice with her.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice, like one of Mama’s orange rinds before she candied them. “I can’t make anything bloom other than flowers anymore, and even then only I can see it.”

Except for when I drink just enough, I didn’t add. Or smoked so much that my thoughts sparked around each other like a school of minnows, slippery and silver, impossible to grasp.

You can sing like you always could, and still she doesn’t even hate you.

“I’m sorry,” Lina whispered, struggling to meet my eyes. I knew she could feel the roil of my emotions, that it chafed her not to sing it back at me or soothe me, but sometimes I couldn’t curb myself just to ease her. “I know that’s hard for you. But maybe it’s better this way? I can sing, but that’s all it is—weird, maybe, but just _song_. There’s nothing for anyone to see. But you, it used to be like New Year’s Eve when you made things bloom. And you know we can’t be all flash and glitter like that. It’s not safe for any of us.”

I clenched my teeth until my jaw burned. Safety was Mama’s eternal refrain. It was why we’d only eaten the moon together at nighttime in the tiny garden behind our house, hidden by the trellis of creeping roses and oleander, back when Lina and I were little. “Only in the dark, cvetiću, and only with each other,” Mama would whisper in my ear, holding my hands in her strong grip as I bloomed the starlight dappling through the canopy of leaves above. “That’s the only place we’re safe.”

I couldn’t remember the last time our mother had called me “little flower,” or touched me with such tenderness. As if I had grown into a cactus instead of something softer, and she didn’t want to risk my spines.

“The townsfolk with the pitchforks, I know,” I said. “Lovers and neighbors and friends, all turning to burn the witches. But don’t you wonder sometimes if it’s worth it, giving up so much? When we still have to keep folding ourselves so small all the time?”

Lina looked away, a soft flush rising on her pale skin. “Of course it’s worth it,” she murmured. “Beauty’s worth it even in the smallest scale. You have your glass, I have my violin. It’s enough, like Mama always said.”

Yet even as she said it, she began humming under her breath. The back of my neck prickled, and a wash of goose bumps spread down my arms. Even after all these years, hearing Lina harmonize with herself always gave me chills, the way it sounded like three voices in one. This melody was subtle, three layers of a bittersweet arpeggio that split and reflected my emotions like a prism: the anger, the loss, and the biting sense of injustice, along with a gentle apologetic undertow that was her own offering.

There was another hue to it, too, a tinge of guilt that didn’t feel like mine. Even as the song melted my annoyance with her like spun sugar in water, I frowned, trying to place it.

She caught herself abruptly and cut off the melody.

“Sorry,” she said, clenching both hands in her lap until her knuckles turned white. “I know you hate it when I do that. Do you—will you be going to the square after your shift today? If Nevena stays longer at the café, I could leave early and bring my violin, come keep you company?”

Coming from Lina, this was a fairly high-level peace offering. I sold my glasswork figurines to tourists in the Old Town’s Arms Square, and Malina’s singing and playing always meant I’d sell more that day. It made customers pliant, more willing to part with their money for a pretty piece of glass. Mama had no idea we ever did it, of course. And if it felt a little swindly to sway people like that, it only added to my thrill. Lina had never liked that part of it as much as I did, even if she was only making it easier for people to do what they already wanted. It baffled me how much this bothered her; what was the point of power at all, if she shrank back from it anytime it caught and flared?

Especially when hers still gleamed so brightly while mine guttered by the day.

“I thought you had a violin lesson with Natalija this afternoon.”

“I can cancel that, if you want. I already saw her earlier this week.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said curtly, stepping back into my flip-flops. “I only have a few pieces left from the last batch, anyway. Not enough to show.”

She sighed behind me. “Riss—”

“I’ll see you later.”

I could feel her eyes heavy on my back as I left.

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[togayasunori-blog]

Good morning ♡ May 3rd is "Constitution Memorial Day" From the blue sky and the fresh green that comes out in the second half of the Golden Week ... 🎶🎀 I wonder if it is a summer day today as well It is the only temple in Kakogawa City with the building of "national treasure"! ︎ Known as Horyu Temple Horyuji Temple Mountain Temple (Takanakurinji) #Japan #History #Landmark #JapaneseCulture  #JizoHall #Temple This temple is a temple of Tendai sect in Kakogawa city, Hyogo prefecture! "Tsurugi Temple (Kakurinjin)" is a 16-year-old "Shotoku Tadashi" (Suwato Emiko: Umaya no Oji) was played by Mr. Hatakawa (16 years old) at the end of the sixth century about 1400 years ago It was erected ordered to Kawachi. And it is said that the "Shitennoji Temple (Shitenno Nostalgic)" which was a priest of "Kyoko (Eben)", a monk from the Goguryeo, is the beginning. Since "Tsurugi-ji" has been a long history of 1400 years since. It is the main temple which is also designated as "national treasure" to reveal its appearance when dive in the gate. The current main hall is said to have been rebuilt in 1397 ... In the hall, the main honor of "Tsurugi Temple" "Yakushi Yakushi", and "Phytotherapy three statues" and "Two statue figures" are enshrined as secret Buddha. This Kodo is made early in the Muromachi period. Until then it was built in a single architectural style, like Japanese style architecture or Great Buddha like architecture. I will enter into the Muromachi era and will compromise multiple styles one by one. It is a very rare nationwide architecture example, and it is a "national treasure" because technically mature elements remain as it is. It is an "eclectic style" in which the so-called three styles "Japanese style architecture" "large Buddha-like architecture" "Tang like architecture" are combined as a whole! "Taishido" which is designated as a national treasure as well as the main hall with a hinoki roofing roof was originally a dormitory for being called "Hokkaido" or "Hokaemon Shakudo" to be held "Okamori training". At that time it seems that both the front and the depth were the squares of the three columns of the pillar (Sankei). Then it was expanded to the time after the southern one (soaked) and changed to be called "Taishido". The application changed to "worship facility" as a worship facility for those who appreciate "Sukutakuta" as a guest. This "Taishido" has become unusual nationwide, but it is a dormitory built retroactively during the Heian era, it is the oldest building in Hyogo prefecture. I think that it may be said that it is also the oldest nationwide as existing "Hokkaido Sanndorodo". It was designated as a "National Treasure" from the point that it can not be changed to "Hokkaido" but also to be used in later times and to be a very valuable remembrance which can be read as clearly evident as evidence of expansion and renovation. Those which restored the inside of "Taishido" are exhibited at the treasure hall. It is written on the back side of the Buddha of Sudaya, saying "Kurogane visit figure (depression) figure", writing nine items and saying "9 items (concave)" will come It is "Rapporteur". As humans enter the death, it is drawn that Amida Buddha will come to pick you up with their relatives from the paradise! The thing of "nine goods" is being explained in the sutra called "sightless mass sutra". Although I was reminded of the color of the Heian era paintings, it was reminiscent of the color of the picture in the actual survey, and when I tried restoration, everyone was surprised very much as to whether they use such a gorgeous color! In addition, on the other side of it, "Buddha nirvana diagram (depatureken nozomi)" depicting the entrance of Buddha's Buddha is drawn. As the other feature, the oldest "nirvana figure (Japan national team)" in Japan is the hanging axis "Buddha nirvana figure" (Takara 3 years / 1086 years) which is in Koyasan, but there is a very common composition So, it seems that this "Buddha nirvana figure" of "Teruyama Tsurugi Temple" was drawn around the time. The face of Buddha's Buddha is on his back and I am holding a pillow. In the "Nirvana figure" you see in general you are holding an arm pillow and turning your face to this direction. Tsurugi Temple "Shinsei Nishikuni Senjutsu" (No. 27) It is also a gate at the "West Nation of the Yakuzaku Shrine" (No. 22), and a "Temple of the Kansai-no-Yakusoku 25" Location (No. 9) It is also known as a flower temple. In June, I am entertaining the eyes of the people who visited the beautiful flowers of "Bodai trees (Bodai tree)" and "Saruwoji (Sushiyuju)" which are said to be the sacred trees of the Buddha. And there are many buildings and Buddha statues designated as "National Treasures" and "Important Cultural Properties".