Japanese actually uses three writing systems. None of them match our alphabet. So to make reading easier for us, there are various transcriptions that represent Japanese words in Latin letters. The most famous ones are the Hepburn system and the Kunrei system used in this blog.

With this, the word 東京 becomes Tōkyō, for example. So we can read it now. But how do you pronounce it right? And what do those lines over the O mean?

From a German speaker’s perspective, we’ve got a bit of an advantage, ‘cause you can basically pronounce Japanese words as if they were German. For a start, you only need to look out for a few exceptions:

• The J is pronounced “j”, like in “jungle”.
• The R is pronounced like a mix of R and L. That takes a bit of practice.
• The S is pronounced a bit sharper, like a German “ss” (or “ß”).
• At the end of a word, a U is usually just hinted at, “desu” is pronounced “dess” for instance.
• The Z is pronounced like our S.

Vowels are always pronounced short. If they need to be lengthened, there’s a macron (ō) or sometimes a circumflex (ô) over them. We can think of it like an added silent H. So:

• 東京 → Tōkyō → Pronounced: Tohkyoh
• 京都 → Kyōto → Pronounced: Kyohto
• 大阪 → Ōsaka → Pronounced: Ohssaka
• 横浜 → Yokohama → Pronounced: Yokohama (not “Yoh-koh-hah-ma”)

By the way, alongside their three writing systems, Japanese students also learn our Latin alphabet, called rōmaji over there. But it only plays a minor role in everyday life.

Engrish

On the internet, you can find more or less funny blunders under the term Engrish, often because the letters R and L get mixed up. What’s the deal with that?

We all acquire our basic language skills in early childhood. For native English speakers, “right” and “light” are two completely different words, because we’ve learnt from childhood to tell them apart by their sound.

The Japanese language doesn’t distinguish between the R and L sounds. It only has a mixed sound, as we saw above. So for Japanese foreign language students, words like “right” and “light” sound pretty much the same at first. They have to painstakingly learn the difference.

You can find out for yourself just how hard that is for an adult in this YouTube video. The Chinese word “ma” means “mother”, “hemp”, “horse” or “scold” - depending on the intonation. A native Chinese speaker hears four totally different words here, while to our ears they sound kinda the same. From our perspective, a minor mistake in intonation can already result in calling your mum a horse.

On Yasaka Dori in Kyōto, just across the street from the Kennin-ji temple, you’ll find what’s probably the smallest Ukiyo-e museum in the world, the Ukiyo-e Small Museum. It belongs to Ichimura Mamoru, one of the last living artists of this genre.

Generally, Ukiyo-e refers to prints that are carved into several wooden blocks and then printed. A separate wooden block is used for each colour, pressed onto the paper with top-notch precision.

This museum caught our eye because of its quirky opening hours. A big board outside the door says the museum is open as long as the owner isn’t asleep - or until he has enough.

The museum was open when we were there, but sadly we didn’t have time to pop in. Maybe next time… The photo of the opening hours is definitely worth a look, though.

Even though Japanese culture doesn’t have Christian roots, there’s a witching hour in Japan too. Or more accurately, a witching half-hour.

It’s called 丑三つ時 (ushi mitsu doki) and literally means “the third time of the ox”. This slightly weird phrasing goes back to how they told the time in ancient Japan. The 24 hours of the day were split into 12 chunks of two hours each. The individual chunks were assigned to the Chinese zodiac signs and then divided again into four parts of 30 minutes each. The time of the ox is the slot from 1 am to 3 am. The Japanese witching hour is in the third part of this slot, so it happens at night between 2 am and 2:30 am.

Just like over here, the witching hour is a spooky time when you can bump into ghosts and summon demons. An old ritual practised during the witching hour is 丑の時参り (ushi no toki mairi), the shrine visit at the time of the ox. This is a curse that’s supposed to bring death to its victim.

The summoner (usually a scorned woman) wears the iron tripod of a fireplace upside down on her head. She has stuck a candle into each of the metal legs. Wearing this crown, she sneaks into a shrine during the witching hour and hammers nails into a sacred tree. If she manages to pull this off for seven days in a row without being seen, an ox appears. To finish the curse, she has to step over it.

Sometimes it’s the unplanned things on a trip that really stick in your memory.

On our train journey from Kyōto to Kanazawa, our train passed through the little town of Kaga-Onsen. At first glance, it was a normal little Japanese town, if it hadn’t been for the massive golden Kannon statue standing on a hill, gleaming in the sun.

We got curious. At our hotel in Kanazawa, we tried to find out more about this statue, but the place wasn’t mentioned in our travel guides. What we did find was a tourist’s post on an internet forum saying he only found a half-ruined temple complex there.

That doesn’t exactly sound like a tempting prospect, but for photographers, ruined buildings have their own special charm. We looked up the statue on Google Maps and plugged the coordinates into our GPS. Then we set off for Kaga-Onsen.

Onsens are hot volcanic mineral water springs. You can find them almost everywhere in Japan. Hotels that have popped up around them use these springs to offer their guests a spa stay with baths, good food, and cosy rooms. During the Japanese economic miracle, there were lots of these places where people could spend their sparse holidays and relax. When the economic crisis hit, people didn’t have the money for expensive holidays anymore, and the places fell into oblivion.

The same goes for Kaga-Onsen. In 1987, “Utopia Kaga no Sato” opened here, a leisure complex with an onsen hotel, an amusement park, and this very temple. Today, not much of that is left to see. There weren’t any signposts left, so we found our own way. It took us in an arc around the statue, past the former hotel and a scrapyard where the amusement park used to be. Eventually, we made our way into the temple through the back.

And there she stood in the middle of the complex, Kaga Kannon, the 73-metre-high Kannon Bodhisattva with a child on her arm. Around her were several small buildings. A covered circular path led around the base of the statue to a hall that looked like a barn at first glance. The complex had undoubtedly seen better days. Here and there the paint was peeling, and some roofs actually had big holes in them, while other buildings seemed intact. You could clearly tell that someone was trying their best to keep the place maintained on a tight budget.

To our surprise, there were other people there. Gardeners were trimming a hedge. Another tourist couple was strolling along the buildings. The temple caretakers waved us over. Even though we had accidentally sneaked in through the back door, we were given a friendly welcome.

Of course, we paid the 500¥ entry fee per person that would have been due at the regular entrance. In return, we got an extensive guided tour. Unfortunately, our guide only spoke Japanese, but we managed with Google Translate and my rudimentary Japanese skills. We went into the building I had just mistaken for a barn. Inside the hall, the life path of Buddha was depicted in large dioramas with immense attention to detail, and in front of that, on a gravel area, was a model landscape with tiny buildings and figures.

That sight was pretty breathtaking in itself, but nothing compared to what awaited us in the other half of the building. Standing there on a grandstand were 1,188 golden, life-sized Buddha figures. We’d seen something similar in Kyōto at Sanjūsangen-dō, but even though that one is definitely more significant from a historical point of view, this one was much more magnificent with its golden gleam and the mirrors on the wall.

In another outbuilding hung a 10-metre-high and 5-metre-wide bell featuring figures of heavenly animals. Naturally, it was also gold-plated. Just like the 17-metre-high, 5-storey pagoda in yet another building. We just couldn’t stop marvelling at what gems were hidden in this somewhat run-down place. It was a shame that taking photos wasn’t allowed inside the buildings.

Totally overwhelmed, we left the temple complex again, this time through the main entrance. And so an unplanned detour to a neighbouring village turned into a really special experience. Not just for us, but also for our hosts, who were thrilled to have visitors all the way from Germany.

The main entrance can only be reached via a somewhat hidden, short dirt track. But it’s worth dropping by Kaga no Sato if you happen to be in the area and have some time to spare.

You don’t have to look around for long to spot the first of these red heads with big eyes and a grumpy expression. We’re talking about a Daruma (だるま).

The figure represents the monk Bodhidharma. According to legend, he has no arms or legs anymore because they fell off from years of meditating. And because he once fell asleep while meditating, he cut off his eyelids out of anger over his carelessness, which gave him the big eyes.

The Daruma is considered a lucky charm. It’s mostly sold with white eyes. You make a wish and then paint in one eye. Then you put the figure in a place where you pass by daily if possible. The sight of the Daruma with only one painted eye is meant to constantly remind you of the wish. If it comes true, the Daruma gets its other eye painted in as a reward. It has then fulfilled its purpose and is ceremoniously burned at the turn of the year in the temple where it was bought.

Daruma figures are made of papier-mâché and are hollow inside. They come in different sizes. The body is usually painted red, but you can also find it in white and other colours. You can buy them in temples and sometimes as おみやげ (omiyage) in souvenir shops - a nice little gift from a trip to Japan. For a quick wish on the go, you can sometimes even find pre-prayed Darumas, for example for health or exam success.

Thanks to its shape, the Daruma also became a roly-poly toy in the 18th century. It reminds you to get back up and carry on after a setback. The Japanese say 七転八起 (nanakorobi yaoki) for this: fall down seven times, get up eight times.

Fun fact: Snowmen are called 雪だるま (yuki daruma) in Japanese - snow Daruma.