Anrakuji -
Spa and Pagoda

Bessho Onsen is a ninth century spa that was propelled into cultural significance when it became the headquarters of a Kamakura period governor. This governor hailed from the Hojo clan, the de facto rulers of Japan. He transformed the remote mountain bastion into an elegant capital. A shadow of that old glory still survives in the temples, of which Anrakuji with its octagonal pagoda is the most beautiful.

After passing the crags of Mt. Myogi, the express that connects Ueno in Tokyo with Nagano, slowly ascends the steep Usui Pass, the border between Gunma and Nagano. To the right appears the majestic shape of Mt. Asama, an active volcano, which soars up behind the resort town of Karuizawa. It is late December and the mountain is covered with snow. Next, I reach the plateau of the castle town of Komoro, from where I look down into the wide valley of the Chikuma River, with groups of high mountains standing on the horizon. Their white peaks form an impressive sight.

Soon after that, I arrive in Ueda, a castle town with a ruined castle, where I change to the Bessho Spa Line to bring me to the onsen town in the mountains. It is a small train, more like a tram, consisting of only two boxy wagons. We glide through the wide plain of Shiota, now an endless expanse of snow. Thirty minutes later I stand in the deep snow in front of Bessho Station.

An old spa town in the hills
The waters of Bessho Spa were already discovered in the ninth century. A few centuries later, in the Kamakura period, Hojo Yoshimasa, governor of the Shinshu region (present-day Nagano), selected the town as headquarters. At that time, the Hojo clan ruled Japan on behalf of the Minamoto shoguns, who in their turn ruled on behalf of the Emperor in Kyoto. Yoshimasa was instrumental in bringing the culture of Kamakura, heavily tinged with Buddhism, to this isolated spot in the mountains. He had so many temples erected here, that Bessho even deserves the name "Kamakura of Shinshu." Several of those temples still survive.

I start with the one opposite my inn, in the center of the tiny town. This is the Kitamuki Kannon temple, covered with even denser snow than elsewhere, and very atmospheric. The Kannon here answers prayers and wishes concerning this world rather than the next, making her very popular among the pragmatic Japanese.

I plod on through the snow to Anrakuji, my real destination of today. It is only 500 meters, a small distance, but heavy going as I slide along in the snow. Anrakuji stands on the hillside just outside the spa town. The temple has a garden with beautifully manicured trees and hedges. Even the heavy snow does not obliterate the precision and care of this garden. The main hall has a large round roof, but for the rest it is not remarkable.

Detail of the pagoda

The dancing pagoda
A friendly old lady there sells me a ticket for the real sight, which stands on the hillside behind the hall. That is the octagonal pagoda, a product of the Kamakura period. Architecturally it follows the Chinese Song style, and it is the only one of its kind still left in Japan. Anrakuji was founded by the Chinese priest Shokoku Isen with the help of the local Hojo lord in 1288. Originally, it was laid out on the same grand scale as Kamakura's main Zen temples. Now only the octagonal pagoda remains as a sign of former glory, the rest of the temple has been destroyed.

A snow-covered path leads up the hill behind Anrakuji. I look up and then, through the bare winter trees, like a floating apparition, I see the pagoda on the flank of the low hill. The three false roofs, now immaculately white, and bowed in eight sections, resemble the swirling skirts of a ballerina. The small top roof is like a Spanish hat, on which the spire pricks into the sky. A dancing pagoda...

The pagoda ("to" in Japanese, a word that means "tower") originated from the stupa in ancient India, that was in fact a large, hemispherical mound made of stone. In China it was transformed into a multistoried, tower-like structure, and usually constructed from wood. Both stupas and pagodas were used for enshrining sacred relics of the Buddha (part of his ashes, bone fragments or teeth) or sutras, the holy scriptures of Buddhism.

Pagodas had a central pillar running through the core of the structure under which such relics were installed. Thus they were centers of holiness and symbols of the Buddha himself. Religious Japanese fold their hands in obeisance when passing a pagoda. Pagodas are as old as temples in Japan. The earliest pagoda was part of Japan's first temple, Asukadera (593-596), and other early temples such as Shitennoji, Horyuji, and Yakushiji also contain prominent pagodas. The pagoda was the most important structure of those early temples.

I climb up the hill and stand in front of the edifice. It is surrounded by a small graveyard, but as this too has been covered in snow, it seems that death has lost its sting. With a total height of only 18.5 meters, the pagoda is remarkably small. The roofs are romantically covered with shingles. It seems four-storied, as it has three false roofs and a real one. I am almost as tall as the first floor. There are mock windows and doors in the pagoda, even in the upper floors. It is like a craftily carved, intricate toy. Like a top that I could swirl around just by moving my hand along the rim of the lower roof.

An inn in the snow
I return to the inn via Jorakuji, a third temple where I see another pagoda, this one made of stone and only a few meters high, also dating back to the Kamakura period. It wears a small head of snow. Next I shop in the town, buy a local delicacy as souvenir, and a glass of sake to drink in my room, and then retreat to the inn that is almost devoid of guests at this time of the year. The walk in the snow has made me cold to my bones. Happily, the hot bath in spa water with its medicinal qualities revives my spirits and the ensuing meal completes the job of physical restoration.

However, in the night the cold returns. There is no stove, nor any other form of heating in the room and the cold creeps up through the wooden floors, piercing my bones and nerves. It wakes me up in the middle of the night. This is real cold, a cold I did not know existed anymore in my comfortable city life.

I shiver under my futon till another hot bath rescues me in the early morning. But somehow this icy cold was a natural part of Bessho, showing that the snowy landscape is harsh rather than romantic, and making the dancing pagoda on the cold hill, among the frozen graves, even more of a miracle.