WHEN WALKING

Shikoku 88 Temples – Day 2

Yebisuya to Hacchozaka (Temple 45): 32km

My love of food on trays has been fulfilled every since I started on the flight out. Here every meal is a tray of little things in compartments. It is tray-meal heaven. This morning I have the treat of a box-meal breakfast in my room.

I start with the salted sardines, like all good children, getting the problem food out of the way first, and then work my way through. I’ve been thinking, as I eat everything put in front of me, of my mother, despairing at my fussy eating, telling me I could never travel unless I learnt to eat everything I was given. At the time, I was near to tears as I went through all the foods I could possibly face and came a cropper when I considered tomatoes. Look at me now, mum, I think with pride.

And now, for the first time I am veering from Hero’s plan. But only because Yumiko showed me another itinerary. Her itinerary quite clearly says that, in order to drop off my bag at 12:30 at the next inn, I need to leave at six o’clock. Her itinerary then tells me that I will walk bagless to visit my first temple this afternoon, not tomorrow as Hiro had suggested. Timing is key. I leave at 6.40.

I decide I’m fast enough to make up the time. Indeed, I would be if I didn’t stop so much or take wrong turns. I’m not the only one. At one point, sitting on a little bench, I see Toyoda-san walking past at great speed, looking very stressed.

“I went the wrong way,” he says.

“So did I,” I reply, considering how unstressed I’m feeling about that right now. It’ll come back to bite me later. We have done the same little circle in the forest, where the curious feeling of déjà vu turned out to be actual déjà vu, as you see the same white truck parked in the same place on the country lane.

Regardless of the limited daylight hours, I stop to look at a bonus temple at the top of huge flights of steps. I’m fascinated by, and photograph, endless statues of Bodhisattvas, bizarrely clothed in red woolly hats and bibs. Even the manhole covers are too beautiful to ignore.

It’s almost a relief when I reach the Tomohima Tunnel, where all distractions will be removed for a while and all focus will be on being seen by, and not hit by, the oncoming traffic as it roars towards me. Even the tunnel, though, is well thought out, with luminous strips in cabinets at either end, which you are asked to replace in matching cabinets when you reach the other end. Safety is also enhanced by the fact that the Japanese here seem to prefer narrow cars. There’s none of the car-spreading I see back home.

Only fifty minutes later than planned, I arrive at today’s inn, where I have been instructed by to deposit my rucksack before continuing on to Temple 45, my very first temple. The lovely owner knows I’m coming, indicates a locker I can use and waves me on my way. He doesn’t seem concerned at all that I may not have enough time to get there and back in daylight. So my own worries are assuaged.

This afternoon’s walking is some of the most beautiful I have ever done. I’m walking into the woods and accidentally take the high mountain route to the temple. The landscape reminds me of the Pilis Mountains at the Danube Bend, except that the beaches here are replaced by cedars. But there are the same cathedral forests, the same paths along the spine of the mountain, with wooded drops on either side. Only here there is the addition of hundreds and hundreds of Bodhisattva statues, many of them with their woollens on.

Nearing the top of the mountain, I see two figures descending and I’m delighted. It is the Canadians, Justin and Pierre. We stop on a turn in the path, and I use this opportunity to quiz them on some information I’ve been pondering.

My friend, who’s joining me in December, will be with me for the last stretch, and I want to check that this will be a good one for her. They reassure me. They also fill me in on tidbits of information they’ve picked up on their walk. They tell me about the first Japanese man to go to the United States. They tell me about good cities to spend time in and tattoo-friendly onsen, which Justin has appreciated. It’s always the same, on second and third meetings, pilgrims become friends.

As they’re staying in Matsuyama for a couple of days, I don’t say goodbye, but rather, see you there. They say a cheery farewell and immediately Pierre slips and almost falls. But the last thing I hear is her voice further down the path shouting out that she’s okay.

When I finally get to descend the mountain, tentatively making my way down, I hear fast footsteps and a jingling as a proper henro pilgrim catches up with me. I stop to let him pass, but he stops to talk to me and asks me directions to this temple and the next.

I’m surprised that even when I tell him I’m English, he wants me to help. Yamasaki-san is a man of great open friendliness, and it turns out, great faith. We chat for a while. I show him where he needs to go. He has even less chance than me of finishing in daylight if he really plans to fit in two temples today. But he then runs off at such a speed that I suppose he might just make it.

The descent is magnificent, with cliffs beside the path and endless Buddhas, Bodhisattvas and shrines. There is one huge shrine with a demon. I need to understand what the demon shrines signify. And everywhere, little pieces of paper and prayers. This part of the route even has some messages in English. But I find the unreadable messages in Japanese more inspiring.

Finally, I arrive at the temple, magnificent, built into the mountainside. I also realise that, despite Hiro’s instructions, I am still unsure what I need to do. So, when I see Yamasaki-san reading the temple map, I decide I will ask him for help. I know that in this area, he is the one with the knowledge. He happily agrees to take me through the routines.

I have already washed my mouth and hands, as I’ve been doing this at all the temples so far. He then takes me to ring the giant bell. “To announce you’re here” he says.

Now we visit the two shrines. The main shrine to Buddha and the second to Kōbō Daishi, the monk on whom this pilgrimage is based and who is said to accompany every pilgrim on their way.

At the first hall, we both light a candle. He then tells me to light three incense sticks and put them in the pile of ash with the others to burn. Next, we complete our name slips, and when we come to the date, he says, “No, don’t do the 1st of November. Instead of one, just write ‘good day’”

“Because it’s the first of the month?” I ask

“No,” he says. “Because every day is a good day.”

I do as he tells me, and wonder how, if the date is needed, his system can really work.

We walk up to the hall. We deposit our name papers and put a small coin into the receptacle at the shrine gate.

“And now I will pray,” says Yamasaki-san. “It will be a long prayer,” he adds. “But you can go to the second temple. It’s just the same again”. I get the hint, but I wait a while and say a few words in my head while Yamasaki-san, along with the other pilgrims, chants the sutras. I am proud that my Yamasaki-san chants his loudly and tunefully, and with great joy.

When I do go to the second shrine to Kōbō Daishi, I complete my respects like a pro.

The final stage, Yamasaki-san has told me, is to go to the main office. So there I go with the beautiful book which Hiro gave me. And for 500 yen I have it stamped, and the lady in the office writes the beautiful calligraphy on the correct page.

When I come out, Yamasaki-san is there. And when he sees the little picture of the Buddha on top, he gets very excited and tries to explain concepts which are somewhat beyond his English vocabulary and almost certainly beyond my understanding. But I understand it’s an image of Buddha because we are not yet ready to look on Buddha himself. I also understand what luck I have had today with my meetings on the mountaintop.

The daylight is not quite so bright now, and it’s another seven kilometres back to the guesthouse. I must make haste. And I must also stop photographing the many cats that approach me on the way, the many statues of Bodhisattvas with their hats and bibs on, the colours of the leaves by the river, the many beautiful rock formations towering above the path. But how can I?

The route back at least does not go over the very high mountains, but there’s still a climb. And the sunlight, has almost gone by the time I reach the top. For the last 15 or 20 minutes, walking on a mountain in Japan, the light all but disappears. I can see the white stones of the path for a while and eventually I make my way out of the forest with the torch on my phone the only thing showing me where to step.

When I arrive back at the guesthouse, the owner is not surprised to see me arriving after dark. I realise he has a happy, fatalistic manner which may have misled me earlier. But he shows me my beautiful room and the dining room, and asks me when I want dinner.

In no time at all, I am sitting on the floor in the dining area, sharing a table with a Japanese husband and wife, and the wife’s mother. They’re so kind. I copy them for the most part. And when I make to go and put the rice from the rice cooker into my teacup, the wife jumps up to stop me and shows me where the rice bowls are.

They indicate that they are worried I’ll struggle with chopsticks, and I indicate I’ll be fine. When they see how badly I’m sitting, they find a small, very low chair that I can sit on. I wonder if this is the kiddie chair. But then I notice the husband has one too, and don’t feel quite so bad about my inflexible English legs.

The food again is delicious. I think I’m finally eating the famous bonito fish from this area. It’s raw, and I like it. My mother would be so proud of me.

I go back to my room to complete my daily tasks. It is 7.30. I immediately fall asleep.