WHEN WALKING

Shikoku 88 Temples

Chochinya to Matsuyama (Temples 46-51): 21km

Today starts with two temples on my doorstep. Suburban temples, but when I step into Temple 46, I feel transported into another beautiful world.

I think this is the difference in Japan. Rather than the closed jewel boxes of Western churches, with their high roofs imitating the heavens, here the sky is the roof. The acts of worship take place in the gardens outside. This is an image of heaven on earth and of the earth.

The offerings too are worldly. There are some strangely wonderful bottles of Sprite, packs of crisps, the things which we want in this life for those who can no longer get to the 7/11.

On so many other levels, the similarities are striking. The dressed statues, showing devotion and prayers, and asking for hope and relief from pain, or the protection of loved ones. Lighting of candles, the ritual of prayer, the incense. Good local folk, mainly the older ones, making it their duty to maintain the places of worship. Clean, beautiful, peaceful.

A very lovely lady in the office does my calligraphy, rubbing her arms to show how cold she thinks I must feel. It’s such a warm day today. I’ve noticed that the ladies in the offices have all learnt to say, “Have a nice day”, and get very excited when they do so.

I’ve been toying with the idea of getting the henro outfit. Many of the Japanese pilgrims wear the full kit: white shirt, white trousers, bells, rosaries and, of course, the hat. But not all.

I’d asked Hiro about this before I came. He said, “I choose not to.” The white shirt represents your funeral clothes and shows that you are ready to die. He then added, “And I’m not ready yet.”

The hat, however, he had agreed was a good addition. And after yesterday’s rain, I think it would have been much more breathable compared to my Gore-Tex hood. I just worry that no Japanese hat size will be sufficient for me. Maybe I’ll look in Matsuyama and decide what else I need to discard from my already overloaded pack.

Next is temple number 47, just a kilometre away. This one feels a little less special. The man with a leaf blower doesn’t help, nor does the grumpy monk. So far, he monks all seem grumpy; the old ladies are all delightful.

However, it does have a lovely Enma Hall where I can walk through hell and heaven, and pass a load of empty statue boxes asking for donations for the statues to be built.

Temple 48 is just off a main road. I’m in a slightly bad mood because the supermarket sells canned coffee from a heated compartment and I foolishly put it in a bag with my chocolate, resulting in the loss of the chocolate and the accumulation of mess.

The temple itself is less of a natural paradise and more of a beautifully crafted garden, traditional in style. There are also an awful lot of pilgrims, including a few Western ones. Christian from last night is here with Tomo, there is girl who arrived with me at the lodgings yesterday too, as well as a lot of Japanese, many of whom I guess are driving.

There is one young Japanese man walking just ahead of me at the moment. I’m pleased to see his backpack’s too big. He probably has an excuse, camping maybe, but he has two spare pairs of shoes on the back of his pack. That surely can’t be necessary. He has none of the pilgrim accoutrements, apart from a hat. So I’m becoming more and more convinced I need one.

And in the office to get my calligraphy, possibly the nicest old lady yet. Very smiley, very interested in where I’m from, very keen to say what English she knows.

There’s some wonderful chanting at temple 49. A lot of Japanese henro in their full outfits, chanting in groups. It’s a beautiful sound, mixed in with the smell of incense and the sound of new arrivals ringing the great bell.

The woman in the temple 49 office is worthy of a bit of worship too. After completing the calligraphy in my pilgrim book, she asks me where I’m from and if I’m walking and then, with a nod of approval from a young woman behind her, asks me to wait a moment while she grabs me a bag of sweets.

With a sugar top-up, I decide I’ll take the hill route to the next temple after all. This is an excellent decision, as it takes me past a particularly pretty Shinto shrine. The monk here has a big smile and a fancy gown, so I buy a bell to attach to one of my sticks. I have come to enjoy announcing my arrival this way.

It’s three o’clock as I reach Temple 50. The planned rest day has not come to pass, and I think even the Japanese are starting to admit it’s a little warm now. It’s not unbearable, just warm enough to make you yearn for a nap.

I speak to Christian at the temple office. He looks exhausted and says he is. I wonder how I’ll feel when I’m over halfway through. I think I’ll be okay, as long as I avoid the fries.

Temple 51 is the big one today. It’s huge and beautiful, that’s for sure, on the edge of town, near the famous Dogo baths. It has a massive Buddha on the hill above it, It has a pagoda. There’s a walkway full of temple-related shops. But somehow it feels a bit too visited now. This one has tourists as well as pilgrims.

I do my offerings and see Christian and Tomo properly for the last time. Then I decide, as it’s open for another ten minutes, I’ll go through the famous temple tunnel. It is great, f a little creepy. It’s absolutely chock-a-block full of baby Buddhas in their woolly hats. And if I just take a picture into any dark alcove, without fail I capture some extra Buddhas hiding away.

As I get to the end, the attendant tells me the tunnel is closed, and I find myself locked out on the street behind the temple. Somewhat thrown, I walk around the edge of the temple and get back in, get my calligraphy and head off.

As I head for my hotel, there’s not much battery left on my phone and my charger is deep down in the bottom of my rucksack. I’m too tired to start unpacking but it’s a good way in to the city . I’m just wondering what to do, when man walks up to me and, with carefully articulated English, asks, “Would you happen to be lost?”

Hiroshi a retired businessman, out on his evening walk. When I explain that I’m trying to find my hotel near the City Hall, he tells me he’s going that way and will accompany me all the way into the city centre.

He picked up his English working in a department store, for a Tiffany concession, which took him often to the States and to Guam for two years. He speaks clearly, with no trace of a recognisable Japanese accent, but in a voice entirely his own. His sentences start with phrases such as “by the way”, “as a matter of fact”, “This is something I have given a lot of thought”. Whenever I thank him, he says, with a possibly American drawl, “My pleasuuure.”

Chatting as we go, it feels like we are in the centre in no time. “Time flies” I say, and Hiroshibseems very pleased to hear this phrase. But he is concerned that my hotel isn’t where I say it is. I give him the number and he calls to get exact instructions. I am on Street Three.

With excellent directions, Hiroshi-san leaves me at an intersection where I turn into a long covered arcade, as e heads towards the castle. However, even knowing which street it’s on, my Japanese illiteracy makes finding the hotel difficult. I should have asked the student sitting in the arcade, offering help for free.

Eventually, with Google Translate’s camera turned on, I manage to work out that I’m not staying in the Memorial Hospital but in the rather smart hotel next door. With one per cent battery remaining, I enter, check in and collapse. Hotel Hospital for the over-templed.

Now that was a six-temple