,+Manga+Museum,+Osaka+(Aquarium)+044.JPG)
Battle of Genji and Heike
Pond of Blood where they washed their swords.
Temple 84
My stone from the Ryugado Cave is mounted proudly at Temple 84
Temple 84
Now to climb that.
Temple 85
The small town of Shido.
Temple 86Temple 84, Yashimaji
It was too much of a struggle to wake up at 5am that morning. I woke at 6am and took the 6:30am train from Takamastu to the town next door, Yashima. I got there around 7am and started walking the henro trail. All was good until I reach the view of Yashima; a mountain that pulls out of the country and surrounds its tip with water to make it some sort of island, it certainly had an interesting shape. The peak is not your usual pointy top, but it was rounded and almost seemed as if during its creation the wind blew it out of shape to give it a unique cap. With no coin lockers at the station, I had no choice but to carry my heavy backpack (with warm clothes that were unnecessary because of the unusually continuing warm weather that made fall feel like summer).
Going up the mountain to Temple 84 was more than just a nuisance because there was no straight road that went to the top. Instead the cement road scribbled its way to the top, all the while maintaining a steep incline. When I finally reached the top, I walked around to see the cement drawing of the battle between the Genji and Heike and the pond of blood where they washed the blood off their swords; long ago this mountain was their battle grounds. I was also able to see beautiful views from atop the mountain of the ocean between Shikoku and Honshu as well as the connecting bridges between the two lands.
When I reached this temple, they told me the next one was only a 2 hour walk away, and the priests gave me directions to the short cut/ohenro road. They told me to be careful because the way down was very steep. Since it was so difficult getting up, I thought going down would be a piece of cake and was looking forward to the descent. But the way down was dangerous indeed. It was slippery and the incline was so steep. There were few trees in the path to hold on to, and I couldn’t help but run and hop/jump during my way down. I felt as if someone was pushing me down the entire time. Maybe it was the weight of my backpack, or maybe it was an invisible force that wanted me gone, whatever it was I was surprised I didn’t twist my ankle on the terrible rocky ground below my feet. There was little soil and some man-made stairs that seemed to be in urgent need of repair, and most of the time there were big jagged rocks that made walking down a struggle. But when I reached the end, I was relieved with a banquet of fruit that the nearby house left out for ohenros to eat as they please: a basket of oranges (mikan) was breakfast for me. I ate about 8 oranges and stuffed 3 into my pocket and was on my way.
Temple 85
As I walked along my merry way, soaking up the beauty of Shikoku’s nature, I felt like I was walking through a ghost town. Most of my walks through the small towns of Japan all seem to have this in common: there are houses, some very nice ones, but no people walking around the town, and no sign of life in the houses. It’s so quiet; all but the occasional passage of cars, you would think it was an abandoned city.
I crossed a bride to get to the town and following the ohenro road I saw a welcoming store-looking place with a small pond in front of it. The autumn trees in the background of the pond made it look pretty and so I thought I might sit a while next to it and enjoy the weather and view. Out of a white van came a man who saw me diverting from the ohenro road and seemed to be in a fury. He asked me in Japanese, in an angry voice, “Where do you think you’re going?” I was shocked that such a stranger would have the nerve, I felt like I was trespassing on private property, but it was just open road I was walking on. I told him I was walking over there to see the view and pointed toward the pond. He wouldn’t even let me finish my sentence and asked if I was Japanese. And I said I came from America. I think this got him even angrier and he directed me to a red arrow on a signpost and told me to follow it. I already saw this arrow, and already knew where I was going, I wasn’t lost, but I he was insisted I was lost and needed direction. I gave him a dirty look and said “I know, I know.” To this he just laughed a bit of insanity. Maybe he thought he was being a Good Samaritan but I wasn’t convinced. Maybe he was crazy, maybe he just hated Americans. I know there are some Japanese people that have had bad experiences with Americans and feel like they have to be on their toes when they encounter one. But that’s a bit racist, a bit discriminatory, don’t you think? One bad apple spoils the bunch, and the world thinks that every Middle Eastern man is a terrorist under cover. What has this world come to?!
Anyway, I was forced to continue without rest, but luckily I found a small stand in the road with two women that were covered in shade. One woman gave me a snack, green mochi with red bean inside that she just handmade, and told me to continue on the road where I would be given tea by another kind woman. Well I continued and found a nice bench to sit on. Outside on the bench was the woman’s husband, reading a novel, inside the wooden house was the wife. When he saw me he yelled to his wife for some tea, and she invited me inside her home. I was greeted by a luxurious French carpet, and some exquisite wooden Indonesian sculptures. It was a comfy place. Here I ate the mochi I was given, drank some tea, ate some fig sorbet (her recipe: peel a fresh fig, put it in the freezer and when you want to eat it, heat it in the microwave for 20 seconds, and wa-la! You can eat a fig any time of the season, even when they aren’t in season), oranges, puffed mochi, coffee, and I waited for the bread that she just freshly baked with homemade apple-jam. I was so full and happy. Her husband seemed to have a bit of a mental disability, but they were such kind people. The wife’s eyes twinkled with life and happiness as she listened to my stories, and I felt like if ohenro’s stopped coming by she would just wither away. Her energy was devoted to those making the pilgrimage but this also seemed to be the source of her energy and will to live. She told me the name of her place is called Jinan and even gave me a homemade gift to bring back home to my grandma. The gift she gave me was a prince and princess doll set that the Japanese mount on a shelf during New Years. Before I was on my way she gave me 2 more homemade mochi’s from the other woman’s stand and wished me luck.
Going to Temple 85 was also another ascent. Climbing 1868 steps the day before, and going to Temple 84 was challenging enough. I was already tired just by looking at the incline upwards. My legs felt weary, but I pushed through, and when I reached the top, they told me Temple 86 is just 2 more hours away. It is at this temple (or was it at Temple 84?) that I left the stone that my cave tour guide gave me as a souvenir atop the red/orange tori that had many round stones lined up upon it that was within the temple grounds. It was too heavy for me to continue carrying, and I didn’t think I would bring it home to NY anyway. I left my mark and felt proud.
In the small town of Shido: Temple 86
I started walking down the decline to the next town to get to Temple 86. The decline was rough on my knees, and my legs really started to hurt. For a while I was limping, and thought that maybe running would relieve the pain. I was wrong and my left knee continued to feel like it would snap out of its socket at any moment. Ohenros drove by in cars and motorcycles. One car-driving ohenro stopped on the road and gave me 2 oranges. Another guy driving a car stopped and gave me a whole bag of snacks, taking just one out of the whole bag for himself. I barely had time to properly say thank you, when these people drove off and disappeared.
Walking to temple 86, I walked by houses, the river, then by a highway, getting lost amidst the acres of farming land of rice and veggies. Walking, I felt at peace. Even though my bag was heavy and my legs and shoulders were weary of travel, I felt at peace, and wished I could start over from day 1. If I had to do it all over again, I would walk the entire way.
I walked around Temple 86 and saw tons of ohenros, dressed in the same fashion as me, all praying in unison in front of the sacred temple. Their voices remain full of energy, I wondered how they got there. Did they take a bus?
I got on a direct bus that would take a little more than 3 hours but would get me directly home to Kyoto. At the bus I made sure I was at the right place and asked the only person who was there. Here I met a potato farmer. Although he is from this small town and has lived here his whole life, he’s a huge Yankee fan. I guess that was enough for him. He gave me his phone number, without a name, and told me to call him if I was ever in town again and he would bring a whole basket of potatoes to me.
It was too much of a struggle to wake up at 5am that morning. I woke at 6am and took the 6:30am train from Takamastu to the town next door, Yashima. I got there around 7am and started walking the henro trail. All was good until I reach the view of Yashima; a mountain that pulls out of the country and surrounds its tip with water to make it some sort of island, it certainly had an interesting shape. The peak is not your usual pointy top, but it was rounded and almost seemed as if during its creation the wind blew it out of shape to give it a unique cap. With no coin lockers at the station, I had no choice but to carry my heavy backpack (with warm clothes that were unnecessary because of the unusually continuing warm weather that made fall feel like summer).
Going up the mountain to Temple 84 was more than just a nuisance because there was no straight road that went to the top. Instead the cement road scribbled its way to the top, all the while maintaining a steep incline. When I finally reached the top, I walked around to see the cement drawing of the battle between the Genji and Heike and the pond of blood where they washed the blood off their swords; long ago this mountain was their battle grounds. I was also able to see beautiful views from atop the mountain of the ocean between Shikoku and Honshu as well as the connecting bridges between the two lands.
When I reached this temple, they told me the next one was only a 2 hour walk away, and the priests gave me directions to the short cut/ohenro road. They told me to be careful because the way down was very steep. Since it was so difficult getting up, I thought going down would be a piece of cake and was looking forward to the descent. But the way down was dangerous indeed. It was slippery and the incline was so steep. There were few trees in the path to hold on to, and I couldn’t help but run and hop/jump during my way down. I felt as if someone was pushing me down the entire time. Maybe it was the weight of my backpack, or maybe it was an invisible force that wanted me gone, whatever it was I was surprised I didn’t twist my ankle on the terrible rocky ground below my feet. There was little soil and some man-made stairs that seemed to be in urgent need of repair, and most of the time there were big jagged rocks that made walking down a struggle. But when I reached the end, I was relieved with a banquet of fruit that the nearby house left out for ohenros to eat as they please: a basket of oranges (mikan) was breakfast for me. I ate about 8 oranges and stuffed 3 into my pocket and was on my way.
Temple 85
As I walked along my merry way, soaking up the beauty of Shikoku’s nature, I felt like I was walking through a ghost town. Most of my walks through the small towns of Japan all seem to have this in common: there are houses, some very nice ones, but no people walking around the town, and no sign of life in the houses. It’s so quiet; all but the occasional passage of cars, you would think it was an abandoned city.
I crossed a bride to get to the town and following the ohenro road I saw a welcoming store-looking place with a small pond in front of it. The autumn trees in the background of the pond made it look pretty and so I thought I might sit a while next to it and enjoy the weather and view. Out of a white van came a man who saw me diverting from the ohenro road and seemed to be in a fury. He asked me in Japanese, in an angry voice, “Where do you think you’re going?” I was shocked that such a stranger would have the nerve, I felt like I was trespassing on private property, but it was just open road I was walking on. I told him I was walking over there to see the view and pointed toward the pond. He wouldn’t even let me finish my sentence and asked if I was Japanese. And I said I came from America. I think this got him even angrier and he directed me to a red arrow on a signpost and told me to follow it. I already saw this arrow, and already knew where I was going, I wasn’t lost, but I he was insisted I was lost and needed direction. I gave him a dirty look and said “I know, I know.” To this he just laughed a bit of insanity. Maybe he thought he was being a Good Samaritan but I wasn’t convinced. Maybe he was crazy, maybe he just hated Americans. I know there are some Japanese people that have had bad experiences with Americans and feel like they have to be on their toes when they encounter one. But that’s a bit racist, a bit discriminatory, don’t you think? One bad apple spoils the bunch, and the world thinks that every Middle Eastern man is a terrorist under cover. What has this world come to?!
Anyway, I was forced to continue without rest, but luckily I found a small stand in the road with two women that were covered in shade. One woman gave me a snack, green mochi with red bean inside that she just handmade, and told me to continue on the road where I would be given tea by another kind woman. Well I continued and found a nice bench to sit on. Outside on the bench was the woman’s husband, reading a novel, inside the wooden house was the wife. When he saw me he yelled to his wife for some tea, and she invited me inside her home. I was greeted by a luxurious French carpet, and some exquisite wooden Indonesian sculptures. It was a comfy place. Here I ate the mochi I was given, drank some tea, ate some fig sorbet (her recipe: peel a fresh fig, put it in the freezer and when you want to eat it, heat it in the microwave for 20 seconds, and wa-la! You can eat a fig any time of the season, even when they aren’t in season), oranges, puffed mochi, coffee, and I waited for the bread that she just freshly baked with homemade apple-jam. I was so full and happy. Her husband seemed to have a bit of a mental disability, but they were such kind people. The wife’s eyes twinkled with life and happiness as she listened to my stories, and I felt like if ohenro’s stopped coming by she would just wither away. Her energy was devoted to those making the pilgrimage but this also seemed to be the source of her energy and will to live. She told me the name of her place is called Jinan and even gave me a homemade gift to bring back home to my grandma. The gift she gave me was a prince and princess doll set that the Japanese mount on a shelf during New Years. Before I was on my way she gave me 2 more homemade mochi’s from the other woman’s stand and wished me luck.
Going to Temple 85 was also another ascent. Climbing 1868 steps the day before, and going to Temple 84 was challenging enough. I was already tired just by looking at the incline upwards. My legs felt weary, but I pushed through, and when I reached the top, they told me Temple 86 is just 2 more hours away. It is at this temple (or was it at Temple 84?) that I left the stone that my cave tour guide gave me as a souvenir atop the red/orange tori that had many round stones lined up upon it that was within the temple grounds. It was too heavy for me to continue carrying, and I didn’t think I would bring it home to NY anyway. I left my mark and felt proud.
In the small town of Shido: Temple 86
I started walking down the decline to the next town to get to Temple 86. The decline was rough on my knees, and my legs really started to hurt. For a while I was limping, and thought that maybe running would relieve the pain. I was wrong and my left knee continued to feel like it would snap out of its socket at any moment. Ohenros drove by in cars and motorcycles. One car-driving ohenro stopped on the road and gave me 2 oranges. Another guy driving a car stopped and gave me a whole bag of snacks, taking just one out of the whole bag for himself. I barely had time to properly say thank you, when these people drove off and disappeared.
Walking to temple 86, I walked by houses, the river, then by a highway, getting lost amidst the acres of farming land of rice and veggies. Walking, I felt at peace. Even though my bag was heavy and my legs and shoulders were weary of travel, I felt at peace, and wished I could start over from day 1. If I had to do it all over again, I would walk the entire way.
I walked around Temple 86 and saw tons of ohenros, dressed in the same fashion as me, all praying in unison in front of the sacred temple. Their voices remain full of energy, I wondered how they got there. Did they take a bus?
I got on a direct bus that would take a little more than 3 hours but would get me directly home to Kyoto. At the bus I made sure I was at the right place and asked the only person who was there. Here I met a potato farmer. Although he is from this small town and has lived here his whole life, he’s a huge Yankee fan. I guess that was enough for him. He gave me his phone number, without a name, and told me to call him if I was ever in town again and he would bring a whole basket of potatoes to me.
It's really cool to hear about you going to all the places that I've been learning about in Japanese civilizations. That woman and her husband sound so nice. I think I want to be like that some day. I don't need a lot of money or crazy prestige and fame when I grow older, but just to be happy every day, and friendly with strangers.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry your legs hurt so much. But you sound so proud at the end. You know what they say about hot dogs... ;)