What I've Learned

The big wrap-up.

I write this post in the throes of the most brutal jet lag of my life. After finishing up the pilgrimage, I took a trip to Mt. Koya to visit the mausoleum of Kobo Daishi, and then shuffled back to Tokyo to take a flight that saw me return to the USA approximately 3 days before the flight took off. Since returning to America last Monday, I have settled into a 7am-1pm sleep schedule that will probably take weeks to break. After a brutal zombie period from 1pm to 4pm, I usually enter a totally unproductive period of consciousness from about 7pm to 3am. Welcome to the suck, as they say.

What an adventure. The biggest of my life. Bigger than climbing Mt. Fuji, bigger than my ill-conceived NY-and-back road trip, bigger than my periodic escapades to Enterprise, Alabama during my Army days. I saw more, experienced more, and learned more than I ever thought possible. My sister says that I found enlightenment! I wouldn't go that far, but the journey most certainly was illuminating. And what was illuminated, you ask? Allow me to list my revelations.

1. Kristine is the one. Kristine Sinajon is my fiancé, the woman I am going to marry in about 5 months. One of the most brutal moments of the pilgrimage was a dream I had where I took an early flight back to the US, stepped back into my house, and called up Kristine, who was doing laundry at her parents' house. "Hey babe, go back to the house, I've got a big surprise for you." While I was waiting for her to come home, I woke up to find myself alone in a dingy hotel room in some crummy Japanese port town. That was as tough a wake up as I've experienced since the Army. Me and Kristine fell in love through music, but the fact that she would stay by my side, even if I never touch the piano again, has taught me what real love means, and what it feels like. Her love is the greatest blessing of my life, and doing the pilgrimage made me appreciate that love like never before.

2. I'm not actually Buddhist! Lol, surprise. At the very least, I'm not an adherent of Shingon Buddhism, the esoteric sect of Buddhism founded by Kobo Daishi. My inner scientist just doesn't allow me to fully believe in a religion devoted to thousand-armed Boddhisatvas, hungry ghosts, and wrathful guardian gods. Don't get me wrong though; I have enormous respect for this Buddhist sect, and I am in awe of the faith and devotion of its adherents. More broadly, though I practice meditation for its physical and mental health benefits, I discovered, through the pilgrimage, that I just WANT too many things for me to be a true Buddhist. I want a wife. I want to make music. I want to work, and I want to make money, enough money to be comfortable in the place I want to live in more than anywhere in the world, the San Francisco Bay Area. That's a lot of wants for a religion founded on not wanting anything. In fact, in Buddhism, if you want enlightenment too badly, it will keep you from getting enlightenment!! What a crock of horse s***! So, no, I'm not actually a Buddhist. Despite that. . .

3. I believe in Kobo Daishi! Confused yet? Because I sure am. Through the trials and tribulations of the pilgrimage, I found out that I was just normal-old Christian, same as I always was. However, during my long walk, I really did feel the presence of Kobo Daishi. If I screwed up, he would punish me; if I asked for help, he would provide it. When I would cuss in one of my extended monologues designed to keep my own sanity, I would apologize to the staff. I even took home some mementos from the trail to bring part of the Kobo Daishi spirit back to San Bruno! (I figure that since Kobo Daishi is more of a friendly ghost, as opposed to an angry volcano god like Pele, I won't suffer the dreaded Hawaiian black sand curse.) On a less mumbo-jumbo wacky level, I feel enormous admiration for the way that Kobo Daishi lived his life, and enormous gratitude to his compassionate vision that has helped me and countless others find greater meaning and clarity in their lives through the 88 temple pilgrimage. I figure that if I think of him as a patron saint (patron saint of blisters and foot fungus?), I can jimmy him into my already jumbled belief system without too much trouble. I'd buy him a beer if I could! Or just a cup of barley tea; Buddhist monks don't get drunk, right? Except for Drunken Master, but that's something else entirely.

4. Forgiveness is my personal key to happiness. I laid this philosophy out in my previous blog entry, so just refer back to that for a full explanation. If you're not gonna live alone on top of a mountain, you gotta learn to forgive, because if you live in society among the people, people WILL screw up and hurt you. It is guaranteed, it is inevitable. There just isn't a way around it. So the key is to forgive. For me at least. Especially in the case of people you're never gonna see again, you gotta forgive them, because the longer you hate them, the longer you're just hurting yourself. This is a hard one, but I got time to practice it.

5. I'm turning into more of a people person. Even though I'm so jet-lagged that I can barely function, all I want to do right now is throw get-togethers and see all the people who helped me take this journey. This is way different from how I used to be. I would have much rather stayed home reading old entries in the rotten.com library on Friday night than go to a party, much less throw one. This transformation was beginning before the pilgrimage, and being forced to interact with people in a foreign language just to survive did even more to eradicate my shyness. In fact, I just hosted a thank you event/question and answer session with my primary investors (aka my parents) yesterday, and it was a smashing success! Looking forward to great things in the next quarter.

6. There's more than one way to make music. Pay attention, I'm about to go all SAT test on you. If Music = Art, and Art = Painting, doesn't that mean that Music = Painting? Sort of? Maybe that's wrong. Meh, whatever. Anyway, I found out that I'm interested not just in music, but art in general. Calligraphy, creative writing, photography, it's all got music in there. Or to be more accurate, all good art has tension and release. That's courtesy of my old SF State jazz theory teacher Mike Zisman. My decades of music making have given me an incredible foundation to branch out to almost any endeavor, creative or otherwise. I want to learn all kinds of stuff, from audio recording to video editing. Even figuring out how to cover next month's rent is an art! An art I desperately have to figure out, extremely quickly.

7. I might have to become a different type of musician. I was talking to my Uncle Ed from Monson, Massachusetts before I left. I told him I was doing the pilgrimage in order to help my tendons recover so that I could return to the piano. "But once you start playing again, won't you just get tendonitis again?" he asked. Huh, good point. Don't get me wrong, being able to play the piano again is my greatest life goal right now. But if I play music the way I did before, i.e. exhausting 3 hour gigs where I am overplaying with bad technique just to hear myself above an overcranked sound system, my tendonitis will indeed return in a matter of weeks. This means that, not only do I have to play music differently, I have to look at music in an entirely different light. My days as a workhorse gigging musician are most likely over forever. However, that means that when I play the piano, it's actually got to count. I have no choice now but to only play music that truly means something to me. No more drawn out KC and the Sunshine Band covers for drunk bridesmaids. When I play again, it has to be music that means something to me; songs by my friends, songs that I love, songs that I wrote. This probably means that I can't make a living as a purely gigging musician anymore. And guess what? I'm fine with that.

When I started developing symptoms of tendonitis, I began to dread the future. Every time I touched the piano, it was with the fear that I was digging myself into an ever-deeper hole, a hole that would inevitably end with my hands crippled. The only future I could conceive was that of an unemployable dropout living on government benefits on the margins of society. When I decided to quit the piano indefinitely, I finally started to look to the future with hope. Maybe I actually would be able to heal and lead a normal life. But now that I've done the pilgrimage, now that I have done something extraordinary, it makes me confident that I can strive for something a little more ambitious, a little more interesting than just a normal life. For the first time I can remember, my brain is overflowing with ideas, compositions, plans, schemes, and possibilities. The reason for this awakening is the pilgrimage.

And the reason I was able to make the pilgrimage was because of the support I received from friends, loved ones, acquaintances, long-lost relatives, and even people I have never even met before. Whether you supported me with a message, or a meal, or a financial contribution, or a cup of tea, or by reading this blog, or letting me stay at your house for a week (Auntie Emiko), let me just say Thank You once again. Thank You. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Thank you for allowing me to make this journey, to go on this adventure, and to find knowledge and healing in ways I never could have imagined possible. In this moment, my heart overflows. I've never felt like this. I didn't know I could feel like this. Thank you, so much. And with that, the pilgrimage comes to a close.

NOT!!!!! The pilgrimage will continue! In different forms, in different places, and in different ways. Now that I've brought some of Kobo Daishi back to San Bruno, the Bay Area is officially Pilgrimage Territory. I got back just in time to see the Warriors win it all, so who knows? Maybe I brought some Kobo Daishi good luck back with me from Shikoku. For the indiegogo donors, watch your doorstep or mailbox for the thank you gift package, and always remember: though you may encounter enemies on your journey, remember to show them compassion and forgiveness; they too are trapped in the world of illusion, and they will one day, after 100,000 lifetimes, join you as brothers and sisters in the Pure Land of the Cosmic Buddha, Amida Nyorai. And as the Buddha always says. . .

You know why they hate us? Cause they ain't us.

Just kidding, I think Pauly D said that.

Thanks again, and I love all you guys!

Yours Truly,

Mark Tayag Davis
MTD

The Final Days: Part Final

In the actual last chapter, I get 2 parting gifts from the pilgrimage.

So I was feeling pretty good. Strolling down the road, whistling a tune like Mickey Mouse in Steamboat Willie. I got to temple #6, Anrakuji, where things started to go haywire on the first day. I bowed at the temple entrance like I had done almost a hundred times, went to wash my hands and mouth at the sacred fountain, and marched over to the main temple to offer my prayers. But then I noticed something to my side.

There was a huge Japanese garden, with a pond and fishes and everything! In my haste and agony on the first day, I didn't even notice it. I walked from path to path, leaping from rock to rock, said hi to a funny little girl and her grandpa feeding the koi fish. You know, this probably isn't the only thing I missed. I had been in such a mad rush to complete the pilgrimage, marching hard to knock out my daily 30km, that I had probably bypassed all kinds of cool things like this. But at least I had noticed this garden, right now. I went to the main temple and spat out the obligatory heart sutra, then went to the Kobo Daishi shrine to offer my sincere thanks to the Original Pilgrim, or O.P. I went back to the main hall to buy a crapload of souvenirs for the people at home and chatted with the ladies working the desk. "How was your time in Japan?" they asked. "I loved it," I sincerely answered. As thanks for my massive purchase, they gave me an astonishing gift.

It was a brocade ofuda, or thank you note, made of elaborately stiched cloth. The color of the ofuda changes depending on how many times you do the pilgrimage. 1-4 times warrants the plain white ofudas, 5-7 times gets green ones, 8-24 times is red, 25-49 times is silver, and 50 to 99 times is gold. If you do the pilgrimage 100 times or more, you gain the privilege of giving brocade ofudas to those who offer you assistance. This was one of those brocade ofudas. "Look at the back," said the temple ladies. There, on the back of the ofuda, was a stamp that said that one Chiyo Hanaoka, from Wakayama city, had completed the pilgrimage 297 times. My God. That is only possible by car, but even with a car that is an absolute minimum of 10 years doing the Shikoku pilgrimage. This is an ofuda from a person that has dedicated their life to this pilgrimage (and likely has plenty of money to finance such a quest.) It truly was an astonishing gift. I don't know if it was from the temple lady herself, or if she was giving it to me secondhand or thirdhand from the original owner, but I was speechless, so all I could say was "honto ni, arigato gozaimasu." Truly, thank you so much. "Ah, it's nothing," said the temple lady. I got on my way to temple #7, Jurakuji.

As I walked on the road, the disturbing incident with the innkeeper still weighed on my mind. Just to occupy myself, I tried reciting the heart sutra. The heart sutra is an interesting Buddhist tongue twister that is part John 3:16, part Our Father, and part psalm. I had said it at every temple for the last month and a half. But for some reason, I wanted to say a different prayer, one that was in my language, one that I knew well. So I started to say the good old Our Father. Hah, what is this, the Peanuts Christmas Special? But as I said it, something strange happened.

For the first time in my life, I meant every word of it. I paused after every line, meditating on the image that each line brought to my mind. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. The laws of Heaven, and God's ultimate plan, His strange and inscrutible plan for this world, a plan that seems to include equal parts horror and joy. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. There. That's it. That's the one. That's the key.

The key to happiness in Buddhism is to feel nothing. If you feel nothing, then nothing can truly hurt you. That simply isn't an option for me now. Not only am I unable to feel nothing, I don't WANT to feel nothing. I want to feel joy and happiness and love, but to open myself to that I will inevitably have to feel pain and rage and despair. But if I can forgive those who hurt me, then maybe there's a chance I can be a part of this world, and still be happy. People will hurt you. It is logically, statistically inevitable. So forgiveness is the key. I thought of the face of the innkeeper, twisted with anger. And when I thought about forgiveness, the word forgiveness, the concept of forgiveness, my rage at the man abated. Not completely, but significantly. And if I can forgive him, maybe I can forgive some of the others who have hurt me, who have left me with scars that will remain for the rest of my life. This is gonna take a lot of practice, because this is an entirely new concept to me. I've given lip service to forgiveness, but I had never really considered it the way I did in that moment, praying the Our Father on the other side of the planet. Kobo Daishi has shown me a lot of things in this month and a half, but this was the strangest, and most unexpected of the entire pilgrimage. All I could do, for the second time that day, was to thank God, and thank Kobo Daishi, and thank all the people back home who supported me, and thank all the people I had run into in these incredible 6 weeks. I walked on, past temple #7, which was closed, and finally got to the part of the trail I missed on that first day. I made my way through the rice fields, past a mother and her two kids, and followed the yellow signs back to the Okuda guesthouse. I knocked on the door.

"Mark-san! You surprised me! I thought you were gonna call!" said Mr. Okuda.
"Sorry about that," I replied, sheepishly. "I wanted to walk one more time."

 

The Final Days, Part 3: The Joy of the Pilgrimage

Elation and revelation back where it all began.

Friday, June 12th was the day of the asshole innkeeper, the day of the awful ligament, the day of the Deep Heat, and the day I made to temple 88. But that's not the end. You've got to go back to where you started to complete this thing, which for me was temple numero uno, Ryozenji, which in Japanese means Vulture Mountain Temple! How hardcore is that?

I woke up on Saturday, June 13th at around seven. Thank God for real hospitality. I could barely make a step without agonizing pain, so I got into Mr. Okuda's funny Japanese rectangular car and we drove to temple #3. Wait, what? It turns out this was to get a cool bonus calligraphy stamp that was done with like a Buddha sponge or something. It looks like the impact animation from Street Fighter 4, I love it. After that we went to temple #1, and I got the official, "You Did the Whole Damn Thing" stamp in my pilgrimage log book. Awesome. I said bye for the moment to Mr. Okuda and took the train to downtown Tokushima to do some blogging and get some lunch. (I also checked out the Tokushima Japanese garden, which turned out to be a stinky waste of time. At least it was only 50 cents to get in.) In theory I was done with everything, and all I had to do was call Mr. Okuda and tell him to pick me up at the Kamojima train station. But there was one loose end I wanted to tie up.

On the very first day of the pilgrimage, when I was weighed down by a comically bulging rucksack, I got lost when I was looking for the Okuda guesthouse and veered off the trail around temple #7. That first day was a brutal day of pain, confusion, and despair. I wanted to go back to the point where I lost the trail that day, and follow the correct path, just to see what I missed. I took the bus from Tokushima station with a motley crew of old ladies, mall girls, and one dutiful bus driver. I got off the bus near temple #6, Anrakuji, and started walking down the road. And then started to laugh hysterically.

Oh no, had I caught a rare case of pilgrimage hysteria? Maybe I had finally lost my mind. But as I calmed down a bit, my hysterical laughter mellowed into absurd bemusement. I just got done yesterday with walking several hundred miles on this God-forsaken island, and here I am again strolling down some narrow country road to another stupid temple! How ridiculous is this? I really am crazy. But I was smiling like a kid who just got out of class on the last day of school, and I couldn't wipe the expression off my face. The last time I felt this happy was on the crazy weekend when I decided to quit the piano and finally allow my tendons to heal naturally. Those four days were quite possibly the four best days of my entire life, filled with tears, music, and joy. Walking down the road to temple #6, I felt the same way. After all the pain and all the injuries, it turned out that deep down, I really loved walking to all these dusty old temples. And the reason was all of the people I had met.

I reflected on all the kindness and love people had shown me on the pilgrimage. The random people who gave me a mini-buddha statue, the funny old ladies I hitchhiked with who almost crashed into a rice ditch, Mr. Miyauchi from Yuki town who gave me some beautiful mini tatami mats. I also remembered the jerks I had encountered; the shoplady who kindly asked me to leave the store when I was soaking with rain, the innkeeper who locked a door in my face when he heard me speaking English, and of course the one-eyed asshole from yesterday. I thought of Auntie Emiko, who had been basically disowned by her family for raising a son alone, and yet still found joy in every day. The pain, the rage, the peace, and the joy of the last month and a half all seemed like complementary parts in a continuously shifting rubik's cube of causality. Each part had a function and led to the next action, each event propelled me to the next experience. It was ugly, and gaudy, and intricate, and it was a masterpiece. I thanked God for all the people who had helped me make this journey, and for everyone that helped me on the trail. But despite all that, there was still bitterness in my heart for the cruel innkeeper, and his crude and hurtful words.

But it turned out God had something for that too.

To be actually concluded in The Final Days: Part Final. (Heh, sounds like an awkward Engrish Japanese movie title.)

 

The Final Days, Part 2: Agony

 A new injury cripples my chances of finishing the pilgrimage.

Despite the shabby, borderline-racist treatment that morning, me and Barnaby soldiered on without incident. We hiked the 6 or 7 kilometers to temple 86, then made it to the Lawson convenience store to have some lunch. But things were already going wrong. First, it was already the hottest, most humid day yet of the entire pilgrimage, and we were dripping sweat. Second, a strange new pain was emerging on the front ligament of my left foot. It wasn't too bad, though. I'm sure that in a kilometer or two, I'll just walk it off.

It didn't work out that way. A kilometer or two down the road, the pain was so bad that I had to take a deep breath to prepare for every single step of my left foot. I think the strain was a result of me walking on my foot differently on account of my Athlete's Foot infection, and wear and tear from the mad dash I made up a mountain the previous day to get to temple 85 before it closed. Barnaby drifted away further and further into the distance as I grimaced with pain. But at the next traffic crossing, he noticed me lagging and waited up.

"Barnaby," I said, "this thing is killing me. You know, I'm probably just gonna take the bus. Screw it." I wanted so badly to finish the pilgrimage strong, to do all of the final prefecture on foot without resorting to transportation, and that goal was withering away before my eyes. "Yeah man, do whatever you have to," he said in his posh Aussie accent. "But first, let's take a breather over there." He walked, and I limped, over to a local shrine where we took off our packs. I took the menthol pain pad off my ligament, but before I put on a new one, Barnaby said, "Hey, maybe try some of this." He handed me a tube of something called Deep Heat. Oh no, is this a prelude to some naughty Thunder From Down Under hijinx? Nope, just the opposite; this stuff was the most agonizing concoction dreamed up by Australia since the invention of Vegemite. My foot tingled and burned as if I had just made it eat a habanero pepper. "Ghaaaaah, GHHHAAAGGH!" I screamed. "What the hell is this shit?! GHAAAH!" "Heh, that's the Deep Heat," replied Barnaby. "I guess if it burns bad enough, you just forget about the other pain." Haha, that's so stupid that I love it. That's Australian logic for you. And guess what? It worked.

But not that well. We got moving, but I still had to resort to a weird shuffle to move down the road. But the pain subsided enough that the remaining 10km to temple 88 were seeming possible now. We took a detour to the Henro Salon, a fun little roadside rest stop where we both got awesome pins and certificates for doing the pilgrimage on foot (or mostly on foot, in my case). And then the brutal climb up Mt. Nyotai began. The mighty dragon before rescuing the princess. Surely this would deal my wounded foot the final blow. Felled on the doorstep of glory, another casualty of the pilgrimage.

And then the pain just vanished. I think it was because going uphill worked different muscles and ligaments than walking on level pavement. Also, going uphill is my specialty. In the Army, they constantly train you to go up hills as fast as possible, since occupying the lower ground is a fatal tactical position. That kicked in, as well as a combination of second wind, adrenaline, and motivation of finally having the goal in sight. In fact, every 500 meters or so, I had to wait for Barnaby to haul his insane 10 kilogram backpack up the trail. But near the summit, that trail became ridiculous.

Most of the mountain climbing on the pilgrimage is in fact just mountain hiking, i.e. well-marked trails and stairs going uphill to a high altitude temple. But with the summit of Mt. Nyotai in sight, things became a little hardcore. The angle of the trail increased radically, and it became necessary to use all four limbs to pull myself from one foothold to another. This was legit mountain climbing. Heh, a nice final challenge before the final temple. A couple rocks, footholds, and scrambles later, and me and Barnaby were on the summit.

We looked out at the view. Damn, we had come a long way. In fact, due to the humidity, we couldn't even see where we had started that morning. We had literally marched on our own feet, and my crappy foot, from an entirely different horizon in order to climb the highest mountain in sight. The crudeness and rage of the innkeeper from that morning seemed like a week ago in that moment. We took some self-congratulatory pictures, went down the other side of the mountain, and I did my final prayers at temple 88, Okuboji. My buddy Okuda-san came to pick me up and drive back to the guesthouse, so I said bye to Barnaby, my partner in crime. On the drive back to the Okuda guesthouse, I felt not joy, but relief. It was over. Thank God it was over.

But it wasn't over. You still have to go back to the temple you started at, which for me was temple #1, Ryozenji. (Barnaby started at temple #18 for some weird Commonwealth reason.) And it was on the journey back to the beginning that I rediscovered the joy of the pilgrimage, as well as a couple other things about myself that I never would have guessed in a thousand years.

To be concluded in Part 3.

 

The Final Days, Part 1: Shikoku's Biggest Asshole

What happens when a quest for peace almost devolves into a shoving match?

Thursday, June 11th was a rough day. It started with a 12 kilometer trek to temple 83 in a misty rain, and ended with two seperate mountains in the midst of a watery deluge. By the end of the day, me and Barnaby were soaked and exhausted. Our first choice for lodging had apparently been abandoned by its owners, so we had a convenience store lady call another place for us. We thanked her and trudged thanklessly back down the mountain to the Takayanagi Ryokan, our home for the night.

The owner seemed a little weird from the get go. Slightly ascerbic and sporting a dead eye, he asked me and Barnaby personal questions about our religion, and whether or not we wanted seperate rooms. I confirmed that we did, and he seemed relieved. Was he trying to screen out gay couples or something? But beyond that, everything seemed fine. I confirmed that we didn't need in-house meals, and said that we would probably try to leave by 6am. We tended to our wounds, the nice lady who co-runs the guesthouse drew a nice bath for us, and we had dinner at a gorgeous udon restaurant. Me and the Aussie meandered back to the guesthouse, and plopped to sleep.

I dragged myself out of bed around 630am to drop the kids off at the pool and brush my teeth. However, mid-brush, the owner stormed up to me, apparently furious. "YOU LIED! UNNACCEPTABLE! YOU SAID YOU WOULD LEAVE BY 6," he shouted in Japanese. What the fuck is going on?!? I was taken aback. I've sort of skirted around the rules at previous guesthouses, but I had never experienced this sort of treatment, even back when I was in the Army and people had an excuse to hate me. The owner's tirade continued in broken English. "IN 2 MONTHS, 2 HOTELS, CLOSE! YOU NO BREAKFAST?!? THIS IS BED AND BREAKFAST, BUT YOU NO BREAKFAST!" He rushed over to Barnaby's room, rattled the door, and screamed in English, "GET OUT! GET OUT!" Had I wandered into opposite day, where Japanese people exchange their kindness and politeness for shrill fury?

Looking back on this incident, there were 3 reasons that we incurred the innkeeper's wrath. First, we called ahead in the afternoon, as opposed to the day before. Second, we decided not to have meals there, which may have offended his sensibilities. Third, we were late getting out of bed. In addition, he appeared distraught over what I assume were the shuttering of some other lodging houses in the area. But as we hurried out the door, he said something so hurtful that it made me want to give him a good shove through one of those beautiful Japanese paper screen doors. "Your religion, Islam? Catholic?" he asked. I responded that I am a Christian, to which he answered, "Buddhist only."

Was he refering to his establishment, or trying to make some crude commentary about the 88 temple pilgrimage as a whole? I suppressed my urge to punch him in his ugly face, and said in simple Japanese, "I am leaving." As me and Barnaby walked out the door, he motioned that he had change. "Keep it," I shouted in English. We marched down the road in shock and anger, and then the strangest thing of all happened. The one-eyed innkeeper drove up and gave us our change, along with my toothbrush and toothpaste that I had left in my haste. I dutifully accepted it, and he drove away. Was he expressing regret, or did he just want to have the last word? I guess I'll never know.

From his broken comments about two hotels closing, I can assume that he was in some sort of financial distress. I mean, who isn't, in rural, working-poor Shikoku? And who knows how he lost his eye. Maybe a bar fight with some dickhead American GI. And the weird questions? Maybe some foreigners had made a mess of his place in the past. There must be reasons for his rage. I tried to justify our treatment in my mind.

But I couldn't. On the day I was to walk to temple 88, the first emotions I felt that day were panic, shame, and rage. There was no justification for what he had done. A one-eyed piece of shit had ruined the last day of the pilgrimage, and the only emotion I could feel was burning, bitter hatred.

And the day was about to get worse.

 

Shikoku Personality Profile: Emon Saburo

A rich man redeemed.

In Buddhism, there are 5 deadly sins. These are, in no particular order:
1. Killing your father. When daddy died, all he left us was alone.
2. Killing your mother. Not the momma!
3. Creating a schism in the Buddhist community. This has actually happened like dozens of times now, so maybe this one isn't so bad.
4. Killing an arhat. Arhats are basically sages that meditate in caves or under waterfalls and seek enlightenment for themselves. Though lacking in the compassion that is an essential trait of truly enlightened buddhas, they are still highly revered and respected by the buddhist community. So don't kill them! Why would you? They're just minding their own business on top of a mountain somewhere.
5. Injuring a Buddha. Fully enlightened Buddhas can't easily be harmed; their incredible insight lets them see danger from miles away, and their all-encompassing compassion disarms most assailants anyway. For those who nevertheless succeed in harming a Buddha, the karmic consequences instantly condemn the assailant to Naraku, the Buddhist hell, in the next life. Devadatta, the Buddhist version of Judas, incredibly managed to knock out sins #3-#5, and his awful karma was so tainted that Hell opened up right at his feet, and he plunged into the horrible depths for the next 47 quintillion years. But what happens if you hurt an arhat, or a Boddhisatva, aka almost-buddhas? Is that just as bad as hurting a Buddha? Not quite, but the consequences are still severe. Just ask Emon Saburo.

The richest man in Shikoku, Emon Saburo was petty and cruel. One day he heard a traveling monk outside his door begging for alms. "Get lost," he shouted, and the monk went on his way. But the next day, the monk was there again. "What the heck did I tell you yesterday?" Emon screamed. "Earn your own damn money, like I did, you damn beggar!" The monk again departed. However, the monk kept returning every day for the rest of the week, and each time Emon shooed him away. On the eighth day, Emon had enough of the holy man. He smacked the monk's begging bowl out of his hand, and it shattered on the pavement. "Got the message now, baldy? Go back to your temple, freeloader!" The monk looked at the broken bowl without anger, and walked away into the night. "Finally, some peace and quiet," huffed Emon. He slammed the door and went back to his estate. Problem solved.

But the next day, horrifying news arrived. Emon's youngest son, the baby of his eight children, had died in the night of a mysterious illness. Emon was wracked with grief. But his agony had just begun. Over the next seven days, one by one, his other seven sons perished, each stricken with an unidentifiable sickness. Eight strong sons now occupied eight awful coffins.

"Oh my God." 

Emon finally put 4 and 4 together. There was word of a traveling monk who, after meditating in the wilderness, had attained enlightenment and was traveling from place to place, begging for alms and performing miracles for the faithful. But for those who shunned the monk, strange calamities befell them. What would happen if one shunned this man not once, but eight times? "That monk. . .I've gotta find him. Whatever it takes."

Emon Saburo set out on the Shikoku pilgrimage. He walked from town to town, as fast as he could, in desperate pursuit of the monk. Humbled by his suffering, Emon sought not revenge, but redemption. If he could apologize and attain the monk's forgiveness, maybe a holy man of such power could undo the loss of his sons. But everywhere he went, he seemed to be an hour, a day, a week too late. But he didn't give up. Over the course of a decade, he circled Shikoku dozens of times, but to no avail. The monk was always just out of sight. But Emon got an idea. "I got it! I'll go backwards! There's no way I'll miss him now!" But this too failed. Nevertheless, Emon refused to stop. While climbing the mountain trail to the twelfth temple, Shosanji, Emon collapsed in the snow, dying and frostbitten. But right as his life was about to end, the monk appeared. "Emon Saburo," said the monk. "You used your money only to enrich yourself, while beggars starved and holy men withered in the cold. If you had another chance, what would you do?" Between labored breaths, the shivering Emon said, "I would rebuild the city temple. Holy men could study and preach there, the poor could have a meal and seek respite from the cold. The cold. . . . .I never imagined it could be this cold." The monk nodded. "Emon Saburo, by your hand you harmed the Boddhisatva Kukai, who will one day be known as Kobo Daishi. This is a grave sin. However, your desire for repentance is real, and thus, your karma has been returned to equilibrium. You have earned a second chance. You will reincarnate not as a mindless animal or a vengeful ghost, but as a human once again. Pursue not wealth and earthly pleasures, but enlightenment for yourself and those around you. Be at peace, Emon Saburo." Tears frozen on his icy cheeks, Emon reached out for the monk to thank him, but his strength finally failed. Emon's hand fell and rested on a stone as he died peacefully in the snow.

Years later, in the prosperous house of Saburo, a baby was born with a small pebble in his hand. The pebble was inscribed a name: Emon Saburo. The boy grew up and used his family's wealth to restore the local temple, a temple which is today known as Ishiteji, or Temple of the Stone Hand. The temple remains one of the most popular in Shikoku, and the pebble is enshrined within the temple grounds.

So remember- if a monk shows up at your door begging for alms, please, for the love of God, don't hit the guy!!! Or else you'll have to walk around Shikoku the rest of your life. Could be worse, but once was enough for me.

Probably.

 

Next 3 Pilgrimages!

Kristine Sinajon's least favorite blog post of all time.

The Shikoku 88 Temple Pilgrimage is basically wrapped up, and I'm already compiling a wish list of future adventures that I can take to further my personal development (and to shed a couple more pounds). And worry not, Kristine! None of these even approach the insane 700 mile length of the Shikoku pilgrimage. I'll be home for dinner! In no particular order. . .

 1. The circular pilgrimage around Mt. Kailash in Tibet. Mt. Kailash is a holy mountain that is revered in Hinduism, Tibetan Buddhism, Jainism, and Bon, an ancient pre-Buddhist Tibetan faith. Each has their own myth about the mountain; Hindus see Kailash as the throne of the destroyer god Kali, Tibetan Buddhists believe it is the home of the Buddha Demchok, and Jainism and Bon view the mountain as a seat of spiritual power where enlightenment can be attained. I was a little obsessed with this mountain during my army days, and doing the Shikoku pilgrimage reminded me of this old goal of mine. It's only about 60 miles around the thing, so most people knock it out in about 3 days. Enough time to get back to town and eat some yak cheese.

2. The Sea of Galilee Pilgrimage! Located in Israel, this one is fairly simple. You just walk around the Sea of Galilee! My spiritual relationship with Kobo Daishi advanced to a fairly advanced level as a result of the Shikoku pilgrimage, and I'd like to see if I can replicate that process to get to know the good old Son of God himself. By walking around the Sea of Galilee, you'll get to see what Jesus saw, eat what he ate, avoid the donkey dung in the middle of the trail that he, too, skillfully dodged. This could be a great one to get closer with the in-laws. In fact, this could be an entire family affair! And on the subject of donkeys, if anyone of the traveling party can't quite knock out the daily kilometers, maybe we could hire a four legged mount for them to travel on! Sky's the limit. In fact, I'll even temporarily rescind my dietary restriction on fish in order to get the full Galilee culinary experience. Probably only a bite or two though. Hate those tiny little bones.

3. The Bay Area Pilgrimage. There's nowhere I love more than the Bay, and what better way to get to know it better than by walking around it? More on this later. . .

 

The 88 Temple Pilgrimage and the Army

It's Basic Training all over again.

How is the pilgrimage similar to the Army? Let me count the ways.

1. You're marching for kilometers upon kilometers all day. You actually cover more distance per day during the pilgrimage, while in the Army that distance is being constantly broken up with random activities like staring into the woods for no reason, trading food items for the ever valuable Chocolate Milkshake mix, and cracking wise while being yelled at and punished by Drill Sergeants.

2. You're wearing a weird uniform. In the Army the uniform helps to camouflage you and identify you as a combatant vis a vis the rules of war. The pilgrim uniform serves the exact opposite function! It makes you stand out so that people can spot you and help you out, and identifies you as a pilgrim on the path to peace and enlightenment. I think I'll take option two, Alex.

3. You're constantly using map reading skills. This was a huge weakness for me in the Army. I passed land navigation not by using a map, but by going to Every Single Possible Coordinate on the course and using process of elimination to find the correct one! This map reading deficiency followed me to Shikoku, where I was constantly going up dead end mountain trails and ending up, ironically, at Japanese Army bases instead of the temples I sought. The more things change. . .

4. Everyone is speaking a weird foreign language. In Japan that language is Japanese, albeit with some interesting Shikoku twists. You may think that the US Army speaks English, but get a gander of the next sentence: After formation, assemble the battalion to load the MRAPs with MREs and convene for bivouac at zero hundred hours. Army English is basically its own dialect.

5. Phone time is limited. In Basic we were limited to 5 minute calls on the pay phones during personal time, and even that privilege was under constant threat of being revoked. In Shikoku, only the first city of Tokushima had cell phone coverage, and the rest of the time I had to call my girl on the outside with an awkward combination of decaying public phones, land lines, and telekinesis. Frickin' Shikoku.

6. Bugs, injuries, and illness. In South Carolina I was under constant assault from colonies of fire ants, while in Shikoku, gnats, beetles and mosquitoes were a constant bane. I spent all of Basic with a sniffling cold that erupted into a 103 degree fever for a couple days, while on the pilgrimage I kept constant sickness at bay with a steady barrage of Advil. And in the Army you were always sore somewhere, while on the trail I was always nursing an ankle injury or foot problem. Tough stuff.

7. And finally, camaraderie. When you go through something this frickin' tough, you form great bonds with the people by your side. I still talk to my Army buddies, and visited one of them in Tokyo after the pilgrimage was complete. Similarly, my Australian pilgrim buddy Barnaby is officially invited to the wedding, if he can get his Aussie ass over to America somehow. We are the Henro Army.

 

Kagawa Prefecture Report

 

 A Recap of the final leg of the Journey.

Damn. Just damn. This was tougher than I could have imagined. Kagawa Prefecture is supposed to be the Dojo of Nirvana, where all the lessons come together and you blissfully march to the finish line in total triumph. Well, it didn't quite work out that way. This was the hardest leg of the entire pilgrimage. Long miles, brutal hills, relentless rain, Flesh-Eating Fungus, and even some total jerks transformed Kagawa prefecture from a cakewalk into a murderous final test. Without the help of my Aussie buddy Barnaby, I might have just given up and called a cab for the last couple temples. But I didn't, and the lessons I learned will serve me for the rest of my life. That is, if I don't have to amputate a couple of my toes. That won't serve me too well.

Sunday June 7- Departed from the town of Ikeda to the mountaintop temple #66, Unpenji. Seriously contemplated taking the cable car down the mountain, but came to my senses and did it on foot. Made it to #67 by the end of the day, and had a long talk one on one with an older Japanese dude at the guesthouse about just about everything. HIGHLIGHT- The statues of the 500 disciples of Buddha on the top of the mountain. A couple looked like they were drunk! Each one had a different personality.

Monday June 8th- Got started early and knocked out temples #68 through #70 with Mr. Hatano, a cool guy whose son is some kind of soba expert on TV. Rain started on the long road to #71, where I discovered a new companion that would stay with me for the rest of the journey: Flesh-Eating Toe Fungus! Athlete's Foot, to be more exact. I've never had this before and it freaked me out, but after I learned to control it I took pride that I was finally an athlete. Aren't you finally proud of me? Father? Met up with Barnaby and took care of temples #72 and #73 by the end of the day. HIGHLIGHT- The Japanese Army! There was a Japanese Army base near temple #73. I asked a Lieutenant Colonel for directions to the nearest hotel! All the soldiers ride bicycles to and from work. Maybe that's why I saw less fatasses than in the US Army. . .

Tuesday June 9th- Went to Temple #74 and #75 in the morning. Temple #75, Zentsuji, had a tunnel of darkness you had to feel your way through, and at the end there was a Buddha statue. Kinda fun, like a county fair attraction. Met up with Barnaby again at temple #76, and we knocked out temples #77 and #78 together. This time we actually made a solid plan to meet in front of the train station around 6:45 the next day. HIGHLIGHT- The bridge near my hotel had an awesome view of the mountains to the south, and the heavily industrialized coastline to the north. Two totally different pictures in one spot.

Wednesday June 10th- Met up with Barnaby in the morning after doing morning exercises with a bunch of senior citizens. Promptly got lost and asked for directions from like 3 people, and finally found temple #79 mid morning. We mixed it up a bit and went to Temple #81, then #82, and finally #80 to limit the amount of up and down mountain climbing we had to do. Barnaby set up shop in a random field next to the temple while I went off to find lodging of my own. HIGHLIGHT- Seeing old phone booths getting dismantled and shipped away! The age of the mobile phone is upon us.

Thursday June 11th- Another nasty day of rain. Went 9km to get to Temple #83, another 12km to get to Temple #84, and another 6-7km to get to Temple #85 at the end of the day. Nothing but rain and humidity. Don't really remember any of the temples. We both stayed at a place called the Takayanagi guest house, the owner of which would give us some major problems the next day. But that night, everything seemed to be fine. HIGHLIGHT- A dilapidated, abandoned hotel near Temple #84, and a gorgeous udon restaurant where I had Barnaby take some photos of me in Samurai pajamas.

Friday, June 12th- The day we made it to the final temple, #88 Okuboji, was the most difficult day of the entire journey, both emotionally and physically. We had to deal with pain, discrimination, and the biggest mountain of the entire pilgrimage. A full account is coming in the next blog entries entitled, The Final Days. Until then. . . 

Barnaby: The Thunder From Down Under

 

Yours truly meets a friend to the end.

I saw him coming down the trail as I was heading up to #60 Yokomineji, one of the highest of the many mountain temples of Shikoku. A tall white dude with dark hair and a massive backpack, he seemed to be an experienced trekker, and the fact that he was heading down the mountain as I was heading up means that he spent the night on the top of the mountain. Like many foreigners he greeted me with the customary Konnichiwa, but I surprised him by answering with a thoroughly American "Wassup!" That started a conversation that, after the normal getting to know you crap, eventually led to a discussion of how Thor serving breakfast to a bunch of normal human beings was a sign that he had learned the true meaning of being a king, and was now worthy to wield the mighty hammer Mjolnir. Clearly, we spoke the same language. However, as we were moving in opposite directions, I doubted that I would catch up to him, so we said our farewells and made a vague plan to meet up later.

That happened about an hour and a half later. I had left my backpack down at the inn and was moving up and down the trail with the dexterity and quickness of a billy goat, and I caught up to the guy about 2/3 of the way down the mountain. We continued our conversation, and over the course of the next 4 temples I explained the life story of Kobo Daishi, the quirks of Shingon Buddhism, and a crash course on Japanese history. I was a little surprised that someone with the commitment to walk 1200km in rural Japan didn't know some of this stuff; I mean, doesn't everyone know the 13 patron buddhas and boddhisatvas of some bizarre Buddhist splinter sect? In any case, Barnaby, as he called himself, was basically using me as a living Wikipedia, and I was happy to dump my stores of knowledge unto his waiting ears. Even I was surprised at how much I remembered. At the end of the day we parted ways again, again with a vague plan to meet up around temple #67 on Sunday evening.

It wouldn't be until temple #71 on the rainy afternoon of June 8th that we would meet for the third and final time. There wouldn't be another opportunity to split up, because at this point I made the informal decision to adopt the guy as my permanent travel partner. This isn't as significant as it sounds, because at this point I was only about 5 days away from being done with the pilgrimage, but it was still a big deal for me. For much of my life I have struggled with social anxiety and a phenomenon that I would like to scientifically dub "Deer in the Headlights Conversation Syndrome" where I have no idea what the hell to say to people. I made a conscious decision to let my guard down a bit, risk the awkwardness of not quite knowing what to say sometimes, and make Barnaby a huge part of the final leg of my pilgrimage story. It turned out to be the best decision of the trip.

But it didn't seem that way at first! I prefer to get moving before the sun rises, while Barnaby sleeps in past 7 most days. Most mornings I would do this passive aggressive thing of like marching around his tent shaking the jingle bell on my staff and making subtle hints to get moving. "Sun's gettin' higher! They said it would be hot today." Crap like that. He would eventually get the message and we would get moving. Eventually I turned the tables on him and started asking Him the tough questions. What is the rivalry like between Australia and New Zealand? What the hell is Vegemite? When are you guys gonna make that one Men At Work song the national anthem? He took my weird questions in stride, and I learned some funny stuff. They call a pharmacist a chemist! Rugby is popular in Northern Australia but not the South! They call cigarettes a word that is now totally unacceptable in the Bay Area! It was all quite illuminating.

But far from just being an amusing travel partner, Barnaby egged me on and helped me out on some of the most difficult days of the entire pilgrimage. Whether it was a strained ligament or a heavy heart, he was there with encouraging words or some weird Australian muscle cream that made the burden a little lighter. But it wouldn't be until the final day of the pilgrimage, the day we made it to temple #88, that Barnaby became not a reason, but THE reason that I was able to finish the quest standing strong, despite enduring both emotional and physical wounds that threatened my ability not only to complete the pilgrimage, but to believe in it as a source of healing and peace.

That story will begin soon in a series of articles called. . .The Final Days.

 

Osettai- Shikoku`s beautiful culture of giving

Helping out a henro.

There are a multitude of legends surrounding the pilgrimage of people who either gave to Kobo Daishi, or refused to assist the Buddhist saint. For those who withheld assistance out of greed or pettiness, the consequences could be severe. A man who refused to give a pear to the Daishi turned around and watched his pears turn to stone. One man, who smacked Kobo Daishi's begging bowl onto the ground, watched in agony as one by one, his eight sons succumbed to mysterious illnesses and perished. As penance for his sin, he did the pilgrimage TWENTY TIMES, and was finally forgiven. In each of these cases, it is not the vengefulness of Kobo Daishi that caused calamity, but the inflexible rules of Karma that prescribe terrible consequences for hurting an enlightened being. On the other hand, for those who gave generously, the rewards were legendary. Near Kirihataji, aka Temple #10, Kobo Daishi asked for some cloth from a local woman. Instead of a random dishrag, she gave him her brand new kimono, and said that one day she too would like to become a saint and help the people find enlightenment. A short time later, the woman realized her true identity: she was a reincarnation of the Boddhisatva Guanyin, and she took her rightful place in the Buddhist pantheon as a symbol of hope and compassion. That tradition of giving continues to this day in Shikoku.

The giving of gifts or assistance is known as osettai. This can happen anytime, anywhere. In fact, me and my Aussie buddy Barnaby were just walking down the street, and some people in a house randomly got our attention. We walked over, always expecting as foreigners to be corrected on some breach of Japanese ettiquette, but it turns out they wanted to give us some tiny clay Buddha statues, with a paper charm inside for good luck! A pilgrim could get used to this. However, the majority of the time, osettai are given out at various designated buildings along the trail where generous locals gather to hand out drinks and snacks. All they ask in return are some stories, a signature in their guestbook, and a thank you note in the form of an ofuda, the paper charms that you write your personal info and wishes on. You place these ofuda in a box at each shrine you visit, and you also give them to those who assist you on your journey.

So where are these osettai locations? Some are on the grounds of the temple, some are on the path leading up to the temple, and other times they operate out of the local city hall, or just somebody's house. In fact, one osettai hut, right near the Okuda-ya guesthouse, looks more like a jumbo tent that someone set up! So they come in all shapes and sizes. Now, the cynical part of me knows this is just good business. If you make it more pleasant by giving out gifts, the pilgrims stay happy and tell all their friends how great the island is, and more people come to visit Shikoku. But cold assessment of osettai culture doesn't factor in the generosity, spontaneity, and multitude of gifts that are given. Some random guy gave me a bunch of tatami coasters to take home! Some other dude on a moped gave me some of his beloved rocks! (It's the thought that counts.) There's no way you can factor that kind of rampant humanity into an excel spreadsheet. And here's the kicker. I started out the journey with 200 ofuda in my Buddhist manpurse. You use 2 at every temple, so at the end of the pilgrimage you should have 24 left. But when I got to the last temple, I had given out every last ofuda.
I think there's some reincarnated Buddhas lurking around the island, and they themselves might not even realize it yet.

Naturalism in Shikoku

The shocking breakdown of gender segregation.

As I've said before, things are a little more relaxed, a little more laid back in Shikoku. People just leave their doors unlocked out here! I was looking for a barbershop, and saw a sign in front of a building. Alright, I`ll just open the door and walk in. But it was just some random house!!! I quickly exited and saw that the barbershop was at the back of a dirt parking lot, next to the house with the sign next to it! How often does that happen in hermetically sealed Tokyo? But the relaxed attitudes don't end at the door. They extend all the way. . .To The Bathhouse.

Which isn't nearly as sexy as you might be thinking. First, let me tell you about some of the bathrooms out in the countryside. Especially out in the boonies, at a lot of places they didn't have the money for a separate men's and women's restrooms, so there's just one bathroom, with the urinals lined up on one side of the wall, and the sit-down/squat down toilets in booths on the other wall. Obviously it can get a little awkward when you're doing your business and some random old lady walks out of the stall behind you, but I can deal with that. So San Francisco, if you thought you were at the vanguard of progressiveness with your gender neutral restrooms, I've got bad news: Shikoku beat you to the punch. But this was just the beginning.

Not just in the countryside, but all over Shikoku, THE CLEANING LADIES JUST WALK AROUND THE PUBLIC BATHS DOING RANDOM CHORES AROUND A BUNCH OF BUCK NAKED DUDES. Yep, there they are. Replacing towels, making sure the water cooler is filled up, whatever, all in the presence of a bunch of bathing dudes with Everything on Display. Mind you, the cleaning staff are clothed in like a janitorial uniform, and most of them are on the older side, so the thought of some wild bathhouse hijinx never crosses your mind. At first I was shocked, but you see it everywhere, so you get used to it. And I thought I understood the rules of which women were allowed to perform this duty. By and large, the bathhouse cleaning ladies are in the grandma age range, so there isn't much chance of flirtation in this institution of public nudity. But then I even began to see exceptions to that supposed rule.

The first time was in Kochi. There was some kind of an emergency, and the reception desk clerk rushed into the men's bath to check on a customer for some reason. She was in her 40s, definitely within the age range of conventional attractiveness, and her urgency seemed to suggest both the gravity of the situation, and her knowledge that she was breaking the unspoken rule that only older women should be allowed in the male bathing area.

But then in Matsuyama, another reception desk girl, this one in her 20s or 30s, was walking around the men`s bath area like it was nothing, and informing customers that their dinner reservations were ready or something! She wasn't a cover model or anything, but she was by all accounts a healthy, normal young woman, clothed mind you, in a room full of buck naked dudes!!! What the hell? So there are no frickin rules for which women can walk into the men's bath!!! As long as they wear clothes, I assume. Can clothed cleaning dudes just walk into the women's bath with impunity? Can I apply for that job? Is there a waiting list, and how many decades long is it?

On second thought, just get me back to fricking Tokyo where things make sense.

PS- In Shikoku, and in all of Japan, it is normal for very young children, like from toddler to kindergarden age, to accompany their parents into the public baths no matter their gender, much as it is ok for youngsters to be with their parents in public restrooms in America. Obviously, once certain physical changes start occuring at a certain age, it is then time for the youngsters in question to go to their respective gender`s section of the public bath. Except in the bizarre cases outlined above. Confusion. . .

 

What is Shikoku, Part 3: The Kochi Conundrum

Crazy ideas for Shikoku`s most remote prefecture.

I've done an assload of hiking the last month and a half, and can accurately report that the pilgrimage experience can be summed up in the following percentages:
20% of the trail goes through small/medium size towns that are just kind of getting by. Convenience stores, random mom and pop restaurants, a cultural attraction or two to get tourists to show up, etc.
20% of the trail is mountain paths featuring the most spectacular scenery of the pilgrimage. You have to work hard both up and downhill to earn those views, but the fresh air and cool temperatures up there make it worth it.
20% goes through straight up rural farmland. We're talking rice fields, greenhouses, and rows of random crops like green onions and taro plants. Beautiful in its own way, if not terribly exciting.
20% is hiking along the shoulder of some county or state road. While the scenery tends to be nice, you have cars and trucks whizzing by at 80km per hour 10 feet away from your face every minute or so. Not great for inner peace and reflection.
10% is through busting big towns like Matsuyama and Tokushima. Lots of restaurants, cafes, and all the comforts of civilization.
And finally, 10% goes through dying small towns full of empty elementary schools, shuttered businesses, abandoned homes, and empty temples whose primary occupants are vines and weeds.
This is the breakdown for the trail for Tokushima, Ehime, and Kagawa prefectures. However, for Kochi prefecture, go ahead and increase the dying small town proportion to like 40%, and reduce everything else proportionally. Its a pretty depressing place.

To be honest, my several day break in Kyushu was necessary not just to take care of my physical wounds, but my mental anguish at having to experience town after town experiencing the worst consequences of Japan's mass migration to the major cities. The other three prefectures benefit from either train or road connections to the Japanese mainland. Kochi prefecture, if you look at a map, is both landlocked and sealocked (is that a thing?) out of these lifelines to the mainland, and like a tumor cut off from a blood supply, it is withering away. There aren't jobs or opportunities in these towns, which makes people move away, which makes these towns depressing, which makes no one want to visit or live there. Its a brutal cycle. So me and my Australian travel buddy Barnaby brainstormed some random, totally unresearched solutions!

1. Bring the Shinkansen to Kochi city. The Shinkansen, or bullet train, is the aorta of the Japanese rail system, and cities connected to it get a predictable boost in tourism and prestige. Not just Kochi, but the whole of Shikoku is bypassed by the Shinkansen, making it sort of analogous to the "flyover states" phenomenon in the USA. (For the record I Love the South, and am planning to visit my buddies over there this summer.) Bringing the Shinkansen to Shikoku is the rare solution that everyone can agree on; people want it to boost their towns, and politicians want it so they can be the guy that saved the town. The only problem is money. Building new Shinkansen tracks is expensive, like Hundreds of Billions of Dollars expensive. No one has any clue how to scare up this amount of money in working class Shikoku. The bullet train will probably eventually come to the island eventually for a variety of political and economic reasons, but not anytime soon.

2. Put a US Military Base there! This one was my idea. The vast majority of US troops in Japan are stationed on the tiny islands of Okinawa, and for decades the Okinawan people have begged, screamed, and protested to get some of their land back from the bases. While the Japanese government likes to play lip service to moving the troops, in reality they love having them in Okinawa: they get to have the security of US bases protecting Japan, but on an island far away from the mainland where they don't have to worry about off duty soldiers causing trouble and fighter jets waking people up. However, this arrangement has always been, and continues to be monumentally unfair for the people of Okinawa, whose culture continues to be warped by a massive US military presence. So put a bunch of them in Kochi prefecture! You still have troops in Japan to protect against North Korean and Chinese aggression, and they're in a prefecture that's empty anyway, so there's no one to bother! It would bring money and jobs to a place that's starving for both.

3. Let Nature come back. They already did this at the Shimanto river, which is the last undammed river in Japan. Tourists and fishermen flock there to experience the novelty of a river that waxes and wanes with the rains and tides, and to taste delicious fish unfettered by random roadblocks. So let nature come back on a much more massive scale. Harvest all the government managed cedar forests in Kochi, and let native plants return. Demolish more dams and free up more rivers to their natural state. And small towns that have been dead for a decade or more? BURN THEM DOWN. Ok maybe not that extreme, but in these towns with 8 people left, just wait for them to leave or pass away, and then BURN THEM DOWN, and let nature take over. Shikoku, besides being the site of the 88 Temple Pilgrimage, kind of lacks an identity. Honshu is the main island that has Everything, Hokkaido is the Japanese final frontier, Kyushu is Euro/Asia/Mixed up Japan, and Okinawa is Da Islands, man. Shikoku should have the identity of The Old Japan, or Natural Japan. Unfortunately, Tokushima, Ehime, and Kagawa prefectures are too full of people to attempt some massive rebranding project. However, Kochi presents enough of a blank canvas that a huge change could be possible. Even most Japanese people can't imagine what the Old Japan was like, but if Kochi can claim that identity, it has a chance at survival. Or they can keep pushing their weird tourism campaign that turns assassinated 18th century politicians into cute yet gruesome cartoon mascots. Which isn't a bad idea per se, but it doesn't seem to be working too well.

 

Wildlife of Shikoku

Going Steve Irwin on Japan's pilgrimage island.

As you would expect, there's all sorts of creepy crawly critters that you encounter when you spend 8 hours a day hiking around the mountains, fields, and trails of Shikoku. Every day you see creatures crawling, scurrying, dying, getting eaten, and being replaced by the next batch of critters. Life and death are on constant display, and it really drives home the Buddhist themes of suffering and rebirth. Also, don't get bit because my cell phone doesn't work.

Giant Pathetic Earthworms- You see these dumb worms everywhere after every rain storm. They're bluish black, and they grow to up to a foot long! They also have no idea how to survive on the road. They end up on the street, where they either get run over by cars, get baked alive by the sun, or devoured by an entire colony of ants, the post concert cleanup crew of nature. At first I felt bad for them and tried to shove them with the stick to the side of the road, but eventually I gave up on the idea. Besides, that's gonna be an entire ant colony's dinner tonight! Don`t wanna leave them hungry.

Crabs- Japanese crabs are hardcore. They are the adventurers of the aquatic world over here. You'll be hiking on a mountain trail that's several thousand feet in elevation, and what do you see blocking the trail? A fricking crab. They're like the Sir Edmund Hilary of nature. Why did the crab climb the mountain? Because it was there. I wonder who the crab's Sherpa was? I mean, SHRIMPA!!! (Bad-dum crash.) I've even seen these crabs climb TREES. That would be an unpleasant surprise for some UC Santa Cruz tree climbing hippy student. Or maybe a welcome snack. One or the other. So don't mess with Japanese crabs, because they'll follow you home, climb up your window, and do their menacing "both claws in the air like they just don't care" pose that's actually kind of adorable. Watch yourself now.

Fune mushi- This translates to Boat Bug, and they're basically silverfish, but twice or three times as big. They give me the shivers, man. I guess they're the cockroaches of the maritime world. Besides the actual cockroaches, obviously. Yet another reason why I'm glad I went Army instead of Navy. (Navy band always seemed to kick our ass though, unfortunately.)

Frogs and Toads- I've seen and heard frogs and toads ever since the pilgrimage began. Not much to report about frogs, they're frogs, nothing new. However, here in Kagawa prefecture, they have something a little different: TOADS. These guys are huge, like the size of a Fuddruckers hamburger. Even more ridiculous is the sound they make. The first time I heard it, I thought it was a cow mooing, but with laryngitis or something. Nope, it was a bunch of mega toads in a pond. You see and hear something new everyday out here.

SNAKES- I AM TIRED OF THESE MOTHERF***ING SNAKES IN MY MOTHERF***ING SHIKOKU!!! Yes, there are snakes here. Most are tiny little gopher snakes that ain't nothing to worry about. However, just like the toads, in Kagawa prefecture they've gotten a little bigger. I saw a snake chilling on the road that was at least 3 or 4 feet long. Don`t mess with that. Fortunately, they seem to be scared off by the sound and vibration that the Kobo Daishi staff makes. Which is a good thing. Snakes and humans have nothing to gain from each other. They can't eat us, and we can't eat them. Unless you're a hillbilly or some crazy Special Forces commando. Of which I am neither.

 Haven't seen any megafauna, but this pilgrimage ain't done yet! Definitely want to see a boar or something, since that's my spirit animal and all. Fingers crossed!

 

Pilgrimage People Part 4

More interesting folks in and around the island.

Shikoku Laverne and Shirley- I was heading to temple 42, but I wasn't going to make it in time. If I turned back, I would have to redo like 10km the next day. So I asked for a ride from these random ladies. It could have been my final mistake. The driver, let's call her Laverne, drove her little Japanese car like she had a death wish. This didn't seem to bother Shirley, who I believe was her mother. She was going like 50km an hour along one lane dirt roads next to the rice fields that are only meant for hikers and miniature rice tractors. We missed multiple signs, nearly backed into a ditch, and only made it to temple 42 by the grace of Buddha. I thanked them for their kindly assistance, and I have not attempted hitchhiking since. I'm too enlightened to die!!!

Half-Korean anime bro- When I was wandering around Kokura in Kyushu looking for my cousin's fortune telling cafe, this random dude came straight up to me and asked me what I was looking for. I was immediately suspicious. This is not how Japanese people typically act, and I feared that he was some weird talent scout or other swindler. But no, it turns out he was just a friendly dude! I let him hold my Kobo Daishi staff as we went here and there in downtown Kokura. He even showed me around the Kokura Anime and Manga Building, which is 5 glorious floors of cartoons, video games, comic books, and paraphanelia! It turns out the guy was half-Korean, which may partially explain why he was super outgoing; most Koreans I've met and observed are more expressive and up front than the typical Japanese person. But he may have also just been an awesome dude. Either explanation works for me.

Kumiko- I was resting at a bus stop when this lady hit me up. Her English was pretty good, and that's because she lived in Philadelphia like 20 years ago! I asked her if she ever saw some of The Roots original acoustic street performances. As you might expect she had no idea what I was talking about. She was in the area to visit her relatives, and she proceeded to unload all of her elderly auntie presents on me, such as some homemade tea and bread and fruits from their garden. Usually I would refuse all this random stuff, but I was hungry as hell and gladly devoured everything she put in front of my face. I gave her the customary Thank You ofuda, but she didn't know what the deal was with that either. Turns out she lives in Tokyo and works at a hospital out there. Even non-Shikoku people are hooking me up with random gifts! Good stuff.

Japanese Holy Diver- Now this was a cool dude. I was in the town of Kubokawa back in Kochi. Most towns in Kochi prefecture are depressing shells of their former selves, but Kubokawa had a little more spark and personality than most. A big reason for that is Japanese Holy Diver. He runs a restaurant called Asiana Cafe, and they served the best Katsu Curry I have had yet on this trip. And the guy isn't even originally a chef; he was a scuba diving instructor for like 20 years all over the world, from Hawaii to Thailand! He was totally fluent in English, and even helped me to find a place to stay that night, which turned out to be a random room in an unmarked house run by some 90 year old lady! Never would have found that one. I went back to the restaurant no less than 2 times that night to try their selection of world beers from India and Thailand and chop it up a bit more in good old English. Just like the two Japanese dudes who studied at University of Alabama, Shikoku needs about 10,000 more people like Holy Diver to shake up the status quo and bring new life to the island. With their energy and dedication, I believe they can do it.

 

Lessons at 75%

Random lessons from a month of wandering around rural Japan.

It's been a rough month, the most demanding physical and mental challenge I've faced since the Army. Nevertheless, I feel I've already learned more in 1 month of trekking in Japan than 5 years in the military. This is stuff that applies to surviving the trail, but I'm gonna try to adapt it to everything I do.

1. For every ailment, a cure. Blisters? Dr. Scholls Blister Treatment! Ankle ligament pain? Pain relief pads! Feel a cold or fever just waiting to come on? ADVIL!!! Feeling homesick and wanna get the damn thing over with? Walk faster! Every injury or ailment on the trail, I've found a solution, a salve, or just used plain old rest (or a dip in the onsen) and things just seemed to sort themselves out. This gives me confidence that my tendinitis is not a death sentence, but a temporary setback. . .maybe even an opportunity.

2. If you take care of your blisters, they become crazy hardcore skin armor. My feet are like a collection of burls now. No, not legendary singer/songwriter Burl Ives, but those weird knots you see in redwood trees. They're hard as hell; normal wood has a little bit of give when you hit it, but if you punch a burl, you're gonna break your hand. That's my feet, and that's because I treated the blisters. So if you take care of your wounds early and don't let them fester, they'll become another level of strength, not a nagging weakness.

3. Need help? Ask for it! This has been a tough one to learn, but being lost in a foreign country leaves you with little option but to leave shyness to the wind. I've flagged down folks on motorcycles, knocked on random doors, and asked everyone from old grandmas to Japanese soldiers for directions and guidance. I've always tried to take care of problems by myself and left asking for help as the last possible resort. Maybe its time to reverse that policy.

4. Exhausted and in agony? Take a goddamn break! This was another lesson that I learned the hard way. In the Army, they taught us to man up, push through the pain, and complete the mission no matter what. I took this philosophy into my post army life without any major problems. . .until I started to try to play piano with increasing amounts of pain. Lot of good that did. And once again, in Shikoku, I often tried to walk too many kilometers, too late in the day, and ended up hurting myself. After the third time I think I finally learned this one. Take a break, dummy! Shikoku ain't going anywhere, and you wont be either, if you don't give your body time to recover and heal.

5. Practice gratefulness. This is one you learn real fast on the island. Its raining? At least its cool. Hungry and tired? At least I`m losing weight before the wedding! Got a new blister forming? Awesome, that'll distract you from the pain in your ankle! I am not joking about that last one, I literally allowed some new blisters to form to take my attention from other nagging injuries. Be grateful for pain! Its a signal you're alive. I just got a weird blister between my toes that popped and festered for an entire day. I couldn't even feel it, and I got super worried that I would have to amputate it or something. But I treated it with neosporin and a blister patch, and the next day it stung! I could feel pain from my toe! I was so relieved. So yeah, be grateful, for everything, even pain.

6. Trust your instincts. There's been times when I knew where to go, or when the ferry back to Shikoku was gonna leave, or some stupid thing, but I still asked someone just for a second opinion. They told me something else, and I went with it because hey, they live here and I don't. Turns out I was right. Might as well have just gone with my gut; if I was wrong, then at least it was my mistake, and not the advice of someone that turns out didn't know shit.

On that note, despite all the love in Shikoku, not everyone has been helpful. Shop ladies have told me to leave the store when I was soaking wet with rain. Train station employees have brushed me off or endlessly passed me off when I asked for directions. My buddy from Australia wanted to stay at a temple, and the security system activated and told him to get the fuck off the temple grounds!!! Jesus! Even a pilgrim in Shikoku isn't gonna get the benefit of the doubt all the time, it turns out. Even in Japan, there are Haters. They`re not bad people, or evil, they`re just hatin' on a pilgrim. I'm sure they have their reasons. Which brings me to my final lesson. . .

7. You know why they hate us? Because they ain't us.

I think that about sums it up.

 

Ehime Prefecture Report

 

The industrial center of Shikoku

I just walked nearly 70 km in two days!

And boy, are my organs tired!

I`m finally getting the hang of this routine. Which is funny, because this thing is almost done now. Too little too late. Wait wrong saying. . .Better late then never. This is how things went down in Ehime, I think.

May 27- Returned from visiting Auntie Emiko in Kyushu. Got back on Shikoku Island at 7 in the morning, bright and early and ready to get back on the hobby horse. Knocked out #39 in the morning, trekked all day, and made it to #40 in the afternoon. Stayed in Ainan town.

May 28- Got to Uwajima, which has a castle I didnt go to. Went to temple 41, and almost ran out of time before 42 closed, so I managed to hitchhike with some other pilgrims! Fun times. Stayed at ryokan near #42.

May 29- Checked out #43 in the morning, which was lovely. Then started the long trek to temple 44 which was way out in the woods.

May 30- Made it to Ozu, which is the town that refused to house Kobo Daishi, so he had to sleep under a bridge! These guys are the reason why you're not allowed to tap your staff when crossing a bridge, don't wanna wake up old Kobo Daishi. Thanks a lot Ozu. Stayed at some random business hotel.

May 31- Walked along a bunch of Japanese state routes and made it to temple 44 in the afternoon. Stayed at funny little guesthouse that apparently was featured on TV at some point.

June 1- Left bags at guesthouse and made way to temple 45. This was a highlight temple. It was nestled into the cracks in this gigantic cliff, and in back of the temple was a forest filled with statues of Fudo Myoo, the righteous and furious Buddhist spirit who scares away evil with his wrathful gaze and sharp sword. Mountain trail to 45 was one of the highlights of the entire pilgrimage. And my iphone conveniently started to bug out! So use your imagination. Also got a head start on the Matsuyama temples, namely 46, 47, and 48.

June 2- Did some more work in Matsuyama. Started day with 49 and 50, then went to temple 51, Ishiteji temple. This is a popular one with a traditional shopping arcade before the temple. Also saw Dogo Onsen, Japans oldest hot spring, and the old school mini locomotive they use to ferry around tourists. Went to 52 and 53 that afternoon.

June 3- Made way around the Matsuyama coast. Beautiful little islands as far as you could see. Made it to next town with next batch of temples by nightfall.

June 4- Knocked out 54 through 59! Was on a roll that day. Made my way further south to the next couple, and stayed at Komatsu ryokan that night.

June 5- Took care of Temple 60, a mountain temple, by waking up at 4 in the morning. Doubled back and eliminated 61 through 64, then made way along the coast. Lots of factories, ports, and industrial activity.

June 6- Made it to Iyo Mishima town after walking all day. Next two were mountain temples, AGAIN, so posted up in town and decided to lick my wounds and get ready for next challenges.

June 7- Knocked out 65 in the morning, then went hard and got to 66, Unpenji around early afternoon. There were 500 statues of the Buddhas disciples, each one was different. A couple were drunk I think! Made way down the mountain and stayed at Aozora guest house.

I think that's it. Sorry for not having more highlights, but unless a temple is really different or spectacular they all tend to look the same. More stuff coming up!