I vaguely remembered reading about Kumano Kodo in a guidebook that was on Juan Antonio (Gabriel’s brother) and Natanya’s coffee table in Los Alamos. I didn’t know where in Japan it was except that it’s a network of routes that connects different temples. I didn’t think much about it because, at that time, we didn’t even know if Japan was going to be on the itinerary.
One serendipitous decision led to another, and we ended up in Tokyo to meet Gabriel’s aunt and uncle and cousins. Over a delicious home-cooked dinner, Chema and Maria (Gabriel’s cousins who live in Tokyo) mentioned a hike near Osaka – an ancient pilgrimage walk. “The companion walk to Camino de Santiago,” I remembered Chema saying.
That’s the pilgrimage walk in Spain we are planning to do with Gabriel’s mom in September!
And we are going to be in Osaka after Tokyo!
We should do it!
In a few days we figured out how to get there, notified our hostel to switch dates, and we were on the train heading south to Kii-Tanabe. The helpful lady at the tourist information center in Tanabe gave us a walking map that detailed the route and a few other maps that showed where the campgrounds are. But there aren’t that many campgrounds – one at KM13 and a few others at the end of the 38km route. They weren’t cheap either. The one in Chikatsuyu at KM13 was 4600 yen per night. It seemed that they wanted to encourage most pilgrims to stay in ryokans and minshukus (guesthouses) along the way. But given that it’s Golden Week (a cluster of national holidays that become a 10-day holiday, i.e. time for everyone to go on vacation), all the guesthouses were either booked or really expensive.
We asked if there were unofficial campgrounds along the way. The lady sheepishly tittered and told us that camping are technically not allowed on the Kumano trail. She stressed the word technically. “And please, no camping on the actual trail,” she said. “That’s not allowed.” Whether she meant it or not, we interpreted what she said as “Technically you aren’t supposed to. But if you still decide to do it, just be smart about it.” At least that’s what we thought she implied. We thanked her, grabbed two trail passports (there are stamps that you get to collect along the hike) and off we went to the trailhead.
The route we picked (Nakahechi) starts in Takijiri-oji, which means the oji (shrine) at the base of the waterfall. According to our guidebook, this is the start of the passage into the sacred mountains – the entrance to the abode of the gods and the Buddhist paradise of rebirth. We were admiring the area, the wide river banks, and scoping for place where we can set up camp when a lady approached us and asked where we’re staying for the night.
As soon as we admitted that we didn’t know, she saw an opportunity to guilt us into staying at her minshuku that was a few steps away from the trailhead. For 5000 yen per person per night (that’s roughly US$50 per person), we get a spot on the tatami floor. For 8000 yen per person per night, we also get breakfast. And for 9000 something yen, she’d pack lunchbox for us. Gabriel and I looked at each other knowingly. No way we’re paying that much money when we have our tent with us!
We told her we would think about it but she persisted. “No camping on trail,” she said, forming an X sign with her arms – the Japanese gesture for big no-no.
“We’ll walk to Chikatsuyu campground tonight,” hoping she would somehow believe we would walk the 13 kilometers to the campsite.
“It’s already 5. No walking on trail after 6,” she retorted. Clearly she had heard this bullshit from some cheapo backpackers before.
She continued pestering us with her sales pitch, which was turning into a scare tactic at this point. “Soon very dark. Very dangerous to walk,” she warned us.
This is one of those moments when I wondered if we are being bad tourists – breaking the rules of the road and withholding money from the locals who need the income for the sake of saving a few bucks. I understood her motivation perfectly. This was the peak of the holiday season and she still had capacity in her guesthouse. No wonder she’s getting desperate.
Before I was able to resolve my moral conflict, another hiker came by and she turned her attention to him. So we quickly walked towards the trail to escape her sight, and found a path down to the river banks where there was a reasonably flat spot at the edge of the bank, somewhat out of sight. “I suppose we could camp here for the night.”
We took our time filtering the river water and cooking our pasta dinner. It’s the first time we’re cooking since we were in Los Alamos, since we left the States. It’s drizzling at this point and it didn’t look like it would stop anytime soon. I remembered seeing the weather forecast at the tourist information center. A picture of a rain cloud today and tomorrow, clouds with a happy-looking sun the day after tomorrow.
“Well, what better way to test the waterproof-ness of our new lightweight tent,” I thought. And the sign by the shrine mentioned how the pilgrims in the olden days would perform cold water ablutions at this spot before starting the pilgrimage. What we were doing is less severe than jumping into the cold river, but maybe sleeping in the tent in this rain could somehow count as an ablution.
I awoke a few times during the night, listening to the roar of the river and the drips of the rain falling on the tent’s flysheet.
“I hope there won’t be any flash floods coming our way,” I thought to myself.
“I hope no one from the road sees us.”
“I hope the cops aren’t coming to force us to move in the middle of the night.”
“I hope the venomous snakes they mentioned in the guide book don’t go near the river banks.”
“I hope the shrieking sound I heard from the forest above was not any large hungry mammals.”
Is this why people pay $100 a night for a roof over their head and four walls around them? To get a break from their hyper-active neuroses?
Luckily 5 am came pretty quickly. Time for us to hurry up and pack our tent before anyone saw us. It’s still drizzling outside, though thankfully not cold.
We started walking around 6am. I had expected throngs of hikers on the trail but it seemed that the wet weather had kept most people away. The trail started off really steep. We scrambled up over large boulders and roots of the deciduous forest, through the thick mist that hung in the air. The forest reminded me of the trail in Bear Mountain, Upstate NY where I used to do my trail runs. The route then took us into a mix of bamboo and pine forest. The cool humid weather and the squishy fallen pine needles underfoot, and the fresh smell of pines transported me back to my very first hike near Bandung, where I grew up, and probably the reason I enjoy hiking so much.
We heard footsteps quickly coming from behind us. Before we could see who or what it was, a guy in his running gear sped by. “Buon Camino!” he said as he ran past us.
Buon Camino. Have a good walk. That’s how people greet each other traditionally on the Camino de Santiago. Not a general “hello” or “good morning” or “good day”, but a more specific greeting: Have a good walk. May your walk be a good one.
We passed by a dozen or so shrines along the way – with a sign next to them detailing the history of the shrine. They each had a unique stamp, often with a drawing of the shrine or the legend / story behind the shrine, for your trail passport. I felt a little bit like a character in a video game adventure collecting tokens for my ultimate grand prize.
Some of these shrines have been there since 8th-9th AD. Unbelievable! They weren’t lying when they said that this was an ancient pilgrimage trail. We also saw ruins of old teahouses (places for pilgrims to rest and refuel), abandoned houses and old settlements. One of the signs said that pilgrims used to rest and stay by the shrine during their walk. I no longer felt bad about camping on the trail. Aren’t we essentially just doing what the pilgrims used to do?
Around 2:30 in the afternoon we made it to Chikatsuyu-oji, a small town with a few tiny cafes and restaurants and a supply shop. The lady at the cafe apologized for not having any more lunch left, but she still showed us the menu. “What about onigiri,” I asked. We’ve been having these triangle-shaped rice balls for lunch a lot since we got to Japan. Two of these puppies make for a quick cheap healthy meal when we’re on the go. She looked in her refrigerator, thought for a moment and agreed to make us two onigiri set meals.
The onigiri set she brought us was better than anything we could have expected. A hot vegetable soup, shredded carrots salad with citrus sesame ginger dressing, cucumber with seaweed pickles, cooked bamboo shoots, whole portobello mushroom with onion ginger soy sauce, radish salad, one onigiri with butter and mushroom, and two more with caramelized onion. And a chiffon cake for dessert! We didn’t miss out on lunch after all. This was the best lunch one could ask for!
We stayed for half an hour or so after lunch, seeing if the rain would finally stop. Across the cafe there was a small supply shop ran by an elderly couple. There wasn’t much in the store, but we managed to find two cans of tuna, a packet of pasta sauce and eggs for dinner.
After our grocery run, we thought we should just start walking to find a spot to camp. The rain had not stopped. Whereas before we were spared from the downpour by the tree canopy, the trail from Chikatsuyu was mostly on small paved roads winding uphill through small villages with guesthouses. We better walk fast then!
An old lady on the way asked us where we’re going. Learning from our experience, we had prepared and memorized the name of the guesthouse near where we thought we could camp. But before we could answer, she answered for us. “Mu-i?” she asked. That’s the name of the guesthouse we had in mind. “Hai! Yes!” we said. And with that she waved us goodbye and pointed to the road ahead. “Arigato,” we waved back. Confrontation avoided!
We spotted a covered shelter around marker 37. It’s located right off the intersection between the road we were on and a turn-off for a 1km-long tunnel that led to the other side of the mountain. It was more exposed than we had expected but we didn’t want to walk further in the rain. So we took cover under the shelter, hung our wet gears and reviewed our options while cooking dinner. There were less and less cars passing by, especially after the 6pm chime (they broadcast a short melodious tune every day at 6pm as a sign for everyone to get off the trail). But it’s not dark yet and we thought it was prudent to wait until it’s completely dark before pitching our tent.
As soon as the clock turned 7, we unrolled the tent and connected the poles. But there were suddenly voices running towards us. Four hikers – clearly lost and tired – appeared from the road below. They seemed somewhat distraught and looked like they were disagreeing with each other about direction. One of them was mindlessly half-running, half-walking towards the tunnel. We pointed towards the village and they nodded. Pretty sure they knew what we were doing. Just as we were about ready to resume our covert tent-pitching operation, another car passed by. So we waited a few more minutes even though we were freezing cold and all I wanted was to crawl inside the warm sleeping bags.
We finally set up our tent on the outer edge of the shelter around 8pm, the roof of the shelter barely covering the tent. A few times during the night I heard car coming towards us from inside the tunnel, but the headlights didn’t shine through the tent. Hopefully that meant nobody saw us.
The alarm went off at 5am. Time to get up and pack the tent pronto, before anyone saw us.
After a quick breakfast, we put on our wet clothes from the day before and continued our hike. Good thing that it finally had stopped raining like the forecast had predicted. We walked on the road for a few kilometers before the trail led us down into the pine forests. There were a lot more hikers – day hikers judging from their small backpacks – on the trail today. Perhaps now that the weather cleared up, everyone finally wanted to be outside.
With the sun out, the forest looked even more ethereal. We would stop every once in a while to admire the soft light of the morning sun streaming between the tree trunks and the leaves. I counted eleven different shades of green on the trail. The deep green of the tree canopies in faraway hills. The vibrant light green of the ferns. The darker green of the moss. The yellowish green color of the shoots on a tree. I wish I had wider vocabulary to describe the different shades of green.
It struck me that I had really been enjoying every minute and every step of this walk. It was probably the first time I didn’t feel like I was rushing. It seemed that in the past I was either rushing to get to the peak, or during descent, rushing to the bottom. This time I was savoring each step, even when we had been climbing uphill for the last few kilometers and I was gasping for air. I was being deliberate about where I placed my feet, feeling all the muscles in my body that were working to carry my weight uphill. I noticed all the tight and sore spots, the creaking joints in my right hip and my left knee. All these sensations were with me throughout the walk, and I wasn’t in pain. In fact, it felt as if I was finally being kind to myself, to my aging body.
I was also very attuned to the different smells: the pine trees, the flowering trees, the wet earth. I swear I could smell the cool breeze too (and it is not at all similar to the “cool breeze” smell of the car freshener or laundry detergent). I thought different sections of the trail had their own unique smell.
We took our time walking. And really, who cares if we finished this walk at noon or at 2 in the afternoon, or if we decided to spend another night on the trail. Does it really matter?
At the start of this hike I had asked the question: why do people go on pilgrimages. Be it this walk, or St. James Way (El Camino de Santiago), Hajj in Mecca. What compel people to undertake these long arduous journeys?
Now I sort of get it. These long walks are essentially a multi-day walking meditation where you can be in silence, be with nature, calm your mind, contemplate, and process your mind’s chatter. They teach you to let go of what you can’t control, to keep going even when the walk is hard, and to have faith that life will be just fine. Even if it rains. Even if we don’t quite know exactly where we will stay for the night. Even if I don’t have the perfectly fit body of a twenty year old. Even then, this walk will still be a fine walk.
And I imagined that these pilgrimages were much harder logistically, physically and mentally centuries ago. Now it’s relatively easy – or shall I say, easier compared to what it must be like a thousand years ago. There’s a detailed map of the routes. The trails are well trodden and clearly marked. Every half kilometer there is a marker with a number, and at every intersection there is a “Kumano Kodo” sign that points to where the route is going. There are also a lot of “NOT KUMANO KODO” signs at the entrance of roads and trails that people might mistake for the trail. They even provided us with the elevation profile of the route so we knew exactly how much longer each uphill section was going to be. I thought of the pilgrims who walked this trail hundreds of years ago without a map, without a GPS on hand, without the half km marker to assure them they were on the right path. What ran through their heads when they didn’t know if they were going the right way, when they inevitably got lost or when they were far from the nearest teahouse when it started pouring?
We hadn’t paid attention to the markers in a while, and suddenly we were at marker 65. 32.5km completed, 5 or so kilometers to go. Before long we saw a lot more day hikers coming from the opposite direction – with their clean white tennis shoes and jeans. That’s how we knew we were close to the main temple, Hongu Taisha.
The end of the walk was somewhat anti-climactic. The path took us to the side entrance of the temple, which led to the outer courtyard where the shrine was. There was a long line, 100 or more people deep, for the main shrine. The temple was crowded with day tourists taking pictures, praying, buying amulets, buying souvenirs. We just wanted our last stamp of the walk and to find lunch.
On our way out, I turned around to give the shrine one last look and a silent thank you. Thank you for the good walk.
Photo Credits: The amazing, super-talented, best partner ever. See more of his pictures here
Such a wonderful experience! I’ve very much enjoyed your writings.
Thank you!