Stepping back into ancient Japan
Some years ago, my wife and I completed a pilgrimage in Japan. In a land where pilgrim trails abound, ours was a path less travelled.
The Kumano Kodo Ise-ji route starts at Ise Grand Shrine. Unmatched in importance to the Shinto religion, the shrine has drawn Japanese pilgrims throughout the ages. According to records, in just two months in 1625, more than 3.5 million pilgrims passed under its imposing torii gate.
Ise is in a constant state of renewal. Every shrine building is re-built from scratch, as exact replicas, on a 20-year cycle.
The Ise-ji pilgrimage route does not receive the same attention. It has largely fallen into disuse since its heyday.
It winds its way south from Ise along the Kii Peninsula, hugging the coastline, before heading inland. Its destination is Kumano Sanzan, three great shrines enveloped in the peninsula’s mountain recesses.
Most modern-day pilgrims choose to approach Kumano Sanzan from Nara, Japan’s ancient capital. The trail is well marked and maintained. There is plentiful accommodation. It is foreigner friendly.
Not so the Ise-ji. In places, the route is barely discernible. Armed with a well-intentioned map from the local tourist office, we often found ourselves wandering astray.
Other walkers were few and far between. Locals in the villages expressed surprise and concern when we passed. They pressed satsuma oranges on us, asking to be remembered in our prayers at our destination.
The pilgrimage was not without its perils. Bears prowled through the mountains. Someone had been attacked recently. It was best to carry a small bell to warn the animals of your presence.
In the depth of the forest, we were completely alone. Hardly a sound. As tradition demanded we paused at every tiny shrine to pray. Red-bibbed Jizo statues, the guardian deity of children and travellers, watched over us from the undergrowth.
At points the track would disappear or be barred by fallen trees. Some communities made an effort to keep the paths clear. Others let nature take its course.
It was physically demanding. Aided with bamboo staves, we had to clamber up massive stone stairways carved into the mountains.
We were stepping back into the past. The boulders bore the imprint of centuries of pilgrims. In the villages, we witnessed ancient inns, now just crumbling hulks.
I pictured the procession of pilgrims from all walks of life. The noisy street vendors, the crammed accommodation, the hustle and bustle.
Slowly a novel formed in my mind. The intersection of past and present. As we walked, the outline of my characters kept pace.
