In October, autumn is only just arriving in Japan. Although the trees in mountainous areas begin to colour, it is still warm in most of the cities along the coast. Indeed, it is still warm enough that moss-covered gardens still feel pleasant and fresh.
Moss-covered ancient lanterns in the Kasuga Shrine, Nara
For more photos from Japan see http://westwards.typepad.com/photos/japan_201010/
Until the 19th century, only Shinto pilgrims visited the inhospitable mountains of central Japan. The British missionary Walter Weston was the first to appreciate the beauty of this region as a holiday destination, likening the mountains to the European Alps. Today thousands follow in his steps to re-enact Switzerland.
(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006, 2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009, May 2009, June 2009)
What a
breathtaking sight: Mount Yarigatake, the Japanese Matterhorn! The British
missionary Reverend Walter Weston spent a few years in Japan in the 1890s, climbing
some of the highest peaks in the country during his holidays. The more triangularly
shaped Jônendake he likened to the Weißfluh, and in 1896 he published his
musings on Japanese Mountains as „Mountaineering and Explorations in the
Japanese Alps.“ Thus the Japanese got their very own Alps – and eventually the
urge to book five-day tours to the “Swiss Alps”, to see the real thing.
From
Switzerland, they also adopted a penchant for cable cars and gondolas. The most
famous route for crossing the mountain range of the Northern Alps involves no
less than 7 different vehicles: Trolleybuses, cable cars and ropeways. In
summer it is also possible to cover some of the distance on foot instead. Then,
thousands tramp over the wooden planks prescribing a path through the moorland
and admiring the Alpine flora..
June,
however, is still winter at Murodô / Tateyama (2500m). The road for the
trolleybus has only been opened in Mid-April, dug through a 20 m high covering
of snow. From the plain of Murodô we look down on the local campsite: a few
coloured tents on a lot of white. “Just follow the bulldozer tracks to reach
the campground!,” the ski lift operator advises before swishing down the slope.
Only a
handful of campers have carved shelters for their tents into the high snow
mountains. “Last week we had winds of 80 km/h,” remarks Ashley, an Australian
outdoor fan. Mary-Joe, a hardened French Himalaya climber, spends the night
outdoors in her sleeping bag, just to save some packing time in the morning.
And Daniel from Brazil, a part-timer at one of the hotels, practices high
altitude running in his free time. He hopes for a career as a professional
marathon runner.
Even
Japan’s oldest mountain hut in Murodô, which has been turned into a museum, cannot
yet be visited because the tiny wooden structure is still covered with snow.
Originally it was built in 1726 for pilgrims set for the holy mountain of
Tateyama. Today, Murodô consists of half a dozen “mountain huts,” huge
buildings with double rooms and showers for the pilgrims on the “Tateyama Alpen
Route.” Most stay only for a night, diligently taking photos of the Tateyama
mountain, of the rare Japanese ptarmigan, which is less shy than anticipated,
and of the volcanic activity in the “Valley of Hell” before heading to their
next trolley bus.
A week
later we meet a descendant of Reverent Weston’s local mountain guide, Kamonji
Kamijô. The family is now operating a restaurant near Kamikôchi, in a different
part of the Northern Alps. Reverend Weston presented his guide with a used Ice
Axe which is still displayed proudly above the charcoal grill. With his book
and his enthusiasm for the mountains he gave the whole region prosperity –
thousands of camera-wielding tourists yearning for “local specialities” to try
and then bring home as souvenirs make for better customers than the old
pilgrims of late, who took on great discomfort to visit a shrine built on a
3000 m high mountain top.
“The Weston
Festival? I don’t know exactly what happens there,” the employee at the
Kamikôchi Tourist Information apologises. “After all, I always have to work in
the information centre! But I heard that it is very nice.” We are just preparing
for a two-day trek and want to know what we are going to miss. Apparently a few
women sing a song about the mountaineering exploits of Reverend Weston near the
memorial plaque put up in his honour. There is also a small procession in his
memory, but without any costumes. Solemnly, the official adds: “Reverend Weston
can’t take part unfortunately, because he is already dead.”
In the world heritage sites of Shirakawa and Gokayama, the remoteness of the past is still tangible.
(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006, 2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009, May 2009, June 2009)
„When I was a boy, my older cousins used to go to Shirakawa once or twice a year. It was shortly after the war and I had been sent to live in Takayama with relatives as our family house in Osaka was bombed”, the old man wearing thick glasses and a beige cloth hat explains. “The older boys wouldn’t take me because I was a child, and they said the journey over the three mountain passes would be too arduous for my short legs.”
Before the modern road was built, the villages of Shirakawa and Gokayama could only be reached on foot. In winter icy Siberian winds bring meters of snow and frosty temperatures. Of old, the inhabitants of these villages in Japan’s mountainous interior have adapted their houses to such harsh conditions. Doors on the first floor leading outside can be used in severe winters when the ground floor is snowed up. Steep roofs pointing towards heaven let the thick snow cover slide down to the ground. Their name, Gasshô roof, recalls the folded hands of prayer.
“The roofs are built only with reed and wooden beams, without using a single nail,” Nagase-san explains, showing us around in her family’s 250 year old house. In former times the whole village helped to renew the enormous reed cover of the roofs in turns. But today only about 20 families still have houses with the traditional roofs, not enough to keep the old system alive. “So we issued a call for volunteers and about 500 people from all over Japan offered their help. We could only accept the ones who had at least some experience, because otherwise the work on the high roofs is too dangerous.” We have reached the attic by now, and Nagase-san shows us one of the ropes that hold the beams in place. It has already become loose. The volunteers from warmer parts of Japan were apparently not so familiar with the prayer-style roofs.
Until WWII the villagers of Shirakawa and Gokayama used to grow silkworms on the upper floors to produce silk. Like everyone in the villages telling us about the silkworms, Nagase-san calls them “o-kaiko-san”: the honourable silkworms. They have disappeared now together with their favourite food, mulberry leaves, because during the war everyone had to cut off the mulberry trees in order to plant rice.
The honourable silkworms also brought a supplementary income to the inhabitants of the village of Suganuma, a part of Gokayama. Unlike the not very distant Shirakawa, the village belonged to the old Kaga prefecture. Kaga’s rulers, the Maeda clan, were keen to hold their own against the central government in Edo and did their best to keep a strong independent army. Originally, it was the Maeda clan who instructed the villagers to raise silkworms: their faeces were an important ingredient in the production of gunpowder. Thus, the locals could pay their taxes in gunpowder rather than the customary but scarce rice. Although this was an open secret to the Tokugawa Shoguns in Edo – today’s Tokyo – they were unable to intervene due to the isolation of the area.
The villages of Shirakawa and Gokayama have been listed as World Heritage sites in 1995, and since then the number of visitors has been constantly growing. Even the boy from Takayama, now 73 and living in Tokyo, has finally made it to his childhood dream destination. “Actually, I think now that my cousins took the strenuous hike over the mountains in order to drink alcohol, because these villages were after the war one of the few places that were allowed to brew sake for a traditional festival. That must have been the real reason why they would not take me!”
In the Edo Period, the Nakasendô (“the way through the mountains”) was one of the main roads connecting Tokyo – then known as Edo – with the provinces. Traders and craftsmen as well as local rulers had to travel along these mountain paths. Near Magome northeast of Nagoya, the mountains and forests are particularly dense, and civilisation seems to be particularly far away.
(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006, 2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009, May 2009, June 2009)
Here, time has stopped. Or else it has been turned back. The houses are built from wood, and no electric wires and satellite dishes are to be seen. A postman in indigo-dyed uniform and with a round straw hat, cloth shoes and a wooden box slung over his shoulder is delivering letters. The steep stone path continues up over the pass, but the locals don’t go there – nor do they know about bus timetables or accommodation beyond the mountain pass. It is the neighbouring prefecture and therefore very distant. In one of the small shops we talk to a wrinkled old woman who gives us a jar of Fuki-Miso as a present. Fuki, she explains, is a bitter spiky flower that grows in early spring in the deep forests. She has been out to collect it herself and mixed it with miso paste to sell to the tourists.
“Hen hao!” “Zhege ma?” Suddenly a group of Taiwanese tour group is swarming the one narrow road leading through the village. They fill all the souvenir shops, eat Goheimochi, the flat rice cakes covered with a delicious sesame-walnut paste, and constantly bump into each other taking photos with their mobile phones.
Behind Magome the bus tourists peter out. The path now leads through freshly planted rice paddies and bamboo groves. Three day hikers from Nagoya point out a dôsôjin stone, a votive tablet dedicated to the god of journeys. Just before the post station of Ochiai the old stone pavement has been restored and the winding trail leads through a shady green forest that feels cool even on a sunny day like this one. Soon we pass a traditional teahouse. A man with long grey ponytail and several rounds of Buddhist prayer beads around his neck is adjusting something at the little Shinto shrine in the garden. “My, isn’t it getting hot,” he opens a conversation, only to state a few sentences later: “What I like about Japan is that the religions don’t fight here.” We agree and resume our path.
In the days when the Nakasendô was one of the major roads connecting the distant provinces with the capital, the teahouses and inns were divided by rank: Some would only serve the high-ranking Daimyo and other travelling dignitaries, while others catered for the common people. Most of these establishments had to close in the 20th century when a railroad was built serving the area.
“It is forbidden to sell drugs or counterfeit money,“ announces a wooden sign high above our heads, while another one explains the details of payment for the stable boys. The announcement boards, which were built to symbolize the government’s high authority, have been re-erected in recent years for the benefit of tourists eager to discover the Edo Period.
“It is only in the past 10 or 15 years that people have started to hike the Nakasendô for entertainment,” explains Ogiso-san. He is 70 and has recently moved back to Ôkute. His family has owned the house in the small Nakasendô post station for over 300 years. Ogiso-san leads us to the village elder, as we are looking for a place to pitch our tent for the night. The local elementary school has been closed down 5 years ago, for lack of children, and we get the permission to stay on the disused athletic field. In the evening Ogiso-san shows up with beer and potato salad and it turns out he and Isa went to the same university in Tokyo.
The next morning we take the school bus down into the valley to the train station, where we board a train for Nagoya and return to present-day Japan.
Dressed-up Ninja Dog at the Mifune Matsuri in Kyoto
(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006, 2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009, May 2009, June 2009)
„Lucky charms for animals sell very well recently. More people think of their pets as family members,” explains the Shinto priest at the Nogi Shrine. With his old-fashioned glasses and an unfavourable haircut he looks rather like a middle-aged businessman. We have just noticed the orange and light blue small cloth packages for dogs and cats, with the written lucky charm inside, among the usual talismans against evil, or for safe journeys or easy childbirth. The Nogi Shrine is dedicated to an unusual god, the victorious General Mareisuke Nogi, who in 1912, together with his wife, committed seppuku, ritual suicide, out of loyalty when the Meiji emperor died.
The next day we eye the Japanese family sitting opposite us in the subway. He has very spiky hair and black-rimmed glasses, she is wearing a fancy petticoat, and both appear to be very young. Suddenly we realize that the small buggy holds a Yorkshire terrier rather than a toddler. By now we are more alert to the status of pets. We notice the many cat cafes in Tokyo: Coffee Shops where customers can cuddle a sedated Angora cat while sipping a Cafe Latte. Ever more people are walking proudly through the city with their dressed up dogs. A hotel in Kaga Onsen advertises shared facilities for dog and owner - from the room to the hot spa.
Curious, we venture into the dog accessory store in the Apia Shopping Mall. The display of dogs’ outfits has caught our eye. Current dog fashion has moved far beyond the holder’s worn out T-Shirts. The modern pet owner chooses from a wide selection of sweaters, jeans, sportswear and even leather jackets for his darling. For the she-dog there is lovely lingerie on sale. All this comes for a price, of course – about the same as that for children’s clothes. Leaving the shop we pass a showcase filled with delectable cream tarts and fancy cakes. “These delicacies are low-sugar and low-fat, therefore safe to eat for pets. Why not enjoy a piece of cake together with your pet on children’s day?” a sign suggests. The current trend of people treating their pets to cream pie, weekend outings and fancy clothes might be new, but of course people have always loved their pets. At the shrine we learn that General Nogi loved his horses so much that he built them a modern stable first thing after buying the premises. Only then he started with a simple house for his family. In the end, however, he didn’t include his horses as far into the family to let them join the loyalty suicide.
The
original-sized Marksburg is the main
attraction of the German Culture Village on Miyakojima, Japan
(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006, 2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009, May 2009, June 2009)
“Where are
you from? Oh, from Germany? - Ich habe
Deutsch gelernt!“ , the bus driver blurts out when we enter the rare local bus
to the village of Ueno. The grey-haired man with the friendly smile definitely
does not have many opportunities to practice his language skills on the
Okinawan Island of Miyakojima, about 1000 km south of mainland Japan. About an
hour later he drops us near the Ueno German Culture Village, where we find
ourselves in front of a huge grey stone slab at the roadside. „Gerhard-Schroeder-Staße“
is engraved in huge white sanserif letters, commemorating the visit of the former
German chancellor on the occasion of the G8 summit in Okinawa. Crossed German and
Japanese flags are depicted underneath. The Gerhard Schroeder Road runs all the
way from Miyakojima’s small airport to the German Culture Village. We trot along the sugar cane fields and around
a knoll, when suddenly a European-style mediaeval fortress complete with tower
and battlements appears before the glittering blue ocean. The original-sized
German Marksburg is the main attraction of the Germany-themed park.
“No, I have
never been to Germany. But I would pretty much like to go…” Ota-san, the park’s
manager, answers our questions over a cup of coffee in the museum shop on the
castle’s ground floor. The culture park
opened in 1997 aiming to enhance German-Japanese relations in general. „The
concept we had in mind was fraternity” Ota-san states somewhat pompously. The
ties between Germany and Ueno go back a long time: In a storm in 1873 the
German merchant ship Robertson, sailing from Fuzhou to Australia, shipwrecked
off the coast of Miyakojima. The Ueno inhabitants rescued the stranded sailors
and gave them shelter and food until they were able to return to China and
finally to Germany. In 1937, Japan’s Ministry of Education introduced this
story of altruistic help in the national elementary schoolbooks, and the people
of Miyakojima earned some modest fame nationwide.
Today Hänsel
and Gretel, the local goose couple, waddle lazily between the half-timbered
houses. On a Wednesday outside the main tourist season, the Ueno German Culture
Village is deserted. One of the park’s tour guides, Iwasa-san, shows us around
the exhibition rooms in the castle. She is proudly wearing a burgundy-coloured
dirndl designed by the Japanese staff. In the Medieval room a Roman legionnaire
has mysteriously joined the armoured knights. Plastic samples of sausages, Sauerkraut
and square white bread are intended to inform the Japanese visitors about
German eating culture, and a wedding chapel in distinctly Japanese taste awaits
happy couples. Finally we march over the courtyard to the backdrop of a Bavarian
brass orchestra from the sound system to the other exhibition building. The “Children’s
House” combines a shop with a huge collection of Diddle Mouse merchandises, a Märklin
train model, a small library of children’s books in various languages, and two
slabs of the original Berlin wall together with some explanation on the divided
Germany and grizzly photos of soldiers and barbed wire. “Japanese visitors also
think this is an odd mix,” Iwasa-san admits without even trying to suggest a
concept behind the jumble of vague “German-ness” in the park.
Back in the
small capital of Miyakojima we visit the "Philanthropy Monument,” a stele that
German Emperor Wilhelm I sent in 1876 to be set up here. “We, Wilhelm, by the
grace of god German Emperor…,” he expresses his gratitude for the rescue of his
subjects, starting Miyakojima’s German boom. A family from Chiba, a small town
near Tokyo, is less impressed. “We have a German village in Chiba, too. I think
it’s more authentic!“ We will consider Chiba for a day out from Tokyo.
(For more Japan photos, click here: 2006, 2006 (Shikoku 88-Temple Pilgrimage), February / March 2009, April 2009, May 2009, June 2009)
“You really
have to try the goya juice”, Fusa urges. “It is good for your health.” Aware
that people on the Okinawa Islands in Southern Japan enjoy the highest life
expectancy in the world, we jump at the opportunity and order the recommended drink.
It turns out to be a screaming green liquid, topped with two mint leaves, that
tastes very bitter. Goya, a vegetable looking a bit like a shrivelled cucumber,
is used in many regional dishes: The famous Goya Champuru is a stir fry made of
eggs, tofu, vegetables and the bitter goya, which adds a pleasant tangy taste.
Researchers have confirmed the high life expectancy on Okinawa to be a result
of the healthy local diet: Rice, lots of vegetables and seaweeds, fish and
boiled pork dishes.
Beyond the
village of Inoda, the bus passes only three times a day. Next to the bus stop
we are watching an elderly couple cutting sugarcane on the fields when a white compact
van stops beside us and a diminutive woman of at least 75 gets out to rearrange
heaps of plastic bags, wrapping material and gardening tools that fill the back
of the car. “I have some field work to do, otherwise I would drive you to Cape Hirobo,”
she munches. “Have a lump of cane sugar with mint – very good against a sore
throat. I always buy it at the small shop over there.” Although we don’t have a
sore throat the candy is quite tasty.
Originally
introduced via China from
India, today sugarcane is one of the leading
agricultural products of the islands. Most of the harvest is shipped to mainland
Japan, where it will be processed to refined white sugar, but some of the tall ripe
sticks are processed here and turned into a sweet dark molasse known as kokutô,
or “black sugar”. Supplemented by fruit syrups, salt, chilli, sesame, or
several other ingredients it is consumed as a popular snack by the islanders, while
tourists buy it as a souvenir.
The next
day, a woman originally from Osaka stops for us. She has moved to Okinawa after
retirement for its beautiful nature, the pleasant climate and the generally relaxed
atmosphere. “I’m on my way to pick mozuku
algae fresh from the sea, because I’m going to visit friends in Osaka, and they
all love it.” Most of the locals, she says, don’t collect mozuku anymore, but nonetheless it is a popular food item on the
menus, along with umibudô. The “sea
grapes” are cultivated in huge tanks and give a funny sensation to a dish as
the pinhead-sized juicy berries of this algae type pop up when chewed on.
A few days
later we relocate to Iriomote, the largest island of the Yaeyama group in
Southern Okinawa, where the buses are just as rare. Most of the island is
mountainous and covered in forest and mangrove wilderness that is home to the
endemic Iriomote Wildcat. Although we have a bought a free pass for the bus, we
end up hitchhiking again most of the time.
“No, I’ve been working here for five years now,
but never seen a wildcat,” Wada san shrugs. The diving instructor from Tokyo points
to a road-side warning sign depicting the small Iriomote Cat. “But it seems
there are a lot of accidents.” The local administration has even introduced rattling
road bumpers to deter the shy protected cats from dashing onto the road. At the same time the road is being widened and
straightened for increased traffic as more tourists visit the island, followed
by more development, and thus creating jobs that also draw more long-term
residents. Naturally, the inhabitants are torn between economic relief over new
job prospects – Okinawa being not only Japan’s healthiest region, but also one
of the poorest – and concern for the abundant nature of their island which they
know is their biggest asset. “All this new development is destroying the
natural habitat of the island’s wildlife,” Kenichi complains. As a guide, he
needs both the tourists and the animals.
Eventually
we did find a few people who had actually seen the wildcat. Taira-san, a local
boat man, has been working on the Urauchi River for decades. “I’ve seen them running
on the street, but also swimming in the river. They are not very good swimmers,
but they like prawns, you know. Recently, you rarely see them anymore.”
In two
weeks on the Yaeyama Islands we enjoyed talking to the friendly locals and
tasted our way through the range of local food and drink: Freshly made soft
Island Tofu, thick wheat noodles, shîkuasa juice (made from a variety of sour oranges)
and Ishigaki beer, brewed according to German recipes. We will have to come
back to explore more of the smaller islands.
“We are now at Temple Nr. 45 of the 88-temple pilgrimage, the Iwayaji-Temple. The main hall is up here, the Kobo Daishi hall is on the left side. Be sure to be back at the bus down in the parking lot in 20 minutes,” the guide urges her group of about 20 Buddhist pilgrims clad in the traditional white pilgrim’s garb from head to toe. It is ten past seven in the morning, and we watch them hurry through the temple grounds, busily lighting candles and incense, offering their name cards (inscribed with their name and a wish) and rattling breathlessly through the Diamond Sutra in front of the main hall and the Kobo Daishi hall.
Meanwhile, their bus driver hauls two huge bags up to the temple office. They contain the group’s pilgrim’s books and traditional scrolls, all to be stamped and signed with a beautiful calligraphy (300 Yen each).
After 20 minutes the group leaves on time. This was their first temple for today and there are still eight to go until five in the afternoon. With this tight schedule the tour groups cover all 88 temples in 11 days.
The 88-temple pilgrimage was established by the 9th century Buddhist saint Kobo Daishi, who was born on Shikoku at the site of today’s temple Nr. 75, Zentsūji temple, as the son of the local ruler. A widely travelled monk and founder of the Shingon sect of Buddhism, he brought not only religious impulses, but also modern engineering and agricultural innovations from China to Japan. His followers believe that completing the pilgrimage and being buried with the pilgrim’s book will bring them closer to paradise.
Today most pilgrims do the 1440 km tour by bus, car or taxi. But as there have been a number of documentary programmes as well as a feature film, “Road 88” by Nakamura Genji, walking or cycling has become increasingly popular. Not all pilgrims are deeply into Buddhism, as an elderly man in full gear explains. “I’m not really that religious. This is the fourth time I’m walking – it’s good for my health.” On the other hand we also met Imakawa-san, who was on his 121st round (80 times by car and 21 times by bicycle). “The pilgrimage gives me mental power,” he said. “If I concentrate, I can move those dark clouds.” At least it did not rain that afternoon.
The bicycle is also the transport mode of choice for an unlikely group of pilgrims: the homeless. A growing number of long-term pilgrims just keep circling the island. From No. 88 they continue on to No. 1 and start all over again. For them it is a socially acceptable form of being out-of-society, and they prefer the pilgrim’s life to the blue tarp tent in a public park in Tokyo. One of them, a mid-forties cyclist in blue training slacks and a white singlet muses: “Sometimes I think I should return to a normal life and look for work, but the Buddha protects me well. And, you see, Kobo Daishi is so kind to me…” and he proudly shows us the Buddha sticker on the tail-light of his heavily laden bicycle.
We walked the Shikoku Pilgrimage in six legs, the final one, temple No.44 to temple No.88, in April. When we walked for the first time, seven years ago during a holiday, our main interest was hiking in a rural part of Japan. But we became more and more enchanted with the land and the people of Shikoku, an island full of greenhouses and rice paddies, old hunchbacked Japanese working in the fields and quirky culinary delights such as eggplant soft ice cream.
At first we felt a bit like impostors: not being Buddhist, we didn’t participate in the religious rites. Eventually we started reading the Diamond Sutra. Chanting to (foreign) gods felt strange and daring. But with some practice, reciting the Sutra made us slow down from the continuous movement of the pilgrimage and let us appreciate the temples. At temple No. 81, Shiramine temple, we even bought one of the conical pilgrim’s hats to reach our goal in style.
“Congratulations! You must be exhausted,” a fellow pilgrim greeted us warmly when we finally arrived at Okubo temple: Nr. 88. He handed us some sweets and his camera. “Could you please take a photo of me in front of the main hall?”
