Shikoku Pilgrimage Stage 3, Japan

Ehime Prefecture_Attaining Enlightenment 

Prologue

The search for enlightenment is the focus of Ehime, the third stage of the Shikoku Pilgrimage. As we cross the Matsu Pass, we question if it’s possible to find deep peace and see the world with great clarity in these turbulent, unsettling times. We have two weeks and a 400-kilometre walk through Ehime to reflect on our uncertainties.

Kochi, the second stage, featured long distances between temples and arduous henro korogashi climbs (‘where pilgrims fall down’). Thanks to the meditative nature of the walking and the fascinating encounters en route, the austerity and discipline of Kochi were not as harsh as we feared. 

While we wish we could speak more than a few words of Japanese, our lack of familiarity with the country makes every day intriguing. We’ve visited 39 temples and walked 615 kilometres to date. On day 24, we cross into Ehime, following in the footsteps of Kōbō Daishi, the great monk, administrator, poet and educator who henros believe travels with them on their pilgrimage.

Day 24 (cont.): 30 km/Temple 40 

After stopping to rest near the ruins of an old mountain tea house, we cross the Matsu Pass into Ehime. From this lofty height, we can see across Sukumo Bay to islands, mountains and a coastline dotted with small harbours. Birds of prey free fall through the sky. 

Taking old henro michi paths, we walk up and over mountains and through villages where elderly women, bent almost double, till the fields with hand-held hoes. We follow the Sozu River downstream to Kanjizaiji (Temple 40). Facing the Uwa Sea, it’s the first of Ehime’s Temples of Enlightenment and the furthest temple from Temple One. From here, we’ll be circling back to where we started. 

There is earth from each of the 88 temples buried here, enabling henros to walk a miniature Shikoku Pilgrimage within the temple precinct. The stone statues carved as guardian deities of the twelve Zodiac signs attract our attention and we make a wish by pouring water on the deity of our sign, the Rooster and Horse respectively.

We leave Kanjizaiji in the late afternoon, with 10 kilometres left to walk. We’ve covered longer distances with more grace than today’s 30 kilometres. It’s hillier than we expected, although the signs painted by local school children along the route lighten our step: Take care, don’t give up, cheer up, they urge.

We come out on a headland with stunning coastal views: the sea shimmering; tall, thin palms reaching for the sky; waves breaking on rocky beaches. The forested hills are pale pink with cherry blossoms. In the inlets below, rows of dark buoys mark the boundaries of pearl farms. Japan is famous for its cultivated saltwater pearls (Akoya). Skilled women of the sea (Ama), earned a living free diving to collect oysters from the sea bed so the pearl-producing nucleus could be inserted and the oysters returned to the ocean to grow pearls. Now that the cultured pearl industry is mechanised, the ancient techniques and the number of Ama are dwindling. 

Sitting at the bar of a ramshackle inn, our hosts hold us spellbound with tales of lustrous pearls and shiny black meteorite stones with magic powers. They pass around a bag of pearls and invite us and our fellow pilgrims, Malu & Matthijs, to choose one each. As well as being objects of beauty, the pearls possess protective charms that will keep us safe on our journey.

Day 25: 34 km/No Temples

We spend the day with Malu & Matthijs, talking as we walk about what makes for a good life. It’s dry and soft underfoot with last autumn’s fallen leaves as we climb a steep henro michi (old pilgrim) track to the mountain pass. Birds sing from deep within the forest. We rest at the summit, the same place where Kōbō Daishi, wanting to quench the thirst of travellers, tapped his cane on the Yanagi (willow) tree root and sweet water gushed out. It’s likely to be our last, expansive view of the Pacific Ocean so we sit and marvel at the splendour of the seascape and the lighthouses gracing the headlands.

We walk a steep trail down the other side of the mountain and follow rivers lined with blossoming cherry trees. Cascading with fragile pale pink flowers, their ethereal beauty is beguiling.

After a rest stop at a konbini (convenience store), we take the 1.7-kilometre road tunnel rather than the wilder, steeper alternative. There’s a raised footpath for pedestrians but even so, we don our reflective gear and move at a fast clip. Then it’s out along a canal and through small villages, even quieter than normal on this humid, overcast afternoon. 

Lone men and women out walking their dogs, an occasional child playing with a grandparent, farmers at work in the rice paddies. A strange, local museum dedicated to retro sound systems and musical instruments. A shrine created in honour of a Hindu god and king of the afterlife. Its eyes are as bright as the sun and its voice is as frightening as thunder. 

Flashes of lightning and thunder rumbling across the sky this evening. The Hindu gods are among us. 

Day 26: 26 km/Temples 41 – 43

Clouds hovering low over the mountains. Blossoming cherry trees, other-worldly in the soft early morning light; the path strewn with their delicate petals. We walk with Richard, a henro from Hong Kong, who tells us how he became increasingly concerned about Beijing’s influence and moved to Kuala Lumpur when he retired. 

Turning away from the brooding mountains, we walk out onto the Mima plains. Ryūkoji (Temple 41) is on a hill overlooking the plains and retains the Shinto-Buddhist syncretism of its past. The temple gate is a bright red torii gate usually found at Shinto shrines. Statues of Shinto guardian dogs greet us as we enter the temple. We talk to a Japanese pilgrim in his 70s. He’s visiting all 88 Temples, on foot and by bus. He tells us about a shortcut through the forest before wishing us ganbatte kudasai (good luck, keep it up) and vanishing into the trees.  

The temple buildings at Butsumokuji (Temple 42) are a mix of architectural styles, including a bell tower with a thatched roof. There’s a small building that houses ceramic statues of horses and cows. Legend has it that Kōbō Daishi rode on the back of an ox here and every year, on the Midsummer Day of the Ox, people come and pray for the fulfilment of human and animal spiritual wishes. 

The air swells with low-voiced, percussive chanting as we walk along a henro michi trail through a magical world of moss, rocks, tall green-trunked trees and flowing water. It dawns on us that Japanese gardens are miniature versions of such landscapes; rocks symbolise mountains, bushes represent forests and ponds signify seas and lakes.   

We come to a dramatic landslide. The way ahead is precarious but rather than turn back, we use ropes and an unsecured ladder to haul ourselves up the steep slope and back onto stable ground.  

Since ancient times, Meisekiji (Temple 43) has been a holy place where the Thousand-armed Bodhisattva Who Hears the Sounds of the World was incarnated as a young woman. When Kōbō Daishi visited the temple in 822, he found the temple buildings in a dilapidated state. He copied the Lotus Sutra in gold ink onto gold paper and reconstructed the buildings. The temple fell into disrepair again during the Kamakura period (1185-1333) until Minamoto no Yoritomo, a famous samurai, repaired the buildings. In 1194 Yoritomo dedicated a statue of the Buddha of Limitless Light and Life to mourn the loss of his step-mother.

We’re surrounded by mountains on this afternoon of backcountry roads and small villages. In one, we notice something glowing golden in a darkened shed. On closer inspection, we make out an elaborately carved dragon on the roof of a funeral hearse. Traditionally, the coffin containing the body is carried to the crematorium in richly decorated hearses like this one, designed to resemble a Buddhist temple. After the cremation ceremony, the mourners return home on a different route so that the spirit of the deceased cannot return to haunt the living. 

Day 27: 36km/No Temples

A cold, dewy morning in Seiko. We’re out in the world before sunrise. When we stopped at a konbini for breakfast, a staff member found two chairs and invited us to sit and eat.

Walking back roads, past farms and sawmills; the valley filled with smoke from the mills. We pass through a village of historic buildings and abandoned houses. In one of these, we find a cache of old postcards, precious with illustrations of fighting samurai, mountainscapes, and hand-coloured botanical drawings.

An error of judgement finds us walking through a dangerous, one-kilometre-long road tunnel. There is only the narrowest of margins between us and the trucks roaring past in the gloom but our pearls protect us. Nevertheless, it’s a relief to come out into the light and onto the forest path that leads to Ozu, a traditional castle town. 

The flowering of hundreds of cherry trees softens the commanding presence of the castle on a hill overlooking the Hijikawa River. A stone carving of a sleeping Kōbō Daishi lies under the Toyogahashi Bridge. Nearby is a small shrine and a mound of offerings. We pay our respects before pressing on through the outskirts of Ozu, an ugly sprawl of discount stores and factories. Playing leapfrog with a Japanese henro all afternoon, we walk alongside canals, in and out of villages and past fields bright yellow with canola crops. 

We arrive in Uchiko with enough time to explore its beautiful old town. Over a beer, we chat with Pamela, the first woman we’ve met walking to all 88 temples alone. She walked the Camino Frances in 2020 (a COVID year), avoiding border guards by crossing from France into Spain on a remote mountain route. She says that journey changed her life and ever since, she has felt she is who she wants to be. The bar owner recommends a place for dinner which doesn’t disappoint. It serves some of the best food we’ve eaten in Japan. The fish is fresh and the sashimi chef wields the sharpest of knives with the intense devotion of a monk.

At day’s end, we phone home for an update on our brother-in-law, Ray. Even though it’s difficult to determine the gravity of his situation from this distance, we detect a deepening of concern. His cancer is a rare type which adds unpredictability and uncertainty. With just over two weeks of walking left to complete the Shikoku Pilgrimage, we reassure each other we have time to finish it before we return home.

Day 28: 20 km/No Temples

A damp start to the day. We climb into the hills, taking forest trails and backroads through villages and past lush green terraced rice fields. The Sakura blossom is still enchanting although some trees are greening just days after peak bloom.

Mist swirling and tumbling. Water gushing. The sky bruised; the mountains steel-grey and foreboding. Towering trees. Red crabs scuttling across the wet road. Weather-worn statues of Buddhas in the niches carved into concrete walls. No other walking henros out in this weather, or none we come across. 

Text messages start coming through from family and friends. There’s been an offshore earthquake and the Australian media is reporting the risk of a tsunami hitting the coast of Japan. We reassure people we’re on high ground, a long way inland. The messages and last night’s news on Ray stir a longing for home. Like searching for enlightenment, a long-distance walk isn’t always an easy journey. 

A rare sit-down lunch at a ramen bar fills the time before we can check into our accommodation. Afterwards, we wander around the small town of Oda, looking at the regional crafts and produce on sale. We meet Mark, a humorous Japanese pilgrim carrying everything he needs on his back. He tells us he has unfinished business on the Shikoku Pilgrimage, having pulled out last year due to injury. 

People undertake the pilgrimage for different reasons including the desire to experience authentic Japanese culture; meet people; mark a transition in life; honour the dead; gain merit for the afterlife; seek out solitude; become a better person; or go on an adventure. Mark is one of the few pilgrims we meet who are walking to seek true enlightenment.

Tonight we’re staying in a minshuku. As etiquette demands, we remove our shoes at the front door and change into indoor slippers which we then remove before stepping into our tatami-floored room. It’s good manners to place the slippers so they point towards the door, but we’re unsure which door. Foreign henros often fall short of Japanese standards but, as with temple rituals, showing respect and making an effort are always appreciated.

Day 29: 31 km/Temples 44 & 45

The sky clears and the rain holds off all day. We climb high into the mountains, coming to a shrine with a hall for dance performances. It’s built of timber and surrounded by moss forests. Taking a steep shortcut, we find ourselves on a road lined with camellias and cherry trees. The valley is pink and white with blossoms.  

A village where life-size dolls stand in for the people who once lived here. An old man sitting among the debris of a semi-abandoned house, his teapot and cat close at hand. Another old man, this one foraging for bamboo shoots. Rice straw sits tied and stacked in stoops on isolated farms. In Kumakogen, cherry blossoms and traditional Japanese dolls adorn every shop. Spring Festival season is here.  

We’ve walked 80+ kilometres from Meisekiji (Temple 43) to visit Daihoji (Temple 44). It’s enclosed by dense, tall trees and lush with ferns and moss. There’s an ancient ginkgo tree, a statue of Kōbō Daishi, and a memorial to the poet Basho, engraved with one of his haiku:

uneasy taking medicine
even if it isn’t
a frosty night

En route to the next temple on a little-used forest path, a woman hails us and draws our attention to a cave high on the cliff face. She points out an image of Kōbō Daishi carved out of the rock. It’s monumental but partly obscured by foliage. We thank her before pushing on as we have several hilly kilometres to go and Iwayaji (Temple 45) is closing soon. We are relieved to reach the temple gate until we see stretching out in front of us, the longest and steepest set of stairs we’ve encountered on the Shikoku Pilgrimage. They are the reason Iwayaji is a designated nansho (hard-to-reach) temple. 

We arrive at the temple office, breathless. After a monk stamps our books, we linger in the calm of the late afternoon. Iwayaji is in the sacred mountains of Ehime. Surrounded by towering cliffs and primaeval oak forests, it’s a designated place of ‘National Scenic Beauty’. The air cools rapidly and we can imagine Iwayaji in the winter, transformed by snow into a white and silent landscape. 

We tick-tacked with Mark, the Japanese henro, for most of the day and tonight we’re dining together. He’s effusive as he helps us navigate the hotel’s quirky ordering system. Then, as we pour our beers, he posits that henros shouldn’t drink alcohol. He abstains while walking the Shikoku Pilgrimage and believes all henros should do likewise.

Day 30: 38 km/Temples 46 – 51

Out into the thin grey light of dawn. The rock-studded mountains are pitted with hollows; their stupa-shaped summits rise above the clouds.  

Ascending and descending, we walk past rice paddies, wheat fields and eucalypts coppiced to produce foliage for flower arrangements. It’s strange seeing the distinct blue-grey colour in such a foreign setting. We walk with Mark for a while and later cross paths with the three Californian henros for the first time in weeks. In the next town, a woman rushes out of her store and crosses a busy highway to give us all an osettai of sweets and biscuits.

We talk to two lone pilgrims: Christine from Denmark and Andreas from Germany. Although we haven’t met any other Danes, Christine says they are over-represented on the Shikoku Pilgrimage because of a popular Danish documentary on the pilgrimage. 

Walking down an old henro minchi route through a cedar forest, we stop to admire the beautiful sakura (cherry blossom). A woman suggests that as well as looking at the blossom, we should breathe it in; she’s right, the perfume is subtle and sublime.

Jōruriji (Temple 46) is the first of the eight pilgrimage temples close to Matsuyama City. Emon Saburo, the first pilgrim on the Shikoku Pilgrimage, came from this region. He was a lord who refused to give osettai (alms) to Kōbō Daishi. After his eight sons died one by one, he set out to seek forgiveness. He travelled around Shikoku twenty-one times and on his deathbed, Kōbō Daishi granted him absolution.

There’s a 20-metre-high ancient juniper in the temple grounds. Underneath it are Buddha handprints and footprints with the power to prolong life and produce a bountiful harvest. 

From Jōruriji the route winds gently through rice paddies to Yasakaji (Temple 47). The temple, located halfway up a mountain, stretches back 1,300 years to Emperor Monmu. Two tunnels lie between the Hondo and the Daishido: one ‘the way to paradise’ and the other ‘the way to hell’. Paradise is pictured as a beautiful pure land while hell is depicted as a world of hungry ghosts, beasts and evil spirits. 

Sairinji (Temple 48) sits on a low-lying plain beside a river. From the temple, you can see Mt. Ishizuchi, the highest mountain in western Japan. In 807 Kōbō Daishi stayed at the temple and designated it as a place to pray for the nation’s safety. The main deity, the eleven-faced Kannon Bodhisattva, is never shown to the public. 

According to legend, Jōdoji (Temple 49) was an imperial temple of Emperor Kohken (749 – 758), a female emperor. At that time, it was a temple of the Hosso sect of Buddhism. Later, Kōbō Daishi rebuilt the temple and converted it to the Shingon sect. The temple houses an image of Kuya Shonin, a tenth-century wandering monk. There are stories of him chanting and each word coming out of his mouth as a small Buddha. 

On a hill overlooking Matsuyama Castle and the Seto Inland Sea is Hantaji (Temple 50). Because of its tranquil surroundings, the area around the temple is a designated Scenic Forest Protection Area. People pray to the temple’s statue of Kangiten to rid them of bad luck and bring them wealth, fame, and good luck. 

Even though most of the halls and pagodas of Ishiteji (Temple 51) are of national importance, the temple precinct is shabby. We enter down a corridor lined with souvenir stalls and, once inside, find a bizarre collection of buildings and deities. Because it’s close to the famous Dōgo Onsen, Ishiteji is popular with tourists. Some find its zaniness appealing; in 2009 it earned one star in the Michelin Guide. 

At the end of a long day, we arrive in Matsuyama as the world spills onto the streets. After days of walking through semi-abandoned villages and on remote mountain paths, the human energy of Shikoku’s largest city is electrifying.

Day 31: Rest day in Matsuyama

A day of doing very little. We enjoy a leisurely breakfast at Three Fish Cafe before visiting Dōgo Onsen, Japan’s oldest hot spring. It’s undergoing restoration but its grandeur and 3,000 years of history are evident as we wander the labyrinthine passageways. We meet a French man, travelling through Japan with his young family. He tells us he learned Japanese by reading manga comics, watching anime, and playing Japanese-created video games in his youth. 

We spend the afternoon at the Saka no Ue no Kumo Museum, designed by Tadao Ando, the famous Japanese architect. It’s inspired by the novel, Saka no Ue no Kumo (Clouds Above the Hill), written by Ryōtarō Shiba and published between 1968 and 1972. The museum exhibits the story of the three real-life protagonists of the novel during the Meiji era as Japan emerged from an isolated feudal society to become a modern, industrialised nation-state. 

Day 32: 26 km/Temples 52 & 53

We leave Matsuyama before the city stirs. Mountains come and go. Tortoises rest on the banks of a dam. A little further out of the town, there’s an avenue of blossoming cherry trees strung with paper lanterns. It’s a captivating scene that people, including us, are eager to photograph. 

We pass a citrus orchard where each mandarin is encased in black netting, presumably to protect the fruit and ensure a premium price.

A series of bold posters printed with Japanese text and a ‘YES’ or ‘NO’ in English catch our attention. Produced by the Japanese Communist Party, they call for higher wages, lower consumption taxes, and peace through dialogue rather than military expenditure.

Haiku stones lead up to Taisanji (Temple 52). The central image is an eleven-faced Bodhisattva Who Hears the Sounds of the World. At Enmyōji (Temple 53) is a small area of graves with a 40-centimetre-high stone lantern. It features an image of the Virgin Mary, carved in relief. During the prohibition of 1614-1873, there were many hidden Christians in this region. Enmyōji seems to have tolerated their devotion as the icon was designated a Bodhisattva of Compassion so it could be worshipped in public.

We walk out of Enmyōji, follow a road and then, before we see it, we hear and smell the Seto Inland Sea. The air is tangy with salt and seaweed. Green waves wash up on the rocky shore. It’s hazy but we can make out Nakajima Island and ships at sea, including tankers waiting to dock. On the lee side, the mountain slopes are pink with cherry blossoms. It’s a still, humid afternoon as we follow the coast northwards to Hoyo. From here you can catch a ferry to Kashima Island, a national park home to a herd of deer.

We come upon a restaurant specialising in make-it-yourself, Japanese-style pizza. Once compiled, we hand the pizza to the chef to cook in the wood-fired oven. Re-energised, we walk on to our evening’s accommodation at a minshuku. Our welcoming host tells us all we need to know by reading from a set of English language cards (e.g. ‘Here is your room’). 

Day 33: 37 km/Temples 54 – 58

It’s a 37-kilometre day today and we sense the effort of it even as the alarm wakes us at 5:30 a.m.

We follow the coast, watching the comings and goings of ships and the birds drawn to them. The sound of human voices drifts across the hazy water. Petals fall like pale pink snow; the sweet, vanilla scent of cherry blossom. Under the trees is a row of hives, buzzing with bees gathering nectar to make Sakura honey; a scarce, seasonal treat. 

A village of abandoned houses. Tile-making factories, a single yellow arrow, grapefruit for the taking. School children on their way home for lunch; all wearing bright yellow hats and in high spirits. A quirky art studio with an invitation to come in, sit down and create. There’s nobody around but a sign on a collection of pale-green ceramic frogs invites us to take one. Every day on the Shikoku Pilgrimage is revelatory with strange sights and unexpected encounters.

At Enmeiji (Temple 54), a busload of Japanese henros stand chanting sutras on the steps of the Hondo. Three kilometres further along is NanKōbō (Temple 55). The temple has ancient origins but most of its buildings were destroyed in air raids during World War II. The current Hondo was rebuilt in 1981 and the temple gate in 1998. 

Taisanji (Temple 56) is a place to appease the evil spirits that caused people to lose their lives when the Soja River flooded. Kōbō Daishi helped the villagers build an embankment and later planted a Pine Tree of Remembrance. There is a Jizu Wheel on the temple grounds. Turning it breaks the bonds of reincarnation of the six lost worlds of humankind. 

Ever since Kōbō Daishi conducted a ritual for sea gods here, Eifukuji (Temple 57) has been a place to pray for safety on land and sea. On the final day of Kōbō Daishi’s ritual, the winds and waves subsided. An image of Eifukuji, the Buddha of Limitless Light and Life, drifted across the sea and was enshrined as the temple’s principal image.

From Eifukuji we have a steep climb in the rain to Senyūji (Temple 58), our home for the night. Legend has it that a dragoness came from the sea and carved the temple’s principal deity, the thousand-armed Kannon. The temple grounds are on a plateau 300 metres above sea level, near the summit of Mt. Sareizan. In the distance, you can see the Shimanami Kaido, a long series of bridges built in 1999 to connect Shikoku to Japan’s main island of Honshu. 

Senyūji has a natural hot spring bath for which we are grateful, our bodies weary after a long day’s walk. The Californians (Steve, Carissa & Lydia) are here and we enjoy a convivial dinner, talking long after everyone else has retired for the night. 

Day 34: 28 km/Temple 59

Heavy rain overnight. A flurry of cherry blossoms at first light. The temple bell sounds at 6 am, calling us to the morning ceremony in a prayer room lit with golden lanterns. The head monk chants Buddhist sutras and delivers a sermon in Japanese. At the end of it, a Japanese henro bows and suggests to the monk that he uses his phone’s translation function for the benefit of the foreign henros. Quickly mastering the technology, the monk tells us that he has walked the Camino de Santiago twice and is working to get the same UNESCO status for the Shikoku Pilgrimage. His ultimate goal is world peace and he believes it will come about if all religions return to their true roots.

We walk back down the mountain on a forest path soft with mounds of fallen pink petals. After five kilometres, we come to today’s only temple. Chanting can be heard throughout the temple grounds. Kokubunji (Temple 59) stands among rice fields and houses. Fire has ravaged the temple several times but it retains many cultural assets including a row of statues of the seven gods of good fortune and a statue of Kōbō Daishi with whom you can shake hands and make a wish. 

It’s raining when we leave the temple with the Californians so we take the coastal, rather than the slippery, steeper inland route. The rain clears as we follow the shore of the mirror-still Seto Inland Sea. We walk on; through parkland and past rice paddies, wheat fields and smoky factories. The streets are deserted.

Day 35: 26 km/Temples 60-64

On the road early. The air as cool as menthol. An occasional lone henro. School children on their way to the bus stop. Monkeys chattering and birds singing as we enter the dense green forest and climb to Yokomineji (Temple 60). Light streaming through the tall trees. Water falling. Moss-covered rocks and winding stony paths. 

Ishizuchi, the highest mountain in western Japan, is a sacred site of mountain worship and a centre of Shugendo (mountain asceticism). The temple grounds are on the northern part of the mountain at 750 metres. It is the third highest point in the Shikoku Pilgrimage and the most difficult place for henro korogashi (pilgrims tumbling down). Kōbō Daishi conducted a purifying fire ritual at this temple to pray for good luck and ward off bad luck. Today, the only monk about is the one in nōkyōjo (stamp office). He’s young and when we enter he’s watching videos of dancing girls on TikTok. He describes the walk up to Yokomineji as ‘a tough course’.

On a trail above the temple is a Torii Gate. There are no deities or buildings; the shrine is the view through the gate to the mountain. We pause to listen to a woodpecker before heading down the hill through a forest of sad, neglected trees. 

Kōonji (Temple 61) is one of the oldest temples of the Shikoku Pilgrimage. Shotoku Taishi founded it between 574 and 622. Defying its ancient origin is a 16-metre-high, brutalist concrete building that houses both the Daishido and the main hall. It has auditorium-style seating for 600+ and a main altar decorated with a profusion of gold pendants. In the temple precinct is a statue of Kannon holding a sculpture of a WWII kamikaze pilot.

At Hōjuji (Temple 62) there’s an image of the Juichimen Kannon Bosatsu with an inscription that reads ‘for the protection of all women, national peace, fulfilment of wishes, and safe delivery.’ Inside the Daishido are vending machines selling incense, candles, beads and calling cards. You write your name and address on these slips of paper (ofuda) and leave them at temples to identify yourself to the Daishi and the temple deity. The colour of the ofuda, (white, green, red, silver and gold) signifies how many pilgrimages you have undertaken. White is for up to four whereas a gold ofuda signifies up to ninety-nine. 

Today we meet more foreign henros than in weeks, including a German couple, Jack from the US, a Canadian, and Deborah from Australia. We receive messages from the Californians, the New Zealanders and Matthijs & Malu from the Netherlands; all contemplating what they’ll do when their Shikoku Pilgrimage ends. 

Kōbō Daishi made a pilgrimage to this area during the Konin era (814-824). He found a glowing cypress tree and sensed a spiritual energy, so he founded Kichijōji (Temple 63). He carved and enshrined a statue of Bishamon, one of the seven lucky gods, as the principal image. Among the temple’s other treasures is a statue of Maria Kannon Bosatsu. It’s hidden from the public but this pure white image of the Virgin Mary was a gift from the captain of a Spanish ship wrecked off the coast. Since the Virgin Mary was unknown, the statue was passed down from generation to generation as the beautiful Kannon Bosatsu (Bodhisattva Who Hears the Sounds of the World). 

Outside the Post Office, we meet an Englishman who has lived in Japan for 40 years. He tells us he worked in a senior engineering role but found life as a salaryman crippling; the long hours, the travel, and the after-work entertaining. When he became a father, he retrained as a teacher. Now, he heads home every afternoon at 4:30 pm, beaming.

Maegamiji (Temple 64) is in the foothills of Mt. Ishizuchi, one of the seven sacred mountains of Japan. Due to edicts ordering the separation of Shinto and Buddhism in 1868, the temple’s territory was confiscated and the temple closed. Restored in 1889, it continues to pass on Buddhist teachings as the head temple of the Ishizuchi School of the Shingon Sect. It’s late afternoon when we arrive and the busloads have departed. We wander about, taking in the calm, sacred space that is the temple precinct at this hour.

Day 36: 41 km/No Temples

We stayed last night at Ishizuchi Jinja, a Shinto shrine. This morning, from the heights of the shrine’s terrace, we look out over Sakura-lined pathways and a green expanse of rice fields. Steep mountains rise abruptly from the hazy Inland Sea.

There’s light in the sky to the east in this ‘Land of the Rising Sun’. The name comes from China, where the sun appears to rise from the direction of Japan. Nippon or Nihon, the name the Japanese call their country, translates into English as the source of the sun, or the land of the rising sun. 

We attend an early morning Shinto service presided over by a priest dressed in an elaborate silk robe and a tall, thin black hat. The ceremony strikes us as wilder and more animistic than Buddhist ceremonies, even as it follows a prescribed pattern of rituals. The setting, the sounds, the costumes and the language are all intended to please the kami (spirits). 

Even though we’re facing a long day, we stop when we see a woman dressed in Shinto vestments, standing in the centre of a cleared block of land. We discover that a jichinsai, an earth-appeasing ceremony, is about to occur. It’s held to purify the ground, announce to the gods that a new dwelling is being built, and pray for its safe construction. 

It’s a day that’s all about the act of walking. One step at a time, through small villages and on and off busy roads. We don’t see another henro all day until, in fading light, we catch a glimpse of someone ahead of us. We lose him just before we catch up to him. 

Day 37: 31 km/Temple 65

Up early, again; refineries already spewing smoke into the still air. Once out of town, we walk through Camelia forests to Sankakuji (Temple 65), the last temple in Ehime prefecture. 

Sankakuji is famous for its 300 to 400-year-old cherry trees that bloom every spring. The temple precinct, located on a quiet hillside of Hiraishiyama, is serene. There’s a map on the wall of the temple office, illustrating the footprints of each person who has walked the Shikoku Pilgrimage. ‘At first, the path was narrow and weak, but it became thicker and stronger over the years. The path we walk today is the path of our ancestors.’ 

After we leave the temple, we tick-tack with a Japanese couple for a time. We are the faster walkers but they are smarter navigators and soon disappear from view. We come to a crossroads from where you can go one way or another. A Japanese henro who has walked the Shikoku Pilgrimage several times advises us to take the ‘longer but easier’ route. He however opts for the alternative so we linger until he is out of sight and then follow him towards Kagawa, the place of Nirvana. 

As we farewell Ehime, we don’t feel especially enlightened, but everything we’ve learnt and experienced has enriched us, and the walking has imbued us with a sense of calm.

Postscript 

A sacred image carved from a hallowed tree; an image to gaze at and reflect upon what is important in life. A day and a half into Kagawa and 1,000 kilometres into our journey, the winds brought grave news on our brother-in-law Ray’s health. It was time to pause our Shikoku Pilgrimage and return home. 

There were seats on a Melbourne-bound flight that gave us one last day on Shikoku. We decided to spend it walking as far as Temple 77, leaving the last 11 of the 88 temples for another time. It was a muted day. We walked from Temple 71 to Temple 77; the mountains tapering off, the landscape opening out, our hearts heavy. At day’s end, we followed a deserted highway to a rail station and boarded a train bound for Osaka.

Later, we learnt that the route from Temple 71 to Temple 77 is an ancient Seven-Temple Pilgrimage of Grief; a path of sorrow for the mourned and those mourning them. It was a prescient route to have walked on the last day of our Shikoku pilgrimage.

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This is the third in a four-part series on walking the Shikoku Pilgrimage. The first stage through Tokushima Prefecture represented the awakening of the spirit while Kochi Prefecture, the second, was the place of austerity and discipline.