She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older.

Jane Austen, “Persuasion”

For reasons good and bad, this might be the post I am most proud of.

26 November 2023

• 11:15-12:10 Kyoto station (main exit, but platform JR3) to Takao bus
• Jingo-ji temple (30m)
• Saimyo-ji temple (15m)
• Kosan-ji temple (1h)
• 14:55-15:45 Toganoo bus stop to Shijo Karasuma
• Van Gogh and nihonga exhibition @ Nishijin Asagi Museum (15m)
• Photography exhibition at night (30m)

Jingo-ji Temple

Kyoto kouyou temple marathon, part 2: Mount Takao.

I checked out of my hostel at 11:00 and took a bus uphill. A long flight of stairs led to Jingo-ji temple. Sun-kissed leaves on the ground and trees.

Takao enjoyed very few visitors today, a peak autumn weekend. People were dining on low, red tables in the middle of a stream.

Visiting the enormous Jingo-ji felt like hiking through a forest on a hill. The main hall featured a rusty collection of demons. The focal attraction, though, was the kawarake tradition, which had begun here: throwing earthen plates upside-down, to get rid of evil spirits.

I joined a few visitors tossing kawarake as far as the eye could see. My three shots didn’t feel cleansing. But the view of eagles flying above plates plunging into the most stunning valley was liberating.

Saimyo-ji Temple

A green dango filled with anko got the job done en route to Saimyo-ji. This one was small and humble, with moss-capped lanterns. I didn’t find it worth the time or money.

Kosan-ji Temple

Kosan-ji impressed me more. Gargantuan cypress trees heralded the rare marriage of mountains and momiji. I paid a separate fee to enter Sekisui-in, which housed several national treasures. Most famous was Choju Jinbutsu Giga, the first manga in history: three scrolls of chronological drawings. Frogs messing with bunnies, foxes wearing hats and robes, bulls fighting, horses galloping, elders playing games at an onsen.

I lounged on a veranda overlooking a fiery valley. With so much red around me lately, it was impossible not to think about love, blood, and longing.

“I’m just really happy you’re no longer in my life,” I heard again and again. “You really don’t know how to love and care about someone.”

Cowboy was right in telling me so.

Ever since puberty, something in me had felt quite assuredly that I would never get to experience romance.

Growing up, I hadn’t gotten along with Israelis. While my peers were exploring each other and themselves, I was at home.

Then, at 24, living in the UK for a year, I’d written in every second of free time, particularly during quarantine.

It had taken me until 27 to overcome my shyness and let another person in.

Now, at 28, I was still looking for a torch in the dark. What did it mean to say “I love you”? I’d had my fair share of intense infatuation that dominated my thoughts, but – was that love?

Nishijin Asagi Museum

Back in Kyoto, I caught a temporary exhibition about Van Gogh and nihonga at a small museum. It featured woven replicas of masterpieces. I didn’t feel like it elucidated and exemplified enough just how much Van Gogh was influenced by ukiyo-e.

Disappointed, I walked down the 367 to my usual grocery store in Gojo by the river. As the sun set over a tiny park, I devoured cold takoyaki, mac and cheese, and an onigiri, the full moon shining in a placard of pink.

Trying to plan my next steps, I grew so anxious about my budget, that my chest almost hurt. Why was I worried about love, when I didn’t know how to pay for existing? Why did I have to, to begin with? Why, when someday, I’d be dead.

I felt like a maple turning pale. A red thorn prickled, while green shackles stabbed.

After retrieving my luggage from my hostel and getting lost inside Kyoto station in its most crowded state (peak kouyou weekend pandemonium), I took the subway to new couchsurfing host.

He was a 23-year-old landscape design student who lived within walking distance to the imperial palace. Shaved head, trimmed beard, and a tortured-artist-resting-squint. He snapped dramatic photos with his professional camera in his leisure.

His studio apartment was a tastefully designed, spacious basement, with plants and a ginger cat. A silky, black wardrobe; black bowls and chopsticks. Saffron plants on his table, the most expensive spice in the world, complimentary from his part-time job at a plant shop. I mistook it for onions.

Soon after arriving, we set out on his bikes. My first time riding a low model. He went to meet his friend, while I cycled around the pitch-black imperial palace until settling on a bench in front of the river. I unsheathed my laptop and wrote.

The moon was my main source of light. My battery died as my fingers froze. I cycled to a furniture shop where a friend of my host was displaying his photography. A tatami room, dark apart from a single candle, which was illuminating portraits of faceless Japanese guys. Their skin was coloured like fire. Their background was black. They looked like humanoid flames in vacuum.

Today being the last day of the exhibition, I was the last person to view it, and helped them clean afterwards. Unscrewing planks, wiping the tatami, packing the photos, and vacuuming the rug. Cycling back to his studio through the river and the imperial palace at night was worth the gelidity. 

Today’s highlights: throwing kawarake in Jingo-ji; anko dango; the Sekisui-in veranda in Kosan-ji; the photography exhibition; riding a low bike in Kyoto at night.

27 November 2023

• 7:52-8:02 Imadegawa station to Jyoto station metro (Karasuma line), 8:10-8:50 transfer to Osaka station (JR Kyoto line), 9:00-9:10 transfer to Osakajokoen station (Osaka loop line, outer circle)
• Osaka castle, Tsuruhashi (Koreatown)
• 16:20-16:35 Tsuruhashi station to Osaka station (Osaka loop line), 16:40-17:30 transfer to Kyoto station (JR Kyoto line), 17:38-17:48 transfer to Imadegawa station (Karusama line)

Osaka Castle

Today was supposed to be another temple sprint. Yet the Matsuyama guy, who I’d met in Busan on May 29, had come to Osaka on a whim. We’d been keeping in touch ever since; not a week had gone with him flaking on me. So I dropped everything to meet him.

We met outside Osaka Castle Park and strolled around. It was quite cold and quite pretty. Ginkgo trees and colourful leaves.

Instead of entering the castle, we simply sat in front of it and chatted for three hours.

It was as if no time had passed. I couldn’t believe we were hanging out again.

He was as crazy about travelling as me, striving to go around the planet. A recent trip to Los Angeles, Mexico, and Costa Rica had necessitated four consecutive flights back home, and led to the development of a minor herniated disk. Instead of returning to work, he was now on medicine.

Most of the time, we gushed over wanderlust. He knew quite a lot about various countries, but next to none about Japan.

“I’m Japanese,” he said, “but not versed in Japan, apart from Matsuyama.”

Since my return to Japan in August, whenever telling him about my trip, he would ask, “Where is that?”

We ate tsukemen for lunch (my first time). He was staying in an area called Tsuruhashi – Osaka’s Koreatown.

I stopped in my tracks.

“There’s a Koreatown in Osaka?!”

Tsuruhashi (Koreatown)

Needless to say, we took the subway there. Kimchi, tteokbokki, K-pop, hanbok shops. Sadly, no hotteok.

So we found a random, tiny park, where we chatted for another two hours.

Face-to-face, our speech was casual. Texting for six months, his language was formal. Contrasted with my new couchsurfing host, I found this ironic: the latter had dropped all formalities from the get-go, asked about my love life soon after meeting, and shared his recent breakup with me.

I gifted the Matsuyama guy acidic bath salt from Tamagawa Onsen in the end. He’d never heard of it.

An hour and a half later, I was back at the station near my host’s. Imadegawa was boisterous both yesterday and today, with night illuminations, performances by idol groups and rock bands, and screaming girls. This was a cool locals’ spot.

A Japanese guy asked me in English inside the station if I needed help. Another approached me outside, said he enjoyed making international friends, asked to exchange details, and hugged me farewell.

Japanese people could be baffling sometimes. No, people. Even the Matsuyama guy and I hadn’t embraced.

I’d heard Japan made them friendlier in Osaka. Livelier, warmer. But in Kyoto?

Nabe and Eros

In the evening, my host made nabe for dinner with his friend. A perky 24-year-old Greek girl from Alexandroupolis, studying Japanese at a local university. I raved about Ancient Greece with her, finally able to discuss my other favourite culture. History, art, theatre, politics, mythology, geography… She was very warm and easy to befriend.

“I don’t like people in Greece,” she confessed at some point. “I’m sure some good people exist somewhere, but overall, they’re not. They judge you a lot. And it’s very hard to live there. The salary is too low for the cost of living. In Japan, I made real friends, not like there. Here, I can be myself.”

The only thing she missed about home was feta cheese.

“You sound like me,” I chuckled.

Then again, the polite indirectness of Japanese people vexed her.

“If you have a problem with me,” she said, “tell it to my face.”

The Israeli manager who’d interviewed me a few days ago had warned me: “If you want to live in Japan, you should know that Japanese people don’t let you in.”

“I know,” I’d replied.

Thankfully, there were exceptions.

Any topic with my host became a meaningful, open discussion. On the subject of Greek art and local temples, he remarked:

“I don’t think anything human-made can be one hundred percent art. Only nature.”

I’d always deemed art as an innovative creation, and so, held the opposite opinion.

When the conversation turned to Greek philosophy, eastern philosophy, and the difficulty in mastering all those concepts in Japanese (a language rich with nuance), he exemplified the subtle difference between 恋 and 愛 (both “love” in English). He gestured a one-way interaction for the former, and two-way for the latter. Giving versus giving and receiving.

恋, while translatable to romantic love, struck him more like desire. 愛, meaning love, care, and affection, was the real deal.

Did that explain what love was? I wondered, as he showed us one of his favourite quotes.

“In love the paradox occurs that two beings become one and yet remain two.” Erich Fromm.

The Greek girl mentioned going through a recent breakup.

“I’m really sad and angry he’s no longer in my life,” she said. “But [the host] says it’s a good thing.”

He nodded, much to her confusion.

“I told a friend the same a few days ago,” I said. “The fact that you’re feeling this is a good sign.”

After this, I didn’t bring up my history. There was no point in focusing about me.

Today’s highlights: reuniting with the Matsuyama guy; a nabe symposium for dinner.

28 November 2023

• 11:15-11:33 Kyoto Kawaramachi station to Higashi-muko station (Hankyu Kawaramachi line), 11:42-12:10 Higashi-muko station to Yoshimini-dera bus number 66
• Yoshimini-dera temple (1h)
• 13:25-13:37 Yoshimini-dera to Unoyama bus number 66
• Komyo-ji temple (1h)
• 15:08-15:15 the bus stop straight ahead of the temple to Hankyu Nagaokatenjin station, 15:25-15:50 transfer to Kyoto Kawaramachi station (Hankyu Kawaramachi line)
• Pontocho and a dental clinic

Yoshimini-dera Temple

I left my host’s studio in the morning and checked into a hostel adjacent to Shijo Kawaramachi. It resembled Korean hostels in both layout and fee.

After yesterday’s breather, it was time for my final stretch of temples.

A bus took me up a mountain in the southwest, floored with momiji. Wind was toppling down leaves at the height of their metamorphosis. This created peak kouyou both on trees, in air, and on concrete.

With orange-to-yellow gradient trees standing sentinel by Yoshimini-dera’s entrance gate, it was as if sunset captured in the form of foliage was welcoming me.

This temple was a gigantic complex sprawled on a mountain, with various vantage points over the city. A stone staircase dazzled with an orange carpet. Petals were twirling in the air like sparks turned ballerinas; gusts of rusts were blowing around me.

A week into the peak, on this sunny, breezy day, this was the perfect chance to progress to the “rug” stage of autumn leaves.  

Everyone here was Asian and elderly.

Komyo-ji Temple

Next, I took a bus and walked for twenty minutes through suburbs guarded by bamboos. When I reached Komyo-ji, it was raining.

A dramatic staircase, as long as it was wide, led to the temple. The standard golden prayer halls; a nondescript dry landscape garden. I focused instead on the dense, sunlit drizzle.

There was a small exhibition with gorgeous, modern nihonga of Fuji-san on multiple blue canvases, mimicking folding screens. I ate a green yaki-mochi filled with anko and wondered why momiji manju wasn’t being sold anywhere. In April, I’d eaten several Sakura-flavoured treats.

Komyo-ji ended with my first momiji tunnel. My twentieth and last temple. A fitting finale.

Pontocho

I returned to my hostel to charge my phone, and walked one minute to Pontocho. Last time, I’d beheld four geishas walking to work precisely at 17:00 from up close. I didn’t spot any this time, and chose not to stay and linger. That would’ve been voyeuristic.

I continued north to a dental clinic. They agreed to glue back my orthodontic retainer tomorrow. It had been piercing my tongue for a week.

One problem down, a new one up. My six-year-old phone had stopped alerting me of notifications. No application was informing me of incoming calls or texts. I tried every possible solution, to no avail.

So I walked back to the hostel through dim Pontocho. It would be nice to return to this tourist trap on a quiet, snowy evening.

I spent the rest of the day writing and mulling over my maple race. Six days, twenty temples, every shade of red. This flaming marathon had left me thirsty. I could go on like this for a month, the way I’d done with sakura.

1. Tenryu-ji
2. Hogon-in
3. Kiyomizu-dera
4. Honen-in
5. Anraku-ji
6. Shinnyo-do
7. Eisho-in
8. Eikan-do
9. Nanzen-ji
10. Tofuku-ji
11. To-ji
12. Bishamon-do
13. Kaji-ji
14. Daigo-ji
15. Kodai-ji
16. Jingo-ji
17. Saimyo-ji
18. Kosan-ji
19. Yoshimini-dera
20. Komyo-ji

Today’s highlights: the verdant carpets in Yoshimini-dera; the momiji tunnel in Komyo-ji.

Updated list of unique experiences in Japan:

• February 12, Shiretoko, drift ice walk
• February 16, Tokachidake onsen, frozen waterfall snowshoe trek and surprise TV interview for my birthday, followed by my favourite rotenburo in Japan
• February 21, the digital detox ryokan deep in nature, shovelling a shuttle bus stuck in a snowstorm, and the Japanese guy
• March 15, Koya-san, night tour of Okuno-in cemetery and a temple stay
• March 20, Nachi, alone in a rustic cabin atop a mountain at night after a four-day pilgrimage and the toughest hike of my life, which culminated in Kumano Nachi Taisha
• March 23, Shodoshima, arguably the happiest and scariest two hours of my life, atop Mt Goishizan
• April 2, Iya Valley, hitchhiking to the double vine bridges and scarecrow village and crashing at an old couple’s traditional home in Ochiai
• April 5, Yoshino Mountain, the best place in Japan for cherry blossoms
• April 17, Tateyama Kurobe Alpine Route and the corridor of snow
• August 5, Akita Kanto festival
• August 7, Osore-zan, a one-of-a-kind hellish nature
• August 17, Tamagawa Onsen, poisonous gas and a torturous soaking
• September 3, Fuji-san, hiking from the dead of night to sunrise to a sea of clouds
• September 20, Rebun Island, gales and vomit and the world’s wackiest hostel
• October 8-9, Lake Akan, marimo festival
• October 23, Morioka, wanko soba
• November 14, Ito, circling an extinct volcano (Mt Omura) overlooking the ocean and Mt Fuji, and practicing archery inside the crater
• November 22-28, Kyoto, a Red Sea of momiji

29 November 2023

• Takeuchi Seiho exhibition @ KYOCERA Museum (1h)
• Dental appointment

KYOCERA Museum

I woke at 10:00, stayed in bed until 13:00, planning my next steps, and then walked to KYOCERA museum. A couple of maiko casually walked past me.

But first: a return to the shop where the Ukrainian girl and I had tasted yatsuhashi for the first time. A local specialty. I got the two seasonal flavours: chestnut and sweet potato.

Today’s temporary exhibition surrounded Takeuchi Seiho, the most influential of Kyoto’s modern nihonga painters. He has sought inspiration in the west, introduced new forms of expression to the traditional Shijo school of painting, and modernized nihonga.

The exhibition started with late 19th century traditional nihonga. Largely calm, largely empty, restraint in its colour scheme.

• Autumn Scenery at Toganoo (1887-1896) reminded me of recent days.
• Deer in Autumn Mountain Stream (1896) depicted striking scenery.
• Pine Trees and Tigers (1900) was curiously blurry.
• Heian Jingu shrine and Maruyama Park (1896) was a standout: a formidable folding screen painted a rusty gold, evoking less extravagance than mist. Such a shade was more romantic than declamatory.

Cherry blossom viewing (1897), however…

A skeleton dancing with a fan; no pink petal in sight. “Viewing cherry blossoms, dressed up above the skeletons” – a line from a Uejima Onitsura poem – had inspired this painting. Even beautiful women clad in kimonos, picnicking under cherry blossoms, were a bag of bones.

We were all the same, once peeled off. Temporarily animated skeletons.

In 1900, a trip to Europe had changed the way Seiho had considered art. Influenced by artists such as Turner, his depictions had evolved into realistic lions and exotic landscapes. From here on, he had travelled frequently, learned about geography, and treasured his emotions during those journeys, incorporating them into his work.

“In the future,” he had said, “all existing nihonga must be destroyed and re-woven into what is virtuous, by abolishing old ideas and customs.”

While painters were studying existing traditions and reproducing masterpieces, Seiho had incorporated sketching into his paintings, claiming that lines and perspectives should differ among artists.

• Tiger and Lion (1901): a spectacular folding screen, completely golden and shimmering. Empty apart from rocks in traditional brushwork (vague and messy) and a realistic tiger and lion. Imposing, lifelike, full of majesty and presence.
• Historic spot of Rome (1903): back to rusty gold and empty melancholy, this time depicting Roman ruins such as an aqueduct.

Posing for the first time (1913), his most famous painting, reminded me a lot of the Capitoline Venus. A woman blushing before taking off her kimono to pose in the naked. Her hand covered her face in shyness, like Venus covering her private parts. She also diverted her gaze to the right.

In a period when male western artists had depicted nothing but female nudity (more than their faces), Seiho had focused on the woman’s emotions.

The exhibition continued with more realistic animals, such as birds, frogs, and deer, situated against a flat, monotone background.

• The dead mackerels in Mackerel (1925) were a shockingly vivid blue.
• Village by the water (1934): wonderfully indiscernible and monochromatic.
• Valiant tigers (1940): boldly grey, fast, and blurry, almost like a Futuristic-movement nihonga.

Heian Shrine

I checked out Heian shrine afterwards. With its Chinese-inspired architecture painted tangerine and aquamarine, it was definitely one of the prettiest shrines I’d seen. My rainy, cherry petal day here in April came to mind. The Ukrainian girl. The Taiwanese guy. My first conveyor belt sushi. One of those days I would never forget.

Geishas, Tears, and Dentists

At 16:00, I had my dental appointment. They placed a cloth with an opening for my mouth on my face. After some time, my retainer was glued back. Finally, a wire of titanium was no longer floating in my mouth.

I returned to my hostel through Pontocho in sunset and burst into tears. They came suddenly, without warning. Money. Love. Prospects. I possessed none of these.

28 years old, and I was still in the dark. I hadn’t sorted out my life; I didn’t know a thing about love. On the contrary, my circumstances only seemed to worsen.

That afternoon atop Goishizan in Shodoshima had been haunting me ever since. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d written after it: that I’d rather worry about my present than about my future.

It was a conclusion I had not expected to make. In a place where fog was kissing mountain peaks, and clouds were closer than ever; in that moment before my crash, when I’d felt like I’d grown wings; with my feet on the edge – I’d felt free.

I started thinking about the next chapter of my life, after this trip. Three months in Japan, and then what?

I grew scared at the day I would no longer be able to see the world, even though half of the time, I didn’t even like it.

That night with the Ukrainian tourist, she’d urged me to accept the world for what it was.

“Values can’t be achieved in reality,” she’d said. That was when I’d issued tears.

Being an adult meant giving into reality and no longer trying to change it. Accepting things as they were. Not unlike Buddhists.

I realised how, in that sense, I would never truly grow up. The more I matured, the more I felt like a child.

“The More I Matured, the More I Felt Like a Child” (12 April 2023)

I’d written this on my last day in Kyoto. Nothing had changed since.

What would come out of me, then? What was there for me to hold on to?

Such questions almost paralyzed me. Who was there. Why was I here.

I understood neither romance, nor people. This trip had allowed me to experience both, and left me perturbed. I didn’t know who to trust anymore; not even me.

At precisely 17:00, in the middle of Pontocho and all this, I came face-to-face with a geisha on her way to work.

If my future was nothing but work – if I couldn’t fulfil my dreams, publish my writing, travel the world, and develop feelings – what was I living for?

I spent the evening racking my brain, trying to think how to spend December. My options were scant; the places I wanted to visit were too many.

For dinner, I found in Kawaramachi the cheapest grocery store in all of Japan. Suspiciously cheap. A quick stop culminated in a huge bag. The day ended socializing with a British guy from my dorm and a Chinese guy who had moved to Kyoto and was now working at a hotel.

Today’s highlights: the Takeuchi Seiho exhibition; a tear-streaked, Geisha-filled, sunset-over-Pontocho crossing.

30 November 2023

• 13:05-13:20 Shijo Keihan mae to Shinnyo-do mae bus number 203
• Shinnyo-do temple (1h)
• Eisho-in (1h)
• 15:45-15:55 Okazaki-michi to Gion bus number 203
• Yasaka shrine, Maruyama Park (20m)
• Yasui Konpiragu shrine (10m)

Shinnyo-do Temple

Another morning of itinerary planning in bed. Every day in the countryside from next week onwards ought to be determined, to maximize my time, and minimize my spendings.

I left at 13:00 again. Today was supposed to be my return to Gion, where the German guy from the Ito ryokan-turned-hostel was now working. But he was sick with fever.

Just as well. Momiji was the only thing on my mind. I missed the sight of maple, and longed to extend my marathon. For me, such redness was a first.

I supposed all things red were addictive. Love, blood, leaves.

Shinnyo-do and Eisho-in were close to Kawaramachi, free, flaming, and affecting.

At the former, it was the beginning of the end. Rusting red, browning orange, increasing nakedness. But there was still plenty of vivid scarlet to hypnotize me. A vermilion tree. I could not sing momiji’s praises enough.

I settled on a stone and watched petals fall in the wind. Women garbed in fall kimonos. A blood-orange-to-blood gradient tree.

Buds, wine, ashes. An annual metamorphosis. Leaves went through this process again and again. Didn’t people as well?

I recalled one of my favourite short story collections: Too Much Happiness by Alice Munro. Reading it at a gothic literature seminar at 22 years old had changed my perspective. Gut-wrenching tales of the mortality of intimacy.

Cherry blossom season in Japan was an unforgettable period of my life. Sakura every single day for a whole month. Yet autumn was a different beast. Spring was cathartic. Fall was romantic.

Kyoto dressed in red. A moment I would freeze for eternity.

Eisho-in Temple

As for Eisho-in…

The Buddha was still shut-eyed, meditating. Engulfed by the same inferno of leaves.

If last time this image had evoked a trial by fire, and I’d imagined certain characters in its position, now a different person replaced them. A woman in a burgundy kimono, sitting like the Buddha, singing under maple leaves.

“You don’t know how to love and care about someone.”

If I had a brush, I would produce such a painting, and title it The Torch Song. For good and bad reasons, this was the perfect way to depict the past week.

It took me a long time to part with that Buddha and those momiji. I stood under the gate, fixed to my spot, and twisted my body to stare at the Buddha. Then I cried a little as I left. I felt like I was parting with so much more.

Eisho-in was officially my favourite spot in Kyoto.

Yasaka Shrine

I took the bus to Gion. The pretty Yasaka Shrine, a cheese hashimaki from the stand I’d frequented in April. Sunset over Maruyama Park.

Yasui Konpiragu Shrine

Without intending to, I progressed to Yasui Konpiragu, AKA the break-up shrine. In the 12^th century, Emperor Sutoku had confined himself to this shrine to cut off his greed; now, it was a place to cut bad relations, and pray for good ones.

People crawled in and out of a monument while holding a paper doll to achieve this. I wasn’t really in a position to do so – what evil ties were left in my life to cut? – but did so anyway. Then I stuck a paper with a wish I’d written on the monument.

An afternoon spent at my hostel led to a night out with the British guy from yesterday, an Australian girl, and an Irish guy. We grabbed drinks from a convenience store (a sparkling kiwi can and one of those cough syrup-like hangover cures), crossed Pontocho, and sat by the river. It was frigid.

Then we went to a karaoke club I’d visited in April. I enjoyed both venues, especially with such an entertaining collection of accents, and went to bed tipsy.

Today’s highlights: a return to Shinnyo-do and Eisho-in; cheese hashimaki; sunset over Maruyama Park; karaoke and a nippy riverbank with guests from the hostel.

1 December 2023

• 10:08-10:17 Gion Shijo station to Tambabashi station (Keihan railway line), 10:24-11:17 transfer to Yamato-yagi (Kintetsu Kyoto line), 11:26-11:38 transfer to Hasedera station (Kintetsu Osaka line)
• Hase-dera temple (40m)
• 13:42-13:48 Hasedera station to Sakurai station (Kintetsu Osaka line)
• Omiwa Shrine (20m)
• 16:10-16:30 Sakurai station (south exit, bus stop 1) to Tanzan shrine bus
• Tanzan shrine (1h)
• 17:50-18:15 Tanzan Shrine to Sakurai station bus, 18:25-19:05 transfer to Tsuruhashi station (Kintentsu Osaka line), 19:20-19:30 transfer to Shin-Imamiya station (Osaka loop line, outer circle)

Hase-dera Temple

A day trip to Sakurai, a town in Nara prefecture known for foliage.

First, Hase-dera temple, opening with endless flights of staircases. Such corridors featured hanging lanterns and wooden beams, lit atmospherically on New Year’s Eve. Pots decorated another staircase.

Countless miniature Jizo wearing miniature beanies; a replica of the Byodo-in Phoenix, standing proud and tall on a roof.

I loved the silhouette of a Buddha inside the dark main hall, against the backdrop of vermilion momiji. The Kannon housed inside was as menacing as it was gold, holding a vase and a sceptre. Depicted with with a crown of ten heads, a judging squint, a third eye, and a funny, serpentine moustache.

A balcony suspended over a precipitous cliff soared over the temple’s quaint pavilions, scattered in an autumnal valley. Further down the hill was Honbo, the main priest’s lodging, with a long, slim corridor leading to a single maple tree.

Perfectly situated in the centre, this single momiji appeared too curated to be contingent. A simulacrum, it seemed. The most beguiling end of a corridor, inviting but off-limits.

Omiwa Shrine

In Sakurai station, the train and bus to Omiwa Shrine were so infrequent, that I walked for half an hour instead, passing through a giant torii.

Omiwa enshrined the god Omononushi-no-okami, whose soul inhabited Mt Miwa. The mountain itself had become an object of worship, thereby explaining the lack of a main building to house the deity. This peculiarity suggested Omiwa was the oldest shrine in Japan.

The oldest market (Tsuba-ichi) and industrial road (Yamanobe-no-michi) were also in this vicinity. Moreover, Miwa Shintoism had introduced a new system and philosophy to this ancient religion.

It was a forested complex too large to cover. I prayed in front of a performance of two priestesses inside the worship building, dancing to traditional music. Yet the only attraction that drew me – the one-of-a-kind triple torii – was closed to the public.

Tanzan Shrine

I walked back to Sakurai station and took a bus to Tanzan shrine. Having arrived precisely at sunset, the temple was alight with lanterns, which visitors could even grab for their exploration.

What an unexpected gimmick. I climbed stone steps lined with lanterns while holding my own: the epitome of the word ‘atmospheric’.

This was definitely the end of autumn. Orange was covering concrete.

Being on a mountain, one path led to a forest comprised of imposing cedar trees.

I treaded through the dimming forest. The multitude of trees was obscuring the faint blue of the sky, far away from me.

Awe and tension overtook me. I was crossing a quiet forest at dusk with a paper lantern for a source of light. Like a torch in the dark.

A tiny shrine stood on a hill. It was an old structure, full of dust and fallen leaves. My lantern was the main source of light illuminating it.

I’d visited more than 150 shrines and temples. Maybe even 200. But never experienced anything like this.

Brisk by this singularity, I dashed back down the hill to Tanzan before darkness would engulf me, tripped, twisted my foot, and almost fell to the abyss.

My Second Religious Injury While Alone in Nature at Dusk

My cry of pain reverberated throughout the forest. My right ankle hurt so much, that I couldn’t stand.

“No, no, no, no, no – ” I whimpered. Gone was the awe from a mere minute ago.

Tension escalated into horror. I was alone in a forest, at dusk, with a paper lantern for a source of light. My surroundings were silent.

My heart was thundering. I could see Shodoshima happening all over again. Alone on a mountain in nature – then at a temple, now at a shrine – an unexpected, spiritual moment of wonder – vigour pumping blood through my veins – rushing back down from a hill at dusk, before complete darkness fell – and crashing down.

I nearly, nearly fell into the abyss.

My stomach lurched. I almost threw up. And to think that just yesterday I’d booked my return to Shodoshima. I watched the chaos that had unfolded there like a movie that had come to life.

The owner who greeted me nearly gave me a fright. He was the first foreigner I’d seen here. A dope American expat, and quite the traveller, having done Shodoshima’s pilgrimage, Shikoku’s pilgrimage, and Kumano Kodo’s pilgrimages (both the Nakahechi trail and the one to Koya-San, which was so notoriously difficult that barely no one dared pursue it). 

He suggested doing something the tourist center hadn’t even mentioned. Instead of visiting the set of a movie I’d never heard of, and gawking at it without understanding what the fuss was all about, he told me to rent an electric bike (possible only if you had a Japanese phone number, which I did), and cycle up a mountain to unique cave temples with stunning views.

“Hmm,” I said, “I don’t know… I’ve just walked Kumano Kodo…”

“But these temples are pretty unique,” he said.

“Is it as steep as the climb to Nachi?”

“Nah. It is steep, but you’ll be fine.”

He must’ve seen the look of concern on my face, because he added: “What’s the worst that could happen? You’re not gonna die.”

The sun was beginning to come out. It was a sign.

On my way out, I accidentally closed the restroom door on my thumb. In hindsight, that might have also been a sign.

I hopped on the bus and got off at the nearest port, where there was a bike rental station. It required an app linked to your phone number.

The owner had given me the phone number of a cab company, just in case.

Cycling through town was a 気持ちいい moment, which is what Japanese people exclaimed when they experienced a good sensation. There was a strong scent of soy sauce. This obscure island was the biggest manufacturer of wooden tub soy sauce in Japan – the traditional way of cooking it. 

I noticed a soy shop and stopped for a soy sauce ice cream. It was delicious! 

Nothing like an ice cream on a cold day. 

Then came the big ascent. This mountain was as tall as the island’s central one, which featured a ropeway.

It was so steep, that I had to drag my bike up at times. When I did ride it, it was excruciating, even with the electric assistance. Sweat was dripping down my cheeks. I didn’t see a soul, nor a car.

But the view. The view.

“Wow,” I exclaimed for the same time this week. A moment of déjà vu.

I was above the fog. Alone on the mountain, drenched in sweat. Panting and smiling at the landscape below me.

A symphony of songbirds. A ferry departing from Sakate port, entering the fog. A sea of green. It was an even better than on a clear day. Today’s itinerary worked out in the end. 

I screamed “生きています” three times into the valley. My voice reverberated through the trees. I burst into laughter. To think I was so blue yesterday, that I went to bed on the verge of tears! I recalled it and burst into sobs. I’d never felt more confined and free.

This sort of emotional turmoil had been happening too much lately. 

I checked out the temple. There was a bowl of black sugar candy inside. Was it for the Buddha, I wondered, or a reward for visitors?

I ate one and took a couple more. I deserved it.

Then I went up the stairs and came fifty centimeters close to a snake. I ran for my life.

A sign that I should leave. It was starting to get late anyway.

I rode the bike to the next temple, featuring an enormous bell and another foggy viewpoint.

“生きています！” I yelled.

There was a statue of a Buddha or something in front of me. Sticking out among trees, deep into the cliff.

I was in awe. I had no idea how it had been placed there. But what a feat of art and belief, in such a high, remote, and beautiful slice of nature.

Humans could be amazing when they wanted to. There was no limit to what we could do.

At this moment, my faith in humanity was restored. It was probably the most memorable artistic and spiritual moment of my life.

I decided to head back down before it got dark. I was laughing as I rode the bike down a slope. 

“Who needs people?” I scoffed. Pure fun.

Then the slope got so steep that I lost control over my bike, and crashed on the road.

My cry of pain resounded all the way down as loudly as my cry of joy. My palms were pulsing. I was bleeding from my elbow and knee.

I’d been carrying a first aid kit with me since day one of this trip. After prevailing Kumano Kodo without the need of it, I’d taken it out of my bag, thinking it would no longer come in handy.

Blood was streaming down my leg. I wiped it with a wet tissue.

I was lucky. I could’ve broken something. And I was all alone, on top of a mountain, on a small island, a few minutes away from sunset. 

This was right in front of the third temple. A quick glance at it, and I cycled the hell out of there.

The road down was as steep as the road up, which made it all the more dangerous. I saw the back of a white-furred, four-legged wild animal entering a bush. Most likely a monkey.

I didn’t think there were bears on this island. Nor did I feel like finding out.

I passed an abandoned house that was being overtaken by vines and moss. Fog was progressing toward me, until I was engulfed.

“I need people,” I answered myself. By this point, I was terrified.

I didn’t mind the pain and the bleeding. I just wanted to return to civilization. 

Ultimately, I did. Right during sunset. I returned the bike to its station at the port and called the cab company. Thank God – thank GOD – I had a Japanese phone number. 

“If That Didn’t Sum Up What Life was, I Didn’t Know What Did” (23 March 2023)

I no longer had a Japanese phone number.

Just like that day, there was no time to waste. I forced myself to walk back. Every step twinged, every second hurt. I couldn’t even find the breath to yell for help. With gritted teeth and a rocketing pulse, I made it back.

The shrine was darker now; incandescent lanterns were brightening leaves. It was a celebration of yellow and black. One of my coolest, most memorable temple experiences.

I rode the bus and train to Osaka with a tall, blond German guy currently on a one year foreign exchange studies in Kansai. We discussed travel destinations in Japan he wanted to cover when his girlfriend came to visit.

As it turned out, a long-distance relationship wasn’t too challenging for them. He said most of his German friends from Kansai were doing the same.

Were Germans built differently? I wondered, as I limped to my capsule hotel in Shin-Imamiya. How did one turn on the German light?

My capsule turned out to be in a private room, all to myself. I showered and forced myself to limp to back to Shin-Imamiya station. I’d been looking forward to Osaka’s bars, especially since I would spend the next three weeks in the countryside.

So I limped for one minute on the street. Searing pain was making me whimper. My right foot was pulsing in anguish. I was practically hopping like a bunny.

A wounded elbow hadn’t stopped me from clubbing in Shinjuku. Now, a sprained ankle did.

I returned to bed. A shrivelled obaachan could outpace me. Every movement hurt, even with my right leg up in the air. I felt like an enervated maple.

My feet were sticking out of the blanket. My entire body grew hot, so that my skin was scalding. A fever was spiking.

At 22:00, I shoved some crackers into my mouth, took some painkillers, turned off the light, and drew the curtain. My capsule was pitch-black.

Shivering and perspiring at the same time, shifting positions to one that would alleviate my pain, I moaned and waited for slumber. I felt like a torch in the dark.

Today’s highlights: the tantalizing corridor in Hase-dera; using a lantern in Tanzan to explore a forest and an illuminated shrine, in autumn, at dusk.