Osettai

Osettai is the practice of giving gifts to Henro. It takes many forms, from money to food to rides and much more. On the one hand, this is encouragement to us humans walking the path. On the other, we are seen by some island residents as Kōbō Daishi in disguise, and giving to Henros is equivalent to giving to the Saint himself.

Our first experience of Osettai occurred back in Tokushima province, deep in the country, just by temple 9. The only place to get lunch in the area, an Udon shop just outside the temple on which we were relying to provide midday sustenance, was closed, and there were no convenience stores for miles. I had noticed a tiny farm stand  just short of the noodle shop, so we went back to check it out in hopes of at least finding some oranges.

Inside, we found a small metal stove pumping out heat on a 75 degree morning, a lot of skinny sweet potatoes, and a stooped older man with a bemused look on his face. Clearly, he hadn’t seen any foreign henro in many years. There was also a younger woman who was practicing calligraphy, under his distracted tutelage, while drinking iced coffee. Dave ordered each of us a little sweet potato—that’s what had been baking in the little metal stove—and I asked for an iced coffee, since it seemed clear I was going to need some kind of energy for the rest of the day. Two little plates with one sweet potato each arrived, but seconds later the old guy swung by and dropped a second potato on each plate. “Osettai!” It was the first time I heard this word I’d read so much about.

Minutes later, the young pupil put down her pen and ink, motioned us to wait, jumped in a car, and drove off. She returned a bit later with a tiny bag of cherry tomatoes. “Osettai!” Not to be outdone, the older guy handed us each another small bag with two sweet potatoes for the road. The osettai sweepstakes were clearly on.

Over the following days, we were stopped now and then by someone—nearly always a woman—spotting us and holding up a hand to say “wait, wait.” There was the coffee angel, about whom I wrote last week, and Tatsu with his generous pour of sake. One woman ran inside an elder care facility and came out holding two small pre-prepared bags of candy and handiwipes. Another woman stopped her car in a light rain, jumped out, and tried to gift us an umbrella. We declined, but only because we had umbrellas of our own tucked inside our packs. The next day, an elderly woman ran out of her house, stared hard at me, and asked Dave, “is that a woman?” When he replied in the affirmative, she handed me a small handmade bag made out of one of her old kimonos. As hard as it’s been to add an ounce of weight, I just can’t bear to throw it away.

Perhaps my favorite osettai moment occurred just before temple 34. We’d taken a small, free, five-minute ferry ride to cross a bay (this ferry is considered an official part of the route) and were hurrying to reach our last temple of the day. I noticed a huge barn that had a big sign on the side saying, “Free rest, free wifi, toilet—feel free to use it.” I mean, how could we not stop? Around the front was a sign saying, “free tee JP,” which made me wonder if I was about to get a new t-shirt. A middle-aged athletic guy, grizzled and a bit the worse for wear, stepped out and said “come, tea,” clarifying the nature of the offering. Dave looked ready to bolt, but I couldn’t resist, and dragged him inside.

We stepped inside a large barn-like place with tables and chairs. Prominently displayed were posters of a young baseball pitcher and a baseball jersey saying, “Nomura.” At first, I thought it must be the guy’s son, but it soon became clear that this was Takahito Nomura himself. He had played for the best teams in Tokyo and Osaka and been an all-star in Japan. But he was most proud of the fact that he’d spent at least part of one season in the US Majors, playing for the Milwaukee Brewers. He even had a bobblehead doll of his own! He was thrilled that Dave and I both follow baseball, but near ecstatic that we’d been following the Nippon Series, Japan’s version of the World Series, over the past week. He had played for older versions of both teams battling it out for this year’s crown. We came away with big smiles and a business card with all his greatest achievements in baseball—including YouTube highlights. My only regret is that we went away too fast to ask him why he’d decided to spend his retirement dishing out delicious cups of iced tea to tired Henros.

And then there was the burly young guy today, who was just finishing a shift painting boats and covered in white spatters from head to toe. I was sitting on a  wall waiting for our sweet guesthouse , “ohenro guesthouse Lilian,” to open, after a nearly 30 km day. He walked past tired me, did a double take, and asked (in all the Japanese I know), “foreign walking henro? all the way 88 temples?” I nodded and said, “Hai! Hai!” He completely surprised me when he pulled 1000 yen out of his paint-stained pocket and handed it to me, grinning. “Sugoi!” “Awesome!” Then he walked to a nearby vending machine, pulled out two cold coffees, and tossed me one of the cans on his way back to work. “Gambatte,” he yelled. Do your best! And I will.