Kindness, and a Change of Plans

Day 21 was such a strange mix, after the sweetness of Day 20. We started the day early, walking to a highway rest stop to meet Matsushita-San, hereafter M, who is one of the great heroes of the Shikoku Henro trail, who was planning to join us for our 29-km day and our two-day out-and-back to the Ashizuri Cape.

About 15 years ago, M decided to take charge of creating a guide in English for foreign Henros. He enlisted the help of a number of Westerners, including Dave, to translate the standard Japanese trail guide. The guide includes maps, information about all available lodging, the location of all important convenience stores, and even bus, train, and ferry schedules for Henro using public transportation for some or all of the pilgrimage.

M is around 60, and in his spare time is a farmer, surveyor, and ultra-marathoner. He also reissues an updated version of the guidebook every two years, which requires him to walk around and check the state of every inn, rest hut, 7-11, etc. He also has to gather all the updated public transportation info. It’s a huge job and one that, as far as I can tell, he does largely for free, as an offering. Portions of his book detailing the elevation and distance between each temple are posted in convenience store windows. He wasn’t even consulted about this decision.

The walk was hot and long, on rolling hills. At one point, we walked through a mile-long tunnel. A MILE. By the time we got to the tunnel, my shins were on fire again—mostly on the left side, which was the opposite side from where they originally hurt. I was actively limping. We walked long miles of highway and overgrown trails marked with Henro graves. The hot afternoon seemed to stretch on forever. As we pulled into town at last, sweaty and all bone tired, M endeared himself to me by insisting we stop at the convenience store for a beer, which he then demanded we drink sitting on a bench outside the store, rather than walking around the corner to the inn. I thought this was hilarious, and it went some way toward lifting my mood.

Somewhere in that mile-long tunnel, I realized I had to either say something about my leg pain or call it quits and go home. The ethos of this almost entirely masculine undertaking is stoic to a mind-blowing degree. I definitely got the message pretty directly that I wasn’t supposed to talk about blisters or shin pain or other challenges. Interestingly, it was M who arranged to have a new and better pair of shoes sent ahead to an inn for me, when the boots I brought proved inappropriate and I had to ask Dave about how or when I might find a store to get new ones. He had already done me a huge favor through Dave and the wonders of Amazon.jp, and I hadn’t even met him yet. Still, after a day walking with him, and a parking lot beer, I took the plunge and decided he was someone I could, or maybe must,  trust.

I can’t remember how I ended up asking him about my leg pain, but he immediately jumped into action—diagnosing me, working pressure points, suggesting stretches, sourcing tiny ice packs from the owner of the inn, and handing over some kind of analgesic cream and medicated patches. I have no idea how he fit all these things in his tiny 20L pack, but I guess ultra-marathoners have to know a lot about these things. When I came down at 6 for breakfast this morning, he was making little splints with a spare shoelace and chopsticks he had cut in half. I admit I was amazed and a little overwhelmed, but I had decided to trust this person, and creating that tiny opening was yielding wonders.

Over the course of a few hours, M’s kindness genuinely transformed my experience and reminded me of how powerful a solvent simple kindness can be. Then, in the midst of all this shin drama, the inn owner’s wife handed me a small envelope addressed to me and Dave that turned out to be notes and gifts from François, the sweet Belgian banker from the Skyline. He had taken a train between temples to quicken his route (he can only travel a week a year for this), and he wanted to cheer us on. He left talismans to hang from our packs. This particular one is for good health. Later, in a move that finally brought me to tears, I learned that he had asked the inn owners to prepare vegetarian food for me. I had confided in him that eating critters, while it seemed a necessity on this adventure, was more than a little hard on my heart and not totally easy on my stomach. He wanted to be sure I had a meal or two without that heart stress and by which I could be fully nourished.

The simple kindness of these two men I barely know softened me up and cracked me open in a way that would fundamentally transform me and this journey. Their kind gestures laid the foundation for a major change of plans. I know I could not have agreed to what’s to come now from the place I’ve been walking around in, internally, for the past three weeks. But now, thanks to them, I’m ready and willing to meet what’s arisen.

Today started well, with the first 8 miles or so of our walk down the Ashizuri cape. We left most of our belongings at the inn (to which we’ll return tomorrow night), and the day started cool and breezy. Our first big stop was Okinohama, or Oki beach, a renowned surf spot. All morning M kept saying, “I like Oki beach!” and when we got there I could see why. An enormous stretch of white sand beach was laid out before us, with surfers and clean breaking waves. I chatted with a woman at the side of the highway, who was deciding whether to paddle out, and as soon as I said “Santa Cruz,” we fell easily into conversation. M suggested we cut across the beach rather than take the highway, and I stunned them both by pulling off my shoes and socks (and the little shoelace splints), rolling up my pants, and walking the whole way in the water. A mile of beach to offset yesterday’s mile of tunnel. M and I even did a little impromptu beach clean-up on the way. For the first time in three weeks, I felt joy and light-heartedness, appreciation and gratitude, and awe at the beauty of the natural world, all at once.

I carried both my time in the waves and the support of all that kindness into what turned into a difficult day nonetheless. My shins ached and swelled more and more as the hours went on. We were walking slowly for once, ostensibly to give me a break, but I practically jogged the last 2 km to temple 38 just to try to get off my feet. It was lovely, with a giant turtle to greet us, whales carved on the pagoda, a reflecting pool with a perfect image of the Hondo devoted to 1000-armed Kannon, and a stunning statue of Kōbō Daishi. But notwithstanding the 82 km since the last temple (the longest stretch without a temple of the whole pilgrimage), I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

When we got to the inn, I sat on my futon staring at my shins and finally screwed up the courage to ask M to come and talk with me. He came in, took one look at my shins, and walked away, coming back a few minutes later with ice packs. He handed them to me, told me to get my legs above my heart, and said, rather abruptly, “it’s resting time.”

Then he left me alone.

I was a bit taken aback by this change of tone, and, as you do, wondered if I was making a big deal out of nothing or being a bother. Still, I lay on the floor, iced my legs as instructed, and did some research on shin splints and stress fractures. I finally mustered the will to go and tell Dave and M that I needed to take the bus tomorrow, and maybe rethink our 31km day the following day, but I found Dave alone. “We have a new plan for the next five days,” he said, as soon as I walked in the room. “Matsushita-San and I have it all worked out. We’re going to keep you off your feet for five days minimum, using buses and trains, while still visiting all the temples.” And that was that. Change of plan. This walking pilgrimage is now … some other kind of adventure.

At another time I might have felt pissed off not to have been consulted, but honestly, I largely felt relief not to have to think for one more day about whether I should call this whole thing off. As is often the case, I didn’t realize until after the fact how exhausting that has been. I fully understand that you get around the 88 temples any way you can. Walking or not walking is not the most important thing, and I had always expected to take some buses at some point, though perhaps not quite like this. Not constantly pounding the pavement will be bizarre, but it will also be a blessing.

We’ve loosely decided to use public transport and walk a little each day through the next prefecture, and the next 27 temples, and then, if we can, walk the last prefecture and the last 22 temples. I think it’s kind of funny that the end of my ascetic training and the entire period of “awakening” associated with the third prefecture will be spent not walking. Maybe I’ll change the name of this blog to “Taking the Bus and Praying.” Either way, I’ll be devoting the second half of this strange pilgrimage to cultivating and extending small acts of kindness that can change … everything.