Reasons

Blog 11.

My henro friend Jun, 21, told me he is doing the pilgrimage to try and work out what to do with the rest of his life. At his young age though, I think he need not worry whatever he starts, as even in Japan, I am sure it is okay to change direction or „course correct“ as one goes through life. He appears to need more time walking, however, for a week after he finishes the henro he will be in Spain to walk the Camino de Santiago! Way to go, Jun! Ganbatte and good luck!

It’s the same for me. The main reason I am here, at my midlife crossroads, is to think about my future: what should I do and where should I do it? What do I want? Should I stay in Germany or move elsewhere? I am not expecting an epiphany to occur, and the pilgrimage might not „deliver“ the answers I seek on a silver plate. That would be putting too much pressure on the henro. It is okay; it is doing „something“.

A further reason I am here is to get fit and moving, in body and spirit, after years of being „stuck“ mainly behind a desk. I think this reflective walking will bring a certain flow back to my life. After 4 weeks on the move now, I already feel stronger than before, more confident and adventurous.

Those reasons were clear before I came here, but it dawned on me the other day that there is another more subtle reason for me to be here, and nowhere else, doing a pilgrimage: nostalgia.

This long visit to rural Japan is bringing me back to closer contact with both the nature and the local people, my gracious hosts while I am here. Since working here as an English teacher 1994 – 1996, my rare trips back have only been short ones, always leaving me with a desire to return for longer and immerse myself properly.

On the henro, the overnight stays in so many guesthouses and inns, built around the time my old home would have been built, bring back memories I had forgottten: from the same style of mosaic tiles in the bathrooms, the same wall coverings, even the same frosted glass in the windows – on many nights I am transported back all those years to my house in the little town of Kumano-cho, in Hiroshima prefecture.

Yes, I am here to top up my Japan tank to the full, saturate myself in interaction with the locals, the scenery, smells, sounds and tastes and finally satisfy that longing. It might be a long time before I can return, so this extended journey has to go a long way.

Remembering my time here before, I am reminded, however, that life in Japan works best for the Japanese. As much as I love this country, I could not make it my permanent home because I would always be a conspicuous foreigner. I could not now master the language to the extent needed, say, to do my tax returns or sort out my pension. I try to glean the meaning of signs on the road, or posters, or flyers, but it is like being blind, the scant amount I understand.

Importantly, the language barrier would prevent me from developing deeper friendships with the Japanese. I’d forever be the guest. With beginner level Japanese and English dictating how far a friendship could go, relationships with Japan and its people will remain more superficial. The mystery will remain intact. And that is okay. I will continue to love what I see, what I feel and what I understand.

In the little house I lived in, rice paddies were the view from the bedroom and kitchen windows. Tonight, having left the coast again on the beautiful route inland, I am staying at a private guesthouse surrounded by rice paddies. Rustic. Check-in time is 4pm, but as I‘m a bit early, I sit at an outside table, shoes and socks off, and relax in the sun before my hosts arrive.

The hostess arrives first, punctually at 4, followed by her husband returning from a day planting rice, then by their very cute 4 year old grandson, who jumps off his school bus and runs up to the house. He has not seen a foreigner before and is shy at first. Tea is served outside, the cat is introduced and then they take me over to a house on their property which is to be my room for the night. A whole house!! I can‘t believe it.

The little boy excitedly gives me the grand tour, pointing out the kitchen, the bathroom, the toilet. I am astonished. There is a heated carpet to relax on, a washing machine, home karaoke, all mod cons. They leave me to relax before dinner. I put some laundry on and feel at home.

Sliding the door open, my new four-year old friend joins me on the carpet to look at photos. I give him some candy and he settles in, saying things I cannot understand. After a while, I send him out so I can have my bath.

At six he returns to get me for dinner, which I go to in the soft pyjamas they put out for me, so stretchy that they actually fit. I eat the rice and vegetables that they grow themselves and I am in heaven. From the posters on the walls, it is clear that my hostess is a renowned maker of sake, and she brings out a bottle, just a week old, rice still fermenting inside. Kanpai! It is delicious. Her daughter, the little boy‘s mother, comes home from work. Before long we three women are finding things to laugh about despite not speaking much of each other‘s language.

I slip into my three layer futon and drift into my first really good sleep to the nightsong of a million frogs.

This perfect day was why I came here.

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