On the 88 Henro pilgrimage in Shikoku, Japan

Citrus and walking

It's a look. The Temple stamp and calligraphy book

I’ve been wanting to do this pilgrimage since I visited Japan in 2020, just pre-Covid. Obviously the pandemic put paid to that for a while. Then my granddaughter was born and one thing after another, and now I’m finally here.

I decided to come in November because that’s citrus season and Shikoku is known for yuzu, a delicious fruit that is somewhat between a grapefruit and a mandarin, but more perfumed. The juice, especially by the time they get to the UK, isn’t plentiful: it’s the zest that contains the magic.

It’s an ingredient that I mentioned in my first cookbook, Supper Club, when it wasn’t really on sale. But now you’ll find it in Waitrose and Japanese shops.

I arrived here, at Osaka airport, on Monday morning after flying via Shanghai. I did my first day of the pilgrimage today, temples 1 to 6. There are 88 temples in total and the 750-mile pilgrimage takes anything from 30 to 60 days.

I’m slow, so I’ve counted 60 days. I’ll miss Christmas with my family. But it was a case of: if not now, when?

Jet-lagged, I barely slept last night and started off very early, around 7am. However to get to temple number 1, the first train was at 8.45am.

I managed to walk around 23km altogether, which isn’t bad considering that, on our time, GMT, I was basically walking through the night.

I bought all the buddhist temple accoutrements, the stick with a bell to frighten off bears, snakes, ‘dangerous monkeys’ and hornets; the vest, the booklet which is stamped and brushed with calligraphy at every temple; the guide book, the tiny candles, the mini incense sticks. I didn’t get the conical straw hat cos frankly it looked uncomfortable. But I did buy a mad white bonnet.

I lost the pilgrim stick by the third temple. I was too tired to use the candles and incense by the second one.

On this pilgrimage you are supposed to wear white, so just before coming I bought a white puffer jacket from Uniqlo, which is very light.

The only way I’m going to manage this is if I carry nothing. So I’ve jettisoned virtually all my clothes, my toiletries barring a toothbrush, toothpaste, sunscreen and a hairbrush, and my laptop and books. I’m gonna stink.

Temple stuff and a travellers sketches

In fact, with the heavy temple stamp book, I’m getting rid of one of the guidebooks too. It’s too full of snotty ‘respect the religion and the Japanese and don’t turn up at a lodging without having booked’ type stuff.

Man, this is survival. I’m really not confident of making it. I’m actually scared. Tomorrow I’m getting up early to get a bus to the 7th temple where I will have to do a 23km walk to temple 11.

After that is the truly terrifying temple 11 to temple 12 route, which takes 10 hours and is really steep. Also there won’t be any food or drink for two days.

It sounds even tougher than when I did Hadrian’s Wall coast to coast. I’ve also done the last 120km of the Camino de Santiago (the bare minimum to get your pilgrim’s certificate in Latin). That was hard because of the weather and I carried too much. But in Spain they have a café every 100 metres.

I don’t know. Can I do this?

Why am I doing this?

I’m not sure.

I’ve realised I’m not actually very spiritual. I like religious ceremonies, I like hearing the chanting, smelling the incense and candles, I like all the theatre. But I don’t feel compelled to join in.

I think I’m trying to find my ’itigai’, my purpose in life, which seems to have gone missing, especially since the pandemic.

The first night I met another older lady, travelling on her own, an Australian. Annie calls herself the gypsy woman. She’s on the move all the time, because she can live more cheaply abroad than in Australia. And us older single ladies don’t have much dosh. When I do get my pension, it will be entirely impossible to live on 11k a year in London. There is something awful about the fact that we have to leave our own countries in order to survive. It’s all a bit Nomad Land. I keep meeting this brave women travelling on their own. But, as my brother says, you don’t want to die in a fur-lined coffin do you? You’ve got to get out there, have a go.

Gypsy woman and hot monk

At temple 4 I met a nice Japanese guy, who it turned out was a monk, and it was his family temple. They’ve run it for 21 generations. Imagine. How many centuries ago is that?

Buddhists monks are allowed to get married and have children. He has a half-Italian, half-Japanese 16-year-old son.

After hot priest (Fleabag), hot rabbi (nobody wants this), there is now hot monk. He was pretty buff.

Shikoku is suffering because all the young people are leaving, there is little work. The countryside of Japan, and many other countries, is populated by the old.

Walking today, I saw fields of purple cosmos flowers (Japanese morning glory trumpets are purple too), halloween orange persimmons glowing by the roadside, large green grapefruit like citrus (I think they are mikan, another speciality citrus from here), and tiny sweet sour mandarins.

growing in Shikoku

The trucks are cute and oblong like Noddy cars, and signs I cannot read and vending machines selling hot and cold drinks in fields and small streets and chubby school children with black pigtails and proper school uniform.

A rare sign post; crocheted cushions at a train station

The road is hard, mainly because 80% of this trek takes place on asphalt. There aren’t many sign posts either and they are all (obviously) in Japanese.

I’m not sure when I can next do this substack (edit I’ve found out how to do it on my phone). I’m leaving most of my stuff at this hostel. I’ll be wearing one pair of trousers, a t shirt, socks and boots. I’ve packed into a day pack: 2 pairs of knickers, another t-shirt, the puffer, a rain cape, a battery for my phone, headphones, a guidebook, some plastic sandals, a swimming costume. I know even this paltry amount will weight a ton once I’m climbing a hill.

Lots of people cheat this pilgrimage, taking public transport. I’m going to try not to. I may fail.

I also hope to visit a yuzu farm in Kito village, off the pilgrimage.

I’m posting every day on instastories and I will try to take notes on my iPhone.

Right I’m going to bed. I have to be up by 6am. I’m waking at 3am every morning so far.

One more thought, Rimbaud, whose best work was over by the time he was 20, died from walking too much. He spent the last decade or so arms dealing in Aden, walking miles till he got an infection in his knee and died.