The end of the pilgrimage

week 5 and 6, how it went, what I feel now

Day 34

I’m sitting in the equivalent of Starbucks sweating. Japan is either freezing or boiling. It’s overheated inside.

Shin Osaka is profoundly alienating. So much food all the same. So many people that dress alike. That look alike from afar because they all have straight black hair and brown eyes. They are all slim. You never see fat bodies. Is it our Neanderthal genes that make Europeans have different hair colour and eyes and bodies ?

When you cover the hair of Europeans we all look alike. Puddingy white faces. I learnt this at Kentwell, a Suffolk Elizabethan historical recreation where all women’s hair was covered by a cap.

Is it a symptom of depression that I’m seeing all this through a jaded viewpoint? The cubicle life, the same tech, the same clothes, the rushing, the convenience foods, the microwave food, the plasticity, the cook chill life of metro boulot dodo. It’s no surprise that most Sci-Fi is set or based on Asia, particularly China and Japan.

I struggle with the conformity. The rules.

The fact that even at a luxury hotel, 5 ⭐️ no less, they will spend more time telling you the rules than seeing that you are exhausted and hungry and that you want to go to your room. Which they don’t have time to take you to, even though it’s raining and down the street and there is no visible outside sign that it’s a hotel room. This is what happened when I went to Kusama.

I’m getting on a train in an hour to go back to the pilgrimage but I’m frightened because the vertigo is now almost permanent and makes me feel nauseous,

Maybe I’ll feel better in the open air.

Only 23 more temples to go and then I can stop. And then what?

Back on Shikoku. Got off train, bus to a couple of kms away from San Roku which is a ropeway to Temple 66.

I feel like a failure for not enjoying this. Everybody else copes better.

The other women, though rare, and I’ve only heard about them online, seem tougher than me. Have walked every inch, have camped therefore carried a huge pack.

I’ve had four, no five days off walking if you count that I got a lift to temple 65.

Temple 66 is today’s goal. It’s up a huge mountainside. But it’s getting dark so I will take the cable car up and down.

At the top it was snowing. I gingerly walked on black ice to get to the temple before the stamp office shut at 5pm. I passed a series of grimacing stone statues on the way. Portraits of previous pilgrims?

It was very beautiful. The view. The solitude. The pink clouds. The white snow and the red bibs around the grey statues.

Tonight I’m staying in a railway sleeper carriage which sounds fun. I did that once in South Africa.

Tomorrow I have over 20 kms to do. Will I be better after these few days rest? Or worse?

Japan is like a really decent boyfriend. Reliable, punctual, cleans up after themselves, do what they say they are going to do, responsible, dutiful. Maybe a little dull. But someone you can base a life on; you can go forward from.

What I like about Japan:

The gardens

The food

The packaging

The design

The artistry in small things

The detail

The reliability

The cleanliness

No litter

The style of the cars: their colours and shapes

The ingenuousness of the machines

Public transport

The safety

The building materials when they are natural - slate rooves and wood

The water pressure.

The washing machines and microwaves in hotels.

What I don’t like about Japan

The food. The monotony and the fact that they have to put something animal in everything.

The rules.

The boredom

The lack of colour

The reliance on cars

The ugly concrete buildings

The kombini food

The fact that everything is packaged

The feeling like you can’t relax because you’ll do something wrong

The lack of variety

The heating systems: too stuffy And dry- hot air.

The cartoons - the fact that everything is illustrated in a childish way.

The fetishes- school girls

The one ply toilet paper which rips as soon as you pull it.

Day 35

That was a bad night. It’s freezing. It stank of dog. It was like I was actually sleeping in the dogs bed. Disgusting. The most disgusting place I’ve ever stayed and I have slept on a wire bed frame with no mattress alongside bunches of spring onions in Tibet. I’ve slept on a wooden floor next to a burlap sack which I discovered contained cockerels because they started to crow at 4 am, in a mountain top café in Colombia. This was worse.

I woke at 7am and the guy was waiting outside for me in his car.

Arrigato I said although I didn’t feel thankful one bit and started walking.

The dawn was breaking. We are nearing the shortest day.

I could hear yelping dogs and gunshots- hunters.

I walked through rusty orange groves. Mikan, satsumas, were squashed on the road.

Temple 66 and beyond

After 10km, a Japanese lady wearing a towel around her neck like a scarf picked me up because it’s raining. She couldn’t work today as an orange picker because of the weather.

She said there are many complaints about last night’s hotel. That it probably wasn’t legal. That he ran an udon place but she won’t go there because it’s dirty. She was shocked at the price - 5000 yen, with no soap, towel, hot water for tea or proper heating. I’ve resolved to complain to the guide book.

The thing is when you are walking you can’t get out of trouble easily. You have to walk yourself out of trouble.

Hail. Rain all day. Miserable.

Ate in a restaurant - had virtually the only vegetarian thing on the menu: a small pizza the size of a tea cup saucer.

A robot waitress that looked like a cat wearing a bowtie served it. Bleeping and whirring.

Went to an ear clinic about my dizziness. They made me take my boots off. Wearily I did so. Then they refused to see me because I’m foreign. I felt angry. In my country, I said, not only do we see you, but we don’t charge either.

I left in a huff.

Went to Temples 68 and 69.

Then saw a pharmacy, went in and told them my problem. They were so kind. They said sit down, wait here in the warm while we wait for the clinic to reopen after lunch, here’s some water.

Then they made me an appointment at another clinic and drove me there.

The doctor tested my blood pressure and said it was low when I stood up suddenly. Tested my hearing in my left ear said it was normal.

Made me lay down and gave a sleep. Then said you are very tired, stressed and in a foreign country with no support.

They charged me 2000 yen which included a taxi to my hotel.

The hotel is a business one in a dreary car park.

Did my laundry and had a bath. Felt utterly depressed

There is nothing for me to eat. I’ve had enough of Kombini food: egg sandos, soggy, pizza buns, processed cheese triangles.

I’m so bloody bored.

Prince Andrew is on Japanese news because of his friendship with the Chinese spy.

Looked at a pic in a magazine in the laundrette of the Japanese royal family. They look similar to our own. Dress the same. Hats and gloves.

Day 36

Had breakfast and felt ill.

Went wrong way for a few kms, fatigue I suppose, then ran all the way back and got a train to temple 70. At the station I see a pilgrim shivering in the waiting room. He looks homeless. I think there is a fine line between a pilgrim and a beggar. Some pilgrims do the henro 20 times or more. Some spend their lives doing it, round and round, relying on alms.

It’s 3 degrees centigrade. My gloves are wet. It’s grey.

I pass Udon House at Motoyama station where I was almost five years ago, the last time I visited Japan. I’d forgotten where it was. I will write about this.

Everything is full circle.

Temple 70 has a five story pagoda which sways.

five story pagoda

Walked on to Temple 72. Mostly motorway.

Listened to The Rest is History podcast about the yippies. Very similar to the pink bloc anarchist carnival protest movement in the 2000s. I should write about this

I stopped for coffee and cake at Cafe Patisserie Gourmandise. They had a coffee named after the 139 bus route. I pointed it out to the owner. It’s where I live.

Beatles! he said. Yes! St Johns Wood and Abbey Road. He then gave me three packets as ‘osettai’, alms.

Had a nice strawberry tart and coffee served in a Peter rabbit mug. Kawai culture. No shame even for grown men to go for cuteness.

Raining at the temple

I walk up to Temple 73 on top of Mount Gahaishi which is high and cold with lots of steps. You have to take your shoes off to go in the stamp office because it’s on a wooden platform. I see one other walking pilgrim, a young Japanese man. Incense and red leaves and wind. Go back down.

Five degrees centigrade and it’s raining. I’m waiting at my accommodation called Bed and Chill: I have to wait another hour for the owner to turn up. I’m so cold. Check in time in Japan means you are locked out until the time they say (5pm in this case) which isn’t great when there is nowhere around to get warm. Another blow for walking henro.

He turns up with his kids in the car. I guess he’s just done the school run. He goes inside saying wait a minute to me. I then wait another fucking 20 minutes. This isn’t what I call hospitality.

Finally inside. There is no tea or coffee. He, a tall muscular handsome man in his 40s, who was a professional baseball player in Canada. So he speaks good English. He has a bar inside his house, a kind of pub. I guess he’s more interested in selling alcohol.

His children, seriously cute, wait under the heated tablecloth, under the coffee table, watching cartoons. Then the mum enters and says ‘baseball practice’ to the son. It’s raining, it’s night time. Now? I ask.

The kid has to do two hours practise three times a week. A few minutes later, it’s cancelled because of the weather.

Day 37

Did not start well with my phone dying last night. All night I couldn’t sleep with worry. The screen suddenly wasn’t responding to my touch. How am I going to do this without a phone?

I asked my host, can you help me? Can you google a solution?

The host said I’m busy.

He did the school run and then reluctantly helped me. He discovered by googling how to unlock it so that the screen responded to my touch. Hit the volume down button once, hit the up volume once, then hold the other side until the phone wakes up.

That solved it. But I hadn’t slept all night.

So I cried a lot when walking, thinking about death.

Now my schedule must change. No more early mornings because if I get to my lodgings early, they won’t let me in even if it’s raining.

I miss my turning and end up on a motorway. You no go there, workers tell me, crossing their arms. I start to cry again. They get out their translation app and say this motorway is a dead end. I respond without grace. I’m frustrated by they are only trying to help.

Beer cans, slit into attractive lanterns are hanging at temple 74.

At 1.30 pm I arrived at temple 75. For the first time I get to stay in a ‘shukubo’ which is temple lodgings. Out of 88 temples, there are now only eight that offer shukubo. I’ve tried all the others and not managed to get in. Because of course the Japanese have booked way ahead. You cannot book most accommodation by email or website. It’s only phone calls and my phone has only data no phone. Plus I can’t speak Japanese.

I really wanted this experience at least once. The monk at reception shows me to my room. (Again markedly different from the five star accommodation at kumano which I’ll write about later.) Small things.

I was happy - they allowed me to check in early. I fell asleep immediately. The cold, the crying.

No dinner. Just slept.

Day 38

I wake at 6 am for the ‘Miedo’ (which means sacred hall) prayer. I go out into the cold to the main temple. There are six monks kneeling plus one head monk.

They are wearing yellow and purple robes plus a white scarf, and are kneeling before a little table with a paper of prayers. Wooden rosaries looped over the index finger of praying hands.

All men apart from one woman. They are chanting ‘sutras’ their prayers. Every so often one of them rings a bell to signify the end of sutra.

They have to memorise these but sometimes you can see them peeking a look.

Scientific tests have proved that prayer works. Why?

Is it the vibration? Is it the noise? The repetition? The words? The voices? Singing? It is hypnotic.

Inside this temple I see lots of gold and red, and the odour of the incense, the tasselled glowing lanterns, add to an atmosphere. The wooden floor is shiny as are the blood red lacquer banisters.

At the end they hit brass cymbals 30 times. Then we all join in except obviously I don’t know the words.

I return to my room and put on every layer of clothing I possess. It’s zero degrees. At a Lawson I buy a second pair of gloves.

There was a feeling of kindness at Temple 75.

When I get to Temple 76, I realise I left my glasses at Temple 75. The monk in the stamp office speaks some English. He offers to get them for me. He sat me down next to the fire in his office and made me real coffee. He calls but Temple 75 denies having them. Maybe I made a mistake? Feeling grateful I continue.

When I get to Temple 79 I start to worry because for the only time I haven’t booked accommodation. It’s getting dark and I’m getting a bit panicky. I see there is a Japanese spa hotel, a 15 minute walk off the pilgrim’s path. Fingers crossed they’d take me without a reservation

At the spa hotel, yes they will take me. Phew. At reception there is a boy with full makeup. A woman in green kimono. I ask, are you actors? Yes we are a theatre group but no show tonight. Up on the walls there are photos of other actors in black wigs with black thin eyebrows painted high on their foreheads. They all look like Gary Glitter in his prime.

There are no foreigners, I get the feeling that maybe I’m the first ever to stay there.

At the onsen I watched the sunset. Steam and smoke respectively from the onsen and the industrial towers of the city below.

The steam made the scene look like a Deborah Turbeville photo or perhaps a Degas painting.

Spa hotel

At the dressing table a Japanese woman talks to me. Her sister died last year, her dad in September and her mum is in hospital. And they say the Japanese are inscrutable. She was pouring out her problems to me. She has to clean out her parents house. She’s had to take time off work to do this. It’s a huge burden. I mention the Scandinavian tradition of ‘death cleaning’, which ageing parents do precisely to make sure their children do not have to.

She was in her 40s, childless, single. There is a whole generation of Japanese middle aged women who don’t have children because Japanese men don’t like to commit. She works some admin job.

In the canteen, a series of low tables with cushions and transparent plastic tablecloths, in front of a blaring TV. I had chips and beer. I’m eating so badly. I chatted with the canteen worker. I tell her I’m a cook in my country. She is delighted.

In the morning I headed out, no breakfast at the hotel.

Walked over railway tracks, by the river. Grey and cold. Then I find a roadside cafe which serves tempura, udon and tofu.

Day 39

Only 1? She said a finger pointed up.

Yes.

She said something in Japanese. Astonished.

I’m going from 81 to 82. I have to go back on myself. This always annoys me. Going backwards.

A snowstorm looks like it’s lowering. It’s almost 2.30pm

I must get on. At least another two hours walk. Then another hour or so then a train to the city.

A hard day.

My glasses have been found and are being posted to Tokushima.

I must thank Temple 76.

Today was hard. After breakfast, tofu and tempura, in a roadside cafe, passing a pink love hotel, I got to temple 80. The route to 81 was uphill and I kept getting lost. At one point I had to climb through some barbed wire.

The forest floor was covered in orange leaves. There were notices about wild boars.

From 81 to 82 it started to get dark and rain hard. Was I going to make it in time? My left shoulder hurt and I have a weird lump in my right breast. The dizziness has mostly stopped. Maybe it was all psychological? Tiredness, stress and the anxiety of being alone in a foreign culture as the doctor said.

I got word that temple 76 were sending my lost glasses to Tokushima

When I got to 82, it started to rain heavily and I had at least an hours walk to a bus stop.

Walking down the hill, I stuck out my thumb. Eventually a van stopped. He took me to my bus stop. He gave me mochi, fruit, which he made.

I then ran for the bus but it was going the wrong way.

I settled in to wait for 25 minutes on the other side.

Then a schoolgirl that had heard me came up and said my mum will drive you to the station. Really?

Once in the car they said they’d drive me to my hostel. Going half an hour out of their way. In fact back to the girls school which she had just come from.

It saved me 90 minutes of travel and I was very tired.

The hostel had a Japanese guy with a japfro. He was the chef. He told me he perms his hair three times a year.

I sorted out the delivery of my toothbrush- which the yuzu guy in Kito refused to pay for - 880 yen- so mean - the hostel guys agreed to deal with it.

This took ages and I was so tired

So now hopefully I’m getting my glasses and my electric toothbrush back.

The dinner was ok. He then strummed Beatles songs on the banjo. I drank hot sake and sang along

I found out the traditional thing to do at Christmas in Japan is to go to KFC! Or pizza.

I’ll do pizza.

The dorm was ok but the pillow smelled. I wonder if they had washed it.

Tomorrow 83 and 84 then return to this hostel.

My body doesn’t hurt at night- throbbing knees and aching hips like it used to. But it’s hurting more doing the day.

Guests mostly Asian: Korean girls.

One middle aged Turkish guy travelling around Japan who lives there for free if he does 3 days a week.

Fun chopstick holder

Day 40

:

After a breakfast of udon with butter and soy, ‘it’s like carbonara’, by the japfro chef I set out to do my walk.

I was thinking of taking the day off but I feel impelled to continue.

It’s a rhythm. It’s a goal.

Bloody freezing all day. Got the train to temple 82 or was it 83 confused. Then walked to 84. Through the city so all roads. It rained. I tried to get food at a ‘cheese cafe’ which was a pizzeria but all booked up.

Ate crap. Sweets. One onigiri rice triangle with pickled plum.

The route through the city to Temple 84 wasn’t 13km more like 18km. The last 5km all uphill. So tired. Arrived around 3 pm.

I’m sure it’s beautiful and interesting but I didn’t care. I bowed at the gate, washed my hands and mouth. There were drumming sounds.

Couldn’t continue to Temple 85- too knackered, too cold, so got a shuttle down the hill then a tiny pink train back to the hostel,

At the station there were queues of Japanese girls in lolita fashion. I’m not sure what they were queuing for- some kind of photo shoot. It was lovely to see some glamour and fun.

Can’t wait to wear nice clothes again

To change clothes!

Two more days.

Then I’ll have a week to do … what ?

Go to Shodashima island? To find out about soy sauce and soba? And Japanese olive oil.

Go to Osaka?

Christmas will be on my own in a hostel.

Pizza? Probably have to book.

No other westerners around. I’m used to being alone now. Walking solitary all day every day.

Japan is a lonely place.

I went to the local Lawson and tried to buy a tin of tomatoes. They don’t sell them. How can you live without tomatoes? I ask.

It’s a basic food stuff. Every corner shop sells tins of tomatoes. A tin of tomatoes and another ingredient is a meal.

Wtf!

I haven’t cooked for so long. Maybe I’ll cook at the hostel in Tokushima.

But it’s a dreary little city. No vibe.

Got in and was shivering so went straight to bed. Couldn’t warm up so eventually I dragged myself to the shower.

Bought some milk- so had a milky tea.

The Turkish guy looked like he was cooking something nice but he wasn’t friendly.

Took an edible to try to sleep.

Asked to change my pillowcase because it smelled like they hadn’t changed the linen. Yuck.

Bed at 8.30pm

Couldn’t sleep but got very hungry. Ate a blueberry yoghurt in the dark of my curtained cubicle

Day 41

Got the train to just past where I stopped yesterday after breakfast cooked by japfro. Cheese on toast? Or was it béchamel?

Got the eery cable car (the music makes it sound strange) to the top of temple 85. Couldn’t find the temple. Asked some Japanese people rudely because I felt frustrated and annoyed that they cannot be bothered to signpost things.

Then trudged along main roads to 86 and 87

There were some nice traditional Japanese wooden houses just before 86.

I was desperate for the loo at 86, asking where it was. They pointed vaguely. Bursting I went outside and looked at every small building. Nothing. I was almost wetting myself.

I asked again. They pointed back inside: Over there!

Finally in frustration I went back inside. Please! Toilet! They pointed again. It was inside.

They don’t realise what it’s like to not be able to read. Which is effectively the case here. I can’t read in Japan.

At last reached Temple 87 then my hostel.

Saw Hazel who I now consider my Henro sister as she is the only other woman I’ve seen walking the pilgrimage.

She finished today. She showed me pictures of the route to 88. It looked frightening. Metal hand holds on rocks.

We talked about the extremity of temperatures. It’s like being on the moon- boiling in the sun and freezing in the shade. We spend our time adding and removing clothing, sometimes every half hour.

I have a private room tonight, which only cost a couple of pounds more than a dorm. I felt creeped out by the men in my dorm last night at Jaq. One was in the booth next to me. Why? There was lots of space.

Hazel said Japan does close for Christmas.

What will I do when this pilgrimage is finished?

Train for a marathon.

I’ve been eating so badly here. Hazel is vegetarian too but in desperation she started to eat meat.

We both crave vegetables. Not fancy vegetarian meals but just vegetables.

Another cultural difference: In the west, unless you do a dirty job like building, we tend to get up and shower. We wash in the morning. It helps you wake up. If you live in a hot country you might shower a couple of times a day.

In Asia they wash in the evening. You wash after work, when you get in. As soon as I arrive in any accommodation, they command ‘Wash now. Here.’

Day 42

Woke earlier than intended because of noise in the hostel.

Christmas music, Last Christmas, Jingle Bell Rock, So this is Christmas, on the tv with a Christmas picture.

Might as well get an early start.

It’s the last day.

I love walking as the sun rises, the moon still staring down. Before the traffic gets bad.

Coffee at a Kombini convenience store.

After a couple of hours I get to the Henro Museum. Unfortunately it’s only in Japanese. There are exhibits of old pilgrims vests covered with stamps from temples, stamp books, outfits. Some old photos of pilgrims in straw conical hats. In the centre of the main room there is a large 3d model of Shikoku. You can suddenly appreciate how mountainous it is. Like old machines in the Paris Metro, you can press a button, one of the 88 buttons representing each temple, and a little building lights up within the model.

I’m given hot green tea, take a couple of osettai gifts of sweets in bowls on the table. I exit the curtain and I’m on my way, the last part of the pilgrimage. Soon I’m leaving the main road. As I head onto the old pilgrim’s path, I pass a little farm with two Shetland ponies. You so rarely see any farm animals here in Japan.

Hello! I wave to the woman looking after them. Hello, she waves back. The small road is steep. I’m starting to puff. I regulate my breathing into a rhythm, my stick tapping, part of it.

My pain is no longer in my knees and hips but in my left shoulder blade and under my right breast. Have I got cancer, I fret? Women over 60 have a 1 in 2 chance of breast cancer I read.

Today though I think it through. Why the right side? What’s different? I hold my stick on the right side and I use it to propel myself forward or upwards. And what if the pain in my left shoulder is referred pain?

I swap sides, holding my stick in my left hand. The pain eventually recedes.

I wonder when the scary bit starts…

Finally I get to the off off road/path. Some steps carved in the mountain, not too bad. But soon I see. It’s steep uphill and no path, no steps. Just rocks. I have to climb up, with my pack, on hands and knees. This is on and off, sometimes just rocks, handholds and boulders, sometimes steps, for an hour or so. Towards the top of this section I see the much feared metal hand holds. It’s not so bad. I continue up on steps and eventually get to a wooden pilgrims hut. There is a rusty tin containing a bottle of water and a notebook and pen. I see John Austin, the speedy American I met way back on the road, signed in two days before. I put my name in, writing: ‘I laugh at your challenge’.

But I was wrong. That wasn’t the hardest bit. All that up always translates in to down. The up was often gradual. The down isn’t. It’s two solid hours of steep downward steps. I have to concentrate hard. One mis-step and I have a broken ankle or leg or I’m toast. But freezing because the wind is icy. I look at my feet, where I’m stepping, I analyse the terrain, I try to keep my feet straight. If you fall you don’t want to twist. I use my stick, back now on my right, to prod the ground, to see if it’s stable.

I hear the Big Ben chimes of midday. I’m not there yet. It’s taking me longer than five hours, which was what I planned, accounting for slowness.

Finally I’m there, on flat ground, next to the last temple. Eighty Eight. Eights are significant in Asian culture. A lucky number. Asians buying wine vintages will always pay more for a year with an eight. The kanji script for ‘8’ in Japanese symbolises prosperity.

I walk to the stamp house ‘noukyosho’. The unsmiling woman gives me a stamp and the calligraphy.

No ticker tape parade. No congratulations. No well done. An anti-climax after weeks of walking.

I leave the temple. There are a couple of restaurants here, a rarity. I go into one. I ask for vegetable tempura. This isn’t possible. I must have the full ‘set’ with udon. Nor can the cook remove the tempura shrimp. I’m tired. I give up and just have a coffee. With milk please. I am brought a not very nice coffee with a tiny plastic pod of cream. Can I have another?

Some couples are eating. They are drivers. You can tell because they are well dressed and clean. I haven’t seen another walker all day.

One lady tries to talk to me: ‘where you from?’.

Eventually I ask her ‘where are you from?’ Tokushima she replies. Are you driving back there? Can I have a lift?

She shakes her head.

I have to wait two hours for the bus and the journey back will take hours. I will be going back on myself. Why is there no bus to Tokushima or back to temple number 1? It’s a circuit after all.

God forbid they make it easy.

I go to the other restaurant. They have a menu in English. I order soba noodles with vegetables. It seems to be vegetarian.

It comes. It’s hot. It’s got whole wheat soba noodles (I find the udon noodles hard to eat after surgery a year ago), white daikon radish, carrots, tofu. But it’s tasteless. No salt.

I grab my food bag and add a cube of butter and two slices of processed cheese. Not much better. I crave fat and salt.

Finally the bus comes. I have to take this to a train station, then a train back to a main station (Shido) then a limited express train to Tokushima. Complicated and long winded.

As I wait on the platform, a rare thing occurs. The train doesn’t come. One thing you can rely on in Japan is the punctuality of public transport. I, using a translate app, ask a young boy what’s happening.

There’s been an accident. No trains to Tokushima. People are always killing themselves in Japan and that’s probably the ‘accident’.

I’m tired. I’m so tired. I will miss my connection.

A train arrives on the opposite platform. The young boy helps me and runs over the bridge to ask the conductor what to do.

I follow and get on this new train. The conductor says I will have to go to another station and take a later train to Tokushima.

We wait. Another student talks to me and practises his English. There are lots of students, half of them asleep, black-haired, blunt cut heads nestled on their school bags. They study for long hours, not just school but private tuition. Poor buggers.

We slowly, it’s a local train, go towards another station. I can’t stop crying. I’m feeling sorry for myself,

I wait in the cold for the next train. I’ll arrive a couple of hours later than planned. I guess they’ve cleaned up the track pizza as it’s called by hapless train drivers in the states. I’m crying some more. What was all this about?

I have no perspective yet. I’m just sad about spending Christmas on my own. I’ve spent much of the last 50 days on my own and I’m feeling desperately lonely.

In Tokushima I walk to the PAQ hostel where I first arrived. My pink suitcase is there. A package with my glasses from Temple 76. I peel off my pilgrim clothes. I detest them. I’m almost tempted to throw the lot away but I put them in a bag. I put on a flowery dress.

I wash all my clothes.

There are some Asian people at the hostel and one Austrian lady. She’s very old with badly dyed hair and one eye. She’s friendly to me. I smile but I don’t feel like making an effort. Two Japanese people, a mother and son, are from Australia. We chat a little. But I’m not in a great mood. I’m negative. I say harsh things about Japan and Japanese food and the pilgrimage. People don’t want to hear this. They don’t want to hear that the pilgrimage is waste of time, effort and money. That I’ve learnt nothing. That I don’t give a shit about buddhism. That all the temples were boring and blended into one indistinguishable blur.

I’ve no perspective yet. Maybe that will come.