Sleeping with the dead

The mesh canopy of my slim one man tent made it easy to view the numerous orange and gold glowing lanterns suspended above my head. The sound of rain steadily dripping down through the branches of the massive cedar trees towering above me from a storm recently past and the babbling of a brook to my right side were were the only disruptions to the perfectly still night. Here I was, all alone late at night, camped out near an enormous graveyard and next to (hugging quite close to the side under the eaves) a famous world heritage site and popular destination for Buddhist pilgrims. What had I gotten myself into this time?

My day had started quite simply but very memorable. Today was the day I had to pick up my new foreign resident ID card (read Japanese green card). It kind of hit me like a ton of bricks as I accepted the new and shiny piece of plastic. Five years had passed in almost the blink of an eye. Where most people had come into the country, lived for a year or two and left, I had gone through 3 visas and now a green card. Wow.

So, having planned out my destination, Mt. Koya in Wakayama prefecture, the night before it was a simple task to get there. By now train transfers had become a breeze and navigating my way around easy. What greeted me on Mt. Koya was quite literally and figuratively a breath of fresh air.

Having traveled so much I had become used to deeply cultural sites being raped by commercialism and turned into gross theme park-like attractions but as I stepped off the bus I was greeted with something quite different. For thousands of years this place has been the destination of pilgrims and tourists alike yet through all of that it has remained a solemn and respectful place (words I shall use and think of quite a lot on this trip). Of course there were the souvenir shops and the like, but they were tastefully blended in with the local shops. As for chains, the only one I saw was the single convenience store hidden on a side street behind a group of buildings.  It ended up being the sources for most of my meals during my stay.  Convenience stores that are convenient…

My first stop was at the information center next to the bus station. ‘Where can I get some food around here?‘  He gave me a quizzical look and said ‘There are restaurants up that street and down that one, but they are about 1km away.‘  I should mention that I was wearing my large external frame backpack decked with camping gear so that might have explained his look, maybe.

I chose down the street and hoofed it to a small lunch place then wolfed down some Oyakodon (chicken and egg over rice in a bowl).  It was here that a man from Nagoya engaged me in conversation (as well as a staff member) and I realized once again how useful it is to know the language of the land.  How can you expect to fully understand and enjoy a place without being able to communicate with those who live there?  I cannot count how many people have been excited and eager to speak with me once they know they can.  Unfortunately the conversation usually heads along the same lines of where are you from, what do you do, why did you come, well, you get the idea.

Having made the decision to camp out while en route to the restaurant my next task was to find a place that made obento (lunch boxes) for my dinner.  A few inquiries later gave me the knowledge that yes, there was a place to buy such goods, but that it was up the road, about 1km past my starting point, so about 2km from where I was.  Maybe I should have gone up the street to begin with, but then again I wouldn’t have met the people I did, one door closes another opens.

Finally I stood ready to enter the woods and proceed upon the Sando (forest road) to the Okunoin Gobyo Museum and Torodo (hall of lanterns).  Between here and there along the 2km path winding through an ancient forest of cedar trees lay 200,000 or more graves.  Stone markers placed to remember the dead, ranging from common people to former rulers of the nation, littered the forest covered in vivid green moss and surrounded by towering trees.  One thing did subtract from the somber tranquility that blanketed the area, mosquitoes.  Swarms of them, each wave braver than the previous, descended in droves the moment you stopped to do anything.  Thankfully they disappeared later on.

Piercing through the calm aura of this holy place came the stale jokes and interesting facts spouting from guides herding groups of tourists through the area.  I paid them no head and began to explore the structures at the end of the path.  I can’t say that I was too impressed by them.  Thousands of metal lanterns with luminescent bulbs hung from every conceivable location.  You too could have one hung in your honor for the simple ‘donation’ of $20,000, a modest sum if you ask me…

It was not the buildings that awed me, but the feeling of the place.  In all my travels I have never felt like I was so in Japan until I visited Mt. Koya.  The temples, the trees, the graves, everything combined together to create the masterpiece of my emotions.  My musings were interrupted by an angry growl from the gray skies above and then another.

It was here that I almost had a change of heart about camping as the rain began to pour down.  I sat on the deck of an ancient temple and weighed my options.  Do I stay or do I go?  The rain continued unabated for over an hour with crashes of thunder coming in quick intervals.  Who would question going home in weather like this?  The one person who matter would, me.

My decision gelled in an instant and I was committed to staying the night.  Now it was off to find a place.  Rain had made the ground unfriendly so the graveyard was out, that left only the temples.  It took me only a short time to find the perfect spot.  One of the temples had side facing the forest and was not visible from any normal passageway.  Sure it was on concrete and under a set of lamps that would not be turned off and if I got caught I might get in trouble, but it was safe, dry and most importantly someplace interesting.

Now I settled down to the task of passing time before sleep.  As night descended on the forest I wandered through the immense graveyard on dimly lit paths with my mind wandering from one thing to another.  One famous name after another appeared before my eyes (though I couldn’t read most of them) as I strolled.  Finally I ended up back at my camping grounds.

Twenty-four hour a day lights made reading easy as I settled back on a bench, listened to the drip-drip of leftover rain, and looked at my book.  Occasionally a caretaker would pass by, check to make sure all was well with the assorted Buddhist paraphernalia (candles, incense), and then continue on.  This continued until finally I had had my fill of the book, my eyes dropped with weariness and I made my way to the tent I had covertly set up.

Which brings me back to where I started.  Laying in my tent staring up at the lamps wondering how I had gotten myself into this again.  I don’t really know how, but I do know why.  Because it’s fun and I can do it.  In America this sort of thing would be dangerous and possibly illegal but here… well, only in Japan.