Pilgrimage to My Yoga Pagoda

Shikoku Island lies to the south of Honshu, Japan's main island. It's not an obvious destination, like Kyoto or Tokyo or Hiroshima. What sent me here was a personal pilgrimage. Prior to leaving for Japan, I had done little to no research on where I would go or what I would do. The idea for Shikoku was inspired in a place where many inspiratons have come over the past few years - yoga class. My most influential instructor gave me a card and a strand of beads as a parting gift. On the card was a picture of a pagoda. On the back, there were brief details that read like this: Pagoda, Unpenji, Kagawa, Shikoku, Japan.

Pagodas abound in Japan. This one - besides its presence on this touching card - is of no particular significance. In fact, a Google search turned up very little information on its location or how to get there. A few travel blogs revealed that it is part of the 88 Temple Pilgrimage, which is actually well known around Japan. The pilgrimage is a 1,200-mile circuit of the island's temples founded or restored by Kobo Daishi, founder of the Shingon sect of Buddhism. On foot, it takes henro (pilgrims) about six weeks to complete, and at the end, it's believed they are released of their 88 earthly desires. Not being Buddhist, not wanting to give up my earthly desires, and not having six weeks to devote to this, I chose to remain committed to Unpenji alone.

My online research wouldn't pinpoint exactly how to get there, so I decided I'd go to central Shikoku and wing it. Shikoku is one of the least developed places in Japan, only having a bridge connecting it to Honshu since 1988. In the center of the island is the Oboke gorge, carved out by the Yoshino River, which provides Japan with its best whitewater rapids. This became a duel mission: pagoda and rafting.

During a 45-minute wait (long by Japan standards) at a train stop on my way to the rafting company's guesthouse, I found a detailed map of the Oboke area and discovered that I was staying much further south of Unpenji than I had intended. I had no internet access, and phone calls that require more than a one-word English answer are useless. My key to success was Teru, a jack of all trades at Happy Raft, my river guide company. His series of phone calls and internet searches uncovered this plan: one-hour train ride north, take 25-minute city bus to bottom of mountain, climb three miles straight up hill to temple (approx. 2+ hours), observe temple, walk three miles back down to bus stop, bus ride back to train stop, take train south back to rafting guesthouse. And do all this on the rainiest day of my vacation - without rain gear or even an umbrella.

I was up for the challenge - until arriving at the train station that Saturday morning and discovering it was implausible. The first bus out was at 11:10 am, arriving at Unpenji at 11:35 am. The last bus returning to the train station was at 2:30 pm. Not enough time to ascend and descend the mountain and get the necessary pictures snapped. Improvise. I've come this far and rafting was far cheaper than I expected, so I sucked up the 4,600 yen ($46) cab ride to the mountain, getting there with plenty of time to hike my way back down.

I arrived 3,041 feet high up on Mount Unpenji in the drenching rain to find my yoga pagoda shrouded in mist, much like the picture that inspired this effort. The temple grounds are much simpler than the famous ones you'll find elsewhere in Japan. The army of stone men protecting the pagoda were my favorite feature. But as with each adventure on this trip, the journey is more signficant than the destination itself. It's a lesson often learned and re-learned in those sweat-drenching yoga classes taught by Shaney Aalbers. From down dog to chair pose to warrior two, the goal isn't the perfectly constructed position. It's what you discover about yourself and how you evolve through that 90-minutes of twisting and contorting your body into new, deeper shapes.

My journey back to the rafting guesthouse included my first hitchiking effort. I had set off down the mountain unsure I could even locate the bus stop on the way. Since the rain was still coming down in buckets, I decided to sport the appropriate thumb gesture. And shortly thereafter, a fellow henro picked me up and deposited me at the train station 20 minutes later.

What had promised to be an arduous journey the morning I left the guesthouse ended up being a nearly effortless effort. "Effortless effort" - a phrase often used in those inspiring 6:00am power yoga classes of Shaney Aalbers.

(Below are pictures of an awesome day on the Yoshino River. I was the only customer that day, so I had three guides, plus a fourth one in a kayak - to myself. It was a blast!)

Kyoto: The Sights

No, Mom, it wasn't all drunken debauchery the whole time in Kyoto. I saw some pretty dope stuff too. Like I said, I didn't really have an itinerary of must-see places. In fact, I didn't even have a guidebook. I hopped on random buses and wandered the streets, until I found something that piqued my interest.

Here's some of what I captured on camera:

Matsuoo Shrine, a shrine for sake among other things

Tasty soba noodle lunch

Arashiyama and its bamboo forest

Unidentifiable, colorful products from the Nishiki food market

Discoveries on side streets and alleys

Garden near Kyoto Station

Nijo Castle

Thousands of torii gates of the Fushimi-Inari Shrine. I took the 4km trail, much of it uphill... thinking it would never end until I saw a sign "Rest here, it free" for the second time, and the shop owner informed me I was going in circles.

A Colorful Cast of Characters

I didn't really know where to start with my 9-day journey that took me from Kyoto to Shikoku Island to Hiroshima. So I started in the middle with Mr. Miyata. But so much transpired in those days, nights and into the early morning hours that I'm not sure what to share and what to keep to myself. Hmm? Yes, I'm being a tease.

Following dinner with Mr. Miyata, I tracked down Yoramu sake bar, which I was tipped off to by a New York Time's article on Kyoto (shut up, Elena). Besides Grill Miyata, it was the only definite destination on my Kyoto itinerary. Yoramu is owned by Yoram, an Israeli ex-pat who came to Japan 23 years ago, thinking he'd only be here for a year. I saddled up to the bar for a few hours with a fascinating New Yorker working for UNICEF and her Parisian boyfriend. Yoramu is quite a special place - with its zen-like rock garden foyer and mysteriously detached bartender - the owner himself. Yoram does share his passion for sake, but he doesn't give away much else. He interviews you on your typical beverage preferences, and then offers a carefully selected tasting that opens your eyes to the delicacy of sake - its floral, vanilla and fruit notes. Its complexity. I dig it.

I guess this is why I don't know where to start on this trip - what's worth blogging about. What's not? Everywhere I go I find a new mini-adventure. I could outline the details of all the sights I visited, many of them remarkably beautiful and serene. But mostly, I feel blessed to have met some wildly interesting people.

Two nights before Yoramu sake bar, one of those people was a New Zealand writer who's world travels are inspiring: India, Chile, Spain, England, Nepal... etc. Plus - he personally knows the guys from Flight of the Conchords. Instant street cred. The Kiwi known as Tob and I met on Sunday night, hashed out U.S. politics, and then decided that sake was in order. The hostel clerk Nick - who has a penchant for quoting American movies (his favorite: Back to the Future) - was also in the mood, so he showed us to a spot just blocks from the hostel. This evening was just a preview of things to come.

The following night, we met the quintessential modern-day American couple from California - a lesbian named Dena and her long time best guy pal, Rob. We were an interesting bunch - three of us unemployed in the advancement of our travels, while Rob, a self-employed plumber, was the only productive member of society in this crowd. The Californians led the group to a yakitori joint that neither had food pictures nor English translations. With a hot smoky barbecue on the table top, we hopelessly gesticulated our dinner order until winding up with three plates of meat - including straight chicken fat - and nothing else. Besides sake and beer, of course. One thing leads to another and now we're leading an impromptu karaoke session - including Aerosmith's Don't Want to Miss a Thing and sing-along favorite Stand By Me. It was the only English shared between the Japanese and gaijin patrons all night.

That was a long and winding evening that may have included playing chicken in the streets. We were breaking all the behavioral rules in Japan - keep composure in public at all times, even when drinking.

When the unemployment department left the hostel for travels elsewhere, I had feared the good times were over. Two nights later, I came upon a German rocket scientist, an Italian recent university grad with a math degree, and an Israeli army medic who loves card tricks. It was another evening that spun on until the sun started rising over our little hostel on a sidestreet of Kyoto. Sadly, I was leaving Kyoto just hours from then. Fortunately, I was headed to one of the most remote places in Japan, where my most peaceful night's rest in years was in store.

Details on Shikoku soon - which provided not only the best sleep, but the worst, as well, and alienation from a large group of English teachers.

Mr. Miyata's Kobe Beef With a Helping of History

I'm on a mission of self-acceptance, and part of that includes accepting my indulgent side. The fun crowd had left the Kyoto hostel after Monday night, so I was on my own on Tuesday. It was the perfect evening for finding the restaurant that serves Kobe beef at a bargain price: 90,000 yen or $90 for a four-course meal. I know that's a lot of money for one meal, especially for someone who's been hemorraging money for six weeks with no financial tranfusion coming any time soon. However, I'm in Japan. Given the choice, I would bypass every last historic temple in search of haute cuisine.

Well, stop for a moment. Mr. Miyata doesn't exactly serve haute cuisine. The final course is Haagen Dazs ice cream - still in its original mini-paper cup. But Mr. Miyata does grill a perfect steak. And he serves it with a glorious side of storytelling.

You'll find Grill Miyata in the basement of your typical non-descript urban building in Japan. And you'll walk inside to find dingy decor that hasn't been updated since the restaurant opened 25 years ago. But guests don't come here for pretentious dining. No, they come for melt-in-your-mouth tender Kobe beef - which comes from a type of cattle pampered more lavishly than an Upper East Side socialite using daddy's credit card. I also came for Mr. Miyata.

I had heard that he's a quite a talker and speaks fluent English. Ask Mr. Miyata, and he'll tell you he speaks American. With a mild hunchback, a slow hobble, and a voice that barely carries over the American jazz music in the background, Mr. Miyata is a proud self-taught English speaker who still keeps his original translation book behind the bar counter. For him, there are two points of history: before The '45 and after The '45. Before the atomic bomb and after the atomic bomb. It was after The '45 that he met a white man for the first time - an American soldier whom he was supposed to fear and loathe. Turns out, that 19-year-old white man was a mere four years older than Mr. Miyata. The American soldier was kind, not evil, and taught Mr. Miyata some basic English. Mr. Miyata claims responsiblity for the rest. His aptitude for the language took him places - bartending for soldiers, translating for the military, and eventually traversing the globe: Europe and Hawaii are among his favorite destinations. It was in those 25 years after The '45 that Mr. Miyata grew up while Japan charged ahead into modernity and progress. He beams about his country's unbreakable spirit, the people's uncanny gumption and devotion, and the rapid pace with which the nation rebuilt after nearly every city had been leveled by Americans.

I never quite learned how Mr. Miyata transformed from military translator to restaurant owner. See, you don't really get to guide the conversation with Mr. Miyata. You follow him wherever his memories take you. Mr. Miyata is much like his restaurant. Grill Miyata would be easy to overlook by any passerby not given an inside tip into the special meal waiting inside. And Mr. Miyata would be easy to tune out, if you didn't know that another little pearl of wisdom or historical perspective was around the next turn. Did you know the Japanese didn't have "second names" (last names) until the past 100 years? Not earth-shattering stuff, but entertaining and valuable nonetheless.

And Mr. Miyata has sent me on a special mission upon my arrival to Korea. I am to let the Koreans know that the Japanese are sorry.

A special aragato-gozaimass to Mr. Miyata for the juiciest steak I've ever had and for the most satisfying history lesson of the trip.

Solo Mission: Kyoto, Shikoku Island, & Hiroshima

I find myself writing constantly these days, mostly making a stream of mental notes about what's been an incredible experience. Through the past seven years, my mind became so cluttered with stress, agony, elation, confusion, and the whole gamut of highs and lows, that memories have started to easily escape me. If it's a non-essential, I don't retain it. I'm not really sure who - if anyone - is reading this blog, but for me it serves as a personal, albeit public, documentation of this journey, so I can remember it for years to come.

The next step in my travels is the most anticipated one. While I've enjoyed every second traveling with Rylynn and R.J. (and their navigation of the train system), I'm eager for my solo endeavor through Japan. This experience - liquidating my belongings, quitting an unfulfilling job, moving abroad - is all about personal independence. I've found nothing more liberating and freeing than traveling alone at my own pace in my own way. Maybe it's the anonymity - meeting strangers whose ignorance of your history frees you from certain behavioral patterns or assumptions of the past. Maybe it's experiencing a new place with fresh eyes and a single, solitary voice processing it all.

This isn't to say I want to travel alone forever - just that it's an apropos way of traveling for part of this trip. So here's the itinerary:

Four days in Kyoto, searching for the beauty of the old country - temples, shrines, gardens and a restaurant serving Kobe beef at a steal. Three days on Shikoku Island, inspired by a personal note from my most influential yoga instructor. I'll be in search of a specific pagoda, mostly significant to me and not the greater world at large. I'll also spend a day braving the country's wildest white water rapids. Finally, I move onto Hiroshima to learn about the atomic bombing from Japan's perspective.

I'm not lugging my laptop around to the hostels, so I'll have limited internet access and in some places, none. I'll update you on my journey when I get back next week.

More to Guam Than Strippers

Before coming to Guam, I had heard that I'll find mostly resorts, strip clubs and horny sailors. That's true. But there are also a plethora of suggestive signs for "massage" parlors pointing to the shady backroom of a rundown building.

Besides that, Guam also has a friendly and relaxed island culture. The indigenous people of the Mariana Islands known as Chamorros only make up a third of Guam's present-day population. To get a slice of the Chamorro culture, you need to be here on a Wednesday night, when shuttle buses escort hordes of tourists to the weekly festival at Chamorro Village, which is two cities away from the resort strip. The bartender at my hotel recommended the event to get a better sampling of the island's past and present. I was tired from traveling since 6:00am that morning, but the bartender said "good, cheap food," so I was in. Here's a bit of a what I found.

The Chamorro Village at night

Authentic Chomorro food: barbecue chicken and beef, chicken kalaguen (ground chicken with a distinct lemony onion flavor), Shrimp patties with a biscuit-like texture, kimchi, rice. Very flavorful and heavy food, which may be why the Chamorros - although likely descendants of the slightly built southeast Asians - are of a sturdier stock.

Festival shopping. Colorful - and cheap - souvenirs.

*Below are not festival pictures. These are from the Micronesian/Polynesian dance show and BBQ dinner

It's grill your own barbecue.