There is so much about which I could write. I will write about the culture and those experiences, but first I want to process and write about some favorite places and experiences. This post focuses on my trip to the Ekoin Buddhist Temple on the mountain called Koyasan. The photos are of my room and the gate to Ekoin.
While I read about Koyasan in my Super Cheap Japan book, I did not see an easy way to make a reservation and the writer made it clear that this was not a budget stay. He recommended a capsule hostel instead. However, my Frommer's travel guide had the name of one, Ekoin, with an English website for reservations. My guess after being there is that many others have the same but that was the one I knew about. I had a plan, but changed it when I realized my traveling companion who sometimes attends a Buddhist group might want to go with me. With some difficulty, we made the reservations for September 1st. She changed her departure date to stay over for this trip and i changed my plans to go from the Temple to Hiroshima.
Once in Nagoya with our friends, my traveling companion overdid and became exhausted with a painful foot. She began to talk about canceling her part of our reservation in Koyasan. Before we left for our mountain stay, she made the decision and let Ekoin know that she would not be coming. That meant that my first foray into more complicated train travel would be alone. Our host looked up possible ways to get there and made copies of three ways to go. I took two with me and early on Sunday morning a week and a day after our arrival, I started on my adventure. There were four changes after I left Nagoya station and I would likely miss one of them the first time but would find my way by close to the two pm check in time.
Two subways to Nagoya station above--we'd done that when we went to Takayama and to get my rail pass validated. I had that one down. Reserve a seat on the Hikari JR to Shin-Osaka. I knew where to do that too. After that it was new territory. I opted for changing to a JR local and asked the man who checked me out which track I needed. Note: With a rail pass I couldn't go through the usual machine entrances and exits but needed to go through the staffed gate. You might think those persons could always speak some English. That wasn't true, but the man in Shin-Osaka could read my schedule that said "Local train to Osaka." It was on Gate 2. I rushed down the escalator and stood in line. Nothing on the sign clarified which of the trains coming to that gate, I needed. I must have looked askance because when I looked down two Japanese women were looking at me with concern. I asked if the train pulling up went to the Osaka station. Looking at each other, they decided not, but changed their minds at the last minute as the three of us looked more closely at the train's scheduled stops. From that train, it was easy to find the next one. It would take me to the station where I needed to buy a ticket for the privately owned train to Koyasan.
Okay. It was thirteen stops on that train to my stop. This announcer's English pronunciation of the Japanese names wasn't at all clear but I counted the stops and watched for the spelling--once in English on the signs at the stations--Shin-Imaniya. There I left the JR station and walked to the Nankai-Koya Line where the agent said as I walked through, Koyasan? I nodded. He pointed to the ticket window. The agent was able to make me understand that I was buying a round-trip ticket from there to Koyasan. Up on the platform where there was a sign to Koyasan, I was supposed to take the Express but I wasn't clear about the train that pulled up and got on anyway. I didn't want to wait.
As I looked at and heard the destination of this train, and as we stopped at every crossroads, I began to wonder if I'd made a mistake. In that little station could there be a train that didn't to to Hashimoto Station, my next stop? I was sitting next to a young Japanese man who'd smiled and said Hello. He might speak English I thought. I turned and asked if he knew if that train went to Hashimoto where I could catch the train to Koyasan. He didn't. He wasn't from that area and didn't know much about those trains. Between us we decided it was safer to get off that train at the next stop where we saw Koyasan on the station destinations (I'd already noticed two) and I'd catch the Express that said Koyasan. He'd get off with me. He didn't have a time schedule and was just going to spend time with friends. We found the track for the next Express easily and I told him he could go on. I was fine. No, he said. He would stay until I caught the train. Then he would take the train back to his stop. He wasn't in a hurry.
That Express still stopped at several towns but when we reached Hashimoto Station the train up the mountain was waiting. A young couple sitting near me was going to Koyasan too. We boarded an almost full short train that squealed and screeched as it took the curves and climbed the mountain. We pulled off for the downward bound train to pass. This old train reminded me of the one I took from Ashton Idaho to West Yellowstone Montana when I worked in Yellowstone summers in college. These photos are of that winding train ride and a lone man at a station stop on the way up.
Our next stop was to board the cable car to the top of the mountain. It was much bigger than I expected. This was when I began to realize that Koyasan was indeed a tourist destination.
After a short bus ride I followed others to Ekoin, was met by a monk, ushered into a room where two couples were waiting. We were joined by more couples. Then the monk gave us guidelines, we completed information cards and paid. At that point I was the first to be led to my room. It was at the farthest corner spot just before the stairs that led to the meditation rooms and the Temple. Since those stairs were only used when we were to be in those rooms, it was a quiet spot. The room was as pictured above when I arrived. To the right of the fan, you can barely see what's a sliding door to an outside porch where a table with two chairs sat. The lush greenery outside made that a welcome spot for reflection and to read the story of Ekoin and other suggestions in the book you see on the table.
Meditation was similar to other Buddhist practices I'd experienced--sitting crosslegged or with our legs under us with eyes downcast but not closed and to focus on our breathing. The explanation of their Esoteric Buddhism was appealing. Their aim is to be one with everything in the Universe. It's not about perfection but about oneness. After meditation, which was to clear our minds, we were ready to return to our rooms for our evening meal served there.
The trays of food were beautiful and nicely placed on very short legs on my floor with the table moved to the side. I can't tell you what I ate other than rice, soup, a small dish of raw veggies and an orange. Gelatin is used in various ways and after asking more than once, my friend's new Japanese friend said the large bowl in the center is likely vegetable broth in gelatin. The monks are vegetarians so I knew that before hand. I had the choice of two or three trays and chose two. Whatever I ate that was unfamiliar was tasteless but I felt as if I'd had a full meal without eating all of the rice. (I'm not eating rice for a few weeks.)
I'd signed up for the cemetery tour prior to arrival. Our Temple was the meeting spot as our monks were leading the groups--Japanese and English speaking. While the group was gathering, I met the only American couple I would meet on the trip. They were from Florida and weren't particularly taken with the monastery where they were staying (not ours). They were going on to Hiroshima from Osaka as I had intended.
The monk who led our cemetery tour was a talented group leader with strong English skills. He told us that anyone of any country or any faith could be buried in that cemetery but would have to arrange to get their remain to the cemetery themselves. We walked through a candle-lite area and stopped in front of the Mr. Nissan (of the automobile) section ready for him when he dies. He said that the Shintos were best for celebratory rituals, the Buddhists for rituals and prayers for the dead and that all women wanted to be Christian, wear a white wedding gown and be married in a church. His Mother was Shinto and Buddhist and was married in a Christian church in a white gown. We walked to the most holy burial place where he asked that we were quiet. He sang the song for the dead beatifically. It way moving.
On the way back I walked with a couple of French women and the guide and he shared about his background. Many of the monks are sons of monks but he was not. He made his own decision to become a monk. They can marry and he had a wife and a son. He lived in a house away from the Temple grounds with his family and drove in every day. He was not going to require his son to become a monk he said. They could drink sake or other alcoholic drinks though he did only on special occasions. He had been there one year and would stay as many as five-ten. Then he would go back to his home Temple.
For the early morning, we were invited to the Temple for the 6:30 prayers for the dead followed by the fire ceremony in another building. The onsen for bathing opened at six and I was there. Shared toilets were on every wing of each floor but the onsen was the only place for a shower. The onsen was
a place for soaking and I didn't have a lot of time but I showered and washed quickly and got into the onsen for about five minutes. The water was extremely hot so I got in slowly. It was a square pool of still water about twice the size of two large bathtubs. Traditionally an onsen had natural spring water but it had become an important facility in many places to spend the night. Any woman could have joined me but only a Japanese woman putting on her makeup in the large powder room was in sight.
From the deck around the Temple
I hurried to get to the ceremony of prayers for the dead. We were asked not to photograph there and while I saw others slip out their phones, I did not. At the end the monk who communicated with those of us who spoke English (the others were mostly Europeans) came out of told the first couple on the other side of the front row to go to the small altar in front and honor the Buddha. They had no idea what to do but knelt and bowed and went on. As the group moved through one at a time, it was easy to see which were either Buddhists or who had experience with the ceremony. A few had coins to toss as we were supposed to be praying for our ancestors. As the last of us circled through we were asked to hurry and get to the fire ceremony.
I had to make a stop and was one of the last to enter the building where our monk was chanting and building up the fire by tossing in the prayer sticks which we'd paid $3 for and on which we'd written a name and prayer request. His voice rang out, the drums beat and the fire leapt and danced. The ceremony continued until all the boards burned and the fire dimmed. Then the monk suggested that the fire was healing and we might want to come down and wave a hand into the smoke and bring it to a body part or our heart, whoever we needed to heal. After that we headed back to our rooms for breakfast. While I was away, my futon was taken away and my breakfast left by one of the monks.
Many packed to leave but during the night's cemetery walk I'd noticed the tall trees and took the monk's suggestion to see it in daylight.
I packed before I left and as I took my backpack down to the storage area I noticed that the shoe bins were emptying. I officially checked out but left my backpack and the blue bag I carried and headed toward the cemetery. Before I reached the cemetery gate I passed a small gold Temple that beckoned me in. As I stood in the doorway, a woman came over and motioned me to take off my shoes and come in. It was lovely with architectural details so very fine.
From there it was the cemetery that called. I have so many photographs of the tall wonderful trees--300 - 600 years old our monk said and each numbered and protected by the Japanese government. This entire mountain is a UNESCO World Heritage Site but I thought the cemetery should have its own designation. Here are a few of my favorite photos.
As I look at these photographs there is no way they convey the majesty of these camphor trees. I luxuriated in this forrest filled with old stones and monuments. When I went back to town I did shop a bit but bought only woven book marks. I also walked a mile or so to the grounds of the temple that houses the leadership of this Buddhist group. I intended to close with a photo of the gates of that Kongobu-ji Temple but my photo tab has stopped for the night. Perhaps I can add it tomorrow. If not, know that even with its commercialization, Koyasan is a very special place. It's worth the effort to get there and dealing with the accident that halted my train back to Osaka allowing for a conversation with the only Japanese person I met who had heard of Tennessee. Not only had he heard of Tennessee, but he wants to visit the Great Smoky Mountain National Park!
