Glowing Canvas
Our tent was aglow.
Unzipping the flap revealed splendor. The grey-blue sky of a few hours ago had turned magenta. As the sun rose over a small island in the Seto Inland Sea, it cast a brilliant line of golden yellow onto the blue waters. The line touched our tent and we lit up. This simple, peaceful, quiet beauty drew my breath away.
Four glorious hours. That’s how long it took to break camp. Most days we wake and are out the door in 40 minutes, joining others as they start their days. Today we were alone, for the moment.
We ate breakfast, walked the beach, took photos and patiently waited for the sun to reappear after clouds rudely covered up the morning rays. Sitting on the seawall, eyes closed, I took it all in.
Only after a soccer team was well into their practice on the field next to us did we leave.
The walk to to rejoined the route took some time. Luckily for us it was at a popular rest stop full of food and souvenir vendors. Our morning set (simple breakfast menu of coffee and breads) failed in comparison to our bread buffet at Imabari Train Station. However the creamiest breakfast ice cream cone made it a close second.
This morning we would walk into Saijo City. The small rural town was a favorite stop from my first pilgrimage seven years ago. The desire to recreate and share my experience was strong.
But, there was a dilemma.
Just outside the city limits was our last camping opportunity. Knowing Matt desperately wanted to rough it meant one of us would be disappointed. My heart silently gave in. My past experiences were a collection of events, feelings and impressions that belonged to me alone. Reenactments are for television. Mimicking them could diminish the value of their memories.
We walked on.
Our short day promised ease, but traffic, heat, noise, and the hard cement of city walking got to me. At a Lawsons (convenience store) break stop I shared with Matt the tragic news that my “body was breaking down.” Like a camera lens panning out, a wide shot of me depicted a strong physique. Zooming the camera in, however, details of painful knees and a sore back were realistically coming into focus.
Our slow, repetitious pace eventually found us at the doorsteps of a campground. Check in however would be at the onsen (Japanese bath) another kilometer up another hill.
The receptionist was kind as we struggled to get our intentions made. Our request for a two night stay at their facilities resulted in comical misunderstandings. The young clerk remained unfeathered to our mass of questions as she robotically pointed to written English answers in a thick binder.
“Do you have a site available to camp in?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s free.” the clerk replied matter of factly.
“Free!! Wow that’s great.” My delighted response. “We want to stay for 2 nights.”
“OK it’s 1000 yen per night”
“But I thought it was free?”
“Yes it’s free. Please pay 2000 yen total for two nights.”
This communication lasted a few rounds. Eventually two coworkers came out to help serve (or perhaps observe) the entertaining circle of words.
Another call to my friend Noriko straightened things out.
Free = available! Ha! The joys of language translation.
We solidified our two night stay at 1000 yen per night. And, if we paid an extra 500 yen we would not have to take down our tent in the morning. Meaning we could leave our heavy backpacks behind as we trekked the challenging route to Temple 60.
Camp was set up early enough to enjoy a bath and dinner at the onsen. Tonight we would sleep in our free site number five. Our tent was glowing once again. This time from the lights of Saijo City in the background.
May 12, 2016 - No temple
