Never Forget this Day
“I will never forget this day”.
Words from a stranger. Words that expressed everything we felt as we finished our pilgrimage to the 88 Temples of Shikoku.
A couple dozen kilometers separated us from temple one, the location where we began our journey forty six days go. Here we would close the circle.
But first, one more mountain to scale and heavy wind to battle. The dragon was with us today.
For five hours we walked, non-stop. When our drinks ran out, the typically abundant Japanese vending machines were nowhere in site. Fortunately, as we neared the city one of Naruto’s popular attractions, a German house, was on our track. Rehydrating in the cool shade of a German style building, a robed figure arrived and sat on our bench, back facing us.
Matt knew it immediately. It was the acetic monk who was doing his training by walking the temples nonstop for 2 years. He didn’t recognize us at first. But when Matt said “peanuts” the monk’s face lit up with recognition.
Our own faces must have been a mix of emotions as we re-entered the gates of temple #1 shorty after lunch. The temple was busy. Other pilgrims were finishing and starting their journeys. A cycle continuously flowing.
When our final stamp dried we closed our books, and our second chapter on Shikoku.
An older gentleman on the platform of Tokushima Station was awkwardly maneuvering a large canvas bag. It was an odd shape and I guessed it to be a harp. The wind blew open the flap exposing a tire. The harp was a collapsable bicycle.
As we sat on a bench eating pastries shaped like the island of Shikoku, a familiar request was offered, “Excuse me, can I ask you a question?”
An older man with smudged glasses and warm smile asked us in perfect English if we spoke Japanese. When we told him we didn’t he continued his other questions.
“Why we were doing 88 temples?”
“Where we were from?”
“Did we walk the entire 1200 kilometers?”
We answered each of his queries. He told us how much he enjoyed meeting foreigners. He then announced proudly that he was 75 years old. He had started his bike pilgrimage on May 27th and just like us, finished today.
We congratulated each other on our completions and said our good byes. Walking away, I turned to have another look at this kind man. He also turned around, smiled again and disappeared out the door.
My emotions swelled up at our connection. How fortunate to have met an individual with such positive energy.
Seconds later his covered bike came back into frame. He soon stood in front of us apologizing profusely and correcting his start date from May to April 27th. I took this opportunity to correct my own mistake of not taking our photo. As I readied my camera, he also searched eagerly, nervously, for his.
With our photos complete, he stood back, looked at us and summed up that moment, the past six weeks, and even the future.
“I will never forget this day”
Then he walked away again. Two strangers connected by a shared experience, ending as friends.
I couldn’t look back at his second departure. The tears in my eyes would blur the moment.
