Echoes of Incense A Pilgrimage in Japan by Don Weiss

Chapter Seven

Kochi

Kochi is one of my favorite places in the world. Each time I go there, it feels right for me. I like the food and drink, the landscape, the color of the light, and most of all the people.

Economically, Kochi Prefecture is one of the most backward places in Japan. Its farmers and industrialists are far from the major markets, there are a lot of people on welfare, and the population is declining. But in the 19th century, people from Kochi were leaders in the internationalization of Japan. Kochi's number one cultural hero is Sakamoto Ryoma.

Sakamoto-san was a samurai who learned a little about the outside world and decided that some things were done better outside Japan than in. His first move ‹ he started wearing boots. A samurai is supposed to be ready to fight. How can a man fight in sandals? Statues of Sakamoto-san always show him in traditional clothes but wearing boots. One of the most popular souvenirs of Kochi is a hand-sized statue of Sakamoto-san as a five-year-old boy carrying a toy sword, wearing oversized boots. He was assassinated because he favored some foreign ways. At Katsurahama, a beach near Kochi City, a six-meter-high statue of Sakamoto-san looks out over the Pacific. It shows him dressed in flowing, traditional clothes, carrying his samurai swords, wearing boots.

I arrived in Kochi City rather tired and in a good deal of pain. The minor pains that had started in my ankles the first day of the pilgrimage had moved to the backs of my heels and stayed there. At each step, I received a little jolt of pain except when I first got up in the morning. Then the pain was much stronger. I hobbled the first few minutes of every day.

But this pain was balanced by the strength that flowed through the rest of my body. I felt stronger than ever before in my life. Until this trip, I had only walked over 25 kilometers in a day a few times, and never over 30 kilometers Between Uwajima and Kochi I did half a dozen days over 30 kilometers and rarely felt tired the following day.

I discovered reserves of energy that I hadn't suspected I possessed. I felt like the Eveready Bunny in the TV commercials. In the morning, I started walking down the road towards an inn that was willing to accept me and, until I got there, I just kept going and going and going. If it rained, I put on my rain jacket and rain pants and kept walking. If it got cold, I put on all the extra clothes I had and kept walking. If it got hot, I walked in tee-shirt, henro shirt, and athletic pants. But whatever happened, I walked and walked.

Because I was walking so much, I was eating a lot of food. The first couple of weeks, I was sometimes too tired to eat as much as I needed, so I lost two kilos. But after a month, I could eat three big meals, a couple of chocolate bars, as much fruit as people gave me (sometimes over a kilo in a day), and I drank can after can of Cocoteen.

My appetite was ready for Kochi. The standard dinner at inns on other parts of the island usually included a little sashimi and one other main dish. In Kochi, even at the cheapest inns, there was always twice as much sashimi plus two main dishes. Often there was a salad with squid or octopus too. At wedding banquets in other parts of Japan, they serve a "course dinner." In Kochi, they serve sawachi, giant plates covered with all kinds of fish and shellfish, so each person can get lots of his or her favorite.

This abundance extends to drinking. In most parts of Japan, beer is the most popular drink. In Kochi, sake still holds it's own. There are even special Kochi sake cups designed so nobody walks away from a drinking session ‹ you're supposed to stagger. One kind of cup has a rounded or pointed bottom so you can't put it down unless it's empty, and of course your neighbor at the table will never let your cup remain empty. The other kind of cup has a small hole in it. You hold up the cup with your thumb over the hole, the cup is filled, the sake is hot, your thumb gets hot, you drink the sake, your glass is refilled . . .

Another thing I love about Kochi is the light. It seems to shine so that, even on the clearest, brightest days, the shadows are filled with a warm glow. It's the light of Canneletto's famous paintings of Venice.

Kochi seemed a good place for a little rest. I reached downtown about noon and that's as far as I went that day. I didn't have a reservation at an inn since I knew I wouldn't need one ‹ there are well over a hundred hotels and inns in Kochi City. I went to the Travelers' Assistance window at the train station and let them help me book a "business hotel" for 3,500 yen, room only. The room was a triangle, two meters by three by four. It also had a bath/toilet/sink/shower cubicle, the kind that comes as a drop-in unit, like an American shower stall but slightly larger.

I rested for an hour, then went out to wander through the market. I ended up wandering into a McDonald's and ordering some fries.

I almost never go to McDonald's at home. I think I have been to McDonald's only about six times in my life. But suddenly, in Kochi, I wanted some french fries. I ordered one large fries. The girl behind the counter smiled and said something. In fact, she said rather a lot in a rapid, high-pitched voice but I couldn't understand her. I told her so. She repeated whatever she had said. I think she was being very, very polite about something. Finally she said in English, "Wait a minute please." I sat down at a tiny table.

This kind of thing happened all the time. Some people, some times, I could understand almost completely. I could have twenty minute conversations about the weather, the route, my job, my family, their home, directions to the next temple, and the various reasons people have for doing the pilgrimage. Then I would try to order a large fries and feel like I had just arrived.

While I was waiting, I saw three other foreigners pass through, getting burgers to go. They were all very nicely dressed in slacks, white shirts and ties. Two wore sports jackets. I noticed that the other young people in the market were also very nicely dressed.

In about five minutes, the waitress brought me my fries. I looked around for ketchup. I didn't see any. I asked her, "Ketchup, wa?"

She looked stricken. "Ketchup, nai."

I made a very disappointed face. My first real fries in over two years and no ketchup! She said, "Chotto matte yo," ("Hang on a sec") and ran to the kitchen. In a minute, she was back with a small paper cup holding about a tablespoon of ketchup. I thanked her warmly. The fries tasted very, very good.

Next I went to the basement of Seibu Department Store and bought some cheddar cheese (imported from Australia), a fresh baguette (still warm), two chocolate donuts, and two cans of Guinness. I went back to my room, sat on the bed watching the news on TV and enjoyed my feast. It wasn't a very healthy meal, but it was exactly what I needed, chocolate, good cheese, wonderful bread, and one of the world's great beers. I'd been eating rice, vegetables, fish and fruit for weeks. I deserved it. Afterwards, when I read Kobo Daishi's commentary on the Heart Sutra, I wondered which was the real me, the henro or the tourist eating fries?

Published by Don Weiss (henrodon@gmail.com) -- All rights reserved. You may read this electronic copy on the web or print it out for private reading but no part may be sold or included in any work for sale except for short excerpts used for review purposes.All photographs and maps are likewise copyrighted and may not be reproduced without permission except for private, non-commercial use. Updated February 2, 1999.