Down to the bottom of the Nakahechi Route and at the torii gate I did some ritual with a bunch of red sand I had brought from a place of power in the Neom desert. Then my last day of walking is towards an excellent meal. I’ve taken my proclivities into consideration when booking this whole experience. I’ve booked my last night at The Kumano Winery Guest House, where the meal is going to cost twice as much as the room. Dinner is at 6.30.
To get there I’m going to have to walk up the Shiomi-Toge mountain pass. It’s 2pm when I finish faffing at the start of Kumano-Kodo and it’s gonna be another 3 hours minimum to get up the pass, and that’s if I don’t get lost. This route is not well travelled, nor is it well signposted. All I’ve got is a zoomed out Japanese map which Google Translate tells me says “The path through cedar wood is rough and steep. If you can’t walk take road.”
I want to walk. I’m in my stride now. I set off and the first thing that surprises me is that as soon as I get off the road I’m cobweb breaking. Nobody has been up here for a while.
Quietly hoping I’m going the right way, as the regular signs I’ve grown used to are not in evidence here, I start up the hill. There’s peace here. There also might be bears.
It is with great relief that I eventually emerge on a road, as I’m expecting from my terrible map. Not just any road either. A road that is protected by owls. Up we go.
The shrine is peaceful and heralds the start of the difficult cedar wood prefigured on the map. At one point I find myself pulling myself up a slope with one of those filthy knotted ropes, hoping to hell I’m going the right way, trusting that I am.
There’s nobody behind me and rare reception so I am largely in a state of trust. So peaceful there though with nature. Time to really think. The weight of the pack has eased or my shoulders have improved. Still a lot of work to be done to get my body fighting fit by August. I’m seriously considering taking up a weird martial art as I slide into middle age. Like those pretentious wiry chaps who really want you to know about it. “Ya I’m a SlodiKran JiGin 7th Dan Fongsputter.” It’s the first thing on their dating profile. Could I do it and not talk about it? Hopefully. Vanity…
The miles slough away and just before my destination I help a young Japanese woman who is trying to prop her camera on a rock for a selfie. In recompense she takes the first shots of me all trek that are taken by someone good at cameras. A memento. Vanity again. Look at the walking beard, folks.
The guest house is all I hoped for. A working farm, and a loving ambitious project. They opened 5 years ago just before COVID. The wine is plum wine, so I order a bottle of Amarone that he’s imported. He’s Italian. She’s Japanese. They met in Ipswich, of all places. And they’ve made a wonderful thing. I fall into a deep sleep and just as I’m waking from it I am ambushed by breakfast. There’s no way in hell I’m not eating my breakfast NOW. People are running around with plates. I go for a pee and everybody freaks out that I’ve disappeared. I then get hustled up a slope to a viewpoint. Breakfast happens. I wake up about half an hour later with food in me. The breakfast vegetable was broccoli. And tomatoes. And greens. Everything so fresh and grown on this sunny hillside.
She drives me back to kii-tanabe and I’ve found a tree to sit beneath and write.
Back to the hustle and bustle. I’m gonna see how long I can carry the piece of me that sat wordlessly and thoughtlessly on this bench for fifteen minutes before it occurred to me that I should get this blog scheduled as it posts in two hours.
AlBarclay 