Journalism // Go to the Mountain (SUITCASE Magazine Vol. 24)
Working in tandem with the Japanese tour operator wondertrunk & co, I organised a trip for me and the photographer Aron Klein into the rural Japanese province of Shonai. The first half of the trip focused on the evolution of organic farming and local farm restaurants in the region, as well as providing a grounding in its cultural and spiritual history. For the second part of our journey we joined Master Hoshino, the moon-bearded mountain master, for a pilgrimage into the sacred Dewa Sanzan mountains. This ancient practice of Shugendo (a folk religion based on mountain worship) had only recently been opened up to non-Japanese travellers. The final article was published in the autumn 2018 issue of SUITCASE Magazine, The Slow Issue and can be read in full at https://suitcasemag.com/articles/pilgrimage-shonai-japan
“HUARGH! HUARGH!”
As our motley band of pilgrims thrusts our arms back and forth in unison in a move more naturally associated with drunk dads at weddings, I have what can only be described as a momentary out-of-body experience. I’m balanced on a rock in the middle of the Japanese forest, the lone woman surrounded by men dressed in nothing but loincloths.
In front of me is our leader, a tiny force of nature topped with a moon-white beard, while the man we’ve nicknamed “the Spartan” – a six-foot-six, tattooed CrossFit trainer – towers over me to my left. Our chants ring into the trees as we prepare to step under a waterfall and purify ourselves, the first stage in our quest to be reborn. It’s a spectacularly weird moment, and one that only makes sense in the context of the previous few days of mental, physical and spiritual preparation in the northern region of Shōnai.
As we tuck into shards of bamboo shoots festooned with tiny sardines, shiny slices of mackerel balanced atop golden root vegetables and miniature clusters of mushrooms, Mitsu tells me how she believes we should eat seasonally and locally to maintain our health. “Globalisation means that we are losing the idea of local flavours. I don’t use medicine – I eat what I grow on the farm and forage from the mountains, whether that’s bitter spring herbs to detox or cool summer melon to regulate body temperature.” I smile as I think about how this powerhouse grandmother has been quietly practising terms like farm-to-table and foraging long before they became foodie buzzwords.
I later meet Daizaburo Sakamoto, a manga illustrator turned professional Yamabushi. With his man bun, MacBook and loose linens, he looks like the ultimate hipster – an impression that only intensifies when I learn that he made his backpack out of animal hide and forges steel knives from iron-ore dust. Daizaburo moved here from Tokyo and began gathering mountain survival techniques into material for a best-selling book.
“Human life used to be indistinguishable from nature,” he tells me, “but today it has become so developed that we don’t need nature to survive. The perception of culture in cities is spread so thin that you can barely feel it, whereas in the mountain it has evolved vertically – it’s deep-rooted. When we reconnect with these ancient cultures, we can rediscover who we are.”
Cut to me standing in front of the waterfall, where unfortunately it seems there’s a ladies-first policy. Master Hoshino beckons and I nervously wobble over the rocks on my dodgy ankle and duck under the ice-cold stream. We’ve been given a shortened version of a heart sutra (prayer) to recite, but as soon as the water hits my mind goes blank and it’s all I can do to stop myself from squawking and flapping like the drenched goose I must resemble. Emerging a few moments later, however, I feel strangely refreshed, and Master Hoshino later tells me that it’s here he feels a shift in me from fear to acceptance.
Before we leave Master Hoshino takes us to the ocean for a final meditation, although the waves stirred up by the previous day’s downpour are a little too savage for true reflection. As I’m slapped repeatedly in the face by spray and swallow lungfuls of salty water, I spot Master Hoshino gleefully bobbing up and down, laughing, before he disappears off into the distance.
Clambering up to a nearby lighthouse, I sit and gaze across the sea back towards the West. It would be wrong to say that I feel like a different person entirely, but I do feel a certain sense of calm, trust in my intuition and acceptance that I definitely didn’t possess before. “Uketamo,” I think, as I stare across the water, towards home.
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