Koyasan: The Legendary Stuff of Legend

Before we left for our two-week trip to Japan, a friend gifted us David Mitchell's The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, a novel about Dutch people in Japan in the late 1700s (so basically, it was perfect for us). Half way through the book, the story takes a gothic turn when a main character is spirited away to a remote Shinto shrine hidden in the mountains, run by an evil abbot who hides his salacious and murderous plots behind a veneer of religious ritual. I was just reaching the dramatic climax the night we slept at a remote Buddhist temple high in the mountains, surrounded by towering cedars, a sprawling graveyard, and the nocturnal sounds of the forest.

Spending the night on Mt. Koya (Koyasan) was my favorite of favorite experiences in Japan precisely because it was the legendary stuff of legend - the stuff you read about in books but don't expect to experience for yourself. And in turn, every part of our 24 hours in Koyasan was my favorite part, which, when you think about it, is an exceedingly impressive return on travel investment.

Favorite Part #1: Getting to Koyasan.  Osaka, the closest major city to Koyasan, is huge, sprawling, and disorientating to newcomers - the Houston of Japan. Somewhere within the metropolis of Osaka, you switch to Koyasan's private rail line: just two diminutive cars on narrow gage track that winds through increasingly remote farmland (trees weighed down by bright orange persimmons) and then up into the mountains (verdant forests of bamboo and cedar green, filtering the sunlight to a gentle dimness).  In between isolated one-room stations losing their battle with the forest moss, there are sudden vistas of the rolling folds of the mountains, green fading to gray with distance.

Playing chicken on the funicular.

When the train can climb no higher, you switch to a funicular.  The mountainside is so steep here that the rows of seats inside the cable car are nearly vertical.  The short ride tests your faith in the reliability of Japanese engineering.

But that's not all.  After you safely disembark, there is still a bus ride into the heart of Koyasan, down a narrow curving road kept in perpetual darkness by the surrounding forest.  The road opens up into the central intersection of Koyasan, and suddenly everything is white walls and sunshine.

So what is Koyasan?  It is the heart of Shignon Buddhism, picked by the sect's founder, Kobo Daishi, for its auspicious location high in the mountains.  Since Kobo Daishi died here in 835 (or entered into eternal meditation, depending on whom you ask), Koyasan has grown to include more than 100 temples and a religious university.  In Koyasan's second millennium, pilgrims with their conical straw hats and oversized walking sticks often arrive on tour buses, and souvenir and sweet shops crowd the main street. But the fundamentally spiritual nature of Koyasan still prevails -- and the only place to stay here is at a Buddhist temple.  Which leads us to...

Your temple awaits.

Favorite Part #2: Staying at a Buddhist Temple.  How cool is that? And it's the real deal, too: when you find Shojoshin-in, the temple where you've reserved a room, it feels part like a movie set, and part like you're about to interrupt a most holy and secret rite.  A garden path leads down through groomed trees and past a little stream to the front gate of the temple compound. No one else seems to be around except the elderly lady struggling to take off her shoes and the reedy young monk with long ears and a shaved head trying to help her.  You wait awkwardly in your plastic temple-issued slippers for the long and narrow monk to come back, still uncertain whether you are in the right place.  But when he returns, he is all business.

Nothing says remote mountain temple like mini-flatscreen tv.

After talking you through the logistics of your stay in the temple's office (low table surrounded by cushions on tatami mats, battered filing cabinet in the corner), the monk leads you down the open air corridor to the pilgrims' wing, which you gratefully note is much more heated against the chill mountain air.  Your room is traditional: tatami mats with futons already laid out, complete with towels and toiletries and a tea service with cookies for refreshment - and that most modern of amenities, wi-fi.  (Gothic, not so much.)

No one said you couldn't, so left to your own devices, you set off to explore the monastery. Even though the complex seems empty, you still creep around on tiptoe.  There's a cavernous utilitarian hall, with an ancient fire pit for cooking and two oversized barrels you think store rice.  

Note the neatly ordered umbrellas on the left.

There's a precious courtyard garden, lit by the fall sun and encircled by gold-leafed rooms filled with calligraphy and cushions. 

The still small voice inside you is feeling guilty for being nosy, plus the boards of the main veranda squeak as you pad over them in your plastic slippers.  With the day starting to fade, you set off for what you came here to do: to walk through Okunoin at dusk.  

Favorite Part #3: Walking through Okunoin at dusk.  Shojoshin-in conveniently neighbors a primary entrance to Okunoin, Japan's largest and most famous graveyard. You pause at the stone bridge that leads into the forest to clap your hands twice and bow. Then you enter.

The path winds for about a mile through the forest.  It is crowded round by stone memorials and statues covered with moss, many in advanced states of wear from rain and time, their carvings washed down to gentle indentations. You start to appreciate the varieties of Japanese moss: the neon green moss, the golden green moss, the plush moss, the wiry almost white moss.  Tall, thin cedars tower overhead, their red trunks like the pillars of a delicate temple.  

Clusters of small Jizo statues are layered with faded red bibs and surrounded by small offerings.  Jizo is a Buddhist deity beloved in the folk culture of Japan: he protects children and travelers, he stands between the living and the dead to rescue those waiting in the afterlife. In a setting like Okunoin, he represents lost children, the hurt of miscarriages, the hope that those we loved will be ready for a new world order when Kobo Daishi awakens from his eternal meditation.

Eventually the path widens out, a last hurrah of crowded memorials before the final approach to the Hall of Lanterns and Kobo Daishi's mausoleum.  Here pilgrims pause to pray for their recent dead, and a couple utilitarian halls house kitchens said to prepare meals daily for Kobo Daishi, in case this is the day he chooses to wake from his eternal meditation.  A bridge over a rustling stream draws a line: beyond here no pictures are allowed, this is where it gets really serious.  Crossing the bridge as daylight fades to green dimness, you feel you are entering a separate, more eternal world.

It is warm inside the Hall of Lanterns; everything is red and gold, the air smells of forest and incense, silent prayers are punctuated by the clatter of coins tossed in offering into a red lacquered receptacle.  Overhead, rows and rows of golden lanterns cover the ceiling.  In the dimness at the front of the hall are oil lamps with flickering flames -- two of them said to have been lit for over a thousand years.  

Behind the hall a simple wooden building houses Kobo Daishi, in whatever form or state one believes he is in. Underneath the hall is a room with shelves and shelves of identical little statues; next door is an overflow hall of shelves and shelves of additional lanterns, all glowing orange-yellow with electric light.  You are surrounded by the embodied prayers of thousands.

Favorite Part #4: Dinner. Staying at a Buddhist temple has a major benefit: an introduction to shojin ryori, the monks' (mostly) vegetarian cuisine.  Included with your pilgrim accommodations is an elaborate dinner, served semi-privately in a long room with gold-paneled walls. The number and variety of little dishes produces a certain giddiness: a delicate mushroom broth, chewy black beans, pickled greens, silken tofu in dipping sauce, vegetable tempura, a grated daikon salad, sweet stewed vegetables, something like okra with cubes of sweet potatoes, the ubiquitous rice, and a plate of fruit for dessert. An hour later, you are sated and sleepy. This can only mean one thing.

Favorite Part #5: Bath time.  The Japanese take bathing seriously, and generally communally. The temple's pilgrim wing has gender-segregated bathing rooms, newly constructed out of sweet-smelling wood. Tonight the steamy bath room is luxuriously empty, and you sit by yourself on a stool in front of a mirror to soap yourself off before climbing into the giant wood bath, an infinity pool with piping hot water (but without the chlorine). The clouds of steam feel clammy against your cheeks; the clear water distorts your submerged limbs and torso with waves of refracted light. The room smells of wet cedar.  All you can hear is the slight whirring of a fan and the sound of another person vigorously brushing teeth in the next room.  Time passes.

Favorite Part #6: Sleeping.  (I meant it when I said all 24 hours were my favorite part of Koyasan.)  After your bath, you wrap yourself in a fresh yukata: a simple cotton dressing gown, a little like a kimono, that folds snuggly around you from neck to ankle - like an adult swaddling cloth. The yukata doubles as pajamas, so when you get back to your room, you can climb directly underneath the pile of duvets on your futon. Outside it is quiet, the gate underneath your room closed for the night and Okunoin stretching out in darkness from your window. You are aired, well-fed, clean and at peace - a good night's sleep stretches gently before you.

Favorite Part #7: Morning prayers. No, really, you are staying at a Buddhist temple - how cool is that?  At 6:20 a.m. sharp, an older and rounder monk with wire-rimmed glasses rings a gong for morning prayers before leading you silently to a beautiful hall you missed during your covert explorations.  You take your place on a bench at the back as the round monk and the reedy novice kneel next to each other, open their prayer books, and start chanting.

The black lacquered altar is covered in glowing gold dishes and chalices; along the wall behind it are rows of black cylinders that you think might be funerary urns. To punctuate their chanting, the reedy monk rubs together a pair of cymbals and the round monk rings a cauldron-shaped gong that gives out a sonorous tremor. You are awoken from your reverie when the reedy monk gestures for you to follow him to the space behind the altar, to what you believe is a shrine in honor of Kobo Daishi. The young monk shows you how to place incense on a burner and pray for the dead, eventually exhibiting a slight exasperation at your cluelessness, as though you are a kitten that needs extra guidance too early in the morning.

As if on cue, when you return to your seat, the rising sun comes streaming into the room from someplace above and behind you, setting aglow the room's red and gold banners.  The service soon concludes, and you head directly to...

Breakfast: a more subdued affair.

Favorite Part #8: Breakfast.  (Always the food with this one.)  Breakfast is served like dinner the night before, but with only half a dozen dishes.  The Japanese (like most of the world) eat savory breakfasts: rice, broth, beans, a sweet tofu dish, delicate greens with sesame, pickles, and a little bit of nori.

After breakfast, there is more to explore around Koyasan, but it is hard for an outsider to understand the import of the oldest temples and pagodas even with the local tourist office's thorough audioguide. But retracing your steps back down the mountain is just as beautiful as your arrival, and just as effective at easing you back into the mundane world.

Staying in Koyasan has recently gotten much easier for foreign tourists, thanks to the local tourism association's online reservation form for temple lodging.  The association's audio guide is also recommended: it can be rented at their office at Koyasan's main intersection or from their satellite office across the street from the entrance to Okonuin closest to town (that is, across the street from Shojoshin-in).  Although not cheap, the Nankai Electric Railway's Koyasan-World Heritage Ticket is pretty much always the most cost effective way to travel to and around Koyasan, and it offers additional discounts if you really get into visiting all the historic sites.  (And yes, that does mean that Koyasan is a World Heritage Site.)