Lost in Miyajima

On Saturday, Ben drove us out to Miyajima, less than an hour away. From atop Mt. Misen, you can see their building back in Hiroshima.

We took the ferry across the straight to the island. The tide was low, and the famous floating O-Torii was grounded. We walked along the shore towards the torii as deer sniffed at the tourists, hoping for handouts.

We descended from the path down to the sandy beach and followed the people up to the gate. Barnacles were encrusted up to the water mark. People had wedged coins in among the crustaceans. A small spit of sand edged out into the sea, and people walked along its narrow width to take photos of the torii, with the Itsukushima-jinja shrine marking the background.

The tide was coming in, but I didn't notice until almost too late. Justin called out to me and I could see them close to the torii. The narrow spit that connected the small island I stood upon was becoming overrun. I remembered stories from Brittany of the tide running in like horses stranding people on other islands off the coast and I quickly made my way back to shore.

At the Itsukushima-jinja, a ceremony was under way and we stopped to watch. People lined up to watch the clergy make their offerings, bringing bowls and trays out from the sides of the shrine, and bringing them forward. We watched until it was over, the process they had begun then being redone in reverse.

Continuing along the shore, we toured various shrines and temples. For lunch we stopped at a popular small eatery and had soba and rice balls with eel. The broth was delicious.

Continuing onwards, we made our way up to Daisho-in, a large temple complex they had not yet visited. Pilgrims mixed in with the tourists, making offerings and turning the prayer wheels as they walked in and amongst the shrines. Incense filled the air.

From the temple, we walked along a wooded path to the ropeway leading up the mountain. We paid for our tickets and climbed in. Ben warned his kids not to goof off, and soon we were on our way up the first ropeway. Just past the midway point, we changed from the circular ropeway to a shorter back and forth ropeway. The car had just arrived and we quickly made our way into the new cabin.

From the top of the ropeway, we walked up to the observation area. The views of the surrounding islands and inlets was stunning. Oyster beds dotted the coves. Below, I could see beaches and almost turqoise waters lapping at them. I asked Ben if you could swim; he said he didn't know.

We continued on to Mt. Misen. I looked back and saw Ben following and so I walked on ahead making my quickly over the wooded path and climbing up to a set of shrines, one of which contains the pot said to be used by the Buddhist saint Kobo Daishi simmering over a flame that has burned since he lit it in the 8th cenutry. It is from this flame that the Peace Park cenotaph takes its fire.

I waited to see if Ben and his family were on their way. After 5 minutes I decided to push to the top of Mt. Misen. There were just a few more hundred meters of stairs to go, and at the top I perched myself atop a flat right beside the path. A group of older mountaineers had stopped on a nearby rock and were cooking ramen for their lunch. I took out my journal and began writing. The sun came out from the clouds and warmed me as I wrote, glancing off the water and filling the inland sea with light.

As I finished I looked at my watch. 45 minutes had gone by, and I had yet to see my cousin and his family. I had assumed they would walk slower, having two kids, but it seemed to be too long of a wait. I walked around the observatory area and looked for them, then walked along a back route down to Daishi's shrine to see if they were there. There was no sign of them. I scrambled back up to the top of the mountain and asked any foreign tourist if they had encountered an Asian family speaking English. One woman told me she had encountered many families but none that spoke English.

I walked back down from the summit and made my way to the ropeway, but I didn't see them. I walked back up to the summit, which was starting to empty of tourists. I checked my watch and saw that the last car down was leaving in an hour. The sun was already starting to set. I wondered if they had decided to walk down. I started to worry something had happened to the kids. I bought a ticket for the ropeway to see if I could find them in the park. It seemed to take an eternity.

At the base station I found a phone and called their home. I told them where I was and that I was heading to the ferry to see if they were there. They had tickets to go ice skating at 6.30 and so I told them that if we didn't find each other that they should go on back to Hiroshima and that I would find my way back myself.

At the ferry, Justin ran out. Teresa followed shortly after. They had never reached the summit but had waited at Daisho's shrine while I was waiting at the top. By the time I made it back to the ropeway, they had moved to the bottom. When I walked back to the summit, they had gone to the ferry. We seemed to just miss each other each time we were waiting in different places. They had involved the police and had made an announcement in town, an announcement I had not heard since I was traversing the top of the mountain.

I apologized profusely, but everything was alright. They had worried something had happened to me, but the officials had assured them that nothing had ever gone wrong atop the mountain. We took the next ferry back to the mainland and drove home. Ben's GPS system chirped the directions merrily as we went, assuring us we would not be lost.
Posted by eku at December 3, 2007 3:40 AM