Reading up on the shukubo options before my trip, I learned that many previous visitors to Koyasan were irked by the simplicity of the lodgings. Some wrote on TripAdvisor.com that their rooms were too cold, or that they could hear their neighbors snoring through the 200-year-old paper walls of the temple. More than one reviewer complained that the multicourse vegan meals were too simple to satiate people who are accustomed to eating meat. “Take snacks or you will starve,” one warned.
Others felt that they weren’t quite receiving a good enough spiritual bang for their buck. “I expected something a bit spiritual and to feel that Zen/Buddhist vibe,” one visitor from Ohio complained, “I have to say I did not feel it.” Some complained that the monks running the temples didn’t speak enough English, or didn’t offer visitors enough individual attention. “The major disappointment came during dinner,” another wrote. “I was expecting to have the opportunity to mingle with the monks.”
Hehehehehe.
Full article :Seeking Solitude in Japan’s Mountain Monasteries. By ANNA HEZEL
The New York Times, Oct 11, 2017
at the link:
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/11/travel/japan-monastery-koyasan.html?_r=0
“Your eyes should be neither open nor closed,” explained the monk at the front of the room. “They should be sort of sleepy — like a Buddha.” It was my first time meditating, and I was anxious about making some sort of conspicuous misstep. I squinted, then tried to relax my eyelids, but inadvertently began to focus on the bright orange cushion of the person in front of me. I closed my eyes with an inward sigh of exasperation at having such a difficult time following instructions. The monk leading the session told us cheerfully that it might help to rest our vision on the tips of our noses.
I was sitting in the carpeted meditation hall of an 1,100-year-old Buddhist temple in Koyasan, in a mountainous region of southeastern Japan. The hall was separated from the temple’s garden by only a thin sliding wooden door, and the air inside was crisp and piney, threaded with smoke from incense burning on the altar. About 15 other sleepy-eyed tourists from the United States, Europe and Australia (the class was for English-speaking visitors) surrounded me across the floor, steadily counting their breaths.
Koyasan is one of the premier destinations for Buddhist pilgrims in Japan, and is considered one of the holiest sites in the country. It was chosen 1,200 years ago by the monk Kobo-Daishi for its lotus-like geography — a shallow valley nestled into a mountain — to be the headquarters of Esoteric Shingon Buddhism. The religion, which dates to the Tang dynasty, places an emphasis on daily ritual as a means of reaching enlightenment in an immediate, practicable way, developing what several monks described as a “Buddha nature.” Over the course of the last century, the religion’s birthplace has also attracted an increasing number of visitors without any background in Buddhism — visitors who seek out mountains, peace, history, or just a fleeting connection with the mysticism of another time.
I came for a little bit of each of these, teased by the promise of a remote corner of the country, thousands of miles removed, both physically and mentally, from the frenetic anxieties of New York. I wanted to challenge myself to a place with a different logic and rhythm, and to see myself disappear briefly into the magnitude of a 1,200-year-old rite. Also appealing was the prospect of a place that was truly dark at night — a place where the thick, spindly velvet of steep, tree-covered mountainsides soaks up the darkness completely. And like many others, as I would learn, I also wanted something a little bit naïve and capitalistic: to buy an ascetic experience.
THE MOUNTAIN IS DOTTED with a total of 52 shukubo, temples that historically offered overnight lodging to pilgrims. Most of these have also begun to welcome non-pilgrim tourists in recent decades (there are a dozen or so holdouts). For $80 to $150 per night, per person, you can sleep on a tatami mat on the floor of a traditional guest room in a 1,000-year-old temple, eat the monks’ traditional vegan fare, and participate in the daily meditation and prayer. A few of the temples advertise amenities like sutra writing classes, views of monks raking the gardens below, or natural hot springs to bathe in — features you can’t filter for on Airbnb or Hotels.com. And in the case of many of the temples, you can’t be totally sure what you are getting — an ambiguity that appealed to me in an era when every possible travel destination is so scrupulously documented and Instagrammed.
Although the temples on Koyasan were originally reserved for the most devout pilgrims, Buddhism is famously accepting of other religions. So over the last century, as temples in Japan and elsewhere began to struggle financially with fewer donations coming in, the natural solution was to open the doors a little wider and welcome visitors who were curious about Buddhism.
Reading up on the shukubo options before my trip, I learned that many previous visitors to Koyasan were irked by the simplicity of the lodgings. Some wrote on TripAdvisor.com that their rooms were too cold, or that they could hear their neighbors snoring through the 200-year-old paper walls of the temple. More than one reviewer complained that the multicourse vegan meals were too simple to satiate people who are accustomed to eating meat. “Take snacks or you will starve,” one warned.
Others felt that they weren’t quite receiving a good enough spiritual bang for their buck. “I expected something a bit spiritual and to feel that Zen/Buddhist vibe,” one visitor from Ohio complained, “I have to say I did not feel it.” Some complained that the monks running the temples didn’t speak enough English, or didn’t offer visitors enough individual attention. “The major disappointment came during dinner,” another wrote. “I was expecting to have the opportunity to mingle with the monks.”
I found these comments more entertaining than dissuasive. I wanted to go and prove to myself how little I was bothered by a chill in the air or a little noise through the walls. Maybe that would be its own form of spiritual growth on a micro scale — proof of my own congruity with the universe even under mildly uncomfortable conditions.
Arriving at this micro-enlightenment would take many modes of transportation, it turned out. Although Koyasan is only about 86 miles outside of Kyoto, the journey to get there is its own self-selecting odyssey. From Kyoto, I took three separate trains past power plants, greenhouses, small towns, backyard yuzu trees and grass tennis courts. At the base of the mountain, I shuffled off the train and onto a cable car along with a handful of European backpackers. At the top of the mountain, a bus waited for us to make the final journey along mortifyingly steep cedar-studded ravines into the center of Koyasan.
I arrived at my temple, Eko-in (part of the Danjo Garan temple complex), just as an American couple and their teenage son were checking in. A monk showed us where to put our shoes by the broad carved wood entrance. Outfitted with wooden slippers, I walked through a maze of creaky wooden hallways to my room, a small, serene square of space with elaborately painted sliding doors and a large window looking out onto the temple’s central garden. The room came equipped with a TV, a space heater, a telephone, and Wi-Fi. Waiting for me were some small red bean sweets and a kettle full of hot water for tea.
When it was time for dinner, a fleet of several monks arrived, bearing a carafe of hot sake and several lacquerware platforms for the food, each containing a clutter of small bowls. The traditional temple cuisine, called shojin-ryori, incorporates a bright variety of tastes, textures and colors. Tiny cups of vegetable broth and miso soup flocked around plates of delicate tempura squash, lotus root and shiso leaves. A pot of slightly bland but hearty cabbage and mushroom udon sat over a little flame. My favorite dish was one that Koyasan is famous for: a savory tofu-like pudding called goma dofu, made from ground sesame and arrowroot flour.
Once it was dark, I slipped out of my room and down to the main entrance of the temple to retrieve my shoes and join the nighttime tour of Okunoin Cemetery. An English-speaking monk led a group of about 20 guests from Eko-in and some of the surrounding temples through the lantern-lit paths of Japan’s largest cemetery, pointing out the moss-covered tombs of important national figures, including the inventor of Kabuki and the founder of Panasonic. Since Buddhism values all forms of life, our guide explained, not all of the graves belonged to human beings; the writing on one of them translated essentially to “R.I.P. Ants.” In the 600-year-old cedars overhead, we could hear the chirps and squeaks of flying squirrels rippling through the brisk air.
In the early morning, before breakfast was served, guests of the temple were invited to attend morning prayer and a daily fire ceremony. The printed schedule left in our room requested that visitors not use flash photography and issued a stern warning: “The morning service and fire ritual are NOT A TOURIST SHOW, monks must do them every day to show daily appreciation to Buddhist saints.”
In spite of this, few attendees of the fire ritual could resist capturing a moment or two of cellphone video: the drums, chanting and flames rising up to the ceiling of the temple as the presiding monk burned a stack of wooden slats with prayers written on them. Most managed to do this surreptitiously while kneeling quietly. About halfway through the ceremony, though, my eyes widened when I recognized a Frenchwoman from the cemetery tour standing at the back of the room, doing what could only be described as dancing to the beat of the drums. None of the monks seemed visibly bothered by her spontaneous self-expression.
KOYASAN BECAME A Unesco World Heritage site in 2004 (as part of the sacred sites of the Kii mountain range), and since then, the number of annual foreign visitors has more than quadrupled, while the number of Japanese visitors has declined.
More tourists seeking solace and simplicity can make a place a lot less placid, and as a visitor, it’s difficult to avoid the fact that you’re contributing to the din and litter that comes with this influx of foreigners. And yet, it is incredibly moving to be invited into the quiet, enveloping darkness of a cemetery at night — to add your footsteps to the tens of thousands that have worn down a stone path over the centuries. You come to realize how little space you can take up and how little noise you can make if you want to.
Jynne Martin, a friend who had recommended Koyasan, first traveled there 10 years ago and returned this past winter, staying at Shojoshin-in both times. On her first trip, she saw only two other tourists at the temple — the rest of the visitors were pilgrims. On her most recent trip, she saw exclusively tourists.
To her mild disappointment, Shojoshin-in had updated their amenities to include TV and internet in all of their guest rooms. A few convenience shops and a vending machine of beer had also been added to one of the main roads in town. Even so, for Jynne, Koyasan did not lose its magic. “I feel like there’s this echo and resonance within the forest and in the cemetery and in the temples where there’s some low hum or vibration that feels like it’s just been going for years and years,” she said. “I think there’s just a beautiful energy on the top of the mountain. Even with the TV and internet.”
After checking out of my room at Eko-in, I chatted for a few minutes with Yuta Kobayashi, one of the monks who run the temple. Mr. Kobayashi told me that while the temples in Koyasan used to rely on devout Buddhists for donations, they increasingly rely on income from tourists. “The Japanese government and the Japanese people don’t have a responsibility to keep the old buildings or to keep the old culture,” he said.
I asked him if he ever reads online reviews of his temple. He told me that he does. “Good opinions or bad opinions — I accept both,” he said. “And if I can change or make something better, I want to do my best.” The only type of review that ever irks him, he added, are reviews that accuse the temple’s 1,100-year-old rituals of being performatory or touristy. “We do this every morning,” he said with a laugh. “Even when people don’t stay here.”
At Eko-in (497 Koyasan; 0736-56-2514; ekoin.jp), for 15,000 yen per person (about $130), you can reserve a traditional guest room with a garden view, a shared bathroom and two meals. For 20,000 yen per person, you can reserve a room with a private bath and toilet. Prices fluctuate slightly based on season.
At Shojoshin-in (556 Koyasan; japaneseguesthouses.com), 10,800 to 12,960 yen per person will get you a room with a shared bathroom. For 16,200 yen per person, you can reserve a room with a private bathroom. Two meals are included, but no alcohol is served.
Guest rooms with shared bathrooms at Fukuchi-in (657 Koyasan; 0736-56-2021, fukuchiin.com) range from 14,000 to 16,500 yen per person, depending on whether or not the room has a garden view. Rooms with private toilets are available for 18,500 yen per person. An outdoor hot spring is available to all guests.
A version of this article appears in print on October 22, 2017, on Page TR7 of the New York edition with the headline: A Search for Solitude on a Mountain of Monasteries.
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