Walking the Kumano Kodo: Japan's sacred mountain pilgrimage

The starting path

Earlier this year, I headed to Japan with a group of writers to walk and write on the Kumano Kodo, a pilgrimage that blends Shinto and Buddhist spiritual traditions and leads to three grand shrines along the Kii Peninsula.

I didn't know much about this path, except that it included a UNESCO World Heritage site and people have walked it for more than a thousand years for reasons and rituals that I, a formerly Catholic westerner, will not pretend I understand. Photos of exquisite nature drew me in, as did my curiosity about Japanese spirituality and aesthetics, and rumors that the food along this particular road reflects the soul of Japanese cuisine.

At least those are the reasons I initially gave my seven walking-writing friends.

Image from post-World War II Japan when my grandparents were stationed there.

A deeper reason

The truth is, I've felt a pull to visit the country for years, in part because it is a thread in my relatively recent family history.

My grandfather was a diplomat in Japan following World War II. My grandparents' house was filled with reminders of their years there: a large painted shoji screen, a smaller red wooden one, a dancing geisha in a glass box, Japanese paintings and art, plaques and other commendations given to my grandfather, written in Japanese, hanging in the stairwell. In an attic trunk of old clothes, there were kimonos and folded fans. Further, my grandparents' close friend, Fumi, came at least once a month when I lived with them in high school to prepare fantastic Japanese meals, which my grandparents thoroughly enjoyed. She shooed us out of the kitchen, often to my grandmother's feigned chagrin, telling us Japanese cooking is an artform and she needed a clear canvas.

My father and uncle traveled to Japan with my grandparents on their first diplomatic tour in the county. They soon learned, however, that my father was allergic to silk – very problematic in a country filled with silken things. At age 6, he was sent back to the U.S. by ship to live with my great-grandparents. Neither of my grandparents accompanied him on that journey.

Oceanliner circa late 1940s—not necessarily the one my dad boarded.

I understand why my father was sent away–my grandparents were determined to save their sick child. Still, each time I hear this story, I can't help but feel a sense of fear and abandonment on his behalf—even as I know that was the furthest thing from my grandparents' mind. It was a different age. Kids were often sent away to school in the 1940s and '50s and, of course, many were displaced from their parents during the war. And yet, even now that word—abandoned— hangs in the air, and in some ways I feel it passed down through three generations. At nearly 60 years of age, I still struggle with an outsized fear of abandonment despite knowing how very loved I am.

All of that is to say that Japan is a place from which stories of joy and pain have come down to me. Without really stating it as an intention, I see in hindsight that at least part of me hoped this trip to Japan would help me connect with and gain a better understanding of three people I dearly love—my grandparents, both of whom are dead, and my father.

I also really, really wanted to see Mount Fuji, knowing how much my grandfather loved that mountain. For his 80th birthday, I recreated the mountain in cake, pulling from one of his old photos. It took hours and five bowls of frosting.

The world of this forest is clearly interconnection.

Arriving

We flew into Tokyo and the next day took the aptly named Bullet Train to Kyoto. If you go to Japan, take the Bullet. It reminded me of what a whole lot of other countries get right that we Americans continue to get wrong: trains, subway systems, and light rail are so far superior to driving—not to mention so much better for the environment—it seems obscene that outside of New York City and a few other forward thinking cities we've put roads and highways above mass transit. 

Our time in Kyoto was delightful, spent wandering, eating, and acclimatizing our bodies. Eventually we bulleted forward to the start of our walk in the village of Kii-Tanabe. After a local guide gave us helpful overview of the path, we headed to our hotel overlooking the ocean and were impressed by our first traditional meal. Tradition is a theme when it comes to feeding pilgrims on the Kumano. I can now say that I have eaten tiny tentacled squid for breakfast.

The overview of the Kumano Kodo Pilgrimate trail system

The question we start with

I do my walk and write retreats along officially designated pilgrimage paths. Mostly, I do this because no matter your spiritual leaning or none, pilgrimage space is liminal space. There's an inherent grace that permeates the road, a sense of being out of time and close to nature.

Each time, before we start, I ask those walking with me the same questions:

• What do you carry with you as you begin this walk?

• What emotion, circumstance, memory, openness, or hope do you bring to the path?

• And, is it something you hope to leave behind along the way?

We all carry something, whether we can name it or not.

Along with my family's history in Japan, I arrived on the path with a lot of pain about the fascist lean of our country's leadership, fear for marginalized communities, and questions about how far I would be willing to go to speak truth to that power or protect those harmed by our government's policies. That same grandfather who sent my dad on the ship is also my hero when it comes protesting dangerous government. I watched him march against nuclear weapons and lie down on train tracks in protest against a bomb train rolling in his direction.  

I also brought my unfinished grief over the loss of my mother. The first anniversary of her death came during the walk.

So that is the preface to my journey. In the next few posts, I'll share what arose in my mind and what writing arose during the walking, as well as some of the work of the amazing people who joined me on this adventure.

About them, I'll just says this: I know that lifelong friendships were rooted in the soil of the Kumano Kodo.

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Writing from the road

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What do I bring?

i carry the bones

of what I thought it was

to be an American—

that noble defender,

opener of ovens,

protector of liberty

and believer in justice for all.

a kingless citizen

whose body

belongs to themselves

and whose god

might be any god 

or not exist at all.

the bones are heavy

and if I bury them

what will it be

to be an American?

and if I carry them,

as witness,

how will I live?

for now,

my backpack must suffice

and my sorrow

must find her river

and my anger

must climb a sacred path

and be given to the mountain

so that the me

I want my country to be

may rise up 

as I climb down.

— Cheryl Murfin, Kumano Kodo, 2025