Japan, Part 2 - A Frightening Trip Up the Mountain

Any worries that I had about being able to find Fushimi Inari-taisha vanished immediately upon seeing, shortly after stepping out of the train station, a large vermilion torii gate marking the entrance to the shrine. Passing through and approaching the main shrine we find what we had quickly come to recognize as a typical Shinto shrine. The torii gate, a purification fountain, decorative stone lanterns, and sake barrels lining the walls. Inside the ema – wooden placards on which the faithful write their prayers – have been left hanging on racks for the spirits to receive. Nearby paper fortunes are tied to wires, their owners hoping to either rid themselves of a bad fortune or increase the power of a good one. A side street of shops and stalls presents an alternate route to the shrine, offering one the chance to take home their own small torii gate, to sample the mochi specialties of the region, or to buy small cakes baked into the shape of the shrine itself. There is a comfort in this scene, a familiarity quickly gained from our previous stops that day. But that comfort would be brief.

The purification fountain…

Ema…

Paper fortunes…

The longer we linger, the more we feel there is something slightly off. Subtle at first, but growing on us the longer we spend within the confines of the shrine, and finally culminating in the realization that the various statues of the kitsune scattered around the shrine seem in some way to be watching us. Referring back to the guidebook we learn that these animal guardians of Inari were thought to be mischievous and at times malevolent. In Japanese folklore they were ascribed with the power to possess people, to drive them mad – confusing them with illusions or visions, even to bend time and space. Looking back at the statues the feeling of being watched persists. Sly grins on their faces, almost as if they knew that they had us and were just waiting for the right moment to strike, waiting for us to turn our backs.

The sinister kitsune…

Moving in further, perhaps ill advisedly losing sight of the kitsune, we come across our first mass of torii gates, the sight that caught my eye in the guide book and what this particular shrine is know for. As well as being the god of rice, Inari is seen as the patron of business and in order to curry favor from Inari, Japanese businesses would donate a gate, resulting in this spectacular shrine where thousands of gates snake up the mountain, packed so tightly in some places that they form virtual tunnels up the hillside. We pass through, snapping pictures as we go, pausing to try and catch shots free of people. But once again, the longer we linger the more a general unease sets in. As we continue up the hill, the gates become less tightly packed. We begin to see the slowly darkening forest through the cracks. It is easy to imagine that we are being stalked through these tunnels. The kitsune biding their time, and us with only two options, forward and back, caught in this suddenly claustrophobic tunnel of gates.

A tunnel of gates…

Through the cracks…

Pushing forward we discover more shrine areas, almost identical to the first. More halls of worship, racks of prayers, fortunes tied to trees and wires. A pattern emerges. Explore a shrine, walk through a tunnel of gates, find another shrine. It’s as if we are caught in a loop, the increasing size of the gates the only indication that we are traveling somewhere new – though it could just as easily be the unraveling of our world as we progress further into another realm, one where the kitsune rule – perhaps we’ve already been possessed. We pass another American couple and hear our worst fears voiced as she flatly states, “If we go in there, we’ll just never come out.” Abandon all hope ye who enter here. And still we press on, further up the hill, further into the heart of the shrine.

Up the hill…

The ever-present gates becoming larger and less densely packed. No longer feeling like we are caught in a tunnel we take in more of the mountain, with the sun creeping further behind the trees. Crows cawing in the distance, but they sound different, a little off, pitched lower than the caw I am familiar with. Perhaps we are hearing them through other ears. Small individual shrines, or setsumatsusha, dot the wayside. Every now and again a grave can be seen in the distance. The final resting place of those unfortunate enough to “just never come out.”

Ever onward. The crowds have thinned out and we now go long stretches without seeing anyone. Up the hill. The large shrine areas giving way to more of the setsumatsusha. Small shops and restaurants begin to appear as well. Innocuous at first, but something doesn’t sit right. After passing a couple it hits me. There is no one to be seen. Granted it is late in the day, but these places still look to be open – just deserted, no one is looking after the places. All except for one place. In a small doorway a little old lady sits. The number of stairs that it has taken us to reach this point, I have trouble imagining that she is able to come and go as she pleases. Another victim of the mountain? She hasn’t joined the ranks of the graves that we’ve spotted, but she has clearly come in, never to leave again. I wonder if she will take pity on us when it becomes apparent that we are doomed to share her fate. Or perhaps she is simply a kitsune in human form, once again biding her time until she pounces.

Larger gates…

And smaller shrines…

We make our way a little further up the hill before deciding its time to turn back. We’ve pressed our luck enough. If we’re lucky we’ll be able to make it back out. We’ll be able to break the cycle. Shortly after passing the old woman again a cat runs across our path. A clock chimes faintly somewhere behind us, an old and distant sound as if half remembered from a dream. A faint chill passes down our spines as we pick up our step. The torii gates once again shrink down, become more tightly packed. Small side shrines give way to the larger sub-shrines until we find ourselves once again at the main gate, souvenir shops slowing down, shutting up for the day. Kitsune statues where we left them – not in the forest stalking poor, unsuspecting American tourists. We went in there and we did come out.

Perhaps, however, this is not precisely the way events transpired during our visit. It may be that the facts of the afternoon were embellished ever so slightly for dramatic effect. It was a spectacular shrine and never once did I feel that we were being stalked. The kitsune were indeed rather mischievous looking, but also firmly planted on their plinths. While there was somewhat of a sense of deja vu as we kept coming across sub-shrines, perhaps the American woman simply meant that there was so much to see and she was ready to be done. The crows sounded different than the caw I am used to, but this was not the only place I would notice that. We did see some graves through the breaks in the torii paths and there was an old woman (with chiming clock, path crossing cat, and all) high up on the path amidst strangely vacant restaurants. I do wonder if she spends her nights up on the mountain or if she had some way down. I suppose that after seeing a multitude of Japanese women climbing the path in heels with little problem I should not be surprised if this old woman was able to easily do it in flats. And while we were never far from other people we did have our moments of isolation and during those quiet moments one could tell that this was not the kind of place one would want to find themselves alone in the dying light of the day. But it is most definitely a place that I would love to visit again.

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