“Emily?” I hear as I turn and see an old man looking directly at me.

I’ve just deboarded the train in Tanabe, a tiny town in a mountainous area of Japan that I’ll be hiking and praying through for the next four days on the Kumano Kodo. Much to the dismay of my parents, not only am I travelling solo in a country of which I have almost no language skills, but I am doing so on foot in a rather remote area. Hiking the Kumano Kodo is generally done over the course of several days. I planned to split 40km into four days (a relatively light walk compared to its European sister pilgrimage–the Camino de Santiago).  

“Emily? Emily Wa?” 

Close enough. “That’s me! Are you Maruo?” The man shuffles over to me, gently takes my suitcase, and walks away without a backward glance. Only slightly bewildered, I follow. 

Since I am walking from accommodation to accommodation during this part of my trip, I’ve booked a luggage service to courier my suitcase. Maruo is who I know to be my courier, so I can only assume this stoic man is, in fact, now responsible for my possessions and not just slowly stealing them. Together, kind of, we reach his red mini truck where he loads my bag into the bed, turns to me, bows, rounds the cab to get in, and drives off. 

So much nervous energy is coursing through my body at the prospect of starting my solo prayer walk that I immediately move on with my day. I have a bus to catch! The Kumano journey begins, for most, on a bus from the train station up a mountain to your starting point, in my case, the first shrine: Takijiri-Oji. 

The energy on the bus is electric–there are about thirty of us chattering away, all from different parts of the world, but united in our anticipation of a beautiful, spiritual experience. It is exhilarating to talk to others about the journey we are beginning, getting to know the people we will see along the trail, and sharing stories of how we have already spent our time in Japan. Time passes quickly as we wind our way up the mountain, and after a bus-wide scuffle with a buzzy Japanese “murder hornet,” I look at my phone and realize an hour has passed. My new bus friends seem unfazed, one is celebratory even, sing-songing, “Halfway there!”

Except I know that the bus ride to Takijiri-Oji, my Kumano launching point, is only supposed to be approximately forty minutes.

I pull up the map on my phone and watch as the blue dot representing my location winds further up the road, well past and continuing away from the trailhead. In my panic, I don’t know what to do. “Make my path straight, Lord. Guide me!” I pray over and over, as I stand and pull the cord to indicate I need to get off the bus. My new bus friends look at me curiously as I deboard at what was very clearly NOT a stop for any of us. 

Alone at a covered bench on the side of a mountain, I begin to weep. “Lord, help me. Guide me. Lead me.” I have never felt so lost and alone. 

What was I thinking? How did I let myself romanticize this solo international spiritual retreat? This isn’t my 40-days-in-the-wilderness moment; this is my naked-and-afraid moment!

As I cross the street to the opposing bus stop to check the schedule, I begin singing the words to Proverbs 3:5-6 over and over (many thanks to Sixpence None the Richer for setting this proverb to music, the only way I can memorize scripture!). 

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.”

A bus heading down the mountain isn’t due for another hour and a half, and walking down and back the way we came won’t be a quick trip. No matter what I choose, I am losing sunlight and might not actually have enough time to…

“EMILY?”

Oh great, now I’ve really lost it.

“EMILY WA?”

I turn and see a red mini truck coming around the bend with an old man hanging out the window. And not just any old man–the only old man in the entire country of Japan who knows my name: Maruo.