I wasnt sure what to expect. But, if I was going to be honest, that sums up this whole trip. This is Dani’s part of the world, not mine. Her culture, her history. Not that Im complaining about experiencing it with her, but she does have the advantage here.
Her grandmother, the sweet woman that she is, drove us in from town. The entire way in, she was rattling on to us about something, with Dani translating as best she could. Sometimes she would ask for something to be said again and grandma would think for a moment and repeat what she had said in a different dialect which Dani understood.
We parked at the foot of the mountain, but not at the carpark for the place we were visiting. Grandma refused to take us further than where she stopped. Dani said it was some spiritual thing, and considering the significance of the mountain, I cant blame the old woman for being wary.
But it was nice out, the two of us like walking – grandma declined our invitation to come with us – and it was only a mile or so to the temple.
As we wandered in, taking care to read every sign we could – most being warnings of some nature – we saw that, unsurprisingly, we werent the only ones to make the trek up this morning. I didnt mind, but Dani looked slightly annoyed. But the look disappeared when one of the attendants came over and introduced herself. She was a local, raised in the small village we had been staying in the last few days. She spoke briefly about her life and then her role here in the temple. Being a guide was only a small part of it. She was also responsible for ensuring that we understood everything about what happens here. When I expressed an ignorance about most of what the temple was for, a look of absolute glee lit up her face and she all but dragged me into a small room with a projector and a screen. Dani followed, that usual bemused look on her face.
The mountain had many names; anyone who had visited in the formative years of this nation had given it one. It was the ultimate landmark, you see. A singular mountain without any others anywhere nearby.
The locals called it Doi. Apparently my ancestors called it something else, but ever since meeting Dani, its always just been Doi, or Mt Doi. Apparently Doi means single, alone or one. I wouldnt be surprised if all the other names were something similar.
Our guide, who told us to just call her Hana, made us sit through nearly an hour of history on Mt Doi, pausing the video to interrupt with some commentary or corrections. Her enthusiasm for her job made sitting through the video bearable.
Then she dragged us back out to the outside. Hana put on her guide face and set out, slowly, leading us along the famous trail of Mt Doi.
“Our world,” Hana said dramatically as she climbed the first few steps, stopped, and turned to face the couple. “Has always been a mixture of different cultures. The two of you, for example,” she spread her hands out to indicate the couple before her. “Two people from very different parts of the world, come together through luck and fate.”
The couple exchanged a look but listened on as the guide turned back and started leading them along the trail.
“We learn from each other. We give and we take. We share,” she said, the last word sounding like some sudden revelation rather than a pre-written and well rehearsed bit. “If we do things right, then we make friends. Allies. But if we do things wrong,” she stopped talking and sat on a small wooden stool next to the first landmark on this trail. “If we do things wrong,” she repeated. “We make enemies. We hurt ourselves as well as others. This is the first shrine to be built on this mountain. The truth of who or what it was built for is long gone. Its a small shrine, so people assume it was for a small entity. But when this was built, even getting to this point on the mountain took weeks. It was a hard journey and it would have been made harder with the materials used to build the shrine. None of what you see in this display are found anywhere near here. In fact, the trees this wood comes from is sourced on an island in the north, some 1000 kilometers away. We dont know who this shrine was for,” she said. “But we know that whoever made it didnt last long here. There are no records of any northern people settling here. Nor of any friendly contact with the local population at that time. For all we know, someone came here – with all this – built the shrine and left.”
“Isnt a shrine with no one to use it a sign of bad luck?” Dani asked.
“Indeed,” Hana nodded. “And we do have records of a string of natural disasters here after this shrine was built. Coincidence?” she asked, then shrugged, a small coquettish grin on her face. “Possibly. Who can say? But this shrine was just the start of what would happen next. And I think youve both heard the stories, right?”
“The Trail of Shrines,” the man suggested.
“Such a foreign voice,” Hana said, shivering in a way that made couple uncomfortable. “The gods are said to be fickle,” she said, continuing with her script. “They dont share well. But here on Mt Dio, they each have their own spot. The only spot many of them have outside of their home area,” the guide looked at the couple to make sure they understood the reference. In the video she had shown them earlier, it was stated that every god in this nation had their own specific place they operated in, very rarely leaving it for any reason. When Hana was satisfied that the two of them knew what she was talking about, she moved on.
“We dont know what possessed people to build their shrines along this path, but the second one was built just along here. As you can see, this one is more elaborate than the previous one. Built from rocks found at the base of this mountain. Carried up here and arranged piece by piece into the shrine that sits right here.” Before the couple was a small stack of stones. It looked like an art installation more than a shrine. “This shrine has sat here, in this same configuration, for more than a thousand years. Many of them have, of course, but what makes this one special is that it has no adhesive in its construction. There is no glue or mortar, these stones are sitting here in perfect balance with each other. Weve had typhoons and earthquakes roll this mountain and yet, the shrine stands. A testament, I think, to knowledge we no longer share.”
“There are no offerings on the shrines,” Dani said.
Hana nodded solemnly. “We ask, although cannot prevent, of course, that you refrain from offering anything to any of these shrines. Shrines like this one represent a god that no longer exists, and making an offering here doesnt do much. The only headache is myself or one of my colleagues have to come out here later and clean it up. But there are shrines, further up the hill, where the gods that they were built for do still exist. There is no way of knowing what could or would happen if you were to make any kind of offering here. For our local entities, we have a shrine back in the main temple, which you are absolutely free to make an offering at. We cannot guarantee anything if you were to make an offering out here.”
The couple nodded, not really understanding, but willing to accept the local rules of the mountain. As their guide set off up the path again, the young man reached and brushed the top of the stack of stones gently. They left a smudged brown stain on his fingertips.
“The third shrine,” Hana said. “Another dead god,” she added almost gleefully. “We know a lot about this one, though. Its just as old as the previous two, but were starting to get into the gods that everyone knows. This one is from one of the older ones, a water spirit from the south. As you might imagine, the south of the island has a very long, well taught, history and it includes their pantheon. This shrine is dedicated to the nymph called Nikaia,” she looked at the two of them for a while, seeing the flash of recognition in the young mans eyes.
“Oh,” he said. “Thats the-”
“Seductress, yes,” Hana replied clapping her hands together.
“Im not familiar with her,” Dani said.
“She is more famous with the males, as you can imagine,” Hana replied. “In fact, it was this friendliness with men that caused her death. Are you familiar with that story?” she asked the young man.
“She was accused of leading men to their deaths, so she could use their energy for something.”
“Close enough,” Hana nodded. “The stories differ, depending on where youre from. Those in the south have a rather friendly view of her, and her death is considered murder in those parts. The further north you go, until you reach us here, she is less and less of a friendly being and more of a pest. Beyond this small shrine, you barely hear of her.”
This shrine was an intricately carved bonsai tree. Its leaves were a shade of green that stood out vividly against the drab greens of the surrounding foliage. Hanging from the tree, almost comically, was a small round nut. It swayed gently in the breeze, but the couple believed immediately that it would never come loose.
“Shall we?” Hana asked, a few steps further up the trail.
From that point on, I thought I knew what to expect. Every few meters a new shrine. Some very intricate and others very plain. And mostly thats what Dani and I got. We learned some things about local gods, and a fair bit more about other gods than I expected. Hana, as strange as she was, made it easy to engage with the stories and by the time we made it around the trail and back to the main temple, we had been with her for nearly three hours. Honestly, even now, it feels like minutes.
The sun was setting in front of us as we made the mile or so walk back down the hill to where grandma had dropped us off.
As we arrived at the bus stop where we had all agreed to meet, her car pulled around the corner and stopped next to us in that jerky way older drivers sometimes park.
“Well?” she asked, via Dani, as we buckled in and took off again.
“It was nice up there,” Dani replied. The shrines are interesting and the tour guide was very informative.”
“Tour guide?” grandma spat. “What nonsense are you talking about? Theres no guides up there. Just an abandoned temple and a handful of shrines set to gods that never existed. Nothing else. No one ever goes up there anymore. Waste of time.”