01/11/2022
Writer, photographer and walker Craig Mod captures this element of walking so beautifully.
"What I felt most on this tour of the peninsula — amidst leaving behind the shoe-leather on the mountains and the village streets — was the poignancy of small relationships returned to over time. I’ve walked these routes so many times that, without realizing it, I’ve concocted a fine web of connections. There was our young, entrepreneurial cream puff buddy, Misaki, who runs Choux. But I also stopped by a small goods shop run by a quick-to-laugh intriguingly round elderly woman who always seems to be in a rush. I first met her in 2019. I stopped and bought potato chips then and stopped and bought potato chips in winter 2019, and then in summer 2021, and now, once again in October 2022: Potato chips. Our deep-fried binding agent. And I said — Hey, you were the classmate of the guy who runs the inn down the street, right? And she just burst out laughing, How the heck did you know that?! and I told her, Because you told me, three years ago. And, boy, she just couldn’t get over that. Cackled and cackled some more. Tried to foist on us a bunch of bruised peaches.
Gosh, these small human connections. This recon walk, I leaned into the energy of these connection in a way that felt additive and new. I come away believing more strongly than ever: There is a goodness to committing to a route, returning to that route, being present and attentive and in control of attention on that route, and committing to elevating those you meet as best you can. Those investments in kindness pay dividends in funny, beautiful, potato-chippy ways.
Most of all, though, the gift of this walk — the thing for which I am most grateful — was being able to spend time with John. To have two weeks walking together — what a thing! I take not a second of that for granted. Talking through the endless intricacies of Japanese mythos (which, I realized on this trip, is not unlike the source code for an operating system; an idea to return to later) and the logistics of structuring tours, of running old inns and making almost-great inns better, of the politics of hotels, of getting served way too much lobster, of finding French toast — so much French toast — when you least expect it, of living a beautiful, meaningful life, of squealing near the edge of a breathtaking gorge. John and I have been walking together for a decade now. He catalyzed all this — my turning walking into a “platform” atop which I work, of starting SPECIAL PROJECTS, of Kissa by Kissa, books to come, and more. He opened the door, showed me the way into the forests, the old roads, the peninsula. To be able to watch John do his thing — his ever-ensorcelling way of elevating those he meets — is the best kind of archetypical experience you could ask for.
I wrote this about bearing witness to John being John in my forthcoming book:
Witness hundreds of hours of something before your eyes; this is how both faith and science are verified. What I’ve come to believe: Respect for someone's story elevates their station in life, their being, changes the musculature of their face, their posture. It imbues the mundane with unexpected distinction. It is the opposite of death, and it is there to be given and received a hundred times each day along a good, long walk.
I got to spend another fourteen days — some 200+ waking hours — watching someone deliver grace to everyone we met, and all I can do is hope to carry that forward in my own work and walks. So, thanks John."
Craig and John Mcbride recently walked the Kii peninsula together, which Craig narrated in one of his temporary 'pop-up' newsletter series. A joy to read for anyone interested in walking and Japan, Craig's newsletters, books, podcasts and more can be found here: https://craigmod.com/about/
Image and text credit to Craig Mod.
