We arrived atop Mt. Koya (Koyasan) after many hours of travelling on bumpy, stomach shaking trains through small towns of rice paddies, fluruo green gields and thatched roofs. The cable car was ridiculously steep, so slanted you practically had to whip out some rock climbing gear to get out. When we hesitantly pattered into the deserted wooden halls of Shojoshinin, the temple where we were staying, the silence was deafening, taking up all the space so that I felt ashamed to even whisper in a hushed tone "Where is everybody?"

When the lady of the temple arrived, she obviously had no issues with breaking the quiet, her deep voice constantly interupted by loud hacking coughs. She wasn't unkind exactly, but her stout, stubborn frown and broad shoulders def. reminded me of a bulldog. When she slid open the door to our room, I almost squeelled in excitement! The sun had reached that perfect, yummy, golden time and was streaming across our tatami mats in a glow that made me want to curl up and take a nap right then and there! Instead, because we had some time before the bell rang for our 5:30 dinner, we decided to explore our temple, pushing our feet out of the slippers and into some geta clogs to stumble around the Japanese garden that our room overlooked. Well, I say stumble - John is annoyingly skilled at walking in geta - I repeatedly almost stumbled head over bum down the hill! Unsteadily clip-clopping over stone markers, we couldnt believe how lucky we were to be staying in such a beautiful place - the mountainside loomed up right beside us, and the soft wooden verandah snaked its way around the temple by small japanese gardens and ponds. We made our way to the ceremony hall, which was very long and sparkling from the gold lamps, bowls and books. In the middle was a huge altar, with tiny tables or stools humbly standing in rows on either side. In my mind the gold was odd, clashing with the temples natural beauty, and overcomplicated. I guess I have grown used to, in fact, I've really started to appreciate, the clean simplicity of Japanese homes and most temples - this overembellished room was just too rich, like a slice of chocolate mudcake when what you really want is a crunchy, juicy apple.

I had thought we'd be eating with the few other guests for dinner, but when we recieved the call we were shown to a small, private dining room which contained only two cushions before the meal sets placed on the floor. Just as we were lifting our chopsticks to begin one of the many little dishes on our Shojin-ryori (which is basically a traditional buddhist vegetarian spread, no met, fish, garlic or onions - couldnt work out why the last two?!), a little knowck tapped on our screen, and a bald man with a nervous smile scurried in to light the fire beneath our plate of vegetables (these soon started to sizzle) and place a pot of green tea and a bowl of sticky white white white rice beside our trays. It was such a delight lifting the lids to each of the dishes - admitedly not all of the choices were tasty, but we tried everything anyway. I scorched my tongue mistaking a glob of wasabi for some decorative green sauce (you know, they should really label all wasabi), and neither of us is too partial for the seaweed and vinegar, but the tempura is superb, and the HOT vegatables are delicious (expecially the tender mushrooms and slices of wild potato) and I enjoyed my zesty, lemony miso soup so much I slurped up Johns as well! Dessert is a little odd: a reminder that the Japanese really do have a totally different sense of taste! Nothing is particularly sweet, they even have some more vegetables for dessert.