The Shikoku Pilgrimage is one of Japan’s most famous spiritual journeys, connecting 88 Buddhist temples across the island of Shikoku.

The relentless hum of Nagoya Station always leaves a slight knot of tension in my chest. It is a symphony of overwhelming haste: the endless sea of sharp-suited commuters, the staccato click of hurried footsteps, and the ceaseless looping of automated platform announcements. But today, my destination is not another neon-drenched metropolis. I am leaving the labyrinth of the city behind, carrying my weary mind across the water to the island of Shikoku to find my own quiet pilgrimage.

If you’re looking for another quiet side of Japan, I also loved wandering through Hida Takayama at a much slower pace.

Like a monk shedding earthly attachments, I leave my urban anxieties on the platform and step onto the train.

The Luxury of Solitude and Small Comforts

When facing a long train journey, my first priority is unapologetic comfort. I have traded my pinching city shoes for a pair of loose, worn-in jeans and my favorite, slightly whimsical, bear-patterned socks. These are the feet that will carry me silently across unfamiliar earth for the next few days. Stretching my legs over my suitcase, I wiggle my toes and take a deep breath. Isn’t this the ultimate luxury of wandering alone? There is no need to perform, no need to match someone else’s frantic pace—just a perfect, quiet freedom where I can tune entirely into my own rhythm.

Glancing up, a small commemorative sticker on the cabin wall catches my eye: “Tokaido Shinkansen 50th Anniversary, Arigato.” It is a fleeting detail, but it moves me. I feel a sudden wave of gratitude for this massive, invisible system of steel and electricity that has safely carried millions of dreamers, workers, and weary travelers over half a century. When you travel alone, the world whispers to you in these small, easily overlooked details.

Crossing the Glassy Waters into Another World

A brief transfer at Kyoto Station offers a momentary change of pace. The afternoon sunlight filters through the station’s geometric steel roof, casting long, dramatic shadows over the diverse faces of passing travelers. Even the breeze slipping through the sliding train doors here seems to carry a faint, antique scent of old wood and incense.

To cross from the main island of Honshu into Shikoku, I board a slightly weathered, cheerful yellow train on the Seto-Ohashi Line. As the rhythmic, metallic clatter of the tracks shifts its pitch, the landscape bursts open.

Through the window, the magnificent Seto Inland Sea (Setonaikai) reveals itself. Beneath a soft, overcast sky, the water lies flat and heavy like polished glass, dotted with countless tiny, pine-covered islands. Time seems to suspend itself over this water. Watching the islands glide by, the realization finally washes over me: I am crossing over into an entirely different world.

For a similarly peaceful nature escape, Kamikochi offers a completely different but equally restorative kind of journey.

A Smiling Station and the Comfort of Broth

At last, I arrive at Takamatsu, the welcoming gateway to Shikoku. Even the architecture here seems to breathe a sigh of relief with me; the station’s massive glass facade is designed to form a giant, welcoming smiley face. Any lingering anxiety about navigating a strange new place melts away under this charming, giant grin.

Looking at the platform sign, a soft laugh escapes my lips. Stamped boldly in red beneath “Takamatsu” are the words: Sanuki Udon Station. In this part of Japan, the old adage of “sightseeing first, eating later” is strictly reversed. Here, it is “Udon first, everything else second.”

A Bowl of Warm Consolation

Drawn by an invisible, savory tether, I wander into a humble, local udon shop near the station before I even think about dropping off my bags. The moment I slide the wooden door open, I am enveloped by a cloud of steam carrying the deep, earthy fragrance of iriko (dried sardine) broth. Behind the counter, cooks are tossing noodles with practiced, rhythmic grace, while a pot of oden bubbles invitingly in the corner.

I opt for a hearty bowl of meat udon, crowned with a massive, impossibly crispy perilla leaf tempura, and—despite the early hour—a cold glass of draft beer. The noodles are a revelation: remarkably chewy, dancing on the palate with a lively elasticity that supermarket udon could never hope to mimic. With the very first sip of the warm, umami-rich broth, the last remnants of my tension dissolve. It is just a simple bowl of noodles, but to a solitary traveler far from home, it feels like a warm hand on my shoulder whispering, “You made it. Eat up and gather your strength.”

A Whimsical Ride to the Land of Rebirth

Belly full and spirit warmed, I return to the station to catch the Nanpu express train toward Zentsuji, the true heart of my pilgrimage. I had mentally prepared myself for a solemn, contemplative ride toward the sacred temples.

Instead, the train that pulls up to the platform is completely plastered in rainbows and giant, smiling faces of Anpanman, Japan’s beloved superhero made of sweet red bean bread! I stand there on the platform, blinking in disbelief before bursting into genuine laughter. It is as if the universe is playfully winking at me, reminding me not to carry too much gravity in my heart. Yes, the train seems to say, your journey is meaningful, but don’t forget to smile along the way.

Zentsuji: Stepping onto the Path of Prayers

Transferring to a slower, local train, I watch as the world outside shifts into quiet rural poetry. Nameless, sun-faded stations and vibrant green rice paddies roll past. The oppressive noise of the city is entirely gone, replaced only by the hypnotic, rhythmic swaying of the carriage.

I finally step off at Zentsuji Station. This is hallowed ground. It is the birthplace of Kobo Daishi (Kukai), the revered monk who founded the Shikoku Pilgrimage, and it is home to Temple 75 of the 88 sacred sites. The bold red station code, ‘D14’, looks almost like a waypoint marker in a grand, spiritual quest.

Walking out of the station, my breath catches. In the near distance, an ancient, majestic five-story wooden pagoda pierces the sky. Its presence is overwhelming, standing as a quiet guardian of time amidst the modern buildings. Looking at it, the reality of my journey settles into my bones. I am standing on a path paved by thousands of years of silent prayers and worn footsteps.

I adjust the straps of my heavy backpack. The weight on my shoulders is undeniable, but my mind feels as light as a stray feather. My quiet pilgrimage has officially begun.

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The Timid Traveler’s Guide: Solo in Shikoku

For my fellow quiet wanderers and solo travelers, here are a few gentle tips to help you navigate Shikoku with ease.

If your trip begins in the capital, my Tokyo solo travel itinerary may help you plan a softer start before heading deeper into Japan.

🚆 Getting Around: Trains & Quiet Stations

• The Right Train: Use the Marine Liner to cross from Honshu to Shikoku. For longer distances within Shikoku (like heading to Kochi or Matsuyama), the Anpanman Express is fantastic, but be sure to reserve a seat as it is wildly popular!
• Navigating Rural Stations: Many small stations near Zentsuji are unstaffed. When getting off, move to the very front car to show your ticket or pay the driver directly, much like riding a bus.

🍜 How to Order Sanuki Udon Like a Local (Self-Serve)

Don’t be intimidated by the bustling local shops! Just follow this rhythm:

1. Grab a Tray: Pick up a tray and a small plate upon entering.
2. Order Your Noodles: Tell the kitchen staff your style (Kake for hot broth, Bukkake for cold/sauce) and size (Sho for small, Chu for medium, Dai for large).
3. Choose Your Toppings: Use tongs to pick fresh tempura or rice balls for your plate. Oden is usually bubbling in a separate pot—just grab what looks good!
4. Garnish & Pay: Pay at the register, then head to the condiment station to shower your bowl in fresh green onions, grated ginger, and crunchy tempura flakes (tenkasu).

🎒 Safety & Comfort

• Embrace the Early Evenings: Shikoku is incredibly safe, but it is a quiet, rural island. Many shop shutters roll down, and streets grow dark by 7:00 PM. I highly recommend booking accommodations close to the brightly lit station areas.
• Prioritize Your Feet: Whether you are walking the full pilgrimage or just temple-hopping, you will cover a lot of ground. Leave the fashionable boots behind and wear your most trusted, comfortable walking shoes.

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Understanding the Shikoku 88 Temple Pilgrimage (Shikoku Henro)

If you feel called to explore the spiritual heart of Japan, here is what you need to know about this ancient path.

The Essence of the Journey The Shikoku Henro is a roughly 1,200km circular route following the footsteps of the 9th-century monk Kobo Daishi across 88 temples. The core philosophy of the trail is Dogyo Ninin (同行二人), meaning “two traveling together.” Even when you walk entirely alone, it is believed the spirit of Kobo Daishi is walking right beside you, offering silent comfort.

The Four Stages of Enlightenment (Dojos) The island’s four prefectures represent the stages of a monk’s training:

• Tokushima (Temples 1–23): The Dojo of Awakening. Taking the first step and setting your intention.
• Kochi (Temples 24–39): The Dojo of Ascetic Training. The longest, most physically demanding stretches between temples.
• Ehime (Temples 40–65): The Dojo of Enlightenment. Breaking away from worldly desires.
• Kagawa (Temples 66–88): The Dojo of Nirvana. The final stage of peace and completion (this is where Zentsuji is located!).

How to Journey While traditional pilgrims walk for 40 to 50 days, modern travelers often use trains, buses, or rental cars (taking 10-14 days). A very popular modern approach is Kugiri-uchi (section hiking)—completing a few temples during short vacations over several years.

Pilgrim’s Gear You will often see pilgrims wearing a Hakui (a white vest representing purity) and carrying a Kongozue (a wooden staff embodying Kobo Daishi). The most treasured keepsake is the Nokyocho, a beautifully bound book where temples provide striking red stamps and elegant calligraphy to prove your visit.

A Timid Traveler’s Note: You do not have to start at Temple 1! Dropping into a historically rich area like Kagawa to visit just a few temples (like I did at Zentsuji) is a perfectly valid and spiritually fulfilling way to experience the magic of the Henro.

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My passion for photography often leads me to these quiet, forgotten corners of the world, where the light hits the ancient wood just right and the silence feels like a warm embrace. I would love to know—what is the most peaceful place you have ever traveled to alone? Please leave a comment below, and if you enjoyed this journey, I warmly invite you to pour a cup of tea and explore the other travel essays and photo galleries tucked away in this blog.