This week 14 years ago, I finished a five-week, 1,350 km journey running the Shikoku 88-temple pilgrimage. One of the axioms of the pilgrimage is: "You will, and must, get lost." I envision the great master Kobo Daishi, the patron saint of the pilgrimage, with a huge map of the pilgrimage in front of him, assigning ambulatories to go off on tangents in order to test their will power and tenacity as pilgrims. "What curveball can I throw at this young foreign woman?" he says, watching me plod my way from temple 70 to 71. "Ahhh, I know just the thing . . ."

It was a clear, starry night when I left the sento (public bath). I walked along the road looking for a decent bus stop to sleep in but, upon spying a river, decided to amble along the water's edge instead. Parks in Japan are often built along riverbanks in an attempt to create open public spaces that don't interfere with the flow of traffic and the construction of office buildings in the city. These green spaces are ideal for bicycle paths, quiet park benches, barbecue areas and, hopefully, nojuku (sleeping outside).

I followed the bicycle path until I saw a grassy area with a tree. Here, I laid down my rain gear to use as a ground cloth and put my sleeping bag on top. My waist pack served as my pillow, and I stretched out, looking up at the stars. A gorgeous night! Except for one thing. I smelled doggie doo-doo.