Japan 2010: 16 - Where I Help Bring in the Morning Catch

I woke not long after dawn, my toes feeling the cool air of the morning as they poked out from under the duvet. Outside, a train clattered by. I hadn't figured the night before, but the Ryokan was only a few yards from the tracks. I considered lazing in the returning silence of a beautiful morning as the sun gently peeked out from behind the hills, but eventually I started my day.
But that didn't matter; for the first time that I could remember, I had woken up in a traditional Japanese room, and could sip green tea on the veranda, looking out onto a (mostly) peaceful scene of nature. The closest I had got previously was maybe Aso (which wasn't very traditional, or the Suzuki Ryokan on my first ever day in Japan, which was slap in the middle of Tokyo. No, this one was the new winner.

I got some boiling water from downstairs and made some tea, and sat savouring the moment for as long as I dared. There was a wintry cloud to my exhaled air, and I felt the coldness on my bare legs and arms that could not be covered by my night clothes, but it only helped to heighten my senses. For some reason I wished I could have stayed on that balcony forever looking out onto the quiet world beyond.

Hotel Review: Amanohashidate Ryokan Maruyasu (6825 yen/night, 1 night)
As Ryokan go, this is the most beautiful example I have found so far, and just the thing if you want to wake up to a traditional oriental view. Even at the price I paid (the cheapest room there), it's still a pretty good bargain considering the authenticity and location. The owners don't speak much English, but they are very enthusiastic and will try to help if they can. Unfortunately no Internet, but I didn't miss it for a day. Ask about the onsen to get a voucher. 7/10

But eventually I had to leave, and quite early too if I was going to take advantage of my surroundings. The flyer mentioned several areas - Monju where I was at the moment, and Fuchu to the north, connected by the thin Amanohashidate sandbar heading north-south. There was also Miyazu and Yura to the east, but visiting all these was not practical in a single day, so they were left for this time. Regardless, I would need to be returning to the station before the evening descended so I could return to Kyoto, where I was staying for the night. Based on last night's journey, I would need to leave 2-3 hours for the journey.

So I checked out of the ryokan, and asked if I may leave my large backpack inside the door to pick up when I returned. They happily heaved it into the back room for me and I headed out. The man road was quiet, it seemed that I was one of the first to wake that saturday morning, but it would no doubt get busy. As the morning sun began to peek over the hills, I got going.

Using the map as a guide I headed briefly to the Monjudo Buddhist temple, although I got a little distracted by a mint first generation Skyline GT-R sat on its own in a massive car park looking out to sea. I'm not much of a car fan, and Japan can't boast many classic looking cars, but this one had the looks.
After a brief taster of the Aso sea, into which a group of fishermen had waded in and were trying to net themselves a bit of breakfast, I found the temple poking through the trees. A picturesque sight; several carefully presented buildings, and a beautiful two-storey pagoda were dotted around a neatly combed sandy area. Large-needled fir trees blossomed with paper fans and the place was defined by its imposing Sanmon gate at the far end.
Just out the other side, some early risers had taken over the docks, and were starting to fire up their thunderbird-style speedboats. With a space theme, each boat looked as if it was a dream come true to some enthusiasts who had never grown up. I smiled and gave them a wave and headed over the bridge to the start of the sandbar. Even the bridge managed to give me some pretty gorgeous shots of the beautiful surroundings I was in, but there was better to come.
The sandbar provides the tourist with two options; either they can walk under a pleasant canopy of trees along a path that, when lit up at night must afford one of the most romantic experiences a couple might be able to get in the area. Alternatively, if the sun is out (which it was) you could also head out onto the sands and walk along the shore. I chose to do a bit of both.
The sun was breaking through the clouds and shining on the sea, the waves gently lapping at the shore. Small ships were in the water in the distance, and fishermen were stood contemplating their day as their floats sat bobbing and catching the sunlight. Now and then the inner pathway forked as the trees parted and revealed pristine sands to walk down, easily emptying the mind of stresses and troubles of life. Truly this was one of the three great views.
Now and then, evidence of the age of the sandbank could be seen. Small, ancient-looking shrines were placed at occasional intervals along it's length, and some of the oldest trees, long since unable to support themselves through old age, had become part of a tripod, the people of the land conserving them for as long as possible as they had become part of the spirit of the place. Some especially large ones had been fenced off as a mark of respect, their ancient and withered trunks given protective plastic caps to stop rot and preserve their life for as long as possible; it seemed a fruitless exercise destined for eventual failure through a westerners' eyes, but the eastern notions of respect for nature and spiritual embodiment had as much to do with it as nostalgia and aesthetics.
Half way along, I saw through the trees a group of people gathering at the shore. They were looking out to sea, where a small fishing boat was being gently rocked on the waves. Men, women and children, all seemingly from one or both sides of the sandbar, had come together to wait for something. Here and there, large white boxes had been set on the ground.
Then I noticed the ropes. The crowd was beginning to arrange itself into two groups, gathering around one of two ropes that disappeared into the water. Looking out to sea, it was actually two ends of the same rope that made a giant arc. Buoys were attached at regular intervals to keep it afloat. They were about to land a catch of fish.

I stayed quietly back for a while, but my curiosity for a decent shot got the better of me and I emerged from the trees. By this point, a dual tug o' war was about to start against the force of the current and a hundred little fishy tales that had just realised they'd chosen the wrong place to swim that morning.

By this point I was at the shoreline, trying to see if I could see any writhing bodies in the ever shrinking net. It was still too far out, so in a sudden rush of community-mindedness, I tapped a random guy at the back of one of the tug teams, and asked if I might lend a hand. Incredibly, he said yes to this stranger, and made room for me.

I pulled with all my might, and even though the sand was sapping my energy and the rope was wet and slippy, I'd like to think I lent a useful hand, despite falling over at one point. I lent my camera to one of the guys at the side, who took a few pictures as I dug my feet in.
Eventually, the net was dragged completely ashore. Compared to the effort involved, the actual haul was quite small and the fish were pretty tiny. Still, a catch was a catch, and the crowd gathered around as an appointed mediator announced how it would all be shared between everyone. I stayed around and chatted briefly with my fellow tuggers, and moved on.
The sandbar ran out a half mile or so later, during which I had been treated to some hugely picturesque and beautiful sights, in the way that a combination of large trees, sandy beaches, rolling waves and a panoramic blue sky tends to do when you can fit them all in the same picture at once. The dirt trail turned into a paved walkway, and the view moved from the east side to the west, opening up the sights of Fuchu beyond.
Fuchu is a town that seems built primarily around the needs of the tourist. The coastline is home to a pleasantly twee ferry terminal, and most of the buildings are some sort of souvenir shop. After spending a little while working my way into the town, I hit the impossibly neat and tidy shrine of Motoise Konojinja. Not a blade of grass nor a pine needle was out of place as I walked up the perfectly manicured pathway to the main gate.
Paying my respects, I headed out of the side exit, which took me on a gentle walk around the back gardens of several Fuchu residents, which included the occasional statue, and a couple of turtle pools - a large turtle statue crawling with real ones, some of which were trying to climb up to the head for a bit of a view. The path was headed in the direction I was trying to generally go; that of the cable car entrance to the Kasamatsu park on the hillside.
Passing a couple more souvenir shops I found myself at the lift entrance. There are two options for travellers - either you can wait for the cable car to give you a leisurely journey up the hill, or if the queues are a bit big, take the cheaper, faster option of the ropeway - a constantly moving set of chairs similar to a ski lift that can take you to the top, but you have to be quick when you get there, or you'll be back at the bottom again.

Since the place was busying up a bit, and I had experience of ropeways before, I elected to take the cheaper option. A ticket to get you up there and back down again costs 600yen, which is pretty reasonable.

After re-acquainting myself with the wobbliness, I sat back and enjoyed the silent ride as the gradient steepened and the ground fell away. The ropeway was cut into the hillside, but they tried to keep as much vegetation as possible to the side and below so you didn't feel too guilty about the swathe cut into the nature. It was a pleasant ride, although the pleasant breeze at the top was a few degrees cooler than down in the valley.
I disembarked from my seat as elegantly as I could and padded up the steps to the plateau. Off to the left was a trail to the Nariaiji Temple further up the hill, which from the look of the nearby billboard map, seemed to be a pretty long walk. In the opposite direction looked a much better option: a viewing platform and a cafe.

A smattering of morning sightseers were sat at tables and looking out to the shores below, some were sat enjoying their drinks in the sun, others were throwing tokens through a ring that had been set up on a tall platform. Still more were standing on platforms with their heads between their legs.
My guide explained all - it is a tradition when coming up here to look through your legs so that the sandbar below looks as if it were a bridge to the heavens. People young and old - some more steady on their feet than others - were lining up to do this, usually with a camera pointed out there for additional distraction. Obviously, I took my turn.
I admired the view before me for a while, bought a postcard with the Amanohashidate sandbar on it, and wrote it at a spare table whilst sipping on some orange juice with a blob of ice cream in it. I'd send it off to my parents the next time I was passing a post office. As the place got busy with tribes of pensioners, I made my exit. I considered the trail to the temple, but there was still the other end to get back to yet, and after yesterday, I didn't trust the approximate length of the trail on the map.
Back at valley level, it was hitting noon. I looked through some of the shops at the base of the hill, many of which were selling local stuff, such as these dried puffa fish, complete with questionable stick-on googly eyes. I took the opportunity to get some beef ramen and vegetables in a nearby cafe, where the Koi from the pool outside were allowed to swim in through channels in the floor and watch you eat.
As I was passing the port, the 12:15 ferry was about to set off, so instead of taking an hour or so back on the sandbar, I spent a thousand taking the quicker route. The boat was ship-shape but the windows had been several months without a clean, and were streaked too much to get a decent picture, so like most of the passengers, I went out to the back of the boat where there was a small seating area. One man was throwing snacks out of the back of the boat, and a small flock of seagulls were following us trying to catch the pieces in the air.

The trip only took fifteen minutes or so, so I headed to the Monju ropeway. By this time, things were busying up; a neighbouring car park was almost full, and hoards of people lined the streets heading either to or from the 'View Land' area, halfway up the Monju hill.

As before, there was a lift and a ropeway, and as before, the lift was packed. I was told there would be a 20 minute wait, so the ropeway it would be again.
At the top, I was surprised to find myself in the middle of a mini-amusement park. A miniature rollercoaster snaked around the immediate vicinity, overflowing over the side of the hill, exposing the occupants to the steep drop below. A kiddies helicopter ride had been worked into the middle of it, as close as could be considered safe without one becoming tangled with the other. At the end, a tiny JR train was sat waiting for a driver to get on board and send it round it's little oval track (it played 'I've been working on the railroad' when one did), while the teens could get into a go-kart and head round a mini track. They even managed to crowbar a ferris wheel in for good measure.

I really wasn't sure what to make of it all; I guess my first reaction was disappointment that the side of the hill in such a picturesque place had been covered with ugly metal structures, but better up here than down in the valley, and the kids aren't going to be satisfied with a long stretch of trees and sand I suppose.
Right at the back of the fairground was a sign heading upwards into the wilderness beyond, which appeared to be some sort of nature trail. Since I was too big for the rides, it sounded like the only thing to do, so I began to head up. The weathered 'beware, snake' sign was a bit superfluous, since a few yards up, the trail ended with overgrown shrubbery (clearly not so popular) and a rickety old seat, which since I was up here now, I used to take a rest.
Fortunately, the place wasn't completely ruined; the designers had built an observation deck in the middle of the fairground, and from it you could get a pretty decent view of the place below, with barely a human footprint to be seen. A pair of red kites teased me by coming into close range right when my camera wasn't ready for them, but I did manage to get some beautiful pictures.

Eventually I headed back down sometime around half one, raided the convenience store for a bit more grub, and got a bit more cash out of the post office ATM, which was available even though the rest of it was shut. I got my bag back, and said goodbye to the millionaires, and headed back to the station, pausing briefly at a few souvenir shops along the way, where my large backpack caused the patrons to eye me with fear for their newly-stocked displays of breakable goods. Fortunately I negotiated it well and got a green tea mug and one of those lucky cats.

The next train to Kyoto was an hour away, so I spent it looking through the leaflets in the station, and shifting my things around in my bags so all my newly bought gifts had a chance at not being crushed. I had to swap trains at Fukuchiyama, and then it was back to Kyoto, the initially empty train steadily filling up as it reached each station on the way. The rolling hills and pleasant scenery slowly disappeared in favour of large, grey buildings and neon signs, and eventually as evening began to set in, I arrived back at Kyoto.
The post office was right outside the station, and was open until 9pm, so I took the opportunity to send off the postcard, and then I headed in the direction of my dwellings for the night.

The crowds in Kyoto were massive. Not since my first day in Tokyo had I managed to be bumped and battered by so many people at once. The main streets were packed with evening shoppers and fashionable young things trying to get to everywhere at the same time. Eventually, I found the Hana Hostel, down one of the side streets off the main road. It was a proper city hostel, people coming and going between rooms, and a bustly sort of feel to it. I got my room on the ground floor and dumped my bags, swapped into some less stinky clothes and in my bare feet (because I had no clean socks left) I headed back to reception to find the washing machine.

Unusually, it was just outside the front door, nearly on the street. A washer and dryer one stacked on the other, out in the open air; anywhere in the UK someone would have been to the toilet in it, but here it just seemed to be accepted and normal. 300yen got me a wash and spin dry, and then I got myself a shower.
As expected, the lounge area was inhabited by travellers from all over. A trio of Israeli, Thai and Italian guys were chatting in the kitchen together comparing notes, an American bloke and his teenage daughter were planning their next days travelling at the dinner table, and a couple of Frenchies were sat at the computers in the corner, uploading film footage somewhere. They seemed as if they were doing a media project for university or something; wish I'd had such ideas during my final year. I sat and got talking with one or two of them and sipped some green tea, eventually the film-makers left and let me use up their last pre-paid minutes on the computer to do some quick emailing.
The first time I came to Kyoto, I was feeling dog rough, but managed to get a reasonable days worth of travel around the city, although one place that was notably ignored was the Gion district, a section to the East of the city known for it's rare sightings of Geisha and it's traditional streets and neighbourhoods. I had chosen the Hana hostel partly because it was close to the area. Since there was an hour or so of the night left, I headed out in the cool air and the emptying streets, and did a lap of the neighbourhood, although I saw little of note aside from a load of closed, darkened temples. Tomorrow would be a better day.

I headed back and munched a KitKat in bed, and planned what to do tomorrow.

Japan 15 : Liberation

After the relatively sedate pace of yesterdays walk around Hiroshima, I felt refreshed, although now the fog had lifted on my bodily state, it was clear I had picked up a cold from somewhere. Not good for the upcoming task. I started out by getting to the local JTB to sort out a few more places to stay, but it wouldn't open until half past ten. I sat in the bakery/cafe at the entrance to the railway station munching on some pastries for breakfast and pondered whether to wait two hours or get going. In the end I decided that two hours were not to be squandered today, and I would risk trying to find the JTB in Matsuyama tomorrow.

My first destination today was the summit of Mount Misen, the mountain on the island of Itsukushima, commonly known as Miyajima (shrine island). Japan is known for three beautiful views, of which this island is one. I'd narrowly missed one of them as I'd passed Sendai, so I wasn't going to let this one get by me, regardless of my personal state. Once I'd made the summit, I'd cross onto Shikoku island to get to my hotel in Matsuyama and get down for the night. Given the amount of distance to cover, it was clear I couldn't be hanging around, every second counted today.
I got back to the hotel and checked out. Taking a final look at my emails, K's Backpack Hostel at Mt. Fuji had got back to me with directions from Nagoya (near to Osaka, one of my upcoming stops), so I noted them down. K's was the only place I had pre-booked before coming, and it was a bit of a mystery how I was going to get there from just looking at Google Maps. Now everything had been made clear.
I went through the subway with a feeling of clarity in my head and hopped onto a #5 tram. We clattered merrily through the slowly swelling lines of traffic, past the stops for the peace memorials and on towards the port. However something felt wrong. I checked my book to be sure. Hiroshima has two ports - the main one that serves ferries from Shikoku and beyond, and a separate one down the coast that handles ferries to and from Miyajima.
I was on the tram heading to the former, not the latter. Checking the coloured charts above me I got off at the next intersecting stop and switched to a #3, which took me most of the way there and then a #5 again (this time in the correct direction) for the final section. I had lost a half hour already.
Miyajima-guchi, where the ferry port is located, is full of signposts and mock O-torii's advertising the place in typical excited cheesy style. This was deliberate, since no such things are allowed on the island to keep its traditional look so they were making the most of their last chance. I stuffed my large backpack into one of the available lockers and then hurried aboard an outgoing ferry that was just on its way. The ferries are actually owned by Japan Rail, which means the rail pass was valid for them and I travelled for free.

The seas were calm and the ferry glided its way out of the port. It wasn't long before the slight mists lifted and Mt Misen emerged. From mid-distance, it looked quite imposing, and I was beginning to doubt my ability to get to the top, but I would give it my best shot. As the ferry got closer, the O-Torii, one of the major attractions became distinct from the island. A huge Torii gate, bright scarlet red, built out of the sea a few hundred yards from the shore. The Torii gate acts as a presentation to the Itsukushima Shrine, a building sat square with the torii on the shore.

Once I'd got off and made my way through the crowds to the welcoming plaza, I got myself a hot chocolate and a bottle of water, and was about to head out when I came across some well-known inhabitants of the island. Very tame, very curious deer. I had been warned about these - they look harmless, but if you take your eyes off them you are in trouble. I saw a good example of this when one woman, taking pictures of the Torii forgot about the map hanging out of her back pocket. One deer pounced, then several others swarmed, knowing full well that their sacred status meant no-one would touch them for it. I decided to zip up my pockets and move quickly on.

Checking the welcome map, I decided to look around some of the artefacts available in the shopping district. They were clearly souvineer shops, though their looks had to be tempered to keep them in line with what the authorities considered 'tasteful'. This was a good thing, as it encouraged less plastic trinket makers and more wood carvers, fabric makers and the like to show off their wares. Working my way through the streets, which were peppered with deer going about their business as if the humans didn't exist, it was a very backyard affair. All the lower streets had become a mix of traditional Japanese houses mixed with an open ground floor containing goods. One in particular contained massive wood carvings of gods and deity's, made more special knowing that the wood had to be imported from the mainland, since no trees could be cut down on the sacred island.

There were also a few other Shinto structures to look around while at the base of the mountain, and curious looking stairways and paths led to the beautiful 5-tier scarlet pagoda that is visible as you head to the island, as well as a couple of very old and wind-weathered temples which I must confess I spent a little longer inspecting than was necessary - the mountain behind them was rather large.

It was time to make a start, so I headed upwards. There are three trail options to take if you want to climb Mt Misen; the longer, shallower incline through Momiji-dani Park (and optionally take the ropeway to get you part way to the top), the Daishoin course, which at the time had been closed, and the shorter but steeper Omoto course. I decided to give myself the best shot at things and took the Momiji-dani course, figuring I could use the walkway if I was flagging. As the beautiful forest began to dominate my view, the wide smooth pathways and picnic areas petered out and were replaced with trails with gorgeous bridges over crystal clear waters. Heading higher, the trail steepened, and I came across more deer, though these were more wary of humans, probably not part of the group that regularly eat maps near the shore. I arrived at the ropeway but I felt as if I could make it, and besides, it cost money and I'm a tightarse, so I carried on on foot.

The trail got steeper and narrower, but it was at least pretty clear where to go. There were plenty of signs dotted about, along with 0.1km markers showing how much you had done and how much there was to go. At some points, the trail got so steep that they put rails up, and in others it was clear just how ancient the trail was, with well-worn steps threatening to bust an ankle at any moment.
At the 2km mark, (and after several rests, the cold being sweated out of me) just as I thought it couldn't go up much further, the forest opened up suddenly and I was on flat, sandy ground. I looked around to see my first glances of the celebrated views, and I had another third of a kilometer to go. After pausing for breath I carried on up along with some other sightseers and after a while came to a pair of Shinto shrines, near but not at the summit on a flat piece of land surrounded by large boulders. Both structures were achievements in themselves, being not a trivial task to cut and lug trees from other islands all the way to the top. The Misen Hondo Main Hall was full of golden ornaments and plush, shinto-red decoration. The other, the Reika-do Eternal Fire Hall was smaller and contained several lit candles, which you could add to for a nominal price.
Sat between them rather uncomfortably was an empty hut, besides which was a fragile little cabinet containing bottled drinks, and an honesty box. The box was full of coins and notes, and no-one was around to oversee whether people actually paid (or snaffled off with the cash). It may have been the intimidatory nature of the shrines and the sacredness of the island that did it, but it was so refreshing to see the trust that was placed in the holidaymakers, and seeing it returned so positively. If this were the UK, the cash would be nicked, the drinks cabinet emptied and kicked over, and someone would have rolled one of the large boulders down the hill for a laff.


Carrying on up the steps, I passed Sankido Hall, some massive rocks, and a reminder that these mountain things are finite and a bit dangerous, before eventually reached the summit, where you could see everything and for miles. Amazingly, and disappointingly, someone had decided to stick a building at the top; the Misen Observatory, a shop with a lookout tower above it. It was looking well past its best (it seemed to be made of the same sort of materials you make greenhouses out of) and was an ugly eyesore in an otherwise completely unspoilt area. Under duress, I walked in and put myself down on a rusted chair and looked through the dirty window for five minutes to catch my breath. An old guy sat behind a counter containing another drinks cabinet stuffed with drinks that may have been there for a while. I declined.
Once rested, I took the steps to the roof for a little more view taking, and then looked for my way back. Not wanting to go the same way I had come, I looked round for alternative ways, and after a while found a not very well-worn trail that headed back down. This seemed to be the Omoto course. After a little uncertain walking down a steep path (it wasn't clear at this point whether it was made by the feet of man or beast), a sign and a deserted temple helped to reassure me. A crossroads would have allowed me to take a detour to the Daishoin Course, but it had been closed due to some of it falling away.

My heart sank when the downhill started to become uphill again. I was now beginning to be unappreciative of the beauty around me and was wanting to get to the bottom once more, my ferry would be leaving at 5pm and it was already after 3 o'clock. The Misen trail was moving onto the nearby summit of Mt. Komagabayashi, which was taking far too long to even out. Worse still, there was no-one to be seen for miles. I just had to trust my instincts and keep going. Now and then there were signs of life, such as a baby Shinto shrine, or a stone shrine covered in coins (I left a 1 yen piece there) which reassured me, and eventually the trail started to head downwards. Quite quickly in fact, through wooded canopies and down ancient crumbling steps which again threatened to do my ankles in even more so than coming up their cousins on the other route.
After an hour of nervous trail walking, I started to see signs of modern construction again. The trail widened and open areas sprinkled with picnic benches appeared, followed by huts and roads and eventually houses. It was all pretty nerve-racking at the time because I was completely trusting of the trail - the ancient undergrowth and no other signs meant I was unable to get my bearings relative to the shore, but looking back I wished I could have spent some time just taking in the place, it was beautiful, ancient jungle with the sort of Laputan-style overgrowth you just don't see down the local woods, and there was talk of monkeys hanging about somewhere (but I didn't see any). I recommend downloading or buying a decent trail map and taking it with you before going. I breathed a sigh of relief as I reached the shore once more near the Miyajima Aquarium, but there was no time to visit it, (the best I managed was hearing a sea-lion bark through the railings during a show). I was now running late and would have to hurry to catch the ferry which I could see was on its way from Hiroshima to the terminal.

Fortunately, the tide was out, so I was able to cross over the section between the shrine and the Torii, taking the opportunity to take a picture of it close up. Several people were wading over to it to push coins into the cracks in the wood, a traditional tourist habit. I rushed back to the ferry terminal as quickly as I could and caught it just before it left at a dash before 4pm. At the other side, I got my backpack and took the train back to Hiroshima station, then the #5 tram like I did before (doh!) to Hiroshima Port.

I arrived at the port at 5.15, which meant that the last of the cheaper ferries had gone. The only ones leaving now were the luxury ones at 6100 yen a pop. I could have stayed the night in a decent hotel for that! It was getting dark now, and my feet ached as we waited for the incoming passengers to disembark and my little queue to be allowed on. I slumped into the luxury seating and had some shut-eye as the engines idled.
Eventually we set off and rounded the cape and a few more islands on the south side of Western Honshu. The journey included a few interesting sights, but was generally just water in what remained of the daylight, so I took the opportunity for some more slumber. I was finally heading back towards Tokyo, which at the time came as a psychological turning point - I was heading towards the place that would take me home (and it had to be said, at this point on the journey, that felt good).
Arriving at Matsuyama Port, I realised that I had made a little mistake. When I got the hotels booked, out of habit I had asked for one close to the train station. Unfortunately the port and the station are across town from each other, and thus my first task was to find the station and walk from there.
Immediately as I arrived, it seemed that Shikoku was different. The number of English signs dropped dramatically, and those who spoke it were rare too, as if Shikoku was often ignored by the tourism trade. Arriving outside into the rain, there was by good fortune a coach waiting outside, and asking the driver about 'Matsuyama Eki?' resulted in a nod and a smile. The coach made its way around Matsuyama in a roundabout style, and eventually the station appeared through the raindrop-blurred windows. It was then just a case of heading up the main street and to the hotel.
As was traditional with the maps that came with the hotel reservation, someone had got feet and inches mixed up, and the relatively simple task of looking for the hotel was made more difficult than I was hoping for, despite receiving help from a couple of friendly passers by. At 7.30 in the evening I checked into the hotel that ended up being about 500yds away from where it was advertised.
After getting my breath back, I headed over the road to a shopping arcade (sorry - 'gourmet hall'), inside which was - to my relief - an Italian restaurant called Capricossa. I was still feeling a little guilty about not trying some more regional cuisine, but since my holiday was very nearly cut short by such experiments back in Kyoto, I decided to sod it and stick with something recognisable.
Garlic bread, chicken and hot chilli/garlic and spaghetti were accompanied by ice cream with hot blueberry sauce. They even had tea - not the Japanese type of tea, but normal English tea - with milk! It cost a bit per cup, but I had two because it felt so long since I had anything close to a proper cuppa.
I waddled home tired but happy at about 9.30, wrote my diary and went to bed. A whole new island was ripe for exploration in the morning.