I won’t tell you that the world matters nothing, or the world’s voice, or the voice of society. They matter a great deal. They matter far too much. But there are moments when one has to choose between living one’s own life, fully, entirely, completely—or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands. You have that moment now. Choose! Oh, my love, choose.

Oscar Wilde, “Lady Windermere’s Fan”

In honour of my favourite scene from SpongeBob…

A moment of silence.

28 March 2023

• 6:35-7:30 Kamiya-Cho-Nishi to Miyajima-guchi streetcar, 7:45-8:00 ferry to Miyajima
• O-torii, Itsukushima shrine, Daiganji temple (30m)
• Daisho-in temple (1h)
• Momijidani Park (30m)
• Lunch @ Omotesando shopping arcade
• Mt Misen hiking trail (1h)
• Mt Misen summit (1h)
• Mt Misen hiking trail (40m)
• 17:10-17:20 ferry back to Miyajima-guchi, 17:25-18:25 Miyajima-guchi to kamiya-Cho-Nishi streetcar

Last night, after I had uploaded pictures of Hiroshima to Instagram, the Polish tourist from Osaka and Nara had told me she was here as well.

Finally, someone to hang out with. We had made plans to visit Miyajima early next morning, to beat the crowd.

Instagram had proven itself a useful means of staying in touch.

Miyajima

I woke up at 6:00 and took the first streetcar to the ferry. Inside the streetcar, there was a change machine near the doors. So far I’d seen those next to the driver.

The ride took forever: cheaper than the train, but probably twice as long.

Then, the ferry. It was as pleasing as the previous ones. The sky was clear, the sun not too hot; the whole island of Miyajima was covered in trees. So much greenery, and pops of pink, too. I couldn’t have come on a better day.

The first thing I did was meet the Polish tourist at the O-torii. I passed deer on the beach, not expecting to see them here.

The tide was at its lowest and the island nearly vacant, so we took advantage of both. Lots of pictures, no waiting lines. Good thing I’d worn my waterproof hiking boots. Trampling on seaweed was fun!

At Itsukushima shrine, I saw a beautiful and cheap Sakura stamp book. Mine only had two last pages to fill, so I immediately bought the pink book.

The first temple we visited, right next to the shrine, pretty much sucked. It was tiny and nondescript. So we both decided not to buy a stamp here.

Daisho-in Temple

Then, Daisho-in temple. The steps leading up to it were lined with five hundred small Rakan statues, all sporting unique facial expressions. I’d never seen so many of those at once. Already a unique sight, and we hadn’t even entered the temple yet.

The complex was big and worthwhile. Staircase sutras you could spin for good luck; an obscenely golden sculpture of Amida Nyorai, a prince who had served as the head priest of this temple; a cave with a thousand lanterns, dedicated to the 88 Shikoku pilgrimage; a monument to old kitchen knives that were no longer usable; one thousand golden Fudu images (Immovable King statues), donated by worshippers to the current head priest; and the most beautiful cherry blossoms I’d seen. Bloomed to the max, and just as captivating.

At the highest point stood a hall where Kobo Daishi was enshrined. His sculpture freaked me out. His eyes penetrated my soul and followed me around, like a creepy Mona Lisa.

Frogs croaking and bird singing. Waterfall crashing. Fish swimming in ponds. This temple took one hour to explore (a rarity), and struck me as the most exquisite one I’d visited.

So far, my favorite shrine was Nachi, an equally large and rewarding complex, while my favorite temple was here.

Next, we walked to the deer park. Cherry petals were falling everywhere. It was the magic I’d been missing from my hanami yesterday.

I got an annou sweet potato ice cream with corn flakes on the bottom. Bizarre combination.

Then, an oyster soup – a local specialty. The biggest and yummiest oysters ever.

Having not eaten breakfast, we were both starving, and headed down to the main street. It was 11:30, and the island was packed like sardines.

The lines to the O-torii and shrine were endless. It was insane. Just three hours ago, this place was empty.

I thanked the Polish girl just as endlessly for messaging me last night. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have taken the earliest streetcar to the ferry, nor enjoyed some company.

Omotesando shopping street

We both bought four different kinds of momiji manju, another local specialty – a maple leaf shaped pastry with various fillings. I got lemon, red bean paste, uncooked cheese, and to cap it all, a fried cheese one. Heaven on my taste buds.

We saw a line to a stand that sold fried sticks. She picked cheese for her and octopus for me. I was again grateful. It was criminal how delicious that tentacle was. And to think I hadn’t eaten fish (or meat) for years before coming on this trip.

I understood why this island was considered sacred. Angel choir with every bite.

It was funny how I could have a crappy day, and the next day, a perfect one. Today had instantly became one of the highlights of my trip. And it wasn’t even 13:00.

But when it was, she left for her next destination, while I continued to explore the island.

Funny how my two days with deer in Japan were spent with her.

Mt Misen

I decided to hike up the mountain instead of taking the ropeway, in order to save money. Also, I had plenty of time to kill. Yet I was the only one hiking the trail at first: everyone was taking the ropeway.

I had war flashbacks to Kumano Kodo, even though the elevation gain was only 535m. It was extremely steep. I was limping, panting, and sweating; my glasses were falling down my nose; my injured knee was on fire; and I was wearing jeans.

I’d intended to take it easy after my accident, rather than hike. I’d do that when no longer traveling.

Despite all this, the ascent took me one hour, when the pamphlet said one and a half.

Reaching the summit was worth the agony. A breathtaking view of the sea and surrounding islands, sparkling in the sun. Boulders and infinite greenery, once again complimented by fully bloomed cherry trees. I didn’t think this day could get any better, but Miyajima proved me wrong. What a perfect day on the perfect little island.

I climbed on a boulder and watched the view. The sky was so clear, that I could see mountains as far as the eye went. So many mountain ranges in this country.

The ascent was hard for my chest, while the descent harder for my knee.

Back on the beach, I was astounded to see how the tide went high and low in a matter of hours. Miyajima immediately joined my list of favorite places in Japan. Hiroshima joined the worst.

I got grilled oysters with miso paste, butter, and lemon. The best sauce ever. I drank it afterwards from the shell.

Then a ferry back to the main island. God, I loved ferries. Ferries and trains should be the only means of transportation in the world.

As the Japanese said: いい日だった｡ Today was a good day. Probably the best day of the year to visit Miyajima, with the bright weather and all the Sakura. And few people at first.

The return ferry was just as glorious. Gentle breeze, diamond sea; caressing sun. The view of the green island with the pop of light pink and the red o-torii. I noticed a black starfish swimming, and smiled. Life could be good when it wanted to. It could be grand.

I wrote a poem in the streetcar back to my hotel, and then published the first chapter of my coming out story, before going to bed.

Today’s highlights: trudging on seaweed; Daisho-in temple (particularly the cherry blossoms); the falling cherry petals at the park; eating oysters, fried octopus, and momiji manju; and climbing on a boulder to bask in the sun on Mt Misen.

List of favorite places in Japan:

• Utoro
• Lake Akan
• Tokachidake Onsen
• Noboribetsu
• Aoni Onsen (despite the loneliness and boredom)
• Matsumoto
• Hakone
• Ise
• Nachi
• Shodoshima (despite my cycling accident)
• Naoshima
• Itsukushima (AKA Miyajima)

Updated list of places I never want to inhabit again:

• Fuji Five Lakes
• Sendai (I’d just grab a zunda shake and bounce)
• Okayama
• Hiroshima (1 day is enough to explore the city)
• Israel

29 March 2023

• 7:00-8:15 Hiroshima bus center to Takehara station bus, 8:50-9:00 Takehara station to Tadanoumi station train, 9:40-9:55 Tadanoumi port to Okunoshima ferry
• Poison Gas Museum (15m)
• Exploring Okunoshima (~4h)
• 15:05-15:20 Okunoshima to Tadanoumi port ferry, 15:50-~18:00 Tadanoumi station to Hiroshima bus center bus

Okunoshima (Rabbit Island)

Today I took the first bus to Takehara and switched to Tadanoumi port. I didn’t see a single tourist along the way.

Before this trip, Okunoshima (AKA Rabbit Island) had been completely under my radar. I’d heard of it, but hadn’t even listed it as a backup option. After begrudgingly scrapping Akiyoshido cave and hearing about Okunoshima from someone I’d met, I’d decided to go there instead.

The night before, the staff at my hotel had told me about a bus the internet had known nothing about. How many times had this happened on this trip? Cheap, direct buses instead of multiple, expensive, time-consuming trains?

The ferry was packed. Another diamond sea on a clear day. I could see my destination for tomorrow: the Shimanami Kaido bridge. It was that close. This archipelago looked like paradise. Sandy beaches, blue water, green trees.

I took the free shuttle bus from the port to the only hotel on this island, to get a map and rent a bike. But I saw everyone get off before that at the Poison Gas Museum, so I followed.

Between the two world wars, Japan had manufactured poison gas for chemical warfare here. In spite of protective gear, production workers were adversly affected by the gas. The technology was primitive at the time, so many processes were manual. The factory was destroyed by the US army in 1945.

Back then, there was a deep military mindset of no talk or complaints. So deep, that Japan’s secret foray into chemical warfare had only come to light in 1984.

I couldn’t take any photos, but like Hiroshima’s peace museum, I didn’t want to. They showed everything.

From here, I walked to the hotel for a bike. The rental was limited to two hours. I feared it would be too short, but apparently this tiny island took thirty minutes to circle.

The hotel only accepted cash. I had 3000 yen left. No convenience stores or ATMs on this island. Great.

Since this island had a single, one-lane road, riding side by side was forbidden, as well as going counter-clockwise.

The bike was extremely short for me. I made frequents stops at various sightseeing spots; mostly remains of poison gas storehouses / a laboratory (later used as a temporary lodging facility) / a Japanese garden. It felt weird to inhabit a place that had once stored poisonous substances, and had been reduced to desolated remnants.

Rabbits, per the island’s nickname, were everywhere. Just as ubiquitous as the remains. (And fresh water bowls for them.) I stopped to pet them as well along the way.

How could a tiny island be the place of both blood-curling poison storehouses – abandoned, ashen, mossy – and the cutest little animals?

Visiting those storehouses alone, with barely any visitors around, was eerie, even in broad daylight. Complete silence.

You couldn’t pay me to stay on this island after dark.

I asked a Japanese family I’d seen further down the road where they’d bought rabbit food. I couldn’t find any. Apparently, you had to bring your own before boarding the ferry. They gave me a cup full of food. In return, I gave them soba tea I’d gotten in Matsumoto.

Finally, an exchange of presents with locals! It’d been almost a month.

Later, I reached two parts of the road that were so narrow and winding, a sign forbade cycling. After walking my bike, I arrived at the remains of a power plant.

More like the set of a horror movie.

It reminded me of the atomic dome, in the sense that it had been reduced to a shell of a building – ashen walls, intact metal beams, and an empty interior. Broken glass windows and graffiti. Vines and rust.

I tried to imagine this place at night. Who knew what animals roamed here. Probably snakes.

Silence again, apart from birds and crashing waves. Bunnies strolling behind me. Such a weird combination; such a unique island. Cute and scary at the same time. Which made it even scarier, because it was the cute, innocent things that were terrifying the most.

Then I recalled the second short story I’d written in English, in middle school. It was a murder mystery about a serial bunny killer, unfolding in a mansion with a large bunny yard.

This island was the exact the vibe I’d tried to pull off at 14. And now I lived it at 28. The day after I started posting my 14-year-old self’s diaries on the internet.

Was this all just a coincidence?

I couldn’t have made this up even if I’d attempted to come up with the wildest story ever. And to think I hadn’t planned on coming to this island! And decided to after randomly meeting someone who had recommend this place to me. Luck? Fate? Why was this trip feeling so monumental?

Too many signs. Too many life-changing moments. The happiest and scariest week of my life.

I hadn’t known I’d see those remains. I’d been expecting bunnies. And now this island felt like a sign that I was meant to do something with that short story. A few months ago, I’d decided to rework it into a series of novels I’d been working on.

Then I recalled my first novel, which took place entirely on an abandoned building. Ever since Kumano Kodo, I’d been seeing those nearly on a daily basis.

It was the things you discovered along the way that made this trip exceed all expectations.

On the way back, I met a Ukrainian girl with the longest braid ever. She hadn’t cut her hair in 16 years. My surprise from today continued as I learned that she was from Kiev, and her university had gotten hit in the war. She’d come to Nagasaki to continue her studies.

So much war. In the past on this island, and elsewhere at present.

The island grew populated after noon; many bunnies were tired after a morning of feeding. I saw people camping and doing picnics. Mostly families with kids.

I continued to explore the island. Some cubicles of loan were enclosed with a net, because they were under investigation. Naturally, there was also a small shrine, but even it was obsolete and off-limits.

Then I ran into an Israeli family, on this island of all places. Again, I was shocked.

Having finished a full lap of the island, I headed to the beach. The water was so freezing, that the cold penetrated my bones. Even dipping my toes was too much.

Instead, I collected rocks and shells, and sat down for some snacks. It was the most serene meal of my trip.

Then I remembered that I hated sand, and headed back to the port. I napped under the hot sun while waiting for the infrequent ferry. My eighth one in seven days.

It was interesting how this island was linked to the surrounding ones by telephone lines. This archipelago was small and close enough for that.

On the ferry, I ran into the Ukrainian girl.

“I saw the ruined storehouses,” she said. “They reminded me of home.”

We took the direct bus to Hiroshima Bus Center (~3m walk from my hotel). During the long ride, it occurred to me how, if I’d stayed on this island overnight, I would’ve returned to the power plant after dark, despite my fears. This was just the vibe I’d been trying to achieve. If my writing career ever took off, I’d return to this island for one night, in order to write that story.

The best option for me would have been to stay on the island and from there progress to my next destination – the adjacent archipelago. If I’d known that I’d come here, I would’ve tweaked my itinerary in advance.

Today’s highlights: feeding rabbits; the power plant; and napping under the sun.

Stray observations:

• Changing the direction of train seats is so fun and easy. A small yet simple to install feature – why is this not common all over the world? Why is Japan so efficient? Is there anything the Japanese hadn’t thought about?
• I love seeing children as young as 6 ride trains on their own. A safe country indeed.
• I love how there are coin lockers everywhere. Literally everywhere. A convenient country indeed.
• The mask mandate was lifted two weeks ago, but the vast majority of people still wear them everywhere. A considerate country indeed.
• I could go on, but the point is: this might be the best country in the world.
• I have NO idea how tourists manage to get along in the most remote places of this country without basic knowledge in Japanese.

30 March 2023

• 7:25-7:40 Kamiya-Cho-Nishi to Hiroshima station streetcar, 8:10-9:30 Hiroshima station to Itozaki station train, 9:32-9:40 Itozaki to Onomichi station train
• Shimanami Kaido, first half: Onomichi to Omishima (~7h)
• That includes 1.5h for Kousan-ji Temple

Last night, the same helpful, kind, and patient staff member at the hotel wrote me meticulous instructions regarding a direct bus departing from Hiroshima Bus Center (3 minute walk from my hotel all the way straight) to Onomichi, my next destination. The bus was rare enough to run once every two hours.

Google had told me to take multiple trains, or an expensive Shinkansen. So I was once again grateful for the fact that I’d asked for a local’s advice.

Yet this morning, I overslept and missed the first bus by half an hour. The next one would depart too late for me to start my day.

Nice way to start the day.

I took the “cheap but multiple slow local trains that stopped at every station” route. Having broken up Shimanami Kaido into two days, I figured it’d be fine, time-wise.

Shimanami Kaido (Onomichi to Omishima)

First order of business: use a luggage-forwarding service. I couldn’t store it in a coin locker, because I wouldn’t return to Onomichi.

This service, and the bike rental service, were both expensive. This cycling route was a touristy spot.

On the ferry, I shoved French toast into my mouth, and put on sunscreen. At 11:00 sharp, I hit the road.

Navigating was easy: just follow the blue line. At first, I crossed a town, but then reached the coastline.

Beaches. Islands. Sea. Bridges. Sunny, breezy, not too hot. Sakura, of course. Rest houses. Cycling through heaven.

For a while, the only thing on my mind was:

Then came the ascent to the first bridge, and I changed my mind. This wasn’t paradise. It was hell.

But then it was over. I made it to the bridge. Heaven again.

The car road was directly above the bike lane, so it was kind of cool and scary at the same time to hear vehicles vrooming on the ceiling.

Tolls for the bridges were temporarily waived, in order to promote tourism after COVID.

I continued cycling, advancing from one island to another. It was curious to see abandoned houses and cars even here, in such a touristy spot. Lots of male students hiking this route on their spring break. Also, random things like a life-sized sculpture of a dinosaur, because why not.

Less unexpected landmarks included farms, plantations, greenhouses, and villages with traditional houses.

Then I saw a multicolored cherry tree for the first time. It contained two kinds of blossoms, one light and one strong pink.

I took my time along the way, stopping at every photo op or small, pretty section of the road. This was exactly why I’d broken up Shimanami Kaido into two days. To enjoy the way, rather than cycle nonstop.

My mind changed cassettes.

When going uphill, I dragged my bike instead, because standing gave my butt some relief.

At some point my chain got dislocated, and I got stuck. A Japanese couple whose picture I’d offered to take a few minutes before fixed it for me. The woman took pictures of me and the man as we worked the chain.

Next, I recharged at Family Mart. My least favorite konbini, but the only place with food along the way.

By the third island, my butt hurt so much, that I couldn’t sit anymore. I remembered that I hated long-term cycling, or anything that involved sitting for long periods of time. Back home, I had a standing desk.

Kousan-ji Temple

I arrived at Kousan-ji temple at 14:45. The entire complex was replete with fully bloomed cherry trees in various shades of pink. A pagoda, pavilions, gates, halls, towers, a gallery, a garden, and a luxurious villa.

The filial piety gate felt very horror vacui. Golden dragons and lions, fiery, evil-repelling Buddhas, ornaments and details filling every empty space. Gaudy.

Then, a thousand Buddha cave, narrow and a bit low at times, but cool (in every sense of the word). Art and faith in a creepy, claustrophobic place; I’d never visited a catacomb, but I imagined it’d feel about the same.

I loved how dead silent the cave was. I stood inside and listened to my watch tick. So eerie. I was alone.

I caressed the rugged stony walls – rough and bumpy, dirty and dusty. This cave turned this temple into a serious contender for my favorite one.

Then the sound of streaming water reached me. It grew into crashing water the more I followed it. And before long, I beheld its source.

AN UNDERGROUND WATERFALL.

Holy shit! Surrounded by a hundred sculptures at least. What a sight! What a sound! What a mating of art, faith, and nature. It immediately reminded me of the cliff-side sculpture atop Goishizan in Shodoshima, and the pure wonder I’d felt on that observation deck a minute before my crash.

It was the unexpected things that blew my mind. Time after time. The sheer joy in discovering something new I hadn’t known existed.

What a chilly yet wondrous cave. Dimly lit; cold after hours of hot cycling. My body was hurting, but my soul soared.

As I was gazing at the waterfall with stupid amazement, a few visitors arrived and passed it without pausing. I couldn’t understand how something that thrilled me didn’t speak to them.

I moved on. The same sound reached me. ANOTHER WATERFALL.

Finally, at the end of the tunnel, there wasn’t just light. There was a huge Buddha.

I crossed it in awe and climbed up to the Hill of Hope: a white marble garden with various abstract monuments. It doubled as a pretty observation point, with a view of Sakura and the surrounding islands.

At the hilltop café, I got cold amazake and a Sakura gelato.

After an hour and a half at the temple, I decided it was time to get going. I didn’t want to find myself on this island in the dark.

I cycled past defunct ports and rusty boats. Graffitied buses. The road grew narrow and winding at times, but I never came close to falling.

By 17:30, the sun was hiding behind mountains, and I was all alone.

Nearly the end of the day, and I still hadn’t made it to my rural accommodation. I passed what seemed like an abandoned village, and grew paranoid.

“Why does this thing keep happening to me?” I grumbled. I was beginning to notice a pattern.

My entire body hurt at this point. I dragged the bike on the road; cycling was too hard.

After a scary half an hour, I’d arrived at my guesthouse.

Relief.

It was a charming, rustic building, run by an old couple. Colorful and dimly lit inside, with “save the planet” stickers and hippie art. Packed with western, vegan-friendly products, like quinoa and special pasta.

Oh, and coconut milk.

I couldn’t believe it. I finally found it! After weeks of scouring grocery shops for nothing. I immediately bought a can.

Inside the kitchen, there was a complimentary box of oranges. I ate one; it was sour, but still nice to eat a fresh fruit for a change. I grabbed a couple more for tomorrow.

Dinner was with the nicest Osaka man, who was staying in my dormitory and insisted I ate half of his meal. He refused some of my food in return.

Then a British father and son duo, also in our dormitory, joined us. It was fun, but we were all beaten after a day of cycling, and hit the sack at the same time.

Today’s highlights: enjoying cycling before everything started to hurt; crossing bridges; seeing multi-colored cherry blossoms; Kousan-ji temple (particularly the cave); finding coconut milk in the least expected place; and dinner with the other guests.

31 March 2023

• Shimanami Kaido, second half: Omishima to Imabari (5h)
• 15:00-16:20 Imabari station to Tadotsu station limited express; 16:55-17:50 Tadotsu station to Oboke station limited express

Shimanami Kaido (Omishima to Imabari)

This morning, I decided to change my plans on a whim, after realising the second half of this cycling route wouldn’t take the whole day. Instead of staying in Imabari (where Shimanami Kaido ended), I would take a 3-hour train to my next destination, and sleep there. I’d intended to do that first thing tomorrow morning, but now I could squeeze it into this afternoon.

I headed out alongside the British father and son. Yesterday they’d taken three hours to do the same path that had taken me around five and a half.

Turned out my bike was set to the highest gear.

All this time I couldn’t understand why I was slower than the official time estimate (4 hours). I’d always beaten it; so yesterday’s pace kind of threw me off.

I hit the road at 9:10, and immediately regretted it. My ass had never been this sore.

My thighs were burning. It was easier to walk than cycle. Which, half of the time, I did.

I put sunscreen on my face, neck, and arms, and then pulled back my sleeves. “Could use some color up to my shoulders,” I thought. I’d been roaming Japan like a vampire’s first trip outside.

(Or a hikikomori with sleep problems.)

But then sunscreen penetrated my eyes. Soon enough, I was tearing to no end.

I passed solar farms and factories; heard seagulls and roosters. Ravens flying around. Tons of lizards scurrying away in fear.

Today the road was against the direction of the wind, which made it even more grueling. The wind was so strong, that my eyes kept watering since morning. Perhaps it was the sunscreen. But I couldn’t see anything, and shut them in intervals. Since time wasn’t really an issue, I constantly stopped to wipe them.

The last bridge – the longest and most impressive – was both inspiring and tortuous. My thighs were begging for a break. I could feel the burn.

Actually, I could feel the burn traveling upward, because my eyes stung so much from sunscreen, that couldn’t see anything. I cycled and walked blindingly. They were dry and wet at the same time, bloodshot from irritants and insufficient sleep. Wiping only made it worse.

My nose started running. Today was a warm spring day, and this sort of thing hadn’t happened to me during my two weeks spent in this country’s coldest locations. Go figure.

I stopped at Lawson to wash my eyes, to no avail. I continued tearing up; my face was drenched in sweat and tears. My eyes burned so badly, that no pain in my body could compare. Actually, nothing hurt anymore, apart from them.

The last stretch to Imabari was pure agony. One eye half-open half the time. I was moaning and grunting from all the burning going on. At least in Nachi I could see where I was going. Now I just hoped not to bump into anything or crash.

Instead of seeing Imabari station, I just heard trains running by. Hallelujah. It was 14:10; the cycling road was over.

Preparing for My Biggest Adventure Yet

I returned my bike and hurried to a bench. It was time to make quick phone calls; I didn’t have an accommodation for tonight.

First, a place I’d found this morning online. I hadn’t been able to get a hold of them since before heading out, and left them a message. For some reason, my phone couldn’t even dial their number (which had a different format than every other Japanese number I’d seen).

I dialed a back-up option, which I found without doing a lot of research. I just knew it was near the train station I wanted to reach.

They had a vacancy. Booked.

Second, the hostel I was supposed to stay in Imabari today. Cancelled.

I picked up my luggage from a branch of the forward-service company and stocked up at 7/11, because my accommodation for the night said they wouldn’t be able to prepare food for me on such a short notice.

What was Imabari like? I couldn’t describe it even if I wanted. I didn’t see what it looked it. Nor the train ride across the Shikoku coastline. My eyes were watery, searing, and shut the whole time.  

I tried rinsing them under running water on the train. That resulted in some head bumping. The train was rocking like a child on a bounce house.

I’d intended to take a slow, local train, but boarded an expensive limited express instead, out of despair.

As I sat down and pressed on my eyes, my nose continued to run, while my head began to hurt. My butt felt like it’d been spanked. My thighs were sore. My back was sweaty, my wounded knee was oozing puss, and my skin was hot from spending all day outside. My upper arms were pink with sunburn. I grew hungry, and for the first time on this trip, found masks suffocating. Today had become one of the worst of my trips. At this point, I just wanted it to end.

At Tadotsu station, I headed to another 7/11, for an ATM. My next destination would be the most remote, mountainous villages in Japan; ATMs would be rarer than bears.

At Oboke station, I called the owner to let her know I’d arrived, per her request. She came after a minute to greet me and asked me to wait for a few minutes.

My eyes had stopped watering.

Oboke was the tiniest of stations. First time I’d seen an automatic ticket machine like a fast-food ramen spot. Obviously, no staff.

Then the owner gave me a ride to the accommodation. This was a pleasant surprise. (15m walk from station, 3m by car.)

Coming to this guesthouse on a whim couldn’t have been more serendipitous. Instead of spending half a day in Imabari, which offered zero attractions, and sleeping in a cool hostel, I’d arrived at a small, traditional guesthouse right next to my destination for tomorrow. Moreover, I was the only guest.

So I was alone in this house – a big room with a futon (finally, sleeping on the floor again!), a huge bathtub, a living room, and a kitchen.

I wolfed down yet another konbini meal and ran a hot bath. My headache passed, my eyes were almost as good as new. I understood why Japanese people soaked in hot water on a regular basis.

The only downside was the noise of cars and trains. But no matter. A small price to pay for such a cheap, convenient, and homely accommodation.

Then, I recalled how over the next two days, I’d foray into the most notoriously inaccessible part of Japan. Quite literally a hidden gem.

The western section – my plan for the day after tomorrow – was high in the mountains, ergo impassable during winter. No bus service whatsoever. But it was scheduled to open on the first weekend of April, and I’d planned to show up on Saturday, to be among the first visitors.

I decided to confirm on the internet whether buses were indeed going to start running this weekend. Perhaps the weather hadn’t eased up there yet. I recalled how this year’s March had turned out to be relatively warm, and figured it would be fine. What I saw on Iya Valley’s English website, I could not have guessed.

On March 24, 2023 a section of the main RT 32 road into Oku-Iya (Higashi Iya) collapsed. This section is not passable, but a detour is possible for cars, taxis, and bicycles through a small village road and will add about 5-10 minutes to the drive.

Iya Valley taxis and local people can drive through here with little trouble since they are used to such rough conditions, but this village road is narrow and very curvy, so if driving yourself, do so with caution!

The detour is about 3.5km long and entirely one-lane, but there are some wider spaces here and there to allow two vehicles to pass each other. But since all traffic must now go upon this road, you will definitely come head-to-head with multiple vehicles (including lots of trucks) when driving through here, and it will probably require reversing to reach a wider space so vehicles can pass. Only confident drivers should consider driving this route because when reversing it may need to be while on a hill and around a curve.

As of late-March 2023, all public buses into Oku-Iya are currently suspended because the buses currently do not take the detour.

It is unknown if or when any bus service may restart. Also, the signage explaining this bus problem is a mess even in Japanese (and almost non-existent in English), and the inept Miyoshi City government is utterly failing to give the local people proper information regarding anything with this road issue. Probably in their minds, since this issue only affect the country bumpkins of Oku-Iya (think “Hunger Games”) the city office people down in Ikeda probably don’t really care all that much anyway…

Repair Timeline…?

The word around town is grim. The local road construction companies understand the difficulties of repairing such a steep section that is literally on the edge of a 50 meter high cliff, and conversations with them say the full reconstruction may take years (not weeks or months).

Some have suggested a temporary patch may be possible using massive steel plates, but before doing so a civil engineering and geological assessment must be done to assure safety, but from the looks of it, the danger of further erosion and collapse may be too great to allow such a patch.

But actually, this is all pretty fitting. The historically elusive deeper half of the Iya Valley has always been a hidden place that was difficult to reach. And though the local people do prefer decent access nowadays, the need to take a round-about and crummy road is nothing new for the Iya people, and for those visitors who are able to get through here, it only makes reaching the Deep Iya Valley all the more special.

IyaTime.com

Today’s highlights: arriving at the traditional guesthouse; taking a healing, hot bath.