I may have lost my heart, but not my self control.

Jane Austen, “Emma”

One of my more frustrating posts.

15 December 2023

• Exploring eastern Matsuyama: Isaniwa shrine, the golden mandala, Ishite-ji temple (1h)
• Onsen @ Oku-Dogo (2.5h)
• 17:50-18:10 bus stop outside the soba restaurant to Dogo Onsen station bus
• Dogo Park (1h)
• Sky Walker foot onsen (30m)

Matsuyama

I woke in Matsuyama after another night of inadequate sleep and looked for a guesthouse in Onomichi for tomorrow. I hated how often guesthouses only had beds in female dormitories.

A little after 10:00, my Matsuyama friend arrived. We walked to the nondescript Isaniwa shrine, and from there to a graveyard with a crematorium designed like a golden mandala.

A torn tree log hanging above the entrance. A yard with demonic statues and emaciated Buddhas. The interior of the mandala was dark and dusty. It was quiet and abandoned.

Oku-Dogo Onsen

We continued to Ishite-ji temple, which featured a pagoda and a Bangladeshi prayer hall, and finished by walking for an hour along a highway to Oku-Dogo: a seemingly abandoned hotel, with a dirty exterior, like a ghost mansion. Inside, however, it was fully operating.

We arrived at 12:15. The onsen’s opening time had recently been changed from 9:00 to 15:00. So we ate soba at the only restaurant around, and chatted until 15:00.

Spending the whole day together, I was struck, like in Busan, by the animateness of his reactions. When surprised, his mouth created an O, while his head recoiled.

I enjoyed his company, but also felt bad about not replying to people’s messages. Texting while in the presence of friends was a mistake I didn’t want to repeat again. In the coming days, my social guilt would only deepen.

The onsen was worth the wait. A large complex, built on a slope, featuring countless baths – both large and private hot tubs. Stinkier than Dogo Onsen (hence the Oku kanji). We lay down inside a bubbly, reclining bath and napped for an hour. The temperature was just right.

A river was streaming in front of us through a green and orange valley. Sunlight was peeking in-between trees. We chatted for another hour; barely one or two other men were around. The sun set, and we left at 17:30.

Today’s itinerary was a fantastic recommendation from the Shodoshima guesthouse owner. He was the one who’d told me about Goishi-zan. He knew exactly what I liked.

My friend and I took the bus back to Dogo Onsen. It was his first time riding a bus in Matsuyama. He’d never entered Dogo Onsen, nor taken the tram.

Dogo Park

A rainbow foliage, shining in the dark, attracted us to Dogo Park. It had come to life with seasonal night illuminations, like colourful petals. We climbed all the way to the top and watched the city at night. Matsuyama castle was shining high on a mountain.

“Matsuyama is low because the law forbids exceeding the castle,” he said.

The moon was crescent tonight. I could discern a faint, thin outline around its dark side. A circle of light.

We descended out of the park and climbed to a foot bath overlooking Dogo Onsen. A fantastic view of the entire structure, including the white phoenix on the roof, with soothing spring water. A great way to end the night.

A tram; a tiny shopping arcade; an old-school train building; and people strolling around in yukata, even in winter. The Dogo area of this city was quite the nostalgic district.

He walked me back to my guesthouse. At 20:00, I hugged him farewell. Who knew when would be the next time.

After my usual dinner at the hostel, dessert was a delicious Ichiroku tart, a yuzu sponge cake filled with anko (one of Matsuyama’s specialties), which he’d given me as a present.

Today’s highlights: the golden mandala; Oku-Dogo onsen; night illuminations and the cityscape at Dogo Park; the foot onsen; Ichiroku tart.

16 December 2023

• 11:50-12:00 Dogo Onsen station to Okaido station tram (Keisatsu station is closer though), 1 minute ropeway to the castle
• Matsuyama castle (1h)
• Ehime museum of art (10m)
• 14:33-14:53 Minami Horibata station to Dogo Onsen station tram
• Dogo Onsen annex Asuka-no-yu (45m)

Matsuyama Castle

I woke with a headache. I never got one. Fatigue was probably to blame. It didn’t pass, and I couldn’t fall back to sleep.

The first thing I did was extend my reservation in Matsuyama, cancel yesterday’s expensive hostel in Onomichi, and book a cheaper one for tomorrow instead. I needed another night in Matsuyama to tick off the rest of my list, and perhaps get some rest.

Normally, one could hike or take a chairlift to Matsuyama castle. Yet today was too stormy for anything but the ropeway.

It turned out to last exactly one minute. A complete waste of money. I could’ve climbed for five minutes instead.

Matsuyama castle soared on top of Katsuyama hill (132 meters). It was one of the biggest castles I’d visited, its style of linked structure reminiscent of Himeji’s. The walls were built with granite stones laid in a zigzag, while inside hanging scrolls, samurai armours, and katana swords were displayed.

I lingered instead at the free samurai armour experience, where I got to dress up. Two guys from my hostel had brought a pocket sword to play around with.

Then there were VR stations, where I watched a movie that started with a beautiful birds’ eye view of the castle, before turning me into a samurai, battling to defend it.

Finally, I ascended to the top for a view of the surprisingly urban city.

Ehime Museum of Art

I took the ropeway down and tried two recommendations courtesy of my hostel: a 100-yen mikan juice (didn’t taste fresh, though) and matcha daifuku. After a ten-minute walk to the museum of art, where an expensive temporary exhibition about Ghibli, I checked out the cheap, permanent collection.

It was a tiny gallery, featuring a handful of traditional nihonga and contemporary paintings. Landscape by Suzuki Shonen – a huge, rusty-gold folding screen – was the only artwork that made me pause.

I left angry after ten minutes. Another waste of time and money.

Back in my hostel, I cooked lunch and racked my brain, trying to plan my next few days. Trains, hostels, opening times of attractions. In the end, I couldn’t unravel this itinerary tangle. I scrapped certain aspirations, and walked after sunset to Dogo Onsen’s annex.

Dogo Onsen annex Asuka-no-yu

As the sun set at 17:00, I bought the cheapest ticket to the first-floor bath. One could also pay to lounge on the fancy second floor.

Here the bath was slightly bigger than Dogo’s (as was the price of the ticket), but full to the brim. Perhaps it was the earlier hour? The rotenburo was minuscule. I had to wait in line for it.

It always felt weird, being the only white, hairy, and Jewish person in an onsen full of fifty dark-haired, smooth Asians, 99% of which were six-packed and twentyish. Not for the first time, I felt as though I’d intruded upon a baseball team’s post-match soaking. Perhaps at 17:30, they had indeed come straight from practice. Later, in the dressing room, I noticed that some of their shirts read “baseball team”.

I spent the evening working feverishly on my computer around my hostel’s kotatsu, alongside the Israeli couple and staff. Everyone was friendly and nice. I decided that if I’d live in Japan, I’d return to Shikoku in August for a festival marathon (a la this year’s Tohoku), stay in this hostel again, eat katsuo no tataki in Kochi, re-explore Iya Valley, and try to reconnect with the ALTs.

Today’s highlights: becoming a samurai in Matsuyama castle; evening in the hostel around the kotatsu.

17 December 2023

• 9:15-10:15 子規記念館前 (bus stop near Dogo Park) to Imabari station bus, 10:20-11:15 bus to Inoshima Ohashi (the bus bound to Fukuyama), 11:50-12:20 transfer to Onomichi station (the tourist information center in Matsuyama said there’s a direct bus from Imabari to Onomichi, but they were WRONG)
• Onomichi temple walk (2h, Senko-ji alone took 30m)

Imabari

I slept worse than ever, waking almost every hour. At least my headache was gone.

A Swedish guy from my dorm took the highway bus with me to Imabari. We went from a sunny yet freezing Matsuyama to a SNOWY and freezing Imabari. I noticed snowflakes from the bus windows and grinned like a toddler. What an unexpected sight.

The buses to Onomichi took me through the Shimanami Kaido. As we crossed the first bridge, sun was shining on my left side, while clouds were engulfing my right. The latter reached the sea, but left a thin strip of light. It was as if a curtain of mist was extending from the sky to the ocean, and light had found a way to peek from the horizon.

By the second bridge, I left winter, and returned to blue skies.

The islands were green, the sea was sparkling, and the villages were humble. What a nostalgic ride. I almost wanted to cycle through this archipelago again. Then I recalled how much my butt had hurt.

Onomichi Temple Walk

I arrived at Onomichi, a town built on a mountain slope, overlooking the sea. It was cold, blustery, and steep, so my fingers froze while I sweated underneath my coat, climbing hills.

The best Thai restaurant in Japan, inside a hotel on a mountain – another recommendation from Shodoshima – enticed me enough to hike up and reach it panting. Their website had advertised a weekend lunch set, as well as the sign outside, but when I entered it all sweaty, it was closed. So I descended the mountain and embarked on the temple walk.

The temple walk was Onomichi’s only attraction. Dozens of tiny, old temples decorated this town. The tourist information center’s recommended course led one to around twenty-five.

I crossed narrow back alleys, completely silent, even on Sunday in daytime. At the entrance to each temple stood an audio post with a guide in various languages, English included.

Many temples shared names with counterparts in Kyoto. But they were all plain and tiny. Charming to beginners, perhaps, but after two hundred or so, I wasn’t moved.

An unusual stone arch led to Jiko-ji. Then Komyo-ji, Kaifuku-ji, Hodo-ji, and Tenno-ji. Navigating using the tourist information map was simple, especially when temple pavilions could be spotted from afar. Onomichi featured as many temples and cemeteries as houses. I counted more tombs than people.

Senko-ji, the tallest in town, was also its standout. The main hall included rope climbing on vertical boulders. I could’ve taken the ropeway instead, but where was the fun in that? Especially with a sprained ankle?

This led me to a cemetery, and ultimately to a circular observation platform with unobstructed views of Onomichi.

I descended back to Tenno-ji and continued to Cat Alley, a charming, cat-themed dump. There were even more temples on my way than marked on the map.

By this point, however, I could barely move my fingers. Red, stiff, and frozen, wind nipping at them and making me miss a couple of temples en route to Taisan-ji. I got tired of navigating and took a detour up a mountain to Saikoku-ji. It was quite, empty, tranquil, and boring.

I quit at Saigo-ji after visiting almost all the temples on the recommended course. My mind was as numb as my fingers.

So I checked into my hostel. Traditional and bookish, like a library with tatami mats, and capsules built into manga bookcases.

The Best Thai Food in Japan

In the evening, I mustered up the courage, put on a beanie and two pairs of gloves, and hiked for twenty minutes to the Thai restaurant. I crossed miniscule back alleys, devoid of lamps and creatures, apart from the occasional stray cat. Without my phone’s flashlight, I would’ve slipped on stone steps, or hit dead ends.

Panting, I rested at the restaurant, where I ordered a yellow curry shrimp stir fry (everything else included meat in it).

I was moaning. It was indeed the best Thai food in Japan.

The night view from the top of the hill didn’t hurt, either.

I rested by my hostel’s kotatsu afterward, when a Japanese man approached me. He was 51, originally from Okinawa, now living in Hakodate. A fishing instructor who travelled on his boat to fish and teach abroad.

He was probably the liveliest and funniest Japanese person I’d met, and that was even before he started downing whisky. The number of jokes we ran and sarcasm I could employ – especially after a Japanese girl and obaachan joined us – was unprecedented.

Again I found myself socializing instead of going to bed. I didn’t want to be rude, least of all when the man took such a liking to me, that he immediately invited me to Okinawa and Hakodate.

When he discovered we might be in Taipei at the same time, he practically yelled with excitement. How could I excuse myself at this point? It was fun to chat like this for 2.5 hours, but at 23:30, I finally caved in. No one showed signs of slowing down, while I was a zombie. An entertained zombie, but still – after ten months of traveling, I’d grown weary of this.

Meeting new people was always fun and exciting. But not at this rate. Not on such a fast pace. I needed a break between encounters, time to process these and work on my existing relationships. Yet going around the countryside and changing hostels almost on a daily basis meant that such nights were almost daily as well.

It felt absurd to complain about company and attention. I’d always been in want of both. A handful of friends was the only thing I’d known in Israel, sometimes no more than two at a time. For an introvert like me, this was getting out of control.

Today’s highlights: SNOW in Imabari; rock climbing in Senko-ji; yellow curry shrimp stir fry; a hilarious, Japanese-only kotatsu night.

18 December 2023

• 11:10-12:15 Onomichi station to Kurashiki station local train (Sanyo line)
• Kurashiki old town (1.5h)
• 14:37-16:05 Kurashiki station to Niimi station local train (Hakubi line), 16:26-18:14 transfer to Yonago station (Hakubi line), 18:32-20:10 transfer to Izumoshi station (San-in line)

Kurashiki

I woke frequently throughout the night and didn’t sleep enough. In my languor, time moved too fast, until I found myself rushing to Onomichi station, buying the chocolate momiji manju last night’s fisherman had raved about, and making it to the train just in time.

Kurashiki was a stopover on the way to Izumo, my destination for tonight. Maddeningly enough, despite being located northwest of Onomichi, the best way to get to Izumo by public transportation was to travel east first to Kurashiki.

Ill planning on my part had led me to this picturesque canal town on the single day Ohara museum, Japan’s prime western art museum and my interest in Kurashiki to begin with, was closed.

Just as well. Kurashiki was also Japan’s jeans capital, famous for its high-quality indigo dyes. If I returned to Shodoshima someday with more budget, I’d return to Kurashiki with the same, hopefully able to afford a pair of denim.

The old district featured canals and ancient houses turned quirky shops, selling traditional household items and bohemian attire. I wanted everything. I needed to return here with money.

Denim Street

One of the side alleys was Denim Street, with one shop for women, and one for men. My eyes popped more and more by the selection, until I considered scrapping all my future travels just for a few enticing pieces. They seemed cool, high quality, and one of a kind.

Pants, bags, hats, wallets, shirts, jackets, overalls, both plain or with unique cutouts and prints. Followed by a denim ice cream, denim steamed bun, denim shakes…

I settled on a denim ice cream made of blueberry and rum. It smelled intoxicatingly sweet, and tasted just as well. A brilliant combination.

Back in Kurashiki station, I bought lunch at 7/11. It was my first time entering a konbini in around three weeks. Lately, I’d developed the habit of seeking supermarkets for their evening discounts, in addition to cooking my own rice. Without realizing so, I’d grown weary of konbini onigiri.

My first day back in Japan, on August 3, everything in 7/11 had made me squeal. Now, nothing whet my apetite. I focused on products new to me, such as seafood, squid, and geoduck clam sushi; a sukiyaki tofu bar; plus mackerel, grated radish, and mushrooms in ponzu sauce.

Shimane

Six hours of slow, local trains today were passed feverishly on my computer, writing a paper for my sister. It was about burnout syndrome among physicians.

Tomorrow was the deadline, and this paper was even worse than the one from early June. Back then, I hadn’t socialized with the volunteers from the guesthouse whatsoever, leading one to confess her assumption that I hadn’t liked them. Now, I found myself not replying to people for days.

As the trains snailed up the Chugoku mountains, snow filled my landscape. I had no idea it snowed this much in this region.

Finally, a snowy terrain! Apart from one day in April, the last time was two weeks in February, when I’d first set foot on this land. Before that, I hadn’t seen snow in fifteen years.

I grinned as I shivered. Then I progressed to the northern coast of Chugoku, and the snow melted.

My laptop’s battery died around 19:30. I wasn’t done yet with the paper, but my eyes breathed a sigh of relief. I played Ganja Burn by Nicki Minaj and watched the train slug westward through the pitch-black, rural scenery of Shimane prefecture, from Matsue to Izumo.

“You get one turn and one urn,” Minaj rapped.

Life felt incorrigibly sad at that moment. Faces of burned-out commuters reflecting on the window. I felt physically and socially exhausted – and I wasn’t even working.

Shimane prefecture sorely lacked affordable accommodations. Only one or two expensive hostels. This included both Izumo and Matsue, my destination for tomorrow. So I walked for half an hour through deserted streets to an internet café. (They couldn’t have placed it farther from the station?)

There, I continued working on the paper, and went to bed. Or rather, a mat.

Today’s highlights: chocolate momiji manju; Kurashiki’s old town; the denim shops; rum and blueberry ice cream; beholding a snowy terrain.

19 December 2023

• 9:07-9:27 Aeon Mall to Senmon-mae bus
• Izumo Taisha (1h)
• 11:15-11:25 Izumo Taisha mae station to Kawato station local train, 11:30-12:15 transfer to Matsue Shinjiko Onsen station
• Matsue castle (30m)
• 18:07-18:40 Matsue station to Yonago station local train
• Night at a net café gone wrong

Izumo Taisha

Izumo Taisha, considered the oldest shrine in Japan, was Izumo’s sole attraction. The bus leading to it, which ran once every two hours, stopped right by the net café.

Ise and Izumo both exemplified the oldest styles of main halls in Japan. The former – Shinmei-zukuri; the latter – Taisha-zukuri.

Both were gargantuan complex. While Ise Grant Shrine was spread out inside a forest with noisy gravel paths, Izumo was inside a park with concrete paths.

It was a gloomy day, cloudy and chilly, with a drizzle so soft that it was nigh imperceptible. I happened to show up on the single day of the month when the adjoining museum was closed. It was cheap, informative, and, for foreigners, half price.

There was a pond with ducks; a huge sculpture of a kneeling samurai; and ancient kanji engraved on stone torii.

The shrine didn’t seem that old, though. Clearly renovated. I’d been to more crumbling shrines, like the oldest torii gate in Japan.

I was taking off my boots to enter the main hall, when a priest came and said “Sorry, no”. Despite the sign instructing visitors to take off their shoes, and two Japanese women emerging from the hall at the exact same time. Was it only for practitioners of Shinto? Was it off-limits to foreigners?

I chose not to pray because of that.

Other than that, the shrine grounds were serene, at least until a group tour of thirty elders stormed at the main hall and prayed simultaneously. Thirty of them clapping twice in unison, then bowing twice.

There was a tiny museum inside the shrine grounds that displayed remains of ancient pillars that had once supported it. Apparently, in the 7^th century, only Izumo Oyashiro, another hall, had stood 48 meters high on a beach. There were no shrine grounds. It was the tallest building in Japan during the Heian period. A long and formidable staircase had led up to it, akin to ziggurats.

I wondered why shrines didn’t look like that anymore. This style impressed me more than their current iteration.

Like Omiwa shrine in Sakurai, also claimed to be the oldest in Japan, the innermost part of Izumo Taisha was out of bounds.

I left disappointed. Neither Omiwa nor Izumo had stood out among hundreds of previous shrines. Neither had contradicted all my expectations, like Ise Grand Shrine. If the original beach shrine was reconstructed, that would’ve been a showstopper.

Izumo’s local specialty was soba. It was darker than usual, and served in small lacquer bowls. For me, this didn’t justify paying a whopping price. So I took two slow trains to Matsue through the northern shore of Shinji lake. Lunch was a konbini peanut butter sandwich at the foot onsen outside Matsue Shinjiko Onsen station. Peanuts and spring water cheered me more than a sacred Taisha.

Matsue Castle

Then I walked for half an hour to Matsue castle. Again, my only reason for coming to a new part of Japan. Built in 1611 as a practical fortress or a watchtower, rather than a residence, it stood on top of Oshiroyama hill, with iron-grey roof tiles.

Twenty or so castles in Japan couldn’t have prepared me for the interior. It opened with a salt warehouse basement floor, dimly lit, featuring wooden slabs and remains of shachihokos (tiger-headed, fish-bodies mythological creatures used as anti-fire roof ornaments). The salt and well here had been used in cases of emergency.

Of the 12 remaining original castles, Matsue’s first floor was the second largest. Staircases were equipped with sliding doors, in case of a siege. Finally, after four floors of dimness, the roof was awash with light.

The view was underwhelming. Matsue was quite the boring and unattractive city.

I walked to the park behind the castle with the intention of strolling around the samurai village, when I got lost. My level of interest was as low as the temperature. Matsue dulled me so much, that I backtracked and dragged my luggage for thirty minutes to Matsue station. Fast rapping courtesy of Nicki Minaj was the only thing that prevented a boredom-induced slumber. There was nothing to do here (I checked with two tourist information centers), and no local specialties.

“Pay AND suffer?” my grandma had used to say. (She’d died before my birth, so I’d heard this from stories about her.) Izumo and Matsue had made me do that.

I could’ve squeezed tomorrow’s itinerary into today – my last attraction in Shimane prefecture – if I’d started early, and hadn’t lingered. That would’ve saved me a day.

After a successful few days in Shikoku, everything in Chugoku was vexing me and going astray. And to think that last week, I’d lamented my itinerary’s smoothness.

Shimane, the Prefecture Where Everything Goes Wrong

I walked to Matsue’s station ticket gate to take the train to my next destination, when my IC card was rejected. No history appeared on the station’s records from December 11^th until today. The conductors claimed that I hadn’t paid for my rides since Takamatsu’s Kotohira station.

I’d been using my IC card as usual since then.

Neither of us understood the situation. I’d been going all over Shikoku in this eight-day period, with no record of this on their computer. They asked me to pay.

“But… if I hadn’t paid, and taken trains all this time, wouldn’t the ticket gate doors have closed on me?” I said, and pointed at my carry-on and two backpacks. “I’ve been dragging this luggage with me, how would I escape the ticket gates?”

“We don’t know, but you didn’t pay,” they said.

It was fairly obvious they wouldn’t let me go without paying. Japan was famous for its strict adherence to rules.

A country just as famous for its advanced technology. Yet for some reason, a whole week of daily trains and buses was wiped.

I paid and waited for the next infrequent train with a consolation prize. The uber-rare salmon, cream cheese, and capers sandwich from 7/11. The last time I’d found one was in April.

Then I walked for twenty minutes to an internet café. This one doubled as the Yonago Manga Museum, and fittingly enough, featured the most manga shelves I’d beheld. In addition to action figures and vintage manga in glass cabinets.

With a huge seating area, including couches, sofas, chairs, and plants, generous drink machines (chocolate milk!), and a second floor comprised of billiard, darts, and karaoke rooms, it became clear that I’d stumbled upon the best net café in Japan.

It was nearly empty, with less than five other customers around. The ultimate party space, deep in the countryside. For a cheap price.

I received a double-sized booth with two computers, two chairs, and two pillows (actual pillows! in a net café!). Not only was the mat as wide as a double bed, it also extended as much. For the first time, my legs wouldn’t need to curl up to a foetal position.

All it took was a blanket that fit an actual adult, and this café would’ve doubled as a manga hotel. Oh, and no light and music after midnight. A net café nuisance.

The only caveats:

Two room numbers were written on my booth. Did that mean than on busy days, I might share a mat with someone? I asked the staff, but they said no. At least that was what I thought I understood.

Moreover, the sliding door to the mat was see-through. A sign forbade obstructing the view into the booth.

A baffling violation of privacy. Not to mention the fact that the barcode on my receipt wasn’t required to be scanned in order to enter the café. Anyone could just walk in. And reception closed at midnight. It usually operated 24/7.

I finished my sister’s paper, chugged chocolate milk like water, and almost went to sleep early, when I found myself hanging out with a local 24-year-old guy who took me around in his car.

After returning at 23:30, I grabbed another hot chocolate, took melatonin (I could never doze off with light on), and lay down on my mat. At 00:00, the staff knocked on my door.

Reception was closing, and so was the café.

What.

“I can’t stay here?” I asked in confusion.

“No,” they said.

WHAT.

In a daze, I shoved all my belongings to my bags and hurried toward reception. What was going on? Why couldn’t I spend the night?

The whole point of net cafés was to sleep there. Everyone did so. Cafés even advertised cheap night packs.

I paid an overnight fee for mere four hours and wondered where I would sleep tonight.

Midnight in the countryside. In Tokyo, I could walk anywhere and find accommodation, but here? In dead Yonago? With zero degrees and 30 kilograms of baggage, including a broken carry-on?

Fear and anger overtook me in a manner of seconds. This net café went from the best to the worst in an instant.

“There’s a hotel on the upper floor of this building,” a girl at reception said. “They might – might – have a vacancy.”

It took me ten seconds to weigh my options. I could walk for 20 minutes north to another net café that was 100% open for the night, and do a night pack for 750 yen. A bargain. But then I’d drag my luggage at midnight, in zero degrees, while on melatonin. Plus, Yonago station was 20 minutes south of me.

Why were net cafés in the Shimane countryside so far from train stations.

The hotel turned out to be a luxurious capsule hotel. I received my own incredibly spacious booth, with a capsule and a desk, the upscale version of my recent Shin-Imamiya capsule hotel in Osaka. Except tonight, it cost double.

I climbed onto bed when I noticed on the rule sheet that the onsen closed at 1:00 am, opened at 6:00, and closed at 9:00 am.

WHAT.

CHECK OUT WAS 11:00. Yet the onsen closed TWO HOURS BEFORE THAT?!

It was 0:30. The elevator took me to the onsen floor. I paid for it – might as well check it out.

It was a plain bath. Again busy with young and fit Japanese guys. Ten minutes of underwhelming soaking, when it hit me: pay AND suffer?

I crashed on my bed at 1:00.

Today was rife with infuriating expenses. In all three destinations. Izumo, Matsue, Yonago – I would never set foot in any of these again. In one day, Shimane had become my most hated prefecture.

Today’s highlights: peanut butter and a foot onsen; chocolate milk at the best net cafe ever (at least at first).

20 December 2023

• 11:54-12:02 Yonago station to Yasugi station local train, 12:05-12:25 free shuttle bus to Adachi Museum of art
• Adachi museum of art (1h)
• 14:00-14:20 free shuttle bus from Adachi Museum to Yasugi station, 15:00-15:10 transfer to Yonago station (San-in line), 16:00-18:25 transfer to Tottori station (San-in line)

Adachi Museum of Art

I woke at 8:30, couldn’t fall back to sleep, soaked at the dull onsen for precisely one minute before it closed, and checked out. My 8-minute local train from Yonago to Yasugi station, which departed once an hour, was 17 minutes late.

So I found myself dashing to the free shuttle bus to Adachi, a private art museum. This was no benevolence on their part – entrance cost a whopping 2,000 yen.

It started with a small collection of maki-e lacquer, luxurious boxes and chopsticks, whose patterns were sprinkled with gold. A hall with works by Kitaoji Rosanjin, a creamier and cook, displayed surprisingly ostentatious pottery, more Chinese in design than Japanese in restraint. It made me miss Korean pottery.

Adachi’s focal attraction was its garden, though. For the past twenty years, the Journal of Japanese Gardening had awarded it the best garden in Japan.

Its inaccessibility was perhaps the reason. Only viewable from inside the building.

A Kyoto-style moss garden with hair cap moss, a pond garden… and the best dry landscape garden in Japan, undoubtedly the most beautiful I’d seen. Bushes were cut to perfect circles. White gravel balanced the abundance of bonsai. Rocks countered green with granite. Misty mountains loomed in the background.

All of this seemed quite different to dry landscape gardens at temples. Here, it was very pretty. There, it was very emptying. I felt that the goal in Adachi was aesthetic, rather than meditative.

The exhibition continued with bizarre, infantile paintings, as if drawings out of children’s books. A framed window in an alcove overlooking a waterfall was dubbed a Living Hanging Scroll. (Maybe if a flimsy, see-through, thin fabric with faint contours matching the background was hung there…)

I hated to admit it, but for such a prestigious museum with dozens of nihonga on display, nothing spoke to me. Maybe Mountain Scenery by Yuki Somei (1930), where clouds engulfed mountain peaks.

I noticed Large Snowflakes by Uemura Shoen (1944). My THIRD time coming across this wonderful painting, first in a temporary exhibition Tokyo’s Yamatane Museum on September 12, then in Sapporo’s museum on September 18. Were these replicas? Why was this painting all over Japan? This rotating collection had begun showing this December, so it was possible that this painting was moving with me around Japan.

The annex featured a rotating collection of contemporary nihonga. Sunny Rain by Okuda Genso (1981) reminded me of Kyoto’s Red Sea of momiji. Shining by Odano Naoyuki (2012), of countless single carriage slow train rides in the countryside. Everlasting Day, Moment by Shimizu Misao (2009), of the vividly turquoise Haundae beach on Jeju Island.

I found myself recalling better moments on this trip. There shall never be a second time for me in this prefecture.

The only day of the year I would recommend anyone to visit Shimane would be in October, when all the gods assembled in Izumo Taisha (according to Shinto belief) and there was a festival.

For the past four days, I’d been surrounded only by Japanese people. No foreigners came here.

Tottori

After escaping this prefecture with local trains, I checked into my hostel in Tottori. The owner was a middle-aged Chinese man fluent in Japanese and Arabic. He was so excited to stumble upon a Middle Easterner, that we talked and talked forever.

I was the second Israeli person he’d met. He asked me a lot of questions and explained his hostel at great length. (His speech was remarkably slow – sometimes he would just observe me – perhaps it was his enthusiasm).

The hostel stretched over three huge three floors. Yet I was tonight’s only guest. We discussed Tottori; he gave me some recommendations. I was hungry, tired, and wanted to catch up with friends. Still, he seemed eager to continue our conversation.

He was nice, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. But I felt like I was disappointing my friends.

It had been a week since I’d talked to anyone, on an unintentional social media cleanse. When the owner left the hostel and I bought some groceries at a nearby supermarket, I decided to correct that mistake. Then I found out that the Wi-Fi didn’t work.

The time was 21:00. I was alone in a large dormitory. The floor was so freezing, that even with socks on, every step felt bitter. The heating barely warmed up the large room. The beds were clean and new, yet the light turned off automatically at midnight; there was no switch for me to use.

After several days without a kitchen, which had forced me to forsake my new habit of making better meals, I’d reverted to konbini food and sweets. So tonight, I ate a daikon salad and grated cheese in bed. Shivering under the blankets, hungry for food that resembled “healthy”.

With the light still on, I took melatonin for the third night in a row, played music loudly, and watched an old TV show that happened to be on my computer. The digital cleansing continued against my will.

I hated disappointing people, not keeping in touch, and being a lousy friend. With my phone no longer alerting me of notifications, I couldn’t tell if someone was even thinking of me. Most of all, I lamented meeting Sam, and then disappearing altogether.

Moving from one place to another in the countryside almost on a daily basis, having a low battery and limited Wi-Fi, and dedicating all my free time to writing a paper, this week had burned me out into a hermit. I needed to return to society, and to something more stable.

Today’s highlights: the dry landscape garden; a hostel all to myself.

List of favourite castles in Japan (by order):

• Himeji
• Nijo
• Matsumoto
• Matsuyama

Updated list of places I never want to inhabit again:

• Asahikawa
• Morioka
• Sendai
• Fuji Five Lakes
• Nara
• Okayama
• Hiroshima
• Shimane prefecture
• Israel