25. Chapter: A beautiful lifeless fishing village and sitting in a flowerpot in Amanohashidate

In the early morning, I set off to travel north from Honshu to the Sea of Japan. For the first time, I see with my own eyes how the poor working and studying people are squeezing into the trains in Kyoto until there’s truly not even a millimeter of space left. These images are usually only known from Tokyo.

Fortunately, my train is a Limited Express, which means everyone must have a reserved seat, so there’s no pushing. We pass through colorful rural hilly landscapes, partly misty and mysterious, long tunnels, and a few small places until we reach Amanohashidate, where it starts raining on schedule.

My hotel (yes! This time a real hotel with a single room, bathroom, breakfast buffet, and access to the onsen! Even starched bed linen! I don't think I've experienced that since my childhood!) is fortunately only three minutes away, and the kind receptionist hands me an umbrella first, which I can use as long as I’m here.

Amanohashidate and the wonderful spit of land is planned for tomorrow, but today I wanted to go to Ine, a fishing village with ancient wooden houses built directly on the water, a place I have dreamed about for seven years because there was never time to go before. But in the rain? I console myself with the thought that the clouds at the sea sometimes get blown away very quickly, and I take a seat on the bus.

And indeed: During the one-hour ride, past still blooming cosmos fields, it clears up, and when we arrive, I no longer need to open the umbrella, and the sun paints dramatic scenes through the clouds over the sea, mountains, and village.

Ine is a dream of an old fishing village! Completely uniform, nothing modern offends the eye, old dark wood around the large bay. The houses, called Funaya, are two stories high. The lower floor houses the boat garage, and on the other side facing the street, nowadays a car parking space. The upper floor is the living area.

Many of the houses are beautifully renovated, others are completely in their original state. But the place is strange: Everything is deserted. There are no shops or restaurants, or the three that might exist are already closed by 2 PM. I find a café with three tables where only tea, coffee, and sweets are served. I had driven hungry hoping for a delicious lunch by the water, but that seems impossible here. No hairdresser, bakery, or grocery store. There’s a post office and supposedly a school, but nothing is moving.

Aside from two boys playing badminton and baseball on the street, I see no residents along my long path around the bay. No children, no elderly, no teenagers, no mothers with babies, just a few renovating construction workers tinkering on some houses. Where are the people? Are they so annoyed by tourists (maybe about 30 people visited the town today) that they completely isolate themselves and hide in their homes, barricading everything? Or are they perhaps so introverted that any semblance of social life doesn’t occur? Everywhere you see signs: No Entry! Private! Stay outside! One feels somewhat slapped in the face and absolutely unwelcome. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a beautifully looking unfriendly village; what a shame!

However, I’m glad I saw it, but nothing would move me to stay longer or come back. It was great that on one of the roofs my first truly wild monkey was swinging around! So they really exist!

Very hungry, I then returned to Amanohashidate, ate two portions of rice with spicy pork and scallions, and then took possession of the in-house Sento with the provided tatami slippers and a warm kimono jacket for the way.

Here was the first sauna, where they also allowed infusion, next to it an ice room with snowy-like coating on the walls to cool down, a nice outdoor pool right by the sea, and as a surprise, two round vessels, similar to flowerpots, with body-temperature water, in which a person of my size barely fit with difficulty, which I found quite amusing.