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Tokushima-ken
I woke up at 5am and left at 5:50am. The place where I stayed at for the night, near Temple 3, drove me to the train station before sunrise. I bought a 4 day ticket to use the JR train unlimitedly in this island; it costs 20000 yen ($200). After that, my wallet has never been the same.
I got on the first train out of town to Ohboke to see Kazura-bashi. A bridge made of vine, it hangs above an emerald green river. To cross the bridge, which should be for free, costs 500 yen. It kind of pissed me off that Japan makes such natural wonders and temples a tourist commodity. Tourists desperately hold on and with every shaky step the bridge sways and shudders. You literally have to watch your step or you will most definitely fall through the wooden planks that are tied together with the vine. My whole foot could fit through the wide spaces. I tried to suck it up and just walk in the middle of the bridge without holding on to the handrail, but it was enough work just trying to hold the camera and keep it steady to take pictures. The water below the bridge was a beautiful emerald green color (as was all the water around this area as I saw from riding the train).
Then I went to see Biwa-no-taki, a 50m waterfall. I have never seen a waterfall before, and though it was nothing compared to Niagara Falls for sure, I wished I could take a dip in the emerald green pond below it. If only it was a bit warmer and less touristy.
I was misinformed that there would be a bus in a timely fashion that would get me to the train station so I could catch the next train out of town to visit a cave. That only happens during tourist season, and unfortunately this wasn’t tourist season. Luckily the tiny store nearby my walk to the vine bridge had a nice old woman who would call and ask the train schedules for me and call me a taxi. I paid $30 (3000 yen) for that 15 minute ride taxi. I was so pissed. I already paid $8.80 (880 yen) to get there by bus earlier.
As I was sitting on the train, I was contemplating why I came to this island, Shikoku. Why I liked the country so much more than a big city and came to a realization. Most people who live in the country, much more so than those who live in the city, stay in the country. It doesn’t work the other way around. But even if they leave the country, their house will most likely be in their family for years, maybe even generations to come. These people, then, would always have a place to call home, a home that belongs to them, not some coop that’s rented out monthly, but a place with a backyard and a garage and fresh air. These people always have a place to call home, somewhere calm, somewhere peaceful and quiet, a place where a home belongs. Coming from a big city, my home is an apartment, which we moved from 5-6 times within the past 20 years of my existence. In actuality, where is my home? It has become impermanent, intangible, a concept that might exist in my mind but nowhere else. My house, my home, is something I have created temporarily as a place where I can live, but I don’t own this comfort, at least not for long.
I woke up at 5am and left at 5:50am. The place where I stayed at for the night, near Temple 3, drove me to the train station before sunrise. I bought a 4 day ticket to use the JR train unlimitedly in this island; it costs 20000 yen ($200). After that, my wallet has never been the same.
I got on the first train out of town to Ohboke to see Kazura-bashi. A bridge made of vine, it hangs above an emerald green river. To cross the bridge, which should be for free, costs 500 yen. It kind of pissed me off that Japan makes such natural wonders and temples a tourist commodity. Tourists desperately hold on and with every shaky step the bridge sways and shudders. You literally have to watch your step or you will most definitely fall through the wooden planks that are tied together with the vine. My whole foot could fit through the wide spaces. I tried to suck it up and just walk in the middle of the bridge without holding on to the handrail, but it was enough work just trying to hold the camera and keep it steady to take pictures. The water below the bridge was a beautiful emerald green color (as was all the water around this area as I saw from riding the train).
Then I went to see Biwa-no-taki, a 50m waterfall. I have never seen a waterfall before, and though it was nothing compared to Niagara Falls for sure, I wished I could take a dip in the emerald green pond below it. If only it was a bit warmer and less touristy.
I was misinformed that there would be a bus in a timely fashion that would get me to the train station so I could catch the next train out of town to visit a cave. That only happens during tourist season, and unfortunately this wasn’t tourist season. Luckily the tiny store nearby my walk to the vine bridge had a nice old woman who would call and ask the train schedules for me and call me a taxi. I paid $30 (3000 yen) for that 15 minute ride taxi. I was so pissed. I already paid $8.80 (880 yen) to get there by bus earlier.
As I was sitting on the train, I was contemplating why I came to this island, Shikoku. Why I liked the country so much more than a big city and came to a realization. Most people who live in the country, much more so than those who live in the city, stay in the country. It doesn’t work the other way around. But even if they leave the country, their house will most likely be in their family for years, maybe even generations to come. These people, then, would always have a place to call home, a home that belongs to them, not some coop that’s rented out monthly, but a place with a backyard and a garage and fresh air. These people always have a place to call home, somewhere calm, somewhere peaceful and quiet, a place where a home belongs. Coming from a big city, my home is an apartment, which we moved from 5-6 times within the past 20 years of my existence. In actuality, where is my home? It has become impermanent, intangible, a concept that might exist in my mind but nowhere else. My house, my home, is something I have created temporarily as a place where I can live, but I don’t own this comfort, at least not for long.
Even though the country is not my home, it brings me a sense of relief, a sense of tranquility that I only wish I could call my own.
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