I was very sad to leave Suo Oshima but time was getting on and it felt like a good idea to bike back to Imabari along the blue line route. I had thought of going back to Onimichi and then onwards, but decided I’d rather do the coast route up to Imabari from Matsuyama, the same route taken on the train. There is something about Shikoku that appealed to me forty years ago and still does.
The ride from Noriko’s place to the Ihota ferry terminal was much faster this time, (having first gear back again helped perhaps? Turned out to be a minor tweak). I decided to explore further along a road that veered off the main road and was very narrow, but sure enough the small kei trucks can make it through. It soon became a dead end, but was a nice place to enjoy the sunshine and watch fishing boats drift in the current, their mizzen sails up.
I’ve been unable to get a satisfactory photo of the fishboats and the single sail they have at the stern for keeping things stable at sea. It’s like their calling card. When Amigo left the Inland Sea and went through the narrow Kanmon Straits seperating Honshu and Kyushu, it was incredible to watch the fishboats dodging all the freighter traffic, to get back into the current where they fish, they’re little sails up like a middle finger gesture of contempt for the freighters. Ninja craft.
At this dead end road, in a little fishing village, there were many derelict houses, falling apart and I imagined a sadness about them, as with all abandoned houses. Then I passed an older couple who were on an excursion with their little van and their two dogs. They gave me a friendly “konichiwa” and I wished I had turned back to take a photo and see their setup. It was van camping, the mini-mini version. In China, the little Japanese vans (manufactured in China) were called “mianbao che” because they looked like a loaf of bread. Nowadays, that classic look has evolved with new models into a van with nose on it, but still compact. No longer a loaf of bread; maybe a pig?
Back to the ferry terminal, waiting for the ferry. It does seem to me that waiting for ferries has the same feeling everywhere, somehow different than a train or airplane, a kind of resigned expectation on the shoreline.
When I was on the deck, a woman approached me to chat in English. She was on her way to Matsuyama to take part in a 60 plus archery tournament. Of course I became quite excited and told her all about our 55 plus hockey tournaments.
Off the ferry and into Matsuyama traffic. The guesthouse I reserved turned out to be a very long ride and I was pretty grumpy when I finally arrived. My own fault for not paying enough attention to the online map. But what a place, once again, an old house, lovingly restored. I continue to be amazed how good the accommodation has been for hostels and guesthouses, at very reasonable prices.
A hill seems endless
Impossible, give it up
Glorious ride down
