Ise Does It - Day 1
05.11.24
16.36Km (bicycle)
15.21Km (walking)
“Heavy!” the host of our ryokan offered, smile on his face, pointing to me and making a movement that was somewhere between picking up a box and taking a shit. I’d just returned his bicycle with a flattened tyre, exhausted legs and an overwhelming desire for coffee that wouldn’t be satisfied for another couple of hours. I forced a laugh that was more chest than belly as I took off my shoes and swapped them for slippers.
An aside on slippers. Oh my god, slippers! So. Many. Slippers. Well, three different sets to be more accurate. Slippers to take you from lobby to the entry of your room. Slippers to take you from the in-room washbasin to the toilet, a distance of — maybe — 800mm. And slippers — well, wooden sandals really — to take you two metres at most across the courtyard from the guesthouse to the bathhouse.
Each time I move around the building, I feel I’m involved in some contemporary dance number, slipping in and out of soft and hard-soled shoes, placing them just so as I go, and still I wore them too far in to the bathhouse. Not the room with the bath, mind. I’m not that much of an oik. Nevertheless I was gently schooled by the man who came to bathe in my wake.
The day started with a pre-dawn cycle to see the Meoto Iwa at the Futami Okitama-jinja Shrine. Why cycle? Because at that time of day at this time of year, it’s either that or walk. No train, bus or taxi will get you there in time to see the sun rise.
The night before, the host suggested we hire a car. I pointed to the bikes outside the front door. Kalia protested but we were soon adjusting our seats and learning about the lights and how to lock them up at our destination. Kalia would later offer her appreciation for my fuck-it-let’s-do-it approach. By the time we got back to the ryokan the next morning, I was ruing it just a little.
It all started superbly: in pre-dawn darkness we made our way through a still-sleeping Iseshi, only the occasional babble of radio — no Nat King Cole today, sadly — and the early morning birds breaking the silence. An old man taking his morning constitutional, spotlight affixed to walking stick, nodded a hello as we slipped past. Past the edges of town we passed a love hotel, parking bays neatly partitioned so that even with a craned neck I couldn’t see who’d been doing the dirty, before we crossed the river and then back and forth across the highway.
Apart from walking, there’s no better way to get to know a place than by biking. The silence, the speed, and the ability to turn on a dime means that your world becomes a slightly-larger oyster but you still stay plugged in to its sensory offerings. Sound, smell and sight remain unencumbered by windscreen, window and roof.
The salt in the air drew us nearer the coast, a dislocated chain and greasy hands halting progress only briefly. A closed coffee shop temptress and a few fancy ryokans later, antimacassars covering the backs of empty armchairs, we were spinning along the waterfront to the Tori that marked the entrance to the shrine.
Past the wedded rocks, crane perched poetically on top, we joined the small crowd waiting to watch the sun break over Tōshijima island. I settled in behind two women, one younger and one older, mother and daughter perhaps. The long black hair of the younger draped over a long white cardigan draped over white trousers draped over a pair of comfy-looking Ugg boots. With anguish on her face, she kept turning away from the light, uncomfortable even in its early morning gentleness, nuzzling in to the neck of the older for safety. Again and again, the older would whisper in her ear and gently gently turn her back towards Tōshijima until the sun finally crested the ridge and bathed us all in glory. The younger turned away again and for a moment I let the heartbreak wash over me.
But today was supposed to be about walking too, so we hopped on the bikes and headed back to town, past that teasing coffee shop, past the love hotel. Eventually the rhythmic, rotating thud of the valve inside the deflating tire turned in to a thump and then a thwack as the sidewalls gave way and began to shred, leaving me rolling mostly on the rim of the wheel in to the waiting arms of our gently-mocking host and our breakfast room.
I’m almost ashamed to admit that before we headed in to the Naikū shrine we first headed to Starbucks for a couple of caffe lattes; I needed to awaken my spirit before I dared wake any others. In spite of the sharpener, we still fumbled our way through shrine etiquette, quietly reminding each other of what we’d observed others doing as we bowed, clapped, and bowed and tried to remember somewhere in amongst it all pay our respects, say a little prayer, and thank the gods around us.
Between the Naikū and the Gekū, we stopped for more caffeine and insanely, beautifully cheesy-eggy toasts at Camino Coffee The place was a recommendation from someone who’s walked Iseshi’s streets before and found me through this newsletter. It’s a welcome reminder that the internet, source of so much that often ails me, is still a tool for community and connection if you know where to look.
After lunch, we finished the day with an unremarkable walk out to Tamaru, a place itself so unremarkable as to be missing any kind of place to stay for the night. So with Day 1 complete, we take the train back to Iseshi, and back to the gently-mocking host for one more night.