OK, I have to concede one minor problem with free beach camping: The total lack of any bathrooms or wash facilities of any sort. When the morning sun has turned the inside of one's borrowed black tent into a virtual sauna, just a quick post-rise face wash would feel like the cleansing power of the finest hot spring, but there wasn't even a basic cold water spigot anywhere nearby. We took down the tent sheathed in a slimy, sandy paste and drove towards the nearest conbini in the direction of Kagoshima to do our trucker thing with their facilities. Nothing like a good scrub in a roadside sink to put the luxury of even the most basic tenement bathroom in perspective.
On the road again, transecting the southernmost peninsula of Kyushu, and we come across the first indication that not all is right economically on this part of the island. Maia and I had noticed all down Miyazaki Prefecture's eastern coast that even though the region was not heavily industrialized the businesses were vibrant, downtowns (regardless of size) weren't shuttered wastelands and everything had a very un-Chugoku feel to it (see the Golden Week trip posts, specifically Shunan). Unfortunately the same could not be said of Shibushi and Kannoya (the latter literally meaning “deer room”), two cities in need of TLC. I just hate seeing this fate befall Kyushu cities, but I suppose it doesn't help when your city is fifty kilometers away from the nearest expressway, at the dead end of a train line and has no useful sea links. This area should become the mecca of Japanese survivalist/recluses if it isn't already.
When inland plain finally gives way to the southeastern coast of Kagoshima's Kinko Bay and a royal flotilla of fishing boats bobbing in the sun you know you've entered the long, lithe fishing city of Tarumizu, a place with a couple intensely good memories from 2008's Golden Week trip. It was then, while exiting the Nafco hardware store after buying some silicon grease for my bike axles, that Sakurajima erupted in front of my eyes and filled me that profound sense of “holy shit!” and an appreciation for life through demonstration of the fact that we're all just smart apes floating on a ball of unspeakably hot magma. Back then I rode like a demon towards the eruption, this time we drove in ghetto style slowly towards the volcano's backside and pulled into the Tarumizu michi no eki, the best damn road station in Japan (as far as I'm concerned). This eki has two things that set it apart from all the rest: a fabulous, free foot bath shaded by cabana umbrellas that looks out over shellfish traps and Sakurajima, and the best biwa (loquat) culinary creations I have ever tasted. The yakuza onsen (back tattoos are A-OK here!) was closed until noon for some reason, so we had to remain filthy a tad bit longer (a blessing in disguise as you'll soon see), but there was a man with a complete painting studio in a tiny kei-van creating images of the volcano to entertain and amaze as thoughts of loquat soft-serve ice cream, loquat jam and loquat donuts danced through my head.
I could sit here with a book all my life and just read until doomsday or the volcano explodes, killing everyone. Whichever comes first.
The plan from Tarumizu was to drive around the rim of Sakurajima to the ferry port and load the car for a short trip across to the city where our hotel awaited. Halfway around the island we took a gamble on a hotel onsen that we thought was the famous Furosato no Yu and, as it turned out, it was a good day to be rolling the dice. This onsen is often seen in tourism pamphlets for Kagoshima and seeing it in person one understands immediately why it's the perfect hot springs symbol for the prefecture. Perched a meter or two above sea level, only a lava rock wall and some concrete separate the bay's saltwater from the pool of nigh-scalding sodium-rich water with a massive mangrove perched over one side—on this clear day it was a stunning synergy of earth, sea, sky and fire.
Tell me you've ever seen something so enchanting, please.
Before leaving Sakurajima behind we just had to visit the campy dinosaur park located on a ridiculously steep hill overlooking the port. Since Sakurajima as a land mass is only 13,000 years-old it's just impossible—unless you're a Christian fundamentalist—for any dinosaurs to exist on or even near Kagoshima, so why the dinosaur park? Who knows, but you can't let those details come between you and fun, especially when large fiberglass dino models with flaking paint call out to be climbed on. It'll fill your heart with joy and your hands with microscopic fiberglass splinters.
Rawr...?
Departing the Land of the Lost, it was time to catch our ferry down the hill—a new experience since I've never driven a car on a boat before. Now, to tell the truth, it wouldn't have been terribly difficult to just drive the car around the north reach of the bay and save the 1,500-yen ferry vehicle fee, but there was an ulterior motive at play here. Several months ago Maia had done some voice recording work in Fukuoka for the English announcer voices one hears on trains, buses, moving walkways, etc., or, in her case, for the Sakurajima ferry. She was paid for the job even though no word of whether or not the voice was actually used came in her direction, thus our little fact-finding crossing. Sure enough, just after the Japanese announcer ended her spiel, Maia's voice came up and directed me to enjoy my ride...or else! Seriously though, it was a disconcerting experience to hear the disembodied voice of my girlfriend giving me safety directions while she's standing right there. Oh, this wacky era we live in.
Next time, the conclusion! Huzzah!
--Matt
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