Exploring the seaside town of Tomonoura
Jeremy and I sit on a bus with hard plastic seats covered in faded green fabric. The mid-morning sun pours through the windows, casting a soft glow as we bump and weave towards the coastal town of Tomonoura in southern Honshu. All it took was a small article mentioning that famed Ghibli director Hayao Miyazaki used Tomonoura as inspiration for Ponyo, and I was already planning a route.
As the bus meanders through the ordinary streets, passing homes and shops, I can’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the simplicity and beauty of everyday life in Japan. Children laugh and play in schoolyards, clothes flap softly on clotheslines in front patios, and cats bask lazily in the sun’s warmth.
The longer we drive, the more I catch myself scanning the horizon for glimpses of a sparkling blue sea before staring back down at the map. We started our journey in the city of Okayama. One shinkansen and two buses later, a nagging worry creeps over me that we’ve wasted half a day venturing to a town with nothing going on.
Finally, it’s our stop. As we step off the bus, a cool, gentle breeze carries the nostalgic scent of sea salt across my nose. The sun shines overhead, diffused through clouds that resemble fluffy tufts of cotton.
The bus jerks its door closed and putters away, leaving us without a clear direction or plan.
Panic sets in as I wonder if I have just deserted us in this tiny town with no way to return home.
I gasp at the sight of the harbor, quickly forgetting my troubles.
This looks familiar
Boats gently bob on the calm water as gulls cry overhead. Shops cling to gentle wooded hills behind them, exuding a quiet and reserved charm. A tall stone lantern stands as a quiet sentinel at the end of a jetty off in the distance. We follow the curvature of the harbor, passing small corner stores and houses with aged wooden facades and rusted corrugated metal siding.
The streets are empty, free of the steady stream of tourists we’d grown accustomed to everywhere we’ve been. We feel like we’ve discovered a hidden gem, and it is all ours.
Zig-zagging through a maze of slender alleys draped in shadow, we pass fruit stands, old broken vending machines, and windows with display cases of dolls arranged like a
family tree.
We follow signs for the Yodohime Shrine and come across two locals who greet us in English, asking us what brought us to Tomonoura.
“We just thought it would be nice to visit,” we say.
“How lucky you visited us this weekend.” Says the woman wearing shorts and a fanny pack. “It’s the Hina Doll Festival. The dolls are very old and have been passed down through each family for generations.”
She hands me her map of the town. Small illustrations of dolls dot the neighborhood we’ve just come from. We thank her for her kindness and promise to check them out. We continue beyond the stone torii gate, up the winding trail to the top of a hill. From the shrine, we gaze back at the harbor, the town, and the surrounding islands. It is said the shrine got its name from the Yodohime deity that presides and protects the surrounding area.
Despite our desire to keep walking, the afternoon sun begins to wane. We still need to find a route home, so we head back the way we came. On the other side of the harbor, we find a cafe where I buy a peach soda and sit on steps descending into the bay.
Sitting with my peach soda, I think of Miyazaki sketching these same streets. Maybe he knew he was starting a masterpiece. Or maybe, like me, he was just savoring a quiet afternoon by the sea.
The sound of a distant boat horn pulls me further into my memories of a small California coastal town called Fort Bragg…
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When I was a child, my family would drive up the coast and spend our summers there.
Nearly every weekend, we’d eat at the same family-owned Italian restaurant, Mama Carine’s Seafood Grotto, located on the docks of sleepy Noyo Harbor. Mama Carine would greet us in the dining area, thanking our continued patronage, while I stole glances at her cute grandson bussing tables. The restaurant had large windows facing the bay, and we’d watch boats come in from a day of fishing and haul their catch up to the docks. Seals would follow behind, bobbing along, waiting for any unworthy fish to be tossed over the side.
Each night, I’d fall asleep to the cries of seagulls and the thundering crash of waves. I felt the most myself in those summers walking along the cold and foggy beach, hopping through tidepools, collecting shells, and going home with wet pant legs and the smell of brine on my clothes. Fort Bragg was a quiet and unassuming place that didn’t have much in it, but I grew to look forward to seeing the color of rusty ships and grey ocean waters.
Tomonoura feels similar with its quiet charm and bobbing boats. The town comforts me like an old friend and makes me feel at home thousands of miles away.
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As the shadows stretch, engulfing the narrow streets, the daydream fades, and we return to the dusty bus stop on the edge of the harbor just in time for the last bus. I wish we could stay and explore more, but we have a long journey back to Okayama. As the bus arrives, I take one last deep breath of ocean air before boarding. Jeremy lays his head on my shoulder as I crane my neck to watch the ocean grow smaller and smaller before turning my eyes toward our next adventure.
