Trip 40 — Niue and Dogojima Walks

Dogojima day 1: Saigo Port to Okinoshima
Monday, 4 March 2024

Today: 1875 steps/1.52 km/0.94 mi/17m

Japan has come back strong since 2020. Tokyo's Golden Gai, around 200 bars crammed into a few pedestrian lanes east of Shinjuku, looked as beautiful as ever. The lit signs, mostly in white but also in yellow, pink, blue, and other hues, beckoned me to investigate each tiny establishment. What went on inside was not usually obvious from without; it took opening a door, peering behind a curtain, or climbing a narrow, steep staircase to determine whether the bar and the potential customer were a good fit. I'd forgotten that smoking was prevalent here.

I managed to explain, in English with a few phrases of Japanese, the Abecedarian Walks. No one in any of these bars, Japanese or foreign, had heard of Dogojima. When I mentioned Okinoshima — Dogo's main town — some recognized it but most couldn't tell me where it was.

"Surely you've read Toru Tomita's account of the geology of Dogo!" I wanted to exclaim. "It rocks!"

In Shibuya, Uobei was still there and popular, with a short wait at lunchtime. This was the original restaurant where you order from a screen at your seat and the food is delivered on plates that zoom out on a track from the kitchen and halt in front of you. The concept has made it to New York, but it's predictably overpriced, whereas some pieces of nigiri sushi at Uobei were as cheap as 53¢.

At Uobei I was completely in the zone, stimulated by unusual offerings such as monkfish liver (definitely) and cheeseburger sushi (pass, though intrigued). My ears put me in a train station, with the constant ding-dong accompanying food arriving on the "express lane"; my fingers were operating a slot machine by force of habit, making choices, creating orders, and confirming that I had taken my dishes off the belt, to allow it to move again; my tongue was tickled by the flavors, needing more, right away, like a drug. The seats around me turned over; I remained. With 25 dishes piled up around me, starting to encroach on the neighboring spaces, I hit the button to stop the madness and left in a wobbly euphoria.

The wholesale fish market with its tuna auction moved to nearby Toyosu a few years ago, but the former Tsukiji area was busier and more appealing than I remembered, with food stalls on the main road and indoor eateries in the inner alleys. Eating sushi here just feels so perfect, and I had my fill until I went outside to a stand with spicy raw crab and shrimp and decided I had to have that too. If I hadn't wanted to interact with a person, I could have procured salmon roe, spicy pollack roe, katsu sushi rolls, and frozen grilled fish from a vending machine.

I didn't have any particular plans in Tokyo until I discovered, hazily checking in to Instagram after a nightcap at the Ginza Music Bar (where I was briefly flattered to receive, along with my cocktail, a napkin with a phone number on it, only to realize they'd printed the number of the bar on all the napkins), that my friend Kristy had posted a montage of her husband, Brad, browsing shirts in Harajuku on Saturday. But wait, that's where I was on Saturday. Were they in Tokyo?

Kristy is known for — among many admirable things — running marathons. I didn't know it when planning the trip, but yesterday was Tokyo's, and by running it she would complete her 18th marathon and the circuit of the world's six major marathons. Suddenly I had a goal for yesterday afternoon: stand out there in Ginza and try to spot Kristy.

Well, let me tell you, trying to find someone running a marathon is hard work. It takes tremendous perseverance and undivided concentration, and it's probably best done after a full regimen of coaching and practice. I'd had some of this training and experience before, picking out Kristy in the Boston race about ten years ago, but I'd had an extra set of eyes with me and foreknowledge of Kristy's attire.

This time I went into it cold and alone, without revitalizing the muscles and mental prowess that it takes to make a marathon-watching champion. I focused the best I could, studying faces and gaits 20 to 30 paces up the road, ready to lock in on a familiar countenance and, if I met with success, whip out my phone and snap a picture.

There were distractions, of course, about which I'm sure my trainer would have warned me. It was polite to exert my efforts while cheering on the runners and applauding. A few had unusual outfits, such as a Spider-Man, a pair of monkeys, and a man wearing a full business suit and carrying an attaché case. Sometimes a flicker of activity would happen down the road, such as someone's throwing away an unneeded water cup. Whenever my eyes flitted away from their target, I felt a brief shame, as I knew I had missed scanning a few bodies. I might never join the ranks of the best marathon watchers.

I was there for an hour. The routine became mesmerizing. After studying the constant series of limbs whirring from left to right in front of me, I'd look up at the buildings, which seemed to slide from right to left in illusion. My mind couldn't handle it. Maybe I shouldn't have had those fish guts for dinner, or the cod roe for breakfast — another thing my teacher would have told me. Perhaps I was dehydrated. Whatever it was, I was going to leave Tokyo with no new personal record.

Clearly watching a marathon is more challenging than running one. I took a last look at the runners, envying their easy task.

I flew from Tokyo to Yonago and took the Oki Kisen Line's Fast Ferry Rainbow Jet for its daily crossing to Dogojima, 83 minutes away. (There's also a slow ferry that takes about four hours, stopping at other islands first.) From Saigo Port in Dogojima's main town of Okinoshima, I followed the coast along Saigo Bay, which cuts into otherwise roughly circular Dogojima in the southeast.

The coastal path fizzled out, and I rejoined the narrow road, which ran through a neighborhood of lovely wooden houses and stone shrines. It opened up next to a marina, and I continued around until I reached tonight's lodging, the Hotel Miyabi.

The one striking change for American visitors to Japan in the past few years is the exchange rate. I'd now go so far as to call the country a bargain. When I took my first solo trip around Japan in 2010, a dollar bought around 90 yen. Today it gets 150. Things are 40 percent cheaper than they were 14 years ago, based on the U.S. dollar. Saturday's ¥5310 pigout at Uobei cost me $35; in 2010 it would have cost $59. Those ¥800 cover charges in the Golden Gai now feel closer to a negligible $5 than to a painful $9. When Kristy, Brad, and I celebrated her marathon completion, the three of us dined for $89, including eel, fugu, tuna-sushi variants, a bottle of wine, and the arrival of so many other dishes we forgot we'd ordered them.

My room rate at the Hotel Miyabi was ¥12,650, about $84, including dinner and breakfast. Except in Okinoshima town, there are very few restaurants on Dogojima, and I'm inclined to submit to the lodgings that offer meals and see what I get.

It was more than plenty tonight. I went down at seven and found a setup with pickles, a sea snail, a shrimp, a plum, herring, and an unlit burner. The server brought a plate of sashimi and placed another plate, with raw fatty Oki beef, enoki mushrooms, and pumpkin, on the burner and lit it. Another dish came with a scallop and a turban shell. And another with vegetable, fish, and shrimp tempura. A cup arrived with chawanmushi, custard with mushrooms and other vegetables. I was certain he was done, but then he brought over a whole boiled sea bream, which fit in its dish so snugly it must have been genetically engineered to do so.

"When do you want the rice and soup?" he asked, using Google Translate.

I put up five fingers, but even I wasn't sure whether I meant five minutes or hold off until I make some progress on all these plates. He correctly guessed the latter and asked whether I was ready when I got to the bream. Dessert was refreshingly simple, just a slice of orange and a strawberry cut in half, plus black tea.

"What time do you want breakfast?" he had his phone ask me. "It says 7:00 and 7:30."

I hadn't remembered making such a decision in the booking, even vaguely. I pointed to 7:30 and considered making it later, but tomorrow looks to be a washout after 9 a.m., so the more of the day's 15 kilometers I can do before then, the better.

My room itself is Japanese-style, a futon on the tatami mats and shoes off at the door. There's a sitting area overlooking the bay. The shower is communal, but I suppose I'll have plenty of showering, whether I like it or not, on my way around the eastern coast.

Go on to Dogojima day 2