It's autumn. Bright orange globes of persimmon, hanging on gnarled branches, can be found almost everywhere we look in Amanohashidate. There are persimmon trees at every street corner. Loose persimmons - both Fuyu and Hachiya - sit unattended in small baskets outside storefronts, with a small sign indicating how much they were being sold for. As night falls, we bought two small sacks of persimmons at a pharmacy, and a kindly pharmacy staff brought us out of the store to show us how locals would hang the fruit out on their balconies to sun-dry. I'd forgotten how much the Japanese prides themselves on going ahead and beyond on their services, especially to slightly-hapless foreigners.
The sandbar is the most striking landmark of Amanohashidate, a swatch of land that cuts through the Miyazu Bay to connect both halves, and affectionately called the "Bridge to Heaven". We walked through the windswept sandbar. One side of the bay, enclosed by land, was calm and still; the other, wild and turbulent. The shrubbery were almost bent over from how relentless the winds were.
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| Toss a ceramic token through the hoop, and your wishes will come true |
It’s a sweet little town, and rather quiet despite the presence of a few tourist buses. We arrived in the late morning and subsided on roasted chestnuts and fish cakes turning over an electric grill by the side of a road. The chestnut soft and sweet, are almost like sweet potato in terms of texture and sweetness. There are a few shrines and temples in the area, including Motoise Kono Jinja, the first shrine of Japan.
This town requires an early start to your day, especially in autumn and winter when the days grow short. By 1pm, our designated lunch place(s) had either ran out of food, or were full and no longer accepting walk-ins. Don’t expect restaurants - except for a couple - to be open at dinner time too (Google map’s opening hours may not be reliable here). We were caught a bit flat-footed when the sun set at 5 in the evening, and we were on the opposite side of the sandbar from our hotel. We hung around for a bit longer, hoping to go a restaurant that was meant to open at 6. But 6 came and went and the restaurant remained dark. We finally decided to find dinner elsewhere. We hooved it back across the sandbar at night, which was an hour’s walk that the grocery store clerk did not recommend. But we were out of options - there’s no public bus was available (on Google Map) and the ferry service had also stopped by 5pm as well. It was surprising how fast the town emptied out by nightfall.
We made a few detours to other restaurants that were meant to be open but not, and we finally arrived famished on the doorsteps of 310. But there’s a silver lining to it: this is perhaps one of the best fine-dining meals that we’ve had in Japan.
We made a few detours to other restaurants that were meant to be open but not, and we finally arrived famished on the doorsteps of 310. But there’s a silver lining to it: this is perhaps one of the best fine-dining meals that we’ve had in Japan.
We did not expect such a restaurant in a small town, but here it was. I need to gush about this restaurant for a bit. It was run by a couple. The food was bold and delicate in equal measure. Every dish came with a change of dinnerware (with each piece handmade by an artisan in Kyoto, tyvm). Between the two of them, they handled the entire dining experience top to bottom with no lapse in service. How did they do it?
My favourite was the Steamed Fish with Sake and Garlic (above, picture). The fish fillet was seasoned, breaded and fried, and then steamed. Each bite was incredibly meaty.
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| A thick slice of daikon with an accompanying yuzu sauce was served as an appetiser with the cover charge, was one of the best things I’ve eaten on this trip. |
Vegetable dishes were cooked to excellence here. A humble bowl of assorted vegetables, beautifully presented and each steamed to perfection.
Because it was snow crab season, we also got the crab in claypot rice. That, alongside their Pork Rib mains, was definitely overkill for just a table of two. But it had been a long day for us: we had an early morning train ride to this town, we bounced around restaurant to restaurant the entire day trying to find something to eat, and finally walked over 23k steps in just one afternoon. We were famished, and we ate every grain of rice and every scrap of vegetable and meat.
We retired back to the hotel finally sated. The hotel foot bath overlooking the bay was a godsend. We rolled up our pants in the cold air, stepped in, plonked ourselves down on the bench and decompressed there.
The perks of living next to the sea is the abundance of seafood. We had free-flow salmon roe and sashimi in a soy sauce marinade, served as part of the hotel breakfast. My breakfast was a self-made chirashi don overflowing with ikura. There's also sashimi, which I'd added to my don after taking this picture.
And of course, a trip to Amanohashidate would not be complete without going into Ine. We took the bus up north, sharing it with a few students who were all headed to school in another town, and reached Ine within an hour.
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| Took a sightseeing boat out to the bay and watched the seagulls. |
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| A broad single lane runs through the coastal town, which was enough to service the entire town. |
It was raining the entire time we were in Ine, sometimes heavier, sometimes lighter, but throughout. The drizzle added to the atmosphere of the small fishing village, and a small foldable umbrella kept both of us mostly dry.
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| Persimmons hung on window sills and balconies out to dry in the sun. |
The brewery does not host tastings or tours. We had the sake: it tastes of red fruits on a background of grain notes. It’s overall quite an umami taste. Perhaps not everybody’s cup of tea, but pretty remarkable. Get them while they last!
