Jogashima

A local woman with tengusa, a kind of seaweed that goes into making a jelly-like dish called "tokoro ten." She had pulled clumps of it out of the tide pools and was cleaning it before washing it in fresh water several times and drying it. The process sounded incredibly time consuming for the small amounts she was going to end up with.

Went on a day trek to Jogashima with Sangawa-san of 3knot, the sabori specialist. (If you can't remember what "sabori" is, it basically means to goof off, or to escape from what you're supposed to be doing.)

Jogashima is an island at the tip of the Miura Peninsula, and it lies just across from the port town of Misaki. Misaki was once a booming port specializing in tuna, with three movie theaters, nightlife, inns, etc., but it's seen its heyday and now is marked more by closed shutters and empty streets than the hustle and bustle of a real port. Still, there's something very romantic about it: behind the crumbling facades of many of the buildings are the remains of beautiful kura-style architecture, and everything feels very slow and deliberate.

We took a taxi boat across the harbor to Jogashima, and started our walk past the signs of what must have once been a thriving tourist business. It's a short four kilometers around the island, but with all the climbing and making our way around narrow rock pathways, it took more than four hours, including stops for lunch and one stop at a spring that was supposed to have been used by Minamoto no Yoritomo (1147-1199), the first shogun of the Kamakura Period.

The coast is striated with the various ridges of the lava from volcanic eruptions, and it seems like you're never walking on flat land. There was plenty of color, but for some reason, it felt more like a black and white world. Sangawa san's blog post of the trip is here.

The boat that takes you to Jogashima from Misaki. It costs ¥200 for an adult, and it leaves whenever you're ready. 

This marlin with it's broken off sword kind of captures the atmosphere of the island's tourist industry. It's still there, but it's a bit worn at the edges.

The walkway up to one of the island's many lighthouses. Don't ask me why there are Ionic Greek columns supporting nothing leading up to a Meiji-period lighthouse. It's very Showa, very "bubbly", very cool.

Another view of the lighthouse.

Sorry, I was kind of captivated by this place.

Some of the rock patterns were almost hallucinogetic.

The captain of a small boat that takes customers around the coves and inlets. I don't think he'd had any customers in a long time, but he seemed perfectly content sitting on the calm waters among the rocky crags.

This is the lighthouse on the Tokyo Bay side of the peninsula. Whoever built this whimsical cement pathway to it had a sense of humor; it twists and turns for no rhyme or reason. For some reason, all the tide pools were filled with sardines--dead and alive--who were acting like salmon, throwing themselves up on the rocks.

A happy crab had managed to grab some lunch, and though the flopping fish got away in the next tidal surge, the crab managed to get more than a few bites of sashimi before it did.

Even the deserted police box came in the form of a lighthouse.