EPTSo it caught me off guard when, after stopping to photograph some turtles on my way to Matsue Castle, a throng of Japanese tourists descended upon my location with the tenacity of a mother determined not to miss her baby’s first steps. “What?” they seemed to be asking. “He’s taking pictures? The white kid is taking pictures? What’s he looking at? Quick, go! It must be interesting!”
When the tourists realized I was photographing nothing more interesting than a trio of turtles, most of them wandered back to their impeccably-dressed, flag-holding tour guide wearing masks of profound disappointment. The few that remained halfheartedly snapped a photo or two before rejoining the group. This was not a group of people with whom I could coexist, and we were bound for the same destination. I needed to get ahead of them. I dabbed my forehead with a small towel and quickened my pace.
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On the way to Matsue Castle.
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Turtles!
I don’t want to downplay how cool Matsue Castle was. I mean, it’s a gorgeous, original Japanese castle built in 1611—no restorations here, unlike in Osaka and Okayama. Still, I was suffering from Japanese Castle Overload by this point, an affliction similar to European Cathedral Overload. Symptoms include being desensitized to large, imposing structures of great beauty. The castle was spectacular, but it was “just another castle,” as absurd as the statement might sound.
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Some background information.
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Matsue-jo.
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Miniaturized Matsue.
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Matsue, as viewed from the top floor of the castle.
After Matsue-jo, I had to prioritize my sightseeing destinations. The writer Lafcadio Hearn’s former residence was easy to pass up; one taste of his insufferable prose left me permanently disinterested in all things Hearn. An hour to the west was Izumo Taisha, one of the most important shrines in Shinto. To the east was the Adachi Museum of Art. I wanted to be in Hiroshima, a four hour bus ride, by nightfall. The main transport hub for the region was Yonago, located to the east. For this reason, I decided upon the Adachi Museum of Art.
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Saying goodbye to Matsue.
And what a decision it was. I can unequivocally state that the Adachi Museum of Art was the best destination I visited in Japan. Even without the museum, the trip would have been worth it. Allow me to explain. The museum proper is surrounded by the most meticulously-crafted, beautiful gardens I have ever seen. Inside the museum, however, are 1,300 varied works of master painters, potters, and ceramicists from the modern era. Views of the garden are interspersed amongst the exhibits, ensuring that museum patrons are never left wanting for one or the other. The Adachi Museum of Art is a work of art filled with works of art.
Unfortunately, photography of the paintings and pottery was forbidden.
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A view of the gardens.
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A view of the gardens.
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A view of the gardens.
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A view of the gardens.
After leaving the museum, I took the complementary shuttle to Yonago and, once there, purchased a bus ticket to Hiroshima. I had two hours to kill before my bus departed Yonago, so I went looking for some lunch.
I followed my nose to an aromatic noodle house a half mile up the road and sat down at the bar. The waitress handed me a picture menu. I pointed to a picture of an enormous bowl of noodles. The waitress nodded and asked me what I’m sure was a very simple question. I sat baffled as she repeated the question. She repeated it again, this time growing impatient. She looked to the chef, who shrugged in response.
I gestured for her to wait a moment, whipped out my Lonely Planet phrasebook, and sounded out, “Please decide for me.” The waitress blinked a few times, but nodded and shouted my order back to the chef. Two minutes later, I had a steaming bowl of delicious udon in front of me, complete with green onions, massive slices of roast beef, and a dark broth with outstanding depth of flavor. I slurped my noodles with gusto and did my best to smile whenever the waitress passed.
While I was eating, it occurred to me that there was no reason I couldn’t compliment the chef on his excellent broth. I spent ten minutes memorizing the pronunciation of “broth, very good” in preparation for the end of the meal. When I went to pay, the chef, without a word, pointed to the “500” displayed on the cash register. I handed him a 500 yen coin. “Dashijiru i i,” I said, feeling very proud of myself.
The chef smiled, looked at me, and said, in perfect English, “I am glad you enjoyed it.”
