“Because they’re foreigners…”
I arrived in Okayama airport ready to collapse after 20 hours of travel on the evening of August 20th. Fortunately, my jet lag was of the crash-early-get-up-early variety, because we had exciting plans for the next day. A quick breakfast, check out from the hotel, and we were off to catch the train to Kusaoka and then the ferry to Manabeshima!
Never heard of Manabeshima? Neither had some of the Okayamans I met! But in a country full of “cat islands” (essentially, islands with large and friendly stray cat populations), Manabeshima is the closest to Okayama. Given how I feel about cats, it simply had to be the first stop on our itinerary.
On the way, we realized that there were two ferry stops on this tiny island, and we didn’t know where to disembark. Jess provided a simple solution, “If we can see cats ready to greet us at the first, we’ll get off there. Otherwise, we’ll wait for the second.”
We couldn’t see cats from the ferry at either stop, but we needn’t have worried. As soon as we walked up the gangplank, the cats swarmed. They were a rag-tag bunch, with scarcely an intact tail or unbitten pair of ears among them. They rubbed themselves against our legs, mewled for snacks, and posed for our cameras.
We gave them a few minutes of attention but soon wanted to divest ourselves of our luggage. We searched for our hotel on Google Maps. It was on the other side of the island; there were no roads there. Google Maps’ suggested route apparently cut through forests. Shrugging, we started in the right direction, hoping a path would reveal itself. It did — but it involved hauling our luggage up the steep stairs cut into the side of a hill and then dragging it down the ramp on the other side. In a dress and sandals.
Twenty minutes later, we had reached our hotel (Santora, a traditional Japanese-style ryokan located in the island’s former middle school building), but we were a sweaty, hungry mess.
We knocked on the door of the reception area. No answer.
The door to the building across the way was unlocked. We opened it and shouted in, “Darekaimasuka?” Is anyone here? Silence.
After walking the premises, we determined that we were indeed alone and probably should not expect company until the 3pm check-in time. We brought our luggage into the unlocked building, left a polite note on top of it, and ventured out in search of lunch. (After all, who would steal our stuff on the uninhabited side of a 200-person island?)
As we quickly learned, there are three restaurants on the whole island. Well, at least it would be easy to choose.
We stopped in front of the first one. It looked closed — but so did everything, as people had their shoji screen doors shut against the summer heat. We opened the screen and shouted in. No response.
The second restaurant looked promising — we could see a guest inside through the windows. Fish swam happily in a trough in front of the building; anything we ate here was sure to be fresh. We walked in and asked for lunch. “Yoyakudake.” Reservations only. Darn.
Well, there was still one more option: the coffee shop around the corner. We entered and asked if they served food as well as coffee. The did… but only beef curry rice. Not an option for this pescatarian.
By this point, we were getting desperate. So we turned to every tourist’s final recourse: the tourist information desk. Well, sort of. The closest thing you get on an island this size — the guy selling tickets in the tiny ferry booth. We explained our dilemma: pescatarian foreigners looking for lunch.
He pondered for a moment, then stood decisively and beckoned for us to follow. I’ve got this.
He led us back to the first restaurant and shouted — more loudly and insistently than we had — until someone emerged from a back room. He launched into a fast-paced monologue describing our situation. The chef seemed puzzled. His place wasn’t open now. Couldn’t the tourists just have curry rice at the coffee shop? No, our impromptu guide explained, these tourists didn’t eat meat. “Gaijindakara.” Because they’re foreigners.
Things moved quickly from there. The chef motioned for us to sit down at two of the restaurant’s six seats, and fifteen minutes later he presented us with trays of udon, tofu, rice, and tsukemono (pickled side dishes).
Maybe I was just starving, but it was the best Udon I’ve ever tasted.
