November 14 – 17 2024, Japan. Saying goodbye to Kamakura was hard. Shawn said it reminded him of Santa Cruz. I thought it was more like Carmel. But either way, it had won my heart. We were headed to Shimoda, near the end of the Izu Peninsula. Shawn had wanted to explore the place where Commodore Perry had been allowed on the mainland of Japan. It was another long train ride. We had to double back towards Tokyo before heading toward Izu. We finally arrived at our stop and I dragged my 2 large bags off the train. From here, we had more than a mile walk to our Airbnb home. After much cursing and dragging of bags, we finally arrived. The house was situated among a cluster of about 20 homes nestled in a small valley next to the train tracks. It was a beautiful spot, picturesque and idyllic, and the house was the most comfortable spot we stayed on the trip. And they were kind enough to leave 2 bikes for us. Given the several mile trek into town, that was helpful. We made ourselves at home, and then took the bikes into town. We wanted to check out the town, and quickly discovered Shimoda (Shiroyama) park, a large peninsula of land, complete with a large hydrangea garden. We explored separately, and I found a lovely spot along the coast where I sat and rested.

We were hungry as well, and decided to look for a place to eat. We found a small izakaya, 6 seats, and Shawn’s facility with Japanese came in extremely handy. It was run by a couple, and the man was so used to expecting Gaikokujin not to speak Japanese, that every time Shawn responded to his questions, he asked again in broken English. His wife had to practically hit him over the head, probably saying wake up, the guy speaks Japanese. In any case, we had lots of laughs, though I felt on the outside as usual, since Shawn rarely would translate. I understood that it is difficult to speak and translate at the same time.

Shawn had told him Omakase, which means “I leave it up to you”. It is what’s called the chef’s choice menu. We were served the cheek of sea bream, a dragon roll (one of the few times we ate sushi in Japan), and lots of other small dishes. It was probably the most we ever paid for a meal in Japan – roughly $120. Perhaps a special price for foreigners, or because the fish he chose was expensive. In any case, it was a memorable evening. The man’s wife was very funny, and appeared in her traditional role to make fun of her husband. Upon leaving, Shawn told me that the man said I looked cute. I had put a knit cap on my head, as we were heading out into the cold on our bikes.

Next day we headed back to town to check out the museums. MoBS (Museum of the Black Ship) Kurofune is dedicated to information about Perry, and Shawn was especially interested, as he had studied recent Japanese history (Meiji period onward) at UCSC. It was a small museums, but had some interesting documents and exhibits. Shimoda Kaikoku is a museum about local history, including but not exclusively focusing on Perry. I wish I’d known about Murakami Gasshozukuri Mingeikan, a traditional folk farmhouse. I enjoyed the Former Sawamura Residence, a renovated historic home featuring traditional black-and-white namako (sea cucumber) walls. Completed in 1915, it served as the home of a local shipping manager and mayor, offering a glimpse into early 20th-century Taisho-era life near Perry Road. The well-preserved stone buildings that butted up to the canal and Perry Road were beautiful, and I especially enjoyed places where a bridge had been built across.

We were too late to enter the museum at the Tojin Okichi Memorial, dedicated to a woman who was made nurse/concubine to Townsend Harris, the first U.S. Consul General of Japan. He had fallen ill at Gyokusenji Temple, and the interpreter misunderstood his need for a nurse and instead requested a concubine. Due to having been isolated from the rest of the world, Japanese were prejudiced against foreigners and ashamed to interact. Okichi, who at the time was engaged, firmly refused, but broke down in the face of relentless pressure from a shogunate official. At first, people were sympathetic, but soon, they felt jealousy and contempt. A few months after Harris recovered, Oyoshi went back to her role as a geisha, but people remained cold and unfeeling toward her. She became an alcoholic, and when she died without relatives, the Abbot of Hofuku-ji Temple gave her the Buddhist name “Shakujo Kanni” and buried her in a pauper’s grave.

We spent the rest of the day exploring the town, and found a place to eat before riding back to our home. The next day we rode back out and explored Shimoda Park and the trail along the coast, as well as revisiting a few museums and enjoying the ambience of the small town. For a little place, Shimoda packed a punch.