(If you haven’t read the prologue yet, please start here)
On this day, I felt as if I were traveling not through the real world, but through a dreamland.
Leaving the historic town where I spent the night before dawn, I headed along the coast toward Onomichi, the starting point of the Shimanami Kaido. The single road hugging the shoreline was quiet, the settlements small, and the atmosphere peaceful and calming. As the sky grew pale, it flushed with soft colors, painting the calm sea in rainbow hues. The silhouettes of the islands layered in the morning mist possessed a magnificent depth. What a sublime, overwhelming sight.
Along the way, I passed through a small coastal settlement whose name had a beautiful ring to it. Digging into its history, I found its origins dated back to the medieval era of samurai clans. A stone monument marked the spot where a novel titled The Sea of Eden was written. To describe the gentleness of this sea as the Garden of Eden—what a perfectly fitting title.
Continuing along the coast, I arrived in Onomichi. Being the starting point of the famous island-hopping route, the town was teeming with cyclists, many of whom seemed to have arrived by train. Since it was morning, I was craving a coffee when a beautiful, retro cafe that looked straight out of the mid-20th century appeared. I decided to take a break before starting the main ride.
Stepping inside, I was instantly enveloped by the rich aroma of coffee. It was my first time experiencing siphon-brewed coffee. Sitting at the counter right in front of the barista, I could observe the process up close. Driven by vapor pressure, the water moved in a dancing, seemingly inexplicable way. It was deeply fascinating to watch. I reviewed the physics principles behind it in my mind, fully satisfied. It was a remarkably elegant way of brewing, embodying the inherent mental leisure that coffee represents. I loved it. There is something wonderful about a shop showing you a meticulous craft that would be too tedious to do at home, and the deft hands of the experienced staff handling scalding hot glass with bare hands was mesmerizing. From the tables behind me, the lively chatter of local elderly women added a warm atmosphere.
With my spirits lifted by this display of master craftsmanship, I took a small ferry to the opposite island. This is where the Shimanami Kaido truly begins! The captain of this ferry was also a master of his craft; he docked the vessel smoothly without even tying the mooring lines. Yet another display of seasoned professionalism. How Japanese.
The Shimanami Kaido proved to be an extraordinary route, moving through a landscape as beautiful as a film. A single, crisp blue line is painted on the road to guide cyclists. The winding paths generated a constantly shifting view, building anticipation for what lay around each corner. Climbing up toward the bridges offered a satisfying resistance against the pedals. The bridges connecting island to island span high above the water, offering unparalleled panoramic views, followed by the sheer exhilaration of descending the other side. The breeze from the sea was cool, yet the sunlight was brilliant. Ships moved slowly below, creating a gentle passage of time. Serious road-bikers and casual tourists on rental bikes all rode at their own pace, and there were quite a few international travelers. Along the way, countless charming shops caught my eye. Man, what a place!
Since I had time to spare and wanted to immerse myself deeper in this beautiful world, I took a detour to ride around a tiny off-route island. Suddenly, all signs of human presence vanished. After passing a single campsite, there was only the sound of waves lapping the shore, the chirping of birds, a vast blue sky, and intense sunlight. It gave me the strange illusion that this was my own ancestral countryside and I had returned home for the holidays—a nostalgic, imagined rural world.
On the other hand, the fact that people disappear the moment you leave the main route is the stark reality of these rural areas. Even though it was mid-afternoon, the houses looked fast asleep. I wondered if anyone still lived there. It felt like a phantom place.
Right on cue with the tides, the water below was rushing through the narrow channel between the islands at a terrifying speed. It made sense; in these tight straits, depending on the tide, the currents must become incredibly fierce. The Seto Inland Sea is not always gentle. I recalled reading that these treacherous currents led to the rise of the powerful medieval naval clans that once ruled these waters. It is fascinating to decipher how deeply human history is shaped by the realities of nature.
Finally, crossing the grandest bridge of the day, I made landfall in Imabari. I stopped to take photos at a particularly massive local shipyard and rushed to take a few more at the coastal castle before washing away my sweat at a public bathhouse. This bathhouse, highly popular among cyclists, featured a massive mural depicting modern Japan in a traditional Ukiyo-e style. It was bustling with locals, filled with the warmth of everyday life, and incredibly comforting. Drinking a beer and eating a meal at the attached restaurant, I fell into a state of blissful oblivion. This exact moment after intense physical exertion is pure zen—the closest I ever get to enlightenment.
As I was resting on the hotel lobby, an elderly gentleman noticed my cycling gear and struck up a conversation. A full generation older than me, he had worked in technical sales for the construction industry before retiring. Now, he filled his days with tennis, cycling, learning Chinese, photography, and painting. He radiated curiosity and energy. As we talked, I was stunned to learn that he had actually been involved in building the very bridge—the grandest one—I had crossed just hours before. Tomorrow, he was renting a bike to cross the Shimanami Kaido on the very bridge he had helped create. Wow!
To wrap up the day, I went out for the city’s signature style of grilled chicken on an iron plate. A blue collar worker’s meal. The eatery stood solitary in the middle of a quiet residential neighborhood, yet inside it was packed. It was an old, weathered place, its walls covered in dark grease stains worn like medals of honor. Absolutely perfect. Savoring the crispy chicken skin and a refreshing sour cocktail made with local citrus, I felt as though I had finally returned from a dreamlike land of beauty back into the warm, human reality of the real world.
Traveling is simply too much fun.