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Yesterday was one of those spontaneously wonderful days. On a complete whim, my friend messaged me that morning and we decided to drive to Miura Kaigan, a beach I had heard so much about but had never visited. I thought--hey, it's summer anyway, so going to the beach seemed like a duty. It was about one-and-a-half hour away from my current apartment. Luckily, there was no traffic.
On our way there, my friend accidentally exceeded the speeding limit when we were going down a curved road. A policeman on a motorbike sounded his siren, stopped us and gave him a blue ticket for speeding. It was his second traffic violation in Japan. It wasn't a great start of our day because we both really needed a break from the hustle-bustle of the city. Naturally, my friend was a little bit pissed off. We figured that part of the road must be a trap for drivers.
On our way there, my friend accidentally exceeded the speeding limit when we were going down a curved road. A policeman on a motorbike sounded his siren, stopped us and gave him a blue ticket for speeding. It was his second traffic violation in Japan. It wasn't a great start of our day because we both really needed a break from the hustle-bustle of the city. Naturally, my friend was a little bit pissed off. We figured that part of the road must be a trap for drivers.
As we drove closer to the beach, the landscape began to change. Cityscapes transitioned into mountains, skyscrapers into modest two-storey buildings. We drove past a long row of quaint houses and friendly-looking neighborhoods. They lived a few seconds away from the sea and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of jobs would allow me to work in such places. I told my friend, "I wonder if people who live here got sick of Tokyo at some point and decided to just move all the way out here."
It was so different from the Japan I'm used to. It felt more chill, unaffected and jovial. Maybe the mornings here begin with the sound of the waves rather than traffic, and maybe the evenings are adorned with sunsets over the ocean rather than the fluorescent glow of streetlights. Maybe businesspeople would get drunk and fall asleep on the beach instead of on the street. I could definitely see myself living there with my dogs. They would have a blast running up and down the beach.
It was so different from the Japan I'm used to. It felt more chill, unaffected and jovial. Maybe the mornings here begin with the sound of the waves rather than traffic, and maybe the evenings are adorned with sunsets over the ocean rather than the fluorescent glow of streetlights. Maybe businesspeople would get drunk and fall asleep on the beach instead of on the street. I could definitely see myself living there with my dogs. They would have a blast running up and down the beach.
Once we reached Miura Kaigan, the view was nothing short of breathtaking. The waves crashed gently on the shore, and the horizon seemed endless. The sheer beauty and vastness of the seascape made me realize why people tend to love going to the beach. Watching the ocean, feeling the salt in the air, and listening to the rhythmic ebb and flow was therapeutic.
My friend and I considered getting out of the car to walk along the beach, feel the sand between our toes, and soak in more of the ocean's beauty. However, as the sun was still in its full glory, starkingly bright, we decided against it. No way we were getting sunburned. City people, I guess!
Instead, we went to a self-service restaurant, lured in by our hunger. Without a second thought, we ordered a tuna bowl and a plate of sashimi. It was a small restaurant with no more than three people running the kitchen. The fish slices tasted incredibly fresh, and every bite was a delightful explosion of flavors fresh from the ocean. We did get upset stomach that night, but we're not sure if it were the food or other factors.
Our trip to Miura Kaigan was a gentle reminder that sometimes, the best days are the unplanned ones. And while the city holds its own charm, there's an undeniable magic in coastal towns and the peaceful lives of those who call them home.
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