Shikoku

If you're here, as I am, in autumn, strings of bright orange persimmons will be hanging to dry in the sun—a dazzling counterpoint to all those dark cedar beams, sliding paper doors and pine-shaded walkways. All that is missing from this dream is the sound of a shakuhachi flute floating in from the garden.

It is mid-morning on the island of Shikoku and the mountains beyond the small fishing town of Iyo, where I am staying in a tiny wooden house, change from sun-drenched green to shadowed blue haze and then, around the next bend, to green again as we speed along the expressway, through a dozen tunnels, towards Uchiko. This is the mountain town that the Japanese government deems extra special, and protects with heritage orders. Mitsu is with me. My architect friend wants me to see the other Japan, the hidden world that the centuries have barely changed, away from the gleaming steel and glass of the big cities. We pass a sign that warns of wild boars which roam free in the mountains. "There are deer here in the mountains, too" Mitsu says, "and deeper in the mountains, small bears." I look up and see, terraced on surrounding slopes, small farms, with neat vineyards and orchards. "Kiwi fruit" Mitsu tells me, pointing to a property. "Strawberries grow here, too - and persimmons, grapes, pears, peaches and apples. This is November. The apples are ready to be picked."

Persimmons dry in the sun, Uchiko

Like most travelers who come to Japan, I first explore the fabled Osaka-Kyoto-Tokyo circuit to the north, in Honshu. But I am determined not to miss, as most visitors do, the rustic tranquility that Shikoku offers. This is the smallest and least populous of the four main islands of Japan. Mountains that run east and west divide Shikoku into a narrow northern subregion, facing the Inland Sea, and a southern part bounded by the Pacific. Most of the 4.5 million inhabitants live in the north and its larger cities are located there. So I extend my stay and fly down to Matsuyama, an easy one hour flight from Tokyo. It's in Ehime prefecture, which straddles the northern coast of the island. And Ehime has a lot to offer— Seto Inland Sea National Park with islands of various sizes that are visible from the coast, Omogokei gorge with towering cliffs and waterfalls and Mt. Ishizuchi, the highest peak in western Japan.

Pilgrims, Shikoku

After the Honshu razzle-dazzle I've just seen, the peace here is palpable. Matsuyama seems unhurried and infinitely gracious, with its lake-fringed parkland, ancient castle, quaint tramways and popular Dogo-onsen Hot Spring, a public bath and an important cultural asset. At night, I stand and watch the kimono-clad patrons of Dogo-onsen stroll about under lamplight, turning the area into contemporary kabuki, or so it seems to me.

Matsuyama city (above) and Dodo-onsen Hot Spring

Iyo is a 30 minute train ride west from Matsuyama along the coast. Here, too, is serenity on smaller scale. I live for a few days Japanese-style, sleeping on tatami, munching soba noodles, okanomiyaki (a delicious cabbage omelete) and grilled eel. I wander about, taking in the local scene— fishing smacks that creak and sigh on blue water, roadside artisans who chip away at marble to create gods and monsters, traditional wooden houses that cast long shadows on cobbled streets, and—one whisper-quiet afternoon— a tiny woman in grey who, unaware of my presence, approaches a shrine by the sea. She stands silent, claps her hands, communes with her ancestors. And then, just as suddenly, she is gone.

Street scene, Iyo

So up we go now, into the mountains which rise behind Iyo, to Uchiko. Founded in 1271, this small rural community grew into a village serving the local farmers. By the Edo Period (1603-1867) the village had become a town and later, during the Meiji Period (1868-1912) wax and paper production became important to the local economy. At the Kami-Haga residence and Wax Museum, easy to locate on the main shopping street, you go back in time. Here, wealthy wax merchants lived and created wax products, like candles. I wander, shoeless, through the house, and later observe how wax was made—I even see wax berries hanging from a sumac, or wax tree. If you're here, as I am, in autumn, strings of bright orange persimmons will be hanging to dry in the sun—a dazzling counterpoint to all those dark cedar beams, sliding paper doors and pine-shaded walkways. All that is missing from this dream is the sound of a shakuhachi flute floating in from the garden. Shikoku, by the way, is pilgrim-country and many Japanese come here to trudge from temple to temple (there are 88 altogether, one in Uchiko) wearing traditional attire—woven hat and leggings and a stout cane. Watch for them.

Kami-haga house facade; display in wax museum; house interior; shadowed paving stones in the garden

Not far from Uchiko, Ozu offers another glimpse of old Shikoku. If it's summer (June to August), you're in for a treat. After dark, you can sit on a houseboat that floats on the river, drink warm sake by torchlight and watch black-robed fishermen use tethered cormorants to catch fish. A bird swivels and disappears into the dark water, and suddenly – splash– there it is, with a sliver of silver wiggling frantically in its beak. These smart birds receive a lot of loving care and are just like members of the family, which must be why they live around three times longer than their wild brothers and sisters.

Cormorant fishing, Ozu

East of Matsuyama, in Tokushima Prefecture, lies the Iya Valley, and if you have time, you might want to visit this mist-wreathed region of wooded mountains and silent valleys, strung about with vine bridges (steel cable is artfully hidden under the vines) and dotted with thatched farmhouses that date back centuries. It's not the easiest place to get to, and, alas, concrete and electric pylons have intruded, but there are bus services and places to stay, including Chiiori House, made famous by Alex Kerr whose love affair with Old Japan (and anguish at the New) is detailed in his book, Lost Japan. Kerr's first view of Iya— "rivers were tinged with emerald, and the towering cliff faces looked like carved jade" are enough to entice me there, when I return, as I must, to Shikoku.

Vine bridge, Iya Valley