Several weeks ago, when Indi was travelling the hill country of Northern Thailand and had left me to my own devices, I visited a lesser known island off the Coast of Japan’s mainland of Honshu. I had the weekend to myself, and packed it as full as I could manage. As I crossed the enormous Great Seto Bridge to my destination, connecting both islands through a span of more than 13 kilometres, I left the familiar face of human life far behind me.

My first stop, still early in the morning, before the sun arrived perpendicular above the streets, and eliminated all shade, was the castle town of Marugame. On a hill overlooking the bay stands the smallest of Japan’s surviving medieval castles, more cute than imposing. Climbing that hill, and taking shelter in the cool, wooden interior of the main keep, I noticed that not a single person had crossed my path.

As I walked from the quiet little station to the Zentsu-ji Temple, I realised the whole island was cut through by tiny canals running between hundreds and thousands of ricefields, slowly down from one terrace to the next, irrigating the fertile plain. Who had built such an ingenious system, and more importantly, who kept it functional, was a mystery to me. Anyway, I visited the temple as it is the birthplace of Kobo Daishi, the founder of Japanese esoteric Buddhism. But perhaps everyone besides me agrees that this little historical tidbit is quite boring, making sure I wandered through the confines alone.

The final stop of my day was Konpira, the most important Shinto shrine on the entire island, and the small community at the foot of its hill. In ages past the shrine brought many pilgrims from across Japan, developing the village into a bustling place of commerce and entertainment. To this day, the oldest and only Edo Period kabuki theatre in the country still remains at the outskirts of Konpira. But as before, it turned out that no one would join me during my visit to the elegant building.

Before the sunset brought an end to the day, I slowly walked up the slope of Konpira Hill. Of the half a dozen shops and cafes hugging the trail, not a single one was open. The shrine itself is dedicated to the safety of seafarers, captain, crew, and merchants in a more broader sense. It turns out that either no one in Japan is currently prowling the high seas, or, if they still are, no one shows any concern for them at all. The shrine was completely deserted, turning pink at the sinking of the sun.

In case you are fed up with the crowds of Tokyo, the overtourism of Kyoto, and the general bustle and noise of Osaka, hit me up. I might know a good alternative destination.