Today I took a one-car train to a seaside town called Nakaminato. Steve had to work, so I made the journey on my own, and didn't do too bad. I bought my tickets, transferred trains and made it back safely. Some people I meet are very helpful.
Tiny train:
Countryside view:
A stop along the way. Guess this is a rural station:
There were folks along the track, after we got into the country, who were just standing there waiting for the train to go by so they could take its picture.
See the photographer on the right? The train runs every half hour, so I hope he got a good picture or he's waiting a little while.
We've arrived. A view of the train as I walk towards the station:
Making my way to the Fish Market:
Notice the raised line in the middle of the sidewalks? They're everywhere. When you get to an intersection, the lines turn to boxes with dots in them. Steve told me they're for blind people. I see the lines in every city, but I've yet to see a blind person using them.
And here's the fish market. It's about fifty times smaller than Tokyo's. There's only one street of vendors like these:
Yummy crab:
Beautiful color, but not so yummy!
I saw way more fish being dried here than in Tokyo. There were racks and racks of them.
He was cooking ginormous shrimp on skewers and some kind of shell fish in a batter and grilled in the shell:
This guy was about three feet across:
These were about a foot long:
And these were about an inch and a half long:
Miniature sword fish?
Drying racks:
This rack spun around to dry the squid. It looked hilarious with the pumpkin on top:
I stopped to watch a man cutting a big tuna, and he talked to me and I talked back, but of course, we couldn't understand one another. Two of his friends walked over and were making fun of me right to my face. At first I didn't realize it, which made them laugh even more. I thought they were just pleased to see me. They weren't, none of them were. They were in their 50s. After I realized they were jerks, I said, "Be nice" to the fish cutting one, but he just said, "country" three or four times and pointed to himself while shaking his head to me. I've gotten used to stares and school boys calling me names as they've passed. Yesterday, an old, old man almost had a slow motion crash on his bike because he was staring so hard at me. He was just curious, not disgusted. I've almost even gotten used to being invisible and "unclean", but I could not stomach grown men making fun of me. It was too much. I walked to the seawall and had a good cry and wandered away from the market for a while. Water is so healing.
This is a fishing pole resting spot:
This little ratty dog kissed my sadness away. He couldn't understand my words either, but he knew I needed him for a few minutes. He got in trouble for playing with me, but he didn't seem to care. Neither did I.
More fish drying racks along the road:
After a while, I went back to the market. I didn't go there just to get intimidated away.
This man was shucking raw oysters. Then folks would rub a lemon on them and eat them. I wanted to try it, but chickened out.
Instead, I went to a sushi-go-round place in the back of a vendor's stall. It was heavenly.
After lunch, I wandered through the town, then up into a neighborhood.
Temple of the day:
Guards of the temple:
Of course, I had to take a staircase up to it. Here's a view from the top:
Neighborhood pics:
Then back to the train station:
My daily refreshment while waiting for the train. Cold, coffee late. I think the 1/2 means half the calories or fat, but I'm not positive.
Here comes the train:
The conductor actually blows a whistle when he's ready to leave.
Views as we leave the station:
More folks taking photos of the little engine that could...
Back at Katsuta Station, where I get back on a grown up train to return to Mito:
Back to Mito, after a long day!
I asked her if I could take her picture. She's actually mildly dressed like a little girl. I really want a picture of the Little Bo Peep outfits, but haven't been able to get one still. 
I saw tons of school kids again today. Saturday school?
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