Separated by the Chugoku Mountain Range in western Japan, the southern side is known as San'yō, while the northern side is Shimane. Lacking the booming industrial development and dense population of San'yō, Shimane is instead dotted with small towns and even more rural areas — in Japan, it’s also synonymous with the countryside.
As a little geography enthusiast, my favorite part of flying is looking down at the landscape below and recognizing the landmarks. Both Mount Kaimon and the Kirishima Mountain Range are very famous peaks in Kyushu, and their unique terrain was truly captivating.
The customs clearance at Yonago’s small airport was much faster than I had imagined. Catching an earlier train meant I could walk to the parking lot near my hotel and capture a Magic Hour shot. In the higher latitudes of western Japan during winter, the sun sets around 5 PM, and it gets completely dark by 6 PM — a rather unique biological rhythm for someone used to subtropical living.
By 7 PM, I boarded a bus heading to Kurino (no mistake, that’s really the name of the place) to a photography spot for the Oji Paper Factory. It wasn’t until I got off the bus that I realized just how cold winter nights can be — strong winds, light rain, and a 20-minute walk to the station after shooting. All these challenges seemed to test my passion for photography, and I think I passed them all.
The next day, after taking a one-hour limited express train, the Yakumo, I arrived at Izumo Taisha, one of Japan’s most famous power spots for forging connections. "En" (connection) doesn’t only refer to relationships between people, but more broadly to the bonds between humans and all things. Although I don’t usually make wishes when visiting shrines, I silently made one of my own under the shimenawa rope in front of the main hall dedicated to Ōkuninushi-no-Kami — a wish to find a meaningful connection.
Back in Yonago, a 20-minute walk from the city center led me to the stone wall ruins of Yonago Kumeda Castle, which was dismantled during the Edo period due to the “One Castle per Domain” decree. Yonago has long been a key transportation hub connecting the regions of Izumo, Bitchū, and Inaba, and during the Edo period, it was even nicknamed the “Osaka of Shimane.” Standing on this quiet little hill, amid the neatly stacked stones laid centuries ago, I once again braced against the strong northern wind, watching the Shimane city gradually darken before being lit up by its lights.
Next to Yonago lies Matsue City, which was once the political center of Shimane. It is home to Matsue Castle’s keep, which has stood for nearly 400 years, as well as the samurai residences along Shiomachi-dori. Even the streets of the old town exude a deep sense of history. Walking slowly along the Horikawa waterway, even knowing I might get lost or take a longer route, the scenery makes you feel that every wrong turn is worthwhile.
That day was magical — from morning in Matsue to afternoon in Sakaiminato, the weather gradually improved, the clouds thinned to reveal blue skies, and the region’s highest peak, Daisen in the Chūgoku Mountain Range, finally revealed itself. Seeing it meant I had truly set foot in Shimane.
Sakaiminato City, located at the western tip of Tottori, was once Japan’s most productive fishing port. That evening, I captured night views from the Sakai Channel Bridge, which connects Tottori and Shimane. Walking along the narrow pedestrian path to the bridge’s highest point, overlooking the entire Sakaiminato area, where passing cars were mere blurs, I felt like I had this view all to myself — a feeling I truly cherished.
The final morning was freezing, with temperatures at zero. Walking through the chill to the station and boarding the train, I once again admired the charming streetscape — the city covered in blue tarps, with extensive restoration work underway. Deep down, I hoped this city I so admired could rise from the shadows of the earthquake.
The Japanese countryside is always a love-hate experience — you love its tranquility, the carefree freedom of wandering through it; yet you hate its inconveniences, the eerie emptiness of its streets after dark. In the end, I realized that nostalgia alone is too simplistic a word to describe it. Each small town holds its own unique charm that captivates you.
And so, this timelapse and the curtain call of my Shimane winter trip officially marked the beginning of my 2017. Welcome to everyone for watching.
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Original location: Chapter 1 of 2017, A Winter Trip to Shimane
Flickr album: Tottori & Shimane . 2017 / Tottori and Shimane
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