Tango Matsushima and its layered headlands on a summer morning I came for the sea, but the coastline caught my eye

One morning in early July, I looked out to sea from the Tango Matsushima lookout. Beyond the grass and low shrubs right in front of me, the sea opened up. The sleeves of my white blouse fluttered in the breeze, and I loosely clasped my hands behind my back. On my left, a wide stretch of water; on my right, a wooded mountain. First, I followed the coastline between them with my eyes, all the way into the distance.

Nearby, the coast curved away, and another headland rose beyond it. As they receded into the distance, their outlines began to overlap. I found myself looking again and again, trying to work out where one headland ended and the next began. White waves came and went around the little rocks offshore. I’d come for the wide-open sea, but my eyes kept returning to the fine details of the coastline.

I told my friend, “They look like islands, don’t they?” My friend said the ones farther out looked even more like islands. I learned that the chain of headlands resembles Matsushima, which is how Tango Matsushima got its name. Before I knew the name, I might have just thought, “What a beautiful sea,” and carried on. Now I want to linger over the shapes of the overlapping headlands.

When the breeze came through, the hem of my long skirt and the grass in front of me both stirred. I listened to the nearby leaves rustling and looked toward the distant shore. The sea stretched on and on, but each headland seemed to point in a different direction. My friend and I started talking about driving the road farther along the coast, too. By the time we’d finished taking in the view, we already had one more detour in mind.

Before heading back, I looked again, starting with the first headland. This time I noticed the waves washing onto the shore, which I’d missed while scanning the distant headlands. Next time, I want to drive as far as that headland and see the sea up close.