Emily woke me crying at 4am and was restive until six, when she woke fully, the room being too light by then. Breakfast set the pattern for the day: she slowly ate half a small banana and had a few mouthfuls of cereal before shaking her head and standing up in the chair to signal that she'd had enough. At eight we went for our breakfast and found that they'd made a meal for her this time. To my relief, she did eat some omlette and accepted some fish from our chopsticks.
Once packed we got straight on the road, driving about 10 miles west to the the port of Heda then due south along the coast-hugging highway. The road was full of bends, and apart from tunnels just before our destination, Usugu, it followed the contours of the sharp, wooded hills dropping steeply into the sea. Emily slept the whole way, luckily. It was only eleven when we pulled into Pension Kita, in the little port town. The owners and their toy poodle greeted us effusively, and recommended a nearby noodle restaurant for an early lunch. He told us to eat lightly as a feast would be served up at 6pm. We tried to negotiate a later mealtime due to Emily's routine, but they said they were providing food for her as well so we felt bound to fit into their plan, despite my reservations. Though she must have been very hungry by now, at the restaurant Emily refused to eat much lunch (obviously didn't fancy the particular gloopy slop from a sachet on offer that day); I got so stressed that in the end Nick had to take her outside, eliciting much crying and calls of 'mummy'.
After that we were able to check in, and found the modern pension to be in excellent order: nicely decorated and, fortuitously, geared up for families. Just inside was a small lounge that doubled as a playroom, and Emily's eyes lit up to see some Thomas trains and a stuffed Pooh. The owners' two kids were really good with her, especially the boy, who was 8. He even followed us up to our room, laden with toys and books for Emily. 
We stayed there a while as they played, before venturing forth into the hot sunshine, which was tempered only slightly by a strong breeze off the sea. The town is not really a tourist destination, being a working port, though well placed for many attractions.
We were tempted by the sound of a place called Crystal Beach, which transpired to be only a few hundred metres away round a headland. Indeed, there was a beach, with a big campsite strung out just behind the sands. The only thing shiny about the beach, though, was the plastic flotsam cast up from the ocean, and to the left was a huge conveyor system for loading up ships with aggregates from the quarry up the road. I began to fret about the amount of sun exposure that Emily was getting; it is very hard to apply suncream adequately to a protesting toddler constantly trying to wriggle away. I was also frustrated by Emily's recent insistence on taking her monkey everywhere with her - he even had to go to the beach.
Nick had been determined to have a dip in the sea, so he gamely went in. To my disapproval, he also wanted to take Emily in for a quick dunk. I resisted at first but he seemed adamant, so I stripped her off, unfortunately just as the sun went in: she was immediately covered in goosebumps. She seemed OK as they waded out, but as soon as he lowered her in up to her waist, she cried. I quickly bundled her up in a towel and she recovered straight away, even paddling with me briefly afterwards. No lasting negative associations with the sea, then. 
We went straight back to the pension, where she and Shintaro played again. There were two family baths, and the three of us all went down there for a pre-dinner wash and soak. Again, it was very child-friendly, with the water kept at less than 41C and stocked with water toys. Emily had never been showered before and shied away from the gentle spray; I thought she would enjoy it. We put her in the bath for a short while, then took her out several shades pinker and let her play on the tiled floor while we sat in the bath and watched her.
By six she was desperately hungry; when we went to the dining room, where there was actually a booth for each room, we found a little chair and a tray of food, a bib, and even a little bed made up in the corner in case she fell asleep while we ate. It was all so nicely done that I prayed she would not live down to my expectations, but she started shaking her head almost immediately. She didn't want any rice, and would only eat the fish if we offered it with chopsticks. There was a sweet egg custard that she deigned to eat, or rather sip from the pot, and she accepted a few tidbits from our plates, but it was very piecemeal and only small nibbles. It was impossible to enjoy any of my dinner under the circumstances, and I wondered at the Japanese way of dining with their kids, while admiring their togetherness.
Eventually I had to take her upstairs, give her a bottle and lay her on the futon. She gibbered away for a while then zonked out, allowing me to creep away and rejoin Nick. The owner, who was also the chef, had prepared some amazing dishes (mostly fish or seafood of course), and they were exquisitely presented, worthy of any ryokan in my judgement. We retired to the playroom-cum-lounge with a glass of orange wine. We had to share the room with three kids playing super-Mario on a massive TV though.
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