Despite the dark clouds looming overhead and the thunder in the distance, we decided to take the cable car up the mountain.  We swiftly glided over the treetops while gazing at the sweeping view of the city below.  There were wide swaths of rice paddies, eventually overtaken by clusters of buildings with smaller hills poking out of the architecture like little turtles.  In the distance, fading into the cloudy sky, was the sea.

As we stepped out of the transport, we each opened an umbrella to fend-off the steady drizzle.   Except for the weather, it was quiet.  The mountain was uncharacteristically deserted for a Sunday afternoon, but we appreciated the absence of crowds.  In fact, I think we passed by more statues than people on our way up the trail.  Sturdy but dainty looking Buddha statues lined the path, each chilling peacefully in its assigned space on the mountain.  Trees swayed gracefully overhead and we walked along the path up the mountain.

There were many Japanese maples.  Most were still full and green from the peak of summer.  However a few displayed warm bursts of color, marking the changing of the season into an autumnal glow.  We came to a large temple made of beautiful wood.  I think it was painted once but it had all faded away to reveal the beautiful color and texture of the wood beneath.  The beams and planks were smooth from age and there was an enduring softness about the building.  I watched as a family worshiped.  The light from a few candles danced in the dimly lit room.  The space, though plain, did not need the assistance of any other adornments to make it appear beautiful.  A grandparent helped a little boy to light his incense before putting it at the altar.  And the rain fell steadily outside.

We slipped our shoes back on and walked on a path that began behind the building.  None of us knew where it led, but despite the now somewhat heavy rain we continued moving forward along the muddy path.

There was an element of “real” in the experience, like the velveteen rabbit.  I felt cool drops of rain slipping off my small umbrella and cooling my skin through the thin layer of raincoat keeping me dry.  The smell of the earth was strong and mixed with the scent of the pine trees in a friendly and inviting way—the way the aroma of freshly baked cookies draws one into a home.  It felt like wandering in the forest of a fairy tale, and I waited for something enchanting to happen.  Then it did.

The path ended at a clearing with three large buildings.  Just as we arrived the rain started to pound down and we rushed into the shelter of the one that was open.  This place was an old school of sorts.  Monks had studied here, and plays had been performed in the adjacent building.  It had been used for a scene in “The Last Samurai,” but we had not seen a signpost bragging about this connection, just a simple piece of paper with a few pictures showing Watanabe and Cruise in scenes from the film.  Now the hall had been converted into a small museum.  But not a pretentious museum.  Just a simple one with piles of old tiles and carvings laid out on blankets on the floor, and some old prints displayed behind glass cases.  There were a few fancy statues and the like mixed in the collection.  But it felt more like perusing the contents of a forgotten attic than artifacts in a stiffly cataloged museum.  In this way, each item we viewed was a special discovery.

I most appreciated the building itself for offering us shelter in such an unassuming way.  The building was so accessible.  Despite the “elements,” the windows were open.  There was no glass, just a big spaces in the wall with a large shudders pulled up.  We watched the rain pour down the roof tiles and onto the courtyard where dozens of small streams from the hillside all seemed to be congregating in one big puddle in the middle before running off into the drainage ditches that ran alongside the buildings. 

It was really great to watch the rain falling down against such a beautiful backdrop, and even better that we were still dry.  And then the sky did the unexpected and began to reveal spots of blue.  And the rain slowed, and eventually stopped.

We traded out funny blue gnome slippers for our own shoes and set out back down the mountain, satisfied with our visit.

funny slippers

I continue to be amazed at the natural beauty of Japan.  Most photos I’ve seen of Japan seemed to be of gardens or cityscapes (Tokyo).  The other images I’ve seen have been prints or paintings.  Sure, the landscape looked great, but I didn’t know how far from reality the artists had gone in their representations.  Honestly, I just never really thought about it much—much in the same way that I never thought too much about what Indonesia looks like.  Conversely, there are some places whose images are catalogued in our memory from repeated exposure—the plains of sub-Saharan Africa, a tropical beach in the Caribbean, autumn in New England.  We learn these from repeated exposure—books, documentaries, films, calendars even.  But some places are not as wholly or accurately depicted in one’s mental photo album of location as another.

For me, Japan was one of those places that lacked sufficient imagery.  Why, I don’t really know.  But now I’ve added to my cache of scenes (beautiful hills, sturdy mountains, happy forests, mellow beaches, calming gardens) and I like it.  What’s more is that no matter how many pictures you have seen of a place, nothing is as wonderful as experiencing it in person.  The light hits the leaves in a certain way as a cloud blows over, how nature unfolds fluidly around you, something that cannot be captured in a 4×6 photo.  When you are there, you experience of the passage of time in a location, and the changes in the weather.  How can you truly experience the temperature in a picture anyways?  Temperature almost always affects my mood, and my mood in turn influences how I experience a place.  You notice so much more.  I bet I could have seen pictures of Mt. Shosha and been amazingly impressed by its beauty.  But the magic of waiting inside an old hall for a heavy downpour to pass, the sounds of the thick raindrops pounding on the roof tiles and splattering on the dirt yard outside, the smell of wet earth and fresh rain—well, you have to be there for that.  And I am very glad I was.  You can’t always pick such a great day to go somewhere, and I feel lucky that the weather was so wonderful on the day that the three of us visited this little mountain.

We went to the Himeji Castle today with my uncle.  The castle strategically stands atop a hill, the base of which is verdant with a collection of trees.  Known as the “White Heron,” I thought the castle looked more like a Christmas tree topper, and the hill the tree, than a bird.

“it is so hot”

“why didn’t i bring sunglasses?”

Himeji Castle is one of the most famous castles in Japan, and I must say that with its strong clean lines and elegant simplicity it was indeed impressive. And about as opposite from Versailles as a royal residence could be.  There wasn’t any furniture or much of anything inside so it was hard to get a feel for what daily life inside the castle consisted of.  However, whatever lack of décor (maybe it was always like that?) there was on the inside, was made up for by the “furnishings” of the gardens around the exterior.  There were fully-dressed maple trees waiting to burst into the flames of fall, and happy little sakura (cherry blossom trees) that flock the hill in pink and white petals during the spring.  In addition there is a recently developed garden down the hill to the side of the castle, called Koko-en.  There are nine different styles of gardens within this park.  I really enjoyed walking around this garden and enjoying the miniature environments that had been created within.  Despite the hot temperature outside, it was still very peaceful to walk along the carefully planned paths amongst trees, moss, and ponds.

Japanese gardens have a natural feel about them, and this one was quite unlike the rigidly formed flower beds and pruned topiaries at Versailles.  However, if you look closely you will notice in the shape of the perfect trees and placement of each stone that a Japanese garden is in fact the result of careful planning and pruning.  The difference between the two styles of gardening is not that one is necessarily more planned or more pruned than the other.  The difference lies in the result of all this work: opposite expressions.

I think that the different styles of gardening speak for the popular generalizations we hold about the two places as well as for actual cultural differences between the two places—France vs. Japan, or, more broadly, West vs. East.  In France, the culture seeps outspokenness and the clearly evident—as can be deduced from the emphasis on fashion and art in the capital.  There the avant-garde and the celebration of bohemianism and individual expression.  In fashion, haute couture approximates the epitome of individuality.  People forwardly state: “This is what I think,” through their art and clothes.  The lines of the garden at Versailles are very deliberate; the statement made is about having the power to shape nature as man dictates.  This is what I want, so that’s how it will be.  There is no masquerading of thoughts.

In contrast, communication in Japan is often subtle, understated, and implied.  Even the fashion is like this—muted colors and earth tones dominate the safe color palette found in many Japanese wardrobes.   The fashion is by no means dull, but it is within these safe colors an individual finds flair.  Within safe words a roundabout way of expressing a personal preference may be implied.  It is still somewhat obvious, yet remains disguised in a cloak of the collective and community.  The gardening style is similar—trees forced to grow in a “natural” and pleasing way.  True, these trees look great, but how natural is it to trim and mold a tree to grow in a certain manner?   Several of the Japanese gardens I’ve seen display this “power” of creation, perhaps even more so than the French for a Japanese garden is a recreation of nature on a miniature scale.  It is audacious in its supposition that nature could be re-created.

Now, all that wasn’t what was going through my mind as I walked through the garden, but it is an interesting topic to ponder about, for a few minutes anyways.  Art and design is always categorized as a part of “culture” and sometimes it is easier to see how that all plays out when two different styles of design from two different places are compared and contrasted.

a fun feature of the castle were the family crests depicted on the roof tiles

To make up for my lack of details about the castle, here’s an odd little article with a bit more of historical-type information along with strange facts like how much the castle weighs (do you suppose that is a frequently asked question?) and terms like “man-days”…whatever those are.  A day’s worth of a man’s work?  Or a day with the guys watching the big game?

Ever since the last time I saw my uncle, a few months before Matt and I left on the trip, we’ve been saying, “We’re coming to see you in Himeji…but we just don’t know when.”  Japan is on the far east side of Asia, and we weren’t sure when we would finally make it out…that and we don’t usually plan specifics unless it involves a flight.  Well, happily, a few weeks ago we finally set the date and now we are here.  It’s nice to see my uncle again as I think I have only seen him once (and his family not at all) since he moved to Japan several years ago.  Not only has he done quite a bit of travelling of his own, but he is also a gifted artist and businessman, making him naturally much more interesting to hang out with than your average expat.  In addition he shares our affinity for Chinese dumplings, baozi, so if we weren’t already related, then we would kind of be like family anyways.  Needless to say, Matt and I are both looking forward to hanging out and spending some time in Himeji.

trying to flash the peace sign, but i think our fingers are the same color as the castle’s foundation. we have no fingers.

night takes over the sky

Wasn’t so big in Sendai.  We had heard it would hit earlier this week, then that it had passed, and then again that it would hit tonight.  Some of Josh’s friends said that the trains would probably stop for at least a couple hours during the worst of it due to the high winds.  Matt and I went out mid-day to buy food for dinner in case we couldn’t go out later.  After we got back it stopped raining and never started again.  Ironically, Matt and I had gone out during the worst part of the storm that we had been trying to avoid all day.  It wasn’t much of a storm in Sendai though.  Instead of a typhoon that night there was a spectacular sunset.  Even though it didn’t hit our area too hard, the potential prospect of getting stranded in Kagoshima city was enough to stop us from going anywhere today.  I was a little disappointed, but happy that at least it happened on a day when my brother had classes so he was able to work from home and hang out for much of the afternoon.  A high-light of the weather was the evening’s spectacular susnset, which Matt and I viewed from the roof of Josh’s apartment. (Josh was at work, inside. Sorry Joshie, hope you like the pics!)

east view, towards train station

The three of us ended the night with a stroll down to Family Mart for some mini mochi ice-creams. As we walked along a ledge above the river we heard strange splashing noises.  It was too dark to see what was causing the disturbance.  Then Josh felt something against his leg.  He thought it was just the cat that had been following us, begging for food.  But then Matt let out a yelp and fell to the ground.  Something was trying to pull him down the bank toward the river.  Josh and I froze for an instant in shock and horror before dropping our mochi and rushing to Matt’s aid.  We each held on tight to Matt’s arm and pulled while Matt, who was under quite a bit of duress at this point, kicked as hard as he could with his strong Japanese legs.

It was still too dark to see what we were fighting against, but then the Tsubami Express Shinkensen rushed over the nearby bridge.  The train’s headlights illuminated us for only an instant, but in the quick flash of light I saw it: big eyes, skinny little green arms, and stalky legs.  The creature wasn’t dressed like they are in cartoons, but he did have a little blue shell.  It looked up at me at the same moment I saw it and snapped its beak at me.  It was a kappa.

We had been warned about them by Josh’s friends and public service signs around town.  (No thanks to the dancing kappa decorating the lampposts downtown.  Those are inaccurate portrayals; kappas aren’t that cute in real life.)  I screamed, and with one final tug Josh and I were able to pull Matt to safety as we head a splash of something going back into the river.

A lot of people have asked if Matt and I have ever felt in danger during our travels.  I can say that this one of those times…right up there with some long-distance bus rides.

Longtime HomelessHapas readers may recall our previous encounters with St. Francis Xavier in Goa, India, and Melaka, Malaysia. Well, we met him again right here in Kagoshima. We had not known that the guy made it to Japan, much less right here to Kagoshima, so it was a pleasant surprise to see there was a park dedicated to him on our tourist map. We strolled over to the park, which is in downtown Kagoshima and sure enough, there were a few different statues of the legendary traveler monk that we’ve been following around Asia.

Apparently, a Japanese trader in Melaka invited St. Francis to Japan to do missionary work there. So he sailed to Kagoshima, which was the only port open to foreigners until the 19^th century. He even went as far north as Kyoto, where he unsuccessfully attempted to gain an audience with the emperor. He traveled around Japan a bit before sailing to Goa. He then sent one of his Japanese disciples (whom he gave the Portuguese name Bernard) to Rome, where he met the pope. But this guy Bernard was the first Japanese to ever visit Europe- who thought the first Japanese to visit Europe would be named Bernard? He even stayed in Europe for four years, until his death in Portugal.

Besides the newest story I just recounted, I am amazed with this guy St. Francis Xavier. That guy got around. I mean he’s been nearly everywhere we have on this trip except he did it in the 16^th century. From Europe to India to South East Asia to China and Japan, he seems to be the most prolific traveler of his era, falling chronologically between Ibn Battuta and Magellan. I have become quite an admirer of him and feel a somewhat strange connection knowing that he preceded us on the same itinerary 450 years ago. I would give anything to have travelled around with him and seen all the same places we’ve seen back then. It would be awful travel, but I feel the amazingness would more than make up for it all. Eh, dreams. I did some internet research and found out that besides being a well-traveled guy who’s preserved body sits in Goa, he is famous for some other good and bad reasons. If you’re a Christian, you may think it good that he’s credited with converting more people than anyone since Paul. On the other hand, he imported The Inquisition from the Iberian Peninsula and established the Goa Inquisition. And also, apparently, he had quite a condescending attitude towards non-Christian native peoples. So it seems that he was a pretty bad dude, but it still seems somewhat odd and amazing that we keep crossing paths with him.

Even though where we are staying is sort of in the middle of nowhere, the fast train stops here, which means it is somewhere.  This is lucky for us because it makes it a lot quicker to get around the island (Kyushu).  So today we zipped on over to Fukuoka for a couple activities.  The most interesting was the Hojoya Festival taking place at the Hakozaki Shrine.  On the final day of this ancient festival, September 18, birds and fish are released from captivity, in accordance with the Buddhist philosophy of not killing.  As we were two days early, we missed this part of the festival, but were able to enjoy walking around the street leading up to the shrine.  The street was filled with booth ranging from carnival games, to shops selling festival-type souvenirs and beetles (a popular summer pet, though not quite in line with the theme of the festival), and of course plenty of booths selling all types of food.  It was interesting to see what the typical “fair foods” are in Japan.  In the US it’s pretty basic: hot dogs, funnel cakes, blooming onions, maybe sometimes you can find a good place selling some 4-H kid’s freshly cooked lamb.  Maybe all this bores me, but I found the Japanese festival fare to be much more exciting (and enticing).  Perhaps it’s not boredom…I just think the Japanese food is better.  Savory foods on offer included steaming bowls of ramen, teriyaki meat skewers, grilled octopus, corn on the cob, and doner kebab (ok, so that one isn’t exactly traditional Japanese, and I don’t think the Pokemon cakes were either…).  For those with a sweet-tooth, you could stuff yourself out on the delicacies of the endless supply of little filled cakes from the mochi and manju booths, bowls of shave ice, or the aforementioned Pokemon cakes (also available in Hello Kitty).  My favorite of all in the sweet category were the chocolate dipped bananas coated in sprinkles for their creators’ skillful execution in the presentation category.  I need to stop writing about the food though, as it is making me hungry.

festival in the street

The shrine itself was very beautiful.  Hakozaki Shrine is the first Shinto shrine I’ve visited, and there were many new things inside that I have never seen before, such as the purification trough outside (for washing), plaques with wishes hung about (like prayers), and little fortunes tied up in the trees (apparently by tying the fortunes in the trees good one can come true and bad ones may be avoided).  I liked how the shrine exists peacefully behind its outer walls in a forested courtyard.  The building is very simple, lacking the ornate decorations found in Buddhist temples in Thailand and the colorful murals in Korea.  Shinto shrines have no idols like Buddhist temples.  Rather they are more of a place for the kami, Shinto gods, to reside, be petitioned and worshipped.   Shinto is actually the religion that sumo wrestling is associated with, and one of the banners hung around the shrine is similar to that worn by yokozuna, or the highest ranked wrestlers during certain ceremonies.  Shrines are easy to spot by their tori, or gateway that marks the entrance to the shrine.  Hakozaki Shrine had all these features, plus a small room whose walls were covered in gorgeous back-lit paintings.  I think they showed a story of the usual good vs. evil (I couldn’t read the kanji captions).  The artist did a wonderful job of boldly depicting the images with firm lines and clear swaths of color, giving the images a strong presence that seemed to reach past the limits of the paper.

Rain streamed steadily from the clouds all morning, so we didn’t go to the bay as planned.  However, this morning was still fun as I finally got to fulfill my lifelong dream of creating my own page of sticky pictures mostly with the help of Ayako, though Matt and Josh contributed their creativity to the final product.  It was a continuation from the randomness of the night before where, after a solemn afternoon at a memorial, we headed to the batting cages.  Josh and Matt had a home-run derby in the highest speed cage, taking turns cooling off with cold, moist washcloths provided by the kind lady at the front desk.  Ayako and I tried our best in the slow pitch booth and had a few good hits.  As everyone knows, girls are not as gross and sweaty as boys, so we didn’t need moist towels.  After Matt beat Josh, we headed downstairs to an ancient arcade (we seem to be seeing a lot of those lately).  While everyone else played a game, I ate a cookie because I was hungry.  Very hungry.

I was lucky to have that cookie.  We’d gotten a few of them from a give away at the train station.  At first glance I had thought the freebee was a package of tissues paired with a small pink cloth bag.  Tissue giveaways are big here.  (One time we got some free boxes of milk too.)  People stand outside the train stations or on the sidewalks passing them out.  The pocket-sized packages come with a little business card or advertisement inside.  Personally, I think this is a great way to advertise because who just wants a piece of paper?  I hate getting flyer’d.  But as an allergy sufferer occasionally afflicted with the sniffles, I will happily accept a package of tissues.  Of course the advert part of it is completely lost on me since I can’t read kanji, but at least I put the tissues to good use.  And presumably most of the recipients of the tissues are literate in their national language, so somebody must be reading the advertisements.  At some point during the day I decided to check out the little cloth bag (which is bright pink with a hideous pattern, for those of you wondering).  I saw that there was an additional item, Kleenex I assumed.  But wait, the package was stiff.  The opaque white wrapper revealed no further clues, so I opened the bag and found a cookie.  Lucky me.  It held off the hunger until we found a restaurant.

We ate in Chinatown.  Rather, China street; it wasn’t actually much of a town, though it did seem to be a bit of a tourist attraction.  Actually it is apparently the oldest Chinatown in Japan, and one of the largest.  But having visited China recently, I found it strange that something so not China could be seen as a “Chinese experience” in Japan.  Chinatowns are sometimes a peculiar creation, a strange evolution of what they once were—places where Chinese immigrants lived.  Some are still more about the living than attracting tourists.  But Nagasaki’s Chinatown, prettily glowing with paper lanterns, definitely seemed the let’s-attract-as many-tourists-as-we-can type.  It wasn’t the lanterns that made me question the authenticity.  There’s a popular food street in Beijing lit with lanterns every night—Guijie, or Ghost Street.  It was the intention of the labeling and promotion.  The shops lining the street seemed more about catering to the desires of tourists than the daily needs of Chinese residents (not counting the need to make a living).  This feeling was a little similar to my view on Singapore’s Chinatown.  Why does Singapore have a “Chinatown” when practically everyone there is Chinese [descent] anyways?

Not that this is necessarily bad, I’m just trying to differentiate the types of Chinatowns.  In my opinion there are few “real” Chinatowns.  By “real” I mean, as our friend Ben puts it, places that mysteriously function on their own economy.  Cheap vegetables, $3 plate lunches and that sort of thing.  San Francisco and New York come to mind.  Places that are more realistic than touristic.  Actually, I take that back.  Who am I to classify what is real and what is not?  Sure, some Chinatowns offer more of a commodification of Chinese culture than others.  But perhaps there are other, more redeeming aspects that I miss because I didn’t stay long enough to have a good look around or maybe came on the wrong day and missed a big festival or something.  Anyways, this whole Chinatown discussion with myself is a good reminder to be critical of my own criticalness, in the hopes that I will learn more than that which I take in at first glance (or experience).  I want to see the places I visit from as many angles as possible.

Getting back to dinner, each of us ordered a very satisfying portion of noodles. We walked away from the restaurant re-energized and set off to find a pachinko parlor.  Ok, so maybe we didn’t exactly have the intention of finding one, but we were all curious about this national pastime.  Just say it: pachinko, pachinko, pachinko!  It is a fun word to say.  Between the four of us, this is what we knew: pachinko is sort of like slot machines, only with pin balls.  Pachinko parlors look like arcades; bright lights, cartoon characters, music, etc.  Many forms of gambling are illegal in Japan, so you don’t actually win money at pachinko.  You win prizes.  Then you take these prizes outside to a back alley where there are (surprise surprise) people willing to trade your prizes for hard cash.  These prize-exchangers hang out in little booths (aka hole in the wall of a building) that look like a ticket window, except all you can see of the other person through the hole are their hands.

What we didn’t know about pachinko is how the game is actually played.  So on our way back to the trolley we stepped inside a pachinko parlor for a look around.  The air was smoky and had a neon glow from all the lights and rows of shiny machines.  We tried to be stealth and watch how this guy was doing it.  By the way his cigarette hung out of the corner of his mouth and the huge pile of pin balls overflowing his tray into buckets, we figured he was good.  The “game board” (for lack of a better word) consists of little pegs and slots; somewhat similar to those little puzzles you get as party-favors as a kid.  The man turned a handle and a mechanism picked up a ball and tossed it up into the machine where it bounced around on the pegs.  He had a continual stream of balls flying up into the machine.  It did not appear that there was any way to control the balls once they were “in play.”

Matt decided to give it a go.  We had been warned by Josh’s friend, Daiki, that 10,000 yen (10USD) can easily go in 1 minute, so we figured Matt’s 100 yen coin wouldn’t last very long.  Matt popped his coin into the machine and a couple dozen or so little balls rolled out onto the tray.  Carefully he flicked the lever and we watched as one little silver ball flew up into the game board.  It bounced around for a little bit before falling to the “loser” slot at the bottom of the screen.  A couple of his other tries were more successful, landing in the higher slots and resulting in a payout of a few extra balls.  It didn’t seem too exciting.  Had we missed something?  We discreetly looked around to see how others were playing.  But there is nothing discreet about four foreigners in a pachinko parlor.  One of the stewards noticed and took pity on us, trying to show Matt what to do.  Ayako interpreted—the player’s control was in how he turned the lever.  Once he finds a good angle, a player can hold the lever in the same spot and a stream of balls will be released into the same spot resulting in all the balls going into the high-worth slots.  So that’s what the old guy was doing.  We thanked the steward, but left soon after as Matt was out of pin balls and none of us desired to play again. The conclusion: pachinko seems to be a pretty lame game, but saying “pachinko” is still fun and we had a good weekend.

Next weekend is the annual Sendai tug-of-war match, which we will sadly miss by just a couple of days.  This is an example of the rope that will be used.  (And that’s my brother standing next to it.)

I can only imagine that it will be one crazy game of tug-of-war.  You can read about it on my brother’s blog.

We’ve spent the last two days in and around Nagasaki with Josh’s friend Ayako. We mostly just hung out and did random stuff (as Joylani’s post details), but I would like to write a little about our afternoon visit to the Atomic Bomb Museum. It covered all aspects of nuclear warfare, from the scientific advancements in atomic energy of the past hundred years to the politics that drove the development of nuclear weapons to the cold-war and post-cold-war arms races. Of course, the bulk of the exhibit was dedicated to the more sobering topic of the “fat man” bomb that was dropped on Nagasaki on August 9, 1945. The facts highlighted in museum made it horrific to even imagine: a single bomb that not only flattened and entire city in seconds, but whose heat wave reached 4000-5000 C, whose toxic mushroom cloud reached miles high into the sky, and killed tens of thousands in seconds (and many more tens of thousands in the following minutes, days, and years). The most powerful part of the exhibit was seeing the artifacts from the bombing. Wood that had been carbonized in a split-second, not to mention carbonized rice and stones. Permanent silhouettes of people, trees, and random objects burned into walls and pavement. Melted coins, bottles, and even steel I-beams. The craziest thing I saw were ceramic roof tiles that had bubbled surfaces, a result of them having cooled very quickly after momentarily being boiled. I cannot even imagine clay or concrete boiling, much less how hot it would have to be to boil in an instant. The most horrific  things I saw were the photos- skin burned off bodies, blackened skeletons, completely disfigured people, and people crushed from debris. The highest recorded hurricanes apparently have winds up to 80 knots, while the bomb dropped on Nagasaki created winds up to 170 knots. Since the bombing, people have found shards of metal and ceramic in trees that have been cut down and sawed up. Of course, the concept of war is horrific enough, but the museum showed just how much suffering (both instant and lasting in nature) could be inflicted in seconds. Having studied the development and the decision to use atomic bombs on Japan, I personally do not think it was necessary. But whatever your opinion, I think the museum did a good job of implicitly communicating the pure wrongness of dropping such a bomb on a city (official target was the “Nagasaki Urban Area”). One shortcoming of the museum though, was the brief section explaining Japan’s role in war. For one, it was all in Japanese while almost all other text in the museum were also in English (very suspicious) and two, for a museum so vocally pacifist, it did not even mention Japan’s responsibility and actions during the war. After the museum, we visited the hypocenter and the adjacent peace park. Besides some signs about 4-5 feet up on some trees that indicated the ground level before the bomb was detonated above that spot, there wasn’t much of interest. Mainly, I had the same optimistic feelings that I had looking at booby traps in Vietnam. 60 years ago, America dropped the deadliest bomb in history and today I stood safely in Nagasaki, while America and Japan are the closest of friends. I do not think that war will ever cease, but at least things bad international relations can improve.

The three of us plus Josh’s friend, Ayako, visited Nagasaki today.  There is a museum there about the events leading up to, during, and after the dropping of an atomic bomb on this city.  As expected, it was mostly sad and frustrating that there were people in power who thought using such a weapon was a good idea.  I don’t mean to gloss over all the things the Japanese did during WWII that were messed up too.  War in general is frustrating for its senseless side, from both sides of the fighting.  Rather than spending time recounting the information at the museum, here’s a few pictures around the impact site and memorial area.

impact site

memorial statue

If you really have no clue about what happened but would like to know, I suggest going to the library as that will be more informative than me writing about it.

Having visited my grandfather’s father’s hometown yesterday, today I decided to attempt to find my grandmother’s father’s village. My grandmother had done some research and had emailed me the name of the place. Armed with this information, some internet research yielded that the village had been swallowed by neighboring villages and incorporated into larger townships several times over the years. At some point, the village had been renamed Chida, which was then incorporated into Kao, which was then combined with several other townships into Yamaga. I write all this, not because its terribly important to you as a reader, but to emphasize the point that I was looking for a really small place- so small it had been “eaten” up several times. I was really looking more for a neighborhood than a village or town. There’s many reasons why I’m pleased with the order in which we’ve visited countries on our itinerary and now I can add today as another reason. There was no way for us to know how to get to the specific place we wanted to go. A year ago, I doubt we would’ve even attempted today’s journey, but we’ve learned just how localized knowledge can be and that if you head in a general direction, the way will often reveal itself. So we began taking a train to Kumamoto City, the transport hub of Kumamoto-ken. At the Kumamoto station, we asked the lady at the information booth if she knew how to get to a place called Kao-machi. She pulled out an old phonebook-looking thing, but it was filled with bus routes. Luckily, the infrequent bus was due to stop at the station in only 20 minutes!

We finally did catch the bus and after doing a circuit of Kumamoto City and passing its famous castle, we began heading out of the city. As we reached the outskirts of the city, the bus emptied and, just like yesterday, we were just two of a handful of passengers. Outside of Kumamoto City, we wound through the hills. I thought about how the land and topography looked a lot like San Luis Obispo, where my great grandfather eventually settled and built his farm. Although an immigrant in a completely foreign place, I wondered if he took comfort from the somewhat familiar landscape: mountains, rocky and grean, flat valleys of farms, and a relatively short distance to the ocean. After about an hour and still several miles from Yamaga, where I thought we had to get off, I spotted a sign that said Kao-Machi. I jumped up and asked the driver to let us off at the next stop. He did and we found ourselves on a busy two-lane highway in the middle of acres and acres of rice paddy. Rugged mountains could be seen in the distance to the east and north. We began walking back towards Kao-machi and then turned down an empty country road. It was so rural. We walked towards a village at the base of some hills. We passed several large fields of rice, spotted a few bright pink caterpillar-looking things, and a black snake slithering by roadside underbrush. A couple cars passed us, but there was very little else in the way of modernity. Obviously a lot has changed in the past hundred years, but if it was this rural today I cannot even imagine how small a place it was back then.

Even the small village we walked around looked old, as all the houses were built in traditional Japanese style. I appreciated seeing the old architecture and walking around the small little village. The ruralness and all the little old villages are one of the things I like about Kyushu. You don’t really associate old stuff with Japan because of its reputation of modernity and being on the cutting edge of the future, but it’s like almost everywhere else in the world (except the Americas) in that there are places where people are still living in the same houses in the same places that they have for generations and centuries. Anyways, it really struck me how small a place it was. I’m kind of surprised that my greatgrandparents came from such tiny places. And although there was not much to see in Fukae or in Kao-machi, at least I got to see where I come from. And there is no substitute for that.