Rollin' Across Japan Part 6: Miyajima

Phew.  So, after Hiroshima had put me through the mill the previous day, a long sleep was just what I needed to get my head back in place.  With my next destination a mere 10 minute ferry journey away, I awoke late-morning to a bright and breezy day, and took the ferry across the narrow strip of water to the island of Miyajima.

First off, a confession.  I'd already visited Miyajima the night before.  I know, I'm a terrible person.  But it was only a very brief visit, to see one thing: the famous torii gate of the Itsukushima Shrine.  To the average man on the street, Miyajima rarely rings a bell, but show them a picture of this torii gate and they instantly know it: along with Mt. Fuji, the sight of this torii 'floating' in the water is one of the most famous sights of Japan, and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  As torii gates usually mark the entrance to a shrine, it's location in the water marks the whole island as holy to the Shinto belief.

The first thing that strikes you when you see the torii gate is just how big it is: like celebrities, they usually disappoint you with how small they are in real life.  Not this.  It's absolutely huge, towering over the people: even the typical swarm of tourists couldn't diminish it's impact: in fact, it reminds you just how big it is.

But, Miyajima Island was well worth a day of it's own, because there was so much more to see otherwise.  There is Itsukushima Shrine itself, standing at the head of the bay.  In low tide, it is nothing more than a spacious, fine but otherwise identikit Shinto shrine.  But when the tide comes in, it transforms, the water washing under the raised platforms absolutely filling in it's namesake as the 'floating shrine'.  It was an interesting, potent mix of spirituality and nature: visitors prayed at the honden while below crabs drilled into the sand.

I made my way up the hill up to Senjokaku, which means "1000 mat pavilion".  While 1000 might me an exaggeration, this hall was still huge and airy, and faded old paintings hung slanted from the ceiling.  Passing through the old, touristy town and heading up into the trees, the temple of Daisho in lay tucked away at the head of a thin valley.  This temple was wonderfully colourful and playful, with statues of Anpanman and other characters, and expressive but slightly creepy statues of 500 old men.

Now, as I left the temple, I paused at the sight of a certain sign.  I'd promised myself that today, the last day of my epic journey, would be an easy-going day, after the fast-and-furious itinerary of the last week had destroyed my feet.  But when I saw a sign saying 'To Misen-san', the highest point on the island, I couldn't help myself.  I had to climb it.

As I've learned by experience, never underestimate a mountain.  Mt. Misen is a little over 500 meters, and though I didn't take it for granted, I didn't think it would be as much trouble as I thought.  My foot gave me a little grief for it, but my biggest mistake was not taking a drink.  By the time I reached the top, I was absolutely parched, and didn't think twice about paying the inflated prices for a bottle of sports drink, which I demolished in two mouthfuls.

But it was well worth it.  The rusty old observation deck gave great views all around, to Hiroshima and the surround Inland Sea.  The sea here is famously calm and still, and on this cloudless day I got great views of islands big and small rising from the sea, reflected perfectly back in the water.

Back down the mountain, and it was time to grab a late-lunch, an ice-cream and kick back by the beach while the sun went down.  More than once I was approached by one of the island's famous deer, who are by no means shy and will rummage through your belongings and chew on anything they please.  You have to literally push them away before they eat your entire guidebook.

Finally, the sun set, the lanterns were lit, and the floodlights bathed the torii gate.  The sun set behind the mountains of the mainland, flushing the sky pink.  I had the view I'd been waiting for, and it was everything I could have hoped it would be.

Time to head back and catch and early night.  I had a very early start the next morning, on trains from 5am and not leaving them until 12midnight - about as long as you can possibly be on trains for a single day.

My conclusion to my whole trip?  Well, I would have thought that I'd learned my lesson by now that when I visit a place, the hope of ticking it off and being done with it is never the case.  With the possible exception of Okayama, there isn't a single place I'd been to that I wouldn't consider visiting again.

But for now, it was time to look forward.  I had a few days rest before the Big One: Korea...

Rollin' Across Japan Part 5: Hiroshima

When I set off on my travels to Western Japan, I always knew that Hiroshima was going to be the centrepiece of my journey, not least because it was the 66th anniversary of the dropping of the atomic bomb.  What took me by surprise is just how much it effected me and moved me.

The morning of August 6th started like any other morning: drab, muggy and overcast weather.  I had aimed to be in Hiroshima, specifically the Peace Park, by 8:15am - the exact time the bomb fell.  As expected it was unbelieveably busy: visitors clung to the handles of the heaving trams, and stressed-out workers shouted over the tannoy system to plea for some calm and normality.  I checked my watch: 7:30am.  The Peace Park was some 2km away.  I had no choice but to walk it.  Normally, I'd have no qualms about walking that kind of distance.  But I was suffering from an ingrown toenail and blisters, making every single step agonising.  I set my teeth, and limped towards the Peace Park.

During the walk, I was in a foul mood.  Perhaps it was a combination of the painful walk, the jostling crowds with the same idea as me and the flustered tannoy-calls echoing down Hiroshima's main street, but a cloud was over my head all the way there.  But then I approached the bridge, and my bad mood dissolved in shame at what I saw.

Through the trees, the A-Bomb Dome emerged.  The harrowing landmark has been kept in it's distressed state since it was exposed to the kilometer-wide fireball of the bomb, which consumed all in it's wake at thousands of degrees centigrade and killed thousands instantly.  Such was the power of the atomic bomb that it seared the shadows of victims onto the stones, forever presevering their echo while incinerating their body instantly.  Many 'survivors' a further distance away suddenly found themselves in hell, with everything and everyone they knew gone, their skin hanging off them like rags and their faces mutilated beyond their own parent's recognition.  Thousands more would continue to die in the coming days and months and even years, some rapidly dying from their wounds within hours, while down the years, seemingly healthy survivors would contract diseases and defomities due to their exposure to the radiation, and continue to suffer to this day.  And this is just the physical pain of things: entire families wiped out, some losing parents, children or both through indiscriminate destruction is a pain that will never heal.

Instantly, I forgot my own petty pain.  As I gazed at the A-Bomb dome, I imagined the rest of the landscape as it must have looked that day 66 years ago: a scorched wasteland, going from neighbourhood to instant graveyard within seconds.  A lump stuck in my throat, and it was to stay there for the rest of the day.

The A-Bomb, now stands as a symbol for peace, and a warning of war's futility.  Sadly, due to it's emotional impact and it's meaning to the Japanese, it is also a popular place for right-wing nutjobs to roar their factless drivel through megaphones, and they don't consider the anniversary to be a sacred enough time to shut up - quite the opposite.  Though it was a day of remembrance and to pry for peace, police were to be seen everywhere should anything break out - which it did, a couple of times, though it was quickly dealt with and dispersed without any real harm done.


The ceremony on the Peace Park was a suitably sombre affair, packing more punch this year due to the Sendai Earthquake, the destruction of which many survivor's said resembled Hiroshima.  At 8:15am, the time the bomb fell, the crowds fell quiet.  A bell rang.  Hundreds of doves were released into the air.  Then a choir of schoolchildren sand the Hiroshima Peace song.  After the ceremony, the centre of the Park around the Cenotaph, where the names of the victims are buried (no remains), and behind with is the Flames of Peace (a fire that will burn on until the last nuclear weapon has been dismantled) was reopened to the public, and a long queue formed of people from all walks of life to pray and leave flowers at the Cenotaph.  The queue would remain a-hundred-strong well into the night.  Walking around the Peace park, I was frequently approached by students who wanted to talk to me in English about World Peace, and offer me paper doves with their thoughts written on them.  I saw the Phoenix Trees, which not only survived the bomb but grew back, albeit stunted and surrounding an ever-present scar in the bark that will never heal.

The Children's Peace Monument was erected in memory of not only the children lost that day, but most of all a young girl called Sasaki Sadako, who fell ill with leukaemia in 1955. She folded paper cranes all day, every day on her sick bed in the hope that if she reached 1000, she could make a wish and be cured.  She died before reaching her goal, but her classmates continued to make paper cranes for her, and ultimately built this moment in her memory.  Today, cases stand behind the momument, encasing thousands-upon-thousands of paper cranes, made and brought from children all over the world.

And all around the park were exhibits, large and small, as calls for peace, however you interpret the word.  One such exhibit was hands-on interactive, where members of the public could queue for a flag from any of the 196 countries of the world (I got Lithuania) and wave it before a crowd while a row of people called for peace in that country win several languages.

As the afternoon peaked and the heat became unbearable, I limped to the Peace Museum.  Now, I'm not normally one for museums, but by now my interest was well and truly seized.  We all know the story of Hiroshima - the very word is synonymous with it's own history - but I didn't really understand.  And I really wanted to.  So, armed with an English Audio guide, I spent 2-3 hours in the peace museum, poring over every exhibit, as it explained every last detail: from Japan's growing military aggression in the Meiji era, America's development of a nuclear program, and Hiroshima's status as a major barracks base marking it as a prime target, right through to the facts of the bombing itself, to the victim's anguish in the moments that followed, with left over ruins and rags telling the saddest stories, to Hiroshima's recovery and caring for the victims, and it's status as a city campaigning for World Peace.  

I could sit here all day and relay the facts and horrors to you, but they are countless and freely available to anyone who looks.  But by the time I emerged, blinking into the sunlight and looking over the resurrected city, I was emotionally shredded, mind and heart heavy as I tried and failed to imagine it all burning to nothing within a blink.  Yet that is what happened 66 years ago.  The thought alone was chilling.

Evening fell, and the clouds peeled away to a blazing sunset.  The A-Bomb Dome glowed under searing floodlights and a ring of candles decorated by kids.  10,000 paper lanterns were lit and sent floating serenely down the river, also decorated by anyone who cared to donate money.  I did likewise, decorating my lantern with the kanji of 'Sekai Heiwa' (World Peace) and passing it on to be sent out to sea along with the thousands of others.


All in all, it had been an exhausting day in every sense.  I needed to unwind, and so I caught a now much-quieter tram to the city centre.  It was as bright and dazzling as any other big city in Japan, and it was an equally heartening statement as any of life's willingness to come through to see Hiroshima bigger and bolder than ever.

I headed to a place called 'Okonomimura', a shortening of the words 'Okonomiyaki', my favourite kind of Japanese food, and 'mura', meaning village.  It was four floors of Okonomyaki goodness, and I was spoiled for choice.  The Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki was as delicious as I could have hoped, and with a beer, I decompressed and reflected.


Almost immediately after the disaster and up to this very day, Hiroshima has presented itself as a centre for World Peace campaigns and nuclear disarmament.  Up to now, I had been indifferent to anti-nuclear campaigns, and thought World Peace was nothing more than an insipid wishy-washy ideology.  But whatever you think and where you stand on the reasons behind the bombing, after visiting Hiroshima I was left in no doubt: war, and nuclear weapons, especially in the modern era, are bad news, because innocent people will always suffer the most and in the greatest number.


Hiroshima is a place everybody should visit at least once.  It's not a 'nice' place to visit in a conventional sense, but it has a story to tell that everybody should hear.

Rollin' Across Japan Part 4: Okayama

When you've rolling across Japan on the local trains, having to make half a dozen stops, you need to plan.  Know what line, what time, where to get on and off.  Sometimes, though, if you're feeling energetic, you can get ahead of yourself, catch a quick transfer faster than you thought possible, and before you know it you're one hour ahead of schedule, well on your way to your next destination when an alternate-universe, more lethargic version of yourself is sitting bored stiff on a platform somewhere.

So, I rolled into Okayama City, the terminus for the time being, with time to burn before my next scheduled train was due to head to Hiroshima.  My bags on my back, I set off at a brisk pace towards Korakuen, one of the top-three gardens in Japan (along with Kenrokuen in Kanazawa, already visited, and Kairakuen in Mito, the only one I'm yet to visit yet the one closest to where I live).

My verdict: it's a big fat 'meh'.

Don't get me wrong: it's a BEAUTIFUL garden.  But here's the thing: the big attraction of Korakuen are the wide, sweeping lawns.  With the exception of a few scattered spotlights, these lawns are devoid of features.  Now, I can see why this is a big deal for the Japanese tourist: sweeping, open lawns are very ununusual in the Japanese sculpted-garden - indeed, they are rare full-stop.  So I can see why it's seen as special.  But, to my western-born eyes, it seemed like just your average open-access English flower park.  Sure, there were other things besides: columns of tea-leaf bushes, waterfalls and water features, and the whole thing is looked over by the impressive Okayama Castle, but while I was satisfied, I couldn't help feeling underwhelmed, especially after the breathtaking Kenrokuen of Kanazawa.  It's not even especially big, either: I thought I'd have to rush around with my precious hour to spare, but I comfortably strolled around Korakuen with time to spare.

Perhaps it's my fault.  Perhaps my brain was frazzled by the endless train journeys or pre-occupied with my aching feet, and I have heard that the garden is best viewed in the evening when it is lit up.  But I can't help feeling that the accolade of 'Top 3' is an over-inflated claim, especially in a country such as Japan which is full of classic Japanese gardens.


Worth visiting?  Yes, absolutely.  Maybe if you go there with an open mind, it will seem better, and of course it's nice to tick one of the 'Great Gardens' off the list.


Anyway, time was of the essence.  I bolted back to the train station and trundled away to my next destination: Hiroshima.

Rollin' Across Japan Part 3: Inuyama

After the epic train journey of two days before, it seemed strange - cheating, almost - that my next destination was a mere half-an-hour out from Nagoya.  The urban landscape doesn't even falter on the way from one to the other.

For me, Inuyama had an extra draw: the big attraction of the town is the castle, the oldest in Japan, but it is also featured heavily in a series of books that I am rather found of: The Tales of the Otori, by Lian Hearn.  It takes place in a semi-fictional, feudal Japan, and Inuyama is basically this series' answer to Mordor, where all the bad guys fester and the antagonist broods in the castle keep.

It was quite jarring, then, to find the castle was surprisingly small and cheerful, with a sunny, leafy courtyard and beautiful views to the Kiso river below.  The view was especially impressive, because the balcony was nothing more than a warped wooden platform and the original wooden barrier than came barely higher than the knees.  The wooden balcony had been pounded smooth from years of tourists' feet, and it seemed so easy to take a slip and topple over the edge.  Authentic, terrifying...fantastic.  This is what I travel Japan for: for the real-ness of it, not through perspex glass and metal bars.

On the way back to the station, I was accosted by a pair of...how shall I put it?  Well, in the UK, there are Charity Muggers; overly cheerful people with clipboards who try to guilt-trip their way into your card details.  Well, here in Japan, it's the opposite: Charity Loaders, if you will, who are desperate to shove leaflets and booklets and other bits of spam into your hands.  They're almost inevitably a pair of prissy old deers, who try and fail miserably at chitchat because a) the Language barrier is a problem, and b) at this point you just know they're not interested in talking really, so you just close up in the hope they'll just hurry up and leave you alone.

Well, I escaped soon enough, and luckily there was a trashcan close by, so it worked out well.  I would have liked to have stayed to see 'ukai' on the Kiso River, which is the use of cormorant birds on leashes by fishermen to catch fish.  But that was a night-time activity, and alas, I was on a tight schedule.  Still, it's always nice to leave something on the agenda, so you'll always have a reason to go back there.

Next stop, Okayama...

 

Rollin' Across Japan Part 2: Nagoya

I rolled into Nagoya that evening.  Having been on the move since 5 that morning, you'd think that I'd be pretty run down by then.  But here's the thing about big Japanese cities: they wake you up.  Dodging through the crowds, blinking through the searing the neon as you try to find a quiet spot to stop and get your bearings...it's all part of the experience, and Nagoya is no exception, but after this trip, I put the city in a group along with Osaka and Kanazawa; lively, fun cities with a more welcoming feel to them.

First pleasant surprise of the day was the fact that the dorm room I booked was completely empty: it was only me in this vast tatami room, complete with it's own toilet, cupboard and common room.  All for 2500 yen per night, possibly the best accidental bargain I've ever had in Japan.

That evening I went for a meal in a fancy underground street called 'umai dori' (tasty street), lined with plenty of great restaurants.  When in Nagoya, though, there is only one dish to try: Miso Katsu.  I had mine 'nabe' style, but needless to say it was so tasty it was borderline criminal.  If I could learn how to cook that, I'd be set for life.


That night, I wandered around the city, with no real aim: sometimes it's nice to just follow the crowds and soak up the atmosphere.  I started the Osu temple right outside the hotel, and I ended up at a bus station in a building called Oasis 21.  If calling it a bus station makes it sound drab, then you'd be massively mistaken.  This a bus station with a lit-up courtyard on several layers, topped off with a raised plaform filled with water.  If it sounds wlike something from a Bond movie, then that's exactly what it was like, complete with great views of Nagoya TV Tower and downtown.

The next day I headed for the Tokugawa Art Museum.  The Tokugawa Dynasty was undoubtedly the most influential of Japan's history, with the first Shogun, Tokugawa Ieyasu, standing head and shoulders over any other figure in it's past.  The museum was brimming with rich treasures of the era.  You really got a sense of the wealth and power of the Tokugawas, not just as a warrior class but also in the arts and crafts.  The adjoining park was a pleasant stroll afterwards, even though being followed around by a school of hungry-looking carp fish as I circled the lake was a little unnerving.

Next was Nagoya castle.  It's a strange quirk of Japanese castles, it seems to me, they they remain cunningly hidden from view right until the last minute, making a sudden appearance as you round the corner of the main gate and the donjon keep throws itself into full view.  Nagoya castle is impressively big, with every floor full of musuem artifacts, but the main attraction of every castle is the simplest: the view.  Nagoya Castle didn't disappoint, though sadly there was no balcony to walk out onto.  On the flipside, they had wonderully cool air-con: a fitting reward after the gruelling stairs.

Stairs would be no issue at the next destination: Midland Square, the tallest building in Nagoya.  An elevator whips you up to the 43rd floor, giving you a stomach-churning view of the world shrinking away below through it's glass walls.  This led out onto the steely, open-air Sky Promenade, an elevated walkway with epic views of the city below.  To see skyscrapers below you is a strangely dizzying experience.

That evening led me to Atsuta Shrine, one of the most important shrines in Japan.  It is believed to house one of the three great treasures of the Japanese Imperial Family: a sacred sword.  It has never been seen though, kept hidden away from the public eye.  It's existence is often disputed, but if you've ever been to a shrine, the atmosphere and mystery of the place, complete with it's prohibited areas, lends well to the rumour.

I slumped down that evening exhausted but satisfied.  I have to mention that inbetween all these destinations I often had a great time just going from one place to another, wandering into friendly little craft shops and having great food.  I left Nagoya the next day, thoroughly satisfied and delighted with my experience there.  Just one full day, and 'd fallen in love with the place: and what's more, it's a place you could definitely live in.

Next stop, Inuyama...

Rollin' Across Japan Part 1: Tsumago

It's a curious thing: when you have an alarm set at, say 6am or 7am - you know, some standard-early time - it's a real pain waking up and getting your head in gear.  But, when you set it for some unholy time like 4am, you will wake up with ease.  Because if you're planning to wake up that early, then it's for something very exciting indeed.  And when you're waking yourself up at 4am in Japan...

Well, sure enough I was up and out the door by 5am, a cool mist lingering across the suburbia as I headed for the train station.  With the exception of a few early-bird commuters, their heads bobbing in and out of sleep, the carriage was blissfully clear, and I got out my guide book and go through where I was off to.  First stop, Tsumago.

First, a bit of boring history: Back in the day, there was a network of well-worn roads used by travellers on their way from A to B.  This was well before the days of the Shinkansen, and people would spend weeks on the trail, so many towns sprouted up along the routes - post towns.  Nowadays, most of these routes have evolved naturally into highways between the metropolises, or have disappeared altogether, but one such route has been beautifully preserved, running through the Kiso Valley: the Nakasendo.  And one of the most of the best-kept post towns along the road is Tsumago.

Thankfully, it's relative remoteness and lack of a direct train (you have to hop on a bus to get there) kept the crowd numbers down, so it really was like stepping back into a lost Japan; wooden houses, dirt roads, water flowing openly alongside the streets...it was wonderfully evocative.  I had a simple, quiet moment when I slipped off my shoes to rest my feet at one of the airy resthouses, and sitting there cross-legged, I could look down into the valley, where viracious waters toppled over rocks and trees reared up steeply on the far bank.  The view would have been practically identical to a pilgrim of the Edo Period.


I could have stayed in that town all day, and would have loved to, to see it lit up at night, but alas, this was a mere stop-off on the way to the very opposite of an old postal town: my next stop, the bristling, neon-lit brilliance of Nagoya...

When the wheels come off

So, as you may have figured out, I'm an Assistant English Teacher in Japan (note the capitals; it's that important, I tell you).  The job has it's ups and downs, it's perks and drawbacks, but the one BIG highlight of the year is the summer holidays, which I get off (not all English teachers here get that luxury, but it's usually a trade-off between pay and free time, so it all evens out in the end).

I had planned to return to the UK for 3 weeks this summer, but after a furious reshuffling, I'm now staying here, with a trip to Korea as the big feature of this summer break.  But that's not all!  Ooh, no.  Tomorrow morning (and it's the nasty end of the morning - I'm up at 4am to catch trains, ugh), I'm off on a trip to Nagoya and Hiroshima, taking in other various places on the way, including one of Japan's most famous sights - so watch this space!

Mike the Bike really stood out in a crowd.

Even my days of rest between Karuizawa and this have been packed with stuff, planned or spontaneous.  Last weekend, not long after my last blog post, I was halfway to cycling to Cainz Home when my (t)rusty old bike gave up on me (Mike, I called him.  Mike the Bike.  Okay, stop the sniggering at the back): the back wheel buckled, well beyond repair.  I nursed the poor thing back to D2, where I bought him 16 months ago*, and I bought my nigh-identical replacement.  Spike, he's called.  Well, I couldn't think of any other names that rhymed with bike.

It's a good thing too: just that night I was halfway through cooking when I realised I was missing a vital ingredient.  You have never seen a guy hustle a bike through Japanese suburbia so fast.  To Yaoko and back in under 10 minutes.  Which was just as well: moments later the Mother Of All Storms rolled over, with lightning breaking more frequently than a card castle on a bouncy castle.  One lick of lightning struck either ridiculously close to my apartment or the building itself: no gap to speak of between the lightning, the thunder...and the power cutting off for a good half hour.

But the night wasn't finished yet.  Oh no.  Not to be outdone by the sky, the earth wanted to get in on the action too, and at 4am I awoke to my apartment shuddering at a 6.4 magnitude earthquake.  Phew.

A chance to really break Spike in came on Monday, when my friend Marcos and his visiting friend from Miami, Tanya, came to visit, specifically to take a bike-ride around the wonderful Shinrin Koen.  Shinrin Koen is huge national park near my house, and it's big selling point (for me, anyway) is the network of dedicated bicycle-roads throughout the park.  It was especially fun to be weaving through the rapidly darkening trees to reach the exit before closing time: we were sure we wouldn't be closed in, but it sure was a good motivator.  Trouble was, I'd bought my own bike, so even aftet we'd left the park I had to push-pedal my way another 4km home.  Needless to say, when I got back a shower was in order!  The izakaya food, drinking and karaoke were an excellent way to unwind afterwards too.

So, here I am.  Time to turn in and a few precious hours sleep.  Here's hoping nothing disturbs that...

See you in a few days!

*Yeah, 16 months isn't that long, I know, but I used my bike every single workday, for at least 8km.  I figured that I did around 1,900 miles on my old bike, roughly the same distance between Sierra Leone in Africa and the tip of Brazil.  A little a day sure adds up, doesn't it?  Not that 8km a day in the sweltering Japanese summer felt like small fry, ooh no.