Hiroshima in the rain

My first visit to the infamous city of Hiroshima occurred on 8 April 1998. It was a day trip from Osaka on the second day of my first trip to Japan. I’d originally scheduled a day trip to Hakone to see Mount Fiji. However, the weather forecast wasn't ideal for viewing the mountain. 

As a result, I made a last-minute decision to shuffle my plans and head south instead. In some small way, it seemed more appropriate to experience a poignant location like Hiroshima in the wet. I also knew I’d spend time indoors at the Peace Museum, plus another 1.5 hours each way on the Shinkansen.

I arrived in Hiroshima mid-morning and caught a local tram towards the Peace Memorial Park. I followed a recommendation in my Lonely Planet guide and disembarked at Kamiyacho-nishi. From here I walked a block down a narrow, quiet side lane to view the Hiroshima Atomic Bomb Hypocenter Monument. This modest pink marble plinth marks the exact spot where, approximately 600 metres above, the world’s first atomic weapon exploded in anger.

I’ve visited this monument three times. On each occasion I’ve been awe-struck by the simple thought that had I stood here in this modest laneway, on the morning of 6 August 1945, it would have resulted in instant annihilation. It’s an unfathomable thought and brings into stark focus the inane brutality of war.

My next stop was the iconic Atomic Bomb Dome. These are the carefully preserved remains of the Industrial Promotion Hall which stood 100 metres west of the bomb’s epicenter. It was a moving moment viewing this skeletal complex as misting rain squalls passed through. All around me, colourful bunches of origami cranes lay on marble platforms. They were placed there as part of a nearby memorial tower erected in memory of children who perished in support of the nation's war efforts.

In August 1944, the government enacted the Student Labor Service Act to fill a growing labour shortage. This act required students in middle school and higher grades to perform labour service in munitions factories and the like. Then, in November, mobilised students were roped into demolishing homes and other buildings to create fire breaks to stop the spread of fire in the event of air attacks. In Hiroshima, of the roughly 8,400 students in upper-level schools, about 6,300 died on the day of the bombing.

Sadly, after the war, the government only permitted mobilised students killed in the atomic bombing or in air strikes whose names and dates of death were known to be enshrined in the national Yasukuni Shrine. In response to this, bereaved families began a movement to create a list of the dead who'd been ignored and donated funds to build the memorial tower that stands today.  The photo of the tower above was taken on my last visit to Hiroshima in 2013, while the paper cranes are from my visit in 1998.

The paper crane symbolises hope and peace in Japan thanks to the heartbreaking story of a little Japanese girl called Sadako Sasaki. She was exposed to radiation as an infant when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. Although she survived the bomb, she was diagnosed with leukaemia at the age of 12. Sadako believed that if she folded 1,000 cranes, she’d be cured. Sadly, she never reached her goal and passed away later that year.

A second peace memorial, capped by a girl with a symbolic crane crown, can be found in the nearby Peace Park.  This soaring monument commemorates all children, of all ages, killed in the atomic blast, and reflects a call for world peace by children everywhere. It's always surrounded by heaving displays of colourful paper cranes. 

Every year school children come from around the country to present these paper creations crafted carefully during history lessons. These colourful bundles were piled high on the ground during my first visit. However, in the years since glass cabinets have been installed to protect them from the weather. I've read that the memorial received up to 10 million paper cranes annually from children in Japan and overseas.

I crossed the Aioi Bridge, once used as an alignment target by American atomic bombers, and spent several hours exploring the Peace Memorial Park. This included several hours taking stock of exhibits and artefacts at the Peace Museum. The museum, located on the park’s southern boundary, tells the story of the atomic bombing and its aftermath. It’s a truly sobering experience. You can learn more about the park and its museum in posts I've previously published here and here.

From Hiroshima, I caught the local tram south towards Miyajima. There are few sights more iconic in Japan than the vermillion Tori gate that stands offshore of the Itsukushima Shinto shrine. Miyajima is one of Japan’s most sacred places. Its name literally translates as "shrine island". Its history is intimately tied to the nation’s two dominant religions; Shintoism and Buddhism.

The island is considered so sacred that for much of its history commoners weren’t allowed to set foot on it to maintain its purity. As a result, the Itsukushima shrine is built over the water and connected to the island by three single-arch vermillion bridges. Its dramatic entrance gate was also installed offshore to ensure visitors could only come by boat and thus never touch the island. Retaining the purity of the shrine is so important that since 1878, no deaths or births have been permitted near it.

Unfortunately, my visit coincided with low tide. As a result, I never saw the Tori Gate “floating” in the sea. However, this did allow me to walk out across the mud flaps and view the gate up close, something you’re unable to do when the tide is in. I have been fortunate to see the gate immersed on subsequent visits.

I finished my southern day trip with a bus ride to Iwakuni to see the Kintai Bridge. Catching the bus was an experience in itself.  I amused the driver with my clumsy efforts to pay the correct fare, communicate in pidgin Japanese and disembark at the correct stop. I then repeated a similar pantomime for the toll booth attendant staffing the entrance to the bridge.

This iconic five-arch wooden bridge spans the Nishiki River. Historically it acted as a gateway to a feudal palace and Samurai castle on the hill overlooking the river. Unfortunately, during my visit low clouds shrouded the surrounding hills and thus I never saw the castle. However, I finally saw it up close during a visit with Mum more than 15 years later - and the weather was decidedly better!