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!

Akashi-Kaikyo Bridge

My third day in Japan was devoted to iconic structures old and new.  My first stop for the day was Maiko, south of Kobe. This is the nearest train station to the Akashi-Kaikyo Bridge. Until recently, this was the world’s longest single-span suspension bridge. Its main span stretches a mind-boggling 1,991 metres. As a dedicated infrastructure geek, I was keen to see the bridge. It had been opened just five days earlier to great fanfare by the Crown Prince and Princess of Japan.

The bridge’s southern anchor block houses an informative visitor’s centre. Here you can take an elevator up to an impressive indoor observation deck built underneath the road deck. This includes an enclosed walkway that extends over the water for more than 150 metres giving visitors a close-up view of the bridge’s superstructure. 

A cross-section of its main cable in the park below was equally impressive. 290 parallel wire strands make up each of the final 1.12-meter-diameter cables swooping in the distance. It's hard to believe they're continually transferring 181,400 metric tons of vertical force onto the tower-pier foundations and down into bedrock, approximately 60 meters below the water surface.

To complete my bridge visit I took an elevator to the road deck to view the traffic and witness the bridge from above. I discovered a small bus stop nearby where you can catch a bus across the 4km wide Akashi Strait. I was tempted to give it a try. However, with limited time on the ground, I decided there were better ways to fill my time.  Instead, I caught the train an hour south to visit Himeji, home to one of Japan's most iconic Samauri castles.

I ended my day with an evening meal at my hotel’s Okonomiyaki restaurant. Madonna Okonomiyaki was a tiny hole-in-the-wall affair tucked in a corner of the hotel’s basement. I’d never heard of this popular local dish before arriving in Japan. However, after an evening sampling the menu I was hooked and have been ever since.

In essence, Okonomiyaki is best described as a cross between a savoury crepe and a pizza pancake. The name literally translates to “as you like it on the grill”. You first mix a yam-infused batter, then add all manner of stir-fry style vegetables, shrimp, pork, bacon (basically whatever you like), cook it on a large flat grill plate and top the finished dish with diced spring onions, bonito flakes, mayonnaise and Otofuku sauce, a Japanese-style BBQ sauce. Delicious!

Himeji hanami

Japan is a land filled with traditions. Some of its rituals have been practiced for centuries while others have more recent origins. None more so than Hanami picnics held during Sakura season.

Hanami is the practice of eating and drinking to welcome the arrival of spring. People gather to celebrate the warmer weather anywhere gently falling cherry blossoms can be found, such as parks or by the riverside. Many companies host annual picnics for staff to enjoy lunch and a few beers under the blooming trees.

This tradition was in full swing the day I visited Himeji’s famous White Heron Samurai castle. This iconic castle sits on a low hill overlooking an expansive park in the centre of town. The park was filled with happy revealers on picnic rugs shaded by blossom-laden trees. The park was originally defensive land laid out in front of the castle. Today it’s still partially enclosed by the castle’s original moat.

Most visitors to the park, and castle, enter via the Sakuramon-bashi Bridge. The bridge leads onto Sannomaru Square, an open field ringed by Sakura trees. In Spring the square and surrounding parklands are transformed into a sea of blossoms. After visiting the castle, I decided to stop for lunch under a tree and enjoy homemade sandwiches secreted from my hotel breakfast room that morning.

As I sat, I was approached by a Japanese man. He asked in perfect English if I was alone. I said I was. He invited me to join his colleagues who were picnicking nearby. He was keen to practice his English and thought I’d enjoy participating in his company's annual picnic.

I accepted his invitation. I then spent several hours drinking beers and enjoying the sunshine with my newfound friends. I discovered that my drinking companions were from the local police station. Even funnier, thanks to an unusual Japanese tradition, the local police force got me rather plastered.

I’d forgotten that it’s considered rude to fill your own glass. Instead, you’re supposed to fill each other’s glass as you drink. Your drinking companions then signal that they're ready for a refill by diligently filling your glass. As a result, my English-speaking friend kept patiently filling my glass which I duly consumed again and again. One of his mates eventually cottoned on to what was happening and began filling his glass on my behalf.

I can therefore claim to have been entertained by the Japanese police force. I can also claim the dubious distinction of being publicly intoxicated in the middle of the day and bear witness that the local police were responsible for my intoxication.

The White Heron castle was truly magnificent. I cannot describe how visually stunning it is. The day I visited, cherry blossoms were in full bloom everywhere I looked, creating the perfect backdrop for the castle’s striking white walls and black-trimmed eaves. I spent a couple of hours exploring this remarkable building and its grounds. This included progressively making my way up to its uppermost floor where the view was simply spectacular.

This multi-storey castle is unique. It’s one of a handful of Samurai castles still standing in their original timber form. Instead, most castles you see, including nearby Osaka and Hikone castles, are ferro-concrete reproductions. However, Himeji is the real deal.  

You can read more about the castle in a blog post I published when Garry and I visited in 2006.

Classic Kyoto

During my first trip to Japan, I spent one and a half days exploring Kyoto's most famous temples and shrines, walking and riding trains from one end to the other. I’d set myself a mission to see as many of its historic sights as possible in the time available. In the end, a day and a half was barely enough time to do the city justice.

My first day's itinerary covered the city's eastern flank. This included Ryozen Kannon (the city’s War Memorial temple), Sanjusangendo Temple (home to 1000 Kanon idols), and the iconic Kiyomizudera Temple. Kiyomizudera was particularly memorable. I loved its hillside views of the surrounding Sakura in full bloom.

I started the day with a morning visit to Ninomaru Palace filled with an array of imperial artefacts, before crossing the neighbouring moat into Nijo Castle. The image above shows Karamono, the main gateway into Ninomaru Palace. From here it was on to Heian Jingu shrine and then to Nanzen-ji Temple, before heading south to Kiyomizudera.

In between I also found time to visit Ryōzen Kannon. This is a war memorial commemorating the dead from World War II. Its most notable feature is a giant white Kannon or seated Buddha statue, rising 24 metres from an elevated platform. The temple was conceived as a Buddhist alternative to the controversial Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo, which has been a source of tension due to its enshrinement of convicted war criminals alongside other war dead.

Kiyomizudera (literally "Pure Water Temple") is one of Japan's most celebrated temples. It was founded in 780 on the site of the Otowa Waterfall in the wooded hills east of Kyoto. Its name speaks of the waters from the fall.  Kiyomizudera is best known for a wooden stage extending from the temple's main hall, 13 meters above the hillside. Balconies along its flank offer stunning views across the area's tree-clad hills and the city of Kyoto beyond.  The blossoms were in full force during my visit.

Behind Kiyomizudera's main hall stands Jishu Shrine, a shrine dedicated to the deity of love and matchmaking. In front of the shrine are two stones, placed 18 meters apart. Successfully making your way from one to the other with your eyes closed is said to bring luck in finding love. You can have someone guide you from one stone to the other. However, this is interpreted to mean that an intermediary is also required in your actual love life.

As the sun began sinking, I made a last-minute decision to backtrack and visit the less impressive Ginkakji Silver Pavilion. I then finished with a memorable sunset walk to the train station via the picture-perfect Philosopher’s Path.

This 1.5km paved walkway follows a tree-lined canal winding through the city’s eastern suburbs. This walk proved a spectacular finish to the day. As I walked, I was continually showered by gently falling petals. I honestly can’t think of a better way to experience the magic of Sakura season.

My second day in Kyoto was spent exploring Kyoto's western foothills. This included the iconic Kinkakuji Golden Pavilion on the opposite side of Kyoto, followed by a lengthy walk to the simple Zen garden at Ryoanji Temple. 

The Golden Pavilion is the city's postcard idol. It's a three-tiered structure set on the shore of an exquisitely manicured lake. The pavilion's top two storeys are clad in gold leaf that glistens spectacularly whenever the sun shines. Throw in a few cherry blossoms and you've guaranteed an absolutely breath-taking experience.

I simply loved the moss garden set into the hillside behind Ryoanji Temple, with the Kogetsudai mound coming a close second. This mound is a seamless conical mound constructed entirely of loose pebbles. I have no idea how the local monks kept in such flawless condition. Its perfection captures the essence of Japanese society - a combination of simplicity, elegance, and highly disciplined organisation.

However, having said this, Japan also has plenty of quirks. None more so than the ubiquitous presence of vending machines offering all manner of snacks, drinks and other daily necessities. You can even buy a cold Asahi beer (no ID required), or soft porno if you know where to go - I kid you not! 

You'll often find machines installed on random corners of suburban streets and along nondescript laneways. Need help finding my house?  Just look for the Coke machine outside.  Although I find it ironic that the Japanese considered it poor form to walk and eat or drink in public. To this day I still don't know where the locals go to consume their vended treats?

Finally, a little cultural highlight. The uniquely Japanese performance art of Bunraku originated in Osaka. It dates back to the 17th Century and blends complex puppetry with musical accompaniment and a chanted narrative. The lifelike puppets are beautifully handcrafted with elaborately decorated costumes and many individualized moving parts, giving them a full range of expression. These articulated puppets are so large that they require three puppeteers to operate them.

However, unlike most puppet shows, in Bunraku the puppeteers are visible throughout the performance, often dressed in black. The narrator or Tayu who chants and sings the story also voices the puppet characters, changing his speech and intonation to express different genders, ages, and social ranking.

Osaka is home to the National Bunraku Theatre. It puts on shows several times a year. My visit coincided with one such performance so I decided to treat myself to a unique cultural experience. Bunraku productions are either historical plays, such as the heroic revenge drama Chushingura, or romantic tales which dramatize the conflict between personal emotion and social obligations. Each performance can last up to three hours.

Sadly, I must confess that I lasted about an hour before declaring myself a Bunraku philistine. While the puppets were impressive, I was surprised to discover that the scenery and props were less elaborate and changed rarely during the show.  After an hour or so of chanting in a language I didn't understand, coupled with the knowledge I had at least another 90 minutes to go, I decided I'd experienced enough culture.  I quietly made my exit during one of the show's darkened scenes.

Chion-in Temple Gate

Heian Shrine

Hakone Free Pass Circuit

The Hakone Circuit is a classic day trip. It’s normally taken from Tokyo and gives you a taste of Mount Fuji, Japan’s geothermal landscape and the scenic Japanese Alps. However, with a little planning, I realised it was also possible to complete the circuit from Osaka in a single day. It was ultimately the longest journey I took from Osaka, right at the extreme of what was realistically possible to explore in a day.

Visitors to the region buy what is called a Hakone Free Pass. This ticket gives you access to five different means of transport (train, cable car, ropeway, boat and bus). Collectively these form a scenic circuit that starts and ends at Odawara, a station on the high-speed Shinkansen line between Osaka and Tokyo.

Much of the circuit involves open-air activities. As a result, I monitored the daily forecast to ensure my excursion coincided with the best possible weather. I ultimately date-shifted my scheduled visit to make the most of the sunny weather later in the week. This proved a sage move as the day dawned bright and sunny.

The first transport mode is the Hakone Tozan Railway. This short-length train winds through a narrow, densely wooded valley, gaining more than 300 meters in altitude. Along the way, I stopped to visit the Hakone Open Air Museum for a couple of hours. I was keen to see its famous Picasso artworks and explore its sculpture garden filled with iconic Henry Moore sculptures.

Currently, eleven Henry Moore sculptures are displayed on the grounds of the Hakone Open-Air Museum. Their evocative curving forms are scattered across a sloping lawn and shaded glade, framed by distant tree-clad hills. Above is an example of one work self-evidently titled "Two Piece Reclining Figure: Cut".  

It's a little more soothing than the severed heads I also encountered. However, I must admit that La Pleureuse (“The Mourner”) by Claude and François-Xavier Lalanne with its vine-clad hair is rather intriguing. It's this post's opening image.

Visitors then transfer to a funicular cable car, before taking an ariel ropeway down to the eastern shore of Lake Ashinoko. At one point the ropeway passes over a steaming geothermal field while providing distant views of Mount Fuji rising over the lake’s northern end. However, much to my disappointment, the mountain was hidden in a cloudy haze during my visit.

The ropeway includes a transfer station where you can disembark to explore the thermal activity. I duly got off and spent half an hour wandering through the steaming hillside. As a Kiwi, I’d have to say I’ve seen better geothermal sights in Rotorua.

In hindsight, this diversion through the Owakudani steam fields highlights how much my travel habits have changed. Decades ago I'd map out an itinerary that took in the maximum number of tourist sights available in any location. It was often a list-ticking exercise that meant I'd carve out time to see things that weren't world-class or even all that captivating.

 

Upon reaching the shores of Lake Ashinoko, intrepid tourists then transfer onto a replica wooden sailing ship decked out in traditional pirate garb. It was a classic Japanese kitsch. As we sailed down the lake, the weather finally played its part. Much to my delight, the clouds and poor visibility briefly lifted, giving me my first-ever hazy glimpse of Mount Fuji.

In the years since I’ve been fortunate to see Mount Fuji from observation decks in Tokyo, from the air, and up close during my last visit to Japan in 2013. On this occasion, in addition to the late afternoon lake reveal, I also enjoyed iconic views of its perfect cone at dusk from a window seat on the Shinkansen while returning to Osaka.

I completed the Hakone Circuit by disembarking from the faux Spanish Galleon in Moto-Hakone and catching a bus back to the railway station. The entire circuit took almost seven hours to complete. The Shinkansen took about 3.5 hours each way. Hence, with an early morning start, my day trip became a 15-hour excursion once I was done.