Tag: reviews

Epilogue

*this is the most recent post that is actually on this blog. The conclusion to my summer travels, and a long-overdue one. Thank you for waiting, and I hope you have enjoyed reading this blog’s travels*

It’s taken a broken adaptor and couple of days for me to separate myself from my laptop screen, but said separation has allowed me to reflect on my time and enjoy the closing days to the maximum. As my grandmother rightly wrote to me, this trip deserves a conclusion and it would be insane to not give myself and whoever is actually reading this closure.

Claude Lévi-Strauss once wrote that “feasts are good for eating, drinking, and thinking“. It is on this thought that I have been dwelling in the last few days as I really felt myself and my ability to converse coming into their own. I’ve often interpreted Lévi-Strauss’ comment to take “thinking” as an overarching observation on the innate social effects that commensal eating and drinking have on human beings. Sharing is caring: whether it be sharing in an experience, or the last beer of an evening. Social bonds manifest themselves stronger when there is something to link the divide between two or more people. The divide in this case, can be a language barrier that frequently has had me at a loss in trying to communicate my desires, likes and plans through the often mysterious structure of Japanese.

My time living in a host family is exactly and more than what I expected, as I have mentioned briefly in previous updates. Japanese hospitality and kindness is unparalleled. My road trip to Shimane Prefecture last week with my host mother, her son and gramps allowed me to fully appreciate this for the first time. The seemingly mundane experiences of visiting a museum together, laughing over a meal that was too hot or reading a (ominous) fortune at the Izumo Taisha Grand Shrine might not be innately exciting, but these small things are what allow for a common ground to be forged between people that can make human interactions so valuable. Naturally, the beauty of what was visited must not be forgotten or underestimated, as all my experiences in Japan have been.

It also happened to finally coincide with the official end of the rainy season, as announced to me triumphantly by heralding in a scorching heat that persisted for the remainder of my time, embellishing the Adachi Museum of Art and the Grand Shrine much to their advantage.

The heat and a sky of perfect blue led me by the hand on Friday morning to the famous island of Miyajima. I was admittedly nervous as I was on my way to spend the weekend with Prof. Kitano and his class from the Hiroshima University of Economics; unsure if I would be an unwelcome presence or stick out like a sore European thumb. I was relieved to leave on Sunday after what could possibly have been one of the most happy and unique memories that I might have in my life so far.

(Kitano is the charmingly witty and ridiculously intelligent man who put me in contact with my host family). I received a VIP tour of the Itsukushima Shrine and the Daishō-in Temple by the vice-chief monk, and wrapped it up with an Okonomiyaki and grilled oyster lunch with Kitano. It was at this point that I met the class – third year media and business students, and for 2 days I felt as though I was one of them. We ate dinner together, drank (lots) together and talked until early. It felt as though Lévi-Strauss himself were perched on my shoulder, contently watching as we shared a communal Sukiyaki and as we slowly became better and better friends. I struggle to remember a different time where I have been more warmly welcomed immediately into a group without question.

To take things to a more poetic standpoint the climb up the albeit small Mt. Misen the next morning was an experience that slowly carved a bond out with every mossy, damp step that brought us closer to our goal. The reward of a view of the Seto inland sea, dotted with islands in the distance looked like a scene that could have been painted by Yokoyama Taikan in the halls of the Adachi Musuem. Islands shrouded by undulating mirages, with white beaches and tree-covered hills in a sea of deep deep blue. It is a view that for me might sum up my entire trip, tangible yet slightly surreal when I look back. An experience that stands as alone as some of the distant islands that I could see shrouded in excitement and mystery.

I’m glad and honoured that I made friends in that short period of time. After sitting in Japanese classes learning the formalities and grammar for 8 years, being able to kick back with a beer and casually joke about them with young people in casual Japanese is a reward unlike no other after so many years of studying and learning.

Hitching a ride back to Hiroshima on Sunday evening as passenger on Reishi’s motorbike was unbearably cool. I now understand why people ride motorbikes. He even invited me to the onsen and a dinner at his dad’s ramen restaurant. Pretty awesome guy.

I was sad to leave my host family and my new friends yesterday morning. However, all good things must come to an end. I wrote this whilst in transit in Hanoi, and the feeling of retracing my steps is nostalgic and is helping me to come to terms with the month that has just elapsed, and the things that I’ve done, seen, eaten, drank, the people I’ve met, the conversations I’ve had. It gives me a taste for more. More things that I can experience, more things that I can crystallise in my mind as invaluable memories. Travelling alone has provided the freedom that I crave to immerse myself into myself and the things that are happening directly around me at every second. I can think of no other time when I have not relished every single second of a day. The blog has more or less kept me in touch with the world, and you will be relieved to know that this is the end of travel blogging. Thank you for reading. Expect more and more varied blogs from here on out.

広島: Bending Adversity (2)

city of 300,000

can we forget that silence?

in that stillness

the powerful appeal

of the white eye sockets of the wives and children who did not return home

that tore apart our hearts

can it be forgotten?!

Tōge Sankichi, 1951

It seems only logical to me that places such as Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, are designed to crush your soul in the face of indescribable cruelty and horror with the intention of getting their message across. I thought I knew this by now, and would be able to handle the Atom Bomb museum in Hiroshima, and yet again I found myself weeping before what I saw and learnt.

Hiroshima carries a far greater symbolic meaning in the Japanese psyche. Being the first location of an atom bomb being dropped on people, and with a far larger death toll (140,000 are thought to have died by the end of 1945), Hiroshima stands proudly today as a symbol of exactly what the Japanese way of life is about. Getting back on ones feet. Forgiving, but never forgetting. Rebuilding and reforming, with a mission and a purpose. The peace memorial with its simple grace represents not only the horrors of war and the sacrifice of thousands, but also as a worldwide flagship for peace and a gathering place for movements for the abolishing of nuclear weaponry. The museum is sobering, naturally, it does not hide the truth and is to the point. There are no frills here. Such a message has no time for frills.

It is also here that I learnt that the dropping of the bomb on the 6th of August 1945 also killed hundreds of non-Japanese; among the dead were also southeast asian exchange students, Korean and Chinese immigrants, and even American prisoners of war. The loss of the innocent in times is a result of the hideous nature of such indiscriminate mass murder. And while every day, innocent children, women and men still die every day in less fortunate places, the lessons still don’t seem to have sunk in. War seemed to be an adequate excuse for accidentally vaporising people who bravely bade their time in prisoner camps, only to die at the hands of the ones they serve alongside their enemies, and it still seems to be adequate today. It was all well and good to sentence Nazis to death in Nuremberg in the 50’s, but what is happily brushed under the carpet and excused by wartime circumstances is the unquestionable crime against humanity that is the birth of nuclear weapons.

The famous atom bomb dome on the banks of the Motoyasu river in Hiroshima should stand forever as a painful reminder of what these weapons of mass destruction do to families, cities and nations until nuclear warfare is outlawed and removed from the surface of this planet. If Prometheus was banished to infinite suffering for stealing the secrets of fire, then perhaps a nuclear holocaust is what humanity deserves for trying to meddle with things that they shouldn’t. 

A frail olive tree stands in the courtyard of the victim’s memorial, breaking its way through concrete towards the clouds with biblical determination.

The city of Hiroshima lives, just like Nagasaki, reborn and proud. Like every other Japanese city, the people of Hiroshima swamp the shopping streets, pile into pachinko parlours and crowd their local Okonomiyaki shops. This city lives for the future. I cheered myself up with a sushi lunch and followed it up by a trip to the Hiroshima Museum of Contemporary Art – hidden on a forestry hill in the east of the city, where signs literally banned some entrances due to very real danger of the local hornet population.

And on the topic of Okonomiyaki, dinner that night at home greeted me with a portable flat iron sitting on the dinner table – Okonomiyaki, homestyle. I’d eaten enough Okomiyaki in my life and watched enough youtube videos to really impress my host family with my pancake flipping skills, but of course i didn’t admit that.

This is a long post. But it’s an important one. It’s also important to never forget who the real war criminals are, and important to remember that those people will never face trial for their crimes against humanity, and the thousands of innocents who have died in Japan at the hands of these monstrosities will never know justice, only pain and sombre remembrance.

Huis Ten Bosch and Ōmura Bay: The weird and the wonderful

It goes without saying that a name like Huis Ten Bosch doesn’t exactly scream Japanese. Although, given the Dutch’s historic presence in Nagasaki Prefecture, especially on their trading post of Dejima in Nagasaki, it seems to fit in bizarrely well on the shores of Ōmura Bay. A life-scale recreation of the Netherlands, the streets are lined with Amsterdam-esque buildings and churches and canals. It’s an oddity in any case.

This wasn’t really why I came here though, it’s easy enough for to see the real thing for itself, and a £50 entry ticket to a mock Dutch city theme park didn’t sound too appealing. My real quest was to go to the beach, to quote Mr Bean. And what better place to do it than here, in Ōmura Bay where the inland sea dotted with islands would give Thai resorts a run for their scenic money.

In Beppu, and in Nagasaki, and even in Fukuoka, I was disappointed to find that going to the beach doesn’t really seem like much of a thing here. All these locations are seaside, yet as I mentioned yesterday, the sea fronts are laden with concrete walls and car parks. I was greeted at Huis Ten Bosch station by the charming Michi, whose house I am staying in tonight. I have an adorable little Japanese-style room to myself. His house is a little outside of HTB, but he drove me and my rucksack to a small peninsula in the bay where there was a bathhouse, and lo and behold, a beach. An actual sand beach. Sure, it was enclosed, with safety buoys and an ugly sea wall, but there was sand and there was seawater. Don’t get me wrong, I like pools and hot springs, but at heart I’m an ocean kind of guy.

After a brief conversation with the workers, they let me come down onto the beach which they were “preparing” (???) in order so that I could have a swim. I was then left by Michi to my own devices. To clarify, to me beaches in Japan seem to be public but also not public ? They open only after the rainy season (which happens to end next week) only for summer. It’s a bit bizarre, and kind of defeats the purpose for me but it didn’t matter because the smell of salt water on my skin and in my hair was so refreshing and rewarding that all these questions floated away on the gentle swell. It’s not every day you get a beach to yourself.

The beach being officially “closed”, there was no shower. So, I trekked up the hill to the bathhouse to basically spend the rest of the evening soaking and eating and admiring the view of the bay from the outside bath. I had a pretty good late lunch too. With vending machines and even gambling machines, you could literally spend your entire day in the bathhouse and never have to leave.

I was relaxed, drowsy, sated and clean, and I walked back towards the local station that was between the bathhouse/beach and HTB. A walk along the sea where the sun set behind soft clouds and a misty horizon as the day’s heat started to dissipate. The evenings in this kind of weather are surreal and slightly magical with their hazy light.

I met up with Michi again after having grabbed a snack at the HTB Family Mart, in a weird spot outside the theme park where music was blaring for apparently only me, under the massive hotel that looked like it had been ripped straight out of Copenhagen. Weird, to say the least. I am going to relish this night’s sleep in my own room before I head out to Kumamoto tomorrow morning.

Goodnight.

長崎: Bending Adversity

“If the radiance of a thousand suns

Were to burst at once into the sky

That would be like the splendour of the Mighty One…

I am become Death,

The destroyer of worlds.”

As Robert Oppenheimer quoted the Bhagavad Gita upon witnessing the first successful test of the world’s first atomic bomb on July 15th 1945, little did he know how true those ancient and earth-shattering words would ring come August of the same year. And it is these words, and Oppenheimer’s sad realisation at his monstrous creation, that have been with me today as I walked the streets of Nagasaki. A sobering and humbling afternoon to put it simply.

 The train ride from Hakata did not prepare me for what I was about to experience. The atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are casually swept over in history class at school, always presented as the final victory and grand finale of the theatre of the Second World War. The reality is much different. The Nagasaki Atomic Bomb museum (原爆資料館) is only a couple of charming streetcar stops away from the station where my hostel is located, and the elegant and to-the-point museum is poignant and brutally blunt. It would have been impossible for me to have been in Kyūshu without coming face to face with the suffering and loss that was experienced here in Nagasaki. I wept for the 75,000 that were vaporised instantly in front of the testimonies of the survivors.

Testimonies of children who buried their mothers, husbands who buried their wives, and sisters who buried their brothers. The inhumanity of such an attack is unspeakable. I can only give credit to the museum for rightfully bringing me (and others) to tears over this act, not to mention over the thousands more who died in the years afterwards.

But it is the resilience of Nagasaki, and of the Japanese people in general, that struck me the most. The will to carry on, to never give up, something that I picked up on vaguely many years ago in David Pilling’s Bending Adversity (read it, it’s incredible). The beautiful peace park that follows the museum, and the sombre memorial to the dead along with the preserved hypocenter (ground zero) along a beautiful little canal, is testament to how much this city is committed to preventing conflict and to moving on upwards from disaster. It’s heartwarming to walk these lively and upbeat streets today knowing that underneath them lay a nuclear wasteland of suffering only 73 years ago. I anticipate to find very much the same thing when I get to Hiroshima in a week.

The will to carry on. That is what I have managed to summarise Nagasaki, Japan’s historical cultural front to the world and a beacon of hope and strength in the south of a once war-ridden country, in one short day. An impression that genuinely made me appreciate sitting in front of my kaisendon on the quayside tonight. 

I pray (using the term loosely) that my generation, my brothers’ generations and those to come never have to experience the horrors of war that I have seen today. I will leave this city tomorrow more grateful for my life and grateful to be living in security than I was before I stepped off the train this morning.

I implore you all – those who are reading this – to go tonight to the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb museum’s English site and read for yourselves what you weren’t taught in GCSE history.

“What passing bells for these who die as cattle?

Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

Only the stuttering rifle’s rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers, nor bells,

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,

The shrill demented choirs of wailing shells,

And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes,

Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.

The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall,

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each, slow dusk a drawing down of blinds.” 

Wilfred Owen, The War Poems (1917)