Hachiko, the Loyal Dog

Japan Day 20 - Himeji to Tokyo

I would have happily traded the time we spent in Kyoto for an equal amount of time in Himeji, but alas, after a mere night it was already the beginning of the end, and time to make our way back to Tokyo for our final days in Japan.

The trip from Himeji to Shinagawa took three and a half hours, after which we boarded the Yamamote line for Shibuya. That probably sounded like Greek, but after so many weeks riding trains across the country, we were well versed in matching up the correct lines.

Shibuya is the second busiest train station in the world, a place where life never slows down and the thought of how many people exist on this planet becomes suffocating. Approximately 1,090,000,000 people pass through each year. You better either know where you’re going when you debark, or be prepared to feel like Moses parting the Red Sea, as hundreds of thousands of people continue to flow around you. After settling into progressively slower and more relaxed towns the past few days, it took my brain a moment to jump back into high gear. I stared around at the sea of people and colorful signs covered in symbols I could somewhat pick up now, and saw a familiar name:

Hachiko.

We joined the swarm of people flowing in that direction.

Perhaps you already know the story of Hachiko; it is quite well known, and even inspired an American movie. If you don’t, you may want to have a tissue handy, and prepare to read about the most loyal boy ever to roam this undeserving planet. Hachiko was a Japanese Akita dog born on a farm in Japan in 1923. A professor named Hidesaburō Ueno, who taught at the Tokyo Imperial University, adopted him and brought him to live in Shibuya the next year. Hachiko loved his master, as dogs do, and would accompany him as far as the train station on his commute to work each day. He would have gone further, but his master always insisted he go home at that point. Each evening, Hachiko would return to the train station, where his master would get off the train, and accompany him home. Every single day Ueno would get off the train, to find Hachiko there waiting for him. Now this is where the story becomes a real tear jerker. In May of 1925, Ueno died of a cerebral hemorrhage while he was at work and never got off the train again. Hachiko of course didn’t understand this. He went back to the train station to wait for his master. When his master didn’t return, he went back the next day to try again. And the day after that. And the day after that. Surely today would be the day his master would come home. That loyal pooch went back to Shibuya Station and waited every single day for ten years until his own death.

Sorry for ruining your day.

Hachiko in his later years. (Image source: Wikipedia)


The locals noticed the dog waiting at the station every day, year after year of course, and a year before Hachiko died, a bronze statue of the doggo was erected at Shibuya Station. Hachiko himself was even there for the unveiling. Then World War II started and the statue was recycled for the war effort, but after the war, the son of the original artist was commissioned to make another one just like it. That statue is still standing by one of Shibuya Station’s exits, and is a popular meeting spot to this day.

A crowd was gathered around the bronze Hachiko, queues of happy tourists lined up to take photos, benches of locals sitting and waiting for friends, commuters hurrying to and from their trains. And there sat Hachiko's likeness, staring at the train station, forever awaiting his master's return.

Bronze statue of Hachiko at Shibuya Station. 


Our hotel was only a ten minute walk away, but we walked shoulder to shoulder with the crowds the entire way. Thanks to Japan’s declining population, Shibuya is far from being one of the most densely populated areas in the word, but it still boasts a population density of over 14 thousand people per square kilometer. Being around so many people reminded me of the scenes in doomsday movies showing the earth being overpopulated.

We finally found the big, wooden, double doors that marked Shibuya Hotel En, one of two hotels left in the entire Shibuya/Shinjuku area that fit our brackets after Airbnb was shut down. For all of you Airbnb enthusiasts out there, take note of what the Japanese government did to crack down on Airbnb, because I wouldn’t be surprised if other places started to follow suite.

Airbnb started out as a humble way to rent out something you already had: spare space to spend a night, whether that be an extra bedroom or a couch in the living room, maybe your entire place while you were away on vacation. But humans, being a greedy bunch, and always excelling in ruining perfectly good things, found an opportunity to skirt business taxes, and started buying out entire blocks of apartments, furnishing them as minimally as possible, and renting them out on the app like they had just started their own hotel. I recently read an article that this practice is driving apartment costs way up, but I’m getting off topic now. Japan saw this happening, and decided to impose a mandatory license number that each Airbnb listing had to apply for. We were traveling through Japan when that fun went into effect, and caused 80% of Japan’s Airbnb listings to disappear overnight. It didn’t effect us much until Tokyo. We received the message that the apartment we had booked for that last week was canceled, a week before we were scheduled to show up. One week to search for a hotel room, along with all the other travelers who no longer had Airbnbs. There had been two hotel rooms available that met our parameters. There was no knowing what we were about to walk into.

We walked through two massive wooden doors facing a side street and entered a small, dimly lit reception area with wispy curtains made out of some sheer fabric, hanging sporadically from the high ceilings, all the way down to the floor. I wondered for a moment if I had accidentally booked a love hotel. My suspicions arose after we were handed the key and entered the elevator, which was a bright pink box with sultry mood music playing. The elevator doors opened and we were standing in a short hallway with half a dozen doors, the entirety of which was plastered with one giant mural of Mt. Fuji. You never know what weird experiences are in store for you in Japan.

The room was better than I had dared hope for. It was more spacious than the previous rooms we had stayed at in Tokyo, meaning all of one square meter difference from the last shoebox. Always read the square meters when booking a room in Tokyo. You’d be amazed how tiny some of those rooms get. You’ve seen the memes to always read the dimensions on Amazon, right? Yeah, imagine the hotel room version of that.

(Image source: Google)


The room had one wall made up entirely of straw, so that it looked like a giant bale of hay was keeping us from our neighbors. It’s too bad we didn’t have our emotional support pony with us. And then the bathroom was a giant glass box. Not a giant opaque glass box, but glass as clear as crystal. I’m having trouble imagining a scenario where I would ever want a glass box bathroom. Maybe if I were a rich hermit with claustrophobia. No, even then I’d feel like I was awkwardly sitting in a fish bowl. Luckily there were blinds.

We went for a walk around the busy streets, amongst the bright colors and window displays full of fake foods. Shibuya is a lot to take in for any person, even more so for two people who have spent the past five years on a series of isolated rocks in the middle of the ocean. I was drawn like a moth to a flame to two large aquariums that one department store had in lieu of display windows. Finally, a piece of home in this overcrowded, concrete jungle. I suddenly felt very homesick for the abundance of nature in the world I had called home most recently. We stood there identifying all the critters for a longer amount of time than the average train commute. We saw two blackspotted moray eels, one giant moray, and another moray who was just hanging out of his hole, head dangling like a limp noodle, like he’d given up on life. Eels don’t behave like that in the wild.

There was a blue tang, otherwise known as Dory, who looked like she’d been beat up by an electric eel and then run over by the shinkansen. A bignose unicornfish kept chasing her away from the small space she had tried to claim. Some yellow tangs had their fins all chewed up. One was missing its tail fin entirely. The bunch of them seemed so fragile and out of place. They didn’t belong here, in this little tank surrounded by busy city streets. A plaque below the tank said that the fish had come from Palau. Along with it was a photo of some of our old dive buddies from Sam's. What a strange, small world.

Poor little yellow tang in the back has his fins all beat up. 


We wandered the streets some more, Fletch always keeping track of where we were. He has an uncanny sense of direction, which is a huge relief for me. I don’t know where I would be without him and Google Maps. Probably wandering circles in the desert by now. We decided to eat at a soba shop where we ordered out of a vending machine for dinner. That was the second time during our trip that we both ate for less than $10. If you are traveling Japan on a budget, then noodle shops and conbinis are really the way to go.

Weary from the day's journey, we called it an early evening and headed back to our straw room. The city was just beginning to come to life, as the day's commuters and businessmen were replaced with young people ready to go out and party, neon lights enough to forget the sky was darkening, and music being turned up. It looked as though our daytime adventures were coming to an end, and the night would rule our last hours in Japan. We just needed to sleep first. 

Himeji Castle and the Haunted Well

Japan Day 19 - Hiroshima to Himeji

Fletch and I had saved our cheese tarts from the previous night for breakfast. They weren’t hot out of the oven anymore, but they still had the sweet richness of the best possible combination of a cheesecake and a tart. The six miniature pie crusts with creamy, cheesy goodness were gone a moment later.

Hiroshima was the end of our line, but to break up the journey back to Tokyo, I had scheduled a one-night stay in the little town of Himeji, just enough time to visit the namesake castle.

Miniature model of Himeji and the castle grounds.


We rode the two trains between the two cities, and walked across the street to the Hotel Nikko Himeji, a hotel that had clearly been the hotel at one point in time, but now was outdated, meaning good prices and spacious rooms for us. We even got a couch! And from the window in our room on the 12th floor, we could just make out the roof of the majestic castle off in the distance, peeking up over a shopping center in front of us. This had probably been a view worth a pretty penny before that silly shopping center popped up.

We had made it to Himeji in good time, and the castle still had a couple hours before it closed, so we hurriedly dropped our bags and ran back to the train station to find the Himeji Castle Loop Bus. An adorable little bus (of course it was adorable, it’s Japan) with an old-fashioned, trolly design pulled up and we squeezed in with a couple other tourists. The tiny bus accommodated only a few seats, and was more of a minivan than a bus really. Actually, American minivans would have dwarfed the little bus. The fee was a flat 100 yen, or $1. We rode down the few blocks of main road running straight from the train station to the castle. When the bus dropped us off, I ran forward to snap a quick photo, and the driver actually waited for me to catch the shot before pulling away, a nicety I would have never expected from a place that thrives on punctuality.

Himeji at the end of the main road, as seen from the bus stop.

Himeji Castle Loop Bus


Google Maps showed the entrance as being on the east side of the castle, and so we set off, circumnavigating the perimeter of the massive grounds. It turned out that had we walked just a dozen or so meters in the opposite direction, the entrance had been right there. But oh well, we got the scenic tour and discovered just how impossible it was to get into the castle grounds. It was built on a hilltop and surrounded by numerous walls and moats and more walls, extending upwards as high as the hill was. What a fortress! Eventually we found a small path leading us through a side route. Then there were more walls and moats and bridges to navigate before we found our way to the ticket booth. Himeji was already impressive and we hadn’t even made it to the castle yet. The scale of everything was way more grand than anything I had ever envisioned. I’d visited castles in Japan before and remembered being let down by how small they were. But of course everything in Japan is much smaller. I guess I had lowered my expectations for Himeji accordingly, and now I found myself weaving my way through this monstrosity. I was in awe.




Japanese castles featured long winding passageways and many, many gates in order to keep intruders from getting into the main parts of the castle. The walls of Himeji were 26 meters high (85 feet). The gates, in contrast, were so tiny that even I would have to stoop to enter (padding had been added to protect unaware tourists’ heads). What a fortress! And then of course the entire winding hike was uphill the entire way.

Massive walls of Himeji.

Contrastingly short gates of Himeji.


Himeji Castle is known as the “White Heron Castle,” because the white plaster walls of the main keep supposedly resemble a white heron in flight. In order to preserve its original shape and beauty, the entirety of the castle was restored between 2009 and 2015. During this restoration, every piece of the castle was taken apart, and then reassembled like a giant puzzle.

The walls of the keeps contained 997 openings called sama. These were for guns and arrows to be fired from, and were even coded by shape. Oblong openings were for the bows, and round, triangular, and square openings were for the guns. They were also at different heights along the wall depending on what position was meant to be used when firing: standing, kneeling, or prone.

Various plaques were scattered around with interesting stories. Many of the stories revolved around the sheer number of stones that were required for the construction of the walls, so many stones that Hashiba Hideyoshi had trouble finding enough. When a poor old woman who sold rice cakes in the town heard this news, she generously donated her hand mill stone. A net was wrapped around that section of the wall to show where it was, and to keep it safe. Stone lids from coffins were even dug up and used.

One old lady's hand mill stone, used in the wall construction.

We finally found our way to the entrance of the main keep. With the sheer size of the place being so magnificent, I guess I had expected an interior to match in the back of my mind. The inside was entirely wood, bare as bones and dark as night. Clearly it was too risky to have windows on the ground level.

We wound our way up floor after floor, steep, narrow, wooden staircase after steep, narrow, wooden staircase, until we made it to the sixth and final floor. The only other tourists around were a group of perfectly circular girls, one of whom was currently sprawled like a starfish across a bench, looking like she hadn’t moved that much in quite some time. It had been getting gradually brighter the higher up we ascended. The higher we went, the safer it was to have a window or two. The top floor was bright and open and showcased the most magnificent view of all the town and rolling hills around in every direction. What a view! One could see for ages up here. Not only was this castle impossible to break into, but with this view of all the surrounding land, there was zero possibility of the enemy sneaking up on the place.

Somewhere along the journey back down the rickety staircases, there was a view overlooking an old well and the ghost story of said haunted well. I nearly transcribed the story here, but I actually found a much more enjoyable rendition of it written by by folklorist Amelia Starling. I hope she doesn’t mind me copying her words here for your enjoyment: 
Like any good tragedy, this story begins with love. Love between a brave warrior, called Kinugasa Motonobu, and a servant, the beautiful, honest Okiku.

Okiku served a powerful, influential samurai named Aoyama Tetsuzan. He was also the regent of Lord Norimoto, the true ruler of the castle. One day whilst working, Okiku overheard Tetsuzan discussing a plot to kill Lord Norimoto and seize the castle for himself. 
Maybe it would have been better if she had never learned of this plot, or if she had ignored it. But when life gives you such choices, you either let them slide and what will be will be, or you take action. And Okiku was not a woman to let anything slide. In that moment, she knew she had to do something. She confided in her lover, Motonobu, and his allies, and they promised her things would be well and that the plot would be foiled. 
And indeed it was. 
Lord Norimoto was warned of the attack, and he fled the city. But although he was safe, Himeji castle and our lovers were not. In Lord Norimoto’s absence, Aoyama took control. He was furious that Lord Norimoto had escaped, and sought out the traitor. Secrets, secrets in his midst. Who to trust? No-one, no-one. 
The only thing awaiting the traitor was death. 
Fearing for their own lives, one of the warriors betrayed Okiku. They informed Tetsuzan’s accomplice, a man named Danshirō, of her role in foiling the plot. 
It was her, the servant girl. Because of her, Norimoto escaped! 
Danshirō was a devious, possessive man. He saw Okiku’s beauty, and planned to make her his own. Instead of informing Tetsuzan of the traitor’s identity, he confronted Okiku himself. Secrets, secrets. 
Beautiful Okiku, marry me, and your life will be spared. 
But Okiku had already given her heart to Motonbu. She refused Danshirō over and over again. 
No, no, I will not marry you!
Not a man to give up, Danshirō tried one final time to gain Okiku’s acceptance. He stole one of 10 valuable plates which were treasured heirlooms of the Aoyama family. 
It is easy to frame a servant for theft… 
All of the plates were here this morning! Who has been in? 
Only the servants, my Lord. 
What were they doing? 
Cleaning, my Lord. They always dust the plates… 
Who dusted the plates today? 
Okiku, my Lord. 
And where is she now? 
Okiku was running. From the otemon gate to the honmaru. In the West Bailey, and in all of the yagura. Through the gardens and every kuruwa, and to the moat and back. Running, searching. She crept into Tetsuzan’s rooms and counted over and over again: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9… 
Always nine. The missing plate was nowhere to be found. 
Seeing Okiku so desperate, Danshirō seized his chance. 
Marry me, Okiku. This is the last time I will ask you. Marry me, and I will return the plate and clear your name. 
But how could anyone agree to such a proposal, when they are already in love with another? Okiku’s love for Motonobu was true, and she was fearless. The reckless kind of fearless which only the strongest love can bring. She took a deep breath… 
No, Danshirō. I belong to another, and I will never, ever marry you. 
Danshirō’s jealousy and rage overcame him. This woman, who had foiled their plans and defied him, and still refused his affection no matter what he tried. This woman who dared to risk her own life for her love. Well, she need risk it no longer… 
Danshirō drew his sword. One swipe was enough. He was fast; so fast that Okiku didn’t have time to scream or run. By the time she realised what he was going to do it had happened, and her blood was spilling out of her. 
Where to hide a body? Somewhere deep, which daylight never shines upon and no human eyes ever glimpse… 
Somewhere like… a well? 
Yes, the well! 
Danshirō gathered Okiku’s body into his arms, and with a last, wistful look at her beauty, a lament to that which he would never own, he threw her into the castle’s well. 
Secrets. Leave them to rot in the sombre, damp underground. 
Okiku’s absence raised no questions. After all, everyone believed she had stolen the plate and they knew that Tetsuzan took no prisoners. Only Motonobu and his companions continued to fight Tetsuzan. Eventually they were successful. He was overthrown and Lord Norimoto returned to Himeji, and Danshirō’s terrible crime was discovered. 
In tribute to her love and bravery, Okiku was enshrined at Jūnisho-jinja. This modest, tranquil shrine is tucked away down a side street, quietly emitting its charm into the city. 
As for the well… 
Once the sun began to set and the shadows lengthened, people started avoiding it. There was talk of hearing strange sounds, like whispers, from within, and glimpses of the ethereal figure of a woman. 
For the few who dared to venture to the well in the darkest hours of the night, if they listened carefully, they would realise that the whispering voice coming from the well was counting. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9… 
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9… 
Only to nine, never 10. One missing plate. One restless spirit eternally searching for it, counting every night. Never leaving her watery grave. 
Amelia Starling, thewillowweb.com


It took us roughly two hours to cover the entire castle at a leisurely pace. On our way out, we spotted an elderly gentleman riding a bicycle around the grounds, one handed, the other arm cradling his little dog. The little dog’s fur was so shiny and well groomed, that I almost mistook it for a puppy, but upon seeing the dog’s face, could tell that he was just as elderly as his master (in dog years of course). Master was meandering around on the bike, purely for the dog’s pleasure, and the look on the little dog’s face was the purest form of happiness. We stopped when we reached the crosswalk to wait for the green man, and the old man on the bike eventually came to a stop behind us. When he did, he pulled out a traditional hand fan and began to fan the happy little creature. What a sweet bond of friendship.

We walked down the main street, back towards the train station, keeping our eyes open for food along the way. We eventually came to a noodle shop, a quaint little hole in the wall with a tapestry hanging in the doorway. It just happened to be one of two restaurants I had been reading about in Lonely Planet, a homemade udon shop. We each ordered a hot bowl of udon noodles, and they were the best noodles we had the entire trip. So soft, so gooey, just the right amount of chewy texture, and nearly a meter long. We slurped and chewed and delighted in the textural experience.

We rested back at the hotel for a little while, and once dark set in, we amused ourselves by watching the two glass elevators journey up and down the shopping center across the way. They had color-changing lights, and we watched as people got on and off at each floor, going about their evenings. 

This was the first hotel we could hear the train from, which was surprising given that we had mostly been staying within close proximity to the train stations. It wasn’t like listening to the train back home, where you have to pause whatever you’re watching, and listen for a couple minutes as the train horn bellows loudly through the night and rumbles down the tracks, demanding the attention of everyone in its surroundings. This was more like listening to plane take off, a sudden whoosh of loudness that tapered and was gone almost as soon as you had heard it.

We found a hip little pizza joint for dinner, where we felt like we had been transported to a New York City sky rise for a couple hours. We ordered sangrias and pizza, oh how we had been craving pizza, and enjoyed the dim ambiance and view of the city through the glass panels that made up the walls. A pizza arrived for Fletch and and bowl of pasta arrived for me. I politely tried to explain in broken Japanglish that I had ordered a pizza as well. The pasta was removed from our table. Then returned to our table with numerous apologies. Our server came over to apologize. The chef even came over to apologize. Watching someone make a mistake in a culture made up of type A personalities turned out to be quite a circus of regret.

After dinner we returned to our hotel and headed up to the bar on the top floor, which was supposed to have a beautiful view of Himeji Castle. Having a drink overlooking the majestic structure seemed like a fitting way to conclude the day. The view was lovely, and Himeji was all lit up on the hill off in the distance, but trying to take a photo with my phone was like trying to capture a picture of the moon, nothing more than a blurry spec of light on an otherwise black screen. You’ll just have to go see for yourself one day. I loved the quaintness of the town of Himeji, which contrasted with the grandeur of the castle. It was just city enough to have all the conveniences you require while traveling, while still possessing the old-world charm of an era that is quickly disappearing from Japan. Himeji is definitely worth a visit.

Hiroshima’s Cry for Peace

Japan Day 18 - Hiroshima

Fletch and I took our time in the morning. We knew it was going to be a heavy day, so we weren’t in any real hurry to get an early start and jam-pack as much as we could into our hours of daylight. When planning our trip, I had asked Fletch what he wanted to see and do in Japan. His only real request was that he wanted to see Hiroshima, and learn about the Japanese side of WWII. That had been on my list as well, and so our only goals for the city were to visit the Peace Memorial Museum and to walk the Peace Memorial Park where the Atomic Bomb Dome and several other memorials were erected.

Hiroshima as a whole was a very quiet and peaceful city. We had noticed that about Japan, that despite the population density and size of the cities, places were surprisingly quiet. Now that we were away from the excitement and chatter of the bulk of the tourists, the quiet was even more palpable. Hiroshima wasn’t even a small place, with a population of 1.2 million, but it did have the peaceful serenity of a much smaller city.

It was lunch by the time we were ready to go, and so we walked to the adjoining train station to see what we might find for food. I felt uncomfortably self-conscious that day, being an American. No one treated us any differently, or gave us a second glance, but I still felt embarrassed. My country demolished your city, in the worst atrocity ever committed in war, but here I am touring and sightseeing like it’s just another world's largest ball of twine. I felt ashamed to be here.

Crowds and a few crying babies scared us away from some of the restaurant choices. Out of the remaining, the plastic pasta displays were the most enticing. There were dozens of different creative pasta dishes to choose from. We sat down and browsed the full menu, full of colorful photos. After days and cities of nothing but noodles and various fried foods, I was still craving something green and crunchy and rich in vitamins. I found a salmon carpaccio salad to go along with my veggie and squid pasta. The salad was minuscule, and contained only few lettuce leaves, but I savored every last one of them, thinking of the salmon as only an afterthought. Fletch did a shrimp and broccoli pasta in lobster sauce. Both dishes were good but Fletch’s pasta sauce was some of the best pasta sauce I’d ever tasted.

Vegetable and Squid Pasta


We found the Maple Loop Bus, or the Maipuru-pu as the Japanese phonetics spelled out. There were three different colored lines, all running around more or less the same tourist destinations, just in different directions. We decided to jump off at the museum first for our history lesson, before walking the park north to visit the memorials, ending with the Atomic Bomb Dome on the far north end.

It turned out that the main building of the museum was closed for renovations and earthquake proofing, but the east building was still open. We walked up to a large, glass, block of a building, and stopped in front to stare through the window at what might have at one point been a futuristic looking clock, part analog and part digital. The analog clock at the top of the tower showed the current time with two black hands, and the time that the atomic bomb dropped, permanently stopped, with grey hands. A digital display in the middle showed the number of days since the first dropping of the A-bomb: 26,621 days. An identical digital display on the bottom showed the number of days since the latest nuclear test: 295 days. The plaque read:

Peace “Watch” Tower 
This Clock Tower displays panels with numbers and cogwheels. The first panel indicates the number of days since the A-bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. The lower panel indicates the number of days since the last nuclear test. When a nuclear test is conducted, the number of days will be reset to zero to enhance the strength of the protest from Hiroshima. The cogwheels below represent a virtual countdown which warns us that we are on the path leading towards the annihilation of humanity. The concept is: the cogwheel at the top rotates 100 times per minute, but it will spin faster if the earth shows signs of being in danger. If it reaches the immovable cogwheel at the bottom, the clock will automatically self-destruct. In order to stop the cogwheels from spinning, we must work toward abolishing all nuclear weapons and seek for an age of coexistence among humankind without dependance on military forces.

A sign printed out explained that the latest nuclear test had been by North Korea, who announced it had conducted an underground nuclear test on September 3, 2017.

Peace "Watch" Tower


Already feeling the weight of what monsters the human race could be, we entered the building in silence and purchased two tickets.

The hallway lead us to a big empty room, with a panoramic photo stretched along the entirety of the walls. We were looking at a black and white photo of the city of Hiroshima before the bomb. We entered the next room to find the same panoramic view of the city, only this time after the bomb. Nothing was left save for rubble and maybe the odd tree stump. You’ve all probably seen photos. Blowing those photos up to life size and pasting them over the walls of the room to create a full, panoramic view was seriously chilling.

In the next room a few people were sitting on blocks and silently watching an old-fashioned tv with a grainy video playing. An elderly gentleman was giving a video testimonial of what he remembered from that day. We sat and watched, a dozen or so interviews, one after another, each person’s story lasting around five minutes. Everyone came from such different walks of life, from businessmen to school teachers, but they all remembered the same thing: a great white flash before being knocked unconscious and coming to several minutes later, to a grey world covered in ash. One gentleman had drawn out his entire story in a flip chart, and showed his own drawings of how he was so badly burnt that he could hardly move. He found a friend of his who had the bottoms of his feet completely burned off, and no idea how to help him. The friend couldn’t walk of course, and he himself was too badly injured to even think of carrying him. You could tell by the way his voice trembled, even all these years later, how much it pained him, above even the physical pain, to not be able to help his friend. Finally his uncle and aunt walked past and he was able to call them over for help.

Many of the stories were about the interviewees having badly burnt and mangled bodies running at them, and not even being able to recognize them as their own relatives. We sat and watched every last interview until the video looped and we were back to the spot we had walked in on again.

We left the small viewing room, which was simple and like something you’d find in a outdated library, and entered a grand display room like something out of a trendy museum. An entire wall was covered in displays, and a massive marble table took up the majority of the room, with interactive displays inlaid every few feet. In the marble spaces between the displays, the solid surface came alive with an eerie holographic display of the bomb being dropped and going off, silently, over and over again.

Main display room in the Peace Memorial Museum (Photo property of: Interior Design)


We parked ourselves in front of an empty display and began to soak up all the information. Screen after screen of information we read through, on everything: the development of of nuclear weapons, the decision process that went into choosing Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the extent of the destruction caused by the bomb, how the Japanese government didn’t even tell its nation that the attack had been nuclear until after the war, the research that went on for years and is still ongoing into the effect that the radiation had on people’s health, and lists of every nuclear test and accident that has occurred since that day that started it all. I was impressed because Fletch stood there and read through every last screen, with me reading over his shoulder. Had it been just me, I probably would have stopped reading and started skimming long before we reached the end. Not Fletch though, he made it through every last screen from beginning to end. I don’t know how long we stood at that screen reading everything; long enough to start shifting restlessly from foot to foot, moving to iron out kinks and aches, aches that were nothing compared to the graphic photos we were staring at. Long enough to feel sickened by the monsters we are.

When there was nothing left to read, we moved onto the displays scattered across the walls. There were models of the dome, before and after the bomb. Models of the scale of the bomb next to miniature people. Examples of tiles before and after the bomb. Examples of a glass Coke bottle before and after the bomb. A life-size model of the amount of uranium that was fissioned to create the nuclear explosion, less than one kilogram, a cube that was roughly one cubed inch in size. One little block that I could hold between my thumb and index finger, was enough to cause all that destruction. A portion of the wall was covered in enlarged photographs of people who made it to a hospital after the bomb, people so mangled and disfigured I had to look away.

Amount of uranium that fissioned.


It was 5:00 by the time we left the museum. It was a beautiful sunny day with blue skies, and the park was the picture of peace and quiet, with pretty green lawns, and trees, beautiful and alive. Hiroshima wanted primarily to send the message of peace far and wide, and this park was the epitome of just that. We slowly strolled the length of the park, silently letting the peace of today wash away the horror we had just been shown of yesterday. We strolled past the cenotaph, a curved concrete structure that held the names of every known person lost to the bomb. Then there was the Flame of Peace, set to burn until all the world’s nuclear weapons were destroyed, something I was now convinced would never happen.

Cenotaph in Peace Memorial Park, Hiroshima

Flame of Peace


Towards the end of the park we came upon a steep, three-legged mound, atop which stood a small girl with her arms outstretched and a paper crane stretching its wings out behind her, the Children’s Peace Monument. I knew this monument. I’d known it as long as I could remember. Growing up, I had three audiobooks that I used to listen to at bedtime, over and over again. I couldn’t even say how many times I listened to the story of Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes. Sadako Sasaki was exposed to radiation from the bomb at the age of 2, and 10 years later developed leukemia as a result. Based on an old legend, she believed that if she folded 1,000 paper cranes, she would be cured. Sadly, the disease claimed her life before she could accomplish her mission, and so her classmates finished the paper cranes for her and called for the construction of the monument in her honor, and in memory of all the children who lost their lives to the bomb. I had listened to that story so many times as a child, and now here I was standing in front of her monument.

Children's Peace Monument


All the emotion I'd been holding in all day fell on me like a waterfall and I broke down.

This was the culmination of so many stories. Sadako’s story, the stories I'd heard from grandparents and great uncles growing up who fought in the war, a visit to Peleliu three years previous where a war memorial had been adorned in paper cranes, the weight of everything we had taken in on this lucid day.

An inscription on the monument read,

This is our cry. This is our prayer. For building peace in this world.

I didn’t think seeing the monument would be so overwhelmingly emotional, but with so many tears streaming relentlessly down my face, I had to walk away. I had wanted so much to see that memorial, but now it was too painful to look at it another moment. I walked away without visiting the glass display cases filled with the thousands and thousands of colorful paper cranes sent in by school children from all over the world every year. It was too much. Fletch offered me his shoulder in comfort.

We continued our walk and found a concrete dome with a bell hanging inside. The Bell of Peace, the plaque read. Followed by:

We dedicate this bell
As a symbol of Hiroshima Aspiration
Let all nuclear arms and wars be gone,
and the nations live in true peace!
May it ring to all corners of the earth
to meet the ear of every man,
for in it throb and palpitate
the hearts of its peace-loving donors.
So may you, too, friend,
step forward, and toll this bell for peace!

The Bell of Peace


Fletch and I stepped into the dome together, and jointly pulled back the thick, wooden pole suspended behind the bell. We released it and listened as the hollow “donggg,” vibrated and extended out in every direction over the otherwise quiet park. The quiet of the city made it easy to imagine the ring slowly extending out to every corner of the earth, spreading its plea for world peace.

At the end of the park, and the opposite side of the pond, sat the Atomic Bomb Dome. The empty shell of what was once the Industrial Promotion Hall, built by a Czech architect, stood almost directly under the spot where the bomb had detonated. Everyone inside died almost instantly, but the dome survived, an eerie reminder of what had occurred. By that point we didn’t feel the need to walk over for a closer look. I was emotionally spent and happy to catch this last glimpse from across the pond. We had fulfilled our goal for today, and educated ourselves on a pivotal day in human history.

The Atomic Bomb Dome


We boarded the bus home, but ended up jumping off a couple stops early to hit up a little oyster restaurant sitting on the river’s bank. Hiroshima was known for oysters. I never really was a fan of that particular shellfish until my first visit to New Orleans. It was there that a friend had asked for help finishing off a plate of too many she had ordered, and handed me a shell the size of a teacup. I have loved those oysters ever since. If anywhere could rival NOLA oysters, surely it was the area of food-centric Japan that specialized in oysters. I was excited to see if they were as good.

Oyster Conclave Kaki-tei, Hiroshima (Photo credit: Fletch)


We ordered drinks and a set meal to share. Dish after dish was presented, some with various raw oysters, some with grilled oysters, some with oyster cooked into various quiches or soups. A pot of boiled oysters was followed by oyster and red pepper bruschetta. I was so thrilled for the bell peppers. I’ve already mentioned that vegetables were few and far between. All the dishes were divine, and having an entire set meal based around a single ingredient was a culinary novelty. I have to say though, NOLA oysters still came out undefeated.

Raw oysters prepared three different ways. 


We walked back to the train station, a pleasant 20 minute walk. Since it was our last night in the city, there was one last thing I wanted to do before finding our way back to the hotel. Hiroshima was food-famous, last and not least, for some sweets shaped like maple leaves. I’m usually happy to skip the sweets, but there had been a story in the manga I’d read the day before about the maple leaf sweets bringing happiness back to the lives of the people of Hiroshima after the bomb. After the day we’d just had, it seemed fitting to find some. Most of the sweets stores at the train station were already closed, and the few still open were sold out of everything save for a few remaining loaves of bread. After my fifth run into a shop with no success, Fletch pointed out a line coming out of a little shop and wrapping around the building. The sign advertised “cheese tarts.” Anything with a line of locals that long was surly worth waiting for. I stood in line while Fletch ran over to the nearest conbini to get drinks.

Hiroshima at Dusk


By the time Fletch and I found each other in front of the train station again, he told me we had to stop and watch what was unfolding for a moment. Amongst the crowd of faces, he pointed out a teenage boy, in trendy clothing, carefully wandering the crowd and scanning the faces around him. If he noticed a similar-aged girl, walking alone, he would single her out and approach, then ask something we couldn’t discern. Girl after girl either ignored him or turned him down. What was he asking? We stood and observed and opened our drinks. It soon became apparent that he had three friends he was working with, all behaving the same way. We called them: Gym Pants Guy, Blingy T-shirt Guy, Star Shirt Guy, and Black Pants Guy. We stood and watched, curiously, for a good long while. No one ever got lucky, but whatever they were up to had to work occasionally, because this seemed like a well-rehearsed routine. Fletch guessed that they were grifters.

When the game never came out successful, Fletch and I eventually grew bored of watching and walked back to the hotel, calling it a night.

Hiroshima After Dark

Japan Day 17 (Part II) - Hiroshima

This is a short one, but it didn't belong in the same post as the roller coasters. The two experiences were as different as night and durian. 

Halfway dazed from hours of fun and adrenalin, we rode the train back to Osaka, picked up our bags from the lockers, rode the local train to Shin-Osaka Station, and finally the bullet train to Hiroshima. What a day. Luckily our hotel was practically connected to the train station, and so we hardly had to walk outside.

The Hotel Granvia Hiroshima was a hotel that had been the picture of luxury back in the day, but now was slightly outdated. That had meant good prices for us; the same price that a cramped business hotel would have cost for the two nights. We entered a grand lobby, and upon checking in, the receptionist presented us with a traditional, folding, hand fan each as a gift. I had forgotten about these fans. They used to be used by everyone, especially in these hot summer months, every person had a little fan they would pull out to use. They used to be popular items in souvenir shops too, a symbol of Japanese culture. Now in two and a half weeks of traveling, this was the first one I had seen. Perhaps parts of Japan’s tradition and history were starting to fade away.

Whatever happened to these fans everyone used to carry?


The room was spacious and nice, even if outdated. A smart phone was provided to use during our stay, just like the one our first hotel in Tokyo had provided. The phone was a nice touch, with helpful apps and articles on Japan already preloaded. I started opening and closing drawers, just out of curiosity. I found the bible drawer with an entire selection of books inside, including the Teachings of Buddha, the New Testament, a religious text in Japanese I could not read, and a book called Hiroshima’s Revival. Hiroshima’s Revival looked like some sort of weird cult propaganda from the cover (and the fact that it was next to the other religious books), but when I flipped through the pages, I realized that it was an entire manga on Hiroshima’s history, or more specifically, Hiroshima’s revival after that fateful day during WWII.

Historical manga, not cult propaganda.


I sat down and read the entire manga. It was full of beautiful stories about the people who rebuilt Hiroshima after the bomb, or the pikadon (pika = flash; don = bang). Fletch and I were here in Hiroshima for the history lesson, and had been discussing the atrocity just days before. He had startled me by saying that the bomb was the bravest act of war ever accomplished, and I had though he was crazy. How could something so catastrophically devastating be seen as anything but that? Here was this beautiful little manga from the Japanese perspective though, that was basically saying the same thing. So many people realized that Hiroshima was a sacrifice that had to be made in order to end the war, and to save countless other cities. What a selfless outlook. I never thought I’d be so humbled after reading a comic book.

For dinner we decided to go find some Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, the specialty for the city. Lonely Planet recommended a little restaurant on the other side of the train station only a 5 minute walk away, and so we set out in the dark to find it. Crossing the train tracks in a strange city at night time was a little dodgy, but at the same time fitting. One of the stories in the manga had been about a sweets shop that opened up after the war, in a rough part of town next to this very train station, but had managed to persevere. We found the little yellow storefront that was already closed for the night. Unsure that we were going to find anything else in this dark corner of town, we crossed the tracks again and stopped at a conbini for drinks while we decided what to do. The train stations always had plenty of food options. We decided to just browse the selection that was undoubtably waiting in the basement.

Along the way we walked past a little hole-in-the-wall shop with an orange awning. During the daytime, we probably wouldn't have even noticed it; the only thing that made it stand out now was that it was the only light emanating from this dark street. It looked as though a couple of patrons were sitting at a lady’s kitchen counter. Something clicked in my brain as we walked past and I realized that the characters on the awning said okonomiyaki. I said as much to Fletch and we both stood outside in the dark, awkwardly for a few moments, trying to decide how to proceed. We were far away from tourist town now. Nothing had been in English since we had arrived. Was it acceptable for a couple of gaijin to walk into what looked like someone’s home this late at night? We decided to try it.

We walked into a small, homey area, with enough furnishings and odds and ends to convince us that someone lived here. The little old lady working in the kitchen couldn’t speak a lick of English. We couldn’t speak Japanese save for enough words to order seafood okonomiyaki. She made an “X” with her index fingers at the word “seafood” to convey that she was out. The two patrons at the bar turned around and spoke enough broken English to help us out. We were able to convey through them that egg and soba were ok, but no meat. The little old lady set to work, and the couple at the bar got up and helped themselves to the beer in the fridge, then gave it to us. We couldn’t figure out if they were regulars, or family here for the night to help. It definitely felt more like we were hanging out in someone’s home than at a restaurant.

Unnamed, Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki shop.


Everyone was watching the same doctor drama that we had watched back in Hakone, the one with the cocky kid doctor. It was apparent that a new episode was airing tonight, and this was some sort of weekly ritual to get together and watch it over beers and okonomiyaki. We joined right in. The dramatic music and the reactions from the locals were enough to figure out the gist of the plot. Meanwhile the little old lady pulled an entire head of fresh cabbage out of the fridge and set about making our meal completely from scratch. We were in for a treat.

The couple would say a few words in English every now and again. I would say a few words in Japanese. The lady made our food while watching the drama like it was something she could do in her sleep. Eventually we were served two steaming hot plates of Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, different from the Osaka-style in that it had only a thin layer of batter, and a generous layer of noodles. The food was so good. These people were complete strangers of course, but it felt as though they had invited us into their home and treated us to a homemade meal. Fletch and I walked back to the hotel happy that we had pushed ourselves out of our comfort zone. It had given us an experience and a meal that we would never forget.

Homemade, Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki.

Universal Studios, Take Two

Japan Day 17 (Part I) - Osaka

I liked the Hotel Mystays Dojima. They had given us different sized pillows, some foam, some normal stuffing, some rollers, and none of them felt like newspapers. We also had plenty of space to spread out, and plenty of outlets scattered everywhere, some of which were just USB ports which made them even more convenient. The mirror in the bathroom even had a square patch at eye-height that didn’t fog up when the bathroom got all steamy from the shower. I had always wondered how they managed that, and discovered that the square on the mirror was simply heated from behind. What a great idea.

It was a beautiful, sunny day and we made up our minds to give Universal Studios another go. We checked out of the hotel room, walked to Osaka station, found lockers to store our backpacks in, and rode the train for the second time over to Universal City. We agreed that we should leave by 3:00, to give ourselves enough time to reclaim our luggage, ride the two trains over to Hiroshima, and checkin before sunset. It would be a jam packed day, but we were so ready to have some amusement park fun after having to walk away the day before.

Since we only had a limited amount of time, Fletch splurged for the Express Passes. I would normally never even consider something so extravagant, but Fletch always knows how to have a good time. We knew he had made the right call when we effortlessly zipped to the front of the line for the Hollywood Dream roller coaster. One of the biggest rides at the park, and we didn’t have to spend a minute in line. That was almost as much fun as the ride itself.

After a metal detector pat down (Really? Is that a thing now? Or just a Japan thing?), the attendants strapped us into the harnesses, and we were off, creeping our way upwards. We reached the peak of the track and admired the view of Universal Studios, and Osaka off in the distance, from the top. I hadn’t been on a roller coaster in years. This was about to get interesting. And then we were falling, plummeting downwards. That first drop sent my stomach slingshotting out of place like a punch to the gut. Loud J-pop music was blasting into my ears through the speakers on the seat. The buttons to change the station didn’t work. Upwards and downwards again we hurled, leaving me whooping and hollering until what felt like a moment later, the ride was over. I was all smiles. We had made the right choice coming back here today.

A couple of the more popular rides had small time slots for which we could use the Express Pass, and the Flying Dinosaur ride’s time slot was coming up, so we meandered our way out of Hollywood and over to Jurassic Park. The detail that went into all the rides and the restaurants in any given area really was impressive. I felt like we had actually entered Jurassic park, with the large rock walls surrounding us everywhere. We had just enough time to go on the Jurassic Park ride before our other time slot was due, and so once again, zoomed to the front of the line. I almost felt guilty watching everyone else wait. The Jurassic Park ride was a water raft, and as soon as we boarded our raft, all the Asian guests began pulling rain ponchos out of their bags and donning them. Uh oh. Apparently they knew something that we didn’t. The raft brought us on a relaxing journey past a stegosaurus, past a duck-billed-saurus (my dino names are a little rusty) playing in the water and then through a gate marked “Prohibited Area.” Now things weren’t so tranquil. Electric fences were down, “High Voltage” signs were dangling off their posts, and two little chicken dinosaurs (I’m just going to name them) were tugging at the remains of a torn up uniform. A metal holding container nearly fell on our heads as we entered the concrete receiving area. The float brought us up and up and up in the dark, until we reached the top, where a t-rex jumped out at us and sent us hurling back down with a final splash. I was sitting on the end but the rain ponchos really weren’t necessary.

Floating through Jurassic Park. 

The dinosaurs are escaping! 


Next was the Flying Dinosaur. A crazy maze of a line wrapped its way through endless boundary ropes, and we got to wave at all the hundreds or maybe even thousands of people as we skipped the better part of the line. The Express line was even impressive. It was finally our turn and we got harnessed into our seats. When everyone was ready to go, the seats all flipped forward at once, leaving us face-down in a flying position. Then away we flew. It really did feel like being caught in the clutches of an escaped pterodactyl. Up and down and around in spirals we soared. And then I caught a glimpse of Hogwarts off in the distance, that beautiful castle I had dreamed of since my book worm days. I had a moment of nostalgia before I was sent twirling downwards and upside down. Hogwarts was here. I was flying like a dinosaur in my favorite movie, and looking at the world I had dreamed of visiting from my favorite book. My day was made.

Do I look like a pterodactyl just dropped me off? 


The ride was so much fun that we tried to race back over to the line and go again, but unfortunately the Express Passes were only good to skip the line once. Our disappointment faded after a moment, and we made our way over to Amity Village (they really did put all my favorite movies in one spot) for lunch. Most of the food was a weird combo between seafood and fast food. I ended up with a tuna and corn pizza that wasn’t half bad for amusement park food. Plus the food helped to settle my stomach which was doing funny things after being shaken around so many times. I refused to acknowledge any queasiness though.

Our next time slot was at Minion Park for the Minion Mayhem ride. This was by far the busiest area yet, because Asians absolutely love minions. Of everyone dressed up that day, a good 75% of them were minions. Couples in matching minion t-shirts, kids in minion costumes, girls with minion overalls and bright yellow t-shirts, guys with minion hats… there was no question as to what the popular vote fore favorite movie would have been.

Time to get turned into a minion!


We entered Gru’s house and had to go through three separate waiting areas before we made it to the ride. Luckily each of the waiting areas had videos playing, tutorials on what to expect when we were all turned into minions in a few minutes. Then we were loaded into cars and lifted into a huge, domed area like a planetarium, where the screen sent us on an animated adventure. It was a virtual reality roller coaster. At the end, Gru had a change of heart and turned us back into humans again. Some of the guests still looked like minions coming out though.

Unfortunately our time slots for the two rides in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter were at the end of the day, long after we would have to depart. I still had to see the area though. We were so close, and I had wanted to see it for so long.

The entry way was a long path that led through a pine tree forest. We saw fewer people here than we had seen at the bamboo forest. If I had known that, I’d have skipped the bamboo and come straight to Hogwarts. We eventually emerged into Hogsmead Village. Steep roofs covered in snow looked exactly like the movie. The attention to detail was amazing. To my right was the Hogwarts Express. Oh how I used to dream of being on that train. Yes, I was one of those nerds.

The Hogwarts Express


All the village shops were real. Some were restaurants, some were actual stores from the books. Honeydukes was there, as was Zonko’s Joke Shop, and Olivanders, and Dervish and Banges. Over in a clearing, little kids were being taught how to open doors with their wands. A digital overlay on a wooden door occasional creaked or flew open, much to the excitement of the kids.

Hogwarts


We wandered through Hogsmead, and eventually came to Hogwarts. She was a beauty. The Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey ride was inside the castle, and so we decided to try our luck at using our Express Passes. It must not have been busy because they waved us straight through. We weren’t allowed to bring anything onto the ride with us, and so were led into a dimly lit area that felt like the dungeon with some densely packed lockers where we deposited everything. Then, armed with only the key on a bracelet, we wound our way through the line. I almost wished the line had been a longer wait, because it brought us through so many different rooms of Hogwarts that were all furnished and decorated with painstaking detail. It was like being in the real castle. We wandered through the dimly lit, stone hallways, went up the staircases where all the paintings on the walls talked and moved, and they didn’t just look like digital screens, but actual moving paintings. There was the stone gargoyle leading to Dumbledore’s office. There was the painting of the fat lady. There was the sorting hat, talking away, unfortunately in Japanese. We wandered through classrooms and finally through the Gryffindor common room. There was almost no line to speak of, and so before I could take it all in, we were being seated into a row of harnesses hovering above a track.

This was another virtual ride, with some parts being displayed on high definition screens, and some animatronics coming into play as well. We were following Harry and Ron on broomsticks, but unfortunately they were speaking Japanese so I wasn’t quite certain what the mission was, but we rode our brooms up and down through nearly every major scene in the movies. Spiders from the Forbidden Forest jumped out at us, the basilisk struck at us, dementors swarmed, the Whomping Willow nearly impaled us. There was the Golden Snitch just ahead! Just out of reach… A dragon breathed fire on us, and hot air actually blew in our faces. I think we saved the day, but again, Harry and Ron only spoke Japanese so I’m not quite sure if they were congratulating us at the end or telling us we were toast.

We left dimly-lit Hogwarts and reemerged into the sunlight, squinting ahead at the other ride, the Flight of the Hippogriff. This ride wouldn’t allow us to use our Express Pass since the time wasn’t until much later, and so we decided to just stand in line like all the common folk. How long could it be?

The line once again brought us around various scenes from the movies, including Hagrid’s Hut. We didn’t have to wait more than about 15 minutes. Lucky for me that Asians were more into minions than Harry Potter. This was a little old-school roller coaster, with a rickety track and wicker cars, the front one being shaped like a Hippogriff. It was charming in its own way, and over after a minute.

Sirius Black's motorbike beside Hagrid's Hut


On our way out of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, we passed by a show that was just beginning. Western kids dressed up in Hogwarts robes were singing a musical number. I made Fletch stop for a moment, curious to see a bunch of white kids singing in Japanese. Surely that would offer some amusement. There were no words though, just the same syllable sung repeatedly. How sad if a musical career had to succumb to that. Apparently if you're a gaijin in need of a job in Japan, you can dress up as a fictional gaijin at Universal Studios.

We left the Wizarding World and wandered over to the New York area, the only area of the park that we hadn’t seen yet. There was a Curious George attraction with an entire row of baby strollers lined up against the building, as far as the eye could see. We could definitely skip that whatever that was, in fact just looking at it was exhausting. We turned and looked at each other, and decided that we were happy and had seen everything that we wanted to see. The Express Passes had gotten us through the highlights of the park in a whomping three hours. We bought some caramel corn on our way out, and made our way back to the train.

To be continued...