Recent happenings: a short photo essay
Okuchi Ice festival
Godzilla
Hidaka Masato dinner show at Kagoshima’s Shiroyama Hotel
Cabbage rolls
The atmosphere of the staff room at Akune junior high on Monday morning was heavy. Everyone seemed to be lagging: the science teacher; the language arts teacher; fellow English teachers, and even the home economics teacher. Needless to say, the students were also having trouble starting their engines. This is only typical for the first day back to school after a long weekend. Although every long weekend must come to an end, there are certain benefits to getting back to the grind. For example, instead of bending over at the sink next to a fellow teacher washing up between classes, completely speechless, there is something to talk about:
‘How was your trip to so-and-so?’
‘Oh. Great. The hot springs were wonderful and the accommodations were very reasonable.’
Sure, the first round in the ring after a long hiatus may be rough, but when one can look for to well-informed travel advice, not to mention scrumptious tea treats from all over the region, what could really be so bad? This Sunday I embarked on the express train back to Akune with a bag full of some of the most desired treats in the country. I am referring, of course, to Nagasaki’s subtly sweet and sensuously steamed Castella cake.
The impetus for the long weekend stint came from my neighbours in Izumi who always has a travel bug. Just when I thought my radar for vacation days was honed to its max, Katie and Badillo called me nearly one month in advance about a possible three day-trip to Nagasaki for the next long weekend (way off my radar). Katie had already made reservations at what apparently was voted the best hostel in Japan and the train tickets would be extra cheap. Thinking about the possibilities of this trip, I realized that I couldn’t recall the last time I spent more than two nights anywhere on vacation, let alone a city I had never been to. Did I mention I had been yearning to go to Nagasaki for almost a decade? I was in.
We set out for Nagasaki from Izumi on the second bullet train of the morning last Friday, National Foundation Day. Within moments we were at Yatsushiro junction where we would transfer to the Relay Tsubame, meaning swallow (a lot of Kyushu’s express trains are named after birds). The transfer is quite genius actually. When the bullet train arrives on platform number one, for example, the Tsubame is there, waiting at platform number two, ready to take off minutes later. No need to hurry. No need even to take the stairs.
Until the last leg of our train ride to Nagasaki, the crew from Kagoshima had been seated happily and comfortably in the non-reserved section. That was until we made our last transfer on to the Kamome, seagull, for the homestretch from Tosu to Nagasaki. I have most likely mentioned before the fervor with which Japanese people attack anything resembling a national holiday. This tenacity for travel sometimes results in the unfortunate case of having to stand in a packed train. Sometimes it can be a short ride. This time it was not. One and a half hours later, our vision blurred and legs now jell-o, we lurched to a stop at the terminus. We had reached Nagasaki.
Lunch in Nagasaki station
Outside Nagasaki station
Nagasaki manhole, check it out Dad
Throughout Japan’s nearly three century-long period of isolation, the Edo period, Nagasaki was one of the only known ports open to foreign trade. As is characteristic of many port cities, Nagasaki developed small immigrant communities. One of the most established of those was the Chinese community. Every year sporadic flashes of fireworks and the pale glow of lanterns emanated from the Chinese neighborhoods during the vernal equinox, known by many as the Chinese New Year. What started as a contained sign of enduring cultural tradition abroad would, over the centuries, turn into a spectacle that now draws tens of thousands of people from all over Asia every year. I am speaking of course of the Nagasaki Lantern Festival. Simply put, the event is two full weeks of dazzling lantern light, showcases of Chinese traditional culture and all of the street food one could possibly wish for. And what's more? It is all nestled amidst the beautiful hills and harbor of Nagasaki.
Dejima is a man made island that was constructed during the early Edo period. Its few residents were foreign traders from either Holland or Portugal. Other than guards, a few appointed merchants and courtesans, no other Japanese were allowed on Dejima. This island came up countless times in my research throughout university. I was very glad I got a chance to take a tour, as you can see.
Dejima
Mini-Dejima
The hostel that Badillo and I stayed in was a five-minute ride from the station on streetcar. International Hostel Akari, has been voted best hostel in Japan a number of times in the past few years, and for good reason. The rooms were well kept, and heated I might add. Hot showers were available in the morning and at night. There was a fully functional kitchen, refrigerator and coffee station (by donation). And if that wasn’t enough, the staff members are the kind of people that make leaving something hard to do. Kazu and Tomo, the two lovely people working the hostel while we were there, were vital to the success of our trip and became instant friends.
Hostel Akari
With our beds freshly made and our packs tucked safely in our corner of our eight-person room on the fourth floor, Badillo and I set out on to the streets of Nagasaki toward the lantern festival, the glow of the lanterns and the sent of the food stands our sensory guides. In five short minutes we were surrounded by the unique ambiance that only a packed China town can bring; the silent civilians of Nagasaki who snaked through the mess of it all without a word, their eyes locked to the ground seemed juxtaposed against shouting storeowners and bewildered tourists. After sampling some of the street food, squeezing through the crowds, catching a glimpse of the Chinese violinist and basking in light of seemingly animate lanterns we met our rendezvous.
China town
Sesame balls, the first of too many that came after
Lantern warrior
Matsunaga Norihisa walks like his brother, talks like his brother, smokes, drinks and thinks like his brother. There was no mistake that the short man who picked me out of the crowd after a short phone call was Captain Matsunaga’s older brother. Mr. Matsunaga is one of eleven siblings to the Captain and has been living in Nagasaki for the better part of this past decade. He grows potatoes, raises goats and has his hand on the managerial side of a number of businesses around town; Mr. Matsunaga’s face is well known in the town in which he lives, just like his brother. One of the close ties he has in the city is with the owner of a successful Indian restaurant, Milan. Badillo and I almost broke a sweat trying to keep pace with Mr. Matsunaga as we rushed to catch our reservation for dinner there.
Milan dinner
While sitting across from Mr. Matsunaga at dinner, enjoying the multiple and equally enthralling topics of conversation as well as the authentic Indian food, I couldn’t help but observe him. The resemblance to his younger brother was eerie. His posture, laugh and facial expressions-whether it be joy, worry, sadness, or surprise-were all reminiscent of the Captain. To say the least, I was happy to have met this man. I was overjoyed to be in the presence of someone who emits a similar type of energy as the Captain. I couldn’t help myself from laughing, because I sensed that, like his younger brother, Mr. Matsunaga is a man with a big, open heart.
Lanterns
Spectacles Bridge
We awoke the next morning to snow. Kazu at the front desk said that weathermen are getting better at their jobs every year. Kazu’s sense of humour has no linguistic boundaries. After a quick cup of coffee in the hostel kitchen and a couple of pastries from a nearby bakery, Badillo and I headed to the Peace Park and Atomic bomb museum. When we got off the train the snow had reduced to a flurry. When we reached the border of the Peace Park the sun breached from behind the clouds and the snow stopped almost instantly. Compared to Hiroshima, the scale of Nagasaki’s Peace Park is much smaller. This, however, does not hinder the deeply resonating message of the park that stands as a reminder of the dark, sad moments that passed over Nagasaki city nearly seventy years ago. The museum was sobering, amazingly well designed, packed with thoroughly documented history, but still some kind of sobering. Near the end of the memorial, there is a small corridor dedicated to the display of firsthand accounts from the victims of the atomic bomb. A page of a girl’s diary had been transcribed on to a wall: 「のどが乾いてたまりませんでした。水にはあぶらのようなものが一面に浮いていました。どうしても水が欲しくて、とうとうあぶらの浮いたまま飲みました。」, “I was unbearably thirsty. There was something like oil floating on the surface of the water. I wanted water so bad. Eventually, I drank the water with the oil still on it.” This passage has been engraved on a stone that sits in front of the fountain at the head of the Peace Park.
Peace Park
Hypocenter
Victims’ memorial
Metal cranes
Badillo and I walked out of the exhibit exchanging few words. Taking a last look at the cranes on display in the foyer, we left the museum with a deep sigh. When we lifted our heads we were face-to-face with a vibrant city. I have had this feeling before, I thought to myself. I was immediately taken back to 2005, the time of my first visit to the Hiroshima Peace Park. I felt myself being enveloped by a similar wave of relief, by appreciation and thanks.
I would like to leave you with this Japanese proverb:
大事は小事より起こる, daijiwa shoujiyori okoru.
Literally translated, this short saying means, big things start from little things, or little things give rise to great things.
I was expecting a fun, relaxing weekend and an introduction to Nagasaki, nothing too special. What I encountered, however, was something much greater. And it all started from a friendly invitation from friends.
Until next time.
