Sure Etnique Travel Newsletter

The SX 463 Shinkansen Sanyo train from Osaka is slowing down into the main station of Hiroshima, as usually, dead on time: Monday afternoon 14h07; you can set your watch on the punctuality of these Japanese “bullet trains”, reaching speeds of up to 300 kilometres per hour. Platform 12 is a beehive of activity: like pre-programmed robots, people are scattering in their different pre-destined directions. No eye contact, no emotions. But, as pre-agreed by means of numerous e-mails, a neatly dressed Japanese man in his mid-sixties is standing next to the large black and red Suzuki-signboard, near the escalators.

Tateshi Okamasu, our Goodwill Guide, (An organisation of local volunteer workers who act as voluntary guides to independent travellers in various cities throughout Japan) will in the next few hours show us his Hiroshima: the suffering and agony of the A-Bomb attack of some sixty years ago is still quietly sensible, though not visible, in this modern, mostly rebuilt city. We leave our suitcases in the station lockers and board the city tram #2 on route to the Peace Memorial Park in the previously thriving commercial centre of town.

Normally Japanese people are very much reserved showing little emotion, especially to outsiders; from one perspective it appears that there are no individuals in Japan. The word for individual in Japan has the connotation of selfishness. The Japanese proverb deru kugi wa utareru, meaning that the protruding nail is hammered down, is much applicable. For the Japanese the inside, internal is private (uchi), where as the outside, external is public (soto); in the same way they distinguish between surface (omote) and deep (ura), front (tatemae) and back (honne). Though the differences are very subtle, they give much attention to body language.

However, strangely enough, Tateshi starts spontaneously to tell us of their traditions, beliefs, ideas and looking into the Japanese mirror to try and understand the miracle of his survival story of that gruesome, though life-changing day of August 1945.

On that particular day his mother took her toddler-son, to visit family in a distant town on the north coast of Honshu, Amanohashidate. His two sisters were left at home, the granny and father at work. The Japanese description of amae, as having an intense son – mother dependency, is even today stronger than the relationship between a man and his wife. This strong affection, loyalty and protectiveness colours all of a son’s life in Japan.

It was this special affection that eventually saved Tateshi’s life, because their whole family were wiped out on that tragic autumn afternoon. Mother and son could only return to their mourning site many weeks later.

“Immediately after the bombing I fought with my self for 30 minutes, before I could take the first picture. After taking the first, I grew strangely calm and wanted to get closer. I took about ten steps forward and tried to snap another, but the scenes I saw were so gruesome my viewfinder clouded with tears”
- Yoshyo Matsushige

The next few hours we become part of a gripping and very sad emotion, as shared by our new friend of Hiroshima: in a sense similar to the Warsaw ghetto-experience, or the rubble ruins of the World Trade Centre. How can anybody describe a nation’s agony and pain caused by war and terror?

War is the work of Man
War is destruction of Human Life
War is Death
To remember the Past is to commit oneself to the future
To remember Hiroshima is to commit oneself to peace
– Pope John Paul II (February 1981)

We reach the northern corner, where the remains of the partly restored A-bomb Dome building are. This exhibition hall forms a dramatic northern entrance to the huge commemorative site, known as the Peace Memorial Park. When the bomb exploded, it ravaged the building instantly. The blazing heat consumed the entire building, obviously killing all; because of the blast attack from virtually straight overhead, some walls escaped total collapse as well as the wire framework of the dome: these form the shape that has become a symbol of the Park.

Consisting of various focal points, the total terrain comprises of separate entities; each depicting its own story with different emphasis on specific aspects of the devastation that the Enola Gay caused: The attack, the destruction, the aftermath, the suffering and also the regeneration of hope and eventually inner-soul victory.

The visually told story is exhibited in the Hiroshima Memorial Museum, in itself a work of art by the well known Japanese architect Kenzo Tange: tragic photos, ruined tricycle, and a watch that stopped at the time of the disaster.

The Cenotaph for the Victims resembles an ancient arch-shaped house, to shelter the souls of the victims from the elements and inscribed by the words “Let all the souls here rest in peace, for we shall not repeat the evil.” A stone chest holds the registry of the names of 225 000 who died after the explosion of Little Boy, the deadly A-Bomb.

Tateshi, showing the area where their house originally was, and his sisters and granny died at 08h15 on that autumn day

The National Peace Memorial Hall is a tribute to the suffering of the brave survivors, and comprises of a double volume basement, forming a cylindrical space, with a counter-clockwise spiral ramp leading into the Hall of Remembrance, a dim lit sanctuary.

“That autumn in Hiroshima, where it was said:
for 75 years nothing will grew
But, to the contrary, new buds sprouted in the green that came back to life again -
Among the charred ruins new people recovered their living hopes and courage”

And finally the living spirit of hope and forgiveness of the young and new generation, as symbolised by the Children’s Peace Monument. Here we pause for quite some time as we are listening to Tateshi’s gripping account of his young friend, Sadako Sasaki, a two-year old who was exposed to the bombing, contracting leukaemia ten years later and eventually died after much suffering for most of her life.

“A Dragonfly flitted in front of me and stopped on a fence. I stood up, took my cap in my hands and was about to catch the dragonfly when … “

Shocked by her death, her classmates put out a national call to build a monument to mourn all the children who died from this senseless bombing. With the support of young people in more than 3000 schools in Japan and in ten other countries, this monument was erected in 1958: a figure of a young girl holding a folded crane-bird; as a wind chime another crane hangs under an ancient bronze bell, inside the concrete sculpture. Today millions of brightly coloured paper folded birds called “origami” hang as ribbons at the base of this gripping inscription to the monument: This is our cry. This is our prayer. For building peace in this world.

Just before sunset, we return back to the station, and board a regional train to Miyajima, a sacred island, and site of the brightly red-coloured floating torii and shrine, just off the mainland of Honshu. The train, packed with people returning to their homes after work, takes about 70 minutes to reach Miyajima-gúchi terminal, followed by a 10 minute ferry cruise to the island.

Tateshi joins us to our traditional Japanese hotel, Iwaso Ryokan. Set in the natural habitat of the park in full bloom with cherry blossoms, at the foot of Mount Mise-san, this Ryokan has been already in the Kubo family for three generations. The Ryokan is a traditional Japanese style of accommodation, serving only Japanese food in your straw-matting style room (Tatami). Comfortable slippers replace your Nike tackies left outside your room.

After sharing a local beer (Asahi biru) with us in our room as a traditional gesture of hospitality and also explaining the comprehensive menu of food to be served sitting seiza-style in our room later, Tateshi leaves for home.

When entering our room, the two kimono-dressed Japanese girls, who serve our food, greet us by saying ojama-shi-mass which literally means “I am disturbing you or I am impolite”. On the low table is the display of raw fish in all forms, colours, and sizes; at least ten little bowls and twice as many sauces and oils. They will politely show us what to do with each dish and in return we have to respond by saying itadaki-mass (“I receive”) and when we finish with the dinner, we express our appreciation with gochisõ-sama deshta (“it has been a feast!”).

Their immediate positive response is proof that the respect we have shown to their customs and etiquette is greeted with appreciation from their side.

We know that spending some time within the miracle mirror of this island civilisation, we have undertaken a looking-glass journey through Japan in an afternoon, learn from Tateshi some very special Japanese values and traditions, understand how to appreciate their native sushi and sashimi way of preparing food in the original Japanese style (not the western diluted mix!) and may also be only starting to understand the complexities of this different country in our diverse world.

And again we realise that, if you take a little extra time and trouble and visit those special places, often off the beaten tourist track, you will be rewarded: we have experienced yet another face of Japan.
- Johann and Monique

(This is the first article, in a series of interesting people we have met under very strange circumstances in different places, during our travelling experiences)