6 posts tagged “travel”
Last February, a new-to-Sasebo couple we're all now quite familiar with (read: the Hub and I), dreamed of going to Nagasaki to take part in some sort of lamp party but were thwarted by "come-with-us" friends who bailed on them the day of the planned trip. Heartbroken, but determined, they swore that in the next year, nothing would prevent them from finding that lamp shindig.
Fast forward a year, and Hub and I are now professionals at the travelling business, although we still like the handiness of letting other people plan things for us from time to time. Knowing that February was approaching, we stalked the employees watched carefully for the announcement and pounced as soon as we saw it: an overnight trip to the Nagasaki Lantern Festival. We knew, vaguely, that the celebration was in honor of the Chinese New Year, but otherwise, we were rather clueless as to what the fuss was all about (but were told multiple times to make sure we didn't miss it).
On a clear, and extremely cold, Sunday morning, we met the bus with a small suitcase of essentials, a messenger bag of snacks and electrical gadgets (the necessary mp3s, DS games, and camera), and grins for the two-hour trip to downtown Nagasaki. Our guide explained she'd be taking us to a garden dedicated to a famous shipbuilder and a rebuilt church; after exchanging quick glances, we explained we'd already visited those places (total lie, but forgive me for that little one) and asked if we could go straight to the festival itself. Our guide handed off our maps with her blessings and instructions for meeting up the next day. Excited, we stashed our luggage upstairs in our cute, European-esque room and dashed out onto the streets in search of Minato Park, said to be just a few minutes away.
Following a trail of pumpkin-shaped lanterns said to guide the route between park festivities, we came across the tail-end of the Emperor's Parade, with a float "borne" as if it were a rickshaw by painted characters and guarded by a fierce warrior. Cheering, we allowed ourselves to be swept by the enamoured crowd through a gate guarded by a regal phoenix and into Minato Park. Hailing as one of the two central locations for the festival, we found ourselves surrounded by lanterns of all shapes and sizes, not yet glowing in the daylight, and a stage where a group of beautiful Japanese ladies dressed in ceremonial fineries waltzed across to the introduction of their pageant-esque titles ("Ms. Saga!" "Ms. Okinawa!"). In the center of it all stood a mammoth lantern proudly displaying this year's astrological host: the Rat. A sign of new beginnings, I found it very apt for the start of a year where we have so many new adventures planned and blessings prayed for.
Squealing delightedly, we snapped pictures of dancing lions, flying koi, and gigantic, peaceful pandas, following our nose to a vendor who smilingly exchanged our yen for two steamed buns filled with fatty, shredded barbeque pork. We stopped, watching the parade of "festival ladies," and polished off our treats before continuing down the lantern-lined street.
As we moved closer to Chinatown, the air directly above us filled completely with more of the pumpkin lanterns, and our noses were treated to all manners of delicacies--steamed pork buns, mochi balls, roasted chestnuts, and a sweet bread braided and twisted into a thick rope and stacked into minature temples. We laughed and moved along, following our lantern guides across the bridge and around the corner until we crossed Tetsu-bashi Bridge and found our way into Cyuo (Central) Park. We paused to have our picture taken by a magnificent horse and another of a gorgeous koi before going to the stage and watching a magic show. Looking at our schedule, we ducked into a coffee shop to warm up and wait out the quickly approaching sunset. As the sunlight faded, we crossed the bridge again, and while waiting for the crossing light, we heard gongs and cheers behind us. Turning, a brightly-dressed stream of Japanese people flooded onto the bridge pushing large gongs, hoisting drums, and supporting two dragons whose bodies easily flowed 20 feet behind the heads. When the light turned green, we raced ahead, running to get to the Park before they did so we could see the dance. Though the pictures didn't turn out well that showed the dance movements, the red dragon, hosted entirely by a female troupe, stopped directly in front of us, almost as if inviting a snapshot. Following our cheer-leaders into a rousing chorus of chants meant to draw the dragons out of hiding, we shouted and danced as the night closed around and the cold grew sharper teeth. Afterwards, we walked back to the hotel so we could start the next morning again.
Seemingly before the rest of the group awoke, we were out the door in the morning, making our way into the local shopping arcade which served as another party path. Along the way, I got to indulge in my Pokemon fandom while the Hub and I took turns taking pictures with the characters from one of our favorite Japanese movies, Our Neighbor Totoro. We continued through, looking at the different shops and enjoying the area. We stopped so Hub could take a picture with his favorite gorilla lantern (yep--that's a lantern too), visited a pet store where we ooh-ed and aah-ed at the puppies, and then moved on to another section of the city. Where different lanterns displayed all of the Chinese astrological signs in order. I found my horse while Hub found the ram, and we found ourselves in a more historical side of Nagasaki with stone bridges crossing the stream where people once washed clothes and drew water in ancient times for the nearby line of temples. Stopping at one bridge, named Spectacles Bridge because of the shadow it throws across the water, a local man pointed the routes to find the 5 nearest holy Japanese temples peppered the landscape with 2 Chinese holy sites scattered in between. We bowed and thanked him, making the decision to visit those at a later time; our trip was quickly coming to a close, and we still needed to return to the hotel. Moving quickly down the now-familiar path, we took last looks at the lanterns, bought a few snacks and gifts along the way, and reboarded the bus headed for home until next year when the festival returns again with its new host, the Ox.
Perhaps a strange title, to begin, but it jumps to the heart of this edition of blogliness.
As seen previously, the Hub and I had already spent some time in a private Japanese bath, but, as explained by my Japanese friends at work, an onsen is a completely separate experience altogether. While both boast of relaxation and meditation, the onsen is fueled from natural hot springs bubbling just below the surface of the islands of Japan which are strewn with active volcanos. Since Kyushu is a fairly small island and has a very active volcano just a few hours away (Mt. Aso), there is an abudance of onsen in this area which we had never taken advantage of. For the long weekend, MWR offered a "romantic" getaway to the Ureshino Spa and Ryokan.
Having visited the baths, Hub and I knew that the actual time in the water was spent naked, but we were hoping to find a private facility where we could be alone. At one point, one of my supervisors at work was going on the trip, and the thought of being naked with coworkers seemed a bit odd, although something I was determined to move beyond. When she had to cancel and when no one else I knew stepped forward as a co-visitor, I eased up and told Hub that, according to a friend who had visited in the past, there were no private baths to be found but that at least we would be split by gender. He was torn between hoping there would be no other guys on the trip (the ships were supposed to be gone at the time) so he wouldn't be naked in front of someone he might know and hoping there would be other guys there so he wasn't naked alone with Japanese men he knew for sure he wouldn't know, all of which I found humorous.
So, the morning of the trip, we packed a backpack apiece with a few snacks, a big towel, flip flops, and not much else, assuming that nothing much was needed for a bath visit. Loading the bus, we said hello to the three people we knew (from church and work, no less), and took our seats in the back, settling in for the distant journey. To our surprise, 30 minutes and 2 highway exits later, we were slowing on the exit ramp to a giant sign bearing our onsen's name. Following the signs led us down a couple of back streets to a large hotel building with the beginnings of a garden peeking around the corner. Upon our entrance, we were greeted by both the hotel's friendly, welcoming cat (present in all Japanese businesses and often in people's homes to welcome and to bring well wishes to the guests) and by hosts of a more human nature.
Into a larger room we were led, removing our shoes before we entered, and seated around a low, traditional Japanese table for green tea and a cookie which served as a light snack from the trip. When our guide announced we could attend to the baths whenever we liked, nervous glances were swapped around the room between some while others coolly tried to play that they needed another cup of tea at just that exact moment, which forced me to bite my lip before a giggle could escape. Standing, I resolutely decided I would not be cowered, grabbed the hand of Hub (yes, I'll not be cowered...with an accomplice!), and asked where we should go to change. Snagging towels and robes, we followed the only two of our group to begin before we did around a corner, separating into our own "locker rooms." To say it was a locker room is to be accurate, as there were lockers to place your belongings into, but that is, by no means, to insinuate that the smells and the memories of high school gym flooded back to me. Instead, I found tatami mats carefully placed to cover the floor with foot massagers in one corner, and baskets ready to hold your essentials placed on shelves in the middle. Finding a cubby hole-d basket, I began stripping down, carefully not looking around the room and determinedly not covering myself with a towel immediately after taking off my socks (exaggeration, but you can understand how this situation might lead to extreme modesty where one normally might not have any or as much). Loading everything into the basket, I snagged my washcloth, which, in its defense, was nearly as long as an American handtowel, and walked out as casually as my pink face could muster.
(Here, I suppose, I really should state that any pictures taken from this point on are from the guys' perspective as Hub was the camera holder of the day. I realized this after stripping and hoped he would remember to take them; once we rejoined and settled in our house after the trip, I was surprised by how comfortable he became with his fellow bathers, though I do not know all the stories. Needless to say, I'll insert them as best I can but acknowledge that all might not make the best of sense. Carry on.)
Leaving the locker room by way of a glass door at the opposite corner of the entrance, I found myself surrounded by steam and stone, in a room where tiny, sit-down showers lined three of the walls while the fourth was solid glass, overlooking a garden outside. In the center of all the showers was an indoor bath where several older Japanese ladies relaxed, looking up curiously at my entrance. Shuffling slowly to a shower, I sat on the low stool, adjusting the spray to a warmer temperature in order to ease the shivers whose origin came from either the brisk air, my nerves, or a combination thereof. Trying to sneak a peek at my neighbor who seemed to know better what to do, I grabbed the provided washcloth, lathered up a sweet, but mild, smelling soap from the first pump of three, and began scrubbing myself clean. Knowing I was expected to be clean before entering the bath, I continued for about 15 minutes before deciding I was as fresh and pink as possible without removing a second layer of skin then, dumping my washtowel into the provided bucket, I dipped into the indoor bath to relax.
While heavenly, I knew this wasn't what I had come for and left soon afterwards via a door that blended well with the wall of glass in the front. Just outside, I discovered the full version of the beautiful garden I glimpsed from indoors, complete with a hot springs bath. From the side, steaming water poured out of an immense stone teapot over a giant bag filled with green tea leaves, turning the bath into one giant steaming cup of tea! Off to the side of the teapot sat a basket full of smaller tea bags, which I grabbed two of, dipped them in the water in emulation of the pair of Japanese ladies in the back, then placed them over my closed eyes, gently rubbing them across my face, hoping the antioxidants would soak in and erase all of the lines that have insistently appeared with time.
My relaxation was slightly marred by the incessant chatter of one of the women on the trip, but for the most part, I was able to just stretch out in the hot water, tea bags on my eyes, all the unease of being naked slowly draining with the tension from my muscles. Approximating that an hour had passed, I eased myself out of the bath, smiling, and again stepped up to the mini-showers, rinsing the tea away, and re-robed in the locker room. A quick poll among the women found us all putting our underwear back on under the robes before making our way back to the original room, now transformed with multiple pallets strewn around the room, one for each of us. Selecting our own mat, we lay as gracefully as we could, careful of our robes, as a different masseuse was assigned to each of us in turn. Our guide came by, asking if the pressure should be increased, decreased, or maintained, and I sighed my contentment to the words of, "It's perfect," before she left.
And then I almost cried. After she walked away, my masseuse seemed to take it a personal offense when my body did not immediately let go of the tautness of muscle to the degree he felt it should when he thought it should. From that point on, the massage was an experience of pain (when he "massaged"), of relief (when he paused), of whimpers (from me), and of grunts (from him). When he tapped me to say he was finished, I swear I saw a ghost of a triumphant grin pass his face before the stoic mask dropped again, and he stood, bowed low, and walked away. It is less important, although humorous to those not in my condition, to note that I rose much more slowly and hobbled over to my bag where I changed behind the painted screens, feeling like I was some sort of shadow-dancer who had been at the gig years beyond my prime. My track record now with Japanese massages is as follows: Hillary-zero, Japan-two.
After everyone changed, we spent a little time wandering through the gift shop, taking a few pictures, and sipping on tea before bowing in exchange with our lovely hosts, boarding the bus, and waving happily as we drove back the short distance that seemed a lifetime away from this tiny, quiet corner.
(Note, again: I did feel better later on, and Hub laughed at me for being a pansy with regards to my massages. That continued until the next day when a gigantic bruise erupted from my skin, to which I pointed in pained joy as proof of the over-zealousness of my tormenter from before. Still, we loved and enjoyed it and plan to return another time soon.)
I've probably mentioned this once or twice, but just next door to the housing area where I live in Hario is a Dutch "theme park" named Huis Ten Bosch. Now, putting theme park in quotations is a little deceiving. Huis Ten Bosch (hereafter called HTB) is a themed park, meaning it is a completely Dutch-themed park in the middle of Japan, but that definition doesn't fit with what most Americans' vision would encompass--roller coasters, lots of junk food, character mascots roaming around for children to snuggle and take pictures with, and lots of Disney-esque shows of fantastic design.
Well, maybe HTB does fit a bit of all that, but I might just be getting a bit ahead of myself.
Our friend, Natalie, had asked us to go to HTB once before for a festival of sorts, and we hemmed and hawed our way out of it. However, when she mentioned a tasting event of over 120 wines from around the globe, I nudged (shoved) the Hub into meeting up with her the next day so we could get our annual pass. Determined to be as health-observant as possible, we walked the mile and a half from our home to the entrance, completed our forms for a Navy pass which would allow us in for twelve months, and set off to explore on our own for a few hours before Natalie could meet up with us after work. Immediately, we spotted one of the traditional symbols of the Netherlands, the windmill, and got swept away (HAHAHA--I kill myself with the puns) with the beauty of the carefully-arranged flowers surrounding the towering giants. We crossed over a large stream leading to the ocean nearby to enter the castle which guards the only path leading into the majority of the park. Just inside, we spotted a teddy bear museum and decided to have a gander.
We really shouldn't have. Thousands upon thousands of very expertly and fancifully dressed bears surrounded us in a myriad of poses while signs all around boasted of the history of the teddy bear (which led to the most disturbing bear of them all--a teddy with a bear's body and Teddy Roosevelt's face; may I never see that again). All-in-all, even my strong, brave, military man of a Hub was a bit put off by the creepiness of the place, and we found ourselves tangled in the displays unable to find an exit. By the time we got out, we wondered if perhaps there would not be enough in the park to hold our interest (excepting the wine and the vistas, of course).
Oh, were we ever wrong.
The next corner led to the greatest place I might have found in any of my travels--The House of Cheese. Now, had we walked in only to find a history of cheese with transplanted faces of long-ago cheese makers plastered on the plastic busts of cheese wheels, I probably would have left crying, scared and scarred. However, what we discovered was a shop filled with locally-made cheeses of all varieties: robust blues, hard hunks of parmesan, tiny morsels of cream cheese topped with a delicate jam, smoked slices of herb-filled cheddars and goudas. The combination of it all was enough to make me cry for other reasons. Undoubtedly, we probably spent 20 minutes browsing through the cheeses before the Hub nudged (shoved) me out the door with promises of returning when we were ready to leave. At first, I was a bit upset, but the direction in which he gently guided me (PUSHED) led to a tiny path around the corner of the shop where we found a stand selling Cheese Shakes.
I love cheese, as the previous paragraph would likely convey, but even I was a bit hesitant to try a milkshake of cheese. Imagining a mix of disgust and intrigue a liquid drink of nacho goodness, I convinced the Hub to split one with me. We noticed the couple in front of us requesting blueberries to be added, but the thought could not break into the image I already had invented of nacho-ness, so I chose a plain cheese shake. Hesitantly, I took the first sip before passing it off to Hub...and then immediately grabbing it back and claiming it for my own. This reaction, however, was my downfall as he realized it must be good and demanded it be returned for his own test. Instead of the nacho cheese I had pictured, we had stumbled upon a cheeseCAKE milkshake, which has now become an instant favorite. We forced ourselves not to order another one, but only because we convinced ourselves that the teddy bear museum must have been the park's way of scaring off the faint at heart from the treasures within.
Every street we wandered was filled with fun and interesting shops or displays; all the buildings were modeled after an early European design, while the service was exquisitely Japanese. The entire effect was breathtaking, and we found ourselves running in and out of stores and museums, giggling like all of the Japanese tourists around us. Down from the House of Cheese was a cheese restraunt, which bordered the Chocolate House. Across from both of those was a candy shop, selling a mixture of Dutch and Japanese sweet treats. Our favorite area, other than the cheese place, of course, was a museum of eye-benders. We could not read the signs, but watching those around us led to such perfect photo opportunities as Hub versus King Kong and Hub falling from the sky.
We met up with Natalie just outside of the eye-bending displays, bragging and showing off our pictures when we noticed an older Japanese woman attempting to take a picture of the street we were blocking. We bowed then scurried to the side of the street to get out of her way, throwing in a "Sumimasen!" for good measure. To our surprise, she looked rather embarassed, but we went back to examining our own shots. A few moments later, looking up, we realized she had moved with us; turning around to see what she could possibly be taking a picture of that we were blocking this time, we saw that another woman was standing just a couple of feet behind us and to the side, flashing a grin and a peace sign. Blinking, we turned back to the first lady, felt the blast of her flash bulb, before the two of them ran away giggling at THEIR perfect photo opportunities--Americans on display! Natalie, Hub, and I looked at each other, bewildered, then back at the ladies who turned to give us a quick bow before scampering away, laughing again. I don't think I've been a Kodak moment since my old days of Smokey-the-Bear-dom (aka National Park Service work)!
The day was a gorgeous one filled with beautiful weather, delicious wines (which led to me meeting a very helpful barista who taught me the words for "sweet" and "dry," as well as running into a friend from work, Tateishi-san, who volunteers for HTB on the weekends), good food (a delicate pizza of Japanese bacon and potatoes--yes, it was delicate with those toppings, I promise!--and cheese, of course), and outrageous picture moments like me and the giant wooden shoes. I considered buying a smaller, slightly better-fitting pair before I admitted that even in my most adventurous moments of shoe-shopping I'd be very unlikely to ever wear true wooden shoes.
Finally, at the end of the day, laden down with cheese and wine, we hailed a taxi for the return home. Even a mile and a half can be killer when hauling 3 gorgeous bottles and a small investment in dairy goodness!
As an update, recently, we returned with our friend Natalie (along with her husband, Nate, this time) to enjoy the Christmas decorations that Huis Ten Bosch displays. This time, we enjoyed a feast of Chinese food including golden potstickers, fried rice, and some sort of sweet-and-savory pork before meeting at the center of the park for the Christmas dance show, with a hot cup of caramel milk to warm our hands. Sparked with the holiday spirit, Nate insisted on leading us all in Christmas carols while we waited for the evening fireworks (every night at 8:45), which led to Japanese people curiously watching us, attempting to determine whether we were a mismatched display or just crazy Americans out for an evening. Of course, we all know the latter answer is a given, so while we giggled our way through "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire," we had to appreciate the night for what it was, nonetheless.
Right on time, from my viewpoint of blog-writing, that is. I contemplated two different blog entries for the two subjects I hope to cover but eventually decided that if I'd taken this long in one, two would surely be hopelessly lost in the time warp (not to mention I actually hope to post another blog after this one, but it shall be mostly of pictures and short catch-phrases...meaning the phrases will catch you up on things, not that they're witty in the slightest).
After the warm reception of my last walking entry, I was encouraged to drag the camera with me along my second usual morning route: a trip down the nearest major road (major being a bit of a...err...stretch) running alongside a theme park located next to my home called Huis Ten Bosch. Kyushu, my island, was the most welcoming part of Japan to traders and to missionaries from the exploring continent of Europe; the first such visitors were Dutch and became quite a routine sight until the Emperor and his shogun determined that the spread of Christianity and such ideas might lead to natives questioning the right of their power. As so many have done before, they promptly killed the missionaries (a memorial to them is located in Nagasaki, although we haven't visited that site yet), disallowed the trading to commence, and went back to Kyoto (then the capital of Japan) quite satisfied.
The thoughts freely shared by the traders had quite a lasting effect, however, and eventually, Sasebo created this oddly-placed theme park in their honor. Every night at 8:45 p.m., fireworks and a laser show start up just across the road from us, over the water, as the park winds down. On my daily commute-to-better-health, I am first met by the delicious aroma coming from the local bakery that provides for the attraction; I find when I stumble across the smell that my feet are torn in two directions: the one hopes to run faster to be away from the tempting smell while the other drags behind in dreams of diving into a tray of doughy goodness. All the same, the entrance into the bakery area is marked with this sign, symbolizing the Japanese version of UPS. Notice the mother cat carrying the kitten gently, just as they would your package. (Insert cheesy commercial smile at this juncture--really, I just thought it interesting as it's a sign/flag we see at nearly every business in the area because of the delivery routes)
Along the way, the sidewalk itself is split, as one would also find common to areas like bus stations, train depots, and airports; if you can't guess, the raised portion is a guide to the blind, and at every intersection, a couple of feet before crossing, the raised line races around so that one has to step on it before stepping into the roadway. Ingenious, and everywhere here, although I've yet to meet or to see a blind person in this area. Continuing, we come to the easily noticed ANA Hotel, displaying a compass on the end closest to the water and a clock on the opposite side. At this point, I generally keep going, ignoring the bridge that leads from the hotel to the nearest train station in favor of walking next to the water. Once the bridge is behind me, the area's focus turns away from the park and more to the residential side of the local cho, with plenty of houses, small shops, and convenience stores; my turning point, at the time of this picture (although now I keep going--yay me!), hit at the 2 mile mark, which, conveniently for me, was easily recognizable by a statue on a rock placed by the local fishermen. There truly is more to this walk, the area, and the park, but we hope to actually visit the park some day, so I'll take pictures and post them at that point.
Last month marked the fifth anniversary of Hub putting up with me and my crazy ways in an official format (read: our fifth wedding anniversary recently passed), and as a means of rewarding ourselves for not killing each other or going crazy just yet, we opted to look into recommendations from friends and from MWR for a spa. Kyushu is filled with many hot springs, and the Japanese believe bathing in the springs and in hot springs baths to be therapeutic, relaxing, and life-extending. I don't know about the third, but we were ready for a little relaxing therapy and so made reservations at a local place called Banshoro.
A little zen garden awaited our arrival outside, and while we tried to get into a calm and a confident stance, the tiny, Japanese woman inside instructed us in broken English to remove our shoes and put them away in lockers. Once de-shoed, we climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor where she said our bath would be waiting. Now, as a side note, I should say that most Japanese baths are public affairs, sometimes divided by sex but just as often co-inhabited. For our first trip, we weren't sure about braving the staring eyes upon American-sized flesh and opted to go into hiding with our own bathing room. Ushered into a sitting room area, our guide shut the door and intoned that he would return in an hour. Grinning nervously at each other, Hub locked the door behind us while I explored the little area. In addition to a closet for our clothing, santizers with brushes for our use (no, thank you), hairdryers, cologne, and mirrors to get prepared for normal society again (again, no, thank you; I don't use the cologne or take the mints from a bathroom attendant for the same reasons).
Just into the next room through a sliding door with paper screens, where the hardwood floor transitioned into a smooth, gray stone, was the actual bath. Stepping in, we spotted the shower facilities where one is expected to scrub completely before melting into the hot water that flowed from the bronze fountain into the deepest tub I believe I've ever seen. The tub itself was overflowing, allowing the steaming water to meander through the stones and into the many drains in the room. Just to the right were the stools and buckets used by the staff to scrub the area after we departed.
Without going into great detail, I will say that we enjoyed our bath very much, although we eventually had to open the window to allow some air in as everything was delightfully hot to the skin for any length of time. As the hour came to a close, we dressed again, met our guide outside the door, and headed down one flight to our waiting massage appointments. I cannot express fully the relaxing nature of having a tiny Japanese woman with steel arms and lobster claw-esque grip clamp upon your muscles, twisting them into directions perpindicular from the way they usually lie, then giggling when you stifle screams of horror into faint squeaks of undignified and painful pleas of mercy. Ahh, yes. Relaxing indeed. The tiny young pup Hub was assigned to must have been much easier than the former samurai-slash-torture-chamber-manager I lucked out on, as I heard barely any squeals, pops, snaps, and bone crunches as came from my table. He insists we revisit and take on hour-long massages next time; I tried to blink away the tears of shame as my friendly massuese laughed gleefully in my wake while agreeing with his wonderful idea.
As we exited, taking the long way to the car so I could stretch what was left of my muscles, I snapped this shot of the gorgeous maze-like cemetary below, wondering vaguely if other massage victims came there to rest after being dragged to the next appointment by an unknowing spouse. I'd love to take a long dip in the bath another time, but maybe we'll find another spot next time, just in case.
A bit late, but I'm determined to get this post in before our baseball adventure tomorrow and big city journey next week!
Last Sunday, with our friend Lauryl and her daughter Brianna, we again boarded the MWR bus and headed out to explore another section of our little corner in Japan. Although Hub had been to the airport several times, he had never entered Nagasaki proper; I hadn't ventured to travel in that direction at all yet, so the ride was completely new for me.
Eriko-san is now familiar with our faces and waved cheerfully, explaining that along the way we'd be stopping at a rest area for snacks and bathroom breaks. Grabbing my favorite Japanese treat, a box of thin cracker rods called Pretz, I munched contendly as I watched the road fly by. Hub and I watched for signs along the road and giggled at what we debated was either a giant tomato or a giant pumpkin (it was a fruit stand, so either could be correct) until our bus pulled to a point mid-way up a hill where scores of Japanese tour groups, led by cute, slender women with stylish bobs or neat buns, dressed in pink and navy 60's stewardess attire led picture-snapping nationals around with a small, neon flag held just in front of them along a wall, up steps, and around a corner beyond my sight. Without a flag in hand and dressed much more casual than our Japanese counterparts, we followed our neat-but-casually attired leader along the same path. Walking quickly to keep up with the amazingly swift steps of our shorter guide, I noted the worn look of the half-wall next to us and briefly glanced at a plaque professing that the wall was part of the remains left from the Nagasaki prison that had once stood there.
Rounding the corner, a great lawn of well-kept spring-green grass stretched in front of us; to the left stood an enormous statue while to the right lay smaller versions of the wall I'd seen prior. While the less mismatched tour groups used a set of portable benches to get the "perfect" group picture before the statue, Eriko-san explained to us that the statue pointed up to signify from where death had come and east where they believed lay the passage of souls into the next realm. Just next to the statue, slightly overshadowed by the enormity of the adonis-like man, was a small triangular shrine of sorts, filled with peace chains. Pointing to the golden origami-shaped crane on top, Eriko demonstrated that each chain is made up of 1000 of the origami cranes with 70 chains hanging within the "shrine" to symbolize the 70,000 people immediately killed in the blast of the atomic bomb.
With goosebumps rising on my arm on a warm day, we walked further on, looking at various memorial statues given from other countries to Nagasaki and her people to pay tribute to the wounded and dead. Along the way, a brick column stood alone, forlornly out of place with the surrounding modern-day Nagasaki; upon approach, we were told that this was all that remained of the cathedral that had once stood proudly for Japanese Christians to practice their faith. When the United States deployed with the intent to bomb, Nagasaki had not been her first choice, but because of poor weather conditions elsewhere and her strong sea ports and weapon factories, the city was selected as the most ideal location; however, when the planes flew overhead, they mistook the prison, nearby school, and cathedral for the factories they sought and dropped the atomic bomb. The bomb, being atomic in its design, did not hit the ground leaving any sort of mark, but instead blasted in the air; because of this, the Japanese have marked the hypocenter with a marker and a statue showing a mother (Japan) holding her wounded child (Nagasaki and her people) with the date and time forever immortalized: 11:02 am, August 9, 1945.
While not as deadly a blast as Hiroshima (killing 150,000 instantly), Nagasaki still suffers radiation diseases to this day, as the pictures we saw inside the chilling museum graphically portrayed. Children with twisted bodies, men and women with horrible scars or missing half a face stared back at us, seemingly pleading for help, from photographs while pieces of walls burned with shadows of humans raising their hands to guard themselves chilled us to the bone. I would love, and yet hate at the same time, to display some of the pieces we found in the museum, but due to the fragility, no pictures were allowed--a request we honored most fervently.
Leaving the Peace Park behind us, I wondered if the mood of the group would liven after such a grim few hours. Driving away, we were a much quieter group than had entered, but as the bus pulled to its next stop, we noticed a group of Japanese girls in the backseat of the bus in front of us. Since Hub and I were in the first seats, we returned their waves and infectious smiles, deboarding the bus while our spirits seemed to rise with the colorful spread of Nagasaki's Chinatown. Drawn along with the crowds, Hub, Lauryl, Brianna, and I got sucked into the crowds, finally making our way to one side so I could try the steamed pork dumplings we had heard about from Eriko. While making our purchase, we came across a group of Japanese teenagers, dressed in the short, pleated plaid skirts, white blouses, and blue blazers that scream school uniform here; anxious to speak with us, they fussed over Brianna and tested their English with us, giggling, sighing, and crowding around to hear our speech. I was surprised at the fuss because Nagasaki is twice the size of Sasebo until I realized that where I live, people are so accustomed to seeing Americans due to the base. Unless tour groups come through, it is likely most people in Nagasaki do not meet Americans very often. We laughed with them, finally separating to eat more lunch and browse a few shops (not only 100 yen stores, but also 300 and 1000 yen ones too!) before meeting back at the bus and moving on.
Just around the corner, we disembarked again in front of a Chinese shrine devoted to Confucious. Rather than the usual dogs or foxes that guard Japanese shrines, the Chinese typically use lions, and the one here was made by an especially skilled craftsman able to chisel not only the lion, but also a ball in the lion's mouth that cannot be removed (it was made of the same stone at the same time as the rest of the figure). Beyond the lion, we encountered our next difference: an incense burner to cleanse the air rather than the Japanese well to cleanse one's self. Inside the gates, we found statues of the priests of Confucian beliefs, each one displaying what the priest was especially talented at or known for.
Our last stop of the day was to the Mt. Inasa Ropeway. When I had seen this listing on our tour schedule, I could only think of the tow ropes used on small hills at ski slopes rather than a lift and wondered how something of that nature would be used in non-snowy weather. While on the bus, however, Eriko advised us that in Japan, a ropeway is a cable car that goes via a steel rope up the side of a mountain in order to bring passengers to the top. According to her, the cars could sometimes be shaky with the wind and quite scary, so if some of us did not feel comfortable going to the top, we could remain behind in the bus for the hour or so. Gulping, I looked at Hub who told me he'd stay if I didn't want to risk it, but I just couldn't pass up the chance to get to the top of the mountain. People with children were allowed to ride first (we had to take two cars due to the size of the group), so Lauryl grabbed us, refusing to ride by herself. Thankfully, the wind was not strong that day, so I enjoyed the ride while trying to comfort a pale Lauryl and shush Brianna when she said things like, "Look, Mommy! It's a long way down to all the rocks underneath us!"
Even with the brief shakiness, Lauryl admitted that there's no way we could've missed that ride; the tower built at the peak allowed a 360 degree vantage of Nagasaki and the ocean stretching out below us. Hub even grabbed me for an impromptu picture of us with the city behind. Definitely worth the scary ride for me! After first stopping again at a rest stop where we bought what we thought was a fried piece of squash (but turned out to be fried fish paste---yuck!) and then chicken nuggets out of a vending machine with a microwave programmed internally to heat them while you wait (shoulda brought my camera for that!), Hub and I reflected on the day and promised to head back via train on our own for more exploration through Chinatown and parts of the city on our own sometime soon.
While still staying in the Navy Lodge, we were in the laundry room doing the most boring of chores when I spotted a magazine with a uniquely Japanese cover. I thought I'd stumbled on one of the employee's secret stash of literature, but instead, it was a magazine of the different tours, sporting events, and festivals that the various divisions of the Navy's morale program hosts. I made of list of the seemingly interesting ones, but the one that stood out most to Hub was a tour to another shrine and then on to a sake factory.
Surprisingly to me, and to I'm sure quite a few people, the tour itself is extremely inexpensive. For just $8 apiece, we were offered transportation and a guided tour/explanation by Eriko-san, a Japanese national who works for the Navy's morale program as an interpreter and tour guide. On what would normally be Superbowl Sunday (but instead which becomes Superbowl Monday morning for us), we boarded the cutest little bus you've ever seen and found that our seats were assigned, placing us directly behind Eriko-san.
I'll pause here to mention, yet leave out, the gory details of how Hillary does not travel well on public transportation. Needless to say, only Hub knew of the weakness as I am quite experienced in preparing myself for just such an occasion. Because of this, do not ask how we got there or what we passed along the way. I do not know. Leave me alone.
Continuing.
Eriko-san warned us that since we would be on the bus for a little over an hour each way, she'd brought along a movie that she hoped we'd enjoy that she'd picked up at the local convenience store. Curious and a little excited, I did a mental "Woo-hoo!" that we'd been assigned seats so close to the tv monitor in the front.
It was Cars. Not quite what I was expecting.
Not paying much attention to the country-side we passed, I was surprised when we pulled into a rather worn parking lot with the announcement that we had arrived. Hub gave me the, "This is what you dragged me here for?" look, I kinda gulped, and then we hopped off the bus trying to smile while being more than a little confused. Seeing the look on all of our faces, Eriko-san laughed and said we had to walk a little piece in order to get to the shrine, but, as she reminded us, nothing in Japan that is worth seeing is easy to get to. Off we went.
We walked through a little pedestrian street lined with local Japanese at booths selling their wares, which I enjoyed, before we got to a large stone gate flanked just behind by stone foxes. Knowing that such a gate signaled an upcoming shrine, I started craning my neck to see what was coming up. Soon, we passed through another, more formal, gate with a large building behind it. Off to the left stood the washing well where one is expected to use a ladle to scoop the cold, clear water into first their right hand, then the left, and finally, making a cup out of your clean right hand, your mouth so that you are clean and any words spoken in the shrine are clean as well. On the right of the gate was a beautiful koi pond
Ahead of us stood the minature shrine where wishes are made. At this place, after washing, you walk up to the short, flat table, cast in some coin yen (the bigger the wish, the bigger the donation!), ring the bells at the top of the shrine using the ribbons that hang down to awake the gods, clap twice to get their attention on you, wish, then bow three times. On each side of the wishing well were two masks: one with its mouth closed to hold in the good spirits that reside at the shrine and one with his mouth open to release any demons or ill will that people might have brought with them. All of this came before the actual shrine itself.
This is the third largest shrine in Japan, the Yutoku Inari Shrine located in Kasimae. Many years ago, the capital of Japan was Kyoto, where the largest shrine still exists. One of the emperor's daughters was given to the lord living in Kyushu (my province of Japan--the very southern-most of the mainland islands) for marriage. While she loved Kyushu, she missed her shrine in Kyoto very much and so had one built to emulate it, although never to the same heights so that it would not rival her home. Rather than the traditional guardian dog to grace the entrance (one with mouth closed as if to say, "Mmmm" and one with mouth open as if to say, "Ahhh"--both holy sounds in Japan), she chose the fox for its wisdom and cunning. Because of that, the region around the shrine and the products that come from there are called Inari, which means fox in Japanese.
We stayed at the shrine, marvelling at the sights and talking with the local vendors on the streets for a few hours. I had my first experience at buying something from someone who could not speak English (her only word was, "American?"), but with gestures and the bit of Japanese we've managed to learn (numbers and niceties are a beginner's love), we managed to buy a few sticks of yakitori. Yakitori is grilled meat on a skewer that is cooked in front of you on a tiny grill and then dipped in a teriyaki-like sauce; true yakitori is only chicken, and the Japanese frown upon white meat, preferring dark for its tenderness, but it has come to mean any meat cooked in such a fashion. In fact, the options we had in front of us were beef, chicken, pork (a thick bacon), chicken SKIN, and chicken meatballs. Other vendors were offering the same as well as squid and various fish, but with my delicate stomach and Hub's allergy, we stuck with chicken and beef. The Japanese are also extremely fond of sweets, especially crepes, of all things, and they make them with both meat inside or desserts (fruits, ice creams, gelato)...or occasionally, you can find one with both meat and desserts.
Leaving the shrine on our mini-bus, we drove for 10 minutes past rice paddies to a tiny little shack where we stopped, surprised again, and found the sake factory. Inside, Japanese people bustled through the shop area, buying various bottles and eating sake ice cream. We were ushered into the back to the large vats that house 5000 bottles (1 to 1.5 litres apiece!) of sake EACH! We listened as Eriko-san translated the owner's description of the sake-making process, ending with us in front of several tables with various bottles and tiny porcelain cups laid out. This factory is known for one particular type of sake that is said to be blessed at the Inari shrine we had just visited and thus was able to ward away, with just one sip, Alzheimer's Disease. I'm not sure about the claim, but did have a sip, just in case. I prefer my sake warm, but being cold, it had a rather bitter aftertaste. Hub found that rather than sake (rice wine), he prefers shoju (rice whiskey)--much stronger than American whiskies with a different taste, but it offers absolutely no hangover the next day whatsoever. When the tour finally finished its taste test, this was all that was left of the display!
From there, after buying a bottle of shoju and a couple of porcelain bottles of sake to send home, we headed home. :) The End!
