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Fukuoka

After a quick lunch at Okonomi-mura (a okonomiyaki mall with 28 stalls serving up Hiroshima’s revision of the Osakan dish), I board the shinkansen for the last time, bound for Hakata station on the island of Kyushu. I expect the industrialization to drop off a little as I approach Japan’s South West and I hope to get a glimpse of the Inland Sea. However, I find that - alongside the railway at least - there is no respite from developed Japan; or, eyelids heavy, perhaps I literally blink and miss it.

The train pulls into Hakata station and I put away my Japan Rail Pass for the last time. My hotel is directly opposite the station and I think - not for the first time - how nice it is that the train station is often the heart of the community here; surrounded by shops and restaurants, the station is often the most vibrant part of a Japanese town, rather than in England and North America where the crumbling relics of our once great train systems often occupy the least desirable parts of our major cities.

Hakata station is actually in the city of Fukuoka - its name being a relic from before the two towns were combined. I came here for a number of reasons, none of which really relate to Fukuoka itself. Firstly, it’s the western end of the JR line and since this tour of Japan was primarily a train journey, it seems appropriate to end it at this terminus. Secondly, I’m flying to Shanghai next and Fukuoka is a short hop across the East China Sea. Lastly, a good friend of mine once lived here and I think it’s always nice to see someone else’s stomping grounds if the opportunity presents itself. In discussions with this friend, I never got the sense there was anything in particular to do or see in Fukuoka, so I arrive here with no real itinerary or expectations.

I take the subway to Nishijin and follow one of the canals out towards Hawks Town and the impressive Fukuoka Tower. Next, I wander along the shore to Momochi where I find myself on a beach. It turns out, that to sit on a beach and look at the sea (that I will very soon be crossing) is exactly what I need at the end of this trip. I sit and watch my shadow grow and the sun set in the land of the rising sun and think back on what I have seen over the last ten days, the miles I have covered and the plans I made (and then hurriedly altered). I feel that I have done fairly well, really, and that Japan had been very good to me.

As I spend the rest of the evening eating and drinking in the hospitable districts of Tenjin and Canal City, I wonder if China could possibly be as good as this...

Hiroshima

I awake with an admittedly well-deserved hangover, that, coupled with the fact that this is my last full day in Japan, sees me in a melancholy mood as I board the shinkansen for Hiroshima. At the station kiosk I equip myself with Pocari Sweat, a can of cold coffee and a bag of peanuts labelled “The Best Traveller’s Friend” and wait for my train. As always, the train is on-time and the epitome of comfort and I am soon snoozing my way towards Hiroshima.

It’s another beautiful autumn day and the sky is bright blue as I emerge from Hiroshima station and begin my walk across town. My first stop, the Shukkie-en garden, is a circular-tour garden from the Edo period and its name means shrunken scenery. It uses a number of techniques to appear larger than its actual size. The original garden was created in 1620, but it was destroyed in the events of 1945 so has been lovingly and painstakingly reconstructed since. It’s a lovely walk on such a sunny day and before long, the hungover wretch that boarded the train in Osaka has been revitalized and is alive once more. I enter the Art Museum via the park and it’s virtually deserted, so I get the exhibits all to myself and can spend long minutes contemplating Dali’s Dreams of Venus.

I pass Hiroshima-jo and marvel at the reconstruction job. The castle, originally built in 1589 was utterly destroyed by the atomic blast, but
it’s hard to tell that from the rebuilt towers and moat that stand there today. In fact there’s little evidence that, just over sixty years ago, the ground I’m now standing on was scorched earth; that is until I reach the twisted wreckage of the A Bomb Dome. Originally the Industrial Promotion Hall, the skeletal dome has been maintained ever since the blast, at which it was at the very centre. Old photographs depict the scene: the dome stands alone with nothing but wreckage visible in every direction. It’s a basic and stark memorial, one that allows no softening or euphemisms; Hiroshima was once utterly destroyed and no-one here intends to forget it.

Across the street stands the Children’s Peace Monument, depicting a little girl holding aloft an origami crane. It’s a tribute to little Sasaki Sadako who folded the cranes in the hope that if she made one thousand of them, she’d be cured of the leukemia she contracted in 1955 as a result of exposure to radiation. Although she died before reaching her goal, her classmates continued the effort and her hopes are now immortalized in steel. Other memorials include a clock, stopped at 8:15 and surrounded by rubble from the blast and the Memorial Cenotaph, a smooth arch, through which the A Bomb Dome and Park are visible [pictured].

I make my way back the station, no doubt thinking the same thoughts that thousands of others have thought before, having witnessed Hiroshima’s dual testaments: to Man’s capacity for destruction, and to the power of hope and the ability to rebuild.

Minami

I emerge from the Namba subway into one of Osaka’s most vibrant districts - Minami. I head first to the market of Kuromon-Ichiba, where an incredible array of items are on offer from live fugu (blowfish) and crabs , to plastic food models, myriad sake flasks and bizarre looking utensils. From there, I take the narrow alleys of Hozenji-yokocho, for a small glimpse of Old Osaka before emerging onto the bustling Dotombori [pictured], lined with restaurants that are seemingly engaged in eternal competition over who can display the most extravagant animatronic models above their shopfronts. I note the location of Kani Doraku - easy to spot on account of the huge crab waving its pincers at the passersby - but I’m not quite ready for my crab feast so continue on into Amerika-mura, where it seems someone has gathered the top percentile of freakish Los Angeleans and dropped them on unsuspecting Osaka, where they peddle besloganed t-shirts, denim and leather. Suitably dazzled by the people and décor of Minami, I loop back around to Kani Doraku for my long anticipated crab feast.

After admiring the tanks of crab, I take my seat at the restaurant. Kani Doraku translates very roughly as ‘crab - enjoy as you like it,’ and the house specialty is a five course crab dinner. I opt for this and am not disappointed as the following delights make their way to my table: crab miso soup, crab tempura (expertly fried with the pincer still attached at one end), grilled crab (grilled by me at the table, less expertly), boiled crab, crab sushi (I’d have to admit to finding the crab sashimi a bit slimy, but the rolls were fantastic) and finally green tea ice cream. With the exception of dessert, everything about Kani Doraku is crab themed; the chopstick holders are crabs, the napkins depict crabs and scattered everywhere are little origami crabs [pictured, p41]. Suitably full on crab and more than a little sake, I emerge on the Dotombori and head into Kirin City, to sample some of the many excellent Japanese beers that never make it out of their homeland.

A long time later, I stumble elegantly out of Kirin City and start to make my way back to Umeda. I can’t resist partaking of one last Osakan culinary delight before I leave, so get some takoyaki from a stand. Takoyaki are deep friend balls of batter, smothered in okonomiyaki sauce and mayonnaise, with a little piece of octopus in the middle. The first one is delicious but finishing all six proves to be a challenge.

Back in Umeda, I return to the Multimedia Café to upload some more photos and - not quite ready to say goodbye to Osaka - I take the slow route back the hotel, stopping off for a beer or two and even finding room for some beef tataki.

Osaka is hailed as a paradise for those that enjoy good food. While I'm no gourmet, I certainly enjoy eating and have been treated to some unique and excellent dishes here. I never did get to see Osaka's castle, but when I really enjoy a city, it's my rule to try and reserve something for a subsequent visit. I'd be thrilled to return to Osaka one day and when I do, I'll keep my date with the indomitable fortress of Osaka-jo.

Nara

The next morning, my mouth still watering when I think of last night’s beef, I travel to Osaka's Namba station and board the train to Nara. It’s a beautiful day and I’m ready for more temples. Nara was Japan’s first capital city, founded in the 8th century and it contained many great monuments to Buddha before Kyoto even existed. Chief among Nara’s remaining structures is the great Buddha hall of Todai-ji [pictured], the largest wooden building in the world and home to the fifteen metre-tall Buddha Vairocana.

I start my walk at Kofuku-ji, under the shadow of its five storey pagoda before continuing on into Nara Park. The park is famous for its sika deer (regarded as messengers of the gods in the Shinto religion) and there are a number of them around the grounds of Kofuku-ji. Until I reach the tourist hotspot of Todai-ji, the full extent of the deer population is kept hidden, but - drawn to the tourists with their pre-package deer food - vast numbers of them mingle with people outside the temple. Most of the deer had their antlers trimmed at the recent festival I barely missed, but some specimens still exhibit impressive headgear and on one occasion I find myself in a quiet side street, face-to-face with a large stag. He passes nonchalantly by and I – glancing briefly at the sharp antlers - do (almost) the same. Apparently the Shinto gods had nothing to say to me today.

The Daibutsuden of Todai-ji, like so many of Japan’s monuments, comes complete with a lead-up that is pregnant with anticipation. The golden horns of the Buddha’s hall - just visible above the outer wall- catch the sunlight and guide you in like a beacon. The air is thick with incense even outside the hall and is almost viscous once inside. The whole scene drips with temple atmosphere and the only possible distraction is the animated monks selling souvenirs and postcards. The Buddha, with fingers the size of a human being, is an incredible statue even though very little of the original remains, having lost its hands and, more than once, its head to numerous fires and earthquakes since 1180. On my way out, I buy a Maneki Neko (lucky beckoning cat) in the hope that it is extra lucky, coming from such a hub of spirituality.

I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering the eastern hills, admiring the view from the terrace at Nigatsu-do and then making my way south to the shrines of Tamukeyama Hachimangu and Kasuga Taisha, before looping back around to the five storey pagoda and basking in the sun by Saruawa-ike, taking my lead from the numerous turtles perched on rocks there. Nara is an easy and entirely worthwhile day trip from Osaka and I board the train back to Namba with fond memories and lots of photos.

Kobe

The rain catches up with me as I make my way to Kobe. I pull into Shin Kobe station and, with the image of a mist shrouded Fuji fresh in my memory, I decide to skip the Rokko Arima ropeway with it’s promised views of Kobe and Mt. Rokko and head straight down into Kobe itself.

Wandering through the Old Foreign Settlement, I decide to seek shelter in a tea house. I suddenly feel very much at home, drinking my tea and looking out at western, brick buildings and - of course- the rain. I don’t normally seek echoes of home when I’m abroad, but this one was particularly comforting, being un-looked for, so I order a slice of cake to go with my tea and smile to myself when I notice that it’s four o’clock on the dot. I leave the warm embrace of the teahouse and make my way towards the Port of Kobe.

The first thing I find is the Earthquake memorial, where a section of damaged harbour is preserved, complete with split pavement, broken railings and leaning lampposts. I’m reminded of the twisted metal in Tokyo that stood as a memorial to that earthquake and I think of the cultural contrast between the western preference for statues and brass plaques, as opposed to the Japanese taste for memorials that are a little more visceral and thought provoking; not better or worse, just different.

Next I find the Kobe Maritime Museum and the Port Tower [pictured], which glow brightly in the gloomy evening and though the Maritime Museum is closed, there are a few outdoor exhibits. One of which is the Yamoto I, a silent, propeller-less boat that was created in the early 1990s by Mitsubishi. The magnetohydrodynamic drive (powered by a liquid helium-cooled superconductor) works by applying a magnetic field to a conducting fluid - in this case seawater - and contains no moving parts. The boat never moved beyond the prototyping stage as the engineers were unable to improve upon a top speed of 8 knots, but the idea of a silent powerboat is compelling and on this futuristic island nation, it seems perfectly at home.

After a particularly disastrous attempt at locating the guidebook-recommended A1 Steakhouse, I choose instead a restaurant named Kitayama for the most anticipated part of my trip to Kobe - Kobe Beef. Raised on a diet of beer and oats and given daily massages, the Wagyu cattle that produce Kobe Beef are arguably the most pampered cows in the world and the result is a tasty, well marbled, tender beef. Mine came in the form of a charcoal-grilled steak, served rare and absolutely delicious. Of course, I stumbled upon A1 almost the moment I left Kitayama, but it didn’t matter. I’d had my beef and it was good.

Himeji

It is still raining heavily when I leave the subway and I wonder what that means for my planned excursion to Himeji to see Japan’s most impressive feudal-era fortress: Himeji-jo. I decide to risk it, and jump on the shinkansen to Himeji. The rain is just easing off when I arrive at Himeji but it’s a bit of a grey day, so not ideal aesthetic conditions for viewing the ‘white heron’ castle. Upon arrival at Himeji, it’s easy to decide which way to go as the main street - Otemachi-dori - leads right up to the castle, which I can just about make out in the distance.

The kilometre walk from the station provides uninterrupted views of the castle, known as the White Heron because of the shape of its donjon. The countless souvenir shops are an intrusion, but I focus on the end of the street, at the monstrous structure. As it looms larger in the distance, I recall countless images from samurai films that used the castle grounds and, of course, where James Bond trained to be a ninja in You Only Live Twice. Again, I feel like I’m leaving modern Japan behind and returning to an older time, but instead of the philosophers and monks of Kyoto, it’s a time of warriors and castle keeps, of sieges and feudal lords.

The castle was never captured and, as it towers above me, it’s easy to imagine why not. It’s quite a climb to the top and there are plenty of little alcoves and platforms from which defenders could fire arrows or pour boiling oil. Slightly incongruous is the West Bailey building, which acted as the Princess Sen’s quarters during the mid-seventeenth century and has a much more comfortable appearance than the utilitarian castle, with its gun racks and hanging samurai armor. The view from the top of the castle is spectacular, even on such a grey day, and the forbidding, misty hills provide a taste of what might have made a sentry shiver as he kept watch from the walls so long ago.

Presented with such a massive structure, it’s hard to notice the details, but almost every stone of the castle has a story to tell. Successive daimyo (lords), often had problems finding stones for their castle expansions and in some places you can see their imaginative solutions, such as using coffins and grave stones or - in the case of more popular lords - millstones donated by the general populace.

As I work my way back down the zigzag path from the keep, I marvel that, while the surrounding area was devastated during World War II, this fortress remains to tell us its long and - thankfully- continuing story.