Who would have guessed one of the coolest things we’d see in Hiroshima is a corporate car museum? Unbeknownst to us, Hiroshima is home of the Mazda Motor Corporation’s world headquarters and the company offers free tours of its in-house museum and assembly line.
Mazda World Headquarters in Hiroshima along the Enko River
The multi-story gray office building isn’t overly impressive from the outside. Inside, the lobby shines with that showroom look you’d find at most auto dealers. The 2016 model cars are all on display in the showroom; the new tire smell permeates the air and takes me back to my days washing cars at the Honda dealership the summer before college.
The 2016 Mazda Miata Roadster
The waiting tourists ooh and ahh over the cars, each coated in Mazda’s sexy Soul Red paint job. Details about each vehicle are projected onto the floor, giving the experience a high-tech feeling. Everyone wants to take a turn sitting in the sleek 2016 Mazda Miata Roadster.
We’re told we’ll be taking a bus to the museum. It turns out the drab gray office building is just the trailhead to the main event.
On the bus to the museum. We shortly learned that no photos were allowed on the bus or in the factory, so technically this is an illegal selfie.
Our guide gave a quick overview in English as we made the five-or-so minute trip to the museum entrance. The headquarters and factory are a small town within a town, complete with apartments for employees and its own private bridge crossing over the Enko River.
Some of Mazda’s original models, including one of its first pickup trucks and the Familia, the forerunner of the Mazda Protege
We watched a short film on the history of the company. Mazda started out as Toyo Cork Kogyo Co., Ltd in 1920, a struggling manufacturer of artificial cork. Jujiro Matsuda, Mazda’s founder and a wealthy water pump magnate, took over management of the company and turned its focus toward tool manufacturing.
The Mazda-go was the company’s first vehicle and changed Mazda’s focus from tool manufacturing to vehicle manufacturing.
In 1931, the company now known as Toyo Kogyo released its first vehicle, a three-wheeled motorcycle with a truck bed called the Mazda-go. It was sold under the Mitsubishi name and featured a unique combination of the Mazda name over the Mitsubishi three-diamond logo on its gas tank. The success of the trike sent the company down a new path—vehicle manufacturing.
After the end of World War II, Toyo Kogyo played a major role in the rebuilding of Hiroshima; its own factory heavily damaged by the bomb. The appearance of the Mazda-go around town in the days after the bombing was a boon to the city’s morale.
Over the years, the company continued to produce new vehicles with the Mazda branding, but it didn’t officially change its name to “Mazda” until 1984.
The plaid seats of the 1978 RX-7
The 787B won the 24 Hours of LeMans race in 1991, the first and only Japanese manufacturer to win the race
The future of Mazda—its electric and hydrogen-powered concept vehicles
An example of Mazda’s stamping process shows the steps from a piece of sheet metal to the molded finish on the actual vehicle
Mazda’s Hydrogen Rotary Engine powers its hydrogen/gasoline hybrid vehicles
Our favorite part of the museum was one of the places photography was strictly prohibited—the factory floor. The massive assembly line pumped out vehicle after vehicle, using a combination of robots and humans to accomplish individual tasks. Dashboards were installed at one station and the windshield at the next. Large claws—like you’d find in a arcade UFO Catcher game—lifted the vehicles to another station where the engine would be raised into the vehicle from below.
I could have stayed there all day, impressed more by the amount of engineering that went into designing the assembly line itself than the vehicles it was building.
The small-scale clay version of the CX-series crossover SUV
A clay model of the interior of the CX-series crossover
A full-scale plastic model of the CX-series crossover, built to get a good look at the vehicle’s aesthetics before production begins.
Back in the museum, we saw some of the artifacts of the design process. Once a vehicle design concept has been created, clay artists build scale models of both the interior and exterior. Once the design is approved, a full-scale plastic version is created, giving a better sense of some of the manufacturing issues that might be encountered.
Just before returning to the bus, we were taken to a window overlooking Mazda’s private port. We saw massive parking garages outside, full of recently-completed cars and SUVs. They’d be driven onto the waiting ships in the port to be taken to other parts of Japan as well as overseas. If you drive a Mazda, there’s a good chance it started its life right here in Hiroshima.
A map of Mazda’s factory campus in Hiroshima
Visiting the Museum
Reservations to visit the museum can be made online up to a year in advance, but we made ours just a couple days before. The tours only run Monday-Friday and the English tour starts at 10 a.m. The museum is easily reached by train from Hiroshima Station.
If you can’t make it all the way to Hiroshima, Mazda has partnered with Google to make parts of the tour available via Google Street View. You can see the Entrance Hall, the History wing, the Rotary Engine wing and the Technology/Future wings of the museum. Alas, to see the best part of the tour—the assembly line—you’ll have to visit in person.
How do you think about the unthinkable? From a young age, I’ve been fascinated by Hiroshima. In grade school, I read a book adaptation of the 1983 television movie The Day After. While the movie/book focused on a fictional Cold War nuclear attack, it stirred a desire to learn more about what happened in the world’s first real atomic bombing.
In middle school, I did a presentation on Hiroshima. It involved a diorama and an egg cracked from a foot above, representing the mechanics of the bomb. I showed photos of the “human shadows” that I found in library books. The flash of the bomb was so bright it bleached the concrete, leaving a dark “shadow” of anything in between, including people. It was pretty heavy stuff for an 11-year-old.
Sometimes I worried whether having an interest in something so horrible was normal, but it turns out it’s at the core of who we are as humans. Research shows that witnessing the suffering of others triggers our deepest sense of compassion. It’s almost as if it is happening to us. It’s why events like the assassination of John F. Kennedy, the September 11 attacks and the recent events in Paris capture our attention so thoroughly.
History in Shades of Gray
History seems like something that should exist in black and white. An event occurs, it’s recorded and that’s that. In reality, history lives in shades of gray, colored by the perspective of those who experienced it.
It’s also stained with the hues used by those who write it.
Over the years, I’ve read accounts from the crew of the Enola Gay, the bomber that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. I’ve read the justifications from politicians of the time as well as the opinions of modern day pundits. The most common argument is that the bomb saved lives by ending the war prematurely. On August 9, the day the second bomb was dropped in Nagasaki, U.S. President Harry Truman said:
We have used [the atomic bomb] in order to shorten the agony of war, in order to save the lives of thousands and thousands of young Americans.
True, the war did officially end with Japan’s surrender to Allied forces less than a month after the bomb fell on Hiroshima. But in reality, the U.S. had very strategic reasons for dropping the bomb on Hiroshima in particular.
Hiroshima had not been subject to repeated bombings unlike Tokyo, Yokohama or Toyama. It would be easier to determine the destructive power of the bomb on a pristine target. Once Hiroshima was confirmed as a target, all planned air raids were canceled to keep the city intact.
Hiroshima had several military targets thanks to its location on the sea. But more importantly, U.S. intelligence (incorrectly) determined there were no Allied prisoner of war camps in the city. However, at least a dozen American POWs were killed in the blast, a fact not acknowledged by the U.S. government until the 1970s.
The most significant consideration may have been the Soviet Union’s decision to enter the war against Japan. The U.S. utilizing the atomic bomb had as much to do with thwarting the opportunity for Soviet influence in the region as it did with “saving lives.”
Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park as seen from the Peace Memorial Museum. The Memorial Cenotaph and Flame of Peace can be seen in the foreground. The Atomic Bomb Dome is in the distance.
The Story of the Bomb
We tried our best to create balance in our Hiroshima visit, knowing that the day at the Peace Memorial Park would be a weighty one. We ate okonomiyaki, drank sake and visited historic and beautiful Miyajima. But absorbing the atrocities of the bomb were an important part of the visit.
Just 50 yen (40 cents USD) gets you in the doors of the powerful and well-done Peace Memorial Museum. English-speaking tour guides offer their services for free. The guides are volunteers who have a connection to the bomb in some way. Our guide’s father lived just outside the city in 1945 and was exposed to radiation in the days that followed. He still qualifies for the special government health care pass for Hiroshima victims.
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“Mother and Child in the Storm” invokes the spirit of ordinary people to overcome grief and suffering
The Gates of Peace feature the word “Peace” in 49 languages. The 10 gates invoke Dante’s Nine Circles of Hell, plus the 10th Circle—the living Hell created by the bomb
Schoolkids walk by the Fountain of Prayer, commemorating those who died from their burns while begging for water.
The Peace Clock Tower sounds every day at 8:15 a.m., the exact time the bomb exploded over Hiroshima
A small painted stone was tucked behind the flowers in front of the Memorial Cenotaph
The Monument to 8:15 at the National Peace Memorial Hall is surrounded by roof tiles, shattered by the explosion
The museum is special not only for its contents, but also for its role in redeveloping the area around the hypercenter of the bomb. Construction of the museum and surrounding park began in 1952, focusing on remembering the victims in a way that promotes ongoing peace in the world.
The aim of the museum isn’t to paint America in a poor light. This museum is about peace going forward while making sure future generations don’t lose sight of the realities of what happened on August 6, 1945.
Photo taken by the crew of the Enola Gay one hour after the bomb exploded over Hiroshima (National Archives)
Inside, the first image you encounter is a wall-sized photo of the mushroom cloud, taken by the crew of the Enola Gay an hour after they dropped the bomb. It’s followed by snapshots taken by amateur photographers from outside the city. Even in a city that had grown used to air raids, there was a sense that this one was different.
A lifesize replica of bomb victims, their skin dripping from their bones
The realities of the destruction and the toll on human life are presented in provocative detail. Crumbling brick walls line the hallways. A scene backlit in a fiery red shows women and children walking through the rubble, their clothes hanging in tatters and their skin literally melting off of their bodies. Sadly, this isn’t done in exaggeration, but in historical accuracy.
A scale model of Hiroshima showing the size of the fireball created by the atomic bomb and complete destruction of the surrounding area.
A scale model shows the size of the fireball caused by the explosion in comparison to the city below. It’s massive and unimaginable. The shockwaves and firestorms flattened the entire city.
Yoshito Matsushige’s photo of a makeshift relief center, one of only a handful of known photos from the day of the bombing. The young girl at the back found her father at the relief station, but her mother was killed in the blast.
Photos from inside the city on the day of the bombing are rare. According to our guide, there are only three, taken by photographer and Hiroshima resident Yoshito Matsushige. Matsushige recognized the importance of the moment, snapping a photo of a family reuniting outside a makeshift relief center. Other memories of the days surrounding the bombing are thoughtfully captured in drawings from those who survived.
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The rubble of the city is recreated inside the Peace Memorial Museum, approximating the feeling of life in Hiroshima in the days after the bombing.
“Little Boy,” a replica of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima
Photos show the shadows created by the bomb’s flash. At far right, the pattern of the woman’s dress burned into her skin.
Iron shutters on a building buckled under the pressure of the blast
Part of the original girders of the Aioi Bridge buckled from the pressure of the bomb’s blast. It’s unique T-shape provided a perfect target for the Enola Gay.
Two thick volumes list all of the victims of the bomb. Best estimates are 66,000 killed by the bomb and another 69,000 injured.
A school pin on the tattered remains of a school uniform worn by a girl on the day of the bombing.
Tattered school uniforms worn on the day of the bombing.
Personal belongings gathered in the cleanup. Metal and glass containers melted and fused to each other.
The pressure from the blast impaled this shard of glass into a concrete wall.
A white wall stained by the radioactive black rain that fell as the bomb remnants mixed with the residue from the fires.
The Kabe Police Relief Station struggles to cope as more injured persons are carried in. Drawn by Shigeko Yano, 30-years-old at the time, on August 8, 1945.
The physical artifacts carry the most weight. Remnants of school uniforms burned off the children who wore them. Small details are left intact, like a school pin attached to a shirt collar. A metal lunch box with a child’s lunch still inside, burned to an unidentifiable black mass.
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A person sitting on the steps of Sumitomo Bank waiting for it to open was exposed to the flash from the atomic bomb explosion. Receiving the rays directly, the victim must have died on the spot from massive burns. The surface of the surrounding stone steps turned whitish from the intense heat rays. The place where the person was sitting became dark like a shadow.
The shadow on the steps of the Sumimoto Bank as it appeared in the days after the bombing.
Sumimoto Bank donated the steps of its Hiroshima branch. The steps show one of the aforementioned “human shadows.” It’s thought to belong to a customer sitting on the steps waiting for the bank to open. A dark spot still remains, its owner vaporized by heat of the 10,830°F blast. In an instant, humans disappeared from the face of the planet leaving nothing but a dark spot on the ground.
The tricycle belonging to 3-year-old Shinichi Tetsutani, killed on the day of the bombing. His beloved tricycle was buried with him.
Shinichi’s Tricycle
One of the more touching stories accompanies a rusted tricycle belonging to 3-year-old Shinichi Tetsutani. Shinichi was riding his beloved toy in front of his home on the morning of the bomb. He was badly burned by the flash and died later in the day.
Shinichi’s father felt his son was too young to be buried alone, so he buried his boy and the tricycle in a grave in the backyard. Forty years later, Shinichi’s father recovered his son’s remains and moved them to the family cemetery. The tricycle was donated to the museum.
Hiroshima’s Children’s Peace Monument, dedicated to 12-year-old Sadako Sasaki who famously folder 1,000 paper cranes as a wish to recover from leukemia caused by the atomic bomb.
Children’s Peace Monument
One of Hiroshima’s most famous stories belongs to Sadako Sasaki. Sadako was the inspiration for Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes, a children’s book written by American author Eleanor Coerr. The real-life Sadako was 2-years-old on the day of the bombing, living just over a mile from the hypercenter. The force of the blast sent the toddler through a window of the family home. Her mother found her outside, apparently unharmed.
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Actual cranes folded by Sadako Sasaki in her hospital room as she battled leukemia. These are about the size of a U.S. quarter.
Actual cranes folded by Sadako Sasaki in her hospital room as she battled leukemia. These are about the size of a U.S. quarter.
Smalled cranes folded by Sadako Sasaki in her hospital room. These weren’t much larger than the common housefly.
The statue of Sadako atop the Children’s Peace Monument
Some of the thousands of cranes donated by people all over the world
A dove created with hundreds of folded paper cranes
A close-up of the dove, the paper cranes can be seen in detail
Nearly 10 years later, Sadako developed an acute form of leukemia and was given a year to live. While in the hospital, she met another girl just a couple years older than herself who told her the legend of senbazuru. Anyone who folds 1,000 paper cranes would be granted a wish.
In all, she folded more than 1,400 cranes, some as small as a housefly, before losing her battle in October 1955. Her classmates folded 1,000 cranes that would be buried with her. The paper crane is now a popular symbol for peace in Japan and around the world.
In 1958, the Children’s Peace Monument was unveiled in the Peace Memorial Park. Sadako is on the top, holding one of her cranes. During our visit, groups of children passed through to ring the bell which, of course, has a bronze crane attached to its chain. Around the outside, display cases hold thousands of paper cranes that have been folded by children around the world and donated to the park.
Hiroshima Today
Today’s Hiroshima resembles most other major Japanese cities, built and rebuilt since the 1950s and full of office buildings, shops, restaurants and parks. Yet, Hiroshima’s history always contains a dark footnote.
Hiroshima Castle catches the afternoon sun
Hiroshima Castle was constructed in the 1950s, but was destroyed by the atomic bomb and rebuilt in 1958.
The Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall opened on August 5, 1915, but was destroyed by the atomic bomb. The rubble has been preserved as the Atomic Bomb Dome.
The historic Shukkei-en Gardens were designed in 1620, but suffered extensive damage by the atomic bomb and were renovated in 1951.
Messages on the wall at Fukuromachi Elementary School. The wall was blackened by the fire. Teachers and pupils wrote messages regarding their whereabouts on teh wall with chalk. Similar messages were written on walls all over the city. Those searching relief stations for family and friends looked for messages like these.
Fukuromachi Elementary School opened in February 1873. 160 students and teachers were killed by the atomic bomb. It reopened in May 1946 with 37 students.
To experience Hiroshima in person is to have the most effective history lesson possible. Hiroshima wasn’t a city full of military personnel; it was a city of families. Mothers. Fathers. Brothers. Sisters. It was people going about their daily lives in the midst of a World War. Fishermen and businessmen. It was a city of people whose lives were destroyed in a literal instant.
But it’s also a city of hope, literally built on the mistakes of the past. It’s living proof of the resiliency of people in spite of the evils carried out in the name of war and righteousness. Hiroshima is a lesson that should never be repeated, but should be learned from over and over again.
We started our day before the day itself got underway, arriving at the Miyajimaguchi Pier ferry terminal just as the sun began to rise over Itsukushima Island. The ferry set sail right on schedule, carrying us through the morning mist hovering atop Hiroshima Bay.
Sunrise over Hiroshima Bay and Miyajima
As we approach, the inspiration for the island’s popular nickname—Miyajima (Shrine Island)—emerges through the mist. First, the Great Torii, glowing in orange lacquer, appears just beyond the water’s edge. Then, the sprawling complex of Itsukushima Shrine and the five-tiered pagoda comes into view. It’s picture perfect.
The Great Torii of Miyajima appears in the morning mist
The Great Torii and Itsukushima Shrine are both listed among UNESCO’s World Heritage properties, and for good reason. The Great Torii is in its eighth iteration, this one standing since 1875. Built from 500 year old camphor tree, the 16-ton gate rises nearly 55-feet into the air. Perhaps most impressively, it stands directly atop stones on the seabed instead of being buried into the ground. The weight of the wood and seven tons of fist-sized rocks hand-set in the roof keep the torii planted in place.
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The morning sun casts a glow on the Great Torii
At low tide, the seaweed looks like grass along the shoreline near the Great Torii
The Great Torii at low tide in the early morning
In front of the Great Torii
At low tide, you can walk right up to the Great Torii
The Great Torii is nearly 55 feet tall and weighs about 60 tons
A series of large stones provide a crossing over the stream running through the Great Torii. This entire area will be covered in water in a few hours.
We’re just a couple shadows in the shadow of the Great Torii
Making a wish at the Great Torii
Jumping for joy at the Great Torii
Walking through the mud and the seaweed at low tide
A view of the Great Torii from the top of Mt. Misen
The Great Torii in the afternoon appears to float in Hiroshima Bay
A final peek at the Great Torii as we headed back to the ferry
A panorama of Miyajima’s World Heritage properties. Left to right: The Great Torii; Toyokuni Shrine and its five-storied pagoda; and Itsukushima Shrine
We arrived early enough to be able to spend an hour or so walking around the torii with only a thin crowd joining us. At low tide, you can walk all the way through the gate, the seabed just firm enough from the dried mud and seaweed. We snapped photos from every angle imaginable. We offered to take photos for strangers who offered the same in kind. A quiet and peaceful morning in a tranquil place.
In fact, we arrived so early that none of the shops on Miyajima’s shopping street had opened yet. Around 9 a.m., we finally spotted a cafe propping its doors and stopped in for coffee. Continuing down the street, we tried some of Miyajima’s famous maple leaf cakesand spotted one of the island’s novelties: the world’s largest rice scoop. A Korean dance group set up near the ferry terminal, the rhythmic beat of their drums audible all over the island.
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Character cutouts line the streets of Miyajima’s shopping streets. In this one, my head is a nose.
This one makes more sense
At 25 feet long, this is the world’s largest rice scoop. Rice scoops or shamoji are one of Miyajima’s famous products, often crafted from high-quality wood.
A Korean-style dance group performed in Miyajima’s center square
Kids play with balloons while watching the Korean dance performance
A couple kids get the full Samurai treatment
“Samurai” in full costume offered kids a chance to dress up and take photos with them along the Miyajima bayfront path
As the crowd thickened, swarming in every 20 minutes via the ferry, we sought higher ground. The Uguisuhodo Nature Walk trail climbs steadily into the heart of the island, finally meeting up with the Miyajima Ropeway station. The cable cars graze the treetops on their way to the top of Mt. Misen.
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Ivy grows into a tunnel leading to the Uguisuhodo Nature Walk trail
From a small park along the Uguisuhodo Nature Walk trail, we caught an amazing view of Toyokuni Shrine and its five-storied pagoda
The autumn colors were in full force on Miyajima
The Miyajima Ropeway carries visitors to the top of Mt. Misen
Catching some rays at the Mt. Misen Observatory
Small monk statues were tucked into hidden spots on the top of Mt. Misen. This one was curling a dumbbell while another was adorned with a pair of lost sunglasses.
Kiezu-no-hi or The Eternal Flame has been burning since 806 AD. It was also used as the pilot light for the Peace Flame in Hiroshima’s Peace Memorial Park.
A statue inside the hall holding the Eternal Flame. A quick lap through will leave you smelling like you took a nap in a fireplace.
Small clay Buddha statues are left as offerings at the Mt. Misen Observatory
Mt. Misen’s Observatory offers panoramic views of Hiroshima Bay and the surrounding islands. Temples and shrines dating back to the 9th century sit just below the mountain’s summit, full with tales of miracles circulating around Daisho-in Temple’s founding monk, Kobo Daishi.
One of the most popular attractions is Kiezu-no-hi or The Eternal Flame. It is said to have been lit by Daishi himself in 806 AD and continues to burn to this day. Water boiled in a tea kettle over the flame is thought to hold magical healing powers. The flame itself was used as the pilot light for the Peace Flame that burns in Hiroshima’s Peace Memorial Park.
While the torii and the shrines are the main draw, Miyajima might be just as famous for its wild deer. After living with generations of tourists, the deer are mostly docile and don’t really care about the thousands of people walking through their home. However, when feeding time comes, they turn into quite a nuisance, digging into bags or just swiping things out of people’s hands. As we watched the sunset, a deer with a cataract came up and snagged our map of the island out of our bag. He chewed it and swallowed it down, his creepy cloudy-white eye staring at us the whole time.
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Wild deer make their home amongst the tourists on Miyajima
A public bath for the deer
I like to think this deer knew what the sign said
A doe and her fawn graze along the walkway to the Uguisuhodo Nature Walk trail
The deer on Miyajima can be a bit of a pest. This one was chewing and swallowing our map when I snapped this picture.
Miyajima Firewalking Ceremony
In a moment of travel serendipity, we happened to land on Miyajima on the day of Daigan-ji Temple’s Hiwatari-shiki or Firewalking Ceremony. The ceremony is only held twice a year, once in April and once in November.
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A monk overseas the Firewalking Ceremony at Daigan-ji Temple
Monks throw thousands of wooden prayer sticks into a blazing fire. In a few minutes, they’ll run through the flames.
Monks run through the flames during Miyajima’s Firewalking Ceremony
Monks run through the flames during Miyajima’s Firewalking Ceremony
Monks run through the flames during Miyajima’s Firewalking Ceremony
Monks run through the flames during Miyajima’s Firewalking Ceremony
A pair of shoes belonging to one of the monks who run barefoot through blazing fire and over hot coals
The temple’s monks go through an hour-long ceremony, building a towering bonfire fueled by thousands of wooden stakes—offerings left throughout the year by worshippers. They smooth the coals several times over with long bamboo poles as the flames rise and fall. Purifying salt is thrown over the flames and pine branches laid at either end of the inferno. There’s chanting, a conch-shell horn and a lot of theatrics.
As they near the end, one of the monks begins an intricate final dedication, writing Japanese characters in the air with his arm. Suddenly, as the fire returns to its peak, the monks run through one by one. With the drawn out ceremony, the haste of the climax is almost shocking.
Once the flames die down and only the hot coal remains, visitors are invited to partake in the ceremony. The line wrapped around the temple as tourists passed over the coals one by one.
Hiroshima residents woke up to clear skies on the morning of August 6, 1945. The Monday morning commute began in earnest after a night interrupted by periodic air raid sirens, a long series of false alarms.
Around 7 a.m., three small American planes were spotted on radar, but by 8 a.m., yet another air raid warning had been lifted. Military personnel determined the planes were running reconnaissance missions and posed no threat.
One of those planes was the Enola Gay. Fifteen minutes later, time stopped and the world changed forever.
The Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall
Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall
The European-styled Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall opened on August 5, 1915. Designed by Czech architect Jan Letzel, the building bore a striking resemblance to Vienna’s famed Church of St. Leopold, in particular the hall’s distinguishing dome.
Located just feet from the banks of the Ota River in Hiroshima’s central business district, the hall hosted art and educational events, often showcasing Hiroshima Prefecture’s most famous products.
In 1919, the National Confectionery Exhibition was held at the hall. A ringed German cake called baumkuchenwas introduced to Japan for the first time. Today, baumkuchen is one of Japan’s most popular desserts.
The Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall as it looks in 2015, now known as the Atomic Bomb Dome. The east side of the building was facing the hypocenter of the bomb.
8:15 a.m.
The Enola Gay approached Aioi Bridge, its unique T-shape providing the perfect crosshair target for the B-29’s payload. At 8:15 a.m., the bomber’s bay doors opened and “Little Boy”—the bomb’s innocent-sounding codename—began its decent toward the city center.
The T-shaped Aioi Bridge as it looks today. The original bridge was damaged heavily by the bomb, but after repairs, it remained in use for another 50 years. In 1983, the current bridge was built as a replica to the original.
Crosswinds pushed the bomb 800 feet to the east of the bridge—it would have drifted directly over Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall. Forty-five seconds later, “Little Boy” detonated around 1,900 feet above the city, directly over Shima Hospital.
The hell unleashed by the atomic bomb is unparalleled in human history. In an instant, one square mile of Hiroshima disappeared. Fire engulfed another four and a half mile radius. Between 70,000-80,000 people were killed instantly—approximately 30 percent of Hiroshima’s population. Another 70,000 were injured.
The world had never seen a weapon like this and had no idea about the bomb’s residual effects. In the hours and days that followed, family members, friends and rescue workers entered the city, immediately exposed to the bomb’s radiation.
Within three weeks, the death toll had nearly doubled to 130,000. Estimates indicate around 67,000 people entered the city during the period of active radiation. Those who survived still deal with radiation-related illnesses today, including leukemia, cataracts and chromosomal changes.
On August 9, just three days later, the horror would be repeated when a second bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, 300 km to the west. On August 15, Japan’s Emperor Hirohito announced the surrender of Japan, effectively ending World War II.
Today, the Atomic Bomb Dome stands as a symbol of peace and a reminder of the horrors of war.
A reminder of war or a symbol of peace?
Despite being only 520 feet from the bomb’s hypocenter, the Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall was the only structure in the blast radius that wasn’t completely destroyed. Ironically, it’s proximity is the likely reason the structure didn’t collapse completely. The building’s columns were able to withstand the downward force of the blast, leaving the dome and many exterior walls standing.
In the years that followed, the fate of the hall—now referered to as the Atomic Bomb Dome—was up in the air. The structure was growing more and more unstable. While some wanted to preserve the building, others wanted the reminder of the horrors of the bomb destroyed forever.
As Hiroshima started to rebuild in the 1950s, the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park began to take shape in the area surrounding the Dome. In 1966, Hiroshima’s City Council announced that it would permanently preserve the building as a monument to those who lost their lives in the bombing. The first preservation was completed in 1967 followed by two more in the late 1980s and early 1990s.
In 1996, UNESCO added the Atomic Bomb Dome to its World Heritage List. Today, the Dome anchors the north end of the Peace Memorial Park, a beautiful and thoughtful tribute to not only the victims of the bomb, but more importantly to everlasting peace.
Photo Gallery
Our first visit to the Atomic Bomb Dome was during the day, but we returned at night a couple of days later. The flood lights created an eerie yet serene feeling in the area around the ruins.
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The Atomic Bomb Dome at night
The Atomic Bomb Dome at night
Inside the central dome structure. The fire-colored lighting cast an eerie glow inside the building.
A sign outside the Shima Hospital location indicating the atomic bomb’s hypocenter. Dr. Kaoru Shima rebuilt the hospital in 1948 and it’s still operating today as Shima Surgery, run by one of Dr. Shima’s grandchildren.
The remains of a fountain that stood in a Western-style garden on the south side of the Atomic Bomb Dome.
Close up of the dome’s skeleton
View from the south/southwest side of the Atomic Bomb Dome
Looking up at the outside of the central dome structure
A closer look inside the dome
Looking inside the dome
Looking up at the columns that likely prevented the total destruction of the building by withstanding the downward pressure of the bomb’s blast
A close up of the metal skeleton of the dome
View of the Atomic Bomb Dome from the opposite side of the Ota River
If you spend more than a few days visiting Hiroshima, this phrase might come out of your mouth as well. Every street has at least one shop featuring the city’s popular version of this quintessential Japanese food.
In case you’re not familiar, okonomiyaki is a savory pancake, made with a combination of batter, eggs, cabbage and other fillings, then topped with a sweet and salty sauce. Every region does it a little differently. In Osaka, all of the ingredients are mixed together, creating a solid slab of tastiness. In Tokyo, monjayaki is king, combining the ingredients with a runny, cheesy batter that is fried directly onto the griddle, then peeled off with a spatula.
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Vegetarian okonomiyaki at Nagata-ya in Hiroshima. Nagata-ya is one of the most popular shops in town and offers several vegetarian-friendly options—a rarity in Japan. The highlight was slivers of fried garlic sprinkled on top.
The line outside Nagata-ya. A good rule of thumb in Japan: if you see a line, get in it!
Okonomimura means Okonomiyaki Village. Taking up three floors of a building, 25 different shops offer their own unique spins on the cuisine.
At Okonomimura, we chose Yakidouraku, a shop that incorporates its South Korean roots, including fresh kimchi in the okonomiyaki and Korean soap operas on the television.
A close-up of our okonomiyaki at Yakidouraku.
In Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, the batter is poured into a thin crepe, then the filling is placed on top. An egg is cracked onto the griddle, its yolk broken and cooked thin to create another “crepe” that goes on top. It’s more like a big sandwich than the Osaka version.
The kicker is the soba or udon noodles that are added to the filling, creating a carb-loaded meal that will keep you going for hours. While the original version was more of a snack, the modern version evolved in the post-World War II era as a way to combine cheap ingredients into a nutritionally-dense meal.
Momiji-manju
While the maple leaf-shaped cake known as momiji-manju can be found all over Japan, its origins are in Hiroshima, specifically the southern island of Miyajima. The cakes were created in the early-1900s in honor of the island’s famous maple leaf viewing festivals.
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The deep-fried version of momiji-manju is called age-momiji. It’s breaded, fried and served hot. This one was custard-filled and delicious.
These croissant-style momiji follow the trend of croissant taiyaki, the popular fish-shaped doughnuts found throughout the country. Crispy, flaky and delicious, we found these on Miyajima—the birthplace of momiji-manju.
The original momiji-manju, a soft cake filled with sweet bean.
A woman hard at work packaging the thousands of momiji-manju that will be sold in her shop on Miyajima.
We hadn’t even left Hiroshima Station when we came across our first momiji-manju. A shop inside the station sold a breaded, deep-fried version that was sinful and delicious. While they were originally made by hand, they’re now abundant throughout the city thanks to the complex automated baking and wrapping machines, many of which are on display in the Miyajama shops.
Hiroshima Sweets, Treats and Eats
There’s more to Hiroshima’s food scene than just okonomiyaki and momiji. Check out the gallery below for some of the other awesome sweets, treats and eats from the week.
Sampling deep-fried shitake at Hiroshima Minato Marché
Yahatagawa Brewery’s Kassei Nigori Sake is bottled with live yeast, true to the kassei style. It’s one of the few products to receive the official “Hiroshima Brand” designation.
The walls of Otis!, a small cafe near the Peace Memorial Park, are covered in graffiti left by visiting musical acts
Enchiladas at Otis! Cafe. Decent Mexican food is very difficult to find in Japan. Otis! didn’t disappoint.
The vegetable and lentil curry at Otis!
Sake-flavored ice cream at the snack shack in Hiroshima Castle
An Imperial Lager from Hiroshima’s Kure Beer (Kaigun San) and a Double IPA from Osaka’s Minoh Beer at RAKUBEER, a craft beer pub in central Hiroshima
Miyajima Coffee was one of the first shops to open early in the day on Miyajima. Their cozy interior and tasty coffee was a welcome break.
The sampler set from Miyajima Beer—from left to right (and best to least-best), Dunkel, Pale Ale and Pilsner.
A yuba bun on Miyajima. Check out our Nikko post for more about yuba.
Enjoying a Hiroshima Cola and Maboroshi Sake as the sun sets behind the Great Torii on Miyajima. The unique natural cola is made with hassaku, a fruit similar to an orange or grapefruit.
Lunch at Roopali included vegetable curry and infant-sized nan brushed with clarified butter.
This is not your father’s beer. It’s for your kids.
We were walking through the grocery store today when a stack of glass bottles caught my eye. It wasn’t because of the beer bottle shape and the frothy beer mugs on the label though. It was the text on the bottle: kodomo no nomimono or “children’s drink.”
With the growing popularity of non-alcholic beer in Japan during the last decade, a couple of beverage makers decided to get kids in on the action. The beer style marketing is no accident. Neither is the golden color of the beverage with it’s foamy white head—exactly like a freshly-draughted Asahi or Kirin that their parents might drink after a long day at work.
These kids will be in for a surprise when they try their first real beer in regards to flavor. The sparkling beverage tastes like a sweet apple juice, but the first two ingredients are sugar and guarana. The seeds from the guarana fruit contain twice as much caffeine as a coffee bean. All that caffeine and sugar should have them bouncing off the walls like a drunken college student.
When I was a kid, I remember getting candy cigarettes from the grocery store. Some were like eating sweet chalk. Others were packed with bubble gum and when you blew on one end, a cloud of sugar smoke would come out the other end.
Our latest Wednesday afternoon hike (check out our recent jaunts in Ogawa and Tokorozawa’s Totoro Forest) took us into the foothills of the Okuchichibu Mountains and nearby Hannō City. Back in May, we met a couple Japanese ladies on our way to another hike in Hannō who suggested we try the trail to Neno-Gongen Temple.
The city’s website provided a basic outline of the hike advertised as the Ancient Temples of Oku-Musashi. I mapped it out in detail to ensure we wouldn’t get ourselves lost in the woods (in literary circles, this sentence is called “foreshadowing”).
The tree-covered hills of the Okuchichibu Mountains are home to a decent-sized population of Asiatic black bears. Most hikers wear a bell like this one to keep from sneaking up on a bear in the woods.
We arrived at Agano Station, the starting point for our hike, around 2 p.m. The train station was selling bear bells, which we’d been meaning to buy for awhile. The hilly forests host a good-sized population of Asiatic black bears. The ringing of the small bells is a common sound on many of the region’s hiking trails. Knowing we’d be on our own for much of the day, it seemed like a good time to pick one up.
The bell from Tōzen-ji temple in Miyagi Prefecture is now on display at Hoko-ji temple, just outside Agano Station.
Just down the street from the station, we made our first stop at Hoko-ji, a Buddhist temple established in 1386. For a small-town temple, it had several impressive pieces, although its most impressive didn’t even belong to the temple.
Large bronze bells (ō-bonshō) are a fixture at Buddhist temples. This particular one was part of Tōzen-ji temple, located in Miyagi Prefecture on the northeast coast of Japan. The temple was destroyed in the 2011 tsunami and the bell washed into the ocean. Hoko-ji will continue to be the bell’s caretaker until the temple in Miyagi is rebuilt.
An American of average height, I’m constantly ducking under things in this country!
After ringing the bell a couple times, we passed through the low-ceiling tunnel under the train tracks and followed the path to Togo Park. The park is named for Heihachirō Tōgō, an admiral in the Imperial Japanese Navy during the 1800s who grew up in the area. The steep-hilled park is popular for viewing the changing autumn leaves.
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Straw sandals are one of Hannō’s traditional crafts. Large metal versions of the sandals are found in parks and shrines throughout the area.
A piece of the deck from the battleship Mikasa is on display in Togo Park. The desk took heavy artillery fire during the Russo-Japanese War in the early 1900s.
A statue of Heihachirō Tōgō looks down over the park named for him. Tōgō is one of Japan’s greatest naval heroes.
A Russian-made cannon is one of the relics from the Russo-Japanese War on display in Togo Park
At the top, reached by climbing nearly 400 steps, we were rewarded by an outdoor “museum” to the Russo-Japanese War. A piece of artillery-shelled deck from the battleship Mikasa and a Russian-made cannon with artillery shells are among the items on public display. Higher up, a small bamboo grove surrounds Chichibu Mitake Shrine. The shrine is the only one in Hannō that has a Shinto priest living on site.
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Two cargo planes flying by, likely on their way to Iruma Airbase. Omiya, Tokyo and Yokohama can be seen in the distance, more than 40 miles away.
The winding road to Neno-Gongen temple shows a burst of autumn color
A bridge leading into the forest near Neno-Gongen temple
An amazing view from the road near the entrance to Neno-Gongen temple. We could see all the way to Tokyo and Yokohama.
Scarecrows are usually to keep the birds out, but the .38 Special it’s holding seems to be directed more at the hikers.
Asamichaya is a teahouse and udon noodle shop located in the mountains. The shop was originally established in 1855, serving warm noodles and tea to travelers needing a short rest.
A tanuki statue hides in the bushes along the road.
We climbed back down the steps to the park’s entrance and started up the road to Neno-Gongen Temple. Along the way, we passed Asamichaya, a teahouse and udon noodle shop that has been tucked away in the mountains since 1855. It was already closed for the day, but it’s still operating as a resthouse for weary travelers looking to fuel up or just grab a quick snack on the trail.
As we approached the gates of Neno-Gongen Temple, the road opened up into an amazing view. Thanks to the clear weather, we could see all the way to Tokyo Skytree and the Yokohama Landmark Tower, more than 40 miles to the east.
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The Kongorikishi guard the entrance to Neno-gongen Temple
The large straw sandals are one of the big draws at Neno-gongen Temple
Even the charms (omamori) at Neno-gongen Temple are small straw sandals
Simply entitled “Hands,” this art installation at Neno-gongen was created in 2009 by an art professor at Kyoto Seika University
Neno-Gongen is all about extremes. A pair of giant Kongōrikishi statues wait at the gate in their permanent intimidating poses. Inside, an oversized pair of straw sandals hang near the main temple with two more metal versions sitting nearby. Opposite the giant sandals, miniature sandals serve as ema (prayer offerings) left by worshippers. Down the hill, a pair of giant hands rest in a traditional Buddhist mudra position.
The sunset at Neno-Gongen Temple
Neno-Gongen was roughly the halfway point of our hike. It was exactly 5 p.m. when the sun started to disappear. We were literally in the middle of the mountains; too far to turn back, so we powered forward.
Note to our mothers: You should probably stop reading now and just assume that everything continued according to plan! 🙂
We had about two miles remaining to reach the town where we’d catch the bus. In hindsight, we might have chosen to follow the road from the temple in hopes to find a passing car, but—to paraphrase Jung—wholly unprepared, we embarked down the path into the forest.
The last photo of the day, tree trunks illuminated by the camera flash as only darkness awaited us.
The trees quickly blocked out what remained of the sunlight. Soon, the narrowing trail was pitch-black. To the left, the slope of the forest. To the right, a drop-off into the trees. All we had for light was the display screen from the camera.
Things quickly turned into an amateur remake of the Blair Witch Project. Weird screeching sounds echoed through the forest. Rustling sounds—real or imagined—stopped us in our tracks. The journey slowed to a crawl as the path devolved into a steep slope entangled in a snarl of exposed tree roots.
We arrived at Takedera Temple as the camera battery drained toward end of life. We used what was left of our light to find the nearest road. While it headed away from our bus stop, it would at least get us out of the forest. As we walked through the temple’s front gates, a motion-sensing security flood light flashed on, sending a rush of adrenaline surging through us that would last well into the night.
Once we found the paved road, we followed it down in a half-run until civilization finally re-emerged. We saw a bus stop, but we’d missed the final bus of the day by 30 minutes. Certain that we were still some distance from a train station, we flagged down the first car that passed. A young woman named Yū stopped.
Me: Do you know where the nearest station is?
Yū: Hannō.
Me: Is it far?
She gave me that look of pity that has become all too familiar over the last year and a half and invited us into her car. We were immediately comforted, both by the ride and the Of Monsters and Men song “From Finner” playing on her radio. The lyrics fit the moment perfectly:
And we are far from home, but we’re so happy Far from home, all alone, but we’re so happy
We drove… and drove… and drove. She told us she was going to Hannō to visit friends, so it wasn’t out of her way. But with the Japanese penchant for friendliness, she could have been a minute from home when she picked us up. We’ll never know.
She dropped us at Higashi-Hanno Station. We offered gas money, but of course she declined. I removed the Totoro Fund button that we bought on our last hike from my backpack and gave it to her as a token of appreciation.
If this is our last hike of the season, it certainly will be a memorable one!
