All of our travels around the world from day trips to multi-month backpacking adventures and everything in between.
Sunday is the day of rest, especially for these weary travelers. We spent much of day 4 alongside the pool at Somadevi Angkor Hotel and Spa. Just a few bucks will get you full access to the pool, lounge and swim-up bar.
More Photo of the Day posts from our December 2015-January 2016 trip to Siem Reap, Cambodia
Day 3 of our Siem Reap adventure took us to some of the less-restored gems of Angkor, including Ta Prohmーthe 800-year-old co-star of Angelina Jolie in the first Tomb Raider movie. Many of the buildings have been reclaimed by the jungle, the sprawling roots of Spung trees tearing apart the temple brick by brick.
More Photo of the Day posts from our December 2015-January 2016 trip to Siem Reap, Cambodia
We woke up at 4:15 a.m. on New Year’s morning to see the first sunrise of 2016 at Angkor Wat. Our guide set us up on the banks of the north lake to perfectly capture the sun as it crested behind the temple’s five towers. A large crowd of at least a few hundred turned out for the early morning photo session.
The world’s largest religious monument, Angkor Wat was built in the 12th century as a Hindu temple. Today, it’s designation as a UNESCO World Heritage property has lead to a multinational effort to restore the temple to its former glory. More than 2 million people now visit Angkor Wat every year.
More Photo of the Day posts from our December 2015-January 2016 trip to Siem Reap, Cambodia
The sunset on our first full day in Siem Reap, Cambodia from near Phnom Bakheng. The temple, built in the 9th century, only accommodates 300 people at a time at the top. We joined the rest of the late-comers snapping sunset shots through the trees.
More Photo of the Day posts from our December 2015-January 2016 trip to Siem Reap, Cambodia
Tradition trumping modernity brings me great joy. For more than 300 years, the Chichibu Yomatsuri (Night Festival) has been held annually on December 2 and 3. It doesn’t matter if those days fall on the weekend or, as they were this year, Wednesday and Thursday.
The midweek schedule didn’t stop visitors flocking from Tokyo and beyond out to the small town in the foothills of the Okuchichibu Mountains. The festival is considered one of Japan’s three great float festivals alongside those in the cultural titans of Kyoto and Nara.
The best part about night festivals is that they start around dinner time, so it’s a great excuse to pig out on festival food. There’s a lot of festival standards, but each town also has its own unique festival foods. In Chichibu, we saw a variety of dumpling soups and omusoba, which is an egg omelette wrapped around yakisoba noodles and topped with a sunny-side-up egg, ketchup and mayonaisse. It was kind of amazing.
December 3 is the main day of the festival. The parade features floats carried from Chichibu Shrine to the city hall where they’re displayed and used as stages for kabuki performances.
The float parade is lively with a group of young people leading the way with chants of “Ho-ryai!” (“Hooray!”). The massive float follows behind, performers waving lanterns on the stage built into the front and others hanging from the top, at least 20-feet above the ground.
Read an interesting perspective on the building of the floats at Sonic-Yoshi
The ornate floats, called “yatai,” are built using Japanese elm wood and weigh as much as 20 tons. They move slowly through the streets until they reach the intersection near Ohanabatake Station. Here they perform a ceremonial turning of the float called nonoji-mawashi, or “Turning in the Shape of No.” In this case, “no” is the character の.
The danger is palpable; the gasps from the crowd audible. It takes a dozen people using long wooden pillars to lift the end of the float enough that someone can crawl underneath and rearrange the direction of the wheels. Dozens more push the behemoth into its の-shaped turn. All the while, the float lists, leans and wobbles like a disaster waiting to happen.
Before, during and after the parade, the sky lights up with hundreds of fireworks. Hanabi (firework viewing) is usually a summertime event, so the show in Chichibu is unique in December. It also gave us an opportunity to try out the “Fireworks” setting on our camera, capturing some fun shots.
I find myself running out of superlatives for the things we’re so fortunate to experience in Japan. Chichibu is one of our favorite places in Japan (see here and here and here) and it just received another tick in the plus column.
Today, the Tokaido (literally “East Sea Road”) is made up of major highways and the Tokaido Shinkansen line, the world’s busiest high-speed rail line linking Japan’s biggest cities. If you’ve ever traveled between Tokyo and Kyoto, you’ve been on the Tokaido.
But the Tokaido has a long history. 400 years ago, it was the most important of the five roads linking the then-capital of Kyoto to Tokyo during the Edo Period (1603-1868). Travelers would traverse the 514-kilometer path by foot, stopping along the way at the 53 (later 57) post stations where they could rest, eat and purchase supplies.
The original 53 stations were captured in a series of ukiyo-e (wood block paintings) by Utagawa Hiroshige, the last great master of the artform. His collection, “The 53 Stations of the Tokaido,” ushered in a new era of landscape painting and is one of the most popular series of paintings in the world.
A couple weeks ago, we found ourselves on the Tokaido for the fall conference of the Japan Association for Language Teaching (JALT) in Shizuoka City. The city itself wasn’t incredible noteworthy, but it’s location on picturesque Suruga Bay plants it squarely in the middle of history.
Not much remains of the original road, but a hiking route still exists along Satta Pass—one of the most dangerous areas of the original road—between the 16th station at Yui and the 17th station at Okitsu. Since we were staying near the 18th station (Ejiri) in Shimizu, we decided to arrive a day early and walk a bit of the Tokaido.
Before heading out, we stopped for breakfast near Shimizu Station. We sat on a sidewalk bench facing the shops, enjoying our meal when I glanced over my shoulder. I nearly choked on my coffee when I saw the imposing Mt. Fuji filling up the background between the buildings. We rotated 180-degrees and finished our meal.
The plan was to follow the Tokaido from Ejiri to Yui. We popped into the tourist information center and asked for guidance on our proposed path. In typical Japanese fashion, we were given an answer to our specific question. However, more useful advice would have been to skip the stretch from Ejiri to Okitsu.
The three-mile walk to Okitsu wound through modern neighborhoods, past working warehouses and along the current Tokaido—a major highway. We were already tired by the time we reached Okitsu, but a quick stop for taiyaki got us going again.
Near Okitsu Station, we started to see people looking “hiker-ish” with their backpacks and comfy walking shoes, telling us we were probably on the right track. Even with the all-in-Japanese map we received at the tourist center, the start of the trail was tricky to find—and not just for us.
A Japanese couple had been about 100 feet behind us since Okitsu Station. We compared maps and notes, trying to find our way to the trail. Eventually, we took the road less traveled, heading up some stone steps along a narrow cement retaining wall where we found a set of stairs. Our new friends waited at the bottom for our signal… YES! We found the trail!
We followed the paved road up through the orchards, the trees plump with bright oranges ready for harvest. Finally we arrived at a proper trail, following it through a cemetery and up another hill. Before long, we came to the marker indicating the stretch known as Satta Pass. Just around the corner, we caught our first view of Mt. Fuji from the pass.
There is another famous collection of ukiyo-e paintings by Katsushika Hokusai called “Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji.” We created our own version of this as there wasn’t a bad photo from the pass, which has two great viewing areas. A platform is set up with signage comparing the view from the pass to Hiroshige’s original painting.
We soaked in as much of the view as we could, then continued down the trail. The local orchard sold bags of mikan oranges for just 100 yen at a small rest area and parking lot and sold several bags while we caught our breath (including one to us!).
Views of the mountain continued to pop in and out between the orange trees. We passed hikers coming from the opposite direction, still full of energy and smiles as they were just getting started, likely ignorant to the hills that awaited them.
A group of older Japanese hikers caught up with us as we entered the old streets of Yui, which were reminiscent of the old part of Kawagoe. They had planned to make their way all the way to the mountain, but rain on Fuji cut their plans short. They were great walking companions for the stretch run, making chit-chat with us along the way.
We arrived at the Sakura Ebi (Cherry Shrimp) Street gate in front of Yui Station exactly five hours after our first glimpse of Fuji at breakfast. Walking in the footprints of history is exhausting work, the welcome sight of the station just as satisfying at it might have been in the 1600s.
On our last day in Hiroshima, we went off the beaten path to the small town of Saijō. Located a scenic 45-minute train ride from Hiroshima Station, Saijō is famous for being home to 10 of Japan’s best known sake breweries, earning it the title of Japan’s Sake Capital.
First things first. I owe sake an apology. When I had my first beer at, let’s say, 21 years old, I was not a fan. It was probably some garbage like Coors Light. But as I discovered craft beer, I found a love for the creativity and passion brewers put into their products. Each is unique, the character of the individual brewer represented in every beer.
I didn’t like sake when we came to Japan and frankly wasn’t interested in trying it until a few months ago. If you agree with me, you’ve probably only been exposed to table sake like I had been. It turns out the sake brewing industry is as diverse and creative as the American craft beer scene.
In touring six of the eight breweries in Saijo’s city center, we learned more about sake than we ever thought possible. There are strict guidelines for way rice is milled, how long the sake ferments and at what temperature. There are two distinct styles that have different flavor profiles from brewer to brewer.
First, the word “sake” itself isn’t entirely accurate. In Japanese, “sake” means “alcohol” or “liquor” and refers to all alcoholic beverages. I once asked the shelf-stocker at the grocery store where the “sake” section was. He pointed to the entire beer, wine, etc. cooler with wide arms outstretched.
If you want “sake” in Japan, you want nihon-shu, or Japanese liquor. You can also find shochu, a distilled spirit closer to brandy or vodka.
The quality of sake depends on how much of the rice bran has been milled away before the brewing process begins. For table sake, there are no minimum requirements for the milling, while the best quality daiginjo/junmai-daiginjo has 50-60% of the bran milled away. The rice is a special variety that is only used for sake—it actually tastes horrible on its own. More than 80 varieties of sake rice are grown in Japan.
Table sake is the lowest quality of sake. If you’ve ever had hot sake or sake from a large plastic jug, you’ve had table sake. It’s the most common, making up 80 percent of the sake market, and usually tastes closer to rubbing alcohol than something you want to kick back with.
For premium sake, production branches into two paths. Honjozo, Ginjo and Daiginjo are made with pure distilled alcohol added into the brewing process. It results in bright, fragrant and crisp flavors. The Junmai styles don’t contain any distilled alcohol, instead relying on the natural alcohol created by the fermentation caused by Koji mold. Junmai sake has a fuller flavor profile with a thicker mouthfeel.
Saijō knows sake is what brings the visitors to town, so as soon as you exit the gates at JR Saijo Station, you’ll find the visitor center offering maps (in English!) guiding the way to the city’s various breweries. You’ll be offered variations of this map at each brewery as well. We collected three different brochures before we started turning them down.
Sanyotsuru, a brewery that has been making sake in Saijō for more than 100 years, was our first stop. It’s blink-or-you’ll-miss-it building has a charming tasting room. The first taste is free, but each additional taste is only 5o yen (about 40 cents USD) and it’s worth it to add on. Plus, the tasting expert taught us a new word that would come in handy for the rest of the day: shiin or “sample a drink.”
From there, we walked to the center of town, arriving at Hakubotan.Hakubotan is the oldest brewery in town with origins dating back to 1675. Outside, their well offers free drinking water to passer-bys (one man was filling up his drinking water jugs to take home), the same water used to make the sake. The fresh spring water is part of what gives Saijō sake its unique flavor. The folks at Hakubotan weren’t quite ready for us on a Wednesday afternoon, but they broke out the bottles and offered three good quality sake samples.
Across the street, we popped into Saijotsuru. Saijō’s history is charmingly on display with the tall brick chimneys that were used in the traditional brewing process, but Saijotsuru is the only one that actually still uses its chimney in production. The overachiever in town, it’s unfiltered Junmai-Daiginjo has won 10 consecutive Monde Selection Gold Medals.
Saijotsuru was also the most generous in its samples. One other customer was in the tasting room and had likely been there for awhile based on the glow in her cheeks. In addition to the five bottles on the tasting counter, the tasting expert pulled a couple more bottles off the shelf for us to try. We were starting to get a little light on our feet after our visit.
We wobbled down the street another block to Kirei. We were met by an older man who gave us a bit of the side eye. He seemed really nervous and the vibe was a little odd. In hindsight, I think he was anxious about having to use his English. After a few minutes and a few questions about his sake, he started to lighten up a bit.
Kirei’s sake was unique in that it was a lot drier than the other breweries. The crisp flavor was a nice break from the sweeter varieties.
We walked to the end of the street where we were met by a goofy young man at Kamoizumi. He gave us a sample of their drip-pressed Junmai-Ginjo, which ended up being one of my favorite tastes of the day. He also told us Hillary Clinton had visited a couple weeks before and bought a bottle of $200 sake. While I couldn’t verify this visit in the news reports, it made a nice story.
We were about sampled out, but he suggested we make one more stop at Kamotsuru.
Kamotsuru is the Hiroshima sake, brewing under its current name since 1873. It uses Japan’s best rice and employs Japan’s best brewers. It’s been the favorite of Edo period feudal lords and was the first brewery to make premium sake available to the general public.
But for all of its history, Kamotsuru earned a new place in Japan’s popular culture thanks to a hastily snapped photo in 2014. U.S. President Barrack Obama was visiting Prime Minister Shinzō Abe in Tokyo and the pair dined at the famous Sukiyabashi Jiro sushi restaurant in Tokyo. (Side note: If you haven’t watched the wonderful documentary Jiro Dreams of Sushi, check it out ASAP.) A photo of Abe pouring Kamotsuru’s Daiginjo Tokusei Gold into Obama’s cup made the world news circuit and reignited the brewery’s popularity.
The photo appears several times in the tasting room as part of the marketing for the Daiginjo Tokusei Gold. And it worked as it was among the bottles we brought home with us. Each bottle features two gold foil flakes in the shape of cherry blossoms.
In addition to the samples at the breweries, the walk itself is rather enjoyable. Sakagura Dori—or Sake Storehouse Road—gives a taste of what life might have been like in the 1600s as the Edo-era lords came to enjoy the best sake in the world. Each of the breweries have painstakingly restored their buildings, including original features whenever possible. The bright white storehouses stand in contrast to the gray modern apartments and shops that now share space with them.
Saijō was a great way to wrap up our Hiroshima adventure, getting out of the city for a taste of the countryside. For more details on the city and the walking tour, head over the Saijō Sake website.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.”
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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 cakes and 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.