Journal Entry #2 - Nagasaki and Aburatsu

Sunrise near Nagasaki

 So – Nagasaki. What is there to say about Nagasaki?

As you know, our original itinerary included both Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Then the G7 (as I remember, it was G8 before Russia was kicked out) decided to have their rich-nations conference in Hiroshima, so that was it for tourists. We were there first, but I guess that doesn't count. We stopped at Kagoshima instead, which we liked a lot – what's not to like about an active volcano?

I had heard from a number of people that the atomic bomb memorial and museum was awesome and unforgettable in Hiroshima, and I was really looking forward to it. It's the only city that I really wanted to visit specifically. Oh, well. Nagasaki will have to do.

We pulled into the long, narrow bay early in the morning, and at the end found Nagasaki, probably the smallest city we'd visited so far. The harbor pilot boarded the ship and did a very neat 180 at the end of the bay, in the center, and we docked facing out. I think he was just showing off.

I sat on the Lido Deck (Deck 9), outdoors, at the back, facing the city. I could see most of the city in a wide panorama, from all the way to my right to all the way to my left. There are beautiful mountains, about medium height – manageable, not overwhelming - around the city, most falling right into the bay. There is very little flat land and that's where the city is built, as well as, apparently, some fill here and there.

It is beautiful. The morning sun emphasized the deep green of the forested mountains and hills. The water sparkled. Commercial building near the bay, but the hills were covered with scatterings of houses, all looking down on us. Everything was clean and bright.

And I thought: how do you do this? How do you take a blasted, melted, lethally radioactive, molten hellscape and bring it back to life? Why do you do it? What does it take from each individual involved, the survivors, the relatives, the rest of Japan? How do you teach your children about this, and then give them a shovel and enlist their labor in building a new world?

And what does it take to look down in the bay today, from your house – you who know people who knew people or whose grandparents and who knows who else knew people - and watch a cruise ship full of the men and women who were in some way responsible? How can they greet us, and make our stay pleasant, and not cry? What is responsibility?

We had booked a shore excursion just to the Atomic Bomb Museum and the rest of the compound which includes, among other things, the memorial to the victims and the “hypocenter:” the exact place on the ground directly above which, at 500 yards, the bomb had detonated.

We didn't take that tour, and the long story is, believe me, no more interesting than the short story, so the short story is: through incredibly unfortunate timing and Cunard's inability to keep in close communication with all its programs, Abbey and I got separated and could not find each other. Each of us went through the long process (including immigration – remember, we just came from Korea), got to the bus (or, it turned out, one of the buses). Each of us had documentation that the other needed. Longer story short – we both chose to go back on the ship, to our stateroom, where we met, shortly after the tour left.

I wanted to sit and write, but Abbey kept saying “well we could take the tram or a taxi, we could walk” etc., and so we did. I thought I had settled myself about what Nagasaki meant – no answers, just a settled, uncomfortable feeling – and that the visit was complete. But off we went.

The tram system consists of trolley cars riding on rails in the main streets of the city. Imagine public transportation taking up two lanes of the main drags of American cities! The trams were packed. They'll get you there, but you can't sit down. The routes are easy to follow, and itinerary announcements (“Next stop is...”) are in Japanese and English, as well as scrolled across a screen in front and back. We got there with no problem, but had a hard time finding the Atom Bomb Museum after getting off the tram at the Atom Bomb Museum stop. We finally found it.

The museum's goal is clearly to present all the horror of that day from every angle. Videos, pictures, figures, artifacts recovered from the wreckage. Some of the first videos of the carnage, taken days after the blast, featured burned and blasted corpses, including children, limbs, unrecognizable wreckage, survivors – who would no doubt die of radiation sickness - sitting in the streets next to charred loved ones. There was, it seemed, a lot of emphasis on what happened to primary schools and elementary schools, and a whole section on the the fate of the single Christian church whose interior was a blasted ruin, but whose bell towers remained, after a fashion.

Abbey and I talked about it later – we had both been exposed to this, and to similar material about Hiroshima, from, I would say, elementary school. We had actually seem many of the pictures, or pictures just like them, before we graduated from High School. The bombs were dropped less than five years before I was born. It was part of our life, our culture, certainly part of our history. Abbey and I had lived for sixty or so years with the unannounced atom bombing of a civilian city as part of our national DNA, part of our history, part of who we were.

So these museum displays were, if you can forgive the phrase, more of the same. Many of those who walked through the museum today, and every day, had never seen them before, knew nothing other than a very general description – and, I hope, came to a reckoning of some sort before they left.

There was a reckoning for us – or at least for me – when I walked outside, up onto the platform where the “hypocenter” was, and looked up. I think I have written before about my pleasure in driving through history, driving west in the US and experiencing the important or unimportant historic events and activities that had taken place wherever I was, looking around and being part of them, and moving on.

I couldn't turn that off, and suddenly, there I was 500 meters below an atomic bomb that was about to go off. That's what I mean about experiencing history.

And here we are. The people of Nagasaki have welcomed the son of a soldier in World War II, who – with so many others - was on his way from Europe to the Pacific when the bomb was dropped. Did the bomb save my father's life? What would that mean to our hosts here on this beautiful day?

I don't know.

Before we left, a school band assembled on the pier – they were at a distance, so it was hard to tell, but they seemed probably middle and high school – to send us off musically. They had what looked like choir robes of incredibly bright colors – a different color for each section. You've never seen robes like that in any church choir. They really lit the place up. After a really long time setting up and getting ready, including a lot of adolescent hijinks and ADD “OMG my instrument is back in the terminal!” and all the girls having to go to the bathroom at the same time, and many of them just jumping up and down and running around in excitement, they finally got started. And they were good! Really good, considering. They did a whole spring concert. Many pieces included dancing by two, three, four or ten of the forty musicians. They all put on Mickey Mouse hats and played “Come along and sing a song and join the jamboree...” They were really psyched, and we up in the cheap seats shouted and waved and cheered and clapped. The ship pushed away from the pier during their last song, and they all ran out from their music stands and up to the fence at the edge of the water, playing hard all the way. When they finished, the drum section grabbed a banner, ran out beside the band and spread it out: “See you again in Nagasaki!”

It broke my heart. 80 years on, this generation just wanted to play music with all they had, and connect with people from around the world. They just wanted to be happy. “Konichywa!”

[Note:  Just now, six months later, I realized that we took hardly any pictures in Nagasaki.  Other things on our minds, I guess.  Here is one of the "hypocenter" - stand in the center of those concentric circles, on the raised platform, and 500 feet above you is where the bomb exploded.]

Abbey here: Gary has done a wonderful job capturing the trip so far! I wanted to add some of my perceptions, too.

As I mentioned in an earlier email, I asked the question that we'd asked the boys, oh so long ago, when we first arrived in England. “How do you know you're in a different country?” I mentioned some things, but the first we noticed when we got the shuttle to the hotel, was that all the driving was done on the left side. We eventually found out that the British won the rights to install the railways, which they set up as traveling on the left side.

A second immediate observation is how clean everything is. I was tempted several times to take a picture just to say in the caption, “What's wrong with this picture?” In three days, I think I saw 3 pieces of litter, which looked like it could have fallen out of someone's pocket. Vast expanses of public area, many, many people, and no trash! Quite refreshing!

I've mentioned on What's Ap another difference; the toilets all have fancy bidets, public as well as the ones in the hotel. I have since seen what someone on the tour referred to as “squatters”- a ceramic or concrete trough in the floor, that one could flush. The assumption on the part of the manufacturers being that females had a skirt on and great thighs.

So far my impression of the Japanese is polite, reserved, and clean and orderly. Not much eye contact.

I thank Quog for reminding me to do the Japanese Duolingo. Even though their system stopped teaching words after the second lesson, and insisted I learn the written characters, it was still helpful, and I had fun saying the few words that I did learn. I could also recognize some of the characters (letters) of one of their alphabets. There was also a half hour Japanese lesson, on board ship the other day.

To my siblings, do you remember the Japanese song sung to the tune of London Bridge is Falling Down? I was recognizing some of the phrases, and so asked the instructors what it meant. Moshi, moshi, a do ne, a do ne, a do ne, moshi, moshi, a do ne, a so desku. It turns out it is pretty meaningless! Do you remember where we learned it?

2 pretty humorous English translations: the sign at breakfast labeling the hash browns, called them, “hushed potatoes”, and the instructions in the immigration office after they take your picture and your digital fingerprints, says to “remove your fingers”.

Coming in to Aburatsu

                                                                                         

Back to Gary.

I was wrong – today was not a sea day, it was the “Maiden Call to the Port of Aburatsu, Japan.” Does “maiden call” mean the first time for Cunard? For the QE? The first ever? Not sure. But – they're certainly not used to cruise ship visits. The pier is just a concrete platform, about 100 yards wide and maybe 1,000 long. No cruise terminal; actually, from the painting on the concrete, it seems to be a parking lot for semi-trailers, about 50 of which are parked at one end. Rising up from the ground along the whole 1,000 yard back edge of the lot is a 50 foot mesh wall, and beyond that wall are even higher piles of what we learned were cedar chips. One huge pile next to another along the back edge beyond the mesh fence (which is probably there to keep the cedar chips where they belong).

Anyway. Isn't that thrilling!? I had to look up the name of the place we're at, partially because you can't see it from here, and partially because we didn't go into or through it, as far as I can tell. Lots of beautiful mountains and rock formations that are very reminiscent of Japanese art. Densely wooded rocks, some dropping straight into the water. Some islands the size of a house, almost a perfect dome but with a sort of point on top, up to ranges, all shades of green, with occasional rock outcrops. Volcanic, but old enough for mature forests to develop in the well-watered volcanic soil which is so fertile (see: grapes in New Zealand, coffee in Guatemala and Hawaii, etc.). Around here, apparently, cedar thrive, partly because they are planted and harvested. Just sitting here on the Promenade Deck, looking out at the mountains of cedar chips beyond the parking lot – this must be The Cedar Capital of the World.

So there are the aforementioned semi-trailers parked in at one end of the lot, beyond which are two two-story piles of barked cedar logs.

The other half of the lot is bus parking (shore excursions) and a tent city, with kiosks and food trucks and money exchange and BBQ and "Try-on-a-kimono" and "have your name written in Japanese calligraphy."  Also a variety of local groups putting on shows, including a drum group similar to, but a little smaller than, the one in Kagoshima.  No buildings anywhere, therefore no terminal, and no wifi, so it'll be one more day before we can send off a chunk of the journal.

Our shore excursion today was to the Obi Castle Ruins and Shochu Distillery. The castle was cool. It was the center of a whole town which was a fiefdom of the samurai, and was 600 years old. It was built to last. The defensive design used the topography as part of the whole. Poking around, I found that where the wall ended the cliff began (kind of like Edinburgh castle); it was built into the hill in such a way that you'd be nuts to mount a frontal attack. The main gate? Think Helm's Deep. Then if you did get in, there were open spaces and stairways covered by ranks of arrow slits. Good luck.

The reconstructed samurai residence inside the fort, at the top (on a hill, remember) is now a castle museum – with all labels and descriptions in Japanese, none in English. It seems that the farther we get from Tokyo, the less chance that signs, etc., will have English translations. However, in more than one port we have seen a ship of the Japanese Coast Guard, and we've known it was the Japanese Coast Guard because that's what it said in huge English letters on the side of the ship – with no Japanese translation. Go figure.

Anyway - in the late 1860s, when the samurai system was dismantled and all authority devolved onto the Emperor, this samurai moved to a very nice house just outside the main gate of the castle. What I liked most about it were the beautiful gardens, again set against a gorgeous, classic-Japanese-art long view across the valley. 

In the town, there was a street with a wide and deep stone gutter that carried a stream in it – and there were koi living there, piebald koi that Abbey thought were ugly. They were, perhaps the size of Rey. 

Abbey went into the tea house and knelt down on the mat in order to experience the tea ceremony, and it seemed like this was a highlight of the tour for her.

Also in town was the house of Japan's chief negotiator during the end of the Sino-Japanese war at the very beginning of the last century. They were very proud of him in Obi. I am 90% sure that Teddy Roosevelt won the Nobel Prize for his role in negotiating the end of that war [Yes – ed.]. Normally I'd spend thirty seconds looking it up, to be sure (no, I'm not a walking encyclopedia). What did we do when we were all off-grid all the time? How did we write, or communicate, or cope?

It turns out you couldn't go into the diplomat's house, but on the grounds was a small but modern museum – the Museum of Obi, and I knew that because those were the only words in English in the entire museum.

The Shochu Distillery makes sake (you'll have to imagine the accent over the 'e'); it's a small, local affair probably like our craft breweries (although there's no place to eat or drink). They make sake from rice, water, yeast and – sweet potatoes. I'm not making this up. We saw the vats and ovens and the fermenting mash (“This will be ready on Tuesday”), and we got to taste as many different products as we wanted. I found it warm and tingly – very pleasant - but couldn't taste sweet potatoes. Abbey had some strawberry sake, and said she couldn't taste it either. Subtle stuff!

So now I'm stretched out on a deck chair again, pounding away on the laptop. The second brass band is playing over in the tent city (including “Mickey Mouse” again, and “YMCA”), and it's still around two hours from sailing. Another group in uniforms is getting ready. It should be an entertaining afternoon.

Aburatsu, where we are today, Kagoshima (volcano) and Nagasaki (bomb) are actually pretty close to each other as the crow flies, although again I'm not quite sure – no Google maps, and the “Navigator's Display,” the constantly-cycling collection of maps on a screen in the main atrium, is useless for reasons that it's too boring and too frustrating to go into. I am not used to not knowing where I am – this is inordinately important to me. I know where everything is, and where I am in everything, and am anxious when I don't. I went to the ship's library where there are computers that are online, and tried to get to Google Maps. No luck. So I Googled “Aburatsu Japan map” and got there that way. I had just found Kochi, which is tomorrow, and not far off at all, when the screen went blank and the Eternal Loading Icon began its lonely journey into the far future. So that was that. Still looking for a better way.

The entertainment on the pier, under the tent (so we couldn't see it from the ship) continued – a very loud, musically aggressive pop band, then a rock trio, and then we went to dinner. We were out on the Lido Deck to watch the ship turn around and sail out of the bay – in Japan, this has turned out to be a beautifully artistic experience, with the sun on its way down, slanted light, usually some haze – right out of a 18^th century woodblock.

But – we waited and waited. The trucks came to start taking down the tents. Then a van pulled up to the ship and six women, all with shopping bags, emerged and sauntered casually up to the gangway – at least half an hour late. Then an ambulance appeared, and disappeared down the pier to the front of the ship. We finally gave up and went to dinner.

I was distracted as we began dinner, and Abbey noticed and called me on it. I told her I was working on phrasing for my essay on how I really didn't like eating in the dining room. But since my reverie was interrupted, I will have to skip the flowery language.

The dining room of any major cruise liner, and, I suppose, Cunard liners especially, is designed to give the impression of entitlement and position. It is a Kabuki of western privilege, in that there are rituals and rules which are known and understood only to the cognoscenti. Many of them make no sense at all, but all of them are imposed on those who serve so those who are served can maintain a feeling of control; so those who are served can find a way to interact with those in whose home communities there are still those without enough to eat; so those who are served can avoid thinking of how they themselves are responsible for that hunger. Everyone thinks of the rules and rituals, so no one has to think of the real world, so everyone can get along.

Sorry – those who have read anything I've sent along are used to rants, but it's true. And it haunts me each time I eat in the dining room. Not so much that I do anything at all about it, because I'm not that guy, but still -

It's also the pretentious menu items on the elegantly inscribed menu, describing dishes that aren't any better than in the Lido Buffet, which is the alternative choice (Abbey says they are a little better, and I believe her – she's a 'super-taster' and I have about six elderly taste buds, so what do I know? But for me – no advantage) The Kabuki itself drives me nuts – your waiter puts your napkin in your lap as soon as you sit down! new silverware for each course! Food is only served from the right, regardless of how awkward and difficult it is at your particular table! There is a waiter who brings the pepper grinder to you for every singe non-dessert course, regardless of what it is! Someone comes and scrapes the crumbs off your table before dessert! Good Lord. And we just sit and accept it all. No one laughs – no one! - at this foolishness. Thousands of people, servers and the served, go through this all day and don't run screaming from the room.

So that's why I'd rather eat at the Lido Buffet than the Dining Room (the “Britannia Dining Room” on the Queen Elizabeth. This is, by the way, the dining room for the lower classes – if you have really expensive rooms, you eat every day at a smaller restaurant at the top of the ship, with what I assume is a really spectacular view. Not sure what goes on up there).

Believe it or not, there is nowhere to be found, for anyone without internet service, an actual itinerary of the trip. You can find out, in the evening, what's happening tomorrow, but nowhere on the ship is there a day-by-day schedule of stops and sea days. This is why I'm confused about when we're going where. We had to talk with the shore excursion people this evening, and so got a look at the rest of the Japan part of our trip: Kochi tomorrow; sea day; Yokohama; sea day; two days of stops at northern Japanese cities, and then off across the Pacific. The stop at Yokohama will be where many people leave the ship, as their cruise was for just the first nine days. Not sure who/how many will continue on.

Abbey here: I'm up at 1:06 am, due to pain. I pulled a ligament 3 days ago, bending over an arm of a chair to pick up a dropped paint brush, and my lower ribs twisted. For some reason, the pain is much worse now, despite having taken a Nyquil to help me sleep. Doesn't bode well if I succumb to the very bad cold Gary's got.

Yes, we eat in the dining room most nights, at my request. The food is definitely better than the semi-warmed over offerings in the buffet on the Lido deck (9^th deck).

Dining in the Britannia is open seating, and requires a change of clothes to “smart attire”; basically no jeans, shorts, or polo or tank top type shirts. Gary is proud of the fact that he wears a (very nice) jacket from the Truro Swap Shop.

Though we ask for a table for 2, the tables are arranged closely enough that a conversation with those at the nearest table quickly ensues unless there is a language barrier. Gary mentioned that there are many Japanese. I would say over half the guests are. The rest are either from the UK or Australia, and some from Vancouver, and we've found none that are from the East Coast of the US.

The food, as I said is very good; some of the meals are outstanding. Despite skipping some courses, we are eating a full 3 meals/day, and it shows. Also despite walking over 11,000 steps daily, and meeting the daily challenge of walking up the 8 floors from our lowly inside room to the 9^th deck.

Our stateroom is inside on the 1^st deck. It is so cheap-how cheap is it?- so cheap, that we aren't allowed to upgrade, even if there were any available! I'm dealing with it, even though the lack of light does get to me, surprisingly, despite being outside of the room most of the day. There is adequate room, but not enough useful storage space; big drawers under the bed don't count for us senior citizens.

Today's tour encompassed some of the things I really wanted to experience in Japan. One was to get into an old style Japanese house with the sliding paper screens. We got to look at one, but not go in. We did get to go in the teahouse. Teahouses are apparently separate from the house, physically and functionally. The simplicity and beauty is amazing. Add to that, the fact that the doors (screens) are completely removed, or slid aside, leaving parts of walls open to the beautiful gardens outside, and the beautiful Japanese vistas. The climate here is tropical, and wooden screens are slid back in place during bad weather.

It's now 1:46am and I am going to try to sleep.

.Just some notes (Abbey):

Boys' day coming up; girls' day was in March. The steps (treads) up to and up into the castle were wide because of the horses. Farmers are switching from using land for rice fields to building solar arrays (average age of Japanese farmers – 65). Like Kagoshima it's tropical here (palm trees – snow once of twice in winter but never accumulates). Teenagers will be teenagers anywhere all over the globe. Black mold is grown on the rice in sake-making process; mold helps turn the starch in rice to sugar, that yeast eats to cause fermentation. Koi were ugly. 108 desires (Buddhism)