Wow Place #356:  Shimabara, Japan

 

When it comes to reputation, there are places that come close to meeting the hype, places that live up to the hype, and places that exceed the hype.

Shimabara is not one of these places.

Nicknamed the “City of Water,” the castle town of Shimabara in Nagasaki Prefecture is renowned for many things: its samurai-era historical district; its reconstructed, five-story castle; its regionally-famous kanzarashi sweets (a traditional dessert of small rice-flour dumplings served in chilled, spring-water syrup), to name a few.

The reason I changed my itinerary to come here, however, was to see the drainage ditches.  You heard that right:  drainage ditches.  Known for its abundant natural freshwater springs, Shimabara is said to be a town full of cool, street-side canals filled with colorful, swimming koi fish.

Now that was something I had to see!

Don’t get me wrong—the main path through the Shinmachi District, called “Koi no oyogu machi (The Town Where Koi Swim) Street,” DOES have drainage ditches, and there ARE koi there.  Just not a lot of them. Maybe ten in total.  And they’re not all over town, like some Far East Venice; they’re crammed into a small, one-block area.

In my humble opinion, this is not a town that merits completing altering one’s plans to visit!  At least not for the eminently underwhelming, fishy drainage ditches.

However—like most locations, if you look past the overblown hype (around the waterways and the carp) – I believe Shimabara IS worth a visit for a variety of other reasons.

The tiny Shimeiso Spring Water Garden, for example, just off “the Town Where Koi Swim Street,” is exceedingly lovely.  Built in the 19^th century over a natural spring where 3,000 tons of water pour each day, this traditional-style Japanese villa is a wonderful place to sip a cup of green tea and watch the water bubble up into a variety of water features.  And, unlike the drainage ditches nearby, Shimeiso’s gorgeously-landscaped garden pond boasts 50-100 friendly, active and exceedingly hungry Nishiki koi.

It’s a place I could imagine sitting all day, feeding the carp, eating some traditional sweets, and letting the stress of the modern world melt away.  It has to be one of the most friendly and serene locations in all of Japan (and that’s saying something).

Putting all the water tourism aside, I would also recommend Shimabara for a particularly modest (and delicious!) okonomiyaki restaurant: “Osaka.”  You won’t find this place in a guidebook.  Boasting a few tables and a long bar, the thing to do here is sit on a stool up front and watch the owner cook your meal in front of you.

Okonomiyaki, for the uninitiated, is a Japanese savory cabbage pancake made from flour, eggs, water or dashi stock, and grated mountain yam (nagaimo) or baking powder.  As a filling, diner choose from pork, shrimp, squid or octopus (to taste), then top it off with a Worcestershire-based sauce, mayo, dried seaweed flakes and pickled ginger.

Call it a cabbage, barbeque-sauce, pancake pie.

A quintessential Japanese comfort food not particularly well-known outside of the country, okonomiyaki is said to be best enjoyed in either Osaka, where everything is mixed into the batter, or Hiroshima, where the ingredients are layered over a thin crepe and then yakisoba noodles are added on top.

For me, though, the best okonomiyaki by far is served right here at “Osaka” restaurant in Shimabara, the City of Water.

But don’t believe the hype, go there yourself.  I’m betting that even if you don’t share my opinion, you’ll find something else in town to hype on your own.

 

(There doesn’t appear to be a clear, etymological origin for the word “hype.” It’s most commonly defined as “promotional publicity of an extravagant or contrived kind.”  Something like, “The prelaunch hype for the new cell phone translated into phenomenal sales numbers on release day.”  “This restaurant has the best potstickers IN THE WORLD.”  “You have to see this band in concert—they will CHANGE YOUR LIFE!”

Hype, then, is excessive, overblown praise of something.

It’s probably safe to say that one should probably take most hype with a grain of salt. Hype is a set-up for disappointment.  Better to arrive at a venue with an open mind, ready to discover what ELSE in the locale might, in fact, be worthwhile.   Very often the real treasure in the museum isn’t the crown jewels (with the big line), but the exhibit of subtle star sapphires on the other side of the room.)

Wow Place #355:  Kumano Magaibutsu, Kunisaki Peninsula, Japan

 

When I was a kid, one of my favorite cartoons was “Tennessee Tuxedo.” Its plot was simple: Tennessee, a penguin, and his dimwitted pal Chumley, a walrus, live in Megapolis zoo.  Regularly, the duo escape over the zoo’s wall and get into all manner of trouble on the outside, only to turn, eventually, for help from the “the man with all the answers”: Phineas J. Whoopee.  A bald-headed professor type with a room full of junk, Mr. Whoopee inevitably pulls out his 3-D BB (three-dimensional blackboard) and lectures our heroes about anything from physics to hot air balloons—solving whatever problem they needed solved.

 

Isn’t that always the way it is in adventure stories – to get answers to the biggest questions in life, you need to gain audience with a revered, all-knowing guru – often by overcoming some kind of obstacle, whether it’s hurdling a wall, penetrating a labyrinth, or more commonly, trekking to the top of a mountain. Think Brad Pitt’s character in Seven Years in Tibet climbing the Himalayas to meet the young Dalai Lama. Or Batman, hiking the peaks of Bhutan in search of the League of Shadows.  Or Homer and Apu from the Simpsons, scaling the heights of Shangri-la to reach the First Kwik-E-Mart (note, it doesn’t go well for them).

 

In short, wisdom often resides at the top of a long climb.

 

It’s with a similar goal of enlightenment in mind that I begin scaling the 99 steps to the Kumano Magaibutsu.  Carved directly into a natural rock wall between the 11^th and 12^th centuries, the Magaibutsu are two of Japan’s largest stone Buddha sculptures.  About 7-8 meters (20 feet) each, the statues include a calm figure with spiral patterns on its head and another with a gentle expression, holding a sword.

 

Surrounded by forest, secluded, devilishly difficult to reach – these “Buddhas in the Mist” are definitely a place get some answers about the meaning of life!

 

But first you have to overcome those steep, brutal, 99 steps.

 

So why 99?   This being Japan, there’s a story to it, of course! According to the official Kumano Magaibutsu tourist brochure:

 

“Once upon a time, a red ogre is said to have lived in this district.  One day, this ogre felt an urge to taste human flesh.  The ogre came to a deity named Gongen and begged him for this.  The deity replied, ‘If you can make 100 stone steps in one night, your wish may come true.’  The delighted red ogre started making the stone steps from 8 in the morning.

 

“Just before midnight, Gongen got worried and went to see the ogre. At that moment, the red ogre was coming up the stairs with a rock for the 100^th step.  The deity never expected this would happen, so he decided to make the morning come earlier.  That’s why, disguised as a rooster, Gongen cried out “Cock-a-doodle-doo!”  The surprised ogre ran away with the last stone on his back, in fear of being killed by Gongen.”

 

Like so many stone steps in Japan (see Wow Place #348: Mt. Fugen-dake), this is rather difficult climb—a nearly vertical scramble over massive, un-cut boulders.  Absolutely brutal. Entirely worth it!

 

And finally, there I am at the top, sweat streaming down my brow, face to face with the two, famed Buddhas.  Emerging silently from the rock wall, they emanate peace, sacredness and wisdom. Approaching reverently (after catching my breath), I mouth my questions silently to myself, and quietly retreat — keeping a close eye out for the Red Ogre.  After all, Nirvana may be attained at the top of a holy mountain, but that doesn’t mean going back down will be an easy road.  In fact, as the sherpas of Mt. Everest can tell you, it’s never the ascent that kills you; it’s always the descent.

 

And isn’t that a good lesson for all of us wisdom seekers?!!

 

(Although enlightenment can sometimes be reached at the top of a mountain, the reverse can also be said to be true.

“Zen is the spirit of the valley, not the mountaintop. The only Zen you find on the top of mountains is the Zen you bring up there.”  — Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

 

In other words, nirvana/satori/enlightment is easy when you’re by yourself, away from it all, immersed in nature, far away from worldly distractions.  But try to be equanimous here in the valley of our everyday lives, juggling the stresses of work, kids and marriage.  You are you wherever you go.   So yes, climb the wall, scale the mountain, challenge the red ogre. Don’t miss out on those challenges.  But remember that your real practice starts and ends here at home, in the quotidien, the everyday life .

–Today’s lesson from Phineas J. Whoopee and his 3-D BB.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Dave Blum is the creator of Dr. Clue Treasure Hunts, www.drclue.com, a teambuilding company featuring over 150 treasure hunt locations worldwide. He has visited over 40 countries in his 60+ years of life and plans to keep traveling until he gives up the ghost. Dave lives in Northern California with his wife, Donica, and their 18-year-old Maine Coon, Ava — an indoor cat who dreams of one day escaping captivity and exploring her own neighborhood Wow Places.)

Wow Place #354:  Kuju Flower Park, Taketa City, Japan

 

I’m embarrassed to admit that I have a little cellphone problem.

When I’m standing in line, I look at my phone.  When I’m watching a movie or reading a book, my phone is never far away.  If a text arrives (with its enticing ping), I feel obliged to check my messages immediately.  After all, if someone is texting me, it must be important.

And don’t get me started about all those eminently-enticing podcasts, apps and newsfeeds!

Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate all the benefits I receive from my cellphone.  What a modern miracle it is to have a portable computer in your pocket with access to the vast world of the internet!  What I don’t appreciate, however, is how my phone has tampered with my attention span.  Who, for example, has the patience these days to concentrate on one static, non-animated piece of media (ie. a book) for an extended period of time. Heck, there’s no place to click!

Sometimes the only remedy for a cellphone problem like mine is to lock your portable distraction device away and head to a serene, switched-off place like the Kuju Flower Park in Kyushu, Japan.

 

Opened in 1993 and set at an altitude of 850 meters (2,700 feet), Kuju Flower Park is about 15 kilometers east of Kurokawa Onsen inside Aso-Kuju National Park in Japan’s Oita Prefecture.  Established to showcase the region’s natural beauty, the park spans 49 acres and features approximately 5 million blooms from 500 species, offering a rotating seasonal color display set against the lush backdrop of the nearby Kuju Mountains.

Created as a shifting “village of flowers” rather than a single-season garden, the park uses a continuous relay of plantings to maintain vibrant fields from spring through late autumn. In spring, you might see tulips, violas, and poppies brightening the landscape. In summer, lavender and sunflowers take center stage, while autumn features cosmos and salvias in full bloom.

Essentially, it’s a high-altitude botanical garden and entertainment complex all wrapped up into one, offering both a feast of flowers and a wide a variety shops, markets and restaurants to enjoy, many featuring the local taste treat:  lavender ice cream.

Visiting Kuju is a delight.  Around every turn you find another patchwork of colors to explore — a quilt made by giants.  One moment you’re up high on Lavender, Breezing or Moss Phlox Hill, the next you’re down in the valley exploring the Rose Garden, the Hydrangea Grove or the Antilles Greenhouse. The colors are eye-popping, the atmosphere ever-so-serene!

This is a truly a place to unplug – which as I mentioned, is not easy for me.  Because the only camera I carry these days is my smartphone, the best I can do is set my device to airplane mode and use it only for photos.  No Instagram, no FB, no online posting allowed.  The pictures are simply for memories, for reliving later.  The experience of  wandering amidst so much natural beauty in only place is definitely designed for the NOW.

(If there’s a full-proof method for weaning oneself off or your smartphone, I haven’t found it yet.  But here are a few ideas (from the internet):

• Buy a physical alarm clock: Keep your phone out of the bedroom entirely to stop night scrolling.
• Establish phone-free zones: Designate areas like the dining table, bathroom, or car as completely screen-free.
• Charge across the room: Place your charger out of arm’s reach during work or study hours.
• Use a smart speaker: Ask voice assistants for the weather or time instead of looking at your screen.
• Impose a “checking interval”: Set a timer and only look at your phone once every 30 or 60 minutes.
• Delete mobile social apps: Force yourself to only check social platforms on a desktop computer.
• Do not save passwords: Manually typing login credentials creates a hurdle against quick scrolling.
• Carry a low-tech alternative: Keep a physical paperback book or a notebook on hand to fill sudden gaps of boredom.
• Utilize habit-breaking apps: Install tools like Forest or Flipd to gamify staying off your device.

You do NOT need to try each of these suggestions all at once.  Start with one at first, do it for a week or two, and see if it works for you. Build up slowly. And keep in mind the bigger picture:  more patience, better relationships, less stress!

And when in doubt, lock away your phone and go to a flower park.)

Wow Place #353: Chichu Museum, Naoshima Island, Japan

 

To my surprise, there have been over 100 James Bond Villains over the course of 25 or so 007 movies.  Some of them I’d call “Bond Thugs” as they were more hired assassins than actual evil masterminds.  I’m talking Odd Job from Goldfinger, Donald “Red” Grant in From Russia with Love, and Jaws from The Spy Who Loved Me/Moonraker.

 

No, true Bond Villains are the guys who call the shots, hold grudges, or simply aspire to taking over the world.  I’m referring, of course, to rogues like Dr. No, Goldfinger, Raoul Silva, Francisco Scaramanga or my all-time favorite:  Ernst Stavro Blofeld (he of the bald head and the white pet cat).

 

What do they all have in common?   An epic Bond-Villain LAIR!  You know, those spare, imposing, tricked-out palace/castles, perched on a cliff, submerged under the ocean or ensconced inside a mountain.

 

Myself, if I were a Bond Villain, I’d want to hide out in the Chichu Museum on Japan’s Naoshima island.

 

This is a complex just made for maniacal plotting!

 

The museum building, designed by world-renowned architect Tadao Ando, is mostly located underground, allowing it to integrate seamlessly with its surroundings and leave the landscape virtually untouched. From a drone’s-eye-view above, all you would see of the structure are a series of squares, triangles and rectangles, deeply cut into a grassy hillside.

 

Just perfect for your geometrically-shaped missiles and lasers!

 

Ando’s go-to building material, inevitably, is cement!  Lots and lots of spare, modernistic cement.  Says one description: “The cement becomes a medium for light modulation, as daylight is choreographed through narrow openings and voids, shifting as the sun moves across the sky. The intersection of walls and passageways creates moments of compression and release, inviting introspection and slowing the visitor’s pace.” (https://archeyes.com/chichu-art-museum-by-tadao-ando-light-and-space/)

 

Interestingly, despite being underground, the Chichu Museum employs no artificial lighting.  In other words, the artwork is lit solely by natural light, filtered down from a variety of light wells, skylights and apertures.   Think stark, modernistic courtyards, gardens and corridors, intermittently opened to the bright, blue sky above.

 

Like I said, a Bond Villain lair!

 

Perhaps the only truly villainous feature of the Chichu Museum is that, for your $16 admission fee, you  only get to see the works of 3 artists:  Claude Monet, James Turrell and Walter De Maria. Turrell gets two rooms—the others only one.  The idea is that, as much as the artwork, it’s the architecture that’s worth the price of admission.

 

As for the art, I can say that all it’s very nice.  One should never pass up a chance to see Monet water lilies.  Turrell’s work is more optical illusion than anything else, but cool.  And a special word should be said about De Maria’s installation: “Time/Timeless/No Time”.  Imagine a vast marble room with a great marble staircase.  Golden porticoes speckle the wall. And on a landing amidst the stairs:  a giant, shiny-black orb, somewhere between an overgrown Magic 8-Ball and that rolling ball from the first Indiana Jones movie.

 

This is a room of mystery and majesty.  A room for a king.  Or perhaps, Ernst Stavro Blofeld and his cat.

 

(I often wonder what makes a villain become a villain.  Surely, they were children once.  They probably had a teddy bear, or a blankie (or a sled named Rosebud).  No one aspires to grow up and become a villain, and yet we most certainly do have villains in the world.  I’m guessing the unifying theme for all villains, evildoers, malefactors, fiends and baddies is a mountain-sized sense of grievance.  In short, the world never appreciated them the way they had yearned for. It never recognized their greatness.  Or worse, someone (like Bond, James Bond) took their fame and status away from them.  And now the world will pay!

 

Is there a more powerful emotional catalyst in the human experience than the feeling of “It’s not fair!”  We’ve become a world of victims and blamers, of patsies, suckers and fall guys.  Our plight is always someone else’s fault!  Before you start building your own villain’s lair, ask yourself:  “Is someone else really responsible for my disappointments?  Did I have NO other choices along the way? And does revenge and retribution really solve anything?”  Think about what’s motivating your grievance before you go buying yourself a white villain’s cat.)

 

Wow Place #352: Takachiho Gorge, Miyazaki Prefecture, Japan

 

Time and again, I’ve been tricked into thinking that a famous site isn’t nearly as good as its hype.

 

There was the time I arrived at the main gate of the Taj Mahal in Agra, India, at 7am on a brisk January morning.  Bleary eyed from a long, overnight train ride, I was convinced that the front gate where the taxi dropped me off actually WAS the Taj Mahal.

 

“Geez, this isn’t what I expected.”

 

It wasn’t until I traversed a tunnel in the entry building that I saw it hovering in the distance: the white-washed walls of the Taj Mahal, in all its glory.

 

“Okay, that’s more like it!”

 

Then there was the time in Petra, Jordan, when my tour guide took me up to the ticket gate, paid my entry fee and put me on a horse.  From my saddle, looking around at the fairly-ordinary, reddish-brown cliffs, I thought to myself, “So this is Petra, huh?  Meh!   Definitely not what I was expecting.”

 

It wasn’t until we entered the narrow, winding crevasse leading to The Treasury (Al-Khazneh), a 40-meter-high monument tomb carved directly into the sandstone cliff face, that I concluded, “Okay, now I get it.”

 

In short, many of the great sights in the world tease you a bit before delivering the climax (as it were).

 

And so it was with the Takachiho Gorge.

 

Located in the mountains of northwest Miyazaki Prefecture, the Gorge of Takachiho City is one of the MUST-SEE SIGHTS of any visit to Kyushu, or so the guidebooks say.  Needless to say, my expectations were high.

 

However, the initial stretch of the gorge is a big nothing-burger – essentially a small stream gurgling between non-descript, greyish-white rocks.  Oh, it’s pleasant enough, but certainly nothing to write home about.

 

During my 20-minute, cliff-side walk along the gorge, the elevation increases gradually and the scenery becomes slightly more impressive.  I start to see basalt columns emerging. The water appears to be becoming greener and clearer.

 

“Okay, I admit it, this is a fairly nice nature walk.  But it’s hardly transcendent”

 

It’s not until the final turn that the show-piece view reveals itself.  There, in front of me, is a stunning, V-shaped canyon with a gorgeous, 17-meter waterfall cascading over black, basalt walls directly into the Gokase River.  Below, paddle-boats traverse the tiny passage, edging up close to the waterfall for water-level viewing.

 

It is a scene straight out of Lord of the Rings—Rivendell to be exact, the Elven valley ruled by Lord  Elrond.

 

I half expect to see elves, dwarves and hobbits having a drink on the shore before setting off on a Tolkien-esque quest.

 

Magical pretty much describes the view.

 

Twenty minutes ago, I would’ve written off this place as a major disappointment. But now, I get it.  I see why people flock here in droves – and to be sure, it’s VERY crowded with tourists, especially on this busy Saturday afternoon.  If I had it to do over again, I’d arrive bright and early, at opening time.  Or better yet, I’d rent a boat in the wee hours of the morning and paddle straight up to the waterfall, with no one else around.

 

But even sharing the spot with a mob of other people doesn’t spoil the experience.

 

My point is when it comes to the great world sights, the name of the game is “Be Patient.”  Give a place like Takachiho Gorge some time.  Trust the guidebooks.  Famous places are famous for a reason.   Chances are, the site is going to be spectacular if you manage your expectation and just keep walking along the path.

 

(We humans have never been great with delayed gratification.  Consider the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment, conducted in 1970 by Professor Walter Mischel. Children were given a choice between one immediate marshmallow or two if they waited for 15 minutes.   Hidden cameras recorded the kids trying to cope with the temptation.  Some of them sang.  Others covered their eyes or turned away.  In the end, researchers tracked the children through their teens and adulthood and determined that the kids who delayed gratification had higher SAT scores, lower body mass indexes, better stress management and lower rates of substance abuse.

 

I have to wonder how I would’ve performed in such an experiment.   Back in my childhood, there were no video games. No smart phones. No TikTok.  I’m guessing I would’ve done okay with holding off on the initial marshmallow.  Nowadays, if I see a plate a fresh, hot, chocolate chip cookies, I seriously doubt that I’m waiting 15 minutes to have my second cookie, or my third.  I want that treat now! Technology has ruined me.

 

Although it’s getting harder and harder to be patient, to delay gratification, the benefits are still out there.   Good things still come to those who wait.  Like a second marshmallow.  Or beautiful sights.  Or a healthier body.   Try the 15-minute experiment with your favorite temptation and see how you do, then adjust your life accordingly.  Get off those screens!)

Wow Place #351: Futago-ji Temple, Kunisaki Peninsula, Kyushu Japan

 

Cenzo:  “Where do you think it goes?”

Dave:  “I’m not sure.  The sign says, “Mountain Pilgrimage Path.”

Cenzo:  “It’s pretty steep. And look, you have to use a chain to hoist yourself up the first part!  You don’t think it goes ALL the way up the mountain, do you?”

Dave: “No idea, but I think we should do it.  What have we got to lose?”

————————————————-

 

 

When you think about Buddhist temples, what tends to come to mind is a group of solemn, robed monks sitting quietly in a meditation hall, deep in spiritual contemplation.  On Kyushu’s Kunisaki Peninsula in southwest Japan, however, a different, “swarthier” type of Buddhism has long been practiced.

 

If you’re a mountain hermit, a “Yamabushi” (literally “one who lies down in the mountains”), practicing Shugendō, an ancient, syncretic religion blending esoteric Buddhism, Shinto, and folk shamanism, your life is anything but sedentary.

 

Shugendo practitioners—historically known as shugenja –opt to endure a variety of physical austerities such as standing under waterfalls, spending days in silent contemplation and trekking up and down the rugged mountainside trails in nothing but simple robes and sandals.

 

The purpose of these ordeals is to undergo spiritual rebirth, seek supernatural power and commune with the spirits or deities believed to be inhabiting the wild terrain nearby.

 

Call it Buddhism on steroids.

 

About an hour’s drive from the popular hot spring town of Beppu, Futago-ji Temple is the center of the Shugendo world – and a world apart.  Boasting a history of more than 1300 years, Futago-ji’s temple grounds cover a wide area on the slopes of Mount Futago –with gravel paths and stone stairs connecting the numerous halls and statues.

 

It’s a beautiful, secluded place, nestled in towering pine trees that allow spears of sunlight to guide your way between the various Buddhist and Shinto structures.

 

What interests me most, however, is the “Mountain Pilgrimage.”  You just don’t visit many places of worship that offer a “challenge course.”

 

The path that my buddy, Cenzo, and I follow propels us high above the temple complex, wending our way past fancifully-named landmarks such as “The One Hundred Images of the Bodhisvattva Kannon,” “Needle Ear Rock” (overlapping boulders suggesting a thread passing through the eye of a needle) and the “Ogre’s Back Breaking Great Rock.”

 

To my relief, the journey only takes an hour or so—but I must say it it’s enormously fun — imagining for an afternoon that we are Mountain Monks challenging our minds and bodies to the rigors of a holy pilgrimage.  I particularly enjoy when we’re squeezing between tight rock crevasses. It’s also a pretty slick little treasure hunt, as the path is marked only by pink ribbons tied around tree branches.

 

Best of all, there’s not another tourist in sight. In fact, for most of the day, we have the entire Futago-ji complex to ourselves!   Although I haven’t climbed a mountain in sandals or meditated under an icy waterfall, I still feel something of the Yamabushi vibe: that sense of communing, alone, with nature, facing stern mountain deities, and working up a sweat in the process.

 

When it comes to our mountain pilgrimage, we had nothing to lose indeed, apart from shedding some stress  – and perhaps a few pounds in the process.

 

(In his recent article “The Antisocial Century,” journalist Derek Thompson suggests that we’re all, to a certain extent, becoming monks in our lives.   No, we’re not out in the forest, meditating under icy waterfalls in search of enlightenment.  But since the beginning of the century, a great many of us are choosing to forgo external social engagements in favor of staying home and spending time with our screens.  This is particularly true of our young people, so often addicted not only to Netflix but also to  scrolling on TikTok and/or gambling on sports.  Thompson argues that this phenomenon is extremely dangerous to our health, longevity and even our politics.  Mammals need social interaction the way fish need water.  We can’t continue to be “monks in a casino,” as Thompson puts it, secluded in our basements, drawn to the engaging bells and whistles of our phones the way gamblers are enticed to slot machines.   I say, get out of your house and find your people!  Take up a new activity. Flirt with an attractive person in real time and maybe ask them to go on a mountain hike!  You’ll be glad you did—and you might possibly live longer.)

Wow Place #350: Chiran Peace Museum For Kamikaze Pilots, Minamikyushu City, Kagoshima, Japan

 

“Mother, I have nothing to say. In my last moment, and my first act of filial piety, I will smile and conquer. With dry eyes and knowing I have done well. Please offer some rice dumplings at our Buddhist mortuary tablet.”    –Second Lieutenant Fujio Wakamatsu, in a personal letter to his family on the eve of his kamikaze mission to Okinawa.

 

When planning a trip to Japan, most travelers conjure images of elegant geishas, classical temples and gardens, giant Buddhas, steaming hot springs, delicious fresh sushi and futuristic bullet trains.  Most of us wouldn’t purposely put a Kamikaze Museum on our itinerary.

 

The Atomic Bomb Museum in Hiroshima?  Perhaps—as a ritual act of atonement.  But Japanese suicide fighters?  Why would I want to go there?

 

To be fair, this extremely moving museum has its share of controversy.   Of the 2,000 visitors it draws every day, only 5% of them are from outside of Japan.  On the one hand, one can view it from the lens of peace. Its stated purpose is “to commemorate the pilots and expose the tragic loss of their lives so that we may understand the need for everlasting peace and ensure such incidents are never repeated.”

 

In this sense, the museum serves as a useful educational tool prompting reflection on the nature of war and sacrifice, a la Auschwitz, Dachau, or the Killing Fields in Cambodia.

 

Nevertheless, it must also be stated that on August 15^th of each year, the anniversary of Japan’s surrender in WW2, right-wing groups descend on the site to pay tribute to the kamikaze pilots.

 

In other words, the Chiran Kamikaze Museum is a flashpoint for the various interpretations and perspectives about Japan’s wartime history.

 

I sense nothing of this controversy during my visit to the museum.  All I feel is sadness and regret that war (in all its forms) continues, across the ages, to demand such vast sacrifice of life from our youth.  Because whatever the country, no matter the situation, war is inevitably directed by old men asking young men (and women) in their teens and early 20s to engage in the murder of other human beings.  It’s a heartbreaking failure of human society to solve its problems through violence rather than civil discussion.

 

The Chiran Kamikaze museum, built in 1986 and spanning 17,000 square feet, is a poignant memorial to the 1,036 young men who sacrificed their lives as kamikaze pilots.  439 of them took off from here in Chiran, making it the principal base for kamikaze operations during the Battle of Okinawa.

 

During my visit, I observe four original aircraft, a “Shinyo suicide motor boat,” a variety of uniforms, letters and weapons, and an assortment of hachimaki headbands and water bottles. Perhaps most moving are the Hinomaru flags, with messages from family and friends.  Photographs of all 1,036 Special Attack Corps pilots are represented in the museum, organized chronologically by the date of death.

 

I’m particularly touched by the recordings in the audio guide program, which provide a glimpse into the minds and hearts of these young men who willingly signed up for certain death.  Says one pilot, “I will do a splendid job sinking an enemy aircraft carrier…I read the Bible every day…I will sing a hymn as I dive on an enemy vessel.”

 

Interestingly, quite a few pilots survived their deathly assignment, experiencing last-second engine trouble that forced them to miss their missions. Paraphrasing one such survivor’s account, “I figured we were going to lose the war anyway and the Allies would come in and kill us all.  I might as well do something helpful for my country.”

 

Is the museum a monument to peace and the insanity of war, or a glorification of these young men’s valiant patriotism?  Was Japan the victim of the war, or the aggressor?   The museum allows you to make your own interpretation.

 

Myself, I think the Chiran Kamikaze Museum is well worth a visit if you’re in this neck of the woods, compelling you to ask yourself such questions as:   What would I do in these young men’s shoes?  Would I willingly sacrifice my life out of a sense of devotion to country and community?  Can we ever let this kind of situation happen again?

 

Only you and your conscience can decide.

 

(It’s safe to say that war is the most complicated of subjects.  Is warfare always to be avoided?  Some would say yes, others would say, “Wait a second, you can’t just back down to a bully like Hitler.”  And what of the soldiers who fight these battles?  Are they brainwashed?  Are they heroic?  Can we appreciate those who defend us while at the same time mourn the tragedy of war?  Is war a “necessary evil,” as long as men are flawed?   I have no answers on these questions.  About all I can say is that most of us would like a LOT less war and a LOT more peace, harmony and collaboration.  To make that happen will require a different kind of struggle – an internal one — a struggle of mental and spiritual evolution.   And that’s a battle I would happily engage in.)

Wow Place #349: Wakaba Ryokan, Kurokawa Onsen, Japan

 

When you think of a stay in a Japanese onsen (hot spring) hotel, what tends to come to mind is a traditional room with futons and tatami mats, a delicious, multi-course Japanese meal and, of course, an outdoor bath surrounded by beautiful nature.

 

What no one ever talks about is all the slippers!

 

During my stay at the Lovely Wakaba Ryokan (traditional Japanese Inn) in Kumamoto prefecture, I counted five different slipper changes, including:

 

• The soft, indoor slippers you wear in your room…
• The sturdy outdoor sandals you step into when walking from a room in the wings (like ours) to the main hotel building…
• The indoor slippers you slide on when shuffling around the main building on your way to the outdoor onsen…
• The tiny slippers (always a size too small) you change into when using a restroom…
• And finally, the wooden geta (a cross between a flip-flop and a clog) you wear when walking around town, visiting other onsens. Ideally, you’re also donning a yukata (an unlined, casual summer kimono traditionally made of breathable cotton or linen).

 

That’s five costume changes in the course of one day.  And they say visiting Japan isn’t a production!

 

What is the reason for all this slipper-swapping?   Honestly, I have no idea.  My guess is that the goal is for every surface to remain clean and pristine, the dirt, grime and bacteria (of the bathroom and the outside areas) quarantined to their own sites of infestation.

 

This is Howard Hughes-level germaphobia, taken to another level.

 

What are you gonna do?   When in a bubble, do as the bubble-denizens do!

 

Apart from the slippery slipper situation, Wakaba Ryokan is a gorgeous traditional inn situated smack in the middle of the “downtown” area of what is widely known as Kurokawa Onsen. Located about 20 km north of Mt. Aso, Kurokawa dates back over 300 years to Japan’s Edo period, when the springs were used as a place for daimyo (feudal lords) and weary travelers to recuperate while traversing between Hita and Taketa.

 

Gathered around a small river, the hotels and shops in Kurokawa are committed to a unified vision of removing neon signs, banning large concrete resorts, and ensuring all structures follow traditional wooden designs. Their credo: “The entire town is one large inn; the streets are hallways, and the individual inns are guest rooms”.

 

To encourage guests to explore the whole town, the tourism bureau offers an iconic, wooden onsen-hopping pass, the Nyūtō Tegata. For $1,500 yen (~$9.00), you can visit up to three hot springs; the pass is good for 6 months.

 

Myself, I decide to forego the Nyūtō Tegata this time.  The idea of wandering into a strange hotel, stripping down to my birthday suit, taking a naked bath, drying off, getting dressed, and then doing the same thing at another hotel (or two) seems a bit too hot and sweaty for my taste. I’m more of a monogamous bath user, thank you very much.

 

And why not, when staying at an onsen as gorgeous as Wakaba!  Beautiful room, elegant meals, and oh, that outdoor bath – steam wafting off clear water, a surrounding of mossy, cut rocks, with an atmospheric bamboo forest as backdrop.

 

Wakaba Ryokan (and Kurokawa Onsen in general) is a place to linger.  As I wander the atmospheric, narrow streets, absorbing the view of the scenic river and the historic inns, stopping for a cup of green tea or a sweet potato snack, I can’t help thinking this place just “fits” me.

 

Like a comfy slipper, one might say.

 

(On the face of it, the expression “When in Rome, do as the Romans do” makes a world of sense.  Why wouldn’t you adhere to the local rules and customs of the place you’re visiting?  It’s just basic respect, right?  And yet, what do you do when the culture you’re visiting doesn’t match your values or your health regimen?  What do you do if you’re a teetotaler visiting a country where everyone expects you to drink alcohol?  Or a you’re a vegan taken out to  dinner, pushed to eat chicken or steak by your local, meat-loving friends?   Do you drink a beer out of courtesy? Do you eat that steak fajita?  The line between societal expectation and personal preference is exceedingly blurry, not only when traveling abroad but also here at home.  In the end, it’s a question of how far are you willing to bend out of a sense of politeness and a desire to “fit in”, without breaking your ethical code.  It’s a fine, fine line!  Sometimes the best you can do is bend but not break.   Adhere to the dictates of the culture you’re visiting, say 80-85%, but know your redlines and when to hit the ejector seat.

 

“Always do what is right. It will gratify half of mankind and astound the other.”
― Mark Twain)

Wow Place #348: Mount Fugen-dake, Japan

 

By and large, I’m a “moderate” guy.  Moderate height. Moderate weight. Some might say moderate looks and intelligence.  😊

 

I like moderate portions in my food.  The spice level of my curry? Moderate!

 

So when I found a hike in Unzen-Amakusa National Park described in the guidebook as “moderately challenging,” I figured this was the trail for me.  3.9 miles.  One hour out, one hour back. How hard could it be?

 

As it turns out, remarkably hard!

 

You have to understand, for all its subtle, gentile art forms – ikebana (flower arranging), origami (paper folding), chanoyu (tea ceremony) and the like – Japan is a rather hearty country.   Nine times out of ten, your train station won’t have an elevator or escalator.   You want to catch a train…climb three sets of stairs first.

 

Hiking trails in Japan are at another level completely.   Expect long, uphill trails and rocky flights of steep steps, often covered in slippery, green moss.

 

In a volcanic park like Unzen-Amakusa, the name of the game is lava rock.  Or in Fugen-dake’s case, huge, toe-catching, knee-scraping, ankle-busting boulders – straight up, for miles and miles.

 

Do not take the guide book at its word.  Especially in the late May heat and humidity, this is a brutally-challenging hike.  Nothing moderate about it.

 

And yet, I can’t deny that the trail is breathtakingly lovely.  Southern Kyushu boasts a host of scenery like this: tropical flora, dense green forests, and in the springtime, ever-present pink azaleas that are a feast for the eyes.  The gorgeous views along my hike almost take my mind off the exhausting, often-perilous climb up the mountain.  Almost.

 

On more than one occasion I think about giving up and turning back.  But how can I when, upon rounding a turn, I come upon a group of ten Japanese elementary school students on a class excursion with their teachers.  To be precise, this precocious group of agile ten-year-olds are scurrying up the mountain like the Wicked Witch’s flying monkeys.   What a hearty country Japan is, sending school groups out on a killer hike like this as if it was an ordinary walk in the park!

 

I can’t give up now and let these kiddos beat me to the summit!

 

In the end, I make it up the mountain, hot and sweaty—and am rewarded with panoramic views of the coast and the active Heisei Shinzan volcano.  It’s a spectacular sight –well worth the effort.

 

The intrepid school kids arrive a few minutes later and quickly take a celebratory photo, followed by a lively picnic of artfully-packed school lunches.  Unlike me, clearly none of the students are thinking about the bone-crushing descent to follow.   It’s party time at the top of Fugen-dake.

 

After all, if you’re a Japanese, this is just a moderate hike on a moderate volcano.

 

Myself, I’ll be jumping into a moderately-hot bath that night for sure!

 

(The Buddhists frequently recommend taking the “middle path.”   Equanimity.  Mindfulness. Avoiding extremes.   It sounds like a great idea, doesn’t it? Not too high, not too low.  Moderate!   But can we achieve “great things” in our lives if we don’t occasionally go to an extreme?   Name any Olympic medalist you can think of and chances are that person was a bit obsessed with their exercise and training regime, at the expense of everything else. Same for great artists, great writers, great scientists.  Is “moderate” always the best way to go?   It’s a choice we all must make throughout out our lives.  Is this my season for doing great things?  Or my season of living a steady, balanced, domestic life?  It definitely merits a modest period of thought, wouldn’t you say?)

There’s a scene in the movie Kill Bill: Vol. 2, where the Bride (played by Uma Thurman) wakes up in a coffin, buried alive by her evil nemesis, Bill.  Luckily, she has trained for situations like this, able to break through wooden containers via the sharp, focused, rap of her knuckles.

 

I have no such ninja tricks up my sleeve as I find myself lying down in a shallow trough, an attendant shoveling hot sand onto my arms, legs, and torso – literally burying me alive.

 

Kill Bill: Vol. 3, you ask?

 

Nope. Just a typical visit to the Saraku Sand Bath Hall in Ibusuki, Japan.

 

Called “Sunamushi” in Japanese, sand baths have a long tradition in the country — and Saraku, on the far-southwest tip of Kyushu, is Japan’s most famous public “sand steam onsen.”  Visitors have been coming here fromas far back as the 16^th century, recognizing the unique healing and detoxification properties of the naturally warm coastal sand, made extra toasty by the local, geothermally-heated ground water.

 

Like everything in Japan, there’s a correct process for getting yourself buried alive.

 

Stowing my clothes in a locker, I grab a small hand towel, wrap it around my neck, and don a cotton yukata robe.  As I make my way out to the beach, an attendant hands me an umbrella because, on this rainy morning in May, I wouldn’t want to get my head and body wet before my hot sand burial.

 

At last I arrive at the “bathing” area, a series of clearly-delineated sand pits, numbered 1-10 and covered with a tarp.  There, an attendant in a light-blue jersey, a towel wrapped around his head, points to my trough.

 

“Lie down in #4!”

 

No problemo.

 

But that’s when things gets kind of weird.  It’s not the sensation of having warm sand piled on me –akin to being covered in weighted blankets – that’s upsetting.  It’s the sound!

 

You see, sound travels very efficiently in the medium of sand.  So not only do I hear my own bath attendant driving his shovel into the ground.  I hear ALL the shovels biting into the sand pit.  “Ka chuuk, Ka chuuk, Ka chuuk.”  It’s like taking part in a mass burial in a mass grave, accompanied by a shovel symphony.

 

Even stranger, everyone around me appears to be laughing and chatting, like this is the most normal thing in the world – being communally buried in a very HOT SAND PIT!

 

“Oh, the breakfast at our hotel was so delicious this morning, wasn’t it?”

“It sure was!”

“I’d love to have that miso soup again.”

 

And all the while, I’m getting hotter and hotter in my burial trough, sweating more and more profusely.

 

“Keep an eye on that clock and get out after ten minutes!” my attendant warns me.

 

“Or what?” I wonder.  Loss of consciousness?  Over-detoxification?  Brain hemorrhage?

 

After my ten minutes have elapsed, there’s the final question of how to un-bury myself.   You see, the sand is very heavy!

 

In the end, I summon up the requisite energy, push upward and burst through the earth like a zombie from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video.  Grabbing my umbrella (which I’ve become quite attached to at this point), I lumber, zombie-like, back to the main building, where I shower off all the sand, throw my towel and yukata in a chute, and plunge into a final, communal hot spring.   Ahhhhh!

 

Is it all worth it?  The heat, the sweating, the sound assault?  Medical research certainly supports the practice.  Apparently the combination of the weight of the sand and the geothermal heat increases cardiac output and core body temperature. It’s said to be 3-4 times more effective than a traditional hot spring at improving blood circulation, delivering oxygen to tissues, and flushing waste materials from the body.

 

And for a mere $15, who am I to complain.  Why not “take the plunge”?

 

After all, friends who are buried together must surely stay together!

 

(In case you’re wondering why I did the “sunamushi” alone, my traveling partner, Cenzo, declined the experience, citing tiredness.  And to be honest, I almost joined him.  At 8:30am on a rainy morning, it would have been sooo easy to just stay in my comfy, climate-controlled hotel room, enjoying a cup of coffee and reading through my guidebook.   Arriving at the sand bath facility at that hour required an effort:  getting dressed, sprinting to our car, setting the GPS, driving ten minutes in the pouring rain, finding a parking spot, sprinting to the building and then figuring out the bathing process (in Japanese).   In other words, it required what my Mom would’ve called “a production.”   And yet, isn’t it also true that we enjoy what is easy but we remember what is hard?

 

The difficulty is part of what made the experience memorable.

 

What “production” are you putting off today because of inertia?  What potential stories are you missing by taking the comfortable rout    What kind of life do you want to live – one of forgettable luxury or memorable challenges?)