If you’ve ever seen pictures of Nara online, you might think the beautiful temples couldn’t possibly be more breathtaking in person, but you’d be wrong. Out of all the cities in Japan I’ve visited, Nara remains at the top of my list. It’s a city full of historical treasures and landscapes that look like they came straight off postcards. If you’re visiting Kyoto or Osaka, you should seriously consider taking a day trip to see the breathtaking temples of Nara and everything else this ancient city has to offer.

A Brief History Of Nara, Japan

Before visiting Japan for the first time, I didn’t know much about Japan’s history. At the time, I just knew I loved the local food and was a big fan of anime. However, after visiting for the first time, I brought a book to read on a plane about Japan’s history. After reading it, I decided I had to come to Nara someday.

First and foremost, Nara is one of Japan’s major cultural and spiritual hubs, as seen by the city’s plethora of temples and shrines. In fact, the government’s concern that the city’s Buddhist temples were growing too dominant is one of the reasons they relocated the capital outside of Nara. What’s even more fascinating is that all of these temples survived over the years. They’ve withstood time, conflicts, and natural calamities, in contrast to many Japanese cities that earthquakes and fires have destroyed.

Visiting The Temples at Nara Park

The second time I visited Japan, I stayed in Osaka. From there, it’s only a short train ride away to Nara, Japan. I was surprised by how fast time flew before I stood in Nara Park. And then, it was just one surprise after the other. When I believed I had just witnessed the most spectacular architectural work, I would soon come across another one that was quite as stunning. Each temple and shrine is magnificent in its unique manner, and taken as a whole, they form an astounding collection of ancient Japanese architecture.

Kofuku-Ji Temple

In retrospect, the Kofuku-Ji Temple and the attached five-story pagoda, which are the first structures you encounter as you enter the park from the railway station, may have been the least striking. However, this in no way means Kofuku-Ji Temple wasn’t breathtaking in its own way. Standing in front of a building that’s more than a thousand years old felt indescribable. And that was only the start.

Kasuga Taisha Shrine

The second temple I visited that day was Kasuga Taisha Shrine. On my way there, I finally saw my first deer. I’ve read about the deers before and was ecstatic when one got near my group and me. However, the excitement from the deer quickly washed away as we got closer to the oldest shrine in Nara, Kasuga Taisha, and heard about its history. This was probably one of my favorite temples in Nara, Japan. I can’t explain it; it just blew me away.

Todai-ji Temple

Want to see the largest and most reverend Buddha statue in the world? In that case, you should visit Todai-ji Temple, or the Great Eastern Temple, as some call it. When it was built, the statue of Buddha inside it almost bankrupted Japan. Nigatsu-Do Hall is an absolute must-see, a stunning wooden structure with elaborately designed wooden carved panels and large white lanterns. The purification fountain with the dragon is among Nara’s most spectacular structures. You will hear your jaw drop as you pass through the majestic statues of the old Nandaimon Gate.

Yakushi-ji Temple

In my opinion, Yakushi-ji might just be my favorite of the breathtaking temples of Nara, Japan (I might’ve said that about every temple, though). The great vermillion hall of one of the Seven Great Temples of Nanto is almost beyond picture-perfect. Our tour guide told us the story of how the exquisite temple was repeatedly devastated by fire throughout history. Although today’s temple was rebuilt in the 70s, I couldn’t help but wonder if the original building was even more breathtaking.

If You Go:

Traveling to Nara is very easy thanks to Japan’s fantastic railway system. Japan Railways operates frequent quick trains between Osaka JR Station and Nara JR Station, where the journey usually lasts around forty-five minutes. Alternatively, you can take the Kintetsu Railway from Osaka-Namba Station to Nara Kintetsu Station, which is generally about thirty minutes but isn’t included in Japan Rail Pass.

Although I first visited Japan in the summer, I’ve heard that spring is the best time to visit Nara, especially when the cherry blossoms are in bloom. The city of Nara transforms into a sea of exquisite pink and white blossoms for a brief period, usually at the end of March or the beginning of April. However, sakura season usually brings in more tourists than any other season, so you can expect crowds and higher prices during that time. According to some, Japan is also lovely to visit in autumn and near the Christmas season, not the mention New Year’s Eve!

Moving To Japan

I can’t say I didn’t fall in love with Japan each time I visited. Over the years, I also met quite a few people who moved from the US to Japan, and I couldn’t be more jealous of them. Of course, moving to Japan isn’t entirely in my cards just yet, but maybe one day. If you’re considering moving to Japan, you should be ready for the change, culturally, but more importantly, a change in the climate. The seasons there aren’t like here at home. The first summer I visited, it almost didn’t stop raining for five days straight!

Final Thoughts

Nara is one of Japan’s most culturally significant cities, and Nara park is an absolute must-see if you’re visiting the Kyoto-Osaka area. When visiting, you’ll fall in love with the magical horizons and fascinating history of the place. If that’s not worth enough to you, consider how cool your pictures on Instagram will look if you take them in front of the breathtaking temples of Nara, Japan!

About the author:
Elsie Klein is a copywriter with a passion for traveling. Currently, she’s working All Season Movers, but when she’s not in the office, she’s booking her next trip in her venture to travel to visit every country in the world.

Click Here To Browse Available Tours of Nara, Japan

by Lesley Hebert

Sampling local food when travelling can be quite an adventure. However, there have been occasions when I have not felt the need to be quite so daring. Trying to decide what to eat for breakfast when I was in the land of the rising sun with my husband and favourite travel companion was one of those times.

The hotel breakfast buffet was disappointing to say the least. Food choices that looked vaguely familiar included overcooked scrambled eggs, dried-out bread and some pinkish processed meat posing as ham. I was hardly surprised, therefore, to see many hotel guests ignore this rather suspect fare in favour of Japanese breakfast offerings. These included miso soup, plain steamed rice and salad. Although these seemed more suitable for lunch than breakfast, they appeared more appetizing than the garish pink meat at the other end of the buffet. But I grew distinctly queasy when I saw the locals tucking into seaweed and raw fish with obvious gusto.

What made me really queasy, however, was natto, a fermented soybean dish so uniquely Japanese that it deserves a whole paragraph to itself. Many Japanese love natto, and believe it provides amazing health benefits. But for me it gives a whole new meaning to the idea that if something is good for you it has to taste bad. When you help yourself to a serving of natto the first thing you notice is that the brown soybeans are covered with a pattern of yellowish slime which the Japanese lovingly compare to spider webs. As you stir the beans around, the slime seems to increase in volume. When you finally get the guts to pick a bean out of the dish, it draws a trail of slime up with it. It also has an aroma reminiscent of locker room sweat, and a taste to match.

The next morning we decided to explore more appetizing possibilities outside the hotel. We recognized many restaurant franchises, but did not relish a burger or fried chicken. We considered an egg Subway but my favourite travel companion fancied bacon and eggs, so Denny’s seemed like a good bet. It looked just like the Denny’s back home. It had the same red and yellow sign, the same inside decor, and the same fragrant coffee aroma.

Unfortunately, as we soon found out, this Denny’s did not offer bacon and eggs. The menu, of course, was totally incomprehensible. Because we could not read Japanese, we poured over pictures of various combinations of salad and fish, trying to decide what to order.

I had prepared for our trip to Japan by taking Japanese lessons and buying a dictionary. As we were studying the menu a polite little Japanese waitress came over to help us, and I haltingly managed to ask for coffee without having to look in my dictionary. She bowed courteously and poured our drinks while I basked proudly in my communicative success.

But pride, as they say, comes before a fall.

There was a container of sugar packets on the table. My FTC looked for some artificial sweetener, but there were none. Because he has a seriously misplaced faith in my magical ability to speak in tongues, he asked me if I could get the waitress to bring him some.

Not surprisingly, “Can you bring my husband some sugar substitute?” was not one of the useful phrases I had learned in Japanese class, so my first reaction was that he might just as well have asked me to scale Mount Everest. But, of course, I did have my dictionary. I knew the word for “sugar”, and I knew how to say “please”, so all I needed to do was find the Japanese for “substitute” and figure out how to cobble together a sentence.

I began attacking the problem like a challenging Sudoku puzzle and soon had my sentence ready. I called the nice little waitress over and made my carefully worded request.

Her polite demeanour instantly changed. For a fleeting moment the friendly expression on her face was overcome by a look of stunned amazement. Her eyes seemed to bore into mine with a mixture of shock and disbelief. However, she made a rapid recovery, jolted back into friendly customer-service mode, and took the container of sugar packets into the kitchen. I sat smugly congratulating myself once again on my linguistic skill until she returned with an identical container to the previous one. I suddenly understood her reaction. I had somehow mistranslated “Please bring sugar substitute” into “Please change the sugar.”

“No, no, no!” I protested in broken Japanese. “Not that. Not sugar,” and started looking in the dictionary for “diabetes” and “blood.”

A very important aspect of Japanese culture seems to be “When in doubt, hold a meeting.” Consequently, the waitress enlisted the help of all the other waitstaff. They gathered in a huddle around us and held a rapid-fire discussion of the problem at hand until one of the waitresses had a Eureka moment. Her eyes grew to triple their normal size and her mouth fell open as she uttered “Aah! Diatsugaa!”

Who would have guessed that the Japanese for “sugar substitute” is actually “diet sugar” spoken with a Japanese accent?

“Yes! Yes!” I exclaimed triumphantly, “Diatsugaa!”

I was overjoyed. I had finally managed to communicate, and there were smiles all around. Life was wonderful, except for one small detail. They did not actually have any diet sugar.

Too embarrassed to go back to Denny’s, we bought fresh fruit, yogurt and baked goods at the local convenience store on our way back to the hotel at night so that we could enjoy a relaxing in-room breakfast the next morning.

And even though my experience at the Japanese Denny’s has ingrained the Japanese for sugar substitute so deeply in my mind that it will accompany me to the grave, I doubt if I will ever need to ask for “diatsugaa” again.

If You Go:

Japan offers several breakfast alternatives which are surprisingly easy on the budget. Japanese bakery coffee shops offer a wide assortment of freshly baked buns priced from 100 to 400 yen ($1-$4) which contain various sweet or savory fillings. Many train and bus stations have food counters or coffee shops which sell reasonably priced baked goods and freshly packaged sandwiches. You can buy hot tea and coffee from train station vending machines. Or you can do what we did and check out the convenience stores.

14-Day Classic Japan Tour: Nikko, Hakone, Takayama, Hiroshima, and Kyoto from Tokyo

Getting There and Getting Around

Tokyo has two international airports, Haneda and Narita. The best way to travel from Tokyo to other major cities is to use Japan’s excellent railway system. Trains are both clean and punctual. Also, the system is relatively easy to navigate as signage is posted in both Japanese script and the Roman alphabet. You can purchase a Japan Rail Pass from your local Japanese embassy or consulate before you go.

About the author:

Lesley Hebert is a graduate of Simon Fraser University. Now retired from teaching English as a second language in the classroom, she teaches ESL to international students via Skype. She also writes on-line articles which reflect a lively, inquiring mind and a love of travel, language, history and culture. Read more of Lesley’s articles at www.infobarrel.com/Users/HLesley

Photos by Lesley Hebert

Flavors of Japan Walking Tour in Tokyo

He led me to a bridge, carrying in his arms with him certain dive-droppers or water-fowls, bound to perches and about every one of their necks he tied a thread, lest they should eat the fish as fast as they took them. He loosened the dive-droppers from the pole, and within less than the space of one hour, caught as many fish as filled three baskets; which being full, my host untied the threads from about their necks, and entering the second time into the river they fed themselves with fish, and being satisfied, they returned and allowed themselves to be bound to their perches, as they were before.

So wrote the Franciscan monk Friar Oderic as he wandered barefoot across Asia in 1321. Apart from wearing shoes, little, it seems, has changed. A fat orange moon climbed into view as we crossed the Togersu-kyo, or Moon Bridge. Small balls of fire floated across the bay: the fishing had begun.

I first heard of cormorant fishing in infant school, sitting cross-legged on the floor and listening in wonder as our grey-haired teacher recounted her travels through exotic lands. Her tale of seeing the cormorants fish in Japan has stayed with me. It was a story belonging to an age long gone, to an enchanted time when magical things could happen.

Little more than a fishing village, Arashiyama is only twenty minutes from Kyoto. We were staying on the outskirts of the city, and as darkness fell we stood waiting in a pool of light on a deserted street, with only the sounds of crickets and frogs for company. As if straight from an anime an empty bus arrived, its lights bright against the night, and we wound through out-lying suburbs already closed for the night. Light from the occasional shop fell onto the street, and we passed tiny restaurants barely large enough to feed half a dozen locals. The driver announced each stop in a voice borrowed from Barry White.

(Never quite sure where I was going, somehow every bus I caught in Japan took me to the right place, as if the drivers knew better than I did where I was heading. On one, I met a group of young Austrians so busy watching their GPS to find the right stop, they barely glanced out the window.)

Finally, the bus stopped. Arashiyama seemed asleep. Against the darkness of the surrounding hills, lights twinkled from restaurants hiding on the other side of the bay. Coloured lights lit the narrow streets, and lanterns hung amongst the trees leading down to the water.

Marco Polo witnessed ukai (or cormorant fishing) in China, but it is first mentioned in a chronicle dating from the Sui Dynasty (A.D. 581-618): In Japan they suspend small rings from the necks of cormorants, and have them dive into the water to catch fish. In one day they can catch over a hundred.

Barely visible in the darkness, small wooden boats floated across the water, much as they have done for the last thirteen hundred years. These ubune have flat bottoms so as to glide easily over the shallow bay. A metal brazier hangs over the front, and I could hear the sizzle and snap of the burning wood as sparks showered over the water. Most boats carry three fishermen; the usho, (or leader), who handles the cormorants as they dive for fish; the nakanori (or middle rider), who collects the fish from the birds, and the tomonori (or companion rider), who guides the boat. They still wear the traditional dark kimono, a straw skirt to repel water, and a linen cloth wrapped around their heads to protect them from sparks.

We crossed the Moon Bridge just as the cormorant boats set off across the bay. Still in a state of disbelief, I walked closer to the bay, expecting to pass some Omiyabito (or court nobles) sitting by the shore, as they did every summer in the Heian Era (794 to 1185 AD). Their arrival to watch the cormorant fishing marked the start of summer.

Once darkness falls and the moon rises, the boats spend the evening passing back and forth across the bay. Some half-dozen tourist barges lay moored in the middle of the bay, much as the wealthier omiyabito had of old. The fishermen guided the ubune past them with great theatrical display, and the sounds of applause and cheers floated across the water. We found a spot away from the other tourists on a landing stage which ran into the bay. Watching the boats from here was akin to seeing a performance from behind the curtains of a grand stage; I could easily see the small metal ring around each cormorant’s neck.

Attracted by the light from the brazier, fish swim close to the boat. With a splash the cormorants tumbled into the water. They can swallow small fish quite easily, but the ring prevents them swallowing anything larger – these they bring back to the boat, often given a smaller fish as a reward. A leash is attached to their collar, and with some dozen cormorants per boat, it takes remarkable skill on behalf of the usho to prevent these leashes from becoming a tangled mess. When enough fish had been collected, the birds rested on the sides of the boat, silhouetted against the light of the brazier as they stretched their wings to dry.

Matsuo Basho (1644-1694 AD) remains the most famous poet of the Edo Period, and today is revered in Japan for his haiku. On seeing the cormorant fishing he wrote:

Exciting to see
But soon after comes sadness
The cormorant boats.

If You Go:

International flights to Japan arrive in Kansai International Airport, near Osaka.

Both trains and buses run from either the airport or Osaka to Kyoto. From Tokyo, Kyoto is easily reached by train.

Travelling Around Japan

Hostels offer a cheaper alternative for accommodation in Japan; otherwise, why not try a typical ryokan?

Kyoto Temple, Shrine, Geiko & Sake Tour – $175.09
from: Viator

About the author:
Anne Harrison lives with her husband, two children and numerous pets in regional Australia. She discovered travel at the age of ten, then the world of history and philosophy. Her jobs include wife, mother, doctor, farmer, cheese-maker and local witch doctor, and her ambition is to be 80 and happy. Read more at anneharrison.com.au and hubpages.com/@anneharrison.

All photos copyright Anne Harrison:
Balls of fire setting off across the bay
The night streets of Kyoto
A quiet spot in Arashiyama
Fire from a brazier
The usho in his traditional kimono
Typical entrance to a restaurant

It was October when I visited Japan. Even though Christmas was still two months away I was surprised to discover that shopping malls and department stores were already getting into the commercial Christmas spirit. I was delighted by giant red and green Christmas tree shapes on the sides of office towers. I was awestruck by a glittering floor to ceiling tree of blue and gold lights in the atrium of a Tokyo shopping mall. I was charmed by sparkling lights displayed with a brilliant Japanese sense of aesthetics.

As a teacher of English as a second language, I have also learned from my Japanese students that Christmas in Japan is quite different from the western idea of Christmas. Rather than being a time for family, it is a time for couples and romance, while family celebrations are reserved for the much more traditional Japanese New Year.

Christmas

Even though Japan is not a Christian country, Christmas actually has a fairly long history there. Jesuit missionaries introduced the celebration of Christ’s birth to Japan in the sixteenth century but public celebrations ceased when Christianity was outlawed by the Tokugawa Shogunate in 1635. Christianity remained illegal until the Meiji restoration in the nineteenth century when the emperor opened Japan to the west and laid the foundations of modern Japan.

Although less than 1% of the Japanese population is Christian, and December 25 is not a public holiday, Japanese retailers have eagerly adopted the commercial aspects of the season.

Some cities hold Christmas markets to attract visitors. Many people attend Christmas parties while others deal with the accumulated stress of the previous year by getting drunk at December bonenkai, or “forget-the-year” parties. As Christmas Eve is considered a night for romance, many couples dine at expensive restaurants on December 24. Some Japanese put up Christmas trees in their homes and exchange gifts, and it is popular to eat “Christmas chicken” from Kentucky Fried Chicken. Christmas cake is also popular. However, rather than a traditional heavy western fruit cake, this is a light sponge cake decorated with cream and fresh strawberries.

New Year

While Christmas is considered a day for young people, drinking, and romance, New Year is a more sober family time.

This ancient celebration is steeped in traditions linked to both Shinto and Buddhism. People who have moved to large cities to work frequently travel home to be with their parents and other family members. Many houses display shimenawa, braided straw ropes which show that the home has been purified and is ready to welcome the kami, or Shinto god spirits. Kadomatsu, which are decorations made of pine and bamboo, may also be displayed to welcome the kami.

At midnight on December 31, Buddhist temples ring bells to welcome in the New Year. The bells are rung 108 times to remind people of the 108 human desires which they must renounced to attain a state of holiness. Many people stay up all night to welcome the new year and to pray to the rising sun. On New Year’s Day, most families visit Shinto shrines to pray for good health and happiness in the coming year.

A popular activity at the temple is the purchase of paper fortunes, known as o-mikuji, which provide detailed predictions concerning health, money and love prospects for the coming year.

Traditional food associated with New Year includes soba (buckwheat noodles). The long noodles are believed to represent long life, and are eaten on New Year’s Eve for good luck. It is, however, considered bad luck to eat soba after midnight.

Osechi ryori is a traditional family meal which is eaten on New Year’s Day. Since tradition dictates that nothing should be cooked on New Year’s Day, osechi consists of various pre-cooked, pickled and salted dishes that can keep without refrigeration. These are prepared ahead of time and packed in special meal boxes.

Each dish placed in the box has a special symbolic meaning. For example, black soy beans represent good health, herring roe represents fertility, and broad beans represent good fortune. Grilled fish promises a successful career, shrimp and dried persimmons are symbols of long life, and eating either taro or bitter orange expresses a wish for children.

One specific traditional New Year’s food which keeps for a long time without refrigeration is mochi or pounded sticky rice cakes.

I had a personal run-in with mochi while staying in the home of friends in Japan. My hosts served a stew containing some innocent-looking white cubes which I assumed were tofu. Of course, one of the cardinal rules of travel as well as other aspects of life is “never assume.” I picked up one of the cubes with my chopsticks, placed it in my mouth and chewed. Assuming that I had softened it sufficiently, I attempted to swallow it, only to find that it stuck in my throat. It cut off my breath and refused to move either down into my stomach or back up into my mouth. After a few seconds of panic, which at the time seemed as long as the entire 5,000 year history of the Japanese empire, I managed to bear down sufficiently with my throat muscles to force the offending cube down into my stomach before my face turned blue. As I did so, I seem to remember my hostess casually mentioning something about taking care with the mochi.

Because these little cakes are so chewy and glutinous, I was hardly surprised to learn that there are newspaper reports every New Year of people, particularly the elderly, choking to death while eating them. The Tokyo Fire Department even considers the danger serious enough to issue a warning about eating mochi alone.

On a happier note, New Year is a time to give beautifully decorated otoshidima or money envelopes to children, and to play traditional games such as badminton, spinning top and a card game known as karuta.

If You Go:

Getting There and Getting Around

Tokyo has two international airports, Haneda or Narita, and is served by many major international airlines.

The best way to travel from Tokyo to other major cities, such as Osaka, Kyoto or Yokohama, is to use Japan’s excellent railway system. Trains are both clean and punctual. Also, the system is relatively easy to navigate as signage is posted in both Japanese script and the Roman alphabet. I recommend that you purchase a Japan Rail Pass from your local Japanese embassy or consulate before you go.

References

♦ www.jnto.go.jp/eng/indepth/exotic/JapanesQue/1112/newyear.html
♦ en.rocketnews24.com/2013/01/03/%E3%80%90japanese-culture
♦ www.insidejapantours.com/japan-news/2665/mochi-choking-deaths
♦ www.jnto.go.jp/eng/indepth/history/experience/ab.html
♦ muza-chan.net/japan/index.php/blog/christmas-in-japan

Photo credit:
Tree of Light in a Yokohama Shopping Mall by Michael Hebert

About the author:
Lesley Hebert is a graduate of Simon Fraser University. Now retired from teaching English as a second language in the classroom, she teaches ESL to international students via Skype. She also writes on-line articles which reflect a lively, enquiring mind and a love of travel, language, history and culture.

Nara, Japan

by Anne Harrison

I don’t know how old the lady was. She may have been fifty, but more likely she approached a century. Standing, she barely reached my shoulder. Her stall was filled with food for tourists to buy and feed the deer. Remarkably tame, over one thousand deer (or shika) stroll freely through Nara Park.

Founded in 710, Nara was Japan’s first permanent capital. (Until then, each new emperor established a new capitol.) Known as Heijo-kyo (or Citadel of Peace), Nara rapidly became one of Asia’s most splendid cities, despite being the capitol for only 74 years. It also became a major centre for Buddhism, for the mountain range here divides Heaven and Earth, creating a home the gods. For many, this area of Japan is sacred.

As are the deer, for they are the messengers of the gods.

One of the delights of staying for a few nights in a place, rather than visiting for a day, is having the time for unexpected discoveries. We passed the night in a youth hostel, and breakfast came courtesy of the vending machine: a variety of different flavored minute noodles. Another machine offered a range of both hot and cold coffees, all served in a can, the temperature indicated by the color. The man on reception even made us some green tea in a gorgeous ceramic pot.

Our walk from the youth hostel led through a largely residential area. Old houses stood amongst immaculate gardens with perfectly manicured trees. Many had stone fences, and many had a statue of a beaver near the front door (for good fortune), often wearing a colorful apron or silly waistcoat. Being summer, gardens were awash with flowers.

We entered Nara Park through the little-used Tegamon Gate, which was literally hidden at the end of the street. It felt as if we had strolled into a local park; despite being the height of tourist season, the grounds seemed empty. Nara Park is some 1300 acres of parkland in the centre of the city; more than enough for hordes of tourists to lose themselves. Within its walls reside some of Nara’s most ancient and sacred buildings.

Within minutes, we’d spotted our first deer. Soon we saw them everywhere, some condescending to be patted, others scampering away should we venture too close. Meanwhile, paths and secluded walkways enticed us in all directions. There are more than enough temples to satisfy the most ardent visitors; tea houses to partake of refreshment, vending machines for cold drinks and ice-cream (flavors including green tea), and manicured lawns stretching down to lakes for simply relaxing. We even stumbled across some vegetable gardens and a few small rice paddies, all grown by the monks who live in the temple complexes. Walking down an alley of stone stairs, we came across a group of ladies painting.

Everywhere we walked, the deer were relaxing in the shade, nibbling the grass, or simply wandering at leisure.

The Todai-ji temple complex comprises the Daibutsuden (or Buddha Hall), sub-temples, halls and pagodas. The great southern gate is 19m high, whereas the temple itself has a striking roofline of up-turned lintels with golden tips. Within the Daibutsuden is the Great Buddha; at 16m, it is reputedly the world’s largest bronze Buddha. Cast in 752 AD, its size is best appreciated when being cleaned, when it is not uncommon to see four or five monks standing in the Buddha’s outstretched hand.

A victim of earthquake, fires and wars, the Buddha’s head dates to 1692. In a wooden pillar behind the Buddha is a small hole; it is said anyone who can squeeze through it will reach Nirvana.

A grand flight of stairs leads from the Sarusawa Pond to the Kofuku-ji Temple and Treasure House. This temple complex was founded in 669, although many of the original 175 buildings no longer remain. The current temple, a five-story pagoda, has been destroyed by fire several times; this building dates to 1462. It is the second tallest pagoda in Japan. The Eastern Golden Hall (or Tokondo) was constructed in 726 by Emperor Shomu (who also constructed the Todai-ji Temple) to speed the recovery of the Emperess Gensho. Along with the Treasure House, it has several priceless images, including a 12th century wooden bodhisattva of wisdom. There are also Buddhist paintings, scrolls, calligraphy and sculptures, many dating from the Nara and Heian periods.

There are numerous temples within the park, but not to be missed is the Kasuga Grand Shrine. This is one of Japan’s most photographed Shinto shrines. Originally built in 710, it was demolished and an identical shrine rebuilt every 20 years, in accordance with Shinto strictures of purity and renewal. The current building is relatively modern, dating to 1863.

The walkways around the shrine are lined with some 3000 stone and bronze lanterns. These have been donated over the centuries as tokens of thankfulness and faith. During festivals in February and mid August they are lit: a spectacular time to visit. You can also buy a slip of paper (omikuji) with your fortune; if unfavorable, simply tie it to one of the trees to negate its effects. Behind the temple is the Rokuen, a botanical garden preserving Japanese plants, and famous for its wisteria, plus its Homotsuden, a hall displaying costumes, swords and ancient armor.

Visiting Nara Park is walking back into the Japan that once was. As we left the park, the deer were using the subway to cross under the main street. From the roof of a nearby building we looked back over the park itself, with its primeval forest in which the trees have not been felled for hundreds of years. I felt I was not only looking back into time; I gazed over a sea of tranquility so often lost in this modern age.

And there are the deer. We finally succumbed to their doe-eyes, and bought a bag of wafer-biscuits. Suddenly they were no longer shy. They instantly surrounded us, demanding their share, and more than ready to head-butt us in the back should we hold out on them. One had the temerity to approach the food stall; immediately the tiny old lady whipped out a broom and chased it away. The deer may be sacred, but they don’t get a free feed.

Nara Afternoon Tour of Todaiji Temple, Deer Park and Kasuga Shrine from Kyoto

If You Go:

♦ Reaching Nara: From Kyoto Station, either the JR Nara Line or the Kintetsu Limited Express (both under an hour)
♦ From Osaka Namba Station: Kintetsu Nara line, approx. 45 min
♦ Tourist Information: Offices are at both major train stations in Nara
♦ Japan Tourism
♦ Nara Youth Hostel
♦ Japan Hotels and Ryokan

About the author:
Anne Harrison lives with her husband, two children and numerous pets on the Central Coast, NSW Australia. Her jobs include wife, mother, doctor, farmer and local witch doctor – covering anything from delivering alpacas to treating kids who have fallen head first into the washing machine. Her fiction has been published in Australian literary magazines, and has been placed in regional literary competitions. Her non-fiction has been published in medical and travel journals. Her ambition is to be 80 and happy. Her writings are available at anneharrison.com.au and anneharrison.hubpages.com

All photos are by Anne Harrison:
A deer investigating a food stall
The Todai-ji temple
The size of the Buddha is hard to appreciate
A rice paddy in the temple grounds

Mt. Fuji, Japan

by Susan Elizabeth Thomas 

There is an old Japanese proverb that reads, “He who climbs Mt. Fuji is a wise man; he who climbs twice is a fool.” I guess that makes me a fool.

After two years of teaching in Mito, Japan, I was ready to do something daring. I had become comfortable with the Japanese language and culture. Just living in another country made me feel more alive, so I was ready for another challenge. So I set out to conquer the tallest mountain in Japan with a few courageous friends and coworkers. Armed with a backpack of food, water and canned oxygen, I had one goal – reach the top by sunrise. I had no idea what we were in for.

Mt Fuji or Fuji san, is not just a mountain. It has a spirit. It is sacred in Shintoism, one of the main religions in Japan and has been venerated by the Japanese in art, poetry and stories for ages. The summit has a shrine dedicated to the goddess, Sengen sama, a goddess of nature. Whether for spiritual reasons or sport, over 100,000 people ascend every year. The first recorded person to climb Mt. Fuji was a monk in 663. Men frequently ascended the mountain in the following years, but women were forbidden until the 19th century. Nowadays, Japanese women not only brave the mountain, but some are rumored to climb it in heels. The shoe company Teva even branded some Japanese Yama Girl “mountain climbing heels” for these stylish, impractical climbers.

The mountain has ten rest stations. A bus can be taken to the 5th station, and the 10th is at the summit. Venders at the stations sell basic necessities: water, medical supplies, gloves and tissues. Several have small inns where visitors can nap and eat a small meal, usually ramen noodles. Some “inns” contain no more than tatami (straw) mat covered floors.

There are two ways to climb Fuji san. The most popular way is to climb up the mountain to the 7th or 8th station’s inn and sleep until a few hours before sunrise. This even gives you time to rest and even cook a small meal in a space oven. The other way is to climb up the mountain all night and down the next day without stopping. Guess which we opted for?

The spirit of Mt. Fuji had some surprises in store for us. The first hint this would not be a pleasant climb came when our leader, Daniel, informed us the weather forecast said “tokidoki ame” or “scattered showers.” Despite this news, our group headed into a large shop in the 5th station, with an air of naïve excitement. I put my valuables in a locker and purchased a souvenir wooden walking stick. Walking sticks can be branded for a few yen at each station. Each stamp is unique.

Our group started the trek, headlights illuminating the dirt path. Our walking sticks clacked against the rocks along the Yoshida trail. The Yoshida trail is the most popular of four paths up Mt. Fuji. Much of the initial slope has only a moderate incline. Later portions are steep and cut directly into the rock.

Our first problem occurred on our way to the 6th station. One member of our group, Helen, started to suffer from oxygen deprivation from the high altitude. After giving her a can of oxygen, I started to feel short of breath too. This worried me. I had suffered from asthma in the past, but I did not open another can of oxygen. I had heard if you start using oxygen at the beginning, you become reliant for the rest of the journey.

It began to rain. Splashing lightly at first, it was just enough to be uncomfortable. I soon realized Helen would not be able to keep up with our trek. She walked behind us slowly, almost stumbling, while sucking on oxygen. It would be dangerous for her to continue, so she agreed to stay in an inn for the night. The nearest inn seemed quite pleasant. Inns on Mt. Fuji become barer the higher you climb. After dropping off Helen, I returned to the station to brand my walking stick and rest.

The rain picked up and so did our speed. I thought we could be safe from the rain as soon as we were above the cloud line. In the rain and black of night, I could only see the ground directly in front of me. Not that there was much to see. Mt. Fuji is a barren rock with the exception of small ferns and moss after 2,500 meters. My group stopped for a rest at each station. The station workers stopped branding our walking sticks because of the rain. Shivering, I munched on some Calorie Mate bars, a Japanese meal substitute, jerky and whatever food I had brought with me. With my hands shaking in my gloves, I cracked the hardboiled egg I had purchased from a store, only to realize I had read the Japanese wrong. The egg was soft boiled and runny. I threw it down the mountain.

Maybe this angered Sengen-Sama. Next thing I knew, I was drenched, despite having raingear, and clinging to black, slippery rocks etched into the mountainside. The wind was strong. I worried one of us would be launched off the path in a strong gust. This was tokki dokki ame?

*“Fighting,” screamed the Japanese climbers up the mountain, “Fighting!” Clad in colorful climbing gear, their group ascended the mountain with the efficiency and timing of well-seasoned climbers. Our bedraggled group was different story. Trudging up the mountain and straight into the wind, my face was pummeled with rain drops. I could only hear the sound of the rain, the cries of the climbers and clacks of our walking sticks. The lights of Tokyo below were blotted out by the clouds. I leaned heavily on my walking stick as it made impressions in the red brown sludge. It was too late to go back. I treaded on.

After arriving at the inns, I was told they were all full for the night. When our group tried to take temporary refuge, old Japanese innkeepers barked at us to go away. I became envious of Helen with her oxygen deprivation and warm, sheltered inn. We were turned away from all shelters on the rock. It was back to the howling wind. If only we could get above the clouds, the rain will stop or so I thought.

Sadly, it continued to pour, even on the summit. The kind monks in the shrine gave us shelter from the rain. I bought charms of protection and health from them. I needed them. I huddled with the other climbers for warmth. The top of Mt. Fuji can be icy even in the summer. I wondered if I would get pneumonia. My friend was practically in tears, so I took to telling her jokes to keep her spirits up. But it was gray, all gray. The mountain, our mood and the sunrise were gray. With the coming sun, the dark charcoal sky turned to a slightly lighter shade. Trudging along, I began my wet descent.

With Mt. Fuji behind us, I rode public transportation back to my home in Mito, Japan. We must have looked strange to the commuters. Everyone in our group was dripping with water, caked in mud and aching from head to toe. Trails of dirt mapped our movements. I continued to rely on the support of our walking sticks while climbing the stairs in the subway. I had suffered from a minor case of altitude sickness on the way down the mountain. Sick and sleep deprived, I was able to sleep sitting, standing up or lying on the floor while waiting for the bus. Despite being dispirited, two of my friends and I agreed to try the climb again next year, when the experience was not as fresh in our minds.

One year later, I returned to Mt. Fuji with my two friends from the first group. Battered walking sticks in hand, I once again braved the mountain that had once threatened to throw me off. My group confirmed there was not even the slightest chance of “tokki dokki ame.” I branded my walking stick at every station. The trek was difficult but nothing like before. I climbed through the night and to the morning. Feet above the clouds, I gazed at a sky full of colors and the clouds below me. The barren rock shined in the new light. Blue, pink and gold clouds colored the sky. I was a fool, yes, but a fool with a good view.

Two years later, I sadly packed my belongings to leave Japan. Japan had been my home for so long, and I had to leave quickly due to rough personal circumstances. I had no idea how to get my Mt. Fuji walking stick on the plane. It was too long for my suitcases. Airport officials would not be amused if I took it through check in. But I did not want to part with it. The stick represented my determination despite the blackest of circumstances and physically grueling of challenges.

I told my Japanese friend Hiroshi about my problems. With a twinkle in his eye, Hiroshi said he had a solution. He took my walking stick and returned the next day. He had cut it in half and attached a screw fitting on the end. I would be able fit my walking stick in my luggage and put it back together upon my arrival. I was so touched by his thoughtfulness. My memories of Mt. Fuji could be carried with me.

Leaving Japan was my Mount Fuji. It was hard and emotionally draining. Sometimes we can’t conquer mountains on our own. I did not need to be carried over the mountain, but I had needed the support of my walking stick. Only then could I reach the summit on my own two feet – through rain, sleet and sadness to the shining light of Mt. Fuji’s sunrise.

* “Fighting” is a Japanese-English expression that means, “Don’t give up.”

Mount Fuji Snow Climb Introduction to Mountaineering

If You Go:

Make sure you pack appropriately, as a climb up Mt. Fuji should not be taken lightly. Dress in layers, because it will get colder the higher you climb. Temperatures can be below freezing at the summit. Bring cans of oxygen, bottles of water, a reasonable amount of food, a headlight, toilet paper, rain gear and a rucksack with good support. Don’t forget to buy gloves and hiking boots with plenty of traction. You’ll need change for pay toilets and other expenses, like stamps for your souvenir walking stick. If you don’t want to buy a souvenir walking stick, I recommend bringing a different type. It will make the climb much easier.

You can take the Keio express bus from Shinjuku in Tokyo for 2600 yen. It’s also possible to take local trains to Fujinomiya or Gotemba, where you can take a direct bus to the 5th station.

If you want to stay at an inn, you might consider reserving a space in advance. The inns can fill up very quickly during peak season and situations involving bad weather.

When you descend Mt. Fuji, the incline is very steep. Most of your weight will shift to your toes and the balls of your feet. On a separate journey, one of my friends broke her toenail and had to limp down the mountain. So, make sure you properly cut your toenails, wear comfortable socks and broken in hiking boots.

Before you attempt the climb, it is a good idea to train lightly but consistently for several weeks before. This will make the trek much more enjoyable.

About the author:
Susan Elizabeth Thomas is an avid traveler, writer and lover of cultural anthropology. After four year in Japan, she is currently living in France. She hopes to give readers cause to question, discuss and deepen their understanding of this ever changing world. You can follow her writing through her blog (travelingmochi.wordpress.com), Twitter @TravelingMochi or Facebook page (www.facebook.com/TravelingMochi).

Photo credits (permission obtained for all photos):
The Shadow of Fuji by Kris J Boorman (www.facebook.com/kjbshoot)
All other photos by Susan Elizabeth Thomas

Japan

by Susan Elizabeth Thomas 

I rode a shaky, silent train from Kyoto, Japan to the mountain-side shrine, Fushimi Inari. The rays of the sun, dispersed over the rice fields, were ebbing to dark. I was arriving late, too late to meet my friend who had already trekked down the mountain. She had called me from the train stop.

“Be careful,” she warned. “ At this hour Fushimi Inari is completely empty and the shrine is full of fox demons.”

Fushimi Inari is a shine dedicated to Inari, the god of rice and his messenger the kitsune or fox. Fox demons are good omens in Japan, charged with warding off evil. These ethereal foxes can have multiple tails. More tails mean an older fox of greater power. Along with being messengers for Inari, who is often depicted as a large white fox, fox demons are tricksters. According to legend, foxes take humans forms for deceitful purposes. The cruel, proud and greedy were all targets. Often these crafty spirits became beautiful women. They would win the hearts of men and lure them from their families. Foxes were even known to bewitch humans, entering women under their fingernails or through their breasts.

I entered the shrine alone. Would the foxes curse me or bless me? I needed all the blessings I could get.

It was April 2011, the year of the Great Tohoku earthquake in Japan. I had fled from my home in Ibaraki, Japan not knowing when or if I would come back. There were mixed reports about the radiation levels. A nuclear plant one hour from where I lived narrowly escaped being over-flooded. I had whatever clothes I had hurriedly packed, nothing warm enough for the chilly, springtime weather. It had been a stressful, chaotic experience, but my time as a “radiation refugee” was over. Somehow this felt like end of my journey.

The very last rays of the sun created a shadow from the giant torii gate in front of the temple. Torii gates are the doorway from the secular world to the sacred. Traditionally, when you walk through a torii gate, you should stay to the side, leaving room for the god or goddess to pass through the middle. I passed beneath the tall pillars. I was now in the deity’s domain.

I stepped into the courtyard at the base of the temple. My friend was not wrong. The place was completely empty. Or was it? Like many holy places, the shrine had a feeling of presence, eyes watching. There was nothing malevolent. I felt curious and excited. It was like entering another world, a very orange world. Fushimi Inari has thousands of orange torii gates. The sea of orange gates seemed to glow in the last light. Two fox guardians stood at either side of the entrance. It was hard to believe they were not watching.

The whole shrine smelt of the evening and incense. I poured cold water from the small water basin onto my hands and into mouth. This is a Japanese ritual of purity, and I hoped that I was doing it correctly. I looked around. Hanging on lines, carefully folded, were the paper fortunes of hundreds of worshippers. Folding and hanging a paper fortune means you want it to come true.

Japanese shrines are full of wishes. Wishes could be rung into existence on large bells or painted on wooden tablets. They were strung on lines. Many buy wishes in the form of an omamori, a fabric charm with a sewn design. Others wish by tossing a coin into a container in front of an altar or statue and pulling a long rope bound to a bell. After, the tradition is to clap twice, bow twice and pray. Follow this with a final clap and bow.

There are two entrances and two exits for the torii-lined trek up the mountain. To me this looked like four possible entrances, like the beginning of a labyrinth. I picked a path on the left. As I made ascent, darkness hit. I climbed for hours. Once in a while, I would stop and make a wish. Clap, clap, bow, bow. Mostly I prayed for strength. It was a quality I sorely needed. The cold wind blew, but I felt warm and energized from the formidable climb. Again, I splashed my hands and mouth the with cold basin water.

I felt uneasy when I heard the screeches in the dark. Something rustled in the bushes. Could it be foxes? Fox demons? I know now that it must have been monkeys, but things seem different in the dark. Paranoid, I started thinking about Japanese mythology. Crazy thoughts sprang up before my logical brain could dismiss them. What if the fox spirits possess me?

Meeting a shrine worker did not calm my nerves. He seemed even more concerned for my safety than I was. As we parted, he said gravely in Japanese, “Be careful.”

I hurried up the mountain. At the top of the mountain, I saw Kyoto’s lights twinkling below. With the clinking of coins and the ringing of bells, I made more wishes. All around me, the fox statues regarded me with a calm, regal composure. I felt at peace with the spirits that inhabited my orange refuge. I had prayed for strength, and strength had come. My journey was over – not just my journey up Fushimi Inari. It was time for me to stop fleeing from the dangers of radiation. It was time to go home.

Private Tour: Arashiyama and Fushimi Inari Tour from Osaka

If You Go:

Fushimi Inari is easily accessible from Kyoto station. Take the JR Nara line to the JR Inari station at 140 yen each way. The shrine is open 24 hours a day, all year round, and the entrance is free.

Bring coins to make wishes. Making a wish with a five yen coin is a fitting amount. Making a wish with one yen is insulting, to both the Japanese and the spirits. Avoid going to Fushimi Inari, or Kyoto for that matter, during Golden Week. Golden Week is a series of holidays between April 29th and May 3rd. This is the most popular time of the year for vacationing. Everything will be packed, including trains and hotels. Accommodations may be more expensive. Another holiday season to avoid is Obon. This holiday season usually between August 8th and 16th, however it will vary on the region in Japan.

Getting there:
There are two international airports in Japan: Tokyo and Osaka. The airport in Osaka is physically closer to Kyoto. Limited express trains will take you from Osaka to Kyoto within an hour. Flights to Tokyo may be cheaper. A journey from Tokyo to Kyoto will involve taking a high speed train or bus from Tokyo to Kyoto. Times and costs for the additional transportation will vary.

Accomodations:
Kyoto has a variety of accommodation choices. There are youth hostels, hotels and ryokans, traditional Japanese bed and breakfasts. If you want the traditional Japanese experience, a stay in a ryokan is recommended. Beware, this may involve public bathing rooms.

Fushimi Inari and Sake Brewery Tour

About the author:
Susan “Eliza” Thomas is an avid traveler, writer and lover of cultural anthropology. After four years in Japan, she is currently living in France. She hopes to give readers cause to question, discuss and deepen their understanding of this ever changing world. You can follow her writing through her blog travelingmochi.wordpress.com/, Twitter @TravelingMochi or Facebook page.

All photos are by Susan Elizabeth Thomas:
My orange path through Fushimi Inari shrine
Fox fountain pouring the purifying water
If you hang your paper fortune on a line, your wish will come true
Tori-shaped wishes of good fortune
A fox statue watches quietly as I journey up the mountain

Koyasan, Japan

by Anne Harrison

At the tail end of a Japanese summer, my daughter walked hand-in-hand with the Kobo Daishi, a monk who has spent the last thousand years waiting for the Buddha of the Future.

Dusk fell as we wound through a cypress grove filled with some half a million graves. The faithful have been buried here since the Kobo Daishi died in 835 AD. Famed as a poet, painter and calligrapher, and for bringing Shingon Buddhism to Japan, the Kobo Dashi is of the most revered figures in Japanese history. He sits in repose in his mausoleum, the Oko-in, where monks still bring him food twice a day.

A mist rolled down from the mountains, bringing with it a sea of mosquitoes; we beat a hasty retreat, postponing enlightenment until daylight.

Sacred even before the Daishi established his monastic retreat here in 816, Koyasan is only two hours by train from Osaka. Speeding through the city’s outskirts, the futuristic landscape morphed into a maze of alleyways and traditional wooden houses, with vegetable plots and tiny rice paddies filling every spare space. Then the land opened into farmland, with the occasional dots of a village or even a small town.

The train came to an unexpected stop, and as everyone else melted into the countryside we were left standing on a deserted station. We dripped with sweat. Farmers with conical straw hats worked fields cultivated for centuries. It was a scene lifted straight from the anime of Hayao Miyazaki (famous for classics such as Spirited Away and My Friend Totoro).

Fortunately, a train arrived before we had emptied the ubiquitous vending machine of offerings. As the land climbed, the summer heat faded. Fruit trees heavy with blossom became primeval forests of pine and cypress. At Gokuraku-bashi Station, (where the train-line ends), monks, pilgrims and tourists alike were ushered into a cable car; it leapt into a wall of green, carrying us to the top of the Holy Mountain.

Buses transport everyone to the centre of town – including the monks with their robes of black covered with saffron shawls, for walking from the station is forbidden. The road pottered through the trees, its edge marked by moss-covered rocks. Everything held the colour of dark moss or grey stone; the trees, the road, the view down the mountain, even the air. As a result everything looked a little hazy, as if we saw things from a distant, slower time.

Despite both its age and being listed as a World Heritage site, Koyasan remains a lively mix of Buddhist monasteries, sun-drenched cypress groves and school kids running past workshops on their way home. In the main street stand supermarkets, restaurants, ceramic shops, even a chemist to sell sunblock and mosquito repellent. (The lady in the tourist office kindly wrote the names in Japanese for us, as the pharmacist spoke no English. His shop was filled with all manner of bottles housing dried flora and fauna.)

The journey with the Kobo Dashi begins at a stone basin. Ubiquitous to Japanese temples, these basins overflow with running water, usually from a nearby stream. After ladling icy water over our hands, we bowed on crossing the graceful Ichinohashi Bridge; the Kobo Daishi then joined us. A lady in the shop opposite smiled and waved. The path then winds through the Okunoin, a grove of cypress and tombs. Tiny tracks stray from the main walkway, leading to even more tombs hidden in dells and forgotten grottos. The only sound was the chirping of crickets, or the ring of bells as white-robe pilgrims passed. Many of the tombs are simple stone plaques or wooden markers; others are the enormous mausoleums of shoguns. Animal shaped stones are popular, often with red cloths or little aprons tied around them.

Moss has eroded many of the markings. Shafts of sunlight tumbled through the ancient trees, and mites danced in the sunbeams. We walked through streams of light and shadow. The dead may have been waiting here for over a thousand years, but in one section workmen busily repainted markers while at another grave a monk chanted a service as pilgrims with their white robes and staves of bells walked by.

After a thirty-minute stroll, the track opens onto Oko-in, the Kobo Daishi’s temple. Suddenly the place bustles, for another path (almost a road) comes straight from the huge car park where the daily buses grind to a halt, delivering tourists intent on achieving enlightenment in a few hours. On this walkway can be found many gaudy (and theologically suspect) edifices, such as the White Ant Memorial, built as a guilt offering by a pesticide company.

All this chaos is forgotten in the temple area. A stone bridge arches over the Takugawa River, which is dotted with wooden memorials for those who have drowned. Pilgrims ladled water over huge Jizo statues in offering for the dead before dedicating the ashes of loved ones. Candles and incense saturate the air, and many waft the fumes over themselves for spiritual and bodily well-being.

The Oko-in is truly the heart of Koyasan. A huge wooden temple, it’s tranquillity defies the crowds. Alone with the Daishi, we sat on some reserved wooden benches to spend awhile contemplating the road to Nirvana. Nearby is the Hall of 3000 Lanterns (the Toro-do), where two lamps have burned for over a thousand years without the need for fresh oil. Another hall houses Buddhist writings brought to Koyasan by Tripitata, the prince of Monkey fame.

Despite hosting over a million pilgrims a year, Koyasan remains a spiritual place. Most leave by mid-afternoon, and by evening we walked deserted streets. Many of the temples lie hidden behind wooden gates and guarded by stone lions, with the occasional glimpse of a balcony.

Some fifty of the temples on the mountain offer shukubo, or temple lodging. A bamboo screen in our room opened onto a garden of contemplation; a sea of moss-covered rocks and sculptured azalea bushes, with white pebbles scattered around the larger stepping-stones. A stone lantern stood in one corner, as if it had rested there for centuries.

A deep bell summoned us from sleep, and the chanting of the monks flowed from the centuries-old temple into the mist of dawn. The flames of their offerings shot into the air, the light licking the wooden walls (perhaps the reason why only one hundred of the original thousand temples remain). Afterwards, an elderly monk explained the service in halting English. This was followed by a traditional Japanese breakfast.

A bus ride back to the station, then the cable-car back down the hill; it felt as if we were slowly returning from some distant land to the chaos of the present.

Mt Koya Day Trip from Osaka Including Okunoin and Danjo Garan Temples

If You Go:

Arriving: Koyasan can be reached by train on the Nankai line from Osaka. This takes around two hours. A cable car completes the journey. The Tourist Information Centre is in the centre of town, on the main street. They have numerous maps, including walking trails, information on the various temples and sights, and can help with accommodation. Public phones are outside.

Accommodation: Temple lodging can be organised at the Tourist Information Centre. The youth hostel (offering traditional style accommodation) is a ten-minute walk from the Tourist Information Centre, with a bus stop nearby.

Dining: There are numerous restaurants of all price ranges, with plastic models in the window displaying the food on offer. There is also a supermarket for self-catering.

Helpful websites:
♦ Japan National Tourism Organization
♦ Temple Lodging Japan:  A guide to temple lodging across Japan

About the author:
Anne Harrison lives with her husband, two children and numerous pets on the Central Coast, NSW. Her jobs include wife, mother, doctor, farmer and local witch doctor – covering anything from delivering alpacas to treating kids who have fallen head first into the washing machine. Her fiction has been published in Australian literary magazines, and has been placed in regional literary competitions. Her non-fiction has been published in medical and travel journals. Her ambition is to be 80 and happy. Her writings are available at anneharrison.com.au and  anneharrison.hubpages.com

All photos are by Anne Harrison:
An ancient temple in Koyasan
Graves hidden amongst the trees
A deserted train station
A temple path, Koyasan
The Okunoin, a grove of cypress and tombs

Japan: The Battle for Okinawa

by Robert Hale

April 1, 1945… Easter Morning.

There would be no eggs to hunt today; no greetings of, He is Risen!”

Resurrection was not the order of the day. Not on this Easter Day, 1945

References to “Heaven” and “Resurrection” would give way to “give ‘em hell,” and “kill the bastards!” It was obvious that religious services would be held for only the dying and the dead – and then, only for those on our side!

A quarter of a million men were about to die.

No one scheduled a noon family Easter feast. And, for the next 82 days there would be nothing but war! A terrible war!

…The Battle of Okinawa begins!

It was called “Operation Iceberg.” The island would eventually resemble, not an iceberg, but a blazing hell-on-earth! No hymns of joyous praise were to be heard.

Instead, screams of the injured and dying, explosions of rockets and bombs; while of bullets, blasts of grenades, cries of the dying – those were the sounds of that Easter Morning.

In those 82 days of living hell 38,000 American soldiers and marines would be killed or counted as missing in action. The Japanese would lose 107,000 killed, plus more than 23,000 who sealed themselves in caves and took their own lives; 10,800 Japanese soldiers were captured. Civilian deaths are estimated at 142,000.

For the first time in World War II the Japanese were defending Japanese territory!

The Japanese hardly regarded Okinawans as “Japanese,” and certainly not as equals. For sure, the island belonged to the Japanese. It was a vital part of their empire. It was a crucial gate protecting the homeland and that empire. This day the protection was being threatened by gigantic numbers of allied forces.

The Battle of Okinawa would become the defining moment for the Empire of Japan. From here the full force of American air and sea power would be hurled against the nation that began it all on December 7, 1941. More than a half million people would die before American forces wrenched Okinawa from the grip of Japan.

It was a “grip from Hell!” It was grip that lasted nearly three months.

From April 1 until June 21, 1945 the fighting for the island went on, day and night. There was no let up; there was no “time out” for rest, or food, or medical care. There was no pause to collect the dead and re-assemble. For nearly three months it was one continuous deadly explosive battle. It was shell against shell; gun against gun; man against man! In many cases it was simply fist against fist; strangle-hold against stranglehold!

On the morning of June 21, 1945 members of the Sixth Marine Division – George Company, 22nd Regiment – raised the Stars and Stripes. It was over.

Today the Pacific Ocean lives up to its name.

Japan and the United States are at peace; they are close allies; they are good friends. They no longer hunt the hills and trails for each other. They no longer have fingers on triggers, or strongholds in gun sights. Today Japanese and American tourists walk the land marks together, frequently engaged in friendly helpful conversations.

I walked a few of those once bloody paths. I saw a collection of unused, and now ineffective, bombs, shells, and torpedoes. I walked among the graves of Americans, Canadians, British and Japanese. I wasn’t alone.

Bob Crismond was a teenager – 18, if that! – when American forces stormed the shores of Okinawa in 1945.

Now on a warm autumn day Crismond returns to Okinawa for the first time since that historic battle. It has been six and a half decades since Crismond last saw this island. Today it is peaceful here, with rain clouds forming at sea. In 1945 there was hell on this island.

The air was filled with exploding shells, grenades and bullets. There were earth-shattering explosions of artillery shells from US warships firing over the heads of our invading troops. Flamethrowers began their relentless destruction of cave emplacements, wiping out guns, munitions and men. There were hand-to-hand encounters, close-quarter grenade tossing, and even pistol shootouts!

At sea there were Japanese kamikaze planes diving and exploding into American ships. There were screams of the wounded and the dying.

Amidst all of that horror young Bob Crismond was driving a landing vehicle. From his ship off shore he brought in troops and supplies; he returned to his ship with the wounded and the dead. Bob saw those flamethrowers; he watched as Japanese pilots slammed their planes and their lives into the decks of American ships. All around that young man was death.

Was Bob Crismond scared?

“I was just doing what I had to do.”

“I wasn’t close enough to be scared. I had a job to do, and I was busy with that. But, I could see it, and I could hear it. Sometimes I just stopped my boat and watched.”

Bob Crismond never came under attack by the Japanese. He was able to get close to the action.

“When we got here, the battle was raging, and for a while I just watched. It was like watching a movie.”

Bob pointed out where his ship was located in the bay, and where his service boat came and went. He talked of kamikaze attacks, of flamethrowers, of grenades and shell explosions, and of the constant rattle of the machine guns.

Bob knew the Allied forces would prevail. We had just too many men, too much fire power, too many battle and supply ships to not win the battle for Okinawa. Yet, the battle took a lot longer and certainly far more lives than American commanders had anticipated.

This battle was ultimate moment for Japanese military leaders. This was the first invasion of their land and they knew if they did not repulse the enemy victory was not going to the rising Sun! If Okinawa could not be safely defended the Japanese homeland could well be next. Defend they did.

Invading Japan for the first time cost the Americans incredibly high causalities. Okinawa turned out to be the costliest battle in the history of the United States. It ranks as one of the deadliest battles in all recorded history. In addition, the Okinawans and the Japanese who lived on the island joined thousand of soldiers in committing suicide rather than submitting to “American barbarism,” an idea fostered by Japanese leadership as a morale boaster.

I asked Bob Crismond if, at any time, he felt the Allied troops would withdraw in the face of fanatical Japanese forces.

“Didn’t give that one thought. None of us even considered that a possibility.”

And today? Did Crismond have any special emotions about visiting his “hell on earth” war experience?

“No. Nothing special. I just want to see it like any other curious tourist would.”

Bob Crismond was not “just any other tourist.” He was there; he helped get the war closer to victory.

Was he scared? “No. Maybe I was too young to be scared. And, I had that job to do; I was busy with that. I could see it and I could hear it. That was it.”

While some American visitors talked in hushed tones, Japanese tourists were virtually silent. Someone in out groups suggested we understand the mass suicide of Japanese defenders more clearly than does the present generation of Japanese visitors.

Perhaps.

Can anyone truly understand? I asked Bob Crismond if it made sense to him.

“I think we were too busy to try to understand it all. We just wanted it to end.”

It ended, finally. The victors of Okinawa, who assumed they’d become the invaders of mainland Japan, didn’t have to go there after all.

“Two Big Bombs” fell on Japan, and it was over.

Today, the grass is green; the sea is rolling and white capped. The fragrance of salt sea fills the air; so do hushed voices. Many sentences go unfinished; many questions are not answered. Some moments become simply moments of reflection.

Those moments are called “pilgrimages.”

Okinawa Private Walking Tour

If You Go:

♦ en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Okinawa

Photo credit:
Okinawa Peace Memorial by CEphoto, Uwe Aranas

About the author:
Freelance writer, Bob Hale is a former Chicago radio and TV broadcaster.

by Thomas Kenning

Hiroshima. The very name conjures powerful images of mushroom clouds and devastation. The city’s atomic past is an integral part of its identity, but it is also a living city with fantastic opportunities for fun, culture, and entertainment. During my recent visit, I had the chance to meditate on a dark past at the Atomic Bomb Dome, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, take in a major league baseball game with the Hiroshima Carp, and participate in the annual lantern ceremony on the banks of the Ota River.

The Hypocenter

My first stop is the hypocenter upon which sixty-six years ago, the world’s first atomic bomb was used against human targets. Aimed at the T-shaped Aioi Bridge near the geographic center of town, wind blew the bomb slightly off course some 500 meters to the southwest where it detonated over Shima Hospital.

Contrary to the assertions of U.S. propaganda and President Harry Truman, Hiroshima was not a military base by any stretch. It was a city of about three hundred thousand, seventy thousand people died instantly, and nearly one hundred fifty thousand died by the end of the year. Of that number, only a few thousand were soldiers. The very fact that U.S. military planners were willing to leave the city untouched for so long testifies to its irrelevance as a military target – it was so unimportant that military planes could afford leave it untouched for the last, grand act of the war.

Hiroshima was singled-out early on during the extensive U.S. firebombing raids against Japan that were ongoing through mid-1945. As such, it was spared any preliminary destruction by incendiary or other conventional bombs. Planners wanted a pristine target to measure the true destructive capabilities of their new weapon. Residents of Hiroshima invented sadly misguided explanations for why their city was spared the devastation that rained down on so many other cities that summer. They speculated that they were granted mercy since a large portion of the Japanese population in the U.S. had emigrated from Hiroshima. Instead, the city was chosen as a target for the atomic bomb based on several criteria, its position on a large, level river delta first among those reasons.

Today, the hypocenter is a narrow street where the reconstructed Shima Hospital stands. A block over is the Hiroshima Peace Park featuring the T-Shaped bridge, the Hiroshima Peace Museum, and, for Americans, the most iconic A-bomb-related image aside from the mushroom cloud itself – the Atomic Bomb Dome, formerly known as the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall. As a concrete structure designed and built by Europeans in 1921, it was one of the few buildings left standing in the otherwise wooden city of Hiroshima. Today, though the city around it is modern steel and glass, it stands in ruins, slightly reinforced but largely in the same apocalyptic condition it was in by the end of the day on August 6, 1945. A lot more grass grows around it these days, underscoring the fact that time has passed and that for many, even in Hiroshima, life goes on.

The Hiroshima Carp

I have a special Japanese friend serving as my informal guide on this trip. Her name is Koko, and she is a remarkable woman. She was just eight months old when Hiroshima was destroyed, so has no direct memory of that day. Yet the bomb has shaped and defined her life in many inscrutable ways. Standing not much more than four feet tall with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a bun, she looks mild, but in relating the story of her journey from infant in the wrong place at the wrong time – the epitome of an innocent bystander – to peace activist and nuclear critic, she speaks with a stirring fervency, translating her Japanese into her own fluent, vivid English.

Aside from a brief stint at American University in Washington, DC to earn her bachelor’s degree, Koko has lived all 66 years of her life in Hiroshima. She remembers when, in 1950, just five years after the bomb, in the lean years when families still lived in temporary housing and school was still held outside for lack of standing buildings, the people of Hiroshima scraped together their yen to start a proper baseball team in their city. A testament to the human spirit as well as to the unrivaled Japanese love of baseball.

The Carp are still going strong 61 years later, playing their home games in picturesque Mazda Zoom Zoom Stadium. Most American stadiums are surrounded by several square miles of concrete wasteland devoted to parking every individual spectator’s car. The Carp’s stadium is within easy walking distance of the Toyoko Inn where we’re staying, and instead of passing row after row of cars, we pass a much more compact though very densely packed bicycle lot. It’s so full that it’s actually got double-decker racks to handle all of the spectators’ bikes. What a great thing! We’ve got the cheap seats, and I wouldn’t ever want to pay for the more expensive ones. This is where the true action is. From here, you can watch the salmon pink sunset over the mountains that enclose Hiroshima on three sides. The city lights come up, and modern bullet trains come gliding silently to rest in nearby Hiroshima Station.

This is the pep block. There is almost no canned music at a Japanese baseball game. Instead, a bare-bones band leads the rabid fans whenever the Carp are up to bat. Bleating trumpets and pounding drums, elaborate sing-song chants with prescribed movements. The crowd cheers, “Bonzai!” then lapses into a pointed silence when the Tokyo Giants are up to bat. They reel their energy in again, least it accidentally offer encouragement to the other team. This is unrivaled in American sports anywhere; American sporting fans would be ashamed.

I look around, and Japanese are eating French fries with chopsticks. Others just enjoy a nice bowl of hot soup at the ball park. Beer-vending women carry backpack kegs. I myself sup on Philly cheese steak as interpreted by the Japanese. It is a strip of actual steak on a hard roll drowning in nacho cheese.

Every attendee receives a green sheet of paper with a prayer for world peace printed on it. When John Lennon’s “Imagine” plays over the stadium sound system, the whole crowd waves their green papers high over their heads. This is the eve of the sixty-sixth anniversary of the bombing. That experience and a subsequent commitment to world peace are fundamental to the identity of this city. There is no escaping it. It is inspirational to see so much idealism spring from such negative roots.

The Lantern Ceremony

There is a spiritual sense of communion, a union of the intimate and the universal found at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park this evening. The park is the site of the toro nagashi, or lantern ceremony, a traditional Japanese memorial service for the dead. It is by far the most moving part of the day. The skeletal A-Bomb Dome glows bright in the dark, its reflection dancing and shifting shape on the dark surface of the river like some Rorschach test of tragedy, an all-purpose steel and stone reminder of the fragility of even the most durable of man’s accomplishments.

By this light and the light of the primeval moon, people gather to write messages of peace and love on colorful paper, which they proceed to fold into lantern shades. I join several of my new Japanese friends to decorate one, adding the message, “No nations, just people. Peace.” This is written beside the kanji script peace messages of my Japanese friends. This is beautiful, because when you think about it – our grandfathers were trying as hard as they could to kill each other.

We place a lit candle inside our lantern and join thousands of others – Japanese, Americans, Asians, Europeans – on the banks of the Ota River. Lanterns of dozens of colors, the collaborative work of many hands, drift like luminescent souls toward the unknown sea. This communion is profound. Your feet get wet, and you cannot help but feel connected on a spiritual level to what happened here. Suddenly the people who died here are your own people. They are your mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters.

It is so calm, you can feel every heartbeat in your chest. And if you let yourself, you will almost certainly be moved to tears. My friends and I stake out a spot on the river, and watch the lanterns drifting slowly past our position downstream. We reflect in sparse language on everything we have seen and done these past few days. Hiroshima has the power to chance you. That much is apparent, even if we can’t articulate just what we will carry home from this very special place.

Eventually we find ourselves in Hiroshima’s downtown nightlife district. It’s not very busy for a Saturday night, but that is perfect for our purposes. We’re just looking for a quiet dinner, and we’re rewarded with an intimate little place – shoes off at the door – serving contemporary Japanese cuisine and the best sake I have ever tasted.

Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park and Miyajima Island Tour from Hiroshima

If You Go:

The Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park is easily accessible from the Hiroden Genbaku Dome-mae Station, a clearly labeled stop on the extensive Hiroshima street car system. The Lantern Ceremony takes place only once a year on August 6, the anniversary of the atomic bombing, but it’s well worth your effort to plan your visit to coincide with this beautiful service.

The Hiroshima Carp play in the beautiful Mazda Zoom Zoom Stadium which is an easy ten minute walk from central Hiroshima Station, the main JR West and Shinkansen terminal for the whole city. Tickets are often available right up to game time.

About the author:
Thomas Kenning decided to leave his life as a high school history teacher in order to do crazier things. One of those crazy things was traveling to Japan to study the legacy of the atomic bombs. He’s written about this and other foolhardy experiences in zines and on his blog at cattywampus.tumblr.com.

Photo credits:
Itsukushima Shinto shrine at Miyajima island, near Hiroshima photo by Nicki Eliza Schinow on Unsplash
All other photos are by Thomas Kenning.