I had not intended to take a tour in Nagasaki, in fact I hadn’t really ‘planned’ to do anything at all. I was thinking I would just wander around in town for a few hours, perhaps visit a museum – try to avoid too much exposure to reminders of the tragedy of the atomic bomb , and call it a day. As it turned out however, fate had other plans for me. My colleage had signed on for a tour today without realizign that he had been scheduled to work (goddess bless IPM). So, at 7:30 in the morning, I found myself at the tour meeting point, with his ticket.
Langford can’t make it, so he sent me to take his place
No problem! Just remember we’re selling to minimum, so you’re allowed to go and just relax, but be on your best behaviour.
Always am.
There are only 26 of us on the bus, including the official crew escort. Oddly, that isn’t me. Somehow there are a few crew members on this tour who are just…here….instead of being normal escorts. I imagine it’s an experiment of some kind. If we continue to behave ourselves they may allow us to continue acting as place holders. Once of the nice things about having a bus with this few people is that we all get a seat to ourselves, which is a good thing, as I am awfully sleepy. I can feel myself drowsing as the terraced fields and tiled roofs flash past us on our way to our destination.
Shimbala Castle was once part of one of the largest rebellions in Japan. The farmers (mostly Christian), rebelled against the oppressive rule of the Sho- gan, who had been charging 80% in taxes and causing the people to starve. The original structure was destroyed (I think), and today it has been rebuilt and opened as a museum: a few costumed greeters (including a pink ninja who took great glee in pretending to attack me with a retractable hari-kari blade), waited for us at the door. Inside the five tiers of the building house various items illustrating the time leading up to and during the rebellion. The carefully displayed hari-kari knives, still seeming gleaming sharp, on their white beds of satin made me slightly uneasy, and the floor that contained the actual samurai armor made me feel dizzy so I didn’t stay long. I did venture up to the very top tier though, where the view of the city was amazing.
The rest of the time I spent wandering around the sun-drenched grounds, wondering at strange statuary and gardens, until the time came for the bus to once again move on.
The next stop along the route is a series of samurai houses. Once occupied by some of the great warriors of history, they are now open to the pubic with diaromas showing a tiny slice of what life might have been like long ago. You are allowed to venture inside, but are required to remove your shoes first. The rice straw floors are soft and quiet under your feet. Each house had a small garden at the rear, but I didn’t tarry there long – for fear that I would never want to leave, or that I would somehow blink and find myself in a different time all together.
Across the gravel road from the last house a woman sat at an open window playing a traditional Japanese harp. The notes should have sounded discordant simply because they were so unusual to what we would consider traditional harmony, but they didn’t. Instead they seemed to fall on your ears like water into a lake.
I have never been so ashamed to be a tourist as I was when a gaggle of people, loud and intrusive, crowded up to her window , snapping pictures and yammering at her. The poor woman is trying to practice, leave her in peace. She’s a person , not a tourist attraction.
Lunch was an adventure in itself as it was a preset menu that was spread out for each of us before we arrived. The thing is, nothing was labeled, so you were on your own as far as figuring out what you were eating! I managed to identify the chicken (which was yummy) and the sushi (which I did not brave), but beyond that I was at a loss. That said, I’m relatively certain I can now add squid to the list of odd cuisine I have consumed.
After lunch we visited the memorial park for the volcanic eruption in the mid-nineties. If ancient samurai armour had made me a bit dizzy, this place made me downright woozy. While a solid evacuation plan prevented any of the residents from the now half-buried houses from being killed, it still is a very eerie sight. In a lot of ways I couldn’t help but be reminded of Pompeii. Everything is normal, till suddenly one day it isn’t. The energy that radiates from these kinds of places is far from positive.
Of course the baking Japanese sun probably didn’t help with the wooziness.
Upon our final boarding of the bus our guide presented each of us with a paper crane for good wishes and good luck.
I didn’t make these, my wife did. She tells me to give them just to the good tour people
Not that I have any precise idea what I’m going to do with an origami paper crane, but it’s nice to think that good luck will be watching over us as we say sayonara to Japan.