Before I go back and recount the occurrences and happenings of the past week or so, allow me to briefly describe my current whereabouts. At the moment, I’m sitting at a table in the café on the fourth deck of the Coral Queen Plus. We’re currently en route from Kagoshima to Okinawa, sailing (I believe) through the East China Sea. There’s some land to my left, or portside as it were. I’m the sole Westerner aboard. We left Kagoshima last night about 6PM, and it’s 11:47 the following morning right now. We’re due to pull into Naha around 6:40 tonight. I’m sleeping on a tatami mat (#136), which lies on the floor in the middle of about 75 other mats. It’s not the greatest digs, but for one night, it’s alright. There’s even wireless. It’s been raining/storming quite badly in Kyushu, but luckily, it let up just before we cast off. Supposedly, the weather in Okinawa is supposed to be quite nice.
Also, I’m terribly hungover at the moment, but more on that later…
Back to where I last left off, I was on a train bound for Kanazawa. I reached the station, and after a little bit of orientation issues, I was able to find the guesthouse with ease (though it was a 10 minute haul). Guesthouse Pongyi (‘pongyi’ means monk/priest in Burmese/Myanmarrese) sits directly beside a small canal. You cross a short bridge over the canal to enter the front door. The building was once a kimono shop, and was built a hundred years ago.
The owner’s name is Masaki. He was not just a gracious host. He went out of his way to see to it that his guests had a good stay in Kanazawa. I should also note that his life story thus far has been quite interesting. Having studied business and Portuguese in college, he got a job and moved to (not surprisingly) Brazil. There he acquired both a mastery of the language and love of Brazilian music (samba/bossa nova played almost constantly in the guesthouse). After moving back to Japan, he gave up everything. He quit his job, gave away his money, left his home, and devoted himself to spirituality and to charity work. He was a monk for a short time as well in Burma/Myannmar (hence the name ‘Pongyi’).
I’ve never actually met anyone who’s renounced the material world. It’s a daydream some of us have. I know the thought’s occurred to me a few times. Wouldn’t life be great without all these annoying, cumbersome objects and tasks cluttering it up? Maybe so, but I doubt most people could actually do it. I know I couldn’t. I could see myself living a room with a piano and a bed, but not for long. Eventually, I think I’d want a chair, and then the whole thing would snowball. I’d start craving cheeseburgers and Ipad next.
Anyhow, he eventually reentered the material realm. He left the charity organization (though he still has strong ties to them), and worked a series of menial jobs until he raised enough money to open Pongyi two years ago. He’s always in a pretty good mood, and seems to delight in almost everything. I’m not saying he’s grinning inanely while doing dishes and singing while writing emails, but he seems to living quite a happy life.
As I did for Kyoto, I’ll hit the highlights of my time in Kanazawa:
1) Hiking around the city- Two days worth of non-stop walking really did a number on my feet, but the city is great. It’s smaller than San Diego, both in size and feel. It’s big enough so there’s stuff to do, but small enough so that it has real soul. There are also some great temples (including the so called ‘Ninja Dera,’ which is laden with traps and secret passages), a really beautiful garden, several geisha districts (we heard a geisha girl practicing shamisen one night from the street), a samurai district, a phonograph museum, and a really nice jazz club (more on that later).
2) Concert at Pongyi- After noodling around the on my melodica, Masaki asked if I would put on a concert at Pongyi. He called up a friend who has a keyboard, and later than night I gave a concert to about 15 people (ranging in age from a baby to an old lady). I played one song on the deck overlooking the canal with keyboard sitting on the deck without a stand, but it started to rain, and I used it as an excuse to move the show indoors. It was a blast!
3) Session at Mokkiriya- Kanazawa has a great jazz club called Mokkiriya. It’s been owned by the same guy for 40 years. I know this because a) I met him and b) the night I showed up was the 40th anniversary. There was a good band on stage, playing all hard bop charts (appropriately, they were called ‘The Hardboppers’). After the show, there was a session where I got to play a bunch with the band and some others who had shown up. I had so much fun. David, an Australian friend of Masakis, showed up, along with Shunta (another friend of Masakis), the guy who had brought the keyboard the previous night, and Daiysho Tanaka (a piano tuner in town I’d met the previous day when I BS-ed my way unto the top story of the Kawaii shop in Kanazawa). After the session, we all went to a nearby bar called ‘Paper Moon,’ including the band, some local music students, and the owner of Mokkirya. I left at about 2am and walked back to Pongyi. It’s not scary walking at night through almost anywhere in Japan.
4) Ganmon and Togi- I wanted to travel up the coast of Noto-Honto (Noto Peninsula). I hadn’t seen the Sea of Japan yet, and there were several places I wanted to visit, especially Ganmon (where there are some sea caves). Masaki came to my aid. He called up his friend Hitoshi, a civil servant for the city of Hakui, just south of Ganmon. He was in Kanazawa on business, but agreed to drive me up to Ganmon to have a look around. Part of journey took us to Chirihama, a beach where they you drive (the only one like it in Japan). The drive wasn’t as short as I had thought, but about an hour later, we were there. It’s beautiful, and very reminiscent of what the coastal regions of Central California look like (sans the crusty surfers). We ate these shellfish heavily cooked in shoyu (soy sauce), which I thought were disgusting, but since Hitoshi treated, I put on a big smile (I was glad to try something new besides). After Ganmon, we drove up to a place called Togi. By the ocean, there are these two strangely shaped rocks just offshore, with a shrine on the leftmost rock and a rope running between them. Sounds exciting, huh? It wasn’t, but the view was beautiful, as was the drive back. It’s mostly farms and forest on Noto-Hanto. There’s green as far as the eye can see.
5) Shirakawago (“White-river-village”)- Shirakawgo is small village in the mountains a few hours out of Kanazawa by bus. The houses there are built in a style very distinct to the region, and unchanged for a millennia. They all have slanted roofs made of thick, densely wrapped twigs, and some are three stories tall. It’s a strange place, because it’s actually fake… well, sort of. The village itself never existed until about 1960 (it was founded as a sort of museum, with no one actually living there), but all the homes and buildings there are genuine, relocated from other local villages as they were abandoned followed the mass postwar-migration into the cities. Shirakawago sits at the bottom of a beautiful valley, surrounded by trees, meadows, and a great rushing river. There are streams, a waterfall, a fishing hole, and even an old waterwheel. It’s the most fantastically beautiful and boring place on the face of the Earth. I had tea with a nice couple from Yokohama. The guy spoke some English, and we talked about the differences between Japanese and English (a common subject of conversation for me), as well as the history of Yokohama, which I knew something about (well, the bit about Matthew Perry, anyway). He was excited to hear I was from San Diego, because apparently Yokohama and San Diego are sister cities, and he knows a grip of friends who went there on exchange programs. On our way out, he made sure I got on the right bus by inquiring with the driver.
6) The phonograph museum- They have many on display, from the original Edison wax tubes to the large cabinets from the 1940s and ‘50s. At certain hours of the day they play some of them, in addition to demonstrating the player piano on the first floor. Not much to say about it really. I went twice for reasons I can’t properly explain. I’m sort of a dreary sentimentalist, I think. I like old, sad things. A phonograph museum just seemed like my kind of place.
That about sums up my stay in Kanazawa. I bid a fond farewell (God, who says THAT????) to Masaki and headed off down to the train station. Resigning myself to a costly ticket, I splurged on the Skinkansen, otherwise known as the ‘bullet train.’ I had to take a ‘tokyu’ (rapid express) down to Shin-Osaka, then switch to the Shinkansen. I made the switch easily, since I’d learned how to ask ‘Excuse me, where is this train?’ in Japanese: “Sumimasen, kono dencha wa doko des ka?” I was amazed when we arrived in Hiroshima. I think I actually asked two different people if we were actually there. The ride was so short, I just couldn’t believe we’d made it so quickly (it’s damned quiet and smooth, too). The only bummer about the ride is went through too many tunnels, so I only saw short, blurry images of the countryside, heavily punctuated by sudden plunges into blackness.
Needless to say, Hiroshima is entirely reconstructed. It’s not bright and shiny like downtown Osaka (also flattened during the war), but it does have a surprisingly active nightlife district. Most of that stuff isn’t my scene, but I was quite taken aback nonetheless while wandering the streets at night. People were partying up a storm. I guess I had in my head Hiroshima had this constant cloud of despair hanging over it. I was ignorant. It’s a very lively city, and I met some friendly people there.
Shortly after arriving at my hostel via streetcar, I met a Londoner named Darren. He’d just arrived in Japan, and I found myself in the rare position of actually knowing more than someone else about this country. We went out for food and drinks the first night, venturing into the aforementioned nightlife area (think Gaslamp, San Diego, but with J-pop blaring in your ears). We wound up at an Irish pub, manned by a fellow from Cork. The two of them got on about football. I listened and smiled, but they might as well have been speaking Japanese.
The next day I had planned to visit the Peace Park and the A-Bomb Dome, but Chika at the front desk informed me that it was going to rain the next day. I had planned to go to Miyajima, a nearby island with a beautiful shrine and torii, plus an allegedly climbable mountain, the next day, but if it was clear now it’d be better to go to the island that day and the park the next. Darren, who was actually planning to do the same, agreed, and so we hopped a street car for Miyajima-guchi (a port where there’s a ferry out to Miyajima). Darren, the smarter of the two of us for buying a JR pass, got his ferry ride for free, while I had to pay. As such we took separate ferries, but met up shortly on the island. Like in Nara, deer freely roam the streets. We did the mandatory deer marveling, then found a place that sold Hiroshima Oknomyaki (the locals have slight twist on the dish, and it’s delicious!).
In olden days, the island itself was revered as a god. As such, only the holiest of persons could actually set foot on it. Because of this, the shrine was constructed on submerged (at high tide) pillars just offshore so worshippers could visit the shrine and not violate the island. In congress with the shrine is the torii (gate), which too is set in the water. It’s very large, and at high side boats carrying people or offerings (casks of sake, for example) can sail through on their way to the shrine. It’s known as the ‘floating torii,’ and is famous for being one of the beautiful sights in all of Japan.
Darren and I made our way through the streets and temples (notably Daisho-in Tera), before eventually reaching the start of the trail up Mt. Misen. I was under the impression the hike was going to be a cakewalk, though Darren seemed slightly reluctant at first to go. I told him a) it was going to be a breeze because the mountain was not that high, and b) the view from the summit was supposed to terrific. I was half right. The view was great, and the mountain truly isn’t that tall, but the hike was a long, grueling, hard slog up some steep terrain made worse by sets of stone steps and some god awful humidity. There were some US Marines also hiking to the summit. I’m proud to say that, though they definitely were making better time than us, they weren’t doing so by THAT much. It was still hard, even for them.
It took us about two hours to reach the top. The farther we went, though, the more excited we got. The view, both of the coast of the island and the various valleys on the island were breathtaking. We stopped at one point to fill our bottles from a small spring (so tasty!) before finally pushing our way to the temple near the summit. The marines were waiting there, having arrived shortly before us. Besides the temple, there is also a small hall housing a flame which has supposedly been burning continuously since around 800 AD (it was used to light the eternal fire in the Peace Park in Hiroshima). Shortly after we got to the top, a man came up from another path, dripping sweat and panting like a wild animal. Strapped to his back was freshly chopped wood for the fire which he had just carried up the mountain. I gave him a strong round of applause. If he didn’t look like monk and we weren’t at the top of a mountain, I’d have bought him a beer.
We left the temple and walked the last bit up to the actual summit. Sitting there is small three story observatory that looked like it was from the ‘60s. Darren and I bought a couple of cups of sake and headed to the top deck for our reward: a fantastic, 360 degree view of the island and the surrounding landscape. It was cloudy, unfortunately, so our view was somewhat cheapened (on a clear day you can supposedly see all the way to Shikoku). As things were, we could just make out Hiroshima out 30 km away, and what I thought was a US Navy warship just offshore. Still, It was a great sight. The sake was shit, but who cared? We were on top of a mountain in Japan. It was a good moment.
We made haste down the mountain (now that WAS a cakewalk), took a leisurely stroll through the town once more. It wasn’t high tide yet, but the water level was higher than before. Once again, we caught separate ferries back to the mainland and took the trolley back to the city. Darren got off to get dinner, and I road it further into down to hit up session at a place called ‘Jazz Club Bird.’ It’s a tiny underground club, and after inquiring, “Kore wa session des ka?” and saying, “Piano o hikimas,” I found myself on stage for the entirety of the session.
The players were pretty good, though not the absolute best. An American bassist named Alan Gleason (who lives and works in Tokyo as a translator) showed up. He throws down, too. We got to play a bit and talk. As it happens, he knows and has done some gigs with Simon, the British pianist/saxophonist I met in Osaka. Before leaving, the owner (a drummer) asked me to come back the next night and play with the band. I finally had a sort-of gig. I walked back through the rain to my hostel, annoyed because I realized my clothes, which had been drying on the roof all day were now being soaked.
The next day Darren and I visited the Peace Park and the museum. I’m at a loss to describe it, save to say that it’s a very tasteful, humbling, and inspiring place. It’s so easy to feel miserable being there, and I certainly did feel quite ashamed, both as an American and as a human being. I walked around in a daze most of the time, taking in information, facts, numbers, and histories. With every breath I fought off the urge to weep openly, though I wasn’t always successful. They’re very detailed and thorough in their account of the bombing, as well as the events leading up to and following it.
Darren pointed out something: everything is rebuilt, and with the exception of the A-Bomb Domb (left as it was, skeletal and semi-standing) there is nothing as it was then. You have to remember that a very different looking city once stood here, and that instantly all of it was reduced to death and rubble. The dead and dying would have laid scattered all around, the latter crying out in agony. I was so in a daze that I lost Darren. He had gotten ahead of me I was unable to find him after leaving the museum. I staggered around the park, stopping at the various memorials. There was a monument to the Korean victims, who had been brought over during the war as forced labor who also perished In the bombing (1/10 victims were Koreans), another for the mobilized students who had been recruited to prepare the city in the event of a firebombing (they were outside at work the day of the bombing, and were almost all slaughtered), and a particularly hard one to see for the children victims. It commemorates Sadako Sasaki, a story I had heard before arriving at Hiroshima, but that didn’t cushion the shock.
After wandering in circles nn the rain for about an hour, I met Tomo. He approached me from across the street. I saw him coming because he was, frankly, hard to miss. I’d say he’s in his 30s. He was clad head to toe in purple, including purple bellbottoms, a purple t-shirt, a purple Yankees cap, and he was wielding a purple umbrella. Speaking decent English, we conversed casually about sports, both American and Japanese, a subject which I know nearly nothing about. Tomo knew almost everything, including details about the Chargers and the Padres I never knew. He was a bright and cheerful man, and he snapped me out of my funk. I don’t believe in angels (really, I don’t), but if I did, I’d say Tomo… no, I’m not saying that. He was just an odd and endearing stranger, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to restore a piece of my faith in humanity.
I headed back to my hostel for a brief respite before going to the jazz club again. I hung out with a couple of sisters from Glasgow, another English guy named Luke, a Belgian girl, and Darren, whom I apologized to for our getting separated earlier. I left the hostel after an hour or so and headed to the gig, arriving moments before downbeat. There were only four or five people there, and it stayed that way all night. As people left and arrived, there were never less than four or more than five people in the crowd. The band was alight. The leader was a guitarist who was deep into Wes. The bassist was decent (his solos were interesting, but he sometimes dragged), and the drummer was… not subtle, but swinging (he avoided brushes like the plague). Still, it was a lot of fun. I didn’t get paid, but I got free drinks and didn’t have to pay a cover. I had fun, and we grooved well. That’s the important thing.
The next day I agonized over where to go and what to do. I had no plans, no room booked, and no transportation procured. After some mulling over, I eventually settled on Fukuoka. Why? Well, I wasn’t so sure, but I had it in my head I’d stay there for a bit before going to Kagoshima to catch the ferry to Okinawa. I took a highway bus which took me about 4 ¼ hours. It was a pretty decent way to travel, comparatively cheap and it’s easy to sleep. I used my rudimentary map to guide me to the hostel, where I met Fabio from Switzerland. We headed out to grab dinner and a few beers. There was some confusion over ordering (my language skills, though improving, are still grossly inadequate for almost any task). We ended up getting plenty of delicious food, and in a way, it was nice being the dark. They brought the food in courses (French style), and we had no idea what was coming.
The next morning Fabio left for Hiroshima, and I set out to explore Fukuoka. I wandered around all day, and started questioned my rationale for coming here. The city is a nice place (very livable), but it’s not necessarily very exciting. I had some Hakata Ramen for lunch (a local fav), and stumbled around the ruins of a castle and a park in the rain for hours before eventually making my way to BACKSTAGE, a jazz club I’d found online. The charge was steeper than I thought, and I almost didn’t go in. I’m very glad I did, though.
The band was called ‘Fukuoka Joe,’ and they’re a bunch of guys (and a girl) who have day jobs and play jazz on the side. It’s a sextet, with trumpet, sax, bone, and rhythm. They opened with ‘Lotus Blossom,’ and they hit pretty hard. There were some guest drummers, including Tomo, who’s shipping off to Boston to go to Berkley in the Fall (his friends and family where in the room, giving him a good and proper sendoff). The bassist, Saku, who spoke perfect English (he actually works as an English teacher), talked to me during the breaks and asked if I’d stay for a session afterward. I obviously accepted.
Incidentally, Saku’s a helluva bassist. He keeps great time, locks in well with the drummer, can follow the pianist on chord colors, and takes some mean arco solos ala Paul Chambers.
The session was a blast. I played the entire time. Two of the bartenders play, too, and one of them had her trumpet. She hit like Clifford Brown! I was amazed. Another notable attendee was Ken from Kansai, a tall guy with crazy hair (a cross between a flat top and a crew cut, but kind of curly), a suit that’d make Dave Patrone envious, and a voice like Mel Torme… that is, if Mel Torme had a thick Japanese accent and spoke in Kansai-ben. I got to play with all the members of Fukuoka Joe, and even do a reprise of ‘Lotus Blossum.’ Not to sound like an ass, but I was a bit of a hit. This was maybe the first session I’ve played in Japan where I’ve actually kind of played at a level I was sort of pleased with, instead of just hanging. I’ve missed connecting with musicians like that.
After the session, a bunch of us went out for food and drinks, minus Saku, who was due to be picked up by “his scary wife,” whatever that meant. I only had about 900 yen on me, but they assured me everything was going to be fine. In actuality, they treated me to everything: beers, food, taxis, more beer, more food, more taxis, and most importantly, a truly great evening. They all spoke enough English to talk with, and I used my Japanese effectively to great delight. Non-touristy or not, I’m very glad I came to Fukuoka.
I spent one more night there, but it’s not worth mentioning. I walked around the port some, and went to top of this observation tower to see the city. It was a pretty boring day, but pleasant enough. I bought my bus ticket to Kagoshima and booked myself a room for the following night. The next day I (just barely) jumped the bus for Kagoshima. The trip was a rainy, four-hour bore, during which they played the lamest movie. It was so lame, I could tell it was lame without it being in English
Upon reaching Kagoshima, I was deposited alone at a tiny bus stop near the train station in the pouring rain. It took me a while to get orientated, but I eventually found the cable car I was supposed to take to my hostel. However, there was nothing there in Romanized alphabet, so I was clueless as to which tram I was to board. Luckily, I spotted a guy with a flyer for my hostel. He, too, was lost. Being from Christchurch, his English was decent, but he was actually Chinese by birth. As such, he could read Kanji, and was able (upon me telling him the name) to spot the tram instantly.
He didn’t speak word one of Japanese. He only knew ‘arigato,’ although he pronounced it ‘obrigado,’ which I found secretly hilarious because that actually DOES mean ‘thank you’ in Portuguese. What’s more, he was somewhat abrasive approaching people, assaulting them with his English and expecting a response. Whatever the case, we made it to our stop and found our way through the rain to our place, thanks to my map/instructions. I found him a bit of a pill, but I’d have been stuck at the tram station all night without him, and he’d never have found the hostel without my help. We needed each other.
The next day I explored downtown Kagoshima for a bit (there’s a strange, European like thoroughfare in the middle of the city) before catching the ferry for Sakurajima (‘Cherry-blossom-island’). That’s a terrible name for the place because a) there aren’t cherry trees on the island, and b) it isn’t an island. It was, but when the still-active volcano erupted last in 1914, it connected the island to the mainland. Still, it’s a beautiful place, even shrouded in clouds (I never did see the top very clearly). I took a sightseeing bus around the perimeter of the island. The woman who guided the tour spoke only Japanese, but would occasionally turn to me and either direct me to the paragraph in the English-language pamphlet or use a single English language verb or noun (of which she possessed a surprising number) combined with some sort of gesture. It was very nice of her, though I felt embarrassed, singled out like that.
Stops included an observatory halfway up the mountain, a brief pause by the ocean to look a school of dolphins just offshore, a small shop were we samples some pickled daikon (a giant radish grown on the island) and some sake made from kamikan (a tiny mandarin, also grown on the island), and a stop near some strange rocks formed by the 1914 lava flows. After the tour finished, I walked over the public footbath then to get some kamikan ice cream (oishi!) before getting on the ferry back to Kagoshima.
Even though it was raining like a B, I decided to do a little more sightseeing. I walked through the city, past old stone walls ridden with still-visible bullet holes from the Satsuma Rebellion of 1877. From there, I headed up the backside of Shiroyama, the site of the final battle of that failed rebellion, and also the site of where it’s leader, Saigo Takamori (sometimes referred to as the last of the samurai), made his final stand with 400 loyal rebels against about 40,000 Imperial soldiers with howitzers. He eventually committed seppuku after about 5 days of constant bombardment.
I was only one on the mountain by the time I reached the observatory. From there I got great view of the city and Sakurajima at twilight, albeit through a haze of rain and fog. I lingered there for a while, then took a small nature trail down the mountain. I then regretted going up the mountain at that hour. The trail was completely covered by foliage, and what little light was left could not penetrate. I found myself actually a bit scared as I made my way along the road, which looked like it could have come straight out of Sleepy Hollow (the fact that a black cat crossed my path shortly before I started walking down the road didn’t help things).
I’m a little embarrassed to say that I let my fear get the better of me, and I actually ran part of the way down the mountain. I wasn’t afraid of the Headless Horseman, or anything. Just your garden variety mugger or axe-wielding psychopath (does Japan even have those?). I slowed down towards the end of the trail, nearly squashing a number of toads who had appeared on the road. Alive and well at the bottom of the mountain, I limped back to the hostel and collapsed into a couch. I spent the night in, too tired to look for any fun out on the town.
The next day (yesterday) I packed early, checked out, put my bags in storage and went to the local aquarium. It paled in comparison to Kaiyukan in Osaka, even though it too featured a Whale Shark. I hung out by that tank for at least 45 minutes, then spent a few hours wandering through the rest of the aquarium, relishing the air conditioning as much as I was the other fish. After hanging out for dolphin tricks and some sea otter feeding, I went back to the hostel under the constant barrage of the sun. Once there, I made some hasty reservations for Okinawa, downed a cup of coffee, and made for the ferry port. My pack never felt heavier as it did walking to the boat.
The guy who told me the ferry port was 10 minutes away must have been high. It was a lot longer than that, but I made it. Drenched in sweat and stinking to the heavens, I found the terminal, paid for ticket, and after a brief sit I boarded the Queen Coral Plus. I got settled in and discovered (to my surprise) the ship had WIFI, then went up to the top deck to watch as we cast off. There I befriended a 65-year-old karate instructor from Shikoku. For the next five hours we did nothing but talk and drink sake and beer as the boat rolled on through the night. He spoke decent English at the beginning of the evening, but it quickly dissolved the more we drank. It was fun, though I blacked out at some point. I made it to my mat in one piece, apparently, since that’s where I woke up this morning with one screamer of a hangover. I didn’t black too early, but I don’t remember going to bed, or saying goodnight to my drinking buddy. I do hope I wasn’t rude.
That brings me up to date. We’re due to be pulling into Naha in a few hours. The sea is still relatively calm, the water and sky are blue. It’s a good day to go to the islands.
Soupy twist,
Edward
PS~ Incidentally, blacking out at 1am on a boat in middle of the East China Sea is not an activity I’d highly endorse.
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