Japan was a lot of fun, but logistically overwhelming. Japan is EXPENSIVE. It was something of a shock to my wallet to be back in a country with a powerhouse economy. Some parts of Hong Kong and Shanghai were close, but not at all like Tokyo. Most of my money was spent on transit-- trains, buses, subways-- from Kobe to Hiroshima back to Kobe to Tokyo to Mt Fuji to Tokyo to Yokohama back to Tokyo back to Yokohama. Japan is a beautiful country, and we were lucky enough to be there at the peak of cherry blossom season. All the streets and parks were lined with the beautiful trees, and they made it easy to take a picture worth saving.
Hiroshima was a pretty memorable experience for me. The monument was beautiful and moving. The museum was devastating. You read about things like shadows being burned into stone. I saw one. It’s so strange to see something like that. I’m not sure I would have recognized it for what it was had it not been labeled. It’s surreal and astounding-- astounding the horrific force that could leave such a remnant. I was surprised at how objective the whole thing was though. In Vietnam, war memorials and museums were still very anti American-- maybe Japanese wounds had just had more time to heal-- but the Hiroshima museum was so effective because it was just a reflection. It presented facts, stories, and numbers without passing judgment or blame. Instead they just hoped to prevent such a tragedy from ever ever happening again.
The clothes were the worst. Most of them were of children, and all of them had stories of the owner's life before being incinerated. One shirt-- a little girl's shirt-- was just dirty and white, pretty unremarkable. There were stains from dirt and dust, and it was torn almost to shreds just like the other clothes in the exhibit. Then I examined it closer. I realized that the mud stains were blood stains-- 60 year old pieces of one victim out of thousands infused into the fabric of a plain cotton shirt, and it broke me down.
Despite the heart wrenching feelings one inevitably feels browsing through that museum, the end result, I think, is, ultimately, a hopeful outlook on humanities ability to learn from its mistakes, that, perhaps, someday, the world will be rid of the nuclear threat. It’s a very cool thing. particularly when the cherry blossoms are blooming, creating a pink and white rustling frame around the infamous dome devastated by the blast, there's a feeling that renewal is happening, has happened, and it's a testament to the people who live there. They always live under the unforgivable shadow of that disaster, but they have managed to conquer it.
Mt. Fuji-- Fuji-san-- was probably the other most signifant experience I had in Japan, and seeing it is an experience. It's breathtaking and marvelous, living up to, and surpassing all the hype. Its no wonder its inspired poets and artists for thousands of years. I’ve not dealt with it all the literature or all the art work, but I think the best a poet or an artist can do is pay homage to the magnificence of Fuji. They can never capture it. No poem, no painting, no photograph, no song can contain Fuji on a page, on a canvas, or behind music bars.
Hiroshima was a pretty memorable experience for me. The monument was beautiful and moving. The museum was devastating. You read about things like shadows being burned into stone. I saw one. It’s so strange to see something like that. I’m not sure I would have recognized it for what it was had it not been labeled. It’s surreal and astounding-- astounding the horrific force that could leave such a remnant. I was surprised at how objective the whole thing was though. In Vietnam, war memorials and museums were still very anti American-- maybe Japanese wounds had just had more time to heal-- but the Hiroshima museum was so effective because it was just a reflection. It presented facts, stories, and numbers without passing judgment or blame. Instead they just hoped to prevent such a tragedy from ever ever happening again.
The clothes were the worst. Most of them were of children, and all of them had stories of the owner's life before being incinerated. One shirt-- a little girl's shirt-- was just dirty and white, pretty unremarkable. There were stains from dirt and dust, and it was torn almost to shreds just like the other clothes in the exhibit. Then I examined it closer. I realized that the mud stains were blood stains-- 60 year old pieces of one victim out of thousands infused into the fabric of a plain cotton shirt, and it broke me down.
Despite the heart wrenching feelings one inevitably feels browsing through that museum, the end result, I think, is, ultimately, a hopeful outlook on humanities ability to learn from its mistakes, that, perhaps, someday, the world will be rid of the nuclear threat. It’s a very cool thing. particularly when the cherry blossoms are blooming, creating a pink and white rustling frame around the infamous dome devastated by the blast, there's a feeling that renewal is happening, has happened, and it's a testament to the people who live there. They always live under the unforgivable shadow of that disaster, but they have managed to conquer it.
Mt. Fuji-- Fuji-san-- was probably the other most signifant experience I had in Japan, and seeing it is an experience. It's breathtaking and marvelous, living up to, and surpassing all the hype. Its no wonder its inspired poets and artists for thousands of years. I’ve not dealt with it all the literature or all the art work, but I think the best a poet or an artist can do is pay homage to the magnificence of Fuji. They can never capture it. No poem, no painting, no photograph, no song can contain Fuji on a page, on a canvas, or behind music bars.
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