DAY 11

Saturday 8th May

Nagasaki

Nagasaki is the day's destination, and we pack and set off early to catch the train. The morning was hot and clear as we wait at Kubota station.

The journey takes us through beautiful seaside towns, clear bays and green hills. As we head into Nagasaki, however, dark clouds begin to loom and spots of rain appear- which made the approach into the city centre, past washed-out tower blocks and rusting industrial buildings, less than inspiring. Shortly after lunchtime we pull into Nagasaki station. Nearby is the local tram service, which we found to be an effective and convenient way to get around. Our stop was Shianbashi, near to our accommodation, Nishiko Bekkan ryokan. It was a clean, pleasant environment with good en-suite facilities, and the room spacious and well equipped. Large bay windows overlook the rooftops of Nagasaki.

After dropping our bags off, and downing a few of cups of green tea, we catch a tram to search out the local tourist traps. Our first stop is Fukusaiji Temple. A friendly woman on the tram engages us in conversation in English; when we explain our sightseeing intentions, she urges us to follow her, and leads us right to the steps of the temple. I don't know how far she went out of her way to do this, but it's a lovely gesture.

Fukusaiji Temple is, without doubt, the product of a less than sane mind. It's shaped like a giant turtle, topped off with a massive statue of the goddess Kannon. Here's an odd story: I'd read somewhere that Kannon was based on an Indian deity, Avalokitesvara. Nothing out of the ordinary there- but the unusual thing is that Avalokitesvara was originally male. Images of the god, exported to Japan, portrayed the god with such a calm and compassionate face, that the Japanese mistakenly believed him to be a woman. Talk about gender confusion. We wander around the empty temple, after a moment's hesitation deciding whether we needed to take our shoes off or not. Suddenly, from a side building, an elderly lady appears and approaches us. Thinking she was about to escort us from the premises, I began to move off. Far from it in fact- she proceeded to take us on a guided tour. As we followed her tiny pattering footsteps, she scurried from one thing to another, all the while chuckling and chatting to herself, then explaining to us in pidgin English about the history of the exhibits. She unlocks the basement for us, and we get to see the giant Foucault's Pendulum swinging gently, a memorial for the victims of the A-bomb. We also get the opportunity to hit gongs and wood blocks with giant mallets.

From Fukusaiji we visit the 26 Martyr's Memorial, a sculpted monolith for the 20 Japanese and 6 European Christians who were crucified by the Japanese government in 1597.

Later in the evening, we accidentally wander through a really seedy side of Nagasaki, along dark, damp alleyways and past neon-smothered 'Snakku' bars. 'Snakku' is, as it sounds, the English loan-word 'snack', which has somewhat mysteriously become associated with strip joints and hostess bars. Presumably the husband would tell his wife: 'Just popping out for a snack, dear.' Hmmmm.

Eventually we find what we are looking for, the Meganebasho, or Spectacles Bridge- the name deriving from the reflection of its twin arches in the river. Unfortunately the weather has deteriorated further into a wet, grey, depressing mess, which saps my enthusiasm, and I am distinctly underwhelmed by it. Shame really, on a different day it would definitely have made a far better impression.

Anyway, it's time to eat, and we choose Yoshino restaurant, which, from the outside, looks traditional but damn expensive. After becoming completely flummoxed by the all-Japanese menu, we step outside and peruse the plastic mock- ups in the shop frontage. Knew they'd come in useful eventually. I chose Katsu- don, a bowl of rice topped with onions, egg and pork tonkatsu (kind of battered pork). Oishii!

DAY 12

Sunday 9th May

Nagasaki

First stop was the site of the A-bomb hypocentre, via a brief stop at Nagasaki station to store our luggage in the 'Koin Rokkas'. Another bleak, grey sky hangs overhead, and I can sense the brooding menace of it.

The memorial park is first, where a solemn black monolith marks the location (500 metres up) of where the bomb exploded, on the 9th August 1945. A short distance away lies the Peace Park, the centrepiece of which is a giant statue of a muscular man, eyes closed in silent mourning. His right hand points upwards in warning towards the origin of the bomb, the left extended outwards in a reminder of the devastation caused. The decimated remains of a prison mark the building nearest to the explosion.

A Christian church is next on the agenda. We arrive just as the congregation are leaving, and Paul takes the opportunity to explore the building as I wander around the entranceway. There is nothing particularly unusual about the church- only that it is in Japan. The rain was now hammering down as I peer out from the doorway, and my spirits sink slightly- the greyness is beginning to get to me. I bought a brolly to fend off the rain.

A short distance away, we find the Atomic Bomb Museum, and take a leisurely stroll around. This museum is truly an example of how to handle difficult subjects like this in a sensitive and intelligent manner. The exhibits are genuinely disturbing, and the horrors of the event are not shied away from. The affects of the bomb on the citizens of Nagasaki are shocking in their graphic detail. The amazing thing is that it could so easily have slipped into an anti- American rant, choosing the most overly sentimental and emotive exhibits- but I am impressed by the way it has handled the sensitive issues involved. There is no finger-pointing, no bitter recriminations, no sensationalism. All sides of the story are covered. Taped interviews with the survivors are poignant, and the interviewees show remarkable dignity in their matter-of-fact description of the events. The final video display documents all the nuclear tests made by countries around the world since the bombing of Nagasaki, a truly shocking and worrying catalogue. The overall impression and sentiment is not about blame or accusation, not even 'Why did this happen'- but more about 'How can we stop this from happening again'?

As I wandered around the exhibits, brow furrowed in contemplation, I heard something unusual. Musing on a particular display, I could hear the faint murmur of hushed voices, and a low rumbling, like thunder.

Suddenly, from around the corner, stormed a veritable army of eighteen-year-old schoolgirls- about fifty or so of them. (What's the collective term for a large group of school kids? A school of pupils?) That was it- I had no chance of concentrating now. In the blink of an eye, I was swamped by sailor-outfitted girls on every side; some roaming in large groups, some walking hand-in-hand, and for all my well-meaning and attempts to appear engrossed in the displays, I couldn't help but glance occasionally. It wasn't my fault! They were dressed provocatively. Let me explain.

(If any of my female friends read this, I apologise- I am but a weak man...)

Japanese fashion (particularly for girls) appears to follow specific rules, part of which involves 'customising' the compulsory school uniform. These are based on quite militaristic designs- in the girls' case, a sailor-style outfit. The boys' outfit is more worrying- its high collar and spartan appearance was apparently based on German military dress. I suppose, as with many other forms of uniform, it is meant to suppress individualism and impose a sense of equality. I have read that there is a saying in Japan: 'The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.' Anyway, at school, the uniform is kind of cutesy- the skirts are long, and the socks pulled up. However, older girls sport a style that is altogether more risqué- the skirt gets hitched up, and the socks pulled down like 80's-style ankle-warmers. I guess this is meant to ensure maximum leg exposure- the effect is definitely, er, distracting. I make these notes only in the interest of documenting popular culture in contemporary Japan. And because some of my friends told me to.

So, those are my memories of the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum. It was informative, educational, often thought-provoking and sometimes depressing. But it's fair to say I don't remember the facts as well as I do the figures.

Upon leaving the museum the heavens really opened up, and we scuttle from cover to cover to get back to the tram stop. Back at the train station, we collect our luggage and board our train back to Hakata station. Staring out of the window at the scenery passing by, I reflect on the past few days. Unfortunately I never really warmed to Nagasaki. Maybe it was the bad weather; maybe it was the characterless nature of the city itself (understandable, given that so many historical sights were wiped out with the bomb, and the modern buildings are uninspiring). However, I was impressed by the friendly disposition of the Nagasaki people; not once did I feel unwelcome- surprising given that during the course of the holiday we had been assumed to be American. Nagasaki appears to be a city looking forwards and not backwards.

At Saga station, Emma's holiday time came to an abrupt end, and she has to leave us to return to work, while Paul and myself continue to Kyoto. That's it. Our friend, guide and interpreter had gone. Fortunately, Emma had kindly arranged the accommodation for our stay in Kyoto, but from there on we're on our own. The journey takes a further four hours or so. I was looking forwards to passing from Kyushu to the main island, Honshu, via the narrow causeway that links them. The reality of this crossing was, however, much different from my romantic vision. Under a lifeless grey sky, an industrial wasteland of smoke stacks, gas cylinders and rusting metal pipes spread out in all directions, belching grey fumes that quickly joined the grey cloud. It wouldn't have looked out of place in Blade Runner (apart from the lack of neon). From a country where natural beauty is so revered, from the harmonious layout of a garden to the aesthetic qualities of a flower arrangement, the contrast couldn't have been more obvious, or more worrying. I was quite unprepared for these ugly scenes of Nature and Industry battling for supremacy- it's just one of those strange paradoxes that exist in Japan.

Eventually we arrive at Kyoto station, having been chatting to a French girl (another one! The French seemed to be everywhere). Clutching our tattered map for the location of the Ryokan, we set out onto the busy streets. The Matsubaya Ryokan was located 10 minutes away, down a quiet side street. We are shown around by the owner, an elderly lady who bowed so frequently and so deeply that I feared she'd never make it back up again. We have a cup of tea, spread out the futons and settle down in anticipation of the busy days ahead.