adekun’s japan blog

A little way from nearby Kurayoshi is the town of Misasa. While the town is famed for it’s radon spas, Sanbutsuji set upon Mitokusan (Mt. Mitoku) really draws the crowds. The temple’s pinnacle is Nageiredo hall. Back in 706 it is said to have been thrown in the mountain by a monk. It rests between two and three hundred metres above a steep gorge, seemingly defying gravity.
Having just visited you have to wonder. To reach it from the main complex takes half an hour; up tangles of exposed tree roots, chains and ropes. In bloom were yama tsutsuji (mountain azalea) and fuji (wisteria). The last Sunday in October the entrance fee is waived for yamabushi (fire walking festival).
At the entrance, those lacking sufficient grip on there footwear are sold wara-zori (straw sandals). It’s not difficult and doesn’t deter people of all ages and sizes - if it’s busy expect the clamber to take a lot longer.

On Sunday we spent a few hours at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum and Park. Although the setting is at odds to the camps at Auschwitz, it is none the less moving. I was keen to find out what the museum cited as reasons for the attack and what mention it gave to activities in Asia prior to WWII.
For me the often stated reason never answered the questions. Reading at school, it was easy to spot contradictions. It just seemed the most palatable. What does seem common is Truman’s and Tibbets’s sentiments, and that of Bomber Harris.

I was unaware of the forced demolished of homes to provide fire breaks. In addition to the civilians from neighbouring towns, schoolchildren were mobilized for demolition duty. At the time of the attack they were outside. The bomb was a little off target and detonated above the Shima hospital. A plaque marking the hypocentre can be found in front of an apartment block a street back from the Dome.

Above, the targeted T shaped Aoio bridge and Hiroshima Peace Memorial (A-Bomb Dome).

There didn’t seem much information on the subsequent bombing of Nagasaki. The focus was on the after effects, the rebuilding and peace activities. Towards the end of the exhibition, of note was the numbers of times nuclear weapon use has since been contemplated. The 13 kiloton yield of ‘Little Boy’ compared to the 50 megatons of ‘Tsar Bomba’. While it’s all too easy to comment on the past, only the other week NATO’s top five were asserting “first strike nuclear option remains an indispensable instrument”.

Early Saturday morning accompanied (and funded) by my wife’s aunty, I boarded a bus bound for Hiroshima. Instead of the expressway we took a route that meandered south through small snow covered towns. Even half way through the four hour journey the signs outside read 0°C. By lunchtime, having been collected by her boyfriend, we were aboard the JR Miyajima Ferry. Since the island is sacred trees are not cut for lumber. Aside from the vista, the first surprise were wild deer roaming about. From the terminal it was only a short walk to the Itsukushima Shrine.

It would be great to spend more time in the autumn, when the leaves turn.

Or see the place set under a bluer sky.

The heavy rain washed away the plan to visit Iwakuni, as did the traffic to the plan to visit the naval museum at Kure. I did get to bed early though.

Over the New Year we visited the nearby Kiyomizu Temple. Recently rebuilt, it not as impressive as the one in Kyoto (of the same name), but we came for a different reason, as did hordes of other people. I only got rough idea of the history and have since forgotten most of that. Over 1200 years ago some holy lightning appeared above a mountain. A temple was built at the site to venerate the god(dess) of mercy; bodhisattva Kannon. During the Edo period the temple was enlarged under Lord Matsudaira. There has been a history of fires, hence the reconstruction. It forms part of the Chūgoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage.

On a few occasions, we have been able to give Kento an al fresco bath. Over the past month he is become more and more investigative and mobile. Sometimes a little too audacious, here snorkelling before learning to swim.

If he’s not staring at something, contemplating, he’s trying to eat it. Eyebrows and ears are mauled whilst dribble is drizzled on all comers.

More of a hamlet really, but with enough Pineau for an established city. Before I get carried away on the subject of Pineau, as I did drinking the stuff, the fête is held once a year. The majority of the locals make an appearance. From the proceeds of the winter hunt, a wild boar is taken from the deep freeze and spit roasted.

Serge amongst others, carving - and yes, that is his hand he is pretending to cut off.

His more rational father Joseph, finishing off the boar in the bread oven. The rain had dampened the embers, but not peoples spirits. The bread for the event was cooked by a local baker in the oven earlier.

Cherry pie was served up, before games of Pétanque and darts.

Under the shadow of unsettled weather, we began our week in the Lot. After a day in and around St Cirq Lapopie, we travelled to the adjoining department to visit the medieval village of Conques. The road meandered along the Lot River, brimming and murky from the recent downpours. Passing a weir further upstream, the sediments flowed along the furthest bank fed by a tributary.

Although a point of contention, I insisted that I wanted to visit Rocamador when there was little cloud. Perhaps due to providence, the opportunity arose.

Later in the week we toured a Cahors AOC winery, followed by a candlelit dinner for four plus a baby. A tremendous storm passed over knocking out the power for a few hours. Having already closed the windows previously, I returned to fasten the shutters. It was like opening a pressure door on a flooded compartment. Aside from getting really soaked, the force of the wind was so intense it was a job to shut the windows. A couple of rainbows soon appeared.

Yesterday, we returned late to my parent’s cottage and another power cut.

We are about to leave to go south to the Lot region. Yesterday remained cloudy, but it did warm up considerably. The cows wandered up the adjoining field to seek shelter under the trees.

Although there will be another short hiatus, I received an update from Miho this morning. The rainy season has reached the island of Kyushu, having travelled north from Okinawa. I imagine this to take another week or two to reach the plot. The main reason for the message was to mention that the garlic and the rest of the onions had harvested!

As a postponed birthday cum welcoming gift, my parents bought me a 2004 Fitou Seigneurie d’Arse. What a lovely sentiment. I’m no Master of Wine, but this burly brew made a fine wine to wash away the drabness of the bleak afternoon.

Today I opened a more quaffable Morgon, which has done little to break the clouds. Cheese always gets mentioned as the ideal accessory. Yet I lack the audacity to immerse myself in the national cheeses. A couple of slabs of Cheddar wouldn’t go amiss.

In exchange for a few days work, my parents arranged a week’s stay at a Gîte in the nearby Vendée. Since the husband was recovering from a hernia operation, our hosts needed a little help preparing the grounds prior to the summer holiday rush.
It is boasted that the area enjoys the greatest number of sunshine hours along the Atlantic coast due to it’s own unique climate. Predictably, it rained most of the week. Along with another couple, my father and myself started the morning after we arrived. Grass cutting and painting a wall were off the menu. At least I did get to dig a footing. Most of the time was spent lifting a patio set upon a wash pit or something. Below is a more traditional lavage beside one of the walks we took - one of the many vegetables gardens directly behind.

On our final day, the weather had improved as we drove off to La Rochelle and onto Royan for a curry.