JAPAN – FROM MIYAJIMA ISLAND TO KOBE ON A MUCH NEEDED LARK

Despite Japan putting its best face forward to make the most of a tragic situation, Hiroshima can still be a bit of a somber place.  Not so with nearby Miyjima Island.  This day retreat is the perfect escape from the self-imposed solemnity one feels while touring and trying to fathom the gravity of a single moment in time –“the A-bomb flash”—and its soul crushing aftermath.

Half an hour away by tram and then another half an hour’s journey by light rail brings the visitor to the mainland Miyajimaguchi Ferry Terminal.  From there it is a placid ten minute glide over to the island along the Inland Seto Sea.  Fresh off the boat, you are treated to a steady parade of jugglers, friendly food vendors (the island specialty is oysters on the half shell, and broiled conger eel over rice), and deer.

The deer are fearless.  You are warned about them often.  A sign reads:  “The deer on Miyajima are wild.  They may eat paper and cloth.  Please pay attention and keep an eye on your personal belongings – especially tickets and souvenirs as the deer might eat them.”  The sign fails to warn you that the deer are also lushes.  I am victimized in two separate moments of carelessness, failing to properly guard separate glasses of red wine while admiring the surroundings.  I don’t think they let a single drop hit the ground.

Some modernization has taken place on the island, but Miyajima is what you might expect a Japanese feudal village to look like once artisans and merchants have displaced the samurai warriors.  The island is considered one of the three most scenic spots in Japan.  Its crowning glory is the Itsukushima Shrine, which is separated in to two features and has one defining characteristic: the contrasting presence of its surroundings as a means of illustrating and highlighting the UNESCO World Heritage site (1996). 

The shoreline feature, much of it on stilts to accommodate tidal shifts, is composed of a primary shrine, a drama stage, music halls, and smaller shrines.  Eighteen buildings in all make up the complex, first built in 593.  It is framed in the foreground by changing water levels and their reflection, and in the background by the deep green forested slopes of sacred Mt. Misen -- an object of worship going back to ancient Japanese times.

The real object of visitor devotion lies about 200 meters immediately offshore from the tidal pilings of the shrine.  It is a single massive vermillion O-torii gate, 17 meters tall and 24 meters in width.  Its two main pillars are made of natural camphor wood, and its four supporting pillars are made of natural cedar.  The original goes back to the earliest days of the shrine, but the latest version (8^th edition) was constructed in 1875.  It weighs 60 tons, and stands under its own weight.

Very few objects (no matter what their size) command their setting like this enchanting masterpiece of understated historical architecture.  It has the power of the mysterious sentinel obelisk from Stanley Kubrick’s famous 1968 film “2001: A Space Odyssey,” yet without its intimidation factor.

At low tide, tourists flock around its six wooden pillars sunk deep into the sand just to bask in the comforting vibe given off by its solid presence.  The gate has a definite spiritual sanctity about it.  Many place prayer notes or coin offerings within creases in its cylindrical columns.

At high tide, glassy waters mimic the orange casting of the gate and project it onto the calm surface of the Inland Seto Sea.  During this time, the gate appears to be free floating and completely unmoored from its surroundings.  The effect is especially stunning at night, as the towering gate is mirrored onto the inky waters, magnified in effect by shore floodlights.

The effect is similar to suddenly rounding a corner, and seeing a mysterious foreign object.  It would be about the same as soldiers of Troy 3500 years ago, wandering down to the beach and finding a massive wooden horse apparently left as an offering by departing Greeks.  Questions of who … what … when … where … and why come to mind, but without resolution.  For this is a creation that you feel more than anything else.

While the Itsukushima Shrine and O-torii Gate draw the lion’s share of attention on Miyajima Island, other sites add to the pleasures of strolling its manicured pathways.  Those include hiking trails to Mt. Misen, and a photogenic five story red pagoda perched just above the shrine.  Shopping for everything from chocolates, samurai swords, foodstuffs (with samples generously offered everywhere), ice cream, wines, crafts, souvenirs, and the aforementioned eel and oysters is omnipresent.  Food is expensive, but at least is available in varying sample sizes.

Once again the bullet train is my means of escape out of town.  I am on my way to Kobe (famous for its perfectly marbled and expensive beef), not a top-shelf pick for me as a destination, but necessary to visit a friend.  Randy Bollig and I have known each other since high school.  His brother Pete played running back with me on a high school championship football team. His step-father John Lamat was both my coach, and my art teacher.

Randy had previously provided me with one of my trip highlights on an arranged tour outside Kathmandu to an orphanage he generously donates to, and a secondary school he provides support for as well.  I have no idea what to expect from this visit.  I have no objective in coming here.  I don’t even know what there is to see or do in Kobe.  I just know we are going to have fun.  And so it goes.

After stowing my relatively lightweight kit at his residence, we head off by cable car to the summit of Mt. Maya and the Kobe Nunobiki Herb Garden.  The visit is supposed to offer a culinary sensory peak opportunity, but I am Irish and my sense of smell is blocked three-quarters of the year (which interferes with being a wine snob on the level I would most prefer) and don’t smell a damn thing.  We laugh about this.

Then laugh further upon ordering lunch.  We are ushered to seating at the edge of a huge plate glass window with a territorial view, but it is a monsoon outside and visibility is about three yards.  There is nothing outside to gush over.  We also amuse ourselves over knowing we have purchased one-way gondola tickets, and must walk the two-mile return trip in this god forsaken weather.  Neither of us really care.  It is good to catch up.

There are a few weather breaks along the descent.  This allows us to admire the twisting masonry reinforced trail as it wound down both sides of a verdant vine-covered gorge, numerous rain enhanced waterfalls, a collection of rope foot bridges, an ancient water powered mill and and reservoir, an observatory, and several small temples overlooking the city.

Once down in the flats, there are ample opportunities to wander the narrow streets and alleys of Kobe’s specialized shopping districts and scout a collection of questionable local bars and restaurants.  Translation: here was an opportunity at last to sample in earnest Japan’s foremost libation, sake, as well as famous Japanese beers such as Kirin, Sapporo, Asahi, and Orion.  I found none of them wanting.

It becomes easy to lose track of our progression from place to place.  Randy has a plan, but it is not exactly shared.  By the time we have had our first two pints, we are well into the backslapping stage and exchange of … well … randy jokes.  I am enjoying this repartee and do not notice him take the waitress aside for special instructions.  “Order what you like,” he advised me.  “Nothing will bother you here.  I’ll throw in a few local specialties.”

Five minutes later, the waitress returns.  She has a quivering lip and finds it necessary to bite down to keep from expressing emotion.  A tear or two escapes the corners of her eyes.  Others from the wait staff linger nearby, seemingly without purpose.  Randy is strait faced, trying to give the impression he is really just doing quadratic equations or recalling some oscure Haiku to pass the time.  I am enjoying the beer and the conversation and don’t really notice the food.  Nobody moves.  Necks gradually crane forward.  Couples at nearby tables soon are in on the act.

I reach down for my knife and fork, and start to cut into the two dishes.  And suddenly it struck me … what the hell … ? I am staring at a massive sausage, leaning at a jaunty angle over my plate. A spread of curly sprouts is placed at plate level around it.  A pair of meatballs strategically positioned at its base and assisted by an assortment of toothpicks to keep the meat erect left nothing left to the imagination.

“Why … you tool!” I burst out in laughter.  And with that the relief vent shot off the pressure cooker.  Waiters, diners and my transgressor all exploded in laughter.  Still they looked on.  I quickly gathered why.  The second dish was only a shade subtler.  How do I describe this tastefully?  It consisted of thin sliced beef, pinkish on the inside folds and arranged in a slit to appear as if a very welcoming female in heat.  A glob of white horseradish sauce pooled at one end gave the impression one plate had just had its way with the other.

“Don’t think I’m going to sample that one,” I muttered.  And to the amused encouragement of locals and visitors alike, we made our way out for dinner and really serious sake sampling.  My host maintained a deadpan face the entire way.

We capped the evening at a Japanese restaurant serving traditional dishes made right at the table by a kimono clad female chef in the sukiyaki style – combining thinly sliced beef with vegetables, tofu and vermicelli.  I substituted seafood, given that I don’t fancy red meat.

We added tempura, deep-fried in vegetable oil after being coated with a mixture of egg, water and wheat flour. Among the ingredients used to my preference were prawns, fish and vegetables.  Some horse trading was also done between the two of us of kaiseki ryori,  regarded as Japan's most exquisite culinary refinement. It generally consists of vegetables and fish with a seasoning base of seaweed and mushrooms (there are variations).

In between bouts of sake – ingested from large bamboo sections sliced at a severe angle at the spout end – we further sampled yakitori -- made up of small pieces of chicken meat, liver and vegetables skewered on a bamboo stick and grilled over hot coals.  The protein portion of our meal was punctuated with helpings of soba and udon, two kinds of Japanese noodles. Soba is made from buckwheat flour and udon from wheat flour. They are generally served either in a broth or dipped in sauce and may be combined with meat.

Randy finally cracked a smile and admitted to his involvement in the faux genitalia appetizers at our previous stop.  Let it never be said that the Japanese – or English profesors residing in Japan – do not have a sense of humor.  Upon hearing of this prank, Japanese business revelers letting off steam at a nearby table came over to share in my denigration.  It was all in good fun.

The dozen or so at the table took turns buying rounds (it is a Japanese tradition to buy a round for all, and hope that somebody after you reciprocates).  Several of the women at the table came over to offer themselves as temporary girlfriend rentals, leading to great howls and finger pointing from the men in their company.  I have no idea how any of them managed to stand, let alone walk when it came time to leave.  And by this means, I balanced out Tokyo and Hiroshima with the lighter side of Japan – a sphere I was not sure existed prior to Kobe and Randy’s hospitality.

One odd little incident occurred on departing Japan for China at nearby Osaka International Airport.  I always carry a Swiss army knife with me.  It had accompanied me through 34 countries this trip.  I made sure to always keep it stored in my checked bag.  So when it went through the x-ray machine, I was surprised to see it draw attention.  I was told to grab my gear, and go with airport security personnel to a police kiosk.  I was not told the nature of their concern.

The security personnel asked me what the implement was.  I was dumbfounded.  “This is a utensil,” I responded.  “Famous all over the world.  Corkscrew, screwdriver, knife, file, mini-scissors … Surely you have heard of a Swiss army knife before?” They were unimpressed.  One pulled out a ruler. 

“Your blade is too big,” he intoned.  “In Japan you can not have a blade bigger than 6 centimeters.  Yours is 6.2 centimers long.  We will have to make a police report.”  It did no good to argue that there was no way I could have known this limitation in advance.  Or that the knife was always tucked safely in my check-in backpack.  Or that everybody in the world knew these items to be a tool, and not a weapon.

“I am sorry.  We must make a police report.”  They kept the knife.  I do believe I got the last word, however.  As the paperwork was being prepared ever so properly and with a maximum show of proper etiquette, I casually mentioned being a travel writer.

“You know, this incident has left me with a very poor impression of Japan,” I offered.  Too bad, really, given that your government is in the process of begging travel writers at this very moment to say anything good that can possibly be written about Japan, given your recent tsunami and radiation disasters.  Think I’ll have to do additional research on that.  Describing your visitor hostility and lack of common sense will be a thrill.”

And with that several sideways glances ensued, a few bows were made in my direction, and the paperwork was carefully slipped into the trash.  Most problem solving in the long run, usually comes down to managing differences in perspective …