A Pilgrim’s Lack of Progress

Recently, I’ve been thinking about the idea of pilgrimage, as a journey which is undertaken not simply in pursuit of a destination, but in search of meaning within the journey itself. Pilgrimages are inherently spiritual exercises, although not always religious. One person might go on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela or Walsingham or Lhasa in search of God and healing, while another could return to the faraway village where their immigrant ancestors were born, in search of their roots.

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A Survivor’s Story

with many thanks to Kazuhiko, whom I spoke to at Hiroshima Social Book Cafe, Dohashicho (near Dobashi streetcar station).

Reiwa

The late afternoon sun suited them.

This has been Golden Week, and it’s been manic. There’s been all manner of celebration in Hiroshima, with the Flower Festival, which was as much cheap booze, taiko drums and rawk n’ roll as it was garlands of flowers. There was competitive flower arranging though. There’s a BBC2 primetime show in there, for sure. Elsewhere along Heiwa-odori, I saw comedians, maximum-energy choreographed teen dancing and also the more traditional kind. Hiroshima Sanfrecce deservedly lost to Yokohama Marinos after some poor theatrics. Familiar faces were back in town, emotions were running high. Summer is coming.

Leaving the Suburbs

A mere snippet today, since it’s official- I’m moving house in a few weeks! I’ll be moving to Takaramachi, in the city centre. I like peaceful suburban Itsukaichi well enough, but it’s surprisingly distant from the metropolis. Hiroshima’s not a huge city, but it stretches around the harbour, and Itsukaichi is on its southwestern edge. And the trams and trains here all stop around midnight, leaving me with few options after a night out.

Poison Island

Was that a good week or a terrible one? I think it was a good one, even if it did start with me missing my shift, dashing manically to work, buying some ill-fitting shoes and then getting fined for my sins. True story. Along the way, it took in my first Shinnenkai (Japanese party to celebrate the nascent year), where I tried horse sashimi with fiery wasabi and soy sauce. On Wednesday, I talked hip hop and Paul Simon with a colleague from Okayama and the owner of our favourite bar, and on Sunday, I went bouldering, an activity I’m determined to master one of these days.

Reconstructions

Hiroshima has a castle. Perched atop a musha-gaeshi (the Japanese equivalent of a motte) and surrounded by an network of enclosed maru (courtyards, or baileys in European castle-speak), the castle tower is an impressive sight. In the grounds, the ruins of the Imperial War Headquarters lurk; the emperor stayed here in the 1890s, during the first Sino-Japanese War. Attendants sweep the paved terraces clear of leaves. The yagura (guard tower) keeps a watchful eye on guests. Crows alight from stone lanterns, and you’re instantly drawn back into a world of samurai, closed castle towns, and men in straw hats carrying water.

Forgetting to Remember

‘I apologised for human sinfulness, to nobody in particular’–   Shinsaku Koguchi, A-bomb survivor (account of August 6th, 1945)

You probably haven’t heard of Paul Tibbets, but you’ve heard of his plane. Growing up in the Midwest, he moved out to Florida, where he flew regularly as a teenager and became a Lieutenant-Colonel in the US Air Corps. He articulated an uncomplicated view of American exceptionalism, and of his mission: ‘well my thought was, the damn thing worked’.

He was matter-of fact, unapologetic, even cold in interviews; little trace shows of the tenderness which led him to name his plane after his mother, Enola Gay Haggard. He defended his actions to the last: and even advocated using nuclear weapons against al-Qaeda: ‘I wouldn’t hesitate if I had the choice. I’d wipe ‘em out’.