This time, the Shinkansen didn’t awe me quite as much – I expected the constant acceleration, plus I was just happy to be warm. My laptop has been with me the entire time, through the temples, up the hillsides, over the fence, through the crowds. It finally got its due attention for the couple hours it takes to get to Hiroshima. The arrival in Hiroshima was crowned by the addition of my new wool clothes to my ensemble, and I am finally layered enough to imperviously wander in the cold with exposed toes. First stop – internet café. I’m tempted by their offer of a large cushy chair (often used in Japan for a cheap overnight snooze), but I’m set on getting to the infamous dome while it’s dark. I finally escape the pull of day starting in Seattle and ride in history to see more history. I’ve read a fair amount about the history of the atomic bomb. Standing there, at one of the epicenters of that history, was sobering. I eventually wandered onwards to find one of the hostels listed in the Lonely Planet… little realizing it was almost midnight! I found one with a guest just in from his own wander and a grand pile of shoes near the door, but no hosts, so onwards to another… that was full and closing in minutes. Options were rapidly closing, but finally a hotel appeared that offered a room for 8,000 yen. Little did I realize I had found a love hotel, complete with one complimentary condom and a placard showing various toys for purchase. My cameras and I had a wonderful night. Snort!

From the brief, sobering, dark, and somewhat odd experience the night had been, I wondered if Hiroshima would waken with the dawn to a city more like Kyoto or Tokyo. The populations aren’t comparable and not all the history is either, but the Lonely Planet tried hard to guide the tone away from Hiroshima just being ‘the city the bomb hit’. It must be difficult to minimize the impact of the Peace Park when it seems that much of the city revolves around tourism and not stately government or intense business interests. Some info mentioned that Peace Park is being visited by fewer (Japanese?) people each year and there is some worry as to how the world is forgetting the impact of using atomic weapons. Yikes. Now having made my own pilgrimage, I can sympathize with that concern even more. Interestingly enough, with so much temple design and attention to detail infused into the culture, the grounds and outside of the museum don’t create much impact. The large flat tiled expanse of the park is a perfect commuter lane for bikes and walkers, the buildings are large rectangles with only a few interesting details, the view from park towards the dome is marred at both major viewpoints by new buildings and massive sport field lighting and the monument is well intended but lackluster in the broad expanse of the park. So, just from an aesthetic viewpoint, Peace Park’s potential impact is already suffering. I did not enter the museum, so can’t comment on the info inside, but pictures are still only views through a piece of glass. Imagine if the grounds were designed to shake the soul and the pictures only had to fix that feeling into place!

Daytime introductions done, I meandered my way back towards the train station so I could return to Tokyo in the light and see some countryside, albeit foreshortened by exhilarating speed. First stop, a giant reflective ball that I had almost bumped into the night before! (That part of the path was not lit at night and I was about 4 feet away when I realized that the funny lights in front of me were reflected city lights.) A small grocery (and many other things) stand provided an orange and cookies snack for breakfast and later. I really enjoy back streets. I was allowed to peacefully wiggle and examine my way through the narrow C-shaped alleyway of the store as the shopkeeper and his local clientele went about their usual gabbing, making me feel that I was at least accepted. I try hard to integrate into a culture when I visit, learning some local language, carefully watching body language, trying to stay peaceful and invisible, not automatically gravitating to the usual attractions but looking for those random lefts and rights that lead to everyday life. This little shop let me feel like I could become a ‘local’ if I only knew how to speak Japanese.

The rest of Hiroshima still left me with the uneasy feeling that the city still did revolve around tourism and entertainment as much as it is downplayed. I would guess I saw more tourists in Kyoto, but I felt more emotional separation between the tourists and the locals in Hiroshima, and maybe thus my unease.

Back to Tokyo via the Nozumi express Shinkansen. I sat down next to an unsuspecting youngster and her mom, and then proceeded to get many wide-eyed stares and share a few smiles. Her mom would play a piano game where she would silently ‘play’ a tune on the girls hand, and the little girl would have to guess the name; at one point, I recognized the voice warm up ‘Doe a deer’ and softly whistled it to smiles from mom and astonishment from the little girl. The wonders of a common language, especially one that never needs an interpreter. I wish, sitting next to this pair, that I could have spoken far more Japanese. I think a conversation with that little girl would have been exquisite.

Mark managed to direct me to a Shibuya business hotel for the night. This was my last night of the trip and I hadn’t had a chance to see the glitzy district yet, so a wander was in order. Backstreets galore, food everywhere, ragin’ style. Somebody had managed to import a huge 1970’s American-iron car and then dress it up – it had to have been twice the length of every car around it, but the two guys in it were top dog for the night. I’m not completely sure what separated Shibuya from the feeling of, for example, Seattle’s entertainment district of 1st Ave, but I think it has something to do with the lack of cars everywhere and maybe a different attitude about humility and interaction? There were, of course, the top dog boyz in their car and other examples of that culture, but it wasn’t prevalent. Style was everywhere and there were definitely the right cues to send… not sure. What I do know is that I ate well, was treated well, never feared for my sanity or safety, and I slept well that night.

I begged my way out of the hotel (12-6am curfew) just before 6am and excitedly threw myself onto the first train towards the Tsukiji Fish Market. Note the ji at the end of it… Some temple names from Kyoto: Ginkaku-ji, To-ji. After my morning at the market, I begin to think that maybe the name should really be Tsuki-ji. I approached with the usual caution of a westerner getting close to ‘official action’ and at one point was sure that a market officer was going to ask me to step outside, but he only wanted to examine the fish at my feet. Steph had said to get there before 6am, and I agree with her. By 7am the market was in full steam with fish apportioned and crates already leaving the building. The pure energy and determination in the air was heady!

Freed to wander, I tried to stay out of the way and still see everything all at the same time. How do those school teachers and moms do it? Styrofoam crates, neoprene wetsuits, and colours everywhere! It amazing watching a society where bargaining and commerce are part of the life blood. I’d love to see inside the New York stock market sometime – it’s probably the same energy. Streamlined maguro (tuna) bodies where everywhere, fresh and flash frozen. The main mode of getting crates from one spot to another was a three-wheeled motorized trolley. The front wheel was directly attached to the engine and the driver simply spun the entire engine to steer. Rarely was one at rest, and rarer still was one at half throttle! The care that was taken with each chunk of tuna was almost reverential. Careful, precise movements. Eventually, more gaijin started showing up, the market was loosing steam, and I had to get back to Shibuya to catch a bus to Narita airport. Oddly, I was going to be very early for my flight. Well, early for me.

If the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, it also ends with one step. 8:30am - departing the market. How do I hold onto this moment, these days!? So much to say about the experience and so much to understand. I’m at a loss for words, except that I think I would like to live in Japan sometime. Kyoto or Tokyo, but there is also so much left to explore. I would love to see the countryside at a walking pace rather than Shinkansen-pace. I would like to explore more trails and temples. I would like to revel in the carefully measured paces of ceremony. When I think of the US exporting it’s culture of consumerism, I truly hope that the receivers of that export are strong enough to realize that they must not give up the depth of their culture to inherit consumerism's shallow way of life. There will always be a war of words between those who want to produce something for the masses and those that want mass production to stop. Mass production has brought many positives to life (medical advances, computers, cell phones), just as it has brought rampant waste and corporations that direct governmental policy for their own good and not the good of the earth or nation. Part of what I truly enjoyed about Japan was the feeling that as much as they are part of the culture of consumerism and mass production, there is an underlying base of history and human companionship that attracts me. Walking into a restaurant prompts cries of welcome from across the room, just as exiting prompts come again! The language for excuse me and please has wonderful connotations and variations that “thanks” just doesn’t carry.

What a wonderful way to live, when you can say please and thank you in so many ways.