Tokyo: Dancing In The Street

Tokyo. It's just insane. There are more than 12 million people stuffed in this sprawling silver city. A quarter of these tetris themselves into the metro every day. The metro system, by the way, leaves the London, Paris and New York subways in its dust, especially when it comes to smell. You can find literally anything in shops; try Nyan Nyan Nouveau, the choice wine of Japanese cats. It's still argued that a legal technicality has left Kyoto the capital of Japan, but in reality there's no doubt that the anagram city is where it's at. 

Maddy and I watched the white winter landscape melt away as our train sped clear of Kanazawa. An unexpected bonus arrived in the iconic form of Mount Fuji. The conical peak put me strongly in mind of Mount Doom, NZ. I shall come back and hike you, Mount Fuji. One day. 

Tokyo greeted us with an aggressive display of subway stairs. Hobbling out of our hostel, we headed straight to Asakusa to visit Senso-Ji. The wing-edged temple - brightly lit, featuring huge red lanterns - would have looked quite at home on a Kyoto street corner. We grabbed dinner at a Thai restaurant down the street before returning to the hostel for delicious free plum wine. 

Sunday was a huge, twelve-hour touristing day. We started by admiring the hugely moated Imperial Park, where there was some sort of fun run happening. We saw short shorts aplenty but hardly any Imperial Palace as it's open to the public a grand total of two days a year. 

Yoyogi Park gave us a greater variety of entertainment. On entering the park, we saw a poodle wearing yellow sunnies, a pink and yellow bobbly woolen hat and coat. A nearby flock of girls shrieked "Kawaii!", checking off a square in my Japan bingo. We dodged yet another fun run, which appeared to require its participants to run around in pairs holding a piece of string between them. Best of all, there were little groups dancing in sync scattered through the park. I don't know what it is about Sundays, but they seem to bring the dancers out into the open. How many teenage boys do you see NSYNC-style dancing in Melbourne's public places? We need to encourage this. 

Meiji Shrine waited at the end of a torii-heavy loop trail next to the park. Here rests the enshrined soul of Emperor Meiji (d. 1912). According to information signs, Emperor Meiji is strongly associated with peace and tranquility. His particular interests included Western culture, poetry and nation-building. 

Parked out, we were ready for a change of pace - so off we hopped to Harajuku, where outrageous fashion reigns supreme. We got there just in time to join Tokyo's hot young things on the sardine-packed main street. Oxford Street has nothing on this, not on Boxing Day, not ever. It was like the Great Flood in people form. Maddy and I joined the procession and watched people gradually filter away to join endless queues for cafes such as Sunday Jam (only open Sundays) and a place that appeared to sell nothing but popcorn. I had to drag Maddy kicking from that one. The clothes people wore were fantastic, especially the cosplay girls and Jack Sparrow. 

Ducking down a side street, we discovered a million Dangerfield-style boutiques. Window shopping happened until we stumbled across the heaving Takeshita Street, an arcade absolutely stuffed with people spruiking things with giant signs, party horns, animal masks, blue hair, shiny massive pigtails, pink puffy dresses and knee socks, all chanting away in high pitched voices. We fought our way back to the main street and passed a shop called Skin Food. Someone pointed out the free champagne on offer, and in the door I went. Meanwhile, Maddy found herself a green smoothie. We were both rather pleased with ourselves. 

Happy to have survived Harajuku, we walked down the street to Shibuya Crossing, that big neon intersection from Lost In Translation. Weaving our way Starbucksward, we were two of the estimated 2500 who start walking each time the green man pops up. We sat on the second level with a coffee and looked out over the flashing, blaring intersection. 

When we'd had enough, we caught a subway to Shinjuku and walked endless passageways to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Office building. We caught a lift to the 45th floor of the South Tower to look out over the city at sunset, then swapped to the North Tower once the city lights had sprung to life. Snowcapped Fuji propped up the horizon. 

Afterwards, over in Shinjuku East, we were easily persuaded to repeat our Kyoto karaoke experience, and had a crack at some Abba, Britney, Geri, Queen and Blondie: good times. Dinner was soup, then it was back to Shibuya Crossing for a nighttime viewing. It was exactly as Sofia Copolla would have you imagine. And then we lurched home and to bed. 

With Monday came the realization that we might have overdone it. I'd developed the sort of energy-sucking cold that makes cottonwool of your brain, and Maddy had come up in hives. Maybe all those people wearing masks had a point...

But we weren't about to let such things stop us! This was our final full day in Japan, after all. We dragged our sorry selves to Tsukiji Fish Market - no 5am tuna auctions to be had in winter - and found it pungent as promised. Boxes sprouted fish tails, and bright red tentacles oozed in crates. I bought up big on Christmas presents for the family, oh yes, I did. 

From fish to something fancier. We went upmarket to Ginza, home of Gucci, Chanel and all the usual suspects. Here we found shops selling everything from bonsai trees to 'bonbon fromage', little cheese sweets wreathed in all the finery that velvet and blaring classical music could bestow. Ginza is all about excess. It seems to have pinched little bits from all over Europe: Tudor frontage from England, department stores direct from Paris, and iron lampposts from Narnia. Having greatly enjoyed the stylistic oddities and bizarre window displays, Maddy and I took a lunch break at an Indian restaurant.

Stuffed full of vegetarian curry, we took the subway to Akihabara, electronics super centre of Tokyo. Almost immediately we found ourselves in a department store exploding with wall upon wall of computer cables, headphones, clocks, matchbox cars, non-Barbie Barbies, high-tech cameras, puzzles, unicycles... I bought a new iPhone cover from a standard electronics counter employee: male with white shirt, black-trimmed grey vest and hipster glasses. They've got the professional geek look sorted. Maurice Moss would fit right in. 

Both of us were lagging by this point, so we ducked home for a brief rest, during which I managed to drive a splinter right into my heel. Cue bonding times. While I lay on my stomach on the floor, Maddy did her best to dig the splinter out with my incredibly blunt eyebrow tweezers. Goodbye, remaining dignity. And then, because giving up is for lesser mortals, I forced Maddy to tourist through Ueno Park with me. It was pitch black and unappetizingly freezing. 

On the whole, Maddy and I were ideal travel companions. We liked to do and eat the same sorts of things; Maddy agreed to snap photos of me all day long; I occasionally stopped mocking Maddy's sweet potato obsession. We barely bickered. All in all, Maddy put up with me remarkably well. But our conversation on the way to Ueno Park exposed some minor cracks in Maddy's patience:

Maddy: Ugh, now my back is going.
Me: Where's it going?
Maddy: Up your face.

She loves me, really. 

Ueno Park was not fabulous. Its idea of a lake is apparently a watery field of bristly pond rush. There wasn't a lot to see in the dark. We quickly abandoned it in favour of Roppongi, home of the coolest light display since Hiroshima. There was a massive open space carpeted with twinkly blue lights and the occasional light-spangled arch. Behind this space were trees tangled in wires. Everything was set up to deliver an incredibly atmospheric light performance. We watched it several times from different angles: magic! We followed this up with dinner back in the Roppongi department store. Vietnamese noodle salad continued our little Tokyo game of avoiding rice for more than one meal a day. 

And then Tuesday barged in to end our trip. Ignoring my stupid cold, I went for a run in Ueno Park to see if it looked any better by daylight: not really. Maddy gave me her hives as a parting gift, so I shoved her on an airport-bound train with all due love and appreciation. (No wuckers!) As I had a later flight, I decided to make the most of my last few hours in Tokyo. Time for a trip to Nakano Broadway, home of the otaku (giant nerds). Nakano delivered everything I was looking for, namely shops selling manga, anime, figurines, cosplay costumes, video games, school uniforms, pop star paraphernalia, and more. I couldn't read anything in the manga section for obvious reasons, but I did find Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman in manga form which felt like a victory. 

I then decided to head back to Shibuya Crossing for one final glimpse of the Tokyo spectacle. Having spent my last 500 yen on a sushi triangle and coffee, I pulled up a seat on the second floor of Starbucks and people watched. The crossing offered plenty of entertainment. Buses drove by every so often, blasting the latest from the band plastered to their sides. A particularly memorable set of three women marched across the intersection in heels, miniature Santa hat fascinators and red-with-white-trim minidresses with three white fluffy bobbles down the front. Tokyo fashion is like following Alice through to Wonderland. Outfits that would get you ruthlessly mocked in Melbourne don't even earn a passing glance. Wearing pigtails, frilly pink princess dresses, white tights and pearly pink ballet slippers is not unusual and certainly not creative, hardly Claudia Kishi material.

I want to dress like these women. Two skirt lengths are acceptable: crotch-grazing mini or low calf. Makeup is key. Accessories are the key source of individual style. Each crossing contained tights and berets of all colours, bows galore, heels all round, maybe some fluffy earmuffs or a vastly unnecessary parasol, school girl bowties, fabulous hats... It was hard not to buy one of everything. 

With great difficulty, I dragged myself away and onto the JR train line. Finishing our trip with Tokyo gave us a broader vision of Japan, from glorious autumnal colours to futuristic cityscape. Tokyo easily makes it onto the list of my top five tourist destinations in Japan, along with Miyajima, Hiroshima Peace Park, Mount Koya and Fushimi Inari Shrine. There's no order of awesomeness. There's no point. If you're planning a trip to Japan, just do your best to get to each of the above, and you'll get my all-important nod of approval. 

Wherever you go, you'll find it impossible to get permanently lost due to the kindness of strangers, you'll be knocked over by natural beauty and fashion alike, and you'll eat stupid amounts of rice. It's been unbelievable. Time to put on some purple tights, find me a pair of lace bunny ears and hop continents. 

Kanazawa: If You Go Out In The Woods Today

Kanazawa is a 'choose your own adventure' kind of place. We apparently chose bears, lightning storms and ninjas. We also got some lovely festive snowfall. Most of it chucked down while we were out in the open. Jingle bells and let it snow, but thank goodness for 35 degree, backyard cricket Christmases.

Our hostel was closed when we reached it on Wednesday, so we passed some ramen time in a nearby cafe buried in beanshoots and mushrooms. After letting us in, our hostel host told us we could borrow gumboots from the tourist information centre. Good thing we took his advice. Having loaded up with supplies, we stepped out of the station only to be deafened by thunder and blinded by lightning. Every single woman in Kanazawa screamed. Hi there, said the outrageous thunderstorm that didn't let up until the morning we left. 

After a loud and flashy night, we got up, made omelettes, and climbed aboard the Hooville-style city loop bus. Despite the rain, we decided to tackle Kenrokuen Garden first. The garden was as striking as advertised, even in its winter state of flowerlessness and bare branches. Kanazawa's humidity famously requires the roping up of tree branches to protect them from the humid-heavy snow each winter. It's a great look. The trees all looked like umbrellas, or marionette puppets. 

When Maddy started in on how good the garden would look all blanketed in snow, someone upstairs agreed. The snow started pelting down immediately, thick and loud on our umbrellas. It didn't last too long and melted as soon as it hit the ground, but it was a nice, intensive touch of winter wonderland. 

We crossed the moat to Kanazawa Castle where a sign advertised free English tours of the castle and garden. The tour was fairly informative, especially on the subject of the castle's nail-avoiding construction techniques. However, things were cut short when our tour guide told us that we couldn't visit half the castle grounds because a bear had been sighted and was as yet on the loose. Maddy and I laughed nervously and fled without complaint. We took a lunch break back at the [safe, bear-free] station in a wonderful German-themed cafe, where I celebrated my complete Japanese cultural immersion with an apple danish. 

We then took the bus over to the Geisha quarter and visited Shima, a traditional tea house preserved in its heyday state. Its rich ambience was somewhat interrupted by the sound of tourists playing display instruments very badly. Rather than stay and sample the tea, we wandered back through the wooden buildings to wait for the bus. 

Next stop was Omi-Cho Market, in which we mistook the loads of splayed out crabs all shoved together for one giant monster crab. And then it was home time, back to our (comparatively) warm hostel where we congratulated ourselves for having braved the cold, rain and snow all day long. We had no idea what was coming. 

Friday the 13th: the day roared open, dark and thundery and split with lightening. It was really pissing down. Maddy and I cowered over our breakfast, eyeing the front door with straight up dread. I drank an extra cup of coffee for luck. Maddy really should have done the same; who knows, it might have stopped her umbrella splitting down the spine within a minute's distance from the front door. And then our knees would have been slightly less sodden by the time we got to the bus stop. Adventure!!

We had planned out the day Beijing-style: first a stint of touristing, then seek shelter in shops. It felt quite ambitious at the time, what with the furniture-throwing thunder. We got off the bus at Stop 13 (thematic) and swam to Myoryuji Temple, otherwise known as the Ninja Temple. Well, I say swam, but Maddy more or less breezed along, flirting it up with two Aussie tourists we'd dug up on the bus while I took care of the navigation business.

Of course, once we'd arrived at the temple, one of the boys mentioned their tour reservation. What tour reservation, Maddy and I asked. The one we had completely failed to arrange at the tourist office. Luckily, after complex intercom negotiations, we got ourselves on the 12pm tour and swapped the frigid cold outside for the frigid cold within. The tour started in a big room with a partitioned place of worship. It was entirely in Japanese despite the fact that the tour group was 100% linguistically inept Australian. Good thing they had little tour info folders for us, really.

We got to see loads of the traps installed in the temple, which, we soon learned, wasn't actually for ninjas, but for samurai soldiers enlisted to protect Kanazawa Castle. There's rumored to be a secret passageway linking the temple to the castle set three metres above water level in the temple's well. You'd think some uni students back in the castle campus era might have tried testing this out, but there you are. We were shown stairs that allowed the watcher to see spearable foot shadows, and a pair of doors which cleverly opened to the outdoors on one side and to a concealed hiding space on the other. There was a room for samurai containing multiple hidden exits to aid surprise attacks, and a grim little room lined with four tatami mats for the commander's personal belly-stabbing use in the event of defeat. The door to this room was one-way; once closed, it couldn't be opened from the inside. 

Another interesting fact about the Ninja Temple is that, while appearing to stand at the regulation two storeys, tricky design gave it a whopping seven floors. The top two of these were gloriously heated. This made it harder to leave, and when they booted us into the cold, Maddy and I hurtled through the sleet in search of shelter. Cafe lattes saved my life in Kanazawa. We spent the remainder of our afternoon in Starbucks, then Uniqlo, then in the wrong queue at the train ticket centre, then in the right queue, then finally, finally home. Twelve mugs of tea later we had almost defrosted. 

We got up on Saturday morning and could only shake our fists at the utter lack of rain. Still, it meant we arrived at the station as undraggled as ever, ready to take on the final destination in our tour of Japan: Tokyo. 

Kyoto: Take My Hand And We'll Make It I Swear

Kyoto was hard work. We got lost every time we set foot outside our hostel. True to form, we also got lost before we'd even made it in. A pair of concerned locals spent twenty minutes examining our map before pointing a doubtful finger up the road. When the locals don't recognise the name of a street a whole five minutes walk away, you know you're in for a fun ride. 

Navigationally crippled, we made the most of our small triumphs - like successfully eating salad with chopsticks, nutting out the bus network, and shaking off camera-wielding school kids. These cheeky buggers seem willing to do almost anything to trick their way into a photo with a foreigner. But as long as it stayed school kids, it was okay. As for the older gentleman on the street... Britney Spears, pass the umbrella?

Working out the bus routes was an essential step for two little tourists in a big city. Kyoto is massive. It's also not that attractive. Outside of its parks and shrines, Kyoto is as concrete and grey as your next city. But those parks and shrines aren't bad at all, as Maddy and I discovered in Gion. You could tell it was prime geisha territory by the number of tourists posing for photos in hired costumes. We fortified ourselves with lunch in Maruyama Park near the first of a million iconic white stone bridges. Note autumn leaf overlay. Note ducks in placid pond. All the postcard pictures are true.

Something which should be noted by prospective tourists is that the temples in Kyoto appear to have been placed under a Muggle-repellant charm. This means that your map will shamelessly and repeatedly lie to you, and temples will disappear and reappear at will on roads you swear you've already taken. Despite this, Maddy and I managed to stumble upon Chion-In and its very lovely garden. It also sported a hugeish bell and a thousand steps so tall that we felt we'd shrunk. 

After wandering through a couple of the lantern-strung streets of Gion, we found ourselves back in the labyrinth. Up and up we went, elbows well-exercised by the swarms of fellow tourists, until at last we emerged at the foot of impressive temple number two, Kiyomizudera. I celebrated with a grey-coloured sesame and honey ice cream.

With Thursday came Nishikikoji Food Market - massive veggies, fish upon fish upon fish, placenta face cream - and Arashiyama, home of the famous bamboo walk that's featured in every guidebook. I was pretty underwhelmed on first entering the path until suddenly the light dimmed, the air cooled, the sound died, and all around were giant shoots of bamboo. It was like an alien forest, or the giant green head of a toothbrush. I'd never thought much on the existence of bamboo leaves until I saw the high-reaching foliage clusters overhead. 

We then bought tickets to enter the garden of a silent film era celebrity (a rip off, frankly) and saw a couple of temples before heading back into the city. Not sure Arashiyama is worthy of a visit unless you've got a bit of time to spare in Kyoto, or if you're massively into bamboo. 

On Friday we caught a train to Nara, a town described by Lonely Planet as being one of the most rewarding destinations in Japan. While I enjoyed the beautiful park in all its orange, red and yellow-leaved finery, it didn't overwhelm me with reward so much as deer. The clear highlight of Nara was the giant Buddha we found in Todaji Temple. The temple itself is the biggest wooden structure in the world, yet presently stands at two thirds of its original size. Most ancient temples in Japan seem to have been burned to the ground at one point or other, and rebuilt in the 17th century. Anyway, the Great Buddha was humongous and undoubtedly deserving of his 1200 sacred deer prowling the perimeters of the park. 

How we laughed at the signs warning of deer attacks. Deer may bite, kick, butt or knock you down, they said. Do not feed the deer, they said. There were as many stalls selling deer biscuits as there were signs. We watched one school boy feed a biscuit to a deer from his mouth. We watched another deer inhale some poor woman's map rather than the biscuit in her other hand. Stupid tourists, we said. 

Shaking our heads, we retired to a park bench and got stuck into lunch until I looked up and saw a single deer approach. This deer was joined by a second, and then another, and in the space of fifteen seconds we were surrounded. Two of the deer started butting the others away and snorting fiercely. One approached us from behind. Hitchcock's birds had nothing on this. We fled, for real, bags swinging and food held high in the air. 

Saturday was declared a deer-free day. Kinkaku-ji temple was our first order of business, being the renowned Golden Pavilion of Kyoto. I'd pictured something much gaudier than what we found. Kinkaku-ji is beautiful, a whole lot of gold foil put to good use, and the reflected sheen on the surrounding lake is really something to see. 

A little further down the road we hit upon Ryoan-ji, temple of extensive autumn garden and hugely famous rock garden: lots of raked pebbles studded with a rock every now and then. The other tourists really seemed to get into it. 

And then we found the highlight of Kyoto: Fushimi Inari-Taisha shrine. We had to take the train a couple of stops out of the city to get close and personal with Mount Inari. Alighting from the train, we walked through a big red torii gate as per usual. And then we walked through another. And suddenly torii gates exploded out of everywhere like the self-replicating cards at the end of Solitaire. We must have walked through hundreds on hundreds of torii as we climbed the stairs up the mountain. There's about a half-day's hike worth of the gates up and around that mountain, but the fading light and Maddy's feet suggested we should leave that for a future trip to Japan. 

We rounded off our Saturday with karaoke at Jun-Kara, a chain of karaoke bars with a mad happy face logo and plastic chandeliers. We really should have planned a song list during our forty minute wait, but instead we rocked up to our private room, realized we had no idea how to use the machine, grabbed a poor unsuspecting member of staff and got the help/drinks we required. And from there it was all 'say my name, sun shines through the rain' and 'won't somebody help me chase the shadows away'.

Sunday was all about Himeji Castle. We took a train out of Kyoto and arrived in Himeji to the sight of the magnificent castle. It was sketched on the side of a giant banner covering the actual building. Hurray for renovations. Once inside the castle, things started looking a lot better. Himeji is one of the oldest and most intact of Japan's castles, and importantly bears strong resemblance to Minas Tirith. It wasn't hard to imagine Denethor flinging himself from the side of various wing-edged towers. 

We had a particularly interesting dining experience on Sunday night when we found a teppanyaki place and watched our food get cooked in front of us. We later realized that we ourselves were being watched by our neighbours. There was a lot of 'where are you from' and 'you use chopsticks wrong' and 'hold like this, like this!' And then there was the man who wanted to shake hands, but didn't seem to know what this was meant to involve. Both my hand and lower arm got a lengthy sort of squeeze out of it. But it was all right in the end; they bought us okonomiyaki. Free food!

On Monday we visited Kinkakuji's silver counterpart, Ginkakuji, which turned out not to be silver at all. Apparently there were grand silvery intentions for the building somewhere along the way, which presumably hit certain economic hurdles. It's still quite a good-looking temple for all its non-silveriness, and comes equipped with another of those lovely bridge-fountain-moss-red leafed gardens. 

Nonetheless, I felt the need to console myself with a green tea ice cream (yuck) and a pleasant stroll down the Path of Philosophy, which sprouts temples every few metres. Ryuan-ji had been recommended to us so we stopped for a brief sticky at its magical fairyland garden. It had the requisite bridge and moss and leaves and such, but added a splash of Enchanted Woods. All the goblins live there. It was the Rainbow Fish of Kyoto gardens. 

Next stop was the Imperial Park and Palace, though our plans were thwarted at the Palace door by an unfriendly permit-demanding sign. (Note to future visitors: grab your passport and head to the info centre early to get said permit and join an English tour.) The actual park was huge and leafy so we took a good long wander before making our way to Pontocho. This narrow little street is parked beside a river near the Gion district, and is lined with high calibre restaurants. We marked one out for dinner and filled time by walking along the riverbank. Dinner was an incredible tuna steak grilled with sesame, an eggplant and shrimp dish, and tempura, all of it eaten with a fabulous river view. Lovely. Right up until the moment the food poisoning hit me.

Our day trip to Osaka on Tuesday got off to a bit of a late start (curse you, tempura!) but we were go go go from the moment we leapt from the train. With a $20 day pass (all attractions plus subway) in our hands, we headed straight for Osaka Castle. It has one hell of a moat. You could keep an aquarium's worth of laser-sharks in there. Even Maddy was impressed. The castle gates contained extremely massive stones, which we later learned were only a few centimetres thick. Not so fortified then. 

The castle made a striking sight, blowing Himeji's decorative curtain out of the water, and the museum housed within was filled with interesting historical notes. Tapestries depicting brutal summer and winter sieges were explained in gory detail. Most of the people involved seemed to wind up killing themselves. Sucks to be on the losing team. 

Our next stop was Tsutenkaku, an iconic observation tower and some sort of museum of the bizarre and freakish. Maddy and I didn't understand what was going on. Was it a casino? Pocky stick world? A WWF museum? Whatever it was, all the Japanese visitors seemed to be having a great time. We admired the views, exchanged hunted glances, and then battled our way through the endless maze of gift shops to the exit. 

We thought the giant ferris wheel in Osaka's Bay Area would make a safe next stop, but we arrived to find it closed due to strong wind. This strong wind was doing its best to freeze our toes off. With a final burst of energy, we decided to hunt down the super modern Floating Garden observation deck back near the central train station. It was an extremely sci-fi sort of experience. 

After taking an elevator to the fortieth floor, we stepped into what was essentially a giant disc suspended between two silver towers, about where Sauron's eye would be. There, we wrote a wish on a star and stuck it to the side of the building as instructed, and headed up a final few floors to the outdoor level of the observatory. The ground sparkled with multicolored lights - we think this was the garden aspect - and Osaka sprawled out in all its sparkly lit-up glory around us. It was beautiful, and freezing. Maddy and I got a photo taken in a particularly romantic location which I later discovered was reserved for lovers. Suddenly the comments of 'oh you're with someone' and 'so cute!' made a lot more sense. 

Still less awkward than when the Stansted customs lady asked if Michael and I were married. Overall, a fantastic way to end our visit to Osaka and our stay in Kyoto. 

Hiroshima: A Thousand Paper Cranes and One Floating Gate

Before going there, the word 'Hiroshima' didn't make me think of a city so much as a bomb. 6th August 1945: the US drops the atomic bomb on Hiroshima; about 70,000 die instantly; the city is obliterated; Japan (slightly later) surrenders; WWII ends, hurrah. As you might expect, being on site and hearing personal accounts of surviving the bomb slightly overwhelmed traditional history lessons. The Peace Memorial Park and Museum are dedicated to promoting a message of nuclear abolition. Their most persuasive exhibits: before-and-after dioramas of the city, and whole scalps of children's hair.

At the front of the park we found the Atomic Bomb Dome. It makes for a confronting introduction. Apart from this charred half-building, everything near the bomb's focal point was flattened. The city decided to preserve the dome as a memorial to the 140,000 who died on impact or from radiation poisoning. Beneath the skeletal dome itself is an iron staircase that's been warped into something Dali would be proud of. A bunch of splitting nuclei did that. And if this is the building that survived the bomb, imagine...

We crossed a bridge into the park itself and found ourselves at the foot of the Children's Peace Monument. In primary school, I remember reading a picture book about the sick little girl who folded 1000 paper cranes in the hope it would help her get better. The statue was dedicated to this girl, Sadako Sasaki, who was two years old when the bomb dropped on Hiroshima, and who died of radiation poisoning about a decade later. She symbolizes the innocent victims of war, and her statue is surrounded by about a billion origami paper cranes. 

The Peace Memorial Museum was outstanding, one of those places that almost justifies a trip to Japan all by itself. It's divided into historical, anecdotal and scientific sections, united by an overriding anti-nuke theme. It'll cost you 50 cents, several hours and tissues by the box. 

The historical section contained some interesting and highly disturbing information I hadn't heard before, such as: (1) conventional bombing was banned in Hiroshima and three other potential target cities pre-August 1945 so the atomic bomb's effects could be most accurately witnessed; (2) Japan was selected for the bomb as 'they would not be so apt to secure knowledge from it as would the Germans'; and (3) the US decided to try ending the war with the bomb rather than asking the Soviet Union to join the war against Japan as this would restrict Soviet influence post war and (wait for it) domestically justify the tremendous cost of the bomb's development. Well, I suppose that third point should have been obvious, but. 

The next section of the museum was the most upsetting by far. Our audio guides recited story after story of parents searching for their children, ending in the discovery of some scraps of clothing, or a lunch box filled with ash, or a curled up body on the street. These stories were accompanied by exhibits, displaying everything from dropped-off fingernails to shoes with a footprint burned in, to wax figures with melting skin like something from a dodgy horror movie. Another nightmarish exhibit was a set of marble stairs imprinted with the shadow of a man. While the surrounding area was bleached by the extreme light released on detonation, the place where the man had been sitting kept its original colour. Before being confronted with this sort of evidence, I'd never fully thought through the immediate physical consequences of the bomb.

Bleak bleak bleak. We left the museum more than a little downcast and walked through the rest of the beautiful park, pausing to ring the Peace Bell. But the tone of our evening changed entirely when we discovered the gaudiest lights display imaginable on Peace Boulevard. It's called Dreamination, it's an annual winter festival, and it must make up a full half of Hiroshima's energy bill. We got a bit excited, but who could blame us? There were hot air balloons, a unicorn Pegasus, dragons, a pirate ship plus whale, a Cinderella pumpkin carriage and giant shoe, snowflakes, several bunny rabbits, love seats galore and two tunnels, all made up of multicoloured strings of lights. 

We followed this up with a Hiroshima specialty: okonomiyaki. On the strength of a passerby's directions,  we found ourselves in a food court serving one thing and one thing only: a sort of fried omelette sandwich containing bean shoots and cabbage and various other bits and pieces. Ours were cooked on a wrap-around stove counter right in front of us. Using chopsticks to eat the okonomiyaki was a challenge, to say the least. A delicious challenge. 

The next day we took a train and ferry to Miyajima, the Shrine Island in Hiroshima Bay. The shrine part refers to its famous and heritage-listed Itsukushima shrine, first erected in the 6th century. But forget the shrine for a moment; the most exciting part of the island, and another key reason to visit Japan, is the shrine's floating torii gate. Bright red, mesmeric, magical. Not actually floating, but lodged in the sand at a distance from the shore that's walkable at low tide. At all other times, the gate appears to float directly in front of the shrine. Photos don't do it justice. But I took about a thousand just in case. 

Rather than head straight to the torii, Maddy and I got off the ferry and embarked on a nature walk up the side of a mountain. It was all about the autumn colours, good views and deer. Good grief, the deer. Clearly used to being fattened up by tourists, they fixed us with their beady eyes and followed us up the path. And then we saw one gnawing on a bone. That's when we decided to actively avoid all future deer. Especially since it's forbidden to die (or give birth) on Miyajima. 

There were five-tiered pagodas and endless temples and a couple of parks bristling with suspect deer, and then there was the floating gate. We wandered through the lantern-studded corridors of the ancient shrine itself, but honestly, the highlight was its view of the torii.

And that was Hiroshima: a draining, unforgettable couple of days. Oh, and our lovely lovely hostel gave me a replacement power plug converter that some stupid Australian had left behind. Cliffhanger resolved!