Category: Adventures Abroad

Miya Jima is a small island across the bay from Hiroshima. It is the site of Itsukushima Shrine, one of the most famous in Japan, and a place of spectacular beauty.

One reaches Miya Jima by taking a ferry from Hiroshima harbor. The trip takes less than half an hour and is worth going on in itself.

Leaving the dock at Hiroshima on the ferry to Miyajima

Cruise boat in Hiroshima Bay with amusement park ferris wheel in background.

View of Hiroshima from ferry en route to Miya Jima.

Aboard the ferry en route to Miya Jima. Although the vessel clearly had the capability to carry cars, there were none on board.

The ferryboats carrying people to Miya Jima were very cute.

The ferryboat dock at Miya Jima, with a boat departing from it.

Itsukushima Shrine is most famous for its “floating torii,” the red-orange gate built a few feet off the shore which at high tide appears to be floating in the water. At low tide, one can see the base anchored in the mud of the sea bottom. The buildings of the shrine itself extend over the water, constructed on piles driven into the sea bottom. I would guess that in a few years their interiors will be flooded by rising sea levels. The torii and the shrine proper present a striking appearance as one approaches the shore and are equally stunning as seen from the shore itself.

At the water’s edge near the shrine, I encountered sika deer being fed by local women. As in Nara, the deer are considered sacred – indeed, so is the entire island, and everything on it. For example, trees are sacred and may not be cut down.

The island is also part of Setonaikai National Park, the largest national park in Japan, a huge area which encompasses 3,000 islands and the waters around them.

The floating torii of Itsukushima Shrine leaps up out of the water as you approach the shore.

In the center the Toyokuni 5-story pagoda is seen, flanked by Senjokaku Pavilion on right. The latter dates from the 16th century, the pagoda from 1407.

It's hard not to overdo it by taking a tiresome number of pictures of the floating torii, and I have to confess that I failed abysmally.

Again the Toyokuni 5-story pagoda and Senjakaku Pavilion, built by Hideyoshi Toyotomi, second great unifier of Japan, contemporary of Philip II of Spain and would-be conqueror of Korea, in the 16th century.

Floating Torii at High Tide

The Itsukushima Floating Torii at low tide.

The deer at Itsukushima Shrine are considered sacred, as messengers of the gods. They are quite tame.

Itsukushima Shrine at low tide.

The beach at Miya Jima is a pleasant place to relax and take in the view of Hiroshima Bay.

Like many of the islands of Japan, Miya Jima rises abruptly out of the sea; the highest peak, Mount Mizen, soars to 535 meters (1755 feet).

Hikers trudge along the beach near the Floating Torii.

The front porches of some of the shrine buildings are built for access by boaters.

Aki no Miyajima is one name for the Itsukushima Shrine. Here we see the porches built over the water.

Scene from the Kangensai (festival) of Itsukushima Shrine.

The Kangensai Festival features demons who dismember the attendees. Fortunately, I did not attend the festival, which is held in June.

The shrine buildings extend over the water and are supported on pilings driven into the sea bottom.

I was gone by sunset, so I couldn't have taken this picture, which was shot by a true professional and serves as a fitting farewell to Miya Jima.

After touring the shrine, I wandered about the paths of the lower island for a while before taking the sacred cable car to the top of the sacred mountain, Mt. Mizen. Early on I encountered a colorful statue out of a comic book, looking somewhat like a pirate, who appeared to be directing traffic or, more likely, telling cars to turn around and go home. I never found out who this figure was supposed to represent, but he was a welcome relief from the general solemnity of the shrines.

Shortly afterward I came across Toyokuni Shrine with its striking red five-story pagoda, built in 1407, which I had glimpsed earlier from the ferry. It stands near the Senjokaku Pavilion, the largest building on Miyajima; its name means “Thousand-tatami pavilion.” Its construction was initiated by Hideyoshi Toyotomi (the “Taiko” Nakamura of Clavell’s novel Shogun) in 1598 as a place for chanting Buddhist sutras for Japanese warriors killed in battle in his many campaigns. Hideyoshi was the second great unifier of Japan at the end of the chaotic Sengoku Jidai period of the 16th century; he was a talented general of peasant origin who quickly put down the rebellion of Akechi Mitsuhide, assassin of Oda Nobunaga, and in short order repeated Nobunaga’s achievement in bringing the powerful warlords, the daimyo, to heel. Then, in 1592, to keep the daimyo occupied and glorify himself, he undertook an invasion of Korea, conceived as a first step toward the conquest of Ming China and then of all East Asia, if not the world. After spectacular initial successes, the invasion was frustrated first by the decrepit but still functioning Ming government, which dispatched a relief army to the aid of the Koreans; and finally by the Korean navy, under Admiral Yi Sun-sin, which eventually destroyed the Japanese fleet, leaving the Japanese army stranded and unable to resupply itself. When Hideyoshi died in 1598, the regents who first took over from him ended the Korean adventure and discontinued work on the Senjokaku Pavilion, which was also left unfinished by the succeeding Tokugawa Shogunate. In 1872, following the Meiji Restoration, the Senjokaku was converted to a Shinto shrine and rededicated to the memory of Hideyoshi.

Near the 5-story pagoda and the Senjokaku Pavilion stands a small but elegant Shinto shrine, the name of which I never found out.

While wandering amidst peaceful rustic lanes teeming with cherry blossoms, I stumbled into beautiful Momojidani Park, famed for its more than 200 maple trees of several different species. In autumn, when the maple leaves turn red, yellow and orange, the park presents a riot of color. It is a mecca for picnickers and also has one of the loveliest bridges in Japan.

Strolling on a rustic lane of Miya Jima, amidst the cherry blossoms.

Pirate directing traffic on Miya Jima, or maybe just telling the cars to go away. I never found out who the figure was supposed to represent.

Small Shinto shrine near Senjokaku Pavilion.

Toyokuni Shrine 5-story pagoda, framed by cherry blossoms; Senjokaku Pavilion at right.

Five-Storied Pagoda at Itsukushima Shrine, Miya Jima

Cherry blossoms on one of the hiking trails on Mount Misen, Miyajima, Japan

Picnickers in Momojidani Park, Miyajima. The park is famous for the profusion and variety of its maples.

Bridge in Momijidani Park. Said to be even more beautiful in autumn, when the maple leaves turn red.

From Momojidani Park it was a hop, skip and a jump to the cable car terminus at the base of Mt. Mizen. (They call the cable car a “ropeway,” but the ropes are of course steel cables.) It has two stops, one halfway up the mountain and another near the top. I got off at the first terminal and took a stroll along the paths there, before continuing on to the upper terminal.

Cherry blossoms obscure the view from a lane near the halfway cable car station on Mt. Mizen.

View of Hiroshima Bay from the cable car station at the halfway point.

Riding up the Miyajima "ropeway" (cable car) to the top of Mt. Mizen, 535 meters (1755 feet) high.

View of Miyajima and Hiroshima Bay from the cable car gondola near the top of Mt. Mizen.

The upper ropeway (cable car) station near the summit of Mount Mizen, as seen from the cable car.

Passing another gondola as mine approaches the upper terminus near the top of the mountain.

The observation deck at the top of Mt. Mizen affords breathtaking views of Hiroshima Bay and the Inland Sea.

View across the bay toward Hiroshima City from Mount Misen Observatory.

Islands in Hiroshima Bay, seen from summit of Mt. Misen

View of islands in Hiroshima Bay from the summit of Mt. Misen.

Another view of Hiroshima Bay from the slopes of Mt. Mizen.

The slopes of Mt. Mizen, with the Inland Sea and coast of Honshu in the background.

The pines on the summit of Mt. Mizen, with Hiroshima Bay in the background.

Islands in the Inland Sea, as seen from Mt. Mizen. This scene reminded me of the islands in the rock garden of Ryoanji.

Another view of the islands in the Inland Sea, framed by the pines on Mt. Mizen.

I wandered around the paths near the summit of Mt. Mizen for a while. This was the area that the sacred monkeys – Japanese macaques – were said to frequent, and indeed there were signs posted cautioning visitors to be wary of them, not to feed them, not to approach them, and even to avoid looking them in they eye – apparently they tended to regard that as a challenge. I had no problems; the few monkeys I saw were not interested in me or much concerned about my presence, and went about their business as if I were not there. However, Dave Winter said it was much different when he was there; wherever he went, the monkeys were lurking and they always looked him in the eye – he couldn’t avoid it. Maybe it had something to do with the season or phase of the moon. I have since read, however, that in 2010 the authorities decided to round up and deport the monkeys from Mt. Mizen, Stalinist-style, without asking them their preference, and transplant them to the Japan Monkey Center in Aichi Prefecture, near Nagoya. Actually, there was some justification for this, because it has since been determined that the monkeys had been watching Planet of the Apes and had thereby been inspired to plot the overthrow and subjugation of humans. Unfortunately, evicting the macaques from Mt. Mizen did not succeed in foiling their schemes; more recently, in Yamaguchi, a city down the coast from Hiroshima, a serious of ominous attacks on humans by macaques has taken place. Should anyone be unduly perplexed by this, I would like to point out that monkeys are primates, closely akin to humans, and share many of the vices and foibles of that species, including a penchant for violence. Also, one may speculate that the radiation released by the atomic bomb in 1945 quite likely could be responsible for many mutations among the fauna of southern Honshu, including the macaques, who may have had their evolution thus accelerated to develop more advanced intelligence, and used it to conclude that maybe they should get rid of humans before humans exterminate all other primates as well as themselves.

Sacred monkey grubbing around for his dinner on Mt. Mizen. Or perhaps he was planting explosives in preparation for the Planet of the Apes Revolt.

Sacred monkeys on Mt. Misen, Miya Jima. I understand that they have now been expelled from the island as a menace to tourists. They didn't bother me at all.

A sacred monkey expressing its opinion of me, atop Mt. Mizen on Miya Jima.

View across the bay toward Hiroshima City from Mount Mizen Observatory.

Returning down the mountain on the sacred cable car.

I returned to Tokyo the next day aboard the super-fast Nozomi Shinkansen. While waiting at Hiroshima Station to depart, I shot a few pictures of the train in the terminal before boarding the train. To my surprise, there was someone asleep in the seat that my ticket assigned to me. I felt reluctant to wake him up and ask him to move, but fortunately just at that moment someone came up and asked me, “Can I help you?” This was a frequent occurrence in train and metro stations in Japan – people were extremely helpful and liked to practice their English – and I explained the problem, showing him my ticket with its seat assignment. He looked at it and said, “Oh, this is the Hikari. You want the Nozomi!” He thereby saved me from an embarrassing mistake – otherwise I might have found myself several hundred miles up the line on the wrong train, going to the wrong place.

The Nozomi sped me back to Tokyo at 180 miles per hour, covering the 821 km/513 miles in about five hours (stopping in Kyoto). I was able to shoot a few pictures from the train windows – mostly rather boring scenes of Honshu farmland, but at least I was able to verify that there are open spaces in Japan. Unfortunately I fell asleep and missed a great shot of Mt. Fuji, waking just in time to see it go by but too late to grab my camera and set it up for the picture before it disappeared from view.

I am quite disappointed that high-speed trains of the Shinkansen type have not caught on in the USA. Long-distance travel in the United States is far too dependent on airlines, which seem to be getting more crowded, expensive and unpleasant with each passing year. The high-speed trains I have taken in Japan and Europe are far more pleasant and comfortable to ride than any airplanes I’ve been on. It’s obvious that the vast distances of the North American continent limit the applicability of train travel to the longest trips, such as coast-to-coast. Yet for short and medium distances, such as LA to Las Vegas or San Francisco, trains would seem to be a far better choice than airplanes. Yet the California high-speed rail project, which was projected to enable travel from LA to San Francisco in 3 hours, has so far taken 14 years and $5 billion to lay tracks to…nowhere. Originally projected for completion in 2020, it’s now estimated to be on-line by 2030, but only from Merced to Bakersfield. More ambitious plans for a nationwide high-speed train network during the Obama administration foundered on a combination of inexperience, mismanagement and political opposition. Critics never tire of pointing out that the countries where high-speed rail has been successful generally have more centralized or authoritarian governments than the US, where the competing jurisdictions of federal, state and local governments, in addition to the cost of purchasing land from private owners, drives the cost of building high-speed railways to astronomical levels and dictates that rail travel will always be uneconomical compared with automobile and air. I don’t buy this. Autos and airplanes are currently dependent on fossil fuels, which are obsolescent and must be eliminated as a major energy source if humans are to survive on this planet. Even if electric cars and trucks replace gasoline and diesel-fueled vehicles, and hydrogen becomes a viable fuel for airplanes, trains make more sense in lots of ways.

Boarding the Shinkansen at Hiroshima Station.

Passengers waiting for the Shinkansen in Hiroshima Station

Seating on the Nozomi was asymmetric - three seats on one side, two on the other.

Honshu farmland, seen from the Shinkansen en route from Hiroshima to Tokyo

View of Honshu farmland from the Shinkansen.

Honshu farmland, seen from the Shinkansen en route from Hiroshima to Tokyo

Honshu farmland, seen from the Shinkansen en route from Hiroshima to Tokyo

As a historian, an American and a citizen of the world, I felt an obligation to visit Hiroshima. I wanted to deepen my understanding of what had happened on the terrible day of August 6, 1945, and to pay homage to the thousands who died there as well as the survivors who continued to suffer from the effects of nuclear radiation and social discrimination. And I wanted to see how the city had recovered from the ghastly catastrophe inflicted on it.

I arrived in Hiroshima on the Shinkansen on a sunny April day and immediately found my ryokan, which was a short walk away. It was a very plain, unremarkable room, tucked away in a high-rise building, sort of a cross between a hotel and a traditional ryokan – the only traditional aspect I remember was that the floor was covered with tatami rather than rugs. I have no need for luxurious hotels in any case and I found it quite comfortable for the two nights I was there.

I had a memorable dinner in a tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant near the hotel. It was a bar-and-grill type of place where you sit at on stools at the bar and the food is cooked right in front of you. The specialty of the house was oekenomiyaki, a type of pancake featuring all sorts of ingredients cooked together in a delicious melange. The oekenomiyaki were exceptionally tasty as well as inexpensive, and I downed them with beers, none of which I paid for; as soon as the other patrons noticed a gaijin in the bar they started buying me beers and continued to do so for the rest of the evening. I felt honored beyond measure and I’ll always be grateful for the hospitality and good feelings accorded to me in Hiroshima.

Next morning I began my explorations at the Genbaku (Atomic Bomb) Dome, aka the Hiroshima Peace Memorial. Prior to August 6, 1945 it was known as the Hiroshima-ken Sangyo Shoreikan, the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotional Hall, built in 1914. Since then it has been preserved in a state as close as possible to its condition immediately after the bombing: a ruined skeleton. The intent was to preserve it as an overwhelmingly powerful symbol of the destructive power of which humans are capable, but also as an expression of hope for peace and the ultimate elimination of nuclear weapons (and, I would add, of all weapons of war) from the world.  

The Industrial Promotional Hall was neither the intended target nor the actual ground zero of the atomic bomb. The intended target was the Aioi Bridge over the Ota/Motoyasu River, a few hundred feet away. The actual hypocenter was the Shima Surgical Clinic 800 feet to the east of the bridge and 490 feet east of the Industrial Promotional Hall. The bomb did not actually hit anything because it exploded 1,900 feet in the air over the hypocenter, but the blast leveled almost 70 percent of the buildings in Hiroshima and killed about 80,000 people, 30% of the city’s population. The Little Boy fission bomb dropped on Hiroshima was a primitive weapon by today’s standards, since only 1.7% of the fissionable material aetually ignited, a fact which would have been of little consolation to its victims. I mention this only to underline the apocalyptic nature of nuclear warfare and to reinforce the case for not engaging in it.

Genbaku Dome - formerly the Hiroshima Industrial Promotional Hall, now the Hiroshima Peace Memorial

Genbaku Dome - formerly the Hiroshima Industrial Promotional Hall, now the Hiroshima Peace Memorial

Genbaku Dome - as seen from Peace Memorial Park on the other side of Motoyasu River

Genbaku Dome, alongside Motoyama River

Aioi Bridge, original target of the atomic bomb, which missed and detonated over nearby Shima Surgical Clinic.

Shopping mall near the hypocenter of the atomic blast. The Shima Surgical Clinic was somewhere on the land now occupied by this mall.

Whenever I saw happy schoolchildren like those in the following pictures I could not help thinking about other schoolchildren who perished on August 6 in Hiroshima and on August 9 in Nagasaki. I’d rather it didn’t happen again.

Japanese school children visiting a park

Schoolgirls feeding pigeons, Hiroshima, Japan

Schoolgirls feeding pigeons

But the nuclear attacks weren’t really much different in their effect from the holocaust that occurred in the firebombing of other Japanese cities – such as Tokyo, where on March 9-10, 1945, the single most destructive air raid in human history resulted in the deaths of over 100,000 civilians. Such horrors might be considered just retribution for the Japanese invasion of China, during which millions of Chinese civilians and soldiers perished. But that leads into a long chain of cause and effect which involves the impact of 19th-century Western imperialism in East Asia and elsewhere, and I’m not going there. The point here, the lesson of Hiroshima, is that this madness has to stop. Nations have to learn to cooperate rather than destroy one another. Otherwise there is no future for humanity on this planet. Are you listening, Vladimir Putin?

The Hiroshima Peace Park, located on an island across the river from the Genbaku Dome, reinforces this message. It contains a museum and a number of monuments. Near the entrance of the museum is a clock with the hands frozen at 8:15, the time the atomic bomb went off.  The exhibits and information include coverage of events leading to the war, Hiroshima’s role in the war, and of course the bombing and its effects. 

In the center of the park is a cenotaph – an empty tomb commemorating people whose remains are buried elsewhere – honoring the victims of the bomb, whose names are recorded there. A concrete arch, representing a shelter for the souls of the victims, covers the cenotaph. There is a second cenotaph in the park for Korean victims of the bomb; there were some thousands of Koreans working as co-opted laborers in Hiroshima at the time of the bombing.

In front of the cenotaph there is also a Flame of Peace, ignited in 1964; it is supposed to continue burning until all nuclear weapons have been eliminated from the world.

There is also a Peace Bell, located in a gazebo in the park. Although it was donated by the Greek embassy, it is a Japanese-style bell cast in Japan. On it are inscriptions in Greek, Japanese and Sanskrit. Visitors are encouraged to ring it, which they do often.

The most poignant monument in the park is the Genbaku no Ko no Zō, the Children’s Peace Monument, built in 1958 with funds donated by Japanese school children. It commemorates all the children who perished from the atomic bomb, but especially Sadako Sasaki, a girl who was two years old when the bomb struck, and later died of leukemia contracted as a result of radiation exposure. Before she died in 1955, she undertook a project of folding a thousand origami paper cranes (senbazuru). In Japanese legend, the crane is a magical bird, living for a thousand years, and a person who folds one thousand origami cranes in a year will be granted a wish by the gods (in some versions of the legend, long life or eternal bliss). There is some uncertainty about whether Sadako completed the project before she died—family members say she did—but in any case she passed away at the age of 12, and the Children’s Peace Monument honors her memory. A statue of Sadako stands on top of the monument, holding a wire crane above her head. From the ceiling of the gazebo-like monument structure hang sheafs of paper cranes on strings, contributed by children from all over Japan and from around the world, and continually replenished as they succumb to the weather, and thousands more are stored in glass boxes around the monument.

Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, with Hiroshima Victims Memorial Cenotaph and Flame of Peace in front

Another view of Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum

Hiroshima Victims Memorial Cenotaph, with Flame of Peace and Genbaku Dome in background

Peace Fountain in front of Peace Memorial Museum

Prayer for Peace Bell, Peace Memorial Park

Flame of Peace in Peace Memorial Park, Hiroshima

Monument to School Teacher and Child Victims of the Atomic Bomb, Peace Memorial Park

Children's Peace Monument, Peace Memorial Park

Paper cranes at base of Children's Peace Memorial. The crane is a symbol of peace.

While the Genbaku dome and Peace Park in themselves provide sufficient reasons for going to Hiroshima, there are other incentives also. Not the least important is the island of Miya Jima, across the bay from Hiroshima, but I am giving it a page of its own, so I’ll end this page with a few scenes from around the city. Some of these, representing views I was not able to see or photograph in person, are taken from photos I did not take personally but acquired by other means. Unfortunately I’m unable to give proper credit to the sources as I no longer have the originals from which the pictures were digitized.

Hiroshima-eki - tram stop in front of the railway station. Trams (streetcars) were the main mode I used to get around in Hiroshima.

Most urban-dwellers in Japan live in apartment buildings, though not all of them are as massive or anonymous as this one.

Hiroshima city streets from my hotel room.

Hydrofoil boat on Motoyasu River. Following World War II, Japan became an advanced country in all modes of transportation.

A night view of Aioi Bridge, the original aiming point for the atomic bomb dropped on August 6, 1945. (From a postcard.)

A picture-postcard view of Hiroshima City from a mountain vantage point above it.

Another postcard view of Hiroshima City.

Shukkei-en, a lovely garden in Hiroshima.

Completely destroyed by the atomic bomb explosion, Hiroshima Castle was rebuilt after the war. Unfortunately I didn't get a chance to see it in person.

I should note in passing that Hiroshima is also the site of the headquarters of Mazda Motor Corporation, though I was unaware of it at the time, so I don’t have any pictures to show for it.

Traveling to Kyoto, the old Imperial capital of Japan, gave me a chance to ride on the Shinkansen, Japan’s famous bullet train. The Shinkansen comes in two versions – the Hikari, which is very fast, and the Nozomi, which is faster yet and makes fewer stops. I took the Hikari to Kyoto, and although it was too late in the day to do much sightseeing, I did walk around a little in the Gion district, where I had booked my room at a modest but comfortable local ryokan, the Rikiya.

Construction near Kyoto Station

As I arrived in Kyoto, I observed that a new station was under construction to replace the existing one, which had been built in 1952.

New Train Station

The new station was going to be the second-largest building in Japan (Nagoya Station is the largest). It was completed in 1997.

New Kyoto Station - Karasuma Side

The new station incorporated a shopping mall, hotel, movie theater, department store, and several local government facilities under one 15-story roof.

Ryokan Rikiya

My lodging in Kyoto was this ryokan located in Gion, the so-called geisha district. It was quite comfortable, although there were no geishas there.

Motorcycle dealership

Although Kyoto, with its rich legacy of history and culture, has many extraordinary attractions, I took a few pictures of ordinary, mundane establishments that would be found in any modern city, such as this motorcycle dealership.

Gas station

Another humdrum item you can't avoid in the modern world, hardly worthy of a photo.

Teahouse in the park

But this elegant teahouse in a Kyoto park did seem worth a snapshot.

The next morning I got up and took a short train ride to Nara, spending the entire day there; the following two days I devoted to seeing Kyoto.

At Kyoto Station I had signed up for a morning walking tour conducted by a local guide who styled himself as Johnny Hillwalker, aka Hiruka Hajime. I met him, along with the rest of a party of 5-6 people, on a rainy, chilly spring morning at Kyoto Station. Johnny, a retired JNTO guide, proved to be a highly affable, entertaining and knowledgeable host, and of course his English was flawless. His fee was more than reasonable – I suspect that he did the tours more to keep fit and busy than to supplement his income.

The rain was pouring down as we began our walk; it didn’t dampen our spirits, but it did impede photography somewhat – I had to be careful to avoid flooding my camera, which was not waterproof. So I took fewer pictures than I would have preferred. Later in the day, when the sky began to clear, I made up for lost time.

The walk, if I remember correctly (it’s been a long time) lasted about 3-4 hours; we visited several temples, shrines, gardens and a few local shops such as bakeries and ceramics makers.

Johnny Hillwalker

Johnny Hillwalker, aka Hiruka Hajime, our guide for a rainy-day morning walking tour of Kyoto.

The Snow-Capped Bridge

The Snow-Capped Bridge in Shosei-en Garden, one of the first places we visited with Johnny Hillwalker.

Rained-on Bridge

Another view of the Snow-Capped Bridge in Shosei-en Garden. On this day it was not snow-capped but rather rain-washed

Higashi Honganji Temple bell.

Our tour guide, Johnny Hillwalker, gives us the scoop on the Higashi Honganji Temple bell. He was quite familiar with it since he attended services there.

Picturesque bridge

One of the bridges we crossed on our walking tour.

Higashi Otani Cemetery

Higashi Otani Cemetery, Kyoto, Japan. Since most Japanese are cremated, burial does not take much space.

Deva gate, Kiyomizu-dera

Our walking tour ended here at the Deva gate at Kiyomizu-dera (temple), which overlooks Kyoto from the foothills of Mount Otawa.

From Johnny Hillwalker I got good directions on how to reach the attractions I most wanted to visit, which were mostly far away in the northwest part of Kyoto – the railway station and Gion are in east-central Kyoto. In the meantime I picked up where the morning walk had ended and checked out some more of the sights in Gion.

Gion is the entertainment district of Kyoto, and it is inextricably associated in the popular mind with geishas (or geiko as they are known locally). I had no particular interest in meeting up with any geishas; I had done enough research – and absorbed plenty of sage advice from Dave Winter – to know that quality geisha performances were likely to be (a) very expensive and (b) mostly unavailable to Westerners, except wealthy or well-connected ones, and I was neither. But I did feel a need for at least some cultural exposure, and I had a free evening, so I bought a ticket for a performance at Gion Corner, which, in the words of one website, offers a “budget experience…a contrived one-stop shop for geisha entertainment open nightly from 6 p.m. that panders to tourists with tea ceremonies, puppets, flower arrangement, music and dancing.” As the description suggests, it wasn’t especially memorable, but neither did it bankrupt me at about $28.

The real glory of Kyoto is in its historical sites and artistic marvels. From 794 to 1868, when Emperor Meiji migrated to Tokyo, Kyoto was the seat of the Emperor and the cultural metropolis of Japan. (The stretch from 794 to 1185 is known as the Heian period, because the original name of Kyoto was Heian-kyo.) It still retains much of that aura, not least owing to the fact that it was spared the firebombing that destroyed Tokyo and other cities during World War II. This was thanks to Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson. When army generals proposed Kyoto as a first target for the atomic bomb, Stimson, who had honeymooned in Kyoto and was familiar with the city, forcefully quashed the idea, on the grounds that Kyoto was a repository of priceless cultural treasures and could not be bombed.

There are too many such treasures in Kyoto to see in a couple of days; it would have taken months to see them properly. I was able to visit and take pictures of a few of the sites I had heard most about, and you can see them here, along with a few shots of places I missed but picked up from other sources.

Kiyomizu-dera Temple

Kiyomizu-dera is a Buddhist temple founded in the eighth century; the present buildings were erected in 1633 on a commission from the shogun Tokugawa Iemitsu.

Niomon (Deva gate) at Kiyomizu-dera

A niomon is a Buddhist temple gate guarded by two wooden warriors called nio. They are located inside the gate and cannot be seen in this picture.

Main Gate of Heian Shrine

Heian Shrine was built in 1895 as a 5/8 scale of the Heian-era Imperial Palace, to commemorate the 1100th anniversary of the transfer of the Imperial Capital from Nara to Kyoto.

Heian Shrine Garden

The pond is a haven for rare species of turtles.

The Dump

Not all places in Japan are neat and clean. I came across this neglected graveyard for old bicycles en route to one of the Kyoto temples.

Ryozen Kannon Temple

Buddhist temple featuring a 24-meter-tall, 500 ton statue of Kannon, the bodhisattva of compassion.

1001 images of Kannon

1001 images of Senju Kannon, the Buddhist bodhisattva of compassion, stand in Sanjusangendo Temple.

Boddhisattva Kannon

700-year-old, 11-foot-tall statue of the Boddhisattva Kannon, carved of cypress wood covered with gold leaf, in Sanjusangendo Temple.

Rokuon-ji, the Golden Pavilion

Rokuon-ji, Deer Garden Temple, a Zen Buddhist temple in Kyoto, commonly known as Kinkaku-ji, "The Golden Pavilion." One of the most popular attractions in Kyoto.

Kyoko-chi - Mirror Pond

Kinkaku-ji's pond reflects the Golden Pavilion rather nicely.

Kinkaku-ji and its pond

Kinkaku means gold in Japanese; the pavilion is literally covered with gold leaf.

Kinkaku-ji, the Golden Pavilion

Still another view of Kinkaku-ji and its reflection in Kyoko-chi Pond.

My ultimate destination in Kyoto, the one place I had come to see above all others, was the Zen rock garden known as Ryoanji. Along with the Alhambra in Spain, it was one of the two places in the world I wanted most to visit. I had first encountered Ryoanji in Edwin Reischauer and John Fairbanks’ college textbooks on Asian history, one of which actually had a picture of the garden; I had wanted to see it in person ever since. I find that the esthetic that elevates an assembly of plain, unadorned rocks to the epitome of artistic achievement has a powerful appeal. I lingered there for a couple of magical hours and shot more pictures of the shrine and the garden than of any other attraction I visited in Japan, and I’m giving it a special section as the culmination of my visit to Kyoto.

Approaches to Ryoanji Temple, Kyoto, Japan

Ryoanji Temple - The main building (kuri) in autumn

The torii at the entrance to Ryoanji Temple.

Ryoanji Temple has a back yard.

The stone wash-basin (tsukubai) for the Zorokuan tea-room.

Ryoanji Temple - the Tea Room Zorokuan

Kyoyochi Pond at Ryoanji Temple

Kyoyochi Pond at Ryoanji Temple

Spiraea thunbergii at Kyoyochi Pond

The kare-sansui (dry landscape) zen garden at Ryōan-ji Temple.

Another perspective on the kare-sansui (dry landscape) zen garden at Ryōan-ji

The splendor of cherry trees in bloom contrasts with, and so enhances, the austere beauty of the rock garden.

Japanese cedars provide a pleasing backdrop for the rock garden.

The rock garden appears to me as a vast Pacific seascape dotted with small volcanic islands.

The jagged island thrusting abruptly out of the sea reminded me of some of the Hawaiian Islands.

Ryoanji Temple - Rock Garden in spring with cherry blossoms; this is what it looked like when I was there.

I never tired of looking at the Ryoanji rock garden; I remained sitting there until spring turned to winter, and then shot these last two pictures. Actually, of course, I got them from postcards.

I thought that the rock garden presented an especially sublime appearance with the snow on the trees and the rocks.

Nara was the capital of Japan, the seat of the Emperor, from 714 to 794, which is known as the Nara period. Subsequently the capital was moved to nearby Heian, which later became known as Kyoto. Today Nara is a medium-sized provincial city of 367,000 people.

Buddhism had arrived in Japan a couple of centuries earlier, and Nara became a major center of Buddhist worship; it still has many Buddhist temples and shrines. According to legend, Takemikazuchi – the god of thunder and swords – arrived in Nara riding on a white deer to take the city under his protection, and since then the deer have been regarded as sacred protectors of the city. They roam freely about the city, getting in the way of people and cars and soliciting food from passers-by, to whom vendors sell snacks for that very purpose. I didn’t feed them myself, but I enjoyed having them around.

A Street in Nara

Nara, once the capital of Japan, is now a quiet provincial town overshadowed by nearby Kyoto and Osaka.

Deer Jaywalking

The deer in Nara are sacred and running them over with your car is frowned upon.

Sacred deer in Nara Park

These are native Japanese sika deer, but they look like any old white-tailed deer to me.

Deer grazing on cherry blossoms

Deer grazing on fallen cherry blossoms in Nara Park. I didn't know that deer ate cherry blossoms, but why not? There are plenty of them around in the spring.

Nara-19960415-0072

I'm not sure what kind of establishment this is - most likely a Buddhist temple, of which there are many in Nara.

Peaceful byway

This quiet and peaceful lane, presided over by a cherry tree in bloom, leads to another Buddhist temple in Nara.

Secluded Buddhist temple

One of many ancient and beautiful Buddhist temples in Nara, located at the end of the quiet lane seen in the previous photo.

Buddhist temple

Another pretty Buddhist temple in Nara.

I visited several Buddhist temples, of which the most prominent was Todai-ji, founded in 738. It contains the world’s largest bronze statue of the Buddha, known as Daibutsu in Japan.

Pedestrian walk to Todai-ji

Pedestrian walk leading to Todai-ji Nandaimon, the Great South Gate at Todai-ji Temple, completed in 1203.

The Great South Gate

Sacred deer lurk by Todai-ji Nandaimon and demand to be fed by passers-by, threatening to eat them if not fed.

Feeding the sacred deer

The gentleman with the pony tail generously donated his lunch to the deer, or maybe he just didn't want to be eaten by them.

Agyo

Agyo, one of two great gate guardians within Nandaimon, the Great South Gate of Todaiji.

Great Buddha Hall

The Great Buddha Hall, Todai-ji Temple. Originally built in the 8th century, twice rebuilt after fires, most recently in 1709. Until 1998 it was the world's largest wooden building.

Todaiji Temple Interior

The dark and cavernous interior of the Todaiji Temple.

Todaiji Dabutsu in Nara

Todaiji Dabutsu in Nara. Completed in 752 CE, it is 50 feet tall and weighs 500 tons.

Good Karma Column

A supporting post in the Daibutsuden has a hole said to be the same size as one of the Daibutsu's nostrils. Legend has it that those who pass through it will be blessed with enlightenment in their next life.

Komokuten

Komokuten, one of a pair of guardians in the Daibutsuden (main hall) of Todai-ji Temple

Belfry

The belfry at Todai-ji

The Great Bell at Todai-ji

The bell in the belfry at Todai-ji Temple.

Next to Todai-ji is the Isui-en Garden, which is noted for its use of “borrowed scenery”, meaning that the architects incorporated external elements, specifically the Nandaimon or South Gate of Todai-ji Temple as well as some of the mountains around Nara, when framing the landscape of the garden. It is a vast garden, occupying 13,500 square meters or 145,000 square feet, and is actually a combination of two separate gardens, the smaller dating from the 17th century and the other from 1899. Both were created by wealthy merchants and were bought and combined by a third businessman in 1939. The garden contains large ponds, fed by a nearby river, and a couple of pleasant tea-houses. I found this garden – among many others in Japan – immensely pleasing and soothing. I never cease to be amazed by the Japanese sense of esthetics, and nowhere is it expressed more eloquently than in their gardens.

Another great temple of Nara is Kofuku-ji, located not far from Todai-ji and Isuien Garden. I should emphasize that there are many more wonderful temples and shrines in Nara than these, and I regret that I didn’t have time to explore them all.

Nanen-do, Kofukuji Temple

Worship hall & pilgrimage site first built in 813, housing an ornate, 8-handed deity sculpture.

Gojuno-to - Kofukuji Temple

Gojuno-to - Five-story pagoda at Kofukuji Temple, built around 730 AD. Note the TV broadcasting antenna on top. Even in the 8th century, Japan was a technologically advanced civilization.

Sorin Finial

8th-century TV broadcasting antenna removed from the top of a pagoda and stuck in the ground. (The Japanese call it a Sorin finial.)