Japan 15 : Liberation

After the relatively sedate pace of yesterdays walk around Hiroshima, I felt refreshed, although now the fog had lifted on my bodily state, it was clear I had picked up a cold from somewhere. Not good for the upcoming task. I started out by getting to the local JTB to sort out a few more places to stay, but it wouldn't open until half past ten. I sat in the bakery/cafe at the entrance to the railway station munching on some pastries for breakfast and pondered whether to wait two hours or get going. In the end I decided that two hours were not to be squandered today, and I would risk trying to find the JTB in Matsuyama tomorrow.

My first destination today was the summit of Mount Misen, the mountain on the island of Itsukushima, commonly known as Miyajima (shrine island). Japan is known for three beautiful views, of which this island is one. I'd narrowly missed one of them as I'd passed Sendai, so I wasn't going to let this one get by me, regardless of my personal state. Once I'd made the summit, I'd cross onto Shikoku island to get to my hotel in Matsuyama and get down for the night. Given the amount of distance to cover, it was clear I couldn't be hanging around, every second counted today.
I got back to the hotel and checked out. Taking a final look at my emails, K's Backpack Hostel at Mt. Fuji had got back to me with directions from Nagoya (near to Osaka, one of my upcoming stops), so I noted them down. K's was the only place I had pre-booked before coming, and it was a bit of a mystery how I was going to get there from just looking at Google Maps. Now everything had been made clear.
I went through the subway with a feeling of clarity in my head and hopped onto a #5 tram. We clattered merrily through the slowly swelling lines of traffic, past the stops for the peace memorials and on towards the port. However something felt wrong. I checked my book to be sure. Hiroshima has two ports - the main one that serves ferries from Shikoku and beyond, and a separate one down the coast that handles ferries to and from Miyajima.
I was on the tram heading to the former, not the latter. Checking the coloured charts above me I got off at the next intersecting stop and switched to a #3, which took me most of the way there and then a #5 again (this time in the correct direction) for the final section. I had lost a half hour already.
Miyajima-guchi, where the ferry port is located, is full of signposts and mock O-torii's advertising the place in typical excited cheesy style. This was deliberate, since no such things are allowed on the island to keep its traditional look so they were making the most of their last chance. I stuffed my large backpack into one of the available lockers and then hurried aboard an outgoing ferry that was just on its way. The ferries are actually owned by Japan Rail, which means the rail pass was valid for them and I travelled for free.

The seas were calm and the ferry glided its way out of the port. It wasn't long before the slight mists lifted and Mt Misen emerged. From mid-distance, it looked quite imposing, and I was beginning to doubt my ability to get to the top, but I would give it my best shot. As the ferry got closer, the O-Torii, one of the major attractions became distinct from the island. A huge Torii gate, bright scarlet red, built out of the sea a few hundred yards from the shore. The Torii gate acts as a presentation to the Itsukushima Shrine, a building sat square with the torii on the shore.

Once I'd got off and made my way through the crowds to the welcoming plaza, I got myself a hot chocolate and a bottle of water, and was about to head out when I came across some well-known inhabitants of the island. Very tame, very curious deer. I had been warned about these - they look harmless, but if you take your eyes off them you are in trouble. I saw a good example of this when one woman, taking pictures of the Torii forgot about the map hanging out of her back pocket. One deer pounced, then several others swarmed, knowing full well that their sacred status meant no-one would touch them for it. I decided to zip up my pockets and move quickly on.

Checking the welcome map, I decided to look around some of the artefacts available in the shopping district. They were clearly souvineer shops, though their looks had to be tempered to keep them in line with what the authorities considered 'tasteful'. This was a good thing, as it encouraged less plastic trinket makers and more wood carvers, fabric makers and the like to show off their wares. Working my way through the streets, which were peppered with deer going about their business as if the humans didn't exist, it was a very backyard affair. All the lower streets had become a mix of traditional Japanese houses mixed with an open ground floor containing goods. One in particular contained massive wood carvings of gods and deity's, made more special knowing that the wood had to be imported from the mainland, since no trees could be cut down on the sacred island.

There were also a few other Shinto structures to look around while at the base of the mountain, and curious looking stairways and paths led to the beautiful 5-tier scarlet pagoda that is visible as you head to the island, as well as a couple of very old and wind-weathered temples which I must confess I spent a little longer inspecting than was necessary - the mountain behind them was rather large.

It was time to make a start, so I headed upwards. There are three trail options to take if you want to climb Mt Misen; the longer, shallower incline through Momiji-dani Park (and optionally take the ropeway to get you part way to the top), the Daishoin course, which at the time had been closed, and the shorter but steeper Omoto course. I decided to give myself the best shot at things and took the Momiji-dani course, figuring I could use the walkway if I was flagging. As the beautiful forest began to dominate my view, the wide smooth pathways and picnic areas petered out and were replaced with trails with gorgeous bridges over crystal clear waters. Heading higher, the trail steepened, and I came across more deer, though these were more wary of humans, probably not part of the group that regularly eat maps near the shore. I arrived at the ropeway but I felt as if I could make it, and besides, it cost money and I'm a tightarse, so I carried on on foot.

The trail got steeper and narrower, but it was at least pretty clear where to go. There were plenty of signs dotted about, along with 0.1km markers showing how much you had done and how much there was to go. At some points, the trail got so steep that they put rails up, and in others it was clear just how ancient the trail was, with well-worn steps threatening to bust an ankle at any moment.
At the 2km mark, (and after several rests, the cold being sweated out of me) just as I thought it couldn't go up much further, the forest opened up suddenly and I was on flat, sandy ground. I looked around to see my first glances of the celebrated views, and I had another third of a kilometer to go. After pausing for breath I carried on up along with some other sightseers and after a while came to a pair of Shinto shrines, near but not at the summit on a flat piece of land surrounded by large boulders. Both structures were achievements in themselves, being not a trivial task to cut and lug trees from other islands all the way to the top. The Misen Hondo Main Hall was full of golden ornaments and plush, shinto-red decoration. The other, the Reika-do Eternal Fire Hall was smaller and contained several lit candles, which you could add to for a nominal price.
Sat between them rather uncomfortably was an empty hut, besides which was a fragile little cabinet containing bottled drinks, and an honesty box. The box was full of coins and notes, and no-one was around to oversee whether people actually paid (or snaffled off with the cash). It may have been the intimidatory nature of the shrines and the sacredness of the island that did it, but it was so refreshing to see the trust that was placed in the holidaymakers, and seeing it returned so positively. If this were the UK, the cash would be nicked, the drinks cabinet emptied and kicked over, and someone would have rolled one of the large boulders down the hill for a laff.


Carrying on up the steps, I passed Sankido Hall, some massive rocks, and a reminder that these mountain things are finite and a bit dangerous, before eventually reached the summit, where you could see everything and for miles. Amazingly, and disappointingly, someone had decided to stick a building at the top; the Misen Observatory, a shop with a lookout tower above it. It was looking well past its best (it seemed to be made of the same sort of materials you make greenhouses out of) and was an ugly eyesore in an otherwise completely unspoilt area. Under duress, I walked in and put myself down on a rusted chair and looked through the dirty window for five minutes to catch my breath. An old guy sat behind a counter containing another drinks cabinet stuffed with drinks that may have been there for a while. I declined.
Once rested, I took the steps to the roof for a little more view taking, and then looked for my way back. Not wanting to go the same way I had come, I looked round for alternative ways, and after a while found a not very well-worn trail that headed back down. This seemed to be the Omoto course. After a little uncertain walking down a steep path (it wasn't clear at this point whether it was made by the feet of man or beast), a sign and a deserted temple helped to reassure me. A crossroads would have allowed me to take a detour to the Daishoin Course, but it had been closed due to some of it falling away.

My heart sank when the downhill started to become uphill again. I was now beginning to be unappreciative of the beauty around me and was wanting to get to the bottom once more, my ferry would be leaving at 5pm and it was already after 3 o'clock. The Misen trail was moving onto the nearby summit of Mt. Komagabayashi, which was taking far too long to even out. Worse still, there was no-one to be seen for miles. I just had to trust my instincts and keep going. Now and then there were signs of life, such as a baby Shinto shrine, or a stone shrine covered in coins (I left a 1 yen piece there) which reassured me, and eventually the trail started to head downwards. Quite quickly in fact, through wooded canopies and down ancient crumbling steps which again threatened to do my ankles in even more so than coming up their cousins on the other route.
After an hour of nervous trail walking, I started to see signs of modern construction again. The trail widened and open areas sprinkled with picnic benches appeared, followed by huts and roads and eventually houses. It was all pretty nerve-racking at the time because I was completely trusting of the trail - the ancient undergrowth and no other signs meant I was unable to get my bearings relative to the shore, but looking back I wished I could have spent some time just taking in the place, it was beautiful, ancient jungle with the sort of Laputan-style overgrowth you just don't see down the local woods, and there was talk of monkeys hanging about somewhere (but I didn't see any). I recommend downloading or buying a decent trail map and taking it with you before going. I breathed a sigh of relief as I reached the shore once more near the Miyajima Aquarium, but there was no time to visit it, (the best I managed was hearing a sea-lion bark through the railings during a show). I was now running late and would have to hurry to catch the ferry which I could see was on its way from Hiroshima to the terminal.

Fortunately, the tide was out, so I was able to cross over the section between the shrine and the Torii, taking the opportunity to take a picture of it close up. Several people were wading over to it to push coins into the cracks in the wood, a traditional tourist habit. I rushed back to the ferry terminal as quickly as I could and caught it just before it left at a dash before 4pm. At the other side, I got my backpack and took the train back to Hiroshima station, then the #5 tram like I did before (doh!) to Hiroshima Port.

I arrived at the port at 5.15, which meant that the last of the cheaper ferries had gone. The only ones leaving now were the luxury ones at 6100 yen a pop. I could have stayed the night in a decent hotel for that! It was getting dark now, and my feet ached as we waited for the incoming passengers to disembark and my little queue to be allowed on. I slumped into the luxury seating and had some shut-eye as the engines idled.
Eventually we set off and rounded the cape and a few more islands on the south side of Western Honshu. The journey included a few interesting sights, but was generally just water in what remained of the daylight, so I took the opportunity for some more slumber. I was finally heading back towards Tokyo, which at the time came as a psychological turning point - I was heading towards the place that would take me home (and it had to be said, at this point on the journey, that felt good).
Arriving at Matsuyama Port, I realised that I had made a little mistake. When I got the hotels booked, out of habit I had asked for one close to the train station. Unfortunately the port and the station are across town from each other, and thus my first task was to find the station and walk from there.
Immediately as I arrived, it seemed that Shikoku was different. The number of English signs dropped dramatically, and those who spoke it were rare too, as if Shikoku was often ignored by the tourism trade. Arriving outside into the rain, there was by good fortune a coach waiting outside, and asking the driver about 'Matsuyama Eki?' resulted in a nod and a smile. The coach made its way around Matsuyama in a roundabout style, and eventually the station appeared through the raindrop-blurred windows. It was then just a case of heading up the main street and to the hotel.
As was traditional with the maps that came with the hotel reservation, someone had got feet and inches mixed up, and the relatively simple task of looking for the hotel was made more difficult than I was hoping for, despite receiving help from a couple of friendly passers by. At 7.30 in the evening I checked into the hotel that ended up being about 500yds away from where it was advertised.
After getting my breath back, I headed over the road to a shopping arcade (sorry - 'gourmet hall'), inside which was - to my relief - an Italian restaurant called Capricossa. I was still feeling a little guilty about not trying some more regional cuisine, but since my holiday was very nearly cut short by such experiments back in Kyoto, I decided to sod it and stick with something recognisable.
Garlic bread, chicken and hot chilli/garlic and spaghetti were accompanied by ice cream with hot blueberry sauce. They even had tea - not the Japanese type of tea, but normal English tea - with milk! It cost a bit per cup, but I had two because it felt so long since I had anything close to a proper cuppa.
I waddled home tired but happy at about 9.30, wrote my diary and went to bed. A whole new island was ripe for exploration in the morning.

Japan 14 : Regeneration

On the dawn of the new day in downtown Hiroshima, I slowly stirred. My sleep had been continuous and uninterrupted and I was feeling much better, although my lower digestive half was still not completely happy. Nevertheless, I was determined to see as much as my body would allow, most notably the numerous monuments to the bomb that had virtually wiped out all trace of the city on August 6th, 1945.

Hiroshima is a city of regrowth, and if you leave aside for a moment the aforementioned statues and monuments and reminders you see a city that is much like any other in Japan. High-rise buildings, MacDonalds, Subways and Burger Kings, great public transport through the typical bustle, parks to take a quiet moment, and a general workaday contentment amongst the population. It is however also a city of great dignity; Hiroshima could have made millions off the back of its status (alongside Nagasaki) as one of the few inhabited areas of a nuclear detonation on the planet, but instead has a very muted, respectful remembrance of what went before and those who died.

It would be a place that allowed me, quite fittingly to start anew. My bowels were still doing a passable impersonation of a washing machine and they were giving off warning signals not to stray too far from a toilet, but I was alert and refreshed and the fever that had hung over for the past few nights had gone on the refreshing breeze coming from the window.

I took the tram about 9am back into the centre of the city and the Hondōri shopping arcade, I had walked gingerly through the night before. Sniffing western food, I stopped in the local Andersen, a posh-looking but rather cramped cafeteria selling savoury foods and ice creams on the ground floor of one of the department stores. Loading up on a bacon and egg muffin with strawberry ice cream to finish (I couldn't taste any of it but I put this down to my general health at the time rather than the quality).

All caloried up, I pushed on through the arcade in the direction my trusty book was telling me and sure enough, the slightly cramping buildings dropped away, replaced by the open sky. I was at the centrepiece of Hiroshima, the peace exhibits. Around the Peace Memorial Park are stainless-steel maps, and a good picture of one is here. An English guide with some pictures of the many monuments can be found here. Located on the tip of land created where the Ota-gawa river splits into the Honkawa and the Motoyasu-gawa, the memorial site consists of several buildings interspersed with a number of memorials. The site was chosen because it is near enough directly underneath the blast point of the bomb, which detonated a nearly 2000 feet from the ground for maximum effect, its target being the T-shaped Aioi Bridge that links the island to each side of the Ota-gawa.

The first thing you notice before crossing the beautiful Motoyatsu bridge onto the grounds is the A-Bomb Dome. Perhaps the most recognisable structure in Hiroshima, it was one of perhaps a dozen buildings that withstood the blast of the bomb to any significant degree. This was mainly because the building, which at the time was known as the 'Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall' is almost directly below the blast point, meaning that although the outer skin of the building was atomised, the walls took the weight of the blast and stayed mostly upright, its skeletal domed top becoming a symbol of the devastation.

As the mammoth clearing up job took place over the following years, the dome remained largely untouched, which resulted in divided opinions. There were those who would demolish it as it served as a constant reminder of the day, while others wanted it kept for much the same reasons. In the end, favour swung towards keeping it as a symbol, but not before its internal structure had been reinforced with girders, since the elements over the intervening years took their toll and it was in danger of collapsing.
After spending a little time at the dome, I turned back and crossed the bridge, and came across the Memorial Tower to the Mobilized Students. This monument was erected in the late 60's as an act of remembrance for the students who were drafted into Hiroshima during the late stages of the war. Their role, ironically, was to help demolish as many of the buildings in Hiroshima as possible before the allied fleet came along with (what was thought to be) standard bombing raids and flattened the buildings themselves. At least this way the buildings could be demolished safely with no loss of life. Unfortunately, a great deal of the students who were conscripted for the work were killed. The memorial has four plaques around its base featuring images of the students at work, and a constantly-replenished stream of garlands of multicoloured paper cranes, made by children from around the world and shipped to Hiroshima. The paper crane symbol, prevalent throughout Hiroshima from the moment I had arrived was explained when I reached the nearby Childrens Peace Monument.

The monument was erected in 1958 and is in remembrance of all the children who died, but in particular tells the story of Sadako Sasaki, a two-year-old girl at the time of the bombing, contracted leukaemia years afterwards with the radiation exposure. Echoing the elements of an old Japanese proverb, she became convinced that if she were able to fold a thousand paper cranes she would be cured of her illness. In 1955, after folding more than a thousand with the help of her classmates, she eventually succumbed to the illness, but her story had gained national recognition and her classmates were able to have the monument built three years later. The ever repeating death and replenishment of the paper cranes became a theme for Hiroshima as a whole. A statue of Sadako stands on top of the monument holding aloft a paper crane, and the peace bell underneath the monument has a golden crane attached to its rope.

Beyond the two monuments, but before the main memorial area is a small park, filled with pine trees and bark chipped areas containing many smaller monuments and quite a few park benches, which was handy when you had to sit down and take it all in. One of the smaller monuments had only recently been brought within the grounds of the memorial site. Much like the students who were drafted in, many Koreans died at the bombing; (it is estimated that 10% of the 200,000 killed on or after the bomb were Koreans who had been drafted in as soldiers or volunteers, or were simply residents of Hiroshima at the time). For many years these people were not recognised and it wasn't until 1970 that a monument was erected to honour both the dead and the survivors, although it was originally only allowed outside the grounds of the peace park. Common sense finally won through in 1999 and the monument was moved inside the grounds.

After a little while on the northern tip of the park, I crossed over the road carried by the Motoyasu bridge into the main area. The main focal element is the Memorial Cenotaph, over which a saddle-shaped structure stands about 8 feet tall, lined up perfectly to see the A-Bomb dome through it when looking north. The cenotaph itself is the casket beneath which holds a tome carrying the names of the dead. Directly between the cenotaph and the dome is the Peace Flame, a low-lying concrete structure with two horn-shaped struts rising out of the water and an ever-lit flame burning in the middle. The flame as added in 1964 and is a symbol of everlasting peace, but also a constant warning; it will remain lit until there are no longer any nuclear weapons and the world becomes free of the threat of nuclear war. The flame and the cenotaph are linked by the Pond of Peace, a rectangular expanse of water that surrounds both structures.
South of the pond is a large open area which has been for many years the venue for the Peace Memorial Ceremony, which is held every year on 5 August. It is also the venue for various other peace-related rallies throughout the year.

My next stop would be just east of the cenotaph; the Hall of Remembrance is a newer but separate part of the Peace Memorial Museum, which I would get to shortly, but the newer structure is a good place to start. Dug into the earth like a cylindrical bunker, the top of the structure pokes out with a monument on top. This is a chunky glass base on top of which a fragment of a circle has been added, to subtly give the sense of a clock permanently set at 8.15, the time at which the bomb struck.

When you enter the building, a spiralling pathway takes you into the room below the monument, where a wooden simile takes up the centre of the room. Then you look around, and see that the wall is made out of thousands of tiles of different shades which go to make up a panoramic reproduction of the area as it looked immediately after the bomb. Under the picture is a number of darkened lines, spanning the part of the picture representing a particular neighbourhood or prefecture, along with its name and the number of people who had died from there. That was the entire exhibit, and it didn't need to be anything else. There was no shortage of people sat down on the small stools under each of the pillars as they took in the enormity of what they were looking at. I myself spent a while trying to control the lump in my throat. It's impossible to explain fully the feeling inside that building without actually being there.

Once outside, I decided to head to the main museum, a long, white structure held a storey in the air by stilts. Entering at the east side, the tickets cost a measly 50 yen - about 25p, and allowed full access to everything. The museum consisted of a continual history of Japan, the war, the buildup to the bomb, and the nuclear-related events that have happened in the world since, interspersed with models of the city, a reconstruction of the A-Bomb dome, and a very jolting but necessary section where the scene of devastation after the bomb is reproduced, complete with warped buildings and girders and children with their skin melting off their bodies. As you reach the end, a media section shows interactive stories of some of the survivors and those not so lucky, and a reel of footage of the devastation. All of this was presented in a number of languages, including English.

It was impossible to emerge into the fresh air of the afternoon with the same feelings and opinions of those I went in with. What was written on the walls of the exhibits was a fraction of the actual devastation, death, pain and suffering by those who went through it, but it was more than enough to be burned into my mind. That's not to say it wasn't a worthwhile experience, it most certainly was. I would recommend the museum and peace park in general as one of the must-see places in Japan. Just don't expect to come out of there with dry eyes.

Leaving the park, I headed back towards where I had entered the park in a trance, only waking from it as the heavens opened. I sheltered with a young woman and her happy, carefree children under the lift entrance to the Hall of Remembrance and smiled weakly to them when they greeted me. Not feeling quite up to heading anywhere else in Hiroshima, I wandered in the general direction of the Hondōri shopping arcade once more, and feeling the pangs of hunger (mixed with not wanting to take any chances with unknown styles of food just yet) I popped into a Subway and had a BLT and some fries and a Pepsi. (I was finding it liberating to look for foods with high fat content!) All the fashionable young twentysomethings were in the cramped first floor sit-down area, and it struck me that they had moved on with their culture, not allowing themselves to be dragged down into a western-style maudlin over their circumstances. Even the mural on the wall hinted at an acceptance, a panoramic scene of the Brooklyn Bridge in mid 20th century New York.

Once back at the shopping centre, I happened upon a chemist, and with a rather embarrassed look on my face and some economical hand movements, I was able to explain to the lady behind the counter my troubles. She was able to give me a box of tablets, which if I took a couple every few hours would allow me to get on with my holiday. I even got a free cup of lukewarm water to swallow the first batch with. The packet even had a figure of a backpacker with a relieved expression on his face giving a victory salute, so I wasn't going to argue. I would later discover that one batch was all I would need, full stop.
By this point I thought I was pushing my luck a bit, flu and toilet-wise, so headed through various strange and wonderful plaza's until I came back to the main street where I could catch a lift on the trams. It was only 5pm, but that was enough for one day. I had experienced the most important parts of the city, and tomorrow would involve much more exertion, perhaps even the climbing of a mountain, so I needed to be at my best.

Japan 13 : Through a Long and Sleepless Night

I must apologise for the quality and quantity of the photos on this leg of my holiday. As you will soon read, there was a very good reason for that.

I remember little of my final night in Kyoto, except that I was constantly hot and feverish, unable to sleep, and constantly on the lav with terrible stomach cramps. The hotel which had looked like an absolute bargain when I had arrived, had turned out to be the most unbearable place I had stayed in - a hot, claustrophobic room, a noisy fridge and no reliable ventilation. Keeping the window wide open helped a little, but the air was stale as it was blowing up the narrow passage between this building and the next, and opened out onto a walkway, which I was none too keen to let people climb in whilst I tried to sleep.The switch marked 'air conditioning' I think should have read 'heater' because at all settings it proceeded to blow hot air into the already stifling room.
This could not come at a worse time on the journey. Although I hadn't realised it at the time, I was slowly losing energy day on day, thanks to a squeamish attitude towards the local delicacies, and concentrating much more on what to see and lugging my heavy backpack everywhere, rather than how to keep myself properly fed. Ever since the incident back in Abashiri, I was also nursing round a digestive system that meant I always needed to know where the toilets are.
By early morning I think I must have slept perhaps an hour, and I was pretty sure I had come down with a fever. On the way out of Nagano, I mused, I had to sit near some guy who spent the entire trip snooking snot back up his nose and sneezing everywhere. If I knew where he was then I would have summoned the last of my strength and shook him warmly by the neck.

By 6am I was just waiting for the day to start, rather than trying to get any more sleep, and it was becoming clear that I would have to change my travel plans a bit. My planned route was to take the northern train lines from Kyoto up to the north coast of Honshu, and before going back southwest to Hiroshima where my next hotel waited, stop off at Tottori, where I had read about an enormous beach with massive sand dunes; since I had been told by one disapproving friend that Japan would not be a good place to go 'because it had no beaches on it' I was interested in not only having a relax by the sea, but also proving him wrong and getting the pictures to prove it. However, since the leg would be using the local trains, (not all of them JR lines) it would take most of the day, and the direct route to Hiroshima was by Shinkansen and took about 2 hours.
I figured I could gingerly walk to the station, get an early ticket to Hiroshima and be within a safe distance of the train toilet all the way there. Once in Hiroshima I would find my hotel, which I prayed would be more bearable than this one and I could recover and plan my remaining routes over the two days scheduled for that city.
So after a protracted time on the toilet giving my lower intestines every opportunity to do whatever they wanted, I set off for the station. The cold air on my clammy face, mixed with the early morning crowds and the heavy packing took their toll and by the steep escalator of the entrance I was feeling the strain. I got a ticket for the 8:02 to Hiroshima in the booking office with merciful promptness, and after a number of careful lower back muscle contractions, headed slowly to the platform.

I don't remember much of the journey, though it was pleasantly air conditioned and reasonably empty, so I ignored my reservation seat and stuck myself near the end of the compartment near the toilets. What few pictures I took were between bouts of nodding off and I took advantage of the window sills and the ultra smooth ride to steady my aim.

When I arrived in Hiroshima at about 10am, I was still faint and weak on my feet. Immediately outside the station is the entrance to the underpass, decorated with tiled images of paper cranes (more on that later) and beyond that the Hiroshima Tram system end terminus. Not knowing where I was, I tried to pass the tramway and over the main roads beyond, but they were pretty impassable, so seeing the underpass exit over the other side I tried that route, but got rather lost as my sense of direction was down. Eventually I managed to climb the steep steps on the other side, and according to the map my hotel would be nearby. Fortunately it was just around a corner, but it took long enough for me to find it. (I staggered into what I believed was a hairdressers up a few flights of stairs, and they took pity on me and guided me into the lobby of the hotel.)

All my problems should have been over, but not quite yet. I had banked on paying for the hotel with my card, and it was not working on their machines, so I had to find the nearest post office and get some yen out from there. Fortunately it was just to the side of the train station, and the hotelier let me keep my bags behind so I wasn't lugging them again. To be sure I was OK financially I got out 15000 yen (about £75) and cashed my remaining 20000 yen travellers cheque.
As I was returning, I happened across a JTB travel centre, and feeling a little more able, I decided that it would be a good plan to sort out some future hotels, so I managed to book for Matsuyama, Takamatsu, Himeji and Osaka, because to be honest I didn't know when I'd be able to do it again.
Relieved that I had managed to secure things for the following days, it was then up to me to get myself able to make them. I returned to my hotel, and after paying and retrieving my things, I ignored the slightly downmarket nature of the interiors (I had realised that it was no measure of how good your night was going to be) and got straight into bed.
Even though the room was modest compared to the supposed plushness of the Kyoto place, it was a thousand times better (and about 25% cheaper). A fully openable window allowed the fresh air in from a warming day outside, and the room was silent, no buzzing or humming or strange feelings to it, so my body slept soundly until about 6pm. By then it became clear that in order to not slip further into my fever I would need to get some nutrition. The thought of food made me retch, but I knew I would have to have something for my body to work itself out.
I left the hotel and took the tram into the centre of Hiroshima, which despite its notoriety looked like any other town I had seen in Japan so far, except that some of the more elderly passengers riding with me were clearly some of the survivors of the bomb that had virtually wiped the city out. I resolved there and then that I would not let the fever take up all my time in this city and would visit the memorial sites tomorrow.

My JBR book had told me that there was an Italian restaurant in the central area. I chose Italian because it was recognisable and the Japanese seem to like Italian meals as there are plenty of such restaurants around the country. I couldn't find the one in the book, but eventually found another one which seemed good enough. I started with some french fries (for a salt kick) and then a margarita pizza (for general stodge), and finally some apple pie (for sugar).

I had to force it all down - not because it was bad, but because my stomach hated the inclusion of anything new at the time. I finally managed to work through most of it and then took myself straight back to the hotel at about 8pm, where I sent off my much-needed laundry bag and slept soundly until the morning.