Hiroshima was an hour-and-a-half ferry ride away from me here in Matsuyama.
It was an absolutely depressing day—even before we arrived.
Overcast, nearly black and rainy, with gusts of cold wind peppering the walk to the port.
Of all the places I’ve been fortunate enough to buy a ticket to, seeing “Hiroshima” on the announcement board began what would be one of the more surreal travel experiences I’ve had—of which I mentioned there in the beginning of this issue.
Traveling with only a small backpack, I didn’t need to check into my capsule hotel, so walked to the first place most people usually walk, to the bombed out building of what is now called the Atomic Bomb Dome—subsequently, the only structure left standing after the 1945 bombing.
I’d seen it before, of course, in one of the many documentaries I’d watched, but also prominently in Heff’s film, so it wasn’t the dome itself which caused me pause.
The blackened walls, though, were.
We’ve all seen crumbling buildings, but to see those charcoaled walls made it feel like it just happened. In fact, of all the things there in the city telling the story of what happened—and what happened after—those burned walls were what really got to me.
Wanting to get the horrible parts over with, I walked around the block to a nondescript lane with a tiny plaque marking the exact spot the bomb went off. For whatever reason, I had always assumed the bomb landed and then exploded, but it was manually timed to go off before actually hitting the ground. Maybe they covered that in Oppenheimer? But you stand there and you look up and your mind goes to more places than you’d like it to.
Back around to where the Dome (barely) stood and behind it, the Memorial Tower Dedicated to Mobilized Students.
With Japan losing the war, nearly 10,000 students—middle and high school—were called upon to help by working in munition factories, building fire breaks, etc. When the bomb hit, 6000+ of the 9000+ were killed.
From there (I really hate writing like this, by the way—“From there” or “Following that” like it’s some fucking tour of the Vatican) over the bridge that was basically melted and into the park and first to the Children’s Peace Monument, in dedication to all of the kids who lost their lives.
Not too far from this, the Atomic Memorial Mound stood, marking the site and, I believe, the structure that held all of the corpses in the area, most of whom were pulled out of the nearby river, as many were basically on fire and jumped in, to the point where it was said the river was no more, and it just looked like a line of bodies (see top center picture there in the main header).
We then walk to the center of the Hiroshima Victims Memorial Cenotaph.
To the right of that is the Hiroshima National Peace Memorial Hall—underground, but marked with a large clock stuck at 8:15 (the time of the bombing.)
From there, it’s back and to The Peace Pavilion, of which I dedicated an entire section to this issue.
It was a horrible way to spend a couple of days.
There’s nothing you can do except shuffle to the next memorial and read the plaque and take a picture and stay real quiet and then onto the next one, this strange scavenger’s hunt of guilt.
I found a bar that night and tried to swallow a few beers, but it didn’t take.
I don’t know if it was the chipper sounds of the expat group in there or the day I’d had or maybe I was getting sick from being soaked all day.
I’m not sure.
So I walked back to the hotel.
And it was then when I saw this.
I stood there for a good 30 seconds before catching myself that I was a white guy staring at a movie poster about Hiroshima and I quickly walked away.
What a day of horrors.
I hope you don’t have to ever take this tour.
Although, I hope someday you take this tour.
