Well, despite my obsession our marriage survived the Japan trip. My sweet and patient wife, who initially hung on to my rapidly touring self with excitement and eagerness, eventually decided that bicycling up a hill on a narrow road with no shoulder and much oncoming traffic ("but they're tiny Japanese cars," I soothed unconvincingly) was maybe a wee bit intense for a supposed second honeymoon and pleasantly "offered" to return to the hotel and wait for me in the rooftop bar. Being a good and responsive husband, I abandoned the idea of more "extreme sightseeing" and we passed the rest of our vacation in an acceptable compromise between the sights and relaxation.
In any case, I wonder still why I had never yet visited the island of Miyajima while on deployment. It was a coveted three-star attraction in my Green Guide, it was a short and inexpensive train ride from my base, and it has a mountain to climb with temples on the top. Extreme sightseeing, convenience, and a high rating from Michelin--the holy trinity of tourism. And yet until recently I had never been. I think, actually, it may have had something to do with the required intensity of my sightseeing. Knowing subconsciously that I never do things halfway, I avoided such a big commitment. But last weekend I could wait no longer. The brilliant August weather of Japan and the fact that my second WestPac of this duty assignment was winding down made it impossible to put off any longer. So I gathered some friends last weekend and we decided to make the trip.
Miyajima is something of a holy island in Japan. It is the location of Itsukushima Shrine, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which spreads its graceful architecture and red framing over a tidal flat, making it appear to float on the water. There are many other temples and shrines on the island, some of which are built quite high on the ridges, and (the Western favorite) of five-story Pagoda. Aside from souvenir shops and the like, there are no commercial or residential areas on the island, and it can be reached only by a ferry. Japanese respect the religious significance of the place by prohibiting American aircraft (such as the Hornets I operate) from overflying the island proper. It felt a little bit like the Forbidden City, though on a smaller and friendlier scale. I was excited to see it and loving packed my Green Guide a in the manner of child packing his or her favorite blanket. Admittedly, I was also yearning to try the mountain ascent.
The train we rode to the Miyajima stop was a slow commuter train. Since Japan is very mountainous in the south, the built-up areas cling tightly to the coast. For this reason the train ride presented long and lovely views of the sea. It was a beautiful day and it promised to be very hot. The short walk from the train station revealed Miyajima itself, a high-ridged and apparently untouched island that stretched across the open water to the east. It wasn't until halfway through the ferry ride that the famous temple and "floating Torii" game came into view. The deep green of the forested hills, the deep blue of the water, and the paler blue of the sky were magnificent. I stood with a host of multinational tourists in the bow and snapped picture after picture. The old tourist excitement clawed at me--the need to know about, to see, and to put my hands on the great achievements of humanity. As the berserker mist rose before my eyes, magnifying the temple attractions before me, I clutched tighter at my Green Guide in one hand and camera in the other. A small, sane part of my mind pitied my traveling companions. I hoped they could keep up.
The ferry dropped us off in a busy tourist bureau which offered free maps and polite Japanese guides speaking every language imaginable. The three of us picked up maps and headed off to the temple. As we exited the bureau, however, we stepped into a large plaza crowded with equal numbers of people and (of all things) deer! These deer, we'd heard, were protected because they lived on the sacred island of Miyajima. Hence, they were rather the pets of tourists, and all around us other tourists greedily snapped pictures with the animals, who for their part obliged by coming up to sniff expectantly at hands in the hope of food. One actually took a chunk out of my tourist map, then later made a play for my shirt. Saucy little minx! er, doe! We snapped pictures as greedily as the rest, delighted (I must admit) by the novelty of closeness with such normally shy animals. Eventually, however, we made our way along the road and came the shrine and the Torii.
The tide was out, so the buildings were not floating. They were no less impressive, however. Massive red-painted pilings and beams held up the graceful and slender buildings. The flat beach, the elevated shrine, the curving and pointed roofs, and the rearing green mountain above made an awesome sight. Rivers of ink have been spilled trying to accurately depict and describe the subtle complexities of eastern religion--Buddhism, Shintoism, Confucianism, Taoism. Though I have read a bit on several such belief systems, I can scarcely claim to understand them. But the beautiful shrine on Miyajima, it's colors and shapes and setting all skillfully combined to create an overwhelming impression of balance between the struggle and the rest, seemed an archetype of the eastern ideologies that are still, at heart, a mystery to occidentals. The crowds and snapping cameras could not dim the hauntingly balanced and therefore hugely calming effect of the whole edifice.
Exhilarated by the experience of the shrine, I snapped pictures along with the rest of the tourists. I conformed to the custom of digging a penny (a yen coin?) into the wood of the Torii and making a wish. Then we turned our faces upward at the forbidding ridge above and began finding our way to the trailhead.
How to describe the trail up? Well, I assured my wife that it was much more difficult than our bike rides. It was a succession of staircases cut into the hillsides and very much like a pilgrim trail. The path ascended along burbling brooks, through sun-splashed glades, and across steep slopes yielding ever more magnificent views of the water, of nearby Hiroshima, of my own erstwhile home in Iwakuni. But as the heat grew and muscles fatigued, my enjoyment of mountain brooks, sun-splashed glades, and magnificent views severely dimmed. I began glowering at fellow-climbers as I passed them, rejoicing grimly in the pain developing in my legs, and querulously inquiring at every turn when we were going to make it to the top of the mountain. I may have even used certain descriptors that aren't fit for the classy and family-oriented forum for which this memoir is intended. But I tightened again my sweaty grip on the trusty Green Guide, absently wiped my camera clean with my soaked T-Shirt, and leaned into the hillside. Fortunately, my traveling companions were Marines and perhaps used to such treatment--at any rate, they didn't complain. We were all equally committed to conquer the mountain of Miyajima.
Well, as you might guess, we made it. After two false alarms (Miyajima was such a tease)--one temple complex two thirds the way up, and an open rocky area several hundred meters before the peak--we got to the top, marked by a snack shop and a tall platform built to take advantage of the three hundred and sixty degree view of the Hiroshima prefecture and Shikoku Island. Our tiredness forgotten, we laughed happily at the sweating tourists laboring up behind us below, we marveled at the sprawl of Hiroshima, we noted the new runway at Iwakuni, and generally congratulated ourselves at the trek. Then we bought ice cream and water and started down. We made a quick stop to scramble among some rocks and take more pictures, but as time was ticking on and we wanted to make it back before the evening, we reluctantly left the exalted summit and descended into the tourist masses. It was a quick and somewhat painful trip. But we had done it. Sightseeing accomplished. One more three-starred attraction added to my list of cultural achievements. My Green Guide glowed approvingly on my lap all the way home.
