Hiroshima

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After the fireworks of Osaka, I went to the station to look for my night bus. It took me an hour of circling the station to find the line of people waiting for the bus. Luckily, I"d arrived an hour early so I still made it. "This is the bus to Hiroshima" a Japanese man in shabby clothing tried to reassure me.
"Okay."
"I'm going to Hiroshima to write poetry."
"Okay."
"Here, this is what I write. I spent days crying in Hiroshima. Sleeping on the streets. Feeling the city's pain. I'm going to Hiroshima now to sell these poems to foreigners. How much do you think I could sell them for? 1000 yen?"
"It depends who you sell them to. Backpackers like me, we don't have a lot of money to spend here. Why don't you try the more upscale tourists?"
"It doesn't matter. Nobody spends, it's a recession."
The attendant walked by. "Excuse me, is this the bus to Hiroshima?" After an hour of circling around (and a day of wandering Osaka, it was now close to midnight) I wasn't just going to take his word on it. She led me away, down the line. I handed back the papers to the Japanese man.

When the bus arrived, we all started to load our bags onto the bus. When it was my turn, the busdriver started to intently tell me something in Japanese. I motioned that I couldn't understand. Instead of switching to broken English or makng handgestures, he just talked louder. I try, "Hiroshima". That doesn"t seem to be what he wanted to know. But I'm at a loss and I'm very tired. Finally, a passerby rescues us, translating that the bus driver wants to know where in Hiroshima Ill be getting off (so he knows which compartment to store my bag - I didn't even know there were multiple stops in Hiroshima). By now, all the other passengers are on the bus. Exhausted and worried about being able to sleep, I board. I make a quick prayer that I will not be sitting beside the shabby "poetry" man from before. No luck. And no peace. He switches tacks now, pushing his poetry on me. It's dreadful stuff, in English - overly sentimental. I admit it, I caved. I paid him off to shut up, as I see it.

While he did shut up, the bus ride was horrible. I didn't get much sleep. And I couldn't check into my hostel until nightfall. So I decided to spend my day at the bomb site, which is now a big park. I skipped the museum, found a cafe, had a beer, and read. At night, I went to see the Hiroshima Carps play, a baseball team (like Chabad, I just had to go). It was a lot of fun. The crowd was SO into it, they even had a song. See the attached video. The beer was overpriced just like home. Though they sold noodles instead of popcorn at the concession stands.

The hostel was not actually in Hiroshima. It was across from a small island nearby called Miyajima. 18 person dorms, the facilities were not really that comfortable. But the atmosphere was good. The owners cook regular BBQ and it was nice not to be in the city centre. Miyajima is famous for its shrine in the water (see pictures). I spent a couple days there relaxing near the shrine and checking out the beach on the other side of the island.

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Photos

Bomb Site
It exploded over this building

Traditional and Modern
Either way, attractive woman, drink Asahi.

Pagoda
I hung out here reading for a couple hours

Comments

[anonymous]

Amazing as always Asher. You are keeping me feeling connected and as if I am travelling with you. I forwarded you Josh King's contact info. Love, Mom