Kyushu IslanD, Japan
Kyushu, October 2016
We had planned to go to Kyushu, Japan’s southernmost island, in March but the earthquakes at Kumamoto intervened. With the flight non-refundable, it made sense to switch to October.
Picked up a hire car at Oita and drove the hour to Beppu which is famed for its natural hot springs; Onsen for bathing in and bubbling little lakes for looking at. Beppu is a very unattractive town and much bigger than expected, think “Smethwick Spa”. Tried one onsen which was old geysers and old geezers, all wrinkles and willies. Didn’t like it, I felt uncomfortable sitting in a big bath with what looked like the contents of a morgue. The “8 Hells” set of steaming hot pools was mildly interesting, the bright blue one at least, but was thankfully on the road to somewhere else. The else being Fukuoka. Beppu as a name conjures up something strange and exotic – Fukuoka less so. The city’s burghers weren’t to know, much less care. Fukuoka is a modern, hip city with direct flights from Bangkok. It is famed, amongst other things for yatai, being able to eat yakitori (BBQ kebabs on a little stick) whilst sitting at an outdoor/mobile eatery. It always puzzles me that people go on about this sort of thing, especially when it is draughty, sitting there in the cold – and don’t get me started on yakitori with the chicken gizzards, hearts, pig’s stomach and god knows what. If it used to be alive then you can eat it….
Having missed the motorway turn-off we went straight past and returned by scaling a nearby mountain range which was very picturesque but required full driving concentration as the road hugged the contours. Even with the navigator on you aren’t guaranteed to hit the target as the instructions come thick and fast in a language that you can’t understand. When you go past a turning you imagine the commentary as something like, “Oh, FFS, I said next left!” only in Japanese, but in an exasperated, robotic voice. Always a lady’s voice though!
We had planned to go to Kyushu, Japan’s southernmost island, in March but the earthquakes at Kumamoto intervened. With the flight non-refundable, it made sense to switch to October.
Picked up a hire car at Oita and drove the hour to Beppu which is famed for its natural hot springs; Onsen for bathing in and bubbling little lakes for looking at. Beppu is a very unattractive town and much bigger than expected, think “Smethwick Spa”. Tried one onsen which was old geysers and old geezers, all wrinkles and willies. Didn’t like it, I felt uncomfortable sitting in a big bath with what looked like the contents of a morgue. The “8 Hells” set of steaming hot pools was mildly interesting, the bright blue one at least, but was thankfully on the road to somewhere else. The else being Fukuoka. Beppu as a name conjures up something strange and exotic – Fukuoka less so. The city’s burghers weren’t to know, much less care. Fukuoka is a modern, hip city with direct flights from Bangkok. It is famed, amongst other things for yatai, being able to eat yakitori (BBQ kebabs on a little stick) whilst sitting at an outdoor/mobile eatery. It always puzzles me that people go on about this sort of thing, especially when it is draughty, sitting there in the cold – and don’t get me started on yakitori with the chicken gizzards, hearts, pig’s stomach and god knows what. If it used to be alive then you can eat it….
Having missed the motorway turn-off we went straight past and returned by scaling a nearby mountain range which was very picturesque but required full driving concentration as the road hugged the contours. Even with the navigator on you aren’t guaranteed to hit the target as the instructions come thick and fast in a language that you can’t understand. When you go past a turning you imagine the commentary as something like, “Oh, FFS, I said next left!” only in Japanese, but in an exasperated, robotic voice. Always a lady’s voice though!
Nagasaki was the only place open to foreigners when Japan shut down contact for 200 years. The old buildings are from the Dutch cantonment 1650s onwards, which was ring-fenced on an island, “Don’t mingle with those smelly blighters.” I imagine they were fairly smelly when they got off the ship from Amsterdam. The cantonment has been renovated now and has themed shops and guides in period dress. The old colonial houses on the hill were built by Scots entrepreneurs in the 1850s at the time of Japan’s own industrial revolution – they were shipping and trade folks like the Swires of Hong Kong. So, Nagasaki has always been Japan’s gateway to the west. At street level it is scruffy for a Japanese city, quite charmless, but it does have little nooks and crannies and arcades once you get going.
Nagasaki sits in an estuary surrounded by hills – perfect for shipping and eventually limiting the destructive effect that the atomic bomb would have. The bomb was dropped after the initial target, Kokura, was obscured by cloud. It exploded 500m above the ground, right above a prison where the 13,000 inmates and 160 staff died instantly. In all, 80,000 died, including Korean labour and some allied POWs. The museum was tasteful enough but I recall the one in Hiroshima having a more sobering effect.
And so, a couple of hundred km drive back across the top of the island to Yufuin, which was much like how I had imagined Beppu would be - a rural town with handicraft shops and onsen dotted about, all under the shadow of a great mountain. The hotel had its own onsen, one of which was outdoors and could be used privately. Odd experience sat in the garden in a pond (hot one) at tea time, starkers and with a plastic covered telly remote flicking the channels. It’s not so bad when the wrinkles are all your own.
Nagasaki sits in an estuary surrounded by hills – perfect for shipping and eventually limiting the destructive effect that the atomic bomb would have. The bomb was dropped after the initial target, Kokura, was obscured by cloud. It exploded 500m above the ground, right above a prison where the 13,000 inmates and 160 staff died instantly. In all, 80,000 died, including Korean labour and some allied POWs. The museum was tasteful enough but I recall the one in Hiroshima having a more sobering effect.
And so, a couple of hundred km drive back across the top of the island to Yufuin, which was much like how I had imagined Beppu would be - a rural town with handicraft shops and onsen dotted about, all under the shadow of a great mountain. The hotel had its own onsen, one of which was outdoors and could be used privately. Odd experience sat in the garden in a pond (hot one) at tea time, starkers and with a plastic covered telly remote flicking the channels. It’s not so bad when the wrinkles are all your own.