Saturday, June 27, Evening, with Perry

The night was completely clear for once. Nagasaki is supposed to have the second best night view in the world. So before we left for Kyoto, I was determined to get up to Mount Inasa. Tonight was that night.

I asked the hotel front desk for walking directions to the ropeway that would take us up the mountain. I did this a couple years ago; I knew it could be done.

But when I asked the concierge, I don't think she understood what I was asking, and I don't think I fully understood her response. She told me we needed a bus reservation to go up, but it was too late tonight. But she said we could take a taxi to get up there. This was at least a five minute conversation, exchanging several confused looks with explanations ending in ellipses.

I was tempted to try again to get directions to walk to the ropeway, or just try to remember the route from my previous visit but that may take a lot of time...

NO TIME! I decided. Off we went to get a cab. There was no way I was going to miss Mount Inasa. 

No. Way.

The concierge gave me a flyer, all in Japanese, about Mount Inasa. So, predicting that we would not be able to fully communicate with the driver, I whipped out the flyer, "Mount Inasa."

Driver: (pointing at the flyer) "Inasa?"

Me: "Hai!"

Driver: (mumbling something, then looked at me) "Inasa??"

Me: (resolutely) "Hai."

He gave me the flyer back and started driving. He was speaking in the clearest Japanese possible. We understand not even a syllable of what he's saying.

"Nani?" I ask cautiously.

Then he did something that I thought only Americans did: he spoke to us in Japanese louder. He was definitely trying to explain a concern he had about our ride, but we couldn't understand. At stoplights on the way, he continued to help us understand.

I started to get a bad feeling. This man was trying so hard to help us get up a mountain and we were sitting in the backseat thinking, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. WHAT DO WE DO NOW?!" The inconvenience for him was too much for our consciences to handle. And it is not okay in any way to tip in Japan, so we couldn't pay him extra for his effort. I forgot all of my small gifts at the hotel, so I had nothing to give him as thanks.

But the ride didn't stop there because then he CALLED A FRIEND to ask for directions and possibly to find out if he can, in fact, drive us up a mountain.

After a few minutes he hung up, and halfway up the mountain, he pulled over asking for the flyer back. Then he started explaining something to us again. He pointed at a time table on the paper, then waited for us to respond.

Perry: "What should we do?"

Me: (as calmly as possible) "I don't know what our options are." (Translation: "I am flipping out inside too f@$#ing much right now to make that decision.")

Perry calmly explained to me the options because he understood.

Me: "That's what he said?"

Perry: "I don't know but it sounds right."

Me: "It sounds right?"

Perry: "Well I don't know either!"

Me: "I thought you understood him?"

Perry: "I never said that."

Me: "Ugh...." (to the driver) "...gomenasai, gomenasai." (Translates to: "I'm sorry, we are young and stupid; we thought we could do anything.")

The driver repeated what seem to be the same options.

We got wrapped up in a short irritated back and forth in hushed whispers, with frequent "gomenasai" and "I'm sorry" to the driver.

Finally, it was said.

Perry: "Should we just go back to the hotel?"

Me: "...fine."

Perry told the driver to go back to the hotel.

Driver: "JR Hotel?"

Perry: "Hai."

Me: "GOMENASAAAIIIIII!" I was fighting back tears.

The driver laughed and said something in Japanese that sounded like I don't need to apologize. He turned the car around and headed back down the mountain.

But he didn't take us back to the hotel. He dropped us off at the bus station that takes people to Mount Inasa. He laughed some more. We got out of the taxi and went to look at a time table that was completely in Japanese. After a minute:

Me: "Is he gone yet?"

Perry: "Yes, but it's not a big deal. He still got paid and now he has a good story to tell his friends. Let's go back."

We headed back, but Perry stopped, "Let's go the other way so we don't have to see him again and embarrass ourselves more."

It cost us $18 to go halfway up a mountain.

Sunday, June 28, Late Afternoon with Perry

Today is our last day in Nagasaki.

After visiting Sachiko-san, Etsuko-san insisted on a visit to her house. This was my first time in a Japanese home. It was small. It made our house look like a mansion. There was little to no property, aside from the driveway.

We entered and she laid out slippers in front of us. She even had slippers that fit Perry's feet, a "feet" in and of itself if you will. I cannot believe I just typed that.

We sat down in her dining room and she fed us Japanese cherries and a snack that is popular someplace east of Nagasaki.

She talked about the plants covering her windows. It was a soft vine of some sort. She explained that it was a plant that the Japanese use because it absorbed the heat during summer, keeping buildings cooler and thus conserving energy. She said she didn't have an air conditioner in her home, but it was a comfortable temperature inside.

She showed us little shot glass sized bottles of American liquor, explaining the significance of each one. And then began pulling out other very small things that held so much meaning to her. 

She wanted to take us out to dinner so much, but we already made plans to meet Kaho later. I started to catch on that Etsuko-san was attempting to thank us for some reason. I had a nice gift for her as gratitude for taking the time to meet with us for almost an entire day. But I hesitated giving it to her at that point. I didn't want to make her feel obligated to reciprocate even more.

Gift-giving can be really tricky in Japan. A small gift costing a couple dollars at most is expected for those who help. But, give too much of a gift, the obligation to reciprocate could throw two people into a unending gifting trap.

Finally, I decided to give her a small gift instead. It was a small log cabin incense burner that smelled of the trees in northern Minnesota. I'm not a fan, but I thought it would be a good gift for people who don't frequent Minnesota. It has the smell and included the history of settlers in the state. This was one of my tiny gifts I brought for people who helped us. I had several in my suitcase and had to battle the smell off my clothes.

But they were worth the smelly clothes. Etsuko-san loved it. She tore off the tape and sat it on her small buffet. Then she wanted to know how to get more. She even made Fumiko-san use her tablet to look up the website from where we ordered them.

Then, she decided to thank us even though we inconvenienced her. Etsuko-san ran to another room. I started to panic. I messed up. I shouldn't have given her anything. I asked her if I gave too much, but Fumiko-san said that it was fine, that she wanted to do it. I should accept her gifts. She seemed to suggest this is just how Etsuko-san is.

She came back with an antique necklace with a magnifying glass. I felt uncomfortable. Again Fumiko-san waved it off. But Etsuko-san left again only to come back with more.

They were two tiny stuffed bunnies with long ears, wearing a kimono. Etsuko-san explained that the kimono fabric was originally a human one from the Edo period (1603 - 1868). Meaning that the fabric was possibly as old as a Shakespeare play and maybe as new as the US Civil War.

I said that was amazing, but did not make a move to touch them. She pushed them across the table towards Perry and I, "Please take."

There was a melt down in my head at that moment. It was way too much. I couldn't give her another gift because then she'd want to give more, but it would be terribly rude to decline.

I looked at Fumiko-san hoping she would intervene. Without looking up from the tablet, she said, "Such a great gift to remember this day!" Maybe she noticed the sweat running down my face. She finally looked up and added, "She wants you to remember her and her sister."

It was then that I finally got it; I misunderstood the entire afternoon. This would have happened regardless of the incense cabin. It wasn't that she was thankful for that. It was that this day meant  so much to her. I realized that she was happy that I wanted to meet Sachiko-san and present the cranes from my students. In her eyes, I already provided a gift.

I still did not want to accept those bunnies. I didn't deserve that much.

....we ended up leaving with them anyway, mostly because Fumiko-san forced us to.

As we left, I thought about Etsuko-san's house. It was small. But because it was small, it made the things inside her home much more meaningful. The things she kept in her home had to be the most important things in her life.

What things in my house are most important to me? What do I keep as memories of my life? If I only had so much space, what are the most valuable things I would keep to remember my friends and family?

Sunday, June 28, Afternoon with Perry

This afternoon, we went to meet Sachiko-san. Sachiko-san is a woman who survived the atomic bomb in Nagasaki. She was under 10 years old and playing outside with friends. She was nearly killed, by inhalation and suffocation, from the dirt and debris that piled on top of her.

My friend, Caren, is writing a book about her life. She has been working on it for many, many years. She allowed my after school students to read a copy of the manuscript she sent to the publisher. I planned to visit Sachiko-san on behalf of my students. I'll get to that later.

But first, we ran into Anne Prescott and John Frank! These two guided me through my first tour of Japan in 2013. They are staying at the same hotel we are. I felt bad for Perry because just as we got on the up escalator, Anne was half way down, I quickly pushed Perry back off with no explanation, then started waving wildly at the escalator. We talked a bit about our trips and tried to set up time to meet later next week. I don't think it will be possible though. We both figured since Perry and I are leaving for Narita on July 4th, and they had rigid schedules for the first and second days they arrived (the 3rd and 4th). It's too bad; it would have been fun to see each other again later.

In the afternoon, we went with Miyanishi-san to the Nagasaki Symphony Orchestra concert. Miyanishi-san is in the orchestra!  He plays the clarinet. It was an amazing experience with such talented musicians.

Miyanishi-san had us sit next to a woman we did not know, but she quickly started talking to us. She knew who I was. This woman was Etsuko-san (sp?), Sachiko-san's younger sister. She seemed happy to take us to see her sister.

After the concert, we went to see see Sachiko-san at the assisted care building she lives at. We, literally, went up a mountain to get to her.

Etsuko-san was very nice, but was a bit surprised by my age. I think she was expecting someone at least 30 years older. I hope I did okay. I was very grateful to her for spending so much of the day with me. Fumiko-san drove us, and conversed in a lot of Japanese with Etsuko-san. I heard "Maggie-san" a lot, but I'm not sure why.

Meeting Sachiko-san was more overwhelming than I thought it would be. She does not read or speak English; I asked a friend of mine, Keiko - who is also working with Caren on translating Sachiko-san's story into Japanese - to translate a letter I wrote to her. The letter is as follows:

Dear Sachiko,

I am a teacher at a school in St. Paul, Minnesota. This was the first year we created the peace club at Hmong Academy. Caren gave us a manuscript of your story. She said that she wanted to know what young people thought about it. So, last fall the students read your story.

I would like to share some information about our students. They are children and grandchildren of the Vietnam war. Their families fought for the United States in Laos. The Lao government ordered for all Hmong to be killed. Their families ran from their homes through the jungles hiding from the Lao military. The United States did not help them. Many people died escaping while crossing the Mekong River where Lao military sat in trees and shot them. They went to refugee camps in Thailand.

Then they came to the US to live. Their families knew no English. Again, the US did not help. Many Americans were, and still are, mean to them. They think the Hmong are somehow poor and stupid people. St. Paul has one of the highest populations of Hmong people. The Hmong are adapting and  rising to success, but they are losing their language and culture. This year is the 40th anniversary of their migration to the US. This same year it has been 70 years since the atomic bombing in Nagasaki.

I wanted to share this with you because I think one of the reasons our students loved your story was because it was very personal. They too lost many loved ones, their homes completely destroyed and confronted discrimination. They had to start over in a place that was completely different than before.

Thank you so much, Sachiko, for teaching our students about strength and resilience, about overcoming terrible things. After reading your story, I think many of the students started the healing process for their families' and the school. You have truly inspired a group of children across the ocean and helped them envision a world of friendship-making.

Please accept these 1000 cranes. After reading about you, the students decided this was the one thing they could do to thank you. The students worked on them throughout the winter and spring. They recruited friends, family and classmates. They shared your story and started the healing process for other families in their community. Although only a few have read your story, it has reached so many people. You have become such a large part of these students' lives in a way that has forever transformed them into leaders, peacekeepers and global friends to you and Nagasaki.

Thank you so very much for doing what so few can.

Many of my students do not enjoy reading. But most students read Sachiko in one night. One stayed in for Halloween so he could finish it. I cannot communicate how much these kids loved and appreciated the story of Sachiko-san's life. Some students wrote her letters that Keiko also translated. Fumiko-san read those too. We did not stay long, but it still makes me feel lightening bolts of excitement when I think about it.

The journey of the cranes was a worrysome one. In Ueno, I had to send the cranes ahead to Nagasaki in a flimsy travel bag with the rest of my luggage due to the limited space on the trains between Tokyo, Kyoto and Nagasaki. The man working for the delivery company came to pick up the bags, but spoke absolutely no English. The one person in our group who could interpret was drowning in questions by the other travel members.

After an increasingly frustrating conversation between two people who did not understand each other at all, I finally just ripped the bag open and showed him the paper cranes. The carrier nodded, took the bag from my hands and put it on his pile.

I wasn't sure we were able to communicate our thoughts. But when we arrived in our hotel room, on the table sat a box. I opened it and there was the bag of cranes in perfect condition. The delivery guy had packed them for us, free of charge.

I'm not sure what it is about paper cranes. They are just folded pieces of paper but create so much understanding that it doesn't matter if anything was ever spoken at all.

The cranes now hang in Sachiko-san's shared room.

Sunday, June 28, Morning with Perry

My first post of this morning did not save, so I had to write it again. Forgive me for being short.

This morning we went to the Nagasaki Peace Park. It was already hot with 80% humidity at 8:30 AM. But it was sunny. It wasn't raining so the park was perfect. I forgot my umbrella back at the hotel in Ueno, which seems like months ago now. I finally bought another on our first day in Nagasaki. It was one for both rain and sun. And, since I forgot my sun glasses at a restaurant back in Kyoto, the umbrella provided some shade for my eyes this morning.

We got "Nagasaki ice cream." It was so good! The man scooped it in a way that, by the time he was finished, it looked like a rose. Then he made a second one for Perry. It was just a scoop. He smiled and said, "ladies only."

We walked around the the park, looking at the different statues and structures that were donated to the city of Nagasaki as a symbol of friendship. The one from the US was made by a St. Paul artist. He made two identical structures: One for Minnesota and one for Nagasaki.

We approached one statue in the park. It had a drawn color picture taped to it. There were two vases of flowers next to it. There was a bucket of water beside the vases. An old man, who we assumed was a gardener for the park, approached the display. He smiled like he was happy to see people stopping to look at the picture. In Japanese, he said "good morning."

From the little Japanese I know, this is what I think he was telling us. The statue was made for him. He survived the atomic bombing because of some metal poles that mostly shielded him from the blast. The posts on the statue represent the ones that saved him. The picture was something that he created to show what he most remembers of that day. He was outside walking to work when it happened; he just happened to be next to the poles that mostly shielded him, but was knocked out. When he woke up he saw every building around him in flames. People's clothes had been burned off or melted into their skin, if their skin had not melted off of their bodies already. He was 15 years old when it happened.

He said he comes every day to water the flowers. He invited us to water the flowers too. We were lucky to have met him and to have heard his story of survival.

Saturday, June 27, with Perry

After the dance recital, we went to the Atomic Bomb Museum. Perry went through it twice in one day: Once on his own, and once with me. It must have been hard to go through it alone, yet I think it's something that must be done alone. But knowing there are familiar people nearby sharing the same experience is comforting.

On his second tour, we went with a couple other people, including an 11 year old. Even she stayed as long as she could. She said the most important part for her was listening to the survivors of those who were exposed to radiation. They had interviews of Americans who were exposed to radiation during the Cold War too.

I don't know if the second time around was just as difficult for Perry. He is not great at expressing his thoughts and feelings with me. But it was something, I think, that he was still processing. He did say the science and technology exhibits were most important to him.

It is interesting that in America we feel the need to protect children from historic violence. They never grow up fully understanding the full depth and effects of real violence. We don't read narratives of survivors of WWI and II or the Vietnam War (aside from The Things They Carried, which is usually read in 11th grade). We say it is too scary for them. Their first and closest exposure comes from the joy and satisfaction of graphically violent video games. Globally, the US, for other reasons as well, has a shocking amount of violent crime.

In Japan, students are exposed to the historical trauma of war at very young ages. We saw many elementary and middle school age students at the museums. My Japanese friend, at a workshop I co-lead on peace education, told us that she was five years old when she went to an atomic bomb museum for the first time. Japan, for other reasons as well, has one on the lowest crime rates and they play the same video games our children play.

But Japan is a very different place compared to the US. It is not so simple. One of the biggest challenges I faced the first time I visited was all the questions. To Japan, peace is a way of life. To the US, it is an old and impossible fantasy.

I think it will be a while until Perry is able to fully communicate his ideas and response.