history

In my last post, I said that we were hoping to leave Amami Island, a small island in the East China Sea a few days early because there was a risk of a typhoon coming in our direction. The bad news was that we couldn’t change the ferry return date because of lack of availability for the campervan and the good news was that the typhoon changed direction and headed in a more southerly path towards Taiwan and North Korea. The tail of the hurricane still lashed Amami with rain so we booked into a really comfortable hotel -The Wa, enjoyed some pampering and sampled a few of the many restaurants in Naxe, the main town on the island.

We have become fans of Japanese food although we had rarely eaten it before coming here. However a word of caution to vegetarians – a strict vegetarian would probably starve as even the miso soup has a meat base and tofu floats alongside slivers of pork or beef. So we opt for as little meat as possible but even the meat dishes aren’t very ‘meaty’ and there’s usually lots of fresh vegetables. Google Translate lets us down at times when we are looking at menus. We thought that we were ordering the local dish of the Amami Islands (Keihan) which is chicken and rice but we got noodle soup with pork. The presentation and the attention to detail is truly magnificent, with a multitude of side dishes and garnishes. There is such a high standard even in the cheapest places. Eating out is a real pleasure and much more affordable than at home ( we eat local as much as we can)A huge bowl of ramen is about €4 -€5, dinner main course is about €10 to €12 and lunch is cheaper. Some things take a little getting used to. When we ordered two beers, they were accompanied by a bowl of raw cabbage which should be dipped in a couple of varieties of soy cabbage and eaten with chopsticks….surprisingly nice. We haven’t even seen a knife and fork anywhere in Japan yet.

If we are out in the middle nowhere in the van, we cook simple one pot meals ourselves so we also frequent the supermarkets and the little convenience stores known as Konbinni which are everywhere. They are amazing places, usually manned by very friendly staff. They have ATMs, toilets , free WiFi and sell everything from toiletries to Pot Noodles. You can buy all your meals here with a huge selections of high quality, ready-meals with microwaves to heat them up, a counter with stools or a few tables to sit at. There’s coffee, cold drinks and a selection of magazines and comics. They are open late, often 24 hours a day, and are really an extension of the Japanese home which are often shoe-box size especially on the cities. Apparently some Japanese apartments (and student bed-sits) don’t even have a kitchen.

Last Wednesday evening, we were sitting in the van in the ferry queue to get off Amami Island. It was dark but it was also warm -about 25degrees- and very humid. The rain was torrential. Caoimhin tried to turn on the engine to clear the windscreen and turn on the wipers. Nothing happened. There was an ominous creaking sound (a bit like a hoarse corncrake) but nothing more. After several panicky tries with no luck, Caoimhin got out to see if we could get help. I was frantically thumbing through the Japanese van manual to find a graphic representation of out how to open the bonnet(words weren’t any help😲). Meanwhile Caoimhin was out in the rain, holding his useless umbrella which the wind had turned inside out. One of the attendants, an elderly man, came over to us and Caoimhin tried to start it again. The same creaking sound. The man nodded and walked away without a word. We sat there, still not knowing how to open the bonnet. Then one last try……and the engine turned over. A few minutes later, the row of cars started to move to board the ferry with the usual shouting, whistle-blowing and reversing up ramps. The ferry we embarked had come from Okinawa and again there were lots of Japanese army vehicles and personnel onboard but there were also hundreds of schoolchildren travelling to the mainland of Japan for school sports events The US still have a big army base in Okinawa, which was under American control from the end of World War 2 until the 1970’s.

The crossing was rough, much more turbulent than our outward journey. At times there was such loud banging that it sounded as if vehicles were sliding around the car deck. After a few hours, it became calmer but we were more than delighted to see land and disembark in Kagoshima.

No matter where you go, there are always connections with home. Our next stop was Kumamoto, a town where Lafcadio Hearn lived for a few years with his Japanese wife and children. Lafcadio was a writer with an Irish father and a Greek mother and spent many summers in Tramore as a boy. The beautiful Lafcadio Japanese Gardens in Tramore were established in his memory. Lafcadio is very much revered in Japan for his writings and his house in Kumamoto has been turned into a museum. There was a small entrance fee and the attendant was very friendly (although he didn’t speak English) giving us some postcards as presents.

As we drive into the mountains out of Kumamoto, we can see the hazy peninsula of Nagasaki across the Araike Sea. Along the way, there are small farms and little villages by the shore, both traditional and modern houses, roadside shires and cemeteries. It’s mandarin season and most houses have a persimmon tree outside with it’s ripening orange fruit decorating the branches like balls on a Christmas tree. The land becomes flatter with rice and beans, tractors and enormous greenhouses.

Caoimhin has been talking about the wonders of Japanese steel since we arrived in Japan so on our drive to Nagasaki, we divert to visit a small family-run business who have been making hand-forged knives for centuries. The knives with their glinting blades and carved handles are truly a work of art.

Careful now!!!!!!!!

Nagasaki is a beautiful city with gentle hills on three sides and a long narrow bay to the sea. It was the only harbour port in Japan where contact and trade with foreigners was allowed during Japan’s self-imposed, two-hundred year isolation. There’s a gorgeous old stone bridge, built in 1634 that has survived all the trials and tribulations of time including the dropping of the atomic bomb. ‘Mothers’were posing on the bridge with their Lovots ( baby robots) when we visited yesterday.

It’s almost impossible to imagine the horror of that day in 1945. The photographs and descriptions in the Atomic Bomb Museum are so harrowing that’s it’s difficult to process it all. The terrible plight of the survivors, their awful thirst and the grim legacy that they carried afterwards is beyond words. A prison near the hypocentre vaporized leaving only the foundations of the building. Several schools were left with just a wall standing, ceramic roof tiles more than a kilometre away, boiled and bubbled when exposed to the heat flash. 73,884 people died instantly and a similar number were injured. Despite everything Nagasaki has risen like a phoenix from the ashes and the emphasis is firmly on peace and friendship so that nothing like it can ever be allowed to happen.

The Nagasaki Peace Park is filled with statues, commemorative plaques and remains of the bomb drop. There are sculptures from various countries around the world pledging friendship and solidarity. Many of the sculptures depict mothers and children emphasising that we must protect not only present generations but also the coming generations so that all the peoples of the world can live in harmony.

The weather was extremely wet in Nagasaki for our first day. Western and central Japan has recorded their largest-ever 24-hour rainfall for November. After the devastating floods in Spain, it was a bit disconcerting to be sleeping in the van while rain bucketed down as if it would never stop. (Most of the photos are from our second sunny day 🌞)

A Saturday morning visit to an onsen (thermal baths) was just what we needed after our very rainy (and windy) night in the van, parked in the corner of a carpark. The onsen was high in the hills above Nagasaki and had an outside section with gorgeous views of the city. We have become so accustomed to onsens at this stage (and walking around in the nip) that it’s difficult to believe how awkward and intimidating we found the whole process a few weeks ago. It was so relaxing lying up to my chin in hot water, fanned by a cool breeze and watching leaves drifting down from the trees and thinking about all we have seen in this lovely vibrant city which has seen so much sorrow.

The storm system gradually moved away and the sun came out on Saturday afternoon…..stunning blue skies after all the rain, almost like the motto of this city, ….a belief in hope and brighter days. Our phones are calling for people to be on high alert for landslides and flooding, while also being careful of lightning, tornadoes and violent winds through late Saturday.😲😲. But we are loving the clear blue skies, the sunshine and the ’weather forecast is good for the coming week.

Until next time…thanks for reading x

Nagasaki

**The Centre of Devastation (** marked by a black plaque with concentric circles radiating from it).
So peaceful now

It was time to move inland – it was already August 27 – and make our way to the other side of Spain to Catalonia where we had rented a holiday house with Ciaran and Christina, Caoimhin’s brother and wife and Louise, a South African friend of theirs for most of September.

The morning in Galicia was grey and hazy – sea and sky were one – unlike the vivid blues and greens that we were used to and the temperature was a cool (almost goose bumpy) 18 degrees. We packed up the tent and decided to head inland. We stopped in Lugo to look at the impressive Roman walls. We climbed the steps and walked the 2 kms on top of the walls. It would have been a lovely walk at dusk or early morning but at 1 pm in 33 degrees, it was a walk for mad dogs only…..

**Climbing the walls – Roman Walls, Lugo**

Afterwards while we were hydrating indoors in an air con café in the old town with good WiFi, we decided to give the camping a break. We booked a hostal there and then in Ponteferrada, a town about an hour and a bit away. (Hostals are different to hostels, they are cheap hotels usually two star).It was €50 for an en-suite room including breakfast and free parking so we weren’t sure what to expect. Hostal Rabel didn’t look very promising from the street and was over a little cafe/bar. But we were very pleasantly surprised – it was spotlessly clean inside with thick shutter blinds, crisp white sheets, bedside lamps (a luxury after camping) and wooden floors. It was bliss -cool and quiet with a fantastic shower and oodles of hot water and even complimentary toiletries. It was only a short walk from the old town. and there was even a good vegan restaurant (La Marmita Verde) up the street – we were the only customers in this meat obsessed country.

Ponteferrada is a medium sized town in the province of Leon surrounded by mountains and was a major stop for centuries on the French Camino. The old quarter of the town sits below a very imposing castle built by the Knights Templar near the iron bridge crossing the river Sil to protect passing pilgrims on their way to Santiago de Compostela. There were also several churches in the old town. We popped into the Basilica de la Encina where Gregorian chant music was being piped and were awed by the beauty of the building, the ornateness of the decor and the music. The building exuded power. It was actually spine tingling – the pilgrims who walked this route for salvation must have felt the urge to prostate themselves on the ground.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is img_20210828_091304.jpg — **Bascilica de la Encina, Pontferrada**

**The Castle of the Knights Templar, Ponteferrada** (and the big ‘M’ – One chain to another))

After our very pleasant stop in Ponteferrada, we headed southeast and drove for a couple of hours over dry flat landscape under a baking sun until we got to Tordesillas, a little town with a campsite that had good reviews online. The town didn’t look like much, the camping cost almost as much as our stay in the hostal the night before (€44)and had lots of rules, it was hot and dusty and as we pitched our tent, sweating in the dirt, we were regretting our decision to go there. But that changed when we crossed the bridge over the Douro and climbed the cobble streets of the old town. We had no hint of the treasures waiting up the hill – convents, monasteries, a palace going back to the twelfth century and a beautiful town square. Heat radiated from the stone walls but there was also a cooling breeze and birdsong, hundreds of doves and pigeons flying and an evening wedding in one of the old churches. We people-watched under the vaulted arches of the Square and drank cold beer in the shade. It was like walking through history and what history here – google the Treaty of Tordesillas where the American continent (most yet to be discovered at the time) was carved up between Portugal and Castille to avoid war on the Iberian Peninsula.. And the story of Joan the Mad, daughter of Isabel and Ferdinand who was banished here….who wasn’t ‘mad’ at all.

After a morning walk along the Douro under the shade of poplar trees, we drove off still heading east along the fertile Douro valley with its vineyards in the direction of Siguenza where we had booked a parador a few days previously for Monday night. It was now Sunday and we weren’t sure where we would break the journey or if we would camp overnight. We kept driving until we arrived in Atienza, a small village in Guadalajara with a ruined castle on the hilltop overlooking the village and knocked on the stout wooden door of Hotel Convento Santo Ana, a door that looked like it had admitted travelers for centuries. There were rooms available for €49 a night and we were stunned both by the price and by the beauty of the interior design, all muted colours with large sofas and lamps. Incredible value in a beautiful place. We wandered up to the village square where at 7.30 pm, we are too early for dinner anywhere ( a common problem as most restaurants don’t open until 9 pm) and make do with tapas, olives, bread, tortilla, crisps and wine.

**Hotel Conventa de Santa Ana, Atienza** – **incredible value**

Early the following morning, the smell of baking bread from the village bakery followed us up the hill to the ruins of the castle on the rock, once a very important seat of power and the interface between Christians and Muslims, frequently changing hands between the two. Atienza was part of the Ruta de El Cid (and even Don Quixote)but is now a mere hamlet of a couple of hundred people

Then it was onward to Siguenza and luxury at the Parador of Siguenza, the Castle of the Bishops, a medieval castle with foundations dating back to the fifth century. Paradores are a group of historical buildings that are state owned and run as upmarket hotels at affordable prices. How could we resist staying in a castle for €140 for the night including a fabulous buffet breakfast? Siguenza is a beautiful little town with a stunning cathedral, narrow cobbled streets where the walls store up the heat of the day and release it in the balmy evening, where the barber was an ex-matador and the walls of his shop were covered with triumphant photos of himself in his heyday and the TV was tuned to some bullfighting event. But he did an excellent job of cutting Caoimhin’s hair. As we creep down the staircase for an early morning walk, the following day we notice lots of birds flying past a window at the end of one of the long corridors. We investigated and opened the window to see thousands of little swallows clinging to the castle walls like leaves and then flying off and landing again. It was a truly remarkable sight.

After the luxury of the parador, we come down to earth with a bang. A deer rant out in front of he car and we missed him by a hair’s breath. We had seen some deer in the long pale grasses beneath the castle walls but this was a closer encounter than we wanted. The amount of truck traffic after Zaragoza is incredible – trucks outnumber cars at least ten to one. We cross the border into Catalonia and camp at the Riba Roja campsite which has a disheveled air, dusty and wilted by the heat and with lots of flies. But there were no rules here about where to park or pitch your tent or wash your dishes which is refreshing. It was on the banks of a reservoir made by the impressive dam on the river Ebro for the Riba Roja hydroelectric plant. But there were also thunderstorm warnings and the access road to the campsite was along a narrow road cut into high cliffs which made us (I mean me!) a bit nervous. The pitter- patter of rain on the tent in the early morning had us scrambling to pack up. But the rain which was very light stopped almost as soon as it began so we walked up the road to have a look at the dam and the hydroelectric plant and heading to the Costa Duarada.

Travelling across Spain through the interior has been a revelation – we picked our stopovers at random and without research and could easily have stayed in different places but we were completely awed by the living history, beauty of the old towns and the quality of the accommodation. We traveled all the way on non-toll roads and thankfully no car issues to report!!