Good afternoon,
It is a lovely, late-spring day in Tokyo, and a simple one.
Golden Week is gone, and in the absence of fall colors or sakura (or the divinely beautiful lotus flowers that will not appear until July), there is a less pronounced sense of seasonal urgency. There are just blue skies, occasionally with some puffy clouds, mild lushness in the gardens, and the natural light that famously glides through the city`s narrow alleys from dawn till dusk.
There is, of course, also the hint of humidity that will kidnap the entire city in the coming months, but for now, the warmth feels comforting, reminding me of places with normal summer seasons, unlike the unsurvivable version we have here in Japan.
May is one of those months that I catch myself enviously looking at the travelers I see on the train in the morning. I am on my way to work, but they have the whole day ahead of them to explore this very walkable city, which will likely leave them a little disoriented yet curiously charmed. Many sites will be covered, with many more inevitably sacrificed to the city’s endlessness.
I don’t know any other city as skillful as Tokyo at keeping you always on your toes. It lets you in just enough to keep you captivated, but also makes it a little teasingly obvious that it has so many other layers you will likely never access, locking you into a continuous, seductive, and sometimes a little exhausting game of hide-and-seek.
But this month’s letter is about a city that reveals itself a little more openly and asks a lot less physically, leaving room for the emotional weight it carries. With its deep wounds still out in the open, yet inspiringly contrasted by its vibrant daily life, it is a city I repeatedly find my way back to: Nagasaki.
I am, like many, drawn to Nagasaki for its rich history, defined by centuries of first flourishing, then complicated, and eventually devastating encounters with the outside world. But I am equally captivated by its present-day, inevitably shaped by that past, resulting in a city that feels unmistakably Japanese yet cosmopolitan, in both its architecture and culture.
Then there is also its unbelievably flattering geography - a city built around the calm waters of Nagasaki Bay, spreading across steep hills, beautifully depicted in Nagasaki-born Kazuo Ishiguro`s heartbreaking novel A Pale View of the Hills, which tells the story of two women, one mother to a daughter, the other soon to be, trying to cope with the aftermath of the atomic bombing.
The physical signs of that devastation, delicately woven into Ishiguro's story, are still visible across the city, in the form of a half-standing torii gate, a partially destroyed school building, a camphor tree believed to have died but unexpectedly sprouted new shoots, joining the ranks of hibakujumoku - A-bombed but still standing trees, or the bell of an otherwise entirely destroyed cathedral.
Between the bay and those hills also lies a vibrant city with countless narrow alleys. Their colorful and deliciously chaotic atmosphere makes it obvious that you are in the south - at least south of Japan - even if not in a Southeast Asian city, though you would be forgiven for thinking you were in one. Scooters zig-zag through those alleys all night long, largely unbothered by the pedestrians, who themselves appear to care even less after a certain point in the evening. This is Kyushu, after all.
Nagasaki is also one of the few cities in Japan that wholeheartedly embraces the surrounding sea rather than carefully hiding from it. Thanks to the bay`s sheltered waters, which make it a little less vulnerable to tsunamis, the city, with a seaside promenade lined with cafés, at times carries the feel of a Riviera town or even the Bosphorus, making me feel both nostalgic for home and at home in Nagasaki.
But Nagasaki is also undeniably a Japanese city, sometimes not so easy on the eyes, yet full of visual surprises around every corner. Like the best Japanese cities, it is imperfectly perfect, asking you to look beyond the visual chaos it throws at you and appreciate the city as a whole rather than getting distracted by the unappealing individual buildings.
For a more effortless beauty, there is always Teramachi, the street hosting several temples, including Sōfuku-ji, originally built by the city’s Chinese residents in the 17th century, or Suwa Shrine across the river, reportedly built to divert the interest back to the country’s native religion, at a time when Nagasaki was widely seen as the flourishing center of Christianity.
Nagasaki’s long and influential history and the distinct culture it shaped are, of course, not confined to the city’s borders.
The entire region, with the Goto Islands to the west, the haunting Shimabara Peninsula to the east, and the Amakusa Islands to the south, carries the traces of centuries shaped by Nagasaki’s complicated relationship with the outside world.
Beginning in the 16th century, the region stood at the forefront of Japan’s first encounters with Western culture. Nagasaki Port opened in 1571 and facilitated a few short decades of vibrant trade that brought not only foreign goods from the West but also Jesuit Priests and Christianity.
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