With toothache and a twisted ankle, I take the Bullet Train over to Hiroshima. My first stop, a place I visited ten years ago, Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park. Immediately after the atomic bombing, it was said that no plants or trees would grow for 75 years, but as I hobble along Peace Boulevard towards the park, I notice it is lined with large trees and lush greenery. Following a tree-planting campaign in 1956, in which neighbouring municipalities in Hiroshima Prefecture were asked to donate trees to the city, Hiroshima has been transformed into a verdant paradise.

I stroll in silence through Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park. I take note of the fountains, the newly laid flowers at the cenotaph, the looming Atomic Bomb Dome in the distance; a survivor, its form so full of imperfections, its beauty an aide memoire of an aftermath of events that left it in such a state; a symbol of everything left behind, a skeletal figure of what once was, now ruins.

Seventy-seven years ago United States President Harry Truman authorised the bombing of Hiroshima. His actions, which would be considered a war crime today, resulted in the instant deaths of 80,000 people. As I further walk toward the dome in the distance, I can’t help but think about the enormous impact of these events; the devastation of an entire city in a single moment.

The building that houses the skeletal remains of the Atomic Bomb Dome is known as the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall, and in December 1996 it was added to the UNESCO World Heritage List as a reminder to the whole world of the horrors of the atomic bomb, and a symbol of global peace. As I look at this building I can’t help but become overwhelmed by sadness.

Because the bomb dropped on Hiroshima exploded from almost directly above this structure, some of the walls and the iron frame making up the dome remained standing, whereas everything else around it for miles was flattened to the ground. There has been some controversy about this building in the past, some people argued that it should be destroyed, for it’s a dangerously dilapidated building that evokes painful memories. Others argue that is should be preserved as a memorial to the bombing. Since the UNESCO status, the building is now protected and efforts are continually made to ensure that it looks identical to how it looked on that fateful day in 1945.

Leaving the solemn Peace Memorial Park behind, I embark on a journey by train to Miyajimaguchi Station. Located on the serene Miyajima Island, the revered Itsukushima Shrine is said to offer one of Japan’s most breathtaking views. As I enter the station, a display of the shrine and its iconic, wandering deer greets me with a festive flourish.

Before taking the ferry over to the island, I pause to capture a photograph of Itsukushima Shrine from the mainland. The shrine, known for its red torii gate that floats in the water during high tide, beckons me with its breathtaking beauty. I stare across at the shimmering water below, the sparkling lustre of Hiroshima Bay that stretches out before me, and with a sense of awe and wonder, I set out on the ferry towards the island, eager to explore its marvels.

The shrine is a Japanese National Treasure and a UNESCO World Cultural Heritage site. Unfortunately for me, there are none of the anticipated roaming deer hanging around today, but despite that, the shrine is amazing to look at. I can’t begin to describe how beautiful the red torii gate is up close. This landmark is one of the most photographed places in Japan, and I urge anyone visiting Japan to go and see it for themselves. My original photograph from the ferry port is the one I select here, as some things you just need to see and enjoy for yourself.

As I wander the streets of Hiroshima, I am determined to find a small standing bar that I visited 10 years ago. I remember the hotel I stayed at nearby and the bar owner’s enthusiasm for football, and I am eager to see if the owner’s guestbook is still around. However, after searching for over an hour, I discover that the bar’s location has been swallowed up by the ever-expanding Hiroshima Station, much to my disappointment. I had hoped to read the entry I made in the guestbook during my first trip to Japan back in 2012, but it seems that the bar’s memories have been lost to time.

With little else to do I head over to the nightlife area. This maze of buildings containing multiple bars is huge. From one intersection I can see 300 different bars in the four directions I look. It’s common for buildings in Japan to contain loads of tiny bars, and usually I bravely enter these bars with no plan as to where my night will go. Each individual sign in my photograph represents a single bar.

The first bar I go into the owner tells me, “No foreigners.” The same thing happens in the second, third, and fourth bar I attempt to visit. I understand that maybe the bar owners had negative experiences with foreigners in the past, or may not be comfortable communicating in English, but it is never acceptable to discriminate against someone based on their nationality or ethnicity, and it leaves me feeling hurt and frustrated.

I do eventually find a small friendly bar that will accept me, and stay up until closing time drinking and singing with the foreign owner’s Japanese guests. It’s actually one of the best nights out I’ve had in a while, so much so, that by the end of the night I’ve forgotten entirely about the toothache, the twisted ankle, and the racism.