Category Archives: Nagasaki

Virtual Insanity

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Today I’m still in Huis Ten Bosch, at a place called Fantasia City of Lights. The sign here says that this otherworldly experience features the latest and greatest in digital sound technology. Once again, and a pattern I’ve found within this theme park, is that this City of Lights has absolutely nothing to do with the Netherlands.

My first stop today is Flower Fantasia, a soothing space with the theme of a secret laboratory that makes flowers from lights. The laboratory is the first thing I see when I enter so isn’t that much of a secret. Holographic flowers shimmer with iridescence as they dance around in vials, test tubes, and flasks. A screen on the opposite wall projects visuals of mathematical equations and flowers, it doesn’t really make any sense.

The next section is where I can discover fragrances of lavenders, chamomiles, geraniums, calendulas, and roses. A sign instructs me to gently open the Petri dishes to uncover a digital flower. The fragrances, however, don’t come close to infiltrating my mask. There’s a pathway of blooming flowers that follow my footsteps and decorate the floor below, and some interactive artwork on a wall where flowers blossom before my eyes.

I leave the blooming flowers and head towards the next exhibit. Aquarium Fantasia is a thrilling space to experience the colourful world of the deep sea. A lady dressed in a traditional Dutch klederdracht tells me to, “Please Enjoy!” The first thing on show here is a digital aquarium. The fish in the many tanks have been replaced by holographic images; at least in this aquarium, it’s impossible to forget to feed the fish.

There’s rather a lot of information in the next few sections, facts about the ocean, about it being the origin of all lifeforms. “Even when recreated and enhanced digitally, this underwater world hints at possibilities for vitality.” I pass through a huge shark tunnel, an ‘underwater’ tunnel that passes through the aquarium. Digitally enhanced sharks swim around. A sign at the other end asks me to deliberate the fact that the ocean is an ephemeral world that can’t last forever. I contemplate that one day this may not be an aquarium, but instead a digital museum for absent oceans and forgotten aquatic habitats.

In the next room there is a hands-on interactive activity, and I instantly forget about the fleeting impermanence of the ocean. The instructions are very simple. “How to play: Stir the fluids to create a jellyfish.”

I can swipe my fingers around on the walls and what looks like paint mixes together and eventually creates a jellyfish. Each time I try the activity, a jellyfish of variable size and colour is formed, before gliding away into the mystical underwater world, where its body dissolves back into the currents of time.

After enjoying the fluidity of this transient expression of art for far too long, I move onto the next interactive exhibition, and my favourite of the day. The instructions are once again short and easy to follow. “How to play: Become a fish.”

As I enter a dimly lit room, my silhouette is cast onto the wall. I become a fish, without much effort at all. Fish swim around on the floor and walls, I can step on their shadows and watch them swim away, or move my head to chase off the ones that swim on the walls. Every three minutes a large shoal of colourful sardines travels around the entire room, illuminating the area in a swirling digital aquarelle of glistening fish.

As the shoal of fish weave together like an underwater miracle, they come together to form the shape of one giant fish. This is when the exhibition takes a somewhat dark turn. Where once was a kaleidoscopic multitude of multicoloured sardines, now becomes a sinister black shark that chases me around the room.

After being devoured by the shark, I move onward through the aquarium. There are reminders here that all life originated from the ocean. How life and the ocean have coexisted through time. Once sign asks, “What is life? What does it mean to exist?” Questions that are teased but left unanswered. A section on technology, about how the lines between real and virtual begin to blur as the actual world adapts to real-life qualities. “How will we go on to define our existence?”

The final section opens up into a large theatre. As I take my seat alongside the darkness, I contemplate my own reality, before reminding myself that I am sitting in a virtual aquarium, inside a slightly Dutch theme park, in Nagasaki, Japan.

After a while, a short film about the unexplored deeper reaches of the ocean begins. The deeper we dive, the more sunlight is absorbed. The last to dissipate is blue light, which gives the underwater world its colour. This film explores what the bottom of the ocean could look like, if only we were able to see it. The film simulates forward motion, as though I am swimming under the sea. The large surround sound system bellows out noises of the ocean. There’s some weird crystal thing that comes to life, some flowery patterns give birth to various new lifeforms that become tangled and interwoven like the fabric of a false euphoria, and the entire film suddenly becomes a psychedelic three-dimensional underwater nightmare.

My third and final stop in Fantasia City of Lights is the one I am most anticipating, Space Fantasia. Our solar system and planetary information is displayed on a giant screen for a while. Next, a show titled ‘2101: Galaxy Odyssey’ starts, and what claims to be a self aware artificial intelligence guides us into the next room.

There is some sort of stage and we are asked to volunteer to play a game. Only two of the ten here raise their hands. We then have to wait and watch whilst they struggle to complete the challenge. I glance at my flyer, it states that the duration of this wacky space adventure is twenty-five minutes in length, and specifically states that, “You can’t leave halfway.”

Stars form on the ground to form constellations, and the lines where astrology and astronomy meet begin to blur, as the only constellations relevant to this game are not Cassiopeia, Orion, or Ursa Major, but are the twelve of the zodiac. As the two volunteers jump around, every time they match stars to form a constellation, everyone applauds. They score seven out of twelve. “Superb!” someone shouts.

We then move onto the third and final room, another theatre.

We fly through space and learn about various clouds of dust and gas. The Butterfly Nebula appears on the screen, turns into a butterfly, then flies away. The Swan Nebula appears on screen, turns into a swan, then flies away. The Bubble Nebula appears on screen, and I see where this is going. After the bubble floats away we sit through a firework display in space, some Galactic Cherry Blossoms, the Engraved Hour Glass Nebula, before finally returning to Earth.

Walking in a Weird Wonderland

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Today I’m at Huis Ten Bosch, Nagasaki Prefecture. This Netherlands themed park features life-size replicas of Dutch architecture. Opened in March 1992, this crazy theme park of 152 hectares makes it the biggest in Japan. It initially cost 3 billion dollars to build. It appears the original owners were a little wasteful with their money, especially when a solid 18-karat gold hot tub was purchased for a little over 7 million dollars; the largest solid gold hot tub in the world. The price to take a soak in the solid gold bath was just twenty dollars an hour, and taking into account the opening times of the theme park, by my calculation it would take 95 years of constant use to recoup the initial cost. This probably goes somewhere to explain why Huis Ten Bosch went bankrupt in 2003.

Regardless, the park is open again now under new ownership. I cross a rather long bridge leading into the park, the lampposts here are playing Christmas songs, It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year. At the entrance I pay my ¥7000 entrance fee, and make note of a sign saying no dogs allowed.

Huis Ten Bosch translates to mean House in the Woods and it even has its own Wikipedia page. I take out my map and instantly search for Thriller City, an area of the park I’ve previously read about and am excited to see, however, my map makes no mention of this terrifying zone, which was based on a Michael Jackson music video; it appears Thriller City has been removed and replaced by Fantasia City of Lights.

There is a second attraction I had wanted to see, the first 3-storey carousel in the world. The Huis Ten Bosch website stated that the Sky Carousel will be ready from November 11th, so I head over to Attraction Town section D-6 only to find that it’s still under construction, and by the looks of it, it won’t even be ready in time for Christmas; the labourers here still working on the first of its many storeys.

With all the things I had planned to see today not available, I decide to freely explore the park with no direction or cause. I pass gondolas floating down the many canals. Statues of Santa Claus and Christmas songs around every corner. On Van Gogh Street, a live band dressed as Christmas elves perform cover versions of the music of Elvis Presley.

Over on Rembrandt Street, I find a marble mask that turns out to be a replica of the La Bocca della Verità, and that for ¥100 can give me a palm reading. Well as they say, when in Rome, but I’m not, and everything here so far has nothing to do with the Netherlands. The part of the statue that reads my palm is quite small, and I struggle to fit my whole hand on the screen. My reading tells me that I need to be less sardonic, and some other nonsense.

I continue to wander the park, passing a replica of Stadhuis, a building that might be a Dutch word meaning ‘City Hall’ but the building replicated here is actually found in Bruges, Belgium. I have to show my entrance ticket to enter Harbour Town, and again to enter Huis Ten Bosch Palace; it makes me wonder how these people think I even entered the park in the first place.

Huis Ten Bosch Palace is a replica of a palace with the same name, and I am relieved to find out is originally located in the Netherlands. I am told that it is a faithful recreation and I learn that even the bricks the Japanese used to create this building were flown in from Europe. After twice showing my ticket again to leave, I head over to yet another Dutch replica, Domtoren, a 105-metre tall tower with an observation deck.

As I continue to explore, I find even more things in this park that have absolutely nothing to do with Huis Ten Bosch, the whole place appears to be a mismatch of conflicting ideas. There is Jurassic Island, an augmented reality game but it isn’t included in the ticket price. There is a whole area dedicated to virtual reality. Horse Land. A shooting range with a fifty minute wait time. There is a chocolate mansion. A 300-metre long zipwire. There is even a trick-art museum.

I check my map and find an attraction in Adventure Park called The Maze. The caption reads, “The biggest in the world! A huge maze inside a five-storey tree house.” The maze has a ninety kilogramme weight limit and a sign informs me that I can’t enter if I’ve been drinking. It doesn’t specify what I can’t have been drinking, I presume they mean alcohol, however, chance would be such a fine thing, as alcoholic beverages are impossible to find in this park.

The maze is rather easy and I think it’s mostly for children. I have to duck down beneath low hanging wooden beams and climb up narrow ladders and stairways. I somehow doubt the claim that it’s the largest maze in the world though, and after ten minutes of climbing up and down I reach the exit, a tunnel slide that goes from the fifth floor to the ground. Despite being reasonably below the weight limit, I can’t fit in the slide, so instead I have to follow signs for the ‘Surrendering Exit’ as there are no other ways for me to leave, thus meaning I have failed to complete the maze.

I wander a little more, exploring Fantasia City of Lights, but I’m saving that for a separate post. I consider riding the Ferris wheel, but there’s an extra charge so I decide not to bother. I pass small stalls selling cheeses and wines, decorated in fairly lights and miniature Christmas trees. I even find the most bizarre attraction of them all, a 24-hour coin laundry, in a theme park that closes at nine o’clock.

As it begins to get cold, I go to leave the park passing flowers and windmills; even the windmills here are playing Christmas songs. The route directs me into Schiphol Airport Terminal Gift Shop, I don’t buy anything. The very last shop before the exit is called ‘DogBox’ and is a dog grooming salon.

Drive My Car

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Today I’m in Sasebo, Nagasaki Prefecture, and there are mountains everywhere. I walk vaguely in the direction of Sasebo Yonkacho Shotengai, a shopping arcade so big that its kilometre-long length spans across seven different towns. It is actually the longest straight and continuous shopping arcade in Japan. Sasebo Tourist Information states, “The arcade is always crowded with shoppers. Some stores accept US dollars.”

As I begin to wander through the retro shopping arcade, I notice a complete lack of not just shoppers, but shops that are open. Everything here aside from stores like Seven Eleven and Family Mart are all but closed. The arcade boasts over 160 shops, including a multitude of restaurants, souvenir shops, clothing shops, as well as daily goods stores. This morning, however, shuttered down shops with no identity fill the margins of this shopping stretch. The shopping arcade does however offer free wireless Internet, and also offers a nice break from the low winter sun on what is a relatively warm winter morning.

At the other end of the arcade, Mount Yumiharidake hovers on the distant horizon.

As I further approach the mountain, a sign tells me that the summit is 3.4 kilometres away. Having just walked one kilometre through a shopping street with relative ease, I decide that this could be an enjoyable hike to the top. There is said to be an observation deck at the peak which offers some of the best views of Sasebo and its surrounding nature, so off I go.

It seems there are multiple ways up the mountain. The boring option is to hike the entire route by simply following the main road, or as I do, take some of the more interesting routes up steep steps and rocky intervals. As more and more of the paths begin to fracture and split into narrow lanes that scale upwards from the base of the mountain, interwoven homes across narrow streets littered with cats make up the first twenty minutes of the climb.

As I continue on with my ascent, and the route begins to snake more and more, light rain begins to fall. Hot from the day and the steepness of the climb I find the rain to be a welcome refreshment and decide to rest for a moment, allowing the rain to cool me down, and my heart rate to climb back down to a steady crawl.

I stop suddenly when I notice a sign telling me to watch out for snakes, but not just any snakes, mamushi, the most venomous snakes in Japan.

As I watch out for snakes, I pass under low hanging cobwebs that drift between trees across the many muddy paths. I don’t see any other people, and other than the cats, I don’t expect that I ever will. The track spirals around and into a clearing through the woods for a time, before becoming a path again.

A little later, I pass a rather small cave carved into the rocks, I’m not sure if this is part of the climb or not, but it looks ominous, as if some unnamed horror is lurking inside. I take out my phone to capture the cave, before turning on my torch. As I bring the light to the entrance, I hear something inside begin to rustle around, perhaps a snake, and my heart begins to race, its beats increasing and repeating, an octave at a time, like an endlessly rising Bach canon fit for a king.

After taking an alternative route, I eventually reach a road where bamboo stretches off to the side, bamboo so tall that it descends deep below the road, stretching off into a distant obscurity.

Further along the road I see a sign telling me to, “Keep Out!” and below the sign is a huge drop, and I wonder who this sign is even for. Eventually, I see another sign for a car park, 300 metres away, and breathe a sigh of relief in knowing that I’m almost at the top. A third sign explains that gun hunting is prohibited in this area, perhaps the reason for the abundance of snakes.

Finally the mountain path opens up, to reveal a stunning view of the city and landscapes beyond. Its US navy base below with its massive boats. Other mountains bulge up over the horizon, the view somewhat washed white by the falling rain. Over to the west, a large labyrinth of small islands, the Kujukushima Islands, its name meaning 99 islands, but also meaning too many islands to count (there are exactly 208).

A short stroll up some stone steps, and over a small bridge, and I arrive at the Yumiharidake Observation Deck. The deck offers a nice panoramic view from atop this 364-metre tall mountain. I stand for a while, taking in the view.

A sign tells me that I can enjoy the scenery during the day as well as at night, however, I would be more fearful of climbing at night, just because it would make it especially harder to detect the snakes. The night view though is apparently amazing, and really brings out the lights of the city. There is also a free shuttle bus to the top of the mountain at regular intervals throughout the day.

I head over to the bus stop and wait. After about ten minutes, I do finally see another human being, a Japanese man pulls up beside me in his car. “No bus today,” he says. I ask him whether that’s because today is Sunday, however, he just repeats himself and says, “No bus today,” for a second time. I feel a little disappointed but before I can reply, the man points to himself and says, “Drive my car.” I tell him that I can’t drive, but this is of course not what he meant.

I sit in the back, and luckily he drives. The open window offers a refreshing breeze. After a very brief conversation in English about whether or not I know King Charles, our chat abruptly ends, so I take out my book. Men Without Women, a collection of short stories by Haruki Murakami. As we slowly descend, crawling down the mountain path, the free shuttle bus to Sasebo Station overtakes us from behind.

Heart-Shaped Rocks

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The jaunty jingle on the bullet train signals my arrival in Nagasaki. It’s freezing cold as I leave the station. I enter a world of chaos and construction, maze-like fences guiding people around roadworks and frameworks for what looks like a development for a new plaza and station building. It takes me about ten minutes to escape the labyrinth and get out onto a main road.

My first stop is along the Nakashima River, a river that runs through the middle of Nagasaki and divides the city into two. This river also features an abundance of historical stone bridges, including Fukuro Bridge. “It is unknown when it was built or who built it. It is said to be the second oldest stone arch bridge right after Meganebashi, but there is no evidence.”

Luckily for me, these two bridges are next to each other, so I photograph Meganebashi from Fukuro Bridge.

Built in 1634, Meganebashi Bridge is not only unique because it’s the oldest stone bridge in Japan, but also, because the reflection of the bridge on the river below makes it looks like a pair of glasses. Along with Nihonbashi Bridge in Tokyo and Kintai Bridge in Iwakuni, Yamaguchi Prefecture, this bridge is regarded as one of the three most famous bridges in Japan. It’s quite the spectacle.

I wander further along the river and down some stone steps. Here I find four teenage girls posing in front of a wall, so I decide to see what all the fuss is about. It turns out they are making peace signs and taking photographs in front of a chunk of rock which is shaped like a heart.

I ask the girls to step aside so I can take a photograph. One of the girls says in Japanese, “That’s so cute!” Presumably because I, a man, am taking a photograph of a stone shaped like a heart, but I can’t be too sure. I find very little information on the origin of this stone, except that it’s just one of many hidden around Nagasaki.

I walk back up the river to the entrance to Suwa Shrine. This shrine is one of the three most famous shrines in Nagasaki, and boasts a total of 277 steps that pass through four massive stone torii gates to reach the shrine complex. As I run up the 277 steps, in my head Bill Conti’s song Gonna Fly Now spins around on my mind’s turntable.

Suwa Shrine doesn’t really have much to offer me, except for a one-hundred-year-old tea house, a nice little water feature, more steps, and a stunning view of the city and mountains beyond. The shrine was constructed in 1614 as a way to stop the spread of Christianity that was happening in Nagasaki at that time.

I leave the shrine down the stone steps, and wander four kilometres in the direction of Oura Catholic Church. A gothic-style church on a hill, overlooking Nagasaki Bay. I pay the steep ¥1000 entrance fee only to be greeted by signs saying no photographs. There’s a small museum, again no photographs. For whatever reason the area outside the church is extremely crowded. An extensive 28-page brochure written entirely in English is included in the ticket price, which does, in a way, make the ¥1000 cost somewhat tolerable.

Christianity first arrived on Japanese shores in 1549, but after learning that a Christian, Okamoto Daihachi, one of the trusted advisors to Shogun leader Tokugawa Ieyasu, had been secretly keeping his Christian faith hidden, Ieyasu ordered Okamoto to death by fire. This event also led to Nagasaki being the first place in Japan to ban all Christianity in 1612. Tokugawa Ieyasu later banned all Christianity across Japan two years later in 1614, the same year that Suwa Shrine was completed.

This led to an array of hidden Christians, especially in Nagasaki. Statues of the Virgin Mary were disguised as Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy; Christians posing as Buddhists to avoid execution. In 1853, Japan ended its policy of isolationism, and the borders opened for those from overseas. Foreigners residing in Japan were, at the time of this church’s construction, allowed to be Christian, but for the Japanese it remained to be illegal. Oura Catholic Church was built for those foreigners in 1864 and is the oldest surviving Catholic church in Japan.

The Japanese government finally lifted the ban on Christianity in 1873.