Hatsukaichi-shi

We dove into the arms of the sushi train to comfort eat the emotional sucker punch that was Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum.

Are there any differences with an Australian sushi train? Well, yes and no.
The setup is the same but with a few minor differences. There is a hot water tap in front of patrons for their tea (yeah, I was prepared this time); there is no sushi on the train, just pictures that you grab and show the chefs; and they use a handheld device that scans your stack of plates to calculate your bill. There is no need to sort them into colour-coded piles, so where is the fun in that? Sigh. Japanese efficiency, though, is pretty cool.

Noah and I shared oyster nigari (because that's what Hiroshima does best) and local red miso soup from the region, which Noah rated as his favourite thus far.

After the obligatory snack top-up at 7-Eleven, we reserved tomorrow's remaining train tickets (like absolute-boss commuters) and ferried to Miyajima, a little island off the coast akin to Rottnest, just with deer instead of quokkas.

As we arrived, you could see the massive red O-Torii gates standing in the sea. The gate marks the entrance to the floating Itsukushima Shrine (first built in the 12th century to protect seafarers and the Imperial family) and functions as a border between the mundane and religious, encouraging the individual to transcend into that sacred space.

After checking in, we wandered down the narrow streets filled with traditional dwellings (much like Tsumago), some bustling with a marketplace vibe of new foods, touristy gift shops and a few very cool niche stores. Built over the water, The Itsukushima Shrine was peaceful to walk through, the sun setting behind the Gate making it a popular selfie spot. The kids took a moment to sit down, legs dangling over the edge to chat and laugh, no doubt at their mum's obsession with taking photos. Paul and I took a moment to offer a donation and pray at the shrine; the energy was really different there. It is difficult to explain but peaceful and expansive, a great meditative space.

We wandered past monks handwriting blessings for tourists; we sought ours out using what I call the rattle sticks. To receive your fortune, you donate and then pray as you shake the box of sticks. One pops out with a number corresponding to a draw containing your reading.

If it's good news, receive it humbly. If it's not so good news, you tie the message to a wall of cords, and the monks will pray over it at their next prayer session. 💖

The walk back through the quiet streets at twilight was my favourite part of the day. Painted lanterns adorned each doorway, each uniquely painted to symbolise the dwelling. The narrow streets wove up and down through a town that breathed a sigh of relief as the last tourists boarded the ferry. We had the place to ourselves and it was magic!

We had fun pointing out the local deer just chilling in doorways. These Nihonjika ("Japanese deer") were considered messengers of the Gods and therefore fed and respected by the locals. They now use a fear campaign because the kids were more skittish than curious; at one point, they exclaimed in retreat, "It's got horns. It's gonna go us!". The deer, on the other hand, is entirely unmoved. Smart media campaign Bambi, who is your manager? 😜

We arrived just in time for dinner, so regrettably, we didn't don our kimono PJs and slippers. It was fantastic, though, my goodness! Dinner consisted of a five-course degustation where you cook part of your meal in the broth on the table. The courses kept coming, much to Paul's delight and I found it exciting to try and work out what we were eating. Poor StellaB bravely tried everything but handed over her sashimi whilst Noah quickly snavelled her Miso. It's tough being a parent sometimes.

Our traditional Ryokan room is, well, sparse. The room is empty save for a table and seats on the floor. You look around and think, "Where do we sleep?" Our futons, pillows, doonas and linen were all folded in the cupboard, so it's a bit like camping but inside.

I'm trying to keep my chin up as the room (including the hotel hallways) has a strong, musty urine smell. It's a worry when there's a half-used bottle of Febreze in the entryway like the hotel has just capitulated. The floor is made of matting, even in the toilet. I live with two fellas, so I get what they are working with. But come on, the mattresses have the same smell, too. 😵‍💫😩

Paul's positive attitude is contagious, chalking it up to a unique experience. Although he did have a chuckle when comparing the photos from the website to that of our room, it was like ordering something from Wish 😅🥴

We finished the night sitting cross-legged around the table, enjoying green tea and Alan's surprise Gelato buffet💗. The view out the window of twinkling lights and the boys in kimonos is just magic. 😁❤️ Life is still great. Just one more quick spray.....Baca lagi