Kokura Castle

 Borealis arrived at 8am at Hakata Center Pier linked to the city of Fukuoka on the southern Japanese island of Kyushu. We crossed into the port area past a long and low breakwater and found ourselves facing an industrial port with high silos, though I am not sure what the contents of them are. The Japanese health authorities arrived with a number of boats that surrounded our ship, while their representative came to see whether we were complying with their quarantine and social distancing requirements. All those due to go on excursions sat in their face masks in the Neptune Theatre. Waiting, As time passed by we kept getting reports that the port authority inspectors were spending time in the ship's medical centre. Finally at 10am we received news of the all clear.

The significance of what had happened only hit us when we left the ship. Initially we made our way to the gangway at Deck A, below Deck One, where we had to face a camera for a temperature check. Albina was so small that I literally had to lift her so that her face was aligned with the electronic reader, much to the amuselment of the passengers behind me. We disembarked and walked past our staff photographer to the immigration centre. A first line of officers in dark blue uniforms took our passport photocopies, stuck the copy of a landing permit at the back and handed it back to us. Then in a second hall we individually presented our passport photocopiesa gain, which they scanned thoroughly and then took an imprint from our index fingers. Next we approached a third line of officers where we handed in our customs declarations and again had photos of our photocopies taken. By now we could hear a steady banging of drums. As we finally emerged outside the terminal building we passed three costumed drummers on our right and a sea of local photographers on our left. They called out to us as if we were celebrities emerging from a cinema opening night. There must have been at least ten of them. When I turned towards the drummers and gave them a double thumps up to acknowledge the greetings the cameras concentrated on me for a second, clicking away. 

We walked past them towards the numbered coaches in the courtyard behind them. Our staff were overseeing us getting in the right coaches for our different tours, accomapnied by the local guides. Albina and I were one of the first in our coach and got a seat near the front. We asked the guide what all the fuss was about with the photographers. It transpired that we were the first cruise ship to dock at the Hakata terminal since the pandemic. We are pioneers! News about our arrival was being recorded by local TV stations. Tarnished somewhat by our unexpected celebrity self-importance we left the port area for Hakata station.

 A short coach trip brought us to the nearest train station in Fukuoka, which is still called Hakata, like our pier. Apparently, Hakata was the old tradional name for this medieval settlement, while Fukuoka was a new administrative name for a growing industrial city of 1 million inhabitants. The city is somewhat schizophrenic about how it is called between its traditional and its administrative name. I supose it may be a bit like Brent being the new administrative name for a London Borough that combines the traditional names of Wembley and Willesden. In any case Fukuoka is the name for anything new like the airport or local industry, and Hakata is the name for more traditional entities like the port, the railway station and the Hakata Tokotsu Ramen soup. Also Fukuoaka is a relatively young city with a higher new demographic than other cities in Japan, which have an older shrinking population. 

Of course Hakata station may once have been more traditional but now it is one of those with access to the Shikansen, the bullet train, which sneaks across the country at 300 kilometres and hour, like a runaway electric spark that sizzles and energizes the whole country. The line from Hakata Station links up with the main island of Japan by a tunnel. The station lobby was very busy with plenty of shops and coffee bars. Incidentally I should add, from my previous experience with Japan, that every name in an official building and every street name, has an English equivalent to the traditional Japanese name. So you have no excuse to get lost. Once the tickets had been organized, we went up the escalator and lined up on the platform where our guide told us that our carriage would stop. In fact the carriage number was marked out on the platform. Obviously for reasons of safety. the platform is separated from the train tracks by a barrier and only a small gap is left opposite where the doors to each carriage would stop as each carriage only had doors at each end and none in the middle. We were told that, because the shikansen must stick to its timetable, and an annoucement of a late service comes even if the train is just one minute late, it is vital not to miss getting into the door on time. 

When the train arrived for us it had leapt in suddenly like a silent large lizard surprising its prey. Even though it was slowing down its speed, it could still drag you along in its wake. In fact what happened was that the train was shorter than our guide had expected. It shot forward to the further end of the platform. We all, whether with walking sticks or not, had to run forward to catch the carriage door in time before it closed automatically in accordance with its finely tuned tometable. In a moment of near panic the 48 members of our tour scrambled to fit into the single door in time. Luckily we all just made it with our guide getting in last. 

Inside, the carriage had a sleek appearance with a central aisle and three seats on each side. The city suburbs and the countryside swept past us in total silence. There was no shuddering or jolting as the train plunged forward to its destination. You could have poured water into a glass without spilling a drop. However we were all a little tense as we had been warned by the guide to be ready to exit the carriage as soon as our next station, Kokura, was announced, so as to be ready to leap out in time before the automatic door closed. At a given signal we all got up at least 2 minuted before the train stopped. We performed the exit exercise with flying colours as we mustered together on the platform. Such was our shikansen adventure. If you blinked you could have missed it. In all we had covered 70 kilometres in 18 minutes.

From the station a coach whisked us off to Kokura Castle. The surrounding town was called Kitakyushu. The castle was originally a sixteenth centrury wooden structure, with a high keep of five storeys originally built mainly for defence and surrounded by high battlements and a moat, which could flood the surrounding countryside if the castle was attacked. Although the history of the castle is so militaristic, to modern eyes these castles look like some white dream of sliced layer cake, with their quaint tiled roofs and wooden gables, styled to comply with a standard Kurosawa film. Kokura is typical of that description, except that the keep had been destroyed by fire in the early nineteenth centry and only restored long after the Second World War. Kokura had been the seat of first one noble family, the Hosukawa, and later by another, the Ogasawara, and the lords, or daimyos, had been instrumental in ensuring prosperity to the  region. The castle grounds included a shinto shrine, a garden and a picnic area surrounded by trees weighed down with the most exquisite blue and pink cherry blossom. This was in fact a perfectly timed visit as this week fitted into that regular slot each year that allows the cherry to blossom. This period lasts barely more than one week. After that it is gone for a year. Once again, as with the shikansen, but on a different time scale, if you blink too long, it will have gone. For the Japanese the short cherry blossom season is a time for national celebration and contemplation, as each renewal of the blossom means that winter is finally over, and a new year begins full of fresh promise.  

 

As we entered Kokura we came across a steep but short staircase of about ten steps, but with a staircase lift chair thoughtfully provided. On the first floor was a long colourful display of daily life in a mediaval Japanese village as it was preparing to help its lord to construct the new castle. Probably not voluntarily. Albina filmed the whole cavalcade on her phone. There was also a useful film in Japanese, but with English subtitles to describe why and how the castle was built and expected to resist attack, and giving a short history of the building and its restoration.  

                                        

There were also wax images of samurai sitting crosslegged in their traditional dress. Albina, like many of the other passenhers, posed for a photo just sitting amongst them. You could also pose by a palanquin, or facing a leaping swordsman waving his sword at you, or sit with a painted umbrella in a grove of false cherry blossom trees. 

There was also a dramatic painting of a prowling tiger. At the top of the castle is an empty room on the fifth floor that now serves as an observation platform to view the city and the surrounding countryside and distant mountains. Everywhere the wooden steps from floor to floor are very steep. However hidden away discreetly on the first floor was a modern lift that could whisk you off to all the floors. We noticed  visitors stopping the lift en route to the top to catch the lift going up, after complaining that they had been unaware of the lift and had worn themselves out using the stairs.

We drove off to dinner in a restaurant and many of us inwardly groaned when we heard that dinner would only be served in lunch boxes. However lunch boxes in Japan is a world apart, the latest word in elegance and haute cuisine. We sat at round tables at around ten people per table in an elegant dining room with 10 chandeliers. Our table included Ranald and Sharon, who were also on our tour bus, as well as Albina. Waiting for us was a traditional bamboo bento box, containing a single portion of a balanced Japanese meal in four little compartments. These included some plain rice, some breaded pork, tasting almost like spam but more delicate, two pieces of fish, and assorted vegetable and fruit side dishes. Even though much of the food had a taste with which we were unfamiliar, our table generally enjoyed this culinary experiment. We were less keen on the savoury egg and noodles pudding, but happy with the sweetmeats and jasmine tea that followed. 

The hotel was obviously a luxurious five star establishment, so posh that it even had warmed toilet seats. It also had the most beautiful garden, with an elegantly shaped pond populated with koy, little curved bridges, steppong stones across the pond, and plenty of beautiful small green trees and shrubs, that looked like they had sprung to life out of a coloured Japanese picture book. Thoughtlessly, following in the footsteps of Sharon, I had stepped out on the stepping stones across the pond. I found after the third step that each stone was not quite equidistanced from its predecessor, that the stones were wet and slippery, and that not all the stone services were flat. Pride prevented me from turning back so I gingerly stepped forward with my heart in my mouth. I have a poor sense of balance and I could feel myself swaying with each step, especially over the longer gaps. As I almost reached the far side in safety I was suddenly aware that Sharon, who had crossed earlier, was taking a picture of me. Luckily, the last two steps were easier, but I was glad Albina did not see me make that attempt, as she would have soon given me short shrift. 

                                

Back on the coach now we headed back again to the parking slot below Kokura Castle. We visited the wooden 500 year old Yasaka Shrine built by the Hosokawa lord who first raised the keep. First we entered through a metal torii gate, followed by a wooden one. Entering throgh a torii gate is a form of purification as we cross over from the material world into the spiritual world linking us to heaven. It reminded me of a Harry Potter story where entering through an open door frame indicated death, a tradition Rowling must have picked up from ancient Eastern rites. We followed down an avenue of trees towards a courtyard with an attractive wooden stall. Here one could intensify the purification by bowing twice, letting water pour on first your left hand, then your right hand, then your mouth, and finally your left hand again. After that were supposed to be ready to attend the shrine. 

The shrine was guarded by two fierce dogs, one with mouth open and the other closed, to encapture all knoweldge thst lies between the first and last letter of the Japanese alphabet. At the shrine itself the Shinto tradition allowed us to throw in some coins and ring one of the bells to make the gods aware of our presence and our wish to ask for good fortune. This shrine was dedicated to the god of marriage to whom this shrine was dedicated. You then bow twice, clap your hands twice and make a wish, for good health, for a good partner, or merely to pass exams. What I wished for was to complete the cruise with both of us retaining our health and our sanity. Albina also made a wish but did not say what it was. Ritual is everything in Japan. Even if you don't believe in an after life, or in reincarnation, the fact that you have undergone this ritual, you feel all the better for it.  

We were then invited to a traditional tea ceremony. It took place in a wooden structure adjoing the shrine. It was an invitation to us foreigners who had come to this island to learn the Japanese way of life. We were split into two so that we had some twenty of us sitting in the hut attending the ceremony. It was very much an intimate chamber affair. Four ladies in traditional kimonos performed the ceremony offering us a cloying sweet cake to deaden the impact of the bitterness of the powdered green tea. After that the tea is served to us in a decorated porcelain bowel, which you are supposed to turn around drink twice and then slurp it up with obvious satisfaction. Actually the green tea we were served was not that bitter, but it was certainly strong. One of my lady passengers near to me kept asking what else had they added to the tea to make it so strong. "Nothing," the ladies replied, "It is just green tea." "But it is so strong," the passenger objected. Well, that is the real deal. Your insipid English green tea cannot be compared to it. We thanked them for the green tea and they thanked us for accepting their hospitality. With more intense bows and expressions of gratitude we extricated ourselves from the rea room and allowed the other half of our group access to the charming ceremony. 

Adjoining the shrine was another one of these beautifully shaped Japanese gardens with steep steps leading down to a pool with the obligatory koy, and the obligatory humped bridge. After taking some photos of each other in the garden, we willed ourselves past the souvenir shop and the little hot food stalls, towards the coach. On the way I passed a young couple in traditional Japanese dress being photographed. They were probably on their way to the shrine to obtain a blessing. 

We returned to Fukuoka. As we were returning by coach it took us 1 hour and ten minutes to get to the port, whereas the outwatd journey only took 18 minutes. But the journey back confirmed the high quality of the roads, the sensibe level of driving (not one car used a horn), the good quality of the housing in the residential blocks, where, unlike in Hong Kong, the air conditioning unit was discreetly hidden behind their balconies. Not forgetting the overall cleanliness of everything we approached. All in all this part of Asia is generally cleaner than its European counterparts.  

In the terminal there was a quick and efficient check on our photocopied passports with their attached landing cards, and then we were back on the boat. Exhausted mentally as well as physically after a fulfilling day.