Shimonoseki: The Simple Gratitude of a Pedestrian

In case you are just joining us, Part 1 of this writing is here:

A Line, Between the Ocean and the Stars

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When arriving in a place, I try to take a moment before doing anything substantial, to mark that arrival. There are various ways of doing this, but it is helpful to have a catalyst — a marker that feels like it reveals something about where you are. This could be human-made, like a monument, a gate, or a building that relates to local heritage, or it could be a natural feature like a unique mountain, an old tree, a water feature, or simply a curious stone. However it is, something in this place should clearly say to you, “hello, you are in a new place, which is different from the last place.”

In Japan, they tend to make this easy by habitually merging natural features and human-made features into singular expressions of place. This is done in so many ways, and likewise, each visitor notices the different expressions in different ways.

Arriving to Japan from Korea, our ship docks in the early morning. Passing through immigration, we exit the ferry terminal onto a series of raised walkways, lofted above the streets between the canopy of trees and buildings. These say hello to us in their own unique way. Walking along, a soft breeze from the mountain comes down through the man-made valley to greet us, and this, too feels like a welcome and hello. Yet then comes something that stops me.

Straight ahead, wide flights of stone steps and a towering stone gate. Otoshi Shrine, at the end of our gaze, is perched atop the forested hill where the soft breeze came from. It watches over the city and harbor, at once both a fierce protector, and a greeter.

Later we visit the shrine properly. For now though, I simply stop on the bridge over the road. I address the hill. A pigeon examines me, blinks and cocks his head to watch this newcomer’s hair tussle in the wind. In the presence of Suhee and the pigeon, I make a brief bow and silently thank the place for having us, wishing that we can spend our days beautifully.

Simple gratitude. Every place deserves it.

Now, minutes after leaving the port on foot, we are enjoying coffee and toast at the bakery in Shimonoseki Station. The way that places are thought out with pedestrians in mind here is extraordinary, and we appreciate it as we sip the sweet dark coffee.

But Shimonoseki is not our end goal today. We need to make it across the Kanmon Strait, to Mojiko. This is Japan, so normally we would do that by train, but glancing over at Suhee, it looks like she has another idea brewing...

This story, of a journey to Mojiko, Japan, continues next week.

Thank you everyone for being here with me. Are there places that ‘welcome’ you in your part of the world? If so, what do they look and feel like? If not, what would you want them to look and feel like?

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