Brad Bear

I’ve been in Hokkaido for three days now. We flew from Tokyo’s Haneda airport on Thursday to Sapporo on the island of Hokkaido – the northern most island of Japan. The flight was delightfully unremarkable with one exception. They had video screens on the plane that showed live camera feeds of take off and landing. Of all the flights I’ve taken, I’ve never seen take off and landing from that perspective. I was a really nice touch. I’m hoping the airlines back home adopt it soon. It’s a great way to spend the time from take off until you’re allowed to use electronic devices.

We boarded a tour buss at the Sapporo airport, and that has been our primary mode of transportation ever since. At first it was a nice relaxing ride through a beautiful country side stopping at points of interest along the way to the Onsen hotels. However, the tour guide speaks only Japanese, and never NEVER stops talking. The highlight is when she cracks her self up while talking. Sometimes no one else laughs and she just keeps on going. The Japanese ladies in the group say that she is a great guide, and I’m sure she is, but it’s like watching a foreign film with no subtitles. I’ve decided that I would be able to enjoy my time on the bus more by listening to music on my ipod, and watching the scenery from the window.

The places we’re visiting during the tour are interesting and make great locations for b-roll for the doc. At night we stay and shoot interviews at hotels with Japanese Onsens. An Onsen is a Japanese public bath fed by hot springs flowing from the surrounding volcanic mountain ranges.

The rooms at these hotels are all traditional Japanese style. You have to remove your shoes at the door, wear different slippers for the bathroom than the rest of the room, sit on cushions on the floor, and sleep on futons that are put out for you at night by house keeping staff. The walls are all sliding rice screen style, and the floors are tatami mats.

The best part of having these rooms is that they make great interview sets. Don and I have been setting up the lights and camera in the room. We don’t have to worry about beds being in the way because there aren’t any. The futon mats are kept in the closet until they are needed. It’s really a great way to multi purpose a small space.

I have to admit though. The futon style sleeping arrangement isn’t the most comfortable for me. That is, until last night. I went a little nuts and decided that I was tired of waking up tired from sleeping on a thin hard pad. I decided to stack the other futons in the closet on top of one another to create a comfy bed. It worked! I slept like a baby last night! So I’ll continue to westernize my futons from here on out.

I’m writing this post while riding the Shinkansen (bullet train) from Hiroshima back to Tokyo. We fly out in the morning to the northern most island of Japan, Hokkaido.

Today Don, Miki, and I went with Mrs. Snyder to the Hiroshima Peace Park. The peace park is located below the epicenter of the A-Bomb attack in 1946. When we arrived at the park and museum nothing really jumped out at me at first, but as we walked toward the museum the hedges parted and The Dome became visible. Standing at the end of the a long reflecting pool, beyond the monument of the dead, past the peace flame, stood the most haunting reminder of how one decision can instantly end the lives of more than 70,000 people.

In that moment everything became real. My heart sank, and I felt an inexplicable amount of sadness and shame. *It should be noted that I am a proud American. I believe that we as a nation have the potential to lead the world in providing solutions to improve the quality of lives for every living person with respect for an individual’s differences. With this, I am also hyper critical of aspects of our way of life, and our government. It’s not only our right to speak out when something is amiss or can be improved, but our duty to our country. I digress. Back to Hiroshima, and the Peace Park.

In its time, The Dome was an an impressive office building. It sat along side a beautiful winding blue river, and boasted some of the best views of the mountains that cradled Hiroshima. Those who had offices in The Dome were proud to be there, happy to have such a serene working environment. Mrs. Snyder’s father, a man who worked in the oil business, had moved into The Dome office building the last week of September, 1946. He told his daughter how happy it made him to be in such a beautiful location.

The morning of August 6th, 1946 the air raid sirens echoed off the mountains surrounding Hiroshima. At the time, Hiroshima was not a targeted city of incendiary attacks like other large cities in Japan, so the residents didn’t pay much attention. Soon after, the all clear was given, and everyone went about their day.

Mrs. Snyder’s father went off to work as she heading for the beauty shop to get a perm. By that time during the war, Japanese women were not allowed to use electricity for curling their hair at home, or to get perms at the beauty shop. Instead, the beauty parlors would use charcoal for the heat needed to curl women’s hair. A 19 year old Mrs. Snyder was sitting next the charcoal box and chatting with her girlfriends in the beauty parlor 15 blocks from her father’s office when the earth shook. Following the “white light” was a deafening boom and searing wind that ripped the clothes from Mrs Snyder, brought walls down around her. The charcoal box next to Mrs. Snyder was the only thing holding the heaviest of the rubble from crushing her. She dug her way out of the rubble and when she looked around, “nothing.” Just “nothing.” “Little Boy” had been introduced to the world, and the city of Hiroshima was instantly erased from the planet.

Mrs. Snyder immediately went looking for her family. She told me that at that time, no one was helping anyone else, “you had to fend for yourself,” she said. She passed countless burned bodies of men, woman, and children. Most of the people walking around her were blistered and burned. She explained to me that many people walking around had skin dripping and sagging from their arms and face as the walked around looking for help, wondering what had just happened.

I discovered as we walked through the museum that many people who had survived the initial blast, ran to the river in agony of being so hot and thirsty. The heat and radiation from the blast had dehydrated those who didn’t instantly perish.

The next day, Mrs. Snyder’s mother and uncle found her father’s body “by the second window” in The Dome. His watch had stopped at 8:16, the moment the first Atomic Bomb exploded.

Touring the Hiroshima Peace Park and museum with Mrs. Snyder was nothing short of sobering. Having been in Japan now for over a week, I’ve come to respect these people and their culture more than I could have ever imagined possible. They’ve been nothing but kind to me and my traveling companions. More over, many of them have gone far beyond what simple language barriers create and assumed the role of an extended family while I am so very far from the ones I love. For that, I thank you Japan, and for August 6th, 1946 I am deeply sorry.