June 12-13, 2019
Tokyo DisneySea
Katie and I ventured on further from Tokyo, to a small peninsula that harbored both of the Disney resorts in Japan–Disneyland Tokyo and Tokyo Disney Sea. Of the two, I’d only ever been to Disneyland in California, and Disney Sea is unique to the country I was currently visiting. It’s also the only parks on the sea with a nautical theme, making it the place to explore if we were going to spend a whopping eighty bucks exploring the park.
I went in with virtually no expectations.
And I was completely blown away.
When we walked through the entryway to the park, we were met with the specialized greeting for Tanabata Days–a celebration of two star-crossed lovers in Japanese folklore. Mickey and Minnie waved at the crowd atop a small steamboat in the middle of the inner harbor, and several of the princesses danced in time to the music.
The entrance, modeled after a Mediterranean seaside village (which, I’m guessing, was situated in Italy), stretched around the canal and the facades of buildings held such intricate and minute detail it actually felt as if the two of us were sitting seaside.
It sparked that little bit of childhood wonder still left in me, a bit of magic I refuse to let go of.
We wandered then, finding ourselves in the land of Jules Verne’s novels, the mountain from Journey to the Center of the Earth, and taking a front seat to our fascination with this otherworldly place. We walked through each of these landscapes, from the spires of Atlantica to the marketplace of Agrabah, through the Lost River of Indiana Jones to the New York harbor and Cape Cod.
Everywhere we turned we met the same breathtaking view, the buildings and sections blending into one another with each step forward we took. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt such surprise and delight in the magic of a Disney park.
As we grow up, sometimes it becomes difficult to find pleasure in the small wonders of the world in front of us, especially as we face an increasingly complex and expanding sphere of influence. I often lost sight of those minute details when I wanted to see the full picture first–the future in some cases, or in retrospect, the past. Children don’t have that instinct, yet–they haven’t come to the realization that life isn’t always simple or easy. They find magic, then, in the every day, the simple and mundane, the practical or impractical.
To them, there is no limit.
They’ll crash through every barrier the generations before have built around them.
Edo Tokyo Museum
The last day we spent in Tokyo was bittersweet–I was both ready to go home and also sad to leave behind a city I had only just begun to learn from. It seemed fitting, then, that Katie and I spent our last day at the Edo Tokyo Museum near Ryogoku Station.
I am a museum nerd (as you’ve probably already gathered). This meant that we virtually spent the whole day browsing through the exhibits, which were segregated by era, offsetting the earlier Edo from modern day Tokyo. We walked past and examined scaled miniatures, full town sets, artifacts from varying ages–everything and anything detailing the complex history of the city we stood in. But what struck me the most about the exhibits in this well-crafted space was the tenacity of the people who chose Tokyo as their home.
Tokyo was virtually destroyed after the Great Kanto Earthquake and subsequent fires in 1927–and yet, they rebuilt. Again, Tokyo felt the impact of massive firebombing during the 1940s that left whole swathes of the city in ashes–and yet, they rebuilt.
Walking through the section of the Tokyo exhibit dedicated to the horrors it faced during wartime was difficult and harrowing. And although the damage was extensive–cruel, even, as firebombers targeted even primarily civilian areas–the explanations, the artifacts were held with a level of objective and measured insight where I thought I would find outrage and disgust, as was warranted.
I felt tears well up before I could fully stop them, standing in front of the display that lit up the decimated neighborhoods, one after another, day after day. And again, I was the one who feels shame and disgust.
I am a peacekeeper–I try to find beauty in the world when I can.
And although history has already been made, the damage already done, permanently–irrevocably–I found myself again conflicted. I cannot look away when violence is wrought, built of the backs and the blood of victims of war. I question why human nature has allowed us to become desensitized to bloodshed, why my homeland and nation I have chosen (yes, chosen) to love through criticism and political engagement has made decisions that have ended the lives of others indiscriminately in some cases, identities replaced by the name of casualty.
I do not claim to be an expert–only an observer.
We moved on, then, leaving behind the mess of the tangled threads of what became an intertwined history.
Katie and I wandered the streets of Senso-ji Temple one last time, the shrine peeking out from behind the stalls. We ate lunch at a small noodle shop tucked away behind the shrine–a simple meal for a complex last day in the city.
We visited Tokyo Station, weathered and weary.
We sat down for coffee.
And I reflected.
Sam