Yamaguchi #6: My Treat

April 2009

“There’s no English signs in the Hagi Museum,” the lady at the information desk told me apologetically (in Japanese).

“It’s all right,” I told her.

To be honest, I hadn’t really expected any. I had learned not to expect any. That’s why I had brought with my two-ring binder with Wikipedia articles on anything I could find about the era and the people in it, and also the diaries of Kido Takayoshi. I was prepared. I could make my way around the museum by myself.

But the lady at the desk didn’t know that and apparently she wasn’t satisfied with my assurance that I would be fine. I came back from the natural history room, to find an older woman (not the lady at the reception desk) waiting for me. She would be my exclusive guide for the remaining trip to the museum, and I was very happy to have her.

We were in the hall, we hadn’t even got into the main exhibits, when my guide drew my attention to a bench and table made of smooth pine wood. She asked me to sit down on it, and so I did. Then she told me (in Japanese of course) that Kido Takayoshi, Takasugi Shinsaku, and the rest had all sat here. Apparently it was part of Yoshida Shoin’s “Under the Pine Trees” school, the one that everyone who was anyone had been in. My immediate reaction was a silly-giddy feeling, as though I were somehow sitting next to the ghosts of the revolutionaries themselves.

My guide, who’s name I found out later was Osaki Yoko, showed me the culture room which featured, among other things, tiny dolls, no bigger than my finger, crafted with the most intricate and beautiful detail. Most dolls could be made assembly style, with one person making heads, one person making hands, and so forth, but these ones had to be made by the same person. It was a time-consuming process and so each small doll was extremely valuable.



I saw other cultural things as well, but I was antsy about getting to the history room. The main exhibition was, of course, Yoshida Shoin. I have to say, even though I saw his grave, Yoshida Shoin was not my favorite revolutionary. He really didn’t do anything—he was executed long before Choshu really became involved in national politics—and yet for some reason, the people of Hagi seem to be obsessed with him. He has a shrine and a wax museum.

I asked Yoko who her favorite person in the Bakumatsu era was, and she answered it was Shoin-sensei (which is how they address Yoshida Shoin in Hagi). Why? I wanted to know. And why, out of all the great men born in Hagi (including the first prime minister and one of the “three nobles of the restoration”) did the people adore this man so much? Yoko answered that it was true that there were many great men in Hagi, but they were all taught by Shoin-sensei. And without Shoin-sensei, they might not have become great.

I’m not sure how much I agreed with that statement. It wasn’t as if he had taught any of them for very long—he started the school at 25 and died by 29, so therefore the longest he could have taught was 4 years. But as she told me more about him, I did respect him a little more. She told me he had traveled all around Japan, from Kyushu to Northern Japan, seeking out all the great masters of the age. Naturally, I didn’t know any of them, but I was still impressed. The trip had taken 3 years and I’m pretty sure he made it as a teenager.

Naturally, my Japanese wasn’t perfect and I didn’t catch everything she was telling me, but since I had suitable background information, I caught quite a bit. I was able to practically finish her sentences. At one point I showed her my two-ring binder, and tried to explain that I had Kido Takayoshi’s diaries in English. That really impressed her.



I asked her if she liked Bakumatsu era history and she said that it wasn’t Bakumatsu history or the history of any one era that interested her, it was Hagi’s history. I could sense the fierce pride she had in her town. I couldn’t blame her either. This small city did more for Japan than many larger cities had.

We ended at the gift shop, and my guide followed me there. She wanted to buy me a book, she told me. At first I protested, no, no, no, but she insisted. She said that even though she was the guide, I had ended up teaching her about the history of the era. So did I want a book on Kido Takayoshi or Yoshida Shoin? I paused. Well, I’d prefer Kido Takayoshi. She bought me the little paperback book in Japanese and, although I couldn’t read it, I told her I’d study hard and try to translate it.

I also ended up buying a translucent file of the Choshu Five and some postcards. I had planned to have some of the museum’s “summer mikan” soft serve ice cream from the beginning, and when she found out, she bought me that too. I couldn’t do anything but thank her profusely. She told me she was 77, and I told her that was about the same age as my grandma. You know, come to think of it, my great-grandma came from Yamaguchi Prefecture, so there’s a chance, however remote, we may have been related.

Other Japanese people also gave me special tours of old houses, out of guilt perhaps that I couldn’t read the signs very easily, and I was grateful to them as well. But Yoko holds a special place in my heart. After all, it’s not everyday I get treated to a book and ice cream, two of my favorite things in the world.