We had heard of Battleship Island (in Japanese, Gunkanjima) before ever coming to Nagasaki, but had never considered sneaking onto the ghost island. It had been closed since the 1970’s, and now sat off the coast of Nagasaki City, quiet and haunting. Going there is supposedly punishable by a one month stay in a Japanese prison as well as deportation. We have never considered the possibility, though there was something romantic and adventurous about the notion. This changed one week, when in a conversation with others in the area we learned that some people had gone and gotten away with it. It wasn’t even difficult, they told us. Suddenly, the forbidden fruit of the Ghost Island seemed just within grasp, and we knew we wanted to try.
The easiest way to sneak into Hashima, we were told, is to go to the closest neighboring island, Takashima. From Takashima, you pay someone with a boat to ferry you over and look the other way. We decided to go for it.
We left from Nagasaki City early in the morning on a ferry bound for Takashima, and sipped coffees leisurely during the hour-long boat ride. Takashima itself is largely unremarkable (especially in comparison to its neighbor), but its story in many ways mirrors that of Hashima:
Like Hashima, Takashima’s history is defined by coal mining. For centuries, Takashima’s inhabitants were said to have gathered coal from exposed rock beds along the shore, and in the eighteenth century began exporting it. Over time, Takashima’s mining system became an enormous success, and the island settlement grew. At the height of its production, the island’s inhabitants numbered around 20,000. The population of Takashima has now dropped to about 600, the majority of whom live in one large apartment complex on the center of the island. A scattered constellation of old houses surrounds it, and beyond that are the vestigial remains of what was once a vibrant community – a tennis court with no nets, the pavement cracked and stained, a basketball goal bent by wind and time, decaying picnic tables. There are overgrown forested areas as well, home to indigenous wild hemp, we learned from a sign near the port.
We were greeted by a particularly suspicious police officer as soon as we stepped off the boat. He asked to see our Foreigner Registration Cards, and then took down our information. When he asked why we’d come to the island, we told him we were interested in taking pictures. He told us it took approximately an hour to walk around the island, and that he’d wait for us at the docks. He clearly didn’t believe we’d traveled so far out of the way just to kill an afternoon looking at an island not very different from any of the others in Nagasaki. His suspicions were not unreasonable. After all, Takashima is extremely close to Hashima, and it is also an abundant source of naturally growing marijuana. There isn’t much reason to visit Takashima if you’re not interested in either of things, both of which are illegal. Still, we were undeterred, and after some pleasantries made our way to the far side of the island to seek out a fisherman to bribe.
We soon found a boat owner who would take us to Hashima in exchange for a little cash and a cooler of cheap beer. We happily accepted the deal, and after a brief run to the island’s only convenience store, a six-pack in tow, we ran back to the pier.
The water was calm and blue, and surrounding Battleship Island were several fishing boats. Occasionally, flying fish broke the surface of the water, gliding along the waves. Hashima is surrounded by a large concrete sea wall to protect the buildings from rising tides and large waves, and even from Takashima we could see people sitting atop it, casting their fishing line into the sea. Our boat driver told us that fisherman are allowed to go to the island, but they’re only allowed to sit on the wall to fish; going deeper into the maze of forgotten buildings was deemed too dangerous to allow. Furthermore, he didn’t want to take us on shore. We offered a compromise: we’d say we were there to fish. The problem with this was that we didn’t have fishing licenses. Once again, we tried to sidestep this inconvenience, asking if we could get fishing permits for the day, intending to slip off of the wall and disappear on our own. He made a phone call, but the port authority wasn’t interested in giving us permits for the day. We circled the island for a while, taking pictures from the boat, and after a lengthy discussion about the history of the island he decided to drop us there after all.
n some ways, the island is an enduring testament to the wasteful nature of improper industrial practices. The island was owned by Mitsubishi, and the town grew and flourished on the success of its coal mining, just like Takashima. With a staggering population density of 83,500 people/km2, it looked more like the infamous Kowloon Walled City than anything else in its heyday. However, in the late 1960s, petroleum began to replace coal as the predominant energy export in Japan, and in 1974 Mitsubishi closed its Hashima mine. With no coal mining, Hashima was dead in the water. One by one, its inhabitants moved off of the island, leaving empty buildings behind.
When Hashima was a living city, conditions were not something to be proud of. A number of the workers were forced immigrants from other countries. A South Korean commission, for instance, has claimed that 500 Koreans were forced to live and work there during World War II. For those who lived there of their own free will, it was still an enormously cramped, polluted, and sometimes outright dangerous place. Many argue that this was the prime reason the island was closed to visitors after 1974. For decades, the island was completely off-limits.
Hashima rises from the sea like one forgotten, crumbling structure, more like a single monstrous thing than a forgotten town. From the side-on, it really does look like a battleship, but as one nears it the picture is lost. It is overwhelmingly grey, with only scattered smidges of green. It is nearly entirely lifeless. The staples of any relatively self-sustained town are there, but left completely to ruin. A half-collapsed school is there, desks and blackboards still in place. A hospital sits empty and unused. It has been over 25 years since anyone lived there, and with each year that passes more of the buildings fall to pieces.
Our trip was, coincidentally, perfectly timed. The island is seeing more traffic now. In early 2009, the government of Nagasaki began constructing a new pier, as well as renovating one walkway through an Eastern portion of the island. The intent was to allow limited tours there beginning in April of 2009, and when we visited this pier was nearly finished. Tours are available now, but visitors cannot stray from one prescribed path, and they cannot explore the interior of the island. Efforts are being made to have the site registered as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, adding to Japan’s already long list. There is some merit to this: the story of Battleship Island’s rise and fall is also the story of the coal industry’s rise and fall in Nagasaki, and also the story of thousands of people who grew up on Hashima and were forced to leave. It is an intriguing moment in Nagasaki’s history.
In a way, it seems a pity to think of the island as a tourist hotspot, even if it allows more people to experience its breathtaking eeriness. However, even as a previously untouched island is changed by modern renovators and visitors, it is still a stark contrast to the coastal nature surrounding it. It is bleak, grey, and unforgettable, a towering concrete monument to a fallen industrial giant, and its story remains unchanged.
Via Link
The easiest way to sneak into Hashima, we were told, is to go to the closest neighboring island, Takashima. From Takashima, you pay someone with a boat to ferry you over and look the other way. We decided to go for it.
We left from Nagasaki City early in the morning on a ferry bound for Takashima, and sipped coffees leisurely during the hour-long boat ride. Takashima itself is largely unremarkable (especially in comparison to its neighbor), but its story in many ways mirrors that of Hashima:
Like Hashima, Takashima’s history is defined by coal mining. For centuries, Takashima’s inhabitants were said to have gathered coal from exposed rock beds along the shore, and in the eighteenth century began exporting it. Over time, Takashima’s mining system became an enormous success, and the island settlement grew. At the height of its production, the island’s inhabitants numbered around 20,000. The population of Takashima has now dropped to about 600, the majority of whom live in one large apartment complex on the center of the island. A scattered constellation of old houses surrounds it, and beyond that are the vestigial remains of what was once a vibrant community – a tennis court with no nets, the pavement cracked and stained, a basketball goal bent by wind and time, decaying picnic tables. There are overgrown forested areas as well, home to indigenous wild hemp, we learned from a sign near the port.
We were greeted by a particularly suspicious police officer as soon as we stepped off the boat. He asked to see our Foreigner Registration Cards, and then took down our information. When he asked why we’d come to the island, we told him we were interested in taking pictures. He told us it took approximately an hour to walk around the island, and that he’d wait for us at the docks. He clearly didn’t believe we’d traveled so far out of the way just to kill an afternoon looking at an island not very different from any of the others in Nagasaki. His suspicions were not unreasonable. After all, Takashima is extremely close to Hashima, and it is also an abundant source of naturally growing marijuana. There isn’t much reason to visit Takashima if you’re not interested in either of things, both of which are illegal. Still, we were undeterred, and after some pleasantries made our way to the far side of the island to seek out a fisherman to bribe.
We soon found a boat owner who would take us to Hashima in exchange for a little cash and a cooler of cheap beer. We happily accepted the deal, and after a brief run to the island’s only convenience store, a six-pack in tow, we ran back to the pier.
n some ways, the island is an enduring testament to the wasteful nature of improper industrial practices. The island was owned by Mitsubishi, and the town grew and flourished on the success of its coal mining, just like Takashima. With a staggering population density of 83,500 people/km2, it looked more like the infamous Kowloon Walled City than anything else in its heyday. However, in the late 1960s, petroleum began to replace coal as the predominant energy export in Japan, and in 1974 Mitsubishi closed its Hashima mine. With no coal mining, Hashima was dead in the water. One by one, its inhabitants moved off of the island, leaving empty buildings behind.
In a way, it seems a pity to think of the island as a tourist hotspot, even if it allows more people to experience its breathtaking eeriness. However, even as a previously untouched island is changed by modern renovators and visitors, it is still a stark contrast to the coastal nature surrounding it. It is bleak, grey, and unforgettable, a towering concrete monument to a fallen industrial giant, and its story remains unchanged.
Via Link
0 comments:
Post a Comment