Dray is slumped at the edge of his desk, doodling. It’s Saturday again. Another business studies class. 4 low level Japanese students talking about their companies in broken English. No matter what he does, it’s always boring. You’d think, you’re the teacher of a class, it’s going to be interesting. You’d think, you’re the teacher, you shouldn’t be the one falling asleep.
But it happens. He spends longer every time, planning, brings in CDs, newspapers, games, but somehow it always comes down to this. Just, dull.
Dray’s eyes creep shut. His classroom has always been too warm. The fan just pumps in hot air from the study room next door. The windows won’t open, fire regulations. Crazy. He fights the urge, but soon enough his head is against the wall and the soft mutter of Japanese accented English sends him to sleep.
Stuck in Customs bills itself as the premiere travel photography blog, and features some stunning HDR shots from a wide variety of sites around the world- often ruined. The site author Trey Ratcliffe is a strong HDR aficionado, with his own book titled- ‘The World in HDR’. His photos seem to be creative commons, so I’ll show a few of them here.
The Battle of Saipan was a battle of the Pacific campaign of World War II, fought on the island of Saipan in the Mariana Islands from 15 June 1944 to 9 July 1944. The invasion fleet embarking the expeditionary forces left Pearl Harbor on June 5, 1944, the same day Operation Overlord was launched with the invasion of Normandy (AKA the D-Day landings). The Normandy landings were the larger amphibious landing, but the Marianas invasion fielded the larger fleet.
By July 7, the Japanese had nowhere to retreat. Saito made plans for a final suicidal banzai charge. On the fate of the remaining civilians on the island, Saito said, “There is no longer any distinction between civilians and troops. It would be better for them to join in the attack with bamboo spears than be captured.” At dawn, with a group of a dozen men carrying a great red flag in the lead, the remaining able-bodied troops, about 3,000 men, charged forward in the final attack. Amazingly, behind them came the wounded, with bandaged heads, crutches, and barely armed.
The Japanese surged over the American front lines, engaging both Army and Marine units. The 1st and 2nd Battalions of the 105th U.S. Infantry were almost destroyed, losing 650 killed and wounded. However, the fierce resistance of these two battalions, as well as that of Headquarters Company, 105th Infantry, and elements of 3rd Battalion, 10th Marines (an artillery unit) resulted in over 4,300 Japanese killed. For their actions during the 15-hour Japanese attack, three men of the 105th Infantry were awarded the Medal of Honor – all posthumously. Numerous others fought the Japanese until they were overwhelmed by the largest Japanese Banzai attack in the Pacific War .
Many hundreds of Japanese civilians committed suicide in the last days of the battle, some jumping from “Suicide Cliff” and “Banzai Cliff”. Efforts by U.S. troops to persuade them to surrender instead were mostly futile. Widespread propaganda in Japan portraying Americans and British as “devils” who would treat POWs barbarically, deterred surrender (see Japanese Military Propaganda (WWII)).
In the end, about 22,000 Japanese civilians died. Almost the entire garrison of troops on the island — at least 30,000 — died. For the Americans, the victory was the most costly to date in the Pacific War. 2,949 Americans were killed and 10,364 wounded, out of 71,000 who landed. – Wikipedia
I have never heard a first hand account of how this WW II Sherman tank ended up in the lagoon, a couple of hundred yards off the shore, so here is a composite of what seems most likely: Apparently the tides had mis-judged. I don’t have tide table for the invasion days on Saipan but it could well have been that the tidal condition was noted when there was a low tide but by the time the invasion took place the tide was high.
The Tank was probably off-loaded from an Landing Ship, Tank or LST (not so jokingly referred to as Large Slow Targets) . It is also possible that the LST was disabled by Japanese shelling. The tank crew may have tried to make a mad dash to the beach but it was just too far away. The water was shallow enough that the crew probably escaped without drowning, but, the withering rain of bullets, artillery and mortar fire may have killed them. Mitchell P. Warner
Submerged to the turret.
An intact WW2-era Sherman tank.
This guy was about 300 meters off the beach. There were 3 but not really close to each other and this one is turned and looks to be engaged with a pillbox on the shore and has a nasty antitank round below the water line on the starboard side right behind the driver/front gunner. Being the typical tourists we couldn’t resist swimming out and getting close to it and checking it out. I will see if I can find the interior shots of it. What was really neat is the barrell is actually pointing at a bunker/pillbox that had taken a shot and collapsed. – Chris Usrey
Now looking to battle the clouds. Photo from here, by Jeff Harrington.
I went to Saipan for a 3-day holiday myself about 5 years ago. I took photos of all the ruins but back then I knew nothing about photography so the shots would have sucked, and besides I’ve lost them all now anyway. I saw this tank, as well as the caves and last remaining guns of the Japanese hold-outs. I also took a trip up to the suicide cliffs, from which civilians jumped to their deaths, fearing the foreign ‘devils’ and believing death was better than surrender. That was quite depressing. The island was well scoured for bodies, but apparently people still find skeletons lurking in the undergrowth.
A student of mine from 5 years ago had a collection of spent ammo rounds from Saipan, that he’d gathered from a trip some 30 years ago, claiming shells had been lying all over the place. I suppose spent ammo would’ve been easier to pass through customs back then. I didn’t see any lying around when I went though.
FACTFILE
Location – Saipan, off Garapan Beach (15° 12′ 53.00″ N 145° 43′ 3.43E)
Entry – Easy to swim out to, climb on, shoot.
Highlights – Submerged!
RUINS / HAIKYO
You can see all MJG’s Ruins / Haikyo explorations here:
Mining of gold and copper for personal finance and general wealth at the legendary Osarizawa mine began around 1300 years ago, with the last of the smelting facilities closing down in 1978. Now the site is owned by Mitsubishi, who run guided tours around the highlights and a museum for 1,000 yen- a tour we almost got chain-ganged into joining.
One legend of Osarizawa mine involves a gorgon-headed lion with the wings of a phoenix, the legs of a cow and the head of a snake. Its roar and monstrous appetite for children terrified the nearby villagers, who urged the village’s wisest old man to go battle it on the mountain top. The old man had long grey hair, and went to battle the beast in a series of 6 dreams. In the final one he managed to slit open the beast’s belly, from which poured gold, copper and lead.
While climbing the hill behind the Osarizawa pools (the Incan mine temple structure) we were spotted from the still-active factory nearby. We didn’t think too much about it, until a mini-bus with two people on board pulled into the roped-off area before the pools, and spent a while kicking about, laughing, and looking up at where me and Mike were hiding on the slopes.
Mike was wearing a bright yellow slicker, me a bright white T-shirt.
We hissed at each other in voices I’m now sure they could hear:
“What are they doing now?”
“They’re looking right at me!”
“Can they see you?”
“I think they can see my leg. Can they see you?”
“I’m just sitting here on the slope, I’m sure they can see me.”
After 5 minutes of this it started to seem faintly ridiculous. They clearly knew we were here, and were either waiting for us to come down and face the music, or were themselves tourists. I figured ‘what the heck’, and strode down to meet them. I made sure my camera was prominent, affixed a dumb grin to my face, and went right up to the big guy in a blue jumpsuit, behind whom the two younger office-worker types clustered and giggled.
“Are you the security guard?”
“Yes.”
“Are you from that company?” (pointing at the active area)
“Yes. You’re not allowed to come here, you know.”
“Ah, I see.”
All the while the two youngsters, a guy and girl, were muttering and laughing, and most of the time the big blue guy was smiling and chuckling too, so it seemed clear we were not in major trouble. I smiled back sheepishly, realizing they had indeed been watching us ineffectually hide on the hill-side the whole time. We talked a little more, and the big blue guy told me we’d have to get on his bus, ride with him to the Mitsubishi security office nearby (they own all the mine sites), and pay a 1000 yen fine. Well, I was a little unsure about that, so voiced my concern vaguely.
“I have to get on the bus?”
(Smiling) “Yes, on the bus.”
“But we have a car. We can go by car.”
“Nope, we have to go in the bus.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, on the bus.”
Of course I had no idea where he would take us, or whether we’d be going directly to the nearest police station to get booked. Happily I had a little time to prevaricate as Mike was still in hiding on the hill-side.
“Well, wait a minute will you, my friend is still hiding on the hill-side.”
They all seemed to find this very amusing. They got on the bus, pulled around, and we all waited for Mike to come out of hiding. I could hear them laughing through the windows.
I filled Mike in on the situation, and we shared the concern that there was no way we’d get on a bus with them. We went back, and the guy showed us a tourist brochure showing a route around the local mine and factory facilities, and it became clearer the 1,000 yen was not a fine, but a fee for the tour. Still, we were wary to trust ourselves to his bus, so I just said we didn’t have the time, we had to go catch a shinkansen. He gave a cheery grin, said-
“Well don’t come in again, you know. This place is dangerous!”
Then watched us go on our way.
As a final piece of shame, we forgot to close the boot of the car after packing in Mike’s camera, and we drove off like that. I bet they had a good laugh. Only a few miles down the road did we realize.
I called it the ‘Incan mine’ because of this vaulted structure.
The pools were very bright- surely filled with toxic run-off.
A tree coated with toxic mush.
FACTFILE
Entry – Easy to view, difficult to climb up to anything though.
Highlights – The pools, getting caught and kicked out, forgetting to close the boot as we drove off.
RUINS / HAIKYO
You can see all MJG’s Ruins / Haikyo explorations here:
Tycho lay on top of his grassy hillock and waited for the disgusting crow to come for his eyes, feeling downright blue. His friends the tired old turtle and one-eared rabbit tried to pep him up, but it wasn’t taking. Banter was banter, but the disgusting crow was something else entirely. Every time he closed his jewelly eyes he saw its claws of brambly bone and its diamante beak. He remembered how it stank, and how much he hated it.
“I really hate that disgusting crow,” he said sadly. “Maybe I should just let it take my eyes.”
“It won’t settle for your eyes,” warned the turtle, barely poking its wizened head out of its crusted shell. “Even you can see that.”
“I don’t know,” reasoned Tycho. “Seems to me, eyes are enough for anyone.”
“Normally I’d agree with you,” said the turtle, “but today I won`t.”
Going to Izu and digging holes on the beach is now a firm tradition with me. It started two years ago, when a motley group of frisbee friends and I packed up our rental cars and went to dig and surf and camp on the beach. The second year was a smaller group but we did basically the same things. This year I went without the group (with SY), didn’t camp on the beach, but made certain to get down to Shimoda to dig a big hole.
Perhaps you’d like to see a few other holes I’ve dug?
Hmm, before last year I guess I wasn’t keeping records.
The next hole I dig will be less of a hole and more of a castle, I think. I’ll dig a big moat, then see how high I can raise the mound within it. One problem of hole-digging is when you hit water, you can’t really dig any deeper. The only limit to the size of a mound though is the base radius. I’m excited to see what I can come up with!
Last week one of my students told me about a great onsen/spa/resort he frequently visits, called Healing Villa, located somewhere in Chiba, with huge outdoor pools, a great big sauna, and an overall healing and chilled-out vibe. I’m all in favor of those things, had a weekend coming with no plans, so decided to head off to check it out.
Generally I’m not one for spas, or massage, or any of that ‘relaxing, healing’ stuff. People in Japan often go on onsen holidays, and while I’ve always liked onsen myself, I could never imagine spending a whole day dipping in and out of hot water and not feeling like a bit of a fool. Well, the Healing Villa put that idea to the test. We didn’t stay a whole day, but for about 4 hours we were heated, soaked, cooled, and heated again, in the swimming pool, in the massive sauna room, in the various outdoor hot pools, and in the fridge room.
The town of Chantai in Chile was buried by volcanic ash and muddy lava in May 2008, when the Chaitén volcano erupted for the first time in more than 9,000 years. The eruption threw up a plume of ash and sulfurous steam that rose 19 miles high, from which ashfall drifted across Patagonia, and over the Atlantic Ocean. The people evacuated, and everything else was submerged in a thick layer of volcanic detritus.
Car welded in place with volcanic rock.
A shack sinks into the ash-fall.
The town as Mt. Chaiten erupts.
More cars grounded on main street.
Ash up to the windows.
When I was 16 I went on a school trip to Pompeii and had my mind blown. The sheer scale of what’s been unearthed there, the eerie quality of how well it was preserved, how close it let me feel to a time and place 2,000 years in the past, was an experience out of this world. Ash-fall from 2008, only one year gone, hardly compares. But engage your imagination. If Mt. Fuji erupted, this is what we would see. Images of the cities being sucked down and devoured by a rain of ash, cars succumbing, houses, people fleeing through the black dry rain, the tide-line raising up the sides of Shinjuku sky-scrapers, choking off the subways, blocking the walkways, and filling up Tokyo Bay. It’s at once fearsome, terrifying, and beautiful.
The Shimoda Grand looms like a listing battleship on a swell of green, doomed to eventually sink without trace, swallowed up by the knotty growth of years.
This was the third ruin on the first day of our road trip into Izu. Shimoda is famous for its gorgeous (imported) white sand beaches, and for being the lookout point where Colonel Perry was first seen chuffing towards Tokyo harbor in his black iron-clad steam ships. In the summer you can’t move on the beaches for all the people cramming their bodies onto a patch of white sand, filling up the hotels, and packing out the restaurants. In the off-season though the place is a ghost town, spelling the death knell for numerous failed hotels (I saw at least another two just by the roadside) that couldn’t take the long hibernation.
She wakes up slow, opens her dull eyes expecting the new day to glow in, but no. It’s still night. She blinks, yawns into her pillow, stretches beneath the duvet. It’s the pig bedspread, the one her mother made. Her dozy palms bobble over the linen pigs stitched onto the cotton, sleep-weakened fingers catching in the felt swirls of their curly pink tails. She pulls one out gently, lets it tug back into place, and smiles.
In the distance, muted by the thick velvet curtains swaddling her second floor window, there’s the sound of drunken students calling out on the spine. Back from the Carleton probably, she muses, fresh off the Uni bus and trying their hardest to act like louts. 3, 4 in the morning perhaps.
She rolls over, arches her back, sighs dreamily. Nudges a foot out from under the duvet, snuggles a hand underneath her double pillows, and slowly drifts back to sleep, only vaguely wondering why she woke at all.
Dray is slumped at the edge of his desk, doodling. It’s Saturday again. Another business studies class. 4 low level Japanese students talking about their companies in broken English. No matter what he does, it’s always boring. You’d think, you’re the teacher of a class, it’s going to be interesting. You’d think, you’re the teacher, you shouldn’t be the one falling asleep.
Tycho lay on top of his grassy hillock and waited for the disgusting crow to come for his eyes, feeling downright blue. His friends the tired old turtle and one-eared rabbit tried to pep him up, but it wasn’t taking. Banter was banter, but the disgusting crow was something else entirely. Every time he closed his jewelly eyes he saw its claws of brambly bone and its diamante beak. He remembered how it stank, and how much he hated it.
Going to Izu and digging holes on the beach is now a firm tradition with me. It started two years ago, when a motley group of frisbee friends and I packed up our rental cars and went to dig and surf and camp on the beach. The second year was a smaller group but we did basically the same things. This year I went without the group (with SY), didn’t camp on the beach, but made certain to get down to Shimoda to dig a big hole.
The Shimoda Grand looms like a listing battleship on a swell of green, doomed to eventually sink without trace, swallowed up by the knotty growth of years.
