Reflecting Waters ~ a timeless journey to Hiroshima and Miyajima
After two busy weeks of trains, cities, and constant motion, I was ready to slow down. Hiroshima and Miyajima had been on my mind since I started planning this trip, not as boxes to check but as places that deserved time and attention. I had been to both before, and I knew what was waiting for me. That was exactly why I went back.
Atomic Bomb Dome, Hiroshima
Hiroshima is a name the world knows. Walking into the Peace Memorial Park that first afternoon, I felt the weight of it immediately. The park holds grief and beauty in equal measure, filled with tributes from around the world honoring the victims and the resilience of those who survived. Past sculptures and paper cranes, the Atomic Bomb Dome comes into view, the skeletal remains of what was once the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall, left standing exactly as the blast left it. I stood before it in the golden light of early evening, a gentle breeze moving through the park, and felt a chilling stillness that the beauty of the moment could not soften.
The following morning I spent several hours in the Peace Memorial Museum. It is quiet and reverent inside, filled with personal stories, artifacts, and images that stay with you long after you leave. There are no words that adequately describe the experience. You simply move through it, and it moves you, and you walk out into the daylight with a deep hope that the world never finds itself there again.
Iwaso Ryokan on Miyajima Island
From Hiroshima I sailed across the bay to Miyajima, a small island famous for its floating shrine. Itsukushima Jinja was built directly on the beach, and when the tide rolls in the shrine appears to rise from the water, serene and otherworldly. The great Torii gate stands offshore, towering over the sea, and no matter how many photographs you have seen of it, nothing quite prepares you for the scale of it in person.
I spent two days on the island, staying in a ryokan, a traditional Japanese inn with tatami floors, a futon, and a quiet room overlooking the forest. After weeks of busy streets and packed train stations it was exactly what I needed. Slow meals, quiet walks, and no agenda. I caught up on journaling, edited photographs in the evening stillness, and let the rhythm of the island set the pace.
Sunset at the Floating Torri Gate
One of the reasons I came was to photograph that gate. On my second evening the rain cleared and the sunset began to build into something extraordinary. I set up my camera and tripod on the beach, fitted a purple ND filter, and took a long exposure as the sky shifted colors behind the Torii. It was a photograph I had dreamed of capturing for years, and every natural element fell into place. The Shinto gods were on my side.
But standing there on that beach, I found myself lowering the camera and just taking it in. The shore was full of people, locals from the island, Japanese families on holiday, tourists from every corner of the world speaking a harmony of different languages. A young French photographer stood nearby with the same idea I had. People of every age and background, all gathered in the same moment, watching the same sky. I felt calm in a way that is hard to describe, at peace and connected to something larger than the trip itself.
Those two days were the pause the journey needed. Hiroshima reminds you of the weight of history. Miyajima gives you space to breathe inside it. Together they offered something I did not know I was looking for until I found it standing on that beach, camera in hand, watching the light fade over the water.