Nagasaki's isolationist past remains a part of its present

By Foster Klug
Associated Press

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If you go ... Nagasaki Getting there: The closest airport to Nagasaki with a wide array of international access is in Fukuoka, which is about two hours away by train. If you fly from Tokyo to Nagasaki's airport in Omura, it's about an hour by bus to Nagasaki's downtown station. Getting around: Historical sites are near the downtown area, on flat land within walking distance of the harbor. Trolleys crisscross the city. Lodging: There are plenty of Western-style, "business" and even capsule hotels downtown. If you're willing to pay a little more, there are also traditional Japanese ryokan, or inns. Language: While many of the workers at the tourist sites can speak some English, you may need to ask directions of the locals. Information: Nagasaki's tourist Web site, has an English-language section, with tips on what to see. HISTORIC SITES Oranda Zaka, or Holland Hill, is a stone-paved slope with European homes sitting on the top. Megane-bashi, or Spectacles Bridge, is a double-arched bridge built in 1634. The arches, when reflected in the water below, form the shape of a perfectly round pair of eyeglasses.

When the Tokugawa shoguns shut Japan tighter than an oyster in the first half of the 17th century, Nagasaki was the only place in the country where foreigners were allowed to trade, a pinhole through which Western thought and culture flowed into an otherwise cloistered country.

Much has vanished or been destroyed over the years, most notably on the morning of Aug. 9, 1945, when an atomic bomb called Fat Man destroyed one-third of the city, killed 73,884 people and injured 74,909 others. That came three days after a similar bomb had obliterated Hiroshima and effectively ended World War II.

But hidden in the modern, thriving city that's risen relentlessly from the ashes of the bomb blast is a surprising amount of intact history celebrating the meeting of East and West that made Nagasaki the most exotic place in Japan for centuries.

During Japan's more than 200 years of self-imposed isolation, the tiny, man-made island of Dejima in Nagasaki's harbor was the only trading port in the country open to foreigners.

Downtown Nagasaki has grown up around Dejima, literally: The former island has disappeared, the victim of a succession of land reclamation projects dating to the 19th century, and is now surrounded by concrete and glass buildings, clanging streetcars and taxis.

But standing on the second floor of the reconstructed living quarters, you can imagine the island as it once was, with Dutch traders playing billiards, pigs and peacocks wandering the gardens, and workers carrying crates of sugar, spices and the breathable silk that was spun into the ornate kimonos Japan's nobility wore during sweltering summers.

Dejima solved the shoguns' problem of how to isolate and control the slew of foreign traders and adventurers eager to crack the lucrative Japanese market. But there remained the problem of the religion the foreign missionaries brought in the 16th and 17th centuries.

Standing on a steep hill above Nagasaki's harbor is Japan's oldest Christian church, a testament to a religion that survived repeated, vicious attempts to stamp it out.

The graceful Oura Catholic Church is flanked by two tall palm trees and topped with a steeple and tiled roof. Bullet-shaped arched windows are carved in the church's Gothic-style facade.

A quiet garden with polished stone benches, a carp pool and statues of saints and popes with connections to Japan sit at the foot of the church's steep steps.

On certain nights, the church is lit up as a symbol of the city's romantic foreign past. But it also memorializes generations of Japanese Christians forced to practice their religion in secrecy.