On a journey to Japan in the last days of March, the sights from the ferry as it slowly crossed Kagoshima Bay couldn’t have felt more alien.
Having spent a week exploring Kyushu, the striking, lesser-known island at the southwest of the archipelago’s mainland, my companions and I had been enthralled by what we experienced and found great satisfaction in venturing as far off the beaten track as we had, by the standards of Westerners travelling to Japan.
The spellbinding sakura that draw so many visitors to Japan, with their fragrant cherry blossom petals drifting like confetti all across the pink and white groves. The bustling market streets and littoral vibrancy of Fukuoka, reminding us of the seaside cityscape of Hong Kong.
The awe-inspiring Kumamoto Castle and the mesmerising Suizenji Park. The contrasting feels of Nagasaki, balancing a sobering visit to the Air Raid Shelters with soothing views of the Spectacles Bridge and the Buddhist and Shinto temples uphill from the city centre.
Yet our discovery of Sakurajima, after riding the Shinkansen to the city of Kagoshima and heading down to the harbour to board the ferry bound for the volcanic landmass across the bay, could’ve come from a completely different trip altogether.
Formerly an island, until the lava flows of an eruption in 1914 formed a narrow isthmus connecting the isle with the Osumi Peninsula on the eastern side of the bay, Sakurajima appeared primal and mystifying from afar as we got aboard the ferry.
Crossing the bay in drizzly fog, standing on the deck of the ship and beholding the thick quilt of clouds concealing the massive volcanic peaks and the lush sloping forests at the heart of the island, we were surprised by the view of the townsite by the port of Sakurajima. It looked like an unassuming seaside village, kind of like one of the towns on exclusive Martha’s Vineyard in the US… if Martha’s Vineyard were a less ostentatiously affluent destination in the shadow of an active stratovolcano in Japan.
Upon disembarking the ferry, we walked into town and came across a shoreline of jagged black rock alongside a quiet boardwalk where, curiously enough, a large hot-spring foot bath welcomed visitors to soak their feet while gazing at the volcano. Reaching a trail crossing the molten lava field, my companions and I hadn’t expected to see so many signs of human and natural life on the craggy shores of the island.
Trees, ferns, and shrubs in shades of green, orange, red, and brown, which seemed invigorated as much by the warm subtropical breeze as by the salty seaside air. Anglers on offshore fishing platforms and stilted docks protruding from the rugged shoreline, calmly casting their lines as if the only thing on their minds was fish, without a hint of the smoke or lava that could have emerged above their heads.
Ferries crisscrossing the bay, unhurried pink and white ships moving to and fro amidst the strong winds and rough waves separating Sakurajima from the more temperate climes of Kyushu. Every bend in the trail revealed a startling intersection of brute volcanic discharge and persistent regeneration of nature by the primaeval waters of Kagoshima Bay.
The afternoon saw us take on a different expedition into the heart of the island. Learning of a bus circuit departing from the port and connecting the townsite with the Yunohira Observatory further inland, we managed to hop on one of the buses as it pulled over at a local inn close to the lava field.
Venturing deep into the luxuriant cluster of woods forming a belt around the volcano, we recollected what we had read about Sakurajima as we neared the observatory, which was the closest point to the peaks that the public could access.
Remembering how the volcano was said to smoke constantly and mildly erupt on a regular basis, with nearly daily plumes of smoke and ash rising into the sky, we noticed that the roads kept us conveniently away from the two-kilometre exclusion zone, mandated by the local authorities to prevent people from getting too close to the summit.
As the bus took us higher into the forests at the foot of the volcano, with the canopy of verdant and scarlet foliage nearly acting as a shield between us human travellers and the billowing smoke that could have risen at any time from the craters above, a strange calmness came over me.
I couldn’t put my finger on what that feeling was exactly, but as we arrived at the observatory and got off the bus to take in the exhilarating views of the peaks’ emerald-green and ash-grey slopes, I realised what Sakurajima’s secret character was to me.
The volcano was supremely powerful, yes, and definitely still breathing. Anyone who saw pictures of the 1914 eruption or news footage of the eruptions of the past couple of years would agree.
It most likely wouldn’t become dormant anytime soon, and its spews of smoke and ash might one day give way to a magma-filled eruption laying greater devastation to this part of Japan and the wider region. The volcano still presented a danger, but it didn’t necessarily feel hostile. The impression it gave was not one of fiery belligerence raging from the deepest confines of the earth.
Even with the warning levels and the advisories to the locals when the volcano poses a more immediate and serious risk, and with the evacuation drills and shelters from volcanic debris in place throughout the area of Kagoshima, there didn’t seem to be any sense of foreboding for people to live their lives in the shadow of the volcano. Daily life at the foot of these mighty peaks, even with the ever-present smoke and ash spewing skyward, could go on in Sakurajima.
And as I looked back at the island from the ferry bringing us back to Kagoshima, gazing at this simultaneously lush and barren volcanic land, I could still feel Sakurajima inhaling and exhaling from the chasmic furnaces in our planet’s core. And I knew the people living under its eternal, elemental dominion would keep on thriving in their own way.
