The Gotoh Islands, Part I - Fukue Blue

The Gotoh Islands (五島列島) - a chain of islands off the far west coast of Japan. If Japan was Britain, Gotoh would probably be the Channel Islands.

With my time in Japan swiftly running out, I embarked on a final trip before home. I took the moonlit overnight ferry from Hakata (photos here), and after a hazy night spent photographing the moon and failing to sleep on the tatami floor of a boat full of snoring fishermen, I got up to the sight of islands drifting past our bows. We were heading for the main city of the Gotoh archipelago, Fukue. I ate my crummy rice omelette in the faltering company of a 30year old woman, whose shy smile had brought me over to say hello. The usual questions ensued, but the usual answers did not follow. Learning that she lived on the tiny island of Naru, I enthusiastically dug for recommendations, tales of life on the islands and the beauty of its nature. But even before I arrived, I would be shown the downside of island life. She repeatedly referred to her illness, which had trapped her in her family home, and given her a brutally simple daily routine - wake up, get the boat to the main island and its hospital. Come home, sleep. Wake up, get the boat to the main island and its hospital. Come home, sleep. Wake up...

I asked her for her favourite thing in the islands.

"No. I hate the Gotoh islands. There is nature, but I want shopping centres, life, hospitals."

Not what I had been expecting. All the things I was so looking forward to seeing on the islands - the simple lifestyle, countryside, sea, quiet - were exactly the things that made her life so unbearable. Trapped in a beautiful prison.

By 9am, we arrived in the port, and my rather unhappy companion helped me find the information office before rushing to catch her bus to the hospital.

And so I got myself on a bus out across the island, and trundled past the green hills , rusting iron, and blue seas.

Blue. My strongest memory of Fukue is blue. It was everywhere.

Moon Waves

I took a night ferry from Fukuoka to the Gotoh Islands, one day before the full moon.















These were taken on a slow shutter speed at night, turning the ship's wake into hazy brush strokes of light. See previous (and more successful) attempts here.

Butoh by the Sea

With the day off lessons, I went to the seaside to dance with a couple of Japanese friends. We swam in the water, and sat in the sun. We walked by the seafront, and found a suitable boulder for a stage. And we danced.

Dancer - Ikumi

Night Waves

These photos were all taken on ferries at night, some on the boat back from Sakurajima (home of Furasato Onsen - see previous post), and some crossing back from Miyajima in the Inland Sea.

Fading Light

In the mid to late nineteenth century, as the Meiji Restoration finally allowed foreigners into Japan after centuries of enforced isolation, a new economic influx emerged - tourists. To feed the growing interest of wealthy, curious foreigners, early photography flourished in Japan, seeking to give a taste of the exotic orient to well-paying customers.

The result is, to me, absolutely fascinating.

There are a lot of reasons why I love each of these photographs, all around 150 years old - their perfect stylised poses, lurid yet flat colouring, haughty exoticism - but I don't want to patronise your eyes. Just take the time to look at them all. Click on the image to see a bigger version.



















I think this last one is my favourite.

I found these photos on this Japanese website.

Ouragan de Fleurs - Butoh performance

'Ouragan de Fleurs' - 'Hurricane of Flowers' a performance by the Fukuoka Seiryukai, featuring five talented butoh dancers, and me.

It would be performed in Fukuoka at the French Institute, after my teacher and the gang had taken the piece to Paris at the end of March.

They didn't like Paris that much. Too dirty, too rude, too many druggies. Just not Japan.

Actually, disillusionment with Paris is a common problem among Japanese visitors. So much so that the embassy there has opened an emergency helpline for Japanese tourists, suffering deep culture shock at the destruction of their idealised images of the lovers' city. [Original story]

There was a similar sense of culture shock in the making of the piece ('creative differences' - people finding ever move creative ways to differ with each other). But by the time of the performance, all was calm in the Seiryukai camp.

Preparations were rather last minute - rehearsals continued until 15 minutes before the start. The last time we practised the final scene (pictures below), the four of us collapsed in a sprawling heap. Should we fall over, the back-up plan was to make it into 'a falling dance'.

But with the lights set and the audience ready to come in, there was calmness back stage. The Japanese dancers and stage crew called out to each other in chorus "Yoroshiku Onegaishimasu" - the polite Japanese way of asking for a favour. Rather different to the western dark humour of 'break a leg'.

The audience in their seats (well, on their cushions), the lights down, and it began.

























Thanks to Brendan (again) for the photos.