Hiroshima, Mon Amour

 Hiroshima, I think, could be the greatest place on Earth. It has this one, big, wide road running down its centre - Heiwadori, or "peace street" - and you can see big, endless hills in three directions. There's something captivating about it. It's the perfect city, full of restaurants and boutiques and 7/11s as needed, but with such vast expanses of greenery. Heiwadori is decorated with tons of flowers, and the parks are big and luscious. 

Of course, I'm here in April, so it's that perfect Spring weather. And yes, along the river leading up to Peace Park and the A-bomb museum, there are a few unmitigated piles of trash situated among the cherry blossoms. Here are my pictures of them:

 But Hiroshima is magic. I love it more than I could have imagined. I went to see Mickey 17 at the Aeon cinema a few days ago (I didn't like the movie very much, sorry Bong Joon Ho acolytes), then I got two fabulous brown dresses in the Book-Off in the same mall complex. One is a slightly frilly sort-of tea dress. The other is a sleevless 60s a-line tweed number from Burberry's Blue Label. The first was 500 yen (£2.63), and the second was 4000 (£21.20). I have entered bliss.

 There are a number of monuments in the area around Peace Park. There's this one shaped like a hollowed out building, with a few gentle doves perched on its tiers, there's a simple domed cenotaph that sits in the middle of the park, and there's the understated plaque that marks the bomb's calculated hypocentre. It sits almost hidden next to a little car park and a 7/11. Perfect in its smallness.

 

There's also a cute little high street, which has these two little mascot bird creatures. I don't trust them, but I do like them. I went to Torikizoku here (a chain izakaya type restaurant) and had an incredibly good matcha latte.

 The dome itself is incredible to see in person. It was touching to see a cat chilling and resting inside the gates, untouched by the rules for people, closing its eyes in the warm and comforting sun in the structure that stands as the symbol of tens of thousands of casualties. 

 There is nothing like this place. I love it so. 

At the Monkey Park

 Arashiyama is a beautiful place in the west of Kyoto. It has a wide, pretty river, and hills stuffed with trees. It also has a monkey park. I went there this week. And I saw monkeys. 

To get to it, you have to climb up a steep hill path, where you will be met by many signs pleading with you not to show those monkeys any food. Do not let those monkeys see bananas. Do not look them in the eye. They could get angry.

This creates a slightly foreboding atmosphere, and will tire you out physically, if not mentally. But once you reach the summit, you'll be greeted by a simple, delightful view. The monkeys stroll freely here, and you can look out over Kyoto. It's really something. You can go inside a small building to safely feed the monkeys, which I did (there was a choice between apples and peanuts, and it seemed like most monkeys were more interested in those juicy apple slices).

It's a pretty small park, but a satisfying one. The monkeys are very cute, and there's quite a few babies swinging around.

After that, I went to Kyoto Gyoen National Park, and the blossoms were out!

 

On the way, I found a poor abandoned Baikinman, Anpanman's little nemesis. I love his insane grin. Hopefully his owner will find him again. 

All in all, a good outing. May the monkeys rest well, and receive many apple slices tomorrow.

One Must Get Conclaved

 A good while ago I watched the glorious pope-type epic, Conclave. And what a movie it was! Ralph Fiennes has long been an object of fear and distrust to me, since I watched him in The Duchess and he was cruel and hard and mean to dear Keira Knightley, and since he did all that Voldemorting. It's hard to forgive such acts. But in Conclave he is a gentle, thoughtful little cardinal who is always on the verge of doing that sad eyebrow thing that is mostly the domain of Dreamworks characters and Ariana Grande. He's literally a bit concerned. And that's truly the movie.

 I've yet to read the book (although it is on my TBR list - that's To Be Read for any readers who aren't Goodreadspilled), but there is a palpable pulpiness to this film that really delights. There's a delicious pace, and the whole thing is furtive, probing dialogue. Stanley Tucci is here, and he's the best little guy in the house. Isabella Rossellini is here, gazing across the room, the spirit of womanhood come to stand strangely on the horizon. Love her.

And, of course, the little rollercoaster world of the conclave is exhilarating. Twelve Angry Men, but colourful and secretive and cigarette-stained. This is true dark academia in that it is salacious and obsessed with ritual. Hands and smoke the most important things in this furtive limbo. Rustling paper and the swish of cardinal's robes a close second. And the colour! Oh my god, the colour. The berry red of the boys, the blue of the clearest Italian sky for silent or chuckling women, and of course the pristine white of popely things and the pretty clear smoke of decisions and futures.

Conclave is, quite frankly, cute. Once we get past the detectives and the strange beautiful enclosure at the heart of the conclave, we get pure, joyful, dumb brilliance. One of the most fun endings I've seen in a movie. There's a smile on my face, and a thousand screenshots on my computer.

 Good movie. Get Conclaved.