Japan’s sex museums (hihokan – 秘宝館) are in decline. Historically tied to tiny onsen (hot spring) resorts, they were places for the average person to liberate themselves while on vacation. But there are very few prominent locations left for the curious person to visit. In May of 2011, the famous sex museum near Beppu hot springs closed its doors after 35 years, replaced by an exhibition space for Buddhist art and sculptures. Hokkaido Hihokan, operating since 1980, shut up shop in 2007 and had several valuable items stolen in 2010. The International Sex Museum in Mie prefecture ran from 1972 to 2007. There are fewer and fewer really notable locations left on the map now, with perhaps the museum in Atami hot springs being the most prominent – Atami Adult Museum.

Why exactly these pieces of history are dying out is a story in much need of proper research and perhaps an idea for another post. But today I’d like to take you inside to see the remains of one of Japan’s best sex museums. Buried amongst the relics were a few copies of the old publication ‘Sankei Weekly’, precursor to Japan’s current SPA! magazine aimed at young people. In its November 23rd edition of 1978, I found a PR article that talks about the opening of the museum itself way back on 1st October 1978. Apparently the museum was opened with the cooperation of local inns and volunteer organisations under the head of one Mr. Okano, who says that he started the museum out of love for his local town and community. The theme was based on sex – the eternal love of mankind – and featured many unique items and statues from around the country and overseas. According to other haikyo websites, this sex museum regrettably closed its doors for the last time in the later half of 1997.

In case I hadn’t been clear enough already. If you are easily offended by adult material, read no further! We’re about to pass the point of no return!

Welcome, One and All!

On our exploration, haikyo friend Florian and I approached the abandoned museum through a back door, tellingly painted with the words ‘Nude Entrance’. It’s likely that dancers would have entered through here to access the main stage for the strip shows that took place in the facility. But the museum itself was designed with a purpose. Let me walk you through it as the owner originally intended.

Crossing over a small bridge, we come to face the large, white facade of this castle-like structure. It truly is quite remarkable in its architecture, mimicking that of a traditional Japanese castle or residence for nobles. In front of us is a hefty wooden door, guarded by a stone statue depicting the God of Wealth ‘Daikokuten’. Below our feet, a mat embedded with the words ‘Home of the Traveller’s Guardian Deity’ (道祖神の里). In the soggy tourist pamphlet we’ve picked up we learn that, at one point in time, this sex museum had the largest collection of these stone gods. The statues are often seen on roadsides where travellers pass. As the museum matured and the exhibits expanded however, more and more graphic ornaments were collected to go on display. Presumably they were more popular than our guardian deity!

Inside the main entrance, we’re greeted by an empty ticket kiosk with a couple of tiny security monitors and an old telephone inside. The price of admission is a welcoming 1,300 yen – not bad for entry to what is becoming a dying breed of museum! Pacing down the hallway, we see that mould has quickly begun to take over. Wallpaper has begun to peel and dirt is strewn across the floor. We can imagine the grand entrance in its heyday though, and it isn’t long before we are greeted with our first signs of traditional erotica. Emblazoned across several large panels is an enlarged version of a piece of Japanese shunga (春画) art. ‘Pictures of spring’, as the term translates. A euphemism for sex. It certainly leaves little to the imagination!

Praying for a Bountiful Harvest

Next we enter the main shrine area, presumably to pay our respects and cleanse our minds before peeking further into the dark depths of the museum. A grand vermillion facade stands before us to mark the entrance to the Shinto shrine.

Inside the main shrine, below the shimenawa rope marking the boundary of the sanctuary, is a detailed carving devoted to fertility. As we’ve learned before, Japan still has several fertility festivals, which are linked to older harvest rituals and held to pray for the healthy and abundant flow of new life into this world. To the average person though, at first glance they seem to be little more than an opportunity to parade around a giant wooden penis and free one’s animalistic desire for the day. But there is a deeper meaning there. And hey, perhaps the country could use a few more of these festivals. It’s struggling with a declining birth rate after all!

After paying our respects at the shrine, we continue walking through an artificially recreated natural environment. On either side of us are numerous stone phalluses, some towering several feet high in the air. A garden of mushroom penises greets us in the approaching grotto, complete with stone labia and masturbating statues of chimps.

Ducking down slightly, we walk through a short tunnel and find ourselves making the transition into the next area of the museum. Here, we find a new collection of carvings and statues. Judging from the signs that drape down from below each one, these statues were collected from various shrines and temples around the country.

In the centre of the room is a familiar sight. A large, wooden phallus housed cosily inside a mikoshi portable shrine. This is very much like the one I saw at the fertility festival a couple of years ago, although this particular member is indeed smaller and of dubious quality. Certainly not in the same league as the beastly trunk that needed the strength of 10 men to bear it at the festival. But the feeling is there, at least. These are important parts of Japan’s culture, and if you can get past the sheer shock of seeing such a bold manifestation of the male organ, there really is a rich history infused with deeper meaning and community behind it all.

Erotic Art and Titillating Statues

Onwards and onwards we walk. The place is pitch black of course, having been stripped of electricity for years. It doesn’t have many windows either, so the air is musty and full of mould spores. We don’t notice this at the time however. I mean, would you notice it when surrounded by such subject matter? We paid for it later though; lots of coughing and gargling to sort our throats out. But anyway, let’s hold on a little longer. We pass through another room filled with more stone statues of unknown people in curious, twisted embraces. A komainu – the dog/lion guardian of many shrines in Japan – appears around a corner. Only he’s looking rather…different. Instead of a ferocious lion head, he’s sporting a… Well, I should think you’d be able to imagine by now.

Off to the side is a room sectioned off with curtains. At first we think it might be a changing room for the dancers, or perhaps a small theatre of some sort. It turns out though that it was a special room that displayed erotic ultra-violet paintings. Above us were the telltale black tubes that are needed to send out the UV light. For 300 yen, you could view this ethereal world showing artistic impressions of fornicating couples and genitalia and giggle at how white your friend’s teeth looked in the darkness. Unfortunately for us, there’s no way to illuminate the pictures, so we must make do with squinting our eyes and turning our heads to the side to try and make sense of the pinks and yellows in the abstract paintings. Perhaps a return trip is in order, complete a with black UV torch.

In the room connected, we find a collection of Japanese shunga paintings. These erotic pictures are primarily associated with the Edo period and ukiyo-e (woodblock prints) and varied wildly in the sexual acts depicted. One infamous print was done in 1814 by the master himself – Hokusai. It’s entitled ‘Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife’, if you are curious to take a look at it…

Allegedly, almost all ukiyo-e artists made shunga prints at some point in their careers. The prints were enjoyed by a wide variety of people, and making such prints did not lower the prestige of the artist. Unfortunately, many of the pictures in this room were badly succumbing to mould and decay. Although it was still possible to make out the graphic scenes they depicted.

A Nightmarish Discovery

Afterwards, we progress to the final room of the main museum. We’re in for a treat – they certainly saved the best for last! A lush, red carpet stretches out in front of us, and to our right, several large, full-body mirrors. We can see a human-like shape reflecting in the dim light of the room.

Is somebody else here??

For a brief moment, I panic. The exhibits had been so engrossing that I’d quite forgotten that they may be other people sneaking around this abandoned sex museum beside my friend and I.

Nervously, we turn the corner. Definitely a humanlike shape, but… No. A mannequin. Of course! In fact, several mannequins, or at least the disjointed remains of several. A couple of pairs of smooth legs. A broken arm or two. And in the centre, a full-bodied female, covered in crackling paint and dust. Even though time alone in this deserted museum hasn’t been kind to her, there are still touches of her former glory left. The rouge on her checks and lush lipstick. The eyeshadow and fake eyelashes. In a certain light, she looks almost innocent. Perhaps almost nervous standing there in the darkness. It’s not often she receives guests, I suppose.

But as I move my torchlight around, something incredibly chilling occurs. The once innocent expression she wore to greet us is transformed into a nightmarish disfigurement. Her eyes appear sunken, rolling deeply back into her plastic skull. The false eyelashes she wears stick our like razors and her peeling skin – it screams out at me with memories of pain. It’s truly a terrifying sight to behold there, alone in the darkness. My buddy doesn’t see it; he’s away photographing another area of the room. I’m left there wondering what evil intentions my plastic companion has for the two intruders standing before her.

Shuddering, I snap a few more pictures and turn around to take in the room in its entirety. A red carpet covers the floor, and several plastic pillars mimic old Greek stone columns. The room has a very regal feel to it, apart from the softcore pornography pasted up on one of the walls. I wonder to myself if it was a later addition. I do know from flicking through the old museum pamphlet that this room used to have mannequins that were crouched down, bent at the knees in a seated position. Apparently they were actual seats for the museum guests to sit on. Apparently there were also pornographic films on display all day at the museum, from the 9.00am opening to the 11.00pm closing time.

We also know that there were two or three very expensive wax models that used to live here. Actresses Marilyn Monroe and Sofia Loren were stood in booths sporting very sexy poses. There was also an elaborate wax sculpture of Emmanuelle – the lead character in the series of softcore erotic French films – that sat in a woven bamboo chair in the corner, just like the actress on the original 1974 theatrical poster. The wax models apparently cost upwards of 5,000,000 yen ($60,000 or £38,000) each and took approximately 3 months to make, so its no wonder that they were stolen back in 2009. Or removed by the owner – we can’t be sure. By that time though, they had already succumbed to a nasty mould infestation and looked quite the part in this rotting haikyo. It’s a pity that were weren’t able to meet, as the photos I’ve seen of the decomposing wax models looked amazing.

There was however, one last surprise. Nestling in the corner of the very same room was a long glass box. In previous photos I’ve seen, this box contained a mannequin that was covered by a fluffy, pink cloth. In could see however, from a short distance away, that the pink cloth was no longer covering the figure. A small shiver spiked down my spine and I walked over to the mysterious glass box. A hole had been smashed in the top, and it was rather dusty, but sure enough, inside I could see the armless form of another female mannequin. On the outside of the box were a series of buttons that I assume moved parts of the mannequin inside. I could see a few wires and…and…

What on earth is going on here??

Shining my torch inside the glass box, I examined the female form. Naked, from the feet up, except for a pair of high-heeled shoes. The face was similar to our plastic Jekyll-and-Hyde friend from before. But there was something strange about the breasts. Something protruding upwards and outwards at an unnatural angle.

The mannequins’s nipples were horribly distorted. Twisted into what I can only understand was supposed to be a dildo of some sort. A sex toy that visitors would manipulate by pressing the buttons on the outside of the box. I have no idea what the purpose of such a setup was, other than perhaps to titillate the visitors. I felt a little sorry for her though, trapped in her glass box in such a demeaning position. I wonder who removed the fluffy pink cloth that used to conceal her pride..?

Live Nudes and Strip Shows

Exiting the main museum area, we find ourselves in a distinctly different area altogether. Here, a wooden stage rests with several old television units on top of it. The floor is littered with broken glass from a fallen display case that used to contain adult souvenirs. We also find a few old venting machines with posters of sexy ladies adorning the rusty metal. I wonder what 300 yen would buy you from these machines. Perhaps some erotic playing cards? We did find an empty box on the floor.

Signs of the live nude shows that used to take place here were everywhere. I was particularly taken by the coloured filter wheel hanging up around the back of the stage. Pinks, purples, reds… Definitely the sorts of colours you’d need to create an atmospheric performance. Lighting would have been key. After all, it’s as much about what you can’t see as what you can see. A carefully placed shadow can be expressly artistic!

It seems that live nude shows were performed at night, as well as in the neighbouring building (which is also a haikyo). It had a small stage for strippers and an entrance booth. Since these facilities are located in an onsen town, I should imagine the visitors used to come along in yukata (light bath robes) after a relaxing soak in the bath in order to take in the performances.

It seems the museum had a set of rules, or principles it aimed to work by. They were written on a heart-shaped board in the gift-shop area but, unfortunately, over the years the sign has degraded and rotted away, leaving only traces of the characters that were once inscribed upon it. I managed to track down an older picture of the sign though. Here were the museum rules, presumably for staff:

一.　一人の思考より
1. Think of others before yourself.

二.　不義理の心捨て
2. Get rid of dishonest thoughts.

三.　見つめる気持ち
3. Enjoy the feeling of just watching.

四.　善し悪し一つに総め
4. Unite the good and the bad.

五.　常つもスマイル感謝の心
5. Always greet with kindness and a smile.

In the August 1979 edition of ‘Graph Japan’ magazine is an article interviewing the owner and creator of the museum, Mr. Okano. He talks about a few things that inspired him to create the sex museum. He originally came across a book that introduced lots of unusual artefacts from around Japan and felt that a display of such items would benefit his town, in addition the strip clubs and nude shows already there. He then went off to Tokyo to begin purchasing items for the collection. Mr. Okano goes on to say that, at least at the time of the interview, about half of the guests to the museum were women. Often initially invited by their husband or boyfriend, they found the museum quite appealing. In contrast, many young people left disappointed thinking ‘it’s just a collection of old rocks’. We also learn that the wax models were created in Japan by a Japanese maker, although originally based on American versions. Apparently it took 5 people 5 months of running around to gather all the artefacts for display in the museum, including flying abroad to places like Taiwan and Korea!

We’re in the gift shop now, or the room that was originally used for the shop. Connected to it is a small kitchen and flight of stairs that lead up to a tiny office. It is full of newspapers and old magazines. Scraps and junk. Nothing much of interest that we can see immediately, except perhaps for the odd erotic picture and a nice poster back from when they opened the museum. A calendar on the office wall shows June 1988. According to other haikyoists, the museum closed in 1997. So why, then, does the calendar read 1988? And more importantly, why did the museum close at all? Is the owner still alive? What happened to the wax models..?

There are still many questions left unanswered in this mystery, and several important pieces of the museum gone. I hope we are able to unearth some more clues about the missing wax models and perhaps some information about what led to the sex museum’s demise. But what an amazing place it was! After reading the articles interviewing the owner and wandering around the place myself, I really did get a better understanding of his intentions to educate and liberate our sexual understanding.

As much as I have to admit that I enjoyed the haikyo adventure, I feel it’s a great shame that this museum, among with many others, have closed down. I truly hope that Japan is able to keep its few remaining sex museums open and retain these valuable cultural assets.

Until our next explore, then.

**********

Bonus reads:
Florian’s report of the exploration!
Loveland – My account of visiting a Korean Sex Park.

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There isn’t a great deal to tell about this particular structure that isn’t readily documented elsewhere, hence why the exploration pictures have sat on my hard drive for many months. But one of my photos was recently chosen as the cover shot for Tokyo’s Metropolis magazine highlighting a haikyo article that I’m interviewed in, so it felt like a good opportunity to share this miniature exploration and the accompanying history with you all.

The place is also a famous online meme thanks in part to my haikyo buddy Abandoned Kansai. It became popular in April 2011 after a Reddit posting from a user suggesting that the structure would make a good fortress in the event of a zombie outbreak. The shaft tower was also replicated in the popular game Minecraft.

But what was this curious structure actually used for? The title might give you a little hint with the name ‘winding tower’. Apparently this vertical structure, standing at a respectable 47.65m above current ground level, used a winding mechanism to bring up coal from the 430m deep shaft below. The former Shime coal mine shaft tower, as it is officially known, is made of reinforced concrete (similar to that of the structures on Gunkanjima) and became a designated important cultural property on 8th December 2009.

The structure stands as a part of the Shime coal mine that operated from 1889 to 1964, with the shaft tower itself being used to extract coal between 1943-1945. With the newfound status as ‘important cultural property’, it has been cleaned up a bit and is now decoratively lit up at night. I personally preferred the green and grey collage of the old, but I’m pleased to see the structure being preserved.

Interestingly, apparently the iron and steel used in the reinforced concrete construction is from the U.K and the tower and related structures had a value of 2,000,000 yen in currency at the time. The tower itself is actually measured at 53.6m x 15.3m x 12.25m, although not from ground level.

There are only 3 structures of this type left in the world today, with the other two being in China and Belgium. It’s certainly one of the more striking haikyo you’re likely to come across anywhere. Although there was very little original exploration or infiltration needed on this trip, it’s a worthwhile sight and does well to remind us that ruins do not have to be abandoned in order to be appreciated. Perhaps next time I’ll get chance to see the grisly concrete giant illuminated at night :).

As for it being your zombie fortress in times of need? Well, I suppose that cavernous 430m pit below could be useful to dispose of corpses, should you be able to open it up. The place does look rather draughty for spending a prolonged period of time in though. It’s your call!

f11 Magazine: for photographers and aficionados

Issue 5 :: November 2011

Features image portfolios from Australian fashion and beauty photographer Juli Balla, and American portrait photographer Tamara Lackey. Plus there’s urban exploration imagery from Michael Gakuran in Japan, and New Zealand photographer Michael Ng provides a Real Life Review of his 80 megapixel Leaf Aptus II-12 medium format digital back.

You can view the magazine for free via the online flash viewer or, if you prefer, download the pdf for reading later. My interview begins on page 39.

Read f11 Magazine online

Download pdf

Let me know your thoughts and be sure to subscribe to f11′s mailing list to be notified of the newest issue each month. It has some really nice content :).

Driving along the many Okinawan coastal roads, you’ll see many small islands dotting the shoreline. Some little more than rocks jutting out of the sea, and others, distant paradises known only to scuba divers and fisherman. Dolphin Island is one such curiosity that catches many an eye while cruising along. Also known as ‘Hiituu Island’, the Okinawan word for dolphin, it’s a tiny islet just off the mainland. Tucked in neatly among the foliage is a gleaming white veneer, standing in stark contrast to the craggy rocks anchoring it. Jutting out just above the greenery, one can also glimpse the edge of a roof.

A structure of some kind. I wonder what..? And why, on such a small rock..?

Most folk would be content to leave it at that. Vacation time is short. The sun is warm. And more importantly, there are still empty beach chairs to be claimed!

But we take a left and drive around the back of a large warehouse. It’s packing one of Okinawa’s delicacies – the caviar of the sea, Umi Budo (sea grapes), to be shipped all over Japan. There are a few fisherman here, and also a few dive groups boarding vessels to bluer seas. We stop the car and get out for a walk.

Yep, there’s a haikyo there alright. Poking out of weathered rock, the unmistakable sign of ruins – broken windows and worn walls, graffiti and an eerie silence. I am already getting my gear together and making plans for my buddy to pick me up later. It looked to be a fairly small location and quite open. A walk-in entry but with just one, rather large, problem. I’d have to cross the sea to get there.

An atypical entry

Not a problem. Slipping on my swimming trunks and dive shoves, I pace towards the water’s edge. We’d planned the arrival to coincide with the low tide of the day. It was 20 minutes before the peak, which meant crossing should be quite easy. Hoisting my rucksack and tripod up on my back, I begin to tread carefully down the rocky bank and into the blueish-green Okinawan waters. It looks to be a metre or so deep, and sure enough, I find my stomach becoming nicely wet as I wade through the weeds and broken coral to the edge of the island. I grab some shots with the waterproof camera as I go.

Okay, I made it! Now let’s get this show on the road. Camera out and back into the water.

I leave my rucksack on the island’s shore and begin to explore the perimeter of the island. It’s full of small caves and hidey-holes, sparkling yellow patches of sand and lush greens warning me of deeper patches of water. Small blue tropical fish dart in and out of underwater crevices and large crabs bigger than my hand scatter away clicking furiously at me as I splish-splosh onwards. To my surprise, one large tropical fish is flapping around frantically on its side in a small pool of water, obviously caught by the receding tide. I chase it out to sea, and in doing so find a bridge, stretching above me to another tiny rock. A viewing platform of some sort?

Dubious clouds roll overhead breaking up the brilliant blue skies and bringing with them quick bursts of drizzle. I find myself watching my steps very carefully. Slipping here would be costly indeed with an expensive camera and ultra-wide angle lens on the front. Not to mention that low tide has passed. I realise the water is splashing against the rock.

What an idiot! I should have arrived with plenty of time prior to the low tide peak! Now the water is coming back in…

I continue around the back of the island, nearly making a full circle, but soon come to an area of water that looks deep. I dip into it for a while and try to keep going, but it’s at chest height already, so I abandon the idea and head back to the main entrance, ready to explore inside of the ruins.

On Hiituu Island

The bold white front of Dolphin Island must have been quite striking when the place was still new. I imagine the island must have been connected to the mainland via a bridge that guests could cross. Now, it has fallen foul to the graffiti artists. A distinctive pink cat swirls up the front and the welcoming platform of old lies shattered below the doorway. The best way in is to duck under the structure itself and climb up through the floor. I’ve been to a fair few haikyo, but approaching from the sea and sneaking in through the floor is a definite first!

Dripping wet and scrambling around under the building, my hands find a few neat items. A crab claw, the leftovers from a seagull’s dinner, and a hermit crab, hastily trying to outpace me. With more time I would get my macro lens out, but I’m mindful of keeping my friend waiting too long, so I press on. Hauling myself up onto the first floor, I snap a quick picture of the colouful entrance and begin to walk up the concrete steps. It’s pretty overgrown up here, with only a small opening to cut my way through. Spiders block my way, but fortunately I spot their webs before I get slapped in the face. I’ve also noticed something disturbing. Red ants are everywhere. I’ve already had to brush more than a few off my legs, and I’m pretty sure that red swelling on my ankle isn’t from a mosquito. Best be light on my toes…

I reach an open doorway and step inside the room. It opens out into a large space with a set of toilets, a reception counter and kitchen area tucked away. Apparently it used to be a restaurant, with quite pleasant views too. Cut back some of that overgrown greenery and you’d have perfect views of Okinawa’s bright blue oceans, or warm orange sunsets. I note the door leading out to the viewing platform – or could that have been a private balcony reserved for very special guests? Either way, now it’s completely blocked by plants, and I don’t fancy getting scratched anymore than I have been, so I give it a miss.

Most of the decor inside has been stripped and worn away by the harsh, salty sea air. All the windows are broken. Whether by nature’s hand or a vandal’s is unknown, but the effect is the same now. All that remains is a shell of what once was, with a few tufts of red carpet and luxurious wall coverings to remind us of the splendour that existed in the past. But in place of the man-made beauty, another sort of otherworldly beauty is beginning to take hold. A fascinating slither of green mould lines the wall to a broken light switch, and a door clings to its last furnishings as nature rips it apart. For me, this is the stuff that makes haikyo, far more than some dubious graffiti or broken floors. It’s dilapidation, in its most natural form.

Into the bowels of the rock

Exiting the room, I realise my time is ever more limited. I head down another set of stairs leading underneath the restaurant. Several doors invite me towards them, and a couple of dank pools filled with water of a rusty tint hint at the island’s other purpose. It seems as though there was a small aquarium here at one point. Sticking my head inside one of the darkened rooms, I notice a heavy coolness to the air. There are rows of small openings cut into the wall and some writing.

“Please do not touch the tanks”.

I set up my tripod to capture a long exposure and wonder what sort of creatures would have been kept in such a small aquarium. The minimal light here is really testing me. I’ve gotta move. Not much time left.

Heading down another flight of steps, I draw my breath in sharply.

Why am I only just finding this now..?? I breathe, excitedly.

Before me was the mouth of a cave, cut into the spiky rock that made up Dolphin Island. Just above my head, an old rusty lantern that once illuminated these dark walls. I check the time. I’m already over the limit and give a quick curtesy call.

“Not much longer now! I’m just grabbing a few more photos. I found an awesome cave!”

Out comes my trusty headlamp. I find it to be much better than a standard torch in most situations. It allows me to keep my hands free for the camera, and clambering around. I can also light long exposure shots by looking around the room to light up each spot. I head inside, quivering with anticipation.

There’s a much larger tank in here, but it’s almost pitch black. I set up my tripod again, eyeing the clock and hit the shutter.

1 second… 3 seconds… 10 seconds…

I wait as the camera records the image. I’ve mostly dried off now, but being inside this cave is making me a little chilly. It seems to consist of the main aquarium and also a small shrine. The surrounding walls are all carved straight out of the rock itself, but with so many shadows I can’t quite make out all the edges. I start to feel a tingling sensation too, but not down my spine. It’s creepy in here, but what is that..?

That…feeling. It almost, itches…

“Argh!”

I let out a scream as I glance down at my right foot, coloured red with dozens of fire ants.

“Dammit, you bastards!”

I frantically brush them off, but I’ve already suffered a few bites. I must have stood on part of the nest or something, but there’s no time to really check. I diligently set up my tripod once more to capture the shrine before leaving. I make sure that I’m not standing still too long either, eyeing the frisky red ants wandering around.

There are several unusual artefacts here that I failed to notice when I took the picture as I was rushing. In addition to the main shrine, there are many different shells and objects of the sea. Various corals and what looks to be a sea urchin in the centre.

Off to the right we find a handsome dragon-adorned ceramic jug, as well as a giant clam and also a shrine marker.

A narrow escape

I’m now out of time though. Fortunately I’ve peaked in pretty much every corner of the small island, so I dash back outside and around to the front again. It’s not a welcoming sight. I’d been there just a couple of hours. How high could the tide rise in that amount of time, anyway? With high tide being many hours later in the day, I figured 2 hours would be nothing. It was quite obvious, however, that the shallow waters I’d paddled through when landing on the island were now much deeper.

I realise that I’m not going to be able to shoulder my rucksack back as normal and heave it, my tripod and many yen’s worth of camera equipment above my head. Nothing to do but walk and see, I guess.

At first, it’s nothing too surprising. The water quickly reaches my knees and then my waist as before. I spot my friend waiting on the banks across the water. Not too far away, a couple looks on with puzzled looks as I begin my crossing. The rucksack and tripod sway above my head in the wind and I struggle to keep my balance as my feet get entangled in the weeds. The water is above my stomach now, and I can still feel the ground sloping downwards. A few more paces, and the water is up to my chest.

What should I do here if it gets any deeper? I wonder. Perhaps I should throw my bags the remaining distance? I suppose even if my head goes under, there’s still plenty of length above my arms to keep the bags out of the water…

I’m fortunate. The water seems to have only risen to just under my chin, and I get away with a dry head and dry camera equipment. That was close though. Another hour and I probably would have been swimming back…

Back on land, it was a quick towel off, a grin for the camera and on to the famous Churaumi aquarium in the north. Another successful explore complete, and one that was truly unique of Okinawa.

Calling their bluff, I ventured forward, finding a way around the back of the hotel. I was excited. Finally I could see a few old vending machines and the rear boiler rooms and storage sheds, so I busied myself with some photography. It was great weather and so far fairly interesting, even with just the rubbish outside to shoot.

There weren’t any immediate entrances, but upon closer inspection, the broken windows revealed themselves to be merely covered up with boards loosely stacked against them. Swallowing my nervousness, I began to shift one, sliding it sideways to peer inside the back room. Out of nowhere a faint high-pitched wail began to sound. Heart in throat, I dashed down the steps towards the boiler room and leapt over the rusty black fence.

It was a few moments before I realised how stupid I was. There was a very steep slope leading straight down into a lake.

How could I forget I was on the side of a mountain??

I was already sliding dangerously as these thoughts flashed in my head. To make matters worse, half of the trees I attempted to grab onto were rotten and on several occasions the bark crumbled away cleanly in my hands. I began to pick up pace stumbling down the mountain, my shoes filling with debris and branches hitting me in the face. The momentum became so much that I was flailing my arms around blindly just to grab anything.

Smash. Whack. Crunch.

Somehow my left hand found a suitable narrow tree trunk to grasp. It was healthy and strong, and I gripped it fiercely. My feet slipped and left the ground badly, and before I knew it, I was swinging by one arm precariously over the top of a sizeable drop…

The fun begins…

Now that I had stopped, I had to get back up the 15 or so meters I had come down. It wasn’t over yet… Among the wet Autumn leaves and loose soil were rocks poking out of the slope’s edge.

With some good, sturdy footholds I can surely clamber back up, right?

Much to my dismay though, the rocks were loose and worse still, they literally disintegrated in my hands as I tried to grab onto them. At this point I was seriously worrying about my safety. One wrong move would see me at the bottom of the slope in a lake, most likely injured.

Still, I made slow progress, carefully choosing my handholds and gradually got back to a safer location where I could sit and rest. I wasn’t ready to go back to the hotel yet, through fear of police or a security guard coming.

After about an hour of waiting in trepidation, I decided to brave it and slowly work my way back up. After some time, I was back by the window I had fled from and listening to the birds and distant sounds of cars. The sun still beat heavily and there seemed to be no sign of disturbance at all.

A little trapdoor opened in my mind.

Perhaps I was just imaging things? I thought. I’m overly cautious and wary – no way there’d be an alarm in a place like this, right? I’ve come all this way to take photographs of this place and I can’t back out now…

I started to move a few boards from another window, successfully making an opening into the kitchen area. Sticking my arm in and waving it about saw no reaction. Not even knocking over a piece of wood triggered anything. I decided I had just been unlucky. Maybe I really did just imagine the noise? Gathering my bag, I plunged inside.

I sat down, looked around and sighed a little. It was dark and cluttered with kitchen objects and I got that tingling sensation of excitement at a new place to explore. I was almost about to turn on my torch when I heard it again… That faint, high-pitched wailing.

“Oh for fu… Shit, man!”

And it was back out the window in a panic and down the mountain side again, only this time with care and along a safe route.

Another hour passed.

Close encounters

It was mid-afternoon now and I was tired, a little shaken-up and very worried now that I had been caught on camera or something. I was very aware that I would have to go back by train and my mind entertained nasty thoughts of police waiting at the station. I really just wanted to go home.

I climbed back up and round to the gate at the side of the hotel when something puzzling caught my eye. The padlock that had prevented me from coming through the first time appeared to be open…

Perhaps I just didn’t notice this? I thought.

I didn’t check very carefully, after all, as it was obscured from view the first time. Shrugging it off, I slipped through the gate into the small alleyway and slid the bolt back into place. Clutching the padlock in my hand, I turned and froze stiff. All the weight of my body sunk down and settled in my feet. There, not more than 3 meters in front of me, was a padded, navy blue-uniformed security guard, staring rather blankly at what appeared to be an alarm box on the front of the hotel.

My heart was in my throat, sweat on my brow and my brain busy handling expletives. I had bolted the gate behind me – I couldn’t just slip back through now. If he so much as tilted his head in my direction he would see me, for it was nothing more pure luck that he happened to be looking at an angle perpendicular to where I was standing. My only option was to take a half step to the side, behind a large sign that had been propped up against the wall. I dared not move much at all through fear he would hear my footsteps, but it was just enough to hide me from his line of view, should he decide to look sideways in my direction.

There was nothing I could do except wait.

He lingered for a while. I could see his back through an opening in the sign, and I prayed that he didn’t return to lock the gate that I had just come through.

What to do? What to do? My brain whirred frantically, conjuring up all manner of bizarre escape scenarios.

But the gods, it seemed, were favouring me today. For some reason, he turned and walked back towards the car park.

I desperately began thinking of my next move. He might, after all, just be going to get a set of keys. Images of the computer game ‘Metal Gear Solid’ floated through my head in a very distracting fashion.

This is neither the time nor the place to be reminiscing about guiding the lead character ‘Solid Snake’ through military bases without being caught! This was real stealth! I’ll be up shit creek if I don’t choose my next move accordingly…

Escape

The un-locked gate was my biggest concern. I still clutched the padlock in my sweaty palm and my better logic told me that it was very likely that the padlock had not been unlocked when I arrived in the morning. Hence, there were two possible scenarios now: 1) Stay perfectly still and hope the guard leaves, forgetting to lock the gate properly. 2) Go back through the gate, hide on the side of the mountain and re-formulate an escape plan.

I decided to move. The area I was in was simply too exposed for comfort. The guard could have gone back for his keys or anything and it was too risky to assume that he was leaving. I figured I had a space of about a minute – less, now that I’d spent time thinking – to get my sorry behind back into the woods.

I hung the open padlock on the front of the metal gate and slipped my shaking hands through the gap. Fumbling with the bolt very gently, I managed to slide it open without so much as a clink. But now was the big test, I realised.

Doors and gates – especially gates – creek when you open them, right? No shit sherlock.

I had no choice though… I pushed and hoped.

The large gate door swung open on its hinges in a buttery manner. No sound – not even a slight groan. As old as this hotel was, this gate was perfectly well oiled, it seemed.

I wasted no time in carefully closing the gate and replacing the bolt. I don’t know why I didn’t just hurry back down the steps and onto the mountain – something told me to secure the gate. Ironically though, the padlock was still hanging on the front of the gate in blatant view of anyone who should approach it.

Perhaps the guard will just think he forgot to lock it..? I hoped.

This time, I snuck under a concrete ledge at the edge of the hotel, perfectly hidden from sight and not in the rustling discomfort of the mountainside undergrowth. There I waited for at least another hour. It’s difficult to say exactly. At one point I could have sworn I heard footsteps above me, but it was impossible to tell, as crisp Autumn leaves fell rustling to the ground with every gush of wind.

As safe as I was in my immediate spot, my mind was still running distances.

Should I just play it safe and stay here tonight? Should I go back around the side of the hotel? How about edging along the mountainside back to the road? What about when I’m on the road again – what then? I will stand out a lot to passing cars along the mountain road and it’ll be even worse if there are any police cars circling the lake looking for the culprit…

Mosquitoes frequently hovered near my head and bit my arms and neck before I noticed them. It wasn’t a great place to be sitting and the heat of the day was starting to wear off. Dusk was approaching…

I definitely can’t stay here, I thought. I’ve no choice but to go back out the way I came in – the only other exit being a vivid blue lake at the bottom of the slope. But I couldn’t walk back around through the gate… What if the guard realised someone had moved the padlock and was waiting?

My instinct took me around the edge of the hotel in the woods, taking footstep by footstep and trying to keep as quiet as possible on the crunchy, soft ground of leaves below me. After a good 20 minutes, I emerged near the entrance to the car park and peered through the trees at the front of the hotel. There was no-one in sight, it seemed. I scanned around carefully.

Definitely no-one there.

With much determination, I stepped out from the trees into the car park and gazed up at the towering mass of concrete, still slumbering happily against a backdrop of blue sky and warm Autumn sun.

I snapped a few final pictures of the outside of the hotel before making a hasty retreat. Back along the mountain road, I sweated, worried by the thoughts that people might be waiting to ‘pick me up’ at the train station. It wouldn’t be hard to find me on camera arriving at the train station that morning and match me up to any footage that was caught at the hotel, if there was any… I also pondered about the padlock. I hadn’t dared go back around the side of the hotel to check if it was where I left it. Part of me really wanted to know – if it had been moved, I would know the guard had returned to lock the gate… If not, perhaps the guard was still round the back or even inside the hotel looking for me?

I shuddered and walked on, dodging cars and trying to calm down. Calling into a convenience store, I took the time to wash my muddy hands and buy an ice cream. Gotta look normal going back through the station, right? I eventually arrived back at the station, empty but for an elderly man and the guard in the ticket office. I bought my return ticket and walked through the gate, avoiding eye contact…

On the train, I sighed and closed my eyes in disbelief. It might still not be over, I considered. Maybe this day will come back to haunt me sometime, but for now, it seemed, I was safe. I drifted off into a gentle slumber all the way back to my destination…

Built in 1855, it defended both the entrance to the River Medway and the sea front of Sheerness. It has been heavily modified since the original construction though, with guns dismounted and added, particularly during the Second World War. There was originally a jetty, but now the only way to visit is to sludge across the remains of a stone path about half a mile out to sea.

My explorer buddy Dave and I both donned fashionable Tesco carrier bags to keep our feet mud-free and dry. Fortunately most of the path was solid and we got through without issue, but as a note to future visitors, plastic bags on your feet rarely stay free of holes. The return journey was a mucky experience!

As mentioned, the tower and fortifications have been modified quite a lot since the original tower was built, leaving a mishmash of features. One interesting point is the huge chain wrapped around the tower.

This was part of the Naval boom defence implemented during the First World War to prevent submarines from breaking through to the river Medway. The chain and attached nets would stretch all the way across from Grain Tower to Garrison Point Fort at Sheerness and would be raised or lowered to allow ships to pass through. Now it has attained a beautiful rusty colour.

Getting inside the tower was difficult. The steps have long since crumbled away from the rising and falling tides, but thankfully at the time we went another explorer had left a scratchy piece of rope dangling down the side. We managed to pull ourselves up a metre or two onto the remaining steps and gained access.

Inside was a fairly barren landscape. Long since gutted and mauled by the sea elements, only empty husks of rooms remained with cracking paint and eroding brickwork. The stairs to the stop of the watchtower were in a terrible state, with the metal supports showing through the concrete. Despite a howling wind, I braved the climb the to top and took in the views from the observation room.

The sun was beginning to go down and the tide starting to come back in, so we didn’t have long, but were treated to some rather nice views. A very British sort of seaside, I think. Just the right amount of dreggy sands and rotten timber, but still quite pretty.

As you can see in the next picture, the remains of one of the gun turrets is still there, with the telltale circular array of bolts for fastening down the huge gun pedestal.

The original guns were removed in 1929 and then a new 6-pounder QF gun installed in July 1940. This was to take on the German E and S motor torpedo boats with a very high rate of fire. A new electric ammunition lift was installed to speedily supply rounds to the upper parts of the fortification.

The light was almost gone now, so we amused ourselves by trying light paintings inside the old barracks. Dave managed a rather good job with the mermaid, although I’m not sure the personnel who operated the tower would have encountered many!

I didn’t have my E-P1 at this time, so the photographs are of lower quality than I usually post. This place is wonderful when shot with long exposures at dusk, so it’d be nice to return someday.

Incidentally, Grain Tower Battery is up for sale, should you want to own a haikyo of your own. A bargain at 500,000 British pounds for one of the more unique ruins out there! :)

More information:

The Medway Martellos
The Boom Defence
History of the Grain Tower

Sounds like a cool day out, no? It certainly wasn’t bad at all and there were no shortage of live snakes to view, but rotting away alongside the active facilities were several sheds of a sort. Wooden and splintering, yet strangely blending into the background of the institute. If you’re not there looking for them, you’d probably just walk right past.

But we were, of course. Intrepid explorers bent on finding ourselves an abandoned shack of rotting snake carcasses. Yes, that’s my hobby these days…

DIsappointed we were not. Surreptitiously slipping away from the main group who had gone to watch some poor snake specimen milked dry of its venom, we hurried through the overgrown grass towards the rear of the complex. It had to be the one – a building old and weathered, and looking distinctly forlorn. Reminiscent of the Doctor’s Shack itself.

Bingo! We were in, sliding the old wooden door shut behind us. It was pretty cramped inside, but what lay before us was a world away from the enthusiastic man showing snakes to the tour group. Here, a dusty collection of glass containers, each filled with the sickening sight of hundreds of slimy bodies, all tied together in a mass orgy of colours. Magnificent. But…damn, what the hell..?

The gleeful child inside me was squirming in delight at the bizarre room that lay before u, but the adult in me was quite disgusted.

What on earth did they use all these snakes for? And why leave them here, preserved in liquids? Some kind of warped, mass burial.

Glinting, a small beaker caught my eye. The pink, decapitated head of one unfortunate victim.

Next to it, a set of jaws with an impressive set of fangs, cleanly polished and well kept by the glass box around it.

The room was also full of scientific equipment and curious specimens, oddly far more interesting than the ones displayed in the museum outside. These haphazard beakers, covered in a layer of grime from many years past, captivated me. A sterilisation box that looked like a reinforced microwave, test-tubes sitting unwashed in a sink and a microscope perched atop a darkened cabinet, glowing in the late afternoon light. It was certain research had gone on here, at least in the past. I couldn’t imagine it was used anymore though – perhaps they moved to the newer building? But then why leave this room as it was?

If it were possible, the sight in the adjoining room was even more terrible. A room full of huge, colourful plastic boxes. They wouldn’t have looked out of place in a children’s storage room, but upon peeking into the crates we were knocked back by an odour most foul.

It made the snakes stuffed into beakers and bottles seem almost gracefully preserved. Inside the coloured boxes were hundreds of serpent carcasses, all carelessly disposed of and left to rot. And by god, festering. The smell was overpowering – I could barely stand still to shoot a picture at all. Clutching the lid by the tips of my fingers though, I managed to get a few shots. It looked like there had once been tortoises stored there too, but now all that remained were empty husks. Most of the boxes were like this, piled high with snake skins and bodies, some kept in a dark, gooey liquid that smelt more putrid than the dry containers.

I didn’t linger for long and retreated back to the main room. Suddenly, a new appreciation for snakes in jars took hold of me. They don’t smell! …At least not half as bad as those boxes.

Inside the largest jar was a python, coiled up in what looked to be a deep slumber. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the telltale lifeless blue eye, I wouldn’t have been able to tell otherwise. Fresh as the day it died. Or was killed..?

Another curious sight to behold was the long, wormlike creature held in a measuring tube. It reminded me more of a vicious stomach parasite or an alien creature that liked to burrow… Fascinating. But I couldn’t help wonder what would happen in an earthquake, as the tube was simply left stacked atop the pile of abandoned boxes. It was almost as it it were fresh, but it couldn’t be, judging by the grime on it.

Leaving the shack, we headed down the small hill towards another area of the centre. We’d heard of a second haikyo here – a cave, filled with old dinosaur exhibits. A rusty gate invited us toward it, squeaking slightly as we nipped inside. Sure enough, there was the King of the Dinosaurs itself, the Tyrannosaurus Rex. I thought he was looking rather grand, so I went vintage in the photo.

The cave was pitch black. After walking over stacks of old souvenirs, we had to stop. Before us, reflecting our torchlight, was a miniature lake. It stretched far back into the complex, down a tunnel I agonisingly wanted to explore. Evidently the place had flooded, as all the exhibits were submerged, including an old ice cream kiosk – Lady Borden Ice Cream. It looked like it could have been fun back in the day, but now, without a pair of waders at least, no-one is going to get very far. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few rogue water snakes were living in there…

With my torchlight, this was the best I could manage. Hope it gives an idea of what it was like.

After browsing the real exhibits for a while, we strolled back outside the entrance. It had been a grand day out. Two unusual haikyo and a collection of bizarre creatures to behold. I reckon it would merit a return visit. Perhaps with those waders I used when exploring the Paris Catacombs…

But that was not all! To round off the day in style, just as I walked out the door of the gift shop, this tiny little Japanese treefrog plopped down in front of me. Looking particularly shaken, no doubt from being surrounded by his mortal enemies, I got the perfect chance to use my new macro lens, the Panasonic 45mm.

I couldn’t have asked for a better send-off, so I gladly returned the favour and took the little froggie to a nice, safe tree outside the malodourous, snake-infested complex. Ahh.