Recently, a distinguished looking elderly gentleman approached me outside a bakery in Okayama to just say hello and more than likely chit chat and get some English practice in. At first, we made small talk about nothing important: our ages, the work we did, etc. I’m a tourist here in Japan but have lived over 8 years in this bewildering country - oh some 20 odd years ago. I’m getting to be (if not already am) elderly myself. Anyway, I asked him for a recommendation about a place to visit or something to see in Okayama. I told him I like to visit places that were “sad” where “something bad” might have happened. I told him that when traveling, I seek out experiences that evoke emotions and feelings as well as the normal sites and encounters of travel, and I try to “hear” the “victims” that were once at these “sad places” maybe “crime scenes.” As an example (which is not really what I described), I told him that when I was teacher here in Japan some twenty odd years ago, I went on a school trip to the museum commemorating the brave kamikaze pilots who died in WWII at the former Chiran Air Base in Kyushu. While my students were off involved in whatever assignments they were doing, I walked around the museum alone listening to an English audio program provided to me. On it, a letter was read that came from a pilot who wrote to his two (?) small children the night before going on his fatal mission. Usually, the fated pilots wrote these “sayonara letters” to their parents, so this one might have been unusual. Also, if I remember correctly, this pilot wrote his letter in katakana so his young children could easily read it whenever they were able. The one thing the pilot wrote that stood out to me was his apology for not being able to play with them. As I told the wonderful Mr. Imai (the gentleman outside the bakery) in Japanese: 心吐露した – it melted my heart. Mr. Imai started to cry but only for a moment. As he wiped his eyes, he told me that my remembrance of Chiran and the brave pilots who died so young “moved” him. Well, to say the least, I was moved myself by Mr. Imai and once again: 心吐露した. Later, it occurred to me that Mr. Imai was around the same age as that pilot’s young children. At this time, I guess the best way to describe my feelings was confused, maybe scattered, and I was worried that Mr. Imai might fall – thank God he didn’t. I asked if I could take his picture and he agreed. After shaking his hand and wishing later on I would’ve held it longer, we said goodbye, and I watched him get on his bicycle and ride off. And then I was even more confused and scattered. So much so that I went and bought some flowers, which I cannot ever remember doing before in my life. I went back to my hotel room and took a picture of some things to remember this special and solemn moment of life I had just experienced and... and now I’m trying to put it down on paper. One reason is to send it to Mr. Imai and another is to send it to you who is reading this review. There is still a lot here for me to think about, and I’m still processing it all over a week later, but I’m certain of one thing: A visit to this wonderful museum is an experience that will last a lifetime and one you will never forget. It was for me.