Diamond Princess slipped quietly into the Port of Nagasaki under cover of darkness, the city lights flickering against the early morning sky. It was a shame, really — Rob is usually first on deck for sail-ins, camera in hand, soaking up that first glimpse of a new destination. But Nagasaki chose to reveal herself slowly, wrapped in shadow and drizzle.
After a light breakfast — and a brief pause while a passing shower tapped against the windows — we headed ashore. The local trams, wonderfully old-fashioned and full of character, trundled us through the city like something from another era. When the rain grew heavier, we made an unscheduled stop to buy two umbrellas — a small but necessary investment for the day ahead.
Our first major stop was the sobering Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum. Nothing quite prepares you for it. The photographs, personal belongings, and twisted relics from that devastating day nearly 80 years ago are deeply moving. It’s not just history on display — it’s the stories of ordinary families whose lives were changed forever.
Near the entrance, thousands of brightly coloured paper cranes hung in long strands, symbols of hope and peace for the future. We bought a single paper crane as a quiet, heartfelt reminder of our visit and of Nagasaki’s enduring message to the world.
From there, we walked through the rain to Nagasaki Peace Park, home to the striking Peace Statue. The statue’s raised arm points to the threat of nuclear weapons, while the outstretched hand offers peace — a powerful and thought-provoking image. Surrounding it are memorials from countries around the world, each standing in solidarity with the survivors.
By now the rain had turned relentless, so we gratefully ducked into 102 Café for warmth, cake, and a moment to regroup. Sometimes travel isn’t about racing between sights — it’s about sitting still long enough to absorb what you’ve experienced.
With umbrellas battling the downpour, we caught another tram back towards City Hall and wandered along the Nakashima River pathway. The riverbanks were lined with colourful artwork, and we admired the series of historic stone bridges, including the famous Megane Bridge — aptly nicknamed the “Spectacles Bridge” for the perfect reflection it casts in calm water.
Unfortunately, calm water was not on the agenda. The rain became torrential, and rather than soldier on soaked to the skin, we conceded defeat and hopped a tram back to the ship.
Nagasaki may have greeted us with grey skies, but it left a lasting impression — a city marked by tragedy, yet defined by resilience, remembrance, and an unwavering call for peace.
As if Nagasaki wanted the final word, the skies cleared just as we slipped our lines and eased away from the dock. Rob was straight up on deck — he wasn’t missing this one.
On the quay stood a children’s orchestra, uniforms neat despite the earlier rain, playing cheerful farewell tunes as we slowly drifted past. They waved banners, parents cheered from behind, and passengers lined the rails waving back. It was unexpectedly moving — such a simple gesture, yet so full of warmth.
As we made our way down the harbour and out into the estuary, we passed beneath the sweeping span of the Megami Bridge, its vast steel frame stretching high above us. Along the waterfront, shipyards hummed with activity — cranes towering, welders sparking, hulls taking shape in dry docks.
For Rob, it wasn’t just another scenic sail-away. Watching the yards at work brought back memories of his own years spent in shipyards around the world — the noise, the grit, the pride of seeing a vessel come together plate by plate. There’s something grounding about that kind of industry, especially after a day steeped in reflection.
Nagasaki had shown us its sorrow, its strength, and then, as we left, its heart.
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