My First Visit to Rikuzentakata

December 20–22, 2023

When I first stepped off the train at Kesennuma Station, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, despite having heard stories, seen photos, and watched yearly news coverage of the 2011 disaster. My dad’s close friend picked us up by car—a woman he had met decades ago during his college years at Keio University, when she would travel from Rikuzentakata to attend his acapella performances. Her car’s navigation screen still displayed an old map from before the earthquake and tsunami. As we drove, I saw empty stretches of land and where roads and homes once existed, now erased by waves.

Kesennuma Station

Despite meeting her for the first time, I felt instantly comfortable. She spoke with such ease, as if we’d known each other much longer. When we reached Rikuzentakata, we stopped by Riku Café, where a small group of women greeted us. They offered us hoshigaki (dried persimmons) made locally and the atmosphere in the small cafe felt so welcoming and safe.

Inside Riku Cafe

That night, I stayed at Pension Fukuda, a small inn run by an elderly woman who must have been in her eighties. She welcomed me with a smile and the gentle words, “Yoku kita ne”, meaning I’m glad you came. My room had tatami floors, and everything felt so quiet, especially compared to Tokyo. In Rikuzentakata, people greet each other in passing. Time moves a little slower, and there’s a closeness that you can’t quite find in a big city.

Traditional Japanese Breakfast at Pension Fukuda

The next day, I visited the Tsunami Memorial Museum. I had known the numbers before, but seeing them displayed alongside videos of the waves crashing through neighborhoods felt entirely different. The footage showed people evacuating, sirens wailing, buildings and cars swallowed instantly. I learned about the phrase “tendenko”, a local teaching that emphasizes the importance of evacuating individually in times of disaster. 

Inside Iwate Tsunami Memorial Museum

View from 12.5 m Seawall

What first led me to Rikuzentakata was a Japanese movie. Earlier that year, I had watched Suzume, a fictional story inspired in part by the Great East Japan Earthquake. The film showed a boat perched on top of a building after a tsunami, a scene my dad later told me was based on something real. I realized then that while I had grown up knowing about the disaster, I hadn’t thought much about the places still living with its memory. I wanted to see one of those places for myself. I also wanted to meet the people my dad supported in 2011—people who, even after losing so much, greeted a stranger like me with deep kindness.