KAGOSHIMA, JAPAN — A sumo-sized massage therapist digs his muscular fingers into my flabby body like he’s kneading bread. When I squirm with discomfort, he digs deeper. When it feels like he’s trying to rearrange my internal organs, I signal for him to ease up.  He responds by grunting something in his native tongue, which probably translates to: “stop being such a wuss.”
The only thing I’m enjoying about this intense shiatsu treatment in Kagoshima’s finest hotel is the view I’m getting from my tatami mat of Sakurajima, the mighty volcano that sits four kilometres away across Kinko Bay.
Puffs of ash-coloured smoke continuously belch from the giant dragon’s yawning mouth (vent) and hangs over the volcano like clouds of cotton candy.
Even from this distance, I can hear the mighty beast rumble as it clears its throat. As night approaches, Sakurajima’s crater glows in the dark and paints the sky above it a fiery red.
It’s a breathtaking but frightening sight.

Above: Sakurajima's mighty presence can be seen from almost everywhere in Kagoshima.

Sakurajima, which rises 1,117m above the bay, is just one of 25 volcanoes found on Kyūshū, Japan’s southwesternmost most island, which is why it’s earned the nickname "Island of Fire.” And while impressive, Sakurajima is not the largest volcano on Kyūshū. That title goes to Mount Aso, which lies 315km to the north and peaks at 1,592m above sea level.
As evening descends, I see lights twinkling like fireflies at the base of Sakurajima. They belong to the farm houses that dot the island made of lava and volcanic ash.  About 4,500 people actually make their homes on Sakurajima and live under the constant threat of a major eruption — the last happened in April 2021, when a column of smoke rose 2.3km into the sky.
The daring farmers are prepared to dice with danger because the island’s fertile black soil produces an abundance of highly-prized crops, including watermelon-sized radishes — some have been known to grow as big as 31kilos in weight. The island’s fields are enriched by the pumice rock produced by the valcano. The porous stone traps water and acts as an natural irrigation system for the fields.

Above: In Ibusuki, people bury themselves in the black sand heated by the area's volcanoes.

In recent years, before the pandemic, the island’s farmers even opened their houses for tourist home stays, which helped supplement their meagre incomes.
One of the strangest sights I witness when I arrive by ferry is the island’s school children walking around wearing bright yellow construction helmets. They are mandated in case of a sudden eruption.  When the pupils arrive for class each day, their first chore is to sweep away the ash that rained down on the walkways of their school during the night.
While Sakurajima and the island it has created are truly remarkable to experience, they are not the only wonders you’ll find on Kyūshū.
This enchanted island also features black sand beaches, waterfalls, hot springs, remote outer islands, fantastic regional cuisine, ancient history and, unfortunately, some sad cities. For Kyūshū is home to Nagasaki, the second city after Hiroshima to be destroyed by a U.S. atomic bomb in World War II, and Chiran, the samurai town from where 2,800 kamikaze pilots launched their suicide missions during attacks on American forces based on nearby Okinawa.

Above: In tranquil Chiran Japan's kamikaze warriors and the planes they flew to their deaths are remembered.

A pall still hangs over the handsome streets of Chiran, which are canopied by cherry trees and lined with thousands of traditional tōrō lanterns.
The stone lanterns were placed their by grieving families, whose sons were lost in the war.  However, their sacrifices went unrecognized for many years after the war because, as a teary-eyed guide told me, “we Japanese felt we could not mourn our fallen heroes because we had lost the war.”
That all changed when one day a tōrō  lantern mysteriously appeared on one of Chiran’s streets.
“It was placed there by a family to honour a son who was a kamikaze,” the guide tells me. “After that, many more started appearing and now there are thousands lining our streets.”
A small peace museum in Chiran honours those who surrendered their lives for their country.  It even displays one of the famed Japanese Zero planes used by the kamikazes. One of the most moving displays at the museum, though, is the grouping of hundreds of photographs featuring young pilots being sent on their way by comrades waving cherry blossom branches. Each spring, Chiran hosts one of the largest cherry blossom festivals in the country.

Above: Chiran is also where Japan's Samurai culture is remembered and honoured.

ust as fascinating is Chiran’s Samurai District, a 700m-long street in the downtown area lined with 250-year-old houses and gardens that once belonged to the country’s feared warriors. The homes’ beautiful walled gardens are open to the  public but, out of respect for the samurai, the houses’ interiors  remain off limits.
Kumamoto Castle, located 300km north of Kagoshima, is another reminder of Kyūshū’s links to Japan’s ancient past.
The impressive complex, which dominates Kumamoto’s skyline, was erected in 1607, and, while it has undergone many refurbishments over the centuries, some of its original buildings remain intact. The sprawling castle grounds feature over 800 cherry trees and becomes a tourist magnet when they blossom each spring.
A few days later, while visiting the southern-most part of Kyūshū, I’m stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of human heads scattered along the black, volcanic beach in Ibusuki.
Then, one of them smiles at me.
“So many people are surprised to see the heads,” says my giggling guide, who reassures me the rest of the woman’s body is buried in the hot sand, wrapped in a light yukata kimono.
“The hot springs in this area keep the sand very warm and produce minerals that are extremely helpful in making the skin very smooth,” she explains.
“We call this suna-mushi (sun bathing). You are buried for no longer than 10 minutes and the sand sweats out the impurities in your body. People from around the world come to enjoy our suna-mushi baths.”
You certainly won’t go hungry in Kyūshū. The island is renowned for its unique cuisine, especially its black (kurobuta) pork and tonkotsu ramen.
I’m treated to a black pork hot pot, where thinly sliced strips of the prized meat are dropped into boiling water, which creates an incredible broth. Multiple vegetables are later added and the result is a savoury meal unlike any I’ve had before. The pork fat readily melts in my mouth and coats my palette with a rich, delectable taste.
What makes kurobuta pigs so unique are their jet black bristles and cute, curly tails. They were introduced to the island 400 years ago during the Meiji Restoration and later  cross-bred with Berkshire pigs brought from England.
Pork bones — not necessarily from kurobuta pigs  — are the key ingredient in the island’s famous tonkotsu ramen broth.
The bones are boiled many hours until they break down, which creates the rich, milky broth the makes Kyūshū’s tonkotsu stand out from other ramen recipes on the mainland.
On my final day on the Kyūshū, I see several men at breakfast order beer.
When I ask my server why they order beer so early in the morning , she replies: “why not?”
Just another reason to put Kyūshū on your future travel itinerary.