Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Cambodia's Royal Palace

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Almost as soon as I had finished feeding the hungry ghost of Pchum Ben, the sun began to rise on my final afternoon in Phnom Phen. I took a quick nap before making an all-too-quick trip to the Russian Market (so named because the Russians used to shop there), before boarding another tuk-tuk to see the Royal Palace.

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Golden tiles glimmered in the afternoon sun, as the richcolors of the dramatic rooflines anchored themselves firmly in the ocean blue sky like the golden talons of an eagle. As I passed through the gate I was told the palace would close in 30 minutes for the afternoon 'siesta'. Knowing that in 2 hours I would be well on my way to Vietnam, I rushed through the beautifully sculpted gardens overwhelmed by the bold colors, elegant architecture and intriguing skyline of the palace grounds, peirced by strong, A-frame rooftops and spindling spires bent towards heaven like plants towards sunlight.

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The Royal Palace is the residence of King Sihanouk of Cambodia. It consists of several buildings including the magnificent Throne Hall, where coronations and official ceremomies take place, the Silver Pagoda (so named because the floor is covered with over 5000 silver tiles), an iron house given to King Norodom of Cambodia by Napoleon III of France, libraries, shrines dedicated to the past kings of Cambodia and several royal offices. Many of the precious items once displayed in the Royal Palace and the Silver Pagoda were destroyed by the Khmer Rouge.

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The earliest Buddhist religious monument, built to house relics and remainss and official ceremomies take place, the Silver Pagoda (so named because the floor is covered with over 5000 silver tiles), an iron house given to King Norodom of Cambodia by Napoleon III of France. Many of the precious items once displayed in the Royal Palace and the Silver Pagoda were destroyed by the of the buddha after his death, the stupa evolved into the pagoda as Buddhism spread to other Asian countries. "When a great teacher passes away, his body is no more, but to indicate that his mind is dwelling forever in an unchanging way in the dharmakaya (world of truth), one will erect a stupa as a symbol of the mind of the buddhas" - HH Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche.

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Ta Prom: The Jungle Temple

The temple of Ta Prom has been left more or less as it was found, with an overgrowth of jungle and portions tumbled down. It gives you some idea of what the first westerners found when they began exploring the area in the late 19th century.

When I told people I was going to Cambodia, they often asked "Cambodia? Why? What's there?" Once I said Angkor Wat, a light went off in many of their heads. "Oh! That's where they made Tomb Raider! Sweet!" Well, I haven't seen Tomb Raider (Angelina Jolie), and I probably never will. If you have, this may look a bit familliar.

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Massive webs of Banyon roots cling to sandstone walls, stained by centuries and dancing with intricately carved apsaras. Mounds of moss-rocks, victims of neglect and the the crushing roots of the encroaching jungle, lie defeated, scattered throughout the temple grounds. Droplets of light trickling through the lush green foilage, caught in the mist of monsoon season, creates a mysterious, ethereal air.

Though many signs warn tourists of the danger of exploring most of the tumbling temple grounds, I couldnt help but scatter up mountains of fallen stones into hidden courtyards,stumbling over the tangle of knarled roots slithering down the walls and through the temple passages, and past the warning signs standing gaurd in the darkened doorways of the temple's shadow-veiled interior. I even stumbled into a small chamber acoustically designed so that when I beat upon my chest, the entire temple seemed to shutter from the thunderous echo. I was in full Indaina Jones mode. I could have stayed there forever.
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Apparently this is the doorway where Angelina Jolie bends down and picks something up. Anyone who's seen the movie, please feel free to elaborate!

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I was lucky to visit the temple at a time when most tourists are headed elsewhere! These few stand in awe.

The Killing Fields

A nameless victim of the Cambodian genocide. Few Americans know that close to two million people died, that none of the perpetrators have been brought to justice and that the United States helped bring about the crisis that lead to the Khmer Rouge takeover.

On April 17, 1975, "The Day of Anger", as it is remembered, thousands of Phnom Penh residents celebrated in the streets as Khmer Rouge troops victoriously entered the capitol. This joyous celebration of the end of the five-year civil war was an expression of hope that Cambodia would finally be at peace.

Hope quickly turned to fear as the Khmer Rouge troops, embittered and toughened by years of brutal civil war and American bombing, marched the boulevards of Phnom Penh ordering people to abandon their homes and evaquate the city. When the residents questioned their orders, the Khmer Rouge claimed they wanted to save as many people as possible from the imminent attack of the Americans, who would soon be bombing the city. Residents would only be gone a few days, they were told, so there was no need to take personal belongings or much food. 2 million people were forced from the city to the countryside, on foot. The wounded were forced out of hospitals to make the trek; some of them were wheeled out on hospital beds. Many died along the way.

There were no American plans to attack the city, as the Khmer Rouge well knew. Cities, they believed, were living, breathing capitalist tools, and Phnom Phen was "the great prostitute of the Mekong." In an ideal communist society, all people would have to live and work in the countryside as peasants, the Khmer Rouge communist ideal. 'Old people', as they called them, were simple, uneducated, hard-working, and almost incapable of exploiting others. Though their way of life had not changed for centuries, they always managed to survive. City dwellers, or 'new people', were the root of all capitalist evil whether they were teachers, tailors, civil servants or monks, and instantly became the new enemies of Angka, "The Organization".

As was often said by the Khmer Rouge, 2000 years of Cambodian history had now come to an end; April 17 was the beginning of Year Zero for the new Cambodia: Democratic Kampuchea. Religion, money and private ownership were all banned; communications with the outside world elimated; family relationships dismantled. The Khmer Rouge regime arrested, tortured and eventually executed anyone suspected of connections with the former or foreign governments, professionals, intellectuals and any Khmer person who broke their rules. Ethnic Vietnamese, Cambodian Christians, Muslims and the Buddhist monkhood were also targets of persecution. If a person knew a foreign language, had worked for the French or Americans, or dared to express feelings of love to their husband or wife, they were killed. Almost 2 million Cambodians would die, 30% of the Cambodian population during that time. Cambodians began to refer to their country as the killing fields, a land of skulls and bones with rivers of blood.
Little was known of the leader of the Khmer Rouge, a Paris-educated communist named Saloth Sar, who went by the nom de guerre “Pol Pot.” Often compared with the regimes of Adolf Hitler,Joseph Stalin, and Mao Zedong, the Khmer Rouge was probably the most lethal regime of the 20th century, in terms of the number of people killed relative to the population. Nevertheless, only three of the Khmer Rouge leaders have been imprisoned since their rule ended, one on unrelated charges.
As hundreds of thousands of Cambodians slowly starved in the rice fields, a select number of political prisoners and their families met a terrible fate inside Khmer Rouge interrogation centers. The most infamous of these centers, codenamed S-21, was located in the abandoned suburban Phnom Penh high school of Tuol Sleng, "hill of the poison tree." To workers assigned by the Khmer Rouge to the Tuol Sleng neighborhood, S-21 was known simply askonlaenh choul min dael chenh - "the place where people go in but never come out." Tuol Sleng's reputation was brutally accurate: the sole purpose of S-21 was to extract confessions from political prisoners before they were taken away for execution near the farming village of Choeung Ek. Of the 20,000 people known to have entered Tuol Sleng, only six are known to have survived.
Thousands of confession files, including 5,000 photographs, survive to this day, giving us a grim look at the activities that occured inside Tuol Sleng. The Yale Cambodian Genocide Centerhas spent many years examining these records, but thousands of the people sent to S-21 have yet to be identified. We may never know who they were or why they were sent there; only their portraits remain to serve as affirmations of their lives - and deaths - at the hands of the Khmer Rouge. When I asked why they had bothered to photograph all their victims, leaving proof of their crimes, my guide told me they wanted to prove to Angka that they were doing their job.
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The shadows of barbed wire lining the hallways of Toul Sleng, added after a woman committed suicide by jumping from the second floor to escape her torturous fate. Another victim managed to take hold of a gun left in a torture chamber, shoot his gaurd, and then take his own life.


Our guide through Tuol Sleng and Cheong Ek, Mr. Ran, refelcted in a glass case containing the skulls of victims unearthed on school grounds. Hundreds of Cambodians now make a living by guiding visitors through the killing fields, many sharing their harrowing personal stories of how they survived the Khmer Rouge.
The Killing Fields at Choeung Ek. This mass grave, discovered in 1980, was one of the first proofs to the outside world of what had occurred during Pol Pot's regime.
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Mr. Ran explained that bullets were too precious to use for executions. Pick axes, knives and bamboo sticks were far more common. Even the jagged egde of this common Cambodian plant became a tool for torture and murder.

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A memorial stupa stands in the center of the killing fields, housing 8,000 skulls from the surrounding mass graves.

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The Cambodian flag, outlawed by the Khmer Rouge, reflected in the glass shrine of the killing fields.

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The sight of the skulls stuns visitors into silence. Cambodians will tell you that their genocide is worse than any other because it was carried out on Cambodians, by Cambodians.

Children from the surrounding farms greet visitors to the killing fields, begging for money.

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Nine miles from Phnom Penh, the "killing fields" of Choeung Ek are a few of thousands of other such sites around the country where the Khmer Rouge committed genocide during the late 1970s. Water buffalo graze in the surrounding farmland as human bones are unearthed after heavy rains. As i walked through the feilds, I struggled not to step on bones pooking through the dirt paths, discovered by the monsoon rain. Along the path, small barrels were filling with the remains of the thousands of victims massacred here.

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Hungry Ghosts of Pchum Ben


My last night in Phnom Pen seemed it would end all too soon after leaving a popular local night club called Spark. I sat, side-saddled, on the back of my friend's motorbike, as we toured the quiet city's mostly empty streets. By the bright lights that illuminated the Royal Palace, I was amazed at the amount of people still awake. Children ran and played as women sold brightly colored fruits and vegetables, while young people hung out. Couples lined the bank of the Mekong River along the Sisowath Quay, and the sidewalks were crowded with the tuk-tuks and motorbikes that had flooded the streets during the day, their drivers curled up beneath their tuk-tuk canopies or balanced along the seat of their bikes, feet crossed, up on the handle bars, catching a few winks before their work began again.
In front of a temple gate I noticed many large groups of people gathering. Young girls were selling plates of brightly colored sweets on mounds of tiny rice balls, decorated with white blossoms and a long stick, planted deeply in the sticky rice, from which hung a paper ornament in the ghostly shape of a person. Curiosity peaked, I asked my friend to stop, and as we slowed down across the street from the temple, the girls ran to us, eager to make a sale. Glancing over their heads I saw enormous crowd filling the street, headed towards the temple, bathed in the unnatural glow of a streetlight. My friend explained that these people had come to celebrate Pchum Ben, the festival of hungry ghosts.

I bought a thin, aluminum platter stacked with small rice balls, flower shaped sweets and two lilies and walked into the temple grounds to sit outside the doors with many of the people hoping to get a good seat for the service. From the moment I passed through the gate I felt and met the eyes of all the people gathered turn towards me in shock and amazement. For the first time in my life I felt out of place, as if my presence was completely unexplainable. Since I knew neither the language nor the custom of the people who wondered at me, I could not help but lower my eyes and stay close to my friend.

A small crew of children followed me to where I sat down, and then stood before me, tilting their heads this way and that, trying to figure me out. Finally they began to smile and giggle before working up the courage to use what little English they knew to introduce themselves: "My name Ran," smiled a small boy, pointing to himself. "My name Dalin," he said, pointing to another. We giggled together, struggling to make sense of one another, until the creaking sound of the great wooden doors of the temple slowly swinging open cut through our laughter and drew my attention to the temple, which seemed to gasp for air as 3 young monks in saffron colored robes subdued in tone by the cover of night struggled to pull them open for the visitors.

We joined the crowd, followed by the children, who's hands I found laid upon my feet as we reached the door, fighting over which of them would watch over them, hoping, as my friend later told me, that they might earn some money in doing so. They did not pass through the doors, but sat, squatting at the threshold, arranging the growing jumble of empty shoes into rows and columns. After checking my shoes at the door, I half expected to feel the smooth, cool, woven texture of tatami beneath my feet as we entered the temple, but instead I turned to see the entire room covered in bright red carpet. At the front of the hall was a large golden buddah, framed by four golden columns, connected by strands of Christmas lights. Behind the buddah's head was a psychedelic, swirling, neon-colored something that looked like it belonged beneath a black light. When I mentioned the difference between this buddah and the ones I had seen in Japan, my friend proudly replied "Ah, yes. We use technology!"

On the far left hand side of the room, the monks began to trickle in, taking their place in neatly arranged lines on the floor, facing the growing audience. They seemed to be shaking off the sleep still thick in their eyes, as I began to feel mine grow heavy. By this time people had packed the temple tight, and were standing along the walls and crowded outside the open door, filling the courtyard. A monk began to chant. It was 4 Am.

The beat of the drum led them in their song, so calming I nearly fell asleep on the shoulder of my friend, until the women behind me pulled one of my toes and explained to us both, in Khmer, how improper it was since he was a boy. I was horribly ashamed, and fought with all my might to sit straight up with my palms pressed together, making my own prayers as the monks led the congregation in reciting theirs. When the chanting finished I opened my eyes to see the monks shifting themselves to face a new direction before starting all over again. If I had not been struggling to keep myself from falling asleep and further disgracing myself, I would have paid much closer attention, but all I remember is struggling to get back up to my feet as people around me picked up their plates of food, many with sticks of incense or candles burning on them, and flowed around me towards the door.

Framed by the open doors I could see the courtyard full with people, their faces dimly lit by the candles of their offerings, as they began to make three loops around the temple, crammed with hundreds of other devotees. The small children that had promised to keep watch of our shoes appeared at my feet, arranging my shoes for me to slip easily into as I joined in journey through the grounds, surrounded by the melting candles, sweet scent of incense and haunting paper spirits, which floated in the gentle wind of the bustling crowd. Each time we reached one of the 8 compass points, the people joyfully threw bay ben, a mixture of sticky rice, black beans, sesame and coconut milk, as an offering to the hungry ghosts of their ancestors, believed to return to earth during these 15 days, during which time their prodigy can ease their suffering.

With over 50% of the population under the age of 20, it is no doubt that this festival carries the weight of remembering all those who died under the genocidal reign of terror imposed by the Khmer Rouge, which killed more than 2 million people, about a third of Cambodia's population at that time, between 1974-79.
I could not stay to make the 3 circumnavigations of the temple before the sunrise called the spirits back to the other world, for soon it would call me away as well, down the Mekong River to the last stop on my journey: Viet Nam.

The Road To Angkor Thom

The Enlightened eyes of the 54 devas, or lesser gods, gaurding the gate of Angkor Thom.

Walking along the narrow road to Angkor Thom, dodging motor bikes and bicycles, a long line of elephants appeared in the shade of the jungle, camouflaged in the shadows of leaves. I watched them as I walked along, until when I finally turned my head I saw a massive stone gate rising up like a mountain, from the peak of which I found a face staring back at me, and two more surveying the jungle in each direction. I came to the foot of a bridge over a large moat, once filled with alligators to detour trespassers like myself. I crossed the causeway, encouraged by the serene smiles of 54 devas on my left, though from my right I felt the heavy stare of 54 demons. Peering down from above, the omniscient eyes of the gatekeeper seemed to watch my every step. I felt as if I were passing through the oracle in the Never Ending Story.

The watchful eyes of Angkor Thom's demons.

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Niether the gate of Angkor Thom, nor the eyes of its gaurdians, can prepare you for the jewel of the jungle: Bayon.

Sunrise Over Angkor Wat


My second day in Cambodia began at 5:30 AM as I jumped from my bed to catch a bus to one of the seven wonders of the world. Charmed by the chanting of the monks nearby, the sun slowly rose out of the darkness, above the five peaks representing Mount Meru, the center of the Hindu universe and home of its gods. I'm back. Hope all of you waiting won't be too disappointed.

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

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The legendary origins of Angkor Wat (or Capital Temple), according to locals, lie in the story of Preah Ket Melea, son of the king of heaven and a mortal woman. The gods complained that he smelled, and asked his father to send him down to Earth. The king agreed, offering his son the opportunity to have an exact replica of any edifice in heaven erected on Earth with the help of the celestial architect (whom villagers still invoke whenever a building is constructed). A modest man, Preah Ket Melea chose the stable. An ox was released onto the plain of Angkor and the place where it layed down became Heaven on Earth: Angkor Wat.

Home of the Gods


The five peaks of Angkor Wat, reflected in a pool of lilly pads and lotus blossoms, pierce the sky, silohetted by the rising sun. The innermost tower represents Mt. Meru, center of the Hindu universe. Its four surrounding spires symbolize the peaks of the Himalayas.

Anpan Man Begins...


The story of Japan's most beloved super-hero snack-man.

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Anpan (あんパン) is a Japanese bread (or pan, as it was introduced to Japan by the Portuguese,) filled with sweet, red bean paste- the secret to Anpanman's super-snack strength!

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Uncle Jam's bread factory nestled in a forest..."Let's make living bread!"
"This time will it will really work!"
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Dear God, please give us living bread...That night....
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In a distant sky, a Star of Life was born.

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....The bread is baked!.........Waaaaah!
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Living bread! Come to Dada...Walk... Ah! He can fly!

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He got bigger and bigger and became Anpan-man. "I'm going to help the hungry!"
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Someone is crying! Go for it, Anpan-man!
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It's coming from the bottom of the valley...Who's that?

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"Baikin-man, arch- enemy of justice! I was born to fight you! "
"Until we meet again, Baikin!"

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I'm coming...come on! You're OK! Eat this! It will make you feel better!
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"Yummy Woof! "...."Let's call you cheese!"

The Original Anpanman Cast:

Uncle Jam, the kindly old baker who made and raised Anpanman, and replenishes his sweet-bean strength.

Batako, Uncle Jam's young, female assistant.

Cheese, their adopted puppy.

Anpanman, the super-hero snack man fighting hunger with his delicious sweet-bean filling.

Baikinman, a dirty germ, and arch-enemy of anpanman.

Tono Crew Conquers Mount Ena

At 2190 meters, Mount Ena is listed as one of the top 100 hikes in Japan. (The view from near my apartment last spring).

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Following the Nakatsugawa river back to its source...

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The narrow trail winds its way through thick, green vegetation.

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What trail, you ask?

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Just follow the slippery, moss covered rocks uphill for, oh, let's say 2,189 meters!

Along the way, don't forget to stop and smell the fungi!






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The view from the summit, after 3 and 1/2 hours of hardcore hiking. Somewhere, tucked beneath the folds of those mountains, is my home.

A Walk in the Rice

Ena's emerald waves of grain cover the foot of the mountains like an old, patchwork quilt from Gee’s bend.

A friend, who shall remain nameless, requested that I take a few pictures of my surroundings (obviously he does not appreciate my obsession with Geisha). Since I've had Kuruma-chan (my beloved car), my rice feild wanderings have significantly decreased, which is an absolute travesty! I decided to rectify the situation by reaquainting myself with the country side through which I so often meandered when I first arrived in Ena.

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Ena's countryside is dotted with Edo period store houses, built separate from the main house to protect family heirlooms and valuables from fire.

Back at home in the states, I remember smelling winter on the autumn winds, shuddering with the brightly colored leaves. In Japan, it is the mouth-watering aroma of autumn, wafting from rice field to rice field that I look forward to during the long summer months. Imagine the sweet smell of popcorn mingled with the fresh scent of summer rain and the smoke of a campfire; the sound of water flowing down from the mountains into moats encircling each emerald patch; pine covered mountains, rising like islands from the steady waves of wind-blown rice; dragonflies hovering over swaying stalks, heavy with the year's harvest, as butterflies dance to the chorus of chirping insects and burping frogs. As autumn draws near, the smell of the rice begins to hang so thick in the air you can almost taste it. 美味しそう!

 
 



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Jidai Matsuri

An apprentice geisha, or maiko, dressed in Heian period costume at Jidai Matsuri.

The Jidai Matsuri, or Festival of Ages, is one of Kyoto's most famous festivals, along with Aoi Matsuri and Gion Matsuri. Held on October 22, it commemorates Emperor Kammu's decision to move the capital of his Empire from Nara to Kyoto on the same day in the year 794.

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Chinese influence.

Originally instituted to raise Kyoto's moral after the loss of the capital and Imperial Court to Tokyo in 1868, it begins with the mikoshi (portable shrines) of the first and last Kyoto emperors being carried to the Old Imperial Palace, followed by a 5 hour long procession of approximately 2000 Kyoto natives dressed in lavish, period costumes representing styles from throughout Kyoto's history, beginning with the modernized soldiers of the Meiji era, corresponding with the end of the Kyoto capital in 1868, all the way back to the founding of the capital, during the Heian period.

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A geisha laughs as she plays with a young girl.

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A young girl dressed as a child of the Heian court.

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An apprentice Geisha, or maiko, seeking refuge beneath the veil of her Heian period costume.

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A maiko and geiko chat while an older geisha in the background watches a young maiko take a quit shot with her ketai, or mobile phone.

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Tomoe-Gozen was the wife of General Kiso Yoshinaka. She fought courageously alongside her husband in battle, one of the few examples of a true female samurai in japanese history.

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MORE COMING SOON!