IN SEARCH OF THE SOUL OF A CITY

RISING OUT OF APOCALYPTIC RUINS DECADES AGO, HIROSHIMA FOUGHT THE LONG ODDS AND GAVE BIRTH TO MAZDA. WE HIT THE CITY IN ITS FAVORITE SON, AN MX-5.

- BRENDAN MCALEER

AFTER TWO MILES of tunnel, Hiroshima Expressway 4 fires a little red Mazda out across the heavily forested hillside. One moment, it’s dimly lit concrete overhead; the next, an elevated bridge deck overlooking the entire western flank of the city. It’s a knowable city—big enough to contain nuance but small enough to comprehend. It’s like seeing an old friend again after years apart.

Hiroshima isn’t in the top-10 Japanese cities by population. Tokyo is New York, Osaka is Chicago, and Hiroshima is Portland, Oregon, with kei cars. Tourists who travel four hours by bullet train from Tokyo to see the atomic-bomb memorial dome and walk through Peace Memorial Park are often surprised by the city’s small size and slow pace.

To drive in and around the city—as I am doing in that little red Mazda MX-5—is to understand Hiroshima’s soul. To the south, the Seto Inland Sea is a dumpling soup of islands, but on the other side, Hiroshima is contained by mountains. In that way, it’s similar to Santa Barbara, California, which shares its latitude. Roads cover the hills like a fishing net. They bound through the canyons or wriggle up the slopes in knotted switchbacks—tarmac bliss through the wilderness, mere minutes from the city’s heart.

When I arrive on Sunday morning, a crowd has already gathered at Tomohiro Aono’s garage. Tucked away in a valley near the slow-flowing Ōta River, the garage holds six cars and other mementos of Aono’s travels. The name on the mailbox reads “Car Maniac TA.”