Eight years after the Fukushima nuclear disaster, "dark tourism" is on the rise. We visited to hear the true stories since the fallout, and to find out if tourists should really be going there at all.
The clicks were becoming maddening. There were six of us in the car and we each had a Geiger Counter, a yellow walkie-talkie-sized machine that monitors ambient radiation levels. The faster the clicks, the higher the reading. Ours were rattling away like an orchestra of digital crickets.
I was in the Fukushima exclusion zone along with a Telegraph film crew, and we were under strict instructions to keep our car windows shut. The sky was heavy as concrete, weighing down on the vehicles that passed through, mainly trucks transporting contaminated soil to be buried far away from here. The other vehicles were commuters and lorries taking the fastest route through the prefecture, zooming past crumbling homes and greenhouses reclaimed by the plants within them.
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