Travelogue Day Four: Okinawa

This really isn't Tokyo anymore....


My bus :)

This really isn't Tokyo anymore. The number one bus drops me off in the middle of a deserted dirt road (oh wait, I suppose that post office technically makes it only partially-deserted), where I am to change to a different line. After a careful examination of the Kanji-written schedule sign, I discover my next bus doesn't come for another hour. I've never waited longer than seven minutes for a train in Tokyo. But, I take this as an opportunity to scout out some Okinawan munchies, since who knows when these bus schedules will allow me to grab a lunch - and I stumble upon this secret little passageway leading to a gravesite.

The stairs to...who knows where? Let's see! :)

Grave

And later, on the grounds of the Peace Memorial Park, I stumble upon yet another "secret" pathway - this one winding down a rocky cave and leading right to the shore! This exploration might have been prohibited, but considering I made it back to the U.S. without being tossed into a Japanese prison (shiver...images of Brokedown Palace just flashed through my head), I would say it was worth it.


How pretty...I wonder if I can get down there...


Hmm...should I just go back up?


...never! I'm too close now!


Well worth the hike...

And...later that night I am exhausted from a full day of sightseeing, so after I check with the bus driver that his bus will be going to "Kadena" (I'm staying on Kadena Air Force base) I pass out. I awake just in time to hear "Kadena" being announced over the mic and pay my fare and hop off the bus. The doors slam shut just in time for me to realize that this is NOT Kadena Air base; little did I know that the base is located in the next city over. But...it's all good, because there are cabs, and I take one to the base - except, truly I am tired and afraid, and I am sobbing to the driver while trying to give directions in Japanese. He responds back only to tell me to stop speaking English (ok, is my Japanese pronunciation that bad?). He's asking me if I want him to drive inside the gate, directly to my house. "Ugh, then it's only going to be even more money!" I think. As distraught as I am, I still have that frugality by my side. I decide to play up the "No hablo Japanese" assumption and I stay quiet, just in case this leads him to pity me and lay off the cab fare a bit. Upon arrival to the base, the guards are suspicious of a crying girl in the back of a cab at 1 a.m., so they pull me out (after reminding me to pay for the driver, dangit) and, after some concerned questioning, they laugh and personally escort me to housing - for free!

Travelogue Day Three: Okinawa

I'm sunburned, and I love it.

It's the first time since I arrived in Japan that I've received enough Vitamin D to alter skin color, thanks to long days inside the office.



I think I belong on the beach. I headed down to the local sea wall this morning, and after some alone beach time, Sister Bishop drives her seven-year-old daughter and I to Tori Beach, and then to Maeda Point. I can't describe how beautiful it is. Even pictures cannot do it justice. There is just a feeling that photos don't give - part awestruckness, part disbelief and gratitude that I am actually here. I walk through a field of sugar cane, passing a short elderly Okinawan field worker. On one side of me are rolling hills of vegetation, on the other, two-toned blues of ocean. I hold a blue starfish in my hand, and even am adventurous enough to stroke a sea cucumber (once). We wade over rocks in the low tide, almost competitively pointing at the variety of bright blue fish, uniquely-spotted starfish, and spiked sea urchins. When it's finally time to leave, I find it's difficult to turn from that last gaze at the ocean and head back towards the car.



Some things are just good for the soul.


Sister Bishop's daughter :)

Travelogue Day Two: Okinawa

This morning I wake up at 6:30, and realize I should probably brush my teeth and check in for my flight soon. In the bathroom mirror I stare back at someone who definitely just spent the night on an airport couch (with a funny-smelling and probably not recently-washed blanket); I had better freshen up a bit.

When I meet Sister Bishop, the friend of a friend with whom I am staying, I instantly love her and realize how wonderful she is. It is kind of that awkward "I'm staying at your house so is it ok to go and do my own thing or will I be a poor guest?" thing for me, but I'll figure it out.

Okinawa is fabulous. I finally feel at home. There is no more "trying to like this place because, well, it's Japan and I just should." I just feel free. The culture is a 180 from mainland Tokyo. I'm in the USO office, trying to figure out a way to get to northern Naha. "Is there a train system?" my Tokyo-enculturated self inquires. "There's the monorail, bt it doesn't come down here," the 25-year old guy at the desk answers. "You could take the bus, but don't be scared when it's not there on time. The buses here run on Okinawa Time." Yeah, Toto, I don't think we're in Tokyo anymore. There, people depended on those timetables; all phones have to-the-second train schedule updates. "OK," I think out loud, "I guess I could go up there Friday." "Well, why don't I take you," he offers, "That's my day off, and I don't have anything else to do. I know where all the good beaches are." I am at a loss of words. Speechless. What? We end up hanging out on his break a few minutes later, where we get some delish raw tuna and wasabi over rice before hitting up a Japanese arcade. He goes for the generic Rock Band - drums only - and I spend my 100 yen coin on a similar knock-off version of Guitar Hero. As much as I have religiously labled video games as time wasters, I secretly enjoyed myself.

The sea wall

Cars are stopped at a red light at the 5-lane, so he starts jogging across the lanes. I have deja vu of seventh grade afternoons spent playing Frogger. "Seriously?" I call out quickly from the sidewalk.

Turns out Kenji is 1/4 Okinawan thanks to his grandma - like yours truly. His English is perfect, but he has no desire to visit the U.S. He has never met his father, but wants to "get back to his roots" by visiting Ireland, where his dad's fam is supposedly from. He doesn't look at me when he talks. Also, while we were eating he made the "Woah, you were hungry" comment that I usually get from guys if I am but one bite ahead of their consuming-rate. No matter how many times I get it, though, it never ceases to make me want to punch them.

Everyone says hey to each other. Sidewalks are sprinkled - not stuffed - with people. No one's in a hurry. I could live here. I could learn to fish.

Shi-shi dog

Travelogue Day One: Osaka

I just de-boarded the night bus I took from Tokyo to Osaka. I think bus seats are scrupiously engineered to prevent passengers from obtaining a comfortable night's sleep. Or comfort in general, for that matter.

I'm sitting in McDonald's at the Osaka-Umeda station, with no idea what I will do today. I might take a side trip to Kyoto, or I might just stick it out in Osaka for a while and try some of that famous tako yaki until my flight out to Okinawa tomorrow morning. I'm eating a grapefruit for breakfast. Last night as I was leaving Shinjuku I noticed a homeless man asleep on the ground inside the exit. I usually don't take pity on the homeless - they skated through the recent housing crisis with no sweat, after all - but this particular man really tugged at me. I had bought a discounted pack of Florida grapefruit that were about to go bad - because everything I buy is discounted - and after an internal struggle of "What if someone sees me? Will they think I'm wierd? What if it's a big cultural no-no to receive handouts and he dies of an overload of Japanese shame?" I tiptoe over and place one of the citruses on the ground in front of him and, after another pitiful glance, I walk away. It's 7:00 am. He's probably awake by now. It's intriguing to consider how different our lives are - I'm an educated (er...in the process at least) Westerner on her way to paradisiacal Okinawa, he's an Asian nomad who will probably live at subway stations for the rest of his life - and yet we're sharing the same breakfast.
Thank you, Florida.
Osaka Jo Castle
With any efforts I made to do good today, I feel I got paid back so much in return. Like the unprofitable servant I read about this morning during scripture study, no matter how much good we do, Heavenly Father always blesses us more than our actions merit. Because of this we will always be indebted to the Lord, but part of why this is, I think, is that He just wants us to do good and is happy to bless us when we do. People randomly went out of their way to help me today. One native even walked me a good 20 minutes completely out of his way to a different station, because he overheard me ask the train attendant which way was cheaper (which ended up being the other station).

Tako Yaki (think octopus pancake balls)...truly yummy though!

That's How I Roll...

A girl from work – the same one who invited me to mochi-tsuki – wanted to have me over for a sushi party. Considering how adorable this girl is – not to mention how much I love sushi – I gladly take her up on her offer.
And I had SO much fun! Yuki lives with her parents and grandparents, the latter being uber-adorable. When Nami and I walked into Yuki's home she gave us "guest inside shoes" to sport after taking off our boots and flats. Yuki has seriously been everywhere, and generously shared her travel experiences with me.
Yuki and Nami

"Yuki-nori" is the amalgamation of salmon, egg, and cucumber. "Stefanie-nori" is comprised of scallops, a cuke, kimchi, and natto (fermented soybeans). Creative is not always best...

"Voila!"