the invasion of Japan
Episode #1 the pitter-patter of tiny feet
The days are a bit longer for me as I am only sleeping five hours a day. The rest of the time I am spending on other things. I am getting more than my fair share of exercise walking everywhere I go and I am eating better than I ever have - healthier anyway - and I am still filled with good cheer about my current baggage situation. There seems to be some poetry in my words every time I have to explain that I came to Japan without any baggage. I am still in the same clothes that I wore on the plane, I haven't brushed my hair in a long time and with the humidity curling my hair into a fro, I am standing out from the rest of the local base inhabitants. It's VERY apparent that I am not in the military and those that question if I am assume that I must be some kind of "military secret" and stay away from me out of fear. Fear that I might kill them or eat them or both and not particularly in that order.
The world is beautiful and I am still fascinated by the amazing sensory overload of this place. There are aromas here that are so strong and wonderful that you would think there was a potpourri factory nearby. The air is rich with the smell of flowers, grass and trees, most of which I have never seen before, not even in that National Geographic special on Japan. The locals on the island are responsible for the landscaping on the base and they seem to take the job very seriously. The small garden behind my room is about two acres of beauty that would rival any golf course that I have ever seen. In the two days that I have been here, someone has mowed it twice, raked it twice and hand groomed the trees like they were being forced to by a court order.
The gate that leads into the city is a block from my hotel and I wandered out to see the city that lies at the foot of the "great giant" as the locals call it, that is the American military base. As expected, ever sign is in English, most of the businesses are bars, pawn shops, tourist traps or brothels all of which cater to a under 25 demographic. I have seen this type of street before in every city I have ever been too and it's really not the "Okinawa" that I wanted to experience. Everything on the street is American, none of it looks Okinawan or Japanese. (a huge difference as the Okinawans hate the Japanese as much as they hate the Americans) To get the real deal, I had to walk miles off of the main drag into a local's neighborhood that would look the most unappealing to an American GI on the hunt for knock-off goods or hookers. What I found was perfect, it was filled with small food vendors, signs in Japanese and a lot of leering, very suspicious eyes. It's almost the exact same look that I saw on the faces of the people on the plane when I didn't eat the hamburger. In fact, these could be the same people from the plane. Their staring is dazzling for two reasons; one - I know they know that I am not American military and therefore not there to screw their women or fight their young men. And two - I don't look I could put up much of a fight if they all jumped me. These two factors are making me feel like I am getting the most of the trip.
I am trying my best not to let myself say or think, "all these people look the same to me" but it's there. I really don't care or want to be one of those people, but I find myself seeing the seed of truth in that statement. Looking down a narrow street that is no wider than 10 feet at it's widest, all I see are heads of jet black hair, with a few people wearing a colorful hats. They are mostly the same height and they all seem to hate me with the same amount of passion. I realize that Americans haven't always been tops on their list, so I don't blame them for their natural hatred of me or their cautious nature to my presence, I am obviously American based on my ridiculous stench and I would be pretty put off by a foreigner stinking in my country. Of course, I wouldn't have smelled this bad if my luggage had arrived.
I stopped to get a bowl of noodles from the one shop window that looked like it didn't speak of lick of English and that's what I wanted - true Okinawan cuisine. I had no idea how to explain what I wanted and the traditional photos of Asian food which are common in North American restaurant windows were not to be found. No one around me understands what I am trying to say and the people that stop to try and help this deal go down are making the matter worse, or so it would seem, and small arguments are breaking out over what I am trying to say. Someone ran off at the request of another and others are looking at me and giggling. I must look ridiculous or edible. The man in the window finally goes back in to the kitchen and (I swear on the names of the gods) he came back with a magazine, opened to ad that shows... A hamburger. I can see now that word has spread and I should have eaten the damn hamburger on the plane. For a moment I start to believe that the longer I go without eating this thing, the longer this country is going to hold a grudge against me. Perhaps if I eat the burger they will give me back my luggage...
I finally get a bowl of noodles by sheer luck. Basically I shrugged my shoulders and the man laughed and went to make me whatever, as the gesture indicated. The noodles are amazing. Spicy, salty and delicious. The bowl is only about two of my bites big and I am still starving. I refused to complain and was just happy to have had the meal and the experience. I think the noodles ended up costing me 75 dollars American. Who cares, all my money is going to food on this trip, so I should enjoy it while I can.
To eat my noodles I have to sit down at a table in the narrow alley where I am soon joined by two other Japanese diners who don't look at me or care that I am there. Everyone just starts scooping the noodles into their mouths, slurping loudly and eating with their mouths open. I follow suit and soon find out that, yet again, I am offensive to everyone everywhere. I belched. Loudly. I noticed that the chatter died down pretty quickly and again the stares return. It's time to go.
I spent the rest of the day walking around town, riding the bus to the north end of the island and walking through smaller villages with names that I don't remember but I know which bus number gets me there. I ate two more meals of rice and some meat which we will call, "Beef" because that is what I am hoping it was. I worked my Japanese as much as I could and I looked for things to see that were not on maps, in books or spoken of in conversation. The list included a cemetery, which the Okinawans take very seriously. It was on a hillside and it stretched on for miles. Each grave was a huge marble monument and they were very impressive. I tried to take a picture of one of the graves and was run off by the one person in the cemetery with me. They literally jumped out from behind a headstone and waved me out. I think they followed me the whole time and were just waiting for me to do something like belch loudly or pee on a headstone.
After the cemetery, I took the bus south and got off in a town that, on the map, was surrounded in green, the only place on the map that had this. It turns out that the town is a prison and again, I was asked to get on the bus and leave, this seems to be happening a lot and I think that I need to shower or something, otherwise this trip is going to be a lot of being asked to leave.
By the time I get back to my stop in front of the base, I have seen what I think is a lot of the island. It's as cool as I wanted it to be and I feel like I am enjoying it better than most of the people that visit here.
The whole day, I remember looking at the people and thinking that their clothing choices were very unique. To say this nicely, Goodwill would be the hottest store in Japan if they opened a branch here. These people will wear anything in any combination and they will be considered cool for it. Had I worn any of these get-ups during my youth, people would have thought me retarded or extremely poor and had my parents turned in for child abuse and neglect. It means nothing to the people to mix looks, sizes, colors or shoes. The saying that the Japanese didn't invent one thing in human history, they just took what was there and made it better, is very true when it comes to their present fashion trend. This is true of every aspect of their lives. They take everything in life and make a zen-like ritual out of it - The way they fold paper, mow lawns, manicure a tree or cook a bowl of noodles - it's all very ceremonial and done with precision. (the only exception to this rule is luggage handling) The way they will wear what they want out of clothes that were never meant to go together originally, tells me that they have a better understanding of individual expression in a country where everyone has jet black hair and is about the same height. They sought out a way to separate themselves from the pack which is something I can appreciate. You know, come to think of it... Maybe the clothes they are wearing are the clothes from lost bags of luggage.
It's still hard for me to distinguish the different looks of the Japanese, but I think that has more to do with not seeing them en mass before. I think the more time you spend around them, the more they will begin to distinguish particular "looks". My ignorance and American-ness has never been more apparent to me than right now.
The days are a bit longer for me as I am only sleeping five hours a day. The rest of the time I am spending on other things. I am getting more than my fair share of exercise walking everywhere I go and I am eating better than I ever have - healthier anyway - and I am still filled with good cheer about my current baggage situation. There seems to be some poetry in my words every time I have to explain that I came to Japan without any baggage. I am still in the same clothes that I wore on the plane, I haven't brushed my hair in a long time and with the humidity curling my hair into a fro, I am standing out from the rest of the local base inhabitants. It's VERY apparent that I am not in the military and those that question if I am assume that I must be some kind of "military secret" and stay away from me out of fear. Fear that I might kill them or eat them or both and not particularly in that order.
The world is beautiful and I am still fascinated by the amazing sensory overload of this place. There are aromas here that are so strong and wonderful that you would think there was a potpourri factory nearby. The air is rich with the smell of flowers, grass and trees, most of which I have never seen before, not even in that National Geographic special on Japan. The locals on the island are responsible for the landscaping on the base and they seem to take the job very seriously. The small garden behind my room is about two acres of beauty that would rival any golf course that I have ever seen. In the two days that I have been here, someone has mowed it twice, raked it twice and hand groomed the trees like they were being forced to by a court order.
The gate that leads into the city is a block from my hotel and I wandered out to see the city that lies at the foot of the "great giant" as the locals call it, that is the American military base. As expected, ever sign is in English, most of the businesses are bars, pawn shops, tourist traps or brothels all of which cater to a under 25 demographic. I have seen this type of street before in every city I have ever been too and it's really not the "Okinawa" that I wanted to experience. Everything on the street is American, none of it looks Okinawan or Japanese. (a huge difference as the Okinawans hate the Japanese as much as they hate the Americans) To get the real deal, I had to walk miles off of the main drag into a local's neighborhood that would look the most unappealing to an American GI on the hunt for knock-off goods or hookers. What I found was perfect, it was filled with small food vendors, signs in Japanese and a lot of leering, very suspicious eyes. It's almost the exact same look that I saw on the faces of the people on the plane when I didn't eat the hamburger. In fact, these could be the same people from the plane. Their staring is dazzling for two reasons; one - I know they know that I am not American military and therefore not there to screw their women or fight their young men. And two - I don't look I could put up much of a fight if they all jumped me. These two factors are making me feel like I am getting the most of the trip.
I am trying my best not to let myself say or think, "all these people look the same to me" but it's there. I really don't care or want to be one of those people, but I find myself seeing the seed of truth in that statement. Looking down a narrow street that is no wider than 10 feet at it's widest, all I see are heads of jet black hair, with a few people wearing a colorful hats. They are mostly the same height and they all seem to hate me with the same amount of passion. I realize that Americans haven't always been tops on their list, so I don't blame them for their natural hatred of me or their cautious nature to my presence, I am obviously American based on my ridiculous stench and I would be pretty put off by a foreigner stinking in my country. Of course, I wouldn't have smelled this bad if my luggage had arrived.
I stopped to get a bowl of noodles from the one shop window that looked like it didn't speak of lick of English and that's what I wanted - true Okinawan cuisine. I had no idea how to explain what I wanted and the traditional photos of Asian food which are common in North American restaurant windows were not to be found. No one around me understands what I am trying to say and the people that stop to try and help this deal go down are making the matter worse, or so it would seem, and small arguments are breaking out over what I am trying to say. Someone ran off at the request of another and others are looking at me and giggling. I must look ridiculous or edible. The man in the window finally goes back in to the kitchen and (I swear on the names of the gods) he came back with a magazine, opened to ad that shows... A hamburger. I can see now that word has spread and I should have eaten the damn hamburger on the plane. For a moment I start to believe that the longer I go without eating this thing, the longer this country is going to hold a grudge against me. Perhaps if I eat the burger they will give me back my luggage...
I finally get a bowl of noodles by sheer luck. Basically I shrugged my shoulders and the man laughed and went to make me whatever, as the gesture indicated. The noodles are amazing. Spicy, salty and delicious. The bowl is only about two of my bites big and I am still starving. I refused to complain and was just happy to have had the meal and the experience. I think the noodles ended up costing me 75 dollars American. Who cares, all my money is going to food on this trip, so I should enjoy it while I can.
To eat my noodles I have to sit down at a table in the narrow alley where I am soon joined by two other Japanese diners who don't look at me or care that I am there. Everyone just starts scooping the noodles into their mouths, slurping loudly and eating with their mouths open. I follow suit and soon find out that, yet again, I am offensive to everyone everywhere. I belched. Loudly. I noticed that the chatter died down pretty quickly and again the stares return. It's time to go.
I spent the rest of the day walking around town, riding the bus to the north end of the island and walking through smaller villages with names that I don't remember but I know which bus number gets me there. I ate two more meals of rice and some meat which we will call, "Beef" because that is what I am hoping it was. I worked my Japanese as much as I could and I looked for things to see that were not on maps, in books or spoken of in conversation. The list included a cemetery, which the Okinawans take very seriously. It was on a hillside and it stretched on for miles. Each grave was a huge marble monument and they were very impressive. I tried to take a picture of one of the graves and was run off by the one person in the cemetery with me. They literally jumped out from behind a headstone and waved me out. I think they followed me the whole time and were just waiting for me to do something like belch loudly or pee on a headstone.
After the cemetery, I took the bus south and got off in a town that, on the map, was surrounded in green, the only place on the map that had this. It turns out that the town is a prison and again, I was asked to get on the bus and leave, this seems to be happening a lot and I think that I need to shower or something, otherwise this trip is going to be a lot of being asked to leave.
By the time I get back to my stop in front of the base, I have seen what I think is a lot of the island. It's as cool as I wanted it to be and I feel like I am enjoying it better than most of the people that visit here.
The whole day, I remember looking at the people and thinking that their clothing choices were very unique. To say this nicely, Goodwill would be the hottest store in Japan if they opened a branch here. These people will wear anything in any combination and they will be considered cool for it. Had I worn any of these get-ups during my youth, people would have thought me retarded or extremely poor and had my parents turned in for child abuse and neglect. It means nothing to the people to mix looks, sizes, colors or shoes. The saying that the Japanese didn't invent one thing in human history, they just took what was there and made it better, is very true when it comes to their present fashion trend. This is true of every aspect of their lives. They take everything in life and make a zen-like ritual out of it - The way they fold paper, mow lawns, manicure a tree or cook a bowl of noodles - it's all very ceremonial and done with precision. (the only exception to this rule is luggage handling) The way they will wear what they want out of clothes that were never meant to go together originally, tells me that they have a better understanding of individual expression in a country where everyone has jet black hair and is about the same height. They sought out a way to separate themselves from the pack which is something I can appreciate. You know, come to think of it... Maybe the clothes they are wearing are the clothes from lost bags of luggage.
It's still hard for me to distinguish the different looks of the Japanese, but I think that has more to do with not seeing them en mass before. I think the more time you spend around them, the more they will begin to distinguish particular "looks". My ignorance and American-ness has never been more apparent to me than right now.
posted by Daniel Loomis | 2:49 PM
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