Welcome to the Islands

Cue some slat key guitar music and the hula girls.  Slice open the nearest coconut and pour some rum in it.  Stretch yourself out on the beach and don your shades.

Okay, so maybe it’s not quite so extreme, but Okinawan life is definitely noticeably different from mainland Japan.  For one thing, they speak a strong dialect here known as Okinawan Hogan (spelling?).  It’s sort of a mix between Japanese and the old language that was spoken in the Ryukyus before they were annexed by Japan in the late 19^th century during the Meji Restoration.  Not that I can understand much anyway, but I can certainly hear a difference.  The pace on the island is decidedly more relaxed and easy going, and of course all the locals are bronze gods, making me stand out even more.

I arrived about 8 or 9 PM at a small ferry port in Naha, the capital city (population about 300K).  Stepping off the boat into the night air felt like I was walking into a jungle.  The humidity was ungodly.  I was sweating profusely before I’d even reached the end of the gangplank.  Inside the terminal building, I tried to make sense of where I was/where I was supposed to go.  The directions on the website had been vague, to put it mildly.  They only showed where the hostel/guesthouse was in relation to other things, and not to anywhere tourists (their main customers, one would think) would be coming in from, i.e. the airport, the bus terminal, or one of the ferry ports.  I picked up a map in the terminal building, but it was a cartoonish thing with silly drawings not done to scale.  I used it and some piss-poor Japanese to cull some directions out of a portly port security guard, then headed down the road.

Stopping briefly to listen to an old sanshin player on the beach who was singing and playing to the water, I sweated all the way down to Asahibashi-eki (‘Sunrise-bridge-station,’ and yes, I translated that myself… hopefully, I’m right).  The monorail system is the one train system in all of the islands, but it’s quite nice.  After I boarded, I saw nearly everyone in the car was wearing Hawaiin/Aloha shirts.  I was later informed (via my cuz Alphie) that Okinawans claim these as their creation, and though they are popular on the islands, they were really first made by Japanese living in Hawaii (from old kimono fabric).  I meant to get one, both for practicality’s sake and as a souvenir, but never got around to it.

I got of at Asato station, which was one of the landmarks on my hand-drawn map.  Once there, it was easy to find the place, and I was at the front door in about six or seven minutes.  Mori-san, the owner of the hostel, greeted me.  He, like the owners of past guesthouses I’ve stayed in, was a really nice guy.  He would go out of his way (sometimes WAY out) to help you and see you had a good time.  The place itself was a bit of a dive, cosmetically-speaking, and maybe the building wasn’t quite up to code, but that was okay.  There was a bed, a kitchen, a bathroom, a shower, some WIFI, and I made friends with the other folks in the guesthouse.  Besides, Mori-san was a truly excellent host.

Before moving on with (not) thrilling stories, I should mention that shortly before arriving I was informed via a Facebook message that Dylan Savage, a really great drummer I’d done some gigs with back in San Diego, was living on Okinawa.  I knew he was in Japan, but didn’t know where exactly.  I wrote him an email, mentioning I was coming down, and would be arriving on the 23^rd.  Wouldn’t you know it that, just my luck, he was moving to Seattle on the 19^th?  Ah well, ships in the night, I guess.  He gave me the names of some jazz clubs I should hit up, as well as put me in contact with a few of his friends.  It was definitely worth getting in contact with him, though I’m dearly sorry we missed each other.

Shortly after arriving and depositing my stuff, I headed out to a jazz bar Mori-san told me about.  The night air hung heavily over the city, and I found myself perspiring just walking down the street (even at 10PM).  After returning to Asato Station, I turned down a seedy looking street.  I passed bars, brothels, and itzakayas before eventually spotting the sign for ‘Harvest Moon.’  I jogged up the stairs and entered the place.  It was as small as small can be, cluttered and quaint, but they had somehow managed smuggled a grand piano in there. 

It was my first time realizing that Okinawa must be either a piano tuners hell or heaven, depending on how much he/she likes his job.  It’s all but impossible to keep a piano in tune on the island, what with the insane humidity and the constant shifts in weather.  I ended up playing about five pianos in Naha, and none of them were even close to being in tune.  I don’t blame the club owners, though.  It’d be like trying to keep your shoes dry on the Titanic.

Anyway, the band consisted of a guitarist and upright bassist, later joined by Mitchy (Mitchiko), the owner and a decent singer.  The guitarist also sang, and even though his jazz wasn’t the greatest, he played every style.  He’s a well rounded professional.  He even had some harmonies worked out with Mitchy.  The bassist, Akira, was all over the place in turns of time and intonation, but his solos were actually interesting, and he was surprising adept with the bow (he bowed the melody to ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?”, and I must admit he sounded quite nice).  ‘Harvest Moon’ turned out to be more of a piano bar than a jazz club, but I stayed for a drink, sat in on a few tunes, and had a good time.  No one spoke English that well, but we got by with a mix.

The next day I decided to explore Kokusai Dori, the big international street and party district of the city.  It’s one of the most touristy areas I’ve ever seen.  Every other joint is either a souvenir shop or a Blue Seal ice cream parlor.  There were some 100 Yen shops (I bought a new wallet at one), a couple of music shops, and tons, and tons of bars and clubs.  I turned off Kokusai Dori and down Heiwadori, a covered shopping arcade, which eventually took me to a small public market.  This place was filled with locals, yelling and bartering, and stank to the heavens of fish.  In the midst of this chaos, I found a small gyoza shop, and ordered a cheap meal of gyoza, rice, and miso.

I started noticing many Americans, all clearly in the military.  Regardless of their distinguishing haircuts, I was able to spot them half a block away.  I’ve become quite adept at spotting the Americans.  I can’t explain how I know exactly, but I’m always right.  You know your own tribe, I guess.  Incidentally, I was constantly asked by locals once upon my stating ‘watashi wa Amerika-jin desu’ if I was in the military, to which I replied (and demonstrated), “No, I have hair.”  I then performed a pantomime buzz cut to further get my point across.  This usually induced some laughter.  At any rate, they were glad I wasn’t in the military, so I thought.

Later that night I went out, despite the typhoon was just offshore and due to make landfall in a few hours.  I ended up back on Heiwadori, and then at a small eatery, where I found myself invited to sit a table with a couple of old guys from Nagoya.  They were both scuba divers, and had come to Oki to do that.  I had ordered a beer (‘Orion’ beer is the staple on Oki, is brewed on the island, and boy, do I hate it!), as well as a few communal snacks.  We all tucked in.  Once again, their English was limited to only a few words, but we got by, and had some laughs. 

There was a family of four from Hong Kong at the table next to us, evidently trying to determine if a dish contained shrimp or not.  One of the women turned to me and asked me if I knew the Japanese word for shrimp, to which I only started laughing.  There are two Japanese guys at the table, and she decides to try and ask the white kid!  I suppose she heard me say a few things in Japanese and assumed I actually spoke it.  I told her draw one and show it to one of my tablemates.  Meanwhile, one of the guys got it in his head she was asking about pickles, and when she showed him the shrimp, he only got confused.  Myself and the other guy were laughing the entire time.

After taking some pictures (which I just recently received), I walked back to Kams’s Jazz Bar, quite near my place.  I was told about the club by both the karate instructor on the boat and by Dylan. The owner, Kamura-san, was supposed to be playing piano that night with a bassist, but when I arrived, I found the place empty except for the bartender.  Apparently, they canceled the live music because of the typhoon.  Let down, I sat at the bar and ordered a beer (more Orion).  After a bit of talking (she remembered Dylan from when he used to play there), she let me play a few tunes.  I hung around a bit, talked with some girls who arrived, played some more piano, then got really tired and headed home. 

As I stepped unto the street, I found myself in the middle of a full blown typhoon.  I was soaked within a minute of walking, and my umbrella was totally destroyed by the wind within two blocks.  I was standing in the middle of a crosswalk when the thing completely blew apart.  A nearby cab driver, warm and dry in his vehicle, was laughing at me.  Let down for the second time in one evening, I headed back to the guesthouse, where the sight of me in the doorway, soaked to the bone and carrying the tattered remnants of my umbrella produced another row of laughter.  I headed upstairs, dried off, then watched a movie with a few of the guests.  It was one of those American urban dance movies that were so popular this past decade.  It was called ‘Honey,’ and no, I had no say in the selection.

Sometime the next morning, Mark arrived.  He’s from Northern Ireland, and had been WWOOF-ing (‘World-wide Opportunities in Organic Farming,’ I think… or something like… basically, it’s like volunteered serfdom) on Okinawa for a week at a farm somewhere on the Northern part of the main island.  I showed him down Kokusai dori, down pretty much the same route I’d taken the day before.  We ate some crepes (like damn!), and I made a mental note of the location of two jazz clubs (‘Guuwa’ and ‘Parkers Mood,’ both of which had also been recommended to me by Dylan).  It was quite humid, and super windy, which eventually drove us back to our place.

Later, back the hostel, a gaggle of American girls showed up (trust me, it’s the appropriate term of venery).  They were all from the Midwest (Ohio, I think), and they worked on one of the bases as swim instructors/lifeguards for the military children.  They were all blonde, super tan, and with the exception of Kim, their names all ended in ‘ie/y’ sound (Ashley, Chloe, Kelsea, and Ellie).  I’m actually rather surprised I was able to keep them all straight.  Erin, another traveler from Buffalo, also showed up.  She was just as pale as me (though, I think I have her beat), and decidedly less loud and uber-American then the other girls.

We headed out on the town.  For the second time that day I gave a tour of Kokusai Dori.  The girls started quaffing Chu-his, these disgustingly sweet but highly alcoholic canned creations.  I’ve tried them before.  They taste like bad candy, but if you want to get plastered, it’s the most economic way.  The base-girls all lived in a box, so to speak (not Erin, I should say).  They were reluctant to go anywhere that wasn’t heavily Americanized, but all such eateries were too expensive, so I dragged them to the gyoza shop I had found earlier.  They were reluctant to go in (even the coin machine confused them), but eventually we all ate a bit of food for a cheap price, and they seemed to like it.  They’d been on Okinawa for months and THIS was the first time they’d gone to see the island.  I was amazed.  They all had this amazing and, quite frankly, easy opportunity to see a completely different world and they all they wanted was Starbucks, McDonalds, American-ized dance clubs, etc… Go figure.  Again, Erin was a traveler like me, and was always pro-exploration.  Unfortunately, she left to go home to sleep halfway through the evening.

We wandered up and down Kokusai Dori, stopping and talking on and off again with the Marines we met along the way (one was from Ocean Beach, haha!).  At one place towards the end of the strip, we all sampled some Habu Sake, which is brewed with a dead Habu snake in it (the worm in the Tequila bottle kind of pales in comparison to a dead, venomous snake in a jar of sake).  As a matter of fact, they slit the venom sacks open so the venom gets absorbed into the sake.  This has two effects: 1) If drunk regularly, you’ll eventually develop an immunity to Habu bites, and 2) You get messed up easily (people who work in the jungles on Oki drink it for the former reason).  We all only had a bit, but I could see if I kept drinking the stuff I’d be blotto soon enough.

We had a few beers at REHAB, an international bar.  Apart from the decently varied beer selection, I felt like I was In America.  The décor, the music, and everyone at my table was American.  What’s more, we were all being loud as anything.  Japan is a quiet country, and so I felt really strange at first, but it was a international bar.  Everyone was loud, so I raised my glass and voice in concert with the ambience.  It turned out I was the eldest at the table, which I seldom am.  Everyone was in their teens to early twenties.  I was also the only one not associated with the military (the girls lived on base, and the other folks who we had fallen in with were Marines).  I felt almost as out of place as I would have been if I was alone in a Japanese bar.

Sometime later we went to a dance club.  It was small, and the American music was so loud it made your organs shift around inside you.  Though not my scene at all, I had a good time.  I figured since this trip was all about trying new things, this counted (even though it was something I could be doing at home).  We danced and drank for I don’t know how long before eventually heading home.  It was a fun and unexpected night.

The next day, Erin and I went out and explored some of the city.  We walked over to the ferry port to check on prices for going out to the closer islands, and damn, they were expensive.  It was late in the day anyway, so we went over to this garden instead.  You’d think I’d be sick of gardens by now, but these were really nice.  Like many parts of Okinawan life/culture, it was very Chinese influenced.  Before the Ryukyus were part of Japan, they had maintained a very close relationship to China.  In fact, he islands were the first stop on the trade route between China and mainland Japan and/or Korea.  Even today, you can see the Chinese influence in the architecture, taste it in the food, and hear it in the language (I couldn’t quite manage the last one, though).

We wandered around the city before heading back to guesthouse, though we first made a stop at a large bookshop with an English language section where I finally bought a good book on learning Japanese.  I’ve been making better progress since then.  I spent most of the rest of the day cracking into the book, and at night, headed out to Guuwa (the jazz club) with Erin and Japanese guy named Yu in tow.  Guuwa was opened and owned for almost 40 years by a man named Fumio Yara, a Okinawan born pianist who played there almost nightly.  He died 6 months ago, and his son has taken over the club, not to mention the piano bench, being a good pianist himself.  We met Mark at the club, and sat down for the tail end of the first set.  During the interval, I approached the drummer (who spoke English very well and knew Dylan).  I chatted with him a while, telling him I was a piano player. 

I won’t lie.  My intent was to be asked to sit in for a tune or two, and I got what I wanted… and then some.  When the next set started up, I found myself at the piano on the first song.  The band was pretty good, and I was enjoying myself thoroughly.  After the second tune, I looked for the hook to come and sweep me off the bench, but it didn’t appear.  It didn’t show up after the third tune either, or the fourth.  A little over an hour later, the set ended.  They let me play the whole time.  I was rather surprised, but pleased.  I had gone over well with the players, the audience, and my small cadre of friends at the table (who hadn’t heard me play before).  It was quite fun.  I chatted briefly with Fumio’s son and the drummer, Katsuya, before heading back to the hostel (a good 2km away).

Monday Erin and I went to the beach.  I arrived unprepared, and had to set off to find shorts (which took me about 40 minutes… I wandered into the love hotel district it took me a while to get out).  After I returned, I donned my new trunks and set foot unto the sand.  The beach itself, the only one in Naha, was pretty piss poor.  It was short, and the view was blocked off by two concrete bridges.  Still, the water felt warm and it was good to have a swim.  I did a few laps using the old breaststroke until I was goo tired.  Afterwards, Erin and I headed off to see a few shrines and temples and get some food before making our way back to the hostel.

It was hot as hell the next day.  I spent most it indoors, before at last braving the weather and going to Shuri Castle.  What stands there today is a reconstruction, the original (heavily restored itself) having been completely obliterated in the Battle of Okinawa in 1945.  I met a Parisian there named Glen (an odd name for a Frenchman), and we walked around the castle grounds together.  Upon entering the inner courtyard, the Chinese influence can be sensed immediately (I sensed it anyway).  In case, it’s plain that it’s not a typical Japanese-looking castle, though it was certainly beautiful.  Glen and I walked around the Shuri area awhile before catching monorail back to central Naha, exchanging email addresses before we parted.  Later that night Erin and I followed Mark to ‘The Eager Beaver,’ a Canadian pub/guijin hangout a few blocks off of Kokusai Dori.  The beer was good, the food was alright, and it was quiz night.  We did alright, placing in third (not bad considering we were by the far the youngest players).

Erin left the next day for the North, and I spent most of the day indoors, catching up on backlogged emails and doing some planning for the rest of the trip (boring as it was, there were some matters that needed attending).   That night I went back to ‘Harvest Moon.’  Again, it was piano bar night, with some jazz thrown in as a bonus.  There were a bunch of singers in attendance doing their various pop songs, all of which were older American songs (some I’d never heard of).  I don’t mean to knock it.  They were actually quite good, even in their pronunciation (with the sole exception of one girls rendition of the Beatles classic “Letter B”).  I spent a long time talking with the pianist, who spoke English well, in addition to being not only a fine piano player but a damn good accompanist.  The man on my left was slightly drunk (when he came in, I think), but was exceptionally nice.  He gave me a glass or two of Awamori, a strong saki and a local favorite, and tried in vain to explain the concept of ‘wabi-sabi’ to me.  I played about six tunes with Mitchy and one solo number.

Still, even if none of that happened, it would have been worth coming that night just to see this one guy sing.  I think he was pretty loaded, but he was definitely a happy drunk if he was.  He did the strangest version of ‘Desperado’ I think I’ve ever heard.  His speech was barely intelligible, his body movements would have made Joe Cocker look like Christopher Reeves, but the funny thing was in terms of pitch, time, and dynamics he was actually spot on.  It was simultaneously ridiculous and amazing.  I was fighting back the urge to burst out laughing the entire time, and yet my applause at the finale was in earnest.  He did three more songs in a similar fashion, and I was on the edge of my seat the entire time.

The next day was a doozy.  I took the monorail to the airport in an attempt to rent a car.  That endeavor was a failure, as everything was booked solid.  Determined to make good use of my day, I took the monorail back towards central Naha, but got off at Onoyama-Koen Station.  From there, I exited into the heat and the sun and the skin-destroying power of its rays.  What followed was four of five hours worth of marching around the city.  My first goal was to find a cheap place to eat lunch, which I did on the far side of the river (at a Yoshinoya… oh yay).  After that I headed back through the dirtiest little park, laden with trash and the homeless, both baking in hot tropical sun. 

Frying all the way, I crossed a second bridge back to the other side of the river, eventually making my way over to a dingy little neighborhood.  Partly a shanty town, it was nestled into the side of a hill.  Alongside the hill were many small, stone mausoleums, as well as a few things that looked like they might have been old pill boxes (machinegun nests), though I couldn’t be certain.  They were all slowing being overrun by the plants, and being deteriorated by the wind and rain.  Not surprising, as most of the buildings on the island look exceptionally weathered.

From here I started walking uphill towards the South.  I had no map, but I remember seeing one somewhere saying the old HQ of the Japanese Navy on Okinawa was located somewhere in the direction I was heading.  I trudged about 3km uphill, cooking in the suns heat until I at least reached the top of the mountain.  Now a memorial park, the HQ was not a building as I had thought, but a series of underground bunkers and tunnels.  By the time I actually neared the entrance, I was horribly burnt, sweating profusely, and dead tired.  I approached a family of Americans (again, I picked them out from afar), and asked where I was.  I wasn’t sure I had actually found the place.  I must have looked like hell on toast, and I remember thinking from the sound of my voice I was quite harried.  They told me I was at the HQ, and I thanked them.  They asked me several times if I was okay.  I said yes, and after I went and got a drink of water, washed up, and laid down under a tree for thirty minutes that was true.

After my brief respite I headed down into the bunker.  I was walking into a tomb, pretty much.  4000 somewhat soldiers died down there in the final days of the battle, many by their own hand.  The man in charge, a rear admiral, wrote two letters (one to his family, and one to the Japanese military saying they should treat the Okinawan people with great respect for the sacrifice and the hardships they endured whilst bearing the brunt of the American invasion) before shooting himself.  Other officers did the same or used grenades (you can still the fragment marks on the wall).  The pictures and exhibits were humbling, and they did a very good job documenting the battle from both sides, with most atrocities and failures discussed quite openly.

On another note (and I feel guilty about this), but the bunker was also a good place because of the great acoustics and because of the AC.  God bless them, that bunker was probably about 60 degrees.

I left the bunker and headed up the observation platform to get a good look at Naha.  I could see all the way to the airport (which shares it’s single runway with the SDF base next door, so you could witness military fighters taking off or landing moments after passenger jets) to Shuri Castle to the East. Beyond the airport, you could see out over the beautiful sky and ocean along the Western Coast.  Not particularly wanting to walk another 3 kilometers back to the subway, I dawdled there quite some time before finally heading back down the mountain.  I stopped along the way for some sunscreen and aloe (the former of which was too-little-too-late and the latter was now a necessity). 

Back at the hostel, I rested a few hours.  Mori-san arranged a bus trip for me the next day that would take me around the Northern half of the island, including a visit to the aquarium (very famous, very large… more whale sharks).  I had to meet the bus someplace strange, but close.  I went over to where he had described, and found a large bus station.  Assuming that was the stop, I started to head back when it started to rain.  Caught in the open, I had little choice but to head back to the hostel, grumpy at being sunburned and now rained on in a matter of hours.  Welcome to the tropics.

After picking up some grub at the grocery store and having a spot of dinner, I thought I’d head out, get some gifts for Henry and Clara (I ended up getting them these coin purses made out of dead frogs… gross, but funny) and then hit up Kam’s again.  After purchasing said frogs and returning to KAMs, I discovered them closed, enough though it was 30 minutes until the music was supposed to start.  I headed over to Bar Firenzie and had drink, chewing the fat with a Tokyo politician and the bartender, who had passion for hydroponics.  I went back to Kam’s after one beer to find it still closed.  Annoyed, I decided to check out Parkers Mood instead, on the opposite end of Kokusai Dori.

I came in on the tail of the first set.  The owner, Kosuke Johma, was on guitar (he’s really nice, slick, and he swings).  He was playing with an alto player.  Good stuff.  After the set finished, he came over and we talked.  He spoke some English, and to my surprise asked me if I was Dylan’s friend, and if I played piano.  Apparently Dylan let them know I was coming, and I felt stupid for not having come here sooner.  The next set I was up, with Kosuke playing Fender bass instead of guitar.  The place was dead, but that was fine.  We did another set after that, with me playing duos with Kosuke (now back on guitar) and the sax player.  To my surprise, when I left, I wasn’t charged for the beer, and was asked to come back again next night and play the whole set.  I had BS-ed another gig.

The next morning… oh, the next morning.  What started off well (my actually getting up at 8am and making it out the door by 8:30) soon gave way to a series of unfortunate and stupid mistakes.  I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it so say, I missed the tour bus.  I then tried In vain to book another, only to find out that there was only one for that day, and I had already missed it.  Upon trying to rent a car, I found that I’d either need to rent it for 6 hours (too little time), or 24 (too much time, as I couldn’t return it until the place opened at 9am, at which point I’d be on a plane bound for Kobe).  Defeated and dripping sweat, I slouched back to the hostel.

I was sulking in the lobby when Mori-san came in.  He felt bad because he thought the directions he’d given me to the bus stop weren’t adequate enough.  I assured him they were, and that I was to blame.  I had resigned myself to spending the day inside, planning out the rest of my trip so that this wouldn’t happen again.  What happened next took me completely by surprise: for the cost of gas, Mori-san offered to drive me to the North and back!

A few minutes later we were in his car, speeding out of Naha (FINALLY!) along Route 58 heading North along the coast.  We drove past two or three bases along the way, including Camp Foster (where the swim instructor girls lived) and Kadena Airbase.  There were small villages, dense swaths of jungle, mountains, the emerald green waters of the sea, and long stretches of beautiful beach.  I had been in Naha so long, and quite frankly, I forgot I was on a tropical island.  We stopped briefly at some cliffs before pushing North towards a small beach Mori-san knew of.

The beach was on a tiny island just offshore that could be reached via bridge.  As a matter of fact, the beach itself stretched underneath that bridge.  The water was shallow and clear, good for snorkeling (unlike myself).  I donned my trunks, applied the mask and snorkel, and waded out.  The water was nice and warm.  There were tiny fish swimming about, and as I made my way around the coral, I found some other types of sea life as well (starfish, sea slugs, crabs, etc…).  When I neared one of the muscle-encrusted pillars I noticed something black attached to the stone.  I poked my head underwater to see what it was, and was greeted with the sight of an ugly, spiny, black anemone about 6 inches from my face.  I backpedaled hurriedly, avoiding getting stuck (I would later discover at the aquarium that these things were VERY venomous, would be extremely painful, and would require a hospital visit).  As I swam away though, I cut the soles of my feet on some coral.  They still hurt.  I suck at snorkeling.

We left the island and headed for the aquarium.  Mori-san knew the back roads, and we wound our way North through sugarcane fields.  For lunch, we stopped at a place called ‘Sky Pizza,’ or ‘Pizza in the Sky.’  Something like that.  Like the name implies, it’s high up on a mountain, and the view was supposed to be spectacular.  I had actually heard about it from a Marine I’d met halfway up Mt. Misen a few weeks earlier.  Mori-san knew exactly where it was, and soon we sitting at an outside table, eating damn good pizza, having beers, and gazing down the mountain and out across the blue-green sea.  You’d be hard pressed to find a pizza joint anywhere in the world with a nicer view.

Churaumi Aquarium was not far away.  We made it time for the dolphin show.  As we were taking our seats, I spotted a familiar face.  Well, part of a familiar face.  To the tell the truth, I recognized Erin primarily by the sunhat she had wisely pulled down over her face.  She had hitchhiked her way from Naha to Beach Rock Village, and was apparently the only guest there (tourism really has dropped post-quake/tsunami).  We sat in silence during the dolphin show, myself being unexpectedly entertained.  They had the usually troupe of bottle-noses, but with them also was a pair of False Killer Whales.  These dolphins were far more massive then their more common, slightly more spry counterparts, but they could move as well.  I had no idea dolphins could jump 15 feet out of the water.

I’m aware I sound like a total dweeb, but I really enjoyed the dolphin show, alright?

After the show and a visit to see the turtles and manatees, Mori-san gave Erin a lift back to her camp (I know, right?) and I went into the aquarium.  I won’t bore you with all the details of this really interesting tank or that really interesting one.  The only thing I’ll attempt to describe is their grand exhibit: in the main tank there are three whale sharks (one of them over 10 meters at least), half a dozen full sized manta rays, sharks, tuna, large silvery schools of sardines, and dozens of others.  In regards to the tanks size, imagine the SDSU Music Building.  Now imagine slicing it in half, vertically.  That would be about the size of it, I’d say.  I sat there, reclining in my chair, watching the scnene for at least an hour before hurrying back to meet Mori-san.

I’ll always be grateful that that man.  He went far, far out of his way for me.  I really owe him, and I hope someday I can repay that debt, or at least ‘pay it forward,’ as they say.

We got on the road and headed back to Naha.  It took us a little over two hours to reach the hostel, by which time it was almost 9.  I ran inside, threw my bag on the bed, put on some pants, and came running back down.  Mori-san graciously drove me to Parkers Mood (sadly, that was the last I saw him, as I left early in the AM the next day).  I hurried upstairs, but there was no need.  Apparently, the show was starting closer to 10 instead.  Unlike the night before, the place had maybe a dozen people in it.  I chatted with the bassist and a few girls.  One spoke English and worked part time at the club, while other hardly spoke any English, but played piano.  During the interval, she asked me to teach her something about voicings.  I don’t communicate musical concepts very well in English, let alone when I have to communicate them to someone who doesn’t speak English.  Can you imagine trying to teach some Rick Helzer stuff to someone who doesn’t speak your language?  I used a system of drawings of hands with numbers (signifying the intervals) by each finger to show some basic 2-5-1 voicings.  She got it.  I was relieved.

Musically, the night was great.  The bass player had a limited knowledge of tunes, but he kept good time, implied changes well, and was overall a decent player.  Koskue was shredding.  He actually has a tour with Peter Washington later this year.  He says he’s scared, but he’s got no need to be.  He swings, he knows tunes, he knows endings, he can flow, and he’s a really nice guy.  At the end of the night, not only was I given food and beer, but I actually got 3000 yen.  I had made money for the first time in 2 months, and got to do it playing music in a foreign country.  Needless to say, 3000 yen isn’t much (especially in Japan), but it whetted my appetite.  I wished I could do more gigs over here.

The following day consisted of some pretty insane traveling.  I woke up at 6am, packed, left the guesthouse, and caught a monorail to the airport.  From there, I boarded my flight for Kobe.  After landing in Kobe, I took another monorail to Sannomiya Station.  There I caught a train (Hanshin or Hankyu, I don’t remember) for Osaka Namba, and from there a subway to Dobutsuen-Mae.  During this somewhat convoluted trip (which went perfectly except for me losing my umbrella in Kobe), I had my first two conversations in pure Japanese.  Granted, they were really, really simple, but still…

Conversation #1- Naha Airport, 8:20 AM, a small café

Me- Sumimasen.  <pointing to ‘yakisoba’ the menu> Kore wa o kudasai.

Lady- <in disbelief> Kore?

Me- Hai.  Yakisoba o kudasai.

Lady- <more disbelief> Yakisoba?

Me- So desu.

Lady- Hai.

Me- Arigato.

(apparently, yakisoba is NOT a breakfast food, but I was very hungry, and it was cheap… or, ‘yasuidesu!’)

Conversation #2- Sannomiya Station, 11:20 AM, near the platforms

Me- <approaching the Station Attendant> Sumimasen.  Watashi wa Osaka Namba ni ikimas.

Station Attendant- Hai.  Houmu san

Me- San, desu ka?  Ano densha wa Osaka Namba ni ikimaska.

Station Agent- Hai.

Me- <heading towards platform no. 3> Arigato gozimasu!

Again, let me stress that these are phrases mastered by three-year-olds, but dammit, I felt proud.

After arriving back in Osaka, I checked into my old digs at the Hotel Mikado, but immediately headed up North to Umeda Station.  From there I caught the train to Ishibashi, and from there to Minoh (I got into a sort of conversation with some kids on the train, but I wasn’t able to understand enough of what they were saying/asking).  Soon after arriving and applying aloe (I was still quite burnt), I met Alphie, Henry, and Clara at the station.  We ran some errands, during which time I starting to limp.  My left ankle had been bothering me for some time, and it was acting up again.  The kids showed me to the house, and I sat on the couch to start massaging my aching ankle.  I think I maybe pulled a tendon.

Keiko’s piano had just been tuned and worked on, but the rug underneath it needed moving.  With Alphie and I lifting, Keiko and the kids managed to get the rug pulled out.  When last I saw the piano, it was equipped with a number of sound dampeners.  These had now been removed, and combined with the piano now resting on a solid wood foundation, in a largely wooden house, and freshly tuned made it great to play.  It still had it’s dark character, but it was no longer overwhelmingly dark.  The touch was different as well, slightly more the lighter side (perfect for me).  I played a bit before and after dinner, which was delicious.  Later we took a group photo by the piano, having to redo it a couple of times because Henry and Clara kept putting bunny ears on each other. 

After dinner I had a short phone interview for the New York Times to an old college friend of Alphies.  The reporter was doing a piece on the state of tourism in post-quake Japan.  I believe he’s going to use a quote of mine for the article.  As the night got on, the kids had to go to bed.  The whole family walked me over to the station and saw me off.  I don’t believe I’m coming back this way for a while (not on this trip, anyway), so I was quite sad to leave.  It was one of the best surprises of this trip: a whole new part of my family.  They alone are reason enough for me to come back one day, and soon.

When I arrived back in Osaka, I beat feet for Bricks.  Tohyama-san was quite surprised to see me again, but he remembered me (and still sold me cheap beer!).  I found myself seated between a guy who I’d met before who spoke practically no English and another whole spoke some.  I got to practice all my newly acquired Japanese phrases on them.  Even though they probably sounded off, it’s quite fun bouncing what you’ve just learning off people.  That’s the main reason I’m enjoying learning Japanese: I’m actually immersed in the environment.  If I were home studying, it’d be stale, but here, it’s alive and organic.  I love it, and could definitely see myself getting a good grip of the spoken language in a year.

The next day was spent around the Mikado.  The gig Izumi (the bassist I’d met in Osaka) had secured was that night.  It was too hot to go anywhere, so I just stayed in, practiced melodica, did a bit of laundry (I washed the closest thing I had to nice clothes) and brainstormed a bit for gig.  A little after 5, I went over to Shin-Immamiya and took the JR Loop to Kyobashi.  I was supposed to meet Izumi outside the turnstile-thing (it’s a little more high-tech than that here in Japan, but ‘turnstile-thing’ will suffice), but unfortunately, there were two of them.  I spent about 10 minutes walking back and forth, attempting to spot an upright bass through the crowd.  Eventually, he found me, and after getting completely turned around, we eventually found Beehive, the club.

Heading upstairs, we me Nakata, our drummer.  He spoke no English, but he was a good player.  We rehearsed a tune of his, plus some of mine, stopping when people started to arrive.  There were a number of familiar faces in the crowd, including: Reiko Aoki (a singer I’d met at Jazz Ya), Thomas Posner (the Canadian bassist/ESL teacher), Koda (Izumi’s friend and killer pianist), and Miki, who was my guide and companion in Nara.  There were five or six others there as well.  It was so nice to see all these people again.  I had met them all on my first time through Osaka, and it was truly kind of them to come out and see me again.

In between chatting with them, Izumi and I devised a set list.  I ended up MC-ing, in English.  I did a terrible job, mostly because I was attempting to use some Japanese I didn’t have a grip on yet (ie- I kept saying “Ohashibori,” instead of ‘Ohisashibori,” where ‘ohashi’ means chopsticks…).  I also kept forgetting the drummers name, which doesn’t look good when you’re a band leader (granted, I had only met him an hour ago, but still).  As the night went on, I got more and more relaxed.  The music went well.  We pulled off some standards, and my tunes turned out pretty good, though for the other guys sakes, I was leading quite strongly.  I was hammering out the form, but the audience seemed to like it.  Subtle I was not, but I guess everyone dug it.

FYI, I had the drummer use Isaac’s ‘Elvin-timps’ riff on the end of ‘In My Throat (My Heart).’  I had to point to the chart and act out what I wanted.  After a while, he got it, and when we played the tune, he nailed it.  It was particularly impressive, since in lieu of mallets, he was using an extra pair of sticks with small felt Os around the tips.

Umiharu came in right at the end.  We had a little session afterwards, with Koda, Umiharu, and Thomas all playing.  I caught up with Miki some more before she had to go, as well as met Izumi’s parents.  We took some pictures, got paid (about 3300 yen), and split.  Thomas, Umiharu, and I headed over to a 24-hour ramen place with all-you-can-eat garlic and kimchi.  I completely overdid it on those.  I think I put seven or eight cloves in my ramen, and ate about four of them raw.  I had a little garlic baby in my stomach when I left, and I stank for at least a day and half afterwards (my breath smelled like burning garbage by a public toilet in Detroit in July).  Still, man oh man, was it gooooooddddd.

I lazed about the next day as well.  I chatted some in the lobby with Gonsalvo (from Mexico) and Alvin (from San Diego, believe it or not).  I was able to give Alvin directions to several things he wanted to find, and give him general advice on this, his first trip to Japan (much in the same way Franz had given me upon my first arrival at the Mikado some eight weeks before).  After spending most of the day indoors, I decided too late to head to the see the Umeda Sky Building.  It began to drizzle when I got to Namba, and by the time I made it to Umeda, it was pouring.  In addition to that, I couldn’t even FIND the thing, once again demonstrating my inability to find the exceptionally large and painful obvious (like Osakajo before).  Defeated, I had dinner, then took the train to Tannimachi Kyu-Chome and headed for SUB, the jazz club inside the subway station I had visited once on my earlier visit to Osaka. 

They had live music that night, with the owner and bassist NIshiyama-san (‘West Mountain’) leading the group.  Yuke, the bartender and terrific pianist, remembered me, and I once again rather immodestly used the opportunity to demonstrate all the Japanese I’d learnt since last seeing her.  I talked to Nishiyama during the break.  He spoke English, but I had barely any idea WHAT he was talking about.  He was pretty far out, but nice.  He got me up for the next set, and I played the entire time.  The trumpeter and I talked some after the show, and I spoke again with Yuke one more time before making my back to the Mikado on the last train (actually making my connection this time).

After waking up and packing, I milled around the lobby until I could raise Al on the phone.  Soon after I was on a train racing towards Kyoto, not even having to consult Al or my notes for directions (I remembered the way from last month).  I arrived at Al’s shortly after 3, though he left shortly afterwards for Osaka.  I spent the night in and around Al’s neighborhood.  The next night was the monthly open mic at the Gael.  ‘The Kornhauser Brothers,’ back by popular demand, once again thrilled the masses (though not quite as much as the Michael Jackson impersonator).  We closed the place, leaving sometime around 3:30 with Benny and his wife (a great jazz singer).  I’m glad I got see Benny and a few of the ex-pats that hang around the Gael again, as well as some of the staff that work there.  Mostly, though, it was good to play with Al again.

The following day (AKA yesterday) I had planned to sight-see.  I was debating between two temples.  Eventually, the tsuyu decided for me: neither, as it was raining like hell.  Al and I had lunch with Alphie at Kyoto University (where he works), and I spent the rest of the day booking airplane tickets and planning for this trips future (which is looking quite bright).  After getting ramen and gyoza with Al, I bid my farewell and headed to the station.  With Al’s instructions, I found my bus for Tokyo, departing at 10:30PM and arriving in Shinjuku at around 6:30AM.  This was my first night bus.  It was cheap, and that was pretty much it.  I slept little, and very poorly.

We pulled in to Shinjuku later this morning.  Finding the humidity near unbearable, I sought out the nearest subway tunnel.  Once there, I crisscrossed a labyrinth of paths, tunnels, and underground shopping complexes until at last I reached a station I could use to get to the line that would take me to Asakusa station.  I hit morning rush spot on.  The train was so packed my nose was almost poking the back of some guys head.  Once I was topside in Asakusa, I was able to navigate with ease to the hostel, only to find it closed.  I meandered around the streets for an hour or until the reception desk opened.  I discovered this place has a bar inside it, with a keyboard (not a very good one, but at least its here).  I’ve already logged in a few hours practice time, and seeing as how it’s still hot outside, I think I’ll practice some more.  I’ve missed getting to just sit down and play at length.  I haven’t done it months.

Whew!  If you read all that, congratulations.  You clearly have a lot of time on your hands, though I’m sorry you spent it reading a dull account of my daily activities.  I really need to cut back.  I’m going to have a novel by the time this trip is over.

Soupy twist,

Edward