Koriyama Fireworks

Koriyama Fireworks

Last night was the Koriyama fireworks festival, celebrating the summer memorial holiday known as O-Bon. I made some plans to meet up with a few friends, and one of them offered to make the 1 hour drive to Koriyama from Fukushima.

The weather was awful. It was astoundingly hot, and had been raining, slightly, all day. The clouds hung like a grey blanket a few feet above my head. I could almost touch them. They blocked out the sun, but instead of providing a shelter from the sizzling rays, the clouds only trapped the heat and amplified it. My clothes clung to my body. The weight of my backpack straps glued my t shirt to my shoulders. You could drink a gallon of water and not have to piss; only sweat left my body.

Of course, though, we had the a/c on in the car. When we arrived and stepped out, I asked if we could watch the show from the cool interior. I even offered to sit in the back seat. I questioned my own judgment for joining along in such awful weather… my friends too questioned my judgment given my last few questions.

We set off on foot toward an expansive rice paddy. Covering a few acres, it was home to much wildlife. Birds, and frogs mostly, which I saw occasionally hopping about in the grass (between the path and the paddy), much to the repugnance of my female companions. The all-pervading ugly, yet cute, feral cat was also there. But, of course, there were the bugs. All sorts of insects. It should go without saying that there were at least 10 mosquitoes for every human, which is the standard here. But there were also hoards of gnats, lime green grasshoppers, worms, singing cicadas, crickets, moths, and all manner of noise producing, biting, nauseating creatures. I, for one, do not mind insects. Luckily. Unless they are on my person without me knowing. Then, I mind.

We approached the area where the fireworks were to be launched over. It was a huge parking lot of a sports park. In the distance, I could see a pool with a concrete stadium, and a high dive. I instantly wanted to be in the pool. I wanted nothing more than to watch the fireworks surrounded by water, beer in hand. It was locked. I tried to climb the fence and, again, my companions questioned my judgment.

I left my pipe dream and decided to enjoy what the festival had to offer. The expansive parking lot had been lined with vendors hawking carnival style food and goods. The center area was covered in people staking claims from which to enjoy the spectacle of colorful exploding missiles. I was eager to see what types of carnie food the Japanese like. After helping lay out our tarp and set up the chairs, I was off, wallet in one hand, camera in the other, like a good tourist, to sample the overpriced and surely unhealthy, and possibly septic, fair food.

The stalls were as colorful as possible, each with lights and a generator. A long, vertical flag was posted on the top corner of each one, which I could not read, exclaiming the delight offered. I walked as close as I could to each front, hoping to catch a glimpse of what they were cooking. Needless to say, I cut through a lot of well formed lines in order to peek at the cuisine de jour.

There were many different edibles offered, I will start with the most ubiquitous: takoyaki. Tako, meaning octopus, yaki meaning grilled/charred. Picture a small round donut, sometimes called a donut hole, filled with octopus, grilled in a sort of waffle iron thing, and covered in sweet and tangy sauce. They are, without a doubt, delicious, but they have a caveat, in my opinion. I can only eat one or two, and they are never sold in groups of less than six. Too many for me. I skipped takoyaki today.

Next on the menu was, of course, yakitori. Yaki meaning grilled/charred tori meaing any leftover part of the animal that wasn’t used. It’s usually chicken or beef, but we’re talking organs, feet, necks, skin, cartilage, noses, anus, fat, brains….anything that cant be sold as “white” or “dark” meat. I, am needless to say, quite sick of yakitori. Since I cant read Japanese Kanji, buying Yakitori is somewhat of a crap shoot. Literally.

Next up was potato products, Yay! There were baked potatoes, split open and covered in slabs of butter, spiral cut, deep fried potatoes on a stick, and of course French fries. I ate all three. I love potatoes.

Next in popularity was the tubed meat. Although I didn’t see a normal hot dog anywhere, many places had “hot dogs” which were about 2 feet long and as big as your wrist. No bun. Only a stick from which to eat it off of. It looked to me about a pound and a half of tubed meat. A porterhouse among hot dogs. I am a hot dog connoisseur, and I skipped this carnie delight simply because of its size. It was incredible. I couldn’t help but laugh watching a 100lb Japanese girl eating a 45lb hot dog. (Keep your mind out of the gutter.)

After these delights, the list was tied among crepes, frozen bananas, beer, grilled squid and sweets of all sorts. I found one cart that was selling tacos! Real, Mexican style tacos! It was amazing. The man cooking them was, of course, Japanese, but he was legit by all standards. The taco came in a sort of half tortilla, half flat bread thing with beef, lettuce tomato, avocado and cheese. They were huge. I ate at least 12. Just kidding I ate 1. Although the beef was clearly seasoned with something labeled “taco seasoning” in Japanese, my hat goes off to the gentleman who was cookin’ them tacos. If you are reading this, I love you. You made my night.

Okinomiyaki was also present. Somewhat of an omelet, stuffed with chicken, cabbage and all sorts of items I cant even describe. It is tasty, but like takoyaki, it is only served in massive quantities of which I cannot eat entirely.

I was officially done with fair food. I felt sick. I retired back to the tarp and sat for a while, people watching. Men and women were dressed up in traditional Japanese summer clothes, called yukata. It was very nice to see the old mixed with the new…something that has become very familiar to me here in Japan.

The fireworks began to exploded overhead. A light rain was falling, no matter, the show must go on. Every 30 seconds or so, an announcer would stop the action and explain which company had paid for the fireworks. Very commercial. The big spenders like Hitachi and Honda, had some pretty serious displays, while some companies could only afford a ten second show. It was an interesting twist to an otherwise very familiar spectacle. Kind of annoying after a while, but I guess that is how they can afford to have these shows last for 2 hours. For the grand finale they played a country version of Desperado by The Eagles (Clint Black?) and I felt strangely at home singing along.

After the show, there was the predictable mad rush for cars and traffic ensued. I fell asleep in the car with a fat stomach full of fair food and my ears ringing. It was a good night.

Sorry no pictures, blogger is not working at the moment. I will try again tomorrow.

Island Time

3)

Recap: my friends and I had just survived our first night of camping on an island off the coast of Japan.

When we awoke our priority was too get back into to town and find something to eat. We had rented bikes, so we hopped on and made the 10 minute journey to “downtown Niijima”. The bikes were due back by 10 am, so we figured we had better have a plan when the time came to either turn them in, or hire them for another 24 hours. We rode around in the heat for a while and eventually found a beautiful café. Sora café it is called, if you ever find yourself in Niijima, seek out the Sora café desperately. It is delicious, comfortable, and friendly.

We had the breakfast special which consisted of tomato soup, toast, salad, and yogurt with fruit. For 500 yen. I was again, a happy camper. I also noticed that on the menu they offered something called a Sora O-Nigiri (riceball). If you have read my

con bini article then you know that I am a riceball fanatic. I had to try these special island delights. I ordered two at 300 yen each. When they arrived, they were about double the size of a con bini rice ball. I was excited already, but they were for lunch later on that day (as was a homemade “salty peanut butter cookie” I grabbed off the counter).

On top of the o-nigiri was some type of exotic meat I haven’t seen before. I am used to this feeling in Japan, so I asked

“What is this?” I gestured toward the meat.

“Su-pa-mu” said our server, smiling.

“Huh?” I asked

“Su-pa-mu, Spamu” said he.

I had been taken. It was goddamn Spam. I should have known better, this being an island and all. I thought I was going to have some type of new and exotic meat, a feast for my senses and something to write (blog) home about. Maybe an endangered animal or reptile or some type of psychedelic trip inducing mushroom. It was SPAM! I thanked him profusely.

As we finished our meals, I decided that I did not want to leave the Sora café. Ever. It was that beautiful. In the next room there was a party of Japanese people drinking beers (at 10am) and slowly eating food. I wanted to join them until the sun set, roll out my futon on the beautiful straw tatami floor and sleep…indoors. But, sadly, we had to leave. I packed my cookie and spam balls in my backpack and we were off, back into the elements.

We decided to ditch our island. We made our way back to the camp, packed up, and returned our bikes. We walked to port with our next destination in sight: Shikenijima. Another island in the chain that was about 1/3 the size of Niijima. We came to our “port”, which was actually a parked and rotting trailer. We paid the man 400 yen and had our tickets. I got to talking with a few of the other travelers, a few Japanese making a day trip to enjoy the hot springs on the neighboring island. They gave me some insane tasting fish jerky and a can of what I later found out was whiskey and ginger ale, premixed, and know as highball. It was quite a snack, worthy of a sailor, I thought.

The small boat came to fetch us and about 15 others. The boat was the opposite of the port in all regards. It was amazingly clean, quiet and fast, which two flat screen TVs below deck that nobody watched. Everyone was up on the deck watching the amazing view of our trip through the water and around the rocks. I saw flying fish. At first I thought the “highball” was tripping the light fantastic on the water, but my friends saw them too. They would leap out of water from the wake of the boat and sail through the air, shimmering and gliding for about 20 feet before diving back down. It was indescribable how dreamlike it was, to see fish flying about above the water, with the craggy island in the back, the blue green cappuccino foam sea, and the roar and skip of the boat.

We arrived at Shikenijima and immediately found the first place to rent bicycles. We rode directly toward the beach and set up shop for the day. I didn’t see a single Brazilian anywhere. I was kind of sad, actually, to trade them for the touristy Japanese I know and love so well. No matter, I was in the shade, with my book in front of me, and sounds of a peaceful beach behind me.

Our campground was about ¼ mile from the beach, so we figured we would set up shop around sundown (this was not my idea, by the way, for I know it was certain disaster to try to set up any type of camp as the sun is going down). I was so content with my spot on the beach, though, that I could’ve slept the night no problem. Maybe the highball was messing with my judgment.

I enjoyed my SPAM/rice ball and peanut butter cookie lunch. It was quite delicious, actually. The SPAM coupled with the sea salt from my fingers was amazing, the rice was perfect, and the cookie was, far and away, the best peanut butter cookie I ever tasted. Thank you Sora café.

We rode around on the bikes for a while and visited the islands two of the three hot springs on the island. They were quite relieving. There is no better feeling that to be in a hot spring as the rain is falling ever so slightly, with the sound of the ocean in your ears. We saved the most famous of the three island hot springs for our night excursion, as the island pamphlet said it perfect for soaking and gazing at the stars.

Night began to fall and we still hadn’t set up our campsite. We rode quickly back toward the camp and found a sign declaring that the site was closed for August. We were flabbergasted, astonished, staggered. How could they close this place in the middle of tourist season? Not to mention the busiest holiday in Japan? Its like closing the Ritz-Carlton During Christmas…well maybe a bit different. I was not a happy camper.

We decided that we would wait till as late as possible to set up our tent. Surely the campground police would be asleep by midnight, and even if they kicked us out in the morning we could just go sleep on the beach. We went out to eat at a decent okinomiyaki (big Japanese omelet) restaurant. After we were full and happy, we stocked up on beer from a vending machine and headed toward the last, and most famous hot spring of the island. It was a treacherous walk down a paved, but steep, slope toward a tide pool at the bottom. All around us were signs of construction that the island was possibly trying to install lights around the area. All we had was our solitary flashlight, and my keychain light which I never leave home without. It was absurdly dark. There was no moon, no light from the city; the stars were almost as intense as in the desert of Arizona, almost. I wondered, many times, what the hell I was doing.

We arrived at the hot spring, which did look idyllic, but in the dark of the night had taken on an almost diabolical air. The water belched sulfuric steam in our faces, bubbling and frothing. The pools looked ghastly and forbidding under the tiny beam of the flash light. They were much different than the man made, paved pools we were used to. Plant and animal matter floated near the bottom. There was no way I was getting in. We layed around on the rocks for a while, enjoying the stars, breeze and ocean noise until we realized we were surrounded by massive insects. Rock crawlers the size of your thumb. Like undeveloped shrimp. That was the last straw. I high tailed it up the hill and back toward my bike.

We made our way back toward the campsite and tried to set up our gazebo/tent. At midnight. With a flash light. Setting up the tent was quite simple, except for one major flaw: somewhere between Niijima and our current location, one of the structure poles had broken. The pole lay in pieces, the bungee hanging loosely out of the end. We were screwed. We assembled the tent the best we could, with only 2 of the three supporting structures. It was actually quite sound, until the wind began to howl, and the rain began to fall.

I slept about 90 minutes that night. The wind would blast through the tent, smashing the roof down onto our bags. The tent would pop back up on its on, but it was no shelter. The misty rain would fall every hour for about 10 minutes. Just enough to wake you up and make you made. I got bit by at least 100 mosquitoes. The next day, my friend counted over 12 bites, just on each of my elbows. Not to mention to my legs. It was impossible to sleep.

I awoke with the sun, and tried to gather my wits. I was tired…no exhausted and angry. I wanted to be dry. I wanted a normal meal. I wanted to not be bitten by bugs. I remember waking up and saying “Fuck camping, fuck this tent, and fuck this fucking island.”

I laid out my last dry t shirt, last pair of sparkly clean socks and boxers. I was ready to change into my nicest clothes and hop on the slow boat home at 9 am that morning. I was pissed off to the fullest degree, but I was going to enjoy my last few hours of island time, change into some nice dry clothes and head home. I was a slightly happy camper.

I made my way to the hot spring for one last soak.

Then the rain began. Not the misty peaceful rain of the last few days, but a full on onslaught of monsoon/typhoon caliber death rain. The drops were massive. The winds was howling. I cycled/ran back for the tent and tried to salvage the last of my dry clothes and shoes into a plastic bag. I had made it just in time, only the top part of my folded t shirt was wet and my socks, boxers, and shoes were dry. I was still, supremely pissed, and for once, I was actually cold. I went back to the hot spring, with my water laden towel and soaked until the rain stopped.

As soon as the storm passed, I went back to the camp, changed, and packed up my belongings. I threw my sleeping bag away. I turned in my bike, walked to the port, and fell asleep on the cold linoleum floor. The boat came, I departed and didn’t look back. For once, I could care less to see the view of the islands as we departed. It was 9 am and I drank a beer and ate a hot cup of curry soup from the vending machine. I fell asleep in my assigned seat below the deck, dry and happy to have shelter. I was truly a happy camper.

The rest is history: I made it back to Tokyo, washed my clothes and took a shower. Everything was just dandy. Island time was over. I have plenty of camping experience (thanks Mom and Dad) and I knew what I was getting into beforehand. It was a fun trip, but it was far from a relaxing vacation on the beach. I ate some great food, met some awesome people, and saw things that few people will ever see. But, I will never go back to an island without a proper tent or a hotel reservation.

Island Time

Island Time

2)

Just to recap, my friends and I had “enjoyed” an overnight ferry to an island called Niijima. We were decked out with a tent of sorts, sleeping bags, sunscreen, boardshorts, and flip flops. We were going to camp, and spend most of the waking hours on the beach, in the sand.

When we arrived to Niijima, we were 3 of about 40 people getting off the boat. The port was still closed; it was about 8:00 in the morning. We walked around for a while, looking for a tourist information center. It was closed. We decided to utilize the next best source of information: a taxi driver. We jumped in his cab and asked him to drive us to the campground. He didn’t speak a word of English. Even his Japanese seemed bizarre. No information.

I didn’t feel much like a camper, that is, taking a taxi to camp ground, with a plastic shopping bag from Sports Authority full of sleeping bags. The ride was much longer than I expected. We arrived 10 minutes later.

Upon arriving, I remember wondering how we would depart when the time came. Did the taxis wait around near the campground? Was there a cab stand nearby? Was there a flare gun or something to hail this, surely, 1 of the 3 taxis inhabiting the island?

I couldn’t be bothered with such trivial worries…there was a campground to my back, and a beach with turquoise water to my front. It was time to have fun. We assembled our tent and surveyed our surroundings. People were just beginning to stir about, waking up from the night before. There were about 25 tents on a green slope coming down from the mountains. The site was quite idyllic, save the 100 other people we were sharing it with.

As soon as the tent was built, we began to argue about the location. It was great for protection from the rain, because it was on a hill, but it lacked any sort of shade. We wanted to move it next to the trees. As soon as we got near the trees, though, we were attacked by massive swarms of bugs, and considering our tent was wall-less, we figured it better to put up with the sun. We staked out our spot on the hill.

About this time, we began to notice the difference in equipment we had brought to shelter us from the elements. Surveying the area, we noticed that some people had some pretty serious set ups, tents with fold out patio type areas, chairs, lights, generators, boomboxes…I could go on and on. I noticed that many people seemed to have a sort of semi-permanent feel to there camp site. I got to thinking; if camping was free, what would stop a group of people from living here?

People were now beginning to notice our arrival. They looked at us from afar like we were crazy. I began to wonder what type of elements I would have to put up with when the time came to fall asleep and actually utilize our “shelter”. I tried to look as non threatening as possible, hoping for a friendly camper to offer his tent when the typhoon hit.

Just up the slope from us emerged a man from a tent. He looked like a short surfer version of Russell Crowe in Gladiator. I called up to him with a friendly “howdy” and he answered back…in English! Not that I was too surprised, he looked like an English speaker. But, in a country like Japan, and on an island like the one we were on, I figured, all bets are totally off. We got to talking (Age was his name) and I quickly fired off questions about our surroundings. He basically confirmed what I thought: the camping was hot, there were lots of bugs, food was far away, and the beach was paradise. I could have read his mind. He told us that he was headed into town to get some supplies, and to make way toward a beach that had good snorkeling. He said he would be happy to show us the way. We thanked him, and we were off.

As I was leaving the campground, I began to notice that there was something strangely homogenous about the majority of the campers. I couldn’t understand their language, but after 2 months in Japan, I was already used to the feeling. This was different though…they were speaking…something else. I looked around, slowly. Everyone was very dark brown. Everyone had tattoos. At first I figured that they had been surfing and camping a little too long. Then I thought maybe this was some type of hideout for fugitive Yakuza. It dawned on me: we were surrounded by Brazilians! Literally, surrounded on all sides by the semi permanent campsites and shanties (think: favela in paradise). I was just starting to get used to the curveballs of Japan when I noticed this fact, and realized that I still had much to learn, young grasshopper.

Let me make this clear, I was not unnerved by our neighbors, just stunned. I was so used to being surrounded by millions of Japanese at all times. If anyone, (besides Japanese people) I thought, the island would be over run by the British, they love to over run islands. I wonder how so many Brazilians had figured out to come to this one island, in the middle of no where. But, I actually knew exactly how.

The largest foreign population in Japan is, in fact, Brazilian. After WWII many Japanese fled to Brazil and started families, these families were Brazilian by birth, but Japanese by ethnicity. They eventually moved back to Japan and all, it seemed, decided to come to Niijima for vacation. Nonetheless, I was happy to share the space, and hoped that I could pick up a little Portuguese during our stay.

So, we left our dwelling with Age and headed toward town.

“How long is the walk?” I asked.

“About 30 or 40 minutes” said Age.

I was not, as we say, a happy camper. I didn’t think walking 40 minutes one way to get some food in the morning was a good way to spend my vacation. But, as it turned out the walk was quite enjoyable and I got to see many of the islands plants and flowers. I also got to experience the joy of being bitten by all of the day-bugs that inhabit the island. The walk also taught us a little about how the weather functioned. One minute, there would be the most face shattering rays of sun coming down upon me, literally steaming the wrinkles right out of my clothes. I thought my 14 years of Arizona sun had prepared me for a trip to Venus, but I was wrong. Coupled with the moisture, the sun was deadly. Within 3 or 4 minutes though, the clouds would blow in, block out the sun, and a light mist would fall, drenching everything with microscopic rain drops. The rain was serenely relieving. This pattern would repeat for the duration of our stay. I soon realized that I would be wet for the entirety of our camping experience, but hey, at least I wouldn’t have to shower (not like I planned on bathing anyway).

To make a long story short, we got to the town, ate some fruit from the “super”market, rented bikes, and rode to the highest point we could find on the island. We saw a snake, basically, the last creature you want to see when you are camping in a tent without walls. My friends were terrified, but to me he looked quite harmless. He was dark and long, and quite skinny, with a small mouth. All the characteristics of a constrictor. I am a snake expert, by the way, or so I told myself as I tried to fall asleep that night.

Riding down the island mountain, on a bicycle, with a light mist around me and the view of green trees and foamy turquoise water beneath me was amazing. I tried to capture the image in my mind to remember when I was inevitably pissed off at the island later in the trip.

We swam at the beach for a few hours, read books, and were generally quite content. Upon dusk, we went to the onsen (hot spring) which was on a high rock above the beach. It looked out over the ocean. As the hot water swirled around my sunburned body, the sun set in a mess of pink and grey, and the Portuguese banter filled my ears; for the first time since I landed in Tokyo, things were truly surreal. I was a happy camper.

We went to an “Italian” restaurant which was actually somebody’s house with a big table inside, and few plastic tables and chairs outside. The food was amazing. We had vegetable pasta (which included chicken and shrimp ha!), a nice “caesar” salad, and cold vegetable udon soup. I don’t if I was really hungry and sick of eating fruit or what…but this restaurant was delicious. I would go back to Niijima just to eat there again, maybe. One old, old man cooked all the food, and his wife served it. I aspire to have his life sometime in the near future (Kalin, you’re hired).

I tried my hardest to get drunk…I had to! I knew it would be the only way I could fall asleep in the heat, battling against the onslaught of bugs and partying Brazilians listening to 5 year old Top 40 hits. I drank heavily at the restaurant, and got a few beers from a vending machine on the way home. We stopped and had ice cream at the neighborhood hang out. Girls in high heels, under pounds of make up and tiny skirts reminded me that I was only 20 minutes from Tokyo by plane…but, we were at an ice cream stand. On an island. Once again…it was surreal.

We got back to the campground and I fell onto my sleeping bag. I whipped out the bug spray and quickly, but thoroughly, fumigated the gazebo/tent. The spray comes out of the can very cold, so it felt good to douse my sunburnt skin. I think the three of us were technically getting high off the stuff at one point…but it was all in the name of keeping bugs away. We hung our single flashlight from a hole in the top of the tent and retired to the sleeping bags. I read for about 3 minutes and was fast asleep, serenaded by the rhythm and blues of last years Beyonce album, thank you Brazil.

I awoke only a few times during the night, when the wind would whip through the tent, or when some bastard ant would bite my ankle which hung out of the sleeping bag and also out of the tent which I was too tall for. The sun woke me up for good at about 6 in the morning; the heat was already stifling. I sat up with a dry mouth and wondered how I could be so stupid as to buy beer for the tent, but not buy any water. No matter, there was a vending machine at the bottom of the hill. After all, we were still technically in Tokyo prefecture.

Stayed tuned for the third and final chapter of “Island Time”!

Island Time

A three part saga

1)

I was luckily given a week of vacation from the shoe factory. My first idea was to go visit a friend (also a shoemaker) in Sapporo in order to spend some time in cooler, drier weather. After it was clear that this plan was not going to materialize, I had to rethink my possibilities. All of Japan was at my fingertips, the shinkansen(bullet train) was calling for me and my wallet…

I found my next best option in the form of a tiny chain of island of the coast of the Izu peninsula. I figured, if I can’t get any cooler weather, I might as well go for some sand and sun and palm trees. I decided to trade pines for palms. The beach was calling me.

I made the journey down to Tokyo, in order to leave from the nearest, cheapest major port. I have a friend in Akabane who most generously let me stay at his house until the time came (I must give due credit: the island trip was his idea so we went together in addition to another friend). We stayed one night at his house.

The next day we booked our tickets over the phone and made our departure time for 11 pm. The islands all offer free campgrounds, so we decided it would be nice to get some real outdoor experience and camp. We had no gear, so we went off to the nearest sports shop in search of our home for the next two days. We stumbled upon a Sport’s Authority near to the station and ventured in. Upon walking in, we were first taken by a small shelter of sorts with a good price. It was no tent by any means; it was a sun shade for a day at the beach. We got to talking and decided it might be nice to have the moon and sea breeze on us while we sleep. It had a plastic floor and would keep our backs dry as we slept. The structure seemed sturdy, and it was about 1/3 of the price of a proper tent with walls and zipper doors and such. We had a winner.

Next, we needed beds. I found a pile of 999 yen sleeping bags. Easy choice. I didn’t need any cold weather protection, so I figured it would work just fine as a mosquito barrier. One flashlight, and we were done with gear hunting. We were only staying 2-3 days, so we didn’t need a stove or any thing else.

We headed off to Shibuya to play in the hustle and bustle of tourist Tokyo and went shopping for a while. We walked around the endless shopping of Tokyu Hands and looked at a few more camping gear stores. Everything was insanely expensive, of course. We decided we could tough it out, the great outdoors was what we wanted, and we wanted to full experience.

We headed down to the port area, about 20 minutes from Shibuya, and picked up our tickets. We noticed there seem to be substantially more people than normal walking around in Yukata, the traditional summer dress of Japan. There were thousands actually, brightly colored, with the melodic percussion of clacking wooden sandals on the concrete. Eventually, we found out there was a Tokyo bay cruise that gave a discount to anyone in traditional clothing. There were even a few foreigners in Yukatas, it looked like fun. Next time, I thought; the islands were no place for anything but boardshorts.

We ate dinner at an udon restaurant, where I had noodles with duck meatballs. It was delicious and hot. After, we were off for the port to board our ship with the anxious anticipation of the unknown.

Once aboard the boat, we noticed that there seemed to be a standard procedure for enjoying the ride. Most people went down to their assigned seat, dropped off their bags and headed quickly back up on the deck. The deck was full of people who spread out big plastic tarps and used the provided blankets to make a little beds and areas to play cards and socialize. I was dumbfounded. It seemed like the entire population of the boat wanted nothing to do with their seat, they all had staked their claim on some part of the deck and slept or drank beer as the Tokyo bay lights rolled by in the distance. I instantly wished that I had known about this option. This was not the first time on vacation that I would feel this way.

After drinking a few beers, socializing with the other foreigners, and enjoying the view of Tokyo float by, I decided to retire to my seat and get some shut eye. The cabin area was mostly empty, except for one person snoring so loudly that the roar of the engine seemed peaceful in comparison. After tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, I decided to try my hand at sleeping on the deck. I took my sleeping bag out and went out into the hallway, instead of in the wind on the upper deck. There were a few dozen others sleeping in the hallway so I figured, why not give it a shot. I laid out my bag, crawled inside and slept like a baby for about 4 hours, occasionally woken up by some teenagers laughing or a door slamming. The gentle rocking of the boat was quite enjoyable, and I felt somewhat refreshed when I woke up at about 5 am.

The boat had arrived at an island called Oshima, the largest and, from what we read, most touristy of all the islands. Our island, Niijima, was still an hour and a half away. I went up on deck to take some pictures. My camera lens, and glasses, instantly fogged with the moisture of the morning air. I felt like I was swimming through the morning fog it was so dense and heavy. The sunny was rising, casting the sky a dreary and cloudy grey. The air smelled thick like salt, diesel exhaust and spilled beer. There was no body else on the deck anymore, except a young boy who ran off when he saw me. I felt strangely like a pirate arriving on some distant island full of savages.

Our boat docked, unloaded its people and shipping containers and was roaring back to sea within 20 minutes. All around me were tiny, strangely shaped islands, too small for inhabitation. Some were nothing but large rocks with a few trees and grasses sprouting from the top. The water was an indescribable swirl of green and blue with the white foam from the wake of the boat looking like some type of sea water cappuccino. I wanted to dive in right there.

I went back below, bought a coffee and hot cup of soup from the vending machine and went upstairs to eat and enjoy the view. I could see dozens of islands float by, wondering which one was ours for enjoying. They all looked so inviting. As I slurped my noodles, the intercom announced we would be arriving in 20 minutes. My body was exhausted from the ride, but my mind was so excited I couldn’t be bothered with fatigue. We had a whole island to explore. I gathered my bags, found my friends and we were, thankfully, off the boat. It was 7:45 am. We were ready.

Conbini

The Japanese love convenience. This is a fact. Somewhere between the space age atm’s that will let you apply for a mortgage, the seventeen level shopping centers with ramen restaurants on each floor, the proliferation of the sushi-go-round, and a postal service that make a mockery of America’s, I started to notice it. This country is very convenient, but in a lot of ways, it makes no difference to me. I can’t read or speak Japanese, so often times things that could be convenient become very inconvenient.

The atm is a good example. I left my English cheat sheet at home one day, but I was out about town and needed cash. What am I to do? Ride my mama-chari all the way home? I think not, I walked straight over to that ATM and single handedly, single fingeredly, brought the entire bank to screeching halt. I had applied for loan, invested in rice futures, bought some credit default swaps and requested in $20,000 (dollars not yen), all without having even entered my pin yet. The lights in the bank dimmed, the staff was rioting, and the Japanese yen fell by a few points and sunk deeper into its global depression. In the end, I got my 20,000 yen I needed for the next two weeks, but it was a struggle. All because of the complex, yet extremely convenient (should you need it) atm.

Another system this brings to mind is the insanely complex system of train tickets. There are so many options, taking into consideration if you want a seat, if you want to stand, if you have luggage, if you have nothing, if you have children, a pet, or both, if you want to ride inside the train, or if you want to ride outside the train….I could go on. Finding your station and destination is not difficult using the massive maps that occupy the walls of the station. Often times they have English also. The problem arrives when you have to buy the ticket, from (surprise!) a machine that looks exactly like an atm. Usually these machines will even have an English feature, but as to what any of the English means…good luck. Do you want the super express, the super express limited, the express limited, the limited express, the express, or the ultra super express limited ticket? How something can be super and express, but still be limited is beyond me. Do you want a reserved or non reserved ticket? All of these options reflect in the price accordingly, so, if you know what you want or need, you can possibly save some money. I know I want to ride the train, and I know I want a seat, so usually I end up buying the most expensive ticket I can find. Often times a find myself on some strange car like the women’s only car that is serving pink champagne and has beds and allows dogs up to 300 pounds. Or I tighten my belt and buy the cheapest ticket which is on the smoking car with no seats and no air conditioning. For a 20 minute ride it makes no difference to me, for a 4 hour journey it makes a huge difference.

Occasionally, a convenience will come along that transcends the language barrier. Something that is so beautifully designed, it speaks to all, illiterate foreigners, and illiterate Japanese alike. I am talking about the convenience store, or in Japanese borrowing the “con-bini”. Every street has a conbini, and inside each conbini, you know exactly what you will find. Regardless of the name or brand, the products are virtually the same. The most popular in my town are, of course, the ubiquitous 7-Eleven, sunKus (circle K’s bastard child), family mart, and a few others.

They are not hard to find. Regardless of what time of day, there are no less than 1000 fluorescent lights on at all times, even in the middle of the day these things outshine the sun. They attract the needy like flies to sugar water. In many ways, these stores are a mirror image of their American brothers. You can get food, beverages, household items, cosmetics and magazines. But, comparing the two is like comparing the buffet at the Bellagio and the buffet at Golden Corral.

Still skeptical? I will explain: all convenience stores have food right? A typical meal from the American will be a hotdog, a bag of chips, a fountain drink and a donut. Not a bad meal, and, not to say I haven’t this on many a road trip. At the conbini you can get a fresh ham sandwich with the crust cut off, a nigiri ball of rice stuffed with sushi and coated with sesame seeds, a carton of pure grapefruit juice and a donut, of course. The difference is quality. The sandwiches are excellent, some have turkey, ham, curry, bbq chicken, egg salad, and other filings that I cannot describe. All with the crust cut off. Not that I like that sort of thing, it just shows the above and beyond attitude of the conbini. The nigiri sushi is amazing, no less that 25 varieties of rice balls, packed with fish or veggies or shrimp or eel. Usually for less the 150 yen. These are my go to item. We haven’t even touched the bento aisle yet. Boxes and boxes of fresh lunch meals, packages with care, usually including rice, meat and veggies, which you can eat cold or hot. All fresh, all seasonally accurate. I have never tasted a bento I didn’t like. I could go for hours about the food.

As far as drinks, the conbini has done away the “fountain” machine and instead amassed a variety of beverages that is astounding. I didn’t even know there were so many edible/potable liquids on this planet. Not only do they have juice, soda, tea, coffee, booze, energy drinks and other elixirs, but each type will come in no less than 4 sizes. One thing that still amazes me about Japan is the popularity of canned, cold coffee. It is sacrilegious, in my opinion. Not to mention, there are least 40 different varieties of this canned coffee, and they all taste EXACTLY the same. Sugary milk with a touch of coffee flavor and some type of concentrated caffeine. A typical conbini will have an entire floor to ceiling reach in refrigerator devoted to canned coffee. They also have cold, canned, English tea with milk, which is being English, quite delightful. Sugary milk with a touch of Ceylon is exactly what I expect from English tea.

The other type of drinkable liquid which we all know and love is alcohol. These stores cater to all drinkers. There are 5 oz cans of asahi and there are 33.8 oz cans. There are cans with sake and grapefruit juice. There are elixirs that I would never put near my face no matter how drunk I needed to be. There are juice boxes with pure sake. (I would love to see juice boxes with firewater in America, there would be public outrage. Liquor in a juice box! But, think of the children!). There are bottles of 20 year old scotch, jack daniels, champagne and Beefeater gin. There are gallon “milk” cartons filled with sake. A bum’s delight. All with out any type of security measures. In America, I could see a group of high school kids running in and stealing enough liquor to be drunk for a year. What you cannot buy is a 12 pack, or a 24 pack of anything. That is distinctly un-conbini in nature. The conbini caters only to the single serving.

The “single serving” is the essence of the conbini. You could stock you entire bathroom with tiny toiletries. You could eat three square meals a day, make three trips, and never spend more that 5 minutes in the conbini total. Think walk-in vending machine. Depending on your mission in life, the conbini could outfit you with whatever you need. Need a porno, a pack of cigarettes, a juice box of fire water and a box cutter? You got it. Need a razor, a box of hair dye, a package of fire crackers and a Red Bull? No problem. How about a canned coffee, a calling card, dog food, and access to a copy machine? Done.

There are even some 7 eleven’s with have taken on the prestigious name: “7&i Holdings”. These particular locations offer all the services of a major bank, a FedEx/Kinko’s, a bookie’s, and a fortune teller. You can invest in stock at a convenience store. I kid you not. Not to mention a juice box of sake and sandwich. It’s a beautiful thing I tell you.

The Japanese love convenience and I think the conbini is a manifestation of this in all sense of the word. Once inside, the choices are indeed complex and endless, but regardless of language, race or religion you will walk out a happy camper. You could go camping with supplies from a conbini come to think of it….

To be fair, I must now list the things that I miss about the American convenience store. Number one, far and away, is nachos and the glorious nacho cheese fountain and all you can stack jalapeños. I miss hot coffee from a real coffee machine. I miss being able to buy 5-10 people beer with only one item on my receipt. I miss grape Gatorade and 16 ounce Red Bull. I miss the sweaty hotdogs rolling peacefully back and forth. I miss ranch flavored sun flower seeds. I miss scratcher lotto tickets….oh how I miss the joy of scratchers…..

PS: to all my loyal fans (all 3 of you) please click on my ads so that I can afford to buy a new camera! As you can see, my pictures are sometimes quite bad. My camera is not adjusting to the humidity. If it cannot take a sharp picture in the football-stadium-esque lights of the conbini, it is time to retire her. Thank you for you support and patronage!!! Next week is o-bon vacation so I will have loads more stories for you coming soon. Peace!