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”!