Back to Zamami

Goodbye, but not for long...

Zamami is the kind of place that is only possible to leave willingly if plans to return have already been made. I considered my options: I could either book a ticket back for my upcoming Golden Week Vacation (Japanese Spring Break) and spend a little more money than would be financially responsible (taking two tropical island vacations in the span of three weeks), or I could revert to 4 year-old tactics where I go limp on the floor and force someone to drag my dead weight up the ferry ramp. Had I still been 29, I would have gone with option B and let the chips fall where they may, but you just can't get away with that kind of thing in your thirties, so I threw a credit card at my dilemma.

My friends at Akabana made room for me during the busy vacation week, after some initial confusion. As we were saying our goodbyes, I promised to come back next year and then three hours later I called and said "I'm coming back next week!" The staff at Akabana understandably thought I had confused the Japanese words for year and week and so it took several reiterations to make my intentions clear (In Japanese)
First: I'm coming back next week!
Second: From now, in 8 days, I will come back!
Third: I will come back on May 2nd 2009, this year, very soon!
When they finally understood my point there were some shrieks on the other end of the phone and then, "We are full next week, but don't worry, we will make room for you. Is it ok if you sleep in the staff room with us?"

Before I could get back to my island, I had to say goodbye to my Dad and Cheryl. I really enjoyed having them in town, and not just for the entertaining mishaps I mentioned before. I loved coming home to find my Dad sprawled out on my tiny Japanese floor chairs reading a book, or waking them up by frying onions and bacon, or having them tag along with me to my local haunts for drinks after work. During the weeks they were in town, I had it all: my adventure and family, the new and the familiar, it was my adult life with childhood subtitles. They were leaving Japan the day before I returned to Zamami, and the thought of the island kept me from getting too upset on the morning they left.

I walked them to the train station and directed them to the platform, but then had to run down the street to school and check in before I could go to work. I ran back to the train station hoping to get one more hug from my Dad, but as I passed through the ticket gate I saw my Dad's trademark shiny dome through the window of the train as the doors closed and it started towards the airport. The near miss brought on some tears, but luckily I had the next day's trip back to Zamami to look forward to and I got through my classes walking a tightrope between bummed and excited.

This was my first vacation on my own, and I found such benefits in traveling alone that I may never bring anyone on vacation with me again. In 8 days, I met so many new friends from all over Japan, whose friendships lead to both a boyfriend and a new career in a new city for my second year in Japan (more on those later). I knew I loved this island, and now it loved me back. The vacation also did wonders for my Japanese since I was the only English speaker for the majority of the time. Two bi-lingual guests crossed my path during the eight day trip, and needless to say I was happy to see them. Both Midori and Kumiko have turned into life-long friends and they will be my new roommates and coworkers in Osaka, starting in October.

Midori and Emma

Guess which one is me.

Me, Kumiko, Ota, Yukari

I spent my eight days snorkeling and sleeping on the beach by day, beach bonfires and bar hopping by night and all was right with the world with only one major catastrophe, when on the last night I left my camera somewhere on the island and can't even narrow down its location to under water or on dry land. The camera is easily replaced, but the real loss is a week's worth of pictures and video, including an underwater video of me swimming with an octopus while it was flashing different colors. Devastating.

Upon returning to Tokyo on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, I had the double blues to deal with. Dad's gone and vacation is over. I sent an email to all my new friends asking them to email me some of their pictures and what you see here is a sampling. If my camera ever finds its way back to me (and it might, it's Japan) I'll post the octopus video tout suite. Until then, scenes from the Kerama islands:

Home away from home, away from home

The greatest (and only) store on Zamami, the famous 105

Chami

My favorite Island

When my Dad came to Japan, I knew he wouldn't be Tokyo's biggest fan, as he hates cities in general, so logic would insist he would hate the world's biggest city most of all. After he managed not to go Godzilla after the first week of being dragged through the sea of humanity that is Tokyo, he was rewarded with a much better kind of sea, the turquoise sparkly kind.

The Kerama-retto is a group of islands about 40 kilometers West of Naha off the coast of Okinawa Honto in very very southern Japan. It's so far south that it just about fails to be recognizable as Japan in all but the ever present kanji, taunting me to do or buy something, if only I knew what. The food, language, and geography are a oddly reminiscent of parts of Taiwan, China, Mexico and Hawaii, creating a place that only a republican could hate.

First Glimpse of Zamami Village

Lately, I've taken off the training wheels, and rely more on advice from my Japanese friends than I do from Lonely Planet. It got me through some rough times, but I'm a resident now, and feel like a tool lugging it around and consulting it every time I get hungry. LP doesn't have a lot to say on the Keramas, and it makes for a nice quiet vacation with locals and accidental tourists like us, who got lucky and found paradise.

The Queen Zamami

On board the Queen Zamami, departing Naha

We took a one hour high speed ferry to Zamami Island, the happiest and friendliest of the Keramas (trust me), and made our way to a small guest house called Akabana (meaning red flower) that I read about on someone else's blog. It was a lucky find, since the people at Akabana, both staff and guests, have become life long friends who I keep in constant contact with and have seen lots of since.

Checking in, no idea what was in store for us!

Akabana's red clay tile roof

A row of colorful Shisas outside of Akabana

The first face to greet us was Ippei (pronounced ee-pay), who is a giant ham of a skinny Japanese guy. He is famous for his chicken dance, Osaka comedian impersonations and ear to ear grin. His English pretty much ends at welcome, but we hit it off just fine anyway, and he ended up being my first Japanese Kiss, awww.

Ippei and Me

His lovely partner in running Akabana is the insanely adorable Ako-chan. My Dad said it best when he described her as "a whole new kind of cute". Ako grew up in Hokkaido, the snowy, northern-most area of Japan, and hasn't been back since she came to Zamami as a tourist two years ago.

Ako-chan

Her English is beginner level, but she made immediate changes to her Japanese to accommodate my level, and we were able to communicate really well, using the -imas forms of the verbs and standard Japanese (text book style). Ippei, on the other hand, spoke with an Osaka Dialect, which is very different from Tokyo's, used lots of slang and colloquialisms, and didn't pity me with any reduction in speed. He and I communicated best through flirting, and managed to have conversations only when we were both good and drunk.

A few colorful locals and two guests, Miki and Ryo, both traveling alone, rounded out our family for the five day trip and were major contributing factors to Zamami Island's almost instant status as my favorite place on Earth. We spent about 15 minutes settling in, and were immediately ushered to Ippei's van for the sunset tour up on the Western cliffs of Zamami.



That night marked our introduction to Awamori, the distinctly Okinawan liquor known for being cheap, strong and the happiest of buzzes. We bought a big bottle along with some fruit juices for mixers and were puzzled by the looks of shock as we made rounds of cocktails for everyone around the picnic table that night. Turns out, Awamori is almost exclusively drunk with just ice and water, but the Japanese are far too polite to point out our ignorance and choked down drink after drink resulting in a pretty bad sugar induced death hangover the next day.

We beat the crowds to Okinawa by scheduling our trip two weeks before the beginning of the season, and the weather was quick to point out the difference a few days can make during Japan's volatile Spring season. The first day was a mix of clouds and sun, but I hadn't seen water that blue in years and my Dad lets nothing stand between him and a coral reef, so we braved the chilly water for hours until we couldn't take it anymore, and were rewarded with some awesome fish sightings.

Lion Fish!

Cheryl broke her internal thermostat somewhere in Costa Rica and is freezing at any temperature below 82, so spent most of her time searching for shells, resulting in exceptionally heavy luggage for her return trip. That night we met our old friend Awamori, this time on its terms and realized the error of our ways, never looking at fruit juice again. That evening the rain started, but we didn't care, building a fort of umbrellas at the outdoor table and doing what one does in Okinawa, which apparently is drink, talk, and wear wigs.

Miki, Ako, Ryo

Ippei, Me, Dad, Cheryl lookin' good

The next day was cloudy, cold, windy and rainy, but my Dad and I are nothing if not stubborn, so we rented full wet suits and headed for the reef. We only managed an hour or two before crying uncle and heading back to the house for a nap, but good snorkeling is good snorkeling and it was a great day despite everything.

In full wetsuit gear

That night something in the universe shifted. My Dad has held a lifelong contempt for karaoke. He refuses to even remain present in a bar during karaoke night and has been vocal about his disdain for amateur singing amplified at any level. As luck would have it, on this particular night, Dad and I got an early start on the Awamori at a second floor bar hidden above a dive shop, got into a good conversation and completely lost track of time, so were not present when the decision to go to karaoke was made. After the group searched for us for a while, they left a note and went without us, leaving us with no choice but to join them. Dad flinched upon entering the bar when he realized what was afoot, but eased at the news that it was all-you-can eat AND DRINK for 1000 yen (10 bucks). He braced himself for a night of torture but vowed to me that he would not sing and settled in at the table next to Cheryl. What Dad had not anticipated, however, was the ever present group harmony mandate that pervades Japan, and he was inundated by adorable faces begging him to sing until he broke down and agreed to a duet with Ippei. He had been at the table a mere 6 minutes when they broke him.

At my own peril, I give you the legendary duet of Aerosmith's 'Don't wanna miss a thing' that resulted. Ippei knew the tune, but couldn't read the English lyrics, so he mumbled incoherently except when singing the familiar chorus. Dad could read the English, but had no memory of the melody or rhythm of the song, and so went off on a intelligible but creative re-mix of his own.
Feast your ears:

The full crew (and one weird guy) outside of the karaoke bar

Things were very different in the atmosphere too it seems, because the next day we awoke to weather that seemed to belong to a different part of the world. It was hot and sunny and perfect, with the water showing off its full spectrum of blue and green, and a festival on the beach to make it all official.

Furuzamami Beach on the sunniest day

I met my giant purple fish friend that day. I caught him out of the corner of my eye and then stalked him for a least an hour. He was about 2 feet long and had amazing yellow fins and a beautiful labyrinth pattern on his skin.


A beach friend showed up out of nowhere and tapped me on the shoulder to hand me some fish food in the shape of a sausage. Until then the fish had been allusive, staying just out of my reach, but as soon as I was in possession of the fish stick, the tables turned and I went from chaser to chasee. Up close, from the dead-on perspective, this fish had a serious mouth full of teeth, and a weird hair-plugs looking mustache. He meant business too, taking half of the fish stick in one bite, prompting me to scream and abandon the other half while back pedaling and swallowing sea water.

Click the picture to get a close up of that 'stache!

Run Away!

I caught it all on video, including the audio of me screaming through my snorkel.

I loved Zamami so much, that I booked a return ticket before I got back to Tokyo, to arrive 10 days later for golden week vacation. It was a great decision, and you will see why in my next post, Zamami #2!

Updated Apartment Tour

I've got one month left in Chiba and there are lots of things I will miss about this place, not least of all, my adorable apartment. I've been promising an updated tour after furnishing it, and 11 months later, I proudly present my first Japanese apartment:

Papa John's visit: Part II

The next morning, on the way to the train station, I pointed out the cafe entrance that stumped me on my first day in Japan. I still remember that moment every time I walk by, and I've only been back since once, of course making my friend go in first. After we laughed about my embarrassing moment, Dad decided to make me feel better by upping the ante in the bakery next door. We had already had breakfast, but Japanese bakeries are fascinating places and we just wanted to breeze through and look at the selection. Dad spotted a platter on a pedestal stacked high with small domed shaped little brown cakes, about an inch in diameter. He asked me what they were, but I didn't know. I have since learned they are called dorayaki どらやき, brown sugar sponge cake with sweet bean paste in the middle. Dad wanted to try one, but didn't want to buy a dozen, so I asked the baker if it was ok to buy just one. He said yes and gestured to the stack using the word 'sample'. Unfortunately, he meant 'display' but before I could explain, my Dad had already snagged a cake and had discovered it was wax the hard way, with his teeth. We had a good laugh while the baker wrapped a real cake in paper behind the counter. I don't feel so bad about that cafe's sliding door now.

Cracking up after the wax cake incident

And now to try a real one...

After strolling around the shops in my neighborhood for a while, it was time to take them to the real Tokyo and introduce them to the neon charm I have come to love so much. We hopped around a few places that day: the palace grounds, Ginza and the Sony building, but of course they were mainly interested in the trains. After living here a while, you forget what really blew you away in the beginning, but having guests in tow really brings it all back.

First they were shocked by the sleeping on the trains. In the States, people doze on the trains from time to time, but here, it is full on, knocked-out, mouth open, draped over the stranger next to you, nap time. The Japanese are notoriously over-worked, and in many cases their commute is the only respite from the day. It's not uncommon at all to have someone fall asleep on you, and the upside is, it's OK if you use someone else's shoulder when you are knackered. Take a look:

They were also stunned by the immaculately shining subway entrances. I got used to those a while back, which I fear will contribute to the Michael Douglas in Falling Down style freak out I will inevitably suffer when I return to Philadelphia. Dad said sarcastically "Do they scrub them with toothbrushes every night?" Sign #47 I have been living in Japan too long: I didn't understand the sarcasm in his tone. It seemed like a completely reasonable thing to expect. Of course the subway stations should be pearly white, well lit and smell like soap.

Take note, Philly.

Once the sun went down we made our way to Shibuya, one of the two busiest and neoniest places in Tokyo. I purposefully exited at Hachiko crossing for the full effect. Dad and Cheryl had two days previous, been on an island in remote Indonesia where the only form of transportation was horse drawn cart. Now they stood before the busiest intersection in the biggest city in the world. Hachiko crossing must be seen to be believed. You line up with a few hundred other people heading in the same direction, meanwhile on the other side of the street a crowd with the same numbers is forming to face you. For a few brief seconds after the cars clear the intersection and before the little green man blinks the go signal, you stand in silence staring down the mob on the other side of the street, and then on cue, the masses move toward each other and somehow, unbelievably sift through each other without so much as a bumped shoulder. Dad said it reminded him of a scene from a civil war movie just before someone yells 'Charge!', and if you watch the video below, I think he draws a good comparison.

Dad and Cheryl in Shibuya, Tokyo

After a while wandering the madness, they were ready for a breather, so I took them to the smallest bar ever in the biggest city ever. One of my favorite places in Tokyo is a tiny little alley under the JR tracks next to Shibuya Station that has a row of about 40 tiny bars, all with the dimensions 7' by 7'. They are two story, with a narrow stair or ladder to the second floor which usually has one table and a window overlooking the tracks. The first floor consists of a bartender barricaded into a corner with some minimalistic cooking equipment and an arsenal of bottles. There are only 4 or 5 barstools, but on this particular night we managed to squeeze in about 10 people.

The drinks must have been good, because by the time we left, I had the email address of all the other patrons and my father had granted the bartender permission to marry me. One of our new friends climber halfway up the ladder to the second story and then held the camera awkwardly over his head into the corner to get a wide enough angle for this shot. Thanks Andrew!


What you see is quite literally the extent of the bar, the rest of the people were standing in the doorway, half in the street. And to think I once rejected business plans on the basis that 700 square feet was too small for a bar. These guys do it in 49. I salute you space planners.

Close-ups are your only option in this bar.

Papa John Delivers to Japan

Dad and Cheryl arrived on April 9th, first thing in the morning from a three month trek though Thailand and Indonesia. As I came up the escalators into the arrivals lobby, I saw that familiar shiny brown head peering at me over the rail. They were both well beyond tan and into indistinguishable race territory. I had been looking forward to this visit so much that once they arrived, I was totally flustered and couldn't find my way back to the train, and then put us on the loop going through the airport again rather than back towards my house. No harm done though, and about 20 minutes later we stepped onto the platform at Narita, one of my favorite places to bring visitors, especially for a first impression straight from the airport.


I had the makings of welcome cocktails in my backpack and we walked down the winding road towards Narita-San temple and the temple grounds that I love so much. Dad and Cheryl have some amazing luck as they arrived on the very day that the Cherry Blossoms were announced to be at their peak in Tokyo. In a country with little crime, everyday is a slow news day, and throughout March, roughly 10 minutes of the nightly news is dedicated to the arrival of the Cherry Blossom season. There are maps showing the zones of each type of tree, pictures of the blossoms in different areas, and interviews with people enjoying Hanami (getting drunk under the trees with their friends). The morning they arrived, they brought spring with them, and we had 70 degree weather, blue skies and pink and white pedals raining from the sky.



We fed the fish, had some mimosas under the blossoms, and then walked back into the town for Narita's specialty: grilled eel. At lunch, Dad and Cheryl heard me speaking Japanese for the first time, and I was doing pretty well, ordering the meal, making small talk with the owners, and asking if they could break an ichimon (around $100). When they said they could, my Dad, overly confident in my language ability told the shopkeeper about buying a beer in Indonesia. And the end of his story they both looked at me to translate and I nailed it (almost).
My dad wanted me to say that in Indonesia, if you buy one beer with a dollar, the shop won't have change and will ask you to pay with something smaller. (Dad was experiencing his first, but not last, bout of sticker shock in Japan)

For my Japanese friends, have a laugh at what I said:
おとうさんはいた：　インドに、もし　ビールいぽんを　かいる、まつりを　もてません。

I mixed up the word change 'otsuri' with the word for festival 'matsuri', thereby confidently stating that in Indonesia, if you buy a beer with a dollar, they don't have a festival. First the shopkeeper gave me the obligatory "Oh, is that so?" あ、そうですか, and then a moment later added 'festival?'. At that point I realized my mistake and all was clarified, but I realized what I was in for over the next three weeks. When I speak Japanese, I usually only tell a story or contribute to a conversation if I'm pretty sure I can communicate the point, but with Dad and Cheryl in town, I was constantly on call to translate whatever they felt like saying, and although it was great practice, there were a few times where I had to take some artistic license with what they said.

"Festival?"

After lunch, I showed them my apartment, changed for work, and was out the door to teach 5 classes. During the course of my evening, a small annoying headache during my Junior High class gradually turned into one of those headaches where you feel the need to physically hold your head together. I didn't have any tylenol with me, and while the Japanese painkillers taste wonderful (seriously, like cinnamon!) they do nothing for a headache, so by the time I walked in the door, I was nearly nauseous from the severity of the headache. I took two tylenol immediately, and was not looking forward to the 45 minutes it usually takes to kick in, when my Dad took my left hand and started applying pressure to the two points where your finger bones come together. In Indonesia, someone showed him this technique for pain after he injured himself jumping off a 20 meter (65 feet!) cliff into the sea. He learned it well, because after only a minute I could feel it backing off and after 4 minutes, there was no trace of a headache at all. I was my old cheery self and ready to introduce them to my favorite local dive, Daruma.

Daruma is really only worth going at all because of the owners, a husband and wife in their late 50s, who I am officially nominating for most adorable people in Japan. I told them about my Dad visiting week earlier, and they had been busy preparing by stocking up on spicy food, writing him name on the door to the kitchen, and practicing the pronunciation of Cheryl's name, which with its -ryl ending, is Japanese Kryptonite.

Snorkeling with a Japanese Leek

The locals liked him

The owner of a bar is called Masta (マスター) after the English word 'master'. Masta and Dad instantly formed a bond. Who doesn't like walking into a foreign bar and seeing your name written in permanent marker? I translated back and forth a bit, and when I was busy they communicated the way men do, pointing and grunting. They were old friends by the end of the night and before we left, Masta took out his electronic dictionary and when he found the appropriate word, he offered the dictionary to Dad and then repeatedly pointed back and forth between them with a big smile. I don't know what word he typed in Japanese, but the translation read "Deep Feeling"