Month: March 2007

Shuri-Ori Weaving

This weather pattern of rain one day and glorious sunshine the next is odd, but we are trying to use it to our advantage. When the sun is shining we make it a day of discovery and photography. When the weather is wet and cold, we stay close to home and work on our various projects.

I suggest that we visit a Shuri-Ori Kohbo (weaving school) that I have heard about. This weaving school is below Shuri Castle in the same general area as Chuzan, a shop selling fine kimono fabrics and antique items. (We discovered the Chuzan store last April and I want to treat my senses to a second visit.)

Art plans our attack and we walk to the monorail and purchase three all day ride passes. I adore the “metros” of Paris and the “tubes” of London, and I am adding the Monorail of Naha to my list of “favorites.” The skyline of Naha is not pretty but I am growing use to the juxtaposition of the old red tile roofed houses dwarfed by multistory concrete apartment buildings. The spider web of electrical and telecommunication wires are mind-boggling and all the buildings are in desperate need of a painting. Priorities here are very different from home. We step onto the futuristic monorail and glide above the rooftops. We gaze down upon rooftop gardens and laundry hanging out to dry. The day is so clear we can see the Pacific Ocean glistening in the distance. We get off at the Gibo Station and with map in hand navigate in the direction of the weaving school.

Hunger strikes and we stop into a “Soba” noodle restaurant along the way. The restaurant is quite busy and has a new twist. A ticket vending machine sits just inside the entrance and you choose your entrée and pay for it at the vending machine. A ticket is issued to you and you present this to the waitress who in turn delivers it to the cook. We sit at the counter to watch the action. Huge cauldrons of water boil for the soba noodles, cooks chop and woks sizzle. Our meals are delivered shortly; not memorable, but adequate and very cheap.

Art navigates us several blocks further on, down a very steep hairpin road, to the weaving school. Naha is densely populated; the homes and apartment buildings crammed closely together, but around any corner you may come upon an ancient tomb or an undeveloped lot overgrown into a jungle. Below the road to the weaving school and spanning a small gully is a beautiful dense tangle of trees and vines. Rows of apartment buildings are just the other side of this small canyon but the jungle between is so dense that it would be virtually impassible.

The weaving school is small and the teacher is obviously surprised to have foreign visitors, but after removing our shoes and slipping into the plastic house slippers provided, we are invited into the classroom. There are 16 looms arranged grid like in the studio. Most of them are actively occupied by students who do their best to ignore us while they continue to slide shuttle between warp and woof. Art is intent on learning all that he can about the various styles of weaving and he bombards the instructor with questions. She leaves the room and returns with a dozen rolls of silk unwrapping each carefully, almost reverently and explaining the various techniques. A Kimono requires 13 meters of fabric. An average of 1/3 of a meter can be woven each day. By my calculations, this means that it takes 40 days of nonstop weaving, to make the cloth for one kimono. It is no wonder the rolls of silks and cottons that I have admired cost many thousands of dollars. My request to take photographs is denied.

We climb back up to the main street with intentions of continuing onto the Chuzan Shop but John is antsy and BEGS to go home. Initially he was somewhat interested in the weaving studio, but we stayed for an hour and the unrolling of the many bolts of fabric was painfully boring to him. We tell him he may go home and he balks. He wants us all to go home together, but John is 14, has an all day monorail pass and is in one of the safest cities on this planet. We give him some yen, one of our cell phones and point him back in the direction of the monorail. Both Art and I think that finding his own way home will be a good experience for him. Art and I trudge uphill in the direction of Shuri Castle and the Chuzan Shop. Even my feet are beginning to tire, but I am immediately revitalized when we enter this beautiful kimono shop. Alone, I would have been too intimidated to enter, but with Art I feel comfortable and I browse for close to an hour. This established shop offers traditional Okinawan luxury goods to the sophisticated and well funded shopper. It feels more like a gallery than a shop and I wish that I could afford one of the noren (fabric door curtains) that they have on display. A simple hemp bingata noren is $1,000. There is one with a dragon that I rather like, and another with an elaborate dyed floral pattern that is $2,500. After placing our shoes in cubby holes along side of the carpeted stairway, we proceed up to the second floor. The second floor has rolled silks displayed in glass cabinets, antique furniture and pottery. The third floor is my favorite and is actually a working studio. Skylights light this work space and low work tables are set along the floor. There are glass containers with natural plants used to make the dyes, brushes and brain coral stamps. This gallery/shop makes a unique line of clothing with stampings from the coral. Strung above our heads and along the pitch of the roof are miles and miles of woven and bingata fabric. All is breathtaking and I leave with many photographs but wish that I could take home the hemp dragon noren.

We call John on his cell phone and he has just made it home. He tells us that he got off at the wrong monorail station and had to walk some distance home, but he is now plugged into a computer game and is very happy. We are tired, but with our all day monorail pass in hand we decide to stop first at the Ryubo Department store to shop for groceries in their basement gourmet market-delicatessen. All of the department stores have a floor devoted to gourmet take home food. The selection is overwhelming and we wheel our miniature cart along the aisles and taste samples. John loves “ebi fry” (large batter fried shrimp.) We pick up several of these to bring back to him as a “Peace Offering” for having deserted him this afternoon; or did he desert us? We taste and gather a different kind of shrimp, scallops and steamed vegetables, hop back onto the monorail and return to our apartment. We eat a gourmet T.V. dinner.

Tuesday

We took the ferry to Tokashiki Island yesterday and it was bright and sunny but today cats and dogs are falling from the skies. I walk down to the phone at our corner “Family Mart and make phone calls in the rain. I want sushi for breakfast and with umbrella in hand, walk briskly over to the fish market returning with two “bento boxes” of nigiri sushi. After breakfast, Art leaves to go to the “One or Eight Internet Café” to work on his web site. I spend the better part of the day absorbed in carving a “Lava Dragon Ring” around a delicious piece of Arizona Fire Agate. John is fascinated by the gemstones that we purchased at the Tucson Gem and Mineral show and he shuffles through the collection offering up some very good design suggestions. John busies himself with homework and plays internet games on the computer. By late afternoon my shoulders are aching and John is frustrated playing games without a “mouse.” He has Christmas money to spend, the rain has ceased and the two of us bicycle up to Shintoshin to the “Good Will” (an electronic store) to purchase a mouse. After his purchase we part ways, John returns home to hook up his new electronic gadget and I bicycle towards Kokusai Street. I have tried on several occasions to “shop” for gifts in this international shopping district and each time I have returned empty handed. Realize that I am traveling with two men who dislike the sort of stores that would interest most women. Realize also that when I am alone I cannot communicate more than minimally with the store keepers. Add to this, that I am not a good shopper to begin with.

I park my bicycle in a corner plaza across from the Mitsukoshi Department Store. I push open the glass doors of Mitsukoshi and am “greeted” with a cheerful and formal ”irashaimase.” (Please come in.) This greeting is called out to me in every department that I pass through. I would like to be invisible, but eyes follow my every move. My destination is the 6^th and 7^th floors, where traditional Japanese and Okinawa goods are for sale. I browse the lacquer ware and potteries displays and want to go into the Kimono gallery, just to admire the rolls of silk fabric, but I am intimidated and turn on my heels and escape back down the elevator, across the street and into the bustle of the Heiwa Dori arcade. I know my way around here and have my favorite shops. I am looking for two birthday gifts and a dragon noren. (A noren is the cloth curtain that hangs in many doorways.) Two hours later I still have not purchased anything and my cell phone rings. Art asks where I am and offers to come join me. 20 minutes later I spot him standing beside his bicycle, wearing his red helmet and waiting to cross the street. I am so very happy to see him and we retrace my steps back through the maze of arcades and tiny shops. I have been too timid to ask prices and unable to ask for different sizes and Art goes with me and is my translator. We score one of the two gifts I am searching for. (Mom, keep your eye out for a package!) I take him to a picturesque alley that I’ve discovered where a tiny Sanshin Izakaya is hidden. We ask questions about it and hope to return some evening to eat and drink and listen to the traditional music. We bicycle home in the dark and I cook a quick dinner for all of us before Art and John leave for Tuesday night Karate.

Tokashiki Island

Sunny weather is predicted today and we are going to Tokashiki Island but he skies are still grey when we board the 10:00 A.M. ferry. Our one way tickets are 1,470 yen each. We plan on returning this afternoon, but the regular return ferry leaves at 4:00 P.M. and I think we may want to return on the later and slightly more expensive 5:30 express ferry.

20 minutes out at sea, we see a gathering of 6 to 8 boats still in the water. These are the whale watching boats and our ferry slows and actually stops so we can watch the whale (or whales?) We are not as close or well positioned as the smaller chartered boats, but we see the whale spout, surface, dive, flip its tail and then resurface and lie on its back in the water and flap its flippers together a number of times. He is quite a show off! After his show is over another whale surfaces and spouts further out. It is very amazing to see these creatures and to know that these huge mammals are gliding beneath the waves. As we near Tokashiki Island we spot a pod of dolphins but they don’t pose for photographs and swim quickly by. John catches a glimpse a flying fish launching itself from the water and soaring through the air. (I personally didn’t witness this, but Art verifies the sighting and recalls the flying fish he saw as a boy living on Okinawa.)

The sun begins to break through the clouds just as we dock on Tokashiki. We catch a mini bus “taxi” to Aharen Beach. The price is 2.50 yen per person and 11 of us cram into the bus. This is my third trip to Tokashiki Island and to Aharen Beach. The bus takes us up a steep road cutting through the lush mountain vegetation, switching back and forth and then dropping back down on the other side, to Aharen Village and beach. I would guess Aharen Village has less than 1000 inhabitants. The village itself is an odd mixture of ancient wooden homes with traditional red tile roofs, hinpins, limestone and coral walls, interspersed between ugly modern 2 and 3 story concrete menchkus, (guest houses.) All the houses and menchkus are behind walls and often the ancient walls morph into cinderblock walls. The village is a mish mash of architecture and portable storage containers serve as out buildings, their ugly steel exterior contrasting with the beauty of the traditional island homes.

Our mini bus drops us at the end of the street. There are a handful of tiny shops and restaurants on this 2 block stretch of town. The pathway to the beach drops abruptly down from the small asphalt parking area and John, having been here twice before makes a beeline for the white crescent beach. I follow on John’s heels and flop down on the sand. John is already in the water wearing his snorkel and mask. The turquoise water is crystal clear and John swims out to take a look at this underwater world. Although the sun is out, it’s not one of those scorching beach days that make one want to cool off in the water. When John returns to shore he is shivering and his lips are blue. Last April we stayed here overnight and we prearranged a dive trip for Art and John. Wet suits were provided by the dive shop and I went along and snorkeled above them. John coaxes me to join him, but I balk. (I regret this decision in retrospect.) Art doesn’t want to go into the water without a wet suit, and I wonder where I will change into my swimsuit and worry about how cold it will be etc. Art and I stand on the beach and watch John swim further and further out and soon his snorkel is indiscernible from the snorkels of a dozen divers. We have neglected to tell John exactly how far out he is allowed to swim and I begin to panic. I assure myself that the ocean is calm and that there are other divers out with him but I had a terrible scare three years ago, snorkeling in the Galapagos Islands with John and Alisha. John disappeared from our group and was missing for over 20 minutes. I refused to believe the impossible but it was the most terrifying 20 minutes of my life. Gratefully, John was eventually spotted on the far side of the bay snorkeling with a young man from our ship. John had been with us one minute and then he was gone. His excuse was that the water was clearer away from the rocky ledge so he swam with his new friend to the distant side of the bay and with the sun low on the horizon; their snorkels were invisible to us.

Art waves and apparently catches John’s attention and I am greatly relieved to see a lone snorkel moving back towards shore. Back on land, John excitedly describes all the colorful fish, tells us that there is a lot of live coral, including table coral and that he saw some clown fish swimming inside anemones. John also reports that the divers have hooks and nets and that he thinks they are collecting abalone. We discover shortly that they are collecting the “Crown of Thorn” starfish, an invasive starfish that eats the coral. I take photos of their nets filled with the villain starfish. We take a long walk together along the sand and then up and along the road above, to take the perfect photo of this beautiful beach.

Our lunch options are limited and all the restaurants serve pretty much the same thing at the same price. We choose a restaurant with the half dozen cats lounging in the sun outside the door. Art orders me a Yasai Champuru, (Vegetable Stir Fry.) The vegetables are cooked with the virtually unavoidable spam chunks. I push the spam to the side of my plate and do my best to appreciate the flavoring it gives to my cabbage stir fry.

On our last visit to this island we stumbled into a magical spot just outside of the village in the edge of the Jungle. I named it the “Salamander Utaki” and I want to go there again. We walk away from the beach along narrow village streets towards the far left corner of the village. The village ends abruptly and there are fields and small private vegetable gardens here. One of these tiny gardens is fenced creatively using broken fishing poles tied together with wire and rope. Plastic bags and colorful paper are tied to the wire and flutter in the breeze keeping the crows away. A stream runs along side of the path and the ground is soggy and overgrown. I am certain that there are habu here, (a poisonous Okinawan snake) but equally certain that the habu don’t want to meet us any more than we do them, so we push through the high grass and duck under overhanging vines. The pathway enters the jungle and crosses over the stream. The jungle has all but taken over. I am surprised how this magical place has changed in less than a year.

The following excerpt is what I wrote about this spot in April of 2006: “John discovers several newts in the shallow water and as our eyes adjust to the dim light we see dozens of red bellied newts. We tread carefully as we walk further up the stream making certain not to step on any of these wonderful creatures. We are all delighted to have stumbled upon this enchanted spot. When we return back along the path towards the village a wizened old woman is now tending one of the tiny gardens. She is surprised to see foreigners but greets us warmly. She points to where we just came from and tells us that it is a spirit place. I understand because I just experienced the magic.”

Tonight we “Google” Ryukyu Salamander and we believe that these creatures are the Ryukyu Fire Bellied Newt, a member of the salamander family.

We have never visited Tokashiki beach, another popular snorkeling beach on the island. Art speaks with the woman who owns the private mini van and she agrees to take us there for $1,000 yen. Again John is in the water in an instant, and reports that the water is cloudy near the shoreline but that snorkeling is even better than at Aharen Beach. We walk together along the rocky shore for an hour. The rocks are slippery with mossy seaweed and I almost take a plunge. It’s nearing 5:00 P.M. and time to catch our express ferry back to Naha. It only takes 35 minutes to return, the sun sets a brilliant orange and we see another whale.

The Weekend

The overcast weather is conducive to nesting and I am content to work on waxes and catch up on writing. We allow John to sleep late but when he wakes, his cough and congestion are considerably worse and my focus for the day is to get him antibiotics for the sinus infection. The need to find doctor clouds my morning but Art is not so concerned and the logistics are not easy. John busies himself with scissors, poking ventilating holes in the plastic top of one of his beetle’s containers. I am startled from my waxes when John exclaims about the blood! The scissors have slipped and he has sliced his left forefinger deeply and almost completely around. I look at the clean but extremely deep slice and pale. My maternal inclination is to rush John to emergency and get the cut stitched together, but the cut is clean and blood is oozing not gushing. John holds a paper towel tightly over his finger while Art hurries out to get bandages and disinfectant. (I have the remembered to bring Neosporin from home.) The next several hours are spent alternatively checking on John’s finger, the color of his nasal mucus and making phone calls to find out where best to take him, should we deem it actually necessary to go to either emergency or to a doctor over the weekend. The afternoon slips slowly by and we do nothing. John complains little and I return to work. Sometime later, I hear a raspy sound and look up to see John sawing wooden chopsticks with a serrated knife. His intention is to cut splints to immobilize his already wounded finger. I ask him, none too gently, if he wants to slice open another finger today? Art bicycles up to Shintoshin to escape it all.

With so many things going wrong today, I am happy when Art calls later on and suggests that we meet him in Shintoshin for dinner? John and I are out of our apartment in a flash, walking the ¾ miles to meet him. When we connect, Art asks if I have any cash? I have very little. This actually frees us and we search for a restaurant that will accept credit cards. It’s a Saturday night, we are in a very fashionable district and there are many inviting restaurants. We choose an upscale Izakaya and are seated at the counter, their only available seats. We are happy to be watching the preparation of the exotic entrées and Art does his best to order us many unusual dishes. The service is first class and the waiter kneels to be at our level when he takes our orders. The décor is ambient, a mixture of contemporary with traditional. Even John has a memorable evening. The three of us eat and drink to our hearts content and the bill is less than $75.00 for us all, including tax and tip.

Sunday: John is still under the weather, and his finger is not yet throbbing with infection. His wish is to sleep in so Art and I bicycle together to Starbucks and relax into another Starbuck Sunday. Several hours vanish as I write an article on shopping in Naha, for Okinawa.com. We return back to our apartment, read, write and check the weather for Monday. Sunshine is predicted for Monday. Our plans are to take the ferry to Tokashiki Island, Monday morning.

Sayonara Dragons!

It’s a cloudy Friday morning and with my body is sore from our hike to Hiji falls, I’m happy to have a day at home. Art dresses in a suit, takes one of our laptop computers and goes to the “One or Eight Internet Café” to work on http://www.okinawa.com. I spend the morning finishing my Soaring Dragon Ear Cuff wax. John has never fully recovered from the cold we all had last month and this morning he complains that his throat is sore and he sniffles and coughs as he lazes in front of the television. I nag him to read his novel for school, but he resists and I get lost in the concentration of my work and let him be.

The cupboards are bare and I break to ride my bicycle up to the market in Shintoshin. I take John’s empty backpack so that I can carry home the groceries. I buy a large bottle of vitamin water for John and two tiny concentrated bottles of a vitamin C cocktail. These tiny vitamin drink bottles are a novelty to me and there are dozens of varieties to choose from. Deciphering the Kanji labels would be impossible for me but the “1350 mg C” stands out clearly from the kanji and I place them in my tiny shopping cart. The vitamin water is a great idea and I wish we had this at home. The large 2 liter bottle contains 4,000 mg of vitamin C. It’s a slightly sweet citrus flavored drink, but not as intensely sugared as soda. I buy all that I think I can fit into John’s backpack, including 6 eggs and peddle home. The eggs make it home unbroken.

It’s now late Friday afternoon and I have been agonizing over shipping my three original dragon waxes to my casters back in the U.S. I have considered carrying them home with me, but that will not allow time for casting and for the stones to be set before my summer shows begin. Scheduling aside I am equally worried about carrying home “all my dragon eggs in one basket” so to speak. (I think this journal entry has an egg theme to it.) I carefully remove the gemstones from the dragons and package each of the three dragon waxes in small zip lock bags and tuck the tiny bags gently into a soft nest of shredded plastic bags accumulated from marketing . I place the “nest box” inside a larger box, also padded with recycled plastic bags and carefully fill out the mailing label. I place my treasured dragons inside John’s backpack and bicycle off to the post office. It is misting lightly and as I peddle, I worry that the package will get lost, or that the waxes will break, or melt. This tape plays over and over in my head and I am anxious and emotional when I arrive at the post office. Unlike our post office at home on a Friday afternoon, there is no one in line. I was here two days ago gathering forms and asking questions and two women recognize me and motion me to the counter. They look my form over and frown in confusion when they come to the content declaration on my form. I have printed neatly, “4 original wax sculptures.” (John’s wax carving of his beetle Frack is also enclosed in the package.) Wisely, I have brought along my cell phone and I dial Art and ask him to explain what is inside the box. I also tell him I would like to insure it for $500; not that $500 would compensate me in any way for all the time invested, but I think the insurance might give the package some special care. I haven’t sealed the package and John’s wax is separate from my dragons and easily accessible. I show the women the beetle wax. She asks if it is a candle? Art speaks with the clerks for several minutes and then hangs up. They take my forms over to a supervisor and the three of them talk for some time, and then make copies of the forms. I watch this all anxiously. One of the women returns and points to my phone and I dial Art again. She looks very puzzled throughout this second conversation. I need to call Art a third time and he is exasperated with the whole situation and is short with me. The gist is that t is too complicated to insure the package and that it will take a week to 10 days to get there. Art suggests that I wait until Monday and ask Narumi to help me mail the package. I feel tears welling up in my eyes and struggle not to cry. I know that the addresses are correct, that the box is well packed. With hand signals I tell them to go ahead and mail the package without insurance. I am reasonably certain that the package will arrive safely, but to be unable to communicate and be completely dependent upon others to do things for me diminishes me to tears and I cry as I bicycle home.

Art is home when I unlock the door and it’s pretty obvious that I am upset. John is feeling worse and is reading his novel quietly. I sit down to my work table and try to focus on a new project. Art breaks the silence with light humor, suggesting that he take his “miserable” wife and son someplace bright and cheery for dinner. It’s drizzling lightly and we catch a taxi to the D.F.S. Mall and glide up the sleek escalator to the stylish Galleria Food Court. Our intent is to sit outside on the covered patio, but there is a private party going on and we are not on the guest list. John inhales his hamburger and is anxious to leave, but we ply him with dessert while Art and I eat leisurely and share a small flask of awamori. The 4 inch ceramic flask of awamori is presented on a tray beside two glass tumblers, bottled water and an ice bucket. Art clinks ice into our glasses, adds the awamori, mixes it with bottled water and stirs. A few sips into the icy cold drink and I feel much happier.

Gambate to Hiji Falls

I wake up before the 7:00 A.M. alarm in anticipation of our drive to Hiji Falls. Takaki has another day off and has offered to take us to the falls and to Hedo point, the most northern point of Okinawa. It’s heavily overcast and I check the weather report via Art’s http://www.okinawa.com site. We won’t see blue sky anytime soon, but rain isn’t predicted until tonight. Takaki drives Highway 58 North following the coastline and I gaze out the window at the Onna Coast on a steely grey day. We drove this route two weeks ago on a bright sunny day and the water was an intoxicating turquoise and the white sand was blinding. Today the ocean is a deep indigo blue. Engineered seawalls define the contour of the island delineating land from water. The Highway winds along the edge of the seawall. Very little coast line remains natural. Cement breakwaters shelter the “designed” beaches and at one prime spot our lane of traffic is stopped while land moving vehicles groan across traffic to add to the coastal land fill upon which another resort hotel will be erected. As we near Nago, sea stacks become more plentiful, dotting the offshore coastline. These whimsical mushroomed shaped island rock formations are crowned with lush tropical foliage. I e-mailed my father, Dr. John Crowell, a renowned geologist, to ask how these formations were created. Here is his explanation verbatim: “Sea stacks, in Okinawa, Oregon, or at many other places on Earth, are almost always due to a combination of sea-level changes over an interval of time along a coast with bedrock that is fairly resistant to wave erosion, but can still be eroded away. The stacks are most conspicuous where relative sea level stays level for a time and waves eat away at the coast, and resistant parts between bays are left standing high, and less resistant parts are worn away. Most of Japan and the Ryukyu chain are geologically young volcanic rocks — at some places easily eroded and at others more resistant so they remain as stacks. In general the stacks along the Oregon coast are made of much older rock and very much more complicated in their history than the Japanese stacks. Geologists these days are interested in whether the changes in sea level are primarily the result of climate change or tectonics (including volcanism) or the lowering of sea level because water is tied up in polar ice caps, lowering the world-wide sea level, or the rise and fall of the crust through tectonics.”

We stop for lunch just before the turn inland for Hiji Falls. We are in the Yanbaru district far north of the Motobu Peninsula, in a sparsely populated part of the island. It’s a bit before noon and we have the cavernous restaurant and huge gift shop to ourselves. From where I sit I can see into the kitchen and the cooks are busily preparing dozens of Teishokus. A teishoku is a meal “set.” and in addition to the entrée it usually includes miso soup, rice and a small plate of pickled vegetables or salad. I expect to see tour buses pull into the vast parking lot at any moment. Shortly after we are served two dozen elderly men appear out of nowhere and their teishokus are delivered to them quickly. Why are there are no buses in the parking lot?

We drive to the trail head and park for our hike to Hiji Falls. Entrance to the park is 200 Yen each and I expect an easy hike. A wooden boardwalk leads to the falls and we begin our hike. I am fueled from lunch and even on this grey day, the jungle is beautiful. Ferns and moss carpet the ground under a low canopy of trees. Vine tendrils drip down and strangler vines cut patters into the trees. I am trying to paint a picture, but know very little about plants. The route follows the river and we climb up and then drop down and then climb up some more. The wooden stairways have handrails and become steeper and steeper. I feel exhilarated each time I reach the top of a long flight of steps, only to be deflated when I see that the stairs descend down on the other side, and then back up again! I take more photos than usual as an excuse to catch my breath. There are many young hikers on the trail and one returning group cheers us on with the popular phrase “Gambate!” Gambate means to “strive on.” It is a positive phrase of encouragement and becomes my hiking mantra. John is the first to arrive at the falls but I am not far behind taking photos of him and Takaki as they leap and scramble onto large boulders beneath the falls. Three young men in slacks sit on another large bolder and take photos of the waterfall with their cell phones. I take photos of them. It has taken us just short of an hour to hike here and I am having a wonderful afternoon, but the falls are not spectacular. (Keep in mind that I am a California gal, the daughter of a geologist, and have hiked to waterfalls around the world.) The hike itself and the surrounding jungle has been the reward. After 20 minutes resting at the base of the falls we start our return trip and make it back to the car in less than 30 minutes. My legs feel like Jello as I settle into the back seat of Takaki’s mini van.

Takaki drives us further North to Hedo Point. Although Takaki had never hiked to Hiji falls, he has been to Hedo Point on many occasions. He waits patiently in his van while the three of us walk out to the windy point and take photos. The volcanic rocks protrude sharply through varieties of low growing succulent plants. John and I wonder where the marine iguanas are? This particular terrain looks remarkably like parts of the Galapagos Islands.

Art wants to drive to Aha on our return route. Aha is a remote village on the Northern Pacific side of Okinawa. He has read that there are still homes with thatched roofs in this village. Takaki returns via the Pacific side of the island and John and I fall asleep in the back seat of the car. The road is a bit like the less traveled coastal sections along Highway 1 along the California coast where the road twists and turns but the miles add up slowly. We eventually arrive in Aha and it is a small, unattractive and nondescript town set beside a river with cement river embankments. Takaki dutifully asks where the thatched roofed houses are and receives blank stares. We park and climb up an old stone pathway lined with ancient stone and coral walls to the park high on the hill. (I am not happy to be climbing anything more at this point today; but I certainly don’t want to be left behind.) There is very little that is charming about Aha except for the ancient walls and pathways; but Art and Takaki inquire several more times about the existence of the thatched roof houses. We find that we are 30 years too late.

Dusk is falling and Takaki drives us back towards Naha. We have covered less than 120 miles round trip from Naha to Hedo and back, but every mile has been a long one between the traffic and the winding coastal roads. Okinawa is only 70 miles long from top to bottom, a distance that we could cover in an hour on our U.S. freeways. At 7:30 P.M. we pull into a simple restaurant for dinner. We each order a basic “Teishoku” and the bill is 3,300 yen for the four of us. ($28.00) During dinner I learn that Takaki has an early morning plane to catch to mainland Japan. I am sure Takaki is exhausted, but he graciously drives us home.

Nakamura House & Seifa Utaki

It’s another grey day and I expect to be homebound all day but when I return from making morning phone calls Art tells me that Takaaki is stopping by. I am elated! He suggests lunch at a Mexican Restaurant near the Mihama American Village, outside of U.S.M.C. Camp Foster. The enchilada I eat is a welcome break from the Okinawan cuisine, but it’s a far cry from great Mexican food available to us in Santa Cruz. We go to a travel agency nearby to check on Island packages to Kume Island and Ishigaki Island. There is an American Book shop next door and Art is able to buy several reference books. This shopping center is near Camp Foster and caters to Americans.

It’s a 20 minute drive to the Nakamura House, a well preserved example of a wealthy farmer’s residence and a government designated culture asset. Construction of this house began in 1720. The house is surrounded by a stone wall. A huge horizontally placed stone slab sits just inside the stone gateway. This slab is called a Hinpun, or Spirit Wall. It is believed that the Hinpun will prevent evil spirits from entering into the house. We have seen smaller spirit walls behind the gateways of some of the remaining old houses, both in town and on the islands. The present roof of the Nakamura House is traditional Okinawan red tile, but generations before it was thatched. We walk through the lush garden surrounding the house and then remove our shoes and step up onto the smooth wooden planked floors of the veranda that encircle the entire house. There are 8 rooms in the main house. With the exception of a large gathering and dining room all of the floors are covered with tatami mats. Shojo screens work as partitions between the rooms and can be slid open wide to create communal space, or closed for privacy. The kitchen area is off to one side of the house, at ground level, with a dirt floor and a hearth for cooking. There is a small loft above the kitchen where the servants most likely slept. Stone pens for the pigs are directly behind the kitchen. The Takakura, or raised store house is one of the few remaining examples of this style of food storage building. We spend an hour wandering the house and the grounds and then drink complimentary tea in the gift shop while John feeds the Koi fish in the pond outside. The Koi fish literally beach themselves in desperate attempts to get at the pellets he throws.

Although it’s after 4:00 P.M, Art and Takaaki concur that we drive south to the district of Chinen and visit the Se-fa Utaki, declared by UNESCO as one of 9 World Heritage Sites on Okinawa. The Se-fa Utaki is the sacred ground of the creator goddess Amamikyo and I am told that we will see Kudaha Island from this Utaki. It’s after 5:00 P.M. when we arrive and the light is fading. We walk up the clearly designated pathway towards the Utaki. There are other late visitors to this site, but the walk is lovely and serene. There are three different prayer sites in this Utaki but the most impressive of the three is the Sangui where a massive wall of stone has broken and slipped apart to form a triangular opening where, when the sun is just right, light will enter this open corridor and illuminate this sacred place. This sacred spot was a ceremonial place used by the high priestess of the Ryukyo Kingdom to pass on the title of Kikoe Ogimi to the future kings. On this cloudy day there are no rays of afternoon sunlight to illuminate and bring magic to this spot, but it is impressive nevertheless. A group of future tour guides are being briefed on the history of this place, and as Art asks them questions, I step up to the opening that faces out to the sea and take pictures of Kudaha Island. My photos are less than impressive, but I am happy to have visited this sacred spot.

Takaaki drives us back to Naha in the dark and suggests a simple Chinese Restaurant for dinner. He has just heard about a small place, has never eaten there before, but the food is supposedly delicious. It is a ½ block off of Kokusai Street. Without Takaaki, I would not have been brave enough to walk into this tiny, dingy, hole in the wall restaurant with seating for less than a dozen people. There is nothing charming about this place, except that it has no charm; which in itself is the delight! There are 4 tables for two set along the wall, and we take up two of the tables. The counter seats 4 or 5 and faces the kitchen where the owner, a smiley eyed, Chinese man with his hair tied back in a bandana; cooks over a gas flamed stove. The one large table up front is occupied with 6 men dining and drinking. They look up and stare when we enter. Takaaki orders for us. Woks spit and sizzle and within minute’s plates of food are set before us. There is no waitress, but one young woman sits at the bar and when our plates of food are set on the counter before her, the “cook/owner” motions for her to deliver it to our tables. There is barely room to turn around in this restaurant and it takes me a few minutes to realize that she is just another customer who has been called into action and is graciously delivering our many shared dishes to our tables. The food is quite good; the chili shrimp is excellent and we inhale all that is set before us. Cold Lemongrass tea is poured generously. Art pays the 3,300 Yen check ( $28.00) for the 4 of us. Takaaki drives us home but not before warning us that we shouldn’t go into this area after midnight because it is a dangerous place to be late at night.

Okinawa’s Imperfect Weather

Island fever is settling in on John and me. I want the grey skies, rain and winds to go away. We arrived on Okinawa in early February and the weather was so consistently glorious that I hoped for the occasional cloudy or drizzly day to decompress. We seem to have now entered a new weather pattern for March and rain is predicted to continue for the next week.

My last journal entry was Sunday, a gloriously sunny day spent inside at a Karate and Kobudo exhibition. Late Sunday night as I drift in and out of sleep, I hear rain pelting the balcony outside our bedroom door. It is rhythmical and comforting and I sleep especially well.

On Monday morning the storm subsides but the perpetual drizzle continues and I walk alone down to the fish market for fresh sashimi. My umbrella catches a gust of wind and turns itself inside out. I return with sashimi and the skeleton of a broken umbrella. Art leaves for the day to meet with Byron who is well know in Okinawa as a Gaijin practitioner of the Sanshin. The son of an American Marine, Byron lived on Okinawa during high school and continued his fascination with Okinawa receiving his master’s degree in Okinawan culture. Byron has a Ryukyu Style video project that he hopes to promote. Art and Byron want their liaison to be mutually beneficial and hope that serendipity happens. John and I spend the day warm and cozy in our tiny apartment and I carve waxes while John does homework.

It is now Tuesday and another grey and wet day unfolds. John is completely bored and homesick. John is an athletic, gregarious 14 year old and has been relatively content to be with just his parents up until this point; but after one month in Okinawa he is missing his friends intently.

Art’s has his morning kanji lesson with Narumi and leaves in the afternoon with Byron to go to the Visitors Bureau to promote Okinawa.com. I work on a new dragon ear cuff wax design, but the day hangs heavily on John and to his credit he pulls a chair up beside me and works on his own wax project. He designs a Salamander Ring asking me endless questions to the point of my distraction; but he is making the ring for me and he wants to every detail to be perfect. John has done wax projects before but today he is more focused than ever before.

Art has been disciplined in going to Karate class every Tuesday and Thursday night since we arrived on Okinawa but John has been resisting. Last Thursday we insisted that John go with Art and tonight we tell John again that he has no choice in the matter. They bicycle off to the Makishi Dojo together, leaving me alone to catch up on this blog.

Karate & Kobudo Exhibition

Art has been given two tickets to the Karate & Kobudo Exhibition this afternoon so that is the focus of our day. Art will be participating in the exhibition as part of the Makishi Dojo.

It’s a beautiful Sunny Sunday and I wake before Art and John. Of course I always wake before John since at 14 he would happily sleep until mid afternoon. I work on the computer adding a few items to my http://www.martymagic.com web page enjoying the quiet of the morning. When Art wakes, in keeping with our Sunday morning tradition we bicycle to Starbucks but we are pressed for time.

Buzzed on caffeine, we take a taxi to the Budokan (Martial Arts Hall) over by Naha Port. The Budokan is an immense structure consisting of two main exhibition halls and many practice rooms. I would describe the exterior architecture as “Contemporary Bizarre.” The building is constructed of cement with a curved roof topped by zigzag skylights and rooftop copulas.’ The inside of the hall is large and very functional. John and I arrive early and get seats front and center. There is tiered seating along both sides of the hall as well. I expected to be bored with the exhibition, but I have been “assigned” to take photographs and I look at the participants in a new light. Having never done “sports” photography I find myself very challenged. 28 demonstrations are on the program representing about 18 organizations. The exhibition opens with close to 1000 participants entering the hall. Two thirds of the participants are children and I am immediately captivated by their innocence and their discipline. Groups form, lines morph and katas are preformed in unison. The youngest participants are 4 and 5 years old and some wave to their parents but almost all perform their katas proudly and powerfully. Speeches follow and then each Dojo performs a demonstration. Artistically I am fascinated with the formations and the synchronizations of the presentations. The starched white gis snap and kiai’s are yelled. (A Gi is the loose white cotton clothing worn when participating in this martial art.) (A Kiai is the yell that comes from the belly when the power of a thrust is focused down into pure energy.) Midways into the program the Makishi Dojo enter. John picks his Papa out before I do and I focus my camera in on Art and take photo after photo of the dojo’s brief but proficient demonstration. Art performs well and John is surprised by this and admittedly proud of his father. The afternoon has evaporated and it’s after 3:00 P.M. Unlike our sports stadiums there are no food concessions and my blood sugar is at a low, but the exhibitions keep getting better and I forget my hunger. Several of the final exhibitions are utterly amaze me. I watch boards and sticks of wood splinter with a single blow of the hand. Stacks of curved roof tiles are smashed by the blow of an elbow and then the Kobudo Exhibiton begins.

Karate means “Empty Hand” and Kobudo means “Ancient weapon.” Centuries ago when the Japanese Samurai were in power the Okinawans were not allowed to own weapons. In an effort to arm themselves, the martial art forms of Karate and Kobudo evolved. Farm implements were not outlawed so the peasants turned simple sticks, boat paddles and rice thrashers into implements of weapons. Several Dojos’ demonstrate impressive Kobudo Katas but the grand finale are three female “Ninja’s” performing a choreographed fight. Their legs twist and turn over head, they tumble and twist and defy gravity in an exhibition that awes the audience. Its 4:30 before the exhibition ends and I feel drained. We walk out into a beautiful afternoon of slanted sunlight and catch the monorail to the Shintoshin district to eat dinner. Our destination is a restaurant beside the Tsutaya Book Store. This slightly upscale restaurant offers an after 5:00 P.M. half price sushi menu. Our timing is perfect and after removing our shoes we glide along a glass floored corridor and are seated in our own private curtained room. We decompress and feast on sushi in our private room. The bill for the three of us including drinks is $3,300. Yen. (Less than $30.00 including tax and tip.)

More photos of the Karate Kobudo Exhibition can be viewed in the Okinawa.com Photo Gallery.

Shopping at Ryu Bo & Strolling Kokusai Street by Night

We awake to grey skies and light rain so it’s a good day to stay inside and carve waxes. Art takes off to an internet café for some time alone and to work on his web site. It’s Saturday and John lounges and watches Japanese T.V. I design a Mermaid and Wave ring around a piece of iridescent green Arizona Fire Agate. The premise to one of the television programs is a competition to see who can build the sturdiest stool without using any nails or glue? A dozen different competitors saw, wedge and pound together identical stools of wood. (This isn’t a 14 year old boy’s idea of exciting television and his running commentary is far better than the show and keeps me amused as I work.) After the stools are completed 4 VERY large men come upon stage, each taking a stool and climbing onto a “shaking platform” where they sit on the stools while the platform undulates back and forth. Most of the stools collapse and these “Sumo” men thud down upon the platform amidst the pieces of wood from the broken stools. This process of testing the stools is repeated several times over until only one stool remains unbroken. There is an enthusiastic round of applause and a winner is declared.

By 4:30 P.M. my shoulders and back ache and I quit work. I want to go to Ryu Bo Department Store but it’s still drizzling so we catch a taxi. Taxis are very reasonable. The starting meter rate is 4.50 Yen for the first 1.8 kilometers and about 170 yen for each additional kilometer. Tipping is not expected. We are dropped off at Ryu Bo and walk through the glass doors into a fashionable retail bubble. On the ground floor is the cosmetic and costume jewelry section and I inhale the aromas of expensive perfumes and beauty products guaranteed to make anyone look younger and more beautiful. We glide up the escalators up to the 8^th floor. Ryu Bo is the largest department store in Naha and I just want to browse. I have always been much more impressed by the retail displays in Japan and Okinawa than even in the finest shops back in the United States. Japanese packaging is an art in itself. Art wanders off to the book section but John stays with me. We peruse the baby clothes section with Molly in mind, but the price tags deter me. I buy several cards in the stationary sections and John plays an arcade game or two.

We reconnect with Art and walk outside and down Kokusai Street. Its dusk and the stores on this tourist street will be open late. The street is bustling with pedestrians enjoying the bright lights and the warm evening. In spite of the rain earlier, the temperature is in the mid 70’s and we stroll without sweaters or jackets. As in any tourist district, the restaurants on the main drag are overpriced and over hyped but half a block down a side street I spot a small establishment and peek through the lighted door. It looks charming and I would love to eat here, but it is not our habit to go into the first restaurant that we come to. We usually wander aimlessly for at least an hour until we are all so hungry and grumpy that anything will do. I paused three seconds too long in the doorway and the owner comes outside to invite us into his restaurant. There is a long bar overlooking the kitchen area where cast iron pans are sizzling over gas flames. There are only 4 Japanese style tables and three western style tables set along the other side. A wall is lined with bottles of awamori and the walls are papered with calligraphied celebrity autographs We are seated at a Japanese style table and the “Mamasan” is pleasant and helpful in taking our order. The food is simple Okinawan style, Okinawan soba, champuru, fish and pork. Art orders 5 plates for us to share and a small flask of awamori for the two of us. The décor is charming, the service fast, the food good and the prices reasonable. We wait less than 10 minutes for our table, but by the time we leave there is a crowd waiting outside for tables. I pick up a card as we leave and Art translates the name of this restaurant to beYunangi. The phone number is 098-867-3765.

We stroll leisurely down Kokusai street enjoying the warm night, the bright lights and being together.