Friends from Home
We have been anticipating the arrival of our friends from California for many weeks. On Thursday night, Art, John and I take a taxi to the Naha airport to meet their 10:30 P.M. plane. Art stands along side the taxi drivers and tour guides, holding up a paper sign with the name “Shurman” printed on it. The Japanese L is a combination of an L & an R so the sign is meant to be a joke. They are too exhausted to appreciate the humor, but we are happy that they have arrived safely and I try to clam my excitement and remember that they are in a jet lagged and altered state. Just two months ago, I floated along the brightly lit airport corridors in a timeless dream state and I see the disoriented glaze in their eyes. They have taken our advice and packed lightly and we usher them to the elevator, up to the next level and across to the monorail station. Annya, their 12 year old daughter is flushed with a fever and I know that our touring itinerary will not be as I have planned. We glide in our monorail capsule, above a sleeping city, to the Shinotshin station. The modern station is adjacent to the D.F.S.mall, (duty free shops) and the hotel “Libre Gardens” is illuminated brightly just two blocks away. Art helps with the registration and we escort our friends to their 9th floor rooms on the.
I’m sure Michael is exhausted, but he is jazzed to be here and isn’t ready to end the day. After the “girls’ are tucked into their rooms; the four of us walk out onto the promenade to a familiar restaurant a few blocks away. We glide over glass floors with sand and sea shells recessed beneath the glass, curtained rooms on either side of the narrow hallway. We are seated in a partitioned room at a low table and Art orders a few small plates for us to share. We introduce Michael to awamori. It’s after 1:00 P.M when we are home in our own beds.
