In Okinawa w/ Miyavi - Meet, Greet, Walk, Eat

10:02pm - Arrival

Oh man, so much to tell!

After we got off the plane, we met everyone in the arrival lobby. I was the first one out since I didn't have any checked bags, and it was so funny; when I walked up to the staffer with the C.W.I.F. sign, she immediately said, "Upton Lindsay-san?"

Ha ha, yeah, I don't stand out at all!

After getting our badges, Rosie and I hovered together near the large fish tank dominating one side of the lobby. Everyone on the trip was wearing the same red lanyard, so it was clear who we were with, but, at first, no one was brave enough to come over and talk to us. I spent the time observing the Japanese fans. I noticed that most of the girls had already broken off into little groups. I wondered if they all knew each other already or were just fast at making friends. Everyone seemed pretty young, but at the same time, it was almost impossible for me to tell the difference between the 19 year old and the 26 year olds. I would guess that my own age of 23 was probably a good average. The styles everyone wore varied slightly, but it was safe to say that "punk" was the general theme. Some were cheap punk, cute punk, a little SexPot Revenge thrown in here and there, and even one girl with real taste, looking like she had Atelier Pier on under her buff leather jacket. Of course, there were some people in regular street clothes, like myself, but the Japanese ability to make a t-shirt look stylish meant everybody looked pretty good.

Eventually one of the girls ventured over, Polaroid camera in hand, and asked us for take a picture for a fan project. She explained that she would take our picture and we were supposed to write a note on it for Miyavi, ostensibly to give to him as a gift. Having given these instructions in hurried Japanese, clearly thinking we wouldn't understand anyway, she was really amazed when we not only understood what she had said, but were able to reply in kind. From around us, I heard a couple girls (who had been eavesdropping from a safe distance) exclaim in surprise. The foreigners could speak!

After we took our picture, we were suddenly surrounded by a little crowd of curious girls no longer worried about testing their high school English. I found several hands thrust unceremoniously toward me - sometimes without even following it up with an introduction! - like shaking our hand was enough of an experience all it's own. Clearly, they were fascinated by us. It was pretty cute and funny, and most of all made me feel much better about the upcoming days.

We all got on the tour bus after that. I was amused to see that we had assigned seats, but I suppose that made it easier for the tour guide to keep track of us. Of course Rosie and I were sitting together, luckily at the front of the bus. What a pleasant surprise it was to see the the tour packet left on our seats for us had been hand translated into English! It seems that the tour company had actually listened to my request (for a little linguistic assistance). More than that, after everyone had loaded onto the bus and the guide gave rapid directions in Japanese, she came over and knelt by our seats and explained in the best English she could what was going on. I appreciated it immensely. I did try and keep up with what was being said in Japanese, and Rosie was much better at understanding than I, but most of it was too fast paced and outside of my vocabulary.

(the girls, at the entrance of Kokusai Dori)

Our first stop on the tour was the main street of Naha, Kokusai Dori, International Street. I soon discovered that the only thing really international about this street was the international success of "tourist crap", which made up almost every store on the street that were not restaurants: "Come and buy this traditional Okinawan gift: a dancing toy robot cat! (Made in Taiwan)".

Yeah.

Sometimes I wonder and worry that I will one day make it to Egypt and standing right smack dab in front of the Sphynx will be a guy in a in a lean-to selling T-shirts that say "I climbed the pyramids to heaven and all I got was this stupid T-shirt."

...

Is nothing sacred anymore?

Anyway, I digress. Rosie and I attached ourselves to the group of girls that we had shaken hands with at the airport. Rosie knew at least one of them from the Japanese community site, mixi, a girl named Uchiko/Chika. She was an incredibly sweet girl, keeping pace with the two of us, making conversation, and always making sure we didn't get left behind.

After walking the length of the entire street, browsing our lunch choices, we finally decided on a cute-looking Japanese place with an appetizing (no sarcasm intended) display of wax food out front. On entering, I immediately felt as though I had fallen back a century, the entire room made of miles of dark wood typical of pre-WWII Japanese architecture (before fire bombs), complete with wooden cubbies for us to place our shoes before stepping onto the raised floor.

As an angry looking oba-chan (old lady) ushered us to a small nook toward the back, I observed an indoor window to one side, lined with old Japanese wine bottles, and covered by a curtain of dangling business cards browned with age. The small room we'd been led to was cute, small, and private, only with enough room for one table in the corner and our own long table toward the front, where we sat on floor cushions. Wether by truth or design, the entire place had a very authentic feel. This was somewhat amusingly juxtaposed by having colorful plastic menus thrust in our face.

Fortunately, choosing something to order wasn't very difficult this time. Okinawa is famous for goya, a Japanese vegetable that I love. It is long, green, spiked, and frightening, looking a bit like a poisonous cucumber. Rather suitable to its appearance, it is extremely bitter, making it (along with natto and ume-boshi) a difficult food for even some Japanese to eat. Cooked with pork and tofu, it is called goya-chanpluu, a speciality on our colorful plastic menus - and what I immediately ordered.

Another specialty of Okinawa was apparently pig. I say "pig" instead of "pork" because they don't just eat the meat, but ever part of the animal, as far as I could tell. When our food arrived, we each had our own little tray with about 5 things on it: main course, rice, soup, sweet tofu (desert), and and an indistinguishable brown curl of something in a bowl in the corner of each tray. I poked at the curl and tentatively tried a bite. It was not so tastey. I noticed that the other girls at my table gave it a look of distaste as well. I asked what it was. They said something in Japanese, and I only caught the first word. Rosie translated: "Pig ear." Eck.

After lunch we hurried back to bus after buying loads of omiyage for the office. On our way, I noticed a disturbing representation of Okinawa's speciality propped up on the sidewalk, no doubt as a tourist attraction: a decapitated pig's head on a stick. It was like a misplaced nightmare from "Lord of the Flies", a reference neither my Japanese nor Greek companions were able to appreciate. I wish I'd gotten a picture of it.