Japan 2010: 7 - Where I Clean Blood off the Walls

I knew today it was important to get up and conscious quickly. At 10.30am, my plane to Kagoshima would take off and I had to be on it, or all my future stopoffs would be up the spout. Once I was back on the mainland I could relax, but at this point it was most important to get some sleep. However, long before that I was given a shock.

My world was shaken awake in the middle of the night. There was someone at the door of my room, banging and calling my name. Bleary-eyed, I looked at the alarm clock. It was 3.30am. Barely having the wherewithal to check that I wasn't about to be mugged, I opened the door. The bright light of the landing forced me to lower my gaze; first I saw his legs, and then his body, and finally John's face. His blood-covered face. Barely able to stand, John was stood before me with a confused and horrified expression, looking as if he had been through hell.

Once my brain had caught onto the situation, I helped get him up the steps into the communal room and found him a tissue. The building was empty and quiet, but it was clear John had been here before. Bloodied hand-marks decorated the walls, with splashes of congealed blood here and there on the floor also. It was concentrated in the communal bathroom, where the mirror, walls, toilet - and bizarrely, the pot plant - were all covered in it.

John recounted his evening. After we had parted company, he had decided that the beer needed to flow a little more and so had headed back out to Kokusai. Finding a pub, he had made friends with a couple of Americans and a woman who was a girlfriend of one of them. Things went well - he had even taken pictures of them all larking about - until John received a consolatory hug from the girlfriend after telling her of his girl dumping him. This apparently triggered a jealous twinge in one of the guys, and the resulting beating was particularly one-sided.

Me, John and Aoi (who I had woken up to help sort things out) sat on the steps outside as he recited his story, and a lot more besides. We sat and talked for a while, mostly to try and stop John who was now convinced he was going to leave Okinawa and go back home, from letting this incident spoil his holiday. Eventually, we managed to persuade him to clean himself up a bit and then head to bed, while we got with whatever cleaning materials we could find and started the process of cleaning his blood from off the walls, both inside the hostel and out. At about 5 am, we staggered back to our rooms and tried to sleep.

My already jittery nerves were jangled still more a little later when I thought I heard giggling coming from the street below through waves of sleep, but I was too comatose to put two and two together at the time. I should have gone and had a look.

In the morning, I checked on John, who was sprawled out asleep on his bed. I gathered my things together (which thankfully was 90% packed from the night before) and headed out for a drink from the machine on the street.

Except my shoes had gone.

I had left the shoes under a little rack in the stairwell on 4F just outside my room the night before. Now they had gone. I ran downstairs to 3F. The gate was ajar. John must have staggered through it and not locked it behind him. Then I remembered the voices. My mind rushed to take a stab of the last night's activities - maybe the gits had followed John back to the Sora house, seen my shoes and decided to nick them, thinking they were his. They could be anywhere.

It was all speculation, but I ran barefoot down the steps and out into the street in my nightclothes. The road outside was a picture of quiet; a pedestrian gave me a funny look and a cyclist sped past. And then there was the gently flowing canal that split the road. I looked in vain but I knew that if they had been thrown in there, they would be several hours downstream by now, and there was no way I could retrieve them.

Nori-san was calmly watering the plants on the steps as I returned. I gaspingly explained my situation, and her eyes lit up. 'I saw a shoe next to the bikes', she said. I hurried back down to where the bikes were, and sure enough, one of my shoes was there between them. But where was the other? The bikes were down a dark and narrow dead-end passageway, with a ledge that overlooked a cramped space between it and the next building. There was little hope that I could retrieve anything if it had been thrown down there. I descended to the ground floor and squeezed myself as much as I could into the dark, dirty passage, and peered into the gloom. Nothing.

With a single shoe in my hand, I trudged back upstairs, considering the possibilities of either racing barefoot (or even worse, in those bloody sandals) around Naha to try and find a shoe shop that sold westerner-sized shoes, or hop the rest of the way. I decided to take one final look around the bikes, but there was nothing, so I headed back up the steps. As I turned in the stairwell, something caught my eye. There was a ledge connected to the next building that overhung where the bikes were, and there was something on it. I raced back down, and when stood on tiptoes could just see it - the other shoe.

A certain amount of balancing later and I was just able to reach it while stood on the balcony. Breathing a massive sigh of relief I headed back up to my room, with my shoes firmly in hand. Japanese etiquette could go hang for the moment, these were coming inside with me.

I got washed and dressed, and headed to the communal area. It was about 8.30am, and no-one was up yet, save for Nori-san. I took her to one side and explained the situation as best I could about the blood she might find here and there, John's bruised and battered face, and the possibility of some nicked or vandalised stuff (although shoes excepted, I couldn't find any). Nori-san thanked us for trying to sort it out and bade me farewell. I called in on John, who had by now reduced his sleep to a catnap. We said our goodbyes, and I waved to Aoi on the way out, and asked her to keep an eye on John while I was gone. And with that, I was.

One more small surprise was in store. I waited quietly for the 9am opening of the nearby post office so I could get out some folding for the next stage of the journey, but when I entered my card and tried to remove 20,000 yen, it said I had been refused! In a clammy sweat I tried again with 10,000 yen and thankfully it allowed it. But why had it refused 20,000? Had my account been hijacked? Did I only have 10,000 yen funds left? Had it been emptied thanks to a hacker responsible for my weird Ueno experience? My already jumpy mind was coming to all sorts of nonsensical conclusions, but time was tight and I had little time to do anything about it. There was a plane to catch.

The final few hours of my time in Okinawa had given my mind a lot to think about as I stared out of the window to the beautiful scene I had called home for the past four days. There was no doubt that my experience had been poisoned by the little bastards who had a go at John, but I had also been to many interesting and beautiful places, met lots of lovely people, and I had even semi-acclimatised to the temperature. I can say now that I am home that I really want to return to Okinawa some day, but at the time my feelings were certainly mixed, and my nerves were jangling.

I sat in the same tourist café I had visited on the way in, watching the planes in the same seat as before. I downed a not particularly healthy or breakfasty bacon pizza as I waited, and then lugged the now considerably heavier backpack to the departures lounge. I headed through the security and got on the plane in a rather melancholy trance, not knowing quite what to think of things, and that's how I stayed on the whole flight back.

I arrived at Kagoshima airport just before noon. Coming out of the air-conditioned airport and into the open air, it was refreshingly several degrees cooler. I waited patiently in line for a Limousine bus which for 1200yen took me to Kagoshima Station in about an hour. It took the expressway round the coast and through several miles of hilly woodland before it fell away to reveal the outskirts of the city. I had chosen a hotel close to the rail station specifically to make the next leg to Nobeoka easier (as it was quite a long trip), but there was still the streetcar system to navigate.

Kagoshima is sometimes called 'the Naples of the Orient', which when you see it's remarkably continental-themed city streets, temperate weather and beautiful sea views, you can understand why. The massive and imposing train station is several stories of modern-looking featureless panelling with a cinema, shops and a ferris wheel tacked on for good measure, but move away from it and you are greeted with pleasantly decorated shops and houses, and streetcars (160yen per ride, flat rate) that seem to float along on grassed lawns. It was all very pleasant to ride through, once on the bus, and then again on the tram as it turned out I stayed on the bus one stop too many.

Hotel Review: Hotel & Residence Nanshukan (5000 yen/night, 1 night)

Hidden down a backstreet behind a Buddhist temple, this place is pretty well tucked away from view off the main tram road. The hotel was recently refurbished, and the rooms were very spacious for a Japanese hotel. The staff spoke some English and were very helpful. I spent a very comfortable and luxurious night here in a large bed with silken sheets, and got a free nibble from some Doctor Fish in the lobby in the morning! I would happily stay again. 9/10

I took a lucky guess at the road I needed to head down, every other one seemed to be one of the covered market types often seen in Japanese cities. I dropped off my things and after a rest and a look at the city map, headed out west towards the intriguing forested hills behind the city known as Shiroyama Park. I chose this not just because of it's imposing presence above the city, or it's ideal spot for getting some good pictures of both the city, the coast, and Sakurajima bathed in sea fog in the distance, but because it was last on a snaking route around the roads leading up to it. Starting up the road, I passed a couple of silver statues debating politics and under a giant stone Torii bestriding the wide road. Just beyond a set of koi ponds sunk into the pavement was the Kagoshima Prefectural Museum, which sounded worth a look. It was an old building, kitted out some years ago with various stuffed animals and models in the natural history vein, as well as a few live specimens in tanks. The place was split over three floors, each brimming with excitable kids on a school trip, running up and down the stairs in small groups with little clipboards. I sidled up to the reception desk, slightly unsure if I was over the age limit for visitors, but was instead greeted with some enthusiasm by the ladies at the counter, who seemed happy that a foreigner had come to visit them.

Reflecting back the happy, I smiled and gave them a bow before turning and beginning my exploration. The lower floor housed little more than a few tanks of overly-large fish, but the second floor was quite interesting, giving a history (in Japanese only, unfortunately) of the wildlife in that part of Japan, although the polar bear did look a bit out of place, especially when it was stood over a sea turtle and was being occasionally poked, prodded and hugged by curious children.

The third floor was dedicated to a movie theatre and reading room, and I had arrived about 30 seconds too late for the former, so I took a look in the latter. Quiet and empty compared to the rooms below, the room had generous windows allowing you to look out on the city.

On my way out I was collared by the women again, who plopped a small plastic sachet into my hand - it was a free sample of volcanic dust from Sakurajima's rather angry outburst in 2009. I thanked them and, deftly avoiding tripping over a curious child right behind me, went on my way.

The town map had mentioned a archaeological museum somewhere, but after wandering into the nearby MBC building - what seemed to be the closest match to the spot on the map - I was helpfully accompanied by a woman who seemed sure she knew what I was looking for quite a few blocks away. I ended up at an art museum, and not wanting to cause offence, I thanked her and let her go back to her reception desk. Not particularly wishing to double back and try my hand again at finding it, I headed round the rather large building and took a look inside. The rather grand insides comprised a small free exhibition on the ground floor, and signs to something rather larger up the grand central staircase. Heading upwards, the sections to both the left and right were bustling with young, fashionable types cooing at various pictures on the walls, something I could see from beyond the ticket desk. Feeling a little out of place, I decided to decline, and after using their super-squidgy leather sofa to recheck my position, I left.

The map was being less than accurate. The upcoming castle ruins turned out to be a library (only the castle walls remained) and after scaling them to see what was on the other side (thanks to some out-of-place metal steps) I found myself underwhelmed at a massive grey featureless building containing - from what I could tell - a pre-Meiji exhibit of some sorts. Shame it was closed.

Not having much luck, I exited the generous grounds of the building across a bridge spanning a dried-up moat that must have protected the castle from intruders. Now it sat rather overgrown and in need of some repair. I sighed at the busy road beyond, and decided that Shiroyama Park - the final intended stop - would have to be next. By good fortune, the park had it's northernmost entrance just up from the bridge, headed by the memorial to the retainers of the Satsuma kingdom, whose castle had burned down some time ago.


The noise of the cars quickly subsided as the steep and ancient-looking pathway snaked it's way through the trees. Branches hung low above my head, many of which covered with large cobwebs and spiders that were best left alone. As the pathway straightened and levelled out, it became clear it would be a picturesque but long walk, especially when the map hoved into view, that showed the main path as a rather indecisive snake making it's way with apathy to the summit.

Once I reached the top, having been shown up by several elderly gents jogging their way up as I wheezed and sweated in their wake, the sun was getting low in the sky. This was slightly worrying as any trail down would be steep and done in the semi-dark. However, it did mean that the view of the city would be pretty great.

As I arrived at the viewing platform - an open circle of land covered by a dense tree canopy with a section cut out to see the mountain in the distance - I was greeted by a trio of elderly gents, who might have been waiting for me to arrive as at least one of them had passed me sometime earlier. In friendly but slightly mischievous spirits, they offered to take my picture against the mountain backdrop, but after several attempts fiddling with the settings, got little more than a silhouette. I thanked them and they seemed satisfied with their work, and I took a couple more pics of the rather smoggy city and the mountain beyond once they had gone on their way.

The day was coming to an end and at 5pm the light was quickly disappearing. A cat was stretching out on the warm top of the drinks machine as I got myself a soda. After a quick look at the summit of the hill - a sizeable clearing in the trees that must house several gatherings in the year but unfortunately not today - I headed down the pathway at the other side, a journey that looked much more like it was the one tourists would head up, because it was lined with a selection of souvenir shops, each equipped with an elderly lady who gave a smile as I passed, as they were putting their wares away and shutting up shop for another day.

I quickened my pace slightly with the encroaching evening. At the end of the line of shops was a bus terminal, and it was not immediately clear whether another one would be due at this time, having found myself at the mercy of early stopping times in Okinawa. I decided to ignore the buses and carried on down what appeared to be the walking route, which became increasingly like a tatty and unkempt backwater track as I headed further down to city level. However it did manage to keep itself from becoming impassible long enough for me to make it to the bottom, and by good fortune I emerged out at the giant Torii I had seen on the way in.

After tickling the koi in the pond for a while, I heard my stomach rumble, so I retraced my steps along the route I had taken while being guided by the woman from the MBC building, as I had noticed on the way a Tempura bar over the road. I waved to the MBC woman walking home from her day at work and she gave a cheery wave back, and then I was there. The bar was small and inconspicuous aside from the little sign on the road outside, and sat comfortably next to an even smaller Italian restaurant, in case I lost my nerve. I wasn't given the opportunity. A bald man opened the door as I stood indecisive outside and invited me in. His English wasn't perfect, but he was able to make me feel I couldn't refuse, and the Italian wouldn't open anyway for another hour.

I was the first customer of the night. The man (who was the owner) seemed a little busy once I had got sat down at the long horseshoe-shaped table that comprised half of the ground floor. His head was cocked to one side, holding a phone to his shoulder, seemingly clinching a deal for a batch of fresh ingredients. After a degree of hurried conversation about where I had come from and where I was going, interspersed by more phone calls, he apologised and motioned to what seemed to be his head chef, who was asked to give me the works. With that he disappeared upstairs to more conversations.

A refreshing bit of Oolong tea was accompanied by some strange starters. Some looked like slugs, which I quietly sidled under the plate, and others looked like snails, which I had a go with and were actually quite nice. A bowl of miso soup with mushrooms (nice), a side salad with radishes in sauce (less nice), and then the tempura started coming. Rather than receiving it all at once, the chef unloaded it to the plate as it came out of the pan, so it was hot and fresh. There were all sorts of battered things passed to me; scallops, green beans, cuttlefish (knobbly, chewy meaty stuff), cod, pineapple (odd but very nice), melons, eggplant and a few others.

The boss returned a little later to see me surrounded with plates, trying to keep up with the chef who was fortunately coming to the end of his tempura burst. Seemingly finished with his buying and selling, we talked more at leisure (over a free sherbet ice cream!) about my experiences both this time (I neglected to mention the morning's activities) and my previous trip, and he told me of his passions to expand his restaurant empire, which currently comprises two in Kagoshima and another up in Fukuoka.

Pleasantly full, I left just as the place was starting to get busy. A group of tired-looking older men who had probably just finished a hard day at the office came in and greeted the boss warmly, before heading upstairs to what I assume was a more cosy atmosphere reserved for the regulars. It was 8pm, and now almost completely dark. Although it was still early, the day had taken it's toll on me, and I wanted for little more than bed. I strolled back towards the hotel in the evening air, and after sending an email to John to see how he was, went off to bed.

Japan 2010: 6 - Where I Swim Under a Motorway

A high priority during my planned stay on the island was to have a go at scuba diving. I have never had anything close to the experience, further than diving underwater in my local swimming pool. Okinawa has a good deal of diving sites for both novices and experts, and on my entry to the island I picked up a couple of English leaflets, including a 'best 100 dive sites'. I had decided that day 3 would be the one to have a go.

Thing was, I had slept quite soundly, and was not in a thoughtful enough mind the night before to set any alarm. The I had however learned how to use the air conditioner over the door, and had basked in lovely cool air, something that my tired body felt reluctant to leave. As soon as I opened a window or door, the oven-warm air of the outside assaulted my senses.

I made it to the communal area about 10.30am. Aside from Nori-san, who was doing some paperwork behind the desk, the place was empty - everyone else had gone off doing their things at a non-lazy hour. She asked what I was doing today. 'I want to do some Scuba diving', I said. 'I've never done any before.'. Nori-san looked unimpressed at my apparent lack of enthusiasm. 'You are too late,' she said. 'You need to give at least 24 hours notice.'. I stood, deflated, but Nori-san leapt up with an idea. She got onto the phone and rang a friend of hers. A friend that gave Scuba lessons, who did half-day trips to the nearby shoreline.

Any excitement died down quickly enough as I heard forlorn-sounding voices in the conversation. 'Too late, sorry.', she said.

Never mind, I had an alternative strategy. I also wanted to catch a ferry and visit one of the nearby islands. The nearest one was Kume-jima, which from the look of my map, would have taken an hour or two to get to.

'Too late', repeated Nori-san as I explained plan B. There was apparently only two ferries to and from Kume-jima, and I had missed the first one. If I took the second one, then unless I was a very good swimmer, I'd be staying there for the night, which was not possible, given that I had to be at Naha airport the next morning ready for the flight to Kagoshima.

I thanked Nori-san for ruining my plans and trudged back to my room, trying to think of an adequate 'plan C' that didn't involve sitting on my arse all day. This was not that sort of holiday and I had taken a bloody long while to get there - I could sit on my arse all I wanted when I got back home.

After some time studying the map it became clear that any nearby attractions yet to discover were quite far away from each other. Unfortunately many of them had also been built a while away from the monorail route, meaning it would be difficult to see many of them if I relied on that. Then I remembered the bikes.

When I first heaved myself and my backpacks up the flights of stairs, the 3F landing I passed was home to a trio of black bikes, each with 'SORA' painted on their mudguards. Perhaps plan C could be a cycle tour of Naha. It fell criminally short of the things I had hoped to do, but it was something.

500 yen later and I had the bike for the day. Equipped with a long, curled up bike lock and key to go through the wheel, I emptied my small backpack of most things to accommodate drinks bottles and any souvenirs I felt powerless to ignore along the way. I bade Nori-san farewell and heaved my steed down to the ground floor.

After heading to the Family Mart just up the road to get some breakfast, the first stop was Tomari Wharf where my ferry had left. A small park with trees to shade under provided a picknicky spot to stuff my face with, and a few pigeons joined me, eventually giving up on the possibility of tidbits and sitting down in the long grass to kip in the sun. Filled up, I took what route I could between the bollards and cars down the bustling port road, something which may not have been allowed on a cycle, but I pushed my luck and managed to reach the waters' edge. I stopped there briefly as one of the ferries came in.

Exiting round the back streets, I decided that my ultimate aim was to reach the Manko Wetlands Centre some miles to the south. Given how much day I still had, that was easily achievable, and I should be able to stop at a few places on the way. As a general rule, I decided to stay as close to the shoreline as possible until I hit the estuary, and then follow the river inwards and I'd be pretty much there.

It was a pleasant enough trip around the back streets, although the overbearing buildings either side did not offer much in terms of view in some places, and it was hardly Blackpool promenade - the design of the shoreline roads kept travellers away from the coastline most of the time. Forced into a backstreet around a residential area, I decided to stop briefly at a rare point where I could see the sea, although this was marred by the general scruffiness of the area, and the huge overpass that loomed down above me. As I supped a drink, grateful at least for the shade the overpass gave, a man with a huge bagful of tin cans comically perched on a bicycle wheeled over and stopped a couple hundred feet away, got off and started working his way through the thousand or so cans, crushing them ready for recycling. I headed on through residential parks, the coast so hidden that it was instead more interesting to look in on the lives of the average Okinawan. Flats and houses with modest gardens, a primary school with the kids out playing sports, a few people walking their dogs or jogging, or cycling like me. It was all quite pleasant.

Eventually the residential area stopped an I hit a main road, revealing a large amount of roadworks at the waters' edge. To the right it joined with the overpass, to the left returned me to where I'd came. The road was busy and the cars were fast, but there looked to be no other routes to get me to where I wanted to be. Gingerly, I crossed several crossings until I was on the pass, and then with some relief found a pathway on it's far side where I could cycle in relative safety. The overpass rose quickly and at it's height I had a pretty good view of the surrounding area, a curious castle being the most interesting feature, poking it's top out of a small circle of trees. But with no way of getting off the overpass at that point, I carried on.

Attempting to stick to my rule of following the coastline, I came off the pass at the first exit onto what eventually became an industrial dirt road, and no matter how much I tried, each turn I took brought me no nearer to the coast. Shiny cars and people carriers were slowly replaced by dusty, heavy duty lorries passing a bit close for comfort. Hitting a car park at the far end of the road, which had by now doubled back on itself at least three times, I was fortunate enough to talk with an elderly attendant who spoke some English, who basically said 'you haven't got a hope on this road, turn back and stick to the main one.', so reluctantly, I did.

Eventually, on returning, I had managed to gather enough of my bearings to realise that I could visit the temple that I had seen on the overpass if I cut down a small road. I passed a large building and what looked like a giant playground on the way which turned out to be a driving school - complete with a mini road layout with junctions, other cars and traffic lights. Over there, learner drivers are not allowed onto the road until they have passed and instead use these 'playpens' to learn the rules of the road.

The Naminoue Shinto shrine was at the top of a steep hill, so I got off the bike and pushed it to the top. It was a modest temple with a medium sized shrine, a couple of statues in a gravel garden, and the inevitable shop. Pushing my bike toward the temple, a young woman in traditional dress ran out to explain their no-bike policy, so I wheeled it down the side of the shop and strapped the bike to a concrete pillar out of sight. Once a young couple had done their thing, I approached the shrine, threw a couple of yen into the donation box, and paid the appropriate respects for the first time this holiday. To be honest, that was about all that could be done there, aside from watch a pair of children pour sand onto a small dog, and take a look at the shop. One thing they had was a selection of Ema, rectangular plates of wood about 6x4 inches often found at Shinto shrines. Many of them were decorated with a local symbol or phrase, with a space for you to write your message or wish on them. The idea was that you buy one, write on your message, and tie it to a nearby tree or, if the owners get sick of you doing that, a structure built specially for them. This place had one such hanger, but the one I bought (complete with a drawing of a white tiger in a blocky Okami style on the front) was coming home with me as a souvenir.

Heading back to the bike, I noticed that the view over the wall stretched out to an open area below which led to a small copse and a pathway down to a beach. I left the bike and headed down to the beach.

It was clear that the people who lived on this pleasant stretch of coastline had got a bum deal a few years ago. A short stretch of sandy coastline sported a couple of shops, showers and changing rooms, but they had all fallen into disrepair, at about the same time I would guess as when the dirty great overpass was built, which blocked out any decent view of the sea. Almost to rub salt in the wounds of the local residents, the uncompromising government decided to have a second overpass built just behind that one, which was in noisy progress as I arrived.

I descended the steps, but was stopped in my tracks by a middle aged man, sat on the concrete breaker wall. He had become curious at this strange foreigner who had stopped by, and when my voice showed no sign of an American accent, his curiosity was piqued. He had a motorbike helmet next to him, but curiously no bike in sight. It's fair to say there was a mutual curiosity.

Taking the opportunity to practice his English on me, we sat and talked about a broad range of things; the Japanese economy, British fish and chips, the attractiveness of Geisha, imported words between cultures, and - strangely - Bjork. We chatted for an hour in the hot sun as several recognisable (but re-authored) western songs were blared out of a loudspeaker in the background. Eventually I pointed in the direction of the beach, and realising my intentions he pointed to a man and his son swimming in the sea. 'Go say hello to my friends while you are there', he said, so off I went.

The empty changing room was in a poor state. The lockers swallowed my 100yen coin without opening up, so I placed myself in one of the shower cubicles and removed most of my things except for a t-shirt and a pair of trunks I had brought along in the hope of seeing some beach action. I stuffed them into my bag and made my way to the beach.

Overlooked by the noisy traffic above, the beach had been restricted in it's use by a semicircular chain of floats, giving an area of perhaps a hundred yards square to play in. The beach was larger than the available swimming area, consisting of a beautiful light-coloured sand, almost devoid of people. The father and son played to the left end, while an American-looking couple at the right - a bald dude in sunglasses was wading out into the water while his other half lounged on the beach. In the centre was a large high-chair not unlike you see for beach guards on Baywatch, although this was empty. I set my bag down, camera and all at its base among the sandbags keeping it in place. Not wishing to look like I was gawping at the woman, I started my shoreside walk a respectful way from them and headed to the left side.

I still hadn't decided whether or not I was going for a swim. Jellyfish signs were up here and there, and the water looked a little green, but on the other hand, the others were having fun, it was blazingly hot, and my t-shirt had been worn one day too much. I waded in up to my knees and tested the cool but murky water for a while, before saying 'sod it' and going all the way in. It was my first swim in ocean waters for a long long time, my normal swimming experience being in the local municipal pool. It's this I should have had in mind as I let my mouth slip below the surface, slightly open. Green, salty water seeped in between my teeth.

Remembering to keep my mouth firmly closed and above water, I did a couple of lengths in the deeper water. It was rich with floating algae, stopped by the floats from dissipating, and the rumble of cars overhead, and the dusty workforce in the distance made for a not particularly enjoyable swim, but at least I could say I did one. Feeling the need to get out I headed over to the father and son and said hello. After an understandably reserved welcome, I pointed out the guy on the wall, who waved back, upon which they gave me a big smile. The son started swimming round me enthusiastically, listing all the English football players he knew (more than I did) before going back to their games.

I got out and waved goodbye, and then headed back to the changing room. Fortunately the showers were working, allowing my once-white shirt to remove some of it's new green tint. Suitably refreshed, I headed out looking slightly haggard, relying on the weather to dry me off.

Before heading back to the bike, I took a pleasant walk around the nearby grounds, a garden full of broad-leafed bushes and semi-tropical palms, with the occasional Buddha statue or memorial poking out. At it's peak was a sit-down area where you could see the shrine, the overpass I had come over on, and the bustling inland city.

Scooting down the steep hill, I got back on track. After a quick stopoff at a Tsutaya for a replacement of the missing DS stylus (they had none but did have a second hand AC adapter and pouch set which I bought and stuffed in where I could), and the nearby Mister Donut, thanks to the alluring sight of a waitress in a retro skimpy shop uniform from the 70's (honestly, that was enough to get me in there, although 'Mr Donut' himself tempered any feelings of arousal) I found myself at an intersection of two main roads, one of which headed up into the heavens, while the other slinked underneath it. Predictably, I took the wrong one, and ended up cycling down the track of a lakeside park. I stopped for a breather on a bench next to a man feeding a disturbing number of cats, got my bearings and moved on. Eventually, getting back on the right road and crossing the beautiful Toyomi bridge I arrived at the wetlands centre. It was 4.40, and it closed at 5pm. Feeling the strain of saddle friction on moist inner thigh, I decided the toilets would be a good place to change back into my main clothes. By the time I got out, everyone was packing up for the day, which was good in a way because they let me scoot around for free.

The wetlands centre extended out into the mangrove swamps of Lake Manko, after which it had been named. A U-shaped wooden walkway rose out of the marshes and mudflats to allow visitors to walk among the plants and animals, a viewing platform at the far end allowing an aerial view, which was better for birdwatchers with its hide-style peekyholes. As I walked by, dozens of little crabs scuttled into their homes and birds chattered overhead. It was a pleasant, and unusually silent area, the trees forming a natural sound barrier from the urban noises beyond, but I was increasingly aware as I looked back to the building that they were waiting for me to finish so they could go home.

I took the bike along the 329 until it met with the monorail once more, and followed it back to the Sora house. It was a pleasant enough trip, but my last day had been missing something compared to the others. With a degree of disappointment I lugged the bike up the steps and handed back the key. I took a shower and changed into something clean and joined the others in the communal room. John and Aoi were chatting as new guy Sam was playing his guitar in the corner. Since my stomach had woken up, I steered the conversation towards food in amongst sharing the days' photos. John and Aoi had got up early and went to Chinen on the east side of the island, proudly sharing his photos of coral reefs through the glass bottom of a boat.

Aoi had eaten, but John was up for it, so I suggested Kokusai-dori once more. He hadn't been there yet, and so we were both guessing a little bit, but I recalled seeing some sort of Steak House the day before, a suggestion which pricked his ears up.

We strolled down the Ichigin-dori that ran from the hostel to the main street, and turned right, bumping straight into Sam's Steak House. A western-looking gent with an enormous smile greeted us at the door as we surveyed the outside menu. Hawaiian in origin (and thus useful in an Hawaiian themed place), he now makes a good living serving the Americans and natives in the restaurant he serves. His face lit up and was twice as happy as he was already when we revealed our nationalities. I asked if he was the eponymous 'Sam' but he wasn't. However he did seem to have a good deal of authority in the restaurant.

Though the house he was in was full of people with a half-hour wait, there was another one just across the road with a Titanic theme, which had places. If you doubt my claims that the people of Okinawa were glad to see non-Americans, you should have seen the extras we received that night. Taking us into the heart of the slippy-floored second restaurant, we were sat down at a sheet metal table in the middle of the restaurant. The first of our freebies were Hawaiian flag pin badges, (we are now honorary Hawaiians apparently). 'Sam' disappeared, leaving us in the capable hands of our own chef, who proceeded to start up his half of the table, which turned out to be a large hot-plate. As he began to prepare a load of meat for us, we were treated to shrimp cocktails, biscuitty treats, some east indian soup, and a citrus punch cocktail - all this before our chosen steak had arrived. The steaks were cooked to perfection in front of us and we had it with vegetables and spicy 'fire rice'. Barely had all that gone down that we were given another treat - a large blob of ice cream. It cost us about 2500yen (about £20) each. Before we left, 'Sam' returned and pushed a complementary drinking glass into my hand as a final present, which somehow despite it's fragility managed to make it home and sits in my cupboard.

The night couldn't get much better, but they had a parrot outside as well. He sat rather grumpily in the cage, no doubt having become wary of idiots poking him or banging the cage, but a few soothing words had him in a much more friendly mood, and I talked to him for a few minutes as John waited patiently for me to finish.

A walk up and down the vibrant Kokusai-dori, looking in at the still-open shops (by now it was past ten and fully dark save for the neon signs and lights) rounded it off, spoilt only by me doing a 'doh' moment and spilling soda over Johns' leg as I checked my watch. We placed coins on a lazy cat, and I bought a new belt, and some time looking at the myriad different sake available in the massive shop halfway up, as we made our way back. Wanting to be up for the plane back to the mainland the next day, I dragged John back to the Sora house and packed my things in preparation for the morning. Even though it had been a slow start, the day had ended well. Okinawa was shaping up to be a good place to make memories.

Japan 2010: 5 - Where I Learn the Fate of the Habu Snake

Day three in Okinawa, and I had somehow lost track of what I was going to do. I don't quite know why; it was not because of a lack of places to go, perhaps just the opposite. John was in the communal area with a similar look on his face. We took a look at the map. One place sprang out of the page at us: Shurijo Castle, which the Okinawans had thoughtfully decided to build at the point where the monorail ended several centuries later. It was decided, we were off.

At the last stop, we took a guess at the direction to go and headed off to the unsignposted castle. We passed a modern looking temple and cut down the road it was on, and by fortunate coincidence it took us via the back route to the entrance of the castle. This was John's first time around a castle so I shared with him what knowledge I had from the many I had visited the first time round; the no photos rules, the removal of shoes and inevitable clumsy tourists putting them back on again in a big group at the other end, and the likely treasure hunt that was the children's stamp rally. Shurijo was no different in this regard, and throughout the large gardens they had numerous little desks with ink pads and stamps on them. At the entrance, we picked up a stamp rally sheet, to the bemusement of the staff, used to seeing little kids rather than big ones ink up the pages. Extra incentive to find all the stamps, fuelled by the promise of a super special sticker at the end was quashed when we realised it was for pre-high school kids only.

Before heading into the inner complex, we happened to pass into a busy open area flanked on one side by the inevitable souvenir shops. Before we could escape, we were eyed by a couple of girls behind the smoothie counter, who had worked out (with not much effort) that I at least was losing moisture fast and would benefit from a drink. They called us over and feeling unable to resist their siren call we obeyed.

We sat for a small time in the square with our expensive smoothies. John had a strange blue concoction, whereas I had asked for a mango one, which came with a suspiciously wide straw. It's use became clear when I stirred the clear plastic cup; lots of strange black berries appeared through the ice and mango mix. A quick slurp and one occasionally zipped up the straw; it was an unusual consistency; no seed in the middle, and a squidgy flesh that reminded me of a soft chewy cough sweet. It was deeply odd to get one of these every so often, but they were very nice once I was used to it.
We progressed around the hilly grounds, stamping our stamps and taking pictures wherever we could. My obsessive picture taking felt more natural when I was with someone doing a similar amount. As we emerged onto an old lookout tower it became clear how far up we were. The sun-bleached white houses of Naha stretched out in all directions, eventually running out and being replaced by ocean on the periphery of the horizon. The beautiful blue sky rose up and the hot sun beat down on our heads. It was time to head towards the castle.

For 800 yen, we got our own plastic bags. We could put our shoes in them and then enter the castle which was a nice bonus. The usual 'no cameras' signs were out in force, although there were a couple of places where you were allowed. We took a linear route through the two open floors available to the public; neatly kept living quarters with the familiar tatami mats and paper walls, cabinets full of weapons, tools and porcelain, and a number of pieces of period art. We shuffled along in among a bustling crowd of tourists, and I at least was glad of the shade (John was nowhere near as affected - this was normal Aussie temperatures for him). Eventually we ended up at the end of the inside tour and were rewarded with - what else - a souvenir shop. Without caring much how I would lug it around the rest of the trip, I started gathering things in my arms, although after some discussion John managed to convince me not to leave with the whole shop. I settled for a brolly, (more for the sun than the rain), some chopsticks and a nice t-shirt. John got a t-shirt also, which worked out good cos there was an offer on if you bought two.

One scrabble to return shoes to feet while still stood up later and we were out the other side, three stamps better off. Just outside the exit a group of archaeologists were carefully digging away at some of the original foundations of the castle. We rubbernecked over the fence for a while, then got bored of the inaction and followed the map around a long path from one end of the grounds to the other, taking in several stamp stations, and ended up heading down the long, steep road to the proper entrance. We looked at our watches and weighed up the benefits of returning and checking off our remaining stamps, compared to going somewhere else.

John had got an idea, which he explained as we headed back to the monorail past lakes of turtles and koi. He had heard talk of a place not so far away to the south called Okinawa World. It was a complicated place dedicated to several of the things Okinawa was famous for - a zoo that had an emphasis on Snakes, particularly the notorious Okinawa Habu type, a traditional native Okinawan village, and a set of tropical fruit groves. John was particularly big on the groves, having been a fruit picker as one of his many jobs back in Australia, although I suspect that the fermented product might have caught more of his eye.

We headed to the bus station that was the beginning of the previous days' excursion, and tried to decipher the complicated bus map (that was about 8 feet high). Changing between our map and the big one, maybe an #83 bus, or perhaps #53 or #55. We weren't sure. Our puzzled faces were picked up on by a pack of waiting taxi drivers, one of which came over and tapped us on the shoulders. 'Thousand yen each, buses unreliable!', he proclaimed at our destination, and then went confidently back to his cab, having sowed his seed of doubt. After a further quarter hour we decided maybe a taxi was best, but he had long gone by this point, so we flagged down another one.

The taxi driver handed us a leaflet on the place as we sped south through the city streets. The scenery opened up as the houses dipped into the oncoming valley, criss-crossed by ugly but useful overpasses, one of which we were using. The leaflet had a large cartoon snake on the front with lots of exclamation marks next to it; apparently one of the major attractions was an area dedicated to reptiles, with the poisonous Habu snake taking centre stage.

I had heard about these snakes while in quiet, safe Blighty, where poisonous snakes do technically exist but they are far too British to make a song and dance about it. Not so the Habu, I had read, which is prominent enough whenever you get outside of heavily built up areas, not to mention getting into bed with you if it looks cosy enough. Plenty of times the idea of waking up with a Habu (or a poisonous spider) dangling from the end of my toe had crossed my mind and almost stopped me from including the island on the route.

We arrived half an hour later, the driver parked us right outside the entrance. It cost 2500yen between us but it saved a few hours of waiting. A semi-circular amphitheatre-style garden led us to the entrance. A single 1600 yen ticket got us access to a few of the sights inside with separate charges for some of the bigger things. John pointed out the first sign that greeted us; a large wooden snake and an arrow, which sounded as good a place as any to begin the Okinawa World experience.

At the entrance to the circular Habu museum, a small man peered out from behind a desk and drew our attention to a hyperactive little bat, clinging to the bars of a criminally small cage. I stuck my finger in without thought to give it a tickle - perhaps foolhardily - but in my experience caged animals always appreciate a good scratch behind the ears where they can't reach themselves. He (I could tell that much because he was hanging upside down and quite prostrate at us), trembled and tried to move round and lick/bite me, so I guess that was enough of that.

The exhibit consisted of a large, empty hall that looked like an assembly hall at school, with a smaller room behind, where a snake demonstration was about to take place. We popped through and took our seats in the middle of a set of low seats facing a raised platform containing a series of brightly coloured wooden structures, each one topped with clear plastic pipes, perspex pools of slightly murky water, and a number of hatches at either end. There were a dozen or so in the audience, including an American couple with their young daughter.

A minute or so later the show started. A plump woman in a t-shirt came on stage and spoke in Japanese to the crowd. The rest of the audience nodded solemnly to her words, which I am guessing were some sort of safety instructions about how not to react in the presence of the upcoming creatures lest they get a bit angry and take a lunge at you. I was not at all concerned that there was no English translation. The crowd of largely parents and children gave out a polite 'ooh' as a large round snake basket was dragged out, a dissatisfied hiss coming from inside. She deftly thrust in a stick with a hook on the end, and whipped out a snake, grabbing the tail end with her free hand and dumping the lot rather disrespectfully onto the floor. From it's extended hood I could tell it was a cobra of some sort. Understandably annoyed by his treatment, he gathered his thoughts and turned, bolt upright looking straight at her with what I suspect was an expression that said 'why I oughtta...'.

The show continued in a similar vein, with the plump woman demonstrating the blind spots of her subject by repeatedly and cruelly whapping it on the back of the head, sometimes with enough force to make the poor thing blat its nose on the floor. Finally it got a rest as he was returned to his basket and replaced by long tank of water split into two tracks. A Mongoose was dangled into one track and a sea snake into the other, in the attempt to demonstrate how quick a snake can swim, although this backfired when the stoat, clearly used to the idea of a reward at the other end swam his little heart out while the sea snake just had a bit of a bath, only proceeding to the exit when it felt good and ready.

Finally, it was photo opportunity time. A huge and rather subdued looking Python was heaved out on an assistant's shoulders and we were all invited to come onto the stage one by one and get a photo with it round our necks. Some less keen members of the audience took the opportunity to flee, preferring their airways uncrushed, but a few stayed, including me and John, and the Americans, who got first in line. After mum and dad confidently had their photo's taken in turn, they handed their young daughter (maybe 3 or 4 years old) over who understandably had a confused but admirably fearless look on her face. She was duly wrapped in snake, and they sat looking at each other quizzically as several photos were taken by the excited parents.

Next in line were a couple of Japanese guys. Probably in their early 20's, any manliness had been used up by daring to join the queue and now they stood hopping from foot to foot. Both were sat down together and they squealed and howled like little girls as the snake was draped over them. An obliging assistant took their cameras and to their increasingly agitated pleading, took a couple of photos and allowed them to run quickly from the room. It looked bad enough without coming after the bravery of the little girl.

We were next. Clearly more confident, John handed me his camera and bounded fearlessly over. Australia is full of snakes much more dangerous than this one and John had absolutely no fear, Holding it by the neck in one hand and happily letting it hang round his shoulders, he grinned as he posed for a few pictures.

Then it was my turn. Snakes were generally not a problem for me, but this would be my first time with one 'on me'. My only other real encounter with a snake that was not behind a cage was when I was about twelve, on holiday in Blackpool. A man was stood on the promenade with a large python sat quietly but uncomfortably on a wall topped with course pebbles. Occasionally someone would come along and ask (for a nominal fee) to be pictured with it much like now. More likely however the poor thing would get poked and prodded by the cruel hand of a passer by. I gave him a little tickle.

The present day docile creature was heaved around my shoulders. I looked at his face. He stuck his tongue out to taste my fear but I had none, only a little bit of empathy for the poor thing who must have to go through this ritual several times a day, and then plonked back in a basket at the end. His skin was cold, and seemed to be loose on his body, perhaps he was old, or maybe close to shedding a layer but it didn't feel right (not that I'd know). I smiled for the camera and then handed him over to the next one. We headed out with the same slightly uncomfortable look on our faces. Enjoyable though it was, it seemed that these people didn't have the best interests of these creatures at heart.

Things didn't get a lot better in the adjoining 'Snake Room' - a dimly-lit circular room containing information and posters of snakes and reptiles, including snake skins and live snakes in tanks - or at least they were alive at some point. Now they looked quite dead. The Snake Room opened out to the exterior cages of a small reptile zoo of sorts. In the cloying heat of the outside, snakes, reptiles and a few birds sat waiting for the night to come, some granted the mercy of cages, but others such as the poisonous snakes were within sealed glass boxes. Virtually all of them were hunched against the glass, clearly hating their environment, which often was furnished with little or nothing to hide under, eat or nest in. Only a giant tortoise plodding around his pen in the middle of the site had a degree of freedom and contentedness on his face, though he was sick of the heat and lack of shade too.

Feeling the need to be away from the animals' plight and the oppressive sunshine for a while, we headed to another of the featured attractions; the caves. Okinawa World is built on top of a large cave system, and I was looking forward to the Akiyoshi caves in Shin Yamaguchi, so this was a nice preview of what I could expect. Before we were allowed in, we were taken aside by two small women in fancy garb, who stood either side of us and smiled. I turned to where they were pointing their faces to see a digital camera on a tripod, complete with man about to take a picture. John posed his now well-honed pose and I arranged myself as best I could at short notice, and then we were allowed to go inside.

Down a long and eerie tunnel the air cooled from a sizzling 35C or so outside to something nearer 20C, and the ambient noises were replaced by the trapped sounds of dripping and.. opera? After several sets of steps and downward-sloping passageways, it opened out; the roof of the cave covered with hundreds of stalactites, moodily lit in reds and blues, the operatic music bouncing around the place giving it a spooky feel. The steel steps brought us down to ground level, and after going in one direction and finding a dead end a minute or so later, we expected the other direction to be similarly short. Not so, the route through the cave took nearly an hour to work through (which in places had become completely enveloped by the formation of the limestone in places, giving it a claustrophobic Alien/Metroid flavour). Massive deposits of limestone on both ceiling and floor were occasionally broken up by pools of green tinted water, some of which contained small white, skeletal fish, and every now and then some freak formation of deposits had encouraged people to throw 1-yen coins at it in the hope of scoring an almost impossible landing on a tiny platform, something no-one, including us had yet managed. After some time in the semi-dark, one group of stalagmites began to look a lot like all the others, and we quickened our pace towards the exit at the far end which fortunately for us involved an escalator to bring us back to ground level. We emerged to the welcoming arms of another assistant, who had been waiting for us to appear so he could present us with our photographs from the start, framed nicely in a colourful cardboard sleeve, for a nominal fee of course. We stumped up 1000 yen each on the logic that we weren't going into that cave again, ever so might as well take a memento. I suspect a lot of revenue is gathered that way.

We had apparently exhausted a lot of what Okinawa World had to offer by now. The remaining areas to explore were made up of a tropical fruits garden (which John took a keen interest in, having been a fruit picker back in Australia), and the resulting trades that came of the harvesting. A cafe/souvenir shop was bursting with a mix of fresh fruit, dried offerings, and products of the more fermented variety, John took hold of a strange yellow box containing fruited wine, while I resisted as much as possible, aware that my backpack was already bulging from the previous days' reckless souvenir splurge, although I did go for a tiny bottle of chilli pouring soy (cheap and it got rid of my accumulated 1 yen coins) and one of their enormous apples, which was as nice as the one I remembered from Aomori last time.

We plodded on after a rest; the trail took us through several more souvenir shops, some of which were your more common variety containing kooky ornaments and t-shirts, while others were mingled into an adjoining native Okinawan village (complete with people living there), selling what looked like locally made (or at least finished) t-shirts, textiles, foods and other bespoke things for the home. Still others catered for a more exclusive and high-class clientèle, selling hugely expensive glasses and plates which we walked gingerly around with our backpacks swinging everywhere. The route funnelled us down some steps into the basement of a large building, and we suddenly found ourselves in a pretty large department store, the floor space divided up into many stalls selling all sorts of tat. My resolve was wearing thin, and although I managed to resist the charms of a young woman trying to get us to purchase bags of expensive green tea, I was less successful at a T-shirt stall, where their very attractive wares were currently on special offer 'for a limited time'. I didn't care whether that was hogwash or not, for by now I was sold on the idea of taking them home.

John was similarly sold on another purchase shortly after. The last shop before the exit was a large and comprehensive shrine to beer and sake. Of particular prominence was the special Okinawa Sake that took centre stage on several of the shop displays. Bottles came in varying sizes, but all had the same features; a top held on by a cloth tied down with rope, a large price tag (some of them going for £1600 or more), oh, and your very own Habu snake, quite dead, drowned and coiled up inside the jar with the sake, with its mouth propped open in a 'look at my fangs' pose. What a way to go.



The larger the jar, the larger the snake. Even for a creature that could quite easily kill me to death if it wanted to, I found the sight of so many of them a bit much, and it was clear that they were rounded up and killed in their hundreds to satisfy the trade. Of course, you could argue the toss and say that they would have been killed as dangerous pests anyway, and animals are killed all the time for the consumption by others. Either way, there was nought that I could do more than tap on the glasses to see if any of them would hiccup. John had no such qualms, and during my internal moralising had already found an assistant who was willing to furnish him with a sample. 'Try everything' he said, and he really was on course for doing exactly that. Not the drinking type, and not wanting to start now of all times, I politely declined the share that I was offered, which John was all too happy to take on my behalf.

Unsurprisingly we left with John clutching a bottle. Not one of the massive jars, and to my knowledge not including a snake with his purchase, but a sizeable drink nonetheless. Tired and weighed down with purchases, we headed back to the entrance, aware of the tendency of the buses to stop running by nightfall. Fortunately someone was on hand to direct us to the stop just round the corner, and we waited there, me eating my enormous apple, and John sipping his fruity beer.

The bus (560yen) brought us back to the terminal at Asahibashi just as the evening was drawing in. We crashed into our respective dorms and then rejoined in the communal area, freed of our new baggage. My thoughts turned to food, and specifically Donburi, which I had tried at the Apothecary House, and was impatient to try while here. After a chit-chat with the others, I moved the conversation towards donburi restaurants in the area, and after a couple of X's were placed on my map, I headed out alone to Kokusai-dori, and the Okinawa Market just beyond.

Situated under a picture of several over-pampered J-Pop boys staring wilfully out of the screen at passers by, the main entrance to the market gives little clue as to the size of the thing. Inside is a mixture of touristy stalls - mostly near the entrances - selling all sorts of by now familiar T-Shirts, novelty sandals, ornaments and other such stuff, and the more functional market stalls selling day-to-day items for the average Okinawan to buy; a massive fish and butchers market, fruit and veg stalls, clothes shops, and a good deal of miniature local pubs bustling with the regulars having a drink or two after work. Mixed in between this were the places that served both camps - the sake, wine and beer shops that shipped in produce from the rest of the island. Naturally, they were receiving some attention as the night began.

The X marking the spot was as with many Japanese maps, open to interpretation, but after some searching and a little bit of asking, the cleverly-hidden Hanagas donburi restaurant revealed itself. A small cabinet full of the usual plastic meal representations was bolted to a wall on the market road, with the actual restaurant tucked away down an easily-miss-able alleyway behind. Inside was a barely furnished room with basic tables and chairs from a number of second hand sets brought together and made to fit. The table was a bit dirty and the condiments consisted of a slightly sticky soy sauce bottle. However, the place was encouragingly pretty full with other customers, enthusiastically chatting about the day's events in between stuffing large bowls full of noodles into their faces.

Not knowing how to deal with the non-English speaking woman who came to take my order, I accepted her offer to point out what I wanted from the plastic dishes outside. A large bowl of rice, vegetables and noodles in miso soup with what looked like strips of pork on top, so I pointed at that. The woman smiled and walked gingerly back over the cobbles in her slippers. A few minutes later my Miso Katsudon arrived, piping hot and with a side helping of sticky rice and a cup of green tea. A nice evening of chopstick practice later and I was full.


Pleasantly gorged on cheap noodles, I got a big lemonade can from the nearby dispenser and strolled up and down Kokusai-dori, looking into yet more shops, many of which were still open at this late hour. I took a picture of a sake shop halfway up the road for John, mainly because of the massive wine bottles at the back, and then headed back to the hostel, ending the night with friends.

*side note: though the pictures on this page are mine, the videos are not.