It's better to travel

I was 21 when I traveled alone to a foreign country for the first time in my life. The destination was the Indian subcontinent. 

My Air India flight arrived in New Delhi well after midnight, at like 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning. Back then, I was young and reckless and didn't do any preparation for the two-month journey. I didn't even reserve a hotel room for the first night. I didn't need to, though. As soon as I stepped out of the airport, I was surrounded by dozens of taxi drivers and whisked away by one of them to a hotel of his choice, which would give him a commission. The drive to the hotel was probably the scariest 30 minutes of my life. I was in the pitch-black darkness in a car with a total stranger whom I didn't know if I could trust. I even thought, "What if he is a kidnapper?" It turned out, however, that he was just a hard-working taxi driver as I arrived at a rather decent hotel in a clean, quiet neighborhood of New Delhi.

A week or so into the journey, I met, at the Bombay airport, a middle-aged German woman who was also traveling alone. We were both waiting for a flight to the southern city of Cochin and after some chatting, decided to travel together. I think we were both starting to feel lonely. A few days later, we met an Italian hippie guy and a gentlemanly elderly Englishman who, just like me and the German woman, Elizabeth, met each other in the course of their journeys. I traveled with this strange mix of Europeans for the next several days. Coming from different countries and very different backgrounds, they were all fun people to be with, but I especially remember how Elizabeth was a warm-hearted, motherly person. I still keep the towel she gave me one night when she found out I didn't have anything in my bag except the passport, a spare T-shirt and underwear, a Walkman, and a little money barely enough to get by for the rest of the journey.

After a hilarious time together with them in Kerala and Tamil Nadu, I parted ways with them, first with the Italian guy and the Englishman and a few days later with Elizabeth. I was alone again. After the day Elizabeth left for home, I often found myself singing to "Breakout," a tune in Swing Out Sister's "It's Better to Travel" album. Whenever I felt lonely dining alone, couldn't sleep at night, and got homesick, I played the song, which encouraged me to go on my journey with lyrics like "The time has come to make or break. Move on. Don't hesitate. Break out." The journey to India is and always will be the best and most memorable travel I've had in my life and I owe the once-in-a-lifetime experience to the great musical companion.

Cradle for a new life

How many twigs and leaves were used to weave this little nest? How many times did the weaver have to fly to collect all these materials? And how many days did it take to complete this masterpiece?

How did the nest's creator learn the craft? How did he or she know how to make a cushion at the bottom from dead leaves and bend twigs to give the nest the shape of a basket? 

How did the master weaver feel about the work? How did the work serve its purpose? I hope it did very well.

Utsusemi

Cicadas' songs are blissful music of nature. I wake up every morning in summer to their pleasant choruses, work at the computer listening to their BGM, and cool myself after a little gardening in the shade of a tree which offers a temporary housing for them. Like many other Japanese, I love "semi-shigure (literally meaning cicada shower)" and never get tired of listening to it.

Cicadas' shells, however, make me a little sad. Whenever I find their cast-off shells, I feel like congratulating them on starting a new life after spending many years underground, but at the same time I feel sorry for them, remembering their end is only days away.

"Utsusemi" is a Japanese word for cicadas' shells. The poetic word has another meaning; this world and all the mortals living in it. After all, there isn't any difference between cicadas and me. I, too, am destined to die some day. All I can do in this fleeting life is to sing, like the cicadas in my garden, a song of life as beautifully as possible.

Dos and don'ts of living in Okinawa

Nine years of living in Okinawa has taught me a few dos and don'ts for building good relationships with local people. 

1. Treat total strangers like your friends of 20 years.

In 1995, we visited an Okinawan island called Miyako-jima on vacation. The first spot we visited was the famous Agari-Hennazaki cape. We rented a bike and rode it to the cape some 20 kilometers away. Halfway into our trip, we got lost in the middle of sugarcane fields. Fortunately enough, we found a farmer at work in the distance and asked him the directions. He was really kind. We said thank you to him and continued our ride. Twenty minutes or so later, we stopped to take a break. As we were looking around to enjoy the scenery, we found, to our astonishment, the same farmer sitting in a small truck 15 meters behind us. Looking a bit embarrassed, he mumbled something like he was worried, waved shyly, and slowly drove away. He had been following us all the way to make sure we wouldn't get lost again!

There are plenty of similar episodes. Just yesterday, we heard a very hard-to-believe story from a local person. In Ie-jima, another small island of Okinawa, people don't lock their cars so others can drive their cars whenever and wherever necessary. Basically, you can drive any car at hand. According to this person, local people in Ie-jima are a little "waji-waji (frustrated)" that newcomers to the island, mostly from the mainland Japan, don't know the unspoken rule and their cars are often locked when needed.

2. Be casual and less courteous.

Courtesy is an important virtue in the mainland Japan, but it isn't necessarily so in Okinawa. People are casual even when a little formality would be expected, like when serving customers. A mainlander by birth, I was surprised at first at the casual attitudes of many sales clerks in Okinawa, but I soon came to like the way they behave and now I behave just like them. As I found out, being polite and courteous can make you look a bit distant in a place like Okinawa where people are so relaxed and easygoing.

3. When in Okinawa, do as the Okinawans do.

I've heard some mainlanders complaining about Okinawan ways of doing things. Every time I meet such complainers, I can't help thinking, "What do you expect? Of course there are differences. Okinawa was a foreign country only a few centuries ago. Just shut up and enjoy the differences!"

Where a community comes together

In this rural part of Okinawa, a community wouldn't be complete without a "kominkan." It is a place where community members, young and old, get together to have a friendly chat over tea, have serious discussions about the future of the community, take cultural lessons to enrich their lives, practice "bon-odori" dances for summer festivals, or hold celebrations for senior members of the community, many of whom are amazingly vigorous in their 70s, 80s, and even 90s. A kominkan, often translated as community center, is an essential core that holds a community together.

Our area has unusual three kominkans because of a consolidation a few years ago of three adjacent communities. Each kominkan has distinctive character but the oldest one, a half-a-century-old wooden building in the form of a traditional Okinawan private house, is most unique and therefore my favorite. 

One of the first things you would notice as you enter the kominkan is an old wooden board with hundreds of names hand-written on it. These are the names of the people who made donations for the construction of the kominkan. The board is displayed at a very high and visible place as if it is an eternal tribute to those who offered, in an extraordinary cooperative spirit, their hard-won earnings at a time when Okinawa and Japan were not so wealthy as they are today.

There is a project under way in our community to build a new kominkan for the now-united three communities. Two of the existing kominkans are expected to be demolished to finance the construction but the oldest one will probably be spared the fate. I strongly hope it will. It is an invaluable reminder of the remarkable spirit of our predecessors and an inspiring symbol of unity and harmony for our enlarged community.

Free as a bird

Okinawa has its own version of kabuki plays. It is called "kumi-udui," and "Manzai-tichiuchi," a story about two young men trying to get revenge on a man who killed their father, is arguably the best and the most popular among all kumi-udui plays. At the beginning of this "Manzai-tichiuchi," the bad guy goes to a beach after a pigeon flew into his house and perched on the family alter two days in a row. He interprets the incident as a sign of bad luck and feels he has to cleanse himself. The trip to the beach, of course, becomes a trip to the other world, as the two youngsters get a chance to approach the man and kill him. 

Two days ago, a little white-eye flew into our house. The bird was an adorable little fellow and we didn't see it at all as a bird of ill omen. Rather, the bird looked the opposite, and after wavering for a while over what to do with it, we decided to keep it and asked the carpenter who was helping us renovate our house to make a cage.

As he was deftly cutting timbers and assembling them into a cage, two more white-eyes appeared from nowhere and flew around the garden, stopping frequently on the top of a basket we were temporarily using to keep the bird. The trapped bird responded to them by chirping and we were beginning to have qualms about keeping it. 

The cage was completed in no time and we put the bird in it. He seemed relaxed, which made us feel better about our plan. As we were placing food and water in the cage, however, the bird slipped through a gap of the ceiling, sat on the top of the cage for a moment with a confused look as if he wasn't sure if he was out, and flew away. All of this happened so quickly that the three of us didn't realize what happened immediately. When we did moments later, we burst into laughter, although my husband and I felt a little sorry for the carpenter. After all, the bird wasn't meant to be with us and there wouldn't have been any better ending to the whole episode. 

The cage soon found a good place of its own, by the way, hanging now from the biggest tree in our garden and waiting for little feathered visitors.