I should have kept better notes in Okinawa.
As I sit here, three months later, I’m cursing myself for not doing so.
In all fairness, I was there to see my buddy Jordan and just relax, as my big 6 months total in Japan trip had come to an end.
I was, admittedly, worn out.
Plus it rained nonstop.
Even flooded.
And.
And.
And.
But I’m sore at myself because to have been able to capture the weirdness of this tiny island would have been something special.
See, it’s kind of Japan, but also not really Japan.
It’s kind of America, but only the headache inducing chains and colors of commercial America.
The poor Okinawans—looked down upon by mainlander—barely had an identity before we, the US showed up.
And America is many things, but sharer-of-sandboxes we are not.
Meaning freedom and super-sized was quickly draped over what I’m sure is a fascinating island.
But who’s to really say.
So let me just walk you through a few images and anecdotes.
(All the while, please continue to remind yourself that Okinawa is less than 1000 miles away from the furthest you can get from The States.)
To start, you land at the airport and immediately see how obsessed with SPAM (or, probably more true here, Hawaii) they are.
And then, in nearly every other shop, America begins.
(Often done at the hands of locals.)
The American Village tops the list of things to do in Okinawa.
As does every creative entrepreneur.
Bus signs are in English.
(Presumably because Japanese know how to behave in society.)
Grocery stores jump on it.
And the love (and self-comparison) to Hawaii runs throughout.
Jordan and I had a very romantic lunch.
On base.
At Chili’s.
(Which is packed nonstop, as is the on-base shopping—the joke being that on a Sunday morning, you can see average men with women way, way outside of their league walking around, he being forced to follow-through on the promises he made last night in the bar. You see where I’m going with this.)
(Shopping made all-the-weirder with Alert Force signs hanging, in case of a missle attack.)
And even an A&W Rootbeer stand, that’s been there since the 60s.
Again, an absolute pants job giving you an insight into the island.
It’s weird.
Bizarre.
Friendly.
Yet somehow drifting without anchor, in a sea of identity.
Anyway, I’ll throw in a few prettier photos to end this on the good foot.
[End]
