Wonder x Jungle: Okinawa, Japan (Part 2 of 2)
Castles, bridges and shells, oh my!
We drove tortuous, tiny streets, up hills and switchbacks to find ourselves on a parking lot. We made our final ascent on foot, on wide stone steps and reached a small flat park dotted with trees and picnic tables. On the edge of the park, facing away from the city of Yaese and looking up at the higher ridge sat the Tomori Stone Lion, a little worse for wear.
The statue is estimated to have been erected in the 17th century as a protective measure against often-recurring mountain fires; legend had it that once the citizens of the village began to make offerings to the Tomori Lion, no more fires occurred. Except for the hell-on-earth fires during the Battle of Okinawa, which left the lion with noticeable bullet holes. Reference is often made of a photo of the lion with American troops looking at the ridge line above.
***
Next stop: Cape Chinen Park. We came, we saw, and we left quickly.
It was not worth the effort of the drive. I mean, it wasn’t bad; it was just a park. Disappointment must come in pairs, because my attempt to salvage this park visit was to stop at Daiso on the way back to our hotel. The closest equivalent to Daiso are the dollar stores back home. However, by my experience, Daiso are not just any dollar store: they carry all kinds of kitchen tools (silicone cup lids, anyone?), cleaning tools, storage containers, gardening tools, stationery and school supplies, myriad first-aid products, shopping bags of all sizes, etc. In Busan, I had made it a habit to visit any Daiso I ran across, to check out goods exclusive to their location. It was with the same sense of anticipation that I went to the Daiso in the ‘burbs of Naha and realized, to my disappointment, that this one, at least, was not as exciting. I came out empty-handed.
We did stop at the grocery store downstairs from Daiso and guess what they did have? Next to hobbit-sized shoppings carts and baskets, a display had iPhones that customers pick up and use to scan everything they buy — as they place items in their carts. And when they reach the checkout machines, they link the phone scanner to the machine, which then displays the total amount to be paid. Genius!
At least back at our hotel, we were treated to a novel experience: a car storage tower. Our hotel didn’t have a parking lot or garage, but it had this very tall white column — imagine the equivalent of about 20 sedans stacked one on top of the other — that used what I could only guess was a hydraulic lift system. We had the hotel manager help us since we didn’t want to press a wrong button and have all the cars tumbling down. The manager pushed a few buttons, closed the garage door, and we could only imagine what was happening to our little white car. Presto!
After a quick break, we walked to Kokusai Dori Shopping Street, which was crazy and not necessarily in a good way. Most online bloggers and travel guides gushed about the energy and vibe of this shopping street, its lights and shops and restaurants. Yes, it included all of the above, but perhaps I should remember that N. and I are older than those gushing bloggers; perhaps I should focus on what types of things we enjoy — car storage towers! — instead of searching for “Top 10 Things to Do” in any city; perhaps I should remember that souvenirs in any country on any continent will be made in China anyway, so what’s the point?!?
We passed plastic Okinawan Shisa lions in all sizes, Orion beer T-shirts, and beni imo tarts; the Blue Seal ice cream shops; hawkers with menus trying to entice customers to steaks, udon noodles, and Japanese whisky. We finally found the market and food alley, and discovered, to our dismay, that most of the shops were shuttered — on a Friday night. It wasn’t until we followed the lights and ventured further into the alleys that we discovered what must be the more authentically Japanese sections of Kokusai: little tiny restaurants with inside seating behind curtains but also spilling small tables and chairs in their storefronts; Japanese in lively conversations in tableaus that looked straight out of a Japanese movie about the stresses of salary men and women; menus by shop doors only in Japanese.
We chose one at random and were seated at the bar. This place had a menu in English — Arigato! — and out came delicious little dishes: a chicken wing stewed with tomatoes and radish, cucumbers with miso sauce, a platter of sashimi with fresh wasabi (heavenly!), thin slices of wagyu beef with greens, salt grilled fish, tempura tofu and asparagus. All with Orion beer, of course. (We skipped the CBD beer.) On our walk back to the hotel, we could not resist getting ice cream: pineapple coconut for N. and beni-imo (purple sweet potato) for me.
Finally, a nightcap from that wonderful place — the Japanese convenience store. Today’s snack haul included wasabi cheese sticks, which were gross and not wasabi-ish at all, sour grape gummies, and shrimp chips that were pale imitation of their Korean counterparts.
Oyasu-minasai!
***
After checking out of our hotel, we retrieved our car from the car storage tower (five stars!) and made our way to Shurijo Castle Park.
The castle suffered a devastating fire in 2019, so park authorities were trying to make the tour work, with costumed park guides and clear windows into the reconstruction of the burned out main Seiden. As we walked around the quiet grounds, I remembered a blogger who had poo-poo-ed the visit and recommended that viewers skip this stop on the island until the castle reconstruction was finished in 2026.
Yes, the Seiden would be impressive when finished, but it was nice to walk through historic gates, along centuries-old rock walls, to the highest point in the observatory that led to 360-degree views, a smart thing, I guess, if you are the ruler of the land.
***
On our way out of Naha, we stopped in a nearby suburb at a shopping plaza for a taste of tsukemen, my favorite type of ramen, in which the noodles are served on a separate bowl and a thick concentrated broth is served for dipping. The service was typically Japanese as far as lunches go: between arriving at the restaurant, waiting behind six other people in line, and finishing our meal, just 30 minutes had passed. A solo diner who sat after us finished his meal before N. and I were done.
***
You gotta eat: after checking into our hotel in Seragaki, on the way to dinner, in the dark, we almost hit another car while trying to find the parking lot of a restaurant, which turned out to be closed, no matter what the internet gods said.
So Plan B turned out to be down the road. I wanted to try yakiniku, which was the Okinawan version of “grill your own meat table side” (I could hear my mom’s voice, “They copied that from Koreans!”). Every dish on the set menu was lovely, but there were two highlights. One was the “special Beef Yakiniku”, which was a slice of beef as thin as card stock: it needed just a few second on the grill and tasted sweet and melted in the tongue. Another was the shaved ice with Okinawan brown sugar. By the time it arrived, both of us had been feeling full, but we finished every bite of that mountain-sized dessert.
***
More food: lunch was at a shrimp restaurant close by — pink facade, young vibe, great reviews — where we got 10 gigantic shrimp smothered in garlic butter and 2 scoops of rice soaked with more butter, accompanied by french fries. We walked out of the restaurant feeling prepped and ready for matching heart attacks.
***
Although it was a gray day, the forecast did not call for rain, so we went for a drive on the western coast of Okinawa. After leaving some of the more populated towns close to the hotel, the distance between villages grew, more tunnels through mountains appeared, more trees covered the hills. Here and there, we passed what were small villages that showed their age — dilapidated buildings that had been left to the elements without efforts to maintain them. That is when stories of the decline of the Japanese population came to mind — people moving to large metropolitan areas for economic and cultural opportunities; small towns declining when the people and tax base were no longer there; the eventual abandonment of entire villages. Especially poignant were the burial shrines that could be seen from the road — small mausoleums of the dead, some with withered flowers left by their descendants. In a generation or two, who would come by with flowers?
We arrived at Cape Hedo in the late afternoon. It was the northernmost point of Okinawa. There is some story in connection to this location and the Battle of Okinawa, but I don’t remember it now, and I don’t feel like connecting another place in this island with the horrors of war. So N. and I just wandered around the park, took pictures, tried to avoid the wind. The park is part of the Yanbaru National Park of Japan, and I got a stamp to prove it. So far, we have been to national parks in the US, Canada, Korea and Japan. It will continue to be a running theme in our travels.
On the way to our hotel, we stopped by 7-11 to pick up food for a quick dinner — we were feeling bloated from the shrimp still — and what would you know: there was another South Asian cashier there who spoke Japanese.
***
Another gray and windy day and the skies looked like they were barely holding back the rain.
The first stop of the day was the Kouri Bridge View Point. Because of the whipping winds, we stayed around just long enough for N. to snap some pictures and for me to write the name of the location and today’s date on the sand.
The Kouri Ocean Tower required tickets, but then it did include quite a few amenities. Our visit began with a ride in a golf cart from the bottom of the hill to the actual tower. One of the park workers waved us into a cart, secured the rope for safety and then clicked on a button that began a recording in English — since we made the usual noises and he probably could tell that we were Americans — but did not get in the cart himself. It magically puttered uphill — look, ma, no tracks!
The second unexpected surprise was the Shell Museum, a wonderful collection of shells of all shapes, sizes and colors. Because these were in glass cases, the pictures were frustratingly full of glares, but the shells were so marvelous and interesting that those picture flaws just didn’t matter.
An elevator ride and a couple of flights of stairs took us to the highest observation point. (Suddenly, the thought occurred to me that the time would come when N. and I would not be able to climb stairs. So when he asked why we were taking the stairs instead of the available elevator, I testily responded that the time would come when he could take all the elevators he wanted; for now, we would take the stairs.) The highest level led to an exposed patio with glass safety walls that still allowed for unobstructed views of Kouri Bridge.
Visitors were directed to the exit which, conveniently snaked through the gift shop. We hopped again on the phantom golf cart and headed to our next destination.
Still on Kouri Island, I was directing N. this way and that, and we ended up on a gravely road overgrown with weeds or crops that scared the scanner camera of our little car whose sensors kept beeping and warning about obstructions (“Right Front!” “Left Front!”). We ended up on a wide parking lot that looked nothing like the satellite image on my phone. Was this right? And of course, this was the exact moment when I noticed the meager cell signal in the area.
We retraced our steps and just followed the cars that we spotted some distance away. And of course! There was the parking lot — 100 yen on a crock pot with a handwritten sign, on the honor system. After getting out of the car, we followed the crowd. Really, this is tourism for dummies… including us. After walking a short distance on a hard concrete path that pretty much was the opposite of romantic, we reached the beach and what had attracted all these people to this specific site: Heart Rock. Perhaps it should be called Broken Heart Rock?
By this time, breakfast was a long memory, so I randomly chose a restaurant on the island. It was located on the top of the hill overlooking Kouri Bridge, on what was obviously a residential house. The “restaurant” was just the home’s living room and porch. The only person we saw was the old lady who greeted us and, we quickly realized, prepared the food as well.
We ordered the set menu — sea urchin rice bowl for N., sea grapes for me. There was something about the home vibe, the view of the bridge, and the food that made it a perfect Japanese lunch.
***
It was only 2 pm and N. gave me strong hints that he was tired and wanted to head back to our hotel. I pretended not to get his meaning and gave him directions to the Okinawa Churaumi Aquarium.
The aquarium was good sized, with screens that cycled through descriptions in Japanese, Chinese, Korean and English. It displayed many fishes and other creatures that were native to the waters around Okinawa. The largest tanks were home to tropical fish of all shapes and sizes, sharks (one specific species that had a horn on top of its head), and lots of large mantis (mantes?). Lots of Doras but no Nemos. A friendly looking blowfish. A very very large whale shark. It did seem a bit sad for such a large animal to be contained in a tank, no matter how large. The aquarium also advertised its dolphin show — “free of charge!” — that took place five times a day. (Extraordinary Attorney Woo would not approve.)
I couldn’t help noticing the irony of the location of the aquarium — right by the sea. For the sea creatures, so close and yet so far.
***
Our first visit ever to a Don Quijote had been in Hawaii a few years ago. It’s a fond family memory — we always make fun of our daughter who walked into that store, browsed the aisles like a zombie, and refused to leave while the rest of us were shocked by the busy displays and noisy videos touting this or that product. Weapons-grade over-stimulation.
The Mega Don Quijote in Nago did not disappoint. The sheer size of the store with its aisles of products would have been overwhelming enough. Add to that signs upon signs and upon signs — hanging from the ceiling, pointing to different sales, plastered on the floor — and I felt like I was entering some sort of Twilight Zone (or a Black Mirror episode, for a more modern pop culture reference… Gosh, I feel so old!). And then add to that the fact that over the music on the main speakers throughout the store, different aisles and sections included their own TV screens with videos or just speakers where ads for products — with exhortations and jingles — played loudly on a crazy loop that made me feel as if I were being hypnotized. I have no idea how the workers of the store don’t go crazy at the end of the day. That kind of over-stimulation should be considered a workplace hazard.
***
There must have been something aligned in the stars today by which all our meals would be required to be paid in cash. So it was at lunch by Kouri Bridge, and for dinner. To be fair, the dinner place did greet us and point to their cash-only policy and a 220 yen/pax for what they called a “cover charge.” My best guess was that it was a surcharge for its waterfront location (although it was already dark, and we couldn’t enjoy the view.) It was late, and N. and I were both tired and hungry, so we sat down, looked at their English menu, and pulled out the calculator app on our phones. We had 5,600 yen. (We made sure to ask if the prices included tax — they did.) We ordered traditional Okinawan dishes: tofu with salted fish (funky!), yakisoba, shrimp sashimi, pancake with vegetables, and a draft beer for N.
Total bill: 5,080 yen ($35). Whew!
***
On the drive back to Naha, we stopped by the Tomari Iyumachi Fish Market. Most of the fish — or fishy? — business must have already taken place because the place was quiet. We had an easy lunch of a uni and salmon roe don, a unagi don, and an o-toro, which we suspected was not truly o-toro because it was very chewy.
***
After a nap in our hotel, we stopped by two restaurants which turned out to take cash only — but we were out of cash. The third not only accepted credit cards but also had funny posters and good shrimp.
***
Ethnological Observations — Japan Edition
The JAPANESE ABSOLUTELY LOVE RECEIPTS. Whether something costs 100 yen (US$0.68) or 10,000 yen ($68.00), despite our polite protests that we did not want them, we have duly and respectfully been handed receipts — even by taxi drivers. Unlike in the US or Korea, not getting a receipt was not an option. N. speculated that it was a reflection of the Japanese respect for rules and laws.
***
The Japanese are so polite that even their road signs have a picture of a road worker bowing in apology for the inconvenience caused.
***
The idea of taking one’s shoes off in the home carried over to several families in our hotel: they also took their shoes off before entering their hotel rooms. Seeing them made me wonder if the strip of marble by the doors were designed exactly for that purpose. We in our American-ness wore our shoes in our room.
***
If there were an Olympic contest on which country’s citizens have the cleanest bottoms, Japan would win gold — by a mile. I’ve seen those Japanese toilets in airports, public parks, restaurants, grocery stores (and even toilet seat cleaners!) Let’s just say that not seeing one in a bathroom anywhere is a rare exception. In previous trips to Japan, I had been hesitant about them, but for some reason, this trip made me a convert. The thought also occurred to me that when the Japanese travel to other countries, they must be horrified at the thought of whole countries with no bidets.
So let’s add the Japanese toilet to my version of heaven, next to Japanese convenience stores… and our dear little shih-tzu.
***
***