27

Yesterday my friend from New Zealand and I took a walk around parts of Naha, meandering behind old market streets and pottery shops. We turned one corner and ran into a friend of my walking companion, a 40-something tattoo-covered, long-hair-donning Japanese designer/store owner. He was outside of his store closing for the night when he saw us and with a bright smile warmly greeted us. We chatted for a while, the two boys catching up while I introduced myself. The time came for the inevitable question that is always asked of me: How old are you? New Zealand and I immediately started laughing because it's become a common pattern with us: A Japanese person will ask my age, I ask them to guess, they always guess between 28-30. Oof. This time though it was a bit better at 27. Once the initial fits of giggles had subsided though, the shop owner told me something really interesting. He told me he guessed my age to be 27 because as New Zealand and I approached, he could "see" the number 27 near me.

Now, I know this sounds crazy. But I must say that contrary to what the reader may be thinking, this is not just some rando Okinawan dude projecting some strange after-effect of too much partying in his youth. This is something I have encountered with many Okinawans, the ability to see or sense spirits/energy. The shop owner told me he didn't know what "27" meant- he next asked if my boyfriend was 27 years old. Nope. Then he said that maybe I would get married at 27. I suggested a rather darker possibility, but he said that wasn't the case. Next he took my hands and began reading them, asking me to first show my palms and then to put them together like I was praying. He told me that I would get together with THE boyfriend when I was 25. (WHAT???/panic was my reaction haha.) I was so fascinated.

I began asking him about what it was he was "seeing", especially what he "saw" when he asked me about the number 27. He told me that he gets feelings or can "see" things through people's energy. With New Zealand, he could tell my friend was torn between Japan and home, his mind bouncing back and forth and not really being in any one place. I learned that NZ had recently become aware of some health issues a close member of his family was having, so this was more or less an accurate description of his state of mind.

Tattoo-man went on to say that he has the ability to sense and even see spirits. He said sometimes a group of people will invite him out to go drinking or get a meal, but he doesn't go with them because he can see an evil or upset spirit nearby. He said sometimes they have blue or white faces, are Okinawan or not, have parts of their legs missing, are crying, etc. He also said many of them are happy or nice and fill him with a sense of peace. I asked if he could see any spirits with New Zealand and me, but he said no (phew). I was truly fascinated by this conversation. I asked if this ability was relatively common among Okinawans and he replied that it was. I then asked why so many Okinawans had the ability to be open to these "spirits" but why Americans view this as absurd and strange. His reply was that it was simply because Okianwans are open to it and Americans are not.

This is not the first time I have had such a conversation. When I first came to Okinawa, a respected teacher at my school recounted the time he and his family saw ghosts in his house and explained how he gently coaxed the ghosts outside where they wouldn't scare his children. Another close friend of mine says she is very sensitive to the energy in places where people have been killed. When she visits some of the sites of the Battle of Okinawa or goes to Kyoto or other old cities she feels very shaky and weak and can feel the presence of the dead. The person who gave me my orchid told me that he could see people's auras and that mine was spotted and green which, according to him, meant that I was being open and truthful.

I honestly don't know what to make of many of these encounters. I am superficially really intrigued by these peoples' ability to sense the supernatural and like hearing about their experiences. As a good Catholic girl, I am also very skeptical of what it is they are seeing and feeling.

What does 27 mean? Who knows. Maybe it just meant that it was the 27th day of the month.

Just coming down from another fun-filled and, most importantly, sunny weekend. A few highlights- Accidentally crashing a party at a Brazilian restaurant and making friends with some crazy Okinawans, meeting a friend for tea at a hole-in-the-wall Okinawan cafe, going to a "suspender party" (It's literally exactly exactly as it sounds- everyone wears suspenders. I had never heard of it either..) and spending Saturday night playing board games with my co-workers in my apartment.

Probably the most comforting thing that happened though was spending nearly all of yesterday, Sunday, with my Okinawan host family, the Kinjos. Okaasan (word for "Mother" in Japanese) and Otousan ("Father") first took me in two years ago when I came to Okinawa for a month to fulfill an internship required by my study abroad program at Waseda. Their daughter was at that time about to be an Okisho senior. Since, she has graduated and is studying at a fantastic university near my Tokyo host family's home, International Christian University (ICU).

Okaasan and Otousan are my biggest fans in Okinawa. They are so supportive of me and are genuinely interested in my experiences. They always take care of me, make sure I'm eating more than my share, gently lecture me on the importance of taking care of myself, and welcome me into their home whenever I need a place to get away. Yesterday, Okaasan and I ate lunch together at a picturesque cafe in Shuri, one of my favorite neighborhoods in Naha. From there, we drove to a pottery fair a few towns away and picked out a few pieces. There were so many beautiful bowls, cups, mugs, vases, sake containers, plates, serving platters etc that it was hard to limit ourselves! After the fair, we headed back towards Naha to a town called Okinawa City where we stopped by a home goods store to pick up miso soup bowls Okaasan had ordered. In the store, I noticed two bottles of dish soap with the "Watkins" (a local company in my hometown) label on them- I excitedly checked the back of the bottle to see where it was made and, sure enough, it said, "Made in Winona, MN, USA"! I got really excited and showed Okaasan who promptly told the two strangers next to us that the soap was made in my hometown, causing a slight ruckus. It's funny how when you least expect it you run into a little piece of home in a place as far away as Okinawa City, Japan.

We headed back for a brief respite at the Kinjo residence. From there we met Otousan and headed back to Shuri to eat at an Italian restaurant. They were both giving me much welcomed advice about my plans for next year and beyond. They also sent me home with a very fully belly and a generously large dish of risotto to keep me grooving all the way through Monday.

I cannot believe how lucky I am to have the Kinjos in Okinawa. They help remind me how special family is and how important it is to stay connected, something I haven't been doing so well with my own. But, it's put me in a great mood to start the week off with. That, and another sunny day!

February is getting dangerously close to being old news, which is bad news for me because I haven't been recording any news at all! February has so far been defined by new friends and fabulous weekends. On a bike ride to a near by beach with a Japanese friend of mine, two girls approached us and asked if we could take their picture. Six days and one invitation later, I was in a car full of mostly American teachers on our way to see hanami, cherry tree blossom viewing, at a castle ruin up north. I became pretty good friends with two or three from the group, two American teachers and one from New Zealand. Our time at Nakijin Castle (the ruins) was so amazing: sunny blue skies, bright pink cherry blossoms and a delicious picnic.

I have actually been really anxious since the holidays have ended (trying to NOT be unemployed come August 1st/life/not becoming fat/figuring out people in Okinawa/blahblahblah) but the sunny days of February (who would have thought!) have proven to be a huge stress reliever.

A few highlights: I received an orchid from this guy I met randomly when I was walking down the street. The orchid sits in my apartment and has bumped the classiness level up by about a million notches. It is really beautiful. The best part is that, according to a book my mother sent me, the orchid means "refined beauty", the perfect gift from a stranger who otherwise knew nothing else about me (haha)! He must have known all about secret flower meanings and how to use them to woo unsuspecting foreign girls!

Last weekend I spontaneously went salsa dancing at a club I have frequently heard about since coming to Okinawa. It quickly became clear that not a drop of Latin blood flows through my veins, and people who asked me to dance gave up pretty quickly on wow-ing me with their moves and instead took me to rest my white-girl-hips and chat, which was fun too! I met a few professional athletes, foreign teachers as well as local Okinawans. Not bad for a Friday night!

Sunday was sunny sunny seventy-five and sunny. What a treat! Even better, I went with two of my Japanese friends and their military friends from the base to go zip-lining on a course up north that takes you through forests and looks over the beautiful cerulean blue of the ocean. Afterwards we hopped in the car heading further north to what can only be described as a hippie/hipster/commune/resort/restaurant/camp/organic farm/PARADISE in The Middle Of Nowhere, Okinawa. This magical and mystical place, also called Beach Rock Village, is a cafe/hotel run by 10-12 volunteers who come to work/live in this truly breathtakingly beautiful Okinawan mountain top oasis for anywhere from 2 weeks to 6 months. They grow their own food, raise chickens for eggs, and even have goats that I think they use for milk. Scattered all around the property are simple yet beautiful shelters, some made of wood, others of canvas. There are decks and ladders that reach up into the trees for guests to eat meals and look out over the view. Beach Rock Village was hands down one of the most amazing places I have ever been and I hope to go back soon.

Other weekends have been spent wandering around back alleys of Okinawan market places, riding my bicycle to beaches with friends, meeting and greeting local shop owners, going to Okisho high school graduation, seeing flamenco performances, cooking healthy foods, and reading lots of books.

Pictures from Euroholiday/Tokyo/Okinawa

Munchen Christmas Markets

Surfers in the middle of the English Garden!

Munich friends

Christmas morning

On the Autobahn, ja- 180 mph!

Sarah and I at Neuchwanstein Castle

Dachau Concentration Camp

Salzburg

That famous gazebo..

"I have confidence" lane!

Budapest with Sarah, Anezka and Valentina

Tamas, our actor/tourguide/Hungarian friend

Happy New Year!

In Tokyo!

Shinjuku Illuminations

Meiji Jingu

The fam and the host fam

II

In Okinawa: Fam and Kinjos

At the Okinawa Peace Park

Shisa that guard all Okinawan homes

Taco rice AND Okinawa soba 

Dinner with Okisho bosses

Sunny skies for America-bound mom and Maren

A very Nigerian Christmas

Nigerian Christmas. A tale for the ages.

Christmas Eve and all was quiet. Sarah and I had spent the day meandering through the last of the Munich Christmas markets and then the famous English Gardens with a friend we met in the hostel named Chris. It had just gotten dark when we returned to the hostel, had ourselves a bowl full of Christmas Eve chili and were debating if we had enough energy to muster another trek outside to find an English Christmas Eve service. After a bit of searching we discovered there was indeed a Mass at a church just ten minutes away from where we were staying. We decided to go, thinking we would come back in time to watch the showing of "Love Actually" in the hostel lounge before heading to bed.
We made it to the church without trouble and headed to the basement where the mass was being held. It was a simple room with maybe seventy chairs set out, most of which were full. The three of us took a seat in the second row and waited for the service to start. We had no idea what was waiting for us.
The first thing that struck us was the, ehem, enthusiasm with which the congregation sang. There was no piano or recording to guide us, so one brave woman in the congregation took the bull by the horns and lead us in a number of traditional Christmas hymns. Sarah, Chris and I were honestly taken aback at her unique interpretation of the melody, pitch and words of the carols and, I shamefully admit, had to repress a few intense urges to laugh out loud. Things only continued to get weirder when during the middle of the first reading, one of the ushers came up to me and told me I would be giving the second reading in front of the congregation. I was so surprised, but I figured they must have been in some sort of jam so up I went and read. It was honestly amazing I didn't burst out laughing (my sister would understand the pressures of keeping composure in church..) The priest, an American from Ohio as we would later learn, rambled on for a while about the historical Jesus and the role historical facts played or didn't play in the modern interpretation of the Christmas story. One more time, the same usher came up and asked Sarah, Chris and myself to bring the gifts forward before communion. So, basically we were Catholic superstars.

Finally, after about six more Christmas carols disguised in the form of funeral dirges we were invited to "go in peace to love and serve the Lord"..and join everyone for a Christmas party in an event room upstairs! The three of us never would have made the trip up those stairs if not for Sarah's sudden urge to hold one of the many little children running around the church in a sudden burst of maternal affection. She quickly gained a child and lost his parents, so we wandered upstairs to where the party was being held to find the little tyke's folks. Immediately upon setting foot in the crowded but welcoming room we were given plates and silver and ordered to sit down. The smells were amazing- most of the members of the congregation seemed to come from Nigeria and had prepared a Nigerian feast for Christmas Eve dinner. We met a few other stray foreigners, three from Australia and one from America who was studying in Italy. We all quickly became friends and loaded our plates up with the foods that were tantalizing our senses so (Nigerian food is awesome by the way. I wish I knew the names of the dishes, but they were flavorful, spicy, hot, and savory. Yumm).

Things were going great- good company and food- when suddenly the beers come out en masse. I thought to myself, Well, we are in Germany after all, but I was still unprepared for the party that was unfolding around me. At church. A Catholic church. On Christmas Eve. Next enters Father, this time without his vestments, four or five tattoos proudly displayed on his arms as well as a piercing in his ear. He started talking with us, sharing his own incredibly liberal beliefs about the Catholic Church and truly solidifying himself in my mind as the stuff Fitzgerald novels must be made of. It was really fun to speak with him, but I must say that when added to all the other strange peculiarities of this Christmas celebration, things were seeming more bizarre by the minute.

A few other things happened that made this night truly unforgettable (in the best way possible), but this post is getting too long as is. I feel happy that in both of my years in Japan (even though I guess I wasn't IN Japan for this night) I have been fortunate enough to stumble upon unexpected holiday parties and meet unique and interesting people (for tales of another great night, please look at the entry dated Dec 21st, 2010). Curiouser and curiouser. But, at least I could say that I had a very merry Nigerian Christmas!

Sarah, Chris and the baby that started it all.

Delicious Nigerian dinner!

New friends- I promise we are at church..

Rebel priest.