My Okinawa Realities

With three months now of life lived in Okinawa, I shall herewith share some observations, experiences, and trivia--trivial and otherwise--amassed thus far. And with the random nature of this collection, I shall opt for a list format.

1. Sunscreen. Although I have long been a queen of sunscreen compared to many of my friends and acquaintances, the abundance and intensity of Okinawa sunshine has galvanized the quantity of my application moments. I pretty much reapply whenever I head outside unless it's night time or it's raining! In my bathroom cabinet resides a large container of the stuff, and I carry somewhat smaller tubes in my purse and in my backpack. Even the glove compartment of my car holds a tube of sunscreen.

2. The Expressway. Okinawa has one expressway--perhaps a cousin to a freeway and a step-cousin to the Autobahn--that stretches about sixty kilometers from Naha, situated in the southern region of the island, to Nago, definitely in the northern half of the island but about fifty kilometers short of Cape Hedo, the most northern point. It is a toll road with eighty kilometers per hour posted as the maximum speed, but it has no stoplights--a most worthy perk on an island where stoplights abound in all populated localities. Tolls can add up quickly, though; for my commute, I travel less than ten miles on the Expressway at a cost of about $3 each direction. To encourage potential renters to consider places in "outlying" areas--like where I live--landlords are often willing to negotiate Expressway fees into the rent. That is my arrangement. Since I head to school quite early in the morning, I often use the regular highway on the way to work because traffic has yet to jam the route. After school, though, the Expressway usually wins the very brief debate about which way to go home. Already two gentlemen who man the tollbooth where I pay when I exit the Expressway recognize me; we have a regular ritual of greetings in both English and Japanese, nods and smiles, and then thank-yous in the two languages once again; it's like both sides of the conversation must showcase their abilities in the native and the foreign language!

3. Roosters. Yes, you read that correctly. Even though night has yet to surrender to dawn when I leave for school in the morning, I hear roosters crowing somewhere out there in the darkness. They know the sun soon will announce its upcoming arrival at the horizon, and I know I really do live in an outlying locale.

4. Rice paddies. As referenced above, I am a bit of an outlier with regard to my place of residence. Just over the fence--and in full view from my side balcony--are rice paddies. The first time I saw my apartment with a realtor, the rice seedlings had just been planted. I have since watched their cycle of life all the way unto the harvest just over a week ago and now curiously await what comes next--another crop or some weeks to be fallow.

 I took this photo the first time I saw the apartment with a realtor.

 Scarecrows showed up in October.

 Harvest.

 And this morning...scarecrows down! 

But not this one at the far end. We had a wild rainstorm last night, so I think the two scarecrows down may be "an act of God" and not "an act of farmer"!

5. Student name of the year. This school year, like my sister Diane--also a teacher--I have a preponderance of students named Jaden/Jaiden/Jayden/Jadyn/Jaydon/Jadon. Eight to be exact. Six boys, two girls, and six spellings.

6. Creatures. So far I have witnessed the presence of mice, a rat, a mongoose (the result of an unfortunate import choice), snails, snails on steroids (another transplant by mistake), and a variety of insects. In my own home I have encountered a spider on steroids (he cast a shadow on the floor!...which necessitated the use of the vacuum) and also a cockroach on steroids--tropical climate must be synonymous with "steroid."  In fact, "Ricky"--because I felt like I could hear his cockroach exoskeleton actually click as he moved--and I met my first night in my apartment when I got up to go to the bathroom. I turned on the light and immediately understood I was not alone; Ricky occupied definite space there on the floor! He then scurried into oblivion as I contemplated how a cockroach found his way to an apartment on the ninth floor and survived for the weeks said apartment had remained unoccupied. We continued our nocturnal meetings for three nights in a row before I concluded there were too many of us and Ricky would be the designated one to exit. Still, Ricky just embodied too much crunch and muscle for me to confront him with brute force. The thought seriously made me shudder. Hence, I opened the bathroom cabinet and amongst the motley assortment therein located a bottle of body splash--healing garden green tea. I do not regret to inform you that Ricky ultimately succumbed to alcohol poisoning, and my bathroom smelled quite lovely nigh unto 24 hours!

I have not seen a habu--except for the one preserved in a bottle of sake on the bar near where we paid for a meal--and would most definitely prefer not to...especially in a real life situation. 

"Two native and two introduced species of habu snakes--venomous and aggressive in nature--inhabit the vegetation and jungle of Okinawa, making hiking and late-night ground travel very dangerous for people here."

I watch for them when I start a morning run before it's fully light and comfort myself with thoughts that they probably don't like being near the ocean...something I have no idea whether is true or not!

7. Beach men. Here I run the path that follows the beach coastline near my home. Most of my runs commence near the time of sunrise, and often fishermen have poles set up at various points along my route. Lean, sinewy, and weathered, some listen to a radio or follow something on a phone; others watch the sea zen style. Yet they always nod at me and some of them even smile.  There is one man who is not a fisherman at all, but he always shows at some point on any of my morning runs. This man never greets me; in fact, he never looks at me at all. He watches the daybreak over the sea while consuming a small morning repast: coffee in a can (probably from a vending machine or convenience store), a bottle of water, and something crunchy--a snack-like finger food fried crispy.

These photos I actually took on an afternoon run, so my regular morning beach men were not available for the photo op!

8. Cooler in the trunk. Well, okay, I just removed it last week because, after a foray into the commissary, I no longer feel the pressure to race home before my food melts and/or rots. But there is certainly a season here in Okinawa where one realizes some food may not survive the ride home without additional temperature protection!

9. Sea and sky. Always. And I may have a thousand photos before a year is up. Sea and sky--they are ever-changing and gloriously relentless in their capacity to teach me another facet of beauty.

10. Seasons? The calendar shows November, and the sweatiness factor--temperature and humidity--of August and September has begun to dissipate  Yet, I still sleep with the windows open and only a sheet and a summer coverlet. Although I often wear a hoodie or jacket inside buildings air-conditioned to temperatures surely in the polar range, I have yet to need one while outside. So, I think I may be learning a different pattern to the seasons.

Shades of Sea and Sky

On the first day of school, I distribute 3x5 cards to the students and have them complete an "information card" for me. Mostly these cards provide me quick and easy access to their birthdays and some trivia that I use as a base for becoming better acquainted with each of them. On the lined side of the card we establish the basics: full name, preferred name, birthday, where the house is located (as in "on base" or town/neighborhood), siblings, and pets. On the back side of the card we do a quick graphic organizer thing by dividing it into four sections and labeling each one with these:  likes, dislikes, skills, hopes and dreams. I complete my card on the board as students do theirs. Since my middle school teacher beginning, I have always written "live by the sea" as one of the items in my "hopes and dreams" section. This year when I wrote in that phrase, one of my students offered, "Ms. Cahoon, here in Okinawa you could really do that--live by the sea." And now I do. I actually live across the street from the sea...the Pacific Ocean, to be exact.

And everyday I am mesmerized all over again with the play of light and shadow of sea and sky. In counterpoint, harmony, or unison--their ever-changing renditions carry me into an elsewhere of beauty and possibility. 

Considered sub-tropical, Okinawa has coral reefs and seas arrayed in tropical blues and greens--seas where colors like aqua, cerulean, celadon, turquoise, cobalt, and teal were born and raised. Sometimes these dazzle and dance with almost blinding brilliance, and sometimes they mingle and marry in a watercolor wash, muted yet memorable. At night, though,the sea is wrinkled black, but, at moments, points of light might bounce and skeeter across its rumpled surface.

Since I live on the Pacific side of the island--the east side--sunrise may actually unveil the sun in its morning color and light show although it is not a given. Sunset, too, often presents a color and light show as well but always sans the sun.

Here, then, are shades of sea and sky as viewed from my balcony:

Seoul Reflections

The second week of June, movers arrived at my Seoul apartment and packed up all my material goods minus my summer travel impedimenta. Now the bulk of my current accumulation of chattel roosts in shipping containers while in transit from Seoul to Okinawa. The most recent tracking message received stated that those containers left Busan last week. Meanwhile, I departed Seoul on June 17 and presently reside with my summer travel impedimenta--first in Hawaii and now in Utah.

After living almost five years in Seoul, I will certainly carry forever onward Seoul's imprint on my own soul. Here now are some bits and pieces included in that imprint.

In all honesty, though, a few facets locked into this Seoul imprint I will not miss, so I shall declare them first and be done with them:

1. Air quality issues. How much fault belongs to China's catastrophic air pollution woes  and the prevailing weather patterns and how much solely to Korea's own issues, I will not debate. Suffice it to say that air quality too often can be problematic. (Check out this website.)
2. Winter. Even if I've lived all my life so far in lands with a winter season, Korea takes first place in the MISERABLE category for its multiple weeks of bone-chilling cold with no reprieve whatsoever. When you watch Mash reruns and those characters bemoan the cold, they speak the truth! Ice resulting from a measly inch or two of snow can last for six weeks.
   
3. Spitting. In Korea people spit their sputum onto the sidewalk and streets regularly. I cringe whenever I hear someone cough or clear his/her (yes, females do this, too, especially ones from older generations) throat because almost inevitably the sound of spittle launching will follow. YUCK!

With the negativity now concluded, let me share a glimpse of the Seoul glow I hold within. I will miss so many things!

• My apartment. I loved my apartment. It was my haven.

• My neighborhood, Huam Dong. It has its own street market proffering all manner of goods from shops, stands, the back of trucks, even curbside: fresh fruits and vegetables, spices and red pepper paste, fish (fresh or dried), baked goods, breakfast or lunch or dinner from pots and on sticks, electronics, clothing, even small pieces of furniture. An array of "mom and pop" restaurants within its turf include fare ranging from Korean barbecue to pizza to take-out Thai (YUM!) and Vietnamese (pho is now my comfort food of choice).

• Taking the subway to church on Sunday.

• Crossing the Han River by subway. Because the church is located on the other side of the river from where I lived, I always crossed the Han River on Sunday commutes. Because I took the Sunday commute pretty much weekly, I eventually achieved successful subway snoozer status (one who can snooze but awaken to disembark at the correct station), yet I could not allow snoozing during the river crossing; the crossing became my touchstone moment or something, and I had to witness it fully.

• Opening a refrigerator at church and being assaulted by the pungent aroma of kimchi. Where  else can that ever happen?!

• Walking to and from work. Unless it was too wet or too cold or I planned a morning run on post before school or I had too much to carry, I enjoyed commuting to and from work by foot. Two to three times a week became the pattern. My last month in my apartment I ended up walking everywhere or else taking a subway or a cab because I sold my car the day after I listed it for sale--in other words, much more quickly than anticipated!

• My students. No where else have I taught students where so many of them have internalized both the desire to learn and the determination to pursue excellence in what they create and produce.

• "Beauty" shops, the ones catering to personal vanity and presenting even more than one has ever imagined needing or using to be more beautiful--skin care, hair, make-up, etc. They are everywhere, even in the underground passageways of the subway. I especially enjoy the freebies tendered with even the smallest purchase. My personal favorites are Skin Food and Face Shop, but there are surely a dozen more franchises from which to choose. And, from what I understand, Korean beauty products are becoming big sellers in the USA.

• Spring. Korea does it with exquisite loveliness.
  

• Autumn. Korea does it with exquisite loveliness.
  

• Ginkgo...especially in autumn. The leaf totally enchants me--a tiny golden fan suspended on a branch or embellishing a car windshield or gilding the sidewalk.

• Robert, my taxi man. In Seoul I actually had Robert's name in my phone contacts, and he had me listed in his! When I called or sent a text, he could always address me by name before I identified myself. After the first time he delivered me to my apartment, he never required directions again to pick me up there. He spoke wonderful English and enjoyed talking culture, politics, religion, whatever. I have kept his number because if I show up in Seoul again to visit, I have a taxi driver at the ready!

• The car wash man at the commissary. On his bike he rides onto post with a bucket, cloths, and brushes. Enlist his service before one enters the commissary, and when one returns to the car with groceries in tow--voila, clean car. By the end of my sojourn in Seoul, he knew me and my car well. The last time he washed my car, he did it on his own volition. He recognized my car in the parking lot and washed it while I was inside the commissary without me even being aware that he was there that day. Because my car had been quite dirty (Seoul has dirty precipitation--air quality issues, remember), I noticed immediately that it was clean. Momentarily confused, I then spotted the car wash man about to leave the parking lot at the far exit. I was able to catch him and offer him payment, but he smiled and shook his head no. At that moment, I didn't realize that it would also be the last time for the car to be washed while I owned it. Still, such a sweet ending.

• My cleaning lady. I have never before had a cleaning lady. Somehow she came with the rent; I never paid her up front. How marvelous to never have to clean a shower comprised of tile and glass and yet have it remain in pristine condition.

• Mr. Joe, the car insurance man. "If you have a situation or an accident, call me first, then the MPs!" I never had to call him for anything more than a dead battery when I returned from summer break, and then he sent a mechanic on a motorcycle right to my car in the underground parking garage of my apartment building.

• My landlord and the security man at my apartment building. Traditionally Korean men have a rather dictatorial reputation. How true that still is, I don't know, but I do know that both of those men took excellent care of me and my needs in that apartment for almost five years. Neither spoke much English at all, I speak very little Korean, and so we communicated with smiles, gestures, and a translating intermediary if more lengthy spoken communication was necessary. I think they were one of God's gifts to me.

Myanmar and Theravada Buddhism

Despite being grievously cumbered with visits to Buddhist temples my first two days in Myanmar--first in Yangon and then in Bagan--I was still moved by the very real devotion of so many people in Myanmar to their Buddhist faith. (Seriously, dear tour designer, for non-devotees, a guided tour of two different Buddhist temples in one day is plenty; four in one day is mind-numbing, and ten in two days--no matter how small a temple might be--is a mini hell whatever someone's religious persuasion might be!) Almost ninety percent of Myanmar's population practices Theravada Buddhism, and that practice informs the way each day unfolds and, as with religion in general, influences architecture and art. Western civilization tends to connote Buddhism with peace and acceptance, but when any religion is used to sanctify social, political and/or economic power wrangling, it is never holy. Sadly, some in Myanmar have done and still do just that, attempting to cloak or justify evil acts with false connections to Buddhism. However, I am not celebrating them. I am celebrating all of those I observed or met or had the chance to share a time and space where our lives overlapped.

Religions through the ages have always had an impact on the arts: what to create and what to treasure. The lay of the land in Myanmar is shaped and designed by Buddhism.

In Yangon, Shwedagon.

In Bagan.

In Mandalay we visited a Buddhist monastery--a Mandalay highlight for me, by the way--and arrived just as the novices and monks were gathering for their noon-day meal. Monks eat only twice a day: very early in the morning and just before noon. They do not partake of any more food after noon. All their food is donated and prepared by others who, as part of their devotion, provide substance, time, and service to the monks. In Myanmar, all male Buddhists are expected to spend a certain period of time as a monk. At age eighteen, a male can choose to become a monk for life. Our guide in Mandalay confessed that when his family sent him to the monastery to serve his time as a monk at the age of eight, he only lasted a week. He was just too hungry! For him, only two meals failed to constitute a suitable living arrangement.

Monks wear wine-colored robes; nuns wear pink and orange. Both monks and nuns shave their heads. Visible everywhere, monks and nuns participate in the daily rituals and routines of everyday life in an integral way. For me it was both beautiful and humbling to watch.