1001 words

The blue Mini Cooper flew down the narrow roads of this vast city, heading towards the ocean. I was riding shotgun, though here that means I was riding where the driver’s seat usually is. Koji was driving. It was his mom’s car. I had only met him about 10 minutes earlier, when I got into the tiny car as it came to a stop outside my apartment. Inside along with Koji was Anou, a New Zealander who’s dreadlocked, half Laotian and built like a rugby player, and Rich the vegetarian from England. I work with Anou and Rich at the Board of Education and they invited me to come swimming at the beach as I was leaving work today. My original plan was to go home, take off all my clothes and dry my tired and sweaty body in front of the fan for a couple hours and then have a nap. For some reason, the beach seemed like a much better idea.

I had tried going to the beach before, during my first weekend in this city. I woke up at an unheard of hour and couldn’t get back to sleep. I changed into running clothes and went outside. There is a river next to my apartment. It runs east to west. Following this basic knowledge, it seemed logical that if I ran east along the river, I would eventually get to the ocean. This did not happen. After about an hour of running, I was drenched in sweat, suffocating from the humidity, wishing I didn’t smoke cigarettes and ready to turn around for the long haul back home.

This spontaneous road trip to the ocean proved to be just what I needed. Me and three guys, all from incredibly different parts of the world: Japan, England, New Zealand, America—a motley crew, indeed. When we made it to the beach and pulled into the parking lot, a naked Japanese boy was running around the lot. He seemed happy and oblivious. We laughed but were distracted by the beautiful women rinsing the ocean and sand off their thin bodies at the shower outside the public toilet.

I needed to get away from the routine I was setting myself into. I needed to hangout with new people and do something other than sit around my apartment in my underwear, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer in a futile attempt to battle this cruel and godless summer weather. This was good.

I’ve been here two weeks and have only met two Japanese twentysomthings who do not work at the Board of Education. This is sad and ironic. It was nice meeting Koji, We talked in Japanese about baseball and the sunset. He’s never been to America but he knows about the Kansas City Royals and George Brett. We both agreed the Royals suck.

The ocean was cold and salty. I hadn’t been in the ocean in more than a year. It was nice to let it swallow me, cover my body in salt and foam, make my hair coarse and wet. The waves were not magnificent, but it was fun to try and catch them and swim along. The ocean floor was covered in seaweed. At one point we started throwing it at each other. Maybe one day a fisherman will harvest it and it will be processed and eaten. Probably not. But you never know.

After an hour or so, we made our way towards the shore. There was a crowd of Japanese gathered in a circle. They had completely buried one of their friends in sand and built him a gigantic penis and a pair of breasts. It was incredibly hermaphroditic and amusing.

We stared playing soccer with a beach ball. Running in the sand, when the purpose is solely to run, is difficult enough. Playing soccer in the sand is infinitely more challenging. Two on two. Anou and I versus Koji and Rich. It was a grueling battle. Each time a goal was scored the defense had to do ten push-ups. Anou and I lost. I felt bad because he plays a lot of sports and I presume he is naturally competitive and likes to win. I’m horrible at sports,. I was always the last one picked to be on a team growing up. Unless the kid with one leg was around. Then I had second-to-last place in the bag. Regardless of my ineptitude, I had a good time.

After we were tired and finished we made our way back to the car. We took quick showers to rinse off the ocean and sand. As we were heading back to the car we stopped an old Japanese man on a bicycle for the time. He started quizzically into his cell phone and turned to us. “Farsighted,” he said, handing the phone to Anou. It was a quarter past six. We chatted with the old man in a mixture of Japanese and English. He is a recreational skin diver and every Sunday he ventures to the bottom of the ocean to collect sea urchins and abalone.

We drove to an okonomiyaki restaurant and had dinner. Rich and I ordered beers and talked about the hippies and vegetarianism. When new customers came in the whole staff, which was mainly comprised of attractive young women, would say in unison, “Irrashaimase, bum bon bon!” in a musical sing-song way. It was an amusing gimmick.

Afterwards we drove home.

Back at my apartment I started drinking whiskey. I am having a few people stay at my apartment tonight because about 40 of us are attending an all-you-can drink party and the likelihood that most people will be bombed and not ready to catch the last train home when the time comes is very high. So I in addition to cleaning the place up a bit, I decided to put some pictures on the walls. Part of this idea included making a collage. Danielle has assured me this does not make me gay. I want to believe her.