I went on an adventure today. I woke up early, although not as early as I had originally intended to because I couldn't get to sleep last night so I kept moving the alarm forward an hour for every hour that I couldn't get to sleep, and headed out of the house by 8:30 for the train station. I went to park my bike when this pretty young little thing (Aren't they all? I hate them all) came over to me and started rambling on saying something to the effect of you can't park your bike there. Okay, so all these other bikes that are right beside mine can't be parked here either and never mind the fact that I have parked my bike in this exact spot several times now, but okay, I can't park here. Then where shall I park? Directions in Japanese with not enough hand gestures for me to figure out what she is saying. Short story, made long, she shows me where to put my bike, in pay parking(!) and I hop the next train. Train, transfer, train, wait, transfer, train, and I'm on my way out of town.
It took some time to start seeing less concrete and more green, but after about 40 minutes it was finally starting to look more rural with little towns along the way. I came to Taito station and got off. Normally there's these fancy electronic gates and fare adjustment machines. Taito station has a cute little old man taking tickets, I had to show him that I owed more money. He gave me directions to the main street headed East, essentially, find the street with cars on it and just keep walking. Almost an hour later of walking through farm land, the air was starting to cool and the houses were getting smaller. I came into the part of the town of Taito-Misaki that has all the "beach" homes. They're second homes for people in Tokyo to come to the sea. I had finally found OCEAN!!! The area is known as the Dover of Asia. Giant white cliffs brush the coast to the north and then right where I was standing they end and the shore continues on for miles of coarse sandy beaches to the south.
I stood there for a while just listening and taking it all in. To the left were these giant concrete slabs and there were some old guys fishing off them with these huge long fishing poles. It looked really funny to have these giant poles, and then these itty bitty fish off the end of them that they were catching. Seemed a little bit overkill, but they're so far from the water that they needed the long poles for the long cast offs they had to do. I took a little stroll around the corner of one of the bluffs and found that the slabs kept going for a long way, but many had dipped and fallen into the sea. I decided to stay where I was an not venture any further as it looked like if I slipped on one of them, I wouldn't be missed until I didn't show up for work next Wednesday. I sat down on the concrete and just watched the ocean roll in and smelled the seaweed and it was quite splendid.
Once my butt started to get numb from sitting on the concrete, I decided it was time to stroll to the south to see what I could find. I hadn't yet seen the sand beach, but I had a feeling they were there. I walked but a few minutes and it opened right up to be seen for miles and then faded around a point into the haze. I was excited to see sand, but then my excitement subsided when I managed to get myself over the railing and onto the beach of very black, very coarse, sticky sand and shell pieces. Not exactly, lay out the blanket and sleep the afternoon away kind of environment. It was still nice to dip my feet in the Pacific (even though the water is full of sand that then sticks to your whole body and doesn't brush off nicely after it dries) and to take some shots of the surfers. I had a moment of 'Where am I? I'm not in SD, where am I?' when I saw the guys standing there with their boards. But the nature of the waves and the beach make surfing as I know it on the West Coast impossible (where you paddle out and catch a wave in back to shore). The waves break within feet of the shore, so it's a lot more like skim boarding, but on little waves. They looked like they were having a lot of fun.
I was feeling like I just couldn't get comfortable between the concrete and the unruly sand so I was considering leaving but as I was about to walk away from the walkway and make my way back to the station I found that I just couldn’t do it. I wanted to take the sound and the water home with me and couldn't imagine not being around the waves. So I ditched my pack and just stood there at the railing watching the waves crash into the giant concrete forms for like another hour. Several times I picked up my pack to leave but I would make it like 2 feet and I would turn back around and drop my pack. Once I was finally able to make my way from the shore I stopped in at this white greek inspired monstrosity that was one lot in from the sea walk. It was called Mike's Treasure House and Café. I have found Mr. Miyagi's little brother! Mike wears cowboy boots and a California tourist shirt with Indians on it. He's Japanese and barely speaks any English but has this store/café with all sorts of American paraphernalia from the last 70 years. I had old metal lunch boxes and a saddle and a large assortment of used cowboy boots and old English restaurant chalk boards where you right the Specials Of The Day. He had two floors of stuff. It was like walking around a museum. Then he lead my up some narrow little stairs that I hadn't noticed before. They led to a square little door to outside and some more steps until we were up on his roof. It was fabulous. You could see for miles and miles around (okay, maybe not actually around as the cliffs kinda got in the way, but at least 280 degrees around for miles and miles). The floor is a blue marbled like substance and in the corner was his tub and shower where he'll sit and soak under the stars and the moon. It was perfectly splendid and totally not Japanese. I felt like I was on the Cote D'Azure, except for the constant drone of the cicadae (that's the proper plural for 'cicadas') in the trees surrounding the hills. I asked him some questions about the area and we had a nice, albeit broken, conversation. The concrete blocks and forms evidently made a walking and bicycle path long ago that stretched for 2 km to the north. Now it's all broken down and rather unsafe to go very far on anymore. About as far as I had gone, was far enough.
I made my way back to the train station, missed the train by two minutes and sat on the old wooden benches in the random old station that has probably been there since before the war for another hour, reading, waiting for the next train. I made it home, ditched my stuff and slathered lotion on my poor sun burnt shoulders.
