At 7:30 this morning our door bell rang. It was a young Japanese fellow announcing that everything we owned in this world, all two crates, had at long last arrived from the States. I went down to verify the shipment and sign some forms, then got out of the way and let the men do their work. Melba and I had been separated from our goods for fifty-four days.
Melba, as is any D.O.D.D.S. employee, is permitted to take a day off from work when their things arrive. The both of us worked our tails off getting this stuff put away. At the end of the day we both agreed that we should have given more away, stored more, and thrown more, but it was still a good feeling to have familiar things around us again.
I always slip my little digital camera in my pocket before I step out the door. Yes, always, but not this morning. The Housing Office called to notify us that our personal household goods were being delivered tomorrow. The two large crates they were stuffed in have spent weeks crossing the Pacific on a slow container ship. Arrangements had to be made with the Housing Office to have the few sticks of furniture we borrowed from the Navy in the meantime to be picked up. It was so nice and cool outside I opted walk to the office instead of drive, but the gray overcast ceiling was showing signs of drizzle so I left the camera behind. I take good care of my possessions.
Halfway there I regretted leaving it. A resident of a townhouse along the way had a good-sized yucca plant, or pita as we call them in South Texas, growing tall as a part of the yard's landscape. It was blooming with a nice big white head of blossoms. It made me think of the Ranch and I would have liked to take a picture of it. Alas, no camera.
Now when I stepped into the Housing Office I really did wish I had a camera. This absolutely gorgeous Japanese girl was sitting behind her desk. She was Asian perfection personified, a flawless beauty. On her desk sat a name plate with her name engraved in big gold all-cap letters spelling out MS. HOTTE. I kid you not. She was ever so friendly and a gifted conversationalist. She talked about her job, the photos she had ringing her cubicle, and her recent climb of Mt. Fuji. She was an enchantress. I could kick myself for not having my camera. Oh well, I can always go back and take a picture of the pita.
Melba and I were about 15 minutes shy of two hours on the road back from Yokota Air Force Base celebrating confidently as self-christened masters of the Japanese autobahn when suddenly our bubble burst. Just as we were on the lookout to get off the toll highway and head into Yokosuka we missed the exit ramp. The exit sign came up suddenly as our car came around a tight curve. In a blur it was past. Having no clue how to get back on the express road our inflated spirits lost air very quickly.
There are nothing but high hills on every acre of land on the Miura Peninsula rising up and away from every path, alley, road and highway. On much of the drive the sky above and the great mounds of earth flanking us are all one can see. No distant landmarks can be observed to beckon us homeward. The next breath escaping your lips carries an earnest prayer with it: "God, please help us. I sure hope You know how to drive on the left and steer from the right." Wouldn't you know it. He does.
Our route home should have followed the yellow line, but The Man Upstairs steered us home via the red line. The detour may have cost us time but the unplanned National Geographic route we steered took us through some visually absorbing Japanese barrios where no se halba el inglés para nada.
Today this eaglet left his Yokosuka nest for the first time. With Ronda acting as navigator, I drove from Yokosuka Naval Base to Yokota Air Force Base. As mentioned in earlier posts, only 45 miles separate these two points on the map, but the drive time is a hard-to-fathom 2+ hours. Too much traffic, too many twists and turns, too much stop-and-go, too unbelievable, but we arrived safely.
Ronda, Renie, their little Larissa, and a co-worker of Rene's and his wife made the drive over from Yokota to Yokosuka this morning to have a close-up look at the U.S.S. George Washington. Because they had to drive back anyway it was a good opportunity follow behind and introduce myself to the Japanese driving public.
Once at Yokota we checked into the Kanto Lodge. It's the military hotel on base. This trip was an over-nighter. I was not about to tempt my good fortune by turning around and heading back to Yokosuka on the same day. After a little rest we climbed into the Saenz' van for the obligatory commercial excursion and then sought out some Japanese-styled fast food. Ronda zipped through the streets like a long-time Japanese native. She credits her gifted driving ability to confidence. I give all the credit to Providence.
A pair of chopsticks and my right hand had never been introduced to each other until this evening. After a couple of tips on technique from Ronda I was picking and chopping away at my food like the patrons around me. Mindful of her table manners, Melba opted to use the silverware provided for the chopstick challenged.
After more than a year in Japan the Saenz family have become old hands using two wooden sticks to bring food up to their mouths at dinner time.
Melba and I had visitors this morning. It was a virtual house calling via the Internet, but very welcomed nonetheless. My friend Ramiro was good enough to give me a webcam call this Saturday morning (his Friday afternoon) as he and his lovely and gracious wife Lulu visited with Beenie, his younger brother and his enchanting wife, Mary Ann in Edinburg. Visits like this help take the sting out of this trans-Pacific separation from friends and loved ones. Thanks Ramiro. I would very much have liked to have had a cold beer with you guys.
Melba had a first grade class in her elementary library today when her ears singled out one conversation out of the many that were taking place. It was between two little girls and Melba could not understand a word they were saying. The exchange was being delivered in a rapid-fire tongue but she had no idea what it was. Amazed with the pair, she approached them and asked what language they were speaking. In perfect English, Erica, the taller of the two, said, "Japanese." Then Anna, her little friend volunteered, "Our mothers are Japanese. We talk Japanese. Our fathers are English." Melba understood that to mean that their fathers were American servicemen.
Melba was very impressed. We're over here still struggling to say hello, good morning, and thank you in Japanese.
How many times have we heard the phrase witness to history? This morning 97,000 tons of history steamed into Tokyo Bay and docked at Berth #12 at Yokosuka Naval Base. I was fortunate to witness the event. Now homeported in Yokosuka, Japan, the U.S.S. George Washington will be the only forward-deployed nuclear-powered supercarrier in the American fleet. United States Ambassador to Japan J. Thomas Schieffer put it this way. "More than sixty years ago a long and bitter struggle came to a close. Each of us had suffered devastating losses. Both of us wondered if we would ever be friends again. Neither of us could have imagined the event we witness today- the forward deployment of an American nuclear powered aircraft carrier not to subjugate Japan, but to defend Japan."
Brother! That's historic.
There always has to be one that spoils the picture.
Strung out along the low seawall at the northern perimeter of Yokosuka Naval Base were many of the curious waiting to catch their first glimpse of the new arrival. I was among them. The carrier moved slowly across our field of view, lining up with the inlet that pointed to its new home. The berthing point was well beyond our view and when the great ship pointed its bow in that direction the crowd either jumped into their vehicles or hoofed the three-quarters of a mile to the dock. I hoofed it and when I got there the atmosphere was carnival-like. Wives, children, girlfriends, sailors, dignitaries, TV crews, bands, balloons, banners and navy brass were all assembled on the enormous dock as the carrier drew nearer with the assistance of the tugs.
Every tailor from Tokyo to Yokosuka must have worked himself cross-eyed getting this bunch suited up for the big ceremony. I could not count the number of "suits" that were bused in for the event. Besides the local dignitaries, there were representatives from the highest echelons of Japanese government present. I saw enough saluting and bowing this morning to make a workout video.
This fellow here with the shades kept talking into his sleeve every once in a while. Either he had a tiny little friend in there he was whispering sweet nothings to or he was plain-clothed security. The bulge underneath his jacket suggests the latter. What I found curious was that this fellow was shorter than me, and I'm built close enough to the ground to be mistaken for a fire plug.
There were many speeches, some military, some civilian, but all very good. The importance of the American-Japanese alliance was emphasized, the understanding of maintaining a lasting peace through strength was reinforced, and the promise to promote freedom and prosperity between the two nations was renewed. Mix that in with the Navy band's rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner," all the flag waving, sailors rushing down the gang plank to kiss wives and set eyes on infant sons or daughters that were born while they were out to sea... it was difficult not to get caught up in all the emotion. I was happy to be there.
Not far from our tower, but then again, nothing attached to the base is far from our tower, I discovered a narrow paved road that inclines sharply to where a huge tank reservoir sits on one of the hills on base. What the tank holds I can only speculate. It is probably water, but that's not important. That vantage point is high above my little piece of America. For me these 500-plus acres carved out of Japanese soil are America. From up there I can look east over the civilian side of the base. The grade is very steep, excellent for walking off some accumulated fast food residue off a 5-foot 6-inch 55-year-old 180-pound ranch kid. I have taken to adding that climb to my daily walk and then I cap it off by challenging the stairwell up to our eighth floor apartment. I am resolved not to devolve in the disgustingly sloven human sub-species radix lecti.
There is little to see in the distance on the climb up because of a mesh of jungle-like growth along the way. But there are sufficiently wide breaks in the green entanglement to form an occasional picture window of sorts. I will stop at one of those to rest. It is absolutely secluded and for a minute that one spot is all mine. The view it affords of the distant ship traffic slowly and silently plowing across Tokyo Bay gives me pause to reflect. I am alone there. There isn't a soul present to read the thoughts etched on my face or interpret my body language. It is just me.
While taking a break there this morning, for an instant I thought about the countless times in summers past when my brothers and I would be working alongside our old man, stacking hundreds of bales in hay sheds, the air so thick with dust it scratched the back of your throat like an old rag even though we tied bandanas across our nostrils and mouth, or digging post holes in unforgiving caliche that fought back with equal strength every strike of the heavy steel bar we used to bite into the bottom of the hole, or the heat and danger to life and limb we endured pushing half-wild cattle who had lived most of their lives in mesquite brush through a narrow chute and on into cattle trailers using little more that a mesquite branch to prod them on. I am certain that on days like that I must have wished to be somewhere else, somewhere far away from all that physical exertion that taxed mind and body. I am certain I wished to be as far from that sun-baked ranch land as possible. Sometimes we get our wish.
This morning, for a short while, I thought back to those under-appreciated days and wished that I could have just one more day like that with my father and brothers. Like a hungry dog I chewed on that bone for a good while and did not find any meat on it. And like the dog, unsatisfied, I abandoned the bone. Those are silly thoughts. You can't have everything. I cannot be then and now on the same day.
I want to take this little car apart, pack the pieces in bubble wrap, box them up, slap some postage on and mail it back home one piece at a time. I spotted this car in the Commissary parking lot a couple of weeks ago. There are personal effects on the front and rear seats, but apparently the poor little thing has been abandoned. I have grown right fond of it, much as I would an orphaned puppy with sad eyes.
After a little homework I learned that it is a Subaru 360, nicknamed The Ladybug. This compact piece of engineering was introduced to the Japanese motoring world in 1958. Production ran until 1970. I cannot determine if the car is 50 years old or only 38 years old, but the body is in remarkably good condition. Its body style remained relatively constant all through its production run.
Weighing less than 1000 pounds and just under 10 feet in length, this four seater is powered by a 25-horse power rear-mounted air-cooled 2-stroke 356 cc (21.7 cubic inch) engine. It's advertised as delivering 66 miles per gallon. Hombre! ¿Que mas quieres? I'm tempted to go buy a screwdriver and socket set right now. I've already got some bubble wrap at home.
Except for family and long-time friends we lack for none of the things we took for granted before we left the States. I am a bit like the Japanese who come on the base thinking that this is America. We have it all here, all except for slices of fresh tasting wheat bread. I don't know where they fly this stuff in from but I wish the jet pilot would coax some more speed out of his aircraft. This bread will just not do.
The first time we bought a loaf and found it lacking in freshness we assumed that there had been a rush on the shelves and we had simply picked up an older loaf. Not so. On subsequent grocery outings we came to learn that freshness in a slice of wheat bread would be out of reach, much like our family and long-time friends.
The last time we walked into town we kept an eye out for local Japanese shops that might be a source for fresh bread. We've grown very fond of its taste over the years and we just won't settle for what's stocked on the shelves of the Navy Commissary. And don't get me started on tortillas!
Why post a picture of what's under the hood of our 1995 Nissan March? It's a guy thing, something my three brothers and a nephew would appreciate. The engine compartment is spotless. The odometer reads 19000 miles. Not bad for a thirteen-year-old car.
The Hand of God came in the form of a relentless rain today, making a slow sweep across Tokyo Bay and the rocky green hills around us. It was a soggy reminder to mortals that He is in charge, not us. Yesterday, being such a nice day, we hoped for more of the same and planned a trip to the picturesque OfunaKannonji Temple. It's only ten miles up the Miura Peninsula; a 30-minute train ride. This Buddhist temple is a short walk from the station and would make a nice photo opportunity, saving the remainder of our weekend from drudgery. Instead, we awoke this morning to discover a low sky heavy with dark clouds slapping rain in all directions. It was a surprise to us, but not to God.
Disappointed that we would probably be stuck indoors the whole day I was reminded of something my mother says occasionally, "El hombre propone, y Diosdispone." We should have checked with God before we went to bed last night. The best we managed today was a Sunday walk through the commercial interests of downtown Yokosuka, a poor choice of day for this activity. Even the Japanese like a day off once in a while and we found many of the shops closed.
God, if it be Your Will, please jot this down in your daily planner, "clear and sunny skies for the 27th and 28th".
We were spared. The typhoon was pushed off into the Pacific. Our troubles were little more than some wind and rain throughout the night. The cloud cover broke this morning and we were treated to a bright sun. All is well again. For some reason all activities on the base were suspended until about ten o'clock this morning. No offices or commercial establishments were open. Housing residents were advised to stay put. Then, the blue sky edged out the low dark clouds and the weather warnings were lifted. Everything was bathed in a warm sunny glow. Mr. Sun hadn't made an appearance in a number of days. Things returned to normal and we even got our first glimpse of Mt. Fuji, though the top half of the mountain was blocked by distant clouds. (I should have taken a picture.)
We decided to take advantage of the good lighting and produce a short video tour of the civilian side of C.F.A.Y. (Commander Fleet Activities Yokosuka), our new home. Enjoy.
It was wet today and it's going to get wetter tomorrow. We have Typhoon Sinlaku paying us a visit. This storm has taken temporary charge by forcing us to change our plans for the weekend. The trip to Ikego by train to attend the Friendship Day Festival has been nixed. If a soggy two days cannot be avoided then Yokosuka Navy Base is the ideal place to be. I have never seen better drainage in my life. The civilian half of this complex is engineered in such a way that no water collects anywhere; not streets, walkways, parking lots, green areas, nowhere. The only water in any measurable amount is in Tokyo Bay. The civilian area is a bona fide "charco-free" zone. Melba and I have made it a point to get away on weekends, but not this time around. The sea is angry about something and we're paying the price.
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Since the day we first set foot on Japanese soil most of our dinners have come from these establishments on base: Chili's, Popeye's, Subway, McDonald's, Taco Bell, Sasebo!, Anthony's Pizza, and others. Dinner off base would require finding a parking spot near the Main Gate and then walking a good distance to the restaurants in Yokosuka. We have yet to venture outside the gate in our little car. Why push it? We'll be here for a while and there will be much adventure in the Japanese traffic to write about later. Let's get back to the subject of dinner. Tonight we tried something different. We had a very satisfying dinner at the Officers Club. Good food, good service, and soft music. I especially enjoyed the service from our waitress; a young Japanese girl with smiling eyes who spoke barely above a whisper.
My sister 'visits' with me just about every morning (afternoon for her) via Windows Live Messenger. She keeps me up-to-speed on what is happening back home. Thanks a bunch, lil' sis.
Do you speak English? (Eigo o hanahi masu ka - えいごをはなしますか)
A few days ago Melba came across a workshop notice in the Fleet & Family Support Center's calendar of events titled Getting Started Teaching English. It was targeted for Navy and D.O.D. spouses or dependents who may want to teach English to Japanese citizens for extra income. Long before the notice came about I had been encouraged by a number of acquaintances here that teaching English to Japanese citizens could be fun, personally rewarding and potentially lucrative.
When I arrived at the workshop I found myself in a room with about thirty others, 28 women half my age and one other fellow about 45 years old. I was the old-timer.
It's a good deal if your hours are flexible and want to earn cash money upfront without the hassle of paperwork. When I learn more about the process I may go for it.
It rained for the better part of the day and except for a short trip to the post office to send off for my absentee ballot from good ol' Duval County Texas, I stayed indoors. A couple of hours of that time was used visiting with friends and family via Windows Live Messenger; absolutely wonderful technology. God bless the Internet. I have said it before and I will say it again and again. From where I sit, visiting by webcam is good medicine to stave off the pangs of homesickness.
What I have posted here are a couple of great screen captures of my visit with my good long-time friends Janie and Alonzo Lopez from San Diego, Texas and also from a good long video-chat I had with my brother Ricky in Beeville, Texas. I was able to see the latest addition to the Salas clan, baby Olivia, as-well-as her proud mother, Mary.
On August 9th I shipped two boxes stuffed with my wife's new school clothes to Yokosuka, Japan. They weighed approximately 24 pounds each. The plan was to have the boxes arrive just at the start of the school year there, August 25. That didn't happen. I didn't lay eyes on those boxes again for 37 days. So much time had passed that my wife not longer was sure what lay in them. This incident gives new meaning to the term snail mail. I expected better for $50 postage.
A word of caution, as much as I miss my mother's tortillas, her refried beans, and other delectables, think again before sending perishables over here.
Most of our excursions by rail require a change of trains in some very busy stations. You step off one train and make your way to another platform to catch another train. More often than not, you are swept along in the proverbial sea of humanity, and when this human wave has settled it is the perfect venue for a people-watcher like me.
While waiting for a train at the Ofuna Station this afternoon I was rewarded with the most exquisite and graceful vision of Japanese femininity imaginable. Scanning about the mass of people on the platform, my eyes locked on an oriental beauty standing only feet from me. I was awestruck. She was delicately swathed in a flowery kimono. She was a vision.
On closer examination I saw she was texting on her cell phone and that spoiled the illusion for me. It was just another example of how old and new Japan have come to harmoniously co-exist.
--- On a humorous note: As you are zipping along from station to station the train drivers announce the approaching stops over the public address in the rail cars. It is all very efficient. Of course, the announcements are in Japanese, but many of the major lines also announce in English. That is a reassuring comfort for us newbies.
On one section of track I got a real kick out of one train driver's announcements. He sounded exactly like the Japanese version of the Godfather, Vito Corleone. Every stop we made was a cause to chuckle and it made the ride especially entertaining.
These train rides are becoming a regular week-end thing. Melba and I headed out to Yokota once again to visit with Ronda, Rene, and the kids. I believe I have the hang of it now, travel by rail in Japan I mean. The reason is that this time around no kind stranger approached me on the platform or the rail car to ask me if I needed help. On earlier excursions apparently my body language or facial expressions were a dead give-a-way that I didn't have a clue how to navigate the Japanese rail system. A milestone has been reached. Quiet confidence rests on my shoulders.
Unfortunately, we only met with Rene for a short while. That afternoon he had to catch a flight to Dallas. He was to attend a week-long conference on Sheppard Air Force Base outside Wichita Falls, Texas. He wasn't looking forward to the hours-long bus ride to Tokyo-NaritaAiport and the 12-hour flight half-way-round the world. Their boy, Renie, was also away at a tennis tournament in Sasebo, almost 600 miles away at the far end of Japan, a great enough distance from Yokota to warrant speedy transportation on the Shinkansen, the famed bullet train..
It was too bad about Rene's absence. I would very much liked to have had a cold beer with the man that Saturday evening. Fortunately, Ronda prepared some Tex-Mex fare and so we shared a good dinner that evening, if not his company.
We are walking a little less and driving a little more. Melba and I each need all the practice we can get in the driver's seat. Our mantra every time we get behind the wheel is left, left, left. The whole while we sit behind the wheel feels like the first time we were learning to drive. It is getting better.
As first-time motorists in Japan we are afforded the "privilege" of placing this soshinoya sticker on our vehicle. Nearest I can figure, soshinoya is a conglomeration of "stay away" and "be aware" in Japanese. It warns others, both on the street and on the sidewalk, to watch out for us if they see us coming. I purchased two for the car. One is stuck in front and the other in back. Everybody has been fairly warned.
I have been told that the Japanese traffic police will go easy on you if you happen to be involved in a minor traffic violation. So long as you don't give the nice officer attitude during a traffic stop, the sticker can be your best friend on the road. This may be true. I don't want to put it to the test.
I have another mantra that I loop in my head every time I get behind the wheel. It goes like this, "death comes from the right, death comes from the right." It serves to remind me that as I approach an intersection, I am to look first to the right. That is the direction from which I am likely to get T-boned since folks drive on the left side here. With all this "re-education" I am receiving on the far side of the Pacific, I don't know what I am going to do when I get back to the States and rent a car.
The Yoko-Yoko is what locals call the toll-expressway between Yokosuka and Yokohama. The tolls amount to about 12 bucks American. It'll get you there in half-an-hour if you drive like a madman. That was not the case in my little car.
The reason I had to get our little car to Yokohama is that when we purchased the car we were issued temporary plates to operate it on base. Those are only valid for five days. I learned that the vehicle needs to be registered at the Land Transportation Office in Yokohama and new plates will be issued to the new owner of vehicle, me. The Vehicle Registration Office on base assembles the necessary paperwork and then directs you to Yokohama. They provide a neat little map that shows the route.
I liken the traffic here like blood coursing through the network of veins and arteries in the human body. For those like myself who are still a bit timid about immersing themselves into the ribbons of traffic that flow between the cities of Japan, there is an alternative. You hire someone to make the run to Yokohama in your vehicle. The service is called an LTO Run and it's worth every cent of the fifty dollars I was charged. Usually, it is not the practice of the owner of the car to tag along with the driver, but, having the time, I did. Derek did my LTO Run.
Derek is a former Air Force airman who has lived in Japan since 1993. He is now a civilian employee on the base who buys and sells cars on the side. He came by our apartment tower in the morning and off we were. I explained to him that I was pretty certain I could have found Yokohama. I can read a map, but locating the LTO in the maze of patternless streets was doubtful. I might have found it, though it may have taken me several hours. I'm not that lucky.
The trip required navigating through a hand full of toll roads, whose combined fees total 1300 Yen each way. That's about $24 in total, going and coming. About 40 minutes later we were in the heart of Yokohama. What the map in my hand did not show were construction, road closures, or detours. Had I been in the driver's seat when we came to the first traffic anomaly there would have been trouble. Of course, Derek had little difficulty finding an alternate route.
Once at the LTO complex its enormity made clear to me how out of my element I was. The place looked like a boiling sea with countless sharks thrashing about in a feeding frenzy. It was that busy. Derek found a space to park and we headed into the first of three offices we would see during our visit.
Inside, the place looked like an emergency room on a full-mooned Saturday night. "We'll never get out of here," I thought to myself. But Derek wasn't three steps into the place before he raised a hand and shouted what I assumed to be greetings to an attractive young lady behind the counter. With a quick exchange in Japanese, they laughed and traded wide smiles as he handed her the paperwork.
"You have to know how to grease their palm," he says. "They're not used to it here. I treat 'em special like that."
I was convinced. The paperwork was quickly found to be in good order, stamped, punched, and stapled. We were out of there in five minutes while others remained in line like patients in a hospital ward waiting for medication.
Next, the car had to be queued for an inspection. We were directed to one of the many lanes leading to the inspection garage where a couple of gentlemen ushered us forward. They obviously knew Derek and were genuinely pleased to see him. Again, a friendly exchange in Japanese and Derek introduced me to them, addressing me as Salas-san. I instinctively extended my hand to them, but they quickly bowed at the waist and caught me off guard. All I managed was "Hello."
The older of the two looked me in the eye and said in perfect English, "Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Sato Hiroshi." His tone and delivery was impressive.
"Pleased to meet you, sir," I said in return.
Derek turned to me and explained, "Sato-san, he's alright, man. He likes to practice his English every chance he gets."
Giving the man my full attention I said, "He doesn't need much practice."
The men were obviously mechanics. They gave the car a quick once over, added a signature to one of the many forms, and signaled to us that all was well with the car. Derek promised to bring some Budweiser with him on his next run. After a bit more Japanese chitchat we moved on to the license plate office, our final stop. It seemed Derek goes through this process once or twice a day, five days a week. He can do it in his sleep, and all these people here seemed to know him in a most amicable way. In all honesty, I was somewhat envious.
We had our registration papers and license plates in hand and so it was back on the Yoko-Yoko for us to get back to the base in time for lunch. However, there was one more stop before we satisfied our hunger pangs. The temporary plates needed to be returned to City Hall in Yokosuka. So much to do and so little Japanese to do it with, I though to myself. The fifty dollars was money well-spent and I told Derek so. He laughed.
"Think you could do it on your own now?" he joked.
This morning at 6:33 a.m. Wednesday (Yokosuka time) I was on the phone with my sister, 6000+miles away, at 4:33 p.m. Tuesday (her time) while she acted as my proxy for the sale of our house. After a brief exchange between the title company's representative and myself over the final figures and terms of sale, I found them agreeable and gave the green light. Sold.
It was a wonderful house and home to my wife and me for nineteen years. Without a doubt, I know that it passes on to a great family who will continue to build wonderful lives under its roof.
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Yokosuka Navy Base is located in the middle of the Miura Peninsula in the southeast portion of Kanagawa Prefecture, and faces Tokyo Bay on the east. The base is composed of more than 27,000 military and civilian personnel. The arrow points to our apartment tower. This is home.
While waiting yesterday at City Hall for the clerk to prepare the paperwork for our temporary license plates I happened to look at a display inside a large glass case. My eyes were just scanning about when something very familiar caught my attention. In the center of this display was a large poster with a photo of the Corpus Christi Bayfront. Then I remembered the many times in the last fortysome years that I had watched indifferently to local TV news stories about Corpus Christi and its sister city in Japan. I'm certain that the name of Yokosuka had been referenced each and every time, but the name never registered in my memory. Why would it? Well, here we are... in Corpus Christi's sister city, Yokosuka. You just never know.
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The high school on the Yokosuka base is Nile C. Kinnick High School, "Home of the Red Devils". Its enrollment fluctuates between 500 and 600 students, grades nine through twelve and their lunch period is from 10:30 to 11:15 a.m. I was in the area of the Navy Exchange around this time and saw a great number of high school-aged kids in many of the fast food establishments. This got me to thinking. Is the campus a closed campus? In a fashion, the base the high school is located in is closed. It was just an odd thought I had. I might have too much time on my hands.
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While walking through a construction site on base I did a double-take on this sign. It is directing pedestrian traffic to use a protected path as a sidewalk so as to avoid the work area. The best I can figure is that there is no L in the Japanese language..., thus we have Side Wark.
If someone had told me two months ago that on September 8th of this year I would wake from sleeping on a full-sized bed at five o'clock in the morning in a two-bedroom apartment on a U.S. navy base in Japan, I would have said they had a wild imagination. That's not all. If that same someone had also said that on the same morning I woke up in Japan I slip a wallet with a Japanese drivers license into my pants pocket and then take an elevator eight floors down to step into a little right-hand-drive 1995 Nissan March and pull out of a parking lot and drive on the left side of the road to go pick up my wife at the base's elementary school, I would have said "What have you been smoking?"
Today... that is exactly what I did. I also had to go to the Yokosuka City Hall to get temporary plates for the car. It's just too bizarre. In this life, you just never know what the future holds. For this South Texas ranch kid that truism applies big time.
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On a funny note: I drove to the base gas station to pump five gallons of $4.08 a gallon gasoline into our car for the first time. Well, I pumped my gas, screwed the gas cap back on, paid the young lady attendant, walked back to my vehicle, opened the left-side door, and calmly plopped my behind onto the seat and shut the door. As soon as I did that I realized my mistake. There was no steering wheel between me and the dash. "Idiot!" I thought to myself, "You should be sitting on the right side, where the driver sits in this country." Worse still.... I had an audience. Damn! Find me a rock to crawl under.
This afternoon we bought a used 1995 Nissan March for $1,750. The engine hums and the car is immaculate. Its odometer reads only 30,000 kilometers. That figures to about 18,600 miles. Why the low mileage? From what I understand, the average Japanese only drives about 5000 kilometers a year, or roughly 3000 miles. Ten years of driving would only equal around 30,000 miles. Also, all Japanese highways are toll highways, so that discourages motorists from driving long distances. Their efficient rail system can deliver them to almost any point in Japan, so they leave their cars at home.
So then, why buy a car if everything on the base is walking distance? Because no one likes walking in bad weather to school, the commissary, the post office, restaurants, or anywhere else for that matter. And, I am told, bad weather will come to Yokosuka, and besides, sometimes you just don't feel like walking.
Where did we go to buy a used car? Right here on the base lemon lot. Lemon lot is a military term used to reference the used car lot on base. Most vehicles for sale on the lot are in good shape. At the lemon lot you’ll find cars for sale mostly from service members who are PCS-ing out (Permanent Change of Station). However, some cars are bought off-base by dealers and put up for sale. The previous owner of our car was a Japanese national. The dealers on base are usually American civilians who buy and sell cars on the side.
The lemon lot just happens to be along our way to the Commissary and the Navy Exchange. We had been seriously keeping an eye out for a good buy since we moved into Goban Tower on August 22. We were patient and I believe it paid off. This car is exactly what we were looking for, but there are all kinds for sale; vans, sports cars, sedans, two and four doors. There's really quite a selection, and they don't last long. One has to be ready to act quickly because there are a good number of people on base in the market for a vehicle. They don't last long on the lot. The one we chose had only been put up for sale this morning. I happened on it at 11:30, liked what I saw, and immediately called the dealer to schedule a test drive.
Melba and I have been strolling through the lemon lot so many times in the last couple of weeks that people began to recognize us on sight.
The free shuttle bus service will deliver its riders to just about any civilian or military point on the base. Melba and I use it almost daily. One of its many stops is close to one of the dry docks on Yokosuka. These babies are absolutely humongous. What I have pictured here is a U.S. Navy destroyer undergoing refurbishment and repairs in dry dock. What is truly remarkable is that the ship is 505 feet in length from bow to stern and 66 feet wide at its beam. That is a mighty big boat and it sits in the middle of the dry dock like a tiny rubber ducky in an empty tub. This picture can't do the scene enough justice to be able to appreciate the immensity of this navy facility.
On a side note, the dry docks at Yokosuka date from before World War II, the oldest and smallest, No. 1, having been constructed about 140 years ago with the aid of the French. It is still in use today.
We paid a visit to the Buddha today. Not wishing to stay on the base on a Saturday, Melba and I again braved the Japanese rail system by taking a trip to the city of Kamakura to see the Great Buddha. Cast in bronze, it has sat solidly on its foundation stones since the 13th century. Not even a devastating tidal wave in 1498 that swept away the huge temple it was housed in could budge it from its base. Standing, or rather, sitting 44 feet high and weighing approximately 93 tons, it isn't going anywhere.
The serene and well-kept grounds that surround the Buddha leave no doubt as to the spiritual nature of the place. What is odd is the mix of visitors that came to see it while we were there. The crowd was large. It was a blend of the devout and the secular. The quiet that hung in the incensed-filled air was disturbed only by the cadence of Buddhist prayers from the mouths of the faithful and the digital click of dozens of cameras in the hands of the tourists, Japanese mostly.
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The biggest kick Melba and I got out of our day trip was coming across a machine that dispensed Coca Cola in an ice-filled 6-ounce cup. I don't believe I'd seen one of those since the late sixties. Cost: ¥1.50 ($1.40 by today's exchange rate)
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Here is another example demonstrating how less is sometimes better. On the 10-minute walk from the train station to the Buddha I snapped this photo of the smallest cement mixer I had ever seen. It must have a load capacity of about three yards.
I took a walk outside our "gated community" today to a quiet and pleasant park along the waterfront. Frequented by the lunch crowd of Japanese blue and white collar workers, the area is carved out of the busy city of Yokosuka. In this park, dotted with shady trees, manicured shrubbery and sparkling fountains, I came upon His Imperial Japanese Majesty's Ship Mikasa, a pre-dreadnought battleship dating back to the turn of the 20th century. Never to sail again, it is land-locked in a massive foundation of concrete and is the centerpiece of the Mikasa Park. The century-old ship has a proud and storied past and the Japanese people are as proud of her as Texans are of the Battleship Texas. I was impressed and the ship seemed to be a very popular place with the citizenry. The whole time I explored the ship and the park I did not see one single non-Japanese person. The sensation I felt was almost as if I were an intruder in their world.
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This is a Nissan SKYLINE. Until recently, I was unaware that this was Japan's greatest supercar. The Skyline has never been sold in North America. The first thing my younger brother Ricky said to me when I told him we were moving to Japan was "Wow! Japan! If you can get a hold of a SKYLINE Nicholas (Nicholas being his second-oldest boy) will buy it!" It is my understanding that this apparently legendary car, if one can be procured and shipped to the States for resale, can produce an amazing profit for the reseller. I'll keep my eyes open for a FOR SALE sign, Nick.
We are fortunate to receive our cable TV service at no cost. Thanks Navy. Aside from the standard offering from the States like news, sports, and movies, the lineup includes six channels of Japanese programming. At first I used to quickly zap past them with the remote, but no longer. Watching, even for a short while, can be a learning experience. It is very different in content and delivery from its American counterpart. Even with the language barrier, the shows are very entertaining.
I got a visit today from two of my favorite kids in the whole world thanks to my sister and Windows Live Messenger. There is no way I can thank her enough for this good medicine. My sister had the good sense to purchase an inexpensive webcam and the rest was technology magic. I just about got all misty-eyed when I saw those beaming faces on my computer screen in our home in Yokosuka, Japan. The kids and I had a good long chat and lots of laughs. Thanks again, little sister.
This photo represents an application of economy at its best practice. The job of transporting this crate (filled with some Navy family's personal effects, no doubt) requires little more than a flatbed for the load and the horsepower to move it along. The Japanese approach the task most economically using half the resources that their Texas counterparts would have employed. You see this level of efficiency everywhere.
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Beer! I hadn't enjoyed a cold beer since I was back at in the States on August 9 at the Ranch. It was good to sit down this last weekend and enjoy one with my friend, Rene. The beer was a Japanese label called Asahi Super Dry. I gave it a thumbs up. Its taste reminded me of Dos Equis.
This Labor Day weekend Melba and I dared to venture out of Yokosuka on the Japanese rail system. We had used trains before in Italy, however, the Japanese commuter trains work differently.
As a boy growing up in the country, I had developed a Texas-sized confidence in my sense of direction. Naturally, it was based on the four points of the compass. I could usually determine in which direction I was headed; whether I was walking through the brush or later as an adult navigating the web of Interstates crisscrossing the country. All that experience didn't do me a damn bit of good this weekend. I was hopelessly lost half the time. It was a humbling experience. By the time we headed back to Yokosuka a couple of days later my confidence was restored. This ranch kid is back in the saddle.
At 7:30 this morning our door bell rang. It was a young Japanese fellow announcing that everything we owned in this world, all two crates, had at long last arrived from the States. I went down to verify the shipment and sign some forms, then got out of the way and let the men do their work. Melba and I had been separated from our goods for fifty-four days.
Melba, as is any D.O.D.D.S. employee, is permitted to take a day off from work when their things arrive. The both of us worked our tails off getting this stuff put away. At the end of the day we both agreed that we should have given more away, stored more, and thrown more, but it was still a good feeling to have familiar things around us again.
