I had an appointment at 10 in the morning with a lady who teaches English in her home. Her Japanese students range in ages from six to sixty. She spreads out her instruction to small groups throughout the week. She had arranged for me to shadow one of her beginner groups. That was my reason for heading down the road to Zushi. Only, she doesn't live in Zushi. On the way over I had to be on the lookout for a corner Seven 11 store in Ikego. Ikego is just east of Zushi. However, operating at an elevated level of caution and being so mindful of the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the pedestrian-filled crosswalks, bicyclists, motorcycles and scooters weaving between cars in streets too narrow for a modern Westernized country, I missed the Seven 11. In those traffic conditions and in a town that's never enjoyed the benefits of a city planner's work, a motorist cannot simply turn around and head back. The picture below is of the Zushi city center. I would like to see you try and find your way out of this mess.
There is no prospect of just "going around the block" and getting your bearings. The ribbon-wide streets are not laid out in a north-to-south east-to-west grid like in the good ol' USA. These older city streets are spread out in a chicken scratch configuration. The seemingly endless circling in unfamiliar neighborhoods populated with non-English speakers has to be experienced to appreciate the sense of frustration you feel when one is lost here. We newbies were told during the week of orientation that if we found ourselves in dire straits such as this we were to do our best to locate a policeman or a police station. There are easily identifiable here. But as many miles that I traversed in this maze I never came upon either.
God! Get me out of here, I groaned, almost groveled. And he did. I spotted this tall blond gal walking along on the street and I pull in to an empty gravel lot about 50 yards further down. That in itself was an act of Providence. Empty lots, however small, are not common in Japanese urban areas. Stepping out of my little car I looked up the street and called out to the young lady, "I sure hope you're an American."
"Yes I am," she says.
"How the heck do I get back to Yokosuka?"
"Oh, that's easy. Go down to the red light up ahead, take a right, cross the tracks, go past two more traffic lights and you'll see the the big sign pointing to Highway 24. You'll turn left there."
"Darling," I told her, "you are an answer to prayer."
God, I love this woman. She wasn't just pretty, she could give directions too. I thanked the girl and drove off. Needless to say, I missed my 10 o'clock appointment so I skedaddled home, a bit more humble, but strong in the knowledge that God delivers.
I should have got that girl's name.
