Turning 30 – Part One
The Morning and The Ride
Another 5am morning. These 5am mornings and I are bitter enemies. I am Holmes and they are Moriarty. For the last two days my right ear has been plugged up with enough wax to make a couple sets of candles. I chalk this up to the profuse sweating done in the night due to the extreme heat. I was hoping I’d be able to hear properly out of it this morning but no such luck. Everything on my right side would be muted. I rolled out of bed, onto the floor and managed to crawl my way to my knapsack to make a final look at the items I’d packed the night before. Maps, beach clothing, some clothing in case the night got cold, travel guide, a pocket knife and a towel. Was I really going to do this, I thought as I stepped out the door obviously resigned to? Sleeping over night on the beach…very hobo of me, I know, but two things factored into this choice. #1) I have always harbored a desire to be a traveling vagrant. Okay, before you start cursing me out, it really stems from books like On The Road or the music of Guthrie that glorify to some extant this existence. That said, I’d never actually become a traveling vagrant…just nice to think about it, flirt with the notion. Sleeping over night on a beach is a little bit closer to consummation. #2) The prices to stay the night in a beach hotel were ridiculously overpriced. First I needed money. I walked to my usual ATM, the one with the English option, and found it to be closed. What? Closed! I walked over to my bank ATMs. Also closed. The ATM on the other side of the station? Closed. Okay, this presented a dilemma. I couldn’t go anywhere without any money. I had enough in my pocket to get me to Osaka station so with hopes that there would be an open ATM in the busy morning bustle of the station I decided to gamble it. I’d win this one. A station agent pointed me in the right direction and I found an ATM in a station convenience store. Now with some money for the road I purchased my ticket from the bus counter, sat and waited. Twenty minutes later, and one bottle of morning coffee road fuel, the bus to the beach pulled up. The weather didn’t look promising but I remembered my personal vow of not letting it stop me this time. I boarded the bus and didn’t look back. My seat was by the window but I didn’t plan to do much road watching. I just wanted to enter into a nice bus coma and remain there the entire way. I wouldn’t succeed but I did manage to get more sleep then waking time on that bus. There were only about eight other people making the trip with me at first but the bus would soon fill up until all the seats were taken. I lay back in my seat and relaxed listening to conversations I couldn’t understand and mentally planning out once again the next two days.
The Bathroom Incident
What follows, folks, is not for the squeamish so if you have a low tolerance for fecal mishaps I’d advise you to scroll on down to the next paragraph and pretend you didn’t even see this one. About halfway to the beach I really, and I mean REALLY, had to use the facilities. This was an all out bowl attack and I’d explode if nothing was done. The bus bathroom was a very cramped place. It was like walking into a clothes hamper that jut happened to have a toilet. There was very little room to move around. As I sat and did my business I noticed a funny little sign next to the flush button: “Press to flash”. I don’t think I need to tell you how disappointed I was that no topless woman magically appeared after I pressed. Just in case I pressed another ten times. She could have been having a cigarette. After my supper from the previous night vacated I pressed to flash and to my horror saw that the water only came out of two small holes from the sides of the toilet. This was nowhere near enough spray to get the large pile I’d just delivered down the drain. What if one of those cute girls on the bus were to come back here and see this? Ack! I needed to get that stuff down!!! There was a small garbage pail on the ground by the toilet called The Dust Bin. I figured I could fill it up in the sink and wash away the mess. I grabbed it and thrust it under the sink. Using the sink was a bit awkward in the cramped room. You had to push a small button underneath the faucet to get the water to come out and with the garbage can there I couldn’t reach it. Then suddenly a big splash of water spurted out a hole in the corner of the pail. Then another one. The garbage bin was holding down the button. Double Ack! The bin was stuck! Water was flying everywhere as I struggled to get the bin out of the sink nearly breaking off the faucet in the process. There really should have been two other Stooges in there with me. I eventually managed to get the bin out. The room was now flooded, I had a long stream of water running down my pants people would no doubt believe to be an accident, I was now nauseous because of all the rocky room motion and worst of all I had not cleaned up the mess. Deciding there was no other choice, I wadded up a large clump of toilet paper, closed my eyes, held my breath, stuck my hand deep into the bowl and just pressed down. One flush later and my worries were gone. I cleaned up the flooded bathroom was best as I could, dried as much of the water off my pants as I could sop up and returned to my seat. A woman walked towards the bathroom the moment I sat down. Poor lass, my sincere apologies. 
The Arrival and The Beach
We would arrive in Shirahama two hours later then intended due to traffic on the highway roads running up the coast. Lots of time to look out the window and take in some coastal views. Sleeping near the end was impossible as there were so many side stops that the robotic female voice announcing the stops, loud and abrasive, prevented any chance of bus slumber. Shirahama-cho is in the Wakayama Prefecture in the South West point of Kansai. With a population of near 20,000, this area is a tourist boon and has become the most visited resort town outside of the Okinawa islands in all of Japan. To rake in the tourists the city has built amusement parks, sea world aquariums and a vast array of hotels. Business people from Osaka pack trains on weekends to lounge on the beach while others cart along entire families for a day by the ocean and in the sun. 
I got off the bus, noted a large plastic elephant statue nearby so I knew where to return when I wanted to get back, and instantly was bombarded with images of Hawaii. This was the theme here. Small shops around the main strip sold all a manner of trumped up Hawaiian merchandise. From drinks called Tropical Hawaiian to leis to surfboards to small plastic squeaky palm trees to shorts bearing Hawaiian images, this place was really touting that sort of tropical lifestyle. No pineapples, though. Go figure. There were places where you could rent various sea-mobiles, floating toys and a few shops rented out diving equipment. I walked by a few small restaurants, a Subway I would return to for supper and a crowded Lawson store whose workers have to have the worst job on the planet until you see those two old ladies waving around rabbit and panda shaped fans in hopes of attracting some cars to their two parking spots. The bus had dropped me off right next to the beach which was a surprise as the train would have carted me a ways out of town and I would have had to pony up some more cash to get a bus to the beach. I was already saving. The Shirahama beach sand is gorgeous snow white and you’d think you were actually on an Australian coast and not a Japanese one. Well, you wouldn’t be far off in those thoughts because the sands are imported from Australia replacing the real stuff which has long since been washed away by the Pacific. All along the beach boardwalk are hotels, many built in the 60s and 70s and are made out to resemble a small Waikiki in keeping with the theme. I found them to be an eyesore to the beautiful of the shoreline and the sea but I suppose people not insane enough to sleep on the beach overnight have to stay somewhere, right? As I walk along the boardwalk by beach side restaurants, an open air bath and under the palm trees lining the strip I notice blocks of coin lockers. One of these might come in handy later on. The beach is pretty crowded at this early afternoon hour but not nearly as packed as I thought it might be. I imagine this had something to do with the weather. I scan areas out on the sand to see where it might be best to set up shop later this evening. On the beach are many umbrellas made out of palm tree leaves and if I could manage a spot underneath one of them I’d have some nice protective shade come sunrise. 
I didn’t linger too long on the beach, plenty of time for that later. I’d read in my travel guide about some of the more naturalistic wonders of the area and decided to head on out to them first. The palm trees, the white sands, the ocean and the relaxation would have to wait a couple of hours. 
The Senjojiki Cliffs – Part 1
The Senjojiki landscape was about a 25 minute walk away from the main beach. To get there you have to hoof it up the highway or take a bus. I opted for the former. On the way there you pass ads for the second biggest draw to this area outside of the beach: the onsen. More on these later but the ad most commonly seen was a very humorous one of a large man with an old Samurai like haircut popping out of a wooden tube way too small for him flashing the familiar peace sign usually favored by young girls. Young girls and fat men in wooden tubes, I guess. There is not much to see on the way there and I got to thinking how extremely more scenic things would have been if they had built some sort of sea path along the waterline. Walking up the road you only took in the sight of lots of tacky hotels with tacky swimming pools and tacky miniature palm trees. The heat was getting to me so I stopped into a Lawson store there on the road and picked up some snacks and a carton of cold coffee. Very refreshing. The Senjojiki cliffs are rocks that have been eroded by the ocean over thousands of years. Senjojiki is an amalgamation of three Japanese words. Sen, meaning “thousand”, jo, meaning “tatami mat” and jiki, meaning “spread”. It is said that the rock formations resemble a thousand Japanese tatami mats spread about over the landscape. Although stunning in their natural beauty these great carved rocks above the crashing waves of the Pacific, I just couldn’t see the correlation to tatami mats. I’ve seen tatami mats. These didn’t look like tatami mats. Not even if you squinted. Now, I have a fairly good imagination and I still couldn’t see it. Maybe finding the mats is like gazing at one of those magic eye puzzles. You just have to have infinite patience and relax your eyes. Nope, still couldn’t see the mats. The rocks formed perfect steps for you to climb up to the higher places to take in the majestic view or to walk downward all the way to the ocean. The waves were not coming in very hard at the moment and crowds stood there dipping their feet in the puddles formed in the rocks waving up at family or friends who decided to take the high road. All across the landscape people had carved various words and images into the rocks. This is something I find to be very distasteful in regards to keeping the natural beauty of the area unscathed. Here you had these windswept and ocean washed rocks marred by hearts and other carvings. It was like giving nature an unwanted tattoo. One such mysterious carving was of a series of numbers. This was either complex code to buried treasure, the answer to the secrets of life or a really, really long “For a good time call Yoko.” I found a spot that was tailor made for me, a perfect fit of my ass against the cliff side forming a seat to rest on. Setting up the camera against some rocks I snapped off some photos of myself. 
Oh yes, the Megan shirt lives again! After a brief rest there it was time to move on. More cliffs to see of the none supposed mat resembling quality. 
The Sandan-peki Cliffs – Part 1
Another 15 or 20 minute jaunt down the coast brought me to Sandanbeki…or was that Sandanp-peki…or maybe it was Sandan-heki. My maps I’d taken from the bus station, my travel guide and the road signs all had different names for this spot. Doing an online search seemed to indicate that Sandan-peki was the most popular name and so we will go with that. The name means “Three-step Cliff. I managed to walk right by these cliffs. Now, you may be thinking that these places are in plan view what with their sheer size and proximity to the ocean and all but you actually have to walk down the main road to get to smaller roads that branch off into paths or other roads that will eventually take you to the attraction. When you turn down these smaller roads you do not expect them to lead you to a tourist spot. You walk by regular buildings, regular homes, in the case of Sandan-peki you walk by a large, yellow apartment complex and a billiards hall and aside from the one sign pointing you towards the site you’d think you were just in a residential neighborhood. I found myself in a parking lot full of tour buses so I figured I was in the right place. A woman pointed me back towards the way I’d came. I missed the small road towards the cliffs by about a block. Small shops lined this road and inside them could be found seashells, various ocean related trinkets and even the scooped out and shellacked forms of spiky blow fish. The Sandan-peki cliffs are about 50 meters over sea level. It is believed that pirates like Captain Jack Sparrow (okay, not really) once used the caves below the cliffs as hiding spots. These caves have now been transformed into a major tourist attraction complete with a high-speed elevator barreling down into the rocks to get you into the cave. Kumano naval ships were also hidden in these caves. Inside the gave is said to be the god Murodai Benzaiten, the god of water, temples and shrines. Pretty busy dude. The ride costs about half the price of my ticket to this place so I opted against the cave tour and decided that the cliffs above were much more interesting things to explore. At a clearing in the path there was a sign which was for suicide jumpers. Apparently this area has a problem with people hurling themselves off into the ocean. I could not ride the sign but the cross and the phone number lead me to believe that it was offering hope to the downtrodden. Personally, the only way I see this sign as preventing suicide jumpers would be if somebody were to crash into it on their race to the edge. Seriously, if you are already standing that close to the edge of a cliff you have probably already conjoined yourself to your choice. I walked along the cliff side not venturing too far out today as it was getting late. I met two Japanese guys who were sitting very close to the edge. I wondered if I should cart on over the sign I’d just passed. They wished me a good morning and I had them take a picture of me. The rocks were very jagged the farther out you walked, more on this tomorrow, and I decided to stop on a smoother part and sit for a few minutes listening to the waves. The sun was sinking now, though, and it was time to make one more stop before returning to the beach.
The Onsen Experience (Sakinoyu)
When people from the Western world think of Japan the words Samurai, Sumo and Geisha spring to mind. These words have inserted themselves into the Western vernacular and are cultural icons of this country. The onsen, thought not as widely popularized in the Western world, is no less a cultural symbol in Japan then the above. Onsen is Japanese for “hot spring” and though they were mainly outdoor baths in the traditional sense they have since become used as tourist draws and can be found scattered all over the island indoors and out. Waters for these baths are taken from hot springs said to have the ability to heal due to the high mineral content found in the water. Baths may contain water from various springs and are usually made out of cypress trees. Though baths are now generally segregated by sex it wasn’t always this way and in ancient times both men and women would bath together. onsen can be the height of relaxation to the hard working Japanese. Many enjoy soaking in the waters after a stressful work weak as the bath soothes the muscles and momentarily washes your cares away. Before entering an onsen you are expected to cleanse your body. Some places will supply showers while others, like the one in Shirahama, will have buckets of water and a separate small pool in which to wash. Entering an onsen still covered in soap and shampoo is considered to be very impolite and, to some, insulting. The onsen waters are cleansing waters and bringing in outside pollutants such as soap can meddle with the purity of the water. If you are particularly shy about public nudity (and, really, who isn’t?) you will have to brave your fears or avoid the onsen as most bathing is done in the buff. While some onsen will allow bathing suits most forbid it. Part of the onsen experience is the nudity, what the Japanese call hadaka no tsukiai, as thought our nakedness we are able to remove our internal borders and become more open with others in the bath. Small towels are permitted for washing purposes although in some onsen even a towel touching the water is deemed unclean so most wear them on their heads. Onsen waters can be quite hot so this towel is used to wipe away sweat. In recent years controversy has arisen over certain onsen not allowing foreign bathers. In 2001 an onsen was successfully sued by two foreigners who were denied access due to race. Unfortunately the lawsuit did little to eliminate such practices and Japanese Only bathes still exist. The most popular of onsen are the open air baths and of these the Sakinoyu onsen in Shriahama is considered to be one of the top three in the entire country. Cut into the rocks on the ocean side, the onsen uses the waters of the Pacific to help cool the hot spring pool. The pool utilizes the rocks as places to sit or rest your towel on. Two separate baths streach out towards the ocean with a wall dividing the male and female springs. Upon visits to Shirahama passed emperors would bath in the Sakinoyu onsen an honor that only increased the baths popularity. As old and historic as this onsen you would believe the road to it would be paved with gold…or at least better signs, shops and cement. Instead the onsen lies on the side of an overpass in an area that reeks of I don’t know what. The road is cracked and chipped and not very clean. If ever there was a reason to not judge a book by it’s cover this is it. An elderly Japanese couple now run the joint and charge a very reasonable Y300 (or three dollars) for a soak. You pay the elderly woman as the man works on controlling the traffic. The woman motions your through a curtain where I found myself standing amongst a half dozen naked men. This was a tight squeeze with everybody really making an effort to not rub up against anybody else. Now I am not particularly fond of the nude male form. Sure there have been some great pieces of artwork pertaining to the subject but if given a choice to be surrounded by naked women or naked men I will leap into the pool of women. Because I didn’t cart along my wig and plastic breasts this would not be an option so I striped down with the rest of them, tossed my belongings in a locker and walked and flopped and flapped my way down the slippery steps to the bath. Really have to be careful hear. The last thing you want to do is take the Nestea plunge naked into a bath of naked men who are already looking you over because of your ethnic differences. One such difference would relate to the girth of lower extremities. Now, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t eyeballing the Johnsons of everybody who passed me by but when you are sitting in a bath of nude Japanese men you cannot help but get a peak at a penis even if you are trying to ovoid such things. Well, I can confirm the popular penile stereotype in relation to Japanese men. For once I was the biggest fish in the pool…so to speak. I slowly walked down the steps and found a clearing against the rocks. The waters were hot but not too hot and they were very soothing as I slipped in. I used my towel as a pillow and rested against the rocks closing my eyes to relax. This is supposed to be a private experience…well as private as something can be naked and in the company of a half dozen other men, but a hotel observation deck over the ocean provided a nice clear view of us bathers. I wonder if I will turn up naked on Youtube and, if so, to all you ladies out there, it shrinks in water in case you didn’t know. Yeah…that’s it. After about a half hour of relaxing, cleansing hot spring water I stepped out of the pool, wrapped my towel around me and walked out to the rocks next to the onsen to cool off. This was even more soothing then the waters as the ocean wind enveloped me sending cooling breezes over my body. I fell asleep for maybe 15 minutes out there and when I woke up a large group of other bathers had decided to emulate me and where there had been empty spots on the rocks when I laid down you could not hardly move. I decided this was getting way too crowded, more sausage then I bargained for, and so I walked back to my locker, dressed and decided to head back to the beach. My skin felt…hummm…hard to explain…open, yes, open would be the best word. It was as though all my pours were open and deeply cleansed. Now, I couldn’t take any photos of the onsen for obvious reasons but upon leaving 
I spied some Buddha statues carved into the cliff rocks. I’ve grown a little weary of these statues in recent months as you throw a rock and you hit one but these were interesting and different so I fired up the camera and took a few shots before hitting the road. 
On the way back I ran into another stray cat. If these things formed some sort of cohesive coilition they’d be running the country.
Night On The Beach
All this waling had worked up an appetite so I stopped into the Subway on the main strip and wolfed down a sandwich. The beach had cleared out some now that the sun was nearly down. Only a few stragglers remained to take in the last of the beach day. I had scoped out one of those umbrella trees earlier that afternoon and I now saw that there was nobody underneath it. Walking towards my camp for the night I passed what I thought was the beach cleaning crew as about twenty people were walking around the beach with bags. They would set them down, walk a little farther up the beach and place another one down. I would find out shortly that I was mistaken in thinking they were beach cleaners. The umbrella tree, palm leaves acting as shade, was in a perfect spot. Close enough to the water but also nearby to a series of vending machines and some coin lockers. I tossed my stuff into one of the lockers, paid for the storage space and took out the key. It’d be nice if I could have read some Japanese as I probably could have saved myself two bucks later on. Walking on the beach earlier I had acquired a lot of sand in my shoes. These traveling shoes have seen better days, folks, and the holes in the soles became sand traps. I smacked them up against the tree to clear out a little sand, tucked my socks inside and laid out my towel. Having used it at the onsen this was not a good idea. A wet towel on a sandy beach would better be called a sand magnet. I choose to worry about sand in the morning and closed my eyes. Ten minutes later I would be blasted by the cheesiest of music. I stood up and suddenly wished I hadn’t remember that I was under an umbrella tree. Palm tree leaves have lots of fight in them. The sound was coming from the beach loudspeakers. It was like the entire output of bad AM 70s radio had been raided and transformed into the beach playlist. Why it was blaring so loudly now and not earlier this morning when the crowds were hear I don’t know. As cheesy was it was at least it wasn’t pulsing beats and I figured I could still sleep with this music playing around me. It had to be some sort of test of the sound system, I thought, as I lay back. It couldn’t have twenty minutes later when I sat up, eyes wide, with the sounds of explosions all around me. I suddenly found myself flashing back to ‘Nam and because I wasn’t in ‘Nam what I mean to say is that I flashed back to every ‘Nam movie I have ever seen. I flashed back to Full Metal Jacket, Platoon, Apocalypse Now, The Deer Hunter and that one part of Forrest Gump. Charlie was in the trees, man. The sky was awash in light and the beach was on fire. Game over, man! Wait, do missiles produce multicolored rainbow explosions and how come the beach fires are little squares a few feet apart from one another? The familiar sound of a whistler firework shot up into the sky producing a small burst of red and yellow light. On the other side of my camp under the umbrella tree another firework went off. In front of me was another. Dozens of people had returned to the beach and were now setting off fireworks. 
What I had thought earlier on to be cleaning bags were actually lanterns and these bags, at least a couple hundred of them, were lined up all along the beach. The candle inside created this orange glow inside the bag and in the smoke created by the fireworks everything looked very ghostly. I decided to go to the coin locker and grab my camera and when I turned the key the locker seized up again. Damn, it was only a single use thing! You know, that makes sense and I should have thought of that. Not wanting to pay another fee I decided to cart my knapsack back down to the beach with me. I tied my shoes to the sides and walked along the shoreline feeling the cold water wash up against my feet. As it washed away my footprints I was given an idea which I would use at midnight. Walking in the smoky haze created by the fireworks it really did seem like a war zone. Explosions of light burst right above me and a few times I had to wait while some drunken nutball blasted a firework straight into the ocean in front of where I was walking. 
After walking up and down the beach around the lanterns and dodging fireworks some larger explosions lit up the sky. These were not store bought fireworks. These were professional jobs. I choose a spot on the stone steps leading down to the beach and sat to watch the rest of the fireworks display. It lasted about an hour with some really beautiful ones. What a great way to end the day.
Midnight
Two hours later the beach was nearly empty again. Only patches of people remained lighting off the last of their fireworks. The lanterns had been put out and removed. The only thing lighting the beach now were the street lights and hotel windows. For the last two hours I had been sitting under my tree contemplating the past, something I’ve dwelled upon a lot in the last few months. The future had been put on hold for the moment. There were a lot of memories I wanted to dig up there on that beach. It was nearing midnight and almost time. I tied my knapsack to the tree as a potential brief deterrent to theft, stood up and took off the Megan shirt. I’d been wearing you all day Megs and you were now sand stained and sweat stained and smelling like a pig pen in the sun. I’d have to go this one without you. Only the waves washing in could be heard now as I neared the where ocean caresses the land. There was no moon. I remember wishing I could see the moon. The clock on my camera told me there was a minute left. It was now time. There on the shore I stooped down and with the tip of my finger wrote the number 29 in the imported Australian sand of Shirahama beach. A few seconds later the waves of the Pacific rolled in and washed the number away. The clocked ticked into midnight. I walked out into the ocean and I…
