Japan by meg

Either it’s a good time or a good story.

I've had this saying on repeat in my head all morning. I smile, looking across the aisle to my trusty travel partner, Kiera, as the tiny Japanese hopper plane begins to descend. I take a deep breath in an attempt to try to calm the mixture of excitement, nerves, and caffeine jitters. In T-10 minutes we’ll be landing on the tiny random island that I picked off of a map weeks ago in hopes of finding Meg-friendly waves (aka a warm water  point breaks). My mind swirls with the laundry list of things that Kiera and I tried, but failed to figure out before getting on this plane and deciding to come here. The goal is to surf, but we have no boards (and couldn’t really find a promising place to rent them), we need a car (there’s no public transportation on tiny island), but none of my emails/calls to the rental companies worked, we need a place to stay, but hoping this is the easy part because we can always sleep on the beach if worse comes to worst. My thoughts continue to swirl and I think about the silver linings: I have Kiera and she’s a GREAT traveler, I have Google translate, so the seemingly terrifying language barrier seems doable, and I have the the people of Japan (aka collectively the kindest, most wonderful people I’ve encountered traveling thus far), so I have confidence that whatever ends up happening will all be okay. My sister named me a Master Do-er But Failed Planner on our last trip to Europe; I think about this too.

Photo courtesy of Kiera Gorman

We landed and all of the rental car offices were closing for the day or out of cars. Kiera and I ran frantically around the airport and through the streets with our luggage (like crazy people), looking for a car to rent. A small army of business men gathered to help us; making phone calls, pointing different directions, and causing much more of a scene than I normally would have liked to. After much commotion, they found one last shop with one last car for us to rent just down the street. The price was steep, but it was one of those suck-it-up-and-figure-it-out-tomorrow situations and we were simply grateful to have a way to get around.

The sun was setting as we finally hit the road (on the left side!). Kiera routed us to a homestay she found. The drive was gorgeous–a pink sunset on a one lane highway with views that reminded me of a Japanese take on Big Sur’s cliffs. It was dusk as we pulled into a dirt driveway and a little old man with a palm sized kitten named Kashmir welcomed us into his home. He lived alone and we’re his only visitors. I always feel a little bit uneasy with strangers and home stays at first, but his visitor log from this year seems full enough and his last visitors were only a couple of weeks ago. There were no restaurants or grocery stores nearby and the man cooked me and Kiera a ‘welcome’ dinner.

While he cooked I began a tennis match of surf-related questions. He was still learning English and the three Japanese words I know were barely useful beyond saying ‘hi’ and ‘thanks’, so we mostly spoke through Google translate. 

I asked him if he surfs, he said he’s terminally ill and retired, but moved here twenty something years ago to surf full time. 

I asked him about the surf spot, he said that the break is a close drive away and would probably be fun tomorrow. 

I asked him about boards and he said there are boards for beginners at the town across the island. I stop myself from rolling my eyes; as much as I appreciate a good foam board, I can't help but wonder why people often assume that girls on surf trips are beginners.

I walk across the kitchen to his living room and point to a yellowing Donald Takayama that’s mounted on the wall shrine-style.

“What about this one?” I ask with a mischievous smile on my face. Our old host glides from the kitchen to the living room, bows to his surfboard, and laughs as he tells me no. “But what about if I’m a professional surfer?” I bargain, trying to keep a straight face. I’m usually not one to stretch the truth, but the options are clear—massage destiny with a white lie or flounder around on foam boards for the foreseeable future. And beautiful surfboards should be ridden, right? In the corner of my eyes I see Keira trying to hold back a laugh. The old man’s eyes light up; “Oh wow! Then yes” he claps his hands together excitedly, motioning for me to follow him to the shed on the side of the yard.

The shed is dusty and spidery as the light flickers on illuminating a wall full of surfboards. All Takayamas, all in nearly perfect condition. Unreal. The old man pulls each board off of the rack and out of the board bag to show off his collection. Kiera and I become a choir of “oooohhh” and “aaaahhhh”. I see a poster of point breaks around the world and tell him stories about the ones I’ve been to. He tells me about his stories at the same spots decades before I was there. Sharing a love for surfing creates such an instant bond with people, and I love how this bond is so ageless. He lets us pick a longboard and mid length to ride tomorrow, eat the home cooked meal, and fall asleep, excited to chase waves.

The next morning is the perfect combination of sunshine and stillness–a recipe for a good surf. Kiera and I stuff our boards and bikinis into the car and drive down the road to the surf spot. A gorgeous left peels across the water and we scramble to get into the water.

From my experience, it’s rare that your first surf at a new spot is an epic one, but the first surf we had here was truly unforgettable. Things that surprised me on Day One include super clear and warm water, a ton of turtles, a green and lush cliffside view, and the delicate, but somewhat eerie midday song that played over huge speakers around the island (that I originally thought was some sort of tsunami warning, but, rest assured, was only the daily sound test for the Municipal Disaster Management Radio Communication Network). The lefts continued to peel and we surfed until we were properly sunburnt and sore from paddling. Kiera introduced herself to a girl in the water named Shiho who became our instant friend and guardian angel. Shiho was a bubbly social butterfly–the island’s smiling, shining English and Zumba teacher–everybody we met was always happy to see her. She became our surf buddy, island tour guide, official translator, lent us her van, and connected us with all of her friends so we had places to stay our entire time on the island. 

Genuine kindness from the people of Tiny Island was another thing that surprised me–people were excited to see, host, help, and chat with complete strangers (even if we spoke completely different languages). The warm welcome was refreshing because it can be so tricky knowing what to expect being a complete foreigner in another person’s land. With all of the bad that seemed to be erupting in the world during this time, being surrounded by such kind and lovely people was a healthy reminder that there is still so much good in this world. While it’s absolutely necessary to acknowledge the wrongdoings, shortcomings, terrible, awful, horrendous things that happen in the world, I think that it can be equally as beneficial to acknowledge the genuine caring, kindness, beauty, goodness in things that are sprinkled around.

And so our grand welcome parade to Tiny Island continued for practically the entirety of our stay. We ate like queens, slept on people’s couches, restaurant floors, guesthouses. We surfed everyday and when we weren’t surfing, we were driving around the island trying to explore every hidden and mysterious corner. The island itself was super sleepy, filled with old (I’m talkin’ riding electric wheelchairs down the highway old) farmers that lived in villages towards the center of the island (after talking with some locals I learned that most people lived in the center of the island/away from the beach as tsunami precautions. Most of the older generations of people don’t surf see the ocean as a serious danger). A handful of beaches were tragically polluted with concerning amounts of plastics and trash–we joked that the polluted beaches were simply nature’s thrift stores when Kiera found a pair of chic asymmetrical sandals. It’s not the most glamorous detail to include, but I wanted to mention this somewhere in here because it can be easy to completely turn a blind eye, ignore the ugly, forget that I saw it, only show the idyllic beaches, but I want to be better about also acknowledging the very real things I saw that also surprised me in a not-so-wonderful way. The problem of plastics and pollution are very real and we need to continue working as a global community, taking responsibility for our actions and striving to find solutions/just do better.

Our days were filled with a pattern of surfing, reading on the beach, trying exotic foods with whatever strangers friends that wanted to join us, diving, and an onsen session sprinkled in every couple of days. I love the pace of islands and I’ll miss it here. Kiera and I leave tomorrow. We’re headed to the mainland to meet up with Cole and take a road trip down the coast (in search of more waves). It’s bittersweet to leave places that you fall in love with, but I’m excited to continue bopping around and seeing what other fun and oh-so-novel things Japan has in store.

Sending you lots of love and sunshine,

Meg