‘What,’ I wondered, ‘could possibly be the fascination?’

Growing up in Colorado, playing around on the beach meant going to Boulder Reservoir, which isn’t much more than an enormous swimming pool. Just not much remarkable about it. The only real beaches I had been to until now were in San Francisco and Japan, and the novelty wore off pretty quickly.

This last weekend, I decided that I ought to give it a try, and not being certified for diving I went snorkeling with my friends. We drove to a private beach (which was a treat in itself – men and women can mix, and music plays over the loudspeakers. These are things I’ve learned to not take for granted), rented gear and got in the water. On the dock, I was excited when I saw a small coral growing in the shallows. It couldn’t have been more than 10 centimeters in diameter but thinking about exploring the beach for more such treasures was enticing.

We waded out and put on our flippers, and then our masks. I dipped my head down, ready to explore, and instantly my head popped right back out of the water. “Guys! Guys!” I shouted to my friends. “There’s a freakin’ million fish here!” They chuckled knowingly, and I realized this is what they came for.

I just could not get in the water fast enough. There were so many fish I had never seen except for in aquariums, brightly colored, quick, and just stunning. Thousands of them from deep blues to iridescent purples, all swarming around beautifully-colored coral and anemones. All told, I spent about four hours tooling around the reef, examining fish at the cleaning station, clownfish in their anemones and predators lurking near the surface.

On leaving I instantly felt like a tree-hugging hippie, and felt a need to protect the ocean. Ok, sure, it was a bit short-lived and I feel like someone who’s hopped on a bandwagon, but it’s an incredible world down there. You see shadows off in the “distance” (though it’s usually only 30 feet away) shimmering and swimming around. Floating in the sea, weightless, above the sheer cliff faces of 20, 30 or 40 feet is a unique sensation. I tried to compare it to hiking and climbing mountains, but it occurred to me that unless I learn to base jump, I will never see that kind of geographical structure from the same relative perspective – hovering above it.

Between dives (well, my friends were diving while I was snorkeling) we’d pull out a book of Red Sea fish and try to find all the ones we’d seen. The camaraderie of stories of dives past and fish seen was nearly as satisfying as the experience of being in the water like that.

I’m exploring getting certified (either through PADI or BSAC – we have both available here) so that I can join my friends on deeper adventures, but in the mean time I’m going snorkeling as often as I can. Forgive the pun, but I think I’m hooked.

We made it out to Jeddah, and then onto the boat, and around 8:30, we were on the water heading out to the reef. It was supposed to be a two-hour trek each way, but we were perfectly comfortable on this 70-foot yacht. Really pretty stunning accommodations.

Around 9:30, we were informed that the university had actually called us back for security reasons, and that security had just closed off the channel we were going to take out to the sea anyway. Such is life. The reason for the security issues here now through the next few days is the King. Not only the king, but 60+ of his closest friends who rule countries. All in, 3,500 very impressive and generally awesome people will be flocking to campus to open this school up.

I’d still like to get an invite to the event, and I was looking forward to trying my flippers at snorkeling, but if I’m going to be snorkel-blocked by anyone, I suppose there are worse reasons.

Monarchs who’ve indirectly snubbed me: 1

I got into town on the Fourth of July, and was fortunate enough to meet up with Michael and some friends before the fireworks. I’ve only been here a couple of times, but still I’ve never seen it so crowded. We got to watch from Pat’s parents’ boat, docked in the Potomac. Thanks again, Diane and Bill!

We hung out, had some food and occupied ourselves with the overactive children. (Actually, we got a little peace and quiet when I handed the troublesome trio a logic game on the iPhone – they got so absorbed in it they sat calmly for two hours!)

The fireworks started at a quarter past nine, but it was one of the weakest shows I’ve seen, though I’ve been spoiled by Mines’ E-Days display (if you ever have the chance to see that event, it is imperative that you do so).

Be sure to check out the rest of the pictures from that event.

I woke up one morning as we reached one of the bus stops. A tall, scraggly man got on the bus, smelling rather strongly. Backpack in tow and wearing a coat despite the weather combined with his demeanor and the metal cup he was holding out in front of him, I gathered that he was panhandling. I reached into my pocket and found some change, and proceeded to drop it into his cup, only to find that he was not, in fact, asking for change, but rather just trying to drink his coffee. Plop plop.

“Or at least approaching the junior… approach,” he said with surprising deliberateness. One was a junior in college and the other was a recent graduate. “Congratulations.”

“The thing about life… There’s one thing you have to understand about life, and that’s the difference between the subjective and the objective.” At this point, I was expecting some mild old-man crazy, but I always get hopeful that an elder will have something real and useful to tell me. “If you understand that, you’re set.”

The girls, you could tell, were going to politely engage the man without trying to encourage him. They spoke a little while longer, and he wished them luck in their future endeavors. “The things about life,” he began again. Over the course of the conversation lecture, he would tell this “thing about life” several times. “You have to understand the difference between the subjective and the objective.”

He mentioned that he had been through the ropes “several times” over the course of his 59 years. He fought in the war, and made it clear that his three primary pursuits were fishing, beer and women. “You two are the most beautiful women I’ve ever talked to.”

“That’s very flattering.”
“I don’t mean to flatter anyone.”
“Do you know the difference between subjective and objective?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Well?”
“The objective is, like, truth, and the subjective is like, feeling.”
“That’s why a professor will tell you to shut your fucking mouth. I don’t mean to insult you.”
“Why don’t you tell us so we don’t get it wrong.”
“God damn! Do I have to be the professor?”

He held out his pinky and began to explain that the objective was what you saw, and the subjective was what you felt, tasted, heard and smelled. “The thing about life is, it’s not a penis or a vagina, it’s you have to know the difference between the subjective and the objective.”

He told the girls about how he’d given away all of his money, and that it was important to understand the function of money and economics. When one of the girls mentioned she was going to go into law, he seemed to have a lot to say on the subject.

“You’re going to have defendants, and you gotta give the other guy hell. Are you smart enough to be a lawyer? Do you think you’re smart enough? You got to treat the judge with respect. Do you outsmart the guys?”

He talked about how he was going up to Montana to see his grandkids, and hunt and fish and tell stories. One of the girls asked that he eat some elk for her as she hadn’t had a chance in a while. “Do you hunt?”

“No, but my uncle does.”
“Well, do you love him? You gonna marry him? You got to learn to hunt for yourself!”

He mentioned the war again, “I can tell you about any weapon… at the time. I once shot something from 288 yards. You know how I know? I walked there after. It took me two and a half hours.”

“What did you shoot? A deer? An elk?”

After a pause of several minutes he told her it was a Vietcong Lieutenant Colonel. “I sometimes think about this finger, about chopping it off because of it. I got to live with it. Those were my orders, and you gotta follow ‘em. I’m not saying it’s an excuse. The thing about life is…”

As far as crazy people go, pretty mild, but you never find crazy like bus-crazy.

It’s spring, and the cherry blossoms are beginning to come out. Most trees are about half-way – buds bursting forth, but others lazing.

We pull into a stop a few stations from my destination, and the window across the way is filled with a tree in full bloom. I try to appreciate it, but more than the tree itself, I am enjoying being able to just sit on the train, having it as a backdrop more than anything.

An announcement I don’t understand, and an unusually long wait. The local trains will occasionally stop for a few minutes if they’re ahead of schedule, but not this long. Ten minutes, and then fifteen. Another announcement I don’t understand. A man on the other side of the train stares, like he’s lost in thought, but I think he’s enjoying being homeward-bound.

Eyes all through the train look up, except for this man. I follow their gaze, and find four men carry someone on a stretcher. I can’t see the face, because someone’s sweater covers it, and others cover the rest of the body. A fifth man walks behind them carrying a backpack – I assume the deceased’s.

First I thought it was a little ironic, the whole “things coming to life, cherry blossoms budding” thing in light of this, but then I actually wonder if the guy wouldn’t have killed himself if he could have gotten laid five minutes before that. I don’t know why I thought that, and I admit I felt a little bad about it, but still.

Twenty minutes later, we’re at my stop, and I get off – the end of the line. I told myself I should go look at the front of the train to see the damage, but I forgot. They probably wouldn’t have let people see, anyway.

A sketchy-looking Russian man stopped Alan and me while I was picking him up from the train station.

“Are you needing a translator? Or do you want to learn Japanese?”
“Eh, my ship, I want make more money. Eh, Japanese.”

There are quite a few Russian sailors in Japan, especially in the port cities (and Sendai is a fairly large port city). In some places I’ve seen (like in Otaru), signs appear only in Japanese and Russian – not Japanese and English. I hadn’t met any Russian sailors, but it didn’t surprise me to see one.

“I’m not exactly sure where you can learn Japanese.”
“Girls.”
“Excuse me?”
“Alcohol. I want meet girls.”

I point towards 国分町 (Kokubunchou), the big night-life scene. He thanks us and is on his way. Crazy Russians.

At any rate, the point of all this is that while there, we played on David’s Playstation 3, for which he paid about $650 US. I think that’s a little much for a game console, but it is not without merit. Amazing graphics.

While there, I met this Guatemalan man and his girlfriend. He was a philosophical drunk, and he was trying to tell me about love. “I’m going to marry this girl,” he said, putting his arm around her and pointing. “Except, she has an artificial heart and cannot love anyone.” He kept asking me to speak to him in Spanish, but my Spanish was never that advanced to begin with, and so we ended up speaking this confusing melange of Spanish, Japanese and English. Every couple of minutes he would turn to her and make out for about 30 seconds and then turn back to me to continue talking. Maybe it’s a Guatemalan thing?

Earlier in the week, we had our kanji midterm, and I’m pretty sure I got an A, but I think they had mercy for us and made the test easier than they had to. I was more than a little nervous going into it, and the thing that troubled me the most on the exam was the pronunciation of the kanji. Glad to have that done with, and it was my only midterm. It’s weird to be only half-done with the semester when stateside people are starting finals.

On Saturday we went to a nomihodai place (one of my favorites because they serve a bunch of food and the drinks are pretty decent), and I tried umeshyu (I’m uncertain how to spell is in romaji – 梅酒), but it translates to plum alcohol or plum wine. It’s very very sweet, and though I do not enjoy a plum, this was amazing. I’m not sure about its availability in the States, but if you get a chance, try it.

Grace a Yamaya (which could literally be translated as mountain store) – a store that specializes in alcohol and imported foods, we found cachaça (fermented sugar cane). Alan tells me that it’s the favorite drink of Brazil, and this particular bottle we bought was actually a Brazilian brand. Most of the people here who are even remotely social drink quite a bit, and so I’m hoping to host a cachaça night so we can socialize and discover Brazil’s culture through alcohol. The only problem is, we can’t find limes, which you need to make caipirinha (why we wanted the cachaça).

Drinking isn’t all I do here – there just happened to be two parties this weekend. And, don’t worry mom – we’re all responsible adults and take care of each other. Smokey the bear says, “Friends don’t let friends bike home drunk.”