One time...in Okinawa

An amazing trip with a tremendous friend.

I met my roommate of 4 years at Ford-ham University on Okinawa Island. Four years of being in the same room/apartment together throughout college.

Why the same roommate year after year after year? Were we snogging? Never. Well, maybe one time. I think it was after one of those 13 hour Howl spring weekend drink-ups. Nico had a rastafari wig on from The Roots concert. I thought he was Jill Scott.

Was it that we were socially inept and unable to make any new friends after our first year? That had to be part of the problem. All 8 of the guys in our senior year house were also in the same hallway freshman year. We developed sets of inside jokes that revolved around horrible nicknames for classmates (cheesehead, snaggletooth) and the Arnold Schwarzeneggar soundboard. The latter we used to prank call local Bronx restaurants or random people in our phonebooks: "Let me talk to your mother! Get your mother please!" Sometimes we'd even talk in an Arnold tone at a bar/party. "Hi. How are you. I'm Detective John Kimble...(puzzled look from stranger)...I'M A COP YOU IDIOT!"

This was hilarious to us, but extremely isolating for others. It was perfect.

Honestly, I'd like to think that Nico and I were just best of friends. We had many things in common and clicked right off the bat. Love of sport, similar outlooks on life and a fan of good music, no matter the genre.

So it was great to see my man Nico again in Okinawa (even if his hair is now longer than Justin Biebers). Okinawa is a beautiful place. It's a small island south of mainland Japan. I was there for about 4 nights, but nights 2 and 3 were probably the best. Both of these nights we stayed in Nago Bay, a coastal town about an hour north of the airport. We stayed in a shack on the beach, drank some Awamori (local Okinawan liquor, on par with gasoline) and hung out with some local DJs. A vacation that would make my mom proud.

The shack.

I don't know if I can even call it a shack. I may be giving the hostel too much credit. Yes. A shack would have been a step-up.

Driving around the place, you would've thought you were Wall-E when he wheels around a deserted Earth. The hovels looked as if they were made out of recycled car parts. At one point I leaned against a wall and a cadillac horn sounded. Red, orange, brown, black in color. My bed sheet doubled as a cover for my bed and towel after a shower. But none of this really bothered me.

When we walked out our door, there was beach under our feet. Can't miss views surrounded the area. Woke up to the sunrise and ate amazing food, cooked by local families. A spot off the map that I'm glad we stumbled upon.

The liquor.

Awamori. AwwMeSorry! As one of Nico's Japanese friends put it on the mainland: "Arwamori. Verwy Dangerwous!"

Indeed it was. More dangerous than Soju. More dangerous than Akon and Kardinal Offishall

But we felt like we had to drink it. I don't think the locals would've hung out with us if we rejected the cleaning detergent.

One night we went out with 2 local Okinawan girls. Neither spoke English very well. They knew "pizza" "bye-bye" and "Mariah Carey." One of the two had driven us to the bar in her car. We drank some beers and a bottle of Awamori. When we left the bar, we was buzzin' lil' bit. We got back in the car chatting in Schwarzeneggar soundboard voices, giggling back and forth, isolating the two girls who already spoke very little English. Yeah! Just like old times! High-Five!

But then the driver jumped in back with us. We were a little surprised. We were even more shocked when an old man opened the driver door and sat behind the wheel. He turned around and smiled at us, showing 5 teeth and a beard full of fruit flies. The mix of Awamori and immense language barrier had us completely in the dark. We had no idea what was going on.

Eventually we realized that the man was part of an Awamori driving service for people who may have had too much Awamori. And by eventually, I mean 3 days later, when the Awamori hangover ended. Awamori. Awamori.

Awamori.

The Local Boys.

We hadn't really planned on hanging out with the locals in the hostel. We were heading out to find something to eat and a guy invited us in to their makeshift bar.

We walked in and the four men introduced themselves and their jobs. "DJ." "DJ." "DJ." "DJ." Japanese DJs who only played Reggae music and talked like the Jamaican bobsled team from "Cool Runnings." An extremely entertaining crew.

They were also overjoyed to have the day off as a part of the Japanese Golden Week (one week out of the year that every Japanese worker gets off), but really, how often do DJs work? How many Bar Mitzvahs are there in Okinawa?

As we were talking about Bob Marley and Jah Love, a shadow swept across bar. All four guys stood up as this light brown-haired, over-tanned man walked across the room. The guy who spoke the best English whispered in our ears that this fellow was a legendary Okinawan singer. He used to have a band and can now get any girl he wants and get into any club he desires.

I looked at the gruff-looking "star" for a couple minutes. He was sitting by himself at a picnic table, slugging down a bottle of Awamori and sucking the life out of a cigarette. If he was really a star, why was he here with these guys? Where were all the girls? Was he wearing a wig?

He reminded me a little of Bill Nighy's character in "Love Actually."

The night was filled with great food, Peter Tosh and of course, the dreaded Awamori. It was an awesome time and overall, a trip I will always remember. Some day, I'd like to go back to those shelters on the beach. Maybe for my honeymoon? Any takers?

Here's a little video from our night in "Reggae Heaven."