sanpo suru - to take a walk

Grant is very much against being one of those military families that lives in Japan for years and never really bothers to step outside the gate. So we decided to take a little Sunday stroll.

I think I've explained before how I have a comfort zone bordered by the sea on one side and Verney Park on the other and extending only to the end of blue street. My excursions outside these self-imposed boundaries have been limited. Grant's have been non-existent if you don't count the day trip we took to Kamakura.

On Sunday, we decided comfort zones are for chumps. We were going exploring.

We walked out the Main Gate and headed left through the park. It's a beautiful stretch of land along the shore, directly across from the base. Usually you can see several small ships and at least one submarine. We even found the crows nest of the G.W. peeking over the rooftops.

Verny park was built in memory of some French guy who did something or other. I didn't really read the sign. At the end of the park furthest from base there is a small museum. The sign claimed it is built in the style of a french house - it's small and stone with a funny roof that slopes in all directions. The park is also supposedly landscaped in the style of a french garden. If that's true then the only flower in France is the rose.

Verny park has red roses and pink roses and white roses and orange roses and very little else. There's a fountain with a brass rose statue on top of it. There's also this one tree that always makes me a little sad because it's got all of these cables wrapped around various branches and bolted to the ground. I assume the landscapers are trying to coax it to grow in a particular shape, this is the land of bonsai after all. But it looks like they're trying to keep it from escaping.

We walked out of the park and past JR station which belongs to one of the two train services that run through Yokosuka. This was as far as we had ever gone. We crossed the train tracks and kept going. At first the streets were wide and the buildings were tall. Futon mattresses and blankets hung over apartment balconies.

We kept walking. Eventually the street narrowed. There was a tunnel ahead. Cars sped along under it. Houses perched on top of it. They do not waste space here.

On the other side of the tunnel we found ourselves in a more residential area. The houses were tiny. They nestled together like puppies in a basket. Some of them had tiny courtyards enclosed by low walls and filled with miniature jungles. I saw one that looked like something I would build out of Legos. It was as long as a small house in the states. But it was only about as wide as a college dorm room. At least, it looked that way from the outside. I couldn't imagine how anyone could live there.

Once we passed a woman crouched behind an iron fence in a front yard the size of a small entry hall, replanting a terra cotta colored plastic planter. There were eight or nine other planters scattered around her. This, evidently, was her garden.

A few of the houses were raised up on stilts with carports underneath. Like I said, they don't waste space.

We passed through several more tunnels, each with cars beneath and houses overhead. Just before the entrance to each tunnel I noticed a long flight of stone steps leading to the houses above. I hope, for the sake of the inhabitants, that there was an alternate way to reach their homes. Walking up a couple of hundred steps with an armful of groceries or a small child would be less than fun.

Every now and then we passed a vending machine, selling Coke, Fanta and hot coffee to the residents of the surrounding homes.

Eventually, I realized that the road we were traveling followed the train tracks. After walking for an hour we had reached the next station. It was smaller and more out of the way than the Yokosuka station. The main building was raised above the train tracks and reached by a covered stairway on either side. A third stairway led down onto the platform. Let me say this again - the Japanese do not waste space.

We rode the train home without incident and my feet, stuffed into sneakers half a size too small, were grateful for the rest. When we got home Grant ordered me new shoes.

I leave you today with a quote from Malcolm Gladwell, "You can learn as much - or more - from one glance at a private space as you can from hours of exposure to a public face."