Speaking of small towns, when I was in the Marine Corps and stationed on the Japanese island of Okinawa, I was wandering around in a little village. It was more quaint than the capital city of Naha, which at that time, had only one traffic light. (This was during the 60s, remember).
I came across a hill, dotted with unusual shapes of stone. Looking further I concluded it was a cemetery area. The gravesites were covered with concrete shells, which were shaped remarkably like turtle shells. They were even decorated with the square-like markings of turtles.
Very interested, I had to stoop deeply to look under the shells, as they seemed to be lifted from ground level. Through reading on this phenomenon, I found out later that the Okinawans feel that the gods look favorably on turtles, giving them protection by having strong exteriors, long life, and the wisdom to live such a life. They are sure of their survival, and walk slowly because they have confidence in the future. Thus, the deceased will have those same attributes in the afterlife.
Wandering about the site, I knew something was odd, when I noticed several people staring (ever so politely and discreetly, they thought) at me. That day, not a few children came up to me to rub the blonde hairs of my arms and feel my hair, while looking into my blue eyes, giggling giddily, so I thought that might be the reason. "Oh boy, I'm a hit," I thought. After a bit, I realized I wasn't such a hit after all.
As I was passing a small shop, I stopped to look at a display of items and noticed my reflection in the window. I was struck by the image of me with my trousers agape from my fly. Apparently, the zipper had ripped as I was stretched down to peer under the cemetery stones.
I went into the little shop to look for a safety pin, even clothes pins if I could find nothing else, just something to allay my discomfort. I certainly couldn't walk about with my hands covering my crotch, could I? (Do they have lechers or self-touchers in the Orient, too?)
Two ladies in the shop smiled, and bowed the typical greeting, "Ohio goziemas." They didn't understand a word I was trying to impart. With hand imagery I uncovered my rent trousers and with a soulful look of distress was at last able to impart the act of sewing to the two ladies, who held their hands in front of their mouths while giggling and chucking responses to each other.
They bade me into the back room of the shop and signed for me to take off my trousers, which mamasan would repair. Abashed, I took off my trousers, handed them to mamasan who, while chuckling, started to re-sew my fly.
In the meanwhile, I stood there in my too-short shirt, togged in my whitey tighties, shoes and socks. Suddenly, it seemed that everyone in the village was visiting that one room.
I could feel redness hotly enveloping me, creeping from my neck to my face. Wouldn't you know it, they were more interested in the blonde hair on my legs, some reaching over to stroke the hairs. This made me more uncomfortable thinking they might be reaching for something else.
I suffered through the scene with deep gratitude from those kind and dear ladies. I tried to pay the ladies for their largesse, but they declined, bowing deeply. Returning their bows I said, "Arigato goziemas." I left the shop feeling more comfortable with the repair not only to my trousers, but to my dignity.
Epiphany: I now carry a prethreaded needle with about three feet of thread (clear fishing line, which will blend with any color) wrapped in a small sheet of paper, stuffed inside the confines of my wallet. It takes up little room, and may be a comfort should you need to make an emergency repair.
Hand-washing shirts inevitably seems to weaken threads of the middle buttons of a shirt, so that they pop off while you are "luxing" them out. Countless times have I thanked the travellers' god for the providence of that needle and thread.
Epiphany: Please, do not wear expensive jewelry (rings, watches, necklaces). A Timex will do its job just as well as a Breguet or a Rolex. Costume jewelry can be as attractive as the real stuff, I believe.
Epiphany: I carry my extra cash enclosed in a travel wallet worn under my clothing, along with my passport. When I leave my digs to muck about town, I carry enough money and change in my pockets to suffice for lunch and a couple of beers. You know the drill, don't you? Why tempt the fates? My pockets have been picked three times during my travels, once in the men's room of Chicago's O'Hare airport, once in Naples, Italy, and the last time in Tegulcigalpa, Honduras. Thus, the birth of another epiphany...
Epiphany: When deciding to travel by bus or train to another place, try going at night. Booking the night coach can save you a few bucks on another night in a hotel or room (in some places more than a few bucks). You will generally arrive in the morning hours, have a bite to eat and then look for a room; once you are there you can shower, catch up on a bit of shuteye, put your wardrobe in order (such as washing your clothes in the shower with you) and let the clothes dry while you nap.
If I know I will be taking a bus (say from Northern to Central Brasil) I check out at the requisite time, take my carryon/backpack with me to the rodovaria (Brasil), bus station and check it during the afternoon hours. Then you can pick it up when its time to be back to catch the ride, eh?
