The
Second Half
After two
weeks spent in the eastern half of the country it was time to fly from Chicago
to San Diego. My friend Dan was going to get married, and I had to be present.
But more than that I wanted to see family and friends. The lengthy stay would
end up being a great one and this is the summary of it.
Home
Sweet Home
Once back
in San Diego, I took immediate note of the splendid August weather. Each day
had clear blue skies, low humidity and temperatures in the low 80s. Until I
moved elsewhere in the world I had taken the Southern California coastal
climate for granted and it set me up for great discomfort because nowhere has
the weather come close to the same level of wonderful. So the day after arriving, I
made the most of the sunny San Diego days by taking my uncle Mario and aunt Wanda to
Torrey Pines State Park because they were visiting from Texas and do not often see the
Pacific coast. Oh, and Torrey Pines is not just any ordinary stretch of
coastline. Windswept cliffs drop to the sea but are offset from the water by a
strip of black and gold sand. The place is secluded and scenic, and home to
California's only public nude beach.
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| Nice day at the beach |
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| Armed Service Cemetery |
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| Cabrillo's Ship |
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| The Statue |
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| Lighthouse |
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| Winding staircase |
Party
I have
been teaching English in Japan for eight years now. In that time I visited San
Diego four times, and whenever I'm back, my mom makes it a point to have a
party for me at the house. This year she put in more effort than usual. For
one, she hired caterers, and I'm not talking about just any run-of the-mill
hotplate food scoopers. Nope. Mom paid for a portable taco grill complete with
its own corn tortilla press. The Mexican dude tending it had four meats to
choose from plus all the fixings. And on top of that, one of Mom's friend Maria
Teresa served the homemade lasagna she's brought to each of these welcome back
parties. I've grown quite fond of the dish. Maria Teresa makes so much there
are always leftovers, and much like pizza, the lasagna still tastes good the
next day, even right out of the fridge.
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| Tacos done right |
The food
aside these parties are great because I can see friends and family. My uncle
Mario and aunt Wanda were present, as were uncle Kent and aunt Gloria. Cousin
Ian and Ana Maria came too. But Ana's husband Sid missed the festivities
because a spider had bitten him the day before. She did however bring her son
Joaquin. He's half Latin and half East Indian, and a cute little rascal. Mom
and aunt Amparo both told me Joaquin looks a lot like I did at the same age. That made me curious, so I went through the old family pics. A side-by-side
comparison showed that Mom and Amparo were right to a degree. In the photos we
both had long curly hair and big almond shaped eyes. I went ahead and scanned some of
the family pictures and now have them digitized for posterity's sake.
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| Joaquin at 2 years of age |
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| Me |
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| My Parents and Brother |
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| Dad once did Karate |
Paradise
Lost
As I have
already stated San Diego has a very pleasant climate. The land is chaparral desert so
the area receives little precipitation and has close to no humidity. But unlike
most deserts the high temperatures are moderated by cool air that accompanies
ocean currents coming down from Alaska. Below is a chart from Wikipedia
showing how ridiculously nice the year round weather is.
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| Best climate on Earth? |
Topographically,
the city has a large natural bay and river valley that feeds into an estuary.
In days of old these natural features provided access to water for farming and
fishing, and the native Kumeyaay lived peacefully in these lands.
Then came
the White man.
First were the Spanish. They established a mission in the river valley and named it
San Diego de Alcala after Saint Didacus, a 15th century Franciscan monk. The
mission founder Father Junipero Serra deemed it his responsibility to spread
the catholic faith among the natives and in doing so forced them to adhere to
rigid rules that conflicted with their way of life. Moreover, the Spanish used
the natives like slaves to farm the land and maintain the mission. This led to
open revolt and on more than one occasion the natives attempted to drive the
White men away. The Spanish, however, had garrisoned the mission with soldiers, and their guns and steel proved to be the difference. Thus, the Spanish remained and
with each passing year there came more of them who seized Kumeyaay lands for
farming and ranching.
|
|
The Noble Kumeyaay People
|
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| Father Junipero |
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| Revolt |
In 1856
the Mexican American war erupted a thousand miles away in Texas. By the end of
it US General Willard Scott had marched south to Mexico City and occupied the
capital. Before leaving, the Americans forced an interim commission of the
collapsed Mexican government to sign the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The
signing ceded 900,000+ sq miles of Mexican land to the US government, and made San
Diego along with all of modern day California a part of America. The
change led to an increase in white settlers--this time from the east. Their
arrival pushed the Kumeyaay further out of their lands, and the definitive blow
came when the town's people dammed the San Diego River. This put an end to
seasonal flooding in the area and allowed settlers to occupy the entire river
valley. Other Kumeyaay lands were swallowed up by the resultant reservoirs. It
was then only a matter of time until the natives were forced to resettle in the
mountains to the east. What few Kumeyaay remained were divided into thirteen
groups, the most prominent of which are now the Sycuan, Barona and Viejas tribes.
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| In Mission Valley |
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| The current river |
The
Kumeyaay became forgotten and irrelevant as the city continued to grow. By the
late 80's San Diego had over a million people and it was at that point some
astute businessmen from Las Vegas lobbied to have the Indian Gaming Regulatory
Act passed. The businessmen realized that they could exploit the tribal
sovereignty of Indian reservations to legalize gambling and build casinos, but
they needed operational guidelines sanctioned by the government which in turn
gave them more control over investment dealings. The casino companies didn't
take long to move in afterwards, and they struck deals with the Kumeyaay tribes
whose reservations were relatively close to San Diego (a large population
center). In return for their compliance every reservation member received
monthly stipends taken from casino profits. For many that money later amounted
to over 100,000 dollars a year. Understandably, other tribes wanted in on the
windfall and casinos soon sprang up all over San Diego County.
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| Many a Casino |
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| Typical Casino Signage |
This is
the legacy of the Kumeyaay people. Their tribal names now light up bright
casino signs and loom down from Interstate billboards. Is it not fitting? The
once poor natives now profit from the vices of the White men who robbed them of
their land and way of life. But the truth be told, it's the Asians who frequent
the casinos most, especially the Chinese. I'm talking about people from a
culture whose families sell their children into sex slavery to pay off gambling
debts. That is the affliction posed by gambling. And others are just as
susceptible for no race is free of the gambling bug. Admittedly, my mom goes
too. I really wish she wouldn't. It's a waste and she might as well toss her
cash down a storm drain because the result would be the same. But mom is
convinced she makes money playing slots. I've seen her in action. She walks
between the machines with her hands stretched outwards, and when she feels
something in her fingers she'll stop and play. I don't think it works in her
favor.
As for my
friend Chris, he fares better. He plays poker. Now that is a game of skill. How
one bluffs and reads others determines the level of success, and him being
Filipino he was practically raised at the poker table beside uncles
and cousins. Card savvy Chris loves playing against old Chinese men who show
up to the casino with their money belts stuffed and leave penniless. I've gone
with him before. Poker was never my thing so I play the $5 blackjack tables. I
never win. Sometimes I walk away so bitter that I am tempted to go to the
buffet and dump plate loads of food into the garbage to earn back my money.
My
friends and I joke that at Barona Casino, a greedy, fat Indian wearing a turquoise bolo tie sits in a back room watching the cash bags tumble in. We call him
Johnny Blackfoot. But he doesn't exist, and if he did, the big money makers of
the gaming world would not be the Johnny Blackfoots. Rather they're the
executives and shareholders from the multinational companies who set up and run
the casinos. Those old white men use the natives as needed and then write them
off with a small cut of the profits, and in the
meantime they are making a killing. By conducting their business on Native American land the companies
are exempt from strong government oversight. They also don't need to pay
certain types of taxes, and lastly, their profits are unaffected during an
economic downturn. This is because most Indian casino visitors are from
nearby cities. The casinos operated in Las Vegas and Atlantic City on the other
hand depend on out of state tourists for business, and it's a known fact,
people are less willing to travel when money is tight.
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| Potential for Indian Gaming |
Desert
Antics
San Diego
is a large county that encompasses a variety of regions. Most tourists visit only the beaches and coastal towns, and it's a shame because the most beautiful part
of the county in my opinion is Anza Borrego State Park. An hour drive
away from downtown, the park has wide desert vistas, and other areas that teem with
vegetation such as the ocotillo and yucca plants. As a bonus it's also possible
to camp in any part of the park without a permit. I decided I would go and
spend a night beneath the stars and persuaded my friend Roberto to join. We headed east in my father's truck, which had once belonged to my grandfather.
When granddad passed away 5 years ago dad drove it from New Mexico to
California. And here I was putting more miles on it for a fun
filled excursion. Inside I knew it was what granddad would have wanted.
"You
believe in extraterrestrials?" I asked Roberto.
"Yeah.
Why you ask?"
"I
was thinking it would be cool if we saw a UFO right now."
"I'm
not sure about that. But you know what? I wouldn't mind seeing a movie with
aliens in it."
He then
suggested we watch an alien abduction film called "The Fourth Kind."
Amazingly, his phone had reception and we could see it on Netflix, albeit with
serious bandwidth issues. The film had a creepy vibe and portrayed the
extraterrestrials as heartless, terrifying creatures. Much to my disappointment
they were never shown on screen. So it turned out that even in the world of
film I was denied seeing a UFO.
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| Movie poster |
I didn't
sleep well during the night because of the bugs. It was too dry for mosquitoes,
but moths, beetles and other little things were buzzing about. Moreover, I had
a foul gas attack made worse by the tostada and beans from dinner. At around
5:30am day broke and I rose with the morning sun. That tends to be the case
when camping outdoors. It didn't take long for us to get back on the road. We continued
south and after half an hour of driving I saw a turn off for a small natural
spring. On an impulse I pulled in. This time the road was less agreeable than
the one to Fonts Point, and I was so focused on my steering that when the road
split I went the wrong way. Like an idiot I stopped the truck, shifted into
reverse, and before I knew it my back right tire had become caught in sand.
Roberto
and I tried to dig out the tire. We put a large, flat rock beneath it for
traction. He pushed while I gave the truck some gas. We did everything short
of deflating the tire, but the vehicle did not budge. To get cellular reception
we had to trek a mile back to the highway. I phoned the park's service number.
That call went through to an automated voice box. I tried 9-1-1 next and an
operator connected me to a local dispatch. Within an hour came a green and
white jeep, and out stepped Ranger Don. "I'm here to help," he said.
Roberto and I hopped onto the back of his jeep and held tight as he tore down the
wash to the truck. Fortunately, the man had come prepared with a chain. He hooked it to the
truck's chassis, and the other end to the jeep. When Don gave the signal I
reversed the truck. His all-wheel-drive jeep went forward and the tire finally
came out of the sand.
"Thank
you so much," I said afterwards, nearly about to hug the guy.
"No
need to thank me," he said, "this is just your tax dollars at
work." He removed the chain, slapped his hands clean, and for a brief
moment his sunglasses caught a brilliant flare of sunlight. "Now how about we get the hell outta here?"
Once he
had seen us back to the highway, Roberto and I both agreed-- Ranger Don was the
embodiment of awesomeness.
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| Ocotillo plant in the morning |
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| Ranger to the rescue |
Roberto
In some
aspects of daily life I'm a lucky guy. For example, there have been times when
I've moved to a new city and not known anyone, but within a month had a fledgling
circle of friends, and within two months had become acquainted with more people
than names I could remember. It's easy for me to make friends like that, so you
can imagine all the people I've gotten to know. Well, thinking back on their
countless faces and personalities some individuals stand out more than
others--those certain friends who lead a life I can describe only as
extraordinary. Roberto is one such person.
Roberto
is a man who doesn't live in a bubble, or in other words, never allows himself
to become trapped too long within the security and comfort of a familiar
routine. The guy is often drawn to new experiences, and when taking that first
step into the unknown he commits whole-heatedly. I recognize this quality in
him because we are the same in the regard. And not surprisingly, Roberto has his
fair share of stories to tell. For example, he once became a stand up comedian
and did comedy tours in the United States and Australia. It took some big
cojones to get up on stage and crack jokes in front of strangers like that, yet
Roberto gave it a go and succeeded. And it's not only about the things we
choose to do. The ugly hardships we face shape us as well and in Roberto's case he
had what he calls his "blues singer year." First off, the poor guy
lost his stepfather to cancer and he had to assume financial responsibility of
the family. Then one of his friends committed suicide and another was murdered,
and to worsen matters an ex-girlfriend flipped out on him and brought grief to
his already troubled life. Under these circumstances a normal person might have
suffered a nervous breakdown. But Roberto is no ordinary man. He weathered the
storm and emerged a stronger, wiser person while still maintaining a positive
outlook on life.
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| Roberto's dog |
El Centro
Further
to the east, across a featureless basin, Roberto and I drove from Anza Borrego
to the city of El Centro. The area is an agricultural hotspot, and the air bore
the unmistakable odor of cow manure. We stopped for breakfast at a
Jack-n-the-Box. The heat outside quickly climbed into the 100s and upon
finishing our meal we were forced to take refuge within a nearby mall. Inside
at a Regal Cinema, Roberto was inclined to take in a movie so we paid the $5
admission price for one but ended up watching two--Two Guns and The Conjuring.
Don't waste your time with Two Guns. Not even Denzel's acting could save that
movie from its own absurdity. In other words, the plot was garbage, and by the
third act I wanted back half my $5. The Conjuring though, I quite liked. For a
horror movie in which no one dies it did an excellent job of scoring thrills
thanks to the good direction and convincing characters. So kudos to the team
who put it together.
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| Wind farm |
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| Abandoned house |
Anyhow,
the whole reason I wanted to go to El Centro was to see my friend Yazmine. She
had work until 5pm and we met her at her house where she lives with her
husband, two kids and the family dog. The plan was to eat at a Mexican
restaurant near the border. Before joining us, her husband left the kids with
the grandparents, and Yazmine's coworker and his fiancée also met us at the
restaurant. The place turned out to specialize in seafood so most the stuff on
the menu I could not eat. But they did have deep fried, breaded fish tacos.
Those were delicious. Moreover, the restaurant offered seven hot sauces to
choose from, a larger selection than any other place I've eaten at. I mean this
establishment was all about spicy food and drink. On the menu I even saw and
ordered a spicy beer cocktail. It did not go down easy.
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| Sauces |
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| Beer with a kick |
Like so
many other lasting friends I've made, I first met Yazmine in Japanese class at
university. She graduated a year before me, returned to her hometown of El
Centro and married. Then she got a job as a social worker, had the kids and now
lives the typical American life. By contrast I did not settle down after
university. I went and traveled the world, and all these years later I have no
house, no family, and no career job to show for it. Our paths in life have thus
taken us to two very different spots. And I wonder how might life be had
I done the same as Yazmine? I'd love to have kids by now, and a house to call
my own, and at the same time, Yazmine told me she wishes she could travel like
I do and experience far off exotic cultures. But then I sometimes think it's tiresome
going from place to place. Moreover, I'm not getting any younger.
Perhaps
it is like they say. The grass is greener on the other side of the fence.
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| Yazmine and family |
The
Fattening
I tell
you, as much as I love visiting America for a long vacation, I dread putting on
weight. Without fail I return to Japan afterwards ten or so pounds heavier. The
food is to blame. It is loaded with fat and sugar, and the portions are
oversized. That and it tastes so damned good. Back in the day, it used to be I
could eat whatever I wanted without worry. So long as I exercised
regularly I kept off the pounds. Well, around the age of thirty my metabolism changed.
To stay in shape now requires a mix of exercise and dieting, which hasn't been
too hard to do in Japan. There are plenty of cheap, healthy dishes that I've
made a part of my regular diet.
Moreover, when eating out, a lot of the food is not that greasy or heavy
on calories. But in America it is a whole other story. Where to begin? I ate
massive sized hamburgers, plates of pasta, burritos, hotdogs, pizza, chicken
wings, butter-smothered pancakes, and all that in the first week.
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| You are what you drink |
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| Fat, juicy, unhealthy Fiesta burger |
Ok. I'll
admit it. I was on vacation and didn't care to count calories with each meal.
The scary thing was I saw in others the direction I was headed. The level of
obesity in the United States is shameful. People fall into bad eating habits and many who do make an effort to control their weight go about it in the wrong
way. They think just because something has the words "diet" of
"fat free" written on the label it's good for you. Well, too much of
that crap is loaded with sodium, sugar, and artificial flavors which are
overcompensating for a subdued taste that had nothing wrong to begin with. It's how natural food is supposed to taste; only Americans have
grown accustomed to rich flavors and end up craving the unhealthiest of
additives. And with the way foods are processed the body absorbs very little of
the nutritional value offered by the ingredients. It's a lose-lose situation.
Don't get
me wrong. I'm not trying to get preachy here. I only feel it is important to
know more about what one puts in their mouth, and to better consider how
different types of food affect the body. That knowledge is key to leading a
healthier lifestyle.
Now for a
story. One about Roberto and the spicy chicken wings. I hate to use Roberto as
an example, but this experience demonstrates the excessive nature of American
food worship. The story begins at Dan's house. His relatives were in town and
the family prepared a variety of dishes. We gorged ourselves thoroughly on
meat, noodles and cake, and later went for drinks down the street at a Buffalo
Wild Wings. While we were waiting to be seated, Roberto noticed that
his name was no longer on some list on the wall. Apparently, he had set the
store record for their Blazin' Challenge. That's where a person must eat 12
super spicy chicken wings in under three minutes. Roberto said he had done it
in a 1:13, which according to their nationwide database was only 3 seconds
short of the franchise record. Had it been anyone other than Roberto who
claimed such a feat I would not have believed them, but as I've already noted,
Roberto is no ordinary man.
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| Dinner at Dan's |
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| At Buffalo Wild Wings |
It wasn't
long before my friend wanted to reclaim his place at the top of the store list.
The current #1, we saw, had only completed the challenge in a paltry 2:34.
"I
can do better than that," Roberto said, "no doubt about it."
"Yeah,
but you just ate like five plates of food at Dan's house," I reminded him.
Roberto
threw back the last of his beer and faced me with a cold, steely look in his
eyes. "It doesn't matter," he said.
I knew
then he was determined and I might as well support him in his endeavor.
"Alright dude, I believe you."
By the
time the waitress came with the chicken wings, Roberto had made it through
another two beers. The young blonde set down the basket of wings and a fiery
smell singed the inside of my nostrils. The wings appeared to be the real deal.
But I had to be sure. I took my finger, rubbed off a bit of the red wing sauce,
and then put it to my tongue. "Damn that's potent," I said to Roberto
with a cough.
He didn't
hear me. The man was too focused on the task at hand. The waitress set a timed
buzzer and siren alongside the basket. I was sitting opposite Roberto with my
camera, and to his right, Dan's younger brother readied a video recorder which
he had bought to make skateboarding clips.
"Are
you ready?" the waitress asked.
Roberto
replied with a nod, the waitress hit the buzzer, and the spectacle began.
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| It's on! |
I watched
in awe as Roberto dug into wing after wing after wing. The speed and precision
of his movements indicated that the man knew not the meaning of spiciness. It
really looked as if the meat he shoved into his mouth were covered with honey
rather than habanero sauce. Even the waitress was taken back. "Wow,"
she said, "this guy's a beast."
I nodded.
"You don't know the half of it."
After the
last wing Roberto hit the buzzer with a red, sauce covered hand.
"A
minute-sixteen!" the waitress announced.
We all
cheered and clapped at the achievement. And as Roberto leaned back in his seat,
at last showing the signs of physical anguish, I thought only in America would
people celebrate such gluttonous debauchery...only in America.
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| Back on the wall |
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| The drinking continues |
The
Wedding
This was
the big event. The one I had come all the way from Japan for.
My friend
Dan and his fiancée
Yoko were getting married. It fell upon me to be the best man, and as the date
drew closer, Dan asked if I could also be the event photographer. I now had to
pull double duty--me of all people, who had done neither before. But I was not
about to back down. Dan was depending on me to help make his wedding a good
one. I couldn't disappoint him.
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| Wedding ceremony |
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| The guests |
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| Reception |
Before I
proceed I should give a bit of background info on the couple. Daniel Smart is
as good a friend as I have. We met in Japanese class at San Diego University
and a few years later we were both living in a Guest House in Tokyo. At that
point, life picked up. The city became our playground and we made other friends
with whom to share in the excitement. But after a while I grew tired of the
crowds and hectic lifestyle. So I left and in the following years moved further
and further west, away from the capital. The one exception was when I returned
to Tokyo for treatment of my cancer. That was a difficult time for both me and
Dan, and it was then, not too long after I finished my chemo that he met Yoko
Iwakiri.
I said as
much during my best man speech. One hundred guests sat at tables on the first
deck of a boat with me at their center. That was the place of the reception--a
boat--and it was halfway through a two-hour cruise of San Diego's Mission Bay.
The speech's words continued to flow from my mouth. In my hands I held no paper
with the speech written out. That's not my style. I simply shot from the hip.
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| Halloween Party |
Next, I
explained that Dan and Yoko had met at a Halloween Party. Everyone had been
drunk that night and a group of us later went to sing karaoke by the train
station. The had fun lasted until morning, time enough for Dan and Yoko to become
well acquainted. I recalled having seen them sit together opposite the table,
absorbed in conversation with one another. Something was definitely up. But how
could I have known then that they would one day marry?
Well,
life is funny like that, for there they now were together at a different table
and as happy as could be.
I raised
my champagne glass and said, "To Dan and Yoko, our newly wed couple. I
wish you both the best!" To their table I went to hug them both. Applause
filled the air, and while it was Dan who had just married, it felt as if I were
the one entering a new chapter in my life. "I love you bro," I said
to him.
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| Mission Bay |
 |
| Up top with the boys |
In
Conclusion
I get
plenty of holiday time each year. But I never seem to catch up on my rest. That
said, I had to relocate to Osaka as soon as I returned to my town of Toba. The
day of the move was one of the longest, most agonizing in recent memory. It
started with me jamming stuff into a rental car too small for my things, and
then ended at a park in the countryside town of Nabari where I drank with
friends until three in the morning. The worst part was I had orientation for a
new job a few hours later. But I survived. I always do.
With
another wild summer behind me I now look to the future. Roberto and I have
decided to go to Bangladesh during winter break. Why Bangladesh you might ask.
Well, it's one of the few countries I have yet to visit in Eastern Asia. But
I'll have to wait another three months.
Until then I imagine I'll be having plenty of fun weekends in Osaka.
With an open heart I have committed to my new life here. I intend to make the
most of it.
