And sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler

Yesterday was my friend Amelia’s 24th birthday.

Amelia is laid back almost to a fault, her effortless humor and even keel personality making her a someone you always want around. So I knew before hand, her birthday would be celebratory, but easy going. And because she had never been so close to a beach in the summer, despite having a birthday in August, she chose to spend her birthday at the beach. So yesterday, we traveled to Utsumi for a day on the shore.

We left Nagoya station late morning, loaded down with coolers, towels, and a general sense of quiet contentment. The train was full at first, with people and our own buzzing excitement, but as the railroad car drove along and people filtered out, only are voices were left. We stayed on the line till the very last stop, a long, winding trip through mountains; the sticky heat kept outside as we crisscrossed quiet towns dotted along the way. As the tracks petered out, we climbed out of Utsumi Station and, after a few mumbled directions in broken Japanese, headed towards the beach.

And the day ended up being all we had wanted; and really, all we expected. In other words, it was quite perfect.

The water was calm and low and warm; as crystal clear and reflective as the peerless blue sky. The sand itself was fine and white, and it slipped between our toes like cool powder. We lay down sheets and towels and heaped on the beach like a sprawling mass of cloth and bags. We lazily relaxed on the beach all day, languidly drinking and eating; a constant stream of food instead of a respectable meal. We laughed loudly with short bursts of impromptu singing, taking breaks here and there to sprint towards the cool water and splash around in it like children. We jumped on tubes and threw beach balls, while some of us covertly stalked the others with 100 yen store water guns. (And in truth, the hunt was always better than the actual attack, for the stream it produced was tiny at best, but the playful fear of an unexpected raid much more gratifying.)

When the sun turned down and set over the ocean, the orange ball low in the sky, I stood in the surf of the calm twilight sea with Caitlin and watched the others enjoy the slowly emptying beach. A few still half heartedly swimming, a few digging in the sand for no other reason than to do it, and everyone else sitting sun warmed and eased on the towels.

And as the sky turned inky, we reluctantly left the deserted beach and found a Tiki Bar a little up the shoreline. It was small with gaudy decorations evocative of tropical islands, but the drinks were cool and the food delicious and we whiled away the rest of the night there. We deciphered the menu, the English words masked in katakana, the foreign sounds rolling off our tongue as we tried to make them fit the words we knew them to be. We tried to play a drinking game to which I’m still not sure the rules, or when you had to drink, and it turned into all of us trying to come up with as many adjectives for each letter of the alphabet as we could. (It’s hard to play, Caitlin later said, when you do it with people with a good vocabulary.)

Tired, relaxed, our sun reddened cheeks turned redder by the alcohol, we finally head towards Utsumi station after ten. It was only after we arrived at the station that we discovered that the last train left at 10:39.

We got there at 10:44, five minutes too late.

Utsumi is one horse town, to borrow a homegrown colloquialism. We saw very few people in the town during the day, and no one at night. Everything was dark and shut down; a sleepy town closed down for the night. Plopping down in the middle of the darkened and empty train station, despite half formed ideas, we all knew there was no way to get back to Nagoya that evening. Someone suggested a bar to kill a few hours, someone else brought finding a hotel. And, well, because I was calm and content, 23 years old, and on vacation, we all collectively decided to sleep on the beach.

There was something reminiscent of home as I pulled on the orange hoodie I fortunately packed on a whim and sauntered down to the cool sand of the beach at night. A few chuckled at the obscene color, and I realized they had never seen the delightful color scheme of my alma mater before, so I joked along with them. There was grumbling about the situation as we sprawled out once again on the beach, but this time with a very different humor.

And a little time later, as we laughed nearly manically at something not all that funny, I realized it was the half-crazed laughter of spontaneity and ridiculous situations, as well as trying to make the best of it.

Wiping the tears from my eyes as my sides started to hurt, Doug said with quiet humor, “Who would have thought a year ago I’d have to be sleeping on a beach in Japan for the night.”

As I rolled onto my back and looked up at the stars, I echoed the sentiment in my head. The idea resonated, for who would have thought I would be in this situation, even a year ago? Which lead me to wonder where will I be on this day next year, and the one after that? Staring up at the endless constellations blinking flirtatiously back at me, life seemed vast and limitless in that one moment. The opportunities I have, and the ones that I create, shape my life. And the life I live, the adventures and events I then choose for myself, leave me with no regrets. These thoughts settled in my mind as I wrapped myself up in my towel and drifted off to sleep.

At 5:17 this morning, I woke up on the beach as the first light crept into the sky. Shannon was already stirring, cardboard she had found to sleep on already being carted towards the trash. (I poked fun at her for sleeping on it. She told me, with no lack of humor, she did it to really get the homeless person experience.) The rest of us rose, bleary eyed and silent, and telepathically decided to head out in time for the first train. Our silence was a great contrast to the noise of the day and night before.

As we trekked back the station, a route we were unfortunately becoming very familiar with, we somehow settled into pairs several yards apart. Amelia herself ended up next to me as we walked noiselessly along the road. The sky was the grey of early morning, and it diffused on the shops and houses still closed up. Despite the sour mood of everyone for having to have slept about 4 hours on the beach , I felt a small bit of optimism creep into my mind. The kind I relish, but others tell me can be quite annoying. Smiling slightly, I turned to Amelia.

“So, how was the birthday?”

Amelia greeted me with a smirk and a raised eyebrow which spoke volumes in and of itself.

And knowing Amelia, I thought that was all I was going to get. But after a brief moment, she laughed.

“Well I’ve never slept on the beach before,” she replied tartly. “So as far as new experiences go, it was a definite success.”

The smile that had been threatening fully erupted on my face, as I joined her in her easy laughter.

“As far as new experiences…” I repeated. “And later, it will make a hell of a story.”

She flashed another wry smile, as if that would make it all worth it.

We slipped back into quiet as we reached the road leading to the train station, the first trains of the morning already waiting on the tracks to take us back to Nagoya.

And no matter where I am next year, no matter when I end up in the future, I know I’m lucky for where I’ve been. For the choices I make. Because no matter what I do, I know I’ll always have one hell of story.