Not my day

Some days are a struggle. Today was one of those days.

I woke up chipper with a grand plan. I was going to attend the Battle of Okinawa memorial service at the Peace Prayer Park. I wanted to observe the anniversary of the end of the World War II battle on this island by listening to both the U.S. service at 10:30 a.m. and the Japanese service at 11 a.m. I planned for my photos and observations of the event to be the founding material for my weekly column in the Wichita Falls Times Record News.

The park is on the south side of the island, 50 kilometers south of Naha. We live 23 kilometers north of Naha, so I knew the drive was going to be long, even though this was my first time going to the park. By 8:45 a.m. I was out the door.

I hit a bit of traffic in Naha. I noticed that children weren't in school, so I assumed that today was a state or national holiday. That also explained the heavy traffic in Naha. I continued following the blue signs toward Highway 331 and "heiwakinen memorial park." Luckily I looked at an English tourist Web site before leaving the house so I knew the park's Japanese name.

About 15 kilometers from my destination, I hit a second traffic jam. It looked like a high school baseball tournament was starting and parents were looking for parking spots along the highway. This is the same spot where the road hit a T intersection without any signs directing me in a particular direction. I take a left and drove for a few kilometers. I decided this wasn't right and turned around.

Turning around is especially difficult for me in Okinawa. Maybe it's the fact that I learned to drive on the other side of the road. Maybe it's the absence of a grid road system so a left, followed by two more lefts doesn't necessarily mean you will return to the same highway. Or maybe it's the narrow side streets that make me nervous. Actually it's a combination of all three reasons that cause my turn-around frustrations.

A few kilometers in the opposite direction and I'm back on track. I know because I'm seeing the blue tourist signs again directing me to the peace prayer park. About seven kilometers from the park I'm moving very slowly. I'm following hundreds of cars and buses. I start to see huge crowds of Okinawans wearing matching T-shirts waving signs and Japanese flags marching to the park. The group had everyone from toddlers to people who looked to be about 90 years old. They are chatting as they walk in the 90 degree heat, 80 percent humidity.

I've never seen anything like this before. Is it a memorial march? Is it a demonstration? It is smart people who know where to park so they don't get caught in the traffic jam like me? What do their signs say? Is this march common? Or are their actions unusual? Because I can't understand the language I don't know, but I start to feel a bit uncomfortable alone in the car.

Thirty minutes later I reach the park's front entrance, but Japanese police officers wave me, along with my fellow travelers, past the gate. I'm assuming that they are directing us to an alternative parking lot. But again I can't read any signs and I keep getting waved in one direction or another at every intersection.

Before I know it, I've followed every J.P. hand gesture and I'm alone on Highway 225 -- surrounded by sugar cane fields. The roadway is empty, except for me. The time is 11:15 a.m. and it is clear that I will not be attending a war memorial service today. I need to find my way home.

A dozen more turns combined with quick glances at the map at red stoplights and I'm returning north on Highway 331 to Naha. I found my way, but I'm disappointed about my morning. I had such grand plans. Now I have to revise my column plans or return to the park later this week and write the column from a personal visit experience. I can't decide right now. (Here is a AOL news story about what I missed.) I've been in the car driving for three hours straight in stop and go traffic and I'm exhausted and sweaty.

I dressed up and even washed and brushed my hair for this event, so I decide to seize the moment and stop at Ashibinaa -- Okinawa's outlet mall -- on my way home. I need to walk around. I need to get some lunch.

After window shopping at Levi's, Nine West, Valentino and Coach, I walk into the "international food court." I have five options including N.Y. Style Hamburger Curry, which I think is a mistranslation and "Tacorice -- Flavour of Okinawa." (With taco rice spelled like that it reminds me of licorice and I start to laugh thinking of chili and bean flavored candy.)

I order a "traditional Chinese rice bowl," which was pretty tasty. The ginger was especially good, but I'm not in the mood to eat the small egg on top. I'm assuming it's a quail egg, but my disappointing morning as left me unenthusiastic about new food experiences. My disappointment mounts when I sip my beverage through a straw. I thought I ordered Fanta orange soda in Japanese. Instead I'm drinking orange juice.

Today was not my day.