I LOVE MF: JAPAN

Yesterday, my sister-in-law, Miki, and I went to Mother Farm in Futtsu, Japan, which is in the Chiba prefecture.  Mother Farm is an amusement park/farm where urbanites and children can learn to pick fruit properly, milk a cow, do crafts, and pet or ride animals. There are also a host of shows and amusement rides like a giant Ferris Wheel, a roller coaster and bungy jumping. I found this place on the internet and told my sister-in-law, who is such a city girl, and she found an all-inclusive rate for us. The round-trip ferry ticket between Chiba and Yokohama, a round trip bus ride from the port to the park, and park entry all cost 3,300 Yen (approx. $40). Oh, and you get a free gift!

So, we get to the park and go to pick up our free gift and it’s a coaster that says “I LOVE MF”, written in the same vein as the I Heart NY t-shirts; except for them MF is Mother Farm. Having such an appreciation for low humor, I immediately ask for a T-Shirt because low and behold, I love MFs too! They had no t-shirts, but the fact that they printed these coasters and the fact that I had to explain the joke to Miki, lead me to believe that they probably didn’t get many American tourist up there. If this were a movie, then this little language hiccup would have been MAJOR foreshadowing for a later event…  

Alas this is not a movie, so we proceeded to the rest of the park.

I milked this cow!

Throughout the day, we watched children racing pigs, we milked a cow, we watched a dog and sheep show and we ate Japanese curry and fresh chocolate parfaits. We had a really great time, but the event that took the cake was the Bungy Jumping.

Maybe I did it because I was still feeling high from my Hawaii trip, or maybe I did it because my sister-in-law kept repeating “You only live once! Life is short!” Whatever the reason, I am now certain of 2 things: 1) My foray into thrill seeking activities ended yesterday at Mothers Farm and 2) Never attempt a death defying activity when all of the instructions are written/spoken in a language you don’t know!

ME: “Miki, you go first so you can explain to me what we are supposed to do.”

MIKI: “Okay.”

Me and Miki making crafts!

Such a simple conversation, with such simple directions, was our method of getting around the language barrier. Miki listened, she jumped perfectly and she came bouncing back all amped. “You gotta do it! That was so fun! I’m still shaking, but I feel so free!”  She’s awesome and she’s brave and if she can do it, so can I!

MIKI: “Put your hands behind your head, lean forward and jump when they count down from 3.”

ME: “Okay.”

Such a simple conversation, with such simple directions, should have been our method of getting around the language barrier. BUT alas, this is not a movie!

Once I finally climbed up all of those steps and looked down, those directions and any stored up bravado I had, left me by myself with a 100lb Japanese instructor who spoke no English. And why should she?! It’s her country! I’m the idiot who decided to hurl my ass off a tower in a place where I don’t speak the language!!

Nah, I’m good… I immediately start shaking my head in the universal “no” move, in hopes that she will unclip me out of the harness and let me truly be free by way of the stairs. Instead the instructor keeps speaking to me in Japanese! After realizing that I REALLY don’t understand, she starts speaking lower and slower AND starts pulling my arm closer towards the edge. My left brain knows that she is saying “You’ll be fine. It’s okay. It’s easy. Take a breath and leap,” but my right brain hears “Bitch hurry up and jump!” Mentally, I’m preparing myself to fight this chick on this bungy platform! So in my head I’m thinking, “Pull my arm one more time…”

Then the countdown started…

If you ever want to know what REAL peer pressure is, then go bungy jumping.

 3…2…1… BUNGY!!!

I honestly don’t remember the initial drop because I think I had a Sybil moment up there, where I blacked out and switched to a different personality. But according to the video, I threw myself over the edge and let off an un-godly scream like someone had just crushed those gnarly balls I so lovingly grew in Hawaii. (Oh well… Easy come, easy go!) And I didn’t stop screaming until they lowered me unto the mat. Once down, the audience started clapping and people kept giving me thumbs up and saying, “Nice Bungy!” Looking brave, I accepted the congratulations in Japanese, “Arigatou gozaimasu,” but between you and me, I never have to do that again!

Mahalo!: Honolulu, HI

The Yoshida Family

The first time I visited Honolulu I was nine years old. I have vivid memories of the Polynesian Cultural Center, snorkeling in the waters off of Waikiki, going to a luau, and shopping. This time around I specifically told my good friend Mimi (she was my college roommate at Colorado School of Mines, but she ran off to Hawaii and married the TA. Now she has a cute family and is still in love… Another story, another blog), “It would be a travesty if I ended up on a tour bus with a bunch of folks from Nebraska and Texas, especially since I’m staying with a REAL Hawaiian family! I want to go where real Hawaiians go and eat what real Hawaiians eat.”

Nico's Pier 38 - Fresh Tuna

So, off we went to Nico’s for lunch. Nico’s Pier 38 is a Hawaii favorite and it was showcased on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives. I like to watch DD&D, so I immediately knew that I was in for a disgustingly unhealthy, ill proportioned, and ridiculously good meal, prepared with the sole intent of making you salivate for more. Of course, I wasn’t disappointed. We sat, ate, listened to music, ate some more, and concocted a plan of action for my five days in Hawaii.

World's Largest Maze

Days one through four were filled with family outings to Waikiki, Honolulu Zoo, Turtle Bay Resort, Dole Plantation, and to Haliewa.  In between and during all of those outings, I ate a lot! I ate Poi, seafood chowder, pickled Mango, Matsumoto’s shaved ice, Zippy’s chicken and chili, and fish steamed in spinach and wrapped in Hawaiian leaves. Hawaiians are serious about their food! By day five, I figured that if I didn’t roll away from the table, someone was going to have to cut a hole in the wall and come in and get me. So, I rented a car to do some exploration on my own and that’s when things got interesting…

A Hawaiian Plate! YUM!!

Let me preface the rest of this story by saying that I’m very aware of the fact that if I die or get arrested doing something out of the ordinary, while travelling somewhere outside of the continental U.S, black folks everywhere are going to read the story in the paper, shake their heads and say, “her black ass shouldn’t have been doing that anyway.” So with that in mind, you’d have to wonder how I ended day five strapped into a plane with no engine and flying through a rainbow.

Let’s start at the beginning…

Byodoin Temple - built without nails!

My initial and sane plan was to rent a car and drive the entire perimeter of Oahu, stopping wherever I liked. I ended up visiting the Valley of the Temples (Byodoin Temple), Diamond Head Crater, Hanauma Bay, and the Halona Blowhole Lookout. As I made my way to the most western part of the island, Ka’ena Point, I saw a plane dragging (seriously, dragging!) another plane behind it with what appeared to be a double dutch rope. Then the “operational” plane dropped the rope and I stopped the car waiting for the “lame duck” plane to fall. Physics took over and the plane sailed out over the ocean and up across the natural reserve. I immediately pulled my car into the hangar at Dillingham Air Field and asked how much and where do I sign up. It seemed like such a fantastic idea until the plane landed, skidding to halt, and the lady in charge said you can go next.   

Halona Blowhole Lookout

I won’t tell you how a freak storm came out of nowhere and I had to refrain from puking on the back of the pilot’s neck. I’ll simply tell you that, hands down, this was the best ride of my life! If I had balls before coming to Hawaii, they definitely grew hair and became gnarly while strapped into this two person glider plane. The view was magnificent, the experience was fantastic and when the storm passed, we flew through a perfectly arched rainbow. This was definitely a trip to remember!

Mahalo Hawaii and thank you to the Yoshida Family, who were excellent hosts!

La Familia: Oakland & San Francisco, CA

My mom gave her this outfit!

If revisiting old friends allows you to reflect on how far you’ve come, then visiting family makes you remember that you still ain’t shit. Your family doesn’t care that you’re grown; your name is still Poop, Booch, Moose or whatever other unfortunate nickname stuck when you were a child; in my case it’s “Cakes”. Your family doesn’t care that you received your master’s degree; you’re still dumb as hell for dating little Tyrone in elementary school or cutting your hair into that lopsided style in the nineties.  Family is put on earth for one thing and one thing only; to lovingly bring you back to reality with the same finesse as a pimp slap.

If your family is small and gentle, then this may not apply to you. I, on the other hand, have a VERY large family and most of them live in California. My mother has nine living siblings and as a result of this, I have 40+ first and second cousins and they are all absolutely crazy. They are also some of the most generous, kind, and fun people alive. I literally hopped on the plane and texted my cousin on the way. "Can I crash at your place this week?" Answer: "Sure. I'll pick you up!" I don’t care if I’m coming back for a family reunion, the birth of a new baby, or a funeral, whatever the circumstances, I know that I’m going to have a place to sleep and will laugh until I have migraines; this time was no exception.

Things they wouldn't be caught dead in!

On my first day there, my Aunt Audrey threw a party and the theme was “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that!” Each person in attendance was supposed to wear a modern outfit that they wouldn’t EVER really wear in public.  My Aunt Tanya successfully attempted a Jersey Shore-esque/Peg Bundy look, while my Aunt Johnette wore an outfit that my mother bought her as a present (Soooo…. Wrong!!) It was fun, but I actually thought there was going to be an argument when my Uncle Tony refused to go to the grocery store to get ice for fear that someone he knew might see him wearing the worse suit and tie combo ever imagined. My cousins even got into the mix with their own versions of fashion misses; there were snagged tights with sandals, lots of fur and platforms, rings on every finger, and tie dye to boot. It was fantastic and I got plenty of pictures to blackmail family members for years.

The view from Baker Beach

It’s interesting, but going back to the place where you were born and seeing it through adult eyes can give you a new appreciation for many things.  Although I was born in Oakland, CA and lived there up until I was in the 6^th grade, as an adult I now have the ability to explore as I please. So this time around, I spent my time walking through the boutiques on Haight Street in San Francisco, sitting on Baker Beach and watching the waves come in for hours, and exploring the Golden Gate Bridge up close and personal. I even took the Treasure Island exit on the Bay Bridge! This doesn’t sound that exciting, but when I was a kid, we would pass this exit and I always wondered what was on it. I swore that it was California’s version of Fantasy Island and that Tattoo would come running out to meet us screaming “The plane, the plane!”

Disappointingly, there was no Tattoo, just a naval base and the best view of San Francisco I’ve ever seen. I sat in my car looking out over the bay, thinking about my youth, my family, and my coming destinations and it hit me: I’m truly free to explore and seek answers to any questions that I have. I can climb as high as my effort will allow, but it wouldn’t be possible to reach such heights without standing on the shoulders of the family that hold me up. They hold me up in their prayers, hold me up in their encouragement, and when I get too high for my britches, they knock my ass back down and reconnect me to the whole so that the next generation can climb onto my shoulders. I love my family and I wouldn't be caught dead with any other!

Got It Honest: Mount Rushmore, SD

George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln

Mount Rushmore is only a 6-hour drive from Denver, so being the gypsy that I am, I thought "let's do it!" It was a last minute addition to my Denver trip, so I figured that I would probably end up doing the drive myself; but then remembered... If anyone is up for a last minute adventure, then it's my mother!

My mother and the sculptor Gutzon Borglum

Davita: "Mom, let's drive up to Mount Rushmore on Wednesday."
Mom: "Really? OK, let's go! I'll drive the first half!"
 
Forget Papa; Mama is a rolling stone and I got it honest! We packed up the car, picked up a family friend, and headed to South Dakota. I won't mention the fact that she got sleepy and needed to switch drivers after the first 1-1/2 hours; I'll just stick to the positive.

I can't remember the last time I had so much fun with my mother. We sang, cracked jokes, and talked for hours. Of course my mother had my undivided attention for a total of 12-hours. So being the minister that she is, she felt it was a good time to hit me up with a sermon or four; but I digress... We enjoyed each other's company and I had a fantastic time.

The museum at Mt. Rushmore offers great movies and exhibits.

Keeping it real: I'm not sure I'd hop on a plane JUST to come to South Dakota to see Mount Rushmore, but it's definitely worth a 6-hour drive. To me, the science and math involved in going from the scale model to the mountain size sculpture and in determining how much dynamite to use to shape the noses, mouths, etc. was intriguing. I'm sure for others, the historical relevance or artistic significance are also important. BUT...The truth is that there are four big ass faces carved into a granite mountain and that's just something cool you'd want to see.

Scale Models shown in the museum

Of course Mt. Rushmore is a tourist trap, so there are plenty of other things to do and ways to spend your money in the Black Hills/ Rapid City Area. I couldn't talk my mother into zip lining across the woods or going to the Mount Rushmore Reptile Garden, but there are a plethora of little shops, antique stores, and restaurants throughout the area. There's also the Crazy Horse Memorial, which we heard was a must see; but mom was not feeling the cold and rain, so we skipped this one.

Overall, just being there with my mom and marvelling at the ingenuity and innovation of it all was enough for me. I could definitely see myself coming back here some day with my own children.

Sankofa: Denver, CO

There's a West African symbol of a bird flying forward and looking over its back at an egg. The bird is typically referred to as the Sankofa Bird and the meaning of its symbolism is that "we should reach back and gather the best of what our past has to teach us, so that we can achieve our full potential as we move forward (www.duboislc.net)." As I head west, stopping at several domestic stops, Sankofa has become a reoccurring theme. You truly never know how blessed you are until you look back at all the people who've sewn seeds into your life and see how they've helped make you the person you are today.

We've been friends since I was 12.

When I tell people "I'm going back home," I'm almost always referring to Colorado. So, as much as I'd like to tell you about the beauty of the Rocky Mountains, I'll refrain. For me, coming home is always about reconnecting and grounding myself and this week I did just that!



Friends with growing families.

I've spent the last week having drinks and laughing with people I went to middle school, high school, and undergrad with. I've sat in bliss and re-lived stories about the "old days". "Remember that time we bought matching hammer pants and went to the MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice Concert!?" or "Remember that time you burned my hair off with that curling iron?!" I've also enjoyed hearing about where life has taken them, holding their children, and meeting their spouses. "Wow, look how far we've come!" or "Wow, look how much weight we've gained," are common comments.



My college roomate!

Every part of Colorado is tied to memories I have of growing up. When I look at the snowcapped Rocky Mountains in the west, I think about my first trip skiing in Vail and how I got altitude sickness and threw up on some poor woman in the ski rental shop. When I see the Colorado School of Mines "M" on the side of Lookout Mountain, I think about being a freshman in college and having to carry a 5 lb. rock up there as a part of freshman initiation. And when I drive through Denver's bustling downtown with its nightclubs and ridiculous amount of marijuana dispensaries, I think about trying to sneak into nightclubs as a pre-teen or going to spoken word events at Brother Jeff's while in college.

The Smith sisters from high school!

Interestingly enough, when my parent's first told my brother and me that we were moving to Colorado, we cried and whined for weeks. I swore that I would have to wear cowboy boots and hats to school and that we would be the only black people in the state. It didn't help that on the first visit here, the car slid on black ice and careened off the road into a snow bank; but they went looking for a better life. Thankfully, within weeks we made new friends and began to enjoy our new environment. Now, I couldn't imagine growing up anywhere else.

My BFF since college!

Colorado is where I learned to drive, where I got married, where I had my first job and started my first business, and where I call home. It is where I learned about the beauty of diversity and came to understand that listening to Metallica alongside Tupac didn't make me any less "black." It's where my neighbor taught me how to peel and roast chillies for authentic Mexican dishes and where my Imo taught me to make Korean kimchi. It's where I learned to dream, learned to explore and dare to do something different.

Now that I'm moving forward in my journey, I'm thankful for the past and recognize how each person and each lesson has contributed to my present and future. Just don't tell my parents! I don't want them to know that they were right.

Thank you, Colorado.