American Village
[ is this Malibu? ]
In an act of innocence, Norah booked a hair appointment at a salon in Okinawa where she could get a “boy” haircut with an English speaking stylist. That is how we ended up at American Village, a Disney-like menagerie of color and tat that was in close proximity to an American marine base in Chatan. We had no choice but to embrace this psychic return to the homeland.
[meet Pablo Biscotti, my alter ego ]
I left Norah at the salon and wondered the faux stone corridors in search of a cafe and fancy fashion. I found a fabulous hat shop which nearly took me with the variety of bucket hats (denim, mesh, and macrame varieties in a plethora of colors )! I enjoyed the anonymity as I tried on a variety of personas.
[ view from the salon deck ]
The village did offer a respite from the demands of shopping with stellar views along prime real estate of coastline and I enjoyed a promenade along the deck.
[ ode to Takahashi Fumiya ]
Eventually I caught up with Norah, hair glossed and beautiful. As if I hadn’t had enough, I invited her to stop by a massive shop of beach paraphernalia on our way out where we both temporarily lost touch with reality. I mean - next level trinkets.
[ mob boss aka Vicki’s body guard ]
I found an island muumuu and Norah found this great Okinawa shirt. We are so ready for our venture on Miyakojima.
[ homophone anyone? ]
We drove away before the sun set and the evening revelers arrived to fill the seaside saloons. One very good haircut and a taste of Americana filling our soul.
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