When I got to Kumejima there were already a lot of visitors there.
They’d come, they said, for the marathon swimming. I wondered why I’d not seen any of them on the boat so assumed that they’d all arrived before me. I did ask one or two how they had arrived but they seemed unable to tell. I put that down to my unfamiliarity with their language and customs.
Possibly they’d come by boat as I had but earlier or possibly they’d come by plane. Given the distance from other islands there were only two possibilities after all. Later though I found that it was neither of these and the reason for not telling me was that I’d probably not believe them.
The marathon, which I watched once or twice, was a series of events held over a number of days. Some of the contestants swam every day while others just once or twice. It wasn’t well advertised and apart from myself there were very few if any spectators who were not also participants.
The odd thing about the marathon was that though, as I said, I watched it I didn’t actually see anybody swimming. I saw them at the starting line. I saw them at the finishing line. But I didn’t see them anywhere in between. It was an odd sort of sport but an intriguing one – at least for me. Where were these marathon swimmers? What happens between the start and finish lines?
However as my reason for visiting Kumejima was something other than watching people swim [or, in this case, not watching them swim] though intrigued I didn’t put much effort into finding out what was happening.
I mused that perhaps it wasn’t intended to be a spectator sport which would explain why it was held in Kumejima – a not very populous island quite some distance - 120 km or so by sea - from the nearest big city and that in turn about 2,000 km from the country’s capital city. But despite this distance it attracted a lot of participants and those participants really enjoyed the evening social activities – drinking awamori glass after glass and eating huge bowls of chanpurū. As well of course listening to music featuring the sanshin and performing eisā dances.
And it was during one of those evenings that I found out what happens – and why – between the start and the finish lines.
A young woman who I’d met one day while waiting for the traffic lights to change introduced me to several of the Kumejima marathon swim contestants. She did so as thanks for my explanation of the purpose of traffic lights in Kumejima.
As you will have guessed, given the relatively small population there is not much traffic in Kumejima. Despite this there are a lot of traffic lights and they all take 100 seconds or more to change – almost two minutes. We happened to be crossing – or hoping to cross – at the same time and the young woman was a little exasperated at the long and seemingly unnecessary wait. In expressing her frustration it became apparent that she thought this long wait was a left over from when Kumejima switched from driving on the right side to driving on the left side – maybe 50 years before.
For more than 30 years people in Kumejima had driven on the right hand side but in 1978 changed to the left hand side. The change operation was quite complex as you could imagine. To avoid accidents the government thought of ways to slow traffic down so in the lead-up to the change there were lots of posters and TV and radio advertisements warning of the change and then for a period of time just before the change all traffic was actually stopped while new signs which had been put in place earlier were uncovered. This young woman thought that the lengthy wait for the lights to change was one of those stratagems. In fact it wasn’t.
In some places – and Kumejima is one – traffic lights count down to zero. At zero the colour changes either from red to green, in which case you can cross the road, or from green to red at which point you’re not allowed to cross the road. In Kumejima they usually count down from 100 to zero though in some districts it might be that they count down from a higher number.
The reason for the countdown is based on a superstition. If you watch the lights carefully you’ll see all the important numbers of your life appear. Your birth date, your birth year, graduation date, the date you lost your job and so on. We don’t always register these numbers as they appear as sometimes we get distracted as both the young woman and I were by talking to each other. As we talked we only noticed that the numbers had changed. We didn’t register any particular number.
The people of Kumejima refer to that moment of consciously seeing your number as “clenching” your number. They believe that if you clench your number – or numbers – you know immediately that today is going to be a good day. It might just be a good day and nothing beyond that or it might be a day of great significance. Maybe you will meet the love of your life, interview successfully for a new job, maybe win the lottery or just go fishing with your friend. In any event after clenching a number you feel good and relaxed.
The important numbers in your life all fall between 0 and 99 with the exception of birthdays. In Kumejima where people generally live until quite old the numbers usually count down from 100 as that usually covers all people of all ages in the area.
There are some areas of Kumejima though where some people live to over 100. In those areas the lights countdown from the age of the oldest inhabitant of the area. This has meant that sometimes the numbers in the countdown have to be increased and sometimes decreased as the older people get older or they die.
It’s thought that the reason they live until quite old is diet. The diet is low in calories and fat and high in carbohydrates and people also drink awamori – often to excess. Some of those who drink awamori to excess have a practice of sleeping on the road at night instead of going home. Though at home they would sleep on tatami mats which are quite hard, those who sleep on the road believe the even harder surface is much better for posture and thus leads to an even longer life.
So I was able to explain this superstition and the diet to the young woman and instead of crossing when the lights changed she asked if we could wait together to see the next sequence. We did and as we observed them this time she didn’t talk and I noticed that when the numbers had got to around 30 her countenance changed - she now looked rather relaxed and happy. She’d obviously clenched a number. I didn’t inquire what number she had clenched nor even ask to confirm whether she had or not.
As we parted she thanked me and invited me to come to a restaurant that evening with her friends most of whom would have participated in the marathon that day.
On entering the restaurant I was met with the sound of a quartet playing traditional folk songs. Their instruments included the sanshin of course along with a keyboard, a pārankū, electric guitar, washboard and piano accordion.
Some people were performing eisā dances and as they danced I noticed for the first time that they were all wearing red shoes. Or maybe we’d call them slippers. This was unexpected but then I noticed that their feet all appeared to be the same size. Even more unusual.
Earlier in the day I hadn’t noticed the colour of the young woman's shoes and nor of course that her feet were the same size as all the other marathon swimmers. But now I did notice that her shoes were red and her feet were the same size as everybody else’s.
We sat at a table with her friends and I had my first glass – for today – of awamori and my first meal of Kumejima chanpurū . We started to talk. First about the superstition I had told the young woman of earlier and the reason for the numbers on the traffic lights. They were quite intrigued though I told them only what I had told the young woman earlier.
I didn’t mention that some people in Kumejima were so superstitious that every day they travelled to every traffic light on the island to watch the countdown. A very strange thing is that for some people as the countdown gets closer to one of their numbers e.g. their birth-date, and thus closer to the possibility of clenching a number their ability to concentrate decreases. Or the likelihood of them being distracted increases. So some people instead of feeling good after seeing a traffic light countdown feel increasingly anxious or depressed as they think they’ll never clench a number.
After my explanation, some of the guests immediately went outside to watch a nearby traffic light countdown. On return, as the young woman had earlier, many seemed more relaxed and happy though at least one did not come back and another was found later sleeping on the road.
At some point I heard one of them say, “We should explain the swimming pools”. Given that they were here in Kumejima participating in a marathon in the sea, this seemed a little odd to me. Why not talk about the sea and the marathon.
I had no chance to ask that as the reply from the group as a whole was, Yes, they should tell me about the swimming pools.
Our country’s swimming pool rules are a little different from most countries, they explained between mouthfuls of chanpurū and mouthfuls of awamori. There’s the shoe thing of course. Take off your shoes at the entrance, wear some of the pool’s shoes to the changing room, change shoes before going to the toilet [and change back again afterwards] and then just before entering the pool area proper, take off your shoes.
A few other rules are
- You must shower before entering the pool but cannot use soap.
- You must wear a swimming cap whilst swimming
- You can’t take anything from the change room area to the swimming area. This means no towels, no drink bottles and of course no shoes
They explained all this to me and then added, while all these rules are OK, there is one rule we really have difficulty with. Naturally intrigued I asked what it was thinking that it might be the no tattoos rule that is applied in some countries.
I was not a little surprised when they told me that it was. Apparently there’s a rule against overtaking other swimmers in your lane.
I too would find this rule both strange and frustrating. Fancy being stuck behind a slow swimmer when you’re trying to exert yourself - which is what exercise is supposed to be about.
And that’s why we’re here, they said.
Here? I thought. Here in this restaurant - it didn't really make any sense. Here in Kumejima - might make sense but it was not obvious why. Maybe they meant “here” in this world or life but how would a rule about not overtaking become such an existential question.
Yes, here in Kumejima they said as though it should be obvious but seeing it wasn’t obvious to me they offered to explain but not until we’d all had some more chanpurū and another glass or two of awamori. This time we also had a few miso cakes.
Some time later they explained.
You’ve noticed we all wear red shoes, haven’t you? And you may have noticed that our feet are all the same size. These help us swim without being detected in the swimming pool. They also enable us to swim long distances and extremely fast. The reason we’re here in Kumejima is because it’s here we acquire the shoes, have our feet remodelled if needed and practice swimming without being noticed. We call it extreme unseeable swimming. We call the event a marathon for no particular reason other than that word’s association with long distance.
I said I’d seen nobody swimming. I’d only seen people starting and finishing the marathon. It didn’t appear to me that if the aim was to be unseen that anybody really needed to practice.
They agreed that it appeared that way but most of the practice was occurring underwater so it was hard – if not impossible – for someone like me to be aware of it. In addition, they pointed out, they were all experienced adults. If I’d come in the school summer holidays I’d have seen some people swimming as summer is when most of the learning takes place and most of the novices come.
And why Kumejima? I asked.
Well, they said, it’s actually the seaweed and the awamori. We'll tell you about the awamori first.
Kumejima awamori has some different ingredients even though the distillation process to make the alcohol is the same as in other places.
One is that it is not made – as most awamori is – from Thai rice. As Kumejima is a bit far from other islands they have to use a local grain. It’s similar to Thai rice but not the same.
In addition to the different rice grain, Kumejima awamori includes some kumis which is made from Kumejima horse milk. It’s thought this came about at a time when black koji mold normally added to the mix of rice and water to make awamori inexplicably became unavailable for an extended period of time. Kumis was found to be a good substitute with the added benefit that it could prevent stomach ulcers caused by adding the third and most important - for us - ingredient to the awamori.
This last ingredient is the droppings of an indigenous Kumejima animal. Some people swear that the animal is a living shisa but that’s never been proven as the animal itself has never been seen even though it’s droppings are relatively easy to find. In other words the animal is quite common but invisible. Drinking awamori made from the droppings enables the drinker to become invisible and ..., they said, and paused for another drink of awamori and a mouthful of chanpurū.
When they continued they said, …and if we wear red shoes of a certain size and made from Kumejima seaweed we can control that visibility. Kumejima seaweed shoes also enable us to swim long distances and help us develop and maintain the right foot size.
So the purpose of the marathon itself, as opposed to the visit to Kumejima, is to use the red seaweed that grows here to get feet to the right size and make shoes. All this is done under water between what you see as the start and finish lines of the marathon.
We don't know why the seaweed has this effect but we do know that Kumejima is the only place that it can grow and survive. We have tried transplanting it to other places but we've had no success.
Getting feet to the right size and making the shoes is not a particularly difficult process. You simply swim down to the seaweed, let it curl around your feet and then wait for a minute or so before cutting it and then shaping it into a shoe by use of a mold. Not too difficult a length of time to be underwater.
Nowadays we come to Kumejima twice a year to adjust our feet, get new shoes, train newcomers and drink and take home a lot of awamori. It only takes us about 3 hours to swim to or from Kumejima, they said, so we all swim here which is why you didn’t see any of us on the boat.
Back home a lot of us live far from the sea so we go to the local pools to swim. Once in the pool we can’t be seen so we can swim as fast as we like and pass as many people as we like.
We don’t need to wear the seaweed shoes in the pool as once you have worn them for a few minutes - which you can do at home - the effect usually lasts a few days. We enter the pool without shoes just like everybody else.
I thanked them for the explanation and for the rest of the evening while some of us listened to the sanshin, performed eisā dances, ate and drank others spent a lot of time outside watching the traffic light countdown and hoping to clench a number or two.
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