2008-03-26 - 2:07 p.m.
We are standing in a field in Shiriyazaki, which is appropriate because standing in a field is probably the only thing that there is to do in this place.
We've come to visit the horses, which roam free along the coastline here, but only, as we've just learned, between the months of April and November.
For now, the horses are still in a fenced enclosure.
Another guy is hanging around near the gate with a tripod and an expensive looking camera. A different guy, in a blue track suit, has brought a big bag of carrots with him. An elderly couple are looking at the horses from a little further away.
The gate is closed with a kind of rope lasso that would simply have to lifted up in order to open the gate. It would be easy to do, but we're hesitant. There's nothing and nobody around to say that we can't go in to visit the horses. But there's also nothing here saying that we're welcome to do so.
"Let's go!" I say. "If we get into trouble, I'll just look confused and say that I don't understand Japanese. And you can say that I told you it was OK to go in."
I'm rather entertained by how I'm taking charge of this ridiculous situation. I scan the faces of everyone else, all, like me, adults who have driven out to the middle of nowhere to see some horses, only to now be deterred by a single stand of severly weather-beaten rope, for signs that they will be an accomplice.
All I get are blank faces, but I decide not to let that discourage me.
"Alright then, kindly excuse my rudeness, for I'm presumptuously going in before you," I say in grammatically impecable and intentionally over-polite Japanese.
Again, I'm quite entertained with myself, while everyone else just stands there motionless, indecisive and confused.
(Losers.)
I lift up the rope lasso, walk in, and approach the nearest horse, who is busily scratching its ass on a fallen tree. In my head, I'm secretly imagining myself like some sort of demented army general leading the troops not into battle, but rather, a waterpark, bowling alley, skating rink, or other such place.
I play with the horse's face for a while and then wander off to find a different horse to bother for a while. I notice everyone else now entering the field. They move like children sneaking around in the dark past bedtime.
I wonder whether or not I'm justified in feeling as disgusted with them as I now do.
