domenica 14 giugno 2015

FUCK THE LAMB


(or: Why some people don’t windsurf until Taiwan and stay there forever and ever?)


Almost great afternoon, today, at Senaga-jima for the second beach cleaning of this season (‘Clean, Play & Mangia’). As nearly as a month ago, we met at the most easy going beach of Naha with several missions. First of all pick up all the garbage that we could, as many Okinawans that go to Senaga-jima too often confuse it with a waste deposit. Then we played the holy FRESCOBOL. Some new members joined the superfamous F.A.O. (Frescobol Addicts Okinawa), maybe, no, I’m sorry, for sure the coolest sport group of this archipelago. Then we gave fire to the barbecue.





  
  
I said ‘almost’ because we had a diplomatic incident at the beach. As no one brought a table, and in Italy I learnt that for cutting a pepper you need an horizontal base if possible harder than an hand’s palm, we spotted three young women with a perfect, hi-tech table, and we begged them to join us. Let’s party together, I said, and they smiled and said yes. What do you generally understand when people smile to you and say yes?


So we moved their table to our tent and they opened their camp fridge and gave me their meat (what did you understand?). Precious beef and lamb. I started preparing the plates for the barbecue, putting together their and our food (chicken, fish and an entire supermarket of other stuff). We started burning the charcoal, I put the first chicken on the grill, then I went to play my favorite sport. The three girls took their windsurfs and enjoyed the wind and the sea.

 


Pietro2 came and brought delicious pizza and panini. The three girls windsurfed for maybe two hours. When finished, they came hungry to the barbecue. I joined them offering Pietro2’s pizza. One replied NO, like if I just offered her a piece of grilled windsurf. What had I done of soooo wrong? Well, I thought, she must hate bread, there are strange people here & there. Maybe she thinks I am a baker? Then the three women left. I started asking watta cazzo happened, a Japanese friend explained to me: somebody ate their lamb. We made a collection and gave them 3000 yen. Now they’re going to invest that money in beer.

 


Minchia, I told myself. As far as I remember beer is not exactly lamb, I thought. When they came back I tried to apologize, explaining that I didn’t know what happened and, by the way, I don’t even eat lamb (for me it’s like eating a baby and, by the way 2, it stinks as men’s balls; but I skipped this part of explanation). All bitchy, the tallest one told me five times five (25?) that I should have apologized before. Before of what, I started thinking, before I was born or before Gosh created lambs? Anyway, I was soooo busy playing frescobol that I had no idea that the poor lamb gave his cute life for the bellies of my friends. But, at the point (26th), I decided that I couldn’t care less. We returned their stupid table and all their stupid gadgets to the three tense mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios. Of course at our tent we started an infinite collection of lamb-inspired jokes and left them in their hysterical solitude to dream white lambs jumping happily in a field full of green grass.

 




Actually I had had already a bad feeling when we had asked them the table. One of them had a supercheesy tiger tattooed on her back, it looked like made by a convicted felon with the Parkinson desease. She smoked nervously and had spend some serious $ to get a carrot hair color at some trendy hairdresser salon. I never trust people that change their hair color (except my mom, of course), it’s not my fault if they wanted to be born blonde in Düsseldorf but that asshole of life made them Asians (for me the people with the nicest hair of this universe). Anyway, antropological in-depth analysis left aside, when we had talked at the first moment – before the lamb querelle – the three bitchy surfers told me to come from the ‘Mainland’, having lived in Okinawa for ten years. Moral of the story: some ‘Mainland’ people, even after ten years spent in the easy going, friendly Okinawa still don’t understand un cazzo.




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