Hippies Found

I was beginning to think they didn't exist. The stench of body odor and incense, mingling in an unsavory fusion. The long, scraggly hair with a lingering stink of pot smoke. The ragged, canvas-like clothing and the intricate mandala-esque designs in deeply dyed maroon and burt orange. The quintessential hippie. Where could such a hippie ideal exist in a land where conformity and order ruled the land with an oversized iron fist?

Unbeknownst to me, I was taken on a weekend retreat to a hippie haven. A place where you can walk righteously barefoot and find quality reggae music nestled in an ocean cove on the outskirts of Wakayama city.

My friend knew there would be a live music show that day, but I had the lowest of expectations considering the only live music I've come across had been J-pop peddling street performers. To my surprise, the music was a funk-filled blend of earthy dub and what I guess could be coined as Japanese reggae. It was mellow, steady with the bass and resonated a chamber of eclectic harmonies.

The show started slow, leaving us with some time to get to know the place. The bar opened onto the shore and the inner construction was a slanted cave-like nook replete with straw mats, hammock, and of course hippies toting hippie paraphernalia like wooden jewelry and CD's of the featured bands.

The other patrons were a motley crew of prismatic fashion. I spent a good amount of daylight soaking in the mish-mash of style and retro throwbacks I was convinced would be hard to find anywhere else other than this sliver of beach.

All the trimmings of a good hippie festival were in order. The guy working his hippie magic near the stage with an assortment of "trippy" tools to wow the eye. Those dancing in the ocean and those in the little circles of congregated peaceniks noshing on absolutely delicious curry, pizza and tacos. The blank canvas and markers to inspire the crowd's divine creativity and draw something completely unique. It was all here.

As the sun started to set, the party kicked into full gear. The reggae funked up and the skanking started to sway the masses.


And of course, a bonfire. A hands-down crowd pleaser among the hippie crowd. A spiritual symbol of unity and a way to feel as free as the flames.

This uncanny encounter was enlightening. Not in the way where I found that oneness with the music and that energy from the group. I found a revived sense of interest for the Japanese culture. Perhaps it was too easy to typecast them all as conformists when I should've known full well that the majority of Americans are also fuddy duddies who can easily be claimed by uncool.
Still, this hippie sighting was somewhat of a magical existence that I have yet to find off that minuscule beach with only a wooden sign laying on the top of a concrete stairwell that leads to an eclectic paradise.

I couldn't help but think of the ancient hippies, like Jesus, Buddha, Gandhi, Hermann Hesse and Nietzsche. In a time and a place where hippies weren't yet hippies, how did they define themselves? And how much of the typical hippie to date has taken from those archaic paradigms of free-thinkers and doers.

All I know is that if a place like this can exist in Japan, it can exist anywhere. And maybe it's good that they are few and far between. To find the good places in Japan, you have to know where to look or stumble on them blindly. The best places are hidden. If you want the best restaurant in Kobe, it has no storefront. You go down an alleyway, through a stairwell, down a hall, around the corner to a basement door, go up three flights of stairs and there it opens into an oasis-like dining experience.

There is an abounding free spirit somewhere in this country and those of like minds will find one another.