Memories of a Japanese fishing village. Back in the 1960s, one could journey down the coast that was passable and note all types of fishing boats and equipment. I was never met with any rudeness or impoliteness. I was always acknowledged with a smile and some curiosity. What was a young American doing wondering far off the beaten path, down into the sleepy fishing villages from centuries long passed? In retrospect, I realize how extremely polite the Japanese were. My memories of the time I spent are full of warmth. I wonder how many of those tiny villages remain? Someday, I might return, but in some respects, it is probably best that I don't; the memories of that tour are too valuable to return and realize that I have grown so much older while Japan has grown so much younger and so much more Western. One fact we must all face: in our memories, those we saw for the last time long ago will always remain young and beautiful. Returning to Japan would make me face a reality that I do not want to face, that time has passed and things shall never be the same.
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