lifeisacelebration

We are home, and still dreaming of the sites we visited and the food we enjoyed. Times are better and “lost in translation” is soon a thing of the past. Google translate and the young helpful Japanese make life so much easier. When we touched down and trooped out of the Namba train station, we couldn’t figure out which direction to take to reach our hotel. When the map says it’s near, hailing a cab is out of the question and that means we should drag our luggage to our hotel just a couple of blocks away. A pair of young Japanese happily walked us to our hotel — crossed 2 streets with us and even offered to take my suitcase. Using Google translate, the young fellow asked if there’s some other place we’d like to pass by before checking in at our Namba hotel. Bless their hearts!

On the way to our hotel — both in Osaka and Tokyo — we took note of all those red and gold lanterns, lightings, food stalls and shops where purchases are so neatly wrapped. Those snack foods packed in cute boxes and bags, as well as young adults in twinning outfits or in school’s winter uniforms. I just love how traditional structures, decor and traditions have survived and withstood the onslaught of modernity in all aspects of Japanese life. Like onsen, tea ceremonies, food alleys, Shinto and Buddhist shrines, temples and pagodas dotting the city landscapes. And how the locals show respect with a bow after rendering service even when no one is looking!

My love affair with Japan began long before I started traveling. Back when I was still in school, I had a weekend foster brother who is Japanese. Kazuhiro is from Osaka but we’ve lost touch many years ago. How I wish we remained in contact. My father who never had a son readily welcomed this Japanese lad on the many weekends he spent with us in our ancestral home in the province. I remember his fastidious attention to cleaning the bathroom that our family made sure he bathed LAST. My father would egg us all to hit the showers before Hiro — as we fondly called him — took his bath. Invariably, Hiro left behind him sparkling clean bathroom tiles after all the scrubbing. And that includes brushing the bathroom slippers squeaky clean!

My only regret was that we were too busy feeding Hiro with local delicacies instead of leaving him to try his kitchen skills. Back then, we weren’t too keen on Japanese cuisine. Sushi and ramen were totally not favoured over mami and siopao to ignoramus like moí and eating raw would have been unwelcome even to my Pa and Ma. Too bad. At the time, what I considered “unmistakably Japanese” then was limited to thoroughly clean, a manicured and pebbled garden, a bow to show appreciation, welcome, and bye, perfectly-cooked rice and good tea!