Kozoji Buddies
We stayed with our lovely friend Sue, her delightful husband and their two girls, ages 11 and 12, who had bravely offered floor and bed space. It was 1:30pm on Saturday by the time we landed upon Sue's doorstep. The grown folks hugged each other, the adults hugged the kids, and the kids muttered and avoided eye contact. Within a heartbeat Sue had our overnight bags stowed in her genkan (entryway), and had all 8 of us wedged into their minivan.
We soon pulled up to a noodle and tonkatsu restaurant owned by one of Sue's neighborhood friends. We stepped beneath the noren curtain in the doorway, and were quickly led to two 4 person tables. With cheery determination, Sue soon had the four kids sharing a table, while we four adults settled into our own table. Peeking across at Patrick and Aya, I saw that they had pulled out their ipods, and were commiserating with Sue's girls over various games. With a quick word from Sue, her eldest daughter pulled out the menu (all in Japanese), and with her sister began translating various dishes into English so that Patrick and Aya could order.
While the kids selected various combinations of noodles and katsu (fried pork cutlets), all four adults opted for some Nagoya specialties that never disappoint--misokatsu (fried pork cutlets with a thick dark miso sauce, on this day served on a bed of steamed rice) and kisshimen (wide, udon-style noodles, served cold with a cup of dipping sauce). Four years previously, on a chilly autumn night, Sue and I had visited this very restaurant, and had savored huge bowls of steaming curry udon--thick white udon noodles swimming in a thick curry sauce. Now, so many years later, I was ecstatic to find that the food was as delectable as I had remembered.
When we were all stuffed to the gills, we waddled out the door, repeatedly bowing and assuring our hosts "gochiso sama deshita"---that it was a wonderful feast.
Gakuden, Peruvian Friends and, Oh my, the Chicken
On the heels of returning to Sue's house (around 3:00pm), we had to turn around and catch the train again, this time bound for Gakuden, where we were to meet some of Bob's former Peruvian students for a mini-reunion and dinner. Getting to Gakuden via train is considerably more time-consuming than going by car. In the past we had always been able to drive to Gakuden--which took about 30 minutes. Going via train meant taking a JR train to Nagoya station, catching the subway, and then catching another train bound for Gakuden itself. An hour and a half long process. I suddenly missed our car.
We were to meet Bob's students at a neighborhood community center. We hopped off the train and wound our way through narrow streets toward the center. Huge, new houses sat cheek-to-cheek with tiny and ancient mud-and-straw walled relics and blocks of apartment buildings. Soon enough we were entering the community center's familiar air-conditioned expanse of study tables and activity areas. Bob's students started trickling in, joining us on the patched and worn vinyl couches that faced a bank of windows. When all five students had arrived, we took a short walk to their old elementary school, where Bob had spent so many hours with them, translating between Spanish and Japanese. Bob and his former students circled the building, chatting in a rapid mix of Spanish and Japanese, with Patrick, Aya and I trailing behind, letting them reminisce. When the sun started sliding lower in the sky, we all headed back towards the main street, towards our long-awaited dinner at the sole Peruvian restaurant, La Casa Vieja.
La Casa Vieja, owned by a local Peruvian family, was one of our favorite dinner spots when we had lived in Japan four years ago. The restaurant itself is small, with a simple main door and a small lit sign advertising the name of the restaurant. On either side of the door are three huge industrial roasting machines, each containing perhaps 40 or 50 roasting whole chickens. The entire parking lot is regularly awash in the rich aroma of the spiced chicken. As we approached, one of the owners recognized Bob and came over to give him a brisk hug. The man ducked his head into the doorway and called out a woman--perhaps his wife--who grinned broadly as she recognized Bob, the kids and I, and scurried in to put together enough tables so that the nine of us could eat.
The inside of the restaurant is as unassuming as the outside. The brightly lit interior of the restaurant is taken up largely by groups of rectangular formica tables and vinyl chairs. To the right of the door is a serving counter, behind which are banks of video tapes in dark brown boxes--taped Peruvian shows and movies available for rental. One wall is taken up with a huge TV, while the other walls have a collection of Peruvian posters and smaller mementos. It is cheerful and welcoming, simple and relaxing, and from the steady stream of people coming in and out, was obviously a favorite local spot.
We ordered their specialty--pollo a la brasa. Looking at the array of teenagers in front of us, Bob and I opted to over-order rather than under-order, and asked for 3 orders of chicken. While we waited for our food, conversation flowed quickly in a mish mash of Spanish, Japanese and even English, as Bob's students--who studied English as part of their regular classes--posed various simple questions to Patrick and Aya.
Soon 3 large platters were set upon our table, along with baskets of cutlery and plates. On each large platter was a bed of crispy thin french fries, a whole roasted chicken, cut up into 8 pieces, and a salad of crisp lettuce and cabbage, topped with a light dressing. The food was delicious, fresh, simple and was eagerly and quickly devoured by all of us, the teenagers taking in thirds and fourths. We ordered Inca Cola--a neon-yellow, intensely-caffeinated bubble gum flavored Peruvian soda--to wash everything down.
When the platters were picked clean and the empty soda bottles gathered together, we paid the bill, bid our goodbyes, and waddled down the street, Bob's students behind us, chattering happily in the unique mix of Spanish and Japanese that my mind will always associate with Gakuden's lovely Peruvian people.
Osu Kannon Flea Market
When we lived in Nagoya, one of my favorite places to hunt down affordable pieces of Japanese history was the Osu Kannon Flea Market. This flea market happens, rain or shine, on the 28th of each month. Early in the morning on flea market day, the broad open area in front of the towering crimson Osu Kannon Temple fills with antique sellers of all kinds. Crowds of people from every background and walk of life mingle, shoulder to shoulder, fingering, bartering, admiring and exchanging yen beneath blue and green tarps and awnings.
I was overjoyed that this visit of ours to Nagoya would overlap a flea market day. Bob was spending Sunday as a guest teacher for the free Spanish classes in Gakuden (a continuing event, started by Bob 6 years ago, for Peruvian children whose parents wanted them to maintain their Spanish language skills). This left Patrick, Aya and I free to go to the flea market for a few hours, giving Sue and her family an opportunity to focus their weekend time on themselves.
Patrick and Aya were admittedly unenthusiastic about the prospect of wandering around in the blistering summer heat to shop for "old stuff" as they put it, but for lack of anything better to do, they joined me.
Once at the flea market, I had to exert extreme self control, rather than dash away into the stalls, leaving my less-than-joyous children behind. While I admired old photographs, carved wooden masks and painted scrolls, Patrick and Aya dutifully trudged behind me. I bought what I had been looking for--namely, a painted scroll to hang in our tokonoma (a recessed alcove designed for scrolls and ikebana flower arrangements, and a common addition to most Japanese houses). The scroll I selected (at 1500 yen, or about $20) was edged in gold silk, and featured an ink rendering of a distant mountain vista. The older gentleman who sold me the scroll added a second scroll "on the house", as he put it. The free scroll--a portrait of a Japanese man from the Meiji era--needed significant repair. However, I was not one to look a gift scroll in the mouth, and thanked the man, bowing my way out.
I turned around to survey the sweaty faces of Patrick and Aya, and elected to follow them to a nearby used clothing store. Although none of the shops t-shirts appealed to Patrick, Aya found 2 floaty shirts for 700 yen each--a bargain indeed. With all of us dripping sweat, it was time to head back down into the cool underground tunnels that led to the subway, and back to Sue's house.
Miyamoto Merriment
Back at Sue's, and reunited with Bob, we changed clothes, freshened our faces, and headed back out to nearby Kozoji Station. We were meeting our friends, brothers Kaz and Hiro, along with Kaz' new wife and baby. They were to pick us up at the station so we could all go out together for dinner.
Our evening started out like a comedy sketch. We waited patiently on the North side of the station near the "Mister Donut" shop, watching buses and taxis circle past. The possibility that we could be on the wrong side of the station occurred to us within a few minutes, so Bob and Patrick headed to the other side of the station. Lo and behold, Kaz called me and verified that, yes, indeed, we were on the wrong side of the station. However, by this time, Bob and Patrick had emerged on the South side, had not seen Kaz, and had left to return to Aya and I. Upon their return, I had Bob call Kaz back and verify his location, after which we all finally headed to the South side of the station where, indeed, they were awaiting our arrival.
Kaz and Hiro were instantly dumbfounded at how much Patrick and Aya had grown, and seemed utterly delighted to see all of us. We bowed and greeted Kaz' wife, Hiromi. Their 16 month old son took one look at us, however, and burst into tears. Ah well. Three out of four happy receptions are pretty good.
They had brought 2 cars, so Bob went with Kaz, Hiromi and the baby, while Patrick, Aya and I joined Hiro. We wound through the darkened streets, talking easily, until we came to a small Italian restaurant. Kaz had reserved a table for us, so we quickly settled around the long, low table as Kaz and Hiro began perusing the menu and the baby hid his eyes in Hiromi's shoulder.
Soon enough, food started arriving. Evidently Kaz and Hiro had ordered the entire menu, because food of all kinds kept coming. Bowls of Spinach, green bean and bacon salad, appetizers of avocado and caviar spread upon french bread rounds, several kinds of pizza, platters of spaghetti and risotto. Our glasses of ginger ale and soda were refilled before we could refuse or even notice Kaz motioning to the waitress.
Kaz and Hiro filled our plates first, ignoring our efforts to get them to eat as well. However, soon enough we were all full of delicious food, and relaxing.
The baby--Shosuke--gradually lifted his eyes to peer at me over his mother's shoulder. I surveyed the table for some ice-breaker ideas, and rested my eyes upon the basket of chopsticks and spoons that lay near me. The next time Shosuke peered at me, I slowly took a spoon out of the basket and lay it on the table within his reach--for there is nothing as irresistible to a 16 month old as putting things into, and taking them out of, boxes. Sure enough, he shyly reached out a hand and grabbed the spoon. I took another spoon out of the box and put it in the same spot. And again, he grabbed that spoon, looked confused for second, then put the first spoon back in the box. So we continued, taking spoons and chopsticks out of the box only to return them again.
After this alluring game, it was only a matter of minutes before he was playing with all of us...and in the process scattering across our sitting area blocks, spoons, chopsticks, and ice cubes. At one point he squealed with joy, grabbed the hanging black decorative curtain separating our table from the next one, and yanked half the curtain out of its rings near the ceiling. Luckily, the rings were clips, and it was a matter of a few seconds for the waitress to repair the damage.
The rest of the evening was spent basically worshipping Shosuke. Hiromi convinced Aya to feed him some dessert--in this case, raspberry sorbet. Pictures were taken, desserts of various types were devoured--cheesecake, yellow cake and in Bob's case, a type of Italian custard. We might have stayed at the restaurant all night, progressively startling more and more fellow diners, except that Shosuke tripped and knocked his chin on the table. As he began crying, this seemed like an ideal time to start packing away the mess we had made.
As I had expected, Kaz and Hiro had no intention of letting us pay anything towards the dinner, and hushed me up, as they have done many times before, when I quietly tried to contribute. With stomachs and hearts full, we got into the cars and turned back through the steaming dark streets towards the station once again.
...of course, there were many other lovely nuances on our trip. Relaxing with Sue and Makoto. Visiting NIS (Nagoya International School) and meeting up with friends and teachers once again. Driving past our old house and visiting the nearby park where Patrick and Aya used to play.
When we finally returned to Kyoto, I think it is safe to say that we were exhausted...but in the best way. And soon, we'll be ready to do it all over again.
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