Category: Okinawa-2007

Onigiri Rice Balls and Other Tidbits

Art has two Japanese lessons this week and on Wednesday after his second lesson, our new friend and tutor, Narumi offers to take us to a special Onigiri shop. Onigiri is a rice ball that can be filled with any number of things. Earlier on this trip, I discover a triangular onigiri filled with cooked salmon available at many supermarkets. The chunk of protein embedded deep within the rice and wrapped in seaweed has kept my blood sugar even on numerous occasions.

This special onigiri shop, Memichi, is nearby our apartment and adjacent to the Tomari Elementary school. A white noren (curtain) hangs in the doorway of the tiny shop. Narumi parts the noren, looks inside and tells us we will need to wait for a few minutes. There is a customer already inside. When we finally step into the tiny shop, a kitchen annex built off the front of a traditional Okinawan house, I am immediately intrigued. It is a one woman operation and the owner, a woman about my age, stands behind a small counter, a dozen small pottery bowls along side her each filled with unusual mixtures. (Unusual by my standards.) She is forming rice balls from a nutty brown rice and mindfully stuffing each ball with tidbits from the many dishes alongside of her. Behind her is a cluttered back sink and a shelf with a menagerie of handmade clay animals and the walls of her tiny shop are papered with paintings, snippets of paper and posters. I sense immediately that I am in the presence of an artist and watch enthralled as this woman creates rice balls, sealing them carefully with two square sheets of seaweed and then filling in any gaps with thin strips of seaweed moistened with water from yet another shallow clay dish. Naromi chats comfortably with this woman and I learn that she has been taught this culinary art from Sato Hastume, a respected teacher in the Aomori Prefecture of mainland Japan. She hands me toothpicks to taste the many ingredients from her magical bowls and I choose the stuffing and spices for my rice ball.

We order a “lunch set” to eat while our “take out” rice balls are created and we sit on low stools at the single square table and sip tea while our magical chef prepares our lunch. She places two, 5” sardines on a kitchen tray and I wonder if they will be part of our lunch? They are obviously cooked, but their heads and tails are attached and their glassy eyes stare blankly. We are each served covered lacquer bowls of soup, and Narumi tells me to let it steep so that the shaved dried fish can soften and the flavor permeate the soup. Small plates with our specially created rice ball, a 5” sardine and pickled vegetables are set before each of us. I watch anxiously as two more small plates are prepared with two fresh chunks of tofu, one chunk topped with dried fish shavings, and the other chunk topped with a whole grey pickled “goldfish.” I know I cannot enjoy eating this tiny whole fish, head and all, and Narumi, sensing my discomfort “trades” out my fish for the fish shavings atop her tofu. I eat the tofu and fish shavings with grateful pleasure. In spite of all the flavorings put into the rice ball, it is bland until I reach the treasure in the center. Narumi tells me to alternate bites of the sardine with the rice ball. I nibble on the sardine, bones and all and understand that it truly adds flavor to the rice ball. The stuffing within the rice is wonderful and I drink my soup and slurp out the softened shaved fish with the help of chopsticks. We are there over an hour, watching the preparation, eating and talking. The price of the set menu lunch is 500 yen each. (About $4.50) I am the second foreigner to be in her shop. I spend a magical hour and Narumi and I each leave with a bag each of rice balls for our families.

Following are a few more “tidbits” about our week: John’s teeth are cleaned for the second time this morning. Last week Art made him an appointment at the dentist, just a block up from our apartment. The price quoted is 2,000 Yen or about $18.00 but when we arrive and they discover that John has braces they tell us apologetically that it will take two sessions to clean his teeth but they don’t increase the price. Last weeks session to clean his bottom teeth takes over 45 minutes and the charge is 1,000 Yen. Today the session to clean his top teeth takes only 25 minutes and charge is just another 1,000 Yen. Remarkable! Art and I both hope that we will find the time to have our teeth cleaned before returning back to the States.

Every Tuesday and Thursday night, Art and John go to the Makashi Dojo to practice karate. Tuesday night, I walk over and watch the second half of the practice and take photographs. The dojo is small and there are three black belts practicing; Art, John and another kid John’s age. The front shoji screen is open to the street allowing the cool night air to enter the practice room. Art’s form is impressive and I take too many photos, ceasing only when until Art shoots me a glance to “cool it.”

Overall this week has been a work week. Our friends, the Shulmans’ arrive a week from tonight, so Art, John and I have focused on getting things wrapped up so that we can spend time touring with our friends. Art has had meetings all week and is moving further in connecting with numerous individuals and businesses. John has worked on his home school assignments and I have focused on finishing up a few more charm designs that I will ship to my casters tomorrow.

We have been in Naha, Okinawa for two months and I am suddenly anxious that our final 3^rd month will not give us time to accomplish all that we have planned.

Friday Night in Shintoshin

It is Island weather tonight; nearly 80 degrees and my skin, comfortably damp from the humidity, feels hydrated and smooth. The evening is timeless and full of possibilities as we stroll towards Shintoshin to take in the bright lights and its youthful, fashionable energy. The three of us are in high spirits, tonight being the close of a successful work week for all. John chatters endlessly, asking us questions about energy sources and medical “impossibilities”ranging from head transplants to “do it yourself liposuction kits.” We laugh over the do it yourself liposuction kit and stroll through the Naha Main Place Mall to weigh ourselves on the precisions scales in the electronic department. Both Art and I have lost weight and John, as it should be, is gaining. (If I loose another 5 pounds and John gains another 5 we will weigh exactly the same!)

We eat dinner at Kai Restaurant for the second time. It’s bustling on a Friday night, they remember us and we wait only a few minutes for a table. Last time we sat at the counter and it was very fun to watch the chefs create the unusual and artistic plates. Tonight we are set at a private booth, smooth concrete slabs forming our alcove with pin prick lights shining down at us from above. It is not a great table, but the food and service are excellent. John remembers everything that we ordered here before, and he pours over the menu excitedly (it has funny English translations) and gets us started on our dinner. We begin with drinks, ginger ale for John, and awamori for Art and me. At an Izakaya, one orders many small plates to share. We order two different chicken dishes, a Vienna pizza, and a fat sushi roll. After consuming these, Art orders a tofu dish with peanut sauce and umibudo or “sea grapes,” a caterpillar like seaweed that is scooped out of an aquarium, arranged on a small dish and served with a soy dipping sauce. I suggest we try the “Fried squid foot wear with garlic.” We all laugh at this translation, interpreting the translation to be fried squid tentacles with garlic. We finish the meal with a small plate of extremely dense, awamori soaked tofu. The tofu chunk is only the size of an “ice cube” and surrounded by paper thin slices of cucumber. We break off small bits of the tofu with toothpicks and spread the rich creamy tofu onto the cucumber slices. Dessert is a tofu based tiramisu. Dinner, a splurge is 7,700. Yen, or $67 including tax and service.

Earlier today, we bicycle towards the Naha Antique Fair, stopping first at the post office to mail a third package of waxes to my casters back home. I’m no longer particularly anxious when I ship these packages and I feel a satisfied closure to two weeks of work. We eat a late lunch at the “Monkey Pod,” a “Hawaiian” café, a block off of Kokusai Street. It’s hot and humid and sticky as we bicycle on to the antique fair at Naha Civic Center, behind Yogi Park. The fair consists of one large upstairs room of venders. Expecting a larger venue, I am slightly disappointed, but we peruse the booths for an hour and I buy three lovely antique hair sticks from the 1920’s.

We start home together, but separate near Kokusai Street, John being painfully bored by an afternoon of shopping. I poke into a few boutiques on my own and just as I am opening the door to our apartment, my cell phone rings. Art is calling from a zenzai restaurant near the Tomari Elementary school. This restaurant was pointed out to us by Narumi on our way to the onigiri (rice ball) shop the other day. I’m back out on the street in a flash bicycling to join Art. An icy zenzai sounds delicious on this hot afternoon but by the time I arrive, Art has eaten all of his and not wanting a whole zenzai one of my own, I order a wasabi avocado, the first avocado I have eaten in over two months. Yummy! The restaurant is very cute and the menu a bit different. Their specialty is zenzai and they serve several different kinds, a shaved ice dessert accompanied by sweet red beans, mochi, sweet milk and sometimes fruit. The zenzai is presented on a tray; one dish filled with shaved ice, another dish with sweet red beans, another with mochi and set alongside is a tiny pitcher of sweet condensed milk. All this for 350 yen! (About $3.00)

It’s 6:00 P.M. by the time we return to our apartment to rest, cool off and bathe. We head back out around 8:00 P.M. walking towards Shintoshin anticipating a fine dinner at Kai Restaurant.

The Good-boy Haircut

We will be in Okinawa another month, but much of that time will be spent on Ishigaki and Irimote Island so I need to do some shopping and take care of a few simple things like getting my hair cut.

At home in California, I usually go to the likes of “Super Cuts” for a hair cut. I’ve enjoyed the luxury of upscale salons, but for my simple blunt cut hair style, most anyplace will do. Since our arrival on Okinawa, Art has had two haircuts at “Good-boy” and when we peddle past this salon, I ask if he can make me an appointment? He has raved about this barber shop where a shampoo, head massage, hair cut, shave and a shoulder massage is $15.00. We stop in and the bewildered receptionist writes me down for a 4:00 P.M. appointment. (I look forward to the shoulder massage, and hope to avoid the shave.)

It‘s two hours before my appointment, time enough for lunch and a little shopping. Art and I eat lunch at a soba restaurant and part ways. I head for the Naha Main Place Mall to shop for gifts, but this is a mainstream mall and I don’t find much of interest to me.

The receptionist bows slightly when I enter the “Good-boy Salon” and motions for me to be seated. I sit on a cushioned bench alongside several stone faced men, a wall of magazines in front of me. Absently, I pick up the nearest magazine and flip backwards through the pages of a golf magazine. At 4:15, I am motioned to a seat, and my attending barber, spouts off a flurry of questions? I tell him that I don’t speak Japanese, make a few hand gestures and hope for the best. During my 20 minute wait, I have ascertained that this is strictly a barber shop and women are an oddity. My “barber” lifts stands of my long hair as if it were soba noodles. He cuts one strand at a time, seemingly bewildered with the length, color and texture. The hair washing is pure ecstasy, as he massages and scrubs for 10 intense minutes but the drying becomes another excruciating strand by strand procedure. An hour later, my hair perfectly styled, I exit the salon with all eyes watching in disbelief as I place a bicycle helmet upon my perfectly coiffed hair!

Oiwai

We are invited to attend an oiwai (a celebration) for the birth of Rinta, Tadashi’s and Shoko’s new baby boy. This particular “oiwai” is to welcome a new baby and takes place when the baby is 100 days old. Shigeru and Mika pick us up and drive us to their parent’s home where preparations of a feast are underway. Tadashi’s mother, sister and both daughters in law are in the small kitchen, busily arranging platters of food. Three large plates of various tempuras, pork, and fried tofu are laid on the long low table in the back room. We sit on the tatami floor around a table that accommodates about 14 people. Bottles of sanpin ice tea, orange soda and beer are self serve in the center of the table. The 4 women serve individual plates of sashimi to each guest. Our end of the table is seated first and we are encouraged to begin eating while more tiny plates and bowls are laid before us. In addition to our sashimi octopus and cucumber plate, we each receive a small dish of kombu, kelp, a special bowl of celebratory rice, and a covered lacquered bowl of pork miso stew. We serve ourselves from the large tempura and pork platters. Other guests begin to arrive and are seated at the other end of the table. Every guest, bows at the doorway, greets and holds baby Rinta and sits down to eat. I soon grasp that there is a rotation at the table and after we have finished eating we move away to allow others to sit and feast. I want to help, but know that I will just be a clog in the rhythm that these 4 women have set of preparing, serving and washing up. Shoko is extremely gracious and calm as mother and hostess for her son’s birth party. Tadashi is all smiles and when one of the guests isn’t holding Rinta, he cradles his baby. I see decorated envelopes pass to Shoko and Tadashi as each guest enters and I realize that these are gifts of money for the baby. This all seems much more sensible than our American style “baby shower.” We gave a small gift of clothing to Rinta several weeks back but have come to this “oiwai” without an envelope of money. This baby is a blessing, and I want to honor and gift the new family, and Art and I manage to manifest an “envelope” by the close of the evening.

Relatives, friends and neighbors stop in to greet the baby. Most stay to eat and when each group leaves, the family or individual is presented an elegant shopping bag with a “cake” inside, a gift from Tadashi, Shoko and Rinta. John spends most of his time in the front room with a 7 and 2 year old “nephew.” He seems to be having a good time with the younger boys and they play with blocks and battle plastic beetles together. When one of the three battling beetles looses a leg, there is a serious beetle dispute but overall the kids have a good and easy time together.

As the evening wears on and the table is cleared of food, Tadashi’s father and uncle take out sanshins and play and sing. They play a song that is traditionally the first song sung at every Oiwai celebration. It is an ancient melody that doesn’t seem very celebratory by today’s standards. We learn that the lyrics are about a young mute Prince that eventually talks so that he can become king. I assume that this song was first written hundreds of years ago when the Ryukyus existed as a kingdom. Several bottles of awamori are given to the family tonight and the bottle we bring, aged 7 years from Kumejima is the one opened and served. The music and the conversation become livelier as the bottle empties.

Goya Champuru & Hiraya-chi

Narumi arrives at 11:00 A.M. for Art’s kanji lesson. She carries a bag of groceries and has her 7 year old son with her. We’re delighted that she has brought her son and in spite of the age difference the two boys have a good time together. John shows off his beetle “Frack” and they play “Mario Brothers” on a Nintendo D.S. game console that he has brought along. Narumi shows John how to play their version of solitaire and the two boys play cards. After the kanji lesson I get a cooking lesson.

I’ve written about the goya in other blog entries. It is a popular Okinawan vegetable. It’s translation in English is “bitter melon” and is thought to be one of the secrets of Okinawan longevity. It is a member of the gourd family, shaped a bit like a large fat ridged cucumber. It has high vitamin C content and a bitter taste. Goya Champuru (stir-fry) is a traditional Okinawan dish that up until now I have done my best to avoid. This funny vegetable has become an Okinawan icon. Every tourist shop sells green plastic goya key rings, costume jewelry and goya printed T shirts with silly slogans. This healthy and unsuspecting vegetable has been given a face and often wears a hat and shoes. Think of it as the Okinawan version of Mr. Potato Head. Today, I meet Mr. Goya on a different level.

After slicing Mr. Goya in half lengthwise, Narumi shows me how to scoop out it’s pithy pulp and seeds. I cut thin slices from both halves and sauté the crescent slices in olive oil over a high heat. Narumi sprinkles salt and brown sugar (to offset the bitterness) into the frying pan and stirs with chopsticks. I mix two eggs in a bowl and when Mr. Goya is too limp to complain, we pour the beaten egg over him and cook a little more.

Next,Narumi shows me how to make “Hiraya-chi”, a savory Okinawan crepe with leeks. The recipe is simple, 2 eggs, 2 cups flower, 2 cups water, diced leeks and a pinch of salt. I mix and she ladles the mixture into a hot oiled skillet. Within a minute the crepe is ready to be flipped, and in another minute it’s ready to be served. She cuts it into quarters, squeezes okonomi sauce onto the crepe, and tops it off with dried mackerel shavings. (Okonomi sauce is a bit like a sweet, thick Worcestershire sauce.) In the interim, Narumi has filled 4 cups with dried mackerel shavings, a tablespoon of Miso and sliced leeks. (Green onions.) I add boiling water to soften the dried fish and we let it steep. We serve the boys on our small coffee table. Her son eats three servings of the Goya Champuru. (I am sure he will live to a very old age.) John is a good sport and eats a small serving of the goya, a quarter of the crepe and all of his fish soup. Narumi and I sit at our kitchen table and eat our lunch. I am surprised how good the goya is. In the past, I found goya very bitter, but with the addition of brown sugar and mixed with egg, it is quite tasty. The savory crepes are wonderful, but I prefer them dressed with just soy sauce rather than the sweet okonomi sauce. (Thank you Narumi, for taking the time to share your recipes; I will look for goya back home and cook both of these dishes for my family and friends!)

It’s Wednesday as I write this blog. We spent Monday and Tuesday mostly at home working. Yesterday, the weather was blustery and rainy, but this afternoon the sun is blazing and after finishing another wax design, I urge John to levitate from the couch and go to the Tsuboya district with me. We decide to walk, not wanting to battle the bicycle helmet issue. We are both in good spirits and wander down the covered Heiwadori market together. John is surprisingly patient as I poke into tiny shops. Our destination is Tsuboya, which begins at the end of the Heiwadori arcade and our first stop is the Tsuboya pottery museum to see a special Shisa exhibit. On our many visits to Okinawa, John and I have grown very fond of the Shisa, a guardian that is neither lion nor dog, but a creature unique to Okinawa. The exhibit has a small but special exhibit of a few very fine and unique Shisa and I am inspired. When we exit, we walk along the historical and picturesque street, stopping into every shop along the three block stretch. We admire the many Shisas, in all sizes and qualities but always in pairs, one male with mouth open, and one female with mouth closed. There are several Shisa studios in this district where you can watch the artisans create these magical creatures or create one of your own. Every artisan and studio has its own unique style of Shisa. We purchase two tiny turtle soy bottles and catch a taxi back home.

At noon today, Art went to a “Spa Symposium” to learn about the spa industry and to promote his website. He is back from his day when John and I return and we make a quick turn around to go out to dinner. (I have been cooking half our meals at home, but our cupboards are empty tonight) I ask Art if he has money, and sling my camera over my neck. I have taken to traveling lightly and seldom carry a purse. It’s nearly 7:00 P.M. and the evening light is magical. We walk towards Kokusai Street, full of energy and with a particular restaurant in mind. We have been walking for 15 minutes when Art suddenly halts, his hand feeling his back pocket. He has forgotten his wallet. We have no money and must walk back to the apartment. This puts a kink in our carefree evening and by the time we have retrieved the wallet our spirits are not as light. It’s nearly dark and we catch a taxi, but don’t know the name of the restaurant. Art directs the taxi driver as best as he can with one eye on the meter but we are driving around in circles and traffic signals and one way streets loom at every intersection. Art asks our confused taxi driver to stop and he lets us out on a dark street, alongside a park and we hoof it from there, past several homeless men, pop out onto the brightly lit street and come upon our restaurant.

Friends from Home

We have been anticipating the arrival of our friends from California for many weeks. On Thursday night, Art, John and I take a taxi to the Naha airport to meet their 10:30 P.M. plane. Art stands along side the taxi drivers and tour guides, holding up a paper sign with the name “Shurman” printed on it. The Japanese L is a combination of an L & an R so the sign is meant to be a joke. They are too exhausted to appreciate the humor, but we are happy that they have arrived safely and I try to clam my excitement and remember that they are in a jet lagged and altered state. Just two months ago, I floated along the brightly lit airport corridors in a timeless dream state and I see the disoriented glaze in their eyes. They have taken our advice and packed lightly and we usher them to the elevator, up to the next level and across to the monorail station. Annya, their 12 year old daughter is flushed with a fever and I know that our touring itinerary will not be as I have planned. We glide in our monorail capsule, above a sleeping city, to the Shinotshin station. The modern station is adjacent to the D.F.S.mall, (duty free shops) and the hotel “Libre Gardens” is illuminated brightly just two blocks away. Art helps with the registration and we escort our friends to their 9^th floor rooms on the.

I’m sure Michael is exhausted, but he is jazzed to be here and isn’t ready to end the day. After the “girls’ are tucked into their rooms; the four of us walk out onto the promenade to a familiar restaurant a few blocks away. We glide over glass floors with sand and sea shells recessed beneath the glass, curtained rooms on either side of the narrow hallway. We are seated in a partitioned room at a low table and Art orders a few small plates for us to share. We introduce Michael to awamori. It’s after 1:00 P.M when we are home in our own beds.

Jay Jay and the Top Note Lounge

Art assumes that the Schulman’s will wake up early because of the time difference and bicycles up to Shintoshin to meet Michael for breakfast. There is no indication that the family is awake and Art returns to our apartment and crawls back into bed. We connect with Michael mid morning at Starbucks inside the Naha Main Place Mall and after our coffee we stroll Michael through the electronics department, a visual and mental overload to me, but of extreme interest to Michael, a Microsoft colleague of Art’s.

The report from the hotel is that Annya has a high fever and understandably, both Helene and Michael want to stay close by to check on her regularly. We eat a late lunch together at a Japanese restaurant inside the Mall. Each “teishaku” is presented on a lacquered tray arranged with smaller plates and dishes; Michael and Helene are delighted with the meal. Helene returns to the hotel to be with Annya while Art, John and Michael walk over to Kokusai Street and Heiwadori Market. I take this opportunity and return to our apartment, pack up my weekly wax carving and bicycle to the post office to ship them to my casters back home. Later in the afternoon, Michael returns with Art and John and sees our small apartment, meets John’s beetles, and takes a nap in the quiet of John’s room.

We have evening plans to go to a concert at the Top Note Café, a nightclub lounge adjacent to the Libre Garden Hotel. Jay Jay, a Kubasaki high school alumni and friend of Art’s, is a popular local vocalist with quite a following of adoring women. Weeks ago, he invited us to tonight’s performance and conveniently the club is next door to where the Shulman’s are staying. We hope to eat dinner before the performance, but our time is short and we resort to eating from the limited “snack” menu at the club. The food is expensive and bad however the club is intimate with seating for perhaps 100 people and we choose a table against a back wall. There are quite a few American’s in the audience and Jay Jay entertains to all in a smooth mix of both Japanese and English. He is extremely handsome, a beautiful blend of Okinawan and American with chiseled features and a golden voice. He sits casually on a high stool, microphone grasped in manicured hands and belts out tunes from American Classics. His talented band backs him up flawlessly and I wonder if we have somehow been transported to a Vegas lounge act. This is Michael’s and Helene’s first night in Naha and they are slightly taken aback, but we are all soon under his musical spell and enjoying the evening. Still jet lagged, Helene and Annya return to their rooms before the close of the performance, but Michael stays to the end and Art and I dance to the last few songs.

Mizuho

I wake to a troubling e-mail this morning telling us that Mizuho, Art’s eldest brother is sick, but not to worry too much. We are taking the Shulmans to Shurijo Castle this morning and we meet them at their hotel as planned. The logistics of sightseeing with two families is proving challenging and we split into two taxis and are dropped off at the bottom of the wide promenade leading up to the castle entrance. Art is a knowledgeable guide and Annya suggests that we get him a flag to hold up for us all to follow. There are many large groups of Japanese tourists following obediently behind their flag waving guides. Helene’s foot is troubling her, making walking painful and our progress slow but we are able to rent a wheelchair when we reach the ticket kiosk at the castle entrance. The weather is overcast and it is drizzling ever so lightly. A small stage is set in the center of the castle courtyard and a traditional Okinawan Dance performance will start shortly. While Art and Michael buy tickets to tour the interior of the castle, I lead Helene to a chair in the courtyard and indicate to her to save the two adjacent seats. I spot another block of three seats elsewhere and hold these for Art and John. I’ve seen this dance performance before, but it’s good to be seated under a canvas tent, off of our feet and out of the rain. From the expression on Michael’s face, I surmise he is enjoying himself. It’s a 40 minute performance and half way into it, Helene leaves and enters a small information and rest center behind the stage. Art follows shortly and when I enter I find Helene reclined on a raised tatami bench, legs elevated and a dosen, formally dressed in a kimono serving her tea and offering her a pillow.

Before entering the formal rooms of Shurijo Castle, Art steps aside to call home and John and I hang back to wait with him. I watch Michael push a smiling Helene, on her rolling throne past the ticket gate into the inner courtyard. Within a minute, Art is connected to Mizuho’s daughter and his expression changes. I immediately know that the situation is serious. The phone call lasts only a few minutes, and I know by the tears in my husband’s eyes that his brother has died. Art disconnects and leans heavily into the stones of the castle walls.

Wondering where we are, Michael calls Art’s cell phone and we are brought back to the present. Art explains the situation, tells them to go on without us, and the three of us walk in a daze to a castle view point overlooking all of Naha. The drizzle has turned to rain and for a long time we stand in the shelter of a stone archway, gazing over the gray city and struggling to make sense of the news we have just received.

It’s long past lunch; we need to eat and we manage to reconnect with our friends. We walk with them through the lush, rain drenched park below the castle, to a traditional Okinawan restaurant that the three of us discovered on Valentines Day. The restaurant is in an old house, the veranda set around a traditional Japanese garden. Shojo screens open out onto the garden and we are seated in a tatami room on low stools around a rough hewn table. The menu is in kanji and Art does his best to translate the few simple options and orders for all of us. Annya, still sick, wants only miso soup and to return to their hotel. We return to our apartment, emotionally exhausted and with much to figure out.

We connect with our friends on Kokusai Street for a late dinner at “Sam’s Anchor Inn” restaurant. Art will be retuning home via L.A. as soon as possible and we promised John a farewell dinner here before returning home. There are many Sam’s Restaurants in greater Naha; each with a slightly different theme but the common dining experience is watching your chefs skillfully slice, prepare and cook your food on a center grill inset into your table. The six of us are seated in captain chairs around our grill table and our experience begins as our waitress, dressed in a sailor outfit presents us with over sized glossy drink menus. For the first time in 2 ½ months I peruse a menu with accurate English translations and pictures of exotic fruit and liquor cocktails’ served in curvaceous glasses, topped with skewered fruits and paper “umbrellas”. John orders a virgin cocktail which is delivered in a “take home” ceramic shark mug, a red plastic mermaid dangling from its jaws. Our shared flask of awamori is presented in a faux ceramic “dochi bin” which at the end of the evening we give to Michael and Helene to keep as a souvenir. We toast and talk about Mizuho.

Art is friends with the manager of Sam’s and has a coupon for “free” Shrimp cocktails. Six “fishbowls” with dry ice mist swirling blue inside the glass, are ceremoniously served to each of us. A shrimp plate sits atop each icy blue bubble sealing off the opening of the bowl. Salad and soup follow the shrimp cocktail, but the shrimp have stolen the show. Two chefs appear beside a rolling cart with our steaks, lobster, scallops and vegetables neatly arranged and ready to be grilled. John and Annya are captivated by the theatrics of their swirling knives as the chefs slice, juggle and flip the various meats and vegetables. The grill sizzles and steams, our mouths water and we are soon served our various orders. Dinner is good and the experience very fun; perhaps just what we needed to lighten our hearts and minds.

A Change in Plans

(I am writing this entry after having returned home. The actual date of these events was Sunday, April 8th, 2007.)

We need to return home and change our flights, but it is Sunday and the American Airlines rewards desk won’t be open until Monday. With much on our minds we decide it’s best to continue showing our California friends the sights of Okinawa. After meeting the Schulman’s’ for breakfast at their hotel, Art rents a mini van inside the D.F.S. shopping mall we head north to the Yomitan district. Art drives and Michael navigates using both the G.P.S system and a map. We all remind Art to make wide rights and tight lefts and Art flips on the windshield wipers almost every time that he reaches for the turn signal. Our first stop is the 15^th century Zakimi Gusku. The ruins are high on a hill and it’s a gradual walk along a defined pathway up to the fortresses’ stone archway and impressive walls. The surrounding grounds approaching the castle are beautifully manicured and the overcast and misty day adds atmosphere to our excursion. John attempts to scale the castle’s walls finding hand grips and foot holds in the uneven stones, but his attempts are thwarted by Art who reminds him that this is a historical treasure and John is grounded to the pathways. Delicate succulents, vines and moss grow in the cracks between the ancient stones and Helene, an avid gardener seems to enjoy every detail. Rain spits upon us as we return to our rented van and we continue on to the pottery district.

Our family has visited the Yomitan pottery district on several occasions, but never on a rainy Sunday afternoon. There are many ceramic and glass studios clustered together in this district and one can walk from one workshop and showroom to another. Art parks the car at one end of the district and I lead the way into one of our favorite glass studios past the kilns and glass blowing area where just one man is working on this overcast Sunday. Happily this showroom is open and all of us enjoy perusing the wares. We continue our walk through this rural artist’s district popping into many of the small showrooms and finding a few treasures to buy. Central to this area is a giant traditional hillside kiln stretching some 150 feet up a hillside. It is a huge wood fueled kiln with an undulating red tile roof and adobe walls. Although I have never visited during a firing I imagine the kiln looking like a fire breathing dragon belching smoke and fire into the night. After a couple of hours wandering the workshops and galleries we stop for a late lunch at a soba restaurant adjoining one of the pottery shops. Our lunch teshakus are mindfully presented and Michael and Helene purchase two ceramic bowls similar to the ones that our soba was served in. The rain is more persistent as we leave but in spite of the weather we visit the tomb of Sho Hashi, the first king of the Ryukyu Kingdom. We have visited here before with Takaaki and Art manages to navigate the correct turns and drive the several kilometers along a muddy road to find the marker where the short hike to the tomb begins. The trail is slippery from the rain and we slip and sink into the sticky mud holding tight to branches and vine tendrils in order to steady ourselves and avoid a bottom plant. The jungle is deliciously wet and the narrow path slick with the red clay mud and decomposed leaves. When we arrive at the tomb, I am awed again by a monumental aka tree; vines and tendrils cascading down forming a natural cathedral above this ancient resting place. It is a serene and magical setting for a burial ground.

Art hopes that before returning our rental van he will be able to drive to the airport and change all of our tickets to return home. The afternoon traffic is terrible and the 20 mile drive back to Naha takes us nearly two hours and there isn’t time to drive to the airport before our dinner reservations with Takaaki and his cousin at our favorite restaurant, Ania.

Takaaki picks the 6 of us up at the Shulman’s hotel in Shintoshin and John and Annya climb into the back of his mini van for the short drive to the restaurant. It occurs to me that in California I would not allow this mode of transportation without seatbelts and I know that it is not the preferred mode here. Nevertheless the 5 adults buckle into seat belts and our most precious children are allowed to bounce around freely in the back.

We arrive at Ania shortly, tucked away in a residential district. We climb the stairs to this lovely restaurant, are greeted formally but warmly and place our shoes into the cubby holes provided. We are ushered to an annexed room at the front of the restaurant with a long low table to accommodate our large party. Takaaki’s 16 year old cousin and her parents are awaiting our arrival and we all nod and bow and slip into seats along the table with a recessed well for our feet. Initially everyone is somewhat shy and nervous, but Annya, 13, sits beside Lisa and the girls awkwardly converse, giggle and in the end exchange e-mails. Takaaki, always charming, orders two each of many dishes. The plates, in pairs, are brought ceremoniously to our table and set mid way between both ends. Art and John sit at the center of the table and I sit at the end with Michael, Helene and Annya. Our dishes empty much quicker that those on the opposite end where Lisa sits with her parents and Takaaki. Much of the conversation surrounds Mizuho, the state of his family and our plans to return home. We visit with Lisa and her parents and learn that Lisa would like to come to California and we invite her to visit this summer with Takaaki. Lisa speaks English beautifully and it seems natural that she would stay with the Schulman’s with Annya as company. Takaaki will stay with us and he tells us that he wants to visit the Grand Canyon and to see a ball game. We have encouraged him to visit us for years and it all seems more likely now that his niece wants to come as well.

The dinner here is excellent as always and we say goodbye outside of the restaurant; the Shulman’s catching one taxi home and we another. We are emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed with logistics of changing our itinerary home, packing and moving out of our apartment and saying our goodbyes to all prematurely.

Sayonara Okinawa

(I am writing this entry after having returned home. The actual day of these events was April 9th 2007.)

Art gets lucky and is able to change our frequent flyer tickets home. He will return to L.A. on Tuesday and John and I will return to San Francisco on Friday and drive to L.A. the following afternoon. Mizuho’s memorial service will not be until April 16^th. We have only today to pack everything up, clean our apartment, return our cell phones, disconnect the internet and find storage for our bicycles. We work at light speed and with the help of Takaaki and Tadashi, all is accomplished except for the final cleaning which I will be responsible for in the morning after all is removed from the apartment.

I manage to escape mid afternoon for a last foray along Kokusai Street. The Schulman’s have been on their own today, but I still hope to show them the Tsuboyu pottery district and John has been coveting a trick battery operated car in the Naha Main Place Mall. Time is of the essence and since our bicycles have been whisked away by Takaaki, John and I catch a taxi up to Shintoshin so that he can buy the coveted toy car. We virtually jog from Shintoshin to Heiwadori street to meet the Schulman’s in the covered market. After finding an exchange bank for Michael, I guide them along Heiwadori market, our goal being the historic Tsuboyu district but there are many distractions as we progress along this bustling arcade. Helene wants to find a lounging kimono for Michael, Annya is hungry and I want to find a few final gifts to take home. I expected to have a final week in Naha after our island get away and had planned to do all my shopping at that time. Michael bashfully models a striped cotton kimono, but it looks good on him and Helene snatches it up. I steer Annya to a small kiosk and order her a crepe with an egg cracked on top. Michael orders one too and they sit together on tiny stools and consume the minimal fare. The crepes take the edges off their hunger and we proceed to the end of Heiwadori and stroll into the sunlight of the Tsuboyu district.

Late afternoon sunlight drenches this picturesque area of cobbled streets with stone walls and historic buildings. We sip iced coffee together at an outside café, our table tucked under a huge Aka tree alongside a crumbled hillside pottery kiln and pay $5.00 each for our icy drinks. Our impending departure has been sudden and I am not ready to take leave of all of this but I console myself with the knowledge that I will be back again soon. My melancholy is replaced with the rush of the caffeine and the 6 of us take leave of our table beneath the tree to continue our wanderings. I am familiar with the narrow side streets now lush with spring foliage clinging into the crevices of the ancient stone walls. We walk along the pedestrian path, with beautiful and historic houses secreted behind stone walls, gates and spirit walls. One of these properties has been converted into a pottery studio where guests can make their own Shisa’s or pottery bowls. The grounds of this pottery studio are beautiful, the workshop opening out into the front garden. A few students are working on projects and Michael wishes that Annya had time to make her own special guardian Shisa and I wish the same for John. I am not sure there will be another chance for Annya, but I know that John and I will be back. We continue along our side loop reconnecting with the main street of this district. Pottery shops line the street, many with adjoining studios. At our favorite Shisa shop, John and I part from our friends and take a taxi back to our now empty apartment.

Our landlord comes by with a gift of cake for us and two tea cups. Narumi has left us flowers. Shigeru stops by briefly to hand Art a formal decorated envelope of money for him to take to Mizuho’s wife, Satomi. Later in the evening, Tadashi and Harruyo give Art similar envelopes to carry back to Satomi. Everyone is so very kind.

Tonight’s impromptu farewell dinner is at Kai Restaurant in Shintoshin. The party is small, consisting of just us, the Schulman’s, Takaaki, Tadashi and his mother Harruyo. We are seated in a private room away from the activity of the central kitchen and dining room and I wish for the distraction and energy the main room has offered us in the past. There is a solemn finality about tonight’s gathering and I am sad to be leaving in such haste. Harruyo has dressed simply and elegantly and I note how beautiful and composed she is. Tonight’s meal is disappointing, or perhaps I am just disappointed to be returning home under these hurried and sad circumstances.