Back in Kuzuha Town

I'm back in Kuzuha, and despite being in the suburbs and unable to get internet and all that stuff that makes being in a dead zone between Kyoto and Osaka crappy... I love it. I have the choice of spending my last day either in Kyoto or Osaka - my choice - and better than that, I've missed having all my family around me.



Especially Riho. She's adorable, isn't she? Tonight, she taught me a local Osaka children's song, one that proudly counts off the things the city is known for. You know, takoyaki, okonomiyaki, gyoza, battara - and it goes on and on about various Osaka specialties. It's somehow fitting that after almost three weeks of touring around this country, I'm back in the place where everyone thinks with their stomachs.

Maybe that's why I feel so at home here.

Although I barely fit through the doorway anymore. I have no idea how the Japanese stay so slim.

Making the Rounds

This is a small town, so everyone knows we're here. From my mom's old dentist to some of my relatives' old school teacher to a whole host of other people who'd seen me back when I was a terrible two. And they want to see me now. Yet somehow, by the way they're aghast at the sight of a gargantuan hairy gai-jin about twice their size, they're about ready to put a chain around the fridge and place landmines around the pantry.

"Waaaah sugoi!" they all seem to say. (Oooh, wow!) "He must eat a lot!"

That's a real confidence booster.

But hey, people around here are honest, straightforward people, but more importantly, very genuine and warm. It seems I can't go anywhere without being greeted with a smile, whether it's passing someone on the street, or someone opening our front door to say hi.

Yeah, that's how it works around here. While the legend of people not locking their doors in Japan is just that - a legend - in larger cities like Tokyo and Osaka nowadays, it holds true for smaller communities. Want to see your neighbor? Walk up to their front door, slide it open, poke your head into the shoe-removal vestibule and say, "Konnichiwa!" Someone will come right out and invite you in for tea. Want to give someone a gift and they're not home? Simply open their front door and leave it for them - preferably with a friendly note.

We did all that tonight, and I heard several times over how gargantuan I am (reminder: I'm only 5'7 and have a 32 inch waist), as well as received guests who had to come see the Half-Jap Freak from America.

The attention seems unnecessary, but I know it's genuine curiosity and goodwill behind it all. My mom repaid the visitors by making food most of these people have never seen before...

Yeah, Iranian food. Chicken with basmati rice and barberries, herbed yogurt with cucumber, Shiraz salad. I'm glad she wasn't in last night's Iron Chef competition. That cheatin' bitch brought her own ingredients!

Wow. Just Wow.

I should be hung over.

Considering the amount of beer, wine, and grappa I consumed last night, my head should be hurting, my stomach should be burning, and my gag reflex twitching whilst keeping down bile.

But I'm not. Because I think all that booze was buffered by amounts of food most Americans don't see until Thanksgiving. Or in Oprah's glove compartment.

At any rate, we ate. And ate. And ate.

We all met up at what's pretty much ground zero for our family gatherings in Osaka - Aunt Fusako's restaurant. There's a super-casual back room reserved for family gatherings. You take off your shoes, grab a piece of floor, and dig into the nabemono (hot pot) or whatnot on the low little tables as you slurp your beer. Traditional family stuff.

Naturally, there was sushi artfully made by Makoto. And quickly. So quick, that I could barely see what he was doing with his hands. Even with my fancy new photographic gear, good lighting, and everything, he was still a mysterious blur. But the quality wasn't lost in the speed. At all. Deliciously rich yellowtail. Crazy fresh tuna. Amazing amberjack. Good lord... this was a feast!



Then there was the hot pot, where a delicious broth bubbled with the freshest enoki mushrooms I've ever had, the most tender leeks, astoundingly delicious salmon, and the gorgeous white flesh of the ugly monkfish. When my mom informed everyone that I love ankimo (that's monkfish liver), everyone was shocked. Gai-jin aren't supposed to like that! They're supposed to revile organs. Especially seafood organs. My aunt was so surprised (and happy that I'm not a total roundeye devil) that she gave me a hunk of ankimo nearly the size of my fist. I was very honored. And I shared... some of it.

The real highlight, though, wasn't the meal. As fantastic as it was, it was completely unmatched by the company. Here we were, three generations of my mom's family. My mom, her sisters, my cousins... It was awesome. Oh, and there were my cousins' kids, who are among the cutest in the damn world. Wanna see?




THIS JUST IN: There must be some great genes in my family. As I was blogging this, my cousin Neema just IMed me with a video chat, with his son Parsa on his lap. I'm swimming in cute.

Anyway, it was a great evening. And even if we hadn't been eating piles of startlingly fresh seafood, had we not been tucked away in the awesome back room of a cool little restaurant, had we not been drinking to our hearts' content - it still would've ranked as one of my best days traveling. Ever.

Because as awesome as it is scaling mountains, jumping off bridges, diving - whatever - nothing warms the heart nearly as much as connecting with relatives you last saw when you were barely old enough to tie your own shoes... and somehow communicating with them despite a huge language disparity.