Nate claims all of our overseas adventures get better with nostalgia. As in, around day ten they’re ready to sleep in their own beds and stop walking tens of thousands of steps a day. But as soon as I get them home, they long for nNea’s pizza on a balcony, and pintxos after falling into sidewalk chairs, overcome by hanger. We relive pastries in Manchester and pastries in Amsterdam and maybe we just live for pastries.
Last year I was on my daily loop when it hit me like a bolt of lightning– it will be 2025 and James’ fiftieth and father’s day and what would we most certainly have done? That’s right. Japan. There’s no doubt.
So I book the flights and somehow rope the Tassey family into our plans. And it was everything we’d hoped it would be.
We explored Tokyo, wandering through acres of irises under the gentlest rain. We ate bathtub-sized bowls of raman. Jacob customized a pair of Levi’s that were made in Japan. The boys stood in line to buy their quota of Pokemon cards, opening them on my bed in a flurry of wrappers like it was Christmas morning. The girls, Nate, and I ate fish-shaped pastries filled with custard. We explored a mile of kitchen wares on Kappabashi Street. We shopped for beautiful knives and adorable tea towels and origami-shaped coffee pour over sets. We ate authentic soba and ran through a rainstorm to the indoor botanical garden where Uncle Bryan taught us the wonders of plants. We had life-changing pancakes at Flipper’s Shibuya. And life-changing onigiri at Onigiri Goku in Kyoto. We drank matcha lattes to escape the heat. And visited Saihoji Moss Temple, the Katsura Imperial Villa garden, the bamboo forest, and the red gates of Fushimi Inari. We ate sandwiches for breakfast in an Elvis-inspired cafe. We melted, I mean, met, my cousin Joey in Osaka for okonomiyaki and kakigori shaved ice. We tasted whiskeys and sakes and craft cocktails. We ate the best sushi of our lives off a counter at a hole in the wall, Jacob’s friend Orion recommended. We explored dozens of temples, and dozens of 7-11s. It was truly beautiful and memorable, and even more special to share it with our cousins.
Hands down one of my favorites was our excursion to Chofu, a small town on the outskirts of Tokyo. It was green and lush and quaintly Japanese. It’s known for soba and for the second oldest temple in Tokyo. We had lunch at Tamon and then walked through the iris garden behind the restaurant. At Jindai-ji temple, I decided this would be the one place to get my fortune. First we wafted the smoke over ourselves and washed our hands. And then I approached the fortune area.
It was raining. I was nervous. It was my first time. It was relatively empty, but there was a group of teenagers milling around. Oh how I love being watched by a gaggle of teenagers. I bravely walk up, shake the big canister, and pull out a slim stick with Japanese characters on it. Then I’m faced with trying to match these characters to the wall of drawers full of fortunes. I look around. All of my travel companions have wandered off.
I turn to the teenagers, asking for help. They navigate to the drawer, find my fortune, and present it to me. It’s completely in Japanese.
I turn to them again. “What does it say?”
And one boy answers, “It’s a good fortune. It’s good.” There’s a pause. “Actually, it is the BEST fortune.” I like the sound of that. I bow and use my only Japanese, “Arigato gozaimasu.”
I return the stick to the canister, shut the drawer, and thank them again, guarding my BEST fortune from big fat raindrops. And a boy pipes-up, “Have a great day! No… have a great year!”
And I can’t help but feel so very fortunate.
