Dead as a meatball

Karate class in Japan is a little different than NY. Class is two hours long, without breaks or games. Karate in NY is forty minutes long, and although the kids work hard, they are not pushed hard. The emphasis is on doing their best and enjoying themselves. Uta went to a class here that took place in the gymnasium where Papa went to school. When it was finished he broke into tears. He could barely walk home and moaned all through the night do to the pain in his legs. It was the hardest thing he has ever done. He said he felt as dead as a meatball. But he made three new friends and wants to go back next week.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Its still up in the air for Uta, but recently he got to try on a few career hats to see how they fit. There's a place called Kids Kingdom here in Osaka that lets kids see what all different sorts of jobs are like. There are about fifty occupations to choose from. Uta tried working in an ice cream shop, designing cars, being a sushi chef, a fireman, and even spent a little time in jail. He liked being a policeman best of all.

Riding Shotgun

Riding shotgun and chewing gum with Jiji. Just another reason to love Japan.

Pool side

On a hot summer day in Tokyo, a water park is a great place to be. Uta and his good friend Kiichi enjoyed the wave pool, and lazy circling river. They ate ramen, of course, and ice cream filled crepes.

Noodles

Uta has eaten noodles everyday we have been in Japan, sometimes he's even eaten them twice a day. Me too. I am nearing the point of noodle over load. Ramen, udon, somen, soba, and even spaghetti. Pictured above is a somen shop where the noodles come shooting down metal slides into your bowl. Uta liked trying to catch his noodles midstream. He ate a lot that day.

Pizza

Right now Uta is so in love with Japan he can see no faults. He scolds me daily for not being Japanese, and says I should try harder to learn the language. He wants to stay for six more months, certain that that is all it will take for him to be fluent. He wants more than anything to talk to his Pop in his native tongue. I understand his desire. To see Papa H in his home country, laughing and speaking Japanese, makes us feel we may be missing out on the best part of who he is. Language is so much more than words. And maybe Papa's heart, the whole of it, simply cant be translated into english. Uta's efforts are admirable and his Japanese improves in leaps and bounds every day. He is determined and brave and I too think it would be unjust not to give him the opportunity to really learn to speak. But not everything is better in Japan. And even Uta would agree. The pizza is down right awful.

On the road

Driving to Tokyo and back again to Osaka was quite a feat. Two grandparents plus two children equals stopping a lot. We managed to land ourselves in so many traffic jams that our time spent in the car was as long, if not longer, than our flight from New York to Japan. But driving is much more fun. Truck stops in Japan have Curry udon soup and cool mist machines in the guise of polar bears. 

Bug country

In Japan the insects are bigger and meaner and seem to out number the people. Uta is covered, head to toe, in mosquito bites. The bites are not just benign swellings, that itch for a spell and then disappear, like in New York. These bites grow as big as golf balls beneath the skin and torture their victim for days. Uta got a bite on his brow that swelled so it nearly sealed his eye shut. It is a war we a losing at the moment. Like Uta says, he is ripe, like a juicy peach. The bugs just can't resist him.