Cell Phones and Celebrity

So as I said in my previous post, we recently got Japanese cell phones, since being completely disconnected from not only our friends and family, but from one another, sounded like a bad idea. Since I already have a smartphone which I can use for everything except calls and texts, I opted this time around to get the most basic phone they had. I was able to get it in powder pink, too, which made me feel happy and effeminate. I must say, however, that I had forgotten what it was like to have such an "old school" phone. I mean, this thing seems like it's circa 2009! :) Fortunately the biggest reason for me to have this phone is just so my husband or anyone local here can get a hold of me in an emergency. Or for me to call a taxi from time to time. So I won't be looking at it or using it often enough to become too upset by its lack of photorealistic graphics and its limited stock of ringtones. Lol.

My husband, on the other hand, got an iPhone and has been slowly learning how to use it (he was an android man before). But I can tell he is already really enjoying the incredible picture quality produced by the camera. He has also been researching various apps that MAY make it possible for us to call the states for free. We shall see.

The process for getting the cell phones felt especially long, but that may have been due to the fact we were negotiating contracts written in Japanese, and freshly exhausted by our trek through JUSCO. There are countless stipulations to consider in cell phone plans here. Certain times of day are pricy for calling, but receiving calls from international lines no matter what the time is free for us (just not for the person calling us). Data plans are unlimited for Hubby, but data for me is expensive enough that I refuse to send or receive texts on my phone. The BEST stipulation, however, is this (NOW LISTEN UP!!!): we have to pay money to listen to our voicemails. That's right. It's roughly $1.20 per minute to call into the voicemail system and listen to our messages. So please, anyone, everyone. If you call us, please do not leave a voicemail unless you absolutely have to. And even if you do, do not be surprised if we call you back not having listened to the message you left. Also, if you ever move to Japan and get a cell phone, warn your friends and family early about the price gouging of voicemail.

We also found out that Soft Bank doesn't have a yearly contract, and their monthly contract is exorbitantly priced. Meaning our cheapest option should we live here for exactly 3 years, is to fulfill our 2-year contract, renew for another two years, and then pay the $125 (based on the current exchange rate, anyway) to cancel after a year. YUP. That just happened to us. Hurray. At least they let us know up front, so we can plan ahead for them to stick it to us later. Surprises are much less fun, right?

While we were waiting for things to finalize and activate and marinate and duplicate, Aria was keeping herself rather amused by dancing around the lobby area and kicking around her orange balloon (a gift from the au cell phone vendors at JUSCO). From time to time a passerby would comment on her cuteness. I have to admit it gets awkward for us quite often, because little old ladies will just stand and stare at her. They repeat over and over how "kawaii" (cute) she is, or how much like a "ningyo" (doll) she looks. And they just... stay there. We are always the first ones to depart. And it's getting difficult to know where we fall on a scale of normal to inexcusably rude.

Anyway, this one family comprised of a mother, father, boy I assume was roughly 9 years old, and a little, pudgy, adorable-as-all-getout baby boy stopped to stare at Aria. Again the mother repeated over and over: "KAwaiiiiii! Ningyo san mitai! HONTO ni kawaii neeee. Ningyo ni SOkkuri! Sugoku kawaii." (for those who can't understand this, it's essentially a lot of variations on "she's just so gosh darn cute!").

THEN, the surreal happened. My mother had warned me it would, but I always jokingly dismissed it. Next thing I know, the mother is making showing her baby boy to Aria in a supplicating manner akin to making an offering to the gods. She asked if Aria wanted to touch the baby. Cautiously she approached, and with warnings of "gentle touch, Aria" from us, she softly stroked the boy on the shoulder. Several utterances of gratified approval were uttered by the parents, and then, out of nowhere they are taking pictures and trying to get Aria to pose with their kid. We didn't really know how to properly break it up, so we just kind of stood by and tried to watch for any signs of inappropriateness. They thanked us fervently, and left bowing repeatedly. Meanwhile, Hubby and I just exchanged dazed looks of "is our kid a secret celebrity?" and resumed our business thereafter.

That one family got away with it, but I think both Hubby and I (and Aria) are going to have to get VERY used to saying "shashin o toranaide kudasai" (please don't take pictures).

As my husband said to me today, "I just always feel like we're being rude here." Thus, my new goal in Japanese linguistic skill is to master all phrases that allow us to say "excuse me, but could you get away from our daughter, please," in the POLITEST way possible. :)

Just Go to JUSCO

Today we awoke to sunny skies once more, though the threat of typhoon-tastic fun is far from over. We spent some time Skyping with family members, until the sound of a siren cut the conversation short. Turns out the storm warning level had been increased base-wide. But by our own independent research the worst of it won't even begin until late tomorrow, so there was no reason to waste today in hiding.

With that settled, we chose to venture to the wonderland that is JUSCO (now AEON), since neither Aria nor my husband had ever been to a Japanese "depa-to" before.

The first level was (as is almost always the case) the grocery level, though there were a decent number of clothing stores on this level as well. Almost immediately, as the aromas of breads and cakes mingled with tempura and fish, we realized we were hungry. So we wandered back toward what I suppose would be the equivalent of the "deli" section of an American grocery store, though making that comparison feels ridiculous, to be honest. My husband was taken by the long row of pre-packaged but very fresh and high quality sushi bento boxes. He was only slightly distracted when I directed his attention to the tempura buffet section

But in having b-lined it to the sushi section, Hubby had completely bypassed the section that, perhaps more than any other, exemplified my childhood summers in Japan.

The ice cream section.

I went immediately back and grinned from ear to ear as I saw several of my childhood favorites were still going strong.

My husband bought a small sushi tray and a tray of fried items from the tempura section, and sat down with Aria as I was off buying a beautiful pastry/cake from one of the private bakeries inside the store. Buying cakes here in Japan is like purchasing a present for yourself every time. The tiny cakes come in beautiful boxes with 3-inch mini ice packs tucked inside to keep the delicate pastry cool. And for one mini-cake, I still got a beautiful bag to carry it out in. I almost felt guilty unwrapping and devouring it 45 seconds later. Almost.

Stuck in my nostalgia, I also partook of a melon soda and vanilla ice cream float.

After snacking and replenishing our strength, we attacked the second floor of the department store. It was all clothing, and I went from section to section, store to store, coveting almost everything, knowing sadly that 99% of it would never fit me. It didn't stop me from freezing and gasping at random as I saw the beautifully dressed mannequins. We were also fortunate enough to find a few (hundred...thousand) examples of "Engrish" on shirts. Sigh... *shakes head*

I want to say those were the worst offenders, but... not even close. Some of the children's stuff was especially bad. I may have to dedicate a whole blog post to just the kids' clothing section of JUSCO someday.

Second floor conquered, we moved on to the third floor. This was a huge mix of children's stuff, toys, books, household goods, and anything else that falls under the category of "random." This was also the restaurant, food court, and arcade game level of the store. So after a long bout of exploration, we decided we were hungry again and went to Hitoyasumi for a proper lunch. The convenient thing about this place is that the majority of the menu items are cast in plastic and replicated in a large window display in front of the restaurant. So one can readily see what they are in for as they order. I ordered beef curry. For Aria we got a kid's meal for even the most "A.D.D." of appetites. I was comprised of tiny portions of curry rice, french fries, a chicken tender, spaghetti, and a third of a banana. It came in a very cute red car, as well.

The husband, feeling overwhelmed by the written menu (which was very long, I must say), finally looked at a woman two tables over from us and said "what she's having looks good." So we asked the waitress about it, and she told us it was chicken with a tomato sauce on it. He decided to go with that, and I believe he was relatively pleased with what he got.

Speaking of my husband, he made several comments which I found helpful in learning his perspective on this world. I, having some limited experience in Japan and a lifetime of exposure to elements of Japanese language and culture, cannot see this through the lens he does. In entering Jusco, he said "Everything about this place is loud." And he described it as being like "a mall inside of a Macy's, or built around one," which is probably the most accurate description I have ever heard. He also said, of Japan, that "Everything is just a little bit different. Nothing is exactly the same as anywhere else I have seen."

Case in point, the celebrity endorsements and ads. This is one of his favorites, featuring Tommy Lee Jones and an especially stoic dog for Boss Coffee.

We finally decided to head back to the base, so we took a taxi back. Taxi fare on the highway with the toll booth (which is what we took on the way there) was 2900 yen. Taxi fare back, taking surface streets, was 2400 yen. Either way, I can't wait to get a car so hopefully we save some money the next time we brave JUSCO. For all the things we WANTED to get, our only actual spoils for the whole trip were a pair of adorable rain boots for Aria. They just may come in handy, living here.

The rest of the day was spent negotiating cell phone contracts, which I will write about in another post sometime soon. Definitely an interesting adventure in and of itself. So keep an eye out for the addendum/part deux post about this day.

For now, I leave you with a picture of a pretty inlet, which is a regular view from various parts of the base. Every time we see it, we say "I think we're going to like living here." :)

House Hunting in the Rain

Well, we all knew it was going to only be a matter of time before "beautiful Sasebo" turned into ''oh my gosh where the heck did all this rain come from?!?! Sasebo."

All of our internal clocks are still making the slow adjustment to 16 hours in the future. It's been a lot of waking up at 1 AM falling back asleep at 2:30 AM and waking up again at 6 AM wanting to go back to sleep until 9 AM and being spent like we pulled an "ole college all-nighter" by 4 PM.

But waking up this morning was no trouble at all. About 7 AM we heard a very loud pressure-washer sound against the window, which brought both my husband and I quickly out of our beds. The downpour was immense, and the grey scene made it nearly impossible to remember the sunshine of days past. Knowing we had scheduled two house tours for today, my husband and I just looked at one another and said "this is going to be fun." We went back and forth for a while about who would be better equipped to run in the rain to the NEX to purchase an umbrella or two. But being the forward thinker he is, hubby asked the folks at the front desk of the Navy Lodge about it and discovered they had loaner umbrellas. Great news!

The mist/fog/humidity/rain obscured the landscape like I have never seen. The camera is pointed right at a big green mountain in the picture below. The mountain is actually only (at most) 2 miles away as the crow flies. THAT'S how much moisture was in the air.

We left the lodge around 9 AM and walked across the puddle-riddled madness that was the base. Hubby was a superhero, carrying Aria the whole way, as she "helped" by holding the umbrella (which he was, of course, already holding). At one point we went into the food court just to escape the rain for five minutes. My right side was dry and my left side was soaked, because I was trying to keep my purse (slung over my right shoulder) dry.

Funny discovery... breaking in leather shoes in wet weather is less painful than breaking them in any other way. However, the slipping and sliding of bare feet inside wet shoes makes walking rather difficult. Blisters and scrapes still happened.

Another funny discovery... if you step in enough puddles, the saturated fibers of your pants WILL soak water all the way up to your knees. Hubby's jeans would have made for a clearer picture, but he was too busy chasing Aria around for me to get a good snapshot.

The first realtor we met was very kind. She drove us up a series of terrifyingly narrow and winding roads up the side of a mountain. Out of nowhere she stops the car with a jolt, throws it into reverse, and backs into a tiny parking space. Just like that we were at the first house on our list of potential rentals. It was quaint, and certainly a home we thought we could be content with. But you never jump on the first thing you see. So we decided to wait. While talking with the realtor, asking if she had anything with two bathrooms, she told us about a listing that was literally coming available for the first time at noon today. We asked to see it later in the day, and she said as long as the base housing office was alright with it, she was happy to show it to us.

Aria impressed the realtor as she exuberantly sang Japanese children's songs in the back seat, pronouncing each "muusuunde, hiraiite, te o utte, muusuunde" with perfect diction. Her streak of impressing every Japanese person she meets is still going strong.

We had 45 minutes after being dropped back off at the base before we saw our second realtor, and second house. This one was a little further from the base, in a more rural(ish) part of town, very reminiscent of Goshogawara, where my grandmother and uncle lived. This was the "nastukashii" feeling I had been waiting for; that feeling of comforting familiarity. This, save for the slightly more tropical and mountainous landscape, was the Japan I remembered from my childhood visits to that little city in northern Honshu. But the quaint surroundings did not detract from the very modern and lovely home we toured. It was just about as perfect as a house could be. A home my husband and I agreed we would be proud to host parties at. A home we felt we could be very happy living in. Almost instantly, the first, very darling home we toured, had been trumped.

We were dropped back off at the base by the second realtor around 1 PM. As I stepped out of the car... I realized my purse was missing. I had left it at the second house! I felt horrible. But the realtor, in a show of incredibly accomodating show of compassion, rushed back to the house and retrieved it for me in less than 30 minutes time. She even begged me to check the contents of the purse to make sure all was as I had left it; a sign she wanted me to know she was trustworthy. Without any knowledge of whether it was culturally acceptable, I asked if I could pay her at least the gas money for her trouble. She insisted it was fine, and she only wanted to make sure we were okay having waited on her for her return with my valuable possessions. SUCH graciousness is so very rarely seen elsewhere, and is so very classically Japanese. It never fails to humble me.

We had about 20 minutes before the first realtor was to arrive to take us to our third house of the day. The base housing office employees were apparently stunned by our expediency and proactiveness. Some families barely manage to tour two houses in a week, and we were on our third one of the day. Go us!

The third house was by far the furthest from the base, but also the largest, and in the prettiest neighborhood. It was beautiful and stately, already equipped with wonderful amenities like a refrigerator and oven (something the other two houses lacked).

We were left with a lot to consider, and no mental energy left to consider it, so we called it a day and headed back to the base. The rain had stopped, the skies had opened, and the sun was smiling down... aggressively driving the sensation of 175% humidity home. I would have looked around at how beautiful the mountains looked now that I could see them again, but I was too busy trying to find the nearest indoor space to duck into. So I will provide pictures another day.

Realizing we needed to stock up our pantry and fridge we made a quick trip to the NEX and Commisary. At which point my husband noticed many people grabbing non-perishables and palates of water. "Maybe this typhoon headed our way is going to be a bigger deal than we thought," he said. So we followed suit, and loaded up on the necessities in case the storm gets rough. Aria helped out (very enthusiastically) by grabbing random packages of Polish sausage, boxes of Aunt Jemima pancake mix, and cans of peas and throwing them into the cart. Contrary to the stereotype of a two year old just pulling everything off of every shelf, she was surprisingly selective and seemingly purposeful in what she chose. That is not to say the majority of her selections weren't returned to their shelves moments later with a look of bafflement on our parental faces. We did, however, end up buying a few things she picked out.

The rest of the evening was quiet and calm, with hotdogs and boxed potatoes au gratin (both courtesy of Aria) as our dinner. Honestly it hit the spot just to sit down in comfy pants, eat unpretentious food, and relax after our action packed day.

Given that the typhoon is only getting closer, I think the action is only going to get more exciting from here.

Venturing Into the Ginza

Last night we decided to venture out to the "Arcade" for a bite to eat and a little adventure. Any internet search engine will tell you that Sasebo is particularly famous for this one mile long outdoor mall, replete with stores, restaurants, and interesting stimuli for all the senses.

We called a cab, and 850 yen later, we were dropped off near the Jusco (AEON) department store, or "depa-to" which is pretty centrally located on The Arcade. We were equipped with a map provided by the base, marked with eateries of all kinds. We decided to head left first. No sooner had we made the 90 degree turn, than we saw a skinny man on the older side of middle-aged, wearing some very high-waisted flare-leg pants, doing a pretty solid boogaloo/locking type of dance. He was wearing earbuds which made it especially entertaining, since we could not hear the music which had him so in the zone. It took us about 10 steps for him to be in our rearview, and for Aria's focus to be shifted to a fluffy orange tabby cat which scampered past us. She wanted to pet the kitty, but we told her it might be unwise.

It was at this point that we, on a lark, decided to change directions and head toward a restaurant called "Gyuemon," which was acclaimed as a family restaurant. It was past the Jusco, across from the Mister Donut. So that's where we went. Except it wasn't there. So we wandered into a back alley nearby and found three restaurants. One sign was in kanji only... so we chose to assume it was not the right place. The second had an English translation so we knew it wasn't what we were looking for. The third, however, had a kanji character with the word "mon" written beneath it. And pictures of steak near the doorway (very delicious looking steak, I might add). Knowing the word for steak is "gyu-niku" I thought this had to be the right place. But the exterior ambiance and price points on the menu we couldn't read, made us believe we would be better served finding a different place to eat with a toddler. It was at this point we realized being able to read signs and menus was something we should not have taken for granted in the states, because it's really hard to eat when you have no idea where you're going or what you're ordering.

Next, we examined the map for an udon place. Back to the left we went, and sure enough not more than 10 feet from where the taxi first dropped us off, we found this tiny hole in the wall with the word "udon" over the doorway. We entered and were helped by a very nice old lady. Hubby was excited by the food, and found it to be delicious. Aria decided having a "no"-laden meltdown instead of eating was the best course of action. I simply enjoyed my food, which I found to be "average" and tried to make a quick exit uttering several "gomennasai's" for my daughter's outbursts as we left. The price was very reasonable, and the experience very uniquely "rural Japan." Certainly worth it.

The only issue was that we have all grown accustomed to Western portions of food, of which there are few in Japan. So we left the reasonably priced, satisfyingly tasty udon shop... still hungry. Just like my daughter's favorite caterpillar. So we decided to make dessert our next priority, and headed over to Mister Donut.

Oh... my... gosh. This place specializes in (among other things) creme or custard filled, chocolate dipped kruellers. We got a strawberry custard, a chocolate creme, and a strawberry creme donut. All of which we ate ravenously, with looks of ecstacy on our faces. Few things can compare to the taste of deep fried dough that is lighter than air, filled (just right, not over or under filled) with fluffy creme and dipped in thick decadence thereafter. Lucky for everyone everywhere, Mister Donut is a chain. So if you are ever in Japan make sure you visit one and partake of the deliciousness.

After our dessert we chose to wander The Arcade a while longer, strolling further down to the right to see what we could see. Sure enough, perhaps 50 feet from the Mister Donut, was a big, brightly lit, crayola red and yellow sign for... Gyuemon.

-_- .... At least we know where it is, now.

Monkey Frizzness

Today it became necessary to visit the NEX here on base and get some supplies. Namely, a training potty for our kiddo. She has been doing so well with potty training and we didn't want this trip to set her back too far. So we all strapped on our shoes and walked down to the NEX, where the husband took his leave of us for the day to get some work done.

After several days of living out of suitcases with limited beauty products and energy, I decided to put a little something extra into how I looked today. I put on makeup. I put product in my hair.

Then I stepped outside, into the humidity of Sasebo, and realized I had just wasted part of my morning. In mere minutes my hair was a frizzy mess, and my face was a splotchy pink mix of irritation and sweat. Then I got to chase my ever curious daughter around the base, and subsequently around the NEX, and realized any hopes of presentable attractiveness were lost for the morning. With that off my shoulders, I got to focus on not losing track of my increasingly mobile and independent toddler.

Little miss Aria has recently discovered that if she holds on to the handle of the shopping cart, she can hang and swing like a monkey as Mommy pushes. "I'm a monkey! I'm like a monkey!" she says. It is a pocket of happiness and laughter in the otherwise chore-like process of shopping out of necessity instead of desire.

She has been wanting a backpack all her own for quite some time now, but most places don't sell high quality backpacks her size, with padding in the straps and well shaped features. But today, we found THE backpack. $24 (MSRP!!) later my monkey is the proud owner of a toddler sized Hello Kitty backpack that is as adorable as it was overpriced. The stroke of luck is that her travel cup fits perfectly into it, meaning she can haul her own snacks, juice, and even diapers now. That makes me a fan of this overpriced bag. Did I mention it was overpriced? Because I feel it was overpriced. Especially since I also bought myself a wallet today, and it cost me $1.97.

Getting Here

Tearful goodbyes are difficult. But this one was especially so because we were leaving two people to whom I am particularly attached. With all its ups and downs, living with my parents had proven invaluable to me, and moreso to my daughter. She has grown and changed so much, all for the better, under the skillful added guidance of my parents. The attachment to them was not solely my own this time. Aria adores her Obaachama and Grandpa, and I knew she could not understand as we were herded through the security line, that when she said "Goodbye Obaachama! Goodbye Grandpa!" with a wave and a smile, that she was not simply leaving them for a day or two. That, compounded with the immense sense of gratitude and regret, made it impossible for me to hold back my tears (tears which apparently moved several people in line behind us to cry as well). Gratitude for my parents actions throughout my stay with them, their generosity and kindness; regret for all the petty fights I had with them and all the words I never should have said in the midst of day to day stresses and conflicts. None of these tears were a surprise to me or anyone who knows me. But they still hurt to cry.

Placing all of this in the very recent past, we moved forward and upward. Literally. For not only were we heading up to the big blue sky, we were also traveling forward in time by 16 hours. We were headed for the future in more ways than one.

Hopping on "a big airplane going to Japan" (a plane which proved much less like a cattle car than I had anticipated), we took a deep breath and attempted to prepare mentally for all that might lie ahead. And by ahead, I don't mean the next three years we will be living in Sasebo. I mean the 21 hours of travel we would face with a two and a half year old. She fluctuated between a overwhelming desire to jump up and down on the seat, a heartfelt need for cuddle time with either Mommy or Daddy, and a blissful contentedness while watching Mickey Mouse on her portable DVD player. But not once, the whole trip, did she throw a tantrum. My husband and I could not be prouder if we tried. She was nothing short of an angel, because she not only behaved herself in a truly "orikou" fashion, but she also made the trip so much more fun and focused for the two anxious grown-ups flanking her.

After a decently smooth 10.5 hours in the air, we landed somewhere in the depths of Terminal 1 at Narita Airport in Tokyo, where we were told to go through immigration, then customs, and then catch the yellow shuttle bus to Terminal 2 to catch our domestic JAL flight to Fukuoka. All of this, again, went as smoothly as I think it could have. The only moment that tugged upon my heartstrings was when we boarded the bus, and Aria said to me "we need to go home to Obaachama and Grandpa." I just looked at her with an "awww" face and said we were going to our new home in Japan. I may never know if she was satisfied with that response, but she took it anyway.

We got to the JAL check-in desk with two hours to spare. Then, my muddled speaking abilities and rusty but useful comprehension skills of the Japanese language became critical for the first time on the trip. I was asked where our checked baggage from our Delta flight was. I told the lovely lady at the counter that we did not know we needed to have it. That we were told it would be checked straight through to Fukuoka. She had her manager make a few polite phone calls, then informed me in the kindest voice imaginable, that we were mistaken and it would be necessary for us to get our checked baggage at Terminal 1, then return to Terminal 2 to check in at that time. Our 2 hour advantage was now moot. My husband determined that it was best for Aria and I to stay at behind somewhere near the JAL desk, just in case he could not make it back in time, so we could still board the plane. Off he dashed, to collect all 5 gigantic checked items on his own, and bring them back.

Aria and I waited near a small convenience store near the JAL desk, where for the first time I realized how exhausted I had become. I stared in a sugar plum daydream at the delicious Japanese cakes and sweets and omusubi and beverages I had so missed, nearly fading into a state of slumber. Bless her heart, though, Aria was dancing and singing with all the energy of a... well, a two and a half year old, frankly. Her spirit was the tank of fumes from which I pulled my last few miles. That and a distinct fear of her being kidnapped on my watch. As the quarters of the next pivotal hour ticked by, I wondered whether Aria and I were about to have our Japanese adventure alone after all. But as we migrated nervously to the doorway closest to the shuttle stop, I kept convincing myself this was nothing more than a test of faith. Sure enough, after 55 minutes, my husband stepped off the bus, and onto it again, and off again, and on again, and off once more. He had succesfully acquired our baggage, was given a cart by a courteous airport securit attendant, and rolled in with a grin on his face as he was greeted with an exuberant "Daddy!!" by the ray of sunshine who had been keeping vigilant watch at the window.

Official ticket acquisition was accomplished and we moved in a daze upstairs to our waiting area. The smell of Japanese curry wafted across the lobby into our nostrils, and we chose to give in. Hubby and I shared a bowl of airport curry; defiantly delicious and satisfying in the face of its source and price. My husband said to me something akin to, "If this is how good airport curry is, I can't wait to eat it in a real restaurant." But eating this curry turned out to be a near-dangerous mistake on my part, because within 5 minutes of finishing it I was asleep sitting up with my elbow and knee propped palm as a pillow. I woke up in time to hear the announcement that our plane was boarding, and we headed downstairs to board a bus to get to a plane on the tarmac. The Japanese passengers all showed a mind-bogglingly efficient disorganization as we rushed up the stairs to the plane door. I was reminded at long last of the spectacle that is a Japanese crowd on the move. A stampede with so few victims may never be replicated elsewhere.

Our family slept through the two hour flight to Fukuoka, and woke up reluctantly. Aria, being the most reluctant, was given several adorable, plane-themed trinkets to calm her from the smiling flight attendant. In no time she was gleefully skipping off the plane, airplane keycharm in hand. We collected our baggage, got it all into a taxi by what could be nothing short of an act of God, and were driven to our hotel where we finally made it into our closet of a room at 11:15 local time.

Whether or not this is the appropriate place in my writing for this interjection, I must make a note of the unique sensation that occurred upon my realizing it was 11:15 PM on September 11th, when I had left Oregon on September 10th. We had departed a country where the date September 11th holds a very particular significance. And like so many, for my husband, the date had always been a particularly difficult one to cope with. For as long as I can recall (anytime he was stateside at least), there was always some field of flags or memorial we visited as I tried my hardest not to ask too many questions and just be as supportive and accommodating as possible. Last year, when the 10th anniversary of the attacks came to pass, we marked the occasion with somber gratitude that our year and a half year old daughter had no idea why we were looking at a giant flag on the Norfolk waterfront. She laughed and giggled and bounced on the couch as we adults observed a moment of silence at the exact time the plane hit the first tower. I spent the day moved that so many had given of themselves, often everything, to protect this country where my daughter could smile in the sunshine blissfully unaware. Make it possible for her to have no idea what a "terrorist attack" is, at least not yet. Had our country collapsed as it could have in the wake of what happened on September 11th, 2001... who knows how much sunshine my little girl may have known? She marked the occasion later in the day by walking for the first time. All on her own. From Mommy to Daddy and back again. For both good and painful reasons, September 11th last year was a really really really big deal to us.

But only a year later, 11:15 PM on September 11th, and we realized we had all but missed it. We were in a different country, too exhausted to think or move, with no time or energy to feel heartbreak or joy. I looked at my husband and said "It's September 11th." He said "Yes it is." There was a pause between us, a mutual look of "Huh. How about that?" on our faces. Then I looked to Aria and said with a proud smile, "One year ago today you took your first steps all by yourself." She smiled back. And we went up to our tiny room, to get some much needed and deserved rest.

A short aside on technology here in Japan. The toilets have built in bidets, for both front and back, and with the push of a button my husband managed to thoroughly surprise himself. The shriek from the bathroom was priceless. No matter how many times you are educated or warned about the toilets, the first time is still a shock. The lights in the room could only be activated after the long stick attached to the keychain was inserted into a mysterious wall portal. The beds must have been designed by robots because no human would make a bed that hard. And the air conditioner... we never did figure it out. Needless to say we spent as little time as possible in our sweltering room.

We awoke the next morning and had one of the most delicious "basic buffet breakfasts" a fan of Japanese food could imagine. Miso soup, maze-gohan, omusubi, tamago yaki, tsukemono, sausages, spaghetti mixed with tobiko, a soup bar, coffee, tea, juices. These are the things that are so "normal" to the Japanese, and so astounding to a foreigner. My husband was in seventh heaven, saying "It's like your mom made all the time." If anyone could miss my mother's cooking more than me, it's my husband. I doubt he will ever look at an American hotel continental breakfast the same way again.

We returned to our room and turned on the "terebi" to discover that everything my father told me about Japanese morning shows hardly did the insanity justice. The first news set I saw was a unicorn puke combination of powder blue, bright pinks, yellows and greens with cartoonish white clouds. A panel of at least 7 hosts sat at a desk as one reporter gave her "Happy Labo" report detailing various Italian restaurants in the area, speaking over footage of her eating with obnoxious modesty and decorum (I swear she never even chewed!), and talking about how surprisingly yummy the food was. In the corner of the screen was a cut in live shot of the hosts all watching the video looking thoughtful and engaged, reacting at all the right moments. I could not tell whether I was intrigued or offended by the whole spectacle.

We decided then it was better to spend the morning exploring until our sponsor came to pick us up at noon. We went to the Hakata Station (Hakataguchi Eki) and explored all we could (which turned out to be about 10%) of the giant shopping mall that had been integrated into the station. The madness, to color, the smells and beautiful clothes and seemingly endless supply of food and omiyage everywhere was somewhere between thrilling and thoroughly overwhelming. All I know is that I didn't want to leave, and can't wait to go back someday soon.

We met our sponsor and he kindly drove us to the US Navy base in Sasebo, educating and informing us graciously as we took in the gorgeously lush scenery, awkwardly tried to decipher highway road signs, and allowed the fact we were about to live here sink in even further.

We checked into our hotel room at the Navy Lodge here in Sasebo, and did all we could to get comfortable and established right away. It all proved FINALLY be too much for Aria, who had her first meltdown of the trip. Neither my husband nor I could blame her in the least, and we simply laid with her and tried to soothe her as we told her it was alright to cry if she needed to. She would intermittently stop and sniffle, seeming to calm herself, then suddenly started wailing and sobbing again. I can't be sure, but I would almost put money on the fact everything was sinking in for her at last. We had gone through a ridiculously stressful amount of traveling in a very short period of time. We had entered a world where the language and people and sights and smells and weather were all so different. We were in a room she didn't recognize, asking her to call it "home" as if it were that simple. We had left Obaachama and Grandpa and all her new friends in Oregon behind, and neither Mommy nor Daddy could produce those people on command. EVERYTHING had changed. So many adults might have buckled under such a shift in much less time than she did. And proven far less resilient thereafter. But our amazing little Aria got it out in 20 minutes, and then consoled herself with apple juice and was off to the races again. She saw a big blue slide outside and insisted we go play on it. She delighted herself with the playground, raved about the new white rocks she found, went "fishing" with a big stick she found. She is my new role model when it comes to making the most or the best of being anywhere, anytime, anyhow.

I want to say "I never could have predicted my two year old would be my hero and role model on this trip." But it's not true. I know my Aria, and knew all along she would be the hero in this story. She has been from the day we knew of her existence, and has been every day since. Which is why I know how amazing being here in Sasebo is going to be. Because she is here beside me, taking it in, and showing me how to love it.