Eating the Noodle of Prejudice

Sorry for Saturday's konichiwaaaaaa, the miles must've caught up with me. Yesterday the sun rose and my spirits did, too. Started the day naked with a few dozen strangers in a hot bath. Japan is famed for their onsen, and I wasn't about to miss my chance. I can't tell you the name of the place - everything was in Japanese - but it's at Takuin Station. A full day's soaking, sauna-ing and steaming cost less than ten dollars ... and I paid extra to rent the big towel.

The onsen has 3 sections: Men's, Lady's and Family. I wish I'd had the courage to go co-ed, but that didn't happen. Plus, I don't want the Japanese thinking I'm some kind of a pervert. So I joined the ladies and soaked in sulfur water heated to a healthy 42 degrees centigrade. Yummy. The sauna had a television set, and we watched Ichiro and Team Japan put the hurt on Korea in the World Baseball Classic.

Some random observations from Fukuoka, in no particular order:

Bikini waxing has not yet caught on among the Japanese.

Even the fat women have NO cellulite.

Bus drivers say "arrigato gozaimasu" to every single passenger as they depart, even when there are thirty people leaving at a stop.

Those yellow plastic things in the middle of the sidewalks are navigational aids for blind people. This is also why a little song plays when it's OK to cross the street.

Sumo wrestling can be pretty bloody, but the ref doesn't stop the match to wipe everyone down the way they do in basketball.

Complete strangers who speak not a word of English will stop when they see you puzzling over a map, and take the time to walk you in the right direction. I pray fervently that none of these kind souls ever visit America.

To eat the noodle of prejudice is good meal. I have no idea what this means, but I saw it on a sign.

Last night was my final opportunity to sample more yatai (street food stalls) and this time I made it down to the biggest district, where dozens of stalls line the street. I ducked into a few places and narrowly escaped accidentally eating horse. Then, I hit the mother lode. My final stall had octopus dumplings and ramen and shiitake yakitori but the best thing it had was Towa. He sidled up, poured more Asahi in my glass and pretty soon he couldn't keep his hands off me. So what if he's five and we were playing pattycake. I have a Japanese boyfriend and you don't. Try to contain your envy.

Towa's mother Rieko initially spoke no English at all, but as the Asahi flowed she relaxed and began trying out what she remembered from high school. Which, I must admit, is a hell of a lot more than the Japanese I remember from college. She's also kept up by watching "ER" and "CSI" and seemed appalled that I've never seen either show. (Common interests are so important when evaluating future in-laws.)

Rieko and I ate and drank and talked while I flirted with her son for three hours. Near the end, I asked her where she was from. "Nagasaki," she said. "You have heard of Nagasaki?"

Yes, my new friend. I have heard of Nagasaki. At home, Americans were protesting the third year of a new war. In Fukuoka, Rieko and I were toasting peace. Is good meal.