After the madness of the roadtrip, and the impending departure date looming large, the decision to spend some serious time around the rice fields was more the welcomed. Saturday morning saw me waking a little hung-over after the previous night’s festivities, which pretty much goes unchanged in the Nagai household – dinner and a long chat around the table, all the while downing drink upon drink. Amazingly, I hadn’t actually been all that drunk in Japan yet, despite the copious amounts of alcohol being offered around. The thing is, I didn’t feel all that drunk the night before either, but I guess it just all caught up with me at once.
Last night was particularly jovial, though, and was punctuated by a strangely moving (but equally just plain weird) moment between Otosan and I. Before coming to Japan, I had misgivings about how I would react to Satomi’s Dad. Obviously, the tension between Dad and his eldest daughter was something which worried her, and as a result I mainly only heard the bad stories. He was quite clearly a very conservative man, and in a very conservative country; the stories Satomi told me about him not ever cooking or cleaning and always being critical of the food prepared for him… I had no idea how my relatively progressive attitudes would meld with his. He worked hard, though, and provided a loving, caring atmosphere in his home. We hit it off well so far and despite the one monumental cultural slip up, I seemed to be passing all the right tests to become part of the Nagai family. He made it abundantly clear last night that I was more than approved of, with his antics, while soaked in Asahi and sake, tugging on the heart strings.
We had finished dinner and were settling into the night when I decided it was time for my ritualistic “breather” outside. Half way through the cigarette, Otosan appeared beside me, dressed in the bright orange Fretfest promotional t-shirt I had brought for him as an omiyage present. Hopelessly swimming on his thin, wiry frame, the shirt was in no way going to be a staple in his wardrobe – but he did crack it out every now and then just to show that he appreciated the gesture. So, here we were, one of the only times without any translation and we began to talk. We discussed the full moon, the liveliness of the dog, the heat and oppressive humidity (which he didn’t seem to feel) and the height of the rice fields (still about 3 more weeks to go before harvest, apparently)… all of this without either of us understanding a word of what the other was saying. We wandered up and down the driveway for a bit, before he grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously. Standing close, face to face, he uttered a long, heart-felt speech and never once stopped grasping my hand. I looked straight into his glassy eyes and thanked him, before he put both arms around me and hugged me! I naturally hugged him back, but he wasn’t satisfied with just that – and so he proceeded to bear hug me and lift me a good 3 feet off the ground. And this is no mean feat – just a touch shorter than me, the man is nothing but bone and toned, working-man muscle. Still, my fleshy 75kgs would surely having him struggling – but no, he kept me suspended for a good 40 seconds or so, before dropping me and challenging me to do the same to him. My flimsy frame barely put air between the soles of his shoes and the concrete – which provided him much mirth as he playfully pressed my biceps and ridiculed my pitiful muscle tone. Pulling apart, he began a classic macho-man competition and raised his shirt sleeve to show me his rippling arms, before I was thankfully rescued by a rather bemused Satomi. Thank god! I relayed the story to Satomi in a playful way and pretended to be bemused by the evening’s events and Otosan’s drunken behaviour – but deep down, I knew that even with the haze of alcohol, tonight meant a lot between the soon-to-be father-in-law and son-in-law.
We woke to a relatively quiet household on Saturday, with Asami, Okasan and Otosan all at work (Otosan helps out at a couple of local businesses when the rice is busily growing by itself). We eased into the day with a leisurely breakfast before getting ready and heading out to check out the last day of the wood-carving camp (where I also got to eat Anzac bickies!) and for a clothes shopping spree. Buoyed by my recent expedition to the DFO in Brisbane, I had come out of my fashion-buying slumber and was now firmly back on the clothes agenda. The first stop was Uniqlo – a Japanese institution of good quality, but ridiculously cheap clothes. After an hour, I walked out with 2 pairs of jeans, a pair of slacks, a pair of tracksuit pants and 2 t-shirts all for about 18,000 yen (about $160). Chuffed by the experience, we headed over to a department store for yet more spree madness before making our way back home.
The rest of Saturday and into the evening was spent packing all of Satomi’s worldly possessions to be either posted to Australia, or taken with us in a suitcase. I also took possession of a second-hand wheeled suitcase which had been gathering dust in the Nagai attic, to ease with the up-coming traveling extravaganza. Sunday we woke early and prepared a proper Albion fry up feast for breakfast – which went down a treat. Being Asami’s 27th birthday, we hung out around the house and continued to soak up its loving vibes, before getting ready for a special birthday dinner… or so I thought it was a special birthday dinner. As night fell, Satomi’s bags had been collected and were currently on their way to Kansai International Airport, and the imminent departure hung in the air like a cloud. We were ushered into the formal part of the house, where Satomi’s aunty (Otosan’s big sister) was already awaiting us – along with a massive sushi feast! Being ordered in, the platters of sushi and sashimi were a Nagai tradition for signaling a Big Event, and tonight being Asami’s birthday was an event worthy, I thought. It all began a little strangely, however, as Otosan again began a long speech directed at me, which roughly translated to him once again welcoming me to the family. Thanking him (again), I also toasted Asami’s special event – fearing that we were stealing her thunder. I was to be in no doubt as to the real intentions of the evening, though, when I was asked to open the specially-made birthday cake… however, it was no birthday cake – inscribed on the chocolate writing on top in both English and Japanese was: “Congratulations Ben and Satomi”.
It finally sank in now (yeah, I’m a tad slow sometimes) that this was actually a good-bye party for Satomi and I. And as we polished off the last of the 2-litre bottle of Asahi, I once again allowed Otosan to liquor me up with sake and soaked into our last night in Inami for some time.
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