Return To Okinawa

So, the thing to remember when traveling to Okinawa - and, I didn't forget this - is that the flight is eternal. I can't say for sure how long it took us to set foot on Okinawan soil (because, at some point, we crossed the International Dateline), but about 30 minutes before landing, I somehow had the foreboding feeling that we'd never actually get there.  This was not a flash to my childhood complaints to my dad asking, "Are we there yeeettttt?" No, no.  This was truly the sinking feeling that we'd never actually get there.

Before arriving, however, we had some fun spots.  My favorite began with the wife and I walking through the Vancouver International Airport in BC discussing whether or not Curling was a sport or a game, and if only a game, how is it that it is an Olympic sport (not realizing until later that they are called the Olympic Games.)  We eventually found the gate for our next flight and sat down in the lovely airport to watch some of the Olympic coverage.  Bless the gods of sport (or games), curling was on.  To her awe, I was able to explain some of the rules and basic strategies, and, of course, why I seemed to know so much about the game (I watched a lot of the coverage during the 2002 games).

As the match (is that what you call it?) progressed, I was amused by two things: people seemed to move themselves to seats closer to us (I was wondering if they were trying to listen to my commentary); and, 2) Miwa was really getting into the match.  We were cheering on the Canadian Men's team as they were playing against whomever.  Outbursts of "wow!" and "woah!" were common.  My fists flew into the air in triumph several times.

That was amusing to me.  Miwa had so quickly become very interested in the game that as the match wrapped up I offered, "and you were wondering why the sport/game caught fire in 2002...."

Several, several hours later, we found ourselves in the Haneda airport waiting for our connecting flight to Okinawa.  We were hoping to have enough time to hop a train to Tokyo to find a good ramen stand, then jet back to the airport to catch our flight out of Dodge, but the Japan Airlines representative said that it would be a bit "kitsui", so we decided to forage for food in the airport.

To my delight, the better half of me spotted a little restaurant that served katsu curry.  Now, to understand the coolness of this, I have been hankering for a decent katsu curry for, well, since I left Okinawa 14 years ago.  I've had it a time or two in the States, but it had always left me a little disappointed.  And the shame is that it's not a difficult dish to make.  It's really quite simple, like making toast or oatmeal. But for some reason, no one could get it right.  So, at the airport, I asked the hot gal with me to take a picture of me with my katsu curry.  It was...okay.  Better than the other katsu curries I had in the States, but it lacked the potatoes or carrots one would expect in a superior serving of curry.

Shortly after scratching the katsu curry itch, I saw the realization of George Constanza's dream: stall doors that reach all the way down to the floor.  I as a little concerned when I first walked in because the ... throne ... had a number of buttons and lights on it.  And while I can read Japanese, I can't read Chinese.  But I guessed, and guessed right.  Back to George and his stall, it really does have its benefits.  I really think he was onto something there.  There was a nice sense of solitude in there.  Quite nice.

Some hours (eternal hours) later, we arrive in Okinawa at 11 pm'ish.  We got off the plane, waited for our bags, met the in-laws, and got a free ride back to their home.  (Which contrasted with my mission, when we got off the plane at 1:30 am, got to the President's home at 3 am, got to sleep at 3:30 am, then got up at 6 am that morning.  Brutal!)