Strait and DeGraff From Japan: Those Markers are Washable

(these photos have nothing to do with anything, but I thought you all might enjoy them. Jonas loves markers. But he hasn't quite figured out how to use them. Or maybe he has).

A weekend ago, we used a three-day holiday to go skiing/snowboarding in a nearby prefecture called Iwate. We made reservations at a smallish, family run place called Rocky’s Hotel (here in Japan they’re called pensions – somewhere between a bed and breakfast and a regular-old hotel). Frankly, we were surprised there was an opening. Just about everything everywhere was booked, and this place looked pretty sweet. We get there, and the owner, Sato, says he doesn’t know anything about our reservation, but that he’ll find a room for us. The same thing happened to an Australian couple who booked using the same Internet service, hostelbookers.com, an English website that books hotels/hostels all over world. Initially, Sato explained the discrepancy by saying his Internet had been spotty the last few days. Later that night, after much sake, the truth came out.

“Speak English -- OK. Read English -- not OK,” he said.

“I get email from hostelbookers.com. I don’t know what it says.”

So, Sato signed his place up with this English website, knowing that all the reservations would be in English, and also knowing that neither he, nor anyone in his family, could read any English whatsoever. I think this pretty much summed up Sato. He thought this was hilarious. He thought most things were hilarious. His told us his favorite actor was Eddie Murphy, and he constantly cracked jokes that were frequently very difficult to understand. Here’s one that I did get, although it took me a full day to figure out.

Sato drives a Jeep Wrangler. He also wears Wrangler jeans. At the bar (he ran the place, and also the bar – sort of a Japanese Sam Malone), he pointed at his brother in the kitchen and said that his brother loves American trucks.

“He has a Dodge Ram – I have a dodge wife,” he said, falling over himself with laugher. Then he said it again. The next day, I figured out that he has a dodge wife – or, he avoids getting married. But who knows if that’s the real joke.

Another one. As his mother, a sweet, tiny woman, walked up the steps toward the kitchen after cleaning the downstairs rooms:

“Here comes my uncle – I mean my mother.” He repeated the joke again. He repeated all his jokes two or three times. His uncle, I mean his mother, just smiled.

Some shots of the area. I swear, it snows so often here that I feel like I'm living in one of those snow globes, and that every few hours, someone just shakes it up.

As you might expect, Sato was my kind of guy. As we were leaving, he demanded that we all get a picture in front of the building. And so here we are.

The highlight of the weekend, beyond even the skiing, was the food. Both meals were, hands down, among the best food we’ve eaten in Japan, and at $30 apiece, Tricia thought maybe the best meal for that prices she’s ever had. Sato’s brother studied French cooking somewhere, and before the first dinner, Sato claimed that a meal like this would cost $100+ per person at the main ski lodge further up the mountain. I figured he was boasting, but after dinner, I ‘m not so sure.

An example of one meal (I don’t think I have the order correct):

First course: a salt-incrusted, smoked Japanese trout, baked on a stick over an open fire.

Second course: a green salad with a thin layer of tofu, which gave the salad a real kick.

Third course: garlic and something (the menu was in Japanese, so I don’t know) soup.

Fourth course: pork medallions in some type of sauce, topped with a soft-boiled egg.

Fifth course: a slice of chocolate cake with ice cream, with “Thank You” spelled out in fudge sauce (wait, I thought they couldn’t read any English!).

Here is the breakfast spread.

These dudes were from Tokyo. The night before, they passed around a bottle of 60 proof sake for everyone to try. It tasted awful, and they were awfully drunk. But also very nice. They loved Jonas, but come on. Who doesn't.