‘Er Indoors had bought a number of packets of dried mango for gift-giving purposes, and the Office Manager was thrilled to receive some, while the Cereal Queen was sent into rapture at the sight of a packet of Just Right. Again, I’m not kidding. Your actual common or garden breakfast cereal is a rare commodity in the Land of the Rising Sun.
With that out of the way, it was down to exchanging news, eating and drinking. Kitchen Stadium is s a New York style restaurant and bar serving pastas, pizzas, rice, steak, chicken, seafood and vegetable dishes prepared in an open kitchen easily visible from the booth where we were sitting.
The four of us worked our way through a multitude of tastes, though the task of splitting some platters four ways was a slight problem. Still, you don’t always want to try absolutely everything. One dish arrived with an accompanying bottle of Tabasco, and when the waiter learned that I was partial to a spot of hot sauce he returned with a range of bottles from Belize. Very nice, but extremely hot and a perfect example of why Hughesy’s taste buds don’t detect delicate or subtle flavours.
Still, my appreciation of the sauces on offer was rewarded with a sample of an incendiary little number from Okinawa, home to our friendly waiter and the group sitting at the table next to ours, chain-smoking and engaged in a serious celebration of a win in the grand final of the national High School baseball championship which we’d spotted on various TV screens in the course of our afternoon’s travels.
Hughesy’s photo albums from the Australia filming in Bowen also attracted a deal of interest from two girls who’d spent six months helping out ‘Er Indoors and Bowen High’s Japanese teacher.
Our train back to Kosoku Kobe was sufficiently crowded when we boarded just after ten o’clock to make finding seats a matter of good luck rather than good management, though the population had thinned considerably by the time we arrived, well and truly ready for another good night’s sleep, which wasn’t looming on the immediate horizon since the convenient entrance to the station we’d discovered had been closed, presumably around the time the book stalls had closed.
However, our earlier attempts to locate the hotel had left us with some knowledge of the neighbourhood and, once we’d found our way out of the station, the task of navigating back to the accommodation wasn’t all that difficult.
Much easier than it would have been if we’d selected the right exit in the afternoon.
In other words, what you lose on the roundabout you make up for on the hurdy-gurdy.