The sweatshirt itself wasn’t homemade but the design on the sweatshirt was. He had creatively attached a doily of lace to the front of a black sweatshirt. He had also made the design on his backpack match the design on his sweatshirt.

Wait… let me catch y’all up…

In Hiroshima, Japan, I met up with a friend I captured made on a walking tour in Kyoto the week before called Loa, a friend I made on the bus to Hiroshima, called Laura, with whom I shared my bananas and with whom I took copious amounts of free samples at very non-stabby Japanese highway rest stops, and a new friend, called Maciel, who Loa and I persuaded to go with us to Miyajima Island whilst she was carefully putting spaghetti in a Tupperware container in the guesthouse kitchen that morning. Seeing as how Maciel was going the same direction as Loa and I, we decided to all go together and meet up with Laura outside the 7/11 near the terminal for the ferry to Miyajima Island.

Let me explain the Japanese rest stop comment. I’m American and very aware that when you go into a rest stop during a road trip, you do one of a few things: buy over priced snacks that may or may not be expired (do not eat the sushi or anything under a hot lamp), maybe use the toilet (sometimes at your own risk and while hovering over the seat), and rarely talk to people. In Japan, however, the bus would stop every hour to allow passengers to use the toilet, stretch, get foods, etc. The toilets at the rest stops were spotlessly clean and the food was fresh – with FREE SAMPLES. Very much not in the category of ‘stabby’.

Onigiri in hand, the four of us boarded the ferry to Miyajima Island for the day. Here are the highlights of the afternoon:

• Maciel had her backpack nibbled on by a deer. Apparently, Nara isn’t the only place where deer walk up to people without hesitation begging for attention or guesthouse kitchen made spaghetti.
• We took the tram to the first stop up to the top of the mountain and then decided to hike the second part. Turned out to be more intense than we had thought. So, we did what any group of adults would do and briefly pretended we were playing the drums from Jumanji (the original with Robin Williams). Then we each took a turn saying “How is Peter?” in the respective languages we knew. Between us, that accounted for nine different languages or dialects to ask how Peter was. We were very concerned about this fellow. When one of us said in French “Comment va Peter?”, a voice from ahead of us responded with “I am fine.” And in a respective language that we knew, we simultaneously shouted some version of the word awesome.
• At the top of the mountain, whilst Maciel ate her now cold spaghetti from her Tupperware, Loa, Laura and I practiced very bad yoga poses on the rocks (maybe it was just me and Laura that did that) and looked around the peaks out to the bay and land below. The view was incredible.
• Back at the base of the mountain, we were able to walk out to the Itsukushima Floating Torii Gate because the tide had receded, and you could tell upon approaching that it was now selfie season. There were locals pulling mussels from the sand and you were able to walk up to the barnacle covered base of this structure that I have only seen in magazines… it was amazing, truly, to make it real, make it tangible.

Famished. Hungry. Ravenous. Each of those words could easily describe how we were feeling on the ferry back to the mainland. Bouncing around ideas of what to eat, we all decided that okonomiyaki was on the menu for dinner, and luckily for us, Loa knew of a great place to go. She had stayed with a local in Hiroshima while couch surfing the days prior to meeting up with me and was taken to a hole in the wall that was delicious she said. So, we all agreed on venturing to that hole in the wall restaurant where only one person in our group (Maciel) could brokenly help us get food. Maciel knew enough Japanese. I knew only the phrase Maciel taught us and then how to say a myriad of random words that, together, would make no sense to anyone. I feel that we were set up for a fun night. Loa had been to the restaurant, Maciel knew some Japanese, and Laura and I… well, we were 100% game for this, hungry and excited (not necessarily in that order).

Once we made our way to the restaurant, I saved it on Google Maps just in case we wanted to come again in the following days. I also snapped a photo of the outside to translate later. Turns out, the translation from Google Maps just means okonomiyaki. So… there’s that. In case you, too, want to venture to this hole in the wall of deliciousness, it’s the location marked with the heart icon, just above city hall and Costco.

Let’s set the scene… There’s barely enough room to walk between the seats around the hibachi and the wall, lined with coats and a doily embroidered backpack. Behind the hibachi is a gray haired lady full of energy and excited to see four new faces enter her restaurant. In the seats sat older men who looked as excited as the older lady to see new faces in their regular night hangout. As we walked by, feeling like B level celebrities, we found our way to a table elevated above a platform with just enough room for us to sit cross-legged.

You may be thinking that the process from this point is normal, as in we order our food. But no. I am fortunate enough to not have normal happen that often, which is great when you’re open to it. Without being prompted or being heavily persuaded, we made our okonomiyaki. Yes, the energetic lady behind the hibachi had us line up behind said hibachi in pairs and learn to make our okonomiyaki. The older men seated around the hibachi got another round of Asahi and settled in for … an experience. The lady laughed at us, the men laughed at us and everyone laughed with us as we tried to break a language barrier using only hand signals and laughter. I think the pictures below will help explain how it went better than words ever could.

Now… to the homemade sweatshirt. One of the gentlemen in this beautiful scene had carefully placed lace doily patterns on his sweatshirt, sweatpants and his backpack (which you can see in the video at the end of the post). He also serenaded us with his ukulele. Do I remember his name? No. What I remember is how he made us all smile. He took the time to talk to us about Elvis, music, his passion for making his clothes so unique, sharing a beer (or two or three) with us, and sang us a song. He was so good, we had him do an encore.

After letting the food settle (and honestly just taking in the entire scene over and over), we made our way back to our respective hostels or guesthouses. I don’t think any of us stopped smiling. After this night, the four of us wouldn’t be together for another week or so, when we just happened to be in Osaka at the same time.

It’s days like this and nights like this that implant the travel bug deeper into my soul. Even now, two and a half years later, I smile and laugh at the memories. I’m sure I forgot to mention some things that Loa, Laura, and Maciel remember. I’m happy to share these memories with them. And so, the stories will continue.

Please enjoy the video of … well, I don’t remember his name but here he is. Enjoy. 🙂