Eating Alone

(Zaventem, Belgium/March 28) I arrived at my hotel near the Brussels airport with enough daylight left for a walk before dinner. I ended up giving myself a walking tour of Zaventem, the village whose property values I would have expected to have been ruined by adjacency to Brussels's international airport.

I had half a mind to get dinner at a bistro or pub in the town, looking forward to something a little more homey and atmospheric than hotel fare. However, most places were closed for Easter Monday (which is a holiday in most of Europe), the places that were open were mainly Chinese or other ethic, which is not what I was in the mood for, and I didn't see a credit card sticker in the window of the few open "native" establishments, which was important because I'd foolishly forgotten to change my wallet cash from yen to euros before I'd set out.

I was a bit ashamed to realize that I was glad for the excuse to retreat to the foreigner-friendly hotel for dinner. My first time in Belgium, on business, I stayed for more than a month. There is great romance, nostalgia, and pride in boldly going to local restaurants where my Japanese coworkers were too timid to go before. Now the small native places seem closed to me, or at least too intimidating. I don't know whether it's because I've lost courage or because this time I'm just passing through and lack the sense of belonging and entitlement.

Amsterdam, Schiphol Airport

On first leg of business trip to Brussels, London, and New York before flying home with three-night layover with my parents near Denver.

This is my first trip out of Japan in about two years. My immediate impressions are how casual such a great change of place has become. I also notice that I don't tower over the other travelers here in Schiphol Airport as I did in Japan. It strikes me again as it has on other business trips, that I blend in with the crowd much better here in a country where I have only spend two or three days than I ever will in my whole life in Japan. Sometimes the book's cover counts for a lot.

My preparation for this trip was correspondingly casual and last-minute, giving me a bit of concern (but not too much) that I have forgotten to pack something important. I finished packing my clothes only a half-hour before I had to leave for the airport. How little sleep I did with the night before the flight will remain my secret.

The flight from Kansai Airport went smoothly. I sat in business class on the 747's upper deck. Food was good. Watched The Incredibles (first time in English, fun and unexpectedly touching movie) and the Neverland movie with Johnny Depp. Slept fitfully for maybe three hours, which is very good for me on an airplane. Arrived in Amsterdam ahead of schedule, in time to make the early connection to Brussels that should start boarding any minute.

Easter

I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the LORD.–Psalms 118:17

Holy Thursday

Tonight is the 1,970-somethingth anniversary of the first Holy Communion celebrated by Jesus Christ with His disciples on the night before He gave up His life for us. It is also exactly the twentieth anniversary of my own First Communion and entry into the Catholic Church.

Nearly half my life I've now lived as a Catholic (exactly half next year). A half-life ago, faith was new, heady, and powerful. I was surfing on the crest of a tsunami that swept away the wreckage of what then seemed like a long period of meaninglessness. I didn't know the direction the wave carried me, but I rested in the blessed assurance that the right way was the way the wave was going.

It's hard to say how long the ride lasted, but here is where the wave deposited me. Now faith is cool and still, a thin steel rod instead of the thick sinewy cord of twenty years ago. It is now an anchor holding me in place against the buffeting waves of distractions, selfish interests, work, housekeeping. I have let the anchor chain play out a little too far, though, and while the hold is solid, the buffets keep me farther from the center than is healthy.

About Me

I am a Catholic husband and father of five children. I work as a manager at a Japanese IT service company. We live in a suburb of Osaka, Japan. I am a United States citizen resident in Japan for the last 14 years.

I have often used papa (in the sense of father, not that of Pope) as a net name as a reminder of my first and highest calling, whether I am in front of a computer or elsewhere.

I've decided to at least start this blog under my net name for no big reason. I don't anticipate posting any dread secrets, but all else being equal a little privacy is better than none at all. For the future, it would certainly be easier to drop the net name and start blogging under my real name than to withdraw my real name after blogging with it for some time.

About This Blog

papa no ibasho is my first real venture into blogspace. Based on my past knack for getting interested in technologies only after they've past their "Best If Eaten By" dates, it is probably also the death-knell for blogspace. I've never let that stop me before, so I apologize in advance to all you soon-to-be-former bloggers.

Since 1991 I have enjoyed the rare opportunity of working, living, and raising a family in Japan. The purpose of this blog is to share experiences, knowledge, and insights I continue to gain in this adventure. I hope to foster a deeper understanding of Japan, as well as of my home country, the United States, viewed from an outside perspective. Since my thoughts, interests, and concerns are not limited to Japan, the focus of my writing here will not be exclusively on Japan. However, I will try to keep it mainly so, and interesting in any case.

Becoming a writer has been a long-unacted-upon ambition of mine. I hope to use this blog to build discipline and hone my skills. Therefore I will appreciate any comments you care to make on either my content or my form.

papa no ibasho is Japanese for "A Place for Papa".