It is my 62nd birthday, and we decide on a restaurant hopping spree—a multi cuisine, multi-stop celebration, some soba noodles, some sashimi, some sea urchin, some Spanish paella, some spaghetti.
Illustration/Uday Mohite
And so we head to Kanazawa, in central Japan, my friend Tariq and I—it is a far cry from Tokyo, it is no sleepy town, wonderful old Geisha neighbourhoods, we’re staying in the samurai district, architecture like no other in its compactness and composure. This is truly traditional Japan.
ADVERTISEMENT
It is my 62nd birthday, and we decide on a restaurant hopping spree—a multi cuisine, multi-stop celebration, some soba noodles, some sashimi, some sea urchin, some Spanish paella, some spaghetti.
First pit stop is an Irish pub, run by Tony, and his Japanese wife, Momo (a Michelle Yeoh lookalike)—English is a problem in Japan, so I’m happy, both these colourful characters speak their own version of the language.
Tony, he with red tousled hair, and a toothless grin with his Irish accent and Momo, a Kanazawaite, in a kimono, but with a Belfast attitude—the Tony-Momo duo are a comedic act, surly with each other, he grimaces and grunts, she grumbles, their banter straight out of a 70s sit com.
He cooks, she serves. But united by the world that is Kanazawa.
“He very razy… he sreep all day,” Momo complains.
“It’s ‘sleep’ not ‘sreep’ you crazy woman,” Tony mumbles.
“I heard that, Tony,” she warns.
Van Morrison, the great Northern Ireland musician spins on the record player.
“Do you have any other music?” I stupidly ask.
Peace turns to war.
“There is no other music, like Van Morrison,” Tony replies, dryly.
Momo brings out a small cake for me, the pub erupts in a joyful celebration.
I ask Tony where he’s from. “Ireland,” he answers in a monosyllabic monotone.
“I meant, where in Ireland?”
“Dublin,” continuing the monosylabic monotone, and then returns to his bruschetta, which I suspect is quite burnt by now.
“If you had a chance to travel to anywhere in the world, Tony?
“Ireland,” he answers, head in the oven.
“And besides Ireland?”
“Ireland.”
A man, sitting at one of the tables, with three small boys of varying ages, seven to eleven, join in the chorus of celebration.
They are from Israel, I join them at their table, with small pieces of Momo’s cake, Ariel, the father is astonished I am from India.
“You don’t look Indian,”Ariel tells me, “and your name is Raoul... you must be Spanish”
(I have made my name “Raoul” in Japan, since the Japanese don’t have an “h” in their alphabet).
Ariel tells me his story, “We have left Israel, one year for sure, two years maybe, we return only when the situation improves.”
The three boys are now squabbling about some ChatGBTissue.
“I don’t know which is harder, sometimes, the battle for Gaza or bringing up three boys,” says, half jokingly.
“The world only sees it from the Palestinian point of view, but a bomb for a bomb leaves babies dead on both sides”
“You left Israel, because of the war, Ariel?”
“Televiv, where we’re from is ok, at the moment… but who knows in the future, but its not just the war, Raoul… the leadership in Israel has become morally corrupt, Benjmamin Netanyahu was a good man, some years ago… but power corrupts, and the world is presently ruled by despots, dictators and men with dementia.”
I nodded.
“The whole world is on the side of Palestine now... but no one really knows whats, happening inside our country… this whole Gaza issue has blown the world apart, certainly ours—you ever been to Israel ..?”
“I guess since I’m half Christian, I’d like to go to Jerusalem and Bethlehem.”
“No, not now don’t go now, not safe,” he said Ariel turns his attention to Tony, “Is the lasagne ready please?”
Tony is irritated, “You ordered the lasagne, 30 minutes ago, good food takes time, it’s being packed up.”
“Tonys lasagne is inedible, but somehow the kids love it,” Arial laughs through his obvious stress.
“Shalom Raoul,” he says to me, “You should visit Televiv, your 63rd birthday maybe. My Uber is here, come on boys, Noah, get off your phone!”
Ariel leaves, and Van Morrison plays on the recorder, singing of men who can’t return to their homelands because of war.
Rahul daCunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahul.dacunha@mid-day.com
Subscribe today by clicking the link and stay updated with the latest news!" Click here!
