Saga Prefecture

When I broadened my search for an Airbnb in Fukuoka, a whole house listing appeared south of Fukuoka city proper. The listing caught my eye as several photos were taken in the fall season when the maple leaves transform into brilliant hues of red, orange and yellow. I thought the cost to rent a house in Japan would be prohibitive, but the rental of this house was actually less expensive than many hotel rooms in Fukuoka. 

The home was in Arita, a town in Saga Prefecture, which borders Fukuoka Prefecture to the south. The location didn't suit our need for the first night in Japan, but a stay there would fulfill us visiting Saga Prefecture as part of our understanding to visit every prefecture in Japan. I was completely unfamiliar with the prefecture or the town when I booked our stay. 

When looking at the map around Arita, I saw that the town of Imari was nearby. The town name reminded me of ‘Imari ware,’ a term my mother used for some of her ceramic dishes and pottery. Several online sources indicated that the area was historically known for its porcelain so I made that a consideration during our visit so we could gain an understanding of the local culture.

I also thought we could take an excursion from Arita to Nagasaki Prefecture, which was further to the south. Besides its border with Saga, Nagasaki Prefecture is surrounded by the ocean so we would have to return back through Saga Prefecture in order to get to other places. With that in mind, I committed to stay in Arita for several nights to provide some time to visit both Saga and Nagasaki Prefectures. 

One of my good friends had told me that he and his family preferred this kind of ‘hub and spoke’ approach when they traveled. The idea is to stay in one place and make short excursions from there to nearby locations before taking a travel day to the next location, or hub. Doing so can make for longer travel days, but limits the number of times that you have to pack and move.

I don’t recall reading the history of the house in Arita online, but seeing the pictures made me think that staying there would also give us a Japanese cultural experience. The photos showed an older looking home with tatami (rice straw) floors in some rooms and shoji (rice paper) doors that made me think, ‘Japan.’ Cultural experience aside, I felt good about renting the house since it had great reviews with photos of a modernized kitchen and bathroom with a bathtub, my now predetermined differentiator for our stays on this trip to Kyushu. 

We set out from the car rental shop in our replacement rental car using the map application on my phone. We briefly tried the English language GPS in the new rental car, but the destination addresses still required entry in Japanese which we, of course, could not do. The Airbnb was a one and a half hour drive according to the map application on my phone. The drive would take us on a major road and then onto our first experience driving on a Japanese expressway. 

All of the Japanese expressways that we traversed in Kyushu were toll roads. I had read a travel tip to order a rental car with an ETC toll card in order to avoid having to stop at toll booths. ETC is a credit card sized card that is inserted in a card reader and remains under the front dashboard of the car. When entering and exiting an expressway, there are manned and unmanned toll gates that you traverse. ‘ETC’ is clearly written on the roadway and on signage in English to identify the unmanned lanes that possess the ETC card technology. 

We quickly became humored by the gate arms that allow a vehicle to pass through a toll gate at the entrance onto a tolled expressway. For ETC lanes, the gate arms are painted with large red and white diagonal stripes. Each arm covers a portion of the lane in the closed position to prevent a vehicle from passing through. When a vehicle approaches with the proper ETC credentials, the two arms violently and simultaneously swing upwards and away at about a 45 degree angle from the approaching vehicle. From the rider’s perspective, it looks similar to a person raising their arms in celebration. 

Just prior to the trip Woody learned that ‘yatta’ is the Japanese expression for ‘hooray’- pronounced - ‘yaht-tah’. Having watched the toll gates swing open, Woody raised her arms and hands and shouted, ‘yatta!’ when we passed through. That started our Japanese toll road game. We would try to be the first to yell ‘yatta!’ as we drove through the toll gates. 

The first time that we both shouted, ‘yatta!’, we burst out in laughter like a couple of very silly children. From that point on, it became a bit of a competition. You were hopeful that the other person wasn’t paying attention, but that rarely happened. Rather, we both became adept at anticipating the moment when the arms would swing open. Let’s just say that it wasn’t consistent from toll gate to toll gate which built additional suspense and lots of laughter.

Using the limited maps application on my phone, we successfully made it to the town of Arita. It’s hard to describe what it’s like to use the mapping application and a downloaded map with no data access. It may not seem like something one would celebrate and be thankful for, but I am still amazed that we were able to make it to the Airbnb in Arita with the limited tools that we had. Again, we felt the guiding hand of God helping us on our journey. 

That grace extended back even prior to our trip because I use Google Maps to virtually visit the places before booking when taking trips. When I was looking at the Airbnb locations online from our home, I received a notice that I don’t recall ever seeing before. Google warned that we might have limited cell service along certain routes that I was mapping and had suggested that I download the maps so that they would be available if we were offline. I’m so grateful that I got the message and took the suggestion and downloaded the maps to my phone. I can’t imagine how we would have managed otherwise.

The rental home and parking area was in an old section of Arita where many structures were built well over a hundred years ago. The home’s owner was not going to be in Arita during our stay, but had set up a time for us to meet his associate, Mr. Takada, in the home’s designated parking area. 

The main road through this section of town was a well maintained two way street that meanders between mostly old, two story buildings, and is part street and sidewalk. The home’s parking area was located just behind the row of buildings with a very narrow alleyway connecting it to the main road. A telephone pole obstructed part of the alley where it intersected with the main road that made it look more like a walkway. Even though I had reviewed the area earlier, I didn’t realize how tiny the alleyway was. 

Here again, I was grateful to God. The Google Map’s employee that drove and mapped the town of Arita was, for whatever reason, compelled to drive the 100 or so feet down the alleyway so that it was viewable when using the map app. I’m fairly certain that I would not have thought that it was permissible to drive down that alley had I not viewed it in Street View. Even after I had driven on it and parked there, I missed the turn onto that alley a couple of times during our stay.

When we arrived at the parking area, there was a small sign in English that stated that a space was reserved for ‘Villa Kaeda,’ the English name of our Airbnb. That let us know that we had made it to the right place. I was extremely grateful that my first day of driving in Japan had concluded with us getting to our intended destination.

We arrived about 30 minutes prior to the planned meeting time so I suggested to Woody that we leave our bags and car and walk to the main street. The main street was very quiet with only an occasional car driving down the road. Many of the stores that we walked by had porcelain china displayed in their windows, but appeared to be closed. We walked past a building where we could see three elderly women sewing while talking amongst themselves. A container was placed just outside the door that held several flowering branches that had been arranged to lean in the corner of the front door alcove. The flowers on the branches looked like cherry blossoms but appeared too perfect to be real. I thought that the ladies must have placed them out front in celebration of the upcoming cherry blossom season. 

We continued walking down the street and saw two stores that were open on the other side of the road. We decided to cross and then visit the shops before making our way back to the parking area. Both stores sold porcelain china. As I walked through the first shop, I thought that it was a bit odd that people were trying to sell what seemed to be a luxury item in this small town. 

In the second store the proprietor seemed to be very happy that we had stopped in and greeted us as we began to walk around. He disappeared for a short time, only to show up again with a tray holding two fine porcelain tea cups of hot, green tea. We gratefully accepted his kind gesture and browsed a little longer while sipping our tea. It was now getting close to when we needed to start walking back to the parking area so we returned his cups and thanked him for his hospitality. 

As we left his store, Woody asked me about the flowering branches that we had seen earlier. She thought that they were too beautiful to be fake flowers. I told her that I thought they weren't real since the cherry blossoms were still several weeks from blooming. I planned to walk on the opposite side of the road until we got back to the parking area, but her question piqued my interest. So we crossed the street so that we could pass the store to see the branches again.

As we approached the store, two women started to come out of the door right as we approached the entrance. The branches were tucked in an alcove and not visible until you were directly in front of the store. We all greeted each other in Japanese with a slight bow. 

Now that we were in front of the store, I could see that the flowering branches were real. I pointed to the branches and asked, ‘Sakura desu ka?’ My Japanese is so poor, but I remembered the word for cherry blossom from a Japanese song that I learned in an elementary school culture lesson when my dad was stationed near Tokyo.  

One of the ladies excitedly responded in Japanese with, ‘Hai, hai (Yes, yes)!’ that they were indeed cherry blossoms. And then, as happened regularly during our trip, she looked directly at me and started to speak in Japanese, thinking that I could understand her. 

When there was a pause in her description, I again pointed to the cherry branches and asked, ‘Arita?’, in an effort to determine if they were from somewhere in town. 

‘Hai, hai (Yes, yes)!’ she again acknowledged while pointing down the road. She continued to speak to us excitedly so we stood and politely listened.

Woody and I thanked her and then shared goodbye greetings before continuing down the sidewalk. I knew the Japanese word for month which made me believe that I understood some of what she was saying. 

“I think she said something about the months that the cherry trees bloom,” I said to Woody. "These branches must be from a variety that blooms this month. Another type blooms next month.” 

Interestingly, one of our good friends had asked if we would be able to see the cherry blossoms on our trip since they are such a significant part of Japanese culture. I had looked online and found a schedule that projected the blooms to begin shortly after our trip. Now seeing and knowing that there were cherry trees blooming was an unexpected surprise. I was determined to see if we could find them so we could take a photo for our friend.

We made our way back to the Airbnb parking space, but Mr. Takada was not there. We tried to arrive early as I had heard that you are late if you are on time in Japan. Promptness, and in fact being early, is a common courtesy in Japanese culture. It exhibits that you consider the other party as more important than you.

When fifteen and then twenty minutes passed by, I thought that I must have miscommunicated with the Airbnb owner. There was a phone number on the parking space note and I also had a number for Mr. Takada, but when I dialed the numbers I got a warning tone followed by a Japanese message before disconnecting. It was my first time dialing a Japanese phone number so I tried several times including first dialing Japan’s international prefix. Each attempt led to the same message. We had no cell service. 

Woody asked why not contact the Airbnb host over email or with the app. Since we were in town, she thought that one of the surrounding homes or businesses would have Internet that we could use. On my phone, I could see that there were many Wi-Fi access points, but all were locked as private. I reminded Woody that people have passwords that you have to know in order to connect to their networks. 

I remembered seeing a police officer near the building by the alleyway and wondered if he might know where I could get Internet access. I walked back down the short alleyway to see if I could find the officer, leaving Woody to wait for Mr. Takada. 

The building on one side of the alleyway was a small police substation. Inside was a simple, small room with a long counter separating the front and back of the room. Behind the counter there was a small table and a couple of chairs between the counter and the back wall. The officer and one of the old ladies that we saw earlier were sitting on the chairs having a conversation. I was surprised that he left his holster and gun on the table unsecured and a good distance from where he was sitting. He was young and continued with his conversation as I waited at the counter.

After a minute, he looked up at me and said something in Japanese. I asked if he could speak English, to which he expressed that he could not. He then stood to engage with me further by walking by the lady and then by the table to get to the open end of the counter which was beyond the table. As he turned sideways to squeeze between the counter and the table, he accidentally began pushing the holster across the table until both the gun and holster fell and crashed onto the floor. I don't know how easy it is for a gun to discharge when dropped, but I was happy that it didn’t. The moment conjured up memories of the ‘keystone cops.’ Those memories were further amplified by our humorous effort to communicate immediately thereafter. 

I initially pulled out my cell phone and tried saying ‘Wi-Fi’ a number of ways while pointing to my cell phone. He clearly had no clue what I was trying to say, but he was trying. He had a very expressive face and would make me think that he understood what I was asking, until he would finally shake his head and say something that made it clear that he didn’t. I tried pointing at the air around the room and then to my phone in an effort to try to convey that I wanted to connect my phone to a signal in the air, but he was clearly baffled as to what I was doing. After what seemed like several minutes of trying to convey my message, it was clear that we weren’t getting anywhere.

He suddenly looked at me as if he had an epiphany. He smiled, lifted up a single finger, and ran back around the counter to retrieve his cell phone. He returned and opened an app and then held it up to my mouth. A translation app! Oh, why didn’t I think of that? 

I spoke saying that I wanted to connect to his Wi-Fi as he held his phone to translate my voice. He pulled his phone back and rotated it so that he could read the translation, and then scowled while making an ‘X’ by crossing his forearms. We learned that making an ‘X’ in this fashion is a way to emphatically express ‘no’, ‘don’t do that’, or ‘we’re closed,’ and the like. It’s likely mostly used to communicate to foreigners.

I asked if I could use his phone to call the Airbnb phone number. He read the translation, scowled while making an ‘X’, and said something that clearly expressed ‘no.’

I then asked if he could direct me to somewhere that had Internet access. He read the translation, thought for a moment, and then shook his head to the negative while again saying something that I didn’t understand but was clearly negative. I thanked him and walked out and returned up the alleyway to Woody and our car.

Mr. Takada still had not arrived at the parking area when I returned. Woody again asked why we couldn’t connect to someone’s Wi-Fi with all of the surrounding houses and businesses. Rather than trying to explain that a password was required to connect, I navigated to the network screen to show her the lock icons on the Wi-Fi networks that indicated that they required a password. As she looked on while I scrolled the list of names that were furthermore in Japanese, an entry appeared in English without a lock icon. The network name, ‘NTT,’ surprised us both. I recalled the initials were that of the old national telephone provider for Japan. 

‘That one doesn't have a lock,’ Woody said as I stared at the entry in disbelief. My network security background gave me pause connecting to an unknown, open Wi-Fi network. Would a hacker really set up a network in this small town of Arita? Seeing that it was getting late in the afternoon and not having any options, I thought that this must be the Lord’s provision at this moment. I tapped the list entry and my phone connected to the network.

I opened the Airbnb app and sent a short message to the home’s owner saying, ‘We’re here but no Mr. Takada.’ I then told Woody that there was no way to know how long it might take before the owner would see and respond to the message. But within a minute, we received a response asking if we could wait there for a minute. I was thrilled. At this point, I was genuinely concerned as to whether we were going to have to find another place to stay for the night. A couple of minutes later, the owner sent a message apologizing and saying that Mr. Takada was on the way and would be there in a few minutes.

Minutes later, a car drove up through the alleyway and a neatly dressed elderly gentleman emerged and greeted us apologizing profusely for being late in English. His English was quite good. He asked about luggage which we then extracted from the car. He then said that we had a short walk to get to the house and offered to pull Woody’s suitcase, aka ‘Big Blue.’ I tried to intervene, but he insisted. We followed him uphill further along the alleyway which narrowed and then turned into a walkway. 

As we walked, Mr. Takada asked if we were familiar with Arita. He then gave us a fascinating historical description telling us that Arita was the birthplace of Japanese fine porcelain china. The china produced in the area became highly desired and was shipped to buyers around the world from the 17th century. 

The walkway ended at an intersection with another walkway, with one direction heading back down towards the main road, while the other headed further up the hill. We followed him as he turned and ascended up the hill while passing over a railway crossing on the way. We passed a couple of abandoned homes as we progressed toward the house which was now clearly in view. As we approached the house, the land to one side of the pathway was terraced into ascending rectangles with rock walls retaining the soil in each terrace. We reached a small wooden bridge that first crossed a small creek before coming to a flight of long stone steps up to the house. 

Rental home in Arita, Japan

Mr. Takada instructed us to leave the luggage on the path by the bridge and to follow him further up the hill so we could learn more about the home’s history. He then explained that the rectangles of terraced land on the side of the walkway once contained a kiln that was used to fire ceramic porcelain. The firebox for the kilns was on the lowest terrace so that the heat would travel through the kiln and rise up through pipes and into the kiln on the next terrace. This continued from one kiln to the next up the hillside. Pieces of broken ceramics were everywhere on the ground where the old kilns were located along with circular porcelain stands that were used when firing the batches of ceramics.

We then walked back down to the house which appeared to have a roof made with blue porcelain tiles. The home was over a hundred years old and had been refurbished with a new modern section abutting the old original home. It was beautifully remodeled to combine the old section with the new. The house sat further up on the hill where we had left our suitcases. Mr. Takada grabbed hold of Big Blue, and despite my offer to take over, this 80+ year old man pulled the bag up to the house. 

Mr. Takada walked us through the house and explained the various nuances of Japanese homes that we might not be aware of. One was a kerosene heater that he showed us how to use since the nights were still quite cold in March. Another were the controls for the bathtub which included the ability to preset the temperature of the bath water. There was even a second control panel for the bathtub downstairs in the kitchen! It was the perfect Airbnb for Woody!

After we walked around the house, we walked outside to the garden. The home was built so that the garden was located between the house and the surrounding hills. Mt Takada said that they had to dynamite a portion of the hill to create enough room for the garden. A small creek flowed into the garden and into a small pond and continued out on the other side of the home. The garden had large stones, moss and vegetation surrounding the pond. It was lightly maintained but was likely a very beautiful, traditional Japanese garden in its day. 

Mr. Takada took us on a path through the garden that eventually went part way up and along the hillside. He pointed out vegetation and items of interest along the way. Of those were the many Japanese maples that had been planted throughout the garden and on the hillside, giving the home its name of ‘Villa Kaede,’ or maple country house. The maples were just coming into bud. The garden must be a stunning site later in the spring and in the fall when the maples are in full color.

After taking a moment to enjoy the garden, we made our way back down to the house. From there, we returned back into the kitchen where he pointed out the various appliances and their controls. The kitchen and upstairs bathroom were part of the modern side of the home that had been neatly integrated with the old. When he had finished the home and garden tour, we sat down at the table. 

By the garden and kitchen of the Arita rental home

I asked Mr. Takada how he learned to speak English so well, to which we learned that he attended business college and worked in America for a number of years before moving back to Tokyo. He explained that after spending many years working and then retiring in Tokyo, his wife wanted to move back to Arita where she was originally from.

When he asked me why we were visiting Japan, I quietly prayed and then told him our reasons which included some of the spiritual reasons, to which he responded very positively. It gave me an opportunity to share my testimony and the gospel with him. From there, he became more interested in talking with me and wanted to learn about my family’s history. 

It was fascinating speaking with him because he was familiar with many of the people that my parents and grandparents knew who played a part in the recovery of Japan following the war. As I mentioned their names, he provided an insight which showed me that he was more than just a polite host. In fact, he seemed to take delight that I knew of the people and the history as well. He was familiar with the military installations where I was born, where we lived, and where my father worked. I was amazed that an Airbnb in a location, previously unknown to me and far from Tokyo, connected me to someone who was old enough and established enough to know of these places and people. And someone who spoke English, to boot! Walking with God is remarkable beyond words!

Mr. Takada was even aware of Kogenei golf course, the golf course that my dad frequented and represented in tournaments while he was stationed in Japan. He expressed a sincere amazement of the honor that my dad was given with his lifetime membership to the club. He tried placing an American dollar amount on a membership’s value and then retracted it by saying that it was essentially priceless because of the club’s exclusivity. He said that he was aware of CEOs of prominent Japanese businesses trying to buy a membership for more than a million dollars but being denied. 

I have been around people who often exaggerate so I was never really sure about the stories that my dad spoke about. But after my conversations with my dad’s younger brother, Bobby, in Kauai, my relatives in Honolulu, and now this perfect stranger in Arita, Japan, I found validation of the most amazing stories that my dad told me.

From there, our conversation turned to what we wanted to do and what we wanted to eat while we were in Arita. I asked for his suggestions and he pulled out a map of Arita and circled his recommendations. 

As he spoke, I remembered the cherry blossoms and asked him about them. He began by saying that it was too early for the cherry trees to be in bloom so I shared our encounter with the ladies down the road and their cherry branches. Both Woody and I heard the one woman say what sounded like the English word, ‘China,’ several times. But we weren’t exactly sure how that related to Arita.

‘Oh, oh!’ he said after considering that the woman had said ‘China. ‘Yes, there’s a place called, ‘China on the Park.' It does have cherry trees planted out front that I believe are blooming. They are mountain cherries and they bloom a few weeks earlier than the other variety,’ he stated while pointing to and then circling its location on the town map.

After Mr. Takada left, Woody and I discussed the options that he had given us for places to eat as it was now early evening. He mentioned an Italian restaurant that was known for their pizzas. We were of course surprised that there was a pizza restaurant in this small, rural Japanese town. Woody was hesitant, thinking that I wanted to spend the entire time eating Japanese food while in Japan. But I was happy to eat at a restaurant that we both would enjoy.

On our way to the restaurant, we passed several abandoned homes and dilapidated buildings that spoke of better times. Arita affirmed the reports that we heard of dying rural towns due to the nation’s shrinking population and young adults leaving for better education and work opportunities in the large cities. 

Once at the restaurant, it indeed looked like a legitimate spot for pizzas as we could see their large, ceramic tile pizza oven in the preparation area. I have only seen similar pizza ovens in better pizza shops in the US, so seeing one was a surprise. It produced a beautifully cooked artisan pizza that we enjoyed with a fresh green salad.  It was definitely a surprise first meal in this small Japanese town. 

As we were enjoying our meal, a small group of young adults came in and were seated at a very long table near us. Soon, more joined and continued to trickle in until they filled all of the seats at the table. I thought about asking if any of them spoke English, but remained quiet. In these first hours in Japan, we felt that God had given us this moment to see young adults. We believe they are the ones that we are called to serve, and the ones through whom His awakening will occur.

Following our dinner, we headed back to the house for a bath and a time to rest. It was hard to believe all that had happened as we reflected on the day in amazement. From the moment that I opened the curtain of our hotel early that morning and was greeted by a full moon, the Lord continued to amaze us in so many ways. 

• We wandered up to the top floor of the ship inspired hotel and out to the “bow” which was a Christian chapel with floor to ceiling windows revealing stunning morning views of the Sea of Japan. 
• We obtained a brand new rental car and our first experience driving in Japan
• We ate tonkatsu ramen, which, at the time, we didn’t know was famous and had originated in Fukuoka, and my first conversation in Japanese with two high school students
• We witnessed plum trees in full bloom and experienced God’s promised encounter with the English speaking woman at the shrine. 
• We were jolted by two flat tires and the concern of repair only to find that it occurred at the ideal location where we obtained a replacement rental car in five minutes.
• We navigated the Japanese roads and freeways without Internet connectivity to arrive in Arita. 
• We had encounters with the porcelain China shop owner, the old ladies and the cherry tree branches, the police officer, Mr. Takada, and the blessing of seeing a table of young adults.
• We discovered our stay was at a historic home in a truly historic Japanese town

It was quite the full day!

Woody was able to quickly fall asleep, for which I was grateful. As I lay in bed, my mind reflected back on the many events of the day. 

Japanese beds on tatami mat flooring in Arita

First, and foremost, I was extremely grateful that we were able to sense and see God’s hand throughout the day. I have friends that appear baffled when I talk about my experiences. It’s as though they are sincerely trying to believe me, while attempting to hide their uncertainty. I occasionally joke with Woody that I am actually a Martian to help explain my odd life experiences. But I can’t easily explain why God has chosen to walk with me in the manner that He has. 

In reflecting about the day, my thoughts returned to our incident with the car and the tires. On one hand, it was beyond remarkable, for which I was extremely grateful. I knew that there was no explanation other than to acknowledge that the Lord had richly provided for us. But the practical, protective husband side of me continued to ponder my lack of preparedness at that moment. I am unable to contact someone in an emergency. At the moment of the incident, I wasn’t aware that we not only lacked data coverage, but we lacked cell coverage as well. The only thing that seemed to be working on my phone when we were off Wi-Fi was it could track GPS. Should I really be taking my wife on this trip across Kyushu as an inexperienced driver given our combined inability to communicate in Japanese?

I tried doing an online search for a cell phone equipment provider in the nearby cities of Nagasaki and Kumamoto to see if I could find a hot spot or SIM card to rent. I reasoned that we really needed some way to contact someone in case of an emergency. However, I was unable to come up with an answer in all likelihood because I was doing searches in English. 

The Airbnb owner messaged me over the Airbnb app to see if all was well and to let me know that he was driving into Fukuoka the next morning. I wondered if maybe we should ask for his help or if we should follow him there. I knew there was a store in the international terminal where we could likely find something that we could rent for the remainder of our trip. But that would be driving in the opposite direction and would minimally cost us a half day.

Having no good options, I began to pray and the Lord brought two things to mind. 

The first was a flood of memories of taking family vacations. We traveled by car across the continental United States when our children were very young. We annually traveled several thousand miles on our ‘big’ family trip, and additionally visited state parks and nearby attractions within a 3 hour radius of our home on weekends. The early trips where our children were quite young predated our ownership of cell phones or even a new vehicle. Woody and I often commented while taking the back roads out west that we sometimes didn't see another car for many hours. Additionally, I had an inclination to take ‘the road less traveled,’ which now seems really crazy. But, we prayed and we trusted Him and He gave us so many wonderful trips and memories.

In considering all that He brought to mind coupled with all that had transpired that day, I knew God was calling me to trust Him once again. I’ve come to these trust precipices before and have found that these are the times where He gives you grace and courage to build your faith. It isn’t a blind or foolish trust, but rather a moment of hearing Him and taking the step out of the boat and onto a turbulent sea. I place so much trust in modern day technology to help guide my life. Is it really better and greater than God? Everything within your earthly man is telling you to rely on your own reason and intellect, and upon things that appear to have a firm foundation. But His still quiet voice is telling you to trust Him. 

The second area that He brought to mind was the frustrated attitude that I expressed towards Woody in the moments immediately before the tires blew. My impatience towards her immediately vanished and changed to concern about our situation. It emphasized my sin in a most dramatic way. The Lord wanted me to crucify my impatience. I was to instead nurture love to her by listening and being respectful. 

Decades earlier, I yielded to His will to wait for the person that He desired for me to marry. He rewarded my obedience when He blessed me with Woody. Why then had I continued to not recognize the value of this great gift that He has given to me? We are one by His design. She knows Him as I do and hears from Him. I sensed His call to renew my attitude so that I could fully experience this great gift and allow Him to fully unlock the many ways He desired to use her.

The missionary and author, Elizabeth Elliot, once said that we don’t need a map or a sign when faced to travel paths in unfamiliar places. Rather, we need a guide that knows the way. She then emphasized God’s characterization of the Lord as our shepherd. We have a Shepherd that will lead us. 

My Shepherd was reminding me that He will lead and protect me. As He does, I need to extend that same grace and love to my wife. Isn’t it such a blessing that God is that very Shepherd that promises to lead, transform and equip us? As I continued to pray, I was enveloped with His peace and I fell asleep.

The next morning, we took our time getting ready and decided to spend the day around Arita. When I booked the Airbnb, I thought that we would just stay in Arita and make excursions to nearby places. But after hearing about the town’s history from Mr. Takada and about the nearby cherry trees, we decided to spend the first day in Arita. 

I was excited about having the chance to see some cherry trees in bloom, so we drove across town to China on the Park. Upon arrival, we were greeted by a couple dozen or so young cherry trees in full bloom that had been prominently planted along the top of a hill at the front of the property. A drive ascended up from the main road past the trees and led to a large parking area that ran perpendicular to an old warehouse. There was a large covered display with bathrooms and multiple rows of nearly empty parking spaces. 

The cherry trees were completely covered in light pink blooms and were beautiful. Several people had brought their chairs to quietly sit and enjoy the spectacle. A light breeze was blowing and the older blossoms would get caught in the breeze and gently float to the ground. As you walked amongst the trees, it appeared to be snowing large pink snowflakes. Woody and I snapped a selfie to send to our friend. I could understand why she was so hopeful that we would see cherry blossoms. They were so beautiful, even though they were not the later blooming variety that are beloved by the Japanese.

Cherry trees (sakura) at China Park in Arita

As we started to head back to the car, we passed a nice looking single story structure with front facing windows and wooden walkway leading to the main entrance. The building was surrounded by greenery and a placard indicating that it was the ‘Curry House’ restaurant.  Even though Woody doesn’t care for curry, she insisted that we go knowing that curry was something that I discussed eating when my dad was stationed near Tokyo. She was certain that she could find something to eat and really wanted me to try Japanese curry again. 

Inside we were surprised to find a beautiful western style dining area with windows throughout revealing the surrounding forest. When I asked the waitress if she spoke English, she held up a finger to tell us to wait. She then scurried behind the counter and returned with a kitchen worker in tow. She motioned for me to speak again, but the poor kitchen worker didn’t speak English either. 

Woody and I looked at each other and kind of chuckled, but somehow conveyed that we wanted to see a menu. In addition to curry, the menu showed pictures of a salad and dessert that further convinced Woody that she would have no problem eating there.

Besides two ladies sitting at a nearby table, we were the only patrons in the restaurant when we ordered. It was a bit early for lunch for most people, but with the time adjustment, this became the pattern that we followed for most of our trip; lazy mornings and a late breakfast or early lunch either in the house or at a restaurant. Sometime in the afternoon or early evening we would eat out for dinner. 

Woody ordered a green salad and a bowl of Japanese rice. It was her second exposure to Japanese vegetables and she immediately remarked how fresh and delicious the salad tasted. I thought that she might just be saying that since she was eating a salad while I was enjoying an amazing dish of beef curry. 

The menu showed a picture of a piece of pie that caught Woody’s attention. Upon inquiring with a questioning voice while pointing at the filling in the photo, the waitress said “ap-pu,” which we first considered and then almost simultaneously understood was apple pie. Woody had a slice and appeared genuinely taken back with her first bite. She said it was the most delicious apple pie that she has ever eaten. In thinking of the saying that it is “as American as apple pie,” I had to giggle as it almost seemed sacrilegious. The good news was that any concern that I had about Woody finding something that she could eat while we were in Japan vanished. Here in this small, rural town, she had a beautiful artisan pizza, two fresh green salads and apple pie. I think she’s going to be fine! 

'Best ever' apple pie with porcelainware at China Park in Arita

Following lunch, Woody asked if there was anything else to see in the area since we were safely parked. I had only planned to come to China Park to see if we could find the cherry trees and was surprised that there was a restaurant on the grounds. As we walked towards the car, we both saw a couple of people exiting a door at the far end of the warehouse. Woody suggested that we walk over to see what was there.

The door was covered with an awning and had a small portable sign out front in Japanese. Most of the warehouse looked to be an aged industrial building, but the end unit looked like it had been updated and was quite new looking. Inside was a shock. It was a large show room where porcelain china was displayed upon tables and display cases spanning across several large rooms. Other people were inside shopping so we began to walk and browse through the store. We were not interested in purchasing any porcelain china, but it was interesting viewing the items now knowing the history of the area.

As we left the store, Woody noticed that there was a building in front of us. At the end of the parking area, two flights of stairs climbed up the hill where a large dark red brick building was visible through the trees. I hadn’t even seen it until Woody said something, but assumed it was an office building once I did. A metal sign with mostly Japanese writing was at the base of the stairs, and read, “Chuji Gallery,” in English. An arrow on the sign pointed up the hill towards the building. Like the restaurant, it hadn’t been listed separately on the map of Arita or mentioned by Mr. Takada. However, Woody suggested that we check it out since it was steps away and didn’t require any driving. I certainly couldn’t argue with her logic, so we ascended the stairs to the gallery. 

The building had a very modern design with almost no windows in the front. The front entrance was a walkway between two large brick buildings to a large imposing multi-story wall of brick with a brick indention. On the ground, a round granite disk was filled with water. ‘China on the Park’ was engraved on the surface of the granite disk in English. 

A large sign stated that photography was prohibited in the gallery as you approached the entrance. Inside the ceilings soared three stories over the gallery floor with glass cases containing porcelain china displayed throughout the gallery. Several very tall vases stood on pedestals throughout the gallery and made you wonder how anyone could possibly throw, form and fire such a large ceramic piece - particularly during the time period in which many of the vases were made. 

A neatly dressed gentleman in suit and tie stood up from his chair that was behind a large counter between the entrance and exit doors, and approached us as we were looking at the cases of ceramic porcelain near to the entrance of the gallery.  There were other people in the gallery, some who arrived after us, so we wondered why he had taken an affinity towards us.

Like the other Japanese people that we had encountered, he immediately started to speak directly to me in Japanese. He appeared to be proudly describing the pieces of ceramic porcelain in the glass case that we were standing nearby. He then came and stood next to me and turned to point out several other cases.

As the docent continued to talk, I couldn’t find a moment or the nerve to stop him and let him know that I didn’t speak Japanese. At moments where he paused in between his descriptions, I responded, “So desu.” In Japan, it is a way to express affirmation in what is being said. This was, of course, much to Woody’s amusement! Woody and I had heard Japanese interviewers use this expression when speaking with experts in their reporting.

As he continued, I looked for an opportunity to extricate myself from the conversation. Woody had walked a bit further into the gallery grinning from ear to ear. At one pause, I looked over at her, and then turned back, bowed while expressing my thanks, and then looked up hoping that I had not offended him. He returned the bow and then extended his arm and hand as if to express encouragement for me to catch up with her and to continue our visit. He stated something that included the word “please.”

Woody giggled as I caught up to her and inquired why I didn’t let him know that I didn’t speak Japanese while continuing to appear quite humored. I didn’t really have an answer. After my first, “so desu,” he seemed to be genuinely excited by my apparent interest. It made me happy that he seemed so happy!

We climbed a few stairs and continued further into the gallery. Many of the items had a placard that showed an amount in yen. We think the signs were intended to show the estimated value since nothing was for sale, but there certainly were a lot of zeros in each number!

A display near to the back of the gallery had a set of dishware along with a photo of the current Japanese Emperor and his wife. The placard, which also had an English translation, indicated that the dishware was used by several Emperors. 

Around that time, I realized that the gallery must be displaying porcelain ceramics that had been produced over many years from a single company. The store was an outlet and the curry restaurant served their food and drinks using the company’s dishware! 

As we looked at another display case, I told Woody that the porcelain had a very familiar appearance. I wondered if some of my mom’s or grandfather’s ceramic pottery had come from here. I don't ever recall my parents traveling to Kyushu. Arita is over 14 hours away from Tokyo by car and over 7 1⁄2 hours by bullet train using Japan’s modern transportation systems which didn’t exist when my dad was last stationed here. Since my mother displayed the pieces as artwork, she likely received the porcelain vases and plates as gifts, or purchased them in stores in Tokyo. Most of the pieces that she owned were an inheritance from my grandparents.

When the gallery docent saw Woody and I discussing the porcelain in these cases, he approached us again. I stopped him this time and let him know that I couldn’t speak Japanese. He appeared a bit surprised at first, but then made his best effort to communicate to me in English. 

I told him that I believed my mother and grandfather had porcelain that was made by his company. The porcelain displayed in the one case looked very familiar to me. He seemed very intrigued by the idea. He expressed the name of his company, but I was not familiar with the name. He unlocked one of the cases, and then with white gloves on his hands, took hold of a vase and tilted it so that the base was facing towards me. It had a logo of Mt. Fuji, the iconic natural landmark and symbol of Japan, along with the name of the company written in kanji.

As he showed the markings, I remembered something that my son, Michael, had done. Following the funeral for my father, my children and my sister and her children came over to my parent’s home to divide their belongings. We had made an effort to get my parent’s and grandparent's collection of Japanese artwork appraised so Michael had taken photographs. For the vases and plates, he also took a photo of the base of each item. Many contained a maker stamp that had been fired into the piece.

I remembered that the photographs that he had taken were on an online account, but I needed Internet access to view them. With our prior day's success at finding an open Wi-Fi, I looked and was amazed to find that there was another NTT access point! I opened the photo album and showed the photos of the ceramic porcelain pieces to the docent. He immediately became excited as he pointed to several of the photos showing ceramic porcelain pieces that were made by his company. 

He then paused, held up his hand to signal us to wait, and then hurried towards the front of the gallery and disappeared behind the counter that was near the entrance. In a moment, he was on his way back with a small wooden box with Japanese writing. I recognized it immediately as a container for ceramic porcelain. My parents had kept the wooden boxes for theirs and my grandparent’s vases which we found in one of their cabinets.

The docent opened the box and then placed his white gloves back on. He carefully removed a small white porcelain vase with ornate decorations painted on its sides. 

I could hardly believe what I was looking at. Before my father died, we had discussed his wishes in regards to his and my mother’s belongings. Woody and I had told my dad that we weren't intending to accept anything since we were planning to relocate to Japan. He understood but insisted that I keep one small porcelain vase. 

The vase is a unique shape as it has a thin, cylindrical top that tapers out to a much wider base. It tapers out in four directions with scenes on four sides which my dad told me represented the four seasons. The vase that the docent showed me was a near match to that very vase! The gallery’s vase tapered out in two directions with hand painted scenes on two sides, which were two of the four scenes that were depicted on my vase! The gallery's vase was likely hand painted by the same artist!.

I was stunned as I considered that my decision to stay in Arita was to find lodging  in an unvisited prefecture in Kyushu with a bathtub for Woody, and had nothing to do with Japanese porcelain. Those reasons had now combined with my father's insistence on accepting the one vase, our encounter with the old ladies, the early blooming cherry blossoms, Mr. Takada’s knowledge of the area and his ability to speak English, and Woody's encouragement to see all that was at China Park. It all meant that we were standing on the grounds of the ceramic porcelain company that had made my grandfather’s vase well over a century prior! 

Our Japanese porcelain vase from Arita

The circumstances that led up to my parents' ownership and my father’s insistence of me taking the vase seemed unfathomable without the Lord’s guiding hand. I sensed the Lord’s presence as I continued to reflect and take in all that led to this seemingly impossible moment as I continued to engage with the docent.

We graciously thanked him and then walked outside where I began to cry. Woody placed her arm around my back to comfort me, but I let her know that I was more than fine. I was just overwhelmed with how and why the Lord continues to reveal His love for me. The Lord is indeed mighty in power. There is nothing like being His child and walking in His will!

With all that had occurred, I was no longer interested in exploring the other places that we had marked as points of interest. I found a park and a trail that ascended along a stream in the nearby mountains that emptied into a reservoir. Woody and I drove up and crossed the reservoir dam, parked, and then hiked along the stream amongst the trees. As we walked amongst God's natural beauty, we recapped our amazing morning. 

Ryumon Gorge bridge

We concluded the day by returning to our rental house and walking to a nearby Yakitori restaurant. Yakitori is skewered chicken and vegetables that are cooked on a specialized grill that is observable from the counter seating. Just like the prior evening, a group of young people started to arrive and soon filled most of the restaurant. I again found myself looking forward to the day when He pours out His Spirit on these young people and on Japan!

佳信

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