Hokkaido milk food crawl in Akihabara, Tokyo

Today was our last full day in Tokyo, and I wanted to make sure I got in as many Hokkaido milk products as possible. Since about ten years ago, I kept stumbling upon articles and food references that would always say how delicious and superior Hokkaido milk was to the average milk. It started with a Hokkaido milk candy. Then, it became about the Hokkaido soft cream ice cream, then about the freaking milk itself. It has now ballooned into constant social media posts I get bombarded with regarding Hokkaido ice cream, Hokkaido milk cream cheese cakes and tarts… you name it, and I’ve likely already heard of it.

Granted, I already knew that American milk, overall, was inferior: the majority of cows in the U.S. eat grain (read: not natural) and have little time outside to graze (I think this also goes without saying, but again, not natural), whereas a happy cow would have vast amounts of land to graze and eat grass and insects, which is what nature intended. Because of this, I immediately noticed the taste difference in milk we’d drink in Australia or New Zealand (always grass fed cows) vs. in the U.S. Something about the milk just tasted brighter, fresher, and creamier. It’s hard to describe until you have it for yourself. Hokkaido is the second largest main island of Japan, a nation of islands. With only about 5.2 million people, Hokkaido is also one of Japan’s less populated main islands (compare that to the island of Honshu, home of Tokyo, Osaka, and Hiroshima, which has a population of of about 104 million people). Hokkaido is characterized by a cooler, more rugged climate, vast plains, and extensive forests. As such, it is the perfect place for cows to have vast amounts of fresh air and land to happily graze on. And happy cows always produce delicious milk, which makes for happy dairy consumers such as myself.

Our Hokkaido milk-themed food crawl started with the famous Hokkaido milk lady stand at the Akihabara train station, between platforms 5-6. To access this point, you’d either need a frequent train card or already be inside the train station itself. So once we got off our train from Ebisu, Chris and Pookster waited for me downstairs while I went up to platforms 5-6. I easily found the milk stand: it was run by a smiley, friendly Japanese lady who spoke just enough broken English so that we could communicate with each other. It was cute, humble, simple stand: while she had some ready made sandwiches and snacks, along with an array of packaged treats, milk was clearly her dominant item being sold. Her glass case was lined with various types of milk, most of which I could not read. But some were obvious based on the photos: lesser/low fat, apple-flavored, peach-flavored, etc. What I did not realize until I asked for Hokkaido milk and bought it from her was that she sells milk the old-school way: once you order and pay, she takes out a single-serve glass bottle, pops off the top with her can opener, and hands the glass over to you. You’re expected to drink the glass of milk right then and there, enjoy it, then hand the empty glass back to her for recycling (or, perhaps even sterilization and reuse, because why not?!). While I savored my single glass of cold Hokkaido milk, I marveled at all the people who rushed over to buy their glass, chugged their milk, handed it back to her, and then rushed onto an arriving train on the same platform. I would expect that this was an everyday or every-week ritual for a lot of people, and many of these people buying and chugging her milk were likely regulars who had a relationship with her who she knew. I thought it was really sweet to have a relationship with a milk person, and I wondered if she did know the inner workings of any of their lives at all.

I asked the milk lady if there were any takeaway options. She indicated that she usually doesn’t sell them, but she did have a small number in her fridge for a 10 JPY upcharge. She also tried to sell me on the apple Hokkaido milk, but I insisted on the original. So I picked up one to bring down for Pookster and Chris to share. Chris got in a few sips, but it was Pookster who really enjoyed this milk: it was truly love at first sip! She had this huge smile after slurping through the straw and got so upset when it was time to discard the bottle! I had only wished we had recorded her reaction to her first and only taste of pure Hokkaido milk.

We then proceeded to two other places for Hokkaido milk products: Cow Cow Kitchen, which makes what they call “milk pies,” which are cow head-shaped pastries that are essentially a cross between a croissant and a cream puff, filled to the brim with a delicious, thick Hokkaido milk custard; we also went to Azabu Sabo Hokkaido Milk Ice Cream just steps away, all at Akihabara Station. Today, we got lucky, as the special limited edition rotating flavor was pistachio (it’s like they knew I was coming!). Given Chris’s cousin and her wife were with us, we got to buy more and got a full box of six to share! We got three of the original milk custard and three of the pistachio. The pastry just shatters in your mouth upon the first bite, just like the perfect croissant. And the model “milk pie” was not lying at all: it really was filled very generously with custard. The milk custard was sweet (but not too sweet!), super creamy and milky, with a hint of a vanilla flavor. The custard was a bit on the thin side, but I couldn’t get enough of it. And as if that wasn’t enough of a treat, the pistachio one perhaps may have been even more impressive: the filling was a very pale green color (probably a hint that the coloring is JUST from toasted pistachios and no artificial green coloring, and it had just the right amount of nut in it to tell you that the flavor was most definitely sweet, toasty pistachio nuts! The custard was a bit thicker than the milk custard, and it just sang in your mouth!

Azabu Sabo Hokkaido Milk Ice Cream was also a treat. They had a number of flavors that we would never find at the average U.S. ice cream shop, even the Asian ones, such as cassis (black currant! YUM!), super matcha, genmaicha (roasted rice with green tea), and of course, their classic Hokkaido milk ice cream. We got a double cup with two flavors, the Hokkaido milk and the genmaicha. The genmaicha tasted exactly like genmaicha tea – roasty, slightly sweet, with a slight bitterness at the end from the green tea. And the Hokkaido milk was super creamy and almost vanilla-like. I will miss access to these rare flavors when we go back home. Chinatown may have matcha or green tea ice cream, but SUPER matcha or genmaicha — no way!

I would love to go to Hokkaido next and indulge in all things Hokkaido, and definitely get my further fill of Hokkaido milk products!

A snafu with booking the Osaka > Tokyo Nozomi during the New Year’s period, which resulted in extra time in Tokyo!

When Chris originally booked this trip to Japan, he didn’t book it realizing that New Year’s is the biggest holiday of the year in Japan, so he didn’t think much about booking shinkansen tickets in advance. Somehow, we got lucky with the Tokyo > Osaka shinkansen booking, as that was only done a couple weeks out: we were not only able to get preferred seats on a Nozomi for oversized baggage space (directly behind our seats), but we were even able to move up our ticket to about an hour before since we had more time than we’d anticipated getting from Narita into Tokyo station when we first arrived. But when we got to Osaka, this was a bit of a false security. When Chris looked to book tickets for January 3 to return to Tokyo, every single train and seat he looked at after 8am was sold out. The only seat options remaining were between 5am to 7:39am. So he booked us on a Nozomi at 7:39am on Wednesday to return to Tokyo late morning. Unfortunately, this would cut our Osaka time by about half a day, as we were hoping to visit Osaka Castle and also try the local Osaka version of okonomiyaki, but those things, sadly, would have to wait for another future visit.

It wasn’t the end of the world, though. While it wasn’t great to have our Osaka time cut short, especially since we didn’t even visit Osaka in July 2015, it is in no way disappointing or awful that we had extra time in Tokyo! We used the day to re-visit Tsukiji and got a table at Sushiko, a restaurant that had been on my list from our last visit, and who was happy to accommodate our active toddler. Pookster had a high chair to sit in. We folded her stroller and placed it in the front, and given we’re in Japan, there was never a worry that anyone would steal it (I would NEVER feel comfortable leaving my stroller unattended in New York City, as I’ve heard the worst horror stories about strollers being stolen in broad day light when the owner was just steps away from it!). And to our surprise and delight, the menu even had a kid’s plate, which was recommended for children ages 5-10, but that’s fine: we got it for Pookster anyway, and we figured that if she didn’t eat it, we could eat it as our own appetizer. At about 700 JPY (or $4.81 USD), it was quite the steal: it had four pieces of rolled sushi stuffed with natto (Japanese fermented soy beans, a sticky and acquired taste!), two pieces of tamago (Japanese rolled omelet that is a little sweet), three generous, fat pieces of nigiri (tuna, salmon, and a very, very sweet and large prawn!), and a small bowl of medium grain, steamed Japanese white rice topped with a beautiful helping of ikura (salmon roe, a salty-sweet, flavorful, mouth-popping wonder!). To be honest, Kaia had bits of the natto sushi and gave up. She then tried a bite of the ikura and decided “all done!” So, appetizer it was for us!

As for ourselves, we got a massive sushi/nigiri platter with so many types of fish, prawn, and ikura that I am in no way educated enough to know or share what they all were, but I can say with no doubt that each bite was incredibly fresh, sweet, and delicious. Initially, I found my respiratory pathways cleared suddenly with the strong smear of freshly grated wasabi on each bite of nigiri, but my body quickly adjusted to this spicy addictive root and savored each zing. We washed it all down with some sake and a yuzu sour (I was determined to get my plum wine and yuzu fix as often as possible while in Japan!). In total, for all that gorgeous fish and two alcoholic drinks, our total bill came to about $80 USD. It was a very, very delicious bargain.

After our sushi fix, we wandered a bit around Tsujiki, then headed to Ginza for some shopping, had tea at a Mariages Freres tea salon, and then ended up at the Marunouchi Building. I love how all these big tall Tokyo buildings have SO much packed into them. There are the food basements that have endless omiyage (gifts/souvenirs) you can pick up, along with food to eat; and floors and floors separated by a quick up and down on the elevator or escalator of different restaurants and dining options. In the Marunouchi Building, we ended up at the Akanoren ramen joint for Hakata-style tonkotsu ramen. For $7-9 USD each, we had a large slurpy bowl of straight thin ramen noodles in a creamy white rich broth. I was pleasantly surprised to see how lean my slices of chasu were. And even though tonkotsu broth is supposed to be on the heavier side, I didn’t feel like it was too fatty or rich at all. The broth was actually a bit lighter than I’d originally thought based on looking at it. In fact, both of us finished ALL our broth, which almost never happens when we have ramen in New York! Kaia especially enjoyed these noodles soaked in the rich broth and ate a helping of ramen that even her dad was shocked about!

As Chris says, even the average restaurants in Japan for dishes like ramen that do not have endless queues are still, on average, going to be delicious, especially when you compare them to what we can get back home. And that’s really the comparison, right? It would be challenging to say that this bowl is inferior to any other tonkotsu we’ve enjoyed in Japan that had a long wait. We think they’re all freaking delicious and perfect.

The expected and unexpected when it comes to food in Japan, from Kobe beef to bruleed sweet potatoes and sweet potato custards

Assuming that you actually have taste in food, eating in Japan is like a dance on your tongue: there are endless textures and flavors and mouth feels that it could never possibly get boring. There are the regional differences, such as okonomiyaki (fried savory pancake) of Osaka (ingredients all mixed) versus Hiroshima (ingredients are layered, AND they include a very generous layer of NOODLES!), differences based on different climates, geographies, and specialities (Hakata style ramen with its milky white pork bone broth vs. Sapporo ramen for its miso-based broth vs. Kitakata ramen for its soy sauce based pork broth, etc.), and one thing many people don’t think about when they think of Japanese cuisine: chili peppers! While Japanese food is not known to be spicy, very hot chili peppers are used liberally in southern Kyushu, southern Kanto and Izu, and Okinawa.

Given all this, it’s hard to spend any time in Japan and not eat well. You can eat well regardless of whether you are going to an onigiri stand off the street that sells stuffed rice balls for the equivalent of $1.50-3 USD each, $6 non-descript ramen shop, a 3-Michelin star sushi omakase, a renowned French restaurant (according to the New York Times food section, Japan is the place to go for the world’s best French food now. They wrote that French people just don’t want to take the time and energy to slave away in kitchens, while Japanese people not only love French food, but they are obsessed with the technique, learn it in France, then bring it back to Japan for everyone there to enjoy), or the takeaway counter at the nearby train/shinkansen station. Our first meal was takeaway from a spot at Tokyo Station, where Chris got us three ekiben (“eki” means “station,” and “ben” is short for “bento,” so station bento boxes or boxed meals) of A5 beef over rice with tamago, unagi over rice, and another beef bento. We inhaled our food, which in total cost about $12 each, but could easily sell for twice that amount if you had sold the same bento in New York. These are the relatively inexpensive things you can enjoy while visiting Japan; you know you are getting “value” because something equivalent (and likely lower quality, relatively speaking) will either cost a lot more where you came from, or just be a smaller quantity.

We took a day trip to Kobe on Tuesday, where we (of course) sought out a Kobe beef restaurant that would be comfortable enough for a toddler. We landed on a spacious restaurant called Mouriya, which specializes in Kobe beef. We chose two set menus, one for Kobe rump steak and one for Kobe ribeye, which came with ample additions, including seasonal soup (ours was pumpkin – very creamy!), rice/bread of choice, a generous helping of various vegetables (even lotus root!), and tea/coffee to end. The quality of the beef was just as high as you’d expect it to be, and the ribeye really did melt in your mouth almost like butter. I especially liked that Mouriya had chefs that would cook all the food in front of us, so it served as entertainment both for us and for Pookster, who really loved interacting with our chef. She giggled endlessly in the beginning as he made cute gestures and waved to her. It probably also made our seating arrangement more bearable for her for a longer time, especially since as a toddler, she cannot sit still for too long anywhere.

Kobe beef was expected, but what we weren’t quite expecting was the ubiquity of sweet potatoes in desserts everywhere. I was aware of this trend before this trip because I’d see social media posts and videos about this recent Japanese food trend. You couldn’t go to any neighborhood in Osaka, Kobe, or Tokyo where there was not at least one or two sweet potato dessert options. Certain places were fully devoted to the sweet potato theme, serving sweet potato custard, ice cream, and cakes. Others sold sweet potato based smoothies (wow!). A lot of stands just sold sweet potatoes that were roasted, split open and given a sugar topping, then “bruleed” on top with a torch. I saw so many young children running around with this sweet. I suppose this was a “healthy” dessert option for a child, so I totally understood why parents would give this to their school-age children. While we didn’t indulge in the sweet potato brulee, we did pick up a little custard from a train station stand in Osaka that was topped with a pureed sweet potato swirl, sprinkled with candied baked pieces of sweet potato. It definitely DID taste like sweet potato, but a little sweeter of course. These types of desserts can actually make you feel less “guilty” about indulging in dessert. It’s no wonder it’s so popular here!

The perfect tonkatsu sando at Osaka Shinsekai’s Niku No Sakamoto

On our first full day in Osaka, we knew that it would be a lot quieter because a lot of people would be taking time off for the New Year, which is Japan’s largest holiday of the year. Unlike in places like China, Vietnam, or Korea, Japan had actually adopted the Gregorian calendar, so they do not follow the Lunar New Year calendar. Businesses tend to close for a few days or even a full week for New Year’s. So unfortunately for us, we would not see Osaka in its total prime from a restaurant/eatery standpoint. But never fear: there’s always something delicious around the corner!

While wandering through the Shinsekai neighborhood of Osaka on New Year’s Eve, we passed not just the Tsutenkaku Tower, but also walked through this relatively small and almost hidden shopping arcade called the Shinsekai Shijo. Inside, while a lot of stalls were closed likely for New Year’s, there were still a few stalls open, including a fresh noodle stall, a stall specializing in different tsukemono (Japanese pickles!), and a little grocer. What really caught our eye, though, was a little queue that was forming in front of what appeared to be a butcher stall. It was called Niku No Sakamoto Butcher, and we could smell some delicious deep frying happening. Upon closer inspection, we realized that people were not actually lining up for raw cuts of meat, but freshly fried beef katsu and pork katsu sandwiches! As soon as I saw there was fresh food and a tiny line, I did what any curious foodie/traveler would do: I joined the line!

There was one person in charge of deep frying and taking orders/handling money. There was an Indian man behind the counter whose sole job it was to cut the bread crusts off the perfect thick white slices of milk bread. And then there was another worker who was in charge of cutting meat into perfect, square shapes. One queue was there to order. A second crowd/pseudo queue was there to pick up the fresh order. There were markers to designate where to stand, where to order, where to pay. It was Japanese efficiency at its finest.

We ordered a tonkatsu sando, so pork katsu that was served between two pieces of thick cut toasted milk bread with what appeared to be a little Kewpie mayonnaise and a tad bit of mustard. There was also a sweet-savory brown sauce slathered on the katsu that was delicious. But what really got us when we picked up the sandwich, tucked into a plastic takeaway container and cut perfectly and symmetrically into six even pieces, was exactly how crispy the outside of the pork was. Each bite was extremely crunchy and just shattered in your mouth. There was certainly no reusing of any oil here, and those panko crumbs had achieved their desired effect of crunch, crunch, and more crunch!

If that is what a proper tonkatsu sando is supposed to be, then that was definitely perfection. My only regret was not ordering an additional beef tonkatsu sando, which was over double the price, but I did notice so many people ordered this and seemed to be salivating all over theirs.

Japan: friendly or unfriendly to children?

We arrived in Tokyo mid afternoon on Saturday. After an on-time arrival, we went to collect our checked bags, one of which was already waiting for us on the conveyer belt, followed by our second and last just minutes later. We speedily got through immigration, and less than half an hour later, we were on the train platform waiting for our Narita Express train into Tokyo station, where we’d transfer onto a Nozomi Shinkansen, which would take us to Osaka in about 2.5 hours.

The efficiency of all moving pieces in the airport is one of hundreds of reasons I love Japan. I love that things are always expedient and on time. I love the obsession with efficiency and getting things done easily and well. As a few people including Chris have noted, I have a (slightly unhealthy) obsession with always wanting to know what time it is, so when things are on time and per schedule, I am usually pretty happy. As I waited for Chris to get our Narita Express tickets, an airport worker even came to take my luggage trolley away. People were polite and gave me space at the airport, especially seeing that I not only had eight different pieces of luggage/backpacks, but also a toddler I was wearing on my chest. And as we waited for our train to Tokyo station, I was even reunited with my favorite vending machines that have everything from “Royal Milk Tea,” which was our drink of choice out of a machine 8.5 years ago when we came, to sparkling apple cider. The cost is cheap. The quality is good. How much better can you get out of a vending machine?!

But once we arrived in Osaka and started walking up and down the different streets and alley ways of endless eateries and bars (another thing I LOVE about Japan), I was immediately reminded of how child un-friendly Japan can be as a society. People oftentimes talk about how friendly Japan is towards kids. Yes, this is the case in many ways: Kaia got given endless Japan Airlines branded toys and trinkets on our flight over. She got fawned over a good amount by random Japanese passersby. People gave way to us in crowded areas and on elevators. But I couldn’t help but notice that endless restaurants just do not have the space for a stroller (even folded up) or a child under 10 or 6. Some restaurants even had signs (in both Japanese and English) saying that children under the ages of 10 or 6 (who knows why, but that’s what I read) were not allowed to dine in. And even without the signs, some eateries would just not be comfortable for anyone with a child; it was almost like an unspoken way to say “no kids allowed” without having the above explicit signs.

I can’t really blame them, though. While space and rent are expensive in New York, I’d imagine in major Japanese cities like Tokyo and Osaka, it would be even higher. There are literally places where you sit at a tiny counter and eat ramen where you can’t even push your chair or stool all the way back, or you’d just hit the wall (and hard!). Some restaurants are standing room only. Others feel like a tiny, narrow hallway that barely has enough space for your bottom.

I knew this going into this trip, though, because I remember all these styles of eateries from our last trip in July 2015. What I loved about Japan then is what is a little annoying this time around since I have a toddler in tow. So while there are places I would have loved to eat at, given I had a toddler with me this time, it just wouldn’t work. So we’d have to make do with what we had.

I’m not sure if the style of eateries of Japan has influenced the low sex rate, romantic relationship rate, or birth rate of the country, but I’m sure it isn’t helping. Japan already has one of the world’s lowest birth rates. Its population has been shrinking for over the past decade, and it’s apparently projected to plunge a further one-third by the year 2060. And if that isn’t alarming, just forget marriage or child birth: according to Japan Times, a record one third of Japan’s unmarried adults under 50 have simply never dated, period. People have been quoted as saying that it’s a waste of time and money, and there are better ways to spend time than than foolishly looking for love.

Japan is a complex nation, one with complex problems. While I come here as a tourist and try to enjoy the land and the food as much as I can, I already know that if I were to live here, I’d feel the weight of society on me, especially as a woman. But I suppose that’s why I can love it as an outsider and just visit, appreciating it for all its deliciousness and beauty.

Packing for two different seasons in a month with a toddler

Packing for this trip was stressful. Repacking for this trip the day before we left from Melbourne to Tokyo was even more stressful. There were things we needed, things we left behind, gifts for Kaia, necessities we both bought that we wanted to bring back. Then, as Chris’s parents reminded us, there was a slow but sure accumulation of gifts that people had given us over the last 10+ years that have been taking up valuable space in their closets that they wondered if we would cart them back. The majority of the things we just had no space for in our luggage, which was why we never took them back. And to be frank, I wonder if a lot of these items were re-gifted because they seemed completely impractical or silly to take from Australia to the U.S. with our limited luggage space. For example, why would someone gift us a massive salad mixing bowl with salad serving bowls with tongs? Or a tea pot that was not particularly interesting, but was meant to serve six people? Do they think these things don’t exist in the U.S. or that we have unlimited luggage space?

Anyway, the bigger household/kitchen items we ended up creating a pile with for Chris’s brother, who is still in the process of furnishing his new home and kitchen. I figured it would be an easy way for him to get his place set up and save money, and we could help empty out the closet space at their parents’ house. But then what I also did, which I wasn’t anticipating, was keep a few of my summer items at his parents’ place, like sandals, and either keep them there or have them bring them on their spring trip to visit us. They’ve even set aside a drawer for all of Kaia’s things, which has already been filled up with clothes that have been purchased/gifted and are sized up, toys and stuffed animals, and other things for her.

It’s amazing how quickly “stuff” accumulates, and scary. Every time I come back here or to my parents’ house, I just feel a stronger need when I go home to start culling even more things.

Time in Australia comes and goes

Each year we’ve gone to Australia for Christmas, when we tell people how long we’ll be in town, it always seems like it’s such a long time. Three weeks! Wow! Especially when I tell my American friends and colleagues, they always make it seem as though I’ll be away forever. But alas, “forever” is quite fleeting when you’re working East Coast US hours part of that time, taking some time officially off to travel to places outside of Melbourne, and having fun exploring new areas and foods and also catching up with people you care about. Each year, we get excited to come, and each time this period is about to end, we talk about how quickly it all flew by, and we’re already packing up to leave to go back home. It’s almost like you want to freeze time just to savor the moment just a little more. But then, little things that are fine in the short term start becoming a little annoying: not having your own, totally private space; cooking in someone else’s kitchen where you don’t know where everything is (and some things may not even work…), feeling a bit stranded without a car because the house you’re staying in is in the true suburbs, and you need a car to get literally everywhere, plus listening to the bickering between Chris and his mother, which was cute during week 1, but by week 3, is so tiresome that you are happy this banter is coming to an end.

It’s a pleasure and a privilege to have this home away from home, in another country, continent, time zone, and hemisphere. But I wonder about a time in the future, hopefully far far away, when Chris’s parents will either decide to downgrade their home, or what is inevitable, when they will eventually pass on: what will that experience of coming “back” to Australia be like? What’s it like when the place you (or in this case, your spouse) calls home, no longer has a “home” to return to, or people to welcome you with the same open arms? I’m sure it will not feel the same, nor will it be as nice. But I suppose that is more reason for us to enjoy the current times and what we have now, for all the bickering and everything else that may be involved.

The paint spill on Boxing Day 2023

A couple weeks ago, Chris’s dad had told us that he was doing some minor paint touch ups around the house. I had noticed the cans of paint at the sides of the garage when coming and going from the house, but never thought much of it. Chris’s parents’ house has a two car garage that when you add a lot of paint and gardening supplies, plus just household tools and files, feels crowded and borderline cluttered. Once the two cars are in the garage, it’s a tight squeeze to get in between the vehicles, and often when coming in with the second car, passengers in the backseat (as in, Pookster and I) will need to get out of the car before it’s fully pulled in and parked.

Well, despite Pookster being an active toddler running around everywhere, grabbing and ripping things, and causing mischief galore, we luckily have not had anything in the house break or get misplaced in our 2.5 weeks here. So when we were about to leave the house today to head over to Chris’s uncle’s house for Boxing Day family festivities, an accident finally occurred. With Pookster in my arms and her fat, stuffed diaper bag on my back, I was squeezing between the second car and multiple cans of paint and supplies when suddenly I felt the diaper bag knock something heavy and… BAM! A can of paint fell over, the lid fell off, and white paint oozed out all over the garage floor and into the driveway.

“Shit! Shit! SHIT!” I yelled, as I saw the white paint flow down the slight incline. Chris peered over from where he was by the car and had a frustrated look on his face. I went to tell his parents and asked if they had any paint thinner, and we all had to spring into action, and quickly. We sopped up as much paint as possible with throwaway rags, random paper bags and paper towels lying around, and plastic bags. We took out a bottle of turpentine to remove the paint residue as best as possible. We used the hose to spray and loosen the paint. We had to use the turpentine on our own hands to remove the paint we got on ourselves. All the while as we’re scrambling to ensure nothing gets permanently damaged, Kaia is sitting in her car seat in the car with a door open, singing endless different songs and babbling away as though everything was merry and bright.

Chris, Pookster, and I left to go to Chris’s uncle’s first, while Chris’s parents and his brother took the second car to go, but stopped by a hardware store to see if they had more turpentine. They told a worker there what happened, and they advised to not let the paint dry and to address the matter as soon as possible. So in the end, Chris’s dad stayed behind to clean and hose down the excess paint, and just Chris’s mom and brother came to the family gathering. I felt pretty terrible knowing that I had not only delayed getting to the family gathering for us, but also created extra work and stress for everyone, and potentially the worst thing was making Chris’s dad feel compelled to stay behind and clean the remaining residue. But after it was all done, we just talked about how lucky we were that a) Kaia and I didn’t fall and get covered in paint, and b) the car closest to the paint didn’t get damaged or have any paint on it.

And really, the moral of this paint story is…. declutter, declutter, declutter. Ugh.

Christmas in Australia: Santa comes around the airport, too!

The attack on and demonization of Christmas has been going on in the U.S. for decades now, if not longer. You can’t say “Merry Christmas” without someone looking at you strange in the U.S. and someone on the far left insinuating you’re not being inclusive. The far right demonizes this and makes the entire situation worse. Since I’ve spent my entire full-time working life employed by digital marketing or technology companies, saying “merry Christmas” is not something that is acceptable in a group setting, and everyone feels forced to say a generic “happy holidays” message when it is Christmas time. This is supposedly to be sensitive to those who are Jewish, Muslim, or just don’t celebrate Christmas. This is ridiculous since any Jew you know will tell you that Hanukkah, while a holiday in Jewish culture, is not a big deal at all, with no real decorations or associated gift giving (the gift giving, from what I’ve been told, only really started because of the gift giving around Christmas and that influence). In addition, even in many non-Christian majority countries or majority Muslim countries, people celebrate Christmas in a secular way, meaning they embrace the Christmas trees and decorations, Rudolph the red-nose reindeer, and Santa, but they don’t really celebrate it as the birthday of Jesus Christ (and well, any real Christian can tell you that it’s not REALLY Jesus’s actual birthday, anyway!). The majority of my friends who celebrate Christmas celebrate in a secular way and are in no sense Christian, yet even most of them feel compelled to say “happy holidays” to each other. It’s annoying and exhausting.

I had to exercise a lot of restraint and keep silent while on a work call a few days ago when someone on Zoom said, “Hope you all have a happy holiday if you celebrate this weekend (um, there’s only ONE known holiday this weekend, and it’s CHRISTMAS). And if you do not, hope you all have a restful time off.” Why couldn’t she just have replaced the word “holiday” with “Christmas?” Is “Christmas” really such an evil word? N

So you can probably imagine that when I tell friends and colleagues in the U.S. how easily and readily and often people wish each other a “happy Christmas” or “merry Christmas” in Australia that they are pretty surprised. People don’t get offended by it. My general response or thought back would be, if someone wished me a happy Kwanzaa or happy Rosh Hashanah, why the hell would I get offended? And you know Christmas is embraced by all here, even if you don’t celebrate it or identify as Christian, when there is an actual Santa Claus who walks around the major airports here with an elf and a big sack of gifts to pass out to young children in transit; this would be very hard to imagine happening in any U.S. airport, ever.

Kaia met Santa twice going to and from Bundaberg at the domestic airports here. At the Melbourne airport, Santa walked up to her at our gate and presented her with a stuffed kangaroo with a little joey in her pouch. And on our way back to Melbourne at the Brisbane airport between our connecting flights, Santa appeared again at the entrance of the Qantas lounge, where she was given a set of special edition Qantas 3-5-year old-size pajamas with the kangaroo logo redone so that the kangaroo had a glittery red nose, sparkling gold antlers, and a name on the front of the pajama top reading: Roodolph. It was so sweet and special, yet I have a feeling that Chris, Chris’s dad, and I were going to enjoy and appreciate this far more than Kaia ever would for a long, long time.

So the TL;DR of this is really: Christmas is better in Australia than in the U.S. And I can walk around with dancing Santas or blaring red and green Christmas baubles on my head here, and no one will do a double take because I will blend right in.

The dancing and singing Santa in front of the barber shop

Today, we met up with Chris’s friend, husband, and their two daughters for brunch at a fun, kid-friendly brunch spot called Eastwood. Next door to Eastwood was a little barber shop that had a life-sized dancing Santa in front of the store. When you click a button by the Santa’s feet, it starts singing all different Christmas songs and dancing, moving both its arms and legs. As you’d imagine, the three kids were completely enchanted by this Santa. Kaia has just been getting acquainted with Santa in the last week, having seen him walking around the Melbourne and Brisbane airports and lounges twice already. Our friends’ younger daughter, who can be a little feisty, was a bit rough with the Santa. The owner of the shop popped out once to let her lightly know that the kids could get hurt if they were too aggressive with the Santa. He was so gentle and warm with the kids that it seemed like he was more worried about their safety rather than whether the kids would break his dancing Santa. Eventually, he took the Santa back into the shop, but I thought he exercised a high amount of patience and restraint given what the youngest kid was doing with his Santa.

I imagined the same thing happening in the U.S., and I imagined it would have been more of a scold to the parents rather than the shop owner addressing the kids nicely. In the U.S., kids are seen as a nuisance and a liability, whereas here, they seem to blend into society more and be accepted as actual tiny humans. It was actually sweet to see the exchange between the shop owner and the kids.