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This morning's excursion is a hike to the top of Arthur's Seat, an extinct volcano smack dab in the middle of Edinburgh that overlooks the entire city. We have a hearty breakfast at Black Sheep Coffee, which seems like Britain's answer to Starbucks, pick up sandwiches from a convenience store, and set out for the day.

Getting to Arthur's Set is an adventure in itself. There's no bus route that takes us nearby, so we get as close as we can and navigate our way up and down side streets, at one point literally cutting through a graveyard.

This is an excellent place to note that Edinburgh is an EXTREMELY vertical city, rife with steep slopes and streets, and a lot of stairs to climb, even just to get to the next street over. I'm guessing in no small part that's due to the fact that it was born when there were few -- if any -- methods for taming hills.

There is what appears to be a standard route up to the top that's well-populated with other tourists, and which we're happy to take. It's an 800-ft rise, so we take frequent breaks -- not only to rest, but to take in the view, which gets more and more breathtaking as we climb.

While most of the way up is a well-worn path, getting to the peak basically involves clambering up some rocks as best you can, at which point Emily's mom (wisely) decides to leave the rest to us.

From the very top you can see all of Edinburgh and many, many miles beyond, and it's simply amazing -- I feel like I start to sense of how the geography of Scotland feels, with its hills and crags and firths.

We hang out there for a while, taking it all in and enjoying our surprisingly good sandwiches. J brings out his sketchbook, but it turns out to be quite windy, stymieing his efforts. I linger for as long as I can, but eventually the kids get restless (G goes down with E first, leaving me and J there for a bit longer) and I must follow.

On our way back down E and I take a slight detour to inspect the remains of St. Anthony's, a chapel that's close to the start of the climb. Best guess is that it was built sometime in the 1300s and fell into disuse sometime in the 16th century, meaning it became a ruin before the Mayflower landed at Plymouth Rock.

After a break at the hotel, our afternoon plans involve exploring Edinburgh Castle, which is built on a high rock that overlooks the entire city. Most faces of the rock end in sheer cliff, with the only gradual approach being from the east, a long street known as The Royal Mile that's anchored on the other end by the Palace of Holyroodhouse. The Castle is mostly given over to tourism, but still remains an active military base.

We marvel at Mons Meg, a gigantic and wildly impractical cannon that hasn't been operational since 1681, when the force of its firing destroyed itself. There's also the 1-o'clock gun, which fires at -- you guessed it -- 1pm on most days, and which I somehow haven't heard yet so far.

We duck inside St. Margaret's, a cozy little chapel, and wander around inside the Great Hall, which is lined with arms and armor; and I'm particularly taken with the stained glass in both buildings. (Also, J and I have been playing Kingdom Come 2: Deliverance, set in medieval Eastern Europe, and he has a lot of fun identifying weapons and armor components.) We visit the War Memorial, which is somber and quietly moving.

For some reason the children are especially keen to visit the prisons, and we learn that it once housed captives from the American Revolution, one of whom apparently carved a crude early version of the American flag into one of the doors. I'm wryly amused that those captives were apparently treated poorly in comparison to other prisoners, as they were considered traitors to the state rather than enemy combatants.

Apparently, a common punishment (for British soldiers detained there, at least, for crimes such as dereliction of duty, etc.) was to assign them tasks that were absolutely brain-crushingly in-your-face pointless, such as moving cannonballs from one container to another, then back again. Sounds effective.

Dinner is at a fancy restaurant called The Wedgwood and it is marvelous. I particularly remember their savory lobster creme brulee, which I absolutely had to try, and an amuse bouche flight ordered by E's mother. Afterwards we return to our hotel and make preparations for tomorrow's trip to Dalhousie Castle.

Our first full day in Scotland begins with a bus ride and breakfast at Mum's, probably the equivalent of a good greasy spoon diner. G, being G, orders both a milkshake and smoked salmon, which strike me as diametrically opposed flavors, but sure.

It turns out that the British Isles have a standard food called an "X" roll, where X is some variety of breakfast meat, said meat is placed in a dry bun with NOTHING ELSE, and somehow this supposed to be a satisfying combination.

Our planned morning activity is exploring the National Museum of Scotland, which is astonishingly large. I wander around with J while E takes G, and over a couple of hours we get through maybe half of the section on Scotland's history (which itself is just one wing of five or so), making it from how the island was formed geologically through around the 16th century. Unsurprisingly there's a dizzying and awesome array of artifacts -- plus some lovely artwork by Andy Goldsworthy, which is a nice surprise.

Our afternoon activity is a food tour of Edinburgh, led by a fellow who goes by the name of "Wag" -- our group is us four and a mom and her two sons from Canada (minus a couple who never showed up). We meet just outside the John Knox house, under which is our first stop, The Haggis Box. We partake of a serving of haggis, neeps, and tatties, and are informed that haggis is mostly made with ground lamb these days thanks to Mad Cow Disease, and it's -- surprisingly inoffensive. Not thrilling, exactly, but without the off-putting organ-ness of offal.

The adults are served a lovely cider, and the children get their first taste of Irn-Bru, Scotland's national drink, a bright orange answer to Coca-Cola. It's inoffensive, with a taste all its own, and J & G love it.

The eatery is inside The Scottish Storytelling Centre, and lining one wall of the dining area is an exhibit of beautiful Venetian masks made by an artist named Lorraine Pritchard. On the opposite wall is a series of dioramas hidden in cabinets displaying scenes from British folklore.

Our next stop is The Outsider, where we have an excellent dish of coley (similar to cod) and greens, along with elderflower-infused water. While G is excited about seafood, I'm concerned that J will balk, but he's game, tries it without fuss, and ends up really liking it.

After that we stop at Scotts Kitchen on Victoria Terrace (also known as Diagon Alley) for a delicious beef stew and some mac and cheese, the latter of which convinces G that they actually like mac and cheese.

Our final destination is a super cute bar called Under the Stairs, which is on the underground floor of a building, where we have a butterscotch tart for dessert and I try a Campbeltown whisky that I (and G) enjoy.

Wag has been a wonderful host, and I find out that he's spent some time in the States, mostly in the Northwest doing work for the Gates foundation as a mechanical engineer helping figure out how to simplify medical equipment so that it can be used in less developed countries (that might, for example, not be able to provide a steady flow of consistent power to an MRI machine).

Though it's still early evening, that's basically it for us -- we retire to the hotel and spend the rest of the day chilling out, saving energy for Arthur's Seat on the morrow.

We've decided to take a redeye to Edinburgh, leaving Logan Airport in the evening, transferring at Heathrow, and arriving in Scotland at around noonish. Four of us and luggage can fit comfortably in our minivan -- E's mom makes five of us, though, and it's a tighter fit, with bags in laps. We manage with minimal grumbling from the younger set, thankfully.

The flight to London is more cramped than any I can remember; I've never felt more keenly that I'm a consumer from whom value needs is to be extracted at minimum cost. I'm not a large man, and even so there's barely room for my legs and backpack; even G sitting next to me has to struggle to access their bag.

Sadly, I've lost the ability to sleep on planes, so I while away the time reading on my Kindle app, playing games on my Steam deck, and watching something I don't even remember. Meanwhile G inhales Simpsons episodes before conking out, head in my lap.

The changeover at Heathrow, during which we have to switch terminals, has been my biggest concern, but it turns out to be quite straightforward (although we endure a shockingly long walk without any bathrooms). Customs is fairly smooth, and we have time to kill before our connecting flight, so I take J&G and go look for weird local snacks -- the Thai Sweet Chicken crisps are particularly good.

I also spend some time wandering around the airport shops with J commenting about what we see, which is, honestly, a nice bonding experience. I don't know exactly how to describe it, but I feel like a different kind of dad to him now that he's a teenager, more of a friend and peer (though no less an authority figure), and we can banter and tease each other in a way that wouldn't have felt right just two or three years ago.

On another note, something unexpected about UK airports, apparently, is that we don't get to know our gate until an hour beforehand. It's a bit jarring, but fine.

The next hop to Edinburgh is quick and painless, and we eventually find our way to the tram to the city. On the way, every sign I see from the window fills me with the urge to yell out what's written in a terrible Scottish accent. I'm also inordinately excited by seeing such extreme mundanities as council houses.

Our first few days we're staying at CityRoomz, a budget hotel that, while not fancy, will do just fine, and is right in the middle of things. The folks manning the desk are very friendly and eager to help, giving us clarification on how buses work, local tourist spots, etc. Of course both children want the top bunk, so we rule that they'll alternate during our stay.

It's a bit past lunchtime, and we find a nice place nearby called the West End Brasserie, with pretty solid standard fare. We have our first (but not last!) bite of haggis, and I find it tolerable but vaguely unpleasant, with the metallic bitterness of organ meat.

To try to acclimate faster, we try to put off going to sleep for as long as possible, taking a full ride on the Hop-on Hop-off Tour to get a pleasant, low-key overview of various attractions around Edinburgh Castle. There's an audio tour that we can plug into, with a "Horrible Histories" option that highlights some of the more gruesome tales of our route. G, of course, goes straight for that one.

(It's also quite surreal and amusing to see a Jollibee, a Filipino fast food chain -- even better, throwing a gauntlet at the McDonald's next door.)

It's dizzying to grasp how *old* everything clearly is, realizing that much of the architecture we're seeing predates America, maybe even Columbus. Edinburgh Castle itself stands on a high hill overlooking the rest of the city, a imposing, watchful presence.

Dinner is at the Grosvenor Pub across the street, and I'm a bit surprised to see quite a sophisticated variety of options. With our last remaining shreds of cope and consciousness, we grab a couple of pints and funky sodas, some small plates to share, and then head back to our rooms to collapse.

J is finishing his last year of middle school, and there's a lot of material (for the whole family!) on transitioning to high school. His first year, six classes will be chosen for him, and he has the choice of two electives. Right now he's excited about robotics, so he's aiming to fill those electives with and Project Lead The Way, an engineering-focused program. (He was also interested in Culinary Arts, but it doesn't seem like he'll be able to fit it into his schedule.)

I pushed him to take Krav Maga for Teens, which thankfully he's been enjoying! We've been trying to find some physical activity he likes, and given the state of the US, having even rudimentary self-defense skills seems pretty important right now. We'll see how he feels about the class once they start sparring, which I think is about six months from now.

In his biggest news, J has a date! He met a girl during the activity we set up for him during February vacation week. I saw them interact for all of a minute while picking him up one day, and it was clear as day she like-liked him; and on the car ride home I teased out of him that he like-liked her as well, and so encouraged (bribed) him to ask her out. She doesn't have a phone, so they've had to communicate via her mom's phone, which I imagine is maximally awkward, but they'll be hanging out at a nearby boba shop this weekend. Godspeed, kiddo.

(There are definitely some of my own issues at play here. I'm terrible at 1) figuring out if someone is attracted to me and 2) asking that person out, and I want him to be better at both than I am!)

He's an ardent and vocal defender of progressive values at school, which I'm proud of him for. I'm sure he doesn't go about it in the best way possible -- like me, he's not good at de-escalating -- but I'm glad he has the courage to speak out and speak up, and be a visible ally. Sometimes I think he really should consider law, because he has a keenly felt sense of justice, but it's engineering that he's truly interested in.
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Meanwhile, G's biggest news is that they've come out as non-binary. As far as I can tell, they're still comfortable in their body, their gender presentation, their name, etc., but just don't want to care about the expectations that come with "he/him". They're not particularly out yet; they're OK with us telling our friends and family, but at school I think only their best friend knows.

Like J, they're getting ready to transition, as middle school starts next year. I don't think it will be as jarring logistically as the transition to high school; I think the hard parts will be social, as it seems to me that middle school is when kids' meanness and cruelty starts to really manifest.

They recently started on ADHD meds, 5mg of metadate daily, and (after three days) it seems like they prefer to be on it. Some combination of concerns from their 5th grade teacher and G's own frustration with their ADHD encouraged us to consult with their pediatrician about possible treatment. There's also the possibility of G seeing a therapist, so we'll see if they're open to that.

J is entering eighth grade next year. Puberty hit like a bomb late last summer; right after our return from Japan, his voice suddenly dropped what seemed like an octave, and he shot up like a weed. I think he's grown 3-4 inches since September, and he's eagerly anticipating the day he's taller than me -- he's only got two inches to go, and it seems inevitable. (He recently found out he's taller than my dad and one of my sisters, which filled him with glee.)

All of thirteen years old, sometimes he's great, and sometimes he's a complete butt. He'll talk our ear off about whatever video game he's playing at the moment, often providing NO CONTEXT WHATSOEVER. He's learning what kinds of humor are appropriate for family, and what jokes should be reserved for friends (what we call his "Personality B" humor). He likes to complain, which has been more a consistent personality trait than a recent development, and boy howdy it can grate.

He spends a fair amount of time each day holed up in his room surfing the internet, which we don't police -- but reserve the right to. On school nights we extract his Chromebook, although he still has his phone. (We got him as dumb a phone as we could, but it still has primitive internet and texting capabilities.) He's kept up with his guitar, though he's not terribly diligent about practicing or pushing himself to improve -- it's something he enjoys, but doesn't take terribly seriously, which is OK.

I recently taught him how to shave with disposable safety razors, and now he seems to take any excuse to do so (like a single hair showing up, or if the barest hint of stubble is visible).

Middle school seems to have been a mixed bag so far, but more positive than negative, I think. He has a lot of friends who he's in D&D club with, or arranges online gaming sessions with, or who are participants in an active group chat. (Of course, he appears to have almost no interest in spending time in physical proximity with these friends, so we have no actual idea what they're like). On the other hand, that age is also when many children begin to hone their pettiness and cruelty, and he's been on the receiving end of some of it.

Not that he's been an angel, either. He's done some stupid, mean shit, and has received his share of stern lectures from us (and school officials also, presumably). That said, he has a fierce sense of justice, and (from what we hear, anyway) is a vocal defender of queer folks at his school (though AFAICT, he himself identifies as pretty straight).
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G is entering his last year of elementary school. Ever since the pandemic, he's liked to wear his hair long. He's super-full of weird and interesting thoughts, and he wants to tell us all about every single one, which is mostly cute but sometimes exhausting, especially if we're, for example, reading a book or cooking dinner.

He wants to do EVERYTHING, to the point where if we wants to add another activity to his schedule, he has to replace another one. Last school year, he was taking guitar lessons, piano lessons, karate, and participated in his school's Drama Club, which was about the limit of the running around we were willing to do.

As of now, he has a much sunnier disposition than J, though he's also more reserved about his relationships; whereas at his age, it seemed like J considered anyone he interacted well with as a friend, G is much more discerning about the levels of closeness he feels with other kids.

He's on the path to becoming a decent pianist, and his piano teacher also encourages him to compose. True to form, his pieces are *quite* singular, reflecting both his stubbornness and singular thought process -- to my (biased) ear, his music definitely stands out as unusual at his teacher's studio composition recitals. I'm sure a part of that is that I encourage and help him to explore whatever direction his creativity wants to take him, and try not to make his music "fit" the rules; I definitely provide guidance, but in the end I try to let him decide how he wants his music to sound.

He's something of a cloud cuckoolander, sometimes doing infuriatingly boneheaded stuff (like toasting something in the oven *while it was on a plastic plate*, melting said plate and ruining the toaster) or whatever bizarre idea comes into his head (like gargling bubble bath water). We consider him our Jason Mendoza, and also reminiscent of Young Neil from Scott Pilgrim.

He seems like the kind of person who's curious to experience as many sensations as he can; and I sometimes feel the need to emphasize to him that he should not try psychoactive drugs until he's at least 18, preferably 21.

I don't know exactly when it happened, but sometime in the last few years I started to feel as if I could unleash the full extent of my deadpan humor at them, and they're now both working on their withering glares in response.

ETA: Some other things I want to remember:

Both of them have this odd verbal tic where, as a verbalized pause, they'll repeat the last syllable or two they said. Is that a generational thing?

Both boys are still very huggy, and while they don't always choose the best moments (like when I'm BUILDING IKEA FURNITURE), I'm still glad of it.

Our last full day in Japan starts with a visit to teamLab Planets, an interactive art installation. It's divided into two sections, "Water" and "Garden", and we're asked to take off our shoes and socks, since in the first section we'll literally be wading through ankle- to knee-deep water.

We begin by walking up a narrow, inclined, dimly lit corridor with water flowing downwards, which culminates in a column of water being lit from above, and it feels like a passage into another realm.

After the column of water is "The Infinite Crystal Universe", a mirror maze of dangling fiberglass rods lit from within by LEDs, with constantly changing patterns accompanied by ambient music. It's a dizzying, awesome experience, and it honestly feels kinda like being in somebody else's brain. G and J are a little overwhelmed, and so they try to hurry through and somehow end up (with E) in something of a secret room.

(Earlier that day I discovered the iPhone's ability to take panoramic photos, and I'm particularly pleased by the ones I took here.)

Next is "Drawing on the Water Surface Created by the Dance of Koi and People", which is a room filled with cloudy water, on top of which koi are projected -- and when the koi bump into a person, they would burst into flowers and petals.

From there we enter what we call the "Katamari Room", filled with big inflated balls (like, maybe four feet in diameter), and lit with intensely colored, constantly shifting lighting. J & G have a blast rolling the balls around, darting in between them, and hiding, and I take a couple more panoramic photos.

The final exhibit in "Water" is a dome-shaped room with projections of flora dancing on the ceiling at dizzying speed. I lay down on the floor in the center and just stare up for a while to let it wash over me. (It reminds me of a similar piece at Artechouse in Washington, D.C.)

From there we proceed to the "Garden", the first part of which is a moss-covered landscape littered with metallic, ovoid objects, which we are encouraged to "gently push". It's charming, but it's not as transcendent as some of the parts of "Water".

Last is the "Floating Flower Garden", another mirror maze akin to "The Infinite Crystal Universe", only with walls of orchids hung from above that slowly bob up and down. It's quite peaceful and meditative. (I take one more panorama.)

The whole experience is stunning, one of the highlights of the trip, and we cap it off by having marvelous vegan ramen in their (very trippy) noodle space, where it's dark enough that the food comes with a small lamp.

After our standard early afternoon rest, we take a visit to AkeruE, an interactive science exhibit at the Panasonic Center. The main lobby has an activity where kids can color in a vehicle, which then gets scanned and turned into a 3-D model in a little racing game. AkeruE itself has large collection of neat little exhibits, including a small self-contained ecosystem, a painting that slowly shifts colors, a ferrofluid "sculpture", and a series of little robots that pass ping-ping balls in a circle.

It's a nice contrast to the profound assault on the senses of TeamLab, a gentle collection of small delights.

We have a pleasant dinner back at the hotel, and pack for our flight home.
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On the day we fly out, once we get to the airport, E starts to experience...respiratory symptoms...and decides to mask up. We have a direct flight from Tokyo to Boston which will, thanks to dateline shenanigans, depart on Wednesday at 6:30pm, and arrive on Wednesday at 6:30pm. I spend much of the flight watching Tom Cruise movies, and I must report that Edge of Tomorrow is quite enjoyable, especially if you take pleasure in seeing Mr. Cruise die gruesomely and often.

BIL picks us up at Logan, and as soon as E gets home she tests herself for COVID, and is unambiguously positive (though somehow the rest of us escape unscathed.) Thankfully the worst of it for her clears up in a week and change, though it's rough to deal with as we're also recovering from jet lag that is as bad as it can get.

As soon as we can, we throw a slideshow party for friends, and share many of the treats we brought back from Asia, accompanied by a narration of our trip. It's a lovely capstone to an amazing few weeks.

Today is our least structured day in Japan. We'll be wandering around the iconic Shibuya Scramble Crossing, where at its busiest, thousands of pedestrians make their way across a rather complicated five-way intersection. As soon as we emerge, we take a picture in front of the statue of Hachiko; and I'm inordinately excited because I recognize lots of locations that are recreated in one of my favorite games, Persona 5.

We park ourselves at a Starbucks overlooking the crossing and spend some time just goggling at the sheer mass of people navigating the crossing, even at a fairly mellow time of day.

Our next destination is a cat cafe, but on the way we run across a gachapon shop that has hundreds, probably thousands of different gachapon machines, and so we have no choice but to mill around there for a while. E emerges with a shoebill toy, and I can't resist a Jack Frost (from the series of games that Persona 5 is a part of).

The cafe itself is super sweet. By this point, we miss our own cats terribly, and we're thrilled to have the chance to snuggle some kitties. It seemed well-designed for cats, with lots of nooks, crannies, and perches. One of the cutest things they offer are frozen seafood lollipops, and J and G delight in offering them for the cats to lick.

Next up is the MEGA Don Quijote, the jumbo-sized version of the store that we visited on our first day in Japan -- which itself was already large enough to get lost in. We pick up souvenirs, and candies to bring home and share -- in particular, a whole variety of KitKat flavors, including wasabi, wheat, and sake.

We have lunch at McDonald's, because we have to try it, and it's actually quite good! They're promoting the Samurai burger, which seems a little odd, but is nevertheless tasty -- and they're also offering some Hawaii-themed drinks, which the boys go to town on.

We retire for the afternoon, and J and I try out the hotel baths. (G has decided that it's not for him.) It's a very different experience, much less intimate than the ryokan -- these are baths the size of small swimming pools, in large rooms with a much more modern design sensibility. Again, my (and J's) endurance for the extreme heat is limited, but it's still a pleasant experience, helps me feel like I'm really, truly doing the Japan thing.

Dinner is at Shiomi Skippers, a nearby burger joint. Apparently they've competed in the World Burger Championships, and they do indeed make tremendous burgers -- I still remember mine quite fondly. Plus, the kids' burgers come in a chest, complete with treasure.

Even though Japan's been amazing, by now we've been traveling for two weeks, our tourist energy is fading fast, and we're feeling ready to go home. Thankfully our last few days in the country are relatively low-impact.

We begin the day with the hotel breakfast buffet, which is divided into Western and Japanese food stations. I don't have the intestinal fortitude to go full Japanese breakfast -- which seems to include noodles and a seafood stew -- but natto is on offer, and I realize that given I've already paid for it and there's no opportunity cost, this is my best chance to try it.

If you're unaware, natto is soybeans that have been fermented by a specific bacterium that exudes a very sticky, thick goop. Everything about it screams "I am disgusting".

And boy, it is indeed disgusting. The texture is horrific, like eating lumpy glue. I describe the taste -- and long-lasting aftertaste -- as "salty, rotten sneakers".

E and the boys revel in my ordeal. (Here's a photo collage E made of the event. Sadly, it wouldn't allow her to put it in chronological order.)

Our destination for the day is the Ueno Zoo, and maybe the Tokyo National Museum afterwards. (Spoiler: we don't make it to the latter.) Among the zoo highlights are the baby pandas, an adorable Pallas's cat, some perpetually affronted shoebills, and getting to see red panda feeding time. There's also a large lotus pond in the middle of the zoo; we arrive too late to see it in bloom -- they flower in the morning -- but it's still a gorgeous sight.

Lunch at the zoo features panda-themed dishes: my noodle bowl comes with panda-shaped nori and a fish cake with a panda picture, and the sundaes have panda-face chocolates.

Once we're done with our meal, it's been a very hot day in the sun, so we retire to the hotel. The TV in our room doesn't have access you YouTube, which secretly thrills me and E, since the boys will be forced to watch Japanese TV if they want passive entertainment. In fact, they get super into a show called Black Bass Masters, and complain when it's time to go to dinner.

We decide to have dinner at a conveyor sushi place near our hotel, and are stymied by the check-in computer, which is all in Japanese. Thankfully, someone takes pity on us and checks us into a table. It's busy enough that many things are gone by the time the conveyor rolls around, so we end up ordering a fair amount via the tableside touchscreen menu -- those items are brought to us by a mini bullet train, which is delightful.

I note that much of the waitstaff is South Asian, and I wonder about the circumstances that brought them here. While our experience here as tourists has been wonderful, I'm given to understand that foreign residents of Japan are often subject to prejudice and scorn, and I hope that these folks are treated fairly.

Today we travel back to Tokyo, we've decided that we're going to do the Hakone Round, taking every possible form of local transportation:
train, funicular, gondola, boat, and bus. We start the day with pastries from Watanabe Bakery, bid farewell to our marvelous ryokan, and take the bus, to the train, to the funicular stop.

Honestly, the funicular ride isn't that pleasant; it's slow and full of people, plus there's no air conditioning, so it gets stuffy fast. It definitely qualifies as second-order fun. (J's face pretty much says it all.)

The gondola ride is pretty cool, bringing us over Owakudani, a particularly geologically active region of Hakone. Warning signs alert people with respiratory problems to the presence of volcanic gas, and we pass over active sulfur vents that are belching fumes.

(Sadly, though sometimes one can see Mt. Fuji in the distance from the ropeway, today it's wreathed by clouds, so we're unable to see it in its full glory.)

(Also, I didn't realize that Hakone is the main setting of Neon Genesis Evangelion! Though in the mythos of the show, it's referred to as Tokyo-3.)

We have lunch at the station at the end of the ropeway, and I try hambagu, basically a burger without a bun. It's very tasty but also uncanny -- something super-familiar made with a very different sensibility.

There are three boats on the route around Lake Ashi, all made up to look like pirate ships from the outside. It's relaxing to just sit down and watch the water go by, and I love seeing the torii gates erected near the shore.

From the final "port", we take the bus to Odawara Station, where we get on the shinkansen back to Tokyo.

Our final hotel is the Tokyo Bay Shiomi Prince in Koto City, and figuring out which train to take is super-confusing because it's not immediately clear that this is a Green Line-type situation, where a few different lines start out with the same set of stops, then branch out -- plus some are express trains that don't go to our stop -- and so I don't understand why the Japan Travel App (which is excellent, BTW) keeps giving me so many seemingly unrelated options.

After much consternation, we finally arrive at our hotel, and thanks to the miracle of takkyubin, our heavy luggage is there waiting for us. We eat dinner in the hotel restaurant, and they're offering wagyu steak as a special! I have to order it, and it's everything I could have wanted -- both creamy and flavorful, and served with a perfect wasabi sauce. American wagyu pales in comparison.

We have two very different activities planned for the day, one sublime, and one absurd. The first is a visit to the Hakone Open Air Museum, a gigantic sculpture garden; the second is a visit to Yunessun, a hot springs-themed water park.

The Museum is beautiful and sprawling, full of modern and postmodern art, which is 100% up my alley. Some pieces are out in open fields, others are tucked away in the woods, or installed in ponds. Among my favorites are:

The boys' favorite part is Woods of Net, a fabric play structure with huge organic dangly bits and tunnels that snake through to the top, housed inside a dome-like structure that looks like it was built from Lincoln Logs. J & G love it so much that we probably spend an hour letting them cavort in it.

The Museum also has a Picasso Pavilion, which mostly showcases his ceramic work -- plates, vases, etc. -- and I came away quite impressed. A few pieces here and there are quite striking (I particularly enjoy a couple of stained glass works), but most of these seem sloppy and amateurish -- overall I get the sense that much of the time, he just plain didn't give a shit, and coasted by on his reputation to imbue these with the merit that they lack intrinsically. While I definitely think he made some great art, most of these seem more like a tribute to his own arrogance. Maybe that's just a consequence of being as prolific as he was...?

(No pictures from the Picasso Pavilion, BTW, as per policy.)

We break for lunch at the buffet, and tool around the gift shop, where we're made happy by a small bank of art-themed gachapon dispensers and a plushie of Mt. Fuji (which I regret not purchasing right there and then).

Then, we take the bus to Yunessun! It's apparently part of a much larger complex, and so when we first arrive, it's not clear we're in the right place. Thankfully, E sorts it all out (by having a conversation entirely via Google Translate, which itself is a piece of modern-day wizardry), and we make our way inside.

And it's utterly ridiculous, as expected. There's an enormous indoor pool lined with hot tub jets. There are smaller baths, each filled with red wine, sake, green tea, or coffee, and of course we have to try them all. There's an indoor lazy river that's the main attraction for the boys. Outdoors, there are a bunch of pools in a faux cave formation (complete with waterfall), a big water slide, and a water playground. We also can't resist trying "Dr. Fish", one of those deals where you stick your feet in a tub filled with tiny fish that nibble on your dead skin, which SUPER tickles and is both somehow uncomfortable yet compelling.

(There's also an adults-only section of Yunessun that's presumably more sedate, but obviously we see none of it.)

We eat dinner at reasonable buffet in that very same complex -- and because it's attached directly to the water park, they're apparently OK with us (and other folks) tromping around the dining area in bare feet.

Back at the guest house, E teaches me how to use the shaved ice grinder in the public kitchen (shaved ice is one of the things the boys love most about Japan), and we add the melon syrup they have on hand. (The prevalence of melon flavoring in Japan puts the US to shame.) I convince J to accompany me to the baths again, though G bows out this time. And E and I close the evening by splitting a bottle of the ryokan's sake on the balcony.

Today we travel to Hakone, a resort town known for its hot springs and (cloud cover allowing) views of Mt. Fuji. (And, I would later learn, for being transformed into Tokyo-3 in the Evangelion anime.) We'll be spending two nights at an onsen ryokan, a small hotel with a hot spring.

We begin the day with breakfast at a nearby European-style cafe, and take advantage of Japan's ubiquitous takkyubin services to send the bulk of our luggage ahead to our next hotel in Tokyo, so we can travel light(er) during our excursion to Hakone. (I very much like the logo of Yamato Transport.)

We're taking the shinkansen (bullet train) from Tokyo Station, and boy is the station an utter madhouse. Even with Japan's commitment to good signage in multiple languages, it's overwhelming and confusing, and finding the ticket counter is a harrowing experience. In order to minimize (though definitely not prevent) the kids' whining as we try to navigate a maze full of people, I scout ahead a few hundred feet while E and the boys stay behind, collect them when I think I've found the next correct path, and then repeat. (At one point, I scout ahead too far, and can't remember how to get back to them -- and since we're underground, texting is impossible. Thankfully I'm able to swallow my panic and eventually retrace my steps.)

(Also, despite utterly failing to provide WiFi since our arrival in Japan, Oopdip is somehow functioning in the depths of this underground labyrinth.)

Once we finally board, the shinkansen itself is a marvel. It's a super-smooth ride, and it's easy to be unaware of how fast we're going -- which I believe maxes out at about 200 mph. At one point I notice that the buildings we're passing appear to be built at something like a 20-degree angle, and I spend a few seconds trying to figure out a practical reason for this until I realize that we're going so fast that we're banking. (The boys are very amused when I tell them this.)

The shinkansen deposits us in Odawara, where we pick up the Hakone FreePass, which allows us unlimited passage on most of Hakone's public transportation options; and from Odawara, we take a bus to Hakone.

Hakone turns out to be very reminiscent of the Berkshires, with a landscape filled with steep, forested hills and mountains, and a lot of art tourism. (Here's a video I took the next day.) The roads are narrow and twisty (although they widen on curves, which is a subtle, excellent idea), and sidewalks are precarious, when they exist at all. We have some trouble finding our ryokan -- it turns out the top of the building is below street level (that's how steep some of the topography is), so the entrance is a covered stairway leading downwards. (Google Street view here.)

The ryokan itself is beautiful (though we never see the outside of it), and the staff is super-friendly. Wearing shoes inside isn't allowed, so we store them in a locker in the lobby, and change into slippers. And for the first time during our trip, we're staying in room that feels intended for four people, with a balcony that overlooks a small river. It's just magical.

After settling in, we have dinner at Watanabe Bakery nearby, where we have beef stew in bread bowls. And we stop by a small gourd-related festival where food trucks are set up, local politicians appear to be stumping, and there's a stage set up with a woman singing. All of a sudden she starts singing the Totoro theme, and being in Hakone feels like being in a Ghibli movie.

Back at the ryokan, I convince the boys to check out the hot spring baths -- we try both the are indoor and outdoor options. And boy howdy, are they hot! (If I understand correctly, the water comes out at 70 degrees Celsius, so we're advised to sit far from the source.) Both are lovely, especially the outdoor bath, but none of us can last longer than a few minutes in either one.

Later that night, the ryokan has set up seating at the entrance so we can watch the fireworks portion of the local festival. It's a wonderful end to the day.

Today we have an all-day tour ahead of us, with a guide named Keiko. Though it was originally pitched as a "food tour", we've modified it more into a tour of some of Tokyo's highlights with food spots thrown in; Tsukiji Fish Market is often closed on Wednesdays, and we can't reasonably ask the boys to eat everything and anything that's put in front of them (though both have been excellent about trying new things).

Keiko meets us at our hotel, and she begins by leading us to a hidden shrine near our hotel (pic here). It turns out that Tokyo (presumably along with most places in Japan, at a guess) is chock-full of lovely little shrines tucked into all sorts of spaces: alleyways, rooftops, under a set of stairs. They're always a delight to find.

The first stop on our tour is the Imperial Palace East Garden. Keiko tells us about the current Emperor and his family, and notes some interesting aspects of the design of Japanese castles and their fortifications. The gardens themselves are beautifully designed, unsurprisingly; roaming around feels like walking through a sculpture. (Short video here.)

(Keiko speaks English with a British accent, and it's incredibly charming. For example, her 'O's are plummy and rounded, and she sometimes drops the R at the ends of syllables, e.g. "here" becomes "heah". It turns out she spent a chunk of her youth in London.)

From there we head to the Tokyo Skytree, the world's tallest tower. We have lunch at the Skytree food court; J has yakitori chicken and a side soup (which he still raves about), G goes to town on a salmon roe rice bowl. This seems like as good a time as any to try takoyaki, which maybe is best described as a large hush puppy with a bit of octopus in the middle. While the batter is tasty, the octopus is unpleasantly chewy and rubbery, and my first time eating takoyaki will also likely be my last.

The Skytree has two observation decks; we stick to the lower one (the Tembo Deck, at 350m), and get some amazing views of Tokyo and environs. There's also a part with a transparent floor, which is dizzying to stand on.

(Sidenote: one of the things I love about Japan are the bathrooms. They're all super-clean, and every toilet has a washlet, of which I'm a huge fan. In contrast, in the Philippines, my Dad handed out wipes to everyone because toilet paper being present wasn't a guarantee.)

Our next stop is the Senso-Ji Temple; on our way there, we take a picture in front of the unfortunate "golden turd" -- a huge structure intended to be a single flame rising upwards, but forced to be turned on its side thanks to building regulations.

The main approach to the temple, Nakamise Street, is bookended with temple gates, and flanked with little shops of all kinds, selling souvenirs and treats. I pick up some tea-flavored okoshi (kinda like Japanese Rice Krispies treats), and the boys have a fine time trying various sweets. The temple is gorgeous, and I'm particularly struck by the paintings on the ceiling (though, sadly, one has fallen down recently). We pass up an opportunity to collect an O-mikuji, a Japanese fortune, a mistake I now regret.

We start making our way to Kappabashi and the end of our tour; on the way, E picks up some lovely fabrics, and G and J get to try out a traditional Japanese activity that involves catching up goldfish with a paper scoop (that eventually breaks as it absorbs water). Kappabashi is the place to purchase kitchen and restaurant supplies, and our final destination is Ganso-Shokuhin, where you can not only buy replica wax food, but make your own!

We arrive a touch before our appointment, so we have time goggle at the incredible and absurd level of detail of an wide range of "dishes". I'm particularly impressed by one imitating a loaf of bread being torn apart. The food-making session itself is super-fun, and is overseen by instructors who help make sure everything comes out OK; we each make a small head of lettuce, a piece of shrimp tempura, and a piece of vegetable tempura. (The lettuce is the most satisfying, as it involves making a layer of wax atop a tub of hot water, pulling that wax under and through the water, then lifting it up to make a wrinkly sheet that then gets folded to make the lettuce.)

After parting ways with Keiko, we chill a bit at the hotel before striking out to find dinner. Most places are small and full, so we end up at a sake bar near our hotel that serves izakaya, the Japanese equivalent of pub food. G gets to chow down on more salmon (loving salmon is a part of his identity), E orders an eel bowl, and J has some excellent fried chicken-type dishes. (I forget what I had, but I remember liking it.) Meanwhile, I try a couple of random sakes from their selection, and the fact that I enjoy them both immensely leads me to believe that there's no sake I don't like.

(Also, a bunch of salarymen come in after work to blow off some steam, and I realize that the bar allows smoking. Whoops.)

Then, to bed after a long, hot, full day.

We start the next morning with breakfast in the hotel restaurant. They offer traditional "Japanese" and "Western" breakfasts, so of course we have to try both. Whomever came up with the Western breakfast clearly started with the Japanese breakfast and when there wasn't a clear analogue, just chose something vaguely plausible:

Bread -> Croissant (Right on)
Tamagoyaki -> Scrambled Eggs (100%)
Mackerel -> Sausage links and bacon (Sure)
Salad w/ ginger dressing -> Salad w/ Italian dressing (I guess, yeah, but...)
Miso Soup -> Vegetable Barley Soup (not so much)
Japanese pickles -> Some random vegetables (hmm...)
Rice -> Jambalaya (wut)

Our plan is to spend the first half of the day wandering around Ginza, visiting some of the places Keiko suggested. (Sadly, as we set out, we find that Oopdip, our Travel Wifi, despite working perfectly in the Philippines, struggles mightily in Japan, and we have to find an alternative.) We start by checking out a Don Quijote, which at first seems like a smallish tchotchke store until I climb one set of stairs, then another...then down a different flight of stairs into an entirely different part of the store, eventually emerging into what seems like a totally different part of Ginza -- and that's how I learn that DQ is actually an iconic chain of gigantic discount stores that sell basically everything.

Next up is a five-floor toy store; I'm tickled by the sight of a translated copy of Settlers of Catan (as well as many other iconic board games), we can't resist picking up a Totoro plushy (among other things), and the boys are introduced to the concept of gachapon. (Sadly, I don't yet have enough 100-yen coins to get a tardigrade toy from its dispenser.)

On Keiko's advice, we have lunch at Kagari Ramen, a tiny joint tucked away in an alley. There are two queues outside, one for placing your order on a kiosk inside the restaurant, and the other for actually sitting down; we get in the wrong one first, and a helpful fellow directs us to the proper one. (J pays it forward by helping a quartet of Australian tourists who make the same mistake). The place is so small that we have to split up, so I sit with the boys and E sits by herself. It turns out to be the best ramen I've ever had -- the broth is rich and buttery, the noodles so flavorful -- and the boys love it too, almost finishing the one they're sharing. (E has the dipping noodles, which I'm sad I didn't have the chance to sample.)

As we're having lunch, a torrential storm is developing outside, and we emerge into a wall of rain that we're totally unprepared for, so we grit our teeth and power back to our hotel. (Said storm might have been the a consequence of a typhoon that's threatening Japan, perhaps even the same typhoon we encountered the edge of in Boracay the week before. Also, we soon buy umbrellas that it turns out we'll never need again.)

(Also, when we travel, we try to designate a couple of hours after lunch as chillout time, during we can all veg out in whatever way we think is best. It's tremendous, just sayin'.)

Our evening event is a baseball game at the Tokyo Dome, where the Yomiuri Giants are playing the Yakult Swallows. Both teams are based in Tokyo, so I imagine there must be some sort of crosstown rivalry. The Dome itself, however, is just a part of Tokyo Dome City, an entire entertainment complex that includes an amusement park (complete with roller coaster, ferris wheel, and log flume), a substantial mall, and probably some other things that we missed. We kill time before the game browsing stores at the mall, and try kakigori, Japanese shaved ice, which is a hit with me and the boys.

Before making our way into the stadium, I and the boys pick up Yomiuri Giants swag, because we can't not -- and we also find displays touting a bizarre cross-promotion the Giants are doing with Hololive, which is a...something...of...virtual YouTubers, I guess? (pic: https://photos.app.goo.gl/xNott5vArsdhLrsL7) There's also a designated area for selling visiting team's gear, and E picks up some Yakult Swallows paraphrenalia.

The actual game itself is fun, but the spectacle around it is truly amazing and ridiculous. Before gametime, on the field, cheerleaders perform a routine while mascots roam around waving to the fans. To throw the ceremonial first pitch, an entire Little League team gets to take the field, and their pitcher throws to a Giants batter (who gamely swings and misses). But the best part is the chanting.

There are sections in the left and right field stands that are occupied by the most ardent fans of the visiting and home teams, respectively. (Whether those sections are officially reserved, or these groups just buy up all the seats is unclear.) Each group of fans has:

1 drummer (fairly high pitched with a tight sound, more like a bongo than a bass drum)
2-3 trumpeters
2-3 people waving (quite large) flags
hundreds of chanters
1 person with a whistle, who coordinates the chants

During every player's at bat, that team's devoted cheering section is singing, loudly, to the melody laid down by the trumpets. As far as I can tell, each player has their own unique chant. And I have SO MANY QUESTIONS. How does someone get allowed into these cheering sections? Do they have to audition and/or prove their devotion? How do they learn these songs? Do they rehearse? Who composes them? If a new player joins the team, do they get their own personalized chant? Are there generic chants for less prominent players?

It's a huge contrast to American baseball, where the uncoordinated nature of a crowd means that a batter can take his at-bat in what amounts to white noise. I wonder how long it takes players used to US baseball to adjust; I imagine it's incredibly distracting at first.

Yakult scores the only run, and to celebrate, the Swallows fans in the crowd take out toy umbrellas and bob them up and down.
(Video here: https://photos.app.goo.gl/ncNfUtrKJBj8zvkH6) I'm disappointed I don't get to see a home run, because I can only imagine how apeshit the fans would have gotten, or what absurd ritual I would have witnessed. Nevertheless, it's a total blast.

The next morning, we leave for Japan, though the rest of my family is spending an additional week in the Philippines. I feel a little bad missing out on more time hanging out with them, but based on past experiences, I'm not particularly excited about spending two whole weeks in the Philippines. Not to mention that, while I enjoy spending time with my dad and my sisters' families, I get tired of my brother -- who is somewhere on the asshole spectrum -- very, very quickly. (Though that said, his wife and three daughters are lovely.)

It's a four-hour flight from Manila to Tokyo, a short hop after our initial marathon. E has made the excellent choice of hiring a guide (Reiko) to get us from Narita airport to our hotel, and she is invaluable. One of the most important things she does is procure Suica cards for us, RFID debit cards that are accepted nearly everywhere -- and most importantly, by public transportation.

Japan's public transportation has a reputation for being top-notch, and it's well-deserved. Trains are frequent and exactly on time, doors open in specific spots, routes (and the train's location on them) are displayed on screens inside the cars -- it put the American subways I've experienced to shame. In most stations, different lines each have a clearly-marked path on the floor to follow, painted in that line's color. (Though Tokyo Station was still a terrifying madhouse.)

We chat about baseball and our plans to see a game at the Tokyo Dome (she's a fan of the Yokohama DeNA Baystars); she recommends places to eat; and as we walk from Shinbashi Station to our hotel, she points out some fun stores to visit. It is an indescribable thrill just to be walking around IN JAPAN. In fact, I don't think there's a day during our trip we don't goggle at the fact that we're IN JAPAN.

We're spending our first two nights at the Royal Park Canvas, which is a spiffy, modern hotel in Ginza, which Reiko informs us is one of Tokyo's high-end shopping districts, maybe similar to Newbury Street. (I wonder if I should have done a little more research on the relative expense of various neighborhoods, but it's affordable and nice, so oh well.) Our room is quite tight -- about the same size as our two-parking-space-sized room in Manila (although much nicer and thoughtfully organized) -- and while it ostensibly sleeps four, there are only two double beds side-by-side and a couch.

(Unfortunately, the TV in our room has YouTube, meaning we can't force the boys to watch weird Japanese TV, though at least the ads are Japanese.)

We have dinner in Opuses, the hotel's elegant rooftop restaurant, and order almost every entree from the small menu. Somehow the staff understands that we intend to eat family-style and give us each small plates accordingly, and we have a wonderful meal. (I recall a duck dish -- which the boys tried and liked! -- and a pork chop, but can't remember the other dish.)

E and the boys end up taking the beds, and I take the couch.

Our last day in the Philippines is devoted to family. It begins with a Veloso reunion, held in the house my father grew up in with his two brothers. It's a large, two-story building; the ground floor likely housed staff (maids, cooks, drivers), but now contains a printing company that's part of my uncle's business conglomerate, and the second floor is where my dad's family lived, and is now a waystation for random people my uncle wants to provide temporary lodgings for.

Exterior pic: https://photos.app.goo.gl/Y6evQDwQPu8fp5Mi6. For some reason there's a gigantic propeller in the front area.

I've heard that at some point it was a film studio, particularly known for the fact that its pool had a setup that allowed for underwater cameras. Sadly, no one seems to know what movies were actually shot there, or even know if any footage exists; and the pool itself has since been covered over.

(I've also heard ghost stories about it: the spirit of a boy who drowned in the pool is said to haunt the property; various relatives have talked about supernatural encounters they've had there; employees have quit the printing company because they get too freaked out by strange goings-on.)

The main floor consists of a huge central room with bedrooms hanging off of it, with a kitchen, bathrooms, and a dining area off to the back. We get a tour from my dad with tales from his childhood, goggle at photographs of family (American Velosos included!) spanning decades, and marvel at odd tchotchkes and memorabilia we find in random places (like the fancy printed menus taken from a cruise ship, or a Tarot-like deck for what we think is an Italian card game).

As we take pictures of various subsets of the entire clan, caterers arrive to set up our lunchtime feast. The main attraction is two whole roasted piglets, one of which has been stuffed with truffled rice. It's quite delicious, and I gorge myself not really knowing the next time I'll be able to have Filipino comfort food.

Next up is the keystone of this trip, my mom's inurnment. Rites are given by a Catholic priest, and thankfully I'm not asked to do a whole lot (my oldest sister, brother, and oldest niece get unexpectedly conscripted to deliver various readings) except fling holy water onto my mom's urn.

(The holy water itself is kept in a nondescript plastic bottle, which is a surprising choice. I imagine it being kept in a supply closet, next to other bottles labeled "Bleach" and "Peroxide".)

It's been two years and three memorial services since my Mom died, so while it's sad to see her plaque in the columbarium (I had to look that word up, it's a good one), it's far from overwhelming. We're amused and exasperated that they got her birthdate wrong -- another example of how half-assed the Philippines often seems.

The inurnment is followed by a huge buffet dinner (again, delicious) at the Manila Golf & Country Club for not only the Velosos, but also the Julianos and Africas (both sides of my mom's family), I'm guessing with about 100-120 people? A slideshow of photos of my mom plays, along with some of her favorite music, and I do get a little misty-eyed as I reminisce with close family.

My sister-in-law's original plan was to pass a mic around for everyone to introduce themselves and maybe share a memory of my mom, but there are just too many folks who want to say too many things -- so as time runs out, it comes down to my dad, and me and my siblings. I talk a little bit about her love of art and music, and how it probably led her to let me bum around as an aspiring musician for so many years.

It's a long affair, but an enjoyable one, and we eventually return to our hotel to get ready for the next stage of our trip.

Originally, the plan was to fill up another day with activities, starting with a two-hour drive to the countryside and not stopping from there. After Tuesday's grueling tour, we call the plan off entirely, and instead just kind of bum around a mall. We grab lunch at a shabu place; I pick up some Filipino candies (pastillas, a chewy confection made from water buffalo milk), and a small monograph on Marcos's declaration of martial law in 1972.

The monograph particularly interests me, partly because I'm curious about the Philippines' perspective of its own history -- but more so, even though Marcos's declaration happened before I was born, it's incredibly important to me, since it's the reason my parents emigrated to the US. Though they did their medical residencies in The States, they returned to the Philippines in 1971 with the intention of staying permanently. So if Marcos hadn't seized power, my life would be very different -- assuming I existed at all. (I also assume strings were pulled to allow them to leave the country; my father's father was a prominent businessman, and my mother's parents -- themselves doctors -- had medical connections in the US.)

We have delicious Italian meal at the Manila Polo Club with much of the Veloso side of the family and then retire.
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This fairly uneventful day presents an opportunity to talk about Manila traffic, which I've described as a thousand-person game of chicken in which everyone has a death wish.

Wheeled traffic generally consists of:

1) Jeepneys, a small open-air bus that's kinda native to the Philippines, and seats maybe a dozen and a half passengers

2) Regular cars/SUVs

3) Tuk-tuks, small three-wheeled vehicles that are well-suited to ferrying small loads

4) Scooters, sometimes with packages to deliver, sometimes with passengers

5) Cyclists

This gamut of sizes means that between any two vehicles, a smaller one can probably just barely fit, and boy howdy do they try. Manila traffic is a heart-stopping white-knuckle thrill ride as all of these people weave in and out of each other, forcing their way into any space they can. If the oncoming lanes are clear, folks will just veer into them if it might give them an advantage. Pedestrians looking to cross the street just...do it. Nobody gets out of the way of emergency vehicles.

(This video maybe communicates some of what it's like.)

It's an absolute madhouse, but somehow it seems to work, at least in the sense that for all the asshattery I witnessed, I never saw a single accident -- and there's no real road rage, because in a world in which nobody expects courtesy, nobody can be angry at its absence.

On the other hand, it also means that the overall rate of travel for cars is probably around 2-3 miles per hour. And if you need an ambulance to get you to the hospital quickly...well, maybe just don't get that kind of sick.

We're slated to spend the next three days on Boracay, a beautiful island that's part of the Philippine archipelago, at a posh resort one of my cousins frequents and at which he's made arrangements. It'll be a lovely respite from the breakneck pace of Day 2. Getting there requires a series of short trips -- an hour-long plane ride to nearby Panay island, followed by a bus ride to the shore, where take a boat ride to Boracay...and then another bus ride to the resort itself.

We spend the days lounging around the pool and chilling with family, although a lurking typhoon limits many of the standard beach activities we might have participated in, and sends us occasional microbursts that drive us inside. The boys get to spend more time around cousins, old and new. And every day at 3pm there's Chocolate Hour, a dessert buffet that J and G absolutely go wild for.

Every single member the staff make sure to greet us when we walk by, which feels weird pretty quickly, and makes me suspect that they're contractually obligated to do so, and/or if they'd get in trouble if they didn't. It doesn't quite feel obsequious, but obviously their livelihood depends on at least attempting to appear hospitable, and I start to feel a twinge of discomfort when I walk past somebody who feels it necessary to pause while doing their job and say some friendly words to an overprivileged stranger.

(A discomfort, mind you, that doesn't prevent me from enjoying being pampered.)

The point of this mini-trip is to do very little that's actually interesting, so there's not a lot more to talk about. I do learn that one of my aunts makes sure that her two sons always take separate flights to ensure that there's someone to run the family business, just in case, which is a level of precaution I never would have considered.

We return from Boracay to a second MySpace hotel. This one is differently incongruous -- instead of rising tall above a shantytown, this one is smack dab in the middle of a residential community (like if a Holiday Inn had somehow sprouted on Orchard Street in Somerville). I get the sense that either Manila doesn't have zoning laws...or more likely, that they're easy to ignore if you know the right people to bribe.

As of this morning, everyone has arrived, and we have an (exhausting) all-day tour ahead of us, starting with a trip to Rizal Park, a huge park dedicated to the Philippines' national hero and built around the site of his execution.

Jose Rizal was a late 19th-century artist and intellectual whose novels codified the abusive legacy of many centuries of Spanish colonization and helped create a sense of Filipino national identity; these novels were a touchstone of a national movement that eventually led to the failed Philippine Revolution of 1896.

It pleases me that the Philippines' most revered figure isn't a military man or a politician, but a writer and polymath (who married a Caucasian woman), though I wonder if that would have been different had the Philippine Revolution actually succeeded.

One of the park's features is a series of bas-reliefs and sculptures illuminating moments from Rizal's life (an example: https://photos.app.goo.gl/UHR3pNVY7fsnad7Q7), and the vibe is strongly reminiscent of the FDR monument. The diorama of his execution (https://photos.app.goo.gl/34W7XE1Xx1TUPpeP9) seems to echo The Crucifixion, and it leads me to suspect that Rizal's parallels to the Christ story are why he resonates so deeply: a healer and champion of the oppressed who advocated for change by peaceful means, and was betrayed by the militant wing of the movement he was a part of.

From there we move on to Fort Santiago, a fortress built by the Spanish to protect Manila in the late 16th century that, until Philippine independence, served as a stronghold for whatever power was dominant in the Philippines at any given time. As the site of Rizal's imprisonment prior to his execution, there's quite a lot here that's also dedicated to his life and legacy, but we also get some information about its role in WWII as a base of operations for both the Japanese and American forces.

It's also deathly hot and humid with a super-high heat index (maybe above 110F?), everything is outdoors, and the boys are complaining and whining. If I weren't a grownup, I would be too.

We get some respite from the sweltering heat during lunch at a place called Barbara's, which serves a buffet of tasty Filipino food. I load up on lumpia (spring rolls), pancit (noodles) and lechon (roasted suckling pig); this is my chance to get my fix since, sadly, there are literally no Filipino restaurants in the Boston area. A charming trio of musicians flits from table to table, playing requests. We ask for a couple of my Mom's favorite songs, and some of us tear up a bit.

Lunch is followed by a trip to a reconstructed villa, which provides a neat look into how a Spanish aristocrat would have lived. We then spend some time at the National Museum of Fine Arts, which showcases works by Filipino artists. Honestly, I'm not terribly impressed with the most if it; the works are generally some combination of representational, religious, or nationalist, and it all feels unsophisticated -- overly earnest and naive, disappointingly literal. (Though I do like the sketches on display.)

This has all made for a long-ass day, and after a quick shopping trip to Chinatown, we're all pretty wiped. Our day isn't done yet, though, as there's a party at my cousin's house/compound for the Juliano (my mom's) side of the family. Thankfully, this turns out to be the highlight of the day.

I don't understand how it's possible to fall into conversation so easily with people I haven't seen since the 20th century, but I have a great time talking to and catching up with cousins and aunts and uncles. Maybe that's just how family works, in an ideal world? As a bonus, some kids close enough to J & G's age are playing video games, so they find their hangout niche easily.

I could have stayed for hours and hours (and maybe gotten to play a board game or two -- our arrival interrupted a game of Parks), but we have to end the evening far too soon, since we leave at 5am the next morning for a trip to Boracay.

Our hotel stands nine stories tall in the city of Taguig, part of Metro Manila ("MM"), the urban area that surrounds Manila. I don't know about the rest of Taguig, but we're in the middle of what feels like a shantytown, surrounded by dilapidated dwellings that are shoehorned into any available space, and appear to be made of whatever materials were at hand.

(The view from our hotel: photos.app.goo.gl/tF7wL5ahcGGgrpCt8)

In MM at least, there's no escaping reminders of its severe income inequality. Squalor and luxury butt up right against one another: a Mercedes dealership is flanked by shacks built from corrugated iron; unhoused folks have set up a sprawling encampment beneath the underpass across from an expensive department store. Though I have no idea how folks in the Philippines feels about it, my guess is that nobody important cares enough to do anything about it -- or even considers it a problem -- and the thought fills me with despair and disgust.

Anyhow, the poverty of our immediate neighborhood explains the roosters that wake us up in the morning, much to the boys' surprise and chagrin. The hotel offers Filipino comfort food for breakfast, and I delight in a simple dish of adobo and rice.

There's not much to do today; we're still waiting on my eldest sister's family to arrive (late that night), and so in the absence of anything better to do, we tool around a couple of malls. I introduce E, G, and J to Jollibee, a Filipino fast food chain analogous to McDonald's, if McDonald's also inspired no small amount of national pride. We pass by a church service happening right in the middle of the mall, which is jarring to me, but according to E is not uncommon in middle America.

(I'm amused to find a place that purports to serve Texas BBQ: photos.app.goo.gl/i9gQ9kfFx7NpVjVQ6)

There's an armed presence everywhere. Entering one of the malls requires passing through a security checkpoint. Officers with pistols eyeball people entering the bank. A guard greets us warmly as we enter the grocery store.

I imagine it's intended to reassure and provide a feeling of safety, and it doesn't exactly feel unfriendly or outright hostile -- but a society that considers measures like this a part of everyday life maybe has some deeper problems (see above:
"Income inequality").

This attitude is reflected in private spaces as well. Single-family* homes in MM are more like compounds, surrounded by thick stone walls about 5-8 feet high (sometimes topped with barbed wire), and accessible only via a gate. Many of these homes are themselves protected further, imbedded in communities that you need a pass to enter, a miniature sovereignty that's sometimes enforced by men with assault rifles. This micro-Balkanization is an incredibly strange phenomenon to encounter smack dab in the middle of a highly developed urban residential area, as if there were random chunks of Somerville that were walled off and patrolled.

We have dinner at an excellent Japanese restaurant, and head back to our hotel to conk out.

*Single-family isn't the right word, but it's as close as I can come. Most households consist of not only their owner's family, but also staff: maids, a driver, and possibly their families as well.

Our flight to the Philippines is in two stages: a 14-hour flight to Incheon Airport in Seoul, and a 4-hour flight to Manila. Concerned about the vagaries of multi-stop international travel, we've stuffed everything we think we need into four backpacks and four carry-on bags, planning to do laundry at least twice during our 2.5 week trip. The schedule is such that we leave our house at 8am on Saturday morning (budgeting far too much time for US customs), and arrive in Manila at 10pm on Sunday. Including the journey from the airport to our hotel, it'll about 28 hours of travel.

Both flights have a robust-enough movie selection, and I have a chance to watch Weird: The Al Yankovic Story, which is gloriously absurd, and the first two Fast/Furious films, which I wish were more bonkers. Between them, J & G watch D&D: Honor Among Thieves a combined six times.

Incheon Airport itself seems to be a high-end mall that also happens to have planes flying out of it, with multiple floors of expensive-looking stores lining our long walk to the next gate. While waiting for our connecting flight, I pick up some delicious Korean-style donuts (not dissimilar to churros), and in doing so verify that I can use at least one of my credit cards while on the other side of the world.

During our flight to Manila, I'm handed a customs form to fill out. Abortion advocacy materials are among the goods forbidden from being brought into the Philippines. Gross. The Philippines is a deeply Catholic country, one of the legacies left behind by centuries of Spanish colonization. I don't understand a great deal about Filipino politics, but my guess is that while separation of church and state is enshrined in their constitution, the barrier between them is even more porous than in The States.

E has set up TravelWifi for our long trip, and thanks to it (we call it "Oopdip", thanks to its identifier) I text my family to let them know we've arrived. At Passport Control, I'm asked if both of my parents are Filipino citizens; I'm guessing that answering "yes" means that we're subjected to a little less scrutiny, though I honestly have no idea. Customs is a complete formality, and we're waved through without a second glance, eight bags and all.

(As an aside, as part of the spoils of the Spanish-American war, The Philippines was ceded to the United States, and spend 50+ years as an American colony until it was granted independence just after World War II. One of the upshots of this is that pretty much everybody that I'm likely to encounter speaks English, and most signage is in English, and English only.)

We emerge from the airport into a sea of heat and humidity. The Philippines is a tropical country, and has two seasons: the dry season, and monsoon season; we're arriving in the middle of the latter. My dad and (unfortunate) brother pick us up, and take us to our hotel.

Said hotel (MySpace, natch) is owned by my dad's brother, a very successful businessman. It's a budget hotel, intended as a crash space for people on business trips or doing worker training nearby, and is clean but utilitarian at best; our room is about the size of two or three parking spaces, filled mostly with a bed. The shower's "hot" water is indifferent at best, a trend that will last during our Philippines stay.

We crash pretty much immediately.

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Page generated Jul. 12th, 2025 06:50 pm

I sure hope Gabriel likes my music, when the day is done.

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