Day 7 – July 19: Donuts, Old Friends, and Lucky $300 Wins
- majordetourllc
- Jul 25, 2025
- 4 min read
We woke up bright and early on July 19, ready to dive into everything Okinawa had to offer. Michael, being the hero he is, headed out to get breakfast while I opened my laptop to catch up on some work. Ten minutes later, he came back like Santa Claus with a bag of pure heaven—these little donut holes coated in sugar, but with a creamy, velvety vanilla filling that made them taste like a cross between a beignet and the best Boston cream donut you’ve ever had. I’m telling you, one bite and I considered moving here permanently just for these donuts. I don’t know what magic they use, but Dunkin’ and Krispy Kreme could take notes.
As I sat cross-legged (or as close to cross-legged as I can manage these days) on the tatami mat with my laptop propped on the low coffee table, I felt like a kid in gym class again—but without the flexibility or grace. Getting up from that position? Think baby giraffe learning to walk—awkward, slow, and full of regret. I sipped my vending machine coffee—smooth, rich, and somehow better than anything I’ve brewed at home—and just soaked in the quiet morning bliss.
The AC repair company called to let me know they’d send someone around 11:00 a.m. I told them we wouldn’t be home, and the manager said, “Perfect, we do not want to disturb you,” which instantly made me love them. Sure enough, the repairman showed up right on time and cleaned all three units. Watching those little vents finally blow cool, refreshing air again felt like a personal miracle.
Meanwhile, Michael, Slade, and Tara headed out for lunch at the famous Sushi Go Round. When they came back (looking blissfully stuffed with sushi), Slade and Tara decided to wander through American Village again, exploring its mix of quirky Japanese stores and American-inspired shops.
Michael and I, on the other hand, had one mission: nostalgia tour. We drove out to Camp Courtney to see our old house, the familiar roads, and, of course, our favorite haunt—the Courtney Bowling Alley (complete with its small room of slot machines). As soon as we walked inside, I was hit with a wave of memories. And then, standing behind the counter, was the same Japanese woman from eight years ago. Not only did she remember us, but when I showed her updated photos of the boys, her face lit up like Christmas. She was so touched that she teared up. I don’t think I realized how rare it must be for the locals to see the kids they remember as little ones return as adults. It was a simple moment, but it filled me with such gratitude.
After an hour of slots (and an easy $300 win—apparently, Okinawa loves us), we headed back to pick up Slade and Tara for dinner. On the drive home, I texted our old friend Daryl Tarapasky to let him know we were on the island. He responded immediately with, “Hell yeah, how about 8 PM?” Change of plans, kids! Forget fried rice at Arashi—we were meeting up with a legend.
Daryl walked into the restaurant and it was like zero time had passed. We hugged like family. Tara was thrilled because the menu had every comfort food imaginable—lasagna, chicken wings, the works—and Slade vaguely remembered Daryl from years ago. We caught up like no time had passed, laughing about the good old days.
Outside, a Japanese Taiko drumming band was performing, and Slade and Tara ran out to watch. The rhythms were so powerful you could feel them in your chest. Meanwhile, we dove into stories from the past eight years, trading updates about life, kids, and the strange feeling of realizing your “little ones” aren’t so little anymore.
Daryl has retired, built a gorgeous custom home, and even obtained his Japanese Green Card, officially relinquishing his SOFA status. I was so proud of him, but I couldn’t help feeling a deep sadness for III MEF. Losing someone like Daryl—someone who knows every inch of deployment planning to the Philippines and Thailand—is like losing a living, breathing encyclopedia of expertise. That kind of knowledge can’t be replaced.
We also talked about his tough transition out of the Corps. He shared how retirement left him with anxiety and how starting a men’s group for veterans here in Okinawa helped him and others find solid ground again. Listening to him, I felt so proud. Maybe this—helping veterans, building that support system—is his next calling.
We ended the night in true Okinawan style—sitting in a restaurant booth designed like a bird cage. It was weird, quirky, and 100% on-brand for Okinawa. By the time we got back to the rental, Michael and Daryl weren’t done yet—they hit the upstairs bar and closed it down at 1:00 a.m. I left them to it and happily crawled into bed, grateful for the day.
As we finally headed back to the rental, I couldn’t stop smiling. Seeing Daryl again reminded me that true friendships don’t fade with time or distance—they just pick right up where you left them. Between the sweet reunion, the $300 win, and that perfect mix of old memories and new laughter, Day 7 felt like the best kind of homecoming.
With the cool air finally flowing in our room and my heart so full, I fell asleep knowing this island will always hold a piece of us—and tonight reminded me exactly why.
Thanks for Taking this Detour With Me.
Kolleen
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