It started out so well. We were fully adjusted to the time change and (gasp!) enjoying getting up at 7 am to greet the day and people watch in the breakfast room. Being that it was Saturday, there was a much more relaxed group of diners chatting and chewing that morning. We stayed the full two hours, taking advantage of our one free meal of the day, and the internet that only worked downstairs. Finally we rolled ourselves, all full of eggs and sausage patties, labeled "hamburg", into the elevator and back to our room to pack. Pained though I am to think of how my family reading along might react to such honesty, I must report that our exodus was not without the urge to imbibe, and weighing the almost empty bottle in my bag, we gave way.
We checked out promptly at 10:59 and were feeling simply stellar. High fives abounding, we made our way to the Tokyo Railway Station to activate our 21-day unlimited rail passes.
At the JR information area we coordinated the transfer of our order forms into real passes and reserved our seats for the Shinkansen bullet train to Nagoya. Nagoya, home to 2 million people, is the fourth largest city in Japan. It was then that the rain started to pick up, but no sweat, surely it would subside by the time we got off in 2 hours.
The Shinkansen was the most thrilling and unfamiliar way I have ever traveled. In addition to the wild, wheel-less magnetic technology used to propel this train at 200mph, the seats are spaced farther apart than a business class flight with more reclining ability and steadier tray tables. Indeed, when the train began to move, I was sure we were preparing for take off. Soon after, lovely uniformed ladies appeared carting beer, tea, and ornate lunch boxes wrapped in delicate cloth and rice paper, priced as opulently as they looked. The comely vendors turned, bowed and smiled each time they left our car. Again we high-fived at being clever enough to get these rail passes, as this train would have cost well over 200 dollars without them.
In no time at all we arrived in Nagoya, and though we had 3 hours to wait before meeting up with our hosts, we were excited to get out of the station and explore the city we fancied would be the Philadelphia of Japan. Again we congratulated ourselves on being so awesome as we hopped between the Sakura-dori and Meijo subway lines and got of at Kurokawa, exactly where we needed to be!
Unfortunately, this was our first moment of disappointment. Not only was it pouring down much harder when we emerged from the station, but it turns out that Japan is a bit like Israel in that entire cities seem to shut down on Saturday. I mean NOTHING was open, save for a takoyaki place that was more of a stall than anything else- an overhanging awning that spilled rain everywhere and had no seats. In case you don't know what takoyaki is, we'll get to that. But not to fear! Behold, yonder, a Mister Donut! We scurried across the busy street between cars sloshing water with their tires and wipers and entered the corner doughnut shop. Now, on any other day we might have been heartily disappointed to have ended up in the Dunkin' Donuts equivalent of shops our first ten minutes out of Tokyo, but we were so cold and soaked at this point that this place looked like Vetri to us. With nothing but time to kill, we broke out the Suntory whiskey and sipped it with a bowl of spicy noodles (because apparently you can get them everywhere, even at a doughnut shop) while playing No-limit Texas Hold'em.
The time came for one of us to step out and make a phone call to our hosts, right around 4:30, and I was the first to go. Note: first. We had two cell phone numbers, and I was lucky enough to find a pay phone just 100 or so meters away. After finally figuring out how to use damned the thing, I made four attempts at each number with no success. Okay, no big deal. Our hosts said they'd be home around 5, so I guess I'm a little early- they're probably on the train home right now!
At 5:30 Ken stepped out to try again, and again no luck. We'd now been at this Mister Donut for going on three hours, and it was time to make a move- maybe we could email them, or call them on Skype. The adjacent restaurants all opened at five, so we went into the one with a WiFi sign in the window. But after ordering a beer, we learned, naturally, that they don't know how to use their own wireless. The box had 8 different bar codes and sets of numbers and after several combinations I finally gave up.
At this point, one of the cooks, Katsu, handed me his phone. Okay, one last time, PLEASE pick up! "Hello?" "Maya! Is that you? This is Davida! We are here! Right near the Mister Donut!" A tiny voice on the other end said that she would pick us up there. Phew! Thank you Chef Katsu! We paid and left to wait out front.
Ten minutes. Twenty. Forty-five. She said half an hour, but it's not like a Japanese host to be late. Back to the pay phone. "Hello?" "Yes, Davida, where were you? I already go and come back. I go again, but please to wait." I guess it should have occurred to me at this point that perhaps there was more than one Mister Donut. But no. Another twenty-five minutes went by with no sign of Maya. With an ultimate resolve to get there or go broke trying, we hailed a cab and fervently expressed our desire to go to herokodori. Heerukudory. HE-I-RU-KU-DORI. If our cab driver had spoken English and we Japanese, I'm sure he would have been repeatedly asking us for a cross street, but alas, hindsight is always 20-20. After taking us on a 1400 yen ride ten minutes away to what we thought was their home, but ended up being just another phone booth where we received even more confusing and cryptic information, Ken called an audible and directed the driver back to Kurokawa, where we had been only too excited to arrive six hours prior. The only redemptive part of that stressful and completely unnecessary ride was the driver's refusal to take the fare. "Ser-vi-su".
At this moment, in great desperation, the two years of my Japanese study finally clicked for a brief moment. Kurokawa station's information booth was attended by a man whose English was equivalent to that of a mute person, being conveyed only through signs and gestures. Despite this I was able to extract one thing from all the accompanying gibberish; Hachi-ju San-ju-ni desu. The next bus is at 8:32. And with that, we rushed back to a pay phone, informed Maya of our arrival time, got back in time to board the bus, and got off just in time to see her riding toward us sporting a huge and apologetic smile.
Our time in Nagoya with Koji and Maya was precious, but especially so since it was punctuated by a momentary panic that somehow seems to be the sort of thing we'd do well to get used to.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Flashback To Friday and Before
In 2008, I spent a few days in Tokyo on my way to Thailand. Alone and lonely on my first night there, I braved the chill November mist and happened upon a tiny corner bar in Roppongi. The exterior was so plain and unassuming, I wasn't sure it was open. I poked my head in and saw a man behind the bar and a lovely young woman sitting on a stool opposite him. I asked, "sumimasen, are you open?" The bartender looked at me blankly. The woman said, "yes".
I took a seat at the bar and spent that evening getting to know the bartender/owner/chef Yuta and his college buddy and best customer Aiko. Yuta spoke no English, but Aiko was fluent so she translated for us and before long, we were all communicating clearly.
Several carafes of sake and a bit of shochu later, Aiko broke out some paper, handed me a sheet, started folding and instructed me to do the same. It took me a bit, but I soon realized she was trying to teach me how to make an origami crane. It didn't go very well. My crane looked like an ashtray.
I had so much fun that I returned the next night. This time Yuta prepared some of his mother's specialties courtesy of the house. First, he presented me and Aiko each with a small, smoked fish. It's head was intact, and it's glassy eye regarded me with disdain, "no gaijin would have the stones to eat me." Thinking this was a joke, I hesitated and looked at my friends for some sign as to how I should proceed. Aiko promptly picked up her fish and bit off its head. Yuta did the same. I was afraid this was how it was going to go down. They looked at me and smiled in a way that said, "mmmm, yummy!" Not wanting to offend, I followed suit. The smoky, fishy flavor, along with the texture of crunchy fish skull and squishy eyeballs made my eyes water. I forced a sickly smile as I choked down the mouthful and drained my sake glass in a desperate attempt to eradicate the taste from my palate. Subsequent dishes included pan fried rice balls with fish parts and other fish part based recipes, all from Yuta's childhood.
As the sake flowed, the cuisine seemed to get more palatable until, at long last, it was time to say goodnight...
This past Friday, as we wandered around Roppongi, I tried my best to retrace the route to Yuta's bar. We got turned around once or twice, but ultimately found the small corner address that was home to my warmest memories of Tokyo. It was mid-afternoon and the place looked understandably deserted as most bars don't open until evening. Davida tried the door anyway, and was shocked when it opened easily. Inside, the place was dark, the bar and flooring had been pulled up and all telltale signs of an operating watering hole removed. No artwork, no collectibles, no money taped to the wall indicating that celebratory first sale. Even the small watercolor rendering of the place I had painted which Yuta proudly displayed on the wall behind the bar was gone, an article even the least discerning collector would surely have left behind.
When the door opened and a construction worker stepped in, momentarily scared to death by the white people milling around in the dark gutted space, we were able to learn from him that the place had been closed six months and Yuta's whereabouts were unknown.
In Tokyo, things move quickly and are ever changing. Businesses open and close, buildings are torn down and new ones erected in their place all in the time it takes to order and eat a simple rice bowl. I guess you can't go back.
-Ken
I took a seat at the bar and spent that evening getting to know the bartender/owner/chef Yuta and his college buddy and best customer Aiko. Yuta spoke no English, but Aiko was fluent so she translated for us and before long, we were all communicating clearly.
Several carafes of sake and a bit of shochu later, Aiko broke out some paper, handed me a sheet, started folding and instructed me to do the same. It took me a bit, but I soon realized she was trying to teach me how to make an origami crane. It didn't go very well. My crane looked like an ashtray.
I had so much fun that I returned the next night. This time Yuta prepared some of his mother's specialties courtesy of the house. First, he presented me and Aiko each with a small, smoked fish. It's head was intact, and it's glassy eye regarded me with disdain, "no gaijin would have the stones to eat me." Thinking this was a joke, I hesitated and looked at my friends for some sign as to how I should proceed. Aiko promptly picked up her fish and bit off its head. Yuta did the same. I was afraid this was how it was going to go down. They looked at me and smiled in a way that said, "mmmm, yummy!" Not wanting to offend, I followed suit. The smoky, fishy flavor, along with the texture of crunchy fish skull and squishy eyeballs made my eyes water. I forced a sickly smile as I choked down the mouthful and drained my sake glass in a desperate attempt to eradicate the taste from my palate. Subsequent dishes included pan fried rice balls with fish parts and other fish part based recipes, all from Yuta's childhood.
As the sake flowed, the cuisine seemed to get more palatable until, at long last, it was time to say goodnight...
This past Friday, as we wandered around Roppongi, I tried my best to retrace the route to Yuta's bar. We got turned around once or twice, but ultimately found the small corner address that was home to my warmest memories of Tokyo. It was mid-afternoon and the place looked understandably deserted as most bars don't open until evening. Davida tried the door anyway, and was shocked when it opened easily. Inside, the place was dark, the bar and flooring had been pulled up and all telltale signs of an operating watering hole removed. No artwork, no collectibles, no money taped to the wall indicating that celebratory first sale. Even the small watercolor rendering of the place I had painted which Yuta proudly displayed on the wall behind the bar was gone, an article even the least discerning collector would surely have left behind.
When the door opened and a construction worker stepped in, momentarily scared to death by the white people milling around in the dark gutted space, we were able to learn from him that the place had been closed six months and Yuta's whereabouts were unknown.
In Tokyo, things move quickly and are ever changing. Businesses open and close, buildings are torn down and new ones erected in their place all in the time it takes to order and eat a simple rice bowl. I guess you can't go back.
-Ken
Monday, November 19, 2012
Recalling The Last Three Days
It's Monday night in Takayama, a small historic mountain town north of Nagoya in a part of Japan I've never heard of. The air is brisk and dry, the distant snow capped mountains kissed by the orange light of an autumn afternoon.
Last time I wrote, we were in Tokyo on Friday. Much has happened since then. That night we hit Shinjuku, a brightly lit, noisy part of town where young professionals go to blow off steam after an interminably long week. We sat at a counter and ate spicy noodles, of course, and talked to Toshi, our new friend and surprisingly learned phillies fan.
We proceeded to get lost in the subway, but were bailed out by a charming, scarf wearing Tokyoite named Akio, who walked us through the labyrinthine station to our platform asking no more than an opportunity to practice his English. From there, it was early to bed so we could catch a morning train to Nagoya. I'll let Davida spin that yarn.
-Ken
Last time I wrote, we were in Tokyo on Friday. Much has happened since then. That night we hit Shinjuku, a brightly lit, noisy part of town where young professionals go to blow off steam after an interminably long week. We sat at a counter and ate spicy noodles, of course, and talked to Toshi, our new friend and surprisingly learned phillies fan.
We proceeded to get lost in the subway, but were bailed out by a charming, scarf wearing Tokyoite named Akio, who walked us through the labyrinthine station to our platform asking no more than an opportunity to practice his English. From there, it was early to bed so we could catch a morning train to Nagoya. I'll let Davida spin that yarn.
-Ken
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Tsujiki Fish Market
We woke up at 4:15a to go the Tsujiki fish market on Friday. Having wandered into the wholesale vendors' area, we were accosted by the salty scent of salty fishmongers and the entrails of their wares. We saw everything from cleanly extracted sacks of salmon roe to decapitated six hundred pound tuna. Weaving through the stalls of rubber-clad oyster shuckers for half an hour, we were finally discovered by a bewildered, toothless fish cop. "This section is off limits!"
Free breakfast back at the hotel around 7a and already thinking about going back to bed. No way. We rallied and found ourselves in a stunning park near Roppongi on the sunniest day so far.
Aside from its beautiful cherry blossom trees and peaceful winding paths, this park was host to the first shrines and temples we'd seen thus far. We sat in a cavernous room adorned by golden chandeliers and reflected on the contrast of the setting only hours before. We passed by monks in sandals smoking cigarettes, admired rows and rows of stone cherubs in knit wool hats, and stood solemnly in graveyards flanked by forests of bamboo. Sigh.
Free breakfast back at the hotel around 7a and already thinking about going back to bed. No way. We rallied and found ourselves in a stunning park near Roppongi on the sunniest day so far.
Aside from its beautiful cherry blossom trees and peaceful winding paths, this park was host to the first shrines and temples we'd seen thus far. We sat in a cavernous room adorned by golden chandeliers and reflected on the contrast of the setting only hours before. We passed by monks in sandals smoking cigarettes, admired rows and rows of stone cherubs in knit wool hats, and stood solemnly in graveyards flanked by forests of bamboo. Sigh.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Our Breakfast
I don't know what they feed the chickens to make the yolks of their eggs so beautiful and orange but it's definitely not growth hormones. 
Tokyo Day 1
First mistake: don't sit down at a restaurant where the prices are only printed in Japanese. You may end up paying $50 for a tempura lunch. Not that it wasn't delicious; the sake was warming, the deep fried goodness hot and delectable, but the check left us feeling cold... s-s-so c-c-c-cold... Lesson learned.
The search for our bank in Shiodome yielded little at first until we wandered into the Ginza and found a branch among the giant multicolored signs and brilliantly shiny shop fronts. Yay! We have cash!! It's amazing how far some people will go to avoid ATM fees.
Evening. Okachimachi station. A seemingly endless maze of stalls hawking everything from carharrts to vans to gyros to girls. We skipped the houses of ill repute and opted for noodles and beer. Excellent choice.
-Ken
The search for our bank in Shiodome yielded little at first until we wandered into the Ginza and found a branch among the giant multicolored signs and brilliantly shiny shop fronts. Yay! We have cash!! It's amazing how far some people will go to avoid ATM fees.
Evening. Okachimachi station. A seemingly endless maze of stalls hawking everything from carharrts to vans to gyros to girls. We skipped the houses of ill repute and opted for noodles and beer. Excellent choice.
-Ken
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
First night / Morning in Tokyo
Hello everyone!
We have safely arrived in Tokyo, and are sitting in the "lobby" of our hotel watching dozens of well dressed business men scarf down the free breakfast made available by the hotel between 7 and 9am. Being very proud of ourselves for even being up early enough to catch the breakfast considering our 23 hour day yesterday, I figured I would wear the complimentary slippers that I was provided with. People are sniggering at Me. Today we will go to the Vietnamese Embassy to take care of our visas before we head out of Tokyo, and search for the best ramen in our neighborhood of Minato. Love to all, more soon.
D.
We have safely arrived in Tokyo, and are sitting in the "lobby" of our hotel watching dozens of well dressed business men scarf down the free breakfast made available by the hotel between 7 and 9am. Being very proud of ourselves for even being up early enough to catch the breakfast considering our 23 hour day yesterday, I figured I would wear the complimentary slippers that I was provided with. People are sniggering at Me. Today we will go to the Vietnamese Embassy to take care of our visas before we head out of Tokyo, and search for the best ramen in our neighborhood of Minato. Love to all, more soon.
D.
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