Alone with the Crowd

The fish, with a stick through its carcass, jerked a few times, then jerked again. Karen was the first to notice. "It's still moving!" She refused to eat it. I grabbed a piece of sashimi with my chopsticks, waved it in front of the fish, taunting it. "I'm gonna eat you! You gonna be delicious!" Karen, my two friends Terri and Winnie, the waitress, the family in the corner, and the old man dressed like a Mongolian in the other corner, all stared, aghast.

We were in a seafood restaurant on a cold, rainy night in Moto-Hakone. With the exception of the 7-11 next door, it was the only place open. I was hungry, soaked and a little chippy. The entire day was spent getting to this spot. From our hostel to Asakusa station, then a train to Shinjuku station, then a train to Hakone-Yumoto, then a bus that crawled through winding roads.

I took my frustrations out on Flopsie. That's what we called the fish for the remainder of our trip. I assured everyone that Flopsie was quite dead, but that didn't make anyone feel better. I also said that fish have no feelings, so my taunting didn't really matter. That made everyone feel worse. I stopped talking and ate more of Flopsie.



This was the start of our trip away from Tokyo, to get away from the crowds. The plan was to stay a night at the Moto-Hakone Guesthouse, then wake up early and get a full day of Hakone in, with our Hakone Freepass. For 5000 Yen, our freepass was good for selected buses, trams, cablecars, ropeways and ferries.

The only problem was that we planned this day for November 23rd. This happens to be a Japanese National Holiday. Which meant thousands of other Tokyo-ites were leaving town, for the quiet scenery of towns such as Hakone. There went our hopes for a quiet day-trip.

Crowds surrounded us. On the bus from Moto-Hakone to Gora. On the cablecar from Gora to Sounzan. While waiting in line for Ropeway from Sounzan to Togendai. On the cruise boat across Lake Ashi back to Moto-Hakone. Swarms of families; mostly Japanese with a few westerners. Snapping pictures at every opportunity, taking in the foliage as the rain clouds were swept away for a brief moment. My energy drained with each trip. I just wanted to get away from our getaway.


*Aboard the sightseeing cruise*

The crowds stayed with us on our two-hour bus ride back to Hakone-Yumoto station. I spent half the ride standing up. With each hairpin turn I shoved my backpack into a old man's face. The crowds followed us back to Shinjuku. Only when we trudged through Asakusa to our hostel was when they left us alone. What was supposed to a restoring daytrip turned into an endurance test. I failed. And we had to fly to Hong Kong the next day...

Hakone, with its foliage and mountain views, is a beautiful place. Contrasted with the bustle of Tokyo, it can be a peaceful getaway. Just be mindful of those national holidays.

And if you happen to be in Moto-Hakone and get the sashimi, just be warned.

Autumn in Tokyo

I love autumn. I love the brownish red and orange leaves. I love the crisp air that doesn't bite so much as embrace you as you walk. The sunlight seems softer in autumn. The day shortens, but that makes you appreciate it more.

I don't get to enjoy autumn much in L.A. This past September, the temperature Downtown reached 110 degrees. It rained a few days in October, I think. Otherwise, warm temps. Nobody seems to complain. They brag to their relatives back east that they wear flip-flops year-round. I weep for autumn in So. Cal.



Japan knows autumn. The trees flaunt their colors in areas like Ueno Park. After our Sushi Adventure, we strolled down Ueno Park, from the the Shinobazu Pond on the south side, all the way to the Tokyo National Museum to the north.



We thought these were water lilies covering the pond, but after further review, they're lotuses. I had never seen anything like this.

We weren't the only ones enjoying this autumn Saturday in the park. Kids dragged their parents to the Ueno Zoo and the amusement park. A group of old men played croquet. Other kids encircled a pair of jugglers. Tourists like me snapping pictures at trees and fountains. I don't blame them.

I love the weather in L.A.. I'm spoiled. But I still love the autumn. And I had to go to Tokyo to find it. I'm sure it's cheaper to go to New England. How's the sushi there?

Foodie Nirvana, Part 1

Our first meal in Tokyo was taken by a waiter who spoke to us in broken Mandarin. Somehow we ended up with yakitori for six, at about $6 USD per person. Food, not English, should be our universal language.

They love food here. In the district of Asakusa, where our hostel was, a constant aroma of ramen, tempura, and God knows what else, caught us blindsided. It was a glorious mishmash.

I was in food nirvana for five days. Here are my highlights:

1) Set Menu at Sushi Daiwa



This is by the Tsukiji Fish Market. Our original plan was to show up for the auction at 5am, but a late arrival the previous night put an end to that. We still arrived relatively early to catch the sushi while it's fresh.

Daiwa is next to the famous Sushi Dai, but the line for that looked...long. Well, the lines are long at both places, so we tried our luck at Daiwa.

We waited close to an hour, which may seem long, but I heard about times of two to three hours.


*At the front of the line. So close!*

They're not keen on the guests taking photos. I guess that just prolongs your stay there. They want you in and out.

The set menu is fantastic, especially the toro (fatty tuna). Definitely worth the wait.


*Haha! Take THAT, Sushi Daiwa!*


2) Wagyu at Yakitori Alley

Yakitori is basically chicken parts on a stick, grilled over charcoal. Yakitori Alley, which lies in the district of Ginza, is a smoky avenue of open-air restaurants, each serving chicken wings, chicken hearts, and chicken livers.



At the place we went to (sorry, can't remember the name, we just went where it was most crowded), in addition to chicken, they served Wagyu. And WOW...One of the best food experiences of the trip, hands down. All topped off with a mug of Asahi.


*Obligatory beer pic*

3) Tonkatsu Ramen at...Random Ramen Place

My friends Reub and Susie found a ramen place by our hostel. They said the ramen was "SOOOO GOOOD".

Problem is, that place opens at 11am, and we had train to catch around noon. So, at 9:30 in the morning, we wandered the back streets of Asakusa, and followed our noses to this:


*Reub and Ramen*

Asakusa is full of ramen joints, as well as sushi, yakitori, tempura, donuts (for real), udon, soba, and did I mention ramen? It's worth mentioning twice.

4) Beef Bowl Set at Yoshinoya



Don't sleep on the Beef Bowl! I posted on Facebook that this was my last meal in Tokyo. It was met with disbelief and disgust. I've never had Yoshinoya in the US, so I couldn't tell you if it's better there than here. But I can tell you that this hit the spot. I can never go to a Yoshinoya in the States, ever.

There were other dishes I tried, and there were dishes that I never got to (okonomiyaki, anyone?). These four alone were enough to put me in food heaven. And then I went to Hong Kong. But that's another entry.

The Road East - Reflections

*From left to right: Some random guy, K, Reub, Susie at Lantau Island*

This was a safe trip.

No lost passports. No hassles with immigration. No foot massages gone awry. No issues after eating questionable street food. Just a safe, trouble-free trip. Normally this would be great, except if you're trying to capture stories, safe isn't the greatest word.

There was a lot of walking, a lot of sitting (or more likely, standing) in metro cars, a lot of staring a locals in subway cars. There was a lot of observing, a lot of taking everything in. If you're a writer, this is wonderful.

This was also a short trip. Gone are the trips where three nights in one country is enough. It isn't. It took me four days to figure Asakusa out. The same amount for Wan Chai. And the next thing I knew, I'm gone. I'm going to have to restructure my future trips. Two to three weeks at least. Maybe longer.

Though time was short, and action was relatively light, there's still plenty to tell. Little bite-sized morsels about two insane metropolitan areas. I can't wait to tell them. Or at least try.

InTokyo

I`m　eating　a　lot. And　the food is GOOD.

Still　trying　to　get　a　handle　on　this　city,　but　so far I am impressed.

The Road East - Prologue: To Just Be

In 2008, fresh off the high of traveling to Thailand and Malaysia by myself, I laid out a "five-year plan" for my future destinations. It went something like this:

2009 - Europe
2010 - South Africa
2011 - China
2012 - Back to Europe
2013 - South America

When I made this plan, I was single. Unattached, free to roam the world by myself or with my buddies. Now, I'm less than five months away from taking the plunge into that thing they call, "Mawwage".

South Africa will have to take a backseat to the future in-laws. I will be traveling to Hong Kong to see my fiancee Karen's sister, grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins. Along the way, I'll be making five-day jaunt in and around Tokyo. Sushi, ramen, yada yada yada.

This will be the first time I celebrate my birthday abroad (Most likely, I'll be in Tokyo in a karaoke bar singing ABBA). This will also be the first time I celebrate Thanksgiving in a foreign country. I've been told there will be turkey. We'll see.

(Excuse me while I get all Anthony Bourdain on you for a moment...)

I'm on the lookout for interesting things. No doubt I'll be eating myself silly, but I hope there's more to this trip than food. My goal is to get my hands dirty. To not be tied down to an itinerary. To follow my nose, and just...be.

I aim to do this every year, and it never turns out the way I want. Either my body gives out, or I get tired too quickly, never appreciating where I am. Well, I want to change that.

I just want to enjoy being where I am. And not forget anything.

(How was that, Bourdain? Can I get on your show now?)

OK, enough thinking.



Let's do this.

If you want to keep track of my trip, follow my twitter account! And maybe I'll post here if I have time.

In Training

Even though I finished the L.A. Rock n' Roll Half Marathon last Sunday, I'm still in training.

It's a different kind of training. Travel Training, if you will. I have three weeks until I depart for Tokyo, and then Hong Kong. Three weeks to get my body, soul and stomach ready for everything Japanese and Cantonese.

Here's what a Travel Training regimen looks like:

- Walk more, run less.
- Journal more, so by the time I'm abroad, reaching for the pen and paper become second nature.
- Practice the discipline of slowing. I am a huge fan of slow travel, where you not rushing from landmark to landmark, but rather you're immersed in place, capturing as much with your eyes and ears as possible.
- Practice conversation skills. Simple things like listening more, or asking more questions. So that when you're with the locals, interaction is less awkward.
- Refraining from sushi and dim sum, so that I can experience it in their native lands.
- Learning simple phrases in Japanese and Cantonese (Haven't really done this yet)

That's just a small list. Surely to keep me occupied until I leave.

How do you "train" for an upcoming trip? Do you train at all? Leave a comment to answer.

The Worst Flight of My Life

*On an infinitely more pleasant flight to Athens*

I don't write about airlines much. I have nothing to say about them. Some people have horror stories about their flights. I count it all as part of the territory. Or I have a high threshold for annoyance.

This is how I felt before boarding the worst flight of my life.

It was only two hours long, from PDX to LAX, on an airline that's named after a state and rhymes with "Dalaska". Karen and I sat toward the back of the cabin. Taking up the five rows in front of us were members of a girls soccer team. I sat down, like most passengers, not thinking much of anything. I just wanted to go home. Other passengers were on their mobile phones. Some were listening to their iPods. A flash bulb went off. Then another. And another. The girls, out of boredom or sheer excitement, decided that now was an excellent opportunity for photos.

As the plane took off, every girl raised their arms and shrieked to the heavens. After all, riding an airplane is like Space Mountain. More flash bulbs went off. More cackling from the girls. A Goldfish cracker from two rows up flew through the air and landed on my shoulder. Karen turned to me and said, "Where the hell are the chaperones?" I shrugged my shoulders, contemplated eating the cracker, then brushed it aside.

A candy bar fell at Karen's feet with a thud. And then it was on.

"You shouldn't throw things on the plane. It's DANGEROUS." K was ready to throw down. I wouldn't have put it past her to jump out of her seat, grab each girl by the collars of their soccer shirts and tell them how to freaking behave on an airplane. I touched Karen on the shoulder in an attempt to placate her, she flashed me a look that made me want to apologize for my bad behavior.

A lady woman with the girls stood up and walked to back of the cabin. She might have been a chaperone, or a big fan of the girls soccer team. We told her that the girls have a problem holding on to their food. She turned to them and said, "You should stop, you're making the other passengers mad." Whatever works, I guess. Good job, chaperone.

With one hour to go on the flight, the girls stopped chucking their crackers, but that didn't stop the girls from taking more pictures (with flash), yucking it up, throwing their hands in the air began its descent. My face grew whiter with each passing minute. Karen's face grew redder. We bolted out of the gate to our car, trying to drop the memories of this flight like the girls dropped their candy bars.

Karen wrote a formal complaint to Dalaska airlines. She received a $50 credit for her next flight, but really, do they think we'll fly them again?

A question: Where were the flight attendants? Shouldn't they have stepped in when the flash bulbs started popping, one after the other? At least a polite admonishment that there were other passengers on that flight that maaaaaybe wanted some peace and quiet.

More questions: Did the other passengers notice the shenanigans that Karen and I noticed? Did they have a HIGHER tolerance for annoyance than I did? Did they just not care?

It was only two hours long, but that flight from PDX to LAX was the worst flight of my life. It wasn't solely because the girls soccer team acted like self-centered brats. The lack of control of the chaperones, the apathy of the flight attendants, and the lack of concern from the other passengers all contributed.

Have you, Faithful Traveler, been on an equally horrific flight? Please share. I feel your pain.

The People Up

I wanted to share a quote I heard on NPR a while back.

David Simon, creator of The Wire and now Treme, said this about travel:

Well, you know, there's two ways of being a tourist. The first way is you get on the tour bus and the guide grabs the microphone and you drive down the streets that everyone has driven down before. And he tells you, you know, when this church was built and then you go in for 15 minutes and you come out again. And you go to the next country.

And then there's the other, which is when you go somewhere for a while and you dont have a tour guide, and you walk into the nearest bar or shebeen and you just be. And you start figuring out a place from the people up.

Mr. Simon hits it on the nose. How fulfilling is it when you can get your hands dirty and be one with the locals!

There was the time my friends and I were walking down the streets of Cairo to our hotel, when some guys asked us to join them for tea. Or the time I tried to get a pot-laden cake from a coffeehouse in Amsterdam. Or the time I was approached by a tuk-tuk driver in Chiang Mai, asking if I wanted a lady. All these times involved interacting, breaking out of the "tourist bubble" I'm used to putting up abroad.

As I get ready for Tokyo and Hong Kong, I ask myself how can I travel from the people up? And for you, Faithful Traveler, what would that look like for you?

Stories

I've become more interested in the narratives of travel. The stories that I take back home, put to paper (or screen), and share with all of you. Like the time I got a foot massage in KL. I love that story.

Stories are what I strive for. They're everywhere. They're in first time you set foot on the London Underground. The first bite into a Parisian crepe. The moment you reach the top of Dead Woman's Pass. In all these moments, the story lies in two questions: "How did you feel?" and "What did you think?" The stories fall from there.

I'm not a master storyteller by any means. I like a good story, and I know a good one when I see one. I like to devote some blog space to craft of storytelling. What makes a good story? What makes a good travel story? Perhaps that will be a post to come soon...

The Next Trip...

The flights have been booked! I'll be traveling to Japan and Hong Kong (by way of Korean Air) this November.

A lot of firsts this trip around; First Thanksgiving abroad, first Birthday abroad, first international trip with K. No mancations this time.

My feelings are mostly excitement, but I'm a little nervous. K and I have only traveled to Portland together, and while it was a blast, I found it hard to account for one other person. It used to be that if I could get away from people, have some alone time, it wasn't a problem.

I'm sure K would give me alone time if I made it known at the outset. But it's not like I can just walk away from her any time I want. I know this. It takes getting used to.

I'm nervous because there's the fear that we may not be travel compatible. Will that be a problem in our relationship? We'll soon find out...

Grounded

In the past four months, I've taken two flights. Both to Oakland. That barely qualifies as a flight. You take off, you order a ginger ale, you have thirty seconds to finish it, you land.

As my flight began its descent into LAX, the old feelings returned. The wanderlust, you can call it. The desire to get the heck out of wherever you may be. Man, I miss it.

I'm not complaining. You have to know what it feels like to be grounded, to fully appreciate what it means to fly. And I can't wait to fly.

Attack of the Habibis

I won't go into the Pyramids much. I saw them. I took pictures. I stared at them for what seemed like an hour, unable to fathom that after nearly 4,000 years(!), these tombs are still here. They are true wonders of the world. See them before you die.

What I really want to talk about are the habibis.

Habibi is an arabic term that means something like darling, or if you're so inclined, hottie. This was told to us by Osama, our tour bus driver. As Osama was taking our pictures in front of the Great Pyramid of Cheops, he turned and pointed to a fleet of jumbo tour buses. "Habibi!" He hollered.

On cue, they came forth. Dressed in halter tops, tube tops, short and tight tops. Cleavage out in full force. Hip-hugging hot pants and short shorts, some in denim, some in spandex, revealing legs of all shapes and colors. Habibis, no doubt Western, with their S.O.'s hiding behind behemoth DSLRs, streaming from luxury coaches. While their boyfriends and husbands clicking away, they posed in front of the Pyramids like Vogue models.


*J, center. Habibi, right.*

I was in shock. If anyone does some research before visiting Egypt, when reading about how to dress, they'll come across words such as "modest", "respectful" and "for the love of God, cover your skin". Either the habibis totally disregarded what their Lonely Planet guidebook told them, or they just didn't know.

I thought about the habibis as I rode my tour bus back to downtown Cairo. How would the locals view these women? Would they leer and catcall? Would they feel disrespected and think all Westerners as ignorant and disrespectful?

Or would they even see these habibis at all? Will these tourists go back in their buses, go straight to their five-star hotels or private resort, and not once step foot on the streets of Cairo?

It turns out, most of the habibis were head to the same place M, J and I were going; On a little cruise down the Nile River...

It's Not Easy

*The view from our hotel - Downtown Cairo*

Nothing about your first day in Cairo is easy.

Taxis rides in Cairo are not easy. The driving is erratic. You're bombarded by smog. You're surrounded by calls to prayer. Traffic lights are suggestions. Crosswalks don't exist. Our driver, Muhammad, was friendly. "If you need to go anywhere, call me." He said. M was ecstatic to make a new friend. I just wanted to check in.

Checking into your hotel is not easy. We handed our passports to the clerk, a dead ringer for Harry Potter. He smiled at us, while the manager, a tall man with a thick mustache and bad teeth, pored over the reservation book. "I don't recognize your tour company." He said. The three of us looked like we just crapped our pants. The manager looked up and smiled. "Relax! You're in Egypt." Yes, of course, relax. Perfectly easy.

Ordering authentic Egyptian food is not easy. "We gotta get outta here," I said to M and J. We had spent two hours in our hotel room, wondering if this was even our room to begin with. The muezzin was beckoning all to the mosque next door. We had to leave.

Egyptian Harry Potter directed us to a place a block away. "Very good and very cheap." We stared at the menu above the counter, letters completely in Arabic. We hoped the letters would transform to English. Five minutes later, I stepped to the counter and said the only food item that I remembered from my guidebook. "Fool?"

"Eh??" The counter guy asked. "Fooooool?" I replied.

"Fuul?"

"YES!"

We ordered fuul and shwarma and waited ten minutes. Turns out, when the cashier hands you a receipt, you hand that over to another guy, who fills your order. Whatever. The fuul was good.

Even walking the quarter-mile back to your hotel is not easy in Cairo. In the evening, during the heart of Ramadan, the streets are lined with locals, sipping tea, smoking hooka. These locals are quite friendly. Especially if you look...non-Egyptian. Five of these locals waved to us as we walked past them. M, desperate for some local interaction, turned to J and me. "Why don't we hang out?" "Yes, of course." I say to myself. "This is totally normal. Shoot the breeze with five guys who look as if we're just dying to hand over all our Egyptian pounds. No worries at all."

Five guys turned into seven. They asked us simple questions; Where are we from. Where else have we gone, etc. A tray of glasses, filled to the brim with tea, appeared. They handed us a glass each. "Please, drink." I looked at M and J. I shrugged my shoulders. Hey, why not?

We continued our conversation. They spoke in broken English. We knew no Arabic. Other than "fuul". That was of no help now.

After half an hour of talking, they started to leave, one by one. "We'll be back!" One of the guys, Mohammed, shouted over his shoulder as he bolted across the street. Five minutes later, as the three of us stared down, into our cups, I turned to M and J. "They stuck us with the bill for the tea, didn't they?" An old man to my left cackled. My stomach twisted as the man showed me a picture of Omar Sharif on his cell phone. "Just get me outta here." I thought. "Take me back to Athens. Or L.A. Anywhere but here..."

Ten minutes later, they still didn't show. "Guys, I'll take care of it." M said, as he rose to talk to the shop owner about the bill. Then they appeared, our new friends, stunned that we could possibly leave so soon. They insist that we stay for a bit. I shook my head. "We have to get up early, guys. " We shook their hands, they waved goodbye, and we headed to our hotel. My stomach untwisted. Why was I so worked up? Those guys couldn't be THAT friendly, could they?

As I lay in bed that night, wondering if the next day would be any easier, I thought, "What kind of city is this? And why do I feel so alive?"

Hiatus

I realize it's been a while. I still have plenty to write about Egypt and Turkey, but this life thing pulls me away.

I have at least two stories left in me. I'll also share my pictures from Cairo and Istanbul. Can't believe it's been four months!

As for future travel, I might go to Hong Kong and Tokyo, but that won't be for a while. In the meantime, I'll look at short trips close to home. Maybe even enjoying what home has to offer.