Vibrant

I wanted to visit a township. Townships were built during the Apartheid era, to separate the blacks from whites. They’re usually described in guidebooks as “vibrant”. I was hooked. I love “vibrant”. Karen was not as convinced. “I just feel weird going on a tour of…poverty,” She had said. She had a point. It would be like going to Watts in an air-conditioned minibus, with an occasional stop for pictures.

Out of the townships surrounding Cape Town, we chose Langa. It's one of the oldest townships in the city. It was also the closest to our hotel. Our guidebook recommended a tour group to contact. I went to the group’s website. There were pictures of happy African children with happy Western tourists. They looked so vibrant. We set up a tour.

Our taxi driver dropped us at the community center in Langa, where our tour guide, Nathi, met us. Nathi showed us around the neighborhood. We walked for two hours. It was early in the morning and the Langans were beginning their day. Parents took their children to school. Old men stood in groups, hanging out. Nathi hugged them all. If he didn’t hug, he gave them a high-five. If he didn't high-five, he trash-talked with them about their soccer teams. I wondered if introverts exist in the townships. Could someone like me, who gets drained after being around groups of two, survive here? Would I just be tired all the time? 

We stepped inside a shabeen. That’s where the local beer is brewed. We sat around a bucket of the homebrew. An old man told us about the beer’s importance to the township. We were invited to partake. Just like this? No beer mugs? No pint glasses? We just drink from the bucket? 

I took a sip. It was sweet going down. Karen took a sip. I waited for her to giggle, but she held strong. I was disappointed. The old man invited us to drink more. I wanted to enjoy the rest of my walking tour without stumbling in a ditch, so I said no.  Several of the locals that joined us in the grabbed the bucket in our place. We left them to continue our tour.

We passed by the houses. Some had bright colors. You could say they were vibrant. Others were just metal shacks. The shacks were on the outskirts of Langa, neighboring a highway. Most of them had satellite dishes on their roofs. “Yeah, they do that so they can watch sports.” I elbowed Karen. “See, even people in shacks have satellite. Why can’t we get it?” She ignored me and we moved on.

We passed by children. They posed for pictures, as if this wasn’t the first time they’ve seen strange people with cameras come by their house. Several of them approached us. Karen noticed shiny pins of the Canadian flag on their shirts. We had seen a tour bus drive past us. The kids must have found them before us. 

We passed by more houses, more children. We stepped inside barber shops and electronics stores. We  arrived at the community center two hours later, seeing as much as the Langans were willing to show us. They showed us, two Americans used to big cities and far away friendships, how they run things. Langa is definitely vibrant. Sometimes I’m envious of their vibrancy. I think how nice it would be to know everyone you meet. I think how nice it would be to have everything you need within walking distance. 

And then I think how tiring that would be. I think about how insular my life has been, and how I’m used to that. I may be attracted to these places when i travel, but right now, I can’t imagine being in such a place and calling it home. In the end, I'm thankful for the Langans. For their warmth, their happiness, their lives. And for their vibrancy.

Our Next Journey

Hi Faithful Travelers!

I know, it's been a long time since our last post. I feel terrible. But the general busyness that comes with married life has gotten in the way. That, and pure laziness on my part.

However, we are excited to share that in December of this year, K and I will be going to the Philippines!

This will be Karen's first time to the Islands. This will be my second, although it's been over 25 years since I last went. That's a quarter of a century.

Over the next few months I'll be posting my thoughts about going back to the Motherland. I also have a few bits from South Africa that I hope to get back to, even though it's been nearly a year since we've been there.

I know I say this often after a long absence, but I hope to get back to blogging more often. For my sake, really.

A Taste of South Africa

The first thing I do when I buy a guidebook to any country is flip to the Eating section. So when I picked up the LP Guidebook to South Africa, and read through their dining choices, I was sad. There were Italian restaurants, sushi bars, a couple Indian spots, and that was it.

Turns out I had been reading the list for the V&A Waterfront. It's been done up recently, and it caters to tourists. We had a couple of meals here. One was at a bistro that I can remember the name of. The other place was some seafood joint named Ocean Basket, which was pretty much South Africa's version of Red Lobster. Or Long John Silver. Or someplace in between.

While reading the list of restaurants under the Bo-Kaap section, the cuisine started to get unfamiliar. Cape Malay? What the heck is that? The short of it is that it refers to an ethnic community in the Western Cape. Prisoners and slaves from Malaysia and its nearest lands (think Java) were brought over, some by the Dutch East Indian Trading Company, and settled down in what later was called Cape Town.

Cape Malay cuisine is a fusion of the Malay and Dutch influence. Our concierge pointed us to Noon Gun Restaurant, atop Signal Hill in Bo-Kaap. The name refers to the Noon Gun that fires at 12pm every day. K and I never heard the gun go off. I was sad about that.



Noon Gun has a charm about it as soon as you step inside. It looks like you just showed up at someone's house for dinner. In a way, you have. Our waitress told us that the owner bought this house years ago, converted the terrace into a restaurant, and Noon Gun was born.

In researching Cape Malay cuisine, I was directed to two dishes: Denningvleis and Bobotie. Denningvleis is a cubed lamb, stewed in a tamarind sauce. But they were out of that, so I went with Bobotie instead.



Bobotie is oven-baked curried beef with a rice and sauce. My first instinct was to equate Cape Malay food to Indian food, because of the abundance of curries on the menu. It took me a while to figure out that Indian dishes don't have beef in them. So they're not the same. Anyway, the Bobotie was fantastic.



This is K's Masala Fish. She liked it as well, although she found the portions rather big. I dunno. I guess I was hungry that night.

After our meal, we chatted more with our waitress, who told us about the history of Noon Gun Restaurant, which was pretty much a history of her family. We never got her name, though. It's a small regret.

I have NO regrets about trying Cape Malay food. Can I get some of that stuff in LA? I can only hope.

The Springboks

On our first morning in Cape Town, I flipped on the TV. A bunch of buff guys in dark green collared shirts with gold trim were talking about Rugby. The South African National Rugby Team, nicknamed The Springboks, were taking on The Wallabies of Australia. It was halftime, and these guys, with their bulging biceps and incredibly thick necks, were giving their analysis, which was essentially, "We're better than these guys. How are we losing?"

Downstairs at our breakfast buffet, the seats were filled with people wearing these same dark green shirts, As were our servers. As were the people at the front desk. Everyone was glued to the TV, yelping with each potential score. The head chef came to our table to go over K's wheat sensitivity, only to dart back to the TV whenever there was a yell. He had a look on his face like he was expecting twins.

As I was digging into my streaky bacon, I no longer heard cheers. Just silence. I looked back at the TV and a tennis match was playing. That was odd, I thought. We asked our server what happened. "We lost." She sighed, cracking a smile. I was sad.


*The Springbok Shirt*

Outside our hotel, the V&A Waterfront was decked out in Springbok colors. Back on the tube, every news program lead with the same story. "Heartbreak in New Zealand as the Springboks have been eliminated." Sportcasters were giving their post-mortems, while still wearing the Springbok shirt. It was like some guy in LA giving the sports report in a Lakers jersey. You can't possibly count on him for objectivity.

The Spirit of the Springboks carried us through our time in Cape Town. And only when I catch the inflight movie on the flight back to the States, "Invictus", did I get it.

The short of the movie is, Mandela is freed, becomes President of South Africa, and sees an opportunity to unite the country through their support of the Springboks during the Rugby World Cup. The people start pulling for the team, slowly putting aside fifty years of racial tension (apparently). The reality is probably more complicated than that, but it's a movie. What do you expect?

I still don't understand rugby, other than it is a predecessor to the football I'm used to watching. But one can never underestimate sport in social context. It can bring people together, across race, economic status, and religion. And that I understand.

New Blog

Same as the old blog....

Since we're married, it's only fair that K contributes to this blog.

Posts and pics on our South Africa trip are coming soon.

The Road To South Africa - Prologue: Back on the Horse

K and I are still going strong after six months of marriage. We're finding our rhythm as a couple. During those six months, the travel bug has come and gone. Now it's back, and it's not going away.

We're going stir crazy. The honeymoon in Belize was the last time we left the country. It feels like longer. Our Japan/Hong Kong trip seems like it was ages ago. My London/Paris/Amsterdam trek seems like it happened in another life.

K and I talked about traveling to Africa before starting a family. While she has been to Rwanda many times for work, K has yet to "vacation" on the continent. I made a stop in Cairo two years ago, but according to K, that doesn't really count as traveling to Africa.

We opted for South Africa; Four nights in the Mother City of Cape Town, and three nights at Kruger National Park. Not a lot of time, but it's still a trip. It's still a cultural experience. It's still traveling.

In a way, it feels like I'm back on the horse. Although that much time hasn't passed, traveling feels different. It's a lot like life. Traveling in my single days meant doing things more on a whim. It meant going all out until my body said no. I listen to my body more closely, and it says "no" more often.

This feels like the start of something new. A new kind of travel; one where I'm spending practically every moment with someone else. It's shared travel. Shared experiences.
I haven't done much planning for South Africa. I figure I'd let the city, and its delights, come to me. Come to us, I should say.

However, in the days leading up to our trip, we've lost whatever rhythm we've attained. We haven't slept well at all. Our free time has been filled doing random things here and there to get ready for our trip. We're tired. And top it all off, my beloved iPhone, trusted friend and companion, went kaput this very morning.

And now we have to wake up before 3am so owe can board a flight to DC, then Jo'Burg, then the Mother City. God help us.

OK, enough talk.

Let's do this.

Around the World in LA: Lagos African Cuisine

This summer I thought it'd be a good idea to try some new restaurants in LA. I've been eating the same foods for a while. Why not try something new?

Recently, I went to a place in Mid-Wilshire called Lagos African Cuisine.




I had looked it up on Yelp, thinking it was called Ngoma. They changed it two years ago, according to our waitress.

The menu is extensive. There's a section of entrees from East Africa, West Africa and Nigeria. We ordered one dish from each region, plus an order of Cassava Chips.



The texture of the Cassava Chips is interesting. I wanted to think of it as eating fries, but that's not accurate.

Here are the three dishes we ordered:



Ugalina Sukuma Wiki. Ugali is like a cornmeal paste, and by itself has no flavor. It's a staple of Eastern and Southern Africa. To get an idea of the ugali's texture, it's similar to grits. Since it has no taste, it's served with the sukuma wiki (kinda like collard greens) and chicken. It all works well together.



Fried plantains and fried yams, served with grilled fish. This was off the Nigerian section of the menu. While the plantains were OK, that fish was tasty.



Poulet Yassa. This is chicken marinated in a lemon sauce, sauteed with vegetables, served with rice. It's a West African dish.

I'm not a food writer at all, so I can't tell you the intricacies of African cuisine. But I do like food. Especially when it's something new. And Lagos was a success! I would go back here to try the other dishes.

Lagos African Cuisine (Formerly Ngoma Restaurant)
5358 Wilshire Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90036

A word on the Yelp reviews: There are two one-star reviews for Lagos, which you can take with many grains of salt. Their Ngoma page has more views and averages 3.5 stars. The food hasn't changed since they renamed themselves. I wouldn't let the one-star reviews sway you.

If you have a favorite African dish or restaurant, please comment! I'd loved to hear about it.

Before I Forget: Hong Kong

Writing about my last two trips has been difficult. I start strong, writing a great deal about the beginning, and then I lost focus and quit. This is an attempt to make amends.

My Highlights of Hong Kong:

Family



The real reason I visited Hong Kong. This was a chance to see K's grandmother (Amah), two aunts, uncle, sister and brother-in-law. Family time included Chinese food up the wazoo and a Thanksgiving feast, complete with turkey and fixings. I made nice with Amah; She said I had a nice nose.

Dialogue in the Dark



K's sister brought this to our attention. It's an hour-and-a-half long exhibit, and you're blind the whole way through. A guide gives you a walking stick and you walk in complete darkness. Really. You can't see crap. It's best to use the walking stick, or you'll end up groping the person in front of you.

You're taken through a simulated market, ferry ride, and other HK experiences. All using your other senses. And the end of the tour, you discover (mini spoiler alert) that the guide is blind and has to experience living like this every day. You end the exhibit with a Q&A session with your guide and an appreciation for your sight.

Sorry, no pictures were taken inside.

Dim Sum



Like you couldn't guess this one. I love dim sum and in Hong Kong it tastes...well, nearly the same as it does in Monterey Park. Sorry. I don't have a very discerning palette.

I had dim sum on two occasions, and the har gow and tsu mai were heavenly. And cheap. That's important.

TST

Tsim Sha Tsui. It's a touristy spot, overlooking Victorian Harbour, but you get fantastic views of the HK skyline. Great for unwinding and people-watching.



Central Station



If you hang around Central Station on a Sunday afternoon, you will find yourself surrounded by Filipino women. These women work all week as domestics, and Sunday is their day off.

They're everywhere; sprawled on broken-down cardboard boxes, playing cards, eating lunch, and gossiping. Outside Central you hear packing tape ripping, over and over again, as they pack their balikbayan boxes (they're like gigantic care packages).

And throughout Central is the aroma of Jollibee's fried chicken...



The Peak



It's a must-do. You can take the tram, but we took the bus. If you're mildly carsick like me, consider the tram. The Peak is also a tourist spot, but for good reason. It offers a view of HK that you can't get anywhere. We went at night, which I recommend. It was crowded, but not much. You will have to fight the tourists to get that perfect photo, which I never seem to take, but that's ok.

I very much liked Hong Kong. It's loud. It's smells funny. The streets aren't people-friendly. But the city is so alive. It doesn't hurt that the food is fantastic.

This won't be my only visit. As long as K has family living there, and as long as har gow is still being made, there will always be cause to return.

The American Tourist

While cruising my twitter feed, I found this article:

How to Avoid Looking Like an American Tourist

It's a lengthy article. It's full of "Do"s, mostly "Don't"s. I agree with some (fanny packs are just ridiculous) and there are some I wholeheartedly disagree with (leave my nylon cargo pants and travel shirt alone!), but overall, the article got me thinking.


*Breaking so many rules in this photo*

I get the point; Don't do anything to be a prime target for thieves, and don't do anything to embarrass your fellow Americans. Basically, don't stick out like a sore thumb.

Here's the thing: Americans are so good at sticking out and embarrassing themselves because that's who we are. We love fanny packs! And taking dorky pictures of ourselves! And yes, sometimes we let one fly while we're in public. Go USA!

On the flip side of that coin, we can be at ease among strangers (Americans are gold medalists in small talk), we're game for most things (see: Andrew Zimmern) and, though we may appear dorky, we're really fun-loving (see: My Travel Guru).

American tourists can follow a list of guidelines a mile long. We can ditch our fanny packs. We can switch our REI convertible pants for linen slacks. We can whisper instead of yell. That won't change things. We'll still be louder than most. We'll still be laughed at by locals.

For all our faults, I'm still proud to be an American Tourist; Thankful to have the means to travel, and eager to learn how to be a better citizen of the world.

But sorry. I'll wear my travel shirt wherever I damn please.

Catching Up

Good grief, it's been over half a year since I've posted?

I feel awful. But I had a wedding to plan and after that, a marriage to tend to, meaning time away from this blog.

That doesn't mean I've strayed away from traveling. The wife (who will figure prominently in this blog going forward, whether she knows it or not) and I spent a week in Belize. And, if all goes according to plan, we'll be hitting up South Africa in October.

When not traveling, we've been trying out a few restaurants in the LA area that serve a different cuisine than I'm used to. It's sort of a summer project that keeps me yearning to travel. And eat. And eventually, write.

And I owe a few words about the 2nd leg of my 2010 trip. Well, there's a leg of my 2009 trip that I never covered. I should put it to the blogosphere now before it evaporates.

I'm just getting my groove back. Here's hoping I hold onto it!

One Hour of Glory

I stood while singing. I don't usually sit down for the first song. K and Terri were seated. They thumbed through the songbook, looking for the English songs. This usually happens during the first song. Nobody watches you. I knew this, so I just went for it.

"YOUUU CAN DANNNNCE....YOUUUU CAN DANNCEE..."

This wasn't the first time I've sung ABBA to open a night of karaoke. This WAS the first time I sang ABBA in Japan. Or any song.

It was a moment years in the making. After singing song after song in many Norebang in LA Koreatown, and singing in my aunt's living room on the Magic Mic, this is what had eluded me; Karaoke in its home country.

"HAVVVING THE TIME OF YOUR LIIFFFEEE...OOOOOH..."

The Karaoke experience is embraced by some, abhorred by others. I don't know any in the latter category, so let's not worry about them. I love Karaoke. I love the cheesiness. The way your voice sounds coming out of the speakers. The more reverb the better. I love watching other people sing, they way they just go for the gold. And what you can't sing, you make up for in improved rap and interpretive dance.

We only had one hour. It was our last night in Tokyo, and we were a tired bunch. We broke off into two groups; Reub and Susie took a trek to Kyoto and Osaka via Shinkansen, the rest of us on a day trip to Hakone. I had agreed to postpone Karaoke on my birthday, which was two days earlier. Time was running out.

"It's not gonna happen," I thought. We're gonna get in late, everyone's gonna be tired. Nobody will be up for singing. As we walked back to our hostel, I turned to Karen. "One hour, that's ALL I need."

"OK," She replied. I didn't know if she was really up for Karaoke, or if she thought I'd be a sulking mess for the rest of the trip if we didn't do it. The two of us, with Terri, stepped into a Karaoke place a couple of blocks from our hostel. I didn't know any Japanese, the people working there knew no English, but does it really matter with Karaoke?


*The view from our room*

We rode up an elevator the the seventh floor. This Karaoke building had nine floors total. Japanese Karaoke just kills anything in the US. The room could fit the three of us comfortably. And we only had one hour.

No time for trying new songs. I went through my usual suspects. ABBA. Done. Guns n' Roses. Check. Elton John's Your Song? Sung to Karen without needing to look at the words? Yes, that too.

And that was it. My one hour of glory, done. It, like the rest of our time in Tokyo, went by way too quickly.

I'll be back here. There's a lot more of ABBA to go through.

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?