Just a couple notes...
For all my Facebook compadres: I'm having a tough time getting on to respond to comments and emails. Sorry, but the Great Cyber Wall of China isn't helping me enjoy my Facebook addiction and I haven't been able to post any pictures. Sad day.... so don't feel offended if I don't respond to you right away (or quickly) (or at all). It's not personal, I'm just blocked for some reason.
For people checking out my Flickr site, the best way to view shots is to view my collections. I've organized everything (or am in the process of arranging, anyway) into Japan and China collections with sub-sets in each of those. Fun, fun, fun...
That's all, folks. Now, back to the fun and your regularly scheduled programming...
Showing posts with label japan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label japan. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Photos are up...
So I'm doing really well in Beijing. After a bit of culture shock, I feel like I'm fitting in nicely. BOCOG (the Beijing Organizing Committee for the Olympic Games) has done nothing but make all of us volunteers feel welcomed.I've been AWOL because there hasn't been much down time with the tourist schedule they set up for us... for three days, they sent us around to: a waste treatment plant, a "future of China" type planned village, the Great Wall (at Badaling), the Ming Tombs, a crafts center, Peking Opera, Peking Duck, the "new" Summer Palace and the "old" Summer palace as well as spread after spread of delicious food. I swear, I will gain 40 pounds by the time I come home.
I've been trying to digest everything I've taken in (both literally and in the tourist sense), but I don't feel like I'm quite ready to break down everything for you. It's all a little new and overwhelming... and I don't want to trivialize anything by a little premature posting. So, I'm going to hold back for now, but I will tell you that I FINALLY have Japan photos posted.
They're here on my Flickr site. I really wanted to get them onto Facebook, but I believe the Great Firewall is preventing me from accessing it. Either that or the application I use has a glitch (also a possibility). Anyways, if I figure out a way, I'll get them there, but for now they're on Flickr.
I will have more blogs - whether writing, videos or pictures - for you tomorrow, I promise.
In the meantime, here's that link again.
Enjoy, friends!
Ceremonial, pre-temple cleansing
Downtown Peeps
Owabi on the grill
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Temple Etiquette - Kyoto Journals
In Kyoto, like many cities in Japan, it’s hard to walk 10 yards without stumbling over a temple or a shire. They’re literally everywhere, ranging in size from huge ornate, palace-like complexes to small boxes that are no larger than a picture frame and stashed away unremarkably on random street corners. And just as the temples are diverse, so are the visitors. You can either find yourself amidst a swarm of excitedly yapping, uniformed school children and camera-flashing busloads of tourists or be entirely alone, appreciating the quiet beauty of peaceful, zen courtyards, listening to birds chirping and water gurgling.
I think I’ve mentioned that I’m using Lonely Planet Japan as my guidebook for this trip. (Side note: good guidebooks are an absolute essential for traveling – find one that works for you and make it your constant companion.) I’ve been happy with the LP so far, but visiting religious sites are an area that no guide can really cover. It’s awfully hard to try and encompass the essence of each place, give the history and make the description appealing without pictures. I think you just have to go to these places and see for yourself. It’s like in Good Will Hunting when Robin Williams tells Matt Damon that there isn’t a book in the world that can tell you what it smells like inside the Sistene Chapel – it’s true.
Incidentally, it smells like hot dogs.
Of course, in Kyoto, with 17 UNESCO World Heritage Sites and dozens more Japanese national historic places of interest, it can be awfully hard to figure out which places to go visit. Mom, Jen and I tried to stop by the important ones that were relatively grouped together and not super attractive to tourists. That, unfortunately, meant we had to cross The Golden Temple off our list. That particular temple is possibly the most photographed spot in Japan. You’d recognize the gold-leaf covered pagoda easily (For us Mac users, it’s one of the default background images and currently shown on my laptop). But I feel like, in the end, we used our three days of sightseeing to the fullest extent. I won’t bore you with long descriptions of each place, but I’ll mention where we went, give you my favorites and why.
First, though, we’ve gotta cover shrine etiquette…
---Visiting How-To’s---
At the entrance to most temples and shrines, there is a basin set to one side with perpetually trickling water and ladles. It can be large (up to several feet long) and decorated with statues and carvings around a bathtub-like stone structure. Or, it can be a small, simple faucet running into an overflowing bowl.
Now, we human beings are dirty creatures, as the Japanese know so well (Why else would they have separate sets of shoes for the outside world, the home and the bathroom?). They believe the gods, who are pure, understand this fully. Hence, in order to approach the being living inside the shrine, we mortals must wash to at least partially purify ourselves.
The ritual is a simple one and involves no removal of clothing. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I leave up to you and your definitions of “sight-seeing.”
Step 1: Take a ladle and scoop up water from either the basin or the faucet.
Step 2: Splash some water over one hand and then the other.
Step 3: Grab another ladleful, pour some into a cupped hand (yours) and then use that water to rinse out your mouth.
Step 4: When you’ve gargled enough to feel clean, spit out the water onto the ground or into the provided trough and replace the ladle for the next visitor’s use.
There you go; you are now clean. Well, clean enough to at least enter and not enrage the gods. That was easy enough, no?
---Shinto Shrines, Buddhist Temples---
One more thing before we head inside to light incense and either ring a bell (if available) or clap to draw the gods’ attention. It’s probably a good idea to know what kind of diety you’re visiting, if you want it to work on your behalf.
99% of Japanese citizens believe in a mixture of Shintoism and Buddhism. Shinto originated in Japan hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago (pre-dating the nation’s written language). It’s a poly-theist religion where there are many spirits to be worshipped – each one having a special blessing for the mortal world. In Shinto, there are gods for good business, food, mental health, protection of women, guardians of children, fertility, rain, etc…
The problem with Shinto, however, is that there was no afterlife. You just stopped living and that’s it – the gods could care less about the dead. So, 600 years ago, when Japan was introduced to Indian Buddhism and the concept of Buddhas available to guide you to an afterlife, the people loved it. They quickly combined the two religions and why not? One was for the living and one was for the dead. It all seemed simple enough.
With the two religions came two kinds of places of worship and those physical divisions remain to this day. Shinto shrines are easily recognizable for the pagoda at the front of each – two tall, vertical sticks topped by a pair of crossbars, one of which is usually curved. Often, those pagoda are painted red or orange. Buddhist temples, on the other hand, don’t have pagodas. Rather, their entrances are guarded by massive gates, which can be so large as to look like mansions with their tiered, slate roofs and ornate woodwork.
If you’re a true worshipper, and not just a tourist poking around for pictures, you’ll visit Shinto shrines to receive blessings on your life and Buddhist temples to pray for your passed ancestors or when you yourself are nothing but and urn full of ashes.
---Religious Highlights of Kyoto---
Higashi Hongan-ji
Originally built in 1591, this is arguably the most important Buddhist temple in all of Japan, as the ashes of the deceased believers must pass through for blessing shortly after death. Its main hall (goe-do) is the largest wooden structure in the world, although another temple in nearby Nara disputes that claim. Unfortunately for us, a few years back, the heavy stone tiles began to cave in the roof. So the temple is currently covered by scaffolding and undergoing construction.
Be there is another hall, a sort of 2nd-tier worship center, that remains open to the public. It’s wonderfully ornate, featuring gilded screens, a golden Buddha and a statue of the temples founder, which actually receives more prominence than the deity’s image itself. Unfortunately, I have no pictures for this one – it’s not allowed (one of the few temples where that rule applies), so you’ll just have to go there and see for yourself.
Nanzen-ji Oku-no-in
Nazen-ji is a major temple and attraction in Kyoto. A huge structure, it was originally built in 1291 as a retirement villa for Emperor Kameyama (although most of what remains now was built in the 17th century, post-Japanese civil war).
However, the gaggles of visitors often miss the small, rather unmarked, dirt path that runs out the back of Nanzen-ji and into a small shire/temple called Oku-no-in. Lonely Planet clued me in on the secret and the three of us were able to find it. Oku-no-in sits beneath a mountain waterfall that’s carved its mark into a cleft of rock. The walk there is through a quiet mountain forest full of bamboo groves, soaring maples and leafy ferns. Several small washbasins and “prayer station” shrines line the carved stone steps of the path. In the stillness of the air, en route to Oku-no-in, you can hear the quiet gurgling of water whispering deep, enchanted secrets and letting you know that you’ve truly entered a special place.
Kiyomizu-dera
It’s five-story, bright orange pagoda is one of the most photographed in all of Japan as it majestically rises through the treetops overlooking the east side of Kyoto. Though it’s overrun by tourists (I saw a dozen sprinting through the entry gate at 5:55pm to snap a quick picture before the 6 o’clock closing), Kiyomizu-dera is quite historical, having originally been built in 798 and then reconstructed in 1633.
However, for me, the historicity of the place wasn’t what drew me in. Rather, when I turned my back on the crowds and famous pagoda, I could look over the whole city of Kyoto. It spread all the way below my feet to the mountains off in the distance – a magical valley covered in a mist of summer’s haze. Amidst rows of old, tiled homes and blocky, modern buildings, there shot up colorful pagodas and the decorated tops of temples. They stood like so many ancient wise men keeping watch over their city. For the briefest of moments, I joined in their eternal vigilance.
All was well in Kyoto.
I think I’ve mentioned that I’m using Lonely Planet Japan as my guidebook for this trip. (Side note: good guidebooks are an absolute essential for traveling – find one that works for you and make it your constant companion.) I’ve been happy with the LP so far, but visiting religious sites are an area that no guide can really cover. It’s awfully hard to try and encompass the essence of each place, give the history and make the description appealing without pictures. I think you just have to go to these places and see for yourself. It’s like in Good Will Hunting when Robin Williams tells Matt Damon that there isn’t a book in the world that can tell you what it smells like inside the Sistene Chapel – it’s true.
Incidentally, it smells like hot dogs.
Of course, in Kyoto, with 17 UNESCO World Heritage Sites and dozens more Japanese national historic places of interest, it can be awfully hard to figure out which places to go visit. Mom, Jen and I tried to stop by the important ones that were relatively grouped together and not super attractive to tourists. That, unfortunately, meant we had to cross The Golden Temple off our list. That particular temple is possibly the most photographed spot in Japan. You’d recognize the gold-leaf covered pagoda easily (For us Mac users, it’s one of the default background images and currently shown on my laptop). But I feel like, in the end, we used our three days of sightseeing to the fullest extent. I won’t bore you with long descriptions of each place, but I’ll mention where we went, give you my favorites and why.
First, though, we’ve gotta cover shrine etiquette…
---Visiting How-To’s---
At the entrance to most temples and shrines, there is a basin set to one side with perpetually trickling water and ladles. It can be large (up to several feet long) and decorated with statues and carvings around a bathtub-like stone structure. Or, it can be a small, simple faucet running into an overflowing bowl.
Now, we human beings are dirty creatures, as the Japanese know so well (Why else would they have separate sets of shoes for the outside world, the home and the bathroom?). They believe the gods, who are pure, understand this fully. Hence, in order to approach the being living inside the shrine, we mortals must wash to at least partially purify ourselves.
The ritual is a simple one and involves no removal of clothing. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I leave up to you and your definitions of “sight-seeing.”
Step 1: Take a ladle and scoop up water from either the basin or the faucet.
Step 2: Splash some water over one hand and then the other.
Step 3: Grab another ladleful, pour some into a cupped hand (yours) and then use that water to rinse out your mouth.
Step 4: When you’ve gargled enough to feel clean, spit out the water onto the ground or into the provided trough and replace the ladle for the next visitor’s use.
There you go; you are now clean. Well, clean enough to at least enter and not enrage the gods. That was easy enough, no?
---Shinto Shrines, Buddhist Temples---
One more thing before we head inside to light incense and either ring a bell (if available) or clap to draw the gods’ attention. It’s probably a good idea to know what kind of diety you’re visiting, if you want it to work on your behalf.
99% of Japanese citizens believe in a mixture of Shintoism and Buddhism. Shinto originated in Japan hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago (pre-dating the nation’s written language). It’s a poly-theist religion where there are many spirits to be worshipped – each one having a special blessing for the mortal world. In Shinto, there are gods for good business, food, mental health, protection of women, guardians of children, fertility, rain, etc…
The problem with Shinto, however, is that there was no afterlife. You just stopped living and that’s it – the gods could care less about the dead. So, 600 years ago, when Japan was introduced to Indian Buddhism and the concept of Buddhas available to guide you to an afterlife, the people loved it. They quickly combined the two religions and why not? One was for the living and one was for the dead. It all seemed simple enough.
With the two religions came two kinds of places of worship and those physical divisions remain to this day. Shinto shrines are easily recognizable for the pagoda at the front of each – two tall, vertical sticks topped by a pair of crossbars, one of which is usually curved. Often, those pagoda are painted red or orange. Buddhist temples, on the other hand, don’t have pagodas. Rather, their entrances are guarded by massive gates, which can be so large as to look like mansions with their tiered, slate roofs and ornate woodwork.
If you’re a true worshipper, and not just a tourist poking around for pictures, you’ll visit Shinto shrines to receive blessings on your life and Buddhist temples to pray for your passed ancestors or when you yourself are nothing but and urn full of ashes.
---Religious Highlights of Kyoto---
Higashi Hongan-jiOriginally built in 1591, this is arguably the most important Buddhist temple in all of Japan, as the ashes of the deceased believers must pass through for blessing shortly after death. Its main hall (goe-do) is the largest wooden structure in the world, although another temple in nearby Nara disputes that claim. Unfortunately for us, a few years back, the heavy stone tiles began to cave in the roof. So the temple is currently covered by scaffolding and undergoing construction.
Be there is another hall, a sort of 2nd-tier worship center, that remains open to the public. It’s wonderfully ornate, featuring gilded screens, a golden Buddha and a statue of the temples founder, which actually receives more prominence than the deity’s image itself. Unfortunately, I have no pictures for this one – it’s not allowed (one of the few temples where that rule applies), so you’ll just have to go there and see for yourself.
Nanzen-ji Oku-no-inNazen-ji is a major temple and attraction in Kyoto. A huge structure, it was originally built in 1291 as a retirement villa for Emperor Kameyama (although most of what remains now was built in the 17th century, post-Japanese civil war).
However, the gaggles of visitors often miss the small, rather unmarked, dirt path that runs out the back of Nanzen-ji and into a small shire/temple called Oku-no-in. Lonely Planet clued me in on the secret and the three of us were able to find it. Oku-no-in sits beneath a mountain waterfall that’s carved its mark into a cleft of rock. The walk there is through a quiet mountain forest full of bamboo groves, soaring maples and leafy ferns. Several small washbasins and “prayer station” shrines line the carved stone steps of the path. In the stillness of the air, en route to Oku-no-in, you can hear the quiet gurgling of water whispering deep, enchanted secrets and letting you know that you’ve truly entered a special place.
Kiyomizu-deraIt’s five-story, bright orange pagoda is one of the most photographed in all of Japan as it majestically rises through the treetops overlooking the east side of Kyoto. Though it’s overrun by tourists (I saw a dozen sprinting through the entry gate at 5:55pm to snap a quick picture before the 6 o’clock closing), Kiyomizu-dera is quite historical, having originally been built in 798 and then reconstructed in 1633.
However, for me, the historicity of the place wasn’t what drew me in. Rather, when I turned my back on the crowds and famous pagoda, I could look over the whole city of Kyoto. It spread all the way below my feet to the mountains off in the distance – a magical valley covered in a mist of summer’s haze. Amidst rows of old, tiled homes and blocky, modern buildings, there shot up colorful pagodas and the decorated tops of temples. They stood like so many ancient wise men keeping watch over their city. For the briefest of moments, I joined in their eternal vigilance.
All was well in Kyoto.
Poo on the Road
I am a man unafraid to talk some serious poop.I do not mean s***, because that would be foul and I may get my meanings confused, as I am not talking about talking about someone. Rather, I am referring to genuine crap – the fecal that matters.
Now, I’m a regular guy. And when I say regular, I mean that you could set your watch by my BM’s: one in the a.m. right after rolling out of bed, 90 minutes after each meal thereafter until I hit the sack and a final finale to close out the day, for good measure.
While some my call my frequent, stinky adventures excessive and bordering on colon endangering, I find them to be both healthy (Better out than in!) and delightfully liberating. Every time I leave the john, it’s like a load has been lifted or erstwhile removed, I’m lighter on my feet and the sun shines just a smidge brighter.
However, my digestive tract has a mortal enemy – it cannot overcome airplanes.
Just what, you might ask, does a vast chunk of steel hurtling at 600mph through the skies have anything to do with smaller chunks of digested food hurtling out at a less-than-sound-barrier-breaking pace? Frankly, I’m not entirely sure myself of the exact connection. But all I know is that the moment I step off a flight, I am no longer a free man. Oh, on the outside, I may appear to be the same. But within, I am bound and trussed, my free spirit stopped up.
Constipation: it’s no laughing matter.
Most unfortunately, this stoppage has become an unavoidable part of every trip I’ve taken over the past few years. Try (and try, and try, and try, and try and try) as I might, I cannot escape constipation’s colon clogging clutches.
I have noticed, in the course of my thoroughly scientific research, that the length of the flight is directly correlated to the length of y suffering. For example, I’ll only need a day or two to recover from a 90-minute shuttle flight. But put me on a 15-hour trans-Pacific route and The Works just ain’t working right.
I came on this trip armed with a full bottle of Metamucil capsules (courtesy of Grandma) and a half-bottle of fish oil (courtesy of Mom, who handed them to me saying, “This should grease the skids.”).
Still, despite the best natural remedies available to me, I waited five full days in quiet… urgent… pressing… desperation for sweet release to come. Five days. That’s almost a week and about a 500 percent decrease in going. My lower intestine’s rate of production fell faster than last week’s stock market – ba dum, ching.
Many times, I rushed to the loo, feeling a welcome gurgling sensation in my stomach only to find they ceased as soon as I reached the seat (which, by the way, are often heated in Japan – how did we NOT think of that sooner?). Each time, I sighed in frustration, flushed the folded toilet paper I’d readied in anticipation and zipped my fly.
“Maybe next time.”
As I waited, it seemed like the next time was always the next time. I was Charlie Brown, constantly running up to kick the football only to have Lucy the Toilet yank it away at the last instant. Maddening. Painfully maddening. Good grief!
They say good things come to those who wait. I have no idea who “they” are, but it turns out it’s a smart group of people. Just when I was about to grit my teeth and succumb to the temptation of the quick fix offered by Grandma’s glycerin suppositories (don’t ask), good things did indeed happen. Small at first – like a trickle through the Netherlands’ dyke. But it gave me hope for the future. The dawn was breaking; I was to be a free man.
Not a moment too soon, either.
It’s amazing how much more beautiful this country is when you’re 10 pounds lighter…
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Note on pictures...
Right now, I don’t have WiFi or Ethernet access, so I don’t have any way of transferring pictures from my laptop to Facebook and Flickr. Once I get it set up, though, I’ll let you all know and post as much as possible. However, I might have to wait until I get to China and spend some QT uploading photos… I know you’re all desperately waiting.
Ever see a giant snail? Then have to grill and eat it? I have.
Wow, what a meal the other night (Wednesday – first night at the ryokan). Traditionally, guests don’t leave their inns to eat. Rather, the best chefs work at the best hotels and you can eat like a king in-house.
Yoko ordered a bunch of regional specialties at our dinner. The six of us ate in a private dining room, sitting on the tatami mats on small, legless chairs in traditional fashion. A very respectful, kimono-clad woman attended our room, bowing every time she entered and kneeing to open and close the door. With all of us wearing kimonos loaned to us by the hotel (also, standard), it felt like we were in some sort of silk wall hanging or watercolor portrait. Very cool…
The tables were already covered with food when we entered. Each of us had the same selection: Japanese hotpot (slices of raw fish and vegetables that you cook yourself in a broth and then dip in seasonings), sashimi, sushi appetitizers, a dish of rice that the attendant cooked while we ate, miso soup with lobster, vegetables and the usual Japanese garnishes of seaweed and pickles.
The Japanese, apparently, drink all the time (I mentioned the breakfast beer), so Yoko and Reiko ordered bottles of Sapporo and I asked for a bottle of white wine and we got down to business with hearty cries of Itadakimasu! and Kampai!
As we ate the food (which was all incredibly fresh – particularly the sashimi scallops), the waitress brought out two more dishes – regional delicacies. Yoko had arranged ahead of time for us to try both of them. The first, Red Snapper, was served broiled whole and garnished in a rich, sesame teriyaki sauce. With three fish for the six of us, each person received half of a fish respectively. Mine was piled high on a plate – eyeballs to tail, skin and all.
It was very good. The fish’s skin was perfectly crisp and the white flesh underneath melted away as it hit your tongue. Snapper doesn’t have a thick, fishy taste. Rather, the meat had soaked in the flavors of the marinade and had a light, buttery finish.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to eat the fish’s eyeball. Apparently that, along with the spine and tail, are the only things the Japanese don’t eat. However, Yoko did say I should try the eye socket because it was “good for your blood.” Not wanting to offend, I popped the wobbly disc into my mouth and crunched down on the jelly-filled substance. Um… the bitter flavor and awful consistency didn’t pair well with the rest of the delicious fish. Thankfully, I only had one socket to get through.
What I didn’t know at the time was that a little bit of whole fish was just a warm-up for the culinary adventure to come. Thing were about to get a whole lot scarier. Let me introduce you to owabi – an expensive, fresh-caught specialty. We Americans would refer to it either as “live giant snail” (me) or “Eeeeeeeeeek!” (Mom and Sis).
Now, most would be pout off by snails in the first place. Personally, I rather enjoy escargot as an appetizer, but they’re small, manageable and served sautéed in butter and garlic. Note the operative word there being “cooked.”
That night, not all of our dinner was served out of the oven. Rather, the owabi was placed, shell-down, on a small plate and presented separately from the rest of the meal. I think the intention was to have us guests especially note its wriggly freshness.
That was kind of hard to miss; the underside of the slimy snail rippled and wriggled as the animal struggled to flip itself over and ooze off to the closest tidal pool. At first, the snails just undulated quietly, almost like they were breathing rhythmically (Were they? I didn’t ask… too busy trying not to have a “reversal.”) But after a few minutes, their struggles became fiercer and they began to twist their bodies back and forth, rocking their shells against the plate. Clink, click, clack.
For a brief moment, I had to steel myself to find some courage to quietly go on with dinner. Jen and Mom both let out shrieks and had to hide their respective snails out of sight. I can’t say that I blame them – owabi ain’t gonna be winning no beauty contest this century. We also didn’t have any warning that a giant, oozy, wriggling snail was going to feature as the main course. Just, plop, here you go – enjoy!
Thankfully, we didn’t have to eat the snails raw. There wasn’t any way I could do that. Each table has a small 4x4-inch grill with a sterno can. At the proper time, our server lit the sterno and I dropped my snail, shell down, onto the flames. The struggles intensified.
“How do you know when it’s been cooked?” I asked, reasonably.
“Oh, when it stops moving of course.”
“Right.”
It took a few minutes of some frantic, wavy death-wriggles, but the little guy eventually stopped moving. I left him on the grill to cook for a few more minutes. Can’t be too careful, you know.
We got my flip rolling tape (I’ll try to post it soon) and I dressed the owabi with a pat of butter and squeezed a lemon wedge over it. The outer edges of the snail’s body contracted involuntarily when the acidic fruit juice hit it. While it did that, I ignored the double-twist somersault my stomach performed simultaneously. “Too late to stop now,” I thought.
I sliced off a piece using a knife and fork.
Hmm… that looks big.
I cut it in half.
Better, but…
I cut it in half again.
After that, there was no turning back. I stabbed a chunk, took a breath and popped it into my mouth. One chew. Two chews. A third… and then I had the rhythm going.
The result? No gagging, spitting or choking. The snail was tough, springy and fairly flavorless as a whole. I’d say part of the texture came from possible over-cooking, but that’d just be a guess (note: probably incorrect – our dinner the next night contained three small slices of owabi, served cooked and they were similarly tough). If I had to compare the snail to anything, I’d say it’s probably like a scallop – only with 1/10th of the flavor and about 20 times the chewiness. Japaanes love subtlety in their flavors, so that’s probably what makes this exotic treat a $40-per-piece delicacy.
As for me, I would’ve been perfectly satisfied with some shrimp tempura or gyoza or something. But, hey, you only live once.
Still alive in Japan… catch you soon!
Yoko ordered a bunch of regional specialties at our dinner. The six of us ate in a private dining room, sitting on the tatami mats on small, legless chairs in traditional fashion. A very respectful, kimono-clad woman attended our room, bowing every time she entered and kneeing to open and close the door. With all of us wearing kimonos loaned to us by the hotel (also, standard), it felt like we were in some sort of silk wall hanging or watercolor portrait. Very cool…
The tables were already covered with food when we entered. Each of us had the same selection: Japanese hotpot (slices of raw fish and vegetables that you cook yourself in a broth and then dip in seasonings), sashimi, sushi appetitizers, a dish of rice that the attendant cooked while we ate, miso soup with lobster, vegetables and the usual Japanese garnishes of seaweed and pickles.
The Japanese, apparently, drink all the time (I mentioned the breakfast beer), so Yoko and Reiko ordered bottles of Sapporo and I asked for a bottle of white wine and we got down to business with hearty cries of Itadakimasu! and Kampai!
As we ate the food (which was all incredibly fresh – particularly the sashimi scallops), the waitress brought out two more dishes – regional delicacies. Yoko had arranged ahead of time for us to try both of them. The first, Red Snapper, was served broiled whole and garnished in a rich, sesame teriyaki sauce. With three fish for the six of us, each person received half of a fish respectively. Mine was piled high on a plate – eyeballs to tail, skin and all.
It was very good. The fish’s skin was perfectly crisp and the white flesh underneath melted away as it hit your tongue. Snapper doesn’t have a thick, fishy taste. Rather, the meat had soaked in the flavors of the marinade and had a light, buttery finish.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to eat the fish’s eyeball. Apparently that, along with the spine and tail, are the only things the Japanese don’t eat. However, Yoko did say I should try the eye socket because it was “good for your blood.” Not wanting to offend, I popped the wobbly disc into my mouth and crunched down on the jelly-filled substance. Um… the bitter flavor and awful consistency didn’t pair well with the rest of the delicious fish. Thankfully, I only had one socket to get through.
What I didn’t know at the time was that a little bit of whole fish was just a warm-up for the culinary adventure to come. Thing were about to get a whole lot scarier. Let me introduce you to owabi – an expensive, fresh-caught specialty. We Americans would refer to it either as “live giant snail” (me) or “Eeeeeeeeeek!” (Mom and Sis).
Now, most would be pout off by snails in the first place. Personally, I rather enjoy escargot as an appetizer, but they’re small, manageable and served sautéed in butter and garlic. Note the operative word there being “cooked.”
That night, not all of our dinner was served out of the oven. Rather, the owabi was placed, shell-down, on a small plate and presented separately from the rest of the meal. I think the intention was to have us guests especially note its wriggly freshness.
That was kind of hard to miss; the underside of the slimy snail rippled and wriggled as the animal struggled to flip itself over and ooze off to the closest tidal pool. At first, the snails just undulated quietly, almost like they were breathing rhythmically (Were they? I didn’t ask… too busy trying not to have a “reversal.”) But after a few minutes, their struggles became fiercer and they began to twist their bodies back and forth, rocking their shells against the plate. Clink, click, clack.
For a brief moment, I had to steel myself to find some courage to quietly go on with dinner. Jen and Mom both let out shrieks and had to hide their respective snails out of sight. I can’t say that I blame them – owabi ain’t gonna be winning no beauty contest this century. We also didn’t have any warning that a giant, oozy, wriggling snail was going to feature as the main course. Just, plop, here you go – enjoy!
Thankfully, we didn’t have to eat the snails raw. There wasn’t any way I could do that. Each table has a small 4x4-inch grill with a sterno can. At the proper time, our server lit the sterno and I dropped my snail, shell down, onto the flames. The struggles intensified.
“How do you know when it’s been cooked?” I asked, reasonably.
“Oh, when it stops moving of course.”
“Right.”
It took a few minutes of some frantic, wavy death-wriggles, but the little guy eventually stopped moving. I left him on the grill to cook for a few more minutes. Can’t be too careful, you know.
We got my flip rolling tape (I’ll try to post it soon) and I dressed the owabi with a pat of butter and squeezed a lemon wedge over it. The outer edges of the snail’s body contracted involuntarily when the acidic fruit juice hit it. While it did that, I ignored the double-twist somersault my stomach performed simultaneously. “Too late to stop now,” I thought.
I sliced off a piece using a knife and fork.
Hmm… that looks big.
I cut it in half.
Better, but…
I cut it in half again.
After that, there was no turning back. I stabbed a chunk, took a breath and popped it into my mouth. One chew. Two chews. A third… and then I had the rhythm going.
The result? No gagging, spitting or choking. The snail was tough, springy and fairly flavorless as a whole. I’d say part of the texture came from possible over-cooking, but that’d just be a guess (note: probably incorrect – our dinner the next night contained three small slices of owabi, served cooked and they were similarly tough). If I had to compare the snail to anything, I’d say it’s probably like a scallop – only with 1/10th of the flavor and about 20 times the chewiness. Japaanes love subtlety in their flavors, so that’s probably what makes this exotic treat a $40-per-piece delicacy.
As for me, I would’ve been perfectly satisfied with some shrimp tempura or gyoza or something. But, hey, you only live once.
Still alive in Japan… catch you soon!
Eating, bathing, eating, bathing... and then eating and bathing some more.
(Editor’s note: This was written a couple days ago, but since Mike was trapped out in the Japanese boondocks with no Internet, no cell phone and only an honest-to-God rotary telephone in his hotel room, it couldn’t be posted until now. Also, this along with most posts will be cut from emails to Sonja, so if Mike says he loves you, he really means he loves her. Although he does love you, too… he’s just not ready to say it out loud yet.)
So, during out day-and-a-half in-country, we haven’t done much of anything besides eat. It took us a couple hours to get from the airport to Yoko’s place. She doesn’t live too far from the city center (45 minutes or so), but the airport is on the other side of Tokyo. We took a bus from the airport to a hotel that’s about 15 minutes away and Reiko picked us up there with a friend’s mini van to fit the ridiculous amount of baggage.
Yoko had a spread of fresh sushi (ordered from a local place) along with some handmade food waiting for our arrival. She cooked a cabbage stew, which is Grandma’s favorite dish. I didn’t get the name of it, but it’s cabbage, potatoes, carrots and strips of beef cooked in a light broth - very nice. We had fresh salad and an egg custard that had chunks of fish in it (Sounds disgusting, but it’s actually quite tasty - almost like a omelet, but with a consistency of pudding, served slightly warmed. That sounds even worse, no?). We ate, drank beer, talked and Grandma showed off her suitcases of gifts (that took an hour). It was a lot fun, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Mom, Jen and I slept in the living room downstairs. Yoko’s couches, which are soft leather benches, can be pushed together to form small beds. I had my own, but Mom and Jen had to share the equivalent of a twin. We were all so tired, it wasn’t really a problem.
I’ll have to take some pictures of Yoko’s place so you can see it... it’s interesting and I’m glad we got to stay in a “real” Japanese home. Every single square inch of space is filled with something useful. The ceilings are low, the seats are small and I sometimes feel like a giant - it’s kinda fun!
As it turns out, Yoko doesn’t have the Internet at her place and, oddly, this hotel we’re in doesn’t either. It’s weird because it’s an incredible nice place. I have no idea where in Japan we are, but it’s a four-hour bus ride from Tokyo. Our hotel overlooks the Pacific (the room Grandma, Mom, Jenna and I are sharing has a ocean view). Originally, we were going to Hakone and Mt. Fuji, but apparently Yoko decided to come here with her time share privileges instead. She thought the weather would be better.
I think there’s less to do and see here, but that’s okay - it is a vacation after all, right?
Our hotel (the Okomoto Club in Atawa) is a tradition ryokan (Japanese Inn). The rooms are all covered in tatami mats and are subdivided by sliding rice paper screens. At night, while you’re at dinner, the staff comes in and lays out futons on the floor for you to sleep on. They’re remarkably comfortable and have thick, yet breathable, comforters. If I can afford to buy one, I might and then cruelly make my mom and sister cart it back to the States for me.
Like most ryokans, this place has its own onsen (natural hot spring) and they’ve built indoor/outdoor facilities for men and women. Hallelujah that there was no “family room” and I didn’t have to see my mom, sister, grandmother, great aunt and second cousin naked. I’d have to stick chopsticks in my eyes, throw up and drown myself all at once.
I had two visits to the onsen today. It’s very relaxing, but it definitely gets you out of your comfort zone as you go in completely naked and it’s one big open room full of strangers. The resort we’re at either caters to the old people or retirees are the only ones that can come up here during the week, because I was surrounded by a lot of wrinky, bald-butted Japanese old dudes.
There is some etiquette involved in using an onsen. You first enter the Japanese version of a locker room (the main difference is that it doesn’t smell like socks and the floors are A) clean and B) covered in bamboo tatami mats). There, you strip off your kimono (yup, I’ve been wearing a robe around the ryokan - hotel), put it into a basket in a cubby hole that serves as a locker. After that, you head into the main room of the onsen. But instead of heading (nude) straight for the pool of steaming hot water, you first must wash yourself. It’s along the lines of showering before you hop into the public pool, only that here, people actually do it. And they don’t pee in the pool, either.
Along one wall, stands a row of overturned buckets, which you can use as a stool to wash yourself. There’s a smaller bucket, about the size of a standard Tupperware container, which you can fill from a faucet and rinse yourself off. If you prefer using a showerhead, those are also available. It’s customary to at least splash water over your body (in particular, the family jewels), but you also have the option to use provided washcloths, soap and shampoo to give yourself a head-to-toe cleaning. I picked that option for both visits - no use in offending anyone! Plus it’s fun to scrub-a-dub-dub in a room that looks like a giant tub.
Both times, I chose to hop into the indoor spring first. It’s a large tile bath with one step leading down into it and benches lining the sides. The water’s only about 3 feet deep, so you can splash around, but you can’t swim. It’s quite relaxing.
I did commit an onsen faux pas. Not wanting to look like I was scared and never done that before, I strutted around like I owned the place. Everyone’s naked, no reason to hide along the walls or anything, right?
When I first went in, there were only three other people: one guy washing himself off (for 25 minutes!) and two in the outdoor spring area. So, I left my washcloth at the stand and hopped in the spring. Then, a group of about 8-10 guys came into the room... and every single one of them had their washcloth hovering or cupped over their ding-a-ling. So, although you’re naked, you’re not supposed to just walk around hanging brain. Whoops (Note to self: write to Lonely Planet and tell them to include that in their next edition… it would’ve been nice to know).
I got out and grabbed my cloth and tried to fit in. I think I failed, though, as everyone else had a nice, normal, white cloth and somehow I’d wound up with a florescent green one from my room. Holding it in front of me, I looked like a gay Indian, wearing his favorite loincloth to a sweaty nightclub. Rock on.
Once I figured that out, I enjoyed myself a little more. I took a second dip at night and had the place to myself. It was fun being in the outdoor onsen by myself, looking up at where the stars should be (it was too cloudy to see anything), palm trees (didn’t know they had those) and a the lights from a couple other hotels (I pretended they couldn’t see me). I sat there on the stone tiles of the tub, listened to the trickle of fresh water coming through pipes into the tub and sighed contentedly.
So, during out day-and-a-half in-country, we haven’t done much of anything besides eat. It took us a couple hours to get from the airport to Yoko’s place. She doesn’t live too far from the city center (45 minutes or so), but the airport is on the other side of Tokyo. We took a bus from the airport to a hotel that’s about 15 minutes away and Reiko picked us up there with a friend’s mini van to fit the ridiculous amount of baggage.
Yoko had a spread of fresh sushi (ordered from a local place) along with some handmade food waiting for our arrival. She cooked a cabbage stew, which is Grandma’s favorite dish. I didn’t get the name of it, but it’s cabbage, potatoes, carrots and strips of beef cooked in a light broth - very nice. We had fresh salad and an egg custard that had chunks of fish in it (Sounds disgusting, but it’s actually quite tasty - almost like a omelet, but with a consistency of pudding, served slightly warmed. That sounds even worse, no?). We ate, drank beer, talked and Grandma showed off her suitcases of gifts (that took an hour). It was a lot fun, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Mom, Jen and I slept in the living room downstairs. Yoko’s couches, which are soft leather benches, can be pushed together to form small beds. I had my own, but Mom and Jen had to share the equivalent of a twin. We were all so tired, it wasn’t really a problem.
I’ll have to take some pictures of Yoko’s place so you can see it... it’s interesting and I’m glad we got to stay in a “real” Japanese home. Every single square inch of space is filled with something useful. The ceilings are low, the seats are small and I sometimes feel like a giant - it’s kinda fun!
As it turns out, Yoko doesn’t have the Internet at her place and, oddly, this hotel we’re in doesn’t either. It’s weird because it’s an incredible nice place. I have no idea where in Japan we are, but it’s a four-hour bus ride from Tokyo. Our hotel overlooks the Pacific (the room Grandma, Mom, Jenna and I are sharing has a ocean view). Originally, we were going to Hakone and Mt. Fuji, but apparently Yoko decided to come here with her time share privileges instead. She thought the weather would be better.
I think there’s less to do and see here, but that’s okay - it is a vacation after all, right?
Our hotel (the Okomoto Club in Atawa) is a tradition ryokan (Japanese Inn). The rooms are all covered in tatami mats and are subdivided by sliding rice paper screens. At night, while you’re at dinner, the staff comes in and lays out futons on the floor for you to sleep on. They’re remarkably comfortable and have thick, yet breathable, comforters. If I can afford to buy one, I might and then cruelly make my mom and sister cart it back to the States for me.
Like most ryokans, this place has its own onsen (natural hot spring) and they’ve built indoor/outdoor facilities for men and women. Hallelujah that there was no “family room” and I didn’t have to see my mom, sister, grandmother, great aunt and second cousin naked. I’d have to stick chopsticks in my eyes, throw up and drown myself all at once.
I had two visits to the onsen today. It’s very relaxing, but it definitely gets you out of your comfort zone as you go in completely naked and it’s one big open room full of strangers. The resort we’re at either caters to the old people or retirees are the only ones that can come up here during the week, because I was surrounded by a lot of wrinky, bald-butted Japanese old dudes.
There is some etiquette involved in using an onsen. You first enter the Japanese version of a locker room (the main difference is that it doesn’t smell like socks and the floors are A) clean and B) covered in bamboo tatami mats). There, you strip off your kimono (yup, I’ve been wearing a robe around the ryokan - hotel), put it into a basket in a cubby hole that serves as a locker. After that, you head into the main room of the onsen. But instead of heading (nude) straight for the pool of steaming hot water, you first must wash yourself. It’s along the lines of showering before you hop into the public pool, only that here, people actually do it. And they don’t pee in the pool, either.
Along one wall, stands a row of overturned buckets, which you can use as a stool to wash yourself. There’s a smaller bucket, about the size of a standard Tupperware container, which you can fill from a faucet and rinse yourself off. If you prefer using a showerhead, those are also available. It’s customary to at least splash water over your body (in particular, the family jewels), but you also have the option to use provided washcloths, soap and shampoo to give yourself a head-to-toe cleaning. I picked that option for both visits - no use in offending anyone! Plus it’s fun to scrub-a-dub-dub in a room that looks like a giant tub.
Both times, I chose to hop into the indoor spring first. It’s a large tile bath with one step leading down into it and benches lining the sides. The water’s only about 3 feet deep, so you can splash around, but you can’t swim. It’s quite relaxing.
I did commit an onsen faux pas. Not wanting to look like I was scared and never done that before, I strutted around like I owned the place. Everyone’s naked, no reason to hide along the walls or anything, right?
When I first went in, there were only three other people: one guy washing himself off (for 25 minutes!) and two in the outdoor spring area. So, I left my washcloth at the stand and hopped in the spring. Then, a group of about 8-10 guys came into the room... and every single one of them had their washcloth hovering or cupped over their ding-a-ling. So, although you’re naked, you’re not supposed to just walk around hanging brain. Whoops (Note to self: write to Lonely Planet and tell them to include that in their next edition… it would’ve been nice to know).
I got out and grabbed my cloth and tried to fit in. I think I failed, though, as everyone else had a nice, normal, white cloth and somehow I’d wound up with a florescent green one from my room. Holding it in front of me, I looked like a gay Indian, wearing his favorite loincloth to a sweaty nightclub. Rock on.
Once I figured that out, I enjoyed myself a little more. I took a second dip at night and had the place to myself. It was fun being in the outdoor onsen by myself, looking up at where the stars should be (it was too cloudy to see anything), palm trees (didn’t know they had those) and a the lights from a couple other hotels (I pretended they couldn’t see me). I sat there on the stone tiles of the tub, listened to the trickle of fresh water coming through pipes into the tub and sighed contentedly.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Ramblings from Japan...
ON THE FLIGHT OVER...
My “entertainment” selections for the 12-hour flight from Chicago to Tokyo: The Spiderwick Chronicles, Definitely Maybe, The Bucket List, Mad Money, Shine a Light and The Other Boleyn Girl. Let’s just say I read. A lot.
Boingo’s airport signal strength (both in Chicago and Tokyo) is equivalent to me trying to do bench press reps at the NFL combine.
What the heck did people do to kill time waiting to board before the iPhone? Currently going through email, SMS, Twitter, Facebook and Bejeweled withdrawl.
Did you know Cup o’ Noodles qualifies as a “meal” on United Airlines’ long-haul flights. Me neither.
ON FAMILY...
Upon seeing pictures of my fiancée, my second cousin Reiko remarked, “She has a nice bust!” Normally, I’d chalk that up to as a “lost in translation moment,” but she repeated it several times.
My great aunt Yoko (who’s hosting us while we’re in Tokyo) has a fat toy Chihuahua who’s terrified of me. It’s like a hairy, freaked-out football and I want to kick it.
Grandma, in addition to slipping right back into her native language and culture, also started slipping out of her clothes. Apparently, pants are optional if you’re 70-plus. Thank goodness she wears huge cotton briefs.
You haven’t been entertained until you’ve watched two technologically ignorant septuagenarians spend eight minutes yelling at each other and jabbing fingers at a ticket machine in confusion. All they had to do was push the “English” button in the corner, told me which station we needed to go to, and we’d have been off in 30 seconds. But, no…
ON TELEVISION...
They have Aflac commercials here and they use a duck, but not Gilbert Godfried’s voice. It’s kinda weird. And the duck has one feather sticking up on the top of its head, too. I thought you should know.
Also, Akinori Iwamura (the 2nd baseman for the Tampa Bay Rays) hit a home run today and it made it into the news block, not just sports. They love them some Japanese ballplayers over here, even if they’re playing in Tampa.
Japanese ping-pong players get endorsement deals from the Asian version of Gatorade. It’s like watching Forrest Gump, only lamer.
The Colonel is still the spokeslogo for KFC. Only he looks a little Japanese... that could just be the late-night sushi talking, though.
I’ve seen maybe six other Caucasian people in a week here (discounting the tourists at the airport), yet 25% of Japanese advertisements feature blonde-and-blue-eyed Abercrombie-esque models. It’s strangely disconcerting.
ON JAPAN...
I am taller than every women I’ve seen and at least 2/3rds of the men. I’m 5’8” on an extremely good day with reduced gravity. This rocks.
I wear flip-flops, which confuses Yoko to no end. You see, to her (and every Japanese person over 50), flip-flops are indoor house shoes. It’s proper to cover your feet when you’re outdoors. We’ve compromised, though: she stops pestering me to wear sneakers and I just have to wipe my feet with a washcloth for five minutes before I come into her house.
The Japanese society is one that revolves around the clock and punctuality. Trains arrive the instant they’re supposed to (not a minute sooner), people meet you exactly when they say they will and a dinner reservation for 6 p.m. actually means dinner is set for six. But, when the Nagels arrive, they make history - for the first time ever, a bus was delayed. Why? Because our cousin had to stand in front of it for 10 minutes, while my grandma and great aunt teamed up to get us lost and make us late. Ever been glared at by two-dozen angry retirees while you’re trying to find a seat on the bus? It’s not fun.
Having a shaved head apparently makes you a Yakuza (Japanese mafia). So not only am I taller than everyone, but people are terrified of me. Although, I don’t know if it’s the hair or the flip-flops that’s setting them off…
Ask for mizu at restaurants and you get odd stares. Refill a water bottle at a bubbler and people point and laugh. Apparently, you’re not allowed to drink anything besides tea or Sapporo (which, incidentally, they serve at breakfast).
Bidets – surprisingly powerful and well-aimed.
My “entertainment” selections for the 12-hour flight from Chicago to Tokyo: The Spiderwick Chronicles, Definitely Maybe, The Bucket List, Mad Money, Shine a Light and The Other Boleyn Girl. Let’s just say I read. A lot.
Boingo’s airport signal strength (both in Chicago and Tokyo) is equivalent to me trying to do bench press reps at the NFL combine.
What the heck did people do to kill time waiting to board before the iPhone? Currently going through email, SMS, Twitter, Facebook and Bejeweled withdrawl.
Did you know Cup o’ Noodles qualifies as a “meal” on United Airlines’ long-haul flights. Me neither.
ON FAMILY...
Upon seeing pictures of my fiancée, my second cousin Reiko remarked, “She has a nice bust!” Normally, I’d chalk that up to as a “lost in translation moment,” but she repeated it several times.
My great aunt Yoko (who’s hosting us while we’re in Tokyo) has a fat toy Chihuahua who’s terrified of me. It’s like a hairy, freaked-out football and I want to kick it.
Grandma, in addition to slipping right back into her native language and culture, also started slipping out of her clothes. Apparently, pants are optional if you’re 70-plus. Thank goodness she wears huge cotton briefs.
You haven’t been entertained until you’ve watched two technologically ignorant septuagenarians spend eight minutes yelling at each other and jabbing fingers at a ticket machine in confusion. All they had to do was push the “English” button in the corner, told me which station we needed to go to, and we’d have been off in 30 seconds. But, no…
ON TELEVISION...
They have Aflac commercials here and they use a duck, but not Gilbert Godfried’s voice. It’s kinda weird. And the duck has one feather sticking up on the top of its head, too. I thought you should know.
Also, Akinori Iwamura (the 2nd baseman for the Tampa Bay Rays) hit a home run today and it made it into the news block, not just sports. They love them some Japanese ballplayers over here, even if they’re playing in Tampa.
Japanese ping-pong players get endorsement deals from the Asian version of Gatorade. It’s like watching Forrest Gump, only lamer.
The Colonel is still the spokeslogo for KFC. Only he looks a little Japanese... that could just be the late-night sushi talking, though.
I’ve seen maybe six other Caucasian people in a week here (discounting the tourists at the airport), yet 25% of Japanese advertisements feature blonde-and-blue-eyed Abercrombie-esque models. It’s strangely disconcerting.
ON JAPAN...
I am taller than every women I’ve seen and at least 2/3rds of the men. I’m 5’8” on an extremely good day with reduced gravity. This rocks.
I wear flip-flops, which confuses Yoko to no end. You see, to her (and every Japanese person over 50), flip-flops are indoor house shoes. It’s proper to cover your feet when you’re outdoors. We’ve compromised, though: she stops pestering me to wear sneakers and I just have to wipe my feet with a washcloth for five minutes before I come into her house.
The Japanese society is one that revolves around the clock and punctuality. Trains arrive the instant they’re supposed to (not a minute sooner), people meet you exactly when they say they will and a dinner reservation for 6 p.m. actually means dinner is set for six. But, when the Nagels arrive, they make history - for the first time ever, a bus was delayed. Why? Because our cousin had to stand in front of it for 10 minutes, while my grandma and great aunt teamed up to get us lost and make us late. Ever been glared at by two-dozen angry retirees while you’re trying to find a seat on the bus? It’s not fun.
Having a shaved head apparently makes you a Yakuza (Japanese mafia). So not only am I taller than everyone, but people are terrified of me. Although, I don’t know if it’s the hair or the flip-flops that’s setting them off…
Ask for mizu at restaurants and you get odd stares. Refill a water bottle at a bubbler and people point and laugh. Apparently, you’re not allowed to drink anything besides tea or Sapporo (which, incidentally, they serve at breakfast).
Bidets – surprisingly powerful and well-aimed.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
I've done my packing, now it's Grandma's turn
I'm going to post a Japan itinerary (I leave in four days). But frankly that's about as exciting to read as a calendar, because, well... you are reading a calendar. So before I get to some mind-numbing list of dates and places, I thought I'd feed your Internet entertainment craving with a little peek into the mind of my grandmother.
For those of you that don't know, I'm traveling through Japan with my Grandmother (who is Japanese, was born there and moved to the States and became a citizen about 50 years ago), my mom (born on a military base in Japan) and my sister (like me, born in a hospital here - much less exciting). It's going to be a two-week jaunt through family history, meeting relatives, seeing the "homeland" and sharing rooms in ryokans.
Well, Grandma is quite the character. I love her to death, but she definitely has her quirks. One of them has to do with her luggage - or, rather, the items she wants to bring that can't fit into her suitcases. It's Japanese tradition to bring gifts when you visit. It's been a few years since Grandma's been back to her homeland, so she's loaded up on those... that seems sensible enough. The quirk she has about packing has to do with A) the type of gifts she's bringing and B) the seeming illogical assumption that famine has arrived in Japan and we will starve for two weeks. This has led to over-packing, which has led to me checking an extra bag just for her stuff.
Thank goodness I pack light.
Grandma's packing list:
1 faux Coach bag - She actually is bringing six of these. But she didn't want to have trouble with customs, so she gave me one. Apparently, she thinks that will make a difference.
1 set of Japanese flip-flops - because, you know, they're hard to find in Japan.
3 Red Sox t-shirts - this makes sense. Dice-K mania is huge; the relatives will love the shirts. I want a Seibu Lions jersey, myself.
3 Charles River Laboratories t-shirts - I don't think anyone's asking for the leftover swag from a company Grandma hasn't worked for in 5 years.
1 bottle, Centrum Silver - taking your vitamins is good. Taking 250 over a 16-day span is not.
2 family-sized packages, caesar croutons - we're visiting a friend Grandma has who likes salad. So we're bringing salad. Right.
24 tea packets - didn't they INVENT tea in Asia?
12 instant coffee packets - this makes sense. I can't live without coffee.
1 jar instant coffee - in light of above, not needed.
1 box, Pop Secret popcorn - not a clue as to her reasoning on this one.
1 box, SPANISH Pop Secret popcorn - Porque?!
2 packets, guacamole mix - "This way, if we find avacadoes, we can have chips at night."
6 pounds of Lindt chocolate - Either these are gifts, or G-ma has one heckuva sweet tooth.
1 bottle for salad dressing - Yes, we're bringing a mix-your-own dressing bottle. Just in case that awesome ginger salad dressing you get at sushi places has been sold out nationwide.
1 blue rubber bath mat - This is actually a gift for her sister. Hey, at least it's not socks.
8 granola bars - Great for flights. Except they'll be checked in the cargo hold.
2 pounds of whole grain spaghetti - This was actually a compromise. Grandma originally wanted to bring the pasta AND two jars of homemade sauce to Japan, but we talked her out of it. Although, it would've been easy to spot my suitcase at baggage claim - it would be the one leaking.
1 jar, brownish-orange, thick gel with pungent order - I don't know what it is. It's wrapped in a paper towel and then encased in bubble wrap. It smells, strong, of ginger. I think Grandma might have preserved some at home? At least, that's what I'll be telling the Homeland Security agents when they've dragged me off to a mirrored room after my stuff's been confisticated at check-in.
Friday, June 13, 2008
That's right, I'm packing...
Editors' note: I'm writing as a featured blogger for STATravlers.com - which is a social networking site dedicated exclusively to travelers. The site recently celebrated its first year anniversary and has been quite successful, so it's an honor for me to be a part of it.
During the course of my time at the Olympics, I'll be posting blogs on their site. I'll include links here, too, though so you can click through to the travel posts.*****
I’m getting ready to leave on my next adventure. In ten days, I’ll be boarding a plane for trip halfway around the globe. Behind me, I’m leaving an apartment, bills, job obligations and (most importantly) a fiancee, friends and family and setting out for a 2 1/2 month long journey through Japan and China.There are a ton of preparations for the trip. I need to make sure my banks know I’m going, bills have to be paid in advance, my car has to find another home for a while and someone has to water my plants (not that I do that enough, anyway, but it’d be good to have them not be entirely brown when I get back). This part of the trip sucks - it’s no fun thinking about logistics and budgets. The fun part is flipping through travel guides and reading trip blogs and finding the cool, out-of-the way places to visit or a funky hostel to sleep in.
The one tedious part of trip prep I actually enjoy is packing. I love pulling out my stuff, laying it all out and fitting it inside of my luggage. There’s a routine to it that starts to get my blood flowing as anticipation of travel ramps up. Plus, I always play The Beatles’ Come Together album. I don’t remember where that tradition started, but every time I hear it, it makes me think about heading out on the open road or through the nearest check-in gate.
While with each trip, my packing list changes, there are always a few standbys you’ll find in my bags... (follow the link HERE for the rest of the article)
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