Hiroshima, the perfect city? or at least the perfect stay (days one and two)

Hiroshima is a city completely unlike Tokyo. The sidewalks are wider, the people smile more, the greetings are softer; everything around us breathes in deep, slow breaths, from the cicadas in the trees, to the bicycles winding along the sides of the inland sea. If Hiroshima is known as the city of peace, then it is because of the determined openness of its people, who seem to be accepting and welcoming of everyone.

Back in the US I might be wary of surroundings like this—friendliness? Slow, relaxed pace of life? I would miss the hustle, and speed-walk my way around the those strolling along. Yes, peace would be great, but keeping an eye out for trouble, and viewing the world with a layer of skepticism is a necessary part of everyday living.

Would I tell a complete stranger where I was going in the middle of New York? Probably not; I would lie, like I did when I was twenty or so, and an old bearded guy started walking beside me while I was on my way to Port Authority. After shadowing me for two blocks, he asked me my name, where I was from, if I needed help getting to wherever it was I was going, and if I had a girlfriend. (Answers: David, Massachusetts, no, and yes—first two answers false, last two true).

But in Hiroshima, it was different. Cole and I were just out of the JR train station, and we were looking for our hotel. We knew that the way involved taking the one of the local trams

which Hiroshima is famous for. We even knew which stop we wanted and the name of the street the hotel was on. We were confirming it on a map, when we heard a voice. “Where are you going?”

We turned around, and saw that its source was a sturdy old man wearing traditional blue garments. “Peace Park?” He asked.

“No, no.” I pointed at the stop on the map. “Fukuro-machi.”

“Ah…Fukuro-machi?” He seemed confused.  “Dome?”

“Um…hotel,” I answered, but it was hard to get the idea across, and it didn’t help that I have a tendency to mumble.

“Speak slowly and clearly and I will understand,” he said.

“We’re going to our hotel,” cole said carefully, and she mimed a sleeping motion.

He got it. “Hotel! What hotel?”

We told him, and he thought for a minute. Then he borrowed a piece of paper from us, and not only did he begin to tell us where exactly the hotel was, but he also drew us a map of the entire area, with arrows to point us in the correct direction.

We thanked him both in Japanese and in English.

“Are you American?” he asked cole.

“Yes.” She nodded.

He looked to me. “Japanese?”

“No, no. Chinese.”

“Oh.”

“But American too.”

“Ah.” He paused. “I am Peace park guide.”

I looked at him closer, and I began to wonder how he came to be a guide. How long had he lived in Hiroshima? He was definitely the right age, but I couldn’t ask. I mean, how do you ask someone if he or she lived through one of the most horrific tragedies of our time?

As the tram came, he told us where to sit, how to pay, and before he got off, he told the driver where to stop for us.

None of this would have happened in New York. Not meaning that New Yorkers aren’t friendly, if fact, I bet that almost every single person you stop on the street would help out with directions if asked, but none would seek out to help confused tourists. There are reasons for this . What if the tourists are crazy? What if they mispronounce greenwich or houston? Even worse, what if they’re wearing fanny packs….But thank you Mr. Peace Park guide, for helping two strangers out. I’ll try to extend the same gesture back home or maybe even in Shanghai once I know the area.

We settled into our hotel, and then went out to explore our immediate surroundings. Hiroshima was re-built into a grid, so finding places wasn’t that hard. Near our hotel was an extensive covered shopping arcade, which was needed to escape the sun (actually, the weather was a bit cooler and drier there).

The hundred yen shop.

Dinner was a restaurant with absolutely no English menu and few pictures to point at. The waitress didn’t know any English either so ordering was a struggle.

We sat in enclosed booths, cute place.

We ended up ordering a strange combo of cold soba (buckwheat) noodles, grilled fish, white rice and pickles.

The aftermath.

The next morning we decided to be decadent. You see, I had been developing intense cravings for the most silly basic things, like corn flakes with bananas and PB&J. I mean, I love Japanese food, and probably have it two or three times a week usually; but I’m also used to a burrito now and then, or some pasta, or some chow fun, or a turkey sandwich. Eating in Japan is great, but the variety isn’t quite there. But I should get used to this, as I’m sure China will be missing a few staples (what…no knishes or matza ball soup?).

Cole thought that the perfect antidote for my cravings would be the hotel’s breakfast buffet, so we went for it, and boy did I go for it.

First round was the Western breakfast: pancakes, sausage, eggs, fruit. The sausage was good, but the eggs were way too buttery, and the pancakes were a little dry. When I found the waffles I got all excited and put some syrup on them. What I didn’t realize was that the waffles were a kind of dessert bread, already sweet and dense like a roll. With the syrup on top it was too much to take. Complete sugar overload. But, none of it mattered, because sitting on an innocuous side table, were corn flakes. Real, honest to god, cornflakes. A decanter of milk lay next to it, and it wasn’t long until I found a banana. Oh, it was good; never have I appreciated corn flakes and bananas like this.

 

Second round was the Japanese breakfast. Rice porridge, salted fish, pickles. 

Cole showed more restraint than I.

Completely stuffed, we waddled to Peace Park, the A-Bomb dome and the Peace Museum.

Nicole in full Japanese fashion, sporting a sunblocking umbrella (purchased in London).

The side of Peace Park. Carp would unexpectantly leap out of the water every now and then.

The A-Bomb dome. The more I learned about the devastation, the more amazed I was that any of this building survived at all.

Sights from Peace Park:

The Peace Museum was an experience as well, some of it almost too much to bear. I had conflicted emotions about it all. I was an American looking at the terrible effects of our atom bomb, but in the back of my mind I also knew of all the atrocities that Japan committed, including those against the Chinese. 

In the museum though, I was struck by how genuine and fair their displays were. No political angles, just documentation. I still can’t quite grasp how a society can recover from such destruction, when there’s literally barely anything left of a city. How do you go on? It seemed unreal that we were walking right in the epicenter of the explosion, where there were now birds hopping along branches.

We collected ourselves, and wandered for awhile, until eventually we found ourselves in a random restaurant for dinner. Upon walking in, I heard old-fashioned music sung in Mandarin and knew immediately that we were a Chinese restaurant. Sadly, the kind of Chinese food served was the same trimmed down version that is common in Japan…in other words, it was a slight variant of a ramen restaurant. As I slurped my noodles (eh, they were ok), I looked at the one guy that worked there, who served as host, waiter, and cook. Was he Chinese? He seemed like he could be, but since arriving in Japan, I had learned that my ability to discern different ethnicities wasn’t as dead-on as I thought. “Oh well, who cares,” I thought. I was in Japan anyway, it was as good as place as any to try out my awful Mandarin.

With my nerves steeled, I went up to the register pay the bill. He took my money and I let it loose:

“Ni shi zhongguo ren ma?” (are you chinese?)

He gave me a funny look. Ok…maybe my tones were off. I tried the line in Cantonese, which I know is pretty close to what a normal Canton person would sound like. Nope, no luck.

Er…”Ni hui shao putong hau ma?” (do you speak mandarin?)

A light bulb went off, and his mouth lifted into a wide smile. “No,” he said. He spoke something else. And then he went on, saying where he was from, but I couldn’t understand him because of his dialect. He asked me if I was from Shanghai. (did I sound like I was speaking Shanghainese?)

I wanted to tell him that I was moving there in a few weeks to be a teacher, but that was way beyond my meager putuong hau skills, so instead I said that my parents are from Hong Kong, but I was an American. “Keshi, wo shi Meiguo ren.”

And after that there was an awkward pause, because I had exhausted all of my Mandarin (unless he wanted to talk about hobbies or numbers, I got those down), and Cantonese wasn’t going to work, so I thanked him for the meal, and said see you later.

Alright, not the greatest conversation, but it was my first one in Mandarin, and it worked! A nice end to day two.

Hiroshima had much more to offer, but I’ll get into that in the next post. I’ll leave you with a few pictures we took for fun in our hotel room.

Our view.

Writing a post.

Comfy.

 

 

 

 

Tokyo 3-4-5, with a birthday in between (unproofed and uncorrected version)

“heeheeheehee, butter?” she said. Her laugh was the kind of high-pitched schoolgirl giggle I thought only existed as a stereotype, a kind of anime myth, but nope, here it was, in full skittish glory. To complete the image, her petite pink nailpolished hand covered her mouth in a dainty gesture. The amused tittering was shared by her co-worker, like asking for butter on my bagel was the most insane and inappropriate request ever. I even thought for a second that maybe “butter” sounded phonetically like a dirty Japanese word. 

She crossed her arms in an “X,” the universal Japanese gesture for “no.” As in, “No, I will not be having butter with my bagel.” I slinked away and out of the cafe as they continued to laugh their light stacatto laughter of cruelty.

Score: Japanese counter girls 1 - Denis 0

Even now, Nicole feels the need to mock me with the laugh. Oh the laugh…

I ate my bagel plain, and an unadorned bagel is a sad thing, especially an unadorned Japanese bagel.

To help me get over my wounded sense of self, we went to one of the largest food halls in Tokyo, located in the basement level of the Seibu department store in Ikebukuro. Cole knew that this would cheer me up because besides eating food, looking at food comes in as a close second in my ranking of food-related activities (don’t ask me what comes in at third–finger painting with soy sauce?).

And the food hall did not disappoint. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen so many types of edible goodies packed so closely together (Barcelona?), from mysterious jellies and cakes (could be mochi) to gyoza, tempura, sushi, grilled eel (oh, the grilled eel) and pastries, among much much more.

 

In fact, we were so overwhelmed by the massive crowd and number of choices (and the complete lack of seating didn’t help either), we actually decided to pick up lunch at a supermarket close to our hotel and bring it up to our room.

Gyoza: even the Japanese supermarket specimens are better than the restaurant versions back home (this is true of most sushi too).

A variaty of fried rice with bits of veggies and seafood.

“Feeling better?” Cole said to me while we ate.

“I guess so, but the echoes of the laugh will forever haunt me.”

or so went our completely made-up conversation.

Anyhoo, after our patched-together lunch, we headed out to the Edo-Tokyo Museum. As the name implies, the museum is dedicated to the history of Tokyo, from the Edo period to the present.

 

Kabuki.

Old Japanese currency.

All of the exhibits were contained within one large space, seperated by two levels. Everything was really neat (and by neat I mean interesting, though they were also neat as in coordinated and clean) and we took our time looking at the items, so much so that we ran out of time and missed the modern section. The 1930s and onward will have to wait until next time I guess.

 

As usual, we were drawn right to the printing and publishing section of the museum. Yep, wherever we are, we’ll find the books.

Model of an Edo-era bookstore.

A little more modern.

Standing.

 

Outside of the museum.

After the museum we walked around town for a bit, sweating like crazed monkeys (they sweat a lot I hear) and eventually time passed as it’s prone to do, and we were ready for dinner.

Dinner was again at our little udon place under the tracks.

Beef bowl w/ udon, does it get any better? Beef bowl consists of strips of marinated beef, cooked down with onions, on top of white rice.

And with that day three was over.

As an aside, I don’t think I’ve mentioned how clean Japan is. So…it’s really clean. Litter barely exists, and there are people cleaning the sidewalk and floors everywhere we go. Really, when’s the last time you cleaned your sidewalk? Also, Tokyo must be the only city I’ve been where my nose doesn’t get all sooty after using the subway. Blowing my nose after London was like coal mining, but here, no soot at all! I can almost feel my body suffering from pollution withdrawal. Must make sure to get my fill once I get to China.

Ok, now that that’s over, we’re onto day four:

August 9th, otherwise known as my 28th birthday

The main part of the morning was spent getting to and then exploring the Ghibli museum, the museum of the Miyazaki production company, known for many of my favorite movies such as Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, and Princess Monenoke (yeahyeah I know, I’m super-asiany). Because of its popularity, we booked our tickets way in advance, back in June or so through the Japan travel agency in the Mitsuwa supermarket in Edgewater, NJ.

The museum was a bit out there in the burbs, in Mitaka, maybe a 30 minute train ride outside of Tokyo. The neighborhood was cute, and a nice change of pace from downtown Tokyo. As for the museum itself, well…let’s just say that if you like to being overrun by never-ending streams of Japanese children while simutaneously suffering slow asphyxiation, then a visit to the Ghibli museum on a weekend will do wonders for you.

Maybe I’m being harsh. The rooms showing the original art could have been nice (no picture-taking allowed inside, sorry), but it was impossible to see anything over hundreds of little kids crawling on top of each other. The short film we saw inside was fun, and I found out that the new Miyazaki film was about a goldfish princess who wished to be human (and I can’t wait to see it!), but all in all, I was relieved to get out of there.

It says “New York.” Not a deli like I hoped, but a pachinko place.

We walked around Mitaka for awhile and I spotted a Yoshinoya. For some background: Yoshinoya used to have a restaurant near 23rd street, and it was my favorite lunch spot back when I worked in the Flatiron building. At least twice a week, I would go there for a beef bowl or a chicken teriyaki (the real kind, not the bits of chicken of mall teriyaki), but sadly it closed, and the only other Yoshinoya was in Times Square, or denis-kryptonite-land. My Yoshinoya closed at least three years ago, so it had been some time since I had gotten one of its beef bowls.

When we got in though, as much as I wanted a beef bowl, I saw a special for eel rice and I couldn’t resist.  I wound up eating half of nicole’s beef so it didn’t matter anyway.

Ginza was our next destination, which sounds funny because we had been staying Ginza all that time, but we hadn’t really gone out to Ginza-proper. Saturday was the perfect day to roam, because the main roads are closed off from cars on the weekends.

Japan has a definite fetish for high-priced designer brands, you can’t go anywhere without bumping into them. I think I actually said, “Do they really need two Louis-Vutton stores fifty feet from one another?”

“Yes, yes they do,” cole responded in complete seriousness. And you know…I think they do.

For the grand finale of the b-day, we searched high and low for a suitable mid-priced sushi restaurant (hey, we’re going to be teachers after all, not investment bankers or anything like that, must pay some mind to budget), and we decided on this cute one where else, but near the train tracks. I rattled off my quick checklist for sushi restaurants, and by checklist I mean only my singular requirement…is the place busy? Yes? Check.

We ordered one sushi combination, and another assortment of just tuna nigiri. Oh my God (sorry for those of you who may be religious and/or do not like using the lord’s name to illustrate the divine nature of fresh sushi in Japan, but hey, it was that good). I know we weren’t at the most expensive place ever; it wasn’t Nobu or anything, but compared to the bunch of expensive sushi spots I have been to in nyc, this little no-name restaurant under the tracks blew them all away.

The fatty tuna (the closest pieces to the left), I have no words. In fact, there were different grades of fatty tuna. The medium fatty tuna was enough to make me pass out in delight, but high fatty tuna…I can’t take it, even typing about it now gives me the shakes for another piece, I’m like an addict. If you like sushi, you must have a piece of toro in Japan. First one isn’t free though, more like 400-500 yen.

That one piece of tuna was enough of a birthday present, but to be having it in Tokyo? with cole? with further Japan and China adventures to come? Couldn’t ask for more. Not a bad b-day at all.

For those of you who enjoy extended monologues (two houses, both alike in dignity…), day five, or the final full day of Tokyo is up.

Harajuku and Shinjuku

The guidebooks, the travel channel, America’s Next Top Model–all agree that Harajuku is the hub of Japanese street fashion. I say, “Cosplayers on a Sunday? Sure why not.”

 

But, the cosplayers were hard to find, maybe ten in the morning is too early for Naruto or Cloud or L of Death Note (I hope you don’t know what I’m talking about, if you do then I’m sorry, but you must be a nerd). No great loss; my main goal was to visit the Meiji Shrine.

 

Entering the Meiji Shrine area, for the first time I didn’t notice the outside city. This park had real trees, and had the feel of a forest if not the actual area of one.

Cole cleansed herself before entering the shrine, as was proper. She declined to swish around the water in her mouth and spit.

Classic example of Asian posing.

Not winking. Sun was shining into my eyes.

One of the few pictures we have together.

Although the Meiji Shrine was a reconstruction of the original, it was built with all the same details as the first. It wasn’t just a tourist destination either, while we were there, at least two weddings were going on, along with the Shinto version of a baby Christening.

Lunch break. Very good ramen.

 

Our next stop, Shinjuku, had plenty to see too.

Shinjuku is known as the glitzy/seedy side of Tokyo. It has all the flashy bits, which includes the main red-light district of Tokyo.

 

Look, a coach store.

Cole and I didn’t see anything all that shady, maybe because we weren’t looking, maybe because we were already pooped out.

I did see this though, across the street.

In our tired state, we went to our most natural environment…a bookstore. The Kinokuniya bookstore in Shinjuku had seven levels, and the entire sixth floor was devoted to foreign books. It was blissful being surrounded by novels again. They even had a paperback version of Brief Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao, which isn’t even out in the US yet. I couldn’t buy the hardcover because of the extra weight, but I was more than willing to buy the paperback. Another surprise was that the Kinokuniya carried a fair amount of books from my former employer.

A few of the books I worked on.

I made it to Japan! Does this mean I’m famous? Er…no.

And that’s it, the end of Tokyo. It was better than I imagined, and I’ve been wanted to visit Tokyo for a long time now. Eventually, we’ll come back. I’m sure of it.

Next up is Hiroshima, where cole and I would seriously consider living, and where I had my first use of Mandarin in Japan…great success!

Buns, buns, and more buns (and a few not buns)

The following is self-explanatory. Taken over a few days in various bakeries in and around Tokyo. I didn’t try most except for the melon buns, which tastes a lot like the Chinese pineapple buns I grew up on. Ginza is said to be the melon bun capitol.

Two different melon buns.

Buns in the shapes of animals.

Cute

Also cute. How do people bear to eat it? That bottom middle one looks a little special.

Buns from a convenience store across the street. I do indeed love mayo, but maybe not quite like that.

Not a bun but a donut. I thought this place was only in NYC, how did it end up in Shinjuku Japan? The drink is a real Canada Dry diet ginger ale, imported from the US. It cost almost $4, worth every penny (or yen).

A wafflewich, ice cream and chocalate on the inside.

Ok, also not buns, but “New York Style” bagels. Zoom in and you’ll find that new york style includes a grilled teriyaki bagel. Hey, what about miso bialies?

More adventures with food to come…

Arrival, Japan day one and two, Ueno, Imperial Palace, and lots of food

The flight. It was long; so long that parts of my backside lost all feeling and did not regain said feeling for many hours afterwards. By the twelfth hour, sitting in the airplane seat had become an endurance sport, not exactly an active one, but one that hinged on the successful management of pain.

Occasional viewings of Kung-Fu Panda

and seafood curry broke the monotony (you’ll come to see how I organize most days by the meals, since I’m almost always thinking about food).

But we made it. After navigating through the convoluted rail stations, Nicole and I stumbled to our hotel.

Our room is actually rather large, and almost all of the staff speaks English, so checking in was easy. All we really did was sleep that first night, but I couldn’t resist snapping a few pictures of our toilet before going to bed.

Multiple cleansing functions.

On our first full day, we decided to trek over to the Ueno area, which is home to a park, zoo, and the National Museum.

Breakfast, tuna onigiri (basically a ball of white rice with cooked tunafish inside, wrapped in seaweed) and diet coke. Just like London, they don’t have real diet coke here, only the “new taste” kind, and this vitamin one. I’m starting to think that I’ll have to go without normal diet coke for the entire year…so sad. At least I was able to guess that the blue wrapping on my onigiri meant tuna, just like it does back home.

Here are a few quick things I’ve noticed about Tokyo before I get to Ueno Park:

1. It is really really hot. Like 100 degrees-humid-soaked-through-your-clothes-after-a-minute hot.

2. Guys don’t wear shorts, at least not on workdays. I expected this, but in the heat, it’s tough to deal with. I’ve been sucking it up and wearing them every now and then anyway. Oh well, guess I’m a tourist.

This was in the middle of Shimbashi station near our hotel. Just about everyone wears white shirts with dress pants.

3. A lot of people in Japan know English. From the counter lady at McDonald’s (yes, I did go once for breakfast out of curiosity, tastes the same, a little better actually), to the train station attendants, to people on the street. When they don’t know English, playing the mime game has worked well.

4. On the flip side, everyone assumes that I know Japanese, and that if they look at me hard enough and speak clearly, I’ll eventually understand them. This has given rise to lots of awkward pauses. And I’ve always thought that I looked prototypically Chinese.

5. There are much fewer foreigners than expected. Almost everywhere we go, cole is the only round-eye,(sorry), whitey(scratch that), um…pigmently challenged, person around. She gets her fair share of stares. Then again so do I. Maybe we just look funny.

6. Tokyo’s not that expensive. Really. Most food costs about the same, a typical meal is only about 600-700 yen, about 6-7 dollars. Nice restaurants do cost more though, and clothing is ridiculously pricey, even chains like The Gap. A pair of jeans is like, $120.

7. I’m not super short here! I’m around average height, but I think I must outweigh the normal Japanese guy by ten pounds. I’ve been sizing up a lot of guys by estimating if I could post them up in a game of basketball, and the answer is usually “yes, yes I can.”

8. Vending machines really are everywhere.

Ok, moving on to Ueno.

 

Map.

Water-lilies

Shrine.

Lights.

Turtle.

Kinda mangy stray cat. It hissed at me.

A video for reference, to illustrate how loud Ueno Park is. I didn’t know at first what was making that screeching noise, but it turned out that they were really large (and vocal) cicadas, and they’re not only in parks. Anywhere there’s a tree, you’ll find a screeching cicada. They’re so loud, sometimes you can’t hear anything else when among them. The crows are gigantic too. That’s me mumbling in the background like an idiot. Go amateur camera work.

Since it was so hot, we stopped for some shaved ice. We kept on trying to order it at the counter to no avail. We finally learned that we had to buy a ticket first. Later on, we came across a few eateries that worked on the same premise, which we liked because it took the challenge out of ordering. Just pay, press button, and hand over ticket.

One yellow ice please. Mmm, lemon kinda.

At the other end of the park was the Tokyo National Museum. We slowly trudged our way up to it. Wet jeans is a horrible sensation.

A scroll depicting an earthquake. The Japanese used to believe that giant catfish underneath the ground caused earthquakes.

From the museum bookstore. A Japanese phrasebook. “He whittled away at his body.”

Sculpture of unidentified animal.

We had lunch near the train station, which has become a theme for us. Every train station has tons of restaurants in or around them, and they’re usually the best bargains. Above are soba noodles with shrimp tempura.

Gotcha shrimpy.

Also in Ueno is the Ameyoko Arcade shopping market, full of fun stuff

like fishies

and hormone drugs.

This was one of the ticket machine restaurants I was talking about. We ate dinner here. The counter looked like it was straight out of an old deli, but this one served grilled steak and chicken over rice.

Pretty good. Super cheap.

This poster is in the train stations. I get the sentiment, but what does the “Please do it at the beach.” refer to?

So that was it for the first day.

Now for day two.

Day two wasn’t the most active of days. The main part was spent at the Imperial Palace East Gardens. Now, on a normal day, say…any day that isn’t hotter than a sauna, cole and I would be good for an entire afternoon of walking, but this wasn’t a normal day, this day was hot even by the insane Japanese standards. To combat the heat, Japanese people like to carry around umbrellas to block the sun, and wipe themselves off with sweat rags.

And, the Japanese idea of a park does not automatically mean that there will be shade. Nope, sometimes you get large large stretches of open pavement and gravel, like at the Imperial Palace.

A diet coke to help with the heat. Ick, can’t take the new taste.

The Imperial Palace itself was closed (of course we didn’t figure this out until we reached the gates), but the gardens were open.

A part of the inner palace region, segregated from us common folk.

Gardens.

I could say more, but really, most of what cole and I did was sweat, and trudge our way to the rest stations to sit in the a/c and eat ice pops.

Would have been really nice, if it was thirty degrees cooler or so.

Lunch was udon noodles at this cute place under the train tracks. That croquette was really good.

Ginza at night.

Dinner was under the tracks too (yeah we really liked the tracks). It was an Italian restaurant, or at least a Japanese version.

The pizza and spaghetti almost tasted right.

By the time we finished dinner we were too tired to do anything else. Walking around under the sun all day was more than enough.

We’ve probably sweat off about five pounds each by now. It’s been worth it though, to see the sights.

On that note, ends the second day of Tokyo.

Next post coming up immediately: buns, buns, and more buns.

Packing, moving, then moving again, then goodbye

I’m tempted to start writing about Japan, but in an attempt to keep this orderly (somewhat), I’ll keep the posts chronological.

The last days in Hoboken were spent doing more than any sane person should ever do.

First, THE PACKING.

No matter how I explain this, there aren’t adequate words to describe the slow agony of the packing. We started around 9:30pm, after a full day of driving all around the city in a series of last-minute errands. The easy part, I now know, was the boxes. It’s when you get down to random socks, and yoga balance balls, and bottles of shampoo, and unopened cans of soup, and all of the…minutia that you never pay attention to unless you know that in couple days you’ll be leaving the country and if you forgot to pack that stuffed bear, you’ll never see it again.

The other hard part was getting our bags within the weight limit allowed by Japan Airlines. We had 70 lbs. to play around with, and the process became this endless dance of: get on scale, get on scale with luggage, quick calculation, take out a t-shirt or two, repeat. 

The warning on the plastic tubs we used for storage. Where am I supposed to put my baby then?

This is one of my bags. We bought a ton of medicine just in case, but in retrospect, we probably didn’t have to.

One of our errands before leaving was becoming tourists in our own city; meaning that we went to all of those nyc tourist shops that we never go to, so that we could by gifts for our future Chinese friends. Not shown are the nifty subway map playing cards I bought, and cole’s many NY pencils.

The packing lasted all night, and then all morning, right up to when the movers arrived, and even up until they were done and waiting for us, around 11:00am. I left for an hour to pick up a Budget rental truck because we were giving away most of our furniture to Amy, Nicole’s sister; only she lived in DC, and we had to drive down. In the process of picking up the truck, I got lost in Jersey City for about half an hour. Due to lack of sleep, I had little to no fine motor skills or coordination left, yet I somehow managed not to run anyone over. Fun times.

Sometime into the afternoon, the moving was finally over. In the process we had to get rid of our bed, a few chairs, and a desk, because our storage space was much smaller than expected.

Jam-packed

Goodbye Hoboken. Goodbye, power lines of icky birds.

Goodbye sketchy guy that looked into our window for like two years from the top of the parking deck across from us.

So, after the Hoboken/packing for China/storage space fiasco, we were ready to die. Honestly, I think I’d rather run another marathon than face another move like the one we just had. But I couldn’t die yet; instead, I had still had to drive down to Washington DC to drop off our couch and various shelves.

The drive down was smoother than expected, and I only took out a few branches (and maybe a pedestrian or two, but who’s counting?). We arrived, the stuff was deposited into Amy’s apt, and to celebrate our near done-ness we went out to dinner at this good Italian restaurant.

We’re smiling? Maybe to hide all of the pain inside. Eh, no, we’re actually smiling. Across is sis/Amy.

This is cole being happy in our DC hotel room because we were done with moving.

Time to rest right? Not so fast buddy. Nope, instead we’re going to a wedding the next day, ha! bet you didn’t see that coming.

Kristin Henny’s New Jersey wedding, as opposed to the one in Scotland.

It was in Allendale, our old hometown, so we saw a few of our old high school friends, like Laura DeGeorgia, aka Laura Haley.

Nicole’s parents showed up too, hi Barb and Lou.

Ok, so now can we rest?…er not yet. We had our own goodbye party to go to the next day, our last full day in the US.

But, the party was great, and we got to see all of the relatives we hadn’t seen in awhile, all of the ones that we’ll really miss when the holidays come.

Aunt Joan and cousin Kim.

Barbara, or Mom, getting excited during softball.

Cousin Stacy.

 There were many more people there, but I didn’t spend much time taking pictures because I wanted to talk to all of them. Seriously, even though I’m sitting in a hotel in Japan right now, it still hasn’t quite hit that I won’t be seeing everyone until next year. We’ll miss you.

Next, our flight (in brief, because cole is writing a monster post for that), arrival, and first full day in Tokyo. Yatta!

london part two (or the wrap up)

Due to time constraints and the impending move (must finish packing must finish packing), the rest of London will be in condensed form.

I think my first impression of London was…cold. London was cold, and I loved it. Well, maybe I wouldn’t have if I lived there, then the ten minute intervals of light pattering rain, and general all-consuming fogginess might be depressing, but when we left nyc, it was in the 90s and humid. Yep, I’ll take dreary 60s and rain please.

For some reason, I found the Asian people with English accents to be really strange, just the way they thought I was strange I’m sure. The other odd thing was that I understood the Cantonese spoken on the streets. I mean, there’s no reason I shouldn’t (even if I’m really rusty), whether in NYC or London or Hong Kong; it just surprises me sometimes that I can understand another language.

There were even a few dim sum places in London we could have tried, but come on, we’re moving to China, I think we’ll have more than enough opportunities for dim sum.

Now, speeding through the London trip in bite-sized (100 calorie pack) picture blurbs.

The highlight of day 2 was definitely watching King Lear in Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. We were so close that we were spittled upon by Mr. Lear. And, as usual, it rained every ten minutes or so.

Notice how close my head is to the stage. Later on, I learned that there was a trap door right there, and when it opened, it nearly clonked down on my hands.

Theaterrific

Walking across the Millennium Bridge to the Globe Theatre. I thought this picture was funny.

 

Here the details start to blur, so the events may or may not have happened in the forthcoming order. Above is the Cloister area of Westminster Abby (incredible). The audio guide told me that for some time, the Cloisters became a place where fights were held, and a den of gambling and other unsavory activities. For us though, it was peaceful and nice.

Cloisterrific

The British Museum, and a photo that cole didn’t want me to take. The museum was…eh. After years of going to the Met, I guess the Brit Museum just didn’t hold up as well. Ce le vie.

From the Rosetta Stone. For all of you out there that have been dying to know how to say “cat” in Ancient Egyptian, I got you covered. Wouldn’t a picture sign of a cat been enough though?

I don’t remember where I spotted this, but it was the socialist bookstore. I wonder if everything inside was equally priced?

I think I found this outside of the museum. Note the shushing action. The store owner was coming by to see what I was up to, so I ran away after taking this picture. Yep.

 

Cornish Pastie and chips. I had the hardest time ordering this. First of all, I had no idea how to say “pastie.” I was saying it like “paste-eee” with a long “a”, and the counter lady had no clue what I meant. She said something quickly that sounded like “blahblahenglishaccentblahblah.”

Finally, I asked again, but this time calling it a pass-tee, and it worked! It was worth the effort too…very tasty. Full of pastie goodness. Since I’m on a food kick, here are some other things that we ate.

 

Plain yogurt with granola and raisins: our go-to breakfast. I’m still craving this. Better than the full English breakfast option, which was: fried eggs, sausage, bacon, baked beans, blood sausage, fried tomatoes.

 

From some French bakery; a banana and chocolate pastry. Too mushy and sweet.

Lasagna from an Italian restaurant run by real Italian people. The lasagna was really good, and cheap by London standards at seven pounds.

 

Diet coke, as described in the UK. Vegetable extract?

Egg and tomato sandwich from Upper Crust. Tastes exactly the way you think an egg and tomato sandwich would taste.

Random pictures, some Westminster Abby, the other a clock that has the same name as my brother.

Ok, now I’ll speed up to Kristin Henny’s wedding to Kevin Burt. Kristin is an old friend of ours, high school for me, elementary school for cole. I still remember sitting next to Kristin in AP English, and how angry she would get whenever Matt Fogel or Josh Warren said anything.

Well, Kristin decided to marry a Scottish fellow in Scotland, and her wedding was the actual reason we visited London, so thanks Kristin.

We woke up at 4am to catch the train to Scotland, and while getting ready, I discovered a couple aspects of UK television. First of all, Gordon Ramsey is not really that mean. In his show in the States, Hell’s Kitchen, he screams and shouts and curses, but suddenly, in the UK, he becomes this nice affable guy, like Emeril or something.

 

Secondly, deaf people in London must be insomniacs, because in the wee hours of the morning, every channel has sign language. In the first picture above, a woman is signing a slow jam, complete with swaying dance and facial expressions (she got really into it). The other is a sports telecast. Intense.

Tube ride to King’s Cross station, where we caught the rail to Aviemore.

Countryside literally a few minutes outside of London.

Blurry sheep. They were everywhere, though not always blurry.

Nicole fixing Kristin’s hair.

Bathroom at the Hennys’ rented lodge. The water pressure only lasted a few seconds with each push, like the sinks at public restrooms, and there wasn’t a tub, hence the floor wipey thing. I was able to finish a shower in only three pushes of the water.

The happy couple.

Sausages at the reception, yum.

Crisps. Salt and vinegar.

Reception. In nod to our wedding, Kristin named her tables after books too, except hers were Dr. Seuss books. The reception was held up this mountain in a national park, beautiful.

The dinner menu. I tried a little bit of everything.

Clockwise from the left. Salmon, mashed potatoes, more potatoes, haggis, neeps, and lots of venison. The salmon was good, the neeps interesting, the venison gamier than expected, and the haggis was…I think I called it liver meatloaf.

Close up of haggis with whiskey sauce. It was ok, but I wouldn’t have it often. It was served in a buffet bin so I missed out on seeing the stuffed sheep’s stomach.

Raspberry dessert.

Toasting whiskey. It was probably good, but I couldn’t tell, since all strong liqueurs taste like turpentine to me. 

Tablets of sugar and butter.

I took a brief video of the kind of Scottish dancing we were doing. Cole and I tried a few of the dances, but I was knocked out of the fray for awhile because of a few misplaced steps by my partner (in other words, nicole stepped on me a few times).

We danced late into the night, and by the time they carted us off the mountain, we were all exhausted. I think we finally went to bed around 4am.

The morning after, on the way to the train station. It was cold, in the 40s. Cole wore shorts.

On the train back to London, we saw this pastoral scene of cows and power plant.

Alright, last full day…

By this point we’re both beyond tired, even more so than when we first arrived, but the Tower of London was waiting.

Me.

Where they keep the crown jewels…hahaha…oh, not that funny.

Our beefeater guide.

Medieval toilet! The waste falls down a chute into the moat. We were told that the moat also served as the local dump. Innovative defense system.

Lunch at the popular noodle chain Wagamama. Sadly, their idea of ramen isn’t all that similar to real ramen. I would call this chili noodle as opposed to miso ramen. 

And that’s all I have. There were a few more bits, like watching the play Woman in Black, which was not all frightening or as amazing as the reviews claimed. Walking through Covent Garden was neat, as was Regeant Park and the Queen’s Garden. But, packing calls. I’m hoping that cole will fill in the holes in the trip. All in all London was the way I’ve always it imagined it being, like a quieter, older, more quaint New York (not to mention sootier, but with China I guess I better get used to it).

I would definitely go back, but next time we’ll try to take it easy, since we both got a little sick from all the traveling. A lesson that we’ll take with us to Japan.

Next up moving, good-bye party, and…Japan!

London calling part one

Preparing and leaving for London put me and cole into some kind of weird time warp, meaning that somewhere along the way we either lost or gained a day. Of course, we didn’t plan any of the trip until the night before leaving. By the time we were done, it was already way too late.

Lucky for us, the flight over on Virgin Atlantic was great (though as a warning to hungry travelers, the terminal with Virgin has no food at all). Everything else went smoothly, and since the plane was small, there were only two seats to each side, so cole and I had our own row.

cole with noise-cancelling headphones on, perfect for blocking out the piercing cries of babies.

I fell in love a bit with the tiny coke can they gave me. I think my exact words were, “this can is so cute, I just can’t take it.” In the background is the movie I ended up watching. There were 64 movies to choose from (64!) so it was hard a decision, fraught with emotion, but I finally picked No Country For Old Men, which was chock full of random violence. I can’t say it was a good movie, but I’ll remember it. I paused it at the best scene: when a coin is flipped for the shop clerk’s life, but he doesn’t realize the significance.

Little coke can, gotta love it.

My in-flight dinner. This was served at about 4:00am NYC time. The brown stuff is pot roast, next to mashed potatoes; suprisingly good. Note my second can of coke.

 

By the time we got to our hotel in Paddington (via an hour long tube ride), we were beyond tired. Walking carcesses basically. The hotel was located on a quiet residential street. Very quaint.

Our room proved to be the smallest hotel room ever! (ok ok, I know there are those coffin hotel places in Japan, but this was the smallest room I’ve ever stayed in). It consisted of a narrow walkway, a bathroom where you could touch both sides of the walls if you stretched your arms out, and a bed, which also served as the living room/desk area. We were lucky that the room was clean and comfortable though. In fact, we tested out the bed right away by passing out on it for four hours upon arriving.

   

After we woke up and rubbed the drool of our faces (or maybe it was just my face), we made our way over to nearby Hyde Park. We found all sorts of funny fowl, including inbred friends (for explanation, visit cole’s site). The park was exactly what we needed to feel slightly alive again.

For dinner, I dragged cole to this Indian chain I looked up before leaving, The Masala Zone.

We both had some form of chicken curry, mine was Mangalore and hers was the butter chicken. Both were tasty but a lot spicier than the curry we get back home.

On the way to dinner, I spotted this door promising “extreme information.” I did not enter the door, and now I’ll never know how extreme their information could have been. Quite extreme I’m sure.

The rest of the night, we decided to do what came most naturally to two literary geeks…hanging out in a bookstore.

I had heard about the London Borders back in those long ago college years, when I used to work at the Bridgewater location, and I’ve always wondered what an English Borders would be like. 

The West End store was actually similar to the old World Trade Center one; lots of levels with interesting corners. In general, the Brits seem to have fewer hardcovers than we do, and their books are much cheaper. The average trade paperback is like 8 pounds. That might be $16 for us because of the crappy exchange rate, but for them it’s not that bad at all. Um…sorry about all the book talk, old publishing habits and such.

The first books I looked for were those of my favorite author, Haruki Murakami. I was all excited when I found out that he’s as popular in London as he is in the US; I thought that maybe I’ll score some UK versions for my library…then I saw the covers and my heart broke a little.

Yep, that’s right. To the Brits, Murakami = trashy Japanese erotica.

Seriously, look at those covers. They make no sense at all relative to the novels. I can hear the cover design meeting: “Literary merit? Bah, who needs that? Just stick a naked Japanese girl on the cover, that’ll sell.”

 

Compare that to our versions. Sigh…

Anyway, that was the first night.

We survived the cross-Atlantic trip.

Part two coming up.

Beijing exercising

A brief article about another American transport (via a shady Parisian pub) to China…pole dancing for exercising. Hmm, I’ll stick with running.

London round-up coming soon.

Other places we will miss

Continuing our tour of favorite places, this past Thursday cole and I tackled the Met and Central Park. I’ve always loved the Met, from school field trips to eventually proposing to cole in the American Wing cafe; the Met’s just one of those places that I never get tired of (except when I do, you know, actually get physically tired, more on that later).

Usually, when we make a Met trip, cole and I have a specific exhibit or wing in mind (otherwise we would wander for days), this time though, since it was a farewell visit, the two of us took our time, and found a few areas and items that we don’t normally see.

    

Phallic much?

Can’t escape China: a little foreshadowing.

Cole being upset that we can’t figure out how to use the new cam.

One of the places we saw for the first time was the rooftop deck, where I originally planned to make my proposal back in the day. But, since I could never find the darn place, I changed it to the American Wing. It worked out for the better anyway, since the rooftop wasn’t really the most romantic place in the world.

View from the roof

I asked her to kneel there….Sorry, didn’t realize they were naked.

One of the coping methods that we’ve developed for any long activity (especially museum trips) is the pit stop, which often includes food, diet coke, and whenever possible, some kind of chocolate. Hungry us equals bad times, so regular feedings are essentially. This pit stop was in the museum cafeteria, where they have a very tasty pasta with marinara sauce, and this incredibly good chocolate tart.

Yum

The current Met special exhibit is superheroes. I was expecting more of a history of, with examples of art and comic books, but the exhibit was really about superhero fashion. Does this mean I can wear my spider-man pjs again? (just like our 90s faded ripped jeans are in again, right? you know, the pair of jeans we all had that were so thin that there was barely any fabric left, with holes in both knees and likely one in the crotchal region as well? Um..no, I guess not).

I was scolded for taking this picture.

After the Met, we decided to walk through the park. Being in the park made me wonder how the botanical gardens in Shanghai will be, since we’ll be living right next to them. Will we find places to run? What about scary mimes? Where will we find them? And a convienent area to stash dead bodies, that will be missed.

The cutest ducks ever…really, zoom in and take a look.

Days like Thursday made me realize how much I’ll miss NYC. I mean, I’ve always known I’ll miss it, but the fact that we won’t be back for at least a year, probably two, is finally sinking in.

The next day, I had lunch in the 2nd Ave Deli with former Tor co-workers Mel W, Sarah L, and Linda F. It was a little odd because the 2nd Ave Deli is no longer on 2nd Ave, but rather 3rd, and in midtown instead of the LES. That old school charm was definitely missing. Still, the menu seemed about right (a bit overpriced at around $15 a sandwich, but I guess that’s what you can do when you’re the 2nd ave deli), all the classics were there. I figured that since I was at a Jewish deli, I might as well order the matza ball soup and corned beef sandwhich. Both standards were better than average, almost great.

At the end of the meal they gave us shots of some sort of chocolate soda. It tasted exactly like…carbonated chocolate milk. I finished it, but you can make your own conclusions.

It was sad knowing that I wouldn’t be seeing my tor buddies in awhile, though I tried not to focus on that. I don’t want every get together to be one long goodbye, even if that’s what it is. I can pretend at least.

In any case, seeing them was a nice break from the packing. Oh, the packing.

Next up, bloody London.

The Dolphin Hotel

There’s this part in Murakami’s Wild Sheep Chase where the main protagonist and his girlfriend visit The Dolphin Hotel. It’s this small, slightly run-down place in the country side, on the part of a Japanese island known mostly for its sheep. To sum it up, the couple stays in the hotel and has a peaceful night, and the next morning, the girlfriend disappears. We never find out where she ends up; she’s gone and that’s it. Nothing you can do about it.

What does this have to do with leaving for China? Er, not sure yet. But I do know that our wall of boxes keeps on growing and our shelves are just about empty. 

 

We’re half disappearing and half transporting I guess. Most of our stuff will eventually be moved into this tiny storage place in Mahwah, New Jersey. All those knick-knacks that build up over the years, like our collection of magnets. (this is just a small sample…really, it’s kinda out of control, like our mug collection).

Not saying that we’ll fall off the face of the earth, but maybe we will, just a little bit. Then again, it’s almost to the point where if I think about it too much, I won’t sleep because of all the excitement/nervousness.

 Looking at the calender, it’s a week before the traveling starts with England. Crazy.

On another note, during another visit to my parents’ house in Queens, I found out that mosquitoes like cole a lot more than they like me. Her blood is just tastier than mine.

And for kicks, here’s a photo of my mom rubbing cole with anti-itch cream.

Mmm, Mopiko.

We almost did book a hotel on that sheep island (northern Hokkaido), but decided against it at the last moment because it was far out of the way. We’ll get there eventually, and hopefully neither one of us will disappear.