Despite flying into a city of 12 million people where neither of us speak the language, Amy and I arrived at the Ana Hotel in Tokyo within about five minutes of each other. It was Christmas Day (at least that's what our itineraries said) and there was a children's choir singing English-language carols in the hotel lobby. Amy had discovered it was extremely easy to ride a bus from the international airport into Tokyo proper for about $30. I had a slightly harder time navigating the train systems from the domestic airport, but at every turn a stranger who spoke nearly perfect English stopped to help me buy tickets and plan my route.
The hospitality never ended during the next three days. On our way to the airport at the end of our stay, we hailed a taxi whose Japanese driver spoke English, Russian, German and was learning Chinese and Spanish. He thought English was easier because the accent was nearly always on the "penultimate" syllable, and he had never visited any of the countries whose languages he studied because he had "acrophobia." We sat in the back seat not so much stunned at his vocabulary but more or less in acceptance that Tokyo is perhaps the best city in the world in which to be illiterate, and that America, in general, and in many ways specific, just sucks.
We stayed at a small U.S. military base in the Ropponghi neighborhood of Tokyo, where I can get us a room for $40 a night. It's the same place I stayed during my first week at Stripes, and we actually got the same room. Amy was relieved, I think, to see our suite was some combination of Best Western meets freshman dorm, sans bunk beds. The heated toilet that played music when flushed was also a plus, we decided.
Our first night we went to a shot bar called Geronimo's that is popular with English speakers. It was probably an odd introduction of Tokyo to Amy, but I've quickly adopted the theory that when in doubt about what to do in a new place, stop and have a drink and plan other options. The plan worked fine, especially considering it was happy hour and drinks were just $5 each, a bargain. We rested, talked -- I learned that Amy generously carried six pounds of Pete's coffee from San Francisco to Tokyo for me -- and then went across the street for sushi and sake. We just pointed, ordered, and smiled. We were thrilled when we found out that our bill was only $26. I know much of Tokyo is expensive, but we found the food incredibly cheap and good.
Most of the next two days we spent wandering and shopping. We luckily stumbled into a second sushi restaurant a couple of days later that was even cheaper and far better. The sashimi just melted in our mouths, and the entire meal cost less than $13, for both of us. As we explored the city, I realized I'm a much more competent tourist in Tokyo, even though I only know three Japanese words. It's not just that the subways have better English signs. It's that nearly every restaurant has an English language menu, and nearly every store has someone who speaks English. And there's more to see in Tokyo, I'm afraid to admit to the people who want to come to Seoul. The palaces, temples and even neighborhoods are much more interesting, more like London, New York or even New Orleans. Poor Seoul, with its 18 million people, is more like a struggling rust belt town trying to convince itself it can compete with the more prosperous cities of the world.
It's also freezing in Seoul, with highs in the mid to upper 20s once we got back to my apartment. But there are good things about my new home. For instance, we've managed to go out each day and eat delicious food. In fact, outside of sushi and other raw things, I think I like the food in Korea better, much to the detriment of the pants (and their shrinking waistbands) that I brought with me from the states. Here's a sampling of our fare in Seoul:
Indian food at a place down the street from me, complete with crazy beads, purple walls and Bollywood blaring in the background. We ordered a couple of dishes "medium" and were impressed to know that those were relatively spicy and completely delicious. (Mark and Hema, can you remind me of the proper Indian ways to order spice levels, so I can further impress the owner and his family?)
Korean dumpling soup, called something like Doo Man Guk, which Amy ate twice and I eat twice nearly every week. It's a pepperly, light beef broth with fist-sized pork dumplings floating in the bowl surrounded by sliced rice cakes, a dough that cooks up like pasta. Every time I take a first bite, I want to dive in head-first, suck down the contents and fall asleep in the remnents of the last dumpling and its juices.
Galbi, or Kalbi, depending on which restaurant you walk into. It's the Korean barbecue that is in almost every traditional Korean place. You order the meat (beef, beef, beef and mushrooms, or beef) and the waitress brings it and cooks it for you at your table. They serve about half a dozen condiments and soup, and Americans always order rice. In the end, you take a lettuce leaf and wrap it burrito-style around the meat, rice, a little Korean cole slaw and a couple of sauces and stuff it in your mouth. It's fun and messy and, in a compliment to people who live through these winters with haphazard heating, incredibly smart to have a coal-burning pit at each table.
There's also a decent Thai place a couple of blocks from my place. By decent, I mean I've been there four times in the last six weeks. A couple of times I went by myself, and they treated me royally, bringing me an English-language newspaper and paying careful attention to me. As Amy says, a restaurant should always be judged on how it treats single diners, so we went there one night. We ordered a couple of new dishes (new to me), including a dish of mussels slathered with spicy tomato curry. They actually have a wine list, too. Needless to say, we left happy and went straight to bed.
Most of our days in Korea were like that: laze around the house, venture out in time for lunch, shop or meander until it seemed plausible to come back home, fix a drink, and plan dinner. It was a great vacation for both of us. Amy's been working two jobs, seven days a week, since this fall, and I've been overwhelmed getting used to a new job and a new lifestyle. It was nice to read, watch old movies and make new CD mixes.
Amy left Monday, and now I'm enjoying the Christmas presents everyone sent. My Wyatt Waters calendar is hung, a CD mix from Kim is playing, my new glittery purse is awaiting a new glittery party invitation, and I've got many new Christmas ornaments and cards to add to my collection. For the last two to three weeks, a new shipment has arrived almost daily from friends and family. It's wonderful to get real mail, and it's wonderful to feel so missed and loved. I have a few more Christmas presents to distribute, which I bashfully have renamed Valentine's Day gifts. But I'm excited to keep shopping for everyone back home and I'm excited to wonder what little card might come my way next.
Thanks so much for thinking of me. It makes me feel special and at home, even though I'm a world away. I wish I could return the favor with a big bowl of dumpling soup.
P.S. Please send bigger pants.
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