Memoirs of a Giant, Caucasian Tourist

I arrived back in Anyang a few days ago after a weeklong trip to Japan with Rira. I had an amazing time with her, as I usually do, but it was especially exciting to finally get to see Japan. It had been on my list basically since I left the States for Korea. We decided to contain our trip to the Kansai region, and ended up visiting Osaka, Kyoto, and Kobe. Rather than provide a minute-by-minute account of the trip, I’ll fill you in on a few memorable moments that sum up my impressions of the Japanese Empire.

• Japan is expensive. I left for our trip with the sneaking suspicion that this was the case. And I was right. Unfortunately, our trip coincided with one of the worst exchange rates for either the dollar or won to yen in a long time, so both my American and Korean money were seriously disadvantaged. I have a knack for picking the worst times to be a tourist (Europe, 2008 being the other primary example). I guess I should just stick Southeast Asia, where my money will always be valuable. At least until China decides to collect from that multi-trillion dollar debt we owe them. But that isn’t going to happen, is it? Anyway, where was I? Right, things are expensive in Japan. Meals, hotels, tourist sites, transportation, just about everything. I don’t regret taking the trip at all, but a week in Japan cost me about the same as a month in Korea.

• Japanese people speak very little English. This was what Rira was telling me from the moment we arrived and struggled for about an hour to find our hotel. Being used to Korea and a lack of people who understand anything I say, I didn’t really notice at first. But as the week went on, I realized more and more that very few people spoke or even understood English. In Kyoto, which is a huge tourist destination, things were much better, but in Osaka and Kobe, we had a fair amount of trouble communicating with people. Apparently, this is a well known stereotype of Japan, but one I was unaware of before the trip.

• Japanese women freak me out. Obviously, not all Japanese women. Just the ones with bleach blonde hair, long fingernail extensions, and face make up that make them look like a strange cross between a cartoon character and the evil doll Chucky. Also, the ones who dress like they are working in a 19th century brothel. This might sound like a horrible and bigoted thing to say. Which is why I prefaced my description with the disclaimer that not all Japanese women look like this. Just about 96% of the ones between the ages of 15 and 45.

• Japan has a highly-advanced food service industry. Most Americans would be amazed at the fact that all tables at most restaurants have electronic bells that, when rung, bring the immediate service of a waiter or waitress. But that is old hat for me; it’s standard operating procedure in Korea, too. But Japan has raised the bar. Our first night in Osaka, we went to a restaurant to get some okonomiyaki, referred to as the Japanese version of the pancake or pizza, but in reality resembling neither in the slightest. Our waitress didn’t speak any English, and the menu was all in Japanese. But, each table was equipped with electronic pen that, when pointed at the menu, automatically ordered to the kitchen whatever you wanted to eat. Pretty awesome. But wait, there’s more! In Kyoto, we visited a popular sushi establishment known for its low prices (only 105 yen per plate). Plates of various types of sushi are placed on a rotating conveyor belt that travels around the restaurant, and patrons are welcome to pick up anything they’d like to eat as it passes by. Again, this isn’t that miraculous—they have these in Korea and in many other countries as well. But this place, in addition to the conveyor belt, has a personal computer screen (think international flights on nice airlines) for each customer, where you can order any type of sushi, appetizer, soup, or drink on the menu as well. But here is the catch: what you order isn’t delivered to you by a waiter. Instead, there is a separate conveyor belt above the normal one, on which rides a small train. When it’s ready for you, your personal order is placed on the train by the chefs in the kitchen, and then delivered directly to your seat, electronically. If this doesn’t sound cool, trust me, you don’t hear sound well. Or I’m bad at describing sushi delivery trains. I took a video of our own order in action, which I will post for your viewing pleasure.

• Kobe beef is ridiculously, miraculously awesome. Before leaving, I had my weekly skype session with my parents [insert appropriate amounts of “ooh’ing and ahh’ing” here]. When my Dad found out that we would be travelling to Kobe, he offered for us to enjoy a meal of the city’s renowned beef, on him. I was very happy to oblige this request. We picked out a restaurant that was listed in both my English and Rira’s Korean guidebook. It took us a while to find the building, and when we went in, we weren’t sure if it was still open; there were no other customers in the restaurant. Nonetheless, the hostess ushered us in and sat us at the main eating counter. At a traditional Kobe beef restaurant like this one, the food is prepared in front of you on a flat metal grill. Because we were the only ones in the whole place (and continued to be for the entire night), we were basically treated to a personalized, private dinner party. And as I mentioned, the food was ridiculously, miraculously awesome. Just watching the chef prepare the vegetables and grill the beef to perfection was a show in itself. But biting into that first piece of meat, I had to pinch myself to make sure I hadn’t died and gone to carnivore heaven. The meat melted in my mouth—I barely needed to chew it. There were a plethora of sauces and accoutrement spices to go with it, and the chef guided us on all the best combinations of soy sauce, garlic, pepper, and mustard. This was an amazing piece of beef, cooked by a guy who knew exactly what he was doing. I can’t imagine a better way to have experienced the legend of Kobe bovine.

• Seeing geishas in person was cooler than I thought it would be. Being the worldly and well-educated person that I am, the extent of my knowledge of Japanese culture basically consisted of anime and “Memoires of a Geisha.” In Kyoto, the neighborhood of Gion is well known as being the hot spot of geisha activity today, which has become an exceedingly rare and dying breed of woman. Luckily, we happened into the neighborhood right after sunset, when most geishas leave their homes and make their ways to their appointments for the evening. In the course of just a few minutes, we saw at least ten authentic geishas, walking alone, in small groups, or accompanied by a formally dressed man. It was pretty awesome, almost like stepping back into a different time. And despite the crowds of tourists literally stalking these women to get pictures with them, they continued on their way as if they were completely immune to the attention (which at this point, I imagine they are). One geisha even turned to me and bowed politely as I snapped a photo of her.

Overall, Japan was a really interesting place to visit, especially given my experience as a rather well seasoned expatriate in Korea at this point. I was worried that Japan would be very similar to Korea, but this was definitely not the case. It has a very unique style, attitude, and culture that is really nothing like Korea.

When I got up on Tuesday morning and got onto the subway for work, I was rather bluntly reminded of this. A subway car filled with sour businessmen and pushy ajumas greeted me unceremoniously, and I suddenly wished that I was back in Japan for just a little while longer. But then, at lunch that afternoon, I experienced one of those moments that made me happy to be right where I was. Eating budae-jigae (a spicy Korean stew of veggies, ramen noodles, and assorted processed meats) with a few of my coworkers, I happened to be sitting next to a pair of older Korean women. When one of the women noticed that neither my coworker or I were particularly adept at serving the stew, she leaned over my lap, grabbed the bowl and ladle from my hands, and proceeded to serve my lunch to me, all the while instructing me (in pure Korean, mind you) on the importance of getting just the right amount of meat, vegetables, and soup into my bowl. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. Where else would a random stranger at a restaurant decide it was her duty to serve you your lunch? Only in Korea.