The Sunshine Underground

shine

v.

1. To emit light.
2. To reflect light; glint or glisten.
3. To distinguish oneself in an activity or a field; excel.
4. To be immediately apparent: Delight shone in her eyes.

v.tr.

1. To aim or cast the beam or glow of (a light).
2. past tense and past participle shined. To make glossy or bright by polishing.

n.

1. Brightness from a source of light; radiance.
2. Brightness from reflected light; luster.
3. A shoeshine.
4. Excellence in quality or appearance; splendor.
5. Fair weather: rain or shine.

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Tonight, I stopped by a small stand-up restaurant and had what amounts to Japanese fast food. Some of the many dishes are shown on huge pictures outside the diner, and meals are paid for using a vending machine with more than 50 options. The vending machine provides a small ticket, which is given to the eager chefs inside after they greet patrons with a hearty i-ras-shai-ma-se!! (essentially, "welcome!"), and they proceed to prepare the meal. So far I prefer the meal shown below:

It's simply sliced chicken and egg served on rice with pieces of pickle. Like most dishes, it's served with what I imagine is miso soup. These kinds of places also specialize in noodles of various sizes (one kind, u-don, is as thick as sneaker shoelaces, and it's just fun to eat ^_^).

Coming here provides the chance to see how locals eat: for such a classy society, it's weird that slurping up noodles and soup is so common ;) As I mentioned, these are basically fast food places, and diners *really* wolf their food down here; it's hilarious, and sometimes I eat extra loud just to fit in.

As an aside, this reminds me of a visit to a Beijing tea house during a day tour to the Great Wall and Ming Tomb. The hostess taught us that certain teas are expected to be sipped a certain way, and doing so is a compliment to the hostess. Details mean everything in Asia, and it's one of my favorite parts.

Back to the diner in Shibuya. While I was finishing the meal, one of the chefs noticed my Chinese business law textbook, which has Chinese characters on the cover. (Note that many Chinese kanji are used in Japanese, in addition to the two Japanese alphabets and Arabic numerals ... and by many kanji, I mean like 2000 loly). I still don't understand conversational Japanese yet (the voice announcing station names on the Tokyo Metro doesn't count!), but I imagine he thought I spoke Japanese based on the book's cover. I explained (haha) to the chefs that I was a law student in Tokyo (assuming that saying ben-go-shi ("lawyer") and dai-ga-ku ("university") got the point across, and they seemed pretty impressed. Here, as in many cultures outside the States, lawyers are highly regarded. (The "barons" of yore were basically judges, you know.)

On the way out, I tossed out one of my favorite simple Japanese phrases, oy-shi-ka-ta ("it was delicious!") and we exchanged a-ri-ga-to's ("thank you's") on my way out. It's a simple interaction, but I cherished talking one on one with someone that appreciated my effort at speaking the language and living far from home. At times like these, I feel more and more like a Tokyoite, and I doubt I'd have as many such experiences if I didn't insist on seeing Tokyo on my own and truly listening to and observing my surroundings.

Often, the only way to really see, live in, and feel a part of a new place is to let everything else go. When you don't take refuge in the commonplace parts of your "other" lives, you're better able to absorb your current surroundings. In other words, I've found that spending time in a new place, while acting like your at home, cheapens the experience ... it's a waste.

By now, I've seen and done plenty in various places, but I learned the best travel lesson of all before I ever left the States: don't travel in large groups.

Doing so can, at best, distract you from the infinite possibilities awaiting you in a a new atmosphere, and, at worst, make you look like a vulnerable tourist ... a target.

No rules are hard an fast in this life, but adhering to this one has its benefits, the most important of which is that when I leave a city/country/region, I feel like I've really been a part of it. Whether I interacted with a variety of locals, latched onto the sightseeing scene, or simply opted for some freestyle exploring, I depart with a unique sense of satisfaction that I'm that much more global ... that much more of an adventurer.

Traveling in small (3-4 people max) groups, or alone as I often prefer to do, certainly has its drawbacks because you miss out on meeting certain kinds of people: those that only move in herds or limit themselves to tourist-friendly locations and activities (often tourist-friendly to the extent that there is no local flavor involved). No matter where I go, I'm astounded at how visitors spend more time meeting other visitors, even from their home cities and countries, in places they'd normally frequent at home (read: bars, clubs, and fast food joints) than doing anything remotely related to the place they're "visiting."

The question re-emerges: "Why are you here?" ^_^

"Why did you come all the way here to be the same person you are at home?"

"Why are you totally adverse to sampling local food and culture?"

"Why is it necessary to ruin a walk through foreign streets with incessant chatter?"

Everyone travels their own way, but it's ironic that many who visit and live in other cultures squander the experience, while others that would cherish immersing themselves either can't afford or convince themselves they can't afford to travel.

What both kinds of people have in common is that they miss out on the beauty that lies on the other side of the world or beneath the surface of a new place.

They miss out on what I've decided to call underground sunshine.

...

The point of this particular blog is priorities.

Nothing, not even some misplaced sense of obligation or tact, will stand between me and mine.

How about you?

Yours,

Khamsin
[Overdrive mode: Loner]
[Charges while character fights alone.]