Well, I did. And so plans for Day Three were kinda mucked up as a result.
I can’t even remember slapping the alarms shut at four in the morning, but I must have. Because I had the sweetest sleep (in a bed that was really okay if I wanted to be nice), totally undisturbed, all the way till almost lunchtime. And even then, I didn’t really want to wake.
I was that tired.
But I didn’t come all the way to Japan to sleep. Which brings me back to the point again why, seriously, I had decided to run away to Japan out of the blue.
The shoes are a lie. The eating is not. It’s just one half of the Plan.
Basically, the Plan is simple.
Just spend lots of my hard-earned money in my favorite foreign land. And in that foreign land that I speak of, there are easily two ways of doing that: eating and shopping.
See, it really is a no-brainer. My favorite foreign land makes me happy. Eating makes me very happy. Shopping makes me happy. Spending my hard-earned money on things that make me happy makes me happy.
Therefore, being able to spend money in my favorite foreign land by eating and shopping should make me a very, very, very happy woman.
Because I failed to wake at four, and as a result, failed in my original mission, I figured I should just dedicate Day Three to the other half of the Plan. Anyway, I'd get to eat (hopefully something wonderful like yakiniku mmmmmm...) when I meet the folks from the office in the evening.
Lunch was nothing grand at all, just to keep the stomach quiet. I ended up in an unofficial slurping competition with the demure-looking, hanky-clutching housewife sitting next to me in a soba shop, but the guy sitting on my other side beat us both hands down. We were all done in seven minutes or so. A no-nonsense affair, lunchtime is in Japan.
The first stop was a no-brainer. Daikanyama it had to be. Harajuku can come later.
Problem is, I've never figured how I always managed to get there - by foot. I can never remember how to get there from scratch. The last time I did it, I walked in rounds, turned corner after corner, for a couple of hours, before I finally stumbled upon that old familiar cafe.
Then I found out, I was dumb as dumb can be.
"Just go to Daikanyama station."
Huh??
And then I found out, it is not my fault if the Daikanyama station is not printed on any of the subway maps I have. I actually scrutinized my maps for days before the trip.
The entire subway map is complicated enough, I agree. But what does it matter to just add one more tiny dot and print one more name onto it? Isn't Daikanyama famous enough to justify that dot?
I am not the dumb one.
So I checked with the hotel staff, who looked at me like I was stupid, but ended up the dumbfounded one when she couldn't find it on the map that she had.
I eventually found 代官山 on the fare chart at the station, figured that must be it (I know 山 = yama, and '代官' sounds like 'daikan', so I am NOT dumb), followed the crowd blindly to the transfer subway line and up the train that was waiting.
Train's moving. I see 代官山 on the next dot! Good!
But the train didn't stop at 代官山. It zipped past 代官山 to the next station.
Muckin' express train.
Well, at least I didn't take two hours to get there this time.
Harajuku came later indeed. That was the only other place I managed for the day.
And I don't wish to remind myself of the self-inflicted damage, so all I can say is:
(a) my hat collection is growing but thankfully not the shoe count (not much anyway),
(b) good tee shirts should never be passed off,
(c) rubbish should seriously be passed off even if they are cheap and too pretty,
(d) I discovered and invested heavily in Japanese denim,
(e) my niece is the luckiest little kiddo in the Lee family right now.
Oh, and:
(f) shio takoyaki can be nicer than the one with the usual okonomiyaki sauce,
(g) beer quenches your thirst in the midst of summertime shopping better than plain ol' water.
My yakiniku dream didn't come true. Neither did the unagi.
They didn't care, but honestly I didn't either. I am easily seduced in Japan.
Even if they made me eat right next door to the office. =/
I didn't even care if it was yakitori again. Because it was the first time I had it grilled with only salt. And now I am in love with yakitori grilled with nothing but salt.
But I do care about that chicken.
That chicken that made the stock for the NABE(!) broth. That chicken that you fish out from the broth and dip into the tare sauce mixed with some broth, before putting it into your mouth.
I don't know if it's the chicken or it's really the tare-broth mixed sauce. I cheated - I didn't dip. I let the chicken swim around the sauce, and soak in all the dark sauce.
And only then, I put it in my mouth, and started behaving the idiot at the dinner table again.
I hope that isn't rude behavior in Japanese culture.
ごちそうさまでした!
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