Postcard from Tokyo


It’s become very fashionable for people to describe Tokyo as a hectic, crowded place absolutely teeming with people and positioned squarely in the future. A host / author / blogger / yelper goes to dinner at the fighting robot cafe and then to a pachinko parlour and then maybe eats some fugu before passing through Shibuya crossing at rush hour on the way to Kabuki-cho, the frenetic pleasure district. This kind of thing. You hardly ever see the Meiji-Jingu shrine, with its 100,000 trees, or the wide, empty streets of Ginza on a late weekday morning. It took me two entire days to get to Tokyo, during which time I passed through the rice paddies of Incheon, Korea, industrial areas around the Seoul airport, vacant lots of Narita and then along the partially closed expressway to arrive at Tokyo station. Later I would have a near panic attack at the number of people pushing through the station and the utter lack of coherency of the train schedule, but arriving by bus in the middle of the day and walking to my hotel I marvelled at the quiet emptiness. When I had settled into my hotel I sat down with a cold beer and wrote this:

“Tokyo is a big city, yes, but there are plenty of green spaces and the pace isn’t as fast as I expected. The expressways are impressive but there are homeless people sleeping under them, like in any city. And there are expensive hotels and restaurants to be sure, but there are plenty of cheap ones too. It feels a bit like Manhattan to me so I think what I’m surprised about is the lack of culture shock that I was bracing myself for.  But maybe the things that make it feel almost recognizable are the same things that are masking cultural mysteries. The department stores are like museums where you are not supposed to take photos and where you’re wasting everyone’s time if you don’t know what you want. The city is immaculate but there are no trash cans anywhere. Everything is in Japanese, except for some English words that catch my eye then end up being entirely random. The city is not built on a grid, the address scheme is almost incomprehensive, and street signs are rare. If you do find what you’re looking for, there is another level of impenetrability inherent in the manners and etiquette. Every man is wearing the same outfit; white undershirt, short-sleeved dress shirt, black slacks and shoes, black laptop shoulder bag – the uniform for some kind of office-worker army”

Victoria Abbott Riccardi expresses something similar in ‘Untangling My Chopsticks’, “things seem so easy until you try to understand them. An American acquaintance now living in Tokyo said that after his first week, he felt he could write a book about the country; a year later, only a magazine article; after fifteen years, only one sentence.”


For dinner my first evening I went back to Tokyo station for ramen at “Ramen Street” – a collection of ramen shops where you order from a machine and have the option of paying with your metro card. I had some trouble with the order of operations (as well as my first realization that things were not going to be as simple as they seemed) but the ramen was delicious and deeply comforting – and I decided to be satisfied with the success of having arrived in Japan and fed myself. At one point during my trip, a friend had emailed and said she thought I was brave for travelling in Japan by myself. I hadn’t given it much thought because back when I travelled often, it was frequently by myself and I like the freedom to spend as long as I like in a museum or occasionally eating lunch twice without forcing anyone onto my schedule. But if I had thought about it, about the fact that it was my first time in Asia or in a place where I knew only a few words of the language and none of the alphabet, my first time travelling alone in quite a while and after a hard year of set-backs that knocked big holes in my confidence, I’m not sure if I would have been so cavalier about it. I wrote in my journal, “this is hard. Other times when I’ve travelled, I leveraged beauty or money or knowledge (language, geography, etiquette) without even realizing it but now I have only the internet and the kindness of strangers.” The kindness of strangers started well before my trip, with people offering all kinds of suggestions for things to see and do and eat. Friends reached out to friends, my landlady introduced me to someone she knew in Tokyo, and people everywhere were offering to help. Part of this is the Japanese culture – the importance of being polite and a gracious host is evident everywhere – but as I sat eating my ramen that the person behind me had helped me order, it was good to be reminded that people are kind and the world is a beautiful and interesting place.


The next morning I had an early morning wake up call to check out Tsukiji Market, followed by the early morning sushi breakfast at Sushi Dai. 

I wrote on my food blog (now defunct):

I thought I would cry at the fish auction. I was actually prepared for the possibility that I might have to give up eating fish, so anxious am I already at the dire strait of the oceans. The sight of so many tuna lined up on the floor didn’t unhinge me, but the understanding that this was the second series of auctions that day and this happened almost every day of the year made me feel faint. However, as much as I am passionate about ocean conservation and sustainable fisheries, it was hard to be angry here.

I hate that we are fishing tuna out of the water. I hate that Japan is still whaling, I hate that there was a mountain of Styrofoam and all this is juxtaposed against the love I have of diving and undersea life, but instead of being angry, I felt intense respect for these workers, readying their shops every day at 4 in the morning and doing their best to move food through the market in spite of the tourists who come to gawk at them. Awe at the sheer diversity (not only of fish but produce too) and beauty in the market as well as the frantic pace of bikes, pedestrians, cars, vans and scooter carts trying to get the fish delivered as quickly as possible.

In short, I thought it was pretty neat, even before I ate the best sushi of my life.


Matthew Amster Burton writes in Pretty Good Number One that ‘Tokyo is not beautiful but is full of beautiful things’ that really resonated with me. I had no desire to climb the Skytree but every side street I looked down had a shop or restaurant that I wanted to check out…paper lanterns moving about softly in the breeze and bells tinkling invitingly, or a display of something so specialized you could hardly believe the shop could stay in business. The beauty here is in the details; a pair of hand-carved cedar chopsticks made with love and incredible attention to detail then wrapped in such beautiful packaging it looks like a treasure. Or wagashi, Japanese confectionery, handled by glove-wearing attendants in the glamorous depachika department stores that are so detailed and beautiful that they really are edible gems. Matt asked me in an email what I had seen that was beautiful and I replied that everything was beautiful – from the police motorcycles to tengui handkerchiefs, everything has been hand-crafted thoughtfully. And the attention to detail shows through in the service as well. I sat and watched a doorman at a shop changing the position of the doors at closing time to lead outwards instead of inwards and I was ashamed for every mall in America.


I only had a few days in Tokyo but I took my metro card and ranged far and wide. I went to the Asakusa Buddhist temple complex, wandered around and snacked on street food. I had the best sushi of my life again and I walked from the serenity of the Meiji-Jingu Shinto shrine through Harajuku down into the insanity of Kabuki-cho in Shinjuku. Kabuki-cho is the pleasure district (in another city it might be called the red light district) and there are a couple of strip bars here but there are also Maid Cafes, video arcades, pachinko parlours, photo studios where you can be digitally glammed up, and who knows what else that got missed in translation. Arriving in Kabuki-cho at rush-hour and getting caught up in the sea of commuters spilling out of Shinjuku station felt like the Tokyo postcard that I described at the start of this post. I explore for a while and then continued back up under the station where I found the warren of yakitori joints and izakayas.


There must have been 30 different places, all specializing in something different and most so small that the proprietor was grilling on the windowsill facing the street then passing meat down to patrons. The smell of smoke (from the grills and from all the men off work smoking cigarettes while they drank) united the area called Nonbei Yokocho (Drunkard’s Alley). My guidebook warned that some entire places are reserved for locals and I thought this was just code for “not friendly to foreigners” but then I saw a reserved sign hanging across the doorway of one shop.

Some shops were specific to noodles and others were dedicated to yakitori. I also saw some mushrooms and something cut in a half-circle (zucchini?). I had fun walking down an alley and looking in the front doors and windows of the restaurants, then turning a corner and being able to see in the back. Finally, I decided on a place and ordered the set menu – which meant that I had no idea what I was eating. My best guess is pork heart, chicken skin, chicken thigh, wingtip, negi (similar to a fat green onion) and some other kind of pork. I thought how funny it is that many people are scared to eat here and don’t worry about the etiquette because they don’t know a thing about it but for me, it’s the opposite – I chewed happily on my mystery meat and didn’t really care to know more.

Drunkard Alley

Later I met up with a friend of a friend, a fellow travel-lover and a decidedly awesome person, and we went to a grill-it-yourself izakaya in the area. She ordered for us but it was easy to identify the giant scallops (as big as my hand), huge turban snails, sashimi and crab with quails eggs in them ready to be cooked. We sampled sake and shochu and chatted about all the amazing places in the world. Then suddenly it was so late and we ran to catch the last train, smelling of smoke and grease and grinning broadly. 


In the morning, I left for Kamakura.

Blue Period


“Work seemed fundamental for man, something which enabled him to endure the aimless flight of time.” ~The Woman in the Dunes, Kōbō Abe

I have written on a post-it note, “You have to have some faith. Your moment is coming” from this excellent post on Medium. But it’s getting old. The other day I spent the entire day painting and took Riley to the dog park where she played in the water and I met a girl from France. Then I went to my graphic design class and came home and read my travel book until 1 in the morning. A few days later I went to my first SAMbassador volunteer shift at the Seattle Art Museum and it turned out to be aligned with the opening of Pop! Departures (the pop culture exhibit we have on with Warhol and Lichtenstein), as well as the monthly jazz concert, and several tours were going through too so it was packed and party-like and I had a blast chatting with people and looking at art. I am also working my way through a self-study course online about Japanese poetry and literature and will be taking a class in Japanese language in a few weeks. I’m updating my resume and checking out grad schools, I took a photography class, I’ve joined close to 30 meetups and four professional organizations. I’m systematically checking out different cafes to write in and I’m exploring Washington State. I just got back from Japan and an exploratory trip around the Olympic Peninsula. This week I am going to Vancouver, then my sister is coming to visit and then Matt and Riley and I are going to go on a road trip around the western US. I’ve read over 100 books this year, some started and finished in the same day.

My life is pretty freaking great – on paper anyways. In actuality, I am going out of my freaking mind. So much of it just feels like frantically filling time.

When we first embarked on this move to Seattle, we were ready to drop everything and leave immediately. Truly, I thought we would have to send Matt down and I would follow later because things were happening so quickly. But then things changed and there was a bit of a lag so I picked up some projects and settled in and waited. There was another setback and another until it seemed like the rug was being pulled out from under me every two or three months. It’s hard to keep up the momentum and the hope that your moment is coming when you’re constantly being told to wait. It’s exhausting.

The latest is that the USCIS Service Center in Nebraska is reviewing my application for Employment Authorization and that will take them three months – until November 15th. But instead of having faith, I’m steeling myself for another delay. I came home from Japan thinking that I would be able to work at the end of September only to be told I’d have to wait some more. It’s different from being unemployed but employable – that’s a hard place to be in but at least you can apply yourself to finding a job. And retirement…well, a fellow volunteer at the art gallery told me happily that he spends a lot of time just sitting and thinking about things and that when I was old enough for retirement I would be ok with sitting and thinking too. Maybe. Maybe it’s true that life catches up with you or that if you have the rest of time to plan our your retirement it’s easier, but I don’t think so. I think I’m more like this taxi driver I heard interviewed on a podcast recently:

Host: Do you look forward to retirement?

Taxi Driver: No, I’m scared of it. I don’t feel that retirement is exactly the best of things for me. When you retire you sort of go into a shell and you’re like the forgotten person. You get bogged down in nothing and you do nothing and you wind up nothing.

Host: That’s interesting, so here you put in a minimum 12 hours a day, 7 days a week but you feel more tired…

Taxi Driver: …if I didn’t. Because when I’m not busy I get very weary.

-Radio Diaries #19 Working Then And Now

I like being busy. In truth I always imagined that my retirement would look much the same as my days do now; walking the dog, going to yoga, meeting up with people for various activities, travelling, cooking, reading… I’m grateful for the time I’ve had to spend doing these things and for Matt working so hard, but I want to contribute. I want to be able to get into the rhythm of working on something for longer than a quarter, to stop filling time.

It’s Thanksgiving in Canada today. I’m going up to see some friends and have dinner with my family. I’m grateful to be able to do that, on what is a weekday in Seattle. It’s a beautiful fall day, my favourite time of year. I love wearing sweaters and going for walks in the leaves with my dog and a mug of tea. I love the rain. I love the feeling of back to school and settling down to work. And so I feel that if my moment is coming, it will come in the fall. I’m so ready.