Transforming Kia

OK, there wasn't a transforming Kia in the movie, but bing in Korea has its perks, such as seeing Transformers before any folks back in America. And for those of us who still have boxes of the transforming robots in the garage, it was a treat.

Sushi, the Breakfast of Champions

There is nothing quite like getting up at the crack of dawn and heading down to the massive warehouse-like structure that is the Tsukiji Fish Market. Creatures from the sea (live, dead and somewhere in between) are piled, stacked and laid out in foam boxes, some iced, others packed in sand, still others floating in buckets, the water turning rust with the slowly leaking blood.

Walking between stall after stall, through narrow alleys and lanes, dodging the rubber-booted men trudging cartloads of boxed and not-so-boxed fish, the stall owners tossing buckets of bloodied seawater on the floor, the occasional eel slithering along the ground, searching out a sewer drain or some exit to the sea, only to feel the wheels of the cart or the heel of the boot end its journey abruptly.

In the slightly wider lanes, the gas-powered carts shoot past, a never-ending stream of rhythmic engines, the metal bumpers rounded and worn from frequent use, the boxes of fish, creatures, and other assorted gifts from the sea bouncing around on the back. The occasional hand cart, bicycle or pedestrian weaves between the fast moving carts, risking wheel or leg to cross the raging stream of steel and find another relatively quiet row of fishmongers.

Lined along the floor are the massive frozen carcasses of Tuna, their heads thawing in nearby buckets, their fins and tails stripped away. A few are fresh, and these are being turned into the finest of sushi by men with knives and swords, lining up just the right cut and then carrying it out with a smooth motion and a flourish of steel for effect. The red flesh glistens in the dim glow of naked electric lights swinging above.

And then it is off to stand in line, waiting outside one of the more famous sushi restaurants, waiting to sit at the counter and spend some exorbitant sum for the freshest sushi of the morning. Once seated at the counter, the sushi pieces are handed over as they are made, placed on the lacquered shelf as much art as edible. Fatty tuna, snapper, sea urchin, squid, eel... The sushi chef laughs and smiles as he serves his creations, taking pleasure in our pleasure, adding a little extra here and there, keeping the wasabi off the kids’ portions.

And it is finally back out, into the dreary morning sky, a light mist and drizzle, walking off from the remnant of an older Tokyo to the bustling high-end fashion streets of Ginza.

Tokyo: First Inpressions

There is a certain sense of order to Japan, particularly after traveling to other Northeast Asian nations. In China, despite the best efforts ahead of the Olympics, there is no such thing as a line. It is just first come first serve, and survival of the fittest when it comes to buying tickets, getting on the bus or subway, or boarding an airplane. In Japan, there is an overactive sense of order. Long, single file lines waiting for the bus to arrive, stretching neatly along the sidewalk. Polite lines waiting for shops to open. Three police assisting bus rider to form straight lines. The sense of service is also exaggerated. Deep waist bows from fast food and chain restaurant staff. People operating the self service ticket kiosks for you. Happy cheerful recorded voices on the subway and buses announcing the upcoming stops, pleasant music chiming through the station. The food, served in small, attractive portions, several tiny dishes all placed orderly on the wooden tray. Yet Tokyo is no less crowded than Beijing or Seoul, and much more so than a frontier town like Ulaan Baator. The Chinese excuse that, with so many people, lines mean you never get anything goes out the window in Japan. But one wonders if this is a real, deep seated element of the soul, or just a hard constraint of social norms. After all, why the police to help form lines? Are workers at chain restaurants and department stores really that grateful that you bothered to stop by and browse, or have a quick bite? I guess the question of those international anthropo-sociologists is: is the order put in place to contain some underlying chaos, or is there an underlying chaos due to the imposed order?