In my life, I have generally had a love-hate relationship with doing things alone. I’d prefer working alone and writing alone, but there were times when I just wanted someone to bounce ideas off. I love travelling alone and going to a restaurant or café on my own, but after a while I craved some company. Someone to laugh with, someone to try new things with… and if I were to be absolutely honest, someone to give me a little courage. I can be courageous on my own of course, but it’s not as fun as when someone else is there. Especially a person who gets you. Someone you can laugh with, complain to… someone who asks you questions that make you think twice or make you see yourself differently. The feeling of “being in something together” may be one of those feelings which gives us the greatest amount of satisfaction in life.
Today, after a month of being alone, I met my friend at the airport. She came all the way from Switzerland just for a week in Japan, her first time. I don’t live in Japan and I don’t know this country or the city of Tokyo very well, but I have been here before and I wanted to make her stay memorable. So I decided to do a few things to make her arrival a little more comfortable. I woke up early and made sure that I knew my way around the train system, but what I was nervous about was lunch. I’m not good at finding places to eat in Tokyo, actually in all of Japan. As you could probably tell from yesterday’s episode. When I’m alone, I never have the courage to go to the local places, and on top of that I take so long to even make a choice about what to eat. When a friend is nearby, it seems to put just the right amount of social pressure on me so that I can make a decision quickly and intuitively.
After yesterday’s run around, I didn’t want to repeat the same with my friend here. She had just arrived exhausted from her long flight, probably had a little bit of jet lag, and was rolling around a big suitcase too. As we exited Shinjuku station, I was glad to see that the sun had come out. All of a sudden, we were both catapulted into a bright flurry of activity. Tall, colourful buildings coming to life with animated billboards, crowds of people moving in all directions, the loud sounds of cars, tourists and traffic officers yelling out to the mass. After one month of living in the quiet suburbia of Osaka, Tokyo no longer seemed like a quiet city – it was loud. And slightly disorienting. The heat and humidity didn’t help, but I tried to take deep breaths and keep it together. Something in my head said “udon” and then I decided to go to Omoide Yokocho… a famous, narrow alley way packed with little restaurants and bars.
Normally when I would go to such a place, I’d walk through and not dare eat there. But something about having company reminded me of what it was like to see Tokyo for the first time again. As we approached several noodle bars I saw one that caught my eye, so I stopped to looked at the signs written in English. There was no sign of udon there, only soba, but I thought – what the heck. Let’s go there anyway. There were a bunch of people eating there, mostly locals. People in business suits, tourists and Japanese on their day off sat around a small square containing an enclosed kitchen. Pots and pans squeezed together, three men with white aprons and masks moving between each other and steam from scalding hot water wafting in the faces of the diners. It looked perfect, I decided that the taste wouldn’t matter. We waited only a few moments until we saw two chairs free next to each other and then we made our move.
I was clumsy as anything, I smiled at one of the chefs and then ordered anything on the menu. I had no idea what we were going to get, and I felt a little embarrassed… but when I looked over to my friend – she was looking around in wander. This was the first time she had seen anything like this, whereas I have seen this set up many times before. It’s something that seems to be typical of Tokyo, and maybe the whole of Japan, where it is common and normal for people to dine alone. As soon as their meal was ordered, they’d pay. As soon as their meal was finished, they’d leave. The chef would seamlessly remove the plate, wipe the table, place the dishes in the sink and continue on with the rest of his cooking. As if he’d done it hundreds of times before… he’d probably done it thousands of times before. Seeing my friend’s face, I was also able to see Tokyo anew. Indeed, I wouldn’t have had the courage to do something like this myself, and she didn’t seem to care that I didn’t know perfect Japanese.
The soba noodles were amazing, I practically drank them up. On top was some tempura vegetable, a mixture of batter that was crispy and soaked with the delicious broth from the soup. The soba noodles were firm, dense and had the taste of wheat. Little droplets of fat and ringlets of green onions floated amidst it all. A soft boiled egg, plump and waiting to be broken open, sat on the side of the bowl. I took a bite into it, and then placed the rest on top of the tempura, staining the batter yellow, mixing the flavours together. It wasn’t very expensive, but it was worth every bite. My friend smiled at me, as she tried to remember how to use chopsticks, and she said thank you. I smiled too, it was a spontaneous decision, but it filled my heart as much as it filled my belly. We finished our bowls and duly left, thanking the chef as soon as we did so.
We left immediately for the apartment and found the train we needed with relative ease. If you don’t know, there are several train stations in Tokyo that serve more than 10 different lines. This produces a mess of people, walking in all directions, and somehow the amount of clashes that occur are minimal. We weaved in and out, swiped through the gates and entered the train which seemed to be waiting for us. Of course it wasn’t, but that was how the day has felt so far – as if everything was flowing well. On the train back to the apartment, I thought to myself – this is going to be a good week. And it’s only just begun…
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