My story 20+

Episode 20

On this trip, I intended to prove my mettle to myself. To succeed, I needed four elements: good health, cheap eats, cheap transportation, and cheap accommodations. I do not know how I learned about international youth hostels. Perhaps someone suggested I check it out, or perhaps I saw it mentioned in a magazine. Regardless, this reliable organization  providing a clean bed in a safe place for $1 or $2 per night satisfied the fourth essential element of my trip. 

The hostels differed in size and age. Most were dormitory style, but a few had single rooms. Some sold food and non-alcoholic drinks. All limited the number of nights you could stay and, for the common good, forbid alcohol, drugs, and excessive noise. Almost all offered these necessary amenities: showers, drinking water, and a common room for chatting with other travelers who represented all the continents. Most were men and women under 30 who spoke some English as their traveling language and carried backpacks. For these travelers, the hostels furnished a place to sleep, and to converse with others like the hotels in the past provided along train or coach lines and in seaports.

We shared a common interest in trading stories about where we had been and gaining information about where we were going.  In Tokyo, for example, I wanted to know about safety in Saigon, restaurants in Bangkok, transportation in India, and hostels everywhere on my route. As an American, I did my best to answer similar questions from travelers headed to the States.  I wrote the new information carefully in my Notebook. We also discussed world news and  topics of mutual interest. I gladly joined these international exchanges full of positive energy with young people leading lives full of the thrills and challenges of backpack travel. They increased my tolerance and respect for those raised with different values. 

Primarily we travelled, going our own ways in search of new experiences in new places. We said goodbye to each other easily. Chance spawned our relationships, and we parted without regret and without exchanging contact information. Remember that we had no internet, texts, or phones; television rarely; and often no available English-language newspaper.

My first morning in Japan, the hostel manager answered the phone as I walked into his office to get a recommendation for a place to eat breakfast.

“Moshi. Moshi.”

What a great start to the day! The first thing in the morning, I learned that the woman used the proper words to answer the phone.

I sat at a table in the restaurant three doors down from the hostel.  I saw Japanese men at their tables and Japanese art on the walls. I heard the server and the cook speaking Japanese and smelled Japanese cooking. The server gave me a short Japanese bow as he handed me a menu entirely in Japanese. Unless I spoke it, no English word existed in this establishment. 

I recall that I had no good option. I had not eaten since the sushi. I believed that searching for food elsewhere would result in greater hunger. I was like a ship in the open ocean without a compass. I knew that I must not abandon my table.

I would have memorialized the moment by writing something like this in my Notebook:

How did I know what dish would suffice for breakfast? I didn’t. I knew I needed to solve this problem because it likely would recur, especially in the cheap eats cafes that fit my budget. I also realized that the time I spent onboard the Wilson trying to learn Japanese did not pay off here. 

So, I must build a solution.  First, from my phrasebook, I found the word for “breakfast” –“CHOH-sho-koo’ ah-SAH goh-hahn”. Second, for backup, I located the phrase meaning “Í don’t understand Japanese.” – “nee-HOHN-goh wah” Third, I approached the server holding the menu and phrase book. Fourth, pronouncing the Japanese for “breakfast” as best I could and lilting the last syllable to present a question, I ran my finger down the menu items. He did not understand. Fifth, I showed him the word written In Japanese from my phrasebook. He smiled and pointed at the top four items. Fifth, I placed my index finger on my sometimes-lucky 3. 

Having placed my order, I could hardly wait. Within minutes, I had a aromatic, good size bowl of rice topped with a raw egg and soy sauce. I did not hesitate and learned that  severe hunger makes it easier to learn how to eat rice with chopsticks. The Japanese favored Tamago Kake Gohan (tah-mah-gon-kah-keh-goh-han), also known as TKG, as a breakfast dish and as a snack food because of its high nutritional value. It became my go-to breakfast eliminating the future need to request a menu. After copying the name of the dish for reference and practice, I slipped my Notebook into its designated space deep in a zippered front pocket of my backpack and exchanged sayonaras with the server.

On the way back to the hostel, a man about my age confronted me asking if I spoke English. I confess that I rudely dismissed him because this was the third or fourth time that I had been similarly approached, I mentioned it to the hostel manager. He explained that the government encouraged students to practice their English on tourists to prepare for the 1964 Summer Olympics in Tokyo in the fall. I had no idea that Tokyo would be hosting the Olympics, However, I found the government’s plan to be mutually beneficial.  On most days, the students became good companions. I helped them with their English by discussing the wants of tourists, and they taught me plenty about Japan and Tokyo. 

We never mentioned WWII. Bombs had seriously damaged Tokyo, especially the downtown and surrounding neighborhoods. The area near the hostel, comprised of small businesses and residences, looked unscathed. It would blend easily into an Asian community in San Francisco or LA. 

As our small group of shipmates parted yesterday, we agreed to meet late this afternoon at the train station to explore Tokyo’s nightlife. I decided to go early to check out the rebuilding of  downtown and, if I was lucky, meet up with Midori if she arrived early.