Travel

Ejo #63 – Drunk In….. Tokyo (FUKU Yakitori)

DRUNK IN….. TOKYO
FUKU YAKITORI
Most yakitori places are a little rough around the edges – after all it’s basically barbecue food (though it feels blasphemous to even make that comparison). Fuku is a slightly classier affair (and even better, a non-smoking affair, a rarity in Tokyo). The chef expertly grills skewers of various parts of chicken (amongst other things) right in front of you – and we were lucky enough to get seats at the bar with front row seats to all the action. You need a reservation for this place, otherwise you might miss out.

MUST HAVES: Chicken skin, tebasaki (chicken wings) and for the more adventurous of you I’d suggest trying the tori wasa (raw, YES RAW!!!! chicken).

Chef doing his thang.

Chef doing his thang.

Crispy delicious chicken skin - we ordered another round of these at the end of the night.

Crispy delicious chicken skin – we ordered another round of these at the end of the night.

Gingko nut.  A really delightful treat and difficult to describe.  Texture of a roasted chestnut with meaty chargrill overtones.  Must try.

Gingko nut. A really delightful treat and difficult to describe. Texture of a roasted chestnut with meaty chargrill overtones. Must try.

The raw chicken.  It really has a unique texture, not quite like sushi.  It was actually very tasty.  But did it taste like chicken????.

The raw chicken. It really has a unique texture, not quite like sushi. It was actually very tasty. But did it taste like chicken????.

All washed down with cup after cup of sake (that ain't water folks!).

All washed down with cup after cup of sake (that ain’t water folks!).

INFO:
3-23-4 Nishihara Shibuya-ku, Tokyo 151-0066
(Address in Japanese: 日本東京都渋谷区西原3丁目23−4)
+81 3 3485 3234
Open for dinner every night except Wednesdays

Return to Drunk In….. Tokyo

Ejo #61 – Status Quo (Not Coming Home)

So, I don’t need to tell anyone how I feel about Dubai. We all know. No need to beat that dead horse. So surely, given the opportunity to leave this joint and go back home to Australia, I would jump at the chance, right?? Well, I guess if that had been the case, this ejo would have a very different title. Something along the lines of “Ejo #61 – Escape At Last” or “Ejo #61 – Fuck Off Dubai, We’re Going Home” or similar. You get the gist. As it is, my ejo this month is not about the colossally magnificent news that we’re packing up and moving back to Australia. Nope. It’s about having the opportunity to do so, carefully (oh, so very carefully) considering it and then rejecting it.

For the first time since we’ve moved to Dubai (way, way back in October 2008) Airservices Australia (the country’s only Air Navigation Service Provider – and our previous employer) has opened up recruitment to overseas air traffic controllers. When we first heard about it David and I kind of looked at each other sideways trying to assess how the other felt about the possibility of chucking it in here and finally heading back from whence we came.  Neither of us wanted to ask the question, and neither of us wanted to answer it.  But we both knew what the question was: Are we ready to go home?

Eventually we got around to talking about it.  The conversations would go something like this:

“So, do you want to apply?”

“I’m not sure.  Do you?”

“Not sure”.

In the end we decided that we would write to the recruitment people and ask them a few questions.  Dealbreakers like where we could expect to get placed and whether or not we could expect to get placed in the same city.  If Rockhampton was our only option, the scenario instantly became less palatable.  And if one of us could go to Melbourne but the other would be placed in Sydney, same deal.  I’ve always said that my marriage is more important to me than my career, and I’m not about to start a long distance relationship with David now.

When they got back to us we discovered that Melbourne Tower was not even on the board.  This drastically reduced the attractiveness of the idea of moving back for me.  If I go home, it’s to go home.  And for me, that’s Melbourne.  If I’m living in Sydney or, even worse, Perth then I’m not home and I might as well stay where I am.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against either of those places, but the deal would be made a lot sweeter if we had the chance to move directly to Melbourne.

In case you didn’t know, the main reason that David and I moved to Dubai in the first place was an increasing level of disenchantment with the management style of Airservices Australia.  When we first got to Dubai, our employer was the sharing and caring antidote to that and we were happy.  Unfortunately, over the years our current employers’ management style has rapidly deteriorated to the same level as we were experiencing back home.  I’m talking about deceit, derision and downright hostility towards their air traffic controllers.  Morale here is not good.  People are resigning in droves and returning to their home countries leaving behind radar units and towers that are painfully short staffed.  The company is unable to recruit air traffic controllers from elsewhere because they aren’t offering an attractive enough package.  And we’re not just disenchanted, but also disillusioned and disengaged.  So it ain’t a happy place.

So why do we stay?  Let me make you a list of things I miss from Australia.

* my family

* my friends

* coffee (oh my god, the coffee)

* no smoking in restaurants, bars and cafes

* the weather

* the amazing restaurant scene

* the sound of birds

* the lack of in-your-face racism

* the culture

* our house

* our neighbourhood

* road rules

* clean air

* trees, plants, flowers, the colour green

* jobs done by those who want to do them, rather than jobs determined by nationality

* quality healthcare

* good service

* not being called sir EVER AGAIN

* being able to wear whatever I like

* being able to kiss my husband in public

* being able to swear in public (I’ve started doing this here and think I’d best stop)

* not being afraid to be drunk in public for fear of being arrested

* not being afraid of being thrown in jail for no good reason

* being able to flip people the bird if I feel like it (it’s the principle)

* great fashion

* reliable mail

* no freaking construction

* no sand EVERYWHERE

* Madame Brussels

* cleaning ladies not being terrified that I’m going to beat them

* pornography (again, not something I necessarily want, but give me the choice god damn it)

* freedom of speech

* reading magazines where they call it wine and beer, not grape and hops

* bacon, oh crispy bacon

* being able to log onto Skype, Spotify etc. without having to hide my location using a VPN

* the countryside

* being able to ski within three hours of the city

* OPSM (seriously, I’ve never had a pair of prescription glasses made properly here)

* no in-your-face wasta

* people that turn their headlights on at night (der)

* wineries

* skilled tradespeople

* OH&S

* minimum wage

* human rights (OK, Australia’s record of that isn’t so great either, but at least you aren’t subjected to it on a daily basis)

* recycling

* addresses (there’s no street name/number system here – you navigate using landmarks)

* great live music scene

* people washing their own damn cars

* not needing the aircon on 24/7

* good hairdressers*

 

I really could go on, but I think you get the idea.  Now I’ll list what I would miss about Dubai if we were to move back home.

* the travel.
 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, maybe the cheap and plentiful taxis too.  And that’s about it.  But that one thing, right now, is worth sacrificing all those other things that I miss about home.  I’m not done travelling yet.  I don’t know if I ever will be.  I’ve got a severe case of wanderlust, and I’ve got it bad.  And living here allows me to regularly, and frequently, scratch that itch in a way that I wouldn’t be able to do from Australia.  So I forfeit my family and my friends and great coffee in exchange for being able to see the world.  I can’t even say if it’s a fair exchange.  I just know that I’m not ready to give it up yet.  And (thank goodness) neither is David.  If one of us wanted to go home, we have agreed that we would go.  But for now we’re staying.

In other news, we are coming home in February for a  couple of weeks so that we can get our fix of all those things we miss about it.  Best of both worlds.

 

 

* If anyone can recommend a GREAT hairdresser in Melbourne, I’d be extremely grateful.

Ejo #49 – Before The Ejo (A Travel Disaster Trip Down Memory Lane)

 

I’d been tossing up a few ideas for December’s ejo, but they were all cast aside when I discovered this old gem lurking in the depths of my computer. I do believe I am about to present to you my very first ejo, written over seven years ago. My first travel essay, written about my first travel misadventure, on my first solo trip abroad. Some of you will remember it. For others it will be new. I present to you the abridged, Editor’s Cut version of the essay for your holiday season reading pleasure.

 

Buon giorno tutti,

 

I am about to regale for you, a tale of travel misery and woe.

 

It all started when I landed at Milano Bergamo airport on the 28th April 2006. I’d caught an early flight from London, so had been up since 4.30am. When I landed in Italy, I took the shuttle bus from the airport to Milano Centrale Stazione where I was to catch another bus to Milano Garibaldi station to catch a bus to Siena. Simple, right?? Sure, except that someone told me there were no buses at that time. No problem, I caught a taxi (for €10, which was a bit of a rip off, but hey, I was excited about being in Italy). When I got to Garibaldi, I went to the ticket area and asked about my planned 2.15pm bus to Siena only to be told that it had been cancelled because of a national transport strike due to finish at 3pm that day – crazy Italians and their crazy striking. I asked about the next bus and was told that all buses to Siena that day were booked out. “OK”, I thought to myself, “there are other avenues for me to take”. I’d go to the train station across the street and catch a train to Siena. Who needs the bus! So I schlepped across the road with my two suitcases and my heavy handbag thinking, “Wow, this is shaping up to be quite the adventure”. Oh, little did I know! I got to the train station ticket area and waited in line for 45 minutes before being told that all the trains to Siena were booked out for the day. No more seats to Siena.

 

I started to panic internally, but tried to keep a cool facade. ‘Keep It Together’ became my mantra, whispered under my breath over and over again. My problem was that I’d booked a car rental in Siena that had to be picked up by 11am the next day. If I didn’t collect it, the reservation would be cancelled. I figured (after a bit more thought) that the best solution would be to hire a car from Milan to Siena. I walked 20 minutes into town carrying my cases and my big, fat, stupid handbag looking for car rental offices. I eventually found a Thrifty where they told me they had only one car left – a Smart car (you know, those ridiculous little boxes that seat two people and not much else). It was €55 for one day. I suspected they were trying to rip me off, and (thinking myself the rather savvy traveller) thought I should be able to get a better deal somewhere else (oh, the naivety).

 

I walked around town for another half an hour (yes, lugging my luggage) to discover that I’d somehow managed to arrive in Italy on a long weekend (who knew!!!), so all the cars were gone. ALL OF THEM! I hurried back to Thrifty and was relieved to find the Smart car was still available. However, because I was going one way I would have to pay an extra €45. This seemed quite ridiculous and, at that stage, unacceptable, so I figured I’d spend the night in a Milan hotel and get into Siena first thing in the morning to pick up my Siena car rental (are you following all this??).

 

I haughtily turned my back on Thrifty and returned to the bus station to ask about the earliest bus into Siena the next day. It didn’t arrive in Siena until 2.45pm, so I rang the Siena car rental office to change my booking pick-up time from 11am to 3pm. They told me that they closed at 12.30pm and that if I didn’t pick up the car before then I would forfeit the rental. ARGH!!!!

 

So I trudged across to the train station to find out if the trains left any earlier than the buses. But no, it was the same deal with the trains. The earliest didn’t get there until 1pm. Too late for me.

 

I had now reached desperation stage. Melting under the Milanese sun, I dragged myself – hot, shitty and sweaty – back to the Thrifty car rental place, resentfully forked out €100 and signed the paperwork on the bloody Smart car. It was the only way I could get to Siena in time to pick up my Siena rental. When they pointed out that Thrifty didn’t have an office in Siena, I waved the problem away. “You have an office in Firenze, 70km north of Siena?? No worries. Please just give me the car keys. Now!”

 

I devised a cunning plan (pay attention, now) to drive the Milan rental to Siena, sleep the night in my booked accommodation, drive the Milan rental to the Siena rental place, pick up the keys to my Siena rental, park it somewhere it wouldn’t incur a ticket, drive the Milan rental to Firenze, drop it off and then catch a bus from Firenze back to Siena to pick up the Siena rental from where I’d parked it and then drive to my villa in Tuscany. Brilliant plan, no?! Obviously I like to make life difficult for myself – but I honestly couldn’t think of another way around it. I had exhausted all other options.

 

I got directions out of Milan, but somehow managed to find myself a) in peak hour, long weekend traffic, b) going round in circles because the stupid signs didn’t make any sense, and c) driving like a maniac in order to avoid being murdered by what I had started referring to as Fucking Crazy Italians!!!!

 

It took me two, long and exhausting, hours to get out of Milan onto the highway for Siena. I literally whooped with joy when I was established outside of the city. It was, by now, 6pm and I had a 375km drive ahead of me, after having eaten NO FOOD for 14 hours, and being VERY TIRED INDEED and having a PRETTY BAD HEADACHE!!!! Still, things were OK. All I had to do was concentrate on the fact that I was driving a death-trap and that I was doing it on the wrong side of the road. Oh yes, and deal with the thunderstorm that decided to follow me along the highway dumping rain on me and my little jalopy, drastically reducing my visibility and traction on the road. And then, at about 11pm, I also had to contend with a 30km bumper-to-bumper traffic jam on the freeway due to roadworks into Siena. But I was heading in the right direction and I was happy.

 

So around midnight I made it to Siena, proper – absolutely exhausted and kind of hallucinating about going to sleep. I won’t even go into how many times I had just wanted to stop the car and transport myself back to Australia, back into my bed, safe and sound asleep. Let’s just say it was LOTS.

 

So, as I was circling the city it occurred to me that, whilst I had a street address for the small hotel I was staying in, I had no map and no directions. Minor problem after what I’d just experienced, quite frankly. “I’ll just drive around and find it,” I thought to myself. HAHAHA!!!! Have you ever been to Siena? It’s a city with a population of about 50,000. It’s freaking huge. Good luck finding a hotel if you have no idea where to look. This eventually dawned on me and I stopped at a large hotel to ask for a map. I found the street I was looking for on the map and realised it was inside the city walls, i.e. no cars allowed. So I parked close to where I thought the hotel would be and headed into the ancient city on foot to conduct a reconnaissance mission. I found myself delving deeper and deeper into the city, going into progressively darker and creepier little alleys – though by this stage the idea of being murdered, and my body being disposed of, was actually very comforting. Just as I was about to give up, resigned to spending the night in my “vehicle”, I looked up from my dragging feet and there it was. Hotel Antica Torre!! There was a note on the door with my name on it, with a key inside. I squealed a little and jumped up and down with sheer happiness at having found it.

 

I managed to find my way back to the car and dragged my suitcases along the cobbled street, probably waking up all the Sienese residents – but I wasn’t about to do anyone any favours by carrying them. I just didn’t have it in me at this stage. As I climbed up the stairs to my room, I could SMELL sleep!! I had a shower, and collapsed on the bed. I had very bad dreams that night!!

 

The next day was better. But I truly must be an arrogant and audacious individual, because I took the Milan rental car to Firenze with absolutely no directions, no map, and (even worse this time) no address. What is WRONG with me!!?? Once I got there, I just drove around in crazy circles (like a Fucking Crazy Italian – the streets of Italy no longer held any secrets for me). I stopped and asked for directions about twenty times, and then, lo and behold, I found the damn office and I dropped off the damn car, got on a damn bus to Siena, caught a taxi to the Siena car rental, drove to my villa and pretty much died of happiness.

 

Last year, David and I spent some time in Siena (still one of my favourite places in the world despite my traumatic experience). Why don’t you check out my photo series from our visit: Pedestrians Of Siena.