In lieu of 10,000 words

Balloons:

Hi Quality souvenirs:

Girl:

Fashion:

Broom shop:

Shopping street:

Cigarette machine:

Dress shop:

Plastic beer:

Plastic food:

Heaven & the Breakfast of Champions

The Tokyo fish market, called Tsukiji, is said to be the biggest in the world. Many tourists go there at 5 in the morning to witness the day's tuna auctions. I am sure they are thrilling affairs, but I don't know that I'd walk across the street at 2 in the afternoon to see a tuna auction, let alone get up at 5am. Tsukiji also offers a bunch of hole-in-the-wall sushi places, though, and they are reputed to have the best sushi, anywhere, at reasonable (but not cheap) prices. They're open only in the morning.

The shops have a single counter with 8 or 10 seats, no tables. A couple of the places are ultra-renowned -- they both had long lines that snaked through the market, so I ducked into a place that had an empty stool and ordered a few pieces of fatty tuna, sea urchin (uni), and salmon. Oh. My. God. This had to be the 7th Station of Sushi Enlightenment. The texture, the flavor, the temperature. Plus, the sushi chef was fun and hospitable, spoke more than enough English, and the whole experience was terrific. Glad I didn't wait the 2 hours or so for the other places. The place I went is called Ya-Ma-Za-Ki, though that might not do you much good unless you read Japanese.

Tokyo is the ultimate non-stop city. Throngs of people are going in every direction all of the time. Everyone walks with purpose -- no strolling allowed here -- and one person breaking into a trot seems to spur a herdlike reaction as everyone else decides that it must be a good idea to get wherever in a bit more of a hurry. The subway system is easy to use and impossible to figure out, proving that this is a place of contradictions.

So, I haven't found much of anything I felt like taking pictures of, except for YaMaKaZi's joint and the line of people who would remain hungry for a while:

Business 101

More of the same today: up at a leisurely hour, wander the streets with no particular destination in mind, stop for a coffee or snack at a sidewalk cafe every hour or so, with a plate of pasta and a beer for lunch. Life is simple.

I did come across an astounding sight this morning as I was on the city bus (which is, of course, a boat) headed for the other side of town. The thing about Venice is that every building looks as if it has been there for 275 years, which it probably has, except this one place on Main St (the Grand Canal) that seems to be made of modern reflective glass, like it was in a city or something. The effect is amazing, as the building reflects both the water and the other joints across the street:

Seriously, this is more of a theme park than it is a city.

So my routine got broken after lunch when I got on the wrong bus, which turned out to be a non-stopper until it reached the island of Murano, about 10 minutes from Venice. Murano is known for its glass, and I wasn't at all upset about the unexpected diversion. Went into one of the 1,226 glass shops, eyed an especially nice piece that would fit pretty well in the living room, and my eyeing was eyed by the sleazy salesguy, whose name turned out to be Michele. (Pronouned mi-KAY-lee, for those of you scoring at home. Also pronounced mi-KAY-lee for those of you home by yourselves.) Anyway, he tells me that the sticker price says 3,800 euros, but he has a special deal just for me. First, I don't have to pay the VAT tax because I'm from the US, and then he will give me a 20% discount. I'm sort of playing along, saying I want to look around at other shops (it's a nice piece, but not THAT nice), when Michele's boss materializes and whispers in his ear. Michele then pulls me over into the corner of the room and starts whispering to me -- I'm not exactly sure why, as there was absolutely no one else in the room -- about The Ultimate Deal. Do I have 2 credit cards, Michele asks? Aye, sez I. Use 2 credit cards, put half the price on each, and we'll knock the price down to 2,000 euros, sez he. Then, in an even lower whisper so that the non-existent other people in the room absolutely won't overhear, Michele explains why he wants 2 credit cards: He'll use 1 credit card receipt for the accountants for reporting his taxes, and he'll pocket the money from the other credit card without telling those bastard tax collectors. Bravo, Michele, and welcome, Mr Topaz, to the Italian way of doing business.

I didn't take the glass piece, but did take a couple more photos. Tomorrow is a travel day, up early then fly to Tokyo via Zurich.

Taxi cab:

Intersection of Water Street and Water Street:

Gondolier:

2 Russian spies:

Street scene:

Venice

In downtown Boston, the street that starts at the Globe Corner Bookstore and runs past Post Office Square and ends near the Aquarium is called Water Street. In Venice, every street is called water street.

It is a jaw-dropping experience every time. Walk out of the train station and you're at the waterfront. No noise from cars or trucks, just the sound of water, boat engines, and the jibberjabber of people.

Unlike Bologna, which gets a few tourists but is largely off the beaten path, Venice is chock full of visitors. 95% of them manage to stay on the well-trodden trail between the train station and St Mark's (the place with all the pigeons, winged and otherwise). That tourist trail is marked by cairn after cairn of souvenir stands and gross-looking restaurants. Take any side street, though, and you're back in Italy.

This is a perfect city to explore on foot. You will get lost frequently -- the little alleys twist and turn so much that trying to get your bearings is useless -- but you can't really get too far astray without getting wet. And many of those twisty alleys wind up in a lovely little square, where you can rest for a while over a coffee or vino rosso or gelato and watch the Venetians parade by and the ragazzi play soccer.

Seriously, if you only visit one city in Europe, it ought to be Venice, maybe. On second thought, it's stupid to visit only one city in Europe.

More baloney, wry

Saturday night is Free Food night here. Around 8 o'clock, as the butcher and cheese shops are getting ready to close, they put out plates with all sorts of samples -- mortadella, cooked sausages, cheeses. And from out of nowhere about thirty thousand old people appear, pushing their way to the freebies. Ever seen the old ladies who roam the aisles of Whole Foods shoving the free crackers and cheese into their handbags? Those sweethearts have nothing on the Bolognese whitehairs. Little old ladies, barely 5 feet tall, clawing and elbowing their way, using their toothpicks as both weapons and tableware. I managed to shove a couple of them to the sidewalk so that I could sample the salami in Bologna, and it wasn't bad. Alas, no piccies.
If the world has a sweeter sounding than Italian, I haven't heard it. The sound is musical, and it really doesn't matter what someone is talking about, it always sounds good.The planet would be a better place tomorrow if everyone stopped speaking their own stupid language and switched to Italian. Grazie.

So I'm strolling around and here's this guy playing the glass harmonica. That's a curious instrument, often home-made, in which a bunch of different-sized glasses are filled with varying amounts of water, and the instrument is played by rubbing the fingers on the rims of the glasses. The sound is amazing, not real easy to describe (ever try to describe how garlic tastes?), but there has actually been a fair amount of serious music written for it.


Meanwhile, back at the main square, it was community dance day. Lots and lots of people, all having a good time, doing tangos, line dances, and anything/everything else that suited their fancy. The main square is such a welcoming, wonderful space. And because so many people actually live in the city center, the square is always filled with people and life. The whole area is a pedestrian zone, so it's just a perfect, safe place to hang out.






Off to Venice tomorrow morning, no clue if I'll have Internet access. The place I'm staying at in Bologna is fantastic. It's a small hotel (4 floors, 4 rooms/floor) on a quiet dead-end street 5 mins from the main square. My room is huge for Italy, modern furnishings, WiFi, and a staff that seem to go out of their way to be hospitable. Hotel Novecento. The end.

Baloney

Pulled in to Bologna around 11am after comfortable but dull flight from Boston to Frankfurt and a spectacular flight over the Alps to Bologna. I’m staying in the middle of the oldest part of the city, just a block from the immense main square, Everyone -- really, everyone, hangs out in the square, either to be seen or to watch, or both.

Being in Italy is like finding yourself transported to some enormous theatrical production, where everyone -- except you, of course -- is a character in full dress and make-up. There is not one person here who wouldn’t stand out in any other country in the world.

First time in a city for me is pretty standard: nose pressed to the window of the cab/bus/train on the ride in from the airport, dump the suitcase at the hotel and quickly wash off the Grime of Travel, then head out to the streets and explore, explore, explore. The route chosen is made up on the spot, with streets taken because they look sort of interesting. Finding interesting streets is not a problem in Bologna: the city is filled with archways, old stuff, and narrow alleys.

Got hungry after an hour, stopped at a sidewalk café, and got this unbelievable small plate of tagliatelle -- gorgeous egg pasta, perfectly cooked, with a meat sauce that actually stuck to the noodles and didn’t fly off in every direction whenever a fork came near it. Washed down with a beer. For 9 euros.

Why are all Italians thin when they do nothing but eat pasta and ice cream all day? Well, maybe not all are thin-thin, but you know. The end.

Everything is new, everything is old

New blog, new trip, same curmudgeonly old fart.

Anyway, I'm planning to write whatever suits me, maybe post a few photos, and who knows what else during my trips here and there. This time, here and there includes Bologna and Venice in Italy, then Tokyo, Kyoto, and some rural spa in Japan.

I haven't left Billerica yet and there's an issue. Supposed to fly out at 7:50 tonight on a flight to Munich and then connect to Bologna. Assuming that bad things are likely to happen, I checked the status of the incoming flight, the one from Munich to Boston, and it's at least 2 hours late. Which means my flight to Munich is late, which means I miss the connection to Bologna. Feh. A few calls to Lufthansa and I'm now rerouted on a much earlier flight from Boston throuh Frankfurt, which also will get me to Bologna a few hours earlier than planned. I can live with that.

This you see is one of the advantages of traveling solo. For me, making a last minute change and leaving the house at 1.30 instead of 5.30 is no big deal. But if I had been traveling with ...well, any of my previous travel companions, I cannot imagine the scene that would have ensued if I even thought of such a change, let alone suggested it.

The main casualty has been Lola. She caught me packing and knows that I'm leaving. Life is tough when you're a cat at my house.

The end.