The Waiter

            I have tried to write this post many times. Each time I gave up, because I just couldn’t find the right words. Then I came across this sentence in a novel by Stephen King. It captured the essence of what I wanted to say perfectly: 

If you’ve ever been homesick, or felt exiled from all the things and people that once defined you, you’ll know how important welcoming words and friendly smiles can be. 

As I read these words a series of memories flashed through my memory; I think the hairs may even have stood up on the back of my neck. 

And yet, when you read my story, you may wonder why on earth it mattered so much to me. If so, I guess you’ve never felt like Jake Epping, the protagonist of King’s novel 11.22.63. Or like me, for that matter. 

I was travelling alone in the north of Japan in the summer of 2014. I wouldn’t say I was homesick – it’s been about 17 years since I felt that way – but I wasn’t in a good frame of mind. I can’t find a better way to express it than to use King’s words: I felt exiled from all the things and people that once defined me. 

I journeyed down the north-west coast of Honshu, Japan’s main island, one day that July. I think the three local trains I took only covered about 200 kilometres, but the trip lasted eight hours, give or take. I remember it vividly: the apple fields of Aomori, the Sea of Japan, the vastness of Mount Choukai. 

Ikarigaseki Station, in Aomori

My destination was a city called Tsuruoka. I cannot remember ever visiting a place that was more dead on a Friday evening. It was deserted, despite having a population of over a hundred thousand. I walked along the shoutengai (arcaded shopping street) in the fading light, but the shutters were down and the people gone. 

It was sweltering and my Achilles began to seize up as I gloomily wandered the streets, desperately seeking somewhere I could at least have a good dinner. I did a circuit, eventually returning to the station area, which is usually a good option in Japan. 

Yamagata prefecture

In the corner, across from the station entrance, was a sign advertising gyoza. My Japanese stinks, but I do have some reading ability, and my heart lifted at the prospect of a plate of these delicious fried dumplings. I climbed the stairs and entered what appeared to be an empty izakaya (a bar-restaurant type place).

My mood lightened further when the woman who greeted me actually seemed pleased to see me. (In Japan you get used to people panicking when they catch sight of a foreigner.) She ushered me to a curtained off area with a low table on tatami mats and gave me a menu. 

She took my order (nama-biiru (beer), furaido poteto (fries), edamame (green soybeans) and pizza. I stretched my legs out as I had nearly lost feeling in them within the 5 minutes I had been sitting on the floor. Two Japanese guys came in and sat at the table next to me, where they chatted about Germany’s victory in the World Cup. 

A young man’s voice came from outside the curtain, along with the sound of slippers being kicked off. “Excuse me”, he said confidently, and entered my little dining area. He was incredibly thin, like a lot of young Japanese men, with his hair held back by a bandana. He was also smiling. As he put my beer down on the table, he said “this is nama”. 

As he left he said something else in English, though I can’t remember what. I do recall that it wasn’t the correct thing to say. I drank the wonderful beer, which was served in a freezing glass, in double-quick time. The young waiter then returned with my edamame. He went through the same routine, placing the dish on the table with the words ‘this is edamame’. I ordered another beer. 

And so it continued throughout my meal. Everything was presented with the same formula. It appeared his English amounted to little more than ‘excuse me’ and ‘this is’, but he said it with enthusiasm and without fear. I drank four beers, had some excellent food and left feeling enormously uplifted. 

I’m sure that young waiter had no idea how much I appreciated his simple friendliness and effort to speak my language. He was just doing his job and, this being Japan, I couldn’t even leave a tip by way of thanks. It made an enormous impression on me, though, and cheered me to a degree that is difficult to express. Hopefully, with Stephen King’s help, I’ve succeeded.  

Eating in Spain

          In 1935 W. Somerset Maugham, my favourite writer, wrote a book about Spain called Don Fernando. One of the chapters was devoted to food. 

In Andalucía, Maugham observed, ‘you eat romantically rather than to the satisfaction of your palate.’ This, I would say, is no longer true. Take the example of Pepa y Pepe, a pleasant tapas bar that spills on to one of the streets in Málaga’s Old Town. The food there is very good: you can have albóndigas (meatballs) in a rich tomato sauce, and they do good fried fish like gambas pil pil (prawns with garlic and chilli cooked in lots of oil). 

There’s little romance about Pepa y Pepe, though. Most of the diners are foreigners and it’s a magnet for the street performers and beggars of this fine city. In the space of an hour one Tuesday evening six men of varying degrees of misery asked me for money outside this establishment. 

My interaction with one of these individuals had an element of comedy about it. He was a dirty, odd looking man, with a yellow tie round his neck but no shirt. His trade was shining shoes. After a rebuff from another group, he approached me and we locked eyes. I shook my head. He then looked down at my feet, shrugged his shoulders and looked me in the eyes again. He had an aghast expression on his face, as if to say ‘Come on! How can you walk around like that in this beautiful place?!’ I refused a second time, though, and he trudged off in search of less stubborn tourists. 

While the albóndigas in Pepe y Pepe were tasty, I would say that ordering meat dishes in Andalucía is not necessarily a wise move. In Cádiz, for instance, I ventured into a quiet place one evening and ordered a media ración (half portion) of meatballs in Pedro Ximenez sauce. The meatballs bore the awful signs of having been microwaved: some were lukewarm, others cold. I guess they’d been hanging around for a bit too, for they had an off-putting discolouration in the middle. The PX sauce had an unpleasantly gloopy texture, too, kind of like mint jelly. The only thing that was hot was the fried potatoes. I’ve rarely been in such a hurry to leave a restaurant. 

I also had a cold plate of rabo de toro (stewed oxtail) in Málaga, which left me crestfallen, for it’s a thing of beauty when done properly. Another dish which is hit or miss is patatas bravas. These can be great, as long as the sauce that is served with the fried potatoes is spicy and based on tomatoes. Too often, though, you are presented with an unappetising mixture of spicy sauce and mayonnaise. 

 These experiences lead me to think that Maugham was wrong when he advised his readers ‘to make your meal out of a single dish’ when in Spain. It’s better to order a few tapas, or small plates, because then there’s more chance of getting something you like. And the best options in Spain are cured meats like jamón ibérico and fried fish dishes. I don’t think I’ve ever been disappointed when I ordered those. 

Maugham made the rather wild claim that ‘you eat much better in the north of a country than in the south’. Still, in the case of Spain, it may be true, although I have limited experience of the north. The finest meal by far that I have eaten there was in a place called Casa Zanito in the beautiful walled town of Olite in Navarra. As a general rule, though, it has to be rubbish, as anyone who has travelled in Scotland could tell you. Just try finding a decent meal in the Highlands.

13 Travel Tips For Visitors to Japan

1.    Skip Tokyo     

Japan’s capital is gigantic, heaving with people, stressful and ugly. The high points (Meiji-jingu, Hama-rikyu Gardens, Imperial Palace Park) are very

attractive, but you can easily find their equal, or better, in Kyoto. A journey on the Chuo or Sobu line in the morning would have made Gandhi lose his cool. Humans were not meant to live in a place like this.  

2.    Stay overnight in Nikko     

Words can hardly capture the magic of Nikko by night. The wide uphill avenue towards Tosho-gu, one of Japan’s most famous shrines, is deserted and only dimly lit. Massive cedar trees tower above you on both sides and you hear water running downhill in stone channels. You can’t enter the shrine complex but you can walk along its edge, where the atmosphere is electric. The stone lanterns resemble humans in the darkness, and the eaves of old buildings overhang the wall. It’s a spine-tingling walk.  

3.    Base yourself in Kyoto     

In Japan, Kyoto is peerless. It has an abundance of

superb sights: the gardens at Saiho-ji and Murin-an, the wooden platform and thatched roof of Kiyomizu-dera, the stone canals near the river, and the narrow alley of Pontocho at night. Kyoto is also very close to Nara, one of the few cities in Japan that is truly unmissable.  

4.    Do not visit in June and July      

A trip to Japan in the rainy season might mean days without seeing the sun. Worse, you might experience a biblical downpour that lasts forty hours. And when it’s over, the humidity is intolerable.  

5.    Stay near train stations     

This takes the pain out of looking for somewhere to have dinner. Large stations often have food courts in the basement, where you’ll find really good restaurants. The streets around stations usually feature a number of fast food restaurants, like Matsuya, Mos Burger, and McDonald's. Accommodation is plentiful and inexpensive too, even in Tokyo.   

6.    Don’t bother taking local trains     

Travelling by futsuu densha might seem like a good idea (you can save money and see the landscape), but it’s not. This is largely because there is very little of interest to see, just rice fields, unsightly buildings, and rivers with concrete banks. Better to get to your destination as fast as possible.   

7.    Fly to Kansai International Airport     

This puts you an hour and a half from Kyoto, and saves you having to pass through Tokyo, which you’ll have to do from Narita Airport. 

8.    Beware of the hype     

My guidebook contained the startling assertion that beauty in Japan could be found round every corner. In many cities you’ll be lucky to find it round any corner. The Japanese are very conceited when it comes to food, but, like me, you may find you have difficulty keeping the likes of unagi (eel) down.   

9.    Consider hitching     

This is probably not a good idea if you’re female. For men, though, it’s a pretty good option, and you may not even have to stick your thumb out to get a lift. Stand near a bus stop on a main road in the less touristed parts of the country and there’s a strong chance someone will pull over within minutes.  

10.    Visit Kamakura     

Kamakura, a short train journey south west from Tokyo, is one of the most interesting places in Japan. The bronze Daibutsu (Great Buddha) dates to 1252 and sits on a pedestal in the open air, the hall in which it was housed having been destroyed by a tsunami five hundred years ago. There are temples and beautiful gardens aplenty, the best of which (Zuisen-ji, for instance) are located in the east of the city, where many tourists do not venture. Hiking trails lead through the shady, wooded hills that surround Kamakura on three sides. It even boasts a beach, though the sea looks far from clean here.  

11.    Eat tonkatsu     

Not keen on raw fish, cold noodles or miso soup? Me neither. Try tonkatsu, a pork cutlet coated in breadcrumbs and deep fried. You grind up some sesame seeds using a pestle and mortar, add some dark tonkatsu sauce and then dip the pork in it. It’s served with rice, cabbage and – wait for it – miso soup.  

12.    Look out for local beers     

Japan’s oligopoly of beer producers make some fairly good brews, but you may find yourself yearning for something different. A good option is Hub Ale, found in the British pub chain of the same name, which has branches in large cities. Even better are the beers produced by micro-breweries in Takayama, Hakodate and Gotemba, but you’ve got to go out of your way to find these. 

13. Take a night bus

This is a cheap way of getting around, though you may feel out of place if you are over 20. You can reserve tickets online with Willer Express. Buses are surprisingly comfortable and are hermetically sealed against intruding lights, natural or otherwise. A sort of blackout curtain divides driver and passengers. The only drawback is arriving at the crack of dawn, when everything's shut except McDonald's.