Good list from Good Reads! Read the suggestions in the comments, too. Some great books in there. Lucifer’s Hammer is a fav of mine, though written before cell phones and pcs, it reads a bit dated when it comes to how slowwwwly news used to get around the world in the “old days”
More oak tree pics… I’m fascinated by the morning light on the oak tree off the back deck after a night of rain!
I just returned from another adventure! This time not for work. This was for pleasure, and what a pleasure it was! I took my kids and my daughter’s best friend on a trip to the countries that border the Baltic Sea. It’s an area of the globe I’ve always wanted to visit. From biking through Copenhagen to touching a section of the Berlin Wall, to eating lunch with a Russian family in their pre-Soviet era flat, we did it all. I just adore traveling and think I am a gypsy at heart. My kids have caught the bug, too. Especially my daughter who said when I asked her where she wanted to go next, “I don’t care, as long as it’s traveling.” I’m with her! I didn’t want to come home!
Here are a few of the 900+ photos. This trip pumped up my muse so much, I have stories bursting out of me.
First we visited Tallinn, Estonia. It is one of Europe’s finest examples of a medieval walled town because of the city’s miraculous survival of the wars. The turreted wall is still mostly intact. We had fun exploring the nooks and crannies, and feeling the ancient vibes.
But modern tech is slipping in everywhere–note the satellite dish on the centuries-old building:
Then it was on to Russia. The cathedrals of St. Petersburg were stunning works of art. Many like St. Nicholas were badly damaged during WWII. The city is adrape with scaffolding and canvas coverings as the city painstakingly repairs the neglect leftover from Soviet times:
I never thought about the individual domes, or that they would have so much detailing. But they do!
I like this photo of a Russian grandfather that I took in the gardens of the Catherine Palace outside St Petersburg. His little granddaughter kept him on the move, and I had only a fraction of a second to shoot, but I think his expression says it all, the love between members of a family:
The palaces were extraordinary, the wealth displayed staggering. No surprise there was a revolution. We visited both the Catherine Palace and Peterhof, the summer palace of the Czars:
Next we traveled to Finland. As I will post in my writing news below, I’ll be doing a Christmas themed novella in 2008. It just so happens that while in Finland I spotted Santa on his day off. You know he lives in Lapland, right? Here he is in the Kauppatori Market Square in Helsinki, calling The Mrs. on his cell phone, when I got this pic of him using my zoom lens:
I think the camos were left over from the last elf uprising. (The Claus needs to know when to be alpha or the elves will roll right over him)
I was so taken with the fresh produce in the market. This is only one of many photos I took of the stands. I love salmon–raw, cooked, smoked, barbequed–and so do the Finns. The extent of salmon varieties had my mouth watering:
But they eat … reindeer. (Do you think Santa knows? Was that why he was at the market that day? I wonder what happens to the sled pullers when they retire…or the ones that don’t make the team…oh God…)
From Finland we sailed to Sweden. On the way I witnessed an area on this beautiful planet Earth to where I must return. It’s called the archipelago and it consists of 10s of thousands of islands and islets,
many with lovely little summer homes. It takes five hours at least to sail through. This is where the Swedes vacation, and my God, they do it right. I was transfixed by the serenity. My only regret? It was overcast and the lighting did not do the scenery justice. But, I’ll be back…
I was enchanted by Stockholm. The time there was all-too short. It is a city to be revisited when I have more time and money. My friends know that I love Absolut Vanilla vodka. I sip it from the freezer and straight-up. Needless to say, the Absolut Ice Bar was a must-see stop on our itinerary. All of us loved it! It is the first of the ice bars now cropping up around the world, built by the Ice Hotel people. The ice is imported straight from Santa’s backyard–Lapland. The kids sipped lingonberry juice, and me? Absolut Vanilla, of course!
Just mosey up to the bar (made of solid ice) and grab a glass (also ice.)
Take a seat on the reindeer skin lined seats (all ice, of course). It’s minus 20F inside, so a warm place to park is a must!
And enjoy…
Since Stockholm is built on a marsh, many of the old buildings have started leaning. That above shot reminds me of a beginning art student’s attempts at learning perspective!
Then I had a majorly fun “author moment” when I was drawn in to this book store in Old Town Stockholm. With a sign like this, how could I not?
Just for fun, I asked if they carried any Susan Grant books–and they did! How fun is that?
After Sweden we crossed the Baltic Sea once more to Germany, where we traveled 3 hours roundtrip on a bus to have the opportunity to visit Berlin. This was a favorite stop. My kids will never learn as much history in school as they did witnessing it in this incredible, resilient city.
Here is my son, 6-feet-tall but dwarfed by the memorial built to remember the Jewish citizens killed by the Nazis. It’s an eerily beautiful but controversial structure. Controversial because there are no signs telling you what it is (or even that there’s a museum underneath), our guide explained. Some say it’s this way because the Jews didn’t know what was to happen to them when they were “relocated” and this attempts to express that:
The Berlin Wall.
Most of it has come down, but the entire length is still marked by cobblestones:
Some areas are intact and you can touch:
Some are on display behind plexiglass and you cannot:
All the panels left tell a story I hope the world never forgets. Unfortunately, history repeats itself.
After Berlin, we traveled to Denmark and the city of Copenhagen, where we went on a 5 hour bike tour of the city with Jon Martin, operator of City Safari. It’s just him running the company, so don’t expect big-business, but that’s precisely why I loved the tour he gave us. I loved the colors of the buildings lining the many canals in the city.
I have to admit the love story between Princess Mary and Crown Prince Frederik has me charmed. I’ve followed it since I saw banners in Sydney announcing their engagement(she is from Australia). I’ve even been to the Slip Inn, the bar in Sydney where they met. Sigh. 
This trip was a fantastic experience.
So my friends, how is YOUR summer going? What have you read lately that you loved? Where have you traveled and enjoyed? And as always, talk food to me. Food! I adore food! (everything but black pudding which I smartly avoided while in Europe! I must have a dozen or more photos from the meals we had, everything from beef stroganoff and borscht in Russia to pastries in Germany.
I finally had the chance to return to Sydney, Australia, after a long absence. It’s one of my favorite layovers, but it seemed I kept getting stuck with China flights with the occasional Japan. The flight down here was uneventful. We bring 4 pilots. As I was slated to be a relief pilot–i.e. I don’t get to take off or land this time–I had first break. We took off about fifteen minutes late as directed by Sydney Air Traffic Control. Sydney ATC directing operations halfway around the globe in San Francisco, you ask? Yep. There’s a curfew for Sydney that is strictly enforced. Really, really strictly. Rumor has it that airlines are charged 250K USD for every airplane that lands before 6 am. Since we were scheduled to arrive at 5:57, we took the delay on the ground in SFO rather than having to fly a holding pattern 13-14 hours later in-flight. After take off, by about 11:30 pm, I was happily, drowsily falling asleep in the bottom bunk in our soundproofed bunkroom located behind a secret door in the cockpit. Next time you’re traveling on a 747, come upstairs to visit before the flight like people often do and ask to take a peek where the pilots sleep. Most find it interesting to see our “bedroom.” I’m always amazed at how many people think two of us stay up the entire time! When we got to the hotel about 8 am, two calendar days later (I try not to think about this) I was able to get a 2-hour nap to add to the four or so hours I’d gotten during the night. I’ve been so tired lately, sleeping was easy. Usually I’m way too hyper for naps (or don’t sleep well in the bunk because of turbulence, etc.) But I was meeting dear friends for lunch and wanted to be at least semi-conscious.
The lovely and talented–and RITA winner!–Isolde Martyn and her charming husband John met me in the lobby and we enjoyed a long lunch catching up. Thanks to them, I discovered a fantastic new restaurant only a few blocks from my hotel. It’s called Heritage Belgian Beer Café. The atmosphere and the food are fantastic. (Kangaroo loin is on the menu, btw, but having tried this once and not been impressed, I skipped it in favor of Flemmish beef stew.) I’m not a big fan of Belgium beer, preferring Chinese, Mexican, or Japanese brews, but John set me up with a light refreshing wheat beer that was lovely especially with a sliver of lemon. One thing that was fun about this pub was that a part of the floor was left cut-out. Covered with thick glass, it revealed part of the old Rocks district left from the 1800s. After we parted company, I nixed plans to take the ferry to Manly Beach (it was showering by then) and walked all over to all my favorite haunts, while buying requested treats for the kids (black licorice from Daryl Lea, and Cadbury bars from Woolworths) until I was tired all over again. I finished up a synopsis due my editor (it’s called juggling two careers, but the flying and the writing do seem to compliment each other) and by 6:60 I was in bed.
By 2:30 am, unfortunately, I was up. So I worked on more writing stuff until it was breakfast time. I would have gone out looking for a place to eat outside, but figured I could better work on my copy edits while eating if I stayed in the hotel. They have a nice buffet. Usually, it’s the same stuff. But this morning there was a new item. It was called “black pudding.” Except, it didn’t look like pudding; it looked a like dark sausage. It actually looked yummy, so I took a small piece to try. It’s rare I come across a food that I haven’t eaten or heard of, so unless something looks strangely gelatinous, or is pulsing, or is raw and isn’t fish, or has claws, I’ll try it. It was really yummy! Salty, savory. There were some lighter colored thingies in the sausage I wasn’t too sure about, but I removed those. So I went back and got a few more pieces to eat with my scrambled eggs. I kept thinking I should ask the waitress what it was, but they were busy. But something kept nagging at me to check: a back-of-the neck prickling of instincts. Back in the room, I googled “black pudding,” went to Wikipedia and discovered black pudding is another name for…blood pudding (insert horror music).
“It’s a sausage made by cooking animal blood with a filler until it is thick enough to congeal when cooled. Blood sausage is a more recent North American term for the same as well as a useful term for similar blood-based solid foods around the world.”
Bleeaaaaaach! Bile rose in my throat. I’m fighting the urge to vomit even as I write this! Yet, I read on… “Pig or cattle blood is most often used; sheep and goat blood are used to a lesser extent. Blood from poultry, horses and other animals are used more rarely. Typical fillers include meat, fat, suet, bread, barley and oatmeal.”
Pray it was not goat blood!!! Not that it matters at this point. Blood mixed with oatmeal! What would the Quaker Oats man say?! Ugh! It can’t get any worse! I’m going to go brush my teeth AGAIN! I wish I were bulimic so I could upchuck at will, but my body won’t cooperate! Blood sausage. Ugh! I’m going to have nightmares for a week!
Anyone out there LIKE this stuff KNOWING what it is? I liked it…until I found out the ingredients. Anyone ever eat something THEN find out it was something straight out of Fear Factor? Please share and get my mind off this!
So I learned of this blog that posts loads of aviation related stuff. I think this falls under the “stranger than fiction” category, but there’s a story about Turkish Airlines mechanics sacrificing a camel to celebrate finishing the work on some jets. I’m going to suggest the technique to United. It would save space in shelters, reduce pet overpopulation. And if it does well, we can expand it to include virgins. Hmm…that just spawned a great idea for a new book, post-apocalyptic, of course, but aviation-themed, sort of a Mad Max meets Airplane…. Heh.
If you’ve followed this blog for a while you’re familiar with my trips to the hellish Chamber of Horrors, a.k.a. United Airlines Training Center in Denver, CO. There, aside from being subject to the blatant, almost gleeful cruelty of the inquisitors, I gain landing currency, handle emergencies, train for low, almost zero visibility approaches, and avoid midair collisions. The simulators are so realistic that once you are immersed in the training, you forget you’re on the ground. But…you are, and that’s the point here.
See, flying a plane uses all five senses, not only visual, which is all a simulator offers along with some simulated but mostly inaccurate motion. I’ve been flying the Boeing 747-400 for almost 10 years now. It’s like being married to someone for a long time. I know the sounds it makes and mostly always why. I can sense something going wrong before it does because of the subtle way it handles or sounds, or even smells. I’ve figured out what NOT to do to get it all riled up. I know what makes it happy. It’s even gotten to the point that I know the various planes in the fleet and their little idiosyncrasies, like the ones that drink too much (gas). You can’t get any of that in a simulator.
But not everyone has access to 180 million dollar airplanes. Worry no longer! Now no pilot will have to be inconvenienced searching for a real plane to fly. A home PC with some kickass flying games, some time bought in the simulator, and this eager pilot wannabe will soon be sitting behind the controls in YOUR plane ready to fly you and your children to Grandma’s house! Sound exciting? A little too exciting for me!
There’s been a scary but inevitable development at the International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO) the folks that make the world’s aviation rules. They’re now going to let prospective pilots earn most of their experience in ground-based simulators. Because…it saves money! It’ll allow foreign airlines (Asia, Middle East) that face shortages of pilots (ahem, maybe it’s because they don’t let women fly??!!) to get their flights crews trained and hired faster. Most likely, the change won’t take effect in the USA anytime soon, but buyer beware if you’re planning travel overseas, especially on “bargain airlines.”
Oh, the article also states ever-so casually that only co-pilots can be trained this way. The captain still has to have “100s of hours” of flight time. Gah. That’s nothing. I stopped counting when I passed 10,000. I remember how I felt at “100s” and it wasn’t very experienced. Luckily I was still in the USAF flying little jet trainers with just me and one student to worry about.
Here’s the link to the article.
There’s even a lovely shot of the Torture Chamber!
I want to wish you all a lovely holiday!
I’ve been scarce because of deadline and a book that won’t quit giving me a hard time. I love the characters…it’s just that they’re not cooperating. So I went in search of some zen on my last trip.
On my last trip to Narita, I took the bus into town as soon as I arrived at the hotel and changed. My favorite place to go on layovers there that isn’t a bar or restaurant is a beautiful temple. Far from being a mecca for bored airline pilots from all over the world, Narita is actually a tourist town built around the Narita-san Shinsho-ji temple that brings in visitors from all over the country. An official description that I found says: The Naritasan-Shinshoji Temple is dedicated to the light god Fudo and was founded in 939, during a rising instigated by Taira Masakado in the area of the present day prefectures of Chiba and Ibakari. The Emperor Sujaku had the statue of Fudo in the Jingoji Temple at Kyoto brought to Kozugahara (to the west of the Shinshoji) in order to secure the god’s help in defeating the rebels. When the rebellion came to an end in 940 with the death of Masakado, a temple was built in Kozugahara to house the statue, and in 1705 this was moved to its present site.
Many of the buildings and pagodas are in fact centuries old. An incense pot scents the grounds and calms me the moment I set foot through the gates. After a long flight it’s utter zen for me. The park is huge and amazingly beautiful. Ponds with big, plump koi. winding paths. Statues of gods and priests with prayers taped to them by worshippers and visitors. (A friend told me once the monks collect the pieces of paper periodically to send the prayers to heaven. Are they burned? Is that correct? If anyone knows, please post.) I love the colors of the leaves in the fall, the dusting of snow in winter, the color of the plum and cherry blossom trees in spring, and especially the richness of the summer with the heavy humidity and lazy singing of the cicadas. I want to remember to bring a pad and sketch or paint one of these days.
Have you ever visited a place of religion at home or around the world that imparted such a feeling of spirituality and tranquility that it’s tangible? Where was it?
Here are some of the pictures of the surrounding park I took a few of weeks ago…
I love the way visitors dress up the gods with little hats and scarves so they don’t get cold. Those papers are the prayers/requests people leave.
The light looked so pretty coming through the trees. I need to get a better camera. This one’s 5 years old and only 3 megapixels. Oh, Santaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
I just received another new book cover & would love your comments! I’ll post it next–promise.
I’m thinking this will be a bit of a rant, but I’m overdue for a rant, don’t you think, seeing that I’ve not ranted one single time during the history of this blog…unless I don’t remember ranting, which is entirely possible with writing deadlines, teenagers, and jet lag distorting my reality…
Ahem. Onward to the topic of this post, which is, also uncharacteristic of this blog, a serious one.
Last night while flying home from Japan, I indulged in some pondering on an issue that has been bothering me for some time: the reputation of commercial airline pilots and why it is so poor. Cruising at 36,000 feet, I puzzled this out as I listened to radio chatter on 123.45, the VHF frequency used by pilots of all airlines to communicate about weather or turbulence ahead, who’s at what altitude and when they might be climbing. A China Air pilot could help you out just as easily as Virgin or another United plane. Last night as I listened, the pilot I was flying with jotted down notes and did math to get the most comfortable ride for the passengers as well as using methods to conserve fuel at the same time. Every half hour or so, I plotted our position on a chart, comparing it to where our GPS navigation said we were supposed to be, while keeping up with what the weather in San Francisco would be when we arrived. Hours on end, we did our jobs, like we do on every flight. But how many passengers in the back fretted that we might be sleeping in the seats, not paying attention, maybe even working off the drinks we downed prior to arriving at work?
Why would I think that? Well, I’ll tell you.
Flash back to a little over three years ago: I was in court before the judge who was deciding the matter of my divorce. A little background: I’m home a lot. I work as few as 8 nights a month, a luxury allowed by my seniority and an international schedule with long overseas flights as opposed to multiple domestic hops. But not everyone understands how our schedule works, and the judge made a few assumptions from the bench that weren’t accurate. So, I attempted to clarify. She stopped me, showing me the palm of her hand, and she sneered, “That’s okay. I know all about airline pilots.”
That stopped me cold. What did she mean? How did she know “all about airline pilots?” And what the hell was so sneer-worthy? But deep down I knew the answer. Airline pilots are rich playboys (or girls), cocky, risk-loving, and immature…if you believe the legend perpetuated by the pilot wannabe immortalized in the movie Catch Me If You Can. And it seems a lot of people do. We’re seen as sort of oily, lumped together with used car dealers and ambulance chasers. Of questionable morals, airline pilots are overpaid, under-worked prima donnas. Wherever did this perception come from? It makes no sense to me.
One would think there’d be respect for any profession where you are responsible for hundreds of lives, where you need to have a vast store of knowledge at the ready to use in a split second without warning and without hesitation, possibly under conditions simulating combat. I would think there’d be respect for anyone required to be a professional in their private life, too, taking care of the mind and body with decent rest and nutrition and exercise so as to be in top form for the rigors of air travel and all the crap that accompanies it, shifting time zones, working against the body clock, odd meal times, etc. Emergency room docs have that respect, so do police and firefighters, but not, apparently, commercial pilots. Why is that?
I remember just after 9-11 hearing everywhere I went the kudos and thanks going out to law enforcement and public safety officers, soldiers, too, people expressing their gratitude, which these heroes did deserve, but just once, once, it would have been nice to hear someone say thanks to the airline crews who had to leave their fearful families at home when it was time to go back to work, families worried for our safety as we climbed back into the planes in the chaotic weeks after 9-11. Getting the world’s transportation system back on its feet was just as important as security in many ways, but not once did I hear anyone comment on our courage in doing so. I don’t think people realized it? But hearing my youngest say before I went out the door that day, “Mommy, please don’t fly into any buildings,” was one of the most gut-wrenching things I ever had to experience.
Let me tell you how impressive your cockpit crew is on a typical flight. I hope it will reassure you the next time you board a plane. A big percentage of the pilots who bring you to places were military pilots, like I was. Some still are, serving in the reserves and the Air National Guard. Many more have advanced degrees. These are bright, bright people, the very best. Many could have been surgeons or engineers, but they chose to follow their love of flying. Though I think in coming decades you will see less of this. Aviation will no longer lure the best people. Faced with the decimation of salaries and benefits, the best will simply go elsewhere, where their skills will be properly compensated. Left manning your cockpit of the future will be the second tier. But that is a problem to be faced by our children’s and grandchildren’s generation, and it will be a problem someday, mark my words.
Speaking of the gutting of my profession, and please understand I am not complaining but only stating fact, I am now living on less than half the salary I earned in 2002. But my mortgage hasn’t changed. In fact, it has gone up. Expenses like groceries have, too. Let me just say that there are times it is a weeeeeeeeeeee bit tight in the Grant household, as I’m sure it is in many airline pilots’ homes, especially those 60+ year-old pilots who retired only to see their pensions go poof. At 46, I at least have some years to get some money saved, but they’re screwed, to put a fine point on it. But, I make it a policy not to lay awake at night worrying about what I can’t change. In fact, I often joke about it all because in black moments, humor is a lifesaver. In fact, my irreverence surfaced in a newspaper interview. (link may require a one-time, no obligation registration) The joke I made about the lack of furniture in my living room, something brought up by the reporter, not me, torched off a firestorm of hate mail. “You airline pilots are ungrateful,” wrote one man. “You should be happy you’re at least getting some retirement! (meaning $800 to live on as opposed to zero). Yeppers, I should be happy, a college degree from the USAF Academy, 25 years flying jets, 17 years with this company, and I should be happy to get a tenth of the pension I was promised. And how dare I joke about the lack of furniture, humor that somehow keeps me sane, as you, my blog readers, well know. “You are a spoiled brat,” ranted one woman–a pastor’s wife!–“You airline pilots are nothing but a bunch of whiners.”
In the end, the bitter anger on the part of the public directed toward my profession shocked me. Why is this? Like I said, I have no answers, only speculation. Why do you think this is? What is your opinion of commercial airline pilots? If it is negative, how did it get that way? Some say it’s been perpetuated by the airlines themselves, but that seems so diabolical. I’m just curious and will be interested in seeing any comments you care to leave!
I’ll close saying that despite some public opinion out there, I remain immensely proud of my flying brothers and sisters. I know what we do and how few people can do it. I know how good we are, how professional, and how much we value the lives of those we fly. With tens of thousands of aircraft taking off and landing every day, and with accidents so rare, I hope you take a moment to appreciate this, too, as we appreciate e
ach and every one of you who buys a ticket and trusts us to fly you there safely.
The last time I was in China, I heard about this bar. In the tradition of stringing together English words that apart are perfectly fine but together make no sense, it’s called the Merry Everyday Crying Bar (not to be confused with the Christmas Hotel in Narita, which with its black, painted over windows serves as a creepy place to have an affair with your office secretary…but I digress.) The Merry Everyday Crying Bar is where you go to, well, cry. It has a few tables, a sofa, and a whole bunch of boxes of glasses that the customers are encouraged to throw against the wall to vent their emotions. And if you’re not feeling quite sucky enough to cry, or your stiff upper lip prevents you from sobbing your heart out, the bartender has plenty of pepper or onion juice to speed things along.
Or the sad songs they play over the speakers might help.
It seems the proprietor used to run a matchmaking agency. Word has it that he met so many people suffering from broken hearts (not clear if this was his fault or not) that he got the idea in his head that his clients needed a place they could cry their eyes out, naturally…or onion-juice induced.
Who goes there? White collar workers with no other way to vent their pain, migrant laborers looking for an outlet for being treated badly, and airline employees without pensions (okay, taking fictional license with that last part). The bartender never charges the laborers for crying, though, even at a loss of income. They don’t earn enough to pay for the glasses, and besides, their sobbing adds to the atmosphere.
I heard of another new fad sweeping China: beating plastic figures that represent bosses, ex-spouses, or cheating lovers. Oooh, I like this one better. You could have a box with matches and gasoline (could get dicey, though, but there are no fire codes in China), and knitting needles, and pots of boiling oil. Vent all your frustrations for the price of a few drinks. Just think how great you’ll feel at the end of the night!
Think some enterprising entrepreneur should introduce this to the USA? How about a franchise? Who knows, the next Merry Everyday Crying Bar could be opening in YOUR neighborhood.
Hey. How d’ya like the blog’s new look? My web people “skinned” it for me to match the look of my website. Why do they call it that? Skinning? I cringe every time I hear it–picturing taking skin off chicken breasts. Bleck.
I’ve hardly had a chance to sit still since the end of July, thus the lack of blog posts. Plus, promoting YOUR PLANET OR MINE?, I’ve been everyone else’s guest blogger, it seems. With only a couple of days off between each overseas trip, I’ve been in recovery mode. I’m doing almost all my flying the first half of August to allow me to be home the last half of the month as my kids start public school for the first time.
So what country has been on the menu this month? Japan! Although I miss Sydney, the 3-day Narita trip has been proving a nice fit with my home life. There are fewer distractions like sightseeing and shopping. Eating, though, still proves a temptation.
But first, the Inquisitor.
So, this last Narita trip I show up only to find I am flying with one of the Inquisitors. (see my previous blogs on the Chamber of Horrors). 
Not only is the captain an Inquisitor, he’s more than just an instructor–he’s what’s known as a FAA Standards Captain, and is the most infamous of them all! But the Inquisitors, even Standards Captains, are also pilots, so they, too, need to keep up their flying currency, thus his appearance as the captain of my trip. I see his name before I see him. I want to flee. But what could I do? It was too late to call in sick. Plus, I needed the landing–on this particular trip, I was the FLYING first officer.
Much to my shock, the Inquisitor was a good guy! Somehow, he’d managed to leave the stench of evil back at the Chamber of Horrors and almost seemed to relish his freedom from the torture he inflicts on innocent pilots weekly in his job there. To my shock, as well, we had much in common, both of us USAF pilots during the 80s. Hours were spent reminiscing over the killing of brain cells on all those too-late Texas nights. His kids were of similar ages to mine, so we shared that as well. So, I’m thinking, hey, this trip is actually turning out to be FUN. When we arrived in Narita, we made plans to meet for dinner at The Bon.
As always, The Bon was packed with crewmembers from various airlines. We shared a table with a couple of Austrian Airlines flight attendants. I love this place. It’s a sort of an all-you-can-eat of Japanese food place, down a winding street near the temple in the village. On the downside, it was about 95 freaking degrees outside, even in the early evening, and even hotter in The Bon, where they cook the gyoza and chicken (and oddly, the french fries (see photo) on a fire grill.
Mopping sweat off my face with paper napkins, I devoured the food: salad for starters with corn and this delicious Asian dressing, followed by the first of what would be TWO platters of gyoza (pot stickers). They are the BEST gyoza of any restaurant foreign or domestic I have ever eaten. Sitting there, I consume so many, I fear I am about to pop like an over-fed goldfish. The Inquisitor watches me in horror, but I cannot stop. This feast is accompanied by chicken and vegetables, and of course, cold beer.
It was finished up by a quick stop at the Jet Lag Club:
Needless to say, I didn’t eat anything the next day. It’s two days later, and I’m still full. Ah, but it was soooo worth it.
What are some of your favorite places to eat–home or abroad? And what’s your favorite dish there?
