luxury is watermelon in the summer

Korean summer is perfect for heavy chunks of sweet watermelon, noodles in ice broth, and honeydew-flavored ice cream bars. It's hot and muggy and when it's not raining, the sun beats down with single-minded ferocity.

Slowly, though, the heat is leaving us. Today the sky was clear and blue and the breeze was crisp and fresh. No sign of humidity or pressing warmth. It feels like school's about to start and soon I'll be having nightmares about not remembering my locker combination.

As fall comes in with its first baby steps I'm realizing how quickly the summer rushed past. June, July, and August blew by in waves with a few pauses for front page news... the death of another former president, or the opening of a demure little plaza called the "Dream of Seoul."



Former President Kim Dae Jung died of pneumonia on August 18 and just as Koreans had done when former President Roh died only a few months earlier, mourners paid their respects to their former president at alters set up around the country. One of these sites was at Seoul's City Hall where people waited in quiet lines under white tents for the opportunity to lay a flower under a large photograph of the deceased. Each individual then moved to a place in front of the alter where some remained standing and others bowed several times in succession.



The funeral ceremony in front of the National Assembly was attended by presidential delegations who remembered the Nobel Prize winner as Seoul's summer sun blazed above. At City Hall there were yellow balloons emblazoned with the face of this democracy activist and at the funeral even the highest ranking attendees wore paper visors made especially for the event.



Earlier in the month Seoul had celebrated the opening of a giant plaza where only months earlier there had been a simple median studded with trees. The transformation was lightning fast and incredibly successful. As soon as this new plaza with its fountains and statues and grand spaces for walking was opened, Koreans flocked to it and enjoyed their brand new public space.



Their enthusiasm was well-founded. Gwanghwamun Square is a great space and showcases the statue of Admiral Yi Sun-shin in a way that simple traffic rushing past never had. And the water that jumps from the ground, in lines and spurts, has become the country's most popular water park. No one seems to mind that it's sandwiched between ten lanes of traffic.

But now September's here and the summer is gone... which means it's time for another vacation.

the travelvore

Shanghai's soup dumplings changed my life. Or, if I'm going to be less dramatic about the whole thing, I could say that Shanghai's soup dumplings helped define a consistent inconsistency that has appeared in my eating habits over the past few years. It was over steaming baskets of these pork-filled delicacies that Stefano-ssi and I decided to call me a "travelvore."



My research (i.e. Eating food for 34 years) indicates that the eating habits of a "travelvore" can best be described as herbivore meets carnivore with a lot of air travel in between. Take the example of pork: I don't eat pork at home but when it's in a soup dumpling in Shanghai, I've resigned myself to eating it well before my plane lands in China. And standing in line waiting for a seat at a jam-packed soup dumpling restaurant doesn't make me reconsider my decision, instead it confirms that I'm in exactly the right place to break my no-pork rule.



If these dumplings could be found closer to home I might be tempted to fully convert to carnivore; you could say the same thing about melt-in-your-mouth Italian prosciutto. But thankfully, and unfortunately, the authenticity of such pleasures tends to decrease as the distance from their birthplace grows. And so I eat San Daniele prosciutto with abandon in Milano and stand in line for soup dumplings in Shanghai.



Some of us travel for the eating and in the case of soup dumplings - or xiao long bao - the flight is worth it. These delicate pouches of soup and pork are tiny and fragile and if you're too rough with your chopsticks you'll breach the core and the salty rich insides will be lost. If you're lucky, the broth might dribble into your vinegar dish or the spoon you're supposed to be holding under the dumpling at all times, and you'll be able to recover the delicious liquid. If you're not so lucky, it'll slip through the slats of the steamer basket never to be slurped again.



The dumplings are made by wrapping minced pork and solidified broth into a tissue-thin dumpling skin. When the packets are steamed, it not only cooks the pork but melts the broth, turning it into a mouthful of boiling hot soup. These dumpling are usually made to order and should arrive steaming hot to the table. You're supposed to bite a small steam vent into the top of a dumpling - rather than eating it whole - and once some of the heat has escaped you can suck out the broth and eat the dumpling. The entire experience is a sort of wonderful culinary magic.



In Shanghai it's easy to find great food from China's other regions as well, including Sichuan cuisine which is known for its slow burn. We had dinner in the garden of one Sichuan restaurant and both enjoyed the tongue-numbing pleasures of a large pile of shrimp snuggled with dried red peppers. While the effects eventually faded they weren't helped by my room temperature cucumber juice which was somehow not as refreshing as I'd hoped.



We also waited "just one moment" [translation: just one hour] to eat in a local place that a friend recommended. It was void of tourists and worth the wait mostly for the people watching and an excellent eggplant dish that reminded us of a vinegary Italian capponata. We also tried another type of pork dumpling, this one with thick breading and a bottom that was deep fried and crispy, and coated in sesame seeds.



Shanghai's reputation for incredible food is well-deserved, as is commentary about the breakneck pace of development and the resulting particulate cloud that hangs across large swaths of the city. Walking just a few blocks here will not only leave you with dust in your mouth from multiple construction sites, but will show you Shanghai before, after, and in-between.



The cutting-edge skyscrapers are some of the world's tallest and looking across the HuangPu River (ignoring the construction along its shore) is like staring into the face of any American skyline, all lights and twinkle and modern pride. The city's parks are top notch and reminiscent of New York's Central Park in their function as a green mirage at the center of a bustling city. There are also the architectural reminders of Western powers that in the second half of the 19th century opened Shanghai to international trade. Largely art nouveau, these formal buildings stand out like three-dimensional urban graffiti where European visitors scrawled out "we were here" in bricks and mortar.



Leave behind the skyscrapers and formal promenades and in ten minutes you'll be walking through narrow-street neighborhoods with clothes on laundry lines, men balancing chicken cages on motor bikes, and women selling lethargic frogs out of mesh bags. Young women wash their hair at the curb, men in pajamas and rain boots clack pieces across checker boards, and an old couple eats the insides out of a watermelon they've cracked open with their hands.



Children on tiptoe take turns dunking their faces in a bowl of water, grub vendors count their merchandise with tweezers in one hand and a cell phone in the other, and no one thinks about the bullet train that shoots visitors into the city from the airport at 400 kilometers per hour.



This is a city jammed with personality and if you smile, people smile back. It's in stark contrast to the stoic posture of Beijing where the pressing weight of several thousand years of history, culture and government have squeezed the gaiety out of the city. By contrast, Shanghai feels happier, lighter, and more international. With great food. The perfect place for a travelvore.



[Note: When we landed in Shanghai and the captain turned off the "fasten seat belts" sign, we were not allowed to leave the plane. Instead, we had to wait for our official welcome party to board. Composed of several people in hazmat outfits the group went up and down the aisles pointing large laser guns at each passenger's forehead. If your bangs were in the way, they made you move them. If you were sleeping, they didn't even wake you up. The laser guns were thermometers and the hazmat brigade took every single person's temperature before they would let the plane disembark. Reportedly, if anyone within 3 rows of you came down with swine flu, you would get quarantined right along with them. It's this sort of thing that reminds you you're in China.]

the people's memorial

The eeriest thing about the memorial ceremony for former President Roh last Friday afternoon was the silence. There were thousands of people filling the streets in every direction and the only thing you could hear was the ceremony.

Anyone who's spent more then five minutes in Korea knows that this is not a place where people whisper, or murmur, or talk quietly because they're worried the world might hear the gory details of their conversation. No, this is a place that screams and grunts and shoves.



But the memorial service was quiet. Admittedly it was not without gentle shoving and Stefano-shi took a jab to the kidneys when he was moving too slowly for the ajumma behind him. But, the thing that it had in the greatest supply - aside from yellow sun visors - was quiet.



Seoul's downtown streets were closed to traffic and people who weren't standing in the streets were sitting along the curbs under garlands of yellow balloons emblazoned with Roh's face. Everyone was wearing yellow sun visors with his face printed on the brim and hearts cut out of the sides. Again, if you've spent any time in Korea, you know there's a sizable portion of the population that prefers to minimize its contact with the sun, and a memorial service is no exception.



We'd arrived at this part of the city on foot and when we came across our first intersection crowded with people instead of cars everyone was looking in a single direction. At first we couldn't see what they were looking at, but eventually we noticed their eyes were glued to one of the many giant TV screens on the top of Seoul's office buildings. This screen was broadcasting live coverage of Roh's official funeral which was taking place at Gyeongbokgung palace. Once that ceremony was complete the ex-Presidents body would be brought to City Hall for what was described as the people's memorial. The people's memorial was what the people in the streets were waiting for.



President Roh had never gone to college yet he passed the equivalent of the Korean Bar Exam and was elected to several public offices, culminating in the presidency. His modest background garnered him a loyal following and these people came out in force to pay their respects. Memorial shrines popped up across the country after his death including the two that we saw on Friday. One was in front of the Seoul Train Station and the other was outside the gate to Deoksu Palace. At both memorials there were portraits of President Roh, white chrysanthemums (the traditional Korean funereal flower), and a line of people waiting to bow before the memorial.



The memorial ceremony at City Hall was performed on a stage to the side of the main green and was broadcast on large screens above the plaza. It appeared to be a traditional Korean ceremony and incorporated traditional dress and costumes, music, dance and dramatic readings. We stood in the street watching from a distance, seeing the action unfold on the giant screens. No one said a word and people around us cried quietly as they watched.



There weren't many Westerners in the mix and we were roaming around for at least an hour or more before we saw any non-Koreans among the throngs. Despite the size of the gathering it still felt intimate enough that when we finally turned to leave (before the ceremony had finished) it felt a little awkward to face everyone still watching the Memorial and walk through the crowd.



Regardless of the charges against former President Roh or his decision to jump off a mountain rather than face them, you could tell that he was an important man to Korea and its people. The silence, more than anything, made that very clear.

hong kong high life

Hong Kong is all about tall skinny buildings sprouting out of an island, and somehow it manages to be the home of both I.M. Pei architecture and butchers in flip flops. This city is a most excellent jumble of food, shopping, and personality and while the prices could be better, the vibe's about perfect.



In 1997 the United Kingdom returned Hong Kong to China, and since that time Hong Kong has been referred to as a "Special Administrative Region" of China and has its own flag and government, and freedom of the press. But it is still very Chinese. Rather than obliterating Chinese culture, the U.K. instead seems to have spent its decades in Hong Kong folding western appreciations into the eastern mix.



Hong Kong resembles a petite New York. It's a city that's easy to navigate on the subway and for all of its slick skyscrapers and banking acumen, its neighborhoods are where Hong Kong's personality really lives. Made up of Hong Kong island, Kowloon on the mainland, and the new territories, it's more than a single place and the people who live here can tell you about each area's specific nuances.



For a visitor, especially one from Seoul, it's amazing to see the amount of foreigners who live in Hong Kong. In fact there are areas of town where if you were to be dropped in blind-folded you would sooner guess you were in New Orleans than Asia. There's a real mix of people in this city and it produces an energy that I haven't felt elsewhere.



There's also the danger that comes with countries where cars drive on the "other" side of the road. At pedestrian crossings warnings of "Look Left" or "Look Right" are painted at your feet and I find that the quickest way to place yourself in the path of an oncoming truck is to look down and start reading the road.



Hong Kong is also like Beginner's China where your arrival is a gentle one. Things make easy sense to the Western mind but the personality of the place is still pleasantly new. Start your day with the view over Victoria Harbor. Wander through the bird market where vendors count out wriggling grubs with a pair of tweezers and a steady hand.



Eat spicy food and egg custard tarts. Drink tea from vendors along the sidewalk. Wait until sunset and then go to a rooftop bar where the highrises are level with your Campari and soda. Later swing back down for drinks in the nooks and crannies of the city.



I'd be happy to go back to Hong Kong. I love it's scraggly apartment buildings and the way all scaffolding is made of bamboo. I love the eating and the shopping. And I love the way the incense coils smell as they burn.



'Cause there's nothing that says vacation like incense wafting through a temple and food so spicy your mouth burns.

spring lights

Buddha's birthday is one of the biggest holidays of the year in Korea and its celebration would be nothing without light. Acres of lanterns and entire parades bloom from the glow of a zillion bulbs and flickers.



At this time of year Seoul's streets are hung with lanterns and temple courtyards are swathed in giant quilts of color. While the blanket of decorations is not as thick as the Christmas décor that sprouts in the U.S. after Thanksgiving, the extra color definitely stands out. Spring is a fleeting sensation in Seoul and quickly gives way to a suffocating summer, so the colorful decorations are just one more reason to love the season while it lasts.



Buddhist temples host street fairs and cultural festivals in honor of the holiday and everyone flocks to these events. Buddhists come to celebrate the religious holiday; other Koreans come to join in the fun; and tourists come to explore a colorful part of Korean culture. You will rarely see as many Westerners out in Seoul as at the Buddha's Birthday celebration. And for good reason - if you're in Seoul, this is considered a not-to-miss event.




Seoul's lantern parade, which winds it way through downtown every year, celebrates Buddha's birth with a gentle wave of light. Women in traditional dress carry large glowing lanterns. Flames shoot out of the dragons' mouths. Tiny blinks of light trace the outlines of elephants, lotus flowers, and everything else that is pushed or pulled along the route.



The atmosphere is festive and families line the streets waving and snapping photos. For the second year in a row there was a threatening drizzle as the parade began - resulting in some of the participants wearing plastic ponchos over their traditional attire - but the real showers never came.



The parade is always great fun; think Fourth of July meets the Disney Light Parade. Kids are happy, adults are happy, and occasionally a happy band marches past. It's also a great crash course in Korean tradition. Participants wear traditional outfits, play traditional instruments, and embody traditional characters.



And gigantic dragons breath real fire. Really, what more can you ask for?

tick tock tokyo

Tokyo is a giant wristwatch of a city and somewhere behind its ordered face there are interlocking layers of new technology and human drama propelling the city forward. But on the surface the focus is on lines; lines that are straight and lines that are diagonal. Lines that are as regular as the minute marks on a watch.



The populace moves at a regulated urban rhythm that looks a lot like time-lapse photography, all starting and stopping and coming and going. Anywhere else and this action could bleed into a blur, a swirl, a mess of the human form running headlong into itself and others - but not in Tokyo.

In Tokyo you wait in line for the ATM and you wait in line for the train. You wait in line next to the girl in the kimono who is behind the girl in the stiletto heels. And then someone gets in line behind you.



For an outsider, the city's order is a surreal dream that makes perfect sense while remaining utter nonsense. You don't know what the signs say, what the announcements are announcing, or how to communicate with most of the thousands of people surrounding you.



But you still know where to stand. It's as if everyone within the city limits is regularly swept up by Tokyo's minute hand and dropped perfectly into their place, which just happens to be in line with everyone else.

tokyo sidewalks

Tokyo is a buzzing beehive of a city, right up there with New York and London except with less diversity. Make that a lot less diversity: no one is overweight and no one left home without first looking in the mirror.



Take me to Tokyo to see men who dress like this. Show me red blazers and striped pants. Bold black glasses and bags that stand out in the crowd. In a city so criss-crossed with life and energy and blinking signs five-stories tall, these flashes of style bring you right back down to earth.



But the show comes flying past fast. And if you're not quick with the camera you'll only get a memory, because these guys don't dawdle - they swagger.

and tokyo makes 10

Locals may say otherwise but to an outsider Tokyo is all about organization and order, and when it comes to marathons the city does not disappoint. In fact, the only disappointing thing about the race was my left knee. And even that didn't stop me from finishing, although I'd give it credit for a damn solid effort.

Tokyo was a great place for a tenth marathon and felt suitably eventful. People kept asking me why I wasn't running the Seoul marathon instead of heading all the way over to Tokyo - but that was exactly the point. I wanted to go somewhere and make my tenth race something more involved than stepping out the front door. So, we hopped on a plane bound for Tokyo, onto a $30 bus bound for the city, and into an I'll-choke-if-I-write-it-down priced hotel overlooking the race start. Yes, overlooking the race start - because while Tokyo may be good at planning races, Stefano-shi is excellent at planning trips.



That being said, no one can prepare themselves for their first encounter with the Tokyo subway system. It's a thing of wonder, not only because the Japanese actually stand in line to wait for the next train, but because there are so many trains, and train lines, and station exits. Shinjuku station - the closest station to our hotel - is one of the busiest train stations in the world and it looks the part. Two million people pass through the station every day and it has around 50 exits. That's 50 ways to exit this station alone...



The day before the race we successfully, if perhaps a bit slowly at first, used the subway to get to the race expo. It was your standard marathon expo with vendors and samples and running-related merchandise, but it did differ from the usual race expos in one way: it shared the convention center with a manga (aka comic book) convention. And while it was fairly easy to distinguish between who came for the comic books versus who came for the marathon, the teenage girls could really throw you off. Apparently the dreams of awkward adolescent boys everywhere have come true in Japan where everyone, including fashionable young ladies, loves comic books.



We went to Italy for dinner the night before the race - apparently you can do these things in Tokyo. We actually went to Eataly, an Italian restaurant and gourmet food store in Tokyo's Daikanyama neighborhood. This place deserves any praise it gets. If I closed my eyes as we ate, I was back in Milan; their food is incredibly and deliciously authentic. We had a pizza margherita which was perfect (I thought I was back at Gamba Rotta on Via Moscova), and pasta with pesto reminiscent of meals we've had in Genoa. There is no doubt that this meal qualifies as one of my finest carbo-loading efforts in a long history of carbo-loading efforts. (Note: Carbo-loading before the Rome Marathon shall remain in a category all its own.)



Come race day morning I simply rolled out of bed and across the start line. Of course it was a little more complicated than that but not by much. I was one of some 35,000 people running the race so it was a pretty festive start with a great mass of people all moving in a single direction. It's always a thrill to be in a massive crowd that shares the same goal of forward motion. Some of us will take four hours, others will take two, but we all take the same path through the same rain or sun or shooting knee pain.

Alas, unfortunately the shooting knee pain was specifically for me. I don't really know what happened but at 35 kilometers my left knee stopped wanting to participate. I'm not really one for stopping or quitting so I just kept trudging along, alternating between the ultra-effective techniques of foot dragging and body lurching. (Think Swamp Monster exiting the lagoon.) I'm sure it was especially attractive along the highway overpass + bridge combination which was near the end of the race. A lot of marathons have these grim passages toward the end of the route and the only thing they're good for is reminding the human body that it's a lot harder to run uphill than on a flat surface.



Up to that point, though, it had been a good race. Stefano-shi made excellent use of the subway system and found me at two pre-determined locations along the route. There were also a lot of runners in costume to provide distraction, especially after the drizzle started halfway through. I spent a fair amount of time running behind a man wearing a towel and a shower cap who would sporadically squeeze a yellow rubber ducky at the crowd, and spent a few miles behind Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Also, due to the never-ending cheering of Japanese spectators, and because it sounds a lot like "shrimp" in Italian, I learned the word for "GO!" in Japanese.

I was ecstatic when I reached the finish line but also a bit cold since the weather had been steadily deteriorating. It was solidly grey and rainy when I finished and I was looking forward to my race "towel," whatever it turned out to be. Before the race we'd all received race packets replete with motivational advice such as: "For the first few kilometers, you had better run like warming up. No need to panic and be prepared for start in a relaxed manner." Having experienced this sort of English I was certain that the souvenir towel promised to race finishers would actually be the standard Mylar wrap, but no, it was an actual towel! Not bad at all.



After the finish line hoopla and medal-receiving, Stefano-shi found me and saved me from a long walk back to the family reunite area. Saving the ten minutes of wandering around looking for your family makes a big difference when you just want a hug and a piece of floor to sit on. Not only did I get a hug, and a place to sit on a folding table, but I also got a bowl of udon at a great fast noodle place by our hotel.

Not a bad way to end the day, and a 10th marathon.