The marriage is off for EMI and Bertelsmann. By Bob Bahr Today we kick off a multi-part series authored by our intrepid foreign correspondent Bob Bahr. Armed with a Swiss Army Knife, a GPS, and a kit bag full of khaki hiking shorts, Bob takes on the Far East with only his wits and the paltry freelance wages we pay him. Between my hotel and Shinjuku Station is a noodle shop, a bit bigger than your typical Tokyo noodle stand. Dishes of soba and udon noodles are mocked up in lacquered plastic and displayed in a case, and inside are two machines that you slip coins in and push the appropriate button for your meal ticket.
Noodle shops are as ubiquitous, cheap, and informal in Tokyo as pizza joints are in New York City.
Not believing my luck, I ordered two dishes, one with the buckwheat soba noodles in a broth with scallions, and one with a dipping sauce and a sidecar of teriyaki-like beef and onions over rice. The other diners looked at me curiously. The trip was starting off well. I'd been fascinated by Asia for most of my life, and that curiosity had been boosted by all that I read as an adult in newspapers and magazines and what I saw in movies. But Asia is on the other side of the world.