I continue to love the t-shirting here. Nailing it.
School was boring. Did observations of classes in another language for eight hours, but mostly just tried not to fall asleep. I am frankly happy to be almost done with this leg of the trip.
Now I’m listening to reprehensible Japanese pop in a dirty little noodle stand that I chose using the worst possible criteria for choosing an eatery: proximity to my face. It’s probably going to give me dengue fever, and I’m probably not going to do this sort of thing in southeast Asia. It already seems like a terrible idea.
I ordered via machine vended ticket; is that weird? That’s weird. I want to go back and look for a picture of something in the whiskey family, but alas, I have some work to do for Portland Public Schools tonight. Procrastination rears its sober head.
The guy who looks like a poster child for a post-teen/still-angsted biker gang gives me rice. No thank you ever again on the rice. At least put some dead fish on it or something!
Oh my god, I take it all back- these noodles are delicious. I don’t even care about the hygiene questions I was just formulating; a lot can be forgiven when you factor in fluorescent lighting and fat, gooey ramen. Cup-o-Noodles can suck it.
I think I can already feel the MSG pouring out of my pores, but it’s worth it. Teaches me not to judge a cook by its cover…
A lesson I’ve quite enjoyed learning this meal.