The general tone and intent of this post is to acknowledge the severity of recent events on the Korean peninsula while keeping their overall scope in perspective… at least as I see it from my corner of Korea.
First, the very reality that I am writing this post confirms that, of course, nothing physical or immediately logistical in nature has occurred to me personally from the events. Second, I think it is important that I let the less informed readers understand what has occurred on a South Korean island in the disputed region between North and South Korea. Saying that, I would like to avoid making my blog a political rostrum while maintaining the cultural integrity of the content.
I was informed sometime around 6:00 PM yesterday that an artillery attack was made by North Korea, at around 2:30, on the island of Yeongpyeong, situated in a part of the Yellow Sea that was the site of an alleged North Korean sinking of a South Korean ship during the summer. However, unlike the previous incident in which North Korea denies any blame for, this attack was unequivocally a strike from North Korean artillery. Because the aggressor was, on this occasion, indisputable, South Korea responded by launching a number of aircraft to return fire on the entrenched guns on the North Korean coastline. Additionally, unlike this summer’s incident, the attack was targeted at civilian buildings. The result was the death of two Korean soldiers as well as two civilians, so far counted.
Aggressive acts taken by North Korea, both discretely and in plain view, are not unprecedented in the history of North and South since the close of the Korean War and the armistice that concluded it. However, what makes this event strikingly different from previous ones is three major factors: 1) the attack was deliberate and with clear intent, 2) South Korea retaliated with force of arms in direct response 3) the attack incurred both military and civilian casualties.
As I gather, the civilian destruction and casualties are the greatest factor in explaining South Korea’s stance on the situation which, as articulated by President Lee Myung-Bak, demands “enormous retaliation.” At the moment, the US has made troops readily available and pledges its continuous support to South Korea but remains, for now, unwilling to taking action beyond the diplomatic realm. Similarly, Japan supports South Korea but is suing for a diplomatic resolution while China, characteristically though frustratingly, is “concerned” about the situation and is waiting for further information before it takes any kind of stance of its own. China, though, is the linchpin in the whole situation as the only country that remains sympathetic in, any way, to North Korea’s brinkmanship.
As it stands now, there is a lot still up in the air and it is difficult to determine the consequences that can be expected in the future. On one end, North Korea’s attack is nothing unusual to its typically irrational and extreme approach towards gaining a political foothold as a failing and starving nation among more stable and powerful states. North Korea’s radical measures, flag shipped by this event and the recent revelation of a new uranium-enrichment program that is now underway, are the only bargaining chips the country can muster to turn bigger heads of the world. Still, the magnitude of the circumstance makes it not unreasonable to consider the escalation of hostilities to a degree that could become difficult if not impossible to control. I think the next few days and weeks will do a great deal in giving us a sense of the that course this event will send the nations involved on.
With that being said, as I try to pull myself from the discussion to avoid any unneeded political punditry, I am sitting here in my apartment on a Wednesday, typing away and it is business as usual. While I my lingual ineptitude might not make me the most accurate of gauges for this kind of thing, it seems like the whole city is still business as usual. I’ve been in contact with my friend that I met up with in Seoul and her message to me last night, in her effective and competently written though mildly basic English, she explained to me that “Korea is dangerous because of N. Korea.” She is right, and to be honest, there might be a greater deal of concern for people in Seoul who reside just below the 38th parallel. However, this part of the conversation took place right after her distress over Korea’s loss in the semi-finals to the UAB during Asian Games going on right now. I had actually been watching the game myself and I had never seen Korea play such fancy soccer and miss so many golden opportunities as the team that absolutely should have won. Luckily, we got to watch Korea demolish Saudi Arabia (nothing against Saudi Arabia, I just have a special place for Korea in my heart) in handball, which was really pretty awesome. Either way, the overall concern in Korea, at the moment, remains mildly alert without any real change in attitude or daily activity.
In other news, my training for my half marathon here in Gwangju is going more or less smoothly. It hasn’t really been much more than maintaining what I’ve built up to since the past two marathons. There hasn’t really been any time to do much else. I have two fellow colleagues chalked to do it along with me and I think we might be able to expect a solid degree of support from the good people at LCI. I go in with zero expectations, knowing that I’m at the tail end of my marathoning “season” and that because this is my first half it means I’m just posting a time for me to beat in the future. My real concern after this race is keeping up my training with the cold weather getting worse and no real race in front of me until either the half at Rutgers in April or the full in Pittsburgh in May----Oh, that’s right, you heard it right, I’m making advanced plans in…wait for it…America. Pretty cool, huh? The one other bit of Marathoning news occurred today when I got a phone call from Seoul, in the morning, regarding the Joongang Seoul Marathon. As it turns out, I took 2nd place in the 20-29 age group, which entitles me to a gift certificate to New Balance(unfortunately a brand I refuse to wear) and a jacket. I’m not sure what the jacket will look like but it’s free so I’m excited.
At school, we have to go in for a couple of hours for parent/teacher conferences on Saturday morning. Being that this is my second year around this stuff is all old hat, of course and it will be nice to have an excuse to tame my weekend down a little bit -especially after Chris’ Birthday Extravaganza last weekend, which was awesome but I am getting too tired to write about.
Well, that should do it for now.
For the time being, all is (relatively) quiet on the Eastern Front.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
RUNS TO RUNS
HAPPY PEPERO DAY! I am sure most of you are current with the latest commercial holidays instituted in Korea during the past two decades or so but, for those of you in the dark, allow me to explain. Pepero, originally, was simply a baked, cookie-like stick dipped two thirds of the way in chocolate. However, since its inception, it has experienced an expanded field of incarnations including, but not limited to, the traditional Pepero format but dipped in chocolate with chopped almonds, the basic Pepero stick on the outside with chocolate filling on the inside, as well as a number of chocolate dip variations such as strawberry and raspberry.
From what you have just learned about Pepero I am certain that many of you already drawn the conclusion that an entire day would, inevitably, be dedicated to these innovative morsels and, of course, you would be right. Though I have done little research of my own to delve into the origins of this holiday, I was informed by a colleague of mine that the idea for the holiday was given life when a group of school girls made the bold declaration that they would strive to be as thin as the confected sticks they held in their possession. Though their logic was, perhaps, mildly flawed, these Susan B. Anthonys of delightful treats had fluttered the wings that would eventually amount to the indomitable tempest that Pepero Day has become.
From modest and misguided beginnings, Pepero is now a living, breathing behemoth of a commercial holiday. It dwarfs Valentine’s Day in shameless exploitation of romantic protocol by corporate institutions. At no time in my life have I seen a single company, so single-handedly and so absolutely claim rights to an entire day. With a skeleton history to base itself upon, the Pepero think tanks have embedded the memory of their artificial anniversary into the minds of the masses by declaring November 11th the day of devotion to decadence- a stroke of genius from the “Mad Men” of Seoul to take advantage of 11/11 which recalls the image of four sticks of Pepero standing neatly in a row. While I sound cynical of Pepero Day, I am actually just as indifferent to is as I am to Valentine’s Day. I think it’s a nice idea but am somewhat jaded by the reality of its origins. Either way, I have another year’s supply of Pepero at my desk and am about 40,000 won poorer for the effort. It’s well worth a few smiles on a random Thursday.
If I remember correctly, and I do remember correctly because I have the post available to me right above this one, I was last recorded discussing my experience at the Gyeongju International Marathon. Since then, I have run the Seoul International Marathon over the most recently passed weekend. This is the same marathon that I ran last year where I recorded a less than laudable 3:16:52. Though I didn’t perform as well as I had hoped last year, I was still happy to have done it as my first marathon in Korea and enjoyed the company of my entourage which included a number of friends who have since departed Korea, Sarah, Aiden and Tina along with my indispensable Korean savvy comrade, Charles, who remains in my company.
This time around I made the journey alone and to no fault of my ever-stalwart friends back here in Gwangju. First of all, most of them came out to watch me during my triumphant effort in Gyeongju. Second of all, Seoul has a way of being really expensive no matter how cheap you try to make it. Third, marathons are pretty cool to people who run them but aren’t always that thrilling to those watching it, with the exception being, maybe, the few moments out of three hours that they get to see their friend passing by.
I arrived at the marathon with mixed emotions and intents. I was satisfied with my performance in Gyeongju but also recognized that I was in a rare position to carry my success to even greater heights by being only three weeks removed from my last one. A good part of me considered taking it easy and enjoying the race, which is something I have never let myself do and probably won’t be able to bring myself to do until I get much older, but, in the end, I decided to go out and see what I could make happen,
Though my bib number entitled me to nothing more than a spot in the fourth and last corral at the start, I utilized some Korean-style pushing and managed to position myself close to the front of the race. When the race started I acted ambitiously and thrusted myself toward the head of the procession. The thought in my mind was that in Gyeongju I was somewhat hesitant to put myself too far forward just to let it slip but this time I knew I had it in me and wasn’t going to back down from the challenge. This approach gave me increasing confidence as I systematically improved my overall position among the masses during the first 10 to 15 kilometers. Though the weather was a bit overcast, the conditions were actually very suitable for the prolonged run the 12,000 of us would be undertaking. The first 10 kilometers offered me the promise I had hoped for and the strength in my legs was as evident then as it was at .001 kilometers. However, my single qualm was that I could detect a substantial amount of activity within my intestinal complex that made me concerned for what may come. At the time, the consequence was only a degree of discomfort and I was able to, more or less, push it from my mind to concentrate on more important things. Unfortunately, that struggle to keep everything at bay for the duration was given up around kilometer 19 when I submitted to the reality that I would have to make a pit stop before I could venture into the back 20 kilometers of the 42 kilometer scamper. **Let it be noted, as it can be corroborated by a number of eyewitnesses, I have repeatedly confessed that my greatest fear in a marathon is to be afflicted with some kind of intestinal malady that would force me to take my soles off the pavement, knowing that it would mean the death of my best possible time** Sure enough, this considerable inconvenience evolved into catastrophe when I finally stopped to inquire about the nearest facilities. My appeal was answered by a less than interested police officer who responded by walking down the side street he was patrolling at a stroll that looked leisurely if not entirely oblivious to the urgency of the situation. As I followed the officer at a slow jog and implored him to move more quickly he finally reached a series of doors and proceeded to inspect each one for access- no dice. In my mind, I offered the man a thanks for doing exactly what I could have done, only quicker and directed my attention elsewhere to find help. Finally, I was directed by a middle-aged man further up the street where, after a few small incidents, I found my way to a bathroom which, to my great fortune, was western style and fully equipped with toilet paper. I was able to quickly get over the fact that after some frantic searching I was unable to find a light switch and resigned myself to doing business in the dark.
Following my surreal experience in abyssal darkness with my running delirium playing tricks on me while I could hear the ethereal voices of some sort of old lady choir in the next hall, I removed myself from my peculiar environs and put myself back in the race. When I returned to the foray my heart sank as I thought it would. When I had left the race, I was among the thinning lines of the front runners of the race- where I felt like I should be. When I came back I was right back among the throngs of three hour and three hour ten marathoners. While a 3:10 marathon is nothing to sniff at, I knew it was below what I was capable of. Returning to the course, I confronted the second half of themarathon in a dark mood, discontent brimming within. As I got back into it, I was so demoralized and disappointed that I began surging ahead with little concern for the long term and focusing only on running the regret out of me. I would later get a chance to see the runners I had been alongside before the travesty as they doubled back on the return trip of the course so as to compound my disenchantment with my potential breakout day.
Knowing that my loftiest of prospects for the day were in ashes, I began to concentrate on simply breaking the three hour mark. Now, only one marathon prior, I would have been perfectly content with that aspiration but, once achieved there is no benefit to hoping for redundant accomplishments.
The rest of the marathon actually went rather smoothly. The notion of being competitive was clear from my mind and what remained was a plan to cruise to the finish line. I was more comfortable and confident than I have ever been so late into a race and there was no crisis of faith that is frequently present in the final stretches of the race. In fact, in Gyeongju, I had begun to fear that, around mile 22, I had used everything up and I had completely blown my chances. However, as I came to final four kilometers of the race in Seoul, I began to experience a familiar feeling that I was so dreading up until then. As my body is want to do, when it tries to take care of business during a run (up until now this scenario had only occurred during training) it typically fails to tie up loose ends and eventually has to deal with it at a later time. This instance was no different and with a fraction of the marathon remaining my eyes began to scour my surroundings for reprieve to my discomfort. I could feel my pace slacken with the increase of discomfort that my body felt and I was becoming desperate. Luckily, because I failed to find anything that resembled a bathroom I forced myself to the finish line without further incident.
When I looked up at the time, I was certain I had read something to the tune of 3:02. For only the second time in my nine marathons (Boston being the other instance where I ran the worst marathon of my career), I crossed the line with a noticeable look of disappointment. While I was, as anyone should be, happy to have finished the marathon, I was left with a day of empty expectations. Knowing that I had actually put myself pretty close to the start of the marathon at the beginning, I didn’t expect my net time to be too far off from my gun time. The reality set in that I had even failed to achieve my secondary goal by what I expected to be a matter of seconds.
I exited the race as I did last year and as, I believe, you do at most Korean marathons with no pageantry or excitement. I walked through a small tent where they gave me small bag of snacks and my medal and out into an ordinary day in Seoul with atypically sore legs and a viscerally defunct body.
Though the day remained overcast, my spirits couldn’t stay so for long. This was true on account of two things. First, it is morally reprehensible to be dispirited after successfully running 26.2 miles and second, I was on my way to meet a friend that I hadn’t seen in quite some time from our trip to Jeju-do.
Though I was nervous to meet her because it had been so long since I had seen her and I knew that her English wasn’t terribly comprehensive and my Korean was even less so, I knew it was worth the effort to give it a try.
Because of certain pressing matters, my friend Jeong Eun was unable to meet me when we had first planned which proved to be a windfall for me as it gave me more time to resolve my intestinal unrest. Also, I happily learned later that I was important enough for Jeong Eun to inform her workplace that she would be arriving late on account of yours truly. When we did finally meet, my stomach (as per usual after a marathon) was not up to receiving anything too solid so we went to a coffee shop and caught up. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that our hodgepodge exchange of English and Korean proved relatively effective and, while there were moments of confusion, it turned out to be a very enjoyable afternoon. I was a little sad to finally have to say good-bye and make way back to the far off reaches of Gwangju by the end of it and already look forward to the chance of meeting up again. While I recognize that distance, language and time (I am heading back to the states in five months) render anything serious from emerging from our relationship, I am happy that I’ve had the chance to get to know her thus far.
Later, the day brightened more in a bittersweet way, when I received a text message from the Seoul Marathon that I had, in fact, run a 2:56:23 that day. I was very pleased to discover that I had broken three hours after all but as I thought further I realized that it is a certainty that I would have had personal best if I hadn’t met with difficulty during the race. In a way, I was rewarded a 2:56 for a sub-2:50 effort. The disappointment is palpable but I have to remind myself that this gives me a good reason to be more confident in my ability in the future.
Besides the marathon, preparations for our 2010 Graduation production are underway. My songs are set and my story is written. While I have no desire to divulge the details of this theatrical masterpiece before it is properly released to the public, I can say a few things. Because I have met with such success in the No-Rae-Bangs (Karaoke Rooms) singing “Africa” by Toto, I pretty much designed my entire graduation around it. I also finagled a Bon Jovi song into the works (Blaze of Glory) as an homage to my class’ namesake-Princeton- the Ivy of New Jersey.
Also, we recently had our annual Family Hiking Day with all the family’s of our kindergarten students during a Saturday in October. While it’s called a Hiking Day it really is much more of a Field Day. It comprises of a short trail walk where teachers are strewn throughout the course hosting various games for the kids to play before we all congregate in an open field where more challenges of physical strength and dexterity take place. While days like this mean we have to work during a Saturday one weekend, I actually look upon them with a degree of welcome appreciation. Events like this are the one time that I have the chance to be with my kids without any disciplinary strings attached which has a great deal of impact on how I interact with this year’s class. Though I have grown to really enjoy this year’s Princeton class, one of our major issues remains discipline which can frequently prevent me from showing my most cheerful and spirited side. For once, I had a chance to just play with my kids and let them do, pretty much, whatever they wanted. On top of the that, the weather was extremely accommodating and the park where it took place is nestled very picturesquely within the mountains, beside a small lake and happened right as the leaves of Autumn began their yearly prismatic transformation.
That, for most part, brings things up to speed. November looks to be a lean month for me as I cut back my spending for our trip to Beijing which has already been booked. We expect that the weather will be fiercely adverse to our foreign enterprise during the last week of December but being as it is my last break in the Orient for the foreseeable future I can’t turn my back to the Beast of the East. Also, next weekend is Chris’ birthday so expenses are even more uncertain though it might make for some good stories. Only time will tell.
Until then, America...
From what you have just learned about Pepero I am certain that many of you already drawn the conclusion that an entire day would, inevitably, be dedicated to these innovative morsels and, of course, you would be right. Though I have done little research of my own to delve into the origins of this holiday, I was informed by a colleague of mine that the idea for the holiday was given life when a group of school girls made the bold declaration that they would strive to be as thin as the confected sticks they held in their possession. Though their logic was, perhaps, mildly flawed, these Susan B. Anthonys of delightful treats had fluttered the wings that would eventually amount to the indomitable tempest that Pepero Day has become.
From modest and misguided beginnings, Pepero is now a living, breathing behemoth of a commercial holiday. It dwarfs Valentine’s Day in shameless exploitation of romantic protocol by corporate institutions. At no time in my life have I seen a single company, so single-handedly and so absolutely claim rights to an entire day. With a skeleton history to base itself upon, the Pepero think tanks have embedded the memory of their artificial anniversary into the minds of the masses by declaring November 11th the day of devotion to decadence- a stroke of genius from the “Mad Men” of Seoul to take advantage of 11/11 which recalls the image of four sticks of Pepero standing neatly in a row. While I sound cynical of Pepero Day, I am actually just as indifferent to is as I am to Valentine’s Day. I think it’s a nice idea but am somewhat jaded by the reality of its origins. Either way, I have another year’s supply of Pepero at my desk and am about 40,000 won poorer for the effort. It’s well worth a few smiles on a random Thursday.
If I remember correctly, and I do remember correctly because I have the post available to me right above this one, I was last recorded discussing my experience at the Gyeongju International Marathon. Since then, I have run the Seoul International Marathon over the most recently passed weekend. This is the same marathon that I ran last year where I recorded a less than laudable 3:16:52. Though I didn’t perform as well as I had hoped last year, I was still happy to have done it as my first marathon in Korea and enjoyed the company of my entourage which included a number of friends who have since departed Korea, Sarah, Aiden and Tina along with my indispensable Korean savvy comrade, Charles, who remains in my company.
This time around I made the journey alone and to no fault of my ever-stalwart friends back here in Gwangju. First of all, most of them came out to watch me during my triumphant effort in Gyeongju. Second of all, Seoul has a way of being really expensive no matter how cheap you try to make it. Third, marathons are pretty cool to people who run them but aren’t always that thrilling to those watching it, with the exception being, maybe, the few moments out of three hours that they get to see their friend passing by.
I arrived at the marathon with mixed emotions and intents. I was satisfied with my performance in Gyeongju but also recognized that I was in a rare position to carry my success to even greater heights by being only three weeks removed from my last one. A good part of me considered taking it easy and enjoying the race, which is something I have never let myself do and probably won’t be able to bring myself to do until I get much older, but, in the end, I decided to go out and see what I could make happen,
Though my bib number entitled me to nothing more than a spot in the fourth and last corral at the start, I utilized some Korean-style pushing and managed to position myself close to the front of the race. When the race started I acted ambitiously and thrusted myself toward the head of the procession. The thought in my mind was that in Gyeongju I was somewhat hesitant to put myself too far forward just to let it slip but this time I knew I had it in me and wasn’t going to back down from the challenge. This approach gave me increasing confidence as I systematically improved my overall position among the masses during the first 10 to 15 kilometers. Though the weather was a bit overcast, the conditions were actually very suitable for the prolonged run the 12,000 of us would be undertaking. The first 10 kilometers offered me the promise I had hoped for and the strength in my legs was as evident then as it was at .001 kilometers. However, my single qualm was that I could detect a substantial amount of activity within my intestinal complex that made me concerned for what may come. At the time, the consequence was only a degree of discomfort and I was able to, more or less, push it from my mind to concentrate on more important things. Unfortunately, that struggle to keep everything at bay for the duration was given up around kilometer 19 when I submitted to the reality that I would have to make a pit stop before I could venture into the back 20 kilometers of the 42 kilometer scamper. **Let it be noted, as it can be corroborated by a number of eyewitnesses, I have repeatedly confessed that my greatest fear in a marathon is to be afflicted with some kind of intestinal malady that would force me to take my soles off the pavement, knowing that it would mean the death of my best possible time** Sure enough, this considerable inconvenience evolved into catastrophe when I finally stopped to inquire about the nearest facilities. My appeal was answered by a less than interested police officer who responded by walking down the side street he was patrolling at a stroll that looked leisurely if not entirely oblivious to the urgency of the situation. As I followed the officer at a slow jog and implored him to move more quickly he finally reached a series of doors and proceeded to inspect each one for access- no dice. In my mind, I offered the man a thanks for doing exactly what I could have done, only quicker and directed my attention elsewhere to find help. Finally, I was directed by a middle-aged man further up the street where, after a few small incidents, I found my way to a bathroom which, to my great fortune, was western style and fully equipped with toilet paper. I was able to quickly get over the fact that after some frantic searching I was unable to find a light switch and resigned myself to doing business in the dark.
Following my surreal experience in abyssal darkness with my running delirium playing tricks on me while I could hear the ethereal voices of some sort of old lady choir in the next hall, I removed myself from my peculiar environs and put myself back in the race. When I returned to the foray my heart sank as I thought it would. When I had left the race, I was among the thinning lines of the front runners of the race- where I felt like I should be. When I came back I was right back among the throngs of three hour and three hour ten marathoners. While a 3:10 marathon is nothing to sniff at, I knew it was below what I was capable of. Returning to the course, I confronted the second half of themarathon in a dark mood, discontent brimming within. As I got back into it, I was so demoralized and disappointed that I began surging ahead with little concern for the long term and focusing only on running the regret out of me. I would later get a chance to see the runners I had been alongside before the travesty as they doubled back on the return trip of the course so as to compound my disenchantment with my potential breakout day.
Knowing that my loftiest of prospects for the day were in ashes, I began to concentrate on simply breaking the three hour mark. Now, only one marathon prior, I would have been perfectly content with that aspiration but, once achieved there is no benefit to hoping for redundant accomplishments.
The rest of the marathon actually went rather smoothly. The notion of being competitive was clear from my mind and what remained was a plan to cruise to the finish line. I was more comfortable and confident than I have ever been so late into a race and there was no crisis of faith that is frequently present in the final stretches of the race. In fact, in Gyeongju, I had begun to fear that, around mile 22, I had used everything up and I had completely blown my chances. However, as I came to final four kilometers of the race in Seoul, I began to experience a familiar feeling that I was so dreading up until then. As my body is want to do, when it tries to take care of business during a run (up until now this scenario had only occurred during training) it typically fails to tie up loose ends and eventually has to deal with it at a later time. This instance was no different and with a fraction of the marathon remaining my eyes began to scour my surroundings for reprieve to my discomfort. I could feel my pace slacken with the increase of discomfort that my body felt and I was becoming desperate. Luckily, because I failed to find anything that resembled a bathroom I forced myself to the finish line without further incident.
When I looked up at the time, I was certain I had read something to the tune of 3:02. For only the second time in my nine marathons (Boston being the other instance where I ran the worst marathon of my career), I crossed the line with a noticeable look of disappointment. While I was, as anyone should be, happy to have finished the marathon, I was left with a day of empty expectations. Knowing that I had actually put myself pretty close to the start of the marathon at the beginning, I didn’t expect my net time to be too far off from my gun time. The reality set in that I had even failed to achieve my secondary goal by what I expected to be a matter of seconds.
I exited the race as I did last year and as, I believe, you do at most Korean marathons with no pageantry or excitement. I walked through a small tent where they gave me small bag of snacks and my medal and out into an ordinary day in Seoul with atypically sore legs and a viscerally defunct body.
Though the day remained overcast, my spirits couldn’t stay so for long. This was true on account of two things. First, it is morally reprehensible to be dispirited after successfully running 26.2 miles and second, I was on my way to meet a friend that I hadn’t seen in quite some time from our trip to Jeju-do.
Though I was nervous to meet her because it had been so long since I had seen her and I knew that her English wasn’t terribly comprehensive and my Korean was even less so, I knew it was worth the effort to give it a try.
Because of certain pressing matters, my friend Jeong Eun was unable to meet me when we had first planned which proved to be a windfall for me as it gave me more time to resolve my intestinal unrest. Also, I happily learned later that I was important enough for Jeong Eun to inform her workplace that she would be arriving late on account of yours truly. When we did finally meet, my stomach (as per usual after a marathon) was not up to receiving anything too solid so we went to a coffee shop and caught up. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that our hodgepodge exchange of English and Korean proved relatively effective and, while there were moments of confusion, it turned out to be a very enjoyable afternoon. I was a little sad to finally have to say good-bye and make way back to the far off reaches of Gwangju by the end of it and already look forward to the chance of meeting up again. While I recognize that distance, language and time (I am heading back to the states in five months) render anything serious from emerging from our relationship, I am happy that I’ve had the chance to get to know her thus far.
Later, the day brightened more in a bittersweet way, when I received a text message from the Seoul Marathon that I had, in fact, run a 2:56:23 that day. I was very pleased to discover that I had broken three hours after all but as I thought further I realized that it is a certainty that I would have had personal best if I hadn’t met with difficulty during the race. In a way, I was rewarded a 2:56 for a sub-2:50 effort. The disappointment is palpable but I have to remind myself that this gives me a good reason to be more confident in my ability in the future.
Besides the marathon, preparations for our 2010 Graduation production are underway. My songs are set and my story is written. While I have no desire to divulge the details of this theatrical masterpiece before it is properly released to the public, I can say a few things. Because I have met with such success in the No-Rae-Bangs (Karaoke Rooms) singing “Africa” by Toto, I pretty much designed my entire graduation around it. I also finagled a Bon Jovi song into the works (Blaze of Glory) as an homage to my class’ namesake-Princeton- the Ivy of New Jersey.
Also, we recently had our annual Family Hiking Day with all the family’s of our kindergarten students during a Saturday in October. While it’s called a Hiking Day it really is much more of a Field Day. It comprises of a short trail walk where teachers are strewn throughout the course hosting various games for the kids to play before we all congregate in an open field where more challenges of physical strength and dexterity take place. While days like this mean we have to work during a Saturday one weekend, I actually look upon them with a degree of welcome appreciation. Events like this are the one time that I have the chance to be with my kids without any disciplinary strings attached which has a great deal of impact on how I interact with this year’s class. Though I have grown to really enjoy this year’s Princeton class, one of our major issues remains discipline which can frequently prevent me from showing my most cheerful and spirited side. For once, I had a chance to just play with my kids and let them do, pretty much, whatever they wanted. On top of the that, the weather was extremely accommodating and the park where it took place is nestled very picturesquely within the mountains, beside a small lake and happened right as the leaves of Autumn began their yearly prismatic transformation.
That, for most part, brings things up to speed. November looks to be a lean month for me as I cut back my spending for our trip to Beijing which has already been booked. We expect that the weather will be fiercely adverse to our foreign enterprise during the last week of December but being as it is my last break in the Orient for the foreseeable future I can’t turn my back to the Beast of the East. Also, next weekend is Chris’ birthday so expenses are even more uncertain though it might make for some good stories. Only time will tell.
Until then, America...
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
"THONING IN KOREA
THE ‘THON- OCTOBER 19
So I did my best to avoid to build up the marathon I just ran because I had some I high expectations and I felt like if I fell short it would have been more difficult to endure if other people had also been expecting big things. Fortunately, things panned out and the race went rather well. Having been rather disappointed with my first attempt at a Korean marathon in Seoul last year and soundly discouraged in the wake of my more recent Boston Marathon effort, I took to training for this marathon with increased conviction.
My choice for this marathon was pretty much made on the basis that it gave me an excuse to travel to another city for a weekend. I was told by English friend, Terry, that Gyeongju was a beautiful city with plenty to do. Based on my research, I also learned that it was hub for Korean culture, dating as far back the 7th Century when Korea was, more or less, actually governed by Koreans. It is considered an “open air museum” because much of the city is comprised of preserved architecture from the aforementioned century. The reviews and guides I read promised my fill of temples, palaces, monuments and memorial landscape. Now, all these things were available, but it should be noted that Koreans were, apparently, not terribly ambitious in their architectural aspirations. There was a great deal of classic Korean buildings and the like which really is nice to look at but can also be found in Anycity, Korea.
With an experience in Seoul the year before as an indication of what to expect at a marathon in a Korean city, I was able to convince a couple of my friends to accompany me on a trip to Gyeongju about a month before the actual race. First, it gave us the opportunity to spend more time to check out things worth seeing rather than feeling limited by necessity of making the proper arrangements that are characteristic of the day before a big race. Second, it allowed me to get a sense of the city and to get a better understanding of what I would be getting into when I came back in three weeks for the real deal.
The pioneer excursion was a success though a bit of a let down. Gyeongju is, by all definitions, a beautiful city by merit of the panoramic mountainscape that surrounds its dozy confines. It also has plenty of things to see in the way of cultural edification. However, none of it was overly impressive or terribly intriguing. There was a fortress advertised somewhere in the city that we spent a good deal of times seeking out only to discover that it was little more than a big hill with some intentionally placed rocks here and there. We sought out an observatory that boasts the label of “Firs Observatory in Eastern Asia” but when we actually saw it became clear why they felt it necessary to build more after this one. It essentially looked like an oversize rook-piece from a chessboard and couldn’t have been much taller than twenty-five feet. We also got to see a large number of tumuli- burial mounds- that housed the remains of some pretty storied fellows from old dynasties but just like the temples I’ve seen in Korea and Japan, they become pretty redundant pretty fast. In no time they became as unremarkable as the countless corner marts that litter all Korean urban locales. The one saving grace for these massive burial hills would have been if we could climb them but, as you might expect, that was STRONGLY discouraged if not forbidden. We had no desire to step on any toes, living or dead, so we kept to the roads and paths. Still, the weather was beautiful and our trio rented bikes which permitted us to cruise the extremities of the city with relative ease. Additionally, we had the chance to experience the “Gyeongju Smile” that the city flaunts and actually does have. While I don’t find people in Gwangju to be, in any way, unfriendly people, the people in Gyeongju are exceedingly kind and approachable. On top of that, we were even greater novelties there than in the “backwaters” of Gwangju which made us the topic of many surprised and excited outbursts from passers-by.
With our second arrival to Gyeongju being a little more purpose-driven, we spent most of Saturday making plans and getting a more comprehensive sense of where I would need to be and what I would need to do before the 26.2 began. After the proper arrangements were made, we cabbed it out to our hotel which was not within the proper city limits. You may want to note here that I did, in fact, say hotel as opposed to a motel or a hostel. This choice was made based on our first hostel experience the month before. While I don’t believe myself picky, I could safely say that the hostel we stayed in was pretty much the worst one I have seen in my travels, with the motel we stayed in in Busan the night before that taking a close second. That is not to say that I wouldn’t stay at these places again for the sake of budgeting, but knowing that I would want to feel comfortable and have a good night’s sleep we splurged for the upgrade. Fortunately, this elevation in quality of our sleeping quarters didn’t demand a huge rise in expenses because we split a two bed room among four occupants.
After we had settled into our room, my traveling companions, Cody and Chris, and I decided to scope out the nearby attractions. As it happened to be, the hotel we were staying in was in proximity of two major sites that we had omitted from our previous trip because of their distance from everything else. The rest of the day was spent taking in some culture and entertaining ourselves with puerile antics that struck us and onlookers alike as particularly foolish within the context of our deeply reverent and somber surroundings.
Our brief stroll through Korean history met with an unnecessarily long quest for a suitable race-night dinner. I have to mention now that this has become a theme for us when looking for places to eat in cities other than our own. Though the streets of any Korean city are riddled with small shops and restaurants, we always have difficulty finding one that really piques our interest. The reality is that while there is a restaurant around every corner, they all serve the same things and that is just unacceptable when we think that being in a new place entitles us to food that is unlike that which we eat everyday back here at the ranch. Unfortunately, our prolonged plodding led us to a typical Korean restaurant that served us average food at a more expensive price. Regardless, the remainder of the night put us back in the hotel with minimal event saving the eagerly awaited arrival of our fourth, Lindsay, who had already bused it to Seoul earlier that day before making it our way that night. We just relaxed, watched Iron Man and regrouped the big show the next day.
Accepting that Korea is ever-waiting with a curveball to confound my most elaborate plans, we rose with the sun in the morning to make sure we had enough time to throw together a contingency plan I necessity demanded it. I remain extremely grateful that my support crew endured the early morning without any grumbles and even a good deal of enthusiasm to ensure that spirits were high from the start. Breakfast was a bit of a debacle because Korea doesn’t understand bagels and when I thought I had found one it proved to be a doughy ring filled with sweet, red bean paste, which is a Korean confection that I have spent the last year and seven months avoiding. Luckily, a colleague of mine had given me a Snickers Marathon Bar the Thursday prior that she had asked a friend to send from America for my benefit. Again, yet another moment where I was extremely appreciative of the support of others during this undertaking. Salvaging my need for sustenance with the marathon bar it was only a few trips to the port-a-john and some last minute pictures before I was in the corral and awaiting the start of my eighth marathon.
For the majority of the race, I could feel all the months I spent training start to pay off and I felt confident and strong. There were even moments and here and there, during the race, that I could actually feel my heart leaping at the prospect of finally busting 3 hours. I was in good spirits for about two thirds of the race, confident until until about mile 22 but notably worried as I struck out into the last four miles and began to think that I was losing it and that I would spoil everything I just spent two and half hours working on. At that point, I simply looked forward, focused my gaze and weathered the storm.
The result… a 2:51:45 and an implied invitation to the exclusive corrals of New York City in November (provided I can have my time reported from Korea to NYRRA).
At moment, I am writing from my apartment with the briskness of autumn peeking through my window and a soreness in my calves that reminds me of Sunday’s activity. Other than that, I am enjoying a couple of days away from rigors of training before I get back on the asphalt to carry my momentum back to Seoul for marathon number nine. While I recognize that running another marathon three weeks after I just finished one is ill-advised in most cases, I registered for this one as safety new in case this one didn’t meet my expectations. Now, with the results in, I can rest my legs for a little bit and get back into the mix with the confirmation that my body as at the point I need it to be. I imagine by race time I’ll be approaching this race with equal parts relaxed surety and eagerness to take my race to the next step. It probably won’t be decided until mile 20 whether I am going to really push on this one or just put it in cruise control as a race to send me quietly into the marathon dormancy of winter. I’m excited to see what happens.
For now, I think Johnny Walker might be calling me for a nightcap before I hit the hay and contemplate getting back and pounding the pavement tomorrow.
Also, if the guys and I do everything right I should know where I’m heading for winter vacation by my next post. If I don’t, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was looking at another wintry week in Korea. At the moment, the leading contenders are the cold but cultural China or the sunny but more distant Vietnam.
Don’t let the bed bugs bite, America.
So I did my best to avoid to build up the marathon I just ran because I had some I high expectations and I felt like if I fell short it would have been more difficult to endure if other people had also been expecting big things. Fortunately, things panned out and the race went rather well. Having been rather disappointed with my first attempt at a Korean marathon in Seoul last year and soundly discouraged in the wake of my more recent Boston Marathon effort, I took to training for this marathon with increased conviction.
My choice for this marathon was pretty much made on the basis that it gave me an excuse to travel to another city for a weekend. I was told by English friend, Terry, that Gyeongju was a beautiful city with plenty to do. Based on my research, I also learned that it was hub for Korean culture, dating as far back the 7th Century when Korea was, more or less, actually governed by Koreans. It is considered an “open air museum” because much of the city is comprised of preserved architecture from the aforementioned century. The reviews and guides I read promised my fill of temples, palaces, monuments and memorial landscape. Now, all these things were available, but it should be noted that Koreans were, apparently, not terribly ambitious in their architectural aspirations. There was a great deal of classic Korean buildings and the like which really is nice to look at but can also be found in Anycity, Korea.
With an experience in Seoul the year before as an indication of what to expect at a marathon in a Korean city, I was able to convince a couple of my friends to accompany me on a trip to Gyeongju about a month before the actual race. First, it gave us the opportunity to spend more time to check out things worth seeing rather than feeling limited by necessity of making the proper arrangements that are characteristic of the day before a big race. Second, it allowed me to get a sense of the city and to get a better understanding of what I would be getting into when I came back in three weeks for the real deal.
The pioneer excursion was a success though a bit of a let down. Gyeongju is, by all definitions, a beautiful city by merit of the panoramic mountainscape that surrounds its dozy confines. It also has plenty of things to see in the way of cultural edification. However, none of it was overly impressive or terribly intriguing. There was a fortress advertised somewhere in the city that we spent a good deal of times seeking out only to discover that it was little more than a big hill with some intentionally placed rocks here and there. We sought out an observatory that boasts the label of “Firs Observatory in Eastern Asia” but when we actually saw it became clear why they felt it necessary to build more after this one. It essentially looked like an oversize rook-piece from a chessboard and couldn’t have been much taller than twenty-five feet. We also got to see a large number of tumuli- burial mounds- that housed the remains of some pretty storied fellows from old dynasties but just like the temples I’ve seen in Korea and Japan, they become pretty redundant pretty fast. In no time they became as unremarkable as the countless corner marts that litter all Korean urban locales. The one saving grace for these massive burial hills would have been if we could climb them but, as you might expect, that was STRONGLY discouraged if not forbidden. We had no desire to step on any toes, living or dead, so we kept to the roads and paths. Still, the weather was beautiful and our trio rented bikes which permitted us to cruise the extremities of the city with relative ease. Additionally, we had the chance to experience the “Gyeongju Smile” that the city flaunts and actually does have. While I don’t find people in Gwangju to be, in any way, unfriendly people, the people in Gyeongju are exceedingly kind and approachable. On top of that, we were even greater novelties there than in the “backwaters” of Gwangju which made us the topic of many surprised and excited outbursts from passers-by.
With our second arrival to Gyeongju being a little more purpose-driven, we spent most of Saturday making plans and getting a more comprehensive sense of where I would need to be and what I would need to do before the 26.2 began. After the proper arrangements were made, we cabbed it out to our hotel which was not within the proper city limits. You may want to note here that I did, in fact, say hotel as opposed to a motel or a hostel. This choice was made based on our first hostel experience the month before. While I don’t believe myself picky, I could safely say that the hostel we stayed in was pretty much the worst one I have seen in my travels, with the motel we stayed in in Busan the night before that taking a close second. That is not to say that I wouldn’t stay at these places again for the sake of budgeting, but knowing that I would want to feel comfortable and have a good night’s sleep we splurged for the upgrade. Fortunately, this elevation in quality of our sleeping quarters didn’t demand a huge rise in expenses because we split a two bed room among four occupants.
After we had settled into our room, my traveling companions, Cody and Chris, and I decided to scope out the nearby attractions. As it happened to be, the hotel we were staying in was in proximity of two major sites that we had omitted from our previous trip because of their distance from everything else. The rest of the day was spent taking in some culture and entertaining ourselves with puerile antics that struck us and onlookers alike as particularly foolish within the context of our deeply reverent and somber surroundings.
Our brief stroll through Korean history met with an unnecessarily long quest for a suitable race-night dinner. I have to mention now that this has become a theme for us when looking for places to eat in cities other than our own. Though the streets of any Korean city are riddled with small shops and restaurants, we always have difficulty finding one that really piques our interest. The reality is that while there is a restaurant around every corner, they all serve the same things and that is just unacceptable when we think that being in a new place entitles us to food that is unlike that which we eat everyday back here at the ranch. Unfortunately, our prolonged plodding led us to a typical Korean restaurant that served us average food at a more expensive price. Regardless, the remainder of the night put us back in the hotel with minimal event saving the eagerly awaited arrival of our fourth, Lindsay, who had already bused it to Seoul earlier that day before making it our way that night. We just relaxed, watched Iron Man and regrouped the big show the next day.
Accepting that Korea is ever-waiting with a curveball to confound my most elaborate plans, we rose with the sun in the morning to make sure we had enough time to throw together a contingency plan I necessity demanded it. I remain extremely grateful that my support crew endured the early morning without any grumbles and even a good deal of enthusiasm to ensure that spirits were high from the start. Breakfast was a bit of a debacle because Korea doesn’t understand bagels and when I thought I had found one it proved to be a doughy ring filled with sweet, red bean paste, which is a Korean confection that I have spent the last year and seven months avoiding. Luckily, a colleague of mine had given me a Snickers Marathon Bar the Thursday prior that she had asked a friend to send from America for my benefit. Again, yet another moment where I was extremely appreciative of the support of others during this undertaking. Salvaging my need for sustenance with the marathon bar it was only a few trips to the port-a-john and some last minute pictures before I was in the corral and awaiting the start of my eighth marathon.
For the majority of the race, I could feel all the months I spent training start to pay off and I felt confident and strong. There were even moments and here and there, during the race, that I could actually feel my heart leaping at the prospect of finally busting 3 hours. I was in good spirits for about two thirds of the race, confident until until about mile 22 but notably worried as I struck out into the last four miles and began to think that I was losing it and that I would spoil everything I just spent two and half hours working on. At that point, I simply looked forward, focused my gaze and weathered the storm.
The result… a 2:51:45 and an implied invitation to the exclusive corrals of New York City in November (provided I can have my time reported from Korea to NYRRA).
At moment, I am writing from my apartment with the briskness of autumn peeking through my window and a soreness in my calves that reminds me of Sunday’s activity. Other than that, I am enjoying a couple of days away from rigors of training before I get back on the asphalt to carry my momentum back to Seoul for marathon number nine. While I recognize that running another marathon three weeks after I just finished one is ill-advised in most cases, I registered for this one as safety new in case this one didn’t meet my expectations. Now, with the results in, I can rest my legs for a little bit and get back into the mix with the confirmation that my body as at the point I need it to be. I imagine by race time I’ll be approaching this race with equal parts relaxed surety and eagerness to take my race to the next step. It probably won’t be decided until mile 20 whether I am going to really push on this one or just put it in cruise control as a race to send me quietly into the marathon dormancy of winter. I’m excited to see what happens.
For now, I think Johnny Walker might be calling me for a nightcap before I hit the hay and contemplate getting back and pounding the pavement tomorrow.
Also, if the guys and I do everything right I should know where I’m heading for winter vacation by my next post. If I don’t, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was looking at another wintry week in Korea. At the moment, the leading contenders are the cold but cultural China or the sunny but more distant Vietnam.
Don’t let the bed bugs bite, America.
Monday, October 4, 2010
LIFE NOW…
Recognizing that my last post was, in fact, over a year ago I address my readers penitently. A lot of things have happened since I last wrote in here and I have even been home to share some of my stories with friends an family, in the mean time. It’s been a rollercoaster and I’ve been happy to be aboard through it all. Life has only improved since my last entry as my second year introduced me to a new level of comfort. It was strange for me to leave America after two weeks and realize that I was actually getting back to my “regular life” as I did so. My Korean speaking has improved to a passable level though I constantly engender fits of laughter when they hear my outrageous accent and broken attempts at sentences. Things are pretty easy over here and the temptation to remain for longer rears itself from time to time, only to be squashed by the prospect of becoming so ingratiated in this lifestyle that going back home becomes impossible. As it is, I return to my role as scribe with a seemingly unsubstantial five months remaining on my tour of duty. This second year has progressed with extreme haste and I suspect that it will continue to do so as my severance from this country draws nigh. Thus, I commit myself with a greater conviction to chronicle my waning days as an expat in the Orient.
The most uncanny aspect of my second year here is the return of similar seasons, events and holidays that have already been experienced once within the my Korean surroundings. These yearly milestones that were once viewed with a degree of naïve intrigue have now turned the slightest pang of nostalgia and a great deal of “old-hattedness”. Though it’s only been a year, it goes a long way towards differentiating the mindset of someone like myself and someone who has only been here for a few months.
The food has managed to finally make a noticeable dent into my diet. I have long abandoned the struggle to maintain some semblance of an American eating regimen and, in some ways, have gained in this loss. Every so often I hear foreigners talk about how great Korean food is and, to be sure, it has a fair number of dishes that are rather enjoyable but my overall take on the situation that it has a lot of middle of the road food that, to its credit, edges toward the side of healthy.
Around the time I was leaving for the states, to run Boston and see friends and family, I was actually growing rather tired of the tedium of Korean cuisine. As you might expect, a large portion of the food is dominated by healthy servings of rice coupled with an assortment of vegetables but even the efforts at flavor err on the side of monotonous. For the most part, they only have a handful of flavoring ingredients based in either soy beans or chili peppers which is tasty but uninventive. The result is a lot of dishes that are spicy, salty or both and are filling but far from being terribly noteworthy. Most of the meals blend and meld with one another and become almost indistinguishable. Additionally, the notion of breakfast is, in a word, foreign to them and can only be found in few locations and is usually sub-par and overpriced (one Jersey bagel would knock this nation’s socks off). When I finally had the chance to eat food that wasn’t Korean, back home, I fell on the opportunity with incredible vigor. The chance to have pizza without shrimp and sweet potato, any form of Mexican food, a worthwhile steak at a reasonable price, a decent sandwich of any sort and even a beer that didn’t make Coors Light look like an inspired ferment is not something to sniff at when you spend a year in Gwangju- three and half hours from Seoul and anything remotely international.
Oddly enough, when I prepared to return to Korea, after my two weeks, I found myself almost excited to have the chance to get back to my rice-based diet. I don’t think this was because I was overly enthusiastic about any particular dishes but more because Korean food is an acquired taste- a taste that I had unknowingly and gradually developed during my time here. Since then, I have acquiesced to the simplicity of the food here, learned to deal with the absence of breakfast foods, avoided western-style food that will only disappoint and remind of what I’m missing, reasserted my college-like indifference toward bad beer and actually come to embrace certain aspects of their approach towards food, like putting egg on and in everything and using tuna as a primary protein in a great deal of meals. Now, while memories of hitting that wall of redundant rations still lingers I have come to appreciate what is currently available to me.
I’m still soaking up my celebrity status as the doppelganger of…well… any Caucasian male who has ever been on Korean television and wowing the locals with my patchwork Korean. While, in Seoul, foreigners are abundant enough to be counted as just another quantity, we still remain a novelty in the more traditional surroundings of Korea.
This is a double-edged sword.
The peculiarity of seeing someone who doesn’t have an Asian appearance frequently leads to a difference in treatment. Far from being disrespectful, most people in the city are intrigued at the sight of seeing something different and are often extremely friendly and willing to help you and interact with you. It’s rare that a day doesn’t go by where someone looks at you in passing and comments with a “Hello! How are you?” and occasionally, if you respond properly, an “I’m fine, thanks and you?” More often than not, they aren’t terribly interested in how you respond to this question as much as they are in just seeing that you respond. Either way, while occasionally a bit tiresome, these occurrences are rather enjoyable (though a number of other expats over here might disagree). Still, even as I grow more accustomed to the culture and attempt to assimilate in certain ways, so as to appear conciliatory to their lifestyle, and even attempt to address them in their language, that same notion of novelty remains an enduring barrier between you and the rest of the country. Arguably, in a direct contrast to the American tradition, having foreign origins ensures that you will always be on the outside, looking in. In a culture so deeply rooted in family traditions, there will always be an element of Korean life that remains relatively untouchable to a foreigner. In all reality, an expat teacher could settle in here and live a relatively comfortable life but, no matter how long he or she stayed, they would still be a foreigner in their country. While it has been far from condescending or even unkind, this is the closest thing I’ve come to something like discrimination. While I use that word, I think I risk putting a very negative image in my reader’s mind so allow me to illustrate a very common, though very harmless, instance where this comes into play:
There are times when we will walk into a restaurant, sit down and while we see chopsticks in abundance around us, we will be served the few forks they have hidden in the pantry with assumption that chopsticks are beyond our ability. Then, should we be at a Korean barbecue restaurant, where, yet again, everyone is carrying on with their grills, independent of any outside aid, the man in charge will not hesitate to relinquish us of the necessary grilling tools and proceed to cook it for us. Yes, this actually sounds rather accommodating of him, and it is, but it assumes we are unable to distinguish the dark brown of a cooked piece of meat and the bright pink that is typically associated with uncooked meat. Finally, Koreans will frequently aim to protect us from the fire and fury of spicy Korean food. They will frequently insist that some of the foods in front of us are very spicy and advise that we don’t eat it. This, of course, is usually right around the time that my compatriot, Chris, takes the biggest chili sitting on the table and thrusts it, headlong, into his mouth and then endeavors to consume it with as little as sign of discontent as possible to make his point. While much of Korean food is pretty spicy, Koreans seem to think they have the spiciest food in the world and that it is impossible to conceive that people of other nations may have experienced spicy things themselves.
None of this is really all that big of a deal but rather observational. These are mostly just superficial qualms but serve to demonstrate, to a degree, the image Korea has of foreigners.
While I feel like anyone who might be reading this is probably more interested in the cultural aspects of my experience rather than my time spent at work I will just take a moment to catch everyone up on my newest class acquisition for the year.
Our new year began in March and I have a dozen new kids in the Princeton Class of 2011 and I think I would be making a gross understatement if I said that this year’s class is a bit more work. I actually find most of my class enjoyable and do genuinely like every one of them, but I have a few tikes that give me a touch of trouble. One of them, Ralph, who looks, acts, talks, thinks and grunts like someone aptly named Ralph would, is actually pretty awesome. His only drawback is that, sometimes, he’s not always all there. He’s a glorified version of that student who will eat anything in front of him, given enough time free of supervision. Yet, as testament to his good nature, he is pretty much the class mascot and there isn’t a soul in the class who would ever root against him. Unfortunately, two of my other rapscallions have somewhat meaner streaks. Though they are both good kids, they have a voracious desire for attention and will use a wide range of means to acquire it. I have been lucky enough that they are typically in contention with one another and tend to go off the deep end in alternating sequences. If one of them is acting badly the other one wizens up and is savvy enough to take this chance to seem like the fair-haired child. Generally speaking, I describe the dynamic of these three with my Whack-a-Mole metaphor. I’m always busy with one of them and as soon as I take care of one I’m already bringing my hammer to knock down another (not literally folks, we’re working in metaphor here). Not to go into too much detail but during one of our most recent escapades, one of the latter two boys was in a right surly state and was in no mood to accept pedagogical criticism. After some window climbing, pencil and eraser grabbing and general tom foolery we reached a point where my boy Johnny was so full of vinegar that he had taken to taking running starts from the other side of the room and attempting to bowl me over. This was an acceptable state of affairs for the time being because it kept him occupied while I could continue trying to get through my books with the rest of the class. However, seeing that his efforts were in vain, it came about in his mind that the best course of action was to up the ante. This about the time the he grabbed a nearby chair, rose it above his head and prepared to take another running start. Two things occurred in rapid sequence at this point. First, I could see this boy was angry and he thought he meant business. Second, I saw that this was a guy who had run out of ideas. Knowing that we’ve had a few situations beforehand that ended badly for him(discipline-wise) I was able to talk him down from the “ledge” so to speak and when the mania had passed from his eyes we had one of our many talks and parted ways with yet another mutual accord. When it comes down to it, I remain thankful that these guys still fit the “Whack-a-Mole” model because if they ever organized and went into league with each other I think Princeton class would have some dark days ahead. As of right now, it’s just unfortunate but I’ve had to be slightly heavier handed with my discipline than I did last year, which is just something I don’t enjoy.
With the intent to get people up to speed in pieces with these new installments of S&L I think I will leave it at that and just bullet point some general things going on.
At the moment, I’m on the closing end of my training for a marathon in Gyeongju on October 17th and I’m pretty ready for the race to get here. After running Boston at home and performing unsatisfactorily, I’ve had a bit of a chip on my shoulder and I’m ready to get back into the mix. The marathon is in a city that Korea calls it’s “open air museum” because much of it is preserved monuments and such from the first millennium. We actually checked it out for the first time a couple of weeks back during Korean “Thanksgiving” which was an interesting trip that I just might write about, if the audience is up for it, at a later date. Either way, generally speaking, the city was situated in some pretty beautiful countryside and the sites were pretty interesting but I think it can be somewhat encapsulated in the observatory that was touted as the first observatory to be built in East Asia but didn’t stand much taller than 30 feet- mildly unimpressive.
Also, we’re in the festival season for Gwangju. The city is pretty famous for it’s Kimchi festival in late October and, while it’s not quite Oktoberfest, since I neglected to go last year because it coincided with the Kia Tigers winning the Korean Baseball Series, I plan on taking a look and seeing what I can see. The Tigers had a rough go of it this season and ended up coming just short of the playoffs so I shouldn’t have to worry about any important games getting in the way.
Oh, and if anyone could send word to the Rutgers Scarlet Knight’s Football teams could you let them know I haven’t forgotten them over there and they can start playing good football at any point I would really appreciate it.
A special thanks goes out to those who weathered the 1-year drought of posts. I will be returning to my blogging duties with the utmost vigor this time around. Not rushing to get out of here but, five months and counting
Recognizing that my last post was, in fact, over a year ago I address my readers penitently. A lot of things have happened since I last wrote in here and I have even been home to share some of my stories with friends an family, in the mean time. It’s been a rollercoaster and I’ve been happy to be aboard through it all. Life has only improved since my last entry as my second year introduced me to a new level of comfort. It was strange for me to leave America after two weeks and realize that I was actually getting back to my “regular life” as I did so. My Korean speaking has improved to a passable level though I constantly engender fits of laughter when they hear my outrageous accent and broken attempts at sentences. Things are pretty easy over here and the temptation to remain for longer rears itself from time to time, only to be squashed by the prospect of becoming so ingratiated in this lifestyle that going back home becomes impossible. As it is, I return to my role as scribe with a seemingly unsubstantial five months remaining on my tour of duty. This second year has progressed with extreme haste and I suspect that it will continue to do so as my severance from this country draws nigh. Thus, I commit myself with a greater conviction to chronicle my waning days as an expat in the Orient.
The most uncanny aspect of my second year here is the return of similar seasons, events and holidays that have already been experienced once within the my Korean surroundings. These yearly milestones that were once viewed with a degree of naïve intrigue have now turned the slightest pang of nostalgia and a great deal of “old-hattedness”. Though it’s only been a year, it goes a long way towards differentiating the mindset of someone like myself and someone who has only been here for a few months.
The food has managed to finally make a noticeable dent into my diet. I have long abandoned the struggle to maintain some semblance of an American eating regimen and, in some ways, have gained in this loss. Every so often I hear foreigners talk about how great Korean food is and, to be sure, it has a fair number of dishes that are rather enjoyable but my overall take on the situation that it has a lot of middle of the road food that, to its credit, edges toward the side of healthy.
Around the time I was leaving for the states, to run Boston and see friends and family, I was actually growing rather tired of the tedium of Korean cuisine. As you might expect, a large portion of the food is dominated by healthy servings of rice coupled with an assortment of vegetables but even the efforts at flavor err on the side of monotonous. For the most part, they only have a handful of flavoring ingredients based in either soy beans or chili peppers which is tasty but uninventive. The result is a lot of dishes that are spicy, salty or both and are filling but far from being terribly noteworthy. Most of the meals blend and meld with one another and become almost indistinguishable. Additionally, the notion of breakfast is, in a word, foreign to them and can only be found in few locations and is usually sub-par and overpriced (one Jersey bagel would knock this nation’s socks off). When I finally had the chance to eat food that wasn’t Korean, back home, I fell on the opportunity with incredible vigor. The chance to have pizza without shrimp and sweet potato, any form of Mexican food, a worthwhile steak at a reasonable price, a decent sandwich of any sort and even a beer that didn’t make Coors Light look like an inspired ferment is not something to sniff at when you spend a year in Gwangju- three and half hours from Seoul and anything remotely international.
Oddly enough, when I prepared to return to Korea, after my two weeks, I found myself almost excited to have the chance to get back to my rice-based diet. I don’t think this was because I was overly enthusiastic about any particular dishes but more because Korean food is an acquired taste- a taste that I had unknowingly and gradually developed during my time here. Since then, I have acquiesced to the simplicity of the food here, learned to deal with the absence of breakfast foods, avoided western-style food that will only disappoint and remind of what I’m missing, reasserted my college-like indifference toward bad beer and actually come to embrace certain aspects of their approach towards food, like putting egg on and in everything and using tuna as a primary protein in a great deal of meals. Now, while memories of hitting that wall of redundant rations still lingers I have come to appreciate what is currently available to me.
I’m still soaking up my celebrity status as the doppelganger of…well… any Caucasian male who has ever been on Korean television and wowing the locals with my patchwork Korean. While, in Seoul, foreigners are abundant enough to be counted as just another quantity, we still remain a novelty in the more traditional surroundings of Korea.
This is a double-edged sword.
The peculiarity of seeing someone who doesn’t have an Asian appearance frequently leads to a difference in treatment. Far from being disrespectful, most people in the city are intrigued at the sight of seeing something different and are often extremely friendly and willing to help you and interact with you. It’s rare that a day doesn’t go by where someone looks at you in passing and comments with a “Hello! How are you?” and occasionally, if you respond properly, an “I’m fine, thanks and you?” More often than not, they aren’t terribly interested in how you respond to this question as much as they are in just seeing that you respond. Either way, while occasionally a bit tiresome, these occurrences are rather enjoyable (though a number of other expats over here might disagree). Still, even as I grow more accustomed to the culture and attempt to assimilate in certain ways, so as to appear conciliatory to their lifestyle, and even attempt to address them in their language, that same notion of novelty remains an enduring barrier between you and the rest of the country. Arguably, in a direct contrast to the American tradition, having foreign origins ensures that you will always be on the outside, looking in. In a culture so deeply rooted in family traditions, there will always be an element of Korean life that remains relatively untouchable to a foreigner. In all reality, an expat teacher could settle in here and live a relatively comfortable life but, no matter how long he or she stayed, they would still be a foreigner in their country. While it has been far from condescending or even unkind, this is the closest thing I’ve come to something like discrimination. While I use that word, I think I risk putting a very negative image in my reader’s mind so allow me to illustrate a very common, though very harmless, instance where this comes into play:
There are times when we will walk into a restaurant, sit down and while we see chopsticks in abundance around us, we will be served the few forks they have hidden in the pantry with assumption that chopsticks are beyond our ability. Then, should we be at a Korean barbecue restaurant, where, yet again, everyone is carrying on with their grills, independent of any outside aid, the man in charge will not hesitate to relinquish us of the necessary grilling tools and proceed to cook it for us. Yes, this actually sounds rather accommodating of him, and it is, but it assumes we are unable to distinguish the dark brown of a cooked piece of meat and the bright pink that is typically associated with uncooked meat. Finally, Koreans will frequently aim to protect us from the fire and fury of spicy Korean food. They will frequently insist that some of the foods in front of us are very spicy and advise that we don’t eat it. This, of course, is usually right around the time that my compatriot, Chris, takes the biggest chili sitting on the table and thrusts it, headlong, into his mouth and then endeavors to consume it with as little as sign of discontent as possible to make his point. While much of Korean food is pretty spicy, Koreans seem to think they have the spiciest food in the world and that it is impossible to conceive that people of other nations may have experienced spicy things themselves.
None of this is really all that big of a deal but rather observational. These are mostly just superficial qualms but serve to demonstrate, to a degree, the image Korea has of foreigners.
While I feel like anyone who might be reading this is probably more interested in the cultural aspects of my experience rather than my time spent at work I will just take a moment to catch everyone up on my newest class acquisition for the year.
Our new year began in March and I have a dozen new kids in the Princeton Class of 2011 and I think I would be making a gross understatement if I said that this year’s class is a bit more work. I actually find most of my class enjoyable and do genuinely like every one of them, but I have a few tikes that give me a touch of trouble. One of them, Ralph, who looks, acts, talks, thinks and grunts like someone aptly named Ralph would, is actually pretty awesome. His only drawback is that, sometimes, he’s not always all there. He’s a glorified version of that student who will eat anything in front of him, given enough time free of supervision. Yet, as testament to his good nature, he is pretty much the class mascot and there isn’t a soul in the class who would ever root against him. Unfortunately, two of my other rapscallions have somewhat meaner streaks. Though they are both good kids, they have a voracious desire for attention and will use a wide range of means to acquire it. I have been lucky enough that they are typically in contention with one another and tend to go off the deep end in alternating sequences. If one of them is acting badly the other one wizens up and is savvy enough to take this chance to seem like the fair-haired child. Generally speaking, I describe the dynamic of these three with my Whack-a-Mole metaphor. I’m always busy with one of them and as soon as I take care of one I’m already bringing my hammer to knock down another (not literally folks, we’re working in metaphor here). Not to go into too much detail but during one of our most recent escapades, one of the latter two boys was in a right surly state and was in no mood to accept pedagogical criticism. After some window climbing, pencil and eraser grabbing and general tom foolery we reached a point where my boy Johnny was so full of vinegar that he had taken to taking running starts from the other side of the room and attempting to bowl me over. This was an acceptable state of affairs for the time being because it kept him occupied while I could continue trying to get through my books with the rest of the class. However, seeing that his efforts were in vain, it came about in his mind that the best course of action was to up the ante. This about the time the he grabbed a nearby chair, rose it above his head and prepared to take another running start. Two things occurred in rapid sequence at this point. First, I could see this boy was angry and he thought he meant business. Second, I saw that this was a guy who had run out of ideas. Knowing that we’ve had a few situations beforehand that ended badly for him(discipline-wise) I was able to talk him down from the “ledge” so to speak and when the mania had passed from his eyes we had one of our many talks and parted ways with yet another mutual accord. When it comes down to it, I remain thankful that these guys still fit the “Whack-a-Mole” model because if they ever organized and went into league with each other I think Princeton class would have some dark days ahead. As of right now, it’s just unfortunate but I’ve had to be slightly heavier handed with my discipline than I did last year, which is just something I don’t enjoy.
With the intent to get people up to speed in pieces with these new installments of S&L I think I will leave it at that and just bullet point some general things going on.
At the moment, I’m on the closing end of my training for a marathon in Gyeongju on October 17th and I’m pretty ready for the race to get here. After running Boston at home and performing unsatisfactorily, I’ve had a bit of a chip on my shoulder and I’m ready to get back into the mix. The marathon is in a city that Korea calls it’s “open air museum” because much of it is preserved monuments and such from the first millennium. We actually checked it out for the first time a couple of weeks back during Korean “Thanksgiving” which was an interesting trip that I just might write about, if the audience is up for it, at a later date. Either way, generally speaking, the city was situated in some pretty beautiful countryside and the sites were pretty interesting but I think it can be somewhat encapsulated in the observatory that was touted as the first observatory to be built in East Asia but didn’t stand much taller than 30 feet- mildly unimpressive.
Also, we’re in the festival season for Gwangju. The city is pretty famous for it’s Kimchi festival in late October and, while it’s not quite Oktoberfest, since I neglected to go last year because it coincided with the Kia Tigers winning the Korean Baseball Series, I plan on taking a look and seeing what I can see. The Tigers had a rough go of it this season and ended up coming just short of the playoffs so I shouldn’t have to worry about any important games getting in the way.
Oh, and if anyone could send word to the Rutgers Scarlet Knight’s Football teams could you let them know I haven’t forgotten them over there and they can start playing good football at any point I would really appreciate it.
A special thanks goes out to those who weathered the 1-year drought of posts. I will be returning to my blogging duties with the utmost vigor this time around. Not rushing to get out of here but, five months and counting
[This entry was composed over an uncertain span of time well before it's time of publication...it's the last of my Japan stories that happened, yes, over a year ago]
August 24th, 2009
I find myself overwhelmed with the idea of trying to recount all that has happened since my last post and recognize that even as I hope to do so in a rather quick and general way, my tendency to fall into detailed and specific narrative will make this rather difficult. Either way, here is the rest of my Japan trip and, hopefully, the greatest hits of my time back in Korea since vacation.
KYOTO
Kyoto was an awesome city and easily my favorite stop on the entire trip. Our hostel was reasonable and extremely accommodating with all things considered. We arrived in city late in the evening and while the idea of going out and checking some of the local sites was mentioned we opted to lay low and rest up for the following day.
The two major sites of the next day were The Golden Pavilion and Nijo Castle. While it was quite evident that the Golden Pavilion was an extremely popular tourist site and it was guaranteed to be swarmed by people just like us, brandishing cameras and disrupting the overall tranquility that such a site is intended to convey, we rationalized that people must still go there for a reason. Luckily, our logic met with a degree of validity and I would have been disappointed if I hadn’t made the trek and braved the hustle, bustle and chatter of the gawking multitudes. Though the day brought with it an overcast sky and the hint of potential rain, the splendor of the pavilion was hardly lost. Situated at the edge of a large pond (or small lake), just about every inch of the building was covered in the gold-leaf lacquer that gives it its name. Below, yet another waving pavilion can be seen reflected in the fittingly named Mirror Pond (they really don’t dance around the obvious with their names). On a perfectly sunny day, I can imagine the temple shines brighter and the reflection shows clearer but for our purposes we were satisfied.
I’m pretty sure my traveling companions were interested in our next stop in Kyoto, but this was the one site that I insisted that we make it to. Marooned in a country where barely any architecture of any note goes further back than the 17th century for most of my life, I was determined to see a real castle for myself. The verdict was Nijo Castle- a castle built by the Shogun Ieyasu, founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate, in 1601(admittedly, in the 17th century, but just about as early as you get), as the home of the Imperial Court. It became one of my favorite places in Japan as soon as I saw it and saw the big moat that surrounded the castle grounds. While everyone knows about moats I would wager that a good number of those people have never seen one in person. They’re pretty awesome, even without alligators. Now, the castle itself was far from Camelot and looked more like an ornate vacation mansion but the inside was pretty impressive and I was intrigued to discover that the squeaking sounds we heard from the floorboards beneath our feet were intentionally designed to do so, so as to prevent any intruders or unwanted guests from effectively sneaking around the hallways. I thought it was pretty clever.
The remainder of the day was spent walking around and exploring different temples in the area. We soon discovered that Kyoto is riddled with temples and that they all cost money. While we would have liked to see more, we opted to walk around the outskirts of a number of other temples without paying the entrance fee, figuring all temples start to look the same and it wouldn’t hurt to save some coin for the rest of the vacation. We did, however, do sushi for lunch at my first actual sushi bar where the different kinds of sushi cruise along the conveyor belt, awaiting their selection from the hungry patrons sitting beside it. The meal proved satisfying and affordable.
At night, we decided to finally test the nightlife of Korea. Up until then, I had foregone all alcohol since the start of the trip and considered myself both accomplished and due for some suds. Of course, we knew nothing about Kyoto’s downtown, including how to get there, so we conferred with our amiable and considerate hostel manager who was able to furnish us with a number of recommendations for the evening’s activities.
Once we had made it downtown, we began our evening with a dinner of yakitori. Yakitori was one of the meals we had planned on trying at some point during the trip so we figured then was as good as anytime. I think, despite the story, we would have opted to have our yakitori somewhere else if we could do it again. From what I understood, yakitori was really just a fancy foreign term for chicken kabobs and I think I am still kind of right, but in this case, it took an unexpected turn. We counted ourselves safe when we ordered the chicken yakitori from the menu. Unfortunately, when we think of chicken, we think of very specific parts of the chicken that, by our standards, are the most appetizing parts. That definition of edible chicken exists on a much different level in Japan or, at least, at that restaurant. Our unsuspecting taste buds were assaulted by the gizzards, guts and grime of every chicken part imaginable. I was happy to have been forced into trying new things but remain convinced that things that taste like that should not have the nerve to be as chewy as they are. There’s nothing worse than having an unappetizing meal overstay its welcome in your mouth.
A little unsettled by our dinner but ready to take on the world, we headed to a bar named Crane as per our hostel manager Nick’s recommendation. We arrived at a rather small and convincingly “swank” bar and seated ourselves near the bay window where we could look out onto the lit streets of downtown Kyoto, split by a small river and straddled by a number of quaint looking bridges. We found the prices to be reasonable enough, though certainly not cheap, and the manager, Task, proved to be very hospitable as well as rather convivial with what English he knew, which was enough.
After a few drinks and a mention to Task that we MIGHT be back tomorrow, we headed out to see what we could find for ourselves. We walked for awhile before we decided to turn down an alley solely on impulse and head up the stairs of one of the bars on that street. I think our initial thoughts were that we had stumbled into the wrong kind of bar and were ready to turn around but we had been spotted by the bartender already and were greeted by a boisterous hello. It was a dark and very tiny bar with a few lounge chairs in a corner and maybe six stools at the bar, two of which were occupied by a young couple who were the only guests to be seen. Taking our own seats at the bar we decided to have one drink and see where that took us. We were pleasantly surprised when we learned that the bartender/owner was an extremely friendly and talkative young man who attempted to dazzle us with witty stories and magic tricks, all while he partook in his own bar’s fine selection of whiskey. Kota, as he was known, wowed us enough with his spirit and spirits that we spent the remainder of the night drinking and talking about all things under the sun (or moon).
The weather for the next day was a bit rainy but not enough to keep us from staying true to our plans. We did lunch at a Ramyeon (Ramen) place because we were told Japan was the place to get it. It is. The ramen in Korea is a small step up from the college fodder we are used to in America but the ramen in Japan actually tastes like real food and is pretty awesome. We followed our meal up with a trek to Toji Temple, which is a temple in the middle of a somewhat urban area that towers over the surrounding buildings and is an ideal place for viewing the that part of Kyoto. Peculiarly enough, after taking some time to get there we decided that it wasn’t worth the money to actually go into the temple itself. However, we did stroll around the temple grounds and were able to get some good pictures of the temple and the other ornately decorated buildings nearby. While it was a nice enough temple we were actually starting reach a point where every temple looked pretty much the same and we were left relatively nonplussed. Afterward, we perused our brochures and maps and looked for our next destination. By that time, we had begun to accept the day would pretty much be a wash and our minds began dancing around dinner and nighttime plans. The prevailing consensus was that we would take a look at one more shrine and then call it a day. As luck would have, this proved to be one of the best decisions we could have made.
The shrine that we had randomly selected based on proximity and the fact that it was one of the only places left that would still be open when we got there, was Fushimi- Inari. Inari is the god of wealth and business in the Shinto religion and is frequently represented by a fox. This was extremely true with this shrine where there were far more fox statues than I could ever hope to count, which was decidedly inconvenient for me when I initially made the decision to take a picture of every fox statue that I saw as we went through the shrine. This was before I realized how set the Shinto monks were on putting foxes in every corner imaginable and how big the shrine grounds actually were. The beginning of the shrine was simple enough with a number of temples, stairs and statues to enjoy but the real shrine didn’t start until we reached a pathway that is lined with an incredible series of orange-pillared archways. It had begun to get dark when we were there so as we traveled through the pillars it had a very disorienting though welcoming feeling. I had assumed that this would only be a short pathway and the only one of its kind on the grounds but when it ended and opened out into a small clearing with another small temple we discovered another pillared path on the opposite side. It took only a few more experiences like this for us to realize that we had severely underestimated this shrine. We ended up walking further and further through more and more pillars as the path wound upward for about an hour or so and the sun began its rapid descent into the far off mountains. We concluded that while we would have loved to take the path as far as it could go it was getting rather dark and we had already covered enough ground that it would take the remainder of our daylight to backtrack to where we started.
Extremely impressed by the shrine we had now put in our wake, though mildly disappointed about not going further, we set off with hungry stomachs to find some dinner in downtown Kyoto. Having talked about syabusyabu (pronounced “shaboo-shaboo”) for the entirety of trip up to that point we decided that this would be the night we would have it. Compliments of a recommendation from our friend Nick back at the hostel we strolled into a syabusyabu restaurant that promised not only an all-you-can-eat option on the menu but also an all-you-can-drink option as well. Staggered by such a daring offer I could only nod my head in astonished consent as I sat myself down to contemplate this heavenly boon that had been placed in my lap. The syabusyabu was thin strips of raw beef that are placed in one of two different boiling sauces bubbling in the center of the table, absorbing the flavor and cooking it at the same time, reminiscent of certain fondue set-ups. To compliment this delectable entrée I started out with a small urn of sake that held more sake than I expected and then proceeded on to Asahi beer to maintain the Japanese integrity of my drinking. It was easily the best dinner I had in Japan with the exception of perhaps the Outback and curry that I had at the tail end of the weekend but I will discuss that in further detail later.
The night continued as we left the restaurant and happened to cross in front of Crane where. from above Task, the bartender, spotted his three favorite foreigners out his bay window. Feeling now obligated to patronize our new friend we climbed the steps to Crane and sat down for a drink. As we sat and drank and spoke with Task we discovered that one of the reasons for Hostel Nick’s recommendation of Crane was that he and Task were actually very good friends. This eventually led to having him call Nick to see if he was interested in coming out downtown for a drink. Sure enough, after he was done taking care of a few things he was ready and willing to partake. The night carried on with great joviality and chicanery and we ended up staying in Crane for its duration.
…THE SAGA CONTINUES - SAKE AND LIAM
Completely aware that by now I may have lost the entirety of my readership as a result of my unprecedented hiatus, I now put my pen to paper once more for any diehards who may have stuck with me through the lean times.
I confess that one of the things that I kept away from writing for all these months was that as time passed and my last post grew further and further away I realized that the implications of my silence would be a progressively longer post the next time I got back to it. Thus, my resolution, perhaps to the distaste of that last reader or two still listening, has been to essentially start from here on out. I know that my long windedness and attention to inane details (while leaving out important ones in the process) would keep me so backlogged with attempts to get back to speed that I would probably stay three months behind my post date for the duration of this blog. Not to mention, my Mom always told me, in 4th grade, that I should always make sure that I stay up to date with my homework before I tried to make up all of that homework that I hadn’t done on previous occasions. What this means for future posts (if fate should see that more proceed from here) is a complete disruption of my Japan stories and an arbitrary continuation of my story from this date.
I will, however, include one vital aspect to my Japanese story that should not go unmentioned. The element of essentiality that I speak of is the last few days spent in Japan before returning to my Korean home and it begins with a seemingly harmless trip to Mount Fuji….
We arrived in the town nearest to Mount Fuji around midday on that Friday of our week vacation. By this time, an amazingly expensive Japan had me scouring the recesses of my pockets, bags, socks, etc. for every last yen I could find. I had brought a hefty billfold of cash with me from the shores of Korea that had already been exchanged for yen with hopes that it would last the extent of the trip. While I had been told that there was a very distinct possibility that my Korean card might not work in foreign countries (the one in my wallet that has a Visa symbol in the corner, a big picture of the globe in the center and a watermark with the word “GLOBAL” on it), but I did assume that, should worse come to worst, there would be a bank somewhere in Tokyo, at least, that could take my card.
I was wrong.
With our trip drawing to a close I , admittedly, was looking to simply lay low and ride out the storm of poverty until we got back. But, with a healthy bank account waiting for me in Korea and a traveling companion who had made Mount Fuji one of her highlights of the trip I was offered the chance to be bankrolled by my other globe-trotting associate. Still reticent to borrow a friend’s money I was met with a dilemma. The friend who had effectively made me her investment was afflicted with a nagging leg injury that made the sheer ascent of Mount Fuji’s megalithic cliffs and crags impossible while my ambitious mountain climbing friend was hoping to not have to attempt Fuji alone. Encouraged further by the knowledge that this might be the only chance I have do this, I eventually conceded and agreed to the proposition, unconditionally.
The day of our climb began with grey skies and steady rainfall. It was an early morning by my standards and the weather had clearly put a damper on the spirits of our world-wandering, mountain-conquering triumvirate. As we rode the shuttle that would bring us to the starting point of our climb we became increasingly enveloped in a blanket of fog that added generously to the preexisting foreboding that hung in the air. Still, we were on the brink of a new adventure and our rosy outlook was not altogether squelched.
It was already decided that the estimated time to climb Fuji and then return would bring us far too close to missing one of the last trains out of to Tokyo to Fukuoka before our weeklong train pass expired. Mildly disappointed by this, we still looked forward to climbing part of the mountain and being able to claim so. To my future dismay, this decision caused us to look at our undertaking in a much more casual light. My friend equipped herself with small backpack featuring minor necessities suited for the likes of an impromptu hike while I opted to go unburdened with the exception of the silver basketball shorts, t-shirt and long sleeved Slippery Rock shirt that hung from my legs and back. We had also omitted breakfast in the interest of time. Essentially, we were ready for Mount Fuji.
The trail starts off at a pretty reasonable slope and where we started there was still ample forestry and foliage. At first, it didn’t feel that much different from a hike in mountains of Vernon, NJ with the exception of our fellow hikers, on the path, who didn’t altogether resemble much of Vernon’s residents. However, once we cleared the trees we were faced with a series of switchbacks as far as the eye could see which, thanks to fog, was not terribly far. At this point, the climb itself was not particularly exciting. Without trees, we were just facing grey retaining walls that snaked their way up the side of the mountain. Even when we got higher up, the view downward was limited so the view didn’t offer much compensation to those looking for an exhilarating experience. Eventually, my comrade-in-legs suggested that I continue on ahead of her, noticing that I had been holding a slightly quicker pace than her own. I didn’t think much of it but decided it couldn’t hurt to trek a little ahead and see if I could find something worth looking at. That was my approach for awhile until I realized I was growing further and further from her and had the choice of waiting for her or going on ahead. Unwittingly, I sealed my fate by choosing the latter and forging ahead on my own.
Striding forth, on my own, I found myself climbing at a rather rapid pace, relative to the expected time that had been suggested by the signs at each station along the way. Blinded by my marathoning arrogance, I reasoned that based on the way I felt and the amount of time I had saved by walking quickly I could easily reach the summit with ample time to make what promised to be a much quicker descent.
Ignited by my new goal, I pressed upward into the heights of the mountain where the clouds fell beneath me and the mountain air grew dizzying. I discovered here that even on the cloudiest and gloomiest days of the year the top of Mount Fuji is still as sunny as ever. I accrued more and more curious stares from other climbers, peering questioningly at my shirt and shorts before looking back at their own climbing gear, equipped with walking sticks and decked out hiking packs. The looks hinted at the knowledge of something that I still didn’t know and would not know until I found out for myself. Though unsettling, I continued, undaunted, until I reached the volcanic cliffs that gave way to the substantial chasm at the center of this great mountain.
Again, the top was interesting but nothing to write home about (even though I am pretty much doing that now). There was a station at the top where you could buy the basics like water, food and beer which, given a more lenient budget, I may have enjoyed but I sated myself on the view and the experience itself. As far as I, and everyone else at the top, were concerned the air was crisp and the sun was out so I took a deep breath and soaked it in. I met a military fellow from the states, stationed in Japan, who obligingly took the one token picture of me at the top of the mountain to prove my story.
Aware of my rigid schedule, though very workable in light of my unexpectedly speedy ascent, I spent only a few moments at the top before I began to make my way down on the trail that was marked “descent trail.” As it turned out, I fell into stride with my most recent photographer and he explained that he was on the mountain with his father-in-law who he was meeting at the next station down. He was also incredibly accommodating when he learned that I had forgone breakfast and had, by then, found myself somewhat hungry. He treated me to a delightful meal of water, jerky and a marathon bar. It would be more than enough to carry me back to the bottom.
After a short walk with my benefactor, we parted ways and I ventured downward, on my own again, the water and marathon a bar a thing of the past and the remainder of the jerky a bit too salty to consume without the accompaniment of more water. The descent was, of course, easier but as I closed in on the final station my legs began to feel the fatigue of a good day’s climb while my heart fought off the creeping unease that came with not recognizing anything around me from my initial starting point. Unease escalated to despair when I learned that though I had reached the last station, it was the counterpart station situated on the other side of the mountain.
My first reaction was more in response to the inconvenience of the situation and knowing that the time I had made climbing and coming down quickly would be negated by the hassle of finding a way back to the first station. However, when I discovered that the station was much further from my destination than I had reckoned and that the fastest I could get back was a four-hour cab drive that would cost enough yen to purchase a comfortable estate in the countryside, I was sunk. After conferring with the local officials who, if you can believe it, didn’t speak my language I was left with a single alternative- a return trip up the mountain so that I could go back down on the other side.
Sure enough, at the bottom, the sun of Fuji’s peak was nowhere to be seen amidst the unrelenting fog that waited for me below. Seeking any form of sustenance I could find before returning to the wilderness I was able to manage a bottle of barley tea which I greedily emptied, perfectly aware that it would only make me thirstier in the long run.
I reacquainted myself with the beaten trail in a state far removed from the one that I was in when we had first met. The once proud Slippery Rock shirt, emblazoned with the steadfast encouragement from The Rock that fittingly exclaimed “ROCK ON!”, hung mockingly from my drooping shoulders, shivers of excitement replaced by those brought on by chill dampness.
My hopes of making it back on time slipped further and further away as I came to admit that my state would not allow me to make the same kind of time that my sprier earlier self was capable of. I trekked upward, miserable, forced to rest frequently beneath rocks and cliffs that would offer some form of shelter from the falling rain. At one point, to my eternal gratitude, a father, his son and his daughter stopped along the way to see how I was faring. Communicating mainly with the two kids who spoke passing English they learned my story and provided me with sustenance from their own packs. Reinvigorated equally by the food and drink and the spirit of goodwill offered to me, I trudged upward yet again. At stations that I simply walked through during my first time through, I found myself resting for five to ten minutes, falling asleep, dreamingly fitfully, at one point, only to reawaken to an even less than welcoming state of affairs.
Even in my pitiable situation, I was fortunate enough to come upon yet another group of friendly climbers led by a seemingly seasoned outdoorsmen. He offered to hike in my company for as far as he was going. Providing me with another wave of refreshment and some to take with me, which I conveniently stored in my now empty jerky bag in the absence of a proper backpack. Hoping to not slow them down, I was able to keep ahead of them for a good part of the climb before he insisted that I travel alongside them. It was welcome company and, though it was slow going, my hopes of making it back to my friends at any reasonable time was long gone. As we climbed, I asked the man how many times he had climbed Mount Fuji and said it was his second time. Somewhere deep in my mind I could feel a small smile and the urge to say “Funny, it’s mine too” creep up but it was clearly neither the time or place and I wasn’t exactly feeling up to job to make sure the delivery was there.
I parted ways with my companions a couple of stations further. The man told me that they would be bunking for the night and took his leave but not before leaving me with the ominous reminder that the side of Mount Fuji is not a place to be when the sun goes down, no matter the season. Well aware that I was well into mid-afternoon by this time with more mountain to climb again, I forced my legs to keep taking steps forward.
The rest of that second ascent was unremarkable and spent in a bit of a haze. There was no ceremony upon reaching the top the second time and was quickly forgotten so that I could concentrate on making sure that I found the right trail down this time (I feel obligated to say for the integrity of the story, though I risk robbing of some of its splendor, I was actually able to begin my descent a couple of stations before the top, so I actually never made it back to the volcano top again).
Beginning the descent, I was back in the sunlight and it went miles in picking up my spirits again, even as it threatened to slip beneath the horizon with every step I took. Exhausted but hopeful, remembering the people that had helped me out through all of it, I was in a state of tired contentment which made the rest of the climb rather pleasant.
When I reached the bottom, the pleasantness continued. It quickly became evident that my friends had long since gone from the bottom station and I considered it a distinct possibility that they had gone further than that. As if to mock me, or maybe congratulate me, the fog was nowhere to be seen and from where the station stood we were still sitting at a pretty considerable height, allowing me to snap a few shots of the sun setting behind a series of cool-whip© clouds.
When I reached home base back in town, a note was left for me from my friends explaining their need to leave to catch the last train from Tokyo and the ferry we had already paid for in Fukuoka. I quickly absorbed the magnitude of this situation and drew a very simple conclusion. As my readership will recall, my financial situation was bleak at best before I attempted Fuji. With my recently absent benefactress I was essentially a phoneless vagabond in the rural outskirts of the Tokyo Prefecture. Naturally, I asked the kindly hostel owner if I could take shower before I left, even though we had already checked out. He assented with a smile. I rinsed myself in earnest to cleanse myself of my Fuji filth. I subsequently discovered that the eternal sun I welcomed at the top of Mount Fuji had given me one of the worst sunburns my face had ever experienced.
Afterward, I thankfully brandished the round trip ticket back to Tokyo that we purchased before getting to the mountain and got aboard one of the last trains headed that way. Happily, I reached Tokyo where clear skies awaited me and set out, now reunited with all of my bags and laptop, to find the internet. With something like 700 yen to my name I looked for anywhere that I could find wi-fi, looking predominantly in cafes and the like. Unfortunately, it was somewhere around the 10:00 to 11:00 PM time and most places were closed. The closest thing I came to was a Wendy’s where I put up a prayer, hoping for cheap food and the internet. What I found was enough money for a small chili and nothing else. Still, I lugged my belongings around a few blocks before I saw a temple nestled in the middle of a few buildings and across the street from a police station that, to my misfortune, was closed. I settled beneath a statue of a lion-gorilla beast and rested my weary bones. Sleep took me quicker than I expected and in no time I was officially penniless and homeless in Japan. I woke up every hour or so often, very aware that what I expected to be a low foot traffic area still kept a steady flow of passers-by.
I properly returned to the world sometime around 7:00 AM and looked over to discover that crime’s business hours had begun so, sure enough, so had the police station’s. I assumed that my previous interaction with local Japanese officials on Fuji was certain to be a precursor to this one, and it was. My main goal was and remained, throughout our negotiations, to find a way to get to the internet. After an hour of gestures, being shown a chart of different pictures that allowed me to point to such expressions as “I’ve been robbed”, “I’m lost” and “I am sick”, and calling a translator I was given two choices: First, I could take 2,000 yen from the four officers there (out of their own pocket because I’m pretty sure most police stations don’t have a bank account for these kinds of situations) to find an internet café or to call the embassy and get myself extradited back to the states- I graciously accepted the money and left.
From there, I was back to wandering, but this time I was a man of means. The prospect of eating something and talking to somebody who could help me let me forget my aches from a 10-hour hike and shouldering everything I had taken to Japan. By now it was mid-morning and cafes were beginning to open up. I felt certain that if nothing else, I would find a Starbucks where I could find what I was looking for. It was at this time that I realized what I took for granted in Korea. Back here on the Peninsula, it takes a serious effort to avoid the internet no matter where you go. In Tokyo, I found something in the realm of five or six Starbucks in addition to a laundry list of corner cafes with nothing to offer but coffee. My beacon of hope didn’t come until I found a three-story McDonald’s with a sign that said free wi-fi. With my excitement nearly palpable I inquired about the wi-fi to a kindly employee who assured me I would find what I was looking for on the third floor. I ordered a meal and was up the stairs as fast as the food being sold.
When I reached the top and settled down I realized there weren’t any available electric sockets in the area. This would be a problem if I tried to make a phone call and used up the battery but I took the gamble and went for it. What I found was a weak connection that I later discovered only worked for portable video game consoles and was useless to my computer. Suddenly, I was a little closer to broke with nothing to show for it and as I looked out the window- would you believe it?- it started to rain.
All things considered, I believe myself to be rather lucky that the rain didn’t come earlier while I was sleeping over at the temple. At this point, my face was equal parts grimace and grin. I wasn’t sure if this was an absolutely awful thing happening to me or just a good story (For those reading, you might not even agree on the second part but it’s what got me through the tough times). Somewhat at a loss for what to do, I ran to a nearby establishment that looked a like a mix between a restaurant and a café. It was a long-shot but it was dry so I inquired within. Sure enough, this was the one place in all of Japan that had the internet and once again I believed it was mission accomplished. Nay, it would have been, but my latest expenses at the Golden Arches left me short of even the cheapest thing at this evidently classy establishment. So close to success, I sulked out the door- defeated.
Aimless again, I decided to check out a restaurant that didn’t open until 11 AM that promised wi-fi on its sign. Naturally dubious, I pulled myself up the steps and asked to look at the menu and then asked about wi-fi. The man answered in the affirmative rather matter-of-factly but I’m sure the size of my smile was enough to make him think he had been selected for canonization.
I plopped myself at a stool facing the window and, as if to mock the rain that had thwarted me before, set up my computer right in front. I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, which I later discovered was free refills on a vast assortment of juices from the juice bar for an hour, and logged on. I made two crucial contacts during my time at this place. I was able to call my parents to let them know I was broke and get a message to a friend of mine from Vernon that was living in Tokyo, who I had met up with earlier in the week but hadn’t seen since high school before that. With my parents still confused but ever-selfless, my financial woes were taken care of, though they couldn’t wire me the money until the next day, Monday. That’s where my friend Catherine Bergmann comes in. Apparently, I wasn’t content with the amount of time we had spent catching up during the week so I stranded myself in Tokyo to remedy the situation.
First, as I messaged her phone from my computer she headed in my direction to meet me. It was shortly after that I was handed a bill that proved to be beyond my wealth. The plan had to change. Instead of meeting her, she was coming to rescue me from a night spent cleaning dishes, which might have been preferable to another night underneath the lion-gorilla. From there, she treated me to lunch at Outback Steakhouse and dinner at particularly appetizing curry restaurant. Not to mention, she offered me her couch to sleep on for the night and a chance to message my school with the bad news. The next day brought me to the nearest bank that could wire money from America which was, naturally, a Brazilian bank where the issue of translation was yet more compounded. Luckily, Catherine’s generosity carried me right to the platform at the train station and I nabbed the earliest train to Fukuoka- where I would have to pay for another ferry to get back home.
The next night was a quiet night spent in the very same hostel that began my whole adventure. I made dinner simple with some Japanese Wendy’s and capitalized on a rainless night in the city by walking around and eventually settling in with a few Assahis and austere but clean sleeping quarters. At long last, a modicum of rationality had returned to my life and the remainder of the evening glided into Morpheus’ embrace with noted amicability.
The next day took me back to my Asian homeland and, after some apologizing and fast talking with my superiors, I was happily prepared to return to my routine back at school.
August 24th, 2009
I find myself overwhelmed with the idea of trying to recount all that has happened since my last post and recognize that even as I hope to do so in a rather quick and general way, my tendency to fall into detailed and specific narrative will make this rather difficult. Either way, here is the rest of my Japan trip and, hopefully, the greatest hits of my time back in Korea since vacation.
KYOTO
Kyoto was an awesome city and easily my favorite stop on the entire trip. Our hostel was reasonable and extremely accommodating with all things considered. We arrived in city late in the evening and while the idea of going out and checking some of the local sites was mentioned we opted to lay low and rest up for the following day.
The two major sites of the next day were The Golden Pavilion and Nijo Castle. While it was quite evident that the Golden Pavilion was an extremely popular tourist site and it was guaranteed to be swarmed by people just like us, brandishing cameras and disrupting the overall tranquility that such a site is intended to convey, we rationalized that people must still go there for a reason. Luckily, our logic met with a degree of validity and I would have been disappointed if I hadn’t made the trek and braved the hustle, bustle and chatter of the gawking multitudes. Though the day brought with it an overcast sky and the hint of potential rain, the splendor of the pavilion was hardly lost. Situated at the edge of a large pond (or small lake), just about every inch of the building was covered in the gold-leaf lacquer that gives it its name. Below, yet another waving pavilion can be seen reflected in the fittingly named Mirror Pond (they really don’t dance around the obvious with their names). On a perfectly sunny day, I can imagine the temple shines brighter and the reflection shows clearer but for our purposes we were satisfied.
I’m pretty sure my traveling companions were interested in our next stop in Kyoto, but this was the one site that I insisted that we make it to. Marooned in a country where barely any architecture of any note goes further back than the 17th century for most of my life, I was determined to see a real castle for myself. The verdict was Nijo Castle- a castle built by the Shogun Ieyasu, founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate, in 1601(admittedly, in the 17th century, but just about as early as you get), as the home of the Imperial Court. It became one of my favorite places in Japan as soon as I saw it and saw the big moat that surrounded the castle grounds. While everyone knows about moats I would wager that a good number of those people have never seen one in person. They’re pretty awesome, even without alligators. Now, the castle itself was far from Camelot and looked more like an ornate vacation mansion but the inside was pretty impressive and I was intrigued to discover that the squeaking sounds we heard from the floorboards beneath our feet were intentionally designed to do so, so as to prevent any intruders or unwanted guests from effectively sneaking around the hallways. I thought it was pretty clever.
The remainder of the day was spent walking around and exploring different temples in the area. We soon discovered that Kyoto is riddled with temples and that they all cost money. While we would have liked to see more, we opted to walk around the outskirts of a number of other temples without paying the entrance fee, figuring all temples start to look the same and it wouldn’t hurt to save some coin for the rest of the vacation. We did, however, do sushi for lunch at my first actual sushi bar where the different kinds of sushi cruise along the conveyor belt, awaiting their selection from the hungry patrons sitting beside it. The meal proved satisfying and affordable.
At night, we decided to finally test the nightlife of Korea. Up until then, I had foregone all alcohol since the start of the trip and considered myself both accomplished and due for some suds. Of course, we knew nothing about Kyoto’s downtown, including how to get there, so we conferred with our amiable and considerate hostel manager who was able to furnish us with a number of recommendations for the evening’s activities.
Once we had made it downtown, we began our evening with a dinner of yakitori. Yakitori was one of the meals we had planned on trying at some point during the trip so we figured then was as good as anytime. I think, despite the story, we would have opted to have our yakitori somewhere else if we could do it again. From what I understood, yakitori was really just a fancy foreign term for chicken kabobs and I think I am still kind of right, but in this case, it took an unexpected turn. We counted ourselves safe when we ordered the chicken yakitori from the menu. Unfortunately, when we think of chicken, we think of very specific parts of the chicken that, by our standards, are the most appetizing parts. That definition of edible chicken exists on a much different level in Japan or, at least, at that restaurant. Our unsuspecting taste buds were assaulted by the gizzards, guts and grime of every chicken part imaginable. I was happy to have been forced into trying new things but remain convinced that things that taste like that should not have the nerve to be as chewy as they are. There’s nothing worse than having an unappetizing meal overstay its welcome in your mouth.
A little unsettled by our dinner but ready to take on the world, we headed to a bar named Crane as per our hostel manager Nick’s recommendation. We arrived at a rather small and convincingly “swank” bar and seated ourselves near the bay window where we could look out onto the lit streets of downtown Kyoto, split by a small river and straddled by a number of quaint looking bridges. We found the prices to be reasonable enough, though certainly not cheap, and the manager, Task, proved to be very hospitable as well as rather convivial with what English he knew, which was enough.
After a few drinks and a mention to Task that we MIGHT be back tomorrow, we headed out to see what we could find for ourselves. We walked for awhile before we decided to turn down an alley solely on impulse and head up the stairs of one of the bars on that street. I think our initial thoughts were that we had stumbled into the wrong kind of bar and were ready to turn around but we had been spotted by the bartender already and were greeted by a boisterous hello. It was a dark and very tiny bar with a few lounge chairs in a corner and maybe six stools at the bar, two of which were occupied by a young couple who were the only guests to be seen. Taking our own seats at the bar we decided to have one drink and see where that took us. We were pleasantly surprised when we learned that the bartender/owner was an extremely friendly and talkative young man who attempted to dazzle us with witty stories and magic tricks, all while he partook in his own bar’s fine selection of whiskey. Kota, as he was known, wowed us enough with his spirit and spirits that we spent the remainder of the night drinking and talking about all things under the sun (or moon).
The weather for the next day was a bit rainy but not enough to keep us from staying true to our plans. We did lunch at a Ramyeon (Ramen) place because we were told Japan was the place to get it. It is. The ramen in Korea is a small step up from the college fodder we are used to in America but the ramen in Japan actually tastes like real food and is pretty awesome. We followed our meal up with a trek to Toji Temple, which is a temple in the middle of a somewhat urban area that towers over the surrounding buildings and is an ideal place for viewing the that part of Kyoto. Peculiarly enough, after taking some time to get there we decided that it wasn’t worth the money to actually go into the temple itself. However, we did stroll around the temple grounds and were able to get some good pictures of the temple and the other ornately decorated buildings nearby. While it was a nice enough temple we were actually starting reach a point where every temple looked pretty much the same and we were left relatively nonplussed. Afterward, we perused our brochures and maps and looked for our next destination. By that time, we had begun to accept the day would pretty much be a wash and our minds began dancing around dinner and nighttime plans. The prevailing consensus was that we would take a look at one more shrine and then call it a day. As luck would have, this proved to be one of the best decisions we could have made.
The shrine that we had randomly selected based on proximity and the fact that it was one of the only places left that would still be open when we got there, was Fushimi- Inari. Inari is the god of wealth and business in the Shinto religion and is frequently represented by a fox. This was extremely true with this shrine where there were far more fox statues than I could ever hope to count, which was decidedly inconvenient for me when I initially made the decision to take a picture of every fox statue that I saw as we went through the shrine. This was before I realized how set the Shinto monks were on putting foxes in every corner imaginable and how big the shrine grounds actually were. The beginning of the shrine was simple enough with a number of temples, stairs and statues to enjoy but the real shrine didn’t start until we reached a pathway that is lined with an incredible series of orange-pillared archways. It had begun to get dark when we were there so as we traveled through the pillars it had a very disorienting though welcoming feeling. I had assumed that this would only be a short pathway and the only one of its kind on the grounds but when it ended and opened out into a small clearing with another small temple we discovered another pillared path on the opposite side. It took only a few more experiences like this for us to realize that we had severely underestimated this shrine. We ended up walking further and further through more and more pillars as the path wound upward for about an hour or so and the sun began its rapid descent into the far off mountains. We concluded that while we would have loved to take the path as far as it could go it was getting rather dark and we had already covered enough ground that it would take the remainder of our daylight to backtrack to where we started.
Extremely impressed by the shrine we had now put in our wake, though mildly disappointed about not going further, we set off with hungry stomachs to find some dinner in downtown Kyoto. Having talked about syabusyabu (pronounced “shaboo-shaboo”) for the entirety of trip up to that point we decided that this would be the night we would have it. Compliments of a recommendation from our friend Nick back at the hostel we strolled into a syabusyabu restaurant that promised not only an all-you-can-eat option on the menu but also an all-you-can-drink option as well. Staggered by such a daring offer I could only nod my head in astonished consent as I sat myself down to contemplate this heavenly boon that had been placed in my lap. The syabusyabu was thin strips of raw beef that are placed in one of two different boiling sauces bubbling in the center of the table, absorbing the flavor and cooking it at the same time, reminiscent of certain fondue set-ups. To compliment this delectable entrée I started out with a small urn of sake that held more sake than I expected and then proceeded on to Asahi beer to maintain the Japanese integrity of my drinking. It was easily the best dinner I had in Japan with the exception of perhaps the Outback and curry that I had at the tail end of the weekend but I will discuss that in further detail later.
The night continued as we left the restaurant and happened to cross in front of Crane where. from above Task, the bartender, spotted his three favorite foreigners out his bay window. Feeling now obligated to patronize our new friend we climbed the steps to Crane and sat down for a drink. As we sat and drank and spoke with Task we discovered that one of the reasons for Hostel Nick’s recommendation of Crane was that he and Task were actually very good friends. This eventually led to having him call Nick to see if he was interested in coming out downtown for a drink. Sure enough, after he was done taking care of a few things he was ready and willing to partake. The night carried on with great joviality and chicanery and we ended up staying in Crane for its duration.
…THE SAGA CONTINUES - SAKE AND LIAM
Completely aware that by now I may have lost the entirety of my readership as a result of my unprecedented hiatus, I now put my pen to paper once more for any diehards who may have stuck with me through the lean times.
I confess that one of the things that I kept away from writing for all these months was that as time passed and my last post grew further and further away I realized that the implications of my silence would be a progressively longer post the next time I got back to it. Thus, my resolution, perhaps to the distaste of that last reader or two still listening, has been to essentially start from here on out. I know that my long windedness and attention to inane details (while leaving out important ones in the process) would keep me so backlogged with attempts to get back to speed that I would probably stay three months behind my post date for the duration of this blog. Not to mention, my Mom always told me, in 4th grade, that I should always make sure that I stay up to date with my homework before I tried to make up all of that homework that I hadn’t done on previous occasions. What this means for future posts (if fate should see that more proceed from here) is a complete disruption of my Japan stories and an arbitrary continuation of my story from this date.
I will, however, include one vital aspect to my Japanese story that should not go unmentioned. The element of essentiality that I speak of is the last few days spent in Japan before returning to my Korean home and it begins with a seemingly harmless trip to Mount Fuji….
We arrived in the town nearest to Mount Fuji around midday on that Friday of our week vacation. By this time, an amazingly expensive Japan had me scouring the recesses of my pockets, bags, socks, etc. for every last yen I could find. I had brought a hefty billfold of cash with me from the shores of Korea that had already been exchanged for yen with hopes that it would last the extent of the trip. While I had been told that there was a very distinct possibility that my Korean card might not work in foreign countries (the one in my wallet that has a Visa symbol in the corner, a big picture of the globe in the center and a watermark with the word “GLOBAL” on it), but I did assume that, should worse come to worst, there would be a bank somewhere in Tokyo, at least, that could take my card.
I was wrong.
With our trip drawing to a close I , admittedly, was looking to simply lay low and ride out the storm of poverty until we got back. But, with a healthy bank account waiting for me in Korea and a traveling companion who had made Mount Fuji one of her highlights of the trip I was offered the chance to be bankrolled by my other globe-trotting associate. Still reticent to borrow a friend’s money I was met with a dilemma. The friend who had effectively made me her investment was afflicted with a nagging leg injury that made the sheer ascent of Mount Fuji’s megalithic cliffs and crags impossible while my ambitious mountain climbing friend was hoping to not have to attempt Fuji alone. Encouraged further by the knowledge that this might be the only chance I have do this, I eventually conceded and agreed to the proposition, unconditionally.
The day of our climb began with grey skies and steady rainfall. It was an early morning by my standards and the weather had clearly put a damper on the spirits of our world-wandering, mountain-conquering triumvirate. As we rode the shuttle that would bring us to the starting point of our climb we became increasingly enveloped in a blanket of fog that added generously to the preexisting foreboding that hung in the air. Still, we were on the brink of a new adventure and our rosy outlook was not altogether squelched.
It was already decided that the estimated time to climb Fuji and then return would bring us far too close to missing one of the last trains out of to Tokyo to Fukuoka before our weeklong train pass expired. Mildly disappointed by this, we still looked forward to climbing part of the mountain and being able to claim so. To my future dismay, this decision caused us to look at our undertaking in a much more casual light. My friend equipped herself with small backpack featuring minor necessities suited for the likes of an impromptu hike while I opted to go unburdened with the exception of the silver basketball shorts, t-shirt and long sleeved Slippery Rock shirt that hung from my legs and back. We had also omitted breakfast in the interest of time. Essentially, we were ready for Mount Fuji.
The trail starts off at a pretty reasonable slope and where we started there was still ample forestry and foliage. At first, it didn’t feel that much different from a hike in mountains of Vernon, NJ with the exception of our fellow hikers, on the path, who didn’t altogether resemble much of Vernon’s residents. However, once we cleared the trees we were faced with a series of switchbacks as far as the eye could see which, thanks to fog, was not terribly far. At this point, the climb itself was not particularly exciting. Without trees, we were just facing grey retaining walls that snaked their way up the side of the mountain. Even when we got higher up, the view downward was limited so the view didn’t offer much compensation to those looking for an exhilarating experience. Eventually, my comrade-in-legs suggested that I continue on ahead of her, noticing that I had been holding a slightly quicker pace than her own. I didn’t think much of it but decided it couldn’t hurt to trek a little ahead and see if I could find something worth looking at. That was my approach for awhile until I realized I was growing further and further from her and had the choice of waiting for her or going on ahead. Unwittingly, I sealed my fate by choosing the latter and forging ahead on my own.
Striding forth, on my own, I found myself climbing at a rather rapid pace, relative to the expected time that had been suggested by the signs at each station along the way. Blinded by my marathoning arrogance, I reasoned that based on the way I felt and the amount of time I had saved by walking quickly I could easily reach the summit with ample time to make what promised to be a much quicker descent.
Ignited by my new goal, I pressed upward into the heights of the mountain where the clouds fell beneath me and the mountain air grew dizzying. I discovered here that even on the cloudiest and gloomiest days of the year the top of Mount Fuji is still as sunny as ever. I accrued more and more curious stares from other climbers, peering questioningly at my shirt and shorts before looking back at their own climbing gear, equipped with walking sticks and decked out hiking packs. The looks hinted at the knowledge of something that I still didn’t know and would not know until I found out for myself. Though unsettling, I continued, undaunted, until I reached the volcanic cliffs that gave way to the substantial chasm at the center of this great mountain.
Again, the top was interesting but nothing to write home about (even though I am pretty much doing that now). There was a station at the top where you could buy the basics like water, food and beer which, given a more lenient budget, I may have enjoyed but I sated myself on the view and the experience itself. As far as I, and everyone else at the top, were concerned the air was crisp and the sun was out so I took a deep breath and soaked it in. I met a military fellow from the states, stationed in Japan, who obligingly took the one token picture of me at the top of the mountain to prove my story.
Aware of my rigid schedule, though very workable in light of my unexpectedly speedy ascent, I spent only a few moments at the top before I began to make my way down on the trail that was marked “descent trail.” As it turned out, I fell into stride with my most recent photographer and he explained that he was on the mountain with his father-in-law who he was meeting at the next station down. He was also incredibly accommodating when he learned that I had forgone breakfast and had, by then, found myself somewhat hungry. He treated me to a delightful meal of water, jerky and a marathon bar. It would be more than enough to carry me back to the bottom.
After a short walk with my benefactor, we parted ways and I ventured downward, on my own again, the water and marathon a bar a thing of the past and the remainder of the jerky a bit too salty to consume without the accompaniment of more water. The descent was, of course, easier but as I closed in on the final station my legs began to feel the fatigue of a good day’s climb while my heart fought off the creeping unease that came with not recognizing anything around me from my initial starting point. Unease escalated to despair when I learned that though I had reached the last station, it was the counterpart station situated on the other side of the mountain.
My first reaction was more in response to the inconvenience of the situation and knowing that the time I had made climbing and coming down quickly would be negated by the hassle of finding a way back to the first station. However, when I discovered that the station was much further from my destination than I had reckoned and that the fastest I could get back was a four-hour cab drive that would cost enough yen to purchase a comfortable estate in the countryside, I was sunk. After conferring with the local officials who, if you can believe it, didn’t speak my language I was left with a single alternative- a return trip up the mountain so that I could go back down on the other side.
Sure enough, at the bottom, the sun of Fuji’s peak was nowhere to be seen amidst the unrelenting fog that waited for me below. Seeking any form of sustenance I could find before returning to the wilderness I was able to manage a bottle of barley tea which I greedily emptied, perfectly aware that it would only make me thirstier in the long run.
I reacquainted myself with the beaten trail in a state far removed from the one that I was in when we had first met. The once proud Slippery Rock shirt, emblazoned with the steadfast encouragement from The Rock that fittingly exclaimed “ROCK ON!”, hung mockingly from my drooping shoulders, shivers of excitement replaced by those brought on by chill dampness.
My hopes of making it back on time slipped further and further away as I came to admit that my state would not allow me to make the same kind of time that my sprier earlier self was capable of. I trekked upward, miserable, forced to rest frequently beneath rocks and cliffs that would offer some form of shelter from the falling rain. At one point, to my eternal gratitude, a father, his son and his daughter stopped along the way to see how I was faring. Communicating mainly with the two kids who spoke passing English they learned my story and provided me with sustenance from their own packs. Reinvigorated equally by the food and drink and the spirit of goodwill offered to me, I trudged upward yet again. At stations that I simply walked through during my first time through, I found myself resting for five to ten minutes, falling asleep, dreamingly fitfully, at one point, only to reawaken to an even less than welcoming state of affairs.
Even in my pitiable situation, I was fortunate enough to come upon yet another group of friendly climbers led by a seemingly seasoned outdoorsmen. He offered to hike in my company for as far as he was going. Providing me with another wave of refreshment and some to take with me, which I conveniently stored in my now empty jerky bag in the absence of a proper backpack. Hoping to not slow them down, I was able to keep ahead of them for a good part of the climb before he insisted that I travel alongside them. It was welcome company and, though it was slow going, my hopes of making it back to my friends at any reasonable time was long gone. As we climbed, I asked the man how many times he had climbed Mount Fuji and said it was his second time. Somewhere deep in my mind I could feel a small smile and the urge to say “Funny, it’s mine too” creep up but it was clearly neither the time or place and I wasn’t exactly feeling up to job to make sure the delivery was there.
I parted ways with my companions a couple of stations further. The man told me that they would be bunking for the night and took his leave but not before leaving me with the ominous reminder that the side of Mount Fuji is not a place to be when the sun goes down, no matter the season. Well aware that I was well into mid-afternoon by this time with more mountain to climb again, I forced my legs to keep taking steps forward.
The rest of that second ascent was unremarkable and spent in a bit of a haze. There was no ceremony upon reaching the top the second time and was quickly forgotten so that I could concentrate on making sure that I found the right trail down this time (I feel obligated to say for the integrity of the story, though I risk robbing of some of its splendor, I was actually able to begin my descent a couple of stations before the top, so I actually never made it back to the volcano top again).
Beginning the descent, I was back in the sunlight and it went miles in picking up my spirits again, even as it threatened to slip beneath the horizon with every step I took. Exhausted but hopeful, remembering the people that had helped me out through all of it, I was in a state of tired contentment which made the rest of the climb rather pleasant.
When I reached the bottom, the pleasantness continued. It quickly became evident that my friends had long since gone from the bottom station and I considered it a distinct possibility that they had gone further than that. As if to mock me, or maybe congratulate me, the fog was nowhere to be seen and from where the station stood we were still sitting at a pretty considerable height, allowing me to snap a few shots of the sun setting behind a series of cool-whip© clouds.
When I reached home base back in town, a note was left for me from my friends explaining their need to leave to catch the last train from Tokyo and the ferry we had already paid for in Fukuoka. I quickly absorbed the magnitude of this situation and drew a very simple conclusion. As my readership will recall, my financial situation was bleak at best before I attempted Fuji. With my recently absent benefactress I was essentially a phoneless vagabond in the rural outskirts of the Tokyo Prefecture. Naturally, I asked the kindly hostel owner if I could take shower before I left, even though we had already checked out. He assented with a smile. I rinsed myself in earnest to cleanse myself of my Fuji filth. I subsequently discovered that the eternal sun I welcomed at the top of Mount Fuji had given me one of the worst sunburns my face had ever experienced.
Afterward, I thankfully brandished the round trip ticket back to Tokyo that we purchased before getting to the mountain and got aboard one of the last trains headed that way. Happily, I reached Tokyo where clear skies awaited me and set out, now reunited with all of my bags and laptop, to find the internet. With something like 700 yen to my name I looked for anywhere that I could find wi-fi, looking predominantly in cafes and the like. Unfortunately, it was somewhere around the 10:00 to 11:00 PM time and most places were closed. The closest thing I came to was a Wendy’s where I put up a prayer, hoping for cheap food and the internet. What I found was enough money for a small chili and nothing else. Still, I lugged my belongings around a few blocks before I saw a temple nestled in the middle of a few buildings and across the street from a police station that, to my misfortune, was closed. I settled beneath a statue of a lion-gorilla beast and rested my weary bones. Sleep took me quicker than I expected and in no time I was officially penniless and homeless in Japan. I woke up every hour or so often, very aware that what I expected to be a low foot traffic area still kept a steady flow of passers-by.
I properly returned to the world sometime around 7:00 AM and looked over to discover that crime’s business hours had begun so, sure enough, so had the police station’s. I assumed that my previous interaction with local Japanese officials on Fuji was certain to be a precursor to this one, and it was. My main goal was and remained, throughout our negotiations, to find a way to get to the internet. After an hour of gestures, being shown a chart of different pictures that allowed me to point to such expressions as “I’ve been robbed”, “I’m lost” and “I am sick”, and calling a translator I was given two choices: First, I could take 2,000 yen from the four officers there (out of their own pocket because I’m pretty sure most police stations don’t have a bank account for these kinds of situations) to find an internet café or to call the embassy and get myself extradited back to the states- I graciously accepted the money and left.
From there, I was back to wandering, but this time I was a man of means. The prospect of eating something and talking to somebody who could help me let me forget my aches from a 10-hour hike and shouldering everything I had taken to Japan. By now it was mid-morning and cafes were beginning to open up. I felt certain that if nothing else, I would find a Starbucks where I could find what I was looking for. It was at this time that I realized what I took for granted in Korea. Back here on the Peninsula, it takes a serious effort to avoid the internet no matter where you go. In Tokyo, I found something in the realm of five or six Starbucks in addition to a laundry list of corner cafes with nothing to offer but coffee. My beacon of hope didn’t come until I found a three-story McDonald’s with a sign that said free wi-fi. With my excitement nearly palpable I inquired about the wi-fi to a kindly employee who assured me I would find what I was looking for on the third floor. I ordered a meal and was up the stairs as fast as the food being sold.
When I reached the top and settled down I realized there weren’t any available electric sockets in the area. This would be a problem if I tried to make a phone call and used up the battery but I took the gamble and went for it. What I found was a weak connection that I later discovered only worked for portable video game consoles and was useless to my computer. Suddenly, I was a little closer to broke with nothing to show for it and as I looked out the window- would you believe it?- it started to rain.
All things considered, I believe myself to be rather lucky that the rain didn’t come earlier while I was sleeping over at the temple. At this point, my face was equal parts grimace and grin. I wasn’t sure if this was an absolutely awful thing happening to me or just a good story (For those reading, you might not even agree on the second part but it’s what got me through the tough times). Somewhat at a loss for what to do, I ran to a nearby establishment that looked a like a mix between a restaurant and a café. It was a long-shot but it was dry so I inquired within. Sure enough, this was the one place in all of Japan that had the internet and once again I believed it was mission accomplished. Nay, it would have been, but my latest expenses at the Golden Arches left me short of even the cheapest thing at this evidently classy establishment. So close to success, I sulked out the door- defeated.
Aimless again, I decided to check out a restaurant that didn’t open until 11 AM that promised wi-fi on its sign. Naturally dubious, I pulled myself up the steps and asked to look at the menu and then asked about wi-fi. The man answered in the affirmative rather matter-of-factly but I’m sure the size of my smile was enough to make him think he had been selected for canonization.
I plopped myself at a stool facing the window and, as if to mock the rain that had thwarted me before, set up my computer right in front. I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, which I later discovered was free refills on a vast assortment of juices from the juice bar for an hour, and logged on. I made two crucial contacts during my time at this place. I was able to call my parents to let them know I was broke and get a message to a friend of mine from Vernon that was living in Tokyo, who I had met up with earlier in the week but hadn’t seen since high school before that. With my parents still confused but ever-selfless, my financial woes were taken care of, though they couldn’t wire me the money until the next day, Monday. That’s where my friend Catherine Bergmann comes in. Apparently, I wasn’t content with the amount of time we had spent catching up during the week so I stranded myself in Tokyo to remedy the situation.
First, as I messaged her phone from my computer she headed in my direction to meet me. It was shortly after that I was handed a bill that proved to be beyond my wealth. The plan had to change. Instead of meeting her, she was coming to rescue me from a night spent cleaning dishes, which might have been preferable to another night underneath the lion-gorilla. From there, she treated me to lunch at Outback Steakhouse and dinner at particularly appetizing curry restaurant. Not to mention, she offered me her couch to sleep on for the night and a chance to message my school with the bad news. The next day brought me to the nearest bank that could wire money from America which was, naturally, a Brazilian bank where the issue of translation was yet more compounded. Luckily, Catherine’s generosity carried me right to the platform at the train station and I nabbed the earliest train to Fukuoka- where I would have to pay for another ferry to get back home.
The next night was a quiet night spent in the very same hostel that began my whole adventure. I made dinner simple with some Japanese Wendy’s and capitalized on a rainless night in the city by walking around and eventually settling in with a few Assahis and austere but clean sleeping quarters. At long last, a modicum of rationality had returned to my life and the remainder of the evening glided into Morpheus’ embrace with noted amicability.
The next day took me back to my Asian homeland and, after some apologizing and fast talking with my superiors, I was happily prepared to return to my routine back at school.
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