[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.

This is my post that was essentially finished on the date of it's intended publication but managed to climb further into the recesses of my backlogged blog as the prospect of attempting to cover the widening gap from my last post became more and more daunting.

JULY 27TH- HIROSHIMA TO KYOTO

It’s a little after 9 PM here in the Orient and we are speeding towards our first real destination of our trip. We’re relaxing on the express rail to Kyoto with another satisfactory day under our belt. As we assumed might be the case, the weather did very little to help us out and we’ve accepted that the weather may be a reoccurring obstacle for us in the future. Accepting that unfortunate state of affairs, we managed a very moving, though sobering, day in one of only two cities in the world to ever experience the effects of a direct strike from an atomic bomb.

Our efforts to find lunch after we arrived were yet again trying. We’ve realized that although we aren’t really picky about where we eat, we kind of are. We saw a few restaurants that looked like they could be potential dining spots but I think we were just hesitant to commit to one thing knowing that there might something else out there. Should our relationship with Japan ever get serious I worry that this fear of commitment may get in the way somewhere down the road. Either way, with only one day in Hiroshima, lunch was a minor concern, and once we had eaten our fill we braved the rain as it was falling its hardest and marched toward the Hiroshima Museum. With the rain falling at a rate that made umbrellas virtually ineffective, we hurried through Hiroshima park, taking only sidelong glances and catching faint glimpses of what was around us, bent on making it indoors as soon as possible.

When we finally made it inside, we started into the heart of the museum when we discovered that we would be able to catch two movies about Hiroshima and The Bomb just as they were about to start. I think the three of us agree that this was the best move possible. They were two documentaries- one concentrating a little more on the sentimental humanistic side while the other took a broader look at the factual and real aspects of what occurred there in 1945. By the end of the two of them, though somewhat dispirited, we were far more suited to appreciate what we would be seeing within.

It was odd to realize that although we’ve read about and heard about Hiroshima and Nagasaki over and over again in our lives, there still remains a very real disconnect that doesn’t really dissolve until you actually go to the place that it happened and are among the descendants and survivors of who it happened to. Perhaps the most intriguing part of the experience was the different perspectives that were made available to me at a single time. It was peculiar notion to think that, after having read and heard about these events from an American voice, the voice of the bomber, I was immersed in the world of the bombed. Even as I heard the same story again I couldn’t help but look at it in a completely different way. It was not only that but also, in the company of two Canadians, it was interesting to see how even they learned about and heard about the same events somewhat differently. Overall, I was impressed by how well the design of the museum was executed and while certain parts of the movies were graphic, it could all be appreciated within the context of the subject at hand.

We left the museum the way the museum intends you to leave it and the way Hiroshima, as a city, intends you to leave it- somber but hopeful. Unlike when we had arrived at the museum, as we left the rain was falling but at a more reasonable rate. This time we were able to appreciate the park that lay beyond the museum in its entirety. Dappled with various trees and dotted with sculptures dedicated to the memory Hiroshima’s tragic destruction, the park culminates with two major focal points that can be seen in unison from the exit of the museum- the perpetually lit torch at the center of park, burning until all nuclear arms and processing plants are dismantled and destroyed and the A-Bomb dome in the backdrop, the last remaining ruins of a city that was once entirely flattened in a single morning. Still, the most telling monument in the entire is probably the people and the city itself. Were it not for history books and memories, a casual observer would never suspect what went on there.

Dinner in Hiroshima was a pretty casual affair. We went back to the train terminal to set up our ride to Kyoto and looked around in the immediate area for something that caught our eye. It took some time and about three laps around the restaurant area of the terminal before we found a place that wasn’t too crowded and satisfied our evidently particular tastes. We managed what proved to be a pleasant surprise as we sat down to a small bar with about eight stools that was comprised of enough space for eating and a huge skillet top where the food was prepared right in front of you. The fare was essentially a battery pancake on the bottom of a vast array of different vegetables all thrown together and held together by the aforementioned pancake. It was simple but substantial and in the way of regrets there were none.

Our departure of Hiroshima went like the entire day’s visit, quiet. While the excitement of heading to our next destination could be felt creeping upon us, we boarded our train with a subdued reverence for the city and people we were leaving.

JULY 26th - THE TRIP TO JAPAN- SAKE AND LIAM


The sails have been lifted and we are well under way as I begin my first entry in this new segment to the Soko and Liam Publication- Sake and Liam. Right now, I am typing away on an express train from Fukuoka, Japan to the infamously historical city of Hiroshima. The rain is surging at a monsoon-like rate outside my window but while the world out there is damp and dark, the spirits of my two travel companions and myself are light and lofty. After all, we are in Japan and on the beginning end of a week vacation that will entail stops in the traditional and enchanting city of Kyoto along with a visit to bustling metropolis of Tokyo followed by a hiking excursion up the cliffs and crags of Mount Fuji. While the won is the diminutive second cousin to the colossal Japanese yen and our pockets are light, the world is our oyster and we’re ready to see what it has to offer.

Echoing elements of a previous journey’s start, things didn’t go entirely as planned from the get-go. My first travel companion, Priya and I, had work until 7:20 and our third addition to the party didn’t get out of work until 10:00 so it was our plan to hop on the 10:30 train that night to Busan where we would pick up the ferry in the morning. Knowing that I had a 3-hour wide berth to get home, packed and over to the bus station, I agreed to have dinner with Chris and a few of the Korean teachers after work. While I expected to find myself rushing, I was actually rather responsible in excusing myself from dinner in a timely fashion and getting back to the apartment to begin my typically rushed and random pack and pray routine. While this system appears slightly flawed to most outsiders I would have to go ahead and disagree. I would actually say it is EXTREMELY flawed. Still, it’s an adventure as well. Either way, so far, my packing has proven thorough enough for my needs. Unfortunately, the mistake I was to make was set into motion well before my thoughts of packing began. Somehow the idea of bringing my visa to a foreign country never entered my mind. I’ve been traveling throughout parts of Korea without any concern for it so it never occurred to me that this trip (TO JAPAN!) might require some documentation. It wasn’t until Priya and I were in the taxi to the bus station that we went over the check list of vital items that we would need and after the first item I was already 0 for 1. Ultimately, I had to rush back to work where I had been keeping it in my desk but even before that, it was clearly evident that the 10:30 bus to Busan would be nothing but a memory by the time I got back. We ended up settling for a 12:00 departure- a departure that would dictate our actions for the rest of the night, for better or for worse.

When the bus pulled up to Busan it was sometime around 3:30 am and our options were to settle up in a Love-Motel (I’ll let the imagination of my readership to reach their own conclusions about what that is) or stay at a jim jil bang, which is pretty much a spa where you have the option of resting your head for a little of you choose. Rationally, we chose neither and headed to a nearby McDonalds. There, we asked when they would be serving breakfast and when we learned it would at 4:00 am we decided to wait it out. Two sausage, egg and cheese McMuffins later we sat around discussing our next plan of action. At that point, it was no longer worth trying to find a place to stay so we moved to a remote booth in what was a rather sizeable McDonalds and sat, snoozed and talked until sometime after 6 am. From there we hopped on the Hydrofoil for four hours until we reached the heat and humidity of one of Japan’s southern port cities, Fukuoka.

With no set plans in Fukuoka and still unsure where we would be staying for night until the next day when our Japan Rail passes would be valid and we could head to Hiroshima, we began to lug our bags and belongings through the city with a map and a few business cards leading the way. We wandered for some time, eager to find both food and shelter in an unknown city. Although we were hungry, our lodgings took precedent and we trudged through the urban milieu, using the small map on the back of our business cards to find a hostel for the night. Eventually, having no luck with our search, we grabbed a cab and showed him the card with hopes that there would be a vacancy in the first place we looked. I admit that we were lost after I had decided to take point and orienteer ourselves toward our destination but, I relinquished any real blame shortly after when we found ourselves with a cab driver who was combing the streets and driving in circles to find the very same hostel I had been trying to get us to. In fact, after we had gone in circles twice, our cab driver magnanimously turned off his meter, made a few phone calls and took it upon himself to make sure we reached where we were going. We did eventually get to where we were going and were pleasantly surprised to find it with a vacancy for three at an extremely agreeable price. In fact, we were so fortunate in our search, that our gracious landlady/hostess/friend provided us with authentic Japanese pajamas, green tea, bedding and towels and did so with a wonderful smile the entire time. We were in Japan and, so far, things were looking good.

Having established our residence for the evening, we decided it was time to explore and get some food. The theme for the evening was economy. We were in Fukuoka for the night out of convenience and necessity, not as point of interest although the city did prove to be rather interesting. When we began our mission for food in the beginning we were pretty open-minded but, at the same time, we wanted to make sure it was real Japanese cuisine and not too expensive. The search took us somewhat farther than we expected and, as we wandered, we wound through a few underground malls (underground malls that far exceeded the one in Gwangju ) and wended through a couple side streets before agreeing on a small place that served yakisoba which was a combination of lo mein-like noodles (soba), meat and vegetables, topped in a kind of soy sauce. We found it both affordable and satisfactory and were ready forge back out into the city and do some more exploring. We remained rather aimless, strolling through a park where the peculiar sound of cicadas could be heard mixing the noise of the city and stopping in at a few novelty shops. We looked at a few restaurants and discussed what we would be eating for dinner after we had worked up an appetite from walking when we discovered that in all of our ramblings we had yet to encounter a place that served sushi. This seemed both wrong and unacceptable and when we made the conscious effort to find a place with sushi it started as a fancy and became a determined quest. We refused to believe that we could go through a Japanese city without finding a place to eat sushi. It was about this time that we were overtaken by a burly but friendly Jamaican man by the name of Allen who wanted to know our story and tell us his. He told us about how he was born in Jamaica, grew up in Brooklyn and then met and married a Japanese woman who brought him there and he had been living in Fukuoka for the past 16 years. Once the introductions were behind us we inquired about a good place for sushi and we were met with a laugh as he raised his outstretched arms on either side, palms facing upward, saying “They’re everywhere, mon! You’re in Japan!” He was right, we were but based on our knowledge of the Japanese language which, like in Korea, is pretty much limited to pictures so he offered to take us to his bar and show us some brochures and maps that might help us out. Personally, I found Allen to be refreshingly jovial character but I can’t blame the other two for being a bit reticent about following him along, especially as we approached the building and he pointed to a single balcony that looked more like an apartment with Bob Marley’s face printed on a Jamaican flag and as we entered a seedy lobby and got into an even seedier elevator. Luckily, our faith in humankind prevailed and he took us into a small but inviting bar fully decked out in Jamaican regalia, equipped with a Red Stripe tap and enough red, yellow and green to satisfy any Jamaicophile. He let us take some pictures on his matching balcony and invited us to come back later when he was actually open and we left with friendly good-byes and our sincere things before continuing on our search for Japan’s national dish.

When we left Allen we thought we had a good bearing on where we were but there’s something about new cities when day turns into night and it begins to look a little different. Thinking we knew what direction to go we casually walked in a direction, talking and taking pictures with no real concern for where we were going. That directional indifference escaped me first when it started to occur to me that, while we all believe we had a sense of where we were, I had somehow become the one on point. It was my false bravado and confidence in myself that I could figure out where we were going that eventually left us completely disoriented and, in most if not all senses of the word, lost. Instead of seeing this as a roadblock in our plans, our trio kept our chins up and accepted the challenge as we wracked our brains to get some idea of where we were. It required a group effort but after finding some vague landmarks that we may have only convinced ourselves that we had seen before, we headed into a part of the underground mall and used the signs to get us into a part of the city that we were at least somewhat familiar with. Incredibly, it was the combination of a purse in a window that Priya had commented on early and a picture that I had taken of a narrow alleyway that afternoon that provided us with the most concrete landmarks for directing us home- well, that and a huge ship protruding from the façade of one of the restaurants on the corner of our hostel’s street.

Naturally, just as we were pretty confident about where we were going, the rain that had held out the entire day let us have it all at once. We were maybe 5 minutes from our hostel when we found ourselves pinned under and an awning, half-soaked and trying to wait out the deluge. After being set on sushi for healthy portion of the day, we looked at each other and decided we’d be willing to cut our losses and just grab some nearby food while we waited the rain out. Amazingly, as looked around and across the street we saw two restaurants- one Chinese, the other Indian. Our conviction had weakened but we weren’t about to sell out our traveling sensibilities. We opted out of the easy exit and dashed to a nearby convenience store where we bought some cheap umbrellas and trudged towards our hostel, unwilling to relent until we had accomplished what we had set out to do. We found our hostel, re-familiarized ourselves with our surroundings and set out towards one of the main strips nearby. First, we inspected the restaurants that were all located in the center of shopping center called Canal City. We looked at about ten restaurants with no success until we decided to walk back out on the other end of the shopping center and see what we could find on the street there. We walked past a couple of restaurants to no avail as hunger and despair began to grip us when we looked into a restaurant and asked if they served sushi. She shook her had and turned our heads downward in defeat when she stepped out into the street with us and pointed down the street with a smile and said, “Sushi!” Our eyebrows rose in disbelief but said thank you and followed her directions. Sure enough, only two restaurants down, there was a small sushi bar with about six or seven seats and trio of smiling workers welcoming into our first sushi bar in Japan.

We’re not sure how common this is in Japan or in sushi bars, in general, but after we had ordered and they began serving the sushi we realized that both our plates and our chopsticks were useless. Instead, the sushi roller placed our food directly on the bar in front of us and instructed us to grab, dip and eat with our hands. We would have been a little more taken aback by the prospect of picking up our food with our hands if it weren’t for the fact that had already handled my sushi when plopping it in front of me and then again to show us how to eat it. In my mind, if it’s okay for him to pick up my food with his hands then my fingers should be fair game. The meal was a slight bit pricier than we anticipated, but the staff there was extremely friend and although we only ordered eight rolls each, they went ahead and gave us nine. They seemed to really appreciate having us there and we were more than happy to provide them with our company.

The night finished with some ice cream wrapped in crepes and some pictures of us in our Japanese pajamas before we snagged an early bedtime and prepared for our early departure to Hiroshima in the morning.

Today, we woke up a little bit later than we expected because our alarm didn’t work but it was a far from disheartening result. My eyes had opened to the world with the sound of torrential rain pattering in my ears and stark reality that the weather today might not work to our benefit. Knowing that we’ll only be in Hiroshima for the day and that our itinerary isn’t terribly demanding, we remain content with the trajectory of our Sunday thus far.

Greg's Visit

JULY 14TH, 2009 (Note to reader: Entry was started on July 14th but completed at a later date)

Tonight marks the first night that I will not be in the company of my good friend Greg Jablonski. As I write this entry he will either be enjoying a nightcap somewhere on his last night in Seoul or in a dimly lit dungeon, a mile underground and in the unforgiving grips of Kim Jong-Il’s blindly loyal military regime. Though his flight out of Seoul is scheduled for tomorrow I recently discovered that the plans he made with a new acquaintance from Canada that we met in my last night there to tour the DMZ today came to fruition. This brash decision to explore the most highly militarized border on the planet is a testament to his adventurous spirit and I’m glad he was able to do it, but my fingers are crossed for his safe return. For those of you at home, if a stout and scruffy gentleman, answering primarily to the name “Ox” should come across your path please be sure to bring him home- his friends and family will be worried.

Greg’s arrival brought an inauspicious start to his journey across the globe. Still without a cell phone and more than three months into my contract here, the demand for sharp action and precise planning was necessary to ensure a smooth transfer from the Gwangju bus terminal to my humble abode. Unfortunately, despite our best efforts, a great failure to meet at the appointed time occurred. While I arrived early and rushed to the point that I expected him to come through he somehow managed to elude my vigilant eyes. The consequence was a lot of waiting around and Greg’s eventual decision to stay the night at the Ramada that happened to be just down the street from my school. By then I’m sure he had just about thrown in the towel for meeting me that night but his last ditch effort to use the internet in the lobby of the hotel proved successful. While my concern for Greg and the assumption that he had been waylaid in Seoul entered my mind I too took a chance by paying a few won to log onto one of the bus terminal’s public computers. Fortunately, both of our decisions were made at roughly the same time and live contact was established. Though on slightly grumpy and exhausted terms, we were able to meet in the lobby of the Ramada sometime around the 2 o’clock hour. I had the pleasure of showing him the ridiculous proximity of my school to his lodgings as well as to his first Korean meal at a nice restaurant on the corner called McDonalds.

Before parting ways on that first night, we made plans to meet up for lunch outside of my school and from there he would be able to come in and observe my newly acquired Korean teaching methods. We did lunch with some of co-workers at a nearby “kimbap nara”, allowing him to actually taste some real Korean food. While no effort is spent on ambience or service at these kimbap shops, the price for the quantity and value along with the authentic Korean experience that it provides makes a place like this an extremely worthwhile visit.

After lunch, I was able to introduce him to my kindergarten class as we tackled the “science “part of our
curriculum. On that day, our undertaking was to demonstrate the reflective principle of a camera. As is the case with most of the sciences we deal with, the concept being dealt with was beyond the understanding of my kids and the work need to assemble everything was also impractical for them to complete alone. It was actually extremely lucky that Greg was there that day because I wasted no time putting him to work helping the students and were it not for that I don’t think we would have finished in time. The results of the camera science were interesting, although mixed, as some of the kids’ lenses showed upside down images of the world while others revealed little more than a dim light through an opaque film. The greatest success of the day was a noted sense of endearment that developed between my kids and “Grape” teacher of which I think we were both happy about.

For my first afternoon class, I took advantage of the fact that I was ahead of the workload with my class and let Greg take the reins. It was the idea of my Korean teacher to have the kids use their English to ask the Greg questions about him. At first, the questions were weak and scarce but as they grew more comfortable and confident the give and take between the two parties became more fluid and the English flowed more freely, if not inaccurately in many cases. For my later class, I think it was enjoyable for Greg to see how well they could actually speak and how easy it was to interact with them but, at the same time, it is a class where a lot of work is done and I gave him the nod to head upstairs to the office and take a break. After all, he had been flying for a day and half and jet lag was very real ailment at the time.

Perhaps the greatest thing about leaving on Wednesday in America and flying 18 hours to Korea is the fact that when you get there it’s already the weekend. By the time I was done with work at 7:20 and met back up with Greg upstairs, we were both ready to take on Friday night in Gwangju. Set on showing him some of the cornerstones of Korean nightlife right off the bat, I took him to dinner at the nearby corner Korean barbecue where we ordered the usual, supplemented with some local Korean beer and the country’s national liquor, soju. Delighted by a delicious dinner and the first real chance to catch up, we stuck around until our cheeks were a little bit redder than they started and set our sights on downtown Gwangju. The night brought us to a number of our local haunts, introducing Greg to the Korean bar that brews its own German-style beer and another one where we could play some pool and darts, varying from a largely foreign clientele to a mixed Korean/foreign crowd. While the memory of everything may vary in accuracy, the culmination of the evening actually occurred well into the morning hours when we were randomly invited to sit with a few Korean guys sitting at an outside bar on our way to take a cab home. Just as we though the night was over we found ourselves engulfed in a torrent of volleyed Korean and English. Essentially unable to understand each other from words alone, the need for charades and big gestures increased as we drank and the hilarity was palpable.

The only drawback of our evening’s prolonged festivities was, quite naturally, the next day. While a late start was far from the worst thing to happen to a visitor who needed his rest on a day when much of the activity was spent preparing for the Fourth of July celebration that night, it became necessary for much more time to be reserved for recovery than that. Chalked up, based on my extensive knowledge on these kinds of medical maladies, to a combination jetlag/ exhaustion, very authentic Korean food and a long night out, when Greg woke up that morning, he was a far cry from the floor-stomping, 100-meter dash record breaking Ox that many of us know so well. Some of us like to say that it was the soju that really did it, so that we can act like pseudo-natives who brag about being able to drink their home brews but either way, even as the morning and day got ready to turn into evening, our fallen comrade was not yet ready for it. To give my guest some well-deserved credit he did manage to make an appearance at our rooftop gala long enough to nurse a cheeseburger and meet some of my friends that he had yet to encounter up to this point. Tragically, his timing being what it was, he managed to miss the short visit made by a fellow son of Vernon, Matt Marion. Not having met him before, there was an odd familiarity that existed when I saw him simply through the knowledge that we shared common origins. It was just too bad we couldn’t have the trifecta sharing a beer and a burger beneath the setting sun of the Orient.

On my end, the night was yet another one that was very well spent. We decked out our rooftop with chairs, grills and music and while we only had a small handful of expected guests our popularity proved to be more far-reaching than we had initially realized. As the sun hovered above the not so distant mountains, we sat or stood talking about America, Korea and just about anything under the aforementioned ball of fire and gas. Perhaps the only real flaw to the whole plan was leaving yours truly in command of the grill for evening but even then, I think I managed an adequate performance. On the pro side, fireworks can be bought just about anywhere here without difficulty and they pretty much were. Even after a thorough display of roman candles, bottle rockets and a multitude of other incendiaries there still remain an assortment of fireworks sitting in random spots in my now overfilled apartment, compliments of the vast array of items that were conveniently stashed temporarily in my nearby abode.

The next day, Sunday, was my first opportunity to introduce Greg to Korea in the daylight. Unfortunately for me, Greg was going on a full day and night’s rest and ready to see this new world while I was still shedding the weight of the previous night from my eyelids. We managed to get ourselves our of the door sometime around noon or so and, after a quick lunch at Kimbap Nara, set forth towards downtown- a place he had been previously, but under much different pretexts. We spent some time looking for the Bermuda Triangle of bars that we had patronized in the dawning hours of Saturday but to no avail. Though Greg claims he saw one of the guys that we drank with on a later visit with one of my friends I am convinced that our experience was somewhat of a mix between Alice and Wonderland and The Twilight Zone. The obvious conclusion that I’ve come to is that this bar only exists when it is the one thing you want the most, otherwise it rests somewhere in limbo, awaiting the next party of dreamers to stumble upon it. Beside that, we just wandered through downtown where I showed him the market that sells anything from VERY fresh produce and seafood to knock-off Louis Vuitton (don’t worry, I google checked it for spelling accuracy) bags and furniture.

By the time we made it back from downtown it was somewhere around dinner time so I took him to my local favorite, California Sushi and Roll. It has reached the point that he trio of Terry, Chris and Liam have managed to acquire our own distinct “go-to” restaurants in our neighborhood- Terry has Kimbap Nara for his spicy and bubbling hot soup, Kimchi Jjigae, Chris has O.So where he can some get some Korean barbecued beef and I have my sushi place. The thing is, they never seem willing to go to my favorite spot so it was essential to bring my hometown pal to some of the best rolls he’s ever had. While red soup and raw cow meat may have an allure of their own, there is nothing like a roll of sushi shaped like a dragon with edible fire emanating from its mouth- trust me, Greg agrees. After that, we finished off his first weekend in Korea with a few pints and a few friends at our favorite local watering hole.

During the week, much of Greg’s activity that is worthy of retelling occurred while I was at work. While I could attempt to piecemeal a story together with what he told me about his adventures in Gwangju, I don’t believe myself up to the challenge and would be too afraid of delivering it in a way that is unbefitting this Quester of the Orient. Much of the story involved getting intentionally lost in the city and taking a journey to the outskirts for a leisurely hike in the mountains. Also, much of what was in his plans, which are ever wont to go awry, were bogged down by the advent of the Korean rainy season. He managed to arrive just as it began to get into full swing and it kept him pretty well grounded for the week. We did, however, have a few good nights out and one which was probably the most memorable of our the nights that didn’t fall on a weekend.

It’s customary for our directors to take the guests of their employees out to dinner during one of the nights that they are there. As luck would have it, Greg’s time here overlapped with an evening planned by them to take some of the Korean teachers out for some samgyeopsal- a korean barbecue dish of glorified bacon cut in thick slabs and served with a laundry list of sides. It was decided that Greg’s night would be that same night. Well beyond feeling miffed for not getting his own dinner, Greg rose to the occasion and helped make it a particularly socially redeeming night. Tucked in one corner, surrounded by Korean teachers and my bosses and ignoring the stiffness that comes with sitting cross-legged at a foot and a half high table, Greg, Terry, Chris, Charles (a new addition to LCI who hails from the beautiful county of Bergen, New Jersey) and I reveled in the company at hand. We shared glasses of soju and maekju (beer) as we toasted to the hauntingly sweet drinking melody that Greg brought with him from the shores of New Jersey known affectionately as “Drink Your Face Off”. While I admit I was a bit timid to introduce such a dirge myself to the said company in my three months here, after a few precursor toasts there were many who welcomed the refreshingly simple tune. It was a fitting compliment to the array of soju, maekju and “somaek” (a surprisingly pleasant mixture of beer and soju) that was being enjoyed by all. The night took us surprisingly well into the evening and, notwithstanding the mildly rough morning that awaited me the next day, it was a great time.

The following Friday had a typically late start, compliments of Chris and my 7:20 exit from the office and our garrulous ways. As we headed downstairs we made a stop at the main floor where we found Terry who, having the late shift, was still on the clock but without any classes left. To while his time away he was chatting it up with our director Manila. It took very little for us to fall into the trap that can easily extinguish a Friday night before it even starts- small talk. Still dinnerless as the minutes ticked away, the youthful evening began to age into its prime when Manila said she would have offered to buy us a beer if it weren’t for the fact that we still had to eat dinner. Fortunately, we were in a company of like minds who were willing to forego an evening of sustenance for the sake of a friendly invitation and, admittedly, a free beer. However, what emerged from this invitation was a beer that became the first of more. As we sipped on OB Blue and dined some bar food, we listened to Manila explaining how to date Korean girls and how to make sure we find the right one. Though he was only here for a week at that point, Manila had learned Greg’s nickname from home -Ox- and had labeled him with her own -Terminator- and used both interchangeably. We learned that night that Greg was strong-handsome and I, well, was just the regular kind. Still, after such discoveries, our other boss arrived and though I think he was aiming to go home managed to endure our company for awhile longer, for which we were all appreciative. Though unexpected, the first stop of the night that became the actual night was a welcome surprise. I got to boast to Greg about how great my bosses are while he got to boast about how strong and handsome he was. It was win-win.

A relatively quiet and early night on Friday opened the door for a relatively early start on Saturday which, thanks to a favor from Manila, would be the departure date for Greg and I to head to Seoul where I would be permitted to take a day from work and stay until Monday. After a quick meal at the reliable Kimbap Nara and some good-byes between Greg and his new friends, Chris and Terry, we hopped a cab and headed to the bus station. It was around dinnertime when we reached Seoul and settled into our hotel room, where Greg made an incredible entrance by screaming, in a joking tone, at me in the sound-proof revolving doors only for his sound-proofed window to close sometime before he was done with his scream. The first thing we heard from our would-be hosts for the next two nights (four, for him) was to please be quiet, accompanied with some less than friendly looks. In a city that neither of us had been to before and where my depressingly trivial knowledge of the Korean language was our main means of progressing our adventure forward, this wasn’t the start we were looking for. Thankfully, first impressions can sometimes be reconfigured.

Our first night in Seoul was spent relatively close to home-base for the sake of convenience and began at a restaurant that was advertised in our travel book as the Platinum Brewery- featuring a microbrewery of about seven different beers and a dinner buffet. When we arrived, we soon discovered that where the Platinum Brewery should have been was a place known simply as The Beer Factory. Not ones to split hairs, we proceeded downstairs to see what was in store.

The restaurant proved to be what we assumed was the successor of the Platinum Brewery. It looked like a what a place called Platinum brewery would look like minus the name on the door. Either way, it had what we were looking for. There were seven microbrews and a menu of Korean-German dishes. I have, by the way, come to the conclusion that Korea sees German bars in the same way that we see Irish pubs. I have already seen a few and they are the only places where I have seen more than two or three beers on tap and where they actually have their own beers. They probably figure if it’s German it must be good. But, I digress. Dinner with Gregory was enjoyable and the ambience was proper for a couple of old friends getting ready to part ways in a couple of days.

We spent an hour or two at the Beer Factory before we shoved off to see where the night would take us. Interestingly enough, it didn’t take us on all that exotic of a course to start. We trolled the streets for awhile looking for a suitable berth to make anchor but it seemed we that we were still too early and that we weren’t quite in the prime location for Saturday night activity. We decided that it was in our best interest to lay up for a little and hope that a couple of pints would inspire us to our next endeavor. Laughably, we wound up at a WA Bar somewhere on a side street which is a chain bar in Korea that exists, in abundance, in Gwangju. In fact, it was a WA Bar that housed the Friday night discussions the night before. It wasn’t exactly the best way to show off a new city and the house was pretty empty but the company was good and when we asked for a stout the menu said they had we ended up with a pair of Guinnesses in our midst. Not to be discouraged, we took these pints as a sign of things to come. It took some time for anything to happen but eventually a few Korean girls came in and we managed to start a conversation. Before we knew it, we were at a Nae-Rae-Bang or singing room. It would prove to be the second night, since my arrival in Korea, that I would submit others to the once Choral-caliber-gone-terribly-wrong voice of mine. While I apologized profusely in between breaths, the sympathetic encouragement kept me going. Greg did a little bit better than me but I still think we gave those girls something to shudder at for years to come.

The next day took us into the heart of the city, to a place called Insadong. As a recommendation from Manila, I think we were both extremely happy to have been pointed in this direction. Typically, Seoul is considered a much more international and less Korean city than a place like Gwangju but I would say that I, and I think most certainly Greg, got one of the most authentic feels of traditional Korean culture that we’ve had so far. We were able to check out some tea shops with some pretty impressive ceramic creations and got to sit down to a traditional Korean lunch decked out with rose tea and mandu and kimchi soup. Afterward, we were able walk through a market that was built on a large, spiraling ramp that continued a good four or five stories high. From there we could see a good portion of the city and glimpse the ever-present mountains rising up beyond the city limits.

As dusk began to fall and we had our fill of tea and kimchi, we headed into what the kids these days would call a “hipper” part of town. Not too far from a university, Greg and I hoped to send each other off in style. Oddly enough, it became another on of those nights where your first stop is expected to be the first of many but, instead, becomes your venue for the evening. For dinner, we went to a restaurant called The Pub where we, fittingly, got The Pub Pizza (We ate a surprising amount of pizza while Greg was in Korea) and a couple of beers. Happy with the food and the beer, as well as the restaurant itself that had an indoor feel but opened out into the street where we could observe the comings and goings of people passing by, we opted to sit tight for a little while. But anchored only temporarily by our food and beer, our eyes began to wander and contemplate our next move until Greg couldn’t help but notice that the two western-looking girls sitting at the next table over were speaking English at times and French at others. Intrigued, Greg politely asked for an explanation. Sure enough, they were French Canadian- one was in Korea as an English teacher and the other was a teacher back home visiting. To some readers, that coincidence is obvious but for others it becomes necessary for me to explain that Greg is a teacher back home. For those of you who have stumbled on this blog and somehow managed to have only read this paragraph I must also explain that I am an English teacher in Korea. Naturally, conversation erupted and we ended up talking with them for quite awhile. By the time they had left and it was just us two again, we were well situated at The Pub and it became bar the for the night.

The next day was a slow start. With the weather being what it was, an off and on rainfall, and with our plans for the day undecided, we ended up wandering through the streets of Myeongdong, another part of town in Seoul. This was a much more internationalized/Americanized part of the city which, for me was a welcome sight, and it was interesting to see the throngs of people out and about on a Monday afternoon/evening. The main event of the night was an early dinner at a, you guessed it, German-style bar called Bier Halle. Though we were, yet again, impressed by the ambience of the restaurant itself, we picked out two seats near a part of the room that jutted out and over the street with a window for a wall. We found it to be another place to enjoy a pint and some vittles while absorbing the scenes below. From there, Greg accompanied be to the bus station where we had a somewhat hectic time trying to figure out where the bus to Gwangju arrived. When we finally did, we found out the next bus left rather soon and Greg and I parted with a hug and handshake. For me, the next stop would be my place back here in Gwangju and for him, a one way ticket to the DMZ- the most heavily garrisoned border in the world- in the company of our newly-made Canadian friend.

But that story is not mine to tell…


Another post in the near future. This time I promise. Stories from next week’s trip to Japan await.

The following are two excerpts from the journal of an embattled soldier during the major days and following aftermath of the conflict known to the history books as “Liam’s Last Stand”. Occurring in the last days of June, during Liam’s venture to the Orient, the following journal is the only documented proof of the invasion of flies that almost caused him to lose his kitchen forever…



June 19th, 2009- Excerpt from the journal of Liam Quinn (Private First Class, Bravo Company) during the early days of the Black Korea Campaign’s final counter-offensive.

Days have turned to weeks and the enemy has been quiet. They cut off our supply lines in their initial attack. They arrived with a small reconnaissance force. While their presence was unwelcome, the potential for coexistence existed at first. However, it didn’t take long for them to capitalize on our (my) indifferent hospitality. After gaining a foothold on my window they began their advance. The ceiling was their next point of occupation. Looking back it may have been possible to have repelled the invasion before it took its full form but we (I) had neither the resources to observe their full activity or the necessary artillery to make an effective counter-offensive. The result was a swift and absolute defeat for the defenders (us [me]). It became rapidly evident that it would be essential to evacuate all necessary personnel and fall back to a more fortified position. So as to ensure a safe and complete retreat, measures were taken to seal off the already forfeited territories and accept them as losses. Our defeat was neither dignified or affordable at a time like this, but a true general knows when to withdraw when the hope of victory has vanished.
Since the infamous Rout at Culinary Pass, a more sophisticated system of surveillance has been instituted and a number of forays into the occupied territories have been attempted. Our initial incursion into No Man’s Land was complimented with added firepower from my ally Chris. Equipped with nothing more than a half-empty Glade can and love for our homeland, we sallied into the forsaken unknown with hopes of not regaining our ground but to discover just what it was we were up against. Early estimates were desperately discouraging as the number of enemy units began to swell along the barricade separating the newly partitioned territories. The assumption was that a suitable base of operations had already been established by the enemy and that prospects of venturing further were being discussed by the brass of their outfit. It would be this early probe mission that would confirm or discredit those initial assumptions. Upon parting the only barrier differentiating us between preservation and peril we entered onto an unsettlingly dark and quiet scene. The occasional enemy could be seen hovering indifferently across the small room, paying no attention to the presence of hostile forces. Perhaps emboldened by the apparent apathy of the enemy or maybe just overwhelmed by the eerie stillness that engulfed us, my comrade-in-arms relinquished a barrage of fresh scented lemon at a nearby group of idle enemies so as to cripple any attempt at retaliation. A faint inkling of possible success crept into our minds before it was utterly crushed by the realization of our worst fears. In response to Chris’ hostile gesture, a cloud of black emerged from the opposite windowsill, accompanied by a crescendo of menacing buzzes and we were soon overpowered by virtue of their speed and might. Retreat was our only course and it was done so in the wake of a most disturbing revelation- defeat was closer than we could have imagined.
The campaign has seen little change since our exploration of the enemy holdings. The number of sentries posted on the opposite side of the barrier has ranged from startling to unnoticeable. Endeavors behind enemy lines since our first attempt have brought mixed results and have been met with equal concern for reconnaissance and removal of once friendly resources that, with time, could only bolster the conviction of the opposition. At times, the diminished number of visible enemy forces has made it appear as though there may be some internal strife within their camp. It can only be hoped that their sinister warmongering meets its end by their own hands. Should the time for our side to take sterner action arrive, I shudder at the consequences. We have taken measures to encourage internal weakness by introducing a number of fresh-smelling and air-drying elements into their environment. It can only be hoped that this as far as it needs to be taken…

… torn pages and fragments are all that remain of the private’s compositions detailing the days between July 19th and July 26th. Further inspection of the assumed location of the most heated parts of the conflict lead us to conclude that there was a flurry of skirmishes and hostilities in these days…


July 26th, 2009- Excerpt from the journal of Liam Quinn (Lieutenant, Bravo Company) during the final days of the Black Korea Campaign.

Like the mist rising from the hills after the night of a tempest the cloud of black has lifted from our besieged lands. The men rejoice and in time the laughter and mirth that had been silenced will return. Our tactical purge of the enemy has seen resounding success. They could not endure our retributive incursions and just as they came they were forced to beat a hurried retreat to whatever realm of blackness they hailed from. Much work will be needed to reclaim the territories and return them to their original state and the fear of the enemies return still looms in the clearing air, but for now we breathe a sigh of relief. War is over.

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To be honest, I did think my kitchen was in serious peril. With the summer months only just arriving and the flies coming in at full force I was partially willing to accept the sacrifice for a couple of months. I don’t cook all that much in there and it wasn’t so uninhabitable that I couldn’t get to the fridge for what few things I needed to keep cool. However, I was informed that this kind of thing was somewhat common and, while I think I got it worse than most, there are a number of things that can be done to limit the amount of flies hanging out in your apartment. One of the major issues with the kitchen is that the sink’s pipes don’t work terribly well and any piece of food that gets in there, no matter how small, will simply stay there. Also, the way the kitchen is laid out, it can get rather hot and humid as it is and so making it an ideal spot for some opportunistic winged insects. Either way, it didn’t take much more than a solid cleaning and some products from the local mini-stop to address the issue. So for those of you who were worried about that courageous private you just read about, don’t worry too much, sounds like he’s doing just fine now. It actually sounds like he was a little more dramatic than he needed to be.

In the world of LCI Academy, I had Parent-Teacher Conferences two weekends ago (yeah, it’s been that long since my last post) and they actually went much better than I had expected. My first one was during the week and it didn’t go as well as I would have hoped. It was, by no means bad, but the Korean Parent-Teacher conference goes considerably differently than one back in the states, especially when there is a language barrier. While it was nice to have a Korean teacher to mediate and, at times, pretty much speak for me, it definitely took away from the parent-teacher aspect of the whole experience. Every time the parent fielded me a question I would attempt to answer the question to the best of my ability but in all reality the only thing being conveyed to the parent is the general idea of what I’m saying. The basic pattern of the conversation involved the question from the parent, an answer from me, and then a long-winded interpretation that would put a reverse Godzilla translation to shame. What I said in the span of a minute or two lasted anywhere between five and ten minutes from my Korean teacher’s mouth. There were actually times where I heard laughing between the two and other times when I heard the parent actually say something else and the Korean teacher responded without conferring with me. I do realize that sometimes I’m more humorous than I even realize and I’m sure jokes of my caliber translate perfectly well, but I’m still pretty sure my Korean teacher was slipping some of her own material into my response. Also, the Korean teacher that was translating for me wasn’t actually the one that I work with in class so I’m rather impressed that at her ability to make informed responses to the parents without checking with yours truly.
As for the questions themselves, they tend be geared towards who their child gets along with in the class, whether he or she is the best in the class and where they sit in the classroom. While these are pretty pressing matters I did expect questions of a different type. For my first interview, these kinds of things were somewhat unknown to me so I may not have rallied to the moment as well as I could have, but it still went well enough. My first one on Saturday was a bit difficult because of a misunderstanding about something that happened between her son and another student in class but once it was resolved it went rather well. For the rest of the interviews, proper preparation allowed them to go much more smoothly and I actually enjoyed meeting the parents of the children I was teaching. A couple of the parents were actually proficient enough in English to make a direct conversation more or less possible. On top of that, I came away with a 50,000 won gift certificate to the ironically stereotypical American restaurant- The Outback Steakhouse.

For those of you keeping up with my “weekly” (well, bi-monthly with an insert somewhere in between) you will know that I’ve been commissioned with the care of one of the more advanced classes for on of my afternoon sessions. It seems that the competitive nature of private English Institutes in Korea creates a great degree of pressure for the school to ensure top performance from their top students. With some recent questions from the parents of my students about the new teacher that has taken over their children’s class there have been plans made for an open class to be made available to any parent interested in observing an actual class. This also means a critical observation from the director of the school, as well, to make sure he thinks the class is in suitable order to be seen by concerned parents. The news is a little disconcerting but, at the same time, I don’t think I’m terribly concerned. The kids are pretty smart and I’m pretty confident that I can at least make it LOOK like I’m a good teacher.

Bringing us up to this weekend, we regrettably had our head English teacher- the teacher that recruited me- part ways with the school after7 good years of service. As a particularly approachable and accountable individual it’s an unfortunate event. However, as all stormy clouds are want to have, there was a substantial silver lining in all of this. To honor his dedication and service it was only natural for our school to celebrate him the way it knows best- ANOTHER ROOF PARTY! Although the weather did not cooperate with us enough to manage an actual roof party, we brought the festivities were brought indoors and were, yet again, thoroughly enjoyable.
Though the party had been planned a few weeks in advance, sometime about the week before the party, it was decided that it would be costume party. While my initial plan was to come as the relentless guide that treated us like galley slaves on the rafting trip, a trip downtown with my compatriots Chris and Terry brought us to the idea of dressing like three of the older employees who, much like us, are three friends who spend a good deal of time together. In my mind it would be somewhat Seinfeld-esque and for that alone I was able to abandon my initial plan and jump on board with the new one. Our arrival was met with a good deal of hilarity accented by a touch of resentment from those of whom we had imitated. The party was highlighted by the introduction of a drinking game known as caps that, for me, was a welcome reminder of home where I was first exposed to the game. However, for the party as a whole, it will be well remembered mostly for the fireworks that the three of us bought while looking for our costumes which, interestingly enough, can be found in a typical supermarket just like anything else. While it may have been more exciting to have had to sneak across the DMZ to obtain these celebratory incendiaries, I wasn’t unhappy about this convenience.
In the hodgepodge of recent events I finally joined a gym over here. Well, I actually joined awhile ago but haven’t managed to throw it into my blog yet to make me look cool. I got a pretty cheap year contract but the gym itself makes the Vernon High School gym, even before being restocked, look pretty appealing. Still, it will do for the time. I also recently took a trip out to the Outback Steakhouse with a couple of friends to make use of the aforementioned gift certificate. It was nice having a steak and baked potato in “familiar” environs but an Outback, in the middle of Korea, still doesn’t have the same taste as home. On top of that, I was there with a Brit, who had never been to an Outback before anyway ( I kid Terry). Still, we didn’t hate sitting down to a well-cooked dinner, accompanied with a fine bottle of Australian wine and some good conversation. However, a return trip may take some time in light of it’s costliness.
On top of all previous hodgepodge news, the two most prominent stories in my recent history come from the US’s National Soccer Team and my good friend Greg Jablonski. After pulling off a stunning last game miracle against Egypt to reach the semi-finals of the Confederation Cup over Italy, our dear boys from the states took the World’s game to a new level when they beat the Spaniards 9 (the globe’s number 1 ranked team) 2-0 in the friendly confines of Loftus Versfeld, a stadium in South Africa that will help host the 2010 World Cup. In addition, I was recently informed that the one and only Greg Jablonski will be visiting me here in Gwangju for the span of two weeks. It will be a rather welcome change for me to see a familiar face way out here and I look forward to showing him what Korea has to offer. I will do my best to keep you posted about that as things happen- buuuut no promises.


Also, the Kia Tigers are in third and look like a team that has its sights on something better!

So just in time to avoid the flood of demands for new posts, which have already begun to trickle in, I present to you the close of my June 26th post on SoKo and Liam. I go to bed dreaming of Stars and Stripes.

I'm sure many of you scoffed at the prospect of me writing my next post in a more timely fashion than my past few entries and it seems I have given you good reason to do so. My plan to post every two or three days or so has been, as of yet, a mere dream. I apologize to all my readers, both stalwart and casual. Though I don't aim to make any promises, I urge you to not give up hope. I still may manage to establish some kind of regularity for this thing in the future.

The Korean humidity that I have heard so much about before this has begun its descent onto the urban confines of Gwangju Metropolitan City. It's still rather bearable but from what I understand it's still the beginning. I'm pretty thankful for the six sticks of Old Spice that I toted over here with me at the beginning of this trip. I imagine such foresight will pay considerable dividends in the future.

I've been having some pretty good times with my class which, I forgot to mention, is called Princeton Class. I couldn't help but smile at my fortune early on when the one guy from Jersey scored the class with the namesake of the Ivy League school that no one from that state actually attends. However, as much as I've been enjoying my class, they have also seen the sterner side of Liam Teacher. It's a regrettable affair when I have to act that way with the kids but I do it cuz I care.

As per usual, the highlight of my activity here in the Orient took place on the weekend. On Friday a few of us accompanied one of the directors to the grocery store to purchase some essentials for the planned white water rafting trip that the school would be hosting the next day. After being used for some heavy lifting and transportation labor, the director took us out for some Bunda jjigae. Now, bunda jjigae is technically considered Korean cuisine but in all reality it's pretty much just hotdog and spam soup made with ramen noodles. Of course, ramen here holds a much more reputable place in the Korean eye but I couldn't help but think that this kind of soup could have just as easily originated in a college dorm one late night as opposed to blossoming as a common dish of the South Korean nation. Keeping with Korean tradition, we complimented our meal with some maekju- beer -, but in a very conservative manner. Fully aware of the physically demanding day that lay before us, we saw it in our best interest to make it a quiet night. After an enjoyable meal, the night ended with the purchase of a few supersoakers to be unleashed on the unsuspecting bodies of those in our rafting company and we went our separate ways.

The next day began with a two hour drive out of Gwangju in a rather comfortable coach bus, occupied mostly with the activity, or inactivity, of sleep. Upon our arrival we were a bit discomfited by our welcome from the notably austere directors at the rafting site. We were very rapidly beset by a fusillade of whistles directing us to stand in four lines as we were given our standard issue life jackets, helmets and oars.Though we were assured that the activity of the day was rafting, it entered the minds of not a few of us that maybe we had wandered a little too far north, maybe beyond the stiffly guarded DMZ. For the most part, those oars of ours were probably not a far cry from what those armed hooligans up north were equipped with. The day continued in its oddly regimented manner as we got ready to launch our inflated aquatic vessels. Our raft director had the members of our crew wade into the water before boarding the raft. We assumed it was for the purpose of acclimating us to the river water. Initially, this was not much of a problem. However, this peculiar exercise of arbitrary authority became less agreeable when he had us link arms and dip up and down in the water as he chanted "1-down! 2- up!" as though he was conditioning us for a greater ordeal than a lazy trek down a meandering river. Looks of confusion began to be exchanged when we realized that the other crews of rafts we came with were getting set to make for open water while we, at that point, were lying on our backs in the water, floating away, accommodating yet another demand from our fascist facilitator. When we did actually start our trip downriver, the orders rang even more loudly in our ears. Much like galley slaves, we were urged on by the piercing shouts of our unelected "captain" who would, apparently, be accompanying us for the duration of the trip. In between his pacing shouts of "one, two", our progress was slowed by the regular demand for us to to stop and get back into rhythm or to bounce back and forth on the raft to release us from the hold of a random rock. Knowing that our commander knew very little English, the murmurs of discontent that passed among the surly crew became particularly audible and the idea of mutiny, even if in jest, was passed around freely. Luckily, for both parties, as the river opened up a little bit, we were permitted to abandon ship and take the rapids individually. Thought a little painful, this was a much more enjoyable way to take to the river than to subject ourselves to the constant reprimands and remonstrances of our skipper.

By the time we had reached our destination downriver we were in considerably better spirits if not a little worse for wear. At this point our opinion of our unbending instructors softened a little bit when they flipped a pair of the rafts and lined them up so as to construct something of a pontoon bridge that led to nowhere. Naturally, as I discovered that their purpose was for one of us step up and jump off the end of this bridge, I was ready and willing. From there, we were able to let, coax and coerce a number of other people to attempt the same thing and so began one of the more light-hearted and spirited parts of the day.

Having had our fill of leaping aimlessly into a river for one day, we headed back to our point of origin where we were able to hit the showers and change into dry clothes. From there, the bus took us to a nearby restaurant where we ate in classic traditional Korean style. The food was neither good or bad but it was nice to take a break and feed our appetites that hadn't seen the likes of food since before we had embarked on our watery adventure.

The trip back was pretty quiet and relaxing. The majority of those with us were taxed from the days activities and had no taste for any kind of rambunctions ridiculousness. When we made it back, my comrades Chris and Terry decided to spend our evening at WOW Bar, decided to go out to meet up with a Korean friend of ours that Chris had introduced us to awhile back. With no real knowledge of the area that we had met her in, we let Sarah, our Korean friend, take us to a place where we could try a dish that she called "potato soup". When I heard about something called potato soup I was completely on board. As it turned out, the soup was really more of a spare rib soup with the occasional potato here and there. I will admit, the soup was probably one of my favorite dishes so far in Korea, but in my opinion, "potato soup" was a very misleading title for such cuisine.

From potato soup we made it back to our neighborhood and headed to WOW Bar, which is a local bar for us that has balcony seating, allowing us to have a few beers and enjoy what proved to be a nice Korean summer night. By the end of the night, we had a few more companions sitting at our table and another well spent night under our belts. While we were there we partook in what is known as fruit soju, which is pretty much just a daquiri of any fruit you want, mixed with soju. I admit, this is favorite of mine despite its fruity disposition. However, they way I look at it, while fruity drinks with an atypically low quantity of alcohol in them may be bit out of character for me, if you think about it, it's really just a spiked fruit smoothy. While smoothies themselves don't have much in the way of a backbone, when you spike them with alcohol that's actually kinda edgy. Besides, once we drink enough of it, we add more soju ourselves to give it some more pep.

Sunday was somewhat uneventful but we made use of a recent discovery that Chris and I made in our apartment- our roof access. Atop our oddly constructed and colored apartment, we have a sizeable rooftop where can bring my grill up and barbecue some sausages which, in Korea, come in green, red and and regular. Though we haven't done terribly much up there beyond a few Sunday barbecues, there is an incredible degree of potential for future events. I am extremely eager to test them out.

I have spent about an hour and a half here at my desk at school writing this and I still haven't eaten dinner, not to mention I've been told that I have to decorate my room for parent-teacher conferences that will be happening this Saturday, so I'm going to end this post with traditional promise of future posts.

Have a good one, folks!