Big On Japan, Part 4/3

Sometimes its possible to feel a black cloud gathering over oneself. You may feel the forces beginning to conspire, but reading the omens gets washed away by the priority and immediacy of simply just living. Two foreboding signs that I should have read during my time in Japan were the fact that, even though I acquired a Korean debit card with a Mastercard logo for the sole purpose of travelling and even got assurances from my bank that it would work in Japan, I wasn't able to access my bank account for the entirety of my trip. The second alarm bell, had I considered it, was that when trying to travel from Fukuoka to Tokyo in the first place, the JR (Japan Rail) representatives had not heard of the specific train and route I was trying to take. I took this as something lost in translation and the railway reps trying to help me take the easiest way to Tokyo (see: the most expensive way), an express train with no transfers. Having over-paid (considering what I had budgeted) for my trip to Tokyo, I was determined to find a way back using the same website that I had employed in planning my vacation to research cheaper ways around Japan. So, to purchase my cheaper return ticket, which would involve a couple of transfers before arriving in Fukuoka, I asked a hostel employee that I had become friendly with to help me out. He even called the JR office at Shinagawa Station to confirm the details. I was certain that he knew that I needed to return to Fukuoka to catch a boat back to Korea. Everything was flowing smoothly...or so I thought.

So, I arrive at Shinagawa Station ready to hop on a train, kick my feet up, and once in Fukuoka, find a nice bar to settle into while waiting to catch my ferry the next morning. Now, keep in mind that I only have just enough money in my pocket for a snack, some beers, and to pay the tax of 1,300 yen that one has to pay to exit Japan. I like travel to go as smoothly as possible (who doesn't?), so I was heading to my platform when my tickets weren't accepted by the machine. Having shown them to an attendant, he tells me that I actually need to be departing from Tokyo Station and not Shinagawa Station. !!!!!!!!!!! Tokyo Station is about eight stops away from Shinagawa Station and I had thirty minutes to make it there. Somehow, after some very tense inner conversation and gritting of teeth, I made it to my train. My confusion stems from the fact that I thought the name of my departing destination (Tokyo) was the city itself and not the specific station in the city. But, I made it anyway and now, having averted disaster and watching happy weekend travelers exit my train with skis and snow gear, I was ready to settle in and chill out on my way back to Fukuoka.

Wait..."ski gear?", you may be saying. Isn't Fukuoka fairly far south of Tokyo? Anyway, between Tokyo and Fukuoka is a large swathe of land with mountains, so I paid no mind. Blinking red lights and alarm sirens should have gone off in my head when I started to see banks of snow about an hour into the train ride. But hey, I was taking a different route back than when I came, one that I booked with a couple of transfers to save some money. Finally, the alarm did go off when I was on my last train, about thirty minutes from my final destination (which I thought was Fukuoka), when, looking at a map of the city I had copped upon entering Japan, I didn't see the rail line that I was on running into the Fukuoka Station. With a horrible feeling in my stomach, I feverishly tried to communicate with some people to see if I was indeed in the wrong place. One man overheard my conversation and said to me in English, "I think you've made a huge mistake!". As you can imagine, I was starting to really lose it at this point. So, he told me I should get off the train with him and then try to turn back around, but I explained that I had no money and an undoubtedly limited understanding of Japanese geography. As it turned out, there are TWO Fukuokas in Japan and the actual Fukuoka I needed to go to isn't called Fukuoka but is known as Hakata when booking a train ticket. OOPS! So there I was...completely broke, in a place where I can't speak the language, looking at being stuck there for who knows how long and more immediately, a very cold, miserable night on snow-covered streets. BUT, after realizing just how totally screwed I was, this guy invited me back to his house. Needless to say, his wife wasn't very happy about it. This saint's name was Shinji, and he lived with his wife and two daughters in a nice little house on a quiet little street in a quiet little town about twenty minutes from the area's major hub of Toyama, which really is quite minor in the grand scheme of things. So exactly where was I? Instead of going southwest from Tokyo, I went northwest, not too far away from Nagano, where the winter Olympics were held in the somewhat recent past. 

Shinji, initially totally divorced from my situation other than putting me up for the night, kept warming to me more and more, as did his wife, when they realized exactly the depth of the trouble that I was in. They fed me when they found out I hadn't eaten since lunch that day, let me use their phone to call my parents, they even offered me a beer to help me relax. At this point, I was grinding my mental gears perhaps more than I had ever done in my life, trying to find a way out of this situation. Many options presented themselves, all to be quashed by one circumstance or another. Ultimately, Shinji offered to pay for my train ticket back to where I needed to go. All I had to do was promise to pay him back. I mean, I'm still not over what a stunning act of human kindness this was (made more so by how expensive the train ticket was...$220). They even gave me enough money to have a place to stay in Fukuoka as I was trying to figure out what to do about my missed ferry back to Korea that morning. 

So, still somewhat in a state of shock, and with another big task ahead of me, namely trying to negotiate with the ferry company to let me on a boat back to Korea, I set off south. 

The scenery was really stunning, deep snow drifts, quaint villages billowing smoke from their chimneys, people digging out houses from under the snow. At some point, it hit me exactly where I was and where I would be heading. Just to double check, I cracked Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood, one of my favorite books, and realized I would soon be passing through the mountains north of Kyoto, a very significant setting in the book. Aside from all the strife that I'd just been through, I was able to glimpse a place far off the beaten path, a locale that my eyes would have never otherwise seen, fields and mountains and tiny villages buried in the sort of snow that is irresistible in its gravity, and, most importantly, scenery that I had read about over and over again that still affects me deeply. All I could do was cry, really, for all the fortune and misfortune and the sheer unbelievable nature of how events had unfolded. 

(MY WELL-WORN COPY OF NORWEGIAN WOOD)

(MASSIVE BUDDHA SOMEWHERE BETWEEN TOYAMA AND KYOTO)

(DEEP SNOW, JUST NORTH OF KYOTO)

My time in Tokyo was one thing, an experience many people can have, but in the course of four days, I had gotten to pass through Hiroshima, Kobe, Osaka, Kyoto, Nagoya and more on my way to Tokyo. More importantly though, I had gotten to see the real Japan, experience some heartrending kindness, stay with a Japanese family for a night, and see a decidedly more rural part of the country. Stunning scenes, really, passing through those mountains. In virtually every way, I had gotten to see the Japan of my dreams. No longer an abstraction, I had the concrete, undeniably real experience that I had always hoped for.

Needless to say, I was the beneficiary of some more good fortune as the next morning, despite having been told flatly "no" over the phone, I went to the ferry terminal and they decided to honor my ticket for the ferry that I had missed the previous morning while marooned in the north. I returned to Korea with just enough time to catch the KTX from Busan, eat a quick lunch, and glide into work right on time just like it was any other Monday.

Big On Japan , Part 3/3

I started my last day in Japan a bit disheveled but still able and ready for more urban explorations. The task that lay ahead seemed to be a simple one. Trudge valiantly through the day, enjoy one last round of sights and sounds, then hop a train down to Fukuoka where I would, again, valiantly, try to stay awake to catch my ferry back to Korea at 6:30am. The ungodly departure time was down to the demand for a return ticket to Busan at the end of such an important holiday for Koreans (and especially foreign English teachers). So, instead of booking a hostel and potentially sleeping past my very early return time, I was going to just find a cozy bar and stay out all night once I reached Fukuoka. This was the plan; a solid one if not a comfortable one. Little did I know what great misfortune and ultimately, amazing luck that was conspiring in the ether.

Having blown it off the previous two days, I decided to check out Shinjuku and Harajuku. Akin to Shibuya but with everything from futuristic Orwellian skyscrapers to Tokyo's most infamous red light district, Shinjuku was something I absolutely had to experience, if only during the daytime. I had managed to dip my toes in the massive sands the night before but only with enough time to take a few snapshots after having finally found my way out of the station. When you read something is the largest and busiest train station in the world, it still doesn't quite prepare you for the reality of it all.

(INSIDE SHIBUYA STATION. SWAG ARTWORK.)

(FUTURISTIC BLADE RUNNER SKYSCRAPER / SHINJUKU AT NIGHT)

As I've mentioned before, to take in all that I wanted to experience in Tokyo was simply impossible, and I'm more than a little disappointed that I didn't get to spend a night out in Shinjuku, in the ramshackle bars of Golden Gai or the cramped, winding passageways of a spot the locals (lovingly?) refer to as "Piss Alley". Something to do next time I'm in Tokyo, for sure. As it was, I was happy to poke around Shinjuku during the day. The first order was to find some nourishing eats and I had one specific goal in mind: yakitori. But not just any kind of yakitori. There is a specific instance in Anthony's Bourdain's book, Medium Raw, where he discusses the finer points of yakitori in Shinjuku. The most sought after and delicious item on any yakitori menu is apparently the chicken ass. Yes, you read that right. Such is my trust in Mr. Bourdain's taste and eating philosophy, I was willing...no, EAGER, to track down this delicacy. I found it at an underground yakitori specialty spot, and, needless to say, it did not let me down. Lightly dusted with salt by the chef, hit with a slight twist of lemon, and eaten fresh off the grill, it was a luscious treat. Words really fail you when you try to sell someone on grilled chicken ass on a stick. Thus, I will only say, "You've just gotta try it."

(GRILLED CHICKEN ASS. A REAL TREAT.)

This particular yakitori spot was underground and located only a block or two from the entrance to Kabukicho, Tokyo's (in)famous red light district. Such is the amazing duality of this city that its down 'n' dirty, yakuza-hustlin' area is only a skip away from the massive metropolitan government complex. Anyway, during the day at least, Kabukicho's sleaze was only apparent thanks to signs for places like "Girls Club Nom Nom" or slightly less than discrete "menus" posted on the outside of doors, showing (theoretically) the particular girls on offer. But, only having so much time left in this great city, I booked it over to Harajuku for some free wanderings, with my only goal being just to see what I could find. 

Right out of Harajuku Station is the famous Meiji Shrine. In a consistently thick haze from three days of hardly sleeping, this peaceful oasis in the middle of one of the world's largest cities transported me, mind and body, into a zen-like state. Aside from the fair amount of people present, while inside Meiji it is impossible to tell you are actually still in the heart of a megalopolis. Also, while in Harajuku, after an hour or so floating along in the wrong direction and thinking all the hype of Harajuku was horribly inflated, I stumbled upon Takeshita-dori, a narrow shopping street stretching for several blocks, a walking only area where one has no choice but to be carried along by the incredible crush of people. Swimming upstream is not really an option. Across the street from the end of Takeshita-dori, I was broadsided by yet another urban wonder. Round a corner and there it is. An eye-watering blast of vibrant color and whimsical design. Turns out this building is called the Design Festa Gallery and it houses tiny artist studios and a cafe, whose proceeds no doubt help to fund the project.

(THE VIVIDLY-COLORED, WONKA-ESQUE DESIGN FESTA GALLERY)

As you might imagine, all this trekking about can impress upon a man a deep hunger. Its a small experience in the grander narrative of my trip, but a brief pause for takoyaki at a street vendor proved to be one of the more magical moments of my adventure. The weather in Tokyo was grand for my entire visit, and this evening in particular felt like a late fall day, reminiscent of my favorite time of year. Takoyaki is a staple street food of Japan, basically balls of fried dough filled with chunks of octopus and covered in a combination of sweet, almost teriyaki sauce, a sort of creamy mayonnaise, and savory bonito flakes. I washed it all down with a Coke as I watched the Saturday crowds shuffle by, everyone destined for somewhere. At this point, my trajectory would take me back to Shinagawa to catch a train to Fukuoka. That was the plan, anyway. As it turned out, I was in for one of the most stressful yet unforgettable experiences of my life, the best and worst possible thing that could have possibly happened to me. While stopping short of being locked up abroad, it was a situation that every traveler should fear, if it would ever even cross their mind that it could befall them. Stay tuned for the fourth and final installment of this three part series!

Big On Japan, Part 2/3

(SHIBUYA CROSSING...AGAIN!)

I highlight Shibuya Crossing yet again because, to me, it is perhaps the most pertinent symbol of Tokyo. Made always identifiable and utterly unforgettable by the now classic (at least amongst a certain ilk of people) film, Lost In Translation, this massive intersection, where you can cross the street with several hundred people at once, is the epitome of Tokyo's mind-dazzling over-stimulation. To say that walking across this street was a religious experience would be a bit dramatic, but, even so,  its an experience that I don't think can be replicated, the way that, seemingly at the count of three, everyone sets in motion like the beat dropping on a record. Its strange to say but I felt a certain peace in the crowds of Shibuya.

Having only three days and nights in Tokyo, I chose to limit my explorations to only a select few places. Sure, I had loose plans to see the untouched, traditional streets of Asakusa, or the electronics wonderland that is Akihabara, but those possibilities fell by the wayside the minute I felt the denseness of Shibuya. Located only five stops on the JR Yamanote line from where I was staying in Shinagawa, travelling to Shibuya was an easy ask, getting to know it was another question altogether.

(SHIBUYA STATION, HACHIKO EXIT MURAL)

The Hachiko exit of Shibuya Station has long been a popular meeting spot. In the thick crowds of people, this dog statue called Hachiko serves as a useful marker to find your friends. On this night, I met up with my friend, James, who is also a teacher in Ulsan. He was in Tokyo with his father and brother who were over from England. At meeting up, there were no ground rules for what lay ahead, no clear map to follow, and in an area such as Shibuya, which is just jammed with things competing for your attention, not having a plan can be a blessing and a curse. We walked around for quite a while scoping lots of over-the-top things, including the seedy Japan of lore, where sex clubs are not far away from the main tourist drag, just another part of life in this crazy country. Eventually, a bar with 300 yen beers caught our attention, and it turned out to be the perfect place, a standing bar called Tasu Ichi with soccer on the television, a rustic interior, and a friendly cosmopolitan crowd. It was a place that really glowed with positivity.

After having several rounds of beer and bidding farewell to James's father and brother for the evening, it became clear we were going to be out for the night. There comes a certain point when catching the last train seems as desirable as, say, doing homework on Christmas, and you resign yourself to your fate until 5am. Still not having any clue where to go, a Sudanese street artist directed us to a place called Gas Panic, which besides having a great name was emanating heavy bass music that neither James and I had felt the sweet caress of in far too long. It turned out to be a cool spot with cheap drinks but sort of a tourist trap, equally a place for gawkers as it was for people trying to get their grind on. A few highlights:

(THIS GUY WAS THE LIFE OF THE PARTY. CRAZY DANCE MOVES.)

(JAPANESE FRIENDS!!)

(LOTS OF PARTY AFRICANS ON THIS NIGHT)

After tiring of Gas Panic, this night ended with James and I being the only people posted up at Hachiko at 4:30am, waiting on the station to open. It was a little surreal seeing such a supposedly non-stop place like Shibuya be that quiet and serene, but then again, it was a Thursday night, errrr...Friday morning. After dusting myself off, I spent most of the next day once again exploring Shibuya. At this point, the decision was officially made that I would limit my travels to only Shibuya and the nearby Harajuku and Shinjuku, essentially the main hub of the "new" Tokyo. Its a decision that I'm grateful that I made as I didn't stress myself out trying to see and do way too many things. 

One of the main highlights of Shibuya by day was getting to check out Mandarake, which is the go-to store in Japan for anime, manga, similar strands of Japanese pop culture. The Mandarake in Shibuya is the largest in Tokyo and has to be some sort of Mecca for Mountain Dew-chugging, Dorito-breathed American anime nerds. If its any consolation, the patrons of Mandarake mostly seemed like fairly normal people (and I guess normal people in the States do like this stuff, too), but some of the things to be found there were certainly artifacts of great lore, such as this "pillow girlfriend". Pillow girlfriends are treated like REAL GIRLFRIENDS by some of Japan's more socially strange otaku (anime nerds). They even carry them around, seating them at restaurants, and spotting the real artifact was a bit like seeing Bigfoot in the wild. There was also a fair share of hentai, or way perverted manga. While sort of unsettling in its depiction of women and gross sexism, it was still an article of interest in that I was seeing the real thing in its natural lair. All in all, amidst rows and rows of obscure manga and anime that I will never know, I felt a bit small. It was sort of like staring into space and knowing your true, insignificant size.

(MANGA TO INFINITY)

(PILLOW GIRLFRIEND!!)

After a day's worth of exploring, it was time to once again meet up with James for a night of adventure. The plan was to see a Japanese experimental rock band called Nissenenmondai at a club called O-Nest. After a time mix-up and taking a backstage elevator to another venue in the same building, we managed to catch about five songs, all of which were dynamite. The atmosphere in the connected but separate O-Nest lounge after the show was surprisingly subdued, but we met an amazingly cool French girl who was an English teacher in Japan. We chatted for quite a while before the night took us in an unexpected direction (although there was never any actual "expected" direction). Seizing the opportunity to talk to the girls in Nissenenmondai, we met Katoman, their manager, who took us back to his bar a short walk away. Called Beat Cafe, it was the kind of closet-sized, super-cool Tokyo bar I'd always dreamed of drinking in.

(KATOMAN AND I)

(JAMES AND I WITH SAYAKA AND MASAKO FROM NISSENENMONDAI)

After an hour or two in Beat Cafe discussing life, the universe, and everything (but mostly music!), James, Estelle (awesome French girl), and I migrated to an absurdly great place called Red Bar where taking pictures would get you kicked out! We finished the night doing karaoke at a spot no doubt run by the yakuza (Japanese mafia!) until sun-up. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Tokyo, do karaoke until sunrise.

(ESTELLE AND I, DOING, I THINK "BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE")

Another night of incalculable adventure and good times in Shibuya. The next morning I would need to be out of my hostel at 11am after having only arrived back there at 6am. How would our hero survive to fight another day in Tokyo? Could he stay awake and have enough vigor to do more exploring the next day and then find his way back to Fukuoka that very night? What unexpected twists and turns were to be in store for our unwitting protagonist? Find out in the third and final part of this series!!!

Big On Japan, Part 1/3

(SHIBUYA CROSSING, TOKYO)

One of the main draws for me when I was considering living and working in Korea was the relative vicinity to other places in Asia that seem to be a world away when you're living in the States. For me, Japan in particular has always had a special allure. Japan figured out a long time ago that their biggest and most affecting export could be their culture and I truly believe that things like anime, sushi, and video games have managed to forever saturate the consciousness of an untold amount of Americans. My own particular story, being a singular and slightly disaffected youth growing up in South Carolina, involves my finding of and reveling in Japanese culture. Everything from the more well-known anime markers of Dragonball Z and Miyazaki films, to J-Pop music (thanks to a show on WUSC when I was in high school), and of course, video games like the Final Fantasy series. I was a religious follower of the original Iron Chef, their epic culinary battles and emphasis on thoughtful, expertly-crafted food no doubt stoking the fire of my love of the culinary arts today. I was even touched by the strange and unique world of puroresu (or Japanese pro-wrestling). Having always been a wrestling fan growing up thanks to my uncles great love of the pseudo-sport, I saw in the Japanese strain something identifiable but ultimately alien. I'm not ashamed to admit to having spent hours and hours online, pouring over tape reviews and purchasing said VHS tapes of the latest or the most legendary battles. Amongst all these influences (and thats not even getting into sushi!), Japan has ultimately had me in the palm of its hand for a long, long time.

Everyone's vacations are structured differently here in Korea based on the specific contract you have with your school. I essentially have four opportunities to travel throughout my year here. One passed with the January 1st New Year holiday. The second is Chinese New Year (also celebrated in Korea). The third time is a summer break at the end of July and the fourth chance all the way at the end of September for Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving). Tokyo is the easiest trip to make from Korea, only a two hour flight, but also the consensus most expensive bit of traveling that you can do while in east Asia. So, I scraped together all the money I'd managed to accumulate so far in Korea and decided to make the pilgrimage I'd always wanted to do.

Looking back on it, I maybe should have flown, but instead I chose to do a boat/train combination that, while taking a bit longer to reach Tokyo, would allow me to see the country from a train window. It was only a three hour ride on the hydrofoil ferry from Busan to Fukuoka, just enough time for a quick nap and to try and net the butterflies in my stomach about the trip ahead.

From the ferry terminal to the main train station in Fukuoka was a short fifteen minute bus ride. Before leaving, I had used a well-known website called Hyperdia to look into cheaper ways to get around Japan than buying the JR Rail Pass, which can be purchased for almost unlimited travel around Japan for a span of two weeks. I chose not to go that route because I was only going to be in the country for the better part of four days and you couldn't use it with the Nozomi  Express Shinkansen (bullet train) from Fukuoka to Tokyo. Turns out that I had to take the Nozomi anyway as the information I showed to the JR customer service folks apparently wasn't correct. "OK", I said, "No problem. I may have almost wiped out my entire train budget by taking the Nozomi but I'm really in a hurry to get to Tokyo!!! I'll just find a cheaper way back". The fact that Hyperdia had failed me was an ominous sign of things to come, but more on that later.

After about six hours on the Shinkansen, having passed through Hiroshima, Kobe, Osaka, Nagoya, and a few other large Japanese cities, I finally arrived at Shinagawa Station. When the website of my hostel said there would be only one exit at Shinagawa, I expected a smallish station, especially since, at least to my eyes, Shinagawa looked to be a little "out of the way", nestled in the far southwest corner of the city. As it turns out, Shinagawa is far from removed and is known to be a particularly business-oriented (see: upmarket) part of the city. What I found was a massive, bustling station with labyrinthine twists and turns. Situations like this can sometimes leave me a bit flustered but I bought a cold, refreshing bottle of oolong tea (Tea's Tea!) from a kiosk and collected myself. A short fifteen minute walk later, I found my hostel nestled away in a quiet and cozy side street. 

(SHINAGAWA, TOKYO)

(SHINAGAWA-SHUKU GUESTHOUSE)

Having arrived at my hostel around 9pm, tired, starving, and a little exasperated, I decided to not run the risk of heading out to Shibuya or Shinjuku and missing the last train back. Trains in Tokyo stop running at 1am and just to set foot in a taxi will cost you 800 yen (almost $10) instantly. So, I had a nice, cheap sushi meal (still very delicious!) next to the hostel, and chose to stay in and drink a few beers with some of the other hostel guests and staff. Getting an early start the next morning was of the utmost importance because I was about to strike something off my life's to-do list -- sushi breakfast at the world famous Tsukiji Fish Market. 

When traveling alone in a new city, there's a definite advantage to staying in hostels. They're almost always cheaper than hotels and you're not totally isolated from other fellow travelers so its normally very easy to find like-minded people with which to explore. I met two such Australians, one girl who teaches about two hours from Tokyo, and her friend, who had just gotten off a flight from "down under". They were staying at Shinagawa Guesthouse and we agreed to join forces for the early morning to come.

Its recommended that you arrive at Tsukiji extremely early, especially if you want to witness the spectacle of the tuna auction, where fish can sometimes command hundreds of thousands of dollars. As it turned out, 5am was too big of an ask but we weren't really bothered, happy to hit the subway around 8am and to hopefully beat the early lunch crowds that often congest the better sushi restaurants surrounding the market. These sushi spots also happen to be incredibly tiny with an average of only 10-20 seats.

When you view Tsukiji from Google Earth, its looks like a city unto itself. Its a massive, disorienting place, with so many strange, wonderful things to see that you just have to let yourself drift along, all the while trying to stay out of the way of the busy bee workers and many types of transport vehicles whizzing by. The one major difference that I noted between Tsukiji and Seoul's Noryanjin Fish Market (aside from hours of operation, Tsukiji shuts down early, Noryangjin trucks on into the night) is the difference in the types of sea products on offer. In Tokyo, there were more recognizable, perhaps more widely desired animals such as abalone, scallops, sea urchin, and, of course, huge red hunks of tuna. At Noryangjin, there are many stalls whose creatures more so resemble science fiction than anything edible. Koreans are known for "dragging the bottom of the ocean" and eating almost anything they find, an admirable quality that certainly has to do with their long history of being economically destitute. The fact that they still eat these things, even though the country is now an economic powerhouse, should definitely be applauded, but Japan has been more affluent for a longer period of time and that may be reflected in their predilections when it comes to seafood. What I'm trying to say here is that you can see the histories of the two countries as reflected in their respective fish markets.

My traveling companions and I explored the vendors for a bit before heeding the call of hunger and locating the restaurant area. I had a couple of spots in mind, namely Daiwa and Sushi Dai, two of the more famous sushi bars surrounding the market, but, as my traveling companions were watching their wallet and the lines were already a little ridiculous, we chose another place just around the corner. Needless to say, the sushi was immaculate, a set menu consisting of seven nigiri (fish and rice) pieces: fatty tuna, tuna, yellowtail tuna, shrimp, sea eel, roe, and sea urchin, as well as six rolls, three otoro (fatty tuna) and three of some kind of shellfish. Luckily, my Australian friends weren't wild about roe or urchin and I scored their pieces. I'd never really appreciated either one of these constant sushi characters until eating them here. I'd heard that they are better in Japan due to the freshness, and you'd be hard pressed to find fresher, more legit sushi than eating at Tsukiji.

(fatty tuna [otoro], buri [yellowtail tuna], maguro [tuna)

 (AUSTRALIAN FRIENDS AND I)

(UNI! SEA URCHIN NEVER TASTED SO GOOD!) 

(OUR CHEF/DICTATOR)

So, after a sushi breakfast for a reasonable 2,700 yen ($35) including hot tea and a carafe of sake, we all left our comfortable sushi nook and ventured out into the daylight. It was an incredibly pleasant morning, feeling more like early fall than early February. My hostel friends had to go do some shopping and I chose to take a power nap before setting out for Shibuya that night to meet my friend, James, who also lives here in Ulsan.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Future Korean Films

One of the most priceless and rewarding aspects of teaching English in Korea is when childhood imagination of your students combines with their limited, matter-of-fact English. Last week, in one of my writing classes with a handful of fifth graders, an exercise in the book had to do with the correct capitalization of titles, of books and movies, for example. One part of the lesson gave the students a general topic behind a movie and encouraged them to come up with their own titles. I laughed so hard after reading these and continued to chuckle for days whenever I thought about the student's (mostly) intentionally funny ideas. Here are some of my favorites:

idea: A Group of Teenagers in a Scary Place
student title(s): Pig Cage

idea: A Big Storm, like a Typhoon or Hurricane
student title(s): Scary Wind, Pig's Dung Wind


idea: A Trip on a Spaceship in the Future
student title(s): A Toilet on the Sky in the Future, In a Black Hole (Pig's Dung Hole), Space Monkey


idea: Two People Get Married at Age 80
student title(s): Happy Story, Two People Give Off Gas When They Die


idea: Two Boys Away From Home
student title(s): Go Away, Two Girls Eat Steak (note: both of these titles supplied by the girls in the class)

Bloody Sundae

Tonight, I finally dove into sundae (korean blood sausage + other assorted pork offal). The odd bits were special, some liver and other assorted parts (cheek? trotter?) dipped in ssamjang or sea salt.  Sadly, the sausage was only mediocre. Overcooked, lacking flavor, and too chewy, who knows how long it had been sitting there steaming in its own little pork jimjilbang. The sundae was purchased from this street food tent behind my apartment that doesn't seem to be noted for its quality but it was definitely cheap (3,000 won) and satisfying enough to make me want to seek out the stuff thats made and served with a little more care. But, I have to say, its going to have to seriously pull on my heartstrings to touch the morcilla that I had in Argentina.

Upz N Downz

Reading about expat life, speaking with friends who have lived abroad, I've learned that there is one unavoidable truth about trying to make a home in a new place, far away from friends, family, and comfortable surroundings - life will be a particularly volatile rollercoaster of high highs and low lows. You might have a low consisting of a couple weeks cursing your decision to move, fed up with your city, the foreign culture, and a lack of friends. The next couple of weeks may be a total blinder of enveloping yourself in a new world and meeting lots of awesome new people. Ups and downs over the course of months, weeks, and even confined to a single day are inevitable.

On Tuesday, I had a microcosm of a day that manages, I think, to sum it all up.

Tuesday marked my true baptism into the inner circle of hagwon life. Most hagwons are fast-paced and dynamic. Mine is no exception. Having worked in a restaurant for a long time, I'm used to dramatic, unforeseen changes in the work environment. Tuesday was my first schedule change, which means a whole new slate of classes. This stood to be my first "official" full time schedule since joining my school, which means consistency and the ability to start really establishing a rapport with a set of classes. I use "consistency" loosely and with hope but not without the understanding that in a month I may have an entirely new schedule. Its not good. Its not bad. Its just the nature of things.

After a particularly wild, exciting, and unpredictable day of lots of new, expectant faces, I decided to have a drink with a co-worker after work. I was having such a good time that I slipped off without my ever-present backpack. (I've made a habit of absentmindedly leaving and losing things here. Very uncharacteristic for me.) I got all the way back to my neighborhood and checked my Facebook to see that some friends were going out. To those of you who have lived abroad, trying to establish new friendships, you know the exhilaration of getting that first invite from someone who you just met last week. Reaching for my phone, I realize its in my backpack. Where is my backpack? Oh noooo! Its back in Guyeong, at the bar. So I hop a cab back to the bar, Mach 5 walk it three blocks, and luckily they still have my backpack.

Crises averted. Time to go have a drink with new friends. WRONG. My phone is dead. So I get in another cab and tell him "Ulsan University" in hopes that I will find my friends at a common watering hole. Of course, they were not to be found. What I did find was a desolately empty bar. It was a Tuesday night, after all, but what I really wanted was some sort of redemption for my tribulations. The only salvation (so I thought) was to be found in a bartender friend and the establishment's public computer, which is hooked up to a Korean version of Pandora. So I posted up and picked out some favorites, the first things that came to mind really. I've really been missing American rap music so I selected some Lil Wayne, Rick Ross, Big Boi, Kanye, and even that star-studded remix of Dj Khalid's most recent jam. Like chicken noodle soup, it was a familiar taste of home. I even threw on some LCD Soundsystem.

This went a ways towards making me feel better but then I relocated down the bar towards a group of boisterous Korean dudes. My bartender friend introduces them as her cousins. One dude in particular lives in Seoul and worked for the Korean version of MTV and we have a long, Konglish-filled conversation. This rapper sucks, this one rules. Have you heard of 2NE1? How about Girls Generation? The night ended with promises bandied about to meet up in Seoul in a couple of weeks. Gangnam, to be specific. Hopefully!

Through all the hectic happenings, despair, and revelry of the day, I had forgotten to eat anything since lunch. Nothing is open near the bar so I have to cross my fingers to find something back closer to where I live. Through sheer providence (or perhaps because it was their regular hours), I end up parking it at this noodle tent. The chef, a youngish dude, speaks some English and is very accommodating. He evens hands me a small cup of the broth he is preparing for my ramen and says "Taste test?". Needless to say, my bowl of seafood ramen was transcendent, especially on such a cold night, after such an exasperating yet fulfilling day. I told him in English he would be called "chef" and continued to call him chef throughout my entire spell sitting there slurping on his delicious, humble ramen. I'm pretty sure that he appreciated the gesture.

As much as life abroad can be trying, it can also be incredibly redemptive. This says it all.