So I'll start with the pickpocket story, which occurred toward the end of our week in Barcelona.
Jane and I had just left the "David Bowie is..." exhibit at the Museu del Disseny and were making our way to the Sagrada Familia cathedral via the metro. We were coming down a set of stairs at the Clot station when I heard someone yelling loudly at the top of the stairs, followed by a quiet "thud" sound. I turned around and saw what appeared to be my somewhat distinctive passport folder lying on one of the stairs. I took my backpack off - and sure enough, my passport and wallet were gone. I went back up the stairs, and there they both were...minus the 200 Euros that had been in my wallet.
I felt a flood of conflicting emotions, obviously - relief that my passport, driver's license, and credit cards had not been taken...anger that I had allowed myself to be vulnerable to pickpockets...and furious at whoever had actually done it and thirsty for blood. I noticed several security cameras in the area and made note of a label on the one closest to me, "C-30." Jane went to a kiosk marked "SOS" and called for security, who eventually met us at the top of the stairs. Jane, who speaks pretty good Spanish, learned that we had to go to a police station a couple stops away and file an official report in order to get the security tapes pulled. I was feeling pretty frustrated by the red tape involved, but Jane persuaded me to go to the police station anyway. But when we got there, we were told it would be a two-hour wait before we could talk to anybody. I was simply in no mental position to exercise that amount of patience, nor did I want to come back the next day "with a translator."
We went to Sagrada Familia, but it was too late for Jane to get a ticket to go inside. She wandered around outside a bit while it was still daylight, taking pictures, while I relaxed in a nearby restaurant.
I still don't know if I had left my backpack unzipped, or if pickpockets are routinely so brazen as to unzip someone else's backpack while they walk along. If the former, then lesson learned. If the latter, then word to the wise.
So, about the tomatoes. I hate tomatoes. I hate crowds more.
This whole trip was Jane's idea (so I blame her for everything), and her "dream" was to attend La Tomatina. La Tomatina, for those who may not be aware, is an annual festival held in a small town called Buñol, about a five-hour bus ride from Barcelona. During this festival, revelers gather by the tens of thousands in a narrow street, and for one hour chuck tomatoes at each other.
Lots, and lots of tomatoes. Literal tons of them.
We had purchased tickets as part of a tour group from Barcelona. Our itinerary required us to meet up at a certain public place at 2 a.m., and take a five-hour bus ride to Buñol (which was not very well temperature-controlled and they played too-loud music the whole way, so forget about sleeping).
Once we arrived in Buñol, we had to walk a good mile or two downhill to Calle Cid, the main avenue where the tomato fight would take place. The place was packed, and still some bros tried to make their way through the crowd with full cups of beer or sangria. We came prepared to document the occasion - Jane wore a GoPro on her chest, and I had one on my head and one on my left wrist.
A half hour before the official start, Jane and I were packed in a crowd across from the La Andana restaurant on Calle Cid. One of the La Tomatina traditions is the crowd has to retrieve a ham on a spike atop a greased pole. I don't think they ever got the ham, but it was fun watching them try. An occasional tomato was tossed by people on rooftops, and a news helicopter circled above.
It wasn't too long before we heard the BANG of the cannon which signaled the start of the fight. More tomatoes than ever rained down on us, but it also wasn't too long before the first of several truckloads of tomatoes was driven through the town.
I thought the street was packed before, but when the tomato truck started inching its way through the crowd, I experienced an altogether new level of physical human density. I was completely crushed in the throng - I honestly thought "this is how I die." My face was half-buried in the scalp of the guy in front of me. I realized that I was able to relax every muscle in my body and still be held upright merely by the sheer amount of buttressing force of other humans.
As the tomato truck passed, inch by inch, and as the fight organizers stood in the truck chucking tomatoes at the multitudes below, I decided enough was enough and I formulated a plan. I figured that directly behind the truck would be some sort of space with fewer people, and the truck would also lead me out of the war zone. Turns out I was right on both counts - I wrestled my way to the back of the truck as it inched by, and grabbed onto it once I was behind it.
You have to understand that even with swimming goggles on, I was still completely blinded by tomatoes. They were everywhere. I was walking in ankle-deep tomato soup. Tomatoes rained from the sky and from that very truck which was also my salvation. Tomato rinds caked on my GoPros and the tomato juice turned my white shirt completely pink.
Slowly but surely, I made my way out of the tomato fracas. Just outside of one of the gates, I found a kind gentleman with a garden hose. I was also able to take care of some of the worst of it at a public fountain nearby. I also discovered the hard way that one of my GoPro housings was not completely waterproofed - but, the camera itself was fine, if a bit smelly.
I walked back up the hill to the bus, and about halfway up I heard the horn that signaled the end of the fight. Jane wasn't too far behind me, and we changed clothes and rode a chilly bus ride back to Barcelona. La Tomatina basically dominated our first 24 hours in Barcelona, and we were glad to have the rest of the week to decompress from that event.
So, overall impressions of Barcelona...nice to visit, probably won't go back, will never do La Tomatina again unless I'm paid a handsome amount. Looking forward to my next trip to Japan, whenever that will be. Oh, and I got first class there and back, which is always a treat.
Quote of the week, upon throwing a small slice of tomato at Jane at a pre-La Tomatina dinner: "Don't be an asshole yet, BJ!"
Tuesday, September 5, 2017
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Japan, Part III: The Gathering Storm
Don't worry, you're not missing parts I and II. This is just simply my write-up of my third trip to Japan, which took place over the weekend of May 21-24. It was going to be several days longer than that, BUUUUUUUUUT...
This trip was a "WWOOF" trip. "WWOOF," if you're not aware, is a worldwide program where tourists can go work on an organic farm somewhere instead of staying at a hotel. In exchange for a few hours' work each day, you get free room and board. Nice. And since I love Japan and had been there twice before, I figured that would be a good place for my first WWOOF trip. I looked through the list of available farms in Japan, and one in particular caught my eye: a place down in Tateyama (about a three hour train ride south of Narita) which featured a music studio. Ahh, music to my...well, ears. I wrote to them and asked if I could stay with them for a week or so. The proprietor, Miko, wrote back and asked if I had experience connecting a sequencer to a computer. I said no, but that I'd love to try! She said I could stay with her. Groovy.
I flew (first class!) to Narita, and hopped on the train to Tateyama. I packed light, utilizing one of those funky Ziploc bags that you can push all the air out of through a one-way valve. So with just my backpack, I arrived in Tateyama at around 7pm. I decided to get some dinner before heading to the farm, juuuust in case, and found a restaurant across the street from the train station. There were a few businessmen in there having dinner, and they got a kick out of the large American tourist who spoke little to no Japanese. I read to them some of the crazier passages from my insane Japanese phrasebook - "Can you recommend a good obstetrician?" - and the laughs continued into the night. I ordered something off a wall-mounted menu that I could not read, and was not disappointed - a few small but extremely flavorful slices of meat, and a cold bottle of sake.
I made my way via taxi to the farm, and was greeted by a handsome young American lad by the name of Ben. Turns out I wasn't the only WWOOFer! Ben was from Austin and had been at the farm for several weeks. He told me there were also two kids from Denmark, August and Vera. He led me to the main house where they were all having dinner, so I met all of them as well as Miko. I was extremely tired but had a good time chatting with all of them - they all had been there for a while and had a good rapport with one another. Soon Miko led me to my room, which was in a different building on the grounds. It was a little musty but I was okay with that.
What I wasn't okay with was the spider situation. As soon as I walked into my room (which was traditional tatami floor and futon arrangement), I saw a not-very-small spider scurrying along one of the walls. I ignored it for the moment and listened to Miko's instructions about how to make up the futon, etc. Then she left, and Ben showed me the toilet...which was not only small, too small for me to even fit in fact, but also featured a gigantic specimen of spider, easily the size of my outstretched hand, which had apparently been there for quite a while. It may actually have been dead, but I wasn't about to poke it in the name of science. I just decided I wouldn't use that bathroom.
Which led to a problem, of course. I'd been feeling a #2 urge for quite some time at that point, but just held it until I got to the farm. But now the farm was less than hospitable for that purpose. I knew there was a bathroom in Miko's house, but...that's Miko's house. I didn't want to create an international incident my first night there. I decided I would continue to hold it until the next morning - Miko had invited me to come over around 8:30 for breakfast, so I figured I'd sneak in around 8:20, relieve myself quietly, and then negotiate future bathroom use with her then.
Throughout the night, I simply peed outside. I felt a little disrespectful doing so...this is Japan for God's sake, such things simply aren't done! ...Are they?
After a very long night (the sun comes up incredibly early in Japan...like 4am), I was finally able to use the bathroom in Miko's house...and of course, it was at that exact moment that she, not realizing I was there, tried to open the door without knocking. Thankfully the door had a lock. But I still startled her.
Anyway...my first and only full day at Miko's farm included boxing up some books she wanted to take to the used bookstore, and helping them set up for a jam session they had planned for the evening. That part was fun - I got to play with their tiny little mixing board, and got to play my music from my iPhone throughout the day. Miko made it clear that the musicians would be handling the sound board on their own, which was a disappointment, but it took a bit of pressure off as well so I didn't care too much.
The jam session started, and one of Miko's friends made a very tasty curry rice meal which hit the spot with me. I listened to the music for an hour or so, and Ben played along on his saxophone. Everyone had a great time and it was a fun way to spend the evening.
I got pretty tired around 9pm, though, so I quietly headed up to my room to go to sleep. I discovered, however, that I had a new roommate - yet another gigantic spider, not quite the size of the one in the bathroom but still substantial, and it was busy gyrating away on a wall tapestry, laying down a circle of silk. I sat on my futon and watched in fascinated horror. I knew that I'd reached my limit, that I did not want to stay here any longer. I kept watching the spider doing its thing, and when it was done, it crawled around behind the tapestry. I reached for my iPad and made arrangements to fly out of Narita the next day. I slept with one eye open that night, delivered the bad news to Miko in the morning, called a cab, and got the hell out of there.
I considered just going to Tokyo instead, but that would've only been like half a vacation. If I flew back home, I could get my three vacation days back and use them for a proper vacation later, so that's what I opted to do (again, first class!). I have no regrets - I always enjoy being in Japan and look forward to going back. I just don't think I'm going to be WWOOFing it anymore.
This trip was a "WWOOF" trip. "WWOOF," if you're not aware, is a worldwide program where tourists can go work on an organic farm somewhere instead of staying at a hotel. In exchange for a few hours' work each day, you get free room and board. Nice. And since I love Japan and had been there twice before, I figured that would be a good place for my first WWOOF trip. I looked through the list of available farms in Japan, and one in particular caught my eye: a place down in Tateyama (about a three hour train ride south of Narita) which featured a music studio. Ahh, music to my...well, ears. I wrote to them and asked if I could stay with them for a week or so. The proprietor, Miko, wrote back and asked if I had experience connecting a sequencer to a computer. I said no, but that I'd love to try! She said I could stay with her. Groovy.
I flew (first class!) to Narita, and hopped on the train to Tateyama. I packed light, utilizing one of those funky Ziploc bags that you can push all the air out of through a one-way valve. So with just my backpack, I arrived in Tateyama at around 7pm. I decided to get some dinner before heading to the farm, juuuust in case, and found a restaurant across the street from the train station. There were a few businessmen in there having dinner, and they got a kick out of the large American tourist who spoke little to no Japanese. I read to them some of the crazier passages from my insane Japanese phrasebook - "Can you recommend a good obstetrician?" - and the laughs continued into the night. I ordered something off a wall-mounted menu that I could not read, and was not disappointed - a few small but extremely flavorful slices of meat, and a cold bottle of sake.
I made my way via taxi to the farm, and was greeted by a handsome young American lad by the name of Ben. Turns out I wasn't the only WWOOFer! Ben was from Austin and had been at the farm for several weeks. He told me there were also two kids from Denmark, August and Vera. He led me to the main house where they were all having dinner, so I met all of them as well as Miko. I was extremely tired but had a good time chatting with all of them - they all had been there for a while and had a good rapport with one another. Soon Miko led me to my room, which was in a different building on the grounds. It was a little musty but I was okay with that.
What I wasn't okay with was the spider situation. As soon as I walked into my room (which was traditional tatami floor and futon arrangement), I saw a not-very-small spider scurrying along one of the walls. I ignored it for the moment and listened to Miko's instructions about how to make up the futon, etc. Then she left, and Ben showed me the toilet...which was not only small, too small for me to even fit in fact, but also featured a gigantic specimen of spider, easily the size of my outstretched hand, which had apparently been there for quite a while. It may actually have been dead, but I wasn't about to poke it in the name of science. I just decided I wouldn't use that bathroom.
Which led to a problem, of course. I'd been feeling a #2 urge for quite some time at that point, but just held it until I got to the farm. But now the farm was less than hospitable for that purpose. I knew there was a bathroom in Miko's house, but...that's Miko's house. I didn't want to create an international incident my first night there. I decided I would continue to hold it until the next morning - Miko had invited me to come over around 8:30 for breakfast, so I figured I'd sneak in around 8:20, relieve myself quietly, and then negotiate future bathroom use with her then.
Throughout the night, I simply peed outside. I felt a little disrespectful doing so...this is Japan for God's sake, such things simply aren't done! ...Are they?
After a very long night (the sun comes up incredibly early in Japan...like 4am), I was finally able to use the bathroom in Miko's house...and of course, it was at that exact moment that she, not realizing I was there, tried to open the door without knocking. Thankfully the door had a lock. But I still startled her.
Anyway...my first and only full day at Miko's farm included boxing up some books she wanted to take to the used bookstore, and helping them set up for a jam session they had planned for the evening. That part was fun - I got to play with their tiny little mixing board, and got to play my music from my iPhone throughout the day. Miko made it clear that the musicians would be handling the sound board on their own, which was a disappointment, but it took a bit of pressure off as well so I didn't care too much.
The jam session started, and one of Miko's friends made a very tasty curry rice meal which hit the spot with me. I listened to the music for an hour or so, and Ben played along on his saxophone. Everyone had a great time and it was a fun way to spend the evening.
I got pretty tired around 9pm, though, so I quietly headed up to my room to go to sleep. I discovered, however, that I had a new roommate - yet another gigantic spider, not quite the size of the one in the bathroom but still substantial, and it was busy gyrating away on a wall tapestry, laying down a circle of silk. I sat on my futon and watched in fascinated horror. I knew that I'd reached my limit, that I did not want to stay here any longer. I kept watching the spider doing its thing, and when it was done, it crawled around behind the tapestry. I reached for my iPad and made arrangements to fly out of Narita the next day. I slept with one eye open that night, delivered the bad news to Miko in the morning, called a cab, and got the hell out of there.
I considered just going to Tokyo instead, but that would've only been like half a vacation. If I flew back home, I could get my three vacation days back and use them for a proper vacation later, so that's what I opted to do (again, first class!). I have no regrets - I always enjoy being in Japan and look forward to going back. I just don't think I'm going to be WWOOFing it anymore.
Monday, August 18, 2014
Whirlwind Tour, August 2014
Thursday August 14: ORD to San Juan, Puerto Rico. Got first class! Arrived to sweltering heat as expected. They've changed their car rental - it's all consolidated now in a parking structure across from the main terminal. Avis and Budget have also consolidated, meaning longer lines. Not a fan of this arrangement. Got a car, made the 50-mile trek down to Ponce. Checked into the HoJo, went shopping for necessities (water and sunscreen) at the Pueblo, had an unimpressive dinner courtesy of Wendy's.
Sunday August 17: flew ORD-IAH-LAX with the intent to attend Harmontown in Hollywood. Again, wasn't sure I was going to make it all the way, but I arrived at LAX before noon. Slept through both uneventful flights. Was very impressed with LAX - deplaned, and was almost immediately out the front door. I debated whether to attempt navigating LA's public transport system, or just get a cab. Opted for the cab, to the tune of around $70. I need to learn patience and frugality. Speaking of which, I wanted a hotel as close to the Meltdown Comic store as I could, which meant "The Moment," at a whopping $270/night. Glad I was only there one night; certainly was not worth that much money. Ate lunch at a Jewish-owned bakery, which meant a ham & cheese omelette wasn't in the cards. Came back and napped, had dinner at the Sunset Grille which was run by a very friendly Hungarian man sporting a "Türkiye" baseball cap. Had a burger and freshly-squeezed watermelon juice. Impressive. Went to Harmontown...had bought a ticket online, and was given a "piggy" hand stamp. Stood in line for far too long, then was let in. Had a decent enough time...Dan ranted about Ferguson, Jeff ranted about government in general, Kumail was funny as always, and Spencer was deadpan as always. Erin was a no-show owing to yet another fight with Dan. They reminisced about Robin Williams, and in fact Jeff started the show with the theme to Mork & Mindy, which I immediately recognized. Good choice. I'm rethinking my Vulcan mind meld plan. It seems...rude? I don't know, maybe the cast would be impressed with my ballsiness.
Monday August 18: day from hell, travel-wise. Way, way too many people in the system. Tried for a 6am flight to Denver, no chance in hell - I think I was 25th on a list of 52, vying for 3 open seats. I experienced extreme indecisiveness over which route to try (considered an off-the-beaten-path route LAX-COS-ORD), but I settled on LAX-CLE-ORD - which actually worked. I got the last seat on the 6:13am flight to CLE (an aisle seat next to a couple of skinny girls, which was fine - slept most of the way once again), then had another stroke of luck when the flight to ORD was pretty much the next gate over, was in the middle of boarding, and I already had a seat assignment when I inquired at the desk. This was a middle seat in the back, but no biggie, just a one-hour flight. I was home by 3 or 4pm, and considered myself very lucky. (An acquaintance was going to San Diego on my buddy passes this weekend - he made it there, but didn't make it back. Ended up buying a ticket.) I also put in a request to have my SEA bag returned to ORD...we'll see how long that takes. Nothing really vital in it, but I certainly want my snorkel, fins, and GoPro back!!
I loved this weekend. I spent far too much money, but loved all the walking and traveling and *moving* I did. Now I'm back here in Chicago, and I feel...sedentary. There was a boardgame meetup at Mystic Celt...I should've gone. I put it down to fatigue that I didn't, but that's a lie. I just feel...odd, here. In San Juan and L.A., I felt more friendly, more outgoing - maybe because I don't live there and people won't remember me? Or they can't judge me? Or that their judgments won't matter because they'll never see me again? I honestly don't know. Here, I feel terrified to leave the house. Ugh.
Friday August 15: spent the day on Isla Caja de Muertos. I've been there once before and wanted to go back. Although I'm not a huge beach person, I felt this odd urge to just spend the day at a beach. A good one, too, not one here in Chicago. The water was colder than I remember. I brought my snorkel and fins and took them out for a couple of nervous spins. I'm terrified of the water. But, this is something I want to spend more time doing. My PADI cert is still only halfway completed, and I may have to start over from the beginning at this point. Some other guy mentioned seeing rays in a different part of the ocean...I'm kinda glad I didn't see anything like that. Again, sea life kinda terrifies me. I'd prefer to see it with an experienced guide before venturing out on my own. Also: will I ever get used to salt water? How do divers cope? Came back to the hotel, napped, had dinner at the hotel restaurant. After a day of not really eating anything, the chicken caesar salad and margarita hit the spot. Oh, side note: just before leaving the island, I noticed a stream of tiny red ants crawling around in the sand by my head. I figured they'd been there the whole time, so didn't think too much about it. Packed everything up, came back to the hotel...only to find that a swarm of red ants had infested my open box of Triscuits that I had bought at the Pueblo and taken to the island. Oops. I had red ants all over my bed...I brushed them off and threw the half-full Triscuits box away, hoping that'd be the end of it...I don't think any of them came back to Chicago with me, but I won't be surprised....
Saturday August 16: flew from SJU to EWR on the 5:30am flight. I thought for sure that I was not going to get a seat, but St. Joseph or whoever was smiling upon me - I got a seat in an exit row with no middle passenger. Slept the whole way to EWR. My plan was to go on to Seattle via Denver (so, SJU-EWR-DEN-SEA) to visit a new friend (Kate), but I did not get a seat on the Denver flight. I opted for a flight back to Chicago, but my checked bag did not come with me. Flight to ORD was uneventful.
Monday August 18: day from hell, travel-wise. Way, way too many people in the system. Tried for a 6am flight to Denver, no chance in hell - I think I was 25th on a list of 52, vying for 3 open seats. I experienced extreme indecisiveness over which route to try (considered an off-the-beaten-path route LAX-COS-ORD), but I settled on LAX-CLE-ORD - which actually worked. I got the last seat on the 6:13am flight to CLE (an aisle seat next to a couple of skinny girls, which was fine - slept most of the way once again), then had another stroke of luck when the flight to ORD was pretty much the next gate over, was in the middle of boarding, and I already had a seat assignment when I inquired at the desk. This was a middle seat in the back, but no biggie, just a one-hour flight. I was home by 3 or 4pm, and considered myself very lucky. (An acquaintance was going to San Diego on my buddy passes this weekend - he made it there, but didn't make it back. Ended up buying a ticket.) I also put in a request to have my SEA bag returned to ORD...we'll see how long that takes. Nothing really vital in it, but I certainly want my snorkel, fins, and GoPro back!!
I loved this weekend. I spent far too much money, but loved all the walking and traveling and *moving* I did. Now I'm back here in Chicago, and I feel...sedentary. There was a boardgame meetup at Mystic Celt...I should've gone. I put it down to fatigue that I didn't, but that's a lie. I just feel...odd, here. In San Juan and L.A., I felt more friendly, more outgoing - maybe because I don't live there and people won't remember me? Or they can't judge me? Or that their judgments won't matter because they'll never see me again? I honestly don't know. Here, I feel terrified to leave the house. Ugh.
Londidion...no wait, that's just shit.
At some point I need to write about going to London, but tonight is not that night.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
The Haarlem Globetrotters
My friend A and I took a four-day trip to Amsterdam this past weekend. I know Amsterdam isn't one of the titular "two cities," but it was indeed the best of times, and the worst of times.
The city itself, and the people who live there, are amazing. They're very friendly and helpful, and the myth that "everyone speaks English" is actually true in Amsterdam. The scenery can't be beat, between the juxtaposition of old and new architecture, the canals (which could use a little TLC), and the parks. I highly recommend Amsterdam as a top-choice destination for US-based travelers, if for no other reason than you'll experience minimal culture shock upon arriving.
We flew (first class for me, but A elected to fly coach) from Dulles to Amsterdam, arriving on Friday morning. We took one of those multi-destination shuttles from the airport to our hotel, which turned out to be a mistake - it wasn't any cheaper than a taxi, and delayed our arrival at our hotel by a good half hour or 45 minutes. It may have been a semi-decent way to see different parts of the city, but the "roads" such as they are in Amsterdam are very short, requiring numerous right-left-right-left-right-right-left turns. By the time we got to our hotel, A and I were both pretty nauseated.
(Which turned out to be a portentous start to our trip.)
As we sat having dinner, something peculiar happened. We were sitting outside people-watching as we ate, and at one point a car alarm went off somewhere across the street. People these days pretty much ignore car alarms, but then I spotted three guys running full-tilt southward on Linnaeus Street. Two of them hopped on bicycles and were gone, but the third guy got left behind - and he was very visibly not happy about that. I had the presence of mind to whip out my camera, which I had pre-loaded with my super-zoom lens (280mm, I think), and I snapped 55 pictures of the guy as he stomped up and down the sidewalk. He disappeared from my view, and I called our waitress over and asked to speak to her manager. Well her manager wasn't there, so I just decided to talk to the front desk later about getting the pictures to the police. A couple minutes later, though, a pair of Amsterdam police came walking toward the area. I walked over to them, introduced myself, and showed them the pics on my camera's viewscreen. The cop gave me his email address, and the next day I emailed a couple of the more useful pics to him. He wrote back the day after, saying they had apprehended all three perps, but he thanked me for my vigilance. Still, an interesting start to our stay in Amsterdam....
We hopped on the tram, bought two-day passes right from the driver, and cruised down to the Red Light District. We found a cozy little smoke shop called Goa, and enjoyed a couple of "space cakes" and a couple of pre-rolled sativa joints, neither of which seemed to have much of an effect on me. A didn't like the smoky environment, so she walked around outside for a while. I cursed my lack of rolling knowledge (the shop won't roll for you), and renewed my determination to find some good weed in Amsterdam.
(A quick side note: I'm not a pothead, but I've smoked a few times. The one time that it *really* affected me, though, was when I was smoking a joint that had been rolled and given to me by a friend at one of my big-ass parties. I didn't actually smoke it until a couple of months later, while I was watching Parks and Rec with a different friend. I felt myself able to connect with the characters on the show on an emotional level that I'd never felt before, and that's sort of what I'm looking to attain again. But again, I'm not a pothead - aside from Amsterdam, I've only bought it once in my life. The other pot I've had has been given to me by friends here and there. But I digress.)
16 or 17 hours later...I was still laying in bed, stomach killing me. No issues at "either end," just a stomach in serious knots. A bullied and peer-pressured me into going to the hospital, and I gave in. There turned out to be a 24-hour care facility a very short taxi ride from the hotel, so that worked out.
We got there, I filled out a form, and we took a seat. One minute later, this guy walked in who sounded like his was in BAD shape - I wasn't sure if he'd been stabbed or beaten up or what, but he sounded like he was really suffering. After a few minuted, a nurse ("Anja," a very down-to-earth middle-aged woman, I liked her immediately) came out and called my name. I said "You might want to take this guy first, he sounds like he's in bad shape." She said "Oh no, we'll take you first...we know our clients."
Yikes.
Anja and I talked for a few minutes, and she said she could give me some over-the-counter medication for the pain, but that if I wanted to see a doctor I'd have to wait a while. I didn't think a doctor was necessary, I was just hoping for a bit of medication, so that was fine. She gave me a couple of packets of Pepto Bismol-type liquid, warned me against "bad space cakes," and sent us back to the hotel.
We had breakfast at the hotel, then headed out to explore the canals of Amsterdam. We also explored the bike paths - the hotel rented bicycles, so we took a couple of them to the boat rental place. I was having a bit of a hard time with my bike, because it's a more "upright" style than I'm used to, but the dedicated bicycle paths throughout the city are easy to navigate.
We rented a 10' solar-powered boat (top speed: 3 mph) and wound our way around the canals of Amsterdam. It was a nice way to see the city, although like I said, the canals themselves could use a bit of TLC. That's the one odd thing about Amsterdam: the city is beautiful and the people are friendly and prosperous, yet their subway ("Metro") and canals are dirty as hell. The streets are fine, their trams and buses are fine, but there's definitely an "under the rug" element to the city.
Oh, something I probably should've stated from the start: the whole reason I went to Amsterdam at this particular time is because my beloved and perfect parents were on a Danube river cruise for the past two weeks. They started in Vienna and made their way up to Amsterdam. I had planned on meeting them in Vienna, but I got sick and decided to meet them two weeks later in Amsterdam instead. So the whole weekend, I tried via various means to get in touch with them. I knew they were docking in Amsterdam on Sunday, but did not know where or exactly when. I couldn't text-message them, and I couldn't call them, and my dad could receive emails, but only sporadically. And, at no time did he tell me exactly WHERE THEY WERE DOCKED, WHICH WAS THE ONLY THING I NEEDED TO KNOW. Ahem. Sorry. Beloved and perfect, beloved and perfect. I did mention my illness, but I felt that I'd be well enough to meet them for dinner on Sunday night. Well, it turns out that their cruise ship was a floating incubator for a virus of their own (there's a shocker), and everyone was "hacking," and that maybe we should save our let's-meet-up-in-Europe for a later date. Yeah, maybe one without a disease-ridden cruise ship, let's start with that.
6:30am rolled around, and I headed down to have one last Amsterdam breakfast. I got a cup of coffee and some scrambled eggs from the buffet, sat down at a table, opened up the flight reservation page on my iPad, and...
Overbooked by 18 seats??
Our wonderful direct nonstop AMS-ORD flight, which had been wide open, was now eighteen seats overbooked?? In the span of about two hours since I last checked?? How do these things happen?
This meant three things: one, I had to rebook us on a different flight. Two, we would have to go through the unimaginable nightmare of connecting from an international flight to a domestic flight in a US airport. Three, we would be leaving AMS earlier than anticipated, which meant we had to get to the airport fast.
The most open flight that morning was to Houston, which left about 45 minutes earlier than the ORD flight. A was still snoozing up in the room, so I called up there from the hotel and gave her the bad news. She packed fast and met me down at the restaurant. She grabbed a quick bite to eat, and I settled the hotel bill and hailed a cab.
I would be remiss if I left out one detail about Amsterdam's Schiphol (rhymes with "nipple") airport: they set up their security screening on a per-gate basis. So if your flight departs from gate G3, you don't actually go through security until you're at gate G3. The unfortunate side-effect is that there is no bathroom or drinking fountain in the gate area - if you want either or both, you have to go through security all over again. In addition, the security guys at Schiphol are almost worse than the TSA, if you can believe it. The guy who patted me down basically gave me a huge bear hug and squeezed my ass. Look, I know you Europeans are a little more "flexible," but come on....
Anyway...A and I flew first class from Amsterdam to Houston. The flight was very bumpy, but otherwise uneventful. Oh, the plane itself was a 777-200 V5, and I was located in seat 1D. Right next to the lavatory. Ugh. If I had actually paid for that seat, I'd have been furious. Whoever designed this configuration needs to have their head examined.
We landed in Houston and began The Long Walk. Go through immigration, collect our bags, go through customs, re-check our bags, then go through those complete wastes of space, the TSA. This entire process takes maybe an hour and a half. Houston apparently does not have an employee line, or even a stupid TSA "Pre-Check" line - just one big-ass slow-moving no-purpose security-theater line. Fuck Houston airport, fuck it in its stupid ass.
I asked A how she liked the flight (she had never flown first class internationally before). She said it was fine, but that she was feeling a little nauseated.......
By the skin of our teeth, we got on the 3:45pm flight to ORD. A got an aisle seat in row 25, I got a middle seat in row 36. Ugh. Well, just a two-hour flight, right? I could handle that....
We pulled away from the gate, taxied for a bit, then stopped. And sat, and sat, and sat. Then we took off.
I was seated between two gentlemen: to my right in the window seat was "Gustavo" (at least I think that's what was written on his boarding pass), and he was as broad-shouldered as I am but pretty much kept to himself. To my left, in the aisle seat, was Cocktail. Cocktail earned his nickname from the one-man party he decided to throw for himself about an hour into the flight - he ordered a can of Sprite and two mini-bottles of vodka. So there he was, with his own personal mini-bar, his Kindle, and he was just happy as a clam.
I waited as long as I could. Really, I did. But eventually, nature's call superceded my desire to be a good employee and good person and allow Cocktail to enjoy his one-man party in peace. I did notice that his drinks were pretty much all consumed, so I felt better about asking him to move so I could use the bathroom. His response was a sarcastic, "Well, I got all this stuff here..." I stared him down, and he knew he had no right to block my path. So, he gathered his "stuff" and got out of my way. He did mumble something about "throw this out?" I said "Sure, I can do that for you," and took the remains of his party back to the galley for disposal. After using the bathroom, I came back to my seat and resisted the very understandable, and perhaps even righteous desire to punch Cocktail's lights out.
It was around this time, however, that the Captain came on the loudspeaker and delivered some bad news. She said that a slow-moving storm had effectively shut down the airport, and that we'd have to wait in a holding pattern for a while - at least 45 minutes. Ugh. 45 minutes later, she came on and said that despite everyone's best efforts, landing at ORD wouldn't be possible, and we were being diverted to Rockford for an unspecified amount of time. (This led to a moment of emotional connection between Cocktail and I - he said "Rockland?" I said "Rockford." I got your back, bro. Let's hug it out.)
So we landed in Rockford with the hopes that it would be a gas-and-go situation. We did gas, but didn't exactly go - we were on the ground for maybe an hour. During this time I exchanged text messages with A, who informed me that she had basically been throwing up the whole time on the plane. Ugh. I was grateful that she got the aisle seat instead of my middle - I can only imagine how Cocktail would've responded to her puking on him.
I also felt a twinge of sympathy later for Cocktail. When we landed in Rockford, a planefull of cell phone conversations commenced, naturally. Cocktail's conversation included tidbits like "Well, he's drinking now, right? What does the speech therapist say?" etc. Made me glad I didn't punch his lights out after all.
(A yoga teacher of mine once said, "Don't be jealous if someone can get into a pose deeper than you can, because that person has baggage you don't even want to think about.")
A and I discussed the possibility of de-planing, renting a car, and driving the rest of the way, but I don't think we were ever at a gate in the first place. We took off once again, and after the shortest flight ever, landed at ORD. We must've drawn the short straw on runways, though, because we taxied for about 30 minutes before getting to a gate. ORD was a mess - people everywhere. All flights were either cancelled, waiting on incoming crews, changing gates, or some other non-normal status. We collected our bags, I dropped A off at home, and headed home myself. I was very grateful to be home, and today I emailed the captain of our IAH-RFD-ORD flight and complimented her on keeping us sympathetically abreast of the situation last night. That was easily the worst flight I've ever been on, but it certainly wasn't the crew's fault.
So that's Amsterdam! Well, okay, more about our miserable trip back from Amsterdam. But Amsterdam itself is wonderful - go there if you can.
The city itself, and the people who live there, are amazing. They're very friendly and helpful, and the myth that "everyone speaks English" is actually true in Amsterdam. The scenery can't be beat, between the juxtaposition of old and new architecture, the canals (which could use a little TLC), and the parks. I highly recommend Amsterdam as a top-choice destination for US-based travelers, if for no other reason than you'll experience minimal culture shock upon arriving.
We flew (first class for me, but A elected to fly coach) from Dulles to Amsterdam, arriving on Friday morning. We took one of those multi-destination shuttles from the airport to our hotel, which turned out to be a mistake - it wasn't any cheaper than a taxi, and delayed our arrival at our hotel by a good half hour or 45 minutes. It may have been a semi-decent way to see different parts of the city, but the "roads" such as they are in Amsterdam are very short, requiring numerous right-left-right-left-right-right-left turns. By the time we got to our hotel, A and I were both pretty nauseated.
(Which turned out to be a portentous start to our trip.)
Friday night.
Despite our best mutual intentions, we both elected to sleep for a few hours on Friday afternoon. We got up around 6pm and went downstairs for dinner. The restaurant at the hotel was one of those Italian places that wants to serve you multiple courses of what I call "over-engineered" dishes (too many garnishes and sauces and whatnot...just give me a burger and I'm happy). I decided to listen to my stomach, which was not really hungry at all, and just ordered a side of baked potato wedges, which I barely touched.As we sat having dinner, something peculiar happened. We were sitting outside people-watching as we ate, and at one point a car alarm went off somewhere across the street. People these days pretty much ignore car alarms, but then I spotted three guys running full-tilt southward on Linnaeus Street. Two of them hopped on bicycles and were gone, but the third guy got left behind - and he was very visibly not happy about that. I had the presence of mind to whip out my camera, which I had pre-loaded with my super-zoom lens (280mm, I think), and I snapped 55 pictures of the guy as he stomped up and down the sidewalk. He disappeared from my view, and I called our waitress over and asked to speak to her manager. Well her manager wasn't there, so I just decided to talk to the front desk later about getting the pictures to the police. A couple minutes later, though, a pair of Amsterdam police came walking toward the area. I walked over to them, introduced myself, and showed them the pics on my camera's viewscreen. The cop gave me his email address, and the next day I emailed a couple of the more useful pics to him. He wrote back the day after, saying they had apprehended all three perps, but he thanked me for my vigilance. Still, an interesting start to our stay in Amsterdam....
We hopped on the tram, bought two-day passes right from the driver, and cruised down to the Red Light District. We found a cozy little smoke shop called Goa, and enjoyed a couple of "space cakes" and a couple of pre-rolled sativa joints, neither of which seemed to have much of an effect on me. A didn't like the smoky environment, so she walked around outside for a while. I cursed my lack of rolling knowledge (the shop won't roll for you), and renewed my determination to find some good weed in Amsterdam.
(A quick side note: I'm not a pothead, but I've smoked a few times. The one time that it *really* affected me, though, was when I was smoking a joint that had been rolled and given to me by a friend at one of my big-ass parties. I didn't actually smoke it until a couple of months later, while I was watching Parks and Rec with a different friend. I felt myself able to connect with the characters on the show on an emotional level that I'd never felt before, and that's sort of what I'm looking to attain again. But again, I'm not a pothead - aside from Amsterdam, I've only bought it once in my life. The other pot I've had has been given to me by friends here and there. But I digress.)
Saturday.
A and I woke up bright and early at 6:30am, and headed down for the hotel restaurant's breakfast buffet. It was decent, a tad overpriced, but I didn't care. I ate my fill, and...my stomach hurt. I thought I'd just overdone it a bit, so I went back to the room and laid in bed while A took a shower. My stomach kept hurting, and hurting, and hurting...and just didn't stop. I told A to go ahead and visit the Olde Church and whatever else she wanted to do, and maybe I'd join her later.16 or 17 hours later...I was still laying in bed, stomach killing me. No issues at "either end," just a stomach in serious knots. A bullied and peer-pressured me into going to the hospital, and I gave in. There turned out to be a 24-hour care facility a very short taxi ride from the hotel, so that worked out.
We got there, I filled out a form, and we took a seat. One minute later, this guy walked in who sounded like his was in BAD shape - I wasn't sure if he'd been stabbed or beaten up or what, but he sounded like he was really suffering. After a few minuted, a nurse ("Anja," a very down-to-earth middle-aged woman, I liked her immediately) came out and called my name. I said "You might want to take this guy first, he sounds like he's in bad shape." She said "Oh no, we'll take you first...we know our clients."
Yikes.
Anja and I talked for a few minutes, and she said she could give me some over-the-counter medication for the pain, but that if I wanted to see a doctor I'd have to wait a while. I didn't think a doctor was necessary, I was just hoping for a bit of medication, so that was fine. She gave me a couple of packets of Pepto Bismol-type liquid, warned me against "bad space cakes," and sent us back to the hotel.
Sunday.
I woke up on Sunday and my stomach was...mostly better. The pain had reduced from a 4/10 down to maybe a 2/10. Buuuut, the rest of my body hurt as well - muscle soreness from head to toe, and chills. I was okay with that - at least it showed that something was happening. Muscle soreness I can handle, since that's somatic instead of visceral. But while I felt "better," I still didn't feel "good," and once again cut A loose on the city of Amsterdam while I recuperated in the hotel. We did get together for lunch and dinner, though, so at least I got out a bit.Monday.
Stomach: good! Body: good! Let's go see Amsterdam!!!!!!111We had breakfast at the hotel, then headed out to explore the canals of Amsterdam. We also explored the bike paths - the hotel rented bicycles, so we took a couple of them to the boat rental place. I was having a bit of a hard time with my bike, because it's a more "upright" style than I'm used to, but the dedicated bicycle paths throughout the city are easy to navigate.
We rented a 10' solar-powered boat (top speed: 3 mph) and wound our way around the canals of Amsterdam. It was a nice way to see the city, although like I said, the canals themselves could use a bit of TLC. That's the one odd thing about Amsterdam: the city is beautiful and the people are friendly and prosperous, yet their subway ("Metro") and canals are dirty as hell. The streets are fine, their trams and buses are fine, but there's definitely an "under the rug" element to the city.
Oh, something I probably should've stated from the start: the whole reason I went to Amsterdam at this particular time is because my beloved and perfect parents were on a Danube river cruise for the past two weeks. They started in Vienna and made their way up to Amsterdam. I had planned on meeting them in Vienna, but I got sick and decided to meet them two weeks later in Amsterdam instead. So the whole weekend, I tried via various means to get in touch with them. I knew they were docking in Amsterdam on Sunday, but did not know where or exactly when. I couldn't text-message them, and I couldn't call them, and my dad could receive emails, but only sporadically. And, at no time did he tell me exactly WHERE THEY WERE DOCKED, WHICH WAS THE ONLY THING I NEEDED TO KNOW. Ahem. Sorry. Beloved and perfect, beloved and perfect. I did mention my illness, but I felt that I'd be well enough to meet them for dinner on Sunday night. Well, it turns out that their cruise ship was a floating incubator for a virus of their own (there's a shocker), and everyone was "hacking," and that maybe we should save our let's-meet-up-in-Europe for a later date. Yeah, maybe one without a disease-ridden cruise ship, let's start with that.
Tuesday.
Time to go home. I kind of stayed up all night listening to Harmontown and checking the flight reservation page. Our AMS-ORD flight had about forty open seats, so that was cool.6:30am rolled around, and I headed down to have one last Amsterdam breakfast. I got a cup of coffee and some scrambled eggs from the buffet, sat down at a table, opened up the flight reservation page on my iPad, and...
Overbooked by 18 seats??
Our wonderful direct nonstop AMS-ORD flight, which had been wide open, was now eighteen seats overbooked?? In the span of about two hours since I last checked?? How do these things happen?
This meant three things: one, I had to rebook us on a different flight. Two, we would have to go through the unimaginable nightmare of connecting from an international flight to a domestic flight in a US airport. Three, we would be leaving AMS earlier than anticipated, which meant we had to get to the airport fast.
The most open flight that morning was to Houston, which left about 45 minutes earlier than the ORD flight. A was still snoozing up in the room, so I called up there from the hotel and gave her the bad news. She packed fast and met me down at the restaurant. She grabbed a quick bite to eat, and I settled the hotel bill and hailed a cab.
I would be remiss if I left out one detail about Amsterdam's Schiphol (rhymes with "nipple") airport: they set up their security screening on a per-gate basis. So if your flight departs from gate G3, you don't actually go through security until you're at gate G3. The unfortunate side-effect is that there is no bathroom or drinking fountain in the gate area - if you want either or both, you have to go through security all over again. In addition, the security guys at Schiphol are almost worse than the TSA, if you can believe it. The guy who patted me down basically gave me a huge bear hug and squeezed my ass. Look, I know you Europeans are a little more "flexible," but come on....
Anyway...A and I flew first class from Amsterdam to Houston. The flight was very bumpy, but otherwise uneventful. Oh, the plane itself was a 777-200 V5, and I was located in seat 1D. Right next to the lavatory. Ugh. If I had actually paid for that seat, I'd have been furious. Whoever designed this configuration needs to have their head examined.
We landed in Houston and began The Long Walk. Go through immigration, collect our bags, go through customs, re-check our bags, then go through those complete wastes of space, the TSA. This entire process takes maybe an hour and a half. Houston apparently does not have an employee line, or even a stupid TSA "Pre-Check" line - just one big-ass slow-moving no-purpose security-theater line. Fuck Houston airport, fuck it in its stupid ass.
I asked A how she liked the flight (she had never flown first class internationally before). She said it was fine, but that she was feeling a little nauseated.......
By the skin of our teeth, we got on the 3:45pm flight to ORD. A got an aisle seat in row 25, I got a middle seat in row 36. Ugh. Well, just a two-hour flight, right? I could handle that....
We pulled away from the gate, taxied for a bit, then stopped. And sat, and sat, and sat. Then we took off.
I was seated between two gentlemen: to my right in the window seat was "Gustavo" (at least I think that's what was written on his boarding pass), and he was as broad-shouldered as I am but pretty much kept to himself. To my left, in the aisle seat, was Cocktail. Cocktail earned his nickname from the one-man party he decided to throw for himself about an hour into the flight - he ordered a can of Sprite and two mini-bottles of vodka. So there he was, with his own personal mini-bar, his Kindle, and he was just happy as a clam.
I waited as long as I could. Really, I did. But eventually, nature's call superceded my desire to be a good employee and good person and allow Cocktail to enjoy his one-man party in peace. I did notice that his drinks were pretty much all consumed, so I felt better about asking him to move so I could use the bathroom. His response was a sarcastic, "Well, I got all this stuff here..." I stared him down, and he knew he had no right to block my path. So, he gathered his "stuff" and got out of my way. He did mumble something about "throw this out?" I said "Sure, I can do that for you," and took the remains of his party back to the galley for disposal. After using the bathroom, I came back to my seat and resisted the very understandable, and perhaps even righteous desire to punch Cocktail's lights out.
It was around this time, however, that the Captain came on the loudspeaker and delivered some bad news. She said that a slow-moving storm had effectively shut down the airport, and that we'd have to wait in a holding pattern for a while - at least 45 minutes. Ugh. 45 minutes later, she came on and said that despite everyone's best efforts, landing at ORD wouldn't be possible, and we were being diverted to Rockford for an unspecified amount of time. (This led to a moment of emotional connection between Cocktail and I - he said "Rockland?" I said "Rockford." I got your back, bro. Let's hug it out.)
So we landed in Rockford with the hopes that it would be a gas-and-go situation. We did gas, but didn't exactly go - we were on the ground for maybe an hour. During this time I exchanged text messages with A, who informed me that she had basically been throwing up the whole time on the plane. Ugh. I was grateful that she got the aisle seat instead of my middle - I can only imagine how Cocktail would've responded to her puking on him.
I also felt a twinge of sympathy later for Cocktail. When we landed in Rockford, a planefull of cell phone conversations commenced, naturally. Cocktail's conversation included tidbits like "Well, he's drinking now, right? What does the speech therapist say?" etc. Made me glad I didn't punch his lights out after all.
(A yoga teacher of mine once said, "Don't be jealous if someone can get into a pose deeper than you can, because that person has baggage you don't even want to think about.")
A and I discussed the possibility of de-planing, renting a car, and driving the rest of the way, but I don't think we were ever at a gate in the first place. We took off once again, and after the shortest flight ever, landed at ORD. We must've drawn the short straw on runways, though, because we taxied for about 30 minutes before getting to a gate. ORD was a mess - people everywhere. All flights were either cancelled, waiting on incoming crews, changing gates, or some other non-normal status. We collected our bags, I dropped A off at home, and headed home myself. I was very grateful to be home, and today I emailed the captain of our IAH-RFD-ORD flight and complimented her on keeping us sympathetically abreast of the situation last night. That was easily the worst flight I've ever been on, but it certainly wasn't the crew's fault.
So that's Amsterdam! Well, okay, more about our miserable trip back from Amsterdam. But Amsterdam itself is wonderful - go there if you can.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Korea! (Both of them...kinda.)
I wasn't sure whether I wanted to spend my birthday vacation in Guam or South Korea. I knew little about either location aside from Guam being 1) a US territory and 2) a hub for my airline. But after my Japan adventure from two years ago, I was eager to visit another Pac Rim/Asian country. I also learned that with some clever routing, I could fly the new 787 from Denver to Narita (got first class!), and from there to either Seoul or Guam. The flight schedules were more in Seoul's favor, so that sealed the deal.
In my mind, I keep comparing South Korea to the United States. This may seem like an obvious statement, but notice I say "compare" rather than "contrast." From my experiences, our cultures are very similar. South Koreans are a very hardworking, industrious, entrepreneurial people, and also like Americans, they don't seem to be overly curious about (or easily impressed by) foreigners. I was not a curiosity like I was in Japan. Also in contrast with Japan, South Koreans don't seem to have an obsession with image or perfection. Their streets and subways are clean(er than in the US), but not to an obsessive degree. The food was mostly okay - some seafood, but a lot of steamed vegetables which I'm not a fan of.
I mentioned the people not being too curious about Americans. The wikitravel article suggests that Koreans will want to practice their English with you. I found that not to be the case. Most Koreans I interacted with, aside from the hotel staff, spoke little or no English. Even the cab drivers were at a loss. I'm not one of those travelers who expects everyone to speak English everywhere I go, but I do prefer to dispel the myth that they do whenever I can - hard lessons learned in Munich still stick with me!
(My experience may be colored by the fact that I stayed in Seoul. If I had ventured out into one of the smaller towns, I may be telling a different story now.)
Because of a lesson once again hard-learned, I devoted one rainy afternoon to learning the Korean language. To my delight I quickly learned that Korean is not kanji-based (like Japanese and Chinese), but rather is based on a succinct and efficient 22-character alphabet. The characters in each word are then grouped by syllables, making it very easy to work out new words. An hour or so of practicing with an app, and I was off and running. It came in handy immediately - when I hopped on a random bus going to a random destination, I was able to read the names of the bus stops along the way to keep my bearings.
On Tuesday morning, I got up much too early and hopped on a tour bus which went up to Panmunjeom, the heavily militarized "town" which straddles the border between North and South Korea. Our tour guides (one civilian woman and one US soldier) were very specific: do not take pictures outside of designated areas, do not take pictures outside of designated picture-taking directions ("toward the North Korean side, but not toward the right or left"), and do not make any physical hand gestures toward or attempt to speak to any North Korean soldiers. In short, do not do anything that would give anyone a reason (or excuse) to scratch an itchy trigger finger.
The closest we actually got to any North Koreans was when we went inside one of the MAC ("Military Armistice Commission") conference rooms. No Northerners were in the room with us, but the building itself straddles the border, and we were allowed to walk around (mostly) freely inside it. I set one literal foot in North Korea - that was enough for me. I picked up some t-shirts and shot glasses from the gift shop...yeah, there's a gift shop at the Joint Security Area.
One of the things I noticed right away on my first subway trip were the frequent glass-enclosed cases which held gas masks and other self-contained breathing apparatuses. I then noticed the signs advertising military service for women, who are normally exempt from the compulsory service. Then later I noticed the proliferation of rather heavy-duty exercise equipment at pretty much every park in the city.
These people are pretty serious about defending their country.
And again, I have to contrast it with the US: the South Koreans (and in particular the residents of Seoul) live about a hundred short miles from a literal madman with probable nuclear weapons. Theirs is a militarism born not from an overblown sense of machismo or an overdose of testosterone, but from an actual threat to their very existence, one not of their own creation (you listening, CIA?).
It's so remarkable to me that so many people, both the Northerners and the Southerners, have to live in such a state of perpetual fear due to the insanity of one family, the Kims. And even more remarkable that the Kims are backed by both the Chinese and the Russians, neither of whom are even all that communist anymore. It's not even ideological anymore, it's just about pride and saving face. And...hating the US, of course.
I think South Korea (again, like the US) is more than the sum of its parts. The people aren't out to impress anybody, they're not obsessed with perfection or saving face, they exist day to day under an extremely tense military situation, and they are a delight to interact and spend time with. I write this as I sit in Incheon airport waiting for my flight to San Francisco (got first class!), and I find myself sorry to be leaving. I'd come back in a heartbeat. (And a 15-hour flight.) (But only in first class.) (I'm a spoiled travel snob now.)
Overall Impressions
In my mind, I keep comparing South Korea to the United States. This may seem like an obvious statement, but notice I say "compare" rather than "contrast." From my experiences, our cultures are very similar. South Koreans are a very hardworking, industrious, entrepreneurial people, and also like Americans, they don't seem to be overly curious about (or easily impressed by) foreigners. I was not a curiosity like I was in Japan. Also in contrast with Japan, South Koreans don't seem to have an obsession with image or perfection. Their streets and subways are clean(er than in the US), but not to an obsessive degree. The food was mostly okay - some seafood, but a lot of steamed vegetables which I'm not a fan of.
I mentioned the people not being too curious about Americans. The wikitravel article suggests that Koreans will want to practice their English with you. I found that not to be the case. Most Koreans I interacted with, aside from the hotel staff, spoke little or no English. Even the cab drivers were at a loss. I'm not one of those travelers who expects everyone to speak English everywhere I go, but I do prefer to dispel the myth that they do whenever I can - hard lessons learned in Munich still stick with me!
(My experience may be colored by the fact that I stayed in Seoul. If I had ventured out into one of the smaller towns, I may be telling a different story now.)
Because of a lesson once again hard-learned, I devoted one rainy afternoon to learning the Korean language. To my delight I quickly learned that Korean is not kanji-based (like Japanese and Chinese), but rather is based on a succinct and efficient 22-character alphabet. The characters in each word are then grouped by syllables, making it very easy to work out new words. An hour or so of practicing with an app, and I was off and running. It came in handy immediately - when I hopped on a random bus going to a random destination, I was able to read the names of the bus stops along the way to keep my bearings.
On the Subject of North Korea
On Tuesday morning, I got up much too early and hopped on a tour bus which went up to Panmunjeom, the heavily militarized "town" which straddles the border between North and South Korea. Our tour guides (one civilian woman and one US soldier) were very specific: do not take pictures outside of designated areas, do not take pictures outside of designated picture-taking directions ("toward the North Korean side, but not toward the right or left"), and do not make any physical hand gestures toward or attempt to speak to any North Korean soldiers. In short, do not do anything that would give anyone a reason (or excuse) to scratch an itchy trigger finger.
The closest we actually got to any North Koreans was when we went inside one of the MAC ("Military Armistice Commission") conference rooms. No Northerners were in the room with us, but the building itself straddles the border, and we were allowed to walk around (mostly) freely inside it. I set one literal foot in North Korea - that was enough for me. I picked up some t-shirts and shot glasses from the gift shop...yeah, there's a gift shop at the Joint Security Area.
On the Subject of South Korean Militarism
One of the things I noticed right away on my first subway trip were the frequent glass-enclosed cases which held gas masks and other self-contained breathing apparatuses. I then noticed the signs advertising military service for women, who are normally exempt from the compulsory service. Then later I noticed the proliferation of rather heavy-duty exercise equipment at pretty much every park in the city.
These people are pretty serious about defending their country.
And again, I have to contrast it with the US: the South Koreans (and in particular the residents of Seoul) live about a hundred short miles from a literal madman with probable nuclear weapons. Theirs is a militarism born not from an overblown sense of machismo or an overdose of testosterone, but from an actual threat to their very existence, one not of their own creation (you listening, CIA?).
It's so remarkable to me that so many people, both the Northerners and the Southerners, have to live in such a state of perpetual fear due to the insanity of one family, the Kims. And even more remarkable that the Kims are backed by both the Chinese and the Russians, neither of whom are even all that communist anymore. It's not even ideological anymore, it's just about pride and saving face. And...hating the US, of course.
In Summation
I think South Korea (again, like the US) is more than the sum of its parts. The people aren't out to impress anybody, they're not obsessed with perfection or saving face, they exist day to day under an extremely tense military situation, and they are a delight to interact and spend time with. I write this as I sit in Incheon airport waiting for my flight to San Francisco (got first class!), and I find myself sorry to be leaving. I'd come back in a heartbeat. (And a 15-hour flight.) (But only in first class.) (I'm a spoiled travel snob now.)
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Hiroshima Prefecture, Japan - 03-08 Aug 2012
Prologue: Why Japan? Why Hiroshima?
In keeping with my goal of visiting all seven continents, an Asian destination made the most sense to me this time around - it's winter in the southern hemisphere, and I'm iffy about Africa. I considered Seoul South Korea, Shanghai China, Taiwan, and of course Japan. Visa issues made me decide to put China on the back burner (although I very much want to go there at some point), and I considered trying to cram Seoul, Taiwan, and perhaps Tokyo into one massive trip. Then I realized that I could satiate my armchair-World War 2 historian buff in a major way by visiting Hiroshima on August 6th (or Nagasaki on the 9th). The way my work schedule and optimal vacation time lined up, a trip from August 2nd through the 10th made the most sense. To be safe (due to flying standby and whatnot), I knew I'd have to start heading home before the Nagasaki anniversary, so I focused on Hiroshima.
Unfortunately, my idea of traveling to Hiroshima on the 6th is not a very original one. A search for hotels on Priceline and Travelocity quickly revealed that hotels in the city were booked solid. The closest hotel I could find was nearly 50 miles away, in a small seaside town called Onomichi. The wikitravel entry lists Onomichi's attractions, but I wouldn't exactly call it complimentary. A quote: "Unless you have a keen interest in Pure Land Buddhism or Japanese literature, it's probably not worth your while to spend the night in Onomichi." And here's me about to spend five nights there. Still, experience has shown me that I prefer smaller towns to big cities when I travel, so I was confident I could find things to do in Onomichi and the surrounding areas.
One thing I found prior to leaving (and which turned out to be my salvation later) was the website of a Mr. Seiichi Matsuuras. Matsuuras-san absolutely loves America and Americans, and since 1977 has been heavily involved with coordinating student exchanges, hosting American speakers, etc. I emailed him before I left, asking him if any major events were going on in Onomichi between the 3rd and the 8th. He replied enthusiastically, inviting me to an English-language karaoke meetup he was hosting on the 4th. He went on to say that "any time any day please come and I am willing to take you to many places of interest." Sounds good - I've got a ready-made tour guide in Onomichi!
So I felt prepared and confident when I left the house the morning of August 2nd. Oh, and my friend Emily gave me another final forewarning: southern Japan is legendary for its extreme heat and humidity in summer.
2-3 August: The wonderful Japanese train system, and the kindness of strangers.
My itinerary was to fly from ORD to SFO, and from there to Kansai (KIX), just south of Osaka. Not only is KIX closer to Onomichi, but my chances of getting first class were much greater than if I flew to Tokyo. I was 4 for 4 on getting first class on international overseas trips, and my streak continued - I flew first class from SFO to KIX, and it was wonderful as always. The good thing about flying to Asia is that jet lag is actually pretty minimal - we departed SFO at around 5pm, and landed in KIX at 3pm the next day, and I predicted I'd arrive at my hotel in Onomichi around 7 or 8pm. However, between the airport and Onomichi, I got to experience the wonderful Japanese train system.
I had brought $500 in traveler's checks with me, and stopped at a currency exchange booth to cash them in. The man said it would take about 20 minutes. I decided to just wait until I got to Onomichi - I was eager to get on the train. Oh, and yes, by this point the heat and humidity was smacking me in the face, so like everyone else, I was pretty much dripping with sweat as I made my way to the train station at KIX. The people at the counter were Japanistically polite and accommodating of the fact that I had no clue what I needed to do. When you buy a ticket, they print out all your connections as well (on a dot-matrix printer...hmm), so that's helpful.
I made my way to the train platform, and soon met a young Western guy by the name of Vin. Vin had been to Japan before, but wasn't exactly sure which train he was supposed to hop on, and neither was I, so we bonded over our mutual apprehension. We were both heading in a Hiroshima-ish direction, so we stuck together for a little while. As trains would come and stop in the station, a small army of teenage boys dressed in funny black-and-white uniforms would converge on each car, give it a quick going-over (including dusting), and run back out again. Those same boys would line up at the far end of the platform, and wave to the passengers as the train left the station. And it wasn't a cynical, jaded, sarcastic performance either - they put on a damn good show and I admired them for their dedication.
It's important to note that the train I was on, while wonderfully air-conditioned, was not the legendary "bullet train" that Japan is famous for. Japan has numerous train lines and I won't even attempt to explain them all here, but this was a "local" train with several stops between KIX and Osaka. However, once I reached Osaka, I would transfer to the Shinkansen - the bullet train. I was very much looking forward to this, and it didn't disappoint. I even splurged on a "midori" seat - first class, and it was the most futuristic train ride I've ever been on. There's talk of increasing the amount of rail travel in the U.S.; two things will prevent this from happening: one, lack of infrastructure that can support high-speed rail like in Japan, and two, the infestation of the TSA - they're already setting up shop in Chicago's Union Station where the Amtrak trains depart. But, I digress.
So after a couple of changes and three hours later, I arrived at Onomichi at around 7pm. I was happy and excited to be there, even though it's a fairly quiet little town. There was certainly no lack of activity - I think Onomichi Station is pretty much the cultural as well as geographical center of the town, and there were a lot of shops and people milling around. However, this is also where I ran into my first major snag. There was a line of taxis outside the station, and I approached one hoping to get a ride to my hotel. Only problem: they only accepted cash. No credit card. And there I was, having foolishly foregone the currency exchange booth at KIX, and yet waited for a train for more than the time it would've taken to cash in my traveler's checks. There was a bank nearby by it was closed, of course, and even if there had been an ATM in the area, I'm not sure I would've felt safe putting one of my precious debit or credit cards into it.
(It was during this time that I realized how un-original my Hiroshima idea was: while contemplating my next move, I came upon a couple from Holland wandering around the area. They told me that they too couldn't find a hotel in Hiroshima, and had to come all the way out to Onomichi. Small world.)
It was also during this time that I met my first savior in Onomichi. I went back into the train station and asked if they could call my hotel. The staff in this small-town train station was not quite as fluent in English as the staff at the KIX train station had been, but we managed to communicate somehow. One of the employees there was a young girl who knew that the hotel's phone number was listed on the map that they hand out to tourists. She called the hotel, and they sent a van within a few minutes to pick me up. I saw that girl a couple more times throughout my trip, but I never did catch her name or properly thank her for her help that night. My only other recourse would've been to walk the 1-2 miles to the hotel, in stifling heat and humidity, dragging my suitcase along, and not knowing *precisely* where the hotel even was!
So, I got to my room, and I didn't care that it was the size of a shoebox, I was grateful for a place to call "home." It even had air conditioning - not the most powerful system in the world, but it did the trick and I slept comfortably.
4 Aug - Time to Sing!
I started my first full day in Onomichi with a wonderful buffet breakfast at my hotel - which I found had been overrun by a truckload of middle-school age Korean kids who were touring Japan. I found this out after I had sat down to eat my breakfast - they all rushed in like a tornado, spent five minutes eating their breakfasts, and were gone almost as soon as they arrived. They were very orderly and quiet, but they still reminded me of a small Asian tornado.
The hotel I stayed at rented bicycles, and I had brought along my bike helmet with the intention of riding the Shimanami Kaido, a path that winds along several islands between Onomichi and Imabari (on the main island of Shikoku). Welllllll...turns out that the bikes they rented were not exactly the high-performance 24-speed bikes I was kinda hoping for. They were pretty cheap three-speed jobs with a damn wire basket on the front. I could barely raise the seat up high enough to ride comfortably. So much for the Shimanami Kaido - that would have to wait until next time.
I lazed around my hotel for a little while before heading out - Matsuuras-san's karaoke meetup started at 2 and I didn't want to get there too early. I left the hotel at around 12:30, and made a stop at Onomichi Station where I was determined to cash in my traveler's checks. The hotel staff had told me that any post office could cash them, and there was a post office near the station...which closed at 12:30. I got there just a few minutes too late. Crap. Well, at least I had a three-speed bicycle.
I made my way over to Matsuuras-san's - he's a tall, polite, passionate elderly man who is still very spry for 75. He was very happy to meet me, and I met several friends of his as well - Saito-san who was a HAM radio enthusiast; Fuka-san, a woman in her late 40s or early 50s who enjoyed hula hooping or hula dancing, I wasn't quite sure which; and Tetsuji-san who was only just beginning to learn English, so I didn't learn too much about him, but he was very happy to meet me as well. We sang a few songs on Matsuuras-san's impressive karaoke setup and chatted a bit. Fuka-san and Tetsuji-san left after a couple of hours, and Matsuuras-san made dinner for Saito-san and me. He told me that his wife had passed away last year, and that he has a girlfriend now - she came over for dinner as well, and I don't recall her name and she spoke no English, but she was incredibly sweet. Matsuuras-san, in keeping with Buddhist tradition, keeps a shrine to his wife in his house. When his girlfriend arrived at the house, she took her shoes off, knelt at the altar, and said a prayer to the soul of Matsuuras-san's late wife. I think she's a keeper.
It was around 7pm when I decided that I was ready to head back to my hotel for the evening. Matsuuras-san and Saito-san asked me what my schedule was for the next couple of days - they wanted to take me to an "onsen" - a Japanese bath house! I was a little intimidated, but hey, when in Onomichi... I told them that Tuesday would be a good day to do that. I hopped on my bike and rode back to my hotel and crashed. (In bed, I mean...not on my bike.)
5 Aug - Miyajima and Hiroshima
This is where Matsuuras-san and Saito-san became my saviors in Onomichi. Matsuuras-san invited me to have breakfast with them, and I accepted since I wasn't going to leave for Hiroshima until noon or so. I told them of my problems cashing my traveler's checks, and Saito-san made a phone call...he apparently has connections. After chatting with someone on the phone, he said "Let's go to the 7-11." (Yes, 7-11 is huge in Japan.) The 7-11 had an ATM, and the diagram showed the card going in with the stripe up and to the right. I tried it with my debit card, and it was rejected. Then I tried it again with my two credit cards, and they were both rejected. There was a phone on the ATM for support, and Saito-san picked it up and talked to the operator at the other end. He then had me try my debit card again, this time with the stripe down and to the right. Lo and behold, it worked, and I was able to withdraw about 20,000 yen. Hallelujah. I was thrilled to finally have cash in my pocket as I headed to Hiroshima.
This is probably a good time to introduce Tara. Tara is a fellow redditor who I had been in touch with for several months. She teaches English at a couple of schools in the Hiroshima area, and she volunteered to be my tour guide once I arrived in Hiroshima. She really really really wanted to take me to Miyajima - I had never heard of Miyajima, but I said sure, why not. Turns out Miyajima is an island south of Hiroshima, and it is considered one of the most holy places in Japan for both the Shinto and Buddhist traditions. Tara is involved with Taiko drumming, and has performed there on several occasions. Historically, women and the elderly were not allowed on the island - the monks wanted to ensure that no births or deaths would ever take place on the island. Since then they've kind of relaxed about that.
We took the ferry over and rented a couple of bikes (again...cheap bikes, in fact I think mine was a fixed-gear bike), although riding around was a bit difficult given the amount of tourists in the area. (Tara in particular had a tendency to plow into little kids, but I think they were so impressed with her fluency in Japanese that they immediately forgave her.) We wandered around the huge open-air temples, and ended up having lunch at a very good restaurant there. I was pretty stuffed, but Tara then took me to a strip where vendors served all sorts of wares - and treats. We had a deliciously simple concoction which consisted of hand-shaved ice and a strawberry topping (like you'd put on ice cream), and later I had a tiny star-shaped cake with a chocolate filling.
Following that, we took the ferry back to the mainland, and hopped on the Hiroshima trolley for a while. We eventually went to an Okinawan restaurant for dinner - I don't recall the name of the place, but it included the word "turtle" or "tortoise," and sure enough, there was a gigantic live tortoise that wandered freely around the restaurant. While we were there it was asleep underneath a table, but it was hard to miss. We had delicious Okinawan food and I got more than a little smashed on what Tara described as "Okinawan moonshine." I stumbled my way back to my hotel in Onomichi, very nearly sleeping through my stop on the Shinkansen, and accidentally leaving my bike helmet behind.
6 Aug - Hiroshima
Okay, we'll just call it what it is: I was hung over. I did not make it to the morning commemoration ceremonies in Hiroshima, and in fact didn't really get out of bed until well after noon. I did head to Hiroshima around 3pm or so, and I wandered around the Peace Park and watched them launching the floating lanterns in the river. But I didn't stay very long - I wasn't really in the mood to deal with crowds and heat and humidity. That and there were tons of Americans around...tons and tons. I honestly prefer to avoid other Americans when I'm traveling. It takes me out of my "mood." I headed back to the Hiroshima train station and had a delicious meal at a cheap restaurant (only cost around $5 and hit the spot in a major way). I went back to my hotel and had a drink at the fancy-pants lounge which happened to be right across the hall from my room - the bartender didn't know how to make a white russian (I think this has to be my new global crusade...first the Irish, now the Japanese), but I had some *excellent* sake and a pizza.
7 Aug - Onomichi Onsen and More Karaoke
So Matsuuras-san and Saito-san picked me up at my hotel at 9:30am on the 7th, and we drove far up into the mountains to an onsen (public bath house) that they go to from time to time. Honestly, I don't see the appeal, but then again, I didn't grow up with this as a cultural practice. It's essentially "let's all get naked and hop into a jacuzzi with all of our same-sex friends." Yeah, good times. I think at this point I was tired of being hot all the time - so the thought of going to an onsen in the dead of summer just seemed highly illogical to me. We sat in the bath for maybe an hour or so, then had lunch while wearing the traditional green post-bath robes they give you when you check in. Afterwards, we went to a state park at the top of a different mountain in Onomich - I got some decent pics of the town from there.
Thennnnnn it was back to Matsuuras-san's for more karaoke, this time in Japanese! Yay! Different crowd this time, there were two other guys there who did speak very good English, although I don't recall their names. They sang mostly in Japanese, but then they decided to sing a round of "My Old Kentucky Home," and that was when I realized - I was homesick! I just wanted to go back to my hotel, sleep for about 12 hours, get up, get on the train, get to the airport, and get home.
Don't get me wrong - I love Japan. Everyone there was so nice and helpful. I would go back in a heartbeat, although I would stick to Hokkaido in the summer!! Every day when I returned to my hotel, I was essentially a bag of sweat. I was thanking my past self for packing so many spare t-shirts.
So, I said my goodbyes to everyone, but especially Matsuuras-san and Saito-san, who were excellent hosts and very good friends to have in Onomichi. I biked back to my hotel, but I made two stops along the way: first at the train station where I bought my tickets to KIX for the next day, and a second stop at a local grocery store where I bought a carton of grape juice. (I dunno, it sounded good at the time.) Oddly enough, I ran into a rather beautiful western woman in the checkout line - I introduced myself, and I learned that she was teaching English through the JET program, just like Tara. Her name was Gillian, and she was from Ireland. Small world indeed.
8 Aug - One Last Surprise
I got up the morning of the 8th and headed down to the restaurant for breakfast. There weren't too many people there, so I sat down at one of the great big round tables. Across the table were two girls who took an immediate interest in me - one of them, Aiko, wasn't exactly fluent in English, but she was chatty as heck, and they decided to come around and sit on either side of me. Aiko asked me all sorts of things...what I do, where I live, etc. She told me that she and her friend were both from Tokyo, and showed me all of the mosquito bites she's gotten in Tokyo recently - which makes me think that Tokyo might also be a place to avoid in the summer. She then told me that she and her friend were both 19 years old, and then asked me, "What did you do when you were 19?" I laughed and told her about my awkward years at Central Michigan, and changing my major every semester...she empathized with not being sure what she wants to major in. Aiko was heading back to Tokyo that morning, and her friend was heading on to Hiroshima. I wished them both well and went back to my hotel room to finish packing, but I enjoyed our little chat and Aiko's enthusiasm for meeting an American.
The train ride to KIX was uneventful, and I loved going through Japanese security...they were polite, non-invasive (aside from taking a closer look at the array of electronica I carry with me), there were no nudie booths, no power trips...we could learn a lot from this culture. I was a couple hours early for my flight, so there was a bit of nervous waiting, but then they called my name from the standby list, and gave me seat 1A - first class. Six for six! (Upon reaching SFO, I was given a middle seat in coach between two other men my size. Ah well.)
Epilogue: Lessons Learned
Like I said, I would go back to Japan in a heartbeat. I would do several things differently: get cash sooner than later, stick to areas with milder climates depending on time of year, and bring my own bike. I had placed an order for a folding bike from a company in the UK, but I did it too late and won't receive it until next week. Ah well. Other than that, Japan is a fascinating, fun country, and not nearly as "weird" as I expected it to be. I think a lot of the weirdness we perceive is just the extremes that bubble up to the surface and make their way over the ocean. Japanese people have their quirks, of course, but the ones I encountered were extremely pleasant and down-to-earth.
For those of you who have made it to the end, here are some pics. :-)
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