And a Reluctant Sayonara

So I’m home now.  And I can’t believe it.  I can’t believe both the fact that it’s over and the fact that the whole thing even existed.   As for the first point that the lives my friends and I made for ourselves together in Japan has ceased to be, I prefer to live in denial for the time being.  As for the disbelief that the whole thing even happened, that is something I definitely need to avoid like the plague.

Of course I have regrets.  Not many, but inevitably some.  One regret is how much I neglected to write about in this blog.  Like, I wish I wrote an entry that gave my two cents about how the Japanese sticker photo booths (“purikura”) automatically enlarge eyes, lighten hair and clear skin.  Or I wish I shared the events of the Osaka courthouse visit in which I had the chance to partake with one of my lecture classes.  That could have been an interesting one.  I especially should have written more these recent weeks, as I’ve done so many “lasts” and so many thoughts were going through my head.   But, as others have justified for me, I was busy living.  So sue me (But not in Japan, please.  The prosecutor would probably most definitely win, and I’d like to have a chance at least).  I guess many things will of course just have to be left for me to share with you in person.

All week long, dreaded black taxi cabs have been whisking people away from our seminar house to bring them to the bus that brings people to the plane that takes people back to their home countries.  Monday, the cab showed up for me.  It was one o’clock in the afternoon, but it was dark, cloudy and pouring.  And how appropriate that weather was!  Leaving was truly upsetting; the program is comprised of people from all over the world, and we realistically recognize that it’s going to be very hard to see each other, let alone be anything remotely close to the 24/7 amount of time we had been spending together as each of our lives coincided for at least four months. 

As I said my goodbyes, everything Japan was racing through my mind—everything witnessed, experienced, learned, whatever.  I thought about the range of people I had met, the way of living I had adopted, each little difference in culture to which I had become accustomed.  I even thought back to my third (yes, only third) day in Japan when I already felt like I couldn’t eat another grain of rice or piece of fish even if someone were to pay me.  There’s something that changed.

But upon much reflection time amidst the long, lonely flights and first few days back home, I’ve found that all that I learned and acquired throughout my Asian semester can be grouped into two overarching ideas:

1.  The world is big. 

It’s hard to describe just how different Japan is from Western countries like, for example, the U.S.   But really, so much of it is.  It’s not even only things like the food, fashion, architecture, transportation, money or language that set us so far apart; moreover, the whole mindset is drastically different, too.  In Japan, I had to give in to its quiet, passive ways.  Coming from a land where it’s drilled in your head to “speak up” for yourself, this was not always so easy to do, mainly because it did not always seem right to me.  I had to get used to obediently standing in lines for trains and thereafter riding them in silence, refraining from eating or drinking in the streets, arriving places early (not just on time), resisting the urge to customize my order in restaurants, sorting trash in accordance to extensive, meticulous rules, leaving rooms and spaces visited close to immaculate…basically forgetting about discomfort, complaints and/or preferences in general in an effort to put the group ahead of myself.   Here in the Western world, much of this kind of lack of self-assertion is strongly frowned upon.  In fact, we are largely encouraged to do the opposite.

Thus, living in Japan has made me realize just how different people can live and think.  A society can be shaped very differently from certain underlying teachings and models, and then everything else can unfold differently thereafter.  Of course I always knew there were multiple ways of thinking and living, but Japan has pushed this knowledge to the max and has prompted me not only to realize there are other ways of doing even more things but more interestingly to question much of what I never even thought twice about before in the States.  This has become increasingly relevant as I have been attempting to adapt back to American culture.  To say the least, I have been surprisingly sensitive to the outspokenness of us Americans; my connecting (domestic) flight home—full of clashing loud, restless and opinionated passengers and workers—was especially painful.  Yet I haven’t forgotten how the quietness and ultra-politeness in Japan also often irked me, so who knows what I want anymore.  There has to be some happy medium.

2.   The world is small. 

Up until now, I may have focused on contrasts; ok, fine- I definitely have stressed that life in Japan is the polar opposite from the life I previously knew.  But even so, underneath it all—despite even the vast differences that exist—I have found that the world is still nonetheless shockingly tiny.   Sure, we may do things differently, but when push comes to shove, basic emotions, feelings, capabilities, needs, wants, joys, fears, uncertainties, etc. are for the most part international.  We’re all affected by the same major problems and are consequently loosely seeking the same major things—things like happiness, peace and security.  It’s just the approaches to attaining these “things” that create seemingly drastic variation, like the difference between an American speaking out to let his/her voice be heard to gain happiness and a Japanese keeping quiet to maintain a peaceful environment in which he/she can be happy.  There are completely different pathways yet identical destinations.

And the Japanese are not the only ones to show me this small-worldness in these past few months.  Unexpectedly, the other students of the abroad program proved to be a source of this lesson as well.  Because students hailed mainly from Western countries, we all experienced very similar shocks and adjustments as we acclimated to life in Japan.  And thus we were able to see just how similar Western countries are, nearly forgetting about country divides among us, save for the occasional television show reference or what not. 

And as I (non-Asian, American me) am quick to take my shoes off when I enter a house, willing to wait in lines for my turn, more cautious of the environment around me, in the market for a rice cooker, and—knowing or unknowingly—sporting other pieces of Japanese/Asian flair, the small gap that is between the Eastern and Western worlds is shrinking even more, meaning the world is inevitably following suit. 

That Japanese Twist

One of the many fun things about Japan is that it adds its own unique Japanese flair onto everything (everything) it takes from outside.  For example, food-wise, some sandwiches sport maple syrup, fruit & whipped cream, or even noodles, and オムライス(“omuraisu”)—a mound of flavored rice wrapped in an egg blanket—challenges the traditional omelet.  Commercial-wise, jingles and underlying messages fall into a completely different breed.  Fashion-wise, shoes are either: a) high-heeled, b) an array of neon colors, or c) both a & b.  Other articles of clothing and accessories are showered with bows, lace, pastels and the likes.   Office and school supply-wise, pens and pencils regularly show off sparkles, characters and charms.  Even a Kit Kat bar can’t merely be a Kit Kat bar in Japan; there are endless varieties that other countries—for whatever reason—just don’t have the pleasure of enjoying, including Sweet Potato and English Breakfast Tea.

And then there’s the whitewater rafting experience we had at Kyoto’s Hozu Canyon last weekend.  This little daytrip definitely wins the most surprising and interesting (and fun) rafting experience in my book.

We expected the typical rafting experience—a little paddling, some currents and rapids, possibly some swimming, and probably some type of minor mishap like getting stuck on a rock for a brief period before we would all huddle to one side of the raft to shift the weight and send ourselves back along the river's natural flow. 

But instead the day turned out to feel like we were on one of those Japanese game shows, filled with those assorted tasks that you never even remotely imagined would be asked of sane people.  After each stretch of rapids, a “High five!” chorus echoed from the guides, to which (as we were strictly briefed in the beginning of the trip) we were to simultaneously raise all of our oars above our heads to join them in the middle as a celebratory gesture.  Once we reached our first stretch of calm water (approximately five or six “High five’s!” later), the trip—in true Japanese fashion—took a swift turn, morphing into a series of random, odd unique “ trust games,” with a little white water in between.

First, we were all instructed to stand on the edge of the raft, hold hands and lean back without falling into the river.  Um, yeah.  We followed instructions like a herd of terribly-confused-yet-awfully-amused sheep.  The glaring issue in the back of (I think) all of our minds though was that we were the ones who were the center of this “amusement.” 

Proud to say that our stellar raft was the only one on the tour to survive this one dry….not that it mattered though, since we all got soaked during the next activity, better known as jumping off a cliff. 

After cliff-jumping we were roped into another “game.” Literally roped.  Like, we were each tied to a rope via our lifejackets and instructed to stand on the raft’s edge once more to horizontally hover—à la Superman style—above the water and put faith in our companions that they would hold us steady.

This little exercise didn’t work out as well though.  Too bad we’re all so untrustworthy.

Before we had arrived at the rafting company’s hut, we had passed the time by reading the company’s incredibly generous list of FAQ’s.  Initially, it was pure entertainment.  But as our river journey took shape post-high fives, cliff-jumping, and leaning both backwards and forwards off the edge of the boat, one particular excerpt became much more insightful.

 “You don't need physical strength. The reason is you don't have to paddle all day long. You just have to paddle in the rapid. All you need is feeling to have fun.” --Big Smile Rafting, Japan

True words of wisdom, readers.  Only in Japan would a rafting company be so…zen.

Oh, and then the final leg of this company’s thoroughly-planned tour turned out to look like this:

I could explain, but isn’t your curiosity/confusion just so much more fun?!

TokyoTime

A few days ago I returned from Tokyo, meaning that after a little over three months in Japan, I finally was able to make it to the city that so often is thought of as the epitome of the country.  It was Golden Week, an annual spring lineup of unrelated-yet-conveniently-consecutive Japanese holidays, such as “Emperor’s Birthday” and “Children’s Day,” for example.  Just for your information pleasure, this slice of the year is as opposed to autumn’s Silver Week, a different lineup of unrelated-yet-conveniently-consecutive holidays.  I must say it's a great set-up.

But anyway, there’s a statue right outside of Tokyo’s Shibuya Station (right before the corner of the prominent Shibuya crossing) of a dog named Hachiko.  The story goes that during the 1920's loyal Hachiko would patiently wait in this exact spot each evening to greet his owner as he returned home from work.  The dog and man kept up the practice for a good length of time, joyfully reuniting at the exit of the station at the finish of each day.  But one night, when Hachiko was waiting in the same spot at the same time as always, the owner never showed.  The man had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and passed away, but this was unbeknownst to the dog.  And so Hachiko continued to wait right where his owner had met him so many times before.  He came each evening for nine years—until his own death crept upon him.  Today, many people use the Hachiko statue as a prime meeting spot for their family and friends.

While not half as dramatic or valiant, my trip to Tokyo did turn out to be a little like Hachiko’s famed experience; we were expecting something that ultimately was a no-show.

That statement above may be a little harsh; it may sound like we had an awful, miserable, agonizing vacation in which there was absolutely zero about which to get excited.  But that is certainly not even remotely close to the case, so please do not get the wrong impression.  Overall, Tokyo has a lot to offer, and we definitely had a great stay.  We were able to see and do a lot, reaching a good number of the city’s distinct districts.  Visited districts included Shinjuku and its lively streets, 

Harajuku and its dynamic fashion,

Asakusa and its old temples,

Shibuya and its famous crosswalks,

Ueno and its grand park,

Roppongi and its foreigner-filled sidewalks,

(Didn’t actually take a picture here.  Awkward.)

and Akihabara and its abundance of electronics. 

We were even able to make a day trip to the nearby city of Yokohama. 

But despite all that each of these places had to offer, and despite the fact that we did enjoy each of these things individually, the biggest “wow factor” we experienced in Tokyo was the fact that we were not too “wowed” at all.

Through movies, TV, magazines, what have you, Tokyo has been shaped as a cutting-edge, eclectic, overall booming metropolis.  We envisioned a land with significantly more than what we have already experienced—ya know, the works: so many lights it’s blinding, so many people it’s intimidating, so many videos plastered on the sides of buildings that we wouldn’t know where reality ended and fantasy began.  Maybe there would even be hovercrafts involved.

But the bar at which we set our expectations for this city before embarking on our trip did not take into account the fact that we have already been submerged in much of the “eclectic” Japanese culture and ways for a good portion of time now.  Because we neglected to think that one through, the city that was supposed to have it all oddly turned out to be like a familiar Shania Twain song…

“Oh-ooh-oh…That don’t impress me much.”

Yes, that may be a harsh line, but again, please do not get the wrong impression.  It’s not that Tokyo isn’t great and all; I swear!  The point is that the timing of the trip drastically altered our view toward everything we saw, which is the interesting part.  As we should have anticipated, a lot of the things that make people ooh and ahh at Tokyo—the cultural differences, the random machines, the atypical food, etc.—are vastly aspects of Japan in general, including of course the Kansai region I’ve been inhabiting for the recent months.  And Tokyo even seemed to even be watered-down in some of these respects because of its big city, global nature. 

I can’t—and won’t—say everything Japan has become the norm for me; that is simply untrue.  But I can say that I’ve reached a point where I’ve become used to certain things, no matter how out of the ordinary I may have viewed them not too long ago.

One more time, I just want to rehash that I did have a wonderful Golden Week, due to a great city as well as the great company (shout out!).  Tokyo is hoppin’ in many regards, and I in no way suggest that Tokyo is a waste of time to visit, totally overrated, dreadfully deceiving, or anything of this sort.  I know I would have reacted differently to everything if it was my first stop in Japan, and so a part of me just wishes I could have seen it with a fresh pair of eyes.  I’m sure I would have gasped and gaped and marveled at every little detail, just as I had here by Osaka, and just as we witnessed so many other Tokyo tourists doing.  It was very amusing, really.

Sakura, Sakura

In the case that reincarnation is the truth and I randomly wake up as a flower in Japan for my next life, I could only hope that I’m not any species of flora other than a sakura (aka a cherry blossom), at risk of feeling like Jan Brady every late March/early April.

Truth is, the Japanese do love their sakura.  Although there are indeed plenty of other floral sources of beauty in Japan, the whole country has a special affinity for those cherry blossoms.  Every year during the one or two early weeks of spring that the flowers are in bloom, Japanese people flock to various parks and temples for hanami (literally: “flower viewing”) to picnic, take pictures and celebrate all-around.  But although the sakura petals are quickly blown away and replaced with standard green leaves, the sakura still manage to maintain an enormous presence in everyday Japanese life—through sakura songs, sakura ice cream, sakura cakes, sakura candy, sakura stickers, sakura hair accessories, sakura phone accessories, etc., etc.

Sakura, sakura, sakura! (Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!)

Anecdote: At the height of the sakura season frenzy, one of my Spoken Japanese classmates actually racked up the audacity to ask our professor why Japan is so sakura-crazed. 

“I don’t understand...I mean, they’re nice and all, but why are they such a big deal?  They’re just...flowers,” said the Italian girl, hesitantly, as she knew putting forth such an inquiry was a little, well, awkward.

There certainly was a sense of awkwardness that descended upon the room.  But rather than offended, my professor appeared contemplative.  He took a step back, looked out the window, scratched his head, and appeared to genuinely consider why exactly he and his people find so much joy and excitement in this tiny pink (or white, sometimes) flower.  I admit that I suddenly became a little excited, anticipating a great story—one after which the whole class would sit briefly in silence before letting out a unanimous “Ohhhhh.”

I’m sure there is a reason Japan loves its cherry blossoms.  I’m also even surer that I can easily google this to find the answer in less than five seconds, depending on my Internet connection of course.  But my professor’s conclusion beats any ancient legend or history lesson.  After much thought and consideration, my professor lifted his arms, took a deep breath of air, and shrugged.

”Pretty??” said my professor—in English. 

And that was all. 

Anyway, I knew at the time of my January arrival in Japan that some spots in the country would not live up to their full beauty potentials for a while, but I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.  But apparently seeing places at their peaks of perfection is a big deal.  A huge deal, actually.  Pre-springtime, everywhere I mentioned I went—or was thinking of going—was received with an enthusiastic “You MUST go there during sakura season too!”

Now sakura season has already come and gone.  To say the least, it admittedly all turned out to be much more “stressful” for us than it was supposed to be.   Between trying to extract the best places from the long list of sites we just “HAD” to visit and dodging the cold, rainy days that proceeded each and every warm, blue-skies one, we had our hands full.  Add to the equation the lurking reality we felt that all the flowers could wither away and be dead the next day, and clearly we were initially not in the same cherry blossom bliss as everyone else seemed to be. 

Yet just as we thought we might miss out on the magic, things started to turn around.  The weather was perfect and we chose a few key sites to tackle.  Highlights included a gorgeous day in Nara, a serene dusk at Ginkakuji/the Philosopher’s Path, and a lively night at Kiyomizu.  Sights were stunning.  Spirits were high.  Festivities were fun.  We even fell victim to taking picture after picture of merely flowers—something that we frequently questioned prior to being in the situation ourselves.

Now that I have lived through sakura season to tell the tale, I can credibly say that one of the most special things about sakura is the sole fact that they are special.  And no, I did not just mistype.  Sure, the flowers are aesthetically fantastic (my Japanese professor’s “pretty” description is certainly accurate), but the hype comes from more than that.  It’s the sakura’s fleetingness that makes people want to take full advantage of them and thereafter hold onto them even longer.

I only have a little over a month left in Japan now.  On multiple accounts, this is extremely sad.  But the short-lived yet well-lived sakura season has reminded me that the freakishly/obnoxiously fast-ticking clock just makes each and every day I have here all the more exciting and worthy of enjoyment.   Instead of viewing the time crunch as a negative, I am now trying to label it as a positive; it’s a catalyst, if you will, for me to not only try everything or go everywhere I can but also to enjoy it the most I can.  Here’s to one more month of my own little sakura season!

Newfound Love for South Korea

Yes, it’s been a while.  As the Japanese say, “ひさしぶり (hisashiburi).”  A few weeks back, participation in a quasi-Japanese tea ceremony, in which really really bitter tea is paired with a really really sweet sweet, created an elaborate vision in my head of a post about Japan being a land of bittersweetness—basically a place of ultimate extremes.  Among other things, I was going to talk about overwhelming politeness and respect vs. the lack of contact and openness, the astonishing punctuality and high expectations vs. the boiling stress levels and cut-throat standards, and the striking cleanliness and safeness vs. the paranoia and excessiveness.  Finally, I was going to top off that entry with the stark contrast yet workable harmony I experienced between Hiroshima and Miyajima. 

The Dome in Hiroshima 

the gate of Miyajima

But then midterms happened.  And spring break planning/execution.  More so the spring break factor; let’s be real.

So I’ll axe that now-passé stuff and cut to the chase: South Korea. I don’t really recall how or why it happened, but a couple friends and I decided that this was our destined destination for the highly anticipated Spring Break 2010.

Heading on Our Merry Way

After much debate and indecisiveness over modes of transportation, we finally had legit tickets and reservations to be on our way to Japan’s neighbor across the pond.   Sure, we ended up with a ridiculously unnecessary long, confusing route, but it was (as we continually justified it to others and, more importantly, ourselves) more of an adventure that way.   That being said, if we ever go from Japan to Korea in our lifetime once more...I think we can all agree that we’re flying.  Personally, I am additionally determined to affix wheels on my measly one-shoulder-strap-only LeSportsac duffel.

Getting from Hirakata, Japan, to Busan (port city where we spent two nights before heading up to Seoul), South Korea, in summary:

Train from university town to Osaka = annoying (We messed up and took the wrong transfer so had to backtrack.  And there were no seats to accommodate us and our overpacked, cumbersome luggage.)

Night bus from Osaka to Fukuoka = hell (I couldn’t move my legs for ten hours, save the conveni stops EVERY TWO HOURS, in which the bus would abruptly turn all of its lights on and sit in the cold, dark parking lot, wasting extended periods of time that we could have been using to, you know, get there.)

Jet Ferry from Fukuoka to Busan, South Korea = nauseating (Of course it just so happened that our day of departure had particularly high tides at sea.  In fact, our ferry almost didn’t leave because of those tides.  A smooth ride it was not.)

It was at the point on the ferry—as I was basking in my misery with my head firmly placed in my lap, eyes strictly avoiding the atrocious waves visible out my left window—that I realized that I have been bred in a culture of complaining.  Just like the night bus, my friends and I were uncomfortable, fed-up, claustrophobic, what have you.  Also just like the night bus, we appeared to be the only ones who felt this way.  If any of the other passengers had any similar negative sentiments, they sure as heck weren’t showing them. 

I guess we individualistic westerners have been taught to feel our pain and let it be heard.  It was incredible, really; with the exception of us foreigners wrestling in our seats, blatantly expressing our desires to gauge our eyes out as long as it meant we could get off of that sickening boat and escape the sea’s tumultuous pathways, there was a mind-boggling peaceful hush among the cabin.  For the most part, other passengers were either serenely resting their eyelids or nonchalantly enjoying the featured anime film (Yep, featured anime film.  Fo’ serious.).  Even the kids seemed calm, cool and collected.   Let me tell you; we definitely felt defeated, not to mention exceedingly weak.

Ow, That Shocked Me

Probably to everyone’s surprise, we did eventually make it to our final destination.  In the end, the transportation woes didn’t really matter because at last we stepped foot on Korean soil.

But as glorious and fun and exciting as this may seem, we were all immediately confronted with some shockingly uncomfortable feelings, unrelated to the physical discomfort experienced by our legs on the bus or our stomachs on that nightmare of a boat.  Two months ago we all came to Japan and were bludgeoned with different rules and customs—different expectations and norms.  No matter which corner of the world from which we hailed, it took some time and effort for all of us to adjust to the strikingly unique ways of Japan.  Ironically we didn’t realize just how far we’d come until we took ourselves out of that polite, clean, safe and quiet bubble.

To an unexpected degree, each of us experienced some level of culture shock—or reverse culture shock, if you will.  Maybe the idea of reverse culture shock in a country like South Korea sounds a little far-fetched since Korea does vastly differ from each of our respective homelands, but the gap between Japan and Korea was much larger than expected.  Compared to Japan, South Korea felt much more like our own countries.  But at that point in time, our own countries were no longer the countries to which we felt totally accustomed.

When we saw a newspaper strewn across a sidewalk of Busan, we squirmed.  When we saw the train conductor casually walk through the aisle with an opened can of soda in his hand, we gasped.  When we saw little Korean children acting up on the subway amidst boisterous, expressive conversation and a chorus of ringing cell phones, we became strangely irritated.

And then we became ashamed—and weirded out—that any of this bothered us in the least.

Our initial feelings in Korea shined light on how quickly we had become used to the bubble of Japan.  It also made me have uber sympathy for Japanese people who travel abroad.  It must be truly brutal to see how the rest of the world functions when you’ve been under the false impression that people are always respectful and considerate to astounding degrees.

The other main shock in the beginning of our time in Korea was not a culture shock but more so a newfound struggle.  In Japan, we do experience a perpetual language challenge, but Korea brought an iron language barrier into play; we couldn’t read or say ANYTHING, which was a drastically different feeling than Japan.

Eventually though we had to suck it up and look on the bright side: finally it was our chance to be dumb foreigners. 

Korea is Awesome.

Thankfully in no time we did all ease up a bit.  And being dumb foreigners even turned out to be fun!  We came to love Korea.  Like, LOVE Korea.  Ohhh, what a fun, fun place.

In general, Korea feels a lot more real.  People there are quirky.  They’re funny.  They’re raw.  The overall aura of Korea is extremely full of life.  Don’t get me wrong; Japan is a great environment to live in, but the vivaciousness and dynamism of South Korea was definitely a nice change.  All we needed was a little time to adjust; then it turned out to be somewhat comforting to see people act in such open, genuine manners once again. 

Korea’s Awesomeness: Some Specifics

Because the subparts that contribute to South Korea’s complete awesomeness emanate from various (read: various!) sections within, it is very difficult to cover all the bases.  All I can do is hope that these (lucky number) seven selected South Korean experiences do justice in relaying the excitement and spirit of the nation.

1.  The Food

Korean food is my new fave.   First of all, every meal automatically begins with a series of little plates for the table to share, no matter what the table orders.  I personally love this set-up because you can have a little of everything.  It’s diverse, it’s different, and—when the main dishes come—it’s ON FIRE.  

Really, dishes are served at boiling temperatures with spiciness levels that would be considered off the charts in most other countries.  As excruciating as the heat and spice was, I enjoyed the rich flavors and the constant buzz inside my mouth, despite the fact that we all cried at least once every dinner (and then reached for the conveniently-placed table napkins that were obviously there for a reason).

The most popular Korean dish is undoubtedly kimchi, which is usually a spicy cabbage delight.  Koreans do love their kimchi (and they’ve converted me); it’s EVERYWHERE!  We actually even went to a kimchi museum.  I’d like to think that the museum shows a good sense of humor, but none of us could really figure out if it was a joke or not.

We also even overheard Koreans shouting “kimchi” while taking pictures.  I thought this was weird until it hit me that we Americans saying “cheese” is just as cliché/pathetic.

2.  The Temples

Of course it wouldn’t be a complete Asian excursion without checking out some temples and shrines, and thus we acted accordingly.  First we ventured to Haedong Yongkung Temple in Busan.  It was on the water and was, well, beautiful.

I especially liked the roofs at this first temple and therefore took a million pictures of the design. 

However, once we saw a little more of Korea, it became apparent that this design/color scheme was the norm across all Korean temples.  This was kind of exciting yet slightly disappointing, too.

We also visited Changdeokgung Palace in Seoul, as well as a temple where we were able to pop our heads inside a Buddhist service.  Upon our first attempt to enter the temple, we were faced head-on with this:

And so we wrapped around the building to find the correct entrance for we average Joes and walked into a room full of glistening gold Buddhas looking at us from all directions.  In the front center was an especially grand one; this was the Buddha that each of the congregants was fixated on—bowing, kneeling and chanting toward.  Magical would probably be the best word to describe that one.

3.  The Markets

Painstakingly contrary to the majestic Buddhas of the temple were the eerie sea creatures—dead and alive—plastering a market we stumbled upon.  Fish, etc. of all shapes and sizes were everywhere; my weak eyes truly had nowhere to seek shelter. 

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more disturbing, I saw a lady take a live octopus out of a tank and, before I had a chance to turn away, bag the live eight-legged creature for another lady who had her hand extended, full of Korean won bills (and hungry for dinner?).  Gah, so not my cup of tea!

That innocent-looking black bag contains the octopus.  That squid was next.  Ew.  Slash sad.

But other than this out-of-my-comfort-zone oceanic gala, we also were able to discover a book market, pet market, and (brace yourselves) FRENCH VILLAGE.  Yes, a French village in Korea.  It didn’t have quite as many striped shirts, berets and baguettes as we’d hoped, but there was some French right alongside the Korean.  I guess I’ll take what I can get.

4.  The Neighbors
When I first embarked on the journey to South Korea, I was sure I would steer very clear of the north...North Korea, that is.  Of course Seoul is in the upper part of the country, but I dismissed the idea that I would go up any farther as crazy talk; I mean, why ever would I actively, knowingly put myself even further into the face of any danger?  I assumed I wouldn’t.  But you really should never assume. 

It turns out there are tours that actually take foreigners in and around North Korea.  It turns out Americans are not allowed to partake in these.  It turns out Americans are allowed to partake in the tours and sites at the border, most notably the DMZ (Demilitarized Zone).  It turned out nearly everyone else with whom I traveled was dead set on doing something like this.  Who knew?

For the record, I was maybe, kinda, sorta, a litttttle reluctant to do this border thing.  Ok, maybe a lot reluctant.  But after some more information and convincing, I just went with it.  To my utter disappointment (riiiight) we weren’t able to go to the DMZ because of booking/timing issues so we ended up going to the Odusan Unification Observatory.  And here you have it, folks: North Korea...

After looking at North Korea right across the river (“It is very close.  It would take a person about fifteen minutes by foot,” boasted the informational video), we were able to view a bunch of exhibits/other informational things.  What I thought was particularly interesting was the television they had tuned into a North Korean cartoon via North Korean satellite.

In the end, I was definitely happy I went to that border.  Being there definitely gives a new perspective about the whole Korea situation; it’s really sad to see the developed and bustling South Korea on one side and the barren and anguished land right above. 

5.  The Nature

One day, we thought we would take a break from the manmade cities and sites and simply enjoy a hike at one of Korea’s national parks.  The idea sounded far better in theory, but it was still nice.  We got to see all the locals in their intense hiking gear...and then feel extremely under(over?)dressed in our regular street clothes, pea coats and all.

A little distance up one of the mountain’s many trails, we stopped to lunch on the kimchi onigiri and kimbab (Korean diet staples, obvs) we had picked up on our way to the park.  Mmm, hiking is delicious.    

6.  The Stairs Towers

We did have one more little hike outside of the national park, but not so much in the leisurely sense.  On our quest to get to the top of N Seoul Tower, we took a cab from the subway station to the tower since we didn’t really know the way.  Evidently the cab driver didn’t know the way either though; she left us at the base of the tower’s hill mountain, blatantly on the wrong side.  We were faced with staircases among staircases.  Halfway up we saw a beautiful view of Seoul at night.  Three-quarters of the way up we saw a stunning view of the trolley that we were supposed to be on.  I’m still bitter about that one.

But perched atop the mountain inside of that tower was a little gem that made the stairs almost worth it: the Teddy Bear Museum.  Contrary to my first intuition of the venue from merely hearing the name, the museum is not a play-by-play of the history of the teddy bear, nor is it a gallery of eccentric teddy bears from around the world.  Instead, the museum chronicles the history and culture of Korea...with teddy bears.  Don’t doubt yourself; it is exactly what you’re picturing now—scenes of teddy bear armies, teddy bear street vendors and shoppers, teddy bear emperors, et cetera, et cetera.

If someone had to guess what was in that tower, I wonder if teddy bear historical reenactments would ever come even remotely close to his or her mind.

7.  The Nerds

If neither the kimchi museum nor the teddy bear museum caught your interest, you’re a member of a very tough crowd.  But Korea is prepared.  After all, the country makes StarCraft tournaments into televised sporting events.  Yes, StarCraft as in the video game.

On one of our first nights in Seoul, we turned on our hostel room's TV to be faced with this:

This was our first taste of Korea’s StarCraft culture.  At a glance, the screen appears to show an oddly normal game of StarCraft—almost as if you and I were playing the video game in our everyday living room (Almost.  I mean, for that to happen, we’d actually have to know a thing or two about how to play the game, let alone own the video game itself.).  But notice the announcers at the bottom right...and then the strategy diagrams to the left.  This is not your average video game session; this is a legit, competitive, spectator sport.

A couple nights later we were able to get up close and personal with this StarCraft scene. Oh-so-tragically the timing of our trip did not coincide with one of the major StarCraft tournaments, but we were able to pop into an apparently-very-important player selection night.  Even though I heard about Korea’s StarCraft stadiums and surrounding hype before I set foot in there, nothing could prepare me for the real thing.  It was like a Hollywood event—red carpet, cameras hustling and bustling from all directions, obnoxiously bright lights, even more obnoxiously (but in a cute way) obsessive fans and all.

That’s right; these video game players were treated like full-fledge athletic stars.  They were even dressed from head to toe in athletic gear, as if they were going to actually exert physical energy or something.   Anyway, after their poses for the cameras on the red carpet, they each proceeded to the stage to voice their opponent selection.  It was intense.

We didn’t stay the whole time, but I think we got a good sense of everything.  Plus, I don’t think the event went on too long after we left; many of the “stars” probably had school the next day!

And We Can’t Forget the Little Things

Additional joys of Korea came not from direct experiences but more so overall sensations.  Sure, we had tons of fun with the planned sites and activities, but here are three Korean vibes that added to our overall enjoyment and therefore deserve to be added to the above list, ultimately making ten specific sources of Korea’s awesomeness in all.

8.  The I’m-in-the-Future Feeling

So many things in South Korea are just so sleek and, well, cool.  At a movie theater, we met a robot that offered movie information and ticket help.  It literally came up to us in the lounge area to offer its assistance.

  

Subway stations are especially new and hip-feeling, with clean, colorful walls, sharp televisions blasting dynamic commercials, and cutting-edge interactive maps and diagrams.  The interactive maps are basically touch screen GPS systems in the shape of giant iPhones.  Any passerby can go right up to the machine, glide his or her hand around the screen to find a certain region or landmark, and then zoom in or out on the location in order to find how to get there and/or the surrounding area.  It really is helpful...and can be used in lots of places besides just subway stations.  For example, a mall we went to used the same map technology for its store directory, which was fun.

At first, South Korea's abundance of chain restaurants doesn’t seem so great, but even these places manage to be sleek and cool in this country.  Let’s just say I now know where Dunkin’ Donuts is investing all its money. 

9.  The Sign Excess

Long story short, we saw a lot of unnecessary (and therefore funny) signs along our Korean journey.  Case in point:

  It says, "Warning: Steps Ahead"...at the bottom of the stairs.  It's blurry because the train we needed to get on was coming.  Oops.

10.  The Self-Esteem Boost

Last but not least, South Korea simply made us feel better about ourselves—in a laughable way.  First of all, the large numbers when dealing with Korean money made us feel rich.  The one dollar to 100 yen ratio was getting a little too comfortable; the one dollar to 1,000 won ratio made things exciting again.  When we exchanged our money in Fukuoka before getting on the ferry, all of us had a little trouble closing our newly-bulging wallets.  That’s a pretty good feeling.

On a final note, we were watched and spoken to as if we were celebrities. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced.  Japanese people often stare at us foreigners merely because we do vary from what they see every day, but many Koreans acted in a whole different manner.  One instance I’ll never forget is when a schoolgirl’s eyes met our group in a convenient store.  The girl’s whole body immediately froze before breathing in an enormous gasp that coupled with aggressive tapping on her friend’s shoulder, signaling that turning around to “see us” that instant was imperative.  Then, both girls smiled and stared as we awkwardly smiled back and chose which pack of gum to buy.  I felt so un-human and weird.  Now I almost feel bad for celebrities actually.  And I understand why they can be so screwed up.  I can strangely add THAT to the things I learned whilst in Korea.