What the Fuk..uoka?!

So last week, as I was sitting in a mound of mud (see last blog) I had a little daydream about what to do with myself for the upcoming 4 day weekend. hum....how about go to Japan?! Then I turned to my fellow mud-wallower, Sean, and shared my inspired idea. Sure, why not? obviously the mud had gone to his brain as well. He was game. One week later we're docking into the port city of Fukuoka, Japan.

Japan is the Plan!

The following is a document of the ensuing events, as they transpired, fully disclosed and only minorly manipulated to fit your computer screen. Viewer discretion is..well, totally up to you:

Day One- arising from our beds in Seoul we ran the following maneuvers- Taxi to Subway, Subway to Train, 3 hour Train to Busan, (beer stop), Busan Port to Fukuoka Port, Badda-bing, your there.
Hey look, you're still in Korea...get on the BOAT!

We contrived a devious little plan to sneak 3 people into a double room and settled on a hotel on the edge of downtown. Then it was time for food and adventuring. We wandered for a while before succumbing to our hunger pangs and giving in to Chinese food. Then it was time to hit up a club and call it a night. Whew!

Day Two in "the Fuk"

Day Two- Early in the morning we went in search of Yen dispensers that would accept our cards (since Sean was the only one among us to have the foresight to exchange money ahead of time) We went to a fancy schmansy department store but couldn't find any working ATMs. We did however find something much more valuable (replace "valuable" with "really freaking COOL"): Freaky-deaky produce!!!

Exhibit A: Square Watermelon, $150!!

There is a Mitch Headburg joke that goes, "Bananas are like the opposite of street lights. Green means wait, Yellow means go, and Red means 'Where the Hell did you get that Banana?!"...the answer my friends is Japan.


Exhibit B: Red Bananas

Sean and I meet Pikachu!

Fukuoka Flip

After our celebrity sighting, and finally finding an international ATM (God bless Citibank) we spent the rest of the day at the Fukuoka art museum. We then decided to balance our cultural activities with something more playful. So we found a Toys 'R Us and awakened our inner children. Afterwards we couldn't resist indulging them some more with a go on the Bungy Trampoline! As if a trampoline wasn't fun enough- let's strap you to giant bungies too! I was ass-over-teakettle with delight!

Karaoke Night

Karaoke Rock Stars

What else can you do on a quiet Sunday night in Japan but hit up the Karaoke rooms!? I've done Karaoke in 5 countries now (America, Vietnam, China, Korea were my previous experiences) and I can honestly say that this was the best night of the worst singing EVER!

The list of songs was exhaustive and exhausting. We found Lisa Loeb, Weezer, Beatles, Oasis, Jonny Cash, and the highlight of the evening- "Mr. Roboto" by Styx. Oh yes, classic. When we finally dragged ourselves out of the room we'd spent 3 hours and over $100- Worth every yen. You can't buy smiles like that! Or I guess you can. Those are 10,000 yen smiles.

Gizmo's Day Out

We began at a Video Arcade that was host to a diverse group of clientele. Buisness men in rumbled suits, middle school kids who were suspiciously free on a Monday morning, and and of course a mogwai too.

Taking in a Meal

After wandering endlessly through the streets of the Tenjin area, we had a late lunch at a fantastic Japanese restaurant. We sat in our own individual room with rice paper sliding doors and blackwood walls, backed up to a two story waterfall and lily pond in the center of the restaurant. Japan knows how to do fine dining...obviously it was somewhat wasted on us.

Reunited

After a long day of sightseeing, Gizmo was tired so we decide to finish the evening relaxing with a night on the neon-lit canal.

Sushi Night!

Along with a brand spankin' new stamp in my passport, there was one thing I yearned for on my trip to Japan. The one single quest that was to fulfill my desires and longings. It's name is Sushi. After all my years of wasabi- wannabes and Itamae-imitators, some passable, some grievously disappointing, I was finally going to have the genuine article, the Real Mc-Koi, the Raw Deal. True Japanese Sushi.

We ventured out late, our quest seemed simple enough: Find a Sushi Bar in Japan. Eat. We found a regal looking establishment and entered. That was the moment our quest became much more difficult than we had naively anticipated. How to order?... We demonstrated our pointing and grunting skills with the agility and dexterity of a Julliard mime, yet there seemed to be an endless agenda of specifications and choices that had to be made:

Sake or beer? Set or Ala Carte? To share or individual orders? How many pieces? Which kind of pieces? Sashimi or Maki-mono or Futomaki? Did somebody say Miazaki? Red bean miso or mushroom miso? Fatty tuna or lean tuna? I'm sorry that is not available in the set you ordered, please return to the second question and begin again. ...God, I'm hungry. At one point, thinking it would exempt us from making further decisions, we tried the risky "Just Surprise us" . But they thought we were asking for rice.

This of course all transpired in a mixed language of Japanese and gestures, "Japantomime" if you will. But nonetheless the endeavor was successful and we did achieve our goals forthright. Sean was apprehensive, but willing to try. Punk and I indulged with delight.


You can do it Sean!

There You Go!

can't smile, concentrating

Happy Sushi Smiles

Leaving Japan

After our cards did not work at the sushi restaurant we were forced to spend the very last of our cash paying for the expectedly pricey meal. We returned home to count out our pocket change and assess the situation, which looked bleak. In the end all of our scrounging yeilded about 13oo yen ($13) which we immediately set aside for trasportation to the ferry the next day.

Tuesday morning we discovered we could take a bus to the Port and so the boys decided they could use the rest of the money for Sausage McMuffins at McDonalds (a luxury not available in Korea). We got to Fukuoka International Port with exactly 234 yen ($2.34 in case you haven't figured out the exchange yet) I guess we can say that we completely maximized our cash flow. Japan is good for that kind of thing. Back on the boat we shed a tear to leave the islands, but committed to someday returning...maybe next time we could afford the combo Sausage McMuffin meal.



Gizmo welcomes us back to Korea

Final Shot, trip well done.

Mud Fest!!

Muddy Buddies

What's more fun than a barrel of monkeys you ask? A Barrel of Mud!!! and what's more fun than THAT? Perhaps only a barrel of Muddy Monkeys, otherwise NOTHING! At least that was the philosophy of the weekend. And like true philosophers, my friends and I delved deep into the pure essence of the primordial ooze, embracing the muck of life and returning to our primeval selves to find what we'd all hoped for...one hell of a weekend.

Barrels of Mud

Barrels of Mud

After a quick 2 hour bus ride to the coast our troupe of 8 headed out to the mudflats on the west coast of Daechon for "basic training". Basically what it was was trying not to collapse from laughter. If there was any exercise involved it was an exercise in futility. Doing sit ups, push ups and jumping jacks as our appendages slowly sank in the muck.
Jumping jacks!? HA! As the ooze closed over my ankles and I descended into the soft sucking mire it became impossible for me to jump at all, so I just did jack. Then after our military training we were ready for combat. Mudslinging, mudwrestling, mud sliding and diving competitions commenced as a perfect gray drizzle tinted the atmosphere with a GI Jane flavor...or maybe it was just the mud in my mouth. Either way it was a mucking good time.
After a hose down and a drive back into town we spent the next day on the beach and then in the town square where we played in the mud pools, met mud people and did a giant mud slip-'n-slide. I guess traditionally the mud in this area is herald as the most pure and beneficial mud for your skin. I don't know if my epidermis came out any better after the weekend of "treatment" but I will attest to the therapeutic benefits of mud as a mood elevator. No wonder all the little piggies seem so happy. And if I ever do find that barrel full of muddy monkeys I'm sure they'll say the same.

Military Training Hardcore!

Watch out for backsplash!

The Mudslinging Commences

Me and my Muddy Buddies!

Couch-capades

Furniture collecting is typically a pastime enjoyed by older men in navy Brooks Brothers blazer or “ladies-who-lunch” in pearls and crisp starched white collars. The scene is typically set in fine antique markets where these upper-crusties duck under beautifully restored chandeliers, stroke old maple roll-top desks from the Eisenhower administration, point their sharply manicured nails and say “Oh, now this really is lovely.” Well there was nothing “lovely” about the “furniture collecting” that I experienced one late Monday evening in Seoul. The furniture collecting I witnessed bears a stronger resemblance to garbage collecting than a high society hobby. And it is now simply another anecdote to add to my ever-growing Oddyssey of Queer Korean Misadventures.



The Orange Quest

The story begins, as the most intriguing stories do, in a dimly lit side street in southeast Seoul. There it was, as if placed by some divine hand, ethereally poised under the amber glow of the only street lamp in the ally, the big bright orange couch.

In Seoul, it is not uncommon for families to leave large pieces of furniture and home amenities outside their gates to be taken away by the city cleaners, or sometimes, as in this case, opportunistic foreigners looking for free home furnishings. Grandfather clocks, shelves, entertainment units, bureaus and sofas have all been claimed from Seoul’s sidewalks of forsaken furniture. It’s like interior design meets back ally consign. In my dorm the teachers have now acquired 3 such items. The orphaned automanns and stray sofas are taken in, heavily dosed with disinfectants and deodorizers then tightly nestled into the modest dormitory rooms. Some see it as a rehabilitation program for the discarded decor; I see it as a mild form of furniture filching, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from joining in the fun of curbside pilfering.

Three of us ventured off in search of the couch that had been spotted a few hours earlier. It was not difficult to find, considering that it was bright orange and that it was, in fact, a couch sitting on a side street, where no couch ought to sit. After giving it a test-drive there on the spot, and attracting some attention from the neighbors and one very disgruntled dog, we decided to hoist it off. Through the neighborhood James and Ryan carried the surprisingly heavy orange atrocity past wide-eyed children walking home from Tae Kwon Do, and middle-aged men who paused their smoking to turn and stare and the foreigner furniture thugs. The walk home never seemed so long.



the Haul

The weight of the entire neighborhood’s eyes on us was matched only by the oppressive weight of the couch itself. But one great thing about transporting a couch is that every time you need a rest (and believe me it’s often) you already have a comfy place to sit down. We took advantage of this on a number of occasions, setting the monstrous carroty sofa right down in the middle of the street and flopping down on it with a satisfied sigh. Our final stopover was at the corner store in front of the school.

The boys parked the sofa right in front of the ice cream cooler and bought a couple beers to toast the mission. We sat there in the warm summer night on this citrus chaise feeling both victorious and ridiculous. Like kings on a thrown we may as well have been wearing navy Brooks Brothers blazers.


...like kings on a thrown