Japan and South Korea 2010 - chertop
My sister Mary and I travel to Japan and South Korea

The IDEA is hatched
Bennington, United States
When my niece Jennifer and her fiance accepted a posting to South Korea, I was not surprised that my sister Mary made plans to go to visit her daughter. When Mary, thinking of stopping somewhere warm en route to Korea, asked if I was interested in a winter vacation in Hawaii, my answer was "sure, but I'd really like to go all the way to Asia." We discovered that both of us would most like to be away from home in November when the autumn colors are gone and winter darkness, and sometimes blues, close in.
Time and finances ruled out a stop in Hawaii, but Lonely Planet guidebooks on Japan and Korea presented adventures enough for dozens of months more than the one we have.
Being unable to read straight through a guidebook, I proceed by fits and starts, looking at and combining LP suggested itineraries, surfing the internet for discount flights within Japan, ways of crossing to Korea, ways of evaluating whether the Japan Rail Pass is worthwhile for our itinerary, and accommodation ranging from youth hostels to Japanese inns or ryokan. Making each actual booking, I feel the anxiety of uncertainty whether it's the right decision, even though I know travel is full of uncertainties, and there are many different roads to travel and each might be "right" just in different ways. I reward myself for decisions made by letting myself indulge in the tangible pleasure of throwing clothing candidates for the trip on the guest bed, along with camera, passport and travel paraphernalia. 9 days to departure and I am starting to wake early with pre-trip excitement, revisions to my to-do list, and another day of tasks and mental activity divided between Vermont and northern Asia.
written by  chertop on October 21, 2010 from Bennington, United States
from the travel blog: Japan and South Korea 2010

Pre-trip Preparations
Bennington, United States
The day at last and almost too soon. It seems no time since it was weeks, then 9, 8, 7 days before my departure for Japan and Korea. My “to do” list on the computer got printed out in revised versions, then I festooned the paper version with additions and with cross-outs as the tasks got done.
Perhaps the annoying and persistent anxiety I felt in the last week came from the many tasks large and small that I felt compelled to complete, not only for this voyage but for our church's Snowball Bazaar publicity and for the book of my poems which I was trying to compile and get to my brother Glenn (who offered to help me put together a book) as well as to my reader/editor/friends Chris and Gail. Uncertainty about how much time was needed for these tasks as well as whatever further items I would add to my “To Do” list may have been expressed in the dream a few nights ago in which I was trying to return from China but bureaucratic officials made impossible regulations that I was trying to get around.
Trying to keep in mind to “Be here now,” I looked at the preparations as part of the trip..but I was amazed when someone confided to me that they planned a trip so thoroughly that ultimately they didn't need to take it! I never plan that well and every trip I have ever taken emerges as I travel. Some involved my first reading my Lonely Planet guidebook on the plane; some just going and discovering once I got there. As the poet Theodore Roetke said “I learn by going where I have to go.”
But, because of the many travelers in Japan and the potential expense and vexation of being without reservations, I had worked on-line and by phone to make reservations for our first night (a hotel 10 minutes from the Tokyo-Narita airport), our flight the next day to
Fukuoka city in southwest Japan, 4 nights in the Fukuoka Youth Hostel (where Mary and I are to have the luxury of a twin room and, I hope, the chance to meet other travelers and get some helpful tips about that area of Japan); return tickets for the hydrofoil boat from Fukuoka-Hakata to Busan, South Korea; and Japan Rail Passes for when we return to Japan November 15.
In between computer and guidebook and selecting what to take, piling those things on the guest bed, I was rescued from mental work by raking leaves, twice in the almost dark in the evening when the pool was closed (broken pump) and the hard physical exertion of raking raised my sweat and lowered my tension. Several times Hamilton rescued me from planning, inviting me to participate in the opportunity of raking or of helping him pull the tarp laden with heavy, wet leaves. Working with Ham, I would look up into flocks of golden yellow leaves on our maple tree, a gentle drizzle of leaves descending as we raked, and the azure sky brilliant beyond the leaves. For three nights we saw the full moon, at times unobstructed and at times sailing in and out of night clouds, illuminating the edges with magical, sacred light.
Wednesday evening Hamilton and I drove to East Greenbush for the funeral of his cousin, our generation, amongst other things a reminder to seize these opportunities to explore the world, to have adventures, and seize opportunities for extraordinary living.
After a full and intense day Thursday, Hamilton and I came in from raking leaves and I was so tired that I didn't know what to do with myself. Caffeine wouldn't help, it was too late for a nap (I thought), I had already swum at noon – Hamilton and I sat down on our sofa and I fell asleep on his shoulder, until he woke me over an hour later. The butterflies in my stomach threatened to revolt if I fed them anything fiercer than an omelette: I brought out the beautiful farmers' market eggs - green, beige and brown - and made us the best looking omelette of my life, golden brown and delicious with cheddar and tomatoes in the center. Friday evening, the night before I left, Hamilton made dinner that included the delicious new potatoes and spinach from the farmer's market. After parking my bags on the launching pad near our side door, Hamilton and I managed to be in bed between 8-9pm, our goal!
written by  chertop on October 22, 2010 from Bennington, United States
from the travel blog: Japan and South Korea 2010

In flight
Newark, United States
October 30 Departure Day
Two alarms set for 4:30am woke us. I turned on the coffee maker and made yerba mate for Hamilton, donned the clothes I had set out (amazing how quickly they slip on after all the deciding what exactly to take!). Before 5am we were on the road, predictably empty of cars in the early morning darkness. I was grateful to feel a 7am wakefulness, instead of 4am grogginess. And to have finally dropped into my “travel mode” in which my pre-trip anxiety is replaced with a sense of “here we go” - the adventure is on, I'll deal with whatever happens.
It's also a relief that my carry-on items are all in my daypack and waist belt, plus my much-traveled photojacket, so that walking through security and to the gate in Albany was easy, and I had a comfortable (though major) hike from the gate where we landed in Newark to the far distant gate for the flight to Japan.
During the wait in Newark, drawing 2 moveable chairs over to the electrical outlet in the middle of an empty wall, I set my pack on one, together with wireless mouse on a pad which I improvised from a box of Vermont maple candy. I plugged in the computer and, even though you have to purchase internet connection, I began to describe my trip, an adventure where even mundane details take on the special significance of the voyage.
October 30,10:45pm Vermont time or Oct 31, 11:45am Tokyo time. I started out on the tarmac at Newark reading and highlighting my guidebook, delving into the cultural treasures of Kyoto and Nara which I hadn't found time to explore before leaving, amazed and gratified that my mind was clearer than at home, freed of pre-travel tasks. I watched the film Coco Before Chanel, then part of Fellini's La Docle Vita, and suffered through the violence of Rio de Janiero slums in City of God. Marvelous to have one's own small screen in the seat ahead of me and be able to start, as well as pause, a film at one's convenience.
After Coco, I started to explore games, especially Berlitz language learning... but first I had to figure out how to work the wizard wand to get the selection to learn Japanese. The words for days of the weeks, months, counting, simple phrases that I learned years ago! when I spent an academic year studying at Waseda university in Tokyo... had a forgotten familiarity. Reinforcing the learning were video games of shooting down the numbered spaceship matching the Japanese name for the number, though I never did figure out how to save Rapunzel in her tower from the dragon by getting the hero to jump up to the correct month.
Another welcome surprise was the hot meals. When the first, a dinner, appeared, the woman across the aisle exclaimed, “And we don't have to pay for them?!” to which the flight attendant answered, “You pay for them all right.” Yakuniku with good sticky Japanese rice. Afterwards, great sleepiness overcame me so I inflated my pillow, covered my eyes with my black mask and huddled under my blanket. Good Bennington time for a nap.
The woman next to me and her preteen daughter have had some arguments. She wears a skimpy top and long black fingernails decorated with gold symbols – as far from a geisha as one could imagine. They have kosher meals and I'm curious about how one would keep the Jewish dietary laws in Japan.
I have gotten up almost every hour, a benefit of my choosing an aisle seat, found a space near the emergency exits where I could stretch and do some isometric exercises. Three hours into the flight we are over Hudson Bay, temperature ranges from minus 50 to minus 81 degrees outside. Eight hours later when I am trying again to sleep and the mother taps me to let her get out for the restroom, I feel a burst of annoyance, I've had enough of this flight and the man ahead pushing his chair back and knocking my tray table frays my nerves more – it takes effort to keep calm externally and go with the flow – how would I do in a mine a half mile underground with all these people for 69 days?
Some eleven hours into the flight we are over the sea of Okutsk (according to the video monitor)...but when I raise the blind just enough to look out, I see stark snowy and rock mountains then wilderness like one hardly associates with the huge populations of Asia – perhaps the remote islands north of Hokkaido, Japan?
written by  chertop on October 30, 2010 from Newark, United States
from the travel blog: Japan and South Korea 2010

Arrival in Japan
Narita, Japan
Finally we descend into Tokyo. After a 14 hour flight it ironically seems to end too fast. Passengers race walk down the corridors, as briskly as they can without seeming rude, to get to Immigration and Customs ahead of as many people as possible Looking for the right Immigration line, I didn't notice a double-decker wheeled piece of luggage arc in front of me; I instinctively called out “God!” as I fell; the Japanese man pulling it made a conciliatory gesture --- I made a note to be more aware, even if slower.
Despite all the airports I have arrived at alone, I could not stifle a longing to be met, a scanning of people waiting. but then I was off to Information, Money Exchange and the Keisei train to Narita station, grateful my luggage is not any heavier as I sweated up stairs and escalators and over overpasses. Hesitating, then I go to the ticket booth to find which is the east exit; up over the overpass where there are big planters of colorful flowers. Narita's Comfort Inn is a very ordinary Western-style hotel, ours a small twin room but it's the Hilton compared to wandering the narrow streets looking for the ryokans that didn't return my inquiry or .... over an hour being hot and sweaty on a train into Tokyo.
After a very welcome shower, shedding sweaty clothes, and sorting my belongings, I ventured out walking the outdoor mezzanine back to the station, out the other side to a busy urban environment – yet one so human-sized that it seems minature to someone accustomed to the oversize selling-boxes of North American big box stores. The one lane street has about 2 feet wide pedestrian lanes marked on each side, lanes shared with bikes and parked cars. Small shops sell an array of beautifully presented edibles, sweets to take as hospitality gifts, fabrics for kimonos, simple and elegant salons, gaudy souvenirs, I noticed tall stylish young women with slender, pant-clad legs and leather boots. It's a town living its Japanese life in which I floated down the curved street to its temple.
Especially after the compact shops, the huge complex of enormous Buddhist temple buildings blew me away. Steeply climbing up the rocky hillside, were the imposing gate, array of temple buildings, multi-storied pagoda, hanging red lanterns, fierce guardian deities which all spoke to me as powerfully as the soaring cathedrals of Europe. The falling rain and dimming evening added a sombre dignity. I saw no foreigners, no cameras, but young couples together and older people bringing plastic bags to make offerings to the statues of Boddhisatvas at the smaller temples. Two lighted pavilions that looked like food shops, turned out to be places to buy inscribed papers and wood. I felt myself in the presence of the Divine and gave thanks for being here.
At the upper reaches of the temple, where it extends into the greeness of garden and park, I suddenly felt the nausea of too long without sleep. Descending slowly, I stopped under the eaves as rain fell and as the gong began a solemn conversation with the deep temple bell. I glimpsed, peering between temple buildings, the man on a distant temple balcony, striking the large gong. Walking back, I saw hanging red lanterns, Some older women, with the bent over backs from inadequate nutrition during childhood, were working with husbands to close up the shops. Passing a small supermarket, I strolled in, past shelves of unrecognizable packaged foodstuffs, but also fruit including persimmons, that I recall first encountering here in Japan in the 1970s. I hadn't expected to buy anything, but stryfoam cups of soup noodles caught my eye and I left with them and a Kirin beer so Mary and I would not have to go out again in the rain.
Back at our small white nest of a room, when I heard the expected knock at the door and opened it to the wide smile and rain-soaked hair of my sister Mary, I felt the joyous miracle – each of us had come from different places, traveled separately half way round the world and found each other at the appointed time in this 4th storey niche.
Mary in Halloween gloves, eating ramen from styrofoam cup, Oct 31
Flopped on armchair and bed, we poured each other the beer, in Japanese custom of serving each other, and shared high and low points of our flights. I had boiled water in the electric heater so we ate the soup noodles using disposable chopsticks that the shop girl had thoughfully offered. I brought out the cheese, crackers, pecans and dried cranberries that were my emergency rations for the plane, since I didn't expect the two dinners and a snack. Eventually so tired that I would lose the thread of a conversation, I fell asleep almost as soon as we decided it was legitimately bedtime (by Japanese time) and turned out the light.
written by  chertop on October 31, 2010 from Narita, Japan

From Tokyo subways to Hakata (Fukuoka) ramen
Hakata, Japan
Monday (Getsuyobi) November 1
Waking numerous times in the night, I was grateful to keep going back to sleep until quarter to six when I got up and went to the second floor breakfast area, and pressed the button that asked me to choose my “desired” coffee, ground fresh from beans I could see through the plexiglass. Soon almost every table was filling with young traveling Japanese.
I took my travel mug with fresh ground coffee up for Mary, had a welcome shower and breakfast of miso soup, orange juice, croissant, egg boiled in salt water (doesn't need salting), yoghurt and Danish – truly an international breakfast!
Breakfast, Comfort Inn
We walked over to the temple,
Buddhist temple
walked back and checked out and headed into Tokyo by train for Haneda airport.
On 1 hour subway ride from Narita to Haneda airport
En route I began to suspect that there were two trains on the one track, only one of which went to Haneda... we got talking to a man nearby who got off at the same station and showed us the station where we could transfer to an express train. He even waited with us until the correct train arrived before he left for his gym. It was his day off from work in a hotel and he told us he used to work for airlines. Even with the express train, we rode for 2 hours, longer than our flight time to Fukuoka city in southwest Japan from where we will cross to Korea.
Tokyo subway train
We were at the airport 1 ¼ hours before our flight and checked in, then were in the Ladies room when I heard an announcement about gate change. Checking the departure listings we headed for gate 9, a loo-ong hike, where we rested in the priority seating since few other seats were available and there were no elderly people around to use the chairs. But, trying to board, we found we were at the JAL flight for the same city departing at the same time as our Skymark flight. We sprang out of our handicapped seating and ran all the way back to where we'd come through security and then an equally long distance on the other side to gate 24, only to find the people gone, gate locked and yet the plane sitting outside attached to the gate. An airport employee approached and indicated we were again at the wrong gate. We ran again, for gate 38, though I was tempted to abandon the struggle, sure the plane would have gone. We arrived sweaty and breathless and discovered the departure had been delayed.... so another wait.
Flying over Tokyo gave me an idea of its enormity. Then we were over sharp and rugged mountains. Water and harbor as we descended into Fukuoka. We took a taxi to the International hostel where we had a twin room reserved, not much bigger than the bunkbeds. Supper at a nearby ramen house where we sat at the counter and watched the steam rise from the ramen pot of boiling water, watched the bowls being heated, steaming soup and slices of pork added. The soup was delicious, the pork ramen a specialty of Fukuoka, the décor, in red and blank, traditional Japanese style, the pickled bean sprouts crunchy and spiced with hot pepper, the pickled ginger hot to the tongue, You not only chose your type of soup but also the doneness of your noodles – 5 degrees of doneness from childishly soft all the way past al dente to the crunchy, barely cooked rare version. Walking back, we found the air delightfully cool and less humid that in Tokyo.
written by  chertop on November 1, 2010 from Hakata, Japan

Gift of a day in Fukuoka with Professor Nagano
Hakata, Japan
November 2
Woke during the night several times and had to climb down the ladder but amazingly slept until 7:30am (both Mary and I blessedly spared the worst of jet lag). Going up to the 3rd floor kitchen to make coffee, I met 5 sisters from the Netherlands traveling together. Then a German woman trying to book a flight from Tokyo to Bangkok asked our help with the Internet; she is on a year-long world trip, having divorced after 27 years of marriage because she no longer loves the man ... so chose to seek and follow her own desires. At the bakery “Gratie” on the main street, we encountered an artistic array of beautiful pastries and free coffee so delicious that I drank it black.
We walked down the busy main drag to Hakata railway station seeking an ATM which we had been told we could find in a convenience store but those ATMs were Japanese language only. Used our map to find the main bank of the Fukuoka bank where, at the “Foreign Exchange” we laboriously tried to explain that we wanted to use our bank or credit cards to get money. Not possible we learned (rather disconcerting as we have not only found our money evaporating quickly but our credit card not accepted even in places like the Fukuoka accommodation where I'd used my credit card to reserve our room). So each of us was exchanging US dollars cash when a retired Japanese man came over and asked if he could help us. Not only did he interface and translate with the bank staff whose English was almost as limited as our Japanese but he took us to the post office where our cards worked - a big relief. As we waited I showed him the places we intended to visit today and asked his opinion.
He even offered and kindly accompanied us the to Kuniyoshi temple
Festival float, Kushida shrine
where he explained so much of what goes on, how one dips and pours water over one's hands and rinses one's mouth for ritual cleanliness before approaching the shrine, how one bows twice and claps the hands twice then bows again and pulls down on the thick cord, ringing the bell to let the gods know one is there.
Prof Nagano and Mary examine her fortune
He showed us where to obtain our fortune on a small paper, in English, and indicated where to toss a coin through the grate. At the side, was a shop with an array of beautiful good luck charms and tokens which he explained Japanese buy to avoid trouble, carrying these good luck tokens on their person, or in their cars.
Mary and bonsai, Kushida shrine
He then guided us an a walk through the very hip and chic covered arcade of stylish small shops, where everything was so compact, and then out into the downtown of skyscrapers and other huge, architecturally innovative buildings, where everything was, in contrast, so expansive. Swarms of pedestrians and of bicycles on the sidewalks were going both ways yet avoiding the seemingly inevitable crashes. Everyone waits at the intersection for the traffic light, no one jaywalking; and at the Walk signal, a melody plays to indicate aurally that it is safe to cross --- the most memorable to us was “Coming through the Rye.”
He took us across the city by taxi to Fukuoka's “Central Park” where we first encountered the foundations or the enormous ruined castle, and were astounded at the huge scale.
Prof Nagano and Mary climb steps to Fukuoka castle ruins
Walking and climbing to the high point of the castle ruins, we rested above the city looking out on the modernity, the harbor, baseball dome, tower, and the mountains of Kyushu. Then we descended into the park with its Chinese style low curving bridges over the vast pond and its scarlet pavilions, its paddle boats in the shape of swans, its tree-lined causeway a walking path across the middle of the pond.
The park was such a welcome and restful contrast to the intensity of the city, to which we returned, refreshed, by taxi to Sumiyoshi Shrine which was a brilliant, brilliant orange, with palaquins in boat shapes resting in the courtyard.
Mary photographing floral display at Sumiyoshi shrine
Our Japanese friend showed us where sumo wrestlers practice in early morning just outside the shrine. And the subtle classical building where No theatre is performed. Hearing the drum beat as darkness fell, we returned to the shrine and were so fortunate to watch the Shinto priest conduct a ceremony of bowing repeatedly, chanting from a scroll, waving a white tassled standard, and turning to all directions to bow and bow again even more deeply.
At the park, where our Japanese friend had planned to leave us, I repeated my thanks once again and offered my name card with my invitation for him and his wife to visit us in Vermont should their world travels take them there. I had made cards for both Mary and me and she also offered hers with her own invitation for Calgary.
Not only was the Sumiyoshi shrine a further treat, especially when unexpectedly it was lit at night, a glowing orange, but our friend took us finally to his favorite izakaya restaurant, an underground refuge of elegant Japanese simplicity. Especially after all his kindness and numerous taxis, Mary and I wanted to invite him, but he repeated that he wanted to pass on the kindness he had received in Canada and the US on his various trips to conferences as an agricultural irrigation engineer. He ordered Mary a beer and me a sake, then many small dishes beautifully presented, finally rice with nori (seaweed) and into which we placed a pickled plum and poured in green tea for a beautiful digestive end to an exquisite meal. A very leisurely dining with conversation, sharing, some jokes and laughter. After 3 beers, he laughed easily but, had no intention of driving home...instead we three walked...his office was on the same street as our hostel, Mary and I continuing down the street further after our goodbyes.
written by  chertop on November 2, 2010 from Hakata, Japan

Karatsu Kunchi festival - Cultural Day
Karatsu, Japan
November 3 Cultural Day throughout Japan
After Gratie coffee and egg pizza plus chewy cranberry bun, we walked to the main bus terminal where we bought tickets to Karatsu, miraculously catching a bus at the gate 32, the closest one, due to leave in less than 10 minutes. Leaving Fukuoka, we passed its enormous suspension bridge, beaches, harbors along the water. Apartment buildings gave way to traditional Japanese houses set amongst rice paddies, perfectly rectangular vegetable farm lots, and greenhouses.
Reaching Karatsu in about 70 minutes, we descended into a crowded city where the sound of drums drew us towards nearby narrow streets where huge floats were being drawn by long ropes, children at the front end, adult men closer to the floats themselves. At the corner the float suddenly swung around at a right angle.
After watching a half dozen floats pulled by teams in identically colored traditional garb (hapi coats with leggings and zori sandals), we let the crowd carry us down the street.... past an amazing array of food stalls and souvenirs for sale. Much of the crowd was surging into the approach to the temple. We skirted around side streets and were deciphering a poster in Japanese about the festival's schedule when a young woman approached us and led us to the beach. She was there for the festiva lwith her parents, all from Tendai. When we found the floats, they were arriving in a crowded, sandy square, swinging violently around yet another corner to be lined up 7 facing 7. Children were emerging from inside the floats as well as climbing on them to be photographed by parents. Men in traditional garb who had been pulling the floats were beating the drums or climbing to the highest point on the floats like king of the castle.
Officially uniformed police controlling the crowd smiled but obliged when I asked about where were toilets. We found port-a-potties with 2 stalls for women, each with a door, plus an open stall with a urinal for men and a fourth stall for hand washing. Sitting in the shade, we made a lunch, and had a rest, with trail mix, chocolate and water.
Rejoining the crowd, many sitting on the curb waiting for the afternoon parade of the 14 floats back to their owner shops, we made our way to the train station and information booth where an English speaking staffperson answered our questions about Karatsu pottery. Her instructions sent us down streets to the canal, across it by bridge and along a narrow residential road until we emerged on a busy street full of partytime pachinko (slot machine/pinball) parlors and neon funhouses with names like “Lucky Day.”
On the corner was a pottery gallery of extremely expensive works by the most famous potter of the region, a glorious collection of tea ceremony cups, sake vessels, flower vases --- irregular shapes, earthy surfaces, glazes of infinite variations – the kind of vessel you turn around and around, admiring every side. The elegant, black clad woman bid us two scruffy foreigners welcome, pointed out some aspects of the pottery and graciously allowed me to make some photos.
Returning along the lane, where painted tiles were set among the brick cobblestones, we explored the path veering off, a narrow path into a compact neighborhood of tranquil, traditional Japanese homes and gardens, small and perfect, with trained pine trees, hanging white blossoms, climbing morning glory flowers.... and huge golden striped spiders in webs against the sky... blessed peace and quiet after the noise and crowds of the festival.
Back at the canal, we watched two cranes fishing in the shallow water, watched the small fish glint in the sun as they turned, flashing their bright bellies. Osprey and buzzards soared overhead on the wind currents.
We queued for the 5:30pm bus and road into darkness back to Fukuoka's lights - multicolored in the night. Walked from the bus station to the Umauma ramen shop where we sat at the counter having beer, pork ramen and fried gwazu..all delicious, especially the broth which was rich with marrow flavor. The black clad young men frying gwazu, dishing up the ramen, and washing dishes got a kick out of our enjoyment and our attempts at Japanese, just as we were entertained watching their busy rapid-fire cooking and washing up.
We walked back, under the train track, colorful graffiti on the tunnel walls and to the hostel, another marvelous adventure of a day.
written by  chertop on November 3, 2010 from Karatsu, Japan

By Hydrofoil to South Korea
Pusan, South Korea
November 4 Thursday
After the precious coffee at Gratie bakery and a few of their delicious pastries, we packed up. The young woman at the Fukuoka hostel took our photo just before Mary and I got into the taxi (she is going to put it on their website) and headed to the International Port for our hydrofoil to Korea. The numerous bureaucratic procedures, fuel surcharge, and the cost of departure tax had me wondering why anyone would purchase the weekend round-trip tickets, in spite of their being cheaper than our tickets for a longer stay. We boarded the Beetle, an enclosed pod that slipped out of the harbor and skimmed softly and smoothly but speedily over the blue water, past steeply rising island mountains, under a brilliant blue sky. It was surprising how fast we were traveling - a ferry journey of 8 hours took us less than three.
As we approached the skyline of Busan port, the sky was milky white. Jennifer and Miriam, Dennis' mother, met us and Jenn drove us through the city until, in a small lane, a man rushed out and ushered Jenn's car down a narrow, pedestrian-crowded street to the entrance to a parking garage. Jenn stopped the car and we piled out, leaving the parking to a valet.
Walking the market streets, we saw squid hanging in curtains of tentacles, chestnuts roasting in a churning mass of black coals, decorative socks, Korean silk. At a small upstairs restaurant, we ate bulgogi - which came as a bowl of various colorful ingredients - strips of marinated beef together with vegetables, rice - dark, white, green and red... which you mix together into a delicious combination.
Walking market streets back to the car, I was interested in the stores selling luggage of all sizes and shapes because the zipper on mine had jammed. But prices were not Third World! Reluctantly I admitted that I could get a better price on luggage in Bennington!
Mary on steps
We drove back to Ulsan on very modern expressways with tolls, about an hour's trip, past a lot of industry (including the huge Hyundai plant) to Jenn's condo in a high rise. There her little Boston terrier had an energetic frenzy of greeting us, sniffing, and gnashing the dog toy Mary had brought him.
Jennifer took us to a Korean cafe where we had a typical and delicious lunch of beef strips, vegetables and egg on a bowl of rice. Then, on the hour's drive back to Ulsan, we got an idea of the intensity of traffic, the extent of industrialization in South Korea.
written by  chertop on November 4, 2010 from Pusan, South Korea

From Fukuoka, Japan to Busan, Ulsan and Seoul, South Korea
Seoul, South Korea
Up early November 5 for a 8am flight to Seoul, we rose into clouds and descended into Seoul's milky smog a scant 40 minutes later. The several subway rides, with transfers, from Gimpo domestic airport into the city took at least twice that long. By 2:30pm we had hauled our luggage along urban streets, checked into the Ramada, had coffee and bought tickets to ride more subways, an intimidating process of first finding one's destination on the intricately complicated map of subway lines (most info in Korean script) and then inserting adequate money for the machine to spit out tickets. At the end of the trip, assuming you have survived the jaws of the turnstile trying to snag you captive, you feed your ticket into another machine and receive whatever change you are due as refund.
Jennifer and Mary on subway train
Finally getting to explore the market streets, we found beautiful handmade paper made into cards with appliqued doll figures, silk covered pencil boxes, pashmina scarves, huge stone carvings from Laos and Cambodia in an antiques shop. In the middle of the sidewalk some men in bright red garb rolled out sheets of something like rice crispy bars and then cut it with a cleaver against a straight edge. Mary and I stopped to watch candy makers take a glob of honey and dip it into cornstarch, then stretch it, dip it again into the cornstarch, double it and stretch it again. Every time they doubled it over they would double their count of strands - 2, 4, 8, 16, 32,...256. When Japanese visitors stopped to watch, the men began counting in Japanese also. After they had a multitude of small strands, they would break off a length of 4-5 inches, place a spoonful of almond paste in the center of one end, and wrap the strands into a roll. One of them beckoned me to a side and gave me one to taste - a strangely floury texture around the almond nugget.
Mary photographing at multi-storey mall
Mary and I ventured down numerous narrow, often crooked lanes off the main road - street vendors selling jewelery and souvenirs, tea houses, old houses with tile roofs and walls made with broken tiles embedded in mortar. One elegant Tea Museum had an entire wall of different types of tea - chrysanthemum, persimmon, rooibos - as well as beautiful, individual tea bowls, each with a glaze that invites you to turn it around and around in your hands, admiring the color variations of the glaze, the particularities of the shape, and the personality of the bowl.
After two more crowded subways during rush hour, and a welcome shower back at our hotel, I luxuriated in curling up on the sofa in the 14th floor lounge, having a beer with Mary, Miriam, Jenn and Dennis. Mary and I stayed when the others went out to dinner, making a supper of the hors d'oeuvres - soup, sushi, oysters, and a delicious, subtle-flavored steamed Chinese custard with mushrooms and other delicate vegetables embedded in it. Back in our room, we looked out on the city lights, especially a distant wall of irregular, ever-changing vertical neon colors in an always changing rainbow of hues.
written by  chertop on November 5, 2010 from Seoul, South Korea

Demilitarized Zone - 56 kilometers from Seoul
Seoul, South Korea
November 6 Saturday
At 7:30am we left the hotel by bus for the DMZ, traveling out from Seoul into a countryside of fields. Beside the expressway ran barbed wire which became higher as we drove north. Before we were allowed to enter the Demilitarized Zone, a soldier of South Korea, the ROK, came on the bus to check our passports – tall, young, unsmiling, in camouflage, with white helmet and large sunglasses despite the milky smog that obliterated the sun and any view from the observation point. Ironically, considering the weather, the observation point had a yellow line – no photos allowed from beyond it.
Mary and Korean soldiers at the line beyond which you are not supposed to photograph
We got an idea of the landscape, including the mountains, from a film and relief model. The 2km no man's land on either side of the Demarcation Line has become a refuge for wildlife – deer, birds, ... we saw a photo of fish swimming over bullets lying in a stream.
Wearing bright yellow helmets, we descended into the Third Infiltration Tunnel, one of 4 discovered by the the ROK and blamed on the North Koreans' attempt to get 30,000 soldiers a hour through to attack Seoul, only 56 m away.
Lorna with hard hat for descent into Third Infiltration Tunnel
The tunnel was blasted through granite with yellow splashes of paint marking the dynamite holes. The walls were blackened to support the claim that North Korea, the DRK, was searching for coal. An 11% grade heads steeply down 73 meters below the surface, all cool wet granite, down to where a concrete and steel barrier blocked off the further reaches of the tunnel. I don't suffer from claustrophobia but began to feel nauseous so I climbed back up slowly. (South Korean soldiers used to be posted at the barrier but no longer since the air is such poor quality.)
Numerous souvenir shops sold North Korean beer and shogu (vodka-like rice alcohol), rice, and chocolate made with soybeans. The tour then took us to a government-run shop with uniformed Korean women giving a hard-sell, promoting the ginseng products. Offered a thimble cup of ginseng powder in liquid, I drank it and my stomach recovered more than from the coke.
Mary with ginseng
We endured an endless drive back through crowded, gridlocked traffic. The guide would not take us to our hotels but offered 2 drop places in central Seoul. We chose one close to the palace and were just in time to watch a changing of the guard - traditionally garbed Korean nobility in stunning red and yellow court costumes.
Palace Guard an d Lorna
After the procession, we lunched in a Vietnamese noodle shop – anise-flavored broth with shaved beef.
Mary and I walked to a canal and came upon a lantern festival extending at least a kilometer along the water. Festive lanterns came in all sizes - some so big they occupied a whole float. Descending to the path along the water, we walked past ones illustrating everything from Korean fairytales to themes of the countries participating in the coming G20 conference - kangaroos, Maori, Big Ben. Under a bridge kids were making paper lanterns to hang from the ceiling.
Crossing the canal on large stepping stones, we ascended the stairs again and found ourselves in the hardware district - many lighting shops shone brilliantly with multi-colored lamps as twilight darkened the city. We ducked into covered arcades where sellers offered bric-a-brac, beads, traditional Korean attire, lace, and bead headdresses worthy of Cher.
My legs ached and once we reached the subway, I wanted only to return to the hotel - even if I had to make my way by myself through the intimidating Seoul Underground. But, ironically, this turned out to be the very subway station where Jenn, Den and Miriam were to meet Mary in about an hour to go to dinner. Unsure whether to go or stay, I sat on the floor my calves against the cool hard floor of the station, writing in my notebook while Mary went foraging for a coffee. I suddenly heard a man say “Hello, mama,” and I looked up. The man asked where I was going and where was I from. He left but after Mary returned, he came back with 3 packages of “lunch” for us - glutinous rice cakes and warm soy milk. In return, Mary gave him the Canadian decoration from her handbag and he seemed very pleased with that.
Miriam arrived and seemed not to want anything to do with us, stayed at a distance except for a moment during which I took the opportunity to introduce her and our benefactor, John, a Baptist minister who could recite scripture and count in Aramaic. When Jenn and Den arrived, they also stayed at a distance --- For Mary and me, it was an unexpected adventure of interacting with a local person in a friendly way.... but the others seemed horrified. Miriam figured people thought we were begging or homeless.
Upstairs in a Korean barbecue, we sat on the heated floor. A waiter started a round barbecue set in the table at each end of the table. We cooked black pork belly meat and ate it with a great array of side dishes, rice and soup at the end.
Dennis, Miriam, Jenn, Mary in Korean barbecue restaurant
written by  chertop on November 6, 2010 from Seoul, South Korea

The Seoul of Asia
Seoul, South Korea
November 6 Saturday
At 7:30am we left the hotel by bus for the DMZ, traveling out from Seoul into fields. Beside the expressway ran barbed wire which became higher as we drove north. Before we were allowed to enter the Demilitarized Zone, a soldier of the ROK (South Korea) came on the bus to check our passports – tall, young, unsmiling, in camouflage with white helmet and large sunglasses - he was one of what our guide described as "unhappy campers" sent to the front lines for their 24 month compulsory military service.
The milky smog obliterated the sun and any view from the observation point - which, ironically considering the weather, had a yellow line – no photos allowed from beyond it. So the only idea we got of the landscape, including the extensive mountains, was from a film and a relief model. The 2km-wide no man's land on either side of the Demarcation Line has become a refuge for wildlife – including deer and birds, and we saw a photo of fish swimming over old bullets lying in a stream.
Wearing bright yellow helmets, we descended into the Third Infiltration Tunnel, one of 4 underground passages discovered by the ROK and blamed on the North Koreans' attempt to get 30,000 soldiers a hour through the tunnel to attack Seoul, only 56 m away. An 11% grade heads steeply down to some 73 meters below the surface, a tunnel blasted thru granite with yellow splashes of paint marking the dynamite holes. The walls were apparently blackened by North Korea, the DRK claiming to be searching for coal. Cool, wet granite walls continued down to where a concrete barrier and steel blocked off the further reaches of the tunnel. I don't suffer from claustrophobia but began to feel nauseous so I climbed up slowly (the guide had told us the air is bad enough that they no longer station soldiers down there to ensure we tourists obey the rule of no picture-taking)... now cameras watch us.
We visited souvenir shops where people bought North Korean beer and shogu (a Vodka like drink), rice grown in the DMZ, and chocolate made with soybeans, then the bus took us to a government run shop with uniformed Korean women promoting Korean gingeng products. Offered a thimble cup of ginseng powder dissolved in liquid, I drank it and my stomach bean to recover.
An endless drive back thru crowded, gridlocked traffic of Seoul returned us to city center. The guide would not take us to our hotel, probably because of the traffic, but dropped us close to the palace ... we reached it just in time to watch a changing of the guard -traditionally garbed Korean nobility in stunning red and yellow court costumes. After the procession, we lunched in a Vietnamese noodle shop – anise-flavored broth and shaved beef.
Mary and I walked to a canal where there were festive lanterns of all sizes, some so big they occupied a whole float. Descending to the path along the water, we walked past ones illustrating Korean fairy tales, and aspects of countries participating in the current G20 summit, including kangaroos, Maori,and the Big Ben clock of London. Under a bridge kids were making paper lanterns to hang from the ceiling, the bridge protecting them from the elements.
Crossing the canal by big stepping stones, we ascended the stairs again and encountered a hardware district with many lighting shops brilliant with multi-colored lamps as twilight darkened the city. Then we ventured into a covered arcade resplendent with stalls of fabric, beads, traditional Korean attire , lace and bead headdresses worthy of Cher.
My legs ached and once we reached the subway, I wanted only to return to the hotel even if I had to make my way through the intimidating Seoul underground by myself. But, ironically, this turned out to be the very subway station where Jen, Den and Miriam were to meet us, in about an hour, to go to dinner. I sat on the floor, my calves against the cool hard floor of the station, writing in my notebook, while Mary went foraging for a coffee. I suddenly heard a man say “Hello, mama,” and I looked up. The man asked where I was going and where was I from. He left but, after Mary returned, he came back with 3 packages of “lunch” for us, which consisted of glutinous rice cakes and warm soy milk. As a thank you, Mary gave him the Canadian flag decoration from her handbag and he seemed very pleased with that.
Miriam arrived and seemed not to want anything to do with us crazy foreigners sitting on the ground as Koreans would apparently not do. She stayed at a distance except when I introduced her and our benefactor, John, who turned out to be a Baptist minister who could quote the Bible and count in Aramaic. Mary and I settled into enjoying the unexpected adventure of interacting with a local in a friendly way as we waited for Jen and Den to arrive. But Miriam figured people, including John, thought we were begging or homeless.
Upstairs in a Korean barbecue restaurant, the 5 of us sat on cushions on the floor. The waitress started a round barbecue at each end of the long table. We cooked black pork belly meat and ate it with a great array of side dishes, including rice and soup at the end of the meal.
Sunday November7
Mary and I headed for the palace where we walked through the gardens and looked into doorways and windows. Walls were partitions of white paper. In the grounds of the second palace, we walked around one of the ponds, luxuriating in the autumn colors and enjoying the beautiful Chinese mandarin ducks before their winter migration, colorful males with orange and teal, subtle-colored but gentle and elegant females. In the secret garden, amongst pavilions, ponds, and a 400-year-old mulberry tree, autumn colors were intense even with the city's milky haze.
We hiked to the subway, taking it to where we hiked steeply up the road, stairs and path to a Buddhist temple. At the Buddhist temple, a gray clad monk was ringing a somber big bell, striking it with a huge cylindrical log suspended horizontally. Inside the temple, a sacred place with the front wall a row of golden Buddhas above multi-colored petals of illuminated lotus flowers, red and green lanterns hung from the ceiling. A wall was composed of rows of small Buddhas in niches. I knelt to speak my thanks, for being there, silently but fervently. Neither of us made any flash photographs, even though we were alone with the Divine.... the image would have been of a different place.
Across the path, another gray clad monk lit with the red light of an electric heater was working at books.
Climbing higher we approached a shrine where a man appeared to be scrubbing the ground before him, pushin his hands forward and drawing them back ... yet it had the fervency of prayer and we slipped quietly by lest he be embarrassed or at least his intensity interrupted.
Yet further up the mountain we came to a Dali-esque rock above another shrine. The rock was shaped like a huge egg with elongated Swiss cheese holes. A woman was prostrating herself as if in repeated Salutations to the Sun. Offerings of food and drink were on the altar as well as incense and candles. Climbing still higher, we came to a smaller Buddhist shrine, although these places of worship seemed to combine aspects of both Buddhism and Shamanism. Stairs in the rock ascended still higher – in the gloaming we placed our feet carefully, then sat gazing out over the city lights below as darkness fell.
A maze of steep narrow laneways took us down past people's houses of a residential neighborhood until we again reached the plateau of shops, including ones selling pizza and fried chicken, and the subway. Despite my tired, aching legs, I felt a tranquil exhilaration at our experiences of the day, plus my beginning to comprehend Seoul's intimidating subway system.
What luxury, back at our hotel, not to have to go out again but shower and just walk down the hall from our room to the lounge where our temporary membership scores us not only a beer but “appetizers” that more than suffice for supper. When they returned from pizza and garlicky salad at an Italian restaurant nearby, Jennifer and Miriam found us there by the picture window, city night lights spread out below us.
November 8 Monday
Mary, Jennifer, Miriam and I made our way two subway stops to another area of modern urbanity – storeys-high neon signs and tv screens, trendy shops, and ads displaying platinum-blond Korean models. After some hunting, we found the second floor Dr Fish spa, where you pay W2000 for access to sit beside a long rectangular box set in the floor, containing water and small fish, who immediately when you put your feet into the water, rush to nibble on them. Initially the sensation is so intense a tickle that you grimace and twist but eventually you settle down into watching the little pink mouths kiss and pluck at your skin, apparently eating off the dead skin. Ironically the watery coffee, or other drinks you are expected to buy, cost W4800 to 6800 more than twice the price of the unforgettable experience of being food for the fish!.. but the spacious spa with picture windows looking over the street, “self bar” of breads to eat with butter and jam, along with our coffee, gave us a luxurious relaxation before Jenn and Miriam headed for the airport, and Mary and I lugged our suitcases to the subway for a trip on 3 different lines, transferring twice, ending at Suwon, a distinct city from Seoul, although with no break in the urban metropolis.
written by  chertop on November 8, 2010 from Seoul, South Korea

Suwon's Korean Folk Village, Spa and Fortress
Suwon, South Korea
In Seoul, I had called the Hwaesong Guest House there, using Jenn's phone. Reaching Suwon subway station, I found a tourist info booth where an English-speaking staffperson wrote the name and phone number in Korean so I could give that to a taxi driver. He talked on his cell phone as he drove and, miraculously, at a small street past the historic gate to the Suwon fortress, a Korean man obviously expecting us, was waiting to show us down the street to the guest house. We have a room with a double bed and bright pink flowered walls. You remove your shoes to step up into the room and put on a kind of flip-flop to go into our attached and huge bathroom.
Walking out for supper, we found fierce wind bending streetside trees; sleet pelted and soaked us with temperatures dropping from September to late November's. After walking past shops, including a tailor's, and more colorful, illuminated gates of the fortress walls, we ducked out of the rain into a spacious Korean restaurant. Immediately three women descended on us in fervent welcome. We wanted the famous galpi beef dish and were royalty with two of the women bringing us perhaps 15 different side dsihes and one beautiful woman cooking for us over the hot coats at our table. she made and handed ech of us rolls of the delicious marinated beef, plus kimchi, vegetable, red sauce and/or raw garlic... all wrapped in a lettuce leaf. Following her example we learned to make our own. Mary was able to thank them, say how delicious, and ask what various things were... giving them great pleasure and a little amusement.
Back at the guest house, we discovered we had no sheets or pillow cases...so went on a search and, from the Korean men's dorm, obtained pillows and two covers from bunk beds.
November 9 Tuesday
First morning stop was the bakery on the corner – cakes, pastries and sandwiches to rival our Japanese Gratie coffee and pastry place in Fukuoka. Mary tells me that a candy company managed to create a Korean Valentine's day on November 11 (armistice for warring couples?) and the bakery is resplendent with cakes (made of rice paste) that are dazzling works of art.
Walking to the train station, or more specifically, the tourist information house, we catch the bus to the Korean folk village. A half hour ride through industrial, commercial and residential high-rises identified only by number 316...327...409 (people-storage devices), takes us to the village that quickly became my favorite place in Korea. At the huge gate were guards in traditional dress. Beyond the souvenir shops and food court, traditional buildings of farmer and nobleman, from both northern and southern Korea, formed a village with a pottery shop, paper-making shop, and blacksmith shop. There was a craftsman in traditional white garb weaving a bowl, another making a mat, both from rice straw, and in another dwelling, even a fortune teller. There were flame-colored autumn leaves on the trees.... and no cars!
Besides the peace and quiet, we were treated to performances - drum and dance including spectaular acrobatics as part of what was supposedly a farmer's dance, but involved tassled and colorful attire, with long ribbons on the hats that the men dancing moved with slight movements of their heads and made them swirl like in a Chinese ribbon dance. The musician/dancers sounded their drums, tambourines and cymbals in energetic percussion, as they marched, circled and spiralled, reaching a frenzy of excitement in which the outer ring of dancers, as if propelled by centrifugal force, whipped themselves into twirling somersault cartwheels.
The “peasant” troupe had barely marched away when, in a nearby performance space, a solitary tightrope walker walk/climbed up the 40 degree rope from ground to aerial tightrope. There he repeatedly crossed from one platform, via the rope, to the other, amazing us with his bouncing down to straddle the rope and apparently bouncing back up off his groin! Or squatting on one foot, spinning to face the other way. Especially during the periods of talk/explanation that we of course couldn't comprehend, we were entranced by the group of kindergarten children sitting beside us with their teachers – beautiful, dark-haired, almond eyed children.
At noon a traditional wedding ceremmony took place in the courtyard of the nobleman's villa. With white-clad Confucian officials presiding, the groom entered first in maroon robes, then the bride bedecked in silk was escorted in with a woman attendant on each side. As they faced each other on opposite sides of a table laden with fruit and other food, bride and groom each separately bowed to each other, were given drink and something to eat by the officials. Finally a procession, groom on horseback and bride carried in a palaquin proceded from the nobleman's house..
Just before we left, we witnessed a spectacular display of equestrian skill, riders galloping their steeds around a ring and doing acrobatic stunts – bouncing off the ground back up to the saddle, springing into headstands, throwing a spear into a poster of a boar or shooting arrows into a target, all at high speed.
The 4pm bus brought us back into the land of traffic, industry, crowds and neon signs. Mary went to the Starbucks to get a real coffee (almost everywhere else coffee is a weak and unsatisfactory brew). Meanwhile I went to the tourist info outside Suwon station to get times for the trains to Daegu for tomorrow, and ask about Suwon's jjimjibang (upmarket sauna and spa) and camera shops (since I have already filled my 2GB card with images). In the camera store I opened my camera and showed the card and the battery so, despite our lack of mutual language, I was able to buy both.
At Starbucks, Mary and I discussed plans for the next few days; she had looked up Jjimjibang, some are right at hot springs, have baths of such substances as mud, cedar, and green tea. The young woman at the tourist info had told me Suwon's jjimjibang was near the bus station but that she had never been to it and didn't know the name. On the map it looked within walking distance but even at a fast pace, we tromped for ages (at least 1 ¼ hours) on pavement from downtown into extremely untouristy areas of furniture stores, past garages and repair shops and into another downtown of looo-ooong city blocks. When we stopped to ask to make sure we were on the right street, we were told in effect, “Take taxi or you reach there tomorrow.” Dragging, with aching legs, I was so ready to give up, especially when we had to retrace our steps. A taxi would have been only $5-6 but we had no name of the place. By great good fortune, as we thought we were nearing the bus terminal, I approached a businessman and asked “Jjimjibang?” and he kindly showed us a nearby pink sign – one for women.
We took stairs to a lower level where pink-clad Korean women giggled and took our W5000 ($5) and gave us tea-towel sized orange towels as well as each a key to a locker. Women were walking around nude so we stripped, piled our things into our lockers and went to shower, squating and pouring water from basins over ourselves as well as soaping ourselves. Then into the hot tub. There were 3 comfortably hot, one with bubbly, and another fiery hot that Mary enjoyed, particularly after the cold pool,where we could swim the 25 foot length but mostly used the jets to massage our backs and my aching legs. We tried out the steam room, where you sit on benches, and the dry sauna (64-67 degrees Centigrade) where you sit on the floor stones. Those rooms, as well as the relaxation room above them, had walls of pink and black tumbled pebbles in a design that suggested black mountains and pink sky. In the relaxation room, we tried out the plastic pillows with hard nubs over their surface but then gave up and shared the one soft pillow, the size of a bread loaf, our heads on the pillow and our bodies extending out in a pie shape. Most jjimjibang are open 24 hours so you can sleep overnight in the relaxation room.
Back downstairs, we found beach lounge chairs to stretch out on. On pink massage tables, lay women naked and being massaged, oiled, and pummelled by two other women in what appeared to be black bra and panties. In the outer room one naked woman knelt on the floor, her body and head stretched out along a bench while another woman straddled the bench, massaging her tattooed back. As Mary and I relaxed in this community of women indulging, rejuvenating, luxuriating in the comfort and stimulation of touch, I wondered how Korean immigrants, if not in a community of Koreans, must pine for the sisterhood of the jjimjibang.
A taxi home was another automatic indulgence requiring no decision. Mary said I was asleep even before the little fridge in our room began rattling the tea cup sitting on it.
November 10 Wednesday
Mary has been making strides in learning Korean and the people are delighted, and sometimes amused, to talk with her. Using a course loaded onto her ipod, she hears the Korean, and writes memory clues to help remember it. While she studied this morning, I walked briskly up to see the massive gate at the far end of Suwon's fortress wall. (Our guest house is near the south end's huge entrance gate and at night we see the gate, observation towers, and fire-beacon platforms magically lit.) I hiked along the wall, looked out on the modern city, its rectangular buildings so different from the historic fortress, then strode along the Suwoncheon (river) back to our guest house.
written by  chertop on November 9, 2010 from Suwon, South Korea

Daegu's Korean Oriental Medicine Market
Taegu, South Korea
We took a taxi to Suwon train station and train to Taegu - past autumn forest hills, water standing in rice paddies, a cultivated pond of what appeared to be lotus root, acres of greenhouses (some open so I could see the smoothly manicured soil, others assembled with metal hoops, irrigation sprinklers, and translucent covering). We saw traditional houses, some with bright blue roofs. Our train crossed 3 rivers on bridges. When a Korean man approached us pointing to his ticket, we discovered that seats are assigned; we obligingly moved; he took pains to brush the seat off completely!
Our hotel's name is romanized either” Lausanne” or “Rozan”; either way, the pamphlets outside and poster inside and which are up only at night, are evidence it is a “love hotel.” But, unlike in Suwon, we have the luxury of sheets.
Walking out to a restaurant about 10 minutes away, we had to match the Korean characters in the sign to the notation in our guidebook, as well as the menu, as there was no English in either. We tried their goat and their dog soup, each ordering a bowl of one or the other so that we could share them and each get to experience both, probably for the one and only time, (the goat meat was tough and the dog meat mercifully sparse in that soup). Then walking back, we stopped into “Home Plus” a huge supermarket plus department store with food courts offering everything from Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Greek cuisine, and pasta to “Krazee Burgers.” Tiny ice cream cones were $4-5, but we had decided on ice cream to quench the fire in our mouths from dinner; Mary had the inspired idea that we buy a package from the grocery section. Passing up the green tea ice cream, we chose “Goo-Goo” – chocolate covered peanuts, caramel, chocolate and marshmallow ice cream... and we ate up the whole liter o
November 11 Thursday
We made our own filter coffee with hot water from the dispenser in the hall and ate some of the walnut topped and coffee-filled pastries that we had bought last night when we got our Goo-Goo ice cream.
Also last night, a woman who spoke good English had addressed us as we made our way to the restaurant; I took the opportunity to ask her what bus we should take to go downtown to the Oriental medicine market. But, this morning, on the bus #427 that she recommended, we had an uncommunicative driver so we had to pour over our only and minimal map (the small one in our guidebook) and try to match its features with the bus's turns and its crossing a river. A woman on the bus indicated we should get down at Towel Street, which indeed had shops selling mountains of towels.
We walked many twists, turns and even backtracked before we found a street of shops displaying Oriental herbs - ginseng root in golden or in red wine, various types of fungus, deer horn and many more substances we could not even guess. It was fascinating to see and to make photos of the multitude of shapes, colors, and especially the colored wine lit through with sunlight.
Most shopkeepers went about their own business, but one youngish man invited us in and showed us the tailbone of a deer (a smooth, black, concave arrow shape), dried seahorses, and various other medicines. He gave us each a red berry that has 5 different tastes – I could taste pepper, citrus and sweet. He offered and gave us tea that is supposed to relieve fatigue. We asked about some thorny stems and he indicated they were from cactus and were for knee problems, so I asked to buy some; he wrapped up two 4 inch twigs as a gift to us. He supplemented that with a package of fragrance, also a gift. Mary took out money, determined to buy some of the fatigue relieving medicine, but he made us a gift of even that. Overwhelmed, we each took out our name cards to give him: I wrote on mine that, if he ever visits the United States, I hoped he would visit me. His English was only slightly better than our Korean but he had a ipod with translation from Korean to English so was able to show us what a number of the medicines were, and also to communicate that he was born 2 storeys above the shop which his father and grandfather had run before him.
Leaving with many thanks, we finally found the Museum of Korean Oriental medicine, a two storey spacious building set in a garden, whose interior had displays, interactive media where you could find out which of 4 body types you are, and videos telling in story form about people discovering the healing properties of various medicines. You chose from the menu English, Japanese, Chinese or Korean. A very detailed audio tape introduced us to the history and explained how Oriental medicine is based on duality – yin and yang, cold and hot, night and day, and on restoring the balance in the body as a whole rather than just treating a specific part of the anatomy as western medicine does. Balance is important also in the harmony and the antagonism of the elements fire, water, wood, earth, metal, each with its own color.
When we left at 2pm, I was ravenous; the young woman at the info booth guided us around the corner to a restaurant connected to the museum where we sat on cushions on an ondol (heated floor) and ate ginseng chicken with rice soup and, for dessert, savored ginseng tea sweetened with honey. Especially in the chicken, whose skin was blackened yet soft, the ginseng had a bitterness that may be, like coffee and beer, an acquired taste. As we left,the woman who had made and served our meal offered us coffee to go, made directly from a dispensing machine, it was the only coffee we've had in Korea, except Starbucks', that has been strong and flavorful enough for Mary and me to enjoy.
We made our way along Jewelery Street to Seomun Market, which is a huge city block of many small laneways crowded with shops selling everything – shoes, socks, clothing, costume jewelery, everything. Stalls were slipped in sideways - cooking and serving broth, intestines on skewers, noodles floating in soup. Within the warren of lanes is a multistorey building equally or more crowded with shops selling silks, beautiful traditional Korean wedding dresses in every color, shoes in traditional style for weddings, pairs of carved ducks to give as wedding gifts, funky fashionable modern women's clothing, especially tops, vests and jackets ... no wonder the young women we see are so stylish! Mary and I got talking with a man selling colorful fabric foot-covers that extend part way up the calf; he was eager for us to try them on and to tell us about them, despite our sparse common language,.... but we found him not receptive to bargaining. Eventually we did buy 6 pairs, not nearly as heavy to carry home as gifts as is the package of oriental herbs (turned out to include 8 packages of soy-like liquid) that we were given earlier today.
We found the stairway to the top floor lined with vendors of food and drink, and that the exit on the top floor goes to the outside where two men sat playing mahjong under a pale skyline and hazy pink sun. Trying to head home to our “love hotel,” we found the market became more colorful as lights came on and darkness fell. Finding a subway entrance, we ducked in out of the beginning rain and rode to the closest station to our hotel - from which it was still a long walk. But we emerged into a downpour, fierce wind scattering the pedestrians. It took much pondering, as well as deliberation between us, and several descents into the subway only to again come up a stairway that proved not to be what we wanted... before Mary asked a man unlocking a bike which way was “nam” or south, and I asked someone which way was the Home Plus store, as I knew we could find our way from there. It then took another descent into the subway to get on the correct corner of the huge intersection. Finally we walked past the Grand Hotel, whose location on our map showed we were headed home.
Finally we reached Home Plus and, in its food court, we chose from plastic displays, me a Japanese cutlet supper and Mary a Greek omelet stuffed with rice --- both accompanied with rice.
Mary packed faster than I've seen anyone and we headed out to the bus stop for #814 as she is headed by train for Ulsan where she and Jennifer will have most of tomorrow just the two of them.
written by  chertop on November 11, 2010 from Taegu, South Korea

From Suwon's fortress to Daegu's dog soup
Taegu, South Korea
November 10 Wednesday
Mary has been making strides in learning Korean and the people are delighted, and sometimes amused, to talk with her. Using a course loaded onto her Ipod, she hears the Korean, and writes memory clues to help remember it. While she studied this morning, I walked briskly up to see the massive gate at the far north end of Suwon's fortress wall. (Our guest house is near the south end's huge entrance gate and at night we see the gate, observation towers, and fire-beacon platforms magically lit.)
I hiked along the wall, looked out on the modern city, its rectangular buildings so different from the historic fortress, then strode along the Suwoncheon (river) back to our guest house.
We took a taxi to Suwon station and train to Daegu - past autumn forest hills, water standing in rice paddies, a cultivated pond of what appeared to be lotus root, acres of greenhouses (some open so I could see the smoothly manicured soil, others assembled with metal hoops, irrigation sprinklers, and translucent covering). We saw traditional houses, some with bright blue roofs. Our train crossed 3 rivers on bridges. We discovered that seats are assigned when a Korean man approached us pointing to his ticket; we obligingly moved; he took pains to brush the seat off completely!
Our hotel's name is romanized either Lausanne or Rozan; either way, the pamphlets outside and poster inside, up only at night, are evidence it is a “love hotel.” But, unlike in Suwon, we have the luxury of sheets.
Walking out to a restaurant about 10 minutes away, we had to match the Korean characters in the sign to the notation in our guidebook, as well as the menu, as there was no English in either. We tried their goat and their dog soup, each ordering a bowl of one or the other, probably for the one and only time, (the goat meat was tough and the dog meat mercifully sparse in that soup). Then walking back, we stopped into “Home Plus” a huge supermarket plus department store with food courts offering everything from Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Greek cuisine, and pasta to Krazee Burgers. Tiny ice cream cones were $4-5, but we had decided on ice cream to quench the fire in our mouths from dinner; Mary had the inspired idea that we buy a package from the grocery section. Passing up the green tea ice cream, we chose “Goo-Goo” – chocolate covered peanuts, caramel, chocolate and marshmallow ice cream... and we ate up the whole liter of it!
written by  chertop on November 10, 2010 from Taegu, South Korea

Rest and Recovery with Jenn and Den
Ulsan, South Korea
November 13 Saturday
My legs are sore and crippled from yesterday, especially from the climb up Gatbawi. What could be better than a decadent morning starting with my making Green Mountain coffee for everyone! Jenn made us bacon and eggs, I laundered clothes, even my photo jacket.
Almost noon when we drove north through dense traffic heading for Gyeongu and the ancient temple complex Bulgoksa, a UNESCO world heritage site. Vivid autumn foliage had attracted crowds of families and everywhere cameras focussed on groups of family, and friends, the Koreans being photograhed always making the V for “victory” sign. Beautiful children, fashionably chic adolescents even with platinum or bright red hair. Lovely ponds, curved bridges, even the toilet houses had traditional temple tiled roofs!
So did the nearby town's restaurants where we had a late lunch of rice, vegetables and meat in a hot pot that kept everything hot until the last bite. Next door, in the souvenir shop, Mary bought a pair of wedding ducks like the mandarin ducks we'd seen in a pond at the palace garden in Seoul. When I picked up a package of sticks with cribbage like holes, a Korean woman with good English explained the traditional game yut-nori that is played with them.
Evening we headed for Ulsan's harbor where we chose a simple-looking restaurant with tanks of crab outside. One tank held pinkish crabs about 10 inches across. Another held crabs at least 2 feet across and costing $200. Eager to sell us one of the giants, the Korean employee hooked one and lifted it up into the air to let us see the mouth parts working and the long legs. Plopped upside down on the scales, the huge creature could only wave its legs feebly. It was a surreal and sad experience watching these fascinating and very alive but doomed creatures that we were about to eat.
We were shown to a small cabin, the size of a child's playhouse, with walls covered with pink, rose-patterned wallpaper. Sitting on cushions as the floor heated beneath us, we drank beer and ate from the many appetizer and side dishes – abalone, snails, a white fish, seaweed, kimchi, small white sweet potatoes. The main attraction, a platter of four crabs, arrived with a Korean woman who showed us how to use scissors to cut the shell and how to suck out the meat... which was delicate and sweet. We left a table littered with debris and took the four small beautiful abalone shells with us.
November 14 Sunday
Breakfast of bagels, peanut butter, jam and marmalade! Jen, Den, Mary and I, together with their Boston terrier-Pug, Arnold, hiked from their complex of apartment buildings, past small garden plots growing cabbage and huge green radishes that were popping out of the ground, and up the nearby hill. We passed oak and pine, beautifully-tassled grasses, and the web of a 2 ½ inch, vibrantly striped spider.
In the afternoon Jenn and Den went to the Korean wedding of Den's colleague. It was one of some 10 going on in a wedding palace that provides hair salons, dress shops and an overflow area in the open space in the center of the various wedding rooms so that extra guests can mingle and create an excessive amount of noise. Mary and I had the luxury of staying in the apartment, taking it easy, except for throwing the ball dozens of times for Arnold to retrieve. When Jenn and Den returned, the coffee table became the site of a Korean game, in which you build a tower then take turns removing a lower piece and adding it to the top. Eventually the tower is so high and so full of holes that it collapses.
Jennifer made us a delicious dinner of pineapple glazed pork tenderloin, together with the basmati rice that is expensive and difficult to buy in Korea. For dessert, ice cream sandwiches in the shape of sea bream, the fish that is much prized at restaurants.
written by  chertop on November 14, 2010 from Ulsan, South Korea

Nagasaki's simple, elegance evocation for Peace
Nagasaki, Japan
November 17 Wednesday
Another 2 hour train trip begins our day trip to Nagasaki.
Our Japan Rail Passes let us board trains without standing in lines for tickets, to travel freely without evaluating the cost of specific trips, and to return to our Fukuoka hostel in the evening so we don't have to pack up each day and move.
In the shopping arcade attached to Nagasaki station,
we bought, for our lunch, bento boxes of cold rice and various delicacies
that make even the cold meal an adventure.
At the Atomic Bomb Museum and the National Peace Memorial for the Atomic Bomb Victims,
we learned the history leading up to the destruction of Nagasaki. From the entrance of the museum, we first experienced the people of Nagasaki before the bombing, through photos and memoirs... making the tragedy specific to individuals and families. Then we saw the consequences - horrible burns, shadows of people and trees burned into buildings, a rosary melted into a blob of glass, the diary of a survivor remembering two young girls laid out beautiful in death in their special kimonos and light makeup.
Colorful origami cranes, symbol of peace
chain of origami cranes, Peace Museum
Poster made of paper origami cranes
The Peace Memorial is a place of simple beauty and elegance, the names of the over 150,000 victims inscribed in volumes that are stored in a tall column, in a high-ceilinged hall with 12 tall skylight columns. On the roof above is a pool quiet with the evening sky above it and the 150,000 tiny lights, one representing each victim, emerging as darkness settles in.
Evening on the roof of the Peace Museum
Statue to child victims of the atomic bomb
We caught a bus back toward the station but actually rode further than Nagasaki Station, wanting to see the Spectacle Bridge, a two-lobed arch over the smaller of the two rivers. We walked along the river's lovely traditional scene, with so many arched bridges, people crossing each bridge in both directions, herons fishing below in the shallow water.
Trying to make our way back to the station, we first followed a quiet road past old temples, then found ourselves in a very chic covered arcade of shops and trendy restaurants.
A brisk half hour walk brought us into oversize urban architecture and finally to an arcade where we quickly bought 2 bento box for our supper, 2 beer, and Mary grabbed what she assumed were yoghurts for our dessert. After our "cocktail hour" on the train, Hamilton could well have asked his usual question of was I drunk yet....
Lorna on train to Nagasaki
tired and relaxed, I found the alcohol went right to my head.
Mary on train to Nagasaki
Mary and I talked, we ate and, when the train spewed us out at Hakata station, we amazingly walked the kilometer to our Khaosan Fukuoka hostel with some vigor.
written by  chertop on November 18, 2010 from Nagasaki, Japan

Tokyo with Kyle and Yoshiko
Tokyo, Japan
November 21 Sunday
I wandered around the lovely ryokan early admiring the art, tasteful simplicity, in the alcoves.
A young woman approached Mary and me. She is from Tokyo, wants to be a singer. She showed us where we could access her on Facebook and we gave her our email addresses. Mary commented later how welcoming it is to be greeted enthusiastically by a stranger who wants to be friends.
Mary and I walked out to the river and crossed the bridge to where we could look back at our ryokan, workmen cutting pine branches several storeys up, right outside our window.
The result of our making images of this beauty was that we had to run down the street to catch the second of the two trains that would get us to tokyo, we thought, in time to meet Kyle.
Breathless and sweaty, we collapsed into seats but soon leaped up at the lovely sight of Mt Fuju, blue and perfect pyramid with a band of white snow or cloud across its middle.
The train took longer to reach Tokyo than we'd been told, but I happened to hear the address system mention Yamanote line so we were able to transfer before reaching Tokyo station, the busiest (most people) of any station in the world. (I had trouble grasping, hearing and learning any Korean beyond hello” and “thank you” but I listen to announcements and to conversations around me and feel like a toddler just beginning to grasp the language.)
The usual confusionof streets in a new neighorhood, Ikebukuro, before we find Kimi Ryokan. strange and magical to see Kyle come through the entrance curtain and hug us. kyle took us to harajuku where crowds of trendy young people and chic stalls and shops. Then tokyo's Fifth Avenue (Meiji-dori) with upscale elegance. Suddenly we escaped into a quiet parki and temple. circling the grden we came upon two wedding parties, both brides respendent in white gowns.
Having missed lunch, we bought steamed buns with minced meat, curry or pizza taste inside. Taxi to supermarket where I had a sample – taste of minature delicious mushrooms – and Kyle bought lettuce and tomatoes.
Kyle and Yoshiko live in Nakameguro in a area where buildings are restricted to 4 storeys. entering through clean parking garae and concrete hallways, we rode the elevator up 7 storeys, possible because their building is on a hill, 4 storeys one side, 7 the other providing a marvelous view over the city, especially fro the balcony where they grow lemons, oranges and other fruit. Yoshiko welcomed us. the cats, however, were dubious; a handsome slender Brumese, a tiger striped, and a lepard-spotted with huge golden eyes, they esconced themselves on ledges like living works of art, displayed beside the other art, either elegant or cute.
We sat at the counter drinking champane and eating appetizers – bacon wrapped around prine, prosciutto around shrimp. Kyle donned his executive Chef jacket and began cooking the chicken with shigo, a distinct and invitingly definite taste for our leisurely dining with the lights and night of toyko spread below us.
Kyle walked with us to Shinjuku Station and we saw shinjuku Crossing, when traffic lights let al pedestrians cross in any direction, including diagonally. Lights in every color,
illuminated pisplays storeys high – the pizaazz rivals Times Square.
written by  chertop on November 21, 2010 from Tokyo, Japan

Side Trip to Nara
Kyoto, Japan
Map Kyoto to Nara
Kyoto - Toothache and itches woke me before dawn. Going down to the kitchen, I discovered it was before 6am. The only two people in the lounge were at the computers. Another man appeared to be crashing, sleeping on the floor at the back and side of the TV (probably couldn't get a bed, as Mary and I found everything booked for the coming Saturday). When Mary came down, we had a "mikan" (Japanese orange) and the two persimmons, using part of the spreadably soft fruit as jam on our remaining French bread left from yesterday. The Australian woman to whom I'd given the night-time cold medication told Mary that had helped alot.
I asked Mary if she'd rather stay and explore more of Kyoto possibly by bike, but she has never been to Nara, so we are off by train for a day trip there. After waking so early with toothache and itch, I slept much of the way there and part way back to Kyoto, reviving me. Arriving in Nara eager for coffee, as well as hungry, we were disgorged into the strip in front of the train station, where we spotted a McDonald's. Mary had a chicken carbonara on a bun, I had a McD terayaki. These fueled us for the afternoon, although it was probably the least satisfying meal I've had in Japan, and probably a crime against Japanese tradition to have McDonald's in the ancient capital of Nara.
We walked up the commercial drag Nobori-Oji to the deer park, Nara-koen, which is home to some 1200 deer. In pre-Buddhist times, they were considered messengers of the gods and now are “National Treasures.” Although white-tailed, they have caribou-like faces. Vendors sold shika-sembei (deer biscuits) which people feed to the deer. The most fun was watching children delighting in running after the deer and trying to feed or pet them. The most painful was watching terrified children screaming in hysterics while parents laughed or filmed them, surprising especially because we see parents here normally so loving towards their children.
Within the forested park, crowded with families enjoying and photographing each other amongst the gorgeous autumn foliage, we visited the 3-storey and 5-storey pagodas, dating from 1143 and 1426. Then we walked around the other temple buildings of Kofuji temple and on to enter the enormous gate Naidai-mon of Todaiji temple which houses the Daibutsu (Great Buddha). Fierce Nio guardians, carved in the 13th century, are huge ferocious protectors standing on either side of the gate. Continuing uphill, we came to an open plaza surrounded by temple buildings. We climbed the stone steps to the veranda of Nigatsu-do temple to look out over temple roofs and down to Nara city, then walked around all four sides of that temple admiring the huge globular lanterns hanging from the eaves. Then, running out of time if we were going to make our train, we had to speed up, descending past Sansangatsu temple down several staircases, past the hill Wakakusa-yama miya-jinja of startlingly bare grassy slopes to Kasuga Taisha (Shrine)'s strikingly orange structures. Downhill through Ni-no-Torii gate then Ichi-no-Torii and eventually leaving the beautiful park for a busy intersection, we grabbed a taxi and sped for the train station.
We'd agreed to take a taxi from Kyoto station to Khaosan Kyoto, ask the driver to wait while we picked up our luggage, so that we could have a chance of making the 17:05 train. Despite this extravagance, rush hour traffic made it apparent well before we reached the station that we would miss our train... so we had to accept that and be ready to make a new plan once we reached the station. Mary photographed bicycles and other vehicles from the taxi windows, trying to catch one moving at the same speed as we were, with motion blur behind.
At the station, we found a railway information office, where a uniformed employee looked up the next set of trains that would get us from Kyoto to Shizuoka city on the Shinkansen bullet train, transfer to the local Kodama to travel to Atami, and transfer again to the Ito line. With Mary on the platform with our luggage, I went to forage for beer and supper, coming back with bento boxes and a can each of Kirin and Asahi beer. On the train, we admired and then unwrapped the pink tissue paper from our boxed suppers, opened the lid and admired the colorful and artistic arrangement of delicacies for our supper – shrimp and tuna sushi, a slice of egg, a bed of sticky rice, and slice of ginger.
When the third train we rode that evening disgorged us at Ito's small station, we had trouble finding the exit. Once outside, we found the streets almost completely quiet and empty of people. One stylish young woman was coming towards us so I checked with her whether we were on the right street for our ryokan. She genuinely seemed to want to walk with us the 10 minutes to get there, excited to hear we were from Canada as she hopes to go there once she has learned enough English. Vancouver is the magnet, known by most Japanese to whom we tell we are Canadian... as they have watched the recent Olympics.
K's House on a quiet street beside the river is the first ryokan we've stayed in on our trip. A beautiful 100-year-old traditional house with alcoves of garden, lovely art arrangements. Up the wooden stairs to our tatami-mat room on the 4th floor where we opened the sliding door and gazed out through pine trees to the river below. Mary and I descended to the beautiful pristine "o-furo" bath.and sat on stools to wash ourselves clean before we climbed into the bath which ran the length of the room, and which we had all to ourselves. After relaxing in the hot water and robing ourselves in fresh cotton yukata, we luxuriated (and photographed each other) in the beautiful but simple ryokan room of tatami mats neatly woven, mattresses, sheets, pillows and fluffy coverlet piled for us to make our beds.
written by  chertop on November 20, 2010 from Kyoto, Japan

Korean Farm Visit
Taegu, South Korea
November 12 Friday
Waking up before 7am, I packed and dragged my suitcase down the 3 flights of stairs. It is considerably heavier now that it contains 7 packages of Korean herbal medicine, 7 of them liquid. Mostly through acting it out, I conveyed my request that the hotel keep my luggage and I would return at 19:00. Once the perplexed look on the face of the attendant disappeared and he took my suitcase to the nearby closet, I headed out for bus #814. Even though the bus was rush hour crowded, I felt good about knowing how to get where I wanted to go.
At DongDaegu train station, I bought my ticket for Ulsan for this evening, bought a pastry decorated with egg and hot dog slices, and went outside to find the city bus tour. The small office was staffed with a young woman who spoke almost as little English as I speak Korean, so we communicated via my very limited Japanese, my even translating for some Israelis who arrived to buy tickets.
When I asked her if I could sit and eat my breakfast pastry, she quickly offered me coffee which she made from hot water from the hot/cold dispenser and I had a relaxed wait for the 10am bus.
This bus headed north out of the city to the mountain Palgonsan which rises a jagged ridge above autumn hills and under azure sky. I got off at the Guam farm where I was greeted by three culture guides in dark uniforms. I returned their greeting but continued walking looking for the ticket booth. One followed me and told me his English name is Ken. He showed me the workshop for braiding hemp into rope and for making it into baskets, mats and all sorts of traditional items, including back packs used by farmers of old.
He showed me the room where fabric is dyed a pale orange earth color, and made into garments. Then the lunch room where classes of schoolchildren get to taste traditional foods like the freshly made rice patties turned out and dusted with a pale brown flour by women cooks. Ken and I each ate several pieces and, while not having a lot of flavor, they were soft and chewy, unlike the rice paste items from the “lunch” the Korean man had bought Mary and me in the Seoul subway (which we ate until the last pieces, several days later, were too hard to be food and we used them, on the train from Suwon to Daegu, as spoons to eat our yoghurt.
An elementary class had piled on a wagon and Ken had us join them for a trip around the small roads to see farm workers assembling a greenhouse from the metal hoops and the huge sheets of transparent plastic film. Excited boys jumped up and down testing their balance as the wagon turned around corners; girls in pairs obviously were best friends; all shouted enthusiastic greetings to the farm workers.
Returning to the workshop area, we found a class of kindergarten children being helped by their teachers to try on the traditional backpacks. The teachers would also lift each kid up to stand on one end of the rice pounder and experience how the other end pounds rice kernels into flour
On the way out, Ken showed me the small traditional wedding room. The bed was a futon on the floor, the walls were covered with inscriptions, and bright colored silk attire hung nearby.
I was amazed that there was no ticket to buy and Ken asked for no money. After warm thanks and goodbyes, I walked out to the highway. Some 6 city tour buses head out from 10am to 16:40 and stop at 7 different sites where you can get off and then get on a later bus. In the bus, a large screen tv shows the sites of “colorful Daegu.”
written by  chertop on November 12, 2010 from Taegu, South Korea

Mountain Temples outside Daegu
I next got off at Gatwabi temple, together with a young Korean woman, who turned out to be a “salaryman” on vacation from her work in a trading company in Seoul. She is traveling around her country for a month. I knew the famous Buddha statue was a 2 kilometers hike away, but, if I had known that we would climb 800 meters elevation gain, I might have stopped at one of the intermediate temples.
My companion got winded even before me. Stopping to rest, she pulled out a brick of rice cake studded with red beans and offered me some. I brought out my sweet walnut pastry and offered her some but she told me “I don't like bread”. Stripping off my fleece and turtleneck, I was happy to hike in my sleeveless dance shirt. But diminutive Asian women in padded jackets continually passed us heading down and marveled to my companion and me that I “very strong” if I wasn't cold.
Some 50 feet before we finally reached the top, the chanting reached our ears. Then we came around a rock outcrop onto a plateau where dozens of people were praying to the huge stone Buddha, many performing what looked like salutations to the sun, rising and kneeling, while some were chanting, some fingering rosary beads. Between the worshipers and the Buddha was a long glass case where people knelt to light candles and incense; and also stalls where women were preparing and handing out something that looked like small slabs of spare ribs. When I approached, one of them beckoned me over and gave me some of the “spare ribs”which turned out to be freshly made rice paste bars covered with red bean flour and crumbs. Still warm, it became my gratefully eaten lunch and I understood at a “gut” level why my companion prefers it to the easily crushed soft sweet breads available here in Korea.
My companion told me the worshipers come and pray for the success of their children in Korean civil service exams. When I asked whether it was only the mothers who did so, she replied in amazement at my question, that the “fathers are working and don't have the time.”
We'd abandoned any attempt to descend for the bus we'd planned to take and, in fact, had to hurry to even have a chance of getting the next bus. Even so, it took us 50 minutes to descend, and near the end we had to run, barely making it to the bus before it left.
She got off at the stop for the museum while I rode to Dongwasa Temple, a huge complex of temple buildings spread over an area, ascending and descending the mountain. There were buildings being used by the gray-clad monks, buildings under construction, recently-painted buildings with vivid red, green, yellow, and blue intricate patterns and paintings. Dusk had softened the brilliant hues of red and gold maple trees by the time I found the 33 metre high Buddha.
Evening rush hour made the 1 ½ hour bus ride back into the city of Daegu a slow crawl. Eventually reaching the train station, I waited with many other pedestrians for the traffic lights finally to change so I could run across the 8 lane thoroughfare. The #814 bus I could see in the distance had pulled away from the stop by the time I reached it and would not stop for me so I waited for the next, only to find it was headed in the direction opposite from Rozan hotel! Exasperatingly, I had to retrace my steps back across the thoroughfare for a bus headed south to Beomeo district.
After a quick shrimp fried rice in the Home Plus food court, and retrieving my luggage, I caught a north-bound 814 bus for the train station arriving in plenty of time...but finding it nerve-racking sitting still waiting at 8:35 before being allowed to head for the train which would be leaving at 8:40. As soon as the track number is posted, people flood down the stairs and along the track platform; I had a considerable hike to the boarding place for car #14. Finding a woman in my seat, 12A, studiously ignoring me and realizing she and the woman next to her would both be disrupted if I insisted on my assigned seat, I was fortunate to find a double seat vacant before the train picked up speed to some 300 km/hour. It hurtled through the night, getting me to Ulsan in 24 minutes, a journey that would have taken 2 hours by bus.
What a pleasure to see Mary, Jennifer and Dennis all tall individuals who stood out in the crowd of people meeting passengers!

Hydrofoil back to Japan
Pusan, South Korea
November 15 Monday
Suitcases packed, we headed out to the main thoroughfare for a taxi, Jenn and Arnold continuing for a walk. Taxi to bus station, intercity bus to Busan, an hour away, subway train to the fish market, another hour. We knew we had only 15 minutes for a brief glimpse of the amazing variety of creatures at the fish market, the boats unloading in the harbor... but an intense 15 minutes was better than missing it...plus we got a taxi direct to the very door of the nearby Ferry terminal. There we again went through bureaucratic procedures, including buying the inevitable departure tax. The hydrofoil took us swifty across blue water, past islands as we again heard Japanese spoken on the intercom and amongst passengers.
Landing in Fukuoka, we now knew to take bus 88 to the train station and how to walk back to the Khaosan hostel. In a convenience store en route, I bought packages of udon noodles in soup, a large beer for us to share, and milk for tomorrow's coffee. So, at the hostel, Mary and I went to the common kitchen on the third floor, added boiling water and enjoyed our supper talking with a policeman from Paris, a dark-haired young woman from the Netherlands, and an athletic young man from Slovenia who wants to go to Canada and ski at Whistler.
written by  chertop on November 14, 2010 from Pusan, South Korea

Mud Bath and Hells of Beppu
Beppu, Japan
November 15 Monday
Suitcases packed, we headed out to the main thoroughfare for a taxi, Jenn and Arnold continuing for a walk. Taxi to bus station, intercity bus to Busan, an hour away, subway train to the fish market, another hour. We knew we had only 15 minutes for a brief glimpse of the amazing variety of creatures at the fish market, the boats unloading in the harbor... but an intense 15 minutes was better than missing it...plus we got a taxi direct to the very door of the nearby Ferry terminal. There we again went through bureaucratic procedures, including buying the inevitable departure tax. The hydrofoil took us swiftly across blue water, past islands as we again heard Japanese spoken on the intercom and amongst passengers.
Landing in Fukuoka, we now knew to take bus 88 to the train station and how to walk back to the Khaosan hostel. In a convenience store en route, I bought packages of udon noodles in soup, a large beer for us to share, and milk for tomorrow's coffee. So, at the hostel, Mary and I went to the common kitchen on the third floor, added boiling water and enjoyed our supper talking with a policeman from Paris, a dark-haired young woman from the Netherlands, and an athletic young man from Slovenia who wants to go to Canada and ski at Whistler.
written by  chertop on November 16, 2011 from Beppu, Japan

Sumo tournament
Hakata, Japan
November 18 Thursday
Both Mary and I experienced the tops of our feet itching after the mud bath last night. She washed her hair before going to bed and some of the mud particles also may have got into her eyes, stinging them with irritation like chlorine water does. I woke in the night and finally at 5am with toothache and with itching over much of my body. Tiny angry red spots (pitchae roseata?) over almost all of my chest and belly, around my waist and back, down the insides of my legs making a red battlefield of allergy. Raised welts on the back of my neck.
Mary and I packed up, had a final coffee and Croque Monsieur at Gratie, amidst the Jazzy Christmas music of our favorite Asian bakery. We did photos outside our Khaosan Fukuoka hostel against the poster wall, various combinations of Mary, me, and the Japanese man working there who had helped us with information about Fukuoka and helped us search for future hostel reservations .With thanks and farewell, we headed off with our luggage to Hakata station to park our luggage in the big 500 yen ($6) lockers,
Mary had been anticipating getting to the "100" yen store, which is like a dollar store in North America. Strangely, it was almost hidden away on the 4th floor of the bus terminal, spread out like a department store, all items 105 yen unless otherwise marked (just as "dollar" stores in Canada apparently now charge $1.25 for most items). Mary bought some kids' glasses with mirrors to experiment using as rear view mirrors for a bicycle (they looked truly futuristic on her face), terry-covered toilet seat covers and various other fun items. I found some sunglasses with untinted lenses, set of tiny magnifiers like Barb Hines carries for inspecting tiny flowers and fungus. Mary and I would set a time to meet; 2 or 3 times we met up and then would set a new time, making additional rounds of the store finding more treasures that we hadn't noticed before.
I was seriously fading when we finally escaped and got ourselves to the 8th floor of the bus terminal where all the restaurants were. Too tired and hungry to deliberate, we went for the chicken cutlet that had caught my eye displayed in plastic outside in the window. In that restaurant, we were, at first, the only ones sitting in the Japanese tatami mat section where my legs, aching from so long standing in the store, were grateful to be tucked up under me as I sat on the floor . Approaching being too hungry to function, I felt nothing could be so delicous as the chicken cutlet, especially with the miso soup, sticky rice and various condiments.
All too soon it was time to hurry to the Kokusai where from 3pm the higher ranking sumo wrestlers would be contending. The taxi dropped us into a scene of excitement; a traditionally dressed massive sumo athlete crossing the busy thoroughfare in front of the stadium, together with us, when traffic lights allowed us to do so. Colored flags flapped above the stadium, groups of businessmen arrived enthusiastically eager for entry. Inside the building the carnival of food and souvenir vendors surrounded the auditorium, inside which corridors like spokes led to the central ring, aisles radiating out from the raised circular stage which is apparently built of rice hemp embedded in clay. We learned to place our shoes, jackets and bags in the storage area under the trap door above which was a square of carpet. We sat cross-legged on cushions placed on the carpet. We watched a procession of competitors parade in, each wearing an embroidered apron of rich silk and ornate decoration, each with his hair in the style that imitates a gingko leaf and also helps to protect the competitor's head in the case of a fall. Each bout was preceded by a proclaimer in traditional costume who announced in a voice chanting or singing in a style that reminded me of No theatre. Then a more elaborately gowned MC announced with dramatic gestures of his fan... and the two huge sumo athletes would mount the stage. They bowed to the black-clad elders (sitting on cushions on the ground in front of each side of the stage - north, south, east and west), and to the official MC. They then faced each other and lowered their huge bodies into squats, then would spring into standing on one leg, the other leg high in the air, demonstrating their athleticism, despite their huge size. After that, they would face each other, squat and stare with such intensity until one would turn away and stride with dignity to his corner, and accept, from a minion, a face cloth to wipe the sweat away or a dipper of water to drink. Each would scoop up a handful of salt and throw it in a ritual purification of the ring, then they would resume facing and string. Suddenly the giants would spring at each other, grappling until one stepped or fell out of the ring, or let any part of his body touch the ground. Both would bow to each other, then the loser would leave and the victor receive an official envelope laid on the black fan of the MC who would offer it to the victor.
Once again, a fast taxi trip to the station, where we bought beer and bento boxes on the platform as we waited for the Hikari, the bullet train, whose long white nose is streamlined to allow speeds of 300 kilometers per hour. Its speed was evident from how quickly it carried us from the southern island of Kyushu half way up the main island of Honshu to the central city of Kyoto.
Here, we are staying in a new Khaosan hostel, 5 floors with our tiny twin room filled mostly with the bunk beds, but with a luxurious lounge and kitchen where young people from all over the world cook, eat and talk. A young German is traveling with her two Japanese women friends, all from Keio University in Tokyo. An Australian traveling alone talks with Mary; she has a bad cold and I give her my night-time cold medicine which I've been fortunate not to need.
written by  chertop on November 17, 2010 from Hakata, Japan

Nagasaki's simple, elegance evocation for Peace
Nagasaki, Japan
Another 2 hour train trip begins our day trip to Nagasaki. Our Japan Rail Passes let us board trains without standing in lines for tickets, to travel freely without evaluating the cost of specific trips, and to return to our Fukuoka hostel in the evening so we don't have to pack up each day and move.
In the shopping arcade attached to Nagasaki station, we bought, for our lunch, bento boxes of cold rice and various delicacies that make even the cold meal an adventure. At the Atomic Bomb Museum and the National Peace Memorial for the Atomic Bomb Victims, we learned the history leading up to the destruction of Nagasaki. From the entrance of the museum, we first experienced the people of Nagasaki before the bombing, through photos and memoirs... making the tragedy specific to individuals and families. Then we saw the consequences - horrible burns, shadows of people and trees burned into buildings, a rosary melted into a blob of glass, the diary of a survivor remembering two young girls laid out beautiful in death in their special kimonos and light makeup.
The Peace Memorial is a place of simple beauty and elegance, the names of the over 150,000 victims inscribed in volumes that are stored in a tall column, in a high-ceilinged hall with 12 tall skylight columns. On the roof above is a pool quiet with the evening sky above it and the 150,000 tiny lights, one representing each victim, emerging as darkness settles in.
We caught a bus back toward the station but actually rode further than Nagasaki Station, wanting to see the Spectacle Bridge, a two-lobed arch over the smaller of the two rivers. We walked along the river's lovely traditional scene, with so many arched bridges, people crossing each bridge in both directions, herons fishing below in the shallow water.
Trying to make our way back to the station, we first followed a quiet road past old temples, then found ourselves in a very chic covered arcade of shops and trendy restaurants. A brisk half hour walk brought us into oversize urban architecture and finally to an arcade where we quickly bought 2 bento box for our supper, 2 beer, and Mary grabbed what she assumed were yoghurts for our dessert (turned out to be fruit drinks, which I enjoyed greatly). After our "cocktail hour" on the train, Hamilton could well have asked his usual question of was I drunk yet.... tired and relaxed, I found the alcohol went right to my head. Mary and I talked, we ate and, when the train spewed us out at Hakata station, we amazingly walked the kilometer to our Khaosan Fukuoka hostel with some vigor.
written by  chertop on November 17, 2010 from Nagasaki, Japan

From Nara's deer park to Ito's O-furo
Ito, Japan
Kyoto - Toothache and itches woke me before dawn. Going down to the kitchen, I discovered it was before 6am. The only two people in the lounge were at the computers. Another man appeared to be crashing, sleeping on the floor at the back and side of the TV (probably couldn't get a bed, as Mary and I found everything booked for the coming Saturday). When Mary came down, we had a "mikan" (Japanese orange) and the two persimmons, using part of the spreadably soft fruit as jam on our remaining French bread left from yesterday. The Australian woman to whom I'd given the night-time cold medication told Mary that had helped alot.
I asked Mary if she'd rather stay and explore more of Kyoto possibly by bike, but she has never been to Nara, so we are off by train for a day trip there. After waking so early with toothache and itch, I slept much of the way there and part way back to Kyoto, reviving me. Arriving in Nara eager for coffee, as well as hungry, we were disgorged into the strip in front of the train station, where we spotted a McDonald's. Mary wisely suggested that we eat as well as caffeinate. She had a chicken carbonara on a bun, I had a McD terayaki which fueled us although it was the least satisfying meal I've had in Japan, and probably a crime against Japanese tradition to have in the ancient capital of Nara.
We walked up the commercial drag Nobori-Oji to the deer park, Nara-koen, which is home to some 1200 deer. In pre-Buddhist times, they were considered messengers of the gods and now are “National Treasures.” Although white-tailed, they have caribou-like faces. Vendors sold shika-sembei (deer biscuits) which people fed to the deer. The most fun was watching children delighting in running after the deer and trying to feed or pet them. The most painful was watching terrified children screaming in hysterics while parents laughed or filmed them, surprising especially because we see parents here normally so loving towards their children.
Within the forested park, crowded with families enjoying and photographing each other amongst the gorgeous autumn foliage, we visited the 3-storey and 5-storey pagodas, dating from 1143 and 1426. Then we walked around the other temple buildings of Kofuji temple and on to enter the enormous gate Naidai-mon of Todaiji temple which houses the Daibutsu (Great Buddha). Fierce Nio guardians, carved in the 13th century, are huge ferocious protectors standing on either side of the gate. Continuing uphill, we came to an open plaza surrounded by temple buildings. We climbed the stone steps to the veranda of Nigatsu-do temple to look out over temple roofs and down to Nara city, then walked around all four sides of that temple admiring the huge globular lanterns hanging from the eaves. Then, running out of time if we were going to make our train, we had to speed up, descending past Sansangatsu temple down several staircases, past the hill Wakakusa-yama miya-jinja of startlingly bare grassy slopes to Kasuga Taisha (Shrine)'s strikingly orange structures. Downhill through Ni-no-Torii gate then Ichi-no-Torii and eventually leaving the beautful park for a busy intersection, we grabbed a taxi and sped for the train station.
We'd agreed to take a taxi from Kyoto station to Khaosan Kyoto, ask the driver to wait while we picked up our luggage, so that we could have a chance of making the 17:05 train. Despite this extravagance, rush hour traffic made it apparent well before we reached the station that we would miss our train... so I had to accept that and be ready to make a new plan once we reached the station. Mary photographed bicycles and other vehicles from the taxi windows, trying to catch one moving at the same speed as we were, with motion blur behind.
At the station, we found a railway information office, where a uniformed employee looked up the next set of trains that would get us from Kyoto to Shizuoka city on the Shinkansen bullet train, transfer to the local Kodama to travel to Atami, and transfer again to the Ito line. With Mary esconced on the platform with our luggage, I went to forage for beer and supper, coming back with bento boxes and a can each of Kirin and Asahi beer. On the train, we admired and then unwrapped the pink tissue paper from our boxed suppers, opened the lid and admired the colorful and artistic arrangement of delicacies for our supper – shrimp and tuna sushi, a slice of egg, a bed of sticky rice, and slice of ginger.
When the third train we rode that evening disgorged us at Ito's small station, we had trouble finding the exit. Once outside, we found the streets almost completely quiet and empty of people. One stylish young woman was coming towards us so I checked with her whether we were on the right street for our ryokan. She genuinely seemed to want to walk with us the 10 minutes to get there, excited to hear we were from Canada as she hopes to go there once she has learned enough English. Vancouver is the magnet, known by most Japanese to whom we tell we are Canadian as they have watched the recent Olympics.
K's House on a quiet street beside the river is the first ryokan we've stayed in on our trip. A beautiful 100-year-old traditional house with alcoves of garden, lovely art arrangements. Up the wooden stairs to our tatami-mat room on the 4th floor where we open the sliding door and gaze out through pine trees to the river below. Mary and I descended to the beautiful pristine "o-furo" bath.and sat on stools to wash ourselves clean before we climbed into the bath which ran the length of the room, and which we had all to ourselves. After relaxing in the hot water and robing ourselves in fresh cotton yukata, we luxuriated (and photographed each other) in the beautiful but simple ryokan room of tatami mats neatly woven, mattresses, sheets, pillows and fluffy coverlet piled for us to make our beds.
written by  chertop on November 20, 2011 from Ito, Japan

Buddhist temple

Mary scoops incense over herself

On 1 hour subway ride from Narita to Haneda airport

Mary drying her hands in ladies room

Huge rocks supposedly moved to shrine by sumo wrestlers

Mary and bonsai, Kushida shrine

Prof Nagano and Mary climb steps to Fukuoka castle ruins

Mary photographing floral display at Sumiyoshi shrine

Jennifer and Mary on subway train

Mary photographing at multi-storey mall

Lorna on train to Nagasaki