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Originally uploaded by Adam & Jessica.
Last Thursday I headed to Japan on a ‘visa run’ since I’m here in Korea on a tourist visa. Basically, I just need to go in and out of the country once every three months. Traveling to the Japanese city of Fukuoka from here by train and boat is the cheapest destination going, so I hopped on the high-speed (up to 300kmph) KTX train in Seoul and headed to Busan where I caught the hydrofoil “Beetle” ferry(also very fast!) over to Fukuoka.
At Immigration, I met a British guy named Tim who was also in Japan for a visa. I needed to find a lead on cheap hotels, so I asked him what he knew. He said he didn’t have anything booked either, but invited me to join him in his search.
We hopped in a cab outside the ferry terminal, and suddenly it strikes us- we don’t speak Japanese, and we have no idea where we’re going! At that point, between us we knew “Konichiwa,” “Aregato,” and “Ginkedesuka?,” or “Hello,” “Thanks,” and “How are you?” Won’t get you too far, really.
Somehow we managed to convey that we wanted to head to the center of town, and landed up in an area called Tenjin.
We got a tip from an American girl we passed on the street that we should look for the Greenland Capsule Hotel if we needed a cheap place to crash. A capsule hotel is basically a place for drunk businessmen to crash for the night, and consists of stacks of seven foot by three foot by three foot chambers in which you can sleep, with shared bathroom facilities down the hall. Kind of like a roomier coffin. We searched all over for this place, even employing the help of two local girls who led us through a maze of streets until we finally found it.
We thought we were all set when we arrived at the front desk, until the guy behind the counter took a quick look at us and said, “No. No room for you.” “Full?” we said. “No. No room for you,” and set a laminated sheet on the counter that said “No one with tattoos allowed.” in six different languages. We were totally taken aback. “You’re kidding,” I said. And then I remembered that all of the Yakuza, the Japanese mafia, have extensive tattoos on their bodies. I was a victim of the anti-Yakuza policy. Great. You’d think the fact that I’m white as can be and speak hardly a word of Japanese would tip him off to the fact that I am probably not Yakuza! But the rules is the rules…
After finding the next four hotels both expensive and full, we gave up and decided to sleep in one of the nearby parks. In the mean time we thought we would walk around a bit, have a beer and bide our time until we got sleepy.
We came upon a place called the 100 Yen Bar, where they charge you 100 yen (1 buck) every 5 minutes you’re there and the drinks are free. Japan is ridiculously expensive, so everywhere else was charging 500-800 yen for one beer. Very ingenious and devious concept this 100 Yen Bar.
Anyway, we ended up staying about an hour and a half, during which time we philosophized about 20th century thinkers, Wittgenstein, classical education, post-metaphysics and integral spirituality, and solved the rest of the world’s most pressing issues. We also learned some elementary Japanese from the bartender and patrons. Fun was had by all.
Went to another place nearby, yakked it up with a bunch of expats and some locals there. Political banter, etc.
Then Tim disappeared. I couldn’t find him anywhere. Vanished. I retraced all of our steps, but I could find him nowhere. I was a bit worried, but thought maybe some Japanese girl had ‘fancied him,’ as he would say, and carted him off.
I decided to follow through with our plan to sleep in a park, and began looking around for a suitable place to lie my weary head.
I came across a lovely garden area surrounded by a fence. I couldn’t find an open gate, so I just hopped the fence and bedded down.
Perhaps a couple of hours later, I was rudely awakened by 5 men with flashlights. Policemen that is. They questioned me at length. They asked me if I knew that it was illegal to sleep in a sacred Buddhist shrine area. I assured them I did not. They asked me why I wasn’t in a hotel. I told them all the hotels in Fukuoka are very full. Then I took a nice ride to the police station where they asked the same questions and I gave the very same answers. Finally we understood each other and they said I could stay there for the night.
The next morning I woke up, thanked them for the accommodations and headed out to try to find Tim at the consulate. I knew he intended to get there first thing to put in his work visa request. He had some rough luck there with their inane policies, and they told him he would have to wait until Monday.
As it turned out, the night before Tim had wandered off looking for me when I was chatting with some of the expats in a side room and finally ended up bedding down in a stairwell. Far less comfortable and interesting than my spot, I’d say.
Then we took a swim in the sea, which was nice and refreshing.
Walked back toward downtown, stopped into a grocery store to use the restroom. We ran into a French-Canadian named Yves who invited us to lunch at his apartment.
We had a nearly religious experience eating the incredible sashimi and tofu he served. Yves regaled us with all sorts of stories from his ten years living in Japan.
He showed us around this enormous shopping mall and a nice area along the canal. He also clued us in that for twenty bucks we could sleep in the Internet cafe in a little cubicle with a tatami floor.
We killed some time and took a nap on a bench beside the canal. We walked some more. Searched for an ATM, and had an unusually difficult time. Found one in the post office. Weird. Had a nice dinner and headed to the Internet cafe around 10.
There we caught up on email, watched the movie, Constantine, and slept.
Saturday morning we got up and Tim saw me off at the ferry. And that was it. One very wacky and interesting Japanese adventure.
Good to be home.
-A.
