Thanksgiving weekend

Having helped elect a new president, partied at the mid-year conference, sung in Korea, received my drivers license, and visited Kyoto, I was just about ready for November to end. There was still one more weekend to go, though, and there was adventure.

Thursday and Friday I went to my elementary school, since the high schoolers were taking end-of-term exams. As usual, I had tons of fun running around playing with the kids, forging ahead with my Japanese studying, and talking with the teachers. Friday, we all got together at Joey's for a barbecue. I drove up with Mike, Joe and Rose came up together, and Gavin went separately.

Joey's an awesome griller. He makes great chicken and even better burgers. Kim brought homemade flour tortillas, and Joey grilled up some chicken with some sauté vegetables and guacamole dip. We didn't get everything prepared until close to 10, but it was heavenly.

A few Japanese guys Joey knows came over. While they were out on the balcony, Rose, Kim, Joe, and I played Catch Phrase. Rose and Kim left after a while. Mike and Joey started playing beer pong, while Gavin lay down on the floor and fell asleep.

I was reading before bedding down for the night, and Joe was hanging out and watching beer pong. Bored, he started hanging from the doorway. The doorway itself jutted out about an inch from the wall, affording that much of a handhold. Joe's rather small, so he managed just fine. He even managed to pull his whole body up to the top of the doorway, parallel to the floor. It was an awesome Spider-Man pose.

One of the other guys tried it, but didn't get far before falling on his butt. A second guy gave it a shot, and got pulled up pretty far before slipping. Landing on his feet, he gave it another go. This time he got all the way parallel with the floor before slipping. He fell flat on his back and head.

I'd never seen someone black out before. It scared the hell out of me. He literally didn't move at all: he just lay there, his breathing shallow. We thought at first he might have been messing with us, but quickly discounted that. He came to after a minute or so, but his eyes were twitching and he couldn't speak very well.

When he did start speaking coherently a few minutes later, he swore he couldn't remember who we were or where we were. This slowly faded, but he couldn't remember what had happened to him. Around this time we noticed the blood on the back of his head. Not surprisingly, he'd opened up a gash on the back of his head, and we spent a while cleaning him up.

Back on his feet, gradually collecting himself, he wanted to go out to a bar. We tried our best to talk him out of it, considering he'd suffered a concussion half an hour before, but he insisted. One of the other guys went with him. In addition to being shaken up like the rest of us, Joe felt awful about it, thinking it was his fault. He can't help being Spider-Man, though.

The guy ended up recovering just fine. (They came back about 15 minutes after leaving for the bar.) I got up early the next morning and read until everyone else woke up. On the ride back down, Mike and I talked a lot, which we haven't had a chance to do for a while. He told me about

Kyoto wrap-up

I caught my Shinkansen right on time. The ride back was uneventful. I'm sure I scrawled down what I'd done on a piece of paper, but I can't find that paper anywhere. Anyway, I read and napped. After making my transfer at Hakata, I arrived at Nagasaki Station at about 9 and began my hunt for a hotel room.

To make a long story short, I tried about eight hotels, and got turned away from seven. The town was apparently packed with travelers. Cold, sleepy, and almost out of cash, I resignedly entered the Holiday Inn Nagasaki. The room turned out to be about $80, which was much better than I was expecting.

I could tell the place was probably really popular about 30 years ago. The decor suggested fine furnishings from the early 80s. The nightstand had a stack of phone books, and at the very bottom was an early-80s copy of the Yellow Pages. I think it was kind of a promotion--an attempt by the company to get the idea to catch on in Japan. It was weird seeing the international calling rates, as well as the world map and list of embassy information. I always get a kick out of seeing maps with things like the Soviet Union and the SFRY.

Anyway, I slept just fine, woke up the next day and got back to Tsushima without incident. Intent on getting my license, I had (illegally) driven my car to the airport, so I was able to drive back free and clear. I got back to my apartment thoroughly exhausted.

Arashiyama

My train back to Fukuoka left in the early afternoon, so I had enough time for one last adventure in Kyoto. I woke up, checked out of the hotel, and headed for the station. My plan was to take a bus or train to Arashiyama, the last item on my list. Before that, though, I wanted to stuff my bag in a coin locker.

Twenty minutes and several expletives later, I concluded that every single coin locker in Kyoto Station was being used. With no other choice, I lugged my full bag the rest of the day.

Arashiyama is a mountain in western Kyoto, as well as the name of the district surrounding it. The scenery, parks, and temples make it a popular tourist destination, a fact I learned very well from visiting it.

The train to didn't take more than fifteen minutes to reach the Arashiyama stop. The actual mountain was another fifteen minutes on foot. There were bicycles available for rent, but I decided against it, laden as I was. As soon as I left the station, I noticed the streets were packed with people. It got no better as I neared the mountain itself. (The crowds made for a convenient guide, as I didn't know how exactly to get there.)

After a few minutes, I reached the river that separates the district from the actual mountain. I was shocked more by the sheer numbers of tourists than by the beauty of the landscape. Having made it this far, I resigned myself to joining the swarm.

The bank I was walking along had a fair number of people sitting and enjoying the midmorning weather or, perhaps, working up the resolve to deal with the herd of people filing across the river. The crossing itself was a two-lane bridge all but full of people. The tourists formed roughly two lanes a total of 20-30 abreast, despite the best efforts of traffic police valiantly trying to clear the way for cars.

I'd like to say I saw everything there was to see around Arashiyama. I'd like to say I visited Tenryū temple, site of the founding of Rinzai Zen Buddhism. Most of all, I'd like to say I went to the Iwatayama Monkey Park and fed some monkeys.

However, as I squirmed my way through the crowd and across the bridge, I got tired of the place real quick. Part of it probably had to do with being tired from the whole weekend, as well as the mild nervousness reminding me that I was on a very set schedule, needing to get back to the station by a set time. I contented myself just walking in a big circle, looping back around to the bridge, and heading back. It took a total of an hour from start to finish, and, looking back on it, I wish I'd done more, but at the time I just didn't have the desire to deal with the crowds.

I fought my way against the current, got back to Arashiyama station, and got back to Kyoto Station without incident.

Gion

Having seen Kinkakuji and Nijō Castle, I tried to head for Gion. After about half an hour of wandering, I rediscovered my hotel. I also realized that I had picked a hotel about twenty minutes' walk from Gion.

>Along the way, I found a market street with small temples wedged between stalls. There were a couple of English signs, but my favorite was Mr. Young Men.

Gion is a district in Kyoto that is most famous for its geisha. Again, knowing next to nothing beforehand about the significance of the district, I strolled through it, admiring everything I saw.

...Well, almost everything. The sidewalks were absolutely packed with people. The waiter in me wanted desperately to treat it like a busy Saturday night and just weave through the crowds, but my backpack made that a little cumbersome. I eventually got past the main knot of people right as I got to the Yakasa Shrine. . There were several rickshaws available for hire, but, just like in Semarang, I couldn't bring myself to hire a human being to pull me in a cart.

The shrine was pretty, and had a couple of girls dancing in kimono. A path behind the shrine led to Maruyama Park. Gorgeous maples were everywhere, with pretty streams and evergreens complementing the vivid red leaves. As I walked along, taking in the sight of throngs of tourists and the smell of cedar, I suddenly began humming "Puff, the Magic Dragon". At first I thought it was just a random song in my head--I've got a soundtrack running, on endless loop, and I only occasionally turn the volume down--until I heard someone else singing it.

There turned out to be a guy in the park playing his guitar. Not just any guy, either--a white guy in a cowboy hat and leather jacket, named Christopher Worth. He had a fine singing voice and all, but hearing Peter, Paul, and Mary in the middle of a park in Gion was more than a little strange.

Moving along, I passed Chion Temple, where Jodo Buddhism was founded. I passed Choraku Temple, which Wikipedia doesn't have an article for, but (based on the signs) was founded in 805 by Emperor Kammu and Saichō, credited as the founder of the Tendai sect of Buddhism.

I started getting a little tired, so I began heading back to the hotel. Along the way, I saw a couple of girls dressed in the kimono and full white makeup of a geisha. I phrase it that way because I can't be sure what they were. When I showed the pictures to people back in Tsushima, several teachers informed me they were probably maiko, which is a level of apprenticeship. They might just as well have been normal girls who paid to be dressed up to look the part; an American friend of mine did this when she visited Kyoto. Regardless, it was pretty.

The crowd in Gion hadn't dissipated in the slightest, and I slowly trudged back toward the hotel. I swear I saw someone carrying a Krispy Kreme bag, but everyone I've asked says the only one in Japan is in Tokyo. That's a long train ride to tote a sack of donuts.

Nijō-jō

By my reckoning, the bus headed in the direction opposite Kyoto Station. As we rode along, I noticed how straight and regularly-spaced Kyoto's roads are. It reminded me of being back home: most districts I've seen in Japan have haphazardly-spaced streets making crazy five-way intersections and tiny back-alley roads. One benefit to such a wild layout is that, once you get the hang of it, you can navigate by appearances instead of by road names. I've gotten used to doing that, so I had a hard time getting my bearings in Kyoto.

I overhead a Canadian couple in front of me talking about where they'd been. They spoke highly of Nijō Castle, and mentioned that it was a few stops away from us. Intrigued, I hopped off there, and checked it out.

The construction of Nijō Castle was ordered by Tokugawa Ieyasu in 1601, and served as a residence for the Tokugawa shogunate. Pretty much all of the original internal architecture had been destroyed at one point or another, but the reconstruction was still pretty cool.

There were audio tours available, but I decided against it. This made me miss out on most if not all of the significance of the place, but I prefer walking around and thinking about everything in silence. Almost all the signs were in Japanese, except for the warnings.

The reconstructed rooms contained mannequins dressed in what I assume is appropriate attire for the period represented. This included musicians, messengers, geisha, and the shogun himself. My favorite part about the interior, though, was the nightingale floors. As a security measure to protect against ninja and other spies, the nails of the floorboards were driven such that walking on the boards caused the nail to press against a clamp, making a distinctive squeaking sound. Ninja defense, folks.

The castle grounds were beautiful. There were maples everywhere, along with ume and sakura, though they lose their distinctive blooms in the spring. A guy in one garden had a trained falcon flying around.

There were also tents with snacks, and a building with an exhibition of kimono. I hear that these things easily top US$10,000 new.

I strolled around for a bit, basking in the beautiful weather, before heading out to find my way back on foot.

Kinkakuji

I woke up and checked my email, finding a message from Ju with about ten recommended stops in Kyoto. I gave each one a brief read on Wikipedia and quickly realized I didn't have nearly enough time to see them all. I jotted down the names of three of them, mostly at random: Kinkakuji, Gion, and Arashiyama. I went ahead and packed in case the room wasn't available for a second night. (I completely forgot to ask about it last night.) Luckily, it was, so I set out for adventure significantly less laden with stuff.

First, I retraced my steps to the station. Among other things, I wanted to see what that big temple complex had been. It turned out to be Higashi-Honganji, the main temple of the eastern sect of Shin, a school of Pure Land Buddhism. I knew none of this at the time, and it was swarming with people, so I was content just admiring it from across the street.

Arriving at the station, I saw Kyoto Tower again, which I decided looks better at night. The station was packed with tourists. I made my way to the bus information center and found out which bus to take for Kinkakuji. The line was a couple of hundred deep, but buses were running through about every five minutes, so I quickly got on one.

The ride to Kinkaku-ji took about twenty minutes. On the bus, I was packed in with lots of foreigners, only a few of whom were speaking English. As we approached the temple stop, I noticed one mountain in particular that had a distinctive bare spot. The spot formed the character for "big," but I didn't have the slightest idea why it had been carved into the mountain. After reading up on it, I think it's the remnant of the Daimonji bonfire from Kyoto's Obon festival in August.

The entrance to the temple was packed with people. It was a gorgeous day, and maple trees were everywhere, so I could fully understand why everyone was there. Admission was a few hundred yen--a few dollars--and I made my through the temple grounds. After passing a few concession stands, I rounded a corner and saw the Golden Pavilion itself.

It was every bit as breathtaking as I'd heard. The top two stories, covered in gold leaf, contrasted beautifully with the blue sky, white clouds, and red maples. The figure at the top is a Fenghuang, a mythological bird. The shallow pond that nearly surrounds the pavilion was perfectly smooth, making for a gorgeous reflection.

Several tourists were asking strangers to take their picture. After I took someone's picture, I asked them to return the favor, not having fully realized until then that particular drawback of traveling solo: nobody to take pictures of you. The picture didn't turn out great, anyway; the sky was just a little too brilliant, and messed up the contrast.

I made my way through the temple grounds, observing the maples and the tourists. The sight of so many non-Japanese was still surprising to me, considering how insulated from foreigners most of Japan still is.

Satisfied that I'd seen enough, I strolled out of the temple complex and thought about what to do next. Unable to decide how best to get to my other destinations, I hopped on the next bus that stopped.

Kyoto: Finding a hotel

As I headed out of the station, I had to face one of the downsides of impromptu travel: scrambling for lodging. This has rarely been a problem for me in Nagasaki or Fukuoka, as those are modestly big cities, not sprawling metropolises or the cultural capital of Japan. I passed the first few hotels around the station, discouraged by their gaudy decor. I was looking for a no-frills hotel like Nagasaki and Fukuoka have in abundance, for no-nonsense in-and-out businessmen and travelers.

However, there weren't any of those within short walking distance from the station. After about half an hour spent discovering this, I trudged into a couple of the hotels I'd passed. One of them was full, and the other only had a smoking room. I can deal with that, but when I heard the price--about $150--I politely declined. I'd sleep in an internet cafe before paying $150 for a smoking room.

I wandered on, making gradually wider circles away from the station. After eight or nine "sorry-we're-full" conversations, I headed down a long and especially dark street north of the station. I passed a sprawling temple whose name I couldn't read, and a group of Japanese guys greeted me in English. My feet were starting to hurt, and it was getting a little cold. Just as I began reconsidering that $150 sure-thing, though, I saw a Toyoko Inn. That's the chain I frequent in Nagasaki, and they usually run about $50, so I headed in, hoping against hope they had a vacancy.

The lady greeted me, and when I asked about a room, she spent a few seconds consulting her computer. An apologetic look came over her face, which made me fear the worst. She indeed apologized, but went on to say that the only room they could offer me was near the lobby, that this meant the din from the lobby would be audible from the room, and we're very sorry, but that's all we have--will that be okay?

Most of you know how deeply I sleep. I recall many mornings at the dining hall where I'd hear from Chuck or Cord that they had come in and made a lot of noise playing Smash Bros the night before, and couldn't believe that I hadn't so much as stirred in my bed. That in mind, I nearly laughed out loud, but figured that would either confuse or offend the lady. I happily took the room (for $50), and, at 11:30--two full hours after arriving in Kyoto--I had a place to stay.

The room was just as nice as every other Toyoko room I've stayed in: comfortable without being plush. As always, just being able to sleep in a bed was treat enough for me. Poking around the room, I soon discovered why it was so close to the lobby: they gave me the handicapped room. The bathroom was huge, with a big bathtub (set low in the ground for ease of entry) and a fully automatic toilet.

I doubt anyone who hasn't been to Japan will understand what I mean by "fully automatic toilet." While rural Japan still uses squatty potties, most public restrooms use the Western-style toilet model. Building on that design, Japan has produced an intricate and technologically advanced style of toilet.

Probably the most common feature of Japanese toilets is the heated seat. Almost all models also have the bidet feature. In addition to the traditional analog handle, some toilets can be flushed by the press of a button. When you assume the position, the pressure on the seat usually triggers a sensor that starts a five- or ten-second stream of water into the toilet. I've been told this is to provide a distracting noise.

I'm usually too mystified to try to figure them out--and too afraid I'll accidentally hit the 'bidet' button--but they never cease to amuse me. This toilet, in addition to all the aforementioned bells and whistles, had a motion sensor designed to lift the lid automatically. The first couple of times I used it, I lifted the seat before the sensor could kick in, which resulted in the distressed whirring of the manual operation of a normally automated motion.

The seat remains up for a few minutes after flushing, at which point the toilet issues a beep and lowers it. Most bathrooms I've been to in Japan have the exhaust fan linked to the light switch, and the fan remains on for a minute or two after turning off the switch. These sounds--the residual fan and the delayed beeping and whirring--made going to bed that first night much more amusing.

Let's Going to Kyoto!

After slaying the Japanese driving test dragon, I triumphantly took a taxi to the airport. My months-long mission accomplished, I immediately set about honoring a promise I had made to myself. I took the bus back to Nagasaki, got off at the train station at about 4:15, and marched into the JR ticket office.

After the trip to Indonesia, I decided to make an effort to see more of Japan. Having seen Nagasaki, Fukuoka, Sasebo, Tokyo, and Hiroshima, I had set my sights on Kyoto. To me, there were three great times to visit: springtime, because of hanami (cherry blossom viewing); winter, because of the backdrop of snow; and autumn, because of the colorful momiji (Japanese maples).

I decided any of those three would be beautiful, and when I had to use a vacation day for the driving test, I vowed revenge. I purposefully took the vacation day to coincide with the weekend of Japan's Labor Thanksgiving Day, giving me a four-day window for travel.

The maples were just about to start shedding leaves, so I knew Kyoto would be a popular destination. I fully prepared myself for the possibility of all the trains being full. As casually as I could, I told the lady where I wanted to go. She didn't even flinch, and began typing away. The necessary route would be Nagasaki -> Hakata Station (in Fukuoka), then Hakata -> Kyoto. The next Hakata-bound train was departing at 4:25--in about 9 minutes. Taking that as a sign that it was meant to be, I went for it.

Since my anxiety was evaporating, letting my appetite get back on its feet, I darted into a nearby bakery for some snacks. After somewhat of a mad dash, I got on my Kamome train safe and sound.

The ride to Hakata took just under two hours. I had an aisle seat, and it was dark outside anyway, so I spent the time reading. Glancing at my tickets for the first time, I noticed that I had precisely eight minutes to make my transfer at Hakata. This made me only a little nervous; I was too excited from the spontaneity of it all to be bothered.

We arrived precisely on time, and I darted for the gate. Having never made an actual transfer on a Japanese train before (Hiroshima was nonstop), much less dealing with going from standard JR to Shinkansen, I got a little panicky. A couple of workers helped speed me along, though, and I found my Nozomi train literally one minute before it left the station.

The trip to Kyoto would take just under three hours. I did some window shopping at the first few concession carts that came by, and finally took the plunge with a bentō marked as featuring chicken. While not quite worth the $8 I paid for it, it wasn't bad.

One of the train's several stops was Hiroshima, and I got a thrill from knowing I was officially going farther on the train than I'd ever been. We passed near Osaka (Shin-Osaka Station, to be exact), another city I'd like to visit before I leave.

We finally arrived at Kyoto Station at 9:14. (Not 'around 9:15'--exactly 9:14, as listed on the ticket and timetable.) The station was pretty neat, and already had all of its Christmas decorations on display.

I called Ju, who lived in Kyoto for a year in college, and asked her for some recommended destinations. (Not wanting to count my chickens, I hadn't done any serious planning for what to do once I actually got to Kyoto.) Being awesome, she said she'd email me some suggested destinations. After doing a little bit of sightseeing in and around the station, I headed out for the city.

Driving, Episode VI: Return of the Jedi

Swallowing hard, I stood and headed for the car. I was relieved to find that there was only one proctor for my car. There was, however, a passenger: an older lady, probably in her sixties, climbed in. She greeted us both, and had trouble finding her seatbelt, which she she chuckled and commented on good-naturedly. The proctor politely waited for her to find the buckle, but she kept right on talking. She commented on the weather, and was about to talk about the car itself when the proctor politely but firmly cut her off and explained that I needed to take the test.

Kindly old lady quieted, the proctor allowed me to take a practice lap. Like last time, I didn't trust that term for a minute, convinced that if I did horribly on my practice lap, I'd fail the test before it even started. That certainty made me too nervous to ask him questions that would have helped with my actual test performance; I just took the test lap nice and slow.

After returning to the start point, I put the car in park and pulled the emergency brake. He formally announced that the test had begun, and directed me to turn left out of the starting road. The starting road entered the course in kind of a strange intersection, and with no stripes or signs, I couldn't figure out what lanes (if any) I could ignore as alleyways in favor of bigger main roads. I signaled, checked my mirrors and blind spots, and made the turn.

I maintained a steady 5km/hr throughout the test, except for the designated stretch calling for 50km/hr. I pumped my brakes at the end of that speed burst. I checked my blind spots all the freaking time. I made it through the S and the crank beautifully. I stopped well before the stop line this time--he didn't even have to get out to look at it. I changed lanes effectively, but this path didn't call for the right turn from last time, sparing me the chance to make that mistake twice.

As we pulled back into the starting road, I smoothly brought the car near the curb, came to a stop nicely, put it in park, applied the emergency brake, and killed the engine. He asked me to act as though I were leaving the car. As this hadn't happened the first time, I was a little disoriented, and opened the door and made to step out of the car without thinking. He made a slight chiding sound--the only audible remark he'd made throughout the test--and announced the test was over.

He asked the lady to step out of the car. After she did, he turned to me, and said

"Meesta Kurisu, you ah sex es."

That's exactly how he said it. His last "tsk tsk" remark, added to his demeanor throughout the test and my general anxiety about the whole thing, had me fully prepared to hear that I had failed. That's why it took me so long to understand what he had said. After chewing on it for a few seconds, my brain finally spat out a translation:

"Mr. Chris, you are a success."

I quickly stopped wondering about the name he'd used--as long as I'd passed, he was free to call me whatever he pleased--and only later realized he was using my middle name because it would have been the last on the listing: "ADAM CHRISTOPHER." I managed a feeble "...r...really?" which amused him. He went on to explain that I had made several mistakes. He had been nervous from the beginning--my confusion about the intersection had apparently been pretty obvious--and said I needed to be more careful checking my mirrors. He actually told me I looked at them too much, and that I should only focus on the mirrors that are relevant to the turn I'm making.

He commended me overall, though, and unfortunately most of his Japanese never managed to register in my mind. After the initial disbelief had worn off, I had a very hard time listening to anything he said. All I could focus on was that I'd made it. I passed!

He congratulated me and asked me to remain and watch the woman's test. I happily agreed. Bless her heart, the lady did awfully. She had to use a cushion to boost herself up high enough to see over the steering wheel. She made a very wide turn to begin the test, and weaved in her lane throughout. She made it through the S and crank, but had trouble following the proctor's instructions regarding where to turn.

We finished, and he asked me to step out of the car, leaving me to wonder forever whether the lady passed, as well as whether she was there for license renewal or because it had been suspended. I made my victory march into the building, was directed to the appropriate room, had my picture taken, and, within ten minutes, had my brand spanking new Japanese driver's license.

When I failed it the first time, I vowed I wouldn't be thankful when I finally received the stupid piece of plastic after all the work. Somehow the experience humbled me a bit. I jumped through the hoops, took it seriously, did the dance the proctor was looking for, and got the license.

Driving, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back

I caught the last flight to Nagasaki on Thursday night. Not having made reservations at any hotel, I lucked out after only a little walking around. Concerned that part of my problem last time had been a lack of concentration, I didn't even bother taking pictures on the way in. I even went so far as to go straight to bed Thursday night and not have any fun until after the test.

The next morning, I fell into an unpleasantly familiar routine: getting on the bus for the driving test center, passing by the accursed course, and entering the building still so fresh on my mind. Of course, it hadn't changed. Since I had finished the eye exam and written test last time, I thankfully didn't have to take those again. I checked in at the correct desk, hoping for the kindly and exceedingly helpful lady from last time. There was only a kindly and younger man, though, and he informed me that I was an hour early.

So I killed some time strolling around the building and pretending to have the concentration available to read. I checked back in, and he gave me the lowdown: the path used today would be the one I didn't drive last time. I had forgotten my map, so he gave me another one, and walked me through it. I made a point to ask him about speed, wanting to verify that there was only one place I needed to maintain a high speed. He confirmed it for me, and told me when I could come back to walk the course.

I made my way to the exact same kaitenzushi restaurant from last time. On the way there, the way back, and throughout my meal, I was reviewing the general rules: pump your brakes before stopping, check your blind spots constantly, look over your left shoulder before making a left turn in case of bicyclists, come to a complete stop at railroad crossings and roll your window down to listen for approaching trains, and for God's sake, change lanes before getting to the stoplight.

As stuffed with sushi as I felt safe being, considering my nervousness, I headed back to the driving center. I walked the course just like last time, and had to make a conscious effort not to look for caterpillars or butterflies. (Thankfully, the chilly weather had driven away most of them.) I was even less inhibited than last time, going so far as to walk really fast at the part where I was supposed to speed up, then walk really slowly the rest of the way, especially at places where I had to turn. I even made it a point to physically move my head to check mirrors and blind spots every few steps. There weren't many people on the course, but even had there been, I wouldn't have cared anyway.

The exam time slowly approached, and the proctors came out, started up the cars, and took them on warm-up laps. Everyone slowly gathered at the starting place. The proctors entered the room and had people move based on which test they were taking. (Most of the people were Japanese citizens taking the test, with a few taking the same test I was.) I found the right group, and took comfort from being able to understand significantly more of what the guy said than I did last time. The stern-looking guy who tested me last time was doing the full Japanese test today, leaving the guy I'd talked to that morning to handle my test.

After walking us through the test, he reminded us of rules like remember your safety belt; remember the parking brake; if you bump the curb it's not the end of the world, but you automatically fail if you go up and over the curb. That done, he asked if there were any questions.

When there were none, he announced that I was to be the first one to go.

Driving, Episode IV: A New Hope

After failing the driving test in October, I spent a long time fuming. One of my first thoughts was to act as if nothing were wrong, and continue to drive. I wasn't concerned in the slightest about ever being pulled over--while I speed, I go no faster than other folks on the road. Moreover, I've never seen a police car on Tsushima engaged in any kind of radar gunning. The police cars have huge plastic hats on top, with bulky a bulky red light fixture on top of them; they're kind of hard to miss.

What worried me was being involved in an accident, and the subsequent demand to present my license for the report. I thought about taking my chances by feigning ignorance--"Why, Officer, I honestly didn't know"--but knew that wouldn't pan out, because my school would inevitably get a phone call, ruining everything. What really killed my scheming, though, was my supervisor mentioning that, if caught driving without a license, I could lose my job.

That did a nice job of quieting me down, and I meekly resumed taking the bus to Toyotama on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Unlike my first year, though, I've been putting much more effort into planning lessons this year, and that requires discussing things with the teachers. I started out at Toyotama by taking the 8am bus, arriving just before second period--my first class each day. I would then leave on the 2:40pm bus, immediately after fifth period. That left me with no free time for us to put our heads together and plan. Determined not to give up my progress in planning lessons, I resigned myself to taking the 7am bus, to get me there at around normal time. As for getting home, the next bus after 2:40 leaves Toyotama at 5:55. With no other choice, and wanting to be there to put the time and effort into lesson planning, I went with that.

My schedule became somewhat unpleasant. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were of course the same as my first year: up by 7, out the door by 7:45 to walk up the mountain to Tsushima High. Tuesdays and Thursdays, though, I had to be up by 6 in order to be waiting outside by 7. The hour time difference wasn't a big deal; it just made me cranky. What started bothering me was the gradually falling temperatures, coupled with my having to peel back the covers well before daylight. Of course, lots of people have to deal with that. What made me feel different was knowing that it didn't have to be that way for me, that I had the power to put a stop to it and give myself an extra hour of sleep on those days. All I had to do was pass the stupid driving test.

I was hell bent on not using one of my vacation days, since going home in August, Korea, and my planned trip home for Christmas had just about gobbled up all of them. Extra days off come periodically, in exchange for things like Tai Iku Tai Kai and graduation, so I knew it was just a matter of time. However, a peek at the calendar showed me I wouldn't get one of those until sometime around March. So I bit the bullet and took a Friday off. I vowed, however, to find something to use that day on in addition to the driving test...

Restaurant lesson

We used the restaurant unit next. I decided to go with a fast food dialogue first, just like last year. Anticipating this over the summer, and vividly recalling the abject failure of using tiny pieces of paper as money last year, I made sure to come back from home with coins and paper money. I came back with a hundred $1s, twenty $5s, one each of the other denominations, and rolls of nickels, dimes, and quarters. The dialogue from last year--"May I take your order?" "(order)" "What size drink?" "(answer)" "For here or to go?" "(answer)" "(total)"--worked pretty well, so we didn't change it much. We did, however, add the concept of combos, in order to simplify ordering to "medium number three" instead of "hamburger and french fries and a medium coke."

I made three handouts: one for vocabulary, one with the dialogue, and a menu. I'm kind of proud of the menu: I found free clipart for each of the items, used Paint to edit and stitch them together, and arranged them all in a Word table. Recalling a small but important detail from last year's effort, I made it a point to teach the students how to read the symbol #. (All but about five of my 160 students only knew that symbol as "sharp.")

In the first class, we introduced the vocabulary and dialogue. Just like last year, I had to break them of the Japanese-English habit of attaching "-burger" to meats to indicate that kind of sandwich. (Fast food restaurants here advertise chicken burgers, fish burgers, shrimp burgers, croquette burgers, etc.) I decided the distinction that "burger" is used for sandwiches containing a patty of ground substance was a little too difficult, especially as it was to be mentioned as an aside. I settled on the explanation that -burger usually indicates beef; this distinction adequately explains hamburger and cheeseburger, as well as "chicken/fish/pork (/cheese/egg/...) sandwich."

All classes--even the lowest-level students--tore through the dialogue with very little difficulty. (The familiarity of the situation probably helped.) Most groups finished with enough time left over for money show-and-tell. I was able to give every student a dollar, nickel, and dime to look at. This beautifully illustrated the concept of cents, which I tried to connect to the concept of "hundred/hundredth" by reminding them of percent and century. Most people knew who Washington was, and most of them asked about the face on the dime and nickel. I almost embarrassed myself in the first run-through by briefly forgetting it's Jefferson; Monticello on the back saved me.

I had enough fives to give one to each pair of students, and everybody immediately recognized Lincoln--even before reading the name written under the portrait. I then told everyone to hold the bill up to the light, and there were gasps around the room as they saw the Lincoln watermark: "There's somebody there!"

Upon seeing the $1, one of the students--in one of the lowest classes, of all places--shot his hand up and began asking about the symbols on the bill. He had learned somewhere about the Eye of Providence and the bill's suggested Freemason symbolism. His English isn't very good, so the teacher had to translate for him. After a few seconds, though, she was so stunned by how much he knew that she forgot to translate for me, instead asking him questions about it. The whole class was mesmerized by the discussion, and I had his undivided attention for the remaining ten minutes.

In the second class, we finished up the show-and-tell and gave everyone the menu. I quickly taught them how to read #--everyone here uses "No." when writing it in English. The size words were a review from the shopping lesson, with extra large having been omitted. (After discussing different possibilities--king, super, and jumbo--with the other teachers, we had settled on jumbo.) Teaching them to use the menu to customize the corresponding part of the dialogue was straightforward enough.

We did some quick arithmetic practice together, with me asking the class how much change they'd get back if they paid $5 for a (random size) (random combo). This got responses from several students who normally don't say very much. I had hoped this would do a good job of drawing out students who are good at math but either not good or overly shy about English; it seemed to work.

I then explained the activity we'd planned: there would be four teams of five students each. Each team would choose one person to be the cashier; the remaining four students would be customers. Two teams would compete at a time: their cashiers would stand at the front table, with $1s and coins for change, and their team's customers would line up on the other side of the table. Each customer would order a meal from the cashier, pay, and get correct change from the cashier.

The first team to get through all its customers would win. We did this tournament-style, with semis and finals. I stood close by (explaining that I was the manager) to ensure nobody reverted to Japanese. For the faster classes, we ended up using a time limit, thus allowing customers to go back through the line.

The students on the winning team would receive a bonus point--in the form of my signature on their point card--and the cashiers all received a point, regardless of their team's performance. Everyone enjoyed the activity, and it proved very effective at getting them to practice the dialogue repeatedly--especially for the cashiers. I had to stay after the lower-level students--especially the boys--to keep them from murmuring unintelligibly in place of the dialogue.

Two teams in the highest-level class, however, were devious in a splendidly creative way. The most time-consuming part of the dialogue was the exercise of computing the change based on what the customer ordered, and physically counting out the bills and coins. A couple of teams appreciated this enough to only order combos with full-dollar prices. These two teams, however, all began ordering the Jumbo #4 with an apple pie. That brought the total to $5, which completely eliminated the steps of computing, amassing, returning, and announcing the customer's change.

They blew away the competition in the semis, but then were pitted against each other in the finals. Everyone was frenetically speaking English as quickly yet coherently as they could, much to the delight of Mrs. Masuda and me.

Second term lessons

Having experienced the ins and outs of all three school terms, I've learned that second term is the busiest for me. First term begins in April, and is full of introductions, entrance ceremonies, and placement tests; I didn't teach my first first-term lesson this year until practically a week before Indonesia. There's also a brief spring break, Golden Week, and Obon.

Third term begins in December, and I visit home for two weeks then. That term also has end-of-year exams, junior high school entrance exams, and graduation; those eat up the end of February and most of March. What lessons remain in March take place after the final exams and thus their subject matter can't appear on any tests. March is curricular limbo, which means I get to do purely fun lessons with no stress about getting everyone to the same point, content-wise.

That leaves second term. It begins in September, and while it's just as slow to start as first term--pretty much all lessons are called off the week prior to tai iku tai kai for preparations--there's still a substantial chunk of time for lessons.

I was aware of this heading into first term, and tried to spread out my lessons accordingly. I came away from last year with a few solid lesson modules: telephone, shopping, restaurant, and weather. All those needed was polish and fine-tuning. I understood that those four units wouldn't come close to filling up the whole curriculum, and resolved to use them only as crutches. In the end, though, I burned straight through them: weather and telephone were done by the end of first term.

September began with the tai iku tai kai, and then I showed everyone pictures from my visit home. The first real lesson was the shopping unit. It went much better than last year's, and got lots of polishing from the other teachers and me--exactly what I wanted.

After the recipe lesson with my Toyotama second-years, we moved on to travel-related topics. The teacher, Iwase, wanted to get as much of that in as possible before the annual school trip. We started with flight information boards at an airport, which entailed delay, cancel, status, departure, arrival, and other related terminology. We took making a hotel reservation and checking in at the hotel and turned them into a full-blown dialogue each, and even made a speaking test out of the second one.

The four third-year Option C students--Misa, Erika, Takashi, and Koji--kept right on with their assignments. We've given them an end-of-term deadline for four assignments, and we've been observing how well they handle the pace. Misa is pushing herself the hardest. Erika almost matches Misa in effort, but lacks Misa's ability, so she's a little behind. Misa goads Koji into competing with her, which is just about his sole motivation to keep up. Takashi knows more than he lets on, but slacks off too much to be very productive.

Korea: Back to Tsushima

We had to catch the return ferry at about 9:30. I joyfully breakfasted with Pizza Hut, though I didn't think I could handle washing it down with Mountain Dew at that time of the morning. Noguchi even took a slice--I may have converted somebody.

The group assembled in the lobby and piled onto the van. The driver, a nice guy who suddenly began speaking in Japanese we didn't know he knew, accidentally put somebody's suitcase on top of some of the donuts. Thankfully, the boxes were damaged more than the donuts themselves.

At the ferry terminal, Kim gave us each a cute little trinket and a card with her name and e-mail address. We thanked her profusely, she asked us to come back and see her, and we said goodbye. I spent most of my ride back scrawling the notes for what was to become this series of blog posts.

We arrived at Hitakatsu, the northern port of Tsushima. The customs line took about half an hour. I was carrying my backpack, a duffel bag, and my pizza. When I got to the customs dude, he asked me what I was holding. I explained what it was, opened the box, and offered him and his assistant a slice. This got a chuckle and a polite refusal.

Past customs and immigration, we assembled for a formal group farewell. I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure we sang what is usually our toast song.

A few people had rented a car for the trip down, but five of us opted to take the bus. As we searched for the bus timetable, I finished off the rest of my pizza, giving one of the last slices to Kazumi. We found out that we had about two hours to kill before the next bus departure, and so we had a relaxed lunch near the ferry terminal. I learned that Nagato and Mrs. Kokubu remember winters being much colder when they were children. They specifically recall waking up on winter mornings to find their laundry, left out to line-dry, frozen solid. None of them can remember that kind of cold weather occurring for years.

The trek to the bus station was mildly annoying, what with my backpack and duffel bag stuffed with omiyage. For Inocchi, who had bought a brand new suitcase in Busan ("because it's so cheap!"), it wasn't as amusing. We got on the bus and spent most of the two-and-a-half-hour trip sleeping.

I bade the group farewell at my stop, unloaded all my stuff in my apartment, and walked up to school proudly carrying my Krispy Kreme. It being a Sunday, only a handful of teachers were there, but I had planned on that. (I may love my teachers, but I wasn't about to buy and lug back five dozen just to make sure everybody got one.) Those teachers who were there happily took one each, and found it very interesting that written on the box were instructions for reheating it precisely 8 seconds.

That done, I went back home and spent the rest of the day in awe of how great the trip was. After hearing those groups perform, I wanted more than ever to be part of a group of that caliber. I don't harbor any delusions about my singing ability; as far as I'm concerned, I'm a well-practiced singer with a good ear, and who can carry a tune. While I don't think I have anywhere near the talent to audition into groups like we saw, it reminded me of how much I miss being part of a choir that takes itself more seriously than D does.

Korea: Awards ceremony, last-minute shopping

After wishing Nagato a happy birthday, we ate an uneventful dinner. From there we headed to the main hall for the awards ceremony. There were several prizes given, broken into three main categories: Ethnic, Mixed Classic, and Popular. (Categories of songs performed, not people performing.) Each category had a bronze, silver, and gold prize, with cash prizes of US$2,000; 3,000; and 5,000; respectively. (I'm running on instinct in using semicolons there.) There was a separate US$1,000 prize for the best conductor.

Unlike the previous two nights, every chorus group was going to be in the main hall, so seating had to be portioned out. We found out section, and were proud to see it cordoned off just like the major league groups like Manado. To kick off the ceremony, a group of local middle schoolers sang a few songs in Korean.

The preliminary speech was given by a lady involved in the planning of the whole thing. She gave way to Hur Nam-sik, the mayor of Busan, whose speech was translated beautifully into English by his assistant. Next came Jean-Claude Wilkens, the Secretary General of the International Federation for Choral Music. After a short and witty speech, which a lady valiantly attempted to translate into Korean, he began presenting awards.

While I can't remember who all the prize winners were, I'm fairly certain the Korean groups won nothing. (Neither Japanese group formally competed; we only performed at the friendship concerts.) Group 'Rojdestvo' won bronze in their category, and Northern Kentucky University won silver in theirs. The biggest winners by far were the southeast Asian groups. The Cebu Chamber Singers and Capitol University Glee Club each won the gold in their categories. As their names were called, all the other groups from that country erupted in raucous applause--there were four groups each from Indonesia and the Philippines.

The final prize, in a glorious display of redundancy, was called the "Grand Prix Prize," and was worth US$10,000. The prize went to the Dithyrambic Singers. When their name was called, half of the auditorium erupted in applause. All of the winners took another bow, and filed off stage.

Right after the awards, Mr. Wilkens announced that there would be a Winners' Gala Concert immediately following the ceremony, and would include the three winners of the gold prize winner and the winner of the "Grand Prix Prize." This took everyone by surprise, including the winners, and, after a quick discussion, a fifteen-minute break was called while the groups warmed up and prepared.

The concert was beautiful. The Dithyrambics performed "Suriram," a Malay traditional song, as well as their scary Balay-Gi, a song whose meaning and language I still can't find.

One group reprised this song from one of the gala concerts, but I can't find anything concrete on the name of the song or its meaning. The best I've come up with is the name: 八骏赞, which I gather means "Eight Magnificent Horses."

As far as I was concerned, the song that stole the show was Capitol University's rendition of This is the Moment. That's the video of the actual performance, too--it's easy to see what made it so good.

The finale was an all-play: all the winning groups assembled on-stage, and led the audience in a performance of Arirang, a Korean folk song. (There are plenty of videos on YouTube of it, like this one.) Every seat in the auditorium had a copy of the music, so all ~1,500 of us joined in.

After the concert, everyone filed out. Group 'Rojdestvo' looked kind of glum, especially since they'd shown up in their festive costumes from the night before, carrying a balalaika. One of the guys, carrying an accordion, played a mournful tune as he strolled away from the building.

We made our way back to the bus and headed for the hotel. Most of the group was ready to call it a night, but Kazumi and Tomoko wanted to do a little more shopping. On their list was a stop at Krispy Kreme, for donuts to carry back to Tsushima the next day. Everyone wanted some, so we made a big list of how many dozens we needed. Not surprisingly, I decided to tag along.

As the rest of the group got out of the van, I moved up closer to the front. Kim sat down near me, turned around and, in sheepish yet perfect English, asked me to speak to her in English, to help her practice pronunciation.

Looking ahead to breakfast the next day, I asked if there was a Pizza Hut near the Krispy Kreme we were headed to, which made all three of them laugh at me. Sure enough, there was one close by. We dropped in and ordered, then headed to Starbucks for Tomoko. She was intent on getting a plain cup of coffee--not milk coffee, not caramel latte, but straightforward black coffee.

The whole time, I talked with Kim. She was stressing about papers due in her classes. When she told me the length of the one due next--3-5 pages--we both agreed the hardest part about writing papers is actually sitting down to do it. I found out that she volunteered to help with the Choral Festival, and was in no way paid for it. I also found out that one of her favorite restaurants is Pizza Hut. She also loves Mountain Dew. I swear I didn't put her up to saying it, and I hadn't said anything about Mountain Dew to her.

From Starbucks we went back to Pizza Hut, paid, and walked out with my unfortunately piping hot, large pan-crust pepperoni pizza. From there we headed to Krispy Kreme, but we stopped on the way at a sidewalk shop. Someone was selling inserts for shoes that make you a little taller, and Kazumi wanted to buy some for the man running for mayor of Tsushima. She had me try on a pair to model them before buying them.

Krispy Kreme had a bit of an evening rush going on. When we got to the counter and ordered about fifteen dozen, we had the satisfaction of seeing the poor girl's eyes go wide for just a second. Even with Kim's help, it took lots of repeating to get the order straight. (The biggest obstacle was the assorted dozens; I don't understand why anybody gets anything besides glazed.) When it became apparent that it'd take them a little while, we moved to a table so we could get the money straightened out.

Kim offered (offered! offered!) to go with me to find some Mountain Dew, so we headed out for a little side adventure. I have no idea how much of her sudden talkativeness was her availing herself of the chance to practice English, but when a mighty cute Korean girl wants to speak English and show me Pizza Hut and Mountain Dew, I don't ask many questions.

We found a nearby convenience store, I bought a can, and we headed back to Krispy Kreme, talking the whole way. Her English was surprisingly good, especially considering her majoring in a non-English foreign language. We got back to Krispy Kreme, where they had almost finished squaring everything away.

I took the chance to arrange on the table my favorite elements of Korean cuisine: Pizza Hut, Mountain Dew, and Krispy Kreme.

We headed out, sending Kim home in a taxi. We roughly divided up the boxes of donuts, separated, and said goodnight. Not surprisingly, Mrs. Abiru was in the room hanging out with Noguchi when I got back. I stayed up for a while talking to them about random things. Abiru at one point remarked on the size of the NKU girls' chests. Not knowing exactly how to handle that topic around Japanese women, I relied on Noguchi to carry the conversation. Japanese people are fascinating, even more so when they drink.

Korea: Concert

After rendezvousing in front of the Lotte department store, we hoofed it over to TTL, the venue for our concert. After lots (and lots) of debate in the previous weeks about what to wear for the concert--the women, cold every time of the year but July, were concerned about staying warm--we had decided on slacks and dress shirts with no ties for the guys, and not-quite-formal dresses for the women. As a last-minute addition, a few of the women teamed up and convinced the group to wear yellow bandanas, so we'd have something in common. I felt like I was on a dude ranch, and knew that, while not that strange a sight in Japan, we looked ridiculous in Korea.

Anyway, the first group to perform was City University Choir, from Hong Kong. I was too nervous to pay much attention to what they sang, though they were good.

After them came Manado State University Choir. They led off with an awesome song whose name I never caught (and wasn't listed in the program), then followed that with Kiss the Girl, from The Little Mermaid. It was even better than the version on YouTube, complete with a Scuttle squawking at the end. Last was My Heart Will Go On, from Titanic. By this point I could barely pay attention, because the more I heard their incredible sound, the more nervous I got, knowing that our just-for-fun eleven-person ensemble couldn't hold a candle to them.

We took our turn on stage, and sang our set as well as could be expected with no conductor (he became our tenor), one tenor, and a motley crew of basses (a 73-year-old whose reading isn't as quick as it used to be, a 40-year-old salaryman who guesses at the notes most of the time, and a white boy who hardly speaks the language he's singing in). Our altos and sopranos are great, so maybe they made up for us. For all that, we were warmly received and applauded afterwards.

After the concert, we headed to the Culture Center for one last visit to the buffet. This time, however, we had a surprise in store. Mr. Nagato's 74th birthday was today, and despite birthdays not typically getting much fanfare, Bara wanted to do something special for him. With Kim's help, he had secretly arranged for an ornate birthday cake from a local bakery. He picked it up, and we managed to sneak it in right behind Nagato.

Kim talked to the convention center staff, and they found a type of English birthday song to play over the PA. At first, we feigned ignorance and innocence, joining Nagato in looking around confusedly. Then, when Kim rounded the corner with the cake full of lit candles, we stood and began applauding. As the rest of the crowd got it, they joined in cheering, and Nagato finally figured it out. He danced around, waving to everybody, and gleefully blew out the candles.

Korea: Shopping, rehearsal, lunch

After the partying the night before--during which I distinctly recalled being woken up by being poked by Mrs. Abiru--I was easily the most energetic of the group. I eagerly gobbled down my half-a-pizza from the day before, and relished every deliciously lukewarm bite.

The group had planned to go to a nearby grocery store to do some souvenir shopping. It was a short taxi ride away. We flooded the store, glancing at the produce on the first floor before heading upstairs for the shiny things.

In addition to awesome Engrish, we found tons and tons of goodies. Intent on finding omiyage, we found plenty of items seemingly made just for Japanese tourists. While a few of the others and I went for sweets, several in the group loaded up on seaweed. Called nori in Japanese, it's the dark green wrapping used in sushi. In Japan and Korea, however, nori also makes for a popular snack on its own. As such, it's cut into roughly four-inch squares and sold in packages of about 30 squares. This store and many others in Busan offered packages of 20-40 of these packages.

After shopping and dropping off our plunder at the hotel, we headed to Kokusai Ichiban. (I never did catch the Korean name for the area.) There we strolled along for a couple of hours, giving everybody a chance to shop. Noguchi was attending the competition again, so I was the only person in the group who had been there already.

Apart from hilariously bad English, most of the shops weren't very interesting. I wasn't on the market for anything remotely related to clothing--I neither want nor need new clothes for me, and I don't know friends' and family members' sizes and tastes well enough to buy for them--so none of those shops held any allure for me.

I did find it amusing to watch the group interact with shopkeepers when Kim wasn't nearby. Most of the shopkeepers spoke more English than Japanese, which of course was no help to Chorus D. I was always willing to help, but most of the time either the shopkeeper would muster enough Japanese, or Kim would jump in and save the day.

As we pressed on, we came to an open-air food market. Stall after stall offered fresh fruit, vegetables, seafood, and meat. The smell of kimchi was pretty much everywhere, but it wasn't that bad after a while. Kazumi tried to buy some kimchi from a shopkeeper, but he quoted her a price per kilo. She didn't want to haul two pounds of the stuff around, so she eventually got him down to about half that. She made sure to get him to double-bag it, too--a sack of kimchi bursting in a purse would ruin anyone's day.

We moved on, and slowly came to more and more interesting food stalls. First there was the impressive if not that surprising fresh seafood stalls, featuring different species of recently-alive squid and octopus. These were followed by live snails and a turtle. The pièce de résistance, however, was a lovely grub squirming around in a basket. I normally wouldn't have thought it was for sale as food, but its stall was right next to the seafood ones.　(The sign--(간)굼겡이--means "(liver) white grub," which I'm told means it can be used for homemade liver medication.)

After having our fill of stalls of exotic food, we hopped on the bus and headed for a park. I didn't catch its name, but it was on a hill overlooking Busan itself. (A tourist brochure I picked up later describes a park called Youngdusan, and I think it's the same one.) I thought we were just sightseeing, but Noguchi had decided to kill two birds with one stone: we held rehearsal in the park.Under the shade of solar panel overhangs, we rehearsed our full set: 宇宙戦艦ヤマト (Space Battleship Yamato; skip to 1:30 to hear the song), 朧月夜 (おぼろづきよ, "Misty, Moonlit Night"), and もののけ姫 (Princess Mononoke). Our only two tenors, Mrs. Umeno (yes, Mrs.--the lady can wail) and Mr. Ushijima (the preacher), couldn't make it to Busan, so Noguchi had to fill in for them.

After rehearsal, we headed to Lotte for lunch and to give the new arrivals a chance to shop. I was more than willing to eat Pizza Hut for the second meal in a row, but the group wanted to have lunch together. Not wanting to make a stink and ditch everyone, I went along with it, and we ate at a nice udon shop.

We split up for an hour or so of free shopping time. With even less interest in shopping than the day before, I stayed in the food court, intent on snacking and people watching. I sat down at the food court Krispy Kreme (which is in addition to the basement-level shop), where an amused Kazumi found me. We talked over a couple of donuts, then she went downstairs to buy some jeans. I headed for the Baskin Robbins, got a small item as an excuse to sit down and read, and the workers--who couldn't have been long out of high school--gigglingly tried making conversation with me in English.

Korea: Free afternoon, second Gala Concert

After the afternoon performances, Noguchi and I were left with a couple of hours to kill. We walked to a nearby museum, but neither knew nor cared enough about the exhibit to pay the $15 entrance fee. Having heard about a shopping district near the port, we took a taxi there.

Taxis in Busan are ridiculously cheap. I've heard the same goes throughout Korea. A 20-minute cab ride cost us about $10 total; a 20-minute cab ride in Fukuoka will cost you easily double that. We passed some students who unflinchingly greeted me--"Hello!"--asked how I was doing--"How are you?"--and asked where I was from--"Where are you from?"--all in English.

This differs strongly from any encounters I've had with Japanese students. First, "Hello!" comes out much closer to "Hedo!" owing to their difficulty forming the l sound. (Granted, these students didn't do it perfectly, but the L was pronounced differently than the R in "are," reflecting a conscious effort to distinguish them.) Second, "How are you?" came out as three beautifully parsed and enunciated words, as opposed to what I get from my students, which is closer to "Hawayu?" As for the third question--where I'm from--I've been asked that in English by students maybe twice, and both times it came out closer to "Where from?"

We got to the market, called Kokusai Ichiban in Japanese, and milled around the streets, ducking into stores that appealed to us. I certainly didn't want anything for myself, and I didn't find anything suitable for gifts (nothing small, individually wrapped, and in packs of 60--for my Japanese coworkers--or cool and representative of Korea without being ugly or ridiculously poor quality--for friends and family back home), so I just window shopped. Noguchi found a suit shop, and ended up buying a dress shirt. We gawked at the prices of what to all outward appearances was good-quality clothing: full suits for $150, shirts for $20, trousers for $50. Those prices probably seem fair to most people in America, but in Japan, you can expect to spend no less than double that for each.

After that, still an hour or so early for our evening rendezvous, we headed over to Jagalchi, the nearby fish market. Factoring in the taxi ride back, plus afternoon traffic, we only had a few minutes to look around. The streets were lined with stalls offering fresh and, in many cases, live fish, crabs, lobsters, octopus, squid, sea cucumbers, sea slugs, and snails. Many of the stalls had adjoining restaurants, presumably allowing you to pick out what you wanted for dinner and rest assured it was cooked fresh.

We got back to the Culture Center right on time. Along the way, Noguchi asked me not to tell anyone else about our having gone to Kokusai Ichiban. It wasn't a big deal, and he asked me smilingly, but I wonder why he seemed ashamed of having gone. Regardless, I kept my word (until now, I guess), and we didn't let on that we'd done anything but watched the performances.

After eating at the buffet, which offered only a slightly different fare from the night before, we headed to the second and final Gala Concert. As we were getting situated, a couple of people sitting behind us tried talking to some people in our group. I was at the far end of the row, so I couldn't hear what they said, but since it was in English, our folks didn't know how to respond. Eventually they saw me, and I struck up conversation with a really nice guy named Mark, who I believe was part of Capitol University Glee Club.

The first group to perform was the Wuxi Shane Chorus, an all-male ensemble from China. My time with the UGA Men's Glee Club kind of left me with a bias toward male ensembles, so I had been eagerly awaiting a group like this. Unfortunately, they didn't make a big enough impression on me for me to remember them.

The next group was the Dithyrambic Singers, whom Noguchi and I had heard earlier. Their Gala set was superb. One of their songs was Shenandoah--the exact same arrangement Chorus D had performed the month before. The rendition was breathtaking, and especially impressive to us, since we'd spent the better part of three months chipping away at the song.

After the Dithyrambic Singers was the Gracioso Sonora Choir, from Malang, Indonesia. I can't recall exactly what they sang; all I wrote in my notebook was "awesome" underlined three times. I can't find an official webpage for the group, but they have a page on Friendster, and there's a video of them singing here.

The last group to perform was the Northern Kentucky University Chamber Choir. Their set was great, consisting mostly of a cappella gospel arrangements. They were a very well-rehearsed, tight-sounding group, but something made them less impressive than the previous groups. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe it was repetition--whereas the other groups had mixed their traditional songs with a few English pieces, the NKU choir did just gospel. At any rate, they were applauded back onstage, and their encore was an awesome rendition of Jericho.

After the concert, we headed back to our bus. With almost everyone finally together (one lady would be arriving the next day), we decided to rehearse in the bus, sitting in the parking lot, with crowds passing by. It was kind of weird, but we were all pumped after the concert.

We finally headed back to the hotel, getting back at about 10. I was pretty much exhausted, and I knew there'd be another party in somebody's hotel room. I had a bad feeling about whose room it'd be, and sure enough, someone mentioned it'd be our room. Not wanting anything to do with it, I got ready for bed and went to sleep before the party started. Just like in Myers, I managed to sleep through almost all of the revelry.

Korea: Shopping Adventure, Chorus Performances

We met in the lobby at about 8:30 Friday morning. Almost all the rest of our group--Mrs. Ino, the other Mrs. Ino, Mr. Nagato, Mrs. Kokubu, and Mrs. Nakamura--was due to arrive that evening, giving the four of us the day to ourselves.

As plans were made and decided, I quickly discovered that there was very little free time on the agenda. Apart from the rehearsals and actual performance, I had figured there'd be at least a little do-what-you-want time. I'm not sure whether it's just how our group does things, or if this is representative of groups of Japanese travelers in general, but every hour of every day was planned ahead of time. Moreover, the group was sticking together almost the whole time. I'm sure I could have politely told them I'd catch up with them later and roamed on my own, but I felt bad about ditching them. Plus, despite my best efforts, I had only managed to become halfway literate in Korean, and couldn't translate most of what I could read anyway.

Noguchi, the conductor, wanted to attend as many chorus performances as possible, so he spent all of Friday morning at the Culture Center. Mrs. Abiru, Kazumi, Bara, and I met with Kim and went to the Lotte department store. There wasn't anything remarkable about it from the outside--just a huge shopping mall, identical to all the others, except for the lack of parking, which is typical of malls outside of America. We got there just prior to opening, and had about fifteen minutes to kill. At the basement entrance to the mall, like a neon-illuminated beacon of deliciousness, stood a Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.

Krispy Kreme falls in the same category for me as lots of other junk food, like McDonald's and Mountain Dew. When I live around it, and it's everywhere I go, I consume it very sparingly. However, when I live halfway around the world from home, where those items aren't ubiquitous, I jump on every chance to consume them. That's why I'm a compulsive Mountain Dew drinker in Japan. That's why I go to McDonald's every chance I get when I leave Tsushima. That's why I made such a big deal about finding Krispy Kreme in Jakarta.

Unlike my fascination with Mountain Dew and McDonald's, my fondness for Krispy Kreme seems to be shared by Japanese people. I hear that one does exist in Japan, but it's in Tokyo. Kazumi had tried them before and loved them, and Bara and Abiru wanted to try, so we went in. The layout was, of course, identical to the one in Jakarta and shops in America. I don't go into Krispy Kremes back home often enough to know if this happens there as well, but there was a worker handing out one free glazed donut to each customer. That was all I wanted in the first place, but I would've felt bad for turning around and walking out after scarfing the freebie, so I bought another. Bara bought a cup of coffee that turned out to be gargantuan. We sat and talked until the mall opened.

Once in the mall, we decided to split up and do our own thing for about an hour. The ladies made a beeline for the clothing and apparel floors, and Bara went omiyage shopping. I did a little bit of browsing in the omiyage section, then rode the escalator up all ten floors. (The mall was about the same size as American malls in terms of floor space, but this one was stacked on floors instead of sprawled out on one big lot.) The tip-top floor was a movie theater, but I didn't have enough time to see Quantum of Solace, which had just recently come out in Asia. The clothing floors were identical to American department stores, with the possible exception of the ridiculously large sections devoted to blue jeans.

I ended up spending my time in the food court. At first, it was innocent sightseeing: noodle shops, Italian restaurants, Baskin Robbins, McDonald's, etc. As I rounded a corner, however, I found what I'd heard whispers about ever since arriving: a Pizza Hut.

As I've explained before, I love Pizza Hut. Just like with Krispy Kreme and Mountain Dew, I only occasionally have it back home, but it's so rare here that I gobble it up every chance I get. I went straight in, hoping against hope that they had a lunch buffet. I only wanted a slice or two, because a) it was only 10:30 in the morning, b) I had just eaten two donuts, and c) we were meeting up with the group for lunch anyway. They didn't have a buffet, though, so I hatched a scheme to order a small, eat a slice or two then, and take the rest with me. The waitress gave me a strange look when I explained this (though that could have been because of the drool), but it was no problem. I ordered a Mountain Dew, too, which came in a very American-sized 32oz cup. I got the pan-crust pepperoni pizza, munched on a slice (burning my mouth and tongue in the process, naturally), boxed the rest up, said goodbye to my remaining 29 ounces of Dew (alas, no to-go cups), and rushed downstairs to meet the others, 5 minutes late.

When I explained my jubilation to the group, they all laughed at me, as I had told them before leaving Tsushima about it being my favorite food. Kim, who had given me phone numbers for delivery the night before, was a little confused. When she explained that there are Pizza Huts everywhere in Busan, I nearly wet my pants. Seriously? Fifty miles from my apartment is a city full of Pizza Hut, Krispy Kreme, and Mountain Dew? Based on this and this alone, I declared Busan to be an awesome city.

We walked to a nearby Korean restaurant, and with Kim's help we ordered a bunch of food. I wasn't very hungry, what with my stomach full of breakfast, donuts, Mountain Dew, and pizza, so I nibbled on a few things. What I tried was great, though I can't remember the names of everything. Jeon, a dish resembling okonomiyaki, was very good.

After lunch, we walked to TTL, the cafe we'd be singing at the next evening. Along the way, true to Kim's word, there were several Pizza Huts.

After this, the group broke up again, with the newcomers wanting to do some shopping. Noguchi wanted to go back for the afternoon performances, so I joined him. We planned to reconvene for dinner at the buffet that evening.

As I passed by a group in the hall, I made sure to read nametags to make sure they were from Indonesia, and greeted them and thanked them in what I hoped was passable Bahasa Indonesia. They seemed pleased, more in the wow-he-almost-speaks-our-language way than in a look-at-the-foreigner-butcher-our-language way, so I guess it worked. Everyone we saw in the hall spoke English very well, and were happy to make conversation, two qualities very hard to find among Japanese people. Indeed, I noticed as time went on that Chorus D was just about the only group whose members didn't speak English. (We didn't hear Northern Kentucky University perform that afternoon, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt.)

The competing groups we saw were amazing. First up was a Malay mixed ensemble called the Dithyrambic Singers. Their competition set was awesome, ending with a disturbing song that I think was in Mandarin. What made it disturbing was the choreography and acting: I got the feeling it was a song about death and retribution for sins. At one point, members of the group stepped out around the soloist and, in turn, portrayed some kind of suffering: one man doubled over and retched repeatedly, a woman sobbed uncontrollably, another man cackled maniacally at the audience, and a third man slowly lost the use of his legs.

Next was the Haneul Sori Choir, a mixed ensemble from Busan. Their songs were pretty, but lacked the flair of the group before. They were followed by the Cebu Chamber Singers (from Cebu, in the Philippines), and all I remember from their set is their amazing sopranos.

The fourth group on the roster was the Angelic Voices of Nigeria. Noguchi and I were very excited about seeing them perform. After the Cebu Chamber Singers left the stage, and after a few minutes of nothing happening, an announcement was given: the Angelic Voices of Nigeria had to withdraw from the competition at the last minute.

Manado State University performed next, followed by a local group called Busan Harmony. Manado was as awesome as they had been the night before. Busan Harmony was somewhat of a letdown. It felt as though they weren't singing with anywhere near the soul that the other groups were.