Quarantine Day 4: The Age Gap

My roommate is 23 years old. She’s a Korean American from New Jersey. She’s spunky and restless. Sure of herself and smart. Knows the answers, refuses to follow the rules. A singer. A chain smoker. A potential candidate for law school. Hasn’t had a real job yet. I wanted a room to myself, but she spends so little time in here that it hardly matters that we must share space.

Richard is the bald white guy who says very little. He must have been a teacher somewhere before. He’s older – maybe 40 or so. He grabs a chair in the common area on the second floor and reads and reads and reads. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t join the masses in our bitch sessions or our movie groups. He probably doesn’t feel like there are many people to relate to here.

They are the two extremes: there are the recent college grads who adamantly declare their maturity. Then there are the 30+ wanderers who are here because we know that we know nothing. The younger crowd outnumbers the older, but not by a lot. I’ve gotten this reaction a lot: wow, you’re 30? You don’t look like it. I can’t say I know what I should look like at 30.

It’s spiky blonde Andrew’s 30th birthday today. He’s been teaching in Korea for a while with his girlfriend. He didn’t want anyone to know about the big Three-Oh. Someone made him a birthday hat out of masks that read “I’m 30. Kill me.” I couldn’t tell if he was really amused or really wishing everyone would have ignored the day. Andrew has been responsible for calling the American Embassy and imploring them into action. Today a woman - with a suspiciously British accent - from our embassy called my room asking questions about our circumstances, asking if they can call my parents, saying they can do very little to help, saying they can’t even get inside.

So our circumstances: the medical staff wants us to stay in our rooms. We don’t want to. Most of us aren’t sick. Most of us aren’t going to get sick. This is overkill. Our rooms are hot. The internet in the rooms still isn’t working. The older are more willing to comply than the younger, and also more willing to take productive action. Andrew and his girlfriend posted signs around the building, advising quarantine-ees to have their family and friends call the Korean Embassy in Washington, D.C. I emailed the “On Your Side Investigators” at KATU. Investigator Thom Jensen to the rescue. Is the situation that bad? Probably not, but it doesn’t even appear that the public is aware of 50 Americans being quarantined. I think that’s news. I think. It’s hard to tell. When you’re quarantined, it’s easy to believe that you have the biggest problem in the world. I suppose I can understand why people are more concerned about North Korea’s nuclear bomb test. That story is consuming CNN International’s entire A-block. Maybe the media will be contacting me about something far more tragic in this part of the world one day soon? Let’s hope not. At least the embassy is now involved in our cause. The food has improved. A representative from our school was also on site today answering questions about our schedules and money and infectious disease response.

We were about to gather to watch a pirated copy of the new Star Trek movie. Then the doctor ordered us to go to our rooms. The doc is setting new rules and distributing some kind of medicine. I’m here. My roommate stayed put for about 50 seconds. I’m not sure where she is now.

North Korea Steals Our Thunder

Damn that Kim Jung Il. His second apparent nuke test is overshadowing the American swine flu invasion. I've seen small blurbs in the U.S. press about the H1N1 virus here, but nothing about the 57 teachers (mostly Americans) being quarantined. I'm not convinced it's real news (unless they don't get the internet working soon - they're required to provide us good access to the outside world), but our plight certainly won't get any attention if North Korea keeps antagonizing the West.

A link here for the full story: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/26/world/asia/26nuke.html?_r=1&hp

Quarantine Day 3: Collision of Cultures

Our lists of requests seemed small to us: cigarettes for the smokers, alcohol for the drinkers, vegetables for the vegetarians, more meat for the carnivores, board games, DVDs, and anything to pass the time.

Their list of requests seemed too daunting for us: no smoking, no drinking, wear masks, no leaving, no room changes, don’t go outside.

The Korean authorities made rules. The American teachers broke them. The Koreans did what they do best. The Americans did what we do best. This swine-flu forced relationship wasn’t working out.

It’s not clear what straw broke the camel’s back. Was it the room-switching that made it hard to locate people for temperature checks? Was it the mattress-sledding down the staircase? Or was it the drunk guy who got locked out and crashed through the canvas rooftop of a shed?

Late on day three, the gauntlet was dropped. First, there was the room shuffle. Jessica Corey: move out of room 402 to room 412 with two other girls. Then, there was the spraying. Hazmat-suited decontaminators indiscriminately spray rooms with chemical sanitizer – even while people and their electronics are inside (my roommate’s brand new Mac Book is broken). Finally, another room shuffle and new rules. Jessica Corey: move out of 412 back to 402 with one other girl. Everyone: stay in your rooms at all times; sneaking out will add an extra seven days to the quarantine.

This was no longer about containment. This was about putting us in line. These medical authorities have the Korean government behind them. Our group has no one. Our school doesn’t appear to be a factor in any of these decisions any more. The Australian embassy wasn’t even aware its citizens are in quarantine. The American embassy told us to wait until after Memorial Day to log complaints. The Korean-speaking teachers fought a good fight, making a passionate, belligerent argument for rational thinking and compromise. But no one was listening. Not the doctor they argued with on the staircase for 30 minutes. Not the Minister of Health who arrived on site late in the day. Rigid, arbitrary rules for the sake of rules are now in place.

Perhaps, if these rules were set upon our arrival, we might not be ready to start an American-style revolution. I believe a Benjamin Franklin quote is even being tossed around here: "Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." We’re even starting to sing the civil rights anthem, We Shall Overcome. Yes, it is only those who have never faced real oppression in this world who are the first to cry oppression. There are only seven days that they want us to behave, after all. Seven days. My bet: we can’t do it. I can hear the smokers who have climbed out on the rooftop already. It’s only been three hours.

(Side note: the internet is down in our rooms, so I don’t have much access. I have to sneak out to a common area for WiFi. They say a technician is “working on it,” but the Korean-American teachers say don’t believe them. It is not at all unusual for Korean authorities to tell flat-out lies to shut you up. This sucks.)

Groundhog Day in Quarantine

Eight more people from my training group went to the hospital today with swine flu. The good news about that (insert sarcastic tone here) is that the quarantine time re-sets for each new case. So the 7-9 day isolation period starts again today. It could re-start again tomorrow, and so on.

Day 1 highlites: I was called out over the intercom because the workers couldn't find me for a morning temperature check. That's because I had swiped a solo room, and they didn't know it. I talked my way into keeping it, so I'm feeling better about the arrangements - at least for now. Because this quarantine could be going on indefinitey, we may get moved again to another facility. This one is used for EMT training. They'll need it back eventually.

We figured out how to hook up a laptop to the projector screen in the training rooms, so we had a zombie-movie double feature: 28 Days Later & Shaun of the Dead. I did some yoga and tried to sleep, although there was a jackhammer rattling for about eight hours straight today. But the real highlite was watching the NBA Western Conference Finals over Skype with Mike. He turned his camera around and did some commentary for me, while we watched together. Almost like old times. It would have been more fun if it the Blazers were playing, but I appreciated his effort and the quality time.

Get on Skype folks...it's easy and awesome!

I have some great pictures, but I still can't upload them. You can check them out on facebook instead.

Rock Solid Immune System Fights Off Swine Flu

The news that there were no cases of swine flu was misinformation. It's believed that announcement was made to quell fears within our hotel. So yes, swine flu has infiltrated our training group. In the dark of night, we were ushered to a government facility for a 9-day quarantine. I am getting cozy, dormitory-style, with 70 other trainees who were also exposed. However, I fear I may have been exposed more than most. I'm feeling a bit smug about my stellar immune system.

Swine Flu Timeline & My Exposure:

Saturday, May 16, 7:16am: Arrived in South Korea
Sunday, May 17, 6:00pm: Dinner/drinks with 24 CDI trainees, including 4 with swine flu
Monday, May 18, 7:45pm: Dinner with 2 of the swine flu patients
Tuesday, May 19, 11:30am-3:30pm: Study session with first sick girl
Tuesday, May 19, 6:00pm: Counseled sick girl to go to hospital, after our final training session of the day
Wednesday, May 20, 8:10am: Bus ride next to girl involved in second case
Wednesday, May 20, 9:15pm: Study session with her
Thursday, May 21, 7:35am: Breakfast with her
Thursday, May 21: Second girl goes to the hospital
Tuesday-Thursday, 9am-7:30pm: Day-long classes and studying with third girl to go to the hospital
Friday, May 22, 5:35pm: Successful completion of training, sign contract
Friday, May 22, 8:10pm: Return to hotel instead of going to my school, for fear of getting sick
Saturday, May 23, 3:15am: Doctors arrive at hotel to take temperature of all trainees
Saturday, May 23, 5:00am: Interview over my contact with patients, quarantine notice
Saturday, May 23, 11:21am: 2-hour Skype conversation with Mike
Saturday, May 23, 1:30pm: Snuck out of hotel for Starbucks and other provisions
Saturday, May 23, 3:31pm: 90-minute Skype conversation with Mike
Saturday, May 23, 9:11pm: Arrive at government facility with 70 other trainees for 9-day quarantine
Saturday, May 24, 10:30pm: Notice that there are now six cases
Saturday, May 24, 11:10pm: Game of Jenga

The information-sharing has been atrocious. I didn't hear a word about how to handle the quarantine until 3:30pm on Saturday. By that time, I had already snuck out of the hotel to get myself food. Some people didn't eat until 6:00pm, when pizza was delivered. I was able to sneak out since I look quasi-Korean.

I feel fairly confident that I am not sick, despite having a soar throat. The holding facility is institutional but sufficient. However, I'm about at my wit's end with living with other people. I've been dwelling in close quarters for eight weeks now. I was placed with three other girls in the facility, but found an empty room and hijacked it for myself. There's a good chance I'll get moved back. Nonetheless, I had to take the risk.

As for teaching, I was supposed to lead my first class on Monday. No money is coming in, but at least no money is going out either. As with everything else in this process, I don't know what's next. The communication void is excruciating.

(I have some pictures but the internet connection is terrible, so it's not allowing me to upload)

Quarantined!

A quick note before I get moved to a government health center to be quarantined. There was concern that a girl in our training group had swine flu. We were told there was one confirmed case, although I'm now hearing it's not swine flu. Whatever the case, some communicable disease is floating around, and I was in close contact - perhaps closer contact than any of the other trainees - with three of the four people who've gotten sick.

I have a sore throat and mild cough, but I think it's due to the stressful week of training that included a lot of presentations. At first, I was told I would be quarantined for 7-9 days. That might be changing with the news that it's not swine flu.

I believe I'll have internet access at the government isolation center, so I'll keep you posted. This journey gets wilder and wilder!

Cramming Like Crazy

We're nearing the end of day two of training, and it's exhausting. Turns out (for those who were worried) I ended up at a very reputable company in Korea with a high standard for its teachers. Training is where they weed people out. On the upside, the school has a lot of opportunity for advancement in all sorts of areas - marketing, research and development, management. But because I'm cramming harder than I ever did in college, I'm keeping this update brief. I have learned that I'll be teaching the "English Chip" and "Memory English" courses, which are the two most basic levels in this system (the company is a private school with its own methodology and curriculum). And as you can imagine, that means I'll be working with the youngest students - elementary and middle school. Those who know me well will also know that this doesn't come as great news to me. Eeks. Kids. Small ones. Double eeks.

Well, I have all sorts of stories about interesting people and cool places, but I just don't have time to share. Don't be offended if I'm not returning emails or writing much in the next few days, as I prepare to pass my mock teaching evaluation on Friday.

Wish me luck!

Bali in a Nutshell

I had a grand plan for sharing elaborate stories about Bali, but frankly, I'm too beat to carefully craft anything. And since I'm in South Korea now, it feels like I should be talking about what's going on here (bizarre medical exam that included a breast measurement... hmm?).

So here are my quick notes on Bali:

After Kuta, we commissioned our tour guide Henry to move us inland to Ubud. We stopped at his favorite restaurant along the way where we handpicked from seafood bins the most spectacularly fresh feast - whole tuna, whole white snapper, blue crab, prawns, and giant prawns. It was a ridiculously decadent feast that would have cost well over $200 in the States, and it totaled to less than $100 for four of us. At the dinner table overlooking the Indian Ocean, Henry - a 38-year-old bachelor - shared a sob story about his long lost love from college. She's an heiress to a Balinese family fortune, and her parents didn't want her marrying a commoner. They gave Henry two options: take cash to move out of her home or get arrested. He left, and he's still searching for love. He seems to think he may have found it, since he awkwardly professed his affection for me as we wrapped up our meal. He promised to follow me to the U.S. or to Korea, but I fear he's really in search of a green card. Whatever the case, I'll pass.

As for Ubud, I simply didn't have enough time there. I'm absolutely in love with the place - the shopping, the art, the cafes, and the yoga... finally, yoga! Ubud has a large ex-pat community that's into very new-agey kind of philosophy and spirituality. I'm not sure I could hang with this overgrown hippy crowd for the long term, but I sure could have stayed there for weeks doing yoga. We found a cool place called Yoga Barn. The practice space was an open-air studio on the second floor and it was surrounded by rice paddies. During an evening yin yoga class, we could hear all the tropical animal life buzzing around us. We returned the next morning for a vinyasa flow class, which I had been craving since leaving Portland. I wanted to go to every class on the schedule, but we also had to fit in some tanning time at our hotel pool overlooking (what else?) a rice paddy.

Lastly, I should say this about Bali: the people are among the most warm and friendly I've encountered yet. It was a nice contrast to Japan's stiff and emotion-free society. I was regularly mistaken for being Balinese, which was okay with me because I felt I could relate to the island culture... it reminded me very much of my Jamaican family - the welcoming and generous spirit, the uninhibited humor (one of the hotel staff slapped my rear-end at one point), and the stress-free/time unsensitive approach to life. There was one thing I found a bit unsettling. Next to zero native Balinese people were dining at any of the restaurants we visited. Prices that seem dirt cheap to us (big meals for $2-$4) are apparently out of their price range. I can't articulate exactly why it made me so uncomfortable to eat alongside westerners only. But there's something strange about taking advantage of this inexpensive version of the "good life," when the natives themselves cannot. That is not something you encounter in Japan.

Having said that, Bali is a very special place indeed. And I truly hope to return again very soon.

I'm having trouble uploading pictures, so I'll post them separately at a later date because I need to study for my grammar/reading exam tomorrow.

In South Korea and Trying to "Adapt"

Just a quick note to let you know that I've arrived in South Korea. As I have come to expect with Malaysia Airlines, there were bumps on the way. This time, my carry-on luggage was too large (even though it was the exact same size as when I arrived in Bali), so I was forced to check it and pay $170 for excess baggage. Then, upon disembarkation in Korea, half of my luggage didn't even make it. It's supposedly somewhere in transit between Kuala Lumpur and Seoul. Sigh.

So I'm starting to a hit a travel-weary wall. I knew it would happen some time, and it's coming on strongly now that I'm in yet another city where another 10-million people barely speak English. The struggles are both mind-boggling and amusing. Let me give you an example: South Korea has different power outlets than the U.S., so I asked the clerk at the hotel's front desk where to find a power adapter. In broken English, he explained that I exit some side door, hang a right (or maybe it was a left?), then walk 10 meters (or was that 10 minutes?), and I would find a store called "Morning Glory" (I think that's what he called it?) where I could purchase an adaptor. My Aussie roommate Amy and I wandered for a good half hour in a late spring monsoon before stopping for lunch in frustration (where, in similar language-barrier defeat, we simply ordered "rice" for me and "noodles" for her). We returned to the hotel to ask for adaptor directions again, and this time, the same clerk - that very same clerk who sent us out in the pouring rain - pulled an adaptor from a drawer right behind the counter and said I could buy it for 10,000 won (less than $10).

Huh?

Bali: In Search of Harmony

Just about any twenty/thirty-something, single/divorced girl has read it: Eat, Pray, Love – Elizabeth Gilbert’s hopeful narrative about an unsatisfactory marriage followed by the excruciating divorce and subsequent rebound relationship, which all led to her 9-month excursion to the three I’s: Italy, India and Indonesia. Italy for good living. India for spirituality. Indonesia for the balance of the two. For many women in my generation, it is Gilbert’s now famous trip to Bali, Indonesia, that put the island on our radar screen. I’d be too proud to say that it’s the sole reason Rylynn and I chose the purported paradise (too obvious, of course). But I’m sure somewhere – buried not-so-deep in our subconscious – we too believed that a blushingly rich Brazilian ex-pat might sweep us off our feet and rescue our lives from misdirection, uncertainty and love-less-ness. Well, that’s not going to happen. We didn’t meet any Brazilians. But we did meet four gay Malaysians… and Hendry. Hendry, our Balinese tour guide, is the key to unlocking the mystery of Bali’s good vibes.

Back to Hendry in a moment, but first, let’s re-set the scene (that’s called a ‘tease’ in TV news jargon). The three days of hapless traveling to Bali, which included, but is not limited to: a missed flight, a new ticket purchased to Bali, overweight luggage, unpacking in the airport, shipping items to potentially incorrect mailing address in Korea, repacking at the airport, 20-hour Kuala Lumpur layover, purchasing ANOTHER ticket to Bali, and finally – arrival – 58 hours later with about five hours left on my 30th birthday. It is not the way I pictured Bali. Neither did I envision the three days of torrential downpours (it is considered the dry season here). Nor did I expect to come down with the stomach bug you hear about getting from third world drinking water.

Things were not going well in Kuta, a southern Balinese beach town that you might call a mini-Cancun, Mexico. This party village buzzes with a frenetic energy – a cacophony of loud Aussies, reckless motor scooters, and pushy shopkeepers. I liked Kuta. It was the perfect antidote to too-perfect Japan. Unfortunately, I just wasn’t getting any of those famous ‘good vibes’ until we met Hendry. Hendry reminds me of the Indian Ocean version of Lou Diamond Philips (playing singer Ritchie Valens) in La Bamba with his beaming big smile and his hair coiffed in a ‘50s style comb-over. Hendry was taking us a on a day tour of northern Bali, where he grew up. In fact, he’s still so connected to the area that he asked for permission to stop by his cousin’s house to make an offering for the three-month anniversary of his niece’s birth. An unorthodox request, for sure, but we were more than happy to oblige (and to get more personal insight into his culture). Hendry guided us along a nine-hour trek from the southern end of Bali to the north, where we stopped to see a Hindu temple on a lake, a natural hot spring, wild monkeys, a Balinese lunch buffet, a locally famous waterfall, and rice terraces. All worthwhile ventures.

But more than that, Hendry gave us insight into his island’s spiritual core. Contrary to the rest of Muslim-majority Indonesia, most Balinese practice Balinese Hinduism. As a Christian-raised American, I always believed Hinduism was a polytheistic religion, in which the followers worship many gods. Hendry described his religion as monotheistic (Indian Hinduism is different and has several variations - some of which are considered monotheistic). In Bali, there is a supreme god. However, the followers do pray to three other main gods, which are essentially manifestations of the supreme god: Brahma – god of creation; Shiva – god of destruction; Vishnu – god of protection. The burning question in our minds: if they are Hindu, why do we see so many Buddha statues for sale around the island? Is it a mere ploy for tourists? I’ll summarize Hendry’s response: “we really like Buddha too. Buddhism is very similar to Hinduism in some ways, so sometimes we also pray to him as a god.”

This immediately struck me as a novel concept. Religious harmony? Two spiritual belief systems co-existing, even thriving, in the same environment? One worshipper, not threatened nor challenged by another religion, but inspired by its teachings? Does he just not take his faith seriously? Hendry, as well as most of the islanders, do not seem like one-day-a-week religious practitioners. Their religion is constant yet un-intrusive. I’ve never seen spiritual practice so gracefully woven into everyday life. Let me give a few examples.

The people make three offerings a day. You’ll see these little “plates” full of frangipani petals, rice, coconut leaves and incense everywhere on the island – in front of restaurants, at temples in city centers, on dashboards of cars. We happened upon the afternoon offering ceremony at a temple in the center of a flea market, as shopkeepers placed plate after plate at the alters of their gods. It was a quiet, dignified, public procession. We also visited a temple in the natural hot springs where Hendry took us. Moments after he explained the temple’s purpose, Rylynn’s friend Mike noticed Hendry stop behind us, then subtly say a quiet prayer. Then there was the beautiful Hindu temple on the lake that I previously mentioned. Turns out, it shares the same land as a Buddhist temple. There is even more to Balinese Hinduism than the public temples, for which each town has three or four. Hendry also explained how all Hindu homes have their own separate religious sanctuaries. The properties are essentially a walled-in family compound, combining daily function with religious function. Each home has various sleeping quarters, a courtyard, working rooms, a kitchen and two shrines for daily worship.

Maybe since I’ve been on the island less than a week, I have simply missed the dogmatism one might assume is present in any religion. That word – dogmatism – is what has driven me from any organized religious practice since leaving home at the age of 18. However, I’m not that cynical nor jaded (yet). Any religion that can be accepting and even praiseful (not just tolerant) of another religion is one that I can appreciate. After all, aren’t all spiritual seekers searching for the same thing? Harmony, love, light, truth, balance, compassion? Or is it just about securing a certain place in an uncertain after life?

These are all questions that I’ve been asking myself… that others have been trying to answer for me… that I feel no closer nor further to finding resolution, even in Bali. I simply have never understood why religions are so often at odds with each other. Why one religion must be debunked in order for another to be the "right" one? Why there is an "only way," as I've so often been told? I just know that there are few places in my youth where I felt a spiritual pull. My first inklings of it happened when I started practicing yoga seriously. And I too feel that connectedness here in Bali. Where that leads me one day, I do not know nor do I particularly want to know. I realize these sentiments frustrate, even embarrass some of the people I love most in the world. And for that, I am sorry.

Let me say this, however. I do recognize that Bali isn't eternal paradise. Through Hendry and my own observations, I do sense places of discord. That will be Part 2 of the Hendry story. Stay tuned (I will also post many more pictures at that time).

Rosé Up In Protest!

I have too much internet time on my hands during this Kuala Lumpur layover, so my blog might be straying a bit. But I came across this wine article in the Dining & Wine section of the The New York Times. I consider myself one of rosé's personal PR machines, so I am aghast to hear about potential changes that could further injure its reputation as a softy wine (and make it more reminiscent of white zinfandel - gasp!). Join in my fight for the future of good rosé!

You can find the article here: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/09/business/global/09iht-wine.html?ref=dining

New Favorite Appy - Sure To Please

This isn't really a food recipe blog, but there is little I love more in life than a satisfying meal. Even better - passing on that pleasure to those who rank higher than food on my love list. A couple of Rylynn's nuke pals took us out to an okonomiyaki joint a few days before our departure. It's one of those cool little Japanese hole-in-the-walls that squeezes few people into tables and even fewer people at the bar. We grabbed bar seats for a front-row view of all the cramped kitchen action. Okonomiyaki is a Japanese pancake that acts a medium for any range of ingredients. In our case, curry and kimchi. It was good. Very good. But that's not really the focus of this blog entry. I have no idea how you make okonomiyaki, and I surely can't pass on any useful tips.

The relevant issue here is stunningly good and simple avocado appetizer. I admire avocado for its creamy, butteriness. I can eat a whole one dressed only with a touch of sea salt for a satisfying afternoon snack. Here, salt was replaced with soy sauce, and the butteriness enhanced with - you guessed it - butter.

To make this fast, easy dish, just place the sliced meat of an avocado in a foil packet, add soy sauce and a couple huge pats of butter. Then place the packet over a heat source (in a searing hot pan or on the grill or in the oven). Let the flavors meld for a few minutes. Serve on a plate in the foil, and that's it. I wouldn't exactly call this a Japanese dish, since butter and avocado aren't really classic ingredients in this part of the world. So you could play with it to suit your desires: add tomatoes, lime or cilantro and make it Latino. The crowd will go wild. We did.

(Last picture is okonomiyaki in the making... I was too enthralled with the avocado to think about taking a picture of it)

Where In The World Is Jessica? (third edition)

First - a shout out to Grandma and Aunt Karyl and apology if any offense was taken to any foul language. I had a feeling it might offend certain readers. I'm not promising to make any adjustments (it is my blog, after all), but I told Grandma I would put an "R" rating on the blog. So there it is (this post is a clean one).

Right now, I'm in the business lounge at the Kuala Lumpur International Airport in Malaysia - a far superior place to spend 24 hours compared to Tokyo's Narita Airport. Better food, better shops, and surprisingly more English speakers. But really I'm aiming for Bali, Indonesia. I hope to be there by Saturday night, if all goes according to plan, but I'm not counting on smooth sailing at all, especially after this morning's debacle leaving Tokyo.

I knew I was carrying a ridiculous amount of luggage, but I had to pack for a full year. The heavy load cost me an additional $50 in the states. Malaysia Airlines was going to charge me an eye-popping $1,200 for the extra weight. That's no joke. Really - one-thousand-two-hudred dollars. I had to unpack my luggage, throw away a lot of stuff, and mail the rest to my hotel in South Korea, for which I am only hoping I have the right address. Clothing trouble could be ahead upon arrival to Seoul. Eeks.

But first, I'm going to forget about that fiasco as soon as I hit the Balinese beaches. Bali is a small Indonesian island in Southeast Asia. While Indonesia is a Muslim-majority country, most of Bali's 3.1 million citizens practice Balinese Hinduism. The country is known for its art, dance, good vibes, and surfing. More importantly, it's cheap. You can get by on $10 a day or live like a queen on $50. Not a bad change coming from wallet-draining Japan. My plan involves little more than laying by the pool or on the beach. But I do also hope to check out one of the much-hyped cooking classes to learn more about the culture through its food. What better way than that?

Nothing Comes Easy

I had written a long, dramatic tale of the difficult day - to put it lightly - that I've had. Then my airport wireless internet service died, and I lost all of it. Perhaps that's a good thing. You don't need to know all the hairy twists and turns that led to me spending a long night at the Narita Airport, instead of making my way to Bali.

Here's the condensed version: I have four large bags with me - including a 70-pound suitcase - for a year's worth of clothes for Korea. I had found a cheap train that could deliver me to the airport without making any transfers, so I wouldn't have to lug all my stuff on standard commuter trains. But upon arrival to the station, I discovered there was an accident and the station was closed. I ran in a full sprint - with all four bags in tow - to the nearest station and boarded the first train there. I would have to make a transfer but should still make it to the airport with 90 minutes to spare. But no such luck. After arriving at the the transfer station, I learned that the entire JR Line - Japan's largest train network - is completely shutdown. I had to reboard the same train line I was just on, but on a new train. The latest train had a sick person on it, so the route ended up canceled (that's what I think happened - the language barrier was fatal on this effort).

Five hours later, I finally arrive at Narita Airport just 15 minutes before my flight is scheduled to take off. Malaysia Airlines ticketing counter is now closed because that was their last flight of the day. Through a series of painful phone calls, I finally make a reservation to arrive in Bali on Saturday night - my 30th birthday. So much for the big beach party, but such is life... such is my life... and I'm getting really good at rolling with it. I haven't broken down yet, even though Malaysia Airlines told me I would have to pay for an entirely new ticket. $650 drained out of my pocket - or to be more clear, added to my growing credit card account. Between the injured foot, going to Guam for a work visa, and missing my flight, I have racked up a huge financial hole from unexpected expenses that I'll likely be working off the entire year that I'm in South Korea (and I can't cancel Bali because that's where I depart for Korea).

Right now, at least I have internet access, a Sapporro beer I picked up at the airport convenience store before it closed, and a dope new playlist on my iPod, and now I'm in shockingly (even to me) good spirits.

Parting Thoughts: Best & Worst of Japan

My five-week holiday in Japan is ending, and I'm ready to go. For the first four weeks, I was enthralled and impressed with the culture. For the last week, there are a few things wearing on me - the rigid rules, the cold politeness, the crushing crowds. And the language barrier. Nothing annoys me more than ordering food I don't like, and I've made a few mistakes in recent days that may have put me over the top. When I get to Korea, I'll invest time in learning the language, so I hope that will be less of a problem down the road.

I'm an American at heart and a recovering news professional. That means I like lists. So here's what I've loved and disliked about Japan.

The 5 Best Things About Japan:

1. My single favorite feature is the train system. I love public transportation. I wish it was more accessible in the United States. Japan's public transportation is exceedingly punctual and a perfect place for people watching. In my view, public transportation is good for more than reducing dependence on oil. When it's efficient, as it is in Japan, it brings people together - old, young, white collar, blue collar, men, women, conservative, edgy. It's a place where all these subsets of society converge in close corners and have to deal with each other. I love it.

2. The food: sushi, soba, okonomiyaki, yakitori, sashimi, green tea, sake, sake, sake! I've had some bad experiences too - lobster-flavored chips with 'dip sauce' - but overall, the food is healthy, fresh and adventurous. I loved horse sashimi!

3. Japanese sports rock. I never got to complete a sumo blog, so suffice to say it's a fascinating display in ritual, custom and sport. Like so much else in Japan, sumo follows ornate tradition to the extreme. In between matches, we had no idea what the bizarre ritualistic displays were meant to represent, but they were entertaining nonetheless. Then the pushing and shoving between extremely large men began and ended within seconds. The crowd goes wild. If you read my baseball blog, you'll know that I dig that too. Go Yokohama Bay Stars!

4. Kyoto. If I were to live in Japan, it would have to be in Kyoto. The food, shopping, the surprising discoveries in the maze of alleys, the cafes. It's the country's cultural and spiritual heart and soul. After World War II, much of that cultural zest was lost in urban centers in the rush to rebuild. Kyoto was far less damaged and has retained its charm.

5. Ostentatious presentation: from the smart clothing of the business people to the outrageous outfits in Harajuku, the Japanese pay a lot of attention to presentation. The women wear the most fabulous coats (possibly my favorite accessory ever). In Tokyo, the fashion is fun and flashy, if a bit ridiculous at times. But who am I to judge? The focus on presentation extends beyond style. You'll see it in restaurants with the delicate attention to detail on the serving dishes and plating. You'll see it at a store where the clerks carefully wrap your purchase in a bag and put it another bag and then another bag. No detail goes overlooked.

The 5 Least Best Things About Japan:

1. Rules, rules, rules. Everything in Japan is governed by so many rules, and most of them are foreign to foreigners. The Japanese do forgive gaijin for not knowing most of them. But there are times when you get insight into the sanctity of their rule system, and you find the decision-making unbending and irrational even. In fact, I wouldn't even call it decision-making. There isn't a choice. It's just how things are done.

2. Golden Week and the massive crowds. For seven straight days of Japanese holidays, the natives are out in force. In imporant cultural areas, it's as though you're in rush hour traffic in New York City... bumper to bumper, slowly crawling along, trying to maneuver the quickest away around - but you're on foot. At spiritual sites, it's impossible to have anything resembling a spiritual experience. It's so overwhelmingly frustrating that I spent my final two days in Japan mostly indoors. If you plan a trip Japan, avoid Golden Week at all costs.

3. Japan is expensive, really expensive. My breaking point was during a hike last weekend with Rylynn to a giant stone Buddha on a nearby island. In the states, hiking is considered an inexpensive activity, so that's what I was expecting. However, this one tallied up to $30+, when I accounted for trains, ferries, cable cars, buses and admission (and that doesn't include the costly food mishaps along the way). While the shopping here is also world class, many of the clothes are far more expensive than they would be back home. I can't wait to get to South Korea, where I hear the shopping is quite the opposite.

4. Urban blandness. You get the worst view from the train - stoically efficient apartment building after blandly austere apartment building. Japan is densely packed, and these apartments serve the utilitarian purpose of housing millions of people in a small area. But it's as if the same bored architect designed all of them, and then chose only three colors to paint them: sickly mauve, washed-out beige, and charcoal grey. It's a tad depressing. And it's a bizarre contrast to the rest of Japan, which is so focused on presentation.

5. While I listed presentation as a pro, it's also a con. Imagine being on a hike to one of Japan's most sacred sites, and you're caught behind the group of women decked out in their best clothes and heels. Seriously, heels on a hike. And keep in mind, this inappropriate footwear complaint comes from a card-carrying member of the Bad Shoe Choices Club (hence, the multiple foot injuries). It has brought out the embarrassingly rude, no-nonsense American in me, as I've been shoving my way past the ridiculousness.

I leave Japan deeply grateful for this wildly wonderful experience and for the people who've helped me along the way. Most notably, I should extend a bit thanks to Rylynn and her roommate Jo, who allowed me to crash in their small space for three of the five weeks that I've been here. There were also several incredibly accomodating people who assisted me on my frustrating journey to the airport (see next post), especially the backpacking Japanese girl who not only let me use her cell phone but called to get the phone number for Malaysia Airlines. Wherever I hit bumps in the road, I am eternally encouraged and uplifted to meet more and more people with such kind, generous spirits. Sayonara, Japan!

A Harrowing Haircut

Sometimes I think I do things just because it might turn out to be a wacky experience (and thereby, turn into a good story). Getting a haircut while in Japan is one of those questionable decisions. Akiko recommended a salon chain that has a training branch, so it's far less expensive than your average high-end salon. Yes, I decided to go to a place with non-English speaking TRAINEES to get my hair cut in Japan. Maybe not the smartest decision, but I'm not so precious about my long locks that I can't take the risk.

My stylist Shoichin Wada and I went back and forth for about ten minutes, hashing out my hopes and dreams for my flowing mane. Still unsure we were on the same page, I just finally nodded okay and went under the scissors. Shoichin cut and cut and thinned and he cut (and thinned) some more. In the end, it's a bit shorter than I had hoped, but it will do just fine...until I have repeat this experience in Korea.

I'm hoping one of my loyal readers will talk some sense into me because I'm starting to consider a drastic change to my 'do. Short and sassy - something to match the return of my no-holds-barred attitude. Thoughts, anyone?

Miyajima Island

(A quick note on Rylynn's behalf to all those naysayers who were complaining that she doesn't blog. This is time consuming. It takes me a couple of hours or more to complete the more detailed entries. Some of it's the writing; some is uploading pictures. But with her work schedule, I don't blame her for not doing it.)

Now to Miyajima Island, which consumed the other part of my time in Hiroshima. There's not a lot to say about it besides it's beautiful and worth the trip. The most noted feature is the Itsukushima Shrine and its famed floating torii gate, which is at sea to denote the whole island is sacred (I arrive at low tide, so I didn't see anything 'floating'). Because of the sanctity of the island, no one is allowed to die or give birth on Miyajima, so there are no maternity wards or cemeteries. I'm pretty shrined out at this point, so I snapped some quick pictures of the torii gate and then started the climb up Mount Misen - Miyajima's highest point at 1,640 feet above sea level. Japan grooms all its trails, and this one had stairs. Big ones. Lots of them. Think 1-1/2 hours straight of Stairmaster (on an ass that hasn't seen a gym in 3 years). But I did it. And saw some pretty dope sites along the way.

Wild deer roam the island. So do monkeys, but this the second place where monkeys are supposedly running rampant, and I haven't seen a single one.

Super cool Daisho-in Temple on the way up Mount Misen.

Editorial on Hiroshima

Maybe it’s the way the debate is shaped on the news or in our secondary education classrooms, but I often feel we live in a right vs. wrong country. There are only two sides in politics and religion and the hairy combination of the two. There are those who are with us and those who are against us. The U.S. is inherently right. Our adversaries are inherently wrong. It’s the Hummer-driving-my-dick-is-bigger-than-yours-Fox-News-Channel mentality that the U.S. is in its nature the very best at all times. That questioning the country’s actions or intentions amounts to treason. Fortunately, that kind of debate is changing with a new president, willing to say ‘yes, we tortured prisoners and no, we shouldn’t have. We’re sorry.’ (Yes, I’m closely following U.S. news even from here)

These thoughts arise after visiting the Peace Memorial in Hiroshima. It is the site of the United State’s single most terrifying display of military might. The museum tour explains Hiroshima’s past, its significance as a military target, the decisions leading up to the dropping of the atomic bomb, the aftermath, and the implications of a nuclear world. The Memorial is unapologetically skewed against nuclear weapons (after all, it is a peace memorial, right?). Those who visited the memorial before me described it as “preachy” (not just you, Rylynn, but others too). By the end of it, I asked myself, how could it not be?

One-hundred-forty-thousand people – half the city’s population – wiped out by a single horrifying device, innocuously known as Little Boy. About half died instantly. The rest succumbed over days, weeks, and months from injuries and radiation exposure. Most of those killed were innocent civilians - families, children, even some American prisoners of war. After exploring the museum and doing my own follow-up study on the subject, I would argue that Hiroshima’s worldview and reality could be nothing but anti-nuclear. It’s not that they’re right about nuclear weapons, and we are wrong. It’s merely that they’re right from their perspective. And under the circumstances, how could they have any other perspective? What shapes history is often far more about perspective than it is about ‘the facts’ anyway.

Was the United States wrong? I wouldn’t presume to know the definitive answer – if there really is one – and that’s not the point. The details of the decision-making and the shifting political climate were far too complicated for me to even make a judgment. But there’s this: I should have known more about the atomic bomb before this visit. Our basic World War II history focuses so singularly on Hitler and the Holocaust – a subject of worthy examination, of course – but maybe at the expense of the Pacific side of the war. And the American assumption of ‘rightness’ about this subject shouldn’t obscure the beastly nature of the atomic bomb (or the more fearsome hydrogen bomb) and its grotesque destruction of humanity.

If you’re interested in learning more about the A-bomb, Shockwave: The Countdown to Hiroshima by Stephen Walker is a really good read and a good place to start.

The A-bomb Dome, one of the few buildings even partially in tact after the bombing.

Radiation nails - how one survivors nails continued to grow

Peace cranes made famous by Sadaku - a young radiation victim who developed leukemia years after the bombing. She started folding 1,000 cranes, believing it would help cure her. Per Japanese legend, folding the cranes pleases the gods, so they grant you a wish.

Hiroshima grid before the bombing. The bridge (known as Aioi Bridge) where the two tributaries meet was the bomb's target.

As you can see, the target is one of the only things left standing. A nearby hospital was ground zero.

Final Days in Japan

Whoa. I didn't know this blog would be such a pubic display of my life, my inner demons, my emotional evolution (see previous post). I apologize to anyone who was expecting a sweet, little travel journal. I was too. But I've never been shy about who I am or where I am in life. I prefer boldness to meekness. Openness to introversion. I like to think that lack of filter is part of my charm. So as I change and grow on this journey, I suppose I will be putting that on full display, along with the standard-issue tourism pictures. Read at your own risk.

A brief timeout from all that emotional stuff. I'm down to my final days in Japan, and it's Golden Week - a series of Japanese holidays that fill the streets with the natives touring their own country. The place is downright crowded, making it far less enjoyable to travel. Instead of having a spiritual experience at a giant bronze Buddha in Kamakura, I found myself fighting through the masses of tourists feverishly snapping pictures. The temple is typically far more serene. I hope to go back before I leave. Also in store - an attempt at getting a haircut. My new friend Akiko (via Katie) recommended a salon, but I fear my hairstyle request will get lost in translation. Oh - and a big thanks to Akiko for giving me a shopping tour and helping me find my first Oregon wine in over a month. Sokol Blosser's "M." Score!

The Shikoku Incident

I am a fugitive. On the run from men. Fleeing bad relationships, anyone who makes me cry. Escaping the pattern of loving too hard, losing too much, repeat. I don't blame (entirely) all the men who've entered my life, lied, and left. I'm responsible for the inner radar that scans for and pinpoints that ever unavailable target. Japan/Bali/Korea represent a lot of things, not the least of them - freedom from that nasty cycle.

In keeping with the over-drawn fugitive metaphor, Shikoku Island was one of the places I went to hide out. After an inundation of testosterone in Kyoto (the only non-male I hung out with was a lesbian), I expected peace, solitude, and quiet reflection in one of Japan's most remote regions. I got that - for the first night. After pulling a nearly all-nighter on the final evening in Kyoto, I arrived at the Happy Raft guesthouse in Shikoku's Oboke gorge to discover I was its single occupant. I cooked myself a meal, watched Eminem 'act' in 8 Mile (one of the only English DVDs), and then pulled the covers over my head for 10 hours of uninterrupted, untortured rest. It was the most peaceful sleep I've had in three years.

But it seems men sense the detached woman. The mysterious aloofness. The completeness of independence. They too have inner radars, scanning for that challenge.

My next two days in Shikoku were filled with all men, all the time, almost to comedic effect. As the sole whitewater rafting customer, I had three male guides plus one in a kayak all to myself. Later that night - as I expected another blissfully lonely evening - all four of those Happy Raft guides showed up at the guesthouse and brought with them six other male river rafters from the Tokyo area. Kiwis, Aussies, Japanese. A 10 to 1 ratio. The following night a group of 20 English teachers flooded the guesthouse - many of them men, many eager to meet the random female solo traveller.

Let me say this: most of these men had no interest in me at all. Most were merely curious what brought me to Shikoku - of all places - alone. But that's not the point. The point is the sheer volume of masculinity stampeding me on this journey, and with it, the extremes of the male species. Charming accents/crude toughness. Sweet shyness/confounding recklessness. Gallant accomodation/arrogant posturing.

There's Mar - the rafting guide with dreadlocks, a fake wooden tooth, kind smile and almost zero capacity for English who struggled to share his crush on me, until said fake tooth dropped from his mouth and clanked on the floor.

There's Yosh - the hard-talking Japanese rafter/record producer whose English accent is equal parts San Diego surfer, New Zealand brute. He's lived in both places. After dropping the f-bomb every other word and insulting me a few times, tells me he thinks I'm beautiful.

There's Phil from Chicago, the English teacher - age 24 - with a degree in International Politics and Economics from Carroll University in Wisconsin, who's unsure what direction he wants to pursue in life, but is politely willing to make conversation with the solo traveler.

There's Rob - the former English teacher turned rafting guide newbie who I spent hours chatting with about his home in Australia . He's engaged to a Japanese girl, and turns out he proposed to her at the same hotel I stayed at in Guam.

Then there's Darren Dyke. Darren Dyke is precisely the specimen I hope would never find me again. British born but New Zealand raised, Darren Dyke started his own English teaching company with his Japanese wife here in Japan. Darren Dyke is the kind of guy who likes to tell you how important he is; how much money he makes; how much more he knows than you about life and success. And he does it with that deceitfully gallant-sounding British accent. Darren Dyke was spending a lot of time talking to me. It was mostly harmless conversation, even though I still sensed a weird vibe from him. After a couple hours of his undivided attention, I broke free for the group gathered around the fire pit and shortly after retreated to my bedroom.

I had a cozy double bed in a room all to myself, while the rest of the 20 English teachers had to divide up limited futon space and bunkbeds. I'd been at the guesthouse for two nights prior to their arrival, and I wasn't about to give up my satisfactory accomodations. But I did have to endure a long evening of partying - the wrestling match that slammed into my wall, the marijuana smoke wafting into my room, Darren Dyke's stoned voice waxing poetic about inane topics. The only fortunate thing was the contact high from the weed that probably helped me return to sleep.

That was until 5:30am. That's when Darren Dyke made a sudden appearance at my bedside, imploring me for room in my bed.

I've spent years trying to tone down any of my harsh edges - anything that could make people call me a bitch - anything that comes off as too tough or unfeminine. But this was no place for that version of me. I yelled at him for waking me, then loudly rejected his multiple pleas for room next to me or at the foot of the bed. He whined that his futon had been taken. Then he took up residence on the floor, until I tossed him out entirely because he wouldn't stop talking.

"Get the fuck out of my room. Get the fuck out. You've kept me up all night. I've had it with you. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE."

You should know that earlier in the evening he told a story about how he once did cocaine with a friend on Christmas Eve, stayed up all night, and after opening presents in the morning, he sent his two kids for a walk, so he could screw the hell out of his wife. So pardon me, if as a vulnerable woman alone, I'm not about to let this married stranger shack up in my room.

It made perfect sense to me, even if the rest of his crew didn't appreciate my tactics. In the morning, I heard the whispering from the catty girls, "did you hear what happened to Darren?" Then I heard the loud, overt attempts to make me feel bad, "Darren, it was soooo cozy sleeping next to you last night. I was totally comfortable."

I packed up my things, fortunate to be leaving for Hiroshima in the next few hours. And then I confronted the group in the kitchen, defending myself against the assumption I should sleep next to a man I barely know.

I'm not sure anyone understood my point. They were probably mostly annoyed that I had a big room all to myself, and I didn't share. Whatever the case, there was something so liberating about yelling at Darren Dyke. About defending myself in front of him and his friends, even as he called me a bitch. About saying 'fuck off' for being a thoughtless, careless, inconsiderate man.

Maybe Darren Dyke doesn't deserve the fullness of my wrath. Maybe it's pent up anger directed at all the men who've hurt me, who I've never confronted with the vehemence buried deep inside. But this stands as a public warning to men everywhere - signficant or insignificant. I've had it. I'm not taking your shit. And you can call me a bitch, if you want. I don't care anymore. It's time for the anger phase, that necessary phase I've been trying avoid.

Here it is - in full force. Let me run away in peace... or go to hell.