Hitchhiking across Japan (Part 2)

The Ferry to Pusan

It was a very cold morning, but the skies had cleared up and the winter sun shone with bright intensity. As it was too early to get the ferry ticket I spent a good part of the morning in a Dunkin’ Donuts coffee shop filling myself with some watery brew called ‘American coffee’ while observing the other customers. At about ten I then went down to the ferry docks to get my ticket to Korea. I opted for the cheapest fare since I had spent already more money than I had planned. It said: Embarkation at 19.00, departure at 23.00, lower deck class. From experience on other ferries in Asia I anticipated that lower deck meant staying on the floor in a windowless metal-walled area just above or very near the ship’s engine hence constant vibration and probably deafening noise. “Never mind”, I thought, at least I was able to leave Japan before the expiration of my visa, therefore avoiding the ensuing unpleasant consequences.

While I was studying a layout of the ferry I was going to take, I noted some male Caucasian backpackers who had just walked into the waiting area of the ferry dock. As I moved a little closer I realized they were Americans, so I went over to them and said hello.

They turned out to be students of Asian studies at a university in Osaka and on their way to Korea for some sightseeing.

We were talking about our travel plans as one of the guys suddenly said:” Hey, did you know that foreign whiskey is forbiddingly expensive in Korea? I heard that I you want to top up your travel budget a little, you should get yourself a bottle of duty-free whiskey on the journey over and sell it once you arrive in Korea.”

“Great to know,” I said, “but how reliable is this deal?” I mentally calculated the loss I would make if I didn’t manage to sell the beverage.

“Absolutely sure” he exclaimed excitedly, “a friend of mine has tried the trick twice already and it worked every time! Hey, don’t you worry! I will buy a bottle myself and if all goes wrong, we can still drink the stuff to keep warm, don’t you think?”

Even though I wasn’t completely convinced but said: “Alright, I’ll think about it”.

I was still quite tired from my uncomfortable train trip of the previous night and as my new friends wanted to visit the city and soak up some culture we decided to meet back at the ferry port in the evening.

A little way down the main road from the ferry port I found a ramen shop that looked inviting and cheap enough, so I decided to go for an early lunch. Inside the shop looked like any of the countless low-cost eateries in Japan. There was a long polished wooden counter to sit down and eat at and a row of worn stools lined up in front. On the other side of the counter was the open kitchen with huge pots of steaming soup and boiling water where some cooks with white towels wrapped around their foreheads were busy preparing toppings to garnish the bowls of ramen that were about to be served over the counter in a steady flow of steaming goodness once lunchtime was on. The menu was pinned up on wooden boards on the walls around the room. Some Japanese pop music was blaring from the speaker above the kitchen opening. As it wasn’t quite lunchtime the place was still rather deserted.

I sat down at the far end of the counter and since I couldn’t decipher any of the entries on the menu, I ordered shoyu ramen with extra Cha-Shu – sliced pork roast – topping, one of my all-time favourites. Slurping my noodle soup I started flipping through the pages of my Lonely Planet travel guide that I had brought with me but up to this point rarely even opened. Gradually the places filled up with customers and as I seemed to become the topic of their lunchtime conversation I decided to leave.

In the early afternoon I returned to the ferry dock and stretched out over a few chairs in the waiting area. The large hall was quiet and the few passengers who had arrived as early as I were keeping to themselves or speaking in low tones. The hot lunch and exhaustion had made me drowsy and I soon fell asleep.

“Hey man. Wake up” Someone nudged me at my shoulder and I wearily opened my eyes with some effort. The Americans had come back, full of energy and chatted happily about the things they had visited in the afternoon. Also, the waiting area had become really crowded as the departure time drew nearer.

I joined the Americans for a beer at the vending machine and we agreed on the whiskeys we were going to buy. Once through passport control we spotted a small duty-free store that had a small selection of Scotch and Bourbon whiskeys. Every one of us got a different brand to increase or chances to sell them off in Pusan.

Finally, at around 23.00, with a long honk of the ships siren the ferry left the port and we were on our way to Korea. There was an icy wind blowing over the sea and the temperatures had dropped to somewhere around zero so after a very brief visit to the upper deck and the gallery outside we returned to our deck.

Lower deck class wasn’t as uncomfortable as I had imagined. True, it was somewhere near the engine and there was a constant noise as if a giant rubber hammer rhythmically pounded the walls, but the floor was covered with padded tatami mats and there was ample space for the passengers to stretch out. The whole place was illuminated in harsh cold neon light, but I reckoned with enough beers and a cover over my face I would be well able to sleep.

As soon as we had settled in, a middle-aged Korean lady dressed in well-worn clothes much like a local farmer woman approached our little group and asked: “The whiskey you have…how much you sell?”

We were taken a little aback by her direct approach: “Ahm, how much do you offer?” I asked.

“80 Dollar”, she didn’t hesitate. “You sell now. Good price. You sell later. No good price!”

Another Korean lady of similar age and appearance joined the first: “80 Dollars good money” she confirmed nodding her head vigorously. “Sell in Korea only 70 Dollars!”

They spoke to each other in Korean giggling and glancing over to us.

“What do you think?” I asked my companions, “should we go for it?”

“Ask 90 dollars”, suddenly one of my travel mates began to mutter under his breath: “we should try to haggle, maybe we can get a better price.”

“90 dollars no, 85 dollars, last price”; the first lady had obviously somehow overheard our conversation and started taking a small wad of bills out of her purse.

Really the profit was considerable as we had paid something like 45 dollars a bottle at the duty-free shop, so we decided to accept.

“Ok, 85 dollars a bottle, so 255 dollars for three” I offered.

“I give 250 dollars”, said the lady holding out the money. We looked at each other and then said: “You’ve got a deal!”

The lady explained in broken English that we had to take the bottles through customs in Korea on arrival and that she would meet us outside the customs hall to take possession of the bottles.

It was Christmas eve and so we began to celebrate this unforgettable and unusual evening in style: With Cup noodles, savoury snacks and lots of beers from the vending machines. Of course, we also brought out toasts on our unexpected deal and the resulting wealth that would certainly come to good used once we were in Korea.

The seas were calm and as the night went on we fell asleep. At around four in the morning I suddenly woke up with a feeling of panic. Something was not right. Then I realized that the ship wasn’t moving anymore, and the pounding engine sound had ceased. All was still on board, only the gentle sway of the sea made little waves lap on the sides of the hull. I got out of my sleeping bag and went up to a higher deck to see what had happened and why we weren’t moving.

As I reached the next level, I looked through one of the portholes and saw that we had already arrived in the large port of Pusan. The ferry had anchored outside the brightly illuminated port. It was an invigorating sight: freight ships of all sizes, the docks, the cranes, the lights. In a fleeting fit of nostalgia tears came to my eyes when I was thinking about my family back in Switzerland as they surely – considering the time lag – were now about to gather around the Christmas tree, opening presents and toasting with Champagne – and I was here and looked at a somewhat different kind of Christmas decoration in the form of countless harbour lights.

However, I gathered my wits quickly again as I was about to disembark in a few hours. The plan was to head straight for the Japanese consulate, get my visa application endorsed and then be on my way back to Japan by the evening.

Once returned down to my level I tried to catch some sleep but the anticipation of getting off board and exploring the new city kept me awake. When it was finally time to leave the ship, I was so excited that my travel companions started pulling my leg: “You’re like a little kid on his first trip abroad,” they laughed, “be careful not to pee in your pants!”

As soon as we disembarked, the ‘farmer’ woman and her companion followed us closely not ever taking her eyes off the duty-free bags we were carrying. As we approached the immigration and customs control, she whispered: “You wait me outside” moving her hand in an arch to indicate that we should hand over the bags once outside the customs building.

The controls went swift and without any questions, so as soon as we left the building we finally handed our bottles whiskey over to the ladies who in turn counted out the money we had agreed on and quickly disappeared out of sight.

Pusan

“We have to find a hotel”, one of my new friends said, “I’m tired, I didn’t sleep well and it’s damn cold here!”

I couldn’t agree more. It was indeed freezing on this Christmas morning in Pusan. The skies were dark gray and gloomy, slippery ice puddles covered the cracks in the asphalt and an icy wind blew through the streets lined with huge warehouses and harbor installations.

A short walk down from the customs building was an area full of small shops, bars, restaurants, night clubs and hotels of all categories. This part of the city was clearly catering to sailors who made port in Pusan. The whole place looked somewhat run down and sleazy but since at least I intended to stay for just a short period I seemed to be the right spot to find a hotel.

Soon we found a grey square concrete building with a faded neon sign reading “Pusan Business Inn.”

We walked in and asked for a room for the three of us. The receptionist spoke English quite well and said: “Merry Christmas and welcome to Pusan. You are in luck! Just this morning our family room became available which is rare in this holiday season!” I stared at the receptionist for a moment and then an alarming thought crossed my mind.

“Is Christmas a holiday in this country?” I asked apprehensively.

“But of course,” he replied, “isn’t it in your country? We celebrate Christmas and Boxing day just as you do in Europe. After all, many Koreans are Catholic so it’s an important celebration here.”

Well, this was not the news I was keen to hear. I had calculated to stay in this port town only until the next day, just as long as it took to get my visa application endorsed. The prospect of staying longer wasn’t at all appealing as I didn’t have much money and Pusan wasn’t exactly a town full of tourist attractions. Luckily, our whiskey deal had made us a fair amount of extra cash which covered the hotel cost as well as also food and drink.

“Hey, cheer up!” One of my travel companions had seen my gloomy face and tried to say something to lift my spirit. “Why don’t we go down and get some booze somewhere in the neighborhood.”

That sounded like just what I needed so we headed into the maze of small streets filled with all kinds of shops and bars. The sign “Irish Pub” caught our eye and we decided to give it a go. Inside the place had no resemblance whatsoever to any Irish pub I had ever been to, it looked more like a run-down local restaurant with a few cheap plywood tables, rickety benches and plastic flowers in plastic vases adorning the tables. There were a few customers slurping away on some bowls of noodle soup. In a corner a group of young girls sat a table chatting and giggling.

We sat down at one of the tables and ordered some beers. It was still early in the day but after a few beers I forgot my gloomy thoughts and started enjoying the fact that I was here in this strange town in this strange bar with my two companions. Suddenly the girls from the corner table came over and joined us at our table, still talking to each other and giggling. They were by no means as young as it had initially seemed. Dressed in far too short skirts for the outside temperatures and tops that left little to imagination they moved ever closer taking our hands and rubbing shoulders.

“You sailor?” one of them asked me. “You beautiful eyes”, another commented. “You like?” she asked, pointing at her cleavage. When I didn’t reply immediately, she said: “I like whiskey. You order for me please?”

This conversation in broken English had obviously but one purpose that neither I nor my companions were willing to go along with so after their request for whiskey and our subsequent refusal they stood up just as swiftly as they had come over and retreated back to their corner table throwing us some indignant looks as if to say: You stupid foreigners don’t know what you are missing.

We stayed on for a while ordering very spicy local noodle soup with kimchi, spicy pickled cabbage and more beers to douse the heat. All in all, it was a pleasant day; we ventured farther into the maze of small streets and took in all the exotic smells and sounds that emanated from the many stalls and shops.

After our return to the hotel I asked the friendly receptionist to help me find out about the opening times and the location of the Japanese consulate which I intended to visit as soon as the holidays were over. Fortunately, the consulate was apparently open between Christmas and New Year. He wrote the address down in Korean as he explained that it would be convenient to get there by taxi, but drivers could neither speak nor read English very well.

Boxing day passed without any memorable moments. The freezing cold winter weather, the grey and uninviting skies made us spend the day in our warm hotel room with cup noodles, snacks and drinks from the nearby supermarket watching Korean TV which of course we didn’t understand but was entertaining nonetheless.

Then came the 27^th. In the early morning I took a taxi to the Japanese consulate while my friends tried to find a local travel agency to book their onward journey to Seoul.

When the consulate opened I was the first – and probably only – visitor on that day. The clerk was predictably indifferent as he looked over my application form, but when he opened my passport, his face brightened.

” Ah, you are German,” he exclaimed. “Very good people, very hard-working, just like Japanese. I like Germany!”

I didn’t think that Germans are very similar to Japanese but I replied: “Thank you for your kind words. Also I believe that we are quite alike and therefore it is my greatest wish to study Japanese in order to understand your magnificent culture better.”

He was clearly delighted by my flattery and busied himself signing the application form, putting visa stamps into my passport and typing something on a word processor. The whole procedure took less than 10 minutes and I finally had my permit.

Once outside the consulate I danced a little jig of joy. I finally had got a visa that allowed me to stay in Japan for six months – extendable for another six – to study and work. Brilliant!

As my friends were still out when I got back to the hotel I decided to go down to the port and get a ferry ticket back to Shimonoseki. To my delight there was a ferry departing on the same day. I again booked lower deck class since I now knew what to expect.

On my return from the port my friends had also come back and we celebrated my visa with beers and prawn crackers. The guys had bought tickets for a night train to Seoul and so after a few hours came the inevitable moment to part company. We hugged, exchanged addresses and promised to meet again in the future.

The night on the ferry back to Japan was unsurprisingly less entertaining than the previous journey. I had no one to talk to and even if people stared at me, no one showed an interest to strike up a conversation with a foreigner. Nonetheless, I was happy; I started reading my travel guide trying to pick up some clues on how and where to hitch-hike from Shimonoseki back to Tokyo, because despite the stern warning by the police I was determined to return to Tokyo in that very manner.