Seoul, South Korea

The first clue that Korea was going to be a little different was when the airline stewardess announced just before we landed that it is forbidden to take aerial photos of the country. The war never officially ended. It has just been left as a cease fire for 46 years. The term they use in written documents is “armistice”. North Korea unilaterally withdrew from the armistice on May 27 2009. Did my brother and I possibly choose a dangerous time to come to Korea?

Everyone wants to hear the scary before the serene. “What was the worst passage you ever had? “How big were the seas?” I will now accommodate your terror lust.

DMZ stands for Demilitarized Zone. It’s roughly the 38th parallel. This is the “no man’s land” that separates the North from the South. In 1974 the South Koreans were alerted by a defector who told them about a tunnel being dug to invade their country. It took 4 years for the tunnel to reach the no man’s land where the soldiers in the South could detect it. They bored holes and ran sleeves of PVC pipes into the holes. They filled the pipes with water and waited for a gusher. When the underground explosions that the Northerners were using to dislodge the granite went off near the pipes, the water would jump out with the concussion. They knew the tunnel was getting closer. The South kept boring holes and filling them with water until they bored one that wouldn’t fill no matter how much water went in. Bingo – they had found the tunnel! The Northerners retreated and painted the walls black as they abandoned years of work. Why paint the walls black? They knew they were caught, and when the tunnel was examined, they tried to say it was an old coal mine. When that was laughed at by the international community, they then had the audacity to say that the South dug it in prep for invading the North. However, the angle of the bore holes for the dynamite charges prove it originated in the North. Here’s the shocking bit: that was the 3rd tunnel that they’d found. The tunnel was wide enough for 30,000 heavily armed troops to run through every hour (North Korea has the world’s 4th largest army. They weren’t going to stop after an hour)! The most recent tunnel was discovered in 1990. Think there might be more out there?

As for landmines, there are still 700,000 unaccounted for future leg amputations out there, and that’s just what the South knows about and hasn’t recovered. That heavily fortified border and the land block that the North serves as, has, for all practical purposes, made South Korea an island. They’ve been overrun by the Japanese many times, and now their own brothers have cut them off from overland travel. They’ve had it tough, but the South Koreans have persevered. Their economy is expanding in a recession and they are completely plugged in, or maybe the opposite – wirelessly connected, to the hilt.

I like ‘em. I like ‘em a lot.

We arrived exhausted. We had inflicted double helpings of self abuse upon ourselves in Tokyo. Bloodshot and with sugar levels dropping, we dumped our bags at The Bong House in Hyehwa and went up the street to the first bbq restaurant we found. The floor was covered in spackled pork fat. Cheers from the neighboring tables came regularly, and with gusto. Soju (their local rot gut) washes down the cholesterol and stokes the bravado. It was a friendly and raucous crowd.

Korea - 2 forks, a pair of scissors, a set of tongs, but no knives. Here’s how it works and I’m angry at my own culture for having never figured this out: a fork in each hand is the perfected method for eating chicken. It makes taking the meat off the bones as easy as opening a Ziploc. As far as the scissors go – they pick up the beef or pork with the tongs and use an industrial strength pair of scissors to cut the meat into workable sizes. This is so simple and so much better than a knife. My knives, from this point forward, will be relegated to cutting ropes and shanking pirates.

We don’t speak a word of Korean, and hardly anyone speaks English. Our dining technique was to sit down, smile, shrug our shoulders, and then eat the delicious food that was served to us. I had no idea Korean food was so good. That was surprise number 1.

Seoul is a thoroughly modern city. It begs the comparison to Tokyo. Or maybe more aptly; Tokyo’s little brother. The subways are easy, it’s fairly inexpensive, and the infrastructure is sound. We did have a discussion about First world vs. Third world. Skinny and I came up with the following questions to ask oneself when trying to decide if a nation qualifies: 1.) Can you flush the toilet paper? 2.) Do members of congress have televised fights with each other? 3.) Can you drink the water? 4.) Is the electrical up to code? I’m not sure South Korea is going to be expanding into the G9 in any hurry but that’s just fine with me. I actually prefer the 3rd.

Surprise number 2 was how friendly the people are. It’s been said that the Japanese are like the English in their repressed state, and the Koreans are more like the Americans. The girls are pretty, the guys are fun, the city is exciting and we had a great time.

Surprise number 3 was this cute girl that I met named Megan from Oklahoma, USA. Remember that name. I have a feeling it might pop up again.

Korea – I give it 2 thumbs up and a big gold star. Get there, you won’t be disappointed.

Your man on point,
Capt Bob

4 Days in Tokyo

My cousin Randy drove me to the Indo consulate on the morning of my departure from Los Angeles, and true to his word, Agung had my passport and visa ready to hand over. Without it, I would never have made my flight to Tokyo 2 hours later. I was intending to knock myself out with the pillbox lobotomy that my mom gave me but because my brother had arranged a speaking engagement at his school, I elected to not medicate. I never sleep well on planes unless I dope myself. I once transferred at Heathrow and flew on to Edinburgh, Scotland with no recollection except for the wonderment of where all this drool came from.

It was a long flight and I was beat. My brother Skinny hugged me, hoisted half of my overstuffed luggage, and whisked me off to the trains. Our 3 month separation had ended. 2 hours and a few platforms later, we were exchanging shoes for slippers and bowing to his bosses. I gave a slide show about my sailing adventure to 100+ people while Skinny punctuated my commentary with magic tricks. Does it sound surreal? It was. We were paid $180 and then hauled my luggage back to Tigerland (his jungle habitat with sliding rice paper doors and an internal pond with waterfall).

I had a date with Motoko. I met her when I was there the last time. She lives in Tokyo but was born and raised in Hiroshima. I should have left that subject alone, but, well, you know me; if there’s a scab, I just have to pick it. I asked her about her ancestors and the war. It seems we vaporized her whole family and only her grandmother survived. Can you imagine the uncomfortable silence that followed? The date ended early.

Jet lag comes in handy in a 24 hour city like Tokyo because one can party like a rock star. With the time differences, it makes sense for one to sleep all day and stay up all night. That turned out to be the case for me and my memories end with karaoke, conveyor belt sushi, and calling it quits when the sun rose. Somewhere in that haze of late hours and too many Asahis, I do recall I found it endlessly entertaining to ask, with a concerned look on my face, “Where is the safest place to be when Godzilla attacks?”

The night before we left for Korea, it was sleep deprivation on a par with passage making. The next day, I recall a montage of perfume girls at the airport with their artificially high helium voices touting their fragrances, and salary men and office ladies scurrying for their flights. I’ve never seen so many Betty Page hairdos.

4 days in Tokyo, a reunion of brothers, and a campaign of self abuse. We left for more of the same, as we flew to Seoul, South Korea.

That’s coming up next,

Capt Bobby

The USA Wrap Up

The whirlwind begins.

The house closing finalized, I kissed my dear sweet mother goodbye, and hopped a red eye to Miami. I was headed there to meet my friend Terry Allen in order to help him move his family to Dahlonega in northern Georgia. We filled a 27 foot Penske-rent-a-truck and then packed what was leftover into the car that we were hauling behind us. I thought parking my 41 foot boat was tough. Somewhere near Macon, GA I ran over one of those protective pipes at the gas station and caused $5,000 worth of damage (they had fortunately purchased the zero deductible insurance). We drank ourselves silly in Athens and arrived in bad shape on July 2. For those of you who know Terry, I can report that he’s happy, nowhere near healthy, and I still love him.

The next day I flew to LAX and Chris Miller picked me up. He refused to sign up for the mayhem that was The 4th of July at Newport Beach, but I was all in. I thought Sweden had the most beautiful girls but I think I’m going to amend that to California. Why did I ever leave?

My cousin Randy drove me back up to the Indo consulate (I forgot to bring my passport the day before when I went with Chris) and I was told that they would rush it for me. Randy dropped me off at Union Station and I took the Surfliner down to Solana Beach in North County San Diego. For a coastal tour of Southern California you are nuts to forsake the Amtrak. It’ll get you closer to the water than a car and you can gawk all you want without causing an accident, and for $27 it’s an e-ticket value. My uncle Jerry picked me up and I was lucky enough to spend the evening with my cousin Brina and her husband just before she had her baby boy.

Then it was back on the train and the completion of the rail trek to downtown San Diego. What a city. I really love that place. My buddy Jeff picked me up and I stayed at his place with his wife Gwen and their 2 cute kids. We surfed everyday (thanks Jeff, sorry Gwen). One of the nights I even got to sleep at my own house in South Mission. My tenant is doing weekly rentals for the summer and no one had it booked. I got shipwrecked at the Pennant and stumbled back to my old bed. That was the first time in 4 years I’d slept at 802 Dover Court. That house deserves its legendary status.

I bought thousands of dollars worth of boat gear while in SD, and caught up with old friends but my time was running out. I took the train back north to Santa Ana and Chris again picked me up from the station. Mike Beale joined us for an alcohol soaked outing in Costa Mesa. I can’t believe 22 year old girls still talk to me.

Randy drove me back to the Indo Consulate only to find that they hadn’t processed my passport because they were waiting for my itinerary. What! This was the 14th and I was set to fly to Tokyo the next day. My pulse quickened. Agung took my case under his wing, ushered it through, and after one more night at Randy’s house in Monrovia he drove me to pick it up in the nick of time to catch my flight. What a cousin. Ask me to do my Randy impression the next time you see me.

I changed beds 14 times in 24 days. That’ll grind anyone down. But it’s what I signed up for and I have no regrets. I like the freedom of movement and I was physically built for this. I can sleep anywhere and I’m no longer allergic to dogs or cats. Things just keep improving.

So I left the land of my birth, and it’ll be years before I return. That’s a very disconcerting feeling. It would have been made easier if I didn’t come from such a noble country with friendly citizens and In-N-Out Burgers. I leaned on friends and relatives and I thank you all very much. For anyone who gave me a ride, a bed, or a car – you have sponsored the dream and I grant you partial ownership. I had a flawless 3 months and I even managed to have a minor epiphany while surfing with Jeff one early morning – I was thinking about the sale of my house and my 4 years without a paycheck. The light bulb that went off was this: It’s not that I’m making poor financial decisions. The truth is; I’m not making financial decisions at all. I’m making lifestyle choices, and they are often contrary to wise financial strategies. These are my peak earnings years but I’ve purposely chosen to fill my memory bank instead of my bank account.

“Remember what the door mouse said; “FEED YOUR HEAD. FEED YOUR HEAD.” – White Rabbit / Jefferson Airplane

Your man on point,

Captain Bobby
P.S. / Stay tuned, Japan and Korea are next!

I'm Still Here

2 Months In America I went 2 years and 3 months without touching US soil. Now I've been back in the USA for a whole 2 months. I feel a renewed connection to my passport and tattoo. I still love this country. The last you knew I was gorging myself on Mexican food and reuben sandwhiches while trying to sell a rental home. I'm still delighting in the cuisine, but the house is sold! I was actually in contract the first day I listed it, which made me sure I didn't ask enough. Turns out it appraised for only $3,000 more, so I think I did quite well in retrospect. Even still, it was a poor financial decision given the reduced value of the house in this market, though a great peace of mind strategy. My pockets are now loaded again and I have one less landlord headache. I'll be buying that new dinghy, converting the bimini to a hard dodger, and I might even purchase a new chartplotter for the binacle. Life with "The Momma" She's not the best mom in the world but she's in the top 5. My brother and I refer to Jere Mae Friedman as "The Momma". I think she understands it's a term of respect. She's been spoiling me rotten and in return I've redone her patio. There is honor in staying home with your mom on a Friday night. I have found the Zen in chiseling concrete in order to repair the patio. We do the crossword together in the morning and watch Jeopardy together eveyday at 4:30pm. She lends me the car whenever I want as long as the sun is up, but boy does she fight me if I want to go out at night. That's when the curfew negotiation begins. It was cute in the beginning but now it's just like highschool all over again. She has an over developed "mom gene" that makes her want to protect her kid, and since she has no control over my scary life at sea, she now needs to over-exercise her mothering instincts. Here's some irony for you – I was staying here in her house while she went to Europe for a 2 week cruise around the Med, and guess what: she didn't email me at all! When I'm at sea I email her everyday. She's really a special lady and I love her completely. One of the first mornings I was here I awoke to what sounded like shrieking winds in the rigging of Barraveigh only to find that I was safe in my childhood bed at my mother's house and it was the yard crew outside the window with a weed whacker. What a wonderful mistake to make. I forgot how good it can feel when the elements are not a threat. It's obvious that I enjoy the exotic and the exciting. We all do. But this quiet time with my 71 year old mother has proven to me that once we teach ourselves to hear the music of life, even when played at the lowest of levels, it doesn't matter what country we find ourselves in, what company we share, or what work surrounds us – we can enjoy it all. It's all about finding the sublime in the subtle. The simple joy of submerging myself in my mother's pool can still be as pleasurable as the Pacific ocean. It's been a great homecoming. I do miss my boat though. She's the main girl in my life, and as of July 1st, Barraveigh will have been my home for 4 years. I do think though, that once you get the hang of traveling, home can be anywhere. I think of my mom's house as home, my brother's little sanctuary in Tokyo feels like home, even my storage room at the beach house in San Diego with the bunk next to the hot water heater - It all feels like home. 2 cliches: "You can never go home." WRONG – "Home is where the heart is." It rings true. Your fish out of water, Capt Bobby

The Last Time I Crossed That Ocean . . .

I've spent over 3 years in the 3rd world and 1 month in Japan, which essentially means I've eaten a lot more rice than you. But that ended a week ago. I've been wolfing down Mexican food and reuben sandwiches for 7 days. How is that possible? Well – I'm back in the US of A!

I own a rental home in Chandler AZ and I've made the decision to sell it. I have more time than money so I've returned to do it myself and save the agent's commission fee. I'm expecting to be sweating it out in Phoenix all summer long.

America!

On my first day out of my mother's house once the jet lag subsided I went to Wal-Mart and then to a motocross event with David Leppert at the Arizona State Fairgrounds. It's what Terry Allen's French wife would call "Deep America" (The last time I saw that many fake breasts I was at Aubergine in the gas lamp district of San Diego drinking $10 cocktails while Nash sold art from the walls). Then 3 policemen on horses rode onto the track while a teenager crooned the national anthem. Later that night I went out to the garage to pull a beer out of the 2nd full size fridge/freezer. How American is that. Yep – I'm back. It's an interesting experience when your own country gives you culture shock.

The Japanese Wrap Up

I'd Like to Buy a Vowel

Their language is a series of easily pronounced syllables delivered in a staccato cadence. It's actually very easy for the western tongue. It's a martial language banged out with a metronome rhythm. There is none of the subtle nasal sounds of the French or the swallowed cluckings of the Vietnamese. However, reading the 3 different alphabets that they use is not easy at all. In fact – unless you are willing to put in years of rigorous study – it's essentially an unbreakable code. Staring at the signage while on the bullet trains feels like trying to read the dashboard of the alien spaceship that has just abducted you.


Screaming at the TV

Karaoke – It's not like back home. You don't sing on a stage in front of a bunch of strangers. You are nestled into a very small room with the TV monitor, the wireless programmer, 2 mics, and the sound system. Just like the Elvis dancers at Yoyogi park – we do it cuz we gotta. It's cathartic. It's $12.50 per person per hour and that includes all the drinks you can suck down. It's one of the most surreal experiences. Imagine singing in English with your American brother and then when your bladder can't stand it anymore, you kick open the door (cuz you just sang a Clash song) and the halls are teeming with clusters of 15 – 18 year old Japanese school girls in their navy-like uniforms giggling in a foreign language with their alien hieroglyphics on the walls.

We did 7 hours a couple nights before I left. 7 hours in a karaoke box. Then we ate some dirty ramen before running to catch the last train out of Shibuya. You can hit the top 40 list as many times as you want, but you haven't really made it unless you get in the Karaoke book.


World's Largest Ant Colony

There was a time when the scientists thought the largest living organism was a mushroom, then they found that a whole forest of aspens actually were connected at the roots making it all one living being, but then . . . they discovered the Japanese. There is something about their culture that Westerners; with their rugged individualism, may never grasp in its entirety. Their way of life puts an emphasis on the "whole" over the "individual". This is why kamikazes where born, and how 28 million people can live on top of each other in the city of Tokyo. They even say that they are one big family. It's an interesting aspect of their culture and I'm still wrangling to understand it. Maybe the hierarchy of human evolution looks like this:

Lowest – Those who won't procreate because they only care about themselves: me
Middle – Those who can put their families ahead of themselves
Highest – Those that can put their communities ahead of themselves

Hmmm, gotta think about that one.


Amateur Anthropological Observations

• Their hair is so thick, that for the males, going with a "spikey" look is not only the obvious choice but really the only choice.


• You put an 80 year old Japanese woman next to an 80 year old Navajo woman and I guarantee you can't tell which is which. Bering land bridge? – Absolutely!


• Their children are cuter than ours. That's true of the pikininis of Melanesia too. Sorry – my blog, my opinions.


• They can immediately put themselves into "sleep mode", just like your computer, the minute they take a seat on the train. If not sleeping, reading, or text messaging on their phones; they stare. Staring is meditation. I believe that.
  

Sexually Convenient

Convenience stores sell pressed white business shirts, ties, toothbrushes and fresh underwear so anyone who didn't make it home the night before can still make a respectable appearance at work the next day.

Narita International Airport has goods from all over the world so you can buy your wife a gift from your business trip to Paris even though you really went to Thailand for a sex safari.


Random Observations:

• And you thought we were good at marketing. They put 16 individuals in their girl bands! Everyone is sure to have a favorite. I like the one that is bold enough NOT to make the "V" sign with her fingers. That's rare.


• Their culture dictates that they have to take their shoes off and put them on so often that they tend to break down the stern of their shoes so that they are all reduced to clogs.


• The bikes are ideal. Proper centerline kickstand, the lock is built in, comes with a friction light and a basket. You don't even have to remove the key when you ride


• Bintoro – Albacore tuna. Maybe the best sushi I've eaten. Super soft. Dissolves on your tongue. Some of the Japanese scoff at it as being low grade. I guess I'm going to be amazed at the good stuff if this is low grade.
  

Do I Actually Miss the Ocean?

I didn't think I'd actually spend time day dreaming about sailing in deep water since most of my last passages have been no fun, but once I was in Tokyo and away from Barraveigh, I grew nostalgic for the feeling I get when far offshore and a light from another boat is seen at night. There is a sense of camaraderie that is very satisfying and yet hard to explain. We'll never meet, but by seeing each other our existence is confirmed. That doesn't quite capture it but it might give you a small sense of the notion. Seems romantic and fleeting and I guess it is. Kinda nice to know I still have a fondness for the big salty in my heart.


Here's the Plan:

I sell the house, visit friends and family in California, fly back to Tokyo, then return to Bali. Why am I going back to Tokyo instead of straight to Bali? Well – I want to see my brother again and also because I forgot to say "Domo arigato Mr. Roboto" when I was there before and I really need to say that to somebody.

Your man at home,

Land locked Capt Bob

Capt Bob in Tokyo

Hand on the Door

I am standing on the threshold of a new experience. I feel fear and elation. Tokyo is the largest city on the planet. It's intimidating and inexhaustible. In that respect, it's the same as the Ocean, but that's where the similarities end. This congestion of concrete and people is the exact opposite from the sparseness of the Sea.


There have been other changes as well - I went from soaked with sweat by 10 am to wearing 2 layers of fleece and freezing. 3 years in the tropics has thinned my blood. I swapped hemispheres and my entire wardrobe.


Oh the Humanity

Because my mother visited my brother here 2 years ago, she told me to hold onto his belt loop whenever we went out in public. I thought that was a little paranoid. On the 2nd day after I arrived, we were on a train and I stood up a little slower than Skinny. Before the door opened there was 1 person in between us. The door opened and with the crush of humanity we moved off the train, suddenly there were 10 people in between us. We turned a corner and more arteries of congestion merged into ours. There were now 30 people in between us. As we jostled through the bottle-neck at the escalator the distance increased. There were now 60 people in between us. With every fusion the space increased. I kept my eyes on his curly hair and caught up to him as he waited near a column in the station. It created a human eddy and allowed the currents of people to flow around us. I grabbed his belt loop.


The Enigma

We call him Skinny, my only sibling. Amateur: musician, magician, comedian, interior decorator and Japanese man…"but anything else you hear is a filthy lie." He likes to "pish in Yiddish & sneeze in Japanese." He's 2 years younger, 2 inches taller and he isn't ever going bald. For those of you who know us both, I'm sure you'd agree that he's the interesting one. His most recent masterpiece is entitled "TigerLand".


Our Habitat from Humanity

It seems I can't escape the jungle. He has built out his apartment to resemble a bamboo rainforest. He has palm trees, coconuts, vines, moss, 6 foot bushes, flagstones, fake grass, and a pond. That's just on the inside! In addition, there are traditional Japanese woven Tatami mats and sliding rice panel doors. It's wonderful. People drop by just to show it off to their friends. It should be on the UNESCO World Heritage list. I sleep on a convertible futon that is swathed in tiger print. He sleeps inside a closet that is also covered in tiger skins. It seems we're still playing "fort". He in his habitrail, and me in my boat.


Anime for Everyone

In the city of Tokyo, there is a cartoon cat that dictates all the rules to follow. "Don't park your bike here." "Don't get your fingers stuck in the closing door." "Stand on this side, walk on that side." It's Hello Kitty! Yes - Hello Kitty literally guides you in your daily life. It's as if Mickey Mouse was a law enforcement officer.


I Can Speak Engrish!

I haven't had a job in over 4 years or a job interview in over 15 years. One of the reasons I'm here is to earn money. My first interview was a dismal failure. I was overwhelmed and underwhelming. I wouldn't have hired me either. I'll get better at the process. What is the position I'm applying for? Well – that would be English teacher of course. It seems I learned a marketable skill at a young age. The problem is; there are a lot of other people in Tokyo trying to sell it as well.

Your fish out of water,


Bob