Fukuoka Tower: an extended middle finger across the Korea Strait
I like Douglas Adams, but I never got into his '
Meaning of Liff' thing, which tries to appropriate existing place names to stand for a feeling or mood. It always felt to me like a radio show's novelty phone-in segment that went too far. But of all the places I've visited these past 18 months,
Fukuoka comes the closest to encapsulating the experience in the name.
When I get back on board the Beetle ferry and the harbour fades into the mist, it would seem entirely appropriate to exhale an exhausted, drawn-out '
Fuk-u-oka.'
As soon as I arrived I was interviewed at length by customs, which hasn't happened since Israel. They even went through my notebook (what next? Checking through this blog? I'm screwed) and laughed at some of my pathetic attempts to copy
kanji writing. I think they were just keeping themselves busy, really - there were only two other foreign arrivals on the boat and they were just boring Koreans, not exotic like me. But combined with the rain and getting lost down confusing alleys (even by Asian standards), I didn't have a particularly warm welcome in this country. Which was a shame, as I'd been looking forward to visiting for a long time.
Unless things turn around, it's looking like Japan will be one of those 30-day countries, rather than a let's-hang-around-as-long-as-the-entry-stamp-lets-me-so-I-don't-have-to-make-decisions one. I miss my Korea and my Koreans.
