FLASHBACK THURSDAY - THE HAWAII SAGA OF 2007

**ORIGINALLY POSTED IN AUGUST 2007**

-OR- WHY I CAME BACK FROM HONOLULU NOT VERY TAN

Brad and I arrive in Hawaii around 4pm last Wednesday. We check into our hotel, and after some confusion and explanations of overbooking the hotel, we're given one of the huge suites at the top of one of the towers that is larger than my apartment. It, however, doesn't have a bed in it, so they roll up two roll away beds for us to sleep in, which honestly aren't that bad. For our "inconvenience," we get 2 free coupons for the dinner buffet, saving us $70. They also throw at us each a breakfast coupon, good for free breakfast every morning we're here at 2 of the different restaurants. Things are going well, and we haven't paid for a meal yet. We should have kept it that way.

Thursday we go to Lanikai beach, probably the nicest beach I've ever been to. Crystal clear water, white sand, few people, and tropical plants all around, complete with 2 little islands in the distance to add to the view. Upon our return to civilization, we're starving. Our first mistake is to stop at L&L Drive In, and my second is to order fried seafood. The third is to eat it all.

A couple of hours later, after our shower, we decide to go for a drive up into the mountains to check out some views. We get over by the University of Hawaii when I start feeling kinda gross. I'm not worried, I overeat frequently, and get mild bloating and wooziness on occasion. Going on winding mountain roads, however, doesn't help. After about 15 minutes I convince Brad that I'm feeling kinda gross and would rather lay down than explore right now, so he heads back to the hotel. I'm getting worse as the minutes pass. Right as we turn into downtown Waikiki, onto the strip with the thousands of tourists and Louis Vuitton stores and restaurants galore, I roll down the window and have a good, long puke. 

We stop at a stoplight and I puke again and again, right in front of the outdoor seating area for this restaurant. I couldn't help but think as I puked how funny I'd find this later, especially since there was one middle aged Japanese man who was enthralled with my sickness and couldn't tear his eyes away. All humor subsided, however, when I let out my last hurrah and it was combined with a fart...or what I hoped was merely a fart. I was so so wrong.

Suffice it to say, I had to wrap my jacket around my waist, waddle through our humongous hotel to the 30th floor and change my clothes. But it didn't stop there. We returned home around 6pm. I basically puked nonstop for the next 6 hours. When I say nonstop, I mean no puke and rest, no down time, no moments of calm and lacking in nausea. Complete six-hour constant nausea puke (and poo)-til-there's-nothing-left. The last hour nothing was even coming out. I just kept dry heaving. 

My experience with throwing up has never been pleasant, but at least it's been predictable. Usually I'll throw up once or twice, feel so much better, and pass out. Other times I'll throw up, feel better, and then feel bad again in about half an hour and do it all again. Once everything's out, I can relax and go to sleep or at least calm down for a bit. Never in my wildest dreams did I believe that I could throw up everything in my body, lose all fluids through two different ways, and STILL attempt to throw up. What horrible thing was left inside me to get out? IT'S ALL GONE, GODDAMNIT!

After 6 hours had passed, I began to go numb. My extremities tingled, like your feet do when they fall asleep. I couldn't stand up because I had no control over my legs. I couldn't even get to the bathroom anymore, I was a ball on the floor clutching a neverending cycle of trash cans, provided by the greatest and most understanding boyfriend ever. Once I realized I couldn't walk and could barely feel my fingers, I knew that something was horribly wrong. I'd never been this bad before. I told Brad to take me to the hospital.

I made a valiant effort to move, but knowing that we were on the 30th floor, that we were one of 4 towers in probably the largest hotel in the entire state, and we would have to cross the lobby, a bar, some restaurants, and an entire shopping plaza before even reaching the parking garage, I knew there was no way in my wildest dreams that I'd make it to the car without being wheeled. Discussion of a wheelchair from the front desk subsided, and the decision was made to call an ambulance.

By this time I could barely even turn over. I had managed somehow to get on the bed, probably at Brad's coaxing to get me out of the bathroom floor so the medics could more easily reach me. They arrived and started asking me questions. Although now I realize that they're supposed to talk to me and keep me conscious, I was getting immensely pissed off that they weren't just asking Brad. He was FINE. He could answer anything you wanted. Why do you care where I'm from? Can't he tell you where we ate? I don't even know what time it is, what day it is, or anything other than I want you to fucking put a goddamned IV in me and shoot me up with anti nausea medicine STAT.

I vaguely remember being wheeled through the service elevator and out through some weird non-public garage under the hotel into a waiting ambulance that happened to be 20 below zero and caused me to go into violent convulsive shivers, because of course I had a fever. They didn't even turn the sirens on for me. YOU NEED TO SPEED. THE ANTI NAUSEA MEDICINE ISN'T IN THIS CAR. IF I WERE ABLE TO MOVE I'D KILL YOU.

I was given an IV in the ambulance, but no medicine, just fluids (which I suppose I needed even more at that point). We arrived at the hospital, I was questioned some more (all the while looking at Brad and saying "ask him"), and after what seemed like forever, I was finally given some of my glorious anti-nausea medicine that worked after about 5 minutes. I could finally relax, even though I still couldn't feel my feet or hands.

I spent 3 hours in the emergency room. 2 of them were wonderful, filled with non-nauseated sleep. I was given 2 full IV bags of fluid, whatever the hell kind they put in those things, and some potassium because I'd lost a significant amount and they said that might have contributed to my tingles. It tasted like metamucil, but at this point I was willing to put anything in my body to make myself better. I didn't even flinch, with my horrible fear of needles, at the IV or the blood test. At that point I was willing to have them cut off my finger if it cured my illness.

Although the tingling and numbness hadn't completely subsided, the doctor assured me that now that I was hydrated and full of potassium I'd be fine and it would slowly go away. I was sent home with no-poo and no-puke prescriptions and passed the fuck out.

The next day we decided to go to Diamond Head. That involves hiking uphill in the sunlight for like 30 minutes each way. Little old ladies were passing me as I took breaks at the side of the trail. But I did it, and have the pictures to prove it. That pretty much did me in for the next 24 hours, and after a couple of throw up episodes (his were normal, sporadic, and not dehydrating) of his own, Brad and I slept THE ENTIRE DAY on Saturday. 

Now I'm home, somewhat weak and tired, but able to eat normal food. I'm also about 5lbs lighter. So much for gaining weight on vacation.

36 HOURS IN JAPAN: PART 2

After hitting 10,000 steps somewhere along the hill at Fushimi Inari, I headed back to the train station to go on to my next point of interest. One stop north was the Tofukuji Temple, a Zen Buddhist temple that was established in the 1200s. Yeah, that's not a typo. The current buildings were constructed after a fire in the 15th century, which is the 1400s, so still, SUPER OLD.

Because I have "iron boogers" and always know what direction I'm facing, I had no problem wandering from the train station about 3/4 of a mile to the temple with little to no signage (in English). Once again, anyone with any type of travel anxiety or planning compulsion would probably have freaked out, but as I'm perfectly comfortable wandering towards something that's "in this general direction" with my mental map, I had no problems. 

There's something calming about Kyoto. It wasn't nearly as small as I'd imagined it, but the old-style Japanese architecture with the dark wood paneling and white screens was all around, and it felt very peaceful. There were giant trees, and even though it was too hot and humid for this west coast girl, it was still a lovely walk. Jeans were, however, a bad choice.

Tofukuji temple was, well, epic. The buildings were very simple, but at the same time they were really magnificent and grand. It very randomly reminded me somewhat of northern California - the trees I think, and the fact that everything was made out of dark, unpainted wood. It was, as a Zen Buddhist temple should be, very zen.

THEY EVEN HAD A REAL ZEN GARDEN. You know, like those things you put on your desk with the sand...

You had to take your shoes off to walk on the wood floors inside the temple and by the zen garden, and the floorboards squeaked - intentionally. I'll explain that later when I'm at Nijo Castle. But even with crowds of people, Tofukuji temple was beautiful and incredibly calming, and left me feeling all one with nature and shit like that. I had a nice little walkabout sans shoes, then I headed back to the train station for my next stop on the rush tour of Kyoto.

I made it back to Kyoto Station, and it was finally late enough in the afternoon for me to check into my "guesthouse" and drop some of my stuff off (that had been stashed in a convenient locker at the station). It was only about 3 blocks away from the station, which was nice since everywhere I went started from there - and there was a nice view of Kyoto Tower.

<<<Kyoto Tower

My guesthouse>>>

Because I hate people, I booked the only "private room" in what is essentially a capsule hotel. I have an intense hatred of snoring, so the thought of being in a room with other people that I wasn't legally allowed to assault in the wee hours of the morning to shut them up was terrifying. I had a nice, tiny room with a door, my own AC, and a TV that I didn't turn on. After hours of walking, I immediately shut myself in my 30 square foot room and blasted the AC to try to dry the layers of sweat, and put my swollen feet up for a few minutes.

Since I was on a time crunch, I didn't get an actual nap as I would have liked -  I sat for 30 minutes and changed clothes, then it was time to head out for dinner. I took one of the 900 trains from Kyoto Station to the Gion area (which may sound familiar to anyone who read Memoirs of a Geisha) because a) it was supposed to be cute and traditional and b) there was a Sanrio store there. Priorities.

I walked another 9 billion steps along the main drag full of traditional shops selling tea, cute things, stuff made from kimono fabric, jewelry, delicious foodstuffs, Japanese candies, legit actual kimonos that cost as much as a nice apartment, and other fancy things. I found my Sanrio store, bought some cute Aggretsuko socks and a little plushie, and set out in search of sushi.

Since my main requirement for restaurants was either an English menu or recognizable photographs of food, I walked a while before I found something suitable. I went into a big department store and, as I've learned in Korea, headed for the top floor (where the food is). I was not disappointed, because I found a sweet conveyor belt sushi restaurant and only had to wait about 10 minutes for a seat at the bar. They gave me a number, and because I speak literally one single word of Japanese, I had to google how to say "66" in Japanese so I'd know when they called me. Even so, I was so obviously out of place that when the guy came out, he looked at my receipt and saw that I was the one he was looking for instead of trying to scream Japanese numbers at a foreigner. Bless him.

It. Was. Glorious. Was it better than sushi outside of Japan? Yes, yes it was. How? Well, the only way I can explain it is the way pineapple tastes in Hawaii. It's different, it's better, but I can't really explain how. So yeah. Here's a haphazard photo of the first of many delicious plates of sushi:

Plus the free matcha tea that just comes with your meal.

After dinner, my feet had grown to the size of small grapefruits and my body hated me for being awake and mobile for nearly 20 hours, so I took a quick walk down Ponto-cho, an adorably traditional restaurant street in Gion, and headed back to my tiny air-conditioned shipping container for some intense sleep. It was only 9:30pm, but I was dead, and honestly, there's not much touristing to do after dark.

I wanted some damn ice cream, because if I'm going to burn more calories than I'm physically able to consume in a day, I'm going to have some ice cream. But sadly, the ice cream places I'd passed on the way to dinner had closed, because they suck, so I went into McDonald's and had a cone with chocolate syrup and almonds that I devoured in approximately 3 minutes like a drunken bear. I was sweaty, with giant swollen feet and ice cream on my shirt, just like everyone abroad imagines Americans to be. I had succeeded in staying awake until dark after waking up at 5am, which to me, was a giant success. Time to sleep at least 10 hours.

To be continued...

JAPAN: LIKE EPCOT, BUT REAL!

Last weekend I had the fortuitous pleasure to be able to spend a whopping 36 hours in Kyoto, Japan. It's one of the many perks of living in Korea - an hour-and-a-half-long flight from Seoul and BAM, I'm in another country. And not even some "shithole" country (yep, I went there), but legitimately one of the places I'd been dreaming about since I was a child.

I'm sure it comes as no surprise that my childhood dream destinations were China and Japan, since I have in no way ever fallen into the "typical" child category. When I was obscenely young, probably 4 or 5, I became randomly obsessed with the China and Japan pavilions at EPCOT Center at Disney World. I didn't want to be a princess, or go to Paris, or have a pony - I just wanted to go to Asia. It didn't help that in MY FAVORITE Reading Rainbow episode that LaVar went to Japan, and it was dreamy and wonderful and perfect. (My second favorite episode is where he makes paper out of jeans...) Somewhere in my parents' house I'm sure they still have my child-sized kimono (with professionally matched obi belt courtesy of the nice lady at Japan EPCOT).

Well, 36 years later, I made my dream come true. I bought a ticket on a discount and entirely magenta Japanese airline to leave at 7:30am on a Saturday and return at 9pm the following evening (shout out to Peach Airlines, the Southwest of Japan). Pumped with adrenaline and the fact that the sun is FULLY UP at 5am in Korea, I was rearing to go. As we landed at 9:10am in Osaka, I was ready to walk the (spoiler alert) 28,145 steps of that Saturday all around Japan.

Thing one I noticed about Japan: it is chaotic. Even just reading the signs at the airport. They're colorful and taking up EVERY SURFACE, so you don't know where to look - oh, and they're all in Japanese. You laugh, but coming from Korea, where I am able to at least read the language (whether or not I actually know what it means), it was a little shocking to be surrounded by a language I couldn't even begin to phonetically butcher looking at its characters. There was some English, which sent me to the train ticket place, but anyone with any kind of travel anxiety might have simply melted into a puddle on the floor. 

I wanted to take the bullet train because OF COURSE, but the bullet train didn't have this adorable ticket option:

So I took the hour-ish train from Osaka to Kyoto Station, using the on-train WiFi to catch up on episodes of My Favorite Murder (as you do). When I arrived at Kyoto Station, I hadn't eaten in nearly six hours, which is unheard of for me, so I stopped at one of the TEN ramen restaurants inside the station and had a wonderful bowl of the most satisfying miso ramen.

I used the age-old "point and nod" since my Japanese is limited to "thank you" (which I learned from Mr. Roboto). Thank god for photographs of food on menus. It tasted like delicious salty, pork-y heaven, and was exactly what I needed before my half marathon walk ahead of me.

My first touristy trek, since it was only 11am, was the Fushimi Inari shrine - better known as "that place with all the orange gates that people post on Instagram." It was an easy two-stop train ride south of the station. Apparently everyone else had the same idea - Instagram makes you believe that it's deserted and quiet, but it's packed to the brim with tourists from all over the world, as well as some Japanese school kids in their cute little uniforms.

The whole place is covered in statues of foxes - apparently the foxes are some kind of messengers and so all the little stores have little white fox souvenirs. They're pretty cute, actually. You can see them in front of all the buildings (above) and randomly along the walk up the mountain.

The torii (orange gates) are actually all the way up this huge hill (mountain?) so while I thought I'd never get my perfect "abandoned" Instagram shot because of all the tourists, it did start to thin out the further up the hill I got. There's something magical about being at a place that is hundreds of years old - I believe the most recent reconstruction dated back to the 1600s-  and Kyoto is pretty much entirely that. Since the Japanese were almost never attacked on their own soil, all the historical sites have literally remained untouched for hundreds of years. In comparison, poor Korea has had most of their historical sites and buildings either destroyed and rebuilt, or "repurposed" during occupation by China or *ahem* Japan.

Part of my 28,000 steps was this whole damned hill that just kept going, but it was beautiful. I did finally get my solitary Fushimi Inari photo sans other tourists:

*Instagram perfection*

Once you make it to the top of the hill, the orange torii stop and you start walking down past a ton of shrines (that I found out later were GRAVEYARDS, YIKES). But because Japan is wonderful, and you should never hike without hydration, randomly along the path down the hill were vending machines. Full. Of. Green. Tea. My joy was palpable because OH GOD I LOVE JAPANESE TEA. And let's get real here for a second - Korea doesn't have good tea. It's all weird barley or corn or some other grain tea, and it's NOT GOOD. But rejoice! Every few hundred feet would be one of these:

That's my favorite brand - I have gotten it for years, and here it is at ¥150, or LESS THAN $1.50. In Korea I can find it at ONE PLACE for $2.50. Also look, MINI SIZES!

And if that wasn't enough to make my whole entire visit complete, it was lunch time for the adorable shrine kitties:

Speaking of kitties, there was another shrine kitty up on the hill by the torii, who sat off the path about six feet and just yelled at everyone passing by, like "HEY WHAT UP, TOURIST." I, of course, was like "HIIII KITTYYYY" and the people passing me thought I was nuts, but whatever.

Somewhere along the hill I hit 10,000 steps, something I usually do around 8pm on a normal day (or if it was before I moved to Korea, oh, about NEVER o'clock), and it was only noon. I got myself a little hangy thing and my friend a magnet (I GOT YOU SARA) and headed back to the train station for what will become Part II of the Japan Saga.