OooooOuu this my shit, this my shit (sing this as you would the chorus from Gwen Stefani’s Hollaback Girl) That’s my shit. I’m in the Ferry terminal waiting to sail to Fukuoka, Japan. Peace out Korea, you’ve been lovely.
I have some goals for Japan:
-Get on top of some tall tall buildings
-Go out at night with my tripod
-Sleep in a pod hotel
-Get into the jungle and find a hammock to swing in and some monkeys that want to hang out
-Not go broke
Everyone is scaring the hell out of me with their horror stories of how expensive Japan is. I will start eating bugs, maybe.
Anyway, no one has asked me to do this but I’m going to because these people were kind enough to sponsor this trip with their awesomeness. Those bags there were gifted to me by Gregory Mountain Packs and Tom Bihn, and the more I carry them around the more I am grateful for them. They’ve kind of replaced my cats as my new best friends, always there when I need them, just slightly less cuddly. I carry the big one on my back and the smaller on the front. Jefferson, the guy I just stayed with in Busan, said I look like a pregnant turtle. I’m taking it as a compliment.
This ship I’m about to get on looks pretty bonkers from the brochure. It’s got some hot tubs in the common area. Whoa. We’ll have to see how that turns out. I never got to see any breakdancing B-Boys in Busan. What a shame. Maybe I can hunt some down in Tokyo.
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