One of my biggest pet peeves about living in Asia is the attention one receives as a foreign resident. Not even necessarily kids yelling “HELLO!” in a crowded area. It comes from adults as well. I’ve had cashiers struggle with the English to explain the cost of something when I’ve asked them in their language. When traveling with friends who are often loud to the point of obnoxious (by Asian standards), we draw stares from everyone in the vicinity.

My point being, everything about me, from my hair color to my manner of speech, is lit up like Christmas tree in the middle of a dark night, comparatively speaking. English is a rather coarse language compared to Japanese and Korean, and anyone speaking it, whether it be me or someone trying to talk to me, draws stares. Likewise, foreign behavior, as a generalization, is arrogant by making oneself the center of attention. We do like to stand out, don’t we?

Unfortunately, the opposite is usually the case for many Asian countries: “The nail that sticks out will be hammered down.” Individuality in Japan is frowned upon. I learned to alter my American behavior and speech in an effort to be as Japanese as I could. The one thing I could not change was my appearance. As this was the first thing many Japanese noticed about me (and indeed, all foreign residents), I could never get past the guest mentality posed to me: “You use chopsticks very well… you speak Japanese very well… when are you going home?… where are you from?”

Behaving such a way for so many years (well… two) makes it difficult to change back. Even upon my return to the states, I did my best to lay low in public, never shouting, and speaking in a even-tempered tone. I carried this with me to Korea, where I though I would have a head start over first-timers negligently yelling at bus drivers, and speaking English when their poorly pronounced Korean wasn’t understood (I still don’t understand this cross-cultural compulsion… no one can understand you if you speak slower in a different tongue).

So that’s what I did: I kept my head down, my feelings to myself, my behavior a mystery to the elderly residents of my little fishing village. And, for the most part, I don’t regret it. I learned the basic Korean necessary to politely state my requests for food and drink. I don’t make a spectacle of myself by loudly banging on my own door at 3 AM drunk on soju. In a small town where gossip is everything (even without Twitter), I was nothing but a blip, just the way I wanted it to be. The only exceptions were the few Couchsurfers visiting my area; I have no doubt the cashier at my supermarket must have thought I had quite a few girlfriends. And my running. No one else, as far as I have seen, is as big an outdoor runner as me in my part of Korea. When I show up in tights and a headband requesting soymilk and carrots, it tends to leave an impression.

Still, my image in Bugu, as I believed it to be, was quiet and respectful. There wasn’t too much other information out there about me. Conversations went like this (in Korean):

(Entering the store)

“Thank you.”

Now I’m not so sure I made the right decision. As their faces become more familiar to me, I started seeing these workers around town under different circumstances: the friendly old man running the neighborhood bathhouse taking a soak in the same bath as me; the kid who speaks decent English working out his upper body at the Energy Farm gym; the Nong Hyup bank teller remarking she had seen me running past her house the other day.

By keeping to myself and establishing my image as someone to be overlooked, I had squandered months of what could have been education: awkward education, but learning experiences nonetheless. I could have been more inspired to improve my Korean had I heard that cashier commenting on my run my first week. I could have asked the old man what he thought of this bath, and what’s the best place he’s ever taken a soak?

All these opportunities wasted because I didn’t want to be one of those nails sticking out. I know there’s a balance between the two: being prudent and inconspicuous when the time calls for it, but when friendly people chat you up, even in the middle of a crowded store? I should have just ignored what others might have thought, set aside my modesty, and tried my best to stand out, my head held high. “YES! I was running over there yesterday. It was quiet beautiful…”

As I was consuming one of these creations this very afternoon, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty at everything I had.

CNN provided the perfect contrast: people in the areas affected by the tsunami waiting in lines to buy oranges and milk from makeshift markets; seniors trapped in evacuation centers with limited medical supplies. And here I was, safely in South Korea, in clean clothes, an apartment all to myself, using a knife to slice a 1900-Won apple.

I know this reaction is typical, empathizing with those suffering, particularly if you have close ties with the people or place. But, for some reason, Japan’s tragedy is lingering with me. Nothing that’s happened in the US – Katrina, Arizona shooting – has made me feel quite as bad as I do now. Food doesn’t taste as good, a bitter taste sloshing along my tongue where there should be sweetness.

Maybe it is just my own fears about what might have happened to me had I chosen to pursue work in that area of Japan. Or maybe it’s simply because Japan was my first destination abroad, and I believed myself and my surroundings to be invincible to any problem. Whatever it is, I can’t seem to move on.

Also in question is when to leave Korea. My boss has offered me a 300,000 Won/month raise if I stay on for another year. I know he’d be open to me just renewing for a few months if I wanted to continue until December or something like that. It’s just too easy. On the one hand, I’m settled here, life is easy, and I’m pocketing plenty of cash. On the other, it’s not exactly challenging. You tend to follow the same pattern, living among expats: there’s fun to be had, but you talk about the same things over and over… I just don’t feel myself growing emotionally when I’m surrounded by 22-year-olds partying it up in Seoul.

I can’t pretend to know what the future holds, but I also can’t claim to feel confident about any “career” with a bachelor’s degree and the majority of my employment history in foreign countries. Maybe I’m just in a “glass is half empty” kind of funk. I’m just worried. I’m worried I’ll leave Korea, end up spending all my money in the states before I secure any employment, and wish I had stayed a little longer. I can’t leave, but I can’t stay here either.

Let me clarify that. I wanted to show how even though I wouldn’t trade my travel experiences for anything… well, that anything might not include a significant other. A wife, a fiancé, a long-term girlfriend. Even though my time on the road has shaped me into I believe a better and more cultured person, one more likely to attract a mate based on shared interests, I just don’t know if the years involved were worth it. As I was enjoying countless sojourns in Asia, my friends back home were meeting people, forming long-term relationships, and some even getting married. And though I personally believe it’s more beneficial to meet someone later in life – well, a few years out of university, anyway – I can’t help but wonder “what if?” at lot of things in my past.

What if I hadn’t been such a nerd in high school?

Yes, this question is probably a result of me understanding too many nerdy references in BBT, but it did occupy my thoughts for some time during university as I learned there was more to life than studying. I subsequently reasoned for myself why my high school social experience wasn’t I hoped it would have been: I wasn’t normal.

Normal is what you have to be in high school to stay sane and have any semblance of a social life. Normal is not liking science fiction. Normal in high school is not being gay; I should DEFINITELY clarify this, because I don’t have any problem whatsoever with someone’s sexuality. I just think mainstream high school students can’t deal with it; whether you born that way or not, you’re different from the majority of those around you. And, by all means, scream it from the tops of the tallest buildings once you graduate, but if you want to be accepted at a minimum, hold your tongue in high school. Normal is excelling at some kind of athletics, or, if you’re unable, in the arts. Normal is dressing the right way. Normal is not being yourself, but what other people expect you to be. Normal is not knowing too much, or too little: being smart enough to pass classes but not show off your intelligence (e.g. the kid at the front of the class always raising his hand).

Ah, yes, intelligence. I could go either way on this one. In high school, I’d have to say dumber is more appealing to the opposite sex. You tend not to overthink your actions and just rush right into the physical. For men, or rather boys, brawn is superior to brains. Maybe if I had just put all my focus in becoming the fastest runner at my school (I did have the ability, just not the dedication), gone to keg parties, gotten drunk, and killed as many brain cells as possible while making out with your stereotypical blonde cheerleader, I might have had the hope of gaining some experience with relationships before entering college. As it happened, however, all I could do was offer pretense when it came to girls, trying to showcase traits I really didn’t have, and looking like a complete jackass in the process. They must have been laughing at me for four years.

I was the kid at the front of the class. I was the kid who watched reruns of Star Trek when I got home. I was the one who arrogantly assumed he was superior to dumb jocks, ignoring the fact most of them were probably hooking up with half the freshmen girls. I left high school having never been on a real date – kind of – and as a result had to use my time at university to make milestones most of my friends had reached years ago.

In short? I had fallen behind. Guess I could have just said that earlier.

What if I hadn’t rushed in?

When I met Amy my senior year at the University of Texas, I had learned a few things. Not much, mind you, but a few things.

I guess in a way she was my first real love, as we both moved things along pretty quickly. But we were still worlds apart. She had a few years left at college, whereas I was about to finish and head for places unknown. The first month or so we were inseparable, but then I started to notice her pulling away, subtly not responding to my affection. It never occurred to me I could have been pushing her into something for which she wasn’t ready. I felt more during my time with her than I had up to my entire life at that point, but I suppose it was just another relationship to her, and she didn’t feel the same way.

Why do I think travel makes relationships suffer?

I’m referring to people trying to form relationships, not the relationships themselves. That’s a different issue.

Your social skills deteriorate abroad. You will gain some great stories and language skills, but as anyone who’s lived in another non-English-speaking country can tell you, you almost fall out of the habit of speaking correctly. Not to mention the lack of contact with your own culture if you choose to repatriate. You lose pop culture references and the latest trends. Once you do return home, it’s like being a travel nerd who won’t shut up: all you can do is talk about your fantastic experiences in this place and that and how no one has really lived until he or she has done the same.

Your expectations fall due to superficial or short relationships. Take teaching English in Asia as an example. You’re over there for one year. Let’s say you have the fortune of meeting a fellow foreign teacher you happen to like, and she feels the same. Great, while you’re there. There’s a time limit imposed from the start. You’re sure to have fun and not be as lonely, but the relationship won’t really teach you anything about compromise, sacrifice, or any hardships real relationships are sure to experience. And as for purely physical ones with locals who barely speak English or expats with whom you might click, well… there’s not exactly anything of substance, is there?

I didn’t have any experience in high school. I rushed in in university. I started traveling soon. I am so screwed if lasting relationships are built upon the lessons learned from failed ones. I haven’t bothered to try anything long term due to circumstances, and I have a feeling I’ll discover just how much that will set me back when I try to forge something real the next time around.

Social networking and all its addictiveness aside, I have felt like I’ve been declawed and released into the wild lately. I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. Two years ago I would have been able to pitch article after article to the MatadorNetwork, while doing countless searches on new websites, places off the beaten path in Japan, and seeing what I could do to further my “career” as a travel writer. It’s not even about pitching articles or making money, it’s about wanting to do so, and wanting more out of one’s life. This year, I just haven’t felt much of a drive to do anything.

I looked at all my pictures of my years in the land of the rising sun, and I couldn’t help but feel a certain disconnect with that aspect of my life, as though I had forgotten I was and am a traveler. Even being aware of my recent days in New Zealand, I stared and wondered…

When was I ever in such a state of mind to travel every week, every day? What was it about these countries that compelled me to take photos of everything, and why don’t I have the same inclination to do so here, now? Am I really such a different person now? Where have my traveler’s instincts gone?

Maybe it was the fact that, in Japan, there were so few options available to traveling foreigners. If I wanted to go somewhere off the beaten path, I could be sure there would only be 1-2 websites, few others who had preceded me, and limited sources of information. As such, when I wrote up the blogs for my Japanese adventures listing the best ryokan, onsen, and transportation, I was stating the obvious: there were next to none in the way of other choices. I may have been parroting that which others could find with a little elbow grease, but it was the only information for the areas I traveled.

Maybe time is my enemy now. I’m essentially doing what some more notable writers have done in reverse. Rolf Potts traveled Asia after working in South Korea for two years saving money. I may have worked in Japan, but I spent every last yen on ferry and train tickets, while letting my credit card debt slowly grow from interest rates. In New Zealand, I earned enough to get by, but continued to charge for fancy meals and unnecessary items. Nowadays, I wire the majority of my paycheck to the states, and when friends invite me to go bungee jumping or to Taebaek for the casino, I simply say I’m trying to save… and spend the weekend in front of my computer, wondering why.

What would I rather be doing? Ah, there’s the rub. The whole “grass is always greener” argument. I think I’m finally ready to call it quits, whatever that means. I sound like such a hypocrite saying such a thing, but I’m tired. I’m tired of being comfortable, because long-term travel, living abroad, teaching English, indulging in nothing but travel and superficial relationships, and waking up in unfamiliar surroundings have become comfortable to me. Even when I don’t know the area or the language, I know how things work; I know how to live comfortably. I didn’t think it was possible either, but if the purpose of travel, why we travel, is to stretch our minds with the unfamiliar, I think I’ve numbed myself up too often for it to have any effect. Maybe I’m wrong. I certainly don’t like this development, but I don’t see a cure. A new country? New city? Same places with a significant other? Go back to the states to recuperate, then hit the road? When I was living at Vimutti Buddhist Monastery in New Zealand, I asked the abbot whether he had ever known a monk to disrobe (leave the tradition). In fact, he had, and went into detail about how some, even after decades of service, get tired of everything: early morning chants, celibacy, physical labor… The way he explained it, you don’t have to be ordained to achieve enlightenment (though it does help with the lack of distraction), and people have to follow their own path. Some get tired, and need a change.

I’m tired. I need a change.

I started writing for the MatadorNetwork not long after they really started to take off in the online community. Yet I remain a freelance writer, while others I’ve known have become editors and influential members of the team. It’s my own fault, of course, because I didn’t ask for any more responsibility. I was comfortable writing freelance, only submitting articles when I wanted to, and nothing more. It’s always nothing more with me. These nights I spend browsing travel websites only leads to envy and frustration; I like what I read, I know I can write that well, but all I see is someone getting more glory. It’s petty, but I just keep thinking why I’m not in their positions after this long a time, and now, it’s clear to me: because I didn’t focus my efforts there. I always spread myself too thin, knowing a little about a lot, and I’ve come to realize this isn’t beneficial to me or to the world I should be helping. I need to just pick a path, go with it, right or wrong, and see where it leads me. Hopefully it will lead to some stability, situations in which I can still travel, and someone with whom to share my life.

I met a well-built 23-year-old Korean man on the bus at Juk-byeon (줔변). Ordinarily I shy away from conversations with over-eager English-speaking locals, but, as we were the only two on the bus and he seems friendly enough, I passed along my email. Helped me with a few pronunciations, and kept saying “young boy, young boy.” Ummm… he’s 23. I still don’t get that.

Finally tried one of the Japanese restaurants in Uljin this evening. Unfortunately for me, the menu was all in Hangul. Perfectly understandable in Korea, but I just wish there had been an inkling of Hanja… then I would have been able to order without sounding like an idiot. When the owner/waiter/cook saw my confusion, he offered a suggestion: miso ramen. Why not?

Cold tofu appetizer, a fried egg, and ramen with noodles and corn. Not too bad, but the major Japanese food Koreans seem to stock in restaurants is noodles. Maybe I just need to eat in a bigger city. 8000 Won for this delicacy, and the owner had to run across the street for change.

Next, I had about twenty minutes before the bus left, so I availed myself of the opportunity to find a cheap map of Korea. Funny story. I did locate the posters in the office supply store easily enough, but noticed they only had a world map and a Gyeongsanbukdo (경산붘도) regional map. Both were rolled up, but I recognized the characters for the region and from the differences in scale (1/200,000 v. 1/46,000,000), concluded the other had to be of the world, not just the Republic of Korea. Aren’t I smart?

Now the fun began. I took the map to the lady at the counter, who began softly muttering to herself as she read the type of map. As if making a decision, she took out her hand phone and spoke to someone for about a minute. I couldn’t make much of anything out, but based on what happened next, I have a feeling this is how the conversation unfolded:

“I’ve got a foreigner here who wants to buy a map.”

“So? Let him buy it.”

“Yes, but he was looking at the maps for quite some time, and he’s chosen the one for Gyeongsanbukdo.”

“Gyeongsanbukdo? Really?”

“Yes, Gyeongsanbukdo. It must be a mistake – he must just want a map of Korea.”

“So just ask him.”

“I don’t think he speaks Korean [interesting, since I hadn't spoken to her yet, but I did say 'annyong haseyo']. Can you do it?”

“Fine. Let me speak to him.”

I had no idea what was actually said, but she handed me the phone and looked confused when I hesitated to take it (why would I? I was just buying a map!). Bewildered, I took it.

“Do you want map Republic of Korea?”

“No, I want Gyeongsanbukdo.”

“This is Gyeongsanbukdo. Do you want map Republic of Korea?”

“No, I want Gyeongsanbukdo.”

At which point I handed her back the phone and paid 11,000 Won for my map. I was a little annoyed; I mean, if there was any confusion as to what kind of map it was, didn’t she think I would have asked? It reminded me of when I took the second to last bus towards Uljin, and the couple running Bugu bus terminal assumed I must have been ignorant as to the finishing times and tried to warn me I couldn’t come back that night. I knew I couldn’t come back, just like I knew about the map. But they’re all just looking out for me, I suppose. I can respect that.

Map accomplished. I still had a few minutes left, so I walked around the back streets on the north side of town and came across a rather unusually-named store:

My first thought, as I’m sure is yours, was that this was an underwear store; there are certainly shops that feature nothing but men’s and women’s undergarments. There were even two appropriately dressed mannequins in the left window. I was just going to bypass the the whole display, when something red caught my eye: a Heinz ketchup bottle… yes, you heard me… In addition to being an underwear store, Buttocks carries some pretty random imported items: Japanese cosmetics, American condiments, and plenty of gift boxes. So, when you think imports, remember, buy imports straight from your Buttocks.

What am I doing? Traveling from country to country, working to live… I know there’s more to it than that, but I just turned 28, and the whole vagabonding lifestyle just doesn’t satisfy me the way it used to. Maybe I’m meant to settle down, have some kids, be stable (but I guess I need a date first). Just thinking out loud. Right now, I’m killing time until I (possibly) go to teach English for a year in Bugu, South Korea, but even that is looking like less of a option if tension keeps rising on that peninsula – if I do find something more stable here, the chance of war will give me an out with the company (i.e. “I’m so scared!”) I was working in Dallas, promoting products for companies I don’t really care about, all for the flexibility of high income, few hours. Then it occurred to me I could pretty much do that anywhere, so why settle for a boring city like Dallas?

“the greyhound”, iam.tdjones

Taking the Greyhound halfway across the country is an interesting experience. Waking up early just so you can try to sleep again, making sure your legs don’t atrophy en route. I honestly believe our first driver was mentally challenged; he had nothing better to do at next stop than say “My name is James, and I’m on loan from Greyhound El Paso”. The fact he had never driven the bus from Dallas to Nashville might explain why he was two hours late. Still, the bus lines are cheap… and usually the worst option; it’s only about $100 more to fly as long as you book well in advance, and Craigslist has made rideshares all too easy.

The majority of travelers seemed to be relocating for work. I saw a lot of guys in their fifties who were poorly dressed, had obviously never worked a desk job, and talked to other riders about their time in prison or hard times being a truck driver in the states… I wish I were just being a superficial douchebag, but I heard what I heard. Few, if any, European backpackers looking to go on the cheap; I guess I just missed them, or they prefer to buy a cheap van to travel cross country.

Advice on riding the Greyhound for 24+ hours

- Stretch your legs across the aisle if there aren’t too many people. You need to lie down. Just ignore the driver if he calls attention to you.
- Don’t eat in the Greyhound stations. The food is lousy and overpriced. Wait until you have a downtown stop, then make the walk for something decent.
- Ignore racist remarks by other riders. You won’t win that argument.
- Don’t sit next to someone unless you’re positive you can keep the conversation going. Then again, you might get sick of your best friend after being side-by-side for over a day.
- Give up your seat so the Amish can sit together

Other than a really stuck-up driver out of Nashville, travel was smooth and uneventful. I arrived at Franconia-Springfield at the 35-hour mark, and took the blue line into Alexandria, Virginia for the night. Mission accomplished. Now for the work.

I don’t know why I chose promotions and brand ambassador jobs as my go-to work for when I’m back in the states. There’s always a call for it, it’s easy… and I guess I just like being in the company of beautiful women… even if I don’t really see eye to eye with most of them. Depending on the company’s need, it’s pretty high pay, too. I can work for a few hours each day for a week, and have enough to survive for two comfortably. And because the company only needs BA’s for the one promotion, it’s contract work. You’re free to sleep and eat until the next one, if you even choose to work the next one.

Never done anything like this? I’ve been a sailor, while three girls huddled around me, dressed as mermaids. I’ve taken my shirt off so doctors could examine my innards with a new ultrasound system. I’ve given away free coffee, dispensed from “jetpacks” so commuters could enjoy a cup on the go; one of the girls’ packs actually fell apart, and she and a customer were burned pretty badly. There’s always a price to pay.

The point is, I suppose, that work is there to be found. I still write travel articles (though I have been in a bit of a funk lately), but I’ve just learned to accept the fact I won’t be able to publish them as quickly as Nomadic Matt or Almost Fearless. I’m never going to be able to work every promotion at every time, in every part of the country; DC was a lot of fun, but I missed out on two other campaigns the moment I stepped on that bus. I can’t do everything. I can’t eat at every restaurant every day. I can’t go to every party. I can’t date every girl I find attractive (though one would be nice!). People who guilt themselves with these options will find they will always be depressed, because there will always, ALWAYS, be something else to do.

This entry didn’t exactly finish up the way it started, but that’s ok. You know why? I’m not Nomadic Matt. I’m not the chief editor of the Matador Network. I’m not a Lonely Planet writer. I’m Turner Wright, and I’m writing the way I feel like writing.