The Beginnings of Life in the Northern Hemisphere

Incheon in winter is a desolate place. The city is clearly at the forefront of development- high rise buildings spring up everywhere I look, and cranes seem to outnumber people at a ratio of 10:1. The city is anxiously preparing for the 2014 Asian Games, and have coined themselves the 'tomorrow city'. Whether they will ever reach tomorrow is another issue. But I think they will, for Koreans- from what I have gathered from my-ever-so-brief stay- are ambitious. Long overshadowed by their neighbours Japan and China, they're really looking to come into their own.

As I walked through the empty streets I pretended I was the last survivor of a nuclear holocaust. The bubble was burst by the occasional bus and luxury car that would roll my way. Sometimes I would imagine that I was in North Korea, as the whole place seemed desolate and ambitious enough to pass for it. However I suppose if I were actually in North Korea, there wouldn't be people in luridly coloured North Face puffy down jackets, there would only be peasants holding sickles practicing Communism.

The snow is beautiful though. 4 metres above sea level, and there is a layer of powder that Mt Buller would die for. Why don't they just cross country ski everywhere in winter? Now that's what I want to see. A city where only form of transport is cross country skiing, where everyone must wear those condom-like suits in order to increase aerodynamic efficiency. And for the old, decrepit or crippled folk, they have can have segues with snow tyres. Picture that in your mind. People in condom suits skating whilst retirees hoon around them on segues. Now that's a cool city.

But I digress. I put my Mandarin to good use with a Chinese family (who have immigrated to Auckland) and are on their way back to New Zealand. Their 2 young sons are delighted to see snow for the first time, and are going nuts. I tell them they must visit the South Island and we heartily agree- "Nan dao hen bang!" On my way back to the hotel to take up my free lunch, a car pulls up next to me and a Korean jumps out with his puff jacket and yells at me. What have I done?! Did I accidently walk into the DMZ? No, he's just lost, and I can't help him, because my knowledge of the Korean language extends to 'hello' and 'thankyou'.

I make it back to Incheon International with plenty of good time until boarding. The airport itself is massive, and resembles a modern alien spaceship. It's quite new as far as airports go, and has apparently been voted the world's best airport/ world’s best hub for a few years running now. I can see why. It's not exactly a warm, welcoming place- airports never are. However it is amazingly efficient and stress free, and there’s even a girl in a traditional Korean hanbok (kimono like thing) playing a gayageum (I think)- a pretty funky stringer instrument.

My flight to San Francisco is fairly uneventful. I finally get to see District 9- an awesome, awesome movie. I also discover that I am losing my gift of enjoying aeroplane food. The beef served for dinner has the texture of a rock. However the omelette in the brekky is not half bad.

As we descend, I get my first glimpse the Northern Californian coastline. Amazing. Mountains galore and glorious white beaches to boot. I can even see the snow-capped Sierra Nevada in the distance. The Golden Gate Bridge comes to view, but it looks teeny tiny, made out of leggo. Nonetheless, I heartily congratulate myself on picking such a good corner of America to come to.

Given the recent hoo-ha that has been thrown in the US regarding security (due to Nigerian bomber man) I ready myself for a battalion of inspections and interrogations regarding whether I am a terrorist or not. The carousel spits my baggage out and I march proudly towards the customs area with my declaration form in hand. The dude waves me through without so much as a word. What?! I can proceed straight to the exit?! I am gobsmacked. All that preparation I’d put into coming up with smart arse comments, all that training to resist interrogation and torture- wasted! I felt the faint urge to turn around and yell, “BOMB!” but a wave rationality comes over me. Damn you, reason.

I am picked up by my Dad’s old high school friend, Bill, and his wife Ava. They drop my luggage off at Kitty’s (another of Dad’s old school friends) place, which is tucked in the Sunset district of San Francisco, a stone’s throw away from the beach. Despite my jetlag, I am determined to fully appreciate this ‘taste of San Francisco’ tour. First stop- the Golden Gate Bridge. Teeny tiny and leggo-like it may look from the sky, but from the ground, it is not. It is gargantuan and the sort of thing that any totalitarian dictator would be truly proud of. In typical Frisco-style, our walk back to the car is punctuated by some protestors dressed in pink, remonstrating against the War in Afghanistan. Right in front of the Golden Gate. I applaud my good luck in a)arriving on a day where the Golden Gate is not completely fog covered. And b) arriving on a day when the liberal hippies have come out to play in front of San Fran’s ultimate icon. Bring on the happy snaps.

We drop by Starbucks so I can revive myself with coffee, then onto the Palace of Fine Arts which looks like it’s been taken straight out of Ancient Rome. I manage to take in Coit Tower, Fisherman’s Wharf and Chinatown- which is significantly larger than Melbourne ‘s Chinatown. It apparently is the closest rival for New York’s Chinatown, which I can believe as it spans several blocks in width and length.

We go up and down Lombard St- possibly the world’s steepest and wonkiest street. It involves a fair few switchbacks. Hilly is definitely an appropriate way to describe San Fran in general- it is not uncommon to find one’s self walking/driving up inhuman slopes. Definitely not a place for L-Platers in manual cars. I can say one thing about San Fran- if you own a car, it better have damn good brakes, else you’re stuffed. We end the day at a very nice Hong Kong style restaurant that serves excellent food- dare I say it, possibly even better than Melbourne’s. And, to cap it off, the place 2 doors down does Italian gelato. I wolf down some of the guava and coconut flavours and life is gooooood. San Fran is goooooooood.

My second day in SF begins excitedly- I step off the MUNI (tram like system), walk out of the subway and smack bang onto a movie scene. I kid you not. There are San Francisco Police Department vehicles everywhere and fake SWAT teams with chisel jawed hot men dressed in the full garb. The security guard quickly shoos me out of the frame, but I manage to grab some ‘subtle’ pictures before I leave. However I’m whisked off so quickly that I get no glimpse of any movie stars whatsoever. Most of the day is spent exploring the Mission, a slightly ‘dodgier’ area of San Fran full of excellent restaurants, 2^nd hand books and vintage clothes stores. If you ever need clothes for 70s disco parties, this is the ultimate place to go. Everything is sorted by era, there’s 80s glitter, 80s prom, an ‘ethnic’ section and most interestingly, things are sold by weight. I cap the day off with a visit to Downtown and Union Square, full of the classic big brand stores but the ones we fail to get in Melbourne such as Bloomingdale’s, Zara, H & M and what not. So a 2 day whirlwind tour of San Francisco- a pretty sweet city I reckon. I gotta get back there. But in the meantime, I’ve moved into UC Berkeley. It is truly fully sick mate. However I’ll save my exposé on how fully sick it is for next time.