Passport

Anyday now, I’ll be picking up my passport from the Dept. of Foreign Affairs.

I was made to line up along one of several lines in the DFA basketball court. With me is an application form, three copies of passport-size ID pictures, a copy of my birth certificate printed in counterfeit-proof paper, and two ID cards.

The whole process took over an hour. And so the final steps will be getting a visa from the Japanese embassy, armed with a letter of recommendation from The Japan Foundation.

—–

UPDATE JULY 6, 2006

I finally got my passport.

Hee! It looks like those fake passports they forge all the time in movies.

One complaint though: It’s not valid for travel to Iraq.

How did they KNOW? 

McDonalds as an international sanctum

It turns out travelers around the world use McDonalds as breathing space from all the cultural novelty. A nice tip when I get to travel.

Slumming the Golden Arches

Mon Jun 5, 11:00 AM ET

This month marks the beginning of student-travel season in Europe, which means that — at any given moment — continental McDonald’s restaurants will be filled with scores of American undergraduates. Quiz these young travelers, and they’ll give you a wide range of reasons for seeking out McDonald’s — the clean restrooms, the air conditioning, the fact that it’s the only place open during festivals or siesta. A few oddballs will even claim they are there for the food.

European onlookers will tell you (with a slight sneer) that these peripatetic Yanks are simply seeking the dull, familiar comforts American culture. And this explanation might be devastatingly conclusive were it not for the fact that European McDonald’s also happen to be crammed this time of year with travelers from Japan, Brazil, Israel,New Zealand, Argentina, Korea, Canada, India, Taiwan, Australia, Mexico, South Africa, and — yes — neighboring European countries.

Indeed, despite its vaunted reputation as a juggernaut of American culture,McDonald’s has come to function as an ecumenical refuge for travelers of all stripes. This is not because McDonald’s creates an American sense of place and culture, but because it creates a smoothly standardized absence of place and culture — a neutral environment that allows travelers to take a psychic time-out from the din of their real surroundings. This phenomenon is roundly international: I’ve witnessed Japanese taking this psychic breather in the McDonald’s of Santiago de Chile; Chileans seeking refuge in the McDonald’s of Venice; and Italians lolling blissfully in the McDonald’s of Tokyo.

Before I traveled overseas, I never knew McDonald’s could serve as a postmodern sanctum, and — save for the occasional Taco Bell burrito — I rarely ate fast food. This all changed when I moved to Pusan, South Korea, ten years ago to teach English. Overwhelmed by the onslaught of new sights, sounds and smells my first week in-country, I retreated to a McDonald’s near my school, where I was able to stretch a Big Mac Meal into three hours of Zen-like oblivion. The appeal of this environment came not from the telltale icons of franchise culture (which I’d always found annoying), but in the simple opportunity to put the over-stimulation of urban Korea on pause. Once I ended my Pusan stint and started traveling across Asia, I retained this habit of occasionally seeking out McDonald’s in times of mental exhaustion.

I’ll readily admit here that, within certain hipster circles of indie travel, announcing that you patronize McDonald’s is kind of like confessing that you wet your bed, eat your boogers, or have unprotected sex with lepers. For many politically minded travelers, McDonald’s is less an eating establishment than it is a broader symbol of cultural degradation and corporate soullessness. In fact, fast-food franchises have been the target of so much protectionist, environmentalist, and anarchist ire that firebombing a McDonald’s has become a globally standardized symbol of protest — a McDonaldization of dissent, if you will.

(Interestingly, Marlboros are sold worldwide — and American cigarette brands are just as unhealthy and aggressively marketed as American fast food — but for some reason there is not a similar activist reaction. Perhaps this is because there are no Marlboro outlet stores to firebomb — but I suspect it has more to do with subliminal, adolescent-style favoritism. The Marlboro Man is, after all, a handsome tough-guy, whereas Ronald McDonald is a makeup-and-jumpsuit-wearing dork.)

Political gestures aside, I’d wager that the contempt sophisticated travelers hold for McDonald’s has less to do with ethical principle than the fact that fast-food franchises ruin the fantasies of otherness that are an inherent part of travel. The aesthetic enjoyment of the Taj Mahal or the Jardin des Tuileries can feel compromised when the Golden Arches are just a few blocks away.

Look closely, however, and you’ll discover that (despite their placeless ambience) the McDonald’s in far-flung places are culturally discernible from the McDonald’s you’ll find in Modesto or Milwaukee. In India, for example, a McDonald’s serves chicken “Maharaja Macs” instead of Big Macs (due to Hindu and Muslim taboos against beef and pork), and a door-greeter is often available to assist the middle-class clientele. Moreover, as any Pulp Fiction fan will note, Paris McDonald’s offer the option of ordering a frothy beer with le Big Mac.

At times, an international McDonald’s franchise can serve as a kind of measuring stick for cultural nuance. In China, where familial identity is a core virtue (and where a sexually ambiguous bachelor-clown mascot might seem a little weird), Ronald McDonald is known as Uncle McDonald, and he has a wife, Aunt McDonald. In parts of Bangkok, where the laid-back Thai concept of sanuk (lightheartedness) threatens fast-food efficiency, McDonald’s staff members use James Bond-style digital countdown clocks to ensure the food arrives in a timely manner. In Cairo, I witnessed young, middle-class Muslim couples going on chaperoned first-dates in a McDonald’s; in Tel Aviv, the teenage staff got so flustered when I ordered non-kosher cheese on my Big Mac that they forgot to add the beef patties.
Just as fascinating as these local variations of American fast food are the local food chains that copy the McDonald’s model. In Jeddah, for instance, you can join Saudis for a round of halal chicken-burgers at Al Baik; in Tokyo, you can compare the teriyaki burgers at McDonald’s to those served at the Japanese Lotteria chain; at Jollibee in the Philippines (which has exported its franchises to the United States), you can sample chicken, burgers, or a startlingly sweet variation of spaghetti.

Ideally, of course, fast food should play a decidedly minor role in any international sojourn. Still, it can be interesting to learn how the simplest experiences overseas can affect the way you see things when you come home. I recall how, after returning from my first year in Korea, the understated calm of a Great Plains Christmas left me with a severe case of reverse culture shock.

My solution? I headed over to the west 13th Street McDonald’s in Wichita, where my sense of place melted away the moment I walked through the front door. Indeed, as I ate that Kansas Big Mac Meal, I may have as well have been back in Asia.

Birth Certificate

The next step towards Japan is my birth certificate. Not my original birth certificate yellowing away in my file drawer but an authenticated copy printed in counterfeit-proof paper. And that means a trip to the National Statistics Office.

I could conveniently apply online for a fee of P300 a copy, but the inner cheapskate in me said I could save up  bigtime by making a personal appearance.

After several false leads in Quezon Ave., I found out the main NSO office is situated in an open warehouse-type bldg. in East Ave. There’s about hundreds of applicants here. Huge fans are blowing mist to the humid crowd below. When I got in, they were serving #1620. I was 2295.

Application is a simple procedure of filling up a form, waiting in line, & paying a fee.

The Japan Foundation Library

The last time I dropped by the Japan Foundation, I found out they have a library. I, for one, am always looking for places with browse-worthy books, climate control, and a table for drawing. I realized this library could be my hang-out place for the next couple of months. Furthermore, its located in the same building as Chompy, so we can have quality moments together after work.

And if they ever notice me abusing their facilities, I plan to simply wave my figurative delegate badge at their authoritaran sneers.

I’m trying not to think what my role is.

I hardly live my life representing anything.

(Click on image to read the comics)

Preparation, Part I

I’ve started reading up on Japan, in preparation for the October trip. Having less than a week to do the things I want to do once I’m there, I think it’s prudent to be best prepared.

Some of the things I’m preparing for are:

• a barebones knowledge of Nippongo and kanji;
• how NOT to offend the locals;
• how to get to places of interest;
• price guides. 

Chompy lent me a copy of Lonely Planet’s Guide to Japan, for starters. I’ve also downloaded a couple of articles from the internet into my PDA (after Googling “things to do in Tokyo”.) Some of the articles i found are:

• JapaninYourPalm.com
  
• Ten things to do for free in Japan
• Essentials in travelling to Tokyo
• Hotels in Tokyo - Hotel guide and online reservation
• Learn to Speak Basic Japanese - with pronounciation & meaning
• Japan Country Guide
• Japan Travel Info - Basic information for new visitors to Japan
• Japan General Weather Guide

Thank you, Japan Foundation. And Bambi.

Last Wednesday, May 24, I met up with Bambi Daz, Program Officer for The Japan Foundation.

Bambi briefed me on the Exhibition, the schedule of events, the honoraria, and the itinerary. (I repeatedly typed itinirary, itenirary, and itenerary just now and then went for what looked right.)

My question basically boiled down to “Is it confirmed that I’m going?” Because I didn’t want to start a whole new blog on the experience just to fall flat in my face months later. I could do that at home.

The funny thing was, Bambi’s boss was worried if I accepted the offer yet. There had been two cases where they invited artists to past event (with all the spiffy benefits), only to be turned down due to prior commitments.

I think these artists just want to put in their resumes “turned down offer to represent country in Asian Exhibition”. It would look cool besides their other entry “cheated on Jennifer Anniston with Angelina Jolie.”

Basic fears that are currently gripping me:

• When I return to The Japan Foundation in Pacific Star, Bldg., Buendia cor Makati City, the whole place will be empty. Upon inquiry, I’ll find out no one’s ever HEARD of The Japan Foundation.
• Two days before the trip, I’ll be asked to deposit a substantial amount in a Nigerian Bank.
• I have the phone call from TJF traced. I’ll find out the call is coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE.
  

Out of the blue

There is a story about Stephen Wolfram,  boy genius and researcher of cellular automata. Stephen won a MacArthur Foundation grant, the youngest person to win one. You don’t apply for these grants: the procedure is you get a phone call from out of the blue one day to learn you’ve won a tidy, tax-free sum every year for the next five years, and that with this money you can do whatever you want. Wolfram got $125,000. (from Who’s Got Einstein’s Office? Ed Regis c.1987 Addison Wesley)

Upon reading that, I wondered how it felt like to get a phone call from out of the blue and learn you won something. How cool would that be?

Getting the Asian Cartoon Exhibition is the closest I’ll ever get to that feeling.

First comics