Fukuoka Feasts and the Colossal Canvas Tent
Finally, with Ichinose Rika in the car, I hit the roads of Fukuoka. It was too early to head straight to the campsite, so we needed to grab some food first. What should we eat? What’s Fukuoka famous for again... I was mulling it over alone when it hit me—right next to me was a local and a total food expert.
“What’s Fukuoka famous for food-wise?”
“Hmm... Ramen, udon, mentaiko, motsunabe?”
See? She rattled them off like nothing. Better than any local—she’s the rising star of mukbang.
“Yeah! The motsunabe here is super tasty!”
Even the local’s recommendation was motsunabe... Come to think of it, what is motsunabe? I’d heard the name a ton but never knew what it actually was. Oh well, I’m not picky... Breakfast-slash-lunch it is.
“Let me know if you spot a motsunabe place nearby.”
“Okay!”
A bit more driving down the road, and Rika’s voice piped up from the back seat.
“Arumi! There! That’s a famous spot!”
Following her directions, we pulled into a motsunabe specialty shop. It was still early for lunch, so it was quieter than expected. We grabbed a table, and a server came over with wet towels and plates to take our order.
Rika placed the order in flashy(?) Japanese. Man, having a local along made everything so much smoother. Im Nana could interpret on the fly with her Japanese skills, but reading was a bit slower for her. Was it really okay to be on such a luxurious trip?
Soon after, a pot brimming with chives hit the table. Huh. So motsunabe was chive hot pot. The chives soaked in broth looked delicious. But was it that famous? Just chive hot pot?
As the broth bubbled and the chives wilted a bit, I finally spotted the hidden treasure underneath: beef intestines. Ah. So it wasn’t chive hot pot—it was beef intestine hot pot... Good thing I didn’t say it out loud. That would’ve been embarrassing.
The savory, salty broth aroma wafted up... Soy sauce base, maybe? It felt familiar.
“Looks ready to eat now!”
“Arumi! I’ll serve you!”
Kindly, Rika ladled a heap of broth and meat onto my plate. So this is the famous stuff? I took a sip of broth with my chopsticks. Whoa, tasty! Salty with a hint of sweetness, like... like... what was it? Not unfamiliar at all. Super familiar, actually. It was on the tip of my tongue.
Next, a bite with the intestines. Chew chew. ...Ah, got it. This tastes just like ttukbaegi.
That menu I’d eaten to death at the work lunch spot. If I had to describe it, like a clear ttukbaegi soup? Once I figured it out, I couldn’t help but chuckle wryly. Coming all the way to Japan for a taste of home.
“Areum, what’s wrong? Not to your taste?”
Im Nana asked, looking concerned.
“No, it’s just... so familiar. I mean, total rice thief.”
Phew, close call. Almost dropped a top-three “don’t say this abroad” line. I’d read that article before coming: “What a waste of money,” “Came all this way for this?,” “Korea has this too.” Gems like that.
I polished off a bowl of rice in no time and we hopped back in the car. Next up: shopping for dinner.
We stopped at a big supermarket nearby. Main dishes for this camp: beer can chicken and fried chicken. I usually skip frying at campsites ’cause cleanup sucks, but today was special.
At the butcher section, pristine whole chickens gleamed on display. Habitually, I grabbed a pack of two. Three women, two chickens—that’s the rule.
But my hand froze. Memories flashed: 80 plates of conveyor sushi. Whole pig BBQ inhaled.
Im Nana... probably wasn’t enough last time, right?
Even if she’s watching her intake... it’s camping. We’re abroad. Eating light? Not on my watch.
I boldly tossed in more packs. Six chickens total. That should satisfy even Nana, right?
“Eh? Arumi, isn’t that too much?”
Rika stared wide-eyed at the cart’s six-chicken mountain.
“...You really think so?”
I glanced at Nana as I replied. She stood there with a face like I have no thoughts. Rika followed my gaze.
“Ah.”
A short realization escaped her late.
“Nana-chan eats a ton...”
Yeah, see? Perfect amount. Meat alone gets boring, so sides and dessert too. I loaded up on king-size marshmallows—the camper’s dream—and veggie packs for skewers. Man, already hyped.
Back on the road, we wound up a twisty mountain path. Ears popping as we climbed to the campsite. Finally, entrance in sight.
Checked in at the office and drove to our reserved site. Dense trees walled the path like a tunnel. Then—
“...!”
The view exploded open. Endless green plateau. Sky so close it felt pourable. Fukuoka skyline in the distance. Overwhelming openness washed over me.
Cool, crisp highland air filled my lungs. Head clearing up.
“Whoa... insane.”
The words slipped out. Different from Korean mountains—grand in its own way.
“Sugoi~!”
“Epic! Epic!”
Nana and Rika had already bolted from the car, lost in selfie frenzy.
“Areum! Look at this! Like a painting!”
“Arumi! Hurry and join for pics!”
They snapped away, backs to the vista. Now the real fun began.
I hauled a heavy bag from the deep trunk. Treasure from Rika’s grandpa’s shed: a discontinued tent you couldn’t buy for money. Brand-new, unopened.
Every camper—or hobbyist—dreams of this. Handling a rare item firsthand.
“Hoo...”
Carefully unzipped the bag. Beige canvas neatly folded inside.
And... I lost my mind for a sec. Like possessed, buried my nose in the skin. Deep breath.
Fweeeeh... sniff sniff. Dusty warehouse, but perfectly preserved. Sealed tight in air cushions? No mold—just that heavy, subtle canvas scent.
“...Uh, Arumi?”
A shocked voice from behind. Turned to see Rika gaping.
“...Why’re you sniffing the tent? D-Do you have that kind of kink? If so, I-I’m out...”
“...”
Sh, shit. She was way over there taking pics a second ago...!
“It’s not—!”
Trying to explain, but Nana beside me casually put a finger to her lips.
“Shh! Rika-chan. When Areum’s like that, we gotta stay quiet.”
“Why...?”
“It’s a thing. Like bonding.”
...No, it’s not! I wanted to say it was just a condition check, but the vibe had gone weird.
“Ahem. Just checking for mold. Perfect condition.”
Face burning. I don’t always do that... Just lose it sometimes.
Shoving embarrassment aside, time for serious pitching. Unfolded the instructions from the bag. Japanese, naturally.
Hmm. Black’s text, white’s paper. Skimmed pics and tossed it. With my years of experience, a tent’s no sweat. Structure’s obvious.
Weight, though... Canvas heft was unreal.
“Uracha...!”
Even unfolding the skin was a workout.
Heavy...! Where’d all my gym gains go?! Why can’t I handle one tent?! World’s gone mad! Wait, no.
Assembled poles, tried raising it—arms quaking like leaves.
“Hngh...!”
Full effort, but loose setup made it worse. Forearms screaming.
No, can’t fail here. Gotta keep the pride.
Face beet-red, grunting—then hands from both sides.
“Areum! Your face is gonna pop!”
“Arumi! Together!”
Ugh, if you’re helping, sooner next time...!
Nana and Rika gripped poles.
“One, two, three!”
Three of us together, and the beast rose smoothly. Pegged it, tensioned strings—shelter form revealed its glory.
“Whoa! Huge!”
“Y-Yeah... explains the struggle...”
Near-zero temps, yet I’m sweating buckets. Why me? Sweat dripped from brow, stinging eyes. One drop trailed like a distant tear.
Gotta... train harder... Felt my limits to the bone.
Pushing regret aside, the finished tent was massive. Korean standards: easy 4-6 person shelter. Inside? Ball field.
“So huge... Tents normally this big?”
Rika couldn’t shut up.
“...No, this model’s just extra. Old tents were stupidly oversized.”
“Wow! Super big! Rika-chan, sleep here together tonight?”
Nana rolled on the floor, suggesting.
“Yeah! Sounds good!”
Definitely. Room for two easy. While they tumbled inside, I set up my solo tent nearby.
Hoo... my sanctuary. Precious.
Separate sleeping’s comfier. Especially with those two energy bombs.
Site done, we explored the camp. Sign for a shop by the office.
“Check the shop?”
Curious about Japanese camp stores. Opened the door—and jaw dropped again.
“Oh...”
League above Korean ones. Not mini-marts—fresh farm veggies/meats, local dairy specialties, booze galore. Fun to browse.
Grabbed a regional cider to quench thirst. Paid and stepped out into fresh breeze. Sipping while admiring the view... but my side felt empty?
“Huh? Where’d everyone go?”
We came together, right? Rika was petting the camp’s giant dog over there. Nana?
Glanced back. Through the shop window: familiar silhouette at checkout, stacking snack mountains with the happiest face, wallet out. Already holding soft-serve.
“...”
Never fails. Those won’t last the night. Camping nights are long, Nana’s stomach endless.