Family Matters

Written February 20, 2010:

So my sister Latessa, of whom I am extremely proud, recently visited my humble little home here in Korea. Planning ahead and staying up all night with the intention of sleeping on the plane, wouldn'tcha know it, her flight was canceled. As luck would have it, though, she ended up experiencing Business Class the following day.

After two days of crap sleep and a 16-hour flight that arrived at 11pm, I was shocked when she was not only awake but practically jumping around my apartment the next morning. Turns out she practices voodoo and gave me her jetlag. Either that or she is partly cyborg, allowing her to plug into the wall to speed up the sleeping process. I'm waiting for this month's electric bill before coming to any conclusion.

I had to work the following week, if you can call it work. This is hands down the most fun I have ever been paid to have. We are all pushing towards the common goal of a universal language here, and I'm having a blast doing it. During this time, my go-getter sister managed to teach herself hangeul (the Korean alphabet) in half the time I did PLUS a survival level of hangukmal (the Korean language), which she exercised at every opportunity.

That weekend we went to three markets, two museums, a palace, and one helluva mountain range called Bukhansan, of which we chose the highest peak, Baegundae. When beginning our vertical trek, we noticed several hiking shops with various hiking supplies, such as shoe-spikes, hiking sticks, and sundry winter apparel. In fact, we actually entered a few to peruse the selection. This is the foreshadowing of our ignorance.

Garbed in nothing more than jeans, jackets, sweaters, and sneakers, we began our perilous journey up, slipping and sliding along the way. We were not deterred.

Five-hundred meters. Fellow climbers let slip gasps and mumbles while pointing at our Wal-Mart sneakers void of spikes.

Eight-hundred meters. Anything resembling a path is nothing but a frozen memory. Sheer ice-covered rock stares us in the face with 2-inch thick steel cable mushing us onward.

Eight-hundred twenty meters. The wind holds the flag taunt, only the tip free to wave us upward.

Eight-hundred thirty-six and one-half meters above sea-level. A woman sharing the victorious moment of peak ascension stares disbelieving at our feet. She demands that Latessa take one of her shoe-spikes, which was well-appreciated and left at the bottom with a note of gratitude sketched into the snow. Hopefully her expertise allowed her to descend with one less foothold.

You can't fall off a mountain.

A Rising Sun and a Smelly Shipyard

Written January 25, 2010:

One hour by subway, six hours by train, and three by ferry found me and my comrades, Julie and Matt, in Fukuoka. A minor hiccup in immigration foreshadowed Matt's misfortune, and ours for sharing his company. Nevertheless, we ate a splendid dinner, made it to the hotel and crashed by midnight. Before I could drift off entirely, I was deeply disturbed to find that my roommate Matt had managed to swallow not one, not two, but an entire orchestra of chainsaws which he insisted he tune through the entirety of the night despite persistent requests to shut the hell up.

Somewhat delirious from a sleepless night, I trekked along in a daze to temples and gardens, all of which were relatively underwhelming, made even slightly annoying by the overzealous commentary from Matt, who turns out doesn't know when to shut the hell up regardless his level of consciousness. No detail too inane, no sight too obscure; our chubby chain-smoking bucktooth brainiac found something to say. Sometime during the day, while Matt was performing his civic duty of sharing a whole lotta who-gives-a-fuck, a comfortable silence set in as an enveloping ring began due to a brain aneurysm that caused my soul to seep from my ears.

After Julie and I pulled a Lord of the Flies on Piggy, we had a relaxing vacation full of voluntary mutism while visiting a much more whelming temple where we ate tofu at a 370-year-old restaurant. Following which we took a solemn trip to Hiroshima, which was da bomb (hyuk, hyuk!).

Returning from Japan, my boss calls to ask where I am. Apparently we were leaving a day earlier than I thought. I booked it to the bus station with my unpacked bag from Japan (which luckily had enough clean clothes left to make it through) to squeak in at the last second. An hour bus ride and a four hour flight to check in at a four star hotel at the Gold Coast in Hong Kong, which means "Fragrant Harbor." Not a second was lost the next morning as we were rushed from one place to the next by a chartered bus with excessively large and delicious meals all too frequent in between. Temples and towers, beaches and mountains, tea and bamboo liquor at a floating restaurant in the shipyard (oh, and guess what; the US nails Chinese food. 'Cept for fortune cookies. Those aren't Chinese). All ended with a bang at an American operated recreation of Venice in Portuguese-owned territory of southeast Asia where we were all given a generous amount to gamble away at the casino, which we all promptly did.

P.S. I read this quote from Mitch Hedberg and nearly pissed my pants; thought I'd share: "Rice is great if you're really hungry and want to eat two thousand of something."

Mountains, Muse, and a Seocheon Sunrise

Written January 12, 2010:

New Year's Eve has been the source of major celebration throughout most of my childhood. Not least because it constituted fifty percent of all my annual celebrations, the other fifty forfeited to teenage angst when superstition convinced me my birthday was cursed. Additionally, by creating a remarkable experience, I find it much easier to catalogue my memories of the previous year between the bookends of midnight magnificence.

Finding myself on the opposite side of the planet and in perfect position to welcome a new decade a full fourteen hours ahead of schedule, I decided to keep with the spirit of "when in Rome" and kick it Korean on the New Day. They regularly commit to traveling to a small inlet on the West coast where the sunrise and sunset can be seen over the West Sea and purportedly celebrate this phenomenon from sunset to sunrise on New Year's Eve.

Thirty-five minutes subway, two-and-a-half hours train, forty minutes taxi, and we were shouting "Happy New Year!" while leaping out of the cab to walk a few feet more to huddle 'round one of several bonfires and listen to talented and beautiful Korean singers butcher Mariah Carey Christmas songs. Candles, fireworks, miniature hot-air-balloons carrying New Year's wishes to the heavens, and celebratory toasts of soju were shared by all. For an hour. Then the lights went down, the stage was cleared, and the fires were quelled. Four hours of walking in sub-zero temperatures on the only road in search of the ever elusive vacancy found us back where we began, passing out around a small heater with dozens of friendly, monolingual Koreans who graciously shared their hot tea and sweeter than sweet potatoes until seven-thirty finally came around and we all stood on the dock to witness a very cloudy sunrise. Tenderly treading on frost-bitten and tired limbs, we trekked towards the bus stop only to find that they weren't running due to treacherous conditions. By the way, this is the coldest winter Korea has seen in seventy years, not to mention the most snow in almost a century. If it weren't for bad luck...

In the pits of despair, I asked a stranger on the street in my limited Korean if she knew the number for a taxi service that may brave the conditions (ok, all I said was, "Excuse me, ma'am...taxi?" in Korean and motioned dialing on my cell phone, but "brave the conditions" was implied). She said, "Hang on," in English, which is a small but rare colloquialism for non-native English speakers. She runs to an old woman taking baby steps with a cane on the ice and exchanged a few words before running back and hustling the four of us towards her car. "You need to go to Seocheon station? We'll take you." she says in impeccable English. So we cram her family of five and us four into a compact SUV and drive for two hours in the snow-impaired traffic to the station only to have the old lady with the cane (who turns out is the stranger's mother) insist on feeding us breakfast. So we take a detour to their house, feast upon a spectacular New Year's breakfast Korean-style with hot soup and rice dumplings with succulent fried fish, rice, and of course kimchi, and rush back to the station to catch an 11:30 train back home. Kindness is universal.

Since that unique New Year's experience, I have climbed three mountains, witnessed a relatively intimate performance of Muse, and perused masterpieces of Monet and Picasso on display at the Seoul Arts Center. This Saturday I'm taking a ferry to Fukuoka on the coast of Japan before taking a train to Kyoto, Kobe, and Hiroshima, respectively, before returning on Thursday to catch some zzz's before bouncing to Hong Kong on Friday and returning in time for classes the following Monday.

Norabong Nostalgia

Written December 28, 2010:

Night life in Korea innevitably involves a trip to a 놀래방, pronounced norabong. It's what Koreans call karaoke. You shell out 20,000-30,000 won and you get a private room for an hour with hundreds of songs in Korean or English with lights, mics, and beer. You bring a friend with a good voice and you can usually get an extra 10-15 minutes. Every time I've brought Corinne we've gotten 20.

Time Sure Is Fun When You're Having Flies

Written December 14, 2010:

A year isn't as long as it used to be. I tell ya, back in my day, they used to stretch far as the eye could see. I'm already one-twelfth down and I hardly done anything yet.

I did get to visit this cool fortress that's walking distance from my apartment. It was built around 1800 to honor some dead guy's dead father, but really the Joseon family just wanted to expand their territory. It's a decent walk of almost six kilometers (about three'n a half miles) with a nice view at the highest point (I've got some pictures of it on Facebook). I also got to go to Gyeongbok Palace which is in the middle of Seoul with skyscrapers towering over it. If only King Taejo could see his palace dwarfed by a hotel.

I met a few interesting people at a three-day orientation supplied by GEPIK (Gyeonggi English Program In Korea) with whom I feasted upon vegan cuisine. Sam has yet to grasp the illogicality of veganism on a peninsula. Whatever. The boy can cook.

This is all of course when I'm not working. Though I can hardly say I work at all. It's like fantastic amazing fun time, except it actually is fantastic, amazing AND fun! (This is a reference to a middle-aged Korean man garbed in a black felt suit complemented by a silk pink tie from GEPIK orientation who inadvertantly demonstrated the complete lack of functional conversational English taught in Korean schools before the year 2000 while hosting a game show of sorts with "mysterious prizes," which later turned out to be crackers and shit from the convenience store, that ended with some zealous nutcase jumping on the table and swinging his sweater around in an attempt to get a "mysterious prize." Our game-show host, who insisted we not address him by his Korean name, but as Sexy Handsome Man, called this one-and-a-half hour torture-fest Fantastic Amazing Fun Time.) I don't wear a black felt suit or pink tie, I don't even suggest my students call me sexy or handsome, and I (usually) don't encourage leaping on tables, but I guarantee I have twice as much fun as Sexy Handsome Man seemed to be having on stage. And I tell ya, he looked as happy as a hyena on laughin' gas.

Did you know four is such an unlucky number here that the fourth floor is always labeled as "F" in the elevators? Now you know.

Technical Difficulties

Due to difficulties signing in to my blog, there has not been a post for almost 3 months. Never fear! I have kept writing and will now post each story with their corresponding dates and titles.