Guangzhou, China

I am writing this from somewhere in China.  I could put down the name of the city but it is currently in my bag full of random computer wires and electronics charges (when combined with the appearance of my external hard drive and alarm clock look something like a bomb in the airport x-ray machine, if you were wondering).  There’s not much point in naming the city though because I am in an airport so the city and even country are really irrelevant. 
There is a wall of windows to the left where planes take off about every 5 minutes.  I like watching the take-off despite my own inability to not sweat profusely when I am directly involved.  I left Seoul at 9:40am, and arrived here 4 hours later (but we went back in time for an hour during the flight). 
The flight was mostly ok.  The plane itself was the least impressive plane I’ve ever been on.  The tiny tv screens would raise and lower randomly through out the flight.  I wasn’t feeling very good about being boxed in with NO legroom but I lucked out and the guy who should have sat in the middle of the trio of seats never showed. 
I popped a xanax and felt pretty okay for most of the flight, but it didn’t alleviate anxiety enough for me to say that I actually enjoyed it.  I was tired and started to doze towards the end, and that’s when I tend to freak out: jerking awake and remembering I am in a plane. 
There was an interesting 10 minutes when the plane suddenly dropped more than I had ever felt before.  It then bounced to one side and the other.  The intercom went off amidst the creaks and thumps of shifting luggage and people.  Her voice was tonal and her words were fast.  She was talking about turbulance and there was a dash to clip seatbelts in a hurry.  I buckle mine as soon as I sit down and I never unbuckle it because I do not get up for anything- I didn’t pee once on the 13 hour flight to Korea. 
The turbulance went on and it got pretty bad for a few moments.  Over the years I have developed this weird way of dealing with turbulance: I shift around in my seat.  If I am moving myself up and down the drops and bumps don’t seem so intense.  They left as fast as they came and the guy next to me didn’t notice regardless because he managed to sleep through the entire damn scenario.
He slept through the whole flight.  I envy people who can do that.  I can’t even sleep in a car.  I am also really happy he slept through it because anytime the plane bounced or turned I looked like I was severely constipated with both arms linked under the arm rests and my mouth sealed shut.
I have also developed these weird habits on planes that seem to help with flying anxiety.  I don’t really even notice doing these things.  I will pinch or scratch myself if I am tired.  Sometimes I will pull out a hair.  These were tips on some website I read before I came here.  A little pain to bring you back to reality.  Some people wear rubber bands so they can snap them on their wrists if they start freaking out.  I also hate being hot so I almost always end up with my jeans rolled up to my knees to alleviate that hot, itchy feeling you sometimes get.
So, by the time I land I basically look like a moron wearing high cut black socks, nice black shoes, capris pants, and missing a bunch of hair on my arm.
I am exhausted.  I am starving.  I am thirsty.
This section of the airport is fairly bland.  After misunderstanding the immigration official as to where I should stand as an international transfer traveler and looking like a moron standing in the middle of a room for 10 minutes, I made my way to the international departure floor. 
I’m not impressed. 
It is one long hall with the sort of ugly grey rug with swirls of blue and brown that remind me of cheap clothing stores I went to as a kid.  There is only a scattering of a half dozen stores selling nothing I currently want (food, drink, a secret money belt).  Further, there is no money exchange here so even if there was a store selling, I don’t know, maybe a triangle kimbap, or candy, or chips, or a soggy pre-made sandwich at this point, I wouldn’t be able to eat.
There are no ajjumas here.  Everybody looks pissed off.  The entire place smells like stale cigarettes because the “smoking room” is actually just an area on the floor with no walls and little vacuums that fail to suck in much smoke at all. 
In each of these smoking areas is a machine that dispenses water.  My mouth was dry and stagnant so it was a welcome sight but it took me a bit to figure out how to use it- there were a surprising number of buttons and levers.  A woman tried to help me and I thanked her in Korean without even thinking about it.  I suppose there are a lot of habits I have picked up over the past year.
I opted for the cold water.  I filled my Seoul thermos and headed back to my seat / bed.  It was about 90 degrees.  There is one man sitting directly across from me.  He is picking his nose with enthusiasm.  He is also wearing white pants and is pretty obviously not wearing underwear.
Only another 6 hours to go and I will be on my way to Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam.

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Wandering Downtown

Cherry Blossoms.

A year minus a day or two I said my extended "so longs" to my girlfriend (at a train station), my sobbing mother (in my predawn livingroom), my less sobby sister (same room), and my dry-eyed father (amid exhaust and noise at the departure drop-off at Logan Airport). In a few days I say goodbyes that are likely to be permanent to all of my Korean friends.

I haven't thought too much about the real end of this Korea thing. Most of the time it seemed to be so far off that giving it too much thought wasn't worth it. Then, before I knew it, I didn't want to think about it because I knew it was right around the corner. Now that I have less than a week left in Cheongju; in this one room apartment with warped floors and no attached plumbing on the sink, I have no other choice.

I now realize that I basically have no departure plan. With preoccupations (the lost passport) and money issues with my school (with a dash of extreme procrastination thrown in) I have failed to book any hotels, looked into any activities or things to do on my trip. Hell, I haven't even booked my final ticket home yet.

The plan:

Leave Seoul on 4/25 and arrive at some point in Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam.

The next ticket I have booked leaves Bangkok, Thailand a couple of weeks later, give or take.

In the mean time I am spending a few days in Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and MAYBE a brief trip in Malaysia.

I then fly to Barcelona, Spain to see my friend Jordi with whom I used to wait tables and be taken apart by customers routinely.

Then, I fly to Logan whenever I get a ticket and complete this around-the-world loop.

The River.

As for what I’ve been up to recently: nothing very productive. The cherry blossoms have come and have basically left. The days have been really nice in Cheongju, a couple I would dare say hot, so I have made time enough to walk along the river even though I usually end up in Home Plus just the same.

The Yellow Dust also came. It blows in from the industrial towns in eastern China as an off colored haze full of mercury and lead. Between that, the radioactive rain from the disasters in Japan, the over-reactive minds of Koreans when it comes to health, the news would have you believing Korea was one toxic heap at the moment. But, it isn’t. I don’t think. I will make a note to see if I have super strength before I leave.

I’ve seen some pretty cool things recently while walking around the river. While meandering around with my camera (soon to be upgraded!) I followed what sounded like drumming. The beats led me to the track near Downtown (or Uptown like I used to call it) where everyone skates or ride all sorts of inane, ass-backwards bikes.

Members of the Ajumma Army.

It was here that I saw a dozen or so ajummas marching around in circles, drumming in formation. There were some older guys and college students mixed in, all led by a young guy in some sort of fancy pants. I don’t know what they were doing but I guess they were practicing for some sort of traditional performance. Either that or the guy in fancy pants now has well disciplined army of ajummas.

Last Friday / Saturday and Saturday / Sunday I spent a lot of time at the bars with my friends here. We saw a band that played Oasis covers and they made me prematurely nostalgic for Korea. It is hard to imagine a Friday or Saturday that doesn’t involve the same four bars and my Cheongju friends. Heck, I still expect to see my friends who have left walk in.

On Sunday, after realizing that I was way too hungover to deal with the hell that is Home Plus on a Sunday, I walked a but further down the river than I had before. Where as traditional drumming led me to the Ajumma Army, old-school bob brought me to some festival at a Buddhist temple that I never noticed until that day.

I walked in and tables lined the courtyard. A few were covered with canopies as those sitting under it served simple Korean foods or made crafts. Across the dirt ground was a cluster of covered tables withh a half dozen families eating. Monks walked here and there. I could see shadows of people bowing in the main temple.

A Buddhist temple in Cheongju.

I lingered for a while there until an older guy, having something to do with the party, came over and talked to me for a while, asking if I wanted to eat something or anything else. I bought a bracelet and left as Louis Armstrong came on over the loudspeaker.

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How to replace your lost passport in Korea

A few days ago I set out to send some money home and go to the pension office to cash ou of the Korean Pension Scheme.  This leads to the only informative thing in this blog. 

What do you do when you lose your passport less than two weeks before leaving Korea?

Here is what you do:

1. Panic.
2. Panic and google "Lost Passport," "Seoul," "Emergency," and various onscenities.
3. Look up how to get to the embassy the next day.  Then freak out when they tell you they do not take walk-ins on Wednesdays.
4. Try to make an appointment at the Embassy in Seoul via their convenient appointment program.
5. Swear when it doesn't work on the school computer.
6. Swear and throw stuff when it doesn't work on your computer at home.
7. Contact Larry and have him do it forward.  He got me into Korea and he can sure as hell get me out.
8. Thank him when he gets you an appointment.
9. Stay up all night watching Modern Family and get on a bus at 6am.
10. Fill out the passport application / list passport (also known as "you dumbass, how could you lose your passport).  
11. Arrive at the embassy and admire that it's in a really beautiful part of Seoul.
12. Stand at the security door awkwardly. 
13. Walk in and hand the man a printed paper indicating an official appointment / hand him a handwritten copy because you don't have a printer.
14. Give the man your bag and kiss your Kindle / phone goodbye (for the duration). 
*** Write down your phone number.  You look like an ass when they figure out you dont have it memorized.
15. Take your badge and cross a parking lot.
16. Walk in and stand at a window until somebody comes.
17. Explain (with a certain amount of shame) that you are, in fact, a dumbass and lost your passport.  Remember that the Embassy is a prominent and reoccurring character on Locked-Up Abroad and feel a little better.
18. Have your number called well before your meeting time.
19. Give them your passport photos.
IF NOT:
- Follow a horrible map to a building that has a photo company who will give you photos. 
- Get lost in a goddamn fire station because the map is crappy.
- Walk to the top floor of the right building (behind the fire station) and ask for the photo service.
- Be told that the photo service was the mall-photo machine you passed in one of the stairwells.
- Pay 8,000W with a 10,000W bill and be told afterwards that no change will be given.
- Take the worst passport photo possible.
- Navigate sizing options as a timer ticks down.  This, it should be noted, is a hell of a lot more stressful under the duress of losing your passport when you are leaving the country in a short amount of time.
- Avoid adding bigger eyes or cute birds as those are both options.
- Laugh and say "WTF Korea."
- Return, passing protests and a line of people at the back entrance looking to get a visa to the States.
20. Give over photos and think about how you will look like a sweaty pedophile in your passport for the next 10 years.
21. Fill out your address on a mailing card and pray to god it works because you can only get a cab to your apartment 50% of the time.
22. Swear an oath.
23. Be given map number 2. 
24. March down to the police station to file a report mostly to avoid identity theft.
25. Turn in report.
26. Leave.
27. Go to Dragon Hill Spa to sleep.
28. Eat Taco Bell in Itaewon to make sure you ruin the rest of the day.
29. Take a bus home with the hope of atleast accomplishing something that isn't a step backwards (like cleaning the apartment you trashed looking for your passport).
30. Be called into school to teach your last class.
31. Fall asleep at your computer.
32. Hope like hell you do not find your passport.

All in all, it wasn't too bad.  I am stressed as hell but the embassy was really helpful.  Shit happens, I guess.  It cost me about $130 for the replacement and it will take a couple weeks.  Casually, the woman told me that I shouldn't worry yet when asked if I should postpone my flight.  She then gave me a card and told me to call it if I didn't ge my passport the day before my flight and they would see what they could do to, which I take to mean an on-the-spot solution.
Also, I made friends with the security because I had to go in and out repeatedly.  Don't lose your passport right before you leave.  It feels horrible.

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Why students should never know where their teacher lives

I spent last weekend fairly determined to do nothing productive or healthy. One of the consequences of traveling around the country to see the friends I hadn't seen in a while is that I was away from Cheongju and my remaining friends here for a few weeks. I got to miss them.


I went out Friday night. It wasn't anything too ridiculous or out of the norm; it was a normal Friday. Amanda and I went to Pearl Jam.

Pearl Jam is the homeliest of the handful of foreigner bars and it also serves the most decent food. This is something I do not know for sure as I have not indulged in any of the food at Buzz or MJ's, but Pearl Jam burritos trump Road King Burritos. These things become important to a guy.

We played Jenga until my burrito arrived. By the time I had finished my food (maybe 45 seconds after the plate was put before me; I was hungry and I had the shakes) we were joined by Gavin, Robyn, et al.

We drank, talked, and joked our way from Pearl Jam to MJ's.

The only thing I really like about MJ's is decent popcorn, and a 2 hour happy hour with 2,000won gin and tonics.

My opinion of the place rises in warm weather after the roof deck is opened and you can hangout in the fresh air above the city. The weather in Korea is warming up but the roof hasn't been cleaned and it still looks like it has been hit by a series of tornados.

I left in control of my senses at around 2am. Not too late all things considering. I could have gone to bed and woken up to a glorious gray and misty day and done something productive in the morning.

I didn't.

I went back to my apartment and played Xbox with my friends and drank some soju I had in my fridge. I went to sleep at 5am.

Still, not horrible.

What is horrible is being woken up by pounding on the door.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and decided to do nothing. The most serious thing at my door at the early hour of 1pm was a repair man or somebody else on official apartment business. The knocking came again. My apartment was a disaster anyway. I had been trying to get rid of things the past week and with the clothing and general clutter I looked like a hoarder.

Most likely scenario was the ever common Jehovah's Witness; a scenario I didn't really feel like dealing with. The worst case scenario would have been ---

"THOMAS TEACHER!"

Oh shit.

It was Ji-Huan.

Hearing his voice startled me, but there was no reason for me to be bothered. He knocked again and shouted my name, with the addition of "teacher" despite my current state of hiding, hungover, in my own filthy apartment waiting for a 10 year old to go away.

He shouted again.  Everytime the boy says my home, including in school, he says it with this manic crescendo at the end.  Usually I think it is funny.

Eventually I heard Ji-Huan begin to turn my door knob.  It was ever so slowly and subtly but it made a distinct sound. 

"That sneaky ... little... ohdeargod."  At this point I realize two things:

1.  I am butt-ass naked.
2.  I forgot to lock my door.

Several scenarios went through my head and none of them ended without one of us being traumatized or in jail.  I stopped breathing for a few seconds.  I might have prayed.  Anyway, in those few seconds I decided my only plan of action was, if he came in, to spring up with my blanket open and in front of me, wrap him up, and push him right back out the door.  With a bit of luck he would think it was part of a game and even if he didn't I was ok with the idea of Ji-Huan being a little confused for a few minutes.

To ruin the story he turned the handle and walked away. 

On Monday he told me that he came by to my apartment to visit and I told him I had no idea what he was talking about.

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Kedros Revisited

These past few weekends have been busy but rewarding for me. As Korea comes to an end I have finally put follow though into my effort to see a couple of people in this country. I have 22 days or so left here and there was really no valid reason for not seeing these people. I wish that I had seen them earlier and that I had seen them more frequently, but I am happy that a year in Korea did not pass without me visiting Sun Young and Dawoon.

Top: Dawoon and I outside the hostel in Kedros.
Below: Dawoon and I outside Motel Tomgi in Seoul.

These two were very much a part of my birth into serious travel as they were present at my first trip abroad. They were already seasoned travelers when I met them outside of the bus in Ioannia, Greece but I was about as naïve and clueless as they come. I often say that I don’t know what the hell is going on in Korea, but I really didn’t know what was going on in Greece.

I’ve retold this Greece story enough times to warrant its absence here, but it had a huge impact on how I thought of things around me, of myself, and the grand scheme of the world. Most importantly I left Greece with an openness to new experiences, new people, and new places that wasn’t entirely present before I left home that first time.

Sometimes I compare this experience to Greece. I was in Greece all of 3 weeks and I will have been away from home for over a year by the time I get back from Cheongju. I realize though that the length of time doesn’t make much difference on the impact an experience can have on you.

Left: Sun Young and I on the road in Kedros.
Right: Sun Young and I at a temple in Busan.

Greece was basically a long vacation from hell. We were freezing the entire time, aching from day 2 until the end, and navigating the awkward situation of a bunch of people from around the world sleeping together on a couple of very wide beds and sharing a dirty bathroom.

When we said goodbye it was as sad as it can be with people you had known only a short while, but in intimate circumstances. Well, not that intimate. Some people did make out once, though. I last saw these two in the Athens airport. We stayed up all night with Jardiel from Mexico as the rest of the group likely did the same in Thessaloniki. We drank cheap wine from Styrofoam cups and toasted to the whole wild experience and told the worst stories from our lives that we could come up with or force ourselves to remember.

I was happy for the company I had. The four of us said goodbyes and hugged and passed on to lost luggage, medical school, magazines, and memory.

That I have seen all 3 of my airport companions since then is incredible to me. We planned reunions but even I, the novice, knew that the nature of these sort of friendships is that they usually end at the airport- at least as far as actually seeing each other in person.

I saw Jardiel a year later in Mexico. My work camp failed to pick me up and I spent the scariest night of my life sitting in a dark corner chain smoking with a homeless man and a feral cat that ate cockroaches as a truck full of heavily armed men drove by. Cabbies I had been cautioned against came closer and closer asking me to get in and me with $2000 of camera equipment wrapped around my leg.

After a week I finally found Jardiel and we spent a night eating and talking about the cold, about the dogs, about the work, about the mountains and the people we met Greece.

So, after a lot of planning I went to Busan to see Sun Young and then to Seoul to see Dawoon. This isn’t to be over dramatic but I barely recognized them. We were all grown up, or something like that. We were wearing proper clothing and we weren’t covered in clay or pine needles, or dressed against winter in the mountains. Everyone had legit jobs.

Still, underneath it all we were basically the same. So we all relived a little of Greece in Korea and laughed at Shibal and the pizza, and talked about the nomad Josef, and the cheese and the hikes. It is reassuring to know that as this thing is ending for me that these friendships don’t really end.

Maybe someday I will see the rest of these mad Kedros people.



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Drool



Until recently, there was a class of three boys at my school. They called themselves Simpson, Kai, and Bell. They were known collectively amongst the teachers as the Three Monsters. When they were together they were impossible to manage without screaming at them or calling in for reinforcements. Nobody gave them homework because they wouldn't do it. Options were limited because they threatened to quit the school if separated.

So, it each day it was a lesson in what a king might feel if his subjects decided suddenly to become anarchists and criminally insane at the same time. They are no older than 13.

Crazy as they were, I did not hate this class. It was slow going, for sure; it took me 10 times longer to teach them anything because I would spend half the time begging them to stop talking / calling me tomato / having hair fights, but they were often funny.

They are all goofy and that is what wins me over. One of them is a bit more malicious and another is a bit more clever but they have this absurd way about them that makes me laugh, even when they are obviously insulting me.

Hair fights are pretty popular with them. I have mentioned this activity before, but it is when you pull out a strand of hair and stretch it out against another person’s hair- first broken hair is a loser. It is perhaps the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen. When they bore of deciding who goes first with Rock, Paper, Scissors they will shout “hair fight!” and then start pulling out hair until they get a good piece.

Anyway, they were finally separated with our switch to 50 minute classes and nobody quit. Two of them are still together but they are thankfully much more subdued with the breaking of their unholy trinity.

This is a story about Simpson. I have been here for nearly a year and I have only seen him wear two different pairs of sweat pants. Usually he wears blue, but sometimes gray. When we were learning “what is he wearing?” his partner would always say he was wearing the same thing he always wear. He also seems to own approximately 4 shirts that he wears on a weekly basis.

Of the three he is the goofiest and seems to be less evil than the others. He often answers in a variety of voices. Once he tied his hands together with some string and had to be cut free. He is awesome.

A couple of days ago he came into class saying that he had been sick. No, he didn’t say that. I asked him why he was tired and he pretended to projectile barf on the floor. Throughout the class he kept falling asleep. I would see his eyes roll up, his head would go down, and then he would jerk back awake.

It was funny. Once, when he was out for a few seconds I did a monster impression and scared the hell out of him. He then looked at me like I had just punched his mom.

He then put his head down and drifted off again. I tried to stop him and keep him in the conversation we were having but he just turned his head to the other side.

He was out cold. I kept asking him questions and he just lay there slumped on his desk. He was not faking.

So, I decided to let him sleep. It was just a review class anyway and this kid looked like he was dead.

I played a game with the other student. It wasn’t even an English game. At one point I took down the clock and we tried to convince Simpson that he had slept for hours but it didn’t work. Finally, right at the end of class he sat up and tried to look natural as though he hadn’t been sleeping. The strand of drool was running down his mouth, onto his shirt which fell past the pool on his desk and on its way to the drool on his pants. He tried to wipe it but soon saw the sheer volume of it on the desk and his pants. He looked around and saw the two of us staring at him laughing.

I then made him wipe it all up. It took two tissues.

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Hello, Goodbye

I spent some time in Greece a few years ago. I wasn’t there for very long, just a few weeks, but the experience was one of the most profound that I have ever experienced. At the time, the only traveling I had done outside of the country was to Montreal to get drunk.

Tim and Andrew during the trip to Daecheon.

Those three weeks were overwhelming. Here I was, this minimally cultured, shy guy who had just spent a year working in a cubical and going to the same bar every Saturday night. Before I knew it I was freezing as the rain flirted with the idea of turning to snow and then did so in the mountains in the north. Albania was a stone’s throw away.

I remember sleeping on one of a few giant, communal bunk beds in the village’s hostel. I remember hooking my arms into links of chain in the back of a flatbed next to a back-hoe so I didn’t fall out as the driver took sharp corners at mad speeds atop cliffs that dropped off at the side of the road. I remember digging holes into the clay all day only to find that rain had washed our saplings out and about the ground over night. I remember eating feta cheese and kalamata olives to the same frequency that I eat rice and kimchi now.

Amanda and Robyn pre World Cup.
Not shown: Tim having appendicitis.

I remember a lot of things about this brief time in my life, but one memory sticks out as the most representative of that time and all good travel experiences.

It was the eight of us who had stayed the duration of the work camp sat in a restaurant. It was dark and cold, save a fire in the fireplace. It was empty save a Bulgarian cook, her assistant son, and her groundskeeper husband. Carafes of wine lay strewn about the table. Outside was lit by lanterns for a ways but we were just a blip on a very large mountain amidst other large mountains. Most of the world didn’t and doesn’t know that Kedros exists.

We sat for a long time, Mexicans, Greeks, a Frenchman, a couple of Korean girls and myself, talking about all manner of sentimental and obscene things. The entire duration of the trip, the restaurant played the one damn CD they owned, and so it does now.

Tim and Amanda on the way to Daecheon Beach.

Late into our last night a strange thing happens. The alcohol mixes with sadness that it is over ,and the happiness that it happened. The Frenchman and Greek girl stand up and dance to the 19438th playing of “Hero,” by Enrique Inglesias. We all laugh but soon we are all swept up and we are dancing about an empty restaurant to a song I would usually skoff at. The cook’s son asks the Greek girl to dance and soon the night is over. Soon after we are all home or at least not there. We are each other’s fuzzy memories now.

The friends you make abroad are like no others. Maybe it has nothing to do with being abroad.  Maybe it is really about the experience that bods you together with your friends.  Either way, the friends I have made in Korea are like no others that I have had, and recently I had to say goodbye to most of them.

It was rough, even if I am basically incapable of showing emotion.

We started off at MJ’s, the 8 of us sitting amongst the smoke and beneath the heat of a horribly powerful heating duct. We drank and played darts. We listened to music and asked each other if we would ever do Korea again and other such things you ask someone who is about to end a significant experience in their life.

Katie, Tim, and I hiking the fortress.

Gin and tonics, Black Russians, wine, water and vodkas, and beers added up for a long time. A few fought for control of the music play list (and failed) as others played pool or just sat around a table in the middle of the Thursday night bar scene. Titanic played on the giant televisions for god knows why.

There was a dread amongst us. That much was obvious. There was also an honesty that I really appreciated; that of people who have traveled or experienced enough to know the realities of travel.

There were no “oh, please! I say we all meet up this time next year!” There was no “eh, I am not sad man! Nothing is going to change.” 

Christmas, pre Jim Beam.

One of the unique aspects about this Korean experience is that it is all temporary. True, Amanda is staying for another year and Robyn for another 6 months, but regardless we enter into these friendships knowing that the experience they are founded in has an end-date.

And this Korean experience is intense. The most any of us have known each other is a year, and some of us haven’t even known each other that long. But how long you have known each other here becomes irrelevant because we are all having this experience.

All of us left family, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, everything -our whole lives- thousands of miles away. You meet these people her,e so far away from home and the lives we knew, and you become fast and close friends because you are all each other has.

Everyone talks to their family and friends but the fact is they are not a part of our day to day lives here, not really anyway.

So, instead of going to the same college joint in across town every weekend, or going to the same restaurant every week you go to the same foreigner bar where you know almost everyone even if you don’t talk to them. And instead of the same restaurant you go to a place where you can’t even read the damn menu and hope for the best.

This general cluelessness about our lives is a bonding experience.

I don’t know. All I know is that I met these people 10 or so months ago and they all had such a profound effect on me that I dreaded their departure for a while before it happened. Their leaving was the end of an era for me and the beginning of the end of my experience in Korea.

We left MJ’s and headed to one last Noraebang. Most of us probably should have just gone home, some of us had to work, but that didn’t seem important.

The last hookah.

I do not like Noraebang. I didn’t like Noraebang in the beginning and I don’t like it now. I do not imagine this will change. Generally speaking if the night is headed to norae I bail and I bail quick. Part of me wanted to just bail that night and remember my friends in a way that didn’t involve me standing in one place “singing” in a giant, awkward mess. I didn’t though. We all sang something that night. All of us: Tim, Amanda, Amanda, Katie, Andrew, Gavin, and I. We drank more beer. Amanda R. wasn’t wearing shoes. A week before she had returned to Korea from the states and was still out when I left at 4am.

Dedicated mother fuckers.

Our hour was running out and that sadness that was blocked by laughter and alcohol was creeping back up.

More time added. Nice guy at the front desk.

We sang or slumped into the sofas for what seemed like a long while, fatigue making the end of the night and the inevitable goodbyes necessary. It was ending, soon. It was a bad feeling. I remembered when I had no friends. I remembered when I missed my home and sat on my floor eating pizza by myself. I though about meeting Craig and how he died. I thought about when I saw Amanda and John walking out of my apartment building last spring and meeting the people who would be some of the best friends I’ve ever had. I thought about Frog Rain, Daecheon Beach, Daejeon Rock, and hiking. I thought about the time I ate a lot of cheese and almost crapped my pants on a bus hours after someone shotgun barfed on Amanda. Screen Golf. Barbeque. Jokes. Indian food. Obscenities. Taxi cabs. Lotteria. Lots of alcohol. Hookah. Risk. Tim getting appendicitis. The World Cup. North Korea. Christmas. I thought of all these things and I appreciated this group of people singing like the drunken stars of what my life is now.

Looking back at my friends and the year or whatever amount of time and our experiences, how the night ended was perfect.

The last norae.

Until the day that I die, I will NEVER be able to listen to “Hello, Goodbye” by the Beatles without thinking of these people. Wherever I am, I will drift off for a moment and think of the ending of that night and the end of OUR experience in Korea together: seven drunken fools with their arms around each other dancing and singing in a circular love fest.

The man at the front desk looking at the security camera probably wondered whether that extra time had been wise and whether he had enough sanitizer.

So, outside we said our goodbyes. There were no naïve “I will see you soon”s except for those of us staying. The really, really difficult thing about this whole experience is knowing that the goodbye could likely be the real deal. I hope it isn’t. We hugged. Some of us cried. Some of us fought to hold it back. We got into our taxis and went into the night all better off for knowing each other.

At least “Hello, Goodbye” isn’t as embarrassing to have on my play list as “Hero.”



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Kamikaze Magazine

So, I have spent the past few months making a website.   At times this has been a passive effort but several nights have been spent pulling out my hair trying to get it to look right.  Now, it is finished.
I am proud of it.  It isn't the most original design but it looks nice.
It is an internet magazine.  Some friends and I came up with the idea quite a while ago.  Originally, it was going to be in print and we were going to jam it into other publication's magazine boxes.  Because we would likely go broke and get in trouble we came up with the name Kamikaze Magazine.
It stuck. 
So, I spent a little money getting hosting and a huge amount of time trying to change little things courtesy of my lack of web design knowledge.
There isn't much of a topic.  It was mostly created so that we had a forum to write stuff and put it all together and see what came of it. 
So, check it out!
http://www.thekamikazemag.com/

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Seoraksan, Part 2

Forgive the belated posting here, I have been lacking internet for the past couple of weeks.  Anyway, I went to Seoraksan for Lunar New Year.

Seoraksan did not end up being the relaxing getaway that I was hoping for. Looking back on the whole trip, we spent way too much of our vacation on the road (even if the bus was barely moving). No, relaxing it was not.




An incense shrine against the mountains.



In darkness we stood at a bus stop in Sokcho, not entirely confident that we were in the right place. It was our hope to hop on a city bus that would take us to Seorak-dong. Here we would find a hotel with a Jacuzzi or at least a giant TV. The man looking like he was ready to scale Everest at the bus stop was reassuring.

Our back up plan, should the bus not come, was to take a cab. This would have been a costly mistake. After the bus finally came, we spent close to 45 minutes driving at first along the shore and then up the gradual incline at the base of Seoraksan National Park. For a long time we drove in total darkness save a few convenience stores lit by dim night-lights.

That taxi ride would have been costly.

Someday, I will stop assuming that when guide books mention a Noraebang, it doesn’t necessarily mean that a place will be hopping with neon.

Sarcasm and feigned bitterness aside, what would it be saying if this great mountain park had been so developed that love motels sprouted from its trees.

The problem is that I have become spoiled when it comes to hotels. Even at home, I always loved hotels. I don’t really know why. I used to have life-goal in which I could live in a hotel permanently. I realize now that this is called homelessness. Still, coming to Korea and being able to afford rooms with hot tubs, giant televisions, and steam showers has set me up for disappointment.

Sorak Garden Resortel. What I remember is that it had a large lobby with a guy watching television. It was night and he welcomed us in and quickly arranged rooms for us.

If you are a solo traveler I would back away from this place. It wasn’t sketchy and the man at the counter was really friendly it just had a run-down feel that bummed me out.

It wasn’t that it lacked a bathtub (it did, it also lacked any hot water), or a fully functioning TV (only a handful of channels worked so I watched short track and ski jumping) it was that it was like a bigger version of my apartment but with no warmth or character. I refer to warmth in both atmosphere and temperature.

The “concierge” told me that our rooms had once been two singles, but each had a wall knocked out to make two rooms: a bedroom, a larger open space for yo’s (sleeping mats) a “bathroom” and whatnot.

If I went with a whole bunch of friends and we stayed in one room it probably would have been a cool room. Heck, there was even a little kitchen area. In any case, the place wouldn’t have seen so bleak and lonely to me. So, I watched TV with my four imaginary friends and ended up having to use a floor mat as a blanket because of the cold.

Seoraksan National Park was definitely worth the trip. We went in with the assumption that we probably wouldn’t walk all the way to the summit and therefore were not disappointed when that didn’t happen. After paying our entrance fee and storing our bags we set off on a trail that would eventually come to a couple of waterfalls (Yukdamp Pokpo and Biryong Pokpo).

We passed the main entrance, turned to our left, and then crossed a bridge over a largely emptied river. Already the views of the surrounding peaks were extraordinary. They might not be the tallest mountains around, but their granite peaks ripping upwards from the trees here and there give it all a dramatic feel. It all felt rough and natural. I appreciated the difference in feelings between Cheongju and Seoraksan.

The trail we followed was not very long (a bit over 2km I think) and wasn’t generally very difficult. There were a few parts that were a bit steep but any argument for it being a difficult hike could be negated by the fact that the trail did in fact have metal stairs.

The rusted and grated stairs would stretch across the river whose source was the waterfall and our destination, and would hug where the rock had been cut away by erosion. This river probably flowed powerfully in the rainy season, but on that weekend it was largely subdued by ice.

Early on, we passed a kind of concession area. I would call it a concession stand but it was a bit more than that, while definitely not being one of the folk villages that are common on Korea’s mountains. Here snacks were sold.

We passed a woman giving samples of homemade berry juice. Presumably she had made it herself from mountain berries and then bottled it (old soju bottle) to be sold for around 10,000W. She gave us a sample, proudly saying “no alcohol.” It tasted good and was refreshing in a sharp but sweet sort of way. It was also very clearly booze. It tasted exactly like blackberry brandy.

I would buy a bottle on our way back and give it to Han as a thank you for saving my camera. She told me later that even her dad was surprised at the amount of alcohol contained in non-alcoholic mountain juice.

We came at last to the waterfalls. They were frozen: cascading ice into a ripples pond covered in crusted snow. It was pretty. A few people sat around as we snapped some photos. A man meditated off towards the edge of the little pond. After a break we turned and headed back.

After learning that the cable car was out the question (the day was wearing on and the light was soon to be fading) we walked along a more well traveled path. I didn’t even feign disappointment over the cable car. It rose steeply straight into the highest crags of the mountain. The only scenery I would have seen from the ride would have been what my camera shot as I sat in the corner with my head down.

This path led to a clearing in which sat an enormous bronze Buddha. I knew none of this at the time but that likeness is significant enough to have made me feel humble for being in its presence even after the fact. It also made me feel a bit like a fool for not even knowing it was there in the first place.

For a good amount of time we watched as people lit incense, prayed, meditated, and generally showed a huge amount of respect for this huge sculpture. I walked back and forth, switching frequently between my normal lens and my zoom. The weather was becoming chilly and the fresh air was occasionally overpowered by incense.

I found out later that inside this statue are three pieces of the Buddha’s sari. The statue, like the red and blue bridges all around, represent the desire for a unified country.

Further along the path is a colorful temple with scalloped tiles. Two elaborately colored temple guardians stand in the dark on either side of the entrance. The temple, a compound of buildings, stands on a hill and is on the edge of a river. It is serene. It is Sinheungsa and it dates back to either 653 or 657 AD. It has been destroyed and rebuilt a number of times but it is still there.

Sometimes being in an ancient place is pretty incredible.

As darkness fell we made our way back to another hotel, further down in Sokcho.

The next morning I walked onto a jetty while I waited for Ricky and Lauren. I have never been to the beach in the middle of winter. I expected it to be bleak and desolate but it wasn’t. Kids played in the sand feet away from snow. Families walked along the paths and bought food from vendors as though they didn’t notice the chill in the air. I sat for a while photographing the waves as they crashed onto rocks or sand.

Further down, the beach is lined with barbed wire and guard towers poke out of the trees. Tank traps dot the highways if you go too much further to the north.

I then spent hours stuck in Seoul traffic trying to get back to Cheongju.

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Seoraksan Part 1: In which our hero tavels for a long time and loses his most valued posession

If I have learned anything about internal travel in Korea it is this: the news isn’t usually wrong when it predicts horrendous traffic.
After the eternity that was the duration of winter intensives finally ended, Korea was given a much needed vacation.  This was good news.  The overloaded class schedule and bouncing from school to school on Fridays without breaks had wrecked me.  I was looking forward to catching up on some sleep.
The plan, for myself and a couple of friends (Rick and Lauren) was to get from our respective homes in central Korea to the northeast.  We were making for Seoraksan National Park in Gangwon Province. 
One of the things that I will miss about Korea is that you are never very far from a mountain to hike on.  Even if it is not a very large mountain, there is usually some payoff.  Sure, Watchusett Mountain might offer some nice glimpses of Fitchburg and exotic New Hampshire, but the local hike here has a fortress that predates colonial America by a long ways. 
Seoraksan, it should be stated, is not a “local hike.”  It is almost as far from our cities as you can get.  What complicated this issue further was that we were attempting to get there on arguably the biggest travel weekend of the Korean Year.  Lunar New Year was the occasion of our vacation and it was the reason why everyone with a car in Korea takes to the road to reach their home villages and families that they left behind in on their way to urban modernity.  The result is that highways around major cities become something of a nightmare. 
The only other time of year that can compete with Lunar New Year is Chuseok.  We traveled during Chuseok too, but we had the benefit of a KTX (bullet train) that took us from Daejeon to our final destination for Gyeongju.  The KTX was a benefit we would not be enjoying for our relaxing Seoraksan vacation. 
Relaxing would also not be one of our enjoyments.
We would cross the peninsula via bus.  When I asked my coworkers how I might get from Cheongju or Daejeon to Seoraksan, Han informed me that we would have to switch busses a handful of times.  Further, she said that not only would we have to deal with the nightmare traffic, but we would also have to transfer bus stations at one point. 
This last part was what worried me the most.  Reading Korean is no problem.  Bus stations usually have destinations written in English.  What could be a problem was getting from one station to another in time to catch another bus.  Frankly, I was starting to recall the trip to Dacheon Beach in the summer.  I was wondering which one of us would be barfed on.
Han tried her best to simplify things.  Ara, the new teacher, did as well:
“I think you should just stay home.  Or you can just go to Songmisan (the local national park).”
This was actually a valid idea.  I wanted and still want to go to Songmisan.  I even meant to do so last weekend but I was sidetracked by eating lunch.
The thing is, when it comes to vacations I am stubborn.  I rarely budge from my initial plan and it is difficult for me to accept any compromises.  I don’t mean to say that I do not go with the flow and enjoy the unexpected- I am fine while I am ON vacation.  What I mean is that once I decided that I was going to Seoraksan, there was no way in hell that I wasn’t going to go to Seoraksan.  The complicated bus route and the potential 10 hour bus ride (it was ordinarily 4 or so hours) didn’t have the slightest impact.  In the end I conceded a day and we left on Thursday instead of Wednesday to avoid the bulk of the traffic.
The plan:
1. Head to Daejeon Wednesday and stay in my first of 3 motels. 
2. From Daejeon take 3.5 hour bus to Gangneum in the northeast.
3. Go from the intercity bus terminal to the express bus terminal (it could have been the other way around)
4. Take a bus from Gangneum to Sokcho, a bit to the southwest.  Once here, I was ready to call it a success.
5. Take a city bus to Seorak-dong, and find a motel in the national park. 

The reality was not much different from the plan save travel times.  I made it to Daejeon with no problems (like I’ve done many times before).  I stayed at the Sharp Motel near the bus terminal and, as always, it was awesome.  Rick and Lauren treated me to a dinner at TGIF so the day was a total success. 
The next day we woke up bright and early and met at the bus terminal (bright and early for hag won teachers is different from that of normal people: 9am).
The bus, according to the website left at 9:45am.  We then spent a couple of hours waiting around and drinking coffee counting down until 11:30ish when the bus actually left.
One of the benefits of being in Korea alone, is that more often than not nobody wants to sit with you on the bus.  On the rare instance when I am not put in a row with just one seat, the person assigned to sit next to me usually gets up and leaves once the bus starts rolling.  Maybe I should be insulted.  Maybe I should just stop showering at home so I can always sit alone on the bus.
So, for the entire 5 or so hours of the 3.5 hour bus ride, I stared out the window and spoke only to Ricky or Lauren when the guy on the bus TV did something weird.
Rick and I searched for food when the bus made a quick rest stop.  After getting on 3 busses because we failed to remember where our bus was parked we sat down and enjoyed our lunch.
It was called a kebab.  It was a skinny hotdog with spicy sauce wrapped in a soggy tortilla.  How I made it the rest of the way without crapping my pants, I do not know.
After a very long time the plains gave away to outcroppings of the Taebaek mountain range.  We came at last to a city bus terminal where we sat until the bus driver politely informed us to get off as we were at our destination.  It was here that I did the dumbest thing I have ever done.
I rushed out of the bus and stood on the sidewalk for a moment after the bus drove away.  I then realized that I had left a bag containing close to $2,000 worth of camera / lenses on the bus.  I sprinted after it but it was gone.
My joy for vacation was wracked with devastation.  If I wasn’t in shock I probably would have cried.  Not only was that camera important to me, but it was how I made the bulk of my income at home.  For a time I told myself that it was ok, I had to upgrade anyway, but it was all a lie. 
I would be the only moron on top of the mountain looking through the viewfinder and winding the film of a disposable film camera.
In a panic I called Han.  I felt bad for bothering her during the holiday but I saw not other option.  She was my Obi-Wan. 
For an hour things looked bleak.  Things looked real bleak.  She managed to get a hold of the bus company and eventually the driver.  She relayed the message to him that the camera had been left on the back of the bus.  He replied that there was nothing.  He would check the CCTV but he wasn’t hopeful.
“I am sorry Tom,” Han said.  I hung up the phone and felt ill. 
I was drinking coffee with Rick and Lauren in despair when Han called to tell me that they had found my camera, and if I could wait until 6pm, then I could pick it up at the company office upstairs.
Words can’t really describe my relief.  Oh, wait, yes they can: imagine losing your really expensive still camera / cheaper video camera / lens / etc. for an hour and then having them returned.  That is what it felt like.
So, camera bag firmly in hand, we embarked on the second to last bus of the night: Sokcho.  Luck was with us in that too, as we did not have to go to another bus station to get to Sokcho, as I had feared.
The way to Sokcho is interesting.  For one thing, the coastal road forces you to remember the conflict with North Korea.  Vast expanses of the shore are lined with barbed wire.  Here and there, there were manned guard towers casting halogen into the black sea under the moonlight.  According to the guidebook, there were several tank traps along this route to protect against invasion.
So, 10 hours or so after we left Daejeon, we stepped off the bus into the night of Sokcho at the base of Seoraksan.  There, we breathed in clean air for the first time in a long time.

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