Up and Under

There you are in the middle of the night and you’ve awoken for reasons unknown. You slowly start to become perceptive when suddenly you realize you have to go pee. You must now lie there in the dark and try and convince yourself that you can hold it and simply go back to sleep and worry about it in the morning. There is this internal mental struggle you have; “to go, or not to go.” Eventually, your bladder gets the last word and you groggily stagger to the bathroom; many times you're too tired to turn on the light and, of course, pee all over the floor. Or at least that's how it turns out for me... I just assume that's standard practice for everyone.


During my last few weekends I faced a similar metaphorical dilemma. I had to decide whether I would stay in Seoul and spend my last few weekends with my friends and co-teachers or whether I would go around and travel to a few places I had told myself I had to see before I left. In the same way that my bladder is always triumphant, the travel bug that lives inside of me was also victorious and so I spent my last few weekends travelling around Korea.


A few weekends ago I went to Unjusa temple as per Lonely Planet’s recommendation. It was quaint and remote and laden with Buddha carvings. While I was strolling around the grounds thinking to myself that this temple wasn’t as Monky as I would like it to be, one of those extremely affable, shaved-headed, prayer-men came out of nowhere and started to chat. Once he found out I was from Canada he warmed up even more as he had recently travelled to Calgary to visit a friend. He took me into his humble dwelling to have tea, tangerines and monky conversation. He then gave me a private tour of the grounds and provided me with much history. My monk friend then decided I wouldn’t have to time to catch the local bus and have dinner at an appropriate hour, so he insisted I ring the dinner bell and eat with him and his 11 brethren. We enjoyed a vegan buffet and all I had to do in exchange was wash my own dishes. Also if you’re wondering, monks like to drive Hyundai’s four-wheel, sport utility vehicle the Santa Fe, as I saw this to be the case on two consecutive temple visits.


I also made it to Wulchansan National Park. It was here that a remarkable thing happened for the first time during my Korean tenure. It took 11 months, but for the first time, I was in a public place and didn’t see another human-being for 20 whole minutes. Without being in my room, I have not been in a public area where I have not seen another person for more than about 5 minutes. All it took was 8 hours of bus rides, 4 hours of hiking and terrible weather conditions to give me "so much" alone time. I guess that's what happens when you live in the third most dense country in the world.


My last weekend in Korea was supposed to be spent scuba diving on the East Coast with my Korean friend Ron. He offered to drive me over to the coast so that I could get some training and experience a little deep sea exploration. The weather wasn’t too nice in the morning when we were leaving, but Ron assured me that the typhoon would avoid the east coast of the country. So we got up early and drove across the country. When we got to our destination we realized that the weather forecast had misled us. Ron called the company we were planning on swimming with and they said that we couldn’t go due to the waves and strong currents. So we planned to make the best of a bad day and maybe do a little hiking in the rain. As we were driving around, we saw another scuba store and decided to pull over and inquire if maybe they would allow us to swim. Ron, whose English is amazing, but not perfect, said the scuba “master” wasn’t in the building, but would be there soon to teach us and take us swimming. I was excited to meet the scuba “master.” I think "instructor" was the proper word, but Ron kept referring to him as a “master.” So we stood around and waited for the “master” to show up and impart his years of extensive and immeasurable wisdom.


Eventually a truck pulled up and our weekend saviour, the scuba “master,” emerged. Out came a short little Korean, who was missing one of his front teeth which was noticable because he was always smiling. He struggled to take off his shirt and exposed his tiny frame. He kept looking at me and saying “OKAAAAYY!” to get me excited and to assure me that everything would be fine. Turns out our scuba “master” had been drinking all morning (it was 11:00 am at the time) once he knew the weather was going to spoil a day of business. By this point Ron and I had gotten into wet suits and were ready to go, when a wiser and sober scuba master informed us that there was no chance of us going diving during a typhoon. So we did a little snorkelling with our wet suits in the ocean and ate seafood. Problem solved.


I love you,

Yubbo

UNESCO... or should I say UNESCWHOA! (Suwon and Gwengju)

As the number of weekends left start to diminish I’ve been trying my best to see the oreo cookies of sights here in Korea. The two weekends posted were great cultural experiences as I went on the UNESCO tour, but not much happened that was blog worthy or pithy, so I’ll spare you much of the chronological narrative and allow you to simply enjoy the photos.


Part of the 5.6 km wall in Suwon

There was one funny story I will quickly share. While I was visiting Suwon, the fortress city, I was in need of some directions and approached a kind looking female. She worked at a bakery and I asked her if she knew how we got to the start of the wall. This young woman, quite begrudgingly asked, “Do you speak Korean?” I apologetically said that I didn’t, to which she inhaled and rolled her eyes. She hummed and hawed and seemed to be searching her database for the few basic words she knew. She definitely gave the impression that the ensuing conversation was going to be extremely difficult. “Okay, so you can get there on bus number 34 or 37. The bus stop is kitty-corner to the 7-eleven, you’ll probably have to wait no more than two or three minutes. After about 7 minutes or so on the bus, you’ll easily see where you get off. I hope that helps.”





These mounds of grass are the Korean equivalent of pyramids. Obviously these old kings were really important... either that or they really had a thing for breasts. (And that's how you completely disregard and disrespect thousands of years of history and culture.)



I love this sign, which is obviously a warning for falling rocks. Now for those of us who can't read Korean, I love the message the picture tells us. If massive boulders break loose and reach terminal velocity, make sure your child resorts to the tried and tested 1960s approach to nuclear warfare: duck and cover. Meanwhile, you fear not because you've got a feather in your fedora and you also have the ungodly strength to impede rocks as they plummet under that steadfast force known as gravity.


The hoards of tourists made it a little difficult to embrace the spiritualty of the temple. I'll bet it's hard to reach nirvana and escape to different spiritual planes of existance with all of us tourist hussies around.

Reverently,

Wilson

Where's the beef?

For anyone watching international news lately it has been difficult to eschew the recent events unfolding here in Korea regarding American beef. Before I get into details, allow me to digress with what I think is an apt analogy.


I often play “telephone game” with my kids here in Korea. Chances are you know it. There are a line of people, the first person thinks of a sentence and whispers it to the next person and that person whispers the message into the next person’s ear and so on and so forth. The last person shouts out what they heard, which, idealistically, is the same as the original sentence. Of course, if you’ve ever played this game in North America, it's done a little differently. If the first person starts by saying something like, “I see two watermelons,” this becomes “I see your daughter’s melons,” which somehow, by the end of it, becomes something completely different like, “Your mother is a whore.” It’s inevitable that the phrase or sentence is changed as it passes from ear to ear. It’s undeniably the best part of the game, or at least that's the case in North America. In Korea my students play this game rigorously and properly. They are inexorable when passing along the message and become irrate with the student that they smoke out and determine is the word-slurring culprit. With the recent beef predicatment I feel as if everyone in Korea is playing a big game of telephone and the message is, “psst... America has bad beef. Pass it on.”


Now, allow me to briefly explain the situation. First off, beef prices in Korea are mountainous, about three times higher than they are in North America. This is partly because Korea shut it’s doors on American beef in 2003 when a case of BSE (mad cow disease) was reported in America. About three months ago the ban was removed and the newly elected Korean government was pleased (or so they thought) to bridge a gap with its third largest trading partner and biggest ally.


But Koreans can be stubborn and unforgiving. Once they got wind that American beef was going to be allowed back into their country, they became manic. They were afraid that America was going to be shipping over all their beef that was older than 30 months. This 30-month cut-off is of particular concern because BSE has a long incubation period of around 4-years. The general concensus among the Koreans I’ve talked to is that America is simply going to ship over all their geriatric cows and offload their infected beef to Korea. While being here I have been asked many times, if I would eat American beef. I have confessed that I would, and do, to which they respond, in complete seriousness, “aren’t you afraid you’ll die?” I rarely ask them to consider how Americans, consumers of 28.1 billion pounds of beef every year, aren’t all dead except for Drew Barrymore, Bob Barker and the 13 other vegetarians in America.

After they tell me I am stupid for taking such a risk, I mention that I am Canadian so it's not so bad. I then ask them if they would ever eat delicious and world famous Canadian beef. They always admit they would. But, truth be told, Canada has had 10 reported cases of BSE compared to America’s three. Statistically, Canadian beef is far more dangerous.


After two months of unrelenting protests, it has become clearer that this issue isn’t really about bad beef, but more so with Korean’s discontent with America and the newly elected President. President Lee Myung-bak was elected in February and is being held accountable (in just four months in office no less) for the beef “crisis,” a rise in gas prices and a slump in an already bearish economy. Last week, in accordance with the rabbles and their complaints, President Lee completely reshuffled his cabinet and rectified the beef situation by ensuring that no beef over 30 months would be imported for the time being. What happened two days after this news? There were massive riots again, where protesters took to the streets with iron bars, stones and obstreperosity.


Now, I am all for a vocal and engaged democracy, and it is impressive that 1,000,000 people can take to the street to let their voices be heard on an issue, but I just wish that these people wouldn’t be so ignorant. In there defence, there is so much fearmongering and propaganda going on that it is difficult for anyone not to believe that all American meat is mad cow diseased! (as roughly half of Koreans believe). I just wish they would think for themselves before getting into a tizzy.

“Psst... America’s beef is fine. Pass it on.”

Let's go to Jeju (that's "Jay-Jew" to white people)

America’s got this place called Hawaii, perhaps you’ve heard of it? A paradise disconnected from mainland America where people can go to savour beaches, volcanoes, mountains, etc. Well mainland Korea has there own Hawaiian haven and it’s called Jeju. It’s a cozy, edenic island south of the rest of Korea, and on a long weekend in June it’s more difficult to get to than it was backstage at a 1991 Guns N Roses concert.


I had shown some interest in travelling here about 6 weeks prior to the June 6th weekend, only to be denied faster than I would be at a bar when accosting a fair beauty. At this point, I became a little disheartened and accepted that I wouldn’t be able to visit Jeju during my one-year tenure in Korea. This all changed when one of my good and dear Korean friends came over and noticed I had bought a bicycle to help with my ankle rehabilitation. The once dull and banal life he averred I was living while crippled soon became a thing of the past and he jumped at the chance to cycle around this coveted island.


I told him that I would love to ride the 275 km loop, but that getting there would be impossible. Little did I know that Ron, my Korean businessman amigo, has a good connection; and I don’t mean to the Internet. He knows a guy who knows a guy, who knows a ... (actually that’s it, he knows a guy who knows a guy) and this second guy just happens to be the head of the public ferry company that sails to Jeju. So we headed out on Thursday night at 11:57, transferred to another bus at 3:45 am, waited for the 10:00 am boat and got to Jeju around 1:00.


Before boarding the ferry Ron suggested we have a hearty breakfast to fuel us for our upcoming expedition. I agreed and conjured up this lovely image of bacon, eggs, toast and maybe even some flapjacks. Heck, I would have settled for some peameal and an artichoke souffle. Instead, as I would experience all weekend long, I got the true Korea experience: seared fish, sticky rice, spicy kelp, pickled turnip, softshell crab and a cold vinegared cucumber soup to name a few. Keep in mind it was 7:00 am in the morning. I dare you to find fiery, brined algae at sunrise in North America.


Our 21 dish breakfast

This was somewhat of a demanding bike trip, as we were a little pressed for time, and we both wanted to enjoy some of the sights, sounds and smells of the island, so I was basically coerced into using the proper equipment. Chuck let me borrow his $3000 road bike that he brought from back home, and Ron lent me a pair of bicycle shorts. For those of you who have never worn a pair of bicycle shorts, I’ll try and convey the experience. It’s like wearing a pair of spandex shorts with a built in maxi-pad. Sadly, I am not talking about these modern, ultra-thin sanitary napkins with wings, dry-weave, side-impact beams and optional keyless remote entry. It’s much more akin to a 1960s industrial menstrual towel. Also, these shorts don’t leave much to the imagination for anyone looking in the crotchular region, so I always felt a little awkward when walking around(especially in an Asian country). In retrospect I probably spent 87% of my time thoroughly enjoying everything I saw; the other 13% of my time was occupied adjusting myself.


These polyester pants were the bane of my cycling experience...and your visual experience.


Ron was an incredible host, great company and a thorough tour guide. I was treated to some of the finest seafood and the most secret nooks the island has to offer. Most of our day was spent riding along a wandering coastal road. Occasionally we rode through a densely touristy part of town, did some sightseeing (only we did it like tourists on crack) and then retreated to the congenial seaside path again. Snacks and breaks were usually accompanied by a bottle of beer and a plate of raw marine products, such as abalone, cockles and urchins. All of which were served with a heaping plate of seaweed. If you’re curious as to what any of this stuff tastes like, I suggest you go to the nearest ocean, wait for the tide to ebb, find some of that green guck that is caked onto the rocks and lap that sunsoaked algae like a dog drinking water on a hot day. I assume the flavour must be similar, although with enough hot sauce anything is edible.



Ron’s great friendship, connections and astute Koreaness, all made for an incredibly wonderful long weekend filled with many valuable and memorable Korean experiences.


Accostingly,

Yubbo

Cast Off and thus Blast Off

Guitar players get callouses on their fingers, golfers along the tops of their palms, adult film stars on their knees (or so I would assume) and, regrettable, those who use crutches for nine weeks develop hardened skin in their armpits. Seven weeks ago I went to the doctor’s thinking I would be removing my cast and running marathons, when much to my chagrin, I discovered that my ankle was actually fractured.


I recently had my cast off and have begun physiotherapy; as a corollary, I have been doing my best to find things to do that are practical for a one-footed gimp and close to home. Many of the weeks have consisted of watching baseball games, playing one-foot screen golf and perhaps enough drinking to make Ulyssess S Grant look sober (according to wikipedia he was quite the alcoholic). But recently, I have been doing my best to break away from these somewhat perfunctory endeavours.


One of the noteworthy highlights during the last two months included witnessing the Olympic Torch as it made its trek across Seoul. At the time (5 weeks ago), following and tracking the torch was so in vogue, so I didn’t want to miss out on the kitschy spectacle. At this point I was still on crutches and although there was a voice inside my head saying, “crippled people would probably have a hard time escaping a riot,” there was also a voice inside my head thinking, “if anything happens to me – the innocent, lame and trampled foreigner – it would definitely make the 6:00 news and maybe even a line on the BBC website,” and as someone who’s always secretly yearning for their 15 minutes of fame that was enough of a reason to venture over to Olympic Park.


Before actually arriving at the site / sight, I was unaware of just how political this oversized candle was going to be, so I thought it would be an appropriate gesture to sport a t-shirt with a Korean flag on it. Once I arrived and saw the sea of Chinese flags and people I realized that my sign of international solidarity probably connoted that I was pro-Korean, ergo I was against China. This was not exactly the image I wanted to project among the 20,000 proud Chinese youth who call Korea home. (Many are here attending university in the city). Luckily, as a solo, vapid onlooker, I didn’t appear to be a threat as I observed from the periphery. It was a pretty peaceful day, mainly because the pro-China crowd was so vast that the Chinese would have quelled and overpowered any political groups that might have thought to protest or become bellicose. There was one, dreadlock, poncho wearing, youth there to make his case for freedom, but his flaccid, “Free Tibet” poster wasn’t much of a political statement. On this particular day, it was China and the Chinese who came out to show their love and support.



Some strangers appreciated my t-shirt.

There was one brief moment when I thought I was close to having a BM in my pants. I had decided to avoid the epicentre of activity, on account of being temporarily maimed, and had thus picked out a peaceful spot where I thought I might have been able to catch a glimpse of the torch as it began its journey away from Olympic Park. At first this seemed to be a wise move, but as the torch started moving from its starting location and down the street, a hoard of Chinese began to chase after the coveted beacon. There I was staring and standing as 20,000 Chinese people ran directly towards me. At that moment I was thinking that a soiled set of pants would really spoil those 15 minutes. “And in another news today, a young Canadian, suffered minor injuries physically and major injuries emotionally after shitting himself, as the Olympic Torch passed through the capital of South Korea.”


All in all, it was quite memorable to be there and see a vastness of red. It was exciting to hear the roars and chants of the crowd, see helicopters overhead and be a small part of something global.


At the end of the day, a peaceful calm falls upon Olympic Park.

To all those loyal readers, out there I apologize for the long delay. It was a combination of a lackadaisical couple of months and the fact that many weekends passed where I couldn’t recall much of what happened come Sunday evening. And if you’re really curious as what happened during the hiatus, it would be fair to say that a good 75 per cent of that time was spent learning about the condition and state of Chuck’s colon. Trust me, much like the past two months, you have to have been here to really enjoy it.

Smittenly,

Moose

Cast Away

If you can’t visit your family because you’re on the other side of the world, then you bring your family to you. And that’s precisely what happened two weeks ago when my mom and dad took the 17 hour, trans-oceanental flight to visit. It was great to show my folks around the place I call home and let them espy my lifestyle here in Korea. Perhaps the greatest thing about having your begetters come visit you, besides the visiting itself, is the complete roll reversal that occurs. All of sudden your parents come over to a foreign country and completely rely on you for everything. It’s like living every thirteen year-olds' dream. They don’t know where to go, how to get around, or where to get food. When we went out to a restaurant they were totally dependent on what I said and what I ordered. When they first arrived they slept on the floor in their sleeping bags and it was I who was perched high above the lowly plebeians, nestled comfortably on my bedstead. Of course things changed: they got their bearings quickly, figured things out, I was sleeping on the floor, and the cosmic forces of the universe were realigned.


The first weekend they arrived we tried to walk around and see as much of this sprawling city as we could. It had been quite some time since I’d been with a group of people who were as inexorable towards taxis as I once was. Since I’ve been in Seoul, I’ve become a bit more metropolitan and occasionally consider taking other forms of transportation from time to time. But once the Horsewood’s reunited I returned to my old ways and used my own two feet to trek across the city. While my folks were here it was a little difficult to be savvy and proficient tour guide by day and maintain my social life with my co-workers by night. A few acetaminophen later, a couple of gallons of water and a few cold showers proved to cure the problem.

I am pulling the "half Dao" on the Rat statue; the Chinese zodiac for my mom and me.

Looking back on the week, I am glad I was able to saunter around the city so much, because little did I know I was about to "severely" damage my left ankle while playing basketball. For about two weeks prior to the 18th Chuck and I had been playing basketball every night at the local park. Things had been going well, we were starting to get back into shape and our game was no longer embarrassing. Then I went up for a rebound and landed awkwardly on my left ankle. It instantly swelled faster an 85 year-old man’s prostate. Some of the onlookers analogized it to a baseball, some said softball, Chuck went so far as to say it was as big as his "ball sack"; either way, it wasn’t pretty.


Luckily there was a hospital very close by and me and three other teachers were in Emergency in no time. I’ll tell you right now, I was given special treatment based entirely on the colour of my skin. I walked into the ER room and was pushed passed hordes of people who looked sick and in some cases much worse than myself. I am all for fairness, but somehow I seemed a little indifferent when my ankle felt like it was going to burst. I was greeted by a young woman who had just finished her medical degree in Maryland, spoke perfect English, understood slang and profanity and she said she would be helping us out. If you ever have to spend some time in the emergency room, heaven forbid, I recommend being there with Chuck. Laughter truly is the best medicine. Before the doctor could even ask what happened and where the pain was, Chuck inquired, “So doc, how long until me and him can start having sex again? I can go two or three days tops without it, so hit me with the news now. Will he be okay or should I start looking for a new partner?”


I was taken away for some x-rays. I was completely satisfied with the treatment I received at the hospital, although I wasn’t given a lead bib to cover my “thunder” while electromagnet waves passed through my flesh. I swear I could hear my testicles asking, ever so quietly, if everything was okay? After this I was back with Chuck and the rest of the gang. The doctor was there asking questions and so too was Chuck.
“Hey doc, can people who are paralysed from the waist down still ejaculate?”
(Apparently some can and some can’t)

Chuck: “So are you really a doctor?”
Doctor: ”Yes, I am just not wearing my lab coat.”
Chuck: “Can you put it on, do a little dance and spin around for me?”


A week after the accident. The ligaments up my leg started to bruise sometime during the week. It was like a surprise party compliments of the human body.

After getting a full back-slab cast, I was released from ER and sent to the front desk to... pay. As a Canadian it was the most bizarre and foreign concept. Although we are covered by our insurance through the school, we still have to pay a small fee that is not covered for each appointment. While I was completely floored having to pay $90 for an x-ray, a cast, an emergency visit and crutches, Chuck, the American among us, told me to make for the door and run, bad foot and all, for they were surely about to charge me thousands of dollars more. He estimated that back home that little visit would have cost about $1500. Two days later I watched the movie “Sicko” and revelled when thinking about the Canadian healthcare system and a great man called Tommy Douglas.


Really just milking some sympathy with this picture.

While it has proved a little difficult being in a cast and only having the use of one leg, there are definitely some advantages about life for the next 4 to 6 weeks.

Pros:

• I only have to wash half the number of socks.
• My right leg will be huge, as my left atrophies. Luckily I just read in Cosmo that asymmetry is all the fashion rage right now (Jean Chretien and I are pretty pleased). Okay, this isn't true, but if I ever need to kick down a door, Chuck Norris style, then I think by the end of this my right leg might be up for it.
• I save tons of water while showering and can feel Al Gore giving me a high-five every morning.
• There’s a new sense of accomplishment when you only have the use of one leg. For example, having a shower, shaving and putting on a new pair of boxers is quite a rewarding and tiresome task. “What did you do this weekend?” ~~ “I went out to a club on Saturday, went to a palace on Sunday and hung out with some friends on Sunday night. How about you?” ~~ “I put on some fresh underwear sometime on Sunday afternoon. Boo ya!”
• There's always a chance that my left leg will someone hyper-heal itself, a la "Rookie of the Year," and for the first time in my life I might be able to kick a soccer ball with my left foot.

Con:

• When going to the bathroom on one leg you sometimes lose your balance. This can lead to a bit of a mess as you jump around on one foot and subsequently fling your "hose" in all directions. Luckily this has only happened while at my house and not in a busy, public restroom with urinals. Splash-back is one thing to deal with, but an out-of-control expeller is quite another.


My kids love to sign my cast. It's touching.

Quixotically,

“E” “N”

Baejek and Beckham

Two weekends ago the face, nay the image, of England came to Korea. And no it wasn’t Margaret Thatcher, although a 24 year-old boy can dream, can’t he? Maybe in heaven Margie, maybe in heaven. In fact, it was Mr. David “Posh Spice” Beckham who came to town to play a little soccer against Seoul FC two weekends ago. It didn’t take much convincing for any of us to fork out a few won (Korean currency) and watch the man who is synonymous for bending the soccer ball. The rest of the L.A. Galaxy was there too, but I am not sure if anyone really noticed. The game was good, although Mr. Beckham really was the main event. People would cheer and yell whenever there was a corner kick and Dave (we’ve got a pretty close relationship, he said Dave, or D-Beck, was okay with him) walked towards the ball and crossed it back into play.


I also witnessed one of the best examples of why I love Asia and perhaps specifically Korea while attending the game. Chuck (a fellow teacher) and I were taking a little break from the action to buy a hotdog (and most likely a beer or three). A little boy, who was no older than 10, went up to the counter in front of us and purchased a hot dog of his own. He seemed very content and excited to eat his food, as all ten-year olds are when it comes to hotdogs. As the boy left we saw the young teenager behind he counter reach into her wallet and pull out the equivalent to a dollar and put it in the cash register. We were curious as to what just happened and inquired. In understandable, but broken English, she explained that the little tot was a dollar short for his frankfurter and she didn’t have the heart to tell him. So, instead of making a scene and telling this little guy that he was short some money, this young woman put a dollar of her own into the till. The remarkable part is, the minimum wage, which she is bound to be making, is $3.50 an hour. So Chuck, being the down-right-decent fellow that he is, balanced the karmic forces of the universe and donated a dollar so that all would be fair. It was the commonality of her gesture that made it remarkable.


The end of February marked the end of the school semester, which meant that many of our students graduated and our teaching schedules were all mixed up. To mark the end of Kelly’s contract and the teaching of two of our favourite classes we decided that we would make a pinata and have a snack party. We spent a few nights at the end of the month, sculpting and perfecting our masterpiece. In the end we were both pretty pleased with our Nemo pinata. The students also had a little going away present for us too. It was a nice day to be a teacher.



This past weekend Chuck and I decided to visit the small town of Gongju as per Lonely Planet’s recommendation. It didn’t have the greatest writeup ever, but it was a quick trip and easy to organize. We made the best of an okay situation.


This dog had a full leg cast on. But what else would you expect in Gongju?

Our first fun experience occurred when we went to get some information at the information booth (slightly redundant I suppose) and the woman behind the glass asked us to come in and edit their very poorly translated brochures. So if you ever find yourself in Gongju attending the Baejek festival and start reading about the “rich history and cultural breadth of the Baejek people” than you’ll know who wrote it. I think I might have to try and work that into my resume somehow too: International Information Consultant has a nice ring.


Being a small town, we were a little unsure where the nightlife and the popular people might be hanging out. After careful deliberation we decided that the bowling alley must be where all the hip “peeps” would be. We saw a giant bowling pin on the top of a building when we got into town and headed back there later on in the evening. Usually I wouldn’t mention the number of beers I’ve had, but I think it is important to know that we had been drinking steadily all day. We walked into the 6 story building and started asking people where the bowling alley was. A few people told us that there was no longer an alley in the building, but that didn’t satisfy us. So we got our MacGyver on and decided that we could probably find the bowling alley that didn’t exist. We went up a few floors and decided that this was a residential building and it seemed unlikely that there would be a lane on, or above, where people lived, so we headed to the basement. There was no sign of business occurring down there, but we were certain there must be one, so we started to open doors. We opened one door that was slightly ajar, poked our head in, said “hello” and were motioned to enter by the two women in the room. They showed us to the only table in the middle of the room. At the time we thought we were in a restaurant without any reason to think differently. There was no menu, signs on the wall or any pictures so we started to name off any Korean food we could think of. “Dong Kaus?” “Dulsot bibimbap?” Nope. But they did have kimchi jiggae, which is a spicy soup. We sat down and a little girl in her pyjamas came and joined us. She was the cutest child I’ve ever seen, I think the accompanying photo will attest to this. She said “hello” to us in English and then Chuck and I started teaching her how to respond and properly annunciate “How are you?” and “I am fine thank you.” After a while she got an English book out and we started reading her a bedtime story. One of the women was on the (home) computer beside the dining room table and the other was in the kitchen cooking us up a feast. The two of us ate the best jiggae we’ve had and shot the shit for about an hour in there. We said our goodbyes, and paid 10,000 won for our meal, although there was no register.


We woke up the next morning and started asking some questions. It didn’t take long for us to conclude that we actually weren’t in a restaurant. We just opened a door in a residential complex, sat down and started ordering food at a person’s house. If you ever come to Korea you’ll realize if a restaurant doesn’t have bibimbap, than it’s not a restaurant. These kind women just started making us whatever food they had in their house and then quoted us a reasonable rate for their time, effort and grub. And that’s why you should never drink all day long. Then again, maybe that’s why you should drink all day long. It’s a tad debatable I suppose.


This room had a 1000 pint-sized bronze Buddhas. It was like ice cream for your eyes.

Erotically and Exotically,

Yub-ba-say-Dro

P.S. I installed a program some time ago that is able to track who comes to my blog and how they get there. Since early November, 4 people have come across my site by entering “Korean urinal.” Some other interesting searches have been “camera room sex noraebang” and “hillary clinton fundraiser in korean museum.” I should probably try and work that into my resume somehow too.