Oppa Gyeongnam Style

Blog readers of the world, I firstly would like to bid you all a short apology for the teenie tiny delay of this (last) month's addition to the blog.  But here it is, all revitalised and shiny, complete with pictures in colour.

It's been a rather hectic couple of weeks but things have rolled on rather pleasingly as we've integrated ourselves further into the local community by doing all manner of tedious things just to get them to like us a bit more.  I'll also be talking a little bit about teaching and some of the more humorous aspects of that as this month really has had some absolute corkers of passively offensive comments, racial slurs and poo-based ghost stories.

Getting a board marker for the bathroom
was the best idea of all time. 

Earlier on in the month we were invited by our agent (I like saying I "have an agent", she runs a recruiting agency and she got us our current job so in a sense, she is our agent) to an English speaking weekend of fun and games!  We said yes under the pretenses of free accommodation and a barbecue in a quite nice rural setting.  It was set up so that our agent's daughter and all her friends (aged 9 I think) could get used to speaking to foreigners and not run off screaming at the sight of us (happens more frequently than I'd like, particularly when I don't brush my hair).  We were told to meet at a coffee shop where ourselves, plus the other foreigners, would be greeted by some of the parents and be driven off into our mountainside retreat.  That bit wasn't particularly awkward at all, no no no.  What was even less awkward was when we were separated into the different family cars to get to the guest house; I was in a rather squashed family car with five kids, one baby and a set of parents.  We made the drive from Busan north between the mountainous landscape and rugged coastline towards our guesthouse.  There was some excellent views along the way, peppered with the new development projects we've become accustomed to seeing in Korea: huge sets of high rise apartments still under development, shopping malls all edging towards completion.  The conversation was a bit stinted due to quite a large language barrier.  At first that always made me awkward but now when you've been given the complete assurance they won't know what you're saying but are too polite to do anything other than smile and nod, you can say literally anything.  I ended up talking about water parks and what I hate about kids.  It was a nice drive.

We arrived at the guesthouse and it was as traditional as traditional gets, presumably.  The house itself was up a stony driveway which cut finely between the pear trees.  It was split into two buildings: one for the people who lived there and one for those who did not.  Between the buildings was a small courtyard which came with a delightfully loud drum and a wonderful bastarding organ.  The foreign teachers' quarters were gender specified which meant I'd be spending the night with a South African fellow who I'd only met a few hours previous.  Keeping in with the 'traditional' feel, our sleeping area consisted of a blanket and a cushion.  That was going to be oh so much fun...

Did the accessories for Prince Albert, apparently.

After setting our things down, we were introduced to the kids; six girls, all friends, all very happy, all very hyper.  We were each paired with a child.  There was one girl who had a broken leg/foot/ankle situation who I hoped I'd get (not much running around being my optimistic thesis).  I didn't get her, I got a girl called Violet who was actually one of the most awesome, both in terms of speaking ability but was also quite funny.
Once we'd been assigned our partners we then had another entirely non-awkward car journey down to the beach.  Some of the signposts worried me ever so slightly though as we started passing signs for "Gori Nuclear Plant".  Why that's not been the location for an apocalyptic mutant zombie movie I'll never know.  The beach was windy.  After the humid sweatbox of Korean summer in Yulha, surrounded by mountains on three sides, it was absolutely beautiful.  We played some games and the like before deciding it'd be a good idea to play touch rugby.  It was going marvelously until one of the more testosteroned dads wanted a go.  Fast forward thirty seconds to a rather quickly established HT whilst we tried to get two girls to stop crying.  "Touch rugby Mr Kim, touch rugby"...  We came back and had a barbecue before some more games and settling down for the evening.  We went into our traditional Korean sleeping quarters where myself and Ashley, the South African laid.  A few feet of uncomfortable floor separated us as we made conversation about cricket and such in the pitch black.  I tried to roll over and settle down before I monumentally twatted my funny bone off a (n undoubtedly traditional Korean) CD player speaker.  I made a bit of a yelp before Ashley said it was stupid and went and asked the lady people next door see about rearranging some of our sleep positions.  A straight swap between the Turtle and Ashley resulted in guilt-free spooning until morn.

A door made of paper next to an organ that must
have been made with revenge in mind.

Morn must've been forty five minutes away as the beautiful, sweet, indescribably cute children found the motherfucking drum and organ.  6.20 we were up, cursing the floor for making me ache, cursing the shower for only having cold water, and cursing the selfish swines who wouldn't just wear a sodding condom.  After a quick breakfast of traditional Korean rice bread and traditional Korean cafe lattes we were off melon picking.  This was quite fun until I got lost and a spider headbutted my eye.  I just wanted to go home.

A few hours of pretending to be okay with being woken up at dawn to Greensleeves on an organ to the beat of Night Fever on the drum slid by as slowly as watching The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, twice.  At around 11am we were treated to traditional Korean chicken soup, which was actually quite delicious.  The owner of the guesthouse then came out and started telling everyone they could stay passed the normal midday time guests usually had to leave.  We, the foreigners, were grateful but said we must get back and would need a lift back to Busan (as arranged) from the parents.  Miss Bitchface began telling us all about this wonderful bus stop down the road with this magic bus that only took an hour and a half of country roads to get back.

Just as I started to consider using a drum as a weapon, she brought out a CD she had made.  The cover was her, this fifty-something Korean woman, in a white suit with a pink fluffy scarf on, sat/laid a bit like Lionel Richie.  We all said how marvelous it was that she'd gone through so much trouble to do that, but really we must be getting home now.  Of course she wanted to treat us though didn't she.  She sat on a ledge, looked down at the ground, looked back up at us, her audience: six kids, two babies, five foreigners (one ran away), and four sets of parents.  Her face full of pain and emotion, heartbreak and the tormenting sadness of love.  She, of course, broke into Yesterday by the Beatles.  Four verses and two choruses later, complete with a few drawn out final notes and I was ready to end it all.  Maybe jump off one of the taller pear trees, or just try drowning myself in the chicken soup...

Saturday was good though.

Chuseok on the beach.

Since then we have had Chuseok, the Korean Harvest Thanksgiving.  This was immense because we had five days not teaching screaming days.  So what did I do to spend my time?  I went to the orphanage!  I love it there, all the kids are a bit weird but entirely awesome.  It was only for one day so I didn't mind going along.  We were told we'd be making Seongpyeon, traditional Korean (I feel I should keep a tab of how often I say that phrase) rice cakes that are sometimes filled with mung beans or even red beans.  DEEEEEEElicious!  I sat there for a while being climbed on and kicked in the face, normal orphanage practice, before we went through to the kitchen area where we helped the ajummas (Korean "aunts" [the old ladies]) with the rice powder/dough.  The kneading took ages!  They use such a little amount of water in the dough I think the only real moisture that went into it was the sweat of the musceless whiteboy who swore a lot trying to get the fucking powder to stick together.  Everyone else managed it though, the bastards.  The putting beans in the dough stage came next which was great fun.  I gave my little cakes a bit of crimping on the edge to give them a bit of fancifulness, a bit of joie de vivre.  One particularly judgemental granny just shook her head disapprovingly.

Twenty minutes or so of intense steaming and they were done!  The fruits of our labour, the prizes of our efforts, the light at the end of the tunnel!  They tasted rank.  I must have got one that I'd made because the outside, whilst gooey and gelatinous (like any kind of steamed rice would) was as powdery as the nostrils of Miss Moss on the inside.  The mung beans were also a bit disgusting too.  I was a bit disappointed so I went to the bathroom, spat it out, and scarpered.  Had a nice time though.

One thing I've definitely neglected in recent blogs is what I actually do job wise.  I'm aware there's a fine line between knowing what I definitely can say and knowing what my directors might decide to search at a later date.  But for the time being, I'll keep it sweet (as sweet as I can given they are spawns of Satan himself).  A few weeks ago my middle school students arrived at a Storytelling module in their books and had to create a a story themselves.  Here is my favourite example of some of the things they created:

"Pleasingly plump"

It was a hot humid night.  A man walked into a restaurant.  When he sat he saw a beautiful woman sitting across the room.  

He asked for her phone number.  She said "no" because the man is ugly.

He was upset so he threw water on woman.  She got angry, so she hit his cheek.  

He prod her eyes with a fork.

The waiter had a fight with him.  The waiter killed the man.  The woman stayed alive and ate the man.

The man was delicious.

They were given the first line or so and were told to go from there.  Truly beautiful work,

Yulha, the new city. 

Our schedules and classes all changed in September so we were each given a load of newly reordered classes.  A few of my new students were a little shy around me at first, now they're right at home in my presence.  I thought that'd be a good thing, it isn't.  I walked into a class last week to "Oh teacher, you look full today" as the delightful cherub got up and started mimicking how a heavily pregnant woman might hold her belly as she walks around.  In another class we were doing a unit on going to the zoo.  Except the Z is incredibly difficult to ten year old Koreans, so a lot of the lesson was spent with me absolutely creased listening to kids talk about what animals they've seen in 'Jews'.  One child, Julia, said she'd once seen a giraffe's head popping out of a Jew before.  The week since the Jew incident, we've had to do both workshops on A) what Jews are and B) how to make a Z sound.  The results
and degrees of success are varied.  On the one hand, they all know what Jews are; on the other hand, one class now calls me Jewdan Big Nose.  Whilst one boy who I was given a particularly hard time about saying Zoo and working on Zs actually has a lisp I'd forgotten all about.  Feel a bit bad about that now looking back.

Anyways, things are still going well.  We've been here exactly 6 months now too and it's all going rather swimmingly.  Still don't like the fermented cabbage arrangement lark though.

The 'Pan Diaries - Part 2

Day 3

Today we had to do the painstakingly awful rigmarole of breakfast again.  Sitting, surrounded by all happy chirpy families, talking about the events of their trips, both past and future.  It'd be lovely at any other part of the day, aside from when you'd be much happier dreaming away beneath the blankets.  The plan for today was to see the Fushimi Inari-Taisha (the big orange gates off Memoirs of a Geisha) along with seeing a Golden Temple before having another go at finding the Gion Walking Tour (of where the Geikos live).

We set off with all manner of gay abandon south-bound towards the Fushimi Inari-Taisha shrine.  It was during this time we got our first taste of public transport in Japan.  It's confusing.  Some lines are shown on some maps and some aren't.  I don't know who thought that would be a good idea, but they're an idiot.  Anyways, we found our way to the shrine with relative ease, due largely to the fact that we're well-travelled all-knowing wanderers of the East.  At the main entrance to the shrine a man asked me if I'd take a picture of him.  I made a joke about walking off with his phone but he didn't understand (at least that it was a joke) so I just took the photo and he took his phone and walked off pretty sharpish.  Walking up the OCD-ly neat main walkway (driveway really) to another set of massive gates.  Just off to the left of Massive Gates 2: The Gates Strike Back there was a little pond/water fountain piece.  We saw people walking over to it so thought we'd have a gander.  On closer inspection it was used by people to wash their hands and mouths out.  There were two large wooden containers of water with a stone drainage system all around it.  People would use large sticks with little bowls on the end to pour the water into their hands and their mouths.  The Turtle was well up for it, I was less excited.  I washed my hands but I wasn't putting a stick/bowl contraption that could well have just had some snotty kid that had come to be healed slobbering all over it near my face; it repulsed me no end.  What's wrong with a hand sanitiser and some Listerine??

The midday heat bore down on us with little reprieve as we sought shelter under the Massive Gates 3:  Return of the Massive Gates.  It was by these gates we saw some people ringing bells and clapping before doing a little prayer.  I'd like to have known where such a ritual came from.  Without knowing much of the religion it seems as if they're more just trying to get their God's attention.  Suppose it's only fair.  If we have to deal with Jehovah Witnesses ringing bells he's got Shinto fellas doing similar.  Behind Gate 3 we also found a wall where people had left tiny gate replicas (which couldn't have been any larger than six inches tall) on hooks all along the wall.  People had left the usual drivel, such as "Greetings from USA!!", "I wish all the sick would get better right away", "Good will and hope will set you free".  I wanted to get one and write "I wish no bollockpain on anyone" as a nice message for all.  Turtle said she'd advice against it, using her "Go on, try it Punk" stare.  I didn't have a pen on me, otherwise I definitely would have...  Or definitely thought about doing it some more...

On our way up some more immaculately well-kept steps, despite our nativeness to these lands, we came over all stupid touristish and ended up buying our own Yukatas for a far too expensive price.  We continued up some steps and came to the main event:  The big orange gates.  There were absolutely millions of them, winding off into the forest, up and over hills.  We spent a good forty minutes walking past slower, less able, tourist groups and soaking in as much of the scenery as possible.  The trail of gates went on for absolute miles but given our rather hectic schedule we concluded that after nearly three quarters of an hour of gates, we'd probably seen all the gates we'd needed to see and made a quick dash back to the train station.  Outside the train station we stopped at a shop and got a bottle of what we believed to be orange juice because we were both comprehensively parched.  Despite this Christian Aid appeal level of thirst, we didn't finish the juice because it was absolutely disgusting.  I have no idea what fruit makes juice as impossibly unpalatable but I've had bad relationships with less bitter aftertastes.  Think I'll stick to water next time.

After valiantly forging a path through downtown Kyoto, which definitely did not include me falling asleep with my face up against the window, we arrived at Kinkakuji Temple, otherwise known as the Golden Temple.  We weren't disappointed.  It was in a secluded area on the outskirts of Kyoto surrounded on three side by deep green rolling hills
and a small lake protruding from the feet of the landscape nicely in front of the temple.  It would have been lovely if approximately 45 million tourists hadn't been hogging all the nice view spots.  Nevertheless we tried to keep our distance from the rowdy crowds of excitable subcontinental Asians, the Japanese exploring their own culture and history, and the Americans screaming "OH WHADDA FANTASTIC PHOTO OP" every other millisecond whilst halting the progress of the masses and deathglaring any foe who dared to walk past the aging chubbies as they tried to take their photos.

The Turtle and I made good progress until we came to a little alcove in the lake where we saw some Koi carp.  At this moment I feel it appropriate to attest to knowing literally nothing of Japanese culture, especially with regards to what animals are seen as sacred and what religious beliefs they may withhold.  APPARENTLY the Koi carp is seen more as a pet and a symbol of friendship or something in Japanese culture.  It should also be noted that English speaking people in Japan are a lot more common than in Korea. As a result of living in Korea, I've become accustomed to making crude jokes, often talking about people in the room "Jesus, what's wrong with her face?!" and nobody bats an eyelid because I'm just being foreign and indecipherable.  In Japan, they know what you're saying.

Anyways, we got quite a nice spot in this quiet corner of the lake, we watched the Koi splash about in the shallow waters just beneath our feet as we stood next to a mother and her two young children.  I thought they (the fish, not the mother and kids) looked quite fat
with a decent amount of meat on them, so without thinking, I commented that they "looked delicious".  The mother of the children turned to me with a complete look of surprise and horror and repeated "Delicious?!" with a rather highly raised intonation.  At this point I could see the Turtle absolutely die of embarrassment.  Before I could dig myself any deeper she promptly told us we should "probably move on", which was probably a very good idea.

After destroying some more American photos we made our way around and came to the exit of the little walk.  It was another beautifully serene place, it's just a shame it didn't feel like it.

A quick relaxation period in our room and we were off again, on our way due south east to the area of Kyoto known as Gion, the hope of potentially finding the Walking Tour we'd so massively failed at just 24 hours previously.  We found them with ease.  A rather international bunch led by a woman called Mary or Molly (I couldn't tell, she even said it like three times, I still had no idea).  We walked around much the same route as we had done the day previous whilst trying to actually find the tour, which made me feel like I knew a little bit more than everyone else.  Getting a decent bit of background knowledge of the history of the area, the culture and the rise to prominence of the whole Geiko community was fascinating.  What was less wonderful was actually being part of such a big, very obviously touristic, group.  I truly hated being part of such a big group of people who were herded around much like sheep, just saying the same "wwooowww that's fantaaaastic" and "PHOTO OP" whilst intruding into people's personal lives with a 8x zoom.  It was made worse by the fact there was a really stupid person in the tour who asked too many questions.  Questions that need not be asked if one has even the slightest hint of common sense.  Nay, I'd go one further; questions that one need not ask if one has not yet been lobotomized.  The tour lasted about 1 hour forty minutes, but it probably should have only been about twenty five had we have avoided dragging round that human spanner.  My least favourite moment came when a Geiko walked past the group and Molly/Mary immediately burst into the loudest whisper I've ever heard that we should all take pictures.  And like gawping zombies most of us did.

Overall though it was very pretty and the tour was actually quite interesting, just a bit awkward.

We walked back into the main part of Kyoto on a promise of some wonderful sushi from a restaurant we'd seen high praise for on the internet.  After a good while of looking, we had no luck and asked a passing business man.  He showed us the place and it turns out we must have got the wrong name or something, so instead of just leaving it at that and getting on with his day, he walked us a good ten minutes or so to a sushi restaurant he thought would be of excellent quality at a relatively cheap price.  What a nice man.

It was my first sushi experience, and I was nervous.  I'd only just managed picking bits of fried chicken up with chopsticks and now I was being asked to pick up bits of uncooked fish perched (fish pun count [FPC]: 1) on bits of rice with my sticks!  In my mind I was going to cause haddock (FPC: 2) and be asked to leave after ruining the furniture. I didn't know how I was going to manage so I was a little hesitant to enter the plaice (FPC: 3).  We were shown to our seats in a booth next to the conveyor belt of oceanic goods.  Looking up at the assorted buffet upon us, I codn't (FPC: 4) believe the variety on offer.  There was green stuff, blue stuff, red stuff, pink stuff, all manner of stuff!  I decided to play safe and went for a salmon mayo arrangement.  After two or three of those I became more adventurous and got some other stuff, including some outrageously spicy things.  Once we'd got trout (FPC: 5) of there we both agreed that we'd had a halibut (FPC: 6) time and that we should head back to the hotel and use the baths.

I am now at wizard level with Asian bathing.  I washed, scrubbed and rinsed everything like an absolute pro before waltzing over to the roasting pit of bubbliness.  It was a lot hotter than I remembered it being and consequently had to do a little bouncing act as the water levels rose up my legs to the sensitive regions to try and acclimatize myself as quickly as possible whilst refraining from turning my goolies into third degree burnies.

Went back to Earl's Bar and Restaurant to drink Pimms.

Today was good.

Day 4

Did the same miserable breakfast shite.  Had the diced egg and some tiny sausages whilst trying to make sure blinks didn't evolve into tiny naptimes.  Today the plan was to mosey on down to the Nishiki Market before dallying up to the Philosopher's Walk.

The thing I first noticed about the market was that large portions of it smelt like socks during a particularly bad dose of fungal infection.  It wasn't conducive to browsing.  The closer to the centre of the market we got, though, the more things opened up and stopped making me wish sinusitis upon myself.  An assortment of shops ranging from those selling high-end bags to gypsy traders selling tourist tat to those seeing Kyoto for the first time.  I cannot comment on whether or not I bought relatives' Christmas or birthday gifts in the latter section of this market.  We bought the Turtle a couple of quite nice rucksacks as she's now a Tour De Korea contender and her basket just isn't big enough for a decent bunch of bananas (steady now) let alone any proper shopping.  She seemed happy so all was well.

After a mild but entirely expected issue with public transport I.E. the bus driver didn't want to let us on, we taxi'd our way over, somewhat ironically to the Philosopher's Walk.  One thing that really miffs my nuggets is the fact that Japanese maps won't necessarily point north; and if they don't they'll seldom make it clear which direction is up.  As a result of this bloody madness I got irate and suggested we stop for lunch before we'd started.  A beer and some wonderful pizza later, accompanied by some sun-position judging and intensive map scouring, we found the walk.  We'd already been on it, at least part of it anyways, whilst finding a map to tell us where it was.  It was basically a path that ran parallel to a little stream along the north eastern outskirts of Kyoto.  As it was a 'philosopher's walk after all, I kept quiet and contemplative.  I was philosophising.  Some highlights include:

He who scrambles may not dunk the soldiers.
He who does not sleep much can not dream well, nor can they get the required REM cycles required to feel perky the next morning.
He who eats the jam does not leave the bread.
A laptop is like a tray for those without WiFi.
When a man peels onions, he will cry.  When a woman has a baby, she will cry.  Peeling onions and having babies are the same.
He who cooks the pizza twice burns the pizza.  Don't eat at his house, he can't cook.
Those who look to the stars for inspiration, may walk into doors accidentally.
He who wishes to be a she, may tuck it betwixt his legs and just pretend that his name's Barbara.

By the end of the walk the Turtle seemed quite relieved just to be going back to the hotel, I have no idea why though.  The walk itself, or what I noticed of it when I wasn't being all wisdomic and stuff, was actually really nice.  It was a very peaceful part of town and it was just pleasantly understated, which is definitely not something Korea has cottoned onto just yet.

It was our last evening in Kyoto tonight.  So what did we do?  Did we go traditional sushi place?  Did we go Kobe beef?  No and no.  We went to Earl's Bar and Restaurant.  Why?  Because they did a Sunday Roast on Saturdays and Sundays.  It was glorious.  Whilst the absence of Yorkshire puddings was a heavy blow, it nevertheless transported me back to dinnertime at the Carr residence.  The potatoes weren't quite as nice as Papa Carr's, but they were still rather pleasing.  We were given a free plate of chips before our mains because we'd been such loyal customers.  I think the real reason we were given anything was to make us feel better after being told the awful news that we'd drank all their Pimms.  A night on the cocktails wasn't a bad way to round off our time in Kyoto though, all things considered.

Day 5

Went to the corner shop, cried because they had loads of delicious cheese.  Bought a lot of spices we can't get back in Korea before calling it a day and heading back to the station.  We did have a minor incident which involved ending up on the fifth floor of Osaka's train station.  Quite why a train station needs so many floors is beyond me.  Though our intentions were entirely innocent: we really did just want to get across to the bus station, we did walk in on a rather intimate photo shoot including a very well dressed (in terms of quality of clothing, most definitely not quantity) young Japanese woman and a much older, warmer looking gentleman clutching an undoubtedly quite expensive camera.  He looked cross that we'd walked in on their little shoot.  Never mind.  After making our way back through the station, a place as well sign-posted as Mid-Wales, we made the bus with one minute to go.  Feeling like absolute heroes, we settled down and fell asleep until the airport.

Saw a storm cloud from the window of the plane.  Terrifying scenes.  Squeezed my box of juice and it squirted all over the headrest of the guy in front.  

I hate flying.

The 'Pan Diaries - Part 1

Gion, Kyoto - Day 2

As alluded to in the previous blog post (I am Changwon and only), I have been in the Land of the Rising Sun recently as part of a last minute decision to make the most of our summer holiday (or 'vacation').  We were told we'd have a summer holiday, of three days plus weekend, approximately ten days before the holiday, which led to some pretty crazy planning/guesswork.  We originally planned to keep the holiday fun in the 'Rea, due to the fact it says 'Single Entry' on our visas.  However, after a mothershipload of research it's since transpired that the law changed in 2010 (or so), meaning all holders of an Alien Registration Card automatically gained access to a multiple entry visa.  With that news coupled with the fact it's the height of holiday season prices rocketing through the roof here in SoKo, we decided to look further afield.  The Turtle has always had a rather large hankering for the 'Pan, so this would be the perfect opportunity for her (and us) to explore the place that was always half the world away, but is now a mere one hour fifteen minutes from.  I tried to keep note as best as possible our movements, activities, cultural blunders etc. from our four nights in Kyoto.  So enjoy the regalings of the fellow who hates changes in routine, has IBS and has an indescribable hatred of flying.  Note:  Some of it was written at the time, other bits have been added since.  If there are any inconsistencies with tenses, I apologise wholeheartedly.

Day 1

Today we made the temporary switch from the Morning Calm to the Rising Sun, on account of the sodding builders next door completely ruining any chance of anything that resembles the tranquility of morning calm, but also because it's SUMMER HOLIDAY! 

I hate airports.  They're places designed to make your already anxious two hour wait for the big flying box as miserable as humanly possible.  I cannot fathom the thought processes of the man who thought it would be a good idea to have at least 50% of all seats pointing away from the screens relaying information on check-in times, delays etc.  Why did he think this would be a good idea??  Anyways, it transpired that after we'd booked our flights with AirBusan, we'd actually be flying with Asiana Airlines.  I won't make a Wi Tu Low joke, but it did further unnerve me somewhat.  We met a few pretty cool people at the airport - all Waegooks going to Japan - and realised one of the guys we spoke to lived with one of the teachers we replaced whilst they attended the same university.  I can confirm that it is indeed a small world, after all.  The flight wasn't too bad; the Asian airline market hasn't quite latched onto the debilitating 'budget experience' that Europe has (I would mention Ryanair here, but I won't) so we did get quite comfortable seats with legroom not designed solely for the legless dwarf market.  We also had the screens come down from the ceiling and they just played You've Been Framed-esque clips of dogs headbutting owners' gentleman veg or people at weddings falling over.  Other people's misery certainly cheered me up somewhat.

Man in Gion, Kyoto, striding purposefully.

A week or so ago I'd finally got my 'Global' check card from the Korean Expat Bank.  They assured me that my Global check card would work anywhere in the world.  That I could venture into the deepest regions of the most isolated lands of the earth, but still access my account.  They lied.  I took an hour's flight and it was immediately rejected from just about everywhere.  A Seven-11 saved the day though.

We finally had the glorious moment of getting to lie out flat on the bed after the afternoon travelling at about 8.45pm.  The room was small, the bathroom was even smaller.  But, the receptionist told us we do have access to the traditional Japanese baths in the hotel, which will be interesting.

It was decided that after lugging our baggage up to the room we'd go and have a little exploration of the locality.  No more than thirty yards from the hotel entrance did we find Earl's Bar & Restaurant.  It had specials painted on a Guinness sign.  We'd travelled another 500 miles or so further into the Far East, yet somehow I felt closer to home than anytime in the past four months.  On the menu they have 'Bangers and Mash', chicken tikka masala, fish and chips, steak and chips, all sorts of British classics.  The best though is the fact that our quest to find Pimms this summer is over.

Bangers and mash, they were a bit tight on
portion control, still beautiful though.

After a few rounds of Pimms and a steak and chips, with Miss Turtle opting for the bangers and mash (complete with HP brown sauce), we had a more thorough wandering round the backstreets of Kyoto.  The place is a complete mesh of incredibly new and just very old, but it works.  There are hundred year old shrines interspersed between the new, incredibly modern buildings that have right-angles everywhere.  The one thing we did notice was how much more thought is given to the aesthetics of the exteriors of living quarters here.  In Korea, due to the vast amounts of high rise buildings, there's not much thought for the outside; but in Japan there is clearly a lot more thought that goes into making things look as nice as possible.

Anyways, it's past midnight and I'm shattered, so I'll stop writing about Japanese house fronts.  Big day tomorrow.

Day 2

Nijo Castle, Kyoto - the unshoeing quarters.

We were woken up by the alarm at about 4.30am (it was actually about 9, I don't care though, it may as well have still been dark).  We were up so early as to make sure we made the most of the hotel breakfast we'd paid for.  Now, the Japanese have offered many cultural wonders over the years that the West has promptly latched onto gleefully.  The Japanese breakfast is not one of these things.  They had rice, soup, fish, tofu.  It may well have been delicious, but I thought it was all rank and opted for the tiny little sausages and the scrambled egg.  The egg really confused me though because it came in cubes.  I spent a good couple of minutes pondering how they did it before I realised I had my concentration face on and the people on the table next to me were beginning to laugh at me.  

And strictly remember, no fun.

Today the plan was to see Nijo-jo Castle, which was only a short walk away from our hotel.  At breakfast it was absolutely lashing it down, so I wore jeans.  Unfortunately when we left for the castle (after undergoing a small, yet glorious, nap) it was scoldingly cloudless.  What a faux par that was.  We found the castle with relative ease, which was both unusual for us and a massive relief.

The castle took 23 years to build and was completed in 1626 and was used for over three hundred years as the Kyoto Imperial Palace.  I think the reason it lasted so long was it's Nazi-like enforcement of the no shoes policy it employed.  With no one traipsing all manner of muck through the hallways, it's much better to maintain the place (although that's just what my mum always told me, but with more swearing, usually just after I'd traipsed all manner of muck up the stairs coincidentally..)  It was probably in grand condition due to the fact they were all killjoys with more signs than British roadworks: "No photographs or sketching" (?!?), "Please keep off" "Route this way" everywhere.  I understand it's to preserve the place, but it didn't half make me feel like I was just a mindless farm animal being herded around before exiting through the tatty souvenir shops (bought souvenirs, but that isn't the point).

Bit of garden, think this was at the castle.

Overall though, it was a beautifully preserved and very pretty place.  Japanese culture emphasises the idea of ceremony and this was definitely evident in the castle, it had reception room after messenger room, grand chamber after grand chamber.  The attention to detail was remarkable too with fine details in just about every wall, ceiling and floor.  It was a good place to start.

After heading back towards the hotel we stopped by a little delicatessen which did a range of sandwiches, homemade cakes and some stuff I didn't understand/was quite scared of.  We ended up eating our sandwiches (I accidentally purchased a breast of 'chicken tandry', I have no idea what a tandry is, but it was delicious) outside a Starbucks with our caramel mocha frappe choca latteccinos and discussed Japan and what it'd be like to live here.  Japan, from what we've seen, is like the link between the East and the West; not geographically speaking obviously, but in terms of the culture and community here.  I suppose we have to remember that there's been Western involvement in trade and business pretty much since the end of the Second World War.  Korea, comparatively, has only competed as a big economic power in the last twenty years or so.  Whereas Japan has had three generations of the West, Korea has only had a couple of decades.

Gion again.

After a quick relaxation period up in our room, we headed out with a view of going on a walking tour of Gion, possibly the most well-preserved area of Kyoto.  If you're going to find yourself a Geiko (Geisha from Kyoto), it's going to be there.  We set off with a skip in our step, hoping to find ourselves all manner of Geikos.  I had a plan in my mind where I could convince three of them to be my Charlie's Angels (Jordan's, obviously) and use them to fight crime.  It didn't happen.  It didn't happen for three main reasons: firstly, their company is incredibly expensive and you can only meet them via invite.  Secondly, the walking tour only operates on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.  Today is Thursday.  And thirdly, the TV series, nor the movie of Charlie's Angels, gained particularly good ratings here, they would never have understood the concept.

Rather peckish.

It was decided, after the disappointment of walking to Gion for a walking tour that didn't exist, that we'd just have a walk around ourselves before getting some sushi - when in Rome and all that.  Gion is a really nice place.  The houses are pretty much all wooden and the roads all cobble stones.  It sort of looked how I'd imagine an Asian Bruges to look like.  The canal carving through the streets, straight as Vladimir Putin, only added to the calm and tranquility of the place.

Had sushi for the first time.  We did intend to go to this place we'd found rave reviews of on the online, but had little joy actually finding the place.  Instead, after asking directions from a local man in a suit walking past, he decided to alter his route to take us to this other sushi place that was "berry cheap".  Maybe if I'd have combed my hair that day he would've taken us somewhere more upmarket...  We did the whole conveyor belt of uncooked delights experience for extra authenticity too.  Some of the stuff was delicious.  I had about eight of the salmon, onion and mayo concoctions in a row, before getting adventurous and later feeling a bit ill.  Thankfully, my chopsticking skills, now at level: expert, made me look less foolish than I felt; in a room of people conversing over the intricate delicacies of Japanese cuisine as I was deploying a much more hit-and-hope tactic.

Once back in the room, feeling suitably full and utterly knackered, the Turtle suggested it might be a good idea if we made use of the traditional Japanese baths downstairs.  If you don't know much about the traditional Japanese bathing scene, it basically entails getting your todge out in front of a bunch of strangers whilst you all sweat away in a little Jacuzzi style bath.  As I was putting on my yukata I felt sick with anxiety.  If I couldn't score points in this part of the world, I may as well just cut it off and call myself Janet.  The Turtle seemed a lot more comfortable about the whole thing than I did.  I presumed it'd be as awkward as being stuck in a lift, or any confined space, with someone consistently tells you of things they've 'brought' when they clearly meant 'bought'.  I got into the changing rooms and an elderly native did some basic gestures as guidance.  I clearly looked confused and scared.  I took off my flippy floppies, placed them in the locker.  I took the belt off my yukata, placed it in the locker.  With a gulp and a quick shake to wake it up a bit, I took off the yukata, and placed that in my locker too.

Tidy garden.

I was ready.

I looked toward the frosted glass door of the bathing room and walked towards it, with naught but fear pulsing through me.  I slid the door back and... GREAT SUCCESS! The whole place was empty!  I did nothing short of a dive bomb into the pool.  Chuffed to bits that I didn't have to dangle my danglies in front of a bunch of strangers.  I sat there, content, lapping up the views of the hotel's neat and tidily trimmed gardens (no, I won't make a joke about that).  After sitting there for a good while, stewing in my own relaxation, two more Japanese men walked in.  They bypassed the pool and headed straight for the showers on the side I hadn't actually noticed.  They must have been there for a good fifteen minutes, cleaning every single part of themselves thoroughly.  I did feel a little bit guilty.  I'd sweat like a pig on fire in my jeans earlier on that day.  They were there, lathering, rinsing, repeating, doing everything in their power to keep the bath as clean as possible whilst I lay there doing about as much damage to the water cleanliness as a BP disaster in the Gulf of Mexico.  Later on a German fellow, in Japan on business, came in and I told him what to do, like I was a complete pro, we then discussed English Second Language programs and their implementations across Europe and in the East, before determining the roles and importance of more vocational subjects, often neglected at secondary level.

Today I learned I can be a right boring bastard.

Part 2 

Will be up early next week sometime providing I don't develop a social life between now and then.  Until then, stay safe and always wash before getting into Japanese public baths.

I Am Changwon and Only

Is it me you're looking for?

Hello.  The shimmering sun setting over the horizon of this month can only mean one thing:  Blogging time!  It's been another rather adventurous month, possibly our most adventurous to date as both myself and the Turtle become more adept and confident in our little alcove of the far East.  I thought I'd begin by explaining some of my thinking behind something that may confuse you.  In recent times, approximately since the Cold War: World Tour reached the Vietnam leg; Vietnam has often been referred to as "The 'Nam".  Now, there are numerous nicknames for South Korea: SoKo, The ROK (Repubic of Korea), but I quite like "The 'Rea".  So from now on, if you read something prefaced by "in the 'rea", then I'm merely referring to Korea. Of course...

Busanniversary

Myself and Turtle reached the 30 month mark in our relationship at the beginning of the month, which we decided to make the most of with a trip into a part of Busan we'd not seen too much of.  We booked the hotel: a very nice Pagoda-style place with a pond (indoors - always classy) in an area we'd never previously been to.  

The area was odd.

Yulha, where we are from is a new city; a planned city.  Roads as straight as not liking the Scissor Sisters and junctions at perfect right angles.  It's all very neat, tidy and generally looks a bit Truman Show.  Jungang, the area we stayed at, was more Favela than what we were used to, in all honesty.  Walking from the subway to the hotel meant going up all manner of windy back alleys, past tiny shop fronts selling mostly computer parts and fruit, all whilst avoiding headbutting any number of low hanging cables.  It was a rough and ready kind of place, as opposed to the polished tidiness we've since become accustomed to.

The majority of the weekend, I'd estimate, was spent on the metro though.  We tried to cram everything worth seeing into 72 hours (although we did have to check out at 68, which really hindered our progress).  It was on one of these metro journeys we encountered a most dreadful human being.  The kind you just hope repulses every possible member of the opposite sex in the hope they could never reproduce.  Unfortunately for us, both personally and globally, she had a young family.  The woman, whom for now I'll refer to as Kim Jong Knob, stared at us the entire time.  I have no qualms with staring; I'm a horrid, evil foreigner, that's fine.  It's when she started leaning into her young son's ear, whispering (whilst pointing at my legs!) before they both broke out laughing.  Then she'd continue to make weird eye contact with us.  In the end I made sure to stretch my legs out as much as I could so they got a good eyeful of prime furry leg.

I've digressed, I apologise.  We ended up bringing in the two and a half years sat on Gwangali beach drinking beer out of paper cups watching the bridge change colour, which was relatively pleasant.  What was less pleasant was when the bastards next to us started launching rocket-like missiles (which later turned out just to be fireworks).  I know we can't speak the same language but maybe just a bit of warning would have been nice.  I'm still getting used to the spicy foods and sudden surprises like that could have really ruined a quite romantic moment.

A thick, white oaf

As alluded to in the previous section, we do get a lot of attention for being a good ol' Johnny Foreigner.  I have to stress though that the overwhelming majority of the time, it is because we're weird looking to them, not because they find us attractive.  One of the myths I'd never really seen any evidence to discredit it before coming here was that white people were seen as beautiful icons to Asians.  No.  Korean people like Korean people who have some of the attractive white features.  On the whole, we are generally overweight, big nosed with awful hair.  We are sweaty and smelly and far too loud in public places.  Pale skin is a huge benefit here, as is having big wide eyes.  The same can be said for having a 'high' nose and set-back eyes.  A middle school class I teach told me all of these beneficial features, of which I seem to have many of.  But just as soon as I began to grow in self confidence I was brought back down with a somewhat unsubtle "But Teacher, your nose is too long and your eyes.. You look so tired Teacher!"

Orphanage

A fortnight ago we were invited to an orphanage in Gimhae by one of our friends as part of a big BBQ day out for the kids.  The idea of flame-kissed meats had me sold immediately.  When we arrived it turned out there was also going to be a water fight.  I had to pretend that I was moderately happy about this as it only seemed to be the children who were as excited as I was (very excited).  We took all the water balloons and other artillery (water bottles, buckets, a hose...) over to the park and prepared for an Orphans Vs. Foreigners deathmatch.  As I was limbering up and deciding on who should be my first victim (to hit with a water bomb, not to steal) one particularly warmhearted Waygook said, most profoundly "If you don't make an orphan cry today, you've not done your job".  And with that truly inspirational speech, I was ready.  

Within approximately forty seconds all the waterbombs had been used up and I'd made around eight different enemies whilst only securing the allegiance of one boy (whose aim was quite frankly appalling).  Nevertheless, it's fair to say I was completely soaked from head to toe (one of them managed to get water to go up my nose and out my mouth at one point).

Back at the orphanage one of the girls offered to paint my nails, which I allowed because it was quite a nice dark satin blue.  After she'd done both mine and the Turtle's, she then asked if she could be in a couple with us.  Obviously we had to say no, but statistically, she definitely would've helped ease the burden of washing and ironing my clothes..

Frankly though, it was one of my best days ever; I loved every second of it.  The kids there were so kind and generous along with being just incredibly playful and interested in us, which made trying to entertain them so much easier.  I cannot wait for next time (providing my Super Soaker 120,000 Double Pump-Action Destroyer gets here on time).

Three million days of Summer/Assassination Attempt

It's been pretty much summer conditions since we've been here, but sweet Jesus of modern day Israel it's getting hot now.  It's an unrelenting, hatefully humid heat which will make you have the most uncomfortable sleeps ever.  It's getting pretty toasty in the 'Rea.  I was woken up yesterday by the taste of my own sweat (suppose I'm thankful it was my own, but even so), it was disgusting.  A particular problem arose last Saturday when we tried to have a lazy/recuperation day.  There's a huge amount of construction knocking about next door (literally about three feet from our window, but also only about two feet from our air con unit), as a result, any of the chemicals/finer materials that get picked up by the wind get sucked right into our air con and then circulated around our room.  Normally this is fine, however El Turtlo took a rather bad turn and made all these peculiar noises, which sounded a bit like someone who'd just stopped breathing.  After a quick trip to the doctors she'd received two prick in the arse and we found out our directors haven't actually sorted out our health insurances yet, so I had to pay the full cost for the aforementioned arsepricks.  What a pain the 'Rea.

A day later, as Turtle's breathing returned to normal, we made our way over to the park and she practiced riding a bike some more, and.... GREAT SUCCESS!! She can definitely ride a bike and almost turn the handlebars, just need to practice that now.  But I was very proud and we celebrated by wearing the clothes we'd put in the freezer (we're terrified of turning on the air con now, so it's getting a little tricky).

A quick update and apology

From the end of last month I've been on holiday in Kyoto (or Tokyo for the dyslexics) which is why the blog hasn't quite been posted on time.  I will be doing a 'Japan Special' as I've been keeping a diary, so I'll post that up next week upon return to the 'Rea.

Of the week!

Ready.  Disclaim.  Fire

One of my main concerns around the commencement of this blog would be that if I did anything more than one blog post a month I could potentially compromise the content and end up posting any ol' drivel.  However given that the blog is conventionally written in 'prose', there will be some odd offshoots, trinkets and other such things that wouldn't necessarily fit into the blog but I'd still like to document regardless.  The Ode de Toilet being a prime example.  As a result, the dodecagannual (I am taking full credit for that word, fuck you oppressive red squiggly line) blog will continue, along with a series of side stuffs: lists, 'Racist of the Week's, etc. etc.

I remember before I came here, one of the greatest source of information was the blogs of people already here.  Obviously every director is different and every area of Korea will have a different set of circumstances, different cultural perceptions and so on.  All I can really do is try to give an accurate description of what is really just an 'average' ESL job in SoKo (yes, yes I just did).  If there's one thing I love, it's a good informative list, so going by that, here's my Top 10 on things I wish I'd known before coming to Yulha.

Jordan's Wondrous Fantastically Informative Top 10 Things He Wished He Knew Before Coming To SoKo (just did it again, deal with it)

10  Korean is important

English is one of the most common languages in the world.  The language of business and of science is often English.  English is everywhere?  WRONG!  In the bigger cities like Busan and Seoul, you'd more than likely be able to find someone to help you find where you want to go; or be able to order a meal without pointing like a simpleton on day-release.  Out in the towns of the outskirts of the satellite towns of the suburbs of aforementioned big cities, life is a little different.  So far in Yulha I've found a woman in a post office who speaks passable English and I think that's about it.  Now, don't get me wrong, I love charades as much as the next jovial chappy, however there's a stark difference between playing it half cut with your family on Boxing Day and using it to describe 'passport sized headshots for Alien Registration Card needed urgently, please help'.  

Helpful advice: Learn Korean, or at least the alphabet so you can read place names.

9:  It's not English, it's American

"Teacher!  Teacher!  Say 'wohdrrr'"  that is the sound of my middleschool pupils in a rather confused state.  'Wohdrrr', of course, is 'water' and to pronounce it in the British way truly baffles them.  All kids here are taught the American way of spelling and pronouncing English.  It's all trashcans, soccer and leaving the 's' off maths.  I found it quite distressing at first and a small part of my soul erodes into nothingness every time I ask a child for an 'eraser'.

Helpful advice:  Desensitise (spelled with an 's', yes.) yourself from all emotion.

8:  That I'd be living in Yulha

Okay, to give some context to this one, here's a rough guide to exactly what Yulha is.

Yulha is small, it's near

Jangyu, which is a bit bigger, that is near

Gimhae, which is a bit bigger than that, and Gimhae is near

Busan, the city!

A common trend amongst directors in Yulha is to understate Yulha in the job description.  And by 'understate Yulha' I mean 'lie about location'.  Myself and the Turtle both applied for a job in Gimhae.  Gimhae's subway link to the Busan main subway network makes getting to the golden beaches, sparkling ocean and bustling, cosmopolitan streets, laden with cafes, galleries and European clothing brands a breeze.  After passing the interviews we were told Jangyu.  Only when talking to the people preceding us did we find out where we'd actually be living, a few days before we flew out of the UK.

Helpful advice:  Presume you'll be in the arse end of nowhere.  It's actually quite nice here anyways.

7:  How to use chopsticks

Handcramps and splashed noodle juice all down my new trousers.

Helpful advice:  Practice to the soundtrack of Rocky.  Start by trying to lift Quavers and move up progressively to things with less friction, like Lego bricks.

6:  Korean people will have better hair than you, you suck.

Some things in life I'll never understand:  Brian Cox, Alan Pardew's 4-5-0-0-0-0-1 formation in the 2012/13 season, the geometry of Nicki Minaj, and how on earth a Korean's appearance can be so perfect.  It's rainy season, it's humid as hell and yet some how every Korean has maintained a perfect image of hair Godliness.  Their hair doesn't budge from it's perfectly sculpted mold and they don't even sweat!  I had one student last week comment on my shiny forehead.  It doubly upset me as that day I was attempting to sport a fringe.  

What they look like

When I try to look presentable

Helpful advice:  Invest in a paper bag, you look awful.

5:  Race of Spades

Given that you are a disgusting oaf with a mop made of wire and dispair, it is clear you are only here to indoctrinate the youth and steal the beautiful women.  This point is more just about a lot of the older generations here having an almost immediate dislike of us vanillas (I see myself more as a Caramac/beige, but that's by the by to them).  I think given the fact that thirty years ago their writing system was vertically, moving right to left, and has since been altered to suit foreign investment (The US = some Americans are white = I'm white = I DESTROY CULTURE).  I had no idea of that aspect of the Korean mindset, that was more just ignorance on my behalf though.  

Helpful advice: Don't be white.

4:  Proper Tea Ladder

After a long, stressful day what's that one thing that provides the ultimate release?  Opening the doorway to unspeakable divinity?  Nope, not heroin, tea!  Tetley, PG, Yorkshire tea.  Or as I find myself repeatedly needing to specify:  "English breakfast tea".  The ridiculousness of this is that it's perceived only to be drunk at breakfast.  Fools!  It also bears the chronic, unforgivable, Anglocentric blindness to the Celtic contingent of the British Isles, where tea is consumed by equal impressiveness in quantity.  Unfortunately, EBT has not quite caught on as one may have envisaged.  Korea likes tea, there's no doubt about this.  There's an entire isle dedicated to it in most supermarkets.  I am devastated to announce, however, that this is not what we would assume to be 'real tea'.  These innovative Asians will literally have a bash at making tea out of anything:  Apricot tea, berry tea, corn tea, other kind of berry tea, endless rows of herbal teas, green teas, blues teas, teateas (lol) but no 'proper' tea.  Homeplus, a supermarket chain in SoKo (oh, just did it again) which is owned by Tesco does stock good, honest tea.  But so far, that is the only place we've found that distributes the liquid Jesusness that is "English breakfast tea".

Helpful advice:  Bring tea.  It doesn't even matter if you go over your weight allowance on the flights over here, the fines are worth it.  You can earn more money, you can't earn more tea.

3:  What Korean actually sounds like

We've all seen those English speaking films that often have scenes based in China or Japan to add an air of exoticity (new word, fuck you red squiggles).  You often see the Asian characters talking in their native dialect to one another before shooting the side kick of the good guy, usually the side kick who gets shot in the chest makes a full recovery from the mere flesh wound, punctured lung and ruptured heart just in time to save the day.  The point of all this is to emphasise (oh, another 's'.  What of it?) the fact you seldom get to see or hear Koreans speaking their own language.  It's far more guttural than other East Asian languages.  This is presumably due to it being considered by many etymologists to be part (please keep reading) of the Altaic language family, which is a family stemming from Central Asia: the land of the stan's.  As a result of this more earthy, back-of-the-throat dialect, people can often sound like they're dying mid-sentence.  Vowels can sometimes last for hours and can evolve from a simple "Annyeonghaseyo" to "Annyeonghaseyoooooooeeeerghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh".  Don't worry, they aren't distressed, they're saying hello.

Helpful advice:  Just because someone sounds like they've fallen awkwardly on a meat cleaver, doesn't mean they have. 

2:  Churches, churches everywhere

I read somewhere, probably on Wikipedia that religion played a little part in life in Korea.  This seed was planted in my head and it soon developed into a "Korea doesn't need religion, it's got common sense!".  I was wrong.  I'm not sure on the statistics, but there are churches here, there and everywhere.  They're unlike the ones we see back home, in that they aren't hundreds of years old.  They look more like buildings designed by the council when it's got too much money: a lot of unnecessary glass and curves.  We actually live next door to a church.  The big difference, for me, is that in the UK, Christianity is seen as a given: you can just say you're religious, whilst sinning to high heaven without it making too much of a difference.  Here it seems it's a lot more about proving a point; showing you are Christian, not just having people presume it.  As a result it's kind of a big deal here.

Helpful advice:  Don't.  Say.  Jehovah.

1:  How to teach Korean children 

This isn't to say we came here with no teaching experience.  But it's such a vast shift from what we had both experienced it was hard to grasp at first.  There's not really too much I can say on this in case it ends up as part of a smear campaign against them poxy under-qualified whites by one of the national broadcasters.  

Helpful advice:  Speak slower and louder to people who don't speak English.  This should be sufficient practice for you.  For more thorough practice, steal Asian children from parks or supermarkets and talk to them to hone your skills. (If they're going to quote me I may as well make it a good quote)

Ode De Toilet*

Bit of something extra

(*Courtesy of the Turtle for excellent punnery) When we first moved into our new apartment, despite the fact we were gutted it was the size of a shoebox and were up at 6am every morning because of the fothermucking builders next door, we were thoroughly chuffed at our new toilet.  The suction from it is like someone's burst an airplane window, it's phenomenal.  For those who weren't aware, our previous toilet worked about as well as the idea of multiculturalism in the Third Reich.  As a result, my relationship with the Turtle became a lot stronger because of some rather horrific plunging experiences.  

Anyways, at around 7.30am on our first morning in our new place, I decided to focus my positivity (also because we didn't have any internet) and wrote a poem.

Pulses racing, the adrenaline rush,

At the sounds you make, at the way that you flush.

With water cascading, you efficiently drain,

To end the misery, to halt the pain.

With a warmth in my heart, joy in my eyes

To see the ways your waters don't rise.

From all around, people will flock

And look at you flush and refuse to block.

To have a toilet like you!  I must be a dreamer,

With your suction like a great vacuum cleaner.

I look at you, my heart growing fond,

I look forward to the times where we can bond.

Sometimes you'll cause arguments which will make Kaylie frown,

Because I will have forgotten to put your seat down.

But seat up or seat down, I'll always love you;

Even if I fill you with weewee and poopoo.

Yulha One That I Want

(You Are The One For)

oo-oo-oo honey!

That time of the month (blog time)

Some rather pleasant, uniformly steps.

Hello blog readers from across the continents, or as I like to call you, my mum and her bored work colleagues.  Another month has passed, I'm still alive and things are generally going rather well.  I'm getting better with chopsticks and North Korea still hasn't condemned me to a sea of fire, so it could most definitely be worse.  It's been a little quieter this month in terms of not having to move apartment on 14 hours notice again, it's always nice to have that little bit of time to relax and not sweat like a maniac lifting a mattress up some stairs on a sweltering Saturday afternoon.

The Great Culinary Impasse

Gel for your Bumooly, has nothing to do with
this section, but it clearly says BUMOOLY
Worth sharing I believe.

Despite some of my greatest efforts, I'm disappointed to report than Korea has not fully accepted the knife and fork.  I'd considered that my bringing of cutlery, like the man who brought the potato to Europe, would be seen as a masterful, life changing (does anyone actually know his name?) hero of a man.  Instead people just look at me funny as I fling plastic forks down hallways screaming that they just don't appreciate true genius.  I don't actually do that (I do).  I was well aware that I'd have to brush up on my chopsticking before I got here, and though I wasn't great to begin with, I am becoming more of an intermediate with them.  The thing that struck me that I reeeeally wasn't prepared for though was scissors.  I don't mean for like, wrapping paper or cutting tags off things, I mean for cutting up their meat.  Rather than just knife and fork their meal they'd rather get all Neil Buchanan on it.  It's less 'tucking in' more making a sodding collage.  I think I suffer more being left-handed: all scissors being designed for right majority.  It's just yet another notch in the bedpost of Rightist brutality against us left-handers.  I'd hazard that contextually, I could write blues music about it.  I won't though.

Thunder on the Mountain

One of our big exploratory days of the past month was a voyage up the mountains to see a more 'Traditional' Korea.  First we visited our maiden Buddhist Temple (complete with authentic Buddhist giftshop, filled with all manner of Buddha spoons, key rings, bracelets and tapes). We walked up approximately four hundred thousand rocks/steps (rustic looking to say the least, also not wheelchair friendly.  So if you are disabled and were thinking of converting religion, I'd stay away from the workings of Siddhartha Gautama).  We passed a very pretty pond, going over a little humped bridge with a neat water feature off to the right-hand side, which made me wish to use the toilet facilities of the giftshop rather sharpish.  Once at the Temple we were treated to some spectacular views of the mountains away to the South and West.  I should say at this stage it wasn't as such one temple, it was more a commune.  There were a number of old fashioned Buddhist pagoda buildings.  The surrounding silence made it feel like we'd stepped back in time, until I turned around and noticed one of the buildings was covered completely in scaffolding.  

They were thinking about getting the lounge
knocked through but were reluctant because it just
wouldn't add value to the property.

We were later treated to a very 'Traditional' Korean tea house.  I'm not sure where on a map you'd find this place but I know it was around the 14th century.  The only road leading to it wasn't a road, it was more a dirt track.  Once we arrived at the tea house a man in grey pyjamas greeted us and we took off our shoes (why on God's earth are Converse so fricking difficult to remove under the pressuring eyes of a watchful Korean pyjamaman?!).  Our room was shown to us; there was a table which came to around 18 inches off the floor and there were no seats.  I feel I should mention right now that we were shown all these things by our wonderfully helpful and kind co-teacher/Korean mother, Why (that's her name, I think.  It maybe a code name, I'm too scared to ask).  Why sat down with all the grace and elegance of a petite Bolshoi performer.  Kaylie also dealt with the task of performing the stand-to-sit-down-lotus-position with relative ease.  Conversely, I looked like the darted elephant you see on wildlife documentaries that needs urgent medical attention.  My legs kind of wobbled around as I didn't know how I was actually going to attempt the manouvre, I ended up just falling on my left arse cheek as my right knee cracked the dwarf table on the way down.  Why laughed.  We were treated to a charming selection of little transparent teapots and tiny, like seriously tiny, cups.  Rather than drinking the tea we just did shots of the stuff; felt like I was in Yokos in Aberystwyth, rather than wherever I was at that moment.  I was very close to starting a "WE LIKE TO DRINK WITH KAYLIE" chant, but I didn't want to break the tranquility of the surrounding area with my yobbish lout-like behaviour.

After we'd been filled with Japanese apricot tea, corn tea and the other less important teas, we headed to a less traditional US chain restaurant in the foodcourt of a Mega Mart.  It was going so traditionally well...

One Race to Rule Them All

Yulha at sunset.  I took this photo.

I've read a lot lately about the seemingly larger-than-expected issue of racism in Korea.  Before coming here I'd heard very little about Koreans being racist, so I never really had any grounds to worry about things from that perspective.  It actually turns out they're chronically racist (GENERALLY).  You know how your grandparents talk about immigrants?  Like that, but worse.  A nationwide broadcaster called MBC will produce endless amounts of accusatory stories about them darnded white folk coming over here and molesting our children whilst forcing our women to marry them!  I now hate myself for being an evil child-snatching woman-thief.  But in all seriousness, given the fact that in Yulha, a pretty rural, countryside kind of place, it's not been that bad.  We get the odd grumpy taxi driver but that's about it.  Other than that, people just stare at you because you're different, but it's mostly a curious, naive-like stare, rather than a 'fucking foreigner' style stare.  I hope...  One thing that did bug me was the fact that on the kids' report cards there are two feedback sections: one box for the "Teacher" and one box for the "Native".  Not "English teacher", not even "Native teacher".  Just, "Native".  Seems they haven't quite got over the fact we 'look different ergo must be different'.  I suppose we were the same though when immigrants started docking boats on our Western lands not so long ago (see Grandparents for reinforcement of point).

Koreafication

Gwangali Beach at night.
One of my favourite places ever.

We aren't quite blending in appearance-wise, but I have noticed myself picking up a series of Koreanisms.  I find it second nature to bow my head whilst giving change at a checkout.  Although that did need a bit of perfecting: you need to start to bow in the middle of giving the money.  If you start bowing and THEN outstretch your arms (two hands, I'm not an amateur) it just looks like there's some weird magnetic connection between your head and your hand.  You'll look odd.  My spice tolerance has also greatly improved.  When I first arrived I'd have a bowl of noodle soup and cry sweat out of my eyes for three days, now I'm absolutely fine.  Although we've both noticed that 'spicy fart smell' (see Gimhae I Just Met You) has disappeared... Further indication of integration, surely.  As the foods go, the fruits are both weird and stupidly expensive.  Paid four quid for a mango!  I don't care how juicy, juicy a mango is, I'm not paying the amount I could pay for 20 Freddos on one solitary mango.  The Turtle also had a minor issue with what she thought were lemons, but actually turned out to be melons.  'Oriental melons' are in abundance here, they're like the melons you see back home, but a lot smaller (you have a disgusting mind).

"Teacher!  Teacher!  Rock.... Scissor........ HOUSE FIRE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YOU'RE DEAD NOW"