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"