Malay Down Besides Me

Greetings.  I'm sure you've had somewhere near a gut's full's worth of apologies regarding delayed posts etc. to the point where I'll just skip them and delve straight into words more blogworthy than the tedium of repetition.  So this Christmas, as a result of a mild translatory faux par with our superiors we inadvertently wangled the week off.  We were trying to get a week off in January, but never mind.  We decided, taking into consideration how cheaply Air Asia could take us to Malaysia, that Malaysia would be the best place to celebrate the birth of the Lord Our Saviour, The Patron Saint of Unnecessary Capitalising, Sir Baby Jesus of Nazareth.  Malaysia is Islamic.  The trip was split into two: we would spend the first three days in Melacca, about 90 minutes south of Kuala Lumpur, before heading up and spending the remainder of the holiday in the capital itself.   As with the Kyoto blog, this will be done in a kind of blog/diary entry concoction, complete with photos and titles in bold to signify place changes.  Have fun.

Melacca/Melaka

Melacca has two ways of spelling it and I'm not entirely certain which is correct, so I'll go with the one that looks least likely to be spelled out by a youth in a hooded jumper operating a "text messaging" device.  Melacca is the historical centre of Malaysia.  It was colonised by the Portuguese, then the Dutch, British and Japanese all took their turns in calling the place theirs.  Whilst the shenanigans of empire larked on; Chinese businessmen relocated in great numbers to the town, bringing with them their wealth, culture and traditions.  It was a peculiar mix of European, Oriental and local.  Anyway, enough back story.

Melacca riverfront of an evening

We arrived in Melacca around midday-ish.  On arriving to Malaysia the first thing I noticed, once out of the airport, was how nice it smelt.  Everything was lemony fresh or had the aroma of coconut milk.  Air has never since been so delicious.  The bus terminal in Melacca is also, I think, a market (if it isn't, I have no idea why three four-feet tall women had so many coats, nor why they were trying to flog them in a town two degrees north of the equator).  We found a taxi that was at least as old as the Cold War and made our way over to the hotel.  We were staying in the 'Old Town'.  It became a World Heritage Site about five years ago and has since become a hotbed of middle class British folk wearing stetsons, backpacks the size of a Smart car and saying things like "I just really need the atmosphere to find me" and other ridiculous waffle.  I realise you probably think I sound very much like the people I've just described, however when around these people, I tend to polarise in the opposite direction.  I start talking like a Trotter and walking with a limp, kicking old people and swearing at pigeons as I go.

One thing we noticed pretty early on in our stay was that the majority of the houses in the Old Town, built by the Dutch, were all incredibly narrow.  This was a result of the tax attributed to each property, which was based primarily on the width of the house.  Most houses were no more than four metres wide and usually around sixty metres long.  Most of the houses seemed to have a courtyard or two with maybe a small water feature.  It was incredibly pleasant.  Our hotel was one of these pleasant Dutch buildings, complete with the lemony fresh smell and a sort of inside-outside feel to it.  The room was rather nice with the only real downside being the bathroom.  The bathroom was spacious, had an open shower area, jacuzzi and a bench at one end.  I don't really know why you need a bench in a room with a jacuzzi AND a toilet, I'd have suspected at that point of fitting the jacuzzi and toilet that all sitting down necessities had been catered for; apparently not.  The issue came in the fact that the bathroom walls weren't as tall as the ceiling, meaning you could talk freely with the person in the bedroom whilst you were in the jacuzzi or having a break on your bench.  You could, if you were of an athletic or possibly hyperactive disposition, have a game of tennis or catch over the wall.  All these are fantastic features, however the incomplete wall throws up one glaring cringeworthy factor.  A conversation that goes a little like:

Me:  Uhh, darling....
Turtle: Yes Captain Lovegun?  (She doesn't actually call me that, but I'll make it catch on within a month I reckon)
Me:  I say, what's that song you really like lately?  You know the quite loud one?
Turtle:  I have no idea what you're talking about.  Did you enjoy your incredibly spicy meal by the way?
Me:  Oh yes!  That, frankly too spicy, meal was divine!  But back to the issue of the quite loud music... 
Turtle:  It just seemed so authentic, I loved how the flavours all worked so...
Me:   JUST PLAY SOME MUSIC I DON'T WANT YOU TO HEAR THIS
Turtle:  Ohhhh!.........  Okay..

Introduction to Gangnam Style begins on full volume..

Bunting ruining a good picture of mental paintings on buildings

In the evening we took a ride in a three wheeled Hello Kitty rickshaw, by a man whose dream was seemingly to be a tour guide.  We must have taken a good two or three detours as he exclaimed well-rehearsed facts about the area.  I don't know how much historical information you can take in with the Beach Boys blaring out from the stereo he had installed under our seats, but it was nice anyways.

On one of the days we thought it'd be nice to go for a 'river cruise'.  How posh and extravagant a river cruise sounds...  The cruiseliner, decorated heavily in Malaysia bunting, I'm fairly certain was built with the intention of being a vessel of rescue missions, as opposed to a vehicle of romance and purveyor of quality views.  Myself and the Turts had a family sat opposite us; the seats were so close that our knees all touched in a quite uncomfortable manner.  One of the younger children in the family had a twitch in his leg which didn't get irritating at all... Selfish shit.

Buildings from the boat - part 2

The sites were all very nice once we'd departed and set off on our way; knee knocking excitement subsided marginally as a cruiseboat passed us in the opposite direction and sprayed us all as bow waves collided.  Once moistened, or offered a 'complimentary natural cooling aid', we turned a bend in the river and saw a fantastic row of houses.  Each house a different mural.  The colours and distinctions in styles between each house were immense.  Some of the houses had recently been done up whilst others had been left for some time.  Both new and old, in their own ways, added something to the individualistic mesh and uniqueness of the place.  When everything is different everything is the same and that's a good way to be with regards to houses.  Too many people seem very conservative with houses.  Go mental, draw a drunk goat on your house, if your neighbour draws a spaceship on theirs it won't look so out of place.

The old Dutch square

On the penultimate day, before our coach trip back to the capital, we went on a tour of one of the old houses which was owned by a wealthy Chinese businessman.  The tour was fraught with difficulties from the off as a family (the size of which led me to believe they MUST have been Catholic) thought it would be good to bring along their infants.  Infants don't like tours around museums, they just don't.  They like colouring in and staring at bits of snot.  They care little for the interior design of a house from the 1800s.  It was an interesting gander round though and learned a little bit about the British influence: the designs of the crockery was all from the UK whilst a chair was created by the Chinese when their British business partners arrived.  It was like a normal chair, but with a fold out footrest and a "Gin holder".  Genius.  Later that day we came across a pirate ship, which was unusual.

Kuala Lumpur

Well this may well be one of my favourite places in the history of ever. 

Some rather large conjoined buildings

We got to the hotel mid afternoon.  Whilst booking the hotel, we noticed not of the grandeur of the place.  Identifying it as a dwelling within budget, we didn't presume of the luxuries we'd inadvertently booked.  It was the kind of place where there's a man whose job it is to take your bags from the taxi on an entirely separate journey as you to your room.  There was also a woman who knocked our door and asked if she'd like to "turn my bed down".  I have literally no idea what she meant, but given my track record with the ladyfolk turning down my kiss in a bus stop move during my teens, I thought a turn-down of the bed might be a bit too much to take.  Also, the Turtle was just about to get in the bath and was giving the cut throat sign at the prospect of letting someone into the room.  The hotel was next door to the Patronas Towers.  They can be seen from just about anywhere in the city and are very pretty all lit up and that.  

Our first night we spent in a taxi.  We'd reserved a table at a 'Dining in the Dark' experience, which was exactly as petrifying as it sounds.  Unfortunately, the taxi driver was yet to indulge himself in a bit of blind dining and thus had literally no idea where it was.  As we did laps of the general locality, passing bars and restaurants like pictures and plant pots in a Scooby-Do corridor, the minutes ticked by.  Eventually, the driver decided he'd be best maneuvering the busy streets of downtown KL on foot.  So he parked us on a one way street and scarpered.  He returned a few minutes later with information he'd attained after engaging in dialogue with a man selling meat on a stick to inform us it was about twenty yards away..

Once we'd made it to the restaurant we were greeted by some lovely um, greeters?  That seemed to be the entirety of their job, just say hello to people and ask them if they'd ever done something like this before.  Essentially, stall customers until the real waiting staff arrived.  By this point I was quite a bit nervous.  I don't have a phobia of the dark at all; I don't mind sleeping with the light off and I'm in no way racist.  The issue was more focused on the fact I'd be putting all manner of unknown things in my face and hoping for the best.  The greeters laughed at me and told me to calm down, which agitated me a bit but I didn't say anything.  In my head I told them to fuck off though...  

Food porn

A short time later we were met by our waiter.  One thing the Turtle had omitted (I feel I should add here that this was ENTIRELY her idea.  Whilst I agreed to it, obviously I was nervous and knew little of it, she'd done all the research-based legwork) the fact that all the waiting staff were blind.  BLIND!  I only noticed when he completely rejected my hand shake...  Once we'd been introduced and eventually shook hands, he made the Turtle put her hands on his shoulders and my hands on her shoulders as we essentially conga'd our way into the pitch darkness.  It felt like we were winding our way through the most elaborate maze and by time we got to our table I was entirely terrified.  I think the thing that really frightened me was the idea that it could be a social event.  In my mind, given that sight was so restricted, we'd be relying on our heightened senses of taste, smell and hearing, predominantly.  I worried that people would be quite vocal and we'd have to talk to people.  It's not like I hate my voice, it's just that the idea of having some freak allergic reaction with everyone listening was far worse than if everyone watched.  This fear diminished relatively quickly as the dull murmur of conversations surrounded us with a relieving sense of anonymity.  It was then that I realised something I never really noticed before.  The pitch dark is absolutely petrifying.  It seemed so intolerably encapsulating that brought about a horrendous feeling complete entrapment.  My breathing got a bit heavy and I was actually a bit concerned.  Then we overheard an American female and my feelings turned from fear and terror to abhorring despise.  "OH MY GAAAD I CEHNT FIND MY FORRRRRRRK"..... "LOL OH MY GAAAAD IT'S NEXT TO THE SPOON".  Flid.  

When you're in that environment you learn just how difficult it is to be blind.  You're always aware it's difficult, but Christ alive the waiting staff were like wizards of the night.  They'd always remember your name and inform you when they'd put your meal in front of you.  Almost always without you noticing too, which was even more mental.  In terms of the food, it was pretty delicious and just about all of the tastes textures were familiar, which was a relief.  The biggest issue I had was how utterly diabolically awful I was with my fork stabbing aim.  I must have truly decimated my plate as I chipped the living daylight out of it.  In the end I shoveled things onto a spoon, using my hand as a protective boundary at the plate's edge.  Upon leaving, we got to see the menu and realised we were actually pretty good at guessing what we'd had.  Overall, it was pretty fantastic, if not a touch terrifying.  

A duck-like creature with about fifty eyes

The Turtle (#nomakeupselfie)

The next day we were up bright and early for a touch of David Attenboroughing (it's a thing, yes).  We headed off to the bird park, known to local taxi drivers as "bud pak" and known to people who have blown up girlfriends as the World's largest free-flight walk-in aviary.  Some of the birds were massive, but then we got past the American tourists WITTY SLANG JOKE ALERT.  Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves as the birds all flew overhead or perched themselves in the canopies which followed the routes of the paths laid out before us.  Nobody seemed to care as much as a fraction as I about being in high-risk shat-on territory.  I tried to fashion a hat-come-shit protector out of the map we'd been given on upon entry but the Turtle made me take it off because people were looking and I looked a twat, apparently.  Saw some emus, they were cutting themselves with the paper they'd just written poetry on.  I think that's how you spell emu anyways..  We then went to the neighbouring butterfly park and they had rats scuttling about and some turtles in tanks.  Insert your own TMNT conspiracy theories here.

Batu Caves

Steps, 5,6,7,8 and so on...

On our last day we were taken for a treat by an old friend from university and resident of Kuala Lumpur to the Batu caves, just north of KL.  Francis, a man who has seemingly worked out how to avoid aging skin and a formula for perfect hair (what an absolute bastard), picked us up and became a tour guide for the day.  The caves are essentially a hollowing in the formation of a huge limestone rock jutting out of the landscape.  To reach the caves themselves you're first confronted with a good 320 steps.  That was hard work for the Turtle and I.  Francis (the bastard) simply skipped up like an irritating goat.  

The Caves are hugely important for religious reasons.  It's a site of great significance for Hindus and contains a good few shrines.  I can only presume it is because of this religious importance that we came up came up against one of the most peculiar examples of signage ever.  At the foot of the steps, a slinkymaster's paradise, there was a sign that told us we weren't allowed to wear shorts, dresses or dogs.  Needless to say my ensemble was ruined..  

Opening at the top of the caves

Once we'd reached the zenith, we looked more like gorillas that had been water boarded as opposed to those covering themselves in glory as a result of walking up 320 steps like the true champions we knew ourselves to be.  The conditions did little to aid proceedings either; it was 30 something degrees and muggier than a Dutch oven.  Once I'd stopped breathing like an asthmatic being tickled and stopped drawing attention to myself, we were able to take in the surroundings.  I've got some photos but they don't do the place justice whatsoever: it's impossible to gauge just how massive the caves were.  The sheer cliff faces reaching right up to an opening, seemingly away in the heavens.  On the steep faces of the limestone lived monkeys and, somewhat more obscurely, some chickens.  The monkeys seemed alright with having their photos taken, although Francis (not a bead of sweat, the bastard) told me of some awful stories about the little tykes doing some terrible things in the past.  I wanted to give it a bottle of water with the top done up properly tight but Francis warned against it.  It was an undeniably beautiful place, both in terms of the natural scenery and the man-made shrines.  The only real downside was that, given it's the epicenter of a great big annual festival, it does have the feeling of something entirely different to a God-based cave.  The cemented floors and towering floodlights made it feel a touch more like a car park than what it should've been.  Nevertheless, still a fantastic place.  On the way out we saw some old Hindu ladies talking about their sex lives as I tripped over a gate.

Francis then took us to one of his favourite restaurants in downtown KL.  It was up the side street of a back alley of a side street, or so.  We were given a noodle, beef, egg, sardines and crispy onions concoction.  Sweet Jehovah was it delicious!  I've never had anything like it.  Francis suggested putting some chili sauce on it.  I rejected as the hotel's bathroom door didn't close properly and I didn't want another Melacca music conversation incident.  It was honestly one of the nicest meals I've ever had though.  After another hour or so catching up and learning from our very kind guide, we were dropped back at the hotel, ready to pack for our 5am flight.

A few final words

Malaysia often gets bunched together with the countries around it, for perhaps obvious reasons, but I just can't see the likes of Thailand and Indonesia being quite as refined and polished.  I'm aware that's part of the whole charm.  But equally, the charm of Malaysia was definitely that it had such a past of empire and grandeur, of the wealthy and important.  Coming from a place where English speakers are rarer than cheese you can't use as a rubber, Malaysia was full of English speakers, full of hints at British culture and a suspicion of it pushing on to be a very, very exciting place in the future; not languishing in the mistreatment of its past or settling to be an equal of its neighbours.

Given there are three such prominent ethnicities, cultures and peoples all being crammed together, it would be naive to think there's no case of any underlying tensions, of course.  But it's a place that seems to welcome a break from the norm and, generally, embrace those different from their own for the greater good.  South Korea nor the UK could hold a candle to how well Malaysia deals with cultural differences.

All this has made it even more sad that such a tragedy as the MH370 will forever be tied with Malaysia.  Though I'm not particularly well travelled, I cannot recommend the place enough.  You should go, even if you don't get there, still try, it's worth it.

Never mind I'll find Seomyeon like you - The unreleased/released

Okay so as promised in the last installment of 'Jordan's use of the internet to save money on counselling', better known as my blog, here is the entry from October/November I disliked so much I stopped writing.  Things all got a bit crappy around this time and I just wanted to hide under woolen things and eat the weight of Canada in things comprising mainly of sugar and/or bread.  As a result, it remained unfinished, but given it's quite a lot I feel bad resigning it to the fate of deletion.  So instead, here it is.  Unfinished traumatisation (new word).

That song is stuck in your head now.  One thousand apologies.  It's been a month of change in the Land of the Morning Calm  Construction Workers.  The building next door has been complete so the same noisy bastards that were ruining morning nap times from the side window have moved across the street and are now destroying sleeping patterns from across the road.  Despite this, I'm going to try and sound more cheery in this blog post.  I read the last one back and I sounded a little close to the edge.  I feel it relevant to state that whilst I do come across as somewhat of a Victor Meldrew, I'm quite a cheery chappy.  So my aim for this post is to be more positive.  Happy go lucky.  Whoop-de-fucking-do, as it were.

The angle at which our sleep patterns have been audibly assaulted is not the only big change of October thus far, no no no.  It's marked the change in seasons.  Gone are the days of sweating like a pig on fire, waking up with sweaty eye balls and putting underwear in the freezer.  Autumnal conditions have set in and it's now fiercely nippy out. There are a number of pros and cons to this:  On one hand, I don't leave for work in a pastel blue shirt and arrive at work wearing soggy navy.  Whilst on the other hand, my nipples are visible through any amount of layers and my students bully me.  One of the best things about it being quite cold here though is the underfloor heating.  It's absolutely immense.  It also provides an excellent excuse for when the Turtle gets cross when I leave my towel on the floor...

This month has also seen us cross the midway point in our year of 'Rea fun.  It doesn't feel like six months at all.  But then I did lose a month to a jet-lagged daze and sitting under bed covers eating Nutella with a spoon because I was too scared of everything.  Overall though it's been a cracking experience.  To commemorate the occasion of passing the midway point I thought I'd treat myself to a haircut.  First haircut in seven months.  I'd stopped looking like man of authority and began resembling man with a cardboard house.  We took one of our Korean co-workers along for protection to a hair salon on the high street entitled Paris Hair Story.  There was little sign of any French narratives once inside though, so I did feel a little lied to.  We went through the usual thing of choosing a picture from a book of hair styles.  The only issue was that they all looked EXACTLY the same:  Shaved sides, long on top and at the back.  A variation of this was the almighty mullet, which I've thankfully avoided.  The woman cutting my hair (or 'hair artist') asked three times if I wanted my side burns off.  I was going to tell her I was preparing them for Movember but given the fairly large language barrier it would've likely gone arse over tit.

We've also had the celebration of Halloween to introduce to the natives.  I've seen myself as less of an English teacher lately and more of a Crusader, coming to the Eastern lands, sharing our traditions and beliefs and making them join in out of fear we'll do writing exercises.  We stayed up until gone 2.30am a few nights making spiders and bats.  The Turtle did the majority of the conceptual work whilst I was restrained from running with scissors and was allowed to stick the googly eyes on paper bats.

For the big day we decided it would be a lot of fun to set ourselves the aim of making a child so scared they cried.  I don't know if the Turtle was necessarily privy to this goal, but I went all out for it; make up and all.  One of the bigger issues with this was that I decided my Dracula make up should be completed at home, before going to the shop for more art supplies, before going to get lunch, and before the fifteen minute walk from our apartment to any of these places, including passing a high school.  Needless to say I received a few looks and thoroughly terrified the man in Morning Glory.  No, I'm not being uncouth, I'm merely referring to the stationary shop which is EVERYWHERE in Korea.  Means you can have Morning Glory staples, post its, pencils and my all time favourite, the Morning Glory rubber.  For those times where you really need to rub something out (okay now I'm being sordid, apologies.)

I know what you're wondering though.  Did I make a child cry?  I'm sorry to inform you that I've let you all down.  I did make a child fall on his arse though, which is kind of a victory of sorts.  Either way, we had a lot of fun and the kids got a decent understanding of what Halloween is like in the West.  Although I did refrain from bringing in some fourteen year old parents who never pronounce their consonants and never spell with their vowels to come in and egg people for them to get a real feel of what Halloween in the UK is like.

We also had a Firework Festival on the beach in Busan at the end of October too.  The fireworks themselves were very bright, very loud, very synchronized to a music ranging from Jerusalem to Coldplay to the scratchy disk music of the Dubbing Steppers.  We got there a short while after it started which meant we didn't actually get a spot on the beach.  It also meant we didn't get a spot on the road along the waterfront either.  It did, however, mean we got a fantastic spot right between a fish restaurant and a coffee shop, one street back.  It sounds a bit grim but being 5"11 in a country of Asian hobbits made it much better than just about any gig I've ever been to.  I'm not fond of being in big congested crowds of people.  I always end up feeling uneasy that people are feeling uneasy about me looking awkward.  This was perfectly summed up at the subway station after the fireworks had all gone off and gone home.

The subway station was like a scene about five minutes into any end-of-the-world movie ever made:  There were babies crying, army people shouting at people who were too tightly packed into an already small space and the customary wanker who thinks it's a good idea to bring a seemingly frictionless glass bottle into the fray.  (I know I said at the beginning of this post I'd try to be more positive...  Unfortunately that's starting to erode somewhat).  We waited as train after train stopped, opened its doors to a sea of uncomfortable expressions looking back at us.  We ended up waiting a good five or six trains before we managed to get onto one.  During this time I had a most unfortunate incident which slightly refers to my earlier issue of uncomfortability: Myself and the Turtle stood side by side, priming ourselves for the great shove necessary to get a decent spot on the train.  There were a group of ladies in front of us and the one in front of me had particularly wispy hair.  So much so, a strand of hair had actually placed itself in my mouth.  I hadn't noticed because a result of being a human sinus and a poster boy for gawpishness, worldwide, is that the majority of the time, my mouth is open.  Whilst we were all a matter of inches apart there was no real problem.  The issue escalated when I wanted to turn around to see how many people were on the platform, thus essentially fish hooking myself on a Korean woman's 'do as she and her friends discussed what manner of spackery would lead someone to manage pulling that off in thoroughly disapproving tones.



All in all, it was definitely an experience.


And that's where it ends.  Hope it makes up for the months of abandoned bloggery. 

Yulha-ve to forgive me.

Due to the fact it's been over three months of upsetting silence.  I'm aware I've let you down, myself down, but most importantly, the spamming bastards in Ukraine and Iraq (maybe I've misinterpreted that though, if I have, sorry to all the readers in Kiev, Kurdistan and so on).

It's been a rather hectic couple of months.  I don't mean that in the bad way though, we have spent Christmas in the tropics and in two days' time we leave for Seoul for the Lunar new year.  The reason for this post is primarily to briefly recap on what's gone on between my last post and now before doing more thorough posts on Malaysia.

I've also realised people are 94% more likely to actually read something if it's in a listed format, as opposed to bricked paragraphs of waffle.  So here we go,

Jordan's top five things he didn't blog about between October and January, excluding his trip to Malaysia which will be blogged about at a later date!!

1.  Foreigner seminars!  We've had two.  Equal in their depression inducing tedium, but different in their content.  The first came in mid November.  It was a compulsory seminar amongst all Hagwons in the area, being held in the nearby city of Changwon.  We were given two days notice that we'd have to go to it, but with little information of what to expect.  It was horrific.  We had a minibus (our hagwon's minibus) herd us up and take 10,000 won off each of us (including the Turtle and I, bastards) before chugging us along to the seminar room.  We got some free sweets on arrival.  I filled two pockets worth, just to sweeten my troubles and because, at heart, I'm an anti-establishment rebel.  I told myself that as I slipped an empty cola sweet wrapper back into the bowl and walked into the hall, knowing I was bringing the system down at a grass roots level, at the very least.  The talk was two hours long.  The first hour comprised of a man who couldn't really speak English very well and very clearly didn't understand the physics behind how a microphone worked.  He told us all about how we could go about getting the visas we all already have (the ones necessary to pass immigration on arrival to Korea...) and what visas US generals use.  After dragging out this talk for fifty minutes, he had ten minutes of free time.  What should he do?  He looked into the wings, muttered something in parseltongue, a muted response was returned, he shrugged.  At this point, it could've gone either way: we could've had a ten minute intermission, we could've seen sunlight, stolen more sweets, destroyed the system some more, but no!  He wasn't going to let us go without.  We came for speeches and he wasn't going to let us down.  Like a true hero, he started 'riffing', as I believe it's known in the entertainment world.  He opened his improv act with "I used to live in LA you know..." we were hooked!  He told us all that sometimes people in LA were rude.  Then I think he started talking about his wife.  By this stage he'd got so excited the microphone was here, there and everywhere.  People in the front rows laughed a few times whilst I tried to work out if they were sweat patches coming through his suit.  Something not seen since the dampened Lee Evans.  The latter hour took an even more macabre feel as a man, a professor no less, came onto the stage and told us all about how we definitely shouldn't

A - touch children

B - not even if the children don't mind

C - make sure you're not having a relationship with a child

D - NOT EVEN IF the child seems up for it

E - smile at natives, they might think you're being sexually suggestive

F - complain too much if you're the victim of domestic violence, you must simply ask the perpetrator to stop and come to a compromise.  (Yes, you must ask the person punching you in the face to stop doing so and COMPROMISE with them.  Maybe suggest they just give you a Chinese burn instead?  Compromise.)

G - talk about sex.  (It's a taboo subject here, despite seemingly everyone thinking about it every time you smile at them...)

We then got some fantastic advice on how to pronounce the 'L' sound in two different ways.  That was immensely helpful.  It turns out for 22 years I'd been using a G by accident and no one had ever bothered to correct me.  As a short footnote, this whole seminar began with a montage of songs being danced to by a group comprising of 15 year old middle school girls, all with either short shorts on and/or bellybutton revealingly small t-shirts.  One of the songs involved, by the way, was Sistar's popular K-pop hit, Give It To Me.  I'm only presuming it was something of a test: those who seemed to applaud too rigorously were taken out the back and executed.  

The second foreigner seminar wasn't a foreigner seminar.  We were very bluntly lied to by our directors as a way of forcing us to go to Seoul with them on the Saturday before Christmas just so we could be shown how to conduct an internationally franchised reading and spelling test.  To save money we drove there.  Four hours there, five and a half back.  The demonstrations/explanations lasted twenty minutes.  It made me hate everything for a good while, also because I was intending on attending the orphanage with the other volunteers to play Christmas games and such with all the children.  Instead I spent my day in the back the sole banger in Korea either listening to Mr and Mrs Kim having domestics or watching Mrs Kim get far too comfortable for a person to be whilst driving.  

2.  The pre-Christmas Christmas!  Knowing we'd be in Malaysia for Christmas we decided to have our present-opening/Christmas dinner day a few days earlier.  We'd been sent beef Bisto by my charitable parents.  We used it to drown away my meat faux pars.  The Turtle left me in charge of the pork.  I thought a nice honey roasted pork would be lovely.  Except the recipe ended up being for a Chinese style pork dish.  She spotted things were afoot when the whole apartment began to smell like soy sauce.  Unfortunately I'd also ruined the carrots a bit also.  Thankfully, with enough gravy to wipe out Kiribati, all was well.  Post dinner we exchanged gifts.  I'd gotten the Turtle a Polaroid digital camera with some printer paper and I got a brand new iPodding device, complete with headphones.  I also got a book of maps, because sometimes I imagine I'm quite cool and can be quite intimidating to be around, so if I spout geographical facts like an utter virgin, people might think I'm alright.  At least, I think that's her logic...

3.  Our jobs changed!  We still work at the same hagwon, but rather than being speaking teachers, we're now listening teachers.  At first it was a bit weird, but it's got easier.  It's just so unbelievably boring though.  The amount of times in a day I have to say "All finished?" before pressing rewind, and listen to the same USAish adults putting on nasal children's voices and making weird innuendos.  "Nooo, we're going to have to find my pencil harder.  Find it, have you found it?  Yes, that feels good!  I can use my pencil now!"  is sometimes off putting when you're busy trying to do a Rubik's cube sat in the corner. 

4.  New Years!  We're not the most sociable people at the best of times.  This evening consisted of caramel Bailey's and kilo of Cadbury's taken from Malaysia.  

5.  The Great Shanghai debacle.  So the plan was that we'd spend the LNY over in Shanghai, pretending to be Jackie Chan and Owen Wilson, roaming around and shooting stuff.  We were going to live the dream.  Unfortunately, for reasons I cannot go into too much, our visa applications to the People's Republic were denied instantly.  I can go into it quite a lot actually, I just wanted to say I couldn't to make myself seem more mysterious and interesting.  Alas, it was because our current Korean visas were within 6 months of expiry at the time of the Chinese application submissions.  For this reason, we were told no.  Instead, we're jetting up to Seoul, which is, if anything, a more pun-friendly city anyways, so I'll remain upbeat.  The best of it all though was we managed to get a full refund!!  I could've kissed Ravinda, the man who worked at the 24 hour Expedia call centre.  Such beautiful words he uttered at ten past three, his local time. 

At this point, I've just realised I actually have a blog entry from October/November that I never bothered finishing entirely, so I'll post this now before editing that and posting it.  It'll be something of a bootleg.  Something of an unreleased B-side for you all to enjoy.  

Again, I feel I must apologise for the delays. 

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.