Annyeonghi Gaseyo

•September 23, 2011 • 7 Comments

Perhaps the sadness we feel when an adventure comes to an end is the only true way of knowing what an experience meant to us. Of course this rarely helps. Maybe the only way to deal with the longing and stinging sense of nostalgia is to keep on going. As one story comes to a close so another must begin.

After almost two years teaching in South Korea I feel now is the time to say goodbye and begin refocusing my energy on new and exciting ideas in surroundings that will inspire a new phase in my life. And while I’m barely even home, writing this in a large airport in the United Arab Emirates, I cannot ignore the special relationship I’ve developed with this small peninsula in the Far East. Despite all the goodbyes I exchanged over the previous weeks, there remains every chance that these sentiments will be little more than a prolonged ‘see you later.’

My final few weeks in Korea were divided between bouts of mud throwing, lazy wanders around old Confucius period villages and good-bye meals with some brilliant friends. But like so much of the last year in Korea, my last days and hours were spent in the company of one very special person, a girl who continues to play an important role in my life and someone who will outlast my memories of Korea. Change is rarely something that we embrace, and as creatures of habit few of us can easily leave things behind. My life is set to completely change over the coming months, I can only hope my experiences of yesterday will help shape and define the world I see tomorrow.

Dubai became something of a regular pit-stop this year as I jumped between Europe and East Asia, my now not so little sister being more than a good reason to drop in on a boom city that rose from the desert little more than 20 years ago. Towering columns of gleaming glass and row after row of prominent homes reflect the dizzying wealth that lies beneath the miles of golden sand that connect the seven emirates of the U.A.E.

I left Korea in December not entirely sure whether I’d return, even writing what I imagined to be a final entry of my thoughts about the country and the many ways it had enriched my life. Many months on and I feel no different. Korea, while often dancing with oddity, has given me two unforgettable years. I hope to return one day and see how the cities have adapted to their increasingly international communities, and whether old ways and traditions have been retained and respected in a nation that fiercely runs into the future.

When I let my mind skip back through my time in South Korea I’m taken on a journey alive with adventure, endless days spent in the pursuit of dreams in that bubble of optimism that carries those on the road. I remember the cold Siberian air lashing my cheeks as my sister and I struggled along the open roads of Korea’s ancient Gyeong-ju district on our groaning tandem bike. I can still hear the laughter of a bus full of friends driving through the night on the way to another weekend snowboarding in the mountains of Gangwon-do province. Neon lit streets into the early hours, cup after cup of Korean rice wine, parties in Seoul, parties in Busan, camping on beaches, camping on islands, late night bike rides through the city, the days jumped from one to the next with a dull moment never to be seen.

Inquisitive minds exceed in this proud country, a little wanderlust will bring you to beautiful nature, and intrigue and a warm smile will help soften communities and make you friends. In the end I guess a hopeful heart and an open mind are the best travelling companions we can possibly have.

So for now it has to be goodbye, to some forever and others just a little while. In this pace of change I’m holding dear to those who brought me so much happiness and without their company there would be no story to tell.

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Shine on me crazy Korea

•July 2, 2011 • 2 Comments

The strained groans of my A.C machine and perpetual break outs of sweat hint at a changing of the elements, but it’s the hours spent playing on beaches, evenings around camp fires, hikes over lush mountains and warm evenings in the city that remind me that summer time has reached the Korean peninsula once again.

This blog has so often served two purposes. It provides a space where I can capture my great Asia journey in slow motion, and also exists as a reflection of my thoughts as I encounter all the things that come with living in a foreign land. The last four months have been incredible for many reasons, having already spent a year in Korea I am able to live here with more confidence and understanding for what I see around me. On the surface many foreigners here struggle to empathise with Korea and it’s people, and while aspects of its culture appear easy to ridicule, the rewards of looking a little closer are enriching as they are ongoing. I have been fortunate enough to meet people who brighten everything around them, and in their company one can only appreciate the positives from one moment to the next. Beautiful and inspiring in equal measure, an amazing girl from the Pacific Northwest named Jinae, along with a like-minded group of friends, have all contributed to what has been a special return to Korea that continues to exceed all my dreams and expectations.

By returning for a second year in Korea it was always likely that I’d retrace some of my steps, blowing the dust from old memories and recapturing the feelings of novelty and intrigue.  It’s always been about the thrill, the desire to seek adventure at every turn, rather than any feeling of simply needing to do it.

The months of May and June bring several national holidays to Korea, Buddha’s Birthday, Children’s Day and Memorial Day. And with Korea’s work ethic leaving little room for extended vacation, to put it mildly, these rare days off are always met with something bordering an exodus as people flock on mass to any place that doesn’t resemble their Monday to Friday (or Saturday) slog.

For those of you who have kept up with this blog, you may remember a trip I made last year to  a beautiful little island called Bijindo lying an hour offshore from the southern tip of Korea. From my pictures you can see how Bijindo is made up of two small hills connected by a narrow sandbar, the similarities with some of the Thai islands in the Andaman Sea are plain to see. A stunning little spot, there can be no doubt. Living in the caldron of the Daegu basin, the country’s warmest region by a stretch, summer can at times feel unbearable. The cooler islands only a short journey from the city offer the promise of cooler air, serenity, open spaces and all the things that dense urban spaces fail to provide.

Because Bijindo is undeveloped, free of neon and convenience culture, anyone hoping to spend a few days camping there must stock up on supplies before stepping on the small passenger ferry that links Tongyeong to the tiny island community. Filling our backpacks and several taxis with as much food and drinks as we could carry, the small army I was travelling with had everything we needed for a weekend fit for 20 foreigners on a beach in the Far East.

Games in the water, hikes up the low-lying hills (check out the pictures for the view that greeted us at the top-stunning) and fires on the beach, we played hard and into the night, mindful of the rare break from teaching and the obvious beauty that surrounded us. This has set the tone for the last month, bright weekends spent in the pursuit of sunny hide-outs, undisturbed nature and good company. Outside the grey walls of urban life here there exists an abundance of colour waiting to be enjoyed. Korean cities have the lights, the people, the atmosphere, but without a glance out of the thick windows and over the tall buildings, so much goes unnoticed.

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Bikes, kites and trippy delights. The best of times.

•May 31, 2011 • 2 Comments

Bikes, kites and trippy delights, now where to begin? The absence of my writing suggests a slowing down in this great adventure in the Far East, but of course as the story of this last year goes, silence merely masks a Niagara of incredible experiences that take some retelling. And when I say the period since my last post has been among the happiest in my life, it offers only the faintest illumination of the beautiful days I’ve enjoyed and the special people I’ve shared them with. If these are to be my final few months in Asia, they look set to be as colourful and lucid as any since I came here in the winter of 2009.

In a bid to share all my experiences with you, I now find myself facing something of a daunting task. Between the obvious shindigs and wanders, planned and otherwise, there are a hundred little encounters that sit on the periphery of my thoughts. While it seems natural to recount the big events that carry away the time we spend on the road, I’m conscious of the chance moments that weave the fabric of my weeks together.

From aged but ardent looking Korean men performing obscure gym workouts while waiting at pedestrian traffic crossings, to the feisty Korean women that define the local market spaces in the way they communicate in a deafening cacophony of shrill barking and snapping, there is so much that often slips away unnoticed.

Yesterday while riding around the rough and ready, though captivating, Chilseong Market, I found myself in a momentary toe to toe moment with a snarling looking local woman carrying a crate of greens. Through the monosyllabic clicks and grunts that pass for my broken Korean and what I imagined to be her usual pitch forked tenderness, it became quite clear that I wasn’t going to get the handful of broccoli I needed for dinner that evening. A short but stocky woman of about 55, complete with the classic perm in keeping with the hardiest of local elders and a flowery number that did nothing to disguise her spikiness, she was adamant that I could only buy a crate of broccoli weighing in at somewhere close to 3 tons. Despite calling on the most elaborate of hand gestures that I’ve steadily built up during a year of teaching in classrooms where the students speak a language other than my own, my efforts were in vain. My cupboards now have a stockpile that rivals the United Nations World Food Programme. I’m now also broke having spent a month’s wages on broccoli that will probably be rotten within a week.

I can’t deny that Mrs.Broccoli was a tough old chestnut, but in actual fact the market places in Korea are nothing but fascinating, warm spirited and lively places where a white face and a wide smile will draw endearing curiosity and new friends. Korea, with all its idiosyncratic quirks and oddities, is a place that never ceases to prise, at the very least, a wry smile.

This post could easily have just retold the events of a trip five friends and I took to the ancient city of Gyeong-ju back in the early days of April, a city once at the centre of the Korean Empire and a lasting monument to a way of life here that has long since crept into the shadows of the modern day boom peninsula. Although I’d made two previous trips, this was a particularly special one as it was my first time to see the historical city in spring, a time when Gyeong-ju shines with the annual arrival of cherry blossom. There are few things more enchanting than a metropolis, with over a thousand years of rich history, under a thick blanket of blushing pinks and snowy whites. Gyeong-ju enjoys a reputation as being among the most very beautiful of spots anywhere to enjoy this natural spectacle and it’s not difficult to see why.

So off the six of us set one early Saturday morning in search of all things old and rose tinted, a short bus ride away from our resident city of Daegu, the capital of Gyeongsangbuk-do province. With rented bikes, a bright cloudless sky and warm spring air, we succumbed to our wanderlust as we playfully meandered through beautiful parks dotted with historical relics, lines of snowy pink trees and the mound tombs of great Korean figures from down the ages. Stopping regularly, it was easy to be drawn into a world that often felt utterly surreal. We marvelled at the colour that is so often absent from life here and felt compelled to dance in its presence, everything appeared alive and invited a dreamy curiosity. It was a fairy-tale.

The day ended with the same childlike enthusiasm as the six of us scampered to return our rented bicycles before the cloak of evening. Weaving our way along the busy pavements, dodging old market sellers and kneeling elderly Korean women tending to their piles of peeled garlic cloves and bowls of assorted vegetables, we invited the beeping of horns from fast moving traffic as we flirted with the road when the hive like sidewalks became too much. As we rode on under what was now a thick night sky, but for the glow of neon that lights every urban space in Korea regardless of whether it’s a thousand year old city, we began to wonder whether we’d ever find our way. But sure enough as the clock struck 7pm, the time our bikes were expected back, we emerged from downtown Gyeong-ju and wearily gathered at the modest roadside bike rental store that we had set out from that morning.

For many reasons it was a beautiful day, and one that will define the heights of my happiest memories of the time I spent in Korea. Trippy traversing around ancient palaces, freewheeling down narrow crowded alleyways and flying kites high above the city’s cherry blossom trees, there can be few better ways to spend time. Now more than ever I find myself around a group of friends who offer so much to each other’s enjoyment in these intrepid adventures. The profound and lasting connections that are being fostered continue to animate and brighten every moment.

From one effervescent day to another, albeit one with more strobe lighting and very large sound systems, Seoul World DJ Festival 2011 came around shortly after the frolicking in Gyeong-ju. Having missed this event the previous year I was keen to make amends, so along with a small army of pals from Daegu we took the two hour bullet train ride up the spine of the country to the mega-tropolis of Seoul. From the sprawling and never sleeping capital we headed east along the city’s metro line, where after an hour we arrived at a decidedly softer and more serene location than the one we had left behind at Seoul Station. Fields, rivers, trees and slow paced traffic created the feeling that we had just entered suburbia, and but for the hordes of ravers, hipsters and party goers dancing to the fast paced beats of some of the world’s best DJs, it might well have been.

Throughout the day and into the night, we played, danced and smiled hard, moving from tent to tent and stage to stage, soaking up the vibes and shaking to the fast paced rhythms. Living in Gyeongsangbuk-do province, one of the more conservative and homogenous regions in Korea, it’s easy to feel as though there is little in the way of a counter culture movement or anything that moves against the grain of the country’s more polished and commercialised image. But events such as this show in volumes that Korea does have the appetite for a party, and the knowhow to pull it off with a stellar touch. With the most creative DJs and turntablists from all corners including one Mr.Oli Fenn and his new band Trouble Makerz, a friend from south-west England doing big things in the music world, the atmosphere was electric. Everyone was in on the fun, and in that number and in that environment, it was spiriting to see a Korea reaching high on the good times stakes.

There is so much more I have to say, but I’ll leave the rest of my adventure in the form of pictures so your imagination can finish the story. As Korea sears towards summer, leaving behind a beautiful spring that tempted even the most unlikely of people onto its many low lying mountains and hiking paths, the beach beckons and all that comes with long days spent under blue skies and a warm sun. My browning face tells a tale of weekends already spent on the sandy shores of Busan, and as the high-rising sun continues to define each day, these will continue to be what I can only describe as the very best of times. X

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Returning East

•March 25, 2011 • 6 Comments

Korea seems to be a place that exceeds expectations given that many unknown to the country treat it with the type of curiosity that borders on the derisive. And while its unfortunate proximity to a nuclear armed totalitarian death cult certainly contributes to this air of ambivalence, there are a myriad of factors that create the stained glass effect that exists between South Korea and the eyes of those unknown to the small, but significant, country in the Far East. It’s not all kimchi and taekwondo.

Given my experiences in South Korea, all of them positive, a return was always likely. Now having been offered a new contract at a school in Siji, a leafy middle-class suburb in the east of Daegu, I’m in Korea once again for what I expect to be a further 6 months. But with this said, if my last three years of travelling around the world have taught me anything, our expectations and the ensuing events seldom run in parallel. Time will tell where this next chapter in my Korean adventure leads.

I signed off my last post not expecting to revisit this space again, unaware that I’d be persuaded by a return to Korea. As it happens I have returned, and in the interluding period since my last post I unexpectedly found myself in Frankfurt, Germany, courtesy of the December snowstorms that bought temporary chaos to travel across Western Europe.  And from snow to sand, I also visited Dubai in the United Arab Emirates, the city my sister presently calls home.

Frankfurt embodies many of Europe’s charms, the architecture, fine food, liberal inhabitants and a general feeling of variety and class that ranks it alongside the other great provincial cities of Europe. Of course, add a healthy amount of jagameister and bratwurst, and any place is likely to feel alright. While Heathrow Airport in London were busy trying to figure out how to operate snow mobiles I was holed up in a four star hotel, at the expense of China Eastern Airlines, wining and dining (actually getting walloped in the old markets of Frankfurt) with a group of British and European engineers returning from work in Shanghai. As awful as China Eastern was, envisage a 13 hour flight with nothing more than a plastic tray and maniacal thoughts of hijacking for entertainment, a 3 day break in Germany was more than recompense. Thanks China Eastern, two thumbs up.

So over to Dubai, a somewhat different and sandier state of affairs from the cobble stones and classical facades of Frankfurt, it certainly impresses on first glance. The vast numbers of its high-risers, the ambition of their scale, the concentration of wealth, are all purposely unmistakable. Its luxury hits you square in the face, and wherever you turn its Gucci, Chanel and big, big price tags. A utopia for the mega-rich if ever I saw one. But of course with every oil prince dining on the delights of mother earth’s milk, there are hoards of impoverished migrant workers breaking their backs behind the scenes to help maintain the sleek finish of this boom city in the desert. As the enamel comes off a world of hardship, low wages and zero rights comes into focus. Beyond the labels and glamour, the armies of Philippines, Indians and Bengalis enjoy a far less lavish lifestyle from those they serve.

Despite the United Arab Emeritus adhering to a strict set of laws and customs set out by Islam, as is so often the case, religion merely acts a moral veil concealing a world of dizzy hedonism. The dogmas and constraints imposed by the religious elite appear to only apply to those with limited means, counting nothing for individuals and businesses in positions of power. Dubai is a city virtually sinking under the weight of alcohol, fast cars, endless parties and promiscuity. Not necessarily bad things, but when you consider this occurs in an Islamic state, the irony gives off a beautiful light.

And here I am in Korea. Having traded in my old school and its serene and handy location next to two busy airports, my walk to school is now filled with the sound of doting parents and children playing, as apposed to screaming fighter jets and commercial airlines. I can’t begin to explain what it’s like being able to teach a full lesson without frequently facing the dilemma of either ushering the students under tables, or ignoring the roaring of armed to the nines F-16s as they blaze past our shaking tower block classroom window.

As spring approaches in the Far East, the snow is rapidly retreating to reveal forested mountains and the expansive rice paddies are being readied for the new season. The air is less severe and signs of life are appearing everywhere, soon Korea will see colour once again and people will begin to leave their nests in search of brighter, natural, surroundings from the urban blandness that blights much of the country. And so here it goes, take two, another stint in this most idiosyncratic of places that for better or worse will always find a way of making you smile.

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Checking out time, a year in Korea comes to an end.

•December 13, 2010 • 3 Comments

In the true spirit of this year the final month of my time in Korea has been an adventurous one, swinging to the beat of fast moving weekends across the length and breadth of this small peninsula in the Far East. After twelve months of talking about it, I finally made a trip to Serok San National Park, a protected area rich in vastness as it is in beauty. It was the perfect way to say goodbye to the country I have called home for the past twelve months, and a final adventure to sign off on what will be the last post in this blog.

With winter fast approaching I knew time was running out in my hope of making it to what most people agree to be the most spectacular region in Korea. Serok San National Park is located in the far north of the country, a little less than 50km from the border with North Korea, and forms a part of the larger Taebek Mountain Range.

Taking the night bus from Daegu with two friends, an American and a fellow Brit, we arrived in the northern city of Sokcho in the early hours to quiet streets and closed shop fronts. Flagging down a taxi almost immediately, we showed the address to a nearby hiking hostel that we’d heard was positioned at the entrance to the National Park we’d come to explore.

After driving in the taxi for around 15 minutes along narrow climbing roads we arrived at the entrance to a series of typically uninspiring modern looking Korean buildings, completely at odds with the beautiful natural surroundings.

As we approached our hostel, an imposing yet bleak looking structure, we realised that like everything else in the area there was no sign of activity from inside. Cloaked in darkness and surrounded by quiet hills I began to wonder at this point whether I had somehow stepped into a scene from the Hound of the Baskervilles. Despite my Korean girlfriend, Minsie, having made us a reservation, we arrived to find what looked like a deserted hostel. But for a small light behind the vacant reception desk we were in an eerily quiet and dimly lit lobby with the feeling that we were very much alone.

After wandering around the empty hostel for a few minutes it occurred to me that there might be spare room keys behind the reception desk. Upon hearing this thought James, with all the conviction and swagger of a man of true Northern England pedigree, strolled behind the hostel’s front desk as quickly as I could say Liam Gallagher, returning a moment later with a nonchalant smile and a key in hand.

Leading the way to what we hoped would be a vacant room James stopped at the end of a dark corridor and put our recently acquired key into a lock. Taking a second to prepare ourselves for what could potentially be a somewhat difficult situation to explain; he turned the key and opened the door. Fumbling for the lights in a bid to end the suspense our eyes took no time adjusting to the now brightly lit room as we scanned for signs of life. To our relief our eyes fell on a large, and perhaps more importantly, vacant bed. It wasn’t the most conventional hotel check-in, but sure enough we had a bed for the night.

A few short hours later we rose with the morning sun hoping to make an early start on the mountain. As we entered the hotel lobby, wondering how we might explain our presence, we again found a vacant reception desk. While wiser men might have come up with a plan to locate the hotelier and pay for services rendered, we took the events as a sign that it must have been a self service foreigner’s weekend. With no one in sight we left the hotel as unnoticed as our arrival had been and set out for the entrance to the National Park.

It was only through my decision to head back to the hotel shortly after to find a park map that we eventually came to be accosted by a member of staff. As we walked back into the lobby a stern looking Korean man in his 50s confronted us immediately. Talking at length and in a pace of Korea that none of us understood, I was fairly sure he was curious about our enigmatic presence around the Hotel. Despite not seeming terribly amused by our somewhat unusual check-in the previous night he eventually succumbed to my powers of negotiation, that or he grew tired of talking to three waygooks, and settled for 30,000KRW given that we’d only actually used the room for a few hours. Only in Korea can you check your self in to a hotel illegally and still bargain for the price of the room later.

Between the pictures I’d seen of the Serok San region and listening to stories from friends who had travelled there, I knew I had a beautiful weekend ahead of me. Despite a crowded Park entrance, a common sight in many of Korea’s National Parks, the climbing rugged landscape dressed in stunning fall colours was largely free of people, other than those we encountered early on enjoying the boulder-strewn streams of crystal clear water and pretty waterfalls. For much of the climb we were alone, passed only on occasion by the odd solo Korean who was descending the mountain having spent a night in a hiking hut on the neighbouring Daechongbong peak, the heighest in the range.

Occasional breaks in the rich greens, scarlet reds and golden yellows of the pine and hardwood forests offered breathtaking views of greater Seroksan and down towards the coastal city of Sockcho where we’d arrived from Daegu only hours before. After some quick climbing on what was a surprisingly mild day for November, we reached the summit in around four hours to find incredible unbroken panormaic views as far as the eye could see. With high craggy mountain tops dominating the view on one side and the East Sea on the other, it took us some time to propely absorb our surroundings. Having enjoyed the feeling of being on the roof of Korea, we toasted to a succesful hike and set out back down the mountain.

I can think of worse ways to check out of a country after a whole year than visiting it’s most beautiful national park, although with winter just about here, a final weekend of snowboarding was always likely to complete the story. Travelling with some of the very first people I’d met met in Korea, we partied hard on board our bus as it took us from Daegu to the Korean mountain province of Gangwon-do. Boarding all day and late into the night on the brightly lit pistes, we were some of the first people to make it down the mountain on the night session, carving through the freshly levelled snow on what was a completely deserted slope. It was like snowboarding on a pristine sheet of silk.

I never envisaged living in Korea, probably due to the obscurity that until only recently the country was synonomous with. Now having spent a year here I have come to understand and admire many aspects of their way of life, the respect, humility, generoisty, sense of duty and kinship, all qualities that hold together the social fabric and way of thinking in this country. Of course there are also things that have irritated me, the way children are institutationalised from a young age in strict regimes of round the clock studying, the sometimes coarse elderly population, insipid Korean cuisine and shockingly ugly modern urban architecture have all tested my patience from time to time. But as has so often been the theme of this blog, the number of brilliant adventures I have had this year massively outweigh the negatives.

Over the last 12 months I’ve met some fantastic people from all corners of the world, a few of whom are very special, and had the opportunity to visit places of immense natural beauty in between doing a job that for the most part I’ve loved. I couldn’t have really asked for much more from one year. And while I can’t escape the feeling that now is the right time to leave and begin something new in different surroundings, I’m aware that I’ll miss Korea and so much that goes with it.

I hope this blog has succeeded in its aim of providing some insight into what life as a foreign language teacher here involves, and moreover reaches those of you who are considering beginning your own Korean adventure. Thanks for reading.

Fraternally,

Jon x

안녕히가세요Annyeonghi gaseyo

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Month 11

•October 30, 2010 • Leave a Comment

I can scarcely believe I’m in my twelve month of teaching in South Korea. I’ve often found while living in a foreign country that notions of time have been swept away, weeks and even months vanishing under an avalanche of new names, places and all that comes with living a transient lifestyle.

In what has been a beautiful fall season in Korea, escaping to the country’s numerous mountain national parks has become as much a duty as it is a past-time. Living in a city this year has reaffirmed my love, or perhaps need, for open spaces, fresh air and serenity. And with the Korean countryside now dazzling in its autumn colours I’m taking every opportunity to enjoy life outside of the urban congestion.

Lying on an outlier of the Taebaek Mountains just north of Daegu is Palgong-San National Park, home to a number of important Buddhist shrines and the beautiful and actively used temple of Donghwasa. Despite making many visits there this year I’d yet to reach the upper limits of the range, so with a couple of friends I set out in earnest on an overcast Saturday morning.

After a good climb we were rewarded by an incredible break in the sky as the sun lit up the rocky outcrops that interspersed the tightly packed forested hills. Perched on a quiet ridge we looked down towards the city from where we’d started our journey that morning, oblivious to time as the sun warmed our faces. As you can see from the pictures below the views were spectacular.

It seems as though all of Korea wakes up in the fall season to enjoy the brief window of cooler air and impossibly blue skies, even school children, who despite usually being harboured in the confines of walls under artificial lights are afforded the luxury of playing outside for a morning.

A couple weeks ago my school took its kindergarten students to a nearby secluded spot in a narrow mountain valley 30 minutes from the city. The day was built around a series of activities including making traditional Korean snacks and playing games long since resigned to generations passed. While I admit you may be hard pressed in persuading a typical child to put down the Playstation controller and throw on some outdoor scruffs for a day playing in the woods, I couldn’t help but notice the enjoyment in my student’s faces as they ran around in the open air with nothing more than fresh air and each others company for their entertainment.

Bouncing from one place to the next has been a regular theme for me this year as I look to upturn as many stones as I can on this small peninsula in the brief time I have. So while the autumn days hold out a few friends and I made it to Busan last weekend for the annual International Surfing Festival staged on Songjeong Beach. Having not even been in the ocean, let alone surfed, in 11 months an incoming tsunami would have been hard pressed to keep me out of the water. The feeling of paddling out into the open sea on a board is a sensation you never forget, and with friends and beautiful scenery around me it all felt a very long way from the city.

Stunning fireworks at the Busan Fireworks Festival on Hyundai Beach that evening capped off an incredible day. In crowds that seemed to defy the laws of physics my friends and I stood for an hour as the sky was brilliantly lit up by a series of themed displays that were carefully choreographed to represent countries from around the World. As classical music played out over the sounds of exploding fireworks, and jostling crowds negotiated for a better view, you could hardly have witnessed a more dramatic setting as the night sky danced with colour over the Gwangalli Bridge and the East China Sea.

So into my last month I go mindful of the bonds and relationships I have been lucky enough to have shared this year. And having spent the last two months largely in the company of a beautiful Korean girl named Minsie, a recent chemistry graduate from the prestigious Kyungpook University, the question of remaining here longer is now an open one.

 

 

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Chuseok

•September 30, 2010 • Leave a Comment

It’s been over a month since my last post owing to an around the clock lifestyle that rarely leaves a window to stop and gather thoughts. Not that I have a reason to complain about this, for it’s the buzz of constant activity that keeps my wheels moving.  As September draws to a close and a new season begins I now find myself once again enjoying the great outdoors without the burden of Korea’s tiring summer heat. Having seen this country pass through three distinctive seasons I know that only autumn stands between me and the end of an incredible year.

Returning from my Japan trip I felt refreshed and ready for school, prepared to take on the very hardiest of my elementary students. However any plans about adopting a new strict line were short lived. By period two of Monday morning my squadron of four year olds in Forest class were calling the shots and I was at their mercy, it was same old Jon teacher and I knew it was going to be a tough week back to school.

After the self imposed hibernation of pre-Japan where I saved every penny for what I knew would be a big trip, I promised myself a month of over indulgence to carry me through until the end of summer. In between expensive meals and avoiding bank statements I visited a few new spots in Gyeongsanbuk-do Province this month, with Geumo-San Provincial Park being the highlight.

Lying about an hour north of Daegu, Geumo-San rises from forested hills to over 1000 meters. With various trails on the mountain, most taking you past beautiful temple complexes, this was one of the very prettiest National Parks I’ve visited in Korea.

September in Korea is a time for national celebration for it’s the month of Chuseok, a celebration of the good harvest where everyone returns to their hometowns to enjoy traditional food with loved ones. While the holiday wasn’t one I was familiar with, the three days of no school was ample cause for celebration. Wanting to get the most of out of what are rare national holidays, I headed up to Seoul after school on Monday night where I planned to head to Serok-San National Park the following morning.

Tucked tightly in the remote north-east of Korea, Serok-San draws people from all over the world in search of what is roundly accepted to be the country’s most rugged, and most beautiful, National Park. Now while I’d love to tell you what a stunning place it was, 24 hours of torrential rain in Seoul that were likened to the very worst flash floods in living memory, we never made it out of capital.

Sitting in a café in Hongdae, a popular area of the city for events, nightlife and the sort, my friends and I watched helplessly as the streets around us turned to rivers. It quickly became clear that making to Serok-San would be a tall order, so we cancelled our pension hut and opted for another night of partying in Seoul.

Where as the previous evening we jammed with Koreans in a Hongdae park late into the night while feeling buoyed by the prospect of three days hiking in a beautiful National Park, the following evening I felt positively depressed as I rubbed shoulders with gangs, prostitutes and American military in Seoul’s seediest part of town, Itaewon. While this part of town is as grim as it gets, had it not been for the request of a friend who suggested we check out a different part of the city, I may never have experienced the joy of getting washed and changed in Itaewon subway toilets.

It wasn’t quite the Chuseok I had in mind, given that I’d heard tales of extravagant feasts in homely settings and all I managed was subway toilets and fast-food, but nevertheless a holiday is a holiday. Here’s to next Chuseok.

 

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Japan

•August 19, 2010 • 4 Comments

Armed with a Japanese rail pass, 50,000Yen, and at least three nights taken care of through the wonder that is couchsurfing.org and a very large volcano, I spent nine days travelling around Japan. This is a blog of my journey. 

Japan, somewhere I’ve always quietly admired despite freely confessing an understanding of the country that was limited to clichés of high-tech gizmos, Manga, sumo and sushi, invites more curiosity than most places combined. Yet beyond these cultural cornerstones lies a Japan that oozes variety and stirs the imagination. And while a nine day trip affords even the most intrepid traveller a mere snapshot of The Land of the Rising Sun, it takes little convincing to realise that superlatives are no match for describing what has to be one of the very best places on Earth.    

Leaving the Korean port city of Busan on a sunny Saturday morning, I arrived in Fukuoka, Japan, three hours later courtesy of the high speed ferry connection that link the two cities. Living in the Far East you naturally come to expect a world of ‘high-speed’ everything from boats, trains, wireless connection to taxi rides. The latter, however, are not always welcome when your cab driver often displays the safety prerequisites of a kamikaze pilot. 

For my first night in Japan I was lucky enough to find a great Japanese guy to stay with named Hiroyuki (Hiro) through couchchsurfing.org, and within no time we hit it off and enjoyed a great night exploring Fukuoka together. A city famed for its delicious ramen (Japanese noodles), green spaces, sun kissed beaches, friendly locals and relaxed atmosphere; Fukuoka is widely regarded as one of the World’s most liveable cities and it wasn’t difficult to see why.    

Despite its reputation as an expensive destination a cheap night can be found in Japan, as I discovered with the aptly named Bar 280. It was here that I had my first experience with sake and the delicious Japanese cuisine, with each drink/side dish costing 280Yen. The downside of this stellar find was that the following morning I began my trip in earnest while reeling from the after-effects of sake.  With barely a few hours sleep courtesy of 280yen drinks, and a night spent on Fukuoka’s sandy beaches with Hiro and some nice Japanese girls we’d met that evening, I set out for the mega-metropolis of Tokyo by rail. 

While I briefly alluded to the supersonic transport in the Far East it’s worth pointing out that the Japanese bullet train, The Shinkansen, resembles a dolphin fitted with a NASA spacecraft engine. Sleek, white coloured and capable of speeds that make a F1 car look pedestrian, the Japanese bullet train is every bit as good as you imagine them to be.  

Hoping for a mellow introduction to the big city, rush hour in Tokyo wasn’t quite the transition I had in mind after enjoying the beach vibes in Fukuoka. And in what is home to the world’s most extensive rapid transport system, I unsurprisingly found the prospect of finding the correct subway line carrying a 20kg pack and wearing old plimsolls something of an uphill task. 

Mercifully it quickly became clear that the Japanese public are incredibly friendly and hospitable, even within the gargantuan city limits of Tokyo. Within minutes of what was fast turning into a hopeful wander an old man approached me, who upon hearing my soft English accent, expressed his love for The Beatles by breaking into a cover of ‘Let it Be’ before sending me the right way. On the London underground you’d be more likely to get a punch in the face, and that’s from the station staff.    

In a bid to save money and time I opted for the 500yen locker option over a warm and comfy bed on my first night in Tokyo. Putting my backpack into overnight storage I headed straight for Roppongi, Tokyo’s bar scene, looking to get a flavour of the nightlife in the World’s largest city. 

Beyond the obligatory street sleaze that can come with popular city night spots, Roppongi is an impressive district with plush restaurants and bars of all varieties scattered beneath expensive hotels and towering high-risers. I partied with some fun people that night in what was a very cosmopolitan crowd, hopping from one bar to the next until the morning sun signalled a need for a few hours sleep. 

In such instances Japan, like Korea, cater to night owls with what’s called DVD rooms where you can rent a cubicle with a reclining chair for the duration of a film of your choosing. I suspect the Lord of the Rings trilogy owes a little of its popularity to this brilliant idea. It was my pick on that occasion anyway. 

The Meiji Shrine and Senso-ji were among some of the places I visited during my short stay in Tokyo, the former being a beautiful forested area away from the frenetic buzz of downtown which had a sort of Central Park (NYC)-esque feel to it. Senso-ji is the oldest Buddhist temple in the city and situated in the Asakusa district, which in itself was a fascinating area with many temples and an old world charm feel.. I later learnt that Asakusa lies in an area colloquially referred to as Shitamachi, which literally means the low-city, referring to its low elevation in what is one of Tokyo’s oldest districts.    

If I was under any illusion as to how challenging a climb Mt.Fuj would be, Japan’s highest mountain and my next destination, a false start before I even began the climb did nothing to make me think otherwise. Having missed a connecting bus from the small city of Shin Fuji, the nearest rail connection to the active volcano, I had little choice but to return to Tokyo and try again the following morning.    

After seeing a photograph of Mt.Fuji at night time strewn with lights from climbers head lamps, I knew I’d be sharing the experience with a crowd. And while the more serene experience may well have been reaching the summit alone, watching the sun appear on the horizon as it cast first light over the bay around Yokohama and the forested foothills of Mt.Fuji, remained a breathtaking and unforgettable sight. 

It’s fair to assume a victory beer on the summit with a couple of guys I met on the way up, a Fin named Valterri and an American named Bryce, didn’t do much for my altitude sickness. Nevertheless enjoying a cold can of Asahi at 12,000ft, while enjoying dream like views over Japan beneath the rolling cloud cover, seemed like the moral thing to do.

My next destination, Kyoto, a city preceded by its reputation as a cultural treasure trove of Japan ignites the imagination and charms the senses. After a night of hard climbing on Mt.Fuj and a difficult descent under the hot morning sun without food or sleep, Kyoto and its peaceful suburban surroundings offered the perfect remedy for my aches and pains.    

Heeding the advice of an old university Professor I headed straight for Kyoto’s mountain district in the north-west, a beautiful area with many old temples and cherry blossom gardens. Staying in near bliss like conditions at the Utano Hostel, I was within walking distance of Kinkaku-Ji and its famous Golden Pavilion set in the middle of a peaceful lake. Ryoan-Ji, an old Zen school, was also nearby as was Ninna-Ji and its five story pagoda.    

During my three day visit I was utterly absorbed by Kyoto, with it’s gentle pace and staggering beauty preserved in a way that surpass expectations of modern day Japan. Spotting temples nestled into the greenery on the hills of the Arashiyama district, and passing wandering Geisha performers in the lanes of the beautiful old Gion district only go some way to recreating the atmosphere of Japan’s great store house.   

On the morning I left Kyoto I’d almost forgotten that Hiroshima still laid before me on what had already been an incredible eight days exploring Japan’s largest island, Honshu. A city forever etched in my memory as the location of the first ever nuclear bomb attack, Hiroshima understandably had me feeling more than a little curious. I was keen to gauge how the city had rebuilt following World War Two and whether any ill-feeling towards Westerners remained.   

As it turned out one middle aged Japanese man did take issue with me in what was a brief but colourful altercation. While engrossed in a permanent photography exhibition in the Peace Memorial Park I was accosted by a man, who rather than begin with the entrees and niceties, went straight in for a full blown racially inspired assault on ‘the West’.   

After blaming World War Two and the inception of racism on America and Europe, the man then informed me that by having blue eyes and white skin I had the face of the devil. It wasn’t quite my idea of cordial chitchat between strangers. And while not wanting to spend my afternoon discussing eugenics, I couldn’t resist expressing a tad of indifference to his remarks by offering one or two points of my own on the matter before biding him a fond farewell using good fashioned Anglo-Saxon. 

With its pretty parks, surrounding hills blanketed in tree cover and coastal location, Hiroshima takes no time in casting shadow over the illusion that it’s a city devoid of any colour and ambience following the horrific events of 1945. Perhaps betraying a little trepidation on my part I expected to find a city in some way still reeling. What I found was a light hearted and altogether down to earth atmosphere, which despite its history, grew out of adversity into a city that symbolises vibrancy, hope and peace.  

Sat onboard my boat as I left for Korea, passing through Kyushu’s island studded bay, I recalled stories I’d heard throughout the week describing the unspoilt wilderness of Hokkaido in the far north of Japan. These were stories of towering snow-capped mountains, remote natural hot springs and a rugged beauty that is said to stand up to New Zealand’s South Island or the Canadian Rockies. Such tales hinted at what I’d missed, and like a stone skimming the surface of water, I knew I’d have to return one day for a closer look. 

In a beautifully crafted dichotomy Japan would surprise most visitors with the way it marries seemingly conflicting ideals. It’s a land that in many ways defines the modern age through its pioneering technologies, while at the same time balancing the value of its culture and heritage. And in a country so committed to free enterprise and competition, their people remain some of the warmest and most virtuous on Earth. 

While the loose clichés I once used to define my understanding of Japan around have now been replaced by experience, thoughts of what I may have missed are stirred by the lucid images I collected over my short stay. At a time when I’m free to travel and looking for new and exciting places to stay a while, Japan may well have just made this far from taxing preoccupation a little more interesting.

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Mudfest!

•July 23, 2010 • 1 Comment

More of a brief update this week as apposed to a blog of happenings and the like. My ferry for Japan leaves Busan in seven hours and if last weekends events are anything to go on, I’d be well advised to take some rest should I wish to rise from my slumber on this occasion. Last weekend was the world famous Boryeong Mudfest, and as it would happen, I didn’t make the morning bus with my friends.  Lesson learnt? Hmm. One day I do hope to learn from my vices.

After finishing a successful week at school with open class coming and going without incident, courtesy of some well timed sugary bribes to my students to behave in front of their parents, I spent Friday evening with my co-teachers at one of their apartments near Ansim in north-east Daegu. Several beers later and with the clock pushing 12am I knew it was make or break time if I wanted to make the 6am bus over to the west coast where the mudfest was taking place.  Had it not been for Lucy’s (my Korean co-teacher) husband returning as I was getting ready to leave, I might just of made it. Though in my experience when expensive whisky is brought to the fold at such an hour the evening is destined to take only one route, long and eventually staggered.

Korean men certainly live up to their reputation for being vociferous drinkers, and in Kyle’s (Lucy’s husband) case, his enthusiasm for good conversation and decent whisky was my downfall. Naturally I missed my bus waking up in my apartment with a raging headache at 11am only five hours after my friends had left Daegu for a once a year event. Buoyed on by a sense of not wanting to take on a hangover on a day that I should have been travelling to my first festival of the summer, I made use of the Korean tourism hotline by calling 1330 in the hope they could tell me what train/bus I needed to catch in order to make it to the city of Boryeong in the remote west coast (these guys are a limitless source of information I’m sure, you could be on a mountain near the DMZ and they’d be able to direct you to a galbi restaurant within throwing distance).

One transfer, several litres of water and some hideous gimbap later, I made it to a frenetic Boryeong that looked primed for a seriously big weekend of partying and playing in the mud. The setting really took me back, set out across a long sandy beach; the beach front was a hive of mud centred activity involving wrestling pits, slides and assault courses enjoyed by Koreans and foreigners alike totalling the thousands.

Without wanting to be summary, I’ll just say the weekend was a hoot with all the usual choice ‘festie’ pickings packed together with a healthy dollop of Boryeong mud. If anyone is lucky enough to find themselves in Korea during July, and I’m not being ironic as I’ll confess the temperature is horrendous if you’re used to schizophrenic British summers, Boryeong Mud Festival is well worth a visit for laughs aplenty.

With a bag to pack and a ferry to catch in a few hours I’ll sign off and say goodnight.

Good news from NileGuide mag, they’ve agreed to run a piece I’m going to write on Japan once I’m back in Korea. Watch this space for the link..

x

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Buy the Book cafe

•July 15, 2010 • Leave a Comment

I spent last weekend mostly indulging my senses at a relatively new artsy book store/café in downtown Daegu called Buy the Book. Despite being in the heart of the city it requires a little finding, though this only adds to it’s dynamic as an alternative little hive for the intrepid-minded. Laid out with simplicity and open space in mind, Buy the Book greets you with an easy warmth with bookshelves, interesting art work, wall hangings, tables and the obligatory comfy chairs that any good book store come café  requires.

Run by a beautiful married couple, Sandy and Radyan, they treat it very much like their home which explains a lot. As you enter you immediately feel welcome by a heady yet gentle mix of earthy colours, delicious smelling organic fare and people jamming. Sandy, a Chinese/American, knocks up all the food from scratch, and ingredients providing, can whip up anything that might take your fancy. Radyan, a Korean from Busan, hosts the weekly drum circles, and as a yoga instructor, is involved in the free yoga sessions on Sunday morning.  I guess he’s the floating presence that gives the café its easy ambience, a truly lovely guy in an altogether happy space.

I’d heard about the café from a couple of friends, and particularly for the Sunday morning yoga sessions, I’d been meaning to go but late nights and weekends kept me away. With Jessie back in the States I found myself in Daegu for a whole weekend for what felt like the first time in a while, and hearing that Radyan was hosting one of his drum circles on Friday night I finally made the effort which proved to be well worth it.

Within a few minutes of having arrived at the café I was in a drum circle with my eyes closed caressing a large djembe drum. I should point out I wasn’t the only one doing this! And for those of you who are now wandering what sort of drum circle this was, it was merely part of Radyan’s way of getting us to become familiar with our drums. Idiosyncratic for sure, but amusingly effective I can assure you. Though all the same, I’d have loved to have walked in at that moment to a scene of eight people, eyes closed, intimately stroking various drums.

The night passed by at a relaxing pace, mirroring the flow of our drum circle, with good food, nice wine and great company, it was easily one of the best evenings I’ve spent in Korea to date. I’m planning on making it a staple of my weekends as often as I can, and if anyone is lucky enough to be in Daegu when Radyan puts these evenings on, I’d recommend dropping in to soak up some of the vibe. They’re good times here for sure.

I’m keeping this post brief because I’m heading to a Mud-fest at the weekend, and will no doubt have plenty to say about that next week before I head to Japan for my summer vacation.

All is well in the Land of the Morning of the Calm, but for the mosquitoes who have somehow infiltrated my fortress-like apartment and its network of mosquito nets. As I write they are attempting to feast on me, though with my exposed skin due to the wretched humidity that July and August bring to Korea, I fear I may be giving off the wrong signals…

From the city of Daegu I’ll say goodnight. X

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