July 9th, 2009

It's possible, if not probable, that I haven't been this wet in my entire life. Sure, I've spent hours at a time swimming in pools, or in the ocean or wherever. I've even taken some really long baths. But I've always been able to take a break, towel off, sit somewhere dry and let my dermis dehydrate for a while. The most comparable moment in my life was the first week of hiking the Camino De Santiago, when it rained nearly the entire time, but at least then I was able to protect my torso with a decent rain jacket, and my underwear was usually dry. Now, the only thing dry is my head, and so I try to pay attention only to feelings above my neck. This doesn't work, and my thoughts drift to pictures in science class of over hydrated cells rupturing, of tissue dissolving in water, and that scene in X-Men when that one dude can't hold himself together anymore and turns into a puddle of water on the doctor's table.

I probably shouldn't have planned a motorcycle trip during monsoon season.

In my defense, I didn't know it was monsoon season. In my offense (?) I knew there was going to be a monsoon season, but didn't really bother to find out when it was going to be. Truthfully, I didn't even check the weather. The first downpour two days ago should have given it away, but yesterday was so nice, it reassured me that everything would be OK.

I started the trip 4 days ago from Mokpo. It was July 5th here, so the 4th of July back home, and so it somehow seemed like a natural time to start a motorcycle trip. Now, I realize riding around a country that is not the U.S. isn't the most patriotic thing I could do, but then again, I'm not the most patriotic person. That's not to say I have negative thoughts about my home country, I've just never really understood nationalism. There is however some patriotic imagery involved in an American riding a motorcycle that made it seem like the perfect time to start, even if there wasn't a Harley or even a stars and stripes bandanna involved.

This morning I woke up in my tent at 7:00 a.m. after camping illegally behind some bushes on a public beach. It had started to rain again. Honestly I'm shocked that I woke up because of rain, and not because a policeman was telling me to get out. I was in the town of Yangyang, which is just south of Sokcho, and when you're at this latitude, all the beaches are lined with barbed wire. At this particular beach, there were floodlights just above the high tide line pointed out to sea to keep an eye out for North Korean Spies. I'm pretty far north.

The light rain at 7:00 evolved into a full-on monsoon by 8:00. After hiding in a coffee shop for an hour and eating a breakfast of instant ramen noodles, I bought a poncho and some duct tape, and in a public bathroom prepared for the worst.

10 minutes on the bike and the poncho has done nothing but keep water in. This turns out not to be such a bad thing though. I've used some of the calories from my breakfast of champions to warm the water up to body temp, it's like sitting in a hot tub at 50 kph. It's still far from comfortable however, and if I want to keep on schedule, I'll have to endure about 6 hours of this today. This is the 5th day of the trip, and a combination of that, intermittent sleep last night, and the cold rain has got me a little worried about my mental condition in the rain. That's not to say I'm worried I'm going crazy (although I have been talking to my bike since day 2), I'm just afraid I'm not as alert as I could be, and riding in the pouring rain is always a bit dangerous.

Gmail has got this feature called "Mail Goggles" where it won't let you send an email after a specified time unless you answer a series of simple math problems to make sure you're not intoxicated and sending poorly worded emails to ex-girlfriends. I'm using a similar method to prove to myself that I'm still alert enough to ride. For the first calculation, I accelerate to 55 kph at which point the tachometer shows 5000 rpm. Then I spend the next few minutes figuring out gear ratios for 5th gear:

55 km = 55,000 m = 55,000 m ~ 915 m = 915 rev ~ 500 rev

hr hr 60 min min 2*pi*r min min

The ratio of this and the tachometer reading (10:1) should be constant and not depend on the speed I'm going, and so this turns into a game. I decelerate down to 45 and try it all again. If I get a ratio far from 10:1, I'll know it's time to pull over and take a little break somewhere.

Earlier in the trip was a similar story. I tested the limits of my bike and rode her up the hairpins that went near the summit of Jiri mountain. The terrain was such that the road would climb at about a 25 degree angle on the straightaways, and then turn into 45 degree climbs at the hairpins. I don't think I got higher than 2nd gear the whole time.

When I reached the top, I was beaming and gave the bike a little pat on the back, "Good job, Jiri". Then a confused moment later, ".... I guess your name's Jiri..."

Down the other side of the mountain, I found a nice little town where I got a good dinner. Just past the town was a campground with no attendant present to accept my fee. Too bad. At the edge of the campground, I found a little trail that lead down to a stream, and 20 feet away from the stream, a nice flat place to pitch the tent for the night.

Jirisan is known for its bear population, and so I was a bit nervous while falling asleep. I didn't imagine there could be anything more dangerous than bears up there. I was wrong.

The rain started at 1:30 a.m. The sound of it coming, smacking leaves thousands of feet away was what woke me up, and then suddenly it was on me. I stayed up for 30 minutes or so, until I was convinced that the rain fly was doing it's job and that I wouldn't be packing up a soaked sleeping bag in the morning.

My alarm went off at 7:00, although I didn't need it, and it was still raining. Hard. Looking outside, the river was still at a safe distance, but was brown with mud from erosion. I decided to wait it out a bit and tried to sleep.

At 9:00 it was still pouring. I considered spending the day reading in the tent, but decided against it as soon as I looked out the window. The mountain stream which had previously been 20 feet away and 1.5 clear feet deep was now only 4 feet from the tent.

2 panicked minutes later I had the majority of my gear on my back, and carried the rest in the still erected tent up to higher ground where there was a shelter.

I had quelled my fears all night by assuring myself that I was more than half way up a mountain, and that there couldn't possibly be enough rain to flood a stream whose source was less than a mile away. There was apparently something very flawed in my logic. Shortly after 10 am, I went back down to check on things, and found my campsite was under 2 feet of raging water. Oversleeping can kill.

I read till noon, and when the rain wouldn't let up, I wrapped my gear in the rain fly, packed on some layers, and went out into the rain.

Part way down the mountain, the rain slowed, but by that time, I was soaked to the bone. The road followed my "stream" and I watched as each new tributary flooded it wider and wider.

Today's rain is worse than that. It's just not letting up at all. I start counting down the Kilometers to the DMZ.

Jiri is air cooled, and has had some overheating issues in the past. When I stop, steam comes billowing up from the engine. The world is her radiator.

I take a break at a "North Korean Observation Center" which is nestled between some mountains, so it ironically doesn't have any views at all and is really just a big gift shop. I buy some coffee, pour the water out of my boots, and cut a hole in my taped up poncho so that I can use the bathroom.

Just a little further and I'm stopped at a roadblock. A group of 18 year old South Korean soldiers come over to see the novelty of an American on a motorcycle and tell me that no traffic can go through because the road is flooded.

The first day of my trip was spent riding down to the southernmost point in mainland Korea, and now here I am, as far north as I can possibly go, being pelted with the same rain that is falling on North Koreans just a few short Kilometers away. This is the closest I've been, and the closest I ever hope to be to a border between two countries at war.

I tell my story to the soldiers, and then I cut another hole in my poncho, reach into my pocket, and pull out a rock I picked up from the first day at the most southern point. I give this to the soldiers with instructions to place it as far north as they are allowed to go, and then get back on the bike.

Jiri doesn't start. After the 10th attempted kick start, I lean in slightly and whisper, "Jiri.... let's go...". I give her another strong kick and she roars to life.

"Thanks dude, you scared me"

"Give me a break man, I was tired"

Templestay

There are several reasons why I'm only going to write about one of the past 27 blogfree days.

1. I forget most of what happened 27 days ago.

2. I don't like writing brief descriptions of dozens of events.

3. I need to save some stories to tell when I get home.

4. I leave for Japan tomorrow and simply don't have enough time.

Some things you should know before reading on; I'm on vacation from school till mid-July and my Mom and Stepfather, Steve, braved a long flight to come visit for 10 days.

Templestay

This is something I had been wanting to do since I got here. The gist is this: You go to a monastery and live with monks for a day; participating in their customs, wearing their robes, eating their food and attending their services to get a better idea of what Korean Buddhism is all about. I have several friends here who have done a templestay, and I thought it could be a cool way for Mom and Steve to see a traditional side of Korea that most Koreans don't even get to experience.

It was all and wasn't at all what I expected.

That is to say, everything looked like I imagined, but the procedure was not at all what I had predicted.

A monk met us at the main temple, and drove us in his SUV up into the mountains on a tiny gravelly road until we reached the hermitage where we would be staying. Our room was once the home of the great Zen Master Choui (pronounced Chewy) who is responsible for reviving the traditional tea ceremony in Korea.

We were then sent for tea with the monk who would be our guide for the next 24 hours. His name is Moo In, and his English is workable thanks to a 6 month stay at a Korean Buddhist temple in, of all places, Chicago.

There's some sort of distance dependant exponential reaction that seems to occur when it's discovered that two people have been to the same place.

Examples:

If I'm in Chicago, and I tell a Chicagoan that I'm from Chicago; zero reaction.

If I'm in Korea, and I tell Moo In that I'm from Chicago; instant friends.

Moo In told us a bit of the history of this particular hermitage as we shared what must have been 8 rounds of tea. Near the end of our talk, a cell phone started ringing. I did a quick mental check; my phone is always on vibrate, and Mom and Steve obviously did not have phones. That left Moo In.

He picked up something I had not noticed before from the table, an ultra thin Samsung touchscreen cell phone, and chuckled slightly before answering in his best American accent, over exaggerating the upwards intonation, "Hello?".

Noticing that we were all staring at his phone, he showed it off when he finished the call. He pulled out what at first appeared to be a stylus but which turned out to be an antenna that he screwed into the phone, and started surfing through TV channels. He was very proud.

After tea, we hopped in his SUV and slid down the mountain to the main temple for dinner. I had heard rumors about the eating ceremony of monks. It involves placing napkins in specific locations, 3 bowls placed in certain orders, complete silence, and most importantly, eating absolutely everything in your bowl.

Our dinner wasn't ceremonial.

Moo In led us into the monks' dining hall. We grabbed a bowl, and selected what we wanted from what can best be described as a buffet.

The food was delicious, but I was rather looking forward to participating in the elaborate dinning experience. Every expectation I had about dinner was broken except for one. After the meal was finished, Moo In poured water into his bowl, scraped it clean with his spoon, and drank the leftover soup, leaving the bowl totally clean, with no food wasted. I followed suit.

After dinner, Moo In performed the evening drum chant, where he banged on a massive 6 foot diameter drum head for at least 20 minutes, varying the rhythm slightly so that the pattern evolved from a constant steady beat to a series of rim shots and high and low pitched hits. The performance was so strenuous that a different monk came up and seamlessly took over for several minutes while Moo In recovered his strength, and then seamlessly took over the drumming again.

We were then taken to the main temple, where we were given a printout of a chant and followed along, bowing to each of the 3 Buddha statues in the room.

Back in the car we set off in complete darkness back to our hermitage. It was one of the most frightening car rides I have ever experienced.

The first ride up to our new home was wild, but that was in daylight. At night, it was somehow accentuated that we were crawling up the side of a mountain on a half dirt, half loose rock and gravel road, with a very.... very steep drop off.

Moo In, having likely made this trek hundreds of times, has it all figured out. At one point, the road makes a 170 degree hairpin turn before suddenly elevating to an approximately 45 degree incline. Right before the turn, he stops the car, turns the wheel almost as far as it'll go..... and floors it. Gravel spits up, and one tree in particular always comes so close to contact, it would smash any fly unfortunate enough to have landed on the side of the car.

For the first half of the ride up, he had his GPS on, showing that no, we are not in fact on a road recognizable in the database. For the second half of the ride, he showed off that the GPS screen could also double as a TV screen, and piped in the news.

Safe and sound at the top, we had 5 more rounds of tea before heading off to bed early at 9. All monks wake up to a bell that rings at 3:30 to perform pre-dawn ceremonies, but we were told we would be woken up at 5:30. He translated the chant that accompanies the bell toll to English, emulating a it by singing in monotone, "Listen.... to the sound..... of the bell.....".

In the morning, after waking up to thick fog in the valley below, we rode yet again down to the temple for an equally unceremonious breakfast, followed by a long relaxing walk around the temple grounds. As we walked to the entrance of the temple, Moo In got excited. We were coming up to what, he was sure, was the most famous coffee dispensing machine for miles. He explained how much the 40 monks in the temple love the machine, and sure enough there were several other monks hanging around getting their caffeine fix. For 300 Won a piece, we each bought coffees that came with a little stirring straw in them, which was apparently what made the machine so famous.

We came across a pyro monk on a bridge who had caught his finished coffee cup on fire, and was using that to ignite some fallen pine sticks. When he noticed us, he brushed it all into the stream below and laughed guiltily.

Back at our hermitage, we packed up and had our last tea time. Moo In started singing the bell chant again, "Listen.... to the sound.... of the...", but instead of finishing with "bell" he ripped a massive fart and started laughing hysterically. It was great.

It was, in the end, a fantastic experience. I had hoped to see the traditional lives of monks, but instead witnessed the true lives of modern Buddhist monks; cell phones, fart jokes, SUVs, and caffeine addiction.

There is no doubt that I will make time in the future for tea with Moo In, Zen Master.

Korea in Turmoilish

Korea's hit a rough patch lately.  Not for me personally, my life is just as awesome as it ever was.  Politically however, things have been better.  

Last weekend, my friend Barry and I took a 4.5 hour bus ride up to Seoul to visit Tim, a friend from home, and to take in some new flavors.

The differences between Mokpo and Seoul are pretty stark.  Barry captured it perfectly, saying, "There are really three Koreas: North, South, and Seoul."  After being in Mokpo for the past 3 months, I agree.  Seoul is a foreign country.

I don't stand out in Seoul.  I'm one of many, many foreigners.  The common shop owner speaks a bit of English, and has had some practice implementing it.  Seoul has foreign restaurants and live music venues.  Seoul also has noise and pollution.  It's a much more international place, but is just not what I have come to know as Korea.

In terms of international food, Mokpo's got a McDonald's, a Pizza Hut, and a couple Dunkin' Donuts.  I guess only crappy chains are allowed in Mokpo.  Culinary diversity is so nonexistent that I've even given up my personal boycott of Micky D's on a couple occasions to remember what a french fry tastes like.  In Seoul we were able to snag a killer Indian buffet and lunch at a pretty awesome Irish grill kinda restaurant.

Wandering the city on Saturday, we came to a huge indoor market.  The place was pretty bizarre.  Rows of old ladies set up shop next to each other selling what appeared to be the same things, pig intestines, noses, ears, and hooves.  All the leftover pig bits.  We decided to be adventurous, and I think it was Tim who decided we should go for some nose.

The lady running the shop smirked as we ordered it, then grabbed a nose and chopped it into pieces for us.   After only a slight pause, Barry said, "When in Rome" and we dug in.  

It was weird.  There were nose hairs on some of the pieces, and what I can only assume were olfactory glands.  

It wasn't horrible, but I can say with confidence that I will never get a craving for nose.

Saturday we heard news that Roh Moo-hyun, the previous president of Korea, had committed suicide.  Apparently under investigation for embezzlement charges, he felt such shame that he jumped off of a cliff while hiking.  I didn't know anything about him before this news came around, but from what I learned afterwards he seemed like a pretty decent guy.  In a very conservative country, he was considered extremely liberal; he was a huge human rights activist and worked hard for reconciliation with the North.

An analogous situation would be Bush jumping into the grand canyon.

Saturday night, we were winding down the night at a chill bar, eating ramen noodles and drinking tequila, a combination that will not soon be repeated.  A Korean friend of Tim's was at the bar, drinking alone.  He came over to say hello, and also to make sure we had heard the news.  He was pretty beat up about it.  Tim asked him what he had been up to, and he admitted that after hearing the news, he stayed home and drank alone all day.  Then he excused himself to go back to the bar to mourn silently.

Tuesday, after returning to Mokpo, my composition class turned in their semester writing assessments.  Their assignment was to write a paper about the most important person in their life. The two most popular choices to write about were "My Mother" and "Roh Moo-hyun". 

Then, just to kick the South when it was down, Kim Jong-Il has claimed that the armistice that's been upheld between the North and the South for the past 56 years is no longer valid.  

A brief history:  The Korean war never truly ended, the North and South simply signed an armistice.  It still surprises me sometimes to think that I live in a country that is technically at war with North Korea.

Despite the absolution of the armistice, I'm not really too worried.  Nobody really seems to be.  Mr. Kim has been making threats to the South for so long, that it doesn't seem to upset anybody anymore.  After the breaking of the armistice however, there was a round of drills done at all the public schools in town.

The first I heard about the breaking of the armistice was from my friend Jens last week.  He sent me this message:

"I read this morning that North Korea promised to attack South Korea today or tomorrow.

And now there's a siren going off..."

My reaction was to let out an audible, "hmm" and then go back to grading papers.  A few minutes later I realized how ridiculous my reaction was and did some more research to see what exactly was going on.  Turns out nobody is really worried, and thinks this is just the North being fussy.  

It did, however, cause me to find this cool (scary) google maps hack that shows the radii of destruction of a nuclear bomb.  Apparently the North only has the capability to launch a 20 kiloton bomb, which means if one was dropped on the center of Mokpo, I'd probably still make it, so no worries.

Morning Call

If you read my last post, you learned that I bought a motorcycle.

If you read this post, you'll learn that I crashed that motorcycle.

Sunday I went out for a ride.  It was a gorgeous day, so I stocked up on some food, packed it in a backpack, and hit the tarmac.

On the trip to "That Moses Thing", we drove past a small fishing village where I caught a quick glimpse of the only sailboat I've seen in Korea.  I happened to pass it again Sunday, so I parked the bike and sat on the pier by the sailboat eating lunch, fantasizing about making an offer to the owner who never showed up.  My mind was tacking around secluded Korean islands, my body was sitting on a dirty concrete pier eating sandwiches and making vitamin D.

Eventually I moved on down some smaller country roads till I was out of the bay, and out on the sea.  There was nobody else on the road, so I could afford to go slow, savor the breeze, and stare at the sea off to my left.  It was beautiful.

It was on my way back into town that I had my first close encounter of the third kind with anAjumma's car.  Contact.

I watched, confused, as I rode down a 4 lane road and saw a woman pull her car out from my left and stop in front of oncoming traffic.  I slowed down.  When cars started coming from that direction, she pulled in front of my lane.  And stopped.  My right foot, right and left hands reacted simultaneously, kicking the rear brake, squeezing the front brakes, and jabbing at the horn, but it wasn't enough.  

The velocity of my bike could be seen as being undifferentiable at the moment of impact as it made a piecewise jump from ~8 to ~-1 kph before bouncing backwards and skidding to 0.  I on the other hand retained most of my momentum as I tumbled over the trunk and inexplicably found myself sitting behind the car, having transformed some of my kinetic energy to noise, and the rest to friction in the form of scratches on my helmet and biking jacket.  Somehow my skin was left perfectly intact.

To her credit she bounded out of the car to make sure I was O.K.  Driving away as fast as possible would have been more consistant with her actions.  When I took off my helmet and therefore advertized my skin color, she learned what I already knew; this was going to be a lot trickier to sort out than your average Korean-on-Korean accident.

My face adopted the confused look that one can only put on after an attempted murder by a complete stranger.  My face said, "Why are you trying to kill me?" as it shook back and forth.  

Her face said, "I swear I wasn't trying to kill you, I just don't know how to drive this weapon properly."

An interesting study would be the effect of adrenaline on memory and language skills.  In my case, I found that as I stood there with Superman Juice pumping through my veins, I was having one of the most coherent conversations I've had since I've been here.  

A man from a nearby shop showed up and was able to help the conversation along.  Not because he spoke simpler Korean, but because he would get an A+ in charades class, and was able to mime any vocabulary I hadn't learned.

No cops were called, but we did trade information in case one of us wanted to make a claim about our vehicle's damage.  She didn't have much to complain about, the elastic collision from the bike just left a black smudge from my tire on her otherwise white car.  I on the other hand stood up the bike to find that with the handlebars pointed forwards, the front wheel tilted off at a 35 degree angle.  

I was close enough to home that I was able to ride the bike back slowly, pretending that I was in the middle of a massive turn the entire way.

The next day, after work, I was planning on taking the bike to the shop, but instead sat and stared at it for a good half hour, contemplating the dangers this hunk of metal could bring to my otherwise peaceful life.  

I realized two things at the same time:

First, I realized that while it may increase risk in my life, it by no means guarantees further troubles.  I've been driving as I would back in the states, assuming other drivers actually know what they're doing.  I consider this a wake up call, or as they say in Konglish, a "morning call".  I have to assume every driver is trying to kill me.  Next time, I won't slow down at the first sign of sketchiness, I'll stop.

The second thing I realized was"Oh... that's what's wrong with it."

And so I got my wrench set from inside, loosened the shock supports, aligned the tire, tightened it all back up again and went for a test drive.

2 Week Synopsis

Dude.

I got a motorcycle.

A friend in town finished his contract and was willing to sell me his bike.

In the long run, I should be able to save a ton of cash by having a bike.  No more cab rides or bus fares to work.  Plus I can sell it when I leave.  Until then, I ride.

However, if I keep using the bike like I have this past week, I'll blow any savings on gas.  Almost every day after work, I've been taking the long way home through the country.  Cruising through tiny farming villages and past fields of onions and cabbage really gives you a different perspective on this country.

Here's a picture of the bike at the entrance to some temple grounds on my way back from work.  There were lanterns hung everywhere in preparation for Buddha's birthday last Saturday.

Jindo

Two weekends ago, a dozen of us crammed like a can of fancy salted mixed nuts into two rental cars and made the hour and change drive to Jindo, an island south of Mokpo.  When we got there, the nuts turned out to be snakes made of springs and we exploded all over the parking lot.

We had come for what is known as "The Parting of the Sea Festival", or alternatively, "The Moses Miracle", but more commonly "That Moses thing".

Legend has it, ancient inhabitants of Jindo kept getting mauled by tigers until one day they decided, "Screw this tiger shit, let's live on an island!".  It was only later that they realized they'd left Grandma behind with the tigers.  Grandma prayed to the Dragon God, and suddenly a 2.5 Km. path appeared in the sea, and Grandma was able to walk to the island.  Or at least part way to the island.  Apparently she couldn't walk fast enough and collapsed from exhaustion.  Her family met her from the other end of the path, and there was one glorious moment when they were reunited before Grandma bit the dust and I can only assume was swept away by the rising tide.

To remember that happy moment, every year when the Sun and Moon are in proper Neap Tide positions, the water parts again and there's a big festival.

We all bought big rubber boots and joined the swarms of people as they strolled their way towards the island.

Unfortunately, the tide doesn't last very long, and we were ushered back to the shore before we could be swept away like Grandma.

Waydaldo

Tuesday was a national holiday called Children's Day, a natural addition to Mother's and Father's days I suppose.  

To celebrate Children's day, we got as far away from them as possible.  A group of us took advantage of the time off and the weather and made a trip to nearby Waydal Island (Waydaldo).  For a measly 8,000 won ($5) we got round trip ferry tickets to this secluded island 40 minutes away.  

All in all, about 20 people made it out.  Everybody brought some food; there were burgers and dogs, potato salad, pasta salad and about a million other things.  I brought bread and cheese that I made, and there was an old lady on the island who sold brews.  

Tans and good times were had.

Foreigner Photo Op

Sometimes Korea gives me free stuff because I'm white.

The first time I was offered something for free was in a coffee shop in Daejeon.  Dralle and I had just finished our espressos when the barista came over, pointed at our empty shot glasses, and said, "Serviss-uh?".  We of course had no idea what she meant, so she got her friend who was supposed to know more English and had her translate.  Her friend said basically the same thing, "You want this.......serviss-uh?".  Turns out they were trying to say "service".

Tangent:

A Konglish word is an English word that has been translated phonetically into Korean, but whose meaning has strayed from that of the original.  "Service" is Konglish for "free".  Some other mistranslations are:

샤프 (sharp) - A mechanical pencil

원 플러스 원 (one plus one) - A buy-one-get-one-free sale.

쌤쌤 (same same) - Two things are exactly the same.

Konglish is prolific in Korea and can be pretty freaking weird.

I get "service" things all the time; beers, pretzels, waffles, coffees, soups and street snacks.

We're celebrities in a monoculture society.  I used to feel self conscious every time I went outside, but I've found it can actually be liberating to be stared at the whole time.  If you know there's always somebody watching, then it eventually becomes the norm and you stop caring entirely.  We stand out.  We're not normal.  We're freaks.

You should see me go for a run.  I'm a white Moses parting a sea of Koreans.  Children shout "Nice to meet you!" from city bus windows.  Schoolgirls loose their cool.  Boys line up for high-fives.

I've gone through several stages of acceptance of this fame.  At first I thought it was interesting.  Then I found it annoying.  Eventually I got upset that the only reason I'm treated so well is because of the color of my skin.  These people don't know anything about me, but they treat me like a king.  It's racism of a sort, and while it's not negative, it is certainly dehumanizing.  I eventually decided I can't really do anything about it and started accepting free things again.

This past Saturday 25 foreigners from Mokpo got the biggest "service" yet; a day long coach bus tour.

The island of Wando was hosting "The 1st World Slow Walking Festival" (yeah, that's right) and was televising the whole event.  From what we were able to piece together, Wando wanted to pass this off as an international affair, and so paid to have foreigners shipped from all over the country to attend.  

Stranger than shipping in a bunch of foreigners for National TV is the fact that they asked us not to tell anybody that the trip was free.  If anybody asked, we were to say that we paid 30,000 won for the tour.  Then they made us sign a form saying that we had already paid a bunch of money.  It was sketchy.

The bus took us first to a free lunch at a restaurant, then to the festival where we were given reserved seats.  The fest started off with some African drummers and dancers which was pretty phenomenal, as world music is unheard of in Korea.  Then there were a lot of speeches.  There was an English translator on stage, which made it bearable and actually pretty awesome at points.  The best translations of the day were: 

"We hope all who come to Wando will catch the happy virus" 

and 

"Wando is the Mecca of slow city"

We had been told we were going to a "Slow Walking Competition", which sounded intriguing, but this turned out not to be the case.  At first I was oddly disappointed (although we all had some interesting theories about how that kind of competition might work) then as the intentions of the festival were explained a little further, things became a bit more clear.  The message of the festival seemed to be:  The world is getting too hectic and crazy.  Nobody just goes for a stroll anymore, but strolls really are nice, aren't they?

A strange reason to have a festival for sure, but something I could really get behind.  

I got super excited as the interpreter said, "Now lets look at some pictures from the trip on the Camino de Santiago".  They showed this one picture....

...and then moved on to something else.  I never really figured out what that was all about.

When the speeches were over, we got rebellious and went for a rather average speed walk down the beach.  Then I jumped in some flowers.  

Then we were taken back in the tour bus to the most southern point in mainland Korea, 땅끝 (T'angk'eutt) or "Land's End", Korea's version of Finesterre,  for a free monorail ride and some killer photos.

Finally we were taken out for a free dinner, and eventually made it back to Mokpo around 9:30, just in time to make it to P Club, a local foreigner bar, where I played some tunes with the 50's band and bid our drummer farewell.

It was a busy day.

Fedora the Explorer

I've been meeting up with my friend Jens to play music every week for the past month, and so when word spread around town last week that there was going to be a big 50's themed birthday party thrown, we decided to learn some 50's songs.  We practiced together a few times and picked out some tunes, and then recruited the help of Alex, a drummer in town.  

Last week was dominated by band practice, and we managed to piece togther a pretty respectable setlist.  Then Thursday came around and I got a call from U of I friend Tim Cap confirming he was coming down to visit from Seoul.  

A portion of our conversation went a little like this:

Tim: So I should be getting in around 10 p.m.

Me: Cool, there's a beach bonfire happening Friday night, and then Saturday I'm playing 50's tunes with a band at a 50's themed party.

Tim: Sounds like fun.

Me: ..... How are you on the bass?

Tim: ..... Are you asking me to play in your band?

Me: Yes

Tim: Then yes, I'll play bass in your band.

And so it was settled.  Tim came down Friday, we went to a bonfire and stayed out way too late, had a sound check and Tim's first practice on Saturday afternoon, and played a killer show that night.

Our band name modulated between The Fighting Mokpo Allstars, The Communist Manifested, Sputnik and the Space Race, Squeaky Wheel and the Greasers, and my personal favorite, Fedora the Explorer. 

Jens and I traded Vocals, my songs are underlined:

Good Rockin' Tonight - Roy Brown

Oh Boy - Buddy Holly

Blue Suede Shoes - Elvis Presley

Diana - Paul Anka

That's All Right Mama - Elvis Presley

Mr. Sandman - The Chordettes

Hound Dog - Elvis Presley

Hoochie Coochie Man - Muddy Waters

Earth Angel - The Penguins

Jambalaya - Hank Williams

Mighty Mighty Man - Roy Brown

Sea Cruise - Frankie Ford

Everyday - Buddy Holly

I put a Spell on You - Screamin' Jay Hawkins

Heartbreak Hotel - Elvis Presley

Sea of Love - John Phillip Baptiste

Woolly Bully - Sam the Sham (not a 50's tune... but it fit in)

Folsom Prison Blues - Johnny Cash

Mr. Sandman's Revenge (Also known as Enter Mr. Sandman)

Good Birthday Tonight (A Good Rockin' Reprise with altered lyrics)

When we had finished our set, someone in the crowd yelled somehing like, "We want Cake!", so Tim rocked the mike and we did an impromptu cover of Cake's cover of "I will survive".  We only realized after we finished that they probably actually yelled something like, "It's time for birthday cake!", but we only heard what we wanted to hear, so we played a song that Cake didn't even write in the first place.

Then we all ate cake.

Good parties end with an acoustic guitar on the roof.  So by inference, the best parties end with an acoustic, an electric, and part of a drum set on the roof.

Friendships were made, beer was consumed, good times were had, and Fedora the Explorer is looking into playing at a bar in town.

Composition Class

I don't like formulaic writing styles for many reasons.  The first reason is because the writer loses their voice.  Secondly, it does not promote creativity.  Lastly, it's boring to read.  In conclusion, I don't like formulaic writing styles.

On the first day of class, I told my composition class to write about anything they wanted.  A student named Jane wrote:

"One month ago, I went to the dental clinic.  Because I had a toothache.  I had an examination and my wisdom tooth will take out.  Now my wisdom tooth is not in my mouth.  Anyone says to me; "If you had a wisdom teeth, You know what is life."  I haven't know what is life, but I know it.  "Don't eat sweet candy and chocolate too much!!"

Her paper went in the "save for later" pile.

One class, I asked them all to write about three things they would bring with them to a deserted island.  

Most students wanted to bring a laptop.

I mean, I know this is a fantastical question, but your answer should still be based on reality.  What would you do with a laptop on a deserted island?  Update your facebook status to: 's stranded?  Unless your other two items are a satelite dish and a solar panel, a laptop's pretty pointless.

One student saved my grading day.  His answer?  His girlfriend, a big sharp knife, and a lot of beer.  Now there's an answer I can get behind.

This same student, Jun, also made my day when I asked the students to write about themselves in the present tense 15 years from now.  I emphasized that they should be creative.  A lot of things can happen in 15 years I told them.  

Every other student essentially wrote the same paper.  I am married.  I have 2 kids.  I am working hard at my job.  I am not making much money.  I guess if they don't dream big they won't be disappointed.

Jun turned in something different:

"I live in a caravan near Jiri mountain.  I am not living like other people who have their own cars, houses, wives, and children.  I have got my girlfriend.  We are not going to get married."

I literally set the paper down, looked upward and breathed a big sigh of relief before continuing.  He went on to talk about how he does not need to live like everyone else to be happy.  If I'm allowed to have favorites, he's mine.

Boom isn't in my composition class, but I thought you might be interested in an update from him anyway.  He came up to me last class and told me he wanted a different name.  I guess he wanted something a little more normal.  

"I want changey name."

"Really?  What name do you want?"

"Poo"

".....Poo?"

Then he pointed to his folder.  It showed Winnie and Piglet chillin with Tigger.  Fantastic.  Pooh it is.

Even  less related to Composition Class, here are some pictures I took on a hike yesterday.  The first is a panorama pieced together from 9 pictures:

Boom

Movie stars, wrestlers, baseball players, onomatopoeia and cute animals are all fair game when it comes to English nicknames.

In Daejeon, I was teaching elementary and middle school students, most of which had not yet chosen an English nickname.  I would go into class and write the names of my family members on the board and let them take their pick.  Soon it became a personal challenge to name a Korean student for every extended family member back home.  After covering Sara, Steve, Alex, Tom, Kay, and Becca, I moved on to aunts and uncles, grandparents (I never convinced anyone to be Mama May..... though not for lack of trying), and was working on some cousins before everything went crazy and I moved to Mokpo.

Not all students were a blank slate for my naming pleasure however.  Notably Kitty, Hobart, and Linny.  Man I miss Linny, he was awesome.  Of course I also miss Jim, Judy, Tom, Tina, Rob, Jay, Mary, Katie, Lisa, Sara, Janis, Becky, and the others, both Korean and otherwise.

At the University, either the students are more creative with their names, or their Middle school foreign teachers were more creative than I am.  Here, I've got a Malfoy, two friends named Harry and Potter, and who can forget the silent yet lovable Mr. October.  Speaking of Silent, I've got one of those too.  Politics aren't left out of course.  Ohbama (with the "h") always sits in the front row.  There's also (inexplicably) Drogba, several Sunnys, the Cashesque boy named Kate, and the student who couldn't make up his mind for a week and then finally settled on Boom.

I suppose I should show more responsibility and tell these people that their names are complete nonsense.

But who can blame me when I get to read off these names for attendance every day?

New City : New Blog

Here it is.  A brand new blog.  No guarantees that this one will surpass the 8 posts that Dralle and I cobbled together.

A lot has happened since I first came to Korea, and I could spend my first post getting you up so speed.  But I'm not.  This post is about now, in the future when I get bored maybe I'll tell the tale of how things got to be this way.

I live in Mokpo, which is a smaller city on the southwest corner of the peninsula.  

Here are some pluses of my current situation:

- The apartment has a 4 burner gas stove and there's a full size oven.  This is rare.  Very rare.  I'm afraid of losing friends to jealousy.

- I have my own office at the school complete with a computer, tv and a couch (for naps between classes).

- I get 8 weeks paid vacation, which comes in chunks of 4 weeks twice a year.  In Daejeon I only got 2 weeks, and nobody could actually tell me when that would be.

-I teach at Mokpo National University, which will certainly look better on a resume than "Good Morning Language Academy"

The foreigner community here in Mokpo is small, but active.  I've already participated in several all foreigner texas hold'em matches, an Indian food potluck, a book swap, and a hike.  I'm also looking forward to a chess tournament and hopefully some open mike nights or some busking.

When I started I was afraid the 8:30 am classes and 30 minute commute would be taxing, but that hasn't really turned out to be the case.  I'm done with work at 4:30, and I'm only in the classroom for 3.5 of those hours, which leaves tons of time for reading, studying, hiking, napping, and general relaxation.  What?  Hiking?  Yeah.  The University is nestled between a couple gorgeous ridges.  I took this shot on a hike today between classes: