a dinner break at 730pm

As the food at work was just too seafoody for me, I ventured out into the night to get something from near by. I was walking to the local ‘Orange’ place (a restaurant we don’t know the name of, but the sign is orange) when a middle aged man stopped me in my tracks.

‘You come with me!’ he said sternly, grabbing my arm.

‘No,’ I said, wriggling out of his grip.

‘You come with ME!’ he repeated, grabbing my arm tightly again.

‘I’m busy,’ I said, shaking him loose again. ‘Goodnight.’

‘You…,’ he said angrily, taking a handful of my shirt tightly. His eyes were bulging and his free hand pointed towards my nose. His grip was like an iron vice and he looked like a volcano building to erupt.

‘No, I’m going for dinner,’ I said to him, unable to get his hands off me. ‘You go away.’

‘You come with me!’ he said over and over, to which I shook my head and searched for an easy way to get him to let go. Finally he willingly set me free.

As I stepped backwards away from him, a little old lady, maybe 90 years old who works as a street vendor, stepped in. She said something in Korean and he stood fast, not moving. I turned and walked into the Orange place. He didn’t follow and had disappeared when I walked out.

I don’t think I like the unexpected. Before I order a meal, there’s something inherent in me that wants to recognise something that will be on the plate. It’s like I can handle a surprise if it’s wrapped up in something I know I like.

Movies are the same: I enjoy an original movie, but I’m forever watching for what I know in them. Maybe it’s comforting or just unchallenging. Like Mcdonalds food (apologies to those who are challenged repeatedly by the presence of Mcdonalds).

So why am I in Asia eating dohsat bibimbop in a restaurant I can’t name being protected by 90 year old female street vendors? Raging against my own machine or do I just not really know my machine at all? I suspect it's a fair amount of both.

Consider, for a moment, a Noribong. It’s a small private karaoke room that groups hire out for an hour or five and belt out a few songs after a night on the booze.

Consider, for a moment, the local illegal operations manager. He’s been learning English for a few years and knows where all the foreign teachers drink. So he turns up at the bar for some conversation late in the night, pays the tab then invites everyone, including Yours Truly, upstairs to a noribong.

Consider, again for a moment, the feeling Yours Truly had while belting out Sweet Caroline on the karaoke machine while the local gangster joined in playing tambourine (which he does well). Swinging his hips and arms around to the music, it’s difficult for Yours Truly to comprehend that this amiable gentleman with a wonderful smile is not to be trifled with.

And consider, finally, that the gangster pays for it all with a handshake. Yours Truly has been feeling relatively weird about it all. It’s scary when he turns up hours after the bar-tab has started and he pays the whole thing regardless.

It’s happened a few times now to Yours Truly, and YT expects it’ll continue to happen constantly while YT lives in a small area of a small town.

parts are drifting

“Goodbye, Leto,” she said. “Your words are like a hurricane, and your promises the eye of the storm.”

The phone went dead and as his sense of rejection welled up in his chest, Leto remembered his promises. Those promises he’d given to her that he could complete easily, the ones he wanted to accomplish, and the ones he knew he’d never fulfil. And he couldn’t remember a promise he’d given willingly. Each and every word had been spoken to get out of a situation that she’d confronted him about.

Leto rested, recalling each of the confrontations. They all had one resonating theme: his rejection of her. She'd feel it, he’d deny it, she’d need reassurance, he’d make a promise, and the result was he would reject her with another broken promise.

The pain in his chest subsided as his rejection finally came full circle. Responsibility was powerful. He was in control.

Bullet without butterfly wings

So Ireland, Canada, New Zealand, South Korea and Japan are sitting at a bar table with two USAs.

"I'm in the US military intelligence unit," one of the USA's says for the fourth time in 20 minutes. "Do you guys know what intelligence is?"

Twenty hours earlier, 2 times NZ, 1 Canada and 2 times Ireland were in Ichaewon, central Seoul - THE bar district full of drunk US soldiers and brothels. The place was quiet, as the military police were scanning each bar for jarhead haircuts, searching for those out past curfew. They were all either gone or keeping a low profile. Both of NZ and one Ireland got back to their cheap hotel on the aptly named Hooker Hill and slept a little before catching the bullet train south to Pusan. Canada and the other Ireland checked out the other bars until the sun came up.

Being a mixture of hungover and still drunk, the group whinge, snap and argue on the way to the train, arriving painfully close to late (for this tightass NZer). By lunchtime, they're on the streets of Korea's beach city. To-ing, fro-ing and arguing later, all but Canada get themselves cheap rooms in a "love motel".

A trip up a hill to a beautiful working temple in the northern part of the city and hangovers are finally forgotten.


They all head into the city for dinner and then hit the bars and split up. The girls, NZ1 and Ireland1 hit the dance bars while the boys, Canada, NZ2 and Ireland2 head for a few beers.

"Hey, white guys," someone on the street yells. It's USA1 & 2, military personel taking a weekend off. After intro's, USA2 invites the boys to a bar and soon enough, there's eight bottles of beer on the table, quickly joined by whisky, tequila and fruit (peaches and beer are the oddest nice combo ever!).

"So, what do you guys think of Americans?" USA1 asks and NZ2 thinks for a moment. Dish out his opinions and maybe get his head kicked in by the trained killer, or go easy. Well, it turns out USA1 is a really nice guy and listens, so NZ2 figures he'll be straight up and say what he thinks about Iraq, Afghanistan, gun control, religion and terrorism.

USA1 doesn't disagree much. In fact, he asks a lot of questions, no judging or anything. He even agrees with a few things the others at the table think of America and Americans. Thing is, he'll be a perfectly nice guy then come out with a comment like:
"I'm in this world to stop countries being powered by Islam!" and "I'm in it to spread democracy!" and "The USA is able to HELP everyone else in the world, so why should we let them stop us?"

Canada and NZ2 synchronise their eye rolling. US1's a really nice guy, clean-cut American GI, 22 years old, married with a 2 year old son (whose photograph was passed around the bar). He's a child of the propoganda thoug. He agreed with opposing viewpoints but couldn't give up his own, which all sounded very familiar from US tv. He's adament Iraq was involved in Sept. 11, 2001 attacks (he's military intel, so could know more than most), and the war is essential.
"Roadbumps are inevitable in a conflict."

NZ2 says goodbye and Korea doesn't want him to go. There's an arm around him and hugging, but he manages to get out the door and into a taxi. NZ2 get's dropped off at the subway station near his hotel at around 430AM and as the car drives away, he looks up at the buildings and doesn't recognise a single one. He's at the wrong station. It's now that he notices it's been raining all night and not about to stop. So, he walks for a few km's, luckily following the correct subway line, to his hotel room.

Both Irealands and NZs go to a jimjilbang, a segregated spa facility, the next day. Ireland2 and NZ2 leave all their clothes in lockers and walk naked into a large room filled with spa-pools, saunas and massage tables all in use by the hundreds of patrons. All men and boys are naked. Age ranges from young to old and the entire place is incredibly weird, at first. After a shower (everyone must wash before bathing) the boys hit the pools and saunas and after a while, it's just a bunch of naked men chilling out at a spa facility. NZ2 and Ireland2 both enjoy it, mostly. NZ2 is looking for the mens room and a staff member can't speak English so "guides" him there, with arm around him and holding his arm affectionately. That's Korean men for you: hands on with each other. NZ2 is normally okay with it but, well, he's naked and that's a weird, weird... um... is situation the correct word?

The four leave the jimjilbang and head to the beach at Haeundai, arriving at the same time as a typhoon. Battling wind, driving rain and collapsing umbrellas which soon became missiles tumbling into oncoming traffic, they get to an Indian restaurant. Needless to say, swimming today wasn't needed. The boys take turns standing in the driving rain flagging taxis, Ireland2 being successful, although both are drenched.


And they meet Canada at the train station to catch the bullet train home. Canada had stayed overnight with Korea, the man who hadn't let NZ2 go without a struggle, and had been sleeping off the alcohol he'd consumed since friday night.

It's a weekend over. Now NZ2 needs a weekend to recurperate from it.

Labelling the young

April
May
Jenny

The list of three names was printed on a whiteboard and Fidel hoped she would like one of them. Maybe what he thought of the names wouldn’t matter and she wouldn’t attach any stigma to them.

Moments before, a man had left the girl in Fidel’s care, her wide open eyes staring up into his. He’d been left the forms to name her. This duty fell on his shoulders like a brick, weighing him down for moments. Aware that this moment would come, he never thought he’d face this decision alone. The only other person who could choose was the girl.

Fidel stepped back, wondering if his options were okay. In unison, the children behind him read the names:
“April; May; Jenny.”

Fidel turned to her and said “Which name would you like?”

“May,” she said.

“Okay, your name is May. Everyone say ‘Hello May’.”

“Hello May,” the other children said as May sat at a desk. She took her English lesson book from her bag as Fidel addressed the class as a whole.

“Today," Fidel said to the young Korean kids, "we are talking about the letter ‘B’.”

Seoul on a budget

AAAAARRRGH! Picture a journey within the realms of site and sound... you're not going anywhere near the demilitarised zone. You're in central Seoul - a 75 minute trip from Shiwa. You've spent all your cash. You go to an ATM and it spits your credit card back at you. You try another ATM, and the same thing happens. Then another. Do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do. You're in a foriegn city with the equivalent of US11 cents, no phone, no phone numbers of the people you know, you don't know the language and you're US$1.50 away from home.



How embarrassed will you be when you ask the first foreign-looking person to buy you a ticket home? Have you ever asked someone for help knowing full-well you'll never be able to repay them, EVER?!


Gerwin steps through a gate, you tell him your plight, and he doesn't hesitate to help. 90 minutes later you're walking through Shiwa again, relieved that, at least, you'll be home soon. And THAT is when you think - why am I here? Why can't my card just work normally? I wanna go home! I wanna go home!


Why didn't you think the negative stuff while in the subway station? Maybe you were dealing with the situation and once safely in Shiwa, you didn't have a situation. That's when you had time to think and get dramatic. You love writing in the third person.


Photo's of Seoul from a tower on a hill in the central city, statues taken from a park on the hill.
You can now make comments - sorry to those who tried before.

Leaving NZ, Mount Fuji's body double, Mount Taranaki popped it's head above the clouds to watch me leave.

My new home, Shiwa, last stop south on the Seoul subway line (so it's like Huntly, Paekakakariki or Dunsandal - not Seoul at all). My apartment block is in the middle somewhere, a 15 minute walk from the hill I took the photo from. The school is a 2 minute walk from home.

Arriving in Korea

Mist below merged with amber city lights, creating what looked like crevasses of lava opening up to spill orange-hot magma flowing and trickling into valleys and plains nearby. The hillsides and coastline were seemingly lit up with fire. This was the sight of pre-sunrise Korea while flying north, up the country towards Incheon international airport. Superman's photos, however, looked more like orange cream-filling being spilt from a cracked chocolate biscuit. Mmmm, chocklick bickies...