Mog's Away

Mo'Rock' the Kasbah

2012-02-20T09:09:00.000-08:00

Leaving icy England for mild Morocco was a verywelcome opportunity to thaw out, under clear, blue Marrakeshi skies. With thesnow capped majesty of the High Atlas Mountains as a backdrop, and thehaunting, atmospheric chorus of myriad muezzin calling the faithful to prayerdrifting across the rooftops, this colourful and chaotic city was an intriguingplace to explore.

Staying in the riads, traditional Moroccan houses,was wonderful. The spectacularly ornate architecture and fine décor of therooms, alluded to mystical tales of the Arabian Nights or to the exotic courtsof Islamic royalty, and set around the pretty sun-drenched and charismaticcourtyards, to stay here was to reside in a silent, serene oasis in the midstof the mayhem.

To step out into the labyrinthine souks within thecrumbling Medina walls was to become Theseus confronting a thousand Minotaurs, albeitfriendly ones. With your wits about you, bargains could be proffered, thoughescaping the maelstrom of fez toting, cringily obeisant marketeers to thesanctuary of the riad was not so easy. Amid the bazaars, each street mirrorsthe next, with a thousand different sellers selling a million things the same,each stall holder apparently ‘remembering’ you from yesterday…it was very easyto get lost. Besides, a trail of breadcrumbs would certainly be snatched up bythe hordes of melancholic and hungry street kids. It was great fun in themarkets, a real haggler’s haven, but one thing troubled me. All my life I’vebelieved I only have one brother, yet in Marrakesh I met so many men vehementlyclaiming kinship with passionate cries of, “My brother! My brother.” It reallyhas me wondering. Mum! Something you want to tell me?

There are many places and people in the world thatcould learn a few things from Moroccans. In Marrakesh, Muslims, Jews andChristians live, work and socialize together in natural harmony. There is notat all a sense of toleration, but a genuine acceptance and appreciation ofdifferent faiths, harmonious for centuries, while religions and some of theirfollowers continue to make large parts of the world unpleasant and dangerous.To Marrakesh, if I wore a fez, I would tip it to you now. Instead, I willsimply say ‘tres bien, and merci.

A road trip beyond the city saw us nervously traversingthe frozen peaks of the High Atlas, via perilous, innumerous switchbacks,before descending into the unfolding arid vastness of the northern Sahara.Abandoned mud brick Berber villages clung to the surrounding, windswepthillsides, while occasional, vibrant flashes of colour indicated rare andsporadic life along the fringes of the modern highway. A couple of hours intothe barren terrain, the ancient citadel of Ait Ben Haddou rose before us. Formillennia it served as an important caravan stop on the old trade route fromTimbuktu to the Mediterranean, and though the weather-beaten landscape hereseemed familiar, as yet I knew not why.

I soon learned though that thisbeautiful old city had been used as the setting for many a Hollywood moviescene; Gladiator and Kingdom of Heaven to name but two. The innate characterand looming presence of the rustic, archaic structure, seemingly carved fromthe very desert from which it rises, exuded romantic notions of a bygone era,and to explore its silent, dusty alleyways as the setting desert sun cast itslong, creeping shadows all about, was to truly take a step back into history.

Back in bustling Marrakesh, with its constant thoughnot unpleasant cacophony of noises, from the incessant pipes of the snakecharmers and the clip clopping trundle of a thousand horse drawn carriages, tothe melodic muezzin and the plaintive cries of the street urchins forbaksheesh, you come to understand why the desert was virtually devoid of allhumanity: Everybody, it seemed, was in the magical medina of Marrakesh. Wedidn’t realize it yet, but our glimpse of gladiators and Minotaurs in therelatively composed mayhem of Morocco, would completely be surpassed the momentwe touched down in Egypt. For to step into Egypt, is to well and truly ‘Enterthe Arena.’

HAWAII...HORIZONTALLY

2012-02-12T14:02:00.000-08:00

At long, long last, the day had finally dawned. Shackles were shed, goodbyes had been said, and with more childish anticipation than you could shake a bowl of kimchi at, I was bound for Hawaii. For the next two weeks, I would leave behind the rigmarole of teaching, and Korea's amazingly ignorant way of testing my patience, and set forth to do what I am best at doing...nothing! Basking horizontally on various beaches was the order of the fortnight, and with no deadlines looming, no sulking, snotty nosed students to babysit, and monotony becoming a word for the past, I was as excited as a scouser on dole day.
For many of my friends and family back in England or Australia, living and working in Korea is still a mad, crazy adventure...maybe even dangerous too? But for me, despite living in the shadows of despotic Kim Jong Il in the red north for more than two years, it is no longer that adventure, and far from it. I had a home, a job, lots of friends and a football team, and of course my girlfriend Leslie. I may be blase, but it was as 'normal' a life as I have had in a very long time. For sure I have had an enriching and rewarding couple of years in the R.O.K, absolutely, but hitting the winding and uncertain road again, if only for a few months, was to get a new lease of life, a return to freedom.

Honolulu and its glitzy, chaotic Waikiki Beach was a perfect place in which to spend New Year's Eve, and such a far cry from down town Daegu, scene of last year's revelry. With sultry weather and beach-side champagne, Waikiki was the place to be. January 1st 2011 was spent frozen, battered and bruised, head first in Korean snow, the result of my first, and probably last, attempt at skiing. January 1st 2102, however, was spent surrounded by swaying palms, warm seas and scantily clad women...in my opinion a far more exotic and appropriate way to usher in a new year. After a brisk hop over the sapphire Pacific from Oahu to Maui, Hawaii really slowed down, and with it my metabolism. In such a naturally stunning, laid back place, I felt totally at home and at ease. Apart from a couple of days on the road, snaking along the precarious, cliff hugging 'Road to Hana,' and a sunrise lurch to the wild and broody summit of towering Haleakala Volcano, it was one surf pounded beach after another.

Surfing is not a sport in Hawaii, it is a way of life, so ingrained is it in the the native's psyche as to dominate lives. Leslie's brother and niece, having lived on Maui for 15 years, are prime examples, getting intolerably grumpy if they can't surf every day. I myself have surfed before, and was eager to test myself out in surfing's spiritual home, but I admit it, I was scared. The waves were enormous, and sharks not uncommon and, perhaps as a sign of age, I sensibly denied my impulses.

My only other decisions on Maui were choosing what to eat. Korean food, decent as it is, was hardly inspiring. So now, in the U.S, gaining kilos was inevitable, and to adopt the Roman philosophy, "When in America, eat like the Americans eat," and gorge I did.
After two weeks of worshiping the three S's...sun, sea, and stuffing my face, I reluctantly squeezed out of my hula hula skirt and flowery shirt, cast off my lei (garland) and prepared to face the daunting mid-winter chill of ol' blighty. It's no fair trade, magical Maui for lackluster Lowestoft, but after yet another thirteen months away, I was going home.

Next up: California & Lost Boys!

Goodbye Korea, Aloha World

2012-01-21T03:36:00.000-08:00

INTRO
As the days diminished towards the conclusion of my second year of teaching in Korea, I was awash with the usual sense of excitement, wunderlust and desire to once again hit the road, and be reunited with my first and greatest love...freedom. After a spectacularly colourful autumn, Daegu had become cold and dreary, and I was more than ready to leave, maybe for the last time, 'the land of the morning (imaginary) calm.' My enthusiasm was only ever so slightly tempered by the reality that I would once again be homeless and unemployed, but as per normal, these were only minor concerns, as I had an amazing three months of travels planned, culminating in a month of study in Prague, not the worst place to go to school! The economic problems the world is facing is finally hitting Korea, making it more difficult to secure the prime university jobs that I sought, so as the recession has forced my hand a little, it was with mixed emotions that I left what has been my home for more than two out of the last three years. And perhaps good timing too, in wake of the death of doom monger Kim Jong Il to the north. Though this was celebrated by the students, the specter of his perhaps more psychpathic son, Kim Jong Um, is perhaps cause for even more concern, as he sets out to assert his power and illustrate that the Hermit Kingdom will not be weakened by the death of 'The Beloved Leader.' Watch out world.
THE ACTION
So, in summary of my second year in the R.O.K, I'll begin by saying I have loved every minute of it. It has been a much healthier and more productive stint than my first crazy year in Gyeongju, trading drinking for writing and hiking, my new passions. Consequently, my long, on-going book project has kicked on significantly, and I have finally started blogging, the first steps toward my future writing aspirations.
My creaking joints have just about allowed me to continue playing footy, turning out for and captaining foreigner team F.C. Daegu (The Deer), to the top of the league at the mid point of the season. It has been a pleasure to play for such a good team and with such a great bunch of lads, and a great way to retire...probably. So, cheers to Dano Dooner and all the boys...now, go on and win the league.
My school had generous holiday allowance, so I was able to slip out of Korea to visit various exotic spots, The Philippines, Japan and Indonesia, as well as a short trip to Jeju Island off Korea's south coast. I really made the most of my time off school, visiting Boracay solo, but meeting my brother in Bali and for Japan and Jeju travelled I with my girlfriend. All four trips were excellent adventures, and necessary breaks. Like any job, even an easy one like mine, holidays are welcome, especially to get away from the students...if just for a short while.
THE JOB

This time out I worked for an excellent company, Moonkkang, and I had a great school. The teaching was just that this time, teaching, as opposed to being a glorified babysitter as in my previous school, the unbelievably shoddy E.C.C. I will certainly miss some amazing students too, kids that are not only smart and keen to learn, but kids that made me laugh on a daily basis.
It's fair to say that the Korean education system is so harsh on the kids, studying for for long, hard hours, and then going to several academies until late in the evening, and at such young ages. But, in most cases the kids try to make the best of it, and despite their exhausted minds and bodies, they tried to learn and have fun, which made my job entertaining as well as easy. Also, the support of the management was also often beyond the call of duty so Chris and Lynn, thanks a lot.
THE FRIENDS
A big shout out goes to my friends in Gyeongju, my former home town, both those that remain and those smart enough to have left...auntie Muzza, Gorgeous Woods, Martorana, McGowan, Hopton and Park...great friends who will remain so forever...or at least until I forget them! We all had some awesome times watching the band, 'The Taco Handshake,' so to Angus, Dave, J and John, I say thanks...and, "Can You Bodge A...?"
http://thetacohandshake.bandcamp.com/album/good-songs-for-bad-women Take a listen!
To my Siji school mates and neighbours, the pleasure was mine, and thanks for all your help back in the day. To my 'Deer' team mates, it was an honour, and when you finally lift the K.F.F.L. league trophy, don't forget 'OL' Silky! Finally, to my brother Mark fits Henry I say thanks, a great friend and valuable source of verbosely delivered info about all things Daegu, and more contemporarily, my CELTA course and Prague. Thanks bro, and see you on the other side.
THE HIGHLIGHTS
In an action packed and fulfilling year there have been many standout moments. Watching the 'Tacos' rockin' in the free world across various cities was always fun. Leading 'The Deer' to a 5-4 win versus champions Busan Utd, against all the odds, was unbelievable, perhaps even a career highight? And yes, I scored. Summiting the R.O.K's highest peak, Halla-San, then diving it's bluest waters on Jeju was special. I was humbled in Hiroshima, Japan, and the tragic history of that haunted yet hopeful city will stick with me for a long time. I spent a fantastic week basking horizontally in Boracay, The Philippines, and and to hook up with my brother for scuba diving in Bali was a long held ambition fulfilled. I have had my travel writing published for the first time, and many pieces followed in various publications, and although my paintbrushes largely gathered dust, the little they did do was vastly improved. Being among the action at the Athletics World Champs in Daegu was inspiring, and to witness Usain Bolt in flight, both successfully and otherwise, was to see records rewritten and dreams shattered.

However, the absolute highlight of my year, perhaps surprisingly as an Englishman, was St. Patrick's Day, because this was when I was introduced to the beautiful, talented and wonderful Leslie Patrick. Over a couple of green coloured beers amid the chaos of downtown Daegu we met, and have been together ever since. Yes, meeting Miss. Patrick on St. Patrick's Day was perhaps a little cheddary, but as Korean cheese is so terrible, it was very welcome.
THE FUTURE.
Right now, I am sitting next to Leslie in Kahului Airport, Maui, having spent two spectacular weeks among the wild, volcanic scenery and lazing on glorious beaches of Hawaii. From here we hit up California and England, followed by a month exploring Morocco and Egypt, before finally landing at my desk in Prague, where I'll exchange my backpack for a satchel, and my Lonely Planet for teaching textbooks. Beyond my CELTA teaching course, who knows? Maybe I will score a job in Prague, perhaps Japan or Latin America? But score a job I must!
For now, I am going to rekindle an affair with my first and longest love, travel, with my newest love by my side, as Leslie and I continue on our mini four continent world tour. And for me, I am delighted in the knowledge that, whereas most visitors leave Korea with a bottle of soju or some kimchi stuffed in their suitcase, I left with the wonderful Miss. Patrick on my arm.

P.S. This is posted a week late, and I am currently in rain lashed Beccles, England...weep weep!

** Coming soon...Hawaii 5 0, and The Lost Boys.

WHERE IT ALL BEGAN!

2011-11-07T21:04:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago, I returned to the land where I first discovered my wanderlust more than seventeen years ago…the Indonesian island of Bali. When I first visited in 1994, I was a wide-eyed, inexperienced young lad, travelling for the first time…I wasn’t even aware of the term ‘itchy feet’ back then. I will never forget the way I was totally mesmerized by that initiation to the world outside of my comfort zone in England. It was the first of many, many travels around the world, hence I am no longer a naive kid but a fairly experienced traveler. However, there is one thing that will never change. When I am visiting a place, whether for the first time, or for the second or even third time, I am left as spellbound and intoxicated by my freedom as I was all those years ago. It is this unabashed joy of discovery, the notion of being somewhere, anywhere, other than where one perhaps should be, where one was yesterday, or even last year, that prevents me from giving up this life I lead. I feel lucky that travelling, or even the act of planning a trip, still gets me so excited and continues to give me such a buzz! Long may it continue!

So, being back in Bali last week was to return to the place where it all began. I was actually there for a few days just before Christmas of 2009, but I didn't do anything other than sit on the beach (It was cheaper to go through Bali and Singapore for a week than fly direct to Australia) This time though, with my brother Ian, his wife Rochelle and our friend Nathan in tow, there was more action than you could shake a satay stick at. My first day was spent solo, slumped in the sun on the beach at Sanur, followed by watching the Rugby World Cup final in a bar. It is amazing how easily people can adopt another nation's colors when sport is involved...I'm referring to the rowdy group of Ozzies that inexplicably became French for two hours and thus were cheering against New Zealand. I was delighted to be the only All Blacks supporter in the bar, and I had a great time watching the French team choke under pressure and the Ozzie guys choke on their cheap Ozzie beers. What this also meant though, was that Ian and Rosh would probably arrive after their short hop from Darwin the next morning very hung-over, being a Kiwi and an adopted Kiwi themselves. It would be the first time I'd seen them in almost two years, and I couldn't wait. After hugs and a 7.30a.m. Bintang beer, we made our way to the ferry bound for Lembongan, an island off an island. Lembongan is a small, dusty island with very little infrastructure, sporadic electricity, no cars and a snail's pace of life...perfect for a few days to unwind and catch up. We checked into our delightful rooms, booked our Scuba diving for the next morning, and went out exploring the island on hired scooters, finding our way to secluded coves and stunning beach bars.

I imagine this was how Bali might once have been, long before I first came in 1994, and long before the Ozzies started making it their quick vacation fix. Lembongan retains an air of tranquility, with no resorts, the very few roads more pothole than tarmac, and the local kids grubby, happy and carefree. Right now it is a tropical haven, but I fear that this Shangri-la feel is under threat, as investors begin Lembongan’s metamorphosis from Bali’s sleepy, dormant neighbor into a partying rival to chaotic Kuta.

The next day promised to be memorable, diving with the giant mola mola fish and manta rays, a must-see on any diver’s ‘bucket list.’. In reality, the mola mola didn't turn up, and the manta rays proved elusive, but the diving was amazing, and I got to dive with my brother for hopefully the first time of many.

After chilling in Lembongan we headed back to Bali, and our driver Katuk deposited us in Ubud, the culturally rich hippy town an hour inland. I had long yearned to visit this area, believing it to be spectacular and with a vastly different vibe from the highly developed beach resorts, and I wasn't disappointed. Ubud was recently made more famous by Hollywood, in the movie ‘Eat. Pray. Love.’ Instead of following this lead, the four of us acted out our own story, for which a fitting title would be 'Eat. Play. Eat again.' The culinary delights in Bali are cheap and delicious, and we couldn't get enough of the native Nasi or Mie Goreng, and of course chicken Satay. The amount of satays on sticks we devoured doubtless escalated the destructive deforestation across much of Asia, so for that we apologize. Meditation and yoga is rife in this town, and a year ago a visit with Guru Ketut Miyer would have been an interesting and cheap experience, an hour costing $10. Well, nowhere is safe from the curse of celebrity, and a thirty minute session with Mr. Liyer, after featuring in the movie, will now set you back $250. When I learned of the astronomical hike in price, my penciled in visit was quickly scratched off my to do list, and apparently if I want to know what he would tell me, I simply have to watch the movie again, as every disciple/tourist gets told the same things. A shame, but that’s capitalism, right?

My room at The Bali T Houses was beautiful, and each morning I awoke to a stunning view over waterlogged rice paddies. Silent and serene, with a backdrop of coconut palms and pink skies, it was idyllic.

Our first Ubud action was to indulge in white water rafting. The trek down through the jungle to the river itself was stunning, and the towering vine clad trees and dazzling tropical flowers provided a spectacular setting for an adrenalin fuelled two hour voyage down the rapids. I got my customary injury when I do anything adventurous, managing to gauge a giant slice out of both my foot and hand while everyone else of course remained unscathed, but it wouldn't be quite the same if I didn't.

It was great fun surging under waterfalls and negotiating the immovable giant boulders, but my highlight was witnessing a 400metre stretch of river wall beautifully carved with the Hindu Mahabharata epic. The ingenuity and endeavor to first envisage and then create the dramatic riverside tableau is incredible, and given the obvious challenges of difficult working conditions, it was truly a sight to behold.

The following day was spent visiting temples, and some of the architecture was exquisite. Despite Indonesia being the world's most Islamic country, with over 200,000,000 Muslims, Bali itself is historically Hindu, and 80% of its architecture is of a traditional Hindu persuasion. Delicate design and fine carvings adorn every wall and gateway, while multi-level pagodas strikingly pierce the clear blue skies.

With an avid interest in architecture and art history, it is always fascinating for me to compare different culture’s interpretations of what makes a temple, and how they reach out to their various gods. Despite my own Atheist beliefs, I am drawn to religious architecture, and I’m intrigued by alternative methods when striving for the holy. These endeavors are almost always vertically inclined, and in this at least Balinese temples are no different, with towering pagodas and shrines stretching skywards. Intricately cut from indigenous stone and brightly colored with natural pigments, they are very impressive indeed.

Our next adventure was mountain biking. After being delivered with a guide and our bikes some 20 miles outside of Ubud, we were somewhat apprehensive about making it back to town in one piece. However, assured that it was 90% downhill and away from the busy highways, we eagerly set off. Our skeptical minds were soon at ease as we cruised downhill, with wonderful views of volcanoes and rice terraces, and through peaceful, traditional villages with local kids having fun by the deserted country roadsides. It was real Balinese life playing out before us, like a flashback, or a snapshot of time of how I imagined much of Asia to have been before industrialization took hold.

The romanticist in me longs to have been around in that era, where life was tough but honest, and we were not burdened with materialism, only with our daily needs of family and sustenance. It was a refreshing look into the past, and as I caught a glimpse of the iconic hats of the rice farmers, or called out a greeting when trundling past sporadic groups of colorfully adorned women bearing offerings to various Hindu gods, I was truly in my element. Once we were confident that our bikes were the only traffic on the back roads, we began to let gravity take control, allowing it to carry us down the hills at speeds up to 40mph…it was exhilarating and scary in equal measures, and as the brilliant greens of the rice paddies flashed by, I was reminded of just why I love my freedom so much.

It was wonderful to see this side of Bali, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the over touristed area of Kuta Beach. However, the beach is where we were headed next, and we made our way to Seminyak, a couple of miles north of the hedonist mecca of Kuta. As we arrived in the late afternoon, my travel companions made fun of my desire to hit the beach in time for sunset.

However, as I live in Korea and I am surrounded by mountains on every side, a beach sunset is a rare treat, so I was going to make the most of it. It was worth the effort. After a couple of icy beers and an impromptu game of beach football with some local kids, I sat back and basked in the spectacular show of nature as the sky transformed: from blue to gold, and from orange to pink, and finally from red to purple to black. It was amazing, and just as I recalled from my previous visits.

When I first knew I was going to Bali as a twenty year old kid, I believed I was on my way to paradise. Before the advent of the internet, looking at holiday brochures was the way we picked our destinations, and Bali genuinely was remote and exotic, as far away from my hometown of Lowestoft, both physically and emotionally, as it was possible to go. And of course it totally lived up to its tag as a paradise island, qualifying the images on the glossy pages of the travel agent’s books. However, since tourists and ex-pats have so heavily invaded Bali, I am no longer sure it can still be called paradise, in the unspoiled, halcyon sense of the word. Nevertheless, it is still a magical island, and if you transport yourself away from the litter strewn beach and noisy streets of Kuta, and delve into the lesser known interior or hit the deserted coast of the east or the outlying islands, then Bali really can fulfill traditional ideas of paradise. And, regardless of the fact that I have now been three times, I know for certain I will return again soon, once again re-tracing my footsteps while hopefully creating new ones. And when I do, I have no doubt that I’ll be as wide-eyed and as mesmerized as I once was, all those years ago.

I KNOW I AM ON VACATION WHEN...

2011-11-01T23:11:00.000-07:00

Beautiful Bali

I love to travel, and have been lucky enough to have done a lot of it. However, sometimes I worry about taking it for granted, and forgetting how privileged I am to be able to do so. Here is a list of a few things that really demonstrated to me that I was on vacation in beautiful Bali last week, and reminded me to love every minute of it while it lasted.
I knew I was on vacation when...

a gecko stared me down in my outdoor shower as I admired the rice paddies
my giant stack of cash was simultaneously worth millions and next to nothing
wearing shoes was a burden
setting an alarm was optional
the food was so cheap and delicious that 3 meals a day were simply not enough
humming birds were flitting about my breakfast table
the exotic aroma of incense was carried on every breeze
I happily didn't understand a word the locals said
spectacular sunsets were a daily occurrence
I woke up gazing out over the ocean or rice terraces
my day's activities were diving, white water rafting, visiting temples or relaxing

The Real Cost of Beer!

2011-10-10T04:29:00.000-07:00

Not so long ago, a dozen beers in Korea would cost me no more than 30,000won (about £15), and a few thousand dead brain cells. These days, the same beers cost me an entire day in bed and expulsion issues from every oriface. So dramatic has been my change of lifestyle, that a few beers really put paid to the following day. Beer drinkers here in Korea will unanimously attest to the fact that Korean beer is atrocious. Popular brands such as 'Hite,' 'Cass' and 'O.B,' should read 'Shite,' 'Gas' and 'O No!' Cheap? Absolutely. Good? Absolutely not. This though is just one of my problems. Another is middle age. As I edge nearer to half of eighty...I simply can't utter the dreaded words four zero...I am devoting more of my time to activities other than drinking, for so long my favourite, and some might add, my only pastime. Thus, my tolerance for the amber nectar is at an all time low. It isn't even so much during the drinking session itself. In fact bystanders may be unaware that I've even been drinking. But as for the next day; well goodness me. I once took a cricket ball on the head at 60mph. It hurt. A lot! This was how my head felt all day on Sunday. In regards to drinking, I have probably utttered the pointless words, "never again," a hundred times. Most of you can relate to this I am sure. However, despite drinking being an extremely rare event for me these days, this time I may just be sincere. The occasion of my session last Saturday, the Rugby World Cup quarter final followed by a friend's leaving party, was fun enough, but like so many things in life, a balance between pleasure and pain is needed. This latest in a long, long list of horrendous hangovers has finally tipped the balance. Four hours of reasonable pleasure does not compensate for ten hours of crushing, tear inducing pain. Was it worth it? For two decades I would have answered with a resounding 'YES.' Nowadays? Not even close.And to top it off, the beer guzzling English got demolished in the rugby by France, a nation of wine sippers. It wasn't one of my proudest weekends, and as England's world cup challenge came to an abrupt and inglorious end, my tee-total challenge is off to painful start.

JEJU ISLAND: ABOVE AND BELOW

2011-10-09T02:36:00.000-07:00

As I flew off to Jeju Island, the so-called "Hawaii of Korea," I was excited to say the least. With the R.O.K's highest mountain to climb and the clear, warm waters off Seogwipo to dive, a great few days were in store. Leslie had been planning to go to Jeju to research a couple of articles she is writing, (www.lesliepatrick.com) so I tagged along, but with a different agenda for my trip.

Directly from the airport we made a beeline for the Manjang-gul Lava tubes, allegedly the world's largest. Though stretching 40km's underground, for safety reasons tourists are limited to the first 2km's. The cavernous tunnels, formed from the lava flow of Jeju's extinct (hopefully) volcanoes, the creepy and cold, damp atmosphere was surreal and otherworldly, and offered a unique experience and a great first hour on the island.

Next we ventured to Jeju's eastern tip, to the famed Ilchulbong, a perfectly formed volcanic crater that protrudes from the main island like a giant grassy eggcup. The short hike to the top afforded amazing views, and was well worth the effort. Koreans consider this almost a 'rite of passage,' and throngs of people of all ages were swarming the trails like ants, albeit very noisy and colourful ones. Also known as sunrise point, I am sure dawn would be a magical time to visit. For my Lowestoft friends and family, 'Ness Point' it most certainly isn't.

The weather forecast suggested that the best time to hike Halla-san (Halla Mountain) was the next day, Friday, so after leaving Leslie snoozing at 5:45a.m. and ensuring an early start, I grabbed a bus to as near as I could get to the trail head. After hitch hiking the last 3 miles courtesy of a kindly Buddhist monk en-route to Gwaneum-sa (temple), I finally hit the trail at 7:20. Opting for the Gwaneum-sa trail, the most difficult but supposedly the more spectacular route, I expected to see many fellow hikers. I guess the dismal weather put paid to that, as the forecast couldn't have been more wrong. However, far from downhearted I was committed to reach the summit, so I headed into the drizzly & forested lower reaches of Halla-san, and with only the mist bound trees and whistling breeze for company, I made my way steadily upwards. In all honesty, there wasn't a lot to see. All around me was dense befogged woodland, and whenever there was a break in the tree cover, the thick grey clouds obscured any views on offer. Still, I pressed on and 90 minutes into my ascent I met my first fellow hiker, a middle aged Korean dude as equally surprised to see me as I was him.

After exchanging pleasantries we convoyed upwards, eventually escaping the claustrophobic forest and getting a glimpse of the renowned Halla-san scenery. Despite thick, moisture heavy clouds, it was impressive, and with autumn colours adding fire to the greens and greys, I couldn't deny it's beauty.

After trudging to the summit in 3 hours I found myself whipped by icy winds, stinging my legs and my eyes with a vengeance. The roof of Korea is home to a beautiful blue crater lake at the centre of the long dormant volcano: at least that is what I was told. The reality was far less appealing, more of a large, brown puddle, surely home to rats, eels...Gollum? So here I was, at 1,950m officially the highest person in the whole of South Korea, freezing, wet and more than a little underwhelmed. After maybe five minutes atop Halla, I began my descent via an alternative route, the less demanding but slightly longer Seongpanak Trail. This was a mistake. I had entered a bottle neck, and was faced head on by possibly half the population of Korea. Taking this easier route down might have been less arduous on my creaking joints, but it was a thorough test of my patience. I love Korea, and I really like Koreans, but after letting through the first hundred or so hikers without as much as a nod or a Kamsa-hamnida (thanks) I decided to adopt their philosophy, and left my manners and good will trail-side. Suddenly I was making good ground, and two hours and fifty minutes later I'd completed my descent. All in all I really enjoyed my hike, and of course I did meet some very polite and friendly Koreans, despite my whining to the contrary. With a little more luck with the weather I am sure Halla-san would have been as spectacular as I imagined it.

Back at sea level, Leslie and I explored the delightful and underrated Seogwipo, a very picturesque fishing town, and with towering waterfalls and pretty walks along 'The Olle Trails,' it was great spot to stay a few days. With Leslie off for more research at amongst other places, 'Loveland,' I wisely opted against visiting a theme park containing sculptures of giant sex organs and other carnal exhibits, and instead went Scuba diving. After a long hot summer the waters off Seogwipo promised to be warm, and I was keen to add to my slowly growing list of dive destinations. I met my guide and dive buddies at the dive shop, we loaded the gear, and took the short fishing boat ride out to Munsom Island.

With majestic Halla-san as a back drop & clear blue skies, it augured excellent diving. Descending to 35m the visibility was 25m, the best I've ever known, and the coral and myriad fish were dazzling. My dives were great, and heightened the excitement of my imminent dive trip with my brother to Bali.

As our time on Jeju came to a close, I left feeling that I was heading back to Korea. Jeju Island, although of course still very much Korea, had a totally different feel to it than the mainland. Perhaps it was the clean air, or the swaying palm trees. Perhaps when vacation time is limited, we just have a heightened sense of things and perceive our time differently. Maybe I just didn't want to go back to work? Whatever it was, Jeju was a really refreshing break, and although I can't quite agree that Jeju is Korea's Hawaii, I can whole-heartedly attest to it being extremely laid back, almost tropical, and an exciting, adventure filled and beautiful island.

Japan III - The Mystique of Miyajima

2011-09-26T21:31:00.000-07:00

After immersing ourselves in the bleak and painful memories of Hiroshima, it was definitely time to lighten the mood. So, by way of tram, train, ferry and foot, we made our way to the island of Miyajima, or 'Shrine Island,' one hour south of the city in Hiroshima Bay. Though such a short distance away, the two places are worlds apart, and as our ferry glided through the calm waters of the Bay, the horrors of Hiroshima were left behind. We had no idea what we would find as we approached the mountainous island, only coming here after the recommendation of a friend...thanks Mark. http://fitzinprague.blogspot.com/
The first thing I noticed as we cruised nearer the island was a brilliant flash of red against the pastel blue and pine green of sea and forest. At that distance, I didn't know what it was, but as we edged closer I made it out to be the giant gateway known as the O-Torii, a symbolic structure marking the transition from the profane to the sacred. It's vermilion shades striking against the backdrop of the forested hillside, it was an impressive and imposing sight.
As we stepped ashore, we immediately had to negotiate our passage through herds of wild but tame deer that roam freely here. In the native Shinto religion, deer are considered messengers of the gods, and holy as they are they harbored no shame in haranguing the tourists for a free lunch. Winding our way through the throngs of deer and tourists, we passed myriad temples and wandered along traditional Japanese lanes, all dotted with a plethora of restaurants and craft shops, some tasteful and others tacky. Everywhere you looked there were stone statues and wooden shrines, with the fragrant aroma of burning incense invoking the memory of ancient ancestors.

The main draw on the island is the Itsukushima Shrine. The present structure, built in the mid sixteenth century and recently recognised as a U.N.E.S.C.O. World Heritage Site, is considered so pure that no human can die or be born near the shrine. Pregnant women or the very elderly are banished to the mainland in order to retain the shrine's purity...a little harsh perhaps, but all in the name of tradition. The shrine itself is built on piers, and when the tide is high it appears to be levitating over the water. As the island itself is considered sacred, commoners were not allowed to step foot on it's shores, but were permitted to worship at the shrine due to it being a separate entity from the island. It is a beautiful and evocative place, and as I walked around I tried to imagine it without the tourists. Back in it's heyday, I am sure this was a very spiritual experience for the common pilgrims, coming to worship at the shrine dedicated to Susano-o no Mikoto, Shinto deity of seas and storms.
A short hike from behind the powerful yet intricate architecture of the shrine takes you into the scenic hills of Momijidani Park. Awash with colorful maples and azalea, the trails were a cool escape from the summer heat, and afforded great views over the towering pagodas, colorful temples and the pretty coastline. Passing by lazy groups of shade seeking deer, we criss-crossed small streams and trickling waterfalls, and spent some time soaking up the tranquility in the ornate tea gardens.

Luckily, very few tourists had the energy in the heat to make it up to this secluded spot, so we had the serenity and solace for which these stunning ponds, complete with their coy carp and twisted bonsai trees, were designed for. It was magical, and hinted at a golden era of Japanese history and tradition.
As our day came to an end, we took a final look at the colossal O-Torii gateway, now looming even larger and more spectacular as the sun set and the tide receded, and as we departed this mystical island by boat, llike so many tourists and pilgrims before us, we vowed to return.

Japan II - Hiroshima: Heartache and Hope

2011-09-20T10:38:00.000-07:00

8:15a.m, August 6th, 1945. Hiroshima.
This is a moment in time that should never be forgotten. It was probably the single worst moment in human history. And it is a moment the likes of which must never happen again.
I am not here to discuss the merits of war or justifiable acts of terror, I just want to highlight what happened, as until I recently visited the city and it's Peace Park and museum, I was ignorant of the facts of this truly horrific and tragic event.
On that moment and in that place, the U.S Air Force dropped the world's first Nuclear Bomb, callously named 'Little Boy.' In a few seconds, the world had entered a new and terrifying nuclear age. Within minutes 70,000 innocent civilians were dead, 60% of them burned alive. By Christmas, the death toll had risen to approximately 160,000, many who suffered long insufferable months of pain through burns or radiation sickness. Estimates today suggest that a total of 300,000 lives have been lost to that single moment in history, many of cancer and leukemia as a direct result of the bomb.

There are few words emotive enough to express just how terrible this act was. The U.S. believed the use of the nuclear bomb meant they didn't have to involve the Soviet Union, thus restricting their influence after the war. And, Hiroshima was chosen over four other potential targets for this reason: the city had no allied prisoner of war camps! Many critics have since shown that in fact the bomb was unnecessary to end the war in the east, and so ultimately, it was a total waste of civilian lives, and not only Japanese, but many Korean and Chinese immigrant workers living in the city at the time. Many nations have committed acts of terror for what they believe to be the greater good, but I for one struggle to accept the use of any chemical weapons designed to maim, kill and torture innocent civilians. No act of any 'war' has been as shameful as this.

Arriving in the city from Fukuoka, I didn't really know what to expect. I had done little research, but I knew I would visit a Peace Park and memorial, the museum and various other monuments related to the 1945 attack.
My first impressions were a little surprising, though I am not really sure why. What we saw as we trundled along in an ancient and original tram was wide tree lined boulevards, cosmopolitan restaurants and a calm yet thriving city, modern yet understated, clean and alive. We headed straight into the Peace Park, and felt it was best to first visit the museum in order to gain a greater understanding of the city and it's past. I have previously visited some harrowing places before: The War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City, and the Killing Fields in Phnom Penh, and each were terribly heartbreaking. The Peace Memorial Museum in Hiroshima is every bit as tragic. The images of devastation, the graphic pictures of the victims, the heart-wrenching stories of entire multi-generational families being wiped out, and the individual tales of pain and suffering undergone by the victims, so many of whom were young children. It is simply crushing.

In the park is the A-Bomb Dome. The only destroyed structure left standing, it serves two purposes: First as a reminder to the world about the tragedy of the time, and second to inspire the city to embrace peace. The eerie shell, somehow graceful in it's warped appearance, continues to inspire today. Walking around this area is to walk only 600m below where the bomb actually detonated. It is a surreal experience, and as I looked up into the beautiful blue sky I couldn't begin to imagine the horrors that the people of this amazing city had been through. So many people were killed, and the devastation was so utterly and terribly comprehensive, it must have seemed impossible that she would ever recover!

Yet slowly and surely, recover she did. The fires that raged eventually burned themselves out. The city's pulse, the tram system, was quickly set running again, not only as a necessary part of the infrastructure, but as a sign of hope and inspiration. The schools were rebuilt as soon as possible, and the city, and her survivors, rose like the true Phoenix that she is. Rock band U2 once wrote a song called Unforgettable Fire, a reference to the devastation of Hiroshima. Well, the city has moved on, but like the song says, it's history will not and should not be forgotten.

Hiroshima today is a beautifully green, laid back city. It's people are polite and prosperous. And all bar none are dedicated to peace. On August 6th every year, the city holds a ceremony in the Peace Memorial Park, when the mayor reads his annual peace declaration. Hiroshima is committed to fulfilling her calling as a champion for peace. It strives to do everything it can to clear the world of nuclear weapons, and guide us toward a future of genuine and lasting peace. I for one wholeheartedly support this noble quest, and as the city moves on and continues to grow and prosper, and the passing of time helps to heal her physical scars, we must never forget the tragedy that happened here!
8:15a.m, August 6th, 1945. Hiroshima !

http://www.city.hiroshima.lg.jp/shimin/heiwa/crane.html Link to an inspirational story about a girl named Sadako Sasaki, who died of leukemia ten years after the bombing. When diagnosed with her illness, she vowed to fold a 1000 paper cranes before she died...read her touching story.

Colorful lanterns for peace in Hiroshima.

Japan - First stop Fukuoka

2011-09-19T09:30:00.000-07:00

A month or two back my girlfriend and I took a short sojourn to Japan, a country I'd greatly anticipated visiting since first touching down in Korea back in December '08. Just a three hour dash by ferry from Busan, our entry point of Fukuoka wasn't perhaps the most traditional of Japanese cities, but still gave us an intriguing initial taste of The Land of the Rising Sun. We spent the first evening at a riverside 'yatai' supping Asahi beers and juggling tempura with chopsticks. Then, after softening me up Leslie coerced me into catching a baseball game the next afternoon, when the Fukuoka Softbank Hawks team were playing, well hosting, another team.

Leslie is a big baseball fan; the San Francisco Giants. I am not! I have been to a couple of games in Korea and I confess, the atmosphere was good. So were the kebabs...and okay, it was cheap and they served cold beer. And the stadiums are cool, particularly the enclosed Yahoo Dome in Fukuoka. But as a sport, are you serious? The genuine sporty action combined amassed about five minutes, and was as entertaining as watching paint dry...gray paint at that...and the crowd weren't even into it, which at least they were in Busan. The highlight was when a 127 year old Mr Miyagi look-a-like bought us a slush puppy each...okay, it's an exaggeration, he looked nothing like Mr. Wax on, wax off, but he was at least 127.
I still don't know the result to this day, but at least I can say I tried...again. It's just...how can I put it? It's simply...well...it's just not cricket! And remember, Mr. Miyagi said "Man who catch fly with chopstick accomplish anything." Oh yeah! So why do baseball players need such big gloves?? Three hours and exactly zero home runs later, we were once again sat riverside justifying the $12 each Asahis, and looking forward to flying to Hiroshima the next day aboard the bullet train.

One of the Softbank Hawks actual players...look at that thing...'case rested.'

The Games: In summary then...

2011-09-07T22:14:00.000-07:00

As the Athletic World Champs drew to a dramatic close last Sunday evening, amid world records, fireworks and...K-pop?...some endearing memories were created for me. In sport as in life, there are highs and lows, the occasional controversy, and the events...no pun intended...in Daegu over the last couple of weeks didn't disappoint. Obvious highlights were witnessing the record breaking Jamaican lads cruising to gold in the 4x100m relay, and Usain Bolt's individual triumph in the 200m after his disastrous 100m. Some of the high octane competition and nail biting finales in the field events were captivating, and to even see the daredevil women's pole vault at close quarters was to gain new respect for the bravery of these athletes. Blade runner Oscar Pistorius was inspirational, and to be a part of the standing ovation afforded to several Korean athletes in the T53 wheelchair class, in a country not renowned for it's respect of disabilities, was truly moving...perhaps a sign of Korea heading in the right direction in terms of equality? I truly hope so.

On a personal level, my particular highlight was seeing British runner Mo Farah, after being narrowly pipped into silver position in the 10,000m, bounce back and win the 5,000m gold. Rather than grumbling about missing out on gold, he proudly accepted the silver and dug deep to win in what was an exceptional race. Not bad for a former P.E. teacher from Mogadishu / Hounslow.

The controversy I mentioned was of course down to the high profile disqualifications for false starts...most notably the irrepressible Mr. Bolt. Devastated as he was, an athlete of his caliber, as he so convincingly proved, will nearly always get another chance to bounce back. But this cannot be said for another victim of what are so obviously harsh draconian rules.

Yongli Wei, the lead girl in the Chinese 4x100m relay team, was shown the red card of shame/disqualification after one false start. Rules are rules, but to only get one chance before elimination is an extremely severe punishment, as of course the whole team, three of whom haven't put a foot wrong, are also ruled out of perhaps what may be a once in a lifetime 'finals' appearance. The poor girl, with the whole stadium and the sporting world looking on, was inconsolable. I can barely imagine her suffering, feeling she had let down her team mates, the travelling supporters, and her expectant country...not to mention a dictatorial and pressurizing government...I felt very sad for her.
What these games may do is succeed in making the I.A.A.F. re-think it's one strike and your out strategy, and bring back the two chance policy. Mind you, that didn't do old Linford the Lunchbox Christie any good in Atlanta 1996, did it?

I am lucky enough to have been inside the stadium in Daegu three times during the games...and once in the cheap seats on the hill behind...and it was a genuinely great experience. To witness the blood, sweat and tears shed by the athletes was amazing, both by the great and the not so great, those expecting success and others with no real chance of glory, but nevertheless were so proud to represent their countries and do themselves proud. The largely Korean crowd inside the stadium were also very respectful, cheering equally for all nations, despite in many cases an innate, though in all fairness somewhat waning, xenophobia.

Overall, despite the controversies and calamities, and the triumphs and the tribulations, it was a wonderful World Champs, and once again Korea has proven to be a master at staging major sporting events.

The Games...

2011-09-05T11:37:00.000-07:00

So this weekend, the 2011 Athletic World Champs came to an exciting close, with heartache and happiness by the skip load. There are too many dramatic stories to mention, so I will just share a few random pictures I took of the last two nights at the gorgeous Daegu Stadium.

Coming soon: A final blog about the games, Japan and...hmm, not sure yet? Thanks for listening!

On Your Marks...Set...DOH!

2011-08-28T22:37:00.000-07:00

Last night saw one of the greatest surprises in recent sporting history...Usain Bolt did NOT win the 100m final at the Daegu World Champs. After cruising to victory in the semi-final, the steaming hot favorite for gold inexplicably false started to be automatically disqualified. From my cheeky vantage point on a hill behind the stadium...I tried to buy tickets, honestly...I had a great view of most of the track and the giant screen. As the tension mounted leading up to the final, the 'Lightening Bolt' looked relaxed and confident. The seconds ticked down, and a palpable hush fell over the expectant crowd, both inside and out, and as the athletes took the starting blocks, it seems all of Daegu held it's collective breath.

ON YOUR MARKS...

SET...

DOH!

The lightening Bolt, or should that be 'Lightening Fault,' left the blocks early, and owing to the harsh rules was instantly disqualified. The crowd were in shock, and doubt so too were the remaining finalists, realising their chances of winning had not only improved, but perhaps only then appeared. Bolt was such an overwhelming favourite, I am sure they would have been delighted with a silver or bronze. It is nice to see a relatively unknown athlete in Jamaican Yohan Blake win such a prestigious title, but I can't help but feeling sympathy for such an incredible sprinter and likeable character as Bolt. The rules are undoubtedly tough, and all of Bolt's competitors shared my sympathies, including the noble medal winners.I just hope the 'Blunder Bolt,' regains his composure in time for the 200m next weekend...and this time, I have genuine tickets for the final...honestly.

Winner Yohan Blake

Dejected and disconsolate

The Blade Runner

2011-08-27T22:09:00.000-07:00

The 2011 World Athletics Championships is happening right here in Daegu, and living in Siji just ten minutes walk from the cool 'World Cup Stadium,' I naturally wanted to grab some tickets and get a slice of the action. Today I witnessed some impressive performances...Isinbayeva in the women's Pole Vault (& lots of skimpy shorts), some speedy men's110m hurdles led by Dayron Robles, a few slightly uninspiring shot putters, and some plucky displays by the well supported Korean athletes. But by far the highlight of the morning was witnessing the amazing Oscar Pistorius...The Blade Runner.

Oscar speeding down the back straight this morning

This guy is a double amputee and runs on carbon fibre artificial legs. Today he qualified for the semi-finals, finishing third in his heat with a time a little over 45 seconds. To even walk around is courageous for this 25 year old South African, yet to compete against and challenge able bodied guys is simply incredible. Prior to the Beijing Olympics the powers that be ruled that his artificial limbs handed him an unfair advantage, and thus he couldn't compete. However after scientists deemed that he didn't in fact gain any extra speed from them, he was cleared to compete. Having just set a personal best time of 45:07, he qualified to compete at these games, and to see him cruising by us in a flash was amazing. Next time you have aching legs or sore feet, spare a thought for 'The Blade Runner,' this guy is inspirational.

I took this shot live at the games this morning...of the ~~big,~~ huge screen

Badminton with a difference, anyone?

2011-08-22T22:39:00.000-07:00

I have just completed a two week summer camp with my school, Moonkkang. It was tiring but fun, and certainly worth it for the extra cash. However, the highlight was not the money, but this. A fellow teacher shared an article with me, written by one of her middle school level students, name unknown. No intro necessary, just read and enjoy.

Killing Spare Times
Playing badminton is easy. All you need is a racket and your cock. While playing badminton, we jump and hit the cock, and run and smash the cock. Don't let the cock fly out of the hand. Just bash the cock, and control the cock with a few special strokes. Simple isn't it? Do you want to play?

Hilarious. And genuine...honestly!

Coming soon: Adventures from the Land of the Rising Sun.

The Dogs of Chilseong

2011-08-04T08:44:00.000-07:00

Oh Korea. It is a very strange country. Koreans love dogs, many families here have pet dogs, and my students often talk about how cute dogs are. Yet, many of them still eat man's best friend, though this trend has diminished somewhat in recent years. There are still dog restaurants to be found, but they tend to be more in back street locations. Because of the influx of tourists due to the 2002 World Cup, the government made selling dog meat illegal, and so it is increasingly rare to see, but it exists...Koreans still eat up to 100,000 tons of dog meat a year! The question is, where does all that 'illegal' dog meat come from? Well, an 'illegal' dog meat market, of course.
My previous blog spoke about the colourful Chilseong Market in Daegu. Well, as Leslie and I walked innocently around the market one Sunday afternoon, we happened upon some big cages, each containing three large dogs looking like a cross between orange huskies and Alsations.

The cages were cramped, not enough room for all three dogs to sit, and they didn't look very healthy. But we naively assumed they were for sale as pets. Leslie has a pet dog back home, and didn't like to see them stuffed in cages like this, so we left the slightly depressing market lane in a hurry. What we saw as we turned the next corner took a few seconds to register, but when we understood what it was we were looking at, it was shocking.

Laid out on a long table in front of us were the skinned carcasses of a dozen dogs. Next to them were also the grim corpses of two smaller dogs, but as yet, not skinned. It was a stomach churning scene, especially as we had no idea that this place was here. Poor Leslie couldn't handle it, and disappeared in seconds. Though I am not a dog lover as such, it was still very shocking to me, but I couldn't help it...I had to take a closer look. With camera in hand, I edged nearer the surreal scene, and under the bemused gaze of the haggard old shop keeper and a couple of amused customers, I snapped away.

Not only were there complete carcasses, but the usual butcher shop items such as drum sticks, ribs, steaks, and various other cuts of meat. It was very graphic indeed.

The strangest thing of all was this; sat on another bench, just behind the table of corpses, was the dog meat stall owner's pet dog. Unbelievable. The scene was complete. A stall of caged miserable dogs. A crazy old woman with a glistening machete. A table of butchered dogs. And one cute pet...a dog, of course.

At least I now understood the location of the somewhat mangy and unhealthy caged animals. I am told that dogs are smart. Maybe? If so, then they were either resigned to the same fate as their cousins round the corner, or simply too weak to try and escape. And as for the pet, what was it thinking? "I am the luckiest dog alive?" Or, "Shit, I better behave, maybe it's my turn next?" Whatever the truth, it was a pretty distressing afternoon discovery.

Despite all this, I have eaten dog before. Well, 'When in Rome.' It was a weird experience, and one I'm in no rush to repeat. Rumour had it that the dogs were hung in a tree, alive, and beaten to death with clubs so as to tenderise the meat, but I am informed that this is no longer the case. However, because of the proximity of the caged dogs to the machete wielding ajumma (old lady), I am doubtful that there is any humane killing involved when it comes to the dogs of Chilseong. I am not in any way against people of different countries or cultures eating things that are abhorrent to people elsewhere, after all, alternative traditions is what makes the world go around. However, after witnessing the illegal dog meat market here in Daegu, I am at least sure that, dog lover or not, man's best friend is no longer on my Sunday lunch menu!

Left overs - jaws, tails, feet etc.

"Two Little Piggies Went To Market."

2011-07-28T20:21:00.000-07:00

"Oink, oink. Roll up, roll up, get our body parts here."

Chilseong Market in down-town Daegu is like any other outdoor Asian market; colourful, hot and smelly...and I couldn't wait to visit. Last Sunday Leslie and I decided to check it out, and knowing Korean markets like we do, fully expected an assault on all of our senses, especially our sight and smell. It was not going to be an afternoon for the queasy and hungover.

Area 51?

We first entered the market in the seafood section. The smell of course slaps you like a wet fish, and the slippery floor was a death-trap...one false step could see you sharing a bath with the guts of a thousand halibut. Alongside the usual suspects of fish, lobster, crab and other shellfish, were an array of more weird and wonderful aquatic creatures. Stenchy dried squid hung everywhere. Huge alien-like octopuses were displayed like the victims of an Area 51 massacre, with tentacles so long and lethal looking I was scared to get too close...just in case.

There were slimy eels of all shapes and sizes, some so fat and long you'd need a stretcher to take one home. Buckets of apparently delicious turtles, next to tanks of things I couldn't guess as to what they were. And like all good fish markets...an Ol' trout or two.

After some well earned fresh air, we turned into the 'pork' section. Koreans love pork, and let me tell you, nothing gets wasted. There were buckets of snouts and curly tails. Tubs of trotters. Cases of knee and ankle joints, sadly looking far too similar to my own swollen, arthritic right speciman. Racks of ribs hung about, partly concealed by the swarming, ravenous flies. Buckets of hearts, lungs, and various awful looking offal pieces...and dare I say it...big old boxes of bollocks!

But the best part was the smiling and intact pig's heads, placed about like some macabre welcoming salesmen...or should that be 'sales pigs?' It may have been my imagination, but the porker's heads appeared to be watching over their former body parts, like some proud artist gazing about his or her own gallery, as if to say, 'go on, you know I'd make delicious bacon.'
Maybe the fish fumes had got to me a little...time for a glass of swine...erm, wine.

p.s. There is a section of the market I am yet to mention, and one even less savoury. First, we didn't expect to see it, and second, it was pretty disturbing when we stumbled upon it. This will be my next blog, coming soon, but be prepared...it is not for the feint hearted...or dog lovers. You have been WARNED!

The Hites of Mt. Apsan

2011-07-21T10:28:00.000-07:00

Hite beers on the heights of Mt. Apsan

OK. So my last post was me complaining about all the rain in Daegu, but evidently it is I who was wrong, not Mr. Draven. It did stop, and last weekend, the weather was simply perfect. Now that my football season, and incidentally my career, is over, Saturdays and Sundays are totally free. Leslie and I, and Puja, our friend Angie's dog, decided to make the most of the sunshine and head to Mount Apsan. Just 4 subway stops from central Daegu, the forested mountains are in stark contrast to the smog choked and heat oppressed down-town; the air is clearer, the traffic thinner and the views promised to be spectacular.

I can't deny it, this is one cute dog

After lunch and beers at the India restaurant (it didn't sell Indian food) we hiked the short distance to the cable car and cruised 800m skyward. Despite the blistering heat the modestly sized mountain offered a welcome breeze, and the views really were stunning.

Catching the breeze

Our late afternoon arrival meant the day's light was at it's best, and we could see for miles, even to my district of Siji and Daegu Stadium, some 8 miles east. The mountain was surprisingly devoid of hikers, a Korean obsession. In fact, I call the hiking trails 'the catwalks of Korea,' as unless you are dolled to the nines or kitted out in high-tech outdoor equipment you are severely under-dressed. It's hilarious, as the mountains here, though beautiful, are little more than swollen hills. Still, they are a healthy bunch, the Koreans, and you know what they say, 'look good, feel good.'

As the sun began to set, the heat of the day warranted icy cold beers from the summit cafe. Relaxing with our Hites, we enjoyed the silence and serenity of our lofty lookout, and what at ground level can be a stifling, humid and grimy city, the sprawling metropolis of Daegu looked calm and tranquil. Ignoring the distance distortion factor and probable heat stroke, my currently adopted home looked positively beautiful.

Daegu looking like a land of Leg0

My girlfriend Leslie with the star of the day, Puja

"It can't rain all the time."

2011-07-09T21:27:00.000-07:00

To quote a line from one of my favourite movies, The Crow, Eric says to Sarah, "It can't rain all the time."
Well he lied, because apparently in Daegu this weekend, it can.

Daegu is my home city, currently, and I love it. It has beautiful mountains, a lively down-town, and has lots to do and is close to lots of other cool places. However, when it rains in Daegu, there is not a lot else to do other than watch movies, hit coffee shops...or go to the pub.
In this monsoony type weather, 'Colourful Daegu' becomes 'Dreary Daegu,' but I'm still smiling, and holding out some hope that Mr. Draven got it wrong.
p.s. As I post this, the emerging sun is about to make me feel stupid.

Boracay Bliss Part III

2011-07-08T18:44:00.000-07:00

Sailing at sunset

Despite no real plans to party on this 'relaxing' vacation, I did inevitably end up at the bars post sunset...and occasionally before. Charles Bar, my particular favourite, offered permanent 'happy hours' and live music, right on the beach. It became my local for the week, and I made some excellent friends during my many evenings there. We were an eclectic mix; Japanese, Norwegian, American, Korean, Romanian, Philippino and of course myself, the token Englishman. It made for interesting and well lubricated nights out.

Great times were had in Boracay, and as I write this last excerpt on the beach before leaving, I have just one more troubling dilemma...do I have the energy to hike the twelve steps to the bar just one more time?

P.S. The relatively short journey from Boracay to my home in Daegu, South Korea, nevertheless became an epic trip. From the guest house to my door, these are the modes of transport I needed...all ten of them: walking - motorbike taxi - ferry - rickshaw - small plane - big plane - shuttle bus - big bus - subway - taxi! To top it off, my backpack didn't arrive in Daegu; evidently someone didn't load it onto the plane, and of course my keys, cell phone and laptop were all inside...I know, I know, I should have kept my keys with me...live and learn! My bag finally turned up in Daegu three days later, and my compensation, a whopping $25. But, it is all part of the adventure, and I can't wait for the next one...watch this space!

Boracay Bliss Part II

2011-07-06T06:35:00.000-07:00

Early evening at White Beach

The first day on Boracay set the pattern for the rest of my trip in this little corner of paradise; early wake up, beach stroll, breakfast, and then lying comatose under the baking sun until ~~sunset~~ burnt! This delightful routine was broken only occasionally by a swim or a walk, or an exhausting five metre trek to the bar...after all, sunbathing is thirsty work! My days truly were leisurely, and I was having a great time.

All eight sunsets I have seen here on Boracay have been spectacular; the colours amazing, the ambiance enchanting...and the beer icy cold. Life is tough in the Philippines.

Coming soon: Boracay Bliss Part III

Boracay Bliss Part I

2011-07-04T22:05:00.000-07:00

So much to do, so little time

After braving the cold winter on two continents, Europe and Asia, and successfully making it three months into my new job, I felt the need for some fun in the sun, and headed to the fantastic Philippine island of Boracay. With eight days to play with and no plans, I expected total relaxation, and I wasn't disappointed. After arrival via myriad forms of transport, I checked into my room and then immediately immersed myself into the clear, warm waters of famous White Beach. Admittedly there were thousands of tourists here, despite the mild Tsunami warnings, but the beach was vast enough to leave humanity behind for days at a time...so I did. With my Ipod and my book, and the miles of pure silica white sand, I was in paradise.

Coming soon: Boracay Bliss Part II