The Weather Effect

I once had a friend tell me that November was the most depressing month of the year. The weather is going downhill and Christmas is still too far away to bring any cheer. I think that the same principal applies halfway around the world. Not that I'm super depressed, but everything does appear to be a bit more...dreary. I'm concerned that the Christmas spirit will not be nearly as potent here. It's true that there is a large Christian representation here, but the Christmas tradition is newer here and could not have been translated perfectly.

Fall is gentle here and the temperature usually fluctuates between 5 and 20 degrees Celsius. This is just dandy, but for the greyness. The sun has not been brightening any faces lately, or waking up the overworked city folk with warm rays through their window. Nope, the sun is exhausted from its hard summer work and is keeping a dull distance. I sense the effect everywhere. There are less people bustling down the street, less people on the bus in the early morning, less people on time for class.

Probably the worst thing yet is that my prediction about Korean weather reactions was accurate. Just as I escaped the wet sauna of Korean summers, virtually all public places (buses, subways, coffee shops, offices) CRANKED their heat. How I loathe standing on the buses as my shirt slowly begins to dampen. So it seems that my fate is to be forever hot in this country.

The Quilted Mountains

My interest in the Orient began, as with most young boys, in martial arts movies. The Orient is often depicted in movies as a solemn place, full of delicate beauty and inner peace. Other elements of the Far East were added to my knowledge as I took an interest in Anime, but that is for another chapter. I would say that the largest impression left on my mind was indebted to one of my all-time favourite movies "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon." In that movie I understood the Orient to really understand the need for peaceful contemplation, especially over a clear cup of green tea. Many beautiful and thoughtful moments within the film were held with purposeful patience in order to properly absorb each element. And the scenery filled my heart with a longing to run, walk and sit in that foreign wilderness. After experiencing this movie, I could never leave my desire for the Orient behind. Instead, I had to put this very desire to the fore and steer right towards it.


But here is the porcupine's quill in my tiger's paw: Seoul has none of this. I already wrote of the pollution. Then there are the flooded streets of an overpopulated megatropolis. Worse yet, instead of practicing peaceful contemplation, they mutually demand "Pali! Pali!" The Spanish "Rapido!" The English "Quicker! Faster! Hurry up!" But maybe worse of all, I have not seen one Korean savour one cup of tea! All of this left a scowl on my face. I felt betrayed by my childhood promises about the Orient. Surely they weren't idealized fantasies! Surely somewhere in this world I could find rest from the break-neck pace and pressure of this Age. Surely I didn't cross this ocean to find that such a land never existed. Now I'm not in utter despair here. As all good travelers know, what you are looking for might be found in the very next village. Or possibly the one after that.

Hey, lift up that droopy chin now! This story doesn't have a sad ending. Don't mistake me! What I will share next is not what I have always been seeking. However, it did brush against it, if only for a moment's moment. My traveling companions and I were told repeatedly of the beauty of one Sorak Mountain. It resides on the North East coast of South Korea, near Sokcho city. Word of mouth told us that its fairness must be seen in Autumn, when the numberless trees wear their most colourful garments. And with the help of one generous student, we made arrangements to visit Sorak during this season.

I do not have much to tell of Sokcho. To be frank, being there gave you the feeling that its popularity had gone out of fashion long ago. But that mattered little to me because I wasn't there for the city. I came for the Mountain. On our third day of being on the East Coast, we took a taxi to the base of Sorak. It was so busy that we had to stop the taxi and walk the last 2km by ourselves. This small walk already worried me. Just 2 days ago I was at our academy's annual sports day where Tyler and I ran until our legs gave way. The 2km walk sent painful jolts through several muscles. It was sinking in that I would not reach Sorak's summit. But that could be addressed. There was a gondola that ran up half the mountain and would let you summit it's first of three peaks. Not having the time or strength to press further, we acquiesced.

Wait. Stop. The sight I saw as I turned my neck to squint through the fog! I looked at the Mountain and was stricken. It was not its size, for there are many mountains in Canada that tower above it. It was in part its strange cut and peculiar silhouette. The trees looked so unique as they stood black on its rim. But to truly know its beauty, you have to stand on its shoulders. There more than anything, you will experience its vibrant colours. Cranberry red, soft living gold, rust, and copper. My words cannot capture their essence, but neither should they. They must be held in one's eye. They must be seen snared within each leaf, lit by the sun, swaying with the wind. They must be visited high up in the mountain where the air is elating, the heightened view allows you to peer like a god, and the mist reminds you that there is magic close by. Only after this can you know and echo my satisfaction. We have pictures, but nothing can capture what I have described properly.

Our bus ride home to Seoul was in the afternoon and I got to see all the autumn clad mountains I missed previously while traveling in the dark. During that ride home I remember being grateful to see the fragile beauty I hoped to find in the Orient when I was younger. Their mountains are not sheer and threatening like the Rockies. Their trees are not austere and rugged like the Canadian evergreens. Their trees are deciduous, delicate, and rich; blanketing gentle giants with their autumn patchwork quilt. Their mountains roll meekly but dip, rise, and layer in a most handsome manner. I could not keep my eyes off of them. Instead they started to slowly fade like a dream to me, becoming more scarce and scarce the closer I got to home. The peace of the Eastern Mountains I have left behind. But I can never forget them.

Ascent

There is no hiding my disappointment with Seoul's pollution problem. I'm sure some major cities are worse and they are trying really hard here to clean it up - they separate their garbage into biodegradable, recyclable, and general garbage; and they have labourers up by at least 5am to sweep the streets; but the stench persists. Their sewer system is either outdated or exceeding capacity. While walking down the streets you may often catch a rancid whiff of rotting vegetables, the sting of something that smells like Korean body odour, or the staggering smell of vaporized feces. It is a far cry from the clean oxygen of Canada. Especially because the effect is multiplied by Seoul's heat and humidity. I miss that dry, cool September air in Manitoba. Nothing beats Canadian Autumn.

Right, where was I going with this? I was giving you a glimpse into my forlorn state as I reminisced of my homeland. It became particularly salient when I first decided to climb Mount Namsan. It towers above my house and is only a short jaunt away. As soon as I entered it's green canopy, I took in something I had forgotten the sweetness of: clean, fresh air. Despite being in the center of Seoul, the elevation and sheer number of trees on this mountain dared to hold the pollution at bay. I had never been so happy that I lived so close to this Emerald Giant. Humanity in its industrial zeal has cut many deep scars into Mother Nature. But thank God for sanctuaries like this mountain, where I can be freed from the polluted punishment of our wrongs.

Last night I laced up my runners and charged up the mountain. Normally I would regret pumping my lungs with Seoul's air, but I was at Namsan! Ascenting its sides with quick and deep breathes. I slowed to walk as I crossed a short wooden boardwalk by a miniature marsh, and then pressed onward to a lookout point over the city. From the top of the mountain the view is impressive. There are millions of lights all around you, stretching across a vast distance! The population of the city is over 10 million (over 24 million in the metropolitan, topping the world charts). Imagine the change for someone who has lived in Winnipeg all his life. And I work in the busiest sector of it all - Gangnam.

These experiences are welcomed for me, but I also need retreats. Thus I relish in Namsan, and I look forward to this long weekend where I will escape urban-mania and visit the South or East coast of Korea.

Ajuma!

It's about time I mentioned a certain character type that I unfortunately have to deal with often in South Korea. They go by the name of 'ajuma'. Now technically an ajuma is distinguished by the fact that she is a married woman (and 'agassis' are married men). But because most Koreans get married, and generally later in life, the name is almost synonymous with older woman.

The hilarious thing is that they are easy to spot since 95% of them sport short permed hair and visors. The unfunny fact is that many of them have horrendous public transportation manners. You may be the most polite boy ever and would certainly hand over your sitting rights for an elderly lady, but ajumas do not consider this. They scuttle at high velocity, with a low centre of gravity, and an immutable tenacity. Plus, given Confucian priority of respect to age, they exercise all of their privileges while shoving you with both hands out of their way. All the while without so much as a hint of regret. Even if you're not vying for the same seat as them, they have been known (ask Tyler) to body check you if you're along their beeline. And they can be quite strong. Do not be surprised if you spot an ajuma wheeling a GIGANTIC pull-cart brimming with it's startling load. Many elderly folk here continue to contribute to the manual labour force.

It is so weird - not that Canada is without it's share of nasty old women (or men). It's that because of Confucianism no one younger has the right to challenge their behaviour. So they get away scotch free. That is unless a Westerner is feeling fed up at the moment. I like to believe that Canadians have a certain respect for their elders too, but it ends where rudeness begins. Does it surprise you that the pimps of Korea are females, not males?

Age is so important to Confucianism. So much that you can only call people your own age 'friends'. Otherwise they are your 'older brother' or 'younger brother' with accompanying roles and responsibilities. For instance, my 'older brother' feels obligated to pay for the meals we share. Secretly this tarnishes quantity bonding because it would quickly make an older brother poor. So you're bound to your own age until your thirties when this more social norm becomes more lax.

All this being said, Korean culture is under tremendous transformation pressures from the influence of Western views on a traditionally conservative and monolithic society. A great rift exists between the young and old in their ideas. Thankfully respect permeates most relations and keeps a remarkable peace on this land.

My Mom Always Said I Looked Like a Model

I did not take Korea long to discover my true beauty - superficial though it may be. Please see my candid face at http://www.gqkorea.co.kr/

A Few Honourable Mentions

I don't intend to write any essays here. Today I write only for the many little stories or factoids that do not warrant their own post by themselves.

7 Eleven. I experienced some genuine glee when I first noticed that this country was full of them. EXCEPT, when you step into these mascqerading shops, you quickly perceive that aside from the store's name, nothing is familiar to you! Okay, okay - maybe a couple chocolate bars. But even the chips are foreign. And the only 'supposed' brand name chip (Sunchips) taste like chimera sunchip/buggle/awful chips.

To counter that disappointment, let me add the blessing of McDonalds. Woah! Easy! I would never say that in Canada. But in foreign lands, McDonalds are always more respectable. Especially when they offer you unbeatable and unbelievable prices at lunch. I could get 2 Bigmac meals (with tomato and bacon) and substitute their drinks for small shakes and only pay $7 Cdn. total.. Plus, it tastes like home, not kimchi (Korea's 'everywhere food'). [Tyler and I think that Korean body odor and old Korean fridges smell like kimchi; and that everything that tastes funny, like milk, has rice in it]. For the record, I don't mind the taste of Kimchi.

Scaring Tyler. Oh, he knew this was coming. It was one of my 'best ever' scares. Before I begin - a detail about our house. The bathroom shower has a mini sliding window that opens to a sheltered shoe removal area. From that area I was about to depart, when Tyler yells in his best Swartzenegger voice: "Get Down!" which startlers anyone who doesn't expect there to be anybody in the room with them. He was showering and decided to surpise me with a good natured scare. So I left to run an errand and crept back quietly to the same location where I could exact my revenge. This time the window was shut. I poise right in front of the foggy glass...then *slide* and with a yet more precise Arnold voice: "It's not a tumor!" Hahaha, I still laugh at his raw animal reaction. He quite seriously screamed bloody murder and through up his hands in the air. The kind of reaction you think Hollywood has embellished until you see it for yourself. Thankfully he was already laughing with me in seconds.

I think triplets are enough for anyone to give birth to in one day. Now I rest.

Settling Down and Settle Down on Saturday

If I thought upon arriving here that ordering dinner was going to be difficult, imagine the challenge of finding housing. Language barrier aside, Tyler and I had to barter with local real estate agents while having no idea of the property value in the prospective area (Itaewon). The only solution: hit several real estate agents, compare offers, and try to drop down your favourite place. That was last weekend, and now Tyler and I are proud owners of a 3 bedroom flat in a district that is noted for its attractiveness to foreginers.

After a week of work, including closing the house deal, working many overtime hours, and getting a health check at the hospital for my immigration process, we were ready to move on to phase two: furnishing the house. I don't just mean furniture here. I mean, fridges, stoves, and washing machines are not included. Never mind a few beds, closets (they don't have permanent closets so you have to buy movable units), a table, desks, chairs, a tv, a couch, a coffee table, and whateverelse we'll need. Again we encountered the bartering dilemna. For the furniture and appliances we thought it necessary to look at a few secondhand places. But how do we find out where they are if we don't have an English Yellow Pages. Well, you ask random people who know broken English and walk and walk and walk around looking for places. Once we rounded up enough stuff from a couple locations we realized that we didn't have enough cash to pay for everything (they wouldn't except credit cards). So we ran around looking for banks that would allow us to take out cash from our credit cards. This story goes on but I'll stop here. Sound exhausting? Sound stressful? It was. And that was just before supper.

The evening was spent traveling an hour to Costco and finding out that you can only pay with cash (again!!!) or samsung-mastercards.... we were sooooo frusterated at that point. We decided to at least look around. Imagine what you, as a Canadian, would think a packed and busy night at Costco would be like. Now multiply that by 3 (probably more), and factor in that half of them were completely oblivious to where they were pushing their cart. It is no exaggeration that at least 15 times that evening people stopped in the middle of an isle, stayed there doing nothing in particular, and refused to accept the reality that several other people were staring at them waiting to move forward. After all we had been through that day, we were ready to go back to our appartment with still only one mattress to share between the two of us.

A Story Beginning

Here begins my written journey. Many have expressed the desire to know my experiences, and since the options are myriad, malnouished 'personal' updates or a girthy, detailed mass update, I believe you will agree that the latter is superior. So in the spirited voice of the MXC announcer, "Let's get it on!"

Where do I begin? With the terrible visa process that soaked all my patience? Too frusterating. With the scramble to find western luxuries before departing this familiar market? Too materialistic. With the hard goodbyes of my loved ones? Too personal. No. I will begin when I landed in Toronto for my interview with the Korean consulate. Not with the actual interview which was short and not worth mentioning, but with the other Canadians I met at the consulate who were about to embark on the same journey.

We had never seen each other and would have never spoken to each other if it weren't for the similar fate we shared. Yet with a secretly shared excitement inside and a longing to express it with anyone else who could empathize, we greeted with mutual affection. We talked of our frustrations, our gameplans, and our traveler's joy.

I met a girl who was on the same flight as I was that very night. I never would have done this with a perfect stranger but the circumstances invited company - we decided to spend the evening hanging out together. We had a couple final Canadian beers and exchanged our knowledge of the land and the people before us. We just wanted to know that other people were doing the same thing as us and everything would turn out fine. I thought to myself that this wouldn't be the first meeting of this kind and that the same meeting might happen multiple times with other lone foreigners in Korea.

And then we departed. Off and up. High, high, and over. Across. Far. Very far. Terrifyingly far. And then 14 hours later. I was transported. There was no stopping the adventure. There was no turning back. I was much much further from home than I had ever been before.