Korea Chick: a blog from English Village, Paju, South Korea

reponses to comments

2008-03-20T10:49:00.001-04:00

Um, if you post a comment and would like a response, don't post anonymously--ie leave an email address.

Website!

2007-05-28T22:33:00.001-04:00

I've got a website up and running for all things acting: www.SandyYork.biz. I've got a long way to go, but there's lots up already--especially for past stage productions. Stop on by!!!

for prospective English Village Edutainers in Paju, South Korea

2007-05-28T22:31:00.000-04:00

A quick tag for anyone looking for info on applyling to be an edutainer English Village in Paju, South Korea. Go to the September archive link (scroll down and it's on the right); my resignation letter is the first post and sums up my experience.

English Village Paju Camp, South Korea--Edutainers Beware!

2007-05-17T23:28:00.001-04:00

I know they're out recruiting again now, so I'm keeping the blog current. Go to September in my archives for the resignation letter that sums it up. Blog entries earlier than that go into details... They don't know what they are doing, but they will act like they do. They have ZERO clue about performing. Negative clue, even. This place will kill the performer's soul. Stay far, far, away.

SPAIN: Madrid-El Escorial-Avila-Segovia-Madrid

2006-12-12T17:38:00.000-05:00

SPAIN: Madrid
Once in Madrid, I bought a 10-trip metro ticket (cheap!) and easily navigated the convenient, fast and clean system to the stop nearest the hostel where I’d made a reservation. It turned out to be a pretty big but very well-run place (Los Amigos) and I joined up with some people who were going out for tapas and beers. I should have stayed in, however, as it turned out to be a scene of too many people not making decisions and not doing much of anything but trying to think of what to do. Duh. I got to see Plaza Mayor at night, though, which was neato.

I got up on Sunday and got info on upcoming bullfights and tickets (cheaper to buy at the ring), then went to El Rastro, the Sunday flea market that takes up a big stretch of street in the center of the city. I bought a few accessory-type items and marveled at the crowd, then walked to Museo Del Prado, one of the big three museums in Madrid, with tons of European and Spanish art. Lots. Oodles, even. I spent three or four hours there (which is a quick trip), then took the metro to Plaza de Toros, where I followed the stream of spectators to the fights. I got a cheap ticket in the sun (warmer at this time of year is fine), and took in the evening of six slaughters.

Yes, bullfights will bring up the mixed bag of emotions. Of course it’s terrible to watch the animals killed, and pretty much tortured on the way, in what is hardly a fair fight. On the other hand, I eat meat, and were I to be given the choice of being a bull destined for the ring (about 4 years of a totally cushy life, then a really crappy half an hour) or for the standard meat market (about 2 years of a generally crappy life), well, I’d take choice A. So who am I to be morally indignant? In the face of art, sport, culture (granted the first two are arguable)? There was definitely a theatrical element to the matadors’ performances, including a sense of dramatic timing and gauging the audience’s reactions. One guy just didn’t know when to quit, like an actor indulging himself in ‘moments’ for his own emotional wallowing. Others knew exactly when an exciting move was needed, or when to milk a pass. Regardless, I had my own internal monologue going, from the bull’s point of view: “Hey, guys! Guys? Hey…what the… Did I do something? What’s the deal? What’s with those pink things? And the poking?!?! Dude, that HURTS! Everything was going so good…” and on the bull’s behalf: “Get him! Get that cowardly @#*&^%er!”

I asked a Spanish woman near me (our section wasn’t nearly full) what was going on at one point (a bunch of white/brown bulls were brought out, and they essentially cornered the bull that was going to be fought until he bolted via the empty gate; apparently he was deemed unworthy of the fight), and she asked me what I thought of it. I told her that I didn’t like to see the animals killed but that I appreciated the cultural/traditional aspect and had seen a fight 20 years before in Mexico. She said she’d last seen one in Madrid, also 20 years ago, and that she didn’t like it at all. Later an older guy—old school--chatted us up on all the things we should appreciate about it, but understanding why we had difficulty enjoying it all. I’m glad I went, but once every 20 years is plenty!

By the time I left, I was starving, as I’d not eaten much at all that day, and got a quick snack of dried fruit and nuts for the walk back, on which I tried to investigate zarzuela performances (no luck) and a LP restaurant (no luck). Instead, however, I found exactly what I needed: a salad bar/buffet place, loaded with veggies. Hooray! I ate and ate and ate. And ate. Mmmmmmmm.

I found an internet place on the way home and dealt with my photos for the last time and checked my email, then finally got back to the hostel and collapsed. (“Where did you GO all day???”)

Got up and partook of the included breakfast (bread, cereal and hot beverages) before running around Parque Del Buen Retiro, which is big and beautiful. I also passed the famous Plaza de las Cibeles en route—the glorious Palacio de Comunicaciones (post office) and statue of Cybele and her chariot. These people do not mess around with their public spaces.

I got back to the hostel via the tourist office in Plaza Mayor, showered, and went out on a walking tour of “historic” Madrid. Unfortunately, it being Monday, lots of sites were closed or had weird hours. I started at Puerta del Sol (de obras), then Iglesia de San Gines (de obras), then Plaza Mayor (beautiful and enormous and happenin’!), Plaza de la Villa (with the Ayuntamiento, or City Hall, Casa de Cisneros and Torre de los Lujanes), the tower of Iglesia de San Pedro el Viejo, Iglesia de San Andres, Basilica de San Francisco el Grande (closed-bummer!), the view from Las Vistillas en route to Catedral de Nuestra Senora de la Almudena, which is next door to the very grand Palacio Real. I spent plenty of time there in the main complex, the armory and the pharmacy, and overlooking the surrounding gardens. Beyond that was Plaza de Oriente which contains Teatro Real (closed), and then Plaza de Espana, with the famous statue of Don Quixote and Sancho. At the far end of my tour was the Templo de Debod, a 4th-century BC Egyptian temple in the Parque de la Montaña. Huh!

Knowing that the last stop on this tour, the Monasterio delas Descalzas Reales, was closed, I walked back through a trendy shopping district, then through the Plaza de Canalejas (cool buildings on every corner!) on the way to the Centro de Arte Reina Sofia—the impressive modern art museum, where I spent 2 or 3 hours until they kicked me out.

I followed my stomach and ate dinner at La Musa de La Latina in the little Plaza de la Paja—a chicken salad, bread, and fabulous albariño wine. I detoured by Calle de los Cuchilleros in order to check out the restaurant mom had frequented 40 years ago, which she described as “a marvelous dump with great food.” It is now a very expensive restaurant with great food… The staff got a kick out of my checking the place out, though, and invited me to take a tour, despite it being crowded and not easily navigated with extra people milling about (fabulous cavy-brick-arches-passages-lots of rooms). I took the menu they gave me and said I’d make a reservation when I figured out which night I’d be able to return (this was going to be my splurge meal!).

Upon return to the hostel, I packed up my stuff and made arrangements to lock it up for the next 2 days, as I’d planned daytrips outside of the city and would spend a night elsewhere. (at this point, my sandals are still unbelievably comfortable, but they stink, and I mean STINK, to high heaven. Remember TEVA stink? This is SO much worse. I tried leaving them outside the room, and then realized that they had to be out the WINDOW so as not to stink up any enclosed environment. This continued for the rest of the trip. In Avila, I even saw a TV commercial for the brand as “the shoe that breathes,” which had me howling in disbelief)

SPAIN: El Escorial / Avila
I took a bus west to the huge monastic complex of San Lorenzo de El Escorial, where the temperature was MUCH colder. I walked to the site amidst pretty autumnal foliage, and toured the Museos de Arquitectura and Pintura, the Palacios de Felipe II/los Austrias, la basilica, and mausoleums. All kinds of art was displayed throughout, from tapestries and sculptures to frescos and oil paintings, plus lots of intricate woodwork.

After much planning and strategizing, I decided not to go to Valle de los Caidos, a memorial to the fallen of Spain’s civil war, as there was only one bus to and from and would severely limit my time anywhere else. Given the bus and train schedules, my best bet seemed to be to go to Avila first and then Segovia the next day, so I caught the next train to Avila (had a terrible burger while waiting)(I sat on the upper level and had a great view of the pretty scenery with lots of dirt roads through mountains that had me itching for a run), where, because we arrived ten minutes late, the tourism office was closed. I FINALLY found the main one in town, in spite of lots of bad signage and lots of people pointing me in wrong directions. I just missed getting into places that closed at 6, but got to walk the city wall (the highlight of a trip to Avila) and take lots of photos, then walk around the old city.

An interesting recent addition to the city is a terrorism statue by the Alcazar gate in the Plaza de Santa Teresa with the Iglesia de San Pedro. The statue is an enormous human being sitting with his arms pulling his knees into his body and his head tucked in. It’s quite impressive and daunting and moving.

I saw the outsides of many places of note, such as the cathedral, which is built into the city wall, the Basilica de San Vicente, the Convento de Santa Teresa, and the Iglesia de Santiago. I was experiencing my first Spanish rain (and I wasn’t even on the plain!), so I busted out the little poncho I’d bought in Asia, which served me perfectly. Having seen many, many signs for “Yema de Avila,” I finally went into a store and asked what it was—a bite-sized pastry of a little crust, a cooked egg yolk, and a chocolate or other sweet shell on top. A mini heart attack! I bought four, not yet knowing exactly what I was in for…

Not having wasted any daylight on finding a pension, I came to that task in the evening and got lucky with a place I’d noticed on my walk in from the train station. I got a cheap room (with a TV, no less!) with a shared bath, and my hostess was a lovely woman with whom I had an extended chat about our backgrounds. She pointed me to a great little cafeteria, where I over-ordered (tapas came with the wine, and I asked for two what-I-thought-were side dishes…turned out to be huge orders of grilled veggies and tuna empanada) but had fun with the guy behind the counter, whose cousin was getting married in New York later in the year. I had lots of leftovers, but it was cold enough (altitude!) that my window ledge was an adequate refrigerator. The bus station was nearby, so I checked on departure times to Segovia for the next day—and they were all about 15 minutes earlier than what the tourism office had told me. Eeek!

I had a good long stretch in my hotel room, with “House” in Spanish on TV, then slept, slept, slept. I got up and out on Wednesday to see three of the sights I’d not been able to see the day before, carefully ordering them according to their opening times so that I could fit them all in before catching my 12:45 bus (nothing opened before 10). Unfortunately, the Monasterio de San Tomas wasn’t open as listed, and I didn’t have the 45 minutes to wait for it to open—and it was out of the way, so I’d not be able to return. I saw the catedral, but the basilica was closed until 12:15 for a private ceremony (which no one could post or tell me about the day before, of course), so I had a 5-minute peek there. ARGH! It was raining again, too—until I got on the bus. Ah, well…at least Avila’s walls were worth the trip…

SPAIN: Segovia
Also cool, and now windy, Segovia was at least sunny, and I had just enough clothing to be comfortable—as long as I kept walking! The tourism office was MUCH better organized than in Avila, and was huge and helpful and easily found. On the walk into town, stunning churches appeared around every corner, until I caught my first glimpse of the Acueducto—astounding! It’s absolutely gigantic and dominates the landscape and seems otherworldly—probably because it is! I need to read up on exactly how those work, because I have no idea. But I dutifully sang “Aquedu-u-u-u-u-uct” a la Jethro Tull for my running pals back home (we run along an aqueduct on the Rockefeller trails).

I toured the gorgeous catedral, Plaza Mayor, and the Alcazar (fairyland castle), then went off the beaten path down from the wall to the outlying areas. I found the Casa de la Moneda (Mint--oldest industrial building) and the Monasterio de Santa Maria del Parral, then walked along the Paseo de la Alameda del Rio Eresma back to town and some of the puertas in the wall. I took a different, winding route back through town for another gape at the acueducto before heading back to the bus station (I picked up a sandwich and beer on the way), then waved adios to Segovia.

SPAIN: More Madrid
(side notes: if you want red wine, order vino “tinto,” not “rojo.” The word “vale” gets a lot of use, as in “sure, right, okay” and also “que vale?” as in “cuanto cuesta?” Only the tourists asked the latter. Hmmmm. Not sure if I mentioned that daylight lasts from about 7:30am-8:30pm)

Our bus stopped on some random alley of some random station, and it took me a while to figure out where on earth I was, but it turned out I was relatively close to home. I checked back into the hostel, into a new (nearer the entrance and much noisier, alas) room, and set myself up before going to a flamenco performance at Las Tablas. Another crappy seat!!! I was way off to the side of the stage, and everything was directed to the front (I think those people also had dinner reservations, and the mere spectators-with-included-beverage get shoved to the side). Some lovely Kiwis in front of me saved me from the awful Americans behind me, and I enjoyed my laterally- experienced performance. This brand of flamenco was classicalish with a moderny dance flavor mixed in. The performers changed into various modernly styled but clearly flamenco costumes throughout. One of the singers was great, the other was producing sound only from his throat and not resonating anywhere, and it was painful to listen to, ‘cause it wasn’t healthy.

Thursday: it took a while to get organized, but I went to the Monasterio de las Descalzas Reales and had to wait in line for an HOUR to get in. It was a good tour (only in Spanish, but our guide was excellent and spoke very clearly), but I missed seeing El Teatro Real and the Basilica because of it. Bummer. I met two great Americans from Pasadena in line, though, and we had fun both in line and quipping during the tour—they even paid for my ticket (“we always wanted a daughter”)!

After the tour, I investigated theater options for the night, then made a dinner reservation at Sobrino de Botin (10pm was the earliest available…ouch!—but not that late for Spain) before taking the metro to mom’s old neighborhood. I went in search of her former home, but the address number was only a hardware store and didn’t have enough floors for her 6th floor apartment. So…I took a lot of photos of nearby buildings with enough floors and shots of things that looked like they might have been there 40 years ago.

I hopped back on the metro to Plaza de Cibeles for photos (I’d seen it while running) and to mail postcards, then to Plaza de Neptune, next to the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, which I also enjoyed—a huge collection of art from medieval to present times, in all styles. (O’Keefe, Freud, Van Gogh, Manet, Monet, Matisse, Kandinsky, Lichtenstein, Rauchenberg, Rothko, Miro, Magritte…) Whew! 3 major museums!

I bought a ticket at Teatro Español for that night’s performance of “Mujeres de Lorca,” a flamenco performance based on Lorca’s plays. I went back to the hostel quickly to pack up all my stuff and to change, as I’d have a late night and an early morning to get to the airport, then back to the theater. The show was wonderful, and I was able to follow most of the stories because I’m familiar with enough of his work. It was fascinating to see flamenco as storytelling theatre beyond the one-song-at-a-time form, especially having seen the other performances. This was a company that clearly had strong classical training, with a lot of balletic and very controlled choreography, but also allowing for the big emotions of the characters through much wilder dancing—closer to what I’d seen in Granada. At times it also brought Irish step dancing to mind. The whole production was very theatrically creative, and of course the dance was outstanding. It was a real highlight of my trip, and I wish I could get a copy of the lyrics from the songs… (3 guitars, percussion, 4-5 singers, 8 dancers, featuring Carmen Cortes. They got the very extended applause they deserved!

At this point, I was quite ready for a big meal, and I went to the Botin, where people were now being told that 11:30 pm was the next available opening. On the way, I realized I’d need more cash, then decided to use my credit card, then remembered that I had, for emergencies, MOM’S credit card! Heh, heh—that’ll teach her to send me to dumps! I was seated and well-attended by the waiters who seemed enjoy my reason for being there, especially the guy who’d met me the first night—I think he was a little disappointed not to be assigned to my table! He checked on me regularly and brought me souvenir wooden spoons (one for me and one for my madre).

I had an enormous meal: gazpacho, served with a platter of fresh ingredients for me to spoon in as desired, a half bottle of wine, bread (even here they charged me for it!), roast lamb, and cheesecake (I wasn’t going to have dessert but the waiter and I concluded that mom would want me to). Ooooooof! I done the Eaters’ Club proud.

I had a long chat with a couple from Puerto Rico at the table next to me, which kept us there late enough to hear the university students who came by with their traditional stringed instruments and costumes and big voices. They were really good, and added to the fun of the whole experience. (Before and during my meal, I was browsing through some arts info, and saw that the “Tiger Lilies” would be performing their version of “The Match Stick Girl,” and that it was a musical theatre band. Now, I happen to know a musical theatre-type band called “Groovelily” with a show called “Striking 12,” which is based on the same “Match Stick Girl,” and they do tour, and I’d been out of the loop…so I thought it was entirely possible that there had been some confusion in back-and-forth translatings and that they’d be in Madrid that coming week. And after a half bottle of wine, it seemed even more possible and freaky… Turns out it isn’t the same group, and that I’d almost seen a show that the first group was in in NYC last year).

I took my stomach back to the hostel and tried to be quiet getting to bed (about 1am), then up at 7. It took much longer to get to the airport than I’d been told, and THEN you have to wait for and take a bus to the terminal, which was extremely FAR AWAY—as in 15 minutes at about 40mph. By the time I got to check-in I only had an hour and the line was HUGE, so the woman at the Iberian info desk said to take both bags as carryons, which was no problem except for my Swiss Army knife. Unfortunately, they don’t do what they do in Asia, which is to just stick it in an envelope and send it off to the checked luggage pile--they confiscate it, supposedly for destruction. I was bummed, since I’d bought it in Switzerland in ’98. Boohooo!

I deplaned in Dusseldorf for my connecting flights, and had totally forgotten that I’d be in a German-speaking world and would have to contend with another language, even if only briefly. I was completely unprepared, mentally, to switch gears again. I got my bag, transferred any liquids and other stuff deemed inappropriate by G.W. to my big bag, walked around a lot and bought a nasty breakfast pastry, and finally went to my gate. Those guys who go through every last thing in all carryon luggage must see some pretty weird stuff. I don’t know how they contain their curiosity or commentary.

I slept a little, but not much amidst a big chatty German group, probably going to NYC for the first time. But it was great to get off at Kennedy, haul ass like a New Yorker to the baggage claim, realize that the M60 bus I thought I’d take to 125th street only runs from LaGuardia, and be able to ask the guy at the transportation desk how much the airtrain cost. His answer: “Fidallah.” Hooray! I’m HOME! (I made him say it again and proclaimed my love for him). Well, that train is not well marked, and some other NYers who’d never taken it before and I figured it out together, bringing a few foreigners with us. I was pretty giddy at this point, running on some form of adrenaline, but I got to Grand Central and on a train to Old Greenwich. I borrowed a cellphone to call mom, and enjoyed a LONG sleep on my very own flannel sheets! Woohoo!

I do believe I have successfully scratched the travel itch for the time being…

So now I’m home and slowly getting back into show biz, catering a lot during the holidays, and enjoying the people and things I’d missed. I definitely made the right choice in leaving EV, even before hearing all the ridiculousness that has happened since I left. Now, I just have to get through the battle of getting the last of the money they owe me, which has been ongoing since I returned on Oct. 6th. But I am determined, for myself and the others who have left, none of whom have gotten their money yet, either.

Happy Holidays! Now I gotta get to work on the letter…

SPAIN: Cordoba-Toledo

2006-12-05T21:02:00.000-05:00

SPAIN: Cordoba
Friday: up and early and schlepped much farther than I’d realized I’d need to to get to the train station, but got a relatively cheap one (the varieties are confusing) to Cordoba, where there was more confusion and a few hassles regarding bus and train schedules, baggage storage lockers and tourist info. I caught a bus to the area with the must-see stuff, and passed an old Islamic water wheel on my way to the Alcazar de los Reyes Cristianos. The highlights there were the views and the gardens, but it was crowded, partially due to it being a no-admission day and partly because there were a few weddings there for photos (with BITCHY women, I might add).

I had an overpriced falafel lunch and walked on the far side of the Rio Guadalquivir, by the Torre del la Calahorra and Puente Romano (under construction and impassable) to and around the far side of the city wall. Next up was the much-renowned Mezquita, which was a vast maze of endless candy-cane arches; I kept expecting giggling elves to pop out from behind pillars or hang from the ceiling. ‘Twas a wondrous mixture of Muslim and Christian architecture.

After that, the rest paled in comparison. I could only see part of the exterior of the sinagoga, the Puerta de Almodovar was like the Alcazar, and Casa Andalusi was a quaint home crammed with stuff supposedly of note. Spanish plazas never fail to please, though, and the Plazas de las Tendillas and de la Corredera were both lovely. The ruins of a roman temple were a funny find amidst the contemporary traffic.

SPAIN: Toledo

I got photos from my camera transferred to a CD (as many as would fit…) then walked back to the train station to hop a choochoo to Madrid, as there was no direct anything to Toledo, in spite of its being on the way. In Madrid I caught another train to Toledo, and arrived there after dark. Fortunately, I immediately found the bus that dropped me in the center of town, and I found my pension quickly. I was tired but went out for a caña (Mahou beer) and free tapas (rolls with oil, tomato and maybe eggplant, with fries and mayo, salsa and parsley—rock on!). I finally got to bed at 12:30 and slept in instead of running, as I’d be on my feet all day and had a lot of territory to cover.

The Mezquita de Cristo de la Luz (de obras=under construction) was a nifty old mosque with views beyond the city’s walls. I traded the unintelligible English writeup for the Spanish one. I probably shouldn’t have bothered finding the main tourist office after that, but I got a decent map and rode the huge remonte peotonal (escalator) to get there.

Moving on, I found my way (which isn’t easy in Toledo, as all the streets are twisty-turny, not so labeled, and lookalike) to the Monasterio de Santo Domingo el Anterio, where I saw (a copy of) El Greco’s “Acension,” lots of catholic stuff, and nun-made marzipan (I bought a little box—yum!). The Iglesia de San Roman and its Museo de los Concilios y Cultura Visigoda and tower (with what seemed like centuries’ worth of pigeon poop), was a quick stop before Iglesia de Santo Tome, with El Greco’s famous “El Entierro del Conde de Orgay.” Amazing and beautiful, and the tourists pay and are herded through to see this one thing the church has on display.

The Casa-Museo de El Greco offered more, including many portraits and “Vista y Plano de Toledo.” I checked out the Mudejar decoration of Sinagoga del Transito and its Museo Sefardi, then the Sinagoga de Santa Maria La Blanca, with white Almohade arches. The cloisters and sanctuary of San Juan de los Reyes were light-filled and beautiful, with eerie chains of former Christian prisoners adorning the exterior walls.

I turned back towards the center of town for lunch, and settled on a more out-of-the-way place with less crowded outdoor seating, and enjoyed a lunch of partridge with stewed beans and black pudding sausage (partridge is a Toledo specialty, and they don’t mention the sausage in the description, but you can always expect some pork of some kind to make an appearance), accompanied by a delicious pint of Schlosser Alt beer. Mmmmmmm.

Thus fortified, I braced myself for the crowds of Toledo’s famous Catedral. And it was crowded, as it was Saturday and also I think a special tourism day—many sites were free. But the Catedral was glorious, especially the unique Transparente: an elaborate sculpture- and fresco-decorated window above and behind the main altar. The coro, capilla Mayor, Puerta del Reloj, Sala Capitular (500-yr-old Mudejar ceiling), sacrista, cloisters and Custodia de Arfe were all of different styles, from Islamic to Renaissance to Gothic…quite the mishmash.

I passed by the Alcazar, which was under construction and closed, and was happy that the Museo de Santa Cruz had extended hours that day, as I’d heard it was fabulous—and it was! There were tons of El Grecos and works of other masters, plus a special exhibit on seeing all the underlying drawing with whatever their newest technology is.

I went back to my pension via the Arco de la Sangre in the city walls, guarded by a statue of Cervantes, and Plaza de Zocodover, which is seemingly always a-bustle. I picked up my belongings and caught a bus to the train station, where the next two trains were sold out! So I walked to the bus station and caught a slow one, but got to Madrid before it was very late. Whew! A big day!

SPAIN: Ronda - Sevilla

2006-12-02T13:39:00.000-05:00

SPAIN: Ronda
La Ciudad Soñada is a lovely little city straddling an ENORMOUS gorge (El Tajo), with stunning views that mysteriously eats huge chunks of space on camera memory sticks. Houses and hotels and fortress walls perch at (or extend over) the very edge of sheer dropoffs.

My hotel room was ready when I arrived at 10am, so I set myself up and did some laundry, taking advantage of having my very own bathroom. I contemplated a nap, but of course couldn’t waste time on mere sleep when there was stuff to see, so out I went. I was tired from the trekking and the lack of sleep, and Ronda is small, so after some churros y chocolate (with smoke) I made my way lazily from sight to sight, window shopping (I even found some Geox sport sandals on end-of-season sale) and gaping at the scenery at all the viewpoints.

I wandered to la Iglesia de Nuestra Señora del Socorro, Plaza de Toros’ ring and the museum, the Plaza de España, and Puente Nuevo, then was ready for some real food. I had some unremarkable Valencian paella (where they brought me bread and charged me for it) in a pretty square with la Iglesia de Santa Maria La Mayor, which fueled me for the hike down into the gorge from Plaza Maria Auxiliadora and back. The Palacio de Mondragon, containing the city museum, was lovely and interesting, and I chatted with some Americans whose son was about to pursue acting in LA.

I walked south from the city center to the outer fortress walls, then along the eastern wall to the Arab baths and Puente Viejo. Iglesia de Nuestro Padre Jesus was the last church I visited, then I strolled through town in search of a souvenir, as mom had not been to Ronda, and dinner ideas. Most of the tourist shops in Spain seem to have the same ceramics, except for the different towns’ names, but I bought a little vase for our Spanish collection anyway. No menus were calling my name, and I was fading fast, so I bought some gelato and walked to the western walls to see the sun set over the surrounding valley. I found a grocery store near my hotel and bought a little prepackaged salad and a bag of plain mixed greens to add to it, as I was craving some serious greenery. Alas, they had no cold drinks, so I bought a mini bottle of red wine, which turned out to be pretty bad. But the combo in my hotel room, while organizing my stuff and thoughts with a Spanish telenovela on TV before bed, was perfect.

I had hoped to go for a run around the valley surrounding town the next morning, but clearly needed the sleep and my legs were still pooped from the hiking. I took a bus to Sevilla (which was sitting in the station but left 20 minutes late; nobody was in a rush), and I was the only non-locally-dropped-off passenger for the first hour (I’d contemplated going to the Costa del Sol for the day, but the transportation schedules sucked and it seemed like it would be more hassle than it was worth).

We passed the stunning Plaza de España before pulling into the station, and I got off the bus into the beautiful sunshine (it’s always sunny here!!!), crossing my fingers that I’d find a place to stay easily, as calling around the day before had gotten me nowhere. I found some 20Euro rooms pretty quickly, but they weren’t very well attended and were easily accessible, and I wanted a little more security, so I kept moving on. The cheap places recommended in my book were full, but one sent me to La Gloria, where they gave me a double (barely) for 25Euros, with a shower and sink but no toilet (?). Manolo (the first of three who worked there), was a father hen figure who gave me a map and marked out the best places for cheap bocadillos, nightlife and museums, and implored me to be careful with my bag while sightseeing. He was very happy that I spoke Spanish, as was everyone there during my stay; I don’t think we ever used English.

I was starving at this point, and finally settled on lunch at La Habanita, where I had gazpacho and then pork in sauce with raisins and bacon. On the walk over, I’d passed through Plaza Nueva and Plaza de San Francisco, both of which were under construction—as most of the city, I soon discovered, was (Granada had been, too, but not as pervasively). Bummer.

After lunch I went to see la Catedral, which is on the glorious end of the cathedral spectrum, including a beautiful coro, capilla mayor, Patio de los Naranjos, and views from la Giralda (tower). Unfortunately, my photos came out crappy, and it closed much earlier than I’d realized, so I mis-paced myself and didn’t get to see everything. Across the Plaza del Triunfo, however, the Alcazar was open much later, so I took in the huge complex of rooms and patios and beautiful gardens.

Having had a proper dose of architecture and landscaping, I went to the barrio de Santa Cruz for tapas, where I finally had a true tapas experience. I bellied up to the bar, ordered a caña (small glass of beer) and asked what I should try, which prompted an immediate answer, so that’s what I had. A ham-n-cheesy mini-sandwich deal, which was very good. This approach served me well most of the time; only once did I have a server who didn’t want to deal with making a recommendation. Otherwise, when they see that you’ll take them up on whatever they suggest, they have fun, and it doesn’t cost them any time during rush hour. They keep your tab in chalk on the barspace in front of you and tally it up when you’re ready to go. Several times, since I was alone and hearing other people’s conversations, I ended up helping tourists with little or no Spanish to order drinks and food, which led to a few fun conversations. I also got a useful review of a flamenco performance.

After a few tapas, I went off to find a club where there was supposedly regular and free flamenco dancing, but at 10:30 it was still EMPTY, and I wasn’t going to wait around for hours for the action to begin, so I went home via another tapas place (meat o’clock is always in effect when dealing with tapas, although I did have one of chick peas and spinach). While there is plenty of nightlife and lots of tourists in Sevilla, the late stuff happens in concentrated areas, some tucked away, and the trip back to the hotel involved walking through areas that were pedestrian-only and safe but not very well trafficked, so I didn’t go out late-night. When I got back to the hotel, Jose, who was of the same mold as Manolo #1, was on duty and so very happy to meet me and find out what I’d done that day. Hilarious.

I slept in (Wednesday) and then went on a longish run (1:15) across and down the river Guadalquivir, then back through the park de Maria Luisa…and only got a little lost making my way back home (On the way out, I met Maonolo #2, who observed that I was off to do something sporty and pointed out the black-and-white photos of him in his former pole-vaulting glory days on the wall). I had a huge bocadillo at a ridiculously non-Spanish hour in the late morning, then went to the Museo de las Bellas Artes, which was well worth the trip for paintings by many a Spanish master in a former convent.

I walked down the city-side of the river, picking up some transportation info (and a carnation) at a tourist office, past the bullring and Torre del Oro, then crossed town (construction, construction, construction) to Plaza de España. On the way back, I stopped to listen to a guy playing some amazing guitar along the Alcazar wall, and bought his CD. I sat at an outdoor restaurant table for a glass of fino (sherry), which wasn’t really to my taste, then had some tapas and summer wine at Patio San Eloy before going to the late flamenco show where I’d made a reservation (another crappy seat!). The show was, again, brief, but still enjoyable. The style here was much different than in Granada: much more formal, technical, and severe, and the costumes were all black and more modern. The singer had a ridiculous tenor range but with HUGE vocal tension that made me wonder how long he’d have that voice.

I went back to the hotel, where I was greeted by Jose, who was “SO GLAD!” to see me and solemnly offered me these words of wisdom: “Sleep a lot, eat well, and don’t walk too fast.” OKAY, Jose. I wrote a few postcards on the (bleak) rooftop terrace before bed.

On Thursday, I went to the Thursday flea market, but it didn’t seem to be happening, as only a small, seemingly daily market was going on. I checked out the nearby Macarena Basilica, which was tacky, then took a bus to Santiponce to see Italica, the eerie and weird site of the first Roman town in Spain (206 BC), which included ruins of houses and a huge amphitheater. The nearby monastery was closed, so I took a bus back to Sevilla and walked through La Triana, a neighborhood noted for ceramics (still siesta time, though, so everything was closed).

The hospice Caridad was a bit of a waste, since the main feature, the sculptured altar, was covered. There were some pretty tiles and a few Murillo paintings, though. I made up for it with gelato, then went to the post office for postcard stamps, checked my email at Western Union, had a glass of wine on the Plaza de San Francisco, shopped around and bought a bunch of jewelry at a fun (and BUSY) store, investigated transferring some photos onto a CD, and went out for…tapas. At my first stop, within half a beer, a boisterous Irish guy was chatting me up: he’d lost his cellphone and rental car’s keys, and couldn’t get in touch with the friend with whom he was staying (part-time girlfriend and mother of his son) or find a cab. He claimed to be a psychiatrist with homes in Lima, Huelva, Phuket and Brooklyn, and good-naturedly labeled himself a “prick”, “asshole,” and “bastard” at various points in the conversation, during which he kept ordering beers and close-talking me so that we slowly migrated six feet down the bar. People. Takes all kinds. The bartenders and I were entertained by the situation (This guy did explain that this was Spain’s year for getting allocated EU money, which was why everything was under construction all over the country). I let him leave WITHOUT me, then went to another spot for a taste before calling it a night. Manolo #3 was greatly disappointed that I’d missed the magnificent flea market.

SPAIN: Malaga-Granada-Capileira

2006-11-27T20:04:00.000-05:00

SPAIN: Malaga
Fortunately, getting to the city center from the airport was a no-brainer, since very few of my brain cells were functioning at this point. I took a train into town and left my big bag in a locker at the main station (baggage all goes through screening @ RENFE for anyone entering), then summoned the energy from some mystical place to see what I could of the city. Hungry, my first thought was to find some food. Upon turning the corner away from the station, I happened upon a “Chocolate y Churros” stand, which was exactly what I needed: fried, sugary comfort food! And since my first Spanish textbook in the 7th grade was titled “Churros y Chocolate,” I took it as a good omen!

As for those Spanish studies, they were clearly going to serve me well. Suddenly, I could read signs! Communicate in complete sentences! Even express the occasional complex thought! Really, it was the first time in seven months that I’d been in a country whose language I spoke. Oh, it was so good and easy—and then I thought: “wait ‘til I get home—it’ll feel like I’m cheating when everything happens in English!” I even blend in a little bit here, not only because there are so many tourists, but because Spaniards have all different haircolors, so I can even pass as a native if I don’t have to talk too much…

I made my way to the pretty and colorful city center, where I took in the excellent new Picasso Museum, which was first on my to-do list. I walked next to the Cathedral, which was standardly cathedral-y, and then on to the Alcazaba, an impressive Muslim palace-fortress with pretty views over the coast. By then I was hungry again, and the only nearby quickfix was a Subway, and while it’s pretty much against my traveling religion to eat at a western chain, I wanted something I could get fast and carry, so I got a sandwich and a Pepsi Light (Hooray! I must be back in the west, where diet sodas abound!). I hiked above the Alcazaba to the Castillo de Gibralfaro, of which not much remains but the ramparts. They are vast and walkable, however, and afford almost 360 degrees of city views. I tried to descend on more foresty and less touristy paths, but they kept dead-ending, so I turned around instead of opting for the steep, cactus-ridden hillside.

Determined to dip my toes in the Mediterranean Sea, I walked to la Playa de la Malagueta and strolled the shore with my shoes off. The beach was pretty if not stunning, but it was nice to have sand in my toes and salt air in my nose. Of greater interest was the topless factor. I realized that I’d never been to a topless beach, and let me tell you, it’s distracting! I can look at boobs anytime I want, nudity is all good with me, and yet I still had to work hard not to stare. I was surprised at how the unfamiliarity of the scene was such a shock. I’d see a guy and a woman talking, she was beautiful and tanned and had darned nice breasts, and I just didn’t know how he could be carrying on a conversation AND keeping his eyes up. I guess he’d had practice.

I headed back in the direction of the train station, and along the way got info as to bus departures to Granada. I took photos and window shopped en route to picking up my bags and schlepping them to the bus station, where I got a snack (basically a huge meatball and fries) for the ride on what was a very comfy bus. Surprisingly, I didn’t fall asleep, as I’d been in serious danger of doing so while walking at several points during the day.

SPAIN: Granada
From the main bus station, I caught a city bus to the center of the old city, then shopped around for what seemed like forever before I sucked it up and paid for a double room (shared bath), as no singles seemed to be available anywhere. I treated myself to a trip to the ice cream place I’d seen, then collapsed, exhausted, for a good, long sleep!

Finally rested, I began the next day with breakfast of a Spanish omelet and coffee in a nearby café, got then walked down Calle de Reyes Catolicos, the main drag. I did a little window shopping and bought some excellent spring-green shoes, then found a single room for the next two nights and moved my stuff there.

I got some basic information and a map (it turns out that the office of tourism in Spain really has its act together, and every office has good maps, all in the same style) from one of the tourist offices, then began my mission to see everything I could, aside from La Alhambra, which I’d have to get up early for the next day. In the Albayzin neighborhood of narrow and winding cobblestone streets lined with white buildings, I saw La Iglesia de Santa Ana, La Colegiata del Salvador, Arco de las Pesas, Alminar de San Jose, and Mirador San Nicolas, an excellent viewpoint overlooking the town to La Alhambra. Then I headed up to Sacramonte, the gypsy neighborhood, to investigate flamenco performance sites and wander around. Strangely, my book made almost no mention of this area, where there were more astounding views of La Alhambra and more white buildings scrambling up and caves burrowing into the hillsides, all bordered by a huge wall running to the west. I had been told that you could walk along the wall, but a gypsy I met when hiking toward it (“you’re in my home,” –as in on his property–oops!) advised me against it, as it was a poor area that had seen some recent conflicts. Oh. OH. But it was a happy accident that I’d trespassed, as I learned a lot about their lifestyle and artistry and history, and he was pleased that I could speak well (I was having a good language day…) and forgiving of my honest error.

I went back through the Albayzin and the main street of tourist shops (a lot of the handicrafts sold seem to be souvenirs of the world that I’d seen all over Asia. Other items are newer versions of things that mom already collected forty years ago!). I was starving, so I didn’t stop to browse, and made a beeline for a falafel restaurant in Plaza Nueva. I enjoyed a bursting sandwich outside, made a reservation for flamenco that night, then went to see La Catedral, which was gorgeous and white and sunlit inside, and La Capilla Real, an elaborate mausoleum for the Catholic monarchs—kindof ooky. El Monasterio de San Jeronimo was a ways west, but worth the walk for its stunning colors and lack of tourists.

Somehow I found my way to a student-populated area, complete with trendy thrift shops, so of course I spent time there and bought a bunch of fun clothes, including a light leather jacket. Having accumulated even more bulk, I got info at the post office (mailing the box was going to be MUCH easier here) about shipping overseas, then tried new ice cream flavors on the way back to my hostal, where I changed for the flamenco performance. Downstairs, I met up with four Seattle women (Kim, Amy, Shauna—vascular techs, and Kitty—events planner at a golf club) waiting for the same shuttle to the show in Sacramonte, and had a beer (from the vending machine!) with them (of course beverages weren’t allowed on the shuttle that showed up as soon as we’d cracked them open, so the American girls all chugged on the sidewalk).

It took us forever to get to Sacramonte, as we seemed to take the longest, least direct route possible to what would have been a twenty-minute slow walk from the hostal. We got to the cave and got the last seats (we were on the back of the bus) the farthest from the action, and it was completely touristy, but I still loved every minute of it. Art with balls! They had the fabulously loud dresses you’d expect, and sang and stomped up a storm. I was a little bummed that there weren’t any male dancers, and it was way too short—well under an hour. The bus wended its indirect way back to town, and I joined the girls for tapas, but at that point it was too late to get food at the bar (?!?!), so we had beers while the local college guys hit on us. The gals hadn’t eaten anything and were going to be out all night, so they got falafel sandwiches and I went home early at 2am.

The next morning, I was lucky to get a ticket for morning admission at La Alhambra, as I’d not gotten there as early as I would have liked, due to the previous evening’s outing. But they had a single ticket left, so I was able to go right in (after about an hour in line. There are TONS of tourists and big tour groups here, but I think that’s always the case). I got an audioguide and first went to see the Summer Palace and Generalife garden, which wasn’t as impressive as I’d expected. It seemed unkept, actually, although it was pretty. Following the audio tour, I walked through the Medina, Garden of San Francisco, Calle Real, and la Iglesia de Santa Maria.

The main attraction at La Alhambra is the Palacio Nazaries, which is huge and a stunning example of Islamic architecture. Tiles and carvings in amazing patterns and colors abound, and the sacredness and utility of water is incorporated throughout. The audio guide provided commentary on each room/area: Mexuar, Cuarto Dorado and its patio, Palacio de Comares, Patio de los Arrayanes, Sala de Barca, Salon de Comares, Palacio and Patio de los Leones, Sala de los Abencerrajes, Sala de los Reyes, Sala de Dos Hermanas, Estancias del Emperador, Patio de las Reja and Lindaraja, Jardines del Partal, Palacio de Portico. WHEW. That took a while, jockeying amongst all the camera-wielding tourists.

The much less crowded Palacio de Carlos V felt almost like a bullring, and included a Museum of La Alhambra, but the Fine Arts Museum upstairs was under renovation. I passed through the Puerta del Vino to La Alcazaba, another important site, which is mostly impressive walls and towers, including the big (watchtower) Torre de la Vela, which had great views.

I had to go all the way back to the entrance to return my audioguide, so I passed through Puerta de la Justicia and walked along one of the outer walls, then turned around for the (downhill—hooray!) walk back to town. Happily, I spotted some newly discarded and unscathed cardboard boxes, and I grabbed one for mailing my formalwear and souvenirs, which I packed up at the hostal, where I also washed most of my clothes and hung them on my little balcony. I mailed the box (YIPPEE!) for a mere 50 Euros, checked my email, unsuccessfully shopped for walking sandals, then stopped back at the hostal to see if the girls from the night before were still going out for tapas. I missed them, though, and foolishly went out to dinner instead of going straight to bed. Oh well…the chick peas and spinach and sausage plate was good.

I slept hard and got up in time to pick up some fruit (I had to get a pomegranate!) and a traditional pastry for breakfast before packing up and leaving for the bus to the bus station, where I had to wait forever in line to buy my ticket. Walking to the departure area, I realized that my ticket didn’t list which bus platform I needed to be on, and none of the postings had my destination, and no one could tell me which one to go to. I’m no mass-transit novice, and I can speak and read this language, and in ten minutes I couldn’t get anyone to point me in the right direction, so I missed it. It took me another 15 minutes afterwards to find out where it had left from, which is ridiculous. At any rate, this meant that I’d lose half a day in Las Alpujarras, and that I had five hours to kill during siesta, which meant that all stores were closed. Grrrr.

So I walked. A lot. I found one big department/grocery store that was open and explored that (no sandals), and basically made my way back to the old city. I did find a pension that would be a good place to stay between my next two destinations, as the bus and train schedules all had huge gaps that would leave me with over three hours between, but I could arrive late and leave early… I had some pizza for lunch, but couldn’t taste it, as I’d developed a cold and my sinuses were a mess, although I felt okay otherwise.

Other observations after a few days in Spain:
These people SMOKE. A LOT. I think ALL OF THEM. EVERYWHERE. It’s killing me! Whenever given the option, I’ll pay the extra money to sit outside; otherwise, I try to choose my seat carefully. There are a few places where it’s supposedly prohibited, but the rules aren’t exactly abided by. Blech.

It’s great to hear Spanish music, especially the solo guitar guys sitting along castle walls or in Arabic gardens, IN Spain. Talk about atmosphere! In the plazas, however, they have a tendency to play Spanishized versions of western standard songs: Autumn Leaves, My Way, Blue Moon, Strangers in the Night, and lots of 1970-1990’s American pop music.

I’m enjoying the return to beverages to go in cups, vs. the plastic bags of Asia, and am surprised by traffic that stops for pedestrians and pedestrians who wait at intersections.

I hadn’t stopped to realize how pervasive the Arab/Muslim influence would be here in Andalusia, and of course it is. Nor had I expected the scruffy brown desert-like landscape that far outweighs the greenery. It all makes sense, but I hadn’t considered it all beforehand.

There is a lot of graffiti art here, and much of it is quite beautiful. I even saw some people at work, looking like they’d probably been hired to do it, possibly for a good fee. Huh.

SPAIN:
Capileira (Las Alpujarras)

I caught the later bus and arrived in Capileira in Las Alplujarras, at the base of the Sierra Nevada, via insanely curvy (those guardrails would not keep a bus from a serious plunge) and narrow (pull in your mirror!) roads before sunset. I was DYING for some cardiovascular exercise, but it was too late at that point, so I left my stuff at the hostal I’d reserved a room in and then walked at dusk through the little white town--twisting and skinny cobblestone streets dappled with colorful floral windowboxes--that somehow wasn’t sliding into the valley below. Many of the craft stores were still open, and some were quite nice and actually unique. I’m still regretting not buying a pair of earrings and a candle holder… I watched a man and two dogs bring their goats in from a distant pasture to the stable area, at one point standing at the downstream center of an SUV as the herd divided around it and me and merged again, inches in front of me.

The surrounding valleys and mountains were vast and extreme and dramatic, rugged and beautiful. Capileira is the northernmost of three (Capileira, Bubion, Pampaneira) white towns of Barranco del Poqueira (total population of 1270), at an elevation of 1440m. The highest peak in the Sierra Nevada is 3479m. I met some people at the tourist booth who had just climbed it and said that it was absolutely frigid, and they were wearing serious gear, so I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to do that hike—which was fine, because that isn’t one to do solo, anyway. It was already much cooler here than in Granada, and I actually wore my fleece.

I woke up feeling much better, enjoyed the included breakfast (cocoa, juice, bread with butter and jam) in the sweet kitchen, then went on a much-needed run. Basically, I ran uphill for 35 minutes on the main road in the area where the Natural and National Parks overlap, then for about 10 minutes on a foresty trail, then downhill for about 25 minutes. I even saw a few mountain goat-type creatures.

I stretched, showered, packed, checked out, and grabbed some snacks before a 3 ½-hour hike to Cebadilla, along the sides of a big valley. It turned out to only take 2:20, and I had stopped to take a zillion photos. I ordered a traditional plato Alpujarrano at a little restaurant with patio seating, and enjoyed the meal of a fried egg, potatoes and onions, jamon Serrano, chorizo, black-pudding sausage and bread. Meat o’clock! Hearty, rich, and fortifying for the rest of my hiking day.

The second hike I chose was one that linked the three towns of Barranco del Poqueira. I made it easily to Bubion, not totally via the route on my map, through town to the trail to Pampaneira, which was far less straightforward and equally poorly marked. The towns are close enough together that you always have one in sight, and often two, but the paths dead end or split off or turn into impossible-to-follow goat trails. I made it to Pampaneira, but with enough difficulty that I wanted to leave plenty of time to get back to catch my bus, so I didn’t explore the village.

I got back to Bubion, then found what I figured to be the main path that I’d missed leaving from the southern part of town—and two men confirmed that it was the path to Capileira. Well…not so much. It went in that direction, more or less, but then ran into fences or veered off well below town. I dead-ended several times, used all fours climbing up the critter paths (after all, they have to get back to town, too) in hopes of being able to see where I was supposed to be, but kept running into fences. Any paths that seemed to head for the main road also disappeared or ended at impasses. At this point I was exhausted from the tough morning run plus all the hiking, and out of water and THIRSTY, not having refilled at the third town and not getting back in three times the amount of time it should have taken, and facing the likelihood of missing the bus—which would seriously screw up my plans, as not so many buses pass through these parts. I decided that my best bet was to run back to Bubion the way I came and to try to catch the bus on its way to Capileira, where I could pick up my bag and get back on.

I made it to the village, saw three people in a car leaving the tiny lot by the path, and asked if they were by any chance going my way, and then where the bus stopped. I had clearly been physically exerting myself in the effort to get there and was obviously flustered, and the woman in the back convinced them to take me to Capileira (a 5-10 minute drive, during which she offered her phone number for the next time I visited). I thanked them profusely (in Spanish—mis angeles!) and told them what had happened in greater detail than the original panicked version. They acknowledged that a lot of the paths did dead end, and that none from that starting point would have gotten me there. ARGH! Thank goodness for nice people doing their good deed for the day, though, and I promised to do nice things for future strangers in return.

I made it in time for the bus, which was late anyway, but didn’t have time to return for the souvenirs I’d wanted to buy (the stores had been closed at lunchtime), and which I should have had at least an hour to get. Alas. So much for maps… I marveled that I was actually on the bus after the day’s adventures during the hair-raising ride back to Granada, where I slept (after the owner got the singing drunk to shut up and turn down his TV next door) at the pension near the train station.

ITALY: Milan

2006-11-23T14:36:00.000-05:00

ITALY: Milan
We pulled into Milan around midday, and I went straight for the extremely helpful tourist office, who said that there was a bit of a housing shortage due to a trade convention that week. As my flight the next morning was insanely early, and the bus to the airport left from the train station, I sucked it up and spent 50Euros on a room nearby. That’s by far the most I paid for a room in all these travels, but I was expecting Milan to be the biggest hotel expenditure.

I spent a little time emailing about the box and refunds and reimbursements, then set out, on my 7th or so wind, on the pretty town (with awesome mass transit). I picked up some yogurt and fruit at a grocery store and took the subway to the Duomo, which is enormous and beautiful, constructed entirely of pink marble from Candoglia. Many paintings were hung from the ceiling in the middle; I’m not sure if it’s always like that or if they’re there because the museum is closed this year. The most unique aspect of visiting this cathedral, however, is the access to the roof, where one can wander amongst the spires and peer through them over the square and city. It’s another spot where you just can’t stop taking pictures.

On the perimeter of the Piazza Duomo are several important buildings, including the city hall to the west, twin fascist structures with balconies where Mussolini delivered speeches to the south, and Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, a huge, glass-domed arcade abustle with shoppers, to the north.

At the other end of the Galleria is Piazza della Scala, with a statue of Leonardo da Vinci that celebrates his many talents and achievements. I treated myself to gelato and meandered through the area before going into La Scala Opera House and its museum. The museum is crammed with a collection of opera goodies: music, instruments, costumes, paintings, sets, etc. Included in the museum’s ticket is access to two little booths overlooking the orchestra seats and stage. I was sad that there was no performance that evening, but there was a rehearsal going on, which was exciting to watch—and honestly, I wouldn’t have lasted through a performance that night!

I walked the length of Via Dante, a long pedestrian-only boulevard, which led to Sforza Castle. All of its several museums were closing, but the grounds were big and castle-y, and there was a pretty park beyond. I walked around there for a while, then took the subway to Brera Art Gallery for a quick visit. Lots of paintings by prominent Italians, and well worth the trip.

They kicked me out at 7:30, and I bought a green and a pasta salad before taking the subway back to the hotel. I realized that my cheap-o flight allowed for only one checked piece of luggage, so I repacked and squished everything from The Box into my two bags and a little carryon extra. I FINALLY fell into bed around 11, totally exhausted, with the alarm set for 4am. Ooof. The shuttle was great, though, and got me where I needed to be. Ciao, Italy! Grazi! (except for FedEx)

ITALY: Venice

2006-11-22T22:50:00.000-05:00

ITALY:
Venice, for the wedding of Mary Kallaher and Matteo Perale

Woohoo! Katie and Craig (Evashevski/Sovka) and Andrew and Ellen (Richardson/Denny—the first 3 are P’92) met me at the apartment, where I was thrilled to shower and collect my wits. We called the apartment office to arrange our picking up the box of my formalwear, other wedding stuff, and stuff for my travels in Spain that Don had FedExed from Korea, but it wasn’t there. After all those hours of hassleful travel and no sleep, that didn’t go over so well, and I didn’t take it so gracefully. This was Friday afternoon, and their office was closed on Saturday, as was FedEx’s. I dropped a bunch of money on internet and phone cards and started frantically running around Venice in search of phones and internet cafes, but couldn’t get in touch with Don, who’d emailed that he’d sent the package but hadn’t included the tracking number. None of us could find FedEx in the yellow pages, storekeepers didn’t know what we were talking about (of course there was one just outside the square)…PANIC. I finally had the genius idea to ask mom to get on the case, and she took heroic measures from the U.S. to find the thing. She was given all kinds of conflicting info, and we were hopeful that it might somehow be collectable on Saturday, but that proved to not be the case. Apparently two big deliveries in Italy had gotten switched, so it wasn’t going to get to me until Monday at the earliest—and by then I’d no longer be at the hotel it was addressed to, and it was addressed to Katie, who’d no longer be in the country. And it had cost over $150 to send. And I now had nothing to wear but shorts, t-shirts and sneakers to a semi-formal dinner, formal wedding, and nice brunch (I’d sent a fabulous traditional Vietnamese tunic/pants outfit I’d bought in Hanoi—where else am I going to be able to wear that?). This ordeal and all the stress that went with it got dragged out through the whole weekend, as we had to sort out whether and when and where and how I might be able to pick it up eventually, and stop it from being delivered to the hotel, let alone sending it on to the US, since I’d not be able to use most of it—and I was using phonecards and trying to find open internet cafes with available computers between events and meals. Let’s just say that I didn’t get to see nearly as much of Venice as I should have. Sigh. FedEx is not on my list of favorites.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to spend a ridiculous amount of time or money shopping, as Katie had packed an extra dress that fit well enough for me to get away with. I borrowed a skirt from Ellen, and wore plastic flip-flops to the dinner and Katie’s flats (with toilet paper stuffed in) to the wedding, and my cheap-o travel dress to the brunch. I was more or less presentable, if not particularly comfortable. Doh.

We did somehow manage to see the Basilica (gorgeous and big and impressive, of course!) and its museum before we went to the rehearsal “sagra” (peasant feast). Cocktail hour included bellinis (prosecco and peach juice) and special Paduan (groom’s family is from Padua) cocktails that tasted like Triaminic to me. I was pleasantly surprised at all the friends from Princeton who were in attendance: Hilary Malcarney, Becky (Jones) Betts, Alison Brower, Stacey Rukeyser, Ed Eglin, John Granholm, Laura Jo, Ben Richardson, Enoch Huang and Roya Monsouri, plus Mary’s family and friends whom I’d met before. It was most excellent to see everyone and know that I’d see ‘em again the next day.

We eventually sat down to several courses of tasty Italian food, then were treated to a fun slideshow about Matteo’s shady past, courtesy of his best man. Many speeches and toasts were made to bride and groom, and the party was still going when we left at 2am (47 hours up and awake for me…). We got reamed again by a water taxi, but got a cool ride under lots of little bridges and down back canalways, so it was worth it.

Thankfully, I slept like a rock, and we all got up and out for food and meandering and food…then home to prep for the wedding. Katie, Craig, Andrew and Ellen, who’d traveled in Italy for the week previous to the wedding, had a running joke about all the meat they’d eaten. Mealtime was “meat o’clock,” and if anyone ever proclaimed to be hungry, we all knew what time it must be…or whenever we were served meat, we knew what time it must be…etc.

We found our way on foot to the astounding church (Santa Maria Gloriosa del Frari), which is a must-see in all the tour guides, and for good reason. Beautiful and lush inside and out, and indeed the tourists were snapping all kinds of photos at the emergence of the real live wedding. Teehee! The service was all kinds of Catholic (but thankfully not as long!), half in Italian—they stated their vows in each other’s language, which was very sweet. We were all stifling hysterical laughter at some of the readings, which lauded the wife who is silent and submits to her husband…which ain’t a-gonna happen! They both looked stunning, of course, and the whole thing was magical.

For the reception, we paraded, often single-file through the alleys, to the Palazzo Pisani Moretta, which was old and beautiful and on the grand canale. Lots of cocktails, a multi-course sit-down dinner (I had a fun table of rowdy Princeton and Columbia singles), and a 1980’s disco-themed hullaballo. Andrew and I were the last of our team standing, and we left to stumble home in the rain at 4:30am. I slept from 5:15 to 6:15, then lay awake, exhausted, until just past 9.

We had to be out of the apartment by 10:30, so we scrambled in hungoverness to get ourselves cleaned up and packed, then schlepped all our stuff through a DOWNPOUR to the brunch, getting lost a few times on the way. We arrived, drenched and bedraggled, at least an hour before anyone else, and the groom’s parents ordered us out of our clothes so they could dry them. I managed to air dry, and Katie and Ellen dug a change out of their bags (Mrs. Perale is impossibly thin), but Craig and Andrew ended up wearing Mr. Perale’s pants…and all kinds of off-color humor went along with that, you can be sure (a quote from Katie: “Craig is prancing around, freeballing in Mr. Perale’s pants!” quotes from Mr. Perale: “Give me your underpants!” “Take off your pants. I must see you naked!”).

Yes, the Perales are a hoot. They’re old-school Italian charming—they chatted away about everything, including the fabulous house and its history, as if we hadn’t arrived horrendously early and disheveled to their party celebrating their son’s marriage. Eventually the rest of the crowd trickled in and it was a fun afternoon (aside from post-party pain) of more chatting with college friends and comparing notes on Venice (like Pontes Tete and Labia) and on the events of the night before.

Post-party, I brought my stuff to Shnook (Enoch) and Roya’s hotel (still pouring rain—I had a big blue plastic poncho over myself and my backpack and frontpack, and seriously looked like an Oompah-Loompah, so we waddled and sang the song a lot). I’d not had the time to find a place to stay Sunday and Monday nights, as I’d been spending every spare minute dealing with the FedEx box situation. We checked out a couple of places without luck, then decided to try again after we saw the Doge’s Palace, which was big and grand and art-ridden. Fortunately, the hostel that had been closed earlier was open and had a bed for at least one night, so I went back for my stuff and we went our separate ways, as we (especially me!) were super tired, and planned to meet for lunch the next day. I grabbed a panini and went to bed early, in a cool converted church—there was a fresco on the ceiling of my room (and I forgot to get a photo)!

The next morning, I went to the hostel’s breakfast (bread, butter, jam, cereal, coffee, cocoa—perfect!), then was all set to arrive at FedEx at opening, but was told that there was some plumbing problem at the hostel and that I couldn’t stay there that night and would have to get my stuff out of the room by 9, which meant doing it before I left. So I went to call FedEx, but realized that Shnook and Roya had the paper with the tracking number on it, which meant that I had to get to an internet café again, as the hostel’s service was out. Fortunately, mom had sent an email that the box would be at the FedEx office on San Marco by noon, so I could stop freaking out for two whole hours.

As it was (finally!) a gorgeous day, I walked around and snapped photos and even had an hour in the Accademia, which, as expected, had lots of astounding Italian art. I went to FedEx to get the box, and had to pay another 50 Euros in customs fees to pick the &%$@ing thing up. I got to the place where Shnook and Roya and I had agreed to meet for lunch, but they didn’t show, so I figured they were in the throes of some uninterruptible sightseeing (which we knew was a possibility). I left them a note at their hotel, suggesting a possible evening meeting time. Then I went to the hostel, where I’d left my stuff in the luggage room, and repacked the box, as it was pretty beaten up and I needed my Spain guidebook. Fortunately, I had the good sense not to think that I’d easily be able to mail it from Italy. I inquired at the post office and they said it would cost 120 Euros to mail to the US, which seemed a tad steep. I decided to wait until I got to Spain, where I could speak the language and where common sense is more widely practiced.

I sightsaw my way to the train station, keeping my eyes peeled for walking sandals, bought my ticket to Milan for the next morning, then scouted out another hostel nearby, as the train was an early one. Somewhere in there I emailed mom that I had the &%$@ing box and got a message from Shnook and Roya confirming dinner plans. Somehow, from the other end of Venice, I got turned around so many times on my way back to San Marco that I was REALLY late meeting S&R, but they had waited and we had a great night of wine in a plaza before dinner at a fabulous restaurant (Mascaron), where we got chatted up by a local hotelier/bookshop owner and a Japanese-Italian travel writer, and then dessert and bellinis at Harry’s, where a bottle of water was 10 Euros, and you can just imagine from there what the food and drink cost.

We managed to stay out well into the night, and it was late by the time I got my bag and box from the hostel and toted them to the other hostel, where I tiptoed so as not to awaken my two Asian (Korean?) roommates. I then did the sleep-for-one-hour-then-lie-awake deal (could it be prosecco?) until it was time to get up and out (and there was some crazy pedestrian traffic RIGHT outside our window for the last hour of lying awake) and on the train. Sleeeeeeeeepy. Very sleeeeeeeepy.

So, yes, Venice is very pretty, and was not at all stinky for our visit. Perhaps we were just there at the right time of year (aside from the rain). The city of canals is truly unique, especially in certain lights, and there are gazillions of tourists there to prove how noteworthy it all is. And because the streets are narrow and impossible not to get lost amongst, the tourists are always blocking traffic—either window shopping or map consulting. All you can do is try not to be one of the worse offenders… Sadly, I didn’t have time to wander outside the touristy area to where I’d heard it was a little less Times-Squarey. Hopefully I’ll get back for a more relaxed visit someday…

IN TRANSIT—OY!

2006-11-22T17:08:00.000-05:00

IN TRANSIT—OY! (Sept 14-15)
Arrived at the LP airport with plenty of time to sit around before my flight to Bangkok, made it to Thailand without incident, and after much transportational ado, made it into the city for my 7-hour layover. Of course, in order to leave and reenter the airport, one must go through immigration both ways and pay the exit fee to get out of the country. Ridiculous: as often as not, layovers in Bangkok are several hours long—it’s not like anyone wants to sit around the airport for 7 hours. Whatever. I’d decided to do a couple of things I hadn’t done on my Thailand trip, like ride the skytrain (nifty and new), see the main train station (like a little Grand Central), and probably shop en route. There was a big promotional something-or-other happening outside the Siam Center, and I tried to figure out what all the lines people were in were for. Next door, at the HUGE MBK mall, I picked up some basic nice t-shirts and an ipod case and had some yummy thai food.

It was raining by the time I needed to get to the train station, so I took a cab. Of course, while at the airport I’d been told that there were trains every 30 minutes to the airport, they really meant every 90 minutes, so I had to wait around and get to the airport with only an hour to re-check in. …which would have been fine, except that I was sent to two wrong and long lines at opposite ends of the airport before I was finally given correct instructions. So by the time I got to the line for Passport Control, my plane was about to board. I asked my way to the front of the line and promised to repay 14 good deeds to the universe, and got to the gate, where they were at least a half an hour behind and nowhere near boarding yet. (Not that anyone at checkin could have given me that info…)

The flight to Zurich was long, and I slept very little, but had a great little personal TV screen with fun selections, including the Tour de Suisse, so between that and my journal and my reading, it passed quickly enough.

In Zurich (my bag had been checked from LP through Zurich, but not to Venice), my Tevas were missing from the outer pocket of my bag, where I’d had them strapped in. The strap was broken and the pocket ripped. I reported it all, and there was a SYSTEM! And they checked with both airlines—NATURALLY! And the woman in the other Lost and Found office, where I’d been told to check one last time before I flew again, knew all about it—so they must have COMMUNICATED! Oh, no, we’re not in Asia any more, kids! The airport even made sense! And people waited IN LINE!

Alas, the flight to Venice was delayed by over an hour—but at least they made regular announcements. It was quite a shock to be hearing romance languages, to see blond hair, to have personal space, and to get looks of “nice legs” instead of horror at the sight of flesh above the knees. Unfortunately, that all came with the return to loud, fat, tacky, American tourists traveling between tour buses, who manage to make English sound downright ugly. One of the great perks of traveling in Asia is the mix of nationalities (Asian and otherwise), and the hardy, usually younger, souls trekking around. I think Americans are probably less intrepid and more amenity-demanding than all other westerners. I suspected I’d see a lot less of the sturdy backpacking crowd in Europe, especially since summer was coming to a close.

(Suisse Air had my bag repaired and gave me $50 for the sandals—but I was still sad because they were the only shoes I had aside from my sneakers, they were fabulous walking shoes, they’d seen a lot of places, and heck, I had great Teva tan lines on my feet!)

At long last, our plane to Venice boarded and took off. When we arrived, I got my bag and got into the lost luggage line, as I’d been told to check there in case the Tevas had been found and forwarded on the flight. I waited for 30 minutes (Delta—“Don’t Expect Luggage To Arrive”-- had left an entire plane’s worth of luggage at JFK), and the lady at the counter just yelled at me—what did I expect her to do?!? How could she know?!? Oy. The phones in the airport weren’t working, and the buses and vaporettos were on strike, but, after many false directions, I managed to get a ticket for and board a bus that actually did take me to Piazelle Roma. Once there, I had to take a water taxi with a very high fixed price (they LOVE it when mass transit goes on strike) to Piazza San Marco. Finally in the neighborhood of the apartment where we (college pals—more info soon) were staying, I took off my shoes to wade through the flooded square (“I’m not walking through pigeon shit, I’m not walking through pigeon shit…”), found a tobacco shop with phone cards, and managed to contact my roommates. WHEW. This feels more Asian than European, except for the architecture… but 32 hours later…I’m in VENICE!

LAOS: Luang Prabang

2006-11-15T13:57:00.000-05:00

LAOS:
Luang Prabang:
We arrived at the bus depot outside of Luang Prabang, and I gathered a group of people (2 English, 2 French) with whom to negotiate a tuk-tuk ride into the center. The French couple was rude in the tuk-tuk, rude to guys who tried to get us to look at their guesthouse, and when we arrived at the hotel the other three of us had noted in our guidebooks, they got out first and took the last room with a bathroom. Grrrr! The other couple (Helen and Robin) and I found another place quickly enough, though, and agreed we’d love to have a drink together later if it worked out.

I dumped my stuff and went out to see what I could in the remaining daylight: Wats (there are 66 temples from pre-French colonization) Saen, Sop, Sirimungkhun, Si BunHeuang and Xieng Thong (external only; it was closing), and a whole lot of well-preserved and less well-preserved French provincial and traditional Lao architecture (the city is a UNESCO World Heritage site for those reasons). The natural beauty is also to be appreciated: the surrounding mountains, interior wetlands and the confluence of the Mekong and Nam Khan. The mix of Lao people, tourists, monks, novices, and hill-tribers make for a people-watching extravaganza, too. (one fun thing I saw everywhere: checkerboard-tables with bottlecaps for pieces—right-side-up or upside-down)

In visiting any temple, because most of them are in active use, tourists will always be approached by novices eager to practice their English. This is how their half of the conversation ALWAYS goes, very slowly and with varying degrees of grammatical correctness: “Hello! How are you? Where are you from? How long have you been in Luang Prabang? How long will you stay? Where do you go next?” The questions were unfailingly in that order. I felt like I was back in auto-English Korea.

I knocked on Helen and Robin’s door, but missed them; they were going to rest first and then go out, but I’d wanted to take advantage of the light and of sites being open. I went to the riverside for traditional Luang Prabang cuisine: steamed veggies with jaew bawng (chilli sauce and dried buffalo skin—um, yuck) and khao kam (local, sweet, fizzy rice wine-good, although I had a bad glass the next day). I wasn’t particularly satisfied, but figured I’d find snacks at the night market, which was next on my list.

The night handicraft market was indeed a street full of handicrafts, and 100% touristy. “Madame, buy scarf, buy something, lucky, lucky…” UGH). I did buy a few things, as I was at the end of my Asia tour, and I sampled some fun snacks (a grilled chicken breast on a huge skewer, desserty coconuty tapioca-ey balls) before calling it a night.

On Wednesday I went for a morning run over a pedestrian/bike/moto-only bridge into an area of villages and small farms, and it seemed that I was quite a novel sight. I got smiles all around, though, and an occasional cheer!

I swung through Wat Maisuwannaphumaham before picking up a baguette sandwich (tuna, a foil-wrapped triangle of soft cheese, chili sauce, carrots, cucumbers, watercress and pepper—great!) en route to Talat Dala, the oldest market, which turned out to be closed and under major construction. So I moved on and saw Wats Wisunerat, with its ‘watermelon stupa,’ Aham, with two huge banyan trees, Pattuak, of ‘Buddha’s footprint,’ and Thammothayalan, halfway up Phu Si (huge hill in the center of town), where I had excellent views of the Nam Khan. I continued up to That Chomsi (a stupa at the peak) and back down to Wat Pa Huak, which was small but beautiful and very old.

Across the street, I took many photos of the National Museum, but had to wait until later to enter, as it was closed in the middle of the day. I tried to get info on evening performances at the theatre there, but it, too, was closed and seemed to have no regular hours.

Disappointed that the big market was gone, I took a long walk to Talat Phoysi and a Chinese market, both of which were pretty uninspiring. I had a detour through a small village in between before I realized that I couldn’t get out the other side, but found my way to the main road and enjoyed the scenery there.

On the way back into town, I finally found a recommended restaurant I’d wanted to try, but it was closed, so I ended up at another spot along the Mekong and ordered another LP dish, aw lam (spicy-bitter root, lemongrass, chicken, veggies—excellent). By that time, I’d missed the small window of time that the National Museum is open in the afternoon, so I browsed the neighborhood of silversmiths and craft shops. In the early evening, I tried a glass of the khao kam at a different restaurant on the water, and it wasn’t so good…but I sipped it and wrote a bunch of postcards as the sun went down.

A second trip to the theatre proved unsuccessful, and I met other tourists who’d also been stymied, so I picked up a few last souvenirs at the market, dropped them off at my room, then went to a restaurant for bamboo-fried spring rolls and BeerLao and more postcard writing.

On Thursday I got up and out early and picked up some expensive postcard stamps (about 85 cents!), got a fruity goodness shake, FINALLY got into the National Museum (some great wall decoration, lots of artifacts and history) and the Sala Pha Bang pavilion, then followed a little map I’d picked up to take the recommended ‘wetland walk’ that wasn’t mentioned in my guidebook. I saw lots of village nooks and crannies, lotus ponds, cool architecture and unique natural scenery. I’d never have known it was there if I hadn’t by chance looked at a random brochure and spent too much to buy it.

I stopped back at the guesthouse to shower, pack, check out and arrange for a ride to the airport, then went to Wat Xieng Thong to see the interiors I’d missed on the first night. This is the big-deal Wat of LP, and it included a reclining Buddha sanctuary, sim, and royal funerary carriage and carriage house. I picked up another fruit and yogurt shake (I’ll miss them!) before my ride to the airport.

All in all, Luang Prabang is certainly beautiful and unique and worth seeing, but yet it wasn’t all I’d expected it to be. It was interesting to be in a place where there were as many orange-robed Buddhists as otherwise-outfitted folk, fun to see the moto drivers also holding umbrellas for shade, wonderful (mostly) to try the food unique to the province, and otherworldly to walk around amidst all the wonderful architecture, but I was anticipating more majesty and more respite from tourists. To be fair, I was also somewhat Buddhaed- and watted- out.

LAOS: Vang Vieng

2006-11-15T12:11:00.000-05:00

LAOS:
Vang Vieng:
We pulled into town, our mouths agape at the limestone karsts, unloaded our bags from the roof, and left in search of lodging. I’d chosen a hotel from my book (Vang Vieng Orchid Guesthouse), got there, and was thrilled with the location (outside of the center of the town, on the Nam Song river) and the views (karsts and river and Don Khang Island), although it was a splurge at $8 (I talked him down from $10, as it was a double room and I was a single person). I was on the third floor with a balcony and even had hot water! My next-door neighbors and I (we’d walked over together) had a quick, jump-up-and-down-and-clap-our-hands-with-glee giggle session over our good fortune, then retreated to our rooms.

The reason for wanting to be outside of the center of town is that Vang Vieng is all about backpackers hanging out and that specific culture, and the entire town caters to them. The restaurants and bars all have TVs playing day and night, either “Friends” or “The Simpsons” or a Hollywood movie—always loudly. There is more western(ish) food than Asian, classic and pop rock, convenience stores with chips, soda and beer, pool tables, and backpackers wandering around (often drunk, sometimes high) in cool-hippie attire. Not exactly authentic Lao culture. I can see where if you’d been traveling for a long time and needed a few days of English and chilling out, it might be okay, but otherwise it was pretty horrifying, and embarrassing that the town has been overrun (although probably with the natives’ blessing, since tourism provides jobs and income) by a not very pretty example of western culture. And I went knowing all this, because the place is renowned for it natural beauty and activities away from the town center.

Happily, I was based outside of that and could easily avoid it, as the guesthouse was very quiet. I got faint wafts of music from the bars on the island, but it was more along the lines of Lao-pop. I enjoyed my balcony until the sun had set, then went out for some dinner (curry chicken and sticky rice), a quick email check (there are, of course, tons of internet shops) and a little browsing—but I got out of there and back to my balcony quickly!

On Monday, I had a stretch and a cup of coffee (a hot water thermos in the lobby!) on the balcony, then went on a run to Vang Vieng resort and Thom Chang cave. I’d expected to be able to swim there, so I didn’t bring my camera, but the area where I think that was supposed to happen was unlit and possibly totally closed off, alas. I ran back and then went out for a late breakfast at the Organic Farm Café (mulberry shake and a big pancake served with lime and honey—delicious!). They had a great menu, unlike the identical xeroxed menus at all the other places, and I knew I’d return.

Across the street, I rented a mountain bike and then rode over a big bamboo bridge and on dusty and muddy roads through villages and green countryside and karsts and mist to Thom Phukham cave (about 7k from the bridge). It was an overcast day, but not as hot as it could have been, and the scenery was breathtaking. The climb up to the cave’s entrance was exactly that—a CLIMB. Not a hike. It was extremely steep and somewhat treacherous, but there was always something to hold on to and there were other people around, so up I went. At the mouth of the cave, we could tell that it was enormous, but it wasn’t lit and my little flashlight wasn’t going to get me very far. Plus it was VERY slippery…so I explored the entrance area, which included a distant view of a Buddhist shrine.

The climb down was slow-going, and was all about sitting between steps for security. I was head-to-toe grime at the bottom (nice of them to have a swimmin’ hole for us to clean off in!), but unscathed. I saw an English girl go up in flip-flops, which broke, and descend barefoot. Hiking in grossly inadequate footwear isn’t just for Koreans anymore…

Back on the bike, I rode hard through drizzle that felt like it might become serious rain, and got muddy all over again. But really, why bother to shower when you’re just going to go tubing down the Nam Song? Yes, I met up with people (UK/Australia) I’d met by the caves, and we signed up with the tubing folks (while I was waiting for the gang to get there, the manager asked for my help editing his release form and asked some other English questions: could I explain the difference between ‘city,’ ‘town,’ ‘district’ and ‘urban’?) and got transported a few kilometers up the river. The rain passed on, and we had good weather for the trip, which included stops at different bamboo bars (yes, bars—they toss lines or hold out bamboo poles to help you stop) that had some kind of water swing or trapeze or dive, plenty of booze and food and modern rock.

The ride in the tube was spectacular, and the bars were fun, although I would have been happy to only stop at one. I took one jump off a trapezey thing, which was exhilarating, but didn’t do the repeated trips that some others did. I had a delicious papaya salad and a big BeerLao at the second stop, and at the third one I joined up with a different group that was leaving, as I thought getting to the end before dark might be wise—and I got there just as dusk was turning to darkness. I was actually expecting that we’d end at the bridge I could see from my balcony and therefore didn’t realize it when we were at the end, which wasn’t there after all. Basically, if anyone doesn’t clue in (and there aren’t obvious indicators except for one little sign that’s easily missed) or is unable to reach the shore, a bunch of Lao guys scream and yell and run in and grab you and pull you in. And then you walk your tube back to the ‘store.’

So, even though I was mostly rinsed off, I was still stinky and enjoyed a nice, long, hot shower, then rode the bike to the shop to return it and have dinner back across the street at the Organic place (harvest curry chicken stew and mulberry tea! Woohoo!). Two people I’d met tubing came in as I was finishing, having had the exact same idea, as they’d seen the curry on the menu earlier, too.

On the way home, I decided to sample the Vang Vieng scene and watched half an episode of “Friends” on cushy cushions with ice cream. Very odd to do that halfway across the world. Weird that some people do that for days on end. Why travel? I went back to my beloved balcony and debated whether I really wanted to meet up with the tubers at one of the bars on the island across the bridge. I didn’t really feel like it, but I did want to walk over and explore, so I went. I must have beat them there, because I couldn’t find them, but that was perfect. I walked around, returned home for more balcony and guidebook time until I was sleepy. For some reason I had crazy dreams and I wondered whether someone had put ‘happy’ stuff in my ice cream (there are some ‘happy’ restaurants for those looking to add to the BeerLao experience).

On Tuesday I got up and had coffee and oatmeal (I’d packed them just in case—yippee!) on the balcony, packed up and had a long stretch before being picked up at 8:30 for the trip to Luang Prabang. Ultimately, we didn’t really pull out of the depot until 9:30, and then did a few loops around for no apparent reason before getting on the main road. The “5-hour” trip took seven hours…ah, Laos. It was another amazing and beautiful, swirly and sometimes bumpy ride on scary roads through the mountains, in a slightly more comfortable minivan (advertised as faster than the ‘bus’) than the last one. These vehicles take a SERIOUS beating out here. Villages clung to the sides of daunting cliffs, farmers worked along impossibly steep descents, and we marveled at how different this life was from any we’d ever know.

LAOS: Vientiane

2006-11-14T21:30:00.000-05:00

LAOS:
Vientiane:
I arrived at the tiny airport and exchanged some dollars for Thai baht (about 40/$1) and Lao kip (about 10,000/$1), as all three are used (!). I took a seriously OLD cab, of which I sadly have no photo, to the aging Hotel Sasayana, where I secured a room with bath and excellent views from the 4th floor for $5. I left for a walk in what was left of the daylight past a few wats and along the Mekong to a beer garden (or so it was called…more of a shoreside restaurant with bottled beer), where I enjoyed the sun setting over the water. The whole town was so relaxed, even I slowed down! Drivers hang out in hammocks in the back of their tuk-tuks, and half-heartedly ask you, when you’re most of the way past them, if you want a ride (vs. frantic screaming and gesticulating from down the block until well after you’ve passed). Quite a difference from the Cambodian tourist spots!

Yes, Laos is chill. I could say “chillin’,” but adding the extra syllable would require countercultural effort. I hung out and flipped through my Laos guidebook, enjoyed a BeerLao and naem khao (fried rice and sausage broken up and eaten with fresh leaves and herbs—yum!) and eavesdropped on a German and Brit discussing the t-shirt industry. I later joined a conversation about cycling and the Tour de France between the German and a Frenchman at the next table. There are certainly plenty of expats in the area! I strolled home back along the river and went to bed early.

I was out by 7 on Saturday to rent a bike and quickly check my email, then rode by That Dam (Black Stupa) on the way to Talat Khua Din (market) for food and browsing and shopping. I had khao jii paa-te, a French baguette with Lao pate, veggies and dressings, and a sticky rice concoction. I wandered through the rows and rows of produce, meats, and animals that would soon be no more than meats. The vendors (mostly women) use plastic bags on sticks that billow when moved through the air to ward off flies. They amusedly watched the crazy western lady take photos of vegetables she’d never seen before.

I rode out away from the center of town to Patuxai, which resembles the Arc de Triomphe. I climbed up to the top and got some photos of the area, and bought one or two more t-shirts. On the way to the next site, Pha That Luang, the skies opened up for the daily dose of rainy-season wetness. I dismounted and got out my poncho before I was totally drenched, and continued on. As I arrived, the rain eased up and soon stopped altogether.

Pha That Luang is the big and bright gold national monument that is on the national seal, and, incidentally, on the cover of my guidebook. It is a symbol of the Buddhist religion and of Lao sovereignty, and is considered important and holy. It is visible from a distance, and is surrounded by high cloister walls. It’s the thing to see in Vientiane.

On the way back into town, I got some information on hiking trips, but decided to wait to hike at my next destination. I also stopped at the rental store where I was told there was info on Hash House Harrier runs. I got the scoop on that night’s run and said I’d be there. Hungry, I biked out to a restaurant that LP recommended as the best place to go, but it was closed! Boohoo! So I went for the plan B restaurant, stopping off at Wat Si Muang, home of the guardian spirit of Vientiane, on the way.

Lunch was tasty chicken laap (minced with lime juice, garlic, rice, onions, mint, chilli and served with lettuce and mint), a traditional and refreshing Lao dish. Refueled, I went to Wat Si Saket, with its gazillion niches for little Buddhas. Next and nearby was Haw Pha Kaew, an unexciting museum on pretty grounds.

In my cruising around town, I saw the same type of French-influenced architecture I’d noticed in Hanoi and Phnom Penh, but on a smaller and less frequent scale. Corrugated rooftops were the norm, many buildings were empty, roads were 50-50 paved-dirt. There was a lot of construction, which held true for the other two towns, which flies in the face of Lao’s slogan of “The Last Quiet Place on Earth.” I saw very few other tourists, but always got a friendly “hello” (“Saabadii!”) from locals. “Thank you” is “kawp jai,” and adding “very much” makes it “kawp jai lai lai,” which I ended up getting stuck in my head to the tune of “The Boxer.” I’ll not be forgetting that any time soon, which I’m sure will come in handy…

I returned my bike and scrambled for about a half hour retracing my steps for my missing guidebook, which it turned out was just strangely buried in my bag, and did a superfast change at the hotel into running gear. I ran to the meeting site, signed up and hopped into a pickup with a bunch of Laos and a 60-something Aussie expat. We followed a van full of other harriers (Aussie, US, British male expats, a few Lao women, a few Lao girls, and a few Lao young men) to a remote site 30 minutes out of town. This was Vientiane’s 499th hash—I missed the huge next one, alas!

Everyone began unloading the vehicles—lights, a small generator, stools, things I didn’t recognize, coolers, and I don’t know what. A guy from Ohio and a Lao woman had set the hash in the bush, using shredded paper piles as markers, and after some initial rituals, of bugling and such, off we ran. We went through rice paddies, mud, fields, mud, bushes and mud, past beasts of burden, small homes, and many, many perplexed people. Well, not so many, but the few people we did see were very, very perplexed. I mostly ran with the young guys, and even led for part of the course. I was filthy and scratched up from head to toe (the bushes whacked me more than I them), but it was great fun, and all the mud got washed off in the torrential downpour we correctly suspected was heading our way towards the end of the run, given the spectacular thunder and lightening (far apart) show we were getting. When it hit, it joined the whipping winds so that we could barely see where we were going, and finding the shredded paper piles became somewhat more complicated. The guy I was running with at the time collected two leafy branches, passed one to me, and demonstrated that I should use it as a rain-and-wind breaker for my face. Thusly armed, we made it to the finish, where we huddled under the one umbrella and whatever bits of plastic we could find while we drank beer and waited for the old and whooping expats to finish, which took another half an hour.

At several points during the hash, I found myself giggling at the improbability of running through the bush in Laos, of all places, with a bunch of people I don’t know. And it’s always fun when you find yourself doing fun things that most tourists don’t get to do, in places they don’t get to see, with people they don’t get to meet. Teehee!

One of the women who’d not gone on the run, got out a big plate of something involving little shrimps with the shells on and seaweedy stuff, which I tried and didn’t care for, but I had my beer, which is all the post-run nourishment ya need, right? Just be sure you keep drinking it! Right?

So, the last of the hashers came in, got their beers, set up the lights, and proceeded with the business of the post-hash circle. For those unfamiliar with H3, this involves lots of lewd songs, insults, and drinking. In this club, they erect a small bed of ice, on which those accused of whatever the ringleader so chooses, must sit bare-assed while hearing the full extent of the charge and then drinking to atone for the crime. It goes on for a long time. Which is why there’s lots of beer. Yes.

So, Lao folks, and especially women, being a tad more conservative than we westerners, the rules were somewhat modified for the ladies, as in a sip of beer and shorts on the ice. You can imagine whose rules I played by—no girly girl, I! Yes, I think I can say that the Lao guys were psyched for a woman to keep running and drinking pace with them (when the expats kept fining me drinks: “It’s okay—she LIKES to drink beer!”) and even bare her ass with them. Hey, I aim to impress.

For the hashers: The only snippet from the songs that I sortof remembered by the time I got to writing it down: “For he’s a hasher through and through or so he says…no good to anyone, and a pain in the asshole to me!” Hmmm. Not so complete. Well, anyway, the rest was crude and filthy, as were all the other songs, including “drink it down, down, down, down, etc.”

After we’d taken care of all the ceremonial hoopla, we drove back into town for a pre-arranged buffet dinner of all kinds of fabulous stuff that tasted great with beer. I got to hear the interesting stories of how people come to relocate to remote places in the world. Some of these guys had been there forever (they had fascinating stories of the major changes that had occurred since they’d been there) and were fluent in Lao, most had at least a great working knowledge. Two of the Lao guys wanted me to come with them to a nearby town the next day to watch some traditional boats practice for upcoming races, but I had already planned to leave the next day.

We all drove back to the initial meeting place after dinner (it must have been about 11 or 11:30) and I went back to my hotel, sweaty, in running clothes, and drunk, and took a much-needed shower. It wasn’t until I got out that I realized that the far half of the room was flooded, and that all of my stuff (papers, clothes, my bag), which I’d left on the bed, was on the floor. In the water. I think that was the only hotel I stayed in that actually had a cleaning staff come during my stay, and it was definitely the only room I stayed in that flooded (it was from the heavy rain, not faulty plumbing).

So I went down to the front desk, still drunk and now upset, and we got me into another, dry, room. I spent a good long time washing stuff, wringing it out, spreading things around the room in hopes of their drying sometime soon. By the time I got to bed it was quite late.

Upon waking Sunday morning, of course, I was plenty hungover. I readjusted the stuff that was still damp and arranged for a bus ticket to Vang Vieng that afternoon, and a late checkout so that my stuff could stay spread out. I ran around slowly for about an hour to sweat it out and check out some new territory, then showered and went to Wat Ong Teu Mahawihan, got a baguette/pate lunch, and browsed around Talat Sao, the big market of all kinds of goods (I got a camera bag and some little desserty things). Disappointingly, I’ve seen the exact same souvenirs in all the Asian countries I’ve been traveling in, which makes none of them seem unique to the place (except the shadow puppet!). It’s a challenge to find something really special, but at least it reduces the temptation to buy everything.

Back at the hotel, I was picked up by what I thought was another shuttle bus to a larger bus, but the shuttle WAS the bus. It was…snug. There were 24 of us crammed in, and there was no transfer. We made about three unnecessary long stops for food and smoking, and arrived much later than we expected. Unfortunately, there is no option to travel by night, as the roads aren’t lit and you would NOT want to be on those roads in the dark—you’d surely not be on them for long, and the alternative is usually a steep drop. The view was pretty, though--gorgeously green scenery, with mountaintops peeking through rolling fog and rice paddies glistening with moisture--and once we’d given ourselves over to the talents of our driver, we were able to enjoy the ride. We also realized that a larger bus would have been scary on the curvy, loopy, narrow roads that carved through the mountains. I wrote a lot, read and planned a lot, and chatted some, mostly with Brian and Alice, two Irish travelers sitting next to me, all the while taking in the views.

Cambodia: Phnom Penh

2006-11-14T13:47:00.000-05:00

CAMBODIA: Phnom Penh

On Thursday morning I was picked up by a 6:30 shuttle van to the bus depot, where I got on a cushy tour bus to Phnom Penh. We stopped two hours into the ride for about half an hour, and I found the market just past the tourist strip, where they clearly weren’t used to blond female giants like me. Being stared at here, where they haven’t seen the likes of me before, is much more friendly-feeling than in Korea, where they have seen plenty of westerners, but stare anyway. Something of a laughing “with” vs.”at” distinction. I also had my first experience of being followed by kids begging outright in the market, and adults and adults with kids outside the bus stop. It’s a tough thing, as tourists are discouraged to give to them because there are social services for them and because it encourages more begging, but then, there they are. I ended up giving away a lot of Mr. Mao’s oranges, as I couldn’t eat them all and they were heavy!

We arrived in Phnom Penh about 6 hours later and were swarmed, SWARMED, by drivers. I got into the office, where they seemed to be officially unwelcome, to get info on buses out, but didn’t get much help, so I turned my attention to finding the hotels I’d noted in my guidebook. A driver who’d gotten into the office and was wisely employing soft-sell techniques said he’d take me to the guesthouse I asked about, and we walked to his taxi in the lot nearby (hmmmm, as opposed to the tuk-tuks lined up on the street), and when we got there he said that it was closed, so I got pissy and said that he should have told me that at the station, if it were true, and not now, and that he should take me there (It’s a common scam to tell tourists that things are closed in order to steer them to places that give a commission to the guides). It turned out that the place had changed hands and had a different name, and I agreed to look at another place nearby that had $5 rooms. It was decent and in an acceptable location between a market and the Mekong, so I took the room there and arranged for my Lao visa with the clerk.

That done, I walked to the Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda (enjoying fresh fruit on the way). The walk there was a good tour of part of the city, which is part pavement (main roads) and part dirt. The Palace itself was big and impressive, but not nearly as much as other places I’d seen in recent travels, and none of the buildings were accessible. And the young monks practically hunt you down and rope you into a conversation so that you feel like they’re either stalking you or trying to sell you something. It was creepy, actually.

I left there and walked by the Cambodia-Vietnam Friendship and Independence Monuments before having a very late lunch at Amoc Café. I had a set menu meal of chicken satay, sweet and sour pork, chicken amoc (chicken, curry, coconut, veggies, mint and other herbs, served in a coconut—AMAZING!), rice and dessert of mango and sweet sticky rice, all for $4.50. I ate it all, and it was goooood!

I walked it off by wandering through some of the busy parts of town to the river promenade and did some further looking into buses to Kratie for two days later. Upon arrival back at the hotel, the clerk told me that he’d been unable to get my visa processed as promised (i.e. he didn’t leave in time to get there before they closed), which meant that I’d have to delay my leaving for another day (I’d already lost one to the camera fiasco), which would then leave me zero scheduling wiggle room to get to my final destination before my flight to Venice. Which meant that I’d have been stressed out the entire time, and wiggle room is necessary when traveling in this part of the world. Frustrated, I finally ended up booking a flight to Vientiane, Laos, and skipping several places I would have seen on the way via boat and bus. Again, the budget takes a hit—but more upsetting was the itinerary abbreviation. Bummer.

Friday: up and out to the central market for browsing and breakfast. I passed by lots of people eating various dishes, then sat down next to someone with something especially yummy looking and indicated that I’d have it, too. Again I got the feeling that I’d wandered beyond the normal tourist boundaries, but felt perfectly welcome. I went back to the travel agency to pick up my ticket, then along the river to the National Museum, which was EXCELLENT. It was a beautiful building with a gorgeous courtyard and wonderful sculpture and artifacts—all with great English information.

Outside the gate, I negotiated for a moto ride to Tuol Sleng Museum, a former high school that Pot Pol turned into a notoriously cruel prison, from which most were taken to be exterminated. It is an appropriately horrifying and upsetting place. Cells and rooms of torture are left as they were, barbed wire is everywhere, and there are photos of prisoners and Khmer Rouge soldiers and the killing fields. I’ve been to concentration camps in Germany and WWI museums in Japan, and while they are all testaments to the terrible things people are capable of doing to each other, what really struck me here was that these atrocities had happened during my lifetime, and disproportionately to very young people.

I didn’t have time to go to the killing fields (despite the collection of drivers at the museum’s entrance who really want to take you there), and I don’t think I would have wanted to go anyway. My final planned stopped was the Psar Tuol Tom Pong, the other huge market south of town. I felt like a jerk to be shopping after being at the museum, but having a deep moment in a park wasn’t going to make me a better person, I figured. I bought a bunch of BeerLao t-shirts for gifts, some Gap tops (I also saw a lot of Polo and Lacoste), and a leather purse, plus some pineapple and papaya.

Another moto driver brought me back to the hotel to pick up my bags, and I hailed a tuk-tuk (that was on its last legs, it seemed) to the airport.

Last notes on Cambodia:
Siem Reap:
almost totally tourist-oriented
Begging at markets but not at temples
Kids scruffy but seemingly healthy (and yet there was a children’s hospital where people waited for over 24 hours to be seen; there was always a huge line outside)
Majorly strong sun and high humidity
Thatch and bamboo homes everywhere, often on stilts
Barefoot or flipflops
Kids with rotten teeth asking for candy
They live close to the land, lots of farming
Hammocks everywhere
Monkeys

Phnom Penh:
City-er, Tuk-tuks and motos super aggressive about getting customers
Faster pace and busier
Classes are more apparent
Begging everywhere
More expats, more exposure to westerners who aren’t just tourists
French influences in architecture, as in Hanoi (and vendors call you ‘madam’)

Next stop: Laos!

Cambodia: Siem Reap

2006-11-14T13:12:00.000-05:00

CAMBODIA: Siem Reap:

I arrived at 9:30, and a driver (Mr. Mao) from my guesthouse was waiting with his tuk-tuk for the 15-minute ride, more or less a straight line, back to town. He said that he was also available to take me to sites in and around the park during my stay. I told him that I was excited to bicycle around the Park, which bummed him out, because he was hoping for a fare. Of course—a reminder that I’m back in the 3rd world and these people are dying to work for tourists. Note to self on etiquette…at least I already knew I’d want to hire a moto and driver for one day in Siem Reap…

It was hot and humid and tropical-feeling, but not raining and the breeze felt great. I was shown to my room by the young owner (Mr. Hak—17, I think), who also explained the basics and gave me advice about my agenda, which proved to be very useful. I arranged for Mr. Mao (I’ve redeemed myself!) to take me to three relatively distant sites the next day, and was to be ready at 6am (fortunately it was 2 hours earlier there than in Korea!).

I settled into my single room with bathroom ($4/night) and packed my daypack for the next day’s excursion before going to sleep. The guesthouse was on the main drag into town, a friendly place with a restaurant and pool table. The only drawback was that the walls didn’t reach the ceilings (maybe 6 inches shy), so you could hear your neighbors. Fortunately, it wasn’t really an issue, as most people in Siem Reap are there to see Angkor Park, and since the daylight hours are from about 5:30-5:30, most alarms go off between 5 and 6-- not too many people are partying late. So I was awakened maybe 20 minutes earlier than my alarm was going to go off…I considered it my Cambodian snooze alarm feature.

I met Mr. Mao at our appointed hour, and we first went to the Angkor Park office, where I bought a 3-day pass ($40—hugely expensive by Cambodian, even for tourists, standards, but well worth it), requiring a photo ID, even. We set out for our first destination, and he proved to be a great driver, which set me at ease, as the roads were plenty potholey or puddly or populated with people and very large critters.

Our first destination was Banteay Srei, a pinkish-brown Hindu temple dedicated to Shiva, famous for its amazingly elaborate and detailed carvings of divinities and scenes from the Ramayana. Every possible inch was covered with intricate, 3-D work, and I kept marveling at how many hours must have gone into the place. Breathtaking. And Mr. Mao provided me with all kinds of additional info on the site in general and on specific carvings.

We toured this site relatively quickly, as it was not very big, and passed by a zillion souvenir stalls going back to his moto. Next, we drove to Kbal Spean, usually called “River of a Thousand Lingas” in English. It’s a riverbed with carvings under and around the water, and is absolutely beautiful. Normally, Mao would have hung out at the parking area while I went on the hike, but it was a) not peak tourist season, and b) still pretty darned early, and no other tourists were around. He didn’t want to send me on my own, so he came with me. It turned out that I was their second tourist of the day.

It was great to have him there, though, as he pointed out things I would have missed (some of the underwater carvings and descriptions of the many pictures of ‘leg massages,’ and we got to chat about our backgrounds and start to joke around—which we continued to do all day.

After this hike, he suggested that it would be a good time to have a meal, since the next place was a ways off. I was hungry and agreed. I sat at the restaurant closest to where we’d parked, and he settled in a hammock; I would have been happy to eat with him, but I think they are used to giving their charges space. After I’d ordered, a young girl, who’d tried to sell us stuff when we’d arrived, came over to try again with her wares. I got her talking about herself (her English was pretty good), and I tried to ask her some basic questions in Khmer with the help of my guidebook. She came over and sat next to me and coached me through pronunciations for at least 15 minutes before my food came. I raved about her as my wonderful teacher and got a photo; I think she was quite proud to be helpful, as well she should have been.

During these travels, where there are so often children, so clearly underprivileged, relentlessly selling stuff, well-informed as to how to guilt-trip tourists and unafraid to be persistent (an understatement), I found that the best way to deal with them was to first say that I couldn’t buy anything and then to just start talking to them. A few wouldn’t stray from the sales pitch, but 99% of them immediately just started chatting, asking and answering questions. I suspect that more often than not, they’re avoided as expeditiously as possible, as they truly are everywhere and it is exhausting to fend them off all day, every day. And yet…and yet. The disparity of wealth and opportunity is heartbreaking. I would guess that the kids we do encounter in these jobs have it good, comparatively speaking. If only I had the funds and room in my bag to buy from them all…

After a delicious lunch of something noodly-chicken soupy, we hopped back on the moto for our final, more remote, destination. It was a long and bumpy but beautiful and perfectly comfortable ride, on a gorgeous day, over both paved and unpaved (just as you’d expect in Cambodia) roads, through amazing countryside. He kept asking me if I were sleepy, which I thought was strange—how on earth, on a moto, in this scenery, could I be sleepy?!?!?

We’d ease through the smaller ends of huge puddles (“Time for your bath!”), over the lesser of the bumpy evils (“My, how heavy you are!”) past waving children at play or travel, and through the dust, dust, dust. At one point, we saw a very young boy contemplating something or other in the road, who didn’t at all seem to register our approach or passing. We both laughed, and Mr. Mao said he must have been “thinking about a political problem,” which got us both hysterical—that he found the perfect English words for the joke, and that the joke was funny for both of us.

Mr. Mao offered that we might stop along the way to see another temple, which would involve a climb, but was on the way. Of course! Again, he schlepped with me up a mountainside, where indeed we saw another temple that was actually on the back-road route to another tourist site that I hadn’t selected (they charged exorbitant fees for tourists and it was supposedly comparable to Kbal Spean). There were some guys doing some restoration work, and he chatted with them and explained the irrigation systems in use in Cambodia to me, as this site was the source of some of the area’s water.

After the climb back down and some confusion over the parking and beverage costs, we were on our way again towards Beng Melea. And I began to be lulled by the ride and the scenery and was, indeed, sleepy. I was amazed, as I’m not really a sleepy-in-the-middle-of-the-day or sleepy-in-a-car kind of person, and I was excited by all I was seeing. Somehow, though, a moto ride is different than being in a car, and you certainly don’t want to doze off while riding one. When we got gas, he gave me some caffeinated candies, which, combined with the stop, tided me over until we got to Beng Melea.

Beng Melea…wow. Mao hit the hammock and I hit the trail to the jungle-subsumed temple. I had a guide all to myself; I think they’re on hand and take whoever shows up (probably usually tour buses). And, amazingly, we had the place to ourselves. Granted, the place is a bit remote, but it’s in all the guidebooks, so I don’t know where the heck everyone was, but am glad they were somewhere else. He led me up and over and around and through and between and pointed out all kinds of things and took photos of me with cool backgrounds. You’d never find all these nooks and crannies on your own, or trust that the routes we took were safe without someone knowledgeable, so I was glad to have him show me around. After we’d been all over the ruins, he left me to hike around the perimeter a bit, which was very pretty and provided new views of the temple’s demise.

The temple was built in the 12th century to the same (huge) floorplan as Angkor Wat, but has been left to the forces of nature. And havoc has been wreaked, let me tell you. It is collapsed and crumbled and overgrown and under-grown and around-grown and through-grown and twisted by plants and trees and the topplings of gravity. Light peeked through in strange formations, doorways yielded piles of rocks in huge brick-shapes. It was truly wild and beautiful and awesome, and well worth the cost and effort to get there.

Before rousing Mr. Mao, I hit the restroom behind the roadside restaurant, where a little girl waited outside for me, and held up a small bill as I left, as a suggestion for the price of having used the facilities. Not having such a bill on hand, I indicated that yes, I would pay her, but that she should come with me into the restaurant so I could buy water and get change. I got the water, got change, paid her and had a few rounds of peek-a-boo, then packed up and hopped on the moto behind Mr. Mao and vigorously waved goodbye and thank you (aw kohn!).

Beng Melea was the last stop on my itinerary, but Mr. Mao had already asked me, as we were going to pass by his home village on the way back, might we stop so he could visit his family? Hell, yes! Twenty minutes away, he pulled into a maze of dirt roads and houses on stilts and small farms, and greeted 99% of the people we passed by name. And I’m sure it was fun for him to be bringing the blonde western chick along, though he was hardly the show-off type—more as a point of job-pride than machismo.

We got to his family’s land, where his mother, who wasn’t feeling well, was getting a curative massage. His brother’s child slept in a small hammock that his sister-in-law rocked by pulling an attached string. His parents had a house and the rest of the land (very small plots—although this could have just been the land for housing and the farmland could have been next to it or nearby) was divided into three sections for the three sons. Two of them had similar houses on stilts; his two brothers are married and farming. Mao’s plot hadn’t been cleared and he got a bamboo pole and eased down branches from orange trees to pick the fruit. Three neighborhood girls had, meanwhile, gathered nearby to check me out, and he explained that they’d never seen a foreigner here in the village before. He offered me an orange and a knife, and I cut a small piece of the rind off and started to peel it with my fingers, which set them all roaring with laughter. He took them from me and pared the whole thing, then showed me how to peel the white rind off…which didn’t seem any more efficient to me than my attempted method, but whatever. Always glad to be a source of humor…

It looked and tasted like a juice orange. Not much to say there. It was all over me after I’d managed to eat all the pulp, and I showed the girls a wet-wipe and let them smell it. Little marvels… Meanwhile, Mao had pulled down about a dozen oranges and insisted that I fill my bag with as many as would fit, saying that they’d make me a shake at the guesthouse. So I started to pack up my bag, and wanted to get my camera to take a few photos, but couldn’t find it. I emptied my bag twice, and determined that I must not have put it back in my bag after paying for the water and playing with the girl, as I’d taken a photo of the back of the restaurant.

So we went back to Beng Melea, sure that it would still be there, as there were only the locals at the restaurant and the one other tourist who’d come by tuk-tuk as we were leaving. But it wasn’t there, and Mao spoke at great and agitated length with the very concernced and surprised people there while I looked all around several times. Having no choice but to leave without it, we did. After a few minutes on the road, he began to relay part of the conversation he’d had with them: that the only other person who’d been there was the other tuk-tuk driver (during our time at the village, the tourist had seen the temple and they left as we re-arrived), who had been acting a little strangely and who they’d heard comment on my nice camera before we left the first time. My understanding at the time was that it was possible that he’d taken it or knew something, and Mao proposed that we catch up to them (easy, as we were on a moto and they had a tuk-tuk) and ask without accusing. We caught up to them and I spoke with the tourist, who didn’t know anything and said that his driver had said that their brakes weren’t working well. Huh?

It turned out that I’d misunderstood and the folks at the restaurant were actually quite sure that he’d taken it, that he was acting shifty, and he wasn’t wearing the taxi driver’s id vest that I didn’t know they had to wear whenever driving. Had I known any of that, I would have suggested that we pull up to him and I’d cry and offer money along the lines of $20, which might well have done the trick. Having missed that chance, we pulled over so I could buy a phone card (his phone was out of minutes), and we called the tourist police, and Mao said that they should look for this specific driver and meet us at a specific point on the only road back to town.

The tuk-tuk driver passed us again during this brief stop, and we set out to follow him and keep him in view. Somehow, though, either he stopped and pulled out of sight off the road, or took a really out-of-the-way, roundabout route back to town, because we didn’t find them. We think he must have realized we were on to him and going to do what we could and came up with some excuse about the tuk-tuk to get rid of his fare, or we don’t know what.

The cops weren’t at the appointed place but did show up soon after and said that they’d cruised the street looking for the tuk-tuk…we didn’t see a lot of tuk-tuks that day, so he would have been spottable. Mao wasn’t convinced that they’d actually done as they’d said and was angry in general over typical police behavior. They suggested that I file a report, but Mao wanted to wait and see if the guy had just delayed his return to town by this road, so we did. Mao and I and a bunch of Cambodians who emerged from a house sat around the side of the road, while I listened to Mao relay the whole story for the zillionth time with great dismay and angst. We hung out there for a couple more hours, then wove through town, then finally went to the station, where I filed the report and was told to call the next day around 2pm.

Sigh. Of course, the next day, they said that they couldn’t do anything because it was the next day…and we called in the morning because Mao spotted the guy in town—aaaaaaaaargh! At least I knew better than to have much hope after we’d not been able to stop him that night on the road. So Mao took me to two camera stores that the guesthouse recommended, and I bought a new camera and gigstick (of course they don’t really bother selling low-end stuff—anyone who can afford a digital camera and a vacation to Cambodia can afford the expensive models, right? How to put a dent in your low-budget vacation… And they only take cash, so the owner drove me to the only ATM in town. But it was definitely a legit place and I got what I needed). Unfortunately, I lost the photos from possibly the most amazing day of my trip, and lost almost a full day in dealing with it. Fortunately, I lost only that day’s worth of photos, as I’d transferred them all to my computer before I left EV, and my travel insurance company, when I filed a claim after I got home, said that they will reimburse me, AND a friend from EV visited Siem Reap later in September, took my recommendation and went on the same daytrip, and will be sending me her photos. So, I was actually relatively lucky, and at least had a unique experience with Cambodian authorities and chase scenes and local detective work…

Once I had the camera and collected my thoughts and stuff for the day, I rented a bike from the guesthouse (the expensive, $2 ‘charity’ bike, not so-called because of any kindness for my butt) and set out for Angkor Park. On the way, I stopped by a strip with lots of street-stalls and got some little dishes for about 25 cents a pop: beef with pineapple, beef with cucumbers and other veggies, curry.

(As for the dollar vs. the Cambodian riel, the dollar is accepted everywhere, and necessary in most touristy or large-purchase places; the riel is accepted at the local markets and shops. Some places accept both, which is handy when you want to pay in dollars and get change in riel)

I found the spot where bicyclists can lock up their vehicles, which is usually a place to put them and lock the tire to the frame—here, at least, you could also lock it to a rope between trees. The kids selling stuff swarm you and say that they’ll watch your bike, and follow you with their postcards, books, jewelry, scarves and trinkets. They all have the same spiel and sell the same stuff at each site. When you tell them you don’t want to buy anything, they say “ok, when you come back you buy from me, ok?” And when you return, they tell you “you said you buy from me when you come back”; most people probably say “okay, okay,” when they go to the site, just to get rid of them. Some of the little kids offer for you to take their very cute picture, after which I expected they’d be asking for money. I didn’t take them up on it, but later learned that most of them just want to see their photo on the digital screen. Aha…

Occasionally they do the full-out guilt trip on how they need you to buy from them so that they can have money to go to school or eat—which to some extent has to be true, but they really work it—and they must get results. I saw a couple of kids work up fake tears, even. Some of them count to ten in different languages, recite countries and capitals or quote statistics on different countries. Again, the best method seems to be to say “no” and then to chat them up. If they’re primarily concerned with the sale and there are other tourists around, they’ll leave you alone, and if they are happy to just talk then they’ll stay, which works out best for everyone. But it is still exhausting to be consistently pursued in this fashion, and is a true test of patience.

So. Angkor Wat—finally! ‘Tis a most impressive site, to say the least. It is a huge temple surrounded by a huge moat—190m wide, no less. It faces, unusually, the west, and the entrance is via a causeway to the outer wall and its chambers. And then, emerging to the inner courtyard via the elephant gates, is the stunning, magical, beautiful view of the temple. It’s been well maintained, and closer inspection reveals all kinds of carvings, bas-reliefs, altars and passageways. I easily spent almost 3 hours there, including a steeeeep climb to the top.

I finally emerged, fended off the kids, and pedaled through the gates (stone sculpture of churning of the ocean of milk) of the fortified city of Angkor Thom and on to the first temple inside, Bayon (any time you near the entrance of these places where there are groups of restaurants and shops set up, the women will scream out “Lady! Lady! Laaaaady! You buy water! You eat something!” waving water bottles and identical menus. It’s downright circus-like). Bayon is unique in that it has 54 gothic towers with 216 oddly smiling faces of King Jayavaraman VII (who had many, if not most, of these places built). It looks like another ruined temple from afar, but once you’re in it and especially up top, it is really different in look and feel. Here, too, there are elaborate bas-reliefs; these are scenes of 12th-century Cambodian life.

As it was a slow day, some of the kids who work around the site and live in the park with their families were playing at the less-crowded ruins (anything other than Angkor Wat). At Bayon, there was a group playing hide and seek, in the ULTIMATE setting of corridors, stairways, columns and statues. I helped one girl who was ‘it’ to sneak up on some hiders…

I biked to the next bunch of ruins and got a delicious late lunch of fried noodles, veggies and chicken with little bananas for dessert. It seems to be the norm that the kids will come to your table to try to sell you stuff but will leave when your food comes. Young Doam was hawking bracelets I didn’t want, but we had a fun swap of English/Cambodian tutoring and a couple of high-fives.

Happily full, I crossed the street to see Baphuon, which is still being put back together after it was taken apart for restoration--during the Khmer Rouge years all the records and plans were destroyed. Yikes—talk about a puzzle!

Next door, Phimeanakas is a pinkish-brown temple with steep stairs that were sadly off-limits—they would have led to a great view of Angkor Thom. Continuing on to the comparatively secluded Preah Palilay, I found it overgrown with huge tree roots, but still well groomed. Tep Pranam was the nearby Buddha terrace.

Back out on the ‘main drag,’ the Terrace of the Leper King is a 7m-high structure with tiers of carvings of apsaras and royalty figures on the outside, and a recently discovered inner terrace that feels like a secret passage, with more carvings. Next to it is the 350m-long Terrace of Elephants, with, appropriately, elephant carvings.

I hopped back on the bike and rode up to Preah Khan, again with a Churning of the Ocean of Milk gate. Inside, it was a temple of ruined corridors and carvings, overgrown and collapsed in places. It’s one of the largest sites, and I’m going to venture a guess that it may have the most moss.

After a relatively quick visit, I took off down the road towards Preah Neak Pean, but was stopped before I got there and told to turn around, as the park/road would be closing before I’d get out (yeah, they hadn’t just seen me racing the local boys and kicking their butts!). At first, I coasted by them, as they looked totally unofficial and I didn’t know why they were stopping me, but then I realized that they were legit and obeyed. I took out my little flashing reflector and affixed it to my backpack, as I’d need to turn it on at some point on the ride home. They LOVED that.

I rode the reverse route, hauling past other bicycles, cars dribbling out, beasts of burden, and yet more bicycles, racing some more locals (they get a huge kick out of that, too, especially the boys who couldn’t drop me—remember, these are junky one-gear bikes) and eventually stopping back in town at a huge souvenir store. Everything was way overpriced, but you could look without a gazillion kids pushing things in your face—although salespeople do follow you and try to talk you into buying things far more aggressively than they’d ever do in the west. I bought some postcards (you can’t find a decent postcard in Cambodia—it seems to be a hugely unexploited market) and donned my rain poncho, as a downpour had begun when I arrived.

I stopped by the local convenience store/gas station for snacks and beer, then returned to the guesthouse for a shower (I found that the easiest and most efficient thing to do was to take a shower in my clothes and wash and rinse them there, as one wearing will render them sweat-and-dust-drenched attire) and planning for the next day.

Wednesday morning, I had a papaya shake and coffee at the guesthouse, then went in search of Wat Preah Inkosei, where a small House of Peace Association sells handcrafted shadow puppets, used in traditional shadow puppet theater. I bought a small $6 Apsara puppet (I would have loved a big elephant or a jointed character, but the limitations of my luggage nixed that idea). They’re leather, cut into shapes, and with hundreds of holes punched in them for the light to shine through. Puppeteers maneuver them with the sticks that are attached.

Satisfied with my sought-out souvenir, I embarked on the long ride (another day on the bike) to the other side of Angkor Park (the traffic is similar to what I’d experienced in Hanoi, but not nearly as crazy or congested or loud. Be one with the flow…). I got lots of waves and ‘hellos’ from locals of all ages, on foot, bike, cart, or working on the road. The first site I hit was Prasat Kravan, with its five brick towers, two with carvings inside. They were built for Hindu worship, and indeed, a busload of Indians was there, getting a detailed tour.

Sra Srang, “pool of ablutions,” was next, and then Pre Rup, a pyramid-shaped temple/mountain with great countryside views. Quite a few of the walls and columns were propped up in unconvincing and precarious manners. It was probably totally sound, but the enormity of the structures and the general atmosphere of ruin didn’t lend themselves to a feeling of sturdiness.

The Eastern Mebon was a lot like Pre Rup, only with nifty stone elephants at the base. I offered to take a photo of a Korean couple and scared them by counting to three in Korean and saying “kimchi!”(instead of “cheese!”) before snapping it. Hah!

Ta Som was the next ruin down the road, featuring a big tree overgrowing its walls. Preah Neak Pean, at which I arrived from the opposite approach I’d tried the night before, was a small central temple, surrounded by 2 serpents in a central pool. Banteay Kdei was a ruined monastery with enormous outer walls.

The next major site was Ta Prohm, a Buddhist temple of overgrown corridors and courtyards. It was similar to Beng Melea, but not nearly as wild or tumbled or secluded. I was so glad to have made the trip out, as the two are often compared but were very different in the extent of the natural chaos.

I had some pineapple while touring the temple, then had a lunch of fried noodle, veggie and beef soup outside at one of the stands. I then pedaled back into town (via another stop at Angkor Wat) to investigate evening theatre options and the main market. I made a reservation for a shadow puppet show at La Noria, and had just enough time to shower and book a bus ticket to Phnom Penh for the next morning before going to the performance.

La Noria is a guesthouse and restaurant that puts on a weekly puppetry and traditional dance show, all performed by kids who are mostly orphans and otherwise underprivileged. The food was pricey, but the performances were wonderful—the range of ability and bravery and pride of the kids was amazing and touching. It certainly wasn’t of a professional standard, but was culturally rich on many levels.

After the show, I had a great talk with the Canadian manager who had lived in Korea for a year in 1998 and who has now been in Cambodia for a year with her husband, who was a NY photographer. We compared notes on Korea, traffic outside of the western world, the personal adjustment of defining ‘clean’ in Southeast Asia, and she gave me more info on the program she was helping to run there. The history of the arts training and school was fascinating and impressive: these former street kids leave with marketable skills that they can use to support themselves while carrying on cultural traditions.

Incheon, On-On, and Out

2006-11-09T14:04:00.000-05:00

On Sunday, August 27th, I took my last sick day and went with Elana and Renee to Incheon, on the West (Yellow) Sea. We arrived via subway and through the underground mall (where we were followed by a peculiar guy) to an area with lots of restaurants, where we found a place that served dolsotbibimbap, which we’d all been craving. We then walked around the port town, with its Chinatown district, and to Wolmido Promenade, which felt like a Jersey Shore boardwalk. Lots of tourists (mostly Korean), bars, toys, cotton candy, etc. While walking, a guy with his friend was trying to surreptitiously take our photo, and we all simultaneously turned away, covered our face, or took cover behind another one of us. But we hadn’t conferred and we were each discreet—it was totally automatic and completely perplexed them. We howled right afterwards when we realized why they were so befuddled and what had happened. We are sadly accustomed to being a spectacle.

We took the ferry to the main island, Yeongjongdo, where the airport is, and searched in vain for a bathroom. We missed the bus to the other side and had to take a taxi, but got there before our bladders burst and in time for the ferry to another, smaller, island, Muido. We walked around near the port, in search of a reasonable place to spend the night, but none of the minbak (guesthouses) had beds (Renee is fine with the floor, I can deal with it for a night, but Elana needs a real mattress), and all were pricey and small. So we hiked around, and waved at regular intervals to a bus driver who kept passing us. Eventually, after having turned around at the end of a road, we got on, and had the bus to ourselves with Campbell, our English-speaking driver who gave us all kinds of info on our ride around the island. We couldn’t have planned it better! Well, except for the drunk guys who got on at one of the beaches until we returned to the port and wouldn’t leave us alone. Ah, soju. I will not miss the public drunkenness.

We caught the ferry back to Yeongjongdo and headed for Eulwangni beach, on the western shore. After a bit of searching, including being turned away because one place wouldn’t house foreigners, we found a great room for a reasonable price. Dinner proved more of a challenge, as the seaside resort areas tend to specialize in seafood, mostly shellfish. Renee is vegetarian, Elana is fussy, and I don’t have a clue how to order what on those kinds of menus, and most dishes are for more than one person. So we walked around a lot, had ice cream, then found a place with kimchi and tofu stew (sundubujigae), then bought some snacks to bring back to the room.

I woke up at 7:30 and should have gone running, but didn’t muster the oomph. I was really kicking myself by 11, when Renee and Elana woke up. Doh! We got out by checkout time, and went to the beach (which we’d picked because it supposedly isn’t a mudflat at low tide like the others—but it was…okay for lying on the white sand, but gross between the toes walking out to the water—totally unappealing) for a couple of hours, where some teenagers pretended to play with a ball near us so they could gawk, then decided to head to Ilsan, where we could do some shopping and treat ourselves to a predictable menu and meal at Outback.

We took the bus to the airport, where we took advantage of the bathroom with running water and soap (unlike at the beach) to clean up a little before the ride to Ilsan. We had a great meal with a flustered waiter, then bought a bunch of nonsensical English tshirts. We got home that night, and still had Tuesday off before work on Wednesday, which I took full advantage of for packing and planning and running long in the rain.

Wednesday was delightfully quiet at EV, as summer vacations were over and the daytrippers were back in school. The weather was nice and everyone was in a better mood. Anne and I finally had a long-attempted dinner to lament the most recent EV dramas, and share our recent adventures and future plans over 2 ½ bottles of wine.

Thursday was my last day of work, which was indescribably surreal. Again, it was quiet, although I did have one class—and the kids were the best we’d had. I brought cookie dough to Elana’s (she had just bought Anne’s oven), and she, Renee, and I sat around, talked, ate cookies and made fart sounds for the better part of the night.

Friday, I was in the last throes of getting my act together and out (I managed to sell lots of stuff—you’d be amazed at what people want to buy). I went on my last bike ride (apparently Sept. 1 is ‘drive like an idiot' Day in Korea), then took the bike apart and packed it up, with a lot of pedal hassle. I got most of the rest of my stuff packed up, most of my last emails sent, and the apartment mostly ready for one last hoo-haa of eating up all my food and drinking up all my booze. There was dancing with slotted utensils. There were interesting vodka concoctions and appetizers involving peanut butter, olives, cheese and saltines. Don and his friend Dino arrived at around 11pm, and when the comestibles were gone, we headed to the Live café across Heyri for more entertainment…until 3am, when we wobbled home, via the fountain, I believe.

Saturday was the day of departure, before which event I cleaned up and helped Don and Dino pack Don’s car with all my stuff in spite of fierce hangovers. We just barely fit in the car, and we drove to Songtan, while Elana took the train to meet us there. Upon our arrival at the post office, I was dismayed that it was already closed, as I’d asked Don a gazillion times what the Saturday hours were, and he’d not found out. Which left him to send all my stuff after I’d left, which made me uncomfortable a) because I didn’t want to leave him with that huge job and b) because I wanted to get it done myself and know that it was en route. But there was nothing to do about it at that point, so we went on with our day.

Yes, our day, which was to continue on a hash house harriers run through Songtan. I was awarded a special green grass skirt and coconut bra to wear on the hash, in honor of my being a departing runner. It was fun to bring Elana on her first hash, although we weren’t quite ready for the beer…but by the time we all got to Chili’s for dinner, I was psyched for a margarita. And on we went, to the Lion’s Den for pool, then out to a few places on the main drag, then back to Don’s for movies I sort of half-saw…

We slept in on Sunday, then joined Don’s pal Dave for Sunday brunch at the Officer’s Club on base, which was an extravaganza of all things brunchy—I think I was more full than after Chicken Village…is gluttony really such a bad thing? We got me to the bus station, and I bid insufficient adieus before we pulled out, en route to the airport and from Korea.

Back to August... Sokcho

2006-11-09T12:13:00.000-05:00

Back to August…

Good gosh golly, I’ve got a lot of typing to do! The short version: more Korea travel, left EV, went to Cambodia and Laos, then lots of flying and waiting en route to Venice for a wedding, then Milan before Andalucia, Spain. I got home on October 6th.

Okay, the long version…Went for a run on Sunday the 13th before work, and ran past a HUGE running club, all clad in orange. We all waved and hooted and hollered, and I lamented that these people would have been my friends if I’d ever had weekends off to meet and play with them. Sigh. That night after work, Elana and I headed down to Songtan to hang out with Don and friends. We ate and drank (Vietnamese food, Guiness, Chili’s…) the evenings away, and Elana and I had a fabulously lazy day wandering around Songtan and watching movies (Broken Flowers, Good Night and Good Luck).

On Tuesday we met up with Renee in Suwon for a trip to the Folk Village, which I’d seen already but was happy to revisit. The day was unbelievably hot and humid, but we resigned ourselves to being sweaty and covered most of the park. We were stared at even more than usual on the subway and train rides back, and got really slaphappy narrating their thoughts in English. I know the word “sphincter” came into play…

Some other EV nonsense:
They were looking for mimes to perform. Think about that. Mimes don’t SPEAK. ANY LANGUAGE.

They haven’t come up with anything to encourage the One-Day visiting kids to use varied language. Teachers bring their students and give them the homework assignment of getting as many English-speaking teachers’ signatures as they can, so the kids all run up to us, pushing each other, yelling “SIGN! SIGN!” or, if we’re lucky, “SIGN PLEASE!” Every day. All day. So exhausting and depressing. If they’d just hand out a stupid piece of paper with lots of different questions or things to say, the kids could pick a few, they’d learn something, and there’d be a little variety. Oh well. All they want is a photo, anyway.

Some of the Eastern European women (commercial staff) had a meeting, as they were uncertain as to some aspects of their contract (and they’ve been screwed from the start, too) and wanted to pool and clarify their questions before presenting them. They had this meeting in the pub, one of the only areas to congregate, and one of the teachers, who happens to be dating one of them but knew nothing of the meeting, happened to be there. They asked him to proofread the letter, as English is their second language, so he did. Later, the director of the camp reprimanded him and said that the business/admin office was going to have a meeting about the propriety of teachers “associating” with commercial staff, and possibly new rules about “cohabitation,” which is completely ridiculous. There are all kinds of couples on campus, and they were singling them out because they didn’t want anything smacking of ‘unionization.’ Completely outrageous.

We’ve been told repeatedly that we’re being ‘watched’ very closely for all kinds of stupid things, that we have to ‘watch our step.’ If they expended half the energy they did slaying boogeymen on instead making useful improvements, EV might have had a chance. And they keep trying to add hours, especially performing hours, to the week, when we’re already putting in more vocal hours than anyone on Broadway. The unprofessionalism boggles the mind.

Two of the newest edutainers got sick soon after their arrival, but because admin had screwed up their papers, they didn’t have their Alien Registration Cards and couldn’t go to the hospital. EV wouldn’t get them the paperwork so that they could go as the insured employees they supposedly are upon commencing work.

Several more people, mostly in the ODP, resigned. Big surprise.

The gym closed for a week and only announced it the day before. No pro-rating, no carrying over of the week, you’re just out a week. The past four times I tried to swim, there were no lap-swim lanes available, in spite of the fact that they claim one always is. They just tell you that you can’t swim now. After the week they were closed, I had only 2 weeks left at EV, so I asked if I could pay for half a month, and they said “no,” so I gave up. As one of the Canadian trainers said: “Koreans + business = Stupid.” Sigh.

Leaving EV is going to be a bit of a financial blow, since I’ll be losing my severance, my unpaid leave allowance and my airfare home, plus I have to mail all my stuff, since backpacking with it all wouldn’t be especially practical…but better that my wallet gets sucked empty than my soul. A travel agent with a company everyone here loves quoted me a price of $3,500 for my itinerary home, but with a LOT of internet time, I booked everything for just under $2,000.

I took another sick day on Friday the 18th to take care of my Pension paperwork, cancel my cellphone account (I had to go to FIVE SK Telecom offices before they could complete the transaction), get a haircut and buy some last Korean gifts. I also spent more time on the computer and in their office pestering admin to get me answers to logistical questions I’d been asking for weeks.

On Friday, Elana, Renee, Matt and I (I think there was someone else, too…) hung out in my apartment and played Monopoly with special rules. We all started out with double the money, the bank would always give interest-free loans (which sometimes turned into grants), any Community Chest or Chance cards that required a payment was actually a payment FROM the bank, and anyone collecting rent had to list all the wonderful amenities of the property. I made Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (from Don) with peas. We drank wine and beer. A good night.

Gangwon-do
Sunday, Aug 20th: Elana and I took off for Sokcho, on the east coast. When I’d gone to our guardhouse to ask them to call us a cab for 5:50, they told me that they’d told admin that they weren’t doing that anymore (which, of course, had not been passed on to us), and were pissy about it but said they’d call one for us this last time. No taxi showed up, however, and they didn’t seem all that surprised about it. Grrrrrr. So we missed our train and got a late and slow start via bus, but arrived before midnight and found a motel room right away.

The next morning, left our stuff in lockers at the bus station, as we planned to stay in a motel near Seoraksan National Park for the rest of our trip. We ran into two other EVers, who were at the end of their weekend and gave us some pointers. After a little searching, we found breakfast of fried rice with egg and sauce (bokimbap) before wandering around Sunrise Park and Sokcho Beach.

We saw some kooky statues, got nifty souvenir pens with little pull-out maps, and laughed over a Baywatch-esque group of Korean lifeguard-types, complete with tans, speedos, and almost hulking bodies—totally in contrast to standard beachgoers there, but simultaneously familiar and weird to us. I should have stopped them for a photo, as they would have LOVED that, but I thought of it a minute too late.

We hopped on a bus to nearby Naksan Park to hike around and see Naksansa (temple), home to a 15m statue of Gwaneum, Goddess of Mercy. It was a very pretty spot, even though a recent fire had destroyed much of the temple.

Another bus brought us back to town, where we bought some groceries and trail snacks. After returning to the bus station for our bags, we caught a cab (we tried to take a bus but the driver said he wasn’t going where we wanted to go, which we named and showed him on a map—of course we followed him in the cab to that exact spot) to Chicken Village, which was on our tourist map and was calling our names. We’d booked a reservation, as apparently the traditional local preparation takes a long time. We arrived and they seemed to be expecting us, but then didn’t understand what we wanted to order, which led us to think we might be in the wrong place. There wasn’t much we could do, though, so we finally successfully ordered the special dish, which indeed took a LONG time to cook. No matter, as we had the place to ourselves—outdoor seating in a pretty location, tons of pre/side dishes, beer, and reveling in the joy of days off. Somehow we got to making chicken noises a lot, which lasted throughout the trip and beyond…and I’m still doing it now and then…oh, dear. Anyway, it was EXCELLENT. I think they just steam the whole thing, but it is darn tasty and super moist. And then they brought us rice porridge afterwards. I’m not sure I’ve ever been more full!

The owner drove us to the nearby motel we were hoping to stay in, and we again got lucky with a cheap room right away. One bed, lots of ondol bedding, TV, even a mini kitchen (Garden Motel 636.7474). I took a walk around the area (motels and tourist shops with a little convenience food and drink) to try to aid the digestion process, then joined Elana for some TV before going to sleep.

Tuesday, we started by trying to find some morning coffee, but without much luck—until a motel restaurant said they served it. Well, it took him FOREVER to make it, it was bad, and he charged us about three times what he should have. We bought some instant cups for the next day.

We walked to the park entrance, which was actually much farther than we’d thought, but it was a pretty trip. As it was August, when most people take vacations, it was pretty crowded, even on a Tuesday. We got “helloed” and stared and giggled at, which is annoying when you’re trying to avoid the work scene, but the hike was gorgeous. Many of the women wore strappy sandals, some even with heels, and while this wasn’t a major trek, it certainly called for sturdy shoes. Many parents were carrying children over some treacherous terrain without holding on to anything, which made us uncomfortable. And any time we paused to enjoy a view or rest in a people-free spot off the trail, the area soon filled up. It was really odd how consistently it happened, even when we picked unremarkable spots.

Amused by the cultural differences, we walked on and enjoyed Yukdampokpo and Biryongpokpo (waterfalls) along the way. We stopped for lunch on the way back, which was not very good and was way overpriced, but we got a free (service!) taste of the local wild grape booze—not strong and rather yummy.

We bumped into two other EV teachers by the main entrance (we found that we seemed to know a frighteningly high percentage of the whiteys we encountered) and then set out for another hike in the other direction. We were going at a good clip and passed a group of older men, who then weren’t going to be left behind, and they picked up the pace to stay right behind us—to the point that they were really crowding us. We eventually stopped to let them pass us, but then they slowed down and we got stuck behind them (then they started movin’ again), so we stopped again to give them a serious head start. God forbid we should ‘beat’ them anywhere.

We hiked to Heundeulbawi, or Tottering Rock, where a big boulder will rock from its precarious perch a little with the help of a group of pushing people, and then towards Ulsanbawi, an 873m summit. Elana’s foot was bothering her, though, and she was suffering a little from altitude and asthma, so she said she’d turn back and meet me towards the entrance. I went on and eventually ascended the 808-step metal staircase into the fog, where I had absolutely no view of anything. But my legs thanked me for the reward of the mission accomplished, and the climb was impressive. I saw the old guys again, and they were a little freaked out that we had been two people but that I was alone. I told them that everything was okay, but I should have acted out that she’d fallen off a cliff, and what could I do?

I ran into our EV friends on the descent, and then met up with Elana, who was hanging out on some rocks that took some hiking to, although they were easily visible from the trail. Of course, it had been desolate when she’d gone, but was soon packed with Koreans. So weird. And yet not, since they are not known for thinking outside the box, and following doesn’t require much creativity.

We got back to the entrance and haggled with taxi drivers who were determined to rip us off until we got a price we could live with for the short ride. He drove at approximately warp speed and we arrived in 2 minutes flat (it had been a 30-minute walk). Eeeeek!

We showered and stretched at the motel, and ate some Chicken Village leftovers and some of our groceries instead of venturing out for dinner. We watched a little TV and fell sound asleep.

Wednesday morning was a bit drizzly. I woke up and wrote some postcards, and once we were both up and ready, we went back into Sokcho (Elana wasn’t up for more hiking and I didn’t want to head out alone on a major hike in the rain), found a motel for our last night there, and went to an LP- recommended spot for lunch. I sampled the local sundae, which is a squid sausage—pork and spices and I-don’t-know-what-casseroley-tasting-stuff encased in squid, then cooked and sliced into circles. Very good, VERY rich. Elana had bulgogi that was pretty bad—it wasn’t as described and tasted like they’d dumped a cup of sugar into it, and cost more than the menu listed, because the menu was 3 years old. Of course.

We took a bus to Yeongnangho Lake, supposedly a “paradise of water recreation.” Well, we saw a family with an inflatable rowboat. Nothing for rent, no other people, nothing, in spite of all the tourist info told us. We walked back into town, stopped for ice cream, bought our bus tickets for the next day, then entertained ourselves shopping for tshirts with ridiculous English, which abound in Korea (making sense is not such a priority). We went western and had Pizza Hut for dinner, but they made the wrong pizza, so we ate some of the wrong pizza to tide us over until the right one came. They said they’d wrap the rest ‘to go,’ but that apparently meant ‘to go back into the kitchen to the garbage or stomachs of the staff.’ Oh well. We were full. We walked back to the motel, then I went to a PC bang to do some emailing before going to sleep.

On Thursday we took a bus to Chuncheon, and discovered that it was not the pretty town we’d been led to expect it would be. After not getting any help from the tourist booth which was closed from 12-1 while they ate lunch—in the booth--we set out on foot. Bicycle rental was really expensive, so we forwent that and hiked around the pretty but dirty lake, where there was also zero activity, despite proclamations of much to do. We took a ferry (on which we were leered at by some men and talked at by some kids—‘je nes parle englais’ comes in handy sometimes—pardon my bad French spelling) to Jungdo, a small island where there were supposedly more water sports, a swimming pool, horseback riding and wild birds. Er, we had a nice walk around. We did see the pool, but it was empty.

We took a cab back to the center of town (it took 3 guys to figure out where we wanted to go, even though we were pointing to the spot about a mile away on the map and had the name of the street—near the bus station--written out) to a street known for serving dakgalbi (traditional chicken dish), which they said they’d make ‘not spicy’ for Elana, but it was still fairly fiery and she couldn’t eat it (I loved it and loved the leftovers). They brought her a cold noodle dish, but she was annoyed enough that she wasn’t going to enjoy anything.

We walked back to the bus station, got our stuff, and got another cab to the train station, where we caught a train (with SCREAMING kids) to the wrong station in Seoul…when the point of taking the train instead of the bus was to avoid the subway to Seoul station. So we got on the subway and eventually got back to EV. It was a good trip, but strangely fraught with hassles and annoyances.

There’s a new TV ad for EV that flashes “English Villige!!!” [sic, of course] multiple times. Sigh. It took three weeks of emailing and visiting the appropriate admin guy to get answers to basic questions about the logistics of leaving. The security guards work 24-hour shifts. There is still no rain plan. We’ve gotten new tax info, which hugely changes some people’s take-home pay (not for Americans, fortunately), that people should have gotten with the job offer. The higher-ups wrote a letter of apology for (not to him, but for him to sign) the guy who’d accidentally been at the commercial staff’s meeting and was ‘consorting’ with people in another division of EV—and now the Korean Assistant to the Director is dating a teacher. I penned a resignation letter that makes me feel better—I’ll post it once I’ve gotten all my money from them. Ah, EV.

On Friday I was excused from our content area development meeting, since I’m outta here asap and am not interested in developing anything. That night I had dinner with many of the funstruction Korean teachers and assistants, which was very touching. Thank goodness for the kind and sensible and responsible Koreans who countered all the annoyances of dealing with EV.

Home Sweet Home

2006-10-16T10:57:00.000-04:00

I'm home! It'll take me a while to sort through notes and photos to report on last travels in Korea, the end of my EV career (hooray!), and the return home via Cambodia, Laos, Venice (for Mary Kallaher and Matteo Perale's wedding), Milan, and Spain (Andalusia and Madrid area). I'm waiting for my stuff to arrive from Korea and am working on getting back to life. If you know of anyone selling a car fer cheap-like, let me know.
Everyone here speaks English...it's too easy!

EV Resignation Letter

2006-09-01T13:58:00.000-04:00

To Whom it May Concern,

I responded to the casting notice for English Village Edutainers because the job description combined my two loves: performing and teaching. The notice first caught my eye because I have a good friend in Korea and had wanted to visit him and this part of the world for some time. After (much) further investigation, I came to English Village for the opportunity to perform while teaching and contributing to the curriculum development of an exciting and unique place. I came for the opportunity to explore a new culture, for a break from the difficult demands of a New York actor’s life: constant auditioning, short-term jobs, and working all weekends.

I was extremely thorough in asking questions and getting answers about the job before I signed my contract, and the answers we got, as provided in my interview (with Dusty and Stanton), and through the listserve and Teachers’ Handbook, have been honored neither in spirit nor in letter (allowing for the flexibility that we have all, time and again, demonstrated above and beyond the call of duty).

We were told that we were coming to a “professional performing environment.”

Instead, we arrived to find that not one basic aspect of professional performance was in place (stage access, substantial written material, producer, director, musical director, accompanist, stage manager, proper rehearsal time and space, equipment, costumes, safety measures). We have been asked on several occasions to work for little, possible, or no pay, supposedly because we love and want to perform. Professional performers have already paid the career dues of working for little or no pay, and deserve to be ungrudgingly paid for their talents and hard work without having to beg for it or performance essentials. Almost six months into our contracts, the only improvement has been access to the mainstage and one overbooked rehearsal space, and costumes (but not their care). What little performance that is happening now is of junior-high-school production quality (as in by junior high kids, not for them). No explanation of the situation was ever offered to the edutainers, who can only surmise that GECF never researched the art or industry of entertainment before recruiting professional artists.

We were told that we would be on a rotating monthly schedule, sometimes working weekends, and that when we were on weekends, we would work 4-day weeks. We were told that we would know our schedule in advance so that we could make plans.

Instead, our schedule includes zero weekends off, and the Wednesdays off have been taken away without compensation. Forty-two days off have been taken away without compensation. Only when we realized that we would have no weekends or third days off did we finally have our schedule in advance.

We were assured that, in return for our flexibility, patience and hard work, we would be rewarded with cooperation, trust, openness, respect, and the highest level of professionalism.

Instead, our flexibility, patience and hard work have been met with utter lack of cooperation, trust, openness, respect and professionalism. We have been repeatedly told to have faith, while GECF has repeatedly refused to act in good faith. Flexibility does not mean suffering egregious breaches of our job descriptions or working conditions. Patience does not encompass waiting six months for the agreed-upon terms upon which our decisions to come here were based to be put into practice. Hard work does not entail allowing others to take advantage of our generosity of time, energy and spirit.

Information regarding many other working and living conditions has also proved grossly inaccurate, as a rule to our enormous disadvantage. Even the teaching environment has been woefully far from professional, as detailed in the ODP Program Staff Crisis Proposal Plan. Our curriculum development, to date, has been curriculum triage for despicably poorly designed plans. We are still regularly left uninformed on issues affecting us, the park, and visitors. New, often huge, problems that are the symptoms of lack of organization, understanding, communication, or some other vital overarching institution at the higher levels arise daily, in spite of extraordinary efforts by the teaching staff to provide preemptive solutions.

It has been argued that, regardless of all the grievances we have aired, this is still one of the best teaching jobs in Korea. I, for one (and I am not alone), did not apply for other overseas jobs. I was lured by the performance aspect, in addition to the cultural experience. I would not have applied for any job that required performance on this pathetic level, which is worse than not performing at all. I would not have applied for any job that required that I work all weekends, as I was specifically attracted by that change of pace. I planned to attend cultural festivals, visit with my friend, participate in Korean running and triathlon races and socialize with those new friends (all of which can only be done on weekends, all as discussed in my interview). I came to explore Korea and its culture, and intended to do this during the shifts when I had three consecutive days off.

I am dismayed by what English Village has turned out to be. I am appalled by the outrageous discrepancies between what we were told the job would be and what it actually is, and how unconscionably people were persuaded to move their lives around the world under false pretenses. The hypocritical spewing of promises of concern for our happiness is sickening. This experience is going to cripple me financially, but the cost to heart and mind in staying here would be far greater then monetary damage. As a teacher, performer, and human being, I am embarrassed to work in a place where the staff is so thoroughly disrespected and where the quality of the product is so low.

With great disappointment,

SY

THAILAND!

2006-08-02T00:26:00.000-04:00

7/17-28 THAILAND! Sawatdikha! (that’s “hello,” to you) Oh, it’s so much more fun writing about travel than about English Village! There are 3 photo links—yes, I admit it, I took too many photos. It was impossible not to, as the sights are numerous, vast, and spectacular. Put on some tunes and grab your favorite beverage before you begin…

I escaped on the 17th for a flight to Bangkok and then a northbound train (1 ¼ hrs.) to Ayuthaya, home to the Unesco World Heritage Ayuthaya Historical Park (If you ever find yourself in Bangkok, a daytrip here is a MUST. If you stay overnight, backpacker central is on Soi 1 Th Naresuan—go and look at rooms before deciding). In addition to the introduction of the stray-dog phenomenon (they really are everywhere, on the streets, amongst the ruins, everywhere, in various degrees of scraggliness, more or less throughout the country), wats in various stages of ruin or repair abound. It was another situation in which I was glad not to have seen photos before the real thing, as the face-to-face experience was all the more stunning. On the night of my arrival, I shopped around for a guesthouse (accommodation, food, and land transport are all super cheap there…I’ll quote some converted prices—at about 40 Thai Bhat to the dollar), and found a room with shared bath for $4 (I upgraded to a vacated $7 room w/private bath the next day) in the neighborhood where I wanted to be. Went to sleep right away.

Let me throw in a couple of definitions from my Lonely Planet book, as it can get confusing. A wat is a temple-monastery, from a term meaning “monk’s dwelling,” and it was used for everything from the oldest, most ruined of ruins to the still-in-use, whether monk-inhabited or not, more modern, well-upkept joints. Regardless, there were always plenty of Buddhas of varying shapes, sizes, positions. Stupa and chedi are used interchangeably and refer to a “conical-shaped Buddhist monument used to inter sacred Buddhist objects.” You can’t miss them in the photos.

Okay, Tuesday, I moved my stuff to the new room, then had some Pad Thai (for breakfast! I love this place!) across the street at a guesthouse named “Tony’s,” where I later booked 2 tours. I set out on my own walking tour (I should have rented a bike, but it was raining when I started out…hindsight…) of all the sights, and covered serious territory. First was a Chinese shrine en route to Wat Suwannawas, which is smallish, but as it was my first, I was still blown away.

Down the street was Wat Ratchaburana, which was I don’t know how many times the size of Suwannawas, but it was darned big and on the astounding/breathtaking end of the spectrum. Endless bricks in various configurations. At first I was unsure whether I should climb the steps on the main chedi, but saw metal railings at the steep part, so up I went (I definitely saw other tourists around the park, but not tons). Inside at the top, I followed a steep and narrow stairwell with an uncertain end down to a small shrine with VERY faded murals on the walls. Super old.

The next wat down the road was 14th-century Wat Mahathat, which again, was enormous. This is where the oft-photographed Buddha-in-the-tree lives, and I took my obligatory shots…and many more. Wandered through, around, up and down the site, jaw at my knees. I made my way through the center of the pretty park past other ruins and on to Wat Thammikarat, another ruined temple, with nifty stone lions.

On the way to my next wat, I sampled some freshly-pressed sugar cane juice (20¢, and a little too sweet for my taste) and a coconut-sticky rice-tapioca treat, wrapped in banana leaves (5 for 20¢ and SO YUMMY). Soon I arrived at Wat Wa Phra Meru, a temple north of one of the three rivers that surround the old city. The main bot (sanctuary) dates to 1546 and boasts a carved wooden ceiling and a 6m-high Ayuthaya-era crowned seated Buddha. Supplicants burned incense held together with a lotus flower (which I haven’t seen in other countries, but seemed to be the norm in Thailand; also, the supplicants tend to sit with their knees tucked to the side, instead of underneath them). After praying, the flower was placed on a special plate.

There were also two smaller, gold, statues, and people seemed to be adding a small leaf of gold each in a ritual of some sort. A smaller room in another building housed a green stone Buddha in a setting that seemed rather European—complete with hunting trophies. Hmmmmmm.

Next was a walk past the old palace grounds to 14th-century Wat Phra Si Sanphet, another huge temple with three amazing stupas. Eerie weathered white stone against a blue sky with poofy clouds (cumulonimbus, if memory serves…). Took a few gazillion more photos, then moved next door to Wat Mongkhon Bophit, which looked more like a Chinese temple…I’ve gotta say, it’s all got me a little confused. But darned if they don’t all look cool. It’s a monastery, in use today, with a huge 15th-century bronze Buddha inside.

I walked back to my guesthouse via some other interesting places, also seeing some elephants with tourist passengers. I didn’t have time for the acclaimed museums or cultural center, alas…but I saw the real stuff, which is the important thing. Right?

Snacks picked up along the way were some fresh pineapple (they’ve got tons of fruit on their vendor carts, usually halved or quartered pineapple, melon, papaya, whatever, and they put it in a plastic bag and whack it into bite-sized pieces with the dull end of a knife, then put it in another plastic bag with a skewer. Most street food is served in the two-bag-n-skewer fashion) and some rice / bean muffiny things that came with little bags of honey (I think), sugar/salt/peanut/chili dipping stuff. Scrummy.

I got a little lost on the way back (some roads are labeled more than others, and Thais, like Koreans, seem to be daunted by maps) and overshot my destination, but got in just in time to catch my group for a 3pm 2-hour ($5) river tour. Seven of us squeezed into a tuk-tuk (or saamlaw: three-wheeled motor car with either two benches running the length of the little bed, or sometimes—although I only noticed it in Bangkok—one or two rows of two seats running the width. Either way, super stinky exhaust) and made the quick trip to the pier for the longtail boat cruises.

The river is a muddy brown, but it’s nice to be on the water in a breeze, and interesting to see some of the homes along the riverside—stilts are a key architectural feature in Thailand, because of flooding. The area under the home is used for utilitarian purposes…sort of reminded me of American garages that are used for anything but parking a car.

We stopped to get out at three wats, the first of which was Wat Chai Wattanaram, where the ruins are partially restored. It’s a positively gorgeous site, with a lush green lawn and Buddhas large and small lining the inside perimeter. We had twenty minutes to check it out, and I easily could have stayed longer. These ruins all look the same in one sense, and yet they are all uniquely stunning.

The second stop was at Wat Phutthaisawan, which was upkept—under renovation, in fact—and diverse in its stupas and bots. Some pretty mosaic stupas, and bunches of, of course, Buddhas. Stop three was at Wat Phanan Choeng, an early 13th-century temple with a 19m high Buddha (behind scaffolding). People were organizing long saffron strips of cloth along one length of the temple for the pilgrims who come on the weekends to drape it over the Buddha (it reminded me of The Gates).

Some of my boatmates recommended the same company’s night van tour, which left 20 minutes after we got back. I joined that group after a quick shower and a stop to pick up a bottle of water and a bottle of beer (drank a whole lot of Sing Ha beer—they pronounce only the “Sing”). I hadn’t really looked into the tour before because I thought we’d just see the temples that I’d seen by day, only lit up…but we started by going to an elephant kraal (camp where they’re cared for, from what I could tell, pretty well, for tourist stuff. They had space and company and natural surroundings, at any rate). These elephants were pretty small, as elephants go (not sure what type), but still impressive in their elephantiness. They were almost black with stiff bristly hairs along their spines and heads, and playful with each other and with their trainers and the tourists. One started to undo Danish Casper’s velcro sandals with its trunk!

(Casper and his wife Anna, both teachers, have traveled lots, pregnant with first child, both nice, smart, and gorgeous. Also Conrad and Kate from Manchester who’d been on the boat trip; he just got a job with The Bangkok Post)

We walked to the river with the elephants, the Thai caretakers riding on their necks/heads/wherever—no whips, just canes for prodding and for balance in the water (!). We all sort of ambled down, chatting on the way. You’d never think that an elephant could sneak up on you without your noticing it, but it can happen! “Elephant back!”

They were playful washing in the river, came out and took their massive pees and poops, a baby elephant (“Peter,” of course) did a little song/sneeze /dance routine and photo session, then we walked over to where two adults were gearing up for another show. They started to do that front-feet-on-the-next-elephant’s-rump deal, but we soon realized we were going to see another trick altogether when the, um, BIG elephant penis sprang to life. Yes, kids, I have seen elephant sex. The she-elephant seemed pretty unfazed; we, not so much.

It certainly wasn’t violent, but I had mixed feelings of being upset that it was happening for show and yet awed at having seen something not many people get to see. The Danes were pretty sure that it was probably their ‘season,’ and that we were lucky, but I’m sure there was some element of tourist-timing that came into play. Still, they made me feel better about it all. So. That was new.

Our next stop was Phu Khao Thong Temple (Golden Mount Chedi) for a dusky view. It was a huge Burmese-Mon chedi that we could climb for a great 360-degree view (I saw a runner—a real one!). Unfortunately, it was a bit too hazy for a good sunset, but it was still a nifty place to be as night set in. Once it was dark, we went to three wats I’d seen during the day for the lit-up view, which was very pretty. Quick photo ops, mostly, which was fine.

We returned to the hostel and said our goodbyes, and I walked to the night market for dinner and browsing. I grazed for appetizers, and had a chicken kabob and yellow watermelon before sitting down by the river for chicken curry and rice (about $1.50). Midway through my meal, a guy and his elephant strolled through the market, to no one’s second thought. Natch. I went home, settled in, washed some clothes (it’s HUMID and pretty hot), took a shower and slept like a rock.

Day 2: Got up and took a tuk-tuk to the train station. It turned out that my schedule was wrong, but fortunately the train was half an hour later than I’d thought, and not earlier. I got some fresh fruit and a pastry-ish thing for breakfast and bought my ticket to Phitsanulok, 5 ½ hours away ($6). I was in a 2nd-class car, which meant slightly more comfy seats (reclining, with two positions: up or down) and fans. The trains are a bit dingy, but on time and safe. Vendors come through regularly with snacks and drinks (I tried rolls with minced pork—I think—and a mango with a salty condiment; they eat the mangoes unripe with it). There is a reserved section for “elderly, handicapped, monks.” I wrote in my journal and planned for my next day or so.

We arrived in Phitsanulok, and I went to see the major wats there, since they were within walking distance from the train station. Wat Ratburan and Wat Nang Phaya were no big deal, but Wat Phra Si Ratana Mahathat is home to the Chinnarat Buddha, which is famous and revered. He’s got a unique halo, after all. The murals in the bot were really cool, too. It was the first place I’d needed to borrow a shawl and sarong to cover my shoulders and legs before entering, so I know it was super holy. Strangely, most of these super holy places have souvenir stands in the sanctuary, in addition to the tents outside. Kinda tacky, if you ask me.

I shared a tuk-tuk with two Thais to the bus station, since the local bus we were all waiting for hadn’t come for a while. I caught a 1 ½ hour bus to my next destination, New Sukhothai, hopped a sawngthaew (a truck with benches—2 or 3—running the length of the bed) into the center of town and found a room for the night ($7.50 for a room w/ a/c, a sink in a separate room that was basically a little porch, a big, HARD, bed…and a great common porch and a very helpful owner. All of the guesthouses I saw during the trip had western toilets, but some had the Southeast Asian flush—pour a bucket of water in).

I went out for food and wandering, first at the neighborhood of food stalls. I ordered curry from one, and when nothing had happened within half an hour, I went to find out what was up, and the guy pointed me to another vendor. Which was pretty annoying. I had even noticed the woman from whom I’d ordered say something to him while pointing at me about 15 minutes earlier, so they knew I was waiting. Apparently they were out of food, or had decided to close or something. Thanks for telling me. Grrrrrr. Rude in any country.

Fortunately, I got some curry super-quick from another stall. Later than I’d wanted, I headed out in search of the night market my host had told me about…but it was either already closed (what I saw that I think might have been it had closed long before) or, as another woman who I think understood my question said, it was only open in the morning…or, whatever. I never found it, but I had a good walk.

I bought some lychee fruit and got a lesson in eating it from the vendor. I had to ask her to halve the standard order, as 50¢ worth was gonna be WAY too much. I ate some of it with a beer at the guesthouse while writing some postcards and reading up on what I’d see the next day. I also chatted with an Irish guy and a Dutchman about our recent adventures. One had been to a bat cave (all appropriate jokes were made) and the other had been on a trek, but I won because I had seen elephant sex. I lamented that I was now doomed to a life of disappointment because no man could ever compare…

Day 3: Up and out by 7:30 to Sukhothai Old City Historical Park (Unesco World Heritage site, and Thailand’s first capital, at its height from the mid-13th to late-14th century, exemplifies classic Thai architectural style) via sawngthaew with a bunch of schoolkids. I stopped at a coffee house for breakfast: Thai omelet (chicken, onion, peppers, grease), coffee, and a mango-yogurt shake, which was off-the-charts delicious (all for about $2.50). I rented a bike for the day (50¢, and it didn’t come with a lock because you just didn’t need one) and went through the park and sites outside for five hours. Ruins, ruins, ruins. All really beautiful. It had poured rain all night and most of the early morning, but stopped during my trip over, after which it was overcast and then eventually sunny. Did I dig out my sunscreen from the bottom of my bag that was elaborately tied to the bike rack? No. Did I pay for that stupidity later? Yep. DOH.

Anyway, the park was absolutely gorgeous, with ponds and trees and bridges surrounding the ruins, along with the occasional herd of wildlife and its caretakers. Wat Mahathat covered a 206 x 200m area, with 198 stupas surrounded by walls and a moat. Wat Si Sawai had 3 Khmer-style towers and was originally a Hindu temple.

I meandered through a little neighborhood within the old city walls (as are some guesthouses, restaurants and markets) and saw a ‘museum,’ which was really a little shop…then went west to see some of the outlying ruins. Some of them were roadside, some involved a brief hike. I started off by checking out each and every one, then got real and limited myself to what the guidebook recommended or what I could see—otherwise I’d have been there forever. While there were certainly other tourists, I never saw crowds, and occasionally had sites to myself, which I looooove.

Wats: Sii Thon, Tak, Har Thewalat, Wa Pa Muang, Pa Sok, Phra Yuen, Mamuang, Chang Rop, Thom Lang, Thom Hip Ban, Chedi Ngam, Khoa Phra Bat Noi, Aronyik, Saphan Hin (up a slate path and staircase to the temple on a hill), Si Chum (15m brick/stucco Buddha in small square, spired building with a cool shrine next door), Phra Phai Luang (12th-c Khmer-style tower may have been center of Sukhothai…had to stop for a herd of spritely galumphing cattle-like critters), Mae Chon, Son Khoo, Tru Phang, Sa Si (“Sacred Pond Monastery”), Chana Songkram, Trapang Ngoen, Chang Lom (with stone elephants around the base), Trapang Thong…and I’m sure I’m missing a few!

I also visited Ta ha Doeng Shrine, King Ramkhamhaeng Monument, a market for a snack of fish balls in a fried wrapper with chili sauce, and an awesome accidental detour through a small village. It didn’t feel right to stop and take photos, but they clearly were not used to seeing tourists in their nook of traditional houses and people at their daily lives, and it was probably the only time I got to see a normal neighborhood.

I swung back through the park to see stuff I had missed the first time through and to deposit my bike (one-gear with a seat and footrests for a passenger, and I put it to the test, through mud and fields, over rocks and curbs, barely avoiding mishaps due to lack of traction), then caught a truck back into New Sukhothai to get my stuff, pick up some snacks and a roadie, and get on a bus (actually sort of pretty, in a kitchy kind of way; definitely comfortable) to Chiang Mai (5 ½ hours, $5). On the bus were 4 Spanish girls I’d taken a group photo of at the park, and an Englishwoman (Kate Cattell) from Devon (28, currently a teacher in Prague) whose stuff I’d kept an eye one at the bus station. She and I chatted several times during the ride.

Upon our arrival, I recruited Kate and the Spanish girls to share a ride into the center of town. Our driver, as is common, was hell-bent on bringing us to a particular guesthouse—Bamboo Hotel (where he’d surely get a commission)—but we FINALLY persuaded him to take us to the section of town we wanted to be in. Kate and I had decided to room together for at least the next night, if not two, so we sent one of us and one Spanish woman into a few places to scope them out before settling on one. It took much longer than I’d usually spend shopping for a room, but was pretty comical, especially with all the Spanish thrown in (I kept saying “Nae”—Korean—instead of “Si,” while otherwise speaking Spanish).

Kate and I took quick showers and then went to the nearby and very famous and very—exclusively—touristy Night Bazaar for dinner and browsing. We saw some traditional dancing while we ate, then wove among the massage tents and souvenir stalls that line the thoroughfare. We stopped at a travel agency to shop for treks (1-day for Kate, 2-day for me). The Bazaar started to shut down at about 11:30, so we called it a night and went back to the hotel to prepare ourselves for the next day.

For some reason I slept really poorly and woke up early, so I got up before Kate, who was going on her trek that day, and I hit the town, first researching other treks and flights to Ko Samui for some island time (you could certainly go by land, but it would have taken up too much of my limited time, so I bit the bullet and splurged). Then I had a delicious breakfast of Khao Sawy (a Shan-Yunnanese dish of curried broth, chicken, and wheat noodles) at a Muslim-Thai place before starting my temple touring of the day. I also checked out some other guesthouses for my third night in Chiang Mai, but ended up just moving next door to a cheaper place.

First off were wats Bupparam, Mahawan and Chetawan. I hunted for a bike to rent for the more spread-out sites, and had a surprisingly difficult time finding one. Eventually, though, I did, and went to wats Chedu Luang, Phan Tao, Phra Singh (a famous temple where they were setting up for some big extravaganza), the Three Kings Monument, Wat Prasat, Wat Suan Dok (amazing collection of whitewashed Lanna stupas), Wat U Mong (forest wat and meditaition center with brick-lined tunnels)…and a restaurant for papaya tom yam (spicy) salad with sticky rice. And, at one point, the skies opened up and poured down rain for an hour (which seems to be the norm), at which point I was able to hide out at a covered picnic table next to a handicrafts store (after checking out the merchandise, of course).

On the way to my next wat, I had wanted to go to a jewelry store that specialized in hill tribe silver, but wasn’t able to find it, despite several people being very sure that they were pointing me in the right direction. In the meantime, the bike had started acting up and the chain kept skipping on the ring, then missing altogether. The mechanism was encased so that I couldn’t easily get to it to fix the problem. Not so good when you’re trying to cross a busy intersection or merge with a lot of traffic. So, between the bike and the bad directions that got me into all kinds of weird locations, I missed out on the last few sights on my list and barely got back to the rental shop before it closed. And they really didn’t care that they’d given me a dangerous bike or that I’d gotten more or less stuck far away on it. “Are you finished?” Grrrrrr.

I walked back to the guesthouse, where Kate had recently returned from her day trek, which she’d enjoyed. We went out for shopping and food and drink, and decided that we were largely unimpressed by the Night Bazaar. The merchandise wasn’t very interesting, and the prices weren’t so cheap, even after bargaining. And the bargaining wasn’t very fun, because they jack up all the prices ridiculously high and then pester you to make another offer…and it’s exactly the same everywhere. Not very interesting and blatantly inauthentic. We did buy a few little things that we’d wanted, but otherwise emerged none the poorer.

Saturday morning she left for the airport and I left for my 2-day, 1-night trek to Doi Inthanon National Park. I was picked up by our sawngthaew at 9am, and by the time we had our complete group and had our passports logged with the tourism office, it was 10:45, which made me stir-crazy. We were a group of 10: me, two French (Adele and Phillipe), six Dutch (Willem, Pascale, Lonika, Susan, Andre, Bas), and our guide, Daeng (25, grew up in a local hilltribe village, started trekking 5 years ago when his wife left him—apparently quite common among Thai to separate—and his then-5-year-old-daughter whom he now sees about once a month. He learned all of his excellent English on the job and was clearly very bright, and he knew the mountains inside and out—paths, bugs, plants, animals, climate, customs. We learned how to make different leaves pop, shoot like arrows, change colors. He could spot a bug from far away while picking out a path and having a conversation in his third language or singing or whistling western pop songs, or imitating bird and animal calls, and used his slingshot to point things out or coax a bird/butterfly/whatever into the open. He was full of stories of growing up, hunting with his father, the daily life of his village, and of information on the current status of the tribes: that they are being forced to abandon their nomadic lifestyle, as the territory can’t take further deforestation, that they can no longer grow opium, that they have been given land to settle on and fertilizer so that they can reuse the fields, and the opportunity to profit from tourism).

We stopped at a market for people to pick up any rain gear, toilet paper, whatever that they might need (I got a snack of a coconut-stuffed pancake---YUM!) and then went to a temple on the way to the starting point for our hike. The drive was up, up, up, and bumpy, bumpy, bumpy…but only 2 people got sick (!). The temple was interesting enough; a cool chedi and neato stone carvings on the path up.

Then we went to a Muong tribe village for lunch (highly unimpressive fried rice from a roadside restaurant and some fruit). We took a quick hike to Nam Tok Mae Klang, a pretty waterfall where some people swam (in brown water) and a few jumped from what looked like too high for my comfort. Daeng scampered around easily, but the two guys following him were not so sure-footed and made me VERY nervous for their safety. One got pretty scraped up, but both survived in one piece (each).

We hiked for an hour or so, and I stuck close to Daeng for info, as did the two French—and also to keep a little distance from the incessant yammering of the Dutch—in Dutch. They barely ever used their impeccable English after the initial introductions unless they had a question for Daeng, which was pretty rude, on the whole. At least the French were even more annoyed than I was, and they made a point of sticking with me, so that we could communicate. Too bad, because the Dutch seemed, otherwise, like fun and interesting people…aside from a few other instances of inconsiderate behavior…

We arrived at another village, then drove to another spot whence we hiked to yet another village for the night. We were brought to a big A-frame bamboo bungalow with colorful bedding and mosquito nets, which was absolutely charming. No sooner than we had deposited our belongings inside, the littlest village kids (the real villagers actually live in a separate area…we’re really in the tourist camp) appeared with bracelets to sell us—and they pestered and pestered and pestered, as of course they are taught to do and must do. It’s hard to know how to react in such situations. We have the money, and they need the money, but do we really want to be known first and foremost as the face of money? I refrained from buying anything that night and instead spent time asking their names and how old they were, with a little tickling thrown in. A super old woman, whose wrinkles had wrinkles, in traditional dress (full-out costume), about 4 feet tall on her bare tippity toes, with three black teeth whose looseness she demonstrated as proof of her dire state, also tried to sell us beads… REALLY persistently, which is exactly the way NOT to get me to buy something. And of course later, when she was going about her daily life in camp, she was in much more plain and modern clothing. So the whole impact of tourism is huge, but sociologically interesting in and of itself, because it is a relatively new business and way of life to them.

We were having beer and snacks at the big, sheltered dinner table during the sales pleas, which of course makes you feel guilty. Ah, the strategy. Soon, though, the local tribe guys started a game, resembling a mix of volleyball and soccer, with a bamboo woven ball that they used their heads and feet and legs to hit over a net. One of our guys joined in with them, and another with a soccer game. I played tag with four boys, running and running and running for at least an hour. I had my running shoes on, but of course they were barefoot. And they knew the territory, and probably run through it every day, and there was one of me to chase the four of them, so I definitely was working. Not to mention the two beers I’d just had… They even tried the surprised point (as in “look at that bird!”) to distract me before sprinting in the opposite direction. Hilarious. Of course, I returned the ruse. We had fun pretending to be big squawking birds (I think), too. My trekmates probably thought I was out of my head, but I had tremendous fun and felt good about leaving a better, or at least different, impression on them than a wallet can.

Utterly pooped and warned that dinner time would be soonish, I made use of the latrine/shower combo, which was perfectly sufficient, then sat down to an amazing candlelit dinner of green curry, chicken, vegetables, rice and fruit, as prepared by one of the village men and Daeng. Let’s just say I had more than one helping.

Unfortunately, I was the last to the table after the fun and games, and was stranded at the opposite end from the French, so we all endured the Dutch din through the meal. It was truly unbelievable. After dinner, the French and I went over to a campfire where Daeng was preparing to grill bananas (SO GOOD) and marveled at their obnoxiousness. We hung out for a while, but I later left them (they were a couple and probably wanted a little alonetime under the stars) and went to get my journal. As the only light was at the dinner table, I returned there and wrote for a while—and wasn’t ever acknowledged. Sometimes people behave badly.

I slept decently—well, after the Dutch came in late and loudly—and got up for breakfast of toast, fruit, hardboiled eggs and coffee. We packed up our stuff, paid for our beers and snacks (I left extra money there…it was going straight to the tribe and seemed least conspicuous) the kids made a last round with the jewelry (I bought one bracelet from each), and we squeezed in one last round of tag and high-fived goodbye.

Off we went to another waterfall for a shower, then we continued our hike for another 1 ½-2 hours and ended at another village, where traditionally garbed women at their looms were awaiting us. Totally tourist-timed, but still cool. We all bought something.

Our truck picked us up and took us to our lunch stop, where we had bland noodles and rice and fruit. Then a quick drive brought us to the launch site for our bamboo rafting trip. We had perfect weather and a gorgeous view, and the French and I had a good ol’ time, except for the overly splashy Thais, who just thought they were HILARIOUS. It seemed like a place where Thais came on the weekends, as it was a Sunday and many were at the riverside shelters with picnics. Afterwards, we watched the raftsmen dismantle the rafts and load them on a truck to bring back to point A, while the photographers who had snapped photos of us on the river tried to sell us the pictures.

And off we went on another short ride to the elephant camp where we’d go for a ride. I was assigned to the lead elephant with Andre, who busted out his perfect English (he even used the term “I reckon”) for at least part of the journey. It was a fun ride in the jungle, although we weren’t at all convinced that our “guide” (on the elephant’s head) had much say in anything. The elephant certainly didn’t seem to be listening to him, which we found to be ironic, given the size of his ears. One quick start had us a little nervous (and you aren’t strapped in or anything, just sitting on a platform with a thin metal railing at hip-level to hold onto), but all went smoothly afterwards. Well, except for the torrential downpour. PROTECT THE CAMERAS! It was even silly that I had it, as all the shots are totally blurry thanks to mr. elephant on the move.

We dried off as best we could and got back in the truck for the ride home, during which time it stopped raining. We were VERY glad that it hadn’t rained during our hiking, as it would have been really slippery and muddy and far less pleasant than it was. Unfortunately, I was again separated from the French on the truck, so I sat in silence amidst the jabbering AGAIN. Fortunately, my thoughts are VERY interesting. Adele and Phillipe were dropped off first, and I got out to hug them goodbye and get a photo and thank them for using their English with me. I highly doubt that the Dutch ever clued in. And I think I’m the only one who tipped Daeng. (I was dropped off last.) Silly people.

I had a quick shower at the guesthouse and then went to the Sunday market, which I was very excited to learn was a night market, as I’d heard it was much better than the Night Bazaar but had thought that it happened during the day and that I’d miss it (on the way, I passed Andre and Bas in the street, and it didn’t register that I knew them until after they’d passed. I turned around and hollered their names twice, then they turned around, and we all exclaimed at how clean we were). And it was much better, in all regards. Less crowded, fewer tourists, more Thais, better food and merchandise, more genuine bargaining (without all the relentless hawking and identical from stall-to-stall “special for you, madam” bullshit), street entertainment, and even a parade for the 700th birthday of Wat Phra Singh (aha! That’s what they’d been setting up for on Friday), at the end of the long, pedestrian-only strip. Goldmine! I bought a bunch of souvenirs, some standard Thai tourist stuff, but some other fun things, like a pretty necklace, a few halter tops, and shoes. I sampled lots of noodly dishes and some desserty treats, too. I walked around from 6-12 without even noticing that I’d been on my feet the entire time…until I got to bed at one!

Don’t know why, but had another night of poor / little sleep. My plan was to see a couple of sights en route to the bus station, then to take a bus to Chiang Dao, where I would rent a bike and cycle through some nearby hilltribe villages. I had a heavenly breakfast of fresh fruit, yogurt and muesli, saw wats Chiang Man and Chiang Yeun, shopped for watches a little, as mine had broken (expensive unless you want a crappy Casio…so I’m still wearing mine rubber-banded together), and got on a bus. The daily downpour started towards the end of the ride, but I was prepared to ride in any weather. Unfortunately, at the Chiang Dao stop, no one seemed to think I could rent a bicycle nearby. I asked two other tourists whom I hadn’t seen on the bus if they had been there for a while and knew anything about it, but they had just arrived. Their guesthouse, however, was sending a van for them and it rented bicycles, and they were sure I’d be welcome for the ride—they weren’t sure exactly where it was. Great!

So when the van arrived we all piled in, and we drove…and drove…and drove…to the resort/spa. And I knew that I wanted to be in the center of town, near the bus stop. Oy. At first the manager thought I’d be able to ride to villages closer to them, but for some reason became skeptical about it later. After seeing the women’s choices of rooms and walking around with them, I found out that I could get a 2-hour traditional Thai massage (something I wanted to do at some point) for about $10. Since it was a spa/resort, I figured I’d be getting a decent-quality massage, too. The bus back to the center of town supposedly came to the end of their road, so I decided to have a massage while waiting for the rain to pass, then catch a bus back to the center of town, scoping for bikes en route (I hadn’t seen any on the way out) and just have a lot less time to ride. But I was already hungry, so I went to the restaurant to order a snack, and found Muriel, one of the two women I’d ridden over with (her friend was resting). We were the only two there, so we chatted and waited for our food. And waited. And WAITED. The manager and another woman finally appeared, coming from a path from the rest of the resort, not another part of the restaurant, with our soup—all I’d ordered. And it wasn’t even the kind I’d ordered. So, what was going to be a 15-minute snack was really an hour and 15 ordeal (and Muriel was not. so. interesting.).

But I’d committed to the massage already, so I was going to have to abandon the purpose of my trip out (3 hrs round-trip). Not that I was upset to have a massage, but it was beautiful out at this point, and I’d had my heart set on the biking deal. So…I let that go and had the massage, and the spa was gorgeous and the massage was super relaxing. I showered and changed into their fisherman’s pants and shirt and lay down on my back on one of three mattresses in a special bambooey, herbily scented room (I was the only client—it was a Monday, after all; I bet they do big business with Thais on weekends). I lay on my back and she did a general loosen-up thing, then she worked on each limb for about 15 minutes, using her whole body for leverage and support. I sleepily rolled over when told to, and she propped me up on her knees, sitting behind me, and did some crazy, lifting-me-on-her-knees extreme stretching (which seemed awfully severe, especially given how gentle the rest of the massage had been), then spent some time working on my head and neck with my head in her lap. I was surprised that she didn’t work at all in conjunction with my breath, but she certainly seemed to know what she was doing. Whew!

After the session, I was presented with a rich, delicious, purple, fruity tea (for blood circulation, and which I was unable to find anywhere later—they wrote the name down for me) and drank that and took photos with my masseuse before the spa manager gave me a ride on her motorbike to the end of the road (a fair distance) to the bus stop. At that point, it was 6:30 and way too late for anything but going home…and I’d miss the river dinner cruise I’d hoped to catch, too. Sigh. So, I waited for the bus, sipping my water, and I saw a runner—a real, running-attired runner—coming down the main road. So I give him the thumbs up, “nice pace!” and he reaches for my water bottle. So of course I hand it off to him…and he ran away with it! I was so surprised and amused that it didn’t even occur to me that I should have run after him (I was in my running shoes) and offered him the gel that I had in my bag, as he’d probably never seen one (I haven’t been able to find any Asians who know what they are) and it would have been pretty funny. But it was just hilarious that he took the water with no real acknowledgement…maybe he was at the end of a long training session.

So I bought another bottle of water at the roadside stand and waited (half an hour) for the bus. These local (ish) buses have lights and fans and decently comfortable seating, but they don’t seem to use the lights or the fans, which is annoying when you’re hot and want to read at night. The ride was uneventful, and I hopped a sawngthaew back to the hotel area, changed and hit the Bazaar for dinner (chicken curry while watching staged Thai boxing and traditional dance) and to buy a backpack, as I’d seen many in our previous visit (I left my big one in the USA and was borrowing a friend’s for this trip). I ended up with a Lowe knockoff for about $20 (a third of the initial asking price). Not a bargain, but it fit my needs and is a souvenir of sorts, I guess. (lots of knockoffs: Lowe, North Face, 150% Rolex watches, sunglasses of all brands, Tevas, Birkenstocks, Louis Vuitton, Diesel, etc, etc, etc)

I packed up at the hotel and slept much better before leaving for the airport for my flight to Ko Samui, in the southern gulf area. I had a one-hour flight to Bangkok, a one-hour layover, which I needed to transfer my baggage and deal with other stuff, then a one-hour flight to Ko Samui…and an almost-hour trip via other sites to the beach (Lamai) I’d decided to stay on (and it turned out that there was no such thing as cheap transportation on the island). And when we got there, my bag was no longer in the back of the van (and I’d been watching as other people got off; I don’t know how it happened). I was greatly dismayed, as a) it was all my (non-valuable) stuff, and b) I had a day and a half on this island…and my bikini was in that bag! Fortunately, the driver, the tourist police, and the guesthouse we’d stopped at worked together, and I had my bag (padlocked and with my name on it) in about an hour, and it had taken me almost that long to find a place to rent a bike and a bungalow at an acceptable price ($7.50, plus half for most of the next day). It was my mission to stay in a bungalow on the beach :>) It wasn’t exactly spotless, but I certainly brought my own share of sand in, too.

Of course, the first thing I did was hit said beach, with gorgeously turquoise water lapping pretty white sands. I’d picked it because it seemed convenient to the airport (hah!), and was supposed to be pretty and good for swimming and, while very popular, not as crazy as the most popular beach. Since it was mid-week and not peak-season, I was hopeful that I’d find some quiet (no shopping and no wats allowed on these two days). And this island was supposed to be a better bet, weather-wise, at this time of year (rainy season). And I got lucky!

I took a swim first thing, and the water was cool enough to be refreshing without being cold. I lay out for a while (late afternoon at this point), took note of all the stuff the wandering vendors were selling, and eventually got up to go rent a bike. I did an hour loop on dirt roads (and the bike just sucked, but I didn’t really have other options…I chalked it up to a bigger workout) and got a little lost in the maze between the loop and my hotel on the way home, but made it back. Fortunately, I had a light, as it gets dark there at 7pm, which I wasn’t expecting (it’s light until 8 in Korea, and I hadn’t noticed differently in my first days in Thailand, but I probably just never looked at the time). I bought some more suntan lotion at a pharmacy ($7.50 for a medium-sized bottle! Same as my hotel rooms! And I’d checked prices in Chiang Mai, too—even more expensive), came home and showered before looking for dinner.

Instead of hitting the strip of bars (many and touristy and loud and exactly what I didn’t want), I walked on the beach under the stars in the cool water and had blessedly little company. A few of the beachside bars and restaurants had music playing, but none were very loud or at all busy. It was so quiet that the one restaurant with a line of tables out to the water’s edge was empty, and I sat at the little lamplit table with a pretty sarongy table cloth just inches from the water. I had a leisurely dinner of chicken and thai chili with rice and a couple of beers (just to draw it out…), breathed in the air and enjoyed the stars and waves. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

I finally tore myself away and walked back up the beach, stopping two or three times to lie in a beach chair and look at the stars some more, passed my hotel and walked farther up the beach, then walked back via the strip to buy water and snacks—and got the heck away from the noise as soon as possible. Happily, my bungalow (did I mention that I had a bungalow? Bungalow!) was far enough from the road (and close enough to the water) that it was quiet. I sat on my little porch with the little light and red for a few minutes before going to sleep.

And I slept really well, until the courtyard rooster on duty began his noisemaking at his appointed hour of 5:30 am. Oy. He kept it up for a full half hour. Oh well. Kindof funny.

I got up and ran on the beach for an hour (which was also part rock-climbing, part bush-whacking), showered and had breakfast at the guesthouse porch restaurant overlooking the water, then hit the beach for swim and sun. After a while I put my stuff back in the bungalow (bungalow!) and went for a walk up the beach to see a notorious rock formation and find a snack. I had a chat with four women working at a beachfront massage shelter (they, like everyone else in Thailand, were very concerned that I was traveling alone—not for reasons of safety, but of happiness. I assured them that there were plenty of men out there for when we wanted to be bothered with them…and they laughingly agreed. And, while the Korean generic compliment is “beautiful,” the Thai people always tell you that you’re “sexy.” Either way, I can live with it), who insisted that I have my picture taken with them.

I got to the “Grandmother and Grandfather” rocks, and was trying to figure out the female half, when a Thai couple asked me if I knew where it was. I guessed it might be the formation next to what was CLEARLY the male rock, but the guy was certain that it would look “more like pussy.” Ah, yes. I was going to explain that he might not want to use that term in polite conversation…but we had been directed to the rocks we’d been looking for and he got really involved in taking photos and didn’t look like he was gonna quit anytime soon. So I left that for someone else to point out.

Had a delicious Thai beef salad lunch on the beach on the way back to my bungalow (!). Of course, you pay double for anything you consume on the beach, but when it’s $3 instead of $1.50, it’s easier to swallow.

I set out on my crappy bike for some island waterfalls, one of which was really disappointing—and had an admission fee, no less! The other was okay but still no big deal. Saw some elephants. Noted again all the tourists on motorbikes driving badly because a) they don’t know how to drive motorbikes, b) they’re not used to driving on the left side of the road, and c) plenty of them probably have fruity alcoholic drinks in them. I didn’t see any other bicycles, and mine was the only helmet on the island, as far as I could tell. Aren’t you proud of me?

I returned the bike and took one last dip before leaving for the airport ($10 taxi—ouch!—apparently their gas prices have tripled). Sigh. Drank a coconut (yep) at the airport, as I’d not had one on the beach, and flew to Bangkok for the last leg of my trip.

At the Bangkok airport, I was careful to get a cab with a meter, as they are notorious for scamming tourists. I asked the driver who flagged me down (once I was out to the street where the regular cabs are supposed to be) if he had a meter and told him where I was going (Banglamphu, the neighborhood where 99% of people with backpacks go). He tried to not use his meter and assure me that the ride would be ‘cheap,’ and I told him that I wanted to see his meter on. He then started complaining about how far away I wanted to go and told me that I must be unhappy because I was “one person,” and drove me back to the airport! I told him that we had a word for cabbies like him in New York, and that it wasn’t a nice word.

As luck would have it, back at the airport I found out that the bus my book had said didn’t run at that hour was indeed running (and even completed the loop back to the airport so I’d be able to take it on my way out, too), so I got a ticket for that and was dropped off in the neighborhood of backpackers’ guesthouses. After looking at a lot of rooms (I’ve decided that I’m too old to share a bathroom, especially if it’s a $2 upgrade to have a private one, even if it kills the thrifty thrill-seeker in me), perseverance paid off and I found a good room in a great guesthouse (comfy restaurant, internet, secure luggage storage, quiet rooms) for a reasonable price ($10; not bad for what I got, and in Bangkok).

I slept in a little, as it’d been a late night, had breakfast at my guesthouse and did a little internet research on theatre for that evening, then took a tour of the ancient royal district, Ko Ratanakosin. I browsed the amulet market (zillions of little rectangular stones with Buddhas on them, and other trinkety-amulety things) and tried to find the tea I’d had at the spa at some herb stalls (no luck—in fact, they all reacted a little strangely to what I had written on the paper…I wondered if maybe there were another form of the herb that was more potent, maybe even injected…) before tackling the monster sights of Wat Phra Krew (Temple of the Emerald Buddha) and the Grand Palace. WOW! Really astounding. A cornucopia of murals, mosaics and marble. The colors, the shapes, the time and work it must have taken…I spent a ton of time there and took a zillion more photos. Every corner turned opened up a new breathtaking view.

On a side note, they had a really complex system of clothing rental set up to cover people’s legs and shoulders. I had on a knee-length skirt that was deemed appropriate, but people with Capri pants had to wear a sarong or long pants. You either left ID or $5 with a receipt for the items you’d borrowed, and had to go through about three steps to return them, get a chit and redeem it for your goods. Egad.

After that extravaganza, I went down the street to see Lak Meuang, the city pillar. This pillar, in a sanctuary, supposedly embodies the city’s guardian spirit. Lots of people were praying at that and another altar, and there was a cheesy stage with women past a certain age doing some traditional dance.

I moved on to Wat Pho, home to a 46m-long and 15m-high reclining Buddha, finished in gold leaf and mother-of-pearl inlay. Not bad. This wat also houses the largest collection of Buddhist images in Thailand (394 gilded Buddhas). Lots of nifty stupas, too.

I was near starving at this point, so I had some roadside soup before my next wat, then hopped the cross-river ferry to Wat Arun. Big. Impressive. Photos.

I took the return ferry, and then another local one going upriver to Banglamphu, where I checked out the local market scene ($1.50 for a small package of emery boards) before going to a Thai-Muslim restaurant for a curry and rotti dinner (have I mentioned that I like curry?). I walked through the touristy section of Banglamphu (it’s like international shopping and eating summer camp) on the way to my guesthouse for freshening up before going to a performance of Khon, or traditional Thai Masked Dance.

I passed by the Democracy Monument and another wat or two on the way to the theatre, then took in the performance ($25, supertitled, sometimes quite funnily; my favorite was “Thotsakan leaves the stage to perish.” If only he’d been pursued by a bear—elephant?--too…), which was beautiful. The costumes were elaborate and colorful, the performance was stylized and both athletic and subtle, and it was great to hear a concentrated dose of traditional music. And the theatre seats were comfortable with lots of legroom—imagine that!

Took a long walk home in the lovely night air, passing through Sanam Luang park, where a lot of people were hanging out and/or sleeping. It seemed as if they were camping out before an event, but something about the spacing of the parked cars and a couple of tents that looked like they were packing up, not setting up, made it seem post-eventy. I didn’t know what to make of the scene, and never saw anyone I could ask. Very odd.

I went to a guesthouse near mine, with big wooden chairs and tables and great classic rock tunes, and ordered pad thai and beer to enjoy while planning my next day. Mmmmmm. The plate was huge and I ate it all. Mmmmmmmmm.

The next morning (my last day) I took the ferry north to the Dusit area, where (after some curry for breakfast) I took a much-longer-than-expected walk to Wat Benchamabophit, made of beautiful white marble. I backtracked to Dusit park to take in the Royal Elephant Museum (no big deal, although you haven’t really lived until you’ve seen pickled white elephant leather), Abhisek Dusit Throne Hall (cool if you’re into exhibits of regional handiwork) and the Vimanmek Teak Mansion (magnificent, although the mandatory tour was tedious).

Not wanting to waste time, I hailed a cab to Pratunam market, which was apparently the next best thing to the weekend market I wouldn’t catch. I bought a knockoff Diesel watch, knockoff Oakley sunglasses, a few gifts and lots of tastes of street foods. I took another cab to Wat Saket and the Golden Mount for a quick climb and 360-degree view of the city, then walked past Wat Rajanadda and on back to Banglamphu to do my last Thai shopping in the international camp district. I had a successful couple of hours there, then checked my work schedule for the next day on the internet before getting my stuff and preparing to go to the bus stop...

Except that my trustworthy front deskers said that no airport bus picked people up there that they knew of. And that I should have made a reservation with the van that was about to pick people up outside the guesthouse, but that was full. Well, I WOULD HAVE made the reservation if two official people hadn’t told me that I could take the bus back. ARGH. So, I decided to go to the nearby bus stop, see if I could get info out of anyone there, and if not, take a cab. I took a cab. I got there in plenty of time. The plane was the driest box of air in which I have ever had the displeasure of being encased for an extended period of time. I got back to EV via 2 buses without incident, showered and took a ½ hour power nap, and went to work.

All in all, a great trip! The country is beautiful, the people are warm (when you get out of the really hellacious tourist areas), the food is out of this world, the history is staggering, and I wanna go back! Also, they really, REALLY dig Buddha. Big time. They like the guy. A lot. Bangkok has its exhaust problems, but otherwise wasn’t particularly seedy (I didn’t go to the red light district, as I figured it would just be a scene of tourists behaving badly. And I'd already seen plenty of trannies in Chaing Mai and Bangkok anyway. And I've, uh, been to New York). Actually, it was pretty darn clean. Languages heard throughout the trip: Korean, French, Danish, Dutch (a lot, and not just on the trek), Russian, Spanish, German, and all brands of English.

Khap khun kha (thank you), Thailand!

Of course I was wiped out upon return, and felt more awful than I should have on Sunday, so I took a sick day (labeled all the photos, though). I'm on the upswing, though, so I should be back on my bike in no time.

In better news, I’ve sorted out all my paid and unpaid leave days and handed in my letter of resignation. My last day is September 1st! Travel plans TBA. Hooray!

Okay, gonna go take care of the stomach and the carpal tunnel deal from all this typing…
:>)
Hotel and other info for anyone who’s planning a trip:
Ayuthaya: go and look and take whatever you like
Sukhothai: I stayed in New Sukhothai at the TR Guesthouse (tr_guesthouse@thaimail.com), Ban Thai looked great, too. Also plenty of options in Old Sukhothai, which puts you nearer the sights, but I suspect there isn’t much nightlife.
Chiang Mai: LannaThai Guesthouse (41/8 Soi 6 Loikroh Rd, Lannathai_GH@hotmail.com). It’s another city with tons of options…look around. I booked my trek through a reputable-seeming office on the main drag of the Night Bazaar; many of my trekmates booked through their hotels, but we were all ultimately on a “Buddy Tour,” so you’d probably get the best price directly through the company (I paid about $35).
Chiang Dao: I didn’t stay there, but the spa/resort was Marisa Resort (marisaresort.com) and it seemed like a beautiful, quiet town with many cheaper options.
Ko Samui: Guesthouse Mira Mare on Lamai Beach, between Sea Breeze and Galaxy.
Bangkok: 4 Sons Village on Soi Rambutri in Banglamphu (I think there are a few branches). (http://www.fs-hotel.com/) Airport bus #2 to Phra Arthit Pier.

Gyeongju

2006-07-13T10:05:00.000-04:00

Whew, it is HUMID here. And I don’t think we’re into the worst of it. I don’t think we’re even close to the worst of it. It takes a good 2 days for wet laundry to dry, and forget about your fluffy bath towel, because by the time that dries, it smells nasty. The dehumidification setting on our air system works about as well as anything else here. I went to go riding last week and had to put my bike bag, which sits open, dry, on top of my bike, in open air, into the washing machine because it was covered in fuzzy and green-spotty MOLD. Yummy. Coincidentally (isn’t it ironic), a co-worker who’s lived in Korea for a while emailed us all that evening about mold, that ‘twas the season, and that there’s a good industrial-strength product available. I got to cleaning my apartment thoroughly yesterday, and was really afraid of what I’d find, but the bike bag was, oddly, the worst of it. That I found. There was a little layer under the rim of my bed frame, but other stuff was pretty much okay. I’ll be purchasing said product, regardless. And we should get a fine crop of mold in our hallway, where we have a permapuddle due to a leak, and it never fully dries out. We notified them when the leak first spouted a month or so ago, but apparently there’s a big long list of problems ahead of that. Like the mountainsides sliding down. Like the huge new sinkholes. Like people’s flooded apartments. And they seem to think that throwing plastic over things (mountainsides, rooftops) will solve the problems. Yep.

In other news of moisture, we were all good and wet five minutes into our soccer game tonight. I still suck, and am not exactly the person you pass the ball to when you have a choice, but at least I’m getting better at getting in the other team’s way. Woohoo! I look good in the uniform, which is the most important thing.

Okay, so the next adventure I have to report on is a four-day trip to Gyeongsangbuk-do, in southeastern Korea, from July 3-6. We focused on the Gyeongju area, which is chock full of cultural goodness. I met up with 4 coworkers (we were 2 US, 1 Canadian, 1 Aussie, 1 Serbian) for a 6:16 am train in the neighboring town, and embarked on our taxi-train-subway-subway-bus 71/2 hour trip. The public transportation here, as previously lauded, is pretty cheap. The deluxe buses will run into the W20,000-W30,000 range, but they’re pretty cushy, and that’s usually for at least a four-hour ride. It may take forever to get not very far on the trains and local buses (even the express ones; there are lots of mountains to go over and around), but at least ya don’t go broke. Tourist sites, too, are usually really cheap, as in under W2,500, although they occasionally run up to W4,000.

We experienced morning rush-hour subway traffic in Seoul (people just don’t look where they’re going here; it’s really peculiar), got directions from a monk, saw a cool bathroom at the reststop on the bus route, were approached by a man with an eye-patch about his hotel, had a downright awful lunch that included kimchi past its prime and part of a plastic bag in Matt’s soup, I was handed my change lefthandedly (UNHEARD OF!) at a convenience store, and the day just got weirder.

After settling on a hostel-motel combo (3 pals in a hostel room and a motel room for the couple) and our bad lunch, we went to hike Namsan, in the southern part of the city. The mountain trails are loaded with side paths to relics of all kinds: shrines, statues, pagodas…you name it. We were a bit mismatched as a group as far as our enthusiasm to cover territory, but we started off well, enjoying the beauty of the place and the many cultural and natural wonders we discovered. Not too far in, however, one of our guys took a fall crossing some rocks, which was terrifying to watch—and yet could have been MUCH worse. He was a bit banged and scraped up, and our other guy (boyscout!) whipped out his first aid kit. We soldiered on after a rest, but Stu realized that he was worse off than he’d thought and needed to turn back.

So, after some discussion, he, Alex (his girlfriend), and Susan (who was to be leaving EV after the trip and was exhausted from packing and goodbye-ing) headed back, and Matt (who was on his second trip to the area, specifically to do this hike) and I continued on. Fortunately, both Alex and I had cell phones, so we could keep in touch when the signal allowed (Stu felt better later, better the next day, then worse…and back at EV was finally dragged to the doctor, where it was determined that he had indeed cracked a rib. Ouch).

Matt and I saw some great Buddha statues, carvings, and shrines, plus a coupla pagodas, stunning views, and ever-changing landscapes, and we were on the same page of appreciation of it all. We even got to do some climbing and descending via steep rocks using knotted ropes, so we felt all rugged and mountainy. We finished just as dusk was setting in, and were given a ride back to the starting point (to meet our peeps, who had finally arrived at the base and were having dinner across the street) by a woman whom we’d asked if we could catch a taxi at the end of her road. Her son came with us in the van, and it was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to him that week. We’re not too common in the outlying areas, as I’ve mentioned before.

We all taxied back to our lodgings, then went in search of good eats. We passed on our original idea, as Stu wasn’t up for sitting on the floor, and ended up finding a new (“Grand Open!”) brewpub under a hotel across the street from our terrible lunching establishment. En route, we distinctly smelled burning marijuana—which just doesn’t happen in this country. Or so we thought…

So, we’re all psyched to have found this big microbrewery, which looks pretty much as you’d expect one to back home. We order up some pizza and beer, the latter of which arrives in cool big bottles with molded pewter handles and tops. The “live” music kicks in: a guy playing his guitar and singing Korean tunes to backup tracks. When he’s finished with his set, a female vocal trio and a guy on keyboards play, and they’re pretty darned good. They mostly sing western pop songs from the 70’s and 80’s, and we enjoy singing along (more loudly later in the evening when we’re well beer-steeped and they get into the 90’s). The guy, when he solos, has got the BeeGees NAILED. We are blown away. It was hilarious and impressive all at once.

Partway into their first set, a bunch of guys and a woman come in and sit at a table in our section of the restaurant, and it clearly is not their first stop. Soon after, one of the guys goes up to the band to make a request, and I notice that he’s got the quintessential gay man’s walk, which I point out to my table on his return trip. Soon after, two of the other men hit the dance floor and start groping each other. They’re the only two people on the dance floor, so discretion has no role in the scenario, and it only gets worse. Now, this would be a little much in the US, and that’s coming from a gal who’s been in the theatre for a good long while, but here, it was completely unusual. And Alex, our Serbian woman, had never even witnessed a mild example of homosexual behavior, as it just doesn’t exist aboveground in her homeland. She was…awed. And we had a gay man in our party, which added to the fun of our commentary and speculations.

Oh, my. So, we’re pretty much riveted in the train-wreck kind of way, as it’s just so painfully unsexy and randomly weird. And then another party of two sits near us, and one of them is obviously trans-something-or-other, the other is male, and they’re not just friends. Later, another bunch of men come in, but we couldn’t determine much before we left beyond that they were a little too-well dressed for a Monday night out with the guys. And the handsome waiters, who we’d noticed might have been made up a little, had been spotted primping with great care in the bathroom. During all of the repeat episodes on the dance floor, the band really didn’t seem all that phased, although certainly not encouraging. At any rate, we were pretty sure that we’d stumbled upon a full-fledged gay/trans-everything establishment. Matt told me how to ask “Is this a gay bar?” because he didn’t want to do it, so asked the owner on the way out, who without hesitation matter-of-factly said “yes.” I thought he’d at least be surprised that the question came from little ol’ me. Off the random scale.

We finally tore ourselves away from the scene and Matt, Susan and I settled into our slumber party room, where we reviewed the strangeness of the day. We roomed well together, alternating bathroom shifts, sleeping decently, and getting out the next morning 45 minutes after we’d gotten up. We scoped out the bus info for their return trip that afternoon (they were all returning to work on Wed, whereas I had gotten Wed/Thurs off and was staying for further exploration), put our bags in lockers, and went out for a western breakfast at a hotel, fully appreciating that we were having it on the 4th of July.

We started our walking tour (it was raining and continued to do so all day), and Stu and Alex caught up with us around 11am. We wandered through the Noseo-dong tumuli, which are Silla tombs built between the 4th and 5th centuries AD. They are basically gigantic, grass-covered mounds, the largest of which, Bonghwadae, measured 22m high and 200m around. Kings were buried in coffins, with goodies for the afterlife, in a wooden room, covered with literally tons of stones, then earth. Given the value of the riches buried, these tombs would be pretty tempting for thieves—but to try to pillage from the base would mean getting buried by the rocks sliding down, and going in from the top would be awfully conspicuous. Aha.

After a stop at a Buddhist temple where a service was taking place, we crossed yet another street into Tumuli Park for, you guessed it, more tumuli. The greenness of these huge tombs and of the park, and especially in the rain, is quite beautiful. One of the tombs, Cheonmachong, has been excavated and preserved as a cross-sectioned exhibit, which is pretty cool. We wandered through that park, and then Stu and Alex left to find lunch and head back to Paju. Matt, Susan and I had more territory to cover, though, so we continued on to Wolseong Park.

The most notable object of sightseeing lust in the park is Cheomseongdae, the oldest astrological observatory in the Far East. Its design is impressively sophisticated, but it just looks like a big stone chimney. The park was wonderfully peaceful and lush (it was still raining, and our feet were soaked, but it was warm enough that we were comfortable. Once your feet are wet through, they’re not going to get any wetter, so ya may as well aim for the puddles).

On the other side of the park was the site of Banwolseong, which was once a big fortress. Now it’s the site of the former fortress…basically more park, with one remaining fortressy structure: Seokbinggo, or “Stone Ice House,” built into a hillside, which was used for ice and food storage. Nifty.

The next almost-adjacent park was Anapji Pond, which King Munmu constructed in 674. It’s since been rebuilt and the pond drained (they found thousands of relics in 1975) and repaired, but it’s breathtakingly beautiful. We took a leisurely walk around and understood why it is a popular spot for wedding photos—it certainly reminded me of Binney Park at home.

Next on our agenda was the other place Matt was returning to see: the Gyeongju National Museum. It is huge, has lovely outdoor artifacts (including Emille Bell, one of the largest and most resonant in Asia), is well-designed as a whole and exhibit-by-exhibit, had better English signage than most places, and we could have spent far more time there than the hour that we did. Instead, we moved on to our last stop: Bunhwangsa, the oldest datable pagoda in Korea (mid 7thc). It’s made of brick, which is rare, and only 3 of the original 9 tiers remain. Carvings of stone lions and Buddhist guardians are found on each side.

After squeezing in that last sight, we grabbed a taxi back to the express bus terminal, where I left Matt and Susan and caught a bus for what I thought would be a quick ride—turned out to be 45 minutes---to Bugulksa, an amazing temple on UNESCO’s World Cultural Heritage list. Lonely Planet describes it as “the crowning glory of Silla temple architecture,” and it truly is a magnificent place. The landscapes are gorgeous, the buildings are beautifully painted and constructed, the pagodas are unique and especially revered, and there is a special aura pervading the grounds. Lots of stuff here gets ‘national treasure’ status. LP warned that it gets crazily crowded, but as it was a weekday during rainy season near to closing time, I had it to myself, except for sightings of about 4 other tourists and the monks. It was pouring, POURING rain, but that added to the mystique of the experience. My umbrella’s demise, on the other hand, didn’t add so much mystique…

Not realizing how long the trip to the temple was, I was also going to check out a nearby grotto, also on UNESCO’s WCH list, but I ran out of time and planned to come back the next day. I noted a folk craft village en route and decided that it would be the perfect addition to my itinerary to make the trip back worth the time and effort. So, I caught a bus back near to the terminal, wandered around in search of one restaurant that I couldn’t find and then another that was closed, brought my stuff to eyepatch man’s hotel and checked in. I asked him where I could get a delicious meal, and he pointed me down the block for a W3,000 meal. They had no menu, so I said “W3,000?” which is apparently the password, and I was brought a tray of rice, soup, and 7 side dishes: greens, noodles, kimchi, lotus root, cucumbers, daikon and bean curd. Woohoo!

I grabbed some chocolate chip cookies and beer at a convenience store on the corner, then went to the hotel. My little room had no sink (but a shower setup that works almost as well; it’s as if your sink is on the floor with the shower) but did have a desk fan, which I pointed on full blast on my shoes for the night—which did the trick! Oh, happy dry shoes!

I got up and out early on Wednesday, put my stuff in a locker at the bus terminal, and went back to Seokguram Grotto. I opted for the hike up the mountain instead of the shuttle, as it was a nice day (!) and the shuttle wasn’t due for another 15 minutes. It was magically misty and beautiful, and again not crowded, and I was up, going at a fast pace, in 45 minutes. The grotto is a big deal because the Sakyamuni Buddha and the surrounding guardians/deities are all considered masterpieces (so much so, that now they’re behind glass--rare in Korea), and getting all that rock up the mountain from far-away quarries was quite an accomplishment.

All that said, it was pretty anti-climactic to hike all the way up there, pay W4,000, walk another 15 minutes, look through the glass (the grotto’s entrance is about 3m wide), and go. I rode the shuttle back down and had a good chat with two Koreans who’d been living in California for 40 years; they were back visiting family and hadn’t been to this part of the country in decades.

With a bit of hassle from a bus driver who said he did indeed and would stop at the craft village, but then drove past it and had to be convinced to let me off, which he finally did two far-apart stops later, and then catching another bus back…I made it to the folk craft village. If I had tons of money, that’s where I’d spend it. I bought a bunch of souvenirs, drooled over the pottery and jewelry, watched a guy throw an urn (on the pottery wheel), and finally tore myself away.

Back to the center of Gyeongju for lunch across from the bus terminal (teok beokki—spicy noodles, tofu, egg, veggies), and a stop to buy some unique Gyeongju bread (Hwandang Bang: almost a pastry, filled with a red bean / slightly sweet concoction; barley bread is also famous) to bring back to EVers, then onto an intercity bus to Daegu, an hour west. I took the subway from that bus station to another (this subway system sells little plastic tokens that you purchase according to the distance you’ll be traveling; you swipe it on the way in and then deposit it on the way out—most trains work this way, but with tickets or T-Cards), then caught another bus to go to Haeinsa, an UNESCO World Heritage temple in Gayasan National Park.

It was quite a trip to get there, but worth it. For some reason, my bus didn’t stop at the entrance, but it was a downhill walk in the rain…until the entrance, after which it was more uphill to the site… Trust me when I say that schlepping a big bag of worldly goods up a zillion steps to a temple will make you feel like a schmuck. Especially when you’re planning on spending the night there. Yep. Note to self: do the templestay BEFORE buying a load of souvenir ceramics.

Haeinsa is a temple of the Hwaom (Avatamsaka) sect (don’t ask me what that means), founded in 802, and it is where the Tripitaka Koreana (over 80,000 wooden blocks on which are inscribed the comprehensive written collection of Buddhist scriptures and doctrines) are enshrined. Pretty cool. That part was under construction, but you could see part of it and get the idea.

I found the dorm area (one room for men and one for women) and had just missed dinner (good thing that lunch was filling and late!), but found an English-speaking monk-in-training who got me to the 7pm prayers, which were preceded by awesome outdoor drumming on the huge temple drum (the first time I’d actually seen/heard one played) by the monks (using their full wingspan), and on the wooden fish and gong and bell. Most excellent sounds!

The service was a classical one (like I’d know the difference) in the main hall (of the Vairocana Buddha, dontcha know), and after a few minutes, all the monks filed in and knelt on their mats. I had been helped to place mine properly by the two women who made room for me between them, and I clumsily followed them in the rituals. I still have to figure up how to gracefully get myself up from kneeling without using my hands…they curled their toes under and got their weight back over their feet (up and down, up and down, up and down, repeat endlessly—or so it seemed to my knees and self-consciousness). The monks were out after 15 or 20 minutes, a few layfolks left with them, and I left after half an hour. Several people were still at it, and I’m not sure how long the priest continued.

I wandered the grounds until just after dark, then went back to the dorm to set up my bedding (on the floor) and hit the latrine (a wooden building near the dorms with rows of wooden stalls of squat latrines—the air-freshening system was pretty good) and the washroom (across from the dorms) before lights out and 9pm. I limited my water intake in hopes of not having to trek out in the middle of the night, but was unsuccessful, alas. At least it had stopped raining. I didn’t sleep all that well…partially because of the floor, partially because of noise outside the dorm—which surprised me; I expected holy silence after 9—and partially because of a fly that would not leave me alone. So then I started having deep thoughts about whether or not one ought to kill a fly at a monastery. Ought one? How frowned upon might that, in fact, be? Indeed.

My watch alarm went off at 3:10am, so that I’d wake up for the 3:30 service. No one else was getting up, though (there were about 10 of us), so I thought I might be mistaken about the schedule. I stayed in bed, but one other woman got up, and when I heard the drumming begin, I figured she wasn’t just going to the latrine after all. I opted to try the service in the other building, and I guess it was more contemporary. I got to the hall, and there was no one to be seen, but it was clearly set up for a service, and I had seen people (monks and layprayers) there the day before, so I went in and brought a mat to the far side of the room. When the drumming stopped, the monks filed in from outside, past me and to their mats closer to the altar, and the priest came out from behind a curtained off area. No other anybody, let alone foreigners. Eeeek! They probably got a kick out of blondie in the back. The service lasted about 40 minutes (my knees were keeping time) and I left a few minutes after the monks filed out, even though the priest was still at it.

I was surprised that so few people got up for the service, since, I thought, that was kind of the point (if not a condition) of visiting overnight. Hmmm.

I went back to bed for almost 2 more hours of almost sleep before breakfast. I went to the big dining hall (with shrine), divided for the monks on one side and visitors on the other. We also got our food from a separate line, on metal trays (upon which metal chopsticks make a most institutional racket). I followed everyone else for the (otherwise) silent meal. It was basic, but fresh and good: rice, grits (!), cold soup, kimchi turnips, greens and lentils. I was careful not to take much of anything I wasn’t sure of (mostly in terms of seasoning), since I suspect one should finish one’s meal at that kind of establishment…too bad those beans were undercooked…I figured I (and quite possibly my fellow bus passengers) would be paying for that later…

It seemed to be acceptable to lay down again, so I did for another hour before showering and exploring the the site and its immediate setting for 2 ½ hours. There were many buildings and different shrines and surrounding hermitages (and many gardens, which I’m sure supplied our meal). There were very few tourists, and zero foreigners to be found. I would have loved to have gone hiking, but there weren’t enough people around in general to go it alone, and I didn’t really have enough time, anyway. So I headed back the way I came, intending to stop at the museum I’d passed on the way in, but it was apparently closed on Tuesdays, so I went straight for the bus. I got on at 11:30, and 3 subway lines, 2 more buses and 8 ½ hours later, I was back at EV (on one of the Seoul subway lines I met a Korean-American girl, Edna, who was doing research for her Harvard social anthropology thesis, even).

All in all, a good round of touring! I’ll be happy with what I’ve seen here by the time I leave. Back at EV, nothing to unusual beyond the standard hassles, and everyone wants to know how I’ve gotten so much vacation time. Hah! I’m around for over a week this time, to witness the sinking and sliding of campus, before I leave on Monday…for Thailand! I have 12 days in a row off, so will have a full 11 there…if I’m lucky, I’ll also get to Angor Wat in Cambodia and/or Luang Prabang in Laos. Wheeeeeeee! So it’ll be a while before I write again, in case you’re actually caught up and want more (mom).

Check out the photo links for Jeju and Gyeongju!

Jeju

2006-07-11T03:47:00.000-04:00

Whew—I’m behind! Hmmm…I seem to start every entry like that. This time I’ve really earned it, though. Lots of adventuring to report! (Check out the photo links, too!)
First, that 4-day trip to Jeju island, off the southern coast of Korea. Well, it’s just gorgeous. And I was super lucky to get there before peak time and to not get rained on, during, uh, rainy season. I even got a free, frequent-flier trip, having just squeaked out the 10,000 miles to earn it. I set out early on Monday, June 26th (another crowd-buster—go during the week) for the airport, and got there WAY early, which meant lots of time to read (“The Moor’s Last Sigh” by Salman Rushdie—excellent!) before my 1-hour flight.

I arrived to ominously overcast skies, caught a bus to the southern end of the island (Seogwipo), which took FOREVER—the roads are windy and mountainy and low speed-limity, so going not so far takes a good while. After much confusion, it was determined that the pension I was looking for was previously located on a now-vacant lot…so I looked at a couple more and finally settled on Hikers Inn for W20,000, largely because the owner (Kevin) also rented decent-looking mountain bikes for W5,000/day. It even turned out that he’d lived in Washington, CT and Boston for a year! The free “cafeteria” was a little kitchen, and the free “internet room” had two computers, which I avoided (VACATION).

I set out for a pre-dusk sightseeing walk, and saw Oedolgae (sounds like “Odelay,” and yes, I sang it all night…), which means “lonely rock.” It’s a volcanic basalt pillar, which is supposedly the wife of a drowned man, praying for his safety (the rock next door, which looks like a man with a belly bloated from drowning, doesn’t bode so well). The walk to the site was beautiful, through pine trees along the coastline (which I FINALLY found after several detours on other, even more beautiful, though dead-end, paths).

After some questioning of the locals (which also got me a free Jeju tangerine—heaven!), I found Cheonjiheonpokpo, which is a stunning waterfall and park, which you can’t miss unless you are on foot and don’t realize that the HUGE parking lot isn’t for all the stores that line it, but for the tourist site, the entrance to which is at the very far end… Anyway, it’s pretty. And it was my introduction to the labeling of almost all plantlife at Korean parks and tourist sites (the nature-oriented ones, anyway).

I went to see if another waterfall site was still open, and it wasn’t, so I did some wandering around town en route to a recommended (by Lonely Planet) restaurant. And then I had my best-yet meal in Korea: a traditional dish, which I’d had before, of dolsotbibimbap (veggies and meat, rice and egg in a hot stone pot—for W5,000), with all the side dishes---soooooooo yummy! I waddled back to my home base, where I watched some World Cup soccer and planned my next day of sightseeing myself silly.

So, Tuesday I was out by 8am, fully loaded with my pump, tools, helmet and sightseeing gear, and off first to the waterfall that had been closed the night before, Jeongbangpokpo, which is supposedly the only one in Asia that falls into the sea. Of course, very pretty. Then it was off to Yakcheonsa, an astoundingly beautiful Buddhist temple (the coolest I’ve seen yet) that was built between 1987 and 1997, entirely of wood. It feels old, though! The main hall (4 floors!) was full of colorful murals, a gazillion Buddhist figurines, laterns galore, and cool views of the shrine. A service was in progress when I visited, so I got the full effect of the chanting, too. The complex is set just above a tangerine grove. Sigh.

Down the road, I turned off to see Jusangjolli Rocks, from cliffs in a pretty park setting. The rocks are in a nifty hexagonal-column formation, due to the cooling and contraction of lava. Extra good with cheap pineapple on a stick. I didn’t make it to the recommended African Art Museum across the street, figuring I’d hit indoor stuff on a rainy day…

Next stop was Cheonjeyeonpokpo—3 waterfalls in a park with paths of wooden stairways and bridges. You really can’t go wrong with waterfalls, and these were my favorites. There was also a cool view of a sculpture-y bridge, which I later crossed.

Right next door, after overshooting it, I arrived at Yeomiji, which are renowned botanical gardens. I was a tad weary at this point, and was really hoping for a kiddy tram—not that I’d ever seen one in Korea, but the thought occurred to me. Well, lo and behold, inside the gate was such a fabulous creation, and I got a tram tour of all the outdoor gardens—which was enough of a viewing that I didn’t take the time and energy to do it all on foot, too. It was an amazing park: traditional French, Italian, Japanese, Korean (and other?) gardens outside, and an enormous greenhouse with several wings of gardens of different climates. A huge lawn sprawled out from the greenhouse, begging for a Frisbee and a picnic…

I had a decent trip to the next sight (as I kept heading west, I occasionally questioned whether I’d truly have the energy for the long, hilly ride back that might very well be wet…), which was Sanbanggulsa: a temple-in-a-cave halfway up a coastal mountain (which is apparently too holy to climb to the summit). I had a cup of water that falls from the ceiling and supposedly brings long life—watch out, Moses! I got there as the air was going from foggy to what-the-hell-is-three-feet-in-front-of-me, so I did get a nice view of the Yongmeori coast for my climb. There are also two cool newer temples at the base of the mountain, which I explored while eating ice cream before the climb up.

After descending, I walked down to the rocky coast, via a stop at a tourist spot for some fresh kimbap (usually egg, veggies, and spam—yes, spam; they love it here—wrapped in rice and seaweed). The coastline is quite dramatic: cliffs and rocks and waves (it was pretty calm, but oh! the fog!), and I ventured out amongst them and the ajumas selling raw fish and soju for some cool photos. Along the same stretch is the Hamel Monument, which was a Dutch merchant ship wrecked there in 1653. They’ve recreated the ship, with hilarious depictions of scenes of life aboard in the good ol’ days. Lots of photo ops (Koreans take photos NONSTOP, and the women POSE, POSE, POSE—this happens EVERYWHERE and is just ridiculous) amongst drunk, weathered, injured, moaning, and navigating sailor-figures. There was even a short movie about the wreck, with an outstanding example of HORRENDOUS ACTING by some guy pretending to be the captain dragging his weary shipwrecked self along the beach. The best part was that there I was, alone, blonde (a la the Dutch characters populating the ship), sitting on one of the fake tree-stumpy audience stools in the middle of the cabin, and two Koreans who passed through at first thought I was a non-living part of the exhibit! We all had a good laugh over that.

I finally headed back up to the bike, figuring that the ride back would probably be about 90 minutes and sunset was about 2 hours away. I was concerned about the visibility, but remembered that I had a flashing Korean flag light in my pack from the soccer game we’d gone to see in Seoul, so I attached that to my back and set out feeling a little safer. Near the inn, I stopped at the local Emart (department store; we’ve got one near EV) to see if they had a memory stick for my camera (they didn’t) and was stopped by a man who REALLY wanted me to stay at his hotel, despite my protestations that I HAD one already, and finally, when he was trying to take my map from me to direct me there, that it was getting DARK! and that I was on a BIKE! Yeah, I know why you want me to stay at your hotel, mister. Blech.

I got back to the Hikers Inn, where Kevin tried (for a LONG time) to put my photos on his computer and then email them to me so I could empty my memory stick (I gotta get a bigger one!), but was unsuccessful (which drove us both nuts—him especially, as he’s a computer whiz and knows what he’s doing). After too long of that, I headed out and decided not to go to the western side of the island that night, but to wait until the next morning. I stayed at a nicer hotel, closer to the bus station (both of which I’d scouted out the night before in my wanderings). I picked up some dinner and beer on the way, as it was late and I was pooped, checked in, got my sweaty self cleaned up (I did about 50 miles of biking and God knows how many walking), ate, watched some soccer, and organized for the next day.

Wednesday: I hopped a bus for another endless ride, not all that far past where I’d ridden the day before, to Hallim Park, on the western coast. It’s a combo-deal: botanical gardens, folk village, limestone and lava caves, bonsai and stone garden, greenhouses, and random bird exhibits. It would have been good, but all the more elaborate/isolated versions of stuff I had seen or would see (or could have seen) made it sort of unnecessary. I spent about a half an hour sitting on a beach across the street, waded through the turquoise water, and walked along the coast to another park, Geumneungseokmulwon. This was a really low-tech, but very cool site, mostly of stone sculptures—comical, grotesque and often lewd variations of the traditional harubang. Some were in a cool, narrow, stone-wall maze—not for the obese. There were fun mini-folk village recreations, too.

I took another bus to Jeju-si, where the airport and main bus terminal are, and transferred to another bus to Sangumburi, a huge (350m diameter, 100m deep, forested and super-green) volcanic crater, in the eastern-central part of the island. It’s a ‘parasitic cone,’ or secondary volcanic crater, and there are bunches on the island. All kinds of plants and animals thrive there (and some only there) in the undisturbed habitat. Stunning, although I was a little disappointed that I could only hike partway around the rim.

I went to get my bag from the locker room, but it was locked (they’d stopped admitting people but the site wasn’t closed yet), so I ultimately communicated to someone that I needed it opened. That mission was accomplished, but as I was heading for the bus stop (I’d asked and preplanned in Jeju-si as to how to get to my next destination), a man was trying to stop me and tell me something about the bus, which I thought was something along the lines of his cab would be much faster. Apparently, though, the info I’d gotten was wrong and the buses that passed through there stopped running at 6pm. I don’t think he even was a cabbie. Another guy with no more English than the first guy got involved, and I really couldn’t tell if they knew what they were talking about, if they were truly trying to help, or if they were somewhat less kindly intentioned (it’s never really a matter of personal safety in Korea, just a potentially annoying situation with some man who doesn’t get the hint that you aren’t interested). Eventually, a woman, at their arrangement, drove me to another bus stop, at which they’d determined I could get a bus that would get me where I wanted to go. How nice is that?

Of course, I got to the bus stop, and a taxi pulls up who wants to take me directly to my site of choice, so I basically say “Yeah, right, how much?” and he quoted a price that wasn’t all that bad but was more than I wanted to pay, so I said I’d wait for the bus. But he was convinced (or wanted to convince me?) that THAT bus was no longer running. Eventually, for some reason (I’m cute? He wanted to practice his English? He wasn’t gonna get another fare out there anyway?), he offered to take me for W6,000, which was probably only about double what I would have paid for the buses. So, he brought me to the front door of the minbak (rooms over restaurant) I wanted to stay in, and I got there in MUCH less time than I would have on the bus. AND he renewed my faith in Korean men :>)

I splurged on the W30,000 big room with a bed instead of the W20,000 tiny one with an ondol floor, asked the owner where I could get a good dinner of the local and renowned Jeju pork, and followed his directions. I was the only whitey there, and was seated next to three girls. I was perusing the Hangul-only menu, and had narrowed my choices down to two dishes, when one of them asked me if I needed help. She almost fell over when I pointed to the two and asked if the shabu-shabu (don’t know why they had a Japanese dish) or bulgogi would be a better choice. It turned out that the former was served only for two or more, so I had the bulgogi—okay, THAT was now the best meal I’d had in Korea. EXCELLENT. I ate WAY TOO MUCH, as I couldn’t bear to waste it, and it was SOOOOOOGOOOOD! The girls also showed me how to eat the mini crabs that were one of the side dishes (I’m not a crab fan, but it was something different, so I tried it).

I tried to walk some of it off afterwards along the coast (I was on the eastern end of the island now), in the dark, under the moon, atop the cliffs, with the Jeju ponies, in the salty breeze…yeah…doesn’t get much better than that. Had some exchanges with the locals on the way back to the minbak, and it was pretty clear, as it had been elsewhere on the island, that western foreigners are few and far between there—especially those who speak any hangul. They were most impressed (and I speak so very little…).

I settled into bed as early as I could, since the whole point of my coming to this place (Seongsan) was to see the sunrise from this easternmost mountain peak: Ilchulbong. It turned out to only be a 15-minute climb, which is fine at 4:30 am, but not enough to deter the types who have stayed up all night (vs. having the nice quiet sunrise experience…). So, we awaited the rosy-fingered dawning of the new day. The foggy darkness lightened. To foggy lightness. Couldn’t see a damn thing.

I finally had to accept that the experience I’d traveled to the remote town, gotten up early and climbed the mountain for wasn’t going to happen, and that waiting for it wasn’t going to change anything. So, I descended and explored the base of the gorgeous mountain in the morning mist to see what I could see, and then got on with my day. Which, of course, is the perfect metaphor for my coming to Korea for the job at EV… One need not see the sunrise to have deep thoughts at daybreak atop a mountain in strange lands. Jack Handy would be proud.

Back at the minbak, I showered and packed my things, most of which I left to pick up upon my return from a sidetrip to Udo (cow island), off the northeastern shore. It was about a 20-minute walk for a 10-minute ferry ride, and I rented a truly crappy bike, well rusted from the salt air, for a trip around the island’s perimeter. The fog detracted from the view, but the rain held off (it felt like the skies were going to open wide at any time) and I had most of the island to myself, it seemed. I hopped off for a few photos: a coral beach, a black-sand beach, endless stone-wall mazes, and the haenyeo (diving women, most well known and numerous on Jeju and Udo. They dive for shellfish with shockingly little gear, and are an ageing, soon-to-be dying, breed). I was surprised to see military guys on the island, too, but there they were.

The round trip was 2 hours of very easy cycling (didn’t need better than a crappy bike), after which I ferried back, picked up my stuff, and caught a bus (taxi drivers tried to convince me that there wasn’t one coming) to Manjanggul (he overshot my stop by a good kilometer, as one of the tires was in the process of falling off during my ride and he was busy radioing folks…and then I had a 2.5km walk, with all my stuff, to the site—but got a lift for the last km…exactly when it started raining), which is the world’s longest system of lava tube caves (13.4km—tourists can walk about 1km in). Pretty cool—literally chilly, as in a 30-degree(F) drop—and very impressive. It’s dark, drippy, and slippery, and I was glad of my mini flashlight, rainjacket and good shoes.

In the cave, the three girls next to whom I’d sat at dinner the night before, spotted me and we stopped for a fun howdydo of coincidence. We were going in opposite directions, though, so we went our own ways. When I emerged from the caves, the rain had stopped, and I had lunch (noodles, black bean sauce, side dishes) at a small restaurant before walking to the Gimnyeong Maze (as in European hedge-style) down the road. As I was leaving, it started raining the way it can here: hard. I ducked into the tourism office to cover myself and my bag, and had a quick English lesson with the gals behind the counter (they were trying to use the word ‘restroom’ for ‘lounge,’ which, of course, is logical).

I caught up to my three Korean girlfriends (they were University students in Seoul on vacation) by accident on the way to the maze, and we did it together, which was good silly fun. They were on more or less the same schedule I was, except that I had an extra two hours before my flight, so we shared a cab back to the airport and I hopped out early to see a couple of the sights in the main city, since I hadn’t seen them when I arrived.

In Jeju-si, I did a quick trip through the Jeju Folk and Natural History Museum (a quote at an exhibit about a fertility ritual ceremony: “It was a common wish for Cheju women to bare male children.”) and then a walk through the beautiful grounds of Samseonghyeol, Jeju’s most important shrine (supposedly the island’s birthplace). (also loved a quote about a site where “Confucian scholars soaked themselves for studying.”)

I walked over to Gwandeokjeong and the Mok Office, a 15th-century pavilion and administrative center. I didn’t have enough time to tour it, but it was partially under construction and looked a whole lot like other places I’d already seen, so I wasn’t heartbroken. I hailed a cab and was at the airport in 10 minutes for my flight an hour later. I windowshopped, bought some Jeju cactus (!) chocolates to share with my co-workers and a kimbap snack, and boarded the plane for the trip home. No problem catching the 2 buses back from the airport, was home by 10. A great action-packed trip!

There were several sites I was sorry to miss, and I was especially sad to not climb Hallasan, the mountain in the center of the island, and Korea’s tallest. It would have taken a whole day, though, and if it had rained it might have really sucked, and if it had been really foggy, the summit would have been disappointing, so I decided not to do it. Boohoo.

A side-note: I am really lucky to have learned to read the Hangul lettering, because a LOT of signs had no English lettering, and I would have missed stuff.

Another: One of the great things about Korea is that there are luggage lockers EVERYWHERE—train stations, tourist sites, etc, and there is virtually no crime—so you can travel with all your stuff between hotel checkout and checkin, and always be able to leave it somewhere convenient and safe. Covered bike racks are usually to found at these locations, too. Hooray!

The rest of that week was more or less uneventful, aside from the usual EV ridiculousness. I did have a meeting to discuss a theatre piece that several teachers are writing for a performance at Heyri, which was exciting because I was actually getting to use my creative skills…imagine that… I also missed an EV-wide game of Capture the Flag, which was clearly, from the enthusiastic hollering, and excellent time. But, hey, I was working on the Heyri project and I had to pack for my next trip—for which I was getting up at 5am. And that’ll be my next posting; I’ve gotta go run some auditions and then around the soccer field. Hey, hey, USA, USA all the way!

Rainy Season, for real...

2006-06-20T23:09:00.000-04:00

Whoops…so that was a false alarm, about a week early…TODAY beginneth the rainy season. It should be entertaining to see where the serious leaks spring, sinkholes develop, landscaping begins a downward slide, etc.

Last week was pretty quiet, except for the weekend—they’re usually pretty hectic. I had a meeting and dinner with some Heyri people regarding an upcoming project. We went over to the theatre for our tech guy to check it out, and, as I predicted on the way over, I started crying the second I stepped in there. I realized that this is the longest I’ve gone without being on a stage of some sort in at least 20 years. Yep. Hopefully that project will fill at least part of the void here.

Friday night one of our dancers taught a class in the technique of Jose Limon, which was excellent (our dancers have been giving all kinds of classes pretty regularly now that we finally have access to the ONE rehearsal room on campus—with a cement floor—and I go whenever I can). Saturday night a few people came over to my place for some wine and low-key chat; we were all exhausted from the day.

Sunday night, I somehow mustered the energy to join one of the groups going into Seoul to watch the soccer matches—primarily the 4am Korea-France game. We had a big dinner, hit a small dance club for the first game, and then found another spot for the 2 and 4am games. Korea scored the goal that tied the game at 5:40am, which provided a serious second (third?) wind! People in red flooded the city bars, public spaces, and streets, and there was much hollering and whooping and chanting in the daybreak hours. After a bus ride of slaphappy, sleep-deprived giggling, we got home at 8am, I slept until 1, then got out on the bike and to the gym, cleaned my apartment, made dinner and watched a movie before going back to bed.

Tuesday, after lots of laundry and exercise, I went to Geumchon to get my last Hep A and B shots and do some grocery shopping. I got to visit a couple galleries in Heyri before dinner, then went to our EV soccer game. It’s on these nights that I desperately wish I had 20 or so years of soccer experience, like many of the other players. Oh well. I look cool in the uniform… Intended to go to the pub but ended up having a long chat with another disgruntled co-worker who’s looking into other jobs.

Slept like a ROCK, awoke to the rain, and discovered that I was not the only one whose phone had rung at 6am until I finally picked it up—to no answer. Apparently EVERYONE’S phone rang at 6am, and those who were so unfortunate as to live adjacent to someone who wasn’t home for whatever reason got to listen to it until 9am. Yes, these are the daily joys of life at EV—thank goodness we have such wonderful company to buffer/inject humor into the misery! Oy!

I stepped down from my Program Coordinator position, as I expect to be taking so many vacation/leave/sick days, and since they never scheduled me the time to do the job anyway. Many people have asked about the decision, and I’ve discovered that many, possibly even a majority, of people in the ODP program are strongly considering breaking contract. Most interesting.

Hopefully next ‘weekend’ I’ll go somewhere cool and have an adventure to report :>)
s

Other stuff…

2006-06-14T05:37:00.000-04:00

Geez, so I was in such a hurry to catch up and post, I left out some fun stuff. Like, if you didn’t get it in the email I sent out to a lot of people, check out the photo from the Korean Folk Village in Suwon (go to the link; you’ll know it when you see it). The best part was that the little girl stooped down for a better look, which sent me and another woman into convulsions of laughter that recurred several times during the day when we saw each other again in passing. Some humor is universal…

Also at the Korean Folk Village, I witnessed other episodes of Koreans “ooooooh-ing and aaaaaah-ing” over “feats” that we’d warrant relatively unimpressive, or at least less so than their reactions would indicate. It strikes me as odd every time—and it never fails to happen.

I took advantage of the relatively low cost of eyeglasses here and treated myself to a new pair (my last ones are FIFTEEN years old, I realized!), which, for the exam, frames and lenses (super crazy 3-cut thick) for $80. Woohoo! Not that I wear ‘em out in public much, but at least I’m more stylin’ at home.

I was definitely spoiled on my birthday; while I didn’t celebrate at EV, I got a few million birthday cards and a care package (chocolate and my Tevas!) from my mom, and stuff from friends and neighbors, like a box of yummies and a dress (that, would you believe, fits perfectly!) from the Potters, and cards galore that are hanging in my room. And lots of emails. Thanks, guys!

Here’s an amusing email we got from the Korean Head Teacher:

“Hello Guys. It is an official policy from admin that students can't buy cup noodle from EV mart any more. We know that kids love cup noodle and they will complain about this. However, students' eating cup noodle in dorms causes some problems. They throw the left over of cup noodle in toilets and even they put chopsticks without any concerns. They have been told by dorm teachers so many times not to do that but they don't listen. Anyway please don't let them buy any cup noodle. It is also not good for them to eat cup noodle late at night.”

Who ever knew that ramen could be so hazardous?

One funny language quirk that is the cause of much confusion: if we ask a question like “We don’t have any kids in the last class, do we?” (when the class indeed will be empty) that’s posed as a negative, our answer would be: “No, (we don’t),” but the Koreans answer “Yes,” as in: “Yes, that’s right, we don’t…” If you’ve been inside all day and say, “It didn’t rain today, did it?” they’ll say “Yes” if it didn’t rain, and “No” if it did. You can imagine… But a bunch of us had a good sit-down and laugh over it. Their way, of course, is much more logical (atypical of Korea) and grammatically sensical than ours.

We finally got the overtime rate: just over $5/hr. Yep, that’s worth my time. Duh.

Koreans love soccer, and have been gearing up for World Cup madness for some time now—stuff is EVERYWHERE. We’re the Reds, and all the standard stuff to wear and wave is available, plus headbands with devil’s horns. And of course, people on their days off who come here are all wearing it—especially the kids. Add that to the many soccer diehards / teachers, and you’ve got some excitement in the air. Last night, Korea won it’s first game against Togo, and yes, we all went nuts. The pub and another restaurant are staying open during the WC so we can watch the games there.

We just had two gorgeous days of sun, which I enjoyed on my bike and in Seoul, and today beginneth the rainy season. And it’s RAINING, people. Supposedly we’ve got a month or so of it on our hands. Yikes. Gotta get me some galoshes.
Later gaters!