The South

gets a beating here.

That'd be the American South, not any South Aftricans in Seoul.

Next week: the BF meets my Dad in Manila.
We'll see who gets out alive...

Holiday in Cambodia, etc., Part 2

This is what happens when too much time between an actuality and the writing of it occurs: enthusiasm falls asleep.

The second half of the journey to Siem Reap was even bumpier than the first and involved changing trucks, waiting for hours as a tractor was taken apart in front of my eyes then tied to the roof with fraying ropes, and a long long journey straddling the stick shift as the Khmer woman next to me (with much shorter legs than mine I must say) fell asleep and the driver appeared to doze off sometimes, too. He drove barefoot, smoked constantly, and looked at the world with drowsy eyes. He'd pat my thigh when we'd hit a particularly deep ditch in the center of the road.

Made it to the town bruised yet alive, and ready for plenty of beer at the Red Piano with Robert.
There may be some more news from Cambodia in a few months or so.

A brief note: met Jef from Anxious Dog this weekend, at 3 Alleys pub in Itaewon. Anywhere with Hoegaarten on tap, however irritating most of their customers, is worth an extra thousand won. It's been years since I've been interrogated by someone with that kind of intensity. A good time was had by the both of us.
We parted ways in front of Itaewon's KFC. I avoided greasy temptation and crossed the street.

And behold! I spotted Jeff from Busan and his partner in crime, Jane.
As soon as she heard I'd painted the Justice for his office, she mock-harangued me for ten minutes for forgetting to sign the painting, and we made a U-turn to Seoul Pub. They'd just left Bliss wine bar, where they'd downed a Long Island ice tea so strong it likely would've killed me.

One reason I enjoy living in Seoul is you occasionally meet westerners who have "real jobs"; they're doing something in Asia that actually requires discipline and passion, i.e., something you're not handed straight away if you've the right passport and skin tone.
Jane works for the Korea Herald paper in Seoul, and Jef's a lawyer. They both seem to work their tails off. Jeff bowed out after an hour or two, after we'd caught up on the past 6 months and he was certain I wasn't going home with one of the men at the bar. Jane managed to shoot some pool, conduct an interview or two, and introduced me to most everyone at the pub.

Walked out of the place at 5am or so, unaccompanied, with a bunch of flowers in my hand.
Dearest BF, you're going to have to leave town more often.

I miss H.

When you read some of her travel stories, you'll see why:

"I just wrote a good email to ya all and lost it. Yes internet is in Mongolia but it's like tampons in Korea: room for improvement.

Anyways China was fine, busy and dirty. It rained the entire time.
So took the 33 hr train ride to Mongolia`s capital Ulaan Bataar. I shared a sleeper with a Polish guy and his Mongolian Polish girlfriend. We had some problems at customs because the poor girl was missing a stamp on her passport from 1990, and he thought the part on his VISA that only stated 'entry exit' meant he could enter and exit lots of times - he had been there last month. The Chinese had no problem letting them out of the country but futher down at the Mongolian border (funny how they are not the same border) things got interesting.

If screwing up your VISAs and passports aren`t enough, these two very kind and funny people accepted three large packages from a Chinese man at the train station. They didn`t know the man and had not a clue what was in the boxes. I understand now why they write those statements everywhere "Do not accept parcels from other people to export and import to another country". Needless to say, we didn`t make any friends with the custom officals despite the amount of time and physical contact we got to have with them. They helped us unpack all our things...they didn`t even flinch when sorting through my dirty underwear...what professionals.

The box contained car parts. The Polish guy was very funny and saw this situation as an adventure and rather enjoyed the customs office tour, I had to agree cause I couldn't understand anything anyway. The Polish spoke very good English.

It was great waking up to camels roaming the desert, seeing nothing but a sea of sand, then some gers (Mongolian white round tents). Then came the snow and mountains, sheep, horses and cows. Still no paved roads to be seen, and only a handful of houses for 10 hours. I can`t explain how beautiful and peaceful it was. 40% of Mongolians are unemployed because most of them live off the land and trade. So I met up with a large funny Irish man, two Americans who had to flee Russia because of a volunteer job gone wrong, and a Japanese guy who speaks good English.

We are heading to the Gobi for a ten day trip with a nomad, a Russian jeep, vodka and smokes (to keep the driver happy and probably us warm for the times when the jeep breaks down or the snow drifts are a little too high), and water. I can`t wait! It is cheap and going to be a ball. Getting some camels, horses later and something about ice rocks...look into that one more.

PS: a tip: If you loose your soap, towel and shampoo toothpaste, wetnaps and a pillow case are great substitutes. And you smell minty fresh all day!"

H returned to Korea for a few weeks and she dropped some horse cheese and an embroidered bag into my lap as she headed to Pusan to see...a handsome Korean man! Anyway, I didn't get to see her again because she decided to take the ferry to Vladivostok, Russia. That's the ass end of Russia where you begin the real Trans-Siberian train adventure.

Anyway, didn't hear from her for a while. Then, those of us lucky enough to be on her mailing list got more news:

"Russia is great!
I met up with a Kroean boy on the ferry from Korea to Vladvistock and we took the trans-siberian to Moscow together. Shared a cabin with a lady from West Russia and a really funny guy from a town North of Gronzy. He practiced his English and we learned some Russian.
The train only took 7 days and Siberia looks a lot like Canada...well with the exception of the ready to blow over stick houses and poverty striken villages. Not much to say really.

Made friends with a military man who gave me the low-down on why the CCCR (USSR) way of doing things is much better then today...for example Russia had a good hockey team. A really nice man.
Moscow is great. Loven the sights and really am going to have to read up more on what the hell I am seeing though.

The Korean boy and I parted in Moscow and I am alone again. I had a great idea to go to the city Petrozavodsk, but with it being so close to the Artic circle I thought it would be a shame to go so far and not cross into it. Then I figured if I am going to go into the Artic circle I mind as wel go to the most Northen city, Murmansk.
The prices are right and this way Iam going to try to cross over into Norway - Kirkenes - as I have heard it can be done but can`t seem to find the info. From Norway I want to go down into Finland, Lapland, then down to see my family.
It is cheaper to go from Russia down to Lapland then to go from Helsinki to Lapland and back. I don`t know though. Get to Murmansk and see from there (worst comes to worst I can come down some and cross into Finland). It's a big military city, lots of people live there.

Well got to go the damn power keeps cutten out and my time is almost up.
Take care and keep in touch."

"Saint Petersburg is fine, my feet hurt though and the motels are really over-priced and today I went way over budget. Oh well, I bought the ticket to Murmansk and guess what the only other people in line were Russian soldiers....hmmmm...
Murmansk is the largest northern city in the world and did house Russias nuclear sub (that sank though in 2000 ?) You know the movie K-219 or maybe it was called '------ waters' I don`t know but it was about here. Anyways I am really excited and the ticket was really cheap (less then $20 USD).

Tell me more about Halloween? I heard Catie you were a star! What about you Liz? Did you guys do anything? I fell asleep in my room after one beer with the Korean guy...

Love ya, think of ya all often, Love H"

Wrote H. about my Hallowe'en. She was still at an internet cafe somewhere in Russia:

"I bet you have a great sex life...the ribbon that pizza hut ties your boxes up with comes in handy.
Sorry things aren't as fun as they could be....hopefully work in____ will be better. Seperation makes the heart grow...something...I don`t know the rest of the saying...
Really got to go this time..what time is it there? It took me all morning to figure out what day it was.
It is almost 930am here and the sun is just coming up. I love dark places.
Love h"

Hey E and Catie
Sorry for the mixed email but there is confusion on exactly how many of my unborn children I have to sign over for an hour of internet usage.

The arctic is nice and crisp. Not as cold as I had hoped but it's nice and today i will venture out for a short walk in the wild. Very excited...that mountain doesn`t look too far away. It is 10am and the sun rise is just about over. Got a reasonably priced Hotel room (40$cnd) compared to the (75$cnd) one offered at first. I look pathetic so I think that is what sometimes gives me a bargain.
I am not well dressed like the Russian women (enough make-up to paint a barn, high leather boots, fur jackets [yes real fur] that have pieces and balls hanging from every hem)...personally I think a lot of them look like walking endangered beasts with mixtures of fur hanging, flopping, dragging and bouncing everywhere.
Sometimes its hard to see if in fact someone is under all that, but sure enough the angry-looking, pissed off face is gleaming...and apparently it is a sexy look.

Boy do I have a lot to learn about fashion.
My jacket zipper I replaced myself with one I ripped out of a 2$ sweater i had bought. It is too long and I ran out of black thread (jacket is black) so I used black, dark brown, light brown, bright blue then finally white thread. Then the bottom kept coming apart and the zipper would split, so using my Martha Steward techniques, I sewed the zipper teeth together from the bottom to about 5 cm up with bright white quilting thread (very strong).

Now in order to put on or take off my jacket I have to step into it or pull it over my head. I don`t mind so much except everyone here makes it a habit to always take their jacket off when eating so I sit down and pull mine down to my knees. Not real exciting I know but rather frustrating sometimes like when the guy on the train was being very gentlemen like and tried to take my jacket off for me, and as graceful as I am, I stepped out of it while stepping on him and everything else.
Bought the jacket from Basic House in Korea."


"Hello,
Well, alive and well in the Arctic city Murmansk.
There isn`t a lot to do except people watch and walk around. I walked around the city then headed out in search for some breathing taking sights. No such luck.
The many mountains (lg hills) that surround the city are just that...hills with some shrubs and small trees. Lots of ice and not so much snow. So headed back and walked along the lake where I was able to take in the crisp air with a hint of thick black smoke that constantly pours from the many stacks that border the water.

I did get to enjoy the lovely colours of steel pipes and buildings and listen to a very stern mans voice that blared over the loud speakers. I am pretty sure it was a welcome here speech informing me that all tours for Canadians travelling alone were now free. Right.
Not disappointed in the least, heck can`t expect the largest Arctic city, home to the Russian Northen Fleet, and only a hop skip and a jump away from Nickle (a poster board village for green peace) to be booming with happy faces and life.

So cold and bored I head back to the hotel where I sign myself up for a 2 hour sauna (can`t get just only one), bought some hair dye $0.65 (certain its top quality) and some cheese...god love Russian cheese. I gracefully head back to the hotel (the whole place is like a skating rink)

As I am congratulating myself again, for not falling ass-over-tea kettle, I get my foot stuck in the heavy door and fall slowly to the floor, my body inside lobby and my sole wedged under the door. Luckly for me it was 'pretend you're blind day' in Russia, and people looked on. One person even walked over me and my still firmly gripped cheese.
A lovely young girl, almost in hysterics, came to my rescue and without saying a word struggled to loosen the door just enough for her to get out, and just enough time for me to scramble to my feet before the wind blown door hits me once more.

Got a bus ticket to Finland (to a small town in northen Lapland) that is apparently a great place to really see the native people of this arctic area and their culture (can`t remember their names)...so that means there is probably no affordable places to stay and the next bus rolls out only on odd days that correspond with a special cluster of stars.
I have never seen stranger travel schedules then here, and only to remote places. Don`t have any buses to places anyone has heard of, but lots to anywhere you don`t want to go.

Hope all is well with you. Really am enjoying myself, it's always fun in Russia.

Keep in touch, Love H."

Electoral [epilogical] Haiku

Gullible Red States
You know not what you have done
Too bad for the rest

-- Jay Hipps

From salon.com

thanks to Jenn Harrington

Holiday in Cambodia/One Night in Bangkok - Part 1

are two songs well-known to those in whatever they're calling my generation these days.

Returned late last night from the most frenzied travels I've ever had.
Total travelling time? (including waiting at airports and border crossings and train stations and wandering, either lost or aimlessly): 49 hours.
In 4 days.

~ I took the Seoul subway to the bus to the airport and boarded a Bangkok-bound flight.

~ Arrived at Don Muang (DM means "airport" in Thai, by the way) at around midnight Thai time - that's 2 hrs behind Korean/Japanese time.

~ Caught the very last bus to Khao San where I planned to book a cheap guesthouse and catch up on the sleep I'd lost the week before. Thought, "Maybe Robert's written me - he said he might be in Bangkok on a visa run this weekend, too." Robert's a friend from Busan who's wriggled his way to Siem Reap (a village near the famous Khmer temples of Angkor) after some time in SE Asia and working himself sick in Korea - while growing fatigued of all things Korean - as many of us do.

~ Spotted the 24-hour internet cafe I'd frequented some time before during an all-nighter with Latin Americans and Israelis. It's the cheapest in the area - only 30 baht (75 cents) for 80 minutes.

~ "Aha - a few emails from Robert," I grinned. Then, disappointment. He wasn't able to make it till the following weekend. "I'll see you then in Bangkok!" he'd written with his usual understated cheer.
Damn, I thought. Hmm, I did have four days till I'd have to return to Korea. Looked at the computer clock. It was after 2am. Walked over to the receptionist, who smiled, ready to answer any question in her excellent english. She does it all: books bus and air tours, fixes change machines and computers, and sells Diet Coke, too.
I pointed at the bus brochure for Siem Reap. Did they have any spots available for the 7 o'clock departure that morning? She shook her head: "Must book one day before," she said.
"What if I just show up?" I asked desperately (how often that exciting and exhausting sensation, desperation, runs through travel). She looked up with a quizzical smile. I must've looked mildly deranged: hair sticking out at all angles, deodorant straining in stagnant tropical air, eyes unfocused and bleary.
"Right," I said to myself - mumbling, a sure sign of dementia - and headed back to the internet for more options. Khao San buses to Cambodia are notorious for their inconvenience, anyway: they advertise the trip as a mere twelve-hour journey, when it often takes sixteen or more. Drivers take long breaks to prolong the trip so tourists will stay at an overpriced fleabag of a guesthouse that will pay the drivers commission for each backpacker who stays there. It's not uncommon for a driver to stop at the border, extort extra money for a Cambodian visa, or even refuse to drive to Siem Reap, leaving tourists in the hands of a gang of touts who'd rather spend the afternoon haggling over fares than driving anywhere.

~ Through the Thorn Tree forum, I rediscovered Gordon Sharpless's Tales of Asia, an informative site on SE Asia, focused on Cambodia. He's got a great section on the overland route from Bangkok to Siem Reap and back. I read it for an hour or so, taking notes, drawing maps, noting the many cautionary remarks written by others who'd taken the same route. If it hadn't been for his detailed information, the rowdy hyenas that terrorize Cambodia's lawless tourist trade would've managed to rip me off far more than they actually did.

~ Time to rifle through my wallet. I'd changed 100,000 Korean won (about US$90) in Seoul, and had around 50,000 left to change. Though US dollars are accepted everywhere - and are sometimes preferred over local bills in countries with unstable currency - and euros are gaining acceptance, Korean won are difficult to exchange anywhere in Asia outside of national banks. I'd arrive in Cambodia late Saturday afternoon, and leave early Monday morning, well before any banks would be open.
It was nearly 4am, and I had a bus to catch at 5. I had no idea how I'd change the won necessary to pay for my return to Bangkok, but wrote Robert anyway, gushing over how very thrilled I was to be able to see him the next evening.

~ "I know there are some Korean guesthouses around here," I muttered, and wandered around Banglamphu area for the next hour, silently swearing at the metal shutters of each Korean travel agency/laundromat/guesthouse that had closed for the evening.
"C'mon, Koreans can drink all night long; how can these places be closed?" I moaned. One mainstream guesthouse offered me about half of what the won were worth - so the guys could make $20 on my won at Siam bank the next morning. Frustrated and frantic, I hopped in a cab to the bus station.

~ Missed the 5am bus, and made the 5:30 with two minutes to spare.
The sunrise over a national highway, whether surrounded by rice fields or mountains, was rarely crystalline as those I'd glimpsed from the windows of SE Asian sleeper trains. I don't know why - perhaps it was the monotony of asphalt under rubber tires compared with the rocking into somnolence by a decrepit train car.

~ We arrived at Aranyaprathet, the town nearest Thailand's side of the border, and I hailed the first moto whose driver spoke some english. He drove me to Cambodia's border town, Poipet, for 50 baht. Though I could've bargained with the guy over the extra 10 baht he charged me, I felt it petty to haggle over 25 cents when I only had a B50 bill anyway.
It was an easy 6km ride to the border, where smooth-talking Thai hustlers degenerated into Cambodian chaos.

~ Poipet was just as it'd been when I'd last seen it: a dusty no-man's land filled with rickety wooden carts, some piled impossibly high with bulging white sacks, often pulled by undersized children. Land mine victims and able-bodied beggars, many holding newborns, reclined in rare patches of shade as a respite from relentless noontime sun.
Men offered me taxi rides to Siem Reap, though I hadn't even entered their country yet. I walked past them. One said, eyeing my small piece of soft luggage: "You been here before, right?" I nodded, and fewer of them approached me. Men followed me at immigration and hungrily offered to help me fill out visa paperwork for a fee. I ignored them.

~ After a brief wait for my visa, I was ushered back to the immigration patio by a wizened official in a brown uniform that looked nearly as old as he was. He handed me a yellow SARS information card.
"Twenty baht," he said, sotto voce. I'd been warned of this scam by the website. Just as quietly, I said, "I don't see why I have to pay for a card..." and he waved me off, glancing around to see if others had noticed.

~ I walked past a gaggle of motorcycles and every helmeted driver waved for my attention. One pointed to his "friend" nearest to me. "How much to take me to the pickup trucks down that road?" I asked the moto driver. He apparently didn't speak english, so his friend - another tout - called out, "Ten baht." That was the going rate, so I climbed on, one bag slung on each side of my back, hands resting on my thighs for balance, and never anywhere near the driver. Thankfully, that's how one rides with a stranger of the opposite sex in a socially conservative country - even if it teems with rogues, more of whom possess weapons than I care to imagine. Then again, where I come from, you learn to forget how many guns may be passing through your town, too.

~ There are two transport options to the Angkor temples: the first involves dodging the taxi mafia to negotiate directly with the driver, though that's nearly impossible. The second is to take a longer, two-part route, in cramped, rattling pickup trucks. I'd decided to take a pickup to Siem Reap (SR), and hopefully a taxi when I returned to the border in a few days.
After a moment I noticed the tout was just behind us on another mororbike. As I climbed off, he shouted, "You need pickup where? Siem Reap? Sisophon?" I knew not to arrange a ride with him all the way to SR, as he would then dictate the price, truck, and driver for my trip from Sisophon to SR. I might then have to wait an hour or two in Sisophon before the driver found enough passengers to make the journey worthwhile for his wallet.
As it was, I might as well have booked the entire trip at once, for all the waiting around we did later in the day.

~ "Outside or inside?" the hustler demanded. I looked at the nearest truck, fitted with two benches for passengers and produce and anything else that needed transporting over rutted roads. Unlike Thai pickups, the Cambodian version had no shelter from blistering sun. I'd have a patchy permanent blush for weeks if I sat outside. Though the BF might've found that charming - after quelling his worries over my increased probability of getting skin cancer - I remembered the forehead-peeling experience from Angkor last year, so asked for a seat inside the cab.
"How much?" I wondered - a mantra for tourists in the third world and beyond. The tout put his arm around a mustachioed driver and said, "For inside? Much more expensive. You foreigner, need front seat, that's two seats." Typically drivers squeeze two people into the front seat built for one person - that's how one seat makes two, according to the driver - there's some black market arithmetic for you.
"See? You bigger." He pointed somewhere in the direction of my rear end. (Though I'm a US size 7, I didn't argue that I've got the frame of your average Cambodian male who eats two meals a day.) "Seven dollars," he said, a ridiculous amount. I turned away and walked down the road, searching for another truck.
He ran after me, calling out that there were no more trucks, these were the only ones available, they were ready to leave straight away. Then he lowered the price to the more reasonable B200 for "two" inside seats.
I relented, and climbed in the truck. This displaced a Khmer woman who glared at me from the backseat until she was distracted by the piercing ring of her cell phone, and proceeded to shout three-quarters of a conversation to her caller for much of the trip.

~ I sighed and closed my eyes after securing luggage under my knees, relieved to be sitting in front of vents that blasted chill air up my nose and eyelashes. Then I heard more english in my direction.
"Miss? Tip now, miss?" The tout was miffed that I'd refused to pay the driver up front so he could get his cut right away. "No," I said, smiling as a dutiful midwesterner should when refusing a ridiculous request, and looked away. "Please, miss," he said, holding out his hand. "I must pay moto to drive me back to the border."
"I didn't ask you to follow me here," I said, "but thanks for coming along." He gave up and closed the door.

The BF finally consented

to having our picture online.



Here we are recently in a Seoul park (can't of course remember the name) on a gorgeous autumn afternoon. We were both scruffy and tousled that day. He's got his usual grin, and I'm smirking at the camera, to forget how much I can't stand being in front of it.

It seems I've accidentally put the photo on this PC's wallpaper, so if you're in Itaewon and see the two of us in near life-size duplication, well, you've got the best seat in the ever-smoky Neo PC 방.

It grows cooler now, and the summery clothes I brought back to Korea with me are doing NOTHing these days but letting in chill breezes. A friend may bring some clothes from Busan in a week or two, so I won't be shivering much longer.

Happy fall to all.

Turning 30

wasn't traumatic as it's often billed in pop culture.
Then again, the return to a loved one in a brand new city can help disperse any paranoia of aging. I looked back and saw accomplishments and experiences that were beyond any dreams I'd had as a child.

After a few months away from Korea, I arrived in Seoul on the 15th. It was just in time to quit smoking and celebrate the day with the BF and a Chagall exhibit, topped of with an outdoor wine bar where he painstakingly wrote out promises in Italian.

It's been a good time for job-hunting.
Koreans are as good at procrastinating as I am, and I arrived in a flurry of pre-Chuseok job scrambling by recruiters and employers. Chuseok is Korean thanksgiving, and the celebrations will devour next week for many people here.

Thanks to great timing, I've stumbled upon several jobs that will give me the flexibility I need. That means no more 8:30-4:30 sitting at a desk for only three hours' worth of classes! Then again, it'll mean plenty of time on the Seoul's spiderweb of an underground, but I'm not chained to one employer and location as before.

Anyway, it's good to be back for a while. If you've got to be in Korea, it's got to be in Seoul.