Home again home again hippity hop.

As I write this from the most comfortable bed that I have slept in since nearly thirteen months ago at 4:17 am local time, I know a little more than I did yesterday about jet lag and internal alarm clocks. They both suck, by the way. I’m looking into having the two abolished, but frankly I do not know the correct avenues.

So, I am back in Calgary. It is the same as I left and I feel only slightly different than when I left. Mostly I feel older and somewhat wiser, you know; if in my brilliance I thought that the latter was possible or necessary. So, yeah. Mostly older. The whole Korean bed situation did a number on my back and the company I kept did a number on my face and can be credited for a wealth of laugh lines.

Prior to my return I had quite a few predictions about what would be my process of reacclimatizing to the culture at home after my year in the Durrrrrty J. A lot of them have proved super accurate in that I am dropping eaves worse than Sam Wise Gamgee outside of Bilbo’s place. I’ve always suspected that I have rather bionic hearing and my skills in this respect have had to lay more or less dormant over the course of the past 12 + months since I was surrounded by the constant buzz of hacking and spitting of a language I didn’t understand.

So far I have witnessed a rather hushed breakup in Starbucks, a woman’s confession to her sister that her daughter was pregnant and unmarried, as well as a debatably racist comment towards a barista. In truth the culprit of latter of this list was I when I busted my anyeong skills on the barista at the local Starbucks just because she was Asian. I don’t know if the fact that she didn’t understand me makes it better or worse. I was also clutching my right elbow with my left hand and bowing while handing her my debit card. Were I any thinner she might have thought I was concealing my track lines and hanging my head in shame while in a drug-induced delirium.

What I didn’t think would be strange were small everyday things like paying for things with debit and having to a) swipe your own card and b) type in your pin number instead of just doodling genitals on a sign-pad and pretending that it is your initials. In reality, I’m lucky enough for my actual initials and genitals to be the samesies. Type a lowercase d and and p in succession and try not to giggle, why don’t you? Then write the same two letters in cursive. HA! Maturity! Anyone know some good fart jokes?

These are all just the ramblings of a mad white woman less than 24 hours after returning home. I'm sure as time goes on there will be more to report. I'm less sure that I will find the time and/or motivation to do so. All that I can do is promise to try, and I’m not even going to do that.

Home again, home again, hippity hop.

As I write this from the most comfortable bed that I have slept in since nearly thirteen months ago at 4:17 am local time, I know a little more than I did yesterday about jet lag and internal alarm clocks. They both suck, by the way. I’m looking into having the two abolished, but frankly I do not know the correct avenues.

So, I am back in Calgary. It is the same as I left and I feel slightly different than when I left. Mostly I feel older and somewhat wiser; you know, if in my brilliance I thought that the latter was possible or necessary being as I know everything about everything, didn’t you know? So, yeah. Mostly older. The whole bed situation did a number on my back and the company I kept did a number on my face and can be credited for a wealth of laugh lines.

Prior to my return I had quite a few predictions about what would be my process of reacclimatizing to the culture at home after my year in the Durrrrrty J. A lot of them have proved super accurate in that I am dropping eves worse than Sam Wise Gamgee outside of Bilbo’s place. I’ve always suspected that I have rather bionic hearing and my skills in this respect have had to lay more or less dormant over the course of the past 12 + months since I was surrounding by the constant buzz of hacking and spitting of a language I didn’t understand. So far I have witnessed a rather hushed breakup in Starbucks, a woman’s confession to her sister that her daughter was pregnant and unmarried, as well as a debatably racist comment towards a barista. In truth the culprit of latter of this list was I when I busted my anyeong skills on the barista at the local Starbucks just because she was Asian. I don’t know if the fact that she didn’t understand me makes it better or worse. I was also clutching my right elbow with my left hand and bowing while handing her my debit card. Were I any thinner she might have thought I was concealing my track lines and hanging my head in shame while in a drug-induced delirium.

What I didn’t think would be strange were small everyday things like paying for things with debit and having to a) swipe your own card and b) type in your pin number instead of just doodling genitals on a sign-pad and pretending that it is your initials. In reality, I’m lucky enough for my actual initials and genitals to be the samesies. Type a lowercase d and and p in succession and try not to giggle, why don’t you? Then write the same two letters in cursive. HA! Maturity! Anyone know some good fart jokes?

These are all just the ramblings of a mad white woman less than 24 hours after returning home

Ire hab the pouagra, pwease.

My time here in Korea is coming to an almost immediate end. My parents are now in Korea, and I have since left Yeosu (with an offensive amount of luggage and a resulting back injusry) for Seoul to live the rest of my days in Korea as a tourist. I think that perhaps the best indication of my personal growth and adaptation to this country is the fact that during my 'If I had a million dollars' lesson, one student wrote: "pouagra, cabior" when asked what he would eat and I could discern his meaning as being 'foie gras and caviar." Seriously, hooked on phonics worked for me.

In truth, I will miss the bizarre relationship between Koreans and English. Somehow it is both a language too foreign to chance a conversation in, but the perfect language to advertise and add street cred and visual interest to anything from T-Shirts to billboards. If I were the English Language, I might be a tad put off by being played so hot and cold. There's a comparison to be drawn between this and Western use of Eastern language in tattoos.

As someone who enjoys playing with English more than my students seem to enjoy playing with themselves under their desks and school uniform blazers, I have a certain built-in fondness for anything that might pass as wordplay. I'm more than game for a little intentional misspelling and bait-and-switch word usage, maybe this is why I can't help but smile ear-to-ear whenever I go t-shirt shopping.



Besides being able to shop in the women's section again, shopping in Canada is going to be terrible in comparison. Will I engage in it anyways, absolutely-I have a problem. Does a crack addict give up crack altogether when they return from a vacation destination where they experienced better crack? Well, maybe. I don't even know if crack addicts are prone to vacation... Are there even varying qualities of crack? Clearly, while largely comprehensive, my Degrassi Drug Education has left stones unturned.

Servicee

In English, service can mean a lot of things. If English is your first language, you can vouch for me when I say that none of these various meanings is synonymous with "free." Think again, chingus! Here in the Land of the Morning Calm, it means just that. When first I experienced this bastardized form of the word it was in a context that was confusing as all hell. It was at a Korean BBQ restaurant and a waiter brought a few bottles of Cider over to my table saying "servicee". I thought: no subtlety there, this young buck thinks he's giving excellent service and is pointing it out in the hopes of a tip, fair enough. I mean, before leaving for Korea I had read enough sources to indicate that the Korean grasp on nuance wasn't the most developed. However, I had read and heard form the same sources that tipping in Korea was a faux pas. How worldly this young gentleman must then be to be extorting a foreigner for gratuities! Not. The. Case. In reality, we were being given free cider. A welcome alternative and a great welcome to Korea!

Such random acts of servicee (herein after referred to as RAS) have peppered my time here. It will happen when you least expect it and oftentimes the items that are doled out as servicee are completely random and often of no relation to the situation or the purchase pre-cursing it. In Canada, sometimes when the gas station overcharges you for a bottle of water, they will throw in a free chocolate bar. Bonus! Maybe it will be beyond its allocated shelflife and the kind shopkeeper thinks that the bottle of water will be just the thing to wash it down. These two items are related. In Korea, maybe you'll run into a Ministop to replenish your beer supply and BANG; RAS! Tuna. A single can. Beer and tuna would be hard to associate using even the '7 degrees of Kevin Bacon' method! Never mind the fact that I was, on the occasion in question, in the midst of drinking said beers at the quaint table and chairs just beyond the doors of the Ministop. I mean, the cashier knew I wasn't going home. And if her intention was that I eat it with my beer, she might have been so kind as to provide me with disposable chopsticks like she did that one time when I bought yogurt. On that particular day I received two counts of RAS to the tune of the aforementioned chopsticks and the subsequent lip slivers.

So, yes. This falls under the "Things I will miss" section of the final countdown. When at home I begin being denied free upgrades and random items after shooting people a profile highlighting my 'high nose' or making my biggest 'round eyes', I simply don't know what I'll do.
I mean, I have not paid for toilet paper this year! And it's always been the classy, scented, animated kind. You know, the kind that's been long outlawed in North America for irritating a certain delicate pH balance, if you know what I mean. If you don't, that's cool too. Probably for the best. Vaginas are weird. I mean...

Art for adolescent boys

Maybe the Art teacher doesn't speak English.

If ever there was a doubt before, there isn't now. Chung Deok Middle School is a cranking out some winners. The gems shown above are just some of the many masterpieces that dotted the hallway on display for Parent's Day. Gold stars, all around.

Back to school, back to school, to prove to mom I'm not a fool.

Welcome, March 2nd; the first day of a new school year in Korea! It's a new season and there is a fresh batch of grade 7 boys who welcome me to the school with screams as though they are all Justin Bieber fans and that I am the Bieby himself.

If only cowbell could cure this particular fever.

This, first day of the 2011 school year, was full of fun things. Some of which fall into the "Things I Will Miss" category while other things (and people) will belong in the "Things I Won't Miss" column. I will of course miss the waygook-fever and the fact that my new Vice Principal is an ex-English teacher who will understand me when I am sent to him with all of my questions and concerns by a co-teacher whose biggest job seems to be saying "oh, really?" whenever I tell her that I don't speak Korean. To her credit, she does this rather well.

I will not miss the incomprehensible lack of logic and/or organization that characterizes my daily life in a Public Korean Middle School. No, no I can't tell what my schedule is after sitting in on the staff meeting conducted entirely in Korean; no, no I don't think that it is a good idea to replace the only English computer in the school with a Korean one the day that school starts and leave the boxes from the new one and remnants of the old one strewn about the English lab. Yes, yes I do think that the previously mentioned action renders my desk-warming time, during which I was supposed to plan this semester's classes, even more useless than its very name suggests. Everything that I saved on that computer is obviously gone, baby, gone. And, though I honestly didn't do any planning over the break, I had 10 months of powerpoints and lessons from last year on it, so I'm still chalking it up as a loss. A huge one. One that might drive me to drink.

It seems worth mentioning that as of 5 p.m. on this, the fateful first day of a whole new year, I have yet to be given any direction as to what I am supposed to be doing today, this week, or the rest of the year. I have missed lunch because there are no bells today since the schedule is different. Isn't a different schedule a good reason to employ the use of bells? No, probably not. After missing lunch, I got a call on my hand pone from my co-worker (not co-teacher, never my co-teacher) asking where I was and saying that he was looking for me. Cool. You know where he didn't look? The only place that I ever am. Bitch ain't got nothing on Nancy.

drip, drip, drop

So, this one time, when my friend from home was visiting:

We were slightly sleep deprived and very much used to spending time on buses. During one such bus trip, while on the way to Gwangju from Yeosu (a common leg, for me), we fell asleep for the majority of the trip. I was awoken, rather rudely, while Becca slept on beside me. As for what woke me up, there is no delicate way to put it. I was woken up by the sound of a constant stream of urine being expelled by the man next to me into a plastic bag. In his defense, I think he thought I was sleeping; I was wearing shades, after all. In my defense, I was not sleeping, and ewwwwwwwww.

Absence makes the heart grow...indifferent?

Though I must say that I had initial reservations about my ability to maintain a blog, I will admit that I harboured hope that I might become addicted to it like I am internet television. Wrong. My apologies to the few (father...) people who attempt to keep tabs on me by following my blog. Turns out you keep up with it more than I. I will now, for the umpteenth time since undertaking this blog, promise to try to do better. You know, for the 2 months that I have left.

Speaking of the 2 months I have left - I ONLY HAVE TWO MONTHS LEFT! What gives, Father Time; you sneaky, speedy bitch? In all fairness, one could hardly argue that I did nothing to speed it along as I have crammed a hell of a lot of Korea into my year here, taking less than 3 weekends off in the whole of the year. It is my shock that I have mustered such stamina at my ripe, old age that causes me to brag about such numbers. Proudly, I have not said 'no' to a weekend's festivities due to dwindling funds or lengthy bus rides to and from. Not once. As a result, I have seen a lot of Korea and a lot more of Asia than I thought would be possible with the relatively limited amount of vacation days that I am granted in my contract. Have I lost a lot of sleep? Yes. Have I slept in ill-advised places? Yes.

Have I gone against doctors' orders and boarded an air-conditioned bus while suffering pneumonia just to make it to a Tigers' game and be busted by my school by being on TV? Yes.

Am I positive that photos of mine and my friends' shenanigans will land us on a promotional banner or website for one of the festivals we ravaged? Quite.

Will these same photos be sufficient in foiling my plans of running for office in the future? Most definitely.

While it is all well and good to applaud myself for the life I've squeezed in to the past 10+ months, all I can focus on is what I need to cram into these next 2. For example, I need to post entries on this here bloog about my trips to Malaysia and Indonesia. I also need to show my big brosephine a hella good time during his short stay here and then regroup for my parents' arrival at the end of my contract. I also need to log face time with the friends I have made over the course of the past year. A certain couple of ladies have either kept me from losing my sanity or lost theirs right along with me; allowing me to remain sane, at least comparatively. Mercifully, these two lovelies are both from Canada and I have little doubt that I will see them again in the future, though likely not as soon or as often as I would like. As for the other people that I have met and not hated, I think I should see them in the future as well, both the Canadians and otherwise. The Canadians because I travel the True North Strong and Free side-to-side a good deal, and those from abroad because I live in the world's best country and who wouldn't want to visit? Jerks, that's who.

Going back to the beginning of this entry where I halfheartedly promise to be more (at all) vigilant about updating this beginner’s blog: from now on, I am just going to enter little anecdotes about Korea and label them as things that I will either miss, or not miss, about Korea.

Number 1:

I will miss the way cabbies see foreign fares as a way of getting free English lessons.

This particular point falls under both headings because sometimes this situation is awesome and sometimes it makes me want to tuck and roll out the cab, ya' heard? It is awesome when the cabbie in question already speaks a tiny bit of English and tries to communicate with you and prompt you for pointers on pronunciation while you struggle through his/her valiant attempt at actual verbal exchange. It is terrible then the cabbie in question speaks no English, asks if you speak Korean, to which you respond "no," all while becoming increasingly heated while yelling at you in Korean and asking for English translations. To premise, I maintain that Hangul really is the German of Asian languages and whatever it is that he or she is saying sound a lot like threats and verbal attacks.

Christmas in Korea

December 25th, 2010.

This is the day that marked the first Christmas that was not spent with my family. The first Christmas that all 5 Prymacks were not celebrating together. I must admit that I do see some satisfaction in the fact that I was the first one to miss a Christmas at home. Not because I wouldn't have preferred to be home with everyone, just because I think that it would have been harder to be home and have one of my other family members absent. Especially since I had long been preparing myself for this since it seemed inevitable with an older brother in the military and a younger brother constantly jet-setting around the world for to fight with swords. For me, it was as though Christmas didn't exist. Korea doesn't celebrate Christmas, so there were scarcely reminders except for the Christmas movies that I watched on my laptop and the Hanson Christmas album that I listened to on my laptop. To be fair, I do both of these things year-round if we are counting Love Actually as a Christmas movie.

My Christmas was celebrated in a way that allows for many a parallel to be found with the way I celebrate at home. And here's why:

1) I ate until I felt sick

2)I drank before noon

3)I was in great company

4)I wore pajamas for most of the day

5)I got to watch my family open their presents thanks, skype!

It was dissimilar also, obviously. And here's how:

1)There was no turkey

2)There were no hugs from my family sad face

3)There was no egg nog

4)I took my friend to a Korean hospital where she was outfitted with a Darth Vader-esque mask for her sweet bronchitis/former smoker's cough

So, as I said, we did not eat turkey. Tragic, though it was, we did manage to eat until we felt sick. Which I always find to be a sign of a job well-done. What we DID do was produce a spectacular college-student-grade feast featuring pasta with chicken and mushroom sauce. This dish was partially produced in a kettle. We also had a salad. We also had more cheese than I would ever advise. And nuts. And fruit. AND OLIVES. So, I was happy. I was even happier since there is photographic evidence of me wearing a Santa beard for the duration. Both as a beard and as a sweet eyebrow-hair statement - an obvious nod to Einstein.

Perhaps the most touching part of all of the festivities was when a song featuring the lyrics 'Christmas in Korea's a new one for me. Trading your sleigh for a Jeep...' came on in the midst of our exchanging of Secret Santa stockings. Le Tear.

Countdown to Christmas 2011 has begun.

Joanie Loves Chachi

The Korean word for penis is pronounced 'Chachi;' written as 자지. On a related note, the first episode of 'Joanie loves Chachi' that aired in Korea was the highest rated show of ever.

Another fun fact: in English, we often refer to the more bulbous and spherical components of male genetalia as 'balls,' 'nuts,' or even 'jewels.' Well aren't we clever. Maybe we are clever, but we are surely not as creative as the Korean masses. Their slang for these same body parts equates to 'fire eggs' when translated directly.

In an effort to appeal to both sexes, I will include in this entry the fact that a woman's period is called 'magic day' here in Korea...magic indeed if it were to last but one day. There is also a brand of feminine hygiene products that goes by this name: Abracadabra.

Puck off, North Korea!

So, I got to Korea just in time for the hullaballoo that was the missile attack on the South Korean freighter by North Korea. Since then, it has been mostly smooth sailing and I've stopped thinking that all of the loud Korean announcements on the street (usually about sales on fruit) are telling me to seek shelter from a nuke sent to us with love from Kim Jong-Il. However, as of early last week, tensions are high again since the adult baby known as Kim Jong Il decided to open fire on some unsuspecting and undeserving South Korean soldiers. In all, 4 were killed (to my knowledge); 2 soldiers and 2 civilians. How rude, Lil' Kim. Since this most recent incident, the world seems to have gotten a little carried away. And by world, I mean media. As someone currently living in South Korea, I can tell you that the atmosphere is little affected. Yeah, it is a serious matter, and yes, some international attention is merited. Also, I will be checking my e-mail more regularly for potential word form the Canadian Embassy telling me to get the puck out of here. My point is just that, all things considered, it is not that big of a deal. It is by no means the first time something like this has happened and all of my Korean friends assure me that it is of no concern of ours, especially since we are so far south.

I think at this point that the media, especially foreign media, are just as guilty of war-mongering as the "Shining Star of Paektu Mountain." So, for all of those who think that I am dead in South Korea, I am not. Take a load off. Why not indulge in a sip of soju and chuckle at this lighthearted gem.



Disclaimer: I plan on deleting this entry altogether if we get nuked.

Busan International Fireworks Festival

Okay. So, in Korea, they use "international" as an adjective in the names of pretty much any festival, no matter how strictly intranational...which isn't a word but I hope it comes across as meaning the opposite of international. Perfect. Usually, this causes some disappointment. Such was not the case at all with Busan's International Fireworks Festival. I was far from disappointed as I sat on Gwangali beach with over a million other people watching the sky light up as various continents/countries did their best to woo us with a sweet show of fire working. The show was scheduled to start at 8, we were there more than 2 hours early and the beach itself had been claimed. Me and my posse of 10 or so champions claimed a wee slice of the sidewalk between the beach and the road as our very own. By the time the actual show was to start, the street bordering the sand directly, as well as the ones meeting it, were legitimately fullof people. Behold the fire, as it works.

Europe was the most impressive in my opinion, as they lit up the entire mother licking bridge in sweet symphony with the classical music that was accompanying their display. You'll all be happy to know that of the two songs that we were supposed to identify as American was one sweet Disney ditty.


The only time I felt less than positively giddy throughout the whole time was when, as and after the crowd dispersed, there was the most offensive amount of refuse left on the beach and the street bordering it. I'm sure this would have been the case anywhere because of the sheer bulk of people, but Korea's failure to get on the public trash can bandwagon pains me. Pains me good. All was not ruined though, the rest of the night had nothing but good things in store as all of the party people who had witnessed the festivities lingered on the beach for merriment and poor decision-making.

The Ugly

Breaking up the aforementioned "bad" of Manila, was the ugly that one Stephanie Sam Clark and I brought. The Philippines, you see, is home to a charming drinking establishment by the name of Hobbit House. Word on the street is that it was founded by a German expat and staffed by only little people. Having made back his initial investment and then some, the founder gave the business over to his employees. The slogan is "The Smallest Waiters in the World" and I can say with more than moderate confidence that this is true.
Besides the uniquely attributed employees, this bar has as its claim to fame an extensive selection of import beers - 100 to be exact. Coming from Korea, this was especially exciting. Eager to select a beer that we had been missing over the past 5 months, Stiff and I reached for the list only to behold the most tempting of deals.

Drink 5 import beers and get a free Hobbit House T-Shirt, you say? Don't mind if we do! So, Stiff and I set off on what we aimed to make a worldwide sampling of tasty brews. We decide to start off in Canada with some of our home and native land's Moosehead. I think it was sometime after this first beer that we decided to chronicle the 5 different beers and commemorate each and every one of them with a new hairstyle and unflattering photo.

We followed Moosehead with Kingfisher from India, Brahma from Brazil, Caffreys from Northern Ireland and finished with Singha from Thailand. So you see, it was with the sweet hair styles that we did indeed bring the Ugly...and the Cousin It...

Also, apart from the obvious sweet novelty of the joint coupled with the beer for T-Shirts deal, the bar was memorable on its own. They had amazing live music and atmosphere that prompted us to stay well beyond seeing the bottom of the last of our five foreign bottles of beer.

The Bad.

The title of this entry is not to suggest that there was anything bad about the trip, besides it ending, of course. It's actually in reference to balance that Lazer, Stiff, and I chose to strike between the paradise of the 'Ppines and more of the reality.

A lot of the SK Waygooks headed straight for Boracay. Fair. It is quite legitimately heaven. Our little group decided it best to see some of the mainland as well, so we spent the first few and the last few days in Manila. I'm glad we went did, but it was not all good. Parts of it were heartbreaking and one of us ended up breaking down while inside a convenience store. The three of us had gone into the Mini Stop to get water and, let's be honest, Pringles for the night. Just to get into the store, we had to step over and around families on the street - primarily emaciated mothers carrying one or more children. Having been warned against it countless times before arriving, we refrained from giving them money but picked up a few snacks and milk for them while inside the store. They watched through the doors and must have realized what we were doing because by the time we'd all left to distribute our meagre donations, the group outside had tripled. Devastating.

I also realized in Manila that there was the silverest of linings to my getting robbed in Vietnam. I sincerely believe having safely returned from the Philippines that had I not been mugged in Nam, I would have gotten absolutely stripped clean in Manila. Thankfully, I was freshly paranoid and nothing happened. We were constantly carrying our purses like footballs a la Joan Prymack, and we had distributed our money all over our bodies. These precautions proved to be far from unnecessary and at one point I physically removed a boy's hand from my pocket. He was in up to his elbow with his left hand while his right hand was fully visible in front of my face begging for money. I have no doubt that had we not been hyper careful, bad things would have happened especially since we were the ONLY white people in Manila, 3 white chicks, at that.

Apart from strictly observing the poverty and corruption, we took in the sights of Manila. We walked to the aquarium through Rizal park and spent a lovely afternoon. At the aquarium we took part in the 'foot spa'. This is the name given for massive pools of water wherein "Dr. Fish" eagerly await your freshly cleaned tootsies andhoover them smooth - one of my funnier experiences, especially given how ticklish I am. Whether or not I got my money's worth is debatable since I probably only succeeded in keeping my feet submerged for about 3 of the 20 minutes.

We also checked out the old Fort Santiago, which is the preserved and walled-in old city. It was cool to see how small the city was before Manila blew up into what it is now. We walked the whole perimeter in well under an hour.

The Good.

Korea was nice enough to schedule their Thanksgiving Holiday such as to allot us silly Waygooks another week's vacation. It seemed as though it would have been rude not to take advantage, so me and some of the coolest foreigners in the country fled to the Philippines.

4 out of the 8 days were spent on paradise. Assuming that I am bound for heaven at death, death will actually be redundant seeing as how I've already been there. For realz. I've been lucky in my life: I've traveled a good majority of the Caribbean and seen a lot of its beauty in brief. Nothing that I have seen in terms of beaches before can even touch Boracay. I'm not saying that pockets of what I've seen of the Caribbean haven't been as breathtaking - but I will say this: Boracay is an island measuring 9km long and 1km across. The whole thing is pristine.

We arrived in the evening and made a beeline for the beach. Walking into the water, we can see our feet and the fish we are startling. This is in the dark. After the sun goes down, the water is still so clear and clean that the visibility isn't compromised. Also, it feels like bath water. More like how bath water would feel if you were a god and your shower curtain was the most picturesque scene imaginable. There could not have been a better way to start our stay on Boracay and it proved perfectly indicative of things to come as this is how our stay on the island ended.

How's that for perfect symmetry?

So for starters we met up with the rest of the foreigners that were on Boracay and we went for some island hopping. This covered some cave swimming, some snorkeling, and lunch - all on a private boat. Not bad for under $20 per person for a full 6 some-odd hour day. A few days later, we had the same kind of deal put together, but this one was with cliff jumping as a primary objective. It was unbelievable. And, not taking anything away from my sweet times jumping off pirate ships in the 'Ppines or Antigua with my 2nd family, nothing compares to a 50 foot drop off a cliff. That's when your insides truly get acquainted with your bathing suit bottoms. Luckily, I have the mummy position down when I enter the water. For me, it's a necessity just to keep the bathing suit top on. Especially with waters as clear as these, I wasn't going to take any chances. So, I escaped primarily unscathed. I'm not going to pretend that jumping that height into water was a great choice with my sinus infection, but what's done is done. Not everyone had my sweet technique down and some people got a bruised tailbone in the deal, but I doubt they regret the experience as a whole, even if it is only because it's long since healed.
On top of these two day trips, we just got a lot of solid beach time in on one of the best beaches in the world. We also got massages on the beach which got interrupted mid-way but some tropical rain - Jumangi style. No worries though, the massages continued and though they might have been slightly less enjoyable with the pelting rain, I'm sure they will be remembered all the more vividly by all involved as a result.

Intelnationar Malching Band Pestivar

If you have read this before, you know that I have the sweetest co-teacher ever. In fact, I wrote this song about her:

You're a mean one, Jang Min Jeong.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Jang Min Jeoooo-ooong.

You're a bad banana
With a greasy black peel.

So you can understand my frustration and skepticism when she came to me and said the following: "You in parade on Wednesday, 6 o'clock." Sweet, Min Jeong, sweet. I was completely ready for this to mean that I would be in some sort of parade consisting of just me walking while being flogged....or frankly anything as bad or worse. Imagine my surprise and elation when I rock up to the mysterious address that my teacher wrote down for me (sans instructions )to find that this "parade" that I was to be in was in fact the YEOSU INTERNATIONAL MARCHING FESTIVAL!!! Win.

I don't know how "international" it was, since the whole ceremonial part of it was conducted in Korean....and the bulk of the bands in question were also Korean. What I do know, is this: Thailand was represented, as was the US. Canada made an appearance as well and brought with it about 15 bagpipes, 6 drums, and the combined amount of kilts - awesome because it's funny...not necessarily because it was good.

Up first, after the obligatory and VERY Korean opening ceremony (which took over an hour), was Thailand. So much about their performance was awesome. Between the traditionally dressed backup dancers who turned into the bass and drum players for the second song and the fact that the second song was The Phantom of the Opera complete with singers, I don't know what was best. What I do know is this: the guy who sang the part of the dude had glitter in his pocket. He threw this glitter at the end. Best finale ever? Quite possibly.

My second favorite performance was by one of Korea's many entries. Technically, it was incredibly flawed. The formations were elaborate and poorly executed. The players were literally looking behind them with fear in their eyes trying to make sure there were no collisions. Sadly, there weren't. You might be asking yourself "Diana, if they were so bad, why were they one of your favorites?" The answer is simple: song selection. They opened with a rendition of Mambo #5. That's right. Lou Bega has relevance beyond the 90s, after all! Their second song was all too predicable. I mean, when you hear Mambo #5, you immediately wish you could follow it up with the title track from Les Mis. No?

Anyways. This is a silly and pointless entry. Well, maybe more silly than pointless. The point is that Korea is hilarious and that you should all come. And, assuming that I know you, you should all come and stay with me. And bring Shake 'n' Bake mix. And Hot Chocolate. And Bath and Body Works hand sanitizing sheets. And, maybe most of all, tampons.

k,thanks,bai.

Grocery sh-ping in the land of dried squid.

In South Korea, there are a number of foreign foods that are in fact available for purchase. At least this is true in the areas surrounding Seoul, Busan, and some of the other big players. Such bounty is not available in Yeosu, however. As far as restaurants go, the only foreign fare is McDonalds, which is at the bus terminal. In Yeochun, our neighbour city, they opened a Quiznos last weekend. This fateful day is to be recognized among the expat community of Yeosu as a revered holiday.

When it comes to grocery shopping, things can be even more dire. The things that pass for "cheese" around here offend me as a Marc Prymack raised cheese snob. Often times I get excited for "foreign" food - like nacho chips. Then I read the label and realize they are the product of DENMARK. Is. You. Surrrrrious. When I think fiesta, I truly do think Scandinavia.

The key to successful grocery shopping in Korea is to buy every foreign product you see, whenever you see it. If you don't, E-Mart/Lotte Mart will not continue carrying it, and you will rue the day you didn't buy whole wheat pasta just because you wanted to walk home unencumbered. Having learned from my experience with the whole wheat pasta, I once spied Canada Dry Gingerale and bought-out E-Mart. The same was true with Tobasco sauce. The latter was a terrible miscalculation on my part since the one bottle will likely last me all year. It's not like it's Frank's Red Hot, or anything.

And, my absolute favourite thing about grocery shopping in Korea, besides the Korean Betties wearing white leg-warmers and trying to sell me laundry detergent, is the Spam aisle.

Because, really...if there's one thing that should never be made generic, it's canned pig parts.

Trois

So, following my brush with hardcore crime, I continued my adventures in Vietnam with little difficulty thanks to fantastic friends and agreeable Scotiabank Visa employees.


Also, Vietnam is pretty cheap. I ate like a king for the remainder of my time in the fair country despite my having been rendered essentially impoverished by normal standards. The average price of some of the best meals of my life ran about 3 dollars. None too shabby.

Another rather affordable aspect of Vietnam seems to be anything tourism related. While in Hanoi I took in a handful of museums and a water puppet show, all for under 20 bucks combined. Hell, we even stopped in to pay Ho Chi Mhin a visit. He looks well, though his aesthetician may have had a heavy hand with the botox. Hardiharharhar. What I want to know is how anyone can presume to know whether or not what is believed to be the preserved Ho Chi Mhin isn't just a wax statue.

We also hit a museum that was dedicated to exploring the different ethnologic components of Vietnam and area. This might have been my favourite educational part of the whole trip. The whole museum was really well done and it even had a pretty big open-air exhibit portion where we got to see all the different kinds of lodgings for these dfferent groups of people. My favourite was a structure that was elevated and had a floor that was made of scarcely spaced bamboo shoots with thinner pieces of bamboo and other foliage thrown over it. It was pretty unnerving walking across it, but the fact that I didn't go crashing through the floor was the justification I used to treat myself to about 5 different entrees at dinner that night.


So, really, my being robbed didn't even effect my quality of life while in Vietnam. It only disallowed me from buying my weight in silk, which is tragic. I still managed to score a few scarves and some bathrobes that would make Hef himself rather jealous.

huffin' and a puffin'

and a blowin' my house down!

But for serious, dear typhoon; take it easy on my window panes.

Currently there is a typhoon raging (in) and around my apartment. Basically, in South Korea in general, I am assured. While I don't think that I actually will die as a result, there really is no harm in asking that you tell my mom I love her. You know, just in case.

Also, it would be positively neat if you flooded the area directly around my school. Hopefully resulting in a day off. Apparently, in Korea there are not snow days. I demand a typhoon-induced-flood-day so that I can stay home and catch up on my sitting and other pressing matters.

Deux

Once back on dry land following our tour of Ha Long Bay and stay on Castaway Island, we settle back into the hostel. It is then that I treated myself, and those around me, by showering for the first time in four days. Don't get me wrong, I've gone longer without showering, and likely will again, but it's different when it is a sauna outside and you've been swimming in water that is not un-clean for days on end. See what I did there? The old double negative.

Having napped on and off on the bus back to Hanoi, les filles and I feel up to a "night out." We head to an Irish bar in downtown Hanoi. By the way, if there is one thing these past few months has taught me, it's that the Irish are such infamous drinkers as to have drinking establishments made in their likeness all around the world - even where there are no actual Irish present. WHAT A LEGACY!

Halfway through our night, we are "encouraged" by the police to partake in a change of venue. Fair. Who are we to argue seeing as how we don't speak Vietnamese? So we pour into the street outside the bar. It is then that things took a turn for the impoverished. The bar that we were to be going to provided cabs for people to encourage their business. While debating whether or not Lazer and I should get in a cab or go on the back of Rian's bike. It was in the moment of choosing 'taxi' that Marc Prymack inadvertently robbed me of around 400 bones and caused me a lot of hassle. Was it not for me having promised him to never get on the back of a guy's motorcylce....in Vietnam...in flip flops..etc... I would still have my wallet. But, I might also have road rash. Such is the nature of most gambles.

So, we are left as the last silly, foreign, white girls outside this bar. We are ushered towards a cab. We are forced inside. I am relieved of my wallet by two nice Vietnamese youth on motorcycles. My street cred skyrockets - D*Pryme's rap EP drops this Holiday Season.