Angkor Wat and environs

I won't say much about the bus ride from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap. It was long and dull. I wanted to take the speedboat up the Tonlé Sap Lake, but my timing was bad—the water wasn't high enough. Even during the peak season there's still a good chance of running aground, I was told. So I gave it up, bought a bus ticket and spent a rather dull six hours in transit. 

I stayed at the King Boutique Hotel in Siem Reap. I later found out that "boutique hotel" is a slightly more upscale and discreet version of a love motel in Southeast Asia. That explains the starkness of my room. No decorations, no paintings, no wallpaper, nothing. Just a bed, a bathroom, a nicked, gouged wooden wardrobe painted all in black, and four white walls. 

Anyway, I didn't come here to tell you that. I came here to tell you about Angkor Wat. 

It's laughably easy to get around in Siem Reap, folks: fifteen dollars to hire a tuk-tuk for the day, and they'll take you anywhere. You can tour the great ruins of the ancient Khmer capital of Angkor on either a full-day (large circle) tour or the half-day (small circle) one. I did the small circle, starting with Angkor Wat itself. 

Let me explain something: "wat" means "temple." "Angkor" means "city," so Angkor Wat is literally "city temple." I know what you're thinking: Why did the ancient Cambodians live in a city named "City"? Beats me. Maybe because the names "Dikshit" and "Long Dong" were already taken. 

My tuk-tuk driver was named Yot. He pronounced it "yutz," and I labored hard to avoid stigmatizing him on that basis. His English was barely comprehensible, but fortunately he was a man of few words. He had a sneaky, shifty air about him that I didn't like. Nonetheless he was capable and patient, and drove me around Angkor Wat, the Bayon, and Ta Prohm with a brief stop for lunch in between. We established a routine: he'd drive me to a locale, I'd hop out and arrange a time to meet up with him, and he'd go park in the shade and unstring his hammock for a nap. I'd wander about the jungle-clad temples, gawping like a moron, for 45 minutes or so, and then off we'd go again. In this way I saw the Bayon...

...and Ta Prohm, the so-called "Tomb Raider temple," because it had the grievous misfortune of having an Angelina Jolie movie made there. 

This place was far prettier and more astounding than Angkor Wat. 

I was told that I'd feel like Indiana Jones walking around Ta Prohm, and boy, did I ever. 

I have no idea who this guy is, but his girlfriend was standing right next to me, taking his picture. 

It was after we got back to Siem Reap that Yot lived up to his unfortunate name. I got out of his tuk-tuk and turned to find him standing there, hand held out. I forked over his fifteen smacks, but he remained where he was, palm-up. 

"Tip, please," he said. 

The nerve of this character, I thought. 

"We agreed on a flat rate," I told him. You yutz, I added in my head. 

"Tip," he insisted. "Twenty dollars."

To this day I'm not sure whether Yot was asking me for five U.S. dollars, which would have brought his total fee to twenty, or for a further frickin' twenty bucks, a 133% bonus. Either way, I was incensed. I told him, as politely as I knew how, to go take a flying leap on a rolling doughnut.

I felt an acute need for another human's company (and a chronic need for a beer), so I walked from my hotel to the Old Market and Pub Street. I was bitterly disappointed with both: nothing but crappy souvenirs in the former and overpriced, foreign-themed cocktail bars full of phonies in the latter. I bought the most masculine-looking notebook I could find (my previous journal being filled to capacity) and went home to catch some bad Asian dramas and a little shuteye before I bugged out for Thailand in the morning. 

30 Days to a Better Man, Day 24: play!

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, right? Especially if Jack's a writer.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull b--

I should probably stop before you get freaked out.

Anyway, today's challenge is to play. Thirty minutes of pure, unadulterated fun time. Yes, I know that's not really specific. But that's the point. There are many different types of "play." You can do anything you want, as long as it isn't video games. I really like what the AoM article says. "Keep in mind that some of the best play involves novelty, curiosity, and most of all, exploration, whether of the limits of your body, new physical locations, or the corners of your mind." You should stretch a point and do something creative. Build a model, go bouldering, shoot pool, ride your bike, challenge your buddies to a pick-up game of basketball, bust out that jigsaw puzzle, go exploring, whatevs. You just have to make sure that you're doing it for no other reason than fun. The point of the activity is the activity itself. It's time to let go of all those manly responsibilities and have some fun. 

I kind of wish I'd done this challenge in summer. It's hard to get into the mood to play when it's cloudy, slushy, and drippy outside. I have a quick errand to run at Sejong University and then I'm a free man after lunch. I have this whole wide city to play in and I can't decide what to do. I really want to do something outside this jail cell of an apartment, I know that much. I had originally planned to hop a train down to Suwon and see Hwaseong Fortress, but it'd look so dreary in this weather.

Okay.

I have an idea.

I'll pick a section of Seoul I haven't properly explored yet and go explore it. Yeouido Island might be a likely place to start. It's a big island that sticks out from the southern shore of the Han River. "Island" is a liberal term; only a tiny, muddy, meter-wide strip of water separates it from the rest of the peninsula. I've been there a few times before; I really love the park this time of year, and the 63 Building is pricey but has one of the best views of Seoul. I've never taken the time to stroll around and see anything else, though, particularly the National Assembly. I won't go in for the guided tour (you must make reservations three days in advance), but I can at least see the façade, the visitor's center and the extensive lawns out front. It's been a while since I went exploring for exploring's sake. I'll find myself a little mom-and-pop shop afterward and snack on gimbap, ramyeon or bibimbap, and then sit in a coffee shop with a view of the river and read Paul Theroux's Ghost Train to the Eastern Star. Sounds like a nice play-day.

Play along for Day 25.

making a bug-out bag in Korea

Do you know what a bug-out bag is?

If you don't, follow that link and read the article. You'll need some context. I'll wait.

In case you're too lazy to do that, though, let me just give you the skinny: the term "bugging out" means evacuating your home due to fire, earthquake, poison gas leak, alien invasion...or war. A bug-out bag is an emergency kit, personally assembled by you, a forward-thinking human being, in case you have to be away from your home for 72 hours.

The only natural disasters that face Seoul on a regular basis are monsoons, fires, and maybe the occasional tsunami. (Japan does a pretty good job of soaking up all the typhoons and earthquakes that come this way, though.)

You have to remember, though, what's sitting just 60 kilometers (37 miles) north of this city.

That's right. North Korea.

On Wednesdays I have no class, which means I get to putter around doing whatever I want. Today even more so: I had no choice but to moon around the apartment all day waiting for the deliveryman to arrive with the Coleman waterproof matches I ordered from Gmarket. I bought myself a Stanwell beechwood pipe and some tobacco a month ago, but I've been dogged by the lack of proper lighting materials. You can't use a Zippo to light a pipe, 'cause the butane makes the tobacco taste funny. Moreover, you have to hold the lighter upside-down, and that singes your fingers. Wooden matches, however, neither taint the flavor of your smoke nor char the rim of your pipe. So I had my heart set on matches. After a fruitless search through every grocery mart, convenience store and bar in my area, I found them on Gmarket and ordered them. They were due to arrive today, and the deliveryman wouldn't just leave them at the door; I had to receive them personally. So I couldn't leave.

To pass the time, I watched the 2012 movie Red Dawn.

And suddenly I thought of a much better use for those Coleman waterproof matches.

The movie made me realize just how unprepared Miss H and I were for a disaster—of any kind. She and I have talked about preparing bug-out bags for months now, ever since we moved into our new place in East Seoul. We did all the usual stay-at-home preparations, like compiling our important documents, files, IDs, bankbooks and passports into one convenient and safe location, buying eight liters of emergency water, acquiring flashlights and lanterns and candles and a fire extinguisher, et cetera. But somehow we never got around to putting together a bug-out bag. Senseless, I know. A 72-hour emergency kit would be invaluable in case we had to leave the apartment (and, say, assemble at Jamsil Stadium for evacuation by the U.S. Army as North Korean troops overrun the DMZ).

So I resolved to fix this inadequacy this very afternoon. After taking delivery of the matches, I stuck six boxes into my Timberland® 20-liter backpack. (The other six boxes will go into my drawer with my pipe.)

And that was the start of it all. I hunted high and low through the apartment and located some other items to stick in:

• 2 cans of tuna
• Nature Valley® granola bars
• 2 flashlights
• a deck of cards
• plastic sporknife (yes, they exist)
• diarrhea medication
• multitool
• first-aid kit
• sunblock
• lens wipes
• 2 liters of water
• complete change of clothes
• Colgate® WISP™ toothbrushes
• lensatic compass
• Ziploc® bags
• vitamin tablets
• cash and coins

Noticing that there were several items on my list that just weren't in the apartment, I hopped the subway across the river to Cheonho and went to E-Mart. There, I acquired the following:

• Ottogi tuna (2 bundles of 3 cans, ₩3960 apiece)
• bowls of prepared rice (pack of 3, ₩3450)
• Diget chocolate biscuits (₩1580)
• Dr. You granola bars (2 boxes of 4, ₩3980 apiece)
• kitchen knife (₩2000)
• small paring knife (₩1000)
• folding knife (₩5100)
• hand saw (₩7900)
• folding trowel (₩7500)
• packet of quick-start charcoal (₩1360)
• camping rope (6mm x 10m, ₩2,900)
• duct tape (10 meters, ₩1350)

The items remaining on my list are:

• glow sticks (for when flashlights fail)
• hand-cranked radio
• ponchos
• tarp
• space blankets
• signal mirror (though I think I'll just use the small shaving mirror in my grooming kit)
• safety whistle
• camp axe

I'll have to get these either at Homeplus (which is a subsidiary of Tesco, and generally better stocked than E-Mart) or a camping supply store.

Some of you might scoff at the completeness of this list. "What do you need a hand axe for?" you'll ask. Good question. Hopefully, we'll never need it. But just in case the North Koreans come storming across that border faster than expected (or they bring some Chinese or Russian friends with them), I want to be ready. The worst-case scenario here is Miss H and I hiking through the wild hills of K-Land trying to get back behind friendly lines, or make our way down to Busan to catch a boat for Japan. If we have to rough it for a few days, at least I'll have the tools, ropes, tarps, and matches I need to make our campsites comfortable. Even if the North Koreans never invade (or the zombies never attack, it don't matter to me) we'll at least have a well-stocked supply kit for untoward exigencies.

One more thing.

You'll notice that I entitled this post "making a bug-out bag in Korea."

The emphasis was intentional. There are some items which I would normally include in my bug-out bag, but can't, because I live in Korea. The first one, obviously, is this:

A gun, stupid.

When disaster strikes, people go crazy. Ain't no denying that. I think K (Tommy Lee Jones's character from the Men in Black franchise) said it best:  "A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you know it." So when the crap hits the fan and looters take to the streets, I want to be prepared to defend what's mine: my life, my property and my loved ones. I have to be honest: as an American, I'm a bit uncomfortable living in a country that doesn't allow private gun ownership, especially when there's a militaristic regime lurking on the horizon.

The second item is this:

It's a survival knife, in case you didn't know. An Aitor Jungle King II, to be exact. I haven't really shopped around and chosen the survival knife that best suits me, but this is pretty much what I'm looking for: a straight blade with a saw-edge and a good long grip with a lanyard ring. A splendid knife for cutting branches, skinning game, or personal defense.

Korea has this thing about knives, though. Turns out that any pocketknife with a blade longer than six centimeters (a paltry 2.36 inches) is classified as a "sword" under Korean law, and requires a "sword permit." This means that the 10-inch Bowie knife I have in my footlocker back in California would get me chucked in jail over here. Bollocks. I'm not sure what the laws concerning non-folding or straight-bladed knives are like, but I have a feeling they're similarly restrictive. The three knives I bought today at E-Mart were an attempt to ameliorate this deficiency.

And there you have it! My Korean bug-out bag. Once I acquire those last few vital items (particularly the tarp and ponchos), Miss H and I will be well ahead of any disaster which fickle chance decides to throw at us. With any luck, we'll never need this stuff, but it sure will be nice to have on hand.

And if we want to go camping, we're already packed...

Monkey Park Iwatayama

Ever felt the irresistible urge to reach out and, y'know, feed a monkey?

Of course. We all have. I'm no exception. And that was precisely what I set out to do as I turned left, away from the Togetsukyo Bridge and started up the long, hot, weary climb up the side of Arashiyama.

Nice torii...

Taking the management's sound advice, I stopped at the front gate to (a) pay the ¥550 admission fee and (b) purchase a bottle of water and rehydrate. I had sweated buckets walking in the still moist heat from Arashiyama Station, and it looked like there was a sweaty climb ahead of me.

I won't go into detail here, but after a series of endless, muddy switchbacks, punctuated at points by fan-misters that the management had thoughtfully set up along the trail, my weary eyes at last beheld this prospect:

See the monkeys, man? SEE 'EM??

And let me tell you something: this park was really incredible, because monkeys. Monkeys everywhere. Short-tailed, brown-furred, pink-eyed Japanese macaques, also called snow monkeys.

I didn't pause to take any pictures outside; I wanted to get inside and cool off. My satchel and camera bag were stuck to my sides with sweat. I peeled them off, fanning myself furiously, and began to gaze around. I was in a large room with wooden benches and a high ceiling with bare rafters. There were large apertures in the wooden walls, encircling the room 180 degrees. Wire mesh was clamped to these empty spaces. From the mesh hung more monkeys. I turned around. Behind me, there was a counter, where a bored-looking woman was chopping up apples and bagging peanuts. Monkey food, the sign said, 100 yen.

Oh heck yeah.

So I forked over some dough, picked up a plastic baggie full of apple chunks, and then walked to the windows. What followed was sheer giggles with a side of glee.

After I'd sufficiently cooled down, I sallied back outside and got some snaps of the two things Iwatayama is most famous for: a spectacular view of the city of Kyoto below, and monkeys.

And more monkeys.

Monkeys napping!

Monkeys having accidents!

Old monkeys and young monkeys!

Monkeys going fishing!

Monkeys doing calisthenics!

Monkeys grooming monkeys!

Monkeys doing absolutely nothing!

People taking photos of monkeys!

Two monkeys at once!

More two monkeys at once!

Monkeypalooza!

Mad monkey mania!

[slap]

Whew, I needed that. Alright, I'll stop. The view was quite nice too:

Setting aside the grand vistas and the majestically murderous mob of maniacal, mawkish, memorable monkeys everywhere, there were also majestic, murderous, maniacal, mawkish, memorable monkeyshines. Such as...feeding time. An attendant showed up with a bucket and began scattering its contents all over creation, and the monkeys just mobbed him. I didn't get it. These damn macaques had been stuffing their faces at the windows all day, courtesy of yours truly. They were so gorged on apples and unshelled peanuts that I'm surprised they didn't fall out of the trees. Then the attendant went outside with his food-bucket and pandemonium broke loose (with the finale from Rossini's William Tell Overture playing on the loudspeakers).

Here's the aftermath:

And so, having completed my foray into Kyoto-overviewing and monkey-feeding, it was time to head back down to the suburb of Arashiyama and onto my next stop: SAGANO BAMBOO FOREST. Don't miss it. Unless you've been to a bamboo forest before, in which case you know perfectly well what's coming. In that case, you can slope off for a beer. G'wan, git!