walking to Oksu

Hey there, blogsphere.

I'm going to start posting on this here blog more regularly. One of my Facebook friends put me on to Young Adventuress, and I tell you: it's hard to find a cooler travel blog. I've visited lots and they were all pretty insipid, or were glorified travel brochures, or spent way too much time trying to look cool instead of focusing on the important stuff like quality writing. YA doesn't bother too much about that crap. And she belongs to the same philosophical school of blogging that I do: nice, long, wordy, florid, descriptive, opinion-driven posts with scads of luscious photos, breezy language, profound ideas and whatnot. So hey, follow along. She's gotten some intense recognition for her blog 'cause she works darn hard at it. 

Anyway, she also offers advice for wannabe travel bloggers, and part of it is to blog frequently and build a platform (Instagram, Twitter, Google+, Pinterest...everything). Awful similar to the advice I keep reading for wannabe novelists, too. Build that platform, build that platform. Create ways to get seen and get contacted. 

So I decided to get serious. I now have a Twitter account, and I went through and revamped my Google+ pages (both my writer's page and my blog's page). As soon as I get home and get a smartphone I'll update my Instagram account and start posting photos regularly there and let you folks know how to find me. I've updated my contact info on this page, too—see the about me page just underneath the big title up top. 

So...what to post? I don't believe I've shown you nearly enough of South Korea or Seoul. So here's some pics from another long walk I took on Saturday, November 8. All told it was about 7.3 kilometers, or 4.5 miles, on a grey, misty day that couldn't really decide what it wanted to be and just sort of hung there like it was waiting for its ship to come in.

I love walking around this town. Since I started doing all these long walks last month, I've discovered so many strange and wonderful things hiding just around the corner. A couple of weeks ago I saw a guy sitting on a bench by the Jungang Stream with a big blue macaw on his wrist. No explanation, no signage, nothing. Just a guy and his parrot. This particular Wednesday, as I walked from my oneroomtel to my new favorite burger joint in Oksu-dong, Seongdong-gu (near Oksu Station on Line 3), I saw this—some kind of dredging operation going on near the northern bank of the Han River, about level with Seongsu-dong, not far from Seoul Forest. 

Looking east along the bicycle path on the northern shore. You can baaaaaarely see the incomplete Lotte World Tower in the misty distance, in Jamsil.

Looking west, downriver toward the Seongsu Bridge.

Han River Park beneath Gangbyeonbuk-ro (North Riverside Road) in Oksu-dong.

Now I simply must tell you about this burger place, kids. It's called Bartwo. It's a beer-and-burger pub, and one of the absolute finest places in Seoul to get a goddamn good burger. It's right at the interesection of Deoksodang-ro and Hallimmal 3-gil, just a few steps up a hill from Oksu Station (go out Exit 4, turn right, pass the Paris Baguette on the left, and walk up the hill; it'll be on the right at the T-junction). I've been there a few times and have never been let down. The owner, Jeremy, is a gyopo and speaks really good English. He's a friendly dude and he keeps his bar stocked with excellent West Coast craft beers like Ballast Point and North Coast, and some I'd never seen in Korea before (Widmer Brothers anyone?). The Bartwo draft beer is only ₩2,500 a pop and tastes surprisingly good. The extensive menu includes stuffed peppers, tortilla pizza, chips and salsa, hot dogs, burgers, sandwiches, and salads. Also these, the fried mandu (Korean dumplings) with homemade salsa, three for ₩7,000: 

One word: INCREDIBLE.

The crowning glory is the Oksu Burger, ₩9,000. Beef patty cooked to perfection before your eyes, fresh red onion, lettuce, dill pickle (not sweet), tomato, melted cheese, fresh bun, a pile of fries, and all the ketchup and mustard you want. Add in the seasonal import beer (Sam Adams OctoberFest, ₩8,000) and the pickles I got as a side order (₩2,000) and my total bill came to ₩27,000 for one evening's debauch. 

  

How's that for a slice of fried gold?

Bangkok, day two: Wat Suthat and the Giant Swing

After I left Wat Phony I walked all the way around the National Museum, the royal palace and Wat Phra Kaew. Seemed to take hours, though it was barely one. No tuk-tuks today, remember? I'd promised myself. 

I'd originally intended to tour the palace and Wat Phra Kaew, but I changed my mind when I came around the corner of the palace wall and saw the pulsating throng crowding the main gate. White tourists buses kept rolling up and disgorging clamoring heaps of pudgy, fatuous, ridiculously-dressed Asian and European tourists, and I "couldn't get no show" as Mark Twain would say. I walked on, past the museum, fighting my way through the stagnant afternoon heat, trailing a japing pack of young Thai army cadets on a long and completely unnecessary detour around Saranrom Park. I probably should've stopped and strolled through this park, but didn't because another pack of army cadets was doing drills in it and I didn't want to have anything to do with the military while I was here. 

On the east side of the park I was accosted by a plain-clothed policeman of Chinese descent with a bristly, pencil-thin mustache and a whiny, nasally voice who wanted me to walk (or rather, hire a tuk-tuk) to take me to the giant standing Buddha at Wat Intharawihan. I nodded, said I'd consider it, and walked north to Wat Suthat (and the Giant Swing, which isn't really a swing at all). 

In this temple, I found Nirvana—or the closest thing to it on such a hot, miserable, swampy day. I sat down on the red velvet floor and gazed contemplatively over the enormous sitting Buddha, with his long earlobes and his languorous hooded eyes and his lips tinged with that old Angkor smile. I liked Wat Suthat better than any other temple I'd been in, and I've been to temples in six Asian countries. I've been to temples with Buddha statues of solid emerald and floors of pure silver, temples with heaps of glittering gold artifacts sitting at the Enlightened One's feet, temples saturated with the smell of incense and washed with the rays of the sun and the spray of the sea. To blazes with them all; I liked Wat Suthat. 

It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was airy and breezy and cool. There were hardly any phonies. The ceiling was high and vaulted and had all the quiet reverential quality of a church. The pillars and walls were coated in scenes depicting the life and trials of the prince Siddhartha, fantastically intact after all this time. There were a few worshipers—old men, mostly—quietly meditating and bowing. Electric fans hummed soothingly away in the background. I sat on the temple grounds for 40 minutes and inside the temple proper for 15, just soaking up the atmosphere (and drying off after my long walk). 

Ho Chi Minh City, day one

Travel Truth #2: It pays to have friends. 

The light in which you first see a city is important. No unfamiliar metropolis looks attractive under grey, cloudy skies. Maybe some of the towns in Western Europe could pull it off, but definitely not Asia. 

I first saw Ho Chi Minh City (which from hereon I shall interchangeably refer to as either "HCMC" or "Saigon") under the pale pink light of dawn, and it was already bustling. Scooters—even more numerous than they'd been in Hanoi—warred for room on the roads with trucks and cars and taxicabs. Shopkeepers, fruit sellers, noodle-mongers, and other vendors were just opening their doors. The city was stretching and yawning wakefully under the warm, steamy, slanting light of the morning sun, which leaped above the horizon with equatorial swiftness. I observed all this as I rode in a cab from the Saigon Railway Station in District 3 to Cong Quynh Street in District 1 (which, I believe, was named after a popular scholar who lived during the Le-Trinh dynasty). 

It was barely six-thirty. Check-in time wasn't for another nine hours. But my road had been paved ahead of me. A Geordie friend whom I knew from my Geoje days, Adam, knew the morning receptionist at Green Suites. He'd greased a few wheels for me, and she admitted me to the hotel for no extra charge. Pays to have friends, see?

I had to wait a couple of hours for a room to be cleaned and prepared for me, but hey—no extra charge! 

Green Suites was infinitely better than the Asia Star in Hanoi—bigger, brighter, cleaner rooms, an enormous bathroom, a double bed whose mattress eschewed the usual Asian adamance, and more tasteful interior décor. Gratefully I flung my baggage down and took a long shower. I considered a nap, but I was too excited. I hadn't seen Adam, Jeff, or Jenn in something like six months, and now here we were in an entirely new city in an entirely new country and about to go exploring. Hell yeah. Just you try to sit still, mister. 

Adam showed up to get me at half-past noon, and we walked through a crooked series of shade- and sun-drenched alleys to Jeff and Jenn's hotel. They'd had a hell of a time getting to Vietnam from Indonesia; their Tiger Air flight had delivered them safely but their baggage was still stuck in Singapore. To mend their stressed souls we wended our way through the twisting alleys to a nearby café and had us some Vietnamese coffee. 

Now perhaps you haven't heard about Vietnamese iced coffee, or cà phê đá in the local lingo. To quote Wikipedia, it's "coarse-ground Vietnamese-grown dark roast coffee individually brewed with a small metal French drip filter into a cup containing about a quarter to a half as much sweetened condensed milk, stirred and poured over ice." 

And that's about all you need to know, really. Aside from the fact that it's freaking delicious.

And you know what else is freaking delicious? Bacon sandwiches. 

This place was called The Hungry Pig, started by a wet-behind-the-ears English university grad who obeyed the call to "Go east, young man, go east" and, like so many of his British peers, became an entrepreneur in the Orient. This little grub shop at 144 Cong Quynh was the flagship store for what is hoped will be a country- (and perhaps continent-) spanning enterprise someday. If they keep making sandwiches that good, they'll do it just fine. You could order any fixed item on the menu or even customize ingredients to create your own Frankenstein of a sandwich. I had maple bacon and chorizo on whole grain bread with lettuce, tomato, green pepper, and red onion, plus cheddar cheese and HP ("brown") Sauce. And a little Saigon beer, of course. Fantastic.

But who can be satisfied with only one breakfast? This was HCMC and we were all on vacation. We walked down Cong Quynh, crossed Nguyen Cu Trinh, and had some cơm tấm Sài Gòn—Saigon-style broken rice, a signature dish. I got shredded pork on top of my rice and some kind of soft tofu ball with meat inside. We had 333 Beer and some excellent conversation with Stacey, Adam's girlfriend. 

By and by Stacey had to leave to do lesson plans and Adam had to go to work, so that left Jeff, Jenn, and me free to do some exploring. We wandered through District 1's notable areas, including Twenty-Three September Park and Bến Thành Market. 

Bến Thành Market, one of Saigon's oldest buildings, is that building with the clock in the left background. 

There were some pretty cool T-shirts that I wanted to buy, including one with a silhouette of a B-52 and that famous quote by General Curtis LeMay—"They've got to draw in their horns and stop their aggression, or we're going to bomb them back into the Stone Age"—but as usual, nothing fit me properly. Even the XXL shirts fit me like a tailored vest, with my ample stomach sticking out by a mile. So I had to quit on the business. Jeff and I wandered through the vast shopping arcade with its lofty French colonial ceiling, humid air, overworked oscillating fans, its overflowing shopping stalls stuck way too close together, and the stumpy saleswomen who kept plucking at our elbows and sleeves as we walked by. To escape these personal intrusions Jeff and I went across the road and waited for Stacey at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf (yes, they have those in Vietnam) to sample what Westernized commercialism has done to indigenous culture. Then we went back to our hotels for a rest.

At 5:45 we met Stacey at a place called L'Usine on Dong Khoi. It was a French-style wine and cheese sort of place, with faux-stucco walls, iron rails, potted plants, and strange realist paintings of geared devices on the walls. ("L'Usine" apparently means "Factory" in French.) We drank wine (house red and house white) and ate baguettes, cheese, figs, quince jam, marinated olives, frites, and calamari. The prices were exorbitant—for Southeast Asia. For foreigners like us it was dirt cheap. Leave it to the Brits to sniff out French wine-and-cheese joints while they're on holiday. I added L'Usine to my mental list of "places to take Miss H later" and enjoyed myself to the fullest. 

Then it was time for another break. Walking around in the hot streets and still, humid air of Southeast Asian megacities really takes it outta ya. 

We met Adam (finally off work) at 10 p.m. near my hotel. Green Suites occupies an alleyway just off the main thoroughfare of Cong Quynh, and said alleyway happens to be full of streetside eateries. One of these, Oc Trang, seats its customers on little blue plastic lawn chairs and stubby metal tables beside a cracked, crumbling, white-plastered cinderblock wall. Then it gives 'em as much phở and Bia Saigon (83 cents a bottle) as they can eat. The four of us sat around, staring out at the brightly-lit street behind us, tucking in our elbows and knees whenever a scooter roared down the alley, enduring the stares of the old women and young boys skulking in corners, watching geckos crawl across the cinderblock wall to eat gnats attracted by the floodlights, while the patrons of Oc Trang ate gaily-colored snails, prawns, and frog legs. I think that's what I'll remember most about my time in southern Vietnam, besides the cheap beer, dirty streets, and hordes of honking scooters—those geckos. They were everywhere in Vietnam and Cambodia and Thailand, sitting under the eaves near light sources and gobbling bugs by the bushel. 

Stop by next time if you want to hear about the Cu Chi tunnels. 

down by the Yangjae Stream

There's a lovely little...ah, screw it. Just look at the dang pictures.

I see these occasionally in the broader areas of Daemosan Station or out here in the secluded shade of the Yangjae Stream: group exercise classes. Always elderly or middle-aged women and always with sugary American pop music playing in the background. 

Not only does Korea go to the trouble of landscaping all these marvelous stream- and riverbanks, but they stick up exercise equipment as well...completely for free! Even halfway up the sides of mountains!

moving to Gangnam

This is my first official post from our new three-bedroom apartment in Gangnam!

Okay, I'm sorry. I had to. 

Anyway, it was a heck of a move—much more difficult than last time. The mover was a great guy named Jho whom I found on Craigslist and he showed up on time and was very chatty and told me what the name Jamsil means (magnanery) and discussed his favorite dish daegutang (codfish stew) and was just generally helpful. 

No, the complications arose when we arrived at our new high-rise apartment complex in Gaepo-dong, Gangnam-gu. The building security officer came out of his little cave-like office and promptly informed Jho and me that I'd have to stump up ₩50,000 if I wanted to use the elevator to take the thirty-odd boxes up to the 13th floor. Jeez. Apartment complex policy or something like that. So I paid the man and Joseph (the friend from Sejong that I brew with) helped me move everything off the truck. I tipped Jho ₩20,000 on top of his ₩100,000 fee and he left, all smiles. Then Joseph and I began the backbreaking hour-long process of moving everything Miss H and I own in the world from the sidewalk to the elevator and from the elevator to our apartment. 

Whoof. 

Anyway, the work was soon finished, and Joseph departed. I now owe him the biggest dang samgyeopsal dinner ever. 

Then I went back to the Gwangnaru apartment to clean it, and discovered that there was a whole freaking pile of stuff under the bed that I'd forgotten. Miss H was done with her new job training by now, and joined me in Gwangnaru for a moment of panic. The poor woman who was set to take over our apartment was currently sitting in the other new girl's apartment one floor above, waiting to take possession. In a frenzied flurry, Miss H and I cleaned, called two taxicabs, loaded our remaining truck into the trunks and backseats, and then hared off for Gangnam after handing over the keys. We traveled through the gathering dusk and the rush-hour traffic, the whole city cloaked in a broiling fume of Chinese yellow dust, gagging and coughing and cursing the day we were born, and moved the final two loads up the slow-ass elevator and into our new home. 

Move accomplished. 

This apartment is five rooms: three bedrooms, a bathroom and a dining room/kitchen. Two single guys had been sharing it before we arrived. The place was an absolute wreck: stinking of unwashed bedding and dirty dishes, grime covering every surface, the bathroom clotted with mold, dust bunnies and grit and loose change littering the floor. We called up our old friend Miss J from Bucheon, and the three of us spent all Sunday cleaning. We bought her Papa John's pizza as compensation (thank goodness we live within range of their delivery service; that was the first thing we ascertained). 

The apartment has slowly become livable over the past four days. Every night Miss H and I clean and unpack some more, and by this weekend we have high hopes that it'll be fit for company. It'll be bare and spartan and rather sparse, but we plan on a few runs to Homeplus for area rugs and perhaps to Insadong for Korean-themed decorations. With any luck, the apartment will have become a home before another week is out. 

...which is good, 'cause my lady and I need a clean, comfy place to crash after work. I love my new schedule, but dang, my Tuesdays and Thursdays are intense: composition classes all day, and a 90-minute listening class at 9:00 in the morning. Yikes. Miss H's kids already have her on the hop, too. Both of us are looking forward to the first weekend when we can relax in Daejin Park or go for a craft beer at Hopscotch or the first preseason baseball game at Jamsil Stadium on March 22. 

Pictures will come as soon as we finish cleaning. Postie out. 

Hokkaido diary: a weekend in Busan

2/8: 

11:30 a.m. This'll be the last entry. Meant to write it last night, but a lot of stuff happened.

Landing and disembarking [from the New Camellia] were a breeze. I'm getting to be an old pro at this. Out the hatch, down the ramp, along the skyways, through immigration and customs, out the doors to the ₩1000 Busan Station bus, and through traffic to the station. I stashed my stuff in lockers, grabbed a snack (odeng and ddeokbokki, ₩4000) and spent the next three hours flailing around the area of Nampo, Jungang and the station trying to find a hotel. Busan Tourist Hotel was cheap, but the rooms were old and shabby and reeked of secondhand smoke. Tower Hill Inn, a hundred yards away (so named because it sits at the foot of Busan Tower in Nampo-dong) was way too expensive—₩220,000 per night. I settled on the Tokoyo Inn—cheaper, cleaner, brighter, and near the station. Then I met Adam and his girlfriend Stacey for wang galbi and beer and soju. Adam is reading my novel manuscript. He described it to Stacey and it was like watching a machine I'd built start up and go for the first time. It was wonderful. Stacey expressed interest, and Adam did nothing but praise me (he always does that). I walked out of there with my head the size of a Buick. 

Then I grabbed Miss H at the station, took her to the hotel, and we both passed out. Now we're up and around, getting ready to see the tower, the park beneath it, Nampo Shopping Street, and just make a day of it. Postie out. 

THE END

And so it came to pass that Miss H and I enjoyed a wonderful weekend in Busan. On Saturday we shopped, ate and drank to our hearts' content, toured Yongdusan Park and Busan Tower (pictured above), had dinner with our lovely friend Jenn (congratulations on your recent engagement!) and sped home on the KTX on Sunday happy and fulfilled. 

The view south from Busan Tower, looking over the fishing fleets in the portion of the harbor west of Mount Bongrae.

And now I'm back in Seoul, taking walks, exploring the city, reading, writing, and frantically trying to extend my visa, switch my status from E-2 (foreign instructor) to E-1 (foreign professor), notify the immigration authorities of my impending change of address, head to the Driver's License Authority to get a temporary international driver's license so Miss H and I can rent a car and move our stuff from our apartment in Gwangnaru to our new two-bedroom apartment in...

...drum roll, please...

...GANGNAM!

Hokkaido itinerary

I'm starting this post at 12:50 a.m. on what is technically a Saturday morning. My flight to Tokyo leaves early on Sunday afternoon. Before that, though, I need to fill you in on my itinerary. So here 'tis:

Sunday, February 2

•    depart Incheon Airport at 1:20 p.m.
• arrive Narita Airport at 3:30 p.m.
• take the Skyliner to Ueno Station, then ride down the Ginza Line to Kanda
• leave the station and head a few meters south to Capsule Value Kanda
• eat some dinner and read that Tokyo chapter in Ghost Train to the Eastern Star

Monday, February 3

•    at 7:00 a.m., head to Tokyo Station and activate my Japan Rail Pass
• hop the JR Tohoku Shinkansen for Shin-Aomori (3.5 hours)
• transfer to the JR Hakucho limited express to Hakodate (2 hours)
• transfer to the JR Hokuto limited express to Sapporo (3.5 hours) 
• don't forget to read all the relevant chapters of Ghost Train as you do this
•   walk a block west and six blocks north from Sapporo Station 
• find the Sapporo Clark Hotel (check in 3 PM, check out 10 AM)

Tuesday, February 4

•    wake up, get breakfast
• head to Sapporo Station and catch the express to Asahikawa
• take bus 41, 42 or 47 from the station to Asahikawa Zoo (40 minutes, 400 yen) 
• come back and get some Asahikawa ramen near the station
• catch the train back to Sapporo

Wednesday, February 5

•    wake up, get breakfast
• take in the Sapporo Snow Festival in Odori Park
• go up the Sapporo TV Tower and take some pics
• walk south a block to Sapporo Tram (Nishi 8 Chome Station)
• ride nine stops to Ropeway Iriguchi Station and then west to the Sanroku cable car station
• take the cable car up to Mt. Moiwa
• come back down and go back to Ropeway Iriguchi Station; ride 13 stops to Susukino
• get some eats and drinks; take in the Snow Festival some more
• walk back to Odori Park and get some shots of the Sapporo TV Tower at night
• hit the sack

Thursday, February 6

•    check out of the Sapporo Clark Hotel at five o'clock or so
• head to Sapporo Station and catch the 6:00 AM limited express
• do the whole trip again in reverse, except ask for Hakata at Shin-Aomori
• arrive in Hakata at 12:00 AM...

Friday, February 7

•    find something to do with yourself for a few hours...perhaps an izakaya
• catch Bus 11, 19 or 50 to Hakata Ferry Terminal
• check in at the Camellia Line desk at 11:00 AM
• ferry departs at 12:30 PM; arrives in Busan at 6:00 PM

And there you have it. I'll arrive in Busan, tired and hungry perhaps, but ready for Adam's going-away party. Then it'll be the KTX back up to Seoul on Sunday, February 9. Then it'll be barely two weeks until the staff meeting at Sejong University, and then the new semester begins in March.

Wow.

What a jolly life I've got. 

Noshember (No-Shave November)

I'm participating, in case you didn't know. I'm going to try and grow myself a full beard. Never done that before. I got pretty close last spring, when I was looking at the cherry blossoms in Jamsil:

Then I shaved most of that horrid thing off and cultivated a sort of Gordon Freeman-esque Van Dyke for the intervening summer and autumn:

When November rolled around, I put my razor to bed. In the past few weeks, I've sprouted a bit. You saw how scruffy I looked when I went to Namiseom:

But get this: I'm not going to shave when we reach December. I'm going to keep going through January and possibly February. I'm going to grow this baby out. It took me two months to achieve that Van Dyke; now I'm going to see what four months can do to my entire face.

Hopefully this:

Say whatever you like about Robert Redford, he can grow himself a beardly beard.

Jeremiah Johnson-style. Yeah. Now we're cooking with gas. That's what I'm aiming for. By the time I tromp back to Korea from Hokkaido, Australia, and New Zealand (latest addition to the itinerary), I wanna be sporting a full beard.

Wish me luck...

Seolleung and Jeongneung

Another thing this Facebook hiatus has allowed me to do is get out and get some fresh air—and see more of Seoul. Here are some pictures I took of some tombs and tumuli (burial mounds) in Gangnam. These are just three of the many Joseon-era monarchs scattered around Gyeonggi Province, but they're some of the most scenic...and they're right in the middle of the city. Convenient. Seolleung is comprised of two tombs, that of the ninth Joseon king, Seongjong, and that of his concubine-turned-queen, Jeonghyeon. Jeongneung is the tomb of King Jungjong, Seongjong's eventual successor. (Seongjong's in Seolleung and Jungjong's in Jeongneung. Geddit? Good.)

That lower part on the left is the "king's walkway," where the priests and whatnot may tread. The one on the right is the "spirit walkway." Ain't nobody living can set foot on that. I guess it's a sort of runway for the king's ghost when he comes and goes.

A list of all the offerings left at the king's temple. Erm, maybe temple isn't the right word. There's a three-part process. See, the Koreans believe that these tombs are quite literally the boundaries between the spirit world and the real one. So there's the place of purification, where they prepare themselves for the ceremonial rites; these temple thingies (two pictures above), where tributes are laid; and the actual tomb itself, which is the mound below. Three steps to Heaven.

The view from the (burial) mound, or tumulus.

The queen's mound. (No dirty jokes, please.)

I'm not sure whether Seongjong's or Jeonghyeon's view is better.

I really can't think of a prettier place to be planted...

The offering-house and tumuli of King Jungjong (deposed not long after his ascension).

An engaged (recently married?) Korean couple were taking engagement (marriage?) photos under a lovely tree with auburn leaves. Power to 'em. I even got the dorky tourist taking pictures of them.

Inside the house of the tomb-keeper. It's labeled such on the map, but the placard outside said that it was the "ritual house" where purification rites were conducted prior to memorial ceremonies.

And for your viewing pleasure: a 500-year-old gingko tree. You're welcome.