A Foreign Circus Christmas

This year comes to a close and for many of us, the inevitability of change is the only thing that keeps our eyes on the prize whether that be freedom or some other distant hopeful. Finally the coined team name of "foreign circus" has officially been doted upon us adventure seekers slash English teachers living here in South Korea. After a cold snap that left us longing for nopales and daily avocados had passed, we were able to sneak in a daring mountain excursion. High above the friendly metropolis of Seoul, Suraksan mountain spared our souls and let us frolic upon its giant granite belly for the evening. My Mad-rock soles danced delicately on the 90 foot white washed run-out slab and furious crack fingering followed suit as we chased the shadow of the setting sun. Finally some climbing pictures worth sharing.

Christmas was spent in the company of some sweet folk and food was graciously shared. Although the recipe chosen, "Cashew Bake" called for the oven we just didn't have, our pan fried mock imitation was delicious just the same.

For the Roast:1 cup margarine2 large onions, finely chopped 3 cups unroasted cashews 1 1/2 cups white bread, crusts removed 3 large cloves of garlic 1 cup water or vegetable stock salt and pepper nutmeg 2 Tbsp. lemon juice For the Stuffing: 3 cups bread crumbs 1 cup margarine 2 small onions, grated 1/2 Tsp. each thyme and majoram 3 Tbsp. parsley, chopped

• Preheat oven to 400°F and line a greased 1-lb. loaf pan with a long strip of greased nonstick paper. • Melt margarine in a medium-sized saucepan, add the onion and sauté until tender. Remove from heat.• Grind the cashews in a food processor with the bread and garlic and add to the onion, together with the water or stock, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and lemon juice, to taste.Mix all stuffing ingredients together.• Put half the cashew mixture into the prepared pan, top with the stuffing, then spoon the rest of the nut mixture on top. Dot with margarine.• Stand the pan in another pan to catch drippings and bake for about 30 minutes or until firm and lightly browned (cover the roast with foil if it gets too brown before then).• Cool for a minute or two, then slip a knife around the sides, turn roast out, and strip off the paper. Makes 8 Servings

If you try this recipe with an oven, let me know how it goes...

Epic. Oh, I love that word!

Climbing this weekend was an epic adventure! Below that good old 0 centigrade line that regulates our freezers and our acute human temperature flexors, we were shocked into survival mode. Frozen puddles and light flurries didn't stop us from pursuing one last pull down on the cusp of the rock/ice climbing season. It is longish hike through Seoraksan park, albeit on primarily flat ground, to the little restaurant that serves as a climbers hostal throughout the year.

The rhythmic gong of a Buddhists' prayer echoed in the valley that surrounded us. It hypnotically called us near. High in a cave in one of the mountains only reached by a series of boulder sized stepping stones and metal staircases could we reach the mysterious hole. The trek was constant and just when our lungs were about to burst from the pulsing aerobic uphill, we reached the source of the chanting. A lone woman sat perched on her stoop over looking the sharp teethed rockies. At peace, she welcomed us with a modest head bow when she was finished. The air was faintly humid from our close proximity to the Sea of Japan (or as any and all Koreans will defend, "The East Sea of Korea". For Alec's sake, I will mention that apparently, Japan doesn't have any seas). As we made our way down, the sun was settling in a orange haze draped over the raucous peaks like a creamsicle in the summer.

Unfortunately when we arrived at the hostal, the kind yet unwavering owners mentioned how they were closed for the season and were by no means going to allow us to sleep there. (closed for the season means closed for one month. The only month when we decide to go... nice research). Oh what would any other hardcore dirtbag do... We weren't about to hike back again with our heavy bags so with no other choice, we decided to sleep outside. We found a nook in between some boulders with no wind. Because it got dark so early, we went to bed at around 7 and I froze until hypothermia shock treatment was necessarily employed.

The next morning after a soft suffered eyelid rest we needed to be stealthy and find ourselves a clandestine rock face to practice our obsession. Considering that the forests look very different in the summer with green leaves and well defined destinations, the fall gave us a run around blinding us and disguising the path ahead with its leaves coating the forest floor. Who doesn't enjoy a little "we are almost lost" hikey-poo jumping river boulders and circumnavigating the approach to the crag! Finally, just as Alec and I we were about to give up and bust open the wine, we heard Wes give a little whistle in the distance. As we met, he had his harness on and was ready to whip! Despite the late start, we each got in two routes (for the whole weekend!) and only Wes had to suffer a mild case of the screaming barfies. It is sad to admit that the outdoor rock climbing season is on hold until next year. Now, we just have to wait for the ice - bring on the mix!

Another mighty Seoul extravaganza!

As winter invades the evening sky swirling with soft white flakes, the first of the season, my tongue is the only one unabashedly protruding out of my mouth in childlike awe of a nostalgic phenomenon I used to take for granted.

With Hangul heartbeats pumping fiercely through surges of adrenaline that recognize good company, my entourage and I board the underground rip-around. We, the foreign circus, perform tricks of stealth and strength in the labyrinth of Seoul’s subway system. A quaint display of Western gregariousness, our near blistered hands hold on for the last chance pull-up party, makgeolli debauchery. Our Korean audience members steal corner of the eye glances.

Some sit on the heated metal seats, hands folded in obedience. Some smile and cheer on our ego busting one-handed lock-off showdown.

In the largest indoor Ice climbing wall in the world according to Mr. Guinness himself, I swing for my life. Pumped out and barely able to hold on to the leash-less ice axes that assist me up sheer frozen vertical ice slicks, I pray I won’t drop them on the kind belayers below! This giant-sized freezer reminds me of home. After spending almost 3 years in Mexico, I have forgotten the all- encompassing feeling of the snowsuit necessary, nose numbing cold as the moisture from my breath freezes and thaws on my jacket after each inhale and exhale.

I have been an Ice climber in a past life, but am only now just realizing it in this one. A taste of an often feared extreme winter sport has left me thirsty for more in near dehydration. Sorry mom.

Deserving a little downtime, Lila, Daphne and I share stories and coffee (and a bottle of wine for breakfast) on Sunday morning to appreciate that we can. They listen and give their blunt and honest perspective. They have travelled to the ends of the earth with me and make me almost pee my pants with laughter (or have made me...). I am so lucky to have these girls in my life!

Autumn Adventures in the South of Seonunsan

And so the eight hour bus ride began loaded down once again with rope and draws and camping gear in all its splendour. Oh the self sufficient sacrifices we make to pursue our passion! To the Southern end of the country I ventured for a two day taste of limestone pockets and overhanging jug fests. At the Jecheon terminal, the train’s arrival was precise. Being stared at was the least of my worries as I boarded and squished between the sliding door and rows of cushioned fabric seats uniformly facing forward. A little bit of Mr. Carlos Castaneda nourished my open eyes as I waited for a friend, equally as addicted to climbing, to jump on the train half way along point A to B. When Wes, the Colorado/New Mexican vagabond sat next to me, my book closed and chat commenced. Sooner than later we arrived in Daejeon where we were to meet up with another rock enthusiast who had never actually rock climbed before but was so sure he would love it he bought all his own gear prematurely. Sure enough over the subsequent days, he caught the bug as expected.

Busting out the playing cards and vending machine beer we passed the time playing mindless yet strategic slap down intensity. We hadn’t finished our game when we arrived at out final destination. Only a taxi ride was between us and the campsite calling our names. As my grasp on the Korean language grows and my ability to read Hangeul improves, hiring a taxi wouldn’t be a problem. And it wasn’t. We agreed on a price and so started the last leg of the trip. Half an hour on a dark country road, the driver pulled into a small village lit by candy coloured fluorescent signs. I had only been to Seonunsan Provincial Park once, but as my impeccable visual memory rarely deceives me, I didn’t recognize our surroundings. I asked the cab driver in one word preciseness, “Seonunsan?” He looked at me with a quizzical and disgusted expression. “Aniyo,” he replied. Aniyo means “NO” in Korean. “No?” What could he possibly mean by “no”? Had I been overconfident with my Korean speaking skills and assumed he heard me correctly? YES. There had been a miscommunication. NO. We weren’t in Seonunsan Provincial Park. We had in fact driven half an hour in the opposite direction and we all know that dirt bag climbers don’t have limitless amounts of expendable taxi fare. He wanted $55 to take us back to the place we originally wanted to go. Well, my friends were livid. I tried to keep the peace and negotiate respectfully, but they refused to pay and began to walk into the swallowing forest and camp for the night in attempt to let the buzz of the beer fade and decipher our next plan of action. I persisted to try and come to an agreement with the taxi driver as he ignored me and rambled on his phone. I wasn’t going to travel for 8 hours across the country, sleep who-knows-where and try to find our way to the crag in the morning only to waste half a days’ climbing on incessant pin-the-tail on the provincial park. I thought maybe the driver was trying to explain our situation to a fellow taxi man, but aniyo, he was not.

Soon after he flipped his phone shut I saw flashing red and blue lights turn the corner and approach me. Oh no. The Police. The last thing I needed was to be thrown in a backwoods Korean holding cell in attempts to explain our misunderstanding to deaf ears. My friends returned to support me and luckily the policemen spoke enough English to understand what had happened. In fact, they were upset at the driver for taking us to the wrong place. Now, at 2:00 in the morning, and low on cash, the police decided to do their civil duty and drive us themselves to the Seonunsan. Wow! How courteous. The 40 minute ride to the correct park would have cost us a pretty penny. The police laughed and shared with us their family stories. Mr. Lee and Mr. Kim both had brothers and sisters! When my visual memory had assured me we had indeed arrived at the place of intent, we offered the police a bottle of red wine which they candidly tucked into the cop car console as payment for the out-of-the-way detour.

Our new rock enthusiast, Laine, didn’t have a tent so with a little creativity he busted out an army surplus hammock and a large piece of plastic. Through trial and error, he made himself a quaint little see-through home that we hoped would shield him from the near freezing night air. Wes and I set up our tents and finished our card game with relaxed nerves recounting the baffling scenario that had just passed.

After a 4 hour sleep we were super stoked to hit the rock. I was climbing my hardest in a long time attempting to tip the grade scales! So maybe I couldn’t quite redpoint the overhanging invitations, although in next attempts, I’ll get them. Go hard or go home right. Well, by no means was I ready to make the 8 hour trip back home, so hard was the only option.

On Sunday, “A Beautiful Woman’s Secret” enticed me to grunt and groan. The upside down 11c was sure to be my friend and my nemesis on this particular day. After clipping the 5th bolt, the next move was a right handed dyno to a sharp but solid pocket.

Feeling confident and stronger than ever, I threw…and stuck it!

Then, left hand to a shitty pinch parallel to the pocket, and stuck it…

But unexpectedly as always, I slid off as sweat erupted out of the pores of my fingertips. After a little whipper therapy to get the adrenaline pumping I could go no further. It’s ok. I was still climbing strong and felt satisfied. Suddenly noticing the time, I admitted I had to begin the epic adventure back North.

We hiked down to the campsite breathing in the crisp autumn air and admiring the colour-shifting foliage all around us. The leaves of the maple trees were red like kindergarten finger-paint. The grass was turning yellow like the colour of melted crayola crayons on a car seat in the summer heat. My shoulder started to ache a little, but with this view, joy invaded my every molecule of existence. The beauty of nature never ceases to increase the perma-smile that already lingers on my lips everyday!

After we had packed up our gear and overstuffed our packs for the long haul home, the dull ache in my shoulder was harder to ignore. Luckily my strong-man friends gave me a hand with the overstuffed heavyweight. On the bus home, I couldn’t get comfortable, the dull ache turned into a more throbbing pain. No matter which position I moved into, the pain was unrelenting. During the final stretch of the 8 hour trip back, I needed a double dose of some serious drugs. In the hours that followed, I couldn’t sleep as I grinded my teeth in utter tear inducing pain. What happened? Lucky for http://www.climbinginjuries.com/, I had discovered the only logical reason for my fucked up shoulder was “especially after a particularly traumatic event, such as hitting a dyno, [that I had] strained [my] rotator cuff muscle.” NOOOOOO.

Luckily “help” is available for a minimal cost. In the last three days I have been treated by bio-stimulation lasers and given electro-magnetic energy impulses making my muscles spasm like giggles from pre-pubescent school girls as honeymoon heat lamps induced armpit sweat to pour under the infra-red 300. Quick and painless pinpricks of acupuncture needles sticking out all over me like a play piercing party calmed my nerves as potent Chinese herbal smoke saturated my hair and clothes. After the modern Western and ancient Eastern mish-mash therapy and some serious meds packaged like multi-coloured candy in no-name transparent baggies (all unbelievably cheap here in Korea, it might as well be free, less than $10 for the whole kit and caboodle), I am out for at least 3 weeks at the stretch end of the climbing season. When I heal, let the plastic pull down begin… and on the bright side, snowboarding season is approaching!

How Korea finds itself through my eyes in October

a poem in reflection of cabin fever closing in.

A Curiosity Coo

A “coo” comes out. A coo turned sigh turned exasperated yawn-awe.
Don’t shun the brick wall, climb it. Climb it for curiosity.
Curiosity, our motive to question
while living in subservient systems capitalized to provide
as needs cultivate and expand although the irreplaceable capital provided by nature remains the same.
Curiosity, intrinsically overwritten by One Big Head and Two Big Head handing out free manipulation muzzles and witch tricks.

Old trees, old rusty farm equipment even old buildings catch the omniscient eye,
the all encompassing closed circuit security cameras,
old buildings growing vines upon vines of ancient plaster cracking to register wisdom in forms anew
Glue.
Glued to advertising money mongers, witch tricks disguised. Our adult education.
Glued to the thoughts of hard belts behind. No tie, no tie down.
Grubby hands tough to please, touch to please. Touch to see that this way is that way and that way is golden.
Care for the coo. Relish the coo as it pukes gently out, sputtering out of twisted lips of Freudian slips.
Our struggle with trouble is merely liquid flow in due time; a forecast of unspoiled fire crackers; the unadorned truth composed upright.
It is neglected by the people, who in mass hysteria, keep blind eyes upturned and unwavering under ever-growing circles of vultures proud and thirsty.
Pure fantasy relinquishes reality scorned.
Better keep a move on
Better keep a move on

I bring Dionysus in; I dine him and tell him jokes. He lies with me under the red wine covers behind the rum endowed curtains and reminds me not to take things too seriously.
Dionysus laughs, this life, after-life, immortal-life laugh. His laughter enables him to climb the brick wall effortlessly. Never scampering nor scratching. Just laughter itself propels through ineffable undeniable breath.
He reminds me to live in laughter and this will in turn unglue me.
Was I glued? Am I glued?
The coo comes out again.
Not bird like but unmistaken. Not innocent but out of Eden.
A coo of thanks,
A coo for truth revealed, a truth that sets me free.
Those brick walls are clues which form the question of all time. The rainbow of all questions...
And in this question the word “curiosity” lingers with laughter.

Seoul. Small Town Girls meet the Big City.

Friday morning we whisked ourselves away to the river’s edge. The Han river, boasting scents of fish and whiffs of rotten crotch elevated our sense of smell like a fat slap in the face from some bitch from high school. Shocking and appalling, but you can do anything about it. As soon as we had accepted this reality, a crisp pine needle breeze and fresh baked baguettes would waft past our noses clearing our heads and minds. The mix of city smells never ceases to amaze me. Too bad there is no “scent recorder” to share with all of you. Renting rusty cruiser bicycles from some 1970’s garage sale with bent metal baskets allowed us to discover the action of holiday independence day in motion.

Family Picnickers tapping badminton birdies into the sky, lovers hand in hand on strolls with sun umbrellas to shelter the sear of the September sun, Koreans training for triathlons decked out in full fledged bike attire and carefree drunkards relishing in the extra day away from the office whizzed past as we traversed the grand waterway in style. My sea foam green machine was no less thrilled at the 48 km push as its back tire screamed a whopping “I Quit!”. Flat as flat can be, tube inching out of the rim as I forced my quads to push the pedals harder, my face began to distort as teeny grunts escaped my lips with every revolution. Luckily we secretly switched the antique for a newer shiny red cruiser at the last station before we had to turn around and head all the way back. Needless to say, a long day on a bike seat really pushes the pain tolerance of ones sit bones.

BASEBALL! When is the last time you saw a live hard hitting action packed Pro Baseball game? Well, Saturday night was our game. Vacuum packed like sardines or freeze dried astronaunt food, thousands of screaming, chanting dressed up fanatics squeezed into Korean largest baseball stadium. With friendly faces all around us, and full to the brim with a Hite in each hand (the local Korean lager), we cheered the players on! A lovely time spent catching up on the seasons hits and misses as our new friend Joon gave us a play by play action. Whenever people all around the world indulge in live sports, the fatty snack food accompanies. But, why on earth would you want dehydrated soft squid leg breathing out of the mouths of everyone that surrounds you? Not quite sure. I guess it is like garlic. You eat it then I eat it and when we kiss, no biggie.

Cheap as every dirt-bag is, our search for a scummy motel ended at the front doors to a basement jjimjilbang. For those of you who have never experienced a “public bath” in Korea, I exceedingly recommend such an activity. Basically spa slash sauna slash hot tub slash sleep on the floor in an attic with no blanket hostel can sum it up nicely. Here clothes are less than optional, they are not permitted. Of course, with men and women divided, there is no need to be shy. Young, old and all sized naked bodies freely roam the establishment. You pay a minimal fee and can stay as long as you like. You can also sleep as long as you like in case of needing to nourish a hangover from a little too much Hite from the night before. First you trade your shoes for a locker key, making sure there is no sneaking out.

After given an orange over sized t-shirt and matching shorts your mom might have worn in the 80’s, you head into the “locker room”. For your comfort, the heated floors invite bare feet. A small clothing store and any trial size soap, face mask or beauty remedy you could dream up are available for purchase along with a variety of drinks from the standing-up, sliding-door cooler. With your basic necessities covered, really, why would you ever leave. But, wait, I am getting to the good part. With your choice of massage table and three pools, temperatures selectively adjusted from 25 degrees (the winter shocker), 40 degrees (the social warm up) and 43 degrees (the severe sweat ball), you are golden. Not to mention the searing steam room and sultry sauna. This place was all news to us. In fact, goodies were popping up all over the place. Along with our frantic guessing and bursts of laughter, we were schooled in the jjimjilbang by Korean aficionadas. At one point, Daphne had thought she hit the jackpot! “Oh, what’s this? Free stuff? Face masks, shampoo, pumice stones and wait… a hair ball?!?!” She had excitedly found and with detail, plowed through the bathroom garbage! Sick and so freekin hilarious! This was one definite highlight of our perplexed little white girl syndrome.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jjimjilbang

Saturday provided us with searches for Indian spices and international food medleys in the labyrinth of the Seoul Subway. Surprisingly convenient and straightforward, we never once got lost. (I am currently teaching my students directions, the “I can’t speak Korean and I am lost” theme seems to make them chuckle – imagine it dramatized.) One of the main missions for this big city weekend was to pick up some things that small towns just don’t have. The Foreign Food Mart tickled our lust for lost diversity in the food we Canadians so innocently take for granted. Cardamom, Curry, Pickles and Corn Tortilla Chips filled my basket fast. Being a vegan in Korea forces creativity and even though I cook for myself, with little to no spices, the tastes of picked cabbage, sesame oil and red chili can bore you quickly. (I am creative and I am taking vitamins!)
After spending over the budget, our packs were stuffed like stockings after Santa on Christmas morning. No one likes to carry a big backpack around (this time, not so heavy, just big) so we decided to take advantage of the digitally secure lockers at the subway station. Now with the instructions being in Korean, we needed a little help from the ticket agent. He was so helpful as he patiently waited for us to stuff our foreign splurge inside. “Is everything in the locker” I asked as both Daphne and I double checked. “yes, yes”. After closing the locker, we thanked the agent for his help, however he looked at us surprisingly. In his broken English he pointed towards the floor, “Are you forgetting something?”. To my disbelief, laying in a crumpled ball between the three of us were my thong underwear. Dirty or clean, I can never say. Faster than peeling off a whipper unexpectedly, I snatched up my intimates and Daphne burst into gut busting laughter. Not knowing what to do, both the ticket agent and I headed off in opposite directions. Now, we were one for one. Add this to another symptom of the perplexed little white girl syndrome.

Ps. The naked baby meets balding Buddha was only one example of a gut busting sight seen on a busy street in Itaewon, Seoul.

International TreX Games. Busan 2008

Another whip whirlwind weekend adventure allowed us to travel south to Busan. This city by the sea is more like an overflowing metropolis strung along by bright lights and race car commuters. I, along with a cluster of climbers slash English teachers had the ultimately unique opportunity to participate in the 2008 International TreX games as sport climbers! The name comes from a blending of Tr from Traditional, e from e-sports and x from extreme sports (that's me!). The event is promoted as a “global community sports festival” only recently adding relatively new sports in addition to culturally traditional sports.

Along with Pro skaters, BMX junkies, inline skate fanatics, we were stuffed into BEXCO waiting to try our callused hands at the colourful plastic oh-so precisely drilled in front of our eyes.
Now, not to divulge how extraordinary we all climbed the puzzling V5 problems, our competition was stiff. Watching Popeye-armed Asian women campus up the 45 degree construction gave me hope in the double X chromosome. Not only the women, but the men as well put us westerners to shame. Regardless of the results, we sure were able to entertain ourselves (especially on the all night pub crawl that followed delivering us to the sunrise). Fun. That word seems to flood out of my mouth at every turn of a corner still.

I have been reminded of two things this weekend. First, always try to find the moments that make you smile in every situation and second, once the competition is over don’t hesitate to let your inner beast unleash. The competition was an incredible, a once in a life time opportunity.

http://english.trex2008.co.kr/

Korean Tourism at its best!