Taiwan and the land of tea.

A successful arrival and my 11th plane ride in 2010 complete. (Ridiculous – not my personal choice). The humidity is surely near 100% and severely different from Korea. It reminds me of how Malaysia once was 9 years ago. I feel like I could swim in this sticky warm air. The scent is bound for mildew in its most harmless occupancy to which the locals have no doubt become accustomed. I guess it doesn’t help the fact that it is indeed raining outside. I have no idea where I will lay my head to rest tonight, but I am open and ready for the unexpected. I was able to scour through Taiwan’s “Lonely Planet” while en route and I believe I have my fair share of activities planned for the next 4 days, number 1 being my Korean E-2 Visa. With a world so small now and corporations exploiting the indigenous cultures of foreign nations, international travelers can find comfort in a $5 Starbucks latte anywhere in the world, not excluding Taipei.

Fast-forward 2 days:
It wasn’t a quick shot of methamphetamine, it was a pack of Wild Water Buffalo blocking my path. No thirty-foot whipper can even give you that kind of adrenaline. What a feeling to grow a set of balls with breath held and walk past these illusive and unpredictable beasts. 10 minutes later, I am still shaking in the Windward Dwarfed Forest.

And 2 more days later:
In Taiwan I’ve noticed more flats, less heels, less smoking, more scooters and less primping in public. There seems to be a more laid back sense of what life is like here.
I have learned about Taiwan’s tea industry and its history from Cindy at the High Mountain Tea Shop. A 2-hour sipping session revealed the intricacies of traditional tea drinking and its complex preparation processes.
There are 6 types of tea which all come from the same leaf, oolong, green, black, white, red and yellow. It just depends on the fermentation process and the way in which it is roasted or not. The darker the tea, the higher the temperature of water is used. In the tradition of Taiwanese tea drinking, tea is made by hand and each action is important while serving the tea. Taiwan's specialty is oolong tea, a half fermented green tea. High mountain tea can be steeped up to 6 times, as the quality is higher and the leaves are picked by hand. The serving of tea in Taiwan has been celebrated as a performance or "show" in the past. Anywhere you go in Taiwan you can find special tea houses where you can warm your belly and experience this profound tradition of a unique culture.

I won't even tell you what happened.

I like to write a lot. Writing is important to me... this photo speaks of the pain I have endured... (my own drunk fault)

Spain and all its surprizes

Reflecting upon adventures of the immediate past I realize I am so lucky to be alive and well, healthy and aware and able to make the choices I choose.

Desperate times call for delicate thoughts.
Decisions ripe for the plucking as virulent options
strike chords of creativity in conscious creation
Like onions, souls search in silent longing
for complex layers among surface scratching
as the rhythm of the rest of the world rushes past
Take it all in. There are spies around every corner with lying eyes.
Analyze, don’t criticize.

This evening I can see the wind turbines on the hill just beyond the valley of sun. The wind blows like the lungs of Louis Armstrong’s first born up on the hillside at the Finca de Campana as the sun sporadically plays hide and seek with whirling clouds painted pink in the dusk of the day. Bees buzz amongst the fragrant almond blossoms. Suena me busca. This afternoon Jan and I indulged in an adventure out of the ordinary. We headed to El Polverin to climb. It was windy when we arrived at the base of the cliff. We decided to scramble up what appeared to be perhaps a 3 (5.6) grade climb. Bad idea. I got stuck halfway – as Jan said – the point of no return. (He also once told me to never walk around naked in Namibia, unless you are of course alone in the outback. I imagine this wisdom was met through personal experience). I had to wait for about 10 minutes and after 5 I started to worry. Trying to force nasty imaginations out of your head while clinging to almost nothing 15 metres above any flat ground can be quite the mental challenge. When the rope finally fell over the side of the apparent top-out above me, I could only tie it around my waist and pray I wouldn’t fall. And if I did fall, it would save me, but do some rope burn damage to the armpits for certain. I didn’t fall after all thanks to the trusty Chacos, but it was one hell of a warm-up!


Aunque escibo poco, las aventuras viene y va casi todos los dias. Para mi, es la unica manera para vivir! Y, por cierto, con una sonrisa y la mente abierta! Ahh, tengo mucha suerte en esta vida compleja.

With only two days left of the two month Spanish holiday, I decide to spend them on the road with a certifiably mad Swiss man who has been hopping around the world his whole life, kind of like me, although he beats me on years – (name hidden in my memory). I have forfeited my plane ticket to Barcelona and now we are deep within the olive groves and extraordinary monoliths spotted along the Southern coast of Spain as we journey northwards. The weather dozes in and out of moody rains and sharp sun. White fluffy cumulus nimbus play polka dot shadows over the carpets of green leaves in the valleys below us. Swiss man tells me stories of loneliness filled with great wisdom all the while engaging in his self-named intestinal yoga. Imagine filling your belly with 2 litres of water or any particular liquid of your choice and forcing it to swish back and forth like a little boat in a vast ocean storm. Although from the passenger seat of his Peugeot I cannot smell the pink flowers of the almond trees in blossom, I can imagine their sweet scent. Swiss man wants to start a Honey Bee factory with 150 hives on public land in Switzerland. I’d like to help him. Perhaps I will.


Now, at the time of writing this, I sit on the Lufthansa airplane towards Seoul somewhere above Russia, above the Ural Mountains so says the green screen in front of me. Consumerism is still alive and kicking 33,000 feet in the air as the Korean man who speaks better German than English buys a bottle of 18year aged Scotch and a diamond necklace from the catalog without much thought. He must be rolling in the dough. It really blows my mind to fly over places I have only heard about in dreams. And now, we fly over Siberia!

SPAIN: 5 Noteworthy things each day for the next 48 days: Part One

Day One: Yerba Mate/ the Russian Seaman with a black eye that just got out of a Thai Prison after 3 years for contraband that bought me a beer and kissed me on the cheek and told me he loved me/ the wildfire sunset 35,000 feet above ground like a child's favorite striped t-shirt/ in Germany for the first time/ la gente aqui no parece tan diferente que yo.

Day Two: antique market in Barcelona/ sharing of an apple by the harbour with 2 dudes from L.A/ I remember the shark with the bleeding nose care of the Barcelona Aquarium/ paella/ too much beer.

Day Three: 20 year olds are cool/ a new haircut/ olive, cucumber, avocado baguette/ Gaudi's Park; Park Guell/ Dia de los Reyes Parade.

Day Four: Early morning wake-up to meet Sean at the Metro and head to Monserrat/ conglomerate climbing/ the best Olives EVER!/ home cooked meals en la casa de Nico on wheels/ sleeping in the van - my dream home.

Day Five: morning green tea session/ switching between Spanish, English and French/ impressionante; 2 words/ I couldn't get the last quickdraw/ muddy wet feet and shoes.

Day Six: under the shelter of a curios cave with paint like splattered splashes that decorate our climbs to reach the outermost limits of self/ no pastanada/ EPIC jam session/ tramping in knee deep snow as if we took a trip back to my Saskatchewan childhood/cat and mouse car chase with muddy tires on the misguided carretera.

Day Seven: bouldering with the sun and snow in El Cogul/ la hora es ahora/ gooey chocolate with chocolate at the stinky fish bar/ sopa infused with wild thyme and rosemary from the Spanish countryside/ frio muy intenso with 30 centimetres of snow.

Day Eight: Deberias estar en Tailandia/ the trees here are not designed to withstand the weight of this much snow/ someone is always cooler than you/ another knee deep in snow hike through the Boreal-Narnia-like forest/ eating too much bread and olive oil.

Day Nine: Talking with Silvia and the boys about climbing, I've got to keep the focus - big wall, aid climbing, Yosemite/ cold climbing out the nerves in "Espero Primavera"/ a mighty jaunt up the ancient road to the small village of Siruana/ cauliflower and spicy potatoes, note to self; "don't put more than 3 cayenne peppers and be sure to take them out"/ second shower of the year - real dirt ball living.

Russia. I need to learn more.

Russia has always been a mystery to me. I need to learn more about Russia. But, for today, during this brief 24 hour period, it will stay a mystery because I am going to Spain. That's right, I said Spain. Two months to crush it in Monserrat and El Chorro. Some of the best climbing in Europe? Can that be said?
I made a hard decision. Quitting a job is never any fun.

A pause in responsibility towards the leisure intensity; I need a little break. This may not be the wisest choice considering monetary issues, but really, if you think about it from a daily perspective, life is short. This seems to tie into the idea of prospective future plans - planning the plan. Guilty as charged with the lure of anticipation. But really, how long should we depend on the existence of life? I am not trying to invite the existentialist inside, I am only trying to illicit the pressure of the fact that life will inevitably change as it does. Do we want to wait out the bullshit with our unrelenting patience or can we appreciate and be thankful for the moments where the sun shines on our faces and tickles our spirits with a blessing of luck and prosperity? Take advantage of the situation so-to-speak. Grab the bull by the horns. As those who know me best, they understand my impulsive decision-making personality. I recognize this within myself and coyly admit that it is not the most admirable trait. Troubles arise once and awhile. It could be admirable and undoubtedly is in some cases I guess, but there are hidden demons within. Well, demons who work for temptation and her beguiling ways; tempting away from the expected. So, in fact, the demons are disguised angels with a little message for us all.

Breathe
Things are as they are
I do not mind what happens
This too will pass…
Que sera sera.

And Carpe Diem Mother F***ers!!!

I await another unknown adventure… which is electrifying!

The Society of the Spectacle and El Gripe Porcina

Captors of our creative minds live in the waves of boredom that wash upon us when monotony reigns. Boredom can capture a soul and send it to places worse than hell. Recently, I have been sent to tedious mind-numbing habit hell. I needed something to wake my brain from its caustic slumber. I was suggested to read Guy Debord’s SOCIETY OF THE SPECTACLE . We are not unknown to the fact that media bombardment overrides any sense of real individuality that is left on this planet. We have not only been subjugated to the economy, but we have in essence grasped the spectacle and made it our “unreality” which is very real. As Guy Debord puts it so eloquently, “In a world that is really upside down, the true is a moment of the false”. Immunity from the spectacle is impossible.

As I read this book that has indeed furthered my introspectivivity (if that is even a word), I realize that this subjugation is reinforced by the fact that people’s activity becomes less and less active and more and more contemplative.”

Ding Ding Ding, the light bulb goes on. I will bravely admit that although my job is easy for 32 of 40 hours a week where I act as a place holder made of flesh and blood and bone that hopefully has a relatively conscious state of being, most of the time, it is blood curdling boring. It is boredom because everything is so convenient in this western life we live. My brain has now sunk into the depths of contemplation and deliberation, reflection and inspection as my body sinks into this office chair.

This brings me to how the media – being the most obvious “spectacle” - is a colossal component of our conscious mental states. It has become what is happening to us and others in our immediate environments – our society. Now that our dear old friends at the local and international newspapers continue to be contented to share things that shock us into oblivion of worry. Swine Flu; originally bought upon us as “El Gripe Porcina.” As the pandemic’s popularity stabilizes, other worlds of top breaking stories rise to the forefront and poor piggy is left in the trenches. Autumn is in its difficult transition towards the bitter winter and in South Korea the little kiddies are playing on the worries of their spectacle-enchanted parents. Where face masks are the new fashion, students are dropping out of the classroom like flies in the freezer. They’ll be fine once they thaw out – once the excitement passes. Precaution is of utmost importance to the point of warranting a temporary closing of the country high school. Although no virus virulent enough to seize me has entered into the hollows of my immune system, I am told to wear a mask. Of course in the name of precaution.

If you are interested in furthering your conscious self towards the spectacle, read Ken Knabb’s translation of Guy Debord’s SOCIETY OF THE SPECTACLE online at http://www.bopsecrets.org/SI/debord/index.htm

Action Direct Audition: The Jangeunbang Ukulele adventure

Only 3 weeks of playing the ukulele. It is my new toy. More practice needed!
This is a tribute to my Big Wall Jam Band Buddies!
Go on YOU TUBE and search for:
"nationalpickleday" or
"Part (1,2,3) Climbing to the sky in a sea of tyranasaurus teeth"
or
"Action Direct Audition"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVCFMHmgQ_4

Rusty Boats and Jagged mountain peaks

This time luggin a smaller tote, Alec and I set off to the magnificent Seorak Mountains near the coast of the East Sea in South Korea. The smell of fishing villages and old rusty boats reminds me on Halifax and New Zealand. Good memories. There is something majestic about old rusty fishing boats. They show the multitude of scars and battle wounds from a life out at sea. A rough life, a tough life. They have a history forever etched into the sepia skinned steel that coats their exterior and they gently rock in the swell of natures fondest unknown, the ocean.

A most wondrous multi-pitch of heady trad and sport mixed, I decided to haul my ukulele to the top obliged to audition for ACTION DIRECT, the big wall jam band. This route, called Alpine Crutch/Clutch/Crux however you interpret the Korean pronunciation, gets more difficult the higher you go ending with 2 most brilliant 11a. pitches, courteously and courageously lead by Alec himself. The best part about the last pitch was a little warning squeak as I camed my fingers into the only but sweetest hand hold insight. I had disturbed a teeny tiny brown bat as he took refuge from the heat of the sun. His beady eyes were no bigger than a pin-head and his little nose the size of the polka-dots on your childhood rubber boots. I gingerly adjusted my grip and gazed at the precious wonder of nature hiding 150 metres off the deck. Scared and shaking in its refuge I carefully climbed past and met Alec on the summit. The ukulele was out and the jamming began in the honour of my Belgian friends Nico and Sean. Oh yes, I must mention that I have never played an instrument before and I only picked up the ukulele 3 weeks ago. I am still in the ubiquitous learning curve, but practice makes perfect as the cliché goes. Watch the videos and cross your fingers. I hope I pass the first round of auditions!

"You call this a send fest, I call it a choss pile."

One month before my 28th birthday I come close to death but cheat it by only seconds and a few feet. At 4:30 on Friday I ran out of the door of the school, across the parking lot, through the soccer field and up the stairs to my modest two bedroom Korean apartment where my jam-packed bag sat patiently waiting. Ready to go, I lugged the dead weight of all my camping-climbing equipment on my back and headed down the rural village road towards the country bus stop. My destination was Muido, an island off the coast on Incheon. It is only a few kilometers from the Incheon airport, the international hub where people from all over the globe meet South Korea for the first time.

I met up with my climbing buddies and we all crammed into their modest two bedroom Korean apartment and cozied up in our sleeping bags on the kitchen floor for a night of dreamless sleep. To get to Muido Island, one must go to the Incheon airport and jump on a local bus there. The reason for our weekend extravaganza was to be the first Wey-gook-in foreigners to climb on Muido’s newly bolted seaside crags (this could be a lie, but to my knowledge, it is completely and utterly true.)

At low tide, the tide is very low and all the crags are accessible by walking along the seabed littered with seashells, oyster remnants and crustaceans of all kinds. As we began the search for climbable rock, we soon feasted our eyes upon the ubiquitous anchors that we have grown to love and trust so much over the years. It looked like some promising sport climbing on orange volcanic rock. The base of some climbs are riddled with white barnacles, enemies to my new evolve shoes. The grades are a rainbow of difficulty to warm us up or shut us down, to both we had been inclined to accept. With no guidebook, we chose the most beautiful lines in sight. My partner and I, Dan chose an easy-ish warm up to get the feeling of this new and foreign rock. New areas tend to be prone to loose rock and a lot of unknowns, so easy does it. I was also treading on new shoes that I had yet to trust fully. After I had on-sighted what seemed to be no more than a 5.9 in difficulty, it was Dan’s turn.

I must now, before the story continues, give credit to all the inspirational climbers that have molded my passion and allowed me to hone my skills as a dedicated lifer of climbing. Dani D Love, Napolean, Tomas, Ana Gabriela, Beckett, Eli, Eva and Wesley among many others. I have learned from some of the best.

Ok, so Dan leads a smooth clean climb and at the top after clipping the anchors, right before I am about to lower him to safety, I look up and see a microwave-sized boulder from the 80’s lean onto his chest in slow motion. In complete disillusionment, he could say nothing, just as he could barely understand what was happening. At this point, I knew it was going to fall straight into the hands of gravity. I scurried to the right, hugging the wall as close as I could and suddenly fell backwards over a barnacle covered rock. While keeping my break hand secure on the rope, I still was able to hold Dan precariously at the sketchy anchors fifteen metres above. Holding my breath, closing my eyes, scrunching my face and praying to the powers that be that the microwave and its deadly pizza pop shrapnel wouldn’t decapitate me.

The loud smash knocked me back into the present moment. In a 10 second fuzz I yelled at Dan. “Are you OK?“Yes. Are you OK?”“Yes.” I reply as I shook my head in disbelief in a dust cloud of rock debris. In less than the minute that followed I surveyed the damage. Inches from my feet lay 4 pieces of fresh rock fall the size of toasters and the microwave itself, larger than first perceived to be, 2 feet to my left.

Despite the helmet if any one of those pieces were to hit me we would have had some serious carnage on our hands and probably 2 dead bodies. Me dead and Dan dead because after I died, I would have let go of my brake hand and dropped him. Just before I was about to lower him, I had to make sure everything really was OK. There was so much more fresh debris than I originally had noticed, At least 5 other stove pot-sized rocks and a bunch of golf balls carpeted the bottom of the climb. “Don’t’ move. Don’t touch anything” I yelled up at Dan. With my instincts in on red alert and having learned so much from the people who raised me up in the climbing world, I knew I had to check the rope. Literally 6 inches below my break hand, the rope was sliced, 3/4‘s through the core. Totally ******. If I was to miss that essential detail and lower Dan, it most certainly would have snapped and sent Dan plummeting. Bogue, another climber friend of ours ran around the corner. He had heard the rock explosion, but had heard no screams. He thought he was about to be witness to the serious bloody aftermath. I asked him to go and fetch another rope. He would have to rescue Dan by leading the route again and rapping down one after the other. Once everybody was safe on the ground, we got the hell outta there. For the first climb of the day, it no less than muddied our mental fortitude.
For the rest of the day, we all climbed with a little unease and doubt in the rock we confronted. We became ballerinas, cautiously dancing up the rock, checking every hold a little more than necessary. On My 3rd lead of the day, I pulled off a teapot sized handhold but somehow managed to keep my barn door balance and not take the whipper that could have been. “Rock” I called and Dan was warned in plenty of time. After rebalancing myself and a couple moves later on a nice little ledge I called down in a mouthful of disbelief, “You call this a send fest, I call it a choss pile”.

All things considered, the day improved, our heads returned to rock warrior mode and we found the sweet potential that was waiting in store for us all along. Lacey was leading up a storm, the first of many to come and Phillipe and Bouge in constant brotherly competition were pushing their limits as always. As we moved along the beach, the rock became solid and the lines were quality. We found ourselves good and pumped as the day came to a close and the tide began to creep back in towards the dry sand. With our tents pitched on the beach, the 5 of us gathered around a fire and retold the story with all the “what if’s” we could imagine. “What if I was 2 feet over? What if I didn’t see Dan holding the Boulder and about to drop it? What if our other friends were standing there? What if I didn’t notice the rope and lowered Dan and it snapped? What if, What if, What if?

The truth is all moments in life are filled with what ifs. What happens, happens and what is done is done and this time we were damned lucky.
A little advice for the newbie climber or just a refresher for you veterans:-Always wear a helmet outdoors, especially in new areas.-Check any suspicious holds with a delicate tap of the hand,-Pay attention to each other. Don’t get distracted by social chat or mind wanderings. Be 100% present.If there is rock fall…-Belayer, move as far to the side as possible out of the line of trajectory.-Climber, yell out “ROCK!”-Check the rope as soon as possible for any weaknesses. (Rock fall can cut a rope just like that.)-Never let go of the break hand, even on auto locking belay devices.-And ****, while remembering safety first, don’t forget to have fun.

www.koreaontherocks.com

Time. Paying attention to the present moment.

I looked at the clock and it was only 10:58 am. OOF. Time goes slow when you are paying attention to time. I promised myself I would continue to engage my life in the present moment but when you have to sit in a desk for 32 of 40 hours a week with nothing to do in the South Korean country side besides read a lot of great books (which ain’t so bad), the present moment becomes a playground for the imagination of future and past delinquencies. Keeping a blog must mean that from time to time it is to be updated. With nothing much to say than a flutter of experiences experienced, I feel that the explanation of such events would alter their significance or make them more superfluous than they really were. Pictures tell a thousand words, but words construct a picture in the mind that is original to each reader every time. If everyone sees the same picture, there is nothing left to the imagination. Words however make the experience personal. Who really cares about what happens to me anyways. I could tell you that no matter what happens to me, I will continue to live and view life through a positive lens. I could tell you how I missed my flight from Denver to Calgary and that I tried to pass the time with red wine and that we all know what happens next. I could tell you that after that red wine, those little airplane barf bags were my best friend for the following 3 hours as we glided at a cruising altitude of 3000 metres over the Rocky Mountains. I could also tell you that I spent my vacation doused in illegality, indulging in the low-responsibility fix of someone who is fortunate enough to have said vacation paid. And how I was able to meet and revel in the company of old friends, even though said meetings were scheduled by the hour.

Time. A man-made (probably not woman-made) construct that we all are, have been or will be a prisoner to at least once in our lives. From time to time (no pun intended), we are able to escape these boundaries that Time forces upon our experiences. These are the greatest moments of life. Leisurely existing for the purpose only to exist without the question of “what time is it?”. Ahh. That sounds nice. Some people are too bound by time to notice the beauty of simplicity that surrounds them. Listen to the birds and welcome the bugs and insects however pesky they may be. We say we are too busy. We make excuses. Those excuses are a choice. Those excuses are a mentality. I could tell you that no matter what happens to me, I will continue to live and view life through a positive lens and that I am only somewhat bound by time. I have the choice, I have a certain mentality. And I have now updated my blog.