Back into Trad! Mureung Valley, Donghae, Korea

As the spring arrives in late bloom, summer tags along with it. The sweat from my underarms trickle down the side of my body catching on the harness that suspends my fear from taking over while stuck in a damp chimney 20 feet in the air. Back in to the bold trad leads. Bold for me anyway after a near 6 month vacation from granite. My limestone winter hasn’t prepared me quite sufficiently for this day, but my enthusiasm avoids this revelation. My dusted off cams doddle along the holes and fissures intermittently up this serrated bisection seen from the forest floor in Mureung Valley near Donghae, Gangwon-do.

The humidity in the air reminds me of the near approximation from the East Sea. Lucid waterfalls crescendo towards abating torrents in soft declines from where we began our day. The trouble-free approach in this picturesque vale summons our smiles to stretch wider. Fresh and crisp the air in its humble rouse from the frigid months before. My climbing friends and I have induced an agenda of anticipating the saving of lives, one climber at a time. By replacing a few old death triangles, we and all those that will benefit from the change hope to feel a little safer while repelling off our friendly nemeses. On Saturday, we had successfully installed one set of new shiny chains and quick links, Sunday was to be reserved for the second. Sunday came as it does and I decided to jump on this little 5.8 ditty first thing. Well, as trad climbing in Korea goes, it proved to be a little too scary and my Elvis leg got the best of me. After lowering off more than 3/4ths finished, Dusty had his go and persevered like a trooper on the front lines. Unfortunately the rope drag waged war and I volunteered to solo-ascend on a prusick and improvised aid ladder while the dangling weight of the polished chains clanged from my waist belt. For less than 20 bucks each, the trusty metal irons will bring us comfort. This is only one good deed in a list of many to give back to the climbing community in South Korea. While trying to muster a mission statement for some of the initiatives in which we have begun to dabble, this one sticks to me.


"To climb rocks is our simple, yet profound mutual passion inspired by the raw natural environment. As a community that extends beyond borders, our cross-cultural initiatives work to protect, reduce the impact on and live in harmony with nature in its purest form."

Now, as initiatives go, the lone wolf cannot succeed alone. It is indeed the support from the community that will make it happen, when it happens, whatever happens. Keep tabs on our projects on www.koreaontheorcks.com.

Before the CRACKED RIBS!

One week following a successful climbing trip at a southern South Korea climbing off the beaten track hub hole, I have somehow secured another spot as "bench-warmer-injured girl". A little bouldering gone wrong in my wake of lazy lounging, I have indeed sustained a few cracked a few ribs due to the 140 pound Pakistani man who fell on me from 6 metres above. As I said - my nonchalant lounge session on the soft comforting pads at K2 bouldering gym inebriated my depth perception as Qasim, my friend, launched for a dyno, stuck it, then swung towards me with the momentum of a monkey on the run from pompous poachers. oops. silly girl. I am about to now re-kindle my love for hiking, bicycling, ukulele playing, soft and gentle yoga stretching among other non-rib intensive sports. This is a reminder that I am so lucky to be able to climb the mountains I love and to never take for granted my health - when it is at its optimum level!

Humanity Hype

Here is a link to my first song written for the Ukulele after 6 months of picking up this wondrous instrument!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UAQhdsAYOo

Humanity Hype is my response to my new living situation. From the quiet country side of rural Korea to the bustling, fast-paced city, I am overwhelmed by the people. There is a disregard for bodies in space, each with their own prerogative, their own path, unaware of those who surround them. Somehow, we still have to share this space, limited though it may be. (as my friend kindly and factually explained to me my error of quoting our world's population at 6 billion - it is more like 7 billion - and as I said - "and growing") With more people, come more opinions. With opinion comes persuasion. With persuasion comes advertising and then we become bombarded by it. How much of what we see is really a choice anymore? Don't believe the hype that threatens to consume your creative soul. Part of it has to do with the staggering amounts of noise pollution and visual pornography. I have realized because I have been away from it. Those who live in the cities are "used to" it. Accustomed to the mediocre when all that really matters in the large grand scheme of life and its meaning is QUALITY. As one response on Robert Pirsig's topic of quality states:

You would say that this is just a matter of preferences, that quality is just another word for what you like. What is the response to this? One response is the death argument: Thoreau's mentions, "I came to the woods.. so that when I die, I would not discover that I had not lived." (Paraphrased; he said it better.) You only live at least once, and the world is so manifestly full of richness; there are qualitative differences between those pleasures which are just "fun" and those pleasures or goods which deeply touch this "marrow" of life. Even humanity can be at its best ingenius, cunning, and beautiful. The richness of human relations - whether attributable in cause to genetic programming or "love" - is phenomenologically beautiful. And what human beings can achieve when they decide to be noble, to do the dharma that they have in front of them honestly and with dedication, is remarkable. This counts for goods regardless of preference. The Good isn't 'what I like' because richness of quality covers anything so long at it makes life worth living. It covers the famous and the obscure; both the Taj Mahal and the son that loves his father are testament to humanity's capability for goodness.

So why do we jam pack ourselves into pigeon-holed consumerists? Why are we satisfied with this blah? This mundane? Why do we let laziness overwhelm our senses so much so that it is convenience which slowly kills us? I tend to live tipping the scales on the side of positivity. What we scrutinize, we ourselves are. But we can be what we want to be as well, at least within our minds. Within our minds we have a power unlike any other. It is a power that can give us hope and keep us heavy on the positive even when we know all about the dark side. I do this to trust and renew my faith in humanity's ability to delve into kindness and The Good. I guess we are all of this and all of that at the same time.

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!