Hong Kong's humidity sticks to my thighs

All sweaty in our glory, we dodged to and from the slight shade provided by city trees while Hong Kong in its humid stealth threatened to suck the energy out of our drenched bodies. After 2 days flirting with the outskirts of a massive concrete jungle, I braved its innards. Luckily a Monday trip to the boulders beyond the high rise structures offered a break from the cancerous carbon monoxide thickness. The intervening monsoons hovered in the distant sky, but our gung-ho passion led us to explore regardless. A short walk from the Tai Koo MTR station, we were transported into the adjoining jungle; a mossy river way, our path. Thanks to June, we were able to have two crash pads, thus saving our delicate bottoms from haphazard landings to follow. The river was a welcome refreshment as the blazing afternoon sun scorched our shoulders pink. (I do however, use sunscreen – thus was saved from pinkdom). The rippling river also served as a free shower and with a scant line-up, locals indulged, fully clothed under the waterfall just beyond our first boulder of choice. Scents of shampoo drifted by as we attempted to man/woman-up with the rock problems in front of our faces. After some successes and near misses, heel hooks and crimps, pockets and lock-offs, V3’s and happy knees, we descended back into the thick sweltering city.

Along the side streets, a ripe, succulent fruit caught my eye, the biggest I have ever seen. This mango was the size of a football – the American style football or perhaps my calf muscle. Its mere scent coerced my mouth to water like a broken sprinkler. Not to mention its slippery syrup consumed in an inhale. (It actually took two days to eat due to its sheer size). Mmm. On to the food. In a smorgasbord of western and other worldly influence, I was bombarded with a plethora of choice. International supermarkets around each corner tickled my nostalgia as I piled the basket high.
<< Side note. If you haven’t noticed already, I tend to exaggerate. This gets me into trouble with my critical wordsmith friends. Justification: It is more fun to exaggerate and keeps my childlike imagination alive. >>

So, to clarify, I casually gathered just a few things for the airplane carry on; Red Thai Curry and Marmite to name a few. Through my many other efforts to save the world, the slight guilty conscience of the import-export game is defended in this example. Considering this multicultural hotpot, I was spoiled by Buddhist veggie stands and ethnic delights including this one particular Organic café with delectable quinoa salads and roasted eggplant tapenades. It inspired my cooking and sharing skills.

Tubing Madness Taking Chances and Drinking wine in the rain.

Oh how wonderful feelings bubble up from your insides when you and a crew of foreign troublemakers set forth to test the high seas with blackened tire tubes blown up so big, nearly bursting at the seams (good thing we noticed one seam splitter before we submerged it!)

A few weekends ago, my good buddy, Qasim had the grand idea to take advantage of the rainy season and float down the river near my old town, Jucheon. This South Korean nature haven has inspired many a bushwhack during my year and a half stint. Now living in the bustling city, the calm serenity of the country is a welcomed change of pace. Despite the downpour, we raged against the intermittent rapids and indulged in weir sliding – as in the weir totally sucked a few of us in and left us bleeding from several limbs. Hannah seeing me in near turmoil quickly came to my aide but got sucked in herself as I was left clinging to the threshold. My mighty forearms were my saving grace (umm, admittedly cheating as the fact was that I could reach Justin’s hand for help before I was swallowed).

Once a chill set into our bones, I thought of a quick warm-up activity; boulder some of the surrounding bridges. That is exactly what we did – repeatedly. As the night approached, we retreated into the spicy kitchen of my old apartment where Michelle now lives. She also has my old job. With a smorgasbord of ingredients, we took to the bar-be-que and I prepared veggie burgers that fell apart and Terra smoked up some roasted eggplant and zucchini while the others cooked their meat. Plenty bottles of red wine later we moved to Qasim’s old penthouse where the dance party ensued complete with break dancing and Michael Jackson Beat It choreography! We saved the fireworks for last. Sauntering slovenly back to the beach, I “fell asleep” and missed the explosions in the sky. Upon waking, I could barely get my head together and with a grunt, Justin had to carry me home. What are friends for? This was until a burst of energy seized me and I took off running down the road like a black cat in the night. Quite the paradoxical performance.

Rope Goblin Blues.

Have you ever got your rope so tangled that you just want to throw it off the side of a cliff and begin your soloing career early? This weekend I felt that way except the tangle happened in the comfort of my own rooftop late on a Sunday night after a torrential thunderstorm soaked me, my friends and my rope. Not to mention the dirt splatter from gigantic drops pelting the earth and coating my rope in its squalor. Now drenched, in the dim light of my rooftop atrium I battle the green 70 metre rope goblin until the weight of my eyelids defeat me. Could I perhaps hire a professional rope un-tangler? My poor Petzl nomad, now lies confused while drying slowly. Hour after hour, the water will evaporate as it lays helpless on the bamboo-matted concrete floor. When I wake tomorrow, it will be waiting once again.

How lucky am I to wallow in this trivial despair with sarcasm as my right hand lady?

Happy Teachers Day

This is not the only day I am reminded why I love my job so much. It is everyday. Two months into my new University job, the life of the professor is quite rewarding - not to mention the 4 day - 12 hour work week, but the renewed maturity from students in their freshman year. When I see the sparkle in my student’s eyes, I know that a small discovery is made. Be that a morsel of the English language or the crumb of a joke – I can tell when the light bulb goes on, even if it is low-watt. These people who listen to be jabber all day feed my passion by their attentiveness and challenge my patience with their squat enthusiasm. On Friday, I arrived to my Airline Services class minutes early to a locked classroom. After a succession of short knocks, one student decked out in her Flight Attendant uniform shyly exited and quickly closed the door behind her. “Teacher! You are so early!” I was in fact right on time. She dragged me down the hall with a mischievous smile that begged guilt. In a quick round about, we returned to the classroom and as we opened the door, the light from the candles on a big coconut cake shimmered as the girls began to sing a ditty in Hangul that was beyond me. Never mind the lack of language skills here – the cake was for me and so were the hundreds of scribbles on the white board – including “Will you marry me?” from this all-girls class. Wow! I was taken aback and had to choke down the tears of thankful joy and surprise. When I watched the video afterwards – I realized how goofy I looked – much like my mother at best! Teachers Day had come a week early because these lovely ladies were about to take a trip to Vietnam and would be absent during the real event to come. For a teacher to be recognized in such a non-obligatory ceremony was too much for words.

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!