Archive for October, 2009

Rose-tinted glasses

October 27th, 2009

A post with this title could so easily be a meandering consideration of how everything South African seems brighter and better and more magical through the nostalgia of being stuck, and yes I often feel stuck, half-a-world away. In fact, it isn’t. It’s a post about my newest acquisition – a pair of sunglasses. I brought a pair of sunglasses with me when I first arrived and they were necessary in the first bright, sunshiny month or so. Unfortunately, R20 sunglasses tend not to last forever and this pair eventually disintegrated. I’ve been meaning to replace them for ages but I didn’t want to spend a fortune, which I assumed would be inevitable if I walked into any of the many, many spectacle-shops that dot the streets here. This, by the way, is a new experience for me. Back home there always a few optometrist’s shops around (except in small towns like the one I’ve been living in) but they aren’t particularly numerous or flashy. Here, however, an awfully high proportion of the population seems to wear glasses, so I suppose it makes sense that there would be lots of shops specialising in glasses. Perhaps as a result of the fact that they’re all very aware of eye-care and pay a lot of attention to their eye-wear, you also don’t see much of the all-too-familiar South African phenomenon of people selling sunglasses on the side of the street or at traffic lights. That and perhaps the fact that traffic-light sunglasses-vendors would not last a week in the midst of a bunch of Daegu drivers who all seem to have bought their licences at the same place as Joburg taxi drivers.

Given all of this, I was quite pleased, when I was downtown recently, to find a stall selling sunglasses. They weren’t all that cheap – definitely more than R20 – but they were less than designer prices and the glare of the slanting Autumn sun is fairly annoying at the moment, so I picked up a pair. I chose fairly quickly because I the process of trying to select something while the sales-person attempts to assist me in a language that I am a little embarrassed or at least frustrated not to speak, given that it’s the only official (and widespread) language of the country, doesn’t thrill me. I then paid and slipped them into my bag and didn’t think of them again until a few days later when I put them on and discovered that I’d bought myself a pair of rose-tinted glasses.
I’m sure there is a solid scientific explanation for how these glasses work their magic, one which I could probably fathom out simply by dredging up all things I learnt about light and colours and angles all those years ago in science class. It seems more useful simply to describe it. When I am wearing these glasses and I look at the world, all yellows, reds, oranges and pinks are highlighted, the blue sky seems deeper, all things white or cream have a rosy glow and greens are somehow dulled. In case the significance has not yet struck you, this is the most magical amplification of the already (and increasingly) spectacularly beautiful autumn colours. After just a few days of wearing them (and resisting the urge to bounce up and down a lot because of  ’the pretty’), I can honestly say that the best way to enjoy a Daegu autumn is through rose-tinted glasses.
That is how I ended up on Sunday taking my rose-tinted glasses for a walk. I also came across a website (which I have been unable to find again) that talked about estimates from the Korean meteorological agency of when the ‘fall’ colours would be at their peak in various parts of Korea. Apparently they estimate the start of the season for viewing the fall colours as being the point where 20% of the foliage in the area has turned and the peak at 80%. I’ve been surprised at just how quickly the colours are changing just at the moment – each day there seems to be a dramatic shift. This makes sense, however, when you read the information because it appears that the real ’season’ of fall colours is only about 10 days long. For Daegu in particular, the ’season’ started this past weekend and peaks on Thursday, 29 October. It seemed a good time, therefore, to go back to one of the prettiest parks here and look at the pretty colours.
The last time I visited Duryu Park was a work-day morning, so I didn’t have that much time to explore. Because of the limited time (and limited information online), I also took the subway. While I was there, I noticed a bus that starts its route in my area, so this time I hopped on the number 3 bus to get there. I got off at the ‘Duryu Park Junction’ (bus stops have English names written on them even if the announcements on the bus are all in Korean). As I walked along to the pedestrian crossing, I suddenly heard a huge rushing sound as though a plane was flying right above my head. I had the urge to throw myself to the ground. Resisting that urge, I looked up and watched as a group of people screamed past on the roller-coaster almost directly above me. Woobang Towerland is across the road from Duryu Park, just next to where I was walking, so the noise was from the rides. The music and noise and sight of the amusement park drifted through the whole afternoon, actually and I am now contemplating a rare and unexpected urge to pay a visit to the amusement park too.
Duryu Park itself is rather large. The last time I was there, I really just wandered past some monuments and saw a fountain. This time I was properly attired (complete with boots) to explore a bit more of the area. I didn’t actually cover any of the ground I did last time – even entering and leaving by a completely different entry road. I did see the outdoor-stadium area again, but this time from the other side. It was also looking a little different this time. The last time I was there, the stadium was just empty dust. This time there was a baseball game (or practice?) going on and a few guys kicking around a soccer ball as well as a few people walking and jogging around. The stadium is surrounded by tall, leafy trees that are starting to turn.
The rest of the park was also full of people. Some of them were riding bikes, some wandering along in family groups and many of them striding along in walking gear. The outdoor shops here, like K2, North Face and Mont Bell clearly do very well here. The majority of middle-aged and older men and women who walk in parks like this are fully decked out in walking pants and walking hats and walking shoes and walking jackets. Many of them also wear masks. As more and more H1N1 cases are reported in the city and as the ordinary flu season gets going, an increasing number of people are wearing masks everywhere. I’m not sure how much of a difference it makes but people seem to feel that it helps them. There is also a belief here that regular exercise (apparently preferably in the form of hearty walks) will prevent illness. As a result, people walk a lot and there are many, many paths in the hills and woods, all fairly busy on a Sunday afternoon. On this particular day, I decided to join them, so I walked some of the paths through the wooded hills. It was nice to be out of the city for a while and among the trees. The path lead across little bamboo platforms over the dry stream beds once or twice. Sometimes it came out at a higher point and I could look across the valley. Once I found myself walking just above a temple complex as the bells started ringing. I had no particular direction, so I just kept following paths, turning and twisting up and down the hills.
All of a sudden, the path opened up back onto the road and I joined the crowds wandering back towards the stadium. The sun was starting to sink in the West by this point and I spent a little while just sitting watching the soccer guys kick around the ball and groups of people wander and someone doing sit-ups next to the road. As the sun set, I walked back to the bus stop in the mild autumn evening, the sky was lit up with pinks and purples, as if the whole world was as rose-tinted as my glasses.

A post with this title could so easily be a meandering consideration of how everything South African seems brighter and better and more magical through the nostalgia of being stuck, and yes I often feel stuck, half-a-world away. In fact, it isn’t. It’s a post about my newest acquisition – a pair of sunglasses. I brought a pair of sunglasses with me when I first arrived and they were necessary in the first bright, sunshiny month or so. Unfortunately, R20 sunglasses tend not to last forever and this pair eventually disintegrated. I’ve been meaning to replace them but I didn’t want to spend a fortune, which I assumed would be inevitable if I walked into any of the many, many spectacle-shops that dot the streets here. This, by the way, is a new experience for me. Back home there always a few optometrist’s shops around (except in small towns like the one I’ve been living in) but they aren’t particularly numerous or flashy. Here an awfully high proportion of the population seems to wear glasses, so I suppose it makes sense that there would be lots of shops specialising in glasses. Perhaps as a result of the fact that they’re all very aware of eye-care and pay a lot of attention to their eye-wear, you also don’t see much of the all-too-familiar South African phenomenon of people selling sunglasses on the side of the street or at traffic lights. That and perhaps the fact that traffic-light sunglasses-vendors would not last a week with Daegu drivers who all seem to have bought their licences at the same place as Joburg taxi drivers.

Given all of this, I was quite pleased, when I was downtown recently, to find a stall selling sunglasses. They weren’t all that cheap – definitely more than R20 – but they were less than designer prices and the glare of the slanting Autumn sun is fairly annoying at the moment, so I picked up a pair. I chose fairly quickly because trying to select something while the sales-person attempts to assist in a language that I am a little embarrassed or at least frustrated not to speak doesn’t thrill me. I paid and slipped them into my bag and didn’t think of them again until a few days later when I put them on and discovered that I’d bought myself a pair of rose-tinted glasses.

I’m sure there is a solid scientific explanation for how these glasses work their magic, one which I could probably fathom simply by dredging up all things I learnt about light and colours and angles all those years ago in science class. It seems more useful simply to describe it. When I am wearing them and I look at the world, all yellows, reds and oranges are highlighted, the blue sky seems deeper, all things white or cream have a rosy glow and greens are somehow dulled. In case the significance has not yet struck you, this is the most magical amplification of the already (and increasingly) spectacularly beautiful autumn colours. After just a few days of wearing them (and resisting the urge to bounce up and down a lot because of  ’the pretty’), I can honestly say that the best way to enjoy a Daegu autumn is through rose-tinted glasses.

That is how I ended up on Sunday taking my rose-tinted glasses for a walk. I came across a website (which I have been unable to find again) that talked about estimates from the Korean meteorological agency of when the ‘fall’ colours would be at their peak in various parts of Korea. Apparently they estimate the start of the season for viewing the fall colours as being the point where 20% of the foliage in the area has turned and the peak at 80%. I’ve been surprised at just how quickly the colours are changing just at the moment – each day there seems to be a dramatic shift. This makes sense though because it appears that the real ’season’ of fall colours is only about 10 days long. For Daegu in particular, the ’season’ started this past week and peaks on Thursday, 29 October. It seemed a good time, therefore, to go back to one of the prettiest parks here and look at all the colours.

The last time I visited Duryu Park was a work-day morning, so I didn’t have that much time to explore. Because of the limited time (and limited information online), I also took the subway. While I was there, I noticed a bus that starts its route in my area, so this time I hopped on the number 3 bus to get there. I got off at the ‘Duryu Park Junction’ (bus stops have English names written on them even if the announcements are all in Korean). As I walked along to the pedestrian crossing, I suddenly heard a huge rushing sound as though a plane was flying right above my head. I had the urge to throw myself to the ground. Resisting that urge, I looked up and watched as a group of people screamed past on the roller-coaster almost directly above me. Woobang Towerland is across the road from Duryu Park, just next to where I was walking. The music and noise and sight of the amusement park drifted through the whole afternoon and I am now contemplating a rare and unexpected urge to pay a visit to Woobang Towerland too.

Duryu Park itself is a rather large, mostly wooded area. The last time I was there, I really just wandered past some monuments and saw a fountain. This time I was properly attired (complete with boots) to explore a bit more. I didn’t actually cover any of the ground I did last time – even entering and leaving by a completely different entry road. I did see the outdoor-stadium area again, but this time from the other side. It was also looking a little different this time, too. The last time I was there, the stadium was just empty dust. This time there was a baseball game (or practice?) going on and a few guys kicking around a soccer ball as well as people walking and jogging. The stadium is surrounded by tall, leafy trees that are starting to turn.

The rest of the park was also full of people. Some of them were riding bikes, some wandering along in family groups and many striding along in walking gear. The outdoor shops here, like K2, North Face and Mont Bell clearly do very well here. The majority of middle-aged and older men and women who walk in the parks are fully decked out in walking pants, walking hats, walking shoes and walking jackets. Many of them also wear masks. As more and more H1N1 cases are reported in the city and as the ordinary flu season gets going, an increasing number of people are wearing masks everywhere. I’m not sure how much of a difference it makes but people seem to feel that it helps them. There is also a belief here that regular exercise (apparently preferably in the form of hearty walks) will prevent illness. By which I mean prevent illness by itself without doing anything else, like some sort of magic charm. Which isn’t entirely logical but great for the ‘outdoor gear’ industry.

As a result, people walk a lot and there are many, many paths in the hills and woods, all fairly busy on a Sunday afternoon. On this particular day, I decided to join them, so I walked some of the paths through the wooded hills. It was nice to be out of the city for a while and among the trees. The paths lead up and down and across little bamboo platforms over the dry stream beds once or twice. Sometimes it came out at a higher point and I could look across the valley. Once I found myself walking just above a temple complex as the bells started ringing. I had no particular direction, so I just kept following paths, turning and twisting up and down the hills.

All of a sudden, the path opened up back onto the road and I joined the crowds wandering back towards the stadium. The sun was starting to sink in the West by this point and I spent a little while just sitting watching the soccer guys kick around the ball and groups of people wander and someone doing sit-ups next to the road. As the sun set and I walked back to the bus stop in the mild autumn evening, the sky was lit up with pinks and purples, as if the whole world was as rose-tinted as my rose-tinted sunglasses.

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Autumn colours

October 21st, 2009

Everyone who moves to a new place goes through different stages during the process of adjusting. Even though this move is temporary (probably only 1 year) that is long enough to make it an actual move rather than just travel. This means that I, like everyone else, will be subject to the various effects and stages of immigration. At the moment, and which I’m told is completely normal, I’m far from enamoured with my current home-city. I’m fully aware of the fact that it’s part of the process, but that doesn’t stop it making me rather moody and irritable. It doesn’t help, either, of course, that it’s autumn and already cold enough for me to be shivering in my limited winter wardrobe. And that I have the beginnings of a cold.

All of this is still not enough, however, to detract from the glorious autumn colours that have finally set the city in a beautiful blush of reds and yellows and oranges. Yesterday, I went downtown to one of my favourite parks (Gukchae Bosang Park) to see the trees in their autumn glory. I took the bus and then the subway. In the first few months here, I didn’t notice the distance much. Because it was all different, everything felts as though it was simultaneously far away and close by. I’m starting to get more of a sense of distances and how long it actually takes to get from place to place. I’ve lived in cities before and should be used to it by now but the interludes spent in small towns have still always felt more like home, so I still find the time spent travelling frustrating. One of the reasons I prefer buses to subways is that there is something to look at while you’re travelling. They do take longer, however, so it’s always a toss-up of speed versus views. Taking the same bus-route every day also takes away some of the thrill of the views. I now know that it takes at least half an hour for me to get from my area to downtown.
When I reached downtown yesterday, I wandered up the usual road towards the park. One of the things I always find fascinating is how so many people can walk around a city and not notice things. I am always so aware of the places I’m walking past. On this particular road, which I walk down fairly regularly these days, I always notice the new wedding dresses displayed in the windows of the multitude of wedding shops. Sometimes there are pretty dresses but most of them are startlingly over the top. Perhaps it’s just that the ones they display in the windows are their most elaborate but they tend to be rather overloaded with beads and lace and sparkling crystals. I always find myself wondering how they’d actually look on a real, live Korean bride. I’m not one of those women who spends all her time thinking about weddings, but I do love how pretty brides so often look in their wedding finery. I have a feeling that these dresses would not be exactly what I think of as stunningly beautiful. Just another confirmation, I suppose, that concepts of beauty are culturally defined.
The natural beauty of trees in autumn I think of as universal but perhaps that also has culturally contextual meanings for other people. For me, the colours are stunning. I’ve watched many autumns in my life. I haven’t generally lived in places with quite this many trees that lose their leaves in winter, however. Even in Johannesburg, which proports to be the world’s largest man-made forests, the trees don’t all change at the same time. I also don’t remember them being quite as many spectacularly different colours. The trees and bushes in the park seemed each to have chosen a different shade of red or orange or yellow – from pale green-yellow to bright, bright orange and deep, rusty red. Like girls dressed for a dance, each in her own beautiful colour and style. One of the things that makes it particularly beautiful is the way these different colours are scattered – so that you almost never see two trees side-by-side with the same autumn foliage. A row of trees will be a blaze of red, then green, then orange, then yellow.
As I walked through the park taking picture after picture to try and catch the pretty colours, I heard a bell ringing. I noticed this little bell the last time I was here but didn’t pay all that much attention. Right near the Sotdae, there is a bell that rings when the wind blows through the park. I’m not sure the exact significance of the bell is, but knowing that the Sotdae are traditionally guardians of an area and that bells or wind-chimes often have the same purpose, I wondered if it was linked. It was a beautiful round sound carried on the wind, which was gusting around and about the park yesterday, carrying colourful leaves into corners and across the grass. The bell and the Sotdae stood stark against the deep, blue, cold sky and the flaming colours of the trees.
On the other side of the park, there is a paved area next to the great bell, an area that is used by teenagers for roller-blading and skateboarding and BMX-ing (there is a ramp and everything). This open area is at the corner edge of the park, where it meets the intersection of two large roads. On the park-side stands the great-bell in it’s Joseon-style structure on the edge of grassy areas, with various paths leading through the grass and trees. On the other side of the open area, trees stand along two sides of the triangle, dividing the park from the road. Next two these trees are pots of yellow and red and purple flowers (including huge, bright marigolds). It was an explosion of warm colours and rare sunshine on a chilly autumn day. I tried to take pictures of it all but I don’t think I managed to capture it.
After the glorious colours of the park (and pavements as those trees slowly change their green for oranges and reds, too), I wandered through the downtown area. I don’t spend much time downtown during the day but sometimes it’s good to walk around. I always think of downtown as primarily a night-life-entertainment area so it’s sometimes easy to forget that it is actually a major shopping area too. In the evenings, although some shops are open, the major features of pubs and clubs and restaurants. During the day, the shops spill onto the streets, with displays of shoes and racks of clothes on sale and little stalls selling sunglasses and watches and jewellery. People wander along and pop into shops, looking at things and trying to find good deals. I walked around and looked at things. One of the things I was looking for was a pair of gloves because the weather really is getting colder and I am going to need them fairly soon. I didn’t manage to find any gloves but I did stop outside a tiny shop selling scarves. They didn’t appear to be selling anything but scarves, which is a little odd, but they had a wide range of beautiful, thick, warm scarves in all the colours you can imagine. I found myself struggling to pick just one from the lovely selection of warmth and prettiness. Eventually, I settled on a caramel-coloured woollen scarf – a wide scarf that is long enough to keep me properly warm this winter.
And then it was time to go to work so I walked back to the subway station and caught the next train back to Manchon and an evening of teaching.

Everyone who moves to a new place goes through different stages in the process of adjusting. Even though this move is temporary (probably only 1 year) it’s permanent enough to make it a move rather than just travel. This means that I, like everyone else, will be subject to the various effects and adjustment stages of immigration. At the moment, and which I’m told is completely normal, I’m far from enamoured with my current home-city. I’m fully aware that it’s all part of the process, but that doesn’t stop it making me moody and irritable. It doesn’t help, either, that it’s autumn and already cold enough for me to be shivering in my limited winter wardrobe. And that I have the beginnings of a cold.

All of this is still not enough, however, to detract from the glorious autumn colours that have finally set the city alight in a beautiful blush of reds and yellows and oranges. Yesterday, I went downtown to one of my favourite parks (Gukchae Bosang Park) to see the trees in their autumn glory. I took the bus and then the subway. In the first few months here, I didn’t notice the distance much. Because it was all different and strange, everything felts as though it was simultaneously far away and close by. I’m starting to get more of a sense of distances and how long it actually takes to get from place to place. I’ve lived in cities before and should be used to it by now but the interludes spent in small towns have always felt more like home, so I still find the time spent travelling a little frustrating. One of the reasons I prefer buses to subways is that there is something to look at while you’re travelling. They do take longer, however, so it’s always a toss-up between speed and views. Taking the same bus-route every day also takes away some of the thrill of the views. I now know that it takes at least half an hour for me to get from my area to downtown by bus and subway or longer just by bus.

When I reached downtown yesterday, I wandered up the usual road towards the park. One of the things I always find fascinating is how so many people in the world can walk along and not notice things around them. I am always so aware of the places I’m walking past. On this particular road, which I walk down fairly regularly these days, I always notice the new wedding dresses displayed in the windows of the multitude of wedding shops. Sometimes there are pretty dresses but most of them are startlingly over the top. Perhaps it’s just that the ones they display in the windows are their most elaborate but they tend to be rather large, full dresses, overloaded with beads and lace and sparkling crystals. I always find myself wondering how they’d actually look on real, live Korean brides. I’m not one of those women who spends all her time thinking about weddings, but I do love how pretty brides can look in their wedding finery. I have a feeling that these dresses would not be exactly what I think of as stunningly beautiful. Just another confirmation, I suppose, that concepts of beauty are culturally defined.

The natural beauty of trees in autumn I think of as universal but perhaps that also has cultural context for other people. For me, the colours are stunning. I’ve watched many autumns in my life. I haven’t generally lived in places with quite this many trees that lose their leaves in winter, however. Even in Johannesburg, which proports to be the world’s largest man-made forests, the trees don’t all change at the same time. I also don’t remember them being quite as many spectacularly different colours. The trees and bushes in the park seemed each to have chosen a different shade of red or orange or yellow – from pale green-yellow to bright, bright orange and deep, rusty red. Like girls dressed for a matric dance, each in her own beautiful colour and style. One of the things that makes it particularly beautiful here is the way these different colours are scattered – so that you almost never see two trees side-by-side with the same autumn foliage. A row of trees will be a blaze of red, then green, then orange, then yellow.

As I walked through the park taking picture after picture to try and catch the pretty colours, I heard a bell ringing. I noticed the sound the last time I was here but didn’t pay all that much attention. Right near the Sotdae, there is a bell that rings when the wind blows through the park. I’m not sure the exact significance of the bell is, but knowing that the Sotdae are traditionally guardians of an area and that bells or wind-chimes often have the same purpose, I wondered if it is linked. This bell rang with a beautiful round sound carried on the wind, which was gusting around and about the park yesterday, carrying colourful leaves into corners and across the grass. The bell and the Sotdae stood stark against the deep, blue, cold sky and the flaming colours of the trees.

On the other side of the park, there is a paved area next to the great bell, an area that is used by teenagers for roller-blading and skateboarding and BMX-ing (there is a ramp and everything). This open area is at the corner edge of the park, where it meets the intersection of two large roads. On the park-side stands the great-bell in it’s Joseon-style structure on the edge of  trees and grassy areas, with various paths leading through the trees. On the other side of the open area, trees stand along two sides of the triangle, dividing the park from the road. Next to these trees are pots of yellow and red and purple flowers (including huge, bright marigolds). It was an explosion of warm colours and rare sunshine on a chilly autumn day. I tried to take pictures of it all but I don’t think I managed to capture it.

After the glorious colours of the park (and pavements as those trees slowly change their green for oranges and reds, too), I wandered through the downtown area. I don’t spend much time downtown during the day so I always think of it as primarily a night-life-entertainment area. It’s easy to forget that it is actually a major shopping area too. In the evenings, although some shops are open, the major features of pubs and clubs and restaurants – complete with neon lights, loud music and bubbles (yes, one of the places has a bubble-machine that floats masses of bubbled down into the crowded streets). During the day, the shops spill onto the sidewalks and streets, with displays of shoes and racks of clothes and little stalls selling sunglasses and watches and jewellery. People wander along and pop into shops, looking at curiosities and trying to find good deals. I walked around and looked at things for a while. One of the things I was looking for was a pair of gloves because the weather really is getting colder and I am going to need them fairly soon. I didn’t manage to find any gloves but I did stop outside a tiny shop selling scarves. They didn’t appear to be selling anything but scarves, which is a little odd, but they had a wide range of beautiful, thick, warm scarves in all the colours you can imagine. I found myself struggling to pick just one from the lovely selection of warmth and prettiness. Eventually, I settled on a caramel-coloured woollen scarf – a wide scarf that is also long enough to keep me properly warm this winter.

And then it was time to go to work so I walked back to the subway station and caught the next train back to Manchon and an evening of teaching.

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Nightlife in Daegu

October 18th, 2009
A friend pointed out the other day that I haven’t talked very much about Daegu nightlife on this blog. This is partly because I’m not all that active a part of the nightlife scene but it’s not really fair to a city which has plenty going on, particularly over weekends.
In fact, many people apparently also go out during the week, although after our experience of trying to find somewhere to have dinner on Tuesday night, I’m not sure where they go. I had arranged to have dinner with a friend after work, so we met at the Samdeok Fire Station taxi drop-off point as usual. It was a chilly evening and downtown was strangely empty. I’m used to the area throbbing with crowds and noise on Fridays and Saturdays, so it was odd to see the alleys dark and the streets almost deserted. At one point, on our way to try and find a Mexican place we’d been told about, we walked past a waiter (he was wearing an apron) and a friend playing badminton in the street outside an almost deserted coffee shop – one of the few with lights still on. We contemplated stopping there but it looked more coffee shop than restaurant and we were hungry, so we went on to The Holy Grill. I’ve seen ads for the Holy Grill all over since I got here. It’s run by foreigners and serves ‘comfort food’ (according to the menu). Until this week, I hadn’t actually eaten there. The place is divided into two levels – a second-floor restaurant and a third-floor sports bar (with snack menu). It sounds like this (the two levels) is a fairly recent development. The menu definitely a wide range of what many Westerners would consider comfort food – from Burgers and Steak-rolls (Philly Cheese Steak for the Americans) to a Tex-Mex section and even good old Macaroni and Cheese. In retrospect, I probably should have had the Mac and Cheese. I ordered a burger and it wasn’t bad but I wasn’t overly impressed. I suppose I assumed it would aim to taste like a burger back home, forgetting that what is normal for me is probably not normal for the Americans who are the biggest customer group of this venue. My friend had something Mexican (a burrito?) which she seemed to enjoy, although they didn’t have guacamole, which is a disappointment if you’re going to be a place that serves Mexican food. Not a bad place to go if you’re looking for specific things but I don’t think I’ll be spending all my evenings there.
Oddly, the entrance to the Holy Grill is right next to the spot where many evenings downtown start: Gogo Vinyl. I like cocktails. Living in and later visiting Joburg with friends who are significantly more sophisticated and trendy than me, I was introduced to the wonderful world of cocktails at places like Bar Six in Melville and became quite fond of them. One of the things I secretly love about cocktails is that they’re so sophisticated in their elegant glasses with garnish and, because I am a fan of margaritas in particular, things like salt around the glass. Gogo Vinyl goes in for a whole different style of cocktail. This, along with Viniroo just down the road, is where you get ‘bag-drinks’. Bag-drinks are cocktails over ice in a ziplock-type plastic bag, with a straw. They’re also, from these particular places, cocktails with a ‘alcohol-to-taste’ twist – all at no extra cost. Gogo Vinyl has apparently now opened a proper bar a few doors down but the original Gogo, apart from a tiny number of seats inside, is really a tuck-shop type window onto the street where people buy their bags and then stand around, or sit on the odd benches scattered in the road and drink them. In the heat of summer this is great, although I imagine people may start drifting indoors as the weather cools. Viniroo and Gogo are in direct competition but there isn’t a huge difference in price or variety of options. The cocktails themselves are not fantastic but they’re about as good as can be expected for the price (around 5000 won).
Along the street from the bag-drink places is one of the few restaurants I’ve sampled downtown (as most evenings start rather later than I like to eat, I generally have dinner before going out). Italy-Italy (or Italy & Italy as it’s apparently actually called) is a little pizza/pasta place where you can create your own pizza/pasta from a list of options. When you sit down, each person is handed a check-list style menu where you fill in your name and then start choosing. There are three portion sizes, named something along the lines of hungry, very hungry and starving (that’s not exactly right but something like that) and two options: pizza or pasta. Once you’ve chosen your size and type of food, you choose sauces, pasta-type, toppings and for pizza, the shape of your pizza (heart-shaped pizza anyone?). The food is tasty and the range of options are not bad, even if there are little things missing that you’d find in Western countries and which we all lament every time we go there. I had dinner there a while ago and had a lovely Alfredo Pasta, although the wine wasn’t great, but that may have been our choice of wine. That particular evening, we also went to a lovely little Martini Bar (which was completely empty and had a remarkably uneven wood floor – quirks to remember places by) but I didn’t see an English name at the time and I keep forgetting to ask what it was called.
This block of one street – where Italy-Italy, the bag drink places and Holy Grill are – seems to be the most common meeting place and where most people start their downtown evenings. From there people scatter to various bars, clubs and other restaurant/drinking places. I haven’t been to all that many but I have spent a little time in Organ Bar and Who’s Bob. I’ve avoided  dance clubs so far, partly because they charge cover and because I have yet to walk past a place and be sufficiently excited by the music to want to go in.
The place that ends many evenings – and the place that sometimes shows rugby and therefore makes me happy – is Commune’s – variously also called ‘Commune’, ‘the commune’ and ‘Commune’s Lonely Hearts Club’. It’s a somewhat dark basement bar, with walls painted black with designs and pictures in white, photos of famous rock stars, a drum-set and PA system in the corner and a few tables set around the room. A lot of people do not like this particular bar and talk about it as dodgy and dingy and generally unpleasant. I don’t find it that way at all but I think my perspective may be a little tainted with nostalgia, partly because the atmosphere (and sometimes the music) reminds me a little of CJs, where I spent so many happy nights in during varsity, and partly because this is the first place I went out downtown, so it feels familiar. It probably also appeals less to those who are used to (and like) the sparkly-new, colourful world of the much younger bar-crowd. Some of the other places feel a little like a kindergarten classroom to me in terms of the range of  and the atmosphere – in comparison to Commune’s anyway. My friend and I actually stopped at Commune’s on our way home on Tuesday and the place was deserted except for the barman sitting quietly behind his bar and playing good song after good song – it was odd to be in Commune’s without anyone else there.
All of the above tend to be the haunts of the rare Saturday night when I actually make it out (and all other Saturdays for the rest of the crowd). Fridays are a whole different experience. Near one of the other branches of my school (where a good friend works) is a restaurant/bar called The Hut. At least, I don’t know if it’s actually called that or for that matter if it has an English name at all. Or any name. To us, however, it’s The Hut and it is where people generally gather after work on a Friday. Given that most of us are teaching at Hagwons, ‘after work’ tends to mean somewhere around 10 or 11pm but when that time rolls around the two back tables are pretty much reserved for the foreigner teachers. The place itself apparently used to be a restaurant specifically for men to take their mistresses, which is why there are absolutely no windows. It also appears to be the reason that the wooden poles and decorations carved around the place are somewhat… um… obvious. The main drinks of the place are Dongdongju, Soju and Beer (in large pitchers). These evenings vary in terms of who is there but some things are constant. Like the topics of conversation – school, where everyone is from, things that bother people about Korea and comparisons with home. And the fact that the Ajummas who run the place will bring out a variety of free nibbling-foods at some point. These include cucumber sticks, kimchi (unsurprisingly), other bits and pieces and, which always gets everyone particularly excited, a plate piled with salty fried eggs. There is also an actual menu and they serve all sorts of Korean food, including kimchi pizza. They also do a platter of chickens’ feet – which was ordered by one of the Koreans in the group the other day and thoroughly grossed out the foreigners. It was quite funny to watch.
I have yet to experience one of the karaoke clubs which are apparently so common here. They’re called Noraebangs. I don’t mind karaoke but these sound a little different from karaoke experiences back home. I’m used to karaoke evenings involving a sound system set up in a bar where everyone who wants to puts down his or her name on a list and picks a song and then sings. Here you apparently pay for a room where you pick songs and sing as a small group, just you and your friends, in your own room. So a little different but on my list of things to try at some point.
Ultimately, I still prefer going out to dinner at a good restaurant with friends and an evening of good conversation and laughter to ‘real’ partying but sometimes it’s good to venture out into the somewhat unreal world of Daegu nightlife with some of the other foreigners and relive some of the crazy nights I remember from places like Grahamstown and Stellenbosch, the kind of times that only youth (or the borrowed youth of friends you’re out with) and a transient existence can create.

A friend pointed out the other day that I haven’t talked very much about Daegu nightlife on this blog. This is partly because I’m not all that active a part of the nightlife scene but it’s not really fair to a city which has plenty going on, particularly over weekends.

In fact, many people apparently also go out during the week, although after our experience of trying to find somewhere to have dinner on Tuesday night, I’m not sure where they go. I had arranged to have dinner with a friend after work, so we met at the Samdeok Fire Station taxi drop-off point as usual. It was a chilly evening and downtown was strangely empty. I’m used to the area throbbing with crowds and noise on Fridays and Saturdays, so it was odd to see the alleys dark and the streets almost deserted. At one point, on our way to try and find a Mexican place we’d been told about, we walked past a waiter (he was wearing an apron) and a friend playing badminton in the street outside an almost deserted coffee shop – one of the few with lights still on. We contemplated stopping there but it looked more coffee shop than restaurant and we were hungry, so we went on to The Holy Grill. I’ve seen ads for the Holy Grill all over since I got here. It’s run by foreigners and serves ‘comfort food’ (according to the menu). Until this week, I hadn’t actually eaten there. The place is divided into two levels – a second-floor restaurant and a third-floor sports bar (with snack menu). It sounds like this (the two levels) is a fairly recent development. The menu definitely a wide range of what many Westerners would consider comfort food – from Burgers and Steak-rolls (Philly Cheese Steak for the Americans) to a Tex-Mex section and even good old Macaroni and Cheese. In retrospect, I probably should have had the Mac and Cheese. I ordered a burger and it wasn’t bad but I wasn’t overly impressed. I suppose I assumed it would aim to taste like a burger back home, forgetting that what is normal for me is probably not normal for the Americans who are the biggest customer group of this venue. My friend had something Mexican (a burrito?) which she seemed to enjoy, although they didn’t have guacamole, which is a disappointment if you’re going to be a place that serves Mexican food. Not a bad place to go if you’re looking for specific things but I don’t think I’ll be spending all my evenings there.

Oddly, the entrance to the Holy Grill is right next to the spot where many evenings downtown start: Gogo Vinyl. I like cocktails. Living in and later visiting Joburg with friends who are significantly more sophisticated and trendy than me, I was introduced to the wonderful world of cocktails at places like Bar Six in Melville and became quite fond of them. One of the things I secretly love about cocktails is that they’re so sophisticated in their elegant glasses with garnish and, because I am a fan of margaritas in particular, things like salt around the glass. Gogo Vinyl goes in for a whole different style of cocktail. This, along with Viniroo just down the road, is where you get ‘bag-drinks’. Bag-drinks are cocktails over ice in a ziplock-type plastic bag, with a straw. They’re also, from these particular places, cocktails with a ‘alcohol-to-taste’ twist – all at no extra cost. Gogo Vinyl has apparently now opened a proper bar a few doors down but the original Gogo, apart from a tiny number of seats inside, is really a tuck-shop type window onto the street where people buy their bags and then stand around, or sit on the odd benches scattered in the road and drink them. In the heat of summer this is great, although I imagine people may start drifting indoors as the weather cools. Viniroo and Gogo are in direct competition but there isn’t a huge difference in price or variety of options. The cocktails themselves are not fantastic but they’re not bad for the price (around 5000 won).

Along the street from the bag-drink places is one of the few restaurants I’ve sampled downtown (as most evenings start rather later than I like to eat, I generally have dinner before going out). Italy-Italy (or Italy & Italy as it’s apparently actually called) is a little pizza/pasta place where you can create your own pizza/pasta from a list of options. When you sit down, each person is handed a check-list style menu where you fill in your name and then start choosing. There are three portion sizes, named something along the lines of hungry, very hungry and starving (that’s not exactly right but something like that) and two options: pizza or pasta. Once you’ve chosen your size and type of food, you choose sauces, pasta-type, toppings and for pizza, the shape of your pizza (heart-shaped pizza anyone?). The food is tasty and the range of options are not bad, even if there are little things missing that you’d find in Western countries and which we all lament every time we go there. I had dinner there a while ago and had a lovely Alfredo Pasta, although the wine wasn’t great, but that may have been our choice of wine. That particular evening, we also went to a lovely little Martini Bar (which was completely empty and had a remarkably uneven wood floor – quirks to remember places by) but I didn’t see an English name at the time and I keep forgetting to ask what it was called.

This block of Rodeo Street – where Italy-Italy, the bag drink places and Holy Grill are – seems to be the most common meeting place and where most people start their downtown evenings. From there people scatter to various bars, clubs and other restaurant/drinking places. I haven’t been to all that many but I have spent a little time in Organ Bar and Who’s Bob. I’ve avoided  dance clubs so far, partly because they charge cover and because I have yet to walk past a place and be sufficiently excited by the music to want to go in.

The place that ends many evenings – and the place that sometimes shows rugby and therefore makes me happy – is Communes – variously also called ‘Commune’s’, ‘The Commune’ and ‘Commune’s Lonely Hearts Club’. It’s a somewhat dark basement bar, with walls painted black with designs and pictures in white, photos of famous rock stars, a drum-set and PA system in the corner and a few tables set around the room. A lot of people do not like this particular bar and talk about it as dodgy and dingy and generally unpleasant. I don’t find it that way at all but I think my perspective may be a little tainted with nostalgia, partly because the atmosphere (and sometimes the music) reminds me a little of CJs, where I spent so many happy nights in during varsity, and partly because this is the first place I went out downtown, so it feels familiar. It probably also appeals less to those who are used to (and like) the sparkly-new, colourful world of the much younger bar-crowd. Some of the other places feel a little like a kindergarten classroom to me in terms of the range of  and the atmosphere – in comparison to Commune’s anyway. My friend and I actually stopped at Commune’s on our way home on Tuesday and the place was deserted except for the barman sitting quietly behind his bar and playing good song after good song – it was odd to be in Commune’s without anyone else there.

All of the above tend to be the haunts of the rare Saturday night when I actually make it out (and all other Saturdays for the rest of the crowd). Fridays are a whole different experience. Near one of the other branches of my school (where a good friend works) is a restaurant/bar called The Hut. At least, I don’t know if it’s actually called that or for that matter if it has an English name at all. Or any name. To us, however, it’s The Hut and it is where people generally gather after work on a Friday. Given that most of us are teaching at Hagwons, ‘after work’ tends to mean somewhere around 10 or 11pm but when that time rolls around the two back tables are pretty much reserved for the foreigner teachers. The place itself apparently used to be a restaurant specifically for men to take their mistresses, which is why there are absolutely no windows. It also appears to be the reason that the wooden poles and decorations carved around the place are somewhat… um… obvious. The main drinks of the place are Dongdongju, Soju and Beer (in large pitchers). These evenings vary in terms of who is there but some things are constant. Like the topics of conversation – school, where everyone is from, things that bother people about Korea and comparisons with home. And the fact that the Ajummas who run the place will bring out a variety of free nibbling-foods at some point. These include cucumber sticks, kimchi (unsurprisingly), other bits and pieces and, which always gets everyone particularly excited, a plate piled with salty fried eggs. There is also an actual menu and they serve all sorts of Korean food, including kimchi pizza. They also do a platter of chickens’ feet – which was ordered by one of the Koreans in the group the other day and thoroughly grossed out the foreigners. It was quite funny to watch.

I have yet to experience one of the karaoke clubs which are apparently so common here. They’re called Noraebangs. I don’t mind karaoke but these sound a little different from karaoke experiences back home. I’m used to karaoke evenings involving a sound system set up in a bar where everyone who wants to puts down his or her name on a list and picks a song and then sings. Here you apparently pay for a room where you pick songs and sing as a small group, just you and your friends, in your own room. So a little different but on my list of things to try at some point.

Ultimately, I still prefer going out to dinner at a good restaurant and an evening of good conversation and laughter to ‘real’ partying but sometimes it’s good to venture out into the somewhat unreal world of Daegu nightlife with some of the other foreigners and relive some of the crazy nights I remember from places like Grahamstown and Stellenbosch, the kind of times that only youth (or the borrowed youth of friends you’re out with) and a transient existence can create.

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Talking about the weather

October 8th, 2009

It feels like just yesterday I was melting in the sweltering heat of Daegu Summer. In fact, it wasn’t long ago at all. When I arrived, three months ago, I had just left a South African Winter and it took me a while to adjust to the hot, humid weather. Despite what the guidebooks may say, Daegu is hot and humid all the time in Summer. The weather will regularly reach high temperatures and it rains all the time. I think I saw more rain in my first few weeks here than I have ever in my life. Perhaps a slight exaggeration, but there was definitely lots of sticky, warm rain.

As September finally arrived, things started to cool down slightly. Instead of days of rain, the weather was warm and clear. There were days that felt a lot like the hot, dry, peaceful Friday afternoons I remember from Grahamstown. It’s probably my favourite kind of weather. Fall also brought light breezes and occasionally stronger wind. For a month, the weather was beautiful. One of the things that will now remind me of Daegu is drinking Pink Lemonade or Iced Cappuccino outside on a warm Autumn night between classes – not sweltering heat, just warm and comfortable with a breath of freshness in the air.

It’s hard to keep exact track of the changing seasons because I’m not sure what it supposed to be happening but Autumn seems now to be winding down to winter and suddenly the warmth is gone. I got back to work after the Chusoek break (all 5 days of it) and wore roughly the same clothes as I was wearing last week. Last week I was starting to feel a little chilly after dark but nothing dramatic. On Monday, I was cold coming home.

And I know that it’s just going to get colder. I’m a little bit nervous about it. I’ve never really experienced proper cold. Several of the friends I’ve made here have said that I shouldn’t worry because it doesn’t really get that cold in Daegu. The fact that they are Canadian makes me a little sceptical. I have a feeling that ‘not that cold’ means something different in South Africa to what it means in Canada.

I even tried to buy a coat. There has been a rack of coats hanging outside a particular store for a week now and they’re quite attractive and reasonably priced. It was a very pretty little white coat, with double row of buttons and a belt. I would have bought it too, but apparently this shop only sells coats for women without breasts. I was a little offended, to be honest, by the way the shop assistant looked smugly at me as if there was something wrong with me and that was why the coat didn’t fit. Particularly because I don’t have particularly large breasts at all. I realise I shouldn’t take it personally – after all, I’m in a country where it’s apparently almost impossible to find a Bra above a C-cup – but it annoyed me.

Some mornings, now, I wake up curled up in a ball, with my shoulders stiff from being hunched over. It’s not freezing, not by a long shot, but I can feel the Summer’s last kiss as it fades into a distant memory. I was reading something the other day that described Daegu as having short, hot, humid Summers and long, dry Winters. I love Winter for it’s grandeur and it’s emptiness but I will admit that this year’s winter, my first Winter in the Northern Hemisphere, the first time I’ll really be exposed to snow, makes me a little nervous. The temperatures now feel a little like the Winters I’m used to, except that it doesn’t really warm up during the day. But this is still the middle of Autumn. I may need to buy more blankets.

The changing weather also makes me feel more foreign than ever. The last two days have been overcast and chilly. I’ve wandered around in a jersey, hunched over and feeling the cold. Around me, some Koreans are starting to dress a bit more warmly but there are still people in T-shirts, school kids in nothing but shirtsleeves and women in tiny, little skirts. The other foreigners look comfortable and cool and talk about how much more pleasant this is than the boiling hot summer. I sit shivering in the corner trying hard to figure out why humans ever left the warm, welcoming embrace of a sun-drenched continent.

I have friends who have adjusted to weather in all manner of places and I’m told the trick with the cold is to find particularly comfortable and pretty winter outer-wear. If I can just find a coat and some gloves and a hat that will fit, perhaps that will make the cold better.

It feels like just yesterday I was melting in the sweltering heat of Daegu Summer. In fact, it wasn’t long ago at all. When I arrived, three months ago, I had just left a South African Winter and it took me a while to adjust to the hot, humid weather. Despite what the guidebooks may say, Daegu is hot and humid all the time in Summer. The weather will regularly reach high temperatures and it rains all the time. I think I saw more rain in my first few weeks here than I have ever in my life. Perhaps a slight exaggeration, but there was definitely lots of sticky, warm rain.

As September finally arrived, things started to cool down slightly. Instead of days of rain, the weather was warm and clear. There were days that felt a lot like the hot, dry, peaceful Friday afternoons I remember from Grahamstown. It’s probably my favourite kind of weather. Fall also brought light breezes and occasionally stronger wind. For a month, the weather was beautiful. One of the things that will now remind me of Daegu is drinking Pink Lemonade or Iced Cappuccino outside on a warm Autumn night between classes – not sweltering heat, just warm and comfortable with a breath of freshness in the air.

It’s hard to keep exact track of the changing seasons because I’m not sure what it supposed to be happening but Autumn seems now to be winding down to winter and suddenly the warmth is gone. I got back to work after the Chusoek break (all 5 days of it) and wore roughly the same clothes as I was wearing last week. Last week I was starting to feel a little chilly after dark but nothing dramatic. On Monday, I was cold coming home.

And I know that it’s just going to get colder. I’m a little bit nervous about it. I’ve never really experienced proper cold. Several of the friends I’ve made here have said that I shouldn’t worry because it doesn’t really get that cold in Daegu. The fact that they are Canadian makes me a little sceptical. I have a feeling that ‘not that cold’ means something different in South Africa to what it means in Canada.

I even tried to buy a coat. There has been a rack of coats hanging outside a particular store for a week now and they’re quite attractive and reasonably priced. It was a very pretty little white coat, with double row of buttons and a belt. I would have bought it too, but apparently this shop only sells coats for women without breasts. I was a little offended, to be honest, by the way the shop assistant looked smugly at me as if there was something wrong with me and that was why the coat didn’t fit. Particularly because I don’t have particularly large breasts at all. I realise I shouldn’t take it personally – after all, I’m in a country where it’s apparently almost impossible to find a Bra above a C-cup – but it annoyed me. I feel the urgency to find nice, comfortable, school-appropriate winter shoes and a coat. I don’t know what to expect from this cold, so I need to make sure I’m appropriately dressed.

Yesterday, I woke up curled up in a ball, with my shoulders stiff from being hunched over. It’s not freezing, not by a long shot, but I can feel the Summer’s last kiss as it fades into a distant memory. I was reading something the other day that described Daegu as having short, hot, humid Summers and long, dry Winters. I love Winter for it’s grandeur and it’s emptiness but I will admit that this year’s winter, my first Winter in the Northern Hemisphere, the first time I’ll really be exposed to snow, makes me a little nervous. The temperatures now feel a little like the Winters I’m used to, except that it doesn’t really warm up during the day. But this is still the middle of Autumn.

The changing weather also makes me feel more foreign than ever. The last two days have been overcast and chilly. I’ve wandered around in a jersey, hunched over and feeling the cold. Around me, some Koreans are starting to dress a bit more warmly but there are still people in T-shirts, school kids in nothing but shirtsleeves and women in tiny, little skirts. The other foreigners look comfortable and cool and talk about how much more pleasant this is than the boiling hot summer. Not at all sure what to make of it all, I find myself shivering in the corner trying hard to figure out why humans ever left the warm, welcoming embrace of a sun-drenched continent.

I have friends who have adjusted to weather in all manner of places and I’m told the trick with the cold is to find particularly comfortable and pretty winter outer-wear. If I can just find a coat and some gloves and a hat that will fit, perhaps that will make the cold better.

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Learning to fly

October 2nd, 2009

Ever since I was a child, I’ve dreamt of flying. Not in the sense of someone determined to be an astronaut or a pilot but in the childlike sense of imagining how amazing it would be to be able to spread my arms and take to the skies. I vaguely considered sky-diving when I was at Varsity but somehow I never got around to it. Yesterday, I realised a dream.

It was also the first time in my life that I’ve done anything adventure/extreme-sports-ish, so I think quite a bit of the stiffness and exhaustion, now, is related to nerves and tension rather than the actual paragliding itself.

A lot of people plan this sort of adventure for weeks in advance. In this case, it was rather spontaneous. A couple of friends were supposed to be going to the Philippines for Chusoek (a major national holiday – harvest festival – when all Koreans return to their ancestral homes, which is accompanied by a long weekend). Unfortunately, a typhoon hit the Philippines, leaving over 200 people dead and causing major flooding. They cancelled their trip and decided to replace it with activities right here that would be fun and exciting. One of these – for which I joined them – was the paragliding. So instead of weeks to prepare, this all happened in the last 5 days.

We met at Dongdaegu station at 08:30 on Thursday morning. I struggled to get to sleep the night before with last-minute waves of concern that I may have spontaneously agreed to something completely crazy. My mother’s reaction when I told her (completely justifiably) was, “Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” I was also excited – especially after chatting to one of the people I was going with who had also never done this before. I still woke up in plenty of time, had a shower and some breakfast and headed off. I could have taken the bus but I hadn’t done much planning (to figure out which bus to take) and I wasn’t even sure how often the buses would be running on the Chusoek weekend, so I settled on the more expensive option of a cab.

I arrived early and wandered around the station looking at things and waiting for my fellow travellers. It’s the first time I’ve been to the train station in Daegu and the first time I’ve taken a train (apart from the subway) in Korea. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve left Daegu since I arrived, which made it all doubly exciting. Dongdaegu the station is modern and well-equipped and feels a little like an airport – which probably makes sense given that regular, high-quality train travel is the most effective to get around in Korea because the country is too small to make regular flights viable. We bought three tickets from the automatic ticketing machine (which it turns out functions in English as well as Korean) and, after grabbing something to wake us up, headed to the platform to await our train. None of us was entirely sure whether we were in the right place and on the right platform. To be honest, I’ve very glad I was there with the other two, who have travelled before; I’m sure I would have missed the train otherwise. When it did arrive (on time at 09:06), we rushed to get on (we were almost in the right place) and found our comfortable, padded, spacious seats. We were on the slow train (Mugunghwa) – the slowest and least luxurious of the three main Korean train-types. It was still pretty luxurious and we settled in to watch the scenery and doze for the short 1hour 40 minute ride to Changwon.

Because it’s the first time I’ve left Daegu, I was glued to the window, in spite of my tiredness. We passed towns and small settlements (which would be huge compared to what I know as small towns) and agricultural lands stretching across the valleys to the foot of the mountains in every direction. Sometimes we’d pass a temple complex on a mountainside, with ornately-decorated buildings in traditional style. I wondered how they could be peaceful with the railway line running so close. There were many tunnels, short and long, passing right through the hearts of the mountains. Our ears all got blocked every time we entered a major tunnels as if the pressure had changed as it does when you’re flying or driving and you suddenly change altitude. Most of all though, I was struck by the way that the countryside, at least of the area we were passing through, could be easily characterised by the three picturesque dominant features – mountains, rivers and bridges.

Looking at this world from the window of a train was a joy. I took some pictures but I’d like to go back and stop in the small towns and spend time walking around and exploring the rivers and mountains and bridges. On the front wall of the our railway carriage were some pictures which appeared mostly to be adverts for the KTX (the super-high-speed Korean trains). One of them, for some reason, seemed to show the KTX following the Trans-Siberian Railroad. Sitting on a train, looking at the amazing view and thinking about the Trans-Siberian Railroad was a wonderful reminder of the Trans-Siberian adventure I have planned for sometime in the future.

Today’s adventure, however, was drawing ever nearer. When we reached roughly the time we were supposed to arrive, we gathered our belongings and waited for a station to appear. It soon did and we hopped off and headed across the pedestrian covered bridge to Changwon station and a day good day to fly. We were a bit early so we found a seat to wait the short while until our instructor  arrived. The guy we were going paragliding with is an experienced instructor who, along with many paragliding-specific achievements, has apparently climbed Mount Everest twice. He is also the instructor that other friends of ours went with a few weeks back, so we knew a little of what to expect and had the reassurance of knowing that they’d made it back in one piece. We left the station and he took us to his ‘office’ (a long room full of paragliding equipment and awards) and offered us coffee and tea – which we gratefully accepted. We wondered if we were there to get to know him a little and perhaps watch a safety video (there was a VCR and TV) but it turned out we were waiting for the other instructor, who may or may not have been his brother. I should perhaps mention at this point that what we were doing wasn’t ‘real’ (solo) paragliding. That takes a whole series of lessons, a licence and far more money. What we were there for was a tandem jump with an instructor – who would do all the work while we simply enjoyed the experience.

As soon as we finished our coffee, we (by which I mean they) loaded up the mini-bus and we headed out of town. The site we were heading to for the jump was about 30 minutes out of the town in a rural-ish area. We drove to the bottom in the mini-bus, at which point the instructor got out,  planted a wind-sock in the ground and suggested we leave our bags behind. We were a little reluctant to do so (and not sure we understood), so we took them along and all climbed into the cab of a truck to go up the mountain on one of the most winding, hair-pin-bending, half-tar, half-dirt roads I’ve seen in a while. At some point I really thought the driver was going to go off the edge, but by now the anticipation was really building and we were pretty much exclusively focussed on the fact that we were about to jump off a mountain. Not focussed in the sense of sitting quietly and preparing for the event, partly because we didn’t know what to expect. We chatted all the way up and laughed quite a lot but it was all about the experience that we were about to encounter together. Exploring alone has it’s advantages but you forget the joy of anticipation and excitement mediated and amplified through sharing and conversation. I’m glad I had people to share this rather spectacular experience with.

By the time we reached the top, everyone was pretty psyched to jump/run off a mountain. The instructor informed us that only two people could jump at a time (I assume because they only had two tandem canopies), so I waited while Stephanie and Christina got ready to jump first. Actually, the way it turned out to work is that you run as fast as you can straight down a very steep slope towards the trees below you and at some point before you reach them, if all goes according to plan, you take off. The preparation involves standing there feeling a little useless while the instructor straps on knee-pads and elbow-pads and helmet and then puts on the harness and straps you in firmly – or at least supposedly firmly, one of our number had a particular flight that could have ended a little less pleasantly because the instructor didn’t tighten the straps enough. Once your harness is attached and you’re all padded up, you move into position and the instructor attaches himself to you and the canopy to both harnesses.

Then it’s time to run. Christina went first and, at the signal from the instructor, which almost seemed to take her by surprise, rushed down the mountain and looked like she was going to hit a trees or fall down the hill, when, all of a sudden, she and the instructor miraculously took off and floated through the air. We watched them until they drifted out of sight around the mountain. No time to contemplate as the team hustled Stephanie into position and the other instructor hooked her up. For each take-off, a group of several other men, none of whom were introduced but who all seemed to be paragliders or at least to know an awful lot about it, helped to get everything ready, untangling lines, checking straps and then lifting the canopy into the air as the jumping pair started to run.  Stephanie and her instructor started running down the hill but the canopy must not have inflated evenly (we surmised) because the team stopped them and they went back for a second try. On the second run, they got it right and headed off into the air. I felt a thrill as I watched them fly away.

And then I had nothing to do but wait for them all to return so that I could take my turn at flying. In the meantime, I wandered around taking some pictures and watched a few solo paragliders take to the air, with far less fuss and difficulty than our group had experienced, and head off into the distance. It was amazing to watch them lift off and fly away. Watching the experienced paragliders, I could see how carefully they steered their canopies and used the air currents to choose a direction and to go up and down and it made me just how much control they have and that their flying is not at all random. I also walked around a bit and stood looking down the hill you have to run down in order to take off. In retrospect, this might have been a mistake.

I didn’t have all that long to wait before the jumpers returned. They said their flight had been good but we didn’t have much time to chat before the instructor bundled me off to strap on masses of gear. I handed my camera to the other two and did as I was told as I was strapped into harnesses and padding and canopies. My mind by this stage was in a whirl – I was about to jump off a mountain. I was given simple instructions but I’m not sure how much I really took in: “When I say run you run really fast”, “we’re just waiting for the wind to be right”, “when I say ’sit’ you push down hard on this strap”, “are you ready? No wait!”. My mind was racing and I was trying to breathe deeply. And then we were running down the hill in an unsuccessful attempt to take flight. I think I may actually have mis-stepped as I tried to run-but-not-fall down the very steep mountain slope. We tried again but I still wasn’t running fast enough. I think my brain was reluctant to let me rush down a hillside in what seemed like an inevitable rush into some bushes or possibly down a mountain. On the third try we rushed down and then suddenly someone was pulling me from the front and we were hurtling to the left and into some trees and then suddenly we were above them and my whole body seemed to be a mess of nerves and sensations as I realised I was flying.

The instructor said “sit” and I pushed on the straps and found myself sitting in the air high up above the tall pine forests as we rushed and floated around the mountain. I was taking deep slow breaths and there was a solid knot in my stomach. It’s hard to describe the sensation – I was aware of everything and nothing and it was so much sensation, almost sensory overload. The physical memory is so strong that just describing it I feel like I’m reliving every second. I could see into the distance to what felt like forever, right into the next valley and the next, to the mountains so blue in the distance. At the same time, I fought the thought, looking down, of what would happen if we fell into that forest. At one point we turned a little sharply and I had a momentary passing thought of mortality. We soared around for what felt like ages and just a moment. I was aware of changing scenery below me. We turned back towards the mountain and I could see how far away we were from the take-off point. At some point the instructor held out a camera and took a picture of us in the air. Below me were rows and rows of fruit trees. I felt dizzy as we turned around a few times and vaguely wondered about motion sickness. We turned again and flew out over farmlands. The sensations are like a multi-dimensional sensory recording – like the whole-body sensation version of a movie, the images like frozen stills. The strongest is the picture of a moment when our shadow passed over an old Korean man in a hat tending his vegetable garden far below. We got closer to the ground and I became aware of the power-lines and flowers.

We seemed to be up there for quite a long time. It must have been about 10-15 minutes but it’s hard to sense time when your brain is simultaneously dealing with all senses being magnificently alive,  the views of forever, meta-thoughts about flying, thinking about mortality and trying to avoid thinking about the possibility of dying (which is hard to do at the same time), noticing every moment passing and just relaxing into the experience. After what seemed like forever and not nearly long enough, the instructor simply “we land, you run” and I found we were heading to the open spot where we would finally be landing. It’s strange to think you’re travelling so far and so fast but the wind is quiet enough to talk up there. I had no fear as the ground got closer but I found myself focussing less on the scenery and practising running in the air – perhaps to remind my legs what  that meant. We came down and I think ran one or two steps and then came to a stop sliding and sitting. Somehow in the landing I grazed my knuckles, possibly as we slid and finally stopped. I must have stood up – I don’t remember it – and the instructor untangled the strings of the canopy which had landed in front of us and took a photo of me holding them. He unstrapped me and set about folding it all up and moving us away with efficiency.

I didn’t know whether to scream or to sing or to cry or to sit down and contemplate. Christina and Stephanie were still at the top and there were no other English speakers, so while we waited for other people to land and everyone to organise themselves and pack up their equipment, and while other people arrived and things happened, I stood around and, mostly, looked out at a nearby dam and tried to re-engage my brain and figure out the feelings. I think perhaps the experience left us all a little in shock. I know that the time I spent at the landing area I wasn’t really all there and I didn’t really manage to think anything. At some point I picked up a piece of straw and broke into into equal-sized pieces.

And then I was climbing back into the truck for the trip back up the mountain, surrounded by what seemed like a lot of Koreans chatting loudly and masses of equipment. By this stage bits of my brain were again working sufficiently for me to be a concerned that the truck was overloaded. I was in the cab. It was a double cab. I was very aware of the hair-pin bends and the rather precarious road. I spent most of that nerve-wracking ride back up the mountain wishing for a Nissan Hardbody or a Colt Double-cab or any proper bakkie to replace the somewhat flimsy Korean double-cab-truck substitute. I have no doubt that I wouldn’t have been the least concerned about taking that road in a proper double-cab, even with all the luggage and the people, but Korean vehicles always seem to me a little like tin-cans-on-wheels and this truck was no exception.

We got to the top and I hurried off to find the others but it was somehow not possible to have a real conversation about the experience. I suppose it was all too new. They did say I seemed to have been gone for ages, which was confirmed when the instructor came up and said that I’d been in the air far longer than either of them. There was just enough time left for two people to go again and he suggested, because I’d had a much longer flight, that the other two should have a second go. I could definitely have gone again but I think the longer first flight was part of the reason my experience was so amazing, so I’m not at all unhappy that they got to go again. I wouldn’t have exchanged that for anything.

This time Stephanie took off first time and headed off for her second flying opportunity. Christina had a slightly more bumpy start; while they were running down the hill all around her people were shouting “go, go, go”, but given that they had previously been shouting “no, no, no” when they thought it was a bad attempt, everything was a little confusing. We heard when we all reached the bottom (me in one of the vehicles) that her whole flight was a little terrifying and the landing resulted in the instructor falling on her. But Stephanie’s second flight was better than her first so I suppose perhaps things balanced.

After that, we waited around for what seemed like ages, while the instructors and all the many other paragliding people chatted and packed up and made plans and waited for other people. By this stage all three of us were tired, thirsty and hungry and not really in the mood for waiting. I was glad that I’m so very used to African time and waiting around for people; I think it bothered me less than the other two. We were also aware of the time, though. My jumping-off-the-mountain companions were supposed to get back for a dinner so we needed to get an early enough train and it was by now 15:30, with the town was a good half-hour away.

When we eventually did leave the mountain of paragliding, that still had to wait, but the stop was a good thing that made us all feel better. About 5 minutes away from the place where we’d been, we stopped at a Chinese Restaurant for a late lunch. Of course the language barrier became a problem in ordering and the three of us ended up getting fried rice with vegetables in a garbled attempt at understanding. This started with spicy soup and then a large stack of rice topped with egg and mushrooms. It was fairly yummy, although partly because it was ’seasoned with hunger’. We were sorry, however, after he let us taste some, that we hadn’t ordered the sweet-and-sour chicken one of the other guys had – it was really amazingly delicious.

After lunch we headed back to town, stopping briefly at the office to pay our money and returned to Changwon station. By the time we got tickets, we had just 20 minutes to wait. We were also, by happy coincidence, on the medium speed train (Saemaul), leaving at 17:06, so we would arrive back in Daegu by 18:30. The train was rather full but we found our seats and watched Korea pass by as we sped on to Dongdaegu station, where we caught cabs and headed home.

The two friends I’d gone with went out last night but I was too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, even to consider doing anything. I’m eternally grateful to them, though, for the amazing opportunity. I don’t think I would ever have considered, never mind actually done, something like this on my own. In fact, I don’t think I’d ever have thought that it might be something which was a) possible and b) not prohibitively expensive. Many of the other vague ideas I’ve had about flying have been dismissed because the cost was exorbitant. This was very reasonable at 70 000 won. In fact, the whole trip was relatively inexpensive: 70 000 won for paragliding, 15 000 won for train tickets (6000 won there, 9000 won back) and 5 000 won for lunch. A total of 90 000 won, which converts to less than R 600. There are some things that weren’t perfect. I would have preferred a little more information about safety procedures before we took off, and perhaps to have had a better idea of exactly what to expect. It might also have been easier if the instructors had had a little more English. And the second instructor was definitely not nearly as competent or friendly as the first and flying with him not as good an experience. Other than that, however, the experience was good, none of us was injured in any way, the equipment was obviously well-maintained and, apart from the trip up the mountain in the tin-can truck, I didn’t feel in any way unsafe. Changwon is just an hour or two from Daegu so it’s also relatively close. So, all in all, the cost was minimal, the inconvenience limited and the disadvantages manageable. And the experience of flying, realising a dream, soaring through the air so incredibly alive? Well, quite simply, priceless.

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