Tag Archives: rain

Walking in the rain

Daegu,

Yesterday I went for a walk at Suseong Lake. Now that I’ve moved, the lake is very close by. I stepped out of my building and slipped the half-block up to the main road that runs past the lake. I walked along the block as the cars rushed past, past the Italian restaurant and a town-house complex with enough security to be in a Joburg suburb, towards the huge intersection. This intersection is where 5 roads meet, most of which are at least 4 lanes wide, two double carriage-ways. Just crossing the road is an exercise in patience and coordination involving three different traffic-phases to cross three different major roads. It’s highly advisable to wait for the pedestrian light each time. In fact, it’s the only way to survive – the traffic is fast and the drivers have no sympathy for careless pedestrians.

It was a chilly, overcast day and I was wrapped up in a water-proof jacket over my sweatpants, top and takkies. I walked past the artificial waterfall, not currently functioning because of the winter, and towards the lake. A light drizzle was settling in as I reached the water. I spent some time looking at the view. The water was grey-green, the buildings in the distance were misty-pale-grey, the bare tree trunks and branches were grey-brown.

I set off at a brisk pace. Old songs that I’ve sung many times before were playing in my mind, so I sang quietly as I walked along. Near the outdoor exercise equipment park-let, I stopped to watch the ducks swimming by.  There were no duck-boats on the lake.

Further on, I stepped through a muddy patch and made my way around a party of people who had just left the restaurant on the water. At the gazebo, the old men were playing boardgames, as usual, with plastic linings protecting them from the dripping rain.

Along the far side of the lake, the paved path disappears. I’ve never noticed that before. I walked along the muddy ground past the amusement park. Through windows, I could see employees sitting at deserted ticket offices next to wet and silent rides. The pathways sat slick and damp. Everything was wet and still. There is something eerie about a silent, empty amusement park. The low clouds turned the afternoon dusk-grey.

I walked back towards the intersection. The wind blew the falling rain into my face. The noisy geese that have recently taken up residence on the lake swam along on the other side of the lake, keeping pace with me as I walked. Their cries sounded like creaking doors or the screek of metal-on-metal. I could hear the quiet splashes of cars driving along the wet roads on the other side. I walked along and let the rain fall onto my face. Walking in the rain always makes me feel alive.

By the end of the walk, I was also starting to feel cold. I popped into a Family Mart to pick up some ice-cream – because there is nothing better on a cold day than Belgian Chocolate ice-cream – and a couple of other bits and pieces before heading home. The day remained cold and drizzly. Most of the days are like that at the moment. Bare trees against rolling grey clouds dominate the scenery. Walking in the rain makes it better. Walking near the water, in the wind, on a cold, miserable day feels better after hours and days inside heated buildings. Sunshine would be better, but fresh air and rain and wind on skin feels a little bit like freedom.

Missing the sky

Daegu, , ,

The warrior’s now a worker and his war is underground
With cordite in the darkness he milks the bleeding veins of gold
When the smoking rock-face murmurs, he always thinks of you
African sky blue
Johnny Clegg and Savuka, African Sky Blue

Daegu is a city of sky-scrapers. Sometimes when I’m moving around in buses and on foot, I can forget this and feel almost as if it is normal for buildings to tower over roads and buildings, but it’s always there at the back of my mind. I find all cities a little claustrophobic. I once spent a day in New York and my lasting impression of it is that there are too many buildings and not enough open spaces. And I don’t mean little parks in between the buildings. I know that lots of cities have created parks and planted trees and done everything they can to ‘green’ their cities. But a little bit of green is not the same as open spaces. This city is surrounded by tree-covered hills (literally surrounded – it feels like there are dozens of them). It’s hard to explain to someone from a completely different world that the green is sometimes as claustrophobic as the huge buildings.

Ultimately, I suppose it comes down to what you’re used to. The area where I’ve been living in South Africa is a forestry area, with miles of green forested hills and some natural forests of the Tsitsikamma variety. But these exist in between the wind-swept grassland mountain slopes and open hills dotted with acacias and the occasional aloe. And all the places I have travelled to in South Africa, as well as the several other places I have lived, have been surrounded by open space. Farmlands and game parks and open veld stretching to the horizon, or the immenseness of the open sea.

One of the other reasons that all South African spaces seem more open is probably because our cities tend to meander off into the distance instead of being compact (modern?) cities. We seem to build out instead of up. I suppose because a shortage of space is not generally a constraint. Plus, of course, ground that is not hugely stable in places like Joburg make building up a little risky. Here they build up. In order to house the apartments and offices of the millions who live in the small-ish city where I am, massive apartment blocks grow towards the heavens. When I first landed in Daegu, I was struck by the fact that, from the air, the sky scrapers looked like clusters of some semi-wild thing growing straight upwards from the ground. From the ground, from the streets and the little parks, they seem like monstrous hunks of concrete towering precariously above you (though the precariousness is probably just a matter of perspective). In a city surrounded by mountains, the sight of a green hill is actually fairly rare; a sweet surprise when you round a bend or find yourself high enough up to see them, but generally hidden by yet another neon-lit sky-scraper. Even from my fifth-floor classroom window, most of the hills are obscured by much taller buildings.

And then there is the rain. A lot of South Africa is way closer to desert than lush green paradise. I love the summer thunderstorms of the Highveld but they don’t deliver all that much rain. Even Cape Town, except when it’s flooding, only gets a moderate amount of rain compared to a lot of other places in the world. I got quite used to regular rain in Cape Town Winters. It didn’t thrill me then, either. This is a lot like that – except that it’s always hot. And there seems to be even more of it. I don’t think there has been a dry day since I arrived. I now don’t ever leave the house without an umbrella and most days I wake up to and/or go to sleep to the sound of rain. Today I was glad that the rain woke me because I had forgotten to set my alarm. But at some point enough feels like enough. You start to wonder how there can possibly be so much water in the sky (yes, I know scientifically that is a silly statement, but that’s how it feels). Particularly in the mornings when I’m walking to the bus stop  in the rain (almost without fail). And everything is always a tiny bit damp. Sometimes, when the rain is light, it doesn’t even seem worth the effort of opening an umbrella – and you know that it’s hot enough that the few drops of rain will dry off quickly. Even if I do get odd looks. But often it pours for hours at a time. This also means that there are always clouds. This isn’t the kind of rain that builds, then pours, then clears. Even on the rare occasions when I catch a glimpse of the sky (behind the dark green mountains and the dark grey sky-scrapers), it is grey and full of clouds and rain.

A friend has posted some stunning pics of a trip he took to Lesotho, complete with wonderful wide open sky. Looking at them this afternoon, I was filled with the first surges of homesickness – a deep longing for wide open spaces and endless blue skies. There is something amazing about the emptiness of the African sky – resting a million miles above an African Winter landscape, pale and dry and stretching forever to the horizon. Dana Synman writes in his book, On the Back Roads, “…Maybe it’s because today most of us are confined to life in the cooped-up spaces of the cities. It’s great to know there’s open space out there where you can just drive, and drive, and drive. Open spaces allow you to dream dreams of freedom.” A colleague and I were talking today about how the Koreans seem to live very ordered, confined lives. It’s an almost perfect foil to the freedom of open spaces. The symbol of that freedom for me will always be the sky – those wide open skies that go on forever and forever, with a depth and an intensity that seems to last until the end of time. It makes me think of the Voortrekkers, taking off across the mountains, into the distance – heading out to forever and a future that was uncertain but free. I wonder if they sensed the amazing weight of that empty sky.

Before this bout of longing for African skies, I had lunch today (with same colleague) at a place called Outback. Apparently there is some sense of the value of wide open spaces here, too, even if the name is (as I imagine it is) intended to appeal mostly to the minds (and wallets) of foreigners. Whatever their gimmick, I was not going to complain about being in a restaurant where I could order a steak – a good, solid, rich, medium-rare steak. Meat makes me happy, so it’s good to know that there are places to get a good steak in town. It may not happen often, but it’s good to know there is the option.

We also drove past a group of about 20 people sitting on the pavement outside a building, each on a square of plastic with some kind of plastic topped thing that looked a little like a plastic fan. I was a little confused. Then we saw them all start tapping their plastic things on the ground in unison and chanting. Apparently they were having some kind of protest. I always have a sense of something wrong when I see people from other countries protesting. I had the same feeling watching protests in the UK on TV earlier this year. I feel like they’re not doing it right. I tried to explain it to my colleague, how I feel that they’re not taking it seriously – they’re just not doing it right. In South Africa, a protest involves people who feel very strongly about their issue and will make that very clear with loud, un-ignorable singing and dancing. My colleague pointed out that if he was in charge he probably wouldn’t take it too seriously if people were singing and dancing in protest. Perhaps I didn’t explain it right. I remember watching a BBC report on protests somewhere (Indonesia?) earlier this year and thinking that the reporter was missing the point when he said that all seemed calm because people were singing and dancing. Perhaps it is because I know only too well (based on my country’s history) that a singing, dancing crowd is fully capable of turning to violence if their voices are not heard, but watching a crowd toyi-toyi, it feels like they’re taking it seriously. Or maybe it is the unique strangeness of South Africa (Southern Africa?) that singing and dancing are not just frivolous recreational pastimes, they’re part of everything – a serious, meaningful part of every serious, meaningful thing.

A serious part of every aspect of my life, too, no matter how far away I am. Like the African performances at the Mandela Day concert in New York, which I loved. Particularly Chris Chameleon and Baaba Maal. And watching Jesse Clegg and Freshly Ground perform Asimbonanga, which felt a little bit (at least from my slightly nostalgic perspective) like a new generation of South African musicians taking the torch. The music I can take with me – even if most people here will never quite understand it. Some days I wish I could do the same with the African sky.

Shopping and rain

Daegu, , ,

I went shopping the other day. So far in Korea, I haven’t really ventured further than my corner store, a little superette-type place down the road and the bakeries (there are three different Paris Baguette stores within easy walking distance of my flat, one on the way from the bus stop home). On Wednesday, I decided that it was time to venture a little further. Also, I had run out of paper and not having paper is a problem. So I headed down the road to have a look around. It looked like rain so I took an umbrella. I’ve been using an umbrella belonging to my boss since I got here – which he very kindly lent me on the first day, as soon as he discovered that I didn’t have one. It’s a little cumbersome but the promise of rain here tends to be fulfilled, so I took it anyway.

First stop was the department store. I have known that the store was there since soon after I arrived. It’s a large, pale pink, multi-storey monstrosity that says it is a department store (in English). Also the bus stop where I get the bus for work every day is just outside. I was particularly interested because I’m not particularly familiar with the department store concept. It’s something that never really took off in South Africa. I spent a little time wandering around trying to find the right entrance. Eventually I found an entrance and decided I should just go in there. I’m used to shops that clearly indicate where you should go in with large signs and security guards. This is a just a foyer area leading directly onto the make-up and perfume floor, usually hidden in South African stores behind other clothes and several more security people. Once inside, I was unsure of what do to next, so I headed directly for the elevator – following the woman in front of me. At the top of the escalator was a reassuringly English sign saying ‘youth casual’. I figured that probably didn’t apply to me so I headed up another floor and found the ladies’-wear floor, containing a staggering number of areas of clothes and shoes and handbags, each dedicated to a different designer or brand. I saw a name that looked vaguely familiar (Benneton, I think) and slipped quickly between rows of exquisite (and expensive-looking) shirts and jackets to look around – and attempt to blend in. I’m also looking for a pair of open sandals to wear in the oppressive heat and a handbag that is slightly more water-proof and a little less hippie-looking than mine, so there was method to the madness. Wandering around that floor for a while, I found myself somewhat disappointed. I didn’t actually try anything on, or even look at sizes, but every single item of clothing I saw seemed to be adorned with frills and lacy bits and odd patterns. I tend to wear fairly plain clothes, choosing to make an impression with colour rather than frills, so the idea that I might not be able to find anything here that isn’t frilly doesn’t thrill me. I wondered, vaguely and fleetingly, if it might have something to do with different body shapes – Korean women tend to be shorter, for example.

After a while, I headed up another level and found the ladies formal and work-wear floor, most of which seemed, to be honest, to be more of the same. Except for one thing that caught my eye – a stunning, shapely little black cocktail dress that I would love to own, in the M&S section, weirdly. It really is pretty and I may well just go back and see if it’s still there once I get paid. Until then (and possibly after then – I haven’t actually done the conversions yet) it is a little more than I’m willing to spend on a dress that I don’t currently have any opportunity to wear at 99,000 won. Sometimes I feel a little as if I’m living in Zim-currency-hell here. I also meandered onto the men’s- and golf-wear floor. At first I misread the sign and thought it said men’s golf wear, so I was a little surprised to see suits. Visions of South Korean men (and women once I saw the mannequins) wandering golf courses in suits. It appears women have two floors (excluding the youth floor) but men only get half a floor. Definitely gender discrimination right there. There is also a floor of house stuff – linen, fine china, cutlery and appliances. I may be visiting there soon. I currently have a non-fitted sheet for my bed and it’s beginning to drive me mad.

After wandering around looking (I’m sure) completely lost for a while, I decided to head out. I did find a music, movies, toys and kiddies’ books and clothes floor but couldn’t seem to find an exam pad. One of the greatest frustrations of being in a completely foreign place is not knowing where to find ordinary things. I’m used to having a stationers just down the road or at the nearest mall for the more complicated and high-quality stationary and, really, being able to get pretty much anything else at the supermarket. It appears they don’t have those kinds of supermarkets here. Or at least I haven’t found any yet. The ones they do have resemble far more closely 7-11 Friendlys than Pick ‘n Pays. Although, I think even the Friendlys in SA stock paper and pens.

On my way out of the shop, I looked around the sale section on the first floor and was hugely disheartened because all of the shoes and bags were, frankly, unattractive. I don’t ask a lot of shoes and bags – just that they’re functional and at least a little bit attractive. And plain – less of the buttons and bows is preferable. I’m hoping I was just overwhelmed and there really are some pretty ones here. There is also a Body Shop section. A little odd for Body Shop to be lumped in with Gucci and all the Yardleys and Revlons, but good to know they’re around – at least they’re familiar. On the way out of the door, in the foyer area, there was a table filled with umbrellas and a sales-girl (seriously, she must still be in high-school) trying to sell them. I was already carrying an umbrella but it’s a terribly large and clumsy one, so I stopped to have a look. The sales-person was quick to see a potential sale and rushed to show me a purple one with spots on it, which I assume she thought would suit me. I would have preferred something a little less… well… girly, but I just didn’t have the language to argue with her and it is one of those wonderfully convenient umbrellas that folds up to fit into a handbag, so I simply asked her to show me how big it was when opened (with gestures and facial expressions – but she got it) and then decided I’d take it. At which point, I wondered how to ask how much it cost. She must have noticed my confusion because she showed me a nice, clear label with the price (in numbers I could understand) and then took my money right there. So I now have a nice, lilac-purple, spotty umbrella, which fits snugly into my handbag.

On the way home, in desperation because I really do like to have paper to write on, I stopped into a little shop literally three doors down the road. I’ve noticed it before and it has things like picture books and paint and crinkle-paper so I thought I’d check it out, on the off-chance that they were a stationers, as well as a kids’-pocket-money-spending/art-supply place (they are across the road from an elementary school and a middle school and next door to a one-room after-school art academy). They certainly didn’t have a huge collection but I was (finally) able to find a book with blank pages. So, I now have paper to write on. I was helped by a sweet, if rather overenthusiastic, older lady who doesn’t speak a word of English. As I don’t speak a word of Korean, and I really didn’t understand her gestures, I wasn’t quite sure how we’d manage. I looked around at one point for a till (because it’s normally easiest to take the thing you’re buying to a till where they can ring it up and then look at the numbers) and saw with dismay that there wasn’t one. The book also didn’t have a price on it. Eventually I just opened my wallet and she must have understood because she pointed to a 1000 won note and nodded emphatically. Somewhat relieved, I headed home.

In the past two days, I’ve used the book plenty and been quite glad that I did buy a convenient and useful umbrella. It’s been raining a lot. On both Thursday and Friday mornings, it looked exactly like a cold, miserable Cape Town Winter morning – complete with rain alternating between beating down and drizzling and clouds drooping over the mountains like a teenage rapper’s jeans. It has been exactly the kind of weather that makes you want to do nothing but curl up on the couch with a book and a blanket and a good glass of rich, spicy red wine. I’ve spent many hours (while the kids are completing tasks) watching the rain fall outside my classroom window.

The only problem with this situation is that it’s also hot. It’s the kind of overpowering, all-consuming warm weather that fills me with the desire to spend marvellous afternoons drinking ice-cold beer in pretty beer gardens. Which results in some instinct-collision: I keep finding myself longing to curl up under a blanket with an ice-cold beer, or to sit in a beautiful beer garden with a glass of red wine and a book. It is very confusing.

I’m hoping next week might be a little lighter on the rain. I’m currently working mornings instead of evenings (much to my chagrin) because the kids are on summer vacation. This means that some days I’m done by early afternoon, providing lots of time to wander around and explore a little. I am even considering, if I have the time and inclination, trying to find my way to Downtown, where sock and shoe streets are apparently located. Assuming it doesn’t keep raining. And that I’m not suddenly told I’m teaching more classes.