Pióro

First day of class and I’m trying to learn the names of eleven Korean children. All the names are nuts and totally butchered by my heavy Western tongue. (I swear the consonants are lighter in Korean.) My assistant teacher suggested that I give them all English names. Before I could say, “Isn’t naming children a thing for mommys and daddys?” there was a crowd of expectant eyes around me.

“Um, do you like the name Mark?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. You’re Mark.”

“How about you. Um. Do you want to be called Sam?”

The friend of the would-be Sam started laughing and saying some jazz in Korean. I only understood, “Frodo.” So ‘Sam’ is out ‘cause all the other kids will think their classmate should be wandering around Mordor with his buddy. Sam became Jon. It’s weird that no one said anything to the girl who came with the English name ‘Cherry.’ There must be cultural thing I’m missing.

So, it seems christenings have been added to my resume. But not to worry. I don’t think these kids take naming things as seriously as I do. Most of them were instantly happy with their new names, as if I gave each one a shiny sticker. I’m sure their English names are equally disposable.

14 hours on the plane.

3 hours on a bus.

In Gunsan by 7:00 am Korea time, just in time to start our full day of orientation.

Luckily, we got to bed by nine, and had a solid ten hour sleep.

Also lucky we brought boots, cause there’s like two feet of snow on the ground, and it keeps coming. Very pretty.

As Warren says, who would have thought a place whose name starts with the word ‘South’ would be so damn cold! (Other than the South Pole of course.)

We get three hot meals a day, and they’re all rice. And kimchi too.

Actually, the food is yummy.

We’re still getting oriented, and tomorrow the kids arrive.

Apparently we have to teach them English or something… I knew there was a catch.

A few days before Christmas, Matt’s friend and former co-worker Warren hooked us up with a sweet job in Gun-San, Korea.

We leave tonight.

It’s been pretty hectic getting ready on short notice, but the opportunity was too good to miss. For two weeks we’ll be teaching at a winter camp for kids. One of the perks is that the flight’s paid for, and the return can be used any time in 2003. Needless to say, we’ll be traveling in Asia this winter.

We took a drastic step, and finally sewed some Canada flags to our backpacks… I know, we swore we would never be one of those travellers, but we decided it was more important not to be mistaken for Americans in Korea, as they’ve been causing some shit over there.

Our itinerary is loose, very loose. We figure we should hit Japan, if we can afford it, and say hi to my friend Matt Snell who’s been living there for a few years now. Taiwan, and maybe China? Then perhaps Ho Chi Minh City, and Bangkok? Our pal Paul is in Bangkok teaching English, we think.

We should still be in Asia for Chinese New Year, which could be a little bit of all right.

We’ll be updating as much as we can, so stay tuned.

Here come a whack of pics. These photos cover the bulk of our stay in Poland, including school, and our second foray into Germany. Just click the Pics button to the right and pick Collection 5. And here’s a special Christmas treat for everyone—especially those on dial-up—all the of these images are Web optimised. I know, I know, it’s about time!

I think this is the longest I’ve gone without posting in the last six months. Weird. Not much to report from Whitby. Stop. I hear some of you laughing and saying, “But there’s never anything to report from Whitby!” Yes, ‘burb dissing is as easy as lying to models and both are good for a giggle.

It’s amazing how busy you can find yourself even with no job. Christmas shopping kept me walking around Toronto for five daze. When I started that yearly ritual of undisguised consumerism, I was filled with nothing but resentment. But as I got going, I began to enjoy myself. I can’t explain it. The romantics will call that “the joy of giving” and the cynics will say that consumerism is simply coursing through my green North American blood. Still, there is a bit of a high when you got a gift that works, one that strikes the right balance between surprise and appropriateness. Like alive things. Pretty much guaranteed to surprise. Not plants though. I’m talking things that walk, like bugs.

“Oh. Thank you dear. A can of Raid. That’s wonderful.”

“Got you something else Mom.”

“Oh really. This is too much. Thank you.”

“Might want to hold on to that Raid.”

Merry Xmas, Mom.

Just under six months and 16 countries later (minus one if you don’t count a simple train-ride through Switzerland and add one if you count the Vatican City) plus 10 hours of flying and 10 hours of waiting around airports and wa-BAM, we’re back in the land of maple syrup and insightful news features that inform us that “more and more people are buying ready-made food from grocery stores these days.” (Sometimes it’s better when you don’t understand what they’re saying.) Lately, we’ve been trying to undo six months of museums, art galleries and partially butchered languages with satellite-TV and every episode of this season’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel and the Gilmour Girls.

I was hoping for a home-grown culture-shock brought on by looking at the homeland with eyes that have seen so many others. I was hoping it would hit me like a bag of Yukon gold potatoes swung by the mighty poutin-fueled biceps of Big Joe Mufferaw. And, so, not much luck on that front. The post-trip comedown has been as exciting as Canadian national news. I was struck by the hugeness of the grocery store and size of the yoghurt containers. But, I am in Whitby and re-acculturation can only happen in a place with culture.

So the train from Wrocław to Hamburg was dope. 2nd class but we felt like royalty: foot room, free chocolate. Bye-bye bleak East, hello glittery West. Tobi, thanks for letting us crash and disrupt your studies in beautiful Hamburg. Props to the peeps in your flat. The train to Kempten to see Kate was a 14 hour marathon. Bye-bye high speed inter-city, hello discount regional travel. But the seven stop-overs and the cool conversation thanks to Stephan, made time fly. In Kempten we had beer for breakfast (we are told it’s the thing to do), went on day trips to the Alps, and saw some crazy fairytale castles. Kate, thanks for letting us crash. Flo, the food was great and thanks for letting us cook up pictures on your computer. Then it was off to see Michelle in Grenoble, France, a cool little French town in the Alps. It’s a town that breaks all the French stereotypes: the people are friendly and don’t get insulted when you try and speak French to them. Michelle and Andreas, thanks for letting us crash. Props to your peeps. From there, it was Paris for a night and Charles de Gaul Airport in the morning.

I forgot my mother’s birthday. I knew it was coming. In fact, two days before, while Martha and I were on the train from Wrocław to Hamburg, I remember saying, “I have to email my mom in two days.” And did I? No. Instead, I was wandering around the Reeperbahn, Hamburg’s red-light district. A friend walked me down Herbertstrasse, a small block only open to guys over eighteen (no, I wasn’t IDed). No women are allowed to walk down the street, which is odd, ‘cause there were lots of women in the windows waving to me. They were all wearing tight clothes, from leather to PVC. Still, it wasn’t as outrageous as I’d hoped. I’ve seen episodes of Bleu Nuit that were more risqué. So I wandered around this den of sin without one though of my mom. Looks like Freud was wrong…

So after a week of letting all the school drain out of our systems, we left Kraków for the south of Poland. Zakopane is essentially Whistler, Poland, but cuter. I’m sure this place is just overrun during the summer hiking season and the winter skiing season. November is neither of these. Our converstation at the tourist info place went like this:
“So are any of the ski hills open?”
“No, there isn’t enough snow.”
“The hiking trails then, they’re open?”
“Some, maybe, there’s too much snow. You’ll have to ask at [this other tourist office that knows stuff about the mountain conditions].”
“Okay, how about the funiculars.” (There is one to the top of Mt. Gubałówka and another to the top of Mt. Kasprowy.)
“No, one is closed for the week, the other is closed for the month.”
“Um, right. Okay, how about the Stanislaw Ignacy Witkiewicz Theatre?” (Famous for launching the theatre of the absurd in Poland.)
“No, closed until Christmas.”
“Are there any galleries or museums?”
“Yes, here’s a list. But they are all closed today and tomorrow.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Enjoy your stay in Zakopane.”
Despite these hurdles we had a wicked time. We got some funky 70’s style room in a house and spent three days hiking in the snow covered valleys of the Polish Tatras. Gorgeous. On our last day, we even acquired a guide dog. Some random puppy thought he’d walk us through two of the western valleys. Nice doggy. We thought about puppy-napping him.
Then it was off to Wrocław. Beautiful, hip city, with miserable weather. More snow. Back in full traveller mode, looking at churches, museums and galleries.
So that’s it for the land of pierogi. In an hour we are headed for Hamburg.

Nine years ago today, I went for a little afternoon canoeing on the Ottawa River with some friends. Dave Temple was coming over to Crystal Beach, and he, Ali, Michelle and I were just going to dick around on the river for a while. Dave brought along a friend. The first time I ever met Matt, he was sitting in a canoe, tuque on head, dressed in layers of warm plaids. It all seems so fitting now. So wonderfully Matt.

This Halloween, there isn’t any canoeing, but I’m not complaining. Kraków doesn’t really know how to do up Halloween proper, but it’s not a bad place to be celebrating our ninth anniversary.

I started the day by finally finishing Brothers K by the Doyster, which is good because we’ll be packing our bags soon and starting on the last leg of our journey, and that book is heavy! Of course, our gift to each other today was a trip to the English bookstore, where we picked up yet another book for the road.

Matt’s gift to me is that he is letting me cut his hair tonight. I keep telling him that this is also my gift to him, but he just can’t seem to see it that way. I’ve promised that I’ll only nip off what I’ve dubbed his ‘cape’ (he is way beyond mullet). Of course, I have no firm plans of attack, and will just have to see where the scissors lead me. Shit, he’ll probably read this and get cold feet. He has Samson-like delusions when it comes to his hair, but what can I say, I love him.