The Hardest Goodbyes

I had to post twice in a day. It's my final day in Korea and there are so many emotions running through ma veins, through ma brains. I used to be excited about turning the page and starting a new chapter in my life. But on this day, I just feel sadness that it's ending. This life I'd known and figured out through trial and error is over today. I'm saying goodbye to Korea, though surely not forever, and now I can only reminisce about how I've grown and changed and learned from her. There will be no more new memories and experiences to be made.

All this, too, applies to my ex-wife. Although we didn't work out ultimately, it wasn't due to hatred for each other. We get along splendidly, and continued to live together as roommates these last several months. But our paths must diverge if we are to continue growing and thriving in this life. And so, I am saying goodbye to her today, too, to one of the best friends I've ever had. It's like going through a double break up. The hardest thing I've willfully brought on myself.

I know that time heals all and my excitement about this trip will return. I've been planning it for years, unable to wait for this day for so long. Counting down the hours, budgeting and re-budgeting, spreadsheets full of cost breakdowns, purchases made in anticipation. How long was my nose buried in a map, determining just exactly where and which way I should go to finally complete my trip around the world that I started 8 years ago? Now, I'm all packed. Take a look at the haul:

All that's fitting into two bags hanging from my shoulders. I've sent two boxes of other belongings home, with one more being sent today. My life is now fractured. My worldly possessions are scattered around the Earth. I will be homeless in hours from now. I am already unemployed. It's a strange feeling. All of it. I guess there is solace in knowing that tomorrow I'll be on a tropical beach, the warm breeze eroding my anxious grief into a worn contentment with life. But today is still a hard experience no matter how you cut it.

Anyway, enough blubbering. Keep yer eyes peeled for new posts about jealousy-inducing, exotic locales and experiences. All zero of my readers shall rejoice as I make my way slowly around this great big Earth.

The Rejects

If you follow me on Facebook (you do, religiously), you'll know that I finished up my 30 day countdown photo series yesterday, but there were a few that almost made the cut. I was shuffling around closer to 40 shots that I was considering. Here are the ones that didn't make it.

 This first one was just a random encounter. Out on Dotobori, under the glittering Glico Man, I heard music. That's not abnormal in the sensory intensity of Osaka, but I also heard chanting and grunts from a group of men. Come to find out, there's a J-pop concert going on, and the crowd is mostly men my age or older who know all the words, all the chants. It's a little jarring culturally. I found out that they only roped off the little square of the stage, so one was free to amble almost right up to the performers and get a glimpse into their surreal experience. Osaka, Japan, August 2017.

 Ah, yes, Bagan. There were so many of these long, dark corridors that I walked down. No telling which one this is specifically. There's probably a Buddha statue just to the right of the intersection, its spine arrow straight against the other side of that wall. It was like going back in time, really. I know how people say that about certain places and it's, like, semi-true, but in Bagan it felt more like that than anywhere else I'd ever been. I love it there. Bagan, Myanmar, September 2016.

 There is so much gold at the Royal Palace in Bangkok that I sometimes wondered whether the ground sloped down any from all the weight of metal concentrated in one spot. And not just gold, there are jewels and other sparkly things everywhere. I can only think that coveting such riches and flaunting them as such speaks to a deep insecurity, but we know this is not true in the case of the King of Thailand, may he reign a thousand years. Bangkok, Thailand, August 2011.

 This picture gives a sense of the chaos of nightlife in Korea. There's lights, there's action, there's a butt-ton of people going to a butt-ton of different places who've consumed a butt-ton of drinks and are wearing a butt-ton of makeup. It's intense, and it's fun and unforgettable, especially in this specific place in Hongdae. Party Central, Seoul, Korea, March 2014.

 I like this picture because we get a glimpse into the lives that thrive around the ruins of Angkor Wat. All we normally see is the grand monument to the Angkor people's achievement, which is impressive no doubt, but we rarely get a sense into the humanity that surrounds it. Here, a few hundred meters away from the bustle of Angkor, we have two bike riders on their way to wherever. But I like the people on the left fringe, lounging on a ruin. Even after 800 years, they're still utilitarian constructions, and that makes them even more special. Angkor, Cambodia, March 2014.

 In this one, we see a full range of human emotion. Determination, upset, frustration, panic, impatience, relief, exhaustion. That is the power of the relay race. This was early on, my first Sports Day at my first school. The excitement of the kids and the enjoyment of their parents was palpable, and I really had a good time on this day. I even got a free polo shirt as one of the teachers. Also, now that I think about it, these kids are now in high school. Wowee wow. Daegu, Korea, May 2010.

Ah, yes, how can I ever forget Ella? I couldn't help from whispering, "stunning," to myself repeatedly at the views here. It was a beautiful day, although a bit hazy, and lounging around like a Lion King was so satisfying. Here, you can see how far people take it. There are those little people toward the top of the cliff who were a little more daring than I could be. Ah, to be young again. Ella, Sri Lanka, February 2017.

Hmm, I suppose that'll be all then. It's time for a new adventure. Goodbye, Korea.

Gear, Pt. 2

Good random Tuesday to you. I'm back with some updates concerning what'll be inside the bag I carry on my back through several countries. The final round of internet orderings came, and I wanna share with you what's going on, just in case I refer to it later or you wanna have a little insight into what your ass should pack if you ever wanna do something similar. Refer to post one regarding gear if you're not caught up.

Let's get the most boring and utilitarian items out of the way. I got a quick-drying towel and a small waterproof pouch. Whoopdie-doo, loser. Alright, moving on.

I'm not sure what a Yookie is, but that big blue bag is also waterproof. You may be thinking, why would you need a 15 liter waterproof bag? Silly rabbit. That waterproof bag is my washing machine. I've been thinking about how best to do laundry as a long-term traveler and I've come across a couple of items that are basically bags you throw your dirty clothes in, fill up with water, put some detergent in, and then sort of deeply massage with your feet while you play on Facebook for ten or fifteen minutes and voila! Clothes so clean you'll need sunglasses to look at 'em. Being the enterprising not-so-young man that I am (read: cheap ass), I thought, why pay fifty bucks for a waterproof bag that's labeled for laundry use when I can get one that's not labeled for laundry use for ten? And here we are. I'll maybe let you know if it was a good decision or not.

Next, we come to that water bottle. That ain't no normal water bottle. That thang comes with a filter.

That filter instantly removes chemicals, herbicides, pesticides, sediment, bacteria, and viruses, rendering any source of fresh water in the world potable. What a time to be alive, eh? Shout out to Drinksafe, who successfully got U.S. Marines to go out into the desert and drink their own urine as a test for this thing. And yes, it even worked with urine. The filter lasts for up to 1600 liters, which is much more water than I'll need for this whole trip. No more polluting the Earth with discarded plastic bottles, nor paying to buy them. This'll pay for itself before I set foot in America if I don't lose it before then...

 Next up, we got a sleeping bag liner.

 Wut wut? If I've learned one thing from my past travels, it's that if you wanna save money, sometimes you're gonna sleep on questionable surfaces. This I plan to use at least for the several overnight trains in India, as well as for its intended use in Nepal, and those are just the foreseeable instances where this'll be useful. In a pinch, this puppy will protect against bedbugs, or put a layer between my body and the mystery stains of some seedy hotel room.

This last one's not gear, but something that I've been very anxiously awaiting since November and arguably the most important thing mentioned today. It's my 2018 World Cup Fan ID.

What a gem of a pic, eh? But that's not the point. Pay attention! In case you are unaware, Russia has a...very restrictive entry policy for tourists. Call it a holdover from the days of the USSR. One must pay a large sum of money to the specific Russian Embassy of one's own country and accompany that sum with a letter of invitation from Russia, which comes at an additional price from hotels or organized tours. It's expensive as well as time consuming and I don't have the luxury of visiting the US just to get a Russian visa. But Putin did something extraordinary for the upcoming World Cup. He waived that requirement for the entire month of the games for anyone holding a Fan ID, which comes free with the purchase of a ticket to any game. That means I can enter the country with only this, and for cheaper than the normal visa cost.

There are a couple of reasons for the anxiety though. The website for obtaining the Fan ID is less than helpful. It's definitely set up like a website from the early 2000s: everything is bulky, and some of the info is outdated or incorrect. They state that they send out the Fan IDs upon receipt of the application, which most definitely is not true. I filled that application out in early November. Then, it sat under the category of "unprocessed" until January. Then, it sat in the category of "in print" for another couple of weeks (that's a really slow printer) until I received a text telling me it was sent to the post office about two weeks ago. And of course there's no way to track it after it leaves Russia.

That's not all. The application itself is wonky. They control what characters one can input into certain fields. The address was particularly frustrating. Korea changed its zip code system a couple years back, but of course the Fan ID website only allows one to put in the old Korean zip code, yet also requires one to fill out the fields labeled " building number" and "apartment number," which is particularly troubling for those who live in a house with no additional apartment number. On top of that, they botched the address I entered anyway. They forgot to include the building number, which is pretty important in finding where to specifically send a package.

I gotta give Korea some props here. The deliveryman must have seen my name and remembered that I was the only foreigner living on my street. Even with the old zip code and a missing building number, he brought that shit right up to the correct door lickedy-split. No muss, no fuss. And my heart rate can now slow to normal again. Everything is going according to plan.

Heartbreak in Seoul

Some emergency button was pressed in Seoul that, as far as I know, is still blaring from our weekend there. I am not even joking.

After work on Friday, I caught the slow train up just in time to grab a burrito for dinner and then head to the venue, which was a small basement accessed through a hole in the wall called Channel 1969 near Hongdae. My boy was playing the drums again, this time in his other band. (You can check them out here. Warning: MATH ROCK ALERT!)Their show was fairly succinct, as they were opening for a Korean band called Dabda. I can't find any additional info for them, but it was clear that most of the people in the audience came to see Dabda judging from the reception they received. I guess it didn't help that my friend's band is based in Daegu and they were playing to strangers in Seoul.

After the show, the night carried on into late-night barbecue with both bands, coupled with waaayyyyy too much soju and beer. There was a mart stop at some point, and then a continuation at our AirBnB, where some strange dude and one of my dudes got into a heated argument about fascism. I got involved, as did another of our group, but it was working on 4 AM, everyone was drunk, and no dents could be made in the steel walls we'd all put up behind our glazed-over eyes. I went to bed before the others had finished their slurred arguments.

Saturday morning/afternoon was pretty rough. We got lost on the way to breakfast/lunch/early dinner, but meandering through the rolling hills of Seoul was nice. The neighborhoods look slightly different than in Daegu. There are more hills. The buildings butting against the street are arranged a little differently, a little more dilapidated in general. Seoul has a few more wrinkles on its face, some from laughter and some from sorrow, like its highs were higher and its lows lower.

We ate some bomb Indian/Nepali food at this place called Everest. The tea, the samosas, the momos, the curries--everything was awesome. We overdid it though, and spent the next couple of hours in a Starbucks blowing up their bathrooms and recovering.

The main reason we came up for the weekend was to attend a concert. We were seeing Tricot, a Japanese math-rock band playing their first show in Korea. I was introduced to them the first time I went to my drummer friend's apartment for a small gathering. He had their DVD playing on his laptop for background noise. They were immediately noticed--tight, urgent, energetic, technically proficient. I still have no idea what they were singing about, but it doesn't matter when they put on a show like this.

It was even better seeing them in person (and so close, too!). These tiny Japanese girls jumping around in front of a tiny Japanese dude just destroying it on drums, nary a mistake in sight or sound in any of them. It's hard not to move your body with such contagious energy spewing from the stage. I'm glad to have experienced it.

The other highlight of the night was this bar that was hidden, signless, in the basement of some apartment villa. It was amazingly decorated with homemade art and wood and amazingly soundtracked to create an amazing atmosphere. (Why didn't I take a picture of it!?) I feel lucky to have found that gem. It was definitely a good day, despite the hangover.

Sunday was much more bittersweet. My friend started it off right by pushing the wrong button in our high-tech apartment, prompting some loud emergency alarm to go off incessantly. We couldn't turn it off, so we just left. Nobody seemed to respond or care or maybe it was attached to nothing. That's Korea for you.

But the thought crept back into my brain in the taxi ride to the station: these were my final moments in Seoul for a very long time, perhaps forever. With that sort of finality, I thought of all the mixed feelings I've had for that city over the years I've known it. The things I caught a glimpse of but didn't fully experience, the things I experienced too much of, the things that were once there but are now gone, the things to come that I won't be around to experience. I don't think I've ever really felt that way before. I was genuinely sad to leave it.

I felt like if I had it all to do over again, but with the knowledge and experience I already have, I'd live in that concrete mess. I've had a lot of fun in the random corners of that city, most of it forgotten or weathered away by time, incapable of being replicated ever again. I felt nostalgia, I felt sad at aging and life changing in the way that it always does. I wanted to trap that city in a snow globe that I could visit whenever I want. But that's not how it works. I just have to look back at what little I've written about it and visit the fuzzy pictures I took and try to transport myself for a moment back in futile hope. It's like a form of heartbreak, isn't it? Till we meet again, Seoul.

New Year, New Eyes!

Happy New Year! Yay! The apocalypse has not rendered us all non-existent! Okay, a lot has happened so try to keep up. I got LASEK. "But Steve," you say in italics, "isn't it LASIK? With an I?"
To which I reply, "Uncultured swine! There exist several different kinds of corrective eye surgery! LASIK is only one option in this bright future we live in!"

The option most choose is LASIK (Laser-Assisted In-Situ Keratomileusis [betcha didn't know what it stood for, eh?]), wherein they slice the cornea to create a flap, then peel it away so the laser can get all up in yo' eyes, and finally replace the corneal flap to eventually heal and reconnect itself as one uninterrupted solid. The option I chose, No-touch LASEK (Laser-Assisted Subepithelial Keratomileusis), does not create a corneal flap. Instead, it removes the epithelial layer with some solution and then the layer is somehow replaced afterward under a protective lens one must wear for 3-4 days afterwards (as far as I understood it from someone who speaks English as a second language).

The reason I chose the E instead of the I is that in the end, the cornea is more stable. If someone punches me in the face, which with the way I operate in life is likely, there's no chance of rupturing the flap created through LASIK, because that shit lasts fo' lyfe. It's slightly more permanent with less chance of complications is what I'm getting at. But also the recovery time is mad longer. I still have yet to recover fully a week and a half later.

I'm going to transcribe the journal entry I wrote recounting my experience:

My final pic wearing glasses, only hours before surgery. Note my enthusiasm.

I went under the laser  and began the transformation to cool Steve. Today, I'm so cool I'm wearing sunglasses inside, but that's because my eyes are like a burning hell pit inside.

Let's back up. Yesterday, I nervously awaited the arrive of 3:30, my scheduled time to arrive at 누네안과병원 (Nune Eye Hospital, for when I'm old and senile). I got off the bus closer to three and walked through the doors about 3:20. Just so anxious to go through this unique, painful experience.

My handler seemed unperturbed at my early arrival and accepted me gracefully. She made me sign a paper stating that I understood what I was about to do, (hopefully not go blind!) which was strange because I actually had to check a box affirming that I did not have "unrealistic expectations."

Like, who would check yes? The very wording sort of weeds anyone out who should check yes.  I mean, getting superpower x-ray vision isn't unreasonable to expect, right?

She walked me through the post-surgery regimen, which basically sees me constantly dumping shit into my eyes for the next month. Then, she had me pay the most expensive bill I've ever paid. I must be a masochist to pay that much for constantly burning retinas. Nah, my baby greens are worth it.

With everything settled, she asked, "Are you ready?" I didn't answer. She handed me some necklace thing I had to wear so that my next of kin would be able to identify my remains, and we were off, whisked away to the mystical land of smiling laser beams.

When my turn was up, I took off my shoes and emptied my pockets and put on the blue hospital gown (gettin' SERIOUS!) We stepped into the blood-taking area. Taking blood? For what? Vampire mafia, I'm guessing. You want Vlad's protection, you gotta PAY!

The nurse then drowned my eyes and the skin around them in liquid, which rendered them numb. Then, it was go time. We stepped into the operating room. I was told that I had to look at the green light NO MATTER WHAT. This was the part that I had actually lost sleep over. What if I looked away? At least I'd get a badass seeing eye dog, I guess.

I laid my head under the big honkin' machine and locked my eyes with that green light long before I needed to. Ain't no way these eyes were gonna falter.

First, they dressed up my left eye all pretty-like in one of them braces that keeps your eyelids open. The doctor put a bunch of stuff in my eye, thoughtfully explaining what he was doing in English. I just stared at that green light. No stopping this Mr. Farenheit.

Then, he said the fated words: "Let's go." The laser machine came to life like I was directly beneath a flying saucer. Keep staring at the green light! To the sides, lasers shot into my eye, distorting the green light to more of a green blurry area somewhere in front of me. Keep looking! It became huge and blurry, and the flying saucer looked more like it was burning up trying to enter Earth's atmosphere. I could feel the laser, or more accurately, the pressure from it. No pain, at least, but there was a smell, like burning hair caught in a cauldron of melted sulfur. I was later told it was the burning of my eye proteins. Sweet! All in all, that laser shot into my eye for about fifteen seconds. But then came the most painful part.

The laser heats the eye, so after it's finished obliterating the quaint little villages inside your eye (I assume it's like Independence Day) the doctor's gotta cool it down. Put out the fires.

He basically ran a mini-faucet of ice water over my eye. The contrast was stark, but at least the green light became clear again. I never looked away.

He finished by putting the temporary lens over my cornea where it was dissolved to allow the laser to pass through. I gotta keep those puppies in until at least Friday.

The procedure was repeated for my right eye and it was finished. I was under that machine for probably five minutes total.

I sat in the recovery room for about ten minutes with a cold ice mask over my eyes, and then it was back out. I had to give the gown back. Boo!

My vision was slightly better than before the surgery, but everything was also slightly foggy. I had a hard time focusing on printed words and as the day soon turned into night, a corona formed around every source of light. But still no pain.

I woke up at about 5 AM the next morning extremely reluctant to open my eyes. When I did, so much water escaped from them I thought it was because my eyes had in fact melted and were now spilling down my cheeks.
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I return a humbled man. It was around nightfall, just over twenty-four hours since surgery when some demonic invisible onions began to get chopped in front of my eyes.

These were special onions, because they set my eyes to nonstop crying and burning and my nose to nonstop running. I had literal piles of crumpled up toilet paper that had been tossed on the floor after absorbing my facial fluids and brushing against my irritated skin. I went through three rolls of TP in about twenty-four hours.

That second night, I'd wake up intermittently to empty my eyes. Yeah, tears built up so much that it woke me up, and as soon as I opened my eyes, the massive build-up would spill out. The dam had broken, flooding out down my cheeks. I cried and snotted so much that I was chronically dehydrated. Light was always accompanied by pain, best friends inseparably skipping down the dirt road into my eyes.

All I could do for the past two days was lay in agony, eyes clamped shut, listening to podcasts while intermittent bouts of random burning surged and retreated. The surges came less and less frequently, though, and by the third morning I could once again open my eyes without wanting to die.
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Hoo, doggie what a ride. I went back to the doctor on the third day to check my progress and get the lenses taken out. Everything was shaping up as it should. I am almost two weeks out now, and although my vision is still not perfect, it is much better than it used to be. But I've got various eye drops I gotta keep using for at least two more weeks, so my eyes are definitely not fully healed yet. Such is the choice I made. But I'm happy with it. The money spent on this is an investment that will pay for itself eventually. No more shall I buy glasses and contacts.

Anyway, it was now or never. The price of the surgery in Korea is undoubtedly cheaper than the price in America, and probably with a smidgen of additional free services added on. I get free checkups for the first three months after surgery and some supplementary items to help with the healing process. They cured my astigmatism, too, which I didn't know before scheduling the surgery.

That's all I got for you folks right now. I'm less than fifty days out from my trip of a lifetime. Holy moley.

What, What? World Cup!

Just wanted to let you folks weep with jealousy for a minute. Today, I got word of the official drawings for the 2018 World Cup. I signed up for two game tickets (one solo ticket for two different games [because, again, I have no friends]) for the month-long event taking place in Russia next June to July, and I got both of my first choices. These will be in Kazan on June 27th, and Moscow on July 1st.

Since I purchased those tickets in the first round of sales (thus with the highest success rate of getting the tier I wanted [the cheapest, duh]), I didn't yet know who was playing the matches. I was slated to go to two random games, with not much thought as to who I would see. The experience was what I was after. I don't mind hanging out with Iranians or Brazilians or whatever.

Well, today I found out who the lucky teams were that would be graced with my watchful eye, and it could not have been a more fortuitous result. South Korea and Germany. In Kazan, which I am excited to visit for its own merits. (The teams playing in Moscow's game are still undecided, as they will be the winners of their first match.) Germany is, like, real good at soccer, y'all. They could win the whole thing. But that's not nearly as important as their rival. As you probably know, South Korea has been my home for seven years, and the only team out of the 32 that I would actually give a serious damn about. I'm doubly excited now that I get to see them play AT THE MUFUGGIN' WORLD CUP!

Just look at those handsome fellas. Representing the Republic of Korea, and I'll be there screaming my head off in support of them the whole game. Don't let me down, guys. The webbernet says you've got around a 18% chance of beating Germany. Well, it was a 6% chance I'd get to see South Korea play out of all the teams, and THAT's happening, so come on. 'Tis the season of miracles.

Whoops, I skipped a month! Also, Gear!

Yeah, well, things happen. Like life and such. It's December now. I'm doing better than before. (It's getting better all the taiyime!) I came home yesterday to a package that I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of.

Aww, yiss!

I ordered some gear for the upcoming Epic Travel Trip 2018 (it's a working title. I'll fix it later) and I'd like to share it with you folks.

I'll start with the thing I was most anxious about: the boots. I ordered some Columbia Redmond Waterproof Mids for the ETT 2018: A Nepalling Hike (say it real fast) portion of the trip. Ordering hiking boots online is a precarious proposition. You can't try them on, and fit is extremely important for footwear you'll be climbing mountains in. The best I could do was go to my local outlet and try on similar boots for size, but the thing about Korea is that they don't sell that particular kind of boot and the sizes are all funky and weird. I chose the Redmond model specifically for its low price, breathe-ability, light weight, and waterproof elements. It seemed like a foot-sheath that could act as both a day-to-day shoe and a hiking boot. Anyway, I am happy to report that they fit a-like-a-gul-love-ah.

Let's move on to the little black thingy: the Anker PowerCore 20100. That's also mainly for A Nepalling Hike. Charging electronics on the trek costs cheddah, so instead I'll be relying on that lil' puppy to recharge my addiction and picture machines. The only downside is that sucker is heavy. You could bash a cat's head in with that thing in a pinch.

Ahem. The shirts are quick-drying spandex blends (good for ma sweaty bawday) and the black one even has SPF50 built in to it (good for ma skin cancer preventiyawn). Those are mostly for the extreme heat of India and Egypt. I haven't come up with clever names for those portions of the trip yet.

Next, let's explore the pants. Them little gems are convertible. Unzip 'em at the knee and they become shorts! And for extra loser points they're cargo style! Elastic waistband! PLUS A BAJILLION! PEW PEW PEW PEW! LOSER OVERLOAD! I'm not getting invited to any parties wearing those things, but at least I'll be comfortable and able to get into any sudden temples that require respectfully covered extremities. Also fast drying and cool for the unforgivable swamp ass!

Speaking of swamp ass, not pictured (because I'm wearing them) are me new undies, made from bamboo fiber and designed to keep the nether-regions cool whilst wicking moisture outwards. My recent trip to Matsuyama Castle taught me that swamp ass prevention is paramount to having a good experience during hot summer trips.

Merino wool hiking socks are pretty self-explanatory, and the only thing pictured meant to keep one warm instead of cool.

Finally, we come to the selfie stick. Look, y'all, at this point I'm not gonna pretend to be cool. I don't have any friends to take my picture for me, so I gotta do it myself. This way, I can at least act like somebody caught me candidly at some UNESCO World Heritage Site and sent me the pic later.

Hey, friend who is definitely not myself taking a picture of me!

I still have a few more items to purchase before embarking in three months(!!!!!). I just learned of the existence of laundry sheets (no, not dryer sheets) which are going to revolutionize my hand-washing laundry sessions and lighten up my backpack. I'll probably update with the entire packing list when it's all assembled and ready for internet criticism.

Crossing the Spider Kingdom

In an attempt to be productive while feeling like the physical embodiment of laziness, I'm going to post a standalone story from my trip to Hong Kong in 2013. Yeah, I know it's Halloween, but screw y'all. Between the kids and the internet, I'm tired of Halloween. Bring on Thanksgiving (but not Christmas because, Jesus, it's not even November. Cool it out with that capitalist bull-shlonkey).

So, here's something from some time in early August of 2013. The exact date has long faded into the forgotten library of history.

              “Welcome to Lantau Island,” my taxi driver said. “Watch out for all the spiders!”

              Or, that’s what I like to imagine he said. A more accurate, equally speculative translation might be, “Due to your inadequate information and our strong language barrier, I have no idea where you’d like me to take you, so how about I drop you off right here?”

              And so I found myself, a twenty-eight year old American man, alone on the side of some rural Hong Kong road. It was definitely not where I planned to go, but with a little more leg movement I found what I guessed was Shek Mun Kap beyond some leering villagers hanging out in front of a store. I passed a modest working temple and ascended into the forest behind it, just as my vague reference book had told me.

              All around me, lush, tropical nature slowly encroached onto the narrow concrete trail. It was leading generally up, which was a positive sign. Occasionally a hiker would walk past—another positive sign. I passed a dilapidated Buddhist shrine where I stopped to attempt to decipher the shotgun blast of graffiti left by hikers in ages past. No dice. My Cantonese language skills had not improved since the taxi ride. 

              As I pressed on, the grade increased and the mountain became more rugged. Am I going the right way? I wondered. Will I ever be heard from again? Naturally, I had only packed a single 500ml bottle of water, which I guzzled down in the first twenty minutes of my climb. Hong Kong is hot. And humid. A perfect recipe for dehydrated hiking. 

 After a while, I began stumbling upon creatures that could only be described as fantasy-sized. An earthworm carcass the size of my foot splayed out on the path, a plastic-coated, bony spider the size of my hand guarded its web above me. Am I hallucinating? I realized that I had not passed a hiker in some time.

              From seemingly out of nowhere, a smattering of buildings appeared. These captivating temples before me had surely been established by people who were like me: lost and delirious. They had given up their pilgrimage to live among the giant creatures of the forest. Now, their descendants survived through occasional sacrifices to these beasts. Was my destiny to be one of these sacrifices? Internalizing this possibility, I crept as quietly as I could through the inhabited area, watching the handful of monks I noticed carrying on with their lives and none-the-wiser of my existence. They strolled, they farmed, they sang, but they did not once look in my direction. Not even the resident dogs barked at me. Perhaps they were allowing me free passage. Perhaps they could not see the ghosts of hikers who had died in the forest and not yet known it.

              Still no water. I was awash in sweat as the forest beyond the temples enveloped me. If only I could drink my sweat for hydration! I thought as I wrung out my hair. Climbing further, I came upon another shrine. This one was historically old, as opposed to just dilapidated. It looked like a crematorium. Or a water tank. I hoped it was the latter, filled to the brim with pure, potable water. Again, no dice.

That shirt was once a much lighter blue.

              The foliage eventually relented, giving way to grasses and the looming conical Lantau Peak. For the first time in hours, I knew approximately where I was. There was a sign! And a trashcan! And people! I would not perish in the jungle. But my day was still far from over.

              The sun was directly overhead by the time my sweaty, smelly body half-stumbled into the courtyard of the great Tian Tan Buddha at Po Lin Monastery. I had made it, grizzled and course, to the place where pristine Disneyland tourists snapped selfies—and there were water vendors. I guzzled a whole bottle immediately, washing away the memory of my hardship in the woods. I bought two more, which I slowly sipped under the judging gaze of the 38 meter tall behemoth. “Who is this unwashed ruffian?” his expression seemed to say. 

"Just...just go away."

 Somehow I climbed the 268 steps and entered the altar on which the Buddha sat. It’s worth it, I reasoned. Herein lies some of the alleged cremated remains of the Gautama Buddha. I had little idea what that actually meant to the world or to Buddhism, but I circled around with the others in anticipation anyway. Seeing the charred remains of an ancient, god-like man is enough to call any day a success. When I reached the gift shop without seeing a single ash, I realized that the relic part of the altar was closed at this particular time.

              I wallowed over the monastery food that was included in the ticket price. It was surprisingly good for vegetarian fare, and I was famished. Every grain of rice and ounce of liquid brought to the table ended up in my belly that day. Only when my scarfing, snorting eating frenzy subsided and I noticed the array of empty dishes did I realize the time had come for me to move on. Once again I had embarrassed myself in public, judging by the looks of the other patrons. Or I was just an exotic white man. In all my years of living in Asia I never could tell.

              With a fresh water bottle in hand and two more in my bag, I ambled over to the nearby prayer monuments—upright wooden steles inscribed either with Buddhist prayer or warnings against entering the Spider Kingdom just beyond. Since my Cantonese had still not improved, I had no idea this place existed yet. I was in high spirits, and eager to begin the hike back down.

"Do not disturb the Spider King's slumber!"

              I saw a lone hiker emerge from a path next to the prayer monuments, and recalled from my vague guidebook that this was the trailhead I desired to take back down. A different hike from the one I took up. This one, I reasoned, could only be better than the first one. The guidebook explicitly promised a restaurant with good, exotic beers at the end. That would do much more for me than leering villagers in front of a store in Shek Mun Kap. I yearned for the unfamiliar.

              But only once the dark canopy of trees enveloped me like Red Riding Hood skipping through the forest to grandma’s house did I come to the realization that this path had not been traveled by another human in quite some time. That lone hiker must have only been a lone urinator returning to his Disneyland family. I was entering another world alone. Slowly, the trail diminished to a pencil-thin rod of dirt, surrounded by thick branches, thigh-high grass, and leafy trees. It was precarious at times, so my eyes followed the ground. Quite a ways in I stumbled, only to catch myself from falling. I paused to find my equilibrium and looked up for the first time in a while. Three inches from my face was the biggest, most knuckly-looking black spider I had ever seen. It was the size of my head. I could see the individual joints; the pointed ends of its long, spindly legs; the multi-hued, hairless body; its eyes. Oh god, its skull-hole eyes.

No banana for scale, but that thing's huge.

              I determined that most likely he was the gatekeeper, and his massive web that sprawled across the entirety of the path was the gate. “Who dares enter the Great Spider Kingdom?” he must have bellowed, inaudible to me. My response was driven by panic. I flung a stick in his direction and let it clear the path for me. For those animal rights enthusiasts, remember how large this thing was. (I can never forget!) It would be impossible for me to have killed it with a measly stick. I’m more surprised it didn’t catch it and throw it back at me. It would be back in business with a new web probably before I had finished my hike that day.

I grabbed a fresh branch and perpetually practiced my fencing thrusts as I continued on lest another web creature catch me off-guard. Through babbling streams, green brush, rock stairs, precarious switchbacks, steep drop-offs, wind-rustled leaves, squawking forests, and probably ticks, I encountered no less than a dozen additional spiders of only marginally smaller stature than the gatekeeper. Was he their king? I pondered. At first I attacked their webs, but soon I came to realize the fragility of these creatures and their innate right to life. As I continued to encounter them, I tried limboing under the higher webs, shimmying beside them, and stepping over the lower colonies. I discovered that they were not jittery. In fact, they hardly ever moved unprovoked. I did not need to disturb them to pass by. I could gaze upon them without the worry of my soul being sucked out through my face. I was becoming one with the spiders, an honorary citizen admiring their kingdom as a mindful tourist. It felt good to simply be there observing the nature happening in my midst.

I dallied longer than I could have, resting on rocks and feeling the breeze. I had found a place in Hong Kong where I did not see another human being for hours. I would not have guessed such a place existed before I’d visited. I wondered if any of those spiders had had an interaction with a human before. How did they get to be so huge? Did they eat the other humans they’d interacted with before? Maybe they saw some good in me. Enough to forgive my initial reaction when encountering their king. They spared me, just as those monks had.

Not to mention the views from the Spider Kingdom.

 

              My feet were killing me by the time I reached the village at the bottom of the mountain. I was greeted by wandering cows among the smattering of houses. As I stared into the very soul of the IPA I rewarded myself with, I found it funny that I felt more at peace among the spiders in their kingdom than at the tranquil temple on the way up.

After re-reading that story, I agree with you that it's a little Halloween-y with the Spiders and all. So booyah, it ain't so random after all. 

Wading Through the Sea of Beer Cans (Figuratively Speaking)

Instead of wallowing in self-despair, a sad skin sack full of sorrow on the couch hitting play on the next episode, I read an article that was inspiring and compelled me to a more productive route instead. So here I am, throwing some jumble of words into the deep, dark abyss that is the internet in the hope that it will make me feel just a slight tad better.

Let's backtrack a moment. Several weeks ago, I came to the realization while walking to work on the verge of tears for no apparent reason that I am depressed. This is not something that has ever befallen me before, but with my background in psychology I was able to identify some of the symptoms that accompany this affliction once I put my mind to it. Although I don't usually feel expressly sad, I am constantly tired, unproductive, unenthusiastic, turning to external stimuli for distraction or numbness, turning away from social interaction, eating like a garbage disposal, not exercising, and generally sluggish in my movements and decisions. All classic symptoms of depression.

I think there is a time that it's okay to wallow in it. Perhaps I'm only justifying my own previous actions, but as I struggle through the path toward recovery, I think a part of that path is wallowing. When you're ready, perhaps as you lay in a soft bed of Cheeto crumbs that was once a couch next to a sink full of now-sentient dishes surrounded by the abandoned delivery-box homes of long-forgotten monoliths of starch, carbs, and butter, flies and odors permeating the air, you begin to put the pieces together of your behavior, mentally logging them, sorting through what needs to be changed, and identifying where you can most easily cut out self-destructive patterns. You may get off the couch, wade through the sea of beer cans on the floor, and finally take a long, hard look in the mirror.

Hopefully you still recognize yourself. For me, this moment has come. I want out, even if the chemicals fluttering around my brain may not. So, serendipity sent an article to my Facebook news feed entitled "A therapist's guide to staying productive when you're depressed or heartbroken," which can be found here. One of the several things I took from the article is that a part of that long path forward is processing emotions, which comes to fruition in this instance through writing, through putting down on a backwoods web-page what's happening. 

I am still grieving from a lost relationship, with a very limited social outlet to help mitigate the damage. I feel stuck, partially imprisoned, incapable, and ineffectual. I have four months left in this country and I feel like that is an obstacle to recovery, to self-improvement, and that fact carries its own heavy baggage. I'm not just ending a relationship with a person I loved, I'm also ending a relationship with a country I loved (and sometimes hated), lived in, and got to know intimately for the past seven years. It's a lot to process, and perhaps it is only inevitable that my current feelings are so weighty without always being consciously so.

The future is highly uncertain after these next four months and there is no way to plan perfectly for that. I'll be relinquishing many of my worldly possessions, living out of a backpack for months, with nothing but myself being the constant from day to day. After that, I'll be "settling down" as the grown-ups call it. Trying to plant some firmer roots in a country that is so visibly and obviously toxic for itself and the world. What will that bring? With my unique experience, will I ever be able to relate to the people I surround myself with again? I feel like the average American is so far out of touch with the world and even the people around them. Am I doomed to be a loner for the rest of my days? All these worries swirl around me in addition to overcoming the grief of loss and loneliness. But it's good to get it out so that I can move forward and overcome these feelings one step at a time.

During the five years that this blog was inactive, I did some (entirely inadequate) writing about some of my travels. Something else productive that I'd like to do is digitize and sort of enshrine some of that writing that I did. It'll be a way to reminisce between more current topics. I'll include pictures as well, and maybe I'll get a wild hair up my ass and devote some time to documenting some of the undocumented memories before they are forgotten forever. In some instances (I'm thinking of Taiwan specifically, but there are others), my only souvenirs were pictures and memories, and memories fade. I'd like to document some of the stories that accompany the pictures before it's too late. So look out for that, campers, like a hungry bear lurking near your tent.

Don't be too worried about me. I know that I'll get through this. I am not suicidal *at all* and it will get better for me. I'm positive that feeling 100% after this will be a higher 100% than before this. It's called growth, mufuckas.

RAWK!

Yesterday I saw my first rock show in a long time. Actually it was two shows. It was nice to get out and talk to people. I don't have many friends in Korea anymore, so my chances of doing something other than sitting on my keister at home are few and far between. Might as well blog about it, right?

I went to Club Heavy, a basement live venue that is a unique place in the world as far as I'm concerned. What struck me as most unique, and as something that would never ever ever ever happen in America was the system in place for acquiring drinks. They had a big refrigerator full of beer and in front of it was a shoe box full of money. If you wanted a drink, you put your money in the shoe box, gathered any change you were due, and got a brewski out of the refrigerator. The drink station was largely unmanned, and pretty much operated on your honor. In America, that shoe box or the money inside would have been gone in about three seconds, and the beer would be stolen frequently as well. It's still so amazing how trusting and safe Korea is. And, I imagine, it will be a huge culture shock for me upon leaving and having to protect myself and my belongings again.

As for the experience, it was not a crowded night. Five acts played, and it seemed like the crowd mostly consisted of the other bands waiting for their turn to play or hanging around after their set. Still, it was fun and I'm glad I went. My friend was the drummer in the first act, pictured here:

The bands were quite diverse in their sound, ranging from noisy math rock to 50's surfer rock to post-rock ambiance. Daegu itself is not really a thriving scene as far as live music goes, so they most likely cobbled together whatever acts they could and made an event out of it.

The star of the show as far as I'm concerned was On Earth, a one and sometimes two man act. The main dude behind On Earth is more of a composer than a rock musician. He sets up a huge palette of pedals and effects and goes to town layering beautiful tones and phrases on top of each other until it seems like they'll collectively bust a hole in the amp. Really talented guy.

The show at Club Heavy ended early, so the majority of us ambled a few streets over to Led Zeppelin, another live venue that I never knew existed. A few of the same acts played there, including On Earth, which meant I was lucky enough to see him in both one man and two man format, here adding a bass player to the mix.

As the show ended, this creepy dude decided he liked me and tried talking to me in his limited English, which was fine, but then he sort of...lingered. He kept trying to shake my hand and talking about how he wants to see me again and then he kept staring at me and calling my name as I was trying to get away. It was unfortunate because I liked the Led Zeppelin venue, and he is a regular there. If I go back, he might cut me up into pieces and put me in his freezer.

What Even Is This Place?

Siegfried Sassoon once said, "The fact is that five years ago I was, as near as possible, a different person to what I am tonight. I, as I am now, didn't exist at all. Will the same thing happen in the next five years? I hope so."

Well, here we all are, over five years from the last activity on World Class Flaneur. I'm positive that all of us have changed in significant ways. Perhaps that was largely instigated by the hellscape we currently find ourselves in that began in 2016 with the death of David Bowie followed by the death of Prince, a one-two shock wave backed by Newtonian physics that, I'm convinced, sent our current dimension careening off its intended path into uncharted space. Perhaps we are all now dizzy, bewildered, and disoriented saying to ourselves, "How did I get here?" in a very David Byrne-esque manner as madmen finger the big red Armageddon button and emboldened hurricanes rip our infrastructure apart and people continue to die needlessly. What a time to be alive, eh?

Or, perhaps it was just life happening. If you had asked me five years ago what 2017 would look like and what I'd be doing at that time, I probably would have just chugged a beer and told you I would be dead by then. Instead of dying, I chose to look back on some of those old blog posts from five, six, and seven years ago and cringed harder than I thought possible. Wow, I was some kind of guy, wasn't I? Not malevolent by any means, just young and unabashedly so. I find that my writing style (and lifestyle) was a bit abrasive, a bit crude, and sometimes annoying. I probably wouldn't want to hang out with myself from 2012 for a very long time, but I was young after all.

On the other hand, it's nice to have this definite record. I can point to a tangible document and confidently say that I have grown in significant ways since then. It's nice, also, to sift through the garbage and dust off some of the memories that I'd like to hold on to, maybe keep them polished and shiny in a mental glass case to look on from time to time.

This presents a problem for me, though. This blog is a time capsule instead of a slow metamorphosis of a human life. There exists this space in that mental glass case, a five year period, where the memories are exposed, unable to be polished or kept from decay simply because they were not documented in a substantial way.

And so much happened since that last post in April 2012. I moved to Australia, moved back to Korea, got married, got divorced, gained and lost weight, went to a considerable number of new places, held several different jobs, met a ton of people, and cultivated or neglected existing relationships to the point where the people I am surrounded by now both physically and digitally are largely different than they were five years ago. People I know have died and new ones I know were born. What a roller coaster if I look back on it as one, but of course it all happened so slowly. I'm thirty three now, and the Earth has had the time to travel fully around the sun five times. That in itself is insane to me.

I suppose the reason I'm here right now is because my life is currently in upheaval. I am largely alone in my daily proceedings, left to my own thoughts and inclinations in the calm before the storm of a huge life transition taking place early next year. I find myself regretting aspects of the past, longing for the future, and mostly not living in the present. To use another quote from a greater person than I, Thich Nhat Hahn said, "We fall back into the past, we jump ahead into the future, and in this we lose our entire lives."

I don't want to lose my entire life. So, in an attempt to rectify a few lost memories and create new lasting ones, I am trying to revive blogging in whatever capacity that pans out as. My thinking is that it will help realign me to live more in the moment. It will be largely for myself, obviously, but if you stumble upon it, you're free to read and follow along at your leisure. This has been a public service announcement from the center of the nuclear cross-hairs.

For the record, I am alive.