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Month: September, 2012

– On Bigotry and Confucianism.

They guard those cellos with their lives.

Happy Chuseok, everyone! I know you’re all partying already: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chuseok

You can feel Meg’s enthusiasm for yet another bloody photo.

So, it’s been another week of blood, sweat and tears in literal amounts; the school has intervened in three otherwise uncommon altercations between students (tears), I have managed to survive the first of my year’s exercise in blistering heat (sweat) – and one of my students absent-mindedly scratched his leg until it bled, prompting all of the other boys in the class to daub their fingers in it and paint themselves tribally (blood). The surreal scene felt a bit Lord Of The Flies, and no – I don’t understand it.

This has also been a week for quiet and completely unjustified rage at the state of the English language and holy s**t I sound like an English teacher. As a foreigner in another land, I would suffer greatly if I harboured any feelings of ‘superiority’ or pretentiousness concerning my own nationality. I do, however, feel my eyebrow pulsing slightly every time the teacher’s book tells us to make the students pronounce ‘fog’ faahg, ‘dog’ darg or ‘bob’ baahb. It’s a dichotomy of whether to teach them English English or American English, which wouldn’t be an issue were it not for the fact that I don’t sound like that when I teach them.

A particularly cropped/fuzzy pic of same heron.

What I believe is a Korean heron zooming about the waterways.

I’m not going to launch into some prehistoric, spittle-fuelled rant about the ‘origins’ of the English language or if anybody in the world speaks it ‘well’ or ‘badly’ – but I had to choke down the pedantic arsehole within me when I held up three different pictures of turtles, tortoises and terrapins and ensured that the Korean students would spend the rest of their lives lazily conglomerating all under the name turtle. It’s a tiny point, but as a tortoise owner it’s one close to my heart. This wrath was not abated by Meg’s discovery of a particularly repulsive article concerning the ‘eventual and inevitable conquering of the flawed English language by the superior American dialect’. Grant Barrett can go headbutt a moving train, in my personal opinion:

[…]The point that Americans are ruining English is enough to puff a Yank up with pride.

Soon we’ll have Sainsbury’s to ourselves! Our victory over English and the English is almost complete.

(-seethe seethe seethe.)

Doesn’t that mean ‘sorrow’?

Hence, bigotry (myself included). I would like to emphasise that I in no way generalise anybody as having such views – merely that I am slightly disappointed in the human race after reading that. The sheer number of (I hope) incorrect red lines under words in this post saddens me; all because I don’t have a fetish for the letter ‘z’ in ’emphasize/generalize…

Aha- there’s ‘joy’.

On a more relevant, less ranting note, last night we had the surprise and privilege of coinciding with Sunny and Amy at a local dak galbi restaurant (oh my god, it was good), which (in true English fashion) promptly led to hours of drinking and bad language skills – on our part, anyway. Sunny, Amy – I’m so sorry for your 3:15am departure. Our colleagues will be very disappointed in us.

Meg has gleefully discovered a Korean variation of rosemary growing with abandon in the area.

To clarify the latter part of the title, my adult morning class (all wonderful beyond a teacher’s dreams, as they basically teach themselves) eventually spiralled into a discussion on Korean/Asian culture, heritage and spiritualism, culminating with a unanimous apology for their ‘bad’ English skills. At this point, we had been discussing Confucian doctrine, ancestral spirits and less-than-positive relationships with in-laws. I remain convinced of their English ability.

A particularly bad shot-from-the-hip photo, but I had to. It’s got pink ears, for god’s sake.

To finish, I would like to apologise for the sheer length of this, and to anybody ‘cross the pond for my rants. I don’t give a hoot about accents, expressions, colloquialisms etc. (for God’s sake, we have Ireland, Wales, Scotland AND England to contend with) – but, as with all aspects of life, I can’t tolerate somebody inflating their opinions to prohibit another life, culture or experience. I don’t want to use the ‘Nazi’ cliché, but I did anyway.

Also, there’s no ‘z’ in ‘apologise’.

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It’s Working Out So Far

The running route. Hideous, isn’t it?

Before I begin, I would like to establish that this title is in no way any of the following:

A) a proclamation of my Herculean metabolism and/or proactive outlook on life,

B) an exercise of self-guilt by informing the world of my routine, thereby forcing myself to keep to it, or

C) even remotely indicative of my chemical inclinations or lifestyle choices.

It is, however, a desperate attempt to ingeniously focus on the ‘working’ of ‘working out’. Specifically, the narcolepsy-inducing combination of exercise and working with children.

This happens literally every time we attempt to wash clothes. Judging by the waterproof paint five inches up the wall, this particular water-feature is intentional…

To summarise the pre-shift morning today: wake up, swear, attempt to return to dream. Conscience overrides craving. Highly supportive Meg mentally preps me for first run in Korea/months, to which I respond with grunts and negativity (standard).

Run itself feels like I’m approximately two-thirds of a mile from the surface of the Sun, and climaxes spectacularly with me tripping on the pavement and crashing slow-motion into a vegetable stall, sending bags of garlic flying. Choe soong hamnida, choe soong hamnida, choe soong hamnida, I mutter as I restock the table and run with a hitherto unseen haste and athleticism.

However, I know as well/better than any the tedium of reading about another’s exercise habits; either I’m doing far less than you and it’s amateur (likely), or I’m doing far more than you (unlikely) and I sound Full Of It. I assure you, I do not work out with anything approaching willingness.

One of many neon crosses dotted around the area. I gather it’s not so much a ‘Church Here’ sign as a personal expression of faith…?

To refer to previous social experiences, we are now official friends with the Ryu family, which we know to be true as they told us so. When we dropped in to see them yesterday, they gave us (refusing payment) a glass surface, chopping board, packets of bizarre-yet-delicious blueberry energy drink (…?) and, while leaving, casually picked a pot of yellow daisies from the shop for our house. We’ve given up working out exactly how many favours we need to return, but are intent on taking them out to dinner, finances permitting…

Meg, admiring more antiques.

There’s something wonderful and strange about having lived in a country for two weeks and already being able to greet a familiar shopkeeper, be invited to sit in the corner and be offered tea while they run the shop. I suspect it’s only a matter of time before I give in to braces, chain-smoking and leering at women and weyguks(foreigners) from a plastic table outside. I can base my persona on a particularly wicked character in a restaurant yesterday who continued to grin, gesticulate and cackle at us in Korean as we ate his recommended (justifiably so) Korean stew. His gestures seemed to indicate our ‘couple’ status repeatedly and energetically; we’re still unsure if he was offering advice on wholesome nutrition or enthusiastically telling us it was an aphrodisiac.

Meg and myself cross the pond to Jess Neale, in all her wonderful Englishness. It means a lot.

 

 

 

Birthday (and) Surprises…

Happy Birthday to you, (clap clap)
Happy Birthday to you, (clap clap)
Happy Birthday, dear Meg/Migg/Mar-gan/Megan, (clap clap)
Happy Birthday to you!

Such was the musical element of last night, as we celebrate Meg’s twentiCENSOREDth birthday with Soju, cake, music, and our furniture dealer’s immediate family (note: the ‘clap, clap’ element is a Korean variation on the otherwise identical song, leading to a certain amount of mumbling as everybody matched the same pace. Also, I believe they were initially unsure how to pronounce Meg’s name).

‘Oh my Cake!’ exclaims Meg.

Meg likes her new boots.

Apparently, such a wonderfully abstract scene is totally within the norm in Korean culture. Allow me to convey the backstory:

Meg’s birthday morning: consisting of staggering from bed to prepare necessary cups of morning energy, prepare bakery-bought sweetbread and arrange horrifically-wrapped presents reminiscent of the Edward Scissorhands wrapping school. Present presents (oh, the English language) to birthday person, await glee and/or violent disappointment.

As it turns out, she likes her ‘Pugs Not Drugs’ t-shirt. Thank you, Russell Howard.

In a fit of birthday hedonism, we then decided to ‘go and have another look’, ie. give in to finally buying the fabulous chest-of-drawers and floor lamp we’ve been eyeing in a local furniture/’antiques’ dealer. Stop me if this is getting too domestic for words to express. For two twenty-ish-year-olds, such an act of obvious maturity takes some effort.

I gave that b*tch a nutspoon. B*tches love nutspoons.

Anyway, we are now the owners of said wonderfurniture – but not via any sales process we would be familiar with in the Rolfey’s or flea markets of England (give money, struggle with item, gtfo of my shop). Firstly, we paid a good price for said items. Secondly, Mr & Mrs Ryu (owners) went to the local shop and bought us coffees while we waited (for all of about 10 minutes) for them to remove the furniture from display and wrap it in a duvet for safety.

‘Sploring the wilderness and looking pensive. It’s a gift.

Mr Ryu then drives us to our house, insists on carrying as much as possible so as not to inconvenience us, fits it all in the flat; then, upon noticing Meg holding up pictures on the wall, he sprints down (four floors) to his van, grabs his drill and puts them up for us. Would you like some birthday cake? we ask. Your birthday? he inquires. We have party tonight. My family, here, nine thirty. We are friends. You light candles, we give you birthday present. And, fast as he came into our lives, he was gone.

Meg is beside herself with joy at our new space.

Ours!

Six hours later, we host a genuinely enjoyable evening with the Ryu family, actually involving singing ‘Happy Birthday’, doing animal impressions and discussing cinema (in our case, trying to explain Borat without offending them). Mr. Ryu has now taken it upon himself to tailor-make a glass surface for our new ‘chopping-board/food preparation’ space in the kitchen – again, refusing any attempt of ours to offer payment.

Vintage magazines, eat your heart out.

I’m starting to forget if England actually has any customs; so far, it feels not so much that we have ways of our own so much as we don’t do things that others do – ie. be nice to one another and offer things without expecting more in return. Maybe I’m just jaded. I’m clearly going native.

 

 

Chance Encounters of the Third Kind

Seoul is big. To quote Douglas Adams on the subject of space, ‘Space Seoul is big. You just won’t believe how vastly, hugely, mind- bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it’s a long way down the road to the chemist’s, but that’s just peanuts to space Seoul.’

Part of the constant construction work around Seoul – like Lego meets Minecraft meets Sim City.

It is a megacity (a title I had only previously been aware of courtesy of the dystopian Judge Dredd comics), and the world’s 4th biggest city – yet, in true fashion for foreign travellers, you still seem to manage to bump into people you actually recognise. (see also: fellow photography geek Chris Brown and Swedish/Chinese couple Kris and June, who told us where H&M is much, much earlier in the day).

Well, I’m enticed.

Perhaps more poignantly, it is a megacity which Meg & I are, on some basic and culturally-disabled level, able to traverse without getting lost or suffering loss of life nor limb nor wallet. As a child born in London I feel this is something I should have adjusted to by now, but what do I get instead? Verdant, lush countryside for the last decade+ of my life. ‘Thanks, Mum & Dad.’ (expressed sarcastically, but in fact meant with conviction)

We have survived the expedition to Itaewon, but are left craving a little more in the way of actual Korea; Itaewon is the most culturally diverse area of Seoul, and as such everybody rips/is ripped off. Or indoctrinated into a ‘real’ American Baptist Church for ‘real’ Bible preachers. Tempting as such a proposition was, I refer to the ‘religion/penis’ dichotomy (don’t whip it out in public, don’t force down people’s throats unless in the appropriate registered building) for my unspoken, imagined retaliation. On the bright side, Meg got a poncho.

Not to say we didn’t explore thoroughly; there is an unbelievable range of antiques shops, country-specific restaurants, leather retailers and tailors, usually crammed into their purpose-specific streets around Itaewon.

I don’t know, either.

The most engaging/heart-wrenching point of the venture would be the battle of sense/longing we experienced when told by a RSPCA (or Korean equivalent) street petition group that we could adopt any of the wagging dogs milling around, as they needed new homes. I suspect that, if we’d had any idea that we’d actually be allowed a dog in any way, we’d be the joyful owners of a three-legged Pungsan (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pungsan_Dog)  called Tripod by now.

On a shorter note, I have been the victim of polite paparazzi (could I photo you thankyou?), and an unashamed shopkeeper politely inquired of Meg, you with baby? Meg was not impressed. I was in hysterics.

So they tell us.

I type this as I wrap Meg’s birthday presents for the morning (she won’t see this until then), so do feel free to convey any love not transferrable via Facebook. If the cake’s in the same state I’ve been all day, it’ll have to be eaten with a straw.

Wildlives and Disappointed Retrospection

A surprisingly vain neon dragonfly – one of MANY.

I like titles with syllables.

Another two days, another single post. C’est mon vie en Corée, eh? (Bad Ben – I’m having enough trouble learning Korean without looking up the French name for the country.) To quote myself repeatedly this week, choe soong hamnida – yong-guk saram (‘sorry – I’m only British, ie. crap’).

We’re two weeks, four restaurants, ten schooldays and (nearly) one birthday into our expatriation, and slowly starting to acclimatise to the madness surrounding us. I now bow respectfully/sycophantically for wizened ladies and gentlemen in the street, cautiously eat gimchi and slur annyong-hi kaseyo whenever I say ‘goodbye’ in the vain hope that I’m getting it right.

If spiders have the capacity to be ‘endearing’, this is it: wee little thing. For size context, it’s on the same pillar as the above beastly dragonfly.

On the subject of local customs – never, or rarely in England would one’s colleagues collectively opt to go on a lakeside stroll in the hour before starting work for the day. One expects others to loathe any such suggestion, and to veer away from the notion like a hypochondriac from lepers.

In Korea, the headmaster gets the iced coffees ‘to go’ en route to the lake.

Juliet made me a little spoon out of a nutshell and a twig which I now love with all my heart (think ‘double-headed daisies/daisy dumbbells’ arboreal wizardry from your youth, and translate it to Korean).

Avec caramel mocchiatos.

Such is the way here; I’m only now starting to realise exactly how much Westerners fear and despise one another as a rule. One cynically expects anything of beauty or value in a public space to be defaced, stolen and/or set alight – and one is usually correct in such an expectation. In Korea, you can walk down the high street at 11pm, with closed shops having left rails of clothing, etc. outside the locked building. Crime just doesn’t seem to occur to the population in general – even littering doesn’t seem to be much of a pastime for local youths.

My nut-spoon. Thank you, Juliet.

The main, daunting crime central of Korea is claimed to be the Itaewon district of Seoul, and guess why? That’s where we live (and by we I mean the vast majority of expats, not ourselves per se). Westerners are the thieves here, preying on the generosity and resources of the natives, and taking their jobs and getting drunk and living illegally and where have I heard this before? (answer: any given English pub)

Also, we’re totally going to Itaewon tomorrow to ‘splore, browse and try desperately not to get mugged by a fellow British scrote. I paid for the privelage of escaping that fate when we got our plane tickets.

Kang’s Gang, from left: yours truly, Juliet, Amy, Meg, Sunny and Eric.

Concerning Food

A curious and as-yet-unexplained-to-us arch, three ‘cell blocks’ down from ours. I imagine the stone means something sincere, so I shan’t mock it with my guesses.

I am fully aware that to draw attention to the (in my blearily disconnected yet irrefutably egotistical mind) ingenious wordplay in the title would reduce its impact to virtually nothing; however, I wouldn’t want it being lost on anyone. I worked too damn hard for twenty minutes trying to remember it, after originally inventing it within thirty seconds’ meditation on the matter.

Food concerns have been our primary distraction this week, as we are fuelled with a burning urge to integrate, synchronise, attune and further clichéd traveller’s expressions to boot. Living off boil-to-death instant ramen, vacuum-formed seaweed and unquantifiable volumes of Soju (local Korean ethanol delicacy, somewhere between Smirnoff, WKD and Special Brew with all the flavour of water itself), while undeniably entertaining and shiny-packaged, does lack somewhat for nutrients, sustention or remotely natural agents. Realising that such a diet could only lead to death by malnutrition, we have since ventured on most nights to local establishments.

I felt like the suckers were staring at me (interpret how you will), so I returned fire. These were among the few specimens not (literally) wriggling at the local fishmonger.

Thus far, we have thoroughly enjoyed most of the places we have visited, though have noticed the re-occurrence of breaded meat (chicken, pork, seafood etc.); nothing we couldn’t necessarily identify in England. This is until we visited the very welcoming, family-friendly (we have beforehand considered interrupting their own family dinner around TV on the restaurant floor, but opted otherwise) restaurant a few doors down from the school. In no way shall I criticise the restaurant or its owners – the vast majority of meals we saw were mouth-watering and plentiful. Our unidentifiable bowl of Exotic Grey Stuff, however(not pictured, I’m afraid…), sent home the fact that we need to learn the damn language. The only educated statement I can make on it is that it had bones, which presumably indicates an animal.

On the other hand, I have discovered (and I am very sorry for the health-conscious and disappointed readers out there) a particularly enthralling kind of cigarette with actual coffee in it, which tastes exclusively of popcorn. I remain enthralled.

One of innumerable heaps of peppers dotted around Onam – eaten at an extraordinary rate, I gather.

I speak to you with a sleepy woman lovingly belching in my right ear, which I am to take as a ‘stop that bloody typing sound’ hint. I can’t tell if I’m gradually escaping the cold, confusing claws of Jet Lag (finickity witch that she is) or if I’m slipping back into university-tastic concepts of ‘healthy sleep patterns’. If I start posting at what you might call a ‘normal’ time – it isn’t.

Scenic Lakes and Seoul Larks

The title’s a bit of a stretch, but I’ll stick by it.

Suffice to say, we have not wasted our weekend. Thus far, we have: gone shopping and hiking, eaten out at local joints twice, met up with fellow Western stragglers and stumbled our way to the world’s second-biggest metropolitan capital. All that with time to spare for us to panic about work the next day!

It has been both a tremendous pleasure and relief to meet up with people we don’t need a book to communicate with. Not to mention our host’s rooftop home has quite possibly the most spectacular cityscape view I have yet seen: 

: From our host Shawn’s terrace. ‘Wow’ was the consistent noise made by the arriving guests. Not to mention the fact that this was effectively the same in a 360° panorama all around the area. Seoul is a blind-mogglingly huge place – no wonder it takes 45 minutes from the edge of the city to drive in a straight line…

Oh my sweet Jaysus.

The Jinjeop Crew, as they are known (taken from the area most of them are based) are an eclectic mix of Canadian, American, Australian and Irish travellers, all of whom seem to have been travelling just long enough to make one feel inadequate. I shall have to compete by spending the next decade/s of my life with a phrasebook in my hand in as many countries as possible. Also, Western Seaboard locals put to shame any overcast attempts at BBQs by the English – as I discovered after sampling unbelievably delicious steaks after chickens after steaks. I shall be roughly the shape of an aubergine upon rolling back to the Kingdom.

The Jinjeop Crew, post-dinner.

Today was a case of adventuring about the area, staking out potential restaurants, ie. those with pictures for us to point to. If all else fails, ‘chicken’ mimes go down a treat with the locals. We/Meg discovered a bargain antiques dealer and is currently researching frigate international delivery for our return in an attempt to justify getting (undoubtedly delightful) cabinets and chests-of-drawers. We ventured to Lake Onam to plot a running route for the lady and a hobbling route for Igor (myself) – and, while the prospect of gasping and sweating at passing locals does not appeal, one cannot deny the fantastic view.

Meg, with panache and boots.

One free beer, a plate of un-beheaded crustaceans and a less-than-sneaky birthday shop later, I’m in my underwear spouting nonsense while Frankie Boyle abuses his audience in the corner of my screen. And who says you can’t make home feel like home in another country?

My posts are getting longer and, by definition, surely less captivating. Apologies – but on the other hand, I didn’t use italics as much today.

1 Down, Only 51 To Go

Autumn clouds hovering over the distant Janghyeon-Ri. Scenic.

Told you the reliability wouldn’t last.

Two days later – sorry about that, adoring friends, family and Google’s lost souls – we have finished our first week of teaching. As such, we are (in our minds) thoroughly deserving of any toxins we choose to imbibe.

Kang’s School is a marvel of Korean tutelage, as the swarms of English-spouting Korean banshees streaking up and down the corridor are a testament to (I’m fairly sure the abandonment of the ‘No Running In The Corridor’ policy is not a language-barrier issue…). Five teachers in charge of hundreds of variably-interested children and teenagers would probably be a certified death wish in many/most other cultures, but somehow the chaos seems to fuel the business.

Our colleagues, Eric, Amy, Sunny and Juliet (not to mention Director Jun) have been very supportive of the English gaijin flailing about the establishment, patiently explaining to us the do’s and don’ts of teaching in Korea (do make sure they don’t speak Korean in the class, don’twrite their name in red ink as it’s a death omen, etc. etc.). Unwilling photos of said colleagues undoubtedly to come.

Meg, midway through her school-renowned ‘I Don’t Like Beef’ anecdote.

We’ve almost remembered some of our student’s names and have practically abandoned the concept of ‘preparing’ for our lessons in favour of exploring the quasi-American superstores and dabbling in the bizarre range of snack foods available (for example, triangle tuna sushi requiring a Rubik’s Cube skill to unwrap – or ‘cheese sausage’ nibbles which are neither sausage nor cheese in appearance, consistency or flavour). More importantly, we have discovered the necessary stashes of security-boxed Cathedral City cheese and 1.2kg bags of pseudo-Crunchy Nut cereal at our local multi-story E-Mart, and are snacking like lords.

What will the weekend hold? Watch this space for future developments. Will we be dead to the world until late afternoon? Will we meddle in the affairs of innocent passers-by as we ask for directions and translations? Will I be subjected to a room of naked Korean men?

All of these unsettlingly probable prospects may or may not be on the cards. Tune in tomorrow/the day after/the near future for the confused and babbling antics of Benjamin and Megan…

In title and role. Lording over my personal domain, as it were.

Broken Records and Gangnam Style

The road goes ever on and on. Seriously. It doesn’t stop until Seoul.

An educational day for all, as we start our first days of actual education (ie. not ‘get to know’/’bullshit-your-way-through-the-lesson’ exercises) and impress the native powers-that-be as much as possible.

Combine our second day with our first (and, in Meg’s case, only – he grumbled…) 10am start and you have the perfect recipe for grumbling and casual cultural obliviousness on our part. Having difficulty finding ‘normal’ cheese at ‘normal’ prices is no longer a sign of cultural diversity and comparison, it is stupid and annoying. We apologise for such bigoted thought processes.

For me, this was my first day teaching a group of middle-aged women in the morning, before the academy opens. It was also the day which I realised that the majority of Korean women appear to have discovered the Fountain of Youth; I refused and continue to refuse to believe the ages of these particular students (and, indeed, certain colleagues…), as I took many to be my age. This is, of course, before the ‘grape-to-raisin’ age of 70-80, inescapable to even the most devout of moisturiser addicts.

Another revelation to me was that it appears my arrival in Korea has coincided with a previously-sidelined internet craze known as ‘Gangnam Style’, demonstrated artfully to me in my final class by some very obliging highschoolers. In action:  The more militant internet geeks among you should already be aware of the craze, but for (some?) context: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bZkp7q19f0 . On a less positive reflection, the school apparently shares 1 mp3-compatible CD player between 4 teachers simultaneously, so laptop-improvisation may have to take precedence in the classroom. I’m certainly not going to sing those twee little songs to the class.

Still no pause for breath, or even particularly nutritious food – for more exciting(?) photography, Watch This Space until we get a chance to actually go somewhere. On the bright side, 4 days in with as many blogs!

It’ll never last.

Sleepless in Seoul

Shops upon shops upon swarming roads. Standard for Korean accommodation/businesses.

It has been our first day of teaching; as such,   we are suffering physically, emotionally,  intellectually and nutritionally. Never have I (or will I) doubt the benefit of being able to sleep in before a 2pm start time.

Spending 7 hours alternating between smug pride, mild alarm and chronic despair has left us deeply self-righteous and entirely oblivious to anything outside of our flat and the local pizza house (note: we promise not to become those expats who avoid the local cuisine for our entire stay. We have, however, had enough dietary disasters for one week, and cannot yet judge the hangul advertising’s merit on the main street).

Among our (often alarmingly so) enthusiastic students we have one Hung, and one Hwan. Naturally. We have three Lisas, five Jennifers, two Olivers and three Amys, which is apparently a natural part of Korean self-anglification. I have yet to process the deeper meaning behind Benoit and Shinee (pronounced ‘shiny’), however.

On a more wanderlust note, however, I’m amazed at the sheer urban contrast between Korea and Blighty: in England, one generally finds oneself in either the countryside or the city. In Namyangju, however, city and nature are prevalent depending entirely on the angle which one stands at. See photos for demonstration of said geographical schizophrenia. It’s the sheer scale of civilisation which seems to leap perpendicular from the rice paddies – you’re looking at either acres of forest and irrigated marshland, or eighteen-storey apartment complexes…

For future reference – I promise to try desperately not to alliterate every one of my posts.

One of the many Christian neon towers against the Namyangju wilderness. We have yet to explore.