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.
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.
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.