Keys.  I have no more office keys (1), office drawer keys (1), bike lock keys (2), ignition keys (2).  All I have left are two keys to my parents’ (one that won’t unlock any existing doors; one that will).  Who says I’m not sentimental?  Or maybe I am just a symbolist.  Maybe the only difference is that the former works with memory while the latter works with things. Maybe I’ll keep the key to this apartment.  There is a beer key from grad school that’s followed me since 2005 and has been accompanied by the various comings and goings of keys to places I never thought would exist; nor do I know if they exist anymore.  And there’s a wooden Buddhist charm, a symbol of the year of the dragon, my year of birth.  I got that in my first week here in Korea.  I’ll put it all in a box and send it home.  On the other side, I’ll find it again and add more symbols to it: safety, home, new beginnings.  Transport…

My keychain used to be so practical.  It is only the idle mind (and procrastinating body that wants not to spend another day packing) that has time to think about why I still carry these things, about why I don’t just throw them out.  Everything else is gone.  After taking care of the sale of our bikes to a kindhearted Jehovah’s Witness, Mr. Jeon, who happens to be my mechanic, after he drove me all the way across town for paperwork on my bike and lunch (his treat), after he didn’t push Jesus too hard on me (just a little Bible study on the radio), I was able to find out that he needed a computer chair.  I did not even have to join the church.  I had my best day as a salesman (1,500,050 KRW).  As it turns out, Jehovahs are my best customers, accounting for ¼ of my sales.  I’ll never shut the door in their face again.  I’ll just tell them I’m Buddhist.

While Mr. Jeon was no religious salesman, I’ve been accosted by religious salesmen before.  They wanted me to talk like them, see the world like them, act like them.  Swim with them.  And they interrupted my meditation or repast in order to do it.  So, did I get angry?  Of course I did.  I shut doors in faces, kicked people out of my apartment, laughed in and lied to their faces, metaphorically gave them the finger.  Despite my pre-existing conditioning—“If everyone believed what I believe, the world would be much more peaceful.”—I shouldn’t just tell them I’m Buddhist.  I should adopt a Buddhist’s philosophy akin to pop culture’s Zen.

It took many months and many failures to adapt this kind of thinking to driving in Korea.  On one of my first rides with Nic on the back of my autobike Maxine, a bongo (pickup) truck cut me off, forcing me toward the shoulder.  I pulled up beside him, banged on his window, asked him politely, “What the fuck?”, almost dropped Nic and the bike in the process and wrenched my wrist something fierce.  You would think my stupidity and injury and just downright foolish-looking behavior would have set me straight.  For a while, I fought this Eastern driving culture with my American arrogance of “If everyone drove like I drove, the world would be a much more peaceful” and American ideals of “rights” to personal space.  After a few months of too many close calls with all sorts of vehicles that seemed not to hear my little “beep beep”, I upgraded my horn to something slightly smaller than a foghorn.  Who says the size of one’s vehicle must be proportional to the sound of its horn?  Or the penis of the driver, for that matter?

With my big horn, big penis and big middle finger, I was emboldened.  I became more of the cowboy, going between cars, running red lights with skill, going into oncoming lanes that I knew to be clear on my well-memorized routes and timings of traffic lights.  I knew the risks, reminded of them every kilometer by the painted, sterile outlines of car wheels after accidents, a sound, geometric reminder of accidents I never saw.  Always documented by insurers or the participants by an accident number on the pavement.

I also rode over many outlines of shapeless masses—heads popped off? bodies dropped? fetuses ejected?—that were reminders, memorials of the blood and people spilled due to the relatively unprotected, stupid nature of autobike riding in Korea.

In the span of nearly 17,093 kilometers of commuting (a few hundred accounted for in weekend jaunts to the countryside with Paul Dumont, my former partner in crime and only other member of the famed, former Canadicans Autobike Club of Busan), I grew to know the patterns of Korean drivers.  If there’s one stereotype I will boldly reinforce here, it is that Koreans are bad drivers.  However, the best thing about Korean drivers—if I may use generalizations to speak well of a people—is that they are all bad in the same way.  Therefore, it was difficult for this “independent” American to adapt to the group-think of the Korean road.  Americans are so incredibly unique in their bad driving that it makes them that much more unpredictable and dangerous.

But, when you are waiting at a red light here, it is expected that at least two or three cars will run the light that has just turned red for them.  Wait patiently.  Do not honk your mighty penis horn.  Honk that horn just a bit when someone merges just a little too fast into your lane, just to let him know you’re there.  Do not waste effort or time calling him a—to use my father’s words—, “fucking asshole.”  Besides, yelling in your bike helmet with the visor down only proves that you can go deaf by doing so.  Blast that horn as you enter an intersection on your green light and a car comes barreling from a side street to take a right turn; halfway through completing a right turn, he’ll finally slam on the brakes and look left into oncoming traffic (that’s you, you Zen Buddhist autobike rider).  But do not use “the bird.”  Do not drag the natives out of their cars and beat them.   It will do no good; you will not change this driving mentality that seems to say, “I’ll watch out/look out for you if you watch out/look out for me.”  Taking to the fists and fingers is as futile as rationalizing with a native in pidgin Korean or beating a native in fluent English for talking some ignorant shit about you or staring at you because you’re white, black, tall, big-nosed, blonde, redheaded, ugly, attractive, or Russian-hookeresque.  Raging will do nothing but give shame to your people, to your Self.  You are the one who is not adapting to this country where you are a guest, perhaps even an illegally-driving guest who never bothered to get a license.

If you want to get to your office, to your home in one piece, to use those other keys that carry symbolic meaning, you must swim with the fish the way they want you to swim.

This moving experience is so much different than any I’ve ever had before (and I’ve had a lot).  It is such a slow process that it has driven us slowly insane.  Today we take care of final odds and ends in packing, trashing and donating.

It’ll suffice to say here that people shouldn’t expect anything other than postcards and letters from me over my travels.  Boxes shipped from Korea by the surface slow boat to America are about ~45,000 KRW (40 USD) per 20 kilo box.  Nic took the first batch to the post office and spent 264,000 KRW.  We’ll probably spend the same for the next shipment on Monday.  We probably sent a few too many books and pieces of pottery home (and even a small solid wood side table weighing 12 kilos by itself), but today is all about editing piles.  I’ve got little capacity remaining for sentimentality.  Unfortunately, the French press that Nic got me back in the inaugural weeks of our romance will not make the trip.  It was with this gift (and her saying, “A writer shouldn’t drink Folger’s instant coffee.”) that I knew Nic was silly for me.  I’ll just have to settle for the fact that she married me.

It’s not the things I have that give me so much sentimentality.  And it’s not even this city or the friends I’ve made.  Over time, I think my melodrama has been subdued, disconnected.  I read the other day in the NY Times that people are starting to attend funerals via live video feeds on products like Skype (Is this a result of a mentality that truly believes this is an adequate substitute, or is it a result of hard economic times?).  And just yesterday when I talked to Songju (for what might be the last time before we leave) about plan changes for tonight (we’ve too much packing left to do and will not go out tonight for Operation Pete and Songju Hook-up), she said, “I have your email.  We’ll stay in touch.”  Sure, I’ve maintained relationships with my family and Diron’s family and John Campos, but would attending any funeral for family via Skype really fill the tactile necessity for comfort?  No, just as attending Christmas dinner or Ella’s first birthday via the ‘net is not a sufficient substitute.  The internet and aeronautics: the cause of and solution to all of life’s global problems. (a derivative quote from Homer Simpson’s observation about alcohol).

As has been the case many times before, I am lamenting the end of physical presence with a budding friendship.  Sharon (English), Sal (Korean), their family and their recent close proximity in our apartment complex forces on us the realities of remote friendships.  I won’t get to hear Sharon’s cool accent, learn golf with Sal or take a questionnaire about moving from precocious five year-old Livy.

Mailing things away and saying goodbye to friends (an endless cycle in the expat community here) has me looking forward to setting some roots in Anywhere USA.  Incidentally, Nic has now been invited to interview at three schools (via Skype from Anywhere southeast Asia): Texas Tech, Northern Illinois and Eastern Michigan.  (My fingers are still crossed for Bowling Green, OH: four baseball towns within driving distance.)

Yesterday, Sharon helped me score a major victory when she said she’d take all the stuff I had set aside for her.  Her mindset was similar to mine: if I don’t find a use for them, someone along the line will.  I’ve made decent recompense on furniture.  My karma (if such a thing exists) is aligned.  And so is Sharon’s.

Tomorrow: death and excitement at every swerve: (riding and selling an autobike in Korea).

Spent most of the day yesterday cursing the waste of many things we bought but never used—namely, the ping-pong paddles.  In addition, there are things that are still worth something that have not found new homes, like the nice computer chair and the speakers.  However, as a distraction from these thoughts of waste, I sense a Calvin-ball game (see Calvin & Hobbes comic to complete your life) being hatched in Nic’s mind this morning when she says we should hold on to the paddles so we can use the cavern that is our furniture-less apartment to play some whacky game.  My wife’s whimsicality makes surprising and well-timed manifestations.

There are still boxes to mail…

And furniture to move to Sharon’s house.  Also, yesterday, I made a nice little gratis package as a housewarming gift to Sharon.  Everyone needs TP and screwdrivers and tealights and mini-blenders and miscellaneous beach items.

Yesterday’s clearing and divestitures: I cleaned out all cupboards in the kitchen, and cleared out the remaining shoes for donation to the shoeless.

More divestiture: we are taking the final ride on the famous autobikes to be eulogized tomorrow.  Mine (Maxine) was a work-horse, carting me 18k each way to work for two and a half years and whisking me to outlying areas around Busan.  Nic’s autobike (Scooter) had a lighter workload of 7k each way for only a year and a half.  We are getting 1.5 million KRW (~1,346 USD) for both.  Considering the convenience they’ve provided (not to mention the adventures and near-death experiences), the investment was worth it.

I got a chance to talk extensively to my brothers Lars and Diron back in the States via Skype.  Being that they have kids and all that fun stuff, I am grateful to have had the one-on-one time that is so difficult to pin down with working family folk.

When I was near the end of the to-do list composed by Nic, I couldn’t stop moving lest I notice how lonely things can get with out “stuff.”  I consoled myself about the increasing emptiness of uncanny echoes and monstrous dust buffaloes that roam free on the great plains of the bare living/dining room by filling the air with one last homecooked meal.  After finishing the remaining ¼ bottle of brandy with 7up…

…I grabbed the remaining ¾  pound of ground beef, the last ¾ of ground pork from Sarah’s freezer and started to hatch my recipe.  We have a few things left in the “walk-in” so I wanted to use what we have left.  Though we failed the Top Chef challenge of using all the grains (which are now in a bag with all our spices for donation to Nic’s friend, Shannon, in whose apartment we will be staying on our last night in Korea since Shannon is on vacation), I grated four small russet potatoes (skins on, squeezed and pressed to get rid of excess water) and a large carrot and mixed them together.  With ¼ cup canola oil, I mixed both meats with ¼ teaspoon each of red pepper, paprika, sea salt, black pepper, cumin, coriander, sage, thyme, basil, oregano, and crushed fennel seed.  Then I brought both mixtures together with one raw scrambled egg and made burger patties.  The result was 8 or 10 patties bursting with flavor.  We’ll eat well for days and maybe even give a few patties to Sharon and her family; it’s always tough to make a homecooked meal when in the midst of moving.

Today, off to sell the bikes (I may weep), turn in my Korean coins at the bank for paper beer money (everybody hates the lush that counts out his loose change for the can of booze he’s purchasing), and mail the first and second wave of boxes back to the motherland (I may say Good riddance), second to last Russian teahouse party (I may dance at Monday’s last one), last batch of cayenne-pepper popcorn (I may sneeze).

Cara Cassidy commented yesterday, “It must feel liberating to part with all the ‘stuff’ you’ve accumulated there.”  I am not so sure about that liberating feeling.  I certainly desire to be liberated, but I have become a slave to the computer (my main tool for selling stuff); there are a few items remaining and I am still attached to this damned computer.  My liberation really lies in having my whole life out of my bag, living outside social norms.  Most importantly, the liberation lies in unchaining myself from this computer.  The temporary freedom from “stuff” and internet and all the complications that come with technology will, perhaps, lead to a calmer domestic life when the time comes.  Having said that, there are people who continue on their domesticity by moving to a bigger apartment.  Is the universe a better place if can facilitate to that end.

What should I do about the various household odds and ends like flashlights, batteries, beach mats, and cleaning supplies?

There are two schools of thought in this department.  One is the wrong one (Nic’s): throw it all out and be done with it.  Mine (which is the better and less wasteful of actions): give the items away gratis to neighbors who might find use for them.

Since there is still a couple days before we have to leave and it only takes a moment to throw the items out come Monday, I have made the executive decision to try and give the stuff to a friend who’s moving into the complex.

In Nic’s mind, the less we have in the house at this point, the better it is for her mindset to start relaxing.  As for me, it is a matter of principle rather than money.  Useful items should find a use, if possible.  At the expense of Nic’s peace of mind and the ensuing reduction in chaos, I am walking the thin line between my principles and a happy wife.  And do I sacrifice my principles in order to keep her always happy?  What would that do to my happiness?

These are all questions that are at the root of compromise in marriage—and human relationships, perhaps.  And I write compromise not in the sense that you end up lacking integrity, but I use compromise in the more neutral connotation of finding a middle ground (quid pro quo) so life can move forward with some semblance of peace of mind and integrity.

 

The bed gone, we slept Korean style yesterday: two thin mattresses on the floor.  My shoulders did not fair well.  Both of us woke up often.

Piles of clothes lie around the apartment, bastions of chaos that have sprouted in places where I used to drape my jacket, where Nic used to pile her clothes.

The closets have been cleared out; Nic has taken half of her clothes to the donation bin down by the recycling station.  My method is different: wear certain clothes one last time and then donate.  In this way, I can reduce the amount of laundry we need to do before leaving.

The boxes of books and clothes are stacked high, awaiting departure.  Nic seems to think life will be easier if we have everything boxed up and underway by Friday.  I don’t see it happening, but I will concede the point if it means a little less stress and an apartment that has less shit in it.  I just can’t quite wrap my mind around going to the two dinners this weekend in my hiking gear.  When it comes down to it, though, who really gives a shit?  Who have I to impress?

The count: 5 days in Busan.  7 days in Korea.  13 gray hairs in my beard that’ll begin the sun-bleaching process in 9 days.

The cat is gone.  It’s as good a time as any to biographize him here.  As a tiny, 300g animal, he was lost or abandoned by his mother.  HunJong rescued him, brought him home.  The lady cat Uzi (aka Assassin) did not care for the competition for Lindsay-mom’s attention.  In three attempts on Hobak’s life (a couple stitch-inducing attacks on the throat), Uzi achieved the next best thing: Hobak’s removal from the apartment.  One owner said Hobak was not welcome by the other cat.  The next owners went away on vacation for five weeks, but helped him pack on weight; he’s now 4 kilos.  We took care of him and I taught him a few tricks.  I grew attached to the little bugger, a thing I thought I’d never admit.  In spite of his biting nature and general rough-housing, he and I got along well.  I taught him to jump up three feet toward my hand.  He’s a resilient guy.

We’ve begun saying goodbye to friends in earnest.  Though we will see SongJu again on Saturday, we got to see her during a brief break from the work and school she’s been buried in for months.  We went to my favorite galbi restaurant in Jungdong, a popular, clean joint with excellent service, all of which are reasons there was a line almost out the door on a Tuesday night.  On Saturday night, we’ll see her again, but I am trying to play matchmaker between Peter and her.  I hope to have pictures of that night, since we’ll go to the first place I ever had dong dong ju and the first and last place I had bahn-deggi (silkworm larvae).

After all that’s happened in the previous week or so, it was imperative to do something that would revive my faith in humanity.  We needn’t rehash all that you can read on the January 22 entry (https://nikoli28.wordpress.com/2011/01/22/217/).  It’s good to know that people are out there doing positive things and enjoying their experiences here, like Jill (http://www.theothersideofthemoon2009.blogspot.com/), who is buying our bed from us today.

Also, from the lack of in-depth writing or even providing much photographic evidence, you may think that our training for Nepal has fallen off.  This isn’t exactly the case; I’ve been jogging, Nic’s been doing a regular cardio program, and we’ve still managed to get out on the mountain a few times a month.  Nonetheless, both Nic and I were a little nervous about the big hike we’d planned for Sunday with Pete.  We didn’t lose sleep, but would our fitness and the old nagging physical deficiencies exacerbate over the cold 8 km day?

The weather wasn’t that cold.  In fact, it was the best day for hiking we’d had in three weeks.  Low winds and a temperature in the upper 30s had us peeling off layers of clothing (including my new windbreaker from REI) before we even reached the ridge.  At 0930, we started at Silla University on the trails where Pete and I used to hike around a couple times a month back when I started teaching at the uni.

By 1030, we were on the ridge where we’d spend the rest of the day trekking up and down peaks, summiting five or six throughout the day.  Along the way, we said hello to the many people, shared our oranges with a group who gave us warm deok (a sticky rice cake coated with powdered red bean).  So many times on the mountain, I’ve received food from strangers (one time, even a couple swigs of cognac to wash down a kim bap).  Most of the time, I don’t care for doc, but the cake was still steaming.  We each had some and were grateful, the fruit and water we packed may have been a little light for the day’s undertaking.

 

Despite our under-planning in the food department, the locals along the way helped us out.  We (meaning Pete, who has more than survival hangul skills) verified our bearings with a friendly woman and we made it, after five hours, to the cable car in Gumjeongsan Park.  As we rode down, I took stock and realized my knee joints were fine since they were nice and warm the whole day.  The muscles surrounding my joints were satisfyingly fatigued and sore (as muscles should be).  Nicole had no problems with her asthma, leading the charge up the last steep climb like a sherpa.

We got to the first warm place we could, ordered home-brewed dong dong ju (rice wine), hae-mul pah-jan (seafood and green onion pancake) and bin dae duk (pork and veggie pancake, firmer consistency than pah-jan).  At my behest, HunJong joined us for these traditional Korean hiking treats so he could talk with Pete about their respective websites.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HunJong later departed and we went to a German-style beer hall nearby.  We arrived at 1730, ordered some sausages and pilsner and awaited the Bulgarian band to start at 1900.  Shortly after the band started, the place was packed with Koreans coming off the hill and families who’d spent the day at the largest spa in Asia (Hurshinchong) upstairs (http://www.fnetravel.com/english/pusanhotels/nongshim.html).  Yanick and his Korean friend Andy joined us.  Soon, we were dancing and mingling with the locals.  Nic and I took a twirl in our hiking gear, much to the delight of the surrounding revelers.  Nic even befriended a couple little kids.  By the time we left, we’d been at the beer hall for more time than it took us to do our hike.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Short and sweet today.  Mover of appliances and other big things coming at 1130 AM.  Lot’s of work left to do.  See pictures below.

• Exercise first thing is what gives me time to organize my day and think about what I am writing here.  Surely, that is what my father is addicted to.  (His running streak as of 1/18/2011: Days: 12,239.  Miles: 64,214.  When it started (3/20/1979), I was only 2 years, 2 months and 20 days old.)  The distractions on the treadmill almost kept me from getting my brain started today.  The only treadmill available today was in front of the blaring news.  The lack of technology in the upcoming experiment will not extend to my MP3 player; while I want to soak up every bit of ambient noise on my travels, I will need, like in Seoul, Busan, NYC, to have some control over when I hear these things.  Anyway, listening to Rush’s Counterparts, I was somehow sucked into watching the local news, trying to figure out what they were talking about, trying to see some footage of an area of town that I knew.  No luck and I was vapid.  Luckily I was able to move to another machine after 10 minutes.  It is for that reason that you read this here, clever title and all.
• HunJong is my hero.  I will take him out for hue (pronounced in one syllable as “who-way”; it’s raw fish) next week.  It is true that his wife Lindsay “Canuck” Neilands has been just as helpful, but let’s face it: she married her own personal http://koreanhelpers.org/ (HunJong’s website).  While I often feel bad for intruding on their lives, they have both have shown patience and generosity.  HunJong is my hero because not only is he tolerant of needy Americans and munificent with his time, but he also speaks both languages very well and takes great effort to understand cultural differences (which I guess he should, being that he’s moving to Canuckistan in a couple months).  I admire his desire to keep learning.
• Our social schedules are filling up.  Our celebrity status is a small group, but they all want a piece.  A group of Korean tea party ladies took Nic out to dinner last night.  Tonight, we’ll go out for dinner and a few drinks for Lynsey Bolin-Thorenton’s birthday (one of the few, the proud the truly kind/generous foreigners in Korea; she was elemental to helping me throw Nic’s surprise bachelorette party).  Tomorrow, an early Skype chat with Nic’s parents.  Sunday, we’ll go on a day-long hike with Pete.  Monday I’ll go watch a tape delayed AFC Championship game at Pete’s with a few others.  Next week, dinner with we’ll galbi with Songju (another generous soul); Wednesday, I’ll dinner with HunJong.

Okay, that wasn’t that short.  But, now I must clear off this desk: am moving onto an old beat up table I took from a parking lot a couple years ago to serve as a desk.  Now I must clean out the refrigerator; luckily for us, a neighbor-friend is letting us use their refrigerator while away on vacation; in exchange for feeding their cats, fish and turtles, we can escape the shame of not having made it through our frozen meats; reprieve in the waste management department.  Now it is required that I hang up the wet clothes from the last load of laundry; again, neighbor-friends Sarah McAdams-Hansen and Terry Hansen are giving us carte blanche to manage the emptiness in our lives; their generosity and timing of their Thai vacation is much appreciated by us, the nearly-devoid of stuff.   Now it is mandatory that I sit in my papa-san rocker for one last time.  I will watch Hobak Cat either go stir crazy because there’s going to be hardly anything left to hop up on, or discover a different level of beauty in hard-wood floor skating.

Is an old man’s treasure trove the number of medications he has in stock?  After eating at a dinner party at 4 in the afternoon, do old people compare scars over dessert?  After ancient wound narratives over soft cookies and Milk of Magnesia, do they play that old parlor game Pharmacological Tounge-Twister?  Is the winner of that game the one who doesn’t let his dentures fall into his cup of decaf?  Or is he the only one who just didn’t fall asleep at 7:30pm?  Do the losers go home and prepare for the next lunner party by standing (or sitting) in front of their medicine cabinets and committing to memory the proper pronunciation and purpose of ciprofloxacin?

These may be questions that are at least ten years away for this ancient-feeling young man.  Is it the cold weather that makes this aging 30something creaky and in need of more herbal injections at the acupuncturist?  If cold weather is the root of my problems, I will have great natural relief in the 82 degrees and 80% humidity of Thailand.  But I may be a bit crotchety in northern Viet Nam March and most certainly at 3500m+ in springtime Himalaya evenings.  This doesn’t even account for the world of pain I am in for if Nic and I end up in WI or western NY state or Ohio or Michigan.  (Incidentally, congratulations to my wife for getting an interview for Northern Illinois psych PhD program.)

The bad knees, the wretched shoulder sockets and their blades, and the old nagging injury from car accident whiplash five years ago often flare up in cold weather.  The most severe pain was a paralyzing, knifing pain in my neck last winter upon return to Korea from WI.  However, that could have been from falling asleep wrong on the plane.  But, if that’s that case, I am still in for a world of hurt what with all the flights and other forms of transport I have coming up in the next three months.  Take a look:

Busan to Seoul February 1 (actually this is KTX, so my knees will be the ones to suffer.)

Seoul to Kuala Lumpur (Maylasia) February 2

Kuala Lampur to Hat Yai (Thailand) February 2, 3 (sleeper train, stretch out and pop a sleeping pill)

Hat Yai to Ko Phagnan (island north of Ko Samui, Gulf of Thailand) Feb 3 (this is a bus, so surely my knees will suffer)

Ko Phagnan Feb 4 thru ~12 (therapy of massage and hot weather and bath-like water in which to swim)

Ko Phagnan to Bangkok and points north (i.e. Chiang Mai) Feb 12-27 (train and then busses, lots of busses)

Bangkok to Hanoi March 1 (short flight)

Hanoi-Hue-Ho Chi Minh City March 1 thru ~15 (various trains)

Cambodia (Siem Reap, Phenom Phen, Angkor Wat) March ~15-23 (river border crossing from Viet Nam)

Siem Reap to Kuala Lumpur to New Delhi to Kathmandu March 23-24 (planes planes planes)

Kathmandu March 24 thru ~25

Annapurna Circuit Arrival ~March 25 or 26 (bus)

Annapurna Circuit and Sanctuary (trekking and staying in tea houses along the way) ~March 26-April 25

Kathmandu to New Delhi to Chicago O’Hare May 4, 5

Chicago O’Hare to Kewaskum, WI May 5 (the roomy front seat of my father-in-law’s pick-up truck)

I will be popping 650mg pills of Tylenol ER like so much Skittles.  I wonder, though, which body parts will take the worst beating.  My neck will suffer due to looking around at so many new things.  My shoulders and knees will endure repeated trauma from the weight of my pack all full up with our traveling pharmacy.  There is great irony in that.

Will my brain explode trying to keep track of what does what? (No, because Nic has meticulously written down all uses in a little notebook.)  Some may say we have too much, but do I want to be caught on a trail in Cambodia with no recourse for an attack of giardia?

Medications strongly suggested by the CDC and Lonely Planet travel guidebooks (All of these may or may not be counterfeit in Kathmandu; the bold faced are the items we already have; the others we will roll the dice on in Nepal):

• antibiotic eye drops (1 bottle)
• azithromycin (6 tablets)
• clotrimazole 1% or miconaole 2% cream (1 tube)
• pseudoephedrine (20 tablets)
• diphenhydramine (20 tablets)
• hydrocortizone 2% cream (1 tube)
• loperamide (40 tablets)
• fluconazole 150mg (6 tablets)
• ciprofloxcin (20 tablets)
• vicodin (30 tablets)
• promethazine 25mg (10 tablets)
• omeprazole 20mg (20 tablets)
• tinidazole 500mg (24 tablets)
• acetazolamide 125mg (20 tablets)
• dexamethasone 4mg (20 tablets)
• dymenhydrinate 50mg or meclizine 25mg
• gentle laxative
• simethicone 125mg (40 tablets)
• acetaminophen 500mg
• betadine
• oral rehydration salt packets

The two words that have emerged in the last couple of days are patience and affection.  The essence of these two words are not that easy to put into action.  There are cars out to smash me, a store owners out to over-charge me for eggs, the same store owner who’s not given me one free thing despite three or four weekly visits for a year and a half, there’s a cat in this apartment who—when not in attack-feet mode—that keeps hopping up on the counter and the kitchen table.  In addition to all these things, there are conspicuously fewer days in which to do all that I want to do before I go.  At the gym, I came up with the “to do” list for the remaining two weeks here.

-Contact Tim in Bangkok

-Call a person in the family daily

-Research movers for big Friday removal of appliances and large furniture; contact them and/or Mia

-Continue changing dates and ages of Toil and Sound characters; read a few subchapters aloud daily to Nic so I can finish another round of revisions

-hard sketches of more scenes in Korea novel; pitch Korea book to an editor

-write a couple more articles about hiking for BusanHaps magazine

-Write today: patience and affection

-read three short books

-Other writing topics in days to come: key chain, autobike (commemorate 17,000 km traveled in Korea with only a couple minor “run-ins,” the progress of killing a character, organizing a mover, Hobak’s story, the difficulties of no internet (worried folks—what’d they do all that time ago before the ‘net?  Job ops; current events; updating and maintaining blog for continued readership), foreigners in Korea, Lars’ approach to parenting/spirituality, the last two big hikes in Korea

-Go to pharmacy

-Take photos of “chalk” outlines of car/autobike accidents.  What other photos?

-Transfer photos from online to hard drive external and then to Flickr

-deliver printer to Pete, push a coat rack on him

-pack up clothes

These are in no particular order, though after writing it all down, I realize I need to prioritize these things.  I am being realistic when I say I will not get to all of this.  However, the more that I take care of before departure from Korea, the easier it will be for me to embrace the concepts—as foreign as they are—of patience and affection.  Also, while in process of ticking things off the list, it is a perfect opportunity to put into practice the realities that face this future dad/homeowner/career-cultivator.  Pop understanding of this would be Zen.

Usually a deep breath and a recitation of the word patience is enough to help me realize that the cars are not out to get me.  Patience.  The man at the mart is just trying to pay for after-school academies for his kids so they don’t have to be cheap-assed store owners when they have a family.  Patience.  The cat called Hobak is just a kid and despite his often annoying nature, he doesn’t deserve the nick-nomenclature fucker.  Patience. And most of these items will be taken care of in time.

In the midst of this maelstrom—and all others that preceded and that are inevitable—affection is the easiest way I can see to nurture patience.  A moment in bed or before fixing breakfast to embrace my wife, indulge my senses in all that is “her.”  Mix and repeat throughout the day.  When enjoying Nic’s presence for only a brief moment in a chaotic day, the word patience occurs organically and becomes the image I carry with me when thinking of cursing a car that tried to kill me, mumbling epithets about the cheap bastard as I walk out of his store, grabbing the nutty cat by the scruff of his neck calling him an unjust name.

I didn’t write yesterday.  I didn’t get any exercise, either.  Today, I woke up with a general sense of hopelessness.  I suppose there are worse things in life.

I’ve been known to have a few drinks in my day.  I’ve also had a few too many pieces of pizza in one sitting.  The result—besides hangovers and bloat—is, of course, self-loathing.  Last night while watching a football game at Pete’s place, I didn’t have a drink; however, four pieces of pizza got me to thinking about the words restraint, self-denial, and moderation. These are words I would never associate with myself.  Not for any amount of life-altering time, at least.

And that despondency that greeted me this morning almost kept me from getting out of bed and getting down to the gym; it could just as easily have kept me from writing today.  But then my thoughts would have defeated me.  If there is yet another addiction I have, it is waiting until I feel low and then pulling myself up by my bootstraps.  Just to say I did it.  Or maybe just so I can find something to write about, something to bitch about.

Self-loathing is perhaps the big monster that spawns all these other addictions: internet, drinking, watching TV, eating.  It is because of these things that I find myself  talking—to myself or my unfortunate wife who has to hear it all— about what I want to do rather than actually doing it (in many cases).  When the talking starts, the monster Self-Loathing emerges.

I take inspiration from my friend Pete DeMarco, whose photography, focused writing on expats and their issues in Korea (http://www.koreahow.com/), and drive to truly make something happen in this age where anybody can publish.  The irony of my own project/experiment here on this website is that I will likely need the sort of drive that Pete has and will need to spend hours learning how to better self-promote.  I would much rather just write and let someone else take care of promoting my work, but with the competition out there, to be self-made is to be successful in the age of information.

Addiction or habit—however you want to euphemize it—think about this: What would life be like if you removed a major part of your day?  Would you find the root of so many other problems?  Would you find some sort of fulfillment in an aspect of your life that you never even knew was empty?

When I remove myself to a beach in Ko Phagnan, Thailand, a junk in Halong Bay,Vietnam, a massive temple in Ankor Wat, Cambodia, the Annapurna Circuit in Himalayan Nepal, I intend to remove my addictions.  Starting with internet, of course, other modifications will follow.  It sounds like I am trying to change too much at once.  But the thing is this: I am looking at my life and the world going on around me and people doing unique and extraordinary things to make a difference, if only in their personal lives.  I don’t want jealousy or envy to reveal itself later as offspring of Self-Loathing.

Fact of the matter is that I have a pretty great story to tell.  Also, I have a unique opportunity to experience the world of removal.  Just as self-denial and restraint provide gains in ways that were once before thought unimaginable, it is by completely altering the lens through which we observe the world that everything that is new will have that added depth and richness.