From San Felipe to Santa Cruz

Fear of Farting

A two days rest in Angeles city, bought maps and food and started my hike. The basic plan was to reach the east coast. Climbing the Mt. Pinatubo would be a plus. Day one was a pain in the ass - trying to escape the gravity of the city. It took me more than six hours to leave the last suburban areas and another one to cross the cultivated countryside and finally reach some sort of wilderness to set camp for the first night. I was tired and pissed off, but the next three days were more than perfect. I followed the canyon and when, after two days, I realized it's a dead end - sandy walls impossible to climb - I wasn't too disappointed. I had absolutely no clue where I was, no idea which way could lead me to Pinatubo, but I still felt great. The weather was merciful, cloudy with a gentle breeze, plenty of fresh water for drinking or taking a bath... who needs more? I went back the same way (there was no other) to the first camp and this time from there went to south.

Too soon the wilderness was just a faint memory, the sun was blazing mercilessly and my feet felt like lead weights stomping the hot asphalt. No way. Two jeepney hops and I was in San Felipe at the Circle Hostle on New Year's eve. Just across the hostel there's a store/canteen where i planned to have a few beers before going to sleep, but the owner ruined my plans - he threw a big garden party for anyone who was passing by, with infinite supply of ice cold beer, barbeque, pineapple tuna salad, fried noodles... you name it. Oh, yes, and karaoke. I tried my best to annihilate his beer supplies, but I was really beat. No matter how much I liked the short hike I didn't sleep properly so I was off before midnight and the Armageddon explosives that are here sold as firecrackers made me just turn in my bed. I managed a proper 12 hours sleep.

In the morning I learned that I completely forgot I changed time zones - not that it matters when I'm on the hike, dawn and dusk tell me if it's time to go or time to stop. I stayed at the circle for three days and made some friends between the local kids and teenagers. It all started when one of them approached me, asking for money. I gave him one of my most terrifying pissed-off-teacher looks and told him that if he asks for money one more time I'm gonna kick him so hard he won't be able to take a crap for a week (a curse like that would be more than welcome to me, I was already affected by the liquid fart syndrome). It ended as good start. No more begging, but we talked a lot. We actually improvised a lesson when I was correcting their English and they had great fun because they were allowed to say fuck and shit and I was entertaining them making stupid crazy faces. After that I became the most popular guy in the neighborhood, they learned I'm just a funny harmless drunkard and when I came back two days later even grannies welcomed me with laughter and a loud "Hi, uncle Dag!"

After three days of amazing relax, morning swims in the ocean and evening intoxication with Red Horse, I left back for the mountains - that's what I thought at the time. I was lucky I could rent a locker for 20 pesos at the Circle and I left there my Korean winter clothes and the laptop, my heavy oldtimer. It ended to be a desert hike. I spent basically two days in the dry sandy river bed of Santo Tomaso. Since the only map I could get is a stupid road map and I couldn't figure out the terrain, I was sort of sure that the Mapanuepe lake is located somewhere in the mountains east. As I found out today in the morning, it's located at the foot of the mountains east. But after all the sand it was sure a beautiful thing to see, even more beautiful for jumping in. I'm a selfish bastard - I hope the tourists will never discover it. It would be the ruin of a beautiful place. It was still early and instead of going blindly (again) in the mountains, I took a shortcut through the jungle, going west, back.

At the edge of the jungle I stumbled upon a stupidly amusing monument, but a woman there was having a phone conversation that sent chills down my back. You are free to think I'm making this up - but be aware that reality is practically always more amazing than fiction can be. She had a business conversation about selling her baby. Three months old. But she wanted to sell it in block with the older sibling of two years, which was something the buyer - or the intermediary - wasn't willing to accept. So she was lowering the price. I know it's nothing unusual, maybe even a daily matter, for all that I know. What disgusted me more than the fact of selling her children, she simply didn't care that a dumb foreigner was standing almost near her, taking pictures of Plastic Jesus. And she was talking in English. Now don't think that I despise the poor woman, in a way that disgusts me, I understand her and I don't even think to pity her. I just plain HATE to live in such a world. If anyone thinks that praying for that woman and her kids will work out... yeah, you're fucking disgusting morons.Well, fuck you, Plastic Jesus.

Back at the Circle hostel for my birthday party. I guess I'll spend it having fun with the kids. And with one of them I already have a deal that he'll be my surf instructor. Well well.. me on a surf board.. THAT will be some real fun!

The Taste of Price

Two days ago I bought some dirt cheap imported wine to use for cooking. I ended drinking most of it.
But first I have to tell two stories.
One day some time ago, when Ramon was here, we had lunch at a friend's house. Lots of drink and lots of nice food, fresh kimchi, well cooked rice, uncountable side dishes.. an ordinary Korean meal. When we were all well stuffed, they started frying some greenery to have as anju (drinking snacks). It was bitter and without any special taste - not exactly disgusting but close enough to be unworthy of eating more than a sample. Wrong! It's delicious! It's the best! You must eat it! Eat a lot! It's very very expensive! Hah, the magic words. Before the big holidays in supermarkets you can buy gift packs of food: 5 apples nicely wrapped for 50 euros. 10 cans of Spam (yes, Spam!) and 2 oranges for 100 euros. And so on. And God forbid you take the price label off. It's all that matters.Koreans will just go crazy for it. The price, I mean.
And then you have Sang Pyeong, my neighbor (or my landlord, since I live in one of his houses). Last year he went to his hometown for a few days and when back he came straight to me, waving a half empty bottle of wine in his hand. No, he wasn't drunk. The day before he had dinner with a friend in a fancy "Italian" restaurant in Daejon. They had pasta and two bottles of wine and the bill was about 300 euros. Because the wine was expensive as hell. Because it was high quality. Or the other way? It doesn't matter. He paid the bill but he's no fool. A farmer, yes, but with lots of common sense. So he told himself, "I'm a Korean, I drink soju and makkoli and I know what is good and what is crap, but I have no clue about wine. I will ask Dag." Ho told me the story and handed me the bottle. "I spared some of it because I'd like to hear your opinion on this wine. Can a bottle of this be worth more than 100 000 won, in a restaurant?" I took it bottleneck. It was lukewarm, but that's not a problem for a drunkard. I'm no sommelier, I don't give a shit about the bouquet or the other fancy sounding nonsense, if it goes down it's OK. It didn't go down. Well, a little did, that's why I spat it out with teary eyes. Imported from Italy, DOC and so on, but still shit. Very expensive shit. I've never, NEVER, drank such shitty wine in Italy. Actually, I've never drank any bad wine while in Italy, even when I was buying bottles with crown caps for 1 euro or less. I suppose Sang Pyeong felt sour for being cheated so badly, but he had to laugh when he saw my face contorted in disgust. He thanked me for my wordless sincere comment on the wine and threw the bottle away. And added that I should open a spaghetti restaurant, their meal was nothing to compare with the spaghetti-party I throw occasionally at home.
Sometimes, when I go to a huge supermarket in Jinju (1 hour walk and 1 hour by bus) and I have money to waste I'm tempted to buy some wine - there's an amazing offer, imports from Chile, Australia, France, Italy, Spain, California and also some local - the last not to be mentioned. The prices? Californian Chardonnay 30 euros. Italian Cabernet 40 euros. Fuck off. But two days ago I found wine in carton in the local supermarket in Wonji (1hour walk and 20 minutes by bus). 5 euros a pack, Spanish.

Of course it's crappy wine - but a DRINKABLE crappy wine. Not a cheat. The two weeks that I have before I leave for the Phillippines will be more cozy with lots of vin brule!

Hitting the Floor

My mistake, I meant heating the floor.
I realized I haven't posted a single picture of one of the most amazing Korean things yet. Yup, floor heating, ondol (as they call it in the northern parts) or gudeul (so called here). How many have I done? Hell if I can remember. Lots. And never took a single picture. So this time I took the camera (inherited from my son) with me and recorded all the process for all the world to see this incredible thing. You think you know what floor heating is? Maybe you even have it at home? Still, you have no clue what the right stuff is.
Koreans use the floor heating for something like 3000 years. The Romans also used the hypocaust but it was extremely inefficient and it was meant only for heating rich villas or public baths that could afford slaves to continuously burn wood in the fireplace. Excavations at Mohenjo-daro (Pakistan) and Dzalisa (Georgia) are believed to be floor heatings but even if they were, neither "survived" to the present day. Similar like many other places, the German Reichstag in 1864, for example. Nothing left of them, in terms of use. It is also known in the northern parts of Japan with its Korean name ondol and I sincerely hope that the Japanese don't think it's their invention. But, thanks to that, even the western world became aware that it's possible to enjoy heat coming from below - the famous architect Frank Lloyd Wright stayed at a Japanese nobleman's house and discovered a tea room that took on the design features of a Korean ondol room. The comfort derived from the warm radiant from the floor was so great that Wright designed a hybrid technology that would allow hot water to travel through pipes instead of hot air running through flues, which is a lot harder to maintain. Wright designed the first radiant floor heating system for a Japanese hotel, and later brought this system to America. And so it started.
But think about sitting or sleeping on a live fire. Well, not directly on it, but with a thick mass of stone and clay between, that absorbs a natural heat and releases it slowly... priceless.
If you want to make your own gudeul, here's some pictures to help you!
A new house, this is the place under the heated room.

 "Dag, if you don't stop messing with that camera and get quickly back to mixing the cement you'll end with an asshole like this!"

And Day 1 ended with a visit to a friend, with lots of beer and makkoli.

Day 2, hangovered as hell, the gudeul is starting to have a shape.

Meanwhile the wood artisans take care of the ceiling. The walls are the last thing to be done on a Korean house. All the weight of the roof is being held by the wooden pillars.

Oh, yes, I forgot we're in Korea.  Among the first things to be done is the fireplace - not because it's so important, but because this is the only easy access to the working area. After this you have to carry bricks, mortar and the motherfucking heavy concrete slabs (Made in Vietnam) all around the house or climb like a monkey.

 Three Koreans tying the chimney. I guess it makes more sense than five Japanese tying a laundry rope or twenty-two of them fixing a tent...

Slabs on place, covered with sand, gravel and on top the mighty hwangto - construction clay. Ready for another 3cm of clay screed, but only when the walls will be in place.

That's all folks. In few weeks I go to Okinawa and hopefully it will be a goodbye to Korea till next spring.

Where Are You From?

This blog is starting to be a pain in the ass since nothing is really happening. Tomato disease? Who cares. Typhoon? It didn't blow you away to meet a lion, a scarecrow and so on.. boring. Yeah, true. I was bored to death, too. Two weeks of rain, I ended "stealing" soju from neighbors, but today the sun finally decided to shine on this part of the world so the first thing was to go to the village and buy some beer. Had a bottle on my way home in the woods and, bored as I was, came with a topic for a post.

Where am I from?

In February 2009 I came to Korea for the first time.At the passport check I was told that I can't stay 3 months in Korea, as I stated, only 30 days. I argued with the guy, he called security and I was escorted to the Immigration office.

Where are you from?

Creepy, even after all these years. A really pretty girls she was, with my passport in her hands, asking me: "Where are you from?"
" Slovenia"
"Not from Ukraina?"
"No, why..I .. of course I'm from Slovenia, it's EU, you can see from the passport!"
"So.. you're not from Ukraina?"
It went on like this for 2 hours. Ukraina here and there, someone eventually found out that Slovenia (3 months visa) doesn't  equal Slovakia (30 days visa). And I was told I should be glad for the efforts they did to find out my nationality.
WUT?
They are supposed to have all the information they need, it's a government office we're talking about.. ah well.
Seriously, I'm not much concerned that Slovenia is frequently (most of the times) confused with Slovakia. I have nothing against Slovakia. It's just too annoying. Uzbekistan, too.
I did my fair share of travels since then and collected some weird reactions.

X: Where are you from?
Me: Slovenia.
X: Ah, Slovakia, I know..
This is 99% of the response I get. No problem with that..You learn to deal with it being from a microscopic country.

Not always. It was in Scotland.
X: Where are you from?
Me: Slovenia.
X: Ah, yes,, Slovenia.. Slovakia... Sorry to say, I can never remember which one was part of Russia and which one of Czekoslovakia? 

It was in Hong Kong where the X was from US.
X: Where are you from?
Me: Slovenia.
X: Where is that?
One of the most sincere answers.

And then it goes.. downhill. In Korea.
X: Where are you from?
Me: Slovenia.
X: Ah, Uzbekistan!
Me: NONONO, Slovenia!
X: Yes, Uzbekistan!
Are you even listening to me?

Japan. The country of self centered people, closed to foreigners, of people death set to work with no fun and no vacations and blah blah blah..Yeah, all that up your ass.
X: Where are you from?
Me: Slovenia.
X: Aaa, Buredo Reiku (Bled lake), I know it!

X: Where are you from?
Me: Slovenia.
X: Oh, I visited Lubiana, your capital 

X: Where are you from?
Me: Slovenia.
X: Are you from Lubiana?
Me: (WTF is he playing with me?) No, from Koper.
X: I see, Koper, isn't that the town on the coast near Piran? 
Me and Ramon: wut???  

But the candy, the top of the tops, goes to a Phillipino taxi driver.
X: Where are you from?
Me: Slovenia.
X: Ah.. yes.. ummm.. slo.. sli..  I KNOW TRANSILOVENIA! HOME OF DRACULA!

A Day Off on Tokunoshima

Inutabu

 Innojofuta

 Mushiroze

The Last Few Days

The last few days in the Philippines irritated me to an unbelievable extent. After all the kilometers I enjoyed in its mountains and valleys it was like a cold shower in Siberia. First, Angeles City. Luckily I was in a hostel owned by a foreigner and I have complaints at all. It was actually the best budget place I've stayed in the Philippines during my two visits there. But it was excruciating to leave the Korea town. Just everyone is trying to sell you something. A ride, a watch, sunglasses, sex - or they just beg for money every single foreigner they see. For their standards every foreigner is rich. Me, too. And it can be even worse in a shopping mall. There's so many shop assistants you just can't pass unobserved and in a split second you're surrounded by them. Even if I love to amuse in my shopping addiction alone and spending hours wandering in the shops, I have nothing against shop assistants being visible - to be called for help when I need them. I wanted to buy some socks, during the hike most of mine simply disintegrated. I found them, guarded by a flock of 12 shop assistants. I stopped to have a look of some funny colorful pairs and I was surrounded. They all knew that I didn't really want to buy the ones I was looking and they tried to drag me and show me some others. The fuck with them, I bought socks the next day in a supermarket, knowing that they will last for maybe a month or two. But I returned to the same shopping mall (S-M, and they don't sell whips and handcuffs) because I was curious. It's not a small mall, three floors, but then again it's not THAT big. And I started counting. When I reached 150 shop assistants on half of the second floor I got so depressed I gave up. It was more fun shopping in the district known to be the mecca of Chinese counterfeit stuff. I laughed at Pensonic screens, Sambung smartphones and similar stuff.
Then I left for Manila, one day prior to my departure. It's not that my flight was so early, it was at noon, but I just don't trust Philippino transportation to be on time. They have a different notion of time that has nothing to do with hours and minutes. As long as it's done (anything) it's OK. Well, not that being relaxed and carefree is bad, but... I spent the night at the heavily guarded airport, armed security guards everywhere, maybe even more than last summer - a few days after I arrived there in December they had a political assassination at the airport, exactly at my favorite smoking point. I read about it in the news and laughed when the police stated that they are still puzzled at how the guns were brought inside since they accurately check everyone going to the airport. Even I could go in with a bazooka, if I had one. You just have to go in with the shuttle bus. It's not checked and is usual for passengers to carry large luggage.
I was in the arrival wing of Terminal 1 during night and moved to the departures of Terminal 2 in the morning. I went to the inner shuttle just to discover that yes, it's free if you pay for it. That is if you upgrade your ticket to PAL Express. From a few hundred peso to a few thousand, depending on your destination. At least the lady at the counter remained composed even when I lost my temper and told me that I can use the outer shuttle for 20 peso. No luxury and it takes about 20 minutes, but perfect for me. I'm already used that stuff at the airport is slightly more expensive than outside, so 20 peso for a bottle of water, instead of 15, seemed normal. That was at the arrivals. At the departures it was 70. No free wi-fi anywhere. I wanted to buy more smokes to take them with me to Japan and they were 80 peso instead of 38. And at the end - but this time I already knew it - the "exit tax". I was happy to leave the country. Of course I plan to visit again, but no more cities.
The flight was scheduled for 12.35. At 12.40 there was still no call for boarding. No notice about delays. At 1.00 a guy with a sign with the number of our flight came to GateN 1 where we were waiting and said that we have to move to gate S 2 for boarding. There we waited for another half an hour and finally the bird went flying. The landing at Taoyuan was quite bad, the immigration annoying as usual. I was sure they will not bother me since I had a ticket for next day (today) to Okinawa, but I was again too optimistic. Your address in Taiwan? You see, I have a flight tomorrow so I will just wait at the airport. No, you have to leave an address here. Regulations. But I don't have it. I really didn't care what were they going to do, even if they denied me the entry I would just wait for next day in the transfer hall. The old crone called her supervisor to tell him about this stupid foreigner. We went through the exact same interview again. He called his superior that accompanied me in the Immigration offices. Same Q-A again. She left the office and came back with another man, my blind guess is that it was her superior. And guess what he asked me... and surprise surprise at the end simply said: Could you write "Taouyan Airport" on the immigration form?
Happy that I managed to kill some time in an amusing way (bureaucracy at work is funny when the matter is NOT of importance to you) and went to try Taiwanese beer. Slept like a drunk log. In few hours I will be on Okinawa!