Too Far From Home

Another view of Sabuk, post spring rain

Echoing my sentiments as usual, this is the title of a new book I picked up this past weekend at What the Book? in Itaewon, the mostly foreigner district in central Seoul. It was the second and last real purchase I made over the two days. As last time, I failed to shop as much as I had planned because I was too busy with things like this:

Yeouido Island Bike Path, Seoul

Suzie Q Bar, Hongdae, Seoul

I finished The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Certainly not a bad reread overall and lots of existential food for thought, but I gotta say: it's really all about sex. Yeah, so Tomas is this awesome persecuted doctor who is relegated to window-washing after he publishes an anti-Communist editorial. And he lives many years with Tereza and he just can't leave her and blah blah blah. But he's constantly screwing other women. Leave it to a male author to have your whole plot, dark European politics and all, revolve around a bunch of graphic erotic encounters. Not that that's a bad thing - just not the most fascinating piece I've ever read. Still, I appreciated the reflections on the pettiness of politics, the inane pity received by Czech refugees and the delicacy of intimate relationships.

Must keep reading. After finding a surprise traditional Korean restaurant in an Itaewon alley, I realized I might miss the 4 p.m. train back to Gangwon. Still, I was there so I hurriedly perused the shelves and picked out Too Far From Home, a Paul Bowles collection of stories, novel excerpts, poems, letters and travel essays. Bowles - always heard of the guy but never read him. What is he famous for? Oh, yes. In the 50s-70s, he made a destination out of Tangier, the northernmost Moroccan city. Of course, this makes me reminisce on last year's 10-day trip to Morocco . Beyond the introductions, the first thing I read was the novella that gives the book its title. After a messy divorce, a New York woman stays with her brother in an unknown Niger Valley town and she can't break free from the "too far from home" feeling. Lessons on race relations, ugly tourism and "forgiving everyone" ensue.

Grape Garden House, where I got some soil

Too far from home. Thing is, if you get the drift of this blog, I have no idea where "home" is. Can never answer the question when asked. So, in a sense, I am always too far from this elusive place, right? And I am always straining to find it, wherever I go. Actually, more so than the quest for meaning, my identity must rest on finding a place I can call home.

This is my third book in a row written by a renowned 20th century fiction writer. Murakami, Kundera and Bowles come from vastly different cultures and perspectives but there is, of course, one thing that binds them together: they are men. I actually appreciate all three of them including strong and sympathetic female characters in their work.Yet if you placed prolific womyn authors in modern Japan, or revolutionary Prague, or beautiful Morocco, I'd bet you'd get vastly different stories. If Murakami's women had the main voice, they might describe what it feels like to live in violation. If Kundera's Tereza could talk, she might feel more anger and despair over sexual harassment at work and pervasive cheating by her husband. In Too Far From Home, Bowles actually takes on Anita's character, and I wonder how the great Joyce Carol Oates - who wrote the introduction - would play that role instead.

I guess what I'm thinking is, I want to hear more female voices in fiction. Particularly travel fiction. I want to hear what it's like to have the same spirit of freedom and adventure as male travellers, but not the freedom from verbal street harassment, sexual and violent attacks or a stricter dress code. In fact, I want to hear more about what it's like to live as a part of the societies where female travellers are privileged compared to the local ones. I want to hear about how being a female-assigned person in many parts of this world is simply a battle that none of us chose but how they keep on fighting for their lives. Despite the fucked-up anti-woman legislation currently making its rounds in the States, it doesn't compare to us living as second-class citizens in so many other places, particularly Asia and Africa. So, basically, I should be less lazy and actively seek out these stories. Reading Lolita in Tehran comes to mind.

Hapjeong Station, Hongdae - I loved loading up on gear here!

Rant temporarily over. Springtime is upon us, finally, and the second Seoul weekend was an intense precursor to Sabuk's first truly warm days of the year. I was easily able to get my bike on the train Saturday morning and a daytime train ride was nicer, complete with cute Korean kids in front of me. The challenge began as soon as I got off the train. As usual, I rarely make good advance plans for solo bike trips and all I had done was take pictures of the route I found on BBBike (an awesome resource, regardless). That's right - I did not have a good printed map of Seoul. All I knew was my start point, Changyangni train station in northeast Seoul and my end point - Grape Garden House in Hongdae, southwest Seoul. And so I set off on a bit of a wild ride through the crowded streets of Seoul, on a hot and sunny afternoon. It was mostly enjoyable and I had company on two wheels, though I wouldn't choose to do it that way a second time. The parts of the city I saw were diverse and interesting, but maybe not the most attractive.

It took me way too long to get to the hostel, but once I got there I quickly made plans to ride back out, down to the Han River bike path at dusk. Make no mistake, this is prime city cycling territory - a 68-kilometer loop around the river. Most of the Seoul cyclists seem to cluster here and it's not hard to see why. I crossed the footpath at the Sogang Bridge in Mapo-gu, Hongdae area and finally had a beautiful relaxed ride. So incredibly happy to have a good pair of wheels beneath me. In general, I would say that Seoul reminds me of any big city anywhere, especially from far-away. But that's OK, because they still work hard to make it a liveable, breathable and enjoyable place.

For dinner, I managed to make the mistake of ordering the spiciest thing I've had so far in Korea,     짬뽕. Usually, I can handle it, but sometimes you just gotta laugh it off when you get something that's too much. Afterwards, I managed to get a bit lost in the Hongdae whirlwind but finally met my Houston friend's cousin at the station. I stayed out until nearly 5, in a mix of Hongdae bar hopping, taxi ride to and from a Gangnam charity masquerade party, late-night 비빔밥 and learning about the particular lives of seasoned Seoul hagwon teachers and those who have moved on to other places. For a while there, I really couldn't believe I was going back to the little mountain village with no cafe culture, no live music, no real opportunities for activism. I did "plant seeds" for a joint weekend WWOOFing adventure, though, so that will be something.

But Seoul will always be there. Sunday was beautiful as ever and I headed across the Sogang bridge proper to Yeouido for the Cherry Blossom Festival. These ubiquitous Korean & Japanese trees have yet to sprout in Sabuk, but I imagine it will be actually nicer to enjoy them without the massive crowds. I also enjoyed the path here and rode east to and across the Wonhyo bridge to get back to the city streets. I fully planned to take my bike on the subway to catch the train from Changyangni, but after following the road signs to Itaewon, chowing down, relaxing and buying a book, I realized it just wasn't possible. 

After a brief panic, coupled with the nearly summer heat, I got myself hydrated and back on the road - who knows where? The river seemed like the best option again, finally and I took a long, luxurious, fast and free golden hour ride on the bike path to the Hangyang University station, further east. I fully expected to arrive at the Eastern bus terminal in no time after this, but it turns out I had it wrong. Thankfully, the road signs pointed me to DongSeoul terminal. I passed through a nicer, more small-shoppy part of the city lined with colored latterns - in reality, I was heading back west towards the center. And so it is that, after another very full and tiring day of cycling, I was on a 7:30 bus to the Gohan terminal. Getting off in the nighttime, I felt that the bike was an extension of me, so smoothly and easily did I roll back to my house. A bit hazy and delirious. 

And this work week was hazy. Weeks pass so quickly, I can hardly believe it's almost May. I'm really missing May Day involvement and I hope to go back to Seoul for a weekend parade, if possible. This is the really important year, with a call for a global general strike, but it's on Tuesday! No way I can skip work to go to Seoul that day. And anyway, I don't know anyone directly involved there. Again, I feel split in two between the beauty and peace of my surroundings and everything I could be doing in the city. It will never go away and acceptance is part of the battle. A battle for positive change. 

My French friend who just got back from travelling South America for months messaged me today and it sure as hell made my day. Just knowing that we're still young, still staying on the road and still trying to live our lives to the fullest fills me with the utmost hope. I will never actually be "stuck" anywhere, unless I want to be, and real family and friends will always be there even if it takes 10 years to reunite. 

And yes, I still like teaching my kids. I'm liking it more and more. 

Han River path view, dusk

On the Sogang Bridge

Seoul from the Sogang Bridge