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

Could Be A Country Thing, City Thing, Blues Thing

 Though I still love The Verve above all else, this is one of the better Richard Ashcroft singles:

Could be a country thing, could be a blues thing, could be a city thing...you take me from the madness, the awe-inspiring sadness...

I feel bursting with writing potential, but I'm not sure how much of it can even be expressed on the page. For the sake of keeping this space alive, I will try.

Could be a city thing...anywhere. But this is a piece of Seoul.

The first visit to Seoul happened this past weekend. In some moments, it's as though I'm reliving my early college days. With far less awkwardness, thankfully. Maybe a more adult kind of awkwardness, on second thought. The booze flows, the hours melt away, the bars and clubs pound away nothing  but dance-pop, but the 노래방 (noraebang) - literally, song room for karaoke - is a nice additional touch. I'm happy to party with new people, but in these moments, I especially miss the familiarity of getting sketchy with close friends. I flash back to Boston, 2 weekends in Montreal, select Parisian and Lillois nights.

After just a month away from big city lights and fast life, I was apprehensive going in. Fortunately, I love railroad travel and Korean trains are particularly high-tech and efficient, but still passing through beautiful mountainous parts. No transport strikes to be found here, Europe! At least not in this neck of the woods, as far as I can tell. From my Greek experience with screwing up train travel in a different language - and a screwed up train system - I've made myself quite paranoid here.

Pulling out of Gangwon on the Seoul train

Anticipation and mild anxiety about the upcoming trip put me in a more stressed and jittery than normal mood during the week. Psychologically, I am doing my best to keep grounded in this small town mountain life, train my brain and body to focus and be content with relative simplicity. I need it for my health. A trip to a wild, sprawling, life-pumping city like Seoul, with a menu of choices ranging from activism to parties to Western food to live music and beyond can be overwhelming, to say the least. Indeed, as soon as I stepped off the platform on Friday night - into a rainy mess at that - I felt the mad rush. Part of city cycling and walking means avoiding the rat tunnels of the subway. Of course, subways are useful and way more planet friendly than cars and buses, but I just can't stand being down there for more than short intervals. The Korean metro is clean and smell-free, unlike Paris or New York, but being packed in with the hurried crowds, the stale air and lack of daylight nearly makes me sick. How can millions of humans around the world live like this, spend so many hours underground?

And with a short stay at your first time in a big city, you get sucked in and scattered and you lose sight of anything you actually need to get done. I enjoyed staying at Grape Garden House in Hongdae, a really chill spot by travellers for travellers, and the added surprise of getting to know two other teachers throughout the weekend. Also, the Koreans who run the hostel know the "Empty Shop," apparently a radical space in Yongsan. That was my first trek on the bright Saturday morning - I found the space to be under renovation, but it made me really want to meet more alternative folks even more. Afterwards, I passed through the Itaewon foreigner shopping bubble but failed to get a phone or books as I tried to make the protest at the Chinese embassy for North Korean refugees. (more on that below) Unfortunately, all that was left was a swarm of cops, probably also related to the resistance against the widely publicized nuclear summit , attended by Obama. I was sort of disenchanted, but I chalked it up to being a lost first-time visitor and proceeded to enjoy the rest of the evening, stretching into six in the morning.

The Routine
Two of my female students have also become my chiropractors, along with the rest of the Taekwondo team in Sabuk. I knew I had lower back problems, but I didn't realize how bad they might be until The Master decided I would hurt myself if I didn't stretch the hell out of my back all the time. He proceeded to guide the girls to crush my spine and twist my neck. This may be a blessing in disguise, the key to getting me in really good shape. Except at the last class, I'm afraid I was too tired and didn't show the most positive attitude. Sometimes it's hard to pretend to smile. What if they actually kick me out? That will be quite the embarassment, but I suppose worse things have happened.

When in France, I started out stressed about lesson planning, but really let things slide and began maintaining a careless attitude about teaching, amounting to "I'm here, I smile and laugh with my students, it's all good." As I became more and more involved with outside activities, particularly the rambling soup kitchen, I somewhat lost sight of my most important role - an English teacher to French middle schoolers. Consequently, after leaving my job, I began dreaming about my former students and missing them intensely. I knew I hadn't done enough and being a transient assistant with a contract for less than the full academic year sure didn't help.

So, this time around, I'm really trying. I'm in class on time, every time - yes, believe it or not, this was not always the case before. What the hell was I thinking? That old careless attitude surely contributed to going crazy and losing even more self-esteem in the end. I work to get to know my Korean students. Besides having similar names and features and interests mainly consisting of K-pop, gaming and sports, this is a lovely bunch of high schoolers, extremely overworked, sleep-deprived and some with family alcoholism and abuse. (This is Kangwon Land town, after all. A few months ago, the students found a gambler Saturday morning who had hanged himself in front of their school the night before). I am slowly falling in love with them.

Lightness and Weight

Lightness vs. weight is a life theme, something that has only struck me over time since reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being, leading me to reread the novel. The contrast could be reflected in the city vs. the countryside, productivity vs.  playfulness, staying in one place vs. staying on the road, among many things. Particularly for constant travellers, it really strikes a chord. Right now, I'm thinking about it in terms of rising up vs. living peacefully.

I stumbled on some good bits in the book, which takes place in Prague, small town Czechoslovakia, Geneva and Zurich during and immediately following the 1968 Prague Spring, crushed by Russian tanks. Sabine, a Czech expat artist in Switzerland, feels uncomfortable around some fellow Czech expats, French friends and a Swiss lover because of their romanticizing oppression and the need for revolution. When Kundera describes Sabine's lover's infatuation with European street demonstrations, I have to laugh in recognition. "And so as long as he lived in Paris, he took part in every possible demonstration. How nice it was to celebrate something, demand something, protest against something ; to be out in the open, to be with others."

As described in an older entry, I arrived in France in the fall of 2010, at the height of the popular uprising against the reforme des retraites, Sarkozy's retirement reform laws. Of course, it was marvelous to be having lunch in the middle of Lille on a general strike day and watching the procession march through the streets. It made me feel alive, excited to be part of this new community and the way in which protests connect people and become social events. Lille, a particularly strong worker and activist stronghold, has no shortage of them and I spent a good many afternoons alongside teachers and anarchists protesting the retirement reforms, nuclear energy, cyclist deaths, etc. In fact, crazy as I was, I genuinely made myself feel guilty if I missed a protest.

Indeed, throughout many European cities, millions of folks love nothing more than a good street demo, despite the millions of others who wish the metro and buses weren't shut down again and they didn't have to walk to work. I do and probably always will support popular uprisings and their potential to bring dialogue, performance art and radicalism into the streets. However, after a few years of participation and witnessing - let's be honest, as more of a tourist as anything because these were mostly not my struggles - I'm getting quickly fed up with the protest as simple spectacle. After catching a brief and embarassingly useless glimpse at the Calais front lines, I've slowly come to realize that real solidarity and on-the-ground activism is possible and exists. But most people, understandably, just can't do it. It's too painful to come face-to-face with state violence, to push up against the hard brick wall that is fighting for a better world. At what point can you balance activism with a healthy life without going over the edge?

Two of the biggest current struggles on the Korean scene are the latest round of China's repatriation of North Korean refugees and the emerging U.S. naval base on Jeju. Of course, being in Seoul would put me in the middle of the resistance action, but I don't really want to be there. If I was, I know I would get sucked in somehow and continue chipping away at my stability. I will have to be content with support from a distance and occasional trips to the center. Lightness. Weight.

So to keep it real, I slowly read Ursula Le Guin's anarcha-feminist translation of The Tao (given to me by a dear Houston friend) and I try to comfort in passages such as:

"The return to the root 
is peace.
Peace: to accept what must be, 
to know what endures.
In that knowledge is wisdom.
Without it, ruin, disorder."

Could Be A Country Thing
In most places I've been, the countryside is dying. Dying economically and culturally and few people seem to want to revive it. This pains me, because as someone who has only recently discovered my profound discontent with city existence, prompting my need to even escape the summer 2011 Greek uprising, as partially described here.

Basically, I am constantly torn between a need for nature and a need for action. Why can't live music, community gardens, long bike rides, experimental art, alternative spaces and the like also happen outside of the city walls, on a larger scale? When I'm in the mountains, it's like an endless expanse and the city is like a closed snowglobe. Yet, the snowglobe pulsates with familiar life and possibilities. I imagine this inner conflict will never quite be resolved, but maybe someday the balance can be achieved.