Sam-Kyop Trofalot- the Fattest Korean
On Sunday I walked down to the east gate of Keimyung University to wait for a friend who was an hour late. As I’m sitting, watching life, I hear the familiar sound of one of those mopeds that usually dominate the pavements. This one has a whinier sound than usual, in fact the engine, basically a hairdryer, was screaming. It’s also unusual because the moped is on the road and not terrorising the pavement. When I look up I understand why, it reminded me of one of those Cold War, Soviet destroyers which always seemed top heavy.
Soviet Kashin Class Destroyer (1984)
Sat on the moped, dwarfing it, was the fattest Korean I have ever seen. Without any exaggeration, he was proportionately as fat as the infamous Mr Creosote from Monty Phython’s, The Meaning of Life. If he’d ridden on the pavement he would have bowled everyone over. Then I noticed he was riding a pizza delivery moped on the back of which, and almost hidden by his gargantuan arse, was the ‘hay box’ and company logo.
Yes, along with all the junk food and a little help from sam-kyop-sal (barbecued belly pork), fat has arrived in Korea and it’s not pretty! Too late to whip out my camera, the moped screamed past at all of 15 kph, hugging the gutter as traffic sped by. I would imagine any delivery to more than a couple of kilometers away, plus the lengthy lug up any stairs, and the pizza would have arrived cold. If of course, the delivery man hadn’t truffled the hay box contents first!
Mr Creosote and Link to Youtube (click photo)
© Nick Elwood 2010 Creative Commons Licence.
Just… (그냥…) Doctor! Doctor!
Barbapapa
I’m fat. Whenever I visit my doctor he asks, ‘What do you think about your weight?’ I never know what to say. What the fuck are you supposed to say? I stifle a little laugh.
‘I love it. It’s great wobbling into a bathhouse looking like Grandpa Barbapapa.’
Once I replied, ‘not very sexy,’ but he didn’t get the joke.
I actually saw him in Samjeong Oasis bathhouse several weeks ago. I didn’t feel comfortable and left before he could see me. I should have talked to him. ‘Hey, Doc! What do you think of my weight? How would you like my awesome man tits?’
Another time, 8 years ago, I met him on the way to E Mart. A Saturday morning in autumn as I was waiting to cross the intersection. I’d just returned from the UK after having a hernia repair.
At the intersection he’s excited to see me and do you know what he proceeds to do? Examine my stomach! An on the street examination! Not many people can boast such a privilege.
Just as the lights turn green and a sea of pedestrians begin to cross the road, he pulls up my shirt, kneels on one knee, has a look at the scar and pokes around for a few moments. A little girls stood nearby, looking bewildered, stares.
It was hilarious! I didn’t even have to pay the extortionate 3000 Won (£1.50), usually charged for a consultation.
Back home in the shitty UK, your doctor doesn’t talk to you even when you’re in their surgery. If I passed my UK doctor on deserted street he wouldn’t know who I was and getting to see him in his surgery can involve waiting up to four days.
I like my Korean doc; he once gave me a tour of his new endoscopy machine but was a bit too enthusiastic as he waved about the part they stick down your gullet or poke up your backside. He was like a kid with a new toy.
Most UK local doctors don’t have such equipment and the most sophisticated toys my UK surgery have are stethoscopes and a weighing machine. Actually, two weighing machines because last time I visited them I was too heavy for one machine and had to stand on two. What surgeries in the west, ‘Lard Land,’ buy scales that only weigh up to 16 stone! Standing on two! That was embarrassing!
© Nick Elwood 2010 Creative Commons Licence.
Memi Update – (매미)Continuing my obsession…
Hot...
Two weeks ago (August 23, 2010), when the temperature in Daegu, the hottest part of Korea, hit 36 degrees, the memi (매미-cicadas) chorus screamed from the pomegranate tree and bushes near my one-room. I made a recording in exactly the same location as I recorded the first memiI heard, on July 7th, of this year. There was one day, Saturday 30th of August, when it was refreshingly cool with little humidity and a fresh breeze. That was a strange day as the memi were silent. It’s an interesting feeling to leave your one-room and the sanctuary of air-conditioning, to step out into intense sunlight that actually seems to have weight, and be surrounded all the time by muggy humidity and that incessant scream from the trees. In the two recordings here you can hear the different levels of intensity. In the second recording, on one of the hottest days of the year, the memi song was verging on painful.
Alternative Links
Link to Flickr video: On Hearing the First Memi of Summer, 2010
Link to Flickr video: Memi in Full Chorus August. 2010.
© Nick Elwood 2010 Creative Commons Licence.
Emergency Dump!
You’re not supposed to write pooh stories! Actually, a few months ago someone made some nasty comments about an article I wrote about pooh humour. Anyone who has a problem with pooh stories is simply anal and needs to loosen up! Anyone who has traveled outside the domain of Club Med 18-30, anyone who has had to eat a drastically different diet or squat and then clean their bum from a tin can of water using their hand, knows the subject can be very entertaining and is well worth writing about, for all sorts of reasons.
Every Friday, I eat lunch with my boss; not an occasion to talk about pooh! Usually we go somewhere a little further afield than the area in which we live. I’d woken up early and started working straight away and didn’t each breakfast until around 11 am, which was no problem – except I’d cooked bean soup (된장 치게) and eaten it with some kimchi and acorn curd (두투리묵). The fuse for such food, especially without rice, depends on the individual, but mine is about an hour. If liquids are consumed, and I’d had several cups of coffee, it can be as little as 45 minutes. But I so engrossed in my writing, I was completely oblivious to my mistake.
Pooh on a bag
My boss calls at 11.30 and we drive off to the area fronting Keimyung University. Fifteen minutes later and we are sat in chicken bar. Its predominantly a beer bar that sells chicken by night and predominantly a chicken bar that serves beer in daylight hours, they’re all over Korea. The chicken is drenched in spicy sauce, or is fried in batter or perhaps served with a sweet soy sauce and a beer swishes it down nicely but, I never drink before work.
I’d felt the warnings on the brief walk to the restaurant but it hadn’t clicked and I was thinking they’d disappear but they actually intensified. I began to perspire. There was the panic too, because you know that when in the grip of needing to defecate you will do it anywhere; in your pants, squatting behind a car in public and even bent over in your bedroom holding your backside in a plastic shopping bag. This is almost my fourth year in Korea and I’ve never had to crap in any other toilet than my own unless in a hotel or the comfort of someone’s home. I’ve never had to take my chances on the street where, unless owned by nice restaurants or western style eateries, you can guarantee toilets are going to be grim.
About to explode!
There have only been a two occasions in my life when the fuse has been so short that I’ve only had seconds to find a toilet. Once was in Osnabruck, Germany, after a military exercise when all the toilets in my barrack block were occupied. I had to pooh in a carrier bag in my bedroom and that was illuminating as you never realise how hot and heavy a pooh can be until you hold one in a bag. The next occasion was some 20 years later, again in Germany, in a small town close to Bonn. That was out of the blue; one moment I was fine walking through a quaint little village with a small stream running through the center of it, next moment I had seconds to find a toilet. My third ordeal had just started!
‘I’ve got to use the loo!’ I announced and immediately made for the back of the restaurant. We should have chosen a more up-market location as the toilet was shared by several establishments and not easily reached. I found it with thirty seconds to spare and of course, not only was it a squat down job but there was no toilet paper. But I’m good, ex-military good and before I’d even got to the door and discovered conditions, I’d covered my options. My jeans and shoes were off within seconds and having already spotted the hose in the small garden that lay close by; I turned it on an dragged it into the toilet wedging the gushing end down the drain just inside the toilet door. Then, I closed the door, took off my boxers and a second later, in one expulsion, my late breakfast was reincarnated. As I was hosing my arse and swishing the bean soup into the sewers of Daegu, I suddenly realised what had caused my upset – my badly timed, watery breakfast! Drying my arse on one of the large hankies I use in hot weather, I quickly got dressed, repositioned the hose and washed my hands. Although the toilet was was grotty the soap was actually quite nice. I hadn’t even got my feet wet and neither had I crapped on my heels which is always a danger on a squat loo and is why I take my pants off! And by the time I got back to my table, a lovely plate of spicy chicken awaited.
© Nick Elwood 2010 Creative Commons Licence.
Giving Summer the Finger
Goodbye to all that!
The summer holidays finished last week and one of my students notes in his diary.’This week school finished and we had to change our hair and faces.’ Gone are the ‘poodle perms‘ the vibrantly painted finger nails, ear-rings, temporary tattoos, and dyed hair. Unlike many western countries where teachers battle with hair styles and make up, in Korea it’s all removed before the term starts. Of course, Koreans will tell you the same battle ensues in their schools but they are skirmishes in comparison. I’ve taught one boy who was forced to run 10 times around the sandy ‘parade ground’ in only his boxers because his trousers legs were too narrow, and a beating because your hair is a centimeter too long isn’t uncommon. And the ‘budgerigar club’ that exists in every British secondary school (ages 12-16), little cliques of girls who sit for hours on end brushing each others hair, moronically starring in mirrors and slapping on cheap make-up like little Jezebels, all during lessons, is in its infancy.
Painted nails
A little re-touch needed
The irony, of course, is that school never really finished and the vacation that was, was never really a vacation. One of my students spent the entire summer at a cram but claimed he loved it. Packing your son or daughter off for the entire summer isn’t what I’d do if I was a parent. Another boy spent two weeks in a military boot camp, ‘thanks, mum!” Another three students, siblings, spent the entire summer in an English school in the Philippines but their English is no better than when they left. So, with summer drawing to a close it’s back to the study routine, constant tests, the after school classes and reading rooms and don’t forget piano lessons and taekwon-do! As for the poor the third year, high school students (고삼), they have the biggest exam (수능) of their lives looming. An exam which will not only determine their academic future but very possibly the background of their future partner as well as their occupation. DD (‘D’ Day), and that’s exactly how Koreans identify it, is 76 days away and every third year student will be counting. Their vacation was great! They didn’t have one!
© Nick Elwood 2010 Creative Commons Licence.
Hanyorum – High Summer (한여름)
Hanyorum in Daegu - stifling!
Hanyorum (한여름) is the period of high summer and generally occurs in early August when the changma (장마) has moved North into Manchuria. Hanyorum is typified by high temperatures, reaching 38 degrees Fahrenheit, (100 degrees Celsius), in the afternoons and hot and humid nights.
One characteristic of hanyorum is the appearance of crickets (귀뚜라미), though you are more likely to hear them than see them. I both saw and heard crickets yesterday (August 24th), though they may have been chirping earlier than this. Crickets differ from grasshoppers (메뚜기) in that they are nocturnal and the song of both differ from the omnipresent scream of the cicadas (매미).
A cicada - or memi (매미). The sound of summer!
Grasshoopers (메뚜기), which some Koreans enjoy eating, are diurnal insects and their chirp is often drowned by the memis’ summer shriek, so you need to listen carefully to hear them. Their chirp is more noticeable when there is a lull in the memi scream. They are bright or vivid green, have antennae which are always shorter than their body, and long wings which when in flight are often coloured.
Grasshopper - (메뚜기). Mmmm- delicious!
Crickets (귀뚜라미), are nocturnal and as such require darker camouflage, usually pale green or brown. Their antennae are often the equivalent length of their abdomen and have atrophied or even absent wings and hence, do not fly. They also have ears located on their legs in the form of a white spot or mark. In hanyorum, the chirping of crickets (귀뚜라미) fill the evening air and as such they chirp at lower temperatures than the memi. While memi (cicadas) start screaming at 29 degrees Celsius, the cricket will chirp at cooler temperatures, as low as 13 degrees Celsius. Using Dolbear’s Law (based on Snowy Tree Crickets), it is possible to work out the approximate temperature in Fahrenheit by counting a cricket’s chirps over 14 seconds and adding 40. An interesting if not useless equation unless you happen to have a cricket in isolation, but on one or two occasions, I have had one chirping inside my ‘one room.’
Cricket (귀뚜라미). The clearly visible ears, located on the legs, and absence of wings distinguish it from the grasshopper.
Interesting links and sources:
Telling a grasshopper from a cricket
© Nick Elwood 2010. This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.
A Summer Snippet – Circumcision (포경 수술)
Circumcision (포경 수술)
If there is one subject rarely talked about in Korea, it is the subject of circumcision. I was actually quite surprised when I discovered that Korea has the highest percentage of secular circumcision in the world, outstripping the USA. Over the age of 18, Korean circumcision rates exceed 90 percent.
By the time boys go to high school, the majority of them will have been circumcised and the most common time to perform this is between 13-16 years of age and usually during the winter vacation. Some boys are circumcised earlier and a fair number may delay having it done. I occasionally notice university students who are uncircumcised but it is safe to assume that by the time they go to military service, they will have undergone the procedure.
Occasionally, I will know a boy is either about to have a circumcision or has just had one. Sometimes they will tell you and at other times the pained manner in which they walk makes it obvious. On a few occasions the subject has cropped up in lessons but it is never discussed in front of girls. It’s not unusual for a boy to be in classes the day after his operation though some will take a few days off. Unlike the UK and USA, where non-neonatal circumcision involves a general anesthetic and an overnight stay in hospital, in Korea, it is performed under local anesthetic. Neither are operations performed in hospitals, but clinics which are as prolific as dentists or doctors. There is a circumcision clinic (Urology Clinic) opposite E-mart in Song-So and within minutes of having been circumcised, you can enjoy a Big Mac in their McDonald’s.
‘Ouch’
Aesthetically, Korean circumcisions are much neater than those performed in some other countries. Traditional circumcision in the Philippines, for example, known as pagtutuli, shouldn’t even be classed as circumcision and in the USA, an additional operation known as frenulectomy (frenuplasty – of which their are various spellings), which as many as 33% of circumcised males have had, removes the highly erogenous frenulum. Parents are not asked for consent to perform this ‘bonus’ procedure and indeed many men are unaware what was removed. While the subject of circumcision is controversial, frenulectomy slips by unnoticed and most parents are ignorant as to what is involved. In addition, American circumcision has a history of being the most radical. In Korea, frenulectomy is not conflated with circumcision and the type of procedure doesn’t remove as much foreskin as possible.
I underwent a circumcision in August 2001 at the clinic opposite E-Mart, in Song-So. I had been debating the idea for several years and finally decided to take the plunge as I had never been happy with my status, probably because as a boy most of my friends were circumcised. I quite amazed myself at the time as I had visited my doctors and arranged everything for Thursday, 16th of August. The arrangement took less than a minute and there was no asking why I wanted it doing. My doctor simply made a phone call and booked me in. The operation would cost 100.000W (about £50), would take twenty minutes to perform and would be carried out in the same building as my doctor’s surgery.
A suitable totem pole near Kayasan
August 16th, 2001. I had to teach on the Thursday morning and though not as hot as a few weeks previously, it was terribly humid. In my classes, many of which had no air conditioning, my shirt was soaked with sweat. I had already perceived that I wouldn’t be in any fit mental state to teach and so had run-off some word puzzles for the kids. When my classes finished, I frantically smoked a couples of fags on the back stairwell and paced up and down. I didn’t really want to leave school and there was an unpleasant feeling in my stomach, but eventually everyone wished me luck and I took a taxi home.
I showered and then gave my friend David (이영순) a call. He arrived a few moments later as he had been waiting at the PC Bang, next door. I don’t think I had ever been so nervous, so much so my hands were trembling. Out on the street, we took a taxi and went straight to the clinic. I was early, so we went to the third floor of the building where I had a brief chat and cup of coffee with my doctor. Then, at 1.59 pm, he said, ‘Oh, Nick, it is time.’ And telling me not to worry, I walked down the stairs to the urology clinic. None of the doctors there spoke very good English so David sat in the clinic office with me and asked the surgeon the list of questions I had compiled:
“What happens if I get a hard-on during the operation?” He laughed and said that wouldn’t happen. What sort of stitches would be used – dissolving or non-dissolving?” I was given a choice and told non-dissolving left less of a scar. “What happens if I get an erection over the next few days?” I was told to stick a cotton bud in my ear or stick my feet in icy water. “’When could I shower next?” Next week!
I was then taken into the operating room which was small and not unlike a dentist’s surgery. In the center stood that ominous table. Dropping my trousers and boxers I lay down and wondered what the fuck I had let myself in for.
Everything everyone had told me worked out the opposite. David had told me to expect two injections (later it became four) well, I was given eight and they stung. I covered my eyes and ears for the whole operation as there was a radio playing shit Korean music and the three surgeons kept fucking singing along to it. David had told me that sometimes you hear the scissors snicking away and I did, even the radio or the surgeons’ singing didn’t drown it so I had to jam my thumbs in my ears. Then the overhead light was so bright I had to cover my eyes. Several people had said the operation would take around twenty minutes, in fact it took forty. Then, all apart from Pak Ji-won (박지원), one of my older students, I had been told it wouldn’t hurt. It did! But not at first. Shortly after the snicking sounds finished, I smelt something cooking; I reckon they had either cauterized an artery or one of them was starting a barbecue. It was like my entire senses were being assaulted: the bright light, the noraebang Nahuna rendition and that strange, almost acidic barbecue smell that lingered. I had to stretch my fingers so I could pinch my nose shut, bung my ears and cover my eyes to blot everything out.
I think I lay like that for twenty minutes and eventually, felt a numb change in what was happening. I thought they were finishing but next followed a sort of slicing sensation which was very unpleasant because although it wasn’t painful, it felt actually felt like something was being sliced. David had told me to expect eight stitches. The following morning I counted 36. At one point during the procedure I told them it hurt but they ignored me and just carried on singing along to the radio.
Finally, the pain stopped and I could sense I was being mopped up. I took my clammy hands off my face and sighed. Then I was able to sit up and pull my trousers up. The surgeons, lined up, smiled and bowed. Out in the corridor David was sat reading. I did a little dance for him as I didn’t hurt at all, probably because my system was zinging with adrenalin. Then, we walked over to E-Matt and bought a McDonald’s which we walked home with. Was I hungry!
A common place to see boys hobbling. 미래 Urology Clinic opposite Song-So E-Mart.
The clinic has given me a list of after-care procedures which David had translated into English whilst I was being operated on. It listed things like not drinking for a week because of the antibiotics, not showering for a week, resting for a few days, etc, etc. At the bottom of the list was an amendment in David’s handwriting, it read….
6. And you must endure not to have a wang! (Wank).
I didn’t hurt at all but throughout the evening, waited for the drugs to wear off and enter what someone had predicted would be, a ‘new world of pain.’ When my roommates arrived home we went out with them to a nearby restaurant. I wasn’t hobbling at all. Strangely, during the night I was worried more by the fact I didn’t hurt. And you wouldn’t believe how effective cotton buds in the ear are at killing an erection. One of the doctor’s had explained that poking a cotton bug in you ear-hole interrupts signals from your dick to brain and terminates any boner.
Friday 17th of August, 2001. In the morning, I was quite worried because it looked very ill. I wondered whether the bandage was too tight. I phoned David but couldn’t get hold of him so, at 8.45 am, I took a taxi to the clinic only to find it didn’t open until 9.30. So I waited in my doctor’s office on the third floor of the building. He sat me down, gave me a cup of coffee, talked to me and soon it was 9.30 am.
Back on the slab, I was checked-out but they didn’t think anything was wrong. Back in the reception area my doctor was waiting for me as he can speak fairly good English. There were three patients sitting behind me, two young women behind the receptionist’s desk, and four surgeons around me. Ten Koreans in all! Everyone was centered on our conversation – which of course, was about my dick!
As I leave, all the staff smile and bow deeply. My doctor invited me up to his surgery for breakfast and there I am introduced to his mother. We ate fruit and sat talking for about two hours and as I was leaving he invited me out to dinner. At the time, my doctor had just moved into the premises and had few patients, today I have to sit in the waiting room for an hour before I can see him.
Saturday August 18th, 2001. Very irritating because the stitches are made from something resembling nylon – like the material used for a toothbrush.
Although not sore, it is uncomfortable walking any distance so I have spent a considerable time lying down under the fan. Most Koreans get circumcised in winter and I would imagine the possibility of infection is higher in a humid climate so I lie under the fan as much as possible. I have been used to showering over 5 times a day and it is very uncomfortable not being able to do so. Showering is not just a hygienic necessity but a hobby and something I do to kill time.
Tuesday 21st of August 2001. Pak Jun-hee (박준희) has been bringing me lunch for the last couple of afternoons. His mandu and kimchi, made by his wife, Sun-hee, in their restaurant, are definitely the best in Song-So. Today, he asked if he could see ‘the results!’ Yes, I was rather shocked because in the UK no one would ask that. It was a strange situation because between us on the table, were the steaming mandu. Koreans! I love them!
My ‘go-ch’u chin-gu’ of 10 years, Pak Jun-hi and his wife, Sun-hee
Thursday 23rd of August, 2001. My antibiotics and pain killers ran out today and I’ was sore, so much so I had to go and buy some. In the afternoon, I went out to the cinema with Ji-won (박지원, his father is Jun-he). His English has improved so much since I started teaching him back in November. He told me he would be really sad when I left and that he would never forget me. It was all rather poignant. We walked around the Milano area for a while and had pat-ping-soo in a Sweet Water cafe which is just so tacky it’s unbelievable. It was decorated in pinks and had Barbie dolls and Miss Kitty paraphernalia all over the place. After, we had a burger in Lotteria and then took the bus home which was painful as the bumpy journey was over the construction area of what is now Daegu Subway system.
Saturday 25th of August, 2001. Saturday and I’m still in pain so I headed back to the clinic with David. My God! What a hideous experience, so hideous I don’t think I can actually do it justice in writing. It’s like I’ve been to a place of pain that I never want to experience again. I went back onto the couch where they decided to remove the stitches and it felt I was being assaulted with a pair of pliers. I cannot describe how excruciatingly painful it was and I wished they had been singing or cooking a barbecue, anything to take my mind off they pain. At one point, when I flinched, one of them told me off. When I eventually walked out of the small surgery, and David saw me, me he thought I had soaked my head in water and my hands were shaking badly. However, it was much easier walking without those infernal barbed-wire bonds.
‘Go-ch’u chin-gu,’ David (이영선)
Thursday August 30th, 2001. Life is almost back to normal. On Thursday afternoon I did some of my jobs – paid some bills, went to see Mr Pak at the post office and then we spent the afternoon in the Han Song Plaza bathhouse. With school having just started, the place was empty.
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© Nick Elwood 2010. This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.
Master Georg Soupidis – Osnabruck Song-Do-Kwan (Taekwon-do)
Master Georg Soupidis (6th Dan around 1972))
The e-bente-tang today was mugwort (쑥) and because it is the school holidays it was fairly busy. It was disgustingly hot on my way to Migwang, my favourite bathhouse and it rained all night and a good deal yesterday, so it was humid. As I said, I’m not spending much time in the e-bente-tang (이벤트탕) so I wallowed for a long time in the cold pool (냉탕). I had a dream last night, a taekwondo dream. My most recurrent dreams are either about taekwondo- which I studied for 20 years or the British Army, in which I served around 15 years. They are the sort of dreams, the specifics of which you can’t recall but which shadow your days with their atmosphere.
As I was in the cool pool I started thinking about my taekwondo teacher, Georg Soupidis. I studied almost all my taekwondo in Germany, in a fascinating town called Osnabruck. George had been an ex-soldier, originally from Greece and he was an excellent teacher. There are thousands of fantastic taekwondo practitioners in the world but few fantastic teachers, and Georg was one of them. I left Osnabruck in 1984 and I haven’t seen him since. I’ve spoken to him on the phone a few times and always planned to re-visit Osnabruck but time is running out.
Georg Soupidis (far left)
I entered my first taekwondo school back in 1974 and can still remember the feelings I had training there. All the black belts were decent people and mostly studying at University. I remember Lutz and Heinz, who became lawyers, and there was Stephan who worked in a bank and another youngster called Stefan Wawer whom I had a crush on, but never told. Then there was Stephan Bic, a lad about the same age as myself with a kind and gentle nature. He had a blue belt and being tall we often partnered each other. I admired him for a long time but once again, he never knew. Coming out was just too much of a risk! It was super-cool to practice martial arts in the mid 70’s and having a black belt or advanced belt was revered. Bruce Lee had only just died and his last film, Game of Death, was still to be released and hence the martial arts fad was at its peak .
Georg (left) and myself. (1982)
My school was the Song Do Kwan, a professional martials arts academy situated a short walk from the central railway station, in Osnabruck, on Mosse Strasse. General Choi Hong-hi himself had stayed at Georg’s house when visiting for a training seminar. General Choi was one of the founding fathers of taekwondo though his contributions have subsequently been whitewashed from much of Korean history. If you read anything by the WTF (World Taekwondo Federation ), the sport version of taekwon-do popular throughout the pennisula and perceived as the only form of taekwon-do, it seems to emerge from out of the blue somewhere around 1973. However, it’s history stretched back before this and in Choi’s second manual on taekwon-do, published in 1972, Georg can be seen with the core of German black-belts with General Choi stood in the middle. My point? When this photo was taken the WTF didn’t even exist. I trained in the Song Do Kwan from 1974 until 1981 after-which the school moved into a public facility. However, for the next 5 years, whenever I passed the home of my old school in Mosse Strasse, Osnabruck, I would respectfully bow towards it as I passed.
The Song Do Kwan team after a competition in early 1982.
For years my life was the Song Do Kwan and I trained diligently and became a very competent competition fighter. I eventually passed my black belt on April 3rd 1982. Even after enduring military exercises in the middle of winter I would return to camp and head straight to my dojang. I remember Georg with great affection and he was one of the greatest influences on my life. Walking into the Song Do Kwan changed my life and though I no longer practice taekwondo, it teachings took me elsewhere.
Once I left Osnabruck, in 1986, I lost my focus. I trained in a school in Paderborn, Germany, and when I returned to the UK in 1988, trained in Aylesbury and then at a Karate school in Essex University. When I came to Korea in 2000, I trained in a WTF school, and though I gained my red belt, didn’t think the style was as efficient as the ITF style (International Taekwondo Federation). Of course, a style is as good as its practitioner and a good martial artist borrows from whatever style to improve their technique but WTF was just too much ineffectual bum kicking. Just my opinion!
To all my old friends in martial arts, and especially Master Georg Soupidis, I send my greetings.
(I haven’t written any posts on martial arts despite their having been part of my life for many years. Keep checking as they are long overdue!)
© Nick Elwood 2010. This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.
Cambodia – Summer Break
Many years ago, Monthy Python lambasted British holiday makers abroad and at home as eating only fish and chips, drinking Watney’s Red Barrel and wearing a knotted handkerchief on their heads while on the beach. I’ve only traveled on package type holidays twice, in 1986 to Tangier, Morocco, and in 2009, to the Canaries and though I spotted no handkerchiefs or even saw Watney’s Red Barrel beer, there was a proliferation of restaurants, fish and chip shops, ‘English’ sandwich bars, ‘English’ Sunday dinners and ‘English’ pubs aimed at the less adventurous. I’ve even had friends who refused to eat rice because they deemed it ‘foreign.’
Angkor Wat
Traveling to Siem Reap, Cambodia with a Korean package holiday provide an interesting insight into Koreans abroad as well as the expected adventure of being in another country. Even before I’d paid for my ticket the tour company advised me to pack ramyeon and cans of tuna because Cambodian food ‘wasn’t tasty.’
Angkor Wat's towers
For many years, an old school friend of mine was the local milkman and after he’d told me he was off on his fourth trip to Cyprus, I asked whether he went to the Greek or Turkish part of the island? Since the re-unification of Germany, many people regard Korea as the only remaining divided country but Cyprus was divided in two, in 1974 and remains so to this day with the Turkish part only recognised as being Turkish, by Turkey. My school friend laughed at my question and told me he had no idea which part of the island he went, he simply went to get pissed. Unlike many Brits, who seek lazing in the sun with a beach or pool on-hand, and who are content to spend two weeks in a resort which could be Spain, Portugal, Turkey or even Cyprus, but the destination of which is unimportant because they have little or no desire to actually see anything beyond the confines of what is basically a holiday camp, my Korean tour was a whirled wind of exhausting activity from dawn until dusk.
Innermost Angkor Wat
My hotel, Angkor Goldiana, was large and apart from a couple of westerners, the clientele were predominantly Korean. The hotel had a large, enticing swimming pool but during my five-day vacation, I failed to see anyone use it. The same can be said of the bar. At 8 am every morning the various tour groups assembled in the lobby to depart on sightseeing trips and most didn’t return until the late afternoon. Most tours included evening activities so by the time you did get back to your hotel room, you were exhausted. Touring under the organisation of a Korean tour company is a little short of being a student where ‘free time’ is almost unheard of.
The far west end of the temple
All but one meal was Cambodian, the remainder were all Korean and included Pyongyang naengmyon (cold noodles) Korean barbecue, Bulgogi (fire beef), kimchi stew, chicken feet, fried spicy squid and the usually side dishes and ever-present kimchi. All of our food, bar the Cambodia meal and breakfasts, were served in local Korean restaurants.
Ta Prohm Temple showing the bizarre spung tree
The colossal root system of the spung tree
Gothic-style roots (spung tree)
A wall of antiquity - Angkor Thom
The first excursion of day one took us straight to the renowned Angkor Wat complex and after spending most of the morning here we went to four other temples in Angkor. The heat and humidity were draining but even after some eight hours of walking my Korean companions were eager to climb a large hill to visit another temple; Phnom Bakheng. Needless to say, apart from a very few westerners, the majority of those enduring the climb were Koreans.
A few of the many faces of Angkor Thom
Leaving Angkor Thom
Angkor Wat from the top of Phnom Bakheng
Boat people on Tonle Sap
Tonle Sap
A reminder of Cambodia's part. Victims of the 'Killing Fields' at Wai Thmei Stupa. Siem Reap
Two days before this photo was taken, 26 July 2010, Kang Kek Lew was sentenced to 35 years imprisonment for his role as head of the Khmer Rouge Special Branch. He was charged for personally overseeing the torture and death of 15.000 men, women and children.
Cambodian kids at West Baray, singing a Korean children's song, taught to them by our guide.
Places visited:
Royal Cambodian Independence Park
Wat Thmei temple and stupa to the victims of the killing fields.
cambodia – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cambodia
The Korean tour company was Modu Tours and provided an excellent service.
© Nick Elwood 2010. This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.
Here Today Gone Tomorrow
It was there last week because I walked right past it and decided I should eat lunch there sometime. I particularly like bo-ssam (보쌈) and last time I ate in this restaurant one of the side dishes was grilled mackerel pike. (공치)However, the restaurant has disappeared and is now a bar. Korean is a state of transition and businesses come and go with rapidity.
Three days previously this was a 'coffee and bun' shop. It is directly opposite Mr Big and Davici and opened a week before they did
I’m in a part of town I rarely visit; it’s over the crossroad near my one room, the dividing line between my world and what as well might be another city. Suddenly, I recognise where I am having walked onto a street from a direction in which I’d never previously come. For a moment I’m transported back 10 years. First, I recognise a shop that used to be the fast food restaurant Popeyes. It mutated into a stationery store within months of my arrival and is now a boutique. And just there was the shop where I bought a second-hand piano. Now it’s a travel agent. This reminds me of the shop where I bought my flight back to the UK after my first visit and I turn my head to locate it – it too has gone. And next to the piano shop was a small covered market where on a hot a muggy afternoon I remember drinking two glasses of freshly squeezed kiwi juice. The entire market has gone.
Davici Opticians took 10 days to transform
In the area around my ‘one-room,’ only a few businesses and even people remain from ten years ago. The big corporate businesses, still stand but the small businesses have changed hands sometimes on numerous occasions. I’ve taught hundred of kids in this area. I can remember many of their names and still recall some faces. Their English names are easy to remember as there was a trend back then for kids to give themselves quite bizarre names – Silver, Gold, Cow, Knife, Cat, etc. However, I have only passed two ex-students who recognised me.
Mr Big and Davici both opened in the same week. Mr Big was formerly a clothing store that took less than 10 days to mutate
In less than 65 paces from my front door I can see ‘Mr Big,’ ‘ Davici’ the opticians and the beauticians, ‘Beautyplex.’ The three business are directly opposite each other and less than 10 days all three replaced former businesses and reappeared in new guises. That was earlier this year and since then another 2 business have either relocated or appeared in the same block.
© Nick Elwood 2010.This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.
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