Calling all Quakers

Calling all Quakers is by far my favorite Troy McClure movie. Thinking about this reminded me that it's been 10 years since he was killed, pretty crazy. I remember getting the news in a letter from my brother Dan while in training in New Guinea. Anyways this post is an invitation to the readers to contribute to this blog. Surely a story is never truly told if comes from only one perspective. So if you read something you were a part of, or are reminded of something, or just want to tell a story I'm involved in; type it out and email it to me and I will throw it up and of course give you you're acknowledgement. Wouldn't it be great if after reading a great story about Scott Fay eating hot soup you actually got to hear from Scott Fay? Or how about a Joey Rios response or a gramatically correct Matt Geisler story. Who knows if this catches on you could read old high school stories, St. Cat's storys, or even an edited for content Army story. It's all riding on you.

Checking off the list

First off who in the hell is hamsterjockey 24? And am I to believe there are 23 more people out there with the name hamsterjockey? These are questions crying out for answers, please help in anyway you can. Hamsterjockey just doesn't sound right, reminds me too much of Richard Gere.



Alright we are 3 days into school and believe it or not I've been there for 2 of them. I've gotta think this is one of the sweetest teaching jobs there is, so much so there really isn't anything to talk about. The students are cool, my principal loves me (we cut out yesterday and went to Seoul), the school is cleaner than a hospital and I'm getting paid way more than I should. One funny thing I learned today that may be worth sharing is just one of those little cultural differences you find. All are maintenance and cleaning people are Korean and we have a small battalion of rather short Korean ladies that constantly go around the school cleaning up every little thing (those of you working for Racine Unified and there ultra-hygienic every other day cleaning schedule would really appreciate this little feature). More and more I'm coming to realize how hard Korean people work, as someone from the oddly labeled Generation X and it's tendency toward slackerness, it's really quite astounding. I first got a hint of this work ethic while still in the state. My friend Matt and I who got hooked on sushi and mai tai's (this is for another day altogether but why is it that during 99% of my I never have the urge to have a drink, but during the 1% of the time I'm around Matt Geisler having a drink seems like the most natural thing in the world; very strange). Well to get back to the point, when Matt and I would go to the sushi place in Racine, Shogun, we would always see the same girl, whose named we later learned to be Kim. It was as if she never left the place. After a while we became friendly enough for conversation and asked her about it and I for one got the impression it wasn't a big deal to her, it was completely normal. By the way the people that run the "Japanese" restaurant are Korean (and increasing Mexican which really sucks because the quality of the rolling has been going way down hill which sucks because you're starting to get these lob sided rolls with stuff falling out all over the place; and believe me it's not like the price is going down any). Now that I'm actually in Korea I see this work ethic was not some sort of Korean-person-in-Racine anomaly. So when are we getting to the cultural difference you may be wondering? Well right now. The Korean cleaning ladies think nothing of walking into the male bathroom and going about their cleaning business. You and some male students will be using the bathroom for the purposes it was designed for and you will find yourself dodging mops and little Korean women bent over the garbage cans. You quickly discover it's no big deal and appreciate their efforts, it's just the oddness of those first few times and the American-induced uncomfortableness that goes along with it. I couldn't imagine how it would be at an American middle or even high school where the male students are so uncomfortable and homophobic that they literally make love to the urinals; some of them practically have both feet inside of them. That was a long story about very little and to sum things up, school has started and there really isn't anything of interest to talk about so I'm going to move on and talk about something else.



Everybody has there own unique list of things they need to discover and check off when they move somewhere new. For some it may be where the nearest Magic card playing hobby shop is located (Rios; I can't believe I have one of those friends), for others it may be where the nearest Hooters is (Scott Fay, more on him later, but as Joey can attest, there is a really uncomfortable story here), still others may wonder where the nearest bar for guys who want to get drunk quick is at (obviously this is Geisler, by the way Matt what is the name of that bar? It's not Martini's) finally one might wonder where the really hot drama teacher who I can make out with is at (Nikki Michaels; I'm not sure if she's reading this but I always did love that story).

One of the things I'm always really interested in is where are the good restaurants located. The first week here I felt like a complete idiot because I was so busy running around trying to find things on base I would usually end up eating at the base's Chili's restaurant; I kept seriously thinking to myself "you came all the way to Korea and you're eating at Chili's?). Well luckily that page has mostly been turned, although I do like my baby back ribs on occasion. One of my favorite types of restaurants is the Thai restaurant and luckily I have found one quite close to the base, well withing walking distance which is a pretty key feature at the moment. I ventured out to my new favorite restaurant tonight after taking my driver's test (It's a pretty sweet system they have here. They give you the test, collect it back, grade it, and then sometimes hand it back to you and say "Sir would you like to review the first section of your test", which is really nice because after "reviewing" it I discovered I needed to make a few changes and wah-lahh, I passed). Over the weekend I had the green chili curry and it was some of the best I've had, so tonight I decided to go for a noodle dish. It wasn't quite as good but one of the things I truly appreciate about the place is that when you ask for something spicy, they make it spicy; so unlike most of the restaurant in the greater Racine area. Spicy food has a way of completely resetting you physically and mentally. If done correctly the hurt and pain completely clears the mind; it's really quite an experience.

I consider spicy food the fansidar of the culinary experiences. For those of you amongst the uninitiated, fansidar was this secret pill the Peace Corps gives you; sort of a drug of last resort. Whenever you came down with the tropical ailment of mysterious origin and where laying on your bed in the steaming heat completely unsure and slightly delusional, you would simply dig into the medical kit, find the fansidar, and know everything was going to be OK. Joey and I liked to equate it to the reset button on your VCR. You hit the button and Poohfff, you instantly get blinking red lights; not a completely functional state, but not a state of imminent collapse either.

I have to interrupt now and tell you my favorite spicy food story. You get to meet a new character in the story of my past, this one named Scott Fay; another Peace Corps friend. Joey (if you've forgotten, my closest P.C. friend) and I have decided Scott is luckiest guy we know, the guy with the best life around. I don't think we're really jealous or anything, there's no way either of us could ever life the Scott Fay lifestyle, in fact we're both really happy for him. Even though he's from New Jersey or somewhere lame like that, Scott is very California, and more specifically very Berkeley. He has the best disposition of anyone I know, he is always happy, smiling, and laughing. The best way I can think of to sum up the whole situation is Scott Fay is the type of guy who uses the word nebulous in casual conversation. Scott goes to Berkeley and they send him all over the world to collect little snails or something like that. Scott thinks to himself "Gee, I'd really like to go back to New Guinea" and then comes up with some crazy plan to go there and collect snails and Berkeley sends him; it's really the greatest deal I've ever heard of. Now back to the story. I believe we were at our end of service conference in Port Moresby. A lot had changed in the 2 years we had been over there, we started out with 50 some people and ended up with about half that. In some ways that made us special, except none of us really felt special, I mean come on, we were in New Guinea not one of the glamorous Peace Corps destinations. We were all convinced all the overachieving, Peace Corps superstars were sent to places like Thailand or Kenya. New Guinea? we were more on the level with places like Moldova.

So, we go to this Chinese restaurant and order food. I believe Scott goes last and orders a bowl of soup and asks for it to be spicy. The waiter diligently writes down the order, Scott then repeats that he wants his dish hot, followed quickly by the obligatory Scott Fay smile and laugh. The waiter turns to Scott and says "Oh you want it hot? I'll make it HOT". Every one at the table was a bit taken aback, this was just normal Scott Fay, and really quite endearing, but we knew it didn't go over well. The food came and the rest of us instantly forgot about the clash of cultures and became completely distracted with eating. It wasn't long before Scott mentions his soup is pretty hot. Nothing of alarm to the rest of us, doesn't someone always say "Ewww my food is hot" when group dining at an Asian restaurant? Persistence does have a way of making a point and after hearing it enough and experiencing Scott's face as he removed his glasses and stretched his face in response to the soup, the point was made; well it's better said the point was acknowledged. Soon the soup was offered to the rest of us. It really is tough to describe. The pain didn't go away, it really didn't go away. It felt like having small worms covered in broken glass crawling around inside your head. That was one of the last meals we had together in PNG and it's one you don't forget; a bunch of Americans in New Guinea eating Chinese food. It just shows you life is better unplanned.

Oh, Scott and his wife (another PC PNG group 29'er) recently had a baby (boy I think) so let's all be happy about that. Better yet if anyone from St. Cat's is reading this, the next time you're all together on Wednesday and they ask for intentions, someone needs to say "Scott Fay and his wife just had a baby and I'd like us to wish it a wonderful life". When this is done please tell me all about it.

And now a word from Joey Rios:

On the topic of MTV Asia and Mr. Fay:One of the biggest things I remember about discovering MTV Asia actually involves our good friend Scott Fay. For some reason while watching a video by some Chinese/Hong Kong pop star (singing in English with an accent), Scott wanted to make it clear that this singer was from California and currently attended UC Berkeley. I have no idea why he believed this to be true, nor why he couldn't understand our skepticism at the claim. If he could have somehow let us know how the hell he would have known such a thing, I think we may have given him the benefit of the doubt. I am pretty sure, in retrospect, that he was joking about knowing who that singer was. But he joked in a bizarre Scott Fay-ish sort of way that wasn't funny and was just odd. And like you said earlier, Scott is always smiling, so you can't get a read on the guy. And, by the way, Chili IS fine!

Joey

Guilt Refusal

I have to admit that I often feel a sense of obligation to this thing and a weird lingering guilt because I don't update it very often. Of course I then remember that no one else is writing anything for me to read and I instantly feel better. And of course, come on, how many people are actually reading this thing. It 's much easier to be someone's friend when you are around them and I'm not around too many people at the moment.

Today is Sunday and I had big plans going into this weekend (I'm sure when Geisler makes my blog required reading in his English class he'll point out this is an example of foreshadowing or something). By the way, Matt, thanks for keeping in touch with me,... Jackass (he can also point out this example of sarcasm). Anyways I haven't done too much exploring of town yet and had decided that Saturday would be the day. Unfortunately it rained and instead I sat around the hotel, but you have to take your excitement where you can get it, so on Saturday I made the big move from the hotel off base to the hotel on base. So far I have to admit I liked the one off base a little better. It was dumpy and it gave my life that "I'm somewhere weird" quality, the new one is typical of any American hotel right down to the too-much-bleach-in-the-linen smell.



Rain can stop you from doing the good things but it can't stop you from doing the dumb things, so instead of going into town I went to the "mall" otherwise known as the base exchange. Sometimes there is a really weird juxtaposition living on a military facility. I'm walking through the mall and seemingly out of nowhere I end up walking next to these Army guys absolutely fully loaded for combat; body armour, gas masks, machine guns, and every type of ammunition belt you can think of at the ready. Being new and not wanting to be a smartass prevented me from speaking but I really wanted to say "shouldn't you take a break from playing war, I mean come on, you're in the mall". Worlds seem to be colliding and it just doesn't seem right.

One thing I've come to discover about Korea is that it is obnoxiously air conditioned. We're just getting out of "monsoon" season, and I say this guardedly not wanting to offend any South Asian or Southeast Asian reader who would scoff at calling what happens here a monsoon. Anyways it's a bit hot and somewhat humid, ... outside; step into a building and OH MY! it's like stepping into a meat locker. The other day I went with a Korean house inspector out to my future apartment and quite against the norm, it was a beautiful day; warm and dry with a nice breeze. I get into the passenger's side of the truck, sit down, roll down the window and begin to feel free. He gets into the driver's side, flips the a/c to max and turns the blower to hell-hast-no-fury mode. Within seconds my eyes were drying up and my skin was cracking, but what was I going to do? it's his country. Suddenly.... I notice the vent controls and deceptively try to close the vent; deception of course was futile. He whipped into action and asked if it was too cold, let me tell you I was on those words like a car on dirt. I gave the straight honest answer of yes. Some kind of compromise was come to with the a/c reduced but without the open windows I craved. My feelings on the subject are this. Evidently Korea was a pretty ripped apart place after the Korean War and Koreans have done an amazing amount of work in the last 60 years. They've worked hard and now want to enjoy the good things that come along with it, like air conditioning. Therefore they use it, ... a lot, probably too much. It's probably just human nature. The same with driving, there are cars flying around here everywhere (sorry Joey, Hyundai is king; Daewoo not so much). They haven't gotten to the point of too much being a bad thing yet. When I got home from PNG a wanted a video game system, so I brought one. I then spent a whole summer playing the thing. Eventually I asked myself why do I keep playing this damn thing. There was no good answer.

Much like the way a piece of music can instantly bring you back to a different time and place, a good story can bring back memories of another story. I have two classic a/c stories from my days in PNG, unfortunately you are about to get the lesser of the two. The other involves two air conditioners, three ceiling fans, a conference room and one Joey Rios. My feelings now are that there will undoubtedly be a better time for that story. I consider it one of my greatest moments, a sublime moment of quiet rebellion, a quality I feel amongst the most important to possess. Your story concerns Peace Corps PNG group 29's first midservice conference at the Kohai lodge in Port Moresby, one of the most nasty hot/humid places on earth. Not being on one of the more remote less transportationally gifted islands, meant I arrived later than most. There was huge excitement in the air as we had finally broken away from each other and spent the last 3 months scattered about at our respective schools. Finding out what had happened to whom, who was still around, who had cut ship back to the states and just seeing the faces of your friends again created a moment of intensity. It's hard for me to accurately describe it especially in today's world of cell phones, instant messaging, and the crappidy-crap that is sure to come. Believe me it was HUGE. Rumors of people leaving were everywhere and we had a pool going as to who would be the first to go (of course I picked the guy who is probably still there).

I really should farm out some work to my Peace Corps friends and have them describe to you some of the characters we had in our group, "The Murph" stories are worth an entire blog themselves. Anyways I get to the Kohai (wait first a description of the Kohai). It was like a big house someone added on to, fixed up and made into a hotel of sorts. It was actually pretty scuzzy, in fact they at first didn't want the girls to stay there. If you wanted to be awakened in the night by the sexual overtures of random New Guineans it was your place. It was mostly oppressively hot with unbelievably uncomfortable mattresses, but we still loved it. We loved it because it was run by a bunch of young guys who let us do whatever we wanted. [As an aside, I saw one of the greatest ever science fiction movies during this stay, it had some guy running around with a forever loading, weapon of death shotgun (chik-chik)]. After getting there I learned I was assigned to one of the crappy rooms which didn't sit well until I learned it didn't really matter because there was a huge sleep over in the super big "luxury" sweet at the end of the hall, this place had a TV AND an a/c! Man we had the greatest time telling our stories and laughing away amidst the intense sugar rush one impugns on one's self in such a circumstance. And if that wasn't enough, one of the defining moments of my TV viewing life was about to envelop me; a true love was born and it's name was MTV Asia. It all may sound like too much to you, but go spend some time where we spent some time; the truth will then be upon you. To be around females wearing what is in essence maternity dresses month after month somewhat warps the brain. When a warped brain encounters "Living La Vida Loca" by Ricky Martin, once again, WORLDS COLLIDE. You don't know what to do, you're transfixed and the best you can do verbally is "Oh My!"

Eventually all good things must end and sleep is all that's left. The a/c is set to maximum blast and we all strove off to sleep. Soon the difficulties of our decisions surrounded us and there was no way the substandard sheets we were using could cope. It became unbelievable cold and unbelievable dry. The answer was simple, but this was a time we were all trapped between a state of hopefulness and reality. We all hoped we could just lay there half asleep and somehow mentally warm ourselves when reality called for someone to actually get up and turn the thing off. It was so bad I think even Joey Rios woke up miserable (this is saying something, Joey claims to be naturally warmer than everyone. There seems to be some truth in this claim, mosquitoes tend to ignore everyone else nearby and attack only him. Check the comments section below, he will surely have something to say).


Today was the first day of class here in Korea; quite a day in it's own way. It's been a loooong time since I really taught, I don't count subbing and I really can't count my last weary days at St. Cat's (some of you know this to be true). First day of school sounds like a great blog posting, but I don't have anything left so I'll wait a couple of days and go for the First Week of School posting.


Note: the making of this entry was spread over two days. A cheap shot was taken at Geisler early in the post. I'm happy to report I received an email from him today and thus my words ring a bit hollow. It has been left as written in the name of honesty.

Early thoughts on Korea

Well alright, I've been in Korea for around 5 days and thought it was well past time to put down my early impressions. If you're coming to Korea it's pretty much assured you'll get to start your adventure in Seoul (because that's where the big airport is). I must admit, I don't know how to adequately describe it except to say Seoul is F***ing HUge! (Unfortunately I can't say Huge and Beautiful!). Being somewhat middle-aged, I've seen alot of apartment buildings in my life, but it took but one drive through Seoul to INSTANTLY QUADRUPLE THAT NUMBER. Seoul is an endless hodge-podge of uninspiring urban-industrial high-rise apartment buildings. The extent of which still leaves me questioning my senses. It's about an hour bus ride from Seoul to where I am in Songtan (Osan Air Base) and to get between the two you basically travel down one large highway. Along this entire span THE APARTMENT BUILDINGS NEVER STOP, the whole way, all 60 or so miles! This is one of the things that leads me to believe that Korea is country in a hurry, a big hurry. I haven't been here long enough to know where their headed or why they want to get there so fast. In addition to liking their apartment buildings they also like their cars, cars are flying around everywhere.

I haven't been here very long but somehow, someway everything is already starting to feel normal. The one things that ensures that this progression will never be complete is the damn alphabet they use here. Looking at a sign gives you an eerie sense of intimadation and vast puzzlement; you know there is no way to even begin to know what is saying to you, and with the sheer purpose of a sign being a means to inform you, the paradox is complete. Luckily for me and others of my ilk, English is creeping it's way onto many signs.

The people I've come in contact with have all been very nice, but there is still a bit of discomfort within me as I walk around town. Physically Koreans are quite different than the people I've spent my life around and this is still playing tricks with my mind. As I spend more time here it will surely fade, but at the moment it's a feeling I've never experienced. Living in Germany was no big issue because I'm European, being in PNG wasn't a big deal because I've been around black people all my life, never in quite the proportion but it never really made me subconsciously pause. Now the naked old people that would occasionally walk around town made me pause, but that was mostly in the highlands and I did my best to stay out of that place (someday I'll go into one of Joey and I's golden rules, Under No Condition are You Ever to Return to the Village. That statement may mean nothing to you to now, but someday it will).

I'm still in a hotel and thus have access to Korean cable TV and I do believe you can learn alot about a people by what's on their cable TV. I make no judgements here because being in a hotel that sees a lot of foreigners I could very well be seeing the shows Koreans think foreigners want to see rather than what Koreans themselves want to see; more investigation will be required in this matter. There's no way to know what on or what's coming on so I do a lot of cycling through the channels. I typical cycle might look something like this: Korean news show, Korean olympic coverage, Korean olympic coverage, more Korean olympic coverage, bad American movie, bad European movie, BBC, CNN, another bad American movie, english language sports coverage, two unattractive people humping, Woooo what was that? RIght at the end of the cycle is some low grade porno channel that inevitably has two very unattractive people humping away. Be aware when I say unattractive I am not making any kind of racial remark, they have unattractive Asian, unattactive whites, etc... You never really know when it's coming because the channels aren't numbered, there is some crazy Korean character where you would normally find the number. And this folks is where I am going to leave you tonight, with the thought of two very unattractive people humping running through your mind. What does this say about us as people when no matter where you go in the world, Porn is king? The biologist in us might not be surprised by the desire to procreate we share with all the other living things; but boy the conversion that brings it into high society can sure make you laugh and wonder.

Plane Rides and Great Adventures

Flying long distances requires proper pre-flight preparation. This is probably a somewhat individually tailored process so what's good for me may not work for you. As some of you may know, one of my habits of good personal heath involves the ingestion of copious amounts of fluids and the natural result of such an action, frequent urination. One great bit of good fortune during the St. Catherine's years was inheriting a classroom almost directly across from the bathroom. Large quantities of diluted beverages could be enjoyed relatively pain free. However on a long flight this potentially presents a real problem. Forseeing this I went into action early and began dehyrdating myself several days in advance (which worked out well seeing as how I had to drive to St. Louis the Wednesday before and less stops equaled faster travel). Pulling a window seat on flight day made this early action key.

Not only do I like my fruit drinks watery, I also like my air watery. I've had big problems in the past with irritated dry nasal tissue on airplanes and had planned to stop by the drug store the day before leaving and buy a bottle of that nasal spray people who spend too much time in the ocean use. I got hooked on the stuff in prior days and concluded that if it worked during the cold, dry days of winter; it should work on an airplane. A potentially disasterous situation nearly arose when I didn't make the trip to the drugstore as planned and was left to improvise on the morning of the flight. My solutions was a true bit of genius, vasoline. I would take a tube of vasoline with me and generously coat the inside of my nose with it. It worked out so well it has now become my first choice solution.

Everything about the flight started out rather smoothly, no problems checking in or getting through security. The flight turned out to be a Korean Airlines flight so I would have the added benefit of early cultural emersion. My next strategy for surviving a long flight is to get situated and to go into what I like to call Prisoner of War mode. I sit quietly, block out the rest of the world, come to grips with my situation and let my mind wander where it may. Before too long I found myself running through all the memorable travel experiences from my past. I first went back to my first great trip, my journey to Germany with the Army and how the polyester-fueled body heat radiating from my legs overcame the chemical forces of cohesion found in the gum I had attempted to dispose of in the small ashtry built into the armrest but instead somehow found its way under my left leg. After 8 hours the domination of chemistry was complete and as I attempted to stand and leave my seat and enter that inviting aisle which would lead to my triumphant escape from the plane, I found a long neon green tenacle of gum stretching from my leg to the seat.

Next I recalled a cross-German road trip my friends and I took to attend a music festival that involved one burned out clutch mid journey, the near miracluous acquistion of another vehicle (and the concomittant dumping of the first), and best of all, the leaving of one Mick Harney at the show a hundred miles away because he was a drunken idiot and was probably too busy trying to be every Germans' friend instead of meeting where it was clearly agreed to meet after the show and the rest of us where tired and wanted to go home. Leaving your drunk, shirtless friend on a mountain halfway across Germany is something you only do when you're young. All turned out well so I consider it a bit of sheer brillance from a time gone by; with the advent of the cell phone something like this probably doesn't happen any more.

Of course there was also the time my brother Matt and I flew home on a summer visit from Germany and in our excited state of anticipation and bliss, made nice with the stewardess on our Royal Dutch Airlines flight (ahh the Dutch). She gave us a set of those plastic pilot wings they usually dole out to kids AND took us up to the cockpit to meet and greet the pilot. Ahh those pre 9-11 days, to have known them is to have loved them.

TIme travels fast when it's disconected and I soon found myself remembering perhaps the most uncomfortable bit of travel my middling life has ever known, the bus ride from Lae to Goroka during my Peace Corps stint in Papua New Guinea (PNG). It first must be admired for the inherent bits of trust and simplicity associated with it, very much in keeping with the Peace Corps spirit. Three of us (myself, Jessica Eberly, and of course Joey Rios); all on different islands, all of us basically incommunicado; decided to take a trip back to our PNG roots in Goroko. There were no emails or phone calls or anything of the sort, just a decision to be in Lae on a particular day and a healthy dollup of trust. I got off the plane at the Lae airport (which consists of a small room you never enter a long metal outdoor table they throw you luggage on) and hoped my friends would be there, they were. The next day we board our "bus" which consists of a miniturized version of the minivan, quite commonly found in the developing world. I'm not sure of the maximum capacity of such a vehicle but it's safe to say these types of guidelines are thrown out the window in a poor country when there is a buck (or kina in this case) to be made. There were probably about 15 people and their luggage stuffed into this beast as we began our journey down the only "highway" to be found in the entire country. It is truly amazing the kind of contortional discomfort one can endure when there is no choice in the matter and when you couple this with the burning desire to pee, you gain a sense of personal strength able to carry you through the obligatory horrors of life that are sure come.

No discussion of the PNG can end with out mention of the last great adventure attempted while on these islands, the scaling of volcanic mountains overlooking Rabual. Rabual had evidentally at one time been quite a place, a jewel of the pacific. Unfortunately in the mid 90's it was buried under ash. If you imagine a fish hook, Rabual consisted of the bottom curvy part surrounded by ocean on three sides, the pointy hook part consisting of three mountains ascending straight out of the ocean. It was always my desire to climb to the top and peer out over this crazy place I had somehow ended up in. Time was running short, my days were quickly coming to an end when Joey decided to pay a farewell visit before we both went back to our stateside homes. It all seemed so perfect, I had spent two years of trial and triumph and I would climb to the top, reflect, and metaphysically relight the memories of an experience I could never have foreseen. Knowing of my desire, one of the office ladies at my school decided to take care of everything. She was from the village at the base of the hill and would arrange for a boy to meet us in Rabaul and lead us up the mountain. The day before our big adventure Joey and I venture to Rabual and walked through the ash covered wasteland to a hotel surrounded by nothing but crumbled walls, ash, and (interestingly enough) a couple more hotels (who is staying in these places?). Once inside the air conditioner immediately goes on, the TV quickly turned to MTV Asia, a call is placed to room service, and a pizza is ordered. Joey being of the vegetarian order, we get the standard no meat pizza and begin to enjoy. Oddly enough we soon learn that in PNG ham is considered a vegetarian delight. Joey stops eating, a call must be made to correct this misdeed. At this point it occurs to me there is room for opportunity. Why give back a nearly whole pizza when it's just going to be discarded? No, that would be wasteful; much better for me to eat half of it and THEN make the call for it's replacement. Air conditioning, MTV Asia, and the mild pleasure of hotel pizza; Peace Corps volunteer heaven. The next morning we awake and set out on our journey. We arrive at the meeting place to inevitably find ourselves completely alone. We wait, but we already know, we wait some more, but the truth is there unsaid; nobody is coming. It then dawns on us that we're not idiots, we're Peace Corps volunteers, long known for their spirit of adventure and we decide to go it alone. It seems pretty simply, just keep walking uphill and you'll get to the top. Being a tropical country it's not quite that easy, our mountain is covered with the kind of thick vegetation one might expect to find on the set of a bad Vietnam movie. We see somthing that looks like a path and follow it; all is well, all is well, ... all is not well. We're taken to a spot of little decision, our path has led us to a ridge surrounded on three sides by jungle covered ravines. Severe rationalization can be both a blessing and a curse. We weigh our options: a mountain struggle in front of us; air conditioning, MTV Asia, and ham-infused vegetarian pizza behind us. We took the rationalization as a blessing and chose the hotel life. From this arose wisdom which will forever guide our lives, Some Mountains Are Not Meant To Be Climbed.

Continuing on I remembered the time after the Peace Corps while living in California that I came home for a wedding and stayed for a funeral, a pretty lame two-for-one.

After this I drew a bit of a blank, surely this wasn't my last worthy travel story, it was 8 years ago. I then remember all those great times I had on my semi-annual Appalachia adventures with St. Catherine's. The latest occuring last fall during the my last tumuluous days at the school. Why they asked me to go I'll never be quite sure, I guess the school considered me good enough as long as nobody else wanted to do it. The thing that sticks with me the most is the ride home and how I let my sour mood overcome me, how a person I genuinely liked, Sarina Singh, became my mortal enemy with our only civil connection being the bag of skittles located on the floor between us. Sometimes you reflect on moments past and just think you owe the world an apology, this is one of those times.


All these thoughts of travel took me up to dinner time where I had my first connection with the eldery Korean lady seated next to me. Of course she ordered the very American beef with noodles while I prefered the Korean dish on offer. The name of the dish was given to me several times, each time it whistled by in a breeze of short, bouncy syllables. I have since come to learn that the names of Korean dishes are much like something you would hear babble out of Pebbles Flinstone. A shocking contrast to my first oversees experience in Germany. If you tried to talk that fast in that language you would surely either trip and fall or vomit due to the unsustainable diaphragmic convulsions required. The dish I had consisted of a container of rice and a second container of neatly organized pieces of vegetables and beef. Having obviously been painstakingly arranged, I began eating it piece by individual piece. Then came the human connection, she turned to me, began to gesture and speak. The words meant nothing, but she seemed to be motioning to me to mix the rice into the dish. It is very hard to escape your language, no matter how useless it may be. I quite futily responded in english "Oh, should I mix it?"; she responded in Korean. She then helped me, she tore open the package of sesame oil and poured it in, she monitored me as I efficiently mixed my once neatly organized meal into a mass of ricey mush. Somehow we had gotten through it together. And then it dawned on me, isn't that what life is really all about.

Someday I'll actually get to the Korean portion of this thing, but it just takes time.