I watched this video yesterday and was appalled.
Behavior like this has no place in this world. It certainly has no place in Korea if you're American. I don't need to explain how someone acting like this sours the reputation of all of us Expatriate Americans residing in Korea. He should be arrested, and removed from the country. I'm sure that if he thought he was being videotaped that he would have acted differently. Doesn't this schmuck understand that we are all being watched in this country?
After a second viewing and further private deliberation, you know what this reminded me of? Rodney King. We all remember the Rodney King incident, don't we?
Rodney King was a black man who was caught on tape being severely beaten in 1992 by LAPD in what was supposed to be a routine traffic stop for speeding. What was shocking about the Rodney King incident was not that it happened, because black people have been suffering this kind of treatment since the dawn of age in America. No. What was truly shocking was that is was caught on tape. Caught on film before the age of the internet. In 1992, catching an incident like this on video was a rarity. In fact, nothing like the Rodney King beating had ever been videotaped. Mr. King was later awarded 1 million dollars per strike by the police batons.
The officers who participated in the beatings were tried in a court of law. The decision to acquit all four officers sparked the LA Riots of April, 1992. The Los Angeles Riots eventually spread across the nation. Had the Rodney King incident not been videotaped, it would have most likely been swept under the rug. Good thing that didn't happen.
This is posted because I was disgusted at what I saw, and I wouldn't have seen it if someone wasn't quick with their cell phone video camera. Get this scumbag out of Korea. An incident like this deserves reprehension.
Keep the faith.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
A Balanced Diet
It wouldn’t be poignant of me to write a blog bragging about all the good things that go with a week away from the grind. Or a month.
My goal of this trip (tho not from the outset) has become this: gorge myself into oblivion, and hope I somehow come out better on the other side. One never wants to deprive themselves of the delicious options available only while they travel distant lands. If we don’t ‘carpe diem’ and investigate the local cuisine, we may not otherwise fully understand what magical knowledge the locals really possess.
Who can resist several pieces of that fresh bread on the table before the meal comes in a place like Spain? You know, the bread with the hard crust and the soft middle, maybe with that oil and vinegar from the region to dip it in. They do this at Italian restaurants back home, but with places offering bottomless pasta bowls like at Olive Garden, why would you take up valuable stomach space for bread?
Don’t mention this to anyone, because it’s hardly worth saying how much weight I’ve gained from all these European goodies. And you thought the Tiramasu at Starbucks was good.
Oddly, I was running 5-6 kilometers daily to get in shape for the beach prior to take off in the end of July. I was pumping out sets of crunches and leg lifts to target sizing down my stomach. I even sweated a few times. Now, I feel like I’m dedicated to drinking every last drop of European beer because Korean swill is so bad in comparison.
Of course, beer isn’t the only beverage making me happy in Europe. If you’re doing it right, and especially with the locals, it’s wine with every meal including lunch. Red if you’re lucky, in Italy anyway. It’s nothing like that crap some of us normally drink back home. Trust me.
Now I better finish this beer before it gets warm.
Keep the faith.
My goal of this trip (tho not from the outset) has become this: gorge myself into oblivion, and hope I somehow come out better on the other side. One never wants to deprive themselves of the delicious options available only while they travel distant lands. If we don’t ‘carpe diem’ and investigate the local cuisine, we may not otherwise fully understand what magical knowledge the locals really possess.
Who can resist several pieces of that fresh bread on the table before the meal comes in a place like Spain? You know, the bread with the hard crust and the soft middle, maybe with that oil and vinegar from the region to dip it in. They do this at Italian restaurants back home, but with places offering bottomless pasta bowls like at Olive Garden, why would you take up valuable stomach space for bread?
Don’t mention this to anyone, because it’s hardly worth saying how much weight I’ve gained from all these European goodies. And you thought the Tiramasu at Starbucks was good.
Oddly, I was running 5-6 kilometers daily to get in shape for the beach prior to take off in the end of July. I was pumping out sets of crunches and leg lifts to target sizing down my stomach. I even sweated a few times. Now, I feel like I’m dedicated to drinking every last drop of European beer because Korean swill is so bad in comparison.
Of course, beer isn’t the only beverage making me happy in Europe. If you’re doing it right, and especially with the locals, it’s wine with every meal including lunch. Red if you’re lucky, in Italy anyway. It’s nothing like that crap some of us normally drink back home. Trust me.
Now I better finish this beer before it gets warm.
Keep the faith.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Traveling with Steph
Traveling (backpacking) with Steph is eye-opening, and not entirely smooth, mostly due to my own shortcomings regarding the ‘ideal’ relationship. Ideally, I’ve always believed that two people in a relationship should share all responsibilities equally, regardless of who is the man and who is the woman. And, when traveling with backpacks by train, and sometimes covering large distances in a short time, experience is of the essence. Stephanie? She loves the thrill of me doing it all, or at least that’s what I think she’s thinking.
A key ingredient to successful international travel (I believe any seasoned veteran of international experience would agree) is effective and efficient communication with the locals. Knowing when to ask questions, like when you’re lost, is of course helpful. Having knowledge of a second language? Extremely helpful. And, it’s just as important to have confidence not to be afraid to approach someone on the spot. A smile and a greeting in their native language always goes a long way, even if those are the only words you know.
In Steph’s defense, it’s no easy task simply ‘gaining’ experience quickly in areas where you originally had none or very little. If one hasn’t traveled the world, for example, it’s tough to know what to do ‘naturally’ to make the trip go more smoothly. That’s all experience really gives you when traveling.
Seems simple enough, right? I’m thinking Steph may not agree with me.
Of course, after all, I’m only a man, so who really knows what these ladies are thinking. I know I sure don’t most of the time.
Keep the faith.
A key ingredient to successful international travel (I believe any seasoned veteran of international experience would agree) is effective and efficient communication with the locals. Knowing when to ask questions, like when you’re lost, is of course helpful. Having knowledge of a second language? Extremely helpful. And, it’s just as important to have confidence not to be afraid to approach someone on the spot. A smile and a greeting in their native language always goes a long way, even if those are the only words you know.
In Steph’s defense, it’s no easy task simply ‘gaining’ experience quickly in areas where you originally had none or very little. If one hasn’t traveled the world, for example, it’s tough to know what to do ‘naturally’ to make the trip go more smoothly. That’s all experience really gives you when traveling.
Seems simple enough, right? I’m thinking Steph may not agree with me.
Of course, after all, I’m only a man, so who really knows what these ladies are thinking. I know I sure don’t most of the time.
Keep the faith.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Castiglione Olona
A single month in Europe is hardly enough time to draw any real concrete conclusions about anything. But alas, in the end we have our experience, and our personal observations to ‘draw’ conclusions, so to speak.
So after Barcelona we headed straight for Milan. This was not our final destination, however, of this particular leg of the journey. We were heading to Castiglione Olona, a small town in the north of Italy near the Swiss border. I have an old artist friend who goes by the single name of ‘Trury’ who lives there, and she has graciously invited us to visit and film her life.
Trury is quite unique. She may very well be the is the first person I’ve come into close contact with who, in my own personal description of what I consider an artist to be, is a true artist in every sense of the word.
The first time I met Trury was in Berlin in 2002. We were both there on holiday, and it was the weekend of the famed ‘Love Parade’. We were both staying with a mutual friend, and therefore attended the Love Parade together. Long story short: we danced and drank a lot that day. At the end of the night I found myself back at Federico’s apartment with Trury, and she had taken the scissors to her long brown. When the dust had finally settled, she looked more like ‘The Legend of Billy Jean’ with long locks of hair covering the floor.
For some reason, I never forgot that night.
Keep the faith.
So after Barcelona we headed straight for Milan. This was not our final destination, however, of this particular leg of the journey. We were heading to Castiglione Olona, a small town in the north of Italy near the Swiss border. I have an old artist friend who goes by the single name of ‘Trury’ who lives there, and she has graciously invited us to visit and film her life.
Trury is quite unique. She may very well be the is the first person I’ve come into close contact with who, in my own personal description of what I consider an artist to be, is a true artist in every sense of the word.
The first time I met Trury was in Berlin in 2002. We were both there on holiday, and it was the weekend of the famed ‘Love Parade’. We were both staying with a mutual friend, and therefore attended the Love Parade together. Long story short: we danced and drank a lot that day. At the end of the night I found myself back at Federico’s apartment with Trury, and she had taken the scissors to her long brown. When the dust had finally settled, she looked more like ‘The Legend of Billy Jean’ with long locks of hair covering the floor.
For some reason, I never forgot that night.
Keep the faith.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Knowing the World
Call it the spirit of adventure, but in my earlier days I can remember how exhilarating it was to travel to distant lands. Maybe it was the different faces or skin colors, the distinct smell in the air, the architecture, or the (mostly) delicious and often unique food. Possibly it was funny looking cars, the more delicious coffee, or the barely understandable language. Maybe, it was all of it at the same time.
Or, for me, maybe it was the feeling of shedding my own culture and finally feeling free.
My first trip abroad (not counting Canada) was to Spain in 1992. I was 16 years old, and we were there for less than two weeks. I went as a group with about nine other students from my high school, and two teachers. I was (almost) completely surrounded by ‘America’ there in that group, and yet I still felt like my life had changed, even as it was happening. We had amazing experiences speaking with locals in their own language, and meeting & hanging out with people our own age in parks.
I wanted so desperately to think that these experiences were special. At the time, and even later on into my twenties, I thought I was special for having visited these far away lands. Instead what I’m learning all these years later is that I wasn’t doing anything different than anyone else who had also traveled across oceans to see what other countries were like. And, after all this time, I get this eerie feeling that I just wasn’t educated about the world the way I should have been.
Now when I travel, I see the world much more the way it is, the way is always was. I’m not tremendously exhilarated by different people like I used to be, and new cities don’t excite me as much, even though they’re (mostly) still really cool. New currencies? Once exchanged they still need to be spent. Wine in Italy, well that's a different story.
The world around us really isn’t that different after all, except for those who haven’t seen it.
Keep the faith.
Or, for me, maybe it was the feeling of shedding my own culture and finally feeling free.
My first trip abroad (not counting Canada) was to Spain in 1992. I was 16 years old, and we were there for less than two weeks. I went as a group with about nine other students from my high school, and two teachers. I was (almost) completely surrounded by ‘America’ there in that group, and yet I still felt like my life had changed, even as it was happening. We had amazing experiences speaking with locals in their own language, and meeting & hanging out with people our own age in parks.
I wanted so desperately to think that these experiences were special. At the time, and even later on into my twenties, I thought I was special for having visited these far away lands. Instead what I’m learning all these years later is that I wasn’t doing anything different than anyone else who had also traveled across oceans to see what other countries were like. And, after all this time, I get this eerie feeling that I just wasn’t educated about the world the way I should have been.
Now when I travel, I see the world much more the way it is, the way is always was. I’m not tremendously exhilarated by different people like I used to be, and new cities don’t excite me as much, even though they’re (mostly) still really cool. New currencies? Once exchanged they still need to be spent. Wine in Italy, well that's a different story.
The world around us really isn’t that different after all, except for those who haven’t seen it.
Keep the faith.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Coffee shops: a humming economy
According to recent statistics, the rate of unemployment in Italy is at 9%. In Spain, the official numbers may be as high as 20%. As far as I’ve heard, the latest regarding Greece is that they are now paying 30% interest rates on the country’s debt. Even the middle class in America is feeling the pinch.
These are humbling figures, and the last I knew, no one I know wants to be poor.
According to unscientific observations I made recently when visiting Amsterdam, there is one sector of their economy that seems to be doing really well: The coffee shop industry. This is a lesson Americans should adhere to carefully.
Interested in starting a business that’s almost foolproof to fail? I know I’d be all ears at such a proposal. Seven days a week, from 10am until 1am, the coffee shop closest to our guesthouse always had customers. These customers range from those that actually wanted to sit and enjoy themselves there, to others who just wanted to purchase goods and move along. There was almost always a line to make a purchase.
The environment is quite safe. One won’t often run across drunk and obnoxious youth, and other drugs hardly seem to provoke malicious behavior. I didn’t observe a single serious problem during our stay in Holland.
This was not the only coffee shop successfully conducting business either. Most of the coffee shops we’d pass were packed with patrons seated, and enjoying their goods and coffee, as well as those standing in line to make a purchase.
The recent ‘no’ vote in California to regulate and make legal the sale and purchase of marijuana just goes to show: in 2011, Americans are either too stoned, or still like their drugs illegal.
After experiencing such success in business during my stay inn Holland, I’d say Americans (in general) have it wrong.
Keep the faith.
These are humbling figures, and the last I knew, no one I know wants to be poor.
According to unscientific observations I made recently when visiting Amsterdam, there is one sector of their economy that seems to be doing really well: The coffee shop industry. This is a lesson Americans should adhere to carefully.
Interested in starting a business that’s almost foolproof to fail? I know I’d be all ears at such a proposal. Seven days a week, from 10am until 1am, the coffee shop closest to our guesthouse always had customers. These customers range from those that actually wanted to sit and enjoy themselves there, to others who just wanted to purchase goods and move along. There was almost always a line to make a purchase.
The environment is quite safe. One won’t often run across drunk and obnoxious youth, and other drugs hardly seem to provoke malicious behavior. I didn’t observe a single serious problem during our stay in Holland.
This was not the only coffee shop successfully conducting business either. Most of the coffee shops we’d pass were packed with patrons seated, and enjoying their goods and coffee, as well as those standing in line to make a purchase.
The recent ‘no’ vote in California to regulate and make legal the sale and purchase of marijuana just goes to show: in 2011, Americans are either too stoned, or still like their drugs illegal.
After experiencing such success in business during my stay inn Holland, I’d say Americans (in general) have it wrong.
Keep the faith.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Zarautz
This place needs a proper introduction onto the world stage. It’s like a magic land, a perfect place. I never thought such a place existed on Earth. It's a family town, with a flare for fun if you will. Trust me, I hung out here in the summer of 1996 and partied. Trust me on that one.
In reality, it's a lovely place. There doesn't seem to be any problem with anyone, or anything here, except of course to mind the amount of time your car is parked on the street, because they will issue you a ticket if the amount of time you've already paid for expires. This was something I didn't take into consideration before coming here, because why should I?
I, of course, don't even own a car on this continent. We are, however, extremely fortunate to have a friend lend us one who had an extra. A Volkswagon Golf. A quick turn down the road, a the ‘Autovía del Cantábrico’ was there to wisk us in any direction. We visited Santander, a city I would have never otherwise visited if we didn't have a vehicle at our disposal. Since we did have one, we decided it was the perfect place.
But Zarautz, a place of barely 60,000 in the peak summer months, is a gem amongst the endless places one can visit in this lifetime. The beach is clean, and the sand feels nice between your toes. The whole place feels like a beach town, without the annoying Cancun style partying. You have no choice but to surrender yourself to the easy life of going to the beach, refreshing yourself with a dip in the Bay os Biscay, and catching up with old friends.
Zarautz is legendary indeed.
Keep the faith.
PS- We did end up receiving a ticket for expired parking fees. It was the nicest little piece of paper folded and tucked neatly into a clear plastic envelope that you ever saw. I barely recognized what it was when we were about to pull out.
In reality, it's a lovely place. There doesn't seem to be any problem with anyone, or anything here, except of course to mind the amount of time your car is parked on the street, because they will issue you a ticket if the amount of time you've already paid for expires. This was something I didn't take into consideration before coming here, because why should I?
I, of course, don't even own a car on this continent. We are, however, extremely fortunate to have a friend lend us one who had an extra. A Volkswagon Golf. A quick turn down the road, a the ‘Autovía del Cantábrico’ was there to wisk us in any direction. We visited Santander, a city I would have never otherwise visited if we didn't have a vehicle at our disposal. Since we did have one, we decided it was the perfect place.
But Zarautz, a place of barely 60,000 in the peak summer months, is a gem amongst the endless places one can visit in this lifetime. The beach is clean, and the sand feels nice between your toes. The whole place feels like a beach town, without the annoying Cancun style partying. You have no choice but to surrender yourself to the easy life of going to the beach, refreshing yourself with a dip in the Bay os Biscay, and catching up with old friends.
Zarautz is legendary indeed.
Keep the faith.
PS- We did end up receiving a ticket for expired parking fees. It was the nicest little piece of paper folded and tucked neatly into a clear plastic envelope that you ever saw. I barely recognized what it was when we were about to pull out.
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