Tourist's Paradise-Gwangjang Market- 광장 시장

Jongno 5-ga is the Mary Poppins's bag of street markets. An unassuming, non-transfer station with hardly a unique name, the exit signs boast not one but three different markets: Dongdaemun Shijang, Pyeonghwa Shijang, and Gwangjang Shijang (shijang means market, just so we're clear).

I headed out this way at the urging of a student in search of Korean tartar, AKA a raw beef dish called 육회 (Yook Hwae). Nothing sets the spirit on fire like a proper quest, and thus the day promised to be full of adventure. Upon arrival, the market presented its first challenge: the distraction of dozens of food stands contested by the churning crowds of Sunday shoppers. Before pushing my way down the first alleyway, I sensed in my heart of hearts the truth I would soon learn: Gwangjang Shijang is a tourists' paradise.

Tourists' paradise indeed: nearly every vendor catered to us with a dash of commercial English as the place bustled with locals and foreigners alike, all clamoring to grab a seat at one of the metal counters and test their valor against Korea's finest and weirdest nibbles. And there I stood in the middle of them all, weilding my camera of photographic mediocrity in preparation for a Trial by Street Market, the international standard of any tourist destination. Strange foods beckoned from every nook, accompanied by the piercing voices of ajummas screeching their mysterious names. Like every quality fairy tale knight, I nearly abandoned my quest in favor of these enticing rewards, crunching on a miniature, red pepper pasted crab that was surprisingly sweet and sipping a fermented rice drink, shikae (식혜 ) that doesn't bother pretending to be anything other than saccharine. Gwangjang Shijang rumbled with the satisfaction of every tourist discovering the holy grail of travel: something totally authetic and real, yet somehow exactly what they had in mind when their pilgrammages began.

Eventually I regained my senses and was able to locate the true aim of this expedition, the raw beef. It arrived on a mid-size plate, its glistening strips of red meat sprinkled with sesame seeds and adorned with a shiny yellow yolk. Our waiter offered a welcome explanation, instructing us to mix the meat into a hidden bed of pear slices and dig in. Although I wished I had spotted the bibimbap option on the menu, which offered less meat in exchange for rice and some veggies all for a lower price(!), my friend and I eagerly scraped the plate clean, feeling valiant next to a table of four ajeosshi (older men) who had ordered the same thing. On an impulse, likely due to the constant assault of delicious smells and advertising, we also ventured into two more dishes: a whole, fried sole (Gajami/가자미) as well as the market's other famous dish, mung bean pancakes (Bindaetteok/빈대떡). Despite being a last minute decision, bindaetteok was the true treasure from this quest: a thick, greasy, slab encrusted with little gems of salted pork. My mouth is watering now.

Empty plates and full bellies, we departed Gwanjang Shijang and on the trusty steed that is the Seoul subway. Next quest: the search for a bard who can properly relate the tale of a tourists paradise, the golden ratio of uncomfortable, exciting, and delicious that can make any vagabond feel victorious.

Guest Post-- Michael Eats Fruit for Thought

I made my own calendars where the year begins on the day I ate my first banana (17/3/2014 FYI, or 3/17/2014 if you’re wacky). Before I moved to Korea I never ate fruit and it was just one of the many firsts Korea would demand. As it is, I don’t really want to tell you about Korea’s firsts. I want to tell you about coming home and how my returning home compares to Korea through the medium of fruit.

Mangoes just scream sunshine and good times. So, when I saw mangoes in a Korean supermarket I was sure they would be delightful. Oh how wrong I was. I’m told I was low-balled on mango quality because these were terrible mangoes. They somehow managed to taste both fresh and putrid. The expectation of mango and the actualisation of mango were as far apart as the transport in Korea and the transport at home. In Korea, you pay for transport with a smart card and everything is cheap and clean and efficient. Journeys join up so you don’t have to pay full price for every transfer. If ever the Korean public transport system grinds to a halt, I’m sure they’ll have something less convenient to get people around. Maybe personal floating clouds or something.  In Glasgow, the transport is expensive and definitely not user friendly. Buses require exact change to pay their expensive fares (fares like £4.30 – who has 30p just lying around?) and the subway has not been extended since it opened in 1896 or upgraded in decades. You pay for each section of your journey anew and it all starts to add up. Similar journeys are 4 times more expensive in Glasgow and about 100 times less convenient. We’re paying for Korea and somehow getting Cambodia.

Kiwis are a bit like big testicles, but that’s not currently relevant. When I tried kiwi I found it a bit bland and then it had a tang and then it got enjoyable. I didn’t enjoy kiwi much at first, but it got better as I went. This fruit of contradictions maps well with the difference in my nights out in Korea and in Glasgow. In Korea I found it difficult to find one particular place I really enjoyed going, but as I went out more I got more used to the scene and enjoyed that things were open late. At home the journey is reversed. I know all the awesome places to go, but because of Glasgow’s alcohol problem and the stupid way we deal with it, all clubs and bars must be closed by 3am. This means nights out are curtailed and you’re left to try and get home when everyone else in the city centre is doing the exact same thing. Add the bad public transport and tens of thousands of people (who would really rather still be drinking) trying to get a handful of taxis and it makes getting home a dangerous proposition, even if it’s just because you’re waiting outside in the cold for ages. 

Dragon fruit was supposed to be exciting. Have you seen a dragon fruit? It looks like Ryu’s fireball from Street Fighter or, you know, a dragon’s fire! Wow! How amazing is dragon fruit going to be? I couldn’t wait to try dragon fruit. Seeing all my friends again was supposed to be exciting. Do you remember all those amazing times from before you left for Korea? How amazing is it going to be to make a whole new bunch of memories? On the surface, dragon fruit was all raz-ma-taz and full of exciting promises. Once you cut into it, it looks a bit like an Oreo McFlurry and you think you’re about to have a taste sensation. Ultimately, dragon fruit was disappointing. On the surface, seeing my friends again was all exciting and full of adventurous promises. Once you get into making plans, you think things are looking good, life will be sensational. Ultimately, seeing your old friends becomes disappointing. Dragon fruit is a little bit underwhelming. My friends all had their own lives which had settled while I was away. It’s hard to unsettle your friends and while they agree to adventures on principle, agreeing the specifics and matching up disparate schedules is almost impossible. The closed bubble of being an English teacher in Korea meant everyone was in the same boat - people were always looking for things to do and places to go. Coming home is kind of dragon fruit (it’s an adjective now).

When I tried persimmons I tried plural. I bought different shapes and colours and sizes. I thought they would all taste different. Unsurprisingly they all did taste different. This was another fruit of extremes. The first I tried was a small yellow persimmon that I thought would be the worst. I was wrong. It was sweet and much better than I expected, and didn’t even taste too fresh. The big red persimmon was another story. I cut it up and it looked a little juicy. I thought the brighter colour would mean it was sweeter. I was wrong. My first reaction “mmm,” and then all of a sudden my teeth felt weird and a bitter taste invaded my mouth. It felt like all the moisture in my mouth had been sucked into the persimmon I’d just chewed up. One of my friends suggested that is probably what it would be like if you ate one of those wee bags of silica gel that comes with new shoes. 

Living with my mum has had a similar effect on soaking up all the fun I wanted to have when I got home. In Korea I lived in a small, one-room apartment, but it had a sweet broadband connection. Plus it was only about 7 minutes from bed to work. Living in one room doesn’t sound awesome, but the nature of life in Korea is that you don’t have to spend too much time in it if you don’t want to, since getting everywhere was easy and people were up for activities. My wee room was much better than expected. Living with my mum is more like the big persimmon. At home there’s no sweet internet connection, but the bitterness of being without any internet connection except my phone. It is miles away from anything and, thanks to the extortionate transport prices, it costs a fortune to go anywhere for anything. Add to that the fact I happened to get stabbed not far from here so I don’t feel entirely safe getting off a bus late at night. Living with my mum has had it’s nice times, but it’s largely been big persimmon.

Banana was far and away my favourite food. In fact, now that I’m home I often share a banana with my nephew who loves 'nanas'.  I have nothing bad to say about bananas. They are delicious and I’ve been a fool to not have them in my life. In that respect, Korea’s bananas was my job. I loved my job, even if my workplace wasn’t awesome. Teaching kids is probably the best thing I’ve done with my life and going to Korea gave me the clear career goal I’ve wanted for years. No Korea would have meant no bananas and no plan to become a primary school teacher. Glasgow’s bananas is probably...Tinder? I’ve not really gotten to the end of Tinder in Glasgow yet and that can’t be a bad thing. Not really. The real bananas at home is my nephew. He is awesome and growing up and talking and doesn’t give me as many cuddles as I would like, but he makes me laugh all the same. He loves being chased. Sometimes he thinks (or pretends, who knows) tree branches are dinosaur bones. He’s bananas.

Bananas aside, my life must sound pretty gloomy, but it isn’t that bad. Sure I didn’t like lots of the fruit I tried and there’s plenty to complain about at home, but I came home for a reason. As much as I look forward to trying new fruits, I’m looking forward to getting back into teaching here at home and becoming a better teacher. Once I stop living like a 14 year old, I’m sure I’ll stop complaining like one. 






Michael O'Donnell would be a polar bear if he could be any animal, but he'd feel bad about eating exclusively meat. He has nothing personal against seals or walruses. He recently tried broccoli for the first time and didn't hate it.

Mixed up in Miami: Pros and Cons

Sick of winter? Jealous of those of us in tropical climates? Miami seduces even the toughest Canadian with the temptation of a permanent escape from the Abominable Snowman. But if you are thinking of moving, don't waste time comparing a list of pros and a list of cons. What you need is a list of Pros and Cons because yes, Miami is that confusing.

1. Spanish is Everywhere

On the radio, across billboards, in the restaurant and the supermarket and the streets. As of the 2010 census, 63.77% of the population in Miami-Dade County speaks Spanish. Am I practicing? Not really. Sure, the woman taking our order doesn't speak English, but it doesn't seem like she'll be charmed a gringa struggling to sputter some Spanish at her.

2. Diversity
Miami has one of the highest percentages of foreign born population in the world. This doesn't mean that it's the most diverse, but it blasts many other places (like South Korea) out of the water. For example, there is access to basically any kind of food you could want. In the past few weeks I've enjoyed Korean, Japanese, Greek, German/Austrian, Mexican, Cuban, Italian, Brazilian, Indian, Thai, and probably more.

3. Weather
You (could) wear shorts every day, seeing as it's 80 degrees most of the time. I don't even own a jacket anymore. Sometimes that doesn't work out so well, but it's a luxury to be warm every morning when you get out of bed. I get sweaty on my walk to work even though it's 8:30 AM in January. The constant climate for body-baring does lead to some places basically becoming Barbie Land. I happened upon a Model Beach Volleyball competition, and probably see a Maserati per day, on average.

4. Tourism
The beaches are here and you can go all the time. Sparkling water, direct sunlight, and sand. The water is everywhere but you can't have it. There's no parking, or there's only expensive parking, and you have to drive past miles of privately owned seaside before you reach a public, tolled, and likely crowded beach. Tourist attractions cost money, and not chump change. It's about $20 a person to get into two of Miami's most lauded destinations, Fairchild Tropical Botanical Garden and Vizcaya Museum and Gardens. Hope they didn't want me to visit more than once, because I'm gonna avoid spending that lunch money and keep my eyes peeled for the rumored free admission days.

5. Landscape
There are adorable little lizards and other surprising and fascinating flora and fauna everywhere. Check out this short documentary about fluorescent local coral! However, many of these creatures are either invasive or endangered... and if not that, then they are going to be underwater in about 100 years.






























6. City Layout

"The time is always now!"

The city is sprawl, limited here and there by either ocean or alligator territory, and the traffic is a formidable and seemingly unpredictable beast, from work day rush hours to random fifteen minute back-ups for no apparent reason. On top of this, people drive like they're Sterling Archer, or like they can only see the edges of the road, not the lines or the other cars. This shouldn't be too big of a problem because Miami has both a metro line and a bus system, but despite that fact public transportation is essentially nonexistent. I admit I might be simply spoiled from my residence in Seoul, a public transport utopia, but the facts are unavoidably underwhelming. You can't take the metro to the Miami Beach, the city's most important tourism spot. If you take a bus, there's a good chance it's late, inordinately expensive, and the air conditioner has probably been dripping water all over the empty seats at the back of the bus.

To conclude, Miami isn't like Korea, which isn't surprising, but it isn't like the U.S. of A, either. In Korea I was a 'real' foreigner, and it garnered for me all kinds of sympathy, assistance, friends and excuses for my embarrassing moments. In Miami, I'm a 'fake' foreigner. Still searching for the hip spots to hang? Don't know the most efficient ways of getting around? Can't communicate effortlessly with someone? Wait a minute...aren't you from this country?! A redeeming quality: this unfamiliarity is where I can begin to explore, and (hopefully) find that keen feeling of accomplishment, the one that comes at the end of the day, when your ankles are dusty from walking, your feet are tired, and your mind is buzzing with the aftermath of adventure.

Norebang Tour of Korea

In my last post from my time in Korea, I present to you, dear reader, the best part of Korea: 노래방 / Norebang. I can't begin to express to you the wonder of these private karaoke rooms, rented to the weekend-evening-enthusiasts for a low cost and a high profit. My own relationship with Norebang developed as it became clear that my fellow merrymakers and I prioritized a norebang stop in every place we visited throughout Korea (excepting Mudfest. Boryeong  노래방, you escaped our love). I hope these few snapshots help you to share in the glory that is Norebang, and may you one day come to know it's wonder.

Final note: I did not take all of these pictures. All the high-quality, actually pleasant to view photos belong to Michael O'Donnell.