move to korea

New posts can be found on
http://hangnol.blogspot.com/

New country, new blog ... seems only fair right ?

It will take a little while before I get it sorted out so don't get too impatient.

A snail once again.

I have left Bogotá and this was kind of the place to write about Bogotá.  But you all know where it is now and I couldn't be bothered setting up another one.

So I started traveling again, I didn't have the sort of pre-travel excitement that people kind of expect.  I felt more obligated by the opportunity than excited by the possibility to be honest with you.  After I got of the first days worth of planes I felt a little more interested in what I was doing, a change of culture can do that.  Cancún is like a mini-USA whacked on the end of mexico.  There are mexicans living there, that's true but they aren't really mexican mexicans.  A lot of them are chewed into the influence that the tourism boom has brought to the town.  Sure it's nice and everything, it has a beach.  Nice white sand and crystal waters beautiful really, but then so does the entire western coast of the Yútucan. What was it that made the sleepy little seaside town of Cancún a household name around the world?  As far I can see there are two very important factors that lead to this occurring; the minimum age for buying alcohol in the united states is 22, while in Mexico it is 18.  Cancun is very close to Miami.

Those two things kind of snowballed I think because there is now a separate section in Cancun that is full of hotels. Massive hotels form what is called the hotel strip, big chain hotels from the US.  Great imposing structures that get knocked over every few years due to the hurricanes that cross the peninsula.

Cancun is fake Mexico, the people who go to those hotels do not go to Mexico nor do they want to.  They get what they were looking for in booze, beach and bars.

Many happy tourists from England as well. 

I personally cannot imagine going somewhere with the intent of completely ignoring the place. All that said though, I did find a nice friendly hostel and a little local park with a bunch of little food stores where all of the locals take there kids and grab a bite to eat.  Cheap food that was pretty good and a nice atmosphere.

Oh, and there are cheap flights to Cuba ...

I went to Havana for 4 days, have always wanted to go just to see what it is like there.  I didn't actually get to sample the April sun in Cuba, but I can tell you that the September sun did not treat me so right, so right. 

 It actually burnt me. 

Luckily there doesn't seem to be a massive hole in the ozone layer above Havana and I managed to fix the burn up in a day or two.  I don't look like have spent 9 months in Bogotá now.  I have parts that aren't paesty white. 

Cuba is an odd place, I probably noticed it more because I set out to look for what kind of place Cuba is, and I could talk to people.  They have two systems there, one for the working class and another for everyone else.  The working class is paid in Cuban Pesos, The tourists have Cuban Convertible Pesos, officially a Cuban Peso is worth 1/25th of a Convertible Peso but realistically it is almost worthless.  The Workers are paid in these pesos, and because of that they can't really go to any of the shops for the tourists because they only accept the CCP.   The miserable amount that they get paid also means that they can't really afford good food and quite a lot turn to crime.  A criminal can make in a day what others make in a month, if they are robbing tourists.   The are doing it because they feel that's the best way to survive and they don't want to be bad people so the crime is pretty much all non-violent.  That will change though I am sure, and there will be places in Havana like there are places in Bogotá (and London and Sydney and whatever other principle city) where all tourists will just avoid.  The people in the country are living very poor apparently. 

All of this negative viewpoint I picked up from a local who worked at the edge of Central Havana fleecing tourists with  fake cigars with his cousin.  I took him to lunch, well I bought him a Cola, he didn't want anything to eat as he thought it was terribly expensive ($4.50).  We had a good chat about his life ( he was about 55) and how he lived and what he thought about Cuba.  It was interesting to talk to him because he had lost all respect for the government and spoke negatively of the situation, which no one else did.  They tended just to say nothing when posed a question that would illicit a negative response about Cuba. 

To sum up my impression of Havana I would have to say that it is a beautiful city with a fascinating, impressive and tragic past.  But also that is has a fascinating, impressive and tragic present end future.  It is an accident happening, not because of the political model in place but because of the introduction of the incongruous capitalist element.  The innate rebelliousness within the people that stems from Cuba's torrent past will become evident in some form or another.  The world is waiting for Fidel.

Tulum in eastern Mexico is another beach town. It is less touristy, in that it has less tourists but the intent is pretty similar to that which exists in whatever seaside town a few hours from a big destination.  Think of anywhere near the gold coast and you will have a good idea.  Places that rent bicycles, scuba equipment and things of that nature.  Tulum also has a bloody great set of ruins from the Mayans as well.  These come complete with ropes to stop you from getting too close to the actual buildings themselves.  Its good that they are making efforts to conserve these elements of another time but it does take the fun out of it somewhat. 

I did go and climb something that I wasn't meant to.  I felt better for it.

All's well that ends.

Some things in life are odd, like getting the same feeling about moving country that you had about moving house some years ago. 8 and a half months in Bogota have just passed me by, with all of the grace and charm of a fully sik torana complete with screaming drunkard.  I know where I am going but I don't know what I am going to.  I am looking forward to traveling but at the same time I am really just looking forward to relaxing.  I have been on holidays, but at the same time i have been pushing myself to reach for those dreams.  Spanish is a lot more difficult than anyone really gives it credit for.  I now feel like I have at least learned what it is that I have to learn. As for an understanding of the culture and way of the people of Colombia, I really tried and I feel I have an understanding although i don't entirely agree with all of it I can accept how it all came about. 

My bag is packed and I already feel tired knowing that I have to get up at 3 or so in the morning for a bright and early flight.

I am terrible at goodbyes, even worse at hellos but quite good at the bit in the middle ( well I think so at least).

I have 35 days of busses, hostels, hand washing, single serving friends, and amazingly new old things to experience.

But first .... I have to pack the computer!

Truth is funnier than Fiction.

At least it is to me, sometimes it's very hard to explain the full extent of why things are funny to other people but I assume that those blessed with a full and functioning sense of humor will appreciate the effort.

A new classmate of mine, lovely fellow by the name of Sunny recently had an adventure. A friend of his had recently had an operation and was feeling poorly. Cooped up at home, he offered to come visit in an effort to cheer her up somewhat. Being at the university he asked the Teacher for some help with the address. This girl, the sick one lives in the south. If you know anything about Bogotá know that 11 blocks south of the city center is far enough for most things to have turned to poverty.

The teacher helps Sunny catch a Taxi and he is away, from Street 40 north heading directly to street 11 south. On the way he decides that he should get some flowers, and discusses this with the Taxi Driver. They drive around looking for the flowers, first in supermarkets, then corner stores, then just about anywhere. The are no florists in the south, no one has the money to decorate the dining table with a bouquet when there is no food with which to dine, or even a specific table for that matter.

On suggestion from a store owner they eventually track down a place that has flowers amongst their product set. They visit the place, they have flowers in stock and sell Sunny the flowers he needs, although they don't usually sell just the flowers by themselves.

I am not sure of the ethical, social or cultural ramifications of purchasing a "get well" gift of flowers to give to a sick person from the top of a coffin at a funeral home, but if they never know ... no harm no foul, right ?

If you are really poor. the only time you receive a bunch of flowers is when you die.

Unfortunately truth is more painful than fiction aswell.

Morning.

I fight the alarm clock. It's cold. The sounds of bus breaks, sirens and engines slashes through any semblence of peacefullness the gentle sunlight was attempting. Concrete buildings with no heating, no double glazing, tile floors.

I find a set of clothes, and blunder to the bathroom, turn the water on first. Metal pipes set into concrete mean a five minute before the water leaves the showerhead above pneumonia degrees Celsius.

Wash the still resident pollution down the drain, along with grey/black snot and some hair. Shave? not shave. Take care not to lose too much time staring at green painted brown tiled walls.

Water off, towel dry, moisturize against the dry wind.

Gather things, anything of value into right hand pocket, bag across left shoulder. Light jacket and long pants. Close, lock front door walk though garden. Light transient exchange of pleasantries with the guard on the way out of the building.

Turn left, fixed stare hand in right pocket walk, cross road watch traffic. Wait for army uniformed police to whistle the westbound traffic on the 127 to a halt cross with crowd while people rush around looking for a bus they can jam themselves into. The police leave the street and the sea of taxis, brightly coloured buses and tinted windowed four-wheel drives surges to fill the gap.

There are no police controlling the crossing of the eastern bound traffic. Crossing involves a mixture of timing, determination and sheer stupidity. Best to wait for one of the stocky, middle aged, jaded, self-righteous colombian women to halt the traffic, they are practically indestructible and it's better that they are somewhere in sight (they will try to knock you over from behind given the chance).

Stride to the Trans-millenio, Bus way station, ignoring those asking for money and feeling sorry for those so weathered by life they can't anymore. Human wreckage resides in the same shadows and doorways that it fell into the night before. Avoid more brick shaped women whilst weaving in and out of the beautiful girls and unfortunate men scaling stairs, along metal walkways. There is a pedestrian speed limit in Bogota, enforced by altitude and attitude. Never arrive sweaty nor early.

Show contents of bag to police, enter station passing mifare card across reader, a trip is deducted from the card, continue though turnstile. Bag in front, fingers fondle valuables in pocket, confidently picking out the teams of thieves working the station this morning, look long enough to let them know they have been spotted, not long enough for them to bother doing anything about it.

Wait. Crowd gathers at automatic doors.

Bus arrives people fight off, I fight on. Wedged against people I don't care to know, grab for support. other hand still firmly in pocket, finger on bag, eyes on the hands of others. 20 minutes dancing with my new friends, whom I still don't care to know.

Watch for station, the inaudible voice announces its imminence. fight off while others fight off, grab bag and valuables tightly, most pick pocketing happens during bus departures.

Eyes ahead, stride forward, known streets only. pass waking stores and dental supplies. follow the herd though narrow tunnels and little walkways, ever climbing the hill to familiar ground.

Getting to Uni on time is a proud achievement.

Counting down again

Empecé el curso avanzado de la lengua española en la Universidad la Javeriana. Creo que voy a disfrutar este curso porque ya estoy trabajando a mejorar mi español. Los otros estudiantes son bastante inteligente y buena gente también.

Este curso tambien da meter a mi tiempo aqui en colombia.  Al fin del curso voy a salir, asi las semanas de la curso también estan contando a mi salida.  Estoy un poco harto de algunas cosas de este país, y este ciudad, pero de todas formas voy a extrañar Colombia.

Photo Update.

26 Days with the Family

 

25 Photos of 26 Days.  Not even close to representative of the fun.