Busan, South Korea

First Impressions of Busan

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It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost exactly two weeks since I touched down in Busan and was escorted to my apartment by my new employer and her sister. Harder still to believe that a month ago I was sunning myself on the beach in Fiji with an ice cold Vonu in hand and the promise of a night’s drinking ahead of me. It couldn’t be much father removed from the icy wind that has been near constant since I arrived in Korea.

My new life here has gotten off to a really positive start. While I am currently battling the arbitrary case of the flu that seems to be Korea’s welcome gift to any newly arrived foreigner, I’ve managed to have a lot of fun and meet dozens of fantastic new people in a pretty small amount of time.

Night One in Busan

My friends here in Korea didn’t give me much time to settle down upon my arrival. A few hours after I’d been left to acclimatize to my new apartment, I met up with my old friend Marilize in Haeundae – Busan’s most famous beach-side suburb and the home of one of its larger night life districts.

 

Good times with Marilize at Gwangju’s Speakeasy in 2009

A dinner of delicious Korean food was followed by drinks at the newly opened Busan wing of the successful Wolfhound Bar, and after that we headed to the fourteenth floor Rock Bar to watch the Socceroos play Uzbekistan and admire the views of windswept Haeundae beach. Too many beers and far too many jaegarmeister shots were had, and to say I was hungover the following day would be an understatement. I didn’t manage to drag myself out of bed until close to 6pm.

New School

Monday saw me up bright and early for my first day of teaching. With the Korean public schools currently on winter vacation our schedule had moved from the 1pm-8pm I had expected to a more normal (and thus anti-Chris) 9am-5pm schedule. It was tough adjusting to early mornings again after a few weeks of sleeping in, but the enthusiasm and intelligence of my new students meant that the days actually moved by fairly quickly. Having an organized school and intelligent kids is definitely a change to my previous two employers, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the week and a half of teaching I’ve already had.

A week and a half? I’m lucky enough that I arrived just one week before the Korean Lunar New Year, which means I worked a two day week and have now been enjoying some lazy days. I’m back to work on Monday but the 1pm-8pm schedule is far more suited to my nocturnal, occasionally alcoholic existence.

Five Crazy Nights

It’s safe to say that drunk Chris has been rarely sighted since the early days of 2009. Back then I was single and enjoying my return to Gwangju with some of the best wingmen the city had to offer, but it’s fair to state that relationship Chris was considerably less of a party animal.

With my newfound freedom and an aching need to meet new people, I headed out on Friday evening with my neighbor Matt, who is also dealing with a recent break-up and made for a good drinking buddy as we haunted Metal City in Seomyeon. Metal City is nothing like its name might insinuate – more of a sports bar than a metal club. Several beers and several games of darts killed time until the midnight rush brought hordes of foreigners to the bar, and I soon found myself following a pretty Welsh girl and a cheerful American lad from Metal City across to the seedier surrounds of KSU’s Kino Eye.

My first experience with Kino Eye was apparently pretty typical of the place – with an Indonesian man offering to give me a hand-job under the table after I’d rejected his original offer of a bathroom blowjob.

It was 4am by this point and I was headed for home when some other new friends insisted I hop a cab up to Pusan National University in the north of the city. A few hours of drunken karaoke and somek (soju mixed with beer) saw me home with the sunrise, and somewhat doubting my promise to get to Gwangju by the afternoon.

I did make it to Gwangju, but it was a few hours after I’d promised. It was surreal to be playing drinking games with the old crew again – and soon we were at the Speakeasy as if the last two years had barely happened. We were drunkenly bellowing out the words to whatever the DJ cared to play, eyeing off potential cuties to talk to, and making occasional excursions next door to the German Bar to see if it was happening. It wasn’t. Some things have to change.

 

Reunited with my first and best wingman at the Speakeasy

After the Speakeasy it was time to check out Gwangju’s newest hot spot, the oddly named Bubble Bar. It’s little more than a hole in the wall by the much better sign-posted Soul Train, but its got a friendly staff of English speaking Koreans and seems to be the new place to be. Dancing and mystery shots from my old friend Jae Hie meant I had a good time – and even managed to return home with some digits. I’d consider the evening a great success.

A night off on Sunday and then I found myself back at Kino Eye on Monday night. The break-up has not always been easy for me, and I was lucky enough to have my friends Leanne and Anne meet me at the bar to cheer me up with some conversation and a few too many beers. With a 9am start at work I stumbled home at 3.30 and felt the full force of my stupidity as I sleep-walked through Tuesday’s classes with the knowledge that I’d have five days of sleeping in ahead to make up for the poor decision.

Tuesday found me out at the mysterious ‘cave bar’ in Beomil. Outside of Busan’s better known foreigner haunts (Seomyeon, Haeundae, KSU, and PNU) – the cave bar is in an actual cave, so my belongings didn’t escape the place as dry as they’d gone in. Still, they served up good makali (rice wine) and nice food, and it was a good start to our night before we headed to Thursday Party in nearby KSU. My friend Anne is lucky enough to be friends with the owner of the widespread Thursday Party chain (as well as individual store managers) and so we got the VIP treatment as we sunk beers, played darts and beer pong, and sang ourselves hoarse at the popular Western bar.

 

Making new friends at Beomil’s ‘Cave Bar’
Korean girls offer stiff opposition in a high stakes game of Thursday Party beer pong

Wednesday still found me in bed at 4pm when an online friend texted to see if I could meet her after her friends disappeared, and so I tugged on some clothes and headed down to Seomyeon where our quiet dinner turned into a night of drinks at Metal City to celebrate a friend’s birthday. From there we progressed to Eva’s in KSU (a Western bar offering tacos and poutine) and finished things at a very crowded Ol’ 55. The open mic here in Busan is clearly a lot more popular than its Gwangju equivalent.

Downtime

My past few days have been substantially quieter. I’ve watched a lot of movies and TV, visited a seaside temple (a separate entry to follow), and basically tried not to make my cold any worse than it is. With tomorrow being the day of my medical check and Ultimate Frisbee a distinct possibility in the afternoon, I might just spend this particular Saturday evening snuggled up in my bed with a few good movies for company.

Busan has been very good to me so far. My new job has been a lot of fun, my new apartment is small but modern, and I’m making new friends far quicker than I’d initially imagined. And while I have my homesick days and my sad days as I deal with the end of a near two year relationship, things are only getting better. I hope the same is true for all of my readers back home in Australia and abroad.

Australia, South Korea, Sydney

Farewelling Sydney (Again)

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I get a strange sense of deja vous as I write this entry. It seems only a month or so ago that I wrote about packing up and farewelling the greatest city in Australia and the city that has been my home for almost a year of my life. And if I’m being honest, 2010 was one of the best years of my life.

Sexy debauchery at my December farewell/birthday party

But fresh back from New Zealand and Fiji there were a few more goodbyes to be said. I won’t lie – it was strange to come back to the apartment in which Fallon and I (and our housemate Grant) had enjoyed so many good times. I think everybody who has ever been through a breakup – planned or otherwise – can relate to that feeling of sadness as you walk around a place that had felt so full not so long ago. While most of Fallon’s things went back with her to the United States, it’s nearly impossible to completely erase somebody’s presence from your life. A hair tie here or there, a shopping list left pinned to the fridge, and other little things.

I’m not going to wax lyrical about it, but a big part of my motivation for heading straight back out on the road after getting back from Fiji was to avoid becoming mired in recollections and nostalgia in a place with so many happy memories.

And so it was that, a week after my plane touched down in Sydney after a whirlwind tour of Fiji and New Zealand, I found myself alone in Sydney Airport clutching my passport and a flight to Busan courtesy of Kuala Lumpur and Seoul. But that’s getting ahead of things just a tad…

A Multitude of Goodbyes

While it’s true that I had farewell parties and last chance lunches with several friends before Fallon and I left for our New Zealand trip, there were still plenty of goodbyes to be said before I farewelled Australia for another year. It never gets any easier to say goodbye to friends, especially when you have a rather pleasant habit of making new ones wherever you go.

Monday

After a pair of lazy days spent recovering, washing sand out of clothes, and packing for the Korean move – Monday rolled around with my first social obligation: brunch with Heather from There’s No Place Like Oz.

After hitting the Korean consul in Sydney (and being pleasantly surprised to find the cost of E-2 visas had gone down from $80 to $55) – I met Heather at trendy Cafe Ish in Surry Hills. I’d seen photos from her blog about the delicious fusion of Japanese and native Australian cuisine the place offered, so I was certainly excited to try it out for myself. Arriving a good half hour early I treated myself to one of their signature wattle macadamia ice coffees. Served up with a big dollop of macadamia laden ice cream floating in it, it satisfied even an anti-coffee campaigner such as myself.

Soon enough Heather was there and we were discussing our various travel plans. While I’m headed to the chill of South Korea in the winter, she’ll be embarking on a tour of Australia that I’m certainly looking forward to reading about. Brunch was a decadent soft-shell crab omelete that really needs to be tried to be believed. It was stunning. I also committed a Cafe Ish faux pas by photographing my food without asking the proprietor’s permission, but he let me off the hook with a warning. I know others have not been so lucky. Word to the wise: Ask permission before you whip out your camera and photograph your succulent meal.

With brunch finished it was time to say goodbyes, as I had an old Uni friend coming down to spend a few nights in farewell. I’ll miss my Travel Tribe buddies, even if I only managed to meet them in November and (aside from Tony and Heather) only the once. It’s such a great idea and I’d love to start up a Korean chapter sometime. I do need a project…

Tuesday

After a quick (and fancy) lunch with Tony from It’s Good Overseas at The Forum by my apartment in St Leonards, Tuesday turned into an impromptu night out celebrating some of my favorite night spots in Sydney. Earlier in the year I raved about the atmosphere, boutique beer, and scrumptious food at Hart’s Pub in The Rocks, so it stood to reason that I opt to have my farewell drinks there. There was a mix of old friends and new as guys I went to high school and college with bonded with friends made throughout the year working at a call center in the city. Cajun style crocodile bites were washed down with pint after pint of the delightful Kolsch (the hint of banana in the aftertaste is particularly good), and soon enough it was time to move on to our next venue.

Good times in a noraebang. Photo edited by Brendan Brumby

Karaoke was calling us and with Korea just around the corner, I lead the lads (and ladies) toward BBQ City’s very friendly noraebang. Sadly the owners had neglected to pay their rent, so we instead went around the corner to a less well known noraebang spot above the Hungry Jack’s on George Street. The guys there still remembered me from the drunken shenanigans of my last farewell drinks, and were quick to supply us with cans of ice cold Cass and all of the weird snack food we could devour.

Two hours of drunken singing, yelling, gyrating, and stupidity ensued – until it was just myself, Randy, and Dave remaining in the room. 1am had just ticked over and our night was winding down, but an hour spent playing Dance Dance Revolution in Galaxy World and a quick stop at McDonalds were on the cards before we could call it a night.

Wednesday & Thursday

The goodbyes (and the drinking) were far from done, and Wednesday night found me out at Rob, Steph, and Dave’s house for a home cooked meal and some good company. The incomporable Steph had been kind enough to pick me up for the occasion, and soon I was lounging out on the balcony and savoring halumi and lamb kebabs while washing it down with a few Stellas. It was beginning to dawn on me that soon I wouldn’t have the luxury of attending 7pm BBQs in shorts and thongs.

All dressed up for the Hobo’s Ball in October

Beers gave way to mojitos and a stirring game of Munchkin, and then it was white wine before I had to call it an evening.

Thursday night was a bit more low key. With my visa in hand and my packing all but complete, a few quiet beers and some delicious home delivered ribs and Mexican seemed a perfect way to call an end to my wonderful year in Sydney. Standing out on the balcony and looking out at the North Shore skyline one last time, it was clear that I have a lot to be grateful for. While I might have inwardly griped about not having any real ‘me’ time before leaving, it was certainly gratifying to have so many social things to do before I left. It’s always the case that you don’t really know what you have until it is gone, and I was finding that to be the case as my time in Sydney drew to a close.

Kayaking in Bundeena on an unseasonably gorgeous July day. Photo by Fallon Fehringer

But it’s more than friends I’m grateful for. I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to be young and healthy and in love in the greatest city in Australia. I’m grateful for the chance to learn to surf in Dee Why, explore the Blue Mountains, kayak in Sydney, and find new and exciting restaurants and bars. I’m grateful that I got to wake up to the sun blazing in through my wall length window in the summer and that I got to curl up on the couch with a pretty girl in the winter. I’m grateful that I got to see the Opera House every morning on my way to work and see the gaudy lights of Luna Park every night on my way home. I’m glad for races run on iconic beaches and bridges climbed. Glad for nights spent singing myself hoarse at Shark Bar and evenings spent having quiet post work beers at The Madison or Strawberry Hills.

Drunken times at the Madison with my boss and my best friend from work
Posing on Bondi Beach after finishing the 2010 City 2 Surf
Atop the Sydney Harbour Bridge in October

I’m grateful that I’ve got a new adventure on the horizon and, after the sadness passes and the healing is done, I might someday be able to share Sydney with another girl. I’m grateful that I got to end two fantastic years on such a high note. Who else gets to end their relationship after two of the best weeks in it? After two weeks of zorbing and exploring and lounging on beaches and eating delicious food?

I’m grateful for so many things, and as I felt the plane surge underneath me and I left Australian soil once again – I was grateful for the adventures that lay ahead, and the knowledge that Australia is always going to be there for me.

And isn’t that one of the best parts of traveling? Being able to come back to a place you love and people who care about you.

I know it is for me.

Fiji

Going Native on Kuata

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The final days of our Fijian trip were meant to be spent on the well reviewed Waya Lailai Eco Resort. I certainly saw a lot that was charming as we approached. The local piloting our boat from the Yasawa Flier to the island yawped wildly at the sea as we bounced over increasingly large swells in the stormy waters. There wasn’t a one of us who wasn’t drenched by the time we reached the shore, and all the while the driver had screamed “Happy New Year” with delirious joy.

Looking across from Kuata to Waya Lailai

The walk to the resort took us along a seaweed strewn beach by the local village, and kids in little more than their underpants rushed out to wave shyly at us as we lugged our belongings towards the more up-market part of the island. For an eco resort I spotted quite a few discarded bottles and wrappers along the beach, but I was prepared to give the place the benefit of the doubt.

But Waya Lailai’s charms didn’t extend beyond that walk – as we found they’d not only lost our request to upgrade our rooms to private rooms, but they’d lost our reservations entirely! Thankfully neighboring Kuata is run by the same village and had private rooms available, so we piled into the boat once again alongside a Frenchman and a cheerful German for the ride across the channel.

Much like Waya Lailai, Kuata specializes in offering a more ‘local’ feel to the resort. Children weave their way between bures while their parents string out washing to dry or work on the many renovations needed on the older buildings. The sole white employee, a mildly obnoxious American who regaled us with his belief that the US should invade Canada ‘for Canada’s own good’, seems to do little more than lounge around in a hammock and hit on drunk girls. Power to him – he’s clearly found his niche.

Our room. Not nearly as nice on the inside.

We hadn’t been expecting the lap of luxury from our private rooms, but Dominik and Bronte were less than impressed at what amounted to little more than a shed with a bed in it. The room was lit red like an Amsterdam cat-house, and while Leigh and I enjoyed slightly more lavish accommodations – the way the toilet violently vomited water whenever it was flushed rendered our bathroom useless. Not that either of us much fancied standing on the mossy tiles while ice cold water drizzled tamely from the nozzle.

The garishly colored meal hall. Site of good times

The meal hall is similarly extravagant. Sheet iron blockades one of the three exits, the bar is almost always out of something, and the motley collection of tables and chairs are what you’d expect to find at a community bake sale rather than an island resort. The food ranges from bland to decent – but it’s plentiful, and the locals hawk souvenirs available on the mainland for $10 at a steeper price of $20. The massage I paid $20 for was done with cooking oil that left me smelling like a dirty fry pan, and the village tour we signed up for never even went ahead.

The cave market features a 100% mark-up. Be warned

I’m painting a grim picture, and there’s a reason for that. I had a lot of fun on Kuata. In fact, I had the best time I had in Fiji there. But I don’t want you going there expecting luxury. Your bed will be comfortable enough, you’ll not starve, and you’ll get plenty of sun – but you’re not going to be pampered. If you flinch away from a dirty toilet or a potentially tetanus causing piece of metal – you’re going to hate Kuata.

Precocious Jack was a favorite with all of us

If you like friendly staff, partying with the locals, and bonding with the other guests because drinking is the best way to spend the day – you’re going to be in for a treat.

Heather and Lucy posing with their favorite local
Heather and Lucy posing with their favorite local

My first night on Kuata was a blur of cheap beers, kava shared with the staff, and ribald stories shared with two Germans and an Englishman. We four stayed up until the wee hours drinking and playing stupid games of “I Never” and “Truth or Dare”. The Englishman ran two naked laps around the meal hall; I damaged my knee attempting to chug while standing on my head; and the German gal tried her best to stave off the drunken advances of myself and the Englishman.

I’m ashamed to say she succeeded.

Although I did sweep her off her feet...

Our next day on the island saw the arrival of a massive group of University students on some kind of volunteer program. Individually a lot of them were quite lovely – including a Portuguese Australian gal who will be appearing on this site soon with her account of things, but as a group they seemed to steamroll over us laid back ‘locals’ and take control of the entire island. Those few of us who weren’t in the large group bonded over the experience – sneaking duty free liquor back to one of the dorms and drinking ourselves stupid until the crowd died down.

Then it was back to the meal hall for countless bowls of kava with the locals, some of whom then came down to the beach with us for late night drinks and canoodling. These local lads have it down to a fine art, and neither of them went home without at least a kiss from the starstruck girls they’d turned their sites on. Me? I stared up at the stars and played chaperon – and earned myself an open invite to stay with the families of the two lads in question should I ever return to Fiji for my troubles.

We're treated to a meke (or tribal dance) performance
Max prepares the kava

Our third day on the island dawned with me nursing a nasty hangover and wondering why I had a condom stuck to my back. A used condom full of a suspiciously white substance. With doors to rooms not locking I had suspicions that some drunken couple had partaken in some midnight delight in my bed, but the snickers of my brothers stopped me from filing a formal complaint. Their mixture of spit, shampoo, and hand soap had fooled me. Bastards.

My brother is a jerk

Still, we’d all grown tired of cold showers and passable food by this point and wanted something resembling luxury. We packed up our hand-made jewelry and over-priced souvenirs and bade farewell to the cool people we’d met on the island. Whether they were fellow guests or friendly locals, the experience had been made by the people on the island and not the facilities.

We might have traded in our final night there for hot showers at Smuggler’s Cove and a decadent meal at Hard Rock – but I’ll always have fond memories of Kuata. It was far from luxurious, but damned if it wasn’t fun.

Life on the Road, Musings

My 2011 New Year’s Resolutions

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I have a mixed history with new year’s resolutions. Last year, for example, I achieved just one of them – and that was to visit two new countries. You can read all about my adventures in Fiji and New Zealand elsewhere on the site. But my others were to run a half marathon, lose 10kgs, achieve a Distinction average in my degree, and finish a novel. I failed admirably on all accounts.

I quit my degree when I got a full time job, managed maybe 16,000 words of my novel, actually gained weight, and the closest I got to that half marathon was the 14km City 2 Surf in August.

So, it’s with renewed determination that I attack this year’s lofty goals. Some are travel related, some are just personal goals, and a few are just silly bucket list style things that I don’t actually imagine will happen. But it’d be nice if they did.

Here goes!

Run a half marathon

Fallon and I post City 2 Surf

I came achingly close to achieving this in 2010, but shin splints and an attack of laziness meant that I all but stopped running once Fallon and I had completed the City 2 Surf. She went on to run the half marathon of the Sydney Running Festival, whilst my exercise that day involved walking from the station to the finish line so that I could photograph her achievement. The look on her face when she was done reminded me why I love running – sure it can be monotonous and even torturous, but it’s totally worth it when you get that dizzying elation that some call runner’s high.

I’m currently working my way back up to fitness (my longest run so far this year was a shade under 6k on my last night in Australia) and my aim is to run the half marathon portion of the Jeju Marathon later this year. I’m sad that I can’t use my iPhone’s very cool Run Keeper app to help with my training, but all is not lost. As soon as I recover my Nike Plus chip I can use that. In the meantime I’ll just run and use Google Maps to help me figure out distances like in the old days.

Achieve a Distinction average in my Masters

I’m currently enrolled to begin my Master of Applied Linguistics (TESOL) in February through the University of New England. This will be my third attempt at post-graduate studies after twice dropping out of an education degree due to real life proving too much for me while I attempted to complete external study. Self motivation is something I’ve found hard to come by in the past.

To ensure that I don’t get burned out I’ve opted to go part time for my first semester and see how I go, meaning that I only have the one unit to contend with. If I can’t make the time for that, maybe external study just isn’t for me.

The plus to getting my Masters is that it will basically count as a CELTA for ESL teaching purposes – opening up the world beyond Asia for me, and ensuring I can fetch a fatter pay packet here in the Land of the Morning Calm.

For those not familiar with the Australian marking system – a Distinction average means getting a result of 75-85 in all of my assessments. Very achievable

Get down to 90kgs

Although I’m undoubtedly fitter than I have been since my high school days, weight wise I’m actually nearing an all time high. I nosed up over 100kgs while I was on vacation in Fiji and the process of whittling it back down was not made easier by my final week in Australia basically being one big party. Now that I’m back in Korea, I’m hoping I can find a balance between binge drinking and eating healthy. The running should help too.

For those curious, I’m using My Fitness Pal to track my calories and activities. I’ve used Spark People in the past and found it to also be quite good. I also get quite a bit of inspiration from Fallon’s Healthy Life, although she’s not updated since leaving Australia.

Visit at least two new countries

I added New Zealand and Fiji to my list of countries visited in 2010, and I’m hoping to add Malaysia and the Philippines to that list in 2011. Why? I’m a sucker for a tropical paradise, even if my recent trip to Fiji wasn’t all that I’d hoped it would be on that front. My own fault for opting to visit during the rainy season.

The other reason for visits to the above countries would be to do some scuba diving, which I’ve become quite enamored of since getting my license last year. Other candidates for a visit include India, Thailand, Mongolia, and maybe eastern Russia. I’ve always been intrigued by Vladivostok.

Learn to ski

Skiing isn’t exactly an easy passtime to pursue in Australia, although there’s good skiing to be had in the aptly named Snowy Mountains every winter. A lot of my friends also take trips up to Japan when they feel the need for some really top quality skiing or snow-boarding. But the deepest snow I’ve ever encountered didn’t even manage to hit my knees, so skiing is something I’ve yet to have the pleasure of doing.

I’m aiming to change that this year. South Korea has a large number of ski resorts and Japan is a short three hour ferry ride away, so a weekend trip (see below) isn’t out of the question. In 2010 I added the ocean to regions of a country I can explore, and I’d love to add those snow capped peaks.

Spend a weekend in Japan

I was lucky enough to spend a few days in Fukuoka in 2009 while I was on a visa run and fell in love with the country. While it shares quite a few similarities with South Korea, there’s a lot of differences as well. I was completely surprised by the serenity of Sumiyoshi temple in the heart of the bustling city, and I found the Japanese people to be quite a bit friendlier than their Korean neighbors. I’ve always been fascinated with Japanese culture, and there’s something to be said for the beauty of their women and the abundance of technological gadgets for a big kid like myself.

Busan airport has regular flights heading to Japan, and there’s also ferries that cut across the Sea of Japan (or East Sea as Koreans call it) in either three hours or overnight depending on your budget and your preference. I’d particularly like to see Tokyo, Hiroshima, and maybe even do some scuba diving or skiing.

Learn to speak and read Korean

It’s a source of great embarassment for me that I’ve lived in South Korea for two years and still don’t read the language. Hangeul is criminally easy to learn so there’s really been no excuse. While I do speak some survival Korean, I’d love to be able to converse with locals in their own tongue rather than relying on their broken English and my frantic gesturing. My mother would also appreciate it if I could bring home a pretty Korean girl to make cute Korean grand-children for her, although I’m fairly certain she’s going to end up disappointed on that front.

While in Sydney I did begin to take lessons with an expat who was quite organized, but the cost proved too much while I was saving for the big New Zealand/Fiji trip. I also participated in a language exchange that resulted in meeting my good friend Martin. Oddly enough, he’s a Busan local – so we’ll be able to hang out together when he returns in June.

Finish a novel

This one appears every year, and every year I fail abysmally. While I love travel and would love to someday land a gig as a fully paid travel writer, my oldest ambition has always been to publish a novel and make a living from my imagination. I’ve finished one novel – a somewhat sentimental bit of post break up angst by the name of Letting Go – but ever since then I’ve struggled to find the motivation and dedication needed to weave and write a complex story. I’ve got the beginnings of a good half dozen in my head and on my computer, so it’s just a matter of knuckling down and finishing.

I’d also like to complete Nanowrimo this year – having started and failed for three consecutive years now.

Earn more money on my site than I did in 2010

I made a colossal $85 from sponsored posts in 2010. I’ve yet to receive it though, so I’m dangerously close to naming and shaming the offending company for failing to live up to their end of the bargain. I want to earn more. ‘Nuff said.

Have a one night stand

Such a lofty ambition! I’ve actually never had a one night stand, and while I don’t necessarily want to make a habit of having them, I’m all about life experience and the awkwardness of a morning after is something I’ve yet to experience. Not that it sounds like something I’d relish.

Have a threesome

I wouldn’t be male without including this on my list. Believe it or not, I once turned one down and will forever berate myself for doing it. I don’t realistically expect to ever achieve it, but it’d make for a cool thing to drink to in a game of ‘I Never’.

Learn to enjoy my time alone

If I had to take just one thing away from my relationship with Fallon, it’s that I need to learn to be a person outside of my relationship. Too often in the past I’ve gone into a relationship as a person with their own friends and interests and almost immediately shrugged them all off in favor of living for my partner. In 2009 when I met Fallon I had a very close group of mates I spent time with regularly, a Dungeons & Dragons game that was a lot of fun, and had started up a theater group in Gwangju. All of that fell by the wayside as I took up running, healthy living, and photography as a part of my relationship with Fallon.

And I don’t want it to seem like this was her doing. It’s something I’ve always done – abandoning my single persona and adopting a completely new one. I’m of the firm belief that you need to be happy on your own before you can be truly happy in a relationship, and while I was undoubtedly happy in my relationship with Fallon, I’m also painfully aware that I too often let my ‘old life’ be replaced by the shiny new one. I’m lucky that my friends were all loyal enough to still be around when it came to an end, because in hindsight I was not the best friend.

So, 2011 is all about discovering exactly who it is I am and what it is that I enjoy. Which things can I take from my time with Fallon and still enjoy without her encouragement? Which forgotten hobbies do I still have an interest in? These are all questions I’ll be hoping to answer as the year goes on. Part of the reason I chose a new town this year was so I could do this without too much of my old life biasing things.

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So there you have it. You’ve seen my goals, and I’d love to hear what you’re hoping to achieve in 2011. Comment and let me know!

Accommodation, Fiji, Scuba

Cyclone Warning at Mantaray

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Squalling winds and torrential rain are our constant companions on our three night stay at Mantaray Island. The oppressive sky overhead is a startling contrast to the clear skies and bright sun we were treated to at Mango Bay. I’d have to work twice as hard to get half as sunburned as I did in my five days there.

Our beachfront bure lives up to its name. The pleasantly blue-green water laps soothingly on a coral strewn beach just ten steps from where our staircase ends. Grant and I warily eye the single Queen sized bed that the room boasts. Neither of us much fancies being little spoon.

“He’s not really my type,” I tell the lady who escorted us to our room. She laughs without restraint.

“Don’t worry,” she assures us, “We will bring a mattress for tonight and move you to a double room tomorrow”.

After dorm life, we are in the lap of luxury. Grant slumps into the beanbag and I “ooh” and “aah” at the spacious bathroom. At first I’m put off by the biodegradable toilet, but no trace of foul odor wafts up from below. The shower might be cold, but it’s clean and it’s private. It’s totally worth the girlish squeals it elicits from we two burly men.

Beautiful Mantaray Island. Photo by controvento

The distant beating of drums summons us to lunch. A moderately steep climb means you well and truly ern your al a carte lunch. A chalkboard menu gives us eight options, although I’m dismayed to see my first choice wiped off before I have a chance to order. I settle for the surprisingly good fish burger instead. There are near orgasmic moans from my group as they wolf down their beef burgers or personal pizzas. Thumbs go up around the table.

After our lunch and some ice cold sodas we retire to our rooms. Sleep comes shortly after, but we’re alert enough to be back up at the dining area before the drums beat for dinner. Tonight is a Fijian lovo (earth oven) buffet, and by the time the drum does beat we’re already well into a rousing game of ‘Asshole’.

It’s perhaps not as good as the lovo Fallon and I enjoyed on Robinson Crusoe Island. The chicken is mostly bone and the salad dishes are uniformly flavorless. But the Kokoda is flavorful and the mush of spinach and corn beef is surprisingly good. My brothers love the vegetarian curry and we all return for seconds of the scone like rolls. Buffet rules mean we’re all satisfied by meals end, but that doesn’t stop us from grabbing overpriced chocolate bars for the road.

Our game of asshole resumes in earnest, and we’re soon joined by a pair of criminally good looking Swedes. Nat and Matt met just before she moved to Australia to study English, and their long distance romance has culminated in this trip through Fiji and Australia.

They explain that in Sweden, ‘Asshole’ has a different name. I know it’s called ‘Presidents and Assholes’ in the US, but I’m shocked to hear that it’s known as ‘President and Nigger’ in the Scandinavian country.

More drums call us away from the dining hall and back to the beachside bar. The rain is bucketing down as we run down slippery steps.

“We’re having a wet t-shirt contest,” boasts Natalie as she and a pair of Aussie girls arrive breathless at the covered beach-side lounge.

The Fijian dance (or Meke) is quite similar to what Fallon and I saw at the Mitai Maori show in Rotorua, although the singing is more melodic. The men take great pleasure in getting in the faces of pretty girls and watching then squeal, while the women seek out the shyest looking men to coax onto the dancefloor.

“Shake it baby!” they saucily shout at we awkward foreigners as we shuffle about the floor.

Soon it’s time for the snake dance (similar to a conga line), and we are all on our feet to dance out into the rain and back into shelter. Some get more into it than others, and I can’t help but feel the night could well have devolved into drunken foolishness were it not for the wind and rain.

The traditional Fijian farewell song brings an end to things. It’s haunting in its beauty, singing not only of sadness and longing but also joy in the time spent together. It is a fitting example of Fiji’s open and loving culture.

Hands are shaken and vinaka (thank you) said, and then we’re left to our own devices. The weather has clearly dampened spirits. Most head off to their bures or dormitories, and those of us who remain are sedate despite the upbeat music and nearby bar.

My group and the Swedish couple play ‘Asshole’ well into the evening. Vonu flows and so do stories of must see Sydney sights and places to scuba dive in Europe and northern Africa. Before we part ways we exchange contact info. I’m told to let them know when I am in Sweden so they can take me skiing, and I make them promise to visit Hart’s Pub when they are next in Sydney.

Our first day at Mantaray is over, and with a cyclone warning for the area, our hopes of sun-baking and dominating beach volleyball seem all but dashed. But the house reef is a short paddle off shore and card games work better when it’s wet outside.

I doze off to the sound of rain and the ocean lapping at the shore. Despite my lingering sadness over parting ways with my best friend and girlfriend of two years – I’m in a good place.

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The view from Mantaray Island's dining hall. Photo by Hector Garcia

It’s 8.30pm on our last night at Mantaray and the ever present wind and rain provide a pleasant soundtrack to tonight’s lazing about. Our buffet dinner sits heavy in our bellies and sleep doesn’t seem too far off.

Despite the torrid conditions, we’ve managed to have a good time on the island. Our second day began with us skipping breakfast in favor of an early morning snorkel. Despite being told the reef was just offshore, it’s still a surprise to dip our heads into the water and see the vibrant colors of coral and the fish that call the reef home. Even on the Barrier Reef I didn’t see such an array of aquatic life.

A strong current tugs us along the beach and we let it do the work for us. Beneath us a tapestry of the brightest colors unfolds on the sandy bottom. Grant is befriended by an inquisitive clownfish while I take a not so secret pleasure in pointing out various fish that I recognize from my dives on the Great Barrier Reef last October.

As we near the end of the resort’s stretch of beach we make our way to shore, walk back to where we began, and wade eagerly back in to do it all again.

Later that night we gather in the covered bar for the evening’s entertainment – pitching in $1 each to sponsor a hermit crab in the crab race. My charge is a plucky and unbelievably fast little guy, but he predictably gets stage fright when the race begins. None of our group win, but Grant and I find that our crustacean companions make admirable wingmen as we strike up a conversation with a trio of pretty girls from northern NSW. I soon splinter off to chat with a Norweigan sports journalist – a girl whose knowledge of football is perhaps the best I’ve ever encountered.

While we discuss the plight of woman’s football the limbo competition begins, and it’s one of my Australian compatriots who wins the guest competition. The resort’s impossibly flexible South African dive instructor takes out the overall prize and does it in fine style. His beer never once leaves his hand.

The crowd filters out as the night wears on, and soon Grant and I remain along with the trio of Aussie girls and a pair of American med students. Games of shithead and recounts of past embarassing stories are lubricated by a seemingly endless stream of cold beers interspersed with shots of vodka.

One of the med students is particularly taken with the only one of the girls in a relationship and finds her continued resistance to his drunken advances most agitating. It all ends in tears when she upends a bottle if water over his head. The last time I saw him he was curled up asleep in the corner with the radio held close to his chest.

I shouldn’t make fun of him. The closest I get to romance is an intimate moment I share with the sand after I drunkenly fall out of a hammock.

It’s fun all the same.

Sunday dawns with Leigh, Dominik, and Bronte attempting to kayak in the rough waters. It’s all going well until Dom goes to check on Bronte. She accidentally catches him in the back of his head with her oar and sends him tumbling into the warm water. Leigh has the presence of mind to intercept his rogue kayak, but the wind has picked up and soon he’s being whisked out to sea.

Dominik swims to shore and races along the beach hoping to cut Leigh off but it’s a hopeless cause. Leigh relinquishes his grip on the pilotless vessel and comes in to shore where the staff make short work of retrieving the misplaced kayak.

Later that afternoon I’m lolling in a hammock when the resort’s dive instructor stops by to see if we were interested in a dive. My laziness is pushed back by a sudden desire to do something exciting, and before too long I’m riding out through choppy waters to a spot a few dozen meters offshore.

It’s remarkable how quickly I remember all I learned in Cairns last year, and I eagerly help out Grant and Leigh as they familiarize themselves with their equipment.

We enter the water at a roll and after the two rookies are given some pointers, we drift slowly towards the sandy seafloor. There’s driving rain and howling wind in the world above, but we’re submerged in pleasantly warm waters showing no signs of the turmoil above. The serenity is beautiful.

There’s no need for wetsuits as we explore the coral rich house reef. We spot moray eels, lion fish, and even a white tip reef shark during our journey – although Leigh and Grant don’t get to do much sight-seeing as they struggle to master the difficulties of maintaining buoyancy.


A friendly white tip reef shark stopped by to say hello. Photo by Boogies with Fish

Our dive lasts half an hour and goes to a depth of ten meters, and it’s over all too soon. The look of excitement in Leigh’s eyes is perhaps matched by my own. I’d perhaps worried that I’d slip into old habits without Fallon and her boundless enthusiasm, but here I was fresh off my first dive since attaining my certification. I may yet do another at our final stop – Waya Lailai.

Our final night on the island is another drunken one. What starts out as my brothers and I having a drink in honor of my parent’s 29th wedding anniversary turns into a marathon Phase 10 session. That in turn becomes drinking until the wee hours as Grant and I again team up with the trio of Aussie girls, the med students, and a pair of business students from New York. Card games, dreadful shooters, random conversations, and peanut fights ensue. By 2am I’m too tired to continue and so I make promises to be at breakfast that I’m 90% sure I won’t keep. It’s now 2am and I resist the urge to add to an already bloated phone bill by shooting out a swarm of drunken text messages.

The weather hasn’t been agreeable, but Mantaray Island certainly has. I could spend several more weeks here exploring the multitude of dive sites that lay nearby, and there’s a definite charm to the rainforest lined paths that lead between bures.

The staff have quickly learned our names and seem genuinely happy to see us whenever we meet. While the facilities might not be as lavish as those at Mango Bay, there’s a lot to be said for the pleasant blend of friendliness and pride here that was lacking on the Coral Coast. I’ll be sad to leave tomorrow when the Yasawa Flier comes to whisk us away to the final island paradise if our trip.