Note to Grammar Nazis (Ahem Lauren White and Margo Staffen) - All grammar errors are intentional.
The Greater Kudu (Tragelaphus strepsiceros) is among the Eastern Cape's greatest pride and joy when it comes to hunting and magnificence, and has been nicknamed "Ghost of Africa". A kudu can stand dead still for minutes on end, he can appear from nowhere when you're not looking and when he runs man alive he will move it. One master marksman hunter can often be heard saying "When a kudu's running, you've got to aim TWO Isuzu bakkies ahead of the thing if you want biltong in your fridge, swaer!" when talking about how to hunt these animals. Other Lower Albany hunters will recount a story of their favorite kudu bull hunt with a glint in their eye not dissimilar to the foil that wraps the neck of his/her favorite barley beverage. Such stories, be they about walk-'n-stalk or 'driven' hunts, usually contain expressions such as "He disappeared like a pip out a pineapple" and "He was gawn (gone)" only to be later refuted by the storyteller with comments like "And next thing he was there on the ooother side of the valley" or "He came out of the bush going like the klappers" ('helluva fast'). Well I tell you, the bus system in Korea shares a few common traits with that of the Tragelaphus strepsiceros. They unexpectedly appear from absolutely nowhere and they'll come past you going like the klappers. Before you've even finished saying "Hyell's teeth that bus is buggering off queeckly" it'll be gawn around the corner. Unlike the Greater Kudu a Korean bus will halt for potential passengers. This can be done with two important facts in mind. Passengers must be A) standing at a bus stop and B) jutting one arm out to signal intention to climb aboard that specific bus's loop route. You see, Korea's public transport system covers as wide a range as possible which means there is more than one bus-route on which one can climb aboard.
So anyway I was at a bus stop with my co-worker Sebastian last Friday waiting for Bus 20, a bus whose route goes past this fantastic place called Braai Republic. Apparently it is supposed to be a 'home away from home' for South Africans. We jumped onto Bus 20 and Sebastian couldn't wait to see my reaction to this place because he "loves it there but he's never had a South African friend to confirm the joint's authenticity". We jumped off Bus 20 and stepped into a neighborhood of rock bars, foreign restaurants, cobbled streets and electronics stores. None of those mattered when we arrived at Braai Republic, though, because before we'd even climbed the stairs to get to the joint's second floor lodging we were beset with a blown-up poster listing South Africa's eleven greetings. Then we entered and the place had everything except a photo of Francois Pienaar holding the '95 World Cup (the one with Nelson Mandela at his side, though there are photos hanging elsewhere of Madiba dressed in his Xhosa regalia). The main bar had trophy mounts of a warthog and waterbuck. In the private booth across from the bar was a gemsbok boytjie, and not far from that was a panoramic, silhouetted shot of Table Mountain at sunset. But-oh-my-living-and-last-but-not-least what did we find on the balcony except the finest taxidermied trophy kudu bull in all of Korea. The majestic animal stilled my soul. Sebastian briefly scrutinised my strange silence and irritably woke me from my daze by saying, "Dude, it's just an animal and I'm hungry so let's eat." We sat down and were greeted by Louis, the owner of the establishment and expat from Cape Town, who then offered the first round of drinks on the house to say "Welcome, fellow South African". Louis handed us menus and asked us what drinks we wanted. Of course I was going to get a genuinely South African beer, but unfortunately the list of genuinely South African beers was short. One, to be exact. I ordered it in spite of not being a big fan of the beverage but couldn't deny that it was the best damned Castle Lager dumpie I've ever had. The Lamb chops and Sweet mashed potatoes that followed were bleddy mooi ('exceptionally nice'). Needless to say Sebastian was pretty chuffed that the Braai Republic lived up to its name. At ninety rand (6000 Won) a beer, though, in future I'll be spending only very special occasions at the establishment, like Test Rugby or a few overs of Test Cricket.
My first week in PyeongTaek, Republic of Korea, has been a largely uneventful one, with most of my time being spent on finding my bearings and getting used to the surroundings. I live a sweat-inducing two hundred meters from the school at which I'm working, so the walk is neither strenuous nor difficult in physical/navigational requirements. And right across the road from the school (Hagwon) sits a 7Eleven (the very same one), so a sandwich and a Soju (20% alcoholic beverage sold in all quickstores) is an arm's reach away. There is no such thing as a liquor store here. Booze is sold in almost all food stores. RIght, back to the school. A Hagwon, for those who are interested, is a schooling institute aimed at providing a specific, focused extramural education to kids. A Hagwon can teach anything from violin to taekwondo. The kids I work with range from six to twelve years of age, and some of them are well beyond the level of second-language English that you'd come to expect from kids that age. Weird thing, though, Koreans count their age a differently than us Western people. We count our age according to how long it has been since birth. Koreans start counting your age from when you are conceived. Then there's the amount of time the little tykes spend per day at a desk. They will have had normal school before coming to this Hagwon. So these 'seven-but-actually-six' year olds not only start school at an earlier age than us, they also spend more time behind a desk per day. Sheesh. For the most part, the kids are energetic, engaging and enthusiastic about class which makes all the difference.
The first weekend, much like my first week, was a plentifully chilled one. I spent my first Saturday walking to a local Lotte Mart (the Makro or Game of Korea) to buy a WiFi router for my room. The Lotte Mart in question is only two kilometers of walking, but I tell you it felt a lot further than that. That little walk reminded me of a short story Herman Charles Bosman wrote (the name of which escapes me). No mooi man. So anyway I managed to buy this router and was heading for home when I happened upon what looked like a farmer's market. There were stalls and food vendors everywhere. It was impossible to stop myself from making a little excursion around the weekend market square. Unfortunately there was no biltong, no pancakes, no paintings of outdoor scenery, no wooden sculptures. It was more like a secondhand fete of the thrift-shopping sort for children's purpose toys, clothing, accessories, education and what-nots. Oh well, you win some you lose some.
Korea is a chilled place.
The Greater Kudu (Tragelaphus strepsiceros) is among the Eastern Cape's greatest pride and joy when it comes to hunting and magnificence, and has been nicknamed "Ghost of Africa". A kudu can stand dead still for minutes on end, he can appear from nowhere when you're not looking and when he runs man alive he will move it. One master marksman hunter can often be heard saying "When a kudu's running, you've got to aim TWO Isuzu bakkies ahead of the thing if you want biltong in your fridge, swaer!" when talking about how to hunt these animals. Other Lower Albany hunters will recount a story of their favorite kudu bull hunt with a glint in their eye not dissimilar to the foil that wraps the neck of his/her favorite barley beverage. Such stories, be they about walk-'n-stalk or 'driven' hunts, usually contain expressions such as "He disappeared like a pip out a pineapple" and "He was gawn (gone)" only to be later refuted by the storyteller with comments like "And next thing he was there on the ooother side of the valley" or "He came out of the bush going like the klappers" ('helluva fast'). Well I tell you, the bus system in Korea shares a few common traits with that of the Tragelaphus strepsiceros. They unexpectedly appear from absolutely nowhere and they'll come past you going like the klappers. Before you've even finished saying "Hyell's teeth that bus is buggering off queeckly" it'll be gawn around the corner. Unlike the Greater Kudu a Korean bus will halt for potential passengers. This can be done with two important facts in mind. Passengers must be A) standing at a bus stop and B) jutting one arm out to signal intention to climb aboard that specific bus's loop route. You see, Korea's public transport system covers as wide a range as possible which means there is more than one bus-route on which one can climb aboard.
So anyway I was at a bus stop with my co-worker Sebastian last Friday waiting for Bus 20, a bus whose route goes past this fantastic place called Braai Republic. Apparently it is supposed to be a 'home away from home' for South Africans. We jumped onto Bus 20 and Sebastian couldn't wait to see my reaction to this place because he "loves it there but he's never had a South African friend to confirm the joint's authenticity". We jumped off Bus 20 and stepped into a neighborhood of rock bars, foreign restaurants, cobbled streets and electronics stores. None of those mattered when we arrived at Braai Republic, though, because before we'd even climbed the stairs to get to the joint's second floor lodging we were beset with a blown-up poster listing South Africa's eleven greetings. Then we entered and the place had everything except a photo of Francois Pienaar holding the '95 World Cup (the one with Nelson Mandela at his side, though there are photos hanging elsewhere of Madiba dressed in his Xhosa regalia). The main bar had trophy mounts of a warthog and waterbuck. In the private booth across from the bar was a gemsbok boytjie, and not far from that was a panoramic, silhouetted shot of Table Mountain at sunset. But-oh-my-living-and-last-but-not-least what did we find on the balcony except the finest taxidermied trophy kudu bull in all of Korea. The majestic animal stilled my soul. Sebastian briefly scrutinised my strange silence and irritably woke me from my daze by saying, "Dude, it's just an animal and I'm hungry so let's eat." We sat down and were greeted by Louis, the owner of the establishment and expat from Cape Town, who then offered the first round of drinks on the house to say "Welcome, fellow South African". Louis handed us menus and asked us what drinks we wanted. Of course I was going to get a genuinely South African beer, but unfortunately the list of genuinely South African beers was short. One, to be exact. I ordered it in spite of not being a big fan of the beverage but couldn't deny that it was the best damned Castle Lager dumpie I've ever had. The Lamb chops and Sweet mashed potatoes that followed were bleddy mooi ('exceptionally nice'). Needless to say Sebastian was pretty chuffed that the Braai Republic lived up to its name. At ninety rand (6000 Won) a beer, though, in future I'll be spending only very special occasions at the establishment, like Test Rugby or a few overs of Test Cricket.
My first week in PyeongTaek, Republic of Korea, has been a largely uneventful one, with most of my time being spent on finding my bearings and getting used to the surroundings. I live a sweat-inducing two hundred meters from the school at which I'm working, so the walk is neither strenuous nor difficult in physical/navigational requirements. And right across the road from the school (Hagwon) sits a 7Eleven (the very same one), so a sandwich and a Soju (20% alcoholic beverage sold in all quickstores) is an arm's reach away. There is no such thing as a liquor store here. Booze is sold in almost all food stores. RIght, back to the school. A Hagwon, for those who are interested, is a schooling institute aimed at providing a specific, focused extramural education to kids. A Hagwon can teach anything from violin to taekwondo. The kids I work with range from six to twelve years of age, and some of them are well beyond the level of second-language English that you'd come to expect from kids that age. Weird thing, though, Koreans count their age a differently than us Western people. We count our age according to how long it has been since birth. Koreans start counting your age from when you are conceived. Then there's the amount of time the little tykes spend per day at a desk. They will have had normal school before coming to this Hagwon. So these 'seven-but-actually-six' year olds not only start school at an earlier age than us, they also spend more time behind a desk per day. Sheesh. For the most part, the kids are energetic, engaging and enthusiastic about class which makes all the difference.
The first weekend, much like my first week, was a plentifully chilled one. I spent my first Saturday walking to a local Lotte Mart (the Makro or Game of Korea) to buy a WiFi router for my room. The Lotte Mart in question is only two kilometers of walking, but I tell you it felt a lot further than that. That little walk reminded me of a short story Herman Charles Bosman wrote (the name of which escapes me). No mooi man. So anyway I managed to buy this router and was heading for home when I happened upon what looked like a farmer's market. There were stalls and food vendors everywhere. It was impossible to stop myself from making a little excursion around the weekend market square. Unfortunately there was no biltong, no pancakes, no paintings of outdoor scenery, no wooden sculptures. It was more like a secondhand fete of the thrift-shopping sort for children's purpose toys, clothing, accessories, education and what-nots. Oh well, you win some you lose some.
Korea is a chilled place.
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