The Brown Knowser

It's time. Tomorrow marks the eighth anniversary of The Brown Knowser . One thousand, eight hundred, and seventy published posts. More than 376,000 views (almost 4,000 views, on average, each month: this month, I was stunned to learn that my blog topped 10,000 views for the first time in almost two years).  I am eternally grateful for all of my readers and followers. But now, I have to stop. At least, for a time. A week ago, I visited my doctor because I found that my short-term memory was failing me, among other things. I'm constantly exhausted, both mentally and physically, and my anxiety levels are through the roof. I already know that I suffer from depression. It's not something I talk about, not even with family and close friends, but some days I find myself paralyzed, unable to get myself out of bed or off the sofa. It doesn't last long, no more than a day or two, but these days I've been fighting it to the point that my mind becomes scattered and I ...

It was my first evening in South Korea, and I had been re-energized by a 90-minute nap after having travelled for about 18 hours. I had time travelled 13 hours into the future (by Ottawa standards), and I didn't want to waste any more time. One of my non-negotiable night walks in Seoul was the Cheonggyecheon Canal, a stream that runs for nearly 11 kilometres from west to east in the heart of the city. This stream had been covered over after the Korean War, during the city's restructuring. It was uncovered and built into a water park that runs below the streets in 2005. Today, it's a massive draw for tourists like me and the city's residents. On a Saturday night, the waterway was packed with families with their young children, couples on a date, and friends out on the town. Folks were strolling, sitting by the stream, or taking selfies in front of the illuminated pieces of art that hovered above the water. I had seen images on Google Maps' street view, but the ...

On my last evening in Korea, I had returned to Seoul, from where I would head back to the Incheon International Airport and eventually, home. I had done all I wanted to do in Chŏnju, had all the information that I wanted to gather, and was ready to say goodbye to the country that had been my home from 1997 to 1999. Actually, that's not quite true: I didn't do everything that I wanted to do in Chŏnju. I didn't climb Namgosan, the hill on the south end of the city, just a short hike from the neighbourhood in which I was staying. On that hill there were the remains of a fortress wall, a temple—Namgosansa—and a commanding view of Chŏnju. The view in 1997. In my first year, on summer afternoons when I had several hours to kill between classes, I would climb this hill and walk past the temple, along some of the remaining stones from the wall, find a cluster of trees that would offer shade from the burning sun, and relax as I watched the city move below me. I sometimes eve...

When I lived in Chŏnju, South Korea, from 1997 to 1999, one of the things that DW and I loved to do was get away from the city on the weekends. We would travel, by bus, or sometimes in a vehicle with our Korean friends, to the various temples, mountains, and other sites throughout the small country. One of our favourite places to visit, if we didn't want to stray too far, was to the far side of Moaksan (Moak Mountain), to the southwest of Chŏnju, to Korea's only three-tiered temples, Kumsansa (now spelled Geumsansa ). Built around 600 AD, the original structure was burned down following the 1592 Japanese invasion and rebuilt in 1632. This is the main temple that still exists to this day. When DW and I would go to Kumsansa, we would either go by car (our hagwon , or language institute, had a car that was available to the teachers), by scooter (we each bought one in our second year), or by bus. It would take 20 minutes by car, a half an hour by scooter, or just under an hou...

I'm a big-time people watcher. I love to observe others, casually, as they come and go on the journey of their own lives. Sometimes, I try to imagine what motivates them on their journey, what is going on in their heads. I invent a story to accompany their actions. While I was in South Korea, I had plenty of opportunities to watch people, especially when I was sitting at a table in a restaurant, eating. Whether I was observing fellow patrons at their own tables or watching pedestrians walking past the restaurant window, I saw a lot of brisk activity over the eight short days in this far-away country. I was hungry for duk-kalbi, a barbecue beef that is wrapped in lettuce and popped into your mouth. From my Airbnb room, I searched Google for the closest restaurant that served this food. It was in the centre of the touristy Hanok Village, less than a 10-minute walk away. I grabbed my smartphone and headed out. The menu was not suited to a single person, dining alone. I ordered m...

In late 1996, when DW and I started making plans for our first trip to Korea, we went to the embassy, on Boteler Street, to enquire about work visas. It was there that we learned that the E-2 work visas for South Korea are actually processed out of the consulate, in Toronto. But as we spoke with a representative, we were asked which city we would be working in. When we answered "Chŏnju," we were met with a smile. "Ah, the epicurean capital of Korea," we were told. "You'll eat well." The man at the Korean embassy was so right. On my recent return to Chŏnju (I'm still recovering from the jet lag), as part of my research for my upcoming novel, Gyeosunim , I wanted to experience the food that I loved from 1997 to 1999. Sure, we have at least one really good Korean restaurant in Ottawa , but if I was going to gather other information, I might as well immerse myself in the culinary treasures that the city had to offer. I made the decision, befo...