The Amazing Shirt

It's probably the oldest shirt that I own. And I'm amazed that I can still fit into it.

In 1998, DW and I took a vacation to Thailand. We were teaching English in South Korea, and after my abduction, we felt that we needed a getaway. I was able to convince my administrators at Jeonju University that I needed more than the one week that my contract allowed, and my fellow English teachers agreed that they could fill in for my classes for the extra days.

We had a great time, visiting Bangkok, Krabi, in the southwest coast of the country, and the small island of Ko Pha-ngan, in the Gulf of Thailand, which wasn't nearly as developed as it is today; especially, on its northern shores.

I'll never forget our tiny hut, just a dozen steps from the beach, and the restaurant of the Star Huts, which was half as far and had a 24-page menu. Ah, to turn back time.

I saw the t-shirt in a touristy part of Bangkok, and even though the cotton was thick and the shirt a bit big for my then-small frame, I wanted it. The black shirt had colourful lettering, with a stylized eye at the top, and read Amazing Thailand 1998-1999.

It's a bit faded, and covered in cat hair.

I bought it but didn't wear it during the day, as the temperatures were too hot for the fabric. Instead, in the cool evenings, I wore it on the beach in Ko Pha-ngan.

Before DW and I returned home, to Canada, in March 1999, we returned to Thailand one more time. This time, we arrived from the south, in Malaysia, when we took a bus from Penang to Krabi.

We revisited Krabi and then made our way to the island of Ko Lanta, but after a couple of days on a muddy and rocky beach, we decided to return to Ko Pha-ngan and Star Huts (we even got our old hut from the year before).

Of course, I travelled with my Amazing Thailand t-shirt and wore it more often when we reached Chiang Mai, where the coolness of the mountains made me want to wear a thicker shirt.

When we returned to Canada, spring hadn't quite arrived, and I was thankful for this thick, cotton t-shirt. It was also a bit of a bragging piece of clothing, as some people, who saw me wear the shirt, would ask me if I had actually gone to Thailand.

"Yes," would be my smiling response. "Twice, actually."

As the t-shirt showed, I had been there in 1998 and 1999.

I went through a period when I didn't wear printed t-shirts. I liked solid colours with nothing on them. And I also didn't wear t-shirts without a buttoned shirt over top: especially, when heading out of the house. And so, my Thailand shirt would move to the back of my t-shirt drawer, only making an appearance as a sleep shirt or when I did chores around the house.

Over the years, I started wearing shirts with brewery labels on them, and I even bought three printed shirts from last year's Spamalot musical in Stratford. Having returned to wearing printed shirts, I dug to the back of my t-shirt drawer and retrieved my Thailand shirt, thinking that I had outgrown it and wouldn't fit into it. Perhaps one of my kids would want it as a sleep shirt, much like Kid 2 had taken over my Great Wall of China shirt many years ago.

But it fit, much to my surprise, even though it was large on me when I had first purchased it.

If I wear it out of the house and anyone asks me if I've been to Thailand, I'll have an answer at the ready.

"Yes, twice, in both 1998 and 1999."

Someday, perhaps, I'll go back.

Happy Thursday!

Silver and Gold

In late February, 1999, DW and I finished our second year of teaching English in South Korea. Not quite ready to return home, to Canada, we thought about where we would like to travel to as our last vacation before finding new jobs and starting the next phase in our lives.

That is, buying a home and getting busy starting a family.

Originally, we considered flying to Australia and exploring the land down-under. We also considered Hawaii, as we felt we'd never get a better opportunity to go.

But when we started adding up the cost of airfare, accommodation, and other expenses, we discovered that we could afford to either stay a week in Hawaii, two weeks in Australia, or a month in Southeast Asia.

We took curtain number three.

We worked out a travel package that gave us a great rate on three flights to anywhere in Southeast Asia, to be used within 30 days. We chose to fly from Seoul to Hong Kong, from Hong Kong to Singapore, and from Bangkok to Seoul. We'd travel throughout these three points before returning to Seoul, spending a few days with friends, and then flying home, to Ottawa.

We found a place to stay in Kowloon, across the Victoria Harbour from Hong Kong. The thing is, while we got a good deal on a five-star hotel, it was still really expensive for two backpacking travellers, so we planned to only stay in Hong Kong for 24 hours.

It was an action-packed 24 hours, visiting museums, visiting the top of Victoria Peak, eating good food, and taking lots of photos.

Hong Kong is a wonderous concrete jungle, with skyscrapers that stretch higher than we had ever seen before. It was a wonder and a shame, as the density of structures pretty much blocked out a lot of sunlight. It's easy to feel claustrophobic in Hong Kong.

Every once and a while, I remember our short stay in Hong Kong, before we continued on to Singapore, and DW and I still wish we had taken just one more day. But it wasn't until I started digging through my old photo storage drive, which I had mentioned earlier this week, that I found a folder with some scanned images of a roll of 35mm film from that brief visit.

I remembered some of the buildings, the glass and steel, and my eyes fell to one image that captured the density of the skyscrapers.

It looks like a closeup of one building, in silver and gold glass, but it's actually three buildings. The twin towers of buildings that look like they have panda bears climbing up them. Between and behind them, another glass tower gleams in gold.

I don't know that I'll ever return to Hong Kong. I'm doubtful that I'll return to China at all. All I can do is look at my old photos and remember the trip that wrapped up our two-year stay on the other side of the planet.

Happy Friday!

Same Old

I look at some old photos of myself and I think that I haven't changed much.

When I found this photo of me, lounging on the dock at my in-laws' cottage, I think that it couldn't have been that long ago. But then a couple of things strike me:

• I haven't worn that shirt in more than a decade. I bought it in Thailand, in 1998. But a few years after wearing it, I accidentally put it in the dryer and it shrunk to a size that wouldn't have fit me at my thinnest. I haven't seen it in more than 15 years.
• Same goes for the sunglasses. I haven't seen them in years. I think they were broken at some point.
• I'm reading a book without reading glasses, something I haven't been able to do in more than a decade.
• While my hair style hasn't changed much in the past 20 years, I certainly have more grey in it. And there isn't any in this photo.

The photo was shot in 1999, in the summer that DW and I returned home from our two-year stint in South Korea. This was a time before we had kids—probably why I was able to read in peace.

With perfect vision.

In a much-loved shirt.

It's the same old me, and yet so much has changed since that summer day, almost 23 years ago.

Happy Thursday!

Throwback Thursday: Panmunjom

With my plans to revisit South Korea in full swing, I've been thinking about the times and places that DW and I have spent and visited when we were there, 20 years ago. Naturally, I thought I'd share some memories.

(At least this is getting me off the subject of my foot.)

On January 30, 1999, as DW finished her contract at Chŏnbuk National University, we had packed up our apartment and sent most of our belongings home. Others, we kept with a friend who lived in Seoul and offered to store them and later ship them, along with her belongings, when she returned to Canada.

Having said our goodbyes to friends and students in Chŏnju, DW and I visited our friend in Seoul before moving on to Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia, and Thailand, for our final tour of Southeast Asia. One of the final places that we wanted to visit, before leaving South Korea, was the demilitarized zone, or DMZ.

As the Koreans knew it, it was Panmunjom (판문점).

Panmunjom was the site of the signing of the armistice that would mark the end of hostilities between the north and the south. While technically still at war, and despite a few short skirmishes, both countries have continued to hold the peace.

Going to Panmunjom wasn't as easy as visiting any of the other countless sites that DW and I saw in our nearly two years abroad. We had to reserve in advance. We had to comply with several regulations. We required visitor passes that had to be visible at all times. We had to dress appropriately, ensuring nothing that we wore was controversial, political, or sent any sort of message.

We were accompanied by American soldiers at all times, and they took their jobs seriously. They spoke in clear, straight, robotic-like tones, much like a drill sergeant but without the screaming. You couldn't joke with them. When they referred to North Korea, it was always "Communist North Korea." There was no straying from that label.

We were brought into the very room in which the armistice was signed. It was a large, rectangular, single-floor structure that lay exactly on the border between the two countries. There were two doors to the building: one lead to North Korea and could not be used by our group; the other was the one, in South Korea, through which we entered.

Inside, North Korean (err, Communist North Korean) soldiers stood at attention, facing their counterparts from the south. We were not permitted to photograph the Communist North Korean soldiers, but we were able to photograph the South Korean soldiers.

DW photographed me, posing like the soldier on duty.

In the middle of the room, a thin line on the floor indicated the border. The desks upon which the treaty was signed was in the middle, perfectly centered. The room was otherwise sparse. Inside, we were allowed to walk on either side, so naturally we stepped into Communist North Korea.

Outside this structure, soldiers stood on each corner, facing the building, exposing only half of their bodies to the officials in the north. We could walk to the border line, but we were told that if we stepped over it, we could be arrested by soldiers from the north, or even shot.

We stayed on the southern border.

The tour also took us to the Bridge of No Return, which was said to be the only open crossing between the two countries. During negotiations, prisoners from both sides were exchanged upon this bridge. It is also infamously known for the axe murders of 1976, where soldiers from the north executed a sneak attack on two American soldiers. Wikipedia tells the story here.

Just outside Panmunjom, a South Korean villiage is full of citizens who farm in the fields leading up to the military installation. As you stand at the lookout for the Bridge of No Return, you can see a small village, but the closer you look, the more (or less) you see.

The village is uninhabited. It was never a real town. Windows on buildings are only painted black rectangles. Any vehicles that move are pulled along cables.

But signs face the south, proclaiming the freedom and heavenly peace to the north. Loudspeakers blare songs of propaganda, praising the north's dear leader.

It's all for show. And I've seen it already.

When I return to South Korea in May, I have no plans to tour around the country. I'll spend a couple of days in Seoul and then I'll head down to Chŏnju for a few more, before heading home. There will certainly be no trips up to the DMZ.

Throwback Thursday: Last Weekend in Korea

All of our possessions of the past two years had already been either sent home, placed in storage at a friend's house, in Seoul, or stuffed in our backpacks. The only thing left to do was to say our goodbyes.

It was hardest to say goodbye to Kyung-hee, who had been our dear friend since nearly the beginning, who had helped us adapt to life in Chŏnju, set us up with a Korean network, had come to our aid whenever we needed assistance. We loved her like family, would never forget her (I wished her a happy birthday, through Facebook, just last week).

Our friends from Ottawa, who had come to Korea about six months after we had arrived in the country, but were there for different reasons, would also be remaining after DW and I returned home. Saying farewell wasn't easy—we had seen them at least once a month for almost a year and a half—but we anticipated seeing them again, eventually, back home.

On that final weekend, as we were saying goodbye, we were also saying hello to yet another friend, Andy, who was a mutual friend to our Ottawa comrades and was visiting them for a few weeks. That weekend turned out to be a reunion, a gathering, and a goodbye.

When this weekend was finished, DW and I would board a plane at Kimp'o International Airport and head further south-east, to Hong Kong, and later downward, to Singapore, where we would take buses and trains northward, over the next month, through Malaysia and all over Thailand, before flying from Bangkok to Seoul, for one more night, and then back, at last, to Canada.

But on that final weekend in Korea, we spent an afternoon in Seoul, saying hello to Andy and goodbye to Kyung-hee, sharing tea and wandering various markets and shops. Nineteen years ago, next week.

Happy Thursday!

Wordless Wednesday: Time Machine XI

Singapore: February, 1999