Unnecessary, in Two Acts

An interesting feature of having disposable income in a relatively guilty-free foreign setting: the ability, perhaps even the desire, to spend money in ways befitting nothing but the internet. Korea's a great place for it. There are a multitude of diversions strewn about the country, and as long as one has a few bucks and a well-developed sense of irony, there's plenty of blog material to be discovered.

Example one: Korean New Year was in late January. It's one of the few vacation days that teachers at hogwans (private English academies) actually receive, so Max and I decided to do something with our friend Kara. Someone stabbed a finger at a map and it landed on Yeosu, a small city on the south coast. So the next day, bright and early, we all hopped a bus out there.

This photo sums up our first impressions of Yeosu.
It was cold, gray, and except for Max's impish enthusiasm, lifeless. All the shops and restaurants was closed - we had forgotten that national holidays apply to other people, too - and while our map put Yeosu on the south coast of the country, the ocean was nowhere to be seen. The Port Authority building was landlocked and empty. The fun we found at a nearby church (see below) was fleeting at best.
We were rescued by a taxi driver who partially understood our desire for a bata yaepawwa (pretty beach) and proceeded to drive us to a cliff 45 minutes and $26 dollars away. We spent most of the cab ride alternatively fearing for our lives and admiring the miniature porno calendar the man had dangling from the inside of the windshield. Fortunately, the island he took us was actually pretty cool.

There were trucks,














rocks,

and a great big beautiful Buddhist temple. On a mountain.













It was a nice place to sit and ponder.
Here's my fave shot of the temple. Last one, I promise.

So we hiked to the summit, chatted with a precocious 6-year-old, and made it back to the 'Ju with little further incident. Altogether, the experience was fun, not too expensive, and wholly superfluous. At least we get points for whimsy - but nowhere near as many as this next place.

Example two: Puppy Palace

Imagine a typical Saturday night with friends in downtown Gwangju. If you've never been to Gwangju (and of course you haven't) imagine that you're in the social hub of some other city of 1.5 million residents. After a dinner and a few drinks, someone says, "Hey what do you guys want to do next?" You don't feel like barhopping, or catching a late movie, or dancing, so you say, "Hey, I know! Let's go to a room upstairs where we can drink bad coffee out of travel mugs while fully dressed, perfumed dogs climb all over our bodies!"

Now, see, if you weren't in Gwangju, your friends would assume you've had too much to drink and would send you home. But if you are in Gwangju, they'll assume that you've had too much to drink and so it's time to go to Puppy Palace!

It's a coffee shop, it's a pet shop; it's so much more. It's got a sweet mirrored front hallway:
And a number of very special friends that you may snuggle with/purchase. Here's one that I named "Nana."














And here's Meatball. He has a skin condition so he's not allowed to play with the others.



















Other special friends include Pebbles, Grim, Pinkerton, Ed, 360, and the ringleader, the "Wizard" called Icepop (credit: Toni Martello).
After visiting twice, I can safely say that it's really not as cool as it should be. Don't get me wrong, I like being mobbed by pets as much as the next guy, but I guess I just prefer them naked. Shirts on dogs are just so redundant. Besides, I want to play with them, not look at them - I want action figures, not dolls.

And the whole place smells like dog pee.

So, moral of the story: when you're teaching English in Korea and you don't speak Korean, your options for fun quickly devolve to the goofy. Whether that's good or bad I leave to you - but it's definitely not necessary.