Where is Lucas?

I haven’t found myself writing on this blog for quite a while.  I figure I should devote a few minutes and write where I am and what I’m currently doing.

I am living in Montreal with my girlfriend.  Starting next week I will be studying French in an intensive program, and today, I start my job at the Keg.  I’m planning my future misadventures and trying to enjoy my life and my short time in this charming city.

I have been reading like its my job to do so.  Mostly Hemmingway and Steinbeck.  There is something so captivating about the lives of these two authors, and of course, their brilliant works.  I’m unsure why the Lost Generation writers speak to me on such a personal level.  Maybe it’s because they write stories about the triumphs of the human spirit over the adversities of the world, the dignity in degradation, the struggle to overcome ones demons, or maybe it’s the authors’ biographies that stir me.  Hemmingway lived a life of mythos, and though it was short (he committed suicide on his Idaho ranch at the age of 61), he lived more experiences and survived more death-defying exploits than most could even imagine.   For me, the sympathies that those of the Lost Generation captured with their words have never ended.  I feel more at home perusing the pages of these books than the city of my birth.  They evoke weird sensations in me.  I want to sell all my worldly belongings and see how far I can get on my empty stomach and my calculated wits.  I want to get punched in the face for my principles.  I want to get arrested.  I want to be exiled.  I want to write something dangerous and compelling.

Here's just a taste of what I'm ranting about:

Afterward I went to bed and when they were all asleep and she was sure they would not call she came in.  I loved to take her hair down ans she sat on the bed and kept very still, except suddenly she would dip down and kiss me while I was doing it, and I would take out the pins and lay them on the sheet and it would be loose and I would watch her while she kept very still and then take out the last two pins and it would all come down and she would drop her head and we would both be inside of it, and it was the feeling of inside a tent or behind a falls.

Ernest Hemmingway – A Farewell to Arms – p.114.

and…

…Samuel rode lightly on top of a book and he balanced happily among the ideas the way a man rides white rapids in a canoe.  But Tom got into a book, crawled and groveled between the covers, tunneled like a mole among the thoughts, and came up with the book all over his face and hands.

John Steinbeck – East of Eden – p.280

and finally…

Names are a great mystery.  I’ve never known whether the name is molded by the child or the child changed to fit the name.  But you can be sure of this–whenever a human has a nickname it is proof that the name given him was wrong…

John Steinbeck – East of Eden – p. 261

I will try to write more often…I promise.

Taking the advice from a few wise friends,

I’ve decided to look at my current state of stagnation as a fiscal test.   With all certainty, I am going to save as much money as I can in this country and see as much of the world with it as possible.  Of course, this is easier said than done, especially when considering that, as it appears to me, almost all the foreigners and local Koreans require alcohol to have any measure of fun in this country, and alcohol is surprisingly expensive in this East Asian peninsula.  Having said that, maybe inebriation is seasonal, and winter in Korea is just more bleak than that of which I’m accustomed.  It is gray and uninviting, with few outdoor activities to break the monotony of its damp and penetrating cold.  Maybe everyone gets drunk to warm their bones, and hopefully, once spring fully spreads it’s wings and the mercury rises, my possibilities will also expand.  Time will tell.

I’m currently/finally reading, Ernesto Guevara’s memoirs, “The Motorcycle Diaries: Notes on a Latin American Journey,” after watching the movie adaptation time and time again.  I’ve heard former acquaintances in classes criticize the book, but to be honest, I’m absolutely spellbound by Guevara’s abilities as a writer to capture the natural spirit of traveling headlong into the unknown.  He’s adding to my landlocked blues, but it’s inspiring at the same time.  He illustrates the fear, the hunger, the excitement, the curiosity, the loneliness and the freedom that inhabits the mind of someone exploring an distant land, and at the same time, gives some pretty useful tips on ways to get out of limbo, advice I might need to use during my future exploits.

I read this on the train from Seoul and I had to close the book for a few minutes…

I now know, by an almost fatalistic conformity with the facts, that my destiny is to travel…Still, there are moments when I think with profound longing of those wonderful areas in our south.  Perhaps one day, tired of circling the world, I’ll return to Argentina and settle in the Andean lakes, if not indefinitely then at least for a pause while I shift from one understanding of the world to another.  – Ernesto Guevara – The Motorcycle Diaries

There are few words or people who could explain this better.

If you haven’t watched this movie yet, do yourself the pleasure;

I’m going to keep on keeping on.  At least time is flying by, and before I know it my year’s contract will be up.  It won’t be long before I can walk the openroad again, answer my mistress’s wayward calls, whose whispers tease my half-sleeping ears.  I can float to her somewhere humid, feel her curves beneath me and breathe in her sweet scent.  We both know we will see eachother again, when the time is right, when I can yank my roots out and shake away the soil.

The more novels I read the more I realize what I constitute as a great author.  To me, a novel should have a defined voice, a personality, almost as if the pages make up the features of a living human being, a wise storyteller who sits beside you and tells you, and only you, a tale you’ve never heard before.  A great novel should envelop you with it’s warmth in the moments of heartfelt, grab you by the throat when it is angry, wrench your heart when it’s upsetting, bring you into places you have never been and awakening you to perspectives you’ve never had.  What’s more, it should offer its reader some simple words of wisdom.  It shouldn’t preach per say, rather, it should offer a sentence or two that directly speaks to you as a reader.  I have encountered this repeatedly over my travels, and I think this is the best sign of excellent authorship.  Certain writers have the ability to offer me, an anonymous and distant reader in which they have never met, some tangible advice for my own life and my own character.  As I said, I’ve found this over and over again in some of the best novels I’ve read in the last few months…

• “Scared money can’t win and a worried man can’t love.”  Cormac McCarthy – All the Pretty Horses

• “It is not good to want a thing too much. You must want it just enough, and you must be very tactful with God or the gods.” John Steinbeck – The Pearl

• Haruki Murakami’s novel, Wind-up Bird Chronicles, showed me the perspective of person who is driven by an unexplainable need to cheat on their significant other.

• Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible illustrated to me the simple dignity in poverty and how asking for aid is not a shameful act.  There is no shame in asking those who have excess to give up what they can easily survive without.

Now, if only I could get a job reading novels all day long.  I’d be damn good at it.  I am getting close to being employed.  I have a few more hoops to jump through.  My criminal record check is in the mail.  Then after that, I have to do a visa run in Tokyo, and then, and only then, will I be an English teacher in South Korea.

I NEED A JOB!

While patiently waiting for my criminal record check to be processed and a solid employment oportunity to arise, I have been keeping as busy and active as possible. I have been endlessly reading and listening to music, studying Korean and I’ve been trying to stay informed on the American elections.  I will admit, I am more engaged in American politics than those in Canada, mostly because I feel that who ever becomes the next president in America has a greater effect on the world than any candidate present in Canada.  Basically, American politics are the politics of the world, and therefore deserves my attention.  I spend a lot of my time talking to people from different countries with differing viewpoints, and from what I noticed, almost everyone I’ve had political discussions with hopes to see Obama in office, if for no other reason that they hope for less negative American presence in the world arena.  This made me think, and then a few days ago I stumbled upon an interesting website, IF THE WORLD COULD VOTE, which asks people from around the world who they would vote for if they had a say in the election process in America.  Obviously, it is not a scientific survey, nor is it perfectly accurate and the results have no real impact on America’s ultimate decision, however, as a simple benchmark for the world’s political leanings, it is worth a look.   Check out the voting results from Macedonia; they aint fans of Mr. Obama.

If anyone is remotely interested in American politics and wants to have a laugh or two, Brad showed me a hilarious website that pokes fun at the electorial process.  It’s called 23/6.  It is totally biased towards Obama, but so are most media outlets outside of Foxnews coverage and those of the Bible-belt.  There is a series of videos called Get Your War On.  They are pretty much the best political cartoons I’ve ever seen.

 Here’s one that’s particularly funny,

Other news…

Koreans have a very interesting take on North American popular culture.  Today Brad and I translated some American songs for our friend (and Brad’s superior at his institute).  Most of the songs were a couple years old rap songs.  It was hilarious to explain the different meanings of popular expressions in American culture.

One of the songs was 50 Cent’s Candy Shop.  Alysia thought this was a perfectly harmless song about a young man wanting to take a young woman to a candy shop.  She didn’t understand the references to “lick my lollipop” or any of the other sexually suggestive references.  After listening to all of the English pop songs while stuck in traffic, we were sad to inform her that almost everything she didn’t understand in her music collection revolved around sex.  She now thinks all North Americans are a bunch of sex-addicted perverts.  Thanks a lot 50! 

Also…

If anyone is looking for a good read I’d recommend Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles.  The general plot revolves around a stay-at-home husband who expects to live a very simple and boring domestic existence after quiting his job.  Instead, he loses his cat and subsequently, is swept away from his quiet life, taken on a strange journey by the most random and mysterious of characters in Tokyo.  It’s a great read for a rainy afternoon or a long bus ride.

I hope to have some pictures worth posting for you next time.  Until then…

    In many respects, I am an extremely  impatient person.  I hate being slowed down or impeded in any way.  To my dismay, in my attempts at finding a job in Korea I have run into numerous obstacles preventing me from starting work.  I needed an original university diploma, three sealed transcripts, and a criminal record.  In Canada these documents would be easy to gather up, but when your are on the other side of the world, it isn’t quite the same. The hardest part is being in opposite time zones and trying to call people long distance without having a permanent phone number for call backs.   Nevertheless, everything is on its way.  I just have to wait.  I’ve been sticking around my hostel in Seoul for 7 days, just trying to cross my T’s and dot my I’s, and finally I’m ready to travel a little bit of Korean countryside and see what kind of trouble I can get myself into.  Seoul is the first place I have stopped for longer than 6 days in the last four months.  I stopped in Ho Chi Minh,Chiang Mai and Taipei for six days each, but every other place of which I’ve traveled, I’ve come, I’ve seen, I’ve left.

     I’m waiting and I feels like I have all the time in the world.  I’ve tried to keep myself busy without spending a lot of money.  I bought three books from a great English bookstore, and I’ve been reading non stop.  I’ve planned out future travel routes.  I’ve cooked and invented different variations of familiar meals (mostly because Korean grocery stores are missing certain ingredients or I couldn’t read the packages to know fully what I was buying).  I’ve been reading online reviews of new music I’ve yet to hear.  I’ve also walked countless miles of Seoul, just getting lost and finding the quiet and untouched corners of this busy metropolis. 

    Last night I climbed a hillside overlooking the city.  This was the spiritual retreat for Seoul’s residence.  There are wierd rock formations of which the people of Seoul pray, hoping for things like the birth of a male child and good fortune.   After I had been reading for a few hours on a wide cold rock jutting out over a cliff, I could hear the drumming of a gong coming from somewhere below me.  I continued to read as the gong was blaring away.  After twenty minutes or so I could hear something else–a person was chanting in Korean.  The sun had just gone down and the crooked half-smile moon crept out from the smoggy sky, hanging precariously over the cityscape beyond.  The red and white sheen of taillights and lowbeams streaked along the distant and tiny streets.  It was getting cold and I could feel the goosebumps raise like Braille beneath a blindman’s touch.  I decided to walk down the steep slope to the city.  As I carefully navigated the uneven steps I came to the source of the chanting.  A woman was bent double, over on her knees, hitting the gong with her left hand while holding a script with her right.  She was rocking back and forth, eyes closed, chanting the words of the script while fully entranced.   She didn’t notice me quickly and quietly slip past her.   It was a very captivating sight.   As I descended the hill I came across two other groups of people deep in prayer.  This group used a bell.  It was very eerie sight to see these people standing or kneeling in the dying light atop a platform of rock, chanting in a tongue I couldn’t understand as the moon just barely hung above their heads.  My camera batteries were dead, but even if their were charged, I would have just watched and then kept moving.

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Two days ago I read Cormac McCathy’s novel, The Road, from cover to cover, in one sitting.  I started reading on the subway.  The book was in my hands and its words within the crisp cover called to me like a whisper in the dark.  I opened it pages like a lid to a treasure chest, telling myself I’d only read until the train came to my stop.  Ha!  I was instantly engrossed.   The world around me fell mute as my eyes passed from word to word.  I left the train, found a bench outside of the station, read until I was getting cold, went back to my hostel and continued, only stopping when the book was done.  

    The Road is a post-apocalyptic novel about a father and son traveling south on a road pirated by bandits and cannibals.  I’m happy to discover that The Road is being made into a movie starring Viggo Mortenson.  And did they ever make him look haggard for the role of The Man, the only name he is given in the book.

I’m also reading The Poisonwood Bible, and excellent novel about a family of Baptists who travel to the Congo during the 1960’s as the Congo gains independence from Belgium, to run a failed mission during the political and social upheaval of the time. 

I’m going to go shower and pack my bag.  I am also traveling south today to meet up with my friend, Brandon Khan, I’m hoping I don’t encounter any marauders or cannibals on the road south.

till next time…