Beer at Family Mart

One of the more quaint aspects of life in Korea resides in an elusive variable that I call the 'ajosshi factor'. This intangible resource is difficult to characterise in any scientific sense, but basically exists through the many thousands of Korean ajosshi who call this peninsula Our Country.

The word ajosshi refers to any middle-aged man. Korean ajosshi have a reputation for occasional usefulness, public drunkenness, homogenous fashion sense and self-serving aloofness. Say you have a small wardrobe to move from the ground floor to your third floor apartment via the elevator. This seemingly straight-forward task becomes exponentially more complex if you request help from a local ajosshi (typically found standing on the side of the road, smoking cheap cigarettes). By requesting his intervention, you have just signed an unwritten contract committing yourself to the full effect of the ajosshi factor.

While helping to move your wardrobe in between frequent stops, head scratching and personal anecdotes, you can expect to be questioned extensively with queries such as:

Why are you moving this wardrobe?

To where are you moving this wardrobe?

To whom does this wardrobe belong?

Where did you say you were moving this wardrobe again?

Why did you purchase such a big wardrobe?

This wardrobe is heavy. Why did you not purchase a lighter wardrobe?

Two hours, three passively inhaled cigarettes and one cup of instant coffee later, and you'll most likely have your wardrobe somewhere in your apartment.

The other day, Patrik and I were sent on a mission by Dr Zhang, of protein chemistry fame, to meet a friend of his arriving from the airport. While Patrik and I were waiting at the bus stop for the friend who never came, we decided to eat ice-cream. Before long, down next to us besat a local ajosshi who asked with a fragrance of makkeoli "Where you are... from? Where... you are from?"

Patrik took an instant liking to him, but me, the more street-wisened among us (or so I thought), decided the most appropriate strategy would be to not feed this monkey too many bananas and hope he hops off to another tree. So I attempted to continue the recently interrupted small-talk with Patrik and politely ignore our newly acquired inquisitive macaque.

But the ajosshi was determinedly fascinated by the both of us, and on his recent drunken hiking expedition had collected botanical specimens that he insisted on showing us.

This rather humble spread is a portion of his findings, which he ended up leaving on the table upon our eventual departure. Note the drink coasters of leaf origin that he hospitably set up for us, and the inedible acorns that he surmised, 'may be edible, who knows?'

He turned out to be quite pleasant company in the end, and bought us beer and snacks while we waited.

If you look out the window, you'll notice that night had fallen by this time. We ended up spending a good four hours with our new ajosshi friend, getting a little tipsy and discussing heavy topics with a mix of hopelessly broken English and only slightly better Korean. Our combined intellect concluded that Sweden, Australia and Korea all have many similarities, and that the demise of calligraphy as an art form is a tragedy.

Late in the night, we said our farewells and said we'd meet up again, a promise we both knew we'd probably never keep.

After this chance meeting, I would have to say that the ajosshi factor is a fascinating phenomena, and should be further investigated with reckless abandon.

Here's our new campus ajosshi friend, Art Michalak, a Polish American with an interest in physics and dSLR photography. Art called us down to his flat one night and made whiskey-banana-yoghurt smoothies.

They tasted like alcoholic McDonald's thickshakes.

Art is a fellow bryology enthusiast, and has been collecting moss from around Korea to arrange in compact and aesthetically pleasing displays. This was his first attempt at a mossarium, which I pointed out was technically more of a 'moss pot' than a true mossarium. But full points for the river stones and pinecone.

I'm becoming of the opinion that everyone should have a pinecone within arm's reach at all times.

And here's Heather, presenting Table Topics at the South River Toastmasters. She brought along some movie posters and invited audience members to give mock promotions for them. Agnes did a good job of selling Kill Bill.

It went pretty well. Heather is going fine in general, but gets tired more quickly these days. She's sleeping a lot, and enjoys eating myolchi fish, honey-on-toast and ice-cream.

The three agasshis turning their heads in the photo above are Sunny, Alice and Christine. They're very lovely ladies, and enthusiastic members of the SRTM community. You should come along for one of our meetings someday.

There'll be a new post coming soon. Have a good week everyone.

Make Your Own Mossarium

The study of moss is called bryology. Apparently there was a huge fad for it in the 18th century, with people building large moss exhibits in their gardens. Since then, moss has quietly faded into the shadowy backstreets of the popular psyche.

Walking around the Seoul National University campus, we see a lot of different kinds of moss and it piqued my interest in the stuff. Traditional Japanese gardeners often encourage the growth of moss to add an element of history and serenity. Here in Korea, it just seems to grow where it pleases.

I'm sure you've all heard of an aquarium before, which is a glass container for holding aquatic life. Similarly, a terrarium holds earth and air, for animals like frogs to be exhibited. Well a mossarium is for holding moss. They're very easy to make and can be used for decorations as well as producing small amounts of oxygen indoors. The best thing about them is that they are very easy to take care of, more so than indoor plants. All you need to do is spray the moss in a small jar with water every so often, and it will live happily in low amounts of light, while trapping and degrading dust particles in the air.

When collecting moss, it's best to try and get it from places out of sight, so that passers-by can still enjoy it. This is one of only two guiding principles of 'moss etiquette', a term which I believe I have coined myself.

The other guiding principle is to refrain from throwing it at others.

Although this looks like me, it's actually my alter-ego: Mossarium Man. I must admit, the resemblance is striking. His superhero abilities mainly revolve around the skillful making of mossariums and educating others about them.

I like moss because it grows in odd places and just makes do with what's around. This little tuft of rock moss had a slater bug on it, which is a good reminder that even a small outcrop of moss provides a living habitat for millions of microorganisms and their grazers. In a way, you could think of that slater bug as a miniature cow.

I certainly did.

All you need to make a mossarium is a glass jar and a tool for collecting the moss. We used an old spaghetti jar, which is coincidentally an excellent example of upcycling.

It also helps to have a poking device to put the moss inside carefully. Chopsticks are good, or you can use a twig or two.

With a bit of artistic input, you can arrange the moss inside so that it pleases the eye. This one has a few rocks thrown in for good measure and contains three different kinds of moss. One thing to remember is that you want a bed of sand or small rocks under the moss. Soil might sprout dormant seeds or mushrooms, which you want to avoid.

Look how happy Mossarium Man is in this photo. That's because the moss is happy. It makes a great desk ornament or a gift, and our first mossarium is going quite well. The stuff grows so slowly that you really don't need to worry about it much. Best of all, it didn't cost us a penny and was a great way to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon. 

So, dear reader, when are you going to Make Your Own Mossarium?