This is Free Trader Beowulf, calling anyone…Mayday, Mayday…we are under attack…main drive is gone…turret number one not responding…Mayday…losing cabin pressure fast…calling anyone…please help…This is Free Trader Beowulf…Mayday….
Got home late tonight and found a package on the front porch.
ELEGANT TROGON SIGHTING! Trust me, it looks better than it sounds.
PHOTOBLOGGING, FROM LAST THURSDAY'S VACATION in eastern North Carolina.
Signpost: The First Baptist Church of Soul City. Something tells me these Baptists do not condemn dancing. And a hundred miles to the east:
The Higher Plain Cowboy Church, Bladenboro North Carolina. They're Baptists as well, albeit with bigger hats, and cowgirls. Readers ask what sort of camera I use to take these photos, and where they can get one. I used a Droid X, which coincidentally happens to be on special this week.
Look: traveling with children is just different. First of all, if you've got children to travel with, you've got substantially less energy, both because you've reached a certain age and because the kids sap what's left right out of you. Second, you can't do hardcore marathon sightseeing. Or, at least, you can't do it an enjoy it. The kids will melt down and instead of looking at the tapestries or the mountains or the palaces or whatever cultural thing you're planning on doing, you'll be mediating squabbles and drying tears and plugging your ears to stop the whining.
The key is to stop feeling guilty that you aren't putting in 12 hard hours of sightseeing every day. You might get six. Live with it. Learn to love using the kids as an excuse to lounge around the rest of the time.
This is especially true as a trip wears on, and the novelty wears off, and the kids start getting less enthused about walking places and looking at things, and the adults get more tired of being confined in a relatively small foreign country with them. By the morning of day five, the kids (who had plenty of sleep) were grumpy and out-of-sorts. Evan was manic and emotionally labile. Think Nathan Lane in The Birdcage. Abby was flinty and proud and utterly unwilling to put up with anyone's shit whatsoever. Think Clint Eastwood, circa Sudden Impact. Elaina was extraordinarily whiny and clingy and generally insufferable. Think Mark Hamill for the first 3/4 of Star Wars. And the adults — well, let's just say that the go-team-go esprit de corps erodes, and sooner or later there is a certain amount of bickering. Think Katherine Hepburn and Peter O'Toole in The Lion in Winter.
The combination was dangerous.
And oh, by the way — it was raining. Hard.
There were only so many things we could do. No one wanted to walk to tourist attractions in the rain, and then stand about in the rain outside of them. (Seoul's many palaces have iron rings high in the eaves, and other sets on the plaza; servants used these to string up ropes to hold overhangs to keep royalty dry. Not any more.) A museum? With the kids in this frame of mind? Don't be ridiculous. Unless it's the Lorazepam museum and it's free sample day, we're not that dumb.
So: of to the COEX Mall.
All right, all right. It's not as bad as you think. They have a pretty cool aquarium there, which was the main attraction. It's supposed to be the best aquarium in Korea. The kids were very entertained. But, like so many other things here, it was . . . different.
First of all, Korean aquatic displays are governed by a rather kitschy sensibility.
Many fish were displayed in sinks, traffic lights, phone booths, and other odd containers, with badly-translated clever captions along the lines of 'It's fish! And they're in the sink!" Many other fish and reptiles and insects were in terrariums with ceramic figurines, sort of the Korean equivalent of the little treasure chest and diver at the bottom of your five-year-old's goldfish bowl. The kids were, of course, uncritically delighted.
Another oddity: when I go to an aquarium, I expect fish, mammals that everyone thinks of as practically fish, and maybe if they go wild some amphibians. I don't expect a bunny rabbit.
Yes, that's a bunny incorporated into an aquatic display. I was quite frankly concerned that the bunny was the recently-introduced main course for some aquatic creature I had not yet spied. But no, it was just chillin' in there. Soon afterward, we encountered hedgehogs and prairie dogs. Because why not?
Finally: like Lotte World, the safety measures were rather rudimentary. Many tanks and terrariums and cage-like things had open tops. In America, the tanks would quickly be filled with horrible, dangerous, dirty, fish-killing things. In Korea, everyone seems to obey the signs, which imply that any fish, no matter how benign-looking — yes, even Nemo — is a potential killer, so keep your hands to yourself. This is harmonious with our general child-rearing strategy, so we approved.
Eventually, the kids started to melt down. Can you blame them? They had to ride in a taxi and look at fish for like forty-five minutes. So we found the exit. Elaina had time to commune with a playful penguin:
And then we braved COEX mall to find lunch. What I can say about it? it's a mall. It's big. It's loud. It's crowded. The food smells are different, and you can't read most of the signs, but otherwise I could be on the way to The Gap. After consultation, we ate at T.G.I. Friday's. Yes, I know that's even worse than eating at Outback. Don't you judge me.
After lunch we found a bookstore reputed to have a great English-language section. On the way to the bookstore, my son Evan discovered his connection to Korea — his "I belong amongst these people" moment — his epiphany of homecoming.
He found a glitzy, beautiful Nintendo promotional pavilion that let you — encouraged you — to play Mario Kart on the Wii. For free. While your parents shopped. I thought he was going to cry tears of joy.
He promptly took first in three kart races and retired, satisfied that he had shown these marketers-for-a-Japanese-company-in-Korea what's what about American video game mastery.
Another cab trip through awful Seoul traffic in the rain, another early night, another informal dinner of leftovers and travel food.
Tomorrow: look, how many palaces do you people have?
Tuesday we sent my in-laws to the demilitarized zone for the day. They were eager to go — though not, perhaps, quite so eager until they had spent several days in close confines with three jet-lagged grandchildren. Did we consider joining them? Heaven forfend. If the first classic blunder is "never start a land war in Asia," the second is surely "having ended a land war in Asia, never visit its demilitarized zone with a patholigicaly mischievous child." So we didn't.
Instead, we took the kids to Lotte World.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a family sufficiently large to require two taxis to move about a foreign city will, eventually, be delivered to entirely separate destinations and find themselves with no way to re-establish contact amongst its constituent parts, thanks to a lack of cell-phone service. Damn you, ruinous AT&T roaming charges!
Are agents of the TSA, armed with junk science and a swollen sense of entitlement, still harassing citizens for no particular reason? Of course they are.
Today's story comes courtesy of CoyoteBlog: TSA agents detained Kathy Parker, asked rude idle questions about her medication, rifled through her grocery receipts looking for suspicious entries, then interrogated her about a deposit slip and checks made out to her and her husband:
Two Philadelphia police officers joined at least four TSA officers who had gathered around her. After conferring with the TSA screeners, one of the Philadelphia officers told her he was there because her checks were numbered sequentially, which she says they were not.
"It's an indication you've embezzled these checks," she says the police officer told her. He also told her she appeared nervous. She hadn't before that moment, she says.
She protested when the officer started to walk away with the checks. "That's my money," she remembers saying. The officer's reply? "It's not your money."
At this point she told the officers that she had a good explanation for the checks, but questioned whether she had to tell them.
"The police officer said if you don't tell me, you can tell the D.A."
It's not your money, citizen. Until you prove otherwise to the satisfaction of whatever cop takes an interest, it is potential criminal proceeds.
Is anyone even a little bit surprised that TSA agents are not abiding by the TSA's new regulation restricting screenings to transportation-safety-related issues? Is it any surprise that TSA agents are still using hunches covered in a thin scrim of junk science about behavior to justify intrusive interrogation and searches?
Well, Rebecca Ritzel at WaPo has an idea:
the problem with playing polo in Wales is that if you whack the ball once, it rolls straight down a mountain and into a hedgerow, never to be seen again. Except maybe by a sheep….
Here's the first thing you need to know about riding holidays in Wales: They are not, like polo, just for the rich and famous. Once you are in the United Kingdom, staying at a horse farm is an affordable way to get out and see the countryside.
A weekend of riding that includes meals and lodging == thirty dozen clams. What better way to lament our economically downcast state than to pitch everything aside and ride wildly over the rolling green?