Life In England, Coming Back to Korea, and the Worst Night Out of My Life

OK, so there’s been a change of plan…

I’m now back in Korea. I genuinely didn’t want this to happen, I had decided that I needed to go somewhere new, but there was always a difficult barrier to overcome. Either it was a contract condition that I wasn’t happy with, or I had to be in the country for a face-to-face interview, or the salary to cost of living ratio was too far out of balance. The easy option was to go back to Korea.

I had originally decided to stay in the UK for 6 months, but life in Bedford isn’t all that interesting, the novelty of home had worn off, and although my parents were happy to have me back, my feet were itchier that a bad case of crabs. So, I’m back in hot, humid Seoul. Back at my old school, living in my old apartment – it was like I was never away.

Don’t get me wrong, the time I spent home in England was great. I got to spend time with all of my family, and either they’re all excellent liars or they genuinely missed me while I was away. I got to reconcile with family members that I haven’t seen in 15 years? And of course I got to catch up with a great bunch of friends. It would appear that no matter how long I might have been away there would have been a great reception upon my return. I couldn’t have asked for more.

Despite all the great things of home; the people, the food, (some of) the nights out, and a reasonably priced Guinness, there were aspects of being home that bothered me.

Something that I never realised before was how racist people are towards Asian people. Some people knew that I’d been away, and others I had mentioned it to them, but as soon as I did it opened a flood gate of seemingly accepted racism. The worst I heard were “How is your Thai bride?”, “Good morning, Vietnam!” and “ching chong ching”. The ignorance is strong with these people. "Thai bride", "Vietnam", these aren’t even relatable to Korea. They’re completely different countries. And “ching chong ching”? Even Jim Davidson and Mel Gibson would conclude that this Chinese gibberish is too racist for their tastes.

For some reason people still think it’s acceptable to say racist things about Asian people. I don’t think these same people would say bigoted things about other races or nationalities. It was another contributing factor that made me want to leave earlier than planned.

And here’s another thing, I was in South Korea, not North Korea. No, I didn’t meet Kim Jong-Un. No, it’s not “basically China”. No, there isn’t continuous warfare between the North and South. And the 2018 Winter Olympics will be held in Pyeongchang not Pyeongyang – they’re different places. I probably shouldn’t be annoyed with these misconceptions, after all there is very little Korean exposure in the UK. With the exception of Psy’s famous hit, Park Ji-sung, and, apparently, AFC Wimbledon’s love of Shin Ramen, people know next to nothing of Korea.

Did I have doubts about going back? Sure. Will it be the same? Will the second year have too much to live up to? I don’t know, but I’ve dallied on too many big decisions recently. I managed to convince myself that it wasn’t the right time to go and live in Japan, Hong Kong, China, or Vietnam (which is very hard to do!) and I couldn’t do the same with Korea, I didn’t want to wait any longer.

The reasons to go outweigh the few to stay. I was doing a meaningless job where the topic of conversation of each day was tits and fanny. Don’t get me wrong I love tits and fanny as much as the next man (unless the next man is Ched Evans) but I don’t want to talk about it every bloody day. There was the boredom of home creeping in, lacking a sense of adventure, learning nothing new. These are valid, obvious reasons to continue exploring a country I am so fond of living in.

When considering my last two weekends in England they are at the two ends of the spectrum of enjoyment and one was a definite factor in leaving England so rapidly. My penultimate weekend was an unplanned night out, usually these are the best ones, but this was not one of them. It all started well, a few lads and I played a couple of rounds of 9-hole foot-golf (football and golf for those without an imagination). 

Peggy doing what he does best

It was suggested that we go for a few beers after in the neighbouring town of Newport Pagnell, hardly glamorous, but I’ll rarely turn down a few beers with the boys. At this point I did express my concern as I was wearing a Galatasaray football shirt, but was told that it shouldn’t be a problem. A few pubs into a pub crawl and I was approached by UKIP’s poster boy, some product of the Hitler Youth’s sister programme – the Farage Adolescence. He felt that he needed to take time out of his night to inform me that, as I was wearing a Turkish football shirt that had the Islamic star and crescent emblazed on it, that by wearing the shirt I was “supporting and funding ISIS”. Really? The Galatasaray board of directors had a meeting and established their season objectives: to acquire the best available playing staff, to remain profitable and sustainable financially, and to send a couple of youth players on loan to al-Qaeda FC. (And if that mong is reading this (which he definitely is not, he’s probably got his head buried into the latest edition of The Daily Sport) the star and crescent was originally a symbol of the Ottoman Empire. The symbol became associated with Islamism in the mid-20^th century, so the crest on the shirt is more an association with Turkish history rather than any religious connection.) We bid the awful man adieu and made our way to Milton Keynes - this was a terrible idea. I was rejected from every establishment for my choice of shirt and was even spat on. I went home soon after. (Can you tell I’m still angry about that night?)

The following weekend was by contrast sensational. A day and night out in London. Beers on the train down, beers by the river, watched the Football Manager “derby” between AFC Wimbledon and Watford, beers at the game, cycled to Camden on the Borris bikes (this was funny at the time, but a rather dangerous idea), beers in Camden, met some Koreans and showed off my terrible Korean language skills, more beers, and then got the train back to Bedford. No drama, just a great day without religious hate, or airborne saliva. Why can’t every weekend be like that?

Anyway, I’ve been in Korea for a few days, it was all rushed in the end and I didn’t get to see people properly before leaving, which was a disappointment.

Sorry if this one seemed like a rant, it’s just I haven’t written for a while.

Thanks for reading.

شكرا لقرائتك

Okuduğunuz için teşekkür ederim

Barcelona: It Didn't Take Long for Bedford to Become Boring

It took a mere two weeks of being home to become boring, so I needed a new adventure. Plans were discussed, flights and a hotel were booked and before I knew it I was off to Catalonia with Karl and Bof, two friends from university. It was a great excuse to meet up with Bof having not seen him for 18 months. It was less exciting to see Karl on the other hand, if anything I've seen him too much in recent times.

The first afternoon and evening was spent in the many bars around the Las Rambla region in Barcelona's city centre. I'd like to say that we sampled the local beers of Catalonia, but it was mainly just San Miguel. We drank a lot of them, so maybe that's a positive review? Although, I've been known to drink a cocktail of Tesco Value vodka and lemonade. If anyone from the San Miguel marketing team is reading this and they want a quote, the Tefl-on Don says "San Miguel's alright".

Tuesday was a stunning day, we spent the afternoon taking in the sights of the city from a rooftop bus. It's the best way to see a city that boasts churches as its main attractions. Take a picture from the bus and move on. We did stop and have a look at the Sagrada Familia, Barcelona's famous unfinished Catholic church. Apparently construction started in 1882. What the hell have they been doing for 133 years? I'll tell you what they haven't been doing - working! Stop sleeping in the afternoon, get off your arse and get it finished. It's no wonder that their economy is in the pan. Then they have the audacity to try and charge me a €15 entry fee. For what? To have a look around a building site? No thanks.

Lazy builders still haven't finished the Sagrada Familia

The bus tour took us to the other sites of Barcelona including the Columbus Monument, The Olympic Stadium, and around the foothills of Mount Tibidabo where we went hiking. We were at the end of this path, and we came to a clearing, and there was a lake, very secluded, and there were tall trees all around. It was dead silent. Gorgeous. And across the lake I saw, a beautiful woman, bathing herself. She was crying...

The Columbus Monument - Christopher Columbus pointing towards America (apparently he's pointing in the wrong direction!)

The evening rolled around and it was time for the main event - Camp Nou. A visit to Barcelona isn't worthwhile without taking in the "tiki-taka" playing style of FC Barcelona.

We arrived at the ground in plenty of time, in hope to pay a visit to the club museum and take in the pre-game atmosphere. Unfortunately neither happened. The queue for the museum was enormous and atmosphere - what atmosphere? Where were the local fans? The majority of people there were tourist fans such as myself. Barcelona is a gigantic club that has attracted a worldwide fan base, but they've traded in their essence. It's resulted in the commercialisation of literally everything. Before the game you must pick up an FC Barcelona toasted sandwich maker, and an FC Barcelona toothbrush. How did I ever get by without them? And I know this is a very hypocritical summary as I was a tourist fan, and an Arsenal supporter, a club notoriously known for doing the exact same thing. But it's a grind a have with modern football.

Into the stadium and it is awe inspiring. The sheer magnitude of it is rather incomprehensible. Despite the capacity being 99,354 it is not that steep, but rather wide. The view is good even from the top and it's the perfect setting for an evening game. Then the teams are announced and it's exactly what I've been hoping for - Neymar, Suarez, and Messi all start. I feel truly privileged that Thierry Henry and Dennis Bergkamp once wore the red of the Arsenal, but when you hear the names that have represented Barcelona you certainly feel envious of the magnitude of the club. Players like Ronaldinho, Rivaldo, Ronaldo, Cruyff, Maradona, Xavi, Iniesta...and Hleb, the way the front three play together the fans should be honoured that they get to watch the most exciting front line in world football right now.

The show that the current XI put on that evening was majestic. Barcelona destroyed mid-table Getafe and were 5-0 to the good by half time. The team play so well and pass the ball effortlessly. It finished 6-0 and I left a little disappointed that there was only one goal in the second half. Only one of very few disappointments with going to see Barcelona play.

The crowd was subdued. Maybe this was because it was a Tuesday night game, or because it wasn't a sell out, or maybe it was to do with the thousands of tourists at the game. Of the 65,356 people there there were around 200 fans that made noise throughout.

The next stadium I go to will struggle to follow the Camp Nou.

Back to Bedford and back to work. I wonder how long it will be before I'm planning the next trip...

Istanbul - 1,551 Miles From Home

I’ve put the Indian nightmare behind me and finally completed my 16-month tour with the last stop was in Istanbul. The past 4 weeks have varied in experience from one extreme to the other, but the food has been exceptional throughout. Most recently I’ve traded in Chinese and Indian food for liberal helpings of Turkish kebabs. I need to invest in a workout DVD, maybe I’ll get Jade Goody’s as we both dislike Indians.

I really enjoyed my time in Istanbul. It’s a beautiful, clean city that has a lot of history. I was very sceptical of the people, but they have turned out to be very kind and welcoming*.

The Hagia Sophia Museum (formerly a mosque)

The Grand Bazaar

A highlight was taking a cruise down the Bosphorus, the body of water that separates the Istanbul and the continents of Europe and Asia, a must do if you’re ever here. About halfway into the cruise we moored and explored The Fortress of Rumeli, learning about some of the history of the Ottoman Empire.

The Fortress of Rumeli

An experience that I was persuaded into was going to a Turkish bathhouse. I was expecting something similar to the jjimjjilbang of Korea (a nude spa). I went with my dad; we stripped down, donned a towel and made our way to the sauna. It was very quiet in there and we enjoyed the freedom of the sauna before being summoned for our body scrubs. I walked through to a separate room, removed my towel only to see that the other men getting scrubbed were wearing swimming shorts. I exposed myself to many Turkish men. The towel went back on and the scrubbing commenced. Much like the jjimjjilbang experience they take the dead skin off you with a Brillo pad. After the scrub they give you a "massage". I think I got the massager who was racist toward English people because this was less of a massage and more of a battering. He kicked the shit out of me and I paid for the ordeal. He twisted me like a pretzel, and pressed me into the stone bed that I was lying on. The Turkish bath is a painful experience.

Combined with the Korean spa, I’ve been rubbed down by more men in the past month than I was hoping to in my entire life.

Turkey has left me with two regrets, the first is not being able to take in a football match. Unfortunately I have been here during the international break, and even Turkey was playing their 2 games away from home. The second is that I didn’t get a chance to head to the Syrian border and check out what those IS lads are up to. I suppose I have a couple of reasons to come back.

The view of Europe from the Bosphorus

Back to England tomorrow, I think I’ll be the most excited person on the plane back to London Luton. 

* I must disclose that despite my pleasant encounters with Turkish people, they still have a poor human rights record, hence why they are not in the EU, and that they invaded and occupy Cyprus. I must apologise to the Greek Cypriots that might be reading this; I’m sorry for enjoying Turkey and for “pumping money into their economy”.

Delhi & Agra: 6,707 Miles From Home - Do NOT Go To India

I’m meant to be heading home west, but I took a stop 720 miles north-east in New Delhi.

For this blog, I’ll start with the highlights. The first being that after 15 months I was reunited with my old man. It was great to catch up on lost time, and I was certainly welcome for the company after the week, or so, on my own in Mumbai.

478 days apart

The second highlight didn’t even come in Delhi, it was during our voyage to Agra. Agra is the home to one of the wonders of the world – The Taj Mahal. A trip to India isn’t complete without visiting India’s most famous landmark. The building is of Islamic design and is a tomb for Moghal Emperor Shah Jahan’s third wife (that’s a symbolic kick in the ovaries for the other two). We had a tour guide take us around the complex, he explained a few things about the structure and the other surrounding buildings (all of which I’ve forgotten now). He was very annoying, and described himself as “complimentary” until the end of the tour when conveniently he had a fee. We begrudgingly paid the £12 until we found out that he had actually helped us skip 3 hours of queues, his service and the £12 seemed justifiable then. 

A few others included going to the Akshardham Temple, a Hindu temple complex. Vast in size, and intricate in design. Also, Humayun’s Tomb, a nice area, but in actuality I have no idea who Humayun was, and still don’t know which one of the thirteen graves was his. After 2 weeks in India my interest in temples, tombs, and forts was wearing thin, so maybe I’m not doing them the justice they deserve. And that rounds off the highlights in Delhi.

Humayun's Tomb

The Red Fort

I’d like to call out both Ed Lloyd and Joel Stone, two “friends” who offered advice on India, both on what to do and what to expect. Neither of which actually told me not to go. So, allow me to offer advice on what India is really like.

It is a shit hole. If you’ve ever heard anyone describe India as a “beautiful country” they are lying to you, and it’s more than likely that they’ve lied to you about other things in the past. You should consider unfriending them on Facebook. There are faeces everywhere, some animal, some human. Most countries have a designated landfill site - not India. The streets act as the landfill, a dumping ground for any waste, and when the build-up of waste is higher than average they just burn it. In the street. Next to homeless, sleeping children.

The people steal more than Scousers, they lie more than politicians, and their personal hygiene and habits have left me with more psychological scars than 2 Girls 1 Cup ever did.

You will get diarrhoea. No matter how careful you are, how much hand sanitizer you use, or how trustworthy a restaurant looks, you will get the shits. I lasted about 9 days before I was affected, I think I set a new Guinness World Record.

Delhi is the worst city I have ever been to, India is the worst country I have ever been to, and the Indian people (the ones that I encountered anyway) are the worst people in the world. At one stage I was seriously considering seeking asylum in neighbouring Pakistan, or Afghanistan.

If this blog achieves anything I hope that it discourages anyone from ever visiting India. Sure, you can go online and read a blog by some overly optimistic traveller who went to India to “find themselves”, and  describe how they had such an amazing spiritual journey, but these are the opinions of hippies. As Eric Cartman once put it: “Hippies. They’re everywhere. They want to save the earth, but all they do is smoke weed and smell bad”. You can’t argue with that. This is a blog that speaks the truth.

If you have read this far and you’re still considering going then maybe all is lost for you. Maybe your motivation is a religious retreat? I recommend reading Richard Dawkin’s The God Delusion. That book should put pay to any religious yearning you many have. Maybe your motivation is a spiritual experience? Go down the pub and have relaxing a beer.

I have written this for your benefit. Do not let the (good) pictures fool you, I'm an amazing photographer. It is a country that I wish never to return.

Mumbai - 7,187 Miles from Home

OK, so I recently read back my last blog post about Hong Kong and Macao and I noticed numerous grammar mistakes. My excuse is that I wrote it while at the bar in Hong Kong airport waiting for my flight. Regardless, I will try my super harderest to minimise the grammar mistakes this time round.

I arrived in Mumbai in the early hours of the 12^th. The taxi took me to my hotel and the first thing I encountered was the poverty in India. There are quite literally thousands of people sleeping in the streets, so many in fact that the pavements are full and people sleep in the roads and the cars drive around them.

The daylight dawned and I got my first real glimpse of India. It’s insanity here. The first thing that I was really aware of is the never-ending threat of disease. When I walk down the street I’m consciously thinking about avoiding the stray dogs that carry rabies, the dirty puddles with cholera, the mosquitoes with malaria, and the people with every form of hepatitis.

If you manage to avoid those threats you then put your life on a knife-edge when you get inside a taxi in India. The taxis are about 50 years old, they are old tin buckets on wheels. I’ve been sat inside them thinking that if this taxi is in a minor collision then I will definitely die. And of course, there are no seat belts. If the thought of dying in a sardine tin wasn’t terrifying enough then the way they drive will provoke a heart-attack. They have mirrors, but you wouldn’t think so. They pull out in traffic whether there’s a space or not, and drive by sound. The drivers listen for other’s horns. A taxi journey in India is up there with skydiving.

As I walk around the streets of Mumbai I realise that I stick out like a saw thumb. Sometimes when you’re out and about you might be in a bad neighbourhood and you might think to yourself ‘I wouldn’t like to take a wrong turn in this part of town’. Well, that’s not possible in Mumbai because every area is the wrong part of town.

A few days in I took a boat trip out to Elephanta Island, the boat trip was relaxing, out on the Arabian Sea, away from the death-trap taxis, and the noise. However, when on the island I found out that it’s inhabited by aggressive, thieving monkeys. There’s no rest from it! I’m now avoiding stray dogs, mosquitoes, goats, cows, chickens, dirty water, and now monkeys with only a selfie-stick to defend myself with.

The sightseeing has been fun despite the unbearable heat and the unstoppable sweating. I’ve been to; The Gateway of India, Chowpatty Beach, Shree Siddhivinayak Hindu Temple, the Haji Ali Daragah (an island mosque), and the Sanjay Ghandi National Park.

The famous Gateway of India

The Haji Ali Dargah Mosque and part of the Mumbai skyline

The most interesting tale comes from when I tried to go to the Vipassana Pagoda in the northern reaches of Mumbai. I asked the hotel staff how to get there and they said that a taxi would be too expensive (£8) and that I should opt for the train (£0.15), so I did.

At the train station, the man who issued my ticket explained the route that I needed to take. The only problem was that he had one of the strongest Indian accents I’ve ever come across. Being the polite Brit I asked him to repeat the instructions, but again I didn’t understand. So, I went on my way without a clue how to get there (and the only maps available were in Hindi). All I gathered was platform 3, something in a broad Indian accent, Borivali Station (my destination).

The trains are exactly how you’ve seen them on TV and film. The doors are wide open, no concern for safety, and people hanging on for dear life.

It was a slow train, and stop after I was hoping to see Borivali Station. I waited but it never came. Before I knew it, it was the end of the line and I had no idea where I was.

And this is where I ended up...

I went up to the ticket counter and asked how to get to Borivali. He ignored my distress and issued me another ticket (this time 20p – robbing bastards). Well, back on the train I suppose. This time it’s packed and I’m in second class. I trust no one. I wear my bag on my chest and my hand stays firmly on my camera. It’s ridiculously hot, I’m the only white person in the carriage, I feel unsafe, and I’m clueless to where I’m actually going. So I think “fuck it, let’s get a taxi”. At that particular moment I wouldn’t have minded paying £9 for a taxi, I just wanted to get off. I got off at the next station (wherever that was) and ask a taxi driver to go to the Vipassana Pagoda, but he’s never heard of it. I’m so lost, so far from Mumbai that even the taxi drivers couldn't help me. On that day, all I knew was that I was in India, it was a pretty scary thought. Well, back on the train I suppose.

Back on the heaving, smelly, grotty train (can you tell that the novelty wore off pretty quickly?), and a kind, softly spoken man helped me. He told me to get off at a station called Dadar and change lines. Thank you, random softly spoken Indian man. I get to Dadar and there are about 8 lines. I went to the ticket queue and ask which line I need. Unfortunately, I’m still too far from the international part of Mumbai and no one understands me, and my Hindi hasn’t improved since the last encounter. With my possessions still intact, I opt to cut my losses and head back to Mumbai.

The next day I tried again and managed to get there, and what a sight it was.

The view of the Global Vipassana Pagoda from the water.

India is a crazy, trying place. It’s certainly not a relaxing holiday destination. I think I would have been bothered by it a lot more had I not been eating delicious curries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My Indian journey doesn't end here. Next stop - Delhi.

Hong Kong & Macao - 9,621 Miles from Home

The next stop on my journey home was to Hong Kong.

Hong Kong has been a city that I’ve wanted to visit for a long time, and I got round to it this week. One of the first things I did there was go to the Hong Kong Museum of History. I knew nothing about Hong Kong other than it was part of the British Empire at some stage in the past. As to be expected, Britain invaded the land despite being greatly outnumbered (100,000 to 20,000) by the Chinese. The shy numbers didn’t stop the Brits claiming the land, and even made the Chinese pay compensation to the British for the loss of naval soldiers during the invasion. I felt some pride that a small island nation could take on the world and win, but you also realise that maybe we weren’t the most liked around that time.

The British influence lasts till this day. There are 34,000 British expats in Hong Kong and going for a few beers on Saturday night in Lan Kwai Fong made me feel like I was home. It even felt like Magaluf (another British territory), it wouldn’t have been out of place to have those annoying reps approaching you. “Alright, lads? Where are you going tonight? $5 for a cocktail, a shot of Sambuca, and a Jaegerbomb”. The only thing different was the price - £7 for a pint. £7! So Karl and I eventually found a quaint little place called "7-Eleven", and we were drinking a local tipple called "cans of Stella".

After being in Asia for so long, many people have an image of a stereotypical British man. Hugh Grant and Benedict Cumberbatch have done us all a favour, but in reality the Brits in Hong Kong are letting us down. They’re less like Hugh Grant and more like Grant Mitchell.

We did some touristy stuff. We went to Lantau Island, Victoria Peak, crossed the bay on the Star Ferry, went to Nan Lian Garden, and even took in a football game.

Nan Lian Garden

Lantau Island

A junk boat on Victoria Harbour

The view from the top of Victoria Peak

Despite the moaning Hong Kong has become one of my favourite cities.

Macao, on the other hand, is billed as “the Vegas of Asia” so I had high hopes. It was once occupied by the Portuguese so it has a different European vibe than Hong Kong. We did some sightseeing before dark and the Fortaleza do Monte is mediocre. When on top of the fort you can see the “real” Macao that isn’t luxurious hotels and casinos. The majority of Macao is actually pretty dire. Another “must see” of Macao is the ruins of St. Paul’s Church. I thought this was a bit of a con, when the majority of the city is in ruins the church becomes less special.

We headed to the Cotai Strip (the good bit) and it does have some resemblance to Las Vegas. Huge hotels, luxurious shopping malls, and the like, but it’s not the same. I’m not a serious gambler, so when I went to Vegas I made sure that the value I was gambling was less than I was getting in complimentary whisky. In Macao everyone’s a serious gambler. There are no free drinks, terrible mid-week nightlife, mostly high stakes gambling, and no assistance. I put some money down on the tables, but it was a waste. I was out of cash after about three spins of roulette. My gambling experience in Macao didn’t even last as long as my first sexual experience. At least with my first sexual experience I left with a smile on my face and some change in my pocket.

Drinking in The Venetian

The Cotai Strip of Macao

So is Macao the Vegas of Asia? No way. It’s not even the Blackpool of Asia. 

Taiwan - 9,779 Miles from Home

Karl and I have started our journey back to the UK with a stop in Taipei, Taiwan. It was my first of six flights with Asian airlines, and luckily I made it without disappearing or any attacks from Russian/Ukrainian missiles. Wish me luck for the rest of them.

We are only here for a few days, just enough time to take in the city. The weather started off good, but soon changed to overcast and intermittent light rain. It’s not ideal, but we’re Brits abroad so regardless of the weather we persisted with shorts, football shirts, and flip-flops.

The view from the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall of the National Concert Hall and the National Theatre. 

The food in Taiwan is great. I didn’t have a bad meal the whole time I was here. One downside to being in a new land is the lack of communication. It may surprise you, but I can’t speak Taiwanese Hokkien, and Karl isn’t much help either. Karl is hardly understood outside of Nottinghamshire. When ordering food I had no idea what I was ordering most of the time. I’d point at pictures and feel like an utter mong. There is an upside to not knowing and it’s that you can’t prejudge the food, there is a chance that I ate a chicken’s anus whilst here but I’ll never know. It tasted delicious and that was good enough for me. Ignorance is bliss.

We went to a few temples; the most famous one in Taipei, Longshan Temple, and a quieter one, Bao’an Temple. They are truly amazing to look at, the design, the finer details - it’s all truly beautiful.

Longshan Temple

Bao'an Temple

We visited the National Palace Museum. ­­­­There are artefacts in the museum are literally from thousands of years ago, but it’s stuff that I just can’t get excited about. Early Chinese books and scriptures, but I can’t read Chinese so it doesn’t really matter how old the book is. Maybe I’m just not an appreciator of Chinese culture. If you’re not into it, you’re not into it. I wish I could be more like Wayne Rooney, he’s a real appreciator of ancient things. My verdict is go to the museum if it’s raining.

The Entrance of the National Palace Museum

A highlight was going to Taipei 101. It’s the 4^th largest building in the world. It seems that only Taipei and Arsenal use 4^th place as an achievement.

Taipei 101 and the only bit of sunshine we had on the trip.

On a final note, the night markets are good, and the beer is adequate. And that pretty much wraps up Taipei. It’s a shame that we weren’t able to take in a day trip or two to see more of Taiwan, but there’s always next time.