One of the perks of living on Jeju-do is the walking trails. There are so many, I know I will never walk them all. Many, many take us up and/or around Hallasan, the extinct volcano responsible for the creation of Jeju-do and a series of smaller islands surrounding it hundreds of thousand of years ago. Other trails take us through forests. Then, there are the Olle Trails.
I read about the Olle Trails but can’t recall all the details. Mostly, I’ve walked many of the 26 Olle Trails. Most of them go around the island close to the ocean shore. Three of them are off Jeju-do on smaller islands. Even if it was the most difficult Olle Trail to walk, one of my favorites is on Chuja-do, an island one hour north-west of Jeju-do.
I travelled to Chuja-do with Stephanie and three friends in the fall of 2020. The ferry to go is a large catamaran leaving from the Jeju City port. The catamaran can carry about 200 passengers. The winds were quite strong that day. The boat was moving up and down so much that looking out the window, you would see the water and seconds later, the sky and the sea, the sky, sea, sky, sea, sky, sea, sky… Well, within fifteen minutes, Stephanie exchanged her seat for the toilet. I concentrated looking in front and not out the window. I lasted another 20 minutes or so. Stephanie had not come back but I then felt so nauseous I had to join her in the back of the boat. I had a lot of trouble walking there as the catamaran rocked from left to right quite a bit. Fortunately, there still was an empty stall where I proceeded to lose my breakfast. I’m afraid to say I was far from the only one in the same situation.
The effects of that rocking left us rather quickly after our feet hit the ground on Chuja-do. We slept on the island and came back to Jeju-do the next day on a calm sea. The walk consists of going up and down six oreums. In the guides, it is qualified as difficult and it is, but worthwhile because also soooooo beautiful. The people of Chuja-do take such good care of their island. That, combined with the natural sights of hills, shores, fishing enclaves, the ocean, and nearby uninhabited islands make Chuja-do a real wonder.
I’m looking forward to go back. Maybe not the ferry …
Meals have always been part of entertaining and entertaining has always been a part of friendships. There are many ways to keep friendships alive. Gathering around a table with a good meal is certainly a good way.
Stephanie and I have always enjoyed having people over. We like for our home to be active. There are down sides to traveling the world. Leaving our people behind is probably the worst. When arriving in South Korea, we needed new people. We found it fairly easy to make acquaintances. Like us, most expats are looking to make new friends. After almost two years, what we have in common with some people becomes more obvious.
I like to move. I have friends to walk trails with, climb oreums (small mountains), ride the bike, play badminton. I like to read. I joined a Book Club, I volunteer in the school library. I like to eat. I joined “Les Gourmands”.
“Les Gourmands” is formed of three couples, one Australian, one Scottish and one Canadian. “Les Gourmands” meet every four to six weeks for a gastronomic dinner. The couple hosting is responsible for the main dish, the two others split for the entrées and dessert and we rotate. After limiting our meetings du to COVID-19 restrictions, this week was our turn to host. On the menu, grilled salmon with cilantro, capers and lime, roasted potatoes and asparagus, small multicolor tomato salad with fresh mozzarella. Entrées were raw vegetables with two dips, one with beets and one with artichokes served in the living room followed by a steak salad at the dining table. Dessert was a delicious Baileys Cream pie. All of these foods were of course accompanied by all sorts of liquids including Prosecco, white and red wines, beer, and for the hardcore, Port and Pineau des Charentes.
Without describing all our past meals, we have enjoyed Mediterranean featuring lasagna, a cheese fondue with Appenzeller Surchoix and Gruyère des Grottes from Switzerland and French Comté, and many other delicious meals.
As you may imagine, foods and drinks from “Les Gourmands” are always great but the best part is, of course, the outstanding company of new friends.
My friends Joe and Heather had a fire in their home yesterday. Nobody was hurt but they will be out of their house for a little while.
This brings back memories from a little more than four year ago. On December 23, I arrived at my home at the same time the firefighters did. The fire station being on my street, I thought nothing of seeing fire trucks in front of my house. As usual, I parked the car in the driveway in the back of the house. I immediately smelled the smoke when walking around the house to the front and thought this is the real thing and it’s close. As soon as I got in front, I saw the firefighters getting ready to enter MY house.
I identified myself to the only one with a white hat telling him that, inside the house, I had keys for the other apartments. He told me it was OK to go get them. I went in just to be told by a firefighter already inside that I should leave because the smoke was too heavy. Going back outside I saw his colleagues breaking windows and I was shocked by the thickness of the smoke coming out. I then understood the seriousness of the situation.
School had let out the previous day for Christmas break. My wife was at her English department Christmas lunch party. I left a message on her voice mail to call me back as we had an emergency.
We were out of our house for seven months for demolition and reconstruction.
Some of you might be wondering about the cause of the fire. It was set by the roofer as he was welding membranes with a torch. He had done this hundreds of times before without a problem. Fortunately, both the roofer and myself were covered by the same insurance company.
All this started a few months before when I received a letter from the insurance saying my roof was getting too old and needed to be replaced if I wanted to keep my coverage. I got three roofers to come for estimates. They gave me estimates but all said the roof was good to last at least another five years. I let the insurance know only to get a new letter asking the same or else, no more coverage. So, I contracted a company to give me a new roof. When the insurance inspector called me on December 26 to ask my opinion on how the fire started, I said it started with a letter from them.
No one was hurt but three families had to be relocated for seven long months. We did go back to a beautifully repaired and renovated house after getting very good services from the insurance and the contractor.
Family reunion after repairs
I wish the best of luck to my good friends Heather and Joe in this difficult time.
Students at school are required to do extra curricular activities. Teachers and staff are also required to participate in these activities. Even though I am retired and not part of the staff, I volunteer to coach Bike Club. Every Friday afternoon after school, I take a little over a dozen students on a bike ride. Most of the students at our girls school are city slickers. A vast majority of them come from huge cities like Seoul or Beijing. Also, a majority of them live in residence on campus. The less than ten year old campus is very modern and reproduces some of the city life. Meanwhile, our part of Jeju-do, where this school is situated, is mostly forest and farms.
The Bike Club doesn’t limit itself itself to riding but I won’t bother you here with safety measures or the maintenance of your bike. I like to take the Bike Club girls off campus, on back country roads. The reactions vary. Some of them are nervous and ask: “When are we going back?” Others can’t get enough. And then, I get:
“Wouuuh, what’s that smell?”
“It’s manure” I answer.
“What’s manure?”
“Well, it’s poop that goes on the ground to serve as fertilizer for the crops to grow better”.
“You mean our food grows in this?”
“Yes, see over there the broccoli and on this side of the road, this is garlic.”
“Yak, I will never eat vegetables again!”
Well there you go, I guess you just have to take the shit with the good!
Avant-hier soir, Stephanie et moi avons regardé, à nouveau, une vidéo que mon ami Michel Perrier a enregistré à l’occasion de l’anniversaire de naissance de Stephanie le 17 mars 2020. Sur cette vidéo, Michel chantait la chanson Birthday des Beatles.
MICHEL PERRIER 20 juillet 1957 – 21 octobre 2020
Michel Perrier est décédé il y a tout près de cinq mois. Il était mon ami. Il avait 63 ans, mon âge. Nous nous sommes connus il y a 51 ans, à Verdun, en 7e année.
Nous sommes devenus de bons amis cinq ans plus tard alors que nous avons tous deux été élus au conseil étudiant à l’école secondaire Richard à Verdun. Plusieurs années plus tard, nous nous sommes obstinés sur lequel de nous deux avait reçu le plus de votes. Nous nous sommes rapidement entendus qu’il y avait douze votes de différence entre nous; Michel argumentant qu’ils étaient en sa faveur et moi, en la mienne. Ce que cependant nous nous rappelions très bien c’est que nous sommes arrivés premier et deuxième sur quatre conseillers généraux élus sur ce conseil. Peu importe, parce que quoi que nous ayons fait le restant de notre vie, j’étais son second, il était le mien.
Les choses que nous avons découverts ensemble ou simultanément, ça ne s’écrit presque pas: les filles, la musique, la vie nocturne, la drogue, la politique, l’esprit critique, l’engagement communautaire, et, surtout, l’humour et le rire. À peu près tout souvenir que j’ai de Michel m’amène le sourire. Quel sens de l’humour sec et sarcastique il avait! C’est notamment avec lui que j’ai connu ce que c’était que d’avoir du plaisir… du fun. Je ne sais plus combien de matins nous sommes entrés en même temps que le soleil se levait et Hélène, sa mère, était à la fenêtre. Nous avons toujours dit que si nos enfants faisaient seulement la moitié de ce que nous avons fait, ils auraient beaucoup de plaisir et nous, on ferait une crise cardiaque.
Cet homme a toujours été un leader. Il a d’ailleurs été élu “Maire du parc Poirier” lorsqu’il était petit garçon. Avant même que nous nous connaissions, Michel participait aux activités du terrain de jeu municipal local près de son domicile à Verdun. J’ai plus tard appris qu’à la fin de la saison estivale il y eu une élection parmi les jeunes pour choisir un maire. Eh bien, évidemment, c’est Michel qui fut élu. Cette anecdote est restée avec lui fort longtemps. On l’appelait encore Monsieur le maire à l’école secondaire.
Il a été élu conseiller municipal de la ville de Pincourt en 1993.
J’ai été élu conseiller municipal de la ville de Verdun en 1993.
Michel était un autodidacte. Il a réussi sans diplômes collégial ou universitaire à devenir un cadre supérieur à Bell Canada et ensuite, et ce pendant plus de vingt ans, directeur général de la municipalité de Pincourt.
Comme moi, mon ami était un homme de famille. Il a eu trois enfants et avait sept petits-enfants à son décès. Un huitième, Elzéar, est depuis arrivé. Rien de comparable pour lui que ses enfants et ses petits-enfants. Nos enfants ont joués ensemble lorsqu’ils étaient petits. Rien, mais rien, ne le rendait plus heureux que d’être avec ses petits même si quelques-uns d’entre eux ne sont plus tout à fait petits… et non, je n’oublie pas Sylvie, l’amour de sa vie!
En attendant la pizza à New-York à l’été 2010
Sylvie, Michel, Stephanie et moi avons toujours passé du bon temps ensemble, pleins de rires. Malgré la distance géographique de ces dernières années, nous avons toujours conservé notre complicité.
Il y a maintenant près de vingt ans, nous nous réunis, avec quelques autres amis, à Essipit pour observer les baleines. Tante Marie, la grand-tante de Stephanie était avec nous. Elle avait un peu plus de 80 ans. Malgré que cet arrêt à Essipit est la seule fois que Tante Marie ait rencontré Michel, elle a, par la suite, toujours pris de ses nouvelles. Avec son côté sympathique, Michel avait fait sa marque. De nouveau pendant ce séjour, nous avons tant ri. Un soir, après quelques cocktails, Michel a décidé qu’il ferait cuire le poulet sur le barbecue charcoal malgré qu’il n’avait pas de couvert. Du papier d’aluminium ferait l’affaire. Quelques heures plus tard et, évidemment, quelques cocktails plus tard, nous étions tous fort heureux d’avoir autre chose à manger…
Les derniers quelques mois de sa vie ont été fort difficiles. Il était très malade, très souffrant d’un cancer du poumon et de troubles cardiaques. Il avait beaucoup de difficultés à respirer et ne dormait que très peu. Je me sens tellement chanceux d’avoir eu le privilège de passer un peu de temps avec lui lors d’un de mes séjours au Québec. Je suis allé dans sa cour, à Valleyfield, deux fois pour ce qui devaient être de courtes visites. Les deux fois, j’ai quitté cinq heures plus tard après avoir partagé un repas et, encore, des souvenirs et des rires. Ce matin, j’ai relu les quelques échanges textes que nous avons partagés pendant les dernières semaines de sa vie. Il a encore réussi à me faire sourire et même rire. Il s’est moqué du grand âge d’un de nos amis communs. Denis a fait une chute dans l’escalier de son sous-sol et s’est brisé un poignet. Il s’en est quand même bien sorti mais les blagues sur le fait que ça fait plus mal à 63 ans qu’à 23 ans étaient même à point.
Michel Perrier était mon ami. Il me manque beaucoup.
I’m a minority. Hear me well, I am a privileged caucasian so not a visible minority, I am heterosexual, I am not handicapped either physically or intellectually (I think).
I don’t drink coffee.
People look at me baffled. I usually respond: “My wife drinks enough for both of us” “What do you drink?” I am asked. I drink juice, a lot of juice. My refrigerator and pantry are full of orange, tangerine, white grape, red grape, pineapple, and cranberry juices. I lost the taste and need for milk some years ago. I also drink water. I like smoothies, especially strawberry smoothies. I like ade. I can drink lemon ade, tangerine ade, green tangerine ade, lemon-lime ade. Once or twice a year, some chocolate milk. I have this taste for it when I’m looking for energy, let’s say when stopping in a convenience store after pedaling 40 or 50 kilometers, up hill.
No coffee, no tea.
I have never appreciated a hot beverage. I know tea and coffee are the beverages that are the most consumed and probably savored in the world. There are so many coffee shops where I live, on Jeju-do, I could not count them. I participate in the “Sunday Caffeinated Cycle”. Every Sunday morning, a group of friends and teacher colleagues meet at 09:30 to cycle toward a different coffee shop. All then order their latte, cappuccino, americano or espresso. “Alain, what do you put in your coffee?” I was asked during the first weeks. I join the group for the ride and for the nice company, not for the coffee.
St-Patrick’s Day is never an ordinary day for me. First of all, it’s my wife’s birthday.
Bon Anniversaire Stephanie!
The Irish have always been part of my life. I was born and raised in Verdun on the island of Montréal. Verdun and our neighbor district of Pointe-St-Charles are where most of the Irish coming to Montréal settle. Even though the first Irish said to come to North America did so before the Vikings, most of my Irish friends are descendants of the massive waves of immigration of the 19th century. Today, the Irish make up almost 15% of Canada’s population. Many of them were, and still are, very involved in all spheres of Canadian society.
Around me, my Irish friends, the Quinn’s, the O’Reilly’s, the Gallagher’s and many others, are very influential in our community. The Irish are involved in so many community organizations. The Dawson Community Center, where I also was a board member for some years, Manna Food bank, and Erin Sports are only three of whom most probably would not have lasted all these years without an Irish involvement. These organizations are active with youth, the elderly, and the fight against poverty. During the day they have activities for women and men, mostly of a certain age. In the mid afternoon, these places transform themselves for after school programs with a lot of sports, computer rooms, and crafts.
St-Patrick’s Day is a big deal in Montréal. The parade is renowned as one of the biggest in the world. I marched in the parade for most of the twelve years I was a city councillor with the float provided by my borough of Verdun. The blue collar workers responsible for building that float always are so proud to put a lot of effort into it and… a lot of green. Festivities start in February and culminate with the parade, which is always on the Sunday closest to March 17. There are so many activities, from the contest to choose the St-Patrick Princesses to the nomination of the Irishman of the Year to the huge Irish Breakfast, a fund raiser event for those activities previously mentioned, held in the old Windsor train station where more than one thousand people gather for some whole Irish fun, including Irish coffee.
In my home, on this day, we have had green beer, green mashed potatoes, my daughter Simone has died her hair green and whatever else green piece of clothing or any other green thing you can think of.
Unfortunately, for a reason we all know, this is the second year in a row the parade will not be held but, still, today, we are all Irish!
Stephanie and I sold our last Canadian property this past month. We have owned properties since the 1980’s. We have had tenants since 1992 after buying our first triplex. We lived in that house for 28 years. It’s a three story building with one large family dwelling on each floor. In 2010, we bought the sister building immediately next door. We then had five apartments to rent to tenants who became our neighbors. Over the years we had close to twenty different tenants in those apartments. We saw all types of people, families with children, roommates, students… We had good tenants and not so good tenants. We had good neighbors and not so good neighbors.
These houses are very well situated in the beautiful borough of Verdun in the city of Montréal. We are a short walk away from a métro station taking us downtown in less than twenty minutes. The mighty St-Lawrence River is no more than two minutes away. We are surrounded by bike paths taking us anywhere and everywhere. Also, it is possible to walk to the commercial street where you will find grocery stores, convenience stores, a hardware store, banks, flower shops and many cafés and restaurants. Our houses were about one hundred years old but are very well maintained and quite large for the area with balconies in front and back. The dwellings are never difficult to rent.
This is the story of the third tenant we had on the second floor immediately over us.
I had just put up a for rent sign on the fence of the house when Louise* comes to the door. We don’t really know Louise but we’ve seen her often on the street. She lives less than two blocks away and is quite noticeable as she walks her St-Bernard several times a day. We have said Hello often but no more. She introduces us to Hank* saying he is a friend just coming back to the city searching for a place. He lives on his own and is moving to be closer to his two sons. After visiting the apartment and a rather short, but pleasant, conversation, we are in agreement on the conditions and we decide to rent to Hank.
Hank seems to be financially comfortable. He is very well dressed, wears very expensive shoes (Steph sees shoes), drives a recent car and has beautiful vintage furniture. He pays his monthly rent in cash, sometimes with American money and most of the time, before or on the 1st of the month. When he is late, and it’s never more than a few days, he comes with a gift, like an expensive bottle of wine. He is very quiet and very clean and rarely has any visitors. His sons come once in a while and are very well behaved. So far so good!
There are a few incidents. On Friday nights he sits by himself in his dining room and listens to loud music while drinking. Most of the time it is not so bad for us but a couple of times we can clearly hear Adele’s lyrics. One night, Stephanie decides to go up to tell him it’s loud enough that the dishes in our cupboards are rattling. Within seconds, the sound is back down to a reasonable level. The next morning there is a note in my mail box stating that my wife is “NOT COOL”.
Hank has been with us for almost three years when on a beautiful late Friday afternoon we hear a very loud “BANG” and feel the house shaking as if a truck ran into the corner of it. I immediately run outside the front door to see what happened. The first person I encounter is a police officer in full riot gear holding an automatic rifle telling me to go back in. I do, but also notice that there are children with their parents on the sidewalk across the street looking at our house. They are coming out of the daycare that is immediately in front of our house.
Our house is on the corner of a street so I decide to go out he back to go around and see what the hell is going on. In the middle of my backyard there is another full gear riot guy also holding an automatic weapon. This time he is pointing it at me telling me to go back in. My response is “Get out of my back yard! Don’t you know that there are children here? My grand-daughter might come out any time”. My daughter Jaya and her family lived immediately next door and we shared the same large back yard.
Anyway, I did go back inside the house, this time from the side door to immediately go out again in front. At that time Hank was being brought down the stairs in handcuffs with his head down, not looking at me. A crowd had gathered across the street to watch the show. I approached the superior officer for him explain. “We had to smash Hank’s door down to go arrest him. The Swat Team and automatic weapons were necessary because we were expecting resistance from Hank.” I was so mad with this whole operation. I told this officer: “There has be a better time or way to do this other than 05:00 PM when the street is full of people and children.”
At the time, I was a city councillor. The following Monday I get a call from the mayor’s administrative assistant: “Hi Alain, how are you, is everything OK?” “I’m fine thank you, what can I do for you?” “Hemmm, it’s because we have concerned citizens about the police being at your house. Some of them think you have been arrested.”
Some days later I met with the chief of police of Montréal. He had two off the record comments for me: “There was no danger because Hank is not the type to pick a fight with the police and the officers wanted this to be over early enough to start their weekend.” I will not comment here to what my reaction to this was. I let you guess.
Louise came to empty the apartment and it was only three years later that we saw Hank again. He had been in jail convicted of crimes that went along with his role as an enforcer for the bikers. He happened to walk in front of our house with Louise and one of their sons (Oh yes, Hank and Louise are an item and she also is the mother of the two boys) while Stephanie and I were working in the front yard. He very quietly walked up to me to say he was sorry about what had happened, turned around and left.
This is from a while ago but looking at where my daughters are now, it’s a story I like to remind myself of sometimes.
Since becoming parents, Stephanie and I tried to teach our daughters to have critical minds. They are all smart so they got it pretty quickly. Of course, we are the ones whom experienced their first ventures into critical thinking. It got them to reflect and not take everything for granted (even if it came from their parents), to make up their own minds and, sometimes, to get out of jams.
In school, Jessica and Annie, our second and third daughters, were close and in the same grade so they often had the same friends. As teenagers, they were social (understatement) and their group of friends was very large. They came to our house often and I had a lot of pleasure laying low and listening to them address the topics of the day. I often thought to myself that the future of the world was in good hands.
We lived in a very large house that could comfortably accommodate the seven of us. All girls had their own room and we had an extra bedroom for visitors. In their last year of high school, Jessica and Annie started talking about moving out to share a place with two girl friends. After discussions that went on for some months, my wife and I decided to accept a proposal to share our house with them. The four of them would live upstairs. The rest of our family would be downstairs. We had a common entrance and inside porch.
At that time, Stephanie and I worked together in our own company managing non profit housing. Our office was in our house so we were often at home. The four teenagers started living upstairs in the summer immediately after graduating high school. We saw them on a daily basis but not as often as before. Problems arose but were not so bad at first, nothing much that we had not anticipated. As the summer went on, this co-existence got more difficult for us. They lived at night and we had difficulty sleeping. We all agreed that when school started again in September, our schedules would be more synchronized.
Here is where it gets minds going. One afternoon in the late summer, there is a knock at the door. My daughter Alexandra, our twelve year old, answers. A young man says he was paged to this address. As I mentioned, our office is in the house so both Stephanie and I are present. We go to the door to hear this guy say “You paged me”. “We did not” I reply. He gets upset but leaves. Alex then says “Maybe it’s for upstairs”. She then proceeds to climb up. Quickly Annie comes down and explains that the man was there to deliver goods to her and that she was not very happy that we had sent him away. “What goods?” I ask. After some hesitation, Annie answers “We want to buy marijuana”. To which I reply “No way are you getting that delivered to our house!”.
A few minutes later, after consulting with her roommates, Annie, their spokesperson, is back down again.
“You know we smoke sometimes don’t you?”
“Of course we do.”
“Well, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I don’t want a drug dealer at my door, at my house.”
“You have stuff delivered here all the time.”
“Not from strangers”
“The plumber was here last week. Did you know him?”
“I know the plumber does not buy his pipes from the Hell’s Angels.”
“Do you prefer we buy our drugs in a back alley?”
“I prefer you don’t invite drug dealers to the house where your little sisters, your mother and I live.”
“But…
“There are no buts, this is not a discussion, this is a decision and it’s over.”
I guess there are limits to what a critical mind can do.
I also have to end this by stating how proud I am of our five grown daughters. Annie has become an accomplished social worker specialized in youth intervention. Jessica is soon to graduate and become a sexologist.
I did not go to the Apple store on Sunday. I spent the whole day with my wife to celebrate her birthday. The actual birthday will be this Wednesday but we decided to make a weekend out of it. Planning for the Apple store: Out for now.
There is only one high-rise in Jeju City. I always thought it to be an office building. It’s not. It’s a Grand Hyatt Hotel. It’s a double building with two 38 floor towers. Because there are a lot less customers during this pandemic, one tower is closed and the other is only partly occupied. They gave us a room on the 25th floor with a magical view on the city, mountains and Hallasan, the volcano from which originated Jeju-do.
We arrived in Jeju City Saturday afternoon, early enough to climb Sara-bong, first oreum of the number 18 Olle trail. It’s about a four kilometer walk up to a beautiful park full of exercise equipment and a great view on the city and ocean. After the walk, we were at the hotel in time for Stephanie to take a long bath in a full length tub that had her gasp when she first saw it. Cocktails were in order before supper on the 38th floor surrounded with windows. Our dinner was gargantuesque.
Sunday morning was brunch at the hotel. The amount of food available, Asian and Western, makes it too difficult to describe. The rest of the day was a moving one starting with a fifteen kilometer bike ride from the city to the ocean shore. We left the bikes at the shore and walked back up the fifteen kilometers of Olle trail 16 to our car, a nice four hour walk. A little more past the half way point, there is the Self Café, a beautiful little building with a garden and seating area adjacent to an orange orchard. There’s a coffee machine, a refrigerator filled with juices and soft drinks and some treats, but no staff. You serve yourself and you leave cash on the counter or pay with your debit card. All self serve on the basis of honor. On the way back home, we finished our birthday weekend with a Butter Chicken supper at The Indian Kitchen.
For the whole weekend, we did not at all talk about the missed visit which was planned at the Apple store. A perfect weekend!
