Which button does what?

Despite navigating the city and technology throughout the trip, we struggled with the noraebang remote and eventually settled for whatever songs appeared on the screen.

Close-up of a Korean clothes-care appliance in a Seoul hotel room. Its illuminated display shows the rapid programme paused, with 20 minutes indicated and four cleaning modes labelled in Korean.
The Korean-language controls of a clothes-care machine in our Seoul hotel room, showing the rapid cleaning programme paused with 20 minutes on the display.

On our final full day in Seoul, PY surprised me by asking if I fancied trying noraebang, the local equivalent of karaoke. We don’t normally do karaoke, so I was a bit taken aback. Noraebang translates to “singing room”. Unlike the more familiar (to me) karaoke, where you perform in front of a crowd of strangers in a bar, a noraebang is a private, soundproofed room rented by the hour, or, in our case, by the half hour. I very much hope it was soundproofed for the sake of those around us.

At some point at the start of our half-hour in the room, PY tried to turn the volume down and instead slowed the song’s tempo. We didn’t realise this until we were about to leave. We were busy trying to sing Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow at a speed that gave us more time to think about the order of the words than was intended by the writer.

The remote control was a very large box, with a few bits taped up. As you’d expect, the buttons were entirely in Korean, and our translation apps couldn’t make sense of them under the subdued disco lights, and neither could we. We had all the other karaoke prerequisites: microphones, a private room, and we’d accepted we might embarrass ourselves (a little). What we lacked was the ability to choose a song. So I pressed random button combinations, and not much happened. At least I didn’t call the staff or set off any kind of alarm.

By this stage of the holiday, I thought we were getting quite good at navigating South Korea.

On day one, our first attempt to take the Seoul metro was less confident. We needed a T-money travel card, which sounded straightforward until we got to a station and couldn’t figure out where to buy one. After a long flight, with the heat and humidity becoming obvious, we retreated to Starbucks.

When I travel, I tend to pride myself on avoiding the recognisable big-name brands from home. I suspect I would have been disappointed in myself if someone had told me that one of my first stops in Seoul would be somewhere I could visit in Wimbledon. But familiarity, and air-conditioning, gave us time to regroup. I ordered a latte. Ahead of us, two large groups had ordered a colourful assortment of drinks. Mine was easy to spot: it seemed to be the only hot drink being made.

At the next metro stop, we found a 7-Eleven. Buying the travel card turned out to be easy. Then we went into the station, used a machine that spoke to us in English, added 10,000 won, and headed to a train platform. What had appeared a bit much at first was now done, and we could get on with the holiday.

The hotel room had a washing machine, a small kitchenette (which we didn’t use), and an electronic steaming-and-drying cupboard. We weren’t sure what the cupboard device did, but it seemed worth trying simply because it was there, and who doesn’t like trying new technology? I spent about ten minutes photographing the symbols, pasting the images into an app, and pressing electronic buttons to figure out what it did and how to operate it. And I was glad we did, because Seoul was much more humid than I imagined, and it was good to get some washing done and dried. What an amazing machine; do we have these in London?

The hotel also had a roof garden. It took a little effort to find the way up, and the garden itself looked rather neglected, but the views were good. Operating the in-room equipment wasn’t the only challenge. Sometimes we just needed to find the right door to an unsignposted roof terrace.

At Kyochon Pilbang, even that was part of the fun. PY had arranged dinner without telling me much about it. We opened the entrance by pulling down a large brush, like ringing a bell, then were led through a series of doors that were impossible to spot if you didn’t know they were there. It really did seem like the wall had just opened. Beyond one was a five-seat counter where a chef prepared a delicious eight-course chicken dinner.

Across our holiday, screens did much of the work. At Jeju Airport, I ordered a spicy rice bowl from a machine in a busy restaurant. I didn’t speak to anybody. Orders came in, food came out, and tables filled again almost as soon as somebody left. It was impressively efficient. 

But I did have to ask how to get water from the machine; elsewhere in the airport, a vending machine defeated us.

We wanted a drink. The machine had buttons, a card reader, and, I guess, a sequence we needed to follow. Whatever that sequence was, we didn’t figure it out. After successfully navigating flights, restaurant menus and public transport, we had reached the limit of our abilities at a machine selling cold coffee.

While screen-based ordering systems were common, I was surprised by how often technology appeared where I hadn’t expected it. At Bulguksa Temple, donation points with tap-and-go card readers sat within the temple building, and our guide sent meeting times to everybody’s preferred communication app, which meant repeating the same message across several different systems. It seems that keeping a coach party together requires as much knowledge of messaging platforms as it did of the places we visited.

Translation apps helped, although they had their limits. At a small Japanese restaurant in Jeju, we used one to choose dishes from the menu. Communication wasn’t easy, but dinner was outstanding and worth all the effort. We watched the restaurant prepare a grilled rice ball and brand it with a hot rod. We still didn’t fully understand everything, but it was fascinating to watch, and the Internet told us it was their signature dish.

But the noraebang remote was the least forgiving piece of technology we encountered.

We eventually got Madonna’s Beautiful Stranger playing at what seemed to be the correct speed. Then we somehow got it again and couldn’t find the cancel button. Extra minutes mysteriously appeared on the clock, and even now, back home, I have no idea whether I pressed a button to pay for them or not. PY selected Adele’s Hello, which didn’t seem like an obvious karaoke choice, but by then we were going with whatever came up on the screen. 

The original frustration had become increasingly funny. More time appeared in the top right of the screen, but we decided we’d had enough. We left without mastering the remote, and although we had managed some singing, I don’t think we mastered that either. Perhaps you were in the next booth and heard us!

That same day, we had travelled back from Busan on a smooth, quiet high-speed train and taken the subway to our hotel because we knew how it worked and still had money on our travel cards. We had come quite a long way from that first retreat to Starbucks.

We could travel at high speed, but finding a karaoke song we wanted to sing was just a bit too much.

Counting From the Start

Count from when love began—not when papers were signed

A collage showing portions of two anniversary cards side by side. The left card has a mustard yellow background with white text reading "Happy Anniversary" and a decorative heart pattern border. The right card has a dark purple background with pink flowers, white hearts, text reading "To a special couple on your Anniversary", and an illustration of two champagne glasses with raspberries and bubbles.
Two anniversary cards demonstrating the greeting card industry’s unwavering commitment to hearts, flowers, and champagne!

Yesterday, I uploaded a picture of my anniversary dinner to Blipfoto. It was lovely, and looking back, I often have recorded the date on one of my sites. I think a post at twelve years might have been the first time it was mentioned here.

But when do you start counting? PY and I go right back to the beginning because when we met, marriage wasn’t even possible. We still get lovely anniversary cards celebrating a different date (albeit yesterday) because that’s when we had a partnership.

The option of marriage came many years later, and by then, we were already counting, so we weren’t going to go backwards. But given the amount of time people live together before marriage these days, even those who have always been able to have a ceremony, I wondered if there was any data on the trend. So I had a quick look to see where Google might point me.

The Office for National Statistics suggests that over the past 30 years, British couples have waited increasingly longer before marrying. In the early 1990s, many couples wed within a couple of years of meeting, often without living together first; only about 60% cohabited before marriage in 1994. Today, over 90% of couples cohabit before marrying, and surveys show the average relationship lasts around 4.9 years before the wedding.

According to some analysis of ‘partnership cohorts’ that I read, in the 1980s, over half of cohabiting couples married within five years, compared with just one-third in the 2000s. Same-sex couples, who gained marriage rights in 2014, often had especially long pre-marriage relationships, with 43% together 4–7 years and 34% together 1–3 years before marrying.

I found an article on brides.com which summed up the very modern problem of which date, “Deciding which anniversaries to celebrate as the years go on is very partner/marriage specific”.

So, the trend is rising marriage ages and the normalisation of long-term cohabitation. In that case, the date of any ‘anniversary’ that may be celebrated is likely to change to better reflect how long people have been together. In the end, I guess an anniversary should be what the couple define it to be – a personal milestone worthy of a big celebration or a quiet meal in Soho. Perhaps PY and I are right. It’s when you met, not when you signed the paper.

Another Year, Another Autumn

It’s my favourite of seasons again. Autumn!

As the British tend to do, we will look back on this past summer with joy. We’ll talk about it like we did that of 1976 – a long, hot, lazy, crazy summer. I was more likely to be playing in a paddling pool than worrying about shortages of the plastic pools back then but I do remember the heat and picking the fruit from my father’s fruit bushes while sitting in the back garden. Sadly, the topless lads playing football on the green behind my house has given way to to the Sunday morning rugby matches. This is a sign of the on-coming winter as the fields turn from their burnt golden grass to a dark-brown mud bath. Still, autumn comes first and it’s my favourite of seasons. I think it’s time I got the camera out to start recording some of it.

Nearly There

As I am not going to fake the blog, then you, dear reader, must put up with the dull bits as well as the not-so-dull.

Looking back at yesterday’s post, I see that everybody has a much more interesting life than I do, or at least it seems that way! As I am not going to fake the blog, you, dear reader, must put up with the dull bits as well as the not-so-dull bits.

Today is my last day at work this week. I am taking two days off to clear my head. There are a lot of things to think about when it comes to work and, more importantly, PY and I want to spend some time together. The downside of this break (originally meant to be a week and reduced to two days) is that I will be here (in the office) for another couple of hours. So, no more time to update. I am going to boil the kettle and get on. Posts beyond this point will be written on my Palm Pilot and updated when they can be.