Travelogue: Teaching in Uganda

So. It's been months since I blogged about anything. But I wrote the post below months ago, so I've published it, with some further editing. This brings back so much memories, and I can't believe it's been a year since I lived there. I should really keep up with my travelogues before I forget everything. Thankfully I was quite diligent about writing my diary when we were there, so I have something to refer to for the details.

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Primary education is free in Uganda, and Ibaako had about 14 teachers and 590 students. There are seven levels in Ugandan primary schools (i.e. Primary 1 to 7) and there's only one class for every level. Nicole (my teaching partner from USA) and I decided to teach Primary 4, which had 86 children of varying ages. The children were mostly between 9 to 13 years old, because some of them chose to start school early, some started late and some were retained. We taught English, Math, Science, Art and Physical Education (PE). We shared the topics to be taught for that semester with their subject teachers, e.g. for Math we taught Geometry while the P4 Math teacher taught Fractions. 

One morning assembly at school

Math class prep

The education system in Uganda is in English, so classes were all taught in English. The teachers however, would often mix in the native language to better explain concepts and things to the students. Nicole and I had to come up with creative ways of teaching our Primary 4 kids, who were still not proficient in English. We tried to make everything more visual, we spoke slowly, we repeated concepts and gave a lot of examples, etc. Of course, with 86 children in a class the learning speeds and methods of the children varied quite widely. The teachers told us to go at the speed of the smarter kids, because otherwise they would be bored. But we tried our best to help the slower kids as well by doing revision classes.

English class at the start of the semester

Not all 86 children were in class every day though, and that is one major impediment to some of the kids' learning. The first week of school we only had 20 odd children in class every day. The teachers explained that some of the kids were still needed at home to help out with farming and chores, and in general the parents didn't think the first week of school was useful, despite classes and the curriculum having started. Some children just don't turn up for days, and when they come back they just continue on from where the class stopped the previous day. Some of them lose interest because they miss out here and there, and they only understand bits and pieces of a topic and they don't know what is going on. There is no way for them to catch up or revise a topic themselves, because textbooks are a luxury they cannot afford. All they know is only what they copy from the blackboard in class, and if they don't turn up for class, they seldom bother to borrow their friends' notes to catch up on the parts they missed.

In general my impression of the education system is that it's rather laid-back, at least at the primary level. There is a timetable for lessons but it's really just for show because no one follows it and it's pretty much free and easy. The teachers are required to submit detailed lesson plans every semester, but all it really entails is copying the previous year's onto a new sheet of paper. The syllabus is also really just a guideline, because no one worries that they can't finish the syllabus. And there are multiple textbooks with varying syllabi and the teachers just pick any to teach. The students are required to be on time, but the teachers don't really come in till later. 

The teachers do not get paid very much and during the time we were there, two or three teachers did not appear at school for about a week, because they had not been getting paid for two months. When they came back they apologised for having been away and leaving all the teaching to us, because they had gone to demonstrate. Later on when they received news that they had been paid, they were so happy they paused class to exchange words and handshakes. 

The only photo I have of the school, taken on the last day

The teachers in school were really warm and friendly. During break or in between classes, they would sit with us in the staff room and share with us about their way of life in Uganda, inform us about the prices for vegetables at the market so we wouldn't get overcharged, tell us where to buy certain things, etc. In turn, we would talk about our lives back home,

Lunch at school was something we had heard about even before we started the semester. The previous volunteers wrote about it in a common diary, which was handed to us during our induction course. Basically they hated lunch at school, and someone described that they "felt like puking a little in [their] mouth every time they ate it". So we kind of dreaded it. But after the first meal Nicole and I felt it wasn't as bad as they had described. In fact, we looked forward to lunch every day and cleaned everything off our plates.

Pocho and beans

One of the staple foods in Uganda is known as pocho, which is made from flour and water. The flour is stirred into water in a pot and cooked until the flour becomes cakey and solid. The texture of pocho reminds me somewhat of ketupat, which is rice wrapped in pandan leaves, a dish known in Southeast Asia. Beans with gravy are cooked separately and poured on top of the pocho and served. It's not a healthy meal, with barely any nutritional value, but it is really filling and that is what most locals eat every day. Lunch was provided only for the teachers every day. The schoolchildren (only the girls) would be rostered to help with the cooking in the kitchen, and would bring the pail of food and crockery to the staffroom at lunch time. One teacher would take it upon herself to divide the pail of food amongst all the teachers present. The kids either brought their own lunch, walked home to eat and came back, or went hungry. On days when there are leftovers in the pail (which is rarely because everyone there is a huge eater), a teacher will go outside and randomly pick a child loitering around and he/she would sit in the staffroom and eat. 

After discussing with the headmaster about what we could do to help the school, we started our own little projects. We fixed the pile of 100 broken baby chairs for the younger schoolchildren, called in a carpenter to install new shutters for some of the classrooms and painted the shutters ourselves. We also painted the exterior of one of the school buildings and one classroom with the help of the teachers and schoolchildren.

I will do a post about the children themselves later on. 

Travelogue: Transport in Uganda

So we taught at school five days a week and basically spent the week in the village. On Fridays though we'd all come home at about 1 pm, have lunch and take the matatu to a town called Jinja, which is about 1.5 to 2 hours away. The matatus are white minivans with a sign saying "TAXI" on them and is the locals' way of travel for longer distances (between villages, towns and cities). There are thousands of matatus around, and they all go the same few routes, so it seems like a public transport network, but they are really all operated by private individuals.

First time on the matatu

The above is the only picture I have of our numerous matatu rides, taken the first time we took the matatu, because it was such a bemusing experience. It's enough to make me never complain about public transport in Singapore ever again. Legally the matatu is supposed to seat only 15 people; the driver, two in the front and three on each of the four rows in the back. But to maximise profits there would usually be 20 people (or more) in the minivan. Four people sitting in each row, plus a conductor who'd just sort of crouch over (see the guy in yellow in the picture) or hang out the window. Sometimes you'd have a stranger half-sitting on you, sometimes you'd have to carry someone's baby for them. At least twice I had to sit on my friends, 'cause I was the lightest and just bend my head so I wouldn't bump it on the car roof when the minivan went over bumps or potholes. And because it's the main mode of transport for locals, they'd sometimes have insane amounts of luggage. We've had live chickens in the same taxi, bulky household items and baggage either carried or tied or shoved under our feet. Once the entire van of people had to alight because this lady had these giant sacks of flour packed into the van and they had to unload them for her. It never ceased to amaze me how much they could pack into just one minivan.

Another thing about the matatus is that they do not leave on time. There is no "on time". They come and go whenever they want. A matatu could just be sitting there by the roadside the entire day and not move an inch, until they fill up the seats. And if you happen to be one of the first passengers, good luck with waiting. The longest we had to wait was about 50 mins, just sitting in the matatu waiting for other people to come by, but our local friends told us it can even take hours. If you try to exit and find another matatu, they'll cling to you and try to convince you that they will leave soon, and you'd just have to be really firm, as I've seen some other locals do. With us though, because there were five of us, more often than not the matatus would be too packed and we'd have to cram ourselves in or wait for the next one, which would come whenever.

And there no designated stops, no bus stops nothing of the sort. You just tell the conductor where you want to go or stop and he will somehow remember it. The matatu stops whenever/wherever it wants to, especially if they see someone standing by the roadside, or if someone wants to alight in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes you tell them where you are going and they will ask you to get in, but halfway through the journey they will tell you to alight and change to another matatu, and you'd just have to follow instructions. So when I said it would usually take us about 1.5 to 2 hours to get to Jinja, it depended on how often we were stopping and whether we had to change to a different matatu to get there. Initially too, they'd try to overcharge us because we were mzungus ("white people", or any foreigner really). 

Another common mode of transport, usually for shorter distances, is the boda-boda. These are motorcycle taxis and we'd usually take them to go between villages, or around town on the weekends. You just settle on a price with the motorcyclist, hop on and off you go. No helmets, roads full of potholes, sketchy riding skills and all. The drivers were mostly pretty skilful, but sometimes they would try to squeeze in between two vehicles even when there is barely any space and you find yourself brushing up against the car beside you. Or they will speed up when it would have been better to slow down. Legally they are only supposed to take one pillion rider, but we would usually ride two on one. Some days to save a few dollars, three of us would ride on one (so that would be four adults on a bike, including the driver, uh-huh), because they would try to overcharge the one riding alone. Riding at night was actually pretty dangerous, because the roads have no streetlights and are full of potholes and sunken parts, but we got so used to it we didn't think twice about hopping on anymore. One night though, there were three of us on the bike and because it had rained and one stretch of the road had caved in and flooded and the driver was going so slowly, the engine died and we had no choice but to get off and wade through the muddy ankle-deep water. 

So yeah. The other day I was taking the MRT and they announced that there was a train delay of 20 minutes and I was going to be late and it was a little annoying. But I thought of how we were all standing in an air-conditioned station even though it was crowded, and how people were getting restless but for the most part were queuing in an orderly manner, and then of all the things I just got used to in Uganda and wondered if tolerance levels changed according to where you were. Sometimes I think it's really just a matter of taking things into your stride and changing your perspective.

Travelogue: Village life in Uganda

About two months late, but hey, better late than never right? I figured I should write about it before I forget even more of it. I've not really shared all my travel stories, or even much of them, even with close friends, because really, there's just so much to tell that I simply don't know where to start. And it would take days and days and some moments were really just "you have to had been there" and everyone would get bored because they have no idea what I'm talking about.

So from May to August this year, I lived and taught in Uganda. I lived in a little village called Busesa, which is located on the eastern side of Uganda, along the highway to the border crossing between Uganda and Kenya. I arrived on my own, a day earlier than the other volunteers who were flying in from UK. It took me 1.5 hours to get through immigration 'cause the queue was sooo long, and by the time I got out I was worried my backpack would be gone and so would the driver sent by the B&B I was putting up at. Thankfully the driver persisted in waiting and I found him amongst the sea of expectant faces when I stepped out, holding a sign with my name on it. Spent one night in Entebbe at a B&B called The Colonial Residence, which is opened by a friendly couple.

First breakfast in Uganda at The Colonial Residence

After 5 days of orientation at a campsite along the River Nile, our dear representative sent us to our village house and left the five of us there to our own devices. And from then on we were on our own. We had our own little house, which was equipped with little modern luxuries that we did not expect at all, thanks to the kindness of our (relatively wealthy) landlord. We had a small refrigerator, a gas stove, a water dispenser, running tap water, a flushing toilet, a shower. Some nights we would be left in the dark with candles and torchlights, but for the most part we had electricity.

Us on our first day in our village house - 2 Brits, 1 Canadian, 1 Singaporean and 1 American

We had to be really conscious of saving water, because it had to be manually drawn from a well to fill a huge 5,000l tank in our backyard and if it had run out we could probably have paid someone to do it but it would be a lot of hassle. So the toilet was only flushed once a day (mostly we used the outhouse), dishwashing was done as efficiently as possible, showers were much shorter 'cause it was cold (if we even showered at all...don't judge :X). It was still very different compared to life back home, but you really learn to appreciate little things more.

We had to sleep in mosquito nets, and for some of us it was essential. I attract mozzies like flowers attract bees, and the first night in the house I had to sleep without a net because the one I bought online was too small to fit over the bed and it was a waking nightmare. I spent the entire night huddled under the sheets that I thankfully bought in the supermarket earlier that day, perspiring like crazy but not daring to show even an inch of flesh because I could hear the deafening whine of mozzies buzzing around right above me. For others though it seemed fine, like my Canadian roomie Kat, who eventually gave up on her mozzie net and slept without one. Malaria is a very real problem there but malaria aside the itching from the mozzie bites is enough to drive you crazy. So we had to get used to taking anti-malarial pills and putting on mozzie spray day and night.

I taught at a public primary school called Ibaako Primary School, which is a 20-minute brisk walk along the highway every morning. We'd get up at 7, eat breakfast and start off for school and reach at about 8. School typically ended at about 4 or 5 pm for my teaching partner Nicole and I, and for the other three who were in another primary school, they came home at varying times. We would walk pretty much everywhere, around the village, to and from school, to the nearby village and it was fine mostly. At mid-day the sun would be scorching though, and when it rained it was terrible, because the roads would turn to mud. One Sunday we came home from our weekend in town and it was pouring and the 5-minute walk from the highway in to our house felt like forever because it was getting dark (there are no streetlights so it is literally pitch dark at night) and the roads were muddy and slippery and the rain was in our eyes and down our faces and we were absolutely drenched.

Hand-washing our laundry at 6 am

Lugging 18-litre bottles back home

Chores-wise we did our own cooking, dishwashing, cleaning and all, but thankfully the landlord also had a houseboy, who lived in a small house attached to our backyard, and we could pay him to do our laundry weekly, and also to run errands like getting drinking water. We did our own laundry once at 6 in the morning when it was still dark, because the houseboy was ill, and it was no joke. Hand-washed a week's worth of laundry and it took forever, because the soap suds just wouldn't seem to come out. ALWAYS BE THANKFUL FOR YOUR WASHING MACHINE GUYS IT IS THE BEST INVENTION EVER.

Communal shaving day in our backyard

World Cup mania even in the village

After we got home from school, we would usually be ravenous so we would snack, maybe exercise a little and then cook ourselves huge portions for dinner. Evenings were spent chilling in the backyard, playing cards, listening to music, planning the next day's lessons, reading on our Kindles, writing in our journals, making friendship bracelets or just sitting around and talking. Bedtime would be at about 8 or 9 pm (crazy early I know), because we would be so exhausted and sleepy by that time and just troop off to bed. When World Cup started, some of us went out at night to these little viewing rooms in the village like the locals, where you pay an entrance fee to watch the night's matches. Life was really simple and peaceful in the village. And it's surprising how quickly one adapts to the simple life and after a while you realise you don't need very much to live well and be happy. Every week would pass pretty quickly and before we knew it it would be the weekend.

Rainbow spotted on the way to Idudi village

Some days after school Nicole and I would walk with our kids to Idudi, another village about a 20-min walk from our school, to do grocery shopping in their local market. Idudi is larger than Busesa, so it also has a larger market with more variety of produce. We would go there about once or twice a week for avocados, bananas, eggs, potatoes etc. Usually in Busesa we would be able to get only tomatoes, green peppers, eggplants, onions, cabbage and eggs. Five days a week in the village we would be on a vegetarian diet pretty much, other than eggs. They do have meat in the village, but the meat would usually be strung up outside their wooden shacks and it would be covered in flies and it never looked appealing enough to risk trying. So we would only eat veggies and fruits on weekdays and gorge on meat over the weekend.

Also, depending on when you go, the crop that is in season would be really cheap. When we arrived it was mango season and mangoes were practically free. They sold them really cheaply in the markets, and the children gave them to us every day in school as gifts. One week we had over a hundred mangoes in the house and we had to give them away because otherwise they would rot over the weekend while we were away. And then it was maize and pineapple season.

The walk home from school along the highway

Some people have asked for details of living, volunteering and/or travelling in Africa and so I thought I'd write it down, both for myself and for whoever is interested. And I'll be happy to answer any more questions. I don't claim to be an expert or to know the place very well, having just been there for only four months and a handful of countries really, but I have been there and all I can share is what I've seen or learnt from my own experience and I would say a hearty "YES" to anyone who wants to go.

Every adventure requires a first step.

So one day when we were still back in our village house in Uganda, I decided that I wanted to go to Rwanda. Initially Kat (one of my housemates) wanted to come along and the two of us planned to go together. But as we neared the day of departure she fell ill and contracted pneumonia, and it seemed like my trip to Rwanda was going to be cancelled, 'cause our organisation did not encourage solo travel due to safety reasons. So I was getting all ready to spend four days alone exploring Kampala (the capital of Uganda) while the others headed back to Jinja, when Monique (the coolest in-charge ever) calls me and says she's going to let me go to Rwanda alone, 'cause why not? I'm a sensible girl and she's sure I can handle myself. She said it in more colourful language of course, but that was the gist of it.

I was SO EXCITED, but also very anxious, 'cause I had to depart early the next day, and I had no plans at all, and this was my FIRST TIME TRAVELING SOLO. Sure, I've flown here and there by myself before, but I was always meeting a friend or an organisation rep; there was always someone to meet me at my destination. But this time I was going somewhere alone, to explore and see a new place by myself. The thought of it was so exhilarating, but also terrifying. I guess it was also partly because I would be travelling alone in Africa, which is not exactly the safest place on earth.

So I took the boda-boda (the term for motorbike taxi in Uganda) to the bus park early the next morning and bought myself a bus ticket to Kigali, Rwanda. Got some food and water to last me for the supposedly 8-hour journey, boarded the bus excitedly...and ended up sleeping pretty much the entire way. I've lost count of the number of long-distance bus journeys I've taken in the 4 months we were there, and let me just tell you that buses are a pretty darn uncomfortable way of travelling.

The journey ended up taking 10 hours, and I got more anxious by the minute towards the end, 'cause the sun was setting and it was getting dark. By the time we arrived in the bustling bus park in Kigali, it was past 8 and the sky was dark. I had no idea where I was, no local currency, no accommodation and no mobile connection. I tried to play it cool and look like I knew where I was going, 'cause there were people everywhere, offering their services as guide as driver etc. Followed another lady out of the bus park ('cause I had no idea how to exit the place) and found myself by the side of the road, with no idea where I was. So I approached the most threatening-looking person on the street, a soldier presumably on patrol duty because he was carrying a huge gun, and asked him where the nearest ATM was. Now the organisation had warned that we should never withdraw money at night, because there had been incidents of past volunteers getting robbed the moment they stepped out onto the street. But I had no choice; I needed money for transport and accommodation. Thankfully the area around the ATM was brightly lit, but I was still very jumpy and paranoid about getting money out.

Then I had to figure out a way to get to a hostel. The night before I had saved the addresses of two hostels that I could try my luck at, and so I made my way to a crowd of motorbike taxi drivers chilling by the roadside to ask if any of them could take me there. But nobody knew where it was, even though tripadvisor had said it was a pretty well-known place in Kigali. And it didn't help that Rwandans are generally more fluent in French than in English, so we weren't exactly communicating effectively. Before I knew it, a huge crowd of men had gathered around me, motorbike drivers and even random passersby, to try and help me figure it out, and I was trying not to panic at the thought of having no place to sleep for the night, because no one seemed to know. After about 10 minutes I thanked the crowd and walked off to try my luck with some other drivers. Finally I found a guy who knew where the place was, and even though he was going to overcharge me I was just so thankful I climbed onto his bike without hesitation. 

It was pretty late by the time I got to the hostel, and lucky for me there were two beds left in the entire hostel, so I managed to get a bed in the smaller dorm. I was so exhausted by the events of the day, the long journey, arrival in the dark in an unknown place, getting money and locating the hostel, that I pretty much just crawled into bed after a quick dinner.

And so that was my (pretty harrowing) first step towards solo travel. 

It's been 5 months...

"Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving."

- Terry Prachett, A Hat Full of Sky

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So it's been about five months since I had a substantial post about anything. I recently got back from east Africa, where I've been traipsing around for four months. I considered blogging on the go, but the awful wifi available in east Africa (or at least, where I was) destroyed any hope of that. So I'll be recounting bits and pieces of my trip from now on.

Before I left, people were telling me "wow", "that's so cool", "you're so brave", "I could never do that", and they still are, even now that I'm back. But really, I think going after what you want, whatever it may be, requires courage. I would be lying if I said I wasn't intimidated at all; there were days when I had second thoughts about doing it. But once you start going down the list of things that could possibly go wrong, you will realise that it is endless and if you let your fears overwhelm you and stop you from doing what you really want, you'll forever be trapped in your own comfort zone, comfortably miserable. So to those who are thinking of doing it, I say, just go.

Four months is not that long, neither is it that short. I've learnt so much in my time away, seen and experienced so much, met so many new people and heard their stories, that it has only "worsened" my already severe case of wanderlust. But there is also the downside to going away for a substantial period of time - life goes on back home, you miss out on events, things and people change...it's not like time freezes back home while you go wandering around. You come home and things are different, people are different, in small ways and big.

For me it's been hard adjusting to life back here - I came home to sad news and it's really affected my joy in homecoming. Also trivial things like the weather, missing your travelling companions, not being able to remember where everything is kept in your room (because you packed it right before you left)... And having to deal with first world problems - I am having such a hard time wearing proper shoes again. It's been flipflops or barefoot for the past four months, and I'm getting so many blisters now from trying to wear shoes it's not even funny. The sad irony of it is that most of the children in the village I lived in couldn't even afford shoes so they had to go barefoot.

But if I could do it all over again, I would still go.

Seoul-searching: Cafe-hopping in Seoul

Seoul really has a thing for cafes. There are so many cafes everywhere and there were always people in them, be it big cafe chains or small quaint cafes, and we cafe-hopped quite a bit while we were there. Sometimes it was to hide from the cold or rain, to rest for a bit, or sometimes just because it looked nice. Their cafes pretty much serve only sweets and drinks though, sometimes sandwiches. They don't seem to have the kind of cafes that serves all-day breakfast or mains on their menus. Other than the cat cafe, these are the cafes that we chanced upon as we went about the city.

A cute little cafe near our guesthouse in Namsan

Chanced upon this roadside cafe on our way to Namsan Park and decided we would try it for breakfast the next morning. We ended up having coffee and waffles with ice cream for breakfast because why not. Life is short, eat dessert for breakfast. That line should probably be printed on a tee or something.

Cosy interior

Being a crazy cat lady, I of course planned a visit to a Korean cat cafe, as though working in a cat cafe in Singapore weren't enough. We went to one in the Hongdae area, recommended by my friend. I believe they have various branches in different parts of Seoul, from what I can guess on the Korean website.

Cat Darakbang - if Google Translate does not fail me, 'darakbang' is translated as garret, which refers to an attic.

The cafe was located on the third level, up a flight of stairs so nondescript that you'd miss it if you just blinked. Or if you weren't looking for it. We were looking for it and we still managed to climb up the wrong flight of stairs. When we entered there was a porch area for us to remove our shoes and put on slippers and sanitise our hands before we entered the cafe area. Entry into the cafe costs KRW8,000 per person, which is roughly SGD10 and we get to choose a drink off the menu which is inclusive.

The crazy cat lady in me started mooning over all the cats the moment we entered. It was the afternoon so most of the cats were napping or lazing around. But when more customers came in, the cafe staff opened a can of tuna and started handing out a spoonful of it to every customer who wanted to feed the cats and most of the cats started waking up and coming up to us. J declined feeding them, so of course he had the important task of helping me take photos while I fed them.

The cafe didn't have any toys or brushes for us to play with or groom the cats unlike my workplace, but I got to feed the cats twice, after which they all went back to sleep or just wandered around. Other than a few groups of youngsters that came and went, the cafe was really peaceful, with cats napping near us or on my lap and we spent a quiet 1.5 hours there.

I shall just include the details here if anyone would like to visit:

Cat Darakbang (www.godabang.com)

Opening hours: 1pm - 10 pm on weekdays (not sure about the weekends!)

Entrance fee: KRW8,000 (one drink inclusive)

Directions: Hongik University Station (Hongdae) exit 9. Turn left as soon as you exit the station and turn right at the first intersection. Cat Darakbang will be on the right hand side down an alley. You will see a signboard indicating that there is a cat cafe on level 3. Go up the narrow flight of stairs.

Gahoe Hankyung-hun Cafe

This was the first cafe we saw and went into because it was so miserable and rainy and we were so tired from getting lost while trying to find Samcheong-dong. The exterior looks like a very traditional little house and after glancing briefly at the menu outside we left our umbrella in one of the vats and stepped in for a rest. The cosy interior was warmly lit, and there was even a raised platform in the corner for traditional seating.

The cafe owner is a lady who also happens to be an artist and there were several of her artworks on display inside the cafe. What I thought were paintings at first turned out to be embroidered artworks on closer inspection and with some clarification from the owner. The pictures were so finely embroidered I couldn't tell if they were painted or sewn, that's how amazing they were. The cafe owner gifted me with some pretty postcards of her artworks and passed me a book to browse through. The book turned out to be a collection of her artworks throughout the years, with accompanying explanations in three languages.

A published book of the cafe owner's artworks

The cafe has a wide selection of coffees and teas, but very limited snacks. J ordered Brazilian hand-drip coffee; the menu had a variety of exotic coffees to please the coffee connoisseurs. I just had my usual mocha. As we waited for the rain to stop, we used the free wifi in the cafe and decided on our itinerary for the rest of the day.

After visiting Gyeongbokgung we walked back to Insadong and decided we needed another break from the cold. I had pointed out the pretty exterior of the cafe when we walked through Insadong previously so we decided to walk back and hop in. The cafe has three storeys and you can choose where you want to sit, but the ordering counter is only on the first level. They have pantries and coffee machines on all three levels though and because we were seated on the second level the baristas came up to make our drinks on the second level. 

The cafe does not have an English name. The Korean name is "도도" which is read as "dodo". It's on the main touristy street of Insadong and the exterior would be hard to miss - it has a brick exterior complete with fake flowers at the windows. We ordered hot chocolate and it came in two huge cups on doilies and wooden coasters. The menu had quite a selection of yummy-looking sweets too, but we were too full from lunch. The place also serves different types of traditional Korean tea, apart from the usual coffee/tea selection in cafes. We sat there for quite some time, just people-watching and after a while I got kind of cold 'cause we were sitting near the window and you could practically feel the chill permeating through the glass windows.

This last cafe we went to was in Noryangjin and we stopped by right after we had lunch in Noryangjin Fish Market. We were stuffed, but the Russian toast on the menu looked too enticing. So we got our coffees and ordered this giant thick toast to share. It came with a generous heap of soft serve ice cream sprinkled with cinnamon and it was really yummy. Even the whipped cream on my coffee was so delish I licked it all up. The cafe itself was spacious with a variety of seats - we were seated on comfy low armchairs, while the others in the cafe were studying at higher tables and chairs. There was even a workshop to one side of the cafe where people could learn the art of grounding coffee, while others in the cafe looked on through a huge glass window. 

Seoul searching: Ohanami ❤︎

Back from my short trip with J. Wish I could have spent longer there and explored more, but J had to fly off to California and I had to come back to pack for my long trip to Uganda. The trip to Seoul was more to spend time together I guess, after months of brief, occasional dates 'cause he had to prepare for his final examinations.

The trip was really timely though, because it was flower season and Seoul was in bloom! So so glad we managed to catch the cherry blossoms. Before the trip I kept lamenting how it was such a pity I couldn't catch the cherry blossoms in Japan this year and how we'd miss the flower festivals in Korea as well 'cause they would only start after we had left. But after we arrived I checked again and realised that one of Seoul's flower festivals had been brought forward! Due to weather changes the cherry blossoms were blooming earlier, so the festival was to start 10 days earlier. What luck! And outside of the flower festival trees along the streets were randomly blooming too, making the city so much more beautiful.

From hereon it shall just be a photo spam of the many flowers I saw throughout the trip. This is basically a flowers appreciation post. I'll blog about what we did in upcoming posts~

Namsan Park

Namsan Park had quite a lot flowers in bloom when we strolled through on the first evening we arrived, although I don't think it was in full bloom yet.

Flowering trees by the roadside

Quaint little flower shops everywhere

Gyeongbokgung

This was at Seoul Plaza, outside City Hall. There was some kind of fair being held and these gorgeous flowers had been planted by the roadside along with many many other varieties and they all had their Korean names labelled on cute little chalkboard tags. Almost everyone who walked by slowed their footsteps to admire the flowers or stopped to take some photos. Flowers have this kind of magic.

And so we went to attend the Yeouido Spring Flower Festival, which had been brought forward 10 days. One stretch of road had been closed off for the festival and there were tons of people strolling about even though it was a weekday. Beautiful trees lined the roadside and the blossoms just went on and on, as far as the eye could see and then some ♥︎_♥︎

There were street performances, stalls selling cup noodles with makeshift tables by the road, mascots milling around...and tons of people taking pictures. Many couples brought along tripods that could hold their smartphones so they could take perfect timed shots of themselves. Enterprising people came early to find good photo spots and promptly set up photo booths with small portable printers printing the photos on the spot and they seemed to be doing jolly good business. Meanwhile J and I were trying rather unsuccessfully to take selfies with the flowers.

Said unsuccessful selfie

Trees on either side of the pavement creating a perfect shade from the sun

There's just something about flowers that instantly lifts the mood (: