After the unfortunate death of Grace, we move on to the next episode, three, titled “Alex”. Now, I obviously know who Alex is, but at the time he just kinda came out of nowhere, so let’s see what this new character has to offer. Last time they did this it was Sketch, which was a fucking shambles. Let’s go.
The camera pans across to an alarm as we see a map and some sailing paraphernalia as some dodgy music starts playing (perfect opportunity to use Fisherman’s Blues but whatever). Some bloke (Alex) then counts down the seconds before his alarm goes off and then hops up and gets dressed. He picks up a list with 6 numbers and some writing written on it and he also picks up a die. Alex then takes some breakfast to a woman who I assume is his grandmother and then gets a call from his dad who asks him if he’s ready to move house the next week. Alex’s grandmother makes a rather disrespectful gesture at the sound of Alex’s dad’s voice, who mentions that she’s being put in a home soon. She then calls him a “silly old twat” when he hangs up (wow, how she gonna do her own son like that?) and asks if he even wished Alex any luck. She tells him he doesn’t need it anyway and Alex is next seen messing about with his die and list at a bus stop. Alex is next seen being shown around Roundview by Doug, who tells him that his father changed some of his subjects around (what a silly old twat). Alex is introduced to his class, which Liv, Mini, Alo and Nick are also in and we find out that Doug is now the head teacher (finally, the real MVP is leading the line). Alex messes about with his die again as he and Liv share a glance. He sits in the canteen and notices Grace’s memorial, while also looking at Liv as she pours some vodka into her drink (just casually in the middle of a school I might add). He catches her eye and they smirk at each other (fuck me, first Rider, then Matty and now Alex. Liv does love a proper impromptu relationship). Alex takes out his list of six options (which I’m not gonna type out, but they’re all a bit odd) and rolls his die. He lands a two, which is “punch the next person to walk in”, who just happens to be young Alo Creevey. He’s arguing with Nick, who’s complaining that he’s partners with Rich for some project, but he’s obviously not in for the foreseeable future. Alex then gets up and fucking sparks Alo out of it in front of everyone before helping him up, apologising and telling him it’s “only numbers” as he walks off. Liv seems impressed (didn’t realise she liked some good old assault).
We then see Liv at her locker, who approaches Mini and confronts her about avoiding her lately because she doesn’t want to talk about Grace, which Mini denies. Mini gets upset and storms off, the lurking Alex in the background viewing the whole thing. Liv notices him and asks him what his deal is and why he socked poor Alo. He then gives this whole “numbers” thing (which I get is supposed to be a quirk of some sort, but it’s really cringeworthy to me). He then demonstrates, rolling a three and then kissing Liv. She reciprocates...by slapping him. She then sort of smiles and they introduce themselves to each other. And then she’s walking to his house (like I said, it doesn’t take much to convince old Liv to do anything). Alex then finds his Gran in a closet and introduces her to Liv. She tells Liv she “likes to colour” of her and they share a laugh. Alex then serves then beans on toast (good bit a food that) and Alex’s Gran does some reminiscing. However, things go south when she starts talking about being put in a home and about Alex’s dad. As he sees Liv out, she invites him to the pub, Alex telling her he might come. Alex then reads to his Gran and ignores a call from his dad. He arrives at the pub (despite not knowing what time they were going at) and sees the gang minus Rich (and Matty and Grace obviously) looking rather dejected. He goes over and asks if any of them want a shot (Alo getting confused and thinking Alex is offering him out). As Alex goes to get drinks, Alo complains about him and Mini tells Liv they don’t need any new friends (honestly, the way characters treat each other in this show, it’s hard to believe they’re friends at all). Nick comes up beside Alex at the bar and he asks Nick what Grace was like, Nick telling Alex he’s alright but just to “leave that alone” (yeah, why is Alex such a nosy twat?). Liv introduces them all to Alex, Mini quickly downing her shots before going for a dance with some prat. Alex notes Alo’s annoyance at Mini’s behaviour as he points out that they’re all “a little on edge” (I don’t really think Angie’s psychology class would be needed to spot that to be honest Alex). Alo then gets up to dance, nobody joining in, Nick telling him that’s gay (this show would be cancelled today just for that joke alone). Alex then gets a phone call and goes outside as Nick agrees to dance with Alo. Being the only two alone, Franky and Liv gaze at each other, not speaking. Alex has another angry phone call with his twat of a father and then goes to some shady casino with Liv. After an intense poker game with a load of Asians which ends in an Alex victory, one of the players goes mental and accuses Alex of being a “fucking cheat”. Alex then invites the man for a game of heads and tails for the money, daring the man to choose tails, which he does. He flips the coin to the man, which lands on heads. Liv collects the money and Alex shakes the man’s hand and they start to walk away. However, the man discovers that Alex used a double sided coin and he and Liv have to leg it. Alex then has to go back to his Gran and gives Liv some of the money. He kisses her cheek before she heads off. He then takes out his phone, goes on some gay dating app and hooks up with some man (well, that came out of nowhere). Alex gets offended when his fling offers him some money, Alex exclaiming that he’s “not a rent boy” before ripping up the money, kissing the man’s cheek and leaving.
Alex does his countdown before alarm nonsense again before caring for his grandmother and ignoring his father. We then see him in school as Liv approaches and he rolls his die again. He lands a one so he and Liv break into someone’s house. The house they’re in is messy with porn magazines scattered around (Sid’s house maybe?). To mess with the guy, they clean up, leaving his room spotless. Liv starts making a move on Alex, who starts to explain something to her (likely that he’s gay) but they have to run when the man (who’s not Sid unfortunately) comes home. They head back to his but Alex finds his dad at home. They have an icy exchange, Alex wanting not wanting to put his grandmother in a home and offering to look after her. He leaves and tells Alex he’ll be back later. We then have a nice scene as Alex dances with his grandmother, Liv joining in. We then see Alex at college, introducing Nick to the concept of the die. Nick starts reading off his list which involves outcomes such as hanging himself and getting into heroin (that might’ve been the best tragic humour this show has done). Alex tells him to starts smaller and they start to make a new list until they’re interrupted by some bloke who’s making an announcement (he’s literally the biggest Percy Weasely I’ve ever seen). He announces they’re having a memorial service for Grace, his manner proving to be off putting for Liv, Nick, Alo and Mini who don’t want to go. However, things turn sour when Mini accuses Liv of trying to speak for all of them, causing Liv to get upset. Alex goes after her and finds her crying. He consoles her and Liv kisses him. However, just as Mini approaches to, Alex reveals to Liv that he’s gay (which shouldn’t be surprising considering each generation needs a gay character. This wouldn’t be Skins otherwise). She calls him a headfuck (I can’t stress enough how overused that word is in this generation) and accuses him of being spineless. She gets angry with him as Mini reveals herself and piles on, Alex leaving. Liv then tells Mini to do one. Alex sprints out of the school and back home. He calls his grandmother, finding her in bed, her eyes shut. He looks at her bedside locker, picking up the empty pill bottle that was lying on its side. Alex takes the picture of the boat that was in her hand, kissing her head as he starts to cry. We then see Liv at Grace’s memorial, stony faced among the tearful crowd. Percy Weasely whips out a keyboard and him and some other girl sing, to Liv’s disgust. Mini and Franky join her and they look on at the distasteful glorifying of Grace’s death. Franky marches up and pulls at Percy’s keyboard, insulting him (wait, there might be enough time for redemption for Franky...). Liv joins and smashes his keyboard and then flashes the crowd (...Liv. Why’d you do that?). She runs off crying and gets a phone call from Alex, who’s watching her from afar. He apologises and offers to help her. “With everything”.
A blue van pulls up near the sea (or just some stretch of water at Bristol. My UK geographical knowledge isn’t amazing, but isn’t Bristol coastal? Like near Wales and that?). The gang (minus Rich of course) get out and we see a man loading stuff onto a boat. Alex stands aboard and they all sail out. They have a drug fuelled party out at sea. When Liv asks Alex if he stole the boat (yes Liv, I forgot how simple it is to steal a whole fucking boat) but he says he rented it because he thought they all needed it. When Liv questions his motives as he didn’t know Grace, he tells her he “needs a friend right now” and then motions at Mini, telling Liv that “so does she”. As Liv and Mini try and fail to reconcile, Mini sits down on something. She then becomes curious to what it is, freaking out when she finds Alex’s grandmother’s body resting inside. The gang then question Alex’s decision to bring a dead body to their boat party (which is understandable. Alex is alright but he could definitely be the type to murder them all and sink the boat). He goes on to explain that he wants them to help him bury his grandmother at sea. Before they dump her in the water, he reads from that sailor diary, the gang crying about Grace, before they throw her on the water, the casket floating for a few moments before Alex does some weird finger gun shit, counts to down from three, then shoots the casket, it sinking on his cue. Franky then rings Matty, going to voicemail, then telling him it’s her and “don’t ever come back”. Liv and Alex agree to be mates and Alex does another die roll, rolling a six, “Always run away”. So they both jump in. Liv throws the die and they both swim after it.
Okay, new character introduced. And he’s actually pretty good. Obviously he’s a bit overly enigmatic and is definitely not a realistic teenager, but he’s got a pretty good story and just made the season more interesting and brought it back to life. I know this episode was a bit bleak, but Alex’s pretty ridiculous ongoings in this episode really shadowed the entertaining stories that we saw in Gen One and Two. He was a real breath of fresh air, as was this episode in general. Anyway, take note of: - Character of Alex - Fractured morale among the group - Gang somewhat coming to terms with Grace’s death - Franky’s voicemail to Matty - Alo and Mini’s romantic tension
So yea, that was a refreshing episode. It might’ve been a bit over the top, but Alex was the kind of character needed to keep this generation interesting and to add something new. And the overall plot of this one was quite good for all the characters.
Overall Rating: 8/10
submitted by So I hope this makes it to the top of Google one day and can help another human being kind of understand what the vibe and feeling living in terrace is like. I know for myself I looked online and you can find only so much. So I'm going to try and get into some detail of what the lifestyle is like out here. I myself have only lived here for two years and I know what it's like to start fresh here.
I'll start with work, there is plenty to go around. If you don't mind picking up what you have to to get by. There is tons of service jobs available tons of shops in the general idea as Kal tires and parts shops for the trades. If you have and carpentry experience like myself you will find a job with in your first 2 weeks. ( Happened to me). I'm sure the other trades have plenty of work also. the LNG just opened, well approved a while ago and if your into the camp lifestyle they look for workers in Al aspects you can work in the camp as a cook house cleaner other services ( good for a woman). If your a guy the posibilitys are endless. Start wage for labour is like 27 bucks, you'd also be looking at a 2 week on 2 week off roatation. The LNG is located in kitimaatt which is 45 mins away. If you don't want to stay in camp you can bus back and forth to terrace. Also if anybody's from forestry we have a mill to work at too.The town is a growing town and will be for a long time. Lots of work here. Lots of oprutunity.
The outdoors/ scenery Terrace is a beautiful and jaw dropping place to live. There's mountains and lakes everywhere. When I first moved here I got a mountain resort vibe it was super cool. Lots to do in both summer and winter. The temperature in the summer is very nice if you like warm but not 30° warm. Many lakes and great beaches are just a drive away. Some you can get to by town on foot so no vehicle needed. Anywhere down by the skeena river is great. I'm not much of a offroader but from what I can tell alot of people do that. Lots of trails lots of mountains to climb with you side by side. The amount of hiking here is ridiculous. Easy trails to expert also rock climbing is huge here too. Also with beginner to expert levels to suit everyone's need. We have some world class biking trails too, once again from beginner to expert. If you commute on bike there's not many hills in terrace or south side. Defined by our over pass for the trains. Even if you live out in the surrounding are known as thorn hill. You only have a couple big hills and that's all. We have world class fishing available here too for part of the summer. Depending what you want to catch. If your an ocean Fisher price Rupert ( BC's North Port) is only 2 hours away and the drive there is top 10 most beautiful drives in Canada. (AMAZING) we have a holiday in the summer called river boat days and it's basically a whole week of events from drag racing hit to pass they drop a bunch of ducks down the river and if you $20 duck wins you usually get a boat as a prize. Pay 5 bucks to shoot a gun. And after all that. bands play in the park and venders set up. Feeling like a festival. Winter things to do is obviously shames. Many mountains to sled. The winters here are mild rarely going under 12 we do and don't get much snow depending on the day. We have late falls here and early springs. We actually have 4 seasons. We have apple trees and the town is litters with cherry trees. Lots of mushroom picking if you like that. So much that people make a living by doing just that. 20-40k in a season I've heard. ( I'm a northern boy and a brought my parka down here I actually had to sell it because I didn't need it. Was a 600 dollar jacket) it does rain alot here so get ready for that. Last year it was hot and no rain all summer long and this year it was nice for 8 days. You must remember that this is a temperate rain Forrest. The leaves! Omg! You see all the colors the mountain is a spectrum of oranges and reds to browns. Not much beatle kill around here too so in the summer it's just green it's beautiful.
Life style and general mood One thing that is different from other places. Is the town shuts down fairly early. Most restaurants are closed by 8. Not all but most. Some that stay open late are pizza hut Mr Mike's bosten pizza an dominos. Those are the main ones. For fast food we have Mc Donald's a&w taco bell KFC subway DQ Tim Hortons. And that's it. Ever major banking institution we have. We have a pool 3 different gyms. 2 are 24 hr. We have a Walmart a whole sale saveon Safeway for groceries. Lots of liquor stores where you can build points on every order and use those points once you have enough funds. We have vape shops and like 5 weed shops now lol. Marks warehouse. A board shop and an outdoorsmen shop. 4 thrift shops. Many gas stations. Lots of drop in sport to do as well ice skating base ball basket ball tennis badminton hockey. We have a community center that's where artists come to play music like snack mad child Merk. And others. There's a farmer's market at the park every Sunday. Lots of Nick backs and fresh produce. We have like 5 food trucks there usually scattered through out town we have a nice two screen movie theater with a couple arcade games. Everyone is super friendly in terrace.. more so that I've seen from living in different places all over BC. The schools are close elementary middle and high school. They have an amazing trades school here at the college( if your looking for funding and you live here and plan on going to LNG they will find everything for your 1st and second year. Which is amazing) we also have other college classes. A bus that goes everywhere for 2 dollars. You can even get to Kitimat on the bus for only 2 bucks. The night life! What every 20 something is woundering! So we have lots of pubs and a couple bars 1 casino and one club if you will. The pubs all have great food none that I didn't like. The casino is your regular slots sometimes poker games are held. Video poker and video black jack the food there is great! The northern ( what you would call the party spot or club ) is great they usually have a live band on the weekends along with a dj. It's greasy but it fun I'm sure I don't have to say much else. It's got 2pool tables there also. The best thing about all these bars in terrace is they all have their own shuttle service FOR FREE they even pick you up at home and drive you to your destination making bar hoping extremely easy and there really is no need to drink and drive!
The bad and ugly.
There is a homeless problem lots of people wandering the streets. People passed out on the side walk. People pushing carts full of their belongings. Some street people are annoying. Mostly keep you themselves tho. Drugs are rapid here there is no shortage. If you don't get into that life it won't ever find you tho. You have to look for it. We don't have major business like Cosco or anything like that. Buying furniture here is through the roof. Buying a home that's okay starts at 400k the town is going to get worse as the LNG keeps going through. Not much of a fancy dinner date town. Town closes early. Very hard to get a family doctor.
Annnnnddd that's a ramble. I missed a bunch of things I'm sure.
If anybody is looking to move here please ask all the questions you can and want I'd be happy to answer
submitted by Continuing… “Well, if that doesn’t throw the damper on things.” Dax remarks on our trip back down to the ground floor.
“Yeah. How rude. Up and deceasing your own self without bothering to tell anyone beforehand.” I noted.
“This is going to be a bloody balls-up. Trust me. This is going to be inordinately messy. A bog-standard botch job. A total dog’s dinner, just wait and see.” Cliffs adds.
“First, we have to contact IUPGS. Then what? Does Bulgaria have a consulate or embassy here? I wouldn’t think so…Then what?” I grieved. For once, I was rather low; both emotionally and on ideas.
“Let’s go back to the conference room and let everyone know. We’ll pull a brain session together. We should be able to sort out what needs to be done. The hotel already knows, so the state security forces also do as well. Be prepared for lengthy interrogation sessions, Gentlemen”, Cliff advised.
Back in the conference room, we relayed the sad information. All were taken aback and there were general notes of commiseration. However, since no one knew Iskren too well personally, it was more detached professionalism rather than overt weeping and wailing.
“Let us toast to our fallen comrade!” was accepted as both entirely appropriate and a damn good idea.
I got on the conference room phone and ordered up some more sandwiches, mixers, and bottles of booze. The moment was obviously structured that way, I reasoned.
We made our toasts to our fallen comrade and we had half a chalkboard filled with suggestions of what to do next.
The main consensus was: “Nothing.”
As in there was not much we could do. We were foreign nationals in a strangely foreign land. Our comrade was the sole member of his country, that is, Bulgaria, and the closest geographically we had aboard was Dr. Academician Ivan. No one wanted to loose Ivan on the DPRK security forces and have to deal with all that international fallout.
After some number of hours, after I suggested we all remain in the conference room as we’d (A.) be together, as in unity there is strength, (2.) we’d have each other’s backs when and if it came to interrogations, and, (iii.) this is where the free booze was.
Then there was a polite knock on the door.
I, as the den mother of this special education class, slowly got up and answered the knock.
It was a cadre of DPRK internal security forces, kitted out in their spiffy, tailor-made, and actually, quite smart-looking uniforms. Shoes and buttons polished to mirror-finishes, pants creases that could cut flesh, and enough polished brass to construct a spittoon.
“Hello? Yes?” I said through the semi-opened door.
“May we please come in? If the time is convenient.”, the head military type, very treacly asked.
“Of course”, I replied, “Please, do come in.”
Four of them entered as one. They did a quick-step, tight-march formation together and went to the head of the conference table.
“Good day, gentlemen. I am Colonel Hwangbo Dong-Hyeon of Internal State Security. First, we must offer condolences on the loss of your comrade. It must have come as a shock.” He intones.
There are mutters of “Thanks.” and “Damn right it was.”
“I have been entrusted to update you on the, ah, ‘situation’. First, Dr. Iskren Dragomirov Dinev, recently deceased, has been examined by the best medical practitioners in the country. He was obviously a foreign national and state guest, and we do not wish this to be a cause of suspicion or mistrust, especially during this auspicious Festival season.” He asserted.
We listened with rapt attention.
“I am authorized to tell you that it does not appear that the late Dr. Dinev expired of any untoward circumstances; or ‘foul play’, I believe is the western term. It has been ascertained that he expired due to wholly natural causes; namely massive myocardial infarction. Given his age, apparent health, and, ah, mass, this does seem a most reasonable explanation. This has been verified by no less than three DPRK medical professionals; one of which is the Emeritus teaching professor of Cardiology at Pyongyang Medical University. Again, you have our deepest condolences on the loss of your comrade.” He continued.
“I do remember Iskren complaining of gas pains the other night at the bar,” Joon agreed. “Thought nothing of it, given the change in all our diets.”
Colonel Hwangbo studied Joon like an entomologist examining a particularly fascinating new species of beetle.
“Which has been fine! Just rather rich compared to our usual food!” Joon hastily added.
Satisfied that Joon wasn’t making light of the ‘fine’ North Korean cuisine, Colonel Hwangbo continued, “As such, the Bulgarian Embassy here in Pyongyang has been contacted and apprised of the situation. They have taken over the case, as well as recovered the mortal remains and possessions of Dr. Dinev; all of which were conserved and authenticated by his Bulgarian national counterparts.”
“Ah, that’s good”, I said, “I’m pleased that there actually is a Bulgarian embassy here.”
“Ah. So.”, Col. Hwangbo continued, “Yes. They have already taken possession of Dr. Dinev’s mortal remains and possessions as I had noted, and will handle their repatriation to his country and family. As you can see, we have acted in the best of faith and with the utmost respect for your lately departed. Again, our condolences.”
There were some “Harrumphs”, and “Yeah, rights”, from the crowd, but since I was the team leader, it fell to me to handle this situation from here on out.
“Yes, indeed”, I replied, “We see that and do so deeply appreciate your efficiency and your keeping open the lines of communication. We have absolutely no room to complain. You, your team, your country, and your services have acted to the highest degree of professionalism and decorum. Let me extend, for the team, our heartiest appreciations in this most unfortunate matter.”
That seemed to please the Korean security forces. So much so they didn’t see the rolling eyes and smirks of grudging compliance from the crowd. I gave the evil-eye to several who were twittering quietly at my delivery of a load of over-the-top twaddle in the name of international goodwill.
“Thank you, Doctor…? Doctor…?”, he asked.
“Doctor Rocknocker.” I replied, “It’s spelled just as it sounds,”, I chuckled a knowing chuckle.
Colonel Hwangbo cracked a small smile for the first time since we met.
“As long as our orders of business are concluded, “ I inquired, “Might we offer you and your men a drink or sandwich or…”
“Cigar?” he suddenly brightened.
I smiled the sly, smirking smile of one of those used to the old duplicitous game of international diplomacy.
“Why”, I replied smilingly, “Of course.”
Col Hwangbo gratefully accepted a brace of fine Oscuro cigars. Probably more tobacco he’s seen in one place at one time since the last he rousted a snozzeled Western journalist or hammered European tourist with an overage of custom’s tobacco allowances.
His team eschewed cigars, but gladly accepted a pack each of pastel-colored Sobranie cocktail cigarettes.
It still slays me to see these battle-hardened, armed-to-the-teeth, unsmiling servants of the great state of Best Korea mincing about the courtyard smoking avocado, baby-blue, and peach-colored pastel cigarettes.
The Colonel and his team left after a couple of quick smokes, sandwiches, and surreptitious beers. I even enticed the Colonel into a couple of convivial vodka toasts when his team was otherwise occupied.
“Well, gang”, I said, closing the door, “Looks like that situation has been handled, most appropriately at that. We’ll miss ol’ Iskren, but at least he went fast and hopefully painlessly.”
I knew that last one was but a load of old dingo’s kidneys as I’ve had run-ins with cardiac disorders in the past and they are anything
but painless. In any case, that was, as I noted, in the past. What was done is done. It was as it was. It is as it is.
“So, gentlemen”, I say, “Let us get back to work. Reality calls. Now, we’ve given you landlubbers the lowdown on our seismic pleasure cruise. Now we’d like to hear what you who had stayed onshore have come up with.”
Erlan, Graco, and Viv fill us in on the regional geology of Best Korea and lay out a plan to examine the sedimentary piles closest to the few paved roads in the north and east of the country.
We’ll be traveling by bus, as my request for four or five off-road vehicles was denied due to timing and lack of availability.
Yeah. Right. What a massive pile of bovine biogenic colluvium. A country with a military as huge as Best Korea’s and they can’t spare a few jeeps or Hummer reproductions?
Truth be told, they still don’t trust us and don’t want to let us out of their sight.
However, we did manage to snag some internal publications from the Central Geological Survey of Mineral Resources, which we figured as a major coup. Never before were Westerners allowed to even know of the existence of these materials, much less be able to research (read: slyly copy) them.
That ‘personal shaver’ I carried was actually a sneaky personal copier, a Vupoint ST470 Magic Wand Portable Scanner with all the external stickers peeled off, and any serial numbers abraded away.
Hey, they photograph us from every angle on the sly, listen in on our conversations, record our phone calls…hell, turnabout isn’t just fair play, it’s almost expected.
It’d be rude to refuse to play along.
Anyways, we learned that The Korean Peninsula (KP) occupies a junction area of three large tectonic domains that are the Paleo-Central Asian Orogenic Belt, Paleo-Tethyan Orogenic Belt, and the Western Pacific Orogenic Belt.
Tectono-fascinating.
To summarize:
- The Archean Rangrim massif is divided into the Rangrim and Kwanmo submassifs, high-grade region and greenstone belt, respectively.
- Early Paleoproterozoic rocks underwent metamorphism up to granulite facies, which may be correlated to the Jiao-Liao-Ji mobile belt in the North China Craton (NCC).
- Proterozoic rift sequences in North Korea are similar to those in the NCC with rare late Paleoproterozoic strata and more Neoproterozoic strata.
- Mesozoic igneous rocks are extensively distributed in the KP.
- The main Paleozoic basin, the Phyongnam basin in NK, have a similar Paleozoic tectono-stratigraphy to the NCC.
Of most interest is item #5. The Phyongnam basin is the only sedimentary and depositional basin of mention in the north of the Korean peninsula; and therefore the center of our attention as it pertains to oil and gas.
The potential source rocks, and possible reservoirs, include the Paleozoic Late Ordovician Miru Series was identified as the Koksan Series and subsequently renamed. The 170-meter thick limestone and siltstone centered around the P'yongnam Basin have extensive crinoid, coral, and gastropod fossils. Paleogeography researchers have suggested that corals formed in the Miru Sea-a branch of the South Yangtze Sea. At the base of the Taedong Synthem is the P'yong'an Supergroup, which lies disconformably atop older Paleozoic rocks.
In the Pyongyang Coalfield it is divided into the 650-meter sandstone, shale, and conglomerate of the Nogam Formation, the 500-meter Kobangsan Formation, 350-meter coal-bearing Sadong Formation and 250-meter chert-bearing Hongjom Formation, all typically assigned to an Upper Permian shallow marine environment.
In the Mesozoic, north of Pyongyang, Precambrian basement rocks are unconformably overlain by a Jurassic limestone conglomerate ascending to layers of siltstone and mudstone. The Upper Jurassic Shinuiju Formation northwest of Shinuiju has sandstone, conglomerate, and mudstone up to two kilometers thick.
Offshore drilling in the West Korea Bay Basin indicates these rocks are the onshore extension of offshore units. It is subdivided into fluvial rocks and Upper Jurassic black shale, limestone, conglomerate and sandstone formed in a lake environment.
There are very few Cenozoic sediments are known in North Korea, likely as a result of erosion due to uplift of the peninsula. Submarine normal faults along the eastern coastline may have driven crustal tilting. The 350-meter thick Bongsan Coalfield in Hwanghae Province on the west coast preserves and coal-bearing layers dating to the Eocene.
Further to the north, in the West Korea Bay Basin Eocene and Oligocene sedimentary rocks up to three kilometers thick unconformably overlie Mesozoic rocks, formed in lakes and coal swamps during the Paleogene.
What this meant is that we’d need to travel mostly northeast and/or southwest. This was fortuitous as the paved roads in the country were created in structural valleys formed by the primary fault trends in the country. The main trans-tensional set trended NE:SW and the conjugate set trends approximately 90
0 to the main set at NW:SE.
The topography was heavily dissected by drainages and the terrain consists mostly of hills and mountains separated by deep, narrow valleys. The coastal plains are wide in the west and discontinuous in the east.
The plan was to take the bus north to Sunchon, then hang a right off towards Unsan and Yongha. There were outcrops between the last two towns and they appear to be upper Paleozoic to Lower Mesozoic clastics. Ideal oil and gas hunting grounds.
From there, we’d head north-northeast towards Yangwon. There appeared to be some fair to excellent outcrops of rocks that are as of yet, unidentified as to age. From there, we’d continue to follow the outcrop belts either to their termination at the basin’s edges or at international borders with China or Russia.
But, once we hit the field, time goes into relative warp. Put a bunch of geologists out on some relatively virgin outcrops and just stand back as they spend hour after hour after hour first looking for evidence of the formation’s provenance, it’s age and field relations. Then begin the heartfelt, stalwart, and sometimes vicious, arguments between all concerned about each and every one of those salient points.
We were all looking forward to it and wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s our intellectual and scientific equivalent of meat and potatoes.
We all agreed on a way forward and generated a document to deliver to those in charge of our logistics on this trip. There would be a total of 11 Western geoscientists, four guides, perhaps a couple of national geologists or geophysicists, and whatever cadre the shiny suit squad wanted to include.
There would also be a driver, his relief, and a couple of extra translators. Good thing it was a large bus, as it’s going to be a huge crew.
We needed to allow our handlers a full day to arrange room and board for us while in the field, as we had to be bivouacked somewhere outside our fine hotel. It needed to be secure, pass sanctuary muster, and be ‘controllable’, referring to both Western scientists and nosy locals.
One thing we found odd was the lack of concern for long-term logistics, not to mention the end of our self-ordained indentured servitude. When this trip and all the Western geoscientists were contacted, we were all assured of an opportunity to meet with the Supreme Leader, Kim Jong-Un once our trip was completed.
We were to personally deliver one hell of an international photo-op. A ‘hey look how progressive we are’ meeting and our findings in this wonderful and progressive country.
But lately, with what we thought was the fallout of the Festival washing out all the usual propaganda, we’ve heard nothing about Herr Comrade Leader Supremo, K1J1-Un. Nor had we heard one iota about our intended final meeting with him before we left for China.
Since there are “absolutely no” COVID-19 cases in Best Korea, it seemed, well, odd that Beijing was our only possible current exit port of call, and onward to our individual homes.
There were all flavors of rumors flying all throughout the basement bars and casinos of the hotel. One claimed that Kim was now receiving treatment at a villa in the Mount Myohyang resort north of the capital Pyongyang after cardiovascular surgery. That he was near death and that his sister, Kim Yo Jong, is already warming up in the North Korean political bullpen if her brother kacks it.
Others said Kim is believed to be staying at an unspecified location outside of Pyongyang, with some close confidants. It was said that Kim appeared to be normally engaged with state affairs and there has not been any unusual movement or emergency reaction from North Korea's governing party, military, or cabinet.
There was also one other that tries to cover up any conspiracy rumors by shouting over a raspy bullhorn: "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!”, “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!"; but most ignored that little crank.
We all thought that rather odd, but of fairly low concern. In the final analysis, it would have little impact on our studies and their outcome. In other words, it wouldn’t affect our pay one way or the other. We all felt like we’ve given more than what was called for on missions such as this.
And we still haven’t a clue as to when this will all come to an end.
However, we all agreed to the consultation, it would have been fun to meet with him and have our pictures taken with the Supreme Leader. Dr. Academician Ivan Ivanovich Khimik. was especially cheesed that he might miss the opportunity to make finger-vee bunny ears behind the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces of the DPRK during one of our photo sessions.
We all agree if we do somehow find ourselves in the same room with Ivan and Kim Jong-Un, we’ll form a human shield around the latter. We want to get back home; as we’ve all heard the rumors of the horrors of ‘political realignment’ camps here in Best Korea.
So the meeting breaks up and I’m left with Dax to take the final inventory. Two loads of sandwiches gone, piles of used napkins, ketchup-y table linens, bacon rinds and chicken bones, drippy ends of ice cream cones, prune pits, peach pits, orange peel, gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal, pizza crusts, and withered greens, soggy beans and tangerines, crusts of black burned buttered toast, gristly bits of beefy roasts…
“The hell with this”, I say, I grab the last nearly full bottle of vodka and hand Dax a bottle of Royal Navy dark Rum.
“Tally’s good”, I say, not really giving two tiny shits at this point. “At least, I think it is. Let’s make like horseshit and hit the trail.”
“I’m headed back to our floor and going to zone out in front of some old, looped BBC for the next few hours with a cold drink and hot cigar.” I proclaim.
“Oh, hell”, Dax says, “I agree. It’s been a weird couple of days. Let’s go.”
And so we do.
On the way, I leave the logistics concerns and itinerary for the upcoming field trips with the front desk clerk. I slip her 1000 won as its Festival! and I had a bulgy pocketful of same. She smiled and quietly said there’s be a surprise waiting for me in my room when I got there.
“Rock, you fucking old hound!”, Dax exclaimed as he punched me lightly on the shoulder. “Taking a dip in the hotel secretarial pool?”
“Dax, you surprise me”, I said in my defense, “I have been, and continue to be, happily married for the last 38 years to the most loving, most intelligent, most well-connected, and most accurate snap-shot with a Glock .380 Automatic I know of.”
“Well, me ol’ mucker”, Dax smiles slyly, “If one has been happily married for 38 years, one must have a little something on the side. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge, ‘eh, Squire?”
“Oh, nothing like that”, I replied, while waiting the obligatory 30 minutes for the fucking elevator to arrive. “I couldn't break my word to Esme, and not because I don’t believe in a God that will send me to Hell without an electric fan or because it's not the right thing to do. I simply don't want to. A man is only as good as his word; and if he loses that, he loses too much. I couldn’t function without people thinking that I’m square and on the level. My business would crumble to dust. As would my marriage.”
“Yeah, there is that”, Dax agrees, “You say something is going to happen and God damn, it fucking happens. That’s what makes you honest and honestly scary.”
I stare intently at the annunciator that tells me the fucking elevator is stuck on 4 again.
“You’re not mob, are you?” Dax harshly whispers, snickeringly.
I turn to face Dax and smile wistfully.
“
Я с уважением отказываюсь отвечать, потому что я искренне верю, что мой ответ может обвинить меня”, I reply quietly.
“What the hell does that mean?” Dax demands.
“I respectfully decline to answer because I honestly believe my answer might tend to incriminate me”, I calmly reply.
“Oh, look. Bloody elevator’s finally here.” I note and stride aboard.
Dax gets caught up in the tsunami of the crowd and is carried bodily inside. It was so remorseless, he almost lost his grip on his bottle of Dark Rum.
Up on ‘our’ floor, I go to key open my room. Dax is just down the hall and looking around to see what special surprise might show up. I was too tired to wait so I just push in, and see all my field clothes fully laundered, pressed, and either folded or hanging.
Someone broke into my room during the day and committed a compound neatness.
“POUND! Pound! POUND!” Hmm, appears to be someone at my door.
“Yes, Dax?” I said.
“You too?” he fumed, “Everything, cleaned to within an inch if its life. They even polished my bloody field boots.”
“Oh, fuck”, I said and ran to find mine re-pristinized.
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCKITYFUCKFUCK!” I swore. They had polished my field boots and removed the fine years-of-work-to-acquire near-subsurface of the leather’s oil layer. They polished the water-proofing and conditioning out of the leather of our boots.
“OK. OK.”, I said, “Minor emergency. Cool out. I have the solution.”
I toss Dax a small can. It was brown, oily, and claimed to be “Neatsfoot oil”. It was the SPF- 500 of field leathers.
“Go ahead and oil them up with that”, I told Dax, “I’ve got another can, so don’t worry. Use what you need, don’t be shy, but if there’s any left, let me know. I’ll combine ours and offer it to anyone else in the team who had their boots steam-cleaned.”
So, a bit later, I’m sitting on my hotel room’s floor, on several sheets of newspaper, rubbing Neatsfoot Oil into my ancient, multinational size 16 EEE Vasque™ Tracker field boots.
Then there’s a knock at the door.
“It’s open. Enter carefully”, I say aloud.
It’s a bell clerk with a room service cart. On the cart are a bucket of ice, a bowl of sliced limes, I think, several gimlet glasses, some Best Korean ‘Air Koryo’ carbonated citrus drink, and a fresh bottle of “Kaesong” vodka.
“Compliments of the front desk”, the bellman says.
I stand up, tip him a few thousand won, and set a new record in mixology; a fresh brace of drinks in less than 7.3 seconds.
I offer the bellman the lighter one and he accepts with a wide smile.
I say “건배” (geonbae) literally means 'empty glass', which is similar to the expression 'bottom's up'. For you see, my Korean’s coming along a treat.
We clink glasses and send those drinks to the places that they’ll do the best.
The bellman smiles offloads the cart onto the table in my room, shakes my hand, and departs.
I finish my boots, my drink, and my cigar. After another drink or seven, I crater early. Dax was right; it had been a long, weird day.
The next day, Festival! is still going strong, but still no word on the whereabouts of
El Líder Supremo. I find that odd, only slightly interesting, and since it will impact the day’s events zero, I file it away for maybe later use.
I go to the hotel pool around 0530 and there’s no one there. I’m able to get in a good 100 laps, unburdened with either small talk or by yammering kids blocking my lanes. I go early as I don’t wear gloves in the water, obviously. Statistically, there is less chance there will be others, adults and kids included, that would get freaked out by my gnarly left hand. I really don’t feel like recounting the old Russian Rig Accident story again.
After a brisk shower and double shower-scotch back in my room, I dress casually and wander down to the casino and bar level. It’s essentially breakfast time, but with the revelers not giving two hoots to AM vs. PM, it’s surprisingly busy. I find a perch up on Mahogany Ridge and order a classical breakfast cocktail of one liter of beer and 100 milliliters of chilled vodka.
I see Mr. Ho is manning the bar. I ask him to ring the massage parlor down the hall and see if Ms. Nang Bo-Hee is free sometime this morning.
He does and reports that she has an open hour and a half at 0900. Would I like it or any portion of that time?
“I’ll take the lot”, I said. “Tell them I’ll be there spot on 0900.”
“That’s great.”, Mr. Ho says, hanging up the phone, “Doctor Rock, they tell me that with the Festival discount and you taking the full 90 minutes, they can cut you a very special deal.”
“I’ll bet”, I replied, “Like what?”
“Oh, I cannot say for they did not tell me”, he smiled, “They will tell you when you arrive.”
“Marvelous”, I exhaled tiredly. “Another, Mr. Ho; make it a double, if you would please.”
The massage center here is run by a group not employed directly by the hotel. It’s a separate entity altogether. They run specials and have different discount programs that are not only not controlled nor advertised by the hotel, but they’re also not in any way beholden to the hotel, except for rent, I suppose and run it like their own little fiefdom.
Ms. Nang, my preferred masseuse, is a little, tiny Korean lassie about 5 feet tall and probably all of 90 pounds soaking wet. However, she is amazingly well trained and could probably put me in the hospital for a lengthy visit with her wiles and methods of flesh, bone, and muscle manipulation.
She offers a whole suite of different massage genres: Swedish, hot stone, aromatherapy, deep tissue, sport, trigger point, reflexology, shiatsu, Thai, and Rolfing.
Oh, fuck. I know Rolfing. I tried that nonsense back in grad school with an old east Indian lady that could have linebackered for the Minnesota Vikings. That shit fucking
hurt. Today, it’d incapacitate me permanently. That’s a definite no-go.
I decide that it’s going to be the Hot Stone-treatment today. A geological-manipulation inquiry.
At 0900 I’m the only client at the massage ‘store’. It’s early, day two of the festival, and people are either sleeping off the previous night’s festivities or too wobbly to even think of partaking in a massage.
I’ve had several major back surgeries over the years, including one bilateral laminectomy about seven years ago that removed 7.5
kilos of overgrown bone and muscle from my lumbar region, so I’ve been very cautious about soliciting a massage. The masseuse has to know that area is strictly
verboten and will do everything to avoid annoying that particular piece of bodily real-estate.
I’ve walked or limped out of massages before where the practitioner said they understood my reticence, but went ahead and kneaded and provoked that land of keloids and deep-body scar tissue.
However, based on past experience, Ms. Nang knows full well my reluctance as well as my desires. That’s the reason I’m returning. She’s very, very good; a consummate professional and has a never-ending series of jokes and observations while she’s pummeling you into submission.
Today, we retire to a private cubicle and she hands me a small robe or napkin, not sure which, of Korean manufacture.
She tells me to get
au natural and to wear the robe while she prepares the tools of her trade.
OK, I’m not a small person; not by a long shot. This robe, however, is made for a sprite, not even for a small person.
She returns to our massage cubicle as I’m sitting there, at the end of the massage table, sipping my drink clad only in my dapper red-and-white checkered boxers.
“You need to be unclothed, Doctor. Use the robe. OK, sir Rock?” she says.
“Ms. Nang,”, I said, shaking my head, “It’s one or the other.” I show her how laughable the robe is as I can’t even get it over my upper arm. It’s not even as a tea towel when it comes to covering my expansive acres of exposed epidermis.
“I can close door.”, she says, “I’m used to it. I am professional. Does not bother me if it does not bother you.”
I lost all forms of bashfulness, timidity, or prudery long, long ago. After years and years of Russian
banya, Swedish massage, Turkish baths, and surgery; well, if it don’t bother you, it don’t bother me.
“OK”, I say, using the robe as a small two-dimensional breechcloth. She tells me to ‘hop’ up on the massage table and lie down, facing the floor.
After chuckling about the fact that I haven’t hopped for decades, I wander over to the nicely padded and extremely clean massage table and lie down. She rearranges the ‘robe’ to cover my backside and tells me to relax. She’ll be right back with the stones.
I’ve never tried this type of massage before, but as a geologist, I must; if for nothing else, progress in the name of science.
Ms. Nang returns with a large parcel consisting of many sizes of steamed stones. They were river-washed and tumbled basalt from the looks of them, all wrapped in a large fuzzy towel.
Now she finds the large towels…
She selects them one by one and places them in ‘special, strategic’ spots on my exposed back. From the lower 2/3rds of the nape of the neck, down the spine, over the fundus mountains, and down the back of each leg.
It’s a warm, almost hot in some places, but not an uncomfortable feeling. She returns to adjust them, grind them in a bit in places, and flip them to extract all that igneous lithological thermal goodness.
I have to admit, at that point, it was feeling quite delightful. Relaxed; I had my drink and was being kneaded My dorsal musculature was being de-lithified by the application of hot rocks and expert point massage.
All was going quite well as Ms. Nang was building a huge tip in her ‘job well done’ bank.
Then the rocks had all attained room temperature. She excused herself to reload with another minor outcrop’s-worth and told me to flip over for round two of the process.
“In for a dime, in for a dollar”, I said, as I flipped over and use the robe as a laughable forward-facing breechcloth.
Ms. Nang mentioned that she was always fascinated by Westerners and their surplus of bodily fuzz. With my long, shoulder-length silver hair, full Grizzly Adams beard that drooped down to my sternum, and torso that picked up where my beard left off; she was quite unprepared to see the beached silver-gray panda that awaited upon her return.
“Dr. Rock!’, she exclaimed, “You are as a bear! So much hair. And silver color!”
“Yeah, sorry”, I replied, “Just the hand genetics dealt me. I guess it’s an adaptation for ethanol-fueled organisms that never feel cold.”
“I will soon return.” She titters excitedly and almost runs out of the room.
“Hmmm. I wonder what that’s all about?” I muse as I lie largely undraped in the massage cubicle.
Suddenly, the door bursts open and every female massage practitioner there herded into the room. They simply had to see the specimen upon which the delightful Ms. Nang was working.
OK, truth be told, I was a bit taken aback. Here I am lying on an elevated, and heavily padded, massage table. I’m ‘wearing’ only a crooked, worried grin and a sheet of a cotton washcloth that measures about 12x12 inches.
They Oohed! and Ahhhed!
I did feel like some form of an alien animal suddenly thrust out into public view. It was a bit disconcerting, but as usual, I just tried to deflect any unease with jokes and idiot remarks. At my age, not much is going to bother me, and this I found all the more laughable than troubling.
Suddenly, I was fielding their barrage of questions:
“You are American? All American men so…hairy?”
“Yes and no”, I replied. I also mentioned I hadn’t undertaken a study in that particular subject.
“Why you so big?” one tiny lass asked, eyes as big as dinner plates.
“Genetics”. I replied. “Just a corn-fed Baja Canadian doofus. We grow ‘em big back home.”
“Can we touch?” one particularly brave little lass asks.
“Touch what?” I asked. Look, I might be over 6 decades old, but there are still some areas reserved for my one and only betrothed.
I did tell Esme of this whole event later that evening during our nightly call. She laughed herself silly.
“Your beard! Oriental men never have such beard. We touch maybe?” she implored.
I was going to say “Go nuts”, but I decided that a simple “Sure” would be more fitting.
So they did. They were enthralled. They had never before, from what I was told, seen such a large silver-gray ZZ Top-style beard, especially here at the hotel. That part was weird enough, but when they started in on working their way south toward the equator, I had to say something to dissuade them.
“Where were you girls 45 years ago?” I laughed.
I don’t think they got the joke. They became somewhat bolder in their austral exploratory activities.
“OK! Time out! Ms. Nang! We have an appointment to keep”, I said as I shooed the rest of the lassies away, “We need to finish what we started.”
By the time that the third syllable of that last sentence came into being, I knew it wasn’t the right thing to say.
They all laughed and tittered as Ms. Nang ushered them out of the room. I could have sworn I heard the door lock behind them.
Ms. Nang reprieved her earlier stone placement therapy, with a couple of strategic detours.
She wasn’t that type of masseuse, and I wasn’t looking for that type of massage. She did, however, knead and pummel me mercilessly.
I’ve been bruised less from barroom brawls.
Finally, she announces that she’s finished. She’ll leave while I shower, as she used essential aromatic oils, and would await me out in the lobby.
After showering, I felt like a large bowl of pummeled Jello. I felt relaxed, and for the first time in weeks, my back was silent. My head was clear as a spring Sunday morn in Reykjavik.
The full 90 minutes, plus sideshow, was 4,500 won.
I paid the owner the required sum and handed Ms. Nang an additional 15,000 for a job well done. And for another anecdote that goes into the hopper.
I left the massage parlor feeling quite fine, thank you. I wandered over to the bar to see if I could augment and prolong this feeling of harmony with the universe. The mental picture even now of all those cooing Korean lassies in the massage room never fails to elicit a laugh and head shake.
A few hours later, I’m back in my room, tidying up my field notes and making certain all my paperwork was heavily encoded and up to date. It was, so I placed a number of expensive overseas calls to catch up with everyone on the outside.
I’m thinking of calling room service to have my mini-bar repaired when my room phone rings.
“Now who would be calling me at this hour?” I wondered.
It was the tour group leader. He informed me that the itinerary had been worked out and we’d be leaving tomorrow for the field at 0600. We were to arrive with all our luggage and be prepared to check out. We would spend at least a week in the field, if not two, depending on our results, and be bivouacking in different places in the interior of the country.
I thanked him for the information and said I’d inform the rest of the team. He told me that wouldn’t be necessary as they would come up to or floor, deliver the notice verbally, or by note if they were out of their rooms. If I wanted to later call each participant and ensure they were apprised of the situation, that would be most appreciated.
I assured him I would do so and that we’d be ready, to a man, at 0600 the next day.
I whip up 10 Post-it™ notes and stick one on each member’s door.
“Leaving for the field. Check out 0530. Wheels up 0600. Bring all luggage. Road trip!”
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