Whisky Galore! Thoughts on the Trailer

So... I very recently learned that two of my favourite Britons have made a movie together and I got completely over-excited. The movie in question is called Whisky Galore! and it stars Eddie Izzard (world's greatest cross-dressing, marathon-running comedian) and Sean Biggerstaff (world's greatest wizard-portraying, guitar-rocking Scottish actor).

The movie is a remake of a 1949 classic of the same name and is based on the real-life events of a shipwreck off the coast of a Scottish island and the unauthorized plundering of its many cases of whisky by opportunistic locals.  (Well, could you blame them?)

I watched the trailer and immediately texted my friend, Jess, who I knew would share in the over-excitement. Unfortunately, Jess was stuck in a German airport with bad wi-fi and so couldn't watch it. I really wanted her to share in the gloriousness that is the Whisky Galore! trailer so, instead, I decided I would text her with a detailed retelling. And this is what happened...

Jess: What?!?? Does this really even exist?!?! Can it be real??

Me: Yes, it's real!! I just watched the trailer!

Jess: Why are we not watching it right now?

Me: Well I don't know when the movie will be released.

Jess: I haven't even watched the trailer yet (in an airport with bad wi-fi) so my excitement is based on your description alone!!!

Me: Ok. I will give you a blow-by-blow account.

So it opens with a wide-shot of a little Scottish island with some plaintive Scottish music playing in the background. Underneath are the words "On a remote Scottish island..."

"...at the height of World War II..." *more plaintive music*

Then we see an assortment of Scottish people plaintively looking out to sea. It appears they are waiting for a ship to come in.

An official looking man declares "There's no more whisky." Everyone looks deeply upset. (understandable)  *plaintive music intensifies*

Everyone goes home saying things like "To an islander, life without whisky just isn't worth living."

There's a horse drawing a coffin for some reason.

I suspect some of the islanders have really taken that sentiment to heart.


Suddenly, a fishing trawler appears and the music cheers up immeasurably. The islanders appear to be cheered up too.

A dishy looking uniformed chap appears. IT'S OLLIE!! IN A UNIFORM!!* I should take this opportunity to tell you his character's name is "Sergeant Odd." Jess, we cannot see this movie soon enough!

(*Disclaimer: I understand that this is the actor Sean Biggerstaff and his name is not Ollie. However, my friend Jess and I have referred to him as Ollie for years after his character, Oliver Wood, in the Harry Potter movies. It would be weird for us to refer to him with his proper name. Even though it's a good name. Almost as good as Wood. Let's get on with it, shall we?)


He embraces the local lassie. Behind them, a behatted and bespectacled town elder looks on suspiciously.

I can't imagine why. Jealousy? I know I'd want Ollie to embrace me like that, too.


Jess: This is the reason WhatsApp exists. This is utterly glorious.

Me: And we're only 24 seconds in!


Then we see Ollie, aka Sergeant Odd, and his lassie riding bikes by the seaside. Happy bastards.

We then see a different, attractive couple making eyes at each other.

The town elder appears visibly upset.

He says something like "Och, is there no end to it?!" He doesn't want anyone to be happy. I understand this man.


Jess: Oh my God, the pain in his eyes is palpable. That's some A+ eye acting.

(My sister, Kate, who is in the WhatsApp group message, chimes in at this point.)

Kate: The A+ eye acting is from Rab C. Nesbitt.

Me: He was in Love Actually as well. The old rock star's manager.

Kate: Oh yeah!!


We then see what appears to be a classroom. There's an old battle axe of a woman scolding the young man from the second attractive couple.

Don't fuck with this woman.

She's basically telling him "If you bring that scarlet-lipped hussy round this place you are dead to me." She means business.


This guy (I'm going to call him Cow Lick) looks sad and slightly scared.

I would be too, Cow Lick.

Next, we see Battle Axe inexplicably telling Eddie Izzard that nobody is going to make her son eat human flesh. I don't understand why he would have to?!

 I think there is some A+ eyebrow acting going on here. 

And then Eddie's all like "Bitch, you cray!" Yay Eddie!!

 

Kate: Trust me, in some of those outer Scottish islands, human flesh was a definite menu option!

Me: Yrch!


Then Battle Axe slams the door in Eddie's face. Rude!


Uh oh! Storm hits the island!

 A trawler unwittingly crashes into a big pile of rocks!!

The crew of the trawler are rescued by a little fishing boat. It turns out their cargo was 50,000 cases of whisky destined for New York. Huzzah! Seems like the alcohol gods are smiling on the island.

Cut to Eddie marching officiously around town with, who appears to be, a confused Mark Gatiss? Maybe? He likes to be in these types of things, doesn't he?


Jess: I'm fairly sure that guy is at least 4 foot shorter than Mark Gatiss!

Kate: Maybe he's far away!

Me: or maybe Mark Gatiss is FAR AWAY
Haha, snap!

Anyway, Eddie believes he has to stop the Scottish wildlings from looting all the whisky or else anarchy will ensue.

Fair enough, Eddie, but drunken anarchy is so much FUN.

Cut to Sergeant Hot, I mean, Odd, staring out to sea for some reason.

Jess: Oh man, this is seriously stopping me from having a post-Brexit returning-to-Britain breakdown.

Me: See Britain can be good sometimes! And Eddie and Ollie are proving that.

Jess: Ooooh, Ollie gives good stare.


Uh oh. Those three guys behind him are advancing on him suspiciously.

And for some reason I don't think it's to give him a big kiss. Which would be my first instinct if I caught Ollie by himself staring out to sea, to be honest.

I think we can all agree that Ollie is a very compelling starer. *nods enthusiastically*

Kate: Nods!


A lot of the locals are stealing into little fishing boats in the dead of night.

I presume it's to rescue all the poor shipwrecked cases of whisky.

Kate: Naturally! Have YOU ever tried keeping a Scot away from a large stash of free whisky?!

Rescue mission is a success! They have found the cases of whisky and looked very pleased with themselves.

They've managed to sneak 50,000 cases of whisky on to their shitty fishing boats without causing a stir. These guys are whisky ninjas! Three cheers for Scotland!

Kate: Hip hip huzzah!

The whole town is working together loading the crates from the boats to the trucks and then carrying them on their backs into the town.

It's lovely to see such strong, community spirit in action. (pun INtended.)
By the way, Scotland looks just gorgeous here.

 Now all the locals are very happy and having a lively ceilidh, naturally...

I wonder where bespectacled town elder got to? I'm sure he wouldn't be too pleased with all the ensuing merriment.

Another young couple are busily kissing outside. Then the girl pours whisky all over the poor, unsuspecting lad's head. What is wrong with you?!?! Why would you waste perfectly good whisky like that?? Get out of Scotland!!

Eddie continues his ceaseless marching around the island. Surely he must be getting tired by now?

Kate: Eddie is training for his next marathon.

Cut to a montage of the islanders sneaking the whisky under Eddie's nose. Hiding it in tea pots and in holes in walls, etc.

The town elder appears to be mollified somewhat with the abundance of free whisky.

 Kate: Mollified / mildly sedated - poe-tato / puh-tato.

An action shot of Ollie riding a bike down a hill for some reason.


Look at his shiny hair!

The 1940s look good on him.

Eddie and his crew find empty whisky bottles strewn around the island. They are suitably suspicious.

They then find a crazed islander who can shoot birds out of the sky. I don't really know how this relates to the plot.

Does Eddie want to shoot islanders he catches sneaking whisky? Seems a bit extreme?! He really wants all the whisky off this island. Maybe Eddie is the Nigel Farage of whisky.
I know they're adapting the remake to be a modern social commentary so this must be what it means.

Eddie then begins maniacally driving around the island making "go faster" noises. They are chasing down Ollie and his lassie. 

They don't seem to GAF though. 

Nice bum shot ;)

Jess: I was going through security!

The "Nigel Farage of whisky" is my favourite description ever.

Oooh, bum shot eh?

I came back just in time!

Awh! Cow Lick and Red Lips are getting married! And the locals are making an archway for them out of whisky bottles because Scotland. 

 

Oh no!! Is Ollie getting married too?!

Oh, wait. Maybe they're just the best man and maid of honour. 

Kate: Fingers crossed!

Me: ...hopefully...

And everyone is very happy... 

...except for this bitch.

The End!

Me: Hope you liked my commentary!

Kate: I'm a little sorry it's finished!

Me: Well I don't know about you guys but I thoroughly enjoyed writing that!

Kate: I loved it!!

Jess: Oh my God. This has been the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. 

Sile, you're a genius and I love you like Sam Winchester loves research. 

Me: I love you like Dean Winchester loves pie!

Jess:<3 <3 <3

Why do Koreans and Irish Love Alcohol So Much?

There are few countries that have taken to alcohol with so much gusto as the Irish and Koreans. Sure there are some countries that might outdrink us (don’t wanna mess with those Russians…) But we share an earnestness and dedication that is unmatched.

Maybe because alcohol makes us forget our worries. And between us we’ve had our fair share of woes. But there’s something about how we’ve both taken alcohol deep within our culture and national psyche that I want to investigate. 

As I said, I’m sure there are other countries that drink more than us but what is it about these two countries that makes us stand out for our attachment to alcohol? (Koreans are notorious in Asia for their drinking habits.) 

One I mentioned before is, alcohol helps us forget our worries. Both of our histories have been plagued with poverty and tragedies. Alcohol helps you forget how poor and hungry and sick you are.

But the second reason I think is more important and more defining. Both the Irish and Koreans are sociable people.  And alcohol is used as a means of social bonding.  We like to make friends.  And alcohol can sure make you friendlier!

The reason why? I think it’s because another personality trait we share is our tendency to move in groups. The Irish are ‘clannish’, meaning we like to stick together. (Meaning we feel naked if there are less than four of us moving together.) The same goes for Korea. Here, you never do anything alone. You don’t even live on your own. Grown children live with their parents until they marry. This is sometimes a point of exasperation and humour for single English teachers who live in Korea and can’t buy anything smaller than an 18 pack of toilet rolls. (I have since been corrected on this point by WickedBiccie. She exclaimed that an 18 pack is small. A 24 roll pack is the standard size. Go figure.)

I think this group mentality stems from our histories of constant invaders and intruders – united we stand, divided we fall. And we use alcohol as one way to unite one another.

Korea has a lot more rules and etiquette concerning alcohol consumption than in Ireland, but the mentalities are much the same. One rule we share is:

Refusal is not an option.

In Ireland and Korea, this is the height of rudeness. If you don’t drink at all, then refusing from the get-go is not a problem. But once you start…it is beyond awkward to refuse a second drink. You would be seen as alienating yourself from the group by refusing. In countries where individualism is prized, America for example, I’m sure this would be a very strange concept. But in countries where sticking together is a survival strategy, this is completely natural. This is something I think we’re not even consciously aware of. I think almost every Irish person has once uttered the famous last words, “Sure I’ll just go out for one.” Almost as soon as the words exit their mouths they know it won’t happen. And that’s because it never, ever happens.

Another rule is:

No man is left behind.

Because refusal is not an option, rule number 2 is a natural consequence of rule number 1. Everyone keeps going until a mutual agreement is made to stop, or (more likely) continuing becomes physically impossible.  You can’t drink anymore if you’re horizontal or comatose. But it creates a sense of “We’re all in this together.” And also the mutual trust of “I’ve got your back.” Because if you are completely intoxicated then you have no option but to completely trust your drinking buddies. You have to have the confidence in your friend to think “If I pass out I know he’s going to get me home safely. Or if we get in a fight, I know he’s going to stick around and not run away.” Nothing creates brotherhood like inebriation. 

Here’s what my guide-book has to say on the matter. “Drinking in Korea is not only accepted, it’s encouraged and often necessary at certain social events.” Sounds exactly like Ireland to me! Try to imagine an Irish wedding or wake without alcohol. It’d be like trying to imagine Elton John without sparkly sunglasses and dangly earrings. It just can’t be done. 

A lot of the rites of passage and fabric of daily life goes hand in hand (or glass in hand) with alcohol in both countries. We drink to congratulate, commiserate, postulate and celebrate. Alcohol is linked to

both our cultural identities so closely it is impossible to separate them. 

We drink to forget and we drink to forge bonds of friendship. We both inherently understand the importance of sticking together. If we stand back to back no sneaky invader can attack us unawares.

It is this instinct for camaraderie and kinship that makes me feel there really is something about these two countries that is “same-same.”

Here’s a real life example of everything I’ve been saying. During my first week in Korea I went with my sister’s Taekwondo class to a mokali (rice wine) restaurant. I was sitting next to a lovely and charming Korean lady. Everyone calls her “Yaypun Unni.” It means ‘pretty older sister.’

As I lifted the bowl of mokoli to my lips, Yaypun Unni exclaimed in half-surprise, “You drink?” I froze. Was my newly acquired older sister going to lecture me on the dangers of drinking?

“Uh…yes.” I hesitated. Her face broke into a beautiful grin. “Oh good! I like you!” And we instantly became friends.

Next, I’m going to talk about a hilarious side-effect of drinking that both countries enjoy indulging in…

Are Koreans the Irish of Asia?

During my time in Korea I have been repeatedly having a similar conversation along the same lines. It goes something like this. “Korea and Ireland seem to share a hell of a lot in common! Why is that?”

I wish to use this blog as a series of ponderings revolving around this question. It is both curious and comforting to learn that a country that I knew shamefully little of, tucked away in the middle of East Asia has an alarming amount in common with my own little country, in terms of national characteristics, history and cultural quirks. These connections have definitely helped me to feel less homesick and have eased me into a comfortable life here.

A few years ago, my father, a science teacher, had a particularly bright and diligent student who he was quite fond of. Her name was Lee Sun Wha O'Mahoney. She was a Korean who moved to Australia to learn English. While she was there, she fell in love with and married an Irishman named O'Mahoney. They subsequently moved to Ireland where she started to study science.

After class one day, my father and Mrs. Sun Wha O'Mahoney became engaged in a rather interesting conversation. She told my father how similar Ireland and Korea are. She found this time and time again living in Ireland and getting to know her husband's friends and family. She told my Dad that the Irish and Koreans are tough and stubborn, hard-working but with a great sense of humour and an earnestness for drinking alcohol. We also share a generosity of spirit and fierce loyalty to our families. Our histories and cultures also have some spooky parallels.

He came home and told me this story with enthusiasm but I, a reluctant teenager at the time, barely lifted my head from the latest episode of Home & Away to register his conversation. I had no interest in hearing about some country that had so little to do with my life. If only I had known then what an intriguing signpost it would be. So now, let's look at some of the startling similarities that we share:

Constant invasions have caused us both to become tenacious and stubborn. (Korea has hardly had a moment by themselves between China, Japan, Russia and America.)

Both of us have clung tightly to our cultural identities like a terrier with a bone. We don't give up without a fight.

Although we are tough and determined people, we know how to have fun. Koreans LOVE nothing more than getting drunk and singing. Guess what other country in the world is famous for its drinkers and singers?

We are also obsessed with food. I put this down to the fact that we were poor and starving for so long that we constantly think with our mouths and our stomachs.

In Ireland, it is the height of ignorance not to offer someone in your home something to eat or drink (regardless of whether they were invited or not.) Meanness is considered to be a criminal trait in Ireland. A huge insult to say of someone a bit on the frugal side is that they'd hide their dinner if they saw you passing the window.

In Korea, a common form of greeting is “shiksa ha-shoss o-yo?” (“Have you eaten?”)

We don't have an equivalent greeting in Ireland but we do constantly badger our friends and neighbours to eat or drink something once on our threshold.

Perfectly polite and mild-mannered people become tea mongers and biscuit pimps, cajoling and coaxing our guests with “Aah you'll have a drop,” or “You'll have a bite.” Korea is no different. These people will ply you with food and alcohol until you weep for mercy.

Another point of similarity is that both our countries are divided. As far as I'm aware, Korea and Ireland are the only two counties in the world who are split in two. (I mean politically not geographically like New Zealand.) This division and separation has influenced our countries' mental states. It creates an unsettled restless feeling. And that feeling is here too – a sadness, a loss.

It is due to these striking similarities that I want to compare and contrast these two great countries. I will write a series of short articles focusing on each point of similarity. Why don't you grab a Guinness and some kimchi and come join me?

My life in pictures

In this post I'm going to take you on a visual tour of my neighbourhood through the magic of pictures. Aren't you excited?? So the first stop is right outside my humble abode.

So this is my apartment block. I live on the second floor. I live upstairs from you. I think you've seen me before...wait, that's not right...

So now, we turn right and continue down the street for about 10 seconds. Next stop is...

The fun-sized police station right down the street. If any of you were worried in case I'd get stolen, well never fear!

But if we look closely at the sign above the door...

We see a cartoon dog dressed as a police man . . .very reassuring.

Take another right and continue walking down the street until you come to . . .

My sister's apartment! It's about 90 seconds from my place. I go there to help her eat her food.

This is the street that takes you towards the centre of town.

Five minutes walking and you come to . . .

McDonald's! It looks much nicer lit up at night.

 Across the street is this lovely sight . . .

They light up the waterfall and it changes colour every few minutes.

  Like this!

Ain't it pretty?

Across the way is the best street in the neighbourhood.

It's called "Babbo Sagaree" which means Idiot Street :D

It looks pretty dead here on a Sunday morning, but these streets were jam-packed the night before.

This is where all the cool uni kids come to shop, drink coffee and party.

It's also full of cool little clothes shops and hidden gems.

Like this Big Red Fun Bus full of cool clothes.

These are the shoes I've been lusting after for a while...

Hello new friends . . .

And at the end of the street is the university!

The pride of Ulsan.

To finish off . . .

This is my cute little furball Princess Pipsqueak. I rescued her (so she's like a princess) and she's really tiny (like a pipsqueak.) You can call her Pip.

Getting to Korea

Sitting on the aeroplane in Frankfurt bound for Seoul ready for take off, and I finally started to relax. My prospective employer needed me out there ASAP, and so wanted everything to be done yesterday. The stress of getting the work visa rushed through and trying to organise a suitable flight at the last minute and transport to the airport had all taken its toll. It even involved a family friend posing as my aunt to pick up my passport from the embassy in Dublin so I could get it from her in the relay race to the airport. But now I was here, the journey was becoming real and all the drama was behind me.

I closed my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Until...the captain announced over the intercom. “Excuse me ladies und gentlemen, unfortunately it appears zat we haff eine small problem with ze engine. We shall haff zis problem remedied as soon as possible. Danke schoen.”

Oh. Balls.

“God don't do this to me!” I mentally shook my fist at the sky. Lulling me into a false sense of security and then hitting me with this fresh wave of drama was a cruel move by Lady Luck. The window of time to get my connecting flight from Seoul was quite small. I only had about 2 hours from when I landed to get my luggage, travel across the city to a different airport, repeat the process of checking my bags and going through security.

If we were delayed, I might miss my flight from Seoul to Ulsan....waiting in quiet desperation I did have a thought that relieved my worries somewhat. Knowing how meticulous the Germans are, they wouldn't let the aeroplane leave the runway unless everything was absolutely, 100% perfect. If this had happened in Dublin, everyone from the pilot to the air-hostesses to the toilet cleaners would've given their speech about why it had broken and the best way to fix it and would've probably ended with a spray of WD40 and a wad of chewing gum. At least here, I would be guaranteed to make it to my final destination safely. Even if I broke down into a nervous wreck as soon as we landed. 

Eventually, after an agonising hour of waiting, we lifted in to the air with me clutching my seat in cold panic. How the hell was I supposed to make my flight on time? I hardly slept on the flight, my niggling fears gnawing at my thoughts.

When we finally landed it was 12:40 p.m.. My flight was at 2:10 p.m. Incheon airport in Seoul is one of those hyper-airports where you need to take a train from terminal to terminal. As I waited for the train with snakes in my stomach I watched the minutes speed by. Getting to the baggage claim was a journey in itself. I looked on desperately as suitcase after suitcase rolled past. No sign of my big, purple monster. Twenty minutes ticked by. I was sweating bullets.

My suitcase wasn't on the flight, I was sure of it. I was supposed to pick it up in Frankfurt and check it on. And now it was left all alone being prodded at by suspicious German police. And I would be left all alone in Seoul with no luggage, no flight and no way of contacting anybody.

But suddenly, my suitcase appeared, majestically rising above the other brown and black dullards in all its violet, spotted glory. I lunged and ran. 

Puffing up to information I found out which bus to get to Gimpo airport and bought a ticket. It was a 30 minute journey. I wondered was it completely pointless even buying a bus ticket. I'd arrive just in time to see my plane take off. With a heavy heart and an even heavier suitcase I panted towards the bus.

As I got on, I decided that I had two choices. I could spend the next half an hour working myself into a lather of hysteria, or I could pray and hope the universe would take care of this lost soul for once, and expect a miracle. I sat down, closed my eyes and started to pray. Even though it was the panicked “Pleasegodpleasegodpleasegod” variety of prayer, I felt it was a little bit more constructive than worrying.

Eventually, we arrived at the airport. I jogged into the domestic airport, hoping not to be derailed by my two-wheeled behemoth, and found the check-in desks. There were lengthy queues ahead of me. It was now 1:55 p.m. My flight was in 15 minutes. There was no way they were going to let me check-in and go through security at this late stage. I was going to be laughed out of the place. 

Still, I valiantly approached one of the passing members of staff and prayed for mercy. God loves a tryer.

“Eh, excuse me” I faltered, asking an agreeable looking lady who smiled sweetly at me. “I need to get my flight to Ulsan, is there any way..?” Her eyes widened in shock. “Ulsan?” She repeated. “Ten past two?!” She looked at her watch. “Eh, yes.” I admitted, embarrassed. Just leave now, I thought to myself. It's not going to happen. But her face changed from sweet and polite to a look of steely determination.

“Follow me” she instructed. Yes, ma'am! This was clearly a woman who knew how to get shit done. 

She trotted briskly over to a computer and began typing furiously. After about a minute, she looked up and said “This way.” She ran over to the check-in desks and hopped behind a free computer. She began typing furiously again while instructing a nearby young man in swift Korean. He lifted my suitcase with ease and popped it on to the conveyor belt. Meanwhile, wonder-woman was now radioing someone and speaking very quickly. A swift swipe of my passport and she was printing my boarding pass! I couldn't believe what was happening.

She handed me the boarding pass, smiling sweetly and said “You need to go to Gate 8” highlighting it. “Run.” I did. 

I fled towards security and began unpacking my laptop and whatever liquids were in my carry-on. I was so panicked I may as well have had hooks for hands. There was a lovely young man at security upon seeing my distress began to help me unpack. But he seemed to reach the same level of panic as me so we both fumbled the items in and out of my bag, like a slapstick duo but eventually got it through the x-ray machine. I flung my belongings back into my bag and sped towards the boarding gate. Suddenly I heard a roar from behind me. “HEY! HEEEY!!” I looked back. The man behind me in the queue was holding up my now defunct bus ticket. He evidently thought it was important as he was waving it frantically at me and bellowing. I bolted back, grabbed it from him with a quick thanks and took off again. “GO!! GOOOO!!” He screamed after me. I know he meant well, but if I missed my flight I was going back and lining his intestinal walls with that bloody bus ticket. 

Suddenly, my mobile phone slipped out of my sweaty hands and shattered into about seven pieces on the floor. This never-ending nightmare was going to be the end of me. I wonder has anyone ever just given up and decided to live at the airport? This whole travelling business clearly wasn't working for me. Maybe this was the universe's way of saying “Stay put. Stop moving around so much.” It mightn't be so bad. I'd have all the facilities I needed. I could meet people from all around the world without having to move at all. It could be a convenient yet quirky lifestyle. It would suit me down to the ground. 

Dreams of domestic terminal bliss aside, I soldiered on. I had to make it now. I'd come so far. I scrabbled for my phone and sped on towards the gate. I barely paused to thrust my boarding pass to the airport staff and then dive-bombed on to the waiting bus. 

As I was seated on the plane, I looked around. The flight was half empty. There was nobody sitting near me. And I started to giggle. Silent, hysterical giggles. The intense relief was giving me a dizzying head-rush! I couldn't believe I had made it. It seemed impossible. But here I was. Finally.

A peaceful 45 minutes later, we descended into the city of Ulsan, my new home. Waiting for me at arrivals were my new co-workers, Jean from America and Albert from South Africa and my sister who I hadn't seen in 18 months. We both delighted in the randomness at our unexpected reunion. Who knew when I said goodbye to her in Heathrow airport all that time ago that I would see her again in South Korea?!

So, the four of us piled into a taxi towards my new apartment. I would be sharing the building with Jean and Albert. This new city was a blur of colour and strange symbols. Everyone was pointing out landmarks and points of interest but my mind was so overloaded I took nothing in. 

Shortly after, we arrived at my new pad, with Albert being the token gentleman and lugging my purple monster up two flights of stairs. After showing me around and giving me the key, I was left to get some rest. Collapsing on to the bed, I passed out minutes later. Exploration could wait.