Dear Family and Friends,

Today is the day in which I cross into my fifth month abroad. It is a day in which I will continue to perplex my students with a barrage of “native English” and a day in which my mother is likely to assist a baby into the world. But mostly it is a holiday in which you, my family and friends, will gather together in your respective homes, put together a feast, will squabble, will sup, will toast your blessings.

And while today is a day of public feasting, a celebration of goodness, and a time to give thanks; for me, far away from my family, my friends, and my favorite feast, today brings much homesickness and a bit of introspection. I’ve found myself reflecting on my journey so far, what I’ve learned, what I have yet to learn, and what I have to be grateful for. I find that I am grateful for the opportunity to travel, grateful for my health, incredulous of my luck. And yet, thus far, I do not have the words to express the importance of my journey. To explain the reason why I departed from those who love me. To define what I hope to discover.

Instead, in my head, over and over, I’ve turned and returned to the varied and extraordinary kindnesses that have meant so much to me. From the family who flew from afar to say farewell… to the close friends who said “I will miss you but I’m glad that you are going.” From the friends who threw and attended my good-bye feast… to the unshed tears of both my mother and father as I turned and walked through airport doors.

And then there was the kindly smile that greeted me at Wendy House, the friend who sat down and had me laughing within moments of making her acquaintance, and the playful grin from the tutor with two children and two husbands and two cats. There were “the boys” who made me laugh, who distracted me into dipping my feet in concrete, who held classes so smooth that my goal became to emulate them, who waited for us to ride the Big Wheel, who “oohed” when my friend’s home was secured and “oohed” again when my friend’s baby was born, and who stayed up late to assure me of assistance when I needed reassurance most. There were the wonderful, wonderful students who smiled at my bumbling and later praised me for it, the proffered expertise that allowed me visit an ancient wonder, the lady who harbored my treasured baby, the generous insights into everything Cambodian, the companion that taught me to stroke silks, the companions with the smarts to win us a quiz, and the face of a formerly frolicking friend plastered against my café window when I was lonely and so very alone. There were the girls who sent me into giggles as I hauled durian and dragon fruit into W House, the cab driver who delivered me safely to the train, the super tuk tuk driver who whisked me away from a rainy market even after I had driven a hard bargain, the gentleman who rescued me with my first and only motorcycle ride, and the many eager conversationalists who inquired “where are you from?” and laughed when I replied “the United States. Where are you from?”

I am grateful for the white-bearded man who provided me a wide target, for the friend who treated me to tea in a city garden oasis, for the ladies who accompanied me into slicked street as I bid farewell to the lights of Bangkok, and ever so grateful for the Korean guiding teacher who balanced my unbalanced cabinet and held his countenance when tears rolled down my face. I am exceedingly grateful for the co-teacher who thoroughly introduced me to teaching high school in Korea and allows me to vent in his direction, grateful to the lady who took my arm and treated me to her smile plus a mug, grateful for the teacher who always says “how can I help you?” and notifies me when “the cafeteria has called” (i.e. it is time to eat), and even for the teacher whose enthusiasm for English Lit makes her face glow while working with students shrinks her. And I must, must be grateful for the students who clap as class begins, for the students who nod through reading class and for the students who beg “please, no more talking about this, teacher.”

So many kindnesses from so many… the gentlemen who simply gave me the computer cord that I was crazy for, the lady who pointed me to the subway change machine, the companion who knocks on my door and asks “how about a walk?” not to mention the companions that I’m amassing who share both my consternation for the Korean language and my love for adventure. Last night, I couldn’t decide whether to be dubious about or grateful to the crazy, tweed-clad Korean gentlemen, who kept “helping” me at E-Mart and subsequently inspired me to join him in a curbside line dance.

Throughout these times and back in the States, I’ve been fortunate enough to have friends who correspond with careful thoughtfulness, friends who mail spices with aromas that can be followed from some distance, friends who send me laugh out loud global warming postcards, friends who send chocolate that weeks later I continue to taste mentally. I have been so fortunate to have friends who send pictures and book reviews, friends who inflate my ego with compliments on my writing, friends who hog-tie others into reading my prolific story-telling, friends threatening to visit Asia, and friends who do not allow me to loose touch with the ups and downs of their lives.

And there has been, and hopefully always will be, the kind family who send me letters packed with poetry, who pick out stocking gifts in October, who have trouble typing because my black cat clutches. Family who PDF me political cartoons, family that signs every missive with “I love you and miss you,” family that surprises me with warming clothing, family that supports me to the point of buying a thousand dollar plane ticket and is cheerfully resigned to bringing a large suitcase.

Although unable to yet give you the words to define or justify my journey; I nonetheless give thanks for the kindness that I’ve received. And while I’m unable to celebrate Thanksgiving in the traditional and preferred way of clutching at my family’s hands and cutting into turkey, I will picture you all, hopefully warm and dry and safe and comfortable and happily celebrating, together. And you may picture me, in the colored lights of darkened Daegu, Republic of Korea, laughing with friends and enjoying the traditional American feast of a hamburger and fries and beer.

I love you all.

Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

If you were a third year in Korean high school, you would spend most of your senior year studying for the KSAT (Korean SAT). You would spend holidays, such as Chuseok, studying and even miss out on school festivals – although not all would be lost because you would end your hectic studying with lots of sticky rice cakes and even more good wishes from friends and family.

Last Thursday marked the culmination of the seniors’ studying and all over Korea, the third years sat for the KSAT exam. The day previous, our school held a "good luck" ceremony, which I managed to miss, but that reportedly involved origami airplanes filled with written good luck messages. I was sorry to miss that sight; however, I did not miss out on the goodies. Every day last week, rice cakes of some sort were placed on the teachers’ desks. My friend explained that we teachers “haul in rice cakes” because giving sticky rice cakes is a traditional way to encourage good scores so that the students can gain admittance into the University that they wish to attend.

Although I remained unclear why we teachers also deserved rice cakes, I was happy to throw my support behind the tradition by spearing colorful cakes with a toothpick and carefully lowering them into my mouth.

After a few days of chewing on the third years’ rice cakes, it seemed doubly unfair that on Thursday, while they were arduously taking their test, I lazed through a cloudy morning and then hiked one of Daegu’s favorite spots: Mt. Apsan.

Mt. Apsan is a forest covered hill that affords lovely 980 meters high views of the city and unfortunately, the route to the observation point was rather poorly signed. From Apsan’s base, I selected one promising stone step-clad path and walked up and up, enjoying the scenery, craning my head to listen to Buddhist chants in the distance, and greeting the elderly mountain climbers around me in Korean. Many loved that I greeted them in Korean and their smiles were hardly diminished when it became obvious that all I could say in Korean was “greetings.” Many were happy to point me in the right direction until one gentleman pointed to the path that I was on and used the Korean gesture for “no” (crossing of the forearms). I conceded to his wisdom with “nay” (yes) and thanked him – but didn’t understand what he was warning me against so as soon as his back was turned, I continued on and not five minutes later, found myself at a rock-edged dead end. I sighed, retraced my steps half way down the mount, and then returned upwards, this time using a ridged, concrete road. The road appeared long and steep and I had to keep promising myself “just to that next tree” or “just to that dirt pile.” But as I climbed, the Buddhist chants became louder and louder… until the road leveled and I was standing next to a small temple complex that had been taken over by a construction crew (I couldn’t tell what they were trying to do) and a public toilet. I glanced around for the singing monks (they were inside or a recording, I wasn’t certain which), used the remarkably clean toilet and then continued up another stone step-clad path. And eventually huffed and puffed my way to the top.

A cool wind must’ve scattered the clouds and as the sun shone with little warmth, I was able to see all of Daegu City and the hills beyond. It was beautiful. And so was the Starbucks chocolate cake and mocha that I treated myself to afterwards. My cheeks still slightly stinging, I returned home and in belated solidarity with the third years, got started on my homework.

Rice cakes anyone?

Love,

Laura

PS I: Mt. Apsan’s 980 meters = 3,215.2231 feet. Too many rice cakes aside, I had legitimate reason to be puffing.

PSII: Intriguingly, the Korean verb "붙다" (to stick to something) is used both in the case of rice cakes and admittance to the University. Frankly, this won’t particularly help me to use it in a full Korean sentence, but is good to know, eh?

Dear Friends and Family,

One morning I went for a run and as I neared home, I popped into the corner store across from my apartment to pick up water. Having not yet discovered a brand of drinking water that I like, I selected a promising green bottle from the ‘fridge, paid, and took it home. Upon securing the lock behind me, I advanced to the kitchen sink, untwisted the lid, tipped the bottle back for a hefty slug, and immediately spat whatever I had bought back out. It was terrible; I was thirsty. And piqued. Without hesitation, I poured the offending liquid down the drain.

A few days later, a compulsory faculty social lunch was announced and at 12:30 on the dot, the faculty room emptied and we all streamed towards cars. We drove about a half of mile, parked and trooped into the backroom of a restaurant that had been prepared for our arrival. We folded our legs next to low tables and picked tasty bites from bowls with our chopsticks while pork and garlic fried on the gas burners in the center of each table. I was seated with other ladies one table away from the table with the principal, vice principal and other important school officials. I was able to enjoy my lunch while noticing that bottles of traditional soju were brought to the important table and the men were pouring it for each other. As the meal progressed, their smiles grew deeper and their laughter louder.

Towards the end of the meal, the men asked me if I’d like to try soju. I was curious and readily assented. The waitress drew up to the table with a green bottle and a familiar label and it suddenly hit me, I had already tried soju! I laughed and while I very properly supported one wrist with one hand and held out my shot glass the other, I explained. “Hah! Korean water! Soju is Korea’s water!” one of the teachers laughed and I laughed with him.

What is soju, you may ask? Soju is the Korean alcoholic beverage and in Korea, the consumption of soju is nigh inevitable. Soju is a social beverage and has a number of social niceties – minefields – attached to its consumption. I was debriefed before that first faculty lunch. First of all, if a superior hands you a glass, you must accept the soju and at minimum, you must make the pretense of drinking it. Only empty glasses may be filled and if one’s glass is about to be topped up by a social superior, one must hold the glass with two hands, which in actuality means holding the glass in one hand and reinforcing the glass’s support with your other hand, a ritual that apparently originated from dangling hanbok sleeves. You may not fill your own glass – others are expected to do it for you. Not that an empty glass is a concern, there is always someone eager to fill your glass for you. Believe me. And there is also some rule about not looking elders in the face while drinking soju – but I’m doing my best to avoid a situation in which observing this rule becomes necessary.

Anyway, now that I’ve learned to identify “Korean water” (ha ha), I enjoy the stuff although I remain terrified of causing social offense. Happily, my mistakes so far remain laughable… and I’ll drink to that!

--Laura

PS: You may wonder: what does soju taste like? I understand that soju’s main ingredient is rice but that it is apparently combined and distilled with another grain such as wheat or barley. The result is clear-colored, cheap, a tad sweet, and potent. Good soju has been compared to vodka. As a sometimes vodka and sometimes soju drinker, I find this an apt comparison. Some prefer to mix soju with a Fanta soft drink but I find this concoction too sweet. I’ve learned to like soju as it comes, once I realized what I was drinking.

Cheers!

Dear Family and Friends,

One of my favorite aspects of my sojourn in Korea is that everyday has the potential to offer something unexpected. Today’s unexpected occurred when I returned to the faculty room after class and found newly installed metal pipes protruding out specially placed window holes. The pipes are anchored to the ceiling via metal light fixture frames and lead down to shiny metal gas burning stoves. I was informed that these stoves are quite effective for heating rooms – and there now two in the faculty room, poised for action.

My surprise at these stoves spawned a discussion between us kindred English speakers (Korean, British and American alike) of the use of the word “stove” vs. the word “furnace.” We often have discussions like this. Without any dictionary guidance, I advocated the use of stove, as one can cook on these stoves. I’m not sure if this advocacy was bold or dumb. I must remember to look this up. I often find myself researching random English language questions like this.

Anyway, as I returned to my desk and pondered the best angle to sneak a picture for you all, I wondered: like earlier unexpected things that I’ve “discovered,” how soon will it be before these stoves are incorporated into my life to the point that I will no longer notice them?

Beats me. And now I must say "ciao" to you all because my toes are cold and I need to turn my ondol on.

Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

I don't know about you, but I've always thought that every date that involves duplicate numbers should be celebrated. You know, 1/1 (oh, wait we celebrate that one). Ok, well, you know, 2/2, 3/3, 4/4... 11/11. Happily, I am not the only one that holds this view and here in Korea, brave pioneers went one step further. On November 11, 1994, a few clever Korean middle school girls decided to exchange a popular stick snack called Pepero to wish each other “tall and slender growth.”

Hmmm... actually, while sorry to spoil a wonderful story, I must retract the above Pepero legend. Instead, strong rumor has it, that clever Lotte, one of South Korea’s chaebols (corporate conglomerates) and maker of Pepero snacks, likely invented this day of Pepero's in a spirit akin to Valentine’s Day - sans cards and cloying hearts (although many of the Pepero packs have Hello Kitty on them). Anyway, 11/11 in Korea is an unofficial holiday in which companies sell breadsticks dipped in chocolate, Peperos themselves, as well as other romantic gifts to celebrate love. A friend and I celebrated by snapping pictures of a 7-11. Romantic moments are truly in the eye of the beholder.

Beloved teachers also receive Peperos. Sadly, I didn’t get any Pepero – perhaps because I am not beloved or perhaps because Pepero fell on a Saturday this year. However, on Monday, one of the seniors, a girl that I do not even teach, brought me some traditional Korean candy (called yuk – is a yummy pumpkin taffy) and a sticky-rice cake filled with bean curd for “kindness rendered” to her. I was touched beyond pepero.

A belated Happy Pepero Day to you all,

Laura

A philosophical quandary for you to ponder: what would you do for a long soak in hot water?


Dear Family and Friends,

A few Fridays ago, I packed a change of clothes, climbed aboard the subway to our Dongdaegu station, bought a train ticket for $7 and less than two hours later, my train was sliding through yards of metal port containers and I had arrived at the world's fourth largest sea port and Korea 's second largest city, Busan.

This was the first time I had departed from Daegu to explore Korea on my own and my objectives were simple: to explore Busan, to take a bath, and to see the sea. Finite time and pleasant autumnal weather were most pressing and to my amusement, I found my more detailed agenda dominated by an odd compulsion to visit hilltops.

V. odd.

Upon disembarking at the Busan train station, I walked to the city subway and followed Lonely Planet instructions as best as I could figure, exiting the subway to narrow streets, tasting a salt breeze while ducking the occasional car and peering around for comprehensible signs. Finally, I was corralled by an old man with a flapping flannel shirt and gold-filled teeth who hurried me through the door of a building, up two sets of darkened stairs and into a room that appeared sparse but clean. As I’m determined to train myself to stay in places below my preferences (more travel, less $), I impulsively decided to stay; however, it wasn’t long before I discovered long, black hairs on the pillowcase and a questionable stain on the bed. I wasn’t pleased but had to be resigned. Sadly, so far, I find cleanliness the one travel amenity that I cannot seem to do without. That night I slept with a towel that was once white covering my pillow and on the far side of the bed.

Anyway, after dropping my backpack at my guesthouse and obtaining a key hooked to a 10 inch wood block, I popped back on the subway, disembarking at the film district of Busan. My first visit to Busan coincided with the famous Pusan (Busan) International Film Festival (“PIFF”) and with a little trouble, I located festival tickets sales. I went to the window, placed the PIFF guide flat against the glass and said "English" through the microphone. I didn't care what film I saw (all a part of the adventure, I assured myself), which was fortunate as I found myself in a 1000 person theatre, watching a French film with English lining the bottom of the screen and Korean subtitles scrolling down the right side. Titled "Flanders," the film could be a sure-fire winner at Cannes, with loads of ugliness and fallible characters. Afterwards, as we jostling on our way out, a guy asked what I thought of the film. I couldn’t escape my western diplomacy as I replied that "I found it typically French" and in turn, he told me that he found it "disgusting." I couldn't disagree. The experience was notable but the film was not (in my opinion).

After my artsy-fartsy International film travails, I found myself in a crowded, brightly lit shopping square, unwilling to return to my not-clean guesthouse and not really in the mood for a bar. So I checked with LP, realized that a notable tourist attraction was close by and open for another hour. With one eye on Busan’s tower and one eye on my path, I walked ‘til I came to 200 steps, climbed those, past a gorgeous Korean wooden temple thingy complete with a bronze bell, through a park, over to a ticket booth, paid 3,000 W and took an elevator ride to the top of the tower. Busan is lovely at night with a myriad of lights and wavy reflections off its bay. I enjoyed the view, returned down, and was just about to embark down the steps when a fireworks display began in the distance. Bemused, I stood, craning my neck while trying not interrupt the couples that cuddled and “ooh”ed at the fireworks. It is only human to admit spasms of loneliness during those moments.


Upon opening the front door to my guesthouse, I was startled by the sight of my elderly proprietor changing his pants in a brightly lit room underneath the stairs. He was quite unstartled by my presence and kindly interrupted his changing to dig out a bottle of water for me. And his wife sat up from her nest under the covers to give me a friendly goodnight smile.

I wondered if they had slept under stairs their entire lives.

As I brushed my teeth the next morning, water gushed directly from the sink to a hole in the floor. I did not even peer into the shower. I walked myself a mile or so to Starbucks, ordered a mocha, an unhealthy cinnamon thingy, and an International Herald Tribune. I curled myself into a velvet chair and wallowed for breakfast. Eventually I returned to my guesthouse, bade farewell to my proprietor, placed my backpack in a subway station locker and climbed aboard a bus to go - where else? - uphill to visit a Democracy Monument was a reputedly amazing view. After approximately 30 minutes of anxious bus meandering, I realized that I must be going the wrong direction so I got off, crossed the street, and an hour later was relieved to pay tribute to democracy by freely peering over monument walls. Busan is fourth largest port in the world and there appeared to be hundreds of ships anchored in a mist-covered harbor.

After I had looked my fill, I went downhill, on bus, retrieved my backpack and commenced a search for a mid-priced hotel with clean bedding and showers. I stowed my backpack at one Angel Hotel and embarked took off yet again on the subway. Next destination: another big hill. Duh. But this hill had the added attractions of a big public bath at its base as well as a cable car and hiking.

I was determined to find the bath building first as nothing was going to deter me from a long soak, come hell or well, obviously I’d welcome high water. My tourist map firmly in hand, I walked windy streets searching for the bathes but I couldn’t locate them. And this was frustrating: I was searching for the largest public bath in Asia and I couldn’t locate it with a map and 40 minutes walking. Grrr. However, the cable car was easy to spot so I finally gave my bath quest a rest and followed the sight of the cable cars until I had arrived in a park dug out of a steep hill and was passing vendors hawking marinated chicken meat on sticks and smiling at children riding a teacup ride while their parents snapped pictures with their cell phones. I contemplated the teacup ride (it looked fun!) but instead bought a 5,000 W roundtrip ticket up. I climbed aboard the cable car, which had at first had plenty of breathing room but by the time the doors shut, the breathing room was gone. As the cable car began its slow ascent up the mountain, I began to shake with what I can only call mild terror. Although the view of Busan was spectacular, all I could see was an American military prowler jet slicing through cables and us screaming against the windows while plunging into the rocks below (ala Italy). I was the first off that cable car, almost bursting down the roped off path, although careful not to knock into the old man with a cane. This cable car fear is going to be a problem for a girl with a penchant for views on high.



After calming on a bench, I hiked to the East Gate of an old fortress. The forest through which I walked was hardly the wilderness that we in the US expect. Instead, equal to the number of trees was the number of picnic blankets spread with food and the hiking trails were clogged with people. As I picked my way along a path, I was surprised to be passed by several elderly men, eschewing the sounds of nature and instead listening to loud rock music (ok, valid point: there was little nature to be heard). And one of those men was playing the Beattles at full volume, I swear it. Anyway, using my fledgling Korean to navigate, I made my way to a not terribly exciting gate all the while enjoying the weather. During my return, I managed to diverge from the path and get lost amongst the picnickers and trees. While frantically using every sense I had to find my way, I decided that I’d better return via cable car but this time I ensured that I was first in the car so that I could sit on a bench while clutching at the windows on the way down. Safely at the base of the hill, I set off for my much needed bath.

It had been 3 and a half months since my last bath at the Davis in Bangkok and as I am fond of a rather good bath, I was feeling pretty desperate. And this LP entry was most intriguing:

Heosimcheong Spa – reportedly the largest hot spa in Asia - is packed with soaking tubs and saunas on the 4th floor, with a capacity for 2000 people. Massages and a scrubbing service that removes dead skin are available for an additional fee. Guests are welcome to stay as long as they like and take a break in the third floor snack bar (use one of the spa’s robes).

See? Doesn’t that sound good? And I was damn well not leaving that district of Busan until I had had a message and a long soak. It turned out to be a good thing that I was determined because my second attempt to locate this bathhouse were, at first, no more fruitful than my first. And just to add to my confusion, the logo for bathhouse and for yeogwan (guesthouses) is the same and there had to be a thousand yeogwans in the area. I spent almost an hour pulling out the map, deciding on a new strategy to locate the bathes, walking, pulling out the map, new strategy and more walking. And who says only men refuse to ask for directions?? Finally, as the sun sank behind the hills, my grubby self walked into a swanky hotel, asked for directions and discovered that the baths were attached to the very hotel that I was in, above a large wedding reception place (that I had walked by and ruled out based on it looking like a large wedding reception building). Thank the maker.

I crossed the hotel sky bridge and found myself in a swarming, wood-paneled lobby. I made my way to the counter, inquired about a massage and a helpful man slid a plastic jelly bracelet with small key attached onto my wrist and guided me to another lady who stood in the entrance to what was obviously a woman’s locker room. I was motioned to locker number 1254 and through gestures, instructed to leave my shoes (only) in the locker. Then the lady attendant smiled and bowed and I made my way deeper into the room. There was a large mirrored dressing room, a counter with two ladies dispensing bath accessories and cotton pjs, and naked women everywhere. Keeping my eyes carefully averted and trying not to look as well, foreign and alone and lost and embarrassed as I felt, I soon found a large, long locker labeled 1254 in which to strip down next to and stow my clothing in. But I was the only foreigner in sight and, naked or clothed, I knew that I was about to attract hundreds of stares and it was just more than I could handle to explore the baths while naked. I just couldn’t do it. So I compromised by stripping down to a camisole and jeans, climbed some plastic carpeted stairs, and found myself in a large room filled with pools.

The woman’s soaking room was enormous and dominated by a great glass dome above while below the dome was a large pool divided by a low granite wall and flanked by stone turtles, water streaming from their mouths. Surrounding the main pool were smaller pools, some darkened, some surrounded by rocks, some crowded, some still, some steaming hot, some ice cold; there were pools within caves, long pools, and even long cascading waterfalls to stand under. In one corner, there was a large room with both standing showers and sitting showers where women were scrubbing themselves down. After getting the lay of this utterly foreign land, I turned up a set of side stairs, passed an open air lounging area shaded by a wood screen and in the deepest corner of the next story, found a row of gleaming plastic tables where naked women were being scrubbed and hosed by other naked women. There was a helpful sign detailing serves rendered and while contemplating my options, I retraced my steps and found myself stopped by a helpful lady who was concerned about the water that was wicking through the hem of my jeans. I thanked her, rolled up my jeans and returned to the locker room.

This time I pulled off my clothing, took a several deep breaths, pulled in my tummy, stuck out my chin, and walked into the bath area. I attracted a fair number of stares but even in Korea staring is not polite behavior so it wasn’t as bad as I feared. I dutifully took a cleansing shower and ready for my soak, I walked into the main bath arena only to be stopped by an attendant, who kept pointing at my head until I realized that she meant that I had to wash my head too. Oh. So I returned to the showers, wet my head and freely walked to the main pool, stuck a toe in to test the temperature and then slipped in and down the entire way into the water. I crouched towards the uncrowded side of the pool and settled myself into a perfectly warmed bath. I wanted to close my eyes and just savor the soak but I was too curious about what was going on around me. There had to be more naked women in that building than I had seen in the whole of my life. Women holding babies, sleeping on lounge chairs, crossing from pool to pool, scrubbing each other in one corner, ordering drinks at a refreshment bar, and amicably chatting with each other, feet dangling in the water. Bathing in Korea is a social experience.

After I had soaked for a bit, I consciously made my way upstairs to the massage and scrubbing corner. There I pointed to my selection on the menu and was motioned to lay torso down on a table. A lady wet me, scrubbed every inch of me, oh and I mean every uncomfortable inch, with a rough mitten. I then turned over and she put very gloopy mud mask on my face, did something to my head and then scrubbed my front. When she had scrubbed as many dead skins cells off as possible (big job!), she strategically pummeled me for a few minutes before shooing me back to the baths. With renewed vigor, I explored several pools, trying out the lavender-smelling pool, the pepper-smelling pool (there were labels and yes, one pool was purple and the other was black), and the 44 degree Celsius pool. Finally, hungry, I returned to the locker room, dried myself and borrowed a pair of cotton pjs. Happily they fit, so I pulled money from my locker and went down a staircase directly from the middle of the locker room to the third floor.

The third floor was mixed sex, the men were wearing different colored cotton pjs, and had an intriguing number of conveniences including mechanized foot massage machines, a large space where men and women alike could rest on woodblock pillows, a bank of computers where one could surf the web, and very hot or very cold igloos to lounge in. Goggle-eyed, I passed nap rooms and found a cafeteria, where a few minutes later I was provided with a tray containing a bowl of bimbimbap (rice + salad + hot sauce = bibimbap - one of my favorite Korean dishes), miso soup, kimchi and perhaps one other side dish. I sat at a low table and ate my nummy dinner while attempting to unobtrusively observe the people around me. There were several families enjoying their dinners along with several couples, several single men and me. When I was done with my dinner, I wandered back upstairs, enjoyed the pools for a bit longer and finally called it a day.

Later at my hotel, I discovered Korean television, which seemed comprised of game shows punctuated by unexpected noises, soft-core porn, and CNN. My bed was clean and crisp and I nodded off with a book.

Before leaving Busan, I needed to wet my feet in the pada. So the next morning I forced myself away from the heavenly bed, utilized the very clean shower, checked out, placed my backpack into another strategic locker and took myself to the beach.

As I emerged from the subway into daylight, the breeze stirred my hair and elicited a smile from me as well as from the people around me. By following the crowd and the breeze, I found myself at Haeundae beach – a white sand beach, flanked by tall condo and hotel buildings and crowded with people. Off went my flip-flops, up rolled my jeans, out came my camera, and into the water I went. I strolled in the surf and sand for a good few hours – savoring the people-watching, so many Koreans dressed in long-sleeved shirts and jeans and sweaters just sitting on the beach, and the rocks and the water and the breeze. I walked from one end of the beach to the other and then climbed past the Westin hotel, found myself paying 3,000 W for rice cakes to a vendor who took my picture (good racket she has going on there) and then weaving amongst slow walkers to a viewpoint with a fake lighthouse. I loved the sea and the waves so much that I wore new camera batteries out and it was at that point that I decided that it was time to go. So I walked past the Westin, waved to the rice cake lady, enjoyed an unexpected beach meeting with a fellow EPIK teacher, got on the Busan subway, collected my backpack from its locker, and soon I was on a train, heading home. Half way home on the Daegu subway, I was joined by one of my most congenial students and he and I had a very nice talk almost all the way home.


I cannot say that I got a feel for the people of Busan, or even for the character of Busan, but I can say that I enjoyed the view, the view and the view. And my personal answer to the philosophical question that I posed re: bathes: I would walk naked around 400 Korean women and pay $30 for the privilege. And here’s the thing, I’m likely to do it again.

Shall I go back to signing myself off as Crazzzzy Girl?

--Laura

PS: I went to work the next day and announced to my British co-worker that I had finally had a bath after 3 and half months. Despite his British ancestry, he was dutifully horrified and we are yet joking about this. Another friend told me that under my bath criteria, he hasn’t had a bath in two years. The horrors!

Election Day 2006 – After greeting my students this morning, I put on my most serious face and said to my students:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, there is BIG news coming from the United States. Have you heard?”

Their collective response was blank stares at me coupled with knowledgeable nods. One student replied for the nods by telling me and the rest of the class that “There is an election in the US today.”

“You are so smart.” I smiled. “There IS an important election going on in the United States today. So what do you think CNN’s top headline is?”

Confused looks all around.

“Uh. Duh.” I told them. “Britney filed for Divorce!” Their reaction: startled laughs and chatter around the room. “Ladies and Gentlemen this is big news! You want to know about American culture at its finest? This is a perfect real-life example. On the day of an important election, the top news story: Britney Spears!”

You gotta love real life American culture.

Dear Friends and Family,

Ok, so I was joking earlier about the necessity of you calling the US Embassy on my behalf to entreat for a shower and some sleep. But I was not joking about the actual scheduled visit and one afternoon last week, a first generation Korean-American and the current US Assistant Ambassador to Korea, arrived at Taegu Foreign Language High School to speak to and with our 176 juniors.

The students trooped into the auditorium clutching copies of two NPR "This I Believe” essays, one was written by Colin Powell and the other by Yale Law School Dean Harold Koh. I hadn’t read the essays but ever-susceptible to NPR, immediately decided that the speaker was an American after my own heart. As the students seated themselves throughout the darkened auditorium, my British co-teacher and I settled ourselves towards the back while our Korean teachers handed out photocopied signs that said “Agree” on one side and “Disagree” on the other. The signs incited chatter and there was a fair bit of goofing off with the signs in my row, the goofing being particular to my seat and the one occupied by the Brit next to me.

When the Assistant Ambassador assumed the podium, the audience respectfully quieted. He started slowly and spoke English, indicating that our talk was two firsts for him: it was his first time speaking to a high school audience (he usually speaks to universities, I think) and it was his first time speaking directly to a group in English, usually he must pause for a translator to convey his words. He began by presenting statements on PowerPoint slides and he asked students to raise their agree/disagree signs in order to voice their opinions. The students liked this. Actually, so did I. But he then turned the topic to the ideas in the “This I Believe Essays,” using words like freedom and democracy in a well-meant attempt to demonstrate how Korea & the US share similar values. I am sure that he sincerely wanted to engage the students but the concepts and his delivery were a bit too abstract to be comprehensible, for myself and for our students.

Happily, after his speech, the Assistant Ambassador opened the floor for questions and things became a bit more lively. As the students were pondering the usual “do you have any questions?,” I raised my hand and said into the quiet: "I have a question." This resulted in a collective "ooooh" from the students but I concentrated on the podium and asked the assistant ambassador to define "freedom" - which he had used pretty liberally throughout his talk. His response was vague (so to would be mine if I hadn’t thought this out ahead of time) and I cannot say that I was impressed. And nor were the students. Then the students began to raise their hands, were called on and stood to ask questions. Some students were able to ask the questions off the top of their heads while other students wrote their questions on their agree/disagree signs and then read their questions to the speaker. And no one of the questions that followed mine appeared easy to answer. Students asked "why attack Iraq?," "what does he think about Korean peninsula reunification?," “what is it like living in Korea as a Korean-American?,” “does he regret not being raised in Korea?,” and "doesn't North Korea have the right to defend itself, including with nuclear weapons, just as the US does?" He was clearly unprepared to answer such questions – and it was rather amusing to watch him flounder. He had been forbidden to talk about North Korea but did his other replies were quiet and sincere. I was touched by how hard he tried and better understood his dilemma when he later told me that in the year that he's been in Korea, he's never had such difficult questions. And in that year he’s been in Korea, he’s never been asked about Iraq.

My favorite part of the talk, by far, was observing the incisiveness of the questions and surmising the thinking behind them.

Since the US Assistant Ambassador to Korea’s visit, I’ve opened my junior classes by congratulating my students on their questions and by sharing with them how impressed the Assistant Ambassador was with them. I then ask if they have any questions that they’d like to run by me. One class let me talk for a few minutes before informing me, gently, that they really didn’t care. I grimaced and laughed and changed the subject. Another class was completely quiet and then one brave young man raised his head and said quietly: “North Korea?” That was all. But I – we all – knew what he was asking. And I did my best to answer the question, without prejudice, and including my understanding so far derived from living in Korea. Chances are that it wasn’t a definitive answer, but I am fairly certain that I and my fellow citizen from the Embassy got points for effort.

Hey, why don’t YOU all chew on the notion that North Korea has a right to self-defense???? In the meantime, I think I’ll see about that long ago-promised sleep and shower.

Good luck. --Laura

PS: "This I Believe" essays are fantastic - and I'm not just saying that because I'm NPR deprived. You can find them on the web at: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4538138.

Dear Family and Friends,

Autumn in Daegu has been inviting. The lanes beckon with brightly colored foliage and the days are savory. Two Sundays ago, for the first time since my arrival, it rained and simultaneously the season switched from Indian summer to autumn, with its ever-lingering chill.

Yesterday morning, it stormed. Violently. I was on the phone with my mother and unable to note the building storm but I noticed the daylight dimming through my bathroom window, the day turned to dark and there was an ominous stillness before crashing rain. As I strained around the phone cord and excitedly reported the storm to my Mom, it rained so hard that drops were shoved through my bathroom window screen and wetted my toilet seat a good 3 feet away. Lightening kept flashing and there was barely a pause before the thunder. It was hard and furious. Again, I was slightly distracted by my phone conversation but I was able to dash from window to window to enjoy the storm from every angle after it knocked out the connection and ended my call. The storm lasted a half an hour and afterwards, the streets were empty and wet. Yet soon the sun emerged and the streets became populated and dry by the time I walked to the grocery store. I wondered if this storm's ferocity was normal and was told that it is not. One Korean told me that she pulled her car over to wait out the storm and another said that the storm's fury made her feel that she should go to church.

Since yesterday's storm, the weather has shifted to actually chilly, though not yet freezing. This morning, we shivered in my classroom during first period. Today's skies cleared to the appearance of sunny warmth and I twice walked outside and then had to dash back inside for my coat. Lunch talk included confirmation that early Siberian winds have arrived. And this evening, when I returned to the faculty room after class, the wind whipped through my sweater and suddenly even the gold-colored trees couldn't distract me from shivering.

Still shivering a bit, tonight is the first night that I've switched on my "ondol" flooring as soon as I stepped in the door. Apparently nowhere at a similar latitude are winters so cold; apparently the winds of China and Siberia sweep down the Korean peninsula. Ingeniously, ancient Choson Dynasty Koreans came up with a way to alleviate the cold and capitalize on the notion that heat raises and they began heating the floor through the "warm stone " method dubbed ondol. A historic ondol floor was made of 2 inch blocks of stone, supported by columns of stone or brick and the space between the supports provided a path for hot gases that heated the stone floor and heated rooms. Interior room floors were layered with oiled paper on which household members would go about their daily activities including eating and sleeping. Ondol heating was used for centuries until shortages resulting from the Korean War and then the build-up of (my favorite) multi-story housing altered the materials used to create ondol flooring: floors are concrete covered in linoleum and there are pipes underneath the floor to circulate water warmed by an oil or gas boiler.

My boiler is on and while trying to fit together the words to describe the weather around me, I am training myself to sit because sitting on Korean floors for any length of time is not as easy as the Koreans make it look – especially since I have short, plump, unaccustomed legs. So I'm typing at my low-level table and fidgeting between sitting cross-legged and stretching my legs straight. But the warming ondol holds me at ground-level as little else could. How long will it be before I'm sleeping on the floor?

If you pose "ondol flooring" to Google, scarily, several links to studies with titles such as "Buttock responses to contact with finishing materials over the ONDOL floor heating system in Korea" will pop up. They study materials and temperatures to best warm one 's buttocks?!?! Even more scarily, I have a funny feeling I 'll be conducting studies of my own. I 'll advise you all of the results. Next spring.

I understand that autumn has heavily descended on the dear States. Sending my toastiest regards,

Laura

You know who... taken at the Daegu Arboretum
and posted to please the sister who complained that I never post any pics of me.

Ciao! --L

Dear Friends and Family,

My friend Cathy keeps telling me that “All Korea loves you…” to tease me about how many lucky experiences I’ve so far experienced in Korea: the free computer cord, a cell phone for half the price, the city tour picnic… but I must confess that one of the truest pieces of luck that I’ve had is Cathy deciding that I should be her friend. Cathy also teaches English Conversation at TFLHS and during my first week, she invited me to walk with her to the corner store. I was game and we walked hand and hand to the store where she treated me to a mug, and never immune to bribery, and I’ve basked in her friendship ever since. Cathy was the inspiration behind the baseball game, Cathy was the first guest in my apartment, it was Cathy who helped me acquire my cell phone for half price and then signed Korean citizenship to the contract, it was Cathy who provided me an opportunity to dip my toes into the East Sea, and it was Cathy who invited me to spend Chuseok with herself, her mother, her boyfriend (when he was available), and her younger brother. Her father, sadly, died when she was young. Although I’m doubtful that all Korea loves me, I am beyond lucky that Cathy adores me.

After Cathy and I spent the day in Pohang at the pada, I spent two nights with Cathy’s family. Cathy and her family reside in a flat, somewhere in Daegu, on the 12th Floor of a tall, off-white Building labeled “105” that I couldn’t again find to save my soul. Hmm… I use the British term “flat” but I suppose that the American term condominium would be more appropriate. Anyway, their condo is a really good size: a master bedroom suite, two bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, dining area, and the outside glassed off areas provide space for a utility room, for plant growing, and for clothes drying. Although their condo is a smaller living space than the equivalent American suburban house, it is not at all devoid of comfort. I slept in Cathy’s room, on her bed heated by a warm mat (a seat warmer for the bed?), right next to the family computer. Unfortunately, despite Cathy’s stellar efforts, I don’t speak Korean and Cathy’s mother doesn’t speak English, so there were large gaps in our ability to communicate. That said, Cathy’s mother was welcoming and really sweet and I became even more disposed to like her when I realized that she reminded me a bit of my Aunt DoSook.

On the day before Chuseok, while Cathy’s mother prepared for the feast, we girls lounged a lot more than was probably decent. Although we roused ourselves when Cathy’s boyfriend (nicknamed “Bear”) visited and then we all went to E-Mart to do some last minute holiday shopping. E-Mart was crowded but surprisingly bearable. When we returned, Bear departed and we girls lounged some more although at one point, Cathy and her brother endeavored to teach me a traditional Korean card game called Hwatu. I managed, startlingly, to win every round, even when we weren’t playing a practice game. Eventually Cathy’s mother called us card players to assist her. We shaped pork dough into cakes, coated them in flour and then Cathy’s mother fried the little cakes. I cannot recall what they were called – but, surprise! – I thought they were yummy. Next, Cathy’s mother fried up the pajon (green onion pancakes). I was impressed to find that Cathy, her mother, and her brother can all flip a large pajon by tossing into the air. I demurred when they offered to let me try. Anyway, after several of the pajon were fried, we ate them, which was a mite startling for a girl who is accustomed to the notion that we must save every morsel for the feast. I fell instantly in love with the pajon – especially with the little bits of octopus that Cathy’s mom added. The pancakes had an appealing richness to them that I now suspect that this is rice flour… oh, just thinking about pajon makes me hungry!

Later that afternoon, Cathy and her brother and I went to Baskin and Robbins and eagerly demolished our ice cream cones before we arrived at our intended destination: a beautiful park. The park was long and featured a man-made, tucked against a cliff on the farside and bordered by roses on the nearside. The day was warm, the sun was slanted and autumnal golden, the trees were touched with color, and the park was filled with children and grandparents. We ambled and talked and then returned to partake in more pajon and watch Pirates of the Caribbean.

The next morning, October 6th, I awoke rather curious about this Chuseok thing. Honestly, I was a mite apprehensive as I didn’t have a clue what the “ceremony” involved and in fact, it could’ve been the word ceremony that was freaking me a bit out. Cathy’s mother and brother left early to partake in a morning ceremony while Cathy and I showered and pulled out the special dishes, the table, and screen for our ceremony. We then mischievously pattered into her Mom’s room to play dress-up – Cathy’s yellow and pink hanbok from 6th grade still fits her (!!!!), although she gravely informed me that it is too short. We then wedged me up into her mother’s hanbok: first I slipped my arms through an item that resembled a fluffy apron but turned out to be a long, dark blue silk skirt held up by shoulder straps. Next I slipped my arms through the sleeves of the silk jacket and Cathy tied me in. It didn’t fit quite right and the two of us admired ourselves in the mirror and pulled out the camera to take pictures.

(For the record, this picture became somehow mangled during the posting process - must fix)

But after we posed 100 different ways in our hanboks, I realized that Cathy meant to wear the hanbok for the ceremony and that I was to wear her mother’s hanbok. I found myself deeply dismayed at the notion of meeting people that I do not know, whose language I do not speak, whose culture I do not understand, as if I were trying to become one of them. I couldn’t really explain it but while I thought that hanbok pretty, I just wanted to be me, in “my native” costume. Cathy giggled and sighed and helped me out of the hanbok – but she very prettily wore hers for the entire ceremony.

Cathy’s mom and brother returned and immediately business of the setting of the table began. First the fruit and juju beans, raw chestnuts, mandarin oranges, Asian pears, apples, grapes and bananas were set up in the first row. The sweets were follwed by tofu, the pajon, fried sweet potato, an impressive plate of seafood including a whole octopus, fried white fish cakes, a dried fish, a whole fried fish, a whole chicken, something pork, the pork cakes that we fried the day previous and the Song Pyun rice cakes. Later a smaller table was set in front of the creaking large table and candles, traditional alcohol, rice and incense were added. The ceremony was set.




















Soon one of Cathy’s uncles and several of her cousins arrived. Cathy’s mother put the finishing touches on the table while Cathy laid a bamboo mat in front of the table and added her father’s name to the list of ancestors to worship. Then without ado, the ceremony began. We women stood in the wings of the living room while the men gathered in a half circle, leaving a healthy amount of space in front of the altar. The incense was lit and together the men went down on their hands and knees and bowed. Then one of Cathy’s cousins stepped forward, descended to his knees before the table, bowed twice, then touched one of the dishes. Then he rejoined the group of men and the entire group of men again bowed. And then Cathy’s brother, as eldest man of the household, stepped forward bowed twice and touched the next dish. It was rather touching to watch his 19-year-old smiley countenance vanish behind the veneer of manhood during the ceremony. Anyway, when he was done, he rejoined the men and they all bowed. Then it was Cathy’s uncle’s turn and so it went until the ancestors had been fed. Then the men made one more set of bows and the ceremony was done. I could tell that the ceremony was taken very seriously but what I couldn’t say is how everyone felt about it. And what did it all mean? Personally, I wasn’t terribly moved by the experience and although I appreciate and respect the concept of ancestor worship, I cannot think it right that women are excluded – especially after having witnessed Cathy’s mother’s hours of reparation. In the end, my curiosity was more whetted than satisfied. We removed the food from the ceremonial plates, moved the table to center of the living room, and proceeded to eat the feast of the family’s ancestors. Conversation was a bit awkward, I suspect that my presence was a part of that, but this had the feel of an obligatory family gathering rather than a fun one and I’m certain that feelings from mostly obligatory family gatherings are the same world over. Eventually the men departed to perform another Chuseok ceremony (some men must attend several ceremonies a day) and the remaining family departed. When it was just us, Cathy’s brother took himself off for a nap, just as “Bear” arrived. I was shooed from the kitchen and so I packed up my backpack to return home, as I was scheduled to visit the a city called Mungyeong with a city vicinity tour bus group the next day.

We then went to the Daegu Arboretum. I believe that we all expected and rather hoped that the place would be beautiful and quiet; however it turned out to only be beautiful. There wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about the place and we walked around and took pictures. My favorite pictures were taken in a field of wild flowers. Isn’t Cathy’s mother lovely?
















And then I was kindly driven back to my apartment. As we turned on to the main road near my apartment, one of the largest full moons that I’ve ever seen in my life was hanging low on the horizon. It was beautiful and I was very excited to see it. We arrived at my apartment and I was handed two bags stuffed with Chuseok food leftovers. I was excited and very touched to find out that Cathy’s mother was worried that I might not have enough food in the fridge for the remainder of the holiday, so she packed me enough for a few days (!) and even included some of her delicious homemade kimchi.

My apartment building and streets outside were holiday hushed and I walked into my apartment, put my bags down and thought “I’m lonely.” Yet it felt good to be home. Later, I went for a walk to enjoy and photographically capture the moon.





















My friend told me that on Chuseok, everyone makes a wish on the moon. So to end my Chuseok celebration, that warm night I sent my dearest wishes to the moon....

With great fondness your ancestors and you,

Laura

**********************************************

Pajon - Korean Green Onion Pancake

1/4 small green onion, outside skins shed
1/4 bundle of watercress
1 oz pork
1/2 cup sea mussels
1/2 cup rice powder
1 egg
water
pinch of salt
dipping sauce oil or non-stick pan

1) Trim the green onions and watercress. For easier frying, cut into 4" pieces. You could also follow traditional Korean method of frying them at their full length - but I've not advanced to that level.

2) Thinly slice pork and finely chop sea mussels.

3) Mix rice powder and salt in a bowl. Add egg and a water until it you have a not too thick, not too thin batter.

4) If you sliced the greens, add them to the batter and pour the batter into a medium hot non-stick pan. If you have left the greens at full length, spread the greens in the pan in already hot pan and gently pour the batter on top and spread the batter throughout the greens.

5) As one side of the pajon cooks, spread the pork and mussel evenly on the uncooked side. When the first side of the pajon has been lightly browned, flip it over and fry 'til golden. Use your previous American pancake frying experience - it will stand you in good stead.

6) When done, use kitchen sizzors to slice it into bite-sized pieces. Eat it with Korean metal chopsticks (I supppose wood will do in a pinch) and vinegar dipping sauce.

Vinegar Dipping Sauce
4 tbsp soy sauce
1 tsp sugar
1/2 tsp sesame salt (could also roast sesame seeds and add a pinch of salt)
2 tsp vinegar
chopped green onion & garlic to taste

Mix.

Eat.

Enjoy!