Dear Friends and Family,

My friend Peter married today. His wedding was lovely to witness... different than other weddings that I have so far been to in Korea. In fact, other weddings that I've attended here have been... confusing. Please allow me to attempt to explain.

I received my first Korean wedding invite last winter, out of the blue and via cell phone. My friend Cathy called to ask, “Do you want to go the Vice Principal’s daughter’s wedding? Tomorrow?”

Instantly I felt very uncomfortable. “But I haven’t received an invitation.” I protested, picturing the very Western, very necessary paper invitation.

Cathy laughed and merrily told me, “That’s not how it works here – just come.” she said.

As if I could say no. “What about a gift?” I asked.

“30,000 Won is what we usually give. I’ll bring you an envelope.” She replied.

Hmm. Anyway, so that is how I learned that in Korea, paper wedding invitations are superfluous. And a great deal of notice is not necessary. And wedding invites - or a lack of - were only the first of many differences that I marked between Western weddings and Korean weddings.

A delicate snow was falling the next day as us single women teachers, dressed in shiny, ruffled finery, arrived at the appointed “Wedding Hall,” a froofy building specially made for weekend weddings – this particular hall had long faux Greek columns and a large advertisement of a beautiful Korean woman, replete in caked make-up and an amazing concoction of a white dress. We took an elevator to the wedding level and walked into a crowded reception hall, where our Vice Principal stood at random, looking very dignified in his tie that coordinated with his wife’s traditional hanbok while other guests milled around. My friends immediately approached and bowed to him – as did I – but I threw in a hand shake and warm congrats. We then handed our traditional Chinese character wedding envelopes with cash to the appropriate person and received, in return, a dining ticket.

Next we proceeded into a large room with dusty chandeliers and faux plasterwork reminiscent of a hotel conference room. There was a red carpet aisle framed by wilting silk flowers, individual faux Rococo chairs had been set up for guests, and an altar was alight with electric candles and more silk flowers. The guests were not quiet nor settled when the ceremony began with Mendelson’s wedding march. Two women in red faux military uniforms strode up the aisle to form a fake sword arch for the bride to advance through. The groom appeared and next down the aisle came the bride, tightly coiffed in a rented western-style wedding dress, while the guests barely noticed and continued to chat away. A suit-clad officiate talked and talked for what felt like forever while the bride and groom said nothing. The ceremony ended with a flourish: the uniformed ladies raised fake trumpets, pushed some button and out came a bunch of shiny streamers and strange music. The bride and groom turned to the still-chatting audience, for the photographer’s sake, I guessed, and then together walked down the aisle – both taut with nervousness.

We guests then departed from the ceremony hall to the downstairs buffet room. We presented tickets at the entrance, grabbed plates and subsequently enjoyed an all you can eat traditional Korean food buffet with rice, soap, raw fish, chicken, noodles, different types of kimchi, pork and other yummy edibles. And then we left. And that was it.

To say that I was startled and puzzled by this wedding is to say the least. The wedding appeared Western: the clothing, the music, the swords, the room. But the behavior wasn’t western: tangible joy wasn't present, our weddings are planned for months in advance, our weddings are “individualized” by the bride, and we guests daren’t talk through a wedding. And my consternation about the Korean wedding only deepened when I was told that the ceremony I witnessed wasn’t the legal wedding. Huh? Why go through the elaborate charade… dress… music? Where was the meaning behind a wedding ceremony? Was the ceremony for appearances only?

Well, yes, appearances are a key consideration. Because Korean brides and grooms actually go through two, perhaps three ceremonies. The first ceremony is the frothy western-looking one; the ceremony’s basic intent is to gather all the relatives, friends and acquaintances, get them to give gifts of money, and give them something to talk about. After that first ceremony, the bride, groom, and their immediate family change into traditional Korean hanbok and a second ceremony takes place, this time a Confucian ceremony where I’d guess that a great deal of bowing interspersed with a bit of eating and drinking takes place. Frankly, I’m still unclear about when Koreans legally marry – that could be another ceremony because I’ve been told that couples legally marry after they return from their honeymoon – which can present a problem if the bride or groom perishes during the honeymoon. I haven’t verified that tidbit but if it is true, I’m uncharacteristically happy to declare that portion of the process utterly illogical.

Although I must say that I found the whole kit and caboodle puzzling. So, like an annoying five year-old, I kept asking why questions. And at some point, I formed the understanding that one hundred years ago, Korea was an agrarian society, living in small villages, and organized into family lines. Brides and grooms were matched by matchmakers and married each other’s families. But there came a point when Korean culture changed abruptly and consequently weddings changed too. Today, South Korea is a modern industrial society, living mostly in large cities and family lines remain only somewhat intact. Brides and grooms often meet and marry at their own volition, although matchmaking still happens. So modern wedding ceremonies appear, and indeed are, a mishmash of traditional reason combined with fashionable western tastes. But the Westernized appearance of Korean weddings just confuses me.

Therefore, counter-intuitively, my friend’s traditional wedding today made much more sense to me than the “modern” weddings I’ve been to. Held at an open air, rather beautiful Confucian Academy that is actually a stop on the Daegu City Tour bus (if curious, refer to 10/11/06), we found the groom was standing near the entrance in a flowered black silk hanbok set, complete with hat and shoes. He greeted guests and stoically endured the indignation of lots of stares punctuated by lots photographs. While the bride was also being photographed, tucked away in her own little side room, clad in an amazing pink hanbok, a beaded headdress, and with a rounded red sticker on each cheek.

Eventually the bride and groom were escorted to platforms in which four strong men would carry them to the ceremony. The groom went first, seated in a wooden chair covered with a silk cushion, that reminded me of the open thrones of old kings of Thailand. He was carried by 4 male friends – 3 of which were Western – and was improperly borne on their shoulders while another friend trailed carrying a carved, silk clad wooden duck. The groom was lowered at the beginning of the aisle leading to the altar and lead through a series of ceremonial movements while the bearers retreated to get the bride. The bride was seated cross-legged in an enclosed square palanquin painted with cranes. The palanquin was open so everyone could see her dazzling smile. Most people watched the bride – but I watched the groom and felt amply rewarded as the most beautiful moment of the ceremony (for me) was the look of awe and happiness on the groom’s face as his beautiful Korean bride was carried to him. The bride emerged from her conveyance, the two bowed to each other and were lead up the aisle to an officiate behind an altar.

The officiate, clad in a traditional white hanbok and a tall black hat, had firm possession of the microphone and began to speak in formal Korean. The bride and groom, once arranged on individual sides of the altar, began with hand washing from brass bowls, included bowing, eating a food that resembled the Korean green onion pancakes (pa jon) with chopsticks, and some alcohol drinking. The officiate carried on for a while before the bride and groom finally retreated back down the aisle together to the applause of their guests. We at the back also clapped and as the groom passed he directed an aside of “I have no clue what just happened!” at me. I laughed and followed the two so I could snap a picture of them together. We stood in the sunshine for sometime while more photographs were taken and even we friends were included in the photographs as the groom’s family could not come from Ecuador and Canada to attend the ceremony.

Afterwards, the bride and groom departed to peel away a few layers from their hanboks while we guests went to enjoy a traditional lunch of soup, rice, kimchi, rice cakes, and numerous other side dishes. After we had consumed our fill, we bid the bride and groom farewell… and that was that. Their wedding was lovely. And satisfying for me as a Western witness because of the palpable love that I saw between the couple – and because of the ceremony’s perfectly comprehendible Confucian Koreanness.

Many happy returns, Peter and Celine!

Love,

Laura

PS: Some interesting Korean wedding tidbits:

• Several times now I’ve heard the criticism that modern Korean weddings lack sentiment and are actually carried through simply to make money for the bride and groom. My experience seems to confirm this; but I think I prefer the supposed Korean profit-making lack of sentiment to the Western sentiment demonstrated by a couple getting into extreme wedding debt.
  
  
• The wooden duck, carried behind the groom at Peter’s wedding, symbolizes a long and happy marriage. While the cranes on the bride’s palanquin are a symbol of long life.
  
  

• Apparently in old-style Korean weddings, the bride and groom would retire to one of the rooms of the house specially decorated for the occasion. Outside the room, relatives would use their fingers to poke small holes in the rice paper covering the windows of the room so they could watch what happened inside. Ostensibly, they did this to ensure that the bride did not run away in frustration as the grooms were often much younger than the brides and they often did not know what to do.But Koreans, as a culture, are what we Westerners would consider more than a mite nosy when it comes to “personal business” – and these actions sound like classic nosiness to me!!!
  

PS II: The picture above is of my Vice Principal's lovely daughter and new son-in-law. The following are pics from Peter and Celine's October 28, 2007 wedding.

Handsome, amiable Peter...

The dazzling bride in her palanquin...

Foods to feast on...

And what weddings are all about:
the family portrait session....

Dearest Friends and Family,

(Skipping ahead to what’s actually been on my mind…)

You may be wondering: why did I return to Korea? Actually, the answer to this question was very easy to loose sight of; returning to Daegu in September was an exercise in strength of will.

The story of my difficulty in returning to Korea began on one August night in Daegu, days after leaving Singapore, days before departing for Seattle, when tears began to flow from my eyes that didn’t come from my heart. The tears were followed by a Monday morning in which my right eye turned bright pink. Accustomed as I am to good health, when questioned, I assured everyone that I must have something in my eye – which didn’t truly reassure anyone - least of all my guiding teacher who took one look at my eye and announced that I would go to a doctor. I protested. A lot. Although I eventually subsided when he told me that “the eye is not be messed with,” a statement which I could not refute. Not that that stopped me from again protesting on the way to the doctor – which made my guiding teacher’s lack of gloating when the word “conjunctivitis” was uttered practically angelic. The doctor prescribed me 2 bottles of eye drops to take 20 million times a day plus 5 pills for 3 times a day that were dispensed in neat rows of wax-paper envelopes sans label. I never did find out what those “mystery pills” were – and my post-diagnosis feelings see-sawed between guilt of exposing my students to a nasty virus, pleasure that I missed the usual anti-biotic injection administered to one’s rear end, and finished in disgruntlement after my guiding teacher banned me from wine drinking.

My eye had improved a few days later when I found myself looking out the window at an achingly familiar tarmac. The flight attendant announced, “Welcome to Seattle-Tacoma Airport” while the strangest thing began to happen: my perception of the world turned inside out. It was strange being at Sea-Tac, the airport that used to mean home, with English phrases such as “traffic on I-5,” “Washington Mutual Bank,” or “good chowder at a place called Ivars” coming at me from all directions. And when my father was a bit late in picking me up, I was disconcerted to realize that, savvy traveler I may be, I had arrived in a very familiar world without the tools necessary to deal with it: no working cell phone, no car, no affordable taxis… without even my father’s cell phone number or two quarters in which to make a pay phone call.

As my father returned me to Woodinville, I found everything familiar… I didn’t need to read road signs because I knew what the next curve of the freeway would look like, I knew exactly where we were at any given moment and how long it would take to get “home.” Everything was familiar. But everything felt different. We had just exited the 520 freeway when I was able to put my disorientation into words. I realized first that I had just spent fourteen months comparing every sight I had seen, every city I had been to what I knew: Seattle. And now that I had returned to Seattle after fourteen months, my point of reference had flipped and I had begun comparing Seattle to what I now knew best, Daegu. Everything felt so different! That was when I realized that Seattle hadn’t changed much. But that I had changed a lot.

Returning to the States was sweet. I wanted to eat it all up: the joy and tears of hugging my parents, my sisters, my beloved friends, and my kitties... not to mention the food, of course, as well as a cushy feather bed, a deep bath tub, the ability to drive a car, my beloved Pacific Northwest landscape, the regained knowledge of how to find everything I wanted and the convenience + variety that I no longer take for granted. All so, so sweet.

But a week into my visit, one night tears began to flow from my eyes that were not originating from my heart and by the following morning, my eye was pink and swollen alarmingly. The mystery pills were viewed with amused alarm by my American eye doctor who examined my eyes and prescribed new treatment. But every day, my eye became more and more swollen. And worse, as my eye swelled shut, I began to physically weaken. This necessitated returns – plural - to the doctor. The next days brought lab tests, the infection spreading to the other eye, blurred vision from the original swollen eye… and a daily struggle between wanting enjoy my visit to the fullest while physically miserable.

I piled jetlag onto physical exhaustion when I made the long journey from Woodinville to Daegu with ophthalmologist warnings of permanent corneal scarring still ringing in my ears. In fact, as I prepared to return to Daegu, my ophthalmologist asked, “what would it take for you to get fired and not have to return to Korea?”

My heart and jaw dropped several inches before I replied with unwavering conviction that “My job and my life are currently in Korea.”

These words came back to me as I locked the door of my small apartment and dropped onto my hard bed. Depleted, alone, with blurred vision and itchy eyes, I was sad. I didn’t want to be back in Korea.

So, why return to Korea?

My ophthalmologist’s skepticism about my return to Korea returned to me... vivid and real… the tone of his voice telling me that he pictured Korea unappealing, primitive. And I felt my apartment walls begin to close around me as I recalled a moment from last spring that would confirm his assumptions:

Slinging a cloth market bag onto my shoulder, I exited my apartment, placed a call to my friend on my Samsung hand phone, rounded one garbage strewn corner, bowed to a teaching peer speeding away from work for the day, and continued past the florescent convenience mart. I then the rounded the next dusty corner, passed the little neighborhood dog who was peeing on the curtain of a restaurant fish tank. I went past a stooped grandmother with a baby tied with a sling to her back, past a group of chatty, uniformed middle school students waiting for their afternoon bus, past a few old men squatting on the sidewalk roasting oysters on a grill over a small fire. As I chatted and walked, a careening motorcycle on the sidewalk, driven by a man wearing a chicken costume almost knocked me over. And while I waited to cross the street, I could feel the eyes of a little girl and her mother staring directly at the strange foreigner – me - while another slightly older kid caught my attention and shouted, “hi!”

This is the Korea that I imagine that my ophthalmologist imagines that I live in. This is the Korea that I imagine you all suspect that that I live in. Strange. Comparatively primitive. A country beneath your notice, inhabited by people that look and behave incomprehensibly different. And, as this all actually happened on my way to the nearby fresh food market where I proceeded to buy rice cakes boiled in chili sauce, noodle sausage, kimchi, and rice + ham + egg + rice wrapped in seaweed, I cannot deny that where I live is very different than where I come from.

And well, of course, I find Korea strange. I never forget that I am a stranger here and that that will never change. I could speak the language fluently, I could master Confucian logic, I could learn to make pajon and pork cakes, I could marry a Korean and have children, I could live a 100 years here – and I would still find Korea strange and I would still be a stranger to Koreans.

But here’s the thing. Korea is also familiar. Koreans are passionate about their loved ones, passionate about their culture, passionate about their mountains, passionate about wanting to have comfortable lives, passionate about health – they are passionate about education, passionate about success, and passionate about food. And these passions are very familiar.

But are these reasons to return for another year in Korea? Really, why return to Korea?

That night, just after my return to Daegu from Seattle, I reminded myself of the logical reasons to return to Korea: two years teaching experience would be good for the resume, my summer travels had depleted my savings, and I didn’t know where I wanted to go next.

But that night logical reasoning didn’t help. Nor did lounging in bed with Jon Stewart for company while recovering from jetlag help. I was sad.

Yet on Monday morning, I slipped into my usual routine: I slung my bag across my chest, picked up my cuppa of coffee, and strode down the neighborhood block to work. I opened the door to the teachers’ room – and immediately there exclamations of welcome. I smiled and bowed and hugged and showed off my swollen eye. There was genuine happiness to see me back in Daegu and on my way to health. And I was really happy to see my beloved peers.

But why return to Korea?

Doubtlessly, I returned to Korea for the logical reasons that I named before – but why had I really returned to Korea? The day I returned to Taegu Foreign Language High School, I discovered that if the teachers were happy to see me, the students were thrilled. And my heart leapt at the very sight of each class. In the days that followed many students stopped me in person to ask about my health, inspected my eye, and told me that they were happy to see me. I returned because I love my students. And I believe that they love me.

I don’t know how I could’ve lost sight of this. Really, I don’t. I love my job. I love my school. I love my students. And even with an eye still slightly swollen by pink eye, Korea is where I’m meant to be. For now.

Love,
Laura

Admittedly, it wasn't ALL about the students. It was also very nice to return to new adventures with my friends... this pic makes me laugh! My Kiwi friend Lyndon and I are... uh, imitating an animated statue at the Andong Mask Festival.

Dear Family and Friends,

I loved what I saw in Kuala Lumpur - the influence of Islam was evident everywhere – and it was goooorrrrrrgeous. Interior diamond-like domes, cut from mirrors by artisans in Iran, vivid colored mosaics, stars, star-shapes everywhere, pointed arches, and heavy stripes, and gold-covered mosque domes with spinnerets. Even the Petronas Towers were designed around an Islamic star pattern and the façade was designed to resemble Islamic motifs. So much love lingers amongst such beauty.










Continuing in my quest for beauty, it seemed to me that a to the well-regarded Islamic Museum in KL was of the highest priority. So after admiring the Towers, I slung my bag across my shoulder, pulled out my map and set out for enlightenment – or understanding – or a nice museum visit.

Astutely, as it turns out, Lonely Planet warns its readers that KL is not really a pedestrian city – which frankly I hadn't seen up to that point as there seemed plenty of well-swept brick sidewalks. And the best way to explore a city is to walk, yes? I had just mentally declared LP wrong when I discovered that, well, that KL is really not a pedestrian friendly city.

Well-armed with a map and the sighting of distant spires of the National Mosque, it should’ve been easy locate the Islamic Museum. I gamely, then determinedly, then grumpily, then stubbornly skirted freeways, discovered the lack of bridges over a river, crossed a 6 lane road, accidentally found myself in a construction site, and discovered the city’s gorgeous old train station. Incredulous and very sweaty, I found myself next to the blue-roofed National Mosque, rounded a bend and finally arrived at my intended destination. I mopped my brow (truly, mopped) as the glass doors parted for me to enter.

The museum doesn’t allow cameras and doesn’t sell pictures of itself – a pity – because the building itself is a postmodern beauty with famous turquoise domes, cobalt-tiled fountains, marble hallways and an inverted plaster patterned dome dripping a crystal chandelier. The exhibits were well-selected, well-spaced and showed a variety of artifacts from all over the world, including Islam in Southeast Asia, China, India, Iran, and the Middle East. There were Qur’ans and manuscripts, textiles, wood carving, coins, metalwork, and jewelry. And of course, the gift shop was exquisite. How much I learned is hard to gage, but I enjoyed myself tremendously.

However, once I was cooled and done with the museum, I remained in the middle of no where. I did find a cab and asked the driver to take me back to my guesthouse but he demanded the address and wouldn’t agree to turn on the meter. So I didn’t agree to ride with him. Out came my map and my determination to find a more efficient way to the Monorail. I bought two bottles of iced water from a street vendor, skirted the National Mosque, photographed what I thought was the Malaysian Parliament Building, walked a bit further and fell headlong in love with the Sultan Abdul Samad Building.

Built by the Brits for the government when the ruled Malaysia, the Sultan Abdul Samad Building is the crown jewel in the “Dataran Merdeka” (meaning Independence Square), where in 1957, the Union Jack was lowered and for the first time the Malaysian flag was raised. In fact, on August 31, 2007, a few weeks after my visit, the Prime Minister of Malaysia would stand in the Square and shout, “Merdaka!” (“Independence!”) in order to celebrate Malaysia’s 50th birthday.



But at the moment I visited, I was so struck with the Sultan Abdul Samad Building (for corn’s sake, even a building of this beauty deserves a nickname!) that I ignored the gathering black thunderclouds and paced the square attempting to take the perfect picture of the place. In fact, rain turned from drizzle to downpour and lightening cracked while I kept snapping photos, ducking under brick arches and not minding my soaked hair. I ended enjoying every brick and arch on that building while failing to take decent picture of the place. *sigh* Oh, well.

Anyway, the thunderstorm grew in fury, which drove me to take refuge in, you guessed it, another dinner of Indian food. In fact, next stop: KL’s Little India.

Love,
Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

Pop quiz!!! Quick – where in the world is Kuala Lumpur?



Hint: it is in Asia.



Second Hint: it is the capital city of Malaysia.



Third Hint: …oh, never mind.

Kuala Lumpur (sometimes referred to as “KL”) is on the bottom quadrant, left side of this map from the US State Department:

I’ll be honest: before I bought my plane tickets to Kuala Lumpur, I’m not certain that I myself could’ve found KL on a map of Asia – and if Malaysia’s oil giant hadn’t built the “Petronas Towers,” odds are that to this day I would not have noticed KL.

Admittedly, this is a sad commentary on my geography skills. But this ignorance is also, I believe, a function of a discovery that I made while visiting Malaysia: in spite of the fact that Malaysia is an almost idyllic travel destination, people from the United States do not visit. I suspect that this is because collectively we know little about Malaysia – and what we think we know is wrong. As Asian travel destinations go, we Americans have finally cottoned on to Thailand, Bali, Vietnam, China, Japan, Cambodia, Singapore, and even Korea – but we manage to overlook Malaysia. Why?

Well, Malaysia is a predominantly Islamic country and while I cannot speak for the decades before now, I can realistically say that Americans won’t be rushing to visit Malaysia now. Which is actually a pity – because I truly enjoyed my visit in spite of the fact that I selected Malaysia as a holiday destination for the shallowest of reasons: (1) I needed a real vacation – affordability and a beach were a must, (2) I really wanted to see the Petronas Towers, (3) Korean Air was offering cheapish tickets to KL, and (4) did I mention that I needed a vacation? It is hard to get shallower than that.

And even after I purchased my ticket a mere two weeks before my departure date, I wasn’t excited. While packing, I wasn’t excited. While the rain pounded on the window of my train bound for Seoul Station, I could barely rouse myself to watch the passing countryside, let alone view it with interest. But excitement finally snuck up on me in the guise of impatience as I was peering out the 737 window at Incheon Airport. The weather was drizzly, muggy, gray, acutely gray, as dusk was turning the concrete airport into a pewter-colored mirror which created the illusion of doubling the appearance of everything from the number of airplanes to the red lights brightly blinking on the tarmac. Once our plane had filled, the doors were shut, and we were taxing for take off without actually going anywhere when I began to imagine myself tipping my head back and yelling, “would we go faster if I got out to push the plane?” Apparently I was ready – nee impatient - to go to Kuala Lumpur.

Reminiscent of my arrival in Bangkok over a year earlier, I arrived late at night into weighted darkness, grabbed some money from an ATM, found myself an airport taxi and was driven to my guest house.

What was not reminiscent of my arrival in Bangkok is that somewhere over Vietnam… or perhaps over Thailand… a full-blown cold had clogged my ears and while landing, my ear drums felt on the verge of exploding. Later in the back of an old taxi, the air conditioner wheezed and spit while the taxi driver kept directing questions at me via the windshield which arrived at my stuffed ears garbled. At first I did my best to answer – but his accent was unfamiliar and my ears ached and I eventually gave up and the driver also became quiet, while the air con continued to whine and radio Bollywood music was cranked up. I spent the drive twisted to the window, attempted to discern shadowed palm trees from the night air. After about forty-five interminable minutes of driving, we rounded a gentle corner and in the distance appeared two points of light that had to be the Petronas Towers… plus another tower that I was certain was the KL Tower. Some minutes later, my cab pulled to the side of a street shadowed by colonial style buildings that had been converted to guesthouses and restaurants. I had arrived in Kuala Lumpur.



Don’t ask me why – but my guesthouse was named Eight – a funky place, lovely and clean to the point that I mostly forgave Eight’s web site for calling the dormitory showers a “shared bathroom.” Now I know – and I am happy to share with you – that the phrase “shared bathroom” translates into “bring a bathrobe.” Keep this in mind. However, while I was displeased with the bathrooms, I immediately loved my large, crisp double bed, painted red walls, tall windows and a kindred modern ambience – for half the price one would pay for a Motel 6 in the middle of Eastern Washington. I dropped my backpack and spent about 30 seconds being pleased with my circumstances before I fell diagonally on the bed, asleep.

After fruit, toast, a hefty dose of Sudafed, and a decent cuppa of coffee, I set out to do the first thing I always seem to do in a new city: I put myself at the mercy of the mass transportation system. And, after following my favorite ritual of going the wrong direction, doubling back, getting off at the wrong station and deciding to walk the rest of the way, I was set for a day of exploration. Despite my personal navigational difficulties (I blame the Sudafed), Kuala Lumpur has much to offer the tourist just off the plane from Korea. My first stop was the communications/tourist tower in which one can examine the city sites from on high and surrounded by a “virgin” jungle forest with voracious mosquitoes, only slightly less voracious workers that cannot wait to talk to a girl by herself, and begging monkeys.



After the Tower and further exploration, I decided that KL was very interesting - but that it was time for for a break at my next must-do-destination. Borders Books followed by GOOD Indian food. Living in Korea has taken a toll.

You might be surprised to read that the Indian food in Kuala Lumpur was heavenly - and you might ask: are there Indians in Malaysia? Well, yes, as a matter of fact there are. In fact, the million and a half or so population of Kuala Lumpur is refreshingly diverse: while the majority are, as you might expect, Malay (~60%), about a quarter of the population is composed of ethnic Chinese, some 10% of the population is Indian and about 5% is Indonesian. Be a mite skeptical of those numbers – I couldn’t verify them – but feel free to take my point: there are a lot of different people in KL – and their mere variety was wonderful.

Anyway, back to naan and Borders. I’m afraid that a byproduct of my time in Korea has been that the moment I leave Korea, I gravitate towards amenities that Korea does not offer – and Korea, bless it, does not harbor a lot of the expected multi-national corporations proffering western treats. Although in saying that, I must rush to assure you all that Korea is lovely in its own way and it is not that I do not respect Korea’s detachment from Western companies. I do. But I sorely miss a variety things that I used to enjoy to the point of taking them for granted: a variety of food, understanding what is going on around with the people around me, having some semblance of a schedule that I can plan with and follow, people of different colors and shapes and dress (not that Koreans are uniform – just not dissimilar in the ways I’m accustomed to), and the ability to read labels - amongst other amenities. (I have been known – on multiple occasions – to buy fabric softener instead of liquid detergent, drink alcohol instead of bottled water, etc.). Anyway, living in Korea has taught me to find the highest pleasure in reading toothpaste labels or eating non-deep fried naan (deep frying naan, as happens in downtown Daegu, utterly misses the point of bread.) Also, I now find the highest pleasure in places that before I regarded with no small amount of intellectual distain – places like Borders Books.

Entering Borders Books was like walking into a heavenly home. At that moment in Borders, I couldn’t decide if I had walked in heaven or if I felt like I had come home – so I’ll use both descriptives. Well, it had been over a year since I have been to an English speaking book store!!! Ever-prone to loosing myself in a book store, I wandered through the two-story Borders Books, running my hands over the books, enjoying the space to breath (my bookstore in Daegu is always crammed), and marveling that I could read every title. I spent the longest period searching for sorely-needed trashy reading (magazines and trashy reading - more on the list of sorely missed) and debating whether I could afford the hundred or so other books that I wanted to take with me. In the end, I restrained myself to a single trashy romance and trooped back to the guesthouse, stopping for the afore-mentioned Indian food on the way. After scads of nose blowing, more Sudafed, a bit of vacant staring at my red walls, and vicariously meeting a handsome Italian man, I sleepily already felt a sorry that I hadn’t taken in more of KL – but then I closed my eyes.

My head was marginally less stuffy the next morning – not that it mattered – because that Wednesday was the only day that I could visit the Petronas Towers and it would’ve taken a lot to stop me, should anyone have cared to try. Visiting the Petronas Towers is easy – once the tallest buildings in the world, they continue to be easy to spot from anywhere in KL. Entry to the 40th floor observation deck is free however you must queue early in the morning with about a thousand other people to wait for an admittance ticket. I arrived 30 minutes before the first ticket was dispensed and spent the subsequent hour and a half in line. Watching people was fascinating: there were few English speakers, more than a few Caucasians (Slavic or Germanic Europeans, I imagined), and many Muslims, who were easy to spot mainly because the women had their heads covered either by brightly colored, modestly draped veils or, startlingly, by black veils that left only the eyes visible, or shockingly, veils which covered the entire face but retained a measure of transparence in order for the wearer to not to hurt herself. Interestingly, the two ladies with their entire faces covered were accompanied by two men in tasteless tattered shorts and sleeveless shirts. I wasn’t and continue to be unsure how to view “the veil” of Islam but I felt justified in silently scorning their male companions for blatant hypocrisy.

Standing in that line, trying not to openly stare at the completely veiled ladies, it occurred to me to wonder what the Muslim men think about me, Western and blatantly unveiled. I continue to wonder about this.

Anyway, after escaping the line clutching a 12:45 pm ticket, I had plenty of time for Starbucks at the posh, posh mall attached to the Petronas Towers and for a walk, eyes wide open, ears perked, senses open. Returning for my tower viewing time, I submitted my handbag to metal detectors, made acquaintance with a newly wed couple (fascinating: him raised in Britain, her an American, them living in Dubai, her veiled), and mentally poked fun at the 10 minute propaganda movie about the virtues of the Petronas Oil Corporation. A group of about 20 was then loaded into what seemed to be a freight elevator and escorted to the 40th floor bridge that joins that two towers and let loose to marvel and photograph. I was and remained blasé about the 40th floor view – but I loved craning my head in an attempt to see the very tips of the Towers and conducted a thorough examination of the ribbons of steel that wrap the Towers, generally noting as many other architectural details that my untrained eye could detect. And the guide noticed and fed my interest, telling me about the Japanese and Korean construction companies that had simultaneously built the Towers. In just the right amount of time, the guide returned us to the ground and let us loose in the posh mall – I almost cried at the sight of a Gap (it has been 14 months!) and then went to find myself a place of better quality edification.

More soon – truly. --L

Dear Family and Friends,

Last semester was an utter wash in regards to writing and traveling but to compensate, I definitely grew as a teacher. Memorable lessons from last semester were the day when my aunt and parents visited to talk with my students (family visits are a great deal for me: they teach, I supervise), the team-teaching demonstration class that my fantastic co-teacher and I performed at the end of May, a July lecture by my best friend via videoconferencing, and another team teaching performance – this time in front of 35 US school principals. While I still cannot say if I plan to teach long-term, I can say that I’m enjoying the challenges now, and I have the pictures to prove it!

My sweet Aunt Jenny talks flying and illustrates with a flight map.

Mum and I indulge in a hug while I consider clocking one of my boys. (I resisted – that time!)

Our students re-tell Charlotte’s Web events during our demonstration class (in front of ~20 people – teachers from my school, other schools, our vice principal, principal, and my boss from the city). Our students were great!!!!

My co-teacher, Im, Eunjoo and I were very lucky to have Liona Burnham join us and our students got a real kick out of her talk.

Despite the wonderful teaching conditions, the end of the school semester, July 13^th, could not come fast enough. Towards that end, as is a life pattern with me, I had managed to utterly burn out my creativity and energy with quantity (and quality) of work. I actually ended with the semester before the semester ended itself – the Thursday evening that I found out that my British co-teacher Paul would be moved to another school. I haven’t written much about Paul here – but I’ve been beyond lucky to work with him - he has been an invaluable mentor, companion, and friend. More importantly, he is an amazing teacher and our students adore him (despite his sometimes difficult for them British accent!). Although losing him to another school was not a surprise, it was disheartening and the semester concluded on a decidedly sour note even though I will return to Daegu Foreign Language High School in September.

Paul poses with hundreds of goodbye notes from his students.

Burned out, disheartened, exhausted, I had to, had to have a vacation – so I snuck away from Daegu to… Malaysia.

Ciao!
Laura

Miss Ee and Miss Ee – one rarely sees the one without the other – pose with their sign for Paul.

**Pictures of my parents and from the demonstration class are courtesy of Son, Young Chai and Taegu Foreign Language High School.**

Dear Friends and Family,

My heart leapt last November when one of my most amazing students requested that I accompany a group of students to Bangkok and be the necessary “adult” while volunteering for Habitat for Humanity. Call me crazy – and many did – but an important lesson that I had learned in departing from the United States is that while I adore visiting beautiful tourist sites, true adventure and the best memories are formed while meeting people. So in my student’s invite, I recognized an incomparable cultural experience – Korean students in Thailand, oh my! - not to mention a legitimate excuse to re-visit beloved Bangkok with the added bonus of volunteering for Habitat for Humanity – an international organization founded on the notion that everyone has “a right to decent housing.” I immediately acquiesced.

And I’ll tell you straight out: the trip was an incomparable experience – but not one that I’ll be in a hurry to repeat.

It was my amazing student, Yeji, who conceived of the good deed of volunteering, planned the trip and talked me into “supervising”. Our volunteer group, dubbed as the Youth Act for Peace team, was comprised of me, my friend Julie (also a teacher from the US), and 18 students – most of which I recognized but all of which I was still struggling for their names as we departed from Incheon to Bangkok.

Habitat for Humanity sent a staff coordinator and vans to greet us upon our late arrival in Bangkok and drove us to the hostel that we slept at – eight beds per room – yes, even me and Julie. The next morning we awoke, put on work clothes and embarked upon a week of sweat, hard work, meeting “real” Thais, and seeing the sites. Most mornings during our week stay, we were picked up at 9 am from our hostel, driven to the work site, worked from 10 – 1, had lunch (cooked by locals and served on tables at the local community center) + a bit of a rest, and then worked until finished for the day. Our first day was probably the hardest work-wise: just after meeting the family that we were volunteering to help, we stepped into too big rubber boots and pulled on knit work gloves in order to mix, with hoes, a pile of dirt with a few bags of powdered cement mix and a bunch of water and then haul the wet concrete mixture in buckets in order to lay the floor of the house the we were assisting with. This was hard, hot work that the students had predictable reactions to: some excitedly pitched in, some were afraid to get dirty, and some helped for as long as necessary before taking to the shade. At lunch, almost all collapsed on mats in the shade for a snooze and dragged back to the afternoon’s work. That evening, we ate dinner, had a group meeting, and slept heavily.

Things got somewhat easier in the following days and we took breaks from work and were tourists every evening. One day we visited the Grand Palace, Wat Arun, and Wat Pho. While another day we brought paper and colored pencils to an elementary school not far from where we were building and spent the morning playing with 100 or so adorable Thai kids. My students loved this! They performed a dance that they had learned in PE for the kids, gave away Korean memorabilia, and flopped right down to the floor to color and laugh and cuddle and play with the kids. As their teacher, I got the pleasure of being proud of my students while playing with my share of adorable elementary students. That was FUN!

But there were problems too. As “the adult”, I didn’t get breaks and I never stopped balancing the contradictory demands of wanting the students to have fun and grow while ensuring that they were safe. One evening while we were riding a water taxi up river, two of my students accidentally got off at the wrong stop. Heroically, Julie caught sight of this, got off with them and they found us. But that was scary. And then there were the times that the students ran late when meeting us at appointed spots – which caused me all sorts of panic (how would I explain their disappearance to their mothers???). And as the students were managing finances for the trip, there came inevitable points when I had to step in and work things through with them and Habitat for Humanity – which was decidedly not a pleasure (although all worked out in the end). As a final hoorah, the last day was amazingly challenging: 5 students were sick (i.e. fevers – I almost sent one to the hospital), one student ended up with concrete splashed in her eye (I had to wash it out with tear drops and make her cry), and on the way to the airport, Julie herself developed agonizing pain that we feared was internal but turned out to be an amazing muscle spasm.

In the end, although we were not able to finish building the house for the family that we were assisting, we enabled it (both with our time and with a mandatory donation), my students learned a lot (and mostly had a good time) while I too learned a lot about being an adult amongst teens, about being a leader. We all returned to Daegu, happily and safely – and can now reflect upon our trip with pleasure that increases with time, distance, and recovery.

With love,
Laura

PS: My apologies - I didn't talk a lot about Habitat for Humanity as an organization (they do amazing work!) but for more information about them and about the work they are doing in Thailand, check this article from their web site – not about us – but is still quite relevant.

Dear Family and Friends,

Each city in Korea has its own tourist slogan… Daegu’s is “Colorful Daegu” (in tribute to now mostly dead textile industry), Pusan’s is “Dynamic Pusan” and Seoul’s is “Hi Seoul.” Seriously.

The following pics are from my visit with Emily in February and with beloved parents and aunt in May so you, too, can say “hi” to Seoul!

...a cold day outside Seoul's Gyeongbok Palace...

...inside the throne room of Seoul's Gyeongbok Palace...

...decoration in preparation for the year of the golden pig - the Korean lettering down the side says "Happy New Year" (I can read!)...

...Seoul is lovely at night...





...traditional-styled Korean wear called "hanbok"...

...sleeping seamstress outside of Namdaemun Market...

...the largest Starbucks in the world... and oh, this sight makes me happy...!

...near the Han river at sunset...

...American tourists...

...pretty flowers...

...Korean architecture grows on you... truly, it does...

...number of kilometers from Seoul's Tower to Seattle... still, there are some days when I would willing walk 8,331.38 kilometers....


There, so now you all too have said “hi” to Seoul! --L

Dear Friends and Family,

Grasping the history of the Korean conflict turns a tour of the DMZ into living, breath-halting history. Suddenly it became easier to imagine the huts on the border that we had earlier viewed populated by military brass in diplomat mode. The landmine warnings were vividly real. Re-glimpsing the North Korean propaganda village flying the largest flag in the world amongst deforested hills seemed only sad. Standing on the tour bus to photograph the contested tree’s site became close to tourist mockery. And the peeling paint on the “Bridge of No Return” (where 83,000 prisoners were returned to North Korea after the Korean War while a mere 13,000 were returned to South) was perfectly understandable. That day in February, our bus drove us past all of those sights before returning us through anti-tank fortifications in order to deposit us at the JSA gift shop.

Next came a mediocre, over-priced lunch followed by a trip up to a viewing platform from which we should’ve been able to see well into North Korea – especially as the countryside just North of the border is spookily devoid of trees. But we couldn’t see much through the mist - even with the use of high powered binoculars.

Our last tour stop to visit tunnel number three indelibly printed North Korea’s determination to militarily alter the Korean peninsula in my mind. First we were subjected to a South Korean propaganda video which concluded with eerily inflated hope and then we were escorted to view a serious of timelines illustrated with Korean war memorabilia. Then we were escorted into another building, given yellow hardhats and terse instructions to stay with the group. We then walked down a steep incline into a rock tunnel.

The tunnel was just as you might imagine: a cool, long tunnel of rock with curved walls of chipped away rock, lit by strong light bulbs, and dripping with water. Dank to the point of sticking the insides of your nostrils. The walls had been blackened by fleeing North Koreans, who apparently figured that if they painted the tunnel black, the South Koreans would believe that the North Koreans had been digging for coal. An unlikely story even to my untrained eye. We walked single file, following the person in front of us and listening to our guide as he stopped to tell us that the tunnel could squeeze 30,000 soldiers per hour through it. It was hard not to feel claustrophobic.

We emerged from the tunnel fighting for breath – literally as the incline up is rigorous and figuratively as it had become easy to see that the North Koreans should be taken seriously.

I – we – returned to Seoul that day feeling that there was much to reflect on and found that while we were touring the DMZ, the long-running six party negotiations between South and North Korea, the US, Japan, China and Russia, announced a landmark agreement. My mind flashed to the laundered and now-glass covered flags in the DMZ meeting room. Readers of the world news would feel a raise in their hopes for Korea on the very day that had dealt a mortal blow to my own hope that Korea could achieve a happy ending.

Time will tell.
Laura


PS: Not all is doom and gloom in current Korean relations. You may have read on May 17th that trains crossed the North/South Korea divide for the first time in over 50 years. They aren’t going so far as to make a habit of this but the gesture was deemed good news. And just yesterday, my heart leaped at the news that South Korea’s current president, Roh, Moo-hyun, will visit North Korea’s Pyongyang in a few weeks to meet with North Korea’s Kim, Jong Il. Time will tell....

Dear Friends and Family,

Before returning with you all to the DMZ and in order to share my impressions (including why I used the adjective “menace” in describing North Korea), I need to shore up my conclusions by providing you all with my partial and prejudicial and likely boorish version of Korean history.

As you may recall, Korea, by definition, is a geographical peninsula filled with people sharing a common language and long-standing culture. Koreans have a rough history with “outsiders” – a history chock full of invasions by Mongolians or Japanese, a long bout of paying costly homage to China, and a habit of protecting its culture through isolating itself from the rest of the world. Enter modern times and the crucial point of 1910, when the Japanese colonized Korea and ruled in a decidedly non-benevolent style for 35 years (stripping Koreans of their ability to be Korean - down to changing their names to Japanese names) until the end of World War II in 1945.

In order to accept the Japanese capitulation and to assist in stabilizing Korea during a post-colonial governmental transition, American forces occupied Korea up to the 38th parallel while the Soviets occupied Korea down to the 38th parallel. Afterwards, the two armies, once united by opposing Japan and Germany but separated by ideologically opposing governments, could not agree on a forward course. So each occupier-ally helped Korea set-up a government: the US attempted to spread “democracy” to the South and in 1948, held an election that selected President Syngman Rhee while the Soviets appointed a charismatic leader by the name of Kim, Il-Sung to head-up the Communist Korean state.

The lack of agreement regarding which government was legit effectively divided Koreans in half. Neither government intended to rule only half the peninsula but neither could an agreement to unite be reached. Eventually North Korea, with superior resources and inferior patience, crossed the 38th parallel to attack South Korea on June 25, 1950. Thus began Koreans fighting Koreans in a civil war. But when it looked as if the “Democratic” South would loose out to the Communist North, the United States and the United Nations entered the fray to battle back the communists, inspiring China to eventually throw its weight behind the North. In three years, millions died, no side was able to assert dominance over the entire peninsula, the country was devastated in every possible way, and finally a cease-fire was signed on July 27, 1953.

The cease-fire, such as it was, still holds today. The Korean War has never officially ended.

I think it safe to say that following the Korean War, the South distracted itself by cleaning itself up, writing a constitution that included a future unification with the North, and diligently working towards a mighty capitalist society – even to the point of engaging, when fruitful, with the outside world. While the North built itself into communist military economy focused on “freeing the South” (from the repressive Americans), closed off to all but a few of its closest friends (communist China and Soviet Union), and talked itself into believing that it was a utopia ruled by the benevolent and brilliant Kim, Il-Sung. It is not truly known how North Koreans felt or feel about their utopian state but it is believed that North Koreans feel the separation of Korea as keenly as the South feels it – and that North Koreans can reliably be rallied around all “free the South” campaigns. Thus began the history of North Korea holding its people utilizing love/hate feelings for the South. It was not long after the cease-fire that a steadily increasing number of “liberating” attacks by the North on the South began.

Open – almost - hostility returned to the fore in 1968. In January 1968, 31 North Korean soldiers dressed in South Korean uniforms covertly slipped through the DMZ and moved south to the Korean Presidential Palace – Blue House – before being detected and arrested a mere block from the palace on the 22nd. This caused considerable outrage from the South Koreans, who garnered immediate, visible backing from the United States to the point that within a day, on January 23, 1968, a Navy intelligence vessel dubbed the USS Pueblo was surrounded and seized by the North Koreans in international waters – resulting in an 11 month hostage situation. In fact, 1968 was generally not a good year for Korea; accordingly to one source, there were 700 or so attacks that year although the number of attacks fell the following year to 300 as visible tension subsided.

Out-right hostility returned again in the 1970s. The US military at the DMZ’s Joint Security Area decided to trim back a sizeable poplar tree that dangerously (according to them) isolated 1 of their guard towers amongst 3 North Korean guard towers. On August 18th, 1976, a Korean work force was escorted by a few US soldiers to trim the large poplar tree. The group was surrounded by 30 North Korean soldiers operating under the impression that the tree was sacred to Kim, Il-Sung. The end result was that the tree remained intact while 2 US soldiers were beaten to death with the blunt end of axes. This resulted in the most militarized tree removal in history dubbed “Operation Paul Bunyan”: the poplar tree was removed and replaced with a monument to the dead soldiers. The workers sent to dispense of the tree were backed by helicopters, a number of B-52 bombers, and an entire army platoon. Happily, North Korea did not send soldiers to stop the cutting, so only a tree fell to axes that day.

It was also in the 1970s when North Korean defectors started talking about secret tunnels and upon following up, South Koreans began discovering incursion tunnels, running North to South directly under the DMZ. The tunnels were detected using water-filled holes dug vertically in the ground near the suspected tunnel locations. A sharp-eyed RoK soldier spotted water trembling in one hole (the movement was caused by the dynamite used to blast out the first discovered tunnel) in November of 1974. Other tunnels were discovered in 1975, 1978, and 1990 totaling up to four known incursion tunnels under the DMZ. And these tunnels were just a little too good to not be real. It was estimated that an entire regiment could pass through the tunnel in an hour. And individual studies of each tunnel showed design progressed with each tunnel. For example, the first tunnel has a bit of a water retention problem while the third tunnel slopes slightly up so that water does not stagnate. Clearly these tunnels were for more than amusement. Luckily, the North Koreans provided some always welcome macabre amusement with their explanation for the tunnels. The North claimed that the tunnels’ purpose was coal mining – although the black on the tunnel walls was easily identified as… paint. No trace of coal has ever been found in the tunnels.

And rather surprisingly, especially to us who are hyperaware of the fanfare and seeming success surrounding the Sunshine Policy, liberating attacks from the North Koreans continue almost to this day. In 1998, the body of a North Korean was found on a beach just south of the DMZ, along with equipment suggesting a non-friendly mission. And if my memory doesn’t deceive me, as late as in 2004, a North Korean submarine was caught near in the very South Korean waters near Jeju Island. (I found this tidbit in a museum but cannot confirm it).

Summed up, this partial, prejudiced history adds up to the idea that North Korea has spent fifty-four years planning attacks on South Korea while ruled by an authoritarian government that has raised generations of North Koreans to believe that Kim, Il-Sung is more miraculous than God and that actively believe that South Korea contains the enemy. Here in 2007, the North Korea leadership, now starving its people of food and other necessities, is in need of a certain level of hostility with South Korea and the United States to give its government purpose. The malice against the US, against South Korea is ingrained in North Korea, it will endure.

All of this is why I came to feel that North Korea is menacing, much like a thundercloud hovering in the distance, poised to wildly strike. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that war is inevitable… but a peaceable solution to the Korean War seems far away.

And now back to the DMZ….

Regretfully yours,
Laura