Dear Friends and Family,

Ok, so you may be back to wondering, where in the world is she? Today's answer: "I am in Kathmandu."


Admittedly, this is a slightly surprising statement considering that according to this blog, I've just barely set foot in Shanghai. But computer access in China... Shanghai and beyond... turned out more limited than the guidebooks would have you believe. In other words, my trip has provided me with plenty to write, but unfortunately it has not afforded me near the number of opportunities to type. So...


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


Very soon after arriving at the ultra-modern metropolis of Shanghai, I took myself to the acclaimed Shanghai Museum and began to contemplate China's past.


'Tis a fact, universally acknowledged, that the state that we today call The People's Republic of China has a long, venerable history. But what is not necessarily agreed upon is the notion of history itself. In his book Oracle Bones, Peter Hessler points out that Chinese intellectuals have often felt that the concept of history as a continuous narrative is a Western notion and ends up working to the Western culture's advantage. After all,

. ..Westerners perceived change as natural: pharaohs disappeared; Greece collapsed; Rome fell. Without the weight of a continuous history and [without] the conservatism of Confucianism, Westerners seemed more likely to look ahead... the Western view of the future expected tangible, long-term progress.

While in contrast,

In China, intellectuals looked back and saw nothing but Chinese history. Emperors and dynasties, emperors and dynasties - [an] endless spiral of time.

The Shanghai Museum boasts some 120,000 bronzes, pieces of furniture, paintings, seals, and (naturally) china - one of the finest collections of Chinese artifacts in the world. After waiting in a long line of hot tourists for over an hour, I found myself wandering through exhibits, from artifact and placque to artifact and placque, wracking my brain for enough information to compile a narrative about the country that I was visiting and the pieces that I was viewing. Placques would read, "Hexagonal Vase, Ming Dynasty" or "Statue of Buddha, Qing Dynasty" and frankly, my response would be, "Huh?" After all, words like Ming, Qing, Shang, Song, Tang, mean less to me than Tudor, Stewart, or Windsor. Nonetheless, in visiting China, in visiting the Shanghai Museum, I was seeking understanding - a narrative... progress... I'd find these most useful in establishing understanding. Happily, and rather appropriately I found "progress" and a method of recalling remembering dynasties and emperors - in the museum's china exhibit.

Ancient Chinese china looked something like this:

Painted Pot with Lattice Design
(Note the primitive design and non-shiny glaze)
2600 - 2300 BC

By the Tang Dynasty, some 2000 years later, china had progressed to this:

Glazed Pottery Jar
(Note the shiny glaze, colors and runs are particular to this era)
Tang Dynasty (618 - 907 AD)

During the Ming Dynasty, china became very sophisticated:

Vase
(Note the blue and white glaze + the detailed picture - a detailed look makes the glaze seem slightly smudged)
Ming Dynasty (1368 - 1644 AD)

And the Qing Dynasty built its style upon the Ming Dynasty's.

Vase
(Note the multi-colored glaze + sharp, sharp picture)
Qing Dynasty (1644 - 1912 AD)

History... progress... narrative... china.

In fact, the museum explained that the English word "china" likely originated from the 1st imperial dynasty - the "Qin" or "Chin" dynasty (221 - 206 BC) - but that the word "china" became famous in describing the unique, beautiful, quality pottery that came from the country that we now know as China. The museum hammered home its point, as we English speakers love to do, by quoting Shakespeare, who wrote in Measure for Measure, "They are not China-dishes, but very good dishes."

I slightly differ with the bard: the dishes were indeed China dishes... but yes, they were very good and said a lot about China.

Love,

Laura

Check this out: if you take an overnight coach in China, you (may) sleep in bunk beds. You climb aboard a bus equipped with upper and lower bunks, each bed is slightly elevated in lieu of a big pillow but nonetheless includes a grain pillow and a comforter.

I discovered this on my way from Qingdao to Shanghai: after leaving my backpack in the lower hold, I climbed aboard and my jaw dropped even as the driver pointed me to the top bunk right behind him. I had to lever myself up like a gymnastist on the parallel bars (the first time I've used junior high gymnastic skills since well... junior high!) - and no doubt I amused all the passengers behind me while I tried to grasp my excitement about this novel way of travel.

Anyway, I used the word "sleep" but what I actually meant is, after a fascinating conversation with a near-genuis areonautical engineer also on his way to Shanghai, you lounge uncomfortably while half of your body falls asleep. Then you switch positions and let another portion of your anatomy fall asleep. You watch the darkened countryside flash by, sometimes illuminated by saffron lights or highway toll booths, until you get stuck in stop and go traffic on the outskirts of a big city that turns out to be Shanghai.

I had thought this sort-of bus only exisited in J.K Rowling's imagination! --Laura

* * * * *

A myriad of Shanghai city scenes
collected by the Shanghai Art Museum.

Dear Family and Friends,

There is a slow boat to China. Did you know? Well, to be fair, it was about 15 hours from on the ferry from Korea to China... which isn't that slow and the hours were congenial.

I had been prepared for a more... intense... experience more in line with the ferry that an American friend and I took some months before from Korea to Japan. That ferry was chaos. Crowds pressing. Once people pushed and spilled on board our shabbily outfitted cruise ship, people hurried to their cabins. The majority of the cabins were carpeted with a sum of twelve cubbies lining two walls, adequately wide for a torso and each the with a neat stack of bedding. My friend and I greeted our male roommates, received the admonition to take our shoes off with apologies, and dropped our weekend bags with some trepidation. The trepidation grew into barely concealed culture shock as we walked amongst the swirling boat partiers: kids running, old women in ill-matching outfits nodding off in padded chairs, people our age investigating the noribang (aka karaoke) and video game rooms, and the smoking room packed with men. And the noise...! But what we found most interesting was that occupants of several other cabins covered their carpets with newspapers and pulled Korean picnics: cabbage kimchi, radish kimchi, ramen, hard boiled eggs, rice, green onion pancakes, rice cakes, fruit, and many round, green bottles of soju. But what was most striking, and a glaring exception to the rule of Korean hospitality, was that my very American self and friend were either invisible or even regarded with disdain. At one point, despite lacking towels, we decided to visit the on-board public bathes, and an old lady who had watched us stuff our clothes into a locker, followed us and began screaming at us because we had forgotten to shower before climbing into the pools of warm water (I had sighted the windows that appeared to display us to anyone walking the boat decks and forgotten bath rules). The lady was not at all pacified when I indicated I understood what she was saying and apologized, all in Korean. She didn't leave until we both had climbed out of the bathes - eyeing the windows warily. Two years in Korea and never had I or would I be treated that way again. Anyway, that crossing was cultural and made quite the travel story, but it made arriving in clean, orderly Japan rather a relief. And it made this crossing to China heavenly.

Because I preferred to skip the kimchi picnics, I upgraded to bunk beds - which on this ship were clean and curtained. The ship couldn't have been at half capacity passenger-wise and my one roommate was a lovely, bi-lingual Chinese lady, we communicated in minimal Korean and with lots of smiles. Our ship was not as shabby and lacked entertainment venues but more than made up for this lack by being equipped with a convenience store. I dropped my backpack near the cubby and hurried to the deck to watch as whole containers and lorries were driven through a lowered section of the boat's hull. It took over an hour to leave the bay at Incheon, we were lifted to sea by locks. The boat rocked me to sleep early and awoke me in plenty of time to watch us draw near the Chinese coast. Cirrus clouds feathered the sky, fog smudged the horizon, and we were an hour and a half from docking when we passed through a good 200 fishing boats, engines off, their hulls weathered dark, rocking, with one or two busy fisherman in each boat while a rippling triangular orange flags of plastic attached to their dwarfed masts announced their presence, like a headlight in the dark.

My bags were searched at the port of Qingdao. A friendly shipmate and ran a gauntlet of taxis and took one to the bus station - my map told me that I could walk to the train station from there. After 25 minutes of trudging through crowds and dusty sidewalks, enduring many unfriendly stares, and no sign of the train station, I gave in and hailed a taxi. And discovered I was on the wrong side of the city.

Unsuccessful in my quest to purchase a train ticket, instead I purchased an overnight bus ticket and caught another cab to my hostel. My world felt new and overwhelming... and even though I liked what I saw and was excited to explore, I missed familiarity.


The city of Qingdao sports its history in its architecture. Basically a fishing village 'til the late nineteenth century when the Qing Dynasty ceded the territory to the Germans, who made an indelible architectural mark on the city. But soon the colonizing Germans ran into problems of their own (notably World War I) and Qingdao fell under colonizing Japanese, followed by the Kuomintang, a stint of hosting the US Navy and finally, the Communist Red Army brought the city back to China in 1949. Today the city rated one of the most livable in China, it is famous for its beer (Tsingtao), and it hosted the sailing events for the Beijing Olympics.

My visit to Qingdao was brief. My first tourist visit was to walk to the reputedly beautiful Catholic church, whose black iron gates were adamantly secured. Disappointed, I turned my attention to other visitors of the church square. They were a good ten or so groups - each composed of a make-up artist/assistant, a photographer on his back shooting up, a photographer on his feet shooting out, a groom and a bride. Throughout my visit to Qingdao, I would find brides and their grooms, sometimes in rather unexpected poses, in front of churches, mansions, or waves from the sea. I loved watching the brides inelegantly dragging their dresses around, sometimes I caught glimpses of grubby sneakers or jeans under the dresses. I cannot rightly say, but I assumed from the condition of the dresses (often showing a history of being dragged across sandy beaches or dusty cobblestones) that their western-style dress was rented and that their wedding would be a separate occasion.

Finally, bored with the brides, I proceeded to other tourist sites: the famous Christan church (whose hospitality extended to admission into the church's clock tower), the former German Governor's mansion (beautifully preserved, threadbare carpets and deeply polished woods), the famous brewery, another two mansions (sad, sad neglected places - preservation not even a useful adjective for them), and ended up walking the beach near sunset. A few of the famous Qingdao kebabs for dinner... and I was content with time in Qingdao... and ready for Shanghai.

Cheers!
Laura

My cabin on the slow boat to China...
a very civilized way to travel!

The first of many portrait sessions
that I'd run across in Qingdao.

Reportedly the governor got fired for the
expense of building this mansion, but I say it was worth it!

Bottling Tsingtao beer in Qingdao...
although not a passionate beer drinker, I quite like this beer!

Dear Friends and Family,

Ok, so now you know that I am no longer in the Republic of Korea. But you may be wondering, where in the world is she?

Frankly, I find myself asking myself the same question - a lot. Today's answer: "I am in Shanghai."

You see, I carefully considered what I would do after my second teaching contract in Korea finished. I was not and am not ready to return to the States. I'd love to explain to you all, succinctly and logically, why I left the States and why I do not yet feel ready to return but I cannot. I cannot say - and as a woman rarely at a loss for words, I feel that my inability to express why I felt the need to go adventuring remains a wee problem. Happily, I can assure you that I have accomplished some of what I set out to do: my friends say that my new-found confidence shows in my face, I have some savings, I've met kindred people, and I've begun to see the world for myself. I am conscious that this time away from the city and people that I consider home is precious and I'm determined to make the most of it. And I wish to hone my travel skills so that world travel will always have a place in my future.


May I suggest that you take out a map? Because my rough plan for the next few months is to budget backpack to my next destination: I shall cross China, through Tibet, pause in Nepal, linger in India and finally, alight with teaching resume in hand, in Turkey.

I describe my plan as "rough" because well, it feels rough. Part of this sort-of travel requires planning and trouble-shooting as one goes along. And although I had done an extensive amount research, budgeted and planned for things not to go perfectly, I still found myself startled to the point of acute dismay when a problem arose days before leaving Korea: China granted me a tourist Visa from Korea earlier in 2008, but my second application of the year was denied and the Korean travel agency had to return me my money and my passport. Some weeks later and thanks to the generosity of friends (who offered me beds to sleep in, things to eat, ready sympathy, internet access, and undertook, on my behalf, heroic trips to the Chinese consulate), I departed on a westbound passenger ferry to China with the rest of my rough plan in hand:

-Dock in Qingdao, China
-Journey via bus to Shanghai, China
-Hike in the
mountainous Huang Shan, China
-Consider a stop in Nanjing, China
-Journey via train to Xi'an, China
-Ride the world's highest train to
Lhasa, Tibet Autonomous Region, China
-Hook up with an overland tour for the
journey from Lhasa to Kathmandu, Nepal
-Visit pretty places in Kathmandu
-Take bus then train to Delhi, India
-India, tour, cook, and study yoga
-Fly to Istanbul, Turkey, find a job

Already, it feels good to be out... out of every day life, out studying the world, contemplating myself. Pico Iyer once wrote,

The reason I love travel is not just because it transports you in every sense but because it confronts you with emotional and moral challenges that you would never have to confront at home... and forces me to reconsider my assumptions and the things I took for granted. It sends me back a different person.

Perhaps I too travel to challenge my assumptions? Perhaps I indeed intend to return a different person? I cannot say. Maybe I'll find the words before I reach Istanbul?

Laura

A nice place for a walk in Qingdao, China.

The Shanghai Art Museum...
and perhaps the reason that I walked around most of
Saturday singing, "The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the waterspout..."

Dearest Family and Friends,

As it has been incredibly long since I've posted here so I'm going to start in the middle of my adventures, such as they are.

Just over a week ago, I was curled over a book in Daegu, when the doorbell rang. Well, by doorbell I mean a small, walled tv security screen in the livingroom of my borrowed apartment lit up. Curious, I padded across the room and stared at the television screen tallying up details: the man was ringing my individual apartment, the man was standing outside, and the man was wearing a DHL uniform...

And then it hit me. That man had my passport! He must not leave! Urgently, I hit a button on the tv screen. It went dark. Panicked, I flung my arms out, wildly casting my eyes about, searching for my key. I crossed to the counter, my panic increasing as I heedlessly scrabbled and I didn't feel even a flash of relief when I snatched the key from under some papers and raced for the elevator - which was on the 22nd floor - so I veered to the staircase. I raced down counting 7, 6, 5.. 2... slightly conscious of my mussed hair flying while more conscious of my foot on each step. At the lobby, I sprinted across the textured granite floor, only for my feet to slide across the newly polished floor and sprawl me on the floor.

"NO!" my panicked brain exclaimed as I ignored painful twinges and picked myself up to keep running outside through hissing doors and whipped my head left then right then left. No delivery man. Determined that I would chase the DHL truck if I had to, I picked up my feet and ran around the corner and came to a breathless halt before a DHL delivery many with a cell phone on his ear. Seconds and smiles and signatures later, I tore open an envelope and my passport fell into my hand. I clutched my passport and burst into tears.

I was leaving Korea.

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

A few months ago, as the time stipulated in my second contract began to draw to a close, I began mentally departing from Deagu. I had been invited to speak, for 2 hours, at a Korean English Teacher training course, and I was asked to address: "how teachers could improve their language abilities" and "what I've learned teaching English in Daegu." The text for the speech was due in days and so I dropped everything - including my highfalutin plans for writing daily on this blog - and feverishly set to work contemplating. My brain turned into a seething stew of memories and random ideas. I couldn't keep my mind on other tasks... and I was haunted by the questions of "what had I learned teaching in Korea?" as well as "What had I learned, personally, from my 2 years of living outside the United States?" I did not have readily available answers to these questions.

Eventually I submitted my manuscript, developed a PowerPoint, tamped down my fears that I would fail the man who asked me to speak (in Korea, speakers must uphold their bosses reputations first), and the speech went ok despite no air con on a sweltering July day. During the last week of August, I bid summed up my conclusions for each good-bye class of beloved students by telling them that,

Because I am an adult and a teacher, I cannot leave without giving you guys two
pieces of advice:

(1) As you guys know, in your 3rd year of high school
you guys will be taking a major test - in English we call it the KSAT. [A
heart-felt groan from my students.] The test is important, I cannot deny this,
but I want to remind you guys that you are here at Taegu Foreign Language High
School to be educated, to be prepared for your adult lives. That test, the KSAT
is 1 day; but you are going to (hopefully) live 60 years after this test. I fear
that your society is putting so much pressure on you that you will forget to
prepare for your future. Your future is more, a lot more, than 1 test.

(2) When you are thinking about your future, remember that every day,
every day, you will get out of bed, face yourself in the mirror and then walk out your door to your job, which will be a very important part of your life. So when you decide on a career, please pick a job that you will value, please pick a job that is a good fit with your abilities, a job that reflects your values. By all means, listen to what your society says are good jobs, listen to what your parents think you should do, but remember that in the end, you must live your job, you will live your own life. Do not pick a job that makes you miserable. I had to learn this the hard way; please be smarter than me.

Sadly, and I must say rather incredibly, there were tears during this talk and as we, students and English Conversation teacher, bid each other farewell. During my last conversation classes, students and I baked vanilla cupcakes and smothered them in icing and colorful sprinkles. Students gave me a hug and walked out the door, cleaning their fingers of icing and crumbs. I watched them and repeated over and over to myself that this was the right time to leave them.

Bidding my peer teachers was just as hard. I remembered my inauspicious beginning at TFLHS, I arrived one night just in time for dinner. The night before my arrival, I had taken a red eye from Bangkok and spent the day following in subdued, polite, taxing boredom. Indeed, my eyes felt red and irritated with grit by the time my new guiding teacher escorted me to the school's cafeteria. He briefly introduced me to a few teachers and I think I responded politely but I was dizzy with exhaustion. I took my first bit of kimchi and the heat stabbed my tear ducts and I began crying and gesticulating wildly for tissue. I hate to think about what my new colleagues thought of me that night but I swear that my guiding teacher told me a story about a Texan that came to teach in Korea and only lasted five days due to Korean food. I dragged myself away from dinner that night still surreptitiously dabbing the corners of my eyes and promising myself, that by gum, I could last longer than a Texan.

Two years later, I thought of those tears as I held tears at bay and bid my teachers good-bye. My time at TFLHS was punctuated by serious consternation and lots of smiles, if not outright laughter. I tried not to think, "Will I ever meet the people that I loved so much, that seem to adore me, will I ever meet them again?"

A wise Korean friend once said to me, "We are citizens of the world. Yes, we may be born in Korea or Australia or the US... but we are truly citizens of the world." If nothing else, living in Korea amongst genuinely wonderful people, taught me that. Who knows what the future holds?

Love,
Laura

Dear Family and Friends,

Did you know that there have been protests, lots of them, in South Korea opposing actions of the United States? I’m not talking historic protests here; protests of this vociferousness have not occurred for years – but they are going on now and have been for weeks. Take this last Sunday. According to the BBC, on June 1, 2008, 20,000 people took to the streets of Seoul and clashed with police over the South Korea government’s plan to resume importing beef from the United States. Water canons were deployed, dozens were hurt and more than 200 people were arrested.

Had you heard?

Frankly, I’m betting that you had not heard. And, in reading the scattered news accounts (mostly stemming from the AP and Reuters), the whole story is not being told. (Whole stories are so rarely told, are they not?) Please allow me to explain. I’ll attempt to keep a long story short.

In 2003, a cow in Washington State was found to be infected with BSE (also known as mad cow disease). South Korea, amongst other nations, preferred not to expose its populace to BSE and therefore immediately halted US beef imports. The US beef industry wasn’t happy about this loss of revenue and immediately put pressure on the US government to negotiate the re-opening imports despite subsequent additional discoveries of BSE infected cows in Texas and Alabama. Two years went by before a jittery Korean government agreed to talks; and after agreement was reached allowing the US to resume beef imports, South Korean import quarantine inspections discovered bone chips in the first shipment of beef from the United States and then ribs in another shipment – both serious violations of the agreement.

However, more important discussions than beef were also happening between the United States and South Korea: the two countries were working on a free trade agreement known here by its acronym “FTA,” which, if ratified by both countries, will be the US’s second largest trade agreement (after NAFTA). However, a US stipulation made before final agreement to the June 2007 FTA was that the South Korean government must agree to re-open US beef imports. At the time, the South Korean government’s reaction was to mostly hmm and haw.

Speed forward 6 months and the Republic of Korea had rather dubiously elected a new president, a conservative by the name of Lee, Myung-bak. I say dubiously elected because I reside in a conservative city, I work with surprisingly conservative people and everyone that I talked to about the election told me that they didn’t like Mr. Lee. Nonetheless, Lee was elected and now the former Hyundai conglomerate CEO turned president seems determined to make changes in Korea: he has taken a hard-line tact in relation to North Korea (the North Koreans are distinctly displeased) (although I cannot tell if this is a good sign or a bad sign) and President Lee is definitely pro-United States relations in the name of business. In relation to trade, President Lee’s new government quickly agreed to a Korea-U.S. beef accord the same weekend that President Lee himself drove President Bush around in a golf cart.

South Koreans are very unhappy with the beef accord. Koreans have taken to protesting US beef imports in Seoul and other cities across the country.

And beef imports aren’t all they are protesting. There is an element of anti-American sentiment here, that can flair up with both deliberate and accidental provocation. As previously mentioned, culturally Koreans are not enormously fond of “foreigners.” South Koreans are accurately aware, and on the whole grateful, that the United States offers very strong protection and economic support for their country. However, the US does have a habit of using its economic and military clout to its best advantage – and often times what works as an advantage for the US works to the disadvantage of other countries. For example, a few years ago, a US soldier was driving an armored vehicle near the DMZ when he hit and killed two little girls. Obviously, the girls were not insurgents and many Koreans felt that there was demonstrable negligence on the part of US soldiers. Two soldiers were tried but acquitted by a US military court. Koreans were, and continue to be, outraged by what they believe was a severe miscarriage of justice. This event and others like it causes anti-US sentiment to flair up in Korea. Currently, Koreans believe that the US government put undue pressure on their government regarding the sale of unsafe beef to their country and are, in small part, protesting US trade and military domination.

But, happily for us, ultimately the US isn’t the main target of the protests. Today, June 3^rd, marks the 100^th day in office for President Lee, Myung-bak. It seems that due to unpopular beef imports, botched to personnel appointments, proposed privatization of medical insurance and a very strange plan for a cross-country waterway, President Lee missed out on his post-inaugural honeymoon period. According to one recent opinion poll, 22.2% of respondents said that Lee was handling state affairs well, which is a dramatic drop from 49.4% of approving respondents from a poll conducted 5 days after his inauguration. I’ve heard the word “impeach” on the lips of several people… but President Lee’s administration is young. I suppose time’ll tell.

So there you have it: protests. And lots of them. Going on now. Opposing US beef imports. Hating the new South Korean government.

Reporting, not so live, from Daegu, South Korea; this is Laura Drumm.

PS: CNN’s June 3, 2008 article on the beef issue: http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/asiapcf/06/03/korea.beef/

PS II: The International Herald Tribune’s FTA article: http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/04/02/asia/fta.php

PS III: For the record, these protests, angry as they are, have not at all affected me. Koreans are angry with their government, a bit with the US, but my students (who I have discussed this issue with) have often sided with the government. And even when they did not agree with the government, they did not express any anti-American sentiment. And this seems to be the case everywhere. In fact, several people that I’ve talked to about this subject have been careful to emphasize that I’m safe. (Well, unless, I open a restaurant that serves delicious American steaks!)

Dear Friends and Family,

What do we in the States know, really know about Korea?

This is a hard question to answer while living in Korea but I think it is safe to say that we don’t know much. And I suspect that a lot of what we think we know is either inaccurate or stereotypes. So please indulge me in a review of the basics:

• The Korean Peninsula (South + North Korea) is here (tellingly sandwiched between China and Japan):

• Legend has it that Korea was founded by a bear that ate herbs until it turned into a human that gave birth to Korea’s first King. But even if you do not believe that legend (and what’s not to believe?), Korea has been around for scads of time. Although modern Koreans are prone to hyperbole when describing their history, I’m willing to concede that Korea has a long and proud history. Koreans were printing books almost 200 years before Guttenberg and sailing armored ships 260 years before the French began iron-plating their ships in the West. Koreans invented the unique ondol floor heating system, were quite clued in on medicinal herbs (i.e. ginseng), and have one of the most scientific written languages in the world.
  
  Historically, the people of the peninsula have become very fond of all things Korean and not so fond of anything or anybody not Korean. Although to be fair, this lack of fondness for “foreigners” can be explained with the number of military invasions that the peninsula has had to endure from the Mongolians, Chinese and Japanese. Also worth noting was the negative impact of being a protectorate of China for hundreds of years, the even more negative impact of being annexed by Japan for 35 years, and that the peninsula was wretched apart by the warring political philosophies of the US and USSR/China. Koreans fight amongst themselves too; but their history has been dominated by on-going threats to their well-being and culture from non-Koreans and in great result, are highly protective of their culture.
  
  

• It is too bad that I cannot talk about Korea without immediately dividing it into:

The Democratic People's Republic of Korea aka North Korea
-Approximate population: 23 million
-Approximate land size: 46,000 square miles
-Large cities: Pyongyang & Kaesong
-Approximate average income: $1,900
-Economy: agriculture, factories, & the military
-Approximate military size: 1.2 million
-Government: Socialist (although effectively an Oligarchy)
-Current leader: Kim, Jong-Il
-Modern history: North Korea signed the 1953 Armistice the stronger country: with more natural resources, more industry, and less destruction from the war – although the North possessed less farmable land. The country developed a strong cult of personality around its leader, Kim, Il-Seong, but managed to exist fairly stably until relations with its political and pragmatic supporters, the USSR and China, began to decay. Then the 1990s brought devastating floods followed by severe drought, rendering the country unable support its industry nor able to adequately feed its people. These days, North Korea is deforested, its industries increasingly fallow, and its food production unrecovered, while the government props itself up by spending approximately 25% of its GDP on the military.
-Issues to watch: Missile launches (and how both South Korea & Japan react to them), famine in 2008, flooding, nuclear disarmament, and general inscrutable behavior (which, for the record, is rarely “crazy” as the press prefers to characterize it).

The Republic of Korea aka South Korea
-Approximate population: 49 million
-Approximate size: 38,000 square miles
-Large cities: Seoul/Incheon, Busan, Daegu, Gwangju, Daejong & Ulsan
-Approximate average income: $24,600
-Economy: manufacturing (ship building, steel, cars, consumer electronics)
-Approximate military size: 650,000
-Government: Republic/democracy. But still rather fledgling: the old boys network is deeply and “basic rights” such as free press and trials by jury as still up-and-coming. The Economist labeled it a “Flawed Democracy” (I like).
-Modern history: South Korea signed the 1953 Armistice as an utterly devastated country. It languished until a military dictator by the name of Park Chung-hee took over and decided to build up the country’s infrastructure and industry. Park was brutal but made way for amazing economic growth. Dubbed “The Miracle on the Han River,” South Korea's wasted economy was transformed into prosperity although Park himself was gunned down by his own director of intelligence. After Park, Korea managed to better live up to its official “republic” title – now it elects presidents – although cronyism remains very much intact, endangering the economic system so badly that the IMF had to bail the country out in 1997. Personally, I have faith in the Korean people (who work hard) but feel that South Korea’s future is dependent on it improving education, eliminating at least some corruption and growing its economy beyond manufacturing. Korea is and will be working hard to be an important player on the world stage.
-Current President: Lee, Myung-bak
-Issues to watch: Free Trade Agreement (with the US) as well as unpopular US beef imports, unpopular president (inaugurated Feb 2008), new hard-line stance in regards to North Korea, and if you get bored, you can read up on the fall out from the December 7, 2007 oil spill or the scandalous trials and tribulations of the richest man in Korea (Lee Kun Hee) and the little company he ran/runs/owns, which is known as called Samsung.

• Koreans are culturally Confucian (an ethical and philosophical system that focuses on morality). One can see Confucianism in the rituals that Koreans perform to honor their ancestors and in the way that Koreans focus a lot on status + relationships. Religion-wise, Koreans are predominantly Buddhist but Christianity is very strong here and raising in numbers very fast.
  
  
• The biggest holidays of the year are Seolnal (the Lunar New Year) and Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving). Other holidays celebrated include Independence Day, Buddha’s birthday, Christmas, Memorial Day and Children’s Day.
  
  
• Korea produces much of its own television, movies, pop songs, and literature. I don’t know that much about these because I cannot understand them. But I’m told that Korean movies are getting a reputation for quality and that Korean pop culture is spreading to Japan and China. Koreans call this “The Korean wave.”
  
  
• Middle class and even more well-to-do Koreans live in apartments situated in ubiquitous apartment blocks. The apartment buildings have elevators – but are often moved into by using lifts that lift belongs through the windows into the apartment (I still find this amazing to watch). Apartments have an entryway for shoes and then usually open to a large living room which is surrounded by ~4 bedrooms, a large kitchen, a bathroom and a partitioned off balcony (usually used for drying clothes).
  
  Middle class Korean families own one, usually two cars. By far, white is the favorite car color here because it apparently symbolizes good fortune. Cars are almost always Hyundai (pronounced Hy-on-day) because Hyundai is a Korean company (national pride) and because import taxes on foreign-made cars are very high. A friend once told me that Hyundai cars manufactured in the United States are considered better quality than the ones made in Korea and that some Koreans will import Korean cars from the United States to Korea; I’ve never confirmed this story.
  
  And Middle Class Koreans have a variety of shopping available to them: local street produce markets (with veggies, fruit, & Korean street foods), small trinket shops, other street stalls that sell socks or clothing, small grocery stores, large big-box stores known as E-Mart & HomePlus, and some department stores – including one that reminds me of Norstrom’s called Lotte Department Store.

Well, I’m probably missing other vital stats but that gives us a start on Korea.

Laura

Conveyor belts and pipes at POSCO
(formerly known as the Pohang Iron and Steel Company)
- the world's third largest producer of steel (and an amazing site to behold).



The bust of Admirable Yi, Sun-shin with a model of
his armor-plated Turtle ship in the background.




Kimchi pots in the Seoul Kimchi Museum.
Because, despite eschewing stereotypes, you cannot talk about Korea
without mentioning kimchi.



A remarkable Hyundai building in Seoul.



Seoul's Han River on a cold, cold winter day.
It doesn't look particularly miraculous, does it?

As this sign near the DMZ says, "Thank you and good-bye"
(although it only says good-bye in Korean).

Dear Family and Friends,

Recently, after signing an official document stating my intention to not renew my employment contract with the city of Daegu, I found my hands shaking. I sucked in a steadying breath and discovered my whole body shaking. I had no second thoughts; nonetheless, with a few strokes of a pen, I had thrown away a job I love and a secure home. Although I am employed for another three months, mentally I have already begun the process of parting. Well, at the very least, I’ve begun the pre-departure list of things to do. On that list, as always, is this blog.

A few months ago, on January 12, 2008 to be exact, I attempted to explain why I do not write about my life in Korea as I write about my travels. Of course, my answer to that question was complicated but boiled down to worry. Look, travel writing of the pedestrian sort that I practice is easy because I merely weave together random facts and impressions. I’m careful to keep these truthful but inaccuracies can easily be excused with, “well, those were just my impressions” or “well, I was only there for 3 hours.” But to write about the people I live amongst, the people that I love, even if I stick to “my impressions,” compels me to represent them fairly, with accuracy – but I worry that I may not be able to write about Korea either fairly or accurately. And yet, you may recall that I ended that January entry by asking, “if I do not share the Korea that I love – garbage and all – with you all now, then when shall I?”

Obviously, I need to share the Korea I know with you all now. Before I go. Therefore, my goal is to write 5 entries a week about Korea for the entire month of June. Wish me luck… and hold me to it, ok?

Yours,
Laura

My friend Park, EunKyeong jumping for joy by the seaside in Gampo.

Dear Friends and Family,

Today, after a lifetime war with my personality, I’m seriously considering changing my name. To Bridget.


For those of you not in the know, Bridget Jones is a fictional character with… you might say… an unerring instinct for trouble, beset by her own personality. She longs for poise, beauty, intelligence, admiration, and a love–life – but she is plagued by well, the opposite. No doubt there is a Bridget in every woman; nonetheless, in real life and more often than I’d prefer, I find myself in situations comedic to the point that I fervently wish that I were reading – not experiencing - them. In fact, over the years, I’ve accumulated a set of what my family calls “Laura stories” but that friends and I have dubbed “Bridget stories.”

Whatever you call them, I suppose you’d like to hear the latest Bridget story?

Of course you would.

Well, I kind-a, sort-of fell through a glass panel - in front of 30 students.

You see, my students were taking midterms and despite my poor grasp on the Korean language, our school sends me to proctor. The other day, I arrived early to the classroom in which I was scheduled to assist and upon deciding to not interrupt frenetic student test preparations, quite naturally I settled on top of the teacher’s desk. I had forgotten about the glass panel that nestles the teacher’s computer under the desk which, of course, immediately splintered under my weight. Luckily, I caught myself from falling on the glass and onto the computer. I was unhurt but I was horrified. Here I was, an adult, a teacher, and a role model (?) carelessly wrecking their classroom. And here I was, confirming for Korean students who are already tremendously discriminatory about body size, that fat people are destructive. To their credit, my students were worried – and when the shock diminished and laughter broke out, the laughter was relieved, not unkind. Two Korean teachers rushed in to clean up the mess (they wouldn't let me help) and all of this created more of a distraction than I’d prefer while my students were taking a test. Happily, the test seemed to go fine so only my dignity was injured.


With my intelligence and dignity taking yet another bash ala Bridget, I couldn’t help but reflect on my instinct for trouble, my war on it, and this lead me to ponder other Laura stories. I began my collection of comedic real life stories, rather precociously, in fifth grade. At that time, I was an especially uncool girl, gawky and not greatly liked, but yet I hoped to remedy my classmates’ lack of friendliness with an impressive solo in the school play. When it came time for my moment to shine, the teacher handed me a microphone and I sang my heart into that mike. Unfortunately, I had never used a microphone, unknowingly sang too close to the microphone, created ghastly, ear-splitting squeals from the speakers, and was so intent on winning over my classmates that I failed to notice the audience’s pain. Elementary students are not very forgiving and it was years before my classmates quit their screechy reminders of this incident. I have always felt, probably wrongly, that this moment sent my dream of being poised - and admired – back years.

Other notable Bridget stories include a Seattle taxi ride where I rained the driver’s receipts all over the front seat, a speeding ticket on the way to the SAT, decidedly not impressing a guy that I had a violent crush on while driving a car with squealing belts, and being searched by machine gun toting airport guards because of a violin tuner. However, my classic Bridget story occurred a few years ago, when my law firm sent my department to a psychobabble team-building training session where we were instructed in personality analysis. One of the guys with a “P” personality (someone good at persuading people) did something goofy, the trainer commented, and I piped up with,

“Yeah, Victor, do not hide your P-ness.”

This did not come out as I intended. The entire room exploded in laughter while I reddened and fumbled to mend my faux pas. Frantically, I selected the next personalities on the trainer’s chart and tried,

“That isn’t what I meant! I added a “ness” to the personality labels, you know like A-ness and O-ness and...” This caused another explosion of laughter and teasing. This story, which became known the “P-ness & A-ness Story,” both cemented the Bridget story label and set the bar for judging all other Laura-created Bridget stories.

Ok, so Bridget and I are not exactly "same same": Bridget is not a redhead and I not fictional (yet). But you know, like Bridget, I too long for poise, beauty, intelligence, admiration, and a love–life. Instead, I feel plagued by my personality, cursed by my penchant for trouble. When faced with my Bridge stories, I readily laugh because really, it is a choice between laughter or crying or manically tearing my hair out (or all of the above). And truly, these stories amuse. But they also create sharp pains in my confidence like burrs under saddles – and I’ve been looking forward to the day when they go away. Throughout my teens and into my 20s, I operated under the assumption that like baby fat, I would simply grow out of my aptitude for trouble. And I set a deadline: surely I would be poised, beautiful, and admired by the time I was a 30-year-old grown-up… and yeah. That idea was obviously fictional.

Counter to my hopes and intuition, it seems that departing from the United States in order to become an improved version of myself has only increased my ability to generate comedic stories. Let’s see: last fall, I discovered that my favorite outfit unphotogenic when it and me were posted on city-wide school advertisements, I have tracked piles powdered concrete throughout clean classrooms, needed the school nurse to bandage palms bloodied by falling up stairs, lost my wallet in a taxi cab, and created whiplash in an entire group of Brits by opining that, “No one uses the word row.” (row, in British English, means to fight. They use it all the time.). My co-worker Paul’s favorite Laura Bridget story occurred after a night out drinking soju - on business! Unused to soju, I walked into work the following morning a little worse for the wear. I had skipped my coffee at home and so I prepared myself a cup of instant coffee before sitting down at my desk and staring vacantly. A few minutes later, Paul approached to talk and my response was a start of surprise, which caused me to knock over my tiny paper cup. Coffee went everywhere: on my clothing, on my peer’s books, and somehow ruined my computer’s keyboard (which had been covered in plastic!). It took the entire day and enduring a fair amount of admonishments about the dangers of soju to replace my keyboard. Although on the bright side, that was the day that Paul actually learned to leave me alone ‘til I had had my coffee!

Anyway, away from the States I feel as if I’m living life akin to a newborn colt: intoxicated to be alive and out in the world. I want to see and smell and touch and experience everything at all once – and I set about doing this, galloping on unsteady legs. Oh, how I love this feeling! But I often fall. Sometimes literally.

A few weeks ago, our school took a break from lessons in order to hold a school Sports Day. This is a big day at school: we do not attend lessons, students arrange for special class t-shirts and in the weeks before the big day, students hone their skills and compete in preliminary games. Class 4 at our school ordered me a special tee, which had “Laura” imprinted on its back. I wasn’t so special - Class 4 did this for many teachers – but nonetheless, I was touched and flattered to be remembered. On the big day, our 520 students and most teachers assembled for the kick off relay race, run by students except for the first leg which is run by female teachers. Class 4 asked me to run as their female teacher and since I’ve been jogging on a gym treadmill since last October, I acquiesced. I was nervous but I was also flattered and excited because I wanted to do well for my beloved students. The gun went off and I raced away from the starting line but soon felt that the other ladies were faster so I dug deeper into the sand field to speed up. And consequently fell flat and hard. Trembling, I got up, groped multiple times for the baton and ran as fast as I could to get rid of that baton so I could hide. Class 4 lost the race – and wonderfully but rather horribly, came a close second place in the entire day’s contests. If only I had held myself to slow and steady! Instead, I had returned to the gawky, uncool girl who had again messed up in front school.

Or had I? After my fall, I brushed myself off and found a seat in the stands to cheer. Immediately students rushed up to find out if I was ok (I was not; I bruised my knee so badly that it was weeks before I could walk or run without pain – not that I told anyone at school). After the race, the runners rushed up to find out if I was ok and overrode my apologies with thanks for doing my best for them. Never once did any person from class 4 let on (to me) that I cost their 90 competitive students a first place win. Instead, throughout sports day and throughout the following week, again and again students (from all classes) stopped to express their sympathy and ask if I was ok. It didn’t take me long to realize that yes, I was gawky and uncool – but that my students liked me, loved me, despite my not being admirable nor gorgeous. I decided that perhaps it was time for me to stop warring with my personality and like myself – even if I lack poise and possess an unerring instinct for trouble.

Of course, easier said than done when you’ve just fallen through glass pane with 30 witnesses. And I have plenty of galloping left to do. So, dearest friends and family, stay tuned for my next Bridget story.

Love,
Laura

TFLHS students compete in the "traditional Korean sport" that
we've translated to "Human Bridge" during Sports Day 2007.

2008's TFLHS Class number 4, one of my 6 beloved classes.

Dear Friends and Family,

Deagu City, its walls and its clouds are drab. But the hills surrounding us have burst to life. Winter’s lingering chill occasionally sends us into shivers and but visually, spring is all over; trees are that new green so fresh that you stare at branches and taste mint.

Last weekend could be described just this way, which made climbing into my friend’s car and driving from blah concrete into green mountains feel like an escape. We were going to Buddhist temple called Golgulsa as tourists, but we packed to stay. And were hoping for a memorable experience.

Once a friend of mine begged, “Please, whatever you do, no more temple visits!” But just as you must visit churches in Italy, you must visit temples in Asia. They are beautiful. They are a culmination of generations. They are meaningful. And I enjoy these visits but… well, but…

Another time, upon the news that I was to tour one of Korea’s most famous temples, my guiding teacher shook his head and sorrowfully said, “You will see the temple but you will not see its soul.” He meant that I would see old wooden blocks, I would point my camera at a golden Buddha statue but that I would not meet the monks and that I would miss the actual beauty of Buddhism. I understood. Indeed, when I visit Buddhist temples, I gawk at painted wooden structures, I read that the temple was built in blah blah blah and is special because it signifies blah blah blah. After reading the signs, respectfully I stroll around to absorb the sites: wooden beads, plethoras of pinprick lights, inscrutable frescos, and supplicants, foreheads on the ground in front of Buddha. But these temples hold little meaning for me, I suspect because I cannot feel the why of these temples. And that is a pity.

Luckily, I am not alone in my ignorance. Therefore, for foreigners such as myself, there is a program that allows you to overnight at a Korean Buddhist temple. The program advertises itself with the slogan, “Changing the Way You See the World.” Although under no serious illusion that our regard for the world would change after a bit of bowing and meditation, my friend and me, both feeling that we were missing a vital piece of understanding Korean culture, decided it was time to see what we could learn from staying at a temple.

We were greeted by a friendly dog, sprawled in front of the office doorway. We were signed in and given a schedule by a British woman who had been living at the temple for two years, studying Buddhism and studying Sunmudo, the martial art that the temple specializes in. We placed our backpacks in a clean, sparse bedroom and took ourselves up the path to explore.

Golgulsa was built in the 6^th century and what hasn’t disintegrated from that time remains quite distinct. The temple boasts that it is the only temple cave in Korea. Upon reading that fact my response was, “What cave?” But main cave itself has, I suppose, crumbled, exposing a topmost Goddess of Mercy carved from the exposed cliff face. The Goddess is actually rather smug, I’d say, not at all diminished by the modern glass ceiling now protecting her. It takes some climbing to get a good view of her: up steep stairs, leaning on guard rails, clinging to rock while searching for footholds. I felt very adventurous as my friend and I sat under this ancient carving, peering down at a smooth wooden deck abutting the main shrine building, where we could see a monk performing what had to be Sunmudo kicks and bounds. Soon, a dinner bell rung. Down the stairs we went to a long dining room with short tables, where we lined and were up served very good vegetarian food with two admonishments: men and women must sit apart and do not waste any food. Buddhists believe that in the after life, you are forced to sit among all the food that you have wasted during your life on earth.

Our schedule next sent us to the temple’s martial arts gym for a “Sunmudo T.V. show” – which appeared to be an advertisement for the wonders of Sunmudo framed by the beauty of Golgulsa. We watched lines of men framed by ancient pagodas performing dramatic jumps, groups of women performing simultaneous tightly controlled kicks and white westerners taking tea with the head monk. After the video, another westerner, who never introduced himself and later became known to us as Frenchie, then attempted, and I do mean attempted, to teach us a few Sunmudo moves. But the coordination that seemed to come effortlessly to him was impossible for us. Frenchie was very serious and barely patient. But every once in a while, his countenance would break and his blue eyes would beam amusement and a teasing smile would emerge. I liked watching this. But we not-so-coordinated students couldn’t help but suspect that watching us make fools of ourselves gave him a mite too much pleasure. Others resented Frenchie’s lack of hospitality, but I sensed in him strong reserve, just as strong disinterest in pandering to casual tourists, and discomfort with the English language.

When we were done with our martial arts lesson, Frenchie rapidly debriefed us on bowing techniques. The gym floor was cleared and thin cotton mats were laid facing an altar complete with a gold Buddha. Men and women separated and knelt on the mats. Martial arts instructors became monks that now lead chants and bowing. Clueless as to what was going on and unable to chime in, I kept Frenchie in the corner of my eye, and followed his movements (which was much easier than learning kicks from him). Just when my quadriceps were beginning to protest the repeated bowing, the “chanting” session was over and we Western visitors were put to work wiping down the gym with brooms and wetted rags. Then we were sent to sleep.

Traditional Korean beds are thin mats placed on a warmed floor, with a thick comforter on top and a hard pillow of grain for under the neck. These beds are too hard for my taste but our temple beds were clean and the floor was toasty. Besides a curious incident where 4 or 5 dogs barked a lot at 1:21 am, I slept.

At 4 am, a monk walked by our room ringing a small, moderately-pitched bell. We turned on our lights – brutal! - to indicate that we were awake but then conspired to snooze. I seriously considered setting my alarm but instead washed my face, pulled my hair back, and changed. Next, under bright stars and soft darkness, we plodded up the mountain for an early morning chant in the main shrine. Again we began by kneeling on cotton mats before a subduedly gleaming gold Buddha. Four monks positioned themselves between Buddha and ourselves, chanting, ringing a bell. And bowing. A proper Buddhist bow involves standing, feet barely parted. Then softening the knees, placing palms flat on the floor, knees to the ground, then forehead to the ground, then lifting the palms of your hands and rotating them towards the sky. Next you bring your palms together while raising your forehead, and subsequently raising yourself to your feet in almost a single movement. This is not as easy as it sounds.

After our morning chanting session, the head monk, dressed in gray with a burgundy wrap across one shoulder, folded himself into lotus position (cross legged with feet upon thighs). He expelled three deep breaths and settled into meditation. I did my best to imitate him. I crossed my legs and sat with my palms up. However, meditation is not my forte. That early in the morning, I awake with unnaturally clear, racing thoughts that leap and stumble around each other. As I sat, attempting to subdue my mind and tolerate my leg going to sleep, I noticed birds began chirping outside at precisely 5 am. A few minutes later, I peeked again and noticed that outside dark was fading. Towards the end of the meditating, the eldest of the temple dogs strolled in. Her toenails softly clicked against the floor but no one rushed her out. I liked that. After sitting meditation, we took our prickling legs for walking meditation. Silently, we strolled in a single file line through the temple grounds, initially making numerous laps around a sculpture that overlooks a valley of green hills before simply following the temple’s path. I marveled at the pearlescent dawn. Three of the temple dogs accompanied us on our walk, leading the way or pacing along side us. Although we Western walking meditators remained respectfully silent, our heads moved to and fro absorbing of the sights. I’m not sure that this qualified as actual meditation but it felt nice. I almost burst into laughter when it occurred to me that it looked to me as if the dogs were taking their obedient humans for a walk.

Breakfast, at 6:20 am, sans coffee, was a complicated ritual called Barugonyang. We were each loaned a set of four nested bowls with lid, a grey linen placemat, a white linen napkin, chopsticks and a spoon. We were seated, nervous, cross-legged, in a perfectly straight row and admonished that silence is an important part of this ritual. No talking. No clicking bowls together. And every last bit of food must be washed from your bowl into your stomach. Our little row of Westerners became a rectangle as Sunmudo students and teachers silently joined us with their settings before the monks seated themselves at the head of our rectangle. The head monk took a large bamboo stick and noisily struck it against the floor. Then, each of us silently:

-Opened our placemat.

-Placed 4 bowls near our left knee. We removed the chopsticks and spoon from a wrapper.

-Using our thumbs, we quietly extracted the smallest bowl and placed it right, top. (That was our water bowl.)

-Using our thumbs, we quietly extracted the next smallest bowl and placed it left, top. (That was our vegetable bowl.)

-Using our thumbs, we quietly extracted the next to largest bowl and placed it right. (That was our soup bowl.)

-The largest bowl, remaining on the left was our rice bowl.

-Temple students poured cool water from a large tea kettle into each person’s smallest bowl.

-Temple students served rice with a big paddle.

-Then, from trays placed around the rectangle of people, we quickly took as much food as we wanted. (I had a moment of panic at this stage because I couldn’t reach the trays and no one noticed ‘til this part was almost over). We were forbidden to mix foods between bowls.

-Our first act with the food was to take a piece of cabbage kimchi and wash it clean of spices and place it in the rice bowl.

-We then ate very quickly and cleanly and finished before the head monk struck a large bamboo stick to the floor to announce the end of the meal.

-Temple students then came around again. This time to pour warm water into each person’s rice bowl.

-Then, pushing around the cleaned kimchi, we each cleaned our rice bowl with our chopsticks. Then we poured the water into the soup bowl.

-Next, we cleaned the soup bowl with kimchi and water. Poured the water into the veggie bowl.

-Next, we cleaned the veggie bowl and drank the dirty water.

-Temple students then collected each person’s leftover water in large blue buckets. If the collective water was too dirty, we were told that we would have to split and drink it. Happily, this was not necessary.

-Finally, we polished each bowl with the napkin and silently returned the bowls to their original nested state. We then sat quietly in a perfect line and waited ‘til the head monk ended the ritual with another strike of his bamboo stick.

I have never experienced the like; I was too wary of faux pas to actually eat a good breakfast. My favorite moment came just as we were cleaning up, when the head monk found a long bean sprout to the side of his bowl. Clear as day, I read his intention to hide that sprout in his napkin but then he realized that too many people were watching and so he ate it.

After breakfast, I vied with the trainee monks for 300 Won coffee (30 cent) from a vending machine. Then I took my miniscule cup of instant coffee and a blanket and my journal to a quiet bench up the hill. The sun rose over the hill on my right to glint between the trees while to my left, birds called to one another. The temple’s dogs kept wandering by and I happily put down my pen each time one wanted me to scratch his bristly, thick pelt.

At 8 o’clock, we 7 foreigners gathered to take tea with a monk. Our monk’s head was shaved and he wore plain gray trousers with a burgundy collar and cuffs indicating his trainee status. We found his English inadequate for conveying complicated ideas. But his eyes sparkled and his movements were precise as he prepared tea for us in a traditional manner. After the preliminaries, I piped up with, “I have a question. Why are men and women separated for eating and worship?”

His answer was too confusing to quote but I eventually made out that his answer related to the sect of Buddhism that he was a member of preserving very traditional practices. I pictured other traditional religions that keep men and women separate during worship, Judaism and Islam, and decided that I had the gist.

Another in our group asked our monk about his own history. His reply was startled us, as he suggested that we not ask about a monk about his past because often times a monk becomes a monk to leave a troubling past behind. We didn’t know what to make of that answer. And the other puzzling, but not puzzling issue with our monk was that he seemed hypersensitive towards us girls, especially wary of almost-revealing tops or us peeling a sweater off. He seemed especially young at those moments, clearly struggling.

I kept asking questions (not about celibacy, but oh, I wanted to!) because I wanted to better understand. When I piped up with my second question, our monk tried to divert me by asking us to introduce ourselves to him. This wasn’t much of a distraction and I next asked I asked about the daily lives of monks. I couldn’t follow his answer well.

Next, I wondered how Buddhism and Sunmudo were related. Our monk’s answer referenced Korean Buddhist history when monks developed strong bodies through martial arts as a part of their philosophical practice. Eventually Buddhist monks, experienced in martial arts, became vital to repelling attacks on Korea from warring states.

That said, perhaps that answer still seems strange? Generally we Westerners consider Buddhism a peaceful faith… teaching fighting techniques at a peace-loving Buddhist temple seems counter-intuitive. But our monk’s answer about the development of a martial art going hand in hand with the practice of Buddhism made sense to me because caring for the body in order to nourish the philosophic mind has been a long-standing practice in this part of the world. Think yoga: a practice intended to unite the body and the mind through breathing. As Liz Gilbert once explained,

The ancients developed these physical stretches not for personal fitness, but to loosen up their muscles and minds in order to prepare them for meditation. It is difficult to sit in stillness for many hours, after all, if your hip is aching, keeping you from contemplating your intrinsic divinity because you are too busy contemplating, “Wow… my hip really aches.”

Hindus developed yoga to enable meditation while the Chinese and the Koreans hit two birds with one stone in developing martial arts, which both encourages work upon one’s mind and turns one into a warrior. In fact, later I read that Sunmudo, “is a training method taught at Golgulsa Temple designed to extinguish worldly pains and attain enlightenment. The goal of this training is harmonization of mind and body united with breathing.”

Bingo.

Anyway, with those questions, so began a few hours of my intermittently peppering our monk with questions. I don’t think he minded my curiosity – in fact, he started teasing me about 10 minutes into our tea - but basic discussions in English are difficult for Koreans with a basic education. Asking him to speak with us about Buddhism would be like one of us trying to explain Christian philosophy after 2 years of high school French. I felt bad for him. And I felt worse for Frenchie (as our monk dubbed him), because Frenchie apparently didn’t do an adequate job explaining our visit to us – which meant that our monk could punish Frenchie with 3000 bows. Our monk seemed half joking but serious while repeating this threat. 3000 bows is no joke. In fact, we visitors could’ve been punished with 3000 bows ourselves if we had missed our 4:30 am chant. Snoozing so rarely pays off.

Eventually, our monk got tired of pouring us tea so he put us in a white van and drove us to visit two 3-story pagodas, the remains of an ancient temple. Next we found ourselves on an East coast beach, gawking at the only known underwater tomb in the world. Our funny monk instructed me, “Go swim to it!”

I put my hands into the surf and breathed. “After you.” I replied.

Last he drove us to another temple, larger than Golgulsa, reportedly inherently defensible, which apparently made it important during times of war when a horn was sounded from the Girimsa temple grounds to summon able-bodied men to defend their country. Our monk was on much surer ground here. He was able to explain to me that finger placement on one Buddha made him a “Doctor Buddha” (a Healing Buddha) and that to this day, scholars were unsure about what this special building with beautifully aged wooden floors had been used for. We went into one building in which the sign declared housed relics but which seemed packed with paintings of good people rising above tortured people. One manuscript pictured a person pierced with many blades, somehow a cautionary tale regarding proper parental love. We found these pictures rather disturbing – and our monk, with the relish of a young man who loves studying martial arts, told us all about them, pointing out the pain of the tortured people. I couldn’t follow his explanations – and wondered at the level of metaphor portrayed in the paintings while someone else said, “I thought Buddhism was supposed to be a peaceful religion? These paintings seem violent.” The time in that dark building set us all wondering.

We were all, including our monk, hungry and tired when we returned to our temple around 11 am. We friends snoozed in our room. We ate one more vegetarian lunch. Bade farewell to the other westerner temple visitors and sleepily returned to Daegu. During journey out of the green hills, I reflected that I wasn’t sure how much I had learned from our visit. I had hoped to emerge with a foundation that I could use to build an understanding of Buddhism. Instead I felt as if I had been presented with a box for a 100 piece puzzle but that the givers had only included 3 of the pieces. I suspect that my next reverent temple visit will be to… a bookstore.

With love,

Laura

For the record, that is not me with our monk.
I kick much higher!!!