I Love This Country . . .

I love this country. I love it. Everyday is a challenge. And so entertaining. I’m serious. Witness:

In one of my writing classes we had to read a passage about the Loch Ness monster (very relevant to Korean students, eh?) Before the reading I pointed to the picture and asked the students questions about the monster. Did they know where Scotland was? Had they ever heard of the Loch Ness monster? Student response, “No, but I’ve heard of this monster before.” What did I just ask?

After classes Tom, Chanta, and I went to our favorite sushi restaurant, Insung Tuna. I pass by the restaurant everyday and always wave at the hostess and the sushi chef. Not much conversation, but lots of smiles. We were seated at the sushi bar. Tom and I were trying to choose between soju or a bottle of what we thought was rice wine. But the word sake is not used here. We ask the sushi chef what the drink is, but he doesn’t understand our question. He calls over another patron, a member of his church who speaks English. Tom asks him if the bottle is rice wine. “No. No. It is very mild. Much smoother than soju. It is a wine. A wine made from rice. A rice wine.” We can only laugh and order a couple of bottles.

The meal, as always, is delicious. Platters and platters of food. Sushi, sashimi, side dishes, rice, soup, vegetables. Sushi rolls – service (the word used for “free stuff”). For almost two hours they bring us small platters of delicacies. A little here, a little there. So that by the end of our meal, we are definitely satiated, but not stuffed. We finish the rice wine. Chanta calls for the bill. It comes to about $20 US. Total. Not per person. Tom is in disbelief. He can’t believe how cheap it is. He mutters something about “pretty girl discount.” What??? “Yeah, if Peter and I were in here this would have cost us triple this. I saw how you smiled at the sushi chef. We’re definitely getting the pretty girl discount.” Noooo . . . . . . .

As we leave the restaurant we are saying good-bye to the staff. I bust out with one of my favorite phrases, “The food was delicious. Thank you,” and giggle. Chanta turns to me and says, “You are just as bad as the little girls who run up to us in the street and yell, “Hello!” then run away, giggling uncontrollably.” There’s something about communicating in another language that just makes me want to laugh . . .