The Return To So-Yae

This morning as I ascended the stairs to the calligraphy studio, I could hear voices, quite loud, mingling. I peeked my head into the door. All the grandfathers shouted, “Annyong Ha-say-yo!” I came in, took my shoes off and was met by a pungent, yet familiar, odor. I walked over to the couches. There were a couple of shot glasses on the table. I recognized the odor of pure alcohol. Mr. Lee turned to me. “Ginger whiskey. Very good. You like?” I glanced at the clock. Yes, it really was 10 o’clock in the morning. Ummm, no, that’s okay. Thank you, though. “One shot!” “Yes, one shot!” the grandfathers chorused. I couldn’t fathom doing shots of whiskey, ginger or not, at 10 am on an empty stomach. I also never thought I’d have 6 men, all at least twice my age, encouraging me to do shots. Life is strange sometimes…

Back From Vacation…

Ida and I were traveling the past 10 days – the stories will resume tomorrow!

Our Trip to Seoul

After sleeping in, we packed our bags. We had tickets for the 6:00 pm train (assigned seats) to Seoul. We arrived to the station early. We wandered in and out of the meager selection of shops, passing time until we could board our train. We bought postcards at the “Welcome To Daegu” Information booth – writing postcards is always a good activity for a train trip.

We found our seats and settled in for the 3 1/2 hour journey. Behind us sat 2 girls, probably 5, maybe 6 years old. We noticed they were curious about us, but didn’t really think anything of it. We chatted, still catching up on news in San Francisco. Who was doing what. Who was seeing whom. Who was going where. I clung to every word Ida said; this was something real to me. Something I could relate to. We eventually turned to the task at hand – postcards. Quietly we wrote, occasionally commenting on someone or something. Something caught the corner of my eye. The previously shy girls were becoming more brazen, peeking over our seats to see what we were doing. One of them saw me looking at them and took that as her cue to initiate conversation. Pigtails bopped over our seats, singing, “Yob-a-say-yo!” We smiled, I replied, Yob-a-say-yo… Hello… They asked what I took to be simple questions in Korean. I understood a few of them. I told them I lived in Daegu. That I was an English teacher. That we were going to Seoul. That we were American. That my name was Lori. Oooo. That last one was a mistake. For almost an hour we heard constant giggles and “Herr-rooo, Loooo-lllllleeeeee….” Ida looked at me, “Did you have to tell them your name?” I didn’t think….

Fortunately, Ida had some Pez dispensers with her. Thank god for Pez. We gave them to the girls, showed them how to use them, and that kept them quiet for almost 7 minutes. However, the gift seemed to signal to them a closer relationship. They felt quite at ease popping over our seats and touching us. Stroking our hair, touching our skin, pulling our ears. And ignoring any pleas in English to stop. Somehow the task at hand turned to “Rock, Paper, Scissors.” The game where you wave your fist three times, then offer a hand signal of, quite appropriately, a rock, paper, or scissors. That consumed another 45 minutes. They were determined to teach us the Korean version, we were determined to teach them the English version. Truthfully, the only difference was the words used for the hand signals.

At one point, the train ticket taker came by. He saw the girls bouncing over the seats and told them to sit down. Thanks, mister, but where have you been for the past 2 hours? The girls obediently obeyed, but as soon as he exited the car, they were bouncing over our seats again. We think they were travelling with their mothers, who happened to be in the dining car the entire trip.

Later, rather than sooner, we arrived at Seoul Station. We hauled our luggage through the station. Up stairs. Down stairs. Through hallways. We came to the conclusion that Korea would not be an easy place to live if you were physically challenged. We found a hotel. Not the one we were looking for, but one that had an open room. We checked in, freshened up, and headed out to Namdaemun market, touted in the Lonely Planet as being open 24 hours, the place to buy anything. There were a few booths open, but definitely not all of them. We wandered here and there. Decided to come back during the day, when more shops might be open. We really wanted to grab a drink and relax, but seemed to be in the midst of the “business clubs.” By chance, we stumbled into Mulligan’s, an Irish bar only steps away from our hotel. As we walked in, large groups of English were singing footy/drinking songs. We stood like deer in the headlights, the only females in the bar. A friendly chap approached Ida and encircled his arm around her waist, serenading her the whole while. We basically made a lap then exited, choosing to have a bottle of soju and a platter of kimbop at a street stall instead.

We stumbled into bed around 3 – promising to wake up early in the morning to head to the Folk Village at Suwon. Early is such a relative term.

The Suwon Folk Village

We headed to Suwon on the subway line. It seemed a simple enough journey. Just take the blue line to the last stop. We were lucky enough to get seats. Ida sat reading her novel, I sat reading and silently repeating phrases in Korean. I felt someone staring at me. I noticed an older man, standing in front of me, thrusting his pelvis at me with the start and stop of the train. I chose to ignore said behavior. At one particularly violent stop, he bumped into me, and said, “Oh, you are studying Korean.” I looked up. Yes. And returned to my book. “Where are you going?” I looked up again. Suwon. And returned to my book. I’ve had enough not so pleasant experiences with random middle aged Korean men to prevent me from being an enthusiastic conversationalist. “That’s so good. You are so smart to study Korean.” To this I didn’t reply. A few stops later, the seat to my right opened up. He promptly filled it. He sat closer than necessary. “You are English teacher?” Yes. Still staring at my book. “Are you married?” Good god. Okay – I’ve tried the direct approach. It didn’t work. Let me try another method. I’m widowed. I heard Ida stifle a snort. “You are so pretty. Why you not married?” I was married. My husband died. Okay – I can’t get much more direct than that. Surely now he will leave me alone. “Oh. Oh. Oh. You must be so lonely.” No. “You must be crying inside.” Another snort from Ida. Yes. I am crying on the inside. I want to be alone in my sorrow. “Oh, no. You need someone to comfort you. Someone to be your friend. Do you have children?” No. Do you? “Yes, two grown sons. Very handsome. I think you are, you are, oh, maybe 29.” I’m 25. At this point Ida all out choked. “Oh, you are a lonely woman. I can help you. Why don’t you give me your phone number. We can be friends. Very good friends.” I just looked at him in disbelief. At this point, Ida saw it her duty to intervene. She leaned over, whispered to me, girl, follow me. don’t ask questions. At the next stop, she grabbed my hand and pulled me away. My suitor yelled after me, “No, not here. This not Suwon. Come back.” We were long gone. We ran out of the car, down the platform, then back onto the train just as the doors were shutting. Ida turned to me. “LoriLoo. From now on, you are married. Your husband is big and strong. In the military. And you have 2 children. Got it?” Got it. At this point, I’ll say anything.

We finally arrived to Suwon. Then caught the bus (yes, one more) to the Folk Village. We entered, walked through the quaint houses of yesteryear. Saw the blacksmith at work, the mask maker, the weavers. Arrived just as the traditional wedding was ending. Passed multitudes of elementary school students. After a couple of hours, we decided to head back to Seoul. Back on the bus. On the subway. As we returned to the above ground world from the subway tunnels, we were met by mobs. And mobs. And mobs. We were jostled around by red shirts. We narrowly avoided being hit by free sodas being thrown from passing trucks. We wove in and out of vendors selling Korean flags, fans, noise makers. We looked at each other with instant recognition. The Korea v. Portugal game – of course! Even though it was over three hours before the game, the streets were packed with Red Devil supporters. We had not realized it, but our hotel was in the vicinity of City Hall, where the big screen tvs were erected and hundreds of thousands of Korean soccer fans assembled to cheer their team on to victory.

We fought our way back to our hotel and dropped off our packages. Dare we venture out again? We decided we wanted to get some shopping in, so we did indeed head out. Back to the market. Downtown. In and out of stores. We wanted to get something to eat before heading to a bar to watch a game; we still had hopes that somewhere would be playing the USA v. Poland game. We really wanted Japanese food for dinner. We had passed Japanese restaurants during our wanderings, but couldn’t remember exactly where we had seen them. Out of nowhere, a young woman approached us. “May I help you?” Ida and I exchanged glances. Ida looked her up and down and said, “You’re not about Jesus, are you?” The woman looked at her quizzically. I don’t think so, Ida. I turned to the woman. Do you know where there is a Japanese restaurant near here? She didn’t. It turned out she was a university nursing student, a volunteer to help with English translation during the World Cup. I guess we had appeared lost, so she had approached us. We never found a Japanese restaurant, but settled for a Korean establishment that became increasingly deserted as 8:30, kickoff, drew nigh. We left the restaurant right as the game started. The streets were empty of traffic. It was eery. We eventually saw people – everyone was glued to a tv screen. In the restaurants, in the bars, in the streets. Tvs were temporarily set up in the streets where dozens of people gathered round. The US v. Poland game was also being played at this exact moment. Was there any chance at all we would find somewhere to watch it?

Korea vs. Portugal

We made our way back to the section of the city where our hotel was. There was no way to get to our hotel. The streets were packed with screaming fans, watching on a big screen tv. We decided to go to Mulligan’s, the Irish bar we had briefly visited the night before. Mulligan’s is in the bottom of an office building. After regular business hours patrons enter by descending stairs in a plaza in front of the building. The stairway was completely blocked. We couldn’t get within 20 feet of it. We could see it, but couldn’t break through the wall of red in front of us. Ida, we’re stuck. I don’t see how we can get in. “There’s got to be a way. C’mon. This way.”

We edged our way along the perimeter of the building, eventually coming to the parking garage ramp. We stealthily snuck down the ramp, passing several gentlemen relieving themselves, past the 2 security guards who didn’t take any notice of us, they too were glued to a tv screen. Ida turned to me, “This would be the perfect time to commit a crime, if we were that type.” You said it sister. No one is cognizant of anything but soccer right now.

We continued down the ramp, under a half opened gate, into the garage. We tried a couple of doors. We found one that was open. It led to a dark stairway. Ida guarded the door as I ran up the stairs, trying doors along the way. I found another that was open. Ida! This way! I heard her steps bound up the stairs. I felt an incredible urge to hum the Mission Impossible theme song. We crept through the door, which led to a long hallway. We began walking down it, acting as if we belonged there. We were met by several Korean men approaching us. We realized we were in the hallway leading to the men’s restroom. We went out another door and were in the middle of a restaurant. The owner gave us a puzzled look; the restaurant appeared to be closed for a private party. We smiled, and exited through the front door. A few moments later, we entered Mulligan’s. Success.

The place was packed. Tables and tables of people in red t-shirts. Half Korean, half foreigners, a good mix of American, English, Irish. The walls lined with people standing watching the game. All tvs were tuned to the Korea v. Portugal game. We approached the English bartender. Ida inquired if there was any chance we might turn just one of the dozen or so tvs to the American game. He looked at us as if we were crazy and asked if we intended to start a riot. Hmm. Guess that was more or less “no.”

We miraculously found two seats at the bar. We perched so that we had a decent view of a nearby tv. We joined in the cheers of “Dae – Han – Min – Guk!” We cheered. We whistled. At one point, the tv showed an inset shot of the USA v. Poland game. We strained to see the score. Poland was leading. All the Koreans jumped up and cheered, dancing at their tables, screaming, “Po-land! Po-land! Po-land!” Ida and I looked at each other. We didn’t have to say anything; we both felt it. The overwhelming anti-American presence. It didn’t feel like it was just about soccer. It felt like resentment that couldn’t be expressed any other way.

We continued to watch the game. When the final whistle was blown and Korea had won, the place went crazy. Patrons were now *on* the tables dancing. Scarves were being waved. Flags flown. People hugging. Screaming. Korea was in the Round of 16.

The Palace

Saturday morning we awoke. I was moving somewhat slower than usual. I popped a couple of Advil. Ida stared at me. “Girl, tell me you don’t have a hangover. You only had a couple of drinks last night.” Well, I don’t really drink that much anymore. It’s been months since I’ve had vodka. “Mmm. That’s a shame.” I smiled and continued getting ready.

As we left our hotel we were greeted by grey, dismal skies. We walked several blocks to Gyeongbokgung Palace, which was the royal residence of Korea for almost 200 years. Once a magnificent palace, almost all of the buildings were destroyed by one Japanese invasion or another. Currently, about 10 or 15 buildings are standing, with reconstruction underway on many others. We entered via the main gates, and found ourselves smack dab in the middle of an official ceremony. We didn’t see any graceful way to excuse ourselves, so we walked around the guards in traditional dress, under the rope that cordoned off said area. We watched the changing of the guard, then entered the palace complex. We read the placards about the previous royal families, the destruction and rebuilding of the buildings, the customs of the royal family. We were disappointed that all but a very few of the doors were locked; we wanted to see inside of the sprawling buildings. We walked around buildings, in and out of gardens, around lakes. We eventually left through the back gate, headed towards a pagoda – The National Folk Museum.

As we approached, we noticed signs for a “Kim Chi Festival.” I was ecstatic. I love kim chi and am always excited to try new versions of the Korean national dish. Sure enough, there were samples of the many varieties, as well as new takes on the traditional dish. Kim chi pancakes. Kim chi pizza. Kim chi burgers. Kim chi dumplings. Yummmmm….. We continued through the plaza in front of The Folk Museum. There was a table where an eager volunteer would apply face paint. Ida and I decided to don arm “tattoos” of the Korean flag. Afterwards, we were led to another area, where we were encouraged to try on the traditional dress of the bride and groom. Ida selected the groom’s costume, much to the bewilderment of our hosts. “For man…” they continued to say. I replied, Okay-barri. (the Konglish term for Okay.) Wanhamnida. (we want). They laughed then took a Polaroid snapshot of Ida and I on our imagined wedding day. Several other Koreans took our picture, too.

After disrobing from our traditional costumes, we wandered around the plaza, looking at various displays of traditional Korean life. Women toting baskets in white knee socks, denim shorts, and blue cowboy hats approached us. “May we give you a gift?” Ida and I exchanged glances. Sure. They pinned a button on us that said, “Smile! Korea!” “We want Koreans to be friendly to foreigners.” We thanked them and continued walking.

We headed back to Namdaemum Market, allowing Ida to pick up last minute souvenirs before returning to the US. I walked into a store I had been in a few days before. The only looked me up and down. “You come back. You like me. Can I have your phone number? We be friends…” I laughed, paid for my purchases, and left.

We decided to go to Seoul Tower to watch the sunset. I think every major city has a tall tower. Canberra. Sydney. San Francisco. Seattle. New York. Pusan. Seoul. You go up, see the surrounding area. Come down. They always have placards telling you how far it is to other major destinations. Coin operated binoculars to see what is in the distance. And souvenir shops with the most unlikely souvenirs.

I Love The Nightlife…

After Seoul Tower we headed back to the hotel. After a brief break watching the England v. Denmark soccer game, we decided to venture out again. We asked the desk clerk where a good place to go for a drink was. He suggested the Hard Rock Cafe in Apujung. I wrinkled my nose. That’s so far away. Isn’t there anything closer? He shook his head. “Everything here. Closed.” Okay. We caught a cab. Apujung kajusayo. Hard-a Rock-a Ca-fay. The driver thought for a moment. He didn’t know where the Hard Rock Cafe was. Okay-barri. Apujung kajushipshee-yo. I figured once we got to the neighborhood of Apujung we could figure out where the Hard Rock Cafe was. It was bound to be a large place, right?

The driver dropped us off in front of the subway station. We began walking. We stopped at a convenience store. We asked the way. They pointed in a general direction, but said it was far. We began walking. We didn’t see anything that resembled the Hard Rock Cafe. We stopped at a Starbuck’s. Even though I was speaking Korean (limited as it is) the clerk didn’t understand. We left, defeated. As we exited, two young men said Hello. We turned around. Hi. Do you know this area well? It turned out they were two young US Army enlistees. One was celebrating his two month anniversary in Korea. We chatted for a while, then the one who seemed to be quite fluent in Korean went back inside. He came out a few minutes later. “Walk down this road, until you get to a main road. Cross it and keep walking. You’ll see the Hard Rock Cafe. I think.” We thanked them and continued.

We walked along the road. We came to the major intersection. We looked across the road. We looked to the right. We looked to the left. Ida turned to me. “I don’t think anything’s there.” Maybe? Maybe if we go just a little further? “I don’t know, Lori. This seems like another Wood Shop. Do you really think it’s there?” Okay, you’re right, let’s head back. We arrived back to our area of town, and decided to go to the bar at the Koreana, a major hotel across the street. As we walked in, we were greeted by a barful of Englishmen, singing boisterous footy songs. We endured through many come ons, then decided to try our luck elsewhere. We headed to Mulligan’s, which was closed for a private party. We walked in anyway, completely unnoticed. After a lap of the bar, we decided to leave. We went to a temporary food stand, sat down, and ordered kimbop. There was a table to the right of us, several Irish lads and their Korean female companions. They were singing Irish drinking songs, quite loudly. Ida and I mused, “We need good American drinking songs. We really don’t have any.” We thought and thought and could only come up with “99 Bottles of Beer On The Wall.”

One of the older fellows came over to talk to us. He asked us where we were from. We told him, the United States. He wanted to know where we were *from*, where our ancestors hailed from. Ida explained she was Chinese/Filipino. I told him I was Irish/Scottish. He latched onto that. “No. You are not Irish American. Never say you are Irish American. You are Irish. Promise me, that when you return to America, you will trace your family roots. I bet that we are related.” I tried to explain to him that my family had been in the United States for 10 or more generations, but that didn’t seem to matter. “You are Irish. Never deny that.” I assured him that I would indeed trace my family tree when I returned to the States. He then called his son over.

His son regaled us with World Cup stories. He had been in Japan, watching the Irish play, for two weeks. He had come to Korea and was having the time of his life. He was there with four of his buddies, his father, and numerous newly met friends. He explained he was one of the “leprechauns” so often seen in photographs from World Cup games. We talked for a while, then he rejoined his group of new acquaintances.

We laughed as we were photographed with our new friends. We headed home, exhausted from another full day.

The next morning, we woke up and treated ourselves to a full scale American breakfast in one of the hotel’s restaurants. Pancakes, bacon, toast, fruit, coffee, a spread unlike any I’ve seen for 6 months.

We got Ida’s luggage and hailed a taxi to take us to the airport shuttle stop (as the crow flies, very close, but as the tourist walks, so far). When the shuttle arrived, I held back the tears. Ida was leaving. The past two weeks had been a bastion of normalcy, a respite from the loneliness of life in Korea. She boarded the bus, I watched as she settled into her seat, waving as the bus pulled away into the busy Seoul traffic.

Pusan

We arrived into Pusan at approximately 2 am. We were sleeping peacefully on the bus. Suddenly, I was shaken. “Get off.” We blinked hard, trying to wake up. We got off the bus. Yogi-ga odi-imnikka? Where are we? “Pusan.” I thought we were being dropped off at the Pusan bus station. I thought wrong. We were on the side of a 8 lane road. About 7 men huddled around us, demanding to know where we wanted to go. Pusan, I sleepily replied. Over and over they told us we were in Pusan. They wanted to know where we wanted to go. I finally told them, Yeo-gwan. Ho-tell. Fortunately, the first taxi in the queue had a kind driver. He led us to his cab. Once in, he started speaking, mostly Korean, but some English. I explained we would be in Pusan tomorrow and told him where we wanted to go – Hay-Un-Dae Beach, the fish market, Tae-Jong-Dae park. He said no problem. We drove for almost 45 minutes. Were we still in Pusan? Red neon crosses shown from the hills of Pusan. The Korean symbol for a Christian church. Somehow, it just doesn’t seem right. Seeing red neon crosses for a church. It seems almost satirical.

The driver took us to “The Phoenix” hotel, right across from the fish market. We thanked him. We checked in. We entered the room. We stepped back into the 1950s. We were in Ozzie and Harriet’s bedroom, twin beds with gold damask bedspreads. We didn’t care. We fell back into our interrupted slumber.

We had planned to get up early. Explore the city. Somehow “early” became 11. From her twin bed, Ida groaned, “What day is today?” I thought for a minute. Umm. Wednesday. Suddenly a bag was thrown across the room and landed squarely on my chest as I laid in bed. “Happy Birthday, girl!” I giggled and opened the bag. New lingerie! In my size! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

We showered, the humidity in the room almost unbearable. Of course, there were no fans. Not in the bathroom, not in the bedroom. There is a widely held belief here that if you fall asleep with a fan on you will suffocate. That the blades of the fan cut, or suck, all the oxygen out of the air. And you die. Really.

We left the hotel and sure enough, there was the fish market, right across the street. The taxi driver did us right. We began wandering. Staring at the various animals, in various stages of life (or death). Fish. Shark. Whale. Tuna. Squid. Octopi. Abalone. Ohhhh, abalone. Have you ever tried it? Ida said she had not. Well, I’ve only had it once. When I went with a group of people abalone diving last fall. Up near Mendocino. It was so delicious. We cooked it fresh, right there over the campfire. Sauteed, breaded, and in burritos. I highly recommend it. Just then Ida gasped. What? “Did you see that?” No, what? “Over there. A rat just ran past.” Really? That’s the first rat I’ve known (of) since arriving here. Surprisingly, I haven’t seen many, despite all the trash on the streets. Hmm. Interesting. We continued to look at the cases of animals. The ajumaa came and took out the various sizes of lobsters, explaining the price. Too expensive. We inquired about the price of the abalone. It was reasonable. Ida, want to try it? “I don’t know girl, that was a huge rat that just ran past.” Yeah, but it was outside. We’ll be eating inside. “Okay.”

The ajumaa led us inside and we sat down on the floor. A dish arrived. On it were snails. What looked like baby dinosaur eggs. A couple of vegetables. And chile peppers. We looked at each other. Then began picking at the plate. Shortly thereafter, another plate arrived. On beautifully polished stones were slices of abalone. We both wondered if they had been cooked. They arrived very quickly. I picked up a slice, dipped it in a sauce, and popped it in my mouth. Chewed. And chewed. And chewed some more. Finally, I grabbed some toilet paper that was on the table and surreptitiously spit out the hard gristle like substance. This isn’t what I remember abalone tasting like. At all. This is rather, rubbery. Ida agreed. We ate as much as we could, chalking it up to a learning experience and agreeing to get something else to eat later.

We continued through the market. We saw endless containers of fish squirming about, platters of fish not squirming, and booths of random necessary items – visors, bamboo mats, bedspreads, just about anything you wouldn’t expect to find in a fish market. We walked closer to the water to look at the ships. As we stood there, two young men in military uniforms stopped. One offered to take our picture. We smiled and gave him our cameras. He fussed with the cameras, while his friend looked on, rolling his eyes. Evidently he’d done this before. As he snapped the last shot, he thought for a minuted, then stammered, “Have nice day!” We smiled, said thanks, and said good-bye. We walked along the dock, staring in amazement as tents full of older people knotted hooks onto lines, one at a time. Thousands and thousands of hooks and lines were carefully placed along ridges in tubs, the tubs stacked ten or twelve high.

We decided to head to Hay-Un-Dae beach. Except, in my hurry, I read “Hyundai” beach in the guide book. In the cab, I asked the driver to take us to Hyundai beach. He tilted his head to one side, repeating, “Hyundai, Hyundai, Hyundai” over and over again. This wasn’t a good sign. I wrote it out for him. “Ahhhh. Hay-Un-Dae!” and he drove us there. The beach was just that. A beach, full of young people, some lounging on the sand, some swimming, fully clothed, in the ocean, some playing soccer on the beach. Ida and I sat down. We watched the people on the beach, and generally just soaked up the sun for a good half hour. We turned to each other. “Want to see the aquarium? It’s right there…” “I don’t know. The one at Monterey is so good. And I’ve seen the one at New Orleans.” “Yeah, me too.” “Hmmm.” I turned my head. There, arising from the beach, was a casino! Ida! Look! There’s a casino! Wanna gamble? With that, we both sprang to our feet. We walked to the casino, only stopping to wonder as we entered if we were dressed appropriately. As we walked in, the lady at the desk asked for our passports. I guess only foreigners are allowed to enter the casinos here. We handed them over, then continued upstairs.

It was the afternoon, and there was hardly anyone in the casino. A few Japanese ladies at the slot machines. A few Japanese men at the tables. No one else. Our first stop was the bathroom. We entered into separate stalls, but almost at the same time said, “Check this out!” There, right in front of us, were two state of the art Japanese toilets. They had buttons for everything. Spray this. Dry that. We played around and giggled before eventually heading back to the floor.

We decided on the roulette table. We really didn’t have a choice. There was one blackjack table open and all the spots were taken. Roulette was the only other thing open. We played for about half an hour, then decided to leave. It’s not fun to gamble when you can’t talk to the dealer and there aren’t fun people at your table. We weren’t even served complimentary cocktails.

We left the casino and shopped a bit. Then grabbed something to eat. Over slices of pizza, we discussed what we should do next. Aquarium? For some reason, it wasn’t appealing to us. We checked out the floor map. We decided to forego the aquarium.

Ida came up with an idea. “In all the tourist literature I saw advertisements for foot massages. Let’s do that!” Okay! Sounds great! We went to the tourist information center, looking for information about Pusan. As we entered, a young man approached us. “Annyong ha-say-yo.” Annyong ha-say-yo I replied. Pal massag-gee odi-immnikka? He looked slightly confused. I would venture to guess he doesn’t get many requests for foot massage parlors. He looked at us, ushered us to a seat and said, “Wait a minute.” He conferred with the female employees. Lots of talking, back and forth. Finally, he came over with a tourist book written in Japanese. “Do you read Japanese?” Uh, no. I can read some Korean, though. “Oh. Well, here is the foot massage place. It’s near the Lotte department store. Take bus 941 there.” Okay, great. Ida started to interject. I knew she didn’t want to get on another bus. I gave her a look assuring her everything would be alright. Our helpful friend said he would walk us to the bus stop. I told him that was very kind, but we would probably take a taxi. “But, it might be 5,000 won.” It’s okay. Thank you for your help.

As we waited to cross the street, a woman also waiting said Hello. I guess she’d seen the “Smile, Korea!” commercials. She asked where we were going. I showed her the picture in the Japanese guidebook. “Oh, here, I’ll walk you to the bus stop. It’s only a couple of blocks.” We smiled and said we were planning to catch a taxi. For some reason, it seemed comical that people wanted to take us to the bus station.

We found the place with no problem. A small nail salon on the second floor of a nondescript building. We told them what we wanted. Ida was led to one corner of the room to have her fingernails done first. I was ushered to another corner and laid on what appeared to be a gurney. A woman beside me was having done what I assumed I would be getting soon. A serious foot and leg massage, conducted with what appeared to be a wooden torture instrument. It felt so good to be getting a pedicure. Having my feet massaged, soaking in the hot, bubbly water, everything. Pure luxury. I pointed to the woman, still reclining, having her feet massaged. Cho-got juship-shee-yo. I want that, please. The woman attending my feet laughed and put me back on the gurney. She flipped me over and began the treatment.

I wasn’t expecting the piercing pain of the sharp wooden needlelike dagger she held in her hands. I stifled a scream. Okay, I asked for this. This will feel good. This will feel good. Don’t be a wimp. I continued to talk to myself over and over as the pain would start in my foot, then continue up my leg, to my back. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. Soon my mutterings changed to Why did I ask for this? Why did I want this? When will this be over? The treatment continued for almost 45 minutes. Surprisingly, it did begin to feel good. My muscles relaxed. There was no tension in my body. I was moved to another station to have pink polish applied to my toe nails. Ida was put on the gurney. Her treatment began. She didn’t stifle her screams. She turned to me, “How did you stand this without saying anything?”

3 hours after we arrived at the salon, we departed. Relaxed and with pretty toes. We arrived to the train station to discover there were only “standing” tickets available for the 1 1/2 hour train journey back to Daegu. We could stand wherever we wanted on the 10 car train. As I bought the tickets, I turned to Ida and said, Well, at least it’s not a bus….

Congratulations!

pop, pop, pop, pop… is what I heard as we walked through the door. Huh? What is this?

Sang Jae had picked Ida and me up from the train station, taken us out to dinner for kalbi (listed at one of the 10 best Korean foods in the brochure we got at the Tourist Information booth), then dropped us off at the C-Space convenience store on the corner with instructions to “get ice cream and walk for digestion.” It seemed a strange request, but it was a nice night, so…

Ida and I walked from the convenience store on beautiful toes, carrying a plastic bag full of ice cream treats. We talked about the day, recounting the funny events, unusual happenings. As we began to open the door, we heard, “Wait a minute!” So we did. A minute later Sang Jae opened the door. The lights were off. I reached to press the switch and poppers and streamers exploded. “Congratulations! Congratulations!” he sang. Huh? Congratulations? For what? I walked around the corner into my studio. There, on the floor, was a smashed cake, with tall, skinny candles burning quickly. Sang Jae began singing a Korean version of Happy Birthday. At the end, he quickly said, “I’m sol-ly, I’m sol-ly…” As he had tried to take the cake out of the box, it stuck. He had pulled harder and harder, finally tugging it with one final effort, smashing half of it in the process. Even so, with its smushed glazed tomatoes (yes, really) and kiwi on top, it was delicious. Not a bad way to end the long day…

Tuesday – Let The Travels Begin

When Ida emailed me and told me she was coming to visit, I furiously began researching. I wanted to make the most of this. A week together of girl time, to travel, see the country, go off the beaten path, bond. I re-read my Lonely Planet. I googled Korea. I read web sites. And made a draft itinerary. I emailed it to her, she said it sounded great, so we decided to go with it.

Cha Bat – The Tea Plantation

First stop. Boseong. The tea plantations. It didn’t look that far on the map. I mean, Korea is only the size of Indiana. Indiana isn’t *that* big of a state. It’s manageable. Three buses, 2 taxis, and 5 hours later, we arrived at the tea plantation entrance. The bus dropped us off on the road and the driver pointed. We started walking down a road. “Girl, I don’t see any tea plants. This better not be another Wood Artifacts Complex.” Ida, trust me. This was featured in the Daegu City foreigner information ‘Between Friends’ pamphlet travels of the month section. Even as I said the words, I wished I could pull them back into my mouth. Please let there be a tea plantation. Please. Please. The article said it was over a million square meters of tea plants. It would be hard for that to disappear over night. But then again, an entire Wood Artifacts Complex seemed to….

We walked down the road, passed a souvenir shop (all tea – good sign), and kept walking. Then, out of nowhere, there were the hills. Covered with millions and millions of tea leaves. Which look remarkably like hedge. We walked among the hedges. That’s really all you could do. We climbed a hill. Took a picture from the top. From the middle. From in between the rows. Then walked down. After 45 minutes of walking, we pretty much had covered the whole public area. Hmmm. Well, shall we grab a cuppa tea? I smiled. We headed to the tea shop. We were both hungry. But the tea shop was just that. A tea shop. One thing. Tea. One price. Specialization at its best.

The ajumaa came to the table. I asked her for two cups of tea please. She turned to Ida and started rapidly speaking Korean. This had been happening to us since Ida’s arrival. Even though I initiate the conversation, the shopkeeper or waitress replies to Ida, who is Filipino/Chinese, and begins rattling off Korean. Ida would usually just stare, then I would say, Miguk imnidda. The first time I said it, Ida turned to me and said, “What did you just call me?” Calm down, sister, I only said you were American so they would stop speaking Korean to you.

The ajumaa returned with our two cups of tea. She explained we could refill our pot three times with water and get three pots of tea from the tea leaves currently there. We drank our first cup. Not bad, but not great. We poured the second tiny cup. Better. A bit more flavorful. Then the third cup. Ugh! So bitter. I guess that couple of extra seconds steeping does make a difference. Bleh!

We paid and left. There was a restaurant on the way back to the road. We decided to try it. We sat down and I read the menu. Let’s see. This section is bottles of whiskey. This section is coffee. This section is entrees. I don’t know what any of them mean. We looked around. There were only two other tables with people at them. The women behind us were eating ice cream. The people at the table by the window were eating food. Ida got up and walked past them. She came back. “It looks decent. A stew. A cutlet.” Okay. I called the waiter over. We’ll have what they’re having. He took our order and left. A while later the food arrived. Not bad. But not great. Sort of neutral. Like cardboard. We were both so hungry we ate without complaint. Upon paying our bill, he gave us 6 complimentary boxes of tea bags. Score!

We walked back to the bus shelter at the road. I read the signs. According to the signs, there were two buses that stopped here. We wanted to go back to the Boseong terminal, to catch a bus to Yeosu. I didn’t know where one of the buses was headed. The other would take us back to Boseong. The bus that we didn’t want to take was scheduled to arrive first. It came, it stopped. I got on, just to see if maybe there was a shortcut. That maybe it went directly to Yeosu. I asked the driver and he literally pushed me off backwards off his bus. Okay. Guess that bus isn’t going the way we want to.

Across the road a car stopped. A young man/boy got out. He spray painted something on the ground. I yelled to him. Shillye hamniddaaaaaa! Excuse me! He turned, surprised by my appearance. Yeosu odi-imnikka? Which way to Yeosu? He ran across the road and in broken English and Korean explained we needed to take the bus to Boseong, then change there. Just what we thought. But confirmation is good. I smiled and thanked him and sat down on the curb to wait for the bus. He ran back across the road, got into the car with his partner, and drove off. Less than 10 minutes later, he pulled up beside us, rolling down the window. “Get in. We take, bus station. No bus.” I looked at Ida and shrugged. He seemed harmless enough. She shrugged. We got in the back seat. We tried to make conversation, but it pretty much stopped after my information – English teacher, Daegu, 6 months, and his – student, just out of military, Gwangju. Wait, we did learn they were either marking for a new highway to be built, or marking the new highway that was just built. We couldn’t quite tell either way.

We went back to town, his friend the driver stopping every so often to ask where the bus terminal was. Turns out they weren’t from these here parts. After a few circles, a few detours, we arrived back at the bus terminal. Our friend went inside with us. He ordered the tickets for us, then walked us to where we would catch the bus. He wanted to wait the 5 minutes with us. Again, I tried conversation. After a couple of sentences, I was stumped. Ida offered him a bag of beef jerky. It was all we had left. After much insistence on our part, he accepted. Five minutes never passed so slowly. I would think I had thought of something to say, start to utter something, then realize I didn’t know all the words. So I would smile broadly. He would return the smile. We would look at our feet, the walls, the sky, then he would start something, utter a word, then stop. The nervous smiles would continue. Our bus finally arrived. We boarded, and he stood at the station, waving until the bus pulled away.

On the bus (completely bedecked with lime green and pale lavender ruffles) Ida commented to me, “Girl, you really need to work on your conversational Korean. You know, those few lines that could help pass the time. Cocktail party Korean.” Riiiiiiight…..

The Black Sand Beach Resort

The reason we wanted to get to Yeosu is that in The Lonely Planet and in other tourist literature we randomly picked up, “a black sand beach resort, Korea’s only one!” was touted. A must see. Beautiful. Relaxing. The thought of relaxing by the sea, getting a massage, sunning on warm black sand, well, it was very appealing to both of us. So we rode the bus 2 more hours to Yeosu. Then flagged a taxi, “Manseong-ri kajushipshee-yo.” The taxi driver took us there. Pointed. “Beach-chee.” We got out and looked around. Calling what we were standing on a “beach” was, well, a stretch. Okay, technically, it was a beach. It was the bit of land that could be considered a shore next to a body of water. Calling it a “beach resort” – I’m calling foul. There were no hotels. At all. I don’t remember seeing restaurants. The bit of sand stretched for maybe 200 meters. The sand was not black. It was dirty. A little bit grey. There were numerous oil tankers anchored offshore, very close. We both speculated how the sand became the color it was. There were many dead things along the water line. Dead fish. Dead crabs. Dead seaweed. Crushed shells.

I looked at Ida. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Let’s just go now. Cut our losses. We’ll go to Pusan tonight. I’ve been there. It’s really there. We’ll get there late tonight and have a great day tomorrow.

Ida was surprisingly not upset. “Well, the sun is setting, let’s take a couple of pictures, then figure out what to do.” We walked closer to the water, snapped a couple of pictures of the sun going down, documented the not-black sand, then walked the 10 steps back to the road. To the beach’s credit, there was a huge “tourist map” posted beside the one lane road. We looked at things to see in the area. Pretty much nothing. As we were standing there, the only two people there, two old women were approaching. Carrying bags of groceries, maybe? Rags? I noticed them out of the corner of my eye, they were on the opposite side of the road. A minute later both Ida and I were knocked in the backs. The two, 4 foot tall, 90 year-old, toothless women had run into us. Smack dab checked us into the boards. Ida and I looked at each other in disbelief. Her only comment, “It’s not as if they didn’t have the whole road to walk in.”

The bus came. I flagged it. We returned to the bus station. I bought 2 tickets to Pusan. I looked at them. Oh, geez. We have 2 1/2 hours to kill. Ida, I am so sorry. This is turning into the vacation from hell. I’m really sorry. We wandered onto the street. We spied a big “E-Mart,” the Korean version of Wal-Mart. A good as place as any to kill 2 hours. Things we discovered while shopping:

1. I have no fashion sense anymore. Ida has already planned a bonfire upon my return to the States.

2.They don’t sell anything even close to resembling an Asian Barbie. Rows and rows of blond hair and blue eyes.

3. Don’t eat chicken wings at McDonald’s.

We headed back to the bus station, boarded, and settled into our seats. Ida jokingly wondered how much time we spent on some form of transportation today. As I began calculating, she asked for The Lonely Planet.

Here is what I came up with:

11 hours on some type of transportation (4 taxis, 6 buses, one private car).

5 hours not on transportation (2 of those spent in E-Mart)

Here is what she came up with (from an analysis of pictures in The Lonely Planet):

There’s not much to see in Korea. Unless you really, really enjoy temples and mountains. Roughly half of the pictures were “natural” – farmland, rivers, mountains. Beautiful for pictures, but not so exciting to travel hours and hours to see. About 30 per cent of the pictures were of people (serving food, carving a mask, fishing). 10 percent were “city shots” – mostly of Seoul, and the remaining 10 per cent were of temples.

So, we decided for the rest of her time here, we would do things we enjoy, whether those were a “Korean” experience or not. I had given up hopes of us experiencing an “off the beaten path” adventure. And I promised her no more buses.

World Cup #3 – USA v. Korea

We knew this would be a big game. This, too, was being held in Daegu, where I live, but tickets were impossible to come by. I had tried for weeks to pick up extra tickets, but the availabilty was null. Truthfully, by the time the day arrived, I was glad I didn’t have tickets. I’m sure Ida and I could have trekked over the the stadium and scalped some, but we both decided we would rather be in the comfort of The Pink Palace, and not surrounded by 67,000 screaming Red Devils (the nickname for the Korean fans). The reigning atmosphere was hostility in a friendly way. Sort of. A couple of times walking down the street, school girls or boys would say, “fucking mi-guk” as we walked by. But other than that, and the seemingly friendly taunts of “Who will win? Korea team fighting!” it was life as normal in Daegu.

We had been downtown all morning. Trying to buy silk. We were virtually the only ones not in red t-shirts proclaiming, “Be the Reds!” The schools were closed for the day, so schoolchildren were running through the streets, proudly waving Korean flags, shouting, “Dae – Han – Min – Guk!” We wanted to be in my apartment, with plenty of food and water, by 4, as the game started at 4:30. We left the markets at 2:30. Already the streets were deserted. People were already stationed in front of tvs. Ready for anything. It was the quickest cab ride home since my arrival in Korea. We stopped by DongA, got plenty of food, and hunkered down for the game. Every channel was showing it, we flipped back and forth to see which channel got the best reception, since we understood the commentary on none of them.

Before the game, all channels showed pictures of the stadium, of how many people were there. People had been lined up for two days, waiting to get in (I don’t understand this, as all seats were reserved). They interviewed people who had been camping out. They interviewed the foreigners. They followed a man selling “Be the Reds!” t-shirts, his inventory delpleted almost immediately.

The teams came out. We cheered. Ida whistled. (she whistles really well. really loud.) Sang Jae cheered for the Korean team. The atmosphere was tense. Who would win? How would the game be played? The US team scored first. Ida and I whooped and high fived. She whistled some more. The whole game we added our own commentary, “C’mon, boys, you can do it!” “Run!” “Shoot!” “Watch out!” Sang Jae repeatedly adding, “Dae – Han – Min – Guk!” Then Korea scored. Out of nowhere. One to one.

The game ended in a tie. A tie. No winner. No loser. I had mixed feelings. I was disappointed. But happy, too. I wanted to see the US win. But I didn’t want to see Korea lose. I have to live here and frankly, was concerned about my welfare over the next month. The cameras panned all the crowds – at the stadium, downtown, in the streets – everyone seemed to be happy. As Martha would say, “That’s a good thing.”

Sunday – No Wood, No Cry…

One of the things Ida wanted to do in Korea was look for a nice piece of carved wood furniture to take/ship home. When she sent me this request, I pondered for a moment. Hmmmmm. I don’t remember seeing lots of wood items, but let me do some research. And there, on the Daegu web site, under the “shopping” tab, was a whole page devoted to Korean woodcrafts. The pictures were beautiful. Wooden screens. Small tables. Large tables. Intricately carved chests. Boxes. And these words:

“The market share of wood artifacts produced in Daegu is about 70-80% of the nations, and their quality is guaranteed. The artifacts are made by hand from Chinese juniper wood. Wood blocks, beads and other Buddhist items, tea tables, telephone tables, vessels and other daily commodities, and various traditional service utensils are the main woodcrafts produced in Daegu Wood Artifacts Complex. About 70 woodcraft shops form a complex in the area of Bullo-dong and Bongmu-dong. Wood artifacts are sold here at an inexpensive price.”

Score! I sent Ida the link in an email, saying I had no idea Daegu produced so many of Korea’s wood artifacts (that should have been my first clue).

So on the Sunday after her arrival, we set out. I had my trusty map of Daegu city. There, near Palgong mountain, was the Wood Artifacts Complex. I knew exactly where it was! I was driving, with Sang Jae in the front and Ida in the back. We drove through town, farther and farther towards the outskirts, past the airport. I began driving more slowly. I knew we were approaching the area where the complex was supposed to be located, and I assumed there would be a brown sign, pointing the way. Or at least a sign. We drove, none of us saw anything. I think we’ve gone too far. We’re getting near the mountain. I pulled a u-turn (legally, of course). Sang Jae excitedly said, “Pull over! Turn! There!” I did my best Starsky and Hutch impression and pulled over on the shoulder. “Get out! Come on!” Ida and I looked at each other – neither of us had seen a wood complex. We followed him around the corner and back to the main road. He was walking towards a store. At the same time we saw what he was heading towards. A shop by the side of the road that sold pressed wood bookshelves. We both called for him to stop. “Furniture. You said you wanted furniture, right?” We tried to explain we wanted hand carved furniture, not furniture shipped in from China. He listened, then nodded. “Okay, I will ask.” He came back a few moments later. He knew the way.

We drove down a dirt road (I’m using the term liberally) for about a mile, scraping the bottom of the car every time we hit a bump. Or pothole. Or irrigation ditch. We finally turned to the right. Into what I guess could be called a parking lot. Maybe. A big dirt area where cars could park if they so chose. There was a man there, puffing on a pipe. As Sang Jae got out to ask if this was the wood complex, Ida turned to me. “You know he hasn’t left that porch in a hundred years.” We saw the critical look he gave Sang “City Slicker” Jae as he walked up. Then the quizzical look after Sang Jae asked about the wood complex. He scratched his chin, then looked to the hills. He shuffled his feet, then looked up and began to speak. We saw Sang Jae thank him and come back to the car. “Over there. In the hills. But not Sunday. Just wood boxes.” No! I saw the web page. It’s a whole complex. And they make tables. And screens. Okay, maybe they are closed on Sunday, but it’s a big deal. I know it. The web page said.

We returned to the main road, determined to give it another try. We ended up doing a few more u-turns, to no avail. We did discover the shooting range in Daegu (good to know where it is), a park where you can camp overnight, and various other rather useless shops. We finally gave up and decided to salvage the day and go to Palgongsan.

The mood in the car was a bit damp. We all felt defeated. Where was that wood market? It was on the web page. It was on the map. How could it just disappear?

We arrived to Palgongsan, parked the car, and started towards the gates. We arrived at the four creatures protecting the temple and I kept walking. Sang Jae yelled at me to stop. I turned around. The guard was coming after us. Surprised, I asked what was the matter. It turns out there is an admission to enter the temple. I didn’t realize this, because all of the previous times I visited had been with Mr. Nam where we had started hiking over on the other side of the mountain then worked our way down to the temple, bypassing the gates. Oops. We paid our admission fees, then walked along the peaceful road leading up to the temple complex.

There was a large tourist information table set out. When they saw me, they stopped me and started handing me pamphlet upon pamphlet, book upon book. Information about road signs, restaurants, where I could use my Visa card. Sang Jae asked about the Wood Artifacts Complex. We would not be defeated. “Oh, yes, I know exactly where that is.” You do? we all exclaimed. “Yes, very famous. It might be closed today, however.” From the map he drew, it appears we had just barely missed the turn. With a renewed sense of energy, we walked to the temple compound.

We peered into the halls, looking at this at that. We walked through the peaceful grounds, venturing over a quiet bridge to view the biggest Buddha in Korea, devoted to the reunification of the two Koreas. We snapped photos, then headed back to the car. We were very excited about stopping at the Wood Artifacts Complex. Even if it was closed, we would know the exact directions so Ida and I could return if it looked worthwhile.

We drove back down the mountain, holding the hand-drawn map as if it were gold. We passed the landmarks. The bridge. The median. Okay, do a u-turn there. Yes, that road. Okay, let’s stop and make sure we’re going the right way. We stopped at an ice cream stand. Yes, that way, they pointed. The excitement grew and grew. We kept going. The road got smaller, then smaller. Are you sure we’re still going the right way? I don’t see anything but houses back here. We were in the country. Coun-try.

Sang Jae stopped the car. A porchful of ancient men was across from us. He ran across the road, asked the question, got many nods, some pointing, some scratching of heads. Ida commented, “And you know they haven’t been off that porch for *two* hundred years.”

Sang Jae got back in the car. We drove some more, then turned down what appeared to be a dirt alley. Then through what seemed to be an irrigation ditch. And under a tunnel. The whole time I was thinking to myself, We should have left a trail. Breadcrumbs. Kim chi. Something. Then, lo and behold, out of nowhere, appeared the Wood Artifacts Complex. Except the person who so designated it as such must have been on some serious hallucinogenic drugs. It was a series of shacks. Yes, shacks. And I’m using that word with great generosity. Closed. Not for the day. Forever. All but boarded up and left for gone. We peeked in the dusty windows. The wood “artifacts” that had been being made upon the closure could hardly be described as anything more than tacky tourist knick knacks. Boxes. Coat pegs. No furniture. Nothing even remotely Oriental looking. No one said anything. We walked around for a bit, then got back in the car silently.

Finally, Sang Jae spoke. “Let’s call it a day.” Truer words never spoken.

Saturday – Let’s Go Downtown….

I had to teach Saturday afternoon, so Ida and I decided to stick relatively close to home Saturday morning. Hey, I read about a Ginseng festival downtown on the Daegu web page, want to check it out? Ida was up for it, so we caught a taxi to the medicine market street, where the supposed festival was taking place. We walked in and out of medicine shops, eyeing shelves upon shelves of dried bits and pieces, ready to be mixed and ground to cure whatever ails you. But no festival. Lots of ginseng, the smell permeated the air. I love it. I breathed deeper and deeper as we wound our way through the alleys of shops, almost getting drunk on the pungent smell. I bought ginseng candy. My one comment to Ida, Once you get over the initial dry bark taste, it’s quite delicious. She declined my offers. We walked through the entire medicine market, and couldn’t find anything resembling a festival. Oh, well, maybe it’s at night. Or something. Want to go shopping downtown instead? It’s pretty close.

We crossed the tracks and made our way into the crowded streets of downtown. There, to our surprise, was a street festival. Not the ginseng festival, but a run-of-the-mill street festival. Lots of booths, selling more items that you couldn’t possibly need, scantily clad women dancing to bad techno music promoting this service or that product, face painting, and of course, World Cup souvenirs. We walked for a while, stopping to browse at a couple of booths, then continuing on our way. We received fans (much needed in the rising heat) with “Pil-Sung Korea!” (victory always!) on them. We stopped at a soju sampling booth. We each drank a dixie cup of soju, then were handed a card. The man motioned for us to scratch the silvery layer off. A contest! Woo hoo! Ida scratched hers first. I looked at it and sounded out the word. “Kw-kwang!” You won kwang! I excitedly showed the card to the man at the booth and he handed her a package of kleenex. I scratched my card. Look! I won kwang also! I handed my card to the man, saying, kwang, jushipshee-yo. He smiled and handed me a packet of tissues also.

I had to return home to prepare to teach. Ida stayed downtown, shopping some more. Later that night, she, Sang Jae and I met for dinner. We were telling him all about the day’s events. When we told him about the soju contest scratch and win cards, he busted out laughing. What? What’s so funny? “Kwang.” Yes, that’s what we won. Although, I’ve never heard that word before. I thought kleenex was ‘hu-gee.’ He laughed again. “Pabo girl. Kwang means nothing. You won nothing.”

I thought for a moment. Well, maybe so. But I bet I was the most excited about winning nothing.