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.

Going Out – Korean Style

On Friday night I had to teach. Bleh. I left Ida at 4:00, told her I’d be home by 9:30, and to be ready to go out. At 9:30, she, Chanta, and I went to our favorite sushi restaurant. The husband and wife who own the establishment greeted us warmly; Chanta and I eat there almost once a week, if not more. We sat down and watched the World Cup game that was on tv. We had a normal dinner. I felt like myself again. Having dinner with two girlfriends, talking about what’s going on with my friends in San Francisco, who’s doing what, who’s gone where. I could have been anywhere. I talked, and was understood. I listened, and could understand. It felt good.

Towards the end of dinner, my phone rang. It was Sang Jae and his friends. They were downtown. They wanted us to come out and meet them. Are you up for going out? I asked across the table. Ida gave me a look to say, “Please. When am I *not* up for going out?” Chanta politely declined. Ida and I caught a taxi downtown. We met Sang Jae and Young Kwon and decided to go dancing. We went first to Elvis, the local dance club where mostly foreigners frequent. As we walked in, we all looked at each other. The music was bad. And not in a good way. The dj just wasn’t spinnin’. We all shook our heads and walked out.

Sang Jae suggested a Korean nightclub, Basque. We walked back to the center of town, then headed up the stairs. We walked into a dark, swanky nightclub. There were sofas and tables positioned just so, ensuring the most privacy for the patrons. We selected our sofas near the dance floor. Ida and I settled in, then checked out the action on the dance floor. And both turned to each other at the same time with quizzical looks. There were two Soul Train-esque lines on the dance floor, but no Soul Train moves. The lines were segregated, males on one side, females on the other. About 5 feet apart. Each person barely shuffling in their spot. We turned to the boys. What’s going on? we asked. They responded, “A fad. Of the younger generation.” We looked at each other again and giggled. Those words, coming from someone 27 years old, just sounded funny. I think we both assumed that the lines would last for that particular song, then everyone would bust out with some serious DDR moves. But no, the next song, and the next, and the next, people just stood in their spots, shuffling a little to the front, a little to the back.

Ida, my partner in crime since I turned single in San Francisco, turned to me. “Girl, we have got to do something about this. Follow me.” In our 3 inch heels, we easily towered over everyone on the dance floor. Our v-necked dresses contrasted to the buttoned up button-downs so popular with young Korean women these days. We sashayed through the opening in the line, found our own bit of space on the dance floor, and started dancing. Down and dirty, hoochie-coochie mamma dancing. We laughed and giggled the whole time. Very shortly thereafter the boys joined us. We spun and swung, twisted and turned. Then the melody slowed, the lights dimmed even more, and the floor cleared quicker than a junior high post-football game dance. It stunned us. We literally were the only two who had not bolted off the floor. Our partners were already on the sofas. We considered dancing with each other, but decided we had created enough of a stir already.

We sauntered back to the sofas. Waiting for us were our cocktails and a what appeared to be a huge punch bowl filled with milk. What is this? we both wondered. “So good. Try.” But what is it? A Korean word was said, I couldn’t discern the syllables. The thought of drinking milk with a spoon with my gin and tonic just didn’t seem appealing. But I tried it. To their credit, it wasn’t straight milk. It was a milk and 7-Up mixture, with what appeared to be canned fruit cocktail mixed in. And surprisingly, it wasn’t bad. Not the typical bar food, but not bad.

I never was a “double dipper” in the States. Even with friends. I wasn’t obsessive about it, but generally didn’t make it a practice. Here, I’ve gotten over that. When you order soup, one bowl comes to the table. With enough spoons for everyone. At the food stalls on the street everyone dips their fish on a stick into the same sauce. Takes a bite, dips again. Okay, to their credit, the sauce is hot, maybe even sort of close to boiling, so maybe all the random germs are dead. Anyway, same with this concoction. One big bowl, four spoons. When in Rome….

We danced for a couple of hours then Sang Jae announced he wanted to meet one of his other friends, a university colleague. We met him at his friend’s newly opened restaurant. It had to have been at least 3 in the morning, maybe 4, but there were several other patrons in the restaurant. That’s one of the things I do like about living here – Koreans seem to be night people. There is always something open. We sat down on the floor and Sang Jae ordered. The endless supply of small dishes began arriving. Then a big cauldron was placed on the burner in the center of the table. Sang Jae and his friend chatted, Ida and I eyed the contents of the pot. We poked with our chopsticks. What is this? Sang Jae thought for a minute, searching for just the right word. “Pig neck soup.” Ohhhhhh. Not exactly Pizza Orgasmica, but it will do. It really wasn’t bad. After eating our fill, and chatting to his friend, we wearily said “annyong hee gay say-yo” and headed home.

World Cup #2 – Senegal v. Denmark

Five of us had crashed at my apartment (yes, a studio) the previous night. Ida had just arrived from the States and friends from Seoul were in town. Suitcases, bags, and bodies covered almost all floor space. I was the first up; I began making breakfast – scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit for everyone. I figured if I was making breakfast for five, I might as well make breakfast for six; I called Chanta and invited her up. She commented on the temperature as she entered. I guess the hot weather, combined with so many bodies in a small space, made my studio a virtual sauna (we still don’t have the air conditioning which we were promised would be installed by the end of May). We ate breakfast, chatted, took turns with my virtual shower. About 1 we were ready to head to the stadium. Sang Jae, Daniel, Ida and I started out for the main street. I had a list of at least a dozen bus routes that would take us there. The streets were already packed. We decided to hail a taxi instead.

Daniel, Ida and I squeezed into the back seat; Sang Jae sat up front. As we approached the intersection to turn to go to the World Cup Stadium, the driver turned the opposite direction. I commented to Sang Jae, He should have turned right. The stadium is to the right. There was an exchange in Korean, the Sang Jae said to us, “Traffic jam. This way is better.” We basically made a huge circle then arrived at the stadium. As we exited the cab, Sang Jae said, “Lost. He didn’t know way.” How can you be a taxi driver and not know the way to a major landmark?

We followed the lines and lines of people towards the stadium. We had two pairs of tickets. We found Ida and Daniel’s entrance and bid them adieu. Only later I realized we had not made plans of where or when to meet up. Sang Jae and I kept walking. The sun was blazing down. Even in shorts and a tank top, I was miserably hot. We found our gate and entered. The normal security checks, then we were in! We wandered around, then made our way to our seats. Up, up, up stairs and ramps. These weren’t nearly the seats Daniel had obtained for the USA game. We found our section number, then began walking down the rows. We were seated in the first row of the upper section, probably the only section in the entire stadium without even a sliver of shade to be had. We were there an hour before the game, just as we sat down the pre-game show ended. After about 10 minutes in the sun, we looked at each other. Let’s go downstairs until the game starts.

We headed back down the ramps, down the stairs. We walked along the concourse, hoping to visit Ida and Daniel in their seats. I assume for security purposes, the stadium was divided into sections, with each section gated and locked. With that effort thwarted, we resigned ourselves to walking in section C to see what we could see. There was a surprising lack of marketing propaganda. No t-shirt stands, no souvenir tables. There were a couple of drink stations; we quickly downed icy water. We heard a commotion; the players were on the field, warming up. We stood behind the last row of seats, watching the players stretch and kick.

Soon we heard the beating of drums. It wasn’t the usual “Dae-Han-Min-Guk” beat, however. This was rhythm. Pure rhythm. Very shortly afterwards a royal procession entered. It was the Senegalese fans. They snaked their way through the concourse, their vibrant yellow, green, and red robes flowing. I was delighted when they started down the stairs only a few feet away from us. It was a party. There were many Senegal flags waving, many of the people in this particular section, mostly Koreans, were wearing Senegal hats, or carrying signs that on one side said, “Go Senegal!” and on the other, “Jesus loves you!” I was mesmerized by the sights and sounds. I turned to Sang Jae. Look at those flags. They’re so beautiful. I then focused my attention on the women dancing and clapping about 10 rows in front of us. A minute later I glanced to my side. Sang Jae was no longer there. At first panic set in. I felt like the child, suddenly lost in the department store. I looked in all directions, but didn’t see him. I figured if he wasn’t back by the time the game started, then I would get worried.

A few minutes later he returned, bearing a Senegal flag. Where did you get that? He just smiled. I waved it proudly, keeping rhythm with the still beating drums. I saw the man selling the Senegal hats. I’ll be right back… I first stopped and got more water, then got a couple of the bright green, yellow, and red hats with SENEGAL printed across the front. We looked like we belonged in the section.

The game started and we decided we would rather stand in the shade than sit in the blaring sun. Security, however, encouraged us to take our seats. We moved to the next section, not realizing security was right behind us, ushering all the standing fans back to their seats. After three attempts, we decided to return to our seats. Maybe I’m biased, but the game just didn’t seem as exciting as the previous night’s game (US v. Portugal). There were quite a few scuffles early on in the game. The camera (for the big screen) would zoom in on the players and the referees, then go to a blase neutral message (FIFA World Cup 2002!) as soon as the action heated up. Sang Jae turned to me. “What is that? When the players behave?” Sportsmanship? “Yes. Very bad sportsmanship when they fight.” I agree.

At halftime we ventured back down to the shady concourse. We didn’t see our friendly security man, so we positioned ourselves behind the last row of seats, just over from the still dancing, still drumming Senegalese fans. It was fun to be at the game. People cheered. There seemed to be an equal number of Denmark and Senegal fans, all Korean. With a few minutes left on the clock, the score tied at 1:1, waves and waves of people began exiting. Hey, the game’s not over. Why are they leaving? Sang Jae turned to me, “I think, bad audienceship.” I laughed and nodded.

The game did indeed end in a tie, 1:1. We headed back to the main road, specks in the river of people exiting. Miraculously, we found Daniel and Ida and even more miraculously, hailed a cab. Back home, all exhausted from the excitement of the game and the heat of the day, we laid down for a nap, intending to sleep just a little, then rally for a night out on the town. Hours later, we rallied enough only to make it to a local restaurant for dinner.

World Cup #1: USA vs. Portugal

When I think back on this, here is what comes to mind:

Screaming, “Oh, my God!” at the top of my lungs about 1,000 times during the course of the 90 minute game. Really.

Getting so excited I jumped out of my seat and almost knocked Daniel (twice my size) over at least three times during the game. (okay, he did just break his foot, so I probably should have been more careful…)

Shivering as the national anthem was played before the game.

Being absolutely incredulous that I could read the players’ jerseys, see their expressions, from our seats center field, 3rd row. Yes, third row. Daniel did us good.

I boarded the 1:00 pm train bound for Suwon on Wednesday. There’s something comforting about a train ride. The smooth, continuous motion? The lack of stops? The countryside it travels through? Or the novelty of it? The first time I rode a train I was 16 years old. In Europe. Maybe it’s the association with faraway places. Of places yet unknown, yet explored. Or the quietness and silence that usually accompanies the trip. People dozing here and there. The game of walking in between the cars, toppling to the right, to the left, as the car jerks unexpectedly to and fro. Or maybe it’s knowing I’m going *somewhere.* The anticipation of arriving somewhere new. Somewhere to marvel at, somewhere to wander unknown streets, somewhere to begin yet another adventure. Maybe it’s the calm before the storm. As I stare out the window now, and for the previous three hours, I’ve seen only the green buds of rice paddies, standing erect in the pool of muddy water, an occasional dot of white appearing, a crane standing guard over the beautiful sea of green. I literally cannot imagine what I’ll meet as I step off the train in a mere 5 minutes. Oh, I know, the hustle and bustle of people deboarding the train, scurrying to find the nearest exit. But then, the path to the stadium. Is it near? Is it far? I expect the hordes of people, making their way to the stadium. Seeing other Americans again. It’s been 6 months since I’ve seen my fellow countrymen, in any considerable numbers.

I exited the train, along with many other people obviously bound for the game. I followed the throng of people. Up the stairs, over the tracks, down the stairs, into the bright light. Daniel and I had not made a plan of where to meet. We just said, “The train station.” And sure enough, as I descended the last flight of stairs, there he was. I smiled and waved, we greeted each other warmly, then discussed our plan of action. Bus, I think that’s the way to go. Look, there’s a bus. And it says World Cup. Let’s get on.

We boarded the bus, squished among many others. We held on tightly as the bus lurched forward, bound for the stadium. We weren’t sure what we were looking for, but figured we would know it when we saw it. About 15 minutes later, Daniel pointed out the window and said, “I think we’re here.” I followed his gaze. What I saw I wasn’t expecting. Rows and rows and rows of police, in what appeared to be riot gear. Daniel, what’s going on here? “They’re running along side the cars and buses to prevent car bombs. The USA teams and fans are the potential targets of terrorists.” And sure enough, as the bus pulled in, about 50 policemen, 3 rows deep, ran along side the bus. I felt a pang of bittersweetness. I realize the people of many countries have lived for years with the daily threat of terrorism and hatred towards their people, but this is a new feeling for me. Knowing that because of where I was born, I am the potential target of another’s hatred.

We exited the bus and followed the many people walking towards the stadium. As we got closer, I literally started jumping up and down. I couldn’t contain my excitement. Daniel, we’re at a World Cup game. Can you believe it? Look at all the people. Look at all the Americans. Look at all the flags! This, too, surprised me. I didn’t travel to Korea to meet other Americans. But after being virtually isolated from other Americans for almost 6 months, I was excited. I pulled Daniel by the hand, running this way and that. Look at this! Look at that! What’s that over there? We saw some mediocre performance art. We saw pro-American demonstrations, led by a bleach blonde Korean girl in a red, white and blue bikini with an American flag draped around her hips. We received many pamphlets telling us Jesus loves us in all languages.

We entered the stadium. At this point we both were almost hyperventilating. Oh, my God! We’re here! Can you believe it? I bounced towards our entrance. We took pictures here and there. Of everything. The stadium. Him in front of the stadium. Me in front of the stadium. The stadium again. When we entered our “block” we checked our tickets again. Block E4, Row 3, Seat 28. I turned to Daniel. Is this like, row 3, row 3? Like, on the field row 3? “I’m not sure, but maybe. I think these are good seats.” As we walked down the stairs, I felt myself getting more and more excited. It was indeed, row 3. Center field. As we sat down, the pre-game show was ending. A huge soccer ball float like thing had been unveiled in the middle of the field amid fanfare and dancing. The dancers, drummers, and swordsmen formed lines and patterns to escort the ball out of the stadium. Except it wouldn’t fit through the “tunnel” where the players normally enter the field. It truly was like a scene out of Animal House where the oversized soccer ball blocked the exit for the performers, who continued to march, scrunching closer and closer to each other until they were on top of each other. I turned to Daniel, This is already great!

Then the players came out to warm up. I could see them. Really see them. People in the stands yelled names and players turned and waved. Oh, my God! They can hear us! Daniel just laughed and started pointing out players. Then, the players exited. A few minutes later, the pomp and circumstance began. This official was led onto the field. That official. The introductions of the players. The playing of the national anthems. Then, let the game begin!

It was amazing to watch the game from so close. To see all the action. To see them sweat. To see them frantically call to teammates, sending secret signals. It was definitely a pro-Portugal crowd. As in, the whole stadium except maybe two sections. Neither of which we were in. So, as the USA would run by we would scream, “GO USA! C’MON BOYS! YOU CAN DO IT! LET’S GO USA!” And when the first goal was scored, we both stared in amazement, then burst forth from our seats, jumping up and down, screaming, shouting, high-fiving. It was fun.

Then the second goal was scored. Then the third. We were in disbelief. We were reduced to simple, monosyllabic sentences. Oh, my God! This is huge! Did you see that? Oh, my God!

By the end of the first half, Portugal had scored one. Then they ran off the field. During half time we didn’t dare move. We thought we must be dreaming. We didn’t want to wake up. We didn’t want to jinx anything.

The teams came out for the second half. Oh, they were fighting. Hard. You could tell both teams were hungry. They wanted this win. When the US scored their “own goal” it was disappointing. But, a fine piece of sportsmanship. A really beautiful goal, perfectly executed. Just in the wrong goal. *sigh*

The remaining minutes couldn’t pass quickly enough. I was out of my seat, jumping up and down, praying the clock would run out. 3-2. 3-2. 3-2. Don’t let Portugal score again. Don’t let them. When the clock hit the 90 mark I was ecstatic. But they kept playing. I turned to Daniel. What the hell are they doing? The game’s over. He explained the “extra 2 minutes” rule. (This was the first soccer game I’ve ever seen.) Nooooooooooooooooo. Not another 120 seconds.

But those seconds did, indeed, pass, with no additional goals. The small contingent of Americans and American supporters cheered loudly. I took more pictures. Of the scoreboard. Of the team exiting the field. Of the American flags flying. Of the empty field. We didn’t want to leave. But, we knew we had to.

As we were exiting the stadium, two Korean young men stopped me. “May I please take my picture with you?” I looked around. I didn’t see anyone else behind me. Me? You want a picture with me? “Yes, please.” I didn’t understand it, but I agreed. And the grin on my face was sincere. I had just spent a good 3 hours feeling comfortable, like I belonged. Not feeling like an outsider, not being pointed at (or at least not noticing). It was a great feeling.

I’m So Excited!

As one of my friends said in an email, “… just call me a Pointer Sister.” Tomorrow I head to Suwon, to see the USA play Portugal in the World Cup. Then after the game, one of my dear friends from San Francisco arrives for 10 days. My first visitor in Korea. I’m taking a week of vacation, which I’m ecstatic about. To have someone to talk to, at normal speed, ah, the simple pleasures…

Dae-Han-Min-Guk!

This is the cheer for Korea’s soccer team. I think it means “Korea!” or “Go Korea!” or something like that. My students taught it to me. On each syllable, you wave your hands forward then backward, then clap 4 times. At so-yae this morning, the grandfathers were talking about the upcoming Korea v. Poland match. Without thinking, I did the cheer. It’s all I’ve read about in the diaries, all I’ve heard in between classes for the last week. They were silent. Then begged me to teach them. As I was showing them what to do, I thought to myself, something’s wrong with this picture…. The miguk is teaching the Koreans the Korean national soccer cheer. I hope I’ve got it right….

In The News…

World Cup highlights are on every station. This game. That stadium. The festivities. The events. And the teams.

Tonight the camera spanned from team to team, focusing on the intense last minute training that is occuring at various fields throughout the country. Then, it focused on Team USA. Sightseeing. Not training. I was so proud of our team. The Koreans I was with laughed. “Only USA, no train! Ha ha ha!”

I think it’s wonderful, that our boys are taking advantage of the opportunity to see more than just the stadiums while here. Go USA!