“Thank You Teacher…”

Wednesday was Teacher Day in Korea. On Teacher Day in the States I usually got coffee mugs. American children must think teachers consume an inordinate amount of coffee. Which they probably would, except trips to the bathroom are a rare luxury, therefore fluids are usually avoided during the work day.

The children here are amazingly resourceful. A team of children “interviewed” individual teachers to find out what *other* teachers liked. They then disseminated this information among the students. As a result, Chanta received many bars of chocolate. She was happy. I received several arrangements of flowers. I was very happy. All the men teachers received socks. I think maybe there was a breakdown in communication somewhere…

Let There Be Light…

Yet another example of how the seemingly most simple tasks can render me worthless. I have been showering in the dark for 4 days now. I am embarrassed to admit I don’t know how to change my lightbulb. No, that’s an incorrect statement. I know how to change the lightbulb. I just don’t know how to remove the globe without breaking it, I don’t know what kind of lightbulb to buy, I don’t know where to buy it…

First mistake – trying to remove the globe while standing on the toilet. My apartment is part of my compensation package. Read into that – not highest quality. My toilet seat is made of flimsy plastic. So as I was standing there, holding on to the globe, trying to figure out how to remove it, the plastic gave way, slid to one side and sent me reeling into my tile wall. Ow.

Second mistake – pulling the only chair I have into the bathroom and standing on it. My lone chair swivels. See ending of mistake number one.

I am an independent woman. I have never asked for help to do any household tasks. I own my own tool set. I have painted houses. I have cleaned gutters. I have mowed lawns.

And today, I called my friend Sang Jae. Please come over, it’s important. “Another contest, Rori?” No, *really* important. He arrived, saw the situation, said he would take care of it. I arrived home tonight to light. Glorious, glorious light.

Sometimes The Journey…

Lately I’ve been feeling I’m not taking advantage of my time off. I need to go more places. See more things. I’m almost at my “half-way” point in my contract/time living here. I don’t want to look back and think “Gee, I wish I would have…”

So I got out the Lonely Planet. Where can I go that’s close enough for a one day trip? Hmmmm. Tongdosa, “the largest and most famous (temple) in Korea.” The description went on to laud the temple’s many buildings, famous tomb, new artifact museum, and beautiful surroundings. I studied the “Getting There & Away” section. “Take the Busan-Daegu inner-city (not express) bus from Busan.” I (erroneously) assumed that meant I could take the same bus from Daegu. I still haven’t figured out why that didn’t work. It just didn’t. I studied the map. I thought the entire trip would take about 6 hours. Two hours there, two hours at the temple, two hours return. It is now ten hours later. Most of that time spent on, or waiting for, a bus. But it was worth it.

I caught a taxi to the inner city bus station nearest my house. At the ticket counter I told the clerk I’d like to go to Tongdosa. “Op-sayo.” Literally, we don’t have. Hmmm. I got out my map. Where is the nearest city en route? Okay, Gyeongju. I bought a ticket for Gyeongju and waited on the platform. Within minutes, the bus arrived, I boarded, found a window seat and began studying Korean. An hour later, I was at the Gyeongju bus terminal. I headed to the ticket window. Tongdosa, ju-shipshee-yo. Hanna. (one ticket for Tongdosa, please) “Op-sayo.” What? I had a perplexed look on my face. “Op-sayo. Yang-san. Chang-gee.” Okay. Hanna, jus-shipshee-yo. Khamsa hamnidaaa. I paid my $1.50 and went to platform number 10, just like my ticket said.

The bus was waiting, I boarded, and found a seat. The ticket taker came down the aisle. I handed him my ticket. “Ani-o. fast Korean phrases” then he pointed for me to get off the bus. I did. I looked at my ticket. It *said* platform 10. There was no time on the ticket. Do I just keep getting on buses at platform 10 until no one kicks me off and hope it’s the right bus? The ticket taker came back to me. In Korean, he explained a lot. All I understood was “30.” Hmmmmm. Does that mean 1:30? Or in 30 minutes? Which would be 1:45? I’ll just stand here. I watched an elderly man sweeping trash with a straw broom. Using a bona fide straw broom, like found in the illustrations of a Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale. Stooped over, he made his way around the buses, up to the platform, getting nearer and nearer. He swatted my heels with the broom, I moved, he swept, then he swatted me back to my spot. He didn’t appear in a hurry. He didn’t appear to have a goal. He swept, moving down, down, down the platform, then returning, sweeping the same areas, never looking up.

At 1:35 the ticket taker pointed at me and yelled “Yang-san!” and pointed to the bus at platform number 10. I smiled and thanked him. Again, I found a window seat and settled in. I got out my map. Hmmm. By going this way, I’m going *past* Tongdosa, then will have to backtrack back up to the temple. Oh, well. Another hour later and I was in the Yang-san bus terminal. I went to the ticket booth. Okay, surely, surely there will be a bus to Tongdosa from here. I smiled. Annyong ha-say-yo. Tongdosa ju-shipshee-yo. She smiled. She handed me a ticket. I handed her my 40 cents. She pointed me to platform 7. I waited there, along with about 20 middle school girls. They all stared, pointed, whispered, and giggled. I smiled and generally tried to ignore the attention.

After only a few minutes on the bus, I realized this was a regular route. It was making stops everywhere. Oh, my. How would I know where to get off? I stared out the window. Okay. If I was a temple, where would I be? This stop. No, I don’t think so. Still too close to town. This one? No, doesn’t feel right. Eventually, I saw a brown sign. Oh, how I love the brown signs. Tongdosa, 5 km. After what I judged to be 5 km, I got off the bus. In a tiny, tiny town. There was a woman selling hot bread-like treats by the side of the road. Tongdosa? Odi-ay-yo? She talked, and talked, and pointed, and talked some more. Hmmm. That sounds like a lot of instructions. I thanked her then hailed a cab.

A few blocks later, we were at the temple entrance. Gee. I could have walked that. If I had known which way to go. I thanked him and he pointed me in the right direction. I walked through the parking lot, past the vendors selling cheap souvenirs. I heard a squawking “Hands up! You’re under fire! Drop your guns!” coming from a model of a US military airplane. It circulated on the ground, bumping into something and changing directions, red and blue lights flashing. Why are they selling this at a temple? I wondered.

I crossed a bridge. There, before me, stood hundreds of tombstones. Huge pillars supported by granite turtles, or lions, or dragons. Lots of Chinese inscriptions. Beautiful green grass. Tall, elderly trees providing shade from the bright afternoon sun. I walked through it, then continued on the path to the temple.

Wow. The entrance to the path was flanked by an enormous gate. Each temple I visit seems to outdo the previous one in terms of attention to detail and craftsmanship. I stared at the construction, the precise meeting of joints. The application of the most vibrant blues, greens, and reds I’ve ever seen. The glittering gilt. Tiny, delicate cranes soaring on the uppermost beams. I snapped a few pictures, people around me staring quizzically. Don’t they realize how spectacular this is?

The tree-lined path followed a small stream. People sat on stones beside the stream, picnicking, talking, skipping stones across the shallow surface. Lanterns hung from the trees, in anticipation for Buddha’s birthday next weekend. I’m not sure to what to attribute my feeling of uttermost serenity as I walked along the path. The warm sun dancing through the tree branches, creating dapples of light here and there? The children chasing each other around the grounds, laughing and squealing? The beauty of *not* being in a crowded city, even though there were many people present?

I came upon a huge modern building. Ahhhh, this must be the museum. I’m a sucker for museums. Maybe it comes from my days as a public school teacher. But I love them. I paid my 2,000 won ($1.40) entrance fee, removed my shoes, and entered. The greeter said a lot to me in Korean. I smiled. She repeated it, slower. I understood, “Do you speak Korean?” I answered, a little. She said a lot more. I smiled. She ran away.

I started walking through the exhibit. Wow. Very impressive. The exhibits were laid out in an incredibly well organized manner, with thorough descriptions – in Korean, English, and Japanese. Tales of the history of the temple. Artifacts. Objects used in the various rituals and ceremonies. I left one room and started into another. I heard a shuffle of feet behind me. Quicker and quicker, coming straight towards me. I turned around. Several museum volunteers were pointing at me and saying something. Oh, my god. Have I gone somewhere I wasn’t supposed to? I stopped. They approached me, dragging a girl who appeared to be in her teens. “Hello,” she said. Hi, how are you? “Fine. Thank you. You have seen the exhibit?” Yes, it’s wonderful. “You are lucky. I only come one time a month. And today, I come, and there are English signs. You are lucky. Go upstairs. See paintings. Go upstairs again, see writings. Come downstairs, see artifacts. Enjoy.” And with that, she left me.

I continued upstairs. To the Buddhist paintings exhibit. Not just paintings that are over 1000 years old, but an explanation of the process of the paintings. The rituals the monks performed before creating the paintings. The strict discipline. The stones ground to create the paint. The incredible, incredible colors. Greys, blues, reds, ochres. All shimmering powders in small vessels. The volunteer in this section, an elderly man, followed me around (I was the only patron). “Hello.” Annyong Ha-shim-nikka. “My English, no good.” I smiled. It’s okay. Khamsa hamnidda. When we arrived at one section that wasn’t original paintings, he pointed at a sign. Ahhhh. It mentioned the upcoming World Cup games. Of course. That’s why the signs are all in Korean, English and Japanese. They’ve done an excellent job.

I continued through the other sections, then out to the path to the temple. I approached a second gate. Here was the actual entrance to the temple. From here, hundreds and hundreds of lanterns fluttered in the wind. I walked under the canopy of lanterns, feeling very regal. I ascended the steps and walked into the actual temple complex. Approximately thirteen buildings greeted me, along with a huge courtyard and beautifully landscaped mini-gardens of azaleas, hydrangeas, and other flowering trees I didn’t recognize. And the lanterns. So many lanterns. So beautiful. I wandered from hall to hall, viewing the different Buddhas, stopping to pray here, meditate there. I watched the sun sinking lower and lower in the sky, descending behind the majestic mountains surrounding the complex. For over an hour I wandered, just enjoying the afternoon.

I finally decided it was time to figure out how to get home. Surely there was a bus back to Gyeong-gu without backtracking back to Yang-san. I was over halfway to Gyeong-gu, it just made sense. I walked along the stream, watching the families enjoying the afternoon. I reached the entrance to the temple and found my way back through town to the “bus stop.” There was a small booth there. I asked the ticket clerk for a ticket to Gyeong-gu. He shook his head and pointed to the side of the road. There? I asked. Yes. So, I waited by the side of the road. And a bus did come and stop. I got on and asked the driver if he went to Gyeong-gu. “Ani-o.” So I got off. Maybe the next bus. I waited. And waited. No buses were coming. I turned to the lady selling the bread-like treats. Gyeong-gu? Yogi-ga? And with that, she just started talking. Explaining this. Explaining that. And acting as if I knew what she was saying. I stared, wide eyed, trying to catch *any* word. Any syllable that I recognized. Finally. “Inter-change-gee.” Hm. Highway? Interchange? So I asked, Chick-chin? (straight ahead) And with that she pointed, waved, explained. Okay, khamsa hamniddaaaa. And off I went. Thinking to myself. Where am I going? I walked along a small road until I came to a fork. Right? Left? I looked both ways. Neither seemed to promise a highway. An elderly, stooped lady with her shower basket approached me. She, too, began talking. I smiled. She grabbed my hand. Okay, I better at least let her know where I’m trying to get to. Daegu ju-ship-shee-yo. She smiled and kept walking. I followed her. Not sure why I followed her, but I did. We came to the highway. She led me across it, then pointed me down a small, winding road. Okay, calling it a road is using the term in a very liberal sense.

When I came to the open field, I thought I surely took a wrong turn somewhere. Except that I hadn’t made any turns. I looked around. And around. There was a highway in the distance. And sort of a path to the highway. Sort of. I turned around and made my way back how I came. There was a small house, maybe it was a store, with woman sitting inside. I knocked on the window. She smiled and opened the sliding glass door. Daegu ju-ship-shee-yo? “Yaayyyyyyy.” And she pointed straight ahead. Through the field. Okay. Khamsaa hamniddaaaaa. Maybe I am going the right direction. I can’t imagine this is the way to a bus stop, but…

I trekked through the overgrown grass until I reached the highway. There, to my right, was a large toll entrance. Is this what she meant by interchange? I walked along beside the speeding cars. I reached the toll booth. There was an office to one side. I entered. It appeared empty. I wandered down a hallway, wondering how this happens to me. Where am I? How am I going to get back home? I entered an official looking office. A woman sat behind a desk. I smiled. Annyong ha-say-yo. She returned the greeting. I asked for a ticket to Daegu. She asked if I spoke Korean. Only a little, I’m sorry, I apologized. She motioned for me to follow her. Oh, my god. I am in the right place. I can’t believe it.

We went outside and she ran across several lanes of traffic. I just stared. Should I follow her? I looked both ways, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to dart. I heard her yell at me to stay put. Oh, okay. She talked to one of the toll booth operators, then darted back across the lanes of traffic to where I stood. Once again, she motioned for me to follow her. We walked. And walked. And walked. Then ran across 6 lanes of traffic. To a tree. Where, amazingly enough, there was a small shack that sold bus tickets. I bought one ticket for Daegu, thinking my journey was almost done. But, no. She motioned for me to follow her again. Back across lanes of traffic. Up a ramp. Through a hedge. Yes, a hedge. Across another road. All I could think of was, God bless this woman. Oh, mighty power, bless Korea. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

She smiled and pointed to a bus shelter. Taeden heee khamsa hamnidaaaa. (thank you so very much) She smiled, then returned the way we had just come. I sat down at the bus shelter, watching the sun set across the highway. I pulled out my book and started reading. A pickup truck stopped. Two elderly, toothless women got out. They sat down to the right of me. I continued to read until one of them literally put her face into my book so that I was staring down at her. I looked up, then over. They were both staring intently. I smiled. They began talking quickly. I guess I should be flattered that so many people think I can understand Korean, that I just don’t talk much. I’ve never been perceived as the quiet type before. It’s an interesting feeling.

They continued to talk to me, I continued to smile. About 40 minutes later, the bus arrived. I found a seat near the back and put on my walkman to listen to various Korean dialogues. I think I dozed off to “How much is this newspaper….” I awoke an hour and a half later, in the pitch dark in Daegu. At the Express Bus Terminal. The one Lonely Planet said not to go to. Life is funny sometimes.

Out Of The Frying Pan…

Who was the genius who came up with the idea of *rubber* spatulas? It just defies the whole concept of cooking. Cooking = heat. Heat melts rubber. Go figure.

In My Inbox

I know it’s spam – but it still made me laugh. Subject: FURRY NAKED BARNYARD FRIENDS! Since when were animals *not* naked?

Pree-tee

I’ve been feeling antsy. Ready for a change, but I’m not sure what. Today I decided to get my hair dyed. Pree-tee. The chunky highlights that so many Koreans have in a rainbow of colors.

I took the bus downtown. I remember one of my Korean girlfriends pointing out a good hair salon, and I’ve passed it several times, now I just need to find it again. Hmmmm. Maybe if I go to the main plaza I’ll remember which street to take. The main plaza was hustling and bustling with people, as it always is. Older people slowly meandering this way and that. Middle school girls in their oh so conservative school uniforms. Younger couples arm in arm. I was trying to get my bearings when I noticed people gathered around a table. I crept closer. There were mostly older women, housewives, ajumaa. They were making something. Oooooo – lotus flowers. So pretty. Hot pink and baby pink crepe paper petals overlapping, surrounded by intensely green leaves. As I stared an older women motioned for me to come closer. She handed me a dixie cup, poked my fingers in a tub of paste, and guided me in making a lotus flower. From what I could gather, it was a religious group (I got a pamphlet about a temple) and the lotus flowers are to commemorate Buddha’s birthday in a couple of weeks. I think. Maybe.

I continued to wander, now carrying my beautiful hot pink lotus flower. I went up this street and that. After about 45 minutes, I stopped. *sigh* I’m never going to find it. I looked up and lo and behold, there it was. Talent Hair Salon. I climbed the stairs and walked in. I smiled at the receptionist. I had practiced what I would say during my wandering. Annyong ha-say-yo. Pree-tee jushipshay-yo. She looked very flustered. I seem to have that effect on people. She took my bag, my lotus flower, and my jacket and put them in a locker. She helped me into a robe and led me to a chair. It was a good sized salon, maybe 25 or 30 stations. Almost all of the stylists stared at me, giggling. I heard whispers of “miguk… miguk….”

I sat down in the chair. Three stylists came over, giggling. I smiled, said hi, then repeated, “Pree-tee jushipshay-yo. Bleach-chee.” They laughed, fingered my hair, then one left and returned moments later with a hair color sample chart. I pointed to the color I wanted, then held up chunks of my hair to indicate I only wanted *part* of my hair dyed, not all of it. Another left then returned, mixing a pungent foam concoction which made my eyes sting. I squeezed my eyes to keep from crying. I felt her applying the foam to my hair. It was at that moment I realized the tenacious nature of communication. What do they think I’ve asked for? I kept my eyes closed. It’s only hair, I thought. The worst that could happen is, well, I guess it could all fall out. Okay, so I’d save money on shampoo.

An hour later my head was being shampooed and massaged. By far, the best part of going into a hair salon. Okay, even if the dye job is a disaster, it was worth however much won I’m paying to have this done. Back to the chair and the drying began. I still kept my eyes closed. Please, just let it look, not monstrous. I only opened my eyes when I heard the *snip* *snip* of the scissors. I tried to stop her, but it had already been done. I have the bangs of a 12 year old again. Just then, I caught my image in the mirror. Wow. It definitely wasn’t what I expected. But I wasn’t displeased. I kind of like it. She had dried my hair so that it wasn’t the normal wavy mane that usually surrounds my face. It was slick as glass, hanging straight by my face, appearing to have grown an instantaneous 3 inches longer. Delicate streaks of bleach blond wove in and out of the dark background. She, very proud of her work, said, “So pretty.” Khamsa hamnidaaaa. And I really meant it.

I walked out on the street and stopped. I was a little disoriented. Which way to the bus stop? As I turned, I was face to face with a young Korean man. “Oooooo – more beautiful….” he said. The ultimate compliment upon leaving a beauty salon…

Pabo

Pabo means “stupid” in Korean. I hear it all the time. The students tease each other, my Korean friends will use it sometimes jokingly, sometimes in earnest.

I had just come home from DongA and I was very excited. I had bought a multi-pack of toothbrushes and there was a game card on the package. I love games. I will enter every sweepstakes that I can get my hands on. And I usually win. Not the Publisher’s Clearing House million dollars type of win, but wins nonetheless. I opened the package of toothbrushes and pulled out the entry form. Oh. It’s all in Korean. Duh. What did I expect. Hmm. But there are pictures of the prizes – a trip to Paris, an electronic thing of some sort, toothbrushes.

I excitedly called Sang Jae. Jobsay-yo… “Hello. Who are youuuuu? Korean girl? Speak English.” What are you doing tonight? “Class, Rori.” When do you finish? “Soon. Why?” I need you to come over and help me with something. It’s very important. “Okay. Later. Bye.”

He arrived a couple of hours later. “What is this so important?” I showed him the package. He stared at me in utter disbelief. I need you to help me with this contest. The entry form is in Korean. Just help me complete it. “Rori. No. Not win. Too many people. No. I will not help.”

I spent the next 20 minutes trying to convince him why he should help me complete the form. I told him about all of the contests I had entered and the prizes I had won. I showed him pictures of the prizes I could win in this contest. I told him he could come to Paris with me. I think, out of sheer desperation to get me to be quiet, he agreed to help me complete the form. Under his breath he muttered, “pa-booooo….”

I sat up straight and stared at him. Ani-o. Nanun pabo-ga ani-ay-yo. He stared back at me in amazement. What? What? “I can’t believe.” What? “You. Your Korean. It’s right. So smart. I will help you now.”

Look out Paris, here I come….

The Crab Princess

We’ve started a new session at school, which means my schedule changed. I now have Wednesdays and Sundays off. I’m very happy to have Sundays off. Sundays equal lazy.

This being my first free Sunday in quite a while, I wanted to take a trip. Where to go? I pulled out my new best friend, my Lonely Planet. Hmmm. Conflicting desires. I want to go on an exciting trip, but I also want to sleep in. Where can I go that’s close by?

My friend Sang Jae had originally said he wanted to come with me. But then, on Friday, he said he needed to study for an upcoming test. As I was researching on Saturday night, he called. “Where we go tomorrow?” But, I thought you said you needed to study. “Later. Trip close. Near. Where?” Wellllll, I was thinking of going to Juwangsan National Park – it doesn’t appear to be too far away and there are spectacular waterfalls there. Let’s not leave too early, though. Call me when you wake up tomorrow.

We left around noon. We agreed that he would drive until the first rest area, then I would drive, so he could study his English phrases. As he was driving, I picked up his English phrase book. The odd numbered pages had English phrases, the even numbered pages had the same phrases in Korean. I picked out some that I thought would be useful and tried to pronounce them. More than once he turned to me and said, “What language you speaking?” Korean. Your language. Good? “Ani-oooooo. Not Korean. Some strange island language, only you speak.” He would correctly say the phrase in Korean and I would repeat it, over and over and over. He finally took the book away from me.

We arrived to the rest stop – we were both starving. We ordered our favorite – dolsot bibimbop – mixed rice in a stone bowl. We finished the meal with instant coffee from a vending machine then I was in the driver’s seat.

We passed a large yellow sign, “Police Enforcement.” “Don’t speed. Smile.” and with that he leaned over, gave a peace sign and said “kim chiiiiii.” What are you doing? “Police. Camera. Take picture.” There were radars and cameras mounted over the highway to catch speeders. I had never thought of smiling for a law enforcement camera before, but I guess it makes sense. I mean, if they’re going to post your picture everywhere as a potential criminal, you may as well look good…

We drove and drove and drove. Where was this park? It looked so close in the book. We exited from the expressway. Sang Jae asked the toll booth clerk which way to Juwangsan. She said go straight, then pass the university, then veer left. And then a bunch of other stuff. Okay, easy enough. As I was driving, Sang Jae said, “Yeongdeok, only one hour past university.” Yeongdeok? What’s that? “Oh. Famous for crab.” Changmal? Really? Oh, my god. I love crab. “Let’s go there. Beach. So good.” Awesome!

He continued to practice phrases in English. “I’ll be right back. That sounds very interesting. Do you need to see some identification? I need a reservation for two.” Every now and then I would say the phrase, emphasizing the correct accent on syllables. He would repeat. I would repeat. He would repeat again. I concentrated on the road, we were getting closer to the mountains. The road became more narrow, and more windy. And the scenery more green. Everywhere, walls and walls of green. The day was overcast, so if I blurred my vision I felt as though I was entering into a world of moss. I drove slower and slower as the road became curvier and curvier. “I think I will bomb it.” What? What does that mean? “I think I will bomb it.” Bomb it? Bomb what? “Bomit.” Vomit? That’s in the book? “No. The curves. So sick.” I glanced over. Oh, my god. Should I stop? Are you okay? “Okay. I’m okay.” Thankfully the road straightened soon after that. We had crossed the mountain and were nearing the coast.

Soon thereafter we entered the town of Yeongdeok. We stopped to ask directions to the crab. At that point Sang Jae took over driving responsibilities. We drove down a long road bordering a river. There were buildings in the distance. As we got closer, we realized they were the crab restaurants. Old women stood in the road, motioning and barking to come eat in their restaurant. We drove slower and slower. We passed huge tanks of crabs in front of the restaurants. Huge tanks of huge crabs. All alive and snapping this way and that. I squealed. I love crab. I haven’t had it since November. Oh, the anticipation!

We drove past restaurant after restaurant after restaurant. Umm, why don’t we stop? Let’s eat. “You, you just want crab. Me, I want to see ocean. Ocean, then eat crab.” Oh, okay. Sounds good. The restaurants ended, we had entered a commercial fishing area. Palettes and palettes of fish and squid lay drying by the side of the road. Slow down, I want to get a picture! He slowed a bit, then sped up. Then came to a screeching halt. We had reached the ocean. It was beautiful. The road dropped to craggy rocks where the surf pounded at irregular intervals. We watched the ocean from the car. C’mon, let’s explore. “Too cold.” No, c’mon. It’ll be fun. We carefully made our way down and over the rocks, avoiding slipping into the tidal pools of algae and ocean critters. The sea spray felt wonderful. It was cold, but a crisp, clean, refreshing cold. The overcast sky gave the ocean an ominous gray color. We watched the waves crash upon the rocks then whooooooosshhhhhhhhhhh! An especially strong wave had crashed and splashed into the air, sending spray a good 15 feet into the air and only inches from our faces. We both screamed with delight. We wandered back over the rocks to the car. Destination – dinner.

Sang Jae picked a restaurant that had a huge model of a crab on its exterior. We walked in and were ushered to a table upstairs by the window. We sat on the floor and stared out at the boats, docked for the evening. The waitress came by, he talked to her for a bit, then she left. What did you order? “Crab.” I know crab, but what? “You’ll see.” Eating has never failed to disappoint me here. Never. This was no exception.

First came the tiny side dishes. One of a crab meat and egg and maybe potato concoction. A dish of fresh kelp. A platter of boiled peanuts. And a plate of live things in shells. I’m not sure what. I’ve seen them in the ocean, but I don’t know what they are called. We used our chopsticks to poke its sluglike body then tug, tug, tug til it resistingly slid from its twisted shell. Dipped in a hot sauce, and popped into our mouths. Not bad. At that point, the waitress came over, laughing. We were doing it wrong. She picked up another shell and a spoon. She tapped the shell till it broke, leaving the sluglike animal exposed then used a dainty forklike utensil to pull it from its home. Sang Jae was all over it. He picked up the next shell and started tapping. “Baby, baby, ba-by….” I couldn’t stop laughing; he was enjoying this process so much.

No sooner than we had finished these treats did the main course arrive. I stared in amazement. There, on a platter, was the hugest crab I have ever seen. Huge. The legs were at least a good 12 to 18 inches long each. I watched as the waitress took scissors and began to cut the legs and other parts, placing them in front of me. I waited until she finished, then gingerly pulled some meat from a leg. It was so tender and flaky. I placed it in my mouth and it simply melted. It needed no accompaniment. No butter, no salt, no spices, no sauce. Just fresh, boiled crab. We ate in silence, picking as much of the tender meat as possible from the legs. A couple of times a scrap of crab meat would fly across the table from Sang Jae’s fork and land in my lap – I think we were both unaccustomed to using the scissors and poking materials placed before us. After we were done, I picked up a shell from a leg and examined it to make sure there was no meat left in it. Sang Jae laughed. “No more. Good?” Oh, soooooooo goooooood. So delicious. Thank you for bringing me here.

But our meal wasn’t over. The waitress took away the carnage we had created and replaced it with a small cauldron of spicy seafood soup. More small dishes arrived. Spinach, pickled radish, spicy squid, turnips, and a delicious crab, seaweed and rice mixture. We finished it all, then were brought small cups of instant coffee. We sat looking over the sea. Happy? I asked Sang Jae. “Oh, yes. So happy. This was delicious.” I think so, too. “But you scare me.” What? What are you talking about? “Crab come. You so serious. I never see you not smile. So serious. I not know you like crab so much. You scare me.” We laughed. “Ke kong joo.” Did you just call me a dog princess? He laughed. “No. No. Crab princess. You, princess of crabs. I think, 100 years before, you crab. That why you love so much.” Yes. You are right.

We got back into the car. Sang Jae, I think we should drive down the coast to Pohang, then cut across to Daegu. I think it will be faster than going back through the mountains. “No. No. Back same way.” Okay…. He looked at the map for a while. I was navigating through the narrow streets lined with crab. Annyong hi kay ship shay yo, beautiful crabs! I love you! He laughed. “Lori, go this way. Let’s go Pohang. Then take Expressway to Daegu.” I stared at him. I know I said that last sentence out loud. It makes me wonder how much of communication is really understood. I decided not to argue. Good idea.

An hour and a half later we were back in Daegu. Perfect day. This was a perfect day. Thank you. “Really?” Of course! We went for a drive, we saw the mountains, we ate crab, we saw a beautiful sunset on the way home, what else could we ask for? “I think, I think the USA people know how to enjoy leisure time. I think that is good.” Yes, it is. Yes, it is.

The Crunchy Bugs

I’ve been noticing there is an increasing number of tiny, slow moving, black bugs that crunch when I kill them in my apartment. Which is quite curious, because since discovering that I have a screen on my “porch” I’ve religiously made sure it’s closed, especially when the sliding doors are open. Where are these critters coming from? I’ve never seen anything quite like them. They seem to have wings, but don’t fly. They slowly wander across my floor, and don’t scurry when I swoop down to kill them. I almost feel bad killing them, they’re not even trying to escape death.

Tonight, when I returned home from school, I noticed quite a few on the floor. What are these things? I then spied a few clinging to the side of the refrigerator. Hmmm. I pulled a chair to the side of the refrigerator. Oh, my god! They were slowly swarming around a black plastic bag on top of the refrigerator. I squealed and jumped off the chair. Ugh!

Armed with a roll of paper towels, I climbed back on the chair and started squishing. What was in the bag? Oh…. I remember now. I buy my rice and beans from a lady on the corner who sells them from large buckets. She measures out a square box and pours the contents into a flimsy black plastic bag. I don’t have any containers in my house, so I usually just throw the bags on top of the refrigerator. I go through the rice fairly quickly (I’m averaging about 3 kilograms a week now), but I guess the beans have been there for a bit longer. Long enough to allow critters to spontaneously procreate.

Tomorrow’s sole goal. Tupperware.

New Photos! of my trips to Andong and Katbawi…