I Will Be There…

One of my favorite mindless pastimes is going into stationery stores here. There is always a section with paper, envelopes, and cards with English sayings on them. And they *almost* make sense. But there is usually a misspelling, or a thought, that just makes it not quite right. Here’s my latest favorite:

“You won’t remember when this is blown over. And everythings all by thy way when I get older I will be there at your side to remind you.”

The ultimate stalker stationery.

The Road Trip

I was scheduled to pick up the rental car at 9:00 am at, where else, DongA Department Store. My life revolves around a department store. At 8:30 am my partner in crime knocked on my door and said he wasn’t going. Ohhh. Hmmm. Decision time. Do I still get the car and drive the two hours by myself? In a country where I’ve never driven and can barely read the signs? Or just not show up to meet the rental car agent and head to the train station? Oh, I can’t just not show up. I made a commitment. Off to DongA I went.

The Vehicle

And there, a big, black, shiny car was waiting for me. I looked at the rental agent. This? For me? This was a serious car. Huge. A parental car. With leather seats. How much am I paying? She just smiled. “Yes, yes. Show me your license, sign the papers, okay, it’s yours.” But, how do I get to Andong? Is there a map somewhere? “I’ll drive you to the highway entrance, then follow the signs. BukDaegu to JoongAng, second Andong exit. Very easy.” Okay, that sounds like a recipe for disaster to me, but what other choice do I have? She drove the car to an interchange I had passed before, smiled, then quickly got into her partner’s car waiting behind us. I slid over to the driver’s seat. Hmmm. Okay. Let me get everything in place before pulling into traffic. Seat adjusted back. Rear view mirrors just so. Radio station tuned to Korean music, not talk show. Coins for tolls. Water bottle by my side. Sunglasses on seat beside me. Deep breath. I can do this. I’ve driven before. It can’t be that difficult.

I found the BukDaegu highway, no problem. I was starting to feel very confident. Road trip! Then, whizzing by me, were the signs for JoongAng Expressway. Oh. That’s bad. How do I get back there? I tried getting off at the next exit, and circling around. They don’t do cloverleaves here. I ended up right back on the same highway I had just exited. But, I saw signs for Andong. I’ll just follow those.

The Roads

I think I took the back roads. Small, two lane roads shared with tractors and carts. But I didn’t mind. I was enjoying the scenery, wondering what was growing in the fields I passed, watching cities dissolve into towns dissolve into villages dissolve into bare land. Sure enough, after a couple of hours I entered Andong. Then it hit me. What now? I’m here – but where do I go? I know what I want to see, but I don’t have any maps. I looked around. I was on one side of a river. It appeared that the other side of the river was more developed. I turned onto the next bridge I saw and crossed over to the other side. And sure enough, there was a sign. Pointing to the Andong Folk Museum, one of my intended destinations. I followed the signs, turning here, turning there. Oh, look. There’s the dam. Another thing I wanted to see. This is great. I feel like I’m on one of those rides at DisneyWorld where you’re driving, but on a pre-set course.

The Folk Museum

I pulled into the almost empty parking lot at the museum. I parked the car and started walking towards the museum. There was a huge “tourist map of Andong” posted beside the entrance. I read it – picked out a few things I wanted to see, and continued to the museum. There, on the grass, were at least 60 kindergartners, all dressed in matching bright yellow sweatsuits. My first thought was of dozens of baby chicks, darting this way and that. The teachers/adults stood nearby, talking amongst themselves, glancing at the children every now and then. A few spotted me, pointed, and echoes of “Hell-looo” came forth. I smiled, waved, and said Hello back. I reached the door to the museum. “Ticket?” Op-sayo. Al-ma-ee-yo? (I don’t have one – how much?) “O peck won.” Hmmm. Five, five, five hundred won? 35 cents? No, that can’t be right. It must be five thousand won. I started pulling out 1,000 won bills and the lady shook her head. She took one of the bills and ran away. Out the front door and down the sidewalk.

I stood there alone for a moment, then shrugged and made my way into the museum. The museum was a series of still lifes from an era long past. Praying for the birth of a son, Childbirth customs, Coming of age ceremony, Wedding ceremony, 60th birthday celebration, Funeral traditions, Ancestral worship, Costumes, Food, Housing, Education, Folk Plays, Games, it was all there. Long, detailed descriptions in Korean, a sentence or two in English. I was impressed by the thoroughness of the exhibit, the organization, and the fact that there was so much information in English. My favorite description was this: “Andong soju has been designated as Local Cultural Asset No. 12 (distiller: Mrs. Cho Ok Hwa) in an effort to preserve the know-how which goes into producing this popular drink.” I pondered to myself, hmmmm, if San Francisco were to designate Local Cultural Assets, what would they be?

I started up the stairs to view the second floor of the exhibit. The front desk clerk came running after me. It turns out I had completely bypassed the ticket booth on the way in, so that’s where she disappeared to earlier. She handed me my ticket, my change, and some pumpkin candy. I’m so often amazed at the consistent high level of service here.

I left the museum and noticed there weren’t only more cars in the parking lot, but buses as well. Many tour buses. I walked to the outdoor section of the museum, a park that contained various examples of houses and buildings. I noticed groups and groups of people picnicking: senior citizens, high school boys, more high school boys, and still more high school boys, all dressed in matching navy blazers and black dress pants. I prepared myself. It’s one thing when little people no higher than my waist call out “hello” but quite another when I’m surrounded by teenage boys, shouting “Hello! What’s your name? Where are you from? Are you married? How old are you? Do you have a boyfriend? Why are you here?” I realize these are not intended as personal questions, they are fairly standard basic vocabulary from any beginning language course. But when they are being hurled at you, from all directions, from at least a dozen boys at once, it’s somewhat intimidating. I smiled, and tried to calmly answer their inquisitions. I’m not sure if anyone has actually answered them before, or maybe they really don’t see that many foreigners. But as soon as I spoke, I heard choruses of, “Oh, my god!” and “Oooooooos.”

They headed in one direction to eat their lunches, I headed in another to explore the recreated “village.” After poking around for a few minutes, I headed back to the car. I still can’t believe I’m driving such an adult-mobile. This shouldn’t surprise me. I guess technically I am an adult. But I don’t feel responsible enough to be driving such a “real” car. I feel like I’m merely acting like an adult for the day.

I could take the road I came in on. But there’s another one. The opposite direction. Let me see where that goes.

On The Set

I follow the winding road up further and further. After several kilometers I’m at a parking lot. There’s a big building, some smaller food stands, and a path. And more tour buses. I get out and explore. The big building is just that. A big building of offices. I walk in and am greeted by many surprised faces staring up from their desks. I smile, turn around and quickly walk back out. I meander down the path. I’m on the set of a popular tv series, “King Wanggeon.” I’ve never actually seen the series, but I’ve heard my students talk about it. After taking several moments to sound out the Korean characters, I recognize the name of the series. There are houses, boats, and various other ancient looking artifacts. I snap a few pictures then I’m back in the car.

The Pagoda

I wind my way back down the road, then follow the brown signs. I don’t know what they say (I can’t decipher the Korean in the few seconds before I pass by them), but I think I’ve figured out that brown means something neat to see. At least someone thought it would be neat. My next stop is a 7 story brick pagoda. That’s all. Really nothing more to add.

Hahoe Mask Museum

Back on the road, I see signs for Hahoe. I’ve heard there’s a village there, so I follow those brown signs. Less than an hour later, I’m at the Hahoe Mask Museum. As I pull up, I think it might be closed. There are no other vehicles in the parking lot. The building looks dark. Well, I’ll try anyway. I go to the door, and sure enough, it’s open. I enter, pay the 1,200 won admission fee, and start wandering. Walls and walls of masks. It’s overwhelming how many eyes are staring at me. The signage is all in Korean, but there are a few English translations in the brochure I was given. Evidently there are 12 masks that are indigenous to the Hahoe mask dance (but three have disappeared). The remaining players are the Bride (“with a tiny mouth indicating that she should not talk much”), the Aristocrat, the Flirtatious Young Woman (“with an oval face and high nose, she plays the role of professional entertainer or concubine”), the Butcher (“when the head is tilted backwards, the mask forms an insane smile, and the butcher come to get crazy with guilt feeling”), the Old Widow, the Foolish Person, the Scholar, the Scatterbrained Meddler, and the Fallen Buddhist Monk. The acts are as follows (my summary from various pamphlets and signage at the museum – accuracy not guaranteed):

I – the Bride (seen as a local goddess) enters. Everyone prays for peace and an abundant harvest.

II – A male and female lion fight. The female wins. This is good. The village will have a good harvest.

III – The butcher kills a bull, slicing out its heart and testicles and offering them for sale with these words, “Fancy not knowing the value of a fresh bull heart. How about testicles, then? Surely you must know what they are good for?”

IV – The old widow weaves and dances, asking the audience for donations.

V – The flirtatious young women dances, then relieves herself. The monk walks by. “You have aroused me by showing me your private parts and letting me smell your urine.” They escape to the bushes together. Scandal!

VI – The aristocrat and scholar argue, trying to outsmart each other. The butcher offers them the testicles. When they learn it will increase their sexual energy, they argue over who will have the honor of purchasing them. The widow mediates. Everyone dances.

The End

I want to see this play. It has everything. Power, intrigue, corruption, happy ending.

As I’m wandering around the “visiting exhibit” of masks on the second floor, I hear a commotion. A tour bus of elderly people have entered the museum. I feel like I’m just one step ahead of the tour operators today. I quickly scan the masks and leave.

Hahoe Maeul

Another brown sign! I follow it. Oh. A fork in the road. And two brown signs. Which to do first? Right. Always go right. I follow that road and minutes later arrive at Hahoe Maeul – a 16th century Korean town. This is where Queen Elizabeth celebrated a birthday. I’m not sure which one. But there is an entire building dedicated to her visit. The chair that she sat in. The desk she signed a letter on. A replica of the table of food presented to her. And huge, life size pictures everywhere.

I wander through the village. The village is unique in that it rests in the bend of a river. All houses and buildings face outwards from the center of the village to face the river and the majestic cliffs on the opposite side. I walked through some houses open to the public and walked past private residences. I viewed letters dated from the 1500s written in beautiful Chinese script from King Sonjo to his Prime Minister Ryu Song-ryong (who lived in Hahoe). Saw cases containing armor, hats, shoes from the same time period. Walked along the river. Groves of pine trees provide shade on the hot day. I pass a playground. A mother is swinging on a traditional swing, standing on the seat, going higher, higher, higher, until her toddler, still on the ground, cries for her to stop. Middle school boys are playing on a version of a seesaw where one jumps on one end, trying to topple the boy on the other end.

As I am leaving, I realize, once again, I haven’t eaten. An elderly lady is selling something, white cubes. I’m guessing it’s candy. She offers me a piece. I pop it into my mouth, as I do, realizing it’s very, very, tacky. Sticky. Not easily chewable. But it has a good flavor, so I point to a small package and ask how much. 1,000 won. I hand her the bill, she puts the package in a bag, then grabs a handful of loose candy and throws it in the bag as well. I smile and thank her.

Back in the car, I’m trying to figure out how many more places I can see before everything closes. I still don’t know standard working hours here. Do tourist places even have standard hours? The flowers on the side of the road grab my attention. The colors are so bright they appear fake. Incredibly hot, hot pinks. Ultrabright yellows. Outrageous purples. The colors remind me of a set of fluorescent crayons I had when I was a child. As I’m driving, admiring the flowers, something else catches my eye.

The Protectors

The big, carved from tree trunks, totem pole-esque creatures that usually are seen in front of a public building. I’ve seen them in front of schools, at mountain lodges, in front of government buildings. But here, oh my god, there was literally a forest of them. Hundreds and hundreds of them, ranging from three feet to 20 feet tall. There is a parking lot and a small building. I park the car (again, the only one) and start to wander through the protectors. Some of the faces are humorous (in a twisted sort of way), others are downright evil looking. Which is good, I guess, since their purpose is to scare off evil spirits.

I walk into the building. It’s a workshop and a pseudo gift shop. There are a couple of people in there who appear to be employees. They ignore me and let me snoop around in peace. One wall is covered with magazine articles and newspaper clippings. It seems that this is the workshop of the master carver of the protectors. I begin to read what I can. There are newspapers from all over the world, most highlighting Queen Elizabeth’s visit. A picture of the Queen and the woodcarver was prominently in each. Just then, a door opens, and *he* walks out. The woodcarver. His long, graying hair tied in a knot on top of his head. His loose white shirt not hiding his incredibly defined arms. I look at him, then look at the pictures on the wall. It’s the same man. I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does. He smiles and offers “Annyong Ha-sayo.” I return the greeting. He hands me pamphlets, some in English, some in Korean, about his work. About the mask dances.

He motions for me to follow him outside. We walk through the protectors, him explaining about them (in Korean), me smiling and nodding, not understanding most of it. I point to one I really, really like. That I think a friend at home would like. I think I ask him if I could have a smaller version made. I use a lot of body language as well. It seems as though he interprets it as I want the regular size one, but in a short period of time. He starts to lift it. Oh, no, no, no. I laugh. I can just see me carrying a 6 foot wooden statue to the post office. Could you wrap this and send it first class please? Probably would be cheaper to buy it a plane ticket.

Byoengsang Seowan

We go back in the shop and he returns to his workshop. I purchase a couple of souvenirs then jump back in the car. I follow the road back to the fork. I go right again. I think I’m going to a traditional ancient Chinese school, a soewan. I follow the road, which turns from two lane to one lane. Then from asphalt to dirt. Then from a road to more of an overgrown path. Did I miss something? Is this still the right way? Sure enough, there ahead is another brown sign. I continue. About 5 kilometers later there is the soewan. I enter and walk around. There is no one else present. I look out to the river, admiring the foliage. It’s a beautiful, peaceful setting. There really isn’t much to see, just a couple of buildings, so I walk around the grounds one last time then head back to the car.

I’m relieved when I get back on a real road. The rental car is definitely not made for off-road driving. I haven’t seen any other people in over an hour and am not sure what I would do if I somehow wrecked the car or rendered it inoperable.

Bongjeongsa

As I’m driving along the road, I see the signs for Daegu, for the Joongang Expressway. Hey, that’s what I was supposed to take to get here! I pull onto it and accelerate. It’s not long before I see an exit and another brown sign. Oh, just one more stop. Then I’ll go home. I see the syllable “sa” at the end of the sign, so I know I’m headed to a temple. I follow the road for about 30 minutes. The road ends. I look around. There’s a parking lot. So I park the car. But I don’t see a temple. Or the entrance to a temple. I get out and just start walking. It’s almost dusk. I do see a bathroom, so I head there. As I’m exiting, almost by magic, I see a path. I start to walk up it and hear someone yelling, presumably at me. I’ve unintentionally bypassed the ticket booth again. How do I keep doing this?

I return, pay the admission fee, and start up the path again. I’m surrounded by a dense forest. There is just a trace of sunlight left. Various birds and insects are calling to one another. After about 15 minutes of climbing, I reach the temple and it is under renovation. Oh. The main hall is still open, so I enter and sit down before the Buddhas. I reflect on the day, on my time here, enjoy just being there. Just being.

After a while a monk comes in and collects the bags of rice that have been left as donations throughout the day. She turns on some lights, then leaves quietly. I follow her out. I start back down the path, humming to myself. Then it hits me. It’s almost dark. I don’t see well in the dark. I especially don’t like to drive in the dark. How could this have slipped my mind? I pick up my pace and reach the car in minutes. By the time I reach the Expressway, it’s dark. Interesting thing here, headlights are rarely used. It’s considered rude. It will hurt the eyes of the driver in front of you. Surprisingly, though, it’s not that difficult to drive without headlights. You really do adjust.

I can’t get over the apparent contradictions in this society. The service I receive in stores and in restaurants is amazing – absolutely outstanding. Then there are these incredibly polite cultural behaviors, such as don’t use your headlights, it might hurt someone else’s eyes. Yet, I have never been pushed and jostled more than I have since living here. People are constantly bumping into me and pushing me aside. Or pointing and staring. It’s not acceptable to blow your nose in public, yet it’s perfectly okay to spit or burp. I know these are the things that make each culture unique, but I just haven’t figured it out yet.

Back in Daegu

Driving on the Expressway, it only takes me 40 minutes to reach Daegu. I can’t believe it. This morning it was a 2 hour trip to Andong. I’m feeling pretty good when I realize I don’t know how to get back to my part of town. I know I’m not there. I think I know the general direction. I don’t even know how to stop and ask directions (note to self – good phrase to learn – which way to….). So I drive. And drive. And drive. And see many of the same things two or three times. I know I’m going in circles, but I’m not sure how to stop. An hour and a half later I arrive to my friendly little neighborhood.

I drive up and down the alleys (because they really are not streets) looking for a parking place. Again, a wave of panic sweeps over me. What if I park the car in a no-parking zone? I mean, there aren’t any signs posted, but what if it’s something that is just assumed that everyone knows. Like, you’re supposed to separate your trash into trash, recyclables, and food scraps (all in separate bags) before throwing it out (which no one told me for the first 3 months I lived here). The rental agent wasn’t coming to retrieve the car until morning. Should I place a big sign in the window that says “Wegug saram” (foreigner) and hope that if I am parked illegally they’ll take pity on me?

I decide I can’t worry about it. I’m tired. I’ve had a full day. I use my most excellent parallel parking skills (thank you, San Francisco) to fit into a spot in front of the local elementary school. I carry my belongings into my apartment, and spread all my pamphlets on the bed. I saw a lot today. All good.

Picture This…

A sunny day in the park. Four benches, two and two, set perpendicular to each other.

Bench one: a screaming elderly man, eating choco-pies and attempting to drink soju. The soju bottle would slowly waver up to his lips as he shouted obscenities and other loud things, then come closer, closer, closer to his lips, tilt, then liquid would cascade down his cheeks, maybe dribbling into his mouth, maybe streaming through days of stubble down to a tattered shirt. Each time a passerby walked in the vicinity, he addressed the loud utterances to them, mumbling, slurring, eventually returning his attention to the bottle of soju.

Bench two: empty

Bench three: Me. Dressed in my conservative school uniform. Gray respectable length skirt, black pumps, black blazer, hair twisted up. Reading a book while waiting to meet a friend.

Bench four: Two thirty-something moms. Chatting quietly while their toddlers played in the sandbox.

I’m enjoying my book, despite the raucous one bench away. All of the sudden I feel it. The presence of someone’s eyes on me. I’m hesitant to look up, thinking it may be the drunk. I can’t stand it. I have to know. I glance up. The toddlers have stopped about three feet in front of me. They are staring open mouthed. When they see me look up, they run to their mothers, who cuddle them and cluck.

Have I missed something here? How is it that I, sitting quietly and minding my own business, attract more attention than the obnoxious drunk?

“Your Eyes Light Up…”

This is what my friend Sang Jae said to me. We were discussing some of the problems at my school. I was trying not to become frustrated. He asked me, “Hungry?” I thought for a moment. Yeah. I am. Want to come over? I’ll fix us grilled cheese! “You always say green cheese. What this green cheese?” First, it’s *grilled* cheese, not green. And it’s so delicious. Ma-chi-tta. Really. “I will try. Only because your eyes light up when you say this green cheese.”

As I was preparing our sandwiches, these thoughts struck me. This is a country where rice, not bread, is a staple. Dairy products are few and far between. Heck, it took me weeks to even locate cheese slices. Would he think grilled cheese is as wonderful as I think it is? Would he understand this is what moms fix their children on rainy days? Would he understand why my eyes light up?

I grilled the sandwiches, cut them into perfect triangles, and garnished the plates with strawberries and orange slices. I reluctantly handed him the plate. Careful, it’s still hot. I watched with anticipation as he gingerly took his first bite. He chewed, then looked up at me. The moment of truth.

“Sooooo goooooooooood.”

Maybe there really are universals.

“They will enjoy it instead of Coke”

Daniel sent me this link today. It got me thinking. They really need a marketer. I mean, “dog meat juice” just doesn’t sound appealing. Even if it is free. Even if it is tasty. I tried translating it into other languages to see if it sounds more appetizing. Kay ko-gee choos-sa. Jugo del perro. Hund fleisch saft. Il succo di carne di cane. Nope. Still doesn’t work for me.

Lesson of The Day

Don’t bend over to blow out a candle after liberally applying hair spray. Especially if you have (had) long hair. Ouch.

Dreamin’

Last night I dreamt I was in DongA (the local shopping center/department store) and as I walked down the cleaning aisle, there was, no, could it be – Lysol! Lemon fresh scent!

As I walked through DongA today, I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or if it had really happened. Do I dare chance walking down the cleaning aisle? Could I find it? One thing I’ve noticed – they love to rearrange that store. Every time I go in there everything is in a different location. Everything. Today, the hair products were where the cleaning products once were. Which was good, because I needed hair spray, but still…

I found the cleaning products. I stood at the end of the aisle. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, opened my eyes wide, then began to walk, searching the shelves. Lysol? Lysol?

Alas, it really was but a dream. No Lysol to be found at DongA.

My Life Follows A Script

It really does. I suspected it. Now it’s been confirmed.

I was helping Sang Jae with an English paper. Correcting verb tenses, suggesting phrases. As it was printing, I picked up a plain paper covered book beside his computer. It was marked with several of those tiny, flimsy, brightly colored post-it note tabs. I started flipping through the book. I’m nosy. I am. I want to know something about everything.

It was a phrase book. Korean on the odd pages, English on the evens. Situational phrases. Job Interviews, At the Airport, Relationships. Oh, this should be interesting. I started reading. Most conversations were four exchanges. I came to one. “I cannot marry you.” “But why?” “Because you are a foreigner. It would create too many problems.”

Oh, my god. I am a living ESL dialogue.

Yet Another Addition To The Resume…

Maybe it’s because I was always described as “smart.” Or maybe it’s that deep, deep-rooted desire to be Miss America. I don’t know. Today, I was nominated to be “Blog Babe of the Week.” I couldn’t have been more thrilled. I couldn’t have been more flattered.

I was hesitant to open the email when seeing the subject heading. Mr. Nam had warned me that there was a very dangerous computer virus that came out in Korea only on April 26. Was this the virus? Tempting me? But no, it was for real. Life is good.

Palgongsan Revisited

I love my days with Mr. Nam. I never know what to expect. Today was no exception.

He called me last night. “Miss Rori? How is your condition?” Hello, Mr. Nam. My condition is good. How is yours? “Good. Thank you. Climbing? Mountain? Tomorrow your holiday?” Yes, I’d love to go hiking tomorrow. It is my day off, so I don’t have to be back by any particular time. “Dr. Park come, too, okay?” Sure. Sounds good. “Tomorrow morning. Your house. 10 am? Maybe 10:15 am?” Okay. Just call me when you get here and I’ll come out. See you tomorrow. “Yayyyy.”

This morning he arrived alone. Where’s Dr. Park? Mr. Nam pointed to his cheek. “Reservation. Dentist.” Oh, he had a dentist appointment? “Yes. Had to keep. But Mr. Koo come with us, okay?” Sure. We pulled to the side of the busy road where Mr. Koo lives. Not exactly the side, just over a bit from the center lane. Mr. Nam has a driving style that is very, unique. Cars were zipping past, honking. Mr. Nam saw Mr. Koo in the rear view mirror. “Ahhhh – he comes.” Mr. Koo started to get in the back seat on the passenger’s side, but was blocked by a street post. As he began walking around the rear of the car, Mr. Nam put the car in reverse. Mr. Nam! Mr. Koo – there! and I pointed. “Ahhhh – yes.” Mr. Koo didn’t seem phased in the least that he had just about gotten run over. “Annyong ha-say-yo…”

On the way there, Mr. Nam and I talked in English, Mr. Koo and Mr. Nam talked in Korean. At one point, Mr. Nam asked me how much of their conversation I understood. I told him virtually none, just a few words here and there. As we got closer to Palgongsan, I noticed there were many brightly colored round lanterns hanging from trees and sign posts. What are those for? I’ve noticed them being hung all around town. “Buddha’s Birthday. May 19. Big, big celebration. Many people walk the road with lanterns. Good to see.”

We had almost reached Palgongsan when Mr. Nam’s phone rang. It was Dr. Park. His dentist had stood him up. He was angry. He would have rather been hiking with us. Mr. Nam suggested he meet us at the summit at Katbawi. He didn’t want to do that.

We were admiring the flowers along the road when Mr. Nam’s phone rang again. I could understand he was telling someone where we were. Then describing something at Palgongsan. But that was it. After he hung up he said, “Mr. Kim, other friend, meet us too. Okay?” This was turning into quite the expedition.

We reached the parking area. It was probably about half full. More than any other times I’d been there. Mr. Nam explained, “Today. After rain. Very, very clear. Many people climbing.” Of course. We had heavy rains this week, and it was true, the air this morning was incredibly crisp and fresh. Even though there were ample empty spaces in the sand parking lot, Mr. Nam chose a tight squeeze between two already parked cars, with people exiting from one. The elderly driver of the parked car stared at Mr. Nam as he inched his way forward in the sand, but he didn’t appear perturbed, and didn’t say anything.

Mr. Nam, Mr. Koo, and I got out of the car and started walking. “Coffee? We will wait for Mr. Kim.” Okay. Thank you. Mr. Koo got three coffees from the vending machine (it’s scary how fond I’ve grown of this concoction) and we sat and sipped, the two men smoking as well. We finished and Mr. Nam started walking again. But, don’t we need to wait for Mr. Kim? “Yes. Yes. This way.” We walked to the bus stop near the park entrance. This made no sense to me, but I didn’t say anything. I figured someone would eventually tell me the plan. I just needed to wait.

I’m beginning to think my time in Korea is a lesson for me. A lesson in accepting things as they come to me, trusting that everything will work out. In San Francisco I was an advance planner. Not obsessively so, but I usually had my weekend plans cemented by Tuesday. Here, I’m learning to be more in the moment.

And sure enough, a few minutes later Mr. Nam told me that Mr. Kim was coming to pick us up and drive us to the Katbawi entrance. This still didn’t make sense to me, but I accepted it. I had stooped down to tie my shoelaces tighter when I heard Mr. Nam say, “Mr. Kim, mania for climbing. Today, hike 10 hours. Tie your laces tight. Hahahahaha.” I glanced up at him. Okay and smiled. This made him laugh even more. I think I’m beginning to recognize his sense of humor. Though I wonder. Some of the things he says are, well, odd. Is this a function of his personality, or his language ability? Because I’m sure my personality doesn’t come across accurately when I speak Korean. I just don’t know enough vocabulary.

Within minutes, Mr. Kim approached in a SUV. We all hopped in and he sped off, up the winding mountain road. His driving style couldn’t have been more the antithesis of Mr. Nam’s. Mr. Nam drives somewhat slowly, ignoring most other cars on the road to do what he wants – stopping in the road, crossing lanes, turning across traffic, but he never has an accident. Mr. Kim, on the other hand, raced as quickly as he could, throwing us from side to side of the car as he careened around the sharp curves. Sudden stops and instant acceleration accompanied the sharp turns.

We reached the parking lot and he continued past it, up, up, up farther. To the parking lots of the restaurants and souvenir shops. Now, back in the States they’d tow you if you parked somewhere without being a patron, but again, I figured I needed to just go with it. We got out of the car and began our trek. Lots of people were on the path. Mr. Nam explained Katbawi was a very famous spot. Many people trekked there to pray to the Buddha atop the mountain. “Kat” translates to “traditional Korean hat” and “bawi” to stone. The Buddha is wearing a flat stone hat. It is believed that people who reach the Buddha will have one wish granted.

We had hiked for maybe 20 minutes when we reached a small temple. We walked around, looking at this building, that pagoda, drank some spring water, then continued. We passed a sign that read “Katbawi – 900 meters.” Wow. That was quick. Or so I thought. The last 900 meters was all uneven stone steps. Have you ever tried to climb a kilometer? It’s hard.

I knew we were nearing the Buddha when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, vendors appeared. Coffee, Buddhist bracelets, back scratchers, candies, sodas. Mr. Nam stopped to buy some candy. He said it was pumpkin candy, but I’m not sure. All I know is that the vendor had to use a hammer to coax the knife through the block of sweetness, as a sculptor uses a hammer and chisel to create his masterpiece. And I’m supposed to eat this? I put a piece in my mouth and it immediately stuck to my teeth, without me even chewing. I let it sit there, gently sucking on it, figuring eventually I would be able to chew it.

We reached the summit. Wow. Not what I expected. A stone plaza, with a hundred or so prayer mats closely arranged. Almost every one occupied by someone praying, arms out, together, kneel, arms down, hands opened, back up again. Metal pipes creating a sort of scaffolding. A food stand. A cart with incense burning. But where was Buddha? Mr. Nam told me to follow him. We walked behind the people praying and there was Buddha. Nestled into the rocks. I started to take a picture, but couldn’t get one without the scaffolding in the way. Mr. Nam grabbed my arm and led me in front of the people praying. I tried to resist. I don’t think it’s proper to stand between someone praying and what they’re praying to. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” I quickly snapped a couple of photos and scurried off to the side. The pumpkin candy was finally soft enough to chew. Mr. Nam, what is all the scaffolding for? “I told you, Buddha’s birthday.” I gave him a blank look. “For lanterns. Everywhere – lanterns. For Buddha’s birthday.”

We started down the path on the other side of Buddha. There was a sign, in both Korean and English, explaining the history of this Buddha. Mr. Nam turned to me, “I wrote this. English. Just for you.” I laughed. We descended many steps, to a small temple. “We eat lunch-che, here.” We took off our shoes and entered a long dining hall. Mr. Nam and I sat at the narrow, low tables; Mr. Koo and Mr. Kim stood in line for our lunch. They returned with two trays. A bowl of rice and a bowl of soup for everyone. And two small dishes of “mu” – the tart pickled turnip that I love so much. I began to eat the soup. I had eaten a couple of bites of rice when Mr. Nam said, “If you don’t like, you leave.” No, I like it very much. I looked around. The men were already finished. I hastily finished my meal, then picked up a piece of mu to eat. I had just put it into my mouth as Mr. Nam started to say something. I bit into it. Ugh! It was like eating a cube of salt. Mr. Nam said, “I think not good.” Yes, I think you’re right.

We began our hike again. We continued along a different path, one on which we were the only hikers. The path narrowed until I could barely fit my boots on it. I grabbed onto trees, trying to keep from sliding down the mountain. I looked up. Mr. Nam was disappearing over huge boulders. For 30 minutes I oscillated between hating being on such a treacherous trail and marvelling at the beautiful sights. Green. So much green. Sprigs of new grass. Fresh leaves on the trees. Buds of flowers just opening. A blossom here, a stream there.

Every now and then we would stop and look at the view. At one point we could see Daegu in the distance. At another we could see ranges and ranges of rolling green mountains. So different from when I visited just last month. Then, bare and gray. Now, every shade of green imaginable, light, medium, dark. I stared in awe. We continued. We reached a clearing. Mr. Nam explained it was for “119” emergency helicopter landings, in case a hiker had an accident while climbing. “Mr. Kim called 119 for you.” I looked at him quizzically. “Helicopter take you NC to visit parents.” And we laughed.

We were hiking along at quite the clip when Mr. Kim disappeared off the trail. Mr. Nam called to me. “This way.” But, where are we going? This doesn’t look like the trail. “Bett-a trail. To Dong-hwa-sa.” Mr. Kim hikes like he drives, so he and Mr. Koo were out of sight in no time. Mr. Nam and I continued along the makeshift trail, stopping to identify flowers, look at trees. We had been hiking for about 3 hours when the trail divided into three separate trails. He looked at me, I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. We tried one trail. After going a few feet Mr. Nam stopped and said, “Maybe this not right. Maybe we try another.” We turned around and tried another trail. Soon we could see Dong-hwa-sa temple, we were approaching it from behind. As we got closer, Mr. Nam turned around to me, crouched low, and said, “Be vel-ly quiet…” Immediately, “We’re hunting wabbits…” ran through my head. I giggled to myself and tiptoed along the path. We arrived to the gated area where the monks study. A big sign hung on the gate. What’s that say, Mr. Nam? “Keep out.” Oh. “Maybe we’ll go this way.” I followed him.

We wound around, farther away from the temple. He started mentioning his favorite songs, Smoke On The Water, Hotel California, and Steps to the Sky. What? I’m not familiar with that last one. He started to hum. Oh, Stairway To Heaven. “Yes-sa! Yes-sa! So good.” We came to a stream. It appeared we were at the end of our path, but not yet to our destination. We looked around. We climbed over some rocks and saw the bridge near the temple. Look, Mr. Nam – we’re there! But when we looked closer we were met by spirals and spirals of barbed wire, preventing us from accessing the bridge. “Don’t go there.” Okay. I started to turn around then heard, “Rori – come this way,” and he was headed to the exact spot he just told me not to go to. I smiled.

We approached the bridge. He carefully moved one spiral of barbed wire, leaving just enough room for us to step on one of the bridge supports. We then clung to the stone bridge rails, walking along a large pipe, until we reached a spot to safely (?) climb over the railing. It felt strange, sneaking onto temple grounds. But, with Mr. Nam, anything is a possibility. We casually walked to the main hall and saw many people dressed in period dress. What are they doing? “Oh, traditional dance. Perform.” Everyday? “Maybe.” We walked a bit farther and saw camera crews. Mr. Nam laughed then said, “I called KBS and said you come Palgongsan. They ready interview you.” I giggled.

We eventually met up with the two others and returned to Mr. Nam’s car. From there we drove to Mr. Kim’s car. Ahhhh, it makes sense now. In the car, Mr. Nam calculated we had hiked 12 kilometers. “Next time, 18 kilometers.” Okay. Sounds good. The men laughed like crazy. I thought they were serious. I guess it was yet another joke.

We reached Mr. Kim’s car. Mr. Nam turned off his engine. “Pancake?” Oh, yes! One of my favorite dishes here, pa-jeon. A thin egg and flour pancake usually with lots of green onions, carrots and squid in it. Delicious! We entered the restaurant, took off our shoes and sat down. Within moments the pa-jeon and a platter of tofu and spicy parsley had arrived. I savored each bite, ohhhh, so good. I made a mental note to find out how to make this from one of the moms.

After our snack we got in the cars to go home. “I think, I think, you look sleepy. Rest, Rori.” The perfect end to a perfect day.