“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.

Shopping

I am not a one-stop shopper anymore. I used to be. I used to prize convenience above anything else. But now, I’ve established relationships with vendors. Not very deep ones, but enough so that they will smile as I approach them, and usually throw in an extra something something after weighing my intended purchase. I buy my rice and eggs from the lady on one corner (whose daughters always rollerblade in the street and say “Hell-llllo” as I pass), my fruit from an old man outside the video store, my vegetables from the old women outside the bank, and my liquids from the corner store less than a block from my home. Even though beverages are more expensive there, it’s worth it not to have to carry them very far.

The elderly man who sits behind the counter is perplexed, though. He’s never seen me buy solid food. I stop in about every other day, usually purchasing two or three bottles of water, plum juice, orange juice, “refreshing water” or soda. And everyday, as he calculates how much I owe, he laughs and says, “You! Wa-tah pa-ty!” and laughs hysterically. At first, I didn’t understand. I guess I still don’t. But now I laugh along with him.

Beggars Can’t Be Choosers

It’s amazing how the smallest tasks can render me paralyzed from ignorance. Completely unable to function. I have now been living in Korea for four months. I have been collecting small gifts for people over those months. A postcard here, a trinket there, a souvenir. I’ve been meaning to send them, but… well, somehow they always end up in a pile in the corner of the Pink Palace.

Upon realizing I *still* had not mailed Emily’s birthday present (her birthday was in *January*), I decided it was time to act. What has deterred me from mailing these things you might ask. A simple answer: I don’t know where to buy packing materials. Envelopes, tape, boxes, normal stationery store supplies. My stationery store here carries 412 different varieties of Hello Kitty pens and pencils, but no mailing envelopes.

Every time I’m out shopping, I glance around, thinking I’ll find packing materials in the most random place. That’s how I normally discover things here. To no avail. I asked the Korean staff at school. “Stationery store.” Okay, maybe I overlooked them. Back down to the stationery store. I searched every aisle. I tried to ask, and was met by confused looks. I found something that resembled mailing envelopes, but they were quite thin. They were brown, though. Brown usually indicates it’s acceptable for postal use. So I bought them. Lots of them. I figured I would double, or triple, them if necessary.

But what about boxes? No luck. So I started searching alleys. There is a sporting goods store near the school. There were a few shoe boxes behind the store. I surreptitiously glanced around, didn’t see anyone, picked up a few boxes and casually walked away. Someone once told me you’ll never get caught doing something if you act like you’re supposed to be doing it. So I acted as if carrying discarded tennis shoe boxes was the most normal thing in the world.

Back in the Pink Palace Operation Mail Korea began. I spread out the items and began constructing mailing containers, using rolls of scotch tape, cardboard from the boxes, and leftover bubble wrap from my packing of fragile items on my journey here. And postcards. I didn’t realize how many postcards I’d bought, and intended to send, since I’ve arrived.

I loaded everything into a bag – boxes, envelopes, stacks of postcards – and headed to the post office. As I locked my door, I remembered my bills. I bolted inside, gathered my bills, and made my way to my final destination. I entered; there was no line. I took a number anyway. The clerk called me to the counter. I handed her my bills first, then the stack of 50 or so postcards, then the boxes. She gave me a look as if to say, “It’s bad enough I have to deal with someone who butchers my language, but this????” I smiled. She started counting, punching numbers into her calculator, weighing boxes, instructing me to complete customs forms, checking weight charts, then when it was all done, handed me a piece of paper with a number on it. Good god. I didn’t realize I could spend so much at the post office. But then I subtracted my bills, divided by four (for the amount of time I’ve procrastinated) and decided it wasn’t so unreasonable after all.

I paid her the money, exact change. I was putting my receipts into my bag when she called for my attention. I looked up. She handed me a box. Oh, no, this isn’t mine, I started to explain. “Service-a. Service-a.” What? I get a free gift at the post office? No way. It was even wrapped.

Once home, I shook the box. Hmmm. If I was a post office, and wanted to give a free gift to customers, what would I give? Stationery would be the obvious choice. Or pens. Or pencils. Something to encourage customers to use more of my services. But it didn’t feel like any of those things. Hmmmm. It was fairly heavy. Maybe spam? I’ve seen many gift sets of spam lately. No, not heavy enough for that. Candy? Maybe. I finally couldn’t wait any longer. I tore off the paper.

Soap. Three bars of peach flavored (? – can something be flavored if it’s not intended to be eaten?) soap. Whitening soap. To make my skin even whiter than it currently is. Just what I need. Well, it was free. And it smells kind of nice…

The Argument

I was writing peacefully today, practicing the Chinese character for “goodness of the heart.” All of a sudden, the grandfathers were in my room in the art studio, arguing back and forth. I stopped, looked up, turned around on my stool and watched. Korean, Korean, Korean back and forth. Louder and louder. One would say something, grab someone’s work, and write a character on it. I couldn’t figure out what they were so passionate about.

After about 7 or 8 minutes, Mr. Lee turned to me. He was quite flustered. “Chon-ha!” Chon-ha, chon-ha, chon-ha, chon-ha. Mentally I went over all the words I know. That wasn’t one of them. Mola-yo. I don’t know. “Chon-ha. King. Chon – big palace. Chon-ha, person who lives in palace. King.” Okay. “Old times. In court. People appeared before king, bowed, said, Chon-ha! King. King’s words were law. Words from king’s lips law.” Okay. “Now. Misuse. All the time. People call generals, important people, Chon-ha. This is wrong. Must stop.” Okay. “Must tell people, not say Chon-ha. Only for king.”

At this I pondered. Is he appointing me the messiah of this message? Because I really think that there could be a more effective choice. Namely, anyone but me. I looked around. They were all staring at me. Okay. And with that utterance, everyone calmly returned to their work tables, once again concentrating on the Chinese characters in front of them…

“But, How…

…do you learn so-yae if teacher doesn’t speak English? Because you not *really* speak Korean,” a Korean friend asked me.

Well, I understand enough Korean phrases. Like, well, Ee-row-kay. Like this. And he shows me what to do. And if I do it wrong, he says, Ani-o. No. Or, if I do it right, he says, Cho-ha-yo. Good. Or Chaaaaal Sa-shee-mee-da! Good writing.

As I exclaimed this last phrase my friend stared at me in disbelief. Then burst into hearty laughter.

What?

“Don’t say that again.”

Why?

“That is so country. That – dialect. You sound, you sound, oh. Don’t say it.”

But, how do you really say it, then?

And he told me. But I can’t remember. Because everytime I think of “good writing” I hear all of the grandfathers exclaiming heartily, “Chaaaaal Sa-shee-mee-da!”

I even have a country accent in Korean.