Does This Incense You?

I recently received an email from a group called NowPublic which runs news stories about current events (submitted by members in a similar vein to Wikipedia, from what I can tell). They had written to request the use of a photo I recently took in an article entitled “Incense Gives You Cancer, So Pray Less.” The title caught my interest, and my ego had been properly stroked with the request to publish my photo, so of course, I dropped in to take a look at the site.

The article presents an interesting conundrum for lovers of incense the world over and, as was obvious from the comments generated on the site, it managed to strike a nerve. Two readers even went so far as to refuse to share their photos on the grounds that the author’s tone was disrespectful and he was spreading baseless rumors. Ouch.

I'm currently living in Korea, where incense is a part of the religious tradition for a great portion of the population. It’s certainly not as omnipresent here as it was in Taiwan (where I also spent a year working as an English teacher), where the heavy scent of burnt offerings would spill from street-level shop fronts and chase you down the sidewalk. But if you visit the grounds of any Buddhist temple and peer respectfully inside, you will see faithful followers lighting joss sticks and beginning their successions of bows as the thick temple air swirls around them.

I find myself turning to the sticks when I’m craving the scent of their musky perfume, or the calming effect incense brings as I watch its feathery plumes of smoke meander through the air. It’s a somewhat entrancing, and certainly pleasant, experience, and the article didn’t dissuade me at all from continuing my incense tradition. I'm of the camp that most anything done in excess can't be good for you, but I have serious doubts that my infrequent use of incense could cause any more long-term damage than the many vices so easily accepted by mainstream culture.

I appreciated the comments of one poster who said,

“Probably inhaling any kind of smoke can cause cancer, but I also believe that cultivating a meditative state of mind, through meditation or prayer or what you want to call it, reduces the risk of getting cancer from anything. As with everything else; find a balance.”

In the end, I did opt to add my photo (you can see it here)... although the other 174 photos already linked the article proved to undermine my short-lived ego boost. I rather doubt that worshippers will start cutting back on incense usage in the way that dieters restrict their calories, but it doesn’t hurt to be reminded that our health is, to a large extent, affected by our environment.

Western Indulgence and Peanut Butter Pancakes

It has been a week a Western indulgence for me. Call it what you like, but I think of it as my unique way of experiencing the culture shock that is bound to hit all foreigners away from home after a months abroad. While homesickness and loneliness haven't made an appearance (and I say that in great hopes that they'll keep their distance), my cravings for the foods that shaped my American appetite have increased exponentially over the past week or two.

I managed to hold my ground for long enough, I figured. So, this week, I gave in to my wanton whims and traded in my chopsticks and healthy Asian fare for a true slice of the SAD (Standard American Diet, that is). My soy sauce and pepper paste didn't even make it out of the fridge this week.

... Beginning with an overdue lunch at Pizza Hut with new friend Elana, a Canadian gal teaching at a university in neighboring Unsan, where we systematically dismantled and digested a cheese-laden pineapple pan pizza (her half with Canadian bacon, of course)...
... Picking up speed with a mid-week plate of pan-fried potatoes, sliced super thin and lightly fried with a dousing of salt, pepper, and vinegar...
... Building to a steady roar yesterday with a late-night run to the mini-mart across the street for a box of chewy chocolate chip cookies...
... and celebrated with a grand finale tonight, an utterly decadent twist on the familiar weekend breakfast plate of down-home pancakes (which is my true motivation for confessing this embarrassing display of complete and utter calorie denial).

Somewhere between my mouth-watering recollections of lazy Sunday brunches at home and the availability of Korean kitchen staples, I managed to strike a delicate balance, and emerged from my mini-kitchen tonight with a plate of syrupy goodness that really deserves to be shared. And repeated.

And I've decided that this is perhaps a bit more of what cooking in Korea is about for me, after all -- not a tossing aside of my culinary heritage (which is more an eclectic mix of the world's cuisines than straight American cooking anyway), but as a workshop for me to experiment with the added dimensions of Eastern influences in my cooking repertoire.

I had soy milk in my fridge tonight, a tub of raw peanuts in my cabinet, not an egg or stick of butter to my name, and an intense urge to sink my fork into a pile of pancakes. Feeling adventurous, I started pulling random baking ingredients out of my cupboard -- a bag of vanilla-flavored powder, ground cinnamon, oil, flour, baking powder, some terribly dark and granular brown sugar, and the remnants of a jar of peanut butter that I had paid top dollar for at the local grocery store a few weeks ago (I confess, the absurdity of paying $5 for a small-ish jar of generic PB completely escaped me at the time). Maple syrup was out of the question, though I did have a bottle of Korean malt syrup which was sweet enough to do the trick.

I got to work measuring and mixing up a bubbly bowlful of brown-tinted batter, using a recipe for eggless pancakes (vegan-style) as my starting point. The taste of roasted peanuts had been my inspiration, so I decided to layer the cakes coming hot off the griddle with a thin layer of peanut butter, and top the whole lot with a dousing of syrup and a handful of crushed-up peanuts. It turned out to be an absolutely winning combination.

For the peanut lovers among you (and especially anyone staring blankly at their Korean kitchen cupboards wondering what to do with your IHOP cravings), give this a try:

Peanut Butter Pancakes (Serves 2)
1/4 cup raw peanuts, chopped (divided)
1 cup flour (spoon-sifted)
2 Tbsp sugar (I used dark brown, though any kind should do)
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp vanilla powder (sub with vanilla extract)
a sprinkle of salt
a dash or two of cinnamon
1 cup soy milk (you can probably sub with regular milk, though the soy adds a nice flavor)
2 tablespoons oil (nothing strong-flavored, EVOO and sesame are out)
2 Tbsp peanut butter
1/2 cup syrup (maple works, as does Korean malt syrup)
Dry-roast the chopped peanuts in a griddle over medium heat until lightly toasted. Set aside to cool.
Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, vanilla powder, salt, and cinnamon in a small bowl. Add milk, oil, and half of roasted peanuts; beat with a fork until smooth. Pour batter onto a hot, oiled griddle (in ~1/4-cup increments).
Flip quickly when bubbles break the surface, and the edges are a bit stiffened. Cook one minute longer, then transfer to a serving plate. Repeat with remaining batter.
As you stack the pancakes, smoothing a thin layer of peanut butter over each cake. When finished, spoon the remaining chopped peanuts over the pancake stack, and douse with syrup. Serve warm with a glass of soy milk. Enjoy!

A Cool Wind Blows

I left school a little after 9:00 this evening, all of my students long gone with their carpools and neighborhood walking groups. I was the last to leave, as is often the case -- Sunny (our head secretary) and Terry (the boss's wife and my co-teacher) are anxious to get back to their families, and I am just as anxious to quickly finish grading the day's papers and update the gradebook before going home to unwind in solitude. (I've long since abandoned the idea of bringing home my "teacher work," and I prefer to keep it that way.)

So again tonight I shut off the lights, heaved the heavy glass door closed, and locked it shut. As the magnetic lock clicked into place, it dawned on me. There was a change in the air. The breeze scuttling around behind my back was a cool one. For a moment, I wished I'd brought along a sweater. Fall was on the wings. The dogged, miserably damp and heavy heat of summer was all but over... How has the time gone so quickly?

When I arrived in Korea, it was barely summer. I remember lying in the guest bedroom in my host family's 10th floor apartment, pulling the weighty cotton blanket over my ankles and toes as a cool breeze swept in through the windows and tiptoed across the floor. Within weeks, I had moved in to my own apartment, and was spending the wee morning hours kicking the bed covers as my dainty oscillating fan tried to keep up with the lingering, thick heat.

And now the changing of seasons is whispering again, and it seems impossible that an entire summer has slipped away without my scarcely being aware of it. It feels as though summer was somehow pulled right out from under me, though I know that can't be so.

It was just five days ago that my little brother flew back to Utah to start the fall semester at BYU, where he is working on his undergrad. It was just yesterday that my parents and baby sister pulled out of the driveway together, for the last time, heading north along the interstate taking them to their new hometown, on the outskirts of Boston. They're relocating just in time for Emily to start her senior year in high school. And it was today that the bulk of my students resumed Korean public school after a month-long summer break.

Change is in the air everywhere, it seems, stretching all the way from this side of the world to the other, touching even my roots back home. Change has been blowing through Seosan as I've had to say goodbye to yet another good friend who helped to make my first few months here memorable, and to several students I adore who have been admitted to EGA-II. And change will continue to keep me on my toes, I am sure, as the months march on. New friends to make, new students to teach, a new apartment to settle into, a new season to greet. Bring on September, I'm ready for another cool wind to blow...

How Do You Eat an Elephant?

It has been a restful weekend so far, something I've been desperately in need of after a long week. Aside from my normal plate of teaching 40 classes this week, I managed to pull two all-nighters, crashing after the sun came up for a few hours before going off to work. (I'm not quite sure either time how I thought I would last through the next day of teaching until 9 PM, but somehow or another I survived... and I suppose I should give credit where credit is due -- thank you, instant coffee -- you might be too sweet, you might be watered down, but you did the job!)

I have to laugh, though, because this ridiculous refusal to follow a normal sleeping schedule like normal people do is such a perfect example of the large pattern that is my life. I have never been one of those people who was good at breaking up a big project into itty bitty pieces and then plugging away consistently at it, one day after the next. (The socially acceptable answer to the question "How do you eat an elephant?" is "One small bite at a time.")

No, I have always been the "binge-on-elephant-until-you're-ready-to-explode" type. Okay, I realize that doesn't sound too pleasant. But it's this kind of intensity and passion for what I do that I pour into my work, whether it's teaching eight-year-olds or studying Korean or trying to perfect photo images from my latest shoot. Or, in this case, writing up a dozen blog posts and giving the whole weblog a much-needed facelift. Was it worth dragging through work the next day? For me, yes. As much as I like to think I can multi-task with the best of 'em (whoever "them" are), I know I will forever and always be more of the tunnel-vision warriors who put on their blinders and charge ahead.

So today, with my blinders in my back pocket, I tried out Microsoft's Movie Maker software. I have hundreds of photos from my recent backpacking adventure in southeastern Korea that are neatly catalogued on my Flickr page, just begging for a little attention. And after visiting the weblog of Tory, the EFL teacher from California that I met while at Palgongsan, I was inspired to take a stab at making my own video. After viewing my finished work, I realized that it's really nothing to brag about. The picture quality is unimpressive, and it's truly a photo montage, as I didn't have any video to splice in between still frames. But in 4.5 minutes, I think it does a decent job of giving you a taste of Korea. And let's be honest, that's kind of the point of reading my write-ups, no?

So, without further adieu, I give you "Summer in South Korea"... :)



Note: If you're having trouble viewing this video (it has been embedded in high-quality), you can view it in standard quality by following this link.

How to Create a Custom Header for Blogger

I recently decided to give my Blogger weblog a facelift. The default title-and-description on my Minima layout just weren't cutting it anymore, and after perusing enough flashy blogs toting full-color headers, I figured I could do a lot worse and it would still be a big improvement.

I didn't have any flashy programs like Adobe Photoshop at my disposal, but armed with my Microsoft 2003 Suite, a handful of favorite digital pics, and Google's Picasa program, I was able to put together an eye-catching header that both speaks to the content of my site and leaves a lasting first impression on my visitors (or so I hope).

...And if you're reading through this posting, I'm going to assume it's because you like what to see at the top of my weblog and you'd like to know how to recreate it for yourself...

I've prepared the following tutorial to help you achieve a professional-looking header that is customizable to your specifications. Your graphic header will include:
(1) a 3-photo background graphic image (with the option to wash-out the image),
(2) a title and description, and
(3) a foreground photo (optional).

As for the instructions that follow, I'm assuming that you have at least a basic working knowledge of the following programs:
-- Picasa (v2.7), by Google (download here)
-- Microsoft Word 2003 (I haven't tried this with OpenOffice freeware, but it might suffice; download it here)
--Microsoft Paint (included with Microsoft Windows, look in Programs\Accessories)

It's really not as difficult as it might first look, though be prepared to spend a little time tweaking everything from font sizes and colors to the finer nuances of cropping and photo detail.


Part I: Creating the Background Photo Image

1. Using Picasa, select three (3) photos from your digital collection that create the feel and style you at going for. Modify the photos to your liking (I desaturated all three of mine to create a black-and-white image that would pop against my red blog background).
2. When you are finished with your photo edits, crop each image using the 4x6" crop setting, and export the images (File --> Export Picture to Folder). Follow the prompts to designate output location. Resize to 1024 megapixels, and choose your Image Quality setting (for the header you are viewing, I used the "Normal" setting). Hit "OK" to confirm and close.
3. Open Microsoft Word. From File --> Page Setup, select "Landscape" from the Margins tab, and set the margins to 0.7" on each side. Select "Legal" from the pull-down menu on the Paper Size tab. (With these settings, I am able to view the entire 3-photo spread with MS Word at set at 100% zoom.) Hit "OK" to confirm and close.
4. Insert each photo by selecting Insert --> Picture --> From File, and browsing to the image for insertion. As you insert each image file, they will append so that the three images are juxtaposed on the document.
   NOTE: It is important at this point that you are able to view the entire layout of 3 photos on your screen without scrolling. If you are unable to view them completely, double-click on each photo and rescale by entering a smaller % for height or width under the "Size" tab. (If "Lock Aspect Ratio" is checked, the other dimension will automatically scale to match.)
   NOTE: If you are NOT creating a washed-out image (See Part II below), make sure to right-click each photo image and select Format Picture --> Layout --> Behind Text, so that you can create a title and description as an overlay to the background image.
   
   

Part II: Create a Washed-Out Background Image (Optional)

1. Locate the print-screen function key (labeled "Prt Scr" or similar) on your keyboard. (Mine is located at the top of the keyboard, between "Pause | Break" and "Insert.") After first making sure that the photos are deselected and the cursor is outside the margins of the photo images, press "Prt Scr" and paste into Microsoft Paint.
2. Use your mouse to drag the image to the top left corner of the screen. Crop as follows: (a) Click the "Select" button (looks like a broken rectangle) on the toolbar. Drag your mouse over the image so that the desired image is within the dotted lines. Press Ctrl+X, then Ctrl+N, select "Don't Save," and then Ctrl+V. If any white area is showing beneath your image, click the bottom right corner of the white space with your mouse, and drag it to match the bottom right corner of your image. Save the image.
3. Hit Alt+Tab to return to Microsoft Word. From the Format menu, select Background --> Printed Watermark. Select "Picture Watermark" and browse to the location of your Microsoft Paint image. Scale should be set to "Auto", and make sure "Washout" is deselected. Hit "OK" to confirm and close. You now have a muted background image (hit return several times until your cursor is on page 2 to view it). From page 2, you can begin creating your title and description as an overlay to the background image.
   Follow this link for an example of a washed-out background image that I created for another weblog of mine.
   
   

Part III: Creating The Title and Description

1. Begin typing the text of your title and description over the background image.
   NOTE: There are hundreds of fonts available for download at 1001 Free Fonts. Installation of new fonts is fairly straightforward, though beyond the scope of this article. For more information on how to install fonts in Windows Vista, follow this link.
2. Experiment with multiple fonts and other formatting options, such as expanding or condensing text (go to Format --> Font, select the "Character Spacing" tab, then select Expanded or Condensed from the Spacing drop-down menu). Or, try font effects such as embossing or engraving (check to select or de-select from the "Font" tab).
   
   

Part IV: Creating a Foreground Photo (Optional)
For added dimension and visual effect, consider adding a foreground photo to your header. It is simple to do, and can add quite a bit of visual interest to the finished product.

1. Select a photo from Picasa to use for your foreground photo.
2. Using Picasa, modify the photos to your liking.
3. When you are finished with your photo edits, crop the image to your desired size (I used the "custom" setting to achieve a square image), and export the image (File --> Export Picture to Folder). Follow the prompts to designate output location. Resize to 1024 megapixels, and choose your Image Quality setting (for the header you are viewing, I used the "Normal" setting). Hit "OK" to confirm and close.
4. Hit Alt+Tab to return to Microsoft Word. Insert the photo by selecting Insert --> Picture --> From File, and browsing to the image for insertion. Right-click the image, and select Format Picture --> Layout --> In Front of Text, then drag the image to your desired location.NOTE: It is important at this point that you are able to view the entire layout of 3 photos on your screen without scrolling. If you are unable to view them completely, double-click on each photo and rescale by entering a smaller % for height or width under the "Size" tab. (If "Lock Aspect Ratio" is checked, the other dimension will automatically scale to match.)
   
   

Part V: Saving the Final Header Image
These steps are nearly identical to Part II, Steps #1-2 above for creating a washed-out image.

1. Locate the print-screen function key (labeled "Prt Scr" or similar) on your keyboard. (Mine is located at the top of the keyboard, between "Pause | Break" and "Insert.") After first making sure that the photos are deselected and the cursor is outside the margins of the photo images, press "Prt Scr" and paste into Microsoft Paint.
2. Use your mouse to drag the image to the top left corner of the screen. Crop as follows: (a) Click the "Select" button (looks like a broken rectangle) on the toolbar. Drag your mouse over the image so that the desired image is within the dotted lines. Press Ctrl+X, then Ctrl+N, select "Don't Save," and then Ctrl+V. If any white area is showing beneath your image, click the bottom right corner of the white space with your mouse, and drag it to match the bottom right corner of your image. Save the image.
   
   

Part VI: Uploading the Header to Blogger

1. While signed in to Blogger, select "Layout" from the Dashboard menu for the blog that you wish to customize.
2. On the "Add and Arrange Page Elements" page (under the "Page Elements" tab), select "Edit" from the "Blog Title" box. Under "Image," select the option "From your computer," and browse to your location. Under "Placement," select "Instead of title and description," and hit SAVE to confirm and close. (You may also opt to select "Shrink to Fit," though I have had better luck approximating the dimensions on my own.)
3. After the image has been uploaded, you can PREVIEW your blog, or SAVE and view your blog with the saved changes. Congratulations! You did it!

Lost in Translation: Hangul is Hard Work

I met Kim Cheong Sun, my new Korean teacher, again today at 11:20 for my second language lesson. With last week's Korean National Day holiday falling on Friday, a week had lapsed since our first session together. But I had done my homework, and put in several hours of study time, trying to master the two pages of hangul characters and new vocabulary words she had assigned to me.

As I walked down to the school to meet her, I thought back about twenty years, to the days when I'd be walking across the subdivision to the house of my piano teacher, Dee Stoutenborough. I remember distinctly the weeks when I had really practiced hard, when I knew I had made real progress and was sure to meet with the praise of my pleased teacher. And those same familiar feelings began surfacing again -- excitement tinged with apprehension, wondering if I had done enough to earn Cheong Sun's mark of approval. (When did this "need to please" begin with me? I'm amazed to think I've never outgrown it!)

The lesson was hard work, as the language barrier between us is so incredibly thick. It is all I can do for the bulk of the lesson to try to latch on to the simplest of syllables she speaks and repeat them back. I'm not entirely sure she even wants me to repeat what she's saying, but I haven't yet learned how to distinguish otherwise. We worked through a review of last week's vocabulary, for which I earned two thumbs up and a big smile from my teacher.

Then came Part II, a drill of the final segment of hangul characters for me to memorize -- diphthongs (blended vowels) that tested my listening skills to the extreme. The difference between /yeh/ and /yae/ are negligible, but more difficult still are three diphthongs, each spelled with a unique character, but all of which seem to bear an indistinguishable /weh/ sound. God help me if I'm ever going to learn how to distinguish between the three!

The word study that followed should have seemed a natural progression from the diphthongs... only, I had a dozen very similarly-shaped characters swimming around in my head and was at a loss to keep any of them straight! Rather than sounding out any of the syllables on my own, the exercise turned out to be another parroting session: I watched and listened intently while Cheong Sun formed the word, and then tried my darndest to replicate it at least close enough that my attempt was passable. From the final tally of remediated pronunciations, I don't think I did so hot.

Being the language student of a teacher who speak next to nothing of my native tongue has connected me in new ways to my English students. It's discomforting and somewhat discouraging to leave a 50-minute lesson feeling as though I've probably managed to comprehend about 5% of it. Sometimes I forget that I'm teaching language learners, and fall back into my normal clip and pace of talking and giving instruction. But the truth of it is, it can be extremely exhausting to be sitting in the student's seat, fighting over comprehension of every word. I have a new appreciation for my students.

So I'm going to keep plugging away at Korean. I still feel as though my brain has next to no constructs to begin sorting out and making sense of this foreign language I am trying to wrap my head around. But I'm not a quitter. I'll work on these hangul characters. I'll finish mastering these diphthongs. And I'll make a fresh batch of flashcards to see me through until Friday's lesson.

Host a Traveler, Gain a Friend

After being the recipient of two fantastic CouchSurfing hosts during my recent trip to Busan and Daegu, as well as countless hosts during my months-long backpacking adventure back in 2006, the time finally came for me to play host. I've never lived someone exciting or exotic enough to lure travelers to my humble abode (Mechanicsburg, PA and Provo, UT aren't exactly hopping), and to be honest, I thought it would take quite a bit longer than two months in Seosan until someone found a reason to schedule a stop in my general direction.

But as it turns out, a fellow English teacher and American named Michael (who actually puts my transient history to shame) happened to land at my place over the holiday weekend. Michael, who has called Cheonan "home" for only a month now, is adjusting to life in one of Korea's more urban sprawls. And while living in the midst of high-rises and a menagerie of mandu shops must be quite handy when you're in the mood for munching, spending a little time off the beaten path, in small-town Seosan really must sound like a welcome respite from the throes of the cement jungle.

I had planned to spend some time this weekend showing Michael the surrounds of Seosan and experiencing them for the first time myself -- two months have passed and still I haven't managed to even make the 40-minute bus ride to nearby Palbong Mountain or the beaches in neighboring Taean National Marine Park. Mallipo, a 40-minute bus ride due west, was until last fall one of the pretties beaches along Korea's western shore. But unfortunately, an oil spill drenched its beaches, rendering it uninhabitable. After a widespread effort to clean it up and restore it for public use over the past several months, the reports from my students who visited Mallipo over last week's vacation were actually very favorable. And so it was that Mallipo made the agenda.

That is, until the weather made other plans. From Friday morning until Monday afternoon, rainclouds played games with us, blotting out any stray rays of sunshine trying to peek through, sending down light sprinkles that would last for hours, stretching their grayish-white mass across the skies like double-thick cotton candy. Michael and I spent the better part of Friday chatting at the bistro table in my apartment, stopping a few times for a pot of tea or a plate of spicy noodles and eggplant.

On Saturday, I took Michael on my walking path that cuts east behind some high-rise apartment buildings into a typical cross-section of rural farmlands, rice fields, and swampy reservoirs. I always enjoy this peaceful 3-mile path; you can literally smell the freshness in the air as you step into farm territory. We watched an old but sprightly fisherman poling his small boat through the shallow swamp waters with a long bamboo staff, and returned hellos from curious locals looking on wide-eyed at the sight of two waegooks (foreigners) footing it through the backroads of Seosan.

Back in town, stomachs gurgling, we walked to Koggiri (Korean for "elephant"), famous for serving up Seosan's best bibimbap. But my attempts to order up a late lunch deadpanned, so we took off for downtown to hunt down lunch Russian Roulette-style. We wandered up and down side streets for the better part of an hour (maybe more!), before getting up the nerve to drop into one of the completely empty mom-and-pop-shop restaurants and fumble over the menu. I dropped the few Korean words I know for dinner foods -- bibimbap (met with an inquisitive stare), naem myul (more stares), and jigae (which registered with Pop, as he subsequently replied with, "Kimchi jigae!" and a smile, and ushered us to a table).

Ten minutes later, we were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the shop, smacking our lips over seaweed salad, salted radish, kimchi, and a handful of other tasty banchan. Pop brought a black pot filled with a reddish broth to our table, flipped on the burner, and seconds later, the mixture was boiling before our eyes. The combination of spicy kimchi and salty pork, spooned over rice, was the perfect solution for two strong appetites. We managed to finish nearly every morsel at the table, including two cups of coffee (which is, amazingly, almost always complimentary after your dinner meal in Korea), and made out like bandits with a total bill of approximately $10.

The rest of the weekend was a blur -- a visit to the local movie house to catch the new Batman flick, a night hike to the observation tower overlooking the city, a leisurely breakfast of home-cooked rice pudding, another hike through the farmlands, all interspersed with an immense amount of conversation. By the time I left Michael near the bus station on Sunday, my head was reeling with saturation of thought, and my insides felt exhausted from the intensity of a very full weekend. Not that it wasn't well spent; it was. Host a traveler, gain a friend -- at least, that was the end result of this weekend's adventuring. I was due to be on the giving end as a host, and yet, one can never give anyone without receiving in return. And although it might take me a few days to recover my energy (yes, I'm an introvert by nature), the experience of welcoming a stranger and parting as friends is one I hope to have again and again.

Book Reviews: A Thousand Splendid Suns, The Beach

There is something that feels downright indulgent about lazing about on a beach towel, a sunny patch of grass, or a comfy couch, and soaking up the lilt and rhythm of well-crafted words on the written page. During my 8-day break from teaching last week, I managed to devour two novels, neither of which bore any resemblance to the another.

The first was pure fiction, a typical holiday read -- a few adventurous travelers careening off the backpacker trail and managing to all but disappear in an idyllic island utopia. The second, which much more challenging and at times difficult to digest, was for me, the more magnicent of the two, by far. Rooted in realism, it spoke of hardships hidden away behind closed doors in a faraway land where one's rights as a person hinge almost solely on gender. Coming face to face with the injustices of Afghani women in such a personal way was moving, endearing, humbling.

I belong to an online community of readers called GoodReads, which I wholeheartedly suggest booklovers anywhere. It's a great spot to pick up new titles for reading material, keep track of your favorites, share your own perspectives and discuss book with others. Here are my latest entries:

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
Reading this book led me almost forcefully into taking inventory of my challenges as well as the countless freedoms and opportunities that I have been given. In this book, Husseini exposes Afghanistan domestic life in an intimate and painfully straightforward way. The plight of Afghani women during the period surrounding the Taliban regime is heart-rending. Husseini has not written this work as a judgment on Afghan culture, but as a window for readers to look into the private lives of women who have been touched by the inequalities that have existed there. It is unthinkable to almost every single woman I have ever personally known to be denied the right to walk down a street, to wear her hair down, to make eye contact with whomever she chooses. And yet, this has been life as countless women have known it. Eye-opening and humbling.


View all my reviews.

The Beach by Alex Garland

My review

rating: 2 of 5 stars
A very Lord-of-the-Flies-esque read, heavy on backpacker pop-culture and quite a bit of the darker side of humanity. Having read it while on the beach in Busan, it was more or less entertaining, but I found the overall storyline, while an intriguing perspective of human nature and worthy of some discussion, a bit too raw and pessimistic. There's more to life than hunting down the "perfect" beach and smoking weed... right??


View all my reviews.

On Being a Giant Onion and Life as a Tasty Side Dish

Today, Harrison handed me two envelopes -- one with the receipt for my most recent paycheck deposit, and the other with a personal note, which I am gathering is a tradition with Harrison for each month that passes. In mid-July, after hitting my one-month anniversary at EGA, I opened the letters to find a warm, complimentary, handwritten message that really took me by surprise.

This was was work "family" I had been fortunate to join -- a welcoming, kind, and truly genuine couple who seem to truly hold respect for me and extend that respect in a number of ways on an ongoing basis. But to read Harrison's words, to see them in black and white, to think that he took the time to write a personal message of thanks, struck me as something incredibly simple and powerful. And I felt the same today as I read his message for my second month anniversary.

Just because I think Harrison's words have a sweetness and cultural richness of their own (and not because I want you all to think I am something spectacular), I thought it might be a nice touch to include them here.

Month 1:

Dear Melanie, Thank you very much for your passion and dedication to our students. From the beginning, we were amazed to see how professional but very friendly you are. As we get to know you more, we feel we are so lucky to have you with us.
Our students are happy to be in your class. You are a giant! You are like an onion which shows no limit or end. As you take off one layer, we are surprised to see the magic of your wisdom. Congratulations on your first month survival!
~Harrison

Month 2:

Melanie,
Thank you for your great dedication to our students. You survived from the "unique" hardships of the second month here. I'm sure that's the end of your bad experience in Korea and you'll talk about it as a tasty side dish while you are chatting with your friends in the future.
Thanks, Harrison

I find it interesting that in both, he refers to me and my experiences in Korea thus far with references to food -- onions and side dishes... what will next month's letter bring? Thank you, Harrison, for extending your warmth and hospitality to me. It has been a pleasure to teach at EGA!

Unstitched, and Unexpected Wrinkles

It seems like so much more than a week has transpired since I last set foot in my classroom. It's funny how elastic time can feel when you break outside the norms of schedules and appointments and responsibilities. Fortunately, I had the morning to try to remind myself where I had left off with my classes, and get my head out of the clouds with respect to all of the unexpected adventures this last week brought to me. I can honestly say that although as a whole, traveling solo in Korea was much more of an isolated experience than when I traveled through Europe two years ago, it still turned out to be an absolutely and unique fantastic trip.

I managed to meet party-loving locals, backpacking newbies and experts alike, fellow Americans teaching English abroad, and just about everything in-between. I slept on couches and firm mattresses and even the bare wooden floor. I hiked mountains and fortress walls. I waded through stream water, chugged chilly mountain water, bought tons of bottled water, and sampled some new teas. I soaked up the sun on pebbly beaches, slept through the rain plinking on rooftops, and shot frame after frame of Korea's photogenic faces (of which there are many). I reveled in the timelessness of Buddhist temples, stumbled upon ages-old stone-carved relics, circled a city by bicycle, and added a few new Korean dishes to my growing repertoire. It was by all counts a successful trip, and even with my debit-card disaster in Daegu, I would do the whole thing again in a heartbeat.

But, back to life and work as usual today. Or not. As it turns out, today brings me yet another unexpected wrinkle.

I went to see Dr. Shin this morning, for the follow-up appointment we had scheduled before leaving on my trip. I was sure he'd be pleased with the progress of my wound over the week that I had been away, and sure enough, things were looking good. So good, in fact, that right then and there he clipped out the stitches that had been holding my skin together for the past several weeks. And as quick as that, I had been unstitched. I asked Dr. Shin how many days until I came back again -- later this week? next week?

"No," was he reply, "Finished." And as much as the drudgery of daily doctor visits had been a bother, suddenly realizing I wouldn't be seeing my dog bite healer anymore was a sad thought. I hadn't realized this day would mark the end of my treatment, but here it was. So as we parted, I thanked him one last time for all his kindnesses. And then, I rushed back for my noon staff meeting.

Two hours later, while finishing lunch and preparing to pop out the door to begin teaching for the day, my phone rang. It was Laura, Dr. Shin's daughter, calling me from Canada. She had a favor to ask me, for her father, she said. Her father wanted to study English. Her father had a friend who wanted to study English as well. Would I teach them, two nights a week, after I finished my other work?

I wasn't sure how to respond. Dr. Shin had been such a help to me during my recovery. He had been patient and generous and consistent with his care. I didn't want to disrespect him for anything. But how did I navigate this? Was this meant to be private lessons for pay, or lessons I would volunteer in return for his favors in treating me as his patient? If these were to be paid lessons, I was contracted to teach for my hagwon only. Did I mention this to Harrison or keep it to myself? I didn't even know if I wanted to teach additional lessons. And I had never taught English to adults before... So many questions...

But my time was out. I had to get to work. I left her question to hang in the air, told her I'd call her back, and ran off to school. Dr. Shin is the expert at stitching up wounds... but what to do with this unexpected wrinkle?

Debit Card Disasters and Leaving Daegu

I managed to narrowly make it back home last night after an unexpected setback nearly left me stranded in Daegu. I almost always travel with a debit card back-up -- it's just good practice whether you're backpacking through unfamiliar terrain or driving across your own neighborhood. I did as much while overlanding through Europe and Morocco in 2006, and while I never had a cash crisis, I knew my spare card was there just in case.

I suppose I got a little too comfortable here in Seosan, pulling cash off of my US-based debit card at the 24-hour MiniStop shop just down the street from my apartment. So it didn't cross my mind to bring a second card along. Although I noticed right away in Busan that finding an ATM which would accept foreign cards was a bit trickier than I had expected, I eventually did manage to take out enough cash to last me right up to the last day of my trip.

Returning from my day-trip to Palgongsan yesterday late afternoon, I thought I'd make a pit-stop at the KB Star Bank across the street from the bus stop, and pull out enough Won to get me safely home. KB banks have always accomodated my foreign ATM card. But today was different. I tried one machine after another, each rejecting my sole source of cash and leaving me with a painful message, "Your card is not accepted here. See a teller for more information." I felt the beginnings of desperation rising from my belly, and though I tried to keep my mind focused on a solution, the tellers certainly wouldn't be of any help whatsoever -- it was Saturday afternoon, and aside from ATM machines, the banks were closed until Monday.

I raced back to Bron's place, aware that the clock was ticking and not having more than a vague idea of what route I'd need to take (let alone what times to make those connections) to get back to Seosan by nightfall. He was home, thank God, and I placed a call to my bank back in Pennsylvania to make sure they hadn't placed some kind of hold on my account. There was no answer. Naturally, although it was 4 PM for me, the time difference of thirteen hours was really cramping my style. It was 3 AM Eastern Standard Time, and the support lines were closed for another four hours. Being that I was delving deeper and deeper into distress, Bron spotted me some cash to cover the cost of my bus ride home. I vowed to wire some money back to his account when I got home.

An hour later, after hefting my backpack through Daegu's city streets and metro stations, I arrived at a sprawling tangle of bus terminals, each taking passengers on in quite different directions. My next challenge was to find the bus terminal leading me back toward Seosan, which was no small undertaking. Bron had hinted that there were as many as thirteen bus companies, and that I'd need to check carefully to make sure I was heading towards the right destination. Fortunately, the third company I approached sold me a ticket to Daejeon, from where I was sure I'd be able to find a bus on to Seosan.

I didn't think twice about things until three hours later when, after a short layover in Daejeon, I boarded the last bus for the night back to Seosan. I realized then that had my timing been off even just a bit, I would have been circling the bus terminal in the dark, trying to find some safe and inexpensive place to rest my head until morning came and the buses resumed. It was enough to bring a surge of relief to my heart, and gratitude that, after a week of fantastic adventures, I would be able to crawl into my own bed and sleep off the tensions of the afternoon.

At around 11:30 PM, my bus pulled into Seosan's terminal, and I found myself back on familiar streets, heading uphill towards home. It had been an adventuresome day, and I got a little more than I bargained for. There's nothing like a close call to make you realize how often fortune crosses your path. And I was certainly no exception. Thank goodness for good fortune, I'd made it home.

Passing Time with Pals in Palgongsan

I have one more day-trip in mind before heading back to Seosan and bringing my vacation week to a close. Palgongsan Provincial Park, located just 20 km north of Daegu, is on my radar. I figure I could catch the bus to the park, spend a few hours hiking around, then make it back to Daegu in time to make my connections out of town in the direction of home. It all sounds simple enough. Naturally, this final stage of my trip is the one I have put zero research into. But I figure I have all afternoon to figure out the details. It is already 10 AM and thanks to last night's imbibing, I am running late to get myself to Palgongsan.

The trip up the mountain takes a lot longer than I planned. During the couple of days that I have spent in Daegu, I seem to keep forgetting what a big city it is. And with a mediocre metrorail system at best, walking from Bron's pad to Daegu's main local bus hub takes a chunk of the morning time remaining. By the time bus #1 coasts to a stop and opens its accordion doors to the swarm of hiking-boot-clad Koreans congregated around me, I've all but given up on the possibility of getting a seat. Somehow, I get seriously lucky, as I happen to be standing just next to a seat that opens up at the next stop. I quickly climb into position, and watch as passengers pack into the bus so tightly that it would make even sardines claustrophobic. We are so full to the brim that the driver starts turning new passengers away at each stop that we roll up to, despite their pounding fists on the doors. I'm feeling pretty lucky that I'm not stuck waiting for the next bus or the next bus or the bus after that to have room enough for me.

Then we begin the long, snaking ascent up the mountain. The air is stifling in the bus, and although the scenery is quite lovely, the window panes are foggy from too many bodies and too much humidity. I keep my eyes forward, hoping to ward off any motion sickness from the winding road and changes in altitude. A half hour later, the bus stops and a horde of passengers step off, many carrying hiking equipment with them. "Palgongsan?" I ask the young guy standing next to me. He gives me a puzzled look, but then nods his head affirmatively. Not having much time to still make the stop, I bolt for the door, only to find out as soon as the bus has pulled away that I have managed to take the wrong exit.

No matter. Fresh air, a little exercise, and plenty of space to stretch out... being off the bus isn't really such a terrible thing, I quickly surmise. I hike northward, along the shoulder of the road, wondering after each S-curve exactly how long I'll be walking to reach the entrance to the park. It takes me a while, but eventually I do make it to the gates, where an old man dressed in park ranger clothing collects my W2,000 in exchange for an entrance ticket.

A few minutes later, I catch up to a group of three twenty-something gals walking up the hill together. As I make eye contact with them and exchange an "Anyeong haseyo" greeting, I think I hear a conversation in English resuming among them. I turn back around and say, "Hello, do you speak English?", to which I am met with a throng of three eager voices in a language I can actually understand. Tory, a young college graduate from California (whose short, dark hair and petite body frame initially disguised her among her Korean friends), and two twenty-something Korean gals from Daegu have come to hike around Palgongsan today. We quickly hit it off and spend the next several hours enjoy the beautiful scenery, striking temple architecture, and sweeping landscape views.

While standing outside a particularly colorful pagoda, an elderly man approaches our group and, seeing two foreigners in the mix, offers a round of explanation about the Buddhist practice of ringing bells. He explains (in Korean, which is then translated by Tory's bilingual friends) that the bell is rung only on special occasions by a monk, and that its purpose is not to tell time, nor to make music, but to remove pain and suffering from the people of the world. There are other instruments also, noticeably a large, wooden fish, mounted on the upper floor of a temple structure overlooking the grounds. This, he explains, is for removing the pain and suffering of animals.

I think the explanation is both simple and beautiful, and it leaves a peaceful image with me of a prayerful monk going about his day-to-day work of sending prayers and focused thoughts towards others whom he may have never met in this life, spending the bulk of his time and energy on bringing more peace and less pain to all that are experiencing life. It seems exactly fitting that this message is delivered by a kind-faced old man, without

We spend a little time at Donghwasa, the temple complex within Palgongsan Park with a history of over 1,500 years. A beautiful statue of Buddha, called the Tong-il Daebul, stands tall over the outer courtyard, its right palm upturned in a gesture of peace, left hand gently encircling a medicinal symbol. The white stone carvings stand out strikingly against a backdrop of lush green mountainside. We walk among the statuesque stones and then find our way to the exit, continuing a stream of easy conversation as we begin a downhill walk in search of something to appease our empty stomachs.

I thoroughly enjoy the plate of Korean-style cabbage slaw, sesame-sprinkled tofu, green onion pajeon, and a cold soybean-noodle soup brought to our table in the quaint restaurant we have chosen for our afternoon meal. We are sitting under an outdoor canopy, overlooking a meandering stream, when the rain begins to pelt. The sound as it plinks on the canvas above us is relaxing, the perfect white noise to blot out any would-be distractions to our corner of tranquility. As the rain picks up speed, we do as well, making a dash for the nearest bus stop and herding on board with the dozens of other day-trippers who had the same idea.

It was a perfect day, spent with another small group of perfect-strangers-turned-friends, and the rain held off until just the perfect moment. Back in Daegu, I trudge back towards Bron's flat, preparing to say goodbye to the city and relenquish the last of my holiday memory-making.

Handwritten Histories in Haeinsa

Thanks to what I can only surmise was a bad combination of an intestine completely stripped of all healthy bacteria (antibiotics will do that to you) and a rather large helping of mountain spring water from Wednesday hike up Mount Namsan, I spent the better part of today with the Korean equivalent of "Delhi Belly." I really shouldn't complain; I wasn't stuck on a bus somewhere or out somewhere with Mother Nature, miles from a porcelain throne. My body even had the decency to hold off until I had some quality reading material to keep me occupied in between potty trips. There's nothing pretty about a bout of traveler's diarrhea, but it is what it is and there just ain't no getting around it.

Finally, by early afternoon, my body seemed stable enough to consent to me taking a day-trip by bus to Haeinsa, another of the glorified Buddhist temples (and a UNESCO World Heritage site at that) sprinkled among the mountainous footholds of Korea. What makes Haeinsa famous isn't so much the temple itself as what it houses: 81, 340 carved wood blocks, on which are written by hand the entire Buddhist scriptures. Known as the Tripitaka Koreana, these ancient records have been passed down for nearly 1,000 years (although apparently the current records were recreated in the 1200's after invaders destroyed the originals). They are one of the world's most complete records of sacred Buddhist texts.

I was fortunate to visit Haeinsa late in the afternoon, while clouds misting through the mountains of Gayasan National Park, which border Haeinsa to the west, kept the air cool and the mood mystical. On the road sloping into the hills where the Haeinsa temple resides, families walked together along waterfalls and over bridges, the sing-song of their voices hanging in the air like the low-lying clouds just beyond reach.

I took a short detour which led further down the road past the temple's main entrance, to a hermitage and a side road lined with brightly colored lanterns. A cool breeze blew through the leafy branches, and rippled through the lanterns with the softness of feathers. A monk, dressed from head to toe in a long, gray robe and loose cotton pants, walked in silence along the shoulder of the road, a cane in his right hand. There was nothing but the soft patter of his footsteps that could be heard above the rustling leaves.

Returning to the temple complex, I joined other temple visitors in walking through what appeared to be some kind of meditative maze, a system of concentric pathways leading in one fluid course from entrance to exit, folding in on itself and back out again in four geometric quadrants. Respecfully, we each walked in silence, our palms touching lightly as if in a posture of peace or prayer, eyes focused on the perimeter of the path marked with raised stone along the dirt-covered ground.


Climbing above the pagodas and the maze on a series of stone steps leading to another, much larger group of buildings, I looked back to see a frame of gray-blue mountain peaks jutting out from just beyond the borders of Haeinsa. In the late afternoon light, the scenery was poetic.

I continued walking along the outer walls of four earth-colored buildings before recognizing them as the rooms holding the Tripitaka Koreana. Through slats in the walls, I peered in at row upon row of books lining wooden shelves, carefully housed within the confines of the temple. I watched as an elderly monk, his body cloaked in loose-fitting linens, took a young boy by the hand and led him into one of the special-access libraries. His face was curled up in a smile as he pointed out sacred texts to the boy. I watched for a few moments longer through the slats before descending back towards the pagodas, back towards the temple entrance, back towards the road where I would meet the bus returning me to big-city Daegu once more.

The rest of the evening was a blur. I made it back to Bron's place in time to shower and change, and head off for a little nightlife with him and some of his foreigner friends. Quite in contrast to my day of rest and old-world reverie, and probably against my better judgment considering the state of affairs of my stomach just this morning, we swigged a few pots of maggeoli (traditional Korean rice wine) down the hatch, along with a few yummy side dishes, pajeon (vegetable pancakes) and dubu kimchi (kimchi cooked up with pork belly and served with heated squares of tofu). Maggeoli was another "first" for me, and before I knew what hit me, my head was spinning with the familiar reminder that full-blown overindulgence wasn't far off.

Near midnight, I bowed out of the party with Bron (who had a teaching gig the next morning), and we stumbled back to the Sinchon River area to his flat, where I promptly got horizontal on the two-seater sofa and tried to still the seesaw in my head. Between dongdongju in Busan, the soju fest at Hanjin Hostel, and tonight's indulgence, I was ready to take a break from the bottle for the rest of my vacation. But while it lasted, I certainly had managed to find good company to celebrate my vacation time with. Tomorrow marked the last day of my trip, and as I tumbled into a deep sleep, I vowed to make it one to remember.

Blue Skies from Bulguksa to Daegu

My last day in the Gyeongju area was nearly perfect -- a naked blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and plenty of time to take in a day-trip to nearby Bulguksa Temple and Seokgoram Grotto. After a leisurely morning at the hostel, I packed my bags and took them down to reception to be stored after I checked out. I was leaving for Daegu later tonight, another hour west by express bus from Gyeongju. After a quick stop at the bus terminal to buy my onward ticket, I crossed the road and waited for local bus #11 to arrive.

The bus stop was filling quickly with Korean day-trippers heading to Bomun Lake for a day of water slides and carnival rides, and I was happy to get a seat as the last couple dozen to board were left with standing room only. Although only 16 km from Gyeongju, the ride to Bulguksa took the better part of an hour, as the bus careened along local roads, stopping every few minutes for a stoplight or to swallow a new passenger in its vinyl-padded bucket seats.

Finally, we arrived at the entrance to Bulguksa and within a moment or two, I had entered the temple grounds. I have been to a number of palaces and temples over the nearly two months that I have been in Korea, and while all have been impressive and beautiful in their own way, this temple in particular seemed to have some special magnificence.

It could have been the two stone pagodas standing majestically within the courtyard of the temple's main complex. Or perhaps it was the stairway carved in thick, gray stone, leading to the temple's main hall. It was upon this stairway of 33 steps, representing the 33 heavenly worlds of Buddha (or stages of enlightenment), that nobility during the Silla period would step.

But I tend to think that what set Bulguksa apart was the simple ambience of towering trees, meandering trails, and happy-go-lucky families lining their children up for photos among lilies and beside temple facades. All of the giggles and chatter and smiles seemed to breathe an easy air into this historically spiritual hotspot. And it was contagious. I found myself enjoying the sea of people coming and going as the scenery itself.

Then it was time to make the upward climb from Bulguksa to Seokgoram Grotto, another UNESCO Heritage site, where ancient carvings of Buddha and many other dieties have been preserved since the 70o's. The hike itself, apart from the oppressive humidity, led along a shaded rock-strewn path, climbing upwards into the mountainside. Unfortunately, I don't have much to say about the grotto. I felt disappointed with its size, and with the fact that the statues themselves are all carefully protected between a thick wall of plexiglass. The W4,000 entrance fee seemed a bit exorbitant considering the lackluster attraction. (Or, maybe I've just been spoiled with so many stellar finds around Gyeongju and Namsan mountain.)

Back at the car park, I began a series of bus rides to take me back the way I came: first to Bulguksa, then to Gyeongju, where I collected my bag and picked up a plate of kimbab for dinner, and finally on to Daegu, Korea's third largest city and the last of my bases from which to explore during my week of backpacking south-east Korea.

At 9:30 PM, I met my CouchSurfing host, Bron, in downtown Daegu, and began our walk back to his flat just a stone's throw from the Sinchon River, which runs north-south along the eastern fringes of the heart of the city. An hour later, I was showered and comfortably splayed out in his two-seater leather sofa, my home for the next two nights. I had been eyeing a book sitting on his bookcase, a novel I had months ago written onto my "Books to Read" list, yet had never gotten around to buying. Khaled Husseini's "A Thousand Splendid Suns" was calling my name, and after getting the go-ahead from Bron, I pulled it off the shelf and began picking through its pages.

Sleep hit late for me that night, probably more the consequence of my new reading material than anything else. Finally, around 1 AM, I cut the lights, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep. For the next seven hours, it was just me, the leather couch, and one pesky mosquito to keep me company...

Roaming Among Relics in Mt. Namsan

The plan was to spend the day hiking in Mt. Namsan, a virtual open-air museum of ancient relics strewn through the mountains bordering Gyeongju to the south. I'm a lover of nature and while not necessarily big on walking through carefully-displayed artifacts behind heavily protected museum walls, I was fascinated with the idea of combining a day of hiking with the discovery of some Silla period pieces of history.

As I rounded the stairwell towards the front door, Mr. Kwon caught me. "Where you going today?" he said, in his cheerful, heavy Korean accent. I shared with him my plan.
"You walk, don't take bus," he told me, more of a direct order than a helpful suggestion. "Walking, not far. I walk Namsan all the time. You take bus, two hour, maybe three hour," his hands making a snaking motion to hit the point home. He gave me some basic directions -- walk to the main traffic circle, take a right, walk straight for quite a ways. I figured that was enough to get me started. I wasn't in any hurry, I had carved out the entire day for exploring Namsan. So I set off on foot.

Half an hour later, already drenched with sweat from the burning sun, a sprightly older man, heading my direction on his bicycle, stopped to surmise where I could possibly be walking all by myself. "Namsan," I told him, which brought an immediate look of concern. He pointed at his bicycle, as if to say I was going to need one if I was planning to get myself all the way to Namsan, and then continued in a stream of Korean chatter. I hadn't realized how intent he was on helping me out until a few minutes later when, armed with a very ambiguous mental map of where it was I'd find the next bus, he walked me across the street and waved me on in a different direction.

I'd like to credit my keen sense of direction for finding the bus stop, but I think it had something more to do with good fortune that I managed to maneuver myself through a hodgepodge of mud-baked walls and a century-old Korean neighborhood before finally turning down the street that led to a bus stop. But either way, I soon found myself en route to Samneung, entrance point to Namsan's hiking trails.

As luck would have it, within an hour of setting off on the trail, I had managed to connect with Noemi, the Belgian actress I had met at the Hanjin roof party. And a short time later, the two of us crossed paths with Kevin and Katie, who had decided to spend their last day in Gyeongju hiking as well. Being that Namsan was no small walk in the park, I found it incredible that all of us would happen to meet on the trails. Is there such a thing as coincidence?

We climbed up to Sangseonam, a Buddhist hermitage, and cooled ourselves with refreshing swallows of fresh mountain water from an adjacent spigot. Colorful paper lanterns swayed ever so slightly in the subtle breeze, and the peaceful stillness of the place gave each of us a temporary respite from our hiking rigors.

At Sangseonam, Noemi and I parted ways with Kevin and Katie, who had to head back to the bus station for their onward connections. But it turned out to be the best of all possible scenarios that Noemi and I had met, as I doubt seriously that I would have managed to make the journey up and over the ridge of Namsan mountain, and down again to Yongjang village, on the other side of the mountain... at least, in one piece.

Together, we hoisted ourselves up gigantic rocks, and lowered ourselves down steep inclines with the use of thick ropes. We cut through a thick, dark bamboo forest and rested our feet in the cool water of a gurgling stream. Here and there, we came upon ancient figures carved in the rock face of the mountain, a crumbling pagoda standing erect against a backdrop of mountains, a beheaded statue commanding a reverent pause.

The entire adventure lasted about six hours before we descended into Yongjang village. From there, we managed to find a bus that brought us back to Gyeongju proper. Our bodies were tired, leg muscles exhausted, stomachs gurgling from emptiness, but the journey had been a memorable one. And having someone to share the experience with made it even more of a pleasure.

Back at the hostel, Noemi prepared for her departure to Busan, and I headed off to the showers. Before long, I had fallen asleep under the open pages of my guidebook. And aside from a middle-of-the-night awakening when Mr. Kwon opened my door to check that I was in (he locks up the hostel each night), I slept right through until the following morning, oblivious to the continuation of the backpacker party on the roof just a flight of stairs above me. Sometimes a girl just needs her rest.