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.

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.

Cable Cars and Kickin' It Korean-Style

While standing at the cable car platform, waiting for my panoramic lift over the cityscape of Busan, I caught the attention of a wrinkly old man donning a baseball cap and toothy grin. I didn't know what to make of him, exactly -- he was smiling and rattling off one word after another of I didn't know what, pointing at my camera, gesturing for me to take a photo of this, or stand there and snap a picture of that. In my ignorance, I assumed he worked for the cable car company, and I suppose I went along with his charades more or less to humor him.

It didn't take long, however, for a middle-aged couple standing nearby to start chuckling at the scene. And a tall, quite attractive Korean guy who looked to be around my age, exchanged jovial words with the couple as well. For the life of me, I couldn't make out a word of the exchanges, but it seemed like everyone was amused and I figured I could handle being part of the spectacle until the cable car brought us all to the mountain top, where I would no doubt part ways and get back to doing my own thing again (I've found that, in general, Koreans really don't mix much with foreigners. They'll smile at you, and reply back if you offer a gretting, but any curiosity they might have about a solo traveler or foreigner living abroad is lost under the front of formality that the majority of Koreans seem to display).

The slow, smooth ride to the top of the mountain was fantastic. While the skies were more gray than blue, at least the city itself was visible as we rose above the trees, hoisted upward with steel cables. I managed to get several nice shots from my window perch at the front of the cable car before we coasted to a stop and exited the car. I was a bit confused when the wrinkly old guy with the cap started walking up the hill towards the mountains (as I had thought he was an employee), and even a bit disgruntled when he gestured that I join him for something to drink. No, that wasn't quite the afternoon I had in mind, coupling up with someone twice my age who didn't speak a lick of English and would no doubt, in 10 seconds flat, start making googly eyes at me.

But suddenly I realized that it was not him alone but the entire party of four -- the old man, the middle-aged couple, and the good-looking tall guy -- that I'd be joining. And even though I knew any communication among us would at best be a shot in the dark, I found myself sitting around a large wooden table with my new "friends" (I'm going to name them Pops, Mark & Lisa, and Jim, just because that's easier), feeling somewhat like a novelty and yet also feeling their genuineness in befriending me. Minutes later, a large bowl of something cool and milky was brought to the table and Pops began ladling it into mugs that were then dispersed among us.

I followed their lead as my new friends chinked their cups and took a swig. The bite of liquor cut through the slightly sweet flavor of the beverage that had just crossed my lips, and I felt as if I, the foreigner, had just become privy to some kind of secret Korean drinking tradition. Mark leafed through my guidebook, stopping on a page that was meant to serve as a language liaison for decoding Korean menus. He pointed at a string of hangul characters and then looked at me, and I understood that what we had just sipped was dongdongju, a kind of liquor mixed with corn. That explained the sweetness.

We spent the next hour wandering up and down mountain trails together, stopping at another little mountain shack for a tasty pajeon (Korean pancake) a plateful of acorn jelly, and some incredibly spicy kimchi. Of course, they insisted on doling out another few rounds of dongdongju to wash it all down. Partly because I was curious, partly because I didn't want to offend my hosts, and partly because I was really kind of caught up in the whole idea of being part of this very Korean experience, I went right ahead and indulged.

By the time we were heading down the mountain in the cable car, the sun was hanging low in the sky. More time had passed than I had realized, but it didn't matter. The experience of joining them had been well worth the time. They offered for me to come with them to Haeundae beach, and I didn't hesitate to say yes. I knew my way back to Marina's by subway, and after all, this was my vacation -- why NOT do something completely out-of-the-ordinary with some friendly strangers? Mark, the designated driver for the night, chauffered us all to some high-in-the-mountaintops thoroughfare where we stopped to watch fireworks exploding along the beachfront and then walked along an outcropping of rocks for some amazing birds-eye-view scenery of Busan.

And then we descended back into the city, through the building traffic of folks looking for nightlife along the beach's promenade. We ended up back at the very spot I had been just the night before, looking on at staged dancers and heading towards one of those tall, flashy multi-story buildings I had eyed just the night before, when I had been hungry for some company to share the night with. Isn't funny how quickly things can turn around sometimes?

We entered the main floor of the building, and the sight and smell of fish, thrashing around in dozens of glass tanks overwhelmed me. Mark and Jim started their bargaining, choosing a huge and healthy live fish which was subsequently pulled from the tank, placed on a cutting board, and beheaded right before my eyes. The headless fish was bagged and handed back to Mark, while Jim, not quite finished with the transaction, reached his hand into another tank holding baby octopuses and pulled out a live one.

I watched as the almost transparent creature wrapped its suctioning tentacles around his wrist and fingers, with a fluid motion that, aside from being quite beautiful, seemed more than a bit of a shame. But my curiosity turned to shock as Jim untangled the tentacles from one finger and, with his other hand, began pulling the legs off the poor little creature. I had heard from more than one source that live baby octopus was some kind of delicacy in Korea, and I assumed that at some point I'd have a chance to sample it or watch as someone else did. But I didn't see this coming, especially when Jim thrust a tentacle at me and gestured for me to eat it.

I hesitated for a few moments as the detached tentacle clung to my finger as if making one final plea for mercy. It's hard to bring yourself to eat something that is writhing and moving acting absolutely still alive. Before I could think twice and talk myself out of it, I closed my teeth around the translucent-white tentacle and began to chew. Surprisingly, I didn't feel an overwhelming impulse to spit it out. Surprisingly, it really almost tasted pleasant. Surprisingly, I was eating live baby octopus. (Scott, you said it would happen... you were right!)

The rest of the evening was spent with the five of us sitting cross-legged around a low-lying table, a spread of sashimi-style raw fish filleted on a circular platter before us. There were dipping sauces (mostly of the soy sauce and wasabi variety), a clam stew, a seaweed salad, kimchi, and a plate of raw onions and garlic. It was the second time in the space of as many months that I had eaten raw fish, and in all seriousness, an experience I wouldn't mind repeating a few more. The entire meal was fantastic. Pops kept us all entertained with his laughable antics, Jim kept me distracted with his chiseled features and scruff (what IS it with me and men and scruff??), and Mark and Lisa just balanced out the whole wacky party.

Hours later, and way past bedtime, I crept quietly back into Marina's flat. Within the space of a few minutes of being back at Marina's, my entire Korean night on the town seemed like a tease, as if it were something I had simply dreamed up. What are the odds that a group of people would invite some random stranger along for a night of boozing and fine dining? It's amazing what kinds of adventures will find you when you're open to new experiences and not looking for anything in particular...

A Bowlful of Green Gold

My energy has been severely lagging these past few days as my body has tried to recoil from the stress of a brutal mauling to the leg, various pokes, prods, incisions and injections, and unfamiliar medicines coursing through my system to ward off infection and pain. All of this, topped off with my full teaching schedule, has brought me at the point of complete exhaustion. The other day, I felt clammy and lightheaded, and was sure to have fainted if not for a 40-minute dinner break. So it was that Tahira, my coworker and the only other "foreigner" at EGA, offered to make me some seaweed soup.

Seaweed soup is a Korean cultural icon. Ask any pregnant or nursing mother about their pre- and post-baby diet, and seaweed soup will rise to superstar status. Harrison's wife, Terry, was the first to introduce me to this wonder food, as she was still consuming it daily when I arrived (just a couple of months after the birth of her third child). And curious about the health benefits she claimed it possessed, I did a little research of my own (thanks, Google!). As it turns out, she was right.

This soup, made from the dried leaves of seaweed, has been part of Korea's history for 5,000 years. Nursing moms rely on it to help stimulate health breastmilk production, and students usually drink up the night before the big exam, as it is believed to support brain function. Seaweed itself contains the broadest range of minerals found in any food, according to one source -- including potassium, calcium, magnesium, iron, and iodine. It is reputedly an excellent blood cleanser, and contains a host of vitamins (particularly B-vitamins which your body needs to produce energy). Seaweed soup is also touted for promoting fast tissue repair, preventing diabetes and heart attacks, and reducing cholesterol, arthritis, and acne.

All this, and it goes down quite smooth...

Later tonight, after enjoying some home-brewed medicine, compliments of Tahira, I found a recipe for making my own seaweed soup (Mi-Yeok Guk, in Korean). If the above health benefits sound appealing to you, you might just want to make your own batch as well:

Traditional Mi-Yeok Guk (Seaweed Soup)
30g dried seaweed for soup
60g flank or sirloin steak, sliced into thin strips
2 garlic cloves, crushed
1 tbsp Asian sesame oil
2 tbsp dark soy sauce
1 tsp instant beef stock powder (can replace with dashi)
1.5L water
1. Soak the seaweed strands in warm water till they have become soft and supple, then discard the soaking water and set aside the seaweed for now.
2. Heat a large pot over medium heat, then add the sliced steak, garlic and sesame oil and sauté till the meat has browned nicely. Add the soy sauce and seaweed and sauté for another minute to make sure that the meat and seaweed are taking on the flavour from the garlic and soy.
3. Add the water and stock powder to the pot and stir to make sure that the powder has dissolved, then bring to a vigorous boil. Boil for about 15 minutes, then put the lid on and reduce the heat to a simmer and leave for another 30 minutes, or till the seaweed is very soft and the liquid has turned slightly milky and thickened.

Note: Photos and recipe from Kitchen Wench

A Little EVOO Does a Body Good

I'm a food-loving girl, I've got an adventurous appetite, and I don't shrink back from trying the exotic and unusual (I DID actually swallow silkworm larvae, now didn't I?) However, there comes a time for even the most eclectic of chefs at heart when a taste of the familiar ranks higher on the scoreboard that another culinary expedition.
I've had some extremely rewarding kitchen workshop sessions during these past few months, and have managed to cook up a whole host of Korean dishes ranging from miso soup with tofu to barley rice to my own version of bibimbap (rice topped with fried egg and seasoned seaweed strips). I've delved into the art of banchan, the deliciously seasoned side dishes mostly consisting of cooked and raw vegetables that populate the tabletops of restaurants from one side of this nation to the other. I've blanched bean sprouts, stir-fried garlic-laden eggplant, marinated tofu cubes, and stir-fried gorgeous mixtures of fresh vegetables which are found in abundance at my local grocery store. But what I really wanted tonight was a taste of home... which in all honesty is actually more a taste of Italian meet Vegetarian, but happens to be the kind of food I absolutely love when I'm listening to what's good for my body.
During my shopping spree at Lotte Mart with Terry weeks ago, I bought a tall, cylindrical bottle made of dark green glass, bearing a tempting label: "Extra-Virgin Olive Oil, imported from Crete." I find the prospect of anything imported from Greece here in Korea highly exotic, and I simply couldn't roll my cart on down the aisle until I had managed to pluck a bottle off the shelf to take home with me. I was so excited to saute some vegetables and drizzle some of the intensely flavored green gold over the entire plate... or mince up some garlic and craft some of that mouth-watering Italian dipping oil that has won quite a few accolades from friends, family, and roommates with whom I shared my secret :)
But alas, the metal lid factory-sealed on my purchased bottle had an unfortunate flaw: it wouldn't release or unscrew. So I was stuck with this gorgeous bottle of EVOO and no way to get at the goods. It was like the old adage come to life, "Water, water, everywhere and not a drop to drink." Miserable. So Harrison came to the rescue. I brought the bottle to the staff meeting today and, with a pair of high-quality wire cutters and more elbow grease than I personally could muster, he was able to pop the seal and open the bottle which I had almost resigned to being no more than a piece of fine kitchen decor. I could contain myself no longer... Back in my humble little kitchen, I julienned several red peppers into thick, meaty slices, and chopped potatoes into cubes. I tossed the potatoes with sea salt, black pepper (oh, how I wish I had a pepper mill at my command!), and rosemary, and drizzled them generously with olive oil. Minutes later, the timer on my teeny little toaster oven was clicking away as the potatoes began sizzling away.
Separately, I sauteed the red pepper strips in a puddle of EVOO and doused them with a generous sprinkling of herbs. The end result transported me back to late autumn evenings last year in Pennsylvania, when I first began experimenting with and quickly fell in love with roasting vegetables in all forms. Roasting seems to bring out the subtle and temptingly delicious flavors latent in even the mildest of vegetables. You really can't go wrong. I would give up my microwave in a heartbeat any day of the week, as long as I can keep my tiny little portable oven on hand. (To be honest, my microwave has been demoted from kitchen countertop to the balcony, where it has been sitting unused since I arrived.) Some things, a girl can live with out. Fortunately for me, here in Seosan, a bottle of EVOO isn't one of them!

Serving it Up Korean-Style

This weekend marked the beginning of my Korean culinary experiments! After finishing up the marathon shopping trip with Terry on Saturday, I returned home with MASSIVE hunger pangs! My bare cabinets were bare no longer, and it was time to silence the hungry beast in my belly. So what's a girl to cook??
I decided to take Terry's suggestions and cook up some rice with barley and Korean black beans. Following Korean cooking protocol, I rinsed and drained the grains and beans three times in tap water, then left them to soak for 1/2 hour. I drained them once more, and then loaded everything into my studio-size rice cooker.
The next trick was figuring out how much water to add to the pot. Harrison, nice guy that he is, had stopped by my apartment yesterday to pump up my bike tires and introduce me to the wonders of the rice cooker (seriously, is he too good to be true, or what?). He showed me the age-old Korean measuring technique that his mother used, and that his wife uses still today. No measuring cups needed. OK folks at home, give this a try next time you're making rice in a cooker. Cup your hand over the rice so that your fingertips and the palm of your hand rest on the top of the rice. Now fill the pot with water utnil your knuckles are almost submerged with water. That's it. I'm here, in part, to glean the secrets of ancient wisdom, right? So be it. I cupped the rice with my palm, filled the pot just so, popped down the lid, and let the machine take over.

Meanwhile, I scoured my painstakingly collected Korean recipe "box" (I am in love with the computerized recipe database Big Oven... check it out at http://www.bigoven.com/) to find some general guideline for making a soybean-based soup. With Terry, I had purchased Korean-style miso (soybean paste, called "denjang" in Korean), as well as garlic, Korean chives (think really, really big spring onions), tofu, "gochujang" (a spicy paste made of red peppers), and enoki mushrooms. A few minutes later, the rice cooker was steaming itself into a frenzy, and the fragrance of onion and mushrooms permeated my tiny apartment.
I quickly set the table, and prepared the final ingredient, chopped seaweed, which at Harrison's suggestion, I would eat atop my rice bowl. I spooned everything into little round bowls and, after documenting the big moment :), took a big spoon of my "guk" (soup)... The verdict... a little spicy, with an otherwise mild flavor... and the mushrooms... delicious! And the barley rice with black beans and seaweed? The taste was pleasant, the seaweed added just the right balance of flavor to the very subtle grains. I had to adapt a bit to the purplish hue that the rice took on from the black beans, but in all, I felt quite pleased with myself :) Not bad for my first Korean cooking adventure! Bon appetit!

Time to Move On...

I'm savoring my last hour here in the spacious apartment where I've stayed with my host family for almost a week now. I'll miss this view from their 7th floor balcony where I am sitting right now, enjoying the fresh morning air and the city scene buzzing to life below me.
I'll miss, as well, the delicious meals that my host mother has cooked for me every day since I arrived.
Yesterday's meal was my favorite, some kind of clear, glossy noodles which Aisha explained were made of sweet potato, mixed with red pepper strips, crushed sesame seeds, and several varieties of mushrooms, most of which I didn't recognize. I'm hoping that I can visit my "family" again, and perhaps exchange some cooking lessons -- Eastern for Western -- with the chef of the house :)

To Market, to Market!

I got a free tour of Seosan today, lucky me... OK, actually boss boss, Harrison, took me on a short ride around town today, after the 12:00 staff meeting. Although I'm still staying with my host family for a few more days, I've been anxious to start getting my bearings, learn a few essentials -- namely, where to get money and food.We started with a drive past my apartment (which is literally a 3-minute walk from the school, very convenient, and just opposite a small corner market selling a few groceries). A quick right turn took us to a hill, and after a quick up, over and down, we crossed a busy road and turned right again to reach the one of Seosan's main drags.Just near the corner is Seosan-mart where I will, I suppose, do most of my grocery shopping. Lined along both sides of this road, which leads to a 6-spoke traffic circle (and the point through which all traffic entering Seosan must
navigate) are myriad shops and stores, including an organic foods market, a stationery shop, the post office, and the bank. We quickly walked through several of the shops, and managed to grab a quick bite to eat at the Paris Bakery (one of two French-named bakery chains in town) -- a yeast bread sprinkled with chunks of sweet potato and a bottle of chilled soya milk.As we walked back towards the car, Harrison and I stopped at Seosan's local market, which was, for me, the most exciting. Gigantic, colorful umbrellas formed a canopy of shade above the dozens of vendors ready to make a sale.
Women sat or squatted alongside bulging baskets of leafy greens and exotic-looking fruits. This is the place to buy fruits and vegetables, Harrison informed me, as the prices are best, and everything is locally grown and very fresh. I felt dozens of eyes boring into me, a foreign woman who no doubt looked very out of place in this microcosm of traditional Korea. The next section of the market was lively -- tank after tank of live fish, octopus, crab -- you name it, still swimming, crawling, and moving about. We made a U-turn at that point, as it was time to head back to school for classes. I'm looking forward soon to taking another trip to the local market... but perhaps first, I should learn at least a few words of Korean... haggling for a good price is the name of the game in a market like this!

Creepy Crawly Critters!

Aisha, Rianna, and I met up with my host parents later this afternoon, for a drive out to one of Korea’s west-coast beaches, Anmyeon. Unfortunately, as we drove along winding roads westward, the sun which had been blazingly bright earlier in the afternoon, all but disappeared behind a thick wall of clouds. But the visual effect as we viewed the waterfront was quite beautiful, like a pale pastel watercolor, water and sky blending into one another with such subtlety that it was nearly impossible to distinguish the ending of one and the beginning of the other. We walked along the brown beachfront, tiptoeing around tiny hermit crabs scurrying into pencil-thin holes in the sand. The chilly grayish waves rolled over our feet, and the cool breeze blowing in off the coast reminded us that the height of summer was yet a ways away. Limestone crags towered several meters away, and gulls circled above, as if keeping their distance from the milling visitors.
Aisha managed to convince her father to buy her a little snack from the street vendor as we had entered the beachfront. I couldn’t tell at first glance what she was so excited about eating, but it was apparent that she and Rianna found it quite tasty, as they passed the little Styrofoam cup back and forth, taking turns with their toothpicks. Now, I’ve long touted my open-door policy when it comes to eating new foods: I consider myself an open-minded person, willing to take risks, including those of the culinary kind. So, my rule of thumb is this: I will try anything once. Seconds are entirely contingent on personal preference, but that first sampling is more or less obligatory. It’s my pride that eggs me on, I suppose.So when I peered inside the cup at tiny half-moon shaped somethings, about the size of a fingernail, and flanked with deep grooves, I could take a wild stab that this was some kind of six-legged creature. Aisha held the cup out to me, and I could feel my mind work itself into a kind of violent disgust at the proposition of actually eating one of those little creatures. But I managed to talk myself into taking a bite. Chew. Grimace. Chew some more. Contemplate where to spit said creature out. Try not to think about the fact that an actual worm is inside my mouth at this very moment. Swallow. Wish for a cup of water, anything to rinse away the aftertaste of worm. Smile. And that concluded my adventures with roasted silkworm larvae. Trust me, it’s not an experience I intend to replicate any time soon…
After driving home from the beach, we stopped at a “Chinese” restaurant. I love the way that food as you know it suddenly takes on a drastic facelift when in another country. Normal Chinese food for your average Korean would be just as alien in nature were they to sample it at my favorite Asian restaurant back home. We began the meal with a small cup of jasmine tea, which smelled of soft flower petals and tasted like mildly perfumed water. Then Aisha handed me a small dish of noodles mixed with assorted seafood and mushrooms. Most interesting was not the texture but appearance of the cooked jellyfish, which was so transparent that it seemed nearly invisible as I trapped it in my chopsticks. Sweet and sour pork followed, probably the most typical dish on the table by Western standards. And just when I felt my belly would absolutely burst, our waitress brought one more round of dishes, some time of Korean-Chinese creation, akin to spaghetti, but thick with a black, slightly sweet sauce. Even for me, lover of all things foreign, today almost put me over the edge. I think tomorrow I can safely take it down a notch or two.
Back at home, the girls, Mom, and I perused photos of my family back home, and some of our trips together, including Jamestown, Boston, and Martha’s Vineyard. Conversation turned to traveling, and Rianna confessed that going to Europe was something she had long wanted to do. I popped out my bulging collection of photos from my Round-the-World 2006 tour of Europe and Morocco, and we spent the next hour and a half sighing over the beauty of Italy’s Lake Como district, the French Riviera, Morocco’s white-and-blue washed mountain town of Chefchouen, and some of Eastern Europe’s gems, Tallin, Prague, and Warsawa. Seeing these photos again brought intimately back to mind so many delicious memories from my travels, and a thick cloud of nostalgia enveloped me. I could sense in Rianna the same dreamer’s heart that led me to such faraway places.“This is why my mother wants me to study English,” she told me.“Yes,” I replied, “so the world can be yours.”“You’ve changed my life,” Rianna spoke again. At first, I thought her words filled with drama. But as she continued, I could sense the genuine nature of her words. “Before, I thought learning English was just work, to make my parents happy, to get into a good school, to have a future. But now that I have seen these photos, I know that speaking English well is what will allow me to see the world. I know now what I am going to do. I will study, study, study so that I can learn English well. And I will travel all over the world, just like you.”Her comments, so honest and tinged with the fire of determination, burned through me, and I saw myself years before, heady with dreams and hopeful that I could find a way to make them come to life. The path hasn’t been easy to find, and certainly has led me in some incredibly unusual directions. But 31 countries and many years later, I am here, sitting on a leather sofa in middle-class South Korea, shaping the future for this young woman who, I only hope, will hold onto her dreams and allow herself to go as far as her heart desires.

A Warm Welcome

I meet my host family at 3:30 AM this morning when I arrive with Harrison on their doorstep. They live in a modern high-rise apartment just a few minutes’ walk from my academy, on the 7th of 15 floors, overlooking the rice paddies and city roads of Seosan. As you enter their home, low-profile teak panels line the receiving room, where shoes line the muted tile floor leading to the main hallway. I push off my Adidas sneakers and step carefully onto the neatly laid wood flooring. Aisha (English name) and her parents receive us graciously and pour a glass of fresh orange juice for Harrison and me, seating us at their dining room table, and engaging us in small-talk as we sip. They are kind, demure, and so hospitable, particularly considering the extremely late hour. My head is erupting with an obscene headache, my cue that I have pushed my body well past exhaustion. I am relieved when they show me to my room, and even more relieved to crawl beneath the covers and surrender to what is left of the night.
Hours later, I meet Harrison outside the apartment, and we drive to pick up the rest of the staff for Friday’s lunch meeting. Minutes later, I receive a warm welcome from Terry (Harrison’s wife, also a teacher at EGA), Sunny, Christine, Tahira, and Maggie (the teacher I will soon be replacing), outside the building that houses my new school, English Genius Academy. I want to both laugh and turn embarrassing shades of red as I view the gargantuan banner Harrison has placed out front of the school, welcoming me to EGA and showcasing my soon-to-be-infamous passport photo, sans smile. After a short drive, we arrive at a traditional Korean restaurant and leave our shoes at the door as we are taken to a large room with a low table lined with woven mats. I follow suit and sit cross-legged on the floor, and take a small ceramic cup into which a brown-tinged liquid has been poured. Unable to distinguish the taste, I ask, and am told that this is “barley water,” made by boiling water (in order to purify it for drinking) with dried barley. What follows is nothing short of an all-out feast, as plate after plate and bowl after bowl is set before the group at the table. We first eat an appetizer of noodles in anchovy broth, and then everyone begins to take a bite here, a portion there, from the communal dishes.
I count five different kinds of kimchi, made with cabbage (traditional), cucumber, daikon radish, some kind of green vegetable, and yet another form I can’t quite recognize. There is beef bulgogi (literally, “fire-meat,” and one of the better-known dishes easily found in almost any Korean restaurant in the U.S.), served with delicate oyster mushrooms. One plate holds green salad with a sweet, milky dressing, and another a spicy pork dish that wins my vote as tastiest at the table. The cellophane noodles carry a deliciously light sesame taste, and I manage to handle my chopsticks more or less efficiently, until I try to secure a mouthful of fish from yet another plate. As we continue eating, our server brings several more rounds of dishes to the table, including a delicate soup made of seaweed, a bowl of rice cooked with black beans, another bowl of a soup made with burnt rice, a plate holding two whole fish, head, fins, tails, and all, and several small vegetable dishes. The final touch is a cup of a strongly flavored, very sweet cinnamon drink, topped with what appear to be pine nuts. We all sigh with that unmistakable sound of complete satisfaction, and thank Harrison for the delicious meal.
Next I am given my tour of the academy, which includes the office area and two classrooms. Harrison bestows me with my very own set of slippers, which I will of course wear inside the school at all times. They are hideous at best, and I chuckle underneath my breath along with Maggie and Christine, who are humored at the sight of my red-and-pink cloth house slippers, complete with a huge bow atop each foot. He tells me that he picked them out himself, happy to find some shoes with my very favorite color. It’s almost too much. But of course, I parade around the school in them for the afternoon, as I am introduced to some of my new students, and sit in on a few classes with Maggie.I manage to squeeze in a nap for several hours, and wake around 8:00 PM to a delicious smell wafting through the house. My host mother has prepared yet another feast, not only for me, but for her younger daughter, who has just returned home for the weekend, from her boarding school north of Seoul. I meet Rianna and easily feel as though I’m at home with these two younger “host sisters” and “mom” and “dad.” Dinner is Vietnamese-style, plates of julienned vegetables and meats, and cellophane rice paper wrappers, and we each assemble our own custom-made spring rolls for rapid consumption. Later I present them with a small gift of American treats – my favorite popcorn (Orville Redenbacher’s Naturals, with Olive Oil and Cracked Pepper, mmmm!), the best U.S. chocolate (IMHO, Hershey’s Symphony Milk Chocolate with Almonds and Toffee), and a board game, Yahtzee, which we then spend the next few hours playing together. The popcorn, interestingly, refuses to pop in their state-of-the-art microwave, so we dissect the bags and pour their contents into a heated wok. The girls erupt with giggles at the sound of the corn popping, while I heave the massive pot up and down on the flame, trying to keep the kernels from scorching. After a few handfuls, the verdict is in: it’s a hit! Mom brings out Korean-style potato chips, Bugles, and diced watermelon, and just when I think I can’t possibly handle any more food in one day, we start in again with after-dinner snacks.Through the screened porch, as we huddle on the living floor around the Yahtzee board, I hear a high-pitched chorus of hiccups, which the girls inform me are frogs chirping from the rice paddies just below us. We decide to take a walk through town to offset our bloated tummies, and so that I can hear the frogs up close, since they can tell I am mesmerized by the sound. The air is damp and cool, and we stride three-deep, arm in arm down the tiled sidewalks of Seosan. It feels so second-nature to be here that I’m half amused at the reality that my family is half a world away. What will this year here hold for me? Only time will tell… But if my first experiences and impressions are any indication, I am in for an incredible journey, shared with wonderful people. Seosan is starting to feel more and more like home.