Sunday, January 16, 2011
malaysia you are delicious.
steamy tropical air, incense everywhere, curries, cakes, rota bread, fruits, tiger beer, real black tea, spice filled leaves...day one of amazing sensations.
Friday, January 14, 2011
tropical fever
too much cold, too much ice, too much gray and neon. These blue skies and sunshine keep leading me on while these icy winds slap me in the face--what'd I ever do to you? Korea, I love you, but I think we need to take a break.
I'm ready to overdose on green. The many shades, sounds, smells of the rainforest, the many of the beach. Malaysia here I come.
I'm ready to overdose on green. The many shades, sounds, smells of the rainforest, the many of the beach. Malaysia here I come.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
carets and kimchi and kkkkkkk
I lovingly call this a cartoony culture, but the overuse and abundance of expressions of our enjoyment just reinforce it. Emoticons are amazingly clever here, and quite addictive I might add. All of our text messages suddenly include little stars and hearts and funny-eyed smiley faces, full of carets ^^ (see those are some happy eyes right there). I can't seem to write an email or a facebook shout without making sure my meaning is caret-clear. Unfortunately I haven't yet discovered the sarcasmoticon. Maybe it's just a blank space. How's that work for you?
The textual embodiment of emotions even needs translation for laughter. Look on any message board, chatroom, bathroom stall or permanent-marker-graffitied-coffee-shop wall and you'll see ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ or kkkkkk. What the hell is that? Well laughter of course, because everyone knows kuh-kuh-kuh-kuh is the sound we make when we chuckle and giggle. In all fairness, lol and hahaha don't seem like that much more accurate transcriptions of laughter. It sure does make me laugh more though, thinking of all those k's in a row and trying to make the sound.
Enjoy, for example, this facebook message between nations:
But the absolute winner in the translated happiness award has to go to the kimchi. Not fermented cabbage kimchi (On a side note, such kimchi is amazing and worth many awards in its own right) but the Korean version of "say cheese" kimchi. "Say Kimchi!" Every time a photo op comes along (and there are TONS of them here; Koreans love hauling their tripods out to the park and getting their picture on), "kimchi" and peace signs are flyin like gang signs at sixth grade skating rink parties. Ok, not the best metaphor, but you get the idea. But the kimchi + peace/victory v sign combo seems like the only attack in the korean arsenal for the trigger-happy photographer. It isn't just little school girls that do it, either. EVERYONE on the continent falls back on this failsafe pose, guaranteed to make you look endearing in photo form. I don't know when it starts. I've seen everyone from old Adjumas picking up the recycling to politicians standing on the side of the streets. It clearly starts early. At the orphanage I visit I have seen toddlers and even infants already branded with the telltale signs of kimchi infection.
I know they like conformity, but please give us some new poses. I'm bored of it.
Actually, all of us waegooks would be lying to say we are bored of it. We love it. LOVE it. We have co-opted all these little rituals of generic self expression and become masters at it. We flash our Vs and caret our eyes and eat and scream kimchi with a fervor to match. It's fun. It's funny. KKKKKKKKK.
The textual embodiment of emotions even needs translation for laughter. Look on any message board, chatroom, bathroom stall or permanent-marker-graffitied-coffee-shop wall and you'll see ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ or kkkkkk. What the hell is that? Well laughter of course, because everyone knows kuh-kuh-kuh-kuh is the sound we make when we chuckle and giggle. In all fairness, lol and hahaha don't seem like that much more accurate transcriptions of laughter. It sure does make me laugh more though, thinking of all those k's in a row and trying to make the sound.
Enjoy, for example, this facebook message between nations:
Hyeongjin KKK Brother n sisterJune 19, 2010 at 4:50pm · ·
Caspar lol, maybe KKK means something different here.
July 14, 2010 at 8:31pm · ·
Adalet haha, only realised now, indeed i think it was supposed to be a giggle :P
July 14, 2010 at 9:06pm · ·
Caspar Oh, isn't unintentional racism fun, kids?
July 15, 2010 at 12:56pm · ·
But the absolute winner in the translated happiness award has to go to the kimchi. Not fermented cabbage kimchi (On a side note, such kimchi is amazing and worth many awards in its own right) but the Korean version of "say cheese" kimchi. "Say Kimchi!" Every time a photo op comes along (and there are TONS of them here; Koreans love hauling their tripods out to the park and getting their picture on), "kimchi" and peace signs are flyin like gang signs at sixth grade skating rink parties. Ok, not the best metaphor, but you get the idea. But the kimchi + peace/victory v sign combo seems like the only attack in the korean arsenal for the trigger-happy photographer. It isn't just little school girls that do it, either. EVERYONE on the continent falls back on this failsafe pose, guaranteed to make you look endearing in photo form. I don't know when it starts. I've seen everyone from old Adjumas picking up the recycling to politicians standing on the side of the streets. It clearly starts early. At the orphanage I visit I have seen toddlers and even infants already branded with the telltale signs of kimchi infection.
That last little girl in the crib actually flashed it for me when I held my camera up. This country sure does like to get em while they're young.
I know they like conformity, but please give us some new poses. I'm bored of it.
Actually, all of us waegooks would be lying to say we are bored of it. We love it. LOVE it. We have co-opted all these little rituals of generic self expression and become masters at it. We flash our Vs and caret our eyes and eat and scream kimchi with a fervor to match. It's fun. It's funny. KKKKKKKKK.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Friday, December 31, 2010
old man cold man gumi can't take it
So Koreans are very proud about having four seasons--they seem surprised sometimes to hear that, yes, a good portion of the world on the same latitudinal lines share this phenomenon... And YET when inclement weather hits, like snow, for example, you'd think they'd never dealt with it before. To be fair, the past year or so has brought more snow to South Korea than the country has seen in over 30 years, but considering it snowed freakishly in April and has now snowed enough in the past two weeks to cover-thaw-freeze-cover- every driving and walking path of Gumi, you'd think they'd be a bit prepared.
Don't get me wrong, the snow is beautiful, and brings a bit of a relief to the annoyingly bitter cold, sun-shining deceptive cold. Bring on those fatty flakes and all the fun that comes with them...
Except the streets are mush and ice, cars are fishtailing and skidding and I'm watching people bite it right and left, fearing a bit for my klutz-prone self. But if I could, if there was some way to pantomime without slipping and eating ass on the icy streets I'm trying to save them from, I would try and communicate a lesson or two to these folks who don't seem to own salt or shovels or have the sense to walk down icy sidewalks without their hands in their pockets or can't seem to take their foot off the accelerator long enough to consider other ways of getting their car unstuck...oh the hilarity.
Don't get me wrong, the snow is beautiful, and brings a bit of a relief to the annoyingly bitter cold, sun-shining deceptive cold. Bring on those fatty flakes and all the fun that comes with them...
Except the streets are mush and ice, cars are fishtailing and skidding and I'm watching people bite it right and left, fearing a bit for my klutz-prone self. But if I could, if there was some way to pantomime without slipping and eating ass on the icy streets I'm trying to save them from, I would try and communicate a lesson or two to these folks who don't seem to own salt or shovels or have the sense to walk down icy sidewalks without their hands in their pockets or can't seem to take their foot off the accelerator long enough to consider other ways of getting their car unstuck...oh the hilarity.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
a holiday letter home
So I know I've been horrible at updating, but it has been a very hectic fall-into-winter. I wrote a letter home for the holidays, rehashing and reflecting on where I'm at now. It's a holiday letter for the family, so it's long and sappy, but sums up the feeling of my year in Korea in as brief a way as I can (and still SO much is missing, GAH!)
성탄절 잘 보내요!a
메리 크리스마스!b
December 2010
Happy Holiday from the Eastern Hemisphere !
Since the holiday season kicked off, and let’s just include everything from July 4th potluck bbqs to Thanksgiving feasts to the quickly approaching Christmas and New Year’s revelries, being on the other side of the world makes celebrating a bit trickier. In fact, being on the other side of the world where ovens, cheese, bread, and decent wine and chocolate are rare, the reality of missing out on these holidays settles even stronger in the deep recesses of my soul, namely, my stomach. But the cravings for home are burdens I am always ready to face when the opportunity of a new adventure presents itself. Alissa takes on Asia .
Almost a year in Korea Korea Korea
My Korea Korea Korea
With the help of my Korean and Waegookin companions, I have made this year the most eventful one of my life, determined not to waste a moment. Every weekend I set a rule for myself: a bit of culture, a bit of partying. Balance is important. So taking advantage of Korea ’s excellent infrastructure, I set out on a new adventure and leave my wonderful city of Gumi Korea Korea
Better than the weekends though, are the real holidays. Beijing for a week was my first visit to China Beijing in a heatwave reinfused me with a whole new love for Korea , and made even Korea Korea ’s Hawaii Korea all over again, desperately, and somewhat defensively, trying to prove to her how wonderful my Korea
My adventures continue, and I can’t wait. In my sights are Malaysia , Thailand , more of Korea Kansas , I can’t wait to see what I find; just as much of an adventure will come in Kansas as it did in Korea
This whole experience makes me feel simultaneously more and less connected with the people I love—all across the world. Skype, Facebook, Email, these digital tools that make us feel connected and yet remind us that we aren’t connected in the warm-blooded way we need to be (like hugs) at least give us something. But while I am terrible at keeping constant correspondence, or even keeping my blog updated, all of you are with me, all the time, in every experience. When Grammie died, it hit home even more, how far away I am from everyone back home, but how strong we are still connected. And while every experience here is different (and sometimes lacking) from the way things are done back home, I am able to enjoy the new things and gain a whole new appreciation for what I’ve left behind (and will definitely relish when I return to it).
It doesn’t matter where I am or who I meet or how much time I have with them, it what I do in that time that matters. I don’t want to be just a red herring in someone else’s story; I want to be a positive force that contributes to the story. It’s about impact. It’s about infusing every moment, every interaction, with all the honesty and joy and love I have to offer. Sharing, building, passing it on. It’s too bad that all these feel-good thoughts only seem to enter the mainstream discussion around the holidays. Cliché as it sounds, we should be treating everyday like the holidays, living and sharing to the extreme. I didn’t need to travel halfway around the world to learn that life should be a celebration, but it sure has helped me keep celebrating the new tastes along with the old.
Wishing you all the constant revelry and wonder that comes when we share our lives with those around us. Keep the connections strong and keep feeling the Happy Holidays all the other days.
Love and Peace from the East!
P.S. To all of you who have followed my adventures with interest, who have given me the gift of your thoughts, love, time, or goodies (especially the goodies ^_^), thank you so much. You have filled me with so much happiness and love I could burst into thousands of brilliant colors (I still have fireworks on the brain).
a. “Seongtancheol jal bonaeyo” = have a good Christmas
b. “Merry Chrismusuh!” = Merry Christmas
Monday, November 8, 2010
we mean business
Koreans take education serious--WAY more seriously than anything I've ever encountered before. Even in higher levels of academia, I've never seen the end-all-be-all, your-fate-depends-on-this-test attitude until I came here. From students walking like zombies from lack of sleep and fueled by packets of Maxim gold, to parents coming to pray outside the schools, there is a loom and doom that far outweighs any excitement or enjoyment in learning.
And now I get to experience the level of importance in my role as an educator first hand. Today, I will be shipped off to a hotel with four other teachers, sequestered indoors with no communication with the outside. Why the seclusion? Because we are preparing the entrance exams for the student applicants to the highschool. My precise job? Write 2 interview questions (already did it) for the one student who is applying to the advanced program, who is guaranteed into the program already. But just in case we aren't trustworthy enough, the school board can't risk us potentially leaking the questions. Just in case, they better keep us locked up for 24 hours...
And now I get to experience the level of importance in my role as an educator first hand. Today, I will be shipped off to a hotel with four other teachers, sequestered indoors with no communication with the outside. Why the seclusion? Because we are preparing the entrance exams for the student applicants to the highschool. My precise job? Write 2 interview questions (already did it) for the one student who is applying to the advanced program, who is guaranteed into the program already. But just in case we aren't trustworthy enough, the school board can't risk us potentially leaking the questions. Just in case, they better keep us locked up for 24 hours...
Friday, October 29, 2010
holes
Korea is putting holes in all of my socks. All those colorful holidays mom gave me are slowly being eaten away by a crappy washing machine.
Friday, October 15, 2010
distance sucks
As much as I love to travel and live abroad, occasionally I get reminders of how much a life like this can also suck. Separation. Distance. Heavy heavy things...
As much as new technology kids us into feeling connected, it also just reaffirms how far away we are. How disconnected we become. We're mammals. Face it, without contact, without presence, what are we to each other?
Today I found out my grandma died through facebook. Thank you technology, for keeping me so well informed. I actually missed the first clue of a status update from my aunt, announcing the news. I actually sent her a wonderfully supportive condolence message, thinking I was referring to her mother-in-law. I actually still didn't make the connection that it was, indeed, her mother, my grandmother, she was talking about even after the "call me asap" urgent email from my mother. All this distance has made me dense. Well, international dialing failure and poor cross-hemisphere timing resulted in me getting the news through a facebook chat with my little brother. Having this news broken in blunt text in a little box under pictures of the last makeoli night is a bit surreal. Nice poetic juxtaposition with the abandoned revelry we're having over here. Indulgence vs. loss...god did I feel like an asshole. Okay, not yet. I felt a bit shocked. Then quite heartbroken. Then blubbery. Then like an asshole for being clear across the world wanting nothing more than to give my dad a hug.
After a bit of confusion with my boss who apparently saw my tears, and thought my request to go home was to return to America, I finally made it home for a skype with my parents. Suddenly I am no longer in the future. Suddenly I am the one listening for the news. Skype with tears and broken silence. Strange. And still, no touch. No way to reach out. Strange how these losses can even bring us together in the digital age, but still keep us so so so far apart. Man.
I'm not the first of my friends over here to experience this. But wow, did not expect it. And when will it sink in fully? When I return home and there's no Grammie Lou. No house in Horton to visit? No more sugar cookies and buckeyes at Christmas? Usually it's her tears at the family get togethers, but now those will be transferred to everyone else's cheeks.
I'm pretty ok with death. In fact, me and Grammie, we're cool. We connected through the sunshine this afternoon, through warm feelings and wind and memory. Her face is still sharp and lovely in my mind (I don't care how cheesy you think that sounds). The heaviest part of all of this is being separate from everyone else. I immediately think of my dad. Of both my parents with all their kids now far away...man. And my aunts and uncles and the holidays coming. And how my generation, all of us cousins, really aren't as connected. This too shall pass. What glue is going to be there when we're the adults, scattered all over, communicating way less frequently despite the modern ease of it. This kind of change is a heavy thing.
I'm crap at keeping up contact over distance. I wrote her another letter a few weeks ago and I am lucky it arrived just in time. Lucky me, she got to hear how much I missed her food. How touching. I last saw her on my way to the casino with Jason, to play in my first poker tournament (which I did quite well in, considering...). That visit was a completely last minute event, and how wonderful those moments in the kitchen were. And then I came to Korea.
But really, it's times like these that just reinforce the importance of connecting, making the most of every moment we're together. The people I love are with me every day, and even if they only hear from me in the occasional letter, I just have to trust that they know how much I carry them with me. Over distances like these, instead of feeling disconnected, I have to believe that we are strong forces in each others' lives--not just as memories, but as a constant presence, so we are never really alone, connected despite being worlds away.
As much as new technology kids us into feeling connected, it also just reaffirms how far away we are. How disconnected we become. We're mammals. Face it, without contact, without presence, what are we to each other?
Today I found out my grandma died through facebook. Thank you technology, for keeping me so well informed. I actually missed the first clue of a status update from my aunt, announcing the news. I actually sent her a wonderfully supportive condolence message, thinking I was referring to her mother-in-law. I actually still didn't make the connection that it was, indeed, her mother, my grandmother, she was talking about even after the "call me asap" urgent email from my mother. All this distance has made me dense. Well, international dialing failure and poor cross-hemisphere timing resulted in me getting the news through a facebook chat with my little brother. Having this news broken in blunt text in a little box under pictures of the last makeoli night is a bit surreal. Nice poetic juxtaposition with the abandoned revelry we're having over here. Indulgence vs. loss...god did I feel like an asshole. Okay, not yet. I felt a bit shocked. Then quite heartbroken. Then blubbery. Then like an asshole for being clear across the world wanting nothing more than to give my dad a hug.
After a bit of confusion with my boss who apparently saw my tears, and thought my request to go home was to return to America, I finally made it home for a skype with my parents. Suddenly I am no longer in the future. Suddenly I am the one listening for the news. Skype with tears and broken silence. Strange. And still, no touch. No way to reach out. Strange how these losses can even bring us together in the digital age, but still keep us so so so far apart. Man.
I'm not the first of my friends over here to experience this. But wow, did not expect it. And when will it sink in fully? When I return home and there's no Grammie Lou. No house in Horton to visit? No more sugar cookies and buckeyes at Christmas? Usually it's her tears at the family get togethers, but now those will be transferred to everyone else's cheeks.
I'm pretty ok with death. In fact, me and Grammie, we're cool. We connected through the sunshine this afternoon, through warm feelings and wind and memory. Her face is still sharp and lovely in my mind (I don't care how cheesy you think that sounds). The heaviest part of all of this is being separate from everyone else. I immediately think of my dad. Of both my parents with all their kids now far away...man. And my aunts and uncles and the holidays coming. And how my generation, all of us cousins, really aren't as connected. This too shall pass. What glue is going to be there when we're the adults, scattered all over, communicating way less frequently despite the modern ease of it. This kind of change is a heavy thing.
I'm crap at keeping up contact over distance. I wrote her another letter a few weeks ago and I am lucky it arrived just in time. Lucky me, she got to hear how much I missed her food. How touching. I last saw her on my way to the casino with Jason, to play in my first poker tournament (which I did quite well in, considering...). That visit was a completely last minute event, and how wonderful those moments in the kitchen were. And then I came to Korea.
But really, it's times like these that just reinforce the importance of connecting, making the most of every moment we're together. The people I love are with me every day, and even if they only hear from me in the occasional letter, I just have to trust that they know how much I carry them with me. Over distances like these, instead of feeling disconnected, I have to believe that we are strong forces in each others' lives--not just as memories, but as a constant presence, so we are never really alone, connected despite being worlds away.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
gathering for dancing!!!
SoKo has delivered me some great shows. Headin to Seoul today for Global Gathering. It's gonna be sick.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
bliss in juice and steam
Last night I climbed a thorny tree outside my apartment, stealth style, armed with a soju buzz, and liberated four fat pomegranates. Red juicy little kernels, each tiny bite an explosion of flavor and excitement at dodging the landlord.
Tonight I returned to the sauna with Portia for the first time in months. Soaking, salting, scrubbing. Steam and chat, soggy and relaxed.
Just a few of Korea's love letters.
Tonight I returned to the sauna with Portia for the first time in months. Soaking, salting, scrubbing. Steam and chat, soggy and relaxed.
Just a few of Korea's love letters.
Monday, October 4, 2010
a coast full of wishes and a sky full of dreams: jeju three
After my camera tragically died, I slowly made my way down the crater, skin so cold my goosebumps felt like they were popping with little electric charges. It's cold and windy on a coastal cliff at dawn. Noted. The next morning I would be sure to dress as accordingly as possible consider I only packed for beach weather (where was my girl scout readiness then?) Down the crater, along the coast, I met sun and sea for the morning, cold hugs hello. Happy Saturday!
The Haenyeo, women divers, are famous on Jeju. They can hold their breath for minutes, diving low to harvest the abalone. I never saw them, even though I really tried. We saw statues, posters, and posts. That Saturday morning, I walked down a tiny little walkway down to the rocks below the crater to a small concrete platform licked by the waves of the little cove. I started doing my sun salutations until I realized I was in view of one of the observation cliffs on the crater above me. I don't know how much the view of my ass sticking up in downward-facing dog stretch really added to the scenic vista for all the hikers. And after I realized this, I looked to the left and realized that just below the path I walked down, nestled into a little cave, was a little home with big porches lined with the gourds and lines I'd seen in all the Haenyeo posters. And there was an adjuma standing on the porch watching me. So I'd found the Haenyeo...by invading her diving platform with my awkward stretches. I didn't get to see her in action, but at least I got a glimpse, mimicking her dives with my own as I reached for my toes. Happy Saturday indeed.
That morning, we three ladies got up early and took a 15minute ferry ride to Udo, a small island that supposedly gets its name because it looks like a cow lying down. I have no idea how they come up with these things; I didn't see any cow except the ones grazing in the pastures on the island. The sea was too choppy for us to take our scooters over, but we found more to rent for cheap on the island. I felt more like I was in the Mediterranean than in Asia as we made our way over. Udo was like Jeju's Greatest Hits. The island is only 17km in circumference and can easily be driven around. Somehow, even with the Pensions and Cafes scattered here and there, with all the tourists that came on the ferry with us, even with the cars and occasional bus load of folks we ran into, the quaintness, rural pristine gleam of the island made it a gem. We cruised along the coast, waves crashing and sprinkling us with the lightness of the sea, dug our toes into a powdery white coral beach, saw the black sand sparkle and watched the gold and green dance across the mountain cliffs and through the patchwork fields on the inner island--all the way, moving through black rock borders, built by hands or by volcanoes long ago. Oh oh Udo. Happy animals were all over the place (which the three of us, animals ourselves, really got excited about). Puppies ran free and chased each other all over the rocks. Horses and cows grazed and glistened in the sun, their shine putting any pantene hair model to shame. But the strangest thing was that all these parts seemed so connected--not divided or classified--they were all just Udo, all just part of the fabric of the island, wrapping us up in a perfect cozy comforter of light and color.
One of the best encounters on the island was next to a small light house and stone lookout platform, when we found a bus-cum-shop with a cardboard painted menu and tiny tables outside with people eating and books on display. A vibrant and free-spirited author, selling paintings and poetry and the "best pajeon in the world" (I was so disappointed that i wasn't hungry...). Her energy, the words and colors swirling on the pages, melted and meshed so well with the feeling of the island. This is the kind of life that draws me. These women, living a bit off the grid, zigzaggin through their future, inspire me.
Kate and I left Candice to hunt for lava tubes. We hopped on our scooters and cruised farther up the East coast. The land-sky-sea-scapes we had become familiar with were rendered striking and alien by the towering wind turbines clustered in the fields by the coast. Seeing the giant white blades cutting lazily through the island skies, so white and sleek against the shifting scenery they were a part of...wow. Whenever I see turbines I am struck by a stupid, humble, simpleton sort of awe.
Past the wind, through the trees, inland through a small forest, Kate and I zoomed up to the lava tubes...only to discover her bag was missing. Haha, oh the mishaps that make for the stories, that make for the laughs. We got back on our scooters and back-tracked to a stop we'd made on the highway, found her bag and circled back. Through the whole detour, Kate's apologies were completely unnecessary: that little sidestep proved one of my favorite drives of the whole trip. The humor of the situation, driving through the tiny twisty road of the trees and back along the turbine-lined coast, I found myself belting out impromptu show tunes and moving between giggle fits and ooohs and aaahs...I had so much fun.
When Kate and I made it back to the lava tubes and followed the signs to the entrance--one of them being "No High Heels" refreshing us in the knowledge that not all places in Korea welcome ridiculously inappropriate footwear. Another sign, keeping with Korea's standard, declared it one of the Longest Lava Tubes in the World." We climbed down damp steps into a dark hole, vines hanging from the trees, reminding me quite a bit of some Temple Of Doom movie set. I had sort of envisioned the caves I've visited in America, full of elaborate formations, stalactites mites etc...bats maybe if we were lucky. This was much more low key, but still very cool. Continuing our the fluid/liquid theme of the island, the lava tube had the feeling of fluid suspended in time--which essentially is what it was. The lava had forced its way through the ground, and the ceiling, walls and floor of the cavern had been imprinted by the various stages of this movement. The ceiling had thousands of tiny little spikes jutting down towards us where the lava had dripped down, the walls were lined with smooth horizontal ridges marking the levels of the flow, and the flow was a lumpy grooved mass: we were walking on solidified ooze. It was amazing. Damp, extremely low lit, causing walking along to be a bit of a challenge. The path ended in a giant pillar of hardened lava, floor-to-ceiling, marking the end of our walk in the longest tube in the world.
Right near the lava tube was Kimnyeong Maze park. Cheesy as it sounds, Kate and I both got really excited about a hedge maze and decided to give it a go. When you enter, you get a little map that looks a lot like a McDonald's coloring placemat and are told that only 65% of people make it to ring the bell at the finish. The maze was not big and didn't seem like it would be difficult, but as we made our way into the leafy halls, we were a bit surprised. The maze, in it's tiny twisting mystery, seemed very fluid and shifting as well. We played Hansel and Gretel with candy wrappers and coke cans, but no matter how familiar the paths seemed, we kept getting turned around. Surprisingly, there were far more adults in the maze than children, and we would all pass each other and form shifting chains of explorers, latching on to other leaders and breaking off at different turns. Everyone was in a baffled and frustrated good mood, creating a cheerful little community of familiar faces trapped together in the bushes. Many of the Koreans (though they didn't seem to do much better) were armed with maps and pens, tracing out their paths. After standing on the final bridge with the bell and watching us pass below several times, a man and his family were really excited to offer Kate and I their secret of the maze, lowering down their map, which we only glanced and then returned (they didn't understand this at all...) so we could still force ourselves to find our way on our own. Eventually we did, after twisting and backtracking enough to walk the whole thing about ten times it seemed. We finally had earned our way to into the 65% bracket, earned our way to ring the bell. And we did--except a little brat of a boy decided he would ring it instead and whipped me in the face with the chord before running off, he didn't really even acknowledge Kate and I very much. Oh well. Still, what a fun mind body exercise. One of the favorite parts of the trip.
We took misdirection and wrong turns with us, though. We tried to travel back roads back to Seongsan, but since there are no regular street signs and the official tourism road map was less accurate than the cartoon maze map, we failed. But failing only succeeding in giving us a beautiful detour that spit us right back out onto the coastal highway by the wind turbines. When we were twisting through the backroads, we breezed by overgrown hedgerows lining the fields, excited birds and ducks into flight through the speckled light of the sun. It was exhilarating, even if it was more short-lived than we'd set out for.
That dinner we ate at a small, family-run Korean place right at the bottom of the crater. Ilchabong spread out across the window like a painting. Abalone gravy over rice and grilled Mackarel, along with all the delicious side dishes Korea wins my heart with: kimchi, radish, lotus root, fermented beans, bean sprouts, seaweed soup...yummm.... I will miss the spread of colorful tiny dishes, open and waiting for my greedy chopsticks. We were the only two eating and some of the extended family was gathered with two grandchildren (I assume). It was nice having their shared time as a backdrop to our meal, chatter and laughter adding to the classical music coming from the tv's nature expose. What a great meal.
That evening, the three of us sat on a mat in the room and connected and shared. With Ilchabong towering out the window and Indiana Jones muted on the tv, we reflected on our journey--outward and in--along the coasts of Jeju. This island opened so much up for us.
Our final morning, bright and early, my two companions joined me for sunrise. We hiked up the crater again (this time I wore a sweater) to join the rest of the early birds. All of us sitting around in the semi-dark, waiting for warmth and light. Well, this day, they didn't totally come. There were more clouds, more wind. Actually, the colors of the sky were much more impressive the second day, and when the sun finally peaked through, it was staring at us with two fiery looking lens, like backwards sun glasses. Pretty rocking.
After the sun rose, it started sprinkling and the wind picked up and we made our way down the mountain to prepare for our return journey. The impending doom looming in the clouds worried us a bit, and after equipping ourselves with ponchos, slightly warmer clothes, and a delicious real coffee at a little cafe Candice found (that amazingly was open at 8am), we were ready to ride.
For the better part of our drive, Jeju blessed us once again with amazing weather. It is amazing what a handkerchief and plastic garbage bag poncho can do to make cruising on a scooter more comfortable. All morning as we followed the inland highways (much smaller than the main coastal roads), we three flew along in our little gang, somehow all singing "Born to be Wild" without any coordination. We were a scooter gang, on the same page, driving wild in Jeju. Woohoo. It wasn't until we pulled over to stop and gape in wonder at the scenery of turbines and volcanic cones and trees and sky and sea--SEA! on the wrong side of us--that we realized once again the roadmap had screwed us. Some good guessing on the directions of roadsigns and help in the form of Korean charades got us back on the main road with only about 25km to go it started raining. It could have been miserable, shivering, constantly wet, the occasionally bugs and fog clogging up my goggles, trying to keep the poncho from whipping behing me and strangling me...but it was AWESOME! I had so much fun, feeling like I had mastered the scooter, mastered the island. Jeju had given us amazing weather, amazing sunshine, amazing experiences all week (despite what the forecasts had threatened); Jeju loved having us here, and here it was, crying to see us leave--at least that's how I'm going to take it.
After dropping off the scooters we realized how exhausted we were and cabbed it back to Jeju City through the middle of the island. We all tried to stay awake, but we definitely faded off during that drive. When we got to the city, we found the Baghdad Cafe and warmed ourselves over chai tea. A solo traveler whose path kept crossing ours did so once more, and he joined us for a meal of the best Indian food I've had since coming to Korea. Oh garlic and cumin and basil and all the spices I wish Gumi would offer me...yummm. We walked around a bit through the streets, shifting back to Korea before we even got on the plane. Jeju City is just like every other city in Korea that's just like every other city in Korea...streets and alleys with shops stacked on several stories, the same places clustered together. After coffee and a good chat, we wished our travel buddy well and made our way back to the plane, back to Gimhae, back to reality.
Kate and I hauled ass to get to the bus for Gumi that we thought was leaving in ten minutes, only to find we had two hours. So more waiting in Gimhae. When we finally got on the bus, the driver was really rude (which I never encounter with bus drivers here) and we couldn't figure out way. First he was really impatient when we were paying him, then he yelled at me not to sit in three different places even though the bus had plenty of open seats. The bus first stopped at DongDaegu, and that's when we realized the reason for his ire. The bus parked, the lights came on, everyone but Kate and I left--we started to freak out that this wasn't right, and my "Gumi?! Gumi?!?" was completely ignored by the driver as he walked off the bus and started washing the windows. It wasn't until the cleaning ladies who came on with mops and buckets assured us that the bus was bound for Gumi that we relaxed, and then laughed. The guy was pissed because he had to drive all the way to Gumi because of two of us. Like we had somehow planned to inconvenience him...Well, Kate and I had a nice empty bus back to Gumi, said our goodbyes and went home to the Sunday routine of laundry and setting alarms.
But the weekday routine hasn't set a reset from before I left. Jeju resonates.
*since my camera broke, these photos are all courtesy of Kate.
The Haenyeo, women divers, are famous on Jeju. They can hold their breath for minutes, diving low to harvest the abalone. I never saw them, even though I really tried. We saw statues, posters, and posts. That Saturday morning, I walked down a tiny little walkway down to the rocks below the crater to a small concrete platform licked by the waves of the little cove. I started doing my sun salutations until I realized I was in view of one of the observation cliffs on the crater above me. I don't know how much the view of my ass sticking up in downward-facing dog stretch really added to the scenic vista for all the hikers. And after I realized this, I looked to the left and realized that just below the path I walked down, nestled into a little cave, was a little home with big porches lined with the gourds and lines I'd seen in all the Haenyeo posters. And there was an adjuma standing on the porch watching me. So I'd found the Haenyeo...by invading her diving platform with my awkward stretches. I didn't get to see her in action, but at least I got a glimpse, mimicking her dives with my own as I reached for my toes. Happy Saturday indeed.
That morning, we three ladies got up early and took a 15minute ferry ride to Udo, a small island that supposedly gets its name because it looks like a cow lying down. I have no idea how they come up with these things; I didn't see any cow except the ones grazing in the pastures on the island. The sea was too choppy for us to take our scooters over, but we found more to rent for cheap on the island. I felt more like I was in the Mediterranean than in Asia as we made our way over. Udo was like Jeju's Greatest Hits. The island is only 17km in circumference and can easily be driven around. Somehow, even with the Pensions and Cafes scattered here and there, with all the tourists that came on the ferry with us, even with the cars and occasional bus load of folks we ran into, the quaintness, rural pristine gleam of the island made it a gem. We cruised along the coast, waves crashing and sprinkling us with the lightness of the sea, dug our toes into a powdery white coral beach, saw the black sand sparkle and watched the gold and green dance across the mountain cliffs and through the patchwork fields on the inner island--all the way, moving through black rock borders, built by hands or by volcanoes long ago. Oh oh Udo. Happy animals were all over the place (which the three of us, animals ourselves, really got excited about). Puppies ran free and chased each other all over the rocks. Horses and cows grazed and glistened in the sun, their shine putting any pantene hair model to shame. But the strangest thing was that all these parts seemed so connected--not divided or classified--they were all just Udo, all just part of the fabric of the island, wrapping us up in a perfect cozy comforter of light and color.
One of the best encounters on the island was next to a small light house and stone lookout platform, when we found a bus-cum-shop with a cardboard painted menu and tiny tables outside with people eating and books on display. A vibrant and free-spirited author, selling paintings and poetry and the "best pajeon in the world" (I was so disappointed that i wasn't hungry...). Her energy, the words and colors swirling on the pages, melted and meshed so well with the feeling of the island. This is the kind of life that draws me. These women, living a bit off the grid, zigzaggin through their future, inspire me.
Kate and I left Candice to hunt for lava tubes. We hopped on our scooters and cruised farther up the East coast. The land-sky-sea-scapes we had become familiar with were rendered striking and alien by the towering wind turbines clustered in the fields by the coast. Seeing the giant white blades cutting lazily through the island skies, so white and sleek against the shifting scenery they were a part of...wow. Whenever I see turbines I am struck by a stupid, humble, simpleton sort of awe.
Past the wind, through the trees, inland through a small forest, Kate and I zoomed up to the lava tubes...only to discover her bag was missing. Haha, oh the mishaps that make for the stories, that make for the laughs. We got back on our scooters and back-tracked to a stop we'd made on the highway, found her bag and circled back. Through the whole detour, Kate's apologies were completely unnecessary: that little sidestep proved one of my favorite drives of the whole trip. The humor of the situation, driving through the tiny twisty road of the trees and back along the turbine-lined coast, I found myself belting out impromptu show tunes and moving between giggle fits and ooohs and aaahs...I had so much fun.
When Kate and I made it back to the lava tubes and followed the signs to the entrance--one of them being "No High Heels" refreshing us in the knowledge that not all places in Korea welcome ridiculously inappropriate footwear. Another sign, keeping with Korea's standard, declared it one of the Longest Lava Tubes in the World." We climbed down damp steps into a dark hole, vines hanging from the trees, reminding me quite a bit of some Temple Of Doom movie set. I had sort of envisioned the caves I've visited in America, full of elaborate formations, stalactites mites etc...bats maybe if we were lucky. This was much more low key, but still very cool. Continuing our the fluid/liquid theme of the island, the lava tube had the feeling of fluid suspended in time--which essentially is what it was. The lava had forced its way through the ground, and the ceiling, walls and floor of the cavern had been imprinted by the various stages of this movement. The ceiling had thousands of tiny little spikes jutting down towards us where the lava had dripped down, the walls were lined with smooth horizontal ridges marking the levels of the flow, and the flow was a lumpy grooved mass: we were walking on solidified ooze. It was amazing. Damp, extremely low lit, causing walking along to be a bit of a challenge. The path ended in a giant pillar of hardened lava, floor-to-ceiling, marking the end of our walk in the longest tube in the world.
Right near the lava tube was Kimnyeong Maze park. Cheesy as it sounds, Kate and I both got really excited about a hedge maze and decided to give it a go. When you enter, you get a little map that looks a lot like a McDonald's coloring placemat and are told that only 65% of people make it to ring the bell at the finish. The maze was not big and didn't seem like it would be difficult, but as we made our way into the leafy halls, we were a bit surprised. The maze, in it's tiny twisting mystery, seemed very fluid and shifting as well. We played Hansel and Gretel with candy wrappers and coke cans, but no matter how familiar the paths seemed, we kept getting turned around. Surprisingly, there were far more adults in the maze than children, and we would all pass each other and form shifting chains of explorers, latching on to other leaders and breaking off at different turns. Everyone was in a baffled and frustrated good mood, creating a cheerful little community of familiar faces trapped together in the bushes. Many of the Koreans (though they didn't seem to do much better) were armed with maps and pens, tracing out their paths. After standing on the final bridge with the bell and watching us pass below several times, a man and his family were really excited to offer Kate and I their secret of the maze, lowering down their map, which we only glanced and then returned (they didn't understand this at all...) so we could still force ourselves to find our way on our own. Eventually we did, after twisting and backtracking enough to walk the whole thing about ten times it seemed. We finally had earned our way to into the 65% bracket, earned our way to ring the bell. And we did--except a little brat of a boy decided he would ring it instead and whipped me in the face with the chord before running off, he didn't really even acknowledge Kate and I very much. Oh well. Still, what a fun mind body exercise. One of the favorite parts of the trip.
We took misdirection and wrong turns with us, though. We tried to travel back roads back to Seongsan, but since there are no regular street signs and the official tourism road map was less accurate than the cartoon maze map, we failed. But failing only succeeding in giving us a beautiful detour that spit us right back out onto the coastal highway by the wind turbines. When we were twisting through the backroads, we breezed by overgrown hedgerows lining the fields, excited birds and ducks into flight through the speckled light of the sun. It was exhilarating, even if it was more short-lived than we'd set out for.
That dinner we ate at a small, family-run Korean place right at the bottom of the crater. Ilchabong spread out across the window like a painting. Abalone gravy over rice and grilled Mackarel, along with all the delicious side dishes Korea wins my heart with: kimchi, radish, lotus root, fermented beans, bean sprouts, seaweed soup...yummm.... I will miss the spread of colorful tiny dishes, open and waiting for my greedy chopsticks. We were the only two eating and some of the extended family was gathered with two grandchildren (I assume). It was nice having their shared time as a backdrop to our meal, chatter and laughter adding to the classical music coming from the tv's nature expose. What a great meal.
That evening, the three of us sat on a mat in the room and connected and shared. With Ilchabong towering out the window and Indiana Jones muted on the tv, we reflected on our journey--outward and in--along the coasts of Jeju. This island opened so much up for us.
Our final morning, bright and early, my two companions joined me for sunrise. We hiked up the crater again (this time I wore a sweater) to join the rest of the early birds. All of us sitting around in the semi-dark, waiting for warmth and light. Well, this day, they didn't totally come. There were more clouds, more wind. Actually, the colors of the sky were much more impressive the second day, and when the sun finally peaked through, it was staring at us with two fiery looking lens, like backwards sun glasses. Pretty rocking.
For the better part of our drive, Jeju blessed us once again with amazing weather. It is amazing what a handkerchief and plastic garbage bag poncho can do to make cruising on a scooter more comfortable. All morning as we followed the inland highways (much smaller than the main coastal roads), we three flew along in our little gang, somehow all singing "Born to be Wild" without any coordination. We were a scooter gang, on the same page, driving wild in Jeju. Woohoo. It wasn't until we pulled over to stop and gape in wonder at the scenery of turbines and volcanic cones and trees and sky and sea--SEA! on the wrong side of us--that we realized once again the roadmap had screwed us. Some good guessing on the directions of roadsigns and help in the form of Korean charades got us back on the main road with only about 25km to go it started raining. It could have been miserable, shivering, constantly wet, the occasionally bugs and fog clogging up my goggles, trying to keep the poncho from whipping behing me and strangling me...but it was AWESOME! I had so much fun, feeling like I had mastered the scooter, mastered the island. Jeju had given us amazing weather, amazing sunshine, amazing experiences all week (despite what the forecasts had threatened); Jeju loved having us here, and here it was, crying to see us leave--at least that's how I'm going to take it.
After dropping off the scooters we realized how exhausted we were and cabbed it back to Jeju City through the middle of the island. We all tried to stay awake, but we definitely faded off during that drive. When we got to the city, we found the Baghdad Cafe and warmed ourselves over chai tea. A solo traveler whose path kept crossing ours did so once more, and he joined us for a meal of the best Indian food I've had since coming to Korea. Oh garlic and cumin and basil and all the spices I wish Gumi would offer me...yummm. We walked around a bit through the streets, shifting back to Korea before we even got on the plane. Jeju City is just like every other city in Korea that's just like every other city in Korea...streets and alleys with shops stacked on several stories, the same places clustered together. After coffee and a good chat, we wished our travel buddy well and made our way back to the plane, back to Gimhae, back to reality.
Kate and I hauled ass to get to the bus for Gumi that we thought was leaving in ten minutes, only to find we had two hours. So more waiting in Gimhae. When we finally got on the bus, the driver was really rude (which I never encounter with bus drivers here) and we couldn't figure out way. First he was really impatient when we were paying him, then he yelled at me not to sit in three different places even though the bus had plenty of open seats. The bus first stopped at DongDaegu, and that's when we realized the reason for his ire. The bus parked, the lights came on, everyone but Kate and I left--we started to freak out that this wasn't right, and my "Gumi?! Gumi?!?" was completely ignored by the driver as he walked off the bus and started washing the windows. It wasn't until the cleaning ladies who came on with mops and buckets assured us that the bus was bound for Gumi that we relaxed, and then laughed. The guy was pissed because he had to drive all the way to Gumi because of two of us. Like we had somehow planned to inconvenience him...Well, Kate and I had a nice empty bus back to Gumi, said our goodbyes and went home to the Sunday routine of laundry and setting alarms.
But the weekday routine hasn't set a reset from before I left. Jeju resonates.
*since my camera broke, these photos are all courtesy of Kate.
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