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 4^th 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 and this country and all its odd charms have worked very hard to fill the holes of a home back in the states.  I’ve eaten some amazing (김치, 김밥, 파전, 호떡) and not-so-amazing things (worst being 번데기, silk worm larvae), drank even more amazing things (oh 막걸리 makeolli, how I will miss you), and amazed myself with my mastery of chopsticks.  I bow to all adults and elders, exchange gifts with the proper hands, and leave my shoes at the door without a second thought.  Navigating the Korean culture comes naturally now.  I even take my toilet paper with me to the bathroom, fetch the water at the kimbap shops, and never expect a divided check.  I am used to the “Conundrums of Korea” as I like to call them, where following a strict code and the-way-things-are-is-end-all-be-all attitude (don’t even try to change an item on a menu, even leaving a strip of ham off of something they are making fresh) and then schedules and plans will change last minute, with no warning.  I respond to these conundrums with an “Oh, Korea” acceptance and go with the flow, perhaps the best lesson this culture can teach anyone.  There are some things, however I will never adjust to, such as the smelly bathrooms, squat toilets (where I refuse to go #2), the pushing and shoving and horrible queuing etiquette, and not being allowed to try things on in the shops.  It’s all part of my Korea, though—good, bad, funny, smelly—this exciting chapter in my story. 

My Korea isn’t just Korean—it’s actually less Korean than you’d think.  I’m not a tourist, and not a Korean, but a Waegook, a foreigner (Western/English speaking) living in Korea.  There are loads of us, and we do what any Westerners that don’t know a language would do—we glue ourselves together by our mutual outsider-ness, our mutual stranded-ness in small apartments, and our mutual love to party.  So every weekend, every evening, we slip outside of the very Korean world that is our work life and come together with an excitement appropriate for reunions with long-lost family members.  Oh yea, we have fun.  We meld our cultures together, collide it with Korea, and a strange amalgamation of accents, customs and dance moves is born.  And this is our community, our friends, our family.  All of us, only digitally connected to our home continents, have bonded with a waste-no-time-this-is-it intensity.  Inside jokes, nicknames, trust, love, all the things we take years to develop in our comfortable lives happens in moments over here.  It’s wonderful.  My “Korean Family.”

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 almost every weekend (I think so far, I’ve stayed in Gumi about 5 weekends since I’ve been here).  I’ve seen more of Korea than most of my coworkers or students—as of yet I’ve been to all but one of the provinces.  I hunted down every excuse to visit a place I could find: Green tea festivals, Strawberry festivals, Soju and Makeoli festivals, Mask festivals, Cherry Blossom festivals, Breakdancing festivals, Fireworks, Graffiti festivals, Lantern festivals (Korea loves its festivals).  My favorites were the Boryeong Mud festival where we rolled around in anti-aging mud on a beach like a bunch of three year olds all weekend, or the Jisan Valley Rock festival where I camped in the mountains with amazing music and dancing and revelry.  The weekend adventures are fantastic.

Better than the weekends though, are the real holidays.  Beijing for a week was my first visit to China, where I walked on the Great Wall and saluted Mao (to the chagrin of the guard next to me) and visited temple upon temple.  A week in Beijing in a heatwave reinfused me with a whole new love for Korea, and made even Korea feel clean.  Another week was spent on Jeju-do (Korea’s Hawaii) where we rode scooters and swam on black sand beaches and met the sunrise from the cliffs of a crater (yea, I climbed it twice at 5am).  And one of the best times of the year was a 2 1/2 week visit from my friend Kacye from back home, where I got to get excited about Korea all over again, desperately, and somewhat defensively, trying to prove to her how wonderful my Korea is.  And I got to share a piece of home with everyone here.  The goodbye was a bit sad.

My adventures continue, and I can’t wait.  In my sights are Malaysia, Thailand, more of Korea.  When my heels are clicked and I find myself back in 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

digging the summer from under my nails

School is back on. Summer is officially over--the free weeks, not the heat. We're still melting, bitching and moaning about the humidity, relying too heavily on air-cons and paparazziing our weekend adventures. The parties are back to being punctuated by days of desk-warming and repeat-after-mes to smooth away the engrish ingrained in the over-worked brains of Korea's youth.

I missed my students, my coteachers, my school. It's good to be back.

I miss summer already.

Beaches, mud, festivals, Beijing...the last few months have overloaded me with new friends, crazy visions and more dancing than even I thought possible (is that possible?).

International BBoy Championships, International Graffiti Festival, Seoul: July 3-4

Heading up to Seoul for a weekend with the girls, we watched poppers and lockers and breakdancers battle it out onstage while beats were delivered from some top djs from around the world. All of Korea's dance traditions were brought together in an amazing performance of popping, locking, traditional drumming, martial arts, breaking and even some fans to bring it all together. Best cultural display I've experienced in Korea.

We walked by a river where graffiti artists climbed ladders to tag their soul onto Seoul cement. We sipped coctails in the sky above the lights and noise of one of the great sprawl of the city. Our version of a funkified sex and the city weekend--just Seoul instead of New York, flipflops instead of prada heels. Love my girl time.

Boryeong Mud Festival: July 17-19

A soju-filled bus ride delivered our crew to the West coast waters of Daecheon beach in the middle of the night. Small town, huge waves, loads of white people. We crammed into over-booked, under-cooled motel rooms, two on the floor, two on the cement bed. Shared our bunks with mosquitos. Woke up to rain, wind, and giant waves. Didn't stop us from finding the mud. We slid, wrestled, hosed and painted. Walked around in wild colored war paint--intox and detox all at once, hail the amazing powers of Boryeong mud. Rode waves and fought to survive and celebrated our exhausted triumph with 30+ bottles of makoli the restaurant owner kept going and purchasing from the store for us. Woke up to a sunny day and kissed our dirty bodies goodbye to return to inland civilization.

Pohang Fireworks Festival: July 25-26

Five of us cram into a car late Friday night and roadtrip up the east coast in search of the penis park. We stop in several small, dark towns, knock on doors of minbaks (guest houses), are turned away no-room-in-the-inn style (poor Mary, how we empathize), and finally end up on a cliff about a small port town in a shining-esque motel with an empty front desk and a vending machine for room keys. Not sure about the size and worth, we snag a key left on the desk and sneak into a room, crumpled from the one-hour bookings notorious in rumors of Korea's seedy hush-hush sex scene. Whack in our 50,000won, three in bed, two on floor, giant splooge stain next to me on the headboard (lovely reminder of what awaits us in the morning...). The coast is beautiful, the penis park is hilarious. An actual park like many others, with traditional pagodas, shrines, yet this one is teeming with phalluses--including a ten foot penis statue we all rode like a bull and a moving penis cannon. Also including a recreated whore-house with a man pile-driving a woman in a room scattered with old currency, a man in the next room counting it all up, and a little boy peeking in on them through a window. All with unnecessary detail. The visiting Koreans laughed just as much as we did. Conservative culture my ass.

We left for Pohang, in time to spend a bit of time with the crew on Bukbu beach-ee. Posco, the steelworks factory that juts out across the right side of the beach, usually offers little more than an industrial rape of the scenery and the potential development of a superpower for all of us who swim in its toxic waters. But this weekend, Posco offered an explosive celebration to make any July 4th display jealous. 87,000 fireworks set off in one hour. Massive. Four countries were competing with their displays, Korea, of course won (we all thought Japan deserved it, but that would NEVER happen here)and a bonus KPOP girl group performance. Thousands of Koreans crammed onto the river walk, streets, hills, all standing there, not oooing and aaahing at all. Just crammed, craned people, clapping when performances ended. Very un-Korean, considering their screams an wails even at seeing someone cute on the screen in the classroom.

Required night of Pohang makoli revelry brought us back to Bukbu, where late night swimming and dancing in the sand led us into the morning. A beautiful, explosive weekend in so many ways.

Jisan Rock Festival: July 31-Aug 2

Early Friday a few of us bused up north to the mountain resort of Jisan. Instead of a ski lodge, the valley had been converted to camping rock festival and cancun spring break. Away from straight-line, back-to-back tent city, people set up camp in every odd bit of land they could grab in the trees. We staked our claim in a flower bed, sleeping in the tiger lilies and a forest filled with spiders. We beat the heat in the giant pool they had built at the bottom of the ski slopes (massive!!!) and rolled and battled on giant inflatable toys when we weren't sipping mojitos (REAL lime and mint!!!) poolside. Saw some amazing Korean bands that didn't play Kpop. Got up front and rocked out to Belle and Sebastian, Vampire Weekend (BEST), Massive Attack, Pet Shop Boys, and others. Spent three glorious days rocking out in the ROK: great DJs, danced like wild animals with the fire dancers at the Poi Stage, painted faces and bodies, buckets of tequila, foam dance tents and more. Made poetry in a creek with a bunch of amazing Koreans. Bailed on the midnight bus home to stay another night for the best treasure: I stumbled upon a circle of Koreans in the empty main stage field. We grew to about 25 for a Monday morning sing-along, our harmonies boosted by the free end-of-festival booze and the charge still pulling us through the weekend.

It was a very crunchy Monday, all of us traveling home, wordless, brain-dead. Amazing.

Beijing: Aug 3-10

One week in Beijing was not enough. We passed through metal detectors and saluted Mao at the beginning and end of our trip, heralding our pass into "communism." China felt less communistic than Korea--it was full of diversity, nasty bathrooms, bums on the streets, and people eager to rip us off if we weren't the wiser (lucky for me, I am a wiz at haggling ^_^). We stayed in a nice hotel if you ignored the sewage smell that would creep in and the fact it was so hidden every taxi ride was a battle. We braved the subway, sometimes so packed you couldn't move to exit), taxis, buses. Navigated our way through hutongs, got our spirit on in temples, climbed the wall (scaled it, more like), smoked hookahs on rooftops, relived the olympic glory in the Bird's nest, ate duck (and I forced down jellyfish), dim sum, more tsingtao beer than I care to recall, haggled for tourist items that for once were appropriately made in china while scorpions writhed on sticks in snack street, saw pandas and got pissed about the big cat display, danced through the forbidden city in the rain...phew. Not all of it. Hardly.

    

My top two experiences in Beijing were, however, not listed above. My friend Sean had a friend-of-a-friend one time connect that, through the glories of facebook, saw we were going and met us there. Shanshan, our beautiful tour-guide into the secrets of Beijing. With her help we found ourselves at the finest and oldest 6-story (still had to wait) duck restaurant, a small family restaurant tucked between the skyscrapers of downtown, and to a big gay chinese birthday party Saturday night. We dressed in our beach gear for the theme, took shots of cheap chinese liquor and headed into a posh little apartment-cum-bar filled with half dressed, very hot men, caviar, dancing, little light up party favors, a cake with a penis, and plenty of suggestive smiles. 

 Gay parties are the same back in Kansas, if a little-less polished, a little less Asian-colored (do not mean to sound racist or insensitive, I promise. My friends from these circles will entirely understand) It was wild, ending in an over-packed, over-priced dance club where the men were too focused on their pairings to dance openly, so we left. What a riot of a night.

The other highlight of Beijing was when our group of four became two and Kevin and I, eagerly trying not to waste our last day, had an adventure searching out, and being rewarded by finding, the 798 Art District. We strolled through an old converted industrial section of the city. Factories-cum-galleries. Cafes in tree tops. The entire place was an interactive walk of eye candy. There were sculptures everywhere outside, from a giant train, giant Stalin heads, Giants in cages...it was awesome. We walked, climbed, touched, posed for an unimaginable amount of photos, and finally fled the head to a standing-only bus back to the city, back to the haggling of Silk Street. 

There's so much more to tell.  So much of the city we didn't even see. I can't believe we were going to try and cram both Beijing and Shanghai in one week.  Never would have worked.  So glad we stayed.  Kevin and I really lucked out having that extra day with all we were able to cram into it.

My impression of Beijing was one where past-present-future all collide into a wild and quite interesting study of humanity. The service was terrible, the bathrooms disgusting (I opted for the alley several times after walking in on 6-squatting shitting woman with no stalls to divide them), and we were melting and dripping in the heat the entire time, but we forgive these things, or add them to the flavor of the experience. Beijing was refreshingly diverse--clothing, body type, behavior, structure...It was impressively successful in its chaos.

Bag checks and cameras and metal detectors were constant reminders of regulation, but other than that, it was not the cold hard communist place people invision it to be.

Amazing week. Exhausting, dirty week. It was nice not getting stared at all the time, nice not feeling like a fat cow in a field of gazelles. But I was surprised I found myself very excited to be back in Korea, another land of plastic--but at least plastic smiles and toilet seat covers ^_^

Handsome Furs concert, Daegu: Aug 12

Another amazing night taking down Daegu with Gi and Kelly. Started with dance-juice in a bag (really strong stuff!) from vinaroo, then headed to a club: Teengirl Fantasy (DJ pair from Chi-town) and Handsome Furs danced us into the morning. I got to talk to them for a while at the bar (amazing stories to be shared, really cool people). The epic night (as they always are) ended with us passed out waiting for the am train on the steps of Lotte Dept. store. Laughing the hole way back to Gumi.

Seoul for skin and ska: Aug 14-15

So sick of rice. I miss bread and whiskey and the prairie, so I've got an ode to it tattooed on my back now. Went up to Seoul for the ink with Gi. Spent the day in a tattoo parlor with the boys of B2K (some old R&B group from Cali), watching WWF on one of their laptops. That was painful, the needles weren't.

Jisan reunions followed, catching the end of a Korean ska band and getting drinks with beautiful souls in Seoul. Ran into about 5 different people from the festival. The universe keeps running us into each other.

International Body Painting Festival, Daegu: Aug 29

One of the tamer festivals I've been to in awhile, full of Eye Candy, painted bodies, painted faces, painted nails. We sat on the grass and watched belly dancing, martial arts, norae, mamma mia shouts, and walked around to see the artists marking magic on naked bodies. Quite cool to see.

Followed by the usual Daegu revelry. After a vinaroo pitstop reunited me with some pohangers with paint, I found myself in a colorful crowd: I as an anime doll, with a pirate, a cow, a cherry blossom, some varicose-veined cheeks and a cat. We were about the only ones downtown at night with face paint, and a few odd looks would bring a reminder through the blur that we were quite a site that evening. Sunday brought the discovery of an English commune for hippy expats--a bookstore, organic cafe, clothes-swapping, yoga-teaching, drum-circling top floor of goodness. I will return.

Daegu Wants to Funk: September 4

Finally, a theme party worth getting dolled up for (though my Manhattan crew threw theme parties to put these expat-korean born dress parties to shame). BUT we got our headbands on, shiny tights, bangles, glammed and glittered up our faces and we ladies strut the town to meet at JEEEP (by far our favorite bar in Daegu). Thank you, my dear Mr. Sean Cridge who got the party to happen. Funk and disco ruled the night (except for an odd hour where a different dj took over for a bit. boo) and I am proud to say I lasted til 6 am in leather leggings and my 2nd night of heels in Korea. Smokin!

Three of us ended up in a makoli bar with some random koreans, enjoying squid and peppers and drinking from bowls until the sun came up.

There is an expat summer in-brief. So much more happens. There are too many quirky stories to keep up with, but here we are, celebrating, learning, living...mostly celebrating ^_^

Korea has been kind to us, and while we bemoan our lack of things from home, we revel enough to fill those holes. I make it a goal, everywhere we go, to get some kind of cultural event and some kind of partying in (usually heavier on the latter), and I'm doing a damn good job of it. Experience so much we can't even sleep.

I'm really happy here--a sustained happiness plateau that I've been riding for the past year or so. At this point, I don't feel like I'm doing much growing over here in Korea, just living and getting to know what it means to be a part of these different cultures--westerner, weagook, korean, human. Livin it UP! (And while I'm here, what better way to spend my time than enjoy it, eh?) We are the rockstars in this country--for the locals and expats alike. We gather and build and let loose a storm of excitement wherever we go.  Say kimchi.

pohang for president

Finally, the blaring kpop campaign remixes are no longer booming out of open-truck stages down the streets.  No more campaigners bowing to passing traffic on the corners, or dancing dogs, cows, horse-headed supermen.  Municipal elections definitely transformed the feeling of the cities these past few weeks.  Giant billboards of candidates faces, some happy some looking downright constipated, each assigned a number to save the public the time of actually learning their names.

Calling an end to all this madness, and giving us another red-calender day off of work mid-week (seriously, when was my  last 5-day week?  March?) Wednesday, June 2 was the day for elections.  While the good citizens of Korea were busy adding their vote to the masses, and the ones who couldn't be bothered were busy relaxing, I skipped town and spent the day basking on the beach in Pohang.  To be fair, I did my duty as a native teacher, returning precious won back to the coffers of the SoKo economy.

If I catch a train from Gumi at 5:20, and transfer in Dongdaegu, I can reach Pohang before 8.  After a peaceful train ride, I stop by Amy's spare apartment and am on Bukbu Beach by 8:10, in time to watch night take over the coast.  My visit to Pohang before never included the beach at night; what a transformation.  Standing on the boardwalk, with the city street wrapping around the bay behind me, and the dingy strip of POSCO factories all done up for a night on the town, I find myself in a sparkling neon garden.  All that glitter, along with my splurge of cab-sauv, and the renewed company of my powerful pohang pals, warms and charges the soul for a night on the town better than any uppers could ever hope to achieve.

A group of waegooks by the waves is a beautiful thing.  We ride on a tide of makoli and spirits, taking over Pohang, Powerful Pohang, in our storm of mid-week revelry.  The night ends in a Hello Kitty bar.  Pink and bubbly and full of soju and polaroids of any foreigners to grace it's tiny space.  Yep, that's us there on the wall, the whole lot of us looking a bit crunchy and stale at 4am.  What a lovely legacy to leave behind.

In the morning (well, morning for everyone else, almost lunch since I rise so early) we wake up to an oddly-quiet election day.  I don't see any of the campaigners until later in the evening when some karaoke clowns rolled by Bukbu.  But we enjoy the lazy sun of the day.  Indulge again, in some fantastic coffee and sandwiches facing the beach, then make our way across the street and into the sand.  We spend our afternoon being lazy, only occasionally rallying our energy for a half-assed game of frisbee or soccer, and mostly we just roll warm sand between our toes and talk.

In the afternoon, Pohang Pride delivers itself in the form of a Steelers match against Busan.  After cramming a few extra into a taxi and getting my first up-close acquaintance with the factories of POSCO, we buy chicken (not me) maekju (beer) and our tickets and join the red mobs of fans, cheering on their precious Pohang.  We made our way to an empty section up top, and found ourselves sandwiched by two very different groups of Koreans: an escorted, neutral-toned group of special-needs adults on the right, and a red-and-camoed firey bunch of army boys on the left.  They got quite a kick out of us.  We made it up on the megatron, the only waegooks in the arena.  We even got our own chant started, which the military men and their drummers promptly picked up and joined us in.   A wonderful day in the sun, watching a bit of soccer, with an intermission of very sexy dancers that made the military men go big-bad-wolf-wild.  Too much fun.

After we left the stadium, carried along in a river of pohang sports fans, Megan and I got separated from the group.  We tried to find a taxi, almost got hit by a few cars, crossed the street with my arms raised, and no luck.  Then, Korean hospitality again makes my day.  A black car pulled to the curb with the window down, asked if we needed a taxi, to which we kept saying yes, trying to wave them on, but instead they offered us a ride.  They drove us all the way to the beach, out of their way, slipping through short-cuts to dodge the heavy evening traffic that kept our pals locked on a bus for an extra 20minutes.  We enjoyed a ride, a nice conversation (with surprisingly good English) and were delivered safely beach-side.

I said my goodbyes looking out the same windows of the coffee shop from the morning (even though there are 3 more right next to it, conformity of capitalism being a hallmark of korea downtowns).  Sipping on my green tea late (yummm), I said goodbye to Pohang.

Another relaxing, empty train back to Gumi, and Thursday feels like Monday all over again.  But we met for cards last night on a rooftop cafe downtown.  And I am about to take my leave for the real weekend down in Busan.  Sandcastles and Fireworks and Soju await.

The elections are over, and now the only thing blaring in the streets comes from the propaganda fruit trucks (just farmers advertising through bullhorns, actually).  I don't feel much different, and apparently neither does Gumi.  My teachers all told me #1 won this district.  Nothing will change, they say.  I ask if they voted for #1 and they say no.  I ask if they are upset and they say no.  All the candidates are basically the same, they tell me.  I don't know the difference, except that one was a woman, one was a cow, one had a horse's head with a cape and one was a dog.  It's not that I am not trying to pay attention, I just know that I am fulfilling a different role here: economic stimulus.

an epic korean birthday: crazy is one weekend older

After a week of Woody-less combined classes (he was off honeymoonin), students stressing over midterms and anticipating one of their few weekends at home, and editing enough engrish essays to make my eyes cross, TGIF! Not only Friday, but the first night of an epic birthday weekend in Daegu half-planned the night before.

Treat me like the queen bee, Friday night I was out with my boys. Dan, Eoghan, Jack, Kevin catch the train from Gumi. Meet up with Tom, Sean and Blake (surprise!), grab back-alley rooms at the Green Motel. My second room in korea. 25,000won gets you a bed, tv, fridge and a bathtub. Nice.
After that's all sorted, it's back into the neon crowds to a noodle shop for a quick korean dinner where Tom introduces us to two Korean friends he made. Friends we made, now.

They take us to a laser and smoke-lit basement bar, swanky and empty enough to let the beats echo. Jeeep (why do koreans love the extra letters?) Crown is cheap. Tequila is cheaper. So it begins. Lights and mirrors and music, and I don't care that it's early, I'm going to dance. Tom's friend is the dj's brother, and he gladly spins us up some funk, some mj, whatever we wanna say. It's good. We fawn over the beautiful mystery-ethniced (korean-american, after a bit of diggin) beautiful bartender whose smiles and conversation take a long time to coax out. Later I even get her to do a bit (very small bit) of dancing. We mingle, we dance. Our new friends keep the shots coming, keep the smiles coming, keep the beats coming. Smoke and mirrors and laughs and lights and a birthday shot that looks like a prop from Abyss (151 creme-de-menthe bailey's--I called it!). One tequila two tequila blackoutkorea.

What a wonderful little hotel room. Bright and early peekin out at the sunshine over a Daegu Saturday. My first real soak in Korea outside of the saunas (even I have to fold myself up to fit into the tub). Bum around wakin up watching a real crap movie on tv (kangaroo jack?) and rally the troops that are Eoghan and Dan next door. Gotta meet people at one. Gotta find food.

Daegu sunny Saturday is packed with people. After food, comes my next big birthday treat: Coldstone's just had it's grand opening. I get a chocolate-peanut-butter-taste-of-home then it's off to the yuk to try and meet up. Rallying troops is hard--i don't even know who's planning to show. But once we figure out the locker mess, wait for the gumi bears and pohangers to show, let the boys from the night before off the hook, we've got a group of about 14 on the subway, bound for Woobang land. More waiting, more walking--beautiful park, though--and we're those kids in the car: are we there yet? arewethereyet? We see towers, rollercoasters, hear screams. hen we find the queues. Koreans--and what! white people! (which really includes every color of english-speaking foreigner)--they're everywhere. Tickets. People. Lockers. Picture by the giant birthday cake just for me (ok, for the park's 15th, good timing though). Sorted. We are in.

Theme parks are pretty much the same in just about any part of the world. There are rides--bit and small, a chaotic battle of carousel music, colors, lights, food, smells that all battle for your attention.  But in Korea they're also full of matching couples and cartoons on steroids. And tons of tulips polkadot walks.   Rollercoasters! Rollercosters! Waits in line. Excitement. Some queazy hung-over stomachs. Corn dogs with sugar. Batting cages. A stage show of Elvis, Beyonce, Lady Gaga. Feelin like kids again. Adrenaline and jollies. A birthday gift of tiger ears, that go nicely with the pink hat Kelly crowned me with, courtesy of a Dunkin Donuts birthday.

 A trip up Woobang tower to see the city of Daegu and watch a bungee jumper fall past the window.  We stick our faces in cutouts characters from around the world.  Blow kisses at the camera in the "kissing zone."  And then we gawk at how the city sprawls.  All of the towers we go up do this to us: we just have no sense of the density of this country until we step back and look at it from above.  While enjoying the lovely view, we a go on the Sky Toilet, exposing our unmentionables for anyone with high powered binoculars.  Do I even need to mention how much I enjoy the fact that you can take a crap on Daegu?  Haha.  We're done.
After a whole lot of walking, waiting, riding, standing, and eating.  We leave Woobang land behind, and hop train back to downtown Daegu.

After meeting up with yet more people and trying and failing to coordinate dinner plans, we collect some free soju on the street and our group of 12 wind through the streets to Dijon, a posh little restaurant promising Mediterranean and hopes of hummus but really is just fusion-Italian like all the others. But we dine in style with REAL garlic bread. Melt-in-your-mouth real butter and nothin sweet about it. Goes great with my salmon salad. Yummm. Done.

Meet ups in Billi Bowl. Reunited again! Here, in one place, are the Gumi Bears, Pohangers, Yeongcheoners, Gyeongjuers, even some from Busan (I don't even know all the city nicknames yet).  Somehow, even when we see each other almost every weekend, these reunions are epically played out--hugs hugs hugs.  Waegooks overrun the bar, but we drink slow, wait slower, and ease into the warmth and noise of the evening before trying to rally far too many troops.

Off we go to GoGo.  Well, in all actuality, we wind through the daegu maze trying to find a space to accommodate us all.  Our forces divided we call and grasp out with phones, overcome the distaste for GoGo and follow the pull towards capri sun coctails until we take all find ourselves in the basement with glosticks on our wrists and superbly strong coctails in our hands and beats beats beats getting us moving.  And all we can do is celebrate.  Together, under poorly written engrish signs and neon scratching our faces, we dance our way through the night, dance our way past embarrassment.  At some point Sean dons the robot head, the dj gives me a couple shout outs, the 300 arrive in togaed legions bearing ice cream cakes, the ears disappear along with inhibitions and we get a healthy riot of craziness going to overtake the club .  And  through all the partyin, people move in and out of the bar, but our epik family creates a nucleus of energy that seems to suck all the people we know into daegu, into a dingy basement club, into a mess of a show where we all have stepped outside time and into the beats.

The end stretches over the hours.  We all trickle in different directions with slightly altered burdens.  On this particular Sunday morning, the night takes its toll and spits many of us in the wrong direction.  No 4am train to Gumi, taxis and feet and trains scatter us.  Portia and the pohangers actually find a taxi back to Gumi.  I end up in a cab in the opposite direction to Yeongcheon, Libby saving the day as she is always so good at.  I hear the next day of bags being lost on trains, people disappearing in Daegu, and some ending up cities too far: Busan Gimcheong Ulsan.  Man.  What a gathering, what a party. Whew.

Sunday, the day for rest, the day for reflection.  I, as always, wake up entirely too early, and get to explore the quiet little streets of Yeongcheon.  Oddly enough, it reminds me of small towns in Kansas.  Not the way it looks, but the way it feels.  It feels like Horton.
Once I have my paris baguette breakfast, a bit of coffee in me, say my goodbyes, I catch a slow train back to Gumi.  Staring out the window at the camo-colored mountains and feeling the sun strobe past me, I am once again fit to burstin with my love for this country, for my transplanted family, for how fulfilling life is anywhere you are.  But I am here.  SoKo.  It is a good fit.

I finally make it back to Gumi and have a quick shower, a quick shout to portia.  We're off to explore the other side of the city.  Past In-dong to a park packed with Koreans.  Ignore the factories across the road; the long, winding, manicured park, dotted with swings and trees and fountains, overlooking the river with the mountains in the distance, lets us absorb spring.  We eat ice cream, and dodge scooters, have a look at some critters familiar to any classic US petting zoo.  We lay in some spiky grass with giant ants, under the shade of a Dutch windmill, watching a Korean woman break bullseyes and possibly records with her bow and arrow.  Sitting in a park, enjoying each others company while we recover and recharge and reflect on the past two days and nights events.  I am marinating in happiness.

Finally, it is time for goodbyes, and we walk the Pohangers towards the taxis, taking a brief stop on some exercise equipment and another to say hello to a crane on the river.  Then it's hugs, farewells, and Portia and I comfortably strolling through In-dong.  Portia, my partner in exploration always up for a bit of an adventure, suggests we go explore a temple by the bridge.  Turns out there is no temple, just a chained up traditional Confucian campus--most likely being rented out for weddings, ceremonies, etc etc.  While walking around the area, we note some Koreans who've set up a bbq under the bridge, and we both comment on how ridiculous it seems to set up a picnic, under a noisy bridge, on concrete, in the shade.  But, oh the character of Korea.

Well, turns out we have to walk under the bridge to get up to the walkway.  As we're passing them, as is the norm in Korea, several of them say hello and wave and giggle.  We say hello, keep walking, we're almost back into the sun, when one of them men call us over.  Brain dead and bedraggled, we share a why-the-hell-not look and I say yes to one more amazing moment to make this weekend perfect.  Korea provides, the universe provides.  I'd been lamenting not having enough contact with native culture, and suddenly I am presented with the Korean generosity and hospitality we have been told so much about.

Previous notions of the oddity of the location are undone when Portia and I walk over to see they've set up a nice little grill from a grate and a few bricks, a fire built right onto the concrete.  There is a nice breeze, a good view of the river, and little perception of the presence of the freeway rumbling above us.  In fact, the cool seclusion under the bridge offers plenty of room for the family to enjoy their oysters and soju, let their kids wander, and avoid the day's heat.  It's perfect.  And they invite us to share and indulge in their secret celebration.  Immediately two of the men move and offer Portia and I seats.  They have pour us soda, water, soju.  They hand us chopsticks.  Put more oysters on the grill.  Offer us kimbop.  Seem shocked that we can handle the spice, the raw garlic, the kimchi.  I love the way Koreans seem to be impressed when we enjoy their flavors.  They have SO much, and they even get a second grill of bulgogi (maybe?), and they share it all and keep refilling and encouraging us.

We spend about an hour of broken engrish and consultations to cellphone dictionaries, and many many charades and laughs.  We find out the young girls can speak some English but are too shy, and we give them some wafer cookies as a return gift, it being the only thing we have on us.  A few of the men are over 40 and repeatedly want to know if we have boyfriends, and they give their female friend a hard time for her age, another for her white pants and heels, which she proves don't stop her from squatting and joining in.  The shade stretches, and we have a movie to catch, and the awkward, broken conversation is becoming more difficult the more the soju kicks in.  So we thank them with arms and bows and kamsahamnidas and make our way up to the top of the bridge.

At this point I am about to explode at the sheer joy this weekend in Korea has given me.  As Portia and I are crossing the river, the sun cuts rays across the city's horizon, and all the greens seem brighter and golden and I can't stop exhaling AWESOME.  I've ridden roller coasters and danced my face off and pet goats in the park and eaten oysters for the first time under a bridge with a family of Koreans!  This has been the perfect weekend.

It isn't even over.  We meet Dan and Eoghan for Isaac Toast (yummm) that we sneak into the theater for a screening of KickAss.  Which did.  And Sunday night I should have slept, wrapped in the euphoric residue of a weekend done right.  But again, too happy for sleep.  Too excited for pizza with REAL RANCH DRESSING the next day.  Too excited for Daegu later in the week, for Pohang the next weekend, for midterms and summer and green and and and...

Another weekend older.  Crazy.  Another weekend where I am reminded to waste no time.  Not a moment.  Each little street and alley we can walk under, each friend we reconnect with on the weekends, each shot we are handed, each table--or blanket--we are invited to eat from, each beat we are given to dance to.  We are making moments, memories (cliche as it is) and building connections that link us, not just with each other, but with the whole community that extends beyond us.  Share it.

beware the yellow dust

This last weekend was a 24 hour excursion to the East all over again. Our Gumi group went out for Japanese fish fry, light on the Soju and Max, then some Baskin Robbins on Friday night. We had to keep it calm; big day planned saturday.

We met the next morning at Dunkin Donuts by the Gumi Yuk (train station, usual place). Time for some coffee, water, munchkins, tickets. 8 of us, plus Portia and Jackie, all made our way into our various seats on the 9am train to Daegu.
I am sitting next to Jack, when a glowing westerner diagonally behind me compliments the dreads--she always wanted them, I'm all-too-excited to share, leaning across the aisle to talk. Strike one. Attendant comes up, leans over us, moving both hands down-wards, telling us to lower our voices. Ok, wasn't so sure I was being loud. I move back to the empty seat next to her, offer to share some munchkins, to which she delivers the fantastic news she is a practicing vegan--living RIGHT near Gumi. How refreshing to have some insight to an even more hard-core veg lifestyle.
Warm feelings are abounding as we share a hippied-out conversation about our grappling with the culture, the gender imbalances, the double standards. Then, strike two: the male conductor comes up to us. Tells us, we 'women' need to be quiet. No speaking. Ha, go figure. The irony of him handing us our examples of the very issues we are discussing. Well, our shared grasping for understanding, our shared excitement for this connection, only became heightened when she told me she was on her way to a Nonviolence seminar in Daegu. Oh, the positive reinforcement and direction that brief, timely seat assignment gave me. As we parted ways, me to a touristy bull-fight festival (oddly unashamed by this) and her to a community of soul-searchers I plan to connect to, we have the surity of a facebook connection, two names written on small papers. The next day, we were "friends"--isn't technology wonderful?

Well, thirty minutes later, we rush to find the #18 Banwoldang station exit. There is none, and rushing, we follow other westerners into the too-warm-so-much-for-the-rainboots weather of Daegu. There are some hundred+ westerners, milling about, waiting next to the buses of the Deagu friendship tour we joined up with. Tourism it is today. And, like all large tours, it began with a lot of waiting. We sat on the buses, were fed sandwiches (delicious sandwiches with real mayo and real bread) before we even left. But finally, we rolled out. Watched the colorfully dingy Korean country-side roll by, listening to various representatives we had grouped togetther: from the quite and respectful to the outright drunk and belligerent. By the time stopped at small area of Cheongdo, the group was filing up a dusty path towards a giant wine bottle in front of a tunnel, and like everything else in Korea, not too sure what we were doing, but just following. Following following following.

The wine tunnel, a converted old train tunnel, specialized in sweet persimmon wine (not a fan). They filed is down the dark corridor into rows of tables, where the random Korean travelers took video on their phones of all the white people eating saltines and american slices and wishing for more wine. But we walked down the dripping dark, past giant lit-up casks of wine, past a bottle-mid-pour made entirely of lights. All the way to the blue glowing end, gated off, where you could peer in at all the barrels. Turn around, walk back. Mingle with other westerners, say "hello" everytime some little Korean child got excited and waved. Not sure what was more of the attraction for them: the wine or us. Us. Hands down.

Filed into the bus again, rode for a while into steeper cuts of the mountains, looking very similar to the woods of Appalachia. And then we hit the line of traffic--cars and cars, Korean versions of tailgating? Stalls for selling, parking, etc. And the buses travel past the stadium, where banners of two raging bulls, backed by red or green, and the festival is booming. Our driver wheels us into some treacherous, traffic-stopping 5-point turns, passers-by getting out to help and all, until we finally just get out and walk the rest of the way through the carts and cars of Koreans, into the stadium. Street food accents every few steps--whole chickens, brown-sugar pancakes, roasted chestnuts, rice, silkworms. Dust. People. Soju. Gas. Rain. Despite the mill of noise, the chaos of color and Hangul and cartoon mascot security guards, the nose is the most overwhelmed.

Once we get into the stadium, our group splits a bit. Jack, Matt, Sean, Kevin and I go in search of beer. We find Max and Soju in a side-stall hof just inside the stadium (not inside the actual arena). We quickly order soju to share from dixie cups and Max, yo-gi-o to the waitress, who quickly becomes our friends. They bring us food, potato-leek cakes, kimchi, soup, radish. Even extra toats--on the house. Wee-ha-yeos (sp?) all around. Gum-bae's with photos. Kids from a table away come for pictures, to give us gifts.

After feeling like we'd made the insiders-club at the races, we work our buzzing bodies through the crowd of festivities, past paper-mache horns and drag-queens on stage, into arena to find the bulls, horns locked at the bottom, two handlers giving them periodic whips to rile them into action. There is no action. Apparently we have come in time for the standstill of the bulls, and despite the announcer's prompting applause from the many Koreans in the room, I actually doze off a bit. Waking up in time to find the bulls still locked. How anyone watches this all day, two bulls just pushing at each other, is beyond me. But eventually one breaks and runs away, the territory and title claimed by the stouter.
Enough of that, we go back to the hof. More soju, more Max, even more salad, kimchi, soup, smiles. It is a grand escape from the rains and wind that have finally hit Cheongdo (I knew my wellies were going to come in handy at SOME point).

The day's events over, we head back to the bus, street food replaced by plastic, dampness setting in over our buzz. Bus ride to Daegu, plans for the evening, but we still lose 4 of our group once we make it to Daegu, where it is already dark, and appears to be misty (though later, we find the truth). Portia, with the best idea yet, leads us on a hunt for a sauna before a night out.

After following the red neon SA-OO-Nuh, we find the jjimjilbang, the bath house. Downstairs, pay 4,000won, get a handsized towel. Men through one door, women the other. See you in an hour. Portia and I walk in, put shoes in a locker. Get a key for another. Strip down all the way. I am surprised at how nonchalant I am feeling towards all this--maybe six various aged, various shaped, Korean women are walking around the locker area in various states of dress. Portia and I, entering the sauna, are the only white women, I the only with ink. Some stares, but few. And it is quite. We shower, then sit in a hot tub for a while. We connect, share, chat in the most basic, laid-back way. I can't handle the heat. Move to the warm, still pool. After a bit, on to a round pink-watered one. There are women scrubbing themselves with gloves; Koreans have an obsession with exfoliation, proven by the many infomercials. Others sit and shave, or just simply soak--like us--turning into jelly. Portia and I move into a hot-stone room, scrub ourselves with salt and commense detoxing. Back out for a rinse, one more hop in. Shower off, then back to the common room to freshen up.

By the time we meet the boys back outside, we are all feeling a bit like wet noodles, starved as hell, with Indian food and nothing else on the brain. As the streets of Daegu begin to fill up, all the Koreans that pass have their mouths covered, either by masks, or with fingers and sleeves. Can't be us, we just bathed, right? First real clue to the dust.

We find our Welcome India, second floor, veils and tapestries and low lights. Stuff ourselves on curry and naan for a good price, and feeling the drag of pure relaxation, try to rally ourselves for the night.

First stop: Billybowl. Billiards-bowling, drinking, fun. No fun for me, or Kevin. Too stuffed for anything. Give it a bit of time. There are too-young-looking westerners, obvious army rats, a few daeguers we recognize from the bus. Finally, we move out. Onto the streets, where the fog is thicker, the wind is stronger, and we are finally admitting that this must be the ominous yellow dust we had heard rumors of. Didn't think that'd be coming until later.

Wind down the streets to GoGo. Have a vinyl coctail (a beautiful invention, like a giant capri-sun for grown ups) and dance to a terrible dj while the boys play pool. The place is full of westerners, poorly-phrased english signs, and too much britney spears. We move on. It is at this point that Jack, Sean and Matt puss out, head for the train, and Portia, Kevin and I are left in the dust.

The next stop, a blessing, is the Lonely Heart's Commune Club. A chill waegook bar, downstairs, lined with vinyls (records this time), my first taste of some good music (Dylan, Phoenix, Avett Bros, to name a few), my first night of healthy pours of Jameson. Quiet, slightly seedy, indie-enough to appreciate without feeling too cliche. Good break from the kpop. It is here, where we have a nice, quite, meaningful chat.

Here where I realize the dust has stolen my voice, and between pushing it out and slipping into whispers, and just plain listening, I have the second best reminder of who I am. Kevin, in an unexpected shift from excitement for life and party, shares the worry that he does not want to be stagnant. ME EITHER! In all of this miraculous, fun-loving, drama-free experience--all of this shared culture, we cannot let ourselves forget what it means to grow, to share, to learn, to touch. We cannot forget to process all of this, and give back through it. Kevin's direction of the conversation, and meeting Lina on the train that morning, were such refreshing reminders, and materializations of the same worries I myself had been having. We will support and remind ourselves not to get lazy in mind and spirit.

After some good, quiet escape into our minds, the three of us head out to lose them again at Where's Bob, for a failed 80s night, where we are the only ones dancing and the music is never loud enough, and an ambulance is brought for a true drunken bastard who couldn't even stay in his stool. Duck out of that one as well.

Final stop: Club Frog. Fitting, since, after walking through all the yellow, I sound like one myself. We stand in line for a minute, pay a small cover, stuff our bags in a locker and break into the sweaty dark surging mass of Koreans that is the dance floor. BEATS. beats. real beats, not kpop. A constant flow never letting you catch your breath and we rage and dance through black and blue lights, packed like rice cakes, smashed up against each other. Occasionally we find the room to show off some steps, occasionally we find a bit of air to breath, but mostly, it's just beats, sweat and bodies. Glorious.

We have to duck out to catch the 4am train back to Gumi. As soon as we leave, soaked, red, sore, all the charge leaves us. We become zombies, dying for water, trudging to the train. Once in a while, exhaling a "man that was awesome," but never getting much more than that. Sink into the car, force ourselves to stay awake for another half an hour, then crash crash crash till Monday comes.

The craziest, most hectic 24 hours since I have been to Korea. We started out as tourists, and somehow transitioned all the way through to dust-hardened, train riding residents, stumbling back to our apartments like we've done this for years. We are here in Korea. We are learning it and living it. Inhaling the dust, breathing out battered syllables; ingesting it and making it our own.

another epic epik weekend

Koreans surround me by day, westerners by night. And weekends. Such is the double life I am leading, where outside of school and the daily purchases I discard charades and broken konglish for English of many colors. This is the comfort zone that buffers us away from a fully korean life.

During the weeks, our English teacher community in Gumi usually meet up several times, for dinner, drinks, movies, ice cream. Regular haunts like Corona and Waegook Cook that foreigners past have already established. New trials, such as New York, New York, the Japanese fish fry, the movie theater. And now, my most recent fav, In Elf, an edgy little SK hof where we have Epik bombs (soju, coke and beer) and a decent array of food; I do believe we may be the first regulars of this bar--Korean or otherwise.

Last weekend visitors from farther East came to Gumi that I hadn't seen since our first reunion in Daegu. We met before lunch at Gumi Yuk. Hugs. Dropped off their bags at Jack's, with no Blake in sight (he missed the train). We stop at a corner shop for water and rice bars, chips, etc. Then we walk our 12+ westerners down the saturday streets in the sun, past my school, and up to Geumo San mountain. We make a collective goal to reach the waterfall and the temple--we don't really know what we're getting into, but after some snows earlier in the week, my coteachers warned of danger. But the day is beautiful, sunny, warm, and there are tons of Koreans taking advantage of a Saturday hike.

Past the sawn boats on the lake, past the village where we had our last EPIK meal, past the hotel, walking through skinny pines and broken sunlight, we find the "entrance" to the mountain. There are air guns where Koreans are cleaning dirt off their shoes, maps, a cable car, and many Koreans dressed to peak everest. We laugh at them in our sneakers and sweatshirts. Later they will laugh at us.

Beyond this point, the steady road ends. Even where paths have been made, the steps are uneven, sometimes rocky, and as we get higher, the path itself becomes a mix of dirt, boulders and higher up--mud. We are panting when we get to the first position at an old fortress entrance, bright turquoise rainbowed roof, red wood, brightly painted dragon looms above us as we pass through to continue our way into the mountain. Higher and higher, more and more uneven, and our lack of ability slaps us in the face when we see a woman in heels, old ladies, or the many korean children passing us up, darting around like agile little mountain goats.

Farther up is a buddhist temple. An old monk was shoveling snow. Gi and Laurie and I were a bit ahead, and after looking into one of the buildings, Laurie proves his energy with a Rocky recreation, running up the steps in his sweatshirt, my hoarse voice giving theme music, Gi acting as cameraman. The rest of the group joins us, and we have a random man take our pictures--a whole montage we find out later--on the steps of the temple. Rows of tiny Buddhas (including one on a cell phone) and a lit up shrine to Confucious give us some good will to continue upwards.

We continue to a cave, where the lack of sure footing and a very risky railing let my fears win out. Lindsay and I hand out for about 10 minutes while the rest go up. We see fathers with children on their shoulders, well above the guardrails making their way behind our crew--none of the natives seem to notice the uneven ground or the sheer drops next to them.
After a bit, we make our way over to the waterfall, and tiptoe our way under it to the other side. Here is the snow and slush my coteachers had warned me of. And it only gets worse going up.

Luckily, there are some stairs next. We huff and puff our way up, always questioning whether we are really going to continue. Lindsay stops at one landing, where she ends up having a wonderful conversation with a small Korean girl and her family, and is rewarded with oranges and a tomato. Libby, Sean, and I continue up behind the rest of them. Feel the burn.
It isn't until we reach a summit (not the very top, but still way way up) where we believe that Koreans actually do sweat some. The stairs end here. We all rest and have a look on the large rock.

There it is, Gumi. My lovely city, sprawled out across the valley past the lake, nestled between low mountains. Unreal. Here we are, on top of the otherside of the world, and looking out over what we now call home.

Well the stairs and clear path stopped there. The next 1 km to the peak looked like a mush of snow, ice and treacherous falls. That was no day to conquer fears, so I parted with the group (who surprising to us all, decided to continue). Still having only 2 phones total, Gi gave me her phone for the later meetup.

I went down with Lindsay, having a nice chat all the way down to the trainstation, where, as luck would have it, we were just in time to meet Blake from the later train. More hugs! We went back to mine, enjoying a Cass in a can while we waited for news from the mountain. Eventually Libby, Kevin, and Sean joined us with beer and snacks, and we made my small room a hangout while trying to figure out what to do. The others had gone to the top, and we later hear that they lost a waterbottle over the ledge, were pitied and given a walking stick/pick by some Koreans, and had a very scary time of it.
We went to dinner. Pizza Hut--my second time that week. Funny how when all of us westerners get together at these moments, we tend to go with the familiar. Really, I think we all are just missing cheese way too much.

Either way, after pizza, we are still waiting so we go back to Jack's, where a Korean queen-size-more-like-a-double bed (lucky man) is all there is. Beyond the point of exhaustion, the 6 of us pile on like puppies, and doze and giggle and wait. The lack of hugs, of touch, of human contact we get as outsiders here starts to wear on you. These few moments of mammal warmth are so restorative. By the time Jack, Tom, Sarah, Lois and Laurie come find us, we are a mass of giggles trying to pretend to be asleep, having had little more than a brief nap, but nonetheless feeling well and hole and energized again.

We all sit around drinking poor-man's Gin and Tonics and discussing our night. Then we head to Waegook Cook with the sole purpose of getting jolly and watching a few Rugby Matches. It is a classic night of pitchers, burgers, hammer game, cheers, and good conversations. At this point I know enough other foreigners in this city to mingle and mix with many, but the best find is Laurie's childhood friend, Portia. She's been here 6months, knows all the inside tips, and in general, one cool lady down to be buds. YES! Facebook connects are made.

By the end of the last match and the last pitcher, it's about 4am. We all plan to take taxis (we need 3) to Gumi Yuk. Well, Lindsay, Blake and I are the odd ones left, and end up dancing our way back where we reunite. They all get street food from the favorite vendor outside the station--meat on sticks, bulgogi, rice cakes, etc. I pass. We all head across the train station and those going the few block's to Jack's part ways with vague plans for meetups the next morning.

Blake and I head back to mine. Two Americans speaking in an amalgamated mix of drunken accents we've picked up over the night. Thanks to my previous resident, we have plenty of blankets to give him a semi-soft surface on the heated floor. We have hoarse and colorful conversations of tragedies and romances we left behind--typical late night chats. Shared experiences, insights; moments where we transcend being new friend and become two people tapping into the depth that is the human experience. We estranged people, connecting in all the moments we find it possible.

The next morning, after a brief night's sleep, we feel fantastic. Hydrate in a hurry. Hoarse and hopeful, we made our way to Jack's. No answer. No phones. Two payphones across the trainstation later we looked at overstocked fish tanks and colorful parakeets in the window of a pet store and find a meetup point. We're a bedraggled bunch of foreigners in Da Vinci Coffee, enjoying lattes and waffles (finally!). But we needed real food at this point.

We walk through downtown Gumi, desparately looking for a place for some kind of dining we could all agree on. Didn't find it. Instead, found a chicken joint upstairs. Many Korean restaurants only serve one thing, really. This one was chicken. But they gave us all a watery soup (quite good, actually) and I after struggling to order, a few people had chicken dishes and I had the best french fries I've every eaten--ever! Then we were off to find a place for some Sunday drinks and not one bar was open. None. In our quest for Max, we walked all over downtown Gumi, through the open-air markets and shop-lined streets. We finally settled on gas station bottle of Max, our best beer friend, and sat on the floor at Jack's, watching various You Tube videos and enjoying some relaxed and worn-out convos.

Then, sadly, it was time for the weekend to end. We all parted ways at the train station. Hugs, some last touches of energy to tide us over until next time. Annyong, annyong.

These friendships here are so momentous--both in import and in the sense of the moment. We can waste no time. We can't carry any baggage. It is, instead, a collection of warm, open, honestconnections. Communities being built around the world. Without EPIK, we may never have met. Without facebook, we couldn't reconnect. This modern world helps us make it last.