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.

powerful little collisions

a few weeks ago, under explosions in the sky of pohang and swimming rivers of makoli that fed into bukbu beach, I met a really fantastic man visiting friend here in SoKo.  Connections ensued, and for two weeks our paths collided in the skies of gimcheon and in the woods of jisan and now he is off and away in saipan.

in jisan I found more.  I ran into an EPIK guy, from orientation, whose name was less memorable than his face, and somehow through smiles and cocktail bag chats our paths converged through the maze of the festival.  

and then there were the gyeongsaners i found beneath an umbrella toasting me with buckets and enticing me under their shade to catch up, but instead of catching up, my saipan friend and i followed a diversion down to the creek where our universes crashed head-on with Hoon and Junghwa and Hong, where tequila sunrise and moleskine notebooks presented an arena for some truly epic wandering and wondering.  I saw them again this weekend, reunited by a jisan band and the bars of seoul.  seoul for the soul, this therapy in the form of conversation and poetry session in a red-boothed bar.  

and then there was the pink-haired british pin-up, who I only briefly reconnected with walking down the streets of Seoul, opposite ways, but both stopping for a shout and cheers to our shared memory

and then I revisited the morning, the sunrise service of Jisan, where i met rob and becca, both from different groups, brought together by our circle of singing and drinking koreans enjoying sunrise setting on our festival.  becca who danced and ran for drinks with me, i bumped into Saturday night in Hongdae while out with the Hoon and Junghwa, my other Jisaners.  And amazed faces said it all just then.  and then Mr. Rob, British Rob, with the smile-big-for-life face, just as familiar in Sunday afternoon revelry as he was in Monday morning revelry at Jisan, I ran into him at an Irish Pub in Itaewon.  

and then the man getting the rat tattoo while B2K were waiting or their ink, bumped into us on the street the next day, the pain still fresh in his eyes, with some local know-how to get to the yuk (station).  

these are not all of them.  not even close.  Here, I mostly have the recent, recurring ones.  The ones in this past month that have rocked me, and them, enough to make a lasting note in each of our lives.  I'll give em a whole post ^_^

Almost 49million people in this country, and yet we bounce around and run into each other like charged little molecules, gravity and whatever ions we need to exchange pulling us back into each other again and again.    I love the smallness and infinite vastness of this world.  I love that I can have a thirty minute conversation with a complete stranger and know that we will both carry it with us, impacted by our words and shared energy for as long as we need to remember it.  Even when he's off in Saipan, or she's swallowed up again in Seoul, they carry a bit of me with them.

x

On a side note, it has been ages--AGES, I get it!-- since I have last posted.  Sorry.  SoKo never stops, never sleeps, and so neither do I.  

Quick recap, then revisits, I promise: 

Shows I've been to: Major Lazer, International Breakdancing Competition, and Korean Ska Band in Seoul.  Pinnacle the International Hustler, and Funk and Soul DJ set in Busan.  Hood Internet, Teengirl Fantasy, Handsome Furs in Daegu.  Jisan Valley Rock Festival, including Belle and Sebastian, Vampire Weekend, Massive Attack, Pet Shop Boys, Muse, 3rd Eye Blind, a Korean Marley cover band, foam dance tents, a giant pool, sunrise sing-alongs, etc!!!

Festivals: Boryeong Mud Festival (craziest, muddiest party I've ever been to), Seoul International Graffiti festival, Busan Sandcastle festival, some Daegu art festival, Pohang Fireworks festival, Jisan rock festival...I feel like I'm missing some...

And I can't leave out Beijing--7 glorious days exploring past-present-future crammed into one of the most interesting cities I've ever been in.  Phew.  

School starts this week, but the fun don't stop (but playing around with the language and using poor grammar will...)

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.

little streams

I just instructed my night class genius 1st graders to write stream-of-conscious for the next fifteen minutes.  Instead of watching them stare at their keyboards, terrified of trying to think of an idea, translate from hangul to english, through to keys, and never hope to finish in the alloted time of the test, I threw another winger at em.  Blur the lines of the systems, the rules, the way-it-is-was-and-ever-shall-be that runs this country, and you'd think I'd set fireworks off under the casket at a funeral.  Utter confusion.

The first night I had the class, feeling entirely unprepared (thank you dynamic korea) I pulled a jewel of a creative writing exercise out of my ass (thank you Imad, for all those journals you made us do) and basically made them write backwards mad-libs.  They came up with random words (a not-so-surprising number of them involving Paul McCartney and the Beatles due to Angela's obsession), and I made them put those details into a chronological story.  Voila, a lesson on a basic, forward-moving argument.  Just remember guys, the examples of an essay are a lot like those random details you had to work into your story.  Just make it make sense.  Just try.  Don't worry.

Well, after a bit of coaxing, a LOT of explaining (they are always so worried they will get it wrong, even when they are dead-on) and encouragement TO THE MAX!!! they began typing away at the exercise.  The stories they sent me (after about 35 minutes of writing) revealed a creative, witty, and quite talented group of students.  In fact, I find that in all of my teaching here at GFLHS, shaking things up a bit and saturating them with positivity produces the most entertaining, refreshing, and rewarding results.

So here I am, sitting and watching their fingers turn into little tentacles of their brains.  I am hoping they are using this not just as a typing and writing exercise, but are getting some kind of meditative magic out of it.  I hope that they are handing over any bits of stress, of anxiety, tiredness, moans of mock-tests, and tears for weekends home.  I hope this becomes therapy (ha, since I seem to fail at keeping up with my writing, maybe that is indicative of how little therapy I need in this stress-free life I now live)

But maybe I should be careful about placing them in a box as well.  I love it when my students surprise me.

apologies, apologies...i am enjoying myself far too much

Korea is taking my breath away.  Inflating me slowly and then sending me squealing, whirling, careening with a mad intense joy across this country while I exhale the giant breath that was the week.  I can't keep up.  The blogging has been lacking.  I look back at the last time I've written and realize how far behind I've become.  There is no way I will be able to record all of these memories.  No way I will be able to share them.  No way I will be able to forget them.

I try to write of the daily life, things I'd like to share.  From my mission to build the self-worth of hundreds of over-worked Korean high schoolers, to pinching at kimchi and conversation in the lunchroom.  English my only weapon (and a few, very few broken shards of Hangul).  Walks around the lake after lunch.  Moving to the table for coffee to laugh and stab shared fruit with toothpicks.  All the while, Geumo San winks at us through the window.  The quick syllables of Hangul have become my soundtrack, fluid, fast.  Highly emotive.  I love it.  A phrase a day--I am trying.

I walk to and from school with Woody each day.  Annyonghasayos and bows to all the adults of my alley.  They respond with smiles and a drawn out Ne.  They like me.  This oddity of a resident.  I like them.

Night classes Monday and Wednesday teaching writing to ridiculously gifted 1st and 2nd graders who fill my subversive fix with a the raw honesty of their experience, unabashed when free from the eyes and ears of the administration.  The positivity revolution I hope to spread has begun.

Explore the city Tuesday and Thursday nights with the other Waegooks.  I try for a different spot each time.  So far we've found too many pasta places, some fabulous hofs, and the most delicious flavored makoli.  Twiggum and Kimbop and Hoddok.  Yum.  I fear in a year I won't even see all of Gumi, there are so many spots to sample.  And Gumi is only for during the week.

But that is not even a typical week anymore.  I can't remember the last 5 day work week I've had.  Weekends and weeks spill into each other and it all becomes one long, gulp of life.  Experience, one-after-another, is the theme of this.  Vacation?  Hell no.  THIS is LIFE.  Live it up.

Every weekend--and every weekday, free-from-teaching holiday--I find myself somewhere new.  I return to some cities, but always to discover new sites, new dives, new secrets.  Weekends are for Westerners, for Waegooks, for indulgence to the Nth degree.  We could be crazy, abrasive, ignorant tourists, but instead, we inhabit the lacuna of South Korea--not quite Korean, not quite Western tourist.  The way of the Waegook (I must blog about this more in the future).  There is always a healthy cocktail of culture and partying and nature and bonding.

Friends come fast and are scattered across the railways, offering beds and guides and company and an insider's hookups in each city we visit.  To make this experience all the more thrilling, there is no difficulty in rallying the troops for a bit of fun.  All that is required is a good attitude, being down for anything, and having no expectations.  I've caught last-minute boat tours across Busan, watched the bulls fight in Cheongdo, striped Daegu Waldo-style, rolled through Gyeongju on ATVs and bicycles and swan boats, soaked in a green tea bath overlooking the coast of Boseong, drank makoli on a tower overlooking suncheon, paraded through Pohang in Pajamas, rode a motorcycle across the coast, hiked mountains, walked through cherry blossoms...etc...etc...I have been dancing my way across South Korea.

Tomorrow is sports day at school and then I leave to Max it out on Bukjido, camping for Buddha's Birthday.  Nothing like spending three days on an uninhabited island with friends from around the world.  Makin each moment matter, each moment a memory, the sun adds to the freckles and the story continues to write itself into me.

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.

blossoms in my eyes

Korea is dynamic. We all have a love-hate relationship with this phrase, and I, for one, couldn't find one more apt to describe this whole experience. So dynamic, in fact, that I have been too busy observing, experiencing, absorbing, ingesting, digesting to even keep up. Absences of blogs do not mean absences of thought. Apologies, apologies for my failures to share.

Since last I blogged I have been to the beaches of Busan, walked the dirty streets of Daejeon, danced in Daegu again again again, had fish nibble the nasties from my toes, watched live-action anime, ate strawberries from stalls, riled the baboons, watched a traditional wedding, walked through tombs and zoos and mountains and neon.

But the most magical, by far, was the wistful white explosion of cherry blossoms. The first in Gumi, I'll swear to the end, were right outside my door. Then slowly, like a lazy sunday recovery yawn (from this ridiculously cold winter) the streets turned white. Not bitter-cold snowy white (though we did have a freakish evening of snow last week, which, mixing with the cherry blossoms was more beautiful than my annoyance wanted to give credit to) but cherry blossoms carry the spring in the petals, whispers of pink and promises of green.

And they are brief. The tensing of the muscles before springing upward into the air. Now, they are beginning to fly. It is raining white, all swirls and whorls and little polka dots that make me want to dance and wear sun dresses and dust off the bikinis and get ready ready ready for the heat. Green is coming. Spring is coming.

Korea, with her toes done up and finger nails matchin is gonna be one good time.