Reading the Culture, Pt. 2

25 August 2009 Tuesday--Perhaps the reason dangling charms on cell phones are so popular here is because it’s all they have to accessorize the inconspicuous monotony of their school uniforms—which many kids wear late into the evening as they go from one academy to the other long into the night. Of course, they also accessorize with shoes and to partially kill my . What else do you entertain yourself with when you're a mini genius with parents breathing down your neck because you’re not yet a doctor at age 14?!

I love the convenience/cost of public travel here, but not for long periods of time. I really hate humanity in that sort of setting—I feel like all of our worst failings and pent-up horrible-ness comes out in a crowd.

Case study #1: Last Sunday at Nowon station a man boarded my subway car who just didn’t fit the normal Korean subway crowd. He was darker, swarthier, and bigger, with an easier American way of draping himself across the seat that was familiarly American. His gold earrings bounced with the movement of the train as he laughed comfortably with his lady friend. They spoke in fluent Korean, though, so I surmised they weren’t foreigners.

Case study #2: The next weekend, I was engrossed in the sounds of Genius (Apple’s Genius, that is) as I hiked down the mountain when I crossed paths with a dark-skinned hiker. He was fit and sported a sleek wooden walking stick, a far more traditionally classic look than the popular carbon fiber ski poles. But what really set him apart was his hair: long and grey, it was flecked white, pulled back in a tight ponytail, and accompanied by a scraggly beard. He looked like either a very tan Korean or maybe a Mongolian. he was dressed in impeccable hiking gear, as all Koreans. While seeing a people of varying backgrounds, ethnicities, and intelligence levels in the forest preserve near my Midwest American university was quite normal, it surprised me in retrospect to realize how taken aback I was by seeing here anyone the least bit out of the ordinary.

I’ve been struck with this realization that all Koreans conform to the group thinking social pattern in everything they do. Even the hott trends in fashion which would be individualized and accessorized to the extreme there as much as creatively possible are not here. Everyone looks wacky and ridiculous here, but none of them stands out because they’re all basic copies of each other. A short time is all it takes for the foreigner’s eyes to become adjusted to the difference. After that it stays the same. The difference is simply the cultural divide, not the malleability of the people. The weirdness becomes just commonplace. Nothing changes, day after day; For the most part, people live expression-less, conformed lives. Trends are huge, but transient. They come and go. Everyone gets on board simultaneously, then everyone disembarks in the same manner.

It is evinced by the preschoolers who contentedly play “rock-scissors-paper” to decide who will copy the other’s coloring page first. It is evinced by the 2nd graders who will only play games in class if they can team up with their table partners. It is evinced by the exact replica of shops and stands and vendors selling rows and piles of exact replicas from leggings to bookmarks to lense-less glasses to shoes to jeans to food.

I once observed that Korean students are forced to stay so long in uniform that the only way to uniquely distinguish themselves s to accessorize with cool shoes and cell phone charms. But I have discovered that even most of those are copies of each others—imitations attempting to individualize but afraid to actually do so.
Perhaps it’s no surprise, then, that many Koreans seem racist. They don’t quite know how to evaluate variations in their midst. And in the past, it seems that infiltrations to their culture have met with less than satisfactory endings (Japanese and Manchurian occupations, etc).

Translated into society and Korea’s place in the world, emergent from history, I wonder what this means for the future of the country.

Reading the Culture, Pt. 1

“How's SK taking Kim's death, from what you can see?”

My friend queried via Twitter, mere moments after I read the announcement in the news myself that Korea’s former president Kim Dae-jung had died. I had been in Korea for less than a week, and I had no idea how to respond.

I could speak one word of Korean, I was living with also-new-to-Korea Americans, and I really had no idea how to respond to such a question. It freaked me out a little: if I was supposed to be working toward some sort of hazy dream career in international journalism, how would I ever be marketable if I couldn’t form such a simple opinion? Was I an idiot for not being able to ascertain their attitude regarding a momentous event?

I couldn’t even attend the state funeral that weekend: I had already paid to reserve a spot white water rafting out in the country. Instead of spending the weekend analyzing black suit-clad crowds and immersing myself in the bereaved culture, I spent it with loud foreigners splashing each other with rafting paddles.

My response at the time was merely my honest observation: it seemed (according to media reports) that a lot of people had thronged outside the state building where the funeral was held. Thus it seemed that the highly popular Kim was definitely mourned by a respectable number of citizens, and at least the face of the media who decried his untimely passing.

As the week progressed, it also became apparently that even stern North Korea had held a soft spot for The Sunshine Man, and was edging toward less ominous relations with the South while paying its memoriam to a beneficiary even they couldn’t deny.
So I walked downtown, stood in the streets drinking coffee, munching corndogs, trying to get the firsthand experience. I was determined not to fail this first opportunity to pursue real international journalism.

Language was a problem once again. I couldn’t just casually ask the corndog vendor what she thought of grandiose politics over grease, food fumes, and change. I couldn’t question the twenty-somethings with their Cass beer bottles and ramyeon wrappers and piles of Parliament cigarette ashes, deep in beatnik philosophizing at the red plastic table outside the corner 711. I couldn’t interrogate the businessmen in shiny polyester suits and faux leather man purses waiting to board Bus 1142 to Nowon.

I couldn’t talk to anyone, really. School kids in uniforms with backpacks, plastic bags and clutching various fried foods and be-trinketed Samsung mobiles as well as each others’ hands wandered by, noisily. Most of them probably spoke smattering English, but conversation here was impossible as well, even if I chanced upon an elementary or highschool student intelligent enough to engage me.

Nor had I really seen anything in the way of protests in the city since I’d been here. My first Saturday, I had passed an Anti-American rally in a park somewhere. I didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t know they were even anti American until my supervisor Joe pointed it out. I’d seen nothing since.

It irked me that I couldn’t eavesdrop on subways or in coffee shops. Normally one of my favorite activities back home, I couldn’t even somewhat follow conversational lines here like I could among the Hispanics in DeKalb or LA. My iPod was spending quality time with me here. But while that fact was surely enlightening me on postmodern American adolescent philosophies (in fact, I’d even downloaded some K-Pop, or Korean pop music), it wasn’t helping me understand South Korea’s political climate.

Sigh.

“How does one ‘feel’ or determine the political climate of a country—especially in a country where one doesn’t even speak the language?” I asked my friend Mara.

Mara: ever the refreshing friend; fellow product of a Liberal Arts Christian university that, despite some massive shortcomings, has produced some superb critical thinkers and a few brilliant people. Cynical and optimistic by turn, Mara, unlike many foreigners, challenges me to think further than the handsome Korean boy coming on to me at the bar.

She has seen some rallies, she said, but not many. The real way to sense political climate is to observe the culture. Even if you don’t understand the language, you can see and evaluate what is going on around you based on body language, attitudes, what people wear and read. You can hear murmuring at school even among students, and you can start picking up on things as you make Korean friends, or mingle enough with other foreigners who discuss Korean coworkers and friends.

As we shared observations and postulated opinions, my sense of self-doubt began slipping away. I can read people, I can take what I observe and make it into hypotheses.

... TO BE CONTINUED ...

Photo credit: http://www.nation.co.ke

Save[or] the World

I’m in that stage of life when it’s really easy to live solely for oneself and lack the responsibility or true caring of/for others.

Even the few closest to me whom I was honestly willing to do anything for a few years ago have fallen further and further from my maniacally rising ego. It’s a self-inflicted attempt, I suppose, to compensate for a lack of big-ego qualifications (in other words, since I don’t deserve accolades, my mind builds myself up to a point where theoretically I should deserve them). In fact, when my best friend adopted/rescued a dog this past spring I was more than a little annoyed merely because it seemed a huge inconvenience: a passing whim that would increase responsibility and decrease the ability to pleasure oneself at leisure.

My generation, coupled with my own personality, encourages me to seek out the refugees and experience “the taste of adventure” as I “save [or savor?] the world.” Volunteering for a few months here and there, tweeting and blogging about humanitarian efforts and social issues, reading the news and discoursing earnestly with fellow academics and globetrotters in foreign cafes and cyberized venues are the rage—the defining mantra of my university generation.

But it doesn’t mean I do anything, and it doesn’t mean I overflow with generosity and selflessness toward those around me. I’m really quite horribly selfish, and I have let that selfishness get in the way of nearly everything I’ve done for the past few years.

I don’t know how it crept up, I really don’t. Yet even my once carefully honed spirit of generosity has fallen by the wayside, and I will admit that the joylessness I’ve brought about both myself and others throughout my college and recent post-grad life has been because of an ever-growing selfishness. The determination to plan my life and stick to it accordingly and get stressed or upset f it doesn’t turn out right has become a defining characteristic of my paltry, worthless life.

Tonight is the night I articulate these growing realizations and dreads.
I renounce the mind-eating stress that eats at my mind, rips at my soul, bloats my stomach.

I renounce my secret self-exaltation and ambitionless desire to socialize via the web on my own fat bed while maintaining a façade of globalized interests.

I renounce my time-wasting obsessions and habits too numerous and time-wasting to specifize.

I renounce my unfounded dismay at the adoption/rescue of a lovable creation of God….my friend’s mischievous but vibrant husky. Maybe I'll even follow suit. I’ll adopt/rescue a hedgehog. Cute little buggers, they are.

And now, I’m off to save the world.

Children

Two extra hours of volunteer work on Thursday night putting together a haunted house completely paid off on Friday. Watching tiny children scream and cry and run for their lives (in a controlled setting, of course) was strangely enjoyable. The rest of the fulfilling day was consumed in Halloween origami and candy consumption. Lest I lose sight of the rewards still attainable within the inevitable daily grind, the following anecdotes:


Life can only be understood backward, yet, it has to be lived forward. - Søren Kierkegaard

It's always somewhat depressed me to think that humans take so long to develop both physically and mentally. It seems a waste to spend 22 years just learning how to think, and then the rest of a lifetime still developing that process. Some never learn at all, which is not only depressing but also angering. Someone recently said the ages from 25 to 30 are the best in one's life because you're old enough that people take you seriously but young enough to still have carefree fun. But despite the fact that coworkers and friends here call my 21-year-old self "baby," my relatively young age is standing me in good stead. This week, my youth may have scored a few points toward tenure as teacher at POLY.

Last night one of my fifth grade classes experienced a long exprobation about the importance of respecting the teacher and completing homework. I pulled my favorite tone: one of those “deathly quiet,” intimately intimidating timbers which has proven pretty effective here.

I think it hit home.

Me: “I know you all have lots of work to do, and that POLY is not your only school. I know that if I call some of your parents to report you, they won’t care. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to respect me, and do your homework. I’m not just another one of those people saying you need to do this, either. I’m not much older than you. I am twenty-one years old. I’ve had to do homework for many years, and I’ve known how it is to be so busy with schoolwork and everything else. I had to do lots of homework just last year. But I can tell you that doing your homework will make you a better person in the long run. I wouldn’t be teaching you here if I hadn’t done my homework.

Suha: But teacher, you’re 21? That means you’re still student?
Me: No, I graduated university.
Them: Only 21? How is this possible? What kind of schools do they have in America?
Suha (incredulously): But teacher…that means you are very smart!
Me (discreetly smug): It means I know what I’m talking about, and you should listen to me.


There was silence in the room, and a new respect in their eyes. It will be gone and forgotten by next week, but at least for that lecture, there was peace, and a new temporary resolve on their part to complete the two pages of homework I assigned.



These munchkins make my living overseas possible. They’re not the reason I came, but they are the means by which my coming was made possible. I’ll be the first to admit that kids and teaching has never been a dream of mine (yet I recently realized it’s been my main source of income since I was 16). But they’ve turned out to be a bonus (admittedly a mandatory one) and I find myself smiling over on weekends when we’re apart. These are the kids who eat dried ramyeon and shrimp chips instead of Pringles and potato chips, who love old Mickey Mouse and Tom n Jerry cartoons, who regularly whip out origami frogs in class and Samsung touchscreens laden with large dangly charms. These are the kids who spend their days in one academy after another, who don’t do much homework, but still manage to function in two different languages and two different worlds.

Dino-crazy

Steve, grade 2: Abridged monthly writing test prompt: Describe your best friend."He's not very good at soccer, but he knows ALL the dinosaurs."

Txtbk Assignment: Using sequence words, tell your reader how to do something. Don’t forget a topic sentence!
How To Catch a Dinosaur
I will talk about how to catch dinosaur.
First, go to time machine.
Second, find a dinosaur that fights. Then tickle dinosaur’s nose.
Next, watch the dinosaur cough.
After that, land on another dinosaur.
Then, shout at dinosaur’s ear.
Finally, It will be mortified and catch with net.

My Parents' Bedroom
[Just the sound of this cracks me up...]
Cindy, grade 5: Txtbk Assignment: Describe your favorite place, using vivid adjectives, similes and metaphors.

My favorite place is my parents’ room….The claimax [sic] of my parents’ room is the king size romantic bed. It feels as soft as cotton candy, it smells as fresh as herbal, the blanket color is as red as red wine…

Twitter-pated
Brian, grade 2: Textbook assignment (the week after I required the students to create Twitter accounts for writing class): Complete and illustrate the [story about a giant bird].



"Lord Voldmot was there with his pupils. He gave my [sic] magic wand. I spoke, 'Twitter!' A mammoth bluebird came out and killed them. I became the most famous magician in the world."



Resolved: People should not eat meat (5th grade debate):
On vegetarians: "Vegetable people have only bones." (transl.: Vegetarians will shrivel and die without meat.
Response: "There are still fat vegetarians." (transl.: Vegetarians are capable of obtaining enough nutrients and then some.
On warranting their arguments: "It says in a book..."

Creativity
MAG3 is the most creative class. They've done excellent sculptures, sugar cube architecture, comic books, and painting among other things.

Better Than Noraebong

For all the plans that fell through last week, my first experience hosting an international visitor in my new homeland ended, I thought, quite entertainingly and appropriately.

First Int'l visitor (Becca!) and I outside Gyeongbokgung Palace near Insadong.

That is to say, it ended with a 4am cabride after a couple of hours of sidewalk singing at the top of our lungs with one of those live guitars that are so rare in Seoul. It was better than noraebong, the standard inexpensive karaoke that usually accompanies such nights on the town in Seoul. Rubbing hands up and down our arms for warmth and passing around fried snacks in shifts, we belted out vinyl-quality competition from the Beatles and Janis Joplin to old Korean ballads such as Ariarang to classic croons like Moon River. It included a small amount of vomit (the natural accompaniment to breaking a Soju cherry), masked by the waft of the candy maker next to us, who leisurely melted sugar and formed crystalline cookie cutter shapes well into the night. Many hearty cheers, a lot of warm laughter, and the jocosity of “the wee sma’s” camaraderie: three American girls, two Korean girls, a handful of Korean men, a Swede, and random passerbys . All this was preceded by a respectable live jazz club experience and a few pubs in the relatively quieter little dong called Heyhwa. At least for me as hostess, it seemed a jaunty bon voyage. I can only help she felt the same!


Visitors are asked to remove their shoes outside one of the buildings of Gyeongbokgung.

The week has been busy in many more ways, however. Open class, wherein anxious, disapproving mothers descend upon POLY school (and my preschool class) for inspection, monthly tests and evaluations, written debate exams for upper elementary students, and Halloween preparations have consumed much of my work time this week. In between, I managed to find the best bulgogi (spicy barbequed meat) ever, spend more money than I’ve spent the rest of my time in Korea, and accomplish some random adventures with one of my favorite people ever. Becca helped decorate my sitting room in traditional Korean style as well which is awesome. I've been using candles for ages but incense does wonders! Pics up soon. I’ve also started formulating plans to possibly spend the Christmas holiday in Taiwan with another absolutely wonderful person.


Mara and I on an all-too-brief shopping venture in Myeongdong.

On an unrelated note, a friend recommended this article today via Twitter that supports my recently developed philosophy regarding church attendance (which should not be misconstrued as an excuse for why I have not made regular church attendance a habit in Seoul). It’s a thought-provoking and, hopefully, action-inciting article.

And while I’m musing in my unstructured, untrained philosophical mood:

Life is too short to not take advantage of it. Yet why do we always make things so complex and busy and unsavorable for ourselves? Life is sitting there. Yes, it’s forced upon us in a way, but since it is, we decide what to do with it. We create the complexities in our minds and let small encumbrances become heavy burdens or impassible roadblocks. We spend the majority of the time wrapped up in ourselves but not even in letting ourselves enjoy things. We strive for some far off distant future of success and happiness that never comes and never comes. We ignore relationships and overlook opportunities to broaden horizons while yet enjoying the oft-cited “simple pleasures.” Why does it take the human being so long to develop and prepare for adulthood only to mourn what’s left? And why do we live for ourselves yet still find ourselves so unhappy?

Eat, drink, and make others merry. In doing so you will be merry yourself. And you will die merry, too.

Just finished reading Meeting Mr. Kim. Not bad.
Currently reading: Murukami’s The Wind Up Bird Chronicle.
Book evaluations due soon.

Boy Likes Girl

Hollywood did not invent scenes like the following:

Setting: 3:45 pm, midweek, second grade, the middle of the totem pole as far as school intelligence rankings go, and one of the more mischievous. Still, an enterprising and personality-driven group. Not the brightest crayons in the bunch, and certainly not the dullest.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
Kevin is one of the smartest and most mature. His uncle works for Samsung (and he never lets anyone forget this). This is the young and unexpected lover, trying to win the damsel (GaEun's) heart.

GaEun (young damsel) seemed intelligent at first, and perhaps she is, but her homework and quizzes do not reflect this. She is a reader, though, and her pink roller backpack often doesn’t have room for the library she carries in her hand. She brought The Diary of Anne Frank during the first week of class after I mentioned in off-handedly during a vocabulary lesson.

Perhaps she is a dreamer, too.

Dong Ho’s quiet sensitivity could very well be gay. (In this story he witnesses young love and perceives what others his age might not). Really, this is neither here nor there, but seems the sort of appropriate brief literary observations that add to overall quality of writing. Unfortunately his quiet sensitivity could also mask complete stupidity. This has yet to be determined. The others are worth mentioning, but not here.

Dong Ho raises his hand and I settle in for a long, painful soliloquy.
Kevin drops a pencil and picks it up. As he stands back up, he slyly drops a piece of candy on GaEun’s desk.

Remember Disney’s rendition of The Jungle Book? When the girl at the watering hole drops her jug and Mowgli droolingly goes after it. “She did that on purpose,” says Baloo.

GaEun’s look of disbelief only spreads as she looks up at me and back at Kevin. Disbelief blushes into a gorgeous beam that explodes into a grin that would cause an artist working in that corner to rent his smock in anguish at the way the shadows lifted and the light changes when GaEun smiles.

She can’t stop.

Dong Ho’s painful monologue stutters on, but my rapture at this mid-class transaction overflows and I meet GaEun’s rapturous eyes and grin knowingly. Dong Ho’s stuttering ceases in a smile of relief. It seems his stuttering was a polite attempt to overcome the distraction of adolescent love during his academic pursuits.

Dong Ho could very well be gay.

Kevin, in typical non-plussed fashion, slyly eats candy out of his bag when he thinks we’re all still preoccupied.

The girls in the front of the room continue in their half-aware states. The boys in the back have yet to cease poking each other with pencils and papers and giggling idiotically about whatever it is they do.

I reassemble Dong Ho’s still unarticulated thoughts for him and continue with class but our triangle of knowingness: Dong Ho, GaEun, myself—we’re in better spirits for sharing this unpronounced moment.

GaEun puts the little IceBreaker, carefully, in her pencil case.

2 Posts in a Week?! Must be a Holiday...

Chuseok--Harvest Festival--행복한 추석


Warm rice ball with bean/cornmeal powder, fresh off the mill-wheel. Korean Folk Village, 10.03.09



Struggling with a wooden yoke, despite the fact that it was empty! Korean Folk Village, 10.03.09


A carpenter carefully works on traditional wooden masks used to celebrate Chuseok, the Harvest Festival of Korea. KFV 10.03.09

The new-to-me mobile phone didn’t work when he said it would, and my SOS call didn’t help, so he invited me back down to Itaewon for a check-up. Frustrated with the length of cellular sacrifice I had already made since arriving in Korea, I scarfed down a sandwich after work on the night before Chuseok holiday began and took the 40 minute subway down to the foreigner district by myself. After dodging the mid-week-drunk sluts and soldiers congregating near the station eateries, I ducked into my cell phone shop…and right into the middle of a heated argument. It seemed a Korean landlord was upset over some bookkeeping issues, and while he ranted, the Pakistani in charge calmly showed him the books.

Now I’m a particular fan of SHOWING not TELLING in my writing, particularly through strategic use of dialogue. Unfortunately, the dialogue in this scene was not of discernable tongue for me, so forgive the liberties I’ve taken in transcribing what I THINK was being said at the time. No disrespect is meant, merely authenticity of translation.

Korean Landlord (pacing and gesturing): Why you no pay full rent this month wei-guk-in?
Pakistani [Cell Phone Store] Tenant: No, I have spoken already: I paid in full. See, the book?
KL (screeching): You have not paid! I make brown wei-guk-in pay with much interest-ee!
PT: I added the numbers like this, and it is not my fault your grandmother has requested that you host the family Chuseok celebration. I will not pay extra rent to fund your soju and spam this holiday.
KL (still screeching and pacing): NO! NO! NO! You are ruining my life with your lies! Many won you owe! A curse from ancestors upon you and your desert dogs! My people eat your people! And, I call police!
PT: Why don’t you have some coffee and a pipe with me and we will discuss this calmly like two good businessmen.

As the second Pakistani fiddled with my phone, two policemen did indeed arrive. Unfazed by the irate Landlord who hovered at their elbows and jabbered in their faces, they questioned the Pakistani tenant, who looked stressed and anxious, but remained calm. I happily noted the police seemed to put no stock in their fellow countrymen’s ludicrous attitude, and they left after a few words of warning to both parties. The Pakistani came out from behind the cell phone counter and mixed the Landlord a paper Dixie cup of instant coffee from the water purifier next to the door. But they hadn’t quite finished...

KL (loudly): A curse upon you, cell phone dog.
PT (loudly, with a dismissal wave of his arm): A curse upon you, cabbage whore.
KL: Good day to you, sir. Anyonghaseyo.
PT: Good day to you.

In much calmer moods, the Korean wandered out onto the front step with his cup and his clipboard. The Pakistani returned to his place at the counter with a cup of water, and my own Pakistani unhooked my phone and handed it over. “All set.”

On my way home I stopped with some coffee on a McDonald’s patio and started figuring out the very confusing phone. Three American dudes swaggered up with a tray of quarter pounders and orange Fanta and asked to borrow my chair. They seemed nice enough until they started speaking conversationally.

“Oh man I gotta take a picture of this!”
“Dude no way.”
“I can’t believe I’ve eaten a quarterpounder in two countries!”
“Dude that **** stays in your stomach.”
“Not after a couple of beers and soju.”
“Yeah that ****** gooood.”
“Oh man check this out.”
“Here man, take a picture of me with this ****** burger.”
“**** this place is awesome.”

At this juncture, I returned to the comfort of my headphones and began the journey home.

FRIDAY


First full holiday day off! Lounged all morning, skyped, cleaned, read. Hiked up my mountain in the late afternoon sun and wrote some letters. A gorgeous fall breeze and sufficient sunbeams on top of iced coffee put me in a stellar mood to reflect on thankfulness. The city was SO QUIET..barely anyone to bump into on the mountain, and since I could actually hear and feel nature around me, I left the iPod silent in my pocket. Quite the unusual experience in a city as busy as Seoul.



Celebrating on Chuseok Eve with gift from a student! My new favorite snack: songpyeon!

Made some vegetables/egg mess in the skillet for dinner, then met some friends for Korean food/plum wine, then hit up a Japanese bar for some wicked fishy anchovies (eyeballs intact), various fish stews, and hot and cold sake. Very chill evening, good times. Mostly guys, Korean and Western, plus me and my coworker Amanda ;D

SATURDAY
Took a relatively early weekend subway then bus to the Korean Folk Village for some legit Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving: Harvest Festival) celebrations. Hamboks, the traditional voluminous silkwear of the day, were everywhere, and the children were absolutely adoreable (see photo).



It was perfect autumn weather, and my four compadres and I had a great day (despite my back pain which flared unrelentingly) seeing a Korean wedding, photographing everything from cabbage to ponies, riding small carnival rides, and eating warm rice cakes with bean flour.


Families celebrate Chuseok with jumpropes at the Korean Folk Village 10.03.09


Missing part of an arm, this Indian welcomed us to one of the most ghetto but awesome shooting gallery-on-wheel rides ever! Korean Folk Village 10.03.09


Elvis wearing Hambok! KFV 10.03.09

The full day culminated with tour of the coolest hookah bar I’ve ever seen and moved from that to Hongdae where I ended up staying until 8am! It was a random night, but just kept going: meeting Koreans while keeping tabs on inebriated acquaintances who treated us to ghetto batting cages, the best spicy beef I’ve eaten, and luxury noraebong (karaoke) until 6am!

SUNDAY
Slept until 2, octopus bibimbap at a hole-in-the-wall with friends, a long walk with the iPod in the dark and cold. A good Day of Rest. Happy Thanksgiving! Chuseok jal bo nae sayo 행복한 추석


Traditional sailing ship at the Korean Folk Village 10.03.09