Leaving

When Joe told me he was going to be stationed in South Korea on a hardship tour - alone, without me, for a year - I was devastated. Then I looked up South Korea on a map, because I had no idea where it was. I'm not even sure I knew there was a South Korea. Everyone knew about North Korea, of course, because of the movie Team America: World Police, but I don't think I ever made the logical connection that having a North meant there was also a South and probably a war.

Four months later, after a lot of stress and uncertainty and paperwork and a little bit of crying and a good-bye in an airport and a move into my first ever single-girl apartment, I was on a plane to that little country at the end of an Asian peninsula.

We had heard that families usually weren't allowed to accompany their soldiers to Korea, that people just did their one year and went home. It turned out, though, that after a bunch of paperwork, Joe was approved to bring me over...he just wasn't approved to bring our stuff.

So I pawned off our pets on our parents and carefully packed two thrift store suitcases with what I estimated to be my 70-pounds-each weight limit. (I turned out to be pretty wrong, and that was expensive.) I felt like I was setting out on an Oregon Trail adventure: I was taking into the Great Unknown only my two suitcases with only my most precious and necessary belongings. I had clothes, pots and pans, silverware - sadly, I lost most of my wedding-silverware butter knives to airport security in Atlanta - our blender, our crockpot, our DVD collection, and - wow, did I really fit all this stuff into those suitcases? - a keyboard and a mouse and a set of computer speakers for when we'd order a new computer for me. (Fun fact: The clothes I brought got worn to shreds while I was over here, because it's super hard to find American sized clothing in Korea. One of my friends and I pretty much had each other's wardrobes memorized and noticed whenever the other got something new. It was funny.)

I was so incredibly happy to be on that plane over here. SO HAPPY. Almost every day, I've been consciously thankful to have had this great chance to be with Joe in Asia when so many other families weren't coming over.

Unless you count a cruise to the Bahamas, Korea was the first time I'd ever left America. I remember the layover in Japan, where for the first time I saw signage where the primary language wasn't English, and the long bus ride from the airport, the first time I saw rice fields outside the windows. I remember having no idea what to expect from this country.

I've fallen in love with South Korea. I never would have guessed that I would feel such fondness for a country not my home, that I would find another city as vital, fast, fragile, stunning as New York City. But South Korea is optimistic and hardy and hopeful and strong, and Seoul at sunrise is breathtaking.

This is where I lived, what I saw every day. I'll leave in the morning. And then, the day after that, when I'm gone, the sun will rise and everything will look like this again. Where I am, it'll be night. The rainy season will come again, and the rice will be sown, and another field will be sold for more apartment buildings, and in ten years, you won't even be able to recognize Waegwan.

The View From the Top

I've mentioned that I'm doing the Beachbody workout program Insanity, that it's boring and repetitive and I hate it, and that I'm going to finish it. To keep myself from burning out on it even more than I already have, sometimes I'll replace an Insanity workout with something that's equally challenging but less stupid. So yesterday, when I saw "MAX INTERVAL CIRCUIT" on the schedule, I thought of my I-don't-have-to-work-out-today-because excuses for like five minutes (as I do almost every day) and just went running, instead. Up a mountain.

Well, not exactly a mountain. There doesn't seem to be an official size definition of what makes a mountain, but it used to be 1,000 feet, or 304.8 meters. The land mass half a mile from our apartment building, "Hill 303," is 303 meters. So...almost.

So I jogged over there, set my timer, and started going as fast as I could. I saw one American couple, and quite a few older Koreans. The Koreans were mostly dressed in long pants and winter coats and, along with the normal encouraging thumbs-ups and words that I had no idea what they meant, I was asked a few times if I was cold in my shorts and tank top. It was about 60 degrees out there, and I was being super active, so I wasn't. But the only time I don't get asked that is when it's like 100 degrees.

It took me 19 minutes and 50 seconds to get to the war memorial at the top of 303. I felt like I was asphyxiating. I hung out up there until I could breathe again, took a couple phone pics, and started back down.

20 minutes plus the short, easy jog from our apartment to the hill-mountain wasn't much of a workout compared to the 55 minutes of stupidity I would otherwise have had to endure, so I decided to run up to the helipad, too. Then do pushups (even though there were people up there so it was awkward.) I did three sets of 20. I was really impressed with myself; four months ago, I ended a two-minute pushup challenge with a score of 14 pushups.

See? You can see the H on the helipad from space.

THE END!

The Grossest Thing I've Eaten

Joe and I went to a Korean restaurant for dinner tonight. The menu was of the point-at-the-picture-to-order type with no English. We ordered two plates of food: One that we'd had before and liked, and one that looked like a new item on the menu.

We were having a nice time together. The food got to our table. I was curious about the new dish. On the menu, it had looked like some kind of beef and green pepper kinda thing. I chopsticked a piece of the meat into my mouth. It had a nice teriyaki flavor, although it was a little spicy. And gristly. And there was something hard in it. I got the little hard pieces out of my mouth and put them on my plate. Joe looked closer at the meat, wondering what part of an animal it was, since it was so gristly, and shaped weird, with, like, jiggly meat tubes coming off a central piece.

It was chicken feet. A whole plate full of teriyaki chicken feet. That was a chicken toenail in my mouth.

It took me a few seconds to decide whether I was going to vomit. I didn't.

We just told our waitress that the dish was too spicy. She took it away. We were eating off the good food plate just waiting in absolute dread that she was going to come back to our table with a plate of fixed, less-spicy chicken feet. She did come back with the chicken feet, ours, but they were wrapped in a to-go box.

And that's the grossest thing I've (knowingly) consumed in Korea.

Now We Can Have Christmas.

I cleaned the house yesterday. Now we can have Christmas.

My living room and kitchen were 'kay. They get tidied up almost every day (except on the weekends when I'm too busy sitting in front of my PC for 12 hours, eating out of Tupperware and cans.) However, every other room in our house looks like the inside of a closet. I throw stuff in and shut the doors and say "Look how nice and perfect it is in the living room, Joe!" and just try not to think about it.

But the more unperfect it gets, the more it bothers me. I start to feel...sort of stretched...like butter scraped over too much bread. (LOL that was from Lord of the Rings. I made myself laugh.)

In April. note the Christmas tree.

Constantly in the back of my mind as I went about my daily business was the massive cascading pile of a year's worth of cardboard boxes on one of our enclosed porches that I've been avoiding. You can't have Christmas with the haunting presence of a pile of empty boxes hiding, waiting. So, finally, Joe and I flattened them all and took them downstairs.

Someone didn't want to have Christmas with those couches.

I put like three of those giant trashbags there. And the cardboard pile, it doesn't look so big now that it's flat. That white spiral is the base of the fan I put out to keep the cardboard from flying away, at least until someone takes the fan not knowing that it got fried months ago when I plugged it straight into a 220 outlet.

That's the porch last year, when we first moved in. Before the boxes and the frying.

It's amazing how you can re-home anything instantly here. Just put it downstairs, and someone will take it within a few hours. Bag full of rancid recyclable milk bottles? Gone. Dead microwave with sign on it saying "broken" in English and Korean? Gone. $20 bill? Gone. That pile of cardboard (and the fan, of course) was already gone this morning, and the trash guys don't even work today.

So. I got the unperfect room organized. Thank goodness for that giant cabinet I found outside. (See? put anything downstairs, and someone will come along and get their very kind friends to help them stuff it into the elevator and drag it into their apartment.)

Also, I cleaned out our four "stuff drawers," and the fridge, and the freezer, and a few weeks ago I cleaned up the other porch. All that's left now is NOTHING. Christmas morning, whenever that is - I think this year it will probably be on the afternoon of the 26th, but some years it's at night on the 27th or 28th after we drive back home from visiting our families - will be peaceful and beautiful and lovely and I won't have to feel like butter at all.

In other news, on the 15th, I had a party. There were red ribbons hanging from the windows of my apartment so people could find it more easily. So many people came over with delicious food and spent time together. It was nice to be with almost all the ladies I like here in Korea (though there were a few missing - sad.)

Advent calendars. I love them. These were the only ones they had at the PX. I bought them, we ate some of the days, then we forgot about them. Joe had maybe nine advent chocolates to eat yesterday, the lucky duck.

We made a business trip to Seoul. On the way, we stopped at Osan Air Base's Chili's restaurant. This is the only place we've been in Korea where we get American food with American service. I mean, just LOOK at this, guys!

Yes, those are both mine! One of them has been dranken (hehe, "dranken") out of until it's almost gone. AND THEN OUR WAITRESS BROUGHT ME ANOTHER ONE EVEN THOUGH MY FIRST ONE WASN'T EMPTY YET.

If you're like, "Yeah................cool........?", then you OBVIOUSLY haven't eaten at a restaurant in Korea. Think of the second-worst service you've ever gotten at a restaurant, and you're pretty much thinking of what it's like here all the time. Maybe it's because servers don't get tipped in Korea. You get a drink after you arrive, like normal, and you'd better make it last until your food comes so you can ask the server for another one, and then you'd better make that one last through your meal because you can pretty much expect to never get another drop unless you go wandering around with your cup until you find out where the Coke comes from.

Then, there's this.

Some nights, moving the furniture in the living room and dragging our mattress out of the bedroom, watching Christmas movies (It's A Wonderful Life and Die Hard,) the Christmas tree the last light to go off before we sleep. Retreating so deep into home that time stops. Love. Love.

It's Christmas Eve now. We'll play video games and go to the grocery store and check the mail. Dinner will be crockpot BBQ ribs with cornbread and sweet tea, and Christmas morning will be in a couple of days. It'll be perfect.

What's Different About Korea

I've now been in South Korea for one year (and one week.) I want to be like, "Oh wow guys this is so different," but living here feels so normal now.

Once in a while, though, I'll see an advertisement for a common product which I'd forgotten existed. Our Commissary is the size of a large 7-11 and has a relatively small selection of goods, so a lot of products just slip from my memory. Or I'll look at the pictures I took of our storage unit, where almost everything we own is stored right now, and see stuff I'd forgotten we had. I think there are a lot of things like that: Forgotten products, forgotten belongings, forgotten what it's like in the States.

Like, when I think about it, I'll remember that I own a KitchenAid mixer. And a round cookie sheet for pizza. And we have a fan for our bedroom with a remote control. And we have way too many little junky things that will probably be getting thrown away when I rediscover them. In a plastic container, we have two pounds of quinoa. We have a red cooler and our own refrigerator. We have a whole bunch of lamps. We don't have desks anymore because they didn't survive the move into the storage unit. I have houseplants waiting at my grandparents' house, and a dog at Joe's parents' house, and my birds at someone else's house. We have plastic mats for our computer chairs to roll around on. We have...a car. With a CD player in it, and a SUNROOF, and a huge trunk. In the car are my CDs, hopefully not melted.

I think the biggest difference with our life in Korea is travel. Without a car, going anywhere new requires extra planning and other people's timetables. Also, when you don't have a little pod of climate control on wheels, almost every form of weather just feels oppressive, smushing against your apartment door, keeping you from going anywhere. And you definitely can't wear painful shoes whenever you feel like it.
 
Without a vehicle, multi-errand trips have to be strategically planned. Whatever you buy, you have to carry around, since you can't just dump it in the trunk. One bright and sunny 90-degree day last week, the plan was: Go to the bank first, it's nearest; then go next door to check the mail; then walk across the big gravel lot past the Commissary and go to the library to check some stuff out; backtrack, go to the Commissary and buy only what will fit in half of my backpack; carry groceries and books allllll the way over to the military clothing store near the pool; then, carrying groceries and books and a couple of new uniforms, walk alllllllllllllll the way over to the ACS building, the farthest walkable point from home; then, backtrack allllll the way back to the library and PX area, buy a microwave; then, thank goodness I've collected enough stuff to justify taking a taxi home. I was proud of myself for saving at least $12 in taxi money. I really needed a shower.

See how much I've gotten used to it here? I'm in a different culture, and all I talk about when I think of what's different about living in Korea is not having a car. It's not the rice fields or the mountains (I don't even see them anymore) or the Buddhist temples or beautiful Seoul, but having a remote-controlled bedroom fan. I'm pretty sure I need to do some more exploring.

Seollal, the Lunar New Year

In South Korea, the Lunar New Year is called Seollal. For most, it's a family-oriented holiday. There's a massive exodus with massive amounts of traffic in the days before Seollal as people head home to their families.

I was pretty excited to be here in Korea during this uniquely Asian celebration, and went out looking for festivities on the day before and the day of (the 23rd of January.) I didn't find much, but was rewarded in a few places.

The day before, a couple of friends and I went to the nearest large city, Daegu. We talked to a tourist helper lady who said there might be celebrations going on in some of the city's parks. So we went to a couple of parks. We saw traditional games being played and were even instructed on their rules.

A popular game involving four sticks that you throw and a gameboard with pieces you move around

 

A boy whips a dreidel/top thing to keep it spinning as long as possible

Gamepieces

This vase with sticks in it is another game. You get all the sticks out and go stand behind a line. Then you start throwing the sticks at the vase, hoping some of them get into the holes (which are worth different amounts of points.)

The throwing-blocks game and another dreidel thing being whipped

Hoop & stick

Also, we were encouraged to write a wish for the new year on a bright piece of paper to be hung with other people's wishes.

Writing wishes

My wish for the new year, with wishes written in Hangul and Japanese hanging all around it

Koreans are generous people who give gifts for many, many occasions - our landlord often gives us fresh fruit and bottled beverages, maybe because we're in a business relationship with him - and shops carry gift boxes full of bottled drinks year-round. They stocked up on extras for Seollal.

Red and green gift boxes of drinks

Other places had gift boxes of oranges, apples, and Asian pears. 

Gifty fruits

More gifty fruits

The lady in the red coat saw me taking pictures of her gifty fruits and kindly invited me inside to take a picture of her and her friend

One thing that struck me in my travels was how many people were carrying gift bags. 

At the train station the night before Seollal

Busy streetcorner on Seollal

Another gift on Seollal. And a Lotteria, which is a lot like McDonalds.

One Seollal tradition, mostly involving children, I think, is the wearing of Hanbok. I really wanted to see people wearing this traditional clothing, but almost no one was out in public dressed that way.

Hanbok and a hoodie

On the 23rd, I went out exploring on a route that took me half a mile from our apartment to the gate of Camp Carroll, then back in the opposite direction maybe two miles to an area where I thought I might find a park and where I'd heard there was a Buddhist temple, then into Downtown Waegwan. 

Closed for the holiday

I managed to find the temple, and that's where the most exciting part of my Seollal happened.

There actually wasn't much to see at this temple.

The temple

Light inside

A fountain and a shrine

Ice in the bowls (it was cold outside) and someone left a 1000 won bill under a bottle

When the exciting thing happened, I had been taking pictures for a little while. There weren't many people at the temple. I was done taking pictures and didn't really want to leave yet without something more interesting happening. 

There was a building that looked like it might be where the monks lived. So I stood at the top of a stairway near the building, looking around, just standing there waiting for one of the temple people to do something, even though they were all inside. I actually didn't have to wait very long. A Korean lady, probably in her 40's or 50's, approached and motioned as if she was eating, and asked me, "You eat?" or something like that. I felt pretty awkward now that my plan had actually worked, and said, "Okay, thank you," and she led me inside the building that looked like it might be where the monks lived, into an empty room with Korean-style tables. I sat at a table on a cushion on the floor, and she brought me a plate of kimchi, bean sprouts, and something I couldn't identify. 

And then, she brought me the soup. I started saying, "Oh! Thank you!" because I was SUPER EXCITED because I recognized it as Tteok guk, a soup traditionally served on Seollal. She told me what it was, and I thanked her profusely, then she left me alone to eat.

Tteok guk (the soup in the stainless steel bowl with seaweed on top of it.) And the bright red stuff is kimchi.

The white things in the soup are thinly sliced cakes ("Tteok") made from rice flour dough. The dough is shaped into long cylinders, almost like short, very fat noodles, and sliced into pieces, then boiled in broth to make this lucky Seollal dish. It tasted very much like chicken and dumplings, without the chicken. I ate maybe half of my soup (but no seaweed) and everything on the plate (except the kimchi.) I took pictures of the room.

Some floor-cushions on a shelf, and the doorway to a kitchen

After my initial excitement, I spent most of my eating time wondering whether I should leave money. I decided not to. You don't even leave tips here in Korea; paying for a meal offered out of kindness seemed ridiculous.

A man I'd seen on the grounds entered the room around the time I was done eating, so I stood up with my plate and bowl to show I was done and was trying to help clean up, then bowed and thanked him and left. I was so happy.

For the Seollal finale, I bought a package of dried things which I had seen in a video about Seollal and which I thought were traditional holiday food. I don't know for sure if they're traditional holiday food or not, but I do know that they're pretty gross. They were dried persimmons, called "gotgam" in Korean.

Yeah, I took this picture.

They were mushy and sweet and would have been like candy 100 years ago but are now kinda ew because we have real candy. That white stuff on some of them, I thought it was mold, but Joe said it was fruit sugar that had risen to the surface of the persimmon as it dried. Turns out he was right.

I was a little disappointed that I didn't get to see any celebrations or many Hanbok, but that soup made all the exploring time totally worth it. (Of course, exploring is an experience in itself...but...I got to eat some tradition!)

Routine Check-up

Smile Restaurant is a hole in the wall with maybe six tables. Before the place shut down, the door was usually open when I walked past, and I always glanced inside, and there were always two or three women seated at one of the tables, eating fruit and watching Korean soaps on the little TV. When you went in, one of the ladies would stand up and smile and give you a menu. You would get your glass bottles of Coke or Chilsung Cider (which is like Sprite) or whatever from the refrigerator in the back of the dining room. Once you were ready, the lady would take your order and then go behind a half-wall partition to cook for you in the kitchen area while the rest of the ladies kept watching TV. The one time we ate there, one of the vegetables in my meal was seaweed, so we didn't try that place again.

That was about two weeks after I arrived in Korea. See? I was still taking pictures of things just because they had another language on them. Everything was new and amazing. Now, six months later, the novelty's long gone - or at least moved out of Waegwan - replaced by routine, obligation, the everyday struggle of adult life, and dietary restrictions.

My family visited New York City a few times when I was, like, 11 or 12. I'd never seen a city like that, and I fell in love. For years after those trips, I would ask my parents when we could go back, and write poems about how much I missed NYC, and cry. I haven't been back, because even from Virginia, it's too far.

I'm hoping I don't do that with South Korea. What if, as soon as the plane takes off to take us home, I develop a giant hole in my heart that bothers me for years? I couldn't even get back to NYC; how would I ever find the chance to go across the world and 14 hours into the future to see here again? 

I wouldn't. Won't. So every morning when I wake up, I'll have to remind myself where I am, and try not to let routine interfere.

The First Time it Snowed

I went out on the trash/laundry balcony one day last week with a handful of garbage and was startled to see giant clumps of snow falling outside the window. "OH!" I said. Then I went back inside and called Joe to tell him it was snowing. Then I grabbed my new camera and started taking leaning-out-the-window pictures. THEN, it dawned on me that I could take pictures of the snow WHILE I WAS IN THE SNOW. So I ran around the house getting all bundled up. Then I tried to put the camera in a Ziploc bag - I was going to cut a hole in the bag for the lens to go through - but I was in too much of a hurry, so I just took the camera into the elements unsheltered. It survived. Here are some of the 216 pictures I took. (With the quality my camera's set to, those 216 pictures added up to almost one gig of hard drive space. WOW.)