We are family!

Today I’m 35.

Sometimes counting the years hits you in weird ways. For me, it’s usually been when one of my kids had a birthday and turned from an age I was used to, to an age that my mind apparently associated with other things than my children. Since Benny is my oldest, and therefore usually the first one to do something new and strange, I’ve experienced more shocks from him than anyone (as long as we’re still talking about growing up!) I remember being particularly traumatized when he turned five – it just didn’t seem possible.

So here I am, as Steve so generously put it: halfway to seventy.

There’s only one way I could be happier, more content, or more excited about my life right now, and that would be if my family were here with me, instead of us being separated. Here I am, following my dreams, and not only that, but catching up to them and walking hand in hand with them. I'm doing what I have wanted to do ever since I can remember. Who gets that? March 17^th finds me inexpressibly grateful, not only for today, and now, but for all the days that led to here.

I made it!

Haha, I can’t stand it ;)

 Feels like I’ve been smiling non-stop for a month.

The decision I made to pursue the Intensive Korean Course turned out to be one of the better ones I’ve made in my life, for several reasons. First of all, I really am learning Korean, and it’s possible that I will be able to speak it passable by the end of four months. I’ve spoken with several of the students who’ve been in the regular classes for up to several semesters, and they are envious because they did not experiencing the same level of teaching, and therefore, understanding.

Mainly, though, it’s because of my friends. My Chinese friends have adopted me as their family, and I am whole-heartedly in love with them. We had a magical moment about a week ago, and things have been different and even more wonderful since then.

It was break time, and the teacher had left (probably to sag against the wall and cry – it must be so hard to teach this class, what with the language barrier and all). We were chatting the best we could, given their English and my Chinese, while we shared snacks. Someone gave me a stick of gum that tasted exactly like chewing up a menthol cigarette. The teacher had been trying to elect a class leader, and they voted unanimously for me, because they think I’m the best student. (It’s not true, but it’s fun to hear ;) Evidently it has to be a boy though, so that brought about a rowdy discussion once she left the room. One of the boys, Yang Che-u, was teasing me about both going out with him, and I believe – the conversation was difficult to follow – adding to his repertoire of English off-color words, if he got elected.

This is Yang Che-u

I protested, but he didn’t understand what I was saying. This caused everyone to get involved, and so I decided to tell them my story.
 I get tears in my eyes when I think about it. Their precious faces were all gathered around me, and they paid rapt attention the whole time I spoke. I talked about meeting Steve when I was a child, getting married and having my family. How I waited to go back to school, and once I did, how I found out about the Study Abroad program. I talked about how we five, Steve, the kids and I,  deliberated over whether it was a good idea for me to come here, and then how unconditional the support of my family and friends has been in holding us all up on their strong shoulders when we decided to go for it. I talked about how long I’ve waited to travel and see things, how long I’ve waited to be able to go back to school and learn things. I talked about my hopes for the future, what my majors are, and how I want to work for the government. And I cried some, because talking about how loved I am does that to me.

They were shocked speechless. They had no idea that I wasn’t just a regular American teenager. (It’s so strange, and I suppose flattering - until I actually tell someone my age and situation, they think I’m an 18 year old student, just like everybody else.) They could hardly believe my age or that of my kids. Plus, telling the Chinese that you have three children is like telling an American that you have ten. It’s mind-boggling to them. They all sat holding their breath for a long minute, and then there was a frenzy of digging through purses and backpacks, and talking a mile a minute in Chinese. (I normally don’t really know what they’re saying, but I sure like listening to them speak – their language is beautiful.) They pulled out their pocket translators and had a discussion, and then they picked a presenter. She came and stood in front of me and bowed deeply, and said that they all worship/adore me. (It’s the same word in Chinese.) She said they will be my family while I’m away from my home, and that when I come to China I will be their family. They all nodded while she spoke, and chastised her a few times if they didn’t think she’d gotten their words right. They said they understand now why I study and try so hard, and they’ve redoubled their efforts to help me in class if I need it.

Here is Wang Chok-pom (left) and Quahk Ja-ohk

This is Wi Chu-sahk

Here are Choo Chun-chun and Sol A-nam

I love them! I wake up in the morning excited to go to class, and last week, the four hours went by like they were nothing, compared to the agony of the first week. When they found out yesterday that today was my birthday, we learned how to sing Happy Birthday in Korean, Chinese, and English. They wanted to take me out,  and so we celebrated. 

They bought me dinner at a Korean barbecue place after school, and we laughed our way through some hours of good food. Oh my goodness, some of the meat is so unbelievably yummy, and when you wrap it in lettuce and add all the fixings...to die for! We kept taking photos, and I noticed that they were big on pictures of themselves taking bites of food. They would put a bite half in their mouth and pose, waiting for someone to snap the shot, which I thought was very funny. I asked one girl why she would want a picture of herself with her mouth wide open, and she explained that it exemplifies happiness. I completely agree.

They insisted on cooking, and were very attentive to my plate and glass. They gave me a birthday present, and promised that they would sing to me. When we were full, we left the restaurant and went to a bar, where the eight of us drank a few pitchers of beer over the course of maybe four hours. 

We played a drinking game where at any time during the night, anyone could shout, “1, 2, 3, Woodman!” in Chinese, and we all had to freeze, and our teeth couldn’t be showing. You could move your eyes, though, and it’s the hardest thing in the world not to laugh! Everyone was always stuck in the funniest position. The loser (me) had to drink half a glass – either for not freezing or for moving first. They realized that I just couldn’t catch the Chinese phrase, so they started trying to say it in English, which a few of them couldn’t catch either. It was pretty funny.

I insisted on buying, which they protested violently, until one of the girls, Quahk Ja-ohk, gave them a lecture in which I think she explained that it was a cultural thing with me, and that they were all supposed to say, “It is my honor.” So they did, which was charming, and then one at a time, they composed a birthday wish on the spot and sang it to me in English. I was in tears. I sang them Edelweiss, and explained that it was what I used to sing to my kids when I put them to bed, and the bond of our friendship was cemented.

When we decided to call it a night, we sang ourselves home, up the hill, through the rain. When we made it inside, I almost got us all penalized by my rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” – sung at the top of my lungs in the lobby before we parted ways. Everyone hugged me and wished me happy birthday again, and I confess, it was my favorite so far. 

A toast: may all our birthdays be our favorite so far!

Spanked

Today I ate my first Glutinous Rice Ball. It’s a - well, it’s a ball – of fried dough surrounding pounded sweet rice and red bean paste. My word. All I know is, in heaven, (the one I’m going to, anyway) they just sit around eating Glutinous Rice Balls and watching Ellen. And that episode of Lost where Hurley drives the blue Volkswagon bus blaring Three Dog Night from an eight track player.

So I’ve recovered from my massage, and I feel more amazing than I ever have in my life. Inside and out. Didn't I tell you about that? Oh my goodness. It’s this whole thing…

I still don’t understand it, but I seem to be scared to take trips by myself. I find myself in my room before I leave, procrastinating by trying to understand the map, or decide what to wear, or what to pack. Since I’d been to the spa before, I knew that this time I should bring some toiletries, like shampoo and face wash. Once I get ready and going, the scariness goes away, and I was excited this time, because I knew how to do this: where to go, what to bring, how much it would cost, and what I would find.

Part of the trek down the hill to get to the food, the bus, or the station.

The station at Onyang Oncheon - the train is just leaving.

I took myself by subway to Onyang Oncheon, and from there to the Paradise Hot Springs Spa. I stopped on the way to get chestnuts, and the old man selling them was so cranky! I have no idea what I was doing wrong, but he wasn’t going to sell them to me. I was doing exactly the same thing I had last time, I’m sure of it, but it wasn’t getting me anywhere. His wife ran over from chatting with the neighboring vendor and made him give me some, but that made him madder. He ended up taking my money, putting about four chestnuts in a bag, and tossing them at me. I thanked them both and bowed, and was more determined than ever to figure out this dang language. It’s so frustrating to constantly feel like I don’t know what’s going on! I might as well have been in class…

The view to the right as you exit the station in Onyang.

Anyhow, I made it to the spa, got my key and its wristband, got my locker and ordered my massage – all in Korean, thank you very much! I went to the bathroom to take my makeup off, and apparently that was a mistake. I’ve thought it over for several days, and I think I know what happened. I was supposed to walk straight from the front desk to the massage lady, but I didn’t know that, see, because last time, when I inquired about massages, there was a forty minute wait. This time I figured I would shower and soak while I waited for my time slot to come up. 

So in the middle of my face washing an angry old woman, back as straight as a ramrod, more clothed than I (she got to have on the better half of a two piece swim suit), marched in and demanded to know if I was the one getting the massage. (I don’t know exactly what she said, but I got the point.) She scared me so badly I forgot all my Korean for the rest of the night. I stuttered and stammered, and ended up just running after her as she speed-walked through the double doors, around the corner, and into the secret, sacred massage corner, which is blocked off from the hot springs by low rock walls.

There are several massage tables in a row, specially made for this situation. They have vinyl covers and neck pillows, and are very low to the ground, compared to normal ones. The floor is made of the kind of cement that has whole pebbles in it, and the air is hot and steamy. Everything is wet and dripping. She took a basin, dipped it in a barrel of water, and threw it on me, surprising me to the core. She then threw some water on the table for good measure, and gestured for me to lie down. I assumed I would be face down, and I was wrong. She gave me a good hard slap on the butt, once I got situated, and between that and other good communicating, I understood I was to be face up. 

Awkward. 

Not only was she mad (for reasons I couldn’t fathom at the time) and strong, but I was naked, and her underwear was missing one of the two pieces. (I was afraid to close my eyes though, for fear of another missed cue and a slap.)

With no further ado, she started at my feet and gave me a lightning fast, whole body scrub. I really didn’t have time to protest. I could only stare at the ceiling and pray that I wouldn’t bleed through my pores. Another slap, and I turned over, which was treacherous business, given the wet vinyl. After scrubbing that side she whacked me again and sent me out of the massage area. I went and sat down in a hot pool, which stung because of the scrubbing, and did some thinking.

I had just paid about thirty dollars to be yelled at, scared half to death, drenched, and scrubbed like a black kettle. This was not my idea of a massage. Mentally, I ran through my Korean vocabulary to try and compose my protest, but in the end, I decided I would deliver the whole thing in English, complete with cuss words and yelling. That would teach them. And the chestnut guy.

About that time, the masseuse came over and tapped me lightly on the shoulder and smiled, motioning me back to the massage parlor. I was a little wary, and expecting to be sent away again at any moment. It reminded me of the bus driver in Suwon, who was just trying to point things out and I kept thinking he was telling me to get off. 

I paid close attention to her every move though, this time, trying to determine what I was supposed to do, and we began to be able to communicate. She was able to see that I was trying, I wasn’t stupid and was able to be taught. I was able to see that she was very skilled, very kind, and just unused to dealing with foreigners. 

Sigh. 

I wish there were words I could write that would deliver to you what the next hour plus felt like to me. She washed my hair and massaged my head. This was a bit rough on me, at first, because I didn’t understand what was going on. She was using a technique where she lifted up different body parts and dropped them. I'm not used to people doing that with heads. I thought at first that she was still upset, or careless, but I realized, after paying attention both to her and how it felt, that she was doing something. I could feel the buzzing you get when your chi has been blocked and starts flowing. Her fingers were like machine gun fire – she would pick up my head, feel the back of my neck in two places, drop my head, be at my feet, press specific points all along my body, and be back at my head before I could count to three. She was checking something on the back of my neck, and it wasn’t ready. She put some kind of lotion on it that smelled like peppermint and burned a bit, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Apparently, she needed to let that do some work before it could be massaged.

There were many steps to what she did, with many scrubs, lotions and oils. I recognized some of the scents, like ginger and peppermint, but others were completely foreign to me. They smelled so good, and it was so strange not to be able to even guess what they were. She scrubbed me in earnest this time, and didn’t miss a square centimeter. She soaped me up and rinsed me off. I was on my back, stomach, sides, sitting up, lying down, arms out, arms in. I was pounded, beaten, scrubbed, and slapped until I am but a vestige of my former self. At one point she climbed on top of me – me who was precariously perched on slippery, oily, vinyl! – and walked up and down my entire body.

At last the places on my neck that she kept checking were satisfactory, and she massaged my shoulders until you would never know that I have been walking up and down stairs with a backpack non-stop since I left home.

She gave me a face massage and mask, a hot towel treatment, pumice stone on my feet, until I was practically purring. That I liked it all so much made her happy, I could tell. She was very warm with me by the time I left, leading me to wonder if I'd passed some kind of Korean strength test.

Her looks would have deceived you, but, circumstances being what they are, I can’t elaborate. Just listen to me - in order to avoid tangling with secret ninja masters, simply follow this rule of thumb I’ve recently written: 

Whenever you meet an elderly Korean woman, or are just near one, or know someone who has seen one, all parties involved should bow deeply and give her whatever she wants. Even if it is to agree that you’ve sat on top of her and stolen her seat, or to let her communicate by slapping you on the ass.

Week 1, almost done.

Tomorrow is Friday. Tomorrow I will have completed one full week of school in South Korea. I love my classes! My teachers are wonderfully kind and patient, very dynamic and full of ingenuity, and free with their praise. They are making sure my foundation is strong before we ramp up and take off, and I feel excited. I can do this!

My classmates are lovely people. They are all Chinese, and a few speak a tad of English. We take a five or ten minute break every hour, and they pull out snacks and share them with me. It’s such a heart-warming thing, Asian culture. (I say Asian – maybe I should just say Chinese, Japanese, and Korean, because those are my spheres of experience, so far.) Nobody is left out when it comes to eating. I pulled out an orange the other day, and gave part of it to a girl in the back of the room who looked lonely. She lit up and smiled, and then proceeded to split the small segment I’d given her among the rest of the class. I was quick to share the rest of the orange when I saw what she was doing, so we all had about a bite, and they did the same with their bagels and cookies and – god help us – kiwi milk. How could you not fall in love with that? I feel constantly like I’ve just had a good hug, like the ones my big brother gives.

Korean grammar is similar to German, which I’ve had a few years of. In English we order our sentences with subject, verb, object. For example, “I (subject) took (verb) a taxi (object).” They would say “I a taxi took.” The funniest thing is happening: I find it easier to translate Korean, in my head, into German than into English, and I’m shocked at how much German vocabulary I can remember. I speak it automatically in my head. I wonder how many languages you can learn at once? I’m picking up some Chinese and Japanese just from hanging with my new friends.

My roommate and her friends graciously spent a couple hours with me last night, helping me with my homework. They have the same immersion program in English that I have in Korean, and are as scared and worried as I was, so we are going to be a great benefit to each other in our study sessions. They also helped me compose some sentences I needed to know how to say in Korean, and then sent me off to try them out. Someone locked our shower door from the inside, and none of us could get in, so – armed with a sticky note, yours truly went downstairs to get the adushi.

- They call all old men here “Old Man”, it’s an honorific, and it is so funny to me that I have to practice before I actually say it, so I don’t laugh. Can you imagine? Running downstairs to get the kind, harried security guard by shouting, “Old man! Old man!” ? LOL.

Anyway, I read my note to him and he understood me (!!) and came up to our suite with his bag of tools. It turns out, the only helpful thing in there was a large screw driver. After much grunting, and I think cursing, but I don’t know for sure, he eventually gave up on the stripped screw and began to try to pry the door knob off the door with the screw driver. Soon he abandoned that idea and stood, arms crossed, staring at the door, until he suddenly shouted and kicked it. Scared me half to death. He shook the walls. I was helpless with laughter and had to hide in my room, but we were able to take showers after he left. Since then, the whole assembly has been magically replaced by some unseen worker, and you’d never know that the metal and wood were ever bashed.

There are washing machines downstairs, free of charge, that we use to do laundry, but no dryers. We take our dirty clothes down, bring them back clean, and hang them on special racks to dry. In the other dorms, the Korean only ones, they put their racks out in the hallways, and you can barely get through, or breathe from the humidity. We put them in our living room. Ugh. I can’t tell you how much I hate the crunchy feeling of laundry that’s been hung out to dry. It takes me back to growing up on the back of that mountain, where we either had to turn on the generator and use the ancient wringer washer, which stretched and ruined your clothes until everything looked like a bath towel; or haul it all the long way into town and wash it at the laundry mat, then bring it back in big black trash bags and dry it on the porch, because porch drying was free. I found that there is a lady on campus who will mend, wash, dry and fold a batch of clothes for about three dollars, and I’m tempted.

The stairs here are practically an epidemic, since the campus is built on the side of a hill. From the back of my heel to the top of my head, my muscles are as hard as rocks, and sore. Calves of steel, hmm. Not exactly the feature I was looking to define, but hey. You take what you can get. The great thing about sore muscles is that you can take them to the spa. I told myself that I will be going at least once a week, after the initiation I had when my friends and I finally found it. 

If I could choose only one thing to bring back to America with me from Korea, it would be the spa/bath house concept. I’ve been pondering, for several days, how to present this in a tasteful, yet complete way, and I think I’m ready.

This picture was taken by Patrick Ponikvar, and fellow international student at Soonchunhyang.

Try to imagine that you’re sitting at work, and instead of going for drinks at 5, you go to the bath house. Could you be prepared to spend several hours with these people, showering, walking from room to room, sitting in different pools, sans the clothes? Probably not. For some of us, just thinking about it is a good way to bring on a panic attack. That is the thing I wish I could change. I wish I could bring my daughter here. I experienced something life-changing.

In my culture, skin is sexualized, and we show lots of it. Here, there is very little skin showing, but they get naked together. (For the record, I am not speaking about mixing genders, when I say they get naked together. There is a women's side and a men's side.) The layout is beautiful and rich. Tiles and mosaics, lots of glass, even an outdoor pool with high rock walls, then bamboo, then stars. I saw women just spending time with each other, helping to wash each other’s backs and watch each other’s kids, laughing, chatting, relaxing. It was safest, most wholesome atmosphere I’ve ever been in. There was no shyness and no shame or awkwardness. There were no inadequacies. There were only people, from all walks of life, of all ages, shapes and sizes.  

I’ve had three kids. I’ve struggled, since I was 21, with feeling like my physical attributes were ruined. Shhhh! Just hold your comments, ok? I know you probably want to rush to tell me I’m pretty, and silly, (or in Spencer’s case, that I’m damn ugly and you just never had the opportunity to say so…)but if you stop and think about it, you know what I mean. I can put on makeup and fix my hair, and wear low-rise jeans and shirts with stripes – I know how to maximize. But I’m talking about end-of-the-day, pony tail, makeup removed, no clothes. That is the me that I thought was ruined, and I’ve carried that disappointment with me for a long time. Steve thinks I’m crazy. He tells me I’m beautiful, and offers to point out ugly or fat people to me so that I’ll know the difference, and has never one time, since I’ve known him, said anything less than complimentary about me. (Thank you God in heaven, because I don’t know how I would have handled something like that; I’m hard enough on myself.) But I, I – could not believe it for myself– until a week ago.

I finally saw that I’m just a woman. I look like other women. I have nice features, and I have some that I will keep hidden when I’m not chilling with my bffs in the buff.

I want this awakening for every American ten year old girl, who looks in the mirror and knows that she’s not enough. She isn’t skinny enough. Her legs aren’t long enough. She has hair in the wrong places, and freckles, and she’s hungry, but thinks she's too fat to eat. Her worst fear is that boys won’t pay attention to her, and even though Lady Gaga told her to love herself, Lady Gaga is a gorgeous rich model whose mama told her she could be anything. This poor little girl is on her own, and it’s a jungle out there. I'm determined to find some way to pass on the freedom I found here at last - to feel perfectly adequate just being me. Hopefully Hailey can have this before she turns 35, like I'm about to do...

On a different note, my new friends, whom I met in Suwon when I went to find the fortress last weekend, have offered to take me to another of Korea’s famous historical places on March 31^st. We’ll be going to an ancient village called Yong-in, which has been restored and is fully functioning in its original capacity. I am so excited! They will meet me at the Suwon station I told you about, and we will all go together in their car.  I will most certainly keep you posted on that!

Well, it’s 11. I have some homework to do, and then need to get myself to bed. I bought some tea at a store down the hill, in order to have something hot to drink that’s not coffee while I study, and I am interested to see what it tastes like. I know one box is green tea, but the other is a mystery, and you know how I love those J

Hugs,

Grace

Haha, Amy, could you please not see the plastic water bottles in the background, there? lol

Adventuring

So I planned out my weekend Friday night - I decided to go exploring on Saturday, and talk to my family on Sunday. I thought that would give me a no-stress, relaxing time before classes started on Monday. Eek! I was placed by myself into Beginning Intensive Korean with no other English speakers – just me and the Chinese. I knew the classroom number ahead of time, but not the building, which was not just a little stressful, because this campus is so unbelievable huge. I thought that I couldn't afford to miss one minute of class time, for fear of falling behind and not being able to catch up. No other first semester student has attempted this program, but they are giving me a chance to try. I also had no idea where the class would start, as far the language goes, and therefore didn't know what to study for. Oh my goodness, nerves!

Saturday morning I jumped on the subway and went only one stop before hopping off again to go take pictures at that outdoor market I discovered when I was lost the other day. I didn’t feel right about just snapping away with abandon, because the atmosphere doesn’t really permit it, if you’re paying attention to the people. In Korea, there are so many tiny shops or spaces, and they are crowded with whatever wares are being sold. It seems at first that these things are just sitting out where they’d be vulnerable to theft or damage, but not so! In ALL cases, someone is watching you like a hawk every moment that you are in proximity to something they sell. It makes for an intimidating shopping experience. Window shopping is awkward, because sometimes no less than three people are staring at you intensely, waiting to respond to any word or minute gesture you may display that indicates you want something they have. Plus, at this particular outdoor market, the walkway is very small, and very crowded. Occasionally motorcycles or scooters come flying through, honking and causing people to dive for the sides. I felt that I would have had to be very rude to just walk along and take pictures without asking, since they were standing there staring at me, and when I did ask, most people were not willing to be in the picture, or have their products photographed. So I’m a bit ashamed of the quality of the photos I have – they are more like an account ledgers than a true representation of the beauty I saw. I didn’t hurt anyone’s feelings or pride, though, and I will keep working on this, and find a way to do better before I come home.

                       

                                 

Various roots, honeys, and things for sale.

I found roasted chestnuts! I have been looking for them since I got here! I was so excited when I heard they were popular in Korea, and they are so yummy! I first learned about them when I was little, from that Nat King Cole song, and for some reason they’ve been something I craved every since. Mom used to let me buy them sometimes, but I always cooked them wrong and they exploded – so I’ve only really had them a handful of times.

A man sat on the street over a tiny charcoal fire, turning and turning them with tongs, while a woman sold them, about ten or twelve for two thousand won, which is a little less than two dollars. I didn’t know how to order these in Korean, so I held out the money I wanted to spend, and she put the amount of chestnuts that she was willing to part with for that price into a small paper bag for me. I could not stop smiling, honestly. So much fun!

I made my way back to the subway, and ran into someone I know, which was very bizarre. What are the chances? I was in a different city, and the timing – very cool.

Back at the station, I had just missed my train, so it was another half hour on a hard cold bench. It gave me time to practice reading the station signs and to double check that I was on the right line. The city I was trying to get to, Suwon, was many stops down the line, but I had all day.

Eventually, three old men shuffled toward my bench, and I rose so that they would sit. They violently protested this, and had a very loud, very funny conversation about which two would sit with me, and which one would have the honor of standing. The youngest won, due to his undeniable arguing skills, and he went to buy me coffee, while the oldest one practiced his English, which was good, as was the coffee.  I complimented him, and he insisted that I was wrong and his English was very poor, but he seemed pleased. He absolutely reeked of alcohol, and I was mildly worried that I’d gotten myself into a dead end situation. I’m determined to be extremely polite, to make up for what I can’t communicate, and was desperately hoping he would be well-behaved, and spare me an awkward exit scene. As it turned out, these three men were my self-appointed body guards, almost all the way to Suwon.

I was approached by a man from Uganda, who said he was a missionary, and wanted to know where I was going. The moment I volunteered the information, I knew I shouldn’t have. He began asking about whether or not I had friends there, whether or not I was alone, and whether or not I would give him my number. I declined, and asked him to leave, and I knew that I would have to lose him when I got off at the station, or he could be trouble. (And I did – you should have seen me. I was a total ninja. I pulled on my big black hood to hide my hair, because it stands out for blocks here, ducked into a crowd, and joined the flow of traffic that led away from the exit. I didn’t see him again.)The old men glared at him the whole time he asked his questions, and they stayed close to me. Very threatening, I’m sure J

The subway system is quite cheap, which leads to several interesting dynamics. First of all, the Korean people that tend to ride it are either poor or students. It is insanely crowded, and therefore has its own distinctive smell. I was pretty tentative about inhaling, there for a while, but that kind of thing is difficult to maintain for long periods of time. So I played a game with myself, and decided to concentrate on what smells I could identify. Garlic, good god – it’s everywhere. Kimchi, charcoal, and sometimes fish. Also, something I call “Old Man Smell”, which is pungent, and laced with cigarettes, but not unpleasant.

Everyone loves to hear that I am from America, and even more so California. I think it gives them a feeling of being educated about the world and where things are, because they have all heard of those places. I’m glad I’m not most recently from Kalispell, Montana, or Arizona, because those locations would not be met with the oohs and ahhs of my current hometown J I know how to say I’m a student, which elicits more praise, and that I like to take pictures, which may bring a photo op or a look of fear!

Getting a seat on a subway is an event, and giving one up is a miracle. The station that our school is at is the end of the line, and rural, so if we start from there and go in to the cities, we will always have a seat, because the train comes from the city, empties, and turns around. When we arrive at a station, however, the boarding zones are crowded with people who are bunched and tensed to spring. Those who are getting on throw themselves onto the train and into the nearest available seat. The old women are especially sneaky, and you can find yourself somehow on top of one, who’s shrieking about how you stole her chair, when you never even got up, and she just got on! There is no such rule as “those who are on get off first, and those who are boarding wait”. No. Everyone gets on and off at the same time, which is ineffective, time consuming, and funny, because the doors are not very wide.

- As a side note, this is how they cross streets here, as well. Have you seen the movies of, or been to, New York City? You know how the corners of an intersection hold a massive crowd of business men and women who don’t drive, carrying their brief cases and coffees, unable to be contained by the sidewalks? Same thing here, except that the crowds on both sides of the street face each other, tensed and ready, and when the walk light comes on, they run at each other like the battle scenes in Braveheart. I kid you not. If you don’t duck your head and plow like a line backer, you will be forced backward to where you started. There is no being nice; you must push, shove and fight your way across the street before the light turns red, because pedestrians do not have the right of way here, and the cars will run you over or bump you. And the honking!! It’s very different.

For the time being, I, myself, would rather stand than push my way into a seat on the subway. I may eventually adapt to seeing this behavior as something other than rude, but right now, I can’t do it. My three old men, however, fought a space for me and gestured wildly until I took it, and we rode, smashed together, for about two and a half hours. They nodded off a few times, and we all endured a salesman together, who was loud, annoying, and pushy as he walked through each car, and the time passed. When it was time for them to leave, they bowed many times,  and waved and smiled at me until my train was out of sight. Everyone else in the car stared, wondering, I’m sure, what we could possibly have in common. I was sad to see them go, and waved the whole time as well.

I was almost asleep when I suddenly realized I’d heard the name of my station. I had to collect my things quickly in a mad dash out the doors, and then remember to escape from the missionary, so I ended up in Suwon station a bit flustered.

I ducked into a restroom and locked myself in a stall to pull it together...

 I’m just sitting here shaking my head. How to describe this to you? The place is massive. I wasn’t prepared at all. Suwon is where the World Cup Stadium is, and so, like Seoul, this city’s appearance is built to impress, and it does. There are many stories of shops above and below ground at the station, with all the selection and entertainment you could hope for. Coach, Prada, IMAX, etc. I spun around in circles for a bit, trying to take it all in, and then decided that I should take care of buying my ticket home before I went exploring. That way I would know how much time I had to explore, and would be able to find where I was supposed to get on the train when the time came to leave. I decided to take the Nooriro home instead of the subway. It’s not the bullet train, but it’s a train nevertheless, and faster than what I came on. It would take about an hour, instead of the all-day commuter event I had just experienced. The ticketing machine for the Nooriro wouldn’t take my card or my money, for some reason, so I had to go stand in a line that reminded me of scenes in movies I’ve seen of the New York Stock Exchange. It was loud, long, crowded, and full of shoving, stressed, harried people who were late for something. I’m proud to tell you that I was able to hold my own in line, and buy a ticket home, on the correct train and to the correct station, at a later time than “first available” - all in Korean, and I know I got it right because I made it home! Yay me! Having that settled made me feel better and less unsure, and I set out to play.

I found a tourist information station, and a person who spoke English, and she showed me which bus I should take to which stop in order to see the fortress I had come to see. It’s called the Suwon Hwaseong Fortress. It was late in the day, and I was wanting to take pictures, so I set about going straight there. I found the station and the right bus, but when I muscled my way on, the bus driver wouldn’t let me board. I didn’t understand what was wrong, so I went back to the tourist information station. It turns out, I had to have either exact change, or a T-money card, which is what I use for the subway system. It’s reloadable and very handy. I went back, armed with the proper payment form, and boarded the bus of another angel.

When I got on, I asked the driver if I was on the right bus for the fortress, and he nodded and sat me directly behind himself. He then proceeded to give me a tour of the city, despite the other passengers on the bus, and despite the other vehicles on the road. You can’t believe it, it was so funny. He would stop the bus in the middle of the road, and we’re talking, bumper to bumper, eight-lane, holiday weekend traffic, here. He would gesture and talk, and point out the window, and I kept thinking he was telling me that this was my stop. I would stand, and he would push me back down and keep talking. I “oohed” and “ahhed” appropriately, and tried as hard as I could to understand him, but I had absolutely no idea what he was telling me. Finally we did get to my stop, and he spent a long time telling me which way to go. I thanked him very much, got off the bus, and went the wrong way. He jerked the bus to a stop in the middle of the street again, opened the doors, and loudly set me straight. Once again, I couldn’t stop smiling.

The palace part of the fortress was about to close. 

Between you and I, it wasn’t as impressive as the one I’d seen in Seoul with Shelley, and I didn't really spend much time in there. However, there was an ancient wall that went up the mountain, and all along the wall were watchtowers and gates, built so many hundreds of years ago! With the light fading, I ran to catch some good shots.

I ran up all those steps, starting from the street! 

I need to find out exactly how far that was. I know if I guess at a number it will be silly. All I can tell you for sure is that I may have come close to dying, but I got to the top in time to take a few shots of the buildings, the city below, and the wall. It was breathtaking. It was also very windy and cold. I stood for a long time, just staring out over the panorama, trying to understand where I am and what I've done. It's so very, very strange to do something you've wanted to do for so long. It hits me, occasionally.

I asked a couple to take my picture for me, and we ended up conversing for quite some time. 

Behind me, if you know what to look for, is the World Cup Stadium.

My  new friends.

The lady had been to school in Ohio, in the states, and spoke wonderful English. Her husband was very knowledgeable about the history of the area, and I was fascinated. We talked together for a long time while their kids played. They are excited about my opportunity to be a student here, and want to help me. We exchanged information, and I now have a lovely family contact in Suwon, South Korea. I can’t stand how beautiful everyone has been to me. I’m a bit overwhelmed with the kindness and generosity I’ve been shown. What an experience!

The lookout station for this portion of the wall.

When I was through taking pictures, and done being cold, I walked down the mountain and got myself a taxi. I was able to direct him to the station and pay him the correct amount of money, which still thrills me no end J It was a long taxi ride, and I think we both wished so much that we could talk to each other. The air was electric with wishing, and finally he couldn’t stand it, and turned on his tv. It made me more determined than ever to learn to express myself, and to be able to listen and understand.

I had some time to kill at the station before my train was due to leave, so I splurged a little on dinner, and ate grilled duck. I also tasted my first bad kimchi, an experience I’m proud to say I recognized. There was a time, not too long ago, when I thought it was all bad.

I made it home and took a taxi to my dorm with a young couple who are here for a year to teach English together. These small Asian countries are up-and-coming economic power players, who must rely on business relations with other countries for their national resources. Learning English, and also Western customs, are vitally important to them, and they are willing to spend lots of money to bring people to tutor their students in these subjects. You can hear the wheels in my head turning, I’m sure ;)

When I arrived back at my dorm, my Korean roommate had arrived. She is a lovely soul, and I can’t wait to tell you about her and her friends, the bath house, and my first day of classes.

TTFN

Grace

Self-portrait ;)

The day we won't be mentioning after this, ok?

Today is a national holiday in Korea, so we students have the day off. I myself am spending it recovering.

Yesterday was orientation, where we chose our classes, took placement tests, campus tours, etc. I was able to get in to the accelerated program for learning Korean!! I am so excited, but scared out of my mind. I have a feeling this will be one of the harder things I’ve ever done. They cover the entire content of a normal semester in one month. However, the schedule is fixed, 9:00 am to 1:00 pm Monday through Friday, and I will have no other academic obligations. I like that. I will haunt the library to make up for the history and politics I’m not taking. (Once I can understand what I’m reading!)

Part of the walk from my dorm to the library. Our campus is built on a very steep hill, and we are going to be the most in-shape students ever!

I had to take a placement test so that they could firmly understand that I truly speak no Korean. Oh my word. I know that you can’t fail a placement test, but that was so difficult! It was all in Hangul, which is the Korean character system, and it was asking questions about things like grammar and tense. All I know is the alphabet, some numbers, and how to say ‘thank you’, so that was quite challenging. I finally decided, instead of quitting or just sitting there, to translate all the characters into English letters, which is called Romanizing. That was tedious, but it helped me recognize a few words, and I think I may have gotten some of the “what time is it” questions right. Fail. I felt very useless and unlearned. The oral exam was a lost cause. I understood nothing, and I was probably there for less than a minute before the man smiled nicely and asked me to leave. I was pretty mortified.

I hadn’t had a chance to eat that day, so I asked permission to leave my campus tour, and I went off campus to find some food. I hear the cafeteria has passable cuisine, but it isn’t open yet, so I had to take a little walk. I wandered around the streets until I found a restaurant with nice pictures of food on the outside, and went in. I was the only customer. The hostess and I stared at each other for a bit while I tried to remember what I was supposed to say first – you would think I would have thought that through before I went in, but I was pretty flustered and near tears, and very hungry – thinking was not high on the list. So we eventually got it settled that I was alone, that they didn’t have the only thing I knew how to order, and that I don’t speak Korean and she didn’t speak English. Then she made what seemed like a suggestion, so I said, “Ne!” which is yes, and sat down.

She brought me so much food! It was amazing, and I ate every last bite. 

To the left is a kind of sauce, to the right a spicy fish soup. Kimchi, yellow pickle, onions and black bean paste are in the background. The rice had eggs and possibly chicken in it...
This meal was 4,000 won, which is a little less than four dollars.

I took a picture of it, which I thought was beautiful, but when I contemplated posting it, I realized that it’s more fun for you to see at least some pictures with me in them. That meant asking her to take a picture of me. Why is it so scary to try to communicate? I don’t understand why it’s something to overcome, but I had to wage war with myself to get myself to step out. So I pulled out my phrase book and I went at it, because I always win those wars.

I think it went something like this:

“May you please excuse me (for an impolite act) thank you please. Photograph?”

By the end, we both had our phrase books out, and I was able to tell her that the food was delicious, and that I was very grateful. I even understood how much to pay, and that was without the phrasebook!

The dinner experience was such a boost to my smashed and mangled self-esteem (from the placement test) that I decided to attempt to go to the next city and find a bath house. Ah, the hazards of being an impulsive soul… I spent about an hour on Google maps, trying to get a better visual of where to go, but I can’t figure out how to sufficiently translate the page – Romanizing the Korean doesn’t help that much when it’s city names, etc. Finally I just gave up and left. It was a bad plan. I had been down the Metro line with friends, but forgot which set of tracks we took, so I gambled there, and picked the one out of four that I thought looked right. When I got off at the next station, I was suddenly in a big city, which I hadn’t counted on, because my station is very small and rural, and not that far away. There were basically no signs in English, so it was hard to find a landmark, it was dark, and I got lost.

So there I was, ladies and gentlemen, no phone, no friend, and no idea how to find what I was looking for, or to get back where I came from. I did find a kind of market, deep in an alley way, where there were live fish and eels, fresh fruits and vegetables, and many vendors with street food. The place was hopping, bright, loud, and very, very beautiful. I saw precious, tiny old Korean men and women, smoking cigarettes, huddled around their hot plates, with piles and piles of gorgeous fresh produce for sale. I don’t recognize all the vegetables, or the fruit for that matter, so it was like a live National Geographic tour. I wished it wasn’t night time, and that I had brought my camera, but I’ll just have to go back. If I can find it!

The place I was looking for is an indoor spa, sort of. Men and women are separated, you strip, and you can soak in varying temperatures of hot tubs, use the sauna, have massages and scrubs, etc. It’s this whole controversy among the students, because there are stories of the Koreans being so curious about white and black people’s bodies that they do traumatizing things like stare or grope. However, there are other stories about how fabulous it is, and how worth it - so I decided to go see for myself. Except that I couldn’t find it.

After wandering for some hours, I began trying to ask, in which I was never really successful, but I was proud of myself for being brave. Again, I have no idea why it’s so scary to me to try to communicate, but it is – I was petrified. I figure, if I do something scary every day for four months, I’ll be a powerhouse when I come home J And so far, I have done something scary every day, and I’m still alive and kicking.

This is part of my room - the bottom bunk is mine, and the left side of that two door closet you see.

I found my station again, and I thought I was able to read the Korean time table, which told me that I would have to wait two hours for the next train. I discovered this after I broke my T-Money card and bought a non-refundable one-way ticket. Basically, that meant I lost my money to cyber space, and was on a bench outside, alone, for two hours, with no way to undo anything. It was cold, and I didn’t have anything with me, because I was trying to pack light in anticipation for what I would encounter at the bath house. I walked back and forth along the railing instead of crying, and it turned out I only had to wait less than an hour. I got on my train, made it back to my station, and there met some friends who got me a taxi home.

I made silly vows about what I will and won’t do in the future for about half an hour when I got back, until the hot water from my shower helped me feel a little better. Now I don’t remember what they are, and I am getting ready to go with a group of friends to try again J I will let you know what it’s like!

With anticipation,

Grace