July 2003-Hello from the ROK (that's Korea)

Date: 1 July 2003
Location: Song-Tan, Republic of Korea

Welcome to the first installment of “My life in Korea”. Two months down in my one year tour, 10 to go. Lots to tell you about, but first the obligatory salutations since I've been out of touch for a few months.
I'm fine. I command a flight of 50 enlisted troops, mostly Korean linguists. They range in age from 19 to 41, and since the language program is highly selective, they are all very smart. This also means they get into a fair amount of trouble, which of course, I get to deal with. My theory that IQ and common sense are inversely proportional in all but the luckiest of folks is proven on an almost daily basis. It’s like I have 50 children, some of them considerably older than I am. Enough said there. Anyway, I had to pass 3 written exams and a 2.5 hour oral interview once I got here--part of why I've been bad about writing. I guess I am one of the only people to pass everything on the first try.

I decided to live in a third story apartment in downtown Song tan. Although some things are certainly harder and will take some getting used to, I have to believe it will get easier. Leaving the insular life of the base (little America plopped down in the middle of Korea, complete with Taco Bell and Baskin Robbins) was an easy choice to do the hard thing, if that makes sense. I’m getting much richer experiences for having left my comfort zone and ventured out, at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Sightseeing in Seoul--my first real excursion.
This is a great city! It’s clean, easy to navigate, interesting, has great shopping and friendly people. We’ve seen 3 sets of palaces, a couple of festivals, some super open air markets, and had great meals. Everybody wants to practice English. If you even look a little lost, you will instantly have people asking how they can help. One guy tried to help us find our hotel for 20 minutes--unsuccessfully. When he happened on the hotel 5 minutes after leaving us, he actually ran back to find us. Koreans seems to love that I am from Seattle. It’s almost like a game of word association. Say the word “Seattle” and they instantly countered with “Ichiro”. They love baseball. Sometimes they don’t speak much English, but they really want to talk to us, so the conversation turns to them naming every major league player they know, and us nodding, smiling and enthusiastically saying yes, yes, or ne ne (Korean for yes). The anti-US protests that had me a little worried before I got here are complete hype by the media. They are confined to certain areas, and are mostly students. They are also able to discern between Americans, and the American government.

Fun with food.
Korean food is...interesting. A traditional meal out is "barbecue". You sit on the floor around a small table with a grill in the middle. They bring out raw meat, normally beef, with onions garlic and mushrooms, and cook it right there on your table. They also bring out 10 or so side dishes of dipping sauces and pickled veggies. The first time we went out, we started eating from the little dishes. The waitress (no English) watched with worry, then came and managed to convey we were doing it all wrong. You take a piece of lettuce, put some rice on it, take some meat, dip in sauce, then put it on the lettuce, then add a couple of veggies, make a little purse and stuff the whole thing in your mouth at once. We never would have figured that out.
Also fun is the street food. Dried squid, eels on a stick, octopus pops, boiling vats of silkworm larvae make my already weak stomach turn. I actually tried a larvae or two. The taste wasn’t much of anything, but I couldn’t stop gagging anyway. That won’t happen again. Now even the sticky sweet smell of them cooking on street corners makes me queasy. Last but not least is the kimchi, the vegetables they pickle, slather in garlic then bury in clay pots for long amounts of time. I hate it. They serve it with everything, and you can’t escape the smell anywhere. Meat and kimchi, pizza and kimchi, pho and kimchi...you get the point.

Reading mail.
The Korean language is hard. Well, probably not hard, but so different from Western languages that I have no clue. I can’t even read one word yet (I can speak 5!). I can’t even look things up as I don’t have a dictionary, and wouldn’t be able to recognize the characters to know where to look anyway. This presents a problem living off base as I have to pay bills. The mailman puts all the mail for the building (3 apartments and a bar) in one pile. What mail is mine? How do I know? If it is for me, what is it? A bill? What bill, for how much, and where do I pay it? At first I figured my neighbors would take what was theirs, and whatever is left would be mine, but they aren’t cooperating. One day I just took the whole stack of mail out of the building, and went to my landlords to ask. None of it was for me, so I returned it. This leaves me in my apartment for exactly one month having paid only my gas bill (which I learned the hard way you do at the post office--another story altogether). That just can’t be good.

There is more to write about, but I know you’re all busy, and I’m impressed if you got this far!! In our next installment you can look forward to my musings on Canadian English teachers and their obsession with Taco Bell, Kyrgyzstani “juicy” girls, and American GIs away from home and lonely. I bet you can’t wait.

In The Beginning

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” – Mark Twain

In the beginning, there was Grandma. She had passion for foreign travel...if not exactly foreign food. She didn't grow up traveling, it was something she stumbled upon later in life. She'd been on several international trips, some for work, some for pleasure, all on a bus with the details taken care of. It was 1990 and she had the itch to go again. I'm not sure why she asked me to come along. Maybe her friends were busy. Maybe she could justify the cost to my grandfather more easily with me involved. Maybe it (and I prefer this answer) was because she and I have much the same temperament and have always enjoyed spending time together. Whatever the reason, at the highly impressionable age of 14 I got my first passport, packed my bag, and got in the back of the Buick headed to SeaTac Airport leaving my home, parents, and friends for 3 whole weeks. An eternity to a teenager.

The trip was a European spring break extravaganza. Nine countries in 21 days with two days in London on either side. And all done from the comfort of our huge COSMOS tours bus. Hotels booked every night, luggage hauled for us, breakfasts all included and lots of theme dinners. Just us, a Mexican family that didn't speak English, an Indian Family with a son my age, an Australian family with a daughter my age (although her "worldliness" far surpassed mine) and 50 retirees of various nationalities--all spoke English. It was going to be AWESOME.

And it was. Even from my vantage point 15 feet off the ground speeding down the autobahn at 100 kilometers per hour only stopping in the world's greatest cities long enough to have tour guide march us around town for 2 hours and then take us his/her cousin's souvenir shop, I fell in love. It was just enough to tease my imagination about the possibilities that lay behind the doors of the quaint cafes where we didn't eat, the treasure hiding in the boutiques where we didn't shop and the promised romantic whimsy of the long strolls in the sunset we didn't take. And this was BEFORE I had a nose for fine wine and a taste for unpasteurized cheese. I WOULD come back. I WOULD find the hidden alleys and meet the locals. No buses or cheesy tourist dinners allowed.

And so my obsession began...most of the things I've done in life have been motivated by my desire to see the world--not from a tour bus--all expenses paid if possible.

I started writing as a way to remember long after the cheap glass beads from Venice or the German world cup t-shirt were gone. I knew someday when I was old or broke or encumbered by kids, work, or life in general I could read about where I'd been and what I'd done and the memories would make me smile. And then it turned out other people enjoyed reading my musings....

My travels have slowed of late...a fore mentioned kids the culprits. So I guess this is as good a time as any to start a blog--refining the journals I've written, trying to fill in gaps for trips I didn't write about, and getting energized for yet another few years living in Europe. This time with kids. We'll still travel. It just might be a little closer to home and a little slower. I think it could open doors to new and wonderful experiences--and probably some meltdowns at inopportune times, but so be it. I'm determined to instill in them the same wonder and excitement for new places and new people that I have.

So here they are...I'll post one a week, or at least that is the goal. Life--or if I'm lucky, travel might get in the way. No apologies.