A Monkey Weekend

Rice. Kimchi. Cabbage. Sounds delicious, I know. This was what my body was fueled on during my weekend stay at a Buddhist Monastery. All the while, enduring freezing temperatures accompanied by a short supply of patience. I guess you can say my weekend was filled with hardship, because it was. I, however, would like to use either the word terrible or horrible to describe my experience. It is possibly for these reasons that I have delayed writing a post about the monastery.

I’ll begin with the only positive memory of the weekend: the river trek. Our bus pulled into a beautiful river valley, filled with rice paddies, farm houses, kimchi pots, few clouds and a gloriously sunny backdrop. We took a short five minute hike up to the peak of a nearby hill, overlooking the sparkling river. At the top, we were met with a large 16 foot Buddha statue, monolithically standing guard over the river. By his side was a small open structure used by monks for prayer.

Afterwards, we backtracked to the bus and headed down toward the river. The river rocks were bright white and carved smooth from thousands of years of erosion. As for the water, ‘brisk’ would be a slight understatement. It was freezing. I know this because pools of water next to the river were not pools of water. They were sheets of ice. Nonetheless, Steve, Ferrin and I took our shoes off and stuck our feet in. They came out as bright red popsicles.

The entirety of the river trek lasted maybe an hour. This was the last bit of fun I was to experience for the rest of the weekend and it was still Saturday morning. We hopped back on the bus for the 45 minute remainder of the 3 hour bus ride. It was somewhere in between the river and monastery where my camera ran out of batteries. I don’t personally have photo evidence of the Buddhist prison, but I will steal Steve’s pictures as soon as possible.

Upon arriving at the monastery, we were given Buddhist monk training robes to wear. I would also like to note the temperature at this point in the trip. In the middle of the day on Saturday, it was somewhere between 5 and 10 Fahrenheit. Under my robes, I wore 2 t-shirts, a long sleeve shirt and a sweatshirt. Over the robes, I wore an additional coat. All these clothes did nothing to stop the piercing cold from penetrating the core of my and everybody else’s bodies.

It was then that we met the master monk. He was very soft spoken and seemed to be at complete peace with the world. He wouldn’t hurt a fly and, if it could, the fly wouldn’t hurt back. He wore white robes under half a red robe, resembling a toga. His head was completely bald, and, based on the sheen, completely doused in turtle wax. His thin wire frame glasses squeezed his bald head very tightly creating a frame indent on either side. The only thing that led me to believe he wasn’t 1000 years old, were his Nike sneakers that he wore outside. Although, he probably made the shoes himself and just put the Nike swoosh on them to look cool.

Our first activity was walking meditation where we were led into the middle of a diamond pine tree forest. Google them, they are incredibly rare and seeing them in the glory of a full forest was spectacular. The monk told us to focus our thought on the complexities of walking and each successive step. We slowed down our pace to as close to a full stop as possible without completely stopping. Literally, one step took 5 seconds. Coupled with the idea that we were supposed to be totally silent, walking became very difficult. Dried leaves and pine needles were everywhere and somehow the monk could have stolen honey from a sleeping bear. The rest of the group would have been mauled. No matter, the cold penetrated so deeply from the lack of movement that my blood nearly froze. It was quite uncomfortable and easy to lose focus simply walking.

Finally, we headed toward the lecture hall part of the temple where we were first given our robes. It turned out this was where we were going to spend the majority of our time; as it had gotten too cold to move between different temples. Here we had the most uncomfortable and unsatisfying meal possible. It was uncomfortable because we had to sit cross legged (Indian style) for nearly 2 hours straight. Try it, because my legs went numb within 10 minutes. Imagine trying to cope with and combat this feeling for an additional hour and 50 minutes. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that we, again, had to be as silent as possible. That meant we couldn’t even complain to each other about how much Indian style hurts.

Anyway, when we finally got to serve ourselves buffet style we were told only to take as much as we thought we could eat. This means that you had to judge how hungry you were before the meal even began. I call it buffet style for the reason that we were able to serve ourselves once. A single serving of what you thought you could put down. The punishment for taking too much food was eating through the pain. That’s never fun. And under normal human circumstances, our brain always seems to trick us into thinking that we can eat way more than what’s actually possible. It’s how the phrase, “so hungry, I could eat a cow,” came to fruition. To be honest, I didn’t take a lot of food anyway. I knew that I could only eat so much dry white rice before getting sick of it. What I wouldn’t do for a cheeseburger.

After the meal, we were told to clean our bowls with a radish wedge and some water. So we took our chopsticks and used the radish as a dish towel on our bowls until they were spotless. Then, only after it was determined that our bowls were clean enough to warrant the good graces of a trained monk’s eye, we were to drink our dirty water and eat the soggy radish. Yum, lukewarm toilet water.

I was exhausted after dinner and it was only 7pm (we started our day at 6am). The only thing that I wanted to be doing was to lie down in a nice soft cushy bed. Obviously, I was in an illusion only Copperfield could pull off. We were forced into a group discussion of our childhood dreams that nobody really cared about and of course we were still sitting Indian style.

When bedtime rolled in at 10pm, we had to hike up a large mountain to our sleeping quarters. Although the path we took up the mountain was paved, it was as steep as an incline could possibly be before stairs were required. We were also experiencing sub zero temperatures at this point and as I was soon about to find out, our bedroom was not heated. It also wasn’t really a bedroom. It was more of one large room with 15 blankets and pillows for all the guys. The girls had something different, but like summer camp, we weren’t allowed on their side.

I would have liked to sleep until the cows came home, but we had to be up at 3am for a ‘morning’ prayer service. I use the word ‘morning’, because when morning happens people wake up for the remainder of the day. Under normal circumstances, I would absolutely use the word night. I went through morning prayer in my own personal stupor. It consisted of 2 monks chanting words for 15 minutes, while bowing (including us).

After the prayer service, we went to a nearby temple for a half hour meditation session. I think my blood was circulating slower than normal, because my legs went numb even before sitting down. Only the first minute went by pretty quickly, the remaining 29 minutes were not so forgiving. Upon finishing, the master monk spoke to us and told us the following: “I’ve been doing this for 15 years and my legs still hurt afterwards.” Thanks for stating the obvious Professor Monk.

Breakfast came and went with more dry white rice, kimchi and cabbage. This time however we were able to eat in the cafeteria in chairs. That’s another thing I am thankful for. The chair. We were also allowed to speak and carry some conversations. I think it was at this point in the stay that everybody had realized that everybody else was just as miserable as they were. I overheard many people using the same phrases I was only thinking about in my head. They included, but were certainly not limited to: we only have to get through x,y & z; only x hours left; when are we leaving; I can’t wait to get out of here etc. We also began to notice how prison life (barring ‘shower time’) might actually contain more freedom than ours did at that time.

Post breakfast we headed back to the lecture hall area for the 6 remaining hours of the trip and some much needed arts and crafts time. We were going to make some wooden prayer beads from a little packaged kit that they handed out to everyone. Each kit contained exactly 108 beads and a string. The number 108 symbolizes the five senses and life (6 in total), multiplied by a spectrum of feelings of likes, dislikes and indifference. They somehow got it to hit 108. Each single bead represented a wish or dream that you would pray or meditate for. Meditation means silence and bowing. So that’s what we did. We had to make one full bow for each bead strung. A full bow begins in the standing position, then to your knees, then forehead to the floor and then back up to your feet. Each single bow takes about 15 seconds, which, when totaling 108, takes a considerable amount of time. Basically, I hated it.

I think I blacked out for the remaining hours, because I have no recollection of what happened. I guess it was traumatizing and boring enough for my brain to just not care to record the information. Believe it or not, but the four hour bus ride home was actually a reprieve from a Buddhist’s lifestyle. And although the trip was painstakingly torturous and boringly slow, I did learn a lot and gain great perspective into the trials of monkhood. I can honestly say that they work very hard to accomplish nothing. At the end of the day, a monk will have his robes and peace of mind to which he may call his own. Not glamorous, but very well respected. Live it for a day and you have to give it to those guys for choosing that way of life.

Sweet Sushi Story

I've been here in Korea for three weeks now and already I’ve gotten into a weekly schedule. Normally, I get out of work at 7:30pm and start looking for something to eat. Bella and I go out a couple nights a week to a new restaurant, which is always fun; however, I’ve already found a place that I can call mine. Within a 10 minute walk from my apartment, I can eat almost any type of food. There’s pasta, pizza, hamburgers, Korean style restaurants, street vendors and, yes, sushi.

I’ve been frequenting a sushi restaurant that serves tuna exclusively. I know it doesn’t sound terribly appealing because there isn’t much variety, but I am a man who enjoys a static staple when it comes to comfort food. In America, I believe my friends and I would use a Chinese Buffet as our comfort spot. And here, I’ve found this sushi joint.

Inside, it isn’t very large. There is one long ‘L’ shaped bar that extends the entire length of the restaurant. There are a total of five employees: one manager/sushi chef, one waiter, one busboy, one cashier and one soup/salad server. In the corner behind the bar is a small television and the background music consists of temporary/oldie American pop music. The lights are normally turned down low. Low enough that the first few times I walked up to the glass entrance door, I thought it was closed.

The first time I sat down, I ordered ‘cham-chi bab’ (tuna rice). I couldn’t pronounce the full name of the item I wanted to order, but through creative charades I was able to achieve the order I was looking for. During a standard meal I would be given a shredded salad followed by miso soup and a cup of water. This would be followed by my sushi order of 12 pieces of tuna. I would get all of this for the price of 10,000 won (about 8.50). If I felt like ordering a bottle of soda, an additional 1,000 won would be added.

The meal I had yesterday was slightly different. If I had to put a number on it, I would say it was my eighth visit in 3 weeks. It’s a lot, but it’s really good. I swear. At this point (and for the previous 2 or 3 visits), I haven’t needed to order anything. They know what I want without me saying anything. After finishing my soup and salad, I was promptly given a refill on them. While still eating my second helping of them, the waitress brought me a new dish that I hadn’t ordered. “For me?” I said. The lady nodded ‘yes’. She said the Korean word for ‘spoon’ and pointed at it.

The dish was centered on a wooden block in a skillet, much like a fajita would be served. The food appeared to have been a traditional soufflé of corn, peas and what tasted like marshmallows. The waitress, who had apparently also made the meal, stood over me as a chef would stand over a critic. It was delicious. In the middle of the soufflé, the sushi chef brought over my tuna dish. Additionally, the busboy/waiter asked if I wanted a vegetable hand-roll to go with my food. “Nay, nay, nay,” (Korean for ‘yes, yes, yes’) I said. I was given king status and everything tasted equally amazing.

After eating everything in front of me, I leaned back, closed my eyes and couldn’t help feeling completely satisfied. The entire five person staff was standing in front of me trying to communicate with me in Konglish. That’s the Korean equivalent of Spanglish. I didn’t make that up, it’s apparently a real thing. They wanted to know everything about me: where I was from, my name, age, occupation, location of my apartment and school. It was a little difficult to communicate with them, but I managed quite well. I mean, at this point I am kind of used to it.

Upon leaving the restaurant, I was charged 11,000 won for my meal and soda. I would have given a tip, however, you must remember that here a tip is considered disrespectful. They were happy to have given me the food and were thanking me for my consistent business. Plus, I became friends with them, as well as a regular customer. Before stepping out of the door, I told them that I was going to Seoul this weekend and that I would see them again on Monday.

Heart of Seoul

Friday, after a very arduous 4 hours of work, I departed Sangju on a 2 hour bus ride bound for Seoul. Although determining the actual population is debatable according to where city boundaries are set, the population of the ‘proper city’ of Seoul (Manhattan is the ‘proper city’ of all of NYC) is roughly 10.4 million with a population density of 17 thousand per km². Manhattan has a population of 8.3 million with a density of 10 thousand per km². Seoul also has an area of 605 km², which is considerably smaller than NYC’s 789 km² area. Fortunately, Seoul wasn’t built on an island; so traffic flow, save rush hour, never congests the roads to the degree of NYC.

Regardless, because of rain and foggy windows, the bus ride into the city was quite uneventful. I’ve seen big cities before, so from a distance it looked similar to any of them. I was dropped off in the Express Bus Terminal at the Southern end of the city with my computer and an overnight bag, expecting to be picked up by Steve at the station. A quick phone call to Steve alerted me that he was running a bit late. He asked me to meet him in the subway tunnel. At this point I realize how much sense New York is starting to make. They actually have a subway that is built directly under any major transit station. Not Seoul. I had to find signs for a subway and walk about 500 meters until I found the tunnel entrance.

Once in the subway, Steve was waiting for me (with a navigator friend of his, a girl named Ferrin) at the gate. It is a very strange feeling to rely on someone whole heartedly for directions. However, I was too excited to care. Before jumping on our train, we stopped at a street vendor and grabbed ourselves a few cold beers. I mean, hey, it’s legal to drink in public.

After an hour train ride and throwing back a few brews, I found myself in a city to the West of Seoul, called Incheon. The two metropolitan areas collide somewhere in between, so from a bird’s eye view it looks like one mega city. Once back in Steve’s amazingly spacious two floor apartment, my first order of business was to get some food in the form of a Big Mac from McDonalds. Delicious.

We stayed in Incheon for the night and just hopped around to a few local bars full of Westerners. Steve and I actually left a bar because there were not enough Koreans around to make us feel like a novelty. Our night ended quite late without anything special occurring. We didn’t meet anyone memorable or find any new friends. However, we did have to pull ourselves away from what we were actually doing a few times and remind ourselves that, “DUDE, WE ARE DRINKING IN A BAR ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD!!” Even though we’ve been here for the better part of a month, our excitement hasn’t diminished at all.

Because we did get back so late, our Saturday began the same way: very late. We got up and headed directly into the heart of Seoul via subway. Our only intention, prior to meeting up with Ferrin later on at night, was to get lost and see as much as possible. Okay, maybe that’s two related intentions.

When we first set foot outside Seoul Station, we were greeted by a few hundred police officers in full riot gear. Don’t worry, they were only training. Seoul Station is adjacent to the main police office. It was quite a sight to behold. Anyhow, we left the station and started walking in a direction. Eventually, we found ourselves in an alleyway between two sets of buildings with thousands of other people.

The only way to describe where we were would be to, again, use NYC as an example. If the buildings between 33^rd and 34^th St. were to not touch each other in the middle it would form an alleyway about 20 feet wide. Paved, however, there was no road. It was one large sidewalk and very cramped. The pictures will do a better job at explaining. Because of street vendors on either side, there wasn’t enough room to fit even a single car. Behind the street vendors were stores. So in essence, we had found stores in front of stores.

Local food was everywhere, but we decided on going to Bennigan’s. If you don’t know what Bennigan’s is, it’s essentially a Friday’s, Chili’s or Applebee’s. We treated ourselves with Western grill (I had quesadillas; Steve had pasta.), in a place where the beer was cheaper than the soda. Check the menu in My Photo Album, I have evidence.

After a dinner and a few drinks later, we headed off to meet Ferrin in Itaewon. Itaewon is a section within the center of Seoul, which happens to be where all of the Westerners like to hang out…including us. Again, check the pictures, because the bar we were at was filled with Westerners. The only Koreans were those tending bar. Overall, drinking in Seoul is much cheaper than drinking in NYC. A domestic beer cost 4,000 while an import cost 6,000, about three and five dollars, respectively.

While sitting at a bar Steve and I were alone chatting about whatever topic, when suddenly a woman sat down next to Steve. A Korean woman in her mid 30’s and quite attractive, she began to talk to Steve. I was grateful to be left out of the conversation, but that didn’t stop me from eavesdropping. She asked Steve to buy her a drink, to which he responded with a hopeful ‘yes’. The woman reached over the counter for a bottle of wine and poured it herself. It’s not a cultural thing to do something like that, it is just weird. Anyway, she told Steve that the drink was 20,000 won. Steve hesitated, turned to me still sitting next to him, and whispered, “I think she’s a prostitute.” He was correct. He declined the ‘drink’, to which apparently had suddenly gone on a 50% off sale. 10,000 won is a bargain and a weaker man may have said ‘yes’, but Steve willfully declined. Apparently, it’s very common for prostitutes to hang around bars and pick up men with a sly, backdoor agreement.

Here is where our night got a little interesting. First, it must be noted that the Seoul subway system closes down at midnight. Why so early? I have no idea. It’s terrible. This will leave a tourist or anyone living outside the city with a few options. Our first option would be to take a cab, for about 50,000, back to Incheon. Our second option would be to go and stay at a jimjilbong. Jimjilbongs, or Korean bath houses, are located all throughout the city and cost a whopping 11,000 won (9 bucks). They offer hot tubs, internet cafes, saunas and hostel-style sleeping quarters. The third option, and the one that we opted for, was to stay out all night until the subways began again at 5:30am.

Staying out all night and having a good time with your friends became a little difficult. Seriously. In all honesty we just wanted to go home as soon as we could, but didn’t want to spend the money on a cab. Plus, it was already 3:00 when we made our decision and at the time 2 more hours didn’t seem like all that much. However, we soon found out that 2 hours was a battle after drinking for so long. We staked out a 24 hour Quiznos until the subway reopened, so it wasn’t terribly difficult. We ended up getting back to Incheon and in bed at around 7am and extremely beat.

Finally, my weekend came to a close when we had a very restful Sunday morning, waking up at 3 in the afternoon. All in all, it was a very long weekend. In total, it seems that we had only slept when it was absolutely necessary and for as little time as possible. My trip to Seoul was certainly a success. I found out that most things are open 24 hours, besides the subway, and also where all the other Westerners in Korea hide. It led me to realize that I enjoy feeling unique in my small town more than having many Western friends close by. I mean, I’ll see them on the weekends anyway.

Pepero

This weekend I am making a trip, via bus, to visit Steve in Incheon. I hadn't planned on posting again until after that weekend, however I feel the need to let everyone know about Pepero. Pepero is a holiday candy that comes about about two months before Christmas (yes, they have that here too), in which it is [now] apparently customary to gift to friends, family or teachers.

What exactly is Pepero, you may ask? Well, it comes in one of two forms. The first form, the more traditional, where an unsalted pretzel is dipped in chocolate. The second form is equivalent to the Pepperidge Farm Pirouette with a chocolate filling. Both are delicious.

As of now, it is 3:40 in the afternoon on Wednesday, halfway through my workday, and I have already received three boxes of Pepero and another five 'singles' packages. As I look on the desk next to me, I see that Bella has only collected one box and a few singles. I have no idea how I got to be so popular with the children, but I'll live.

Sorry this was such a short one, but I'll have pictures and post come next Monday when I return from my trip to Steven.

UPDATE: Bella now has one more box of Pepero than I do. Also, I found out that today is a holiday, like Valentine's Day, called Pepero Day. It is celebrated by giving away Pepero (big surprise!).

Photos

Hey everyone, just wanted to let you know that along with Saturday Adventure's photos, I also uploaded some pictures of the kids and my classroom. Check those out by using the link titled 'My Photo Album' on the right side under the "Links" section. On that page you can navigate the albums on the left side, by clicking the name of the album. Each photo has its own caption and if you look at them in order, a story will unfold. Enjoy!

A Saturday To Remember

I woke up on Saturday with little intention of having a culturally shocking day. It was 10am and as usual, I was tired from a long week of travelling and working at the school. Being around kids proves how energetic one really is. Regardless, I was expecting to meet Seung at 1pm to go prepare for a housewarming party with the few people I know and he was to take me grocery shopping. I mustered up the energy to get out of bed, eat, shower and dress myself in preparation for his arrival.

As 1pm strikes, promptly Seung knocks on the door and is accompanied by a friend of his (also named Seung, but I will just refer to him as Chris to avoid confusion). Chris’s English is not quite at the conversational level yet, but he was still able to ask me the basic, ‘what is your name and where are you from?’ type questions. He was shorter than Seung, about 5’5”, with long wavy black hair to the top of his shoulders, jeans and a t-shirt. I invited them inside, but they insisted that we get going.

We used Chris’s car, a small compact deal, to drive to Sangju’s E-mart on the outskirts of the city. E-mart is the Korean version of Wal-Mart, except maybe larger. It has food, electronics, hardware and a mall sized food court, all stacked on top of each other in floors divided by department. It was here where we bought some beer and chips for my party, but my adventure was just beginning.

From E-mart we drove outside the city limits, past rice paddies and cabbage patches, until we came upon a large museum, specifically for bicycles. Inside was nothing to speak of. It was one large room that contained a timeline of the progression of the bicycle. Whoop-de-doo, it was boring. Outside, they had bikes that could be taken at one’s leisure to ride around on the trails surrounding the museum, so we each took a bike and began a trek up a very steep road.

We had set off on a two mile bike ride, up a hill that took us through farms of Sangju’s number one cash crop: the disgusting persimmon. I say disgusting, because I have had a persimmon. They look like bright orange tomatoes and have to consistency of a goopy slime. A ripe persimmon is what we would consider a rotten fruit, but they love them here. I, obviously, do not. The persimmon farms and processing huts were, however, an amazing sight. Tens of thousands of fruits dangled in warehouses by strings in the drying process, while workers sliced and boxed the finished product.

Soon, however, we rode far beyond that of the persimmon farm. The two miles of uphill biking seemed to go on for 25 minutes, which when considering the effort needed to move for 25 minutes, was a lot. Finally, finally, we reached a point where we had to abandon our bikes. We had rode far up a mountain, deep into the woods and what stood in front of me was still unknown, but what was to be found, needed to be found on foot.

After another quarter mile over a small marble bridge and a rocky footpath, I found myself looking upward at the gates to an ancient Buddhist monastery. Built thousands of years ago, this shrine was isolated from civilization and technology and used to study Buddhism in complete peace. We entered through the massive gate into a perfectly manicured courtyard surrounded by three buildings, which all looked identical. From where we stood at the entrance, a small stone path led to each of them. A monk, dressed in the whitest robes, pulled a rickshaw filled with vegetables to the house on the right. Without saying a word, we all bowed to him and he bowed back. He was taking food to the other monks in their sleeping quarters.

We were allowed to enter the building directly in front of me. First, Seung instructed me to take my shoes off before entering and to leave my coat outside. Many giant golden statues of a sleeping Buddha were scattered throughout building. This is their place of prayer. At the foot of the biggest Buddha in the center of the room, was a padded floor mat that only the monks were permitted to kneel on during prayer. To the left of this Buddha was a bowl filled with the sticks from thousands of used incense. Without speaking, Seung handed me an incense to light and place in the ashes of the others. This may have been the most peaceful moment of my life. The air was clean and smelled fresh, as it does after a cool summer rain. And all the while we experienced complete silence.

The third and final building was used as a place of study for the monks. We were not permitted inside this ancient monolith; however, if it were anything like the temple for prayer, I can assume it was a very comfortable place to study.

Unfortunately, and I am killing myself for this, I did not have the foresight to bring my camera to E-mart, because I had no idea I was going to be visiting anything so breathtaking. However, this was not the end of my Saturday adventure. I was told we were going to visit other shrines scattered around the outlying mountains. I was not dumb enough this time to not stop and get my camera. The rest of my day can be told through pictures.

Our next stop was the shrine to a famous fallen Korean General. The gate was very similar in architecture to the entrance of the Buddhist monastery, but much smaller.

Inside the first building (above middle), hung a portrait of the General along with his sword. On either side was a glass case containing ancient Chinese calligraphy. There wasn't much to read or look at, however, the size and number of buildings constructed to honor this hero spoke volumes about how well respected he was. The above right shows Seung and Chris walking up the steps to the building containing his tomb. Within we saw his final resting place: a brick tomb. Here we lit another incense to honor his memory and signed a guestbook showing our presence.

The picture on the right is a very large tourist map of Sangju-si (the city) and the outlying road system in the rest of Sangju. The city is only a very small part of the total area of within the province.

Our next destination was a lookout tower on a nearby mountain. Here we found many families hiking up to the tower to see the unreal landscape of Korea. It was a truly a pastoral moment. However, first, we had to hike up the mountain. This was no easy task. We had to climb a few hundred steps, which took about 15 minutes.

Our efforts were greatly rewarded:

Please use the link on the right side of my blog to see the rest of the photos I took on Saturday. I am in a few of those to prove I was actually there. The captions in the photos tell a story in themselves, so you can follow the in-betweens of my little Saturday excursion there.

The next update will certainly be of the school, the kids and my apartment. And one final thought before I end this very long post: I met my first Westerner here in a bar later that day. She is a teacher at a nearby school along with two others. I haven't met them yet, but we exchanged contact information, so hopefully I will soon have fluent English speaking friends.

A New Food

Before leaving America to come to Korea, everybody that I spoke with had to impart some form of wisdom or advice to me about how life was going to be different or change drastically. I do most literally mean EVERYBODY. Obviously, some more than others, but nonetheless, somehow everybody thought that they had some serious insight into what life may potentially be like. All of the advice (so far) varied in the degrees of accuracy, but there are just some things that need to be lived to understand, because nobody could have prepared me for this.

Since arriving, the most noticeable difference between life in America and life in Korea has been the food. Up until now, my experiences were rather tame and very “American”, if I may. I’ve eaten beef patties with rice and macaroni salad, barbeque pork (basically hot dogs in BBQ sauce), beer battered pork chops, noodles with a General Tso’s sauce (delicious) and even fast food chicken patties. Everything had a very unique taste, but it was literally the same foods from America, just prepared differently. Not this time.

After getting to my school early for a PTA meeting (Parent/Teachers Association for those who are out of the loop) on Thursday morning, the President, Seung, Bella and I all went out to lunch. Now what must be understood before I continue, is that I will try anything. I am in Korea for the first time, and everything is, expectedly, new and different and I am willing to give it a shot…no matter what. In fact, I’ve found myself thinking many times already, “you’ve come this far and it’s not going to kill you, so down the hatch.” We drove ten minutes to a restaurant, parked the car and went inside.

Obviously, at this point I still have no idea what we are about to eat, because nothing is in English. And because Seung ordered for me, my first glimpse of what I am about to indulge myself in occurs when it’s placed in front of me. It was a large bowl with red-ish broth that had something large floating in it. I saw everyone else fishing out the floating object and placing it on a separate plate to then prod and pick at with chopsticks. I followed suit, except they gave me two forks instead. Why two? I don’t know. Maybe I was supposed to use the forks like salad tongs, but one would have worked fine.

What I found was the vertebrae of a pig. I will repeat and simplify, pig spine. All my life I didn’t even know the vertebrae was edible. Regardless, what they did, I followed. It tasted a lot like the dark meat of a thanksgiving turkey would taste, only darker. The broth was very spicy with green vegetables floating around, which I assume was to add taste to the pig spine. All in all, it wasn’t terrible (the broth was actually quite good). However the bones looked far too morbid to create a heavy appetite. Needless to say, I had trouble finishing. Honestly though, the portion size was very large and it wasn’t the taste or look that deterred me from finishing.

Would I have it again? Probably. Stranded on a desert island? Definitely. It wasn’t my favorite, but it was far from being something to shun. I think it was more the darkness of the meat that I didn’t enjoy over the fact that I was eating a spine. Let’s leave it at the idea that I would much rather prefer a hot dog with the works instead. Something tells me that this is beginning of an exponential growth into weird and odd foods. There's no doubt that I'll share all the oddities I consume. Like I said, I will try everything.

Next Update: My first week at school