...And A Little More Action

What does Elvis have in common with new South Korean president Lee Myung-Bak? Both want to talk less, do more, and get more satisfaction. The "Bulldozer" took over this week amid a flurry of promises to revive the world's thirteen largest economy. Never mind the ethics charges he already had to dodge. Ignore the icy response of the Pyongyang government. The Korean constitution guarantees Lee one term and he's going to make this country some money!
Not that they don't deserve it, South Koreans work hard. But the world economy, even to a lay observer like myself, does not always seem to be thriving. So, it will be interesting to see which battles President Lee chooses. First of all, his conservative party needs to win a majority of seats in parliament in April for the power balance to shift the right way to implement these reforms. I am no expert on South Korean politics, particularly since I can only consume the English language media, but it also seems to me that he's going to have to make a lot of changes. He himself stated, at his recent inauguration, “Although it is going to be difficult and painful, we must change much more and change much faster!” The 66-year-old conservative politician won a positive response from his audience estimated of an 60,000 people. Talking about change. Everyone here wants the increase in per capita income to $40,000 a year (in USD) that Lee boasts he can ensure. But this is an ancient, protectionist, tradition linked society. Even with all their flashy technology, their spirit of entrepreneurship, and their impressive attempts at bi-lingual education. This is still the land of the morning calm. Let's see how much average citizens and the dominant large corporations enjoy actually changing!
What does all this politics mean to little old me? I've been a meandering dreamer the last week, reading a novel and revising some short stories. I've heard that President Lee is going to "clean up" the English Teachibng industry (we can be a grungy lot, we're traveling :)), but I haven't given it much heed. I've taken some walks. I've gone to the vegetable market for fresh peppers and cooked chicken stew. I've snuggled with my boyfriend. Besides entering a few short story contests with monetary prizes, I haven't done much to improve my own personal economy. Then school started again.
Suddenly, like this country, it looks like I'm colliding with change. It's inescapable. I acquired a new co-teacher. Happily, she seems to have at least good English comprehension and adequate speaking skills! Yay! (Language skills become more apparent over time, and people in any country sometimes just nod and agree, but she does seem to understand.) However, I will have to adapt to her teaching style and team-teach more classes. My odd, uncivilized office-mate, the gym teacher who used to bark Korean orders at me (and bought his wife on-line like a CD from Amazon.com), fled the scene-Thank God! Eight, count them eight, older teachers left and were replaced with fresh blood. New students are registering, and so the school is even finally opening the new wing that they've been building for so long.
We're into the action!

My Chick Lit with an edge

Recently, I read a frothy story on vacation that had been dubbed "Chick Lit." It was fun, but not much better than some of the stories my classmates had written in college. I thought, "I could do that." So, I made a stab at the dating story genre. My ending is a little dark, but I write out my negative feelings. I don't tend to write when I feel all sunny and happy inside-that's when I go dancing. :) I'm still revising this, so feedback on the story is most welcome!
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"Pestilence"

Beetles devoured the bamboo, bit by bit. Business had to be dispatched. I folded my blue yoga mat and perched it against the wall at a forty-five degree angle. A soft bell chimed after three minutes and thirty-three seconds, and my coffee was ready. I padded into the kitchen in my hand-knit slippers and poured one-fifth of a cup of coffee into the beige coffee cup trimmed with flying dragons. I opened the window and listened. I measured two cups of Science Diet into Fog's bowl and waited for her green eyes to peer out from under the table. She meowed and marrowed at me. One minute later, "pffat!," the paper dropped onto the sun porch and four paws padded towards breakfast. It was my time to shower.

I stood at the Westbrook street bust stop each morning at exactly seven fifty-nine am. Clouds darted past the sun and I noticed the mild scent of lupins and cut grass. I wore my hair pushed back in a leather head band. I rubbed just a hint of shining balm on my lips. Gary had mocked my morning routine to the last. "Such alacrity...I am continually astounded by your pree-cission and deed-ication! " he smirked into his espresso, as he stood, still shirtless, in the half-lit kitchen.

To think that I had once found his arsenal of crossword puzzle words engaging. For a year and eighty-nine days, I ignored his morning snarky tone. I assumed that caffeine would swirl up into the darker reaches of his brain, set his neurons on fire, and soothe him. I'd even thought him appealing, with his wide shoulders. Early on, I'd sometimes stop, for just a moment, to kiss Gary's collarbone and finger the few tufts of hair on his dark chest, above his nipples. But his stare unwound me, strand by strand. On day ninety, I smoothed my damp bangs, pushed my headband back in line with my ears and replied, "Professionals who can pay the mortgage are expected to start early!"
"F--- you, Sandra!"
Four letters, expletive, beginning with "F." My lips folded upward into a slight grin. I called my lawyer that very day.
The bus chugged down Veranda street spewing greyish puffs of exhaust. I enjoyed the solid weight of my pen in my hand, even if I could go buy a Blackberry. I checked items off my neatly written list.
1.Morning meeting with Bower.
2. Print Coastal Med. stats.
3.E-mail report to Scarborough, cc: Jeff.
4.Gym.
5.Pick up dry cleaning.
6.Afternoon:FINISH GIBRALTAR PROPOSAL. I took my Bic pen and pressed it hard against the paper to underline my last sentence twice.
7. Buy Soy Milk.
The bus jerked to a stop, I grabbed my courier bag, and off I went.

The beetles devoured the bamboo, bit by bit. Mara never hovers by my desk. But, as I lugged my silk suit, shining in it's plastic case,from the elevator, the fragile fabric crinkling and folding with each step that I took, there she stood.

"Could you? Be? A Sally? Or maybe it's messy handwriting, but it looks like it says "Sally."...I mean, we don't have a Sally."
"What?" I draped the suit over the back of my chair. A single drop of sweat trickled down my temple.
"Are you Sally?"
"Er, ah, Mara. What do you mean? Can I help you with something?"
Mara shifted from foot to foot, as if weighing the envelope. "...If not, I do have that proposal to get out..."
She held up a thin, white envelope, bordered with red and blue diagonal stripes. "We got a letter for a Sally. Sally Quinn. Air mail."
I blushed. "From Where? I mean, oh, that's me. I mean it was me. Anyway, may I have it please?"
"Sure." She handed me the envelope and stood there expectantly.
"Thank you, Mara."
She remained rooted in the gray shag carpeting.
"Thank you, Mara."
As her sandals pad, padded back to the front desk I looked at the hastily scrawled return address. B. Diana. I turned the envelope over and ran one painted finger nail under the glued crease. Then stopped. Unobtrusive, piped in Vivaldi played softly. Fingers darted along key boards. Printers hummed. I plopped the envelope on the shelf above my desk, next to the photo of my smiling niece with a Goofy impersonator at Disneyland. I turned, picked up my suit gently, and walked to the hall closet to hang it up.

"How does selective memory apply to groceries?" I wondered, standing in the check-out line at Shaws.
How was it that I always remember the frozen yogurt but sometimes I forgot the whole wheat flour?
Counting, I glanced over my shoulder. Four, no five haggard housewives stood behind me in line. Two toddlers pointed at Snickers' bars and whined. No, it simply wasn't worth the time it would take to go back for the flour. I'd get it next time. I looked down at my cart, my pint of strawberry frozen yogurt, my pint of soy milk, my single stalk of broccoli, and of course my emergency Lean Cuisine stir fry meal.
"Monday night dinner for one." I thought, and sighed. The sound of the cash register drawer slamming shut alerted me that it is my turn to lay out my groceries on the belt.
"What will Brad be eating tonight?" I wondered.
"And with whom?"

I had received not just a letter. An AIR MAIL letter. The adjective gnawed at me as I sifted through the pages in my planner. Some people had gone on to Blackberries, but I liked the satisfaction of turning the page when all the tasks were completed. What could Brad want? Where was he going to, or, my breath caught in my throat, returning from? Was he all right? Was his mother in the hospital with pneumonia again? I looked down and noticed that my hand was twisting the spine of my planner just thinking about it. I took a deep breath. Then another one. I fished the letter out of my purse.


Brad Westmoreland
Apartment #1120
229 Daemi-dong
Nowon-gu, Seoul
R.O.K. 4085

Dear Sally,

How are you? Still have that crazy cat? I've been thinking about you. I'm over here in Seoul, writing for an Expat rag, The Grapevine. Suave, self important crap. Reviewing bars and rating best bands. Definitely NOT changing the world. Our style lacks your directness. But again, the job keeps me in soju and barbecue. It's too hot, it's dirty, but I meet lots of interesting people here. I still wear that Sox cap you gave me. Can you believe that it's been almost five years?
How long has it been, Sal? Claire's party? Do you still have that blue sweater?

We were so gone that night. I was, anyway. You and Claire were the drivers, maybe. You can't even get Shipyard over here, unfortunately. That night at Claire's, I'd definitely had one too many, Sal. I couldn't hear you, and what you were trying to tell me. I'd already sent my resumes out. I'd already started the wheels moving to come here. I couldn't hear you. I wasn't ready to hear. You know that, right?
Enough history. I need a favor, Sal. It's a Long shot, but you would be a really big help. You always came through.
Is it possible that you still have a key to my place? Do you still have that key organizer thing on the wall? That would be so great.
My Mom's still my landlord, but she's down in Florida full-time now; no renter this year. So the house is empty until she sells it off. Knowing her, that will be 2050! Who knows.
But you, you always were there, whatever anyone needed. I bet you wonder, why now? It's a long story. In short, my laptop crashed. It wasn't pretty. I lost all my scanned files, and so there are two documents I need a hard copy of a.s.a.p.. A few mementos I'd like while you're there. They're in a white shoe box in my old place. On the top shelf in the hall closet. A big box. From my Doc Martin's, I think. Can you help me out, Sal?
Too much to ask after the way I left? I know.
Come on, Sal. My email has’t changed.
And take care. Brad.

I sped off that bus, courier bag flap, flap, flapping against my side, and sprinted home. Heels and all.

Then my watch battery ran out. Which made me realized I hadn't printed out my monthly replenishing spread sheet and posted it on the bulletin board. And so, I have no idea how much time I spent circling the dense labyrinth of Bamboo at Wong's Floral. Narrow, serrated shoots of light green brushed the ceiling. Humming humidifiers coughed a steady stream of moisture into the air. Life sprouted.
"Easy grow," Mrs. Wong asserted.
"Even here in New England? " I persisted.
"Easy grow. Anyone does it."
"Do you know anything about pests? Tiny beetles, or maybe just beetle-like, insects chewing their way through the stalks? Or the shoots?" I asked, blushing.
"Water. Sun. Dirt. Rocks. Grow." Mrs. Lee's voice grew louder, as if I might be hard of hearing.
"Beetles? Pests? Insects?..." At her blank expression, I pointed to the ground and made a scurrying motion with my right hand. "Um...Bugs!"
Mrs. Wong called out in Chinese and a young woman in a faded t-shirt and jeans appeared and smiled at me expectantly.
"Um...Hi. I have some bamboo, and um....er..." I made the scurrying motion again with my hand. "...And bugs?"
The girls smile faded. " Do you know what type of bamboo you have? No? What's your average home temperature and duration of sunlight? Are you interested in traditional, organic remedies or chemical pesticides?"
I blushed. "I'm not sure."
"Listen, lady. You need to know what you want. It's not brain surgery."
I paused.
"No offense, but I have ninety pages to read and an outline to write for Comparative Civilization by tomorrow." The girl looked over at her mother, who's eyes were still shining, but who's brow was starting to furrow. "My name is Mae. Here's our card. Go home and look at your plants and call me back when you know what you want."
Reflexively I took a step back. "Ok."
The girl smiled at her mother. "And...um... Thank you for visiting Wong's floral."
The mother smiled.

I always enjoyed a quiet house. Even with Fog creeping around, you could hear the evening sounds. Crickets chirped in the yard. The breeze blew against the screen door. Marsh frogs croaked. Stray whoops echoed across the road from the Tuesday night games at the Little League park. The first few geese headed South. The faint horns blasted out of the Casino boat on it's churning way out towards Nova Scotia waters. Since I'd silenced the constant drone of Gary's CNN addiction, I was surprised to discover how much sound vibrated around our little house. My little house.

My cell phone squawked. At least my cousin Missy was still dependable. She called as I finished my evening stretches in the living room. I had to pass Brad's letter on the kitchen table to get to my cell phone. The red and blue striped glared at me from a top a pile of bills. I answered the phone, and held the receiver in place with my neck as I walked back into the living room. I blew out my jasmine candle and turned my attention to what Missy was saying.
"...about two more weeks. Who knew it was so hard to make baby?"
"That's good," I muttered, tracing patterns in the wood floor with my stockinged foot.
"It's real, good or not...Are you busy with work or something, Sandy? You have that far-off voice. What's up?"
"Not much, writing mediocre reports and killing my bamboo garden."
My stomach growled. How long since I'd eaten that yogurt?
"Hmm." Missy considered. " So how many plants are failing? Are we talking a planter by the window or an entire yard here?"
"It's just two little glass planter sets, In the dining room, on Grandma's china cabinet by the window."
" Two? In the brown dining room?"
"Yeah, two, in the dining room, only it's not brown. Tan, I mean, it was tan, but Gary painted that, I always hated it. So I pained it lavender a week after he left. Very girly. But let's NOT talk about Gary, ok?
It's not exactly an international crisis. I don't know why it bothers me so much."
"Well, I am on bed rest over here, Sandy. It's not like I have anything ELSE to do right now!" She forced a laugh.
"How are you and my future second cousin doing?"
"Fine. Only wouldn't he or she be your cousin once-removed? I always get that confused. What do you think?"
"Damned if I know. I have two master's degrees and I can't grow bamboo! Oh, and Brad wrote to me."
"What? Why? The Brad? Brad 'FALSE ALARM' BRAD?"
"Yes. 'False Alarm' Brad"
"What did he say?"
"What did he ever say?"
"Did he grow a pair and apologize for taking off on you?"
I paused and she continued.
"No, right?..Of course not. Of course he didn't. "
"Am I still in this conversation?"
"What does he want?"
"Why do you ask?"
"He's 'False Alarm Brad.' Contacting you after all this time. After he threw all his fear into a suitcase and slunk off to Japan. Oh yeah, I know him, he wants something."
"Korea, actually."
"I don't care if it was Mt. Everest. What does he want?"
I heard a loud beeping sound, a horn blare, and then smelled a rancid aroma wafted in from the kitchen. Two garbage men called to each other outside the window as they chucked my neighbor's trash into the back of a large green truck.
"He sounded nice. Concerned. Asked about me. Really."The smell, rotten eggs and burnt plastic, seemed overpowering.
"Focus, Sandy. I seem to remember a lot of throwing up, and cramps, and crying. Then there were expensive late night calls to me about peeing on a stick when this guy was no where to be found. No where. M.I.A. What does he want?"
"To say hello. And, well, to get some papers." I took a deep breath, forced my voice to sound brighter. "Some very important financial documents. Or he wouldn't have written and bothered me."
"Of course." Missy sniffed.
"Really," I breezed on. "His laptop crashed. He needs income documentation, uh-ax forms. Yes, tax forms...and he has a a deadline to get them in. His Mom moved and I'm the only person who still has a key to his house. He's in a bind and he honestly needs my help."
"His house? Didn't he live with his Mother?"
"Yes, but that's not the point. This time, he does honestly need my help."
Missy burped loudly. "Sorry, My body makes all kinds of unexpected sounds these days. If it's tax stuff, I guess you would know if it's important. I guess it's the nice to help him. Even that ass. Just do it quick and get out of there."
"Yea, easy and quick, just to be nice."
Missy signed. "Yeah, a nice person would help him."

A thick film of neglect clung to the stereo, the widescreen television, the edge of the bed's wooden headboard. My index finger traced a lower-case B in the dust on the bed. Piles of novels, hastily stacked from floor to ceilinig on makeshift board bookshelves, crowded the small bedroom. Two pillows lied at opposite ends of the bed. The blankets lay coiled at the bottom. I coughed,feeling faintly dizzy. Silence reigned.
"White shoebox on the top shelf in the hall closet. Easy and quick," I whispered to the room, and myself. "I have yoga at 10, and can even splurge on reflexology this week!"
I stopped at the small bathroom, which smelled faintly sweet and damp. In one corner, brown stains spread all though the grout between the green and blue tiles. Faded fish, more gray than gold, still swam across the shower curtain. I walked in and I remember the bugs . Beetles? No, it was ants. Ants, he had ants. Black ants crawling all over the floor. Coming in through the bathroom window, maybe? A steady stream of them, marching towards me, as I stood there, hands clenched on the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl, as orange fluid and white acid spewed out of my stomach though my mouth. Three nights in a row I knelt there, stooped over, vomit flying, landing in my bangs, on the floor, on the worn Dartmouth T-shirt of his that I wore. Three nights and he never came home. Or even called. There, with tile chafing, my knees, I rehearsed the speech I would give him when he finally came home with lilies for me. When he came home. If he came home. In the end, the ants were my only companions, a black column of witnesses to an egg that never grew.
I breathed a long, deep breath. I stretched my hands upward, over my head, and brought my palms together gently. I willed myself to empty my mind. I left the bathroom and counted the steps down the hall to the closet. One, three, five, seven,nine.
I pulled open the closet. I faced a jumble of shoes, aging sports equipment, a hockey bag, and a vacuum. Straining onto my tip toes, I arched my back and thrust my fingers towards the top shelf. I almost made it. So, I returned to the bedroom and I grabbed the milk crate Brad used as a night table. I overturned it, and matches, incense, a comb, and one ripped condom wrapper fell onto the floor. I laughed.
With faster strides, I stomped down the hall to the closet and stood on the crate. On the top shelf, I found a half empty can of tennis balls and a wide white shoes box. I grabbed the box, jumped down, and turned to go.
As I walked past the bathroom, my cell phone squawked. I put the box down, retrieved the phone from my jeans pocket, and stare blankly at the display screen. The screen displayed the number: 772-5422.
"5422?" I asked myself. "5422?" I wondered, this time aloud. Then I blushed, because I realized I was talking to myself again, here in Brad's, no, Brad's mother's empty house. Then slowly, I understood. Mrs. Wong. The florist. The bamboo that I was growing.
“The bamboo that I am growing, damn it,” I thought.

I walked into the bathroom, put down the box, and opened it. Indeed, I did find tax forms .The top form dated from five years ago. I riffled through receipts as well, for stationary and computer equipment. And one rolled up, faded Red Sox baseball cap, which I had given to Brad on his twenty-fourth birthday. My eyes darted back to the tax forms.
"Brad might actually need them..." I hesitated, thinking "A nice person would help him."
I counted again, fish on the shower curtain this time, one, three, five. My eyes scanned the mildew covered tiles. No tiny black witnesses. I stared hard at the toilet bowl. I exhaled.
Slowly and methodically, I tore up each eight-and-a-half-by-eleven inch tax form into sixteen equal sized pieces. I put the pieces into the toilet bowl and I pulled the dusty handle down. The water swirled and a hoarse croaking sound echoed in the room. Then my eyes started to tear up, I sneezed, and so I pushed the window open. A cool breeze floated in. I kicked the shoe box against the wall and the rolled up hat rolled out, forlorn.

I hummed softly as I walked down the driveway. My clenched shoulder muscles loosened and descended. I pulled the door open, and got into my used car. I put my key in the ignition, but then took it out again. I pulled my cell phone out and hit the button labeled * for the phone log.

"Hi Mae? This is Sally. I mean Sandy, with the bamboo. From yesterday?...Yes, well the indecisive one, right. Now I know what I want, even if it takes pesticide....Death. I want all the beetles dead. All the beetles…Whatever it takes."
I smiled.

Wii Bang-Wave of the Future!

Last night my boyfriend and I went to a "Wine and Wii party." I was unabashedly in it for the wine and good company. My boyfriend's pal, his oil industry co-worker, has more charm and better taste in wine than the stereotypical "oil industry bad guy." But in terms of the gaming? I admit I feared for the worst. I pictured hunch back, pimply pre-teens straining over Atari and Nintendo alien killing games. I think that the last time I went to a party prominently featuring electronic gaming, Duran Duran was still on the Billboard charts! I think the fact that there was gaming also had something to do with the fact that I dated the Debate Team (not all at the same time, mind you). :)
However, I must say that even I became a gradual fan of the group games on the Nintendo Wii [it's pronounced "we"-ed]. The control isn't hard to maneuvre, even for a spaz like me, the motions are very similar to playing actual sports, and when you get groups involved it's a lot of fun. The host had made funny little avatars for each of us, or "mii"s, and they bobbled along through the games with somewhat realistic motions (although they sometimes only used one arm). We had a lot of fun with doubles tennis and bowling. One on one games are less social at a party, but if you were just hangng out at home the boxng was fun, too. My Wii tennis game is also a LOT, lot better than my actual tennis game! Maybe my Dad can settle for playing Wii tennis with me-since I could never keep up with him on a real court!
Korea has PC rooms and DVD rooms, where you can rent some private space away from your multi-generational roomates, and Gary hatched the idea for the Wii gaming room.
The Wii bang-if you can buy soju on site, I see the idea taking off!

Peer Editing Time

"BIG IDEAS," or broad concepts, come to me quickly. What I lack in my writing sometimes is follow through, because my imagination has already moved on to the next broad concept! For example, I think to myself, "Wouldn't it be fun to write a story about the gaurds at the DMZ?" But, the next day, I consider, "Wouldn't it be neat to try to capture my small city from the point of view of a mail order bride from Vietnam?" And then I think, "Shouldn't I finish that story I started last year about a fifty-year old divorced ESL teacher?" In the meantime, I've thought a lot, but not written very much. My hobby is supposedly writing, an action verb. What I need to do is put that verb into action more!
So, this past month, I had so much time off that I decided I had NO excuses. My turtle was fed. My recycling was taken downstairs. My sweaters were washed. It was too gray, windy, and cold to go hiking. And so I wrote. And edited. And mentally insulted myself for the generally low quality writing (and horrendous spelling) apparent in my stories. And then, after a while, I ignored my inner critic and wrote some more stories.
So, I am happy to say, I have a few not-horrible stories to show for myself after all my time off this month. They might not be good per se, but they're not horrible. Now comes the really scary part-I've started sharing them with a few of my well-read friends to get helpful feedback. Luckily, I know some former English major or journalist types with editing experience. Hopefully they can help me whip these stories into shape. If I can get some decent drafts of the stories I am going to enter them in a few fiction contests in the States. Contests that, I most likely, will not win. But if I don't enter them, I will DEFINITELY not win them. So, I have to give it a shot. Between big ideas.

Heaven is a Free, Multi-lingual Bookstore

Damn, do I love books. Love them. Love how they look, love the new paper smell, love all the delicious uncertainty of a novel's first sentence. So, I am going to try to note a writer or poet I'm reading once a month....

And this month, Susan Choi has won me over. I loved her multi-layered story American Woman, even though I hadn't heard much about it. In fact, I was only two the year most of the events framing the book took place (1974). In the book, Indiana born Choi tells the story of earnest Japanese-American anti-war activist Jenny Shimadada. But you don't need to be a fan of the nineteen seventies to want to know this woman and all her secrets. She weaves in and out of different worlds, nations, and "isms," always an outsider. There is a sudden, tense plot twist about the Patty Hearst kidnapping case, but in the end it's about this fascinatingly flawed, American character.
You've probably heard of Choi's first novel. She seems better known for that well reviewed story, The Foreign Student. I just started it and I am already taken in by the description of the Korean Father cleaning his books with a feather duster! :)
You can read Susan Choi's bio and find her book reviews via her publisher, HarperCollins.
I hope you are also having a winter full of good reads! I give away most of the books I acquire here, there's no space for them and it's fun to share. Hopefully by keeping a record I'll remember to promote a few good reads to my pals back home.

Wellbeing

Wellbeing is a single buzzword. What is it is a buzzword for? Here it is a buzzword (or, it might be a "portmanteau," the new word I learned recently when consulting dictionary.com, but I'm not sure it qualifies!)in Korea. The concept of wellbeing is used to advertise everything from teas to yoga centers to cafes to cosmetics to sports. As I have mentioned, in the last three months I have had some adventures in healthcare here. I am not the healthiest gal and I have had my regular, on-going issues, like my regular thyroid blood-tests crop up. I grit my teeth and smile at the scam the doctors here have pulled on the populace: one must apparently see the doctors EVERY time one needs a renewal prescription, even for something small like thyroid pills....
Wellbeing for people here is also complicated by the pollution issue. The winds blow down from China! A lot of people here get recurring breathing problems from the pollution. With me, it is has been intensified allergies, sinus infections and ear infections. I often got ear infections as a child, and they have returned since I moved here. The traditional diet here IS very healthy though, and it is my own choice (and perhaps stubborness) that I don't eat more Korean food! In my defense, I do eat a lot of the yummy mushrooms!
I have been anxious recently (Who? Me, anxious? Never! :)) about the return of my oavarian cyst issue. But, on the upside, I finally saw really good doctor at Severance Hospital yesterday. The cross town trek was worth the long subway rides to meet a quality, FEMALE, gyn. doctor. Ok, Ok, no one likes to read about GYN issues, I know. But a good doctor is hard to find in any country! Also she's a doctor who isn't test happy, always looking to do one more test to charge on the National insurance. I am tempted to go on the Dave's ESL Korea board and sing her praises, only sometimes some of the posts on Dave's ESL Korea annoy me! So, if anyone reading this is looking for a skilled doctor with perfect English, book an appointment with Dr. Kwon at The Severance Hospital International Clinic. She's wonderful!
Wellbeing is still on my mind, today, Sunday because I feel like I am again getting an ear infection.I am also dizzy and gave a bit of the flu. I shouldbn't have stayed out so late on my wild friends' birthday! :) On the up side, it was an excuse to snuggle with Steve and watch THE WIRE! (I'm obsessed).
So, I am still learning how to keep myself healthy here.
Maybe there's something to all those kimchi health claims?
Maybe.
Can I stand the stuff? Unfortunatley, no. :)

Visiting The "Embroidery Of the Ocean"

My boyfriend and I hopped a bus down to the port of Mokpo in Western Korea for the holiday weekend. We hoped to hike and explore the Western islands a bit. Because he is thoughtful, my boyfriend downloaded several episodes of my currrent obsession, HBO's "The Wire" to watch on our bus rides. (Beyond the fact that it is in English, hooray,the contrast between the gritty realism of "The Wire" and the games shows, talent contests, and melodramtic evening soap operas on Korean TV make it seem like a miracle in broadcasting! Plus, Lester Freamon just rocks!) We arrived in Mokpo and easily caught the local bus to our harbor-side motel. The older woman working at the many fish markets and restaurants all smiled up as Steve, tall and pale, walked past. Skate fish is the local speciality. Ew! Dried skate carcasses and skate skins, in the process of drying, surrounded us on all sides. Marine product twon, as one street billed itself, smelled suspiciously of fish guts! Can you say pungent?!
On Lunar New Year day, we hiked Yudal mountain. It is a Korean tradition to awake very early and climb the mountain in the dark to see the first sunrise of the new year from the summit (or some pragmatists, and drunks, just stay up all night drinking soju, and use the climb to sober up! :) ).
As we hiked that afternoon, we reached a lovely view of the bay beyond. Many mountains in Korea offer outside gyms, and this time we actually stopped to try a few of the excercise machines. We reached a rocky peak and saw the carvings of Buddha in the mountain side. Smart officials hung lights below the carvings and imposing peak, to give the mountain a special glow in the night sky. We also found a pretty botanical garden with winding paths of various types of matked plants. There were two latge green houses, public, open and ungaurded. That would never last in the USA-sadly-a pretty greenhouse left open for families to enjoy would surely be vandalised! One greenhouse boasted many orchid plants, a local specialty. In the springtime they will look gorgeous.
The next day we took the ferry out to the island of Heuksando to explorea and hike. At least, we thought we we'd boarded a ferry, when actually we'd stepped onto the HMS Vommit! At first I was very proud, thinking my Coastie father would be excited by all the nautocal terms I was exchanging with my beau, the naval afficianado. I even learned the "Six Degrees of Freedon" pitch, roll, etc....But pitch was the on ethat stuck in my head. Why, you ask? Because, boy, did that ferry start to pitch one we hit opne water. The boat shifted in a crazy-up-down cycle-updown-updown-and we were among the many to fall vistime to the vertical motion. The ride bore a strange resemblance to the pie-eating contest scene in the film Stand By Me.
After we landed, and eventually recovered, we did take a nice hike up a peak on the a spur branching off to one side of the island. I let Steve, with his boyscout skills, leadthe way and just enjoyed the sunshine and the views of the rocky coast. We did veer of course at one point and met up with some mellow cows, but they didn't mind us so we didn't mind them! Later, as we'd lost some time,we took a taxi to a stone pagoda promoted in the tourist materials. Near it there was a small stone peak adorned with some arrangements of shamanist stones. We climbed to the top and saw striking views of the other side of the island. Unfortunatley, they had piped in a looped CD playing the folk song "Heuksando Lady" over and over gain. While certainly appropriate for the location, the song grates on you after a while! I prefer to enjoy my nature without the soundtrack, thanks! By that point we didn't really have time to take a tour of some of the isalnds other scenic spots before sundown, but that was ok by me. The tours were expensive and I prefer not to be rushed from sight to sight and told where to take pictures! Saturday night on the island was quiet except for the one Hoff, whioch reminded me a bit of Cape Ann, Mass. bars. There were a few nice groups in there behaving fine, but there was also a young guy, dressed in casual clothes, looking of the right age and behvaior to be a local fisherman. He drank so much soju he couldn't find the stairs to go outside and throw up! Maybe a sleepy fishing town in the winter is a sleepy fishing town in the winter, no matter where you are! :)
The next day we returned to the mainland via the scary ferry. Luckily we'd taken some medicine and prepared. The trip was much better, a sleepy one, on allergy medicine! :) After a filling lunch we visited the National Maritime Museum of Korea.
(www.seamuse.go.kr). It was interesting to see the example of the Goreyo ship, found off Wando. This Wando Ship is one of the oldest Korean ships ever found. Traditional ceramics and ancient artifacts like bone dice were found on board. The shipwreck of a large Chinese trading ship was also particulary impressive. It is dubbed the Shinan ship due to the location of it's wreck. They even found a crate of black pepper on board that was mostly intact. It is a small museum but worth a visit. Steve and I were a big hit there and many people said hellow. One man stopped me to ask me several questions about myself and "your husband" (meaning Steve), and what we thought about Mokpo and Korean ships. he was very friendly in his own exceedingly direct way. In general, I found Mokpo and the islands a nice change of pace.
The bus ride home at the end of a holiday weekend wasn't as as I'd feared. Seoul traffic didn't live up to the hype, for once. Plus Steve and I were happy and did get to share one more episode of my favorite tv show on his Ipod.
I returned home to a bit of a problem, though. The electric lock on my door finally died. It has been sticking on and off for a month now, but when I told my rental office staff it was broken they just said it needed new batteries on the isnide of the lock. So, I bought all new batteries, and it still stuck, and STILL they said, "batteries" as ifd the silly foreign girl just didn't understand. Well, finally it stuck so hard the building door man couldn't open it after many tries, and we were forced to bring in a locksmith. I almost feel vindicated, I tried and tried to tell them it was broken. I almost feel vindicated. Then I feel concerned. The next question is: who is going to PAY THE BILL for the expensive new lock-me or the school?
We shall see...

p.s.-To check out my obsession, The Wire, check HBO show times or go to http://www.hbo.com/thewire.

Unique Ex-pat Humor

If you enjoy a little silly adult humor, with a splice of odd, Asian cable tv footage thrown in... check out
YouTube.com: LastCallFilms - Mo Mang II.
Keith and co. are quite funny. In their own way. :)

Blogs I Eat Up Like Pocorn

1. I Should Be Writing on murlafferty.com-We all should be writing. Amen.
2. KuwaitingforGodot.com-Jessica is hilarious!
3. For the factually inclined-Stevadoo'sblog here at blogspot. Ignore any girlfriend in nightgown videos-revenge is a dish best served cold. :)
4. And, for more views on Korea, some well informed ideas on Asian politics, and Korean vocabulary words of the day (as well as a few suave white guys waxing poetic on the msyteries of Korean women), select from the robust list at:
The Korean Blog List -- http://www.koreanbloglist.com.

Chinese Women's Stories

So many images, smells, and sounds arrested and beguiled me on our trip through China. There are some final sights and sounds I would like to record. But, in the end, it may be the stories I saw and heard of Chinese women that I will remember the most vividly.
At the Temple of Heaven, my favorite tourist site in Beijing, I walked through rows of tranquil trees many Chinese women were never permitted to see. There, before those holy altars, where the past emporers prayed for good harvests, a feeling of peace pervades. Seen from the air, the atlars or temple buildings in the park are round and their bases are square. The construction was based upon the ancient Chinese belief that Heaven is round and the Earth is square. We visited the temple on a sunny day before the crowds. We stood on the 5 meter high round altar, which was originally constructed in 1530 (and later rebuilt) in white marble in three tiers. The acoustics of the circular structure causes one's voice to carry. A fellow visitor (from India) told me that wishes whispered from the very center of circle are more likely to come true-so I took my turn standing in the center and wishing. My wish? I can't tell! :) Just past the altar there stands a curved "echo wall;" it is known for it's accoustic properties. I stood at one side of the wall and softly said hellow to my boyfriend, and he could hear me loud and clear several feet away at the edge of the curved wall! The most picturesque structure on the site would have to be the hall of Prayers for Good Harvests. Gorgeous, the temple hall stands a top a three tiered marble terrace and boasts a triple-eaved umbrella roof. Four central pillars inside symbolize the four seasons. Twelve others form a ring around the outside. They curiosuly support the ceiling without nails or cement (For further comment upon this point, see the Lonely Planet Beijing City Guide). Although the common Chinese woman was not allowed into that building for year upon years, it still stands out in my memory.
At the tail end of our trip, we were fortunate to travel to Xi'an to see the impressive Terra Cotta warriors from the Qin Dynasty. They were certainly worth the trip. Whether built out of ambition or narcissism, the thousands of tall, detailed ceramic soldiers, some holding actual functional weapons, comprised just one part of the mausoleum of Emporer Qin Shihuang. Several sites we saw in China claimed to be the 8th wonder of the world. Apparently, there is no verification process, no researching by earstwhile geeks from Wikipedia, needed to make this claim. However, of the "wonders" we saw, the huge historical and archeological significance of the Terra Cotta Warriors led me to see them as the most wonderful. For some good photos and more factual information on our trip to Xi'an consult Steveadoo's blog on blogger.
My mind was intruiged by the terra Cotta Warriors. But then I couldn't breathe! The pollution caught up with us there. A stroll outside of more than twenty minutes would aggravate my allergies. The brownish gray air would, after a while, cause my eyes to start watering and my nose to feel stuffy. Do children in Xi'an color the sky in their drawings with gray and brown crayons? Imagine growing up in a city with so much air pollution that foul smelling air is the only air that you've ever known!

As we prepared to leave China, two women's stories stuck in my mind. One is a famous and tragic story, one is a quiet anecdote with a happy ending. Nestled deep inside the Forbidden city is a simple hole in the ground known as Concubine Zhen's well. Women go there and leave flowers. Zhen fe Jing was imprisioned by the formidable Cixi, and later thrown down this lonely well for refusing to give up her loyalty to her ousted emporer (he started the "100 days reform" movement and payed for it with his freedom, obviously the reform movement did not go well-it only lasted 100 days!). Later Zhen's sister built her a small shrine near the well. Visitors still value Concubine Zhen's well as a symbol of this woman's love, loyalty, and determination. For more facts on the sad tale of Concubine Zhen, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imperial_Concubine_Zhen.

Another story, less famous, reminded me how lucky I am to be a modern American woman. Our guide, B., did a great job taking us to important sites, providing historical background, and helping us find more authentic local dumpling houses to enjoy. As the days went by, we also got to know him and he started to explain his life and the lives of his friends and neighbors. He and my boyfriend Steve got to be friends. Steve is a mellow guy and it seems that everyone likes Steve! :) When I asked about family life in Beijing, he told us a story about a neighbor of his who jumped through many hoops to make a decision I could easily decide to make. The family had one child, our guide explained, but then the woman became pregnant again. The woman wanted a second child, a sibling for her child, very badly. It was a very stressful situation for the family due to the one-child policy in over-populated China. However, our guide's neighbor was lucky because she had attended elementary school with a boy who grew up to be a local government official. The neighbor woman and her husband went to see the local government official (with a gift) to renew old ties. Later her husband took the official out for dinner a few times and convinced the official to write a letter to the local hospital condoning the woman's wish to carry (and not terminate) her second pregnancy. The hospital agreed to treat the woman and deliver her baby. The woman's husband had to go to a government office with a letter of support from the local official, and later had to pay a large fine for having a second child. However, with the support of the local government official, the family encountered no further problems. They had a beautiful second daughter who grew to become an honors student. The neighbor woman had been lucky.
My guide took no sides, did not tell the story to criticize his government, but rather related the story in a matter of fact manner. I can't verify that it's 100% true. But the details really struck me. The discsussion around freedom of Choice in America sometimes gets narrowed in the media to the freedom to decide NOT have a child, when certainly the freedom to elect to HAVE a child is just as important. Over population remains a valid issue, and I am not going to argue here that anyone needs to have large families. (I, myself, have been thinking I'd someday like to adopt a baby who's already on the planet.) But I feel very glad to live in a country where the government can't dicate to me the size of any family I might elect to build.