Unconventional Thanksgiving- belated report . .

Hold on to your seats everyone: Its the annual Thanksgiving show! (AKA English Pagent for our little kindergartners to show off to Mom and Pop just how much English they have been learning at the good ole NYE Academy.) As I was only peripherally involved (I did not teach kindy at this time) I was a thoroughly entertained spectator at the splendid surreal extravaganza of Konglish and costume change. At the end of the event our directors provided a promenade of what I can best equate to Thanksgiving Korean fusion- perhaps in the end, a mix best left in concept. It is however the first and probably not the last time I will eat my Thanksgiving dinner with chopsticks.

This is a collaborative drawing my students and I have done together mapping out Suncheon- the small town I live in.

              In the center you will find New York English Academy. (Click image to enlarge.)

And now for something barely relevant . . .

   Soooo . . .  as a part of my ongoing mission to bring English to the Korean masses 4 feet and under, I had this idea inspired by possibly the best teacher of all time Mr. Hill of Sylvania Southview High School- yes, that is a 'shout out'. Anyhow, Mr Hill, who taught American History, would offer his students and uber hard question in which to answer every semester, if they got it right he would give them an A for the class- the whole class: no final exam, no papers, no homework- just an A. The brilliant part of this idea is that the question was almost IMPOSSIBLE to answer and locating reasonable sources to answer such an impervious question required signifigant leg work. The alluring offer of a 'free A' would send dozens of juniors seniors to the library for hours scathing through stacks of history books in the search for their golden ticket. So, whilst you were looking for your 'eureka', unsuspecting students were taking in huge amounts of knowledge about the very topic they were trying so hard to avoid. It was accidental, perfect learning- a technique I have come to believe results in 100% success. Those students (which it was rare) which located the correct answer (I think only one student was awarded the 'free A' while I was attending Southview) found themselves to be a borderline American History expert by the end of the term. Like I said before, brilliant. 

    So I have implemented a similar task in my classroom. I ask a question and if answered correctly, students receive free homework passes. This has created quite a rage. You hear students whispering through the halls and as they wait for the buses asking each other about 'the question'. I am causing an 'English stir'! I am happy to see them get so excited about speaking this language they are forced to learn down the throat style. Above is a written response to one of my questions: "What color socks was Abraham Lincoln wearing when he was shot?" This was a question actually taken from my High School class- yikes 13 years ago!! I especially enjoy the illustration of Lincoln being assassinated.  (Please click on the picture above for a larger and much more enjoyable version- do it its worth it!)

It a bird! No, its a plane! No, Its a cascading tower of phalluses -YEAH!!

"What is that?!" you may be asking, as inquiring minds often want to know. Well, silly, its how we Koreans celebrate your 'celebration' (aka birthday) at the night club. Oh what a feast for the eyes, boys and girls. And what a special, special way to say to someone 'Happy Birthday, you are very special' 

   I am not sure how this all happened for besides the speed of the event itself I believe there were a few to a plethora of sojus pumping through my veins by this time. I know we were out at a club- yes, yes, I am sure of it. Surrounded by my boss and coworkers and the guest of honor- Heather Head Teacher, birthday girl. All of the sudden out of no where, it seemed like ten well dressed men in white coats and excessive ear phone pieces where surrounding our table. They were moving about us like trapeze artists, swinging in and dropping a tray of glasses here, another layer of glasses there. A few ajjosshis appeared in front of us and began to bend cloth napkins like they were making balloon animals. They were making penises!!! I was in speechless awe. This process was to beautiful for words. Each phallus was completed and flawlessly dropped on the glass tower in front of us. Finally the crown of the tower was made by who appeared to me be the head ajjosshi napkin phallus maker. This was the largest, biggest, king of all phalluses and placed at the top of her birthday tower. The music went off and the spotlights went on directed directly at Heather and her Tower 'o' Phalli. The DJ shouted something over the loudspeakers which I can only assume said something to the effect of  happy birthday to the foreigner. The whole club sang happy birthday and then the head ajjosshi grabbed the King Phallus and handed it to the birthday girl. He then with dancer-like prowess placed two tiny shot glasses on top of the tower. He took a bottle of sparkling something from under his arm, gave it a good shake, popped it open in a way the cork was never to have been found and then began to shower the entire bottle over the Penis tower in front of us. Ambery bubbles cascaded down the layers glassware  in front of us, it was like a magical penis fountain! He emptied the bottle with in seconds and then swept up the two shot glasses the sat full to the brim upon the top of the mighty tower. He handed one to the birthday girl and one to myself (I had the utmost privilege of sitting right next to Heather.) With the spotlights on us in an entirely otherwise dark night club, we locked arms as in the traditional marriage toast and we shot her birthday champagne. It was by far one of the best moments of my life. 

"Amy Teacher, do you need a knife for Christmas?" Shiloh asked.

   Shiloh is one of my more advanced students and she is preparing for immigration to the US very soon so she has many questions about America, the students there, and teenage culture. She is most excited about the American High school student workload which is only a fraction of what she would endure here. I had her to my house for a farewell dinner where we made chicken fajitas and she tried Mexican food for the first time. (Let me just say that in my experience Koreans are afraid of sour cream.) It is still interesting to me how this culture has no idea what a flour tortilla is, how to fold a burrito or pick at salsa like its something from outer space. 

 I gave Shiloh the opportunity to ask me anything about American culture. She asked me very candidly "Do American will find my face pleasing?" I showed her how to hold her knife and fork properly and put where to put your napkin. She seemed almost overwhelmed with the formalities which are quite involuntary to us. 

 Before Christmas I had Shiloh and a few students to my new apartment when I first moved in. As I was new to the place I was missing a few necessities, one of which was a cutting knife. As I pulled out the meat cleaver to chop my garlic, my students gasped in horror and Shiloh asked "Amy teacher, do you need a knife for Christmas?"  I giggled and said "sure.' A few weeks later Shiloh approached on our way to the mini mart for a few snacks. "Amy Teacher, my mother says that giving a knife to someone as a gift is very bad luck, so I cannot give you this gift." She was very nervous as she spoke and I found it quite endearing. "That's OK, Shiloh." I replied. She continued " But my Mother says that if you give me 1000 won than it is alright for me to give you the gift." (1000 won is equal to less than a dollar.) I stopped "Wait so if I give you 1000 won you can give me my present?" I asked "Yes." she replied with an awkward smile. "No problem." I said. 

   A few days before Christmas Shiloh arrived to class with a carefully wrapped box. I opened it to find, as expected, a shiny new knife. "Thank you." I said to Shiloh with a sly grin handing her 1 1000 won bill. It was the first time I had ever paid for a gift- but in the effort of avoiding what bad luck was awaiting me, it was well worth it. 

So as I said before we were on are way to Gyeongju . . .

Gyeongju, according to my sources, is the ancient Capitol city of Korea. The city is known as the self proclaimed "museum with out walls" And I have to say quite impressively, it was very much so museumesque in a walless way. We must have picked the most drippingly gorgeous fall color weekend to go to its surrounding temples for it was truly amazing. As we wandered up and down stone staircases and through wooden doorways, the trees were ablaze with colors of crimson, amber, and goldenrod. We quietly passed through what seemed to be a stillness of time and peace and place. We came across a rock wish garden and I was able to stack a wish myself- my anonymous but important mark in this holy place "Amy was Here".

   The picture of the hills seen here are actually ancient burial mounds for the kings of old Korea. These mounds are a bit of a technological mystery. They are constructed out of millions of smaller stones and rocks with the King placed ceremonial in the center of the mound. These mounds are gigantic and mathmatically perfect with symmetry extending from all angles. I would say these mounds to Korea what the pyramids are to Egypt. 

OK, OK Lets all click out heels three times together . . .

   Look! Here we are in late October! Isn't the web a magical place! I have to partly blame this time warp on the loss of my camera, which made procurement of images a little more complicated, but mostly it was shear decadent procrastination . . . . 

   After the Jinju lantern festival which was a crowded but beautiful event, grand finalled only by a firework display over the river which ignited a few giant floating paper animals and a couple riverbank brush fires. Lets just say I believe Koreans love their big fireworks in very close range. 

   A few weekends later my friend Carlye and I spent the weekend on the bus or also know as the trip to historical Gyeongju (which is not to be confused with Gwangju, or Kwangju). We made a pit stop in Busan for some Indian food. For those who are not aware Busan, is the second biggest city in Korea. It is sort of likened as the San Francisco of Korea (but those of us who heart SF would never say such a thing) Busan has one of the most popular beaches in Korea -Hyundae. During the summer it is packed to the brim with Koreans dressed for the beach in button up collared shirts and wide-brimmed straw hats that could double as grass umbrellas in most coastal communities.  But we were at the beach for Indian food [drooling Homer Simpson noise] It was the first time I had had ethnic food other than Korean since I moved to Korea. It was and I am so serious about this o-o-0- orgasmic! (I have to liken my gastronomical with drawls I have experienced over the past few months to what I can only surmise as 'taste bud foreplay'.)We sat in ornate wooden chairs and unfolded cloth napkins onto our laps. We ate with a fork and knife- an experience which seems rather foreign to me now. I dipped my buttery Naan into my saag paneer and I drank a cold beer in a stemmed glass! Sometimes its nice to get to transcend yourself out of Korea but just stepping into a restaurant every now and then. 

OK, I know, I know I am a very bad bad blogger . . .

    Autumn ??. ..  what happened. I swear a fell into a time warp over the last few months. Never fear my decicated reader, I have taken copious dutiful notes of remarkable happenings and even more pictures. 

Let me just say that the belated posting is really truly all Carlye's fault. 

 

 Today I declare that my blog and I after a little space are 'getting back together' so be forwarned my ridiculous and frequent ramblings are to begin again- 

but not today. I gotta go to Gwang-ju. 

Autumn has finally arrived in Suncheon!

I am still not sure if I'm 32 or 33 . . .?

  It all started around midnight- the beginning of my most important day. I was preparing to cozy up with my book, in my jammies, and be such a good girl (with a good night sleep so I would be busy-tailed for the next day) when there was a surprising knock at my door. (I have lived here for four months and my door has only been knocked on once, so this was quite startling.) I opened it to discover a couple of my near and dear friends equipped with flaming birthday cake and a backpack full of libations and about 9lbs of cheese. A few soju cocktails later and midnight soon turned into the wee hours of the morning, time seems to pass so effortlessly amongst the perfect balance of many hearty, fulfilling laughs and introspection. A rather unexpected trip to a undisclosed location which will only be described as  . . . . .  . 

  Well needless to say, the next morning came rather abruptly and I, having the unusual duty of teaching Kindergarten which meant I, still groggy from the unexpected excitement from the night before, found myself staring into the eyes of a dozen four year old Korean children. Class consisting of me saying things like "Color the Cat's belly yellow" and "Color the monkey's tail purple . . . "

      The day progressed into an endless promenade of birthday serenades from my grade school students (which always ended with a chorus of 'we love you' with arms above their heads in the shape of a heart) and various and random gifts from an orange to a hot pink colored pencil. Then there was the stack of cards - the cards!  All hand made on colorful paper and folded meticulously with tidings of health and happiness in broken konglish: "Teacher, you are butt-iful" and  "Happy Birthday Teacher. Sorry, I don't do presents."  

   With the finish of my last class, I strapped on my blue flame helmet and hopped on my scooter for a cool ride home. As I passed under the neon Hangul street signs, I took a deep breath with of the sensation of being officially one year older. It was by far one of the most surreal and meaningful moments this humble girl from Ohio has ever experienced. 

Jinju Lantern Festival- cont'd

Jinju Lantern festival : Formal, floating, and handmade wishes.

I'm so blogging this . .

Not sure if anyone is reading this anymore, but I will keep rambling all the same. So spontaneous trip to Gwangju, one of the larger cities in Korea. A couple expats and myself trying to find only the foreigner shop where they sell the prized possession of SOUR CREAM and perhaps a block of large and imported yellow cheese. All the meanwhile keeping are eye out for the secretive and infamous TATTOO shop. As we were doing our rounds, I saw it from across the street- the scrolling letters in neon red - T - A- T - T- O- O. Before I could blink we were climbing the three flights to a tiny studio that indeed was perhaps strange but true to its sign. My companion had been searching for such a shop for awhile for for those of you who do not know, tattoos are quite taboo in Korea. They are to such an extent unaccepted that you will see a plethora of television actors with strange bandages applied to their arms and legs in order to cover their "atrocities". No matter, she wanted a tattoo. So we climbed the ambiguous staircase passed the "twice fried" chicken house up the stairs to a small studio that promised tattoo service. The entrance was enshrouded in bamboo and  it was clear to us that we should remove our shoes before entering. (Yes. You must remove your shoes before entering a tattoo shop in Korea.)

     The walls were accessorized with various amazing and exquisite tattoo artistry. These images were so much more that tattoos, they were Art. The assistant made a call to the 'on call'tattoo artist, meanwhile helping us with the technical aspects of the tattoo: how big, what color; we used the Internet to complete the task. With out us realizing much time had passed a young Korean women appeared in the door way "I'm sorry I'm late" she said in perfect English. 

   This girl, hardly nineteen was going to imprint my companion forever and with out too much time passing she inquired " Do you know Amercian Idol?" "Why of course," we replied. "I was on it- season seven Chicago." she said as a matter of factly. "What? you were?" I surprisingly asked. " Yes " she said, " I made it through second audition." "What did you perform?" I inquired. She responded "Maria Carey and Alicia Keys." She lit a cigarette and held it so that the filter bent over in a way I had never seen a cigarette go flacid before. She flicked her ashes carelessly into a paper dixie cup.  Post cigarette, my companion reclined over a modest table and was being inked away. 

    Mariah Carey was playing in the background. Mid tattoo the girl who told us her name was 'So Young' (so serious) paused to answer her cellphone only to keep tattooing mid conversation! My friend pleaded causally "uhh maybe, no cellphone?" So Young seemed to not hear her words. Within less than an hour it was finished, done flawlessly with the skill of a veteran. Her tattoo: the Chinese character "Energy". The symbolism in this was almost overwhelming.

If I am wearing all black my students ask me, "Teacher do you have black passion?" 

My answer an emphatic "Yes."

Ohh . . . Konglish.

Photo by Carlye Vroom: mmm campfire.

Amy's first camping trip to Jeri-san (Big Korea Mountain)

    It was my first camping trip in Korea. I was curious to how this experience was going to pan out. It took us 2 taxis, one train and a very precarious bus ride up a mountain to get there. We were dropped off on the side of the road in a virtually abandoned village. It was Chusok weekend which means the Thanksgiving of Korean holidays. It was great for an empty campsite but not so much for camping provisions, and as the bus sped away I wondered if we had not just made a very bad decision. But, thankfully and almost immediately, we were picked up by some of the other foreigners who had the resources to rent a car for the weekend. The campsite was basic in a small valley surrounded by dark green lush mountains and only a minute walk to arguably the most perfect river I have ever frolicked in. We BBQ'ed over Korean grills, ate Ramen for breakfast and spent most of the day between a dead man's float and amazing rock formation discovery. The campsite was neightbor to the largest honey farm I had ever seen, yet extrordinarily, the bees left us quite alone. I met a wonderful group of Native teachers. At the campfire that night, I looked around: the New Zealander was playing guitar, the Canadians were singing, the South African was tapping her toes, the Australian was drinking (well, we all were), the Englishman was smiling, and I was feeling right at home. 

It was a typical get to know you kind of conversation between student and native speaker . . .  "So what does your dad do for work?" I inquired quite normally. "I'm not sure . . . He builds bridges," the young second language speaker replied. "My mom says he's important because he changes maps."

It was a dark parking lot betwixt vertical apartment lines

    She called us all. As she should of: a normal evening for a young woman one on her normal routine gone horribly wrong with her much loved little dog. A little black hot dog, which revered by most Koreans for years before, had darted into the elevator too anxious for the usual walk seconds before the doors closed and then was separated from her guardian and mother never to be seen since. Even after an understated panicked effort on her part, the dog was gone. So in came the foreigners, all five of us, slowly combing the parking lot and surrounding areas around the elevator which Manya was seen last. We were all meandering slowly with flashlights and motorbikes calling out in the darkness "Manya?  . . . . Come here, Manya . . ." I had learned on this night that Manya translates into Korean as 'Witch' and it did not take too long before the inquisitive police arrived on the scene, "Uhh . . . were having some disturbance calls about  . . . a bunch of white people walking around the parking lot crying 'WITCH . . .WITCH!' " the Korean speaker translated for us. She said some words to them which I can only assume explained the situation and I then saw them frustratingly shake their heads and speed away. This is something that Koreans would just definitely not understand. 

September 11, 2008 South Korea: A conversation with an Iraqi.

It was an American conversation to one Iraqi: "Explain yourself for this!" the figs shouted. "How can you be so yellow, so round . .  . don't you know, if you are not figgish you are not good!" " I am who I am," the pear said with confidence. "You may be two but I am one of many pears and will always be." "But don' t you know you have always been wrong?" the figs inquired. "If you were more purple,  and had more seeds you would be better! Why do you not try to be more like the fig?" The pear thought for a couple of minutes, standing very still and said, "I am just waiting for the wind to shift, then we will fight to be more like pears and less like being figs." The figs stood silent in thought.

Contrary to popular belief, nipple tweaking is very zen.

Some places are perfection, just the way they are.

Seoul continued: photo by Carlye Vroom

After dinner, we walked sleepily. I felt peaceful. This is really real. That calm and easy feeling came to to an immediate an abrupt halt as we found ourselves walking, without warning,  into the middle of a candlelight vigil turned riot.          There were thousands, and I mean thousands, of soldiers marching around us in unison. It was a sea of synchronized authority; swarms of young Korean men in black uniforms armed with shields and batons (no guns). This is how Korea keeps the peace amongst millions: they send in many more soldiers. 

    It is hard for me to articulate the sensation one feels when you are participating in situation but yet have no real part in it. (The this was a protest of the import of American beef.) Well anyway, I was worried. For the first time in Korea, I was worried.  This could go horribly wrong even though I was only a spectator . . .  but I wasn't. It was my country's beef and I was there. Like it or not I was involved. 

   I'm sure I was standing on the corner with my hand over my mouth and furrowed brow as soldiers amassed all around me. It was then an older Korean man in the crowd reached out to me and emphatically said " Don't worry American, We are Korea. We are with you  and we love you." Amongst the endless procession of troops that kept passing, this seemed to give me little comfort, but the man continued: "Don't worry, we are all together and  we love you  . . . ."  I didn't know how to feel. I felt like a foreigner. . 

    Soon an enormous fire truck surged its way through the crowd. It began shooting enormous amounts of high pressure blue water into the riled crowd. This technique is used to break up unruly gatherings of people. The blue color is so that the police can mark who was involved in the trouble and confiscate them. This was a very intense situation. My Korean company assured me with smiling faces that I was safe, I just couldn't really believe them. They repetitiously reminded me not bother myself with thinking too much of the Korean problems and as quickly as we had stumbled in to the riot, we stumbled out. They shuffled me into a cab and soon we off like the whole thing never happened. We were going where everyone goes post-riot- shopping. 

An interlude . . .

   Before reading, I assign you a task of taking stock of what is in your fridge. I find the contents of one's fridge is always in direct relation to one is doing in her/his life. (please note this mostly applies to singletons) Mine contains: an old to-go container of honey mustard, corn tea I made and poured into an old Coke Zero 1 liter bottle (no Emily, I aint off the juice yet), and dreams- make your own assumptions.

     I have found my first restless sensations here in Korea. They told me it was coming  (they being the foreigners which have been here awhile). I just thought I was impervious to these demons. Not so much the case, but to that effect, I should note that they have been peripheral at best but for the first time today I thought: damn what would I do for deli? I mean 'where do I turn left and get outta Chinatown?' ( I say this in humor with the ignorance I might have thrown around not 5 months ago. ) And with the realization that there is no escape from my Asian-ness of being, I felt claustrophobic yet simultaneously felt alone- alone not like my dog  just died alone, but alone like a square peg amongst a bunch of round holes. It was like the sensation I had realizing that I am crowded amongst molecules but spacious amongst universes. (Yup, had to think a few times before composing that thought. )

  Perhaps, in a way, I have lived my life thus far according to everything I ever learned on 'Sesame Street'. Not a bad place to grow up- I might add. Those of us in this generation of television education are very familiar with the "One thing is not like the other" Well I can say, in all honesty and with out regard for consequence, is me. 

   That being said: I know that I am not anywhere with out someone wanting to be apart of my experience. Lending a helping hand for the brief moment of speaking English or I donno be closer to what- I just know that if I am standing in the rain umbrella-less at a stop light waiting to cross- I am always offered shelter from a nearby person even when everyone else is not- and in that way its not so bad . . . really. 

Part II: And the Seoul Adventure continues . . .

 So I must apologize for my camera did run out of juice midway through this spectacular journey, so you will have to rely on my words to describe what I experienced .  .  .  

    After the Palace, we headed to the Seodaemeon Prison. A dark place that what used to initially house Korean prisoners of war by the Japanese. Now it is a museum, or more appropriately a monument to the bloody and torturous history of Korea. As we left the grounds of the prison we heard distant and libatious music from the park below. As it was Liberation Day in Korea we stumbled very appropriately into a liberation ceremony. Koreans in traditional dress beat on drums, whistled into wooden flutes and danced in celebration of their freedom. It was infectious and for lack of a better term, magical. Elders from the crowd were raising from concrete stairs, dropping their canes, and joining in on the square.  Not a hand was not clapping along nor face not smiling with the expression that can only come from the purest sense of appreciation of what it is to be free. They were all saying  . . . . "Thank you".

      We moved on.  It was incredibly humid in Seoul that Friday afternoon and soon the moisture hung in the air heavy enough that it broke into a light drizzle. We huddled under umbrellas and sneaked are way between a crowd as light as the rain through the quaint and enchanting area known as Insadong. Shop after shop of authentic and not so authentically made Asian crafts and gifts. Every inch of Insadog teems with articulated delicacies, whether it be for the eyes, touch, smell or taste.  If I could, I would wrap the whole place up and drop it a block away from wherever I ever lived.  We sneaked down a cozy alley lit by red paper lanterns to a wooden restaurant that served a special rice wine I had never heard of outside of Korea. 

     We barely had sat in our chairs when the sweet, cool, silky drink magically appeared at our table in a voluptuous vessel. We poured drink for each other in Korean tradition: the oldest first and into earthenware bowls held with both hands. As we rested our soggy, weary bodies from the day, we slowly sipped, and poured, and sipped some more. Our conversation meandered as effortless as our bodies had all afternoon. We talked about what it was to be Korean and be American, to be women, to be standing between many worlds in many ways simultaneously. We sat there as long as it took for the tables to fill and empty again. And just as the rain slowed to a still so did our conversation. I thought it again, it reverberated in my chest like lyrics of my favorite song on a slow Sunday afternoon  . . . "Thank you."   and it wasn't even the end of day one. 

Part I: So that's why they call it Seoul . . . .

     Amy's first BIG adventure. I overstate this the way one should on their first trip to Seoul,  soul, seoul. I had all these preconceived notions of the impossibility of navigating this world of a city. I knew at least it would be the largest metropolis these little small town Ohio feet had ever trespassed, but all the same I knew . . . I had to go.  And go I went. Spontaneously with a cohort, my new travel companion who, thankfully had been to Seoul just enough times to barely know her way around, reserve us a humble room in a cheap hostile, and (our saving grace) a few Koreans who had lived their all our lives. My point of this trip was strictly pedestrian- and as a pedestrian I went. We must of have walked miles upon delicious miles on this trip and although my dogs barked for rest almost the whole way, my eyes were wide open and my mind a cup which was never more than half full. 

   I imagined Seoul an overcrowded dirty city full of rude people doing too many things. This was not the case. I guess in a way I was romanced with the helpful nature of the Korean people: it took no more than a minute of looking quizzically at any subway map for a gentle voice of concern saying always "excuse me, but may I help you?" There were not crowded subways nor dirty streets, in fact I must say in my brief experience, Seoul flows much more gracefully then any mega city I have encountered.  

   With in an hour of our arrival we had found our hostel nestled quietly between the subway stop and the largest palace in all of Seoul. Shortly after we were met Mi- Hee, my companion's acquaintance who led us through one of the most welcoming streets I have encountered since moving to Korea. Cobble stoned roads with leafy green trees gently blowing in the wind, couples and families slowly meandering between artisan galleries, coffee houses, and gourmet food restaurants. Am I in Korea? I realized there is a universal quality to every large city: the meeting of many worlds converging in one point to create the same conglomerate experience. It is why when standing on a particular street whether you are in Paris, New York, or Seoul one can feel at home implicitly. 

     She asked us what we were hungry for and as if reading our minds she said "How about a burger?" Now for those of you in the states, this seems like a rather mediocre suggestion but to those of us in Korea, a good burger is as good as a shiny golden nugget. So without a pause we emphatically agreed. 

    She lead us up a stair case which in every case would be deemed illegal in the states, to a little gallery which served gourmet burgers or was it a burger joint that served art- anyway we dined. We dined with fork and knife. They served me diet coke and a burger titled "formaggio" on the menu that was sky high (please see picture for reference). Let me say that I have fully enjoyed my months of Korean-ness dining experiences of trial and error- but this one moment was like an oasis in my cultural abyss in this side of the world. 

   My giant smile of a belly was then led back down the cobblestone way to one of the most miraculous palaces I have seen the Changdeokgung Palace . Now to be humbly honest, People had told me that visiting the palaces of Seoul is a MUST and in my mind I envisioned  the gilded, overly ornate and disgustingly lavish kings and queens quarters of my western distant relatives . .  . I am beginning to understand that even in the broadest terms the way things are done her in the East are almost universes apart. The simplicity of the Eastern aesthetic is something I have always admired. Myself coming from the land of more is always not enough, have found it rather cleansing the concept that beauty is found in the spaces between the objects instead of the objects themselves. We walked the spacious grounds passed the royal library which set high on a hill, at the foot was a large square pond, in the center a round island symbolizing the symbiotic relationship between world and universe. On the same note our barely intelligible but well-informed tour guide shared with us that the pond was strategically placed at the foot of the library to remind all the noblemen who passed by it that with out water there can be no fish (a direct metaphor for the kings symbiotic relationship to his people.) 

   I was reminded how and why the lotus flower is the symbol of Buddhism: pure, simple, and at one with its surroundings. 'Maybe I could be a lotus flower someday,'  I thought. We meandered past a giant housing area that the tour guide identified as the concubines living quarters. I remarked to my traveling companions how I couldn't believe I was walking on ground where "concubine" was a legitimate term. 

    The end of the tour took us through a sacred doorway. This passageway, the tour guide told us, was to be passed through while making a wish. It was a simple doorway leading from graveled way to another lotus pond and grassy path. Me, being a person who never misses an opportunity to make wishes, quickly racked my brain for something good my life was a missin- and much to my surprise: I had nothin'. Perhaps, for the first time in my life, there was nothing I longed for that didn't have- and the things I didn't have I knew I didn't need and didn't need for a reason. So as I passed under the gate: this sacred gate of wishes, where millions had passed through for over a century making there own little prayers of hope, I said two simple and perfect words . . . .  "Thank You"