Anticipating the Light at the End of the Runway

I just finished eating a Korean breakfast, which is a surprise to my stomach that does not like much for breakfast other than a cup of strongly brewed English breakfast tea with lots of milk in it and maybe a banana. I can handle kim chee at night but not first thing on an empty American tummy.

I awoke this morning thinking "I'm going HOME tomorrow!" Earlier this week, I despaired so much at being here that I thought about moving up my flight. Then I knew I was irrational because it'd mess up my Rotarian hosts' whole schedule that they have gone to great trouble and no minor expense to please me. I am not in control of my own schedule, and that is what is making me feel claustrophobic.

Really, though, I am happy to experience Korea up close through living with the Kang family; they have been MOST kind ... and fun. (Wait until I upload some photos: Mrs. Kang has a designer fridge with Swarovski crystals in the handles and doors and an LCD display of alternating photos above the water dispenser.)

I forgot to say I am living in a kindergarten! My Rotarian host is its owner/principal, and the home is the fourth floor of a large building. When I toured the school, I loved seeing the little ones in their uniforms of white shirts and dark pants or pleated skirts with a matching crested blazer, especially a five-year-old girl with carefully French-braided dark hair. I wanted to hug every one of these tiny children, picking them up, kissing them on the soft back of the neck that I call "the kissy spot" and tickling their tummies with blowing air to make noise. Some of the cutest babies in the world are Asian children.

But I want to get home to my own cute baby, our new granddaughter who is now two weeks old. One of our friends wrote that she may later ask me, "Nana, were you there when I was born?" (since Clint and I were there when Trevor was born). I'll have to truthfully reply "No, honey, I was in Bhutan."

I have found some unexpected cultural differences between men and women: even though I am the honored guest, the men took off walking by themselves the first night I arrived, leaving me to trail behind with the two young females. One man, however, has been paying particular attention and gave me a hug goodbye last night: I suspect he wanted to see what hugging American women with breasts feels like. I have decided from observation that if you ever see an Asian woman with breasts, they surely must be purchased rather than endowed; even Wonder Bread can't be that powerful to build strong bodies AND breasts.

Nearly all the people here are very slender, and all the women's dress sizes must begin with a negative sign. I have seen only two young Korean girls who are "big" here but would look entirely normal by American standards; there are more large young men. I don't understand because my other observation of Koreans is that they eat all the time and in very large portions: before I went to bed last nigh tat 11:30, the whole family was eating garlicky ramen noodles. Either the population is on Pepcid or GERD does not exist here.

I will so SO HAPPY to return to cool weather! The temps are chilly here at night in the 60s, but the house is heated through the floor, and I dislike walking on a hot floor. I have a tiny REI thermometer (with compass) attached to my purse, and the air temp at floor level is 85 degrees. I leave the window open, but it does not compensate.

By the way, the pitfall of sleeping with an open window at a kindergarten is that I awake to some song that sounds like a combination of a Korean "It's a Small World" and Barney's "I Love You, You Love Me." I haven't started screaming yet, but now I envision how General Noriega felt when the CIA incessantly blasted his compound with Aerosmith or whatever was chosen to drive him crazy.

I will continue my blog with experiences I didn't have time to transmit while in Tibet, Kathmandu or Bangkok. I need to share the stories of the people, times and places that now have become part of my memories of the world. I have to tell you about what the light looks like glinting of the top of Everest or the genuine kindness of my Bhutanese driver who always wanted me to be comfortable.

See you soon ...

---

Pepcid is © Johnson & Johnson • Merck Consumer Pharmaceuticals Co. 1998-2007. All rights reserved.

The image of kim chee was originally posted to Flickr by Nagyman at http://www.flickr.com/photos/nagy/23219340/.

Thing are Looking Up!

It is 1:30 a.m. and I am home from a very long day with my hosts' daughter, "Judy." She drove me to Seoul --- about 90 minutes away --- with another house guest, the Korean 23-year-old family friend who is now a Canadian resident and will be going to school in "Flor-EE-dah," as he says. The young people were good company.

We went to the marvelous national museum for history, art and archaeology, a tourist shopping street with tschotckes (and the first white people I've seen since stepping off the plane three days ago), a traditional area of shopping, a department store for shopping --- some of you know that shopping is not my favorite sport --- and a night market where we bought food in a typical Korean street vendor "cafe."

Our dining area was more like the sidewalk stalls at Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, but this is Korea and I asked if the food was safe. At least it wasn't "dogh" of last night's dinner fame, and I decided the cultural experience was worth potential digestive upset. The stalls are like a Korean workingman's fast-food delivery by competent ladies who ladle up soups, deep-fried veggie platters and highly spiced and savory meats. The marginally sheltered three or four tables with each stall are set off from the traffic by a metal railing. Our entrepreneurial ladies erected a set of wooden block stairs on each side of the fence so diners could climb to their stall in the middle, rather than walking around and perhaps getting strong-armed to stop at the first stall. It worked.

I, with my full tummy, was ready to slump down in the back seat of the minivan and sleep my way home from Seoul, but bright-eyed, thin and energetic guide and youngster Judy announced she had one more surprise for my day. And a surprise it was; no slumping for me! Instead of heading homeward, she drove to the nearby Seoul Namsan Tower, a 777-foot-high communications tower with observation deck, the third-highest in the world.

"Only one kilometer!," she chirped at 9:15 at night. Yeah, only one K in distance, I thought, but those are stairs and I'm tired. I remembered another lesson of last year's travel: "Whatever is suggested, do." My Rotarian hosts had gone to a lot of planning a memorable time for me and I ought not be grumpy.

One K later (and after Judy and I saw that a cable car ran up the other side!), we were very pleased with our efforts and rewarded with a marvelously breathtaking nighttime view. Judy lamented only that we saw mostly couples walking up the hill, and her young heart yearned for some fellow of her own. The mom in me soothed "All in good time."

So good times is the theme of tonight's thought: Good times are where we make them, in spite of ---- or embracing --- physical effort (walking up steep hills) or mental challenges (overcoming personal cultural bias). My wise friend Larry Berenato once said "Gratitude is an attitude," so again I am very grateful to be welcomed by new friends through Rotary and simply to be alive and seeing all of these unknown things with my own eyes.

I Should Have Been a Vegetarian

Remember what I just said about tempting the Fates with "How bad could it be?"

I found out tonight --- and it was really bad --- when my hostess pointed to the cooking meat and said "dog."

OH MY GOSH, that's right, how could I forget? They EAT DOGS in Korea! I saw two cats yesterday and mentally noted there were no dogs, whereas Carole and I saw dogs by the dozens in Bhutan. When I told my host mother that I did not want to eat dog and noted dismay on her face, I thought perhaps this was a cultural confrontation when I should "Buck up, little camper" and do my best not to barf.

Korean restaurants serve so many dishes --- there were 30 at merely lunch today --- that I looked around for something to eat at the same time and disguise whatever is the taste of dog. My host mother had already served me some meat --- "Filet of Fluffy" was the tragedy I imagined --- so I grabbed a slice of pickled vegetable to wrap around the tiniest piece of meat. Fortunately, all I tasted was veggie.

How could these otherwise very nice people so causually chew and swallow Man's Best Friend? Was I eating beagle, mutt or Akita? Barbarians. But had living through invasion by the Japanese, World War II and the Korean War brought such starvation on the country that they learned to eat protein wherever they found it?

We sat on the heated floor at low tables with recessed grills in the tops. It was bad luck or being the guest of honor that positioned me front and center for roasting Rottweiler. The Koreans casually poked at the meat, turning it over and over, and then I saw more raw meat arrive. One woman offered mustard sauce, pointed to the thinly sliced meat of an odd color and said "Delicious." Not on your life. I pictured Mindy, our Australian Shepherd, and declined.

Other women were piling the bones on their plates and pulling off meat with chopsticks or sucking it from the joints. Simply barbarians, I thought as I hoped I wouldn't be ill. I had eaten enough to show I was not rejecting their culture and then concentrated on veggies and soup.

I wondered about people who could eat a puppy that surely had looked with trusting brown eyes at its cook. I rationalized that I had eaten zebra when I was in college in Kenya, but at least zebras are wild and usually killed by lions or crocodiles rather than tiny grandmothers with butcher knives.

Fast forward to after-dinner grocery shopping with my host mother who wanted to know what I'd like to have for breakfast. ("Not poodle," I bitterly thought about saying.) As we walked past the meat department, I asked my host's 21-year-old daughter to point out sliced dog in the deli case so I could recognize it the next time it was served for dinner. Her eyes widened in utter horror.

"Not dohg!" She almost wailed. "Dohck! DOHCK!" The way I had heard duck pronounced with a Korean accent had made me think she was saying dog, and I had jumped to conclusions based on cultural stereotype.

I had just had a lesson about reserving judgment of a new situation before I condemned it. I had, however, remembered another lesson when traveling last year: Whatever is offered, accept. I had accepted trying something new, contrary to how awful I thought it was for an American to eat dog, and my fears proved unfounded. (Thank goodness we had gone shopping or I'd still be thinking they were barbarians!)

I wonder what cultural confusion I will encounter tomorrow? At least I know that my Korean hosts don't eat puppies any more.

Am I Really 'Sposed to Eat What's Squirming on My Plate?

When the octopus tentacle got traction on my tongue, I probably should have been more concerned. When the next sucker stuck to a tooth, though, I knew I better do something fast: I counterattacked by biting it, chewing it around and popping some very spicy kim chee in my mouth to stun it into submission as I swallowed it.

I had just landed in Seoul and naturally was trying to show I was unfazed at eating dinner that was still alive and trying to escape from me. (I decided it's not "food" until it at least stays where it is.) After all, I have eaten so much weird stuff in Japan, and I can be brave: I've given birth twice without anesthesia and compared to that, how bad could it be? (Note: People who rationalize "How bad could it be?" are generally tempting the Fates to show them how bad it can be ...)

But back to the inchworm behavior on my plate: Obviously I won that round. I'm writing 24 hours later and have not had scary things erupt from my stomach (as in the horrible scene from Aliens), so there's another reason to be grateful for digestive juices.

I am, however, exhausted with a capital X. The accumulation of four and a half weeks of travel and rolling through five countries in the last four days --- I forgot to say we also were in Bangladesh, but that is another story --- has gotten to me.

In Hong Kong, I was terribly tired of Chinese people bumping me, shoving past me, getting in my space or trying to hustle us. Carole and I were targets walking down the sidewalk for "Madam! Rolex copy?" or "Madam! Prada purse?" I actually put my hand up to a guy's face to keep him away from me. I thought about decking another man who said "Madam! Tailor-made suit? Make you beautiful!," but I just kept walking. I wonder if Chinese people don't consider bumping as rude because they live in a crowded country, but I hate to be touched by strangers. A girl on the plane actually held my elbow to pull me aside so her mother could pass.

I am in Seoul now and ready for home and my husband taking care of me after five weeks of travel. I feel like I can't even remember being home.

This is the first time I have been able to get to an Internet. I am at the Grand Hotel (which ain't bad) in Onyang (I think), Korea. The Rotarians booked it for me, and tomorrow I am going to the home of a past district governor whose daughter served as my interpreter at the airport last night. It is closing time for the Internet, so for now, Th-th-th-that's all, folks!

Transition Time in Asia

I pride myself on traveling fast and light, but my suitcase definitely has gotten heavier. I've tried to blame it on being at sea level with increased humidity and my clothes absorbing water, but it's really the presents I've bought for my family. I have unrolled the small duffel bag to solve my problem.


Carole and I are winding down here in Hong Kong. It is defintely a big city and big cities do not appeal to me (except for Sydney, which I LOVED --- that was four years ago with our yongest son, Owen, when he was 22). Carole will leave tomorrow for home in Pennsylvania, and my flight to Seoul takes off about an hour after her departure. After a month of traveling together, we suddenly feel that time has run short and let's hurry up and be sure to do everything we meant to do. We can hardly remember being in Beijing.


By the way, who has received post cards so far? Clint and the boys say they haven't received a thing, although I started mailing postcards four weeks ago! Oh well, please don't take it personally if you think I have not communicated.

Hong Kong is very, very noisy and so is this Internet cafe that apparently derives its main income from adolescent boys whose parents don't mind (or don't know) that they spend their afternoons on Internet games and being a nuisance to serious adults who want to type in peace. Guess it's been too long since Travis and Owen were that age because I would have beaten them for being so obnoxious. Some other patrons were also turning around to look at the kids, so I asked the fellow running the place to ask the kids to tone down. He said no.

We are having dinner tonight with Clint's niece who happens to be working in Hong Kong, so I will convey kisses from her mom in Northern California and be able to truthfully report that Jean is indeed well and happy. You know how we parents like visual verification when it comes to our children.

Although I wrote six months ago about visiting the Rotary district in South Korea that is our exchange partner for this year, I am down to my arrival there in less than 24 hours without many details of whom I will be able to meet. Since I am arranging the sending of our team there and reception of their team in our district next, it is in the best interests of both of our districts that we do this. This is an example of "living with ambiguity" and trusting that someone indeed will pick me up at the airport.

Stay tuned for news from SEOUL! (Anyone remember the TV music program "Soul Train"? I love the way the announcer said "SOUUUUUUUL!" Don't think any Koreans will recognize my reference, though ...)

Talk to you when I am in a different time zone.

Karen Goes Underground

I am so proud of myself as a Southern Californian: Today I learned to successfully negotiate the subway system and also take the funicular (tram) up the mountain to Victoria Peak. Talk about the sublime to the ridiculous: After a spectacular ride up, up, up the mountain, we ate at the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company - Hong Kong! It has about the best view of anyplace that doesn't cost a ton o' money to sit for hours and watch the sun fade from the sky. We have had rainy weather for two days, so the misty clouds over the Hong Kong Harbour gave a magic that clear skies are powerless to bestow. Again, Carole and I consider ourselves lucky, lucky, lucky.

"But Karen," you ask, "how are you managing to update your blog every day when the freakin' Internet time is so costly?" (Remember, it's very expensive real estate here and they have to recoup the rent somehow). It's the local version of Starbucks and as long as I buy something and type for 15 minutes or less, Internet is free. The drawback is that I have a timer reminding me to type my little heart out and someone watching for the time to be up; it's like elementary school and little girls counting time on the swings when we ought to share and play nicely.

OK, I'm going to stop and go find some more to do tonight in Hong Kong.