Hitting A Wall: An Atheist In Israel

I don't really blog anymore. I guess I have less funny things to say here than I did about Asia, so I have mostly dispensed of my online commentary. I found this piece that I wrote for no-one two years ago. I'm not sure what I think, but it made me think. 

So, for your consideration...

Hitting A Wall: An Atheist In Israel

I press my hands against the blocks and look up, but I can’t see the sun. I am in the shadow of something enormous. I turn my attention back to the mass of grey in front of me, running my fingers lightly down the minute cracks in this intimidating façade. On either side of me, my friends are murmuring prayers and questions into the wall. But we’re only the most recent; this place knows the suffering of thousands. It’s hard to leave, and I retreat slowly, letting the full scope of the place flood my field of vision as I back away. Finally, our group is rejoined, and we depart. I can’t help but look back one last time, just long enough to glimpse, in angry drips of black spray paint:

“Fuck this apartheid bullshit <3”

Said turns to us with an expression I cannot interpret. “Welcome to Ramallah.”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

I am not a Christian, Muslim or a Jew. I’m not really anything. I didn’t understand when I took my first religious studies class in the fall of 2006 that it would come to shape the course of my undergraduate career. But this story isn’t about the flipping of a switch or some singular, crystallized moment of clarity. It’s about a turning point.

This wasn’t a beginning or an ending.

It was just something in the middle.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

[Author’s Note: While, in my mind, nothing we did on this trip was particularly dangerous (for us or either of the governments we visited), I’ve been advised to keep the details of our journey vague. Which is fine, because in truth, it wasn’t really about any specific event anyway. It is more about the nature of a place that forces you to align yourself. To an outsider, Israel screams one question more loudly than anything: “What do you believe?”]

Tonight, I feel the anger like a physical blockage in my throat. At this moment, spirituality is not a serene abstraction. It is a question bellowed in rage, ricocheting off the rooftops of Ibileen. The conflict I witness here confronts and magnifies every conflict I know internally. All of the hurt and rejection of my youth comes tumbling recklessly out of my mouth, spilling across the faces of my friends. Memories start flying through my head like missiles, exploding light onto places in my mind kept locked for years, revisiting the protracted, clumsy pilgrimage that has led me to this moment, Godless in the desert.

I recall with absolute clarity, at a conference for middle-class God-fearing teenagers of the Midwest, placing my forehead on a gigantic wooden cross, making my mind more vulnerable than ever before. I remember the lock of soft brown hair falling across my youth leader’s eyes on that bus in Utah as she tried, nicely, to explain why my best friend was hell-bound for being a boy that loved boys. The girl with the yellow sweater who raised her hand in the middle of our Introduction to Buddhism class to inquire “where Jesus fit in”. And now, Matthew’s arm draped over my shoulders as my venomous words fly simmering into this cool May evening, my fury rendering me inarticulate. The shame and disappointment of exposing my heart and mind to a God that never showed me any similar courtesy- it all pours over me like a flash flood. I have studied faith for years. I have met with archbishops, priests, chaplains, rabbis, imams and monks, and debated countless hours in middle-of-the-night, over-caffeinated conversations about the nature of God. I couldn’t explain why I had to physically come to the Holy Land to finally accept that I couldn’t believe. 

In a way, this realization was beautiful in its irony. Life as an atheist Religious Studies scholar is filled with these conflicting sensibilities. My love and respect for my faithful friends casts an even harsher glare on my own spiritual shortcomings. But I know exactly what devotion looks like, and I know that I’ve never felt that way. Still, it took a long time to discover that a life as a half-hearted Christian was the only thing more painful than admitting you’re not one at all. The turning point is about a change in how you define yourself, choosing to categorize your spirituality by the things that you do stand for, rather than conceding to the implicit accusation of something flawed in the core of your soul.

Back in Israel, my mind is muddy. Hot tears flow indiscriminately onto my chest, mingling with the sweat and dust of the Mediterranean. For all the things I can’t understand and the people I’ll never know. For the heat and the hostility and the hope. For the grainy, horrible pictures at Yad Vashem and the libraries of Bethlehem, stocked with textbooks smuggled in foreigners’ suitcases. For my own paltry problems. Out the window, they’re cutting down olive trees. Israel isn’t a place that requires metaphors.

Later in my trip, I would find myself in front of the Western Wall. For all of the faults I find with religion in general, I say with equal honesty that the ten minutes I spent in that place was the closest I ever felt to the idea of God. Two weeks in this land was overwhelming; I have little concept of the lifetimes that have played out on this ground. But I do know that this is the place that changed me. I have felt a shift in my humanity, the kind of calling I never understood until now.

In the future, I will do what I can. I will read and study and make this problem my life’s work. I’ve put you on my soul, and I will come back. But for now, I will join you, scratching my knuckles raw, beating my fists against these walls and stuffing our dreams into the cracks of history. My request is simple, five words scratched onto three inches of parchment:

“Let us both know peace.”

Letters From Terminal 3

I have had four bottles of Summit Natural Drinking Water (that I suspect is not natural at all).

I have played so many games of solitaire that I've forgotten what year I'm in.

I'm sitting next to a booth of either Cambodian Christian Evangelicals or drug runners that switch tables every time one of them wants to "talk numbers".

I have exactly one pen, one deck of Bicycle playing cards, one novel on a fake Alaskan Zion and 8,000 pages of homework to occupy the remaining three hours of my fourteen-hour detention in the Ninoy Aquino airport. The Fashion Rack is alternately blasting inappropriate club music and mind-numbing Nickelback singles at old Filipina women shuffling flowered luggage through the 4th floor departures mall.

Cambodian guy has run off to the bathroom for the third time in an hour, intensifying drug mule suspicions. Then again, his mustache and hairline may be sufficient evidence of a vengeful God.

Jury is still out.

Strongly contemplating alcohol as a coping mechanism.

Two hours, fifty-two minutes.

A Nuclear Nihon Vacation

There are a lot of things to be said about my jaunt to Japan, but I suppose that first of all, I'll say this:


this trip very nearly didn't happen.


And you want to know who to blame?


Children. And Buddha.


Backtrack:

I guess I shouldn't be bitching. It's only due to the unique confluence of strange Asian holidays that I got to take this pricy little mini-break in the first place. The plan is to go up to Seoul Wednesday after school, hop the high-speed KTX down to Busan, crash for the night with a Canadian Couchsurfing host and then catch the 9:00 ferry to Fukuoka. This beautiful, pain-stakingly crafted plan is blown to smithereens about 30 mintues into the Icheon-Seoul commute.

We are not moving. This is not "heavy" traffic. This is not "rush hour" traffic. (As if an any more inaccurate moniker existed.)

This is I-hate-everyone-and-everything-around-me traffic.

This is praying-for-the-world-to-end-so-I-don't-have-to-listen-to-this-crazy-ajumma-yapping-on-her-phone-for-one-more-second traffic.

This is traffic so bad I would rather watch the movie Traffic. This is saying something.

The cause of this traffic? CHILDREN. I have a profound disdain for children most of the time anyway, but this is too much. The reason for all of this traffic is CHILDREN'S DAY. Which I'm pretty sure is a fake holiday anyway. I hate children.

So, we're late. We're really freaking late. This bus trip normally takes an hour and we are now clocking in at three and a half. Even yet, there is still a shred of optimism left in me. I'm thinking "Oh, so great that I decided to come up right after school! My KTX isn't until 11:30, and it's only 10!" No, friends. No.

After shoveling something from Paris Baguette in my mouth, I decide to catch a cab. SURELY this will be faster than the packed subway. I will be at Seoul Station in no time. No.

I am running, sprinting, breaking land speed records up to the ticket gate at Seoul Station. It is 11:23. I have made it! No.

The attendant checks my ticket and frowns. My heart sinks. I READ THE TICKET WRONG. I was on the 11:00 KTX, which is probably halfway to Gwangju by now. Meanwhile, there is a very nice Canadian in Busan waiting up until two in the morning for me to stay on his couch for free. I am having a meltdown.

I call Matt the Canadian in a complete panic. I am now choking over raggedy breath and frustration tears trying to explain to this guy I've never spoken to in person that I have missed my train. And bless his moose-eating heart, he was the greatest sport in the world. He assured me that the 5:30 AM train ticket I bought would probably maybe get there in time to catch the 9:00 ferry and then texted me the name of the port in Korean for the taxi driver. God save the Queen, and Matt the Canadian.

I am exhausted from frustration and my five hours of travel but still need some place to rest my head for the night. After wandering around Seoul Station for twenty-five minutes, I come upon the skeeviest love hotel in the creepiest alley I've ever wandered down at two in the morning. I pay $30 for the privilege and sink into the bed in my blue-lit, sparkle wallpaper room. I watch an episode of Jersey Shore at 2:30 AM and fall asleep for three hours.

I wake up at 4:30 in the morning. I have lost my will to live. I wrench myself out of bed to take a zombie shower and watch animals killing each on the Discovery Channel while I dry my hair. I nearly forgot to put socks on. One more salute to the prostitute at the ice machine and I'm off.

Miss Yun-erisms, Part I

So... Koreans say funny things sometimes. Even though these are not all Miss Yun-specific, she was pretty much the inspiration for this post, so I am naming it in her honor.

The funny stuff of late:

Deuces Wild
Context: I had my hand on the right side of my stomach and was grimmacing, following another dose of Korean lunchtime intestinal-hate when Miss Yun spotted me.

Miss Yun: "Jennifer, are you okay?"

Me: "Yeah, I'm okay. It's just that my stomach hurts. I'm not sure how you say in Korea... (pausing while trying to conjure word for indigestion)..."

Miss Yun: "OH! Jennifer! You can't... make a deuce? I'm sorry!"


... sigh.

I Hate My Job
Context: Sleepily trying to make conversation with my third-grade before-school students one morning.

Me: "So, Ju Hyun, what did you do this weekend?"

Ju Hyun: "Working."

Me: "Oh, really? What do you do?"

Ju Hyun: (puzzled expression then rapid-fire Korean discussion with my co-teacher, Mr. Hyun)

Mr. Hyun: (completely non-plussed, reading a newspaper) "Picks up cow shit."


Jesus What?
Context: Regular class lesson, probably doing a Jeopardy game.

Me: "Okay, class, what is another word for 'religion'? Do you know?"

One of my students, Sang-Cheol: "Superstition."


... my kids impress me sometimes. Polysyllabic English humor? I had to laugh.

I Don't Believe In Air Conditioning, He Says

I cannot understand you, Steve. I nod encouragingly, as I am clearly supposed to, but this is all a little overwhelming. I am trying, and failing, to inconspicuously tug my short-shorts and tank top into a less revealing position. It's 2 AM, and this Austrian is wide awake. I really couldn't tell you what he was pontificating on at this exact moment, but he is pacing around the far end of our room, occassionally checking to make sure I am still his captive (audience). I become fascinated with his impressive beard and fantasize about placing things in it while he sleeps. Just as I loll over to prop myself up on an elbow, settling in for the rest of this lecture, the pants drop.

Hello, Steve.

* * * *

Let's backtrack. It's day four of winter vacation, and my flight has just landed in the Phnom Penh International Airport. The air is dusty and dry. I have not planned this. I hop into a cab and literally decide on a hostel on the way downtown. Stab at a point on the map, and my driver grunts assent.

The amount of motorbikes here is wild. They roar loudly all around me, bobbing and weaving through every manner of vehicular transport on this crowded road. Max number of people witnessed on a single motorbike: 5. Wear a helmet.

We arrive at Royal Guesthouse, whose sign is slightly obscured by an unsettling amount of ferns. To my suprise and delight, the front desk girl was a peppy little Australian-Korean girl who informed me that they had one room left.
Dandy.

A Cambodian housekeeper took me up a treacherous flight of poorly lit stairs to check out the room. After wrenching the five-pound padlock off the gate (better safe than sorry...?) I had arrived. My room, interestingly enough, had three beds. I quickly decided that I was going to sleep in a different one every day. Left my stuff on Bed #1 and precariously picked my way back down the stairs.

When I sidled back up to the reception desk, the host was engaged in an intense discussion with a burly, auburn-haired lumberjack of a man, speaking with an accent I did not recognize. As I'm standing waiting to get my room key, I realize that the lumberjack is distressed because he always stays here when he comes to Cambodia. The girl explains that I got the last room. Lumberjack turns to me with mournful eyes.



There is no way out of this.



So now I have an Austrian roommate. Steve.

Steve is a barrel-chested pro backpacker that apparently hails from the mountain country of eastern Europe.

Things I Learned About Steve (in the first 20 minutes of our relationship):
- Steve does not believe in air conditioning.
"If it's hot, it's hot."- Stevely wisdom
- Steve is positive 9/11 was an inside job.
- Steve does not appreciate socialism.
- Steve does not appear to appreciate any other system of government.
- Steve does not appreciate Obama. Or really another other American president.
- Steve does not have qualms about silly things like personal space.
- Steve's backpack weighs more than I do.

After our initial meeting, Steve and I both leave for our separate adventuring. What I do not realize is that there is but one room key.

So. After a day of rambling around Phnom Penh, I am quite content to crash into my bed at 9:30 PM. Makeup's off, clothes are off, fan is going full speed. Coma.



All of the sudden, someone is pounding on the door. I wake up, not sure what country I'm in, and scrabble around trying to find a tank top and shorts. I'm rubbing my eyes as I lurch toward the door. And there's Steve.

Steve is awake and feelin' chatty. I don't appear to have a choice in this matter.

The TV is flipped on, and Steve starts giving a running commentary on the BBC. I have to pay pretty close attention to his lips to suss out what he is saying. The European stocks are down. And then, in what I'm sure he considers a hilarious play on words,

"Oy! The Euro stocks arr gone down same time-as mah pants!"




Two words: Banana. Hammock.




Now.

I do not know the protocol for this situation. Steve is still chattering at me as though he is not standing in front of me next to naked. Am I supposed to look at him? The ceiling? My fan? Run out of the room screaming? I am troubled.

I suppose part of the problem is that I sort of can't stop staring. Is this normal in Austria? I'm pretty sure that a package this size probably has its own intelligence and can start wars.

Steve and I ended up spending three memorable half-clothed nights together. I'll never forget our hours of awkward one-sided conversation and partial nudity. I was sad to see you go Steve, but hey- we'll always have Phnom Penh.

Every Little Earthquake

It's the purple rice again. This is never positive.

The Daewol cafeteria has this sick predictability: if, on any given day, I am presented with a meal I do like, the next day will be met with a meal I inevitably hate.

Today was that second day.

By some unfair twist of fate, however, today's potentially-mushrooms-and-onion soup was not my greatest food catastrophe of the week. No, no friends. That dubious honor is held by the seriously misguided menu of Gangnam's Tree Pub.

We came in, unsuspecting. Beers and soju are ordered. All is pleasant.

And then the ovens of blasphemy opened, and the chef deemed it necessary to slather our nachos with sweet chili sauce. And whipped cream.

We all sat, staring at this thing for a minute, mistakenly believing that we could transform this offensive dollop into sour cream by sheer force of will. Unsuccessful.

We tread lightly, crunching slowly. Some last longer than others. I quickly resign. This concoction has no business being called nachos, and is an affront to processed-cheese lovers everywhere. I am deeply saddened.

In Korea, the sad drink. Well, really everyone drinks. But I think it's safe to say that these inferior nachos were primarily to blame for our questionable decision-making that evening.

Throughout this appalling bastardization of Mexican culture, we are being gawked at. Three Korean fellows at a table behind us. What we later learn is that there is actually a friend number four, who happens to be passed out under their table.

In a classic display of "committing too early", we agree to join these gents at a larger table on the other side of the bar. They all speak varying degrees of shitty English, and appear to be in a generous mood. Someone orders a fruit platter.

Chung Su, the drunk compatriot, appears to be quite literally passed out. He curls up in the fetal position next to Natalia, and isn't heard from for the next four hours.

We bore quickly. We want to dance. Someone pays for all this booze we have ordered, and we're off.

Harlem. Usual. String of below-average military fellows, all wearing affliction T-shirts and various horrifying jewelry pieces. Skinny, excitable young Korean guys that hand us silver, shimmery business cards. Too much filtered-in artificial smoke. Vaguely recall at one point purchasing $10 worth of bottled water. Chat with Omaha bartender. Yawn. Been here, done this.

It's 4:30 AM. We're done with this place. Eating in some tiny late-night Korean joint. Spicy ramyeon that kills my lower intestine for the next 48 hours. Mono-syllabic answers muttered to some way-too-awake Korean fellow that has accompanied our group. Laughing ourselves hysterical at this pathetic, Amero-trash scenario. We have an hour until the subway starts moving. No jimchilbang in sight.

Coffeeshop across the street. We are clearly not the only people with this idea. Crash into a booth to count out the minutes until we can fall asleep standing up on the 2 Line back to Gangnam Terminal. None of us order anything. Nobody seems to care.

I've never been so happy to be on a bus in my life. I remember the first 120 seconds of that ride, the rest is lost to the most powerfully deep sleep of my life. That bus could have dropped down a rabbit hole straight into hell without me noticing.

It's probably around 8 o'clock in the morning. The streets are dead, as is the air. It's freezing, I'm in leggings, and my apartment is ten minutes away. The Paris Baguette is thoughtlessly not yet open, and I mentally resign myself to a day of hot dogs and leftover Christmas cookies.

I fall into my ugly pink bed and am dead to the world for 12 hours.


Blame the nachos.

Go Ahead, You're Only Half Mad

"Dark clouds are hanging all around.
I try to pick myself back up, but I keep falling down.
Sometimes I can't even get out of my bed,
Thinking about the night before and stupid shit that I said.
It's at the point that I'm focused on hibernation:
Less interactions with people, less complications.
Alcohol and altercations, Tylenol and conversations-
I'll be falling off the face of the Earth if I don't change.

Can I rediscover my mind? Are we wasting each other's time?
I don't cry, I don't look up at the sky and ask why.
But sometimes I feel like I'm patiently waiting to die.
Go through the motions, try to put the pen to paper with love.
But I'm still holding back, afraid of what I'm capable of."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvm2sJsLbgQ


Today is a weird day.

This weekend was fun. Seoul always has this way. Predictably chaotic.

I know I haven't really been blogging for awhile. I think that I've been pretty in my head lately, and suffering some writer's block.

Last night, that block exploded. I was up until two in the morning, scribbling and typing and pacing around my miniscule apartment. For whatever reason, I've been thinking about Israel a lot lately, and that was what came out. I miss the Middle East.

I think that Korea is finally getting normal, and that has something to do with why all this noise in my head is suddenly getting louder. Maybe it's just that I'm so used to being freaked out in Decemeber that some residual internal finals clock is being triggered out of habit.

This week the kids have exams, and I'm free to be mentally adrift all day. I've started to think about the big picture. I spend hours over cheap beer trying to locate a next move. I'm becoming aware that sometimes traveling is just another word for running.

I live in South Korea now. I have a job and friends and a life.


But I can't shake the feeling that I'm needed elsewhere.

Not Your Grandmother's Thanksgiving...

Yeah. The neighbors called the cops.

Take Off Your Pants and Jacket

How is it 9:00 in the morning already?

I leave my sleep pod. And as I pad soundlessly down the hall past the rows of gently snoring Korean women in my vaguely Communist pajamas, I am struck, once again, with the realization:



my life is weird.




In the last 48 hours I have...

- had Thai food for the second time ever. Gai Yang, very tasty.
- watched a drunk old Korean man get dragged down the street by Helios security.
- bailed out of an unsuccessful "date" with a Balinese waiter.
- hung out in a Korean bathhouse adorned with stone penis fountains.
- was served tequila shots in a bar from a very friendly middle-aged prostitute.
- kept watch for a young American girl peeing in the subway.
- bought a very professional leather messenger bag and a grey t-shirt that says "DRESS ME UP".
- had a delicious kiwi smoothie at Quiznos.




Really gotta go back to that Thai place again soon.

Delish.



<3 from Korea. Jenn.

The Red Nail Polish Made Me Do It: A Hongdae Halloween (Part I)

I am in the middle of purchasing two bottles of Hoegaarden between the legs of a Korean cowboy and English sexy zombie.



When did this become my life?




Date: October 31st, 2010
Time: 2:30 AM
Place: Hongdae, Seoul, South Korea
The Players: Jenny, Gustie, Angie, Natalia, Veanessa.
Guest Stars: black-cloaked Korean friend, guy dressed like chicken, mob of dancing ajummas.


It's Halloween.


I am dressed like kimchi. Rather convincingly, I thought, for a costume assembled in less than 36 hours.

It's just one of those nights.



The thing about nights that are supposed to be awesome is that sometimes they aren't. I think this Halloween was sort of like that. The plan was that we were all going to meet up in Hongdae and go to this club Soundholic that was having a major Halloween party. Lots of Wisco people were planning to be in attendance, so we figure it will be cool. This isn't exactly what goes down.



To start at the very beginning...


We thought we were so clever. Purchasing our bus tickets to Seoul ahead of time. How very, very fore-thoughtful of us.

Pff. Veanessa very nearly missed the bus. I'd like to credit both mine and Gustie's broken Korean pleading with the bus driver to wait as well as Veanessa's dramatic sprint out onto the platform as the bus was pulling away with us all making it onto the 3 o'clock Dongbu. (The latter event plays in slow motion in my mind.)

Mkay. So. We made it. Get to Hongdae, and we're trying to find our hostel. Gustie has booked us a room at a place called The Yellow Submarine (couldn't make this up...) and the website claims it is a five-minute walk from the subway. What it neglected to tell us was that we'd have to wind down no less than three semi-creepy alleyways to get to it. After a few confused phone calls to the receptionist, we find ourselves on the blue-painted driveway of The Yellow Submarine. We walk in, and we are aghast. Then we crack up.

Sitting at the kitchen table at the hostel are two girls from our class of Wisconsin GEPIK teachers. And then, as I turn my head to check out one of the rooms, I see that three more guys from our Wisconsin group are also staying here. All booked independently of one another. We couldn't stay away if we wanted to.


Stage: set.



Part II to follow. Because one comes after two. You get it.

Jenny and Gustie's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

I love Justin Bieber.


Or so the sign says.


Well, actually, it says something more along the lines of: Jah-seu-teen Bee-bah, but whatever. I swiped it anyway. I think it is a nice addition to my happy collection of desk chotchkies. At the moment, this assortment happens to include a red Badgers cup, no less than five different versions of Bingo, six thousand scribbled-upon worksheets and the ever-present emergency can of cheesy cheese Pringles. I have decided that upon my triumphant return to the States, there will be at least one piece of luggage solely devoted to the transport of these heavensnacks.

For the record though, I did not make this Bieberlicious sign. One of my students did. I just stole it. One of my many minor acts of thievery in this country. The "Most People Put Their Butts In The Bin" sign is now hanging on my refrigerator.


Anyway. This post is not about my mounting kleptomania.


It's about this past Saturday. Or, as it shall further be known:

TDWLEWW.S.




The Day Where Literally Everything Went Wrong. Seriously.




Here's what happened.



So, it's pretty difficult to manage a day where everything goes wrong. To that end, I will lay out this disclaimer: one thing went right on Saturday.

We found pesto.

That was the lone success of the day. I have to say though, that we have not yet sampled this pesto, and should it turn out to be completely disgusting, I would not bat an eye.

Saturday, or TDWLEWW.S., was supposed to be a day in which we met up with friend Jake in Itaewon for lunch, went to Gangnam for a rocking KPOP concert and danced the night away at a hot club in the downtown. And exactly none of these things were accomplished.

Roadblock #1: We miss our bus.
Well, to be more accurate, we never had our bus. We were shooting for the 11:00AM into Express, but instead had to take tickets on the 12:00PM. Only mildly fazed, these things happen.

Roadblock #2: Dunkin Donuts is out of my donuts.
At this point, I should have known. No plain glazed raised... this day is just going to be off. But stupidly, we brushed off this clear sign from heaven and crossed the street to Mister Donut.

Roadblock #3: Mister Donut is out of my donuts.

... I ate some thing called a "rice ring". I am confident it is still wedged in the bottom of my stomach. This day will be a disaster.

Roadblock #4: Traffic.
The bus is late. We get into Seoul around 1:30PM. Jake is leaving. We are never gonna make it in time. No Itaewon for us. What this means in layman's terms is: no Taco Bell for us. Enter: sadness.



Okay. Regroup. We decide that the best way to salvage our afternoon would be to check out the purported Western grocery selection at Lotte World in Jamsil. It's only a few metro stops from our final destination and we're suddenly flush with time. We. Need. Pesto.

The hunt is on.


Roadblock #5: We get off at the wrong subway stop.
Why or how did this happen? Not totally sure. Can probably be chalked up to us not being able to count, but we had to be aided by an elderly Korean man in the station. Who then went on to mock our pronunciation of "Lotte". After about five minutes of discussion on this single topic, I still couldn't give you a correct answer.

Roadblock #6: We are starving, and there is no food.
We are now wandering about Lotte World, which is unpleasant. It looks like one of those attempting-to-be-fancy-but-really-just-has-a-lot-of-washed-out-pastel-colors-and-ugly-fountains-everywhere malls from the U.S. in the 1970s. This food court is nasty. We want out. We want sandwiches. This will not happen.

Roadblock #7: We cannot escape Pizza Hut.
Okay. My first night in Icheon, when I pulled up all jet-lagged and exhausted in a foreign country, I have to say: I was so thoroughly thankful to have a Pizza Hut in my city. I love Pizza Hut. I really do. But I don't love it every day. And Gustie and I had just eaten there the night prior. And I'm lactose intolerant. So this is shaping up to be unpleasant.

Roadblock #8: Our hands are tied.
Because we're foreigners, our waitresses assume we are stupid and trade in our full-size, full-menu menus for the English ones. Bah. Our pizzas come out twenty minutes apart, and Gustie is about to eat the table. An order of chicken fingers is accidentally sent to our booth. Thinking it is free service-ee for the wait, Gustie tears open a sauce packet, only to have the plate whisked away moments later. We start crying we are laughing so hard. Hunger delirium has set.

Roadblock #9: Korea does not make sense.
Gustie has advice that the pesto can be found in the "department store". I am skeptical. Department stores sell clothes, not condiments. I am wrong. We find pesto. It is roughly $12 USD. We do not care.

Roadblock #10: We do not really know how to find this concert.
Okay. Olympic Stadium. Should be evident. But there are signs in Jamsil leading to a Sports Complex. Is this different from the "Sports Complex" metro stop? We don't know. Risk it. Hop back on the subway.

Roadblock #11: There are no lockers. Anywhere.
I have a full backpack. I do not want to bring this thing into the concert. Most subway stops have locker banks for just this circumstance. The Sports Complex stop however, despite being the biggest, most open subway stop I've ever been to, does not have lockers. Curses.

Roadblock #12: Jenny does a faceplant.
Mhmm. Right in the middle of the subway station. Because, for some inane reason, there is a stage right in the middle of the subway station. This thing is only raised like six inches, but I am busy scoping the joint for the invisible lockers, and did not make this particular observation. It's too late. I go flying. Spectacularly so. And my backpack, which is now weighed down with tomato sauce and pesto continues it's trajectory over my shoulders, banging my head down to the ground. Delightful.

Roadblock #13: We need a hotel.
What's making this difficult is that the Olympic complex is sort of squatting right in-between two downtown areas. There is no hotel in walking distance that we can see. Okay, we shall find a taxi. No big deal.

Roadblock #14: We can't get a taxi.
We were turned down by a cabbie because he was not willing to make a U-turn.



I am about to kill someone.


Roadblock #15: Our eventual driver has no idea where we are going.

Roadblock #16: This is because our hotel address is wildly inaccurate.

Roadblock #17: Our hotel is out of Western style rooms.
What this means is that we will be sleeping on mats on the floor. Luckily by the time we actually got back to the hotel, we were way past caring about this.

Roadblock #18: We are running dangerously late.
It says on our tickets that the concert "may stop admitting" people after 5:30 PM.
It is 5:15 PM, and we are on the other side of the river. It is rush hour traffic. We are screwed.

Roadblock #19: We are in the nosebleed section and it's freezing.
After a breakneck sprint from the cab, we have arrived. We made it. Tickets are exchanged, beer is bought, and we find our seats. Which are in the second tier of an Olympic stadium. It is not close. We learn that our friends have snuck into the VIP area. Mood: sullen.

Roadblock #20: They are playing all ballads.
Seriously?? We came for some tunes. We are uninterested in your soulful murmuring in Korean. This is now boring.



We are out of here. The cheap beer buzz is wearing off, and we have dancing to do. Goodbye KPOP.

New plan. We're going out in Gangnam. Hoping to resurrect the broken shards of what was supposed to be an awesome day, we will recreate the splendor of our last trip to Gangnam. A trip to The Tacos has us feeling pretty good, and we are ready to rock out. Club time it is!


Roadblock #21: The club is a morgue.
There is nobody here. This is a train wreck.



The rest of the night was spent alternating between bars and clubs, drinking too much beer and rubbing elbows with way too many Koreans. I am sure that several fire code restrictions were violated in Noise Basement that evening.


The whole day was a complete disaster.


I suppose karmically, we had it coming. Korea has been pretty great so far; maybe we needed to have a dud.


I just hope the next bad day doesn't involve any more ballads and bruises.


<3 aggravation from Korea. Jenny.

Things We Do

I was just passed a note from one of my colleagues that was written by a student.

Here are the contents:

"T<3 Jennifer
Hello, Jennifer.
My name is Young Ah.
Firstly, I like you.
Because, you are my English teacher. And you like Korea.
?? I can speak English but little?? I'm sorry!!
I can't speak English very well. I'm sorry---
But I love you Jennifer --- <3

Thank You for my Teacher (Jennifer)

From. Jennifer's student (Young Ah) 2010.10.20"



So.



My fingers are tapping on this black keyboard.

My desk smells like the grape gum that's rolling over my tongue.

This note is what's in front of my eyes.

This song is what's in my ears:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oPuTuhMtkhs

And this is what's on my mind:




I am happy.


<3 from Korea. Jenny.

When You Say Wisconsin...

It still blows my mind. Let's break this weekend down, by the numbers:



Cities traveled: 3
Semi-sober conversations with non-Americans: 7?
Rounds of Cass: infinity
Songs sung at Korean kareoke: 19
Hours in mass transit: 5
Love hotels slept in: 1
Shots taken by Wisconsinites following the OSU game: 23



It's amazing I ever make it back to Icheon in one piece.
Sifting through the pics and texts now... back with details soon.


<3 from Korea. 제니파

What Happens In Hongdae...

My head snaps back up. I accidentally nodded off again. It's 7:42 AM, and I'm in a strange place once again. No ugly lamp this time, but as I watch the morning sun racing up outside the window, I am similarly disoriented. I rub my eyes. Doesn't help.

And then the silver-haired Korean man asleep next to me finally rouses.

We sort of appraise each other, embarrassed. Clearly this isn't where either of us thought we would end up this morning. I don't know your name, sir, but I do apologize for falling asleep on your shoulder. In any case, please let's not mention this again. I think we're both content to let this be a one-night thing.






Then the train screeches to a halt, and I quickly scamper off into the Gangnam Terminal.

Pervs.

----------------------------------------------------------

I saw probably the most accurate reflection of my disheveled state in the eyes of Christine, an incredibly sweet English-speaking Korean news reporter on my bus back to Icheon. We had met a mere 12 hours earlier, on the bus into Seoul, back when my hair and outfit were still presentable.

Now, however, I am crashed into a red leather seat on the Dongbu Express, curled in a ball, wishing for death or breakfast, and Christine comes trotting down the aisle.

This. Is. Mortifying.


"Jennifer... did you get to sleep?"

"...no."

"Ohh... I am sorry."

Later, she comes up to hand me a pear.

"This will help you."




Sigh.


This is what Hongdae does to people. I'm from the burbs. We don't party like this in 이천.

Started out as almost an afterthought. Angie and Gustie had never been yet, so sure, Friday. Let's go. Hit a club, have some beers. Little did we know.

First order of business: food. And by food, we mean chicken. We stopped at a restaurant literally called "Food Place". I love this country.

At dinner, we became acquainted with Angie's new friends: Natalia, of the Canadian persuasion, and Sam, a young English gentleman. Then the five of us dove into two platters of chicken and an enormous pitcher of beer.

** Author's Note: PALAU IS A COUNTRY, B*TCHES! I Wiki'd it. (Re: Having emerged from United Nations trusteeship (administered by the United States) in 1994, it is one of the world's youngest and smallest sovereign states.) Maybe you had to be there. In any case, all parties in attendance owe me a drink. **

Anyhow.

It's club time.

I think we thought that finding a dance club would be a little more self-evident than it actually was. We wandered for a bit, and then ran into a group of Korean guys out celebrating a birthday. (Korea Fun Fact #8769: It is always somebody's birthday. If you have no excuse to go out and party, you're just not trying hard enough.) So, we're off. They ask if we prefer an electronic or a hip-hop club, but I don't really want to drop X in some Korean club bathroom, so hip-hop it is.

Begin the descent.

Into Cocoon, one of the biggest dance clubs I've ever seen in person. This place is wild. It's just this massive stimulus overload. There are people dancing in rows they are packed so tight. There are these neon green beams of light flashing everywhere. There are like five truly gigantic screens on one end of the club, playing music videos. There is a twenty-foot wide DJ booth with three emcees. There are poles and stairs and different levels and it is hot and booming. And we are right on top of all of it.

I don't really know what else to say about Cocoon, other than that it was absurd and almost too big. We were there for awhile... probably an hour or so, but after that we were so dehydrated and tired that we had to wade back over to the bar just for water. Decided that a smaller club was in order.

And what is right down the block?

Papa Gorilla.



To protect what's left of the dignity of everyone involved, I won't go into all of the gory details of Papa Gorilla Round 2. Suffice it to say, all five of us had a very interesting evening, and it took about two hours of debriefing Saturday afternoon to get the whole story on what happened Friday night.

Here's what I will tell you:

Someone ended up on the 7:30 AM bus back to Icheon.

Someone ended up passed out in the club's stairwell.

Someone made out with a Venezuelan.

Someone didn't leave Papa Gorilla until 6:30 AM.

Someone didn't watch The Bounty Hunters at the DVD 방. And changed clothes in a 24-hour KFC outside the subway terminal.



If you want the real story, you'll probably have to inquire later. Which will give us enough time to come up with something convincing.



<3 from Korea. Jenny.

Is This What You Thought It Would Be Like?

Do you ever get that feeling that you're just exactly where you need to be? Right place, right time, all that? Like your life is just lining up in exactly the way it's supposed to?




Yeah, me neither.



So, life. Here's what's on the docket for this weekend:

- accompany Angie and Gustie on their first Hongdae experience.
(If you are of the faithful variety, any shout-outs for our safety and navigational skills would be lovely.)

- possibly hang out with Miss Yun and her brother at some sort of Korean military facility?

- race back to Icheon for the cheap amazing beef restaurant with the Yeoju/Icheon crew.

- omelettes.


So, obviously none of this has actually happened yet- I'll let you know how it pans out. In the meantime...


I just want to say to my friends at home that may or may not read this-



I think about you all the time. I feel like Korea is the right place for me at the moment, but I miss you hard. I wish I could transport you all here with me and laugh maniacally while force-feeding you kimchi and soju, but you all have lives too and would not fit in my tiny pink apartment.

Kristen & Ben- you guys are in a photo on my desk in this hideously gaudy gold frame I found at the dollar store and my kids ask about you constantly. I'm going to try to print out more pics here, but if anyone has some to send me, I would love it.


Anywho. Sappy. Just wanted you to know I'm thinking of you and even though my life is sort of flipped upside down right now, my compass always points to the midwest.


<3 from Korea. Jenny.

This Water Tastes Like Melons

Oh, this is beautiful. Only took thirty-nine days and some vaguely pathetic pleading with a cranky but probably overpaid middle-aged T World rep, but I'm back in the world of telecommunications. It's red, it's shiny, there are some still-mysterious functions on it, but I HAVE A CELL PHONE.


010-4927-3009. Save that.


Korea Cell Phone Fun Fact #1: Texts cost 20 won. To put this in perspective for the folks in the states, 1,000 won= roughly 1 US dollar. Go Korea.


Just tested out a little bit of the Korean I practiced last night to great success. As long as someone wants to have the exact same conversation as "Sangmin" and "Jaemin" in this Teach Yourself Korean book I will have that sh*t on lock.

A few useful expressions covered in the "Cheers!" Unit of this text:

"Soju hana chuseyo."
- Please give me one soju.
(I lied. This will never be useful. I'm not sure I've ever ordered one at a time.)

"Kurigo anju-do chuseyo. Mwo issoyo?"
- And please give me bar snacks. What snacks do you have?

"Konbae!"
- Cheers!

I would type it out in Korean, but I'm not feeling that motivated at the moment. My procrastination level hasn't quite peaked yet.



What we were talking about again?

GEPIK Orientation? Sure.


So, this year the new GEPIK teachers' three-day orientation was held in Osan. Seemingly simple enough; Osan isn't super far from Icheon. Never been there though, so there is some trepidation. My cohorts for the trip- Gustie, Veanessa and Ben- tentatively agree that going up to the Seoul Express Bus Terminal would at least put us semi-close to the subway line we needed, so we got some tickets for the 8 o'clock. (Which we nearly missed while chatting on the platform.)



This was a stupid idea.



Gustie's co-teacher had given her some directions to Yatup, but being a little squirrely about going to a new terminal, we figured we couldn't go wrong with Gangnam. Well. Turns out...


So, we got to the Express Bus Terminal at 9:00 AM. We were supposed to meet the bus for people from Icheon, Yongin and Yeoju at the Jukjeon station. This was at least twenty subway stops away, with transfers. No way in hell we're doing it in 30 minutes.

Begin: Plan B.

There was (in the infinite wisdom of the GEPIK coordinators) a latecomers bus. It was set to leave from the Osan station at 10:45 AM. Basically, Osan was a similar number of metro stops, but along a different line. We figure surely we can get there by 10:45. So, executive decision. We're headed to Osan.

Plan B actually looked as though it would work. For about half an hour. It's right around 10:30, and we're optimistic about our chances. Three more stops. We can make it.




Then the train stops.





Everyone gets out.




We're oblivious to this for a few minutes before a Korean man tells us that this is the last stop. Say what?

We are very confused. The subway map clearly shows a continuance of this line to Osan. We're only two stops away, on a platform in the middle of nowhere. We are cursing Korea for this ridiculousness.

Just as we're contemplating trying to catch a cab (that probably would have had to materialize out of pure willpower) a train pulls up on the other side of the platform. Heading to Osan. This is insane. As it turns out, the line we were on has this weird one-stop offshoot from the platform we were on. Therefore, we had to switch from the LEFT side of the platform to the RIGHT side of the platform, to get to a different train going basically the same direction. Srsly.

Unfortunately, this is not the last of our problems. We miss the latecomers bus by about five minutes, so we are forced to take a cab. Our pre-orientation packets claim this trip will take about twenty minutes. Okay.

We scurry over to the taxi stand, pile ourselves and our stuffed backpacks/suitcases in, and hand the address over to the driver.



Blank, blank eyes, my friends.



This man has no idea where we're trying to go. We attempt to explain in our broken Korean. Osan? KSA? The address is written in English. We don't know. Other taxi-takers are waiting and annoyed. This is useless.


We go through about three different drivers before one finally claims to understand where we're trying to go. And even then, only with the strict guidance of the blessed GPS on his dash.


We finally pull up to the conference center. Frazzled, but miraculously not late for the opening ceremony. We have thirty minutes to get our room keys and dump our crap off. We gratefully exit the taxi.

And it's weird.

There are Americans everywhere. You don't really realize how unaccustomed you've become to hearing regular-pace English until you finally hear it again. It sounds insane, but it's sort of unnerving at first. These people can understand you. You will not have to play charades or gesticulate wildly to indicate that you are an American and happy to be in Korea. Yeah, it's weird.

But that was just the beginning.


Still to come: meeting and mocking people from lesser Midwestern states, learning samul nori and playing ping-pong with no paddles.

Playing Euchre In Korea

My mind is muddy. I have twenty-two names scribbled on the back of a bus ticket that I told myself I would try to find in cyberspace this morning, but typing "funny Australian guy" in the search bar is not helping.

I also just had to look up the proper spelling of "Australian". Ugh.


Things I've Done In The Last 72 Hours:
- got lost and missed both the regular and the latecomers buses on the way to Osan for GEPIK orientation
- took my first trip to Yeoju; ate dak galbi
- drank outside of a convenience store, multiple hours
- slept in a Winnie the Pooh blanket on the floor
- did a King Kong impression, onstage, in front of at least 300 people
- played traditional Korean samul nori
- got walked in on in the bathroom by a Canadian
- had my first normal-tasting Korean French fries at a bar at 3 AM
- celebrated Marc's birthday at midnight with a cake made out of chocolate Korean Little Debbies and a cigarette 'candle'


Once I review the pictures from this weekend, I'll be back with more details.

<3 from Korea. Jenny.

We've Gotta Stop Meeting Like This

It is 9:37 AM.

This is strange.

Well, actually, any time I sleep past 8 o'clock these days is strange. I am lying on my left side, watching the red digital numbers blink for seven minutes. There is a truly ugly lamp in my field of vision, as well as a half-eaten bag of potato chips and a small mountain of clothes that smell like cigarettes.

As I roll over, I remember how sore I am. And when I spot the fully-dressed, fully-comatose forms of Kris and Gustie I remember where I am. And then I realize I'm also in all of my clothes from the night before. Ugh.

The shower pressure sucks. I'm not confident I even got the first layer of sweat and smoke off of my shoulders. The mirror is completely fogged up, which is fine, because I'm sure I look like hell anyway.

This is going to be a long day.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Chuseok is ending, and we're in denial. A night of rowdiness is in order, and Gangnam is where it's going to happen. It just happens to be the birthday of our new friend Kris, and we are more than happy to celebrate.

Gustie and I got the last two tickets on the 2 o'clock bus out of Icheon. That was the good news. The bad news was that the seats on the last row of the bus are horrible. There are armrests in inexplicable places, it is impossible to get comfortable, the afternoon sun is just a little too bright and the road construction is not helping the migraine that is slowly building behind my right eye socket.

But we get there.

Met up with Angie after some tribulation, hopped into a cab, and fifteen minutes later pulled up to the Tiffany Tourist Hotel. The front desk guy spoke pretty decent English, but probably not enough to make up to the fact that the lobby smelled like mildew and our room key weighed about a pound.

Sixth floor, room 601, looks like something out of a tawdry mid-century French sex novel, but at least there's two beds and one's a queen. Change of clothes, re-applied eyeliner and we're out of there. It's nothing much, but at least our sober selves thought ahead this time.

We meet up with the rest of the merry travelers off of Exit 5 at Gangnam Station and then set out to find some Turkish restaurant that was rumored to be in the area. Either this was a lie or our navigational skills leave something to be desired, because none of us had any Turkish food that evening.

But, then... shining, like a beacon in the night... a Mexican restaurant. Literally called "the Tacos". Yes, please. And twice.

(And yes, we ordered both the lemon and the lime margarita pitchers.)

After tearing into some chicken quesadillas and getting to know one another a little better, we began our little pub crawl. What's difficult about this is that we just ate, but Korea (being Korea) is sort of strange. There are a lot of bars here that will kind of force you to buy "anju" (or bar snacks) with your drinks, as kind of a profit-insurance, not-really-a-cover-charge-but-kind-of-is situation. So we actually had to go to a few different bars before finding some that weren't going to force us to squeeze a layer of Korean anju on top of the Mexican food-babies we were already carrying.

The first bar was pretty cool- very dark, long tables, gigantic big-screen TVs showing some Korean women's basketball. (They were playing Brazil.) I couldn't really say for sure all of the beverages consumed at Stop #1, but I do recall a ladies' round of neon-green appletinis that were incredibly sweet. Some beer, some Long Island Ice Tea, some other stuff... right before we left, the guys bought Kris a drink with a very dirty name. I shan't repeat it here, but it was lit on fire and that was exciting.

And then it was onward and upward. Problem was, 'upward' led us to a very strange bar. The place had plum-colored, crushed velvet-lined booths, with sparkling threads of beads that hung around every table, slightly obscuring the view of the (probably) dirty things that would transpire in (on?) them. We all sat, giggling uncomfortably, for about five minutes before we bolted.
We don't need any of that.

Finally. Another normal bar. And normalcy means the most gigantic, ridiculous pitchers of Miller I've ever seen. As well as at least two bottles of soju. I vaguely remember the sign on this place saying it was a "classy soju bar", but we were downing cheap beers like champs and the booths were held together with duct tape, so there you have it. My end of the table played a few rousing rounds of "Never Have I Ever". I won't name names, but someone's been arrested, and someone's had sex in an elevator. Scandalous.

By this point, we are definitely in the soju happy place, and we wanna dance. Gangnam was very accomodating. We troll over to this underground club called "Harlem" (all of the truly interesting stuff happens underground these days) and descend the black staircase into the middle of a club that looks like what I assume an acid trip feels like.

Let me try to set this up: when you enter the club, there is this gigantic, circular bar, that is fully lighted and changes color every two seconds. To the right is the dance area, with different areas of raised platforms. With poles. There's a live DJ somewhere, but I only saw him once, because this place has smoke billowing, and strobe lights flashing and more Korean club kids than you can shake a glowstick at.


We. Were. Psyched.


As per usual, the details all get sort of hazy after one has entered the Korean dance club. It's like a portal into the Twilight Zone. I remember meeting a lot of guys that were American military... some from Georgia, some from Texas, Louisiana, probably some other places. The bartender was from Omaha. I think.

At one point, an American guy named Fred introduced me to a nice, young Korean fellow named Leo. We danced for approximately four or five hours. In that time, I think I comprehended about four of his attempted English sentences, but he was a sweetheart.

As the night wore on, I was exhausted, bathed in sweat, and feeling every step of the mountain hike that Gustie and I had taken the day before. Thank God I was wearing boots, and not the prevalent four-inch stilettos. Sometime around 5 AM, half of the group left in pursuit of food, and Kris, Angie, Gustie and I held out for about another half an hour before it was time to call it a night.

Begin what was probably one of the funniest cab rides of my life that I remember none of.

And then one of the worst hangovers of my year which I remember all of.

Oh, Korea.

We've gotta stop meeting like this.

Cold Chicken, Professional Soccer and Korean Erectile Dysfunction Commercials: Chuseok Holiday 2010 (SATURDAY)

SATURDAY

So, the original idea was to get lunch in Suwon. That was literally all that was set in stone. Lunch with Juanita and crew at Outback Steakhouse, and meeting up with Brent and Angie at 4:00. That was it. But I didn't make it back to my apartment until 8:00 PM.... Monday night.

Having a sirloin at Outback was an almost-religious experience. I am a carnivore. And even though Korea indulges my meat-eating ways (sort of), I was jonesing.

It. Tasted. So. Good. Om nom nom.

At lunch, we met some of Juanita's buddies, one of whom told us about some things to do in Suwon, including a soccer game at the Suwon World Cup Stadium that was free for foreigners that night. Free for foreigners?? Cheers, Korea.

After lunch, we popped into the third floor bookstore, which (wonder of wonders) had an English section! We were like kids in a candy store. Except way nerdier. I picked up a few paperbacks: A Thousand Splendid Suns and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. (Sidebar: wandering around Icheon today, I saw a Korean version of A Thousand Splendid Suns.) I think that the Madison GEPIK kids may be starting a rotating English books library.

Shortly thereafter, we located Brent and Angie, and wandered into a small second-floor cafe to muse about our jobs and Korean oddities. Even though the GEPIK program is somewhat standardized, everyone's experience varies so much. After hearing about some of the things that other kids have gone through (horrifying apartments, temp housing, sickness, being dragged to Jehovah's Witness meetings by host families) I am quite pleased with my situation here in Icheon.

We decided that we were all about seeing some Korean soccer (I've been wondering what all the fuss was about) so we set our sights on finding the Suwon World Cup Stadium. This is difficult when one does not speak Korean. But right outside of the Suwon subway station there is this thing called a "taxi stop". It's such a stupidly simple idea, but I don't recall ever seeing one in the U.S. It's literally just a section of a road where taxis line up and so everyone knows where to go to catch a cab. The thing is here, there are at least two different types of taxis. There are the regular ones, which are usually silver or white, and then there are "deluxe" taxis. The only really obvious difference is that deluxe taxis are painted black, and also have completely black tinted windows. I assume this is for privacy while rich Korean businessmen snort coke off the thighs of very expensive prostitutes, but I guess we'll never know.

So, we all piled in our non-deluxe, mere-mortals cab, and speed off in what we are praying is the general direction of the World Cup Stadium. Luckily, our cab driver is savvy, although she is watching Korean game shows on her GPS, which is slightly unnerving when there are four lanes of traffic all going 80 km/hr. We screech to a halt, pile out, and are standing right in front of one of the most enormous soccer stadiums I've ever seen. This thing is monstrous. And so freaking awesome. We are like six-year-olds.

Well, maybe alcoholic six-year-olds. Why Korea Is Awesome #39: You can bring booze pretty much anywhere. We kind of scope out the place, take some obligatory pictures (especially in front of the free-standing bathroom SHAPED LIKE A SOCCER BALL. Really. I couldn't make this up.) and then head across the street for some snackage. The hometown team is the Suwon Bluewings, and there are people in jerseys all over the place, particularly in the convenience store that we popped into. Couple of tallboys of Cass, some water and potato chips, and it was game on.

Now, we had heard in passing at lunch that this game was free, but this had never really been confirmed by anyone, and we had no idea how to obtain tickets. We kind of wandered up into the complex and were looking at ridiculously over-priced Bluewings jerseys when this adorable Korean staffwoman comes up behind us, beckoning for us to join her. (Racial profiling for the win.) And then she just hands us all free tickets, no questions asked. Sweet.

This stadium is b.a.l.l.e.r. I probably couldn't do this description justice without pictures, but suffice it to say, it is enormous and super-cool. We were in row 7, and the field is super green and the fans are psyched and some are waving Che Guavera flags (that one we haven't figured out yet) but it is just... cool. The team lost, 2-0, but it was really surreal to be at this professional soccer game, in Korea, knowing that the Badgers were playing ASU in the morning, cold chicken and warm beer, Korean kids chanting cheers we couldn't understand.

Today, I was looking at this file I have on my computer of just interesting pictures I find in my cyber travels, and there is this one of some graffiti. I don't know where it is, or who wrote it, but it just says this:


"You are alive."


And that's what it felt like.


You are watching Korean soccer. You are drinking beer with your new friends.
You are content.


And you are alive.



Later, other stuff happened... like we got kicked out of a taxie by an irrate cabbie, traversed the Seoul metro and I slept in a ball on Angie's apartment floor. But more on that later.


<3 from Korea. Jenny.

Cold Chicken, Professional Soccer and Korean Erectile Dysfunction Commercials: Chuseok Holiday 2010 (FRIDAY)

I am sitting in a suite at the Hotel D'Or in Itaewon. Keanu Reeves is angry about something on the American channel, there are five KFC boxes on the floor and I can't find my pants.


And this is how I got here.


-----------------------


Koreans, God bless them, have many national holidays. Chuseok, also known as Korean Thanksgiving, happens to be occurring right now. Well, technically it's Tuesday through Thursday, but if you're lucky, your school will let you off for Monday and Friday as well. Gustie and I are lucky. And lucky girls sleep until 10 AM in their swanky hotel suites with jacuzzi tubs. Sadly, Angie, our partner in small crimes, had to depart early this morning. But that's getting ahead of the story.


FRIDAY

For me, Chuseok began at 4:30 PM on Friday. With mysteriously delivered rice cakes in saran wrap. Really. Things just appear on my desk all the time. But I departed the school, rice cakes in hand, on the way to the bus terminal. The goal for the night was Chinese food and general debauchery with some members of the Icheon foreigner crew.

Met up with Felicia, Sean and Gustie at the station, hopped on the 8, and stopped right by the restaurant a very sweaty twenty minutes later. (City buses tend to be PACKED right after school, and Friday was no exception. Definitely rubbed more than a few elbows with the locals.) After a brief conversation with some very drunk guys outside the ATM, we headed up for some Chinese cuisine. (Because can you really have enough Asia? Ever?)

After dinner, we walked down a whole two flights of stairs to land right in front of a bar. (I love this city.) And there, we made an awesome discovery. Korea Fun Fact #486: a lot of the tables in bars or restaurants have these little call buttons on the side, enabling you to summon your waitress whenever you want. These shall be known henceforth as "booze buttons".

Many pitchers later, we had made it through just about every flavor of "soju margaritas" the place offered, and an idea was born. Felicia had bought West some post-its, ostensibly for remembering important, job-related things. We decided, however, that they should be re-appropriated for scribbling down the hilarities of the evening. (With a compilation version to be produced at the end of the year.) A sampling of the "things to remember":

- drink soju (with check-mark added)
- learn to talk English-ee
- perform sacrilege on the metro transit
- don't get beat up by adjummas

A most excellent evening.