This will be a long day. We're up at six and on the 8:00 a.m. airport shuttle.
Our flight leaves at 11:40, but by the time we check in and pass security, there's not a lot of time to spare. I get hung up in security, where they unpack my carry-on and make me give up my toothpaste and a personal item that I wish to heck they'd just toss in the trash rather than leave out here for everyone to see.
However, getting nervously embarrassed is not a good move at airport security, so I suck it up and spend the time re-tying my shoes.
We settle in at the gate and I go foraging for food and drink. I'm able to buy tea at a nearby kiosk for $4.00. I don't see how anyone can ask you for four bucks for hot water and a tea bag, but they did, and I paid.
Finding something remotely breakfasty takes a little more effort. If we could eat fashion or jewelry or drink pricey booze I'd have no problem. After walking for almost ten minutes I find some eclairs.
Meanwhile, Bernie has struck up a conversation with a woman sitting next to him. He introduces me. Her name is Mary Ann and she was born and raised in Middletown. She now lives in West Chester. Her daughter is teaching English at a school in Seoul.
Again, what are the chances that we'd meet someone in Seoul, Korea, who even knew where Middletown, Ohio was?
We board the plane to fly over Japan, up to the Bering Sea, along the western edge of Alaska and across Canada, into the night. Somewhere north of Bismarck, North Dakota light begins to show in the east, our second sunrise of February 26, 2010.
After our second meal we become acquainted with our seatmate. She's from Seoul and has been there visiting her family for two months. She's on her way back to the University of Michigan where she's a research assistant. She's applied to twelve schools to do her Ph.D. work and is waiting for a response. We exchange contact information with her. She studied non-stop to get her undergraduate degree and has made few friends.
We land in Chicago a few minutes past nine. We have to claim our bags and get them to the next gate. This operation is surprisingly fast because people are waiting to direct us.
Getting a new boarding pass is not so smooth. Although everyone is directed to a self check-in terminal, four out of five passengers need help. And help is Ms. Dinardo. Period. She weaves in and out, listening to stories and coaxing intransigent machines to cough up boarding passes.
Ours, of course, won't spit out. Ms. Dinardo takes our information and disappears down the ranks of travelers, along the long counter where nobody lives. She's gone for awhile and traffic comes to a halt because it's Ms. Dinardo who directs each person to the next open check-in terminal.
Eventually she returns. I like Ms. Dinardo. She's chatty, unflappable, and gets the job done. She has two flimsy looking boarding passes for us. There's no gate number on them, though, so we don't really know where to go once we pass the barrier that separates those on the outside from those in past-security no man's land.
Since our flight doesn't leave until just after 5 p.m., we have plenty of time to determine our gate number.
It's past noon now and we need food. There's a Chili's and Bernie wants a hamburger. I was leaning toward a croissant and hot chocolate, but once seated I see the molten lava chocolate cake on the menu. It has my name written on it.
Meanwhile we have turned the data feature back on on our phones and hundreds of e-mails are coming down. For nearly two hours after we eat, I'm receiving and deleting six weeks worth of e-mails.
Our gate number is posted mid-afternoon, then changed about an hour before our flight, but the new gate is just across the aisle.
As we board we see the local weather in Dayton: a winter storm has started. We hear other passengers relate stories they've gleaned talking with relatives at home-slippery roads and wrecks on I-70.
I've talked to Mary a couple of times and know that Kenny and Evan are already in Dayton picking something up on the way to the airport to get us. It's an hour flight.
We land in Dayton to a nearly-deserted airport. Apparently only one other person had checked luggage on this flight. We wait with him for a while at the luggage carousel, but the same ten not-our-bags cycle through several times.
I've called Kenny; he and Evan are just outside the last door to our right waiting for us.
Suddenly someone is beside me - Evan! I'm so thrilled to see him I want to hug him tight and kiss him. He's fourteen, though, so I apply a modified bear hug. But we're both grinning ear-to-ear. I love that kid.
It takes a trip to the United counter to obtain our luggage. Another man there is not so lucky and he makes quite a scene-so much so that the poor woman behind the counter who was evidently at the end of her shift (she has her purse on her arm) eventually tells him that if he can't be civil she'll have to call the police.
With Evan's help we get our suitcases to Kenny's car.
In the car it begins to feel like we're home. We're with family, hearing about Evan's band concert, Brookie's new glasses.
And soon we're in Middletown, and on our street. The driveway's been shoveled - Jeff, our neighbor, has shoveled it twice while we've been gone.
Wonderful family, great neighbors - it's good to be home.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Our Last Day
Thursday, February 25, 2010
We awake to rain and a traditional Korean breakfast, which, with the addition of a porridge made with wheat, is almost identical to last night's dinner.
The porridge is good, and I would have loved it for lunch, but I'm more of a cereal and yogurt breakfaster, and I'm not usually ready to eat right away when I get up.
Bernie, who usually wants to eat right away, is just not up to having fish as the first meal of the day.
We feel terrible about wasting food.
Bernie whispers to me, "I know that's what Koreans eat for breakfast, but I didn't think that's what they'd give us."
I point out that he paid for us to have an authentic experience.
When they discover we haven't eaten our breakfast, our hosts take it off our bill.
We'd planned to explore the neighborhood some more, but with the rain we decide to visit the folk life museum.
It's located in a former palace and turns out to be a real gem, showing life as it was for common people in an agrarian society.
Bernie says that what's depicted here is the Korea he saw in the early 60s in a rural village.
One of the exhibits that fascinates me is the process by which fiber is made into the gauzy cloth used for summer garments.
I enjoy all the homey things about the folk museum. I learn about farming, fishing, cooking and laundry, making kimchi and storing rice. Bernie actually saw these things in 1964, so it's not new to him. But he gets a kick out of showing me the things he's talked about all these years.
I love the houses with boardwalks outside where shoes are removed before stepping onto the warmed floors in the cozy, compact living quarters.
What makes our experience here today so much richer is having spent the night in a house just like the ones that have been rebuilt here. The roof is the same, except that ours was tiled rather than thatched.
Bernie is delighted when he sees the three-man shovel he's told me about so often. It was used by villagers to irrigate rice paddies. And he's excited to see the buckets that were used to collect manure to spread on the fields (that's human manure, folks).
He remembers the special clothes that children wore on their first birthday (celebrated on the Lunar New Year), and the ceremony in which the child chooses from a selection of objects indicating what path his or her life will take: wealth, learning, etc.
Bernie's told me about the annual testing of students and how important it is. Here in the museum quite a bit of space is given to that civil service test, which allowed any boy who studied hard to secure a place in government administration that would allow him to rise to the top of society.
Again, as in the National Museum of Korea, we see the great emphasis that Koreans place on learning.
Bernie really steeped himself in this culture while he was here in 1964 as an American soldier. He came away loving the beauty and morning calm of Korea as well as the people of Korea. So much in this museum confirms everything that he told me.
I'm so grateful to have slept in a traditional Korean house and to have visited this place today.
Our last official tourist activity is shopping at the Namdaemun market to find something suitable as a souvenir for our hardest-to-buy-for family member: Evan.
We meander through the stalls weaving in and out so much that at one point Bernie loses track of where we are in relationship to our hotel.
I know I saw some leather goods here and I want to get a belt for Evan.
We never find the place I was looking for, but we do find a nice Gucci knock-off with a G (for Galdeen, in our case) belt buckle. Really, the Chinese make such good fakes that are of high-quality.
We do find an item we haven't seen anywhere else - a T-shirt with Korean writing. I pick up a key chain with a Korean mask for a fob, and even a baseball cap with the Korean flag.
We climb the hill to our hotel, where we eat our final free buffet dinner, and take a last tour of the hotel.
Back in our room we pack and repack our bags for an hour, then take one last look at Seoul at night.
We awake to rain and a traditional Korean breakfast, which, with the addition of a porridge made with wheat, is almost identical to last night's dinner.
The porridge is good, and I would have loved it for lunch, but I'm more of a cereal and yogurt breakfaster, and I'm not usually ready to eat right away when I get up.
Bernie, who usually wants to eat right away, is just not up to having fish as the first meal of the day.
We feel terrible about wasting food.
Bernie whispers to me, "I know that's what Koreans eat for breakfast, but I didn't think that's what they'd give us."
I point out that he paid for us to have an authentic experience.
When they discover we haven't eaten our breakfast, our hosts take it off our bill.
We'd planned to explore the neighborhood some more, but with the rain we decide to visit the folk life museum.
It's located in a former palace and turns out to be a real gem, showing life as it was for common people in an agrarian society.
Bernie says that what's depicted here is the Korea he saw in the early 60s in a rural village.
One of the exhibits that fascinates me is the process by which fiber is made into the gauzy cloth used for summer garments.
I enjoy all the homey things about the folk museum. I learn about farming, fishing, cooking and laundry, making kimchi and storing rice. Bernie actually saw these things in 1964, so it's not new to him. But he gets a kick out of showing me the things he's talked about all these years.
I love the houses with boardwalks outside where shoes are removed before stepping onto the warmed floors in the cozy, compact living quarters.
What makes our experience here today so much richer is having spent the night in a house just like the ones that have been rebuilt here. The roof is the same, except that ours was tiled rather than thatched.
Bernie is delighted when he sees the three-man shovel he's told me about so often. It was used by villagers to irrigate rice paddies. And he's excited to see the buckets that were used to collect manure to spread on the fields (that's human manure, folks).
He remembers the special clothes that children wore on their first birthday (celebrated on the Lunar New Year), and the ceremony in which the child chooses from a selection of objects indicating what path his or her life will take: wealth, learning, etc.
Bernie's told me about the annual testing of students and how important it is. Here in the museum quite a bit of space is given to that civil service test, which allowed any boy who studied hard to secure a place in government administration that would allow him to rise to the top of society.
Again, as in the National Museum of Korea, we see the great emphasis that Koreans place on learning.
Bernie really steeped himself in this culture while he was here in 1964 as an American soldier. He came away loving the beauty and morning calm of Korea as well as the people of Korea. So much in this museum confirms everything that he told me.
I'm so grateful to have slept in a traditional Korean house and to have visited this place today.
Our last official tourist activity is shopping at the Namdaemun market to find something suitable as a souvenir for our hardest-to-buy-for family member: Evan.
We meander through the stalls weaving in and out so much that at one point Bernie loses track of where we are in relationship to our hotel.
I know I saw some leather goods here and I want to get a belt for Evan.
We never find the place I was looking for, but we do find a nice Gucci knock-off with a G (for Galdeen, in our case) belt buckle. Really, the Chinese make such good fakes that are of high-quality.
We do find an item we haven't seen anywhere else - a T-shirt with Korean writing. I pick up a key chain with a Korean mask for a fob, and even a baseball cap with the Korean flag.
We climb the hill to our hotel, where we eat our final free buffet dinner, and take a last tour of the hotel.
Back in our room we pack and repack our bags for an hour, then take one last look at Seoul at night.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Unthinkable Happens
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
We're moving for one night to a traditional Korean guesthouse just on the other side of this hill in the Buchon neighborhood. The Hilton is storing our bags-we've packed a small bag for the two of us.
We take the subway, then a taxi to the guesthouse. However, we don't get all the way to the guesthouse, since it's on a narrow street behind the main street.
We don't find the guesthouse, so Bernie asks a man and woman who are refurbishing a building. We're fortunate-they have a plat of the neighborhood and actually walk us to the guesthouse because directions are too confusing to relate.
As soon as we arrive, we're served tea. I put my things down, go to the bathroom, decide I need to put on hand lotion and that is when I discover I don't have my purse.
The sinking feeling that sweeps over me combined with nightmare images of what happens to people who lose their passport makes me dizzy and weak in the knees.
Bernie summons the housekeeper who calls the owner. Do I remember the cab's number? No. Do I remember my passport number. No. I scramble through my file folder and find it on copy of my visa application, though. She suggests I call the American Embassy. Already thought of that, but hoping I can conjure up a miracle in the next few minutes and get my purse.
I insist we get out to the street and see if we can find the cab. This, of course, is harebrained. Seoul is a city of ten million people and thousands of cabs. We're not even sure of the cab company's name.
Even if the cab driver found my purse, he let us off not in front of the guesthouse, but on the main street in front of this not-easily-found oasis. I don't believe he'd know how to get back to us.
We walk the short distance to the subway stop where he picked us up and I hope that the subway station is one of his regular spots to pick up fares. No sign of him. We are now at a busy intersection and I am giving every "S" cab (that's the one we think we rode in) some pretty strange looks.
A young man in a business suit offers me help (because I look like a lunatic). After hearing my tale of woe, he points across the street about half a block down where the police station is located. We proceed there.
Bernie keeps telling me the most likely scenario is that the cab picked up another fare and never even saw my purse in the back seat. I agree, but as I tell him, I firmly believe that most people are honest and that someone may turn it in.
Again we need a translator, and I repeat my story. Eventually we get a police report filed, and the female police officer at the desk has called the cab company (I took the number down off one of the passing cabs). No one has reported finding a purse in their cab.
The translator and the police officer advise me to wait a while. OK, but I'm leaving (I hope) in less than 48 hours and I'm going to have to contact the embassy before the end of business hours today if I expect to get any help.
Leaving the police station we decide it would be good to get something to eat since my I've had only a serving of fruit to eat today and food should make me a little less shaky.
Over our snack, we decide we'll go back to the guesthouse, get on the computer, find the number of the U.S. Embassy and call them.
At the guesthouse we are greeted by the housekeeper who draws a rectangle in the air, smiles and says, "here." It's here? My purse is here?
I can't accept this idea until I actually see it. She hands it to me and motions that it has never even been opened.
Did I say I was weak in the knees earlier? I practically collapse now from sheer relief. I thank her profusely for five minutes in English.
The cab driver brought it back. It's that simple.
You're probably wondering how I could be so dopey as to leave my purse in a cab. I had been beating myself up for two hours wondering the same thing.
It was a small series of events that threw me off. When we got into the cab, I had my purse over my arm under my coat. When the cab driver didn't seem to understand where we wanted to go, I offered to get out of the cab and point to it on a map posted nearby where it was clearly shown, complete with the name of the house, Rekkojae, and a little drawing. As I did this, I took my arm out of the sleeve of my coat and slipped my purse strap off my arm.
Just as I did this, a light dawned and the driver understood where we wanted to go, so I settled back in my seat.
When we arrived at the point where he dropped us off, we could not see our guesthouse, of course, and we were unsure if we were in the right place.
All of this was just unsettling enough to focus my mind not on whether I had everything getting out of the cab, but what we might do next. Just a small quandary, only a couple of tiny glitches, really.
But enough to diffuse the hyper-alert state that is required of travelers in unfamiliar places.
I put the purse next to the refrigerator and vow not to take it out again until we return to the Hilton tomorrow afternoon. That's a factor, too. I don't carry my purse with me all the time because it's just too tempting for pickpockets and thieves, so I've lost that my-purse-is-part-of-my-body feeling that women almost always have.
I'm mellow now. All the adrenaline in my body was used up, and I'm now the most agreeable person in the world.
Now we take a very pleasant walk around this old neighborhood with traditional houses and many small shops and galleries. Still not yet too-artsified, the surrounding area is undergoing extensive gentrification.
Our guesthouse is perfectly Oriental. A typical boardwalk runs along the outside. We remove our shoes in the entry and walk on the warm floors, heated underneath by an andul. It's furnished with traditional pieces, with a variety of objects that were used in Korean homes in the past.
We're served dinner a traditional dinner on the low coffee table. They've added backrests to the mats we sit on. The menu includes Korean white bait (looks like minnows and is crisply delicious) Korean eel (it tastes like very good whitefish to us), seaweed (I love this stuff), mushrooms and kimchi. As usual, there is far too much food to eat.
After dinner we are directed to the sauna, where we lay on straw mats in the special short-sleeve tops and shorts we've been given. Soon we're sweating, with rivulets running down our arms. Half an hour later we head for the shower and don the robes provided for us.
We're sleeping on quilted floor mats. A very large window, almost covering the entire wall, faces the courtyard in our bedroom. After we've turned the lights out we raise the shades a little to see the lighted courtyard and other guesthouses around us. It looks just like a movie set.
We're moving for one night to a traditional Korean guesthouse just on the other side of this hill in the Buchon neighborhood. The Hilton is storing our bags-we've packed a small bag for the two of us.
We take the subway, then a taxi to the guesthouse. However, we don't get all the way to the guesthouse, since it's on a narrow street behind the main street.
We don't find the guesthouse, so Bernie asks a man and woman who are refurbishing a building. We're fortunate-they have a plat of the neighborhood and actually walk us to the guesthouse because directions are too confusing to relate.
As soon as we arrive, we're served tea. I put my things down, go to the bathroom, decide I need to put on hand lotion and that is when I discover I don't have my purse.
The sinking feeling that sweeps over me combined with nightmare images of what happens to people who lose their passport makes me dizzy and weak in the knees.
Bernie summons the housekeeper who calls the owner. Do I remember the cab's number? No. Do I remember my passport number. No. I scramble through my file folder and find it on copy of my visa application, though. She suggests I call the American Embassy. Already thought of that, but hoping I can conjure up a miracle in the next few minutes and get my purse.
I insist we get out to the street and see if we can find the cab. This, of course, is harebrained. Seoul is a city of ten million people and thousands of cabs. We're not even sure of the cab company's name.
Even if the cab driver found my purse, he let us off not in front of the guesthouse, but on the main street in front of this not-easily-found oasis. I don't believe he'd know how to get back to us.
We walk the short distance to the subway stop where he picked us up and I hope that the subway station is one of his regular spots to pick up fares. No sign of him. We are now at a busy intersection and I am giving every "S" cab (that's the one we think we rode in) some pretty strange looks.
A young man in a business suit offers me help (because I look like a lunatic). After hearing my tale of woe, he points across the street about half a block down where the police station is located. We proceed there.
Bernie keeps telling me the most likely scenario is that the cab picked up another fare and never even saw my purse in the back seat. I agree, but as I tell him, I firmly believe that most people are honest and that someone may turn it in.
Again we need a translator, and I repeat my story. Eventually we get a police report filed, and the female police officer at the desk has called the cab company (I took the number down off one of the passing cabs). No one has reported finding a purse in their cab.
The translator and the police officer advise me to wait a while. OK, but I'm leaving (I hope) in less than 48 hours and I'm going to have to contact the embassy before the end of business hours today if I expect to get any help.
Leaving the police station we decide it would be good to get something to eat since my I've had only a serving of fruit to eat today and food should make me a little less shaky.
Over our snack, we decide we'll go back to the guesthouse, get on the computer, find the number of the U.S. Embassy and call them.
At the guesthouse we are greeted by the housekeeper who draws a rectangle in the air, smiles and says, "here." It's here? My purse is here?
I can't accept this idea until I actually see it. She hands it to me and motions that it has never even been opened.
Did I say I was weak in the knees earlier? I practically collapse now from sheer relief. I thank her profusely for five minutes in English.
The cab driver brought it back. It's that simple.
You're probably wondering how I could be so dopey as to leave my purse in a cab. I had been beating myself up for two hours wondering the same thing.
It was a small series of events that threw me off. When we got into the cab, I had my purse over my arm under my coat. When the cab driver didn't seem to understand where we wanted to go, I offered to get out of the cab and point to it on a map posted nearby where it was clearly shown, complete with the name of the house, Rekkojae, and a little drawing. As I did this, I took my arm out of the sleeve of my coat and slipped my purse strap off my arm.
Just as I did this, a light dawned and the driver understood where we wanted to go, so I settled back in my seat.
When we arrived at the point where he dropped us off, we could not see our guesthouse, of course, and we were unsure if we were in the right place.
All of this was just unsettling enough to focus my mind not on whether I had everything getting out of the cab, but what we might do next. Just a small quandary, only a couple of tiny glitches, really.
But enough to diffuse the hyper-alert state that is required of travelers in unfamiliar places.
I put the purse next to the refrigerator and vow not to take it out again until we return to the Hilton tomorrow afternoon. That's a factor, too. I don't carry my purse with me all the time because it's just too tempting for pickpockets and thieves, so I've lost that my-purse-is-part-of-my-body feeling that women almost always have.
I'm mellow now. All the adrenaline in my body was used up, and I'm now the most agreeable person in the world.
Now we take a very pleasant walk around this old neighborhood with traditional houses and many small shops and galleries. Still not yet too-artsified, the surrounding area is undergoing extensive gentrification.
Our guesthouse is perfectly Oriental. A typical boardwalk runs along the outside. We remove our shoes in the entry and walk on the warm floors, heated underneath by an andul. It's furnished with traditional pieces, with a variety of objects that were used in Korean homes in the past.
We're served dinner a traditional dinner on the low coffee table. They've added backrests to the mats we sit on. The menu includes Korean white bait (looks like minnows and is crisply delicious) Korean eel (it tastes like very good whitefish to us), seaweed (I love this stuff), mushrooms and kimchi. As usual, there is far too much food to eat.
After dinner we are directed to the sauna, where we lay on straw mats in the special short-sleeve tops and shorts we've been given. Soon we're sweating, with rivulets running down our arms. Half an hour later we head for the shower and don the robes provided for us.
We're sleeping on quilted floor mats. A very large window, almost covering the entire wall, faces the courtyard in our bedroom. After we've turned the lights out we raise the shades a little to see the lighted courtyard and other guesthouses around us. It looks just like a movie set.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Introduction to Korea
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
We'll take the subway to the National Museum of Korea today.
But first, we make a stop at Namdaemun Market, one of the largest markets in the world.
This market goes on street after narrow street, with shops on the first and second floors as well as the basements and hundreds of stalls in front of the stores.
Clothes, food, jewelry and household items are all for sale here; the quantity of clothes and jewelry boggles the mind. Who consumes all this stuff?
We buy dried fruit and nuts. We'll come back here later. Off to the subway.
The entrance to the museum houses a ten-story pagoda.
We bgin with the archaeological exhibits that give evidence to the people who lived on this peninsula from 8000 B.C. on, then move to Korea's history. The Mongols ruled the country for some time. The extent of the Mongol empire was vast - these are the same fierce people who threatened Rome.
Busy boys, those Mongols. Not someone you'd like to run into along the Silk Road on a dark night outside your tent.
Korean history is well-preserved because Korea has always placed a high value on education. The literacy rate was high and even small villages kept good records.
The Koreans, like the Chinese, were invaded and ruled by the Japanese from 1910 to 1945 and suffered greatly. The Japanese sought to erase all traces of Korean culture.
The painting exhibit surprises us-many of the 20th century works on display are Impressionist. I don't remember Asian art being influenced by the European painters of this period. They're very beautiful.
The museum has a fine collection of pottery and porcelain. We are drawn to the pieces with clean, simple lines; that includes most of them. The large exhibit of Celadon contains exquisite pieces.
Among the many Buddhist sculptures is the statue of the Contemplative Buddha, (the Maitreya, or future Buddha)probably made in the 7th century. It has the effect of making you want to stop and spend some time contemplating as well.
It's late in the afternoon by the time we finish. Outside, Bernie takes pictures of the lake and pagoda in the park in front of the museum.
We want to visit a large riverside park and perhaps take a ferry ride across the Han River, which is a much larger river than I had imagined.
We've just missed a ferry by the time we arrive in a taxi, and there won't be another one for two hours. The sun is going down now. It's been a beautiful day but it's beginning to get cold so we decide we won't wait for the next one.
We ask directions to the subway-or Bernie does, since he's the one who speaks some Korean-and walk to the station.
Seoul's subway is not as easy to figure out as Beijing's so we spend some time going over the maps. When we emerge at our stop near the hotel, we need to ask which exit to take to get to the hotel. At some stops this is not such a big deal, but here, if we choose the wrong exit, we'll be on the wrong side of an eight-lane highway.
The subway employee who told us which exit to take shows up on the street outside. He's on his dinner break, heading for a restaurant, but he takes time to walk with us to the place where we turn to go up the hill.
People in both China and Korea have helped us like this so often, going the extra mile (sometimes almost literally) to be kind to strangers.
Tonight I want to try one of the hotel's restaurants, but I don't know which one, so we walk around to each, examining the menus and prices. Cheap is not an option here.
At last I decide on the Taipei Chines, thought you'd think I'd have had enough Chinese food lately.
Fortunately here, as in China, so much food is served that Bernie and I can share. We enjoy beef and peppers and broccoli with mushrooms.
After dinner we're back in our room watching a TV show featuring young mixed-nationality couples: Korean-Russian, Korean-American, and maybe some others. Apparently they share funny stories about how the differences between their two cultures has affected their marriages.
I can't understand any of it but I get a lot from from expressions and gestures.
When we were in Beijing watching TV, we were surprised to find that we could follow a Chinese soap opera subtitled in French quite well.
We're ready for bed now, and turn off the lights to enjoy the view. We're on a hill overlooking Seoul and the city is spread out below us. It's exciting to watch the cars, the people, the lights.
I debate whether to close the drapes, but it's unlikely I'll ever have this view again, so I leave them open.
We'll take the subway to the National Museum of Korea today.
But first, we make a stop at Namdaemun Market, one of the largest markets in the world.
This market goes on street after narrow street, with shops on the first and second floors as well as the basements and hundreds of stalls in front of the stores.
Clothes, food, jewelry and household items are all for sale here; the quantity of clothes and jewelry boggles the mind. Who consumes all this stuff?
We buy dried fruit and nuts. We'll come back here later. Off to the subway.
The entrance to the museum houses a ten-story pagoda.
We bgin with the archaeological exhibits that give evidence to the people who lived on this peninsula from 8000 B.C. on, then move to Korea's history. The Mongols ruled the country for some time. The extent of the Mongol empire was vast - these are the same fierce people who threatened Rome.
Busy boys, those Mongols. Not someone you'd like to run into along the Silk Road on a dark night outside your tent.
Korean history is well-preserved because Korea has always placed a high value on education. The literacy rate was high and even small villages kept good records.
The Koreans, like the Chinese, were invaded and ruled by the Japanese from 1910 to 1945 and suffered greatly. The Japanese sought to erase all traces of Korean culture.
The painting exhibit surprises us-many of the 20th century works on display are Impressionist. I don't remember Asian art being influenced by the European painters of this period. They're very beautiful.
The museum has a fine collection of pottery and porcelain. We are drawn to the pieces with clean, simple lines; that includes most of them. The large exhibit of Celadon contains exquisite pieces.
Among the many Buddhist sculptures is the statue of the Contemplative Buddha, (the Maitreya, or future Buddha)probably made in the 7th century. It has the effect of making you want to stop and spend some time contemplating as well.
It's late in the afternoon by the time we finish. Outside, Bernie takes pictures of the lake and pagoda in the park in front of the museum.
We want to visit a large riverside park and perhaps take a ferry ride across the Han River, which is a much larger river than I had imagined.
We've just missed a ferry by the time we arrive in a taxi, and there won't be another one for two hours. The sun is going down now. It's been a beautiful day but it's beginning to get cold so we decide we won't wait for the next one.
We ask directions to the subway-or Bernie does, since he's the one who speaks some Korean-and walk to the station.
Seoul's subway is not as easy to figure out as Beijing's so we spend some time going over the maps. When we emerge at our stop near the hotel, we need to ask which exit to take to get to the hotel. At some stops this is not such a big deal, but here, if we choose the wrong exit, we'll be on the wrong side of an eight-lane highway.
The subway employee who told us which exit to take shows up on the street outside. He's on his dinner break, heading for a restaurant, but he takes time to walk with us to the place where we turn to go up the hill.
People in both China and Korea have helped us like this so often, going the extra mile (sometimes almost literally) to be kind to strangers.
Tonight I want to try one of the hotel's restaurants, but I don't know which one, so we walk around to each, examining the menus and prices. Cheap is not an option here.
At last I decide on the Taipei Chines, thought you'd think I'd have had enough Chinese food lately.
Fortunately here, as in China, so much food is served that Bernie and I can share. We enjoy beef and peppers and broccoli with mushrooms.
After dinner we're back in our room watching a TV show featuring young mixed-nationality couples: Korean-Russian, Korean-American, and maybe some others. Apparently they share funny stories about how the differences between their two cultures has affected their marriages.
I can't understand any of it but I get a lot from from expressions and gestures.
When we were in Beijing watching TV, we were surprised to find that we could follow a Chinese soap opera subtitled in French quite well.
We're ready for bed now, and turn off the lights to enjoy the view. We're on a hill overlooking Seoul and the city is spread out below us. It's exciting to watch the cars, the people, the lights.
I debate whether to close the drapes, but it's unlikely I'll ever have this view again, so I leave them open.
Goodbye, China-Hello, Korea
Monday, February 22, 2010
Goodbye, China, you contradictory giant of a country.
We love your raucous kaleidoscope of sounds and sights.
In your cities, elegant young women stroll the sidewalks in furs and fashionable tall boots while a pickup truck with 2 live hogs drives by.
Luxury cars park on sidewalks, horns honking to clear the path of pedestrians. Meanwhile men disgustingly clear their throats and spit on the sidewalks.
You're building high-speed trains that travel at 400 mph, but bicycles loaded six feet high travel your superhighways.
Your skyscrapers rise at an astounding rate, built by migrant workers who live on-site in crowded shacks that are freezing in winter and blazing hot in summer. They see their families, who live in villages hundreds of miles away, once a year.
Your people are kind, helpful, and welcoming. They are also pushy, ignoring rules, lines on the highway, and often common sense.
China, you are impossible to describe. You must be experienced. But that might take years, and by then you would have changed, for you are changing so fast.
Hello, Korea.
The lines to get into Korea are long, longer than those to get into China. Of course we cleared customs in China at 2:00 a.m. and it's 4:30 in the afternoon here in Seoul.
It's nearly an hour before we get a taxi from Inchon airport to our hotel.
We're fascinated by the cab's GPS. Besides displaying the buildings, landmarks and streets in great detail, this GPS allows you watch TV. While stuck in traffic, we watch the news and some of the Olympics on the 5x7 screen.
The ride to the foothills of Namsan, or south gate, where the Hilton Millennium Seoul is located, takes another hour and a half through rush hour and it's dark by the time we arrive.
This hotel is a pretty fancy place that gets fancier when we decide to upgrade our room to secure the next night-Tuesday-and Thursday. We'd been unable to reserve those online. For Wednesday we've reserved a night in a traditional Korean guesthouse.
With our status upgraded, we turn in our silver key card for a gold one and have access to the Executive Lounges. As it turns out, these lounges put out a small but adequate buffet each evening and we enjoy dinner and free cocktails there and a full breakfast each morning.
Since it's too late to go out we tour the hotel and the gambling casino attached.
There are six restaurants and two bars in the hotel, not including the Executive Lounges on the nineteenth and twenty-first floors.
Restaurants include Taipei Chinese, Japanese, French, Italian, an English pub that serves prime beef and another that covers everything the others may have missed.
The hotel is beautifully decorated, with original paintings, a multi-level fountain, flowers, and cozy seating groups.
The casino, by contrast, is far from elegant. The smoke here makes it hard to breathe and the gamblers aren't the swanky high rollers we see in movies, but men and women who look as if they shouldn't be here because they can't afford to lose. More than a few seem tense, as if they desperately we'd to win.
We walk back down the hallway and take the elevator to our room, wishing the smell of cigarette wasn't clinging to our hair and clothes.
Goodbye, China, you contradictory giant of a country.
We love your raucous kaleidoscope of sounds and sights.
In your cities, elegant young women stroll the sidewalks in furs and fashionable tall boots while a pickup truck with 2 live hogs drives by.
Luxury cars park on sidewalks, horns honking to clear the path of pedestrians. Meanwhile men disgustingly clear their throats and spit on the sidewalks.
You're building high-speed trains that travel at 400 mph, but bicycles loaded six feet high travel your superhighways.
Your skyscrapers rise at an astounding rate, built by migrant workers who live on-site in crowded shacks that are freezing in winter and blazing hot in summer. They see their families, who live in villages hundreds of miles away, once a year.
Your people are kind, helpful, and welcoming. They are also pushy, ignoring rules, lines on the highway, and often common sense.
China, you are impossible to describe. You must be experienced. But that might take years, and by then you would have changed, for you are changing so fast.
Hello, Korea.
The lines to get into Korea are long, longer than those to get into China. Of course we cleared customs in China at 2:00 a.m. and it's 4:30 in the afternoon here in Seoul.
It's nearly an hour before we get a taxi from Inchon airport to our hotel.
We're fascinated by the cab's GPS. Besides displaying the buildings, landmarks and streets in great detail, this GPS allows you watch TV. While stuck in traffic, we watch the news and some of the Olympics on the 5x7 screen.
The ride to the foothills of Namsan, or south gate, where the Hilton Millennium Seoul is located, takes another hour and a half through rush hour and it's dark by the time we arrive.
This hotel is a pretty fancy place that gets fancier when we decide to upgrade our room to secure the next night-Tuesday-and Thursday. We'd been unable to reserve those online. For Wednesday we've reserved a night in a traditional Korean guesthouse.
With our status upgraded, we turn in our silver key card for a gold one and have access to the Executive Lounges. As it turns out, these lounges put out a small but adequate buffet each evening and we enjoy dinner and free cocktails there and a full breakfast each morning.
Since it's too late to go out we tour the hotel and the gambling casino attached.
There are six restaurants and two bars in the hotel, not including the Executive Lounges on the nineteenth and twenty-first floors.
Restaurants include Taipei Chinese, Japanese, French, Italian, an English pub that serves prime beef and another that covers everything the others may have missed.
The hotel is beautifully decorated, with original paintings, a multi-level fountain, flowers, and cozy seating groups.
The casino, by contrast, is far from elegant. The smoke here makes it hard to breathe and the gamblers aren't the swanky high rollers we see in movies, but men and women who look as if they shouldn't be here because they can't afford to lose. More than a few seem tense, as if they desperately we'd to win.
We walk back down the hallway and take the elevator to our room, wishing the smell of cigarette wasn't clinging to our hair and clothes.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Last Push in China
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Today we're taking the local train into downtown Dalian. While there's plenty of shopping here in Kaifaqu, it's geared more toward clothes-and plenty of them-than to gifts.
We should have tried the train before. It's easy and cheap and deposits us right at our destination, the Korean market. Bernie points out that we will be in Korea tomorrow and will have time for plenty of shopping there. Maybe, but I've been in China for over a month and haven't come up with all the gifts I want to give from China.
This market is like huge flea market. The building is the size of a large warehouse. There are five floors, all crammed with merchandise. The first three floors are clothing, but the fourth floor has an amazing array of decorative goods. It's dizzying.
Though I could spend an entire day here and not see everything, I move on. Shannon has told us of another great market a short taxi ride away where fabric and sewing supplies are sold. I want to get some fabric for Barb.
It's another huge warehouse, but here, you can stroll the aisles, select the fabric you want and the tailors will make your clothing, custom-fitted, for very little money. I wish I'd discovered this earlier, though maybe I don't. Even with the new suitcase we don't have enough space to take all I'd want.
I finally decide on one beautiful red fabric with Chinese designs and a back that's as pretty as the front, and a sunshiney yellow with dragons woven into the pattern.
We're hungry, thirsty and tired, so we take a taxi back to the train station, and line up to buy our tickets.
To say that the Chinese do not line up in an orderly fashion is like saying there's a speck of dust or two in the Beijing air. But I must say this group is doing well. There are four distinct lines for the four ticket windows. The lines are moving quickly, too.
When it's our turn, though, Bernie is getting money from his wallet to pay and there are at least ten people behind us when suddenly a woman appears beside me, outside the barrier, and begins shoving money at the ticket agent. I am pleased when the woman behind the glass ignores her and holds out her hand for money from the man behind us.
This is China. Pushing, shoving, and ignoring the rules are par for the course. We've come to expect it. But sometimes, as with this woman, we're still blown away.
We try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was about to miss her train. But it's worth noting that she said nothing, made no explanation (which, even though we couldn't understand it, we would have recognized for what it was). She just silently cut to the front of the line.
On the platform we wait for five minutes or so for our train. Soon there's a crowd of people waiting with us. We're standing two or three feet from where the doors will open when the train arrives.
We hear the train and just at that moment, a young woman whips runs over whips around me and gets in front of me.
Then and there I make a decision.
We know how this works. Once the doors open, people push and shove their way into the cars grabbing seats. Most of the pushers are young people, capable of the ruthless elbowing and shoving required to get in first.
But today, I'm going to give them a run for their money. Bernie's hip is hurting. Though the sign posted above the bench seats clearly states, as it does in most subways throughout the world, that the seats there are for the elderly, the disabled and pregnant women, six teenagers will pounce on the seats and never make eye contact with you unless it is to stare.
As the train pulls into the station and the crowd around me tenses with anticipation for the struggle, I wedge myself in among them. Since this is happening at all the other doors, the competition is keen.
When the door opens, I push forward. I have to; I'm part of the surge. But I put effort into it. I can feel the shoulder blades, hips and ribs of the people I'm packed in with. I keep pushing.
Once inside, they run to the seats. Me, too. I claim one beside the girl who jumped in front of me.
This is not a pretty sight. I'm not proud of my behavior. But I'm beginning to see how civil society breaks down in the face of a constant "me first" mentality.
And now Bernie has a seat.
On this train I also encounter one of the politest men in all China. After several stops, he stands up and says "Please, take a seat." I usually decline these offers; I don't mind standing and only get tired when I have to hold onto the strap hanger way above my head for a long time. But this time, I accept. He's so gracious. It would be rude not to.
"Xie, Xie." I say.
At the apartment we suggest having Eddie's pizza for dinner. Shannon and Damon have never tried the taco pizza. When Shannon orders, Eddie asks about us. He says goodbye and wishes us a safe trip. I'm not sure what that says about our relationship with Eddie and his pizza. But it's nice.
Packing doesn't take long.
Next stop: Korea.
A note about photos: we've had a little camera/uploading problem, so we're delayed in getting them on our posts. We're working on it and will get them up as soon as possible.
Today we're taking the local train into downtown Dalian. While there's plenty of shopping here in Kaifaqu, it's geared more toward clothes-and plenty of them-than to gifts.
We should have tried the train before. It's easy and cheap and deposits us right at our destination, the Korean market. Bernie points out that we will be in Korea tomorrow and will have time for plenty of shopping there. Maybe, but I've been in China for over a month and haven't come up with all the gifts I want to give from China.
This market is like huge flea market. The building is the size of a large warehouse. There are five floors, all crammed with merchandise. The first three floors are clothing, but the fourth floor has an amazing array of decorative goods. It's dizzying.
Though I could spend an entire day here and not see everything, I move on. Shannon has told us of another great market a short taxi ride away where fabric and sewing supplies are sold. I want to get some fabric for Barb.
It's another huge warehouse, but here, you can stroll the aisles, select the fabric you want and the tailors will make your clothing, custom-fitted, for very little money. I wish I'd discovered this earlier, though maybe I don't. Even with the new suitcase we don't have enough space to take all I'd want.
I finally decide on one beautiful red fabric with Chinese designs and a back that's as pretty as the front, and a sunshiney yellow with dragons woven into the pattern.
We're hungry, thirsty and tired, so we take a taxi back to the train station, and line up to buy our tickets.
To say that the Chinese do not line up in an orderly fashion is like saying there's a speck of dust or two in the Beijing air. But I must say this group is doing well. There are four distinct lines for the four ticket windows. The lines are moving quickly, too.
When it's our turn, though, Bernie is getting money from his wallet to pay and there are at least ten people behind us when suddenly a woman appears beside me, outside the barrier, and begins shoving money at the ticket agent. I am pleased when the woman behind the glass ignores her and holds out her hand for money from the man behind us.
This is China. Pushing, shoving, and ignoring the rules are par for the course. We've come to expect it. But sometimes, as with this woman, we're still blown away.
We try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was about to miss her train. But it's worth noting that she said nothing, made no explanation (which, even though we couldn't understand it, we would have recognized for what it was). She just silently cut to the front of the line.
On the platform we wait for five minutes or so for our train. Soon there's a crowd of people waiting with us. We're standing two or three feet from where the doors will open when the train arrives.
We hear the train and just at that moment, a young woman whips runs over whips around me and gets in front of me.
Then and there I make a decision.
We know how this works. Once the doors open, people push and shove their way into the cars grabbing seats. Most of the pushers are young people, capable of the ruthless elbowing and shoving required to get in first.
But today, I'm going to give them a run for their money. Bernie's hip is hurting. Though the sign posted above the bench seats clearly states, as it does in most subways throughout the world, that the seats there are for the elderly, the disabled and pregnant women, six teenagers will pounce on the seats and never make eye contact with you unless it is to stare.
As the train pulls into the station and the crowd around me tenses with anticipation for the struggle, I wedge myself in among them. Since this is happening at all the other doors, the competition is keen.
When the door opens, I push forward. I have to; I'm part of the surge. But I put effort into it. I can feel the shoulder blades, hips and ribs of the people I'm packed in with. I keep pushing.
Once inside, they run to the seats. Me, too. I claim one beside the girl who jumped in front of me.
This is not a pretty sight. I'm not proud of my behavior. But I'm beginning to see how civil society breaks down in the face of a constant "me first" mentality.
And now Bernie has a seat.
On this train I also encounter one of the politest men in all China. After several stops, he stands up and says "Please, take a seat." I usually decline these offers; I don't mind standing and only get tired when I have to hold onto the strap hanger way above my head for a long time. But this time, I accept. He's so gracious. It would be rude not to.
"Xie, Xie." I say.
At the apartment we suggest having Eddie's pizza for dinner. Shannon and Damon have never tried the taco pizza. When Shannon orders, Eddie asks about us. He says goodbye and wishes us a safe trip. I'm not sure what that says about our relationship with Eddie and his pizza. But it's nice.
Packing doesn't take long.
Next stop: Korea.
A note about photos: we've had a little camera/uploading problem, so we're delayed in getting them on our posts. We're working on it and will get them up as soon as possible.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Welcome Home, Damon and Shannon
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Cleaning day. Aside from the fact that we have stuff all over the apartment, we have to make up for Aiye not being here either Tuesday or Friday. We assume it's because she took the week off for Chinese New Year/Spring Festival rather than because she couldn't tolerate having the messy laoweis underfoot any longer.
Also, any woman knows that what a woman most wants to see when she returns from vacation is a clean house.
Shannon calls just after they land in Dalian. They forgot to write down the code for the keypad at the outside door.
We're in the middle of a Lost episode when they arrive. They left Bangkok, Thailand, at 5:30 a.m.
We try not to keep them up but we're still talking at ten to midnight.
All the while we've been here we've looked at the snapshots covering the wall in the office and along the hallway.
There they are at the Leaning Tower of Pisa, in front of the pyramids in Egypt, on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, above the Grand Canyon, at the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall, the Forbidden City.
They've been to Rome, Paris, London, Cairo, and Hong Kong. They've visited Morocco, and Mayaysia, and now, Sri Lanka.
Shannon tells me they hadn't planned to go to Sri Lanka this trip, but their original flight was cancelled. When Damon looked at sale flights online he discovered a cheap flight to Sri Lanka.
They found it was refreshingly uncrowded, unlike Thailand, which is flooded with tourists. They were often the only foreigners in the areas they visited. They also discovered that the Sri Lankans are very friendly and welcoming and eager to have visitors now that the civil war has ended there.
Though Shannon and Damon love to travel and save their money to do so, they value experience over luxury, staying in youth hostels or with families they've contacted through a network of people who offer a spare room in their own homes.
We admire them for their courage and their curiosity about the world. When they finally return to Canada and settle down they will have a much wider knowledge of the world and greater wisdom about its people.
Cleaning day. Aside from the fact that we have stuff all over the apartment, we have to make up for Aiye not being here either Tuesday or Friday. We assume it's because she took the week off for Chinese New Year/Spring Festival rather than because she couldn't tolerate having the messy laoweis underfoot any longer.
Also, any woman knows that what a woman most wants to see when she returns from vacation is a clean house.
Shannon calls just after they land in Dalian. They forgot to write down the code for the keypad at the outside door.
We're in the middle of a Lost episode when they arrive. They left Bangkok, Thailand, at 5:30 a.m.
We try not to keep them up but we're still talking at ten to midnight.
All the while we've been here we've looked at the snapshots covering the wall in the office and along the hallway.
There they are at the Leaning Tower of Pisa, in front of the pyramids in Egypt, on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, above the Grand Canyon, at the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall, the Forbidden City.
They've been to Rome, Paris, London, Cairo, and Hong Kong. They've visited Morocco, and Mayaysia, and now, Sri Lanka.
Shannon tells me they hadn't planned to go to Sri Lanka this trip, but their original flight was cancelled. When Damon looked at sale flights online he discovered a cheap flight to Sri Lanka.
They found it was refreshingly uncrowded, unlike Thailand, which is flooded with tourists. They were often the only foreigners in the areas they visited. They also discovered that the Sri Lankans are very friendly and welcoming and eager to have visitors now that the civil war has ended there.
Though Shannon and Damon love to travel and save their money to do so, they value experience over luxury, staying in youth hostels or with families they've contacted through a network of people who offer a spare room in their own homes.
We admire them for their courage and their curiosity about the world. When they finally return to Canada and settle down they will have a much wider knowledge of the world and greater wisdom about its people.
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