Monsoon Season

Horns blare, and bikes swerve

Yep, that's a cow in the road

Welcome to Nepal

I arrived in Nepal on July 24th, a bit bleary from 10 hours in the Bangkok airport, but excited and relieved to finally be outside of Korea and on vacation. Let's try that again: on "vacation." There we go. Brian, my partner in travel, had arranged all of our transportation needs with our travel/adventure company who was supposed to pick us up at the airport. After about 20 minutes of being hassled by every single cab driver, travel company representative, and vagrant outside of the Kathmandu airport (and there were many), we decided to give our guest house a ring and see if they could send a pickup. After another 20 minutes or so, our salvation arrived in the form of an old, bright red, Mitsubishi van and a reticent driver. We arrived at the guest house after a harrowing third-world drive and were asked about our travel company. When we replied that we were unsure of the confusion, we were whisked away to speak to another agent that happened to be good "friends" with the manager of the guest house. After a very, very long two days of speaking to various companies and trying to make nice with the one we originally booked through, buying gear, re-packing all of our extra clothes and putting them in storage, we were finally ready to set off on our trek. It, just like every other experience during our brief time in Nepal, came with more than its fair share of seemingly unnecessary difficulties. To start, there was a bus strike in Kathmandu, forcing us to find a more private (and illegal) means of transportation which turned out to be a small van packed to the brim with folks needing to leave, just like us. We got on board and become 2 of 27 passengers. With a strong commitment to the "At least we're on our way" mindset, Brian and I did what we could to make the best of the situation. After 8 hours, with only one stop for lunch, we arrived in the town of Charikot...not our destination, to yet another protest. Jaya, our guide, had warned us that other strikes along the way were a very real possibility, and that often these strikes resulted in the protesters demanding everyone exit the bus before they set it ablaze. Fortunately, these folks weren't that enraged, but they did refuse to let our bus pass through. Jaya mentioned that we may be able to wait til after dark and then sneak out, which left Brian and I questioning the protester's commitment to the cause, but happy that there may be an alternative and inspired this:

We'll sneak out at night

It's just an 8 to 5 strike

Rage resumes at dawn

Unfortunately, we were not able to leave that evening and spent the night in Charikot, putting us behind schedule right off. The bus ride the next day involved riding, not in the bus, but rather on the luggage rack with countless others, which was actually preferable to the sticky, cramped interior, at least, until the monsoon season rains started. Brian and I spent an hour on top, rambling along windy, bumpy roads getting soaked until standing space opened up inside of the bus. We spent the remainder of our trip trying to keep our footing while avoiding all sorts of less than savory items on the floor of the bus (to quote a friend, "It might be vomit."). Finally, we arrived at our "starting point," Jiri. We ate a quick lunch and eagerly started the first day of more than two weeks of walking. Less than two hours in, our guide suggested we take a break. Brian and I obliged and removed our packs, got our cameras out and had a look around. At one point I looked down and noticed a red stain on my shirt. Baffled as to what could have caused such a stain, I started looking around. It wasn't until I checked a few layers deep, that I found the source:

Blood seeps through my shirt

I roll down my pant's waistband

Hole where that leech was

This was without doubt, my first ever encounter with a leech. I was grossed out and horrified, but tried to remind myself that this was the jungle of Nepal, after all, and this was bound to happen once. Better to get it out of the way at the beginning. Little did I know this would be, by no means, my last encounter with leeches. To top it off, I got quite ill on the first night of camping and remained so for the next two weeks. All this while combatting rain, mosquitos, more leeches, and wet...everything. While trying to sort out the reason that leeches even exist (I mean, where is the redeeming factor?), I began to recall stories of the history of leeches in medicine and the thousands of years during which they were thought to be a treatment for a variety of ailments, though they seemed to not be helping my condition in the least. Which left me with this thought:

Leeches don't cure all

M. Cho's 'Persimmon Diet'

Tells intestine's state

My trek ended less than gloriously in a Nepali emergency room, but my time in the jungle, and my brief time in alpine regions left me with some incredible images, experiences, and much needed time to reflect sans internet, work, or other distractions, getting to write off all the difficulties as part of a much greater time of exploration and learning. I feel I owe Nepal a hug and a big "Thank you!" for my newfound perspective. Always a learning experience...

Pins and Needles

Acupuncture? Here?

And we can't communicate?

Wait, talk to my wife.

After having been sick from allergy related illnesses for over four months and having tried, literally, everything I knew to do to correct the problem (including, but not limited to: two rounds of silly Korean antibiotics, three rounds of Zithromax, enough Sudafed to make the DEA take notice, Zicam, Airborne, TheraFlu, Benadryl, vitamins, kimchi, ginseng, and lots and lots of fluids), I decided I had nothing to lose by trying the acupuncture clinic down the street from my school. I'm all for natural treatments, despite my intense aversion to needles.

So, last week, I walked into the office, took my shoes off at the door, donned some slippers, and went to the front desk. (side note: God bless anyone who works a desk job in this country, at the bank, the doctor's office, public transit stations, information booths, etc. They are seriously some of the most intuitive, gracious people on the planet.) I managed to register and work out with the ladies why I was there. They soon had me sitting comfortably in the therapist's office gearing up for the inevitable, elaborate game of charades that always ensues at the doctor's office. The therapist looked at me and asked me (in Korean, of course) if I could speak Korean. I replied, "No" rather clumsily which garnered its usual chuckle. He then picked up his cell phone, pressed two buttons, and was almost instantaneously engaged in conversation.

Now, I have seen people in this country take calls in some bizarre places. I was sitting in a lecture at the DMZ this past winter, and the speaker stopped, not once, not twice, but three times, mid-speech, to answer his cell with no explanation or apology of any kind, so I didn't really put too much thought into who this guy was talking to. It is his office and his time, after all. Then he handed me the phone and gestured for me to talk. I said, "Hello," and was greeted by a female voice and a nervous giggle, followed by a series of questions regarding my ailments and hopes for treatment. After a few questions, the lady explained that she was the therapist's wife and asked to speak to him again. I handed the phone back and listened as he conferred with her and said goodbye.

I was then taken to one of the "treatment rooms" and had around 10 needles inserted into my skin. I sit in one of these rooms every time now, in a little chair on the floor, usually with a few other folks, with needles sticking out of various places in my hands, feet, and head for about 30 minutes. I have been back several times, and without fail, the therapist walks in, says hello with a huge grin on his face and hands me his phone which already has his wife waiting patiently on the other end to inquire about my condition. His wife and I have the Q&A down to an art, and I have never been happier to live in a country with no health information privacy regulations. I leave, feeling oddly relaxed given the whole needle thing, with several packets of tea, and the whole thing only sets me back about $5.

I can't imagine this scenario playing out at all similarly in the States. I am once again so grateful for the ever flexible, good-humored people of Korea who tolerate the foreign population with such kindness. Special thanks to the genial, English-speaking doctor's wives.

Hangul

Korean, in its written, not spoken form, is supposed to be a fairly easy language to pick up. If you ask any Korean student to tell you the history of their written language, they will expound at length, telling you of the brilliance of King Sejong the Great of the Joseon Dynasty who invented Hangul in the 15th century. Koreans are very proud of their language in all its forms, as well they should be, but they are especially proud of the basic simplicity that provides this country with an overall literacy rate of nearly 100%. I have had many students and more than a few aquaintances, both Korean and Western, tell me that it only takes 30 minutes of study to be able to read basic Korean. Call me gullible, but I believe them.

That being said, one of my more memorable experiences from my first months here was the direct result of my not heeding the advice of those around me by not learning to read. My coworker, Dean and I decided we wanted to go for dinner after a particularly long work day. Craving something new but not wanting to walk far or wait long, we opted to see what we could find on the other side of Hagwon Ga, the street where we work. After wandering for a bit, we walked past a restaurant with couches, a bar, and a poker game going on. Noting that we both liked all of these things, we went in, sat down, ordered a few beers, and took a look at the menu. Dean took a particular interest in learning the language upon his arrival, and knowing that he was more informed than myself, I let him handle the ordering. He approached the proprietor, and pointed at an item from what he thought to be the 'chicken' portion of the menu having learned that I don't eat red meat after the 'oxtail soup incident.' The lady at the counter asked him some questions with an incredulous look on her face. Dean, doing what we all do, nodded out of ignorance. This sort of sums up the rest:

No pictures, just point.

I am eating chicken feet.

Gotta learn to read.

Reconnection

About four months after moving to Korea, my laptop crashed. Hard. This wasn't one of those, "Well, let's just wipe the drive and start over," sort of situations. This was a full-on, "Congratulations on you new doorstop, Ms. Pfeifer," kind of thing; frustrating to say the least. While I wanted to 'go Office Space' on the source of my grief, it occurred to me that she was old. We'd been together for almost seven years; she'd served me well, and it was just her time. I had to let her go with dignity.

Pleased with my new, more mature assessment of the situation, I decided to observe a mourning period. Eight months seemed reasonable. So, earlier this month, eight months after my dear computer's demise, I retired my black veil to the back of my wardrobe, and marched, emboldened, into Frisbee, an Apple retailer in Seoul. I bought a shiny, new MacBook with all the bells and whistles.

Since then, I have been entirely overwhelmed with all those things that I missed out on over the past months. Seriously, there is so much to read and watch and forward to relevant people. Responding to the overstimulation in the only way I know how, I have limited my online ventures, for the most part, to the following: iChat, downloading music, Facebook, Surf the Channel, and BBC news. Lame, really.

Fortunately for me, I have some very in-tune friends who read, watch, and forward as much as I'd like to, that keep me abreast of all things awesome online. One of these kind souls, Mindy, sent me a link to this girl. I found myself amused and inspired by these concise, yet astute, observations, and responded to Mindy's challenge to write a 'lifeku' of my own but from a Korean expatriate's point of view. Thanks for that box, Pandora. Feeling inspired to 'write' for the first time in over a year, I've put some together. In reading through them, I realized this medium offers me the chance to share glimpses of my cultural experience here in a way that suits me.

So, future posts will include a little poem and a brief explanation (thereby defeating the point of the haiku, I think, but totally upping the interest factor) to clarify.

I will close with a haiku mission statement:

Korea haiku.

Sharing my experience

With five, seven, five.

And I also blog...

"I will not bond. I will not share. I refuse to nurture." -D. Leary

Not usually a fan of Denis Leary, but this quote strikes a chord. It was my status tag for Messenger until exes started complimenting me on my newfound self-awareness rather than appreciating it solely for its unrelated comedic value, which is why i put it up in the first place. Realizing that it very well could be my quote and not Dennis's, I have decided to defy my generally taciturn nature and do something completely out of character: blog. 

I've been living in Korea for the last year (officially as of this week), and perhaps this would have been more useful and comforting for my family and friends, oh say, 12 months ago, but I didn't want the responsibility of being the culture shocked foreigner making rather lame, ignorant observations as I tried to figure all this out. Well, that was then. Feeling like I've got a pretty good handle on making this expat lifestyle thing work, and, again, trying for some openness, I will now share my only slightly more informed observations. 

For your amusement. Enjoy.