Bad on the Hantan

This past weekend we rafted the Hantan River near the DMZ in the northeast. We rode with Adventure Korea who had planned the entire outing for us. Like all of our Adventure Korea trips, we woke up at the butt of dawn and hoofed it to the subway station where we then took a 45 minute ride (one transfer) to the Express Bus Terminal in Seoul. From there we hopped on one of two buses carrying about 70 people. Unlike all of the other excursions we have taken with AK, this one was only a day trip, and instead of sitting in the front and avoiding the unruly mob of recent grads, we sat in the back with our friends. We were the unruly mob.

The bus ride took about two and a half hours and along the way we stopped at a rest stop where Sami used 3,000 of our 10,000 wan to buy sandals because she only brought flip flops (even though we were informed to pack footwear suitable for rafting) and was afraid that she would lose them in the boat. Unsatisfied, she also purchased flimsy, plastic, neon-green "aqua socks" on site for 5,000 wan. She also forgot to pack a towel.

We were all very impressed with the river. We had actually taken an overnight hiking trip to nearby Sokcho the weekend before and were enthralled with the landscape. The deep river canyon, steep towering mountains and tan rock crags surrounded by lush green foliage was a welcome escape from our suburban sprawl.

 Sorry for the poor quality images. We weren't able to bring our cameras (because of the water and all) so I got these pics online.

Our guide did not speak a word of English, so we were directed by the translation of a friend and hand motions. Before take-off, we were instructed to form lines and perform selected calisthenics in unison. The jumping jacks and neck rolls reminded me of middle school P.E. At least it amused the locals.

The rafting was supposed to eat up two and a half hours, but we could easily have finished it in 30 minutes. To compensate, the guide had us float around for most of the time. The river was packed with rafts, and we could not help but tirelessly splash passersby with our paddles. I became an expert at splashing passengers in nearby rafts. My strategy was to wait for a real quiet time when both rafts were just floating and say, "hello" with a smile and simultaneously unleash a large volume of water into the face of my unsuspecting victim. It goes without saying that most of these victims were unaggressive western girls and young Korean children. One time I made the mistake of dousing a big South African dude. It was a great splash. There was lots of silence before, just like I like it, and the flying wave was expertly timed and executed. He looked pissed and said a few choice words in Afrikaans. Luckily, he didn't confront me later on. Maybe he forgot, or maybe he was just confused by my goofy grin. I like to look harmless while acting like an asshole. Ambiguity is one of my favorite tools.

Later, in an attempt to kill more time, the guide asked (as best we could understand) if there were any couples on the raft. Yes there were actually four sets of couples. Why? He wanted a couple to go to the front of the raft and play out the Titanic "I'm the king of the world!" scene. Sami was shivering cold and wanted no part of it. Truth be told, I didn't either, I was sick of being in the water and wanted to hit some big rapids. Unfortunately, the other couples were more persistent in objecting to the suggested torture, so we stepped up. Sami was terrified that I would push her in, but for some reason, I wasn't feeling it. Maybe I still felt bad about the Vuvuzuela. Anyway, I hold her up at the front and she has her arms out and we are doing the "Titanic" and we are entertaining the people on the two dozen other rafts surrounding us. Suddenly, I feel a huge push in my back and we go tumbling into the water. Of course, Sami thinks it was me and starts cussing me out until we learn that it was our Korean guide. The one who suggested the "Titanic" maneuver in the first place. Of course.

The bastard tour guide attempted to get us to play a few more time-wasting games (the thing about the "Titanic" trip is that it only works once), and the whole time I think about how I am going to get him back. The next game he suggests is one where we we sit on the edge of the raft across from each other and touch feet. He wants us to push off of each other's feet and have us tumble into the water backwards. Me and my partner go in because we are the two at the front of the boat. Of course, no one else goes in because they don't want to get wet, so we are floating in the water like idiots. However, while bobbing helplessly, I get an idea. I frog paddle as best I can to the back of the raft and have the guide help me up. I purposely struggle and let him do the bulk of the work. He pulls me into the raft and I lay there for s second belly-down. He is seated on the edge of the back of the raft. His feet are right next to my arm. Revenge. I hook the back of his ankles with my forearm and lift him up using my shoulder. He goes tumbling back-asswards into the water and I step on the edge of the raft, wait until he can see me, spread my arms and scream "I'm the king of the world! Whoooo! Hooo! Hoooo!"

At first he looks upset, but after I flash him my patented ambiguous grin, he got over it.

After rafting we were served lunch. There were some tourists on our trip and I got to explain some of the food to them ("This is kimchi" it is rotten cabbage. This is acorn jelly. It is good..."). After lunch, some people bungee jumped off a bridge. I didn't, but if we go again next year, I just might. It looked like a lot of fun.

The bus ride back was fairly uneventful. We were all tired from waking up so early, and I caught a short nap. There was a guy painting his face like a red devil for the South Korea World Cup Game that night. When I woke up and saw him, I was very confused. I know I acted like a jerk on the river with the splashing and the tipping, but did I really deserve a visit from Satan himself? Luckily, the red devil flashed me a goofy grin. I went back to sleep bewildered and bemused.

Shanghai: Yuanyuan Garden and the French Concession

Once again Joe has come to the last couple of blog entries to finish writing about one of our trips, and once again I was "invited" to guest author the final entries. This time I get to write about the last couple of days we spent in China which I spent sneezing, coughing, and blowing my nose. Should be an exciting couple of entries...

After enjoying our delicious dumplings we decided to check out the Yuanyuan Garden. We read that it would likely be crowded and that we should visit in the morning, but our walk around the garden was peaceful and devoid of tourists, for the most part.

 They had a lot of these cave-like structures. 

Unfortunately, this photo was marred by the tourist who barged through mid-picture.

As the day went on, I felt worse and worse, and my mood darkened significantly. I really wasn't very pleasant during the walk home, mainly because I wanted to take the subway, and Joe wanted to walk and take photos along the way. The walk took almost an hour, and Joe and I were in constant disagreement about whether or not to take pictures. Joe likes to take pictures of everything, which we appreciate later, but while it is going on I get a little irritable. I always worry that people won't want their photo taken by tourists, but it doesn't seem to bother Joe in the slightest. It didn't help that the few tissues I had disintegrated further with each passing minute as a result of the constant nasal drippage.

Joe is always asking (actually, there are usually no words spoken, just elaborate hand motions) if he can take a picture of people's shirts.

Drying laundry outside of your window is a common sight in Shanghai. 

At least they offer some variety...

I always wonder what I would think if foreigners started snapping pictures of my kids (future kids, that is).

Once we made it back to the hotel, I am pretty sure I passed out and Joe went back out in search of food (most likely ice cream or the cruellers we both craved).  After an hour or so of rest, I knew I had to rally so that we could check out the French Concession, the area of Shanghai that Lonely Planet describes as the "coolest, hippest, and most elegant."

Our first stop was the original headquarters of the Chinese Communist Party, a little known tourist attraction and museum included in Lonely Planet's Shanghai City Guide. Joe acted like I was torturing him by wanting to check it out, but what does he expect? He married a history teacher.

I didn't understand the point of making us get a ticket considering the museum was free, but whatever, when in China don't ask questions. 

Joe posing with the communist flag. Why the sad face? No idea.

The outside of the CCP Headquarters.

By the time we finished viewing the headquarters/museum, it was late in the afternoon. Ironically, though I had to drag Joe to the museum, I also had to drag him out of it. I don't know if he will admit it or not, but I know he enjoyed the visit. We stopped off for afternoon tea which consisted of a beverage and an appetizer, and then moved on to the Shikumen Open House Museum. The term Shikumen refers to Chinese homes that first appeared around the 1860s, combining Chinese and western architecture. The fact that we couldn't take pictures coupled with my worsening runny nose is the reason I don't have a lot to say about this experience. When we finished our tour, nothing made me happier than arriving back at the hotel and going to bed immediately. 

Joe thinks it is fun to take pictures of me when I am unprepared. 

It's not like people don't already know I am a tourist, so why not give them the full effect by referring to the guide book in public? 

I really can't understand the point of this photo, other than to make fun of my husband's excessive photo taking. 

I am pretty sure I took the camera away shortly after this picture was taken.

Busan Jagalchi Fish Market

The smell of fresh sea creatures. Some find the briny odor irksome. Others salivate dreaming of the sweet tastes they signify. Sami belongs to the former group. As our days spent on the Korean peninsula have increased, my wife's tolerance for all things oceanic has declined exponentially. It's a shame because she used to revel in the joys of fresh salmon, halibut and my dad's famous fried crappie fillets- hand reeled, battered and fried (not from the ocean, but whatever). Part of the problem, I believe, is that most of the fish we eat at school is salted mackerel. She is not really into anything "fishy" (a culinary criticism I fail to comprehend- can a chicken be too chickeny? Spaghetti too spaghettiey?) and doesn't groove on all the bones left in. Myself? I say the more bones the better, keeps it moist. Plus, they are small so most of the time I just chew real good.

We walked into the famous Jagalchi Fish Market with the intention of trying san nakchi- raw, recently chopped octopus tentacles still squirming. There was trepidation in Sami's eyes when she stepped into the damp, putrid warehouse, but she persevered, if only to please our friends Tor and Becky who joined us in our long weekend in the southern coastal city of Busan.

We sauntered through the aisles snapping close up pictures of abalone, urchins, cuttlefish, sea squirts, sharks, crabs and more. The colors inside the tanks nearly overshadowed the smells- fleshy pinks and vibrant orange and blues. One merchant picked up a sea squirt gun and sprayed us with stinky water.

After making the rounds we climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor which housed the dining area. Small restaurants all competed for business in the large, but crowed space. One elderly woman shoved a menu in our hand and tried to usher us to her corner of the room, no doubt attempting to take advantage of our lack of communication skills. We artfully sidestepped her and met a man who could get us the octopus. We were initially under the impression that we could buy something from downstairs and have the experts prepare it for us. Sadly this wasn't the case. We settled for a plate of sashimi, assorted side dishes, soup and the san nakji.

I snacked on the salted mackerel, ate one side and then turned it over to search for more bits of meat. Unfortunately, there were only guts. Tor and I ate the stranger items next. The sea cucumber was good and the sea squirt was ok, but looked and tasted like tongue. A few sips of beer and a shot of soju helped it down.

Soon the squirming plate of translucent tentacles arrived coated with sesame oil. I struggled to pick one up as the suction cups of the detached arms clung to the plate in one last attempt to remain unharmed. Eventually I snagged one, dipped it in red pepper paste and let it crawl around on my tongue. After a few minutes of playing with my food I made sure to chew the raw, moving seafood completely. I had heard stories of people choking to death while swallowing san nakji it stuck to their throat and would not release. My theory is that these people were drunk and stupid.

Next it was Sami's turn to try. I had given up on peer pressure many years ago, but somehow Tor and Becky were able to convince her to try it. I looked on dumbfounded as she raised the chopsticks to her mouth. Is this really happening? All these months of avoiding seafood altogether and now she is jumping right back in with raw octopus no less?

She put it in her mouth and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Careful not to die. And chewed. And swallowed. She liked it. I guess it wasn't "fishy."

Shanghai: Shameful Binge Eating

The mission given to me was simple: find modestly priced food on the streets of Shanghai and bring it back to the hotel room in a reasonable amount of time. I was given no limits on type, nor quantity of ration. Finally tucked safely in bed after a miserable day of nasal leakage and wheezing, Sami was in no condition to join me on this venture and set zero parameters to her initial objective. At the time of my departure, I was uncertain if she would be partaking in found goodies at all.

I shuffled across the outdated floor of the narrow hallway and pushed the elevator button down. The door opened and revealed now familiar framed posters advertising menu items from the hotel restaurant. There was shark fin in a pink looking broth and the famous mandarin fish shaped like a squirrel. I didn't think it looked like a squirrel so I stared at it like one of those eye-trick 3-D posters. Out of the corner of my eye I admired the way my Chinese riding companions politely ignored the white lunatic with his nose pressed against a picture of fried fish.

Feeling adventurous, I quickly dismissed the idea of ordering from in house and walked through the double doors. Outside, I was greeted by the sharp scent of stinky tofu and a seated elderly woman hawking an unidentifiable seasonal fruit. She extended one white piece impaled on a toothpick upward. I took it, ate it, and made a face like I had just eaten a lemon's asshole. It actually tasted quite pleasant, but I didn't want to buy it and felt like this was easier than trying to express myself with words. She got the point and turned her head unamused.

As I walked through the alley toward the East Nianxing Rd., I took mental notes of the nearby restaurants and street vendors. Some of the people can get quite aggressive and earlier in the week I let myself get talked into a serving of dumplings which were good, but dry knockoffs of the Shanghai staple I would learn to love. I noticed piles of bright red crawdads, mystery meat skewers and dim sum galore amongst the skinky tofu.

The alleyway outside of our hotel.

When I got to the main road I had a decision to make. A few hundred feet down to the left, conveniently located at the top stairs of a subway exit lay a steamed bun vendor. We each had one of these buns for breakfast our first morning in the city. They tasted like Thanksgiving dinner- seasoned meat and collard greens inside a sticky white wonderbread roll. Somewhere off to the right was a popular Japanese ramen chain restaurant we had heard great things about. I veered toward the right, mainly because I was fairly certain that the small street vendor would be closed.

I found Ajisen Ramen and somehow managed not only to order a tasty looking dry ramen (thought it would be easier to carry than soup) but also express my preference for take-out. I sat, waited for my order, and stared at the Sumo wrestler illustrations on the wall. The customers inside were much less discreet than the elevator riders, and helped themselves to generous glances of foreigner between noodle slurps. 

 Ajisen Ramen

On my way back I stopped by good ole' McDonald's. This was my safe bet. I knew that if everything else failed, I could fall back on this. I ordered two cheeseburgers and two pieces of fried chicken- a wing and a leg. Laugh all you want about my lack of creativity, but I have eaten so little fast food in the past year that I was actually giddy with anticipation thinking about the greasy gut bomb.

On the way back I used the point and grunt method of ordering some of those bright red crawdads. The man working the wok put a passle of crustaceans in a circular wire net attached to a wooden handle. He then dropped the crawdads in hot oil for a few minutes and then wrapped the greasy gift in (much to my dismay) a plastic bag. By the way, what does it say about me that I despise the use of plastic bags, but would happily chow down on shark fin soup? What kind of environmentalist am I?

A quick stop at the convenience store for a 20 ounce Tsingtao and I was ready to dig in. The crawfish came with plastic gloves (again, not environmentally friendly, but so sanitary!) which I slid on while Sami picked at the McDonald's chicken. I analyzed one, separated the head from the tail and slurped up all of the briny green brain I could. Heaven. The combination of seafood, spicy oil and cold beer had my head spinning in a pleasure orgy of flavor. I sloppily sucked brains and chewed chewy tail with delight. Sweat and hot grease clung to my glistening vacation whiskers creating a phenomenon I later dubbed "flavor face".This was easily the highlight of my trip.

 The greasy crawdad, the plastic glove, the glistening smile, this must be love.

Of course, as with all food junkies, I am always looking for the next big hit. Moments after I finished the last crawdad I headed back down the elevator. In my drunkenness I swore the mandarin fish was a little more squirrel-like. Outside I hoped to run into the fruit lady, but she was gone, no doubt humiliated by my insensitive psyche out. I bought another beer at the store and cut my hand trying to open it. With blood dripping between my fingers I walked toward East Nianxing Rd. and took a right.

My mission was simple: Obtain a Shanghainese cruller and soft serve ice cream cone from KFC and consume it before Sami sees me and calls me fat.

Shanghai: Nianxiang Steamed Bun Restaurant

 Yuyuan Bazaar

Earlier in the morning, before my chance encounter with the paper cutter and my deliberate encounter with the Chinese KFC cashier, I had thoughtfully chosen to attire myself in jeans and a long sleeve shirt- both to avoid the inevitable sunburn and fit in with the locals. It is rare, in my first hand opinion, to see Asian men wearing shorts in public. Bare legs are an essential component of the vogue Korean woman's overall appearance, but the men are contentedly confined in a dark suit, white shirt and sparkly pink or periwinkle necktie. Even on weekends. Although Sami and I agreed that Shanghai was much more casual than Seoul, there still was a distinct lack of uncovered stems on the male population. I wasn't going to take any chances.

Naturally, I regretted my choice of style over comfort as the late morning became hot and a little muggier than I would have preferred. As we walked away from the paper cutter, the green backpack (which has become an unfortunate mainstay in nearly all travel photographs we take) strapped snugly against my body accelerated the fall of sweat rivulets down my spine. Warm, swampy lagoons formed between my legs and under my arms which smelled of Mexican food.

Most people would reach for a cool refreshment during a time like this. Perhaps an iced tea, or a soda. Maybe an ice cream or a beer. Not us. We were on a quest for hot, steamy, pork soup dumplings. Of course, these were the most famous dumplings in all of Shanghai, the dumpling capitol of the world. No amount of humidity would stop us.

Nanxiang Steamed Bun Restaurant was located in the Yuyuan Bazaar in Old Town. Walking into the bazaar was not unlike walking into a crowded outlet mall in, say, Lincoln City, except that the department stores are held in giant wooden pagodas and all the people are Asian. A wooden railed deck snakes around the bazaar over a pool of green water filled with orange carp. The path leads you to such exotic establishments as Dairy Queen and Starbucks. Walking across the pond can be nearly impossible as hordes of tourists scrunch together to pose in front of the green pond.

 The entrance. You will find no shortage of knock offs in the shops, but the dumplings are the real deal my friend.

O.K. so maybe it is nothing like Lincoln City. I lied.

 

The restaurant itself is fairly indistinguishable from the other wood framed restaurants and shops if not for the seemingly hundreds of customers queued up waiting for a taste. The line stretched outside the door where several families sat on open air benches waiting to be called. We weighed our options and quickly decided to jump into the take out line. We were after the eats, not the seats.

After a good half hour we reached the front of the take out line. There is a glass window where you can observe the cooks skillfully twist the dumpling skin around a portion of meat, and place them evenly in a round bamboo steamers and stacked atop each other to dangerously high levels. We paid for two servings and the woman behind the counter served them to us with all the delicacy of a handless bongo player.

 Finally made it to the front!

We scurried off and found a piece of pavement to sit down on. I pulled out my chopsticks (Yes, we brought our own! Look at us being environmentally friendly!) and dug in. I have to admit that I thought the skin was going to be a little thinner, but the flavor was exactly what I wanted. Pork fatty and garlicky. The broth was perfect, not too salty and just the right amount of fat to cover your mouth and remind you later how good it was.

 When traveling in China, bring your own chopsticks. Save bamboo!

After we ate, Sami wanted to get her Starbucks fix in and I let her. Meanwhile, I searched the Dairy Queen, but when I was told they had no shell syrup for the dipped cones, I retreated. What the hell is this? Communist China? I had half of Sami's caramel bullshit thing and it was quite refreshing. Looks like I beat the heat after all. Even without shorts.

The Food and Book List

The internet is destroying my brain. I have a lot of free time after my classes are finished in the early afternoon, and lately I have been spending more of that time on twitter or Facebook rather than doing something productive like studying Korean or planning an interesting lesson for later in the week. I constantly process multiple pieces of arbitrary information and, as a result, am unable to focus on one thing at a time. Sami has grown annoyed of my recent habit of asking an unrelated question or changing the subject completely while she is mid-sentence. The truth is that I am listening to what she has to say. It is just that I am too accustomed to having multiple tabs open at all times.

I have always liked to read and cook and play basketball- three things that require complete focus. I often write down titles of books that I want to read, or foods I would like to cook someday. Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of losing every scrap of paper listing such items. Maybe if I keep a running list on this post, it will help me remember. I can also cross them off as I finish them, so that will be therapeutic (another short-term goal accomplished!). The hoops will probably have to wait until we get back to the states. Too difficult to rustle up a game of one-on-one, let alone a decent run of threes or fives. Likewise, many of the foods won't be attempted until we are back in the states because certain groceries are either impossible to find or impossibly expensive.

Anyway, here is the list and I will update it when I think of more. Suggestions welcome! Help me kick my adult onset ADD!

The Food and Book List


Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen (Included because Sami has it here in Korea)
Dracula, Bram Stoker (Ditto)
The Quiet American, Graham Green
The Innocents Abroad, Mark Twain
BBQ oysters on the half shell with butter, parmesan cheese, pancetta and chives
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
Korean school lunch inspired fruit salad with cherry tomatoes, cucumber and raisins. Maybe I should put something crunchy in there too, like walnuts or almonds...
Anything written by Elmore Leonard (never tried)
The World According to Garp John Irving
Spicy freaking crawdads like the ones I had in Shanghai
One Day David Nicholls 
Following Polly Karen Bergreen
Beloved Toni Morrison
Underworld Don DeLillo
Jenny Gerhardt Theodore Dreiser (read Sister Carrie instead)
Everyman Phillip Roth

Gates of Heaven

I am guilty of being a complete movie snob. Sami says that I won't see a movie unless Ebert, or someone of his ilk gives it four stars. There may be more than a sliver of truth to my frustratingly intelligent wife's theory.

My problem is that I cannot stand anything that doesn't feel real. Tons of chase scenes, shootouts and car explosions? Sorry, not for me. Romantic comedy? I don't think it works that way (Seriously, I can count on one hand the number of rom-coms worth re-watching. Maybe "When Harry Met Sally." My number one most hated movie is "Maid in Manhattan). Fantasy? Please revisit the first sentence of this paragraph.

Not surprisingly, I was tempted to watch "Gates of Heaven" after seeing that some obscure group had christened it "The Greatest Documentary of All-Time." Actually, to back up even further, sometime last winter one of the eight or so Korean channels that we get had a weekend-long foreign film/documentary marathon. One of the movies I saw was Werner Herzog's "Aguirre, The Wrath of God." I have always wanted to see this classic, but unfortunately, only Korean subtitles were added to the German dialogue. Afterward, they played a short documentary titled: "Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe." This was made as a follow up to a comment to Errol Morris, director of "Gates of Heaven". Mr. Herzog told Mr. Morris that if he ever completed "Gates of Heaven," he would eat his shoe. Both followed through.

"Gates of Heaven" is about two pet cemeteries in California. One is a success, the other not so much. Sounds about as exciting as vacuuming right?

What makes this movie my new favorite isn't necessarily the subject matter, but rather how the story so completely personifies America and the people who inhabit the greatest country in the world. Closing in on nearly a year overseas, I drank this movie like medicine for a homesickened soul.

First off, the movie proves (especially in the case of the failed cemetery) that people in the U.S. have an undeniable urge to do good in the world. After years working for a non-profit, raising money for kids and adults with neuromuscular diseases, I am a true believer. There was not one day during my time at MDA, where I failed to interact with someone who chose to give either money or time, simply because they felt it was the right thing to do.

However, doing good is never as easy as it should be, and good intentions are difficult to maintain in the face of capitalism and beaurocracy. One current example that I keep coming back to is the appalling lack of a memorial to the victims of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001 nearly a decade later.

Conversely, the second half of the movie focuses on the more successful pet cemetery, which embodies what many would consider the American Dream- start with an idea and grow it to grand and intricate levels bigger than you initially conceived. In so doing, you can provide for your family, turn your life's work over to them, expand and establish your legacy. 

Of course, I am not much of a social thinker, and I do my best to avoid any and all political discussion. What I am interested in is human interaction and how bizarre we all are in our own way. One of the things I miss most about the U.S. is the way certain people talk. In Korea, all conversation is one thousand miles-per-hour and completely monotone. I once had a Korean teacher tell me that she loves learning and listening to English because it sounds like we are singing. I appreciate the slow drawl of the characters filmed in "Gates of Heaven" because I am a bit of a slow talker myself and like to take a second or two to understand what is spoken to me before I respond. It is engrossing to hear what people have to say with a camera left filming them, instead of being stopped and asked another question. There is one scene of a local elderly woman who starts out talking about the mishap of the pet cemetery her pup was laid down in and finishes on an improvised tirade about her dead beat son and his "tramp" of an ex-wife. It is priceless.

"Gates of Heaven" was filmed in the late 70's. I don't think a documentary will ever come close to resembling it again. So called "regular people" act differently now with a camera pointed at them. They either speak with no filter, in an attempt to gain fame and notoriety (we the YouTube generation), or are so skeptical of being exploited that they hide behind "no comment" or prepared talking points as a way to protect themselves (or the company they work for) and remain politically correct (thank you 60 Minutes).

One of my favorite characters in the film is the head of a rendering company who admits to lying to the media when asked about receiving an elephant from a local zoo. Could you imagine the fallout from any admitted lie from a corporation today? The times, they have a' changed.

The movie also deals with such universal themes as death, of course, as well as companionship. You might watch the film and be intrigued in an entirely different direction than I was.

In one of the most poignant scenes near the end of the movie, one dog owner asks "After all there's your dog, and he's dead. But where is the thing that made it move?"

It is a question that I like to ask twenty minutes into every movie I watch. "What is the point? What makes it real? Where is the thing that makes it move?"

Sorry, "Maid in Manhattan," I don't know the answer. With "Gates of Heaven," I do.

To Watch "Gates of Heaven" Click Here 

Changes

Today I found out that the brother of a buddy of mine will be moving to Seoul in July to teach. He just graduated college in May, and man does that make me feel old- I remember him visiting us when we were undergrads and he was just a little squirt (albeit infinitely more mature than his bro). I got to thinking about how I would have handled the transition of not only living in a foreign country, but also in one of the world's largest cities, at a mere 21 or 22 years of age. I doubt I would have survived. I had a hard enough time adjusting to life in the big city of Eugene (population 140,000) after 13 years in Ontario (population 10,000). I would get lost walking from Autzen Stadium to the dorms.

I believe that a person experiences the greatest number of changes and growth between the ages of 22 and 25. The young man venturing to Seoul this summer will undoubtedly learn some of life's most important lessons sooner than most. Among them:

1. Soju is evil
2. Respect other cultures because not everyone was raised the same as you
3. Just because it smells bad doesn't mean it doesn't taste good
4. Respect the elderly
5. There is an entire world of people out there who have no idea what the NFL is, who your favorite team is or if they win or lose.
6. The way you act will reflect in how foreigners perceive your country. (If you don't eat watermelon, all Americans hate watermelon. If you give up your seat on the subway to an older person, all Americans are kind and selfless)
7. Never underestimate the power of a smile and a nod
8. Patience is not merely a virtue, but a necessity required for maintaining sanity
9. You will not get everything you want all the time, and you definitely won't get it when you need it the most (this is especially true when trying to establish your vacation schedule)

Just for fun, here are a few things that have changed in my life in the last year (note: 2009 refers to the period before I came to Korea in August, 2010 means after):

Rent
2009: $810/month
2010: $0

Miles Driven
2009: 1,600/month
2010: 0

Dollars Spent on Gas per Week
2009: $100
2010: $0

Dollars Spent on Food per Week
2009: $150+
2010: $26

Job Description
2009: Fundraising (majority of time spent asking people for money and asking people to ask people they know for money), Event planning (on average about three a month including dinner auction and golf tournament) Management (weekly interviews and training, evaluating/motivating a 10 person call center), routinely driving 100+ miles a week for public awareness speaking engagements.
2010: Teaching 9 year-olds how to say "I like chicken"

Total Countries Visited
2009: 2
2010: 6

Marital Status
2009: Single
2010: Married

Weight
2009: 195lbs.
2010: 165 lbs

Belt Loops Reached
2009: 2
2010: 5

Typical Lunch
2009: Burrito Boy bean, cheese and rice burrito, coke
2010: White rice, soup with tofu and vegetables, kimchi, pork, fruit, vegetables, water

Number of Meals Consumed with Kimchi 
2009: 2
2010: 400+

Hours of Football Watched (per week, during the season)
2009: 20+
2010: 0 (Not entirely true. Sometimes I could find the Duck games online)

TV
2009: 42" Panasonic Plasma with HD, DVR, Comcast Digital Cable and HBO
2010: 19" Samsung box set with 7 channels (one English)

Hmmm. After running through this list of things that have changed for me over the past year, it is safe to say that there is one more life lesson my friend's brother will learn before most of his peers:

#10. You don't need to have more, or spend more to get more out of life.

Enjoy the ride young buck.

Shanghai: Cruller to Crook, Pastry to Paper Cutter

It was my job to retrieve breakfast. Basically, my sole duty in this domestic partnership of ours is to gather and prepare food for my wife two or three times a day. I don't mind this all that much because she takes care of nearly all of the additional household duties- dishes, laundry etc. So even though I wasn't thrilled about venturing out unaccompanied to order unfamiliar items in an unfamiliar language, it was only fair.

A fellow teacher friend of ours here in Korea recommended a certain type of fried dough sold at the KFC's in Shanghai. She is Chinese-American and has spent a considerable amount of time in Shanghai visiting family, so we quickly deemed her an expert of the local culinary scene. If she said KFC was bomb, who were we to question. We had hoped to find the fried tasties at the World Expo, but had no luck.

On my way to KFC I walked past a small number of people, kids mostly, dressed in bright silk pajamas and a larger number of people, elder folk mainly, practicing thai-chi.

I successfully ordered the crullers (five, if you must know) and bounded back to the hotel. Inside Sami had already started the coffee. Truthfully, the phrase "started the coffee" is a bit of a misnomer. You see, in Korea, the only real coffee option available to the home consumer is the instant variety. It really isn't that bad. One serving comes in a long, tubular package. The coffee crystals are concentrated near the top third on the pack, closest to the opening and the sugar and cream dust follows. I like to regulate the amount of sugar and cream and only pour in the top half of the package's contents. Sami pours the whole thing. We each prefer a double.

The cruller was hot, crispy on the outside and soft and chewy on the inside. It was covered in cinnamon and sugar and when you chewed, the pastry would release delicious grease that would coat your mouth with flavor. They reminded me of Native American fry bread. I remember once in my old job we had a conference at Kah-Nee-Ta Resort and Casino. They served fry bread and blackberry jam for breakfast and I could not get enough. I ate so much that I nearly damaged the inside of my mouth with happiness. I was much heavier in those days.

 Fried dough. Instant coffee.

Our plan for the day was to walk along the river and see as much of Old Town as we could during the day, and the French Concession at night. Typically, my number one goal was to try the famous soup dumplings at Nanxiang Steamed Bun Restaurant, while Sami's main objective was to visit the home of the First National Congress of the Communist Party of China in an entirely different part of the city.

It was an unusually clear day with mid-level altocumulus clouds draped across the morning blue sky. The walkway along the river had only been open for a month after an extensive re-model in preparation for the World Expo. As a result, there were a fair amount of tourists out posing for pictures alongside famous landmarks such as the TV Tower.

 That crazy spaceship looking thing is the TV Tower. The one that looks like a bottle opener to the far right is the second largest building in the world.

Sami consulting the guidebook. Little Ben in the background.

 

I was excited to see the outside of the Astor House Hotel, which served as the location of a crucial scene in "Man's Fate" a novel by Malreaux about the failed communist revolution. I read the book in college when I really couldn't have cared less, and now wish that I would have brought it along with me. Astor of course was the famous American who was the first to import furs (really the only thing from North America that the Chinese cared to import) to China. Outside of the hotel, a woman in a vibrant yellow dressed posed for photographers.

 In front of the Astor House

We found a place to sit and pulled out our guidebook. There were a few gardens we knew were nearby and worth checking out. As we sat, we were approached by a friendly man in a dark blazer and khaki baseball cap. He told us he was an artist, a paper cutter, and told us a few familiar factoids regarding the area. He was nice enough and we obliged him by smiling, nodding and allowing him to accompany us to the nearby gardens. We had successfully avoided an attempted scam our first trip in Shanghai, and were hoping to keep our streak alive. However, we were unprepared when he whipped out his scissors and began to cut my profile. When he finished he said that he wanted 60 yuan for it. You've got to be kidding me. Because we are nice and gullible, we ended up paying 15 yuan- about the cost of our cruller breakfast.

 The paper cutter.

Doesn't even look like me.

 

Dejected, we turned toward the gardens and then to Old Town for the soup dumplings. After all, Sami was getting hungry and it was time for me to live up to my end of the deal and find food.

Bad Case of Lovin' You

The undisputed highlight of my weekday (besides school lunch) is the time I spend at the gym. When the clock strikes quitting time (4:40 p.m.) I change out of indoor shoes (they are kind of like dress sandals men wear with socks- shut up everyone does it) and powerwalk with my head down past an independent produce vendor selling either bean sprouts and tofu (this time of year) or seasonal fruit (apples, pears, persimmons and mandarin oranges during the fall) on my way to Well Being Fitness Center.

To get there, I cross two busy intersections which, despite the presence of stop lights and pedestrian walk signs, is always more dangerous than it should be. Motorists routinely run red lights, and even when I choose to be cautious enough to let them speed by, there is still a risk of getting taken out by one of the chicken deliverymen on a motor scooter (I am not calling them chicken deliverymen to mock their manhood either. They actually do deliver chicken directly to your door. Fried, mainly).

When I get to the building that houses my gym, I hop up the gray, stone polished stairs two at a time (note: all office buildings in Korea have polished, stone steps and thick, silver metal guard rails) and pass a nore-bang where I am inevitably met by the startled stare of someone who obviously did not expect to see a white dude when they got out of bed in the morning.

Well Being Fitness Center is located on the third floor, and when I become visible through the glass double doors, the woman who works behind the counter initiates our choreographed, near wordless daily routine. I take off my boots and slip into indoor slippers while she grabs two neatly folded towels, each the size of a washcloth, along with a numbered locker key attached to a plastic wristband and sets them on the counter. I hand her my membership card which she swipes and stashes in a designated holder that corresponds with my locker number. Meanwhile, I turn and grab navy blue short shorts (XXL but only reach mid thigh) and a lime green polyester shirt- either an XL (which is probably only a medium) or a XXL (large to us westerners) depending on how fat I feel. We usually pull this maneuver off flawlessly, and often times she will have the towels and key ready to go before I even have my shoes off. However, on certain occasions, the setup of the restroom calls for me to visibly pass by the doors without stopping. This throws off our routine and, due to the duration of time spent out of sight, I know that she knows I was in there making stinky. It is an awkward situation all the way around.

Typically, Koreans like to keep to themselves, make no eye contact and act genuinely reserved. They make no noise when exerting themselves during a lift, unlike myself who grunts like a caveman while performing a light warm-up set. One exception- earlier this week there was a guy emphatically belting the lyrics to Robert Palmer's "Bad Case of Lovin' You (Doctor Doctor) which is blared as part of a continuous loop along with Korean pop, unedited hardcore rap and Mariah Carey.  

"Shange ma bruuuuuuu har to led."

Although they tend to avoid conversing with each other, they make up for it with their use of cell phones. I am of the opinion that a slow walk on the treadmill is neither the ideal time for a chat nor the best way to burn calories, but who am I to judge?

Traces of modern technology are found throughout the gym and not solely pressed tightly against the faces of of speed walkers on the treadmill. Over in the corner there is a contraption you can strap yourself to and levitate upside down. I am completely unaware of its benefits, but it is quite popular. There are also two machines that have a thick canvass belt attached to both sides creating a loop. Flip a switch and the belt vibrates and massages any part of your body you wish. I have seen these machines in the U.S., but they are usually accompanied by enough caution tape and 'supervision required' signs that they are generally avoided. There is a waiting line for them in my gym.

There is one man, however, who eschews all of the modern equipment and sticks with a few tried and true lifts. You would think that he would be my kind of guy, but I downright despise him.

He routine never changes. He starts off by doing sit ups on the floor or a decline bench with his head near the floor. Next he moves to the bench press where he does a few warm up sets, leaves his weight on the bar, goes to the stationary bike for 20 or 30 minutes, does some pulldowns on the machine where he lifts his butt off the seat with the momentum of the weight (terrible form and I don't really see the benefit) and then goes back to the bench press.

Normally, I don't care or criticize anything anyone else does in the gym. It is not my business. There is one thing, though, that drives me crazy. Regardless of who is using the bench (there is only one), even if someone is in the middle of a set, this asshole will drop his locker key, towel, cell phone and lifting gloves right under the bench. He totally camps on the bench during his whole workout. I bite my lip and chalk it up to cultural differences, but you cannot tell me that some 'roid head at Gold's Gym in the U.S. would just let that slide. What a jerk!

Alright, so maybe I didn't paint the best picture of my so-called favorite part of the week, but even with all its flaws, it is still my gym. It is close to work. It has everything I need. And I always no what to expect, be it selfish, uncreative, bench-bogarting jerk-off, or a lunatic Robert Plant admirer.

"I know you rike it. You rike it on top"