Rainy Season

It is hot, and without air conditioning there is no escaping the heat and humidity. We tell ourselves that A/C is bad for the environment, and that it would be too expensive. Most likely, we are probably just too lazy to ask our teachers for help in renting a unit and setting it up. With a 17 day vacation home looming less than a week away, it would make little sense to spring for one now. Plus, you know, the environment.

When I come home from English camp at around 12:30 every day, I strip down to nothing but basketball shorts and roll up the waistband. Sami says it looks like I am wearing a diaper. At night, I take a cold bath and then attempt to fall asleep by rotating bags of ice under my knees, behind my neck, clamped to my armpits or resting on my crotch.

A week from Tuesday marked the official start of "rainy season," and the combination of hot, falling water and the sticky, breezeless air is nearly unbearable. Worse yet, there is no way to tell when a downpour will occur. I find myself walking to the gym in shorts, a tank top and flip flops while clutching an umbrella.

As much as I despise the summer weather in Korea, I would happily roll around in a snowsuit outside all day in exchange for a cicada mass exodus. The females are like constant rattlesnakes threatened in the trees and the male mating call has all the elegance of the back end of a dentist's electric polisher vibrating against a central incisor.

The other day, I found a male screeching and clinging to the outside window screen. I snuck up and whacked at it with the remote control, but succeeded only in puncturing the the screen. In my moment of rage I completely neglected the can of Raid we use to ward off mosquitoes. The next day I saw two of my students, each pinching cicadas between their thumbs and forefingers. They gave the hideous looking bugs (kind of like a cross between a giant cockroach and a moth) a little squeeze to make them chirp more vigorously.

Koreans seem just as adept at handling the weather as they are with cicadas. In fact, they celebrate the first day of rainy season, called Cho-pok, by (of course) eating hot, ginseng chicken soup called samgetang. The theory is that the hot soup will make their body temperatures hotter, and thus able to adapt to the weather more easily. I don't get it.

I went out with my teachers to eat samgetang on Cho-pok and was quickly scolded when I attempted to add salt to the soup. Apparently, you are supposed to dip a piece of the chicken into the bowl of salt. I did this, but it made the chicken too salty. I was feeling a little down after this and began to think that I was never going to be able to fully adjust to Korean culture or climate. However, I felt a little better knowing that the restaurant was heavily air conditioned. Maybe they can't stand the heat after all! Or maybe, they just don't care as much about the environment as I do.

English Camp

Between the recent Mud Festival excursion and our upcoming stateside visit, I am required by my school to teach two days and two weeks of English language summer camp for third and fifth grade students. Tomorrow will be my last day of seven teaching two separate 90 minute classes of 16 third graders. Fifth grade is next week.

Sometime in the last month or so, I came to the realization that I don't mind being disciplined about the few things I am passionate about. Teaching Korean kids to say, "I like chicken" is not a passion. Don't get me wrong, the kids, especially the third graders, are quite cute, and it can be rewarding to see them improve their language skills as the year progresses, but I just don't have the desire or the energy to play the role of full time babysitter and disciplinarian. Unlike Korean middle and high school students who have grown zombified by an absurd number of daily study hours and incessant societal pressure to excel academically, the elementary students buzz around like coked out squirrels fighting over the last nut.

The first few days of camp were a nightmare with me constantly reminding the students of my three simple, yet painfully foreign rules:

Rule #1: No fighting, punching or touching (yes, I know the latter encompasses the former two, but in a culture where a boy will think nothing of swinging a balled fist into a female classmate's head, I feel they should be singled out).

Rule #2: Raise your hand if you want to speak.

Rule #3: Only speak in English.

I used a variety of tactics intended to restore order and assert my dominance. First, I tried the silent method where in the middle of teaching, I stopped talking until it became absolutely quiet. The effectiveness of this method is entirely contingent on one or a handful of well-behaved students who get the message early and relay it to the hooligans. For the most part, the silent technique worked, but every now and then, I had to break out into the "HEY! yell and death stare." The "HEY! yell and death stare" works extremely well paired with a finger point and clenched jaw.

One time, a boy flipped off another student, and I made a point of teaching everyone that "the bird" is not an acceptable gesture by taking him into the hallway and scolding him in private before shutting the door and leaving him outside. Of course, having never been subjected to that particular form of punishment, the boy pulled open the wooden sliding door and peered in on the class with befuddled eyes.

I am happy to report that my students' behavior has improved immensely each day and as a result, I have actually started to enjoy the experience. Of course, this doesn't mean that the days pass completely without incident. Today, during the ten minute morning break, I learned that a student made a number two on the floor of the boys' restroom. I was made aware of the number two by my best 3rd grade student, whose English name is Eric. Although Eric's English proficiency rivals that of any of my 5th grade students, I was not used to this type of conversation and it made for an understandably awkward exchange.

Eric: Joe, some poop in the men's bathroom.

Me: What?

Eric: Some poop.

Me: There is food in the bathroom?

Eric: No.

It was at this point that Eric surrendered on the idea of verbal explanation. He squatted down, flapped his tongue trough pursed lips and made the universal stinky gesture consisting of a waved hand in front of the nose.

Better informed, I walked outside and was immediately snapped back by the stench marinating in the jungle-like humidity of the hallway.

Being an ESL teacher does have its occasional advantages, chiefly, the opportunity to plead ignorance. In a normal situation, I may have to inform a superior of the heinous act committed on the floor of the boys' bathroom. I could have to scold all of the boys in the class and tell them how disgusting they are, all the while killing myself by holding back laughter. Worst of all, I may be forced to find supplies and clean the mess up myself. No.

"Eric, go tell the Vice Principal," I said, and turned back into the odorless save haven of the air conditioned classroom.

Boryeong Mud Festival, Part 4

Though our final day at Mud Fest began at 4 am with snoring so loud that it reverberated beneath the thin pads we were sleeping on, the sun was out and it wasn't raining (something that is rare during Korean summers), so we couldn't have been happier. We decided to spend our day on the beach, renting tubes and an umbrella to sit under.

Tor and Joe promptly turned into 8 year old boys, giddy and excited that they were going to get to play in the ocean. Fortunately, Becky and I had managed to force some sunscreen on them at breakfast because once we arrived on the beach they grabbed a tube and made a break for the ocean. Joe even told me later, after I forced him to let me put more sunscreen on him, "I can't eat lunch right now. I don't want to waste a minute of the time I can spend playing in the ocean." I watched Tor quickly spray some sunscreen on himself to appease Becky, only to see him immediately run back into the water without letting it soak in.While the boys were splashing about and riding the waves, the girls decided to grab some lunch. We enjoyed one my favorite Korean foods- bi-bim-naengmyeon which consists of cold noodles, vegetables, and red pepper paste all mixed together. We were all completely relaxed, enjoying the day, and when the question came up about what time we had to head to the bus, none of us were too alarmed when no one knew the answer. Becky had a copy of the itinerary from online that said the bus departed at 4 pm so the decision was made to head to the bus at 3:30.

Yujung, Becky and I tried to stay out of the sun. 

 The rest of the group spent most of the time in the ocean. In fact, Tor was probably already in the ocean at this point because he isn't in any of the pictures.

Around 1:45 pm Tor and Joe's appetites got the best of them. Joe made a huge production of asking me for lunch money (he likes people to feel sorry for him and blame me for being on a budget) and then the boys were off in search of lunch. Before they left they double checked what time the bus was leaving and reassured us that they would be back in plenty of time. For some reason, I couldn't shake the feeling that the bus was leaving before 4 pm, but I was trying really hard to play it cool. Anyone who knows me well knows that this is extremely difficult for me, but after 5 months of yoga I have made some progress. My anxiety continued to increase as I watched a group I recognized from our bus pack up their stuff around 2 pm. I looked at the girls and asked, "Weren't they on our bus?" Someone responded that they were probably just going to get lunch. No need to worry.

By 2:30 pm I couldn't take it anymore. I turned to Becky and asked, "Do you want to go with me to where the buses are parked to double check what time we leave?" My asking Becky was strategic. There is a definite reason that Tor has nicknamed us the "nerd twins." We both worry and plan way more than the average person, resulting in merciless teasing and torture from our spoiled and carefree husbands. Becky immediately agreed that it would be good to double check and Leana and Yujung smiled at us and asked us to let them know if the buses were leaving before 4 pm. You could tell they thought we are being paranoid, but they were polite and didn't try to stop us.

It turns out, I was right to be worried. Once we arrived where the buses were parked we leisurely began searching for empty seats. Our pace increased as we realized that almost every available seat was filled. If the bus wasn't leaving for over an hour, what was everyone doing on the buses? I turned to a nearby passenger and asked nonchalantly,
"What time do the buses leave any way?" She smiled and said, "They leave at 3 o'clock." I was immediately propelled into action. With Becky still searching for empty seats I immediately tried to call Tor (Joe doesn't have a phone- we share) but no one answered. I then tried to call Leana and no one answered. As Becky made her way off the bus, reporting that she had found a few seats close together I told her, "Becky, the buses leave at 3 pm." I am pretty sure she responded with an expletive. "I'm going to the beach. Can you try to hold the buses for a few minutes?" I was off before I heard her respond.

I ran as fast as I could in flip flops and my bathing suit, but it was hot and my food hadn't completely digested, making for a fairly uncomfortable run. As I approached our umbrella and towels I saw only Leana and Yujung. They sprung into action once I told them that the bus was leaving in 5 minutes and I took off in search of Joe and Tor. I ran all along the stretch of restaurants that lined the top of the beach but they were nowhere to be found. By this point I was hot, worried, and very angry, but I couldn't figure out who to be angry at and and that just made me even angrier. I tried calling Tor's phone repeatedly but no one answered, so I made the decision to return to the buses.


When I made it back to the parking lot I found Becky looking stressed and dejected. She reported that the buses were going to leave any minute now, so we made the decision to remove all of our belongings from the bus and take an Express Bus home (however, we had no idea where the bus station was so this was quite problematic). Becky tried calling Tor's phone again only to hear it ringing from within her own bag. Once we had all of our bags off the bus we began the walk back towards the beach at a very slow pace. Becky had two full sized bags and I had our large bag, a back pack, and my purse. We hadn't made it very far when Leana came running to tell us that the buses would wait a little bit longer. Once again, I was off and running for the beach.

By the time I made it to the beach my entire body was shaking, but I was elated to find a very confused looking Joe and Tor. Later Tor told me that they were going to write BUS in the sand and then head to the parking lot. I was jealous- why didn't I think of writing bus? I made eye contact with Tor and said, "We've got to go now." Tor started running immediately while it took Joe a little longer to catch on. Once Tor caught up to me I filled him in, breathing so hard I could barely speak. Joe piped in from behind asking, "Why are we running?" I turned around and snapped, "So we don't miss the bus." Joe shrugged and didn't seem concerned.

We arrived at the parking lot to find an anxious Becky surrounded by our bags. "Why did you take our bags off the bus?" Joe asked in an annoyed tone. I gave him a death glare and snapped back, "The buses were supposed to leave at 3 pm. We thought we were going to have to take an Express Bus." I grabbed our bags and started making my way to the bus realizing half way to the bus that Joe wasn't carrying anything. I heaved our bag towards him saying, "Here. You carry it. I'm tired." Once again Joe was cool as a cucumber as he grabbed the bag from me and advised me to relax. Oh the irony.

Even though we sat behind a group of obnoxious and annoying girls on the bus ride home, once I relaxed and was able to breathe normally again, I was relieved that we didn't have to find another way home. Not to mention, they showed The Blind Side on the way home, so I was able to tune out most of their stories about how drunk and wasted they were all weekend. Blah blah blah, like I haven't heard all of that before.

Boryeong Mud Festival Part 3

That night we ate all you can eat shellfish at a seafood restaurant somewhere near the shark tank. They gave us a cotton shearing glove to protect from the heat and the mess. My technique was to pick up a clam, mussel or scallop with my chopsticks and then transfer it to my gloved left hand. Next I would remove the meat with my sticks and dip it in either red pepper paste or soy sauce and wasabi. We barbecued the shellfish right on the table and discarded the shells in a big bucket below. Eventually, the owners brought out a big bowl of noodles to swell our bellies with carbs and save the precious clams. It worked.

We walked back to the festival area to join the massive crowd gathered for an outdoor concert in the rain. The live show featured some of the biggest names in Korean pop music. I was familiar with many of the songs because they are included in a mix tape of workout songs played at my local gym.

Unfortunately, our view of the stage was obstructed by a sea of umbrellas. Even when the rain stopped, oblivious Korean spectators thought nothing of smacking our heads with an open umbrella or sending rain water careening off the sides and down our necks. We settled on forming an impromptu dance circle away from the weapons' reach and put up with the puzzled faces pointed at us.

A spectacular fireworks display followed the concert, but it apparently wasn't enough to satisfy the pyrotechnic hunger of many drunken foreigners on the beach. A few lit off Roman candles which were quickly confiscated by security who disposed of them by shooting them downward into the hard sand with fire bouncing toward passing beachstrollers. We all had a good laugh as a security guard chased a foreigner full sprint in an attempt to confiscate a candle. While being chased, the half-naked rebel held his arm in the air and discarded the remaining flares into the night sky.

Later, I fell asleep easily at around midnight. I was exhausted from the rugby and the wrestling and the salt water, so I didn't mind my shoulder blades digging into the hard floor or the pillow stuffed with cut up plastic straws.

At 5:00 a.m. I was jerked awake by snoring akin to a dying elephant and boisterous drunkenness outside the window. Instead of willing myself back to sleep, I made the decision to leave the hotel and snap a few pictures in the approaching dawn.

Outside I found the beach littered with beer and soju bottles, a litany of wrappers and forgotten sandals. I saw drunken couples making out in the sand and elderly Koreans on their morning stroll. The festive artwork, so delightfully campy in neon the night before, sat reflectively hungover. It was an eerie atmosphere of a night that refused to end.

For breakfast I had spicy ramen and beer. We played in the ocean all day and, being diligent with the sunscreen, I only burned to a carnation pink.

We had a big adventure at the end of the day because we had the wrong information regarding the departure time. Actually, I think Sami can tell that story better than I can...

Boryeong Mud Festival Part 2

After assembling in the bedless, open hotel room, we six wandered out onto the boardwalk and toward the festival area. Up ahead, a fellow foreigner removed his his backward ball cap, opened the lid of a fish tank outside of one of the many streetside restaurants and plunged his head quickly into the water. We passed the tank and noticed that it was occupied by four, three-foot long sharks. For the remainder of the trip, Sami was convinced I would attempt to duplicate this act of retardedness. I had zero intention of doing so, but fully recognized the bargaining chip sent before me.

Joe: I want another beer.

Sami: I don't think so, you've had enough already and we shouldn't spend the money.

Joe: If I don't get a beer I am going to put my head in the shark tank.

Sami: Fine. Here. (Hands over cash)

And later...

Sami: Let's go dance onstage with the rest of the party.

Joe: No. Dancing is gay.

Sami: Please? It will be fun.

Joe: Fine, I will go only if I can chum the shark water with my face first. Just one time. Real quick.

Sami: Forget it. Nevermind.

Back on the boardwalk, the gray sky and light drizzle did not deter the substantial foreign population from freely exposing their pale and freshly mudcaked bodies to both the elements and frightened locals. Men in a variety of shapes, sizes and body hair volumes pranced around in the skimpiest of speedos. Girls soft and doughy from excessive binge drinking sported half hidden bikinis and oversized sunglasses. Someone wore a rubber horse mask and purposefully scared small children. All clutched brown, plastic, 32 ounce beer bottles and periodically lifted the heavy receptacle to their lips with an awkward head tilt. After a gluttonous slug, a backhanded wipe of lip fizz and a low, warm, stinky belch through the nose, the unparched festival goer would inevitably raise one fist into the air and scream "Woooo! Mud-Pest-Uh!" in a mock appreciation of Konglish.

We were going to share a few orders of fried chicken, but there was none left. We went to another tent and I ordered some of my favorite black bean noodles, but they were out. I ended up getting a hamburger which was very good, the best I've had in Korea, but still not the same. Maybe it was the fresh cucumber instead of dill pickle. I love pickle on hamburgers. There was a liberal amount of creamy delicious mayonnaise which I gargled like mouthwash it was so good.

The festival area housed a myriad of concrete sea sculptures and water slides. A corridor of booths where you could get painted in a special mud lined the main walkway. We all were debating about whether or not to wait in line to get painted when Tor suddenly jumped into a kiddie pool of mud wrestlers. Soon everyone in our party was stripping down and handing me their clothes and cameras to protect from the mud. None of them had participated in the Mud Olympics on the beach as I had, so maybe they thought I had had my fill. Undeterred, I set the items down and slowly approached the pool. I gingerly stepped in and laid face up in the pool. The bewildered participants, momentarily paused during a brief intermission, frantically began to kick mud onto my virgin skin and into my open mouth. I exited as muddy as the rest of the crew.

We rinsed ourselves off in the ocean and played in the waves. There were large typhoon swells in the normally calm waters of the Boryeong beach and we worked hard riding the biggest waves onto the shore, turning and running against the tide to catch a bigger one.

Eventually we walked back down the crazy boardwalk to our shared room to get ready for dinner. Along the way I spotted the now familiar shark tank and sprinted for it. Through the blur of tacky tourists and drunk Koreans I could hear my wife shriekingly admonish my mock retardedness.

Boryeong Mud Festival Part 1

I stripped off my shirt and outer layer of basketball shorts. I stood bare chested, white with blue veins. White is prized in Korea where women wear sports sleeves and hold umbrellas to shield the rays. In Cambodia, we saw Korean tourists with purple and blistered sunburned feet. Sunscreen in expensive in the Land of the Morning Calm and is sold in small bottles. An afterthought.

I exited the bus barefooted, tiptoeing and turning sideways to politely avoid contact with the hoard of pasty foreigners. Dozens of them crowded on stone steps, just behind and below a frenzied and makeshift beer booth. The crowd tore through mountainous piles of military clothing- dark green, brown and black camo pants and black, long sleeve cotton shirts with "TAD" printed across the left breast.

"Hi, my name is Tad."
"Nice to meet you Tad. I'm Tad."

I hopped down the stone steps toward the mud beach, but was turned around by a guide who informed the group that bare feet were not permissible. Many shellfish shells to cut your feet. Socks were ok. I bounded back to the bus and scourged through our North Face bag with L.L. Bean zippers. I hurriedly found a pair of black dress socks and squeezed the balled clothes back in and zipped the knock-off bag shut.

I saw Tor on the way down and he offered to buy me a beer. I took him up on it, even though I knew I was running behind. I twisted off the cap and quickly gulped and burped down the warm stout and jogged down with beer sloshing to meet the group.

A tall Korean girl with muscular legs and a whistle led us over the wet mudsand and through the drizzle to a makeshift rectangle field squarely roped. We divided into two teams facing each other at midfield. Translators told us that the object of the game was to run the ball between your opponents narrowly spaced cones at the opposite end of the field. Two balls and no rules other than an established out of bounds area were in play.

At first I stood back protecting our goal. With everyone dressed the same, it was impossible to tell Tad from Tad. Someone would come charging forward with the ball and soon find themselves engulfed in a swarm of angry arms and legs. I excelled at weaseling my way into the pile and prying the ball away from an opponent. On a few occasions, I high-kneed it down the field towards the goal. I kept my feet moving on contact and ran through a few players attempting to tackle high. Unlike football, the action didn't stop when knee met mud, so I held onto the ball unrelentingly, got up and lumbered forward. After scoring, I was pushed face down into the mud, blinded and fatigued with a mouthful of cold, metallic grout. We won 12-5 and the losing team performed a penance of push ups.

The next station was a chicken fight. We were instructed to hold one leg with two hands and hop into an opponent. If you fall down you are out. Despite my recent foray into yoga, my balance remains suspect. I exited the game early. At the end we were down to one player against their three. Ours was a big burly kid with a Samson-like mane and thick ankles. The lesser men hopped towards him, but he spun away and the three fell in sequence. Once again we avoided the push ups into the mud.

The penultimate event was the first of a two-part mud wrestling showdown. The two teams were pitted against each other in a field similar to that of the roped rugby station, but smaller. All participants started inside of the square. Push your opponent outside of the square to win. I moved tiredly toward a small opponent, and was blindsided viciously by a mud covered Tad. I recognized him from rugby and knew that he was carrying a grudge born from a cheapshot or five I had administered previously. I escaped and he pursued with vigor. He grabbed me again, but fell and must have landed awkwardly because he let out a horrifying yelp. Undeterred, I scrambled for the small kid and threw him out. A glance off to the side revealed my nemesis writhing in pain and clutching his shoulder. A crowd kneeled around him. Seven members including myself remained inside the roped area when the whistle blew. Five were from my team. The other team dutifully assumed the push up position.

The second part of the mud wrestling extravaganza took place inside an inflated ring. Fling your opponent outside of the ring. Last team standing wins. I had one memorable moment- throwing a Scotsman out of the ring behind my back, but for the most part, Big Burly took care of business. We completed our shutout and headed for the showers.

I lumbered up to the communal shower scraped and bruised with a hurt hip and groin. I removed my torn shirt and newly holed socks. In the shower I labored to remove the mud from the deepest recesses of my body. I still missed a teaspoon of earmud, but opted for a return to the beer booth, ready to roll down the road to the Boryeong Mud Festival.

Suzhou and Zhouzhang

Joe and I spent our final day in China on an organized tour that took us to Suzhou (pronounced Su-joe) and Zhouzhang (pronounced… I can’t remember, but not how it looks). I booked the tour through Viator, a great travel resource even if you don’t book their tours. While Joe and I increasingly prefer to explore things on our own when we travel, checking Viator helps give us ideas about what to do.

I woke up the morning of the tour feeling pretty sick. While I tried to muster up the strength to get through the day, Joe ventured out into Shanghai for breakfast items to tide us over until lunch. He came back with our favorite- fried dough topped with sugar from KFC.

In Korea, being sick is not an excuse for anything. People come to work sick, ride the subway sick, often coughing away without covering their mouth. I can’t help but shoot daggers at them in my head, sometimes even gathering the courage to glare at them as they cough in my face. Unfortunately, on this trip I was that person who probably should have stayed in bed. I have no doubt that everyone in the van, other than Joe, was probably annoyed that I was present, but they were all very polite while they discreetly attempted to distance themselves from me. For me, the car ride was complete and utter torture. Not a second passed by that I wasn’t actively trying to repress a cough or blow my nose as quietly as possible. I am sure you know the feeling. A few members of the tour inquired as to whether or not I had a cold or allergies. I repeatedly assured them that it was probably allergies even though it felt more like a cold. One man in the back speculated that his allergies weren’t bothering him at all. He was on to my attempt at deception. (Note: When we returned to Korea I went to the doctor and was told I had allergy induced asthma, so I am hopeful that I didn’t get anyone sick)

Our first stop was the Garden of the Master of Nets. We had visited the Yuanyuan Garden the day before, so this garden was a bit of a letdown. Our guide “Helen” boasted that this was the smallest garden in Suzhou, therefore infrequently visited by tourists. Upon entering the garden she led us straight to the souvenir shop prior to viewing any of the grounds. After ordering an overpriced coffee and cup of tea we proceeded to sit around for 30 minutes until the guide was ready to take us through the garden. I am guessing this was an attempt to get us to buy souvenirs from the shop considering the actual tour of the garden took only 10-15 minutes. Helen walked briskly (actually fairly leisurely compared to her pace later on in the day) around the garden, seemingly disinterested in actually guiding and explaining the different areas of the garden. Much of the information we were able to gather about the garden came from the poorly translated signs and plaques that designated any area deemed of interest.

Joe and his expensive coffee that he didn't even remember. 

S

I think Yuanyuan was prettier. 

I

 I wish I could tell you more about this. Darn you Helen. 

Bonzai tree. Joe thinks it was 100+ years old. 

Y

Young people like to come to the garden to paint.

Visiting the silk production factory was the highlight of the trip, mainly because it didn’t require Helen’s so-called tour guide expertise. Our visit began with a presentation that detailed the process involved in acquiring silk from silk worms. Two scarves were passed around and we were asked to vote on which one was made from real silk. Everyone, except for me, guessed it was the first scarf displayed. I chose not to raise my hand and guess the second scarf because I was embarrassed that I was the only one to vary from the group’s consensus. It turned out that I would have been right. Of course, when I told Joe this story he rolled his eyes and said, “Oh sure, sure you thought it was the second scarf.” Whatever Joe, I was right and you were wrong. Once the presentation concluded we got to tour the factory, gaining a glimpse at how silk is obtained from silk worms. There are two types of silk worms- singles or doubles, and how the thread is obtained depends on what type of worm it is. The process is mostly mechanized, but it still requires some skilled human effort. Our group tried to stretch the silk thread into a layer of silk and found that it was much harder than it looked. The skilled ladies of the factory had to “rescue” us as we heaved in vain, managing to gracefully salvage the mess we had made. I am almost positive that the reason Joe loved the silk worm factory was because of the buffet lunch that was served at the end of the tour. I count my blessings daily that he is so easy to please. I can get him to do almost anything if food is involved.

The way to tell whether or not it is real silk is to burn it. If the smoke is black and it curls up like it is plastic, it isn't silk. Granted, not the most useful information considering you can't really walk around burning things before you buy them. 

Silk worm pupas.

Sorting the singles from the doubles. 

 Great picture idea Joe.

T

The factory workers saving the day. 

The final part of our tour was a visit to the water village of Zhouzhang. By this point what had started as drizzle was now large and frequent rain drops necessitating the use of an umbrella. The majority of the time we were in Zhouzhang I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Our guide Helen, who had been rendered useless at the silk factory, was now back in full force. She darted from place to place, often visible only by the fabric daisy she carried in an effort to distinguish herself from the crowds. We entered buildings only to exit them in confusion, asking one another quietly what we had just seen. At several points I actually had to jog to keep up with Helen, and there was one scary moment where Joe and I actually lost her because we paused to read a sign in one of the unknown buildings we toured. I think the entire group was relieved when we hopped on board a Chinese style gondola to complete our tour of the village, especially considering there was no room for Helen on the boat. Unfortunately the boat ride was filled with long periods of awkward silence and frequent mutterings about Helen and her lack of skills as a tour guide, topped off with rain, rain, and more rain.

Chinese style gondolas.

 The locals.

Joe felt like we should document this experience with a few couple shots. It seems like every time I look horrible he wants to take pictures. 
 

The Zhouzhang Theatre- I guess we did learn something from Helen.

A

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a foodie, but I wanted this pork so bad. It smelled so good. I was vetoed by Joe. Shocking I know. Even more shocking is that I was vetoed because he thought it would make a mess.

Just before the next torture session... I mean... van ride.

While this was far from the best tour we have ever been on, it was still an interesting and memorable day. We have learned that things often don’t go according to our plans when we travel, but it is still exciting when we get to experience new places and cultures.

There is still one part of our China trip that hasn’t been written about, but I feel that the story of the Bund Sightseeing Tunnel can only be told by Joe…. No pressure, honey.

Anniversary Brunch

Living in a country which relishes molesting foreign cuisine tends to make Westerners crave the simple, fatty and familiar tastes of old.

If you find yourself in a grocery store in Korea (Sami and I shop at Lotte Mart, which is so crowded it makes Winco seem like an abandoned eastern Oregon strip mall) you may come across a bag of harmless English muffins, a tubed string cheese and a straightforward brown jug of iced tea. After purchasing the items you might decide to call in an order for that most convenient of meals known worldwide- pizza. Do not be surprised when, upon unpacking the items, you discover the muffins stuffed with sweetened red bean paste, the tubed "cheese" created from ground and formed fish product, and bits of reconstituted chestnuts, berries and pine nuts floating in the tea. Meanwhile the pie arriving at your door is loaded with sweet potato puree, corn and a generous side of sweet pickles.

For our first anniversary, I made reservations for Sunday brunch at a small French bistro in the Itaewan section of Seoul. Needless to say, we eagerly anticipated the opportunity to dine somewhere quiet without asking ourselves, "Why couldn't it have tasted the I way I thought it was going to?"

I chose the Le Ex Saint Restaurant after researching the champagne brunches of a few of the ritzier hotels in Seoul. Yes the steaks and crepes and lobster omelets sounded divine, but impossible to justify at $80 a plate. Back before I was married, I could surprise Sami something like this, but now that she controls my every cent, there are no surprises. Every financial decision must be passed into law with her signature.

Itaewan, located directly in the center of Seoul on the north side of the Han River, is known as the city's international neighborhood. Only a decade ago, the area had a reputation as the part of town reputable Korean girls were not to be seen in after dark. The combination of young and drunk American G.I.s and the presence of one of the city's oldest red light districts created a hedonistic playground most Koreans avoided like pizza sans pickles.

Today, Itaewan is know more for international cuisine and street shopping. Most native speaking English teachers like myself venture there to find bigger shoes and longer pants, but you can also find your stereotypical Korean trinkets like cartoon socks.

Cartoon socks

The Le Saint Ex Bistro is located down an alley outside of the number one exit of the Itaewan subway stop. This tiny alleyway houses a large percentage of Seoul's authentic international restaurants. Le Saint opened only six years ago, and a handful of sports pubs, hamburger joints and kebab stands followed.

International Food Alley

We arrived a few minutes before our reservation and read the sparse menu written in colored chalk on a large blackboard outside. I had read that the menu changed from day to day and remained small. I liked this because I felt like it meant the chef could focus and do a few things extremely well. We were led to our seat by a nice young Frenchman who read us the same items we had seen outside. Sami ordered the English breakfast and I had the brunch special which was a choice of soup or salad, an entree and a dessert. The entree was a beef stew in white wine sauce and because of this, I chose to start with the salad. Soup and stew seemed too close to the same for me. 

After taking our order, a Korean waitress dropped off strong coffee and baguette slices with a generous pad of butter. A laminated card on a stand informed us that we were being served a traditional, organic, French baguette made by traditional French methods from flour shipped from Paris. It had been so long since we had tasted decent bread that we would have appreciated a croissant prepared by the Pillsbury Doughboy shipped from the Grocery Outlet in a cardboard pop n' fresh tube, but the baguette was heaven.

The salad was small, at least compared to the monsters I was accustomed to loading at Sizzler and the like, and was accompanied by a tan and wobbly egg jelly. There were at least three kinds of lettuces, shredded endive, carrots, thinly sliced radishes and tiny cubes of red bell pepper all hit with balsamic. The egg jelly was perfect with the salad. Koreans are fond of an acorn jelly cut brick-like and served with soy sauce. It is good but flavorless. The egg jelly had a creamy fat consistency and smeared equally well on the greens and crusty baguette. I have been searching like mad trying to learn how to make it.

Sami's meal was simple and rustic. A thick slice of toast with jam, eggs scrambled soft and just right with butter and cream thrown in at the end, French fried homefries, and two wet red slices of watermelon. There was also a small salad and a deliciously fried apple slice dusted with sugar. The only component which seemed to disappoint was the limp weak bacon that lay white and lifeless atop the eggs. I picked up the bacon, dabbed it in balsamic and ate it on top of a baguette slice, one eye fixed on the watermelon that was sure to be mine.

The beef stew came out after Sami had finished her meal. A patty of Australian beef seasoned and stuffed with shallots sat on a spread of fettuccine. The white wine sauce made from the fat drippings of the burger was beefy, salty and completely un-Korean. I wiped up all of the sauce with a piece of baguette, reached for Sami's watermelon and took a tiny bite of the point before being called away from the table by our waiter to the dessert menu near the door.

There were five choices of dessert, one of which was their famous floating ball of merenge coated with a hard sugar shell. I opted for the chocolate mousse.

Upon my return, I quickly discovered that a nightmarishly evil act of apathy had taken place whilst I ogled away. Sami had let a waitress carry away the uneaten watermelon! Damn you! In a full year of marriage I never would have dreamed you to carry out an act so treacherous! I sat too shocked for words and stared out into space. I imagined the lonely and succulent fruit surrounded by a pile of sauce splattered dishes, calling my name longingly from the kitchen. For the first time I began to question the merits of marriage. How could my best friend, someone I have known and trusted for years deceive me so? And on this of all days.

Luckily the mousse came and made me quickly forget about the watermelon. Sami even let me order an espresso to eat with the dessert which was rich and decadent, more like cake batter than the pudding mousse I was used to.

After brunch we walked around Itaewan a bit. There is a great English language bookstore that we wanted to check out. On the way, we passed by Taco Bell, the first in Korea which was having its Grand Opening on this day. There was a line forming around the block. 

Many of the people in line were Koreans, no longer ashamed to be seen in the international part of the city, and many more Westerners yearning for a taste of home.

The Sports I've Missed

In the weeks leading up to our departure for Korea one thought dominated my mind. I wasn't concerned with the potential classroom management style of my co-teacher, how we would be received by our neighbors, or even how much I would enjoy the food. I didn't give a lick about being trapped inside the apartment with a broken lock, or getting lost for hours on the subway. No, my one and only objective was to find a way to watch my beloved Oregon Ducks take on the Boise State Broncos.

My father visited me in Eugene for the first ever meeting between the two schools the previous year and our pleasant reunion quickly soured as our unproven quarterbacks were knocked out, and our supposedly veteran defense was burned on play action passes time and again.

After ending the 2009 season on a high of demolishing Oregon State at Reser Stadium and pulling away from Oklahoma State in the Holiday Bowl, I confidently awaited the revenge match with Boise State the following September.

The game started late on a Thursday night which was early afternoon Friday for us. As luck would have it, I was called in to meet my principal and co-workers for the first time exactly as the ball was being kicked off over ten thousand miles away.

During the first quarter, I was called into the Principal's opulent office and served barley tea. I sat in an over sized leather chair and stared unblinkingly into the depths of the rhinestones in his pink, sparkly, and impeccably knotted necktie. The flashing accessory was light bulbs popping at the Super Bowl in my mind's eye, and I could pay no attention to the words coming from his mouth even if he weren't speaking in Korean.

Unfortunately, instead of watching the second half of the game, I was whisked away to a nearby hospital where I underwent a standard physical, and paid $80 for a swine flu test which consisted of nothing more than running a cotton swab along my inner cheek.

It wasn't until later that night when I was able to check the game recap online at a PC room (we were still weeks away from apartment Internet access). Like a LeGarrette Blount sucker punch to the jaw, I winced not only at the outcome of the game (Eight freaking points! Are you kidding me!), but also the subsequent melee and immediate national ridicule.

Years ago, my high school football coach, in an attempt to ease our adolescent nerves, commented that there were a billion people in China who didn't have the slightest clue about the importance of the upcoming game. It took ten years, but I finally understood what he meant as I walked home hurt, embarrassed and ashamed of my university. The worst part of it was that I had no one to discuss the game with. Those first few weeks were when I missed my family and friends the most. I moped around for at least two full days saddened by the loss.

As the weeks went on, and we became blessed with the gift of Internet access, I began a weekly ritual of hunting for games. Oregon started to win again, first nail biters to teams we were heavily favored against and then convincing wins against traditional powerhouses like USC. I would wake up as early at 3:30 on Sunday mornings to watch the Ducks and then go back to bed when it was over. Of course, the most frustrating but glorious experience of the past football season was the Civil War, where for the first time ever, the winner would receive an invitation to play in the Rose Bowl on New Year's Day. I say frustrating because recently the game has been moved to Thursday night which, again, was Friday afternoon for us. This time I actually had to work, and kept checking for updates in between classes. I fear that I may have taught those kids their first ever curse words and to despise what they assumed was a rather cute and unassuming river rodent. In atypical fashion, I scarfed down my lunch in about three minutes and ran back to my classroom to check the score. Oregon State had scored late and taken the lead. Oregon only had one drive to go and ending up going for it on fourth down twice. All the while, I am making kids repeat "I like chicken." It was agonizing.

We watched the Rose Bowl at the Hard Rock cafe in Fiji. There is no doubt in my mind that we were the only two people on the entire island nation watching the game. I say this with confidence because I called every bar on the main island we were on and the Hard Rock was the only place showing it. Also, we were the only two in the bar. Sami drank beer and I chased my vodka and Red Bulls down with beer. I was good and hammered and angry when I saw the navy and white of Penn State and the yellow and purple of LSU instead of whatever colors the Ducks were deciding to go with. Turns out my frustration was short lived. I had miscalculated the kick-off time and the Rose Bowl would air right after the Capitol One Bowl. Knowing that I couldn't keep up the pace I had started, we ordered breakfast.

Outside the bar it was pouring down rain and inside I was unleashing a torrent of expletives. When the game ended, I promptly power walked out of the bar and sat dejected on the curb waiting for the Bula bus to take us to the resort. What an exhausting season (made even more so by events that would unfold off the field in the coming weeks).

I wasn't able to watch a single live snap of pro football last season. The NFL is very strict about streaming games online and it is impossible to find a decent one. Also, the games start at about 3 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. on Monday morning. I was relegated to reading stats and watching the Gamecast online.

Gamecast is a program that provides written play by play of the game complete with stats. Lines on a simulated field mark the length of drives.

Imagine my surprise sitting at my desk on Super Bowl Sunday (Monday), watching the Colts driving in the final minutes, only to see a giant yellow line indicating a 79 yard interception returned for a touchdown. Unbelievable. One of the most exciting plays in Super Bowl history and I saw a line across a screen. Over one hundred million people drunkenly screaming at big screen TVs in households and sports bars across the country and here I am sitting at a desk in the middle of the day.

For the NBA season, I decided to start my own fantasy league. This turned out great because it helped keep me informed with what was going on with every team. I became an expert on individual stats, but I never got to experience the beauty of an alley-oop or the thrill of a last second shot. I had to find out about Greg Oden getting hurt through friends' Facebook status updates. Another dark day.

Despite the indifference toward my favorite sports, Koreans really are fanatics, especially when it comes to the World Cup. We avoided the enormous crowds that gathered to watch the games shown on jumbotrons across the country. However, even from our quiet abode, we could still hear deafening waves of gleeful shouting eminating from our apartment complex and at the public gathering miles away. The entire experience was unlike anything I have ever seen and I have an increased appreciation for the sport as a result.

Recently, I have been following the whole to-do with LeBron James' free agency. I am completely baffled by the amount of hate that is being directed his way. I am sure my emotions are tempered from having been spared the hype and debacle of his one hour selection special, but what exactly is the big deal? His contract is up and he can play for whoever he wants. It just so happens that he chose a lot less money to play with teammates he enjoys playing with. Is that so wrong?

I think this whole experience has mellowed me out. Don't get me wrong, it kills me not to watch, but I haven't missed some of the negative emotions that comes with being a fan. There will never be another loss that will hurt as much as the BSU loss last fall. Because of this, I can hopefully move forward with the realization that they are just games. After all, there are millions of people in China, and Korea, who have no idea they are even being played.

Royal Bibimbap

Bibimbap was the first meal served to us in Korea. Actually, it was served to us somewhere over the Pacific on a Korean Air flight, but felt authentic enough to us at the time.

I was baffled by the countless number of unidentifiable, packaged vegetables and small plastic containers surrounding the pre-cooked portion of white rice. Luckily, there was a young English teacher seated next to us confidently assembling his meal. I copied his every move- scooped the rice into a large bowl, carefully placed the provided meat and vegetables on top of the rice, added a squeeze of thick, red pepper paste and a few drops of sesame oil and then stirred it all together with a spoon. The flavor was mild and dominated by the rice. Not nearly as exotic as I had anticipated. I increased the heat by adding in the remainder of the red pepper paste and congratulated myself for trying something new. Another short term goal accomplished.

Today I am intimately familiar with Korea's national dish, and even recommended it to my cousin Jennifer during a recent layover in Seoul. I recognize that the previously unidentifiable vegetables on the plane were probably brackens, Chinese bellflowers, reconstituted shiitakes, seaweed and bean sprouts. The red pepper paste is called kochujang, and is a pantry staple of ours along with doenjang (fermented bean paste), ssamchang (doenjang seasoned with kochujang, sesame oil, onion, garlic, green onions, and brown sugar) and jajang (a black bean paste that is awesome fried up with noodles and vegetables).

Recently, Sami and I took an "Experiencing Royal Culture" class at the National Palace Museum in Seoul. The four day curriculum was created for native English speakers and Koreans interested in either becoming tour guides or practicing English. During the third class, we learned how to cook royal bibimbap. We were treated to a cooking demonstration before cooking ourselves. Sami and I were paired up with a sweet elderly Korean woman. The woman spoke very good English until she became flustered and then she lost it all. She was not really one for teamwork either. Maybe she thought that the white couple she was paired with were not capable of preparing bibimbap meant for a king. She would have been perfectly content to do all the work herself, but being since I like to cook and wanted to learn, I elbowed her out of the way and began to hoard the station with my much larger frame.

Cooking and assembling the meal was really quite simple. The only difficult aspect was cleaning the dishes afterward. Koreans are fond of having dozens of small dishes littering the table at all times. Each vegetable also had to be seasoned and cooked separately which naturally increased the size of our dirty dish pile.

The vegetables we used for our Royal Bibimbap were:

-3 dried shiitake mushrooms
-1 cucumber
-100g Chinese bellflowers
-100g brackens
-100g bean sprouts

Of course, Chinese bellflowers and brackens are not commonly eaten in the U.S. (although they may be lurking in your backyard) so feel free to substitue any vegetables you like such as carrots, asparagus or potatoes. Chinese bellflower is actually a pretty perennial (only the roots are eaten by Koreans) and brackens are the young fiddleheads of a common species of fern.

Other ingredients we used were four bowls of rice, 100g of ground beef, 100g of fish fillets a little seaweed and two eggs.

The best thing I took from the cooking demonstration was a simple traditional meat sauce:

(For every 100g meat, if you are into the whole measurement thing)

-1T soy sauce
-1/2T sugar
-1T crushed garlic
-2t chopped spring onion
-1t sesame oil
-1t sesame seeds
-pinch of black pepper

We put this sauce separately on the ground beef and the dried mushrooms (which had been reconstituted in water). Since we were working with cooked ground beef, we only threw the sauce on for a few minutes before re-heating in the pan. Ditto for the mushrooms. I suppose if you were marinating a big Omaha steak you may want to leave it on a little longer. I have since used the sauce on a flayed pork loin. I only had it marinating in the sauce for 15 or 30 minutes- just until I was finished with whatever else I was making. It turned out pretty good.

As I mentioned, we were instructed to marinate and cook each of the vegetables separately, the "traditional" way.

The brackens and bellflowers were cleaned, thinly cut, washed in salty water and quickly parboiled before being fried. The beansprouts were given the same treatment, but left intact. The cucumber was cut in half lengthwise, finely chopped, salted and squeezed dry through a cheese cloth. The bellflowers and brackens were sauced with a sauce exactly like the meat sauce except the measurements were a little different (and don't ask me why but they used a different kind of soy sauce: soy sauce for soup).

Sauce for Chinese bellflowers and brackens:

-2t soy sauce for soup
-2t crushed garlic
-2t green onion
-1t sesame oil
-pinch of black pepper

The bean sprouts were sauced with the following:
1/2t chopped spring onion
1/4t crushed garlic
1/2t sesame oil
1/2t sesame seed
pinch of salt

The cucumber was not seasoned besides the initial salting and all vegetables were fried separately except the bean sprouts- those were only boiled.

Lastly, the fish fillets were seasoned with salt and white pepper, egged, floured, fried and thinly cut.

The remaining meat and vegetables are then placed on top of the rice to create a colorful pattern known as taeguk- a variation on the yin and yang. The traditional colors of taeguk are red, blue, yellow, black and white. I don't really see it when I look at a bowl of bibimbap, but I guess you have to use your imagination.

Finally, we got to eat our creation. There was lots of kochujang to go around and, I must admit, our bibimbap was even tastier than airplane food.

Apology

I need to apologize for a rather vulgar comment made in a previous post regarding the benefit of detachable shower heads. Sami was appalled that I had the audacity to comment on something as taboo as cleaning the crack of ones rear.

The only excuse I can offer is that I became fascinated after viewing a Korean man squat down in the communal shower, reach his hand behind his body and point the shower head upward, allowing the stream jettison into his butt at close range. I had never seen nor imagined such blatant dingleberry removal technique.

Despite centuries-old, unwritten men's room etiquette which required me to remain nonchalant, I made a mental note of the mystifying method, and promised myself that if the need ever arose- perhaps after a messy B.M. akin to scrubbing (chunky) peanut butter out of shag carpeting- I would give it a shot.

Much like a man eating his first raw oyster, I was hesitant and more than a little disgusted at first, but after trying it, I felt refreshed.

Finding the Perfect Place to Stay

While Joe and I love traveling, part of the fun is planning the trip. Once we pick a location we spend hours researching before we decide where we will stay and what we will do. Our first stop is always tripadvisor. Tripadvisor is great because travelers post reviews of hotels, restaurants, and things to do, offering first hand advice that can save you a lot of time and money. We are particularly careful about where we choose to stay when we travel. Other than our trip to Fiji, every hotel we selected was a result of reviews on tripadvisor, and we have not been disappointed. What follows is a review of each of the hotels we have stayed at, what we love about them, and what they have taught us about traveling.

Worldmark Denarau Island, Fiji
Fiji was the kind of vacation I was used to before I moved to Korea: safe and luxurious with lots of sun and a big pool. After spending four months in Korea, two of which were very cold, Fiji was exactly what we needed. My Dad graciously allowed us to use his timeshare as a wedding gift, so we decided to honeymoon in Fiji. At one point Joe's family thought they might be able to join us, so we booked a two bedroom condo for 14 days. Unfortunately, plane ticket prices from the US to Fiji were ridiculously high, so that didn't end up working out. We also invited the Ostroms who we figured would be in Korea by that point, but that didn't work out either. That meant Joe and I had the spacious condo to ourselves, and it felt a little weird to spend Christmas alone in a large condo that could have easily fit four more people.

 The dining/living room. We were very excited about the DVD player and spent many nights on the couch watching a movie. 

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The kitchen. We definitely took advantage of the stove and dishwasher. 

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The view from our balcony. After our first night in Fiji, Joe awoke to find some random dude passed out on our balcony. We made sure to lock the sliding glass door each night after that...

 Our usual balcony activities: reading, coffee, and Fiji Gold.

The fabulous pool. This was only half of it. 

 The swim-up bar. They made a mean grasshopper!

 We got to enjoy amazing sunsets like this every night!

While we loved every minute of our Fiji trip, we really missed our families during this trip. Maybe it was because it was during the holidays and we hadn't seen them in four months, but I think it also had to do with the type of vacation that it was. When you are spending the majority of your days laying out by the pool or the beach, it is nice to have your family with you to share in the fun. I think we almost felt guilty having such a large condo to ourselves, especially considering one room went unused the entire trip. The other thing we realized was that there was no way we could afford to stay at a hotel like this if we were paying for it on our own. In order to do the amount of traveling we wanted to do, we were going to have to get used to much more primitive accommodations...

Kazna Hotel, Siem Reap, Cambodia
We visited Cambodia for 5 days in February and we fell in love with SE Asia. I first became interested in Cambodia after preparing a unit on genocide for my 9th grade world history students. The appalling brutality of the Khmer Rouge left a lasting impression on me, and it has always been on my list of places to visit. While I initially wanted to visit Phnom Penh, plane tickets to Siem Reap were much more reasonable, so we instead decided to explore Cambodia's ancient temples, vowing to visit Phnom Penh another time (we are actually spending New Years 2011 in Phnom Penh).

I booked our stay at the Kazna Hotel prior to booking our plane tickets and consequently had to change our reservation two different times. Luckily, the hotel staff couldn't have been nicer every time I had to make a change. When I began my search for the perfect hotel in Siem Reap, I had no idea what to expect. I typed the location into tripadvisor, clicked hotels, and came up with 147 hotels, 113 B&B Inns, 20 specialty lodging options, and 3 vacation rentals. I remember being shocked that you could find a hotel for under $10 a night, but feeling uncomfortable making a reservation somewhere that inexpensive. I wish I could remember what it was that attracted me to the Kazna Hotel. It was ranked 37 out of 147 hotels in Siem Reap and there were definitely less expensive options ranked higher. It was distinguished as a top value, so perhaps that was what piqued my interest. After reading over 100 reviews of the hotel and checking out their website I sent them an e-mail to reserve a room and had a response confirming my dates within the hour. The best part, the room cost $28 USD per night. Can you even find hotel rooms that cheap in the US anymore?

We were picked up at the airport by the Kazna's regular thuk thuk driver (complimentary when you book with them). When we arrived at the Kazna we couldn't have been happier with our choice. The staff spoke English (not a must, but very convenient), the room/bathroom was clean and pleasant, the fridge was stocked, and the room had AC. While there were occasional problems with the electricity and we had to kill a few mosquitoes, those are things that you should expect when you travel in SE Asia. The Kazna also offered a complimentary breakfast each morning, nothing fancy, but we took full advantage of it and were appreciative of the few dollars it saved us each day.

To be honest, we could have easily found a place to stay when we arrived, and maybe we could have found a better deal. Most people who travel in SE Asia book their plane tickets and that's it, leaving the rest to chance. No matter how much we travel, I don't think I will ever be comfortable with that. By staying at the Kazna, a hotel owned and ran by local Cambodians, Joe and I were able to experience true Cambodian hospitality while positively contributing to the local economy, something that has become increasingly important to us with each new destination we visit.

Joe enjoying a beer shortly after we arrived. 

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Waiting in the lobby to get picked up for a quad tour of the Cambodian countryside.

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Joe tried a new breakfast item each day. I stuck with the eggs and toast. 

  Just a small part of what made the Kazna so special.

Nanjing Hotel, Shanghai, China
When Joe and I found out we had a 5-day weekend in early May we were ecstatic. We were definitely itching to get off the Korean peninsula and experience a new place. I started checking plane tickets on Expedia, Korean Air, Asiana Airlines, the usual sites, and we quickly narrowed the possibilities down to Beijing and Shanghai. The deciding factor: Expedia had an inexpensive direct flight (just over an hour long) to Shanghai, while the flight to Beijing was not only more expensive, but would have taken 15 hours. We have learned to take advantage of cheap airline tickets ASAP because the fares can change by hundreds of dollars in the span of a day. I immediately started searching for a hotel.

The Shanghai hotel search was more difficult and the hotels with good reviews came with a much higher price tag. Joe and I were definitely on a budget for this trip as we hadn't planned on taking another vacation until August. I knew that location was the most important factor in picking a hotel in Shanghai, mainly because I have heard horror stories about traveling in China and I wanted to avoid taxis and stick to public transportation if possible. Somehow I came across the Nanjing Hotel (ranked 434th out of 1,976 hotels in Shanghai) and repeatedly read how convenient its location was. Despite the reviews that complained about the shabby carpet, the noise, the hard beds, and the strange smell that inhabited a few of the rooms, we decided to book it at the same time we booked our plane tickets. We thought it was pretty amazing that we booked our plane tickets and hotel for a 5-day stay in Shanghai for under $600.

The Nanjing Hotel was another home run for us. Sure, the carpets were shabby and the beds were hard, but welcome to Asia people. Koreans sleep on the floor or on cement beds, so we are totally used to sleeping on hard surfaces now. We didn't experience any issues with noise that weren't quickly fixed with a pair of ear plugs, and the only strange smells came from my husband. The ease of the location made this hotel perfect. We either walked or took the subway everywhere and avoided taxis completely. Location, location, location- when traveling this can make or break your vacation.

Our room after our first night. 

 The view here wasn't quite what it was in Fiji...

 The other half of the room.

 The neighborhood outside our hotel.

The Busan Inn Motel, Busan, South Korea
Even after 10 months of living in Korea, we still consider it the most difficult place to travel in by quite a large margin. Traveling In Korea requires people to be more spontaneous because Koreans notoriously plan things at the last minute. It is almost impossible to reserve hotels anywhere besides major cities because Koreans rarely make reservations. Prior to our trip to Busan, most of our travel in Korea had been done through Adventure Korea, a tour company that plans trips targeted for the large expat population in South Korea. After the snow crab festival trip in February with Adventure Korea, Joe and I decided it was time to start traveling in Korea on our own. The other foreigners were a little too loud and rowdy for us, and many of them were just plain weird. When we learned that we had an upcoming Friday off for Buddha's birthday we decided to make plans with the Ostroms to check out Busan, a four hour journey south by express bus. 

As I said before, making hotel reservations in South Korea is challenging, but luckily I discovered a new website (www.hostelworld.com) that allowed us to make a reservation at the Busan Inn Motel by depositing 10% via credit card. Once again the deciding factor was location. We hoped to take advantage of Busan's reputedly awesome subway system and avoid trying to use Korean with the taxi drivers. After checking tripadvisor we made the reservation. The price was right (about $24 USD per night) and the location , despite the fact that the directions were written in Konglish, seemed convenient and easy to find.

The Busan Inn Motel turned out to be a little difficult to find initially, but once we got acquainted with our surroundings, it turned out the be a great choice for our weekend getaway. In fact, we are planning on going back for the Film Festival in October. Though the rooms didn't have AC and we had to repeatedly use the bug spray to kill the mosquitoes, all we needed was a clean place to sleep. Other than that, the Busan Inn Motel was a pretty typical Korean accommodation: wet bathroom, communal toiletries, hard bed, and most importantly, no shoes. 

The entrance to the Busan Inn Motel. 

 Joe and I posing in the colorful lobby. 

As far as we are concerned, the campier the better!

The House Hostel, Sokcho, South Korea
Our most recent trip was to Sokcho, a city in the eastern part of Korea on the Sea of Japan. It is considered the gateway to Seoraksan National Park, a must for anyone who visits Korea. I also found this hotel on hostelworld.com and the reviews of the hotel and owner were some of the best I have ever read.

Once again, we were not disappointed. We arrived at The House Hostel around 9:30 pm on Friday night and the owner could not have been more friendly. He spoke great English and immediately sat us down and explained how to get to Seoraksan using the public bus. He also filled us in on what Sokcho had to offer and explained the easiest way to get to everything. We were thrilled to learn that there was a free continental breakfast. I don't know why we get so excited about free breakfasts, but it is a huge selling point for us. They also had bikes available to borrow, free of charge, so that you could bike around the town.

Even though Koreans don't like to plan in advance, the expat population and most tourists do, therefore it would be smart for more Korean hotels to advertise online. Considering how technologically advanced they are, the fact that most hotels do not take advantage of technology is shocking. I am sure it will change eventually, but Joe and I better be long gone by that point...

 The outside of the hostel. 

The bed. 

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The entrance to the bathroom. 

J

Joe took advantage of the large tub. 

Getting ready to check out. 

The hostel has a lot of personality!

The communal kitchen.