Soju Diaries

Last Day in Korea

2011-09-09T07:54:00.000+09:00

Today is our last full day in Korea. Movers are coming this afternoon to take away everything our schools have purchased, which is to say everything but cheap, plastic dinnerware and someone's discarded mattress I carried in from the parking lot. It is going to cost us 8 bucks (8,000 wan) to throw away the mattress. We will sleep on the mattress tonight and then get rid of it tomorrow morning.

Yesterday I had my last workout at my gym. To get there, I walked through the same neighborhood I jogged around my first week in Korea. Since then, I have walked that same rubber sidewalk painted with baby animals through snow, ice, wind and scorching sun. I probably received more stares that first day jogging than any other. No one jogs here through neighborhoods. I kept circling the same blocks and the same old men and taxi drivers peered on incredulously.

Yesterday, I received only minimal stares, or maybe it's just that I don't pay as much attention anymore. At any rate, students waved and said hi and one student's mom riding a bike even said hello and called me by my first name. Our corner shopkeeper saw me walking the baby in the Moby yesterday, trying to calm her down. I was able to speak enough Korean to tell him her name, when she was born, and when our flight is scheduled to depart. I felt progress had been made. Of course, later in the day when I went to close my bank account, the teller still felt the need to get the interpreter on the phone. No matter how long I stay, I am convinced I will always be a foreigner.

There have been many farewell dinners over the past week or so, most of which come with the dual purpose of meeting the baby now that her Korean-style 30 day isolation period is up. At every dinner people want to ask me what I have learned from living in Korea, or what is the one thing I will remember most fondly. Of course, the best part about living here has been strengthening my relationship with Sami and learning how to live a married life. That answer probably doesn't satisfy their nationalistic curiosity, so I just tell them I love and will miss the food. And it is true, the food is great. I hope that I kind find all of the ingredients I need to make Korean food in markets back in the states. I hope I can find kimchi. I won't be looking for soju.

No Do-Overs

2011-09-04T22:14:00.000+09:00

A kid's life is full of do-overs. I can remember countless games of one on one against my dad that wouldn't end until I was ahead. Video games would be stopped and re-started if a certain level wasn't reached, and high school teachers always encouraged make-up work. However, somewhere on the road to adulthood we are forced to accept that do-overs do not exist in real life, and all of that pretending just sets us up to think of ourselves as greater than we actually are. A college professor who draws a hard line on late work, a sales pitch gone bad, and your favorite team losing a much anticipated match-up all bluntly re-enforce this harsh reality.

I really wanted a do-over this morning. Just as my friend Kyle had predicted, my alma mater lost it's season opener against LSU. It was bad. We looked unprepared, undisciplined, sloppy and (the biggest sin of all for a Duck) slow. And so my time in Korea ends just as it had begun, and while this loss doesn't hurt as bad as the infamous LaGarrette Blount punch game, it deflates the feeling of excitement for the remaining eleven games in the same way.

While most Oregon fans re-hashed the game with friends, watched highlights on the atrocity on television, and soon went to bed, I had a full day of sulking ahead of me. Fortunately, our friends Connie, Steve and Angie came over to see the baby one last time and, unbeknownst to them, take my mind off of the loss. We have known Connie nearly our entire two years in Korea. Sami met her and one of our orientations, and we learned that she lives somewhat near us on the other side of town. Angie and Steve are an older Korean couple (those are their chosen English names) that have been very kind and welcoming to the three of us in our time here. Steve and Angie have incredibly positive and infectious attitudes, and are both smitten with our baby daughter. Tonight they ordered in for us and brought over ice-cream cake. We ate one of my favorite Korean foods- haemul chim, which is a spicy mix of seafood and bean sprouts, we are talking muscles, octopus, whole shrimp and big hunks of crab. We were sad when the three of them left and we knew it would be a long time, if ever, before we will see them again.

Ice-cream cakes! Choco, cherry, blueberry and melon

Steve holding Charlie

Sami, Steve, Connie, Angie (barely visible)

Being an adult means that there are no do-overs. But it also is to know that good can be found in even the down days. Steve and Angie don't know anything about football. Most Koreans don't. But even they understand that there are always more games to be played. Some of them you win, and some of them you lose, but you can always bounce back. And you can always order ice-cream cake.

On Football Fandom and Kyle

2011-08-30T00:20:00.003+09:00

Football season is less than a week away, and while this means nothing to any of my students, co-workers and the population of Korea...or Asia...or anywhere else in the world really, it is a pretty big deal to me. This coming Saturday evening, my beloved Oregon Ducks will start the season against a highly ranked LSU team at Cowboy Stadium in Dallas. I will be watching online live on Sunday morning in Korea. Every time I have been able to watch online from my apartment, the Ducks have won (2009 @ Boise State I didn't see b/c we didn't have internet set up, Rose Bowl vs. Ohio State I watched from Fiji and the National Championship game against Auburn doesn't count b/c I had to watch the first half from work), and I am hoping for the same outcome this time around.

Today I had a few of those "I hate Korea" moments. It has been stressful trying to get all of our affairs in order before we leave, and we've been trying like hell to ensure we receive every dime owed to us. Something came up today which put that goal in jeopardy and I did not handle it well. Lucky for me, I can always count on football and my favorite team to put me in a good mood. Sure, I get anxious and upset watching the games, same as everyone, but the love and excitement I have for the game and the team get me through a lot of stressful circumstances that pop up in other phases of life.

This story is about more than football. It is about what it means to be a fan. It is about shared experiences. It is about friendship. Specifically, it is about a man named Kyle.

In about a month, it will be ten years that I have known Kyle Bierman. I had just checked into my room on the first floor of Collier Hall, met my roommate and a few of the neighbors who would soon become my closest friends. Some of the Collier boys had been living there for a few days, others would show up later, closer to when actual classes started after the weekend. Those of us who made up the group decided to play a game of hoops at the courts behind the Bean dorm complex. I have always been of the opinion that you can tell a lot about a person by playing one game of basketball with or against them. With Kyle, I could tell that he sucked at basketball, but also that he was a fun-loving dude, makes the best of any situation, doesn't take himself too seriously, and has an overall positive outlook on life. My assessment couldn't have been further from the truth. With Kyle, clouds don't have silver linings, but rather black, shit covered ones.

But Kyle also loves college football. To show you how much he loves it, when he didn't have a ticket to the first home game our Freshman year, he offered a girl $60 for her ticket (which really doesn't sound like much now, but at the time when student tickets were free to those who showed up first in line, it felt like $600) without negotiation. She took him up on it, bought herself an Oregon jersey, stumbled into another ticket and still had beer money left over. To show you what kind of fan Kyle is, he grew up in Omaha and despised the Nebraska Cornhuskers. He watches the games to see teams fail. He hates SC, hates Ohio State, hates Notre Dame, hates Miami and hates the entire Southeastern Conference. He hates Texas so much that he chose to attend Oregon after Joey Harrington caught that trick play touchdown against them in the 2000 Holiday Bowl. His favorite play is a well executed coffin-corner punt.

Who would have thought that this little ball of pessimism, this five-foot seven self proclaimed "Jack Russel terrier" who has never played a down of football in his life (we had to show him how to throw a football. Without instruction he cupped the non-laces side in his tiny mitt like a waiter balancing a tray while riding a unicycle) could get me so fired up. The problem I have with him as a fan is that he never feels confident going into a game. We could be playing Portland State and he would shake his head and stutter:

"I dunno dude. Our defense is suspect."

He hedges his bets so that if we lose, it doesn't hurt as much. The problem is- the wins don't feel as good that way. Take for example, this conversation I had with Kyle today regarding the big game, grandma proofed (aka- edited for language):

11:36 AM Kyle: my prediction.... ducks 19, tigers 22

11:37 AM me: fudge you

what kind of alumnus says soup like that?

you should be ashamed of yourself

11:38 AM Kyle: dude, i don't want to win the natty with a loss to the SEC

sorry

it would do very little for me

me: what does that have to do with anything?

we aren't losing that game

11:39 AM Kyle: dude

i dont know

11:40 AM i have had 2 dreams we lose to LSU

38-24

11:41 AM dude, last years title game was just too disappointing

I'm still not that over it

11:43 AM me: just have to play it out, but if we win by 2 scores or more I will never let you forget it

Kyle: good

i still think we will lose

we have no defense

and the SEC defense will be too powerful for our spread attack

11:44 AM just my gut feeling

me: you're wrong about us having no defense

Kyle: how can you possibly say that?

11:45 AM me: bcuz I follow the team

11:47 AM Kyle: nothing would have compared to winning last year... beating the SEC champ, undefeated

i can't let that go

11:48 AM me: if we lose by 2 touchdowns I will never let you forget it.

so basically you are fudge-sickled for saying we are going to

lose

11:49 AM put your homer hat on like the rest of us and shut the fudge up

enough barley soup

11:50 AM you are creating bad mojo

Kyle: sorry bud

11:51 AM I'm just not going to follow it as much

me: you would rather be 7-5 than lose the natty?

you need your head examined

Kyle: dude, its a fudge-icing tease man

11:52 AM me: life is a journey kyle

Kyle: and to the SEC with butterflies like craig james talking on us for the last 10 years

me: seek help. for your sake and mine

put money on lsu. that way you win either way

dead serious. how much is the win worth to you?

11:53 AM $500? $1000?

Kyle: no

zero

dollars

me: I seriously worry about you going Cobain on us.

11:54 AM Kyle: jesus

...

me: find the good Kyle

Kyle: dude

me: find the good

Kyle: stop that soup

me: 12-1 should make you soup your pants happy

11:55 AM Kyle: dude, i just can't watch that much football

me: think of it as building blocks

11:56 AM we may slip up a couple of times/years, but we are on an upward progression. The days of being happy with 7-5 are done

we need to be expecting a win every game we play

11:57 AM as fans, we are there. this is the pinnacle

you need to get fired up. talk soup to sec fans. no more doubt

Kyle: dude

no more

im out

11:58 AM me: get cocky!

we've earned this

Kyle: im 5 foot 6, i can't get cocky without getting my ankle kicked

me: be confident then

never predict a loss again! promise me that

11:59 AM keep it in the back of your head, but out of your mouth

Kyle: I'm starting to think man.... and don't take this the cobain way... getting hopeful only makes the disappointment so much harder to swallow when it happens

not just in football

for in general

12:00 PM and I'm sick of being so disappointed

me: life is a journey not a destination

don't you listen to aerosmith?

Kyle: no, i listen to grunge

that came after

aerosmith

me: this convo isn't over

gotta bounce for a few. stop being a butterfly

The point I was trying to make with Kyle is that as a fan, half the fun is the lead up to the game. You need to be confident and talk a little smack. It is healthy. I am fed up with his bet hedging, and I am not going to take it anymore. Therefore, if we win the game, I will rub it in his face for all eternity and always consider him a sub-par fan. Conversely, if we lose, I will blame him for the loss and remind him of it every week no matter how many big games we win subsequently.

At this point, you may be asking yourself many valid questions such as:

"Why does Joe continue his relationship with this wet blanket?"

"Why does he consider himself a Jack Russel?" and;

"Has he ever bedded a woman?"

Due to time constraints (I'm tired), I will address only the first.

Our Freshman year, me, "the weasel," "Schnickey Schneids," and Kyle "Bierduck" Bierman road tripped down to Berkeley for the Cal football game. "The Weasel's" parents lived in the bay area and he had a car. On the way down we partook liberally in a number of unmentionable, but relatively safe substances. We sat dreamlike, listening to music, shooting the soup, and otherwise feeling like we should- like we were Freshman in college on a road trip and the whole world was meant for us and this experience and this time. During one rather nostalgic moment, "The Weasel" queued up Sting's "Fields of Gold."

"You'll remember me, as the west wind moves upon the fields of barley..."

We each sat in our own worlds with a heightened sensitivity in a hotboxed Carolla. Myself? I thought of loves lost and gone and the possibilities ahead. At that moment, I may have turned into a shadow that could wander through time, a self-voyeur, urging myself to take a chance, take a different path. I never wanted the song to end.

"I never made promises lightly. And there have been some that I have broken..."

No one said a word during the song, but when it finished, our boy Kyle broke the silence.

"He, hey. Hey dude, play it again man." I looked into his glossy eyes and knew that he was dead serious. "Play it again."

And The Weasel played it again, because that's what we all wanted, and at that moment I knew I had a friend forever in Kyle Bierman.

So as football season draws nearer, billions of people will go about their daily lives. Perhaps they are interested in other things, such as (God help us) soccer. The important thing is I will be watching and so will Kyle. I will defend my team and Kyle will apologize for it. I will hunger for victory and Kyle will hide from defeat. But whatever the outcome, we will always be Ducks, and we will always be friends.

Driving Would Be Nice

2011-08-23T23:24:00.000+09:00

Until this last month, I haven't missed my truck. I hadn't even missed driving. Long ago I successfully transitioned into the segment of world population dependent on public transportation and their own feet. My vehicle became just another one of the once-considered necessities of life left lost on the other side of the Pacific along with high definition television, DVR, canned chilli, good beer, pick-up basketball games and speaking quickly, barely moving my lips. Sure, I derive an occasional glint of satisfaction knowing that I have contributed my part in curbing carbon emissions, but really, everything I need is in walking distance anyway. School/work is three minutes away by foot, the bank five, the gym six and the grocery store seven or eight depending on how long crossing light takes and how heavy the grocery bag is. Life is good. Life was easy. Life was uncomplicated.

Then the baby came along and the simplest tasks that involve leaving the apartment turn into chokingly long, energy draining affairs of slow burning rage. For example: a visit to the hospital for a scheduled check-up (the baby has had three and Sami has had one so about one a week on average to now) includes the following: feeding before we leave, so that she doesn't fuss on the way there (up to an hour depending on much of a spaz she wants to be on the breast); getting her into the Moby wrap (10 minutes to figure out the damn thing, another 10 or 15 to get her in); walking to the subway (5 minutes); riding the subway (40 minutes); riding the shuttle bus to the hospital (5 minutes, although at first we didn't know about the shuttle bus so we walked for 15 minutes or so); waiting for the appointment (15 minutes depending on how early we arrive, say what you will about Koreans, they never keep you waiting); the actual check-up/vaccination (2 minutes); feeding the baby so that she doesn't fuss on the way back + a diaper change (20 minutes or so); shuttle bus back to the subway (5 minutes); waiting for the subway (10 minutes on average because we are on the train line and not one of the inter-city ones that run every 3 minutes); subway ride home (40 minutes); walk to the apartment (5 minutes). By the time we get home, I am dead dog tired.

Walking to the hospital, we get a good view of Namsan Tower which is one of the most recognizable sites in Seoul. I look like a nerdlinger, and you can't really see the baby or Namsan Tower in this picture though.

I look like this when we get home from an outing.

The hospital visits alone are enough to turn me into an old man, but because of our unique situation, we've had to take care of a few logistical necessities that require the presence of my increasingly fat and drooling daughter. The first step was getting her picture taken so that we could apply for a passport. The problem is, the subject in a valid passport photo is required to have their eyes open. As you could imagine, this was no easy task because, as a newborn, she pops her peepers about as often as I bathe which is only a couple of times a week. When she wouldn't wake up, we had to resort to placing an ice cube on her foot, which was cruel, but also kind of funny to see her reaction.

Trying to get baby Charlie to open her eyes for the passport photo.

To make matters worse, we had a terrible time trying to find a place that takes passport photos. The one place we had been to before in our neighborhood mysteriously closed down, so I ran all over looking for another location while wearing jeans on the hottest day of the year. Of course, the US Embassy, which we went to the next day to apply for her passport and social security number, was much easier to find. However, that trip presented its own unique set of problems. First off, baby was hungry and started fussing beyond my powers of distraction. She absolutely had to be fed and was causing a scene so I talked Sami into feeding her in the waiting area with a blanket covering her. This is something I never would have dreamed of doing about a year ago. I was one of those guys who would get super uncomfortable around a breastfeeding mother and, if I were around certain company, would probably even crack a sick joke. "Hey, I could use a little milk in my coffee come to think of it." But now it's like, all joking aside, this needs to get done and now. From now on, if I see a breastfeeding mother, I will just give her a knowing wink. Actually, no. That is a bad idea. Let's move on.

When she was done eating and I set her on the ground to swaddle her, a young hippie looking guy asked:

"Is she like, hours old?"

I instinctively gave him my best "areyoueffingkiddingme?" look. Aren't we all hours old, you mongoloid Spicolli?

Honestly though, I am pretty sure I can handle everything famously if it weren't for the people on the subway. As I have too often mentioned, being white (or anything non-Korean actually) is kind of like having two mouths. People try not to look, but they can't help themselves. I don't really mind the young girls who giggle and take pictures of our baby with their camera phones, and I don't mind most of the elderly women who touch the baby and smack my hand out of the way to get a better look. What I can't stand are the judgmental old folks who think we are terrible for bringing the baby out of the house (in Korea babies stay isolated with their mothers for 30 days. Tradition trumps science here.) and tell us that we are holding her all wrong. One old guy was convinced that the Moby cradle wrap I had her in was bad for her neck, even though it was perfectly fine and she was sleeping peacefully in the hold like, well, a baby. I smiled and told him that she was fine, but he insisted. It took everything I had not to go Hannibal Lector and take a bite of cheek. See, it would be safer for all involved if I could just drive away.

Bali Cycle Tour

2011-08-20T14:22:00.000+09:00

Our cyclist tour guide made an apparently impulsive decision and steered sharply left off the bumpy trail and into an obscure, rain forested property. His charges consisted of two dozen mostly plump and mostly pale vacationers and we obediently followed his lead by coasting into a ragged semi circle. As we straddled our unfamiliar mountain bikes, the leader darted off toward a hut that may or may not have been the home of an acquaintance and reappeared carrying a ghastly black spider the size of his hand. The spider dangled like a yo-yo, dropping and then skilfully crawling back into his new master's fingers using long and multi-jointed legs. Just as we in the crowd began to feel comfortable watching from a distance, the guide placed the spider on his face, and let the arachnid dip those legs into his mouth. Next he offered the spider to anyone who stepped forward. I backed off, but when an Australian toddler showed interest, I figured I better at least give it a hold to save face. At the very least I figured it would make a decent picture.

Not sure if he just randomly found this spider or if it was a nearby friend's pet.

Apparently not poisonous.

This guy was much more calm holding it than I was.

I look like I am about to soil myself. The Australian kid is not impressed.

At that age, I would have run away.

We almost missed out on this cycle tour of the Balinese countryside. For once, Sami's meticulous planning had backfired. She had e-mailed the travel company too far in advance and they forgot about us. We woke up early for a 7:00 a.m. pick-up, and when no one showed, we made a series of calls to the company and debated on whether or not to scrap the entire plan. Sami was two months pregnant at the time, and had to rally to find the energy to leave the pool. When a van showed up at 11:00 we begrudgingly boarded out of obligation.

Our fellow tourists, who had been picked up earlier from different parts of the island, were all at breakfast- an expense included as part of the itinerary. We were asked to join them, but we had already eaten, and knew that arriving late would only force the rest to wait for us, and slow the operation down. So we drove straight to the bikes waiting in a field somewhere between paradise and the middle of nowhere. We had time before the breakfast eaters were bussed to the spot, so I rode off and took pictures of the countryside. The land reminded me a lot of our four-wheeling tour in Cambodia, which will always be one of my favorite travel memories from our time in Asia. I suppose it was greener out here than there, quilted with brown glistening rice paddies and inhabited by the occasional family hut on the side of the chewed-up, blacktop trail.

It is a very cool experience to ride off alone in an unfamiliar place. When you are in the middle of a group of tourists, it just isn't the same.

Rice farmland in a village in Bali.

After the rest of the crew arrived, picked out their bikes and worked out the breaking and shifting system, we were led inside a nearby family compound. There we learned just how sustainable the villagers live growing everything from cocoa and other spices, to keeping bees for honey. We also learned that they are quite fond of cockfighting, and keep prime contenders locked in wicker cages. An old man let two go after each other in a demonstration. Apparently, the spikes on their heels were padded for safety, otherwise, we were told one of the fighters would have been killed in the melee.

No need for a farmer's market. All the food they need they grow or raise, including Wilbur here.

What the old guy on the left lacks in teeth, he more than makes up for with enthusiasm over cockfighting.

To start, they each hold one fighter down and face each other.

Here is a break in the action. They don't really size each other up as much as blindly go at each other, but they do tire and try to regain their wind at some point.

This may have been the kill shot had safety precautions not been taken.

Cocoa for chocolate I believe.

After the village tour and episode with the spider, we spent most of our remaining tour riding on the brutally bumpy road, sightseeing and taking pictures. We became close with a few friendly co-riders including the mom of an Olympic athlete and a man from Singapore who, refreshingly, spoke highly of the U.S. and its people. Sami and I both agreed that this day was the highlight of our time in Bali. We will always look for a bike or ATV tour if we visit a new place because it is a great way to cover a ton of scenery (and in this case, get a little exercise).

We were also pleasantly surprised to be refunded more than half of our money because we missed the first few hours of the trip. The owner of the company was a very nice person who told us that he used to work on a cruise ship out of Miami and used to dream of starting his own travel company in his home country. Count us among those glad he made that decision.

Bali Traditional Tour

2011-08-16T23:07:00.000+09:00

I didn't know too much about Bali before we went, and I am disappointed to say that I am not that familiar with its history, culture and overall vibe since having experienced a small portion during a week long holiday back in February. It was one of those deals that was too good to pass up. $325 dollars round-trip from Seoul with a day and a half layover in Kuala Lumpur (come to think of it, I forgot to blog about our time in KL. Note to self: do that). Sami jumped right into all of the planning for the trip, but by the time we got there, we were exhausted from our Southeast Asia vacation, and Sami was having trouble with morning sickness. Still, we were able to get out for a few memorable tours.

Unlike most of Indonesia, which is primarily Muslim, nearly 90 percent of the people in Bali identify themselves as Hindu. Bali is especially famous for its Hindu temples, and on our first tour, we visited both private and public temples that were uniquely Balinese. Every street we drove through was lined with family temples, and we were lucky enough to tour one as the occupying family was preparing to celebrate the temple's birthday (no joke). Before we entered, we had to put on sarongs. It felt kind of strange being dressed by a young man, but as the saying goes, "when in Bali..."

Next we were led to the back yard for a look at a few elaborately designed statues made out of food as offerings to the Hindu gods. One of the statues contained a butchered pig's head, and the swine's fat had been used as a decorative tool also. Another consisted of rice cake, the type of which we have become very familiar with in Korea, in may colors. Afterward, we strolled through a covered area, where family members were preparing for a feast later that evening. Everyone had a job to do to prepare. Men torched the feathers off of ducks, and women peeled and boiled vegetables. I felt a little strange walking through what felt like should have been an area designated for family only.

Putting on the sarong.

Inside the family temple

Sami examines one offering made from rice cake.

This is easier than plucking, but probably not traditional.

Next we rolled through an outdoor market. I always watch these travel shows where the hosts stroll into these open air markets and know exactly what to ask for from each stall. They buy the freshest meat and produce and then take it somewhere nearby where a local cooks a delicious meal using traditional methods. And all of it costs about 33 cents. I have never experienced this. It seems like every time I go, it is too late in the afternoon, flies buzz around everywhere over fish guts and rotted meats, the fruit seems overpriced and the workers are napping. Maybe those shows are crap, or maybe I just need to wake up earlier and get the fresh stuff.

If you show up too late to an open market, the food isn't as fresh and the workers are asleep. Understandable since they start around 4 in the morning.

The next place we visited was Gunung Kawi Temple. The scenery was unlike anything we had seen, and it was worth the long walk to get there based on the rice terraces alone. It was really difficult to take pictures of such a big and beautiful place with our small and shitty camera. Still, I tried my best.

Gunung Kawi

Rice terraces at Gunung Kawi

We ate lunch overlooking Mt. Batur, which is an active volcano. I don't think that I was ready to pose for this picture.

After our buffet lunch, which was good, but left me feeling like a glutton, we toured a local coffee plantation. At this tourist attraction, they purveyors also grow cinnamon, cloves, cocoa and vanilla and more, but the real draw is the coffee Luwak. Coffee Luwak is coffee made from the coffee beans that have been ingested, digested, and discarded by a civet, a wild, nocturnal, cat-like animal. The idea started back when Bali was under Dutch rule, and the only way for locals to get coffee that wasn't meant to be shipped to Europe, was to pick the beans out of the civet poop.

Now, I understand that drinking coffee that was once inside an animal and later poop is not for everyone, but because of the natural fermentation process, and the fact that a civet only eats the choicest berries, Coffee Luwak is considered a delicacy, and by weight, is the most expensive coffee in the world. Sami and I shared a cup and it was quite good. Very smooth and strong. I was wide awake for hours afterward with no let down. Of course, they drink it unfiltered, so all the sludge remained at the bottom and reminded us of what it once was. I ate the sludge anyway.

Coffee Luwak beans. That is a lot of fecal matter!

A man and his son roast the beans in the traditional method.

Coffee Luwak- about $5.75 for this small cup. Much more expensive in other parts of the world.

Going in for a drink of poop!

Even Sami tried it!

The sludge at the bottom

Our last stop was Pura Tirta Empul, also known as the Temple of Holy Water, which we were told was one of Bali's most important temples. The locals believe that the water there has healing powers, so many people were swimming and rinsing themselves under the fountains.

Pura Tirta Empul

On our way home, I felt a little better about our trip to Bali. I was finally starting to realize why this place is so special and why it is called "The Land of 1,000 Temples." Still buzzed from the coffee, I was excited to see what the rest of the trip would bring.

Chungcheongbuk-do Part Two

2011-08-14T10:55:00.000+09:00

Click Here for Part One

I woke up early, before any of my roommates, walked outside into the blinding reflection of sun scorched gravel, and was greeted by a reminder of bad decisions from a night before. Off to the side of our cabin lay two aluminum beer cans punctured at the bottom. The night before I played the role of American drinking ambassador, and attempted to teach my Korean friend and co-worker how to shotgun a beer. After the deed was complete, my drinking buddy put a hand to his belly and, through a frown, muttered "pull." "Pull," of course, is the Korean pronunciation of the word "full."

We came upon our pension late the night before, and because of the darkness, I was not aware that where we slept overlooked a lake. So much of our sightseeing in Korea has been spent at overcrowded festivals, so it is nice to experience places in "The Land of the Morning Calm" that resemble Korea's exonym.

At around 9:00am we all boarded the bus and drove around the perimeter of the lake to one of the few restaurants around. Breakfasts in Korea aren't that different from other meals- usually consisting of soup, rice, and other side dishes.

Out the side of the restaurant I spied a dog chained to his dog house, so of course I had to joke, "there is our breakfast." Most of the time no one laughs or they just ignore me.

Breakfast was a variation of "Kongnamulgook bap" which is a beansprout soup. Most people, including myself, add white rice (that is what is inside the small metal bowl on the left) to the soup. It is supposed to be great for curing hangovers, and I agree with the assessment. During the meal, I sat across from the bus driver, who gulped down his breakfast in record time. Unbeknownst to him, he also taught me a useful way to use my eating utensils. Normally, when I needed to use my spoon instead of chopsticks, I would lay my sticks down across a bowl or rest the tips on a piece of tissue. Here, I saw him hold the chopsticks in the crook of his hand, way down at the base of the thumb and palm leading to his index finger. With the tips of the fingers on the same hand, he handled his spoon. Brilliant.

A view of the inside of the restaurant we ate breakfast in.

There are only five male teachers at my school, so we all roomed together along with the bus driver. Two of our crew chose sleep over breakfast (the only two out of everyone), so we brought them back a couple of servings. The restaurant charged the equivalent of about five bucks for the packaging, which we all agreed was excessive, but I guess they can get away with it given the sparse competition.

We had an hour or so after breakfast until the time we were supposed to leave so I decided to hike the trail behind our cabin. No one else wanted to go, saying that it was too hot, so I went by myself. I think they were all just hung over.

It felt good to get some exercise and sweat out some of the alcohol from the night before. Cicadas violently rattled and buzzed along the way, and I saw plenty of green dragonflies and grasshoppers, but I wasn't able to get the perfect picture of the lake I was hoping for. Densely packed skinny pines blocked my view at every potential lookout.

On the way down, I began to worry that I was late. I didn't bring my watch with me, an kept hiking up to find the perfect viewpoint that never materialized. Finally, I gave up and started back at as a fast a pace as I could muster. I had a couple of slips along the way, mostly because I kept taking pictures, and had to remind myself not to do anything stupid like tumble and die and never see what my first child looked like.


I did make it back in time, and when I walked back into the cabin I was drenched in sweat. The boys looked at me like I was a freak, because for whatever reason, Koreans just don't sweat that much. Maybe their bodies are more adapted to the humidity or something. I cooled off in front of the air conditioner despite protests from my roommates that I would catch a cold. We barely made it to the bus on time because one of the teachers took forever primping in front of the mirror. He was only wearing a hat for godsake, but I guess he had to make sure that his triangular sideburns looked just so. After an hour or so on the bus we stopped at this rest stop and took a group picture in front of this outcropping of rocks.

There was a shopping center inside, and I found this map of the resort around the lake.

At the rest stop, someone purchased these strawberry frozen yogurts for each of us.

Our destination was this historical site in Jecheon. I don't know too much about it, other than everything inside was moved or re-built at this current location to make room for a dam built in 1983.

There was a traditional Korean "hanoak," or house, which my Vice Principal told me mirrored exactly how Koreans lived only 50 years ago. Seemed centuries old to me based on all of the modern technological necessities I see on a daily basis. This here is a wood fire stove, the pot in the middle is used to steam rice.

Out back stood some of the jars Koreans use to "cook" their famous fermented foods like pepper and bean paste. This method is still widely used today and you find these jars everywhere.

While most of the crowd congregated to chat, took a short hike up to an outcropping of pagodas inside of a recreated fortress wall and took pictures of the surrounding area.

Afterward, I walked back down to one of the main pagodas, where most of the teachers were conversing in small groups. A random family of tourists were present also and their two daughters were intrigued by the strange, sweaty foreign man sitting among the crowd. I waved and introduced myself and they hit shyly behind their father's back.

There were also some ancient tombs inside the compound.

This was just too interesting not to photograph.

Finally, we visited our last restaurant of the trip. Everyone was pretty worn out by this time, and ready to go home.

Next to where I sat, there was this stuffed and encaged wild suckling pig. Weird.

We ate this variation of bibimbap, which is a mixed rice. I added lots of spicy pepper paste to mine As everyone says when they see me eating spicy food, I am a true Korean.

Charlotte is Born Part Four

2011-08-11T22:59:00.001+09:00

Here was the room they moved us to after the birth.

One major item I neglected to mention regarding my daughter Charlie's birth was the thunderstorm. While my wife Sami was in the middle of the most productively intense moments of active labor, a harrowing late afternoon/early evening thunderstorm raged over the city of Seoul in the Republic of Korea. Later we learned that this particular thunderstorm created the worst flooding that the country had seen in over 100 years, causing over 70 fatalities and sending undetonated landmines left hidden in the hills after the Korean war, down from the mountains and into the city. At this particular time however, destruction was far from our minds as lightening illuminated the room in instant bursts through the closed blinds, much like a camera flash. Thunder rumbled soon after each silent strike and seemed to keep time with Sami's grunt accompanying efforts. The lights were turned out inside of the delivery room and the natural light inside mirrored the gray, dusky overcast storm outside. It was the perfect weather and time of day for one of the hundreds of post class/pre-drinking naps I used to take as a college student nearly a decade ago in famously drizzly Eugene, Oregon, only at this moment I had never felt more awake.

This picture was taken shortly after the birth in the delivery room. That is our doula Stacey there and she is pointing out the torrential downpour happening outside.

When Charlotte, who we have taken to calling "Charlie", was born everything happened as quickly as those lightening flashes, but I was with it enough to snap off digital pictures of her first breathes as quickly as those lightening downstrikes. Many of those pictures will only be seen by Sami and myself. For the longest time, I could only see the top of her head, which had more hair than I had anticipated, but when she came out, it was a blur of activity, relief and outbursts of joy from not only we parents, but also the half dozen or so medical attendants who crowded the small room.

At first glimpse, she reminded me completely of baby pictures I had seen of myself so many times in photo albums from my parents house. Her, hair, eyes and mouth in particular bore a striking resemblance. Later, and upon closer observation, we began to notice physical characteristics which more closely resemble Sami's, the eyes became hers, as did the nose, chin, ears and feet" (Koreans in particular are obsessed with our baby's nose, because they say that it is "high," whatever that means. I guess most Korean babies and in turn most Korean adults have flatter noses, and so they spend millions every year on plastic surgery to change what they consider an aesthetic deficiency). After the baby's face, the next thing that I noticed were her hands. These were not the tiny hands you see on so many little girls' baby dolls, nor the hands you would expect to see on a 4 week premature baby. These were my hands in miniature form with a large palm and long fingers. When they put her into the see-through bassinet, she reached out with one paw and grappled down on the side with a kung-fu monkey grip. All of the nurses gasped at her display of strength, and I suppose it could be documented that this was when I felt the first sensation of pride as a father.

We learned in our hypnobirthing class that skin to skin contact is important, and I didn't want to miss out. Of course, I was scared a Korean nurse would walk in, think I was a weirdo, and take the baby away forever. Korean men aren't typically even present during the birth, so this must be strange for them.

After 15 or 20 minutes of bonding time with mom, they took the baby away to weigh and measure her, and give her the first in a long series of vaccinations. I was able to accompany her to the scale, and tried to take a picture of the measurements. The picture didn't turn out, but we will always remember that she was 2.54 kg and 46cm, or 5 lbs 10 oz and 18.1 inches long. I had to leave when they gave the baby her shots, and went back to de-brief with Sami. She was of course on cloud nine, and we tried to remember every little detail about her and settle on a name.

We had both agreed on Charlotte months ago. Sami liked the sound of the name and I signed off because Charlotte's Web by E.B. White was one of my favorite children's books that my mom read to my brother and me as kids, and is, of course, undoubtedly considered an American classic. However, as time wore on, we began to throw more names onto lists, and as more people began to refer to our unborn child as Charlotte, we stubbornly vowed to keep searching for the perfect fit. Because she was four weeks early, we had not yet decided on a name, and agreed that we would look at her face, and spend some time with her before writing it down on the birth certificate. When I saw her for the first few moments, I thought she was a "Mia," a name we had both discussed, but did not place high on the list. Sami even liked it and it seemed as if it would go that way, until at one point, Sami absentmindedly referred to her as Charlotte and it stuck. When I wrote the name down for the nurse to type on a birth certificate "Charlotte Cassidy Boyd" just looked right (Cassidy is the maiden name of my maternal grandmother- whom Sami and I each share a special bond with. Plus it is Irish which was always important to me).

The next order of business after they brought our daughter back to us was to notify our families back in the states. Before the birth, I was of the opinion that we should call our parents right away, while Sami thought it okay to sit on it awhile and enjoy the company of our child alone. Afterwards, the roles were reversed, with Sami coming up with the idea to call, and me not caring, just mesmerized by our perfect child and dog tired after 41 long hours at the hospital. The first person we called was Sami's sister Rikki, who lives at her grandma Sharon's house. We called them first because Sami didn't think that she knew her mom's phone number, as she had moved, but it turned out to be the same so we called her next. Both were understandably confused because it occurred a month ahead of schedule, but they eventually believed us and were overjoyed. Next we called Sami's stepmother and then her dad who was working in Montana. Everyone on my side of the family that I tried to call didn't answer, which was understandable, as it was 5 in the morning over there. We finally were able to reach my parents right before we went to bed, and we even skyped with them and Sami's mom the next day, which is probably not how the grandparents envisioned their first views of their first grandchild, but pretty cool nonetheless.

That night were were moved from the second floor up to the sixth, to a nice room with an amazing view of the city. Charlotte slept most of the night and her parents caught their most substantial amount of shut-eye since the weekend. The next morning, we shared the hospital breakfast that I had ordered the day before-miyakgook, which is the traditional seaweed soup that Korean mothers eat exclusively the month after birth. I made Sami take a few bites because it is supposed to have a lot of iron, but it isn't her favorite. We watched most of "Pretty Woman" with Julia Roberts on tv and were surprised when we found out that we could leave that same day. When we finally checked-out we were informed that many of the roads were closed due to flooding and that taxi cabs were going to be expensive. The woman at the international clinic helped us by writing a note for a taxi driver with our address, although we have never had trouble communicating that information before. She was also quite concerned with us getting the baby wet in the falling rain outside, so she had us walk over the skybridge. When we tried to get a taxi, a Pentecostal minister overheard us and offered us a ride home in his van. He was carrying a bible and I couldn't help but think about what he was doing at the hospital. I said sure because I was in such a good mood, and because in Korea you just trust people. He turned out to be a great guy. Along the way he chatted about his experience going to school in the states and how his youngest daughter was actually born in Chicago which means she is a dual citizen. When we were dropped off I almost asked if he would say a prayer for our daughter, which is so unlike me, but he got us to our door so fast that I didn't have time.

And after that we were home, where our baby has spent all of her life save for a few doctor's visits, a trip to the US embassy and Costco. We have learned that she loves movement- she always sleeps in the subway or when I carry her in the Moby wrap. She hardly every cries except when she is hungry and even then it is only one little squak and then she stops. She eats about ten times a day and poops twelve. She prefers to sleep on her right side, so we always try to move her to her left. We only have another month in Korea, and although she isn't going to remember any of it, but Sami and I will never forget this time.

Charlotte is Born Part Three

2011-08-07T22:16:00.001+09:00

With the doula sent home for the night at our request, and the declarative statement from the head nurse notifying us that the baby would not come today, I finally was able to relax into a state of normalcy alone with my wife. After two years of limited company, it always feels a little strange to share an extended amount of time with friends, let alone a relative stranger. We were both happy to have our doula there to ease our worries, but sending her home for the night allowed us to reconnect and keep us feeling grounded in the reality that something special was coming soon.

We were instructed to get some rest after a full day with little progress, but while I was able to catch a few hours, Sami did not sleep that second night in the hospital. At five in the morning her contractions had intensified to the point that she woke me up and asked my to count her through them. This was something we had started practicing a few weeks ago. She found it comforting when I would count to twenty by fives. This routine helped Sami to focus and get through each surge.

"Five (two, three, four), Ten (two, three, four), Fifteen (two, three, four), Twenty."

At 6:30 a.m. we called the doula at home and she was at the hospital by 9:00. In the meantime, Sami continued to be examined about every two hours, each time by a different nurse or intern, which only confused and frustrated us as the numbers shifted between varying degrees of readiness. During the morning and into the early afternoon, Sami alternated between sitting on the toilet and standing over a chair. Between contractions, she felt the urge to use the toilet, and went and sat down. When a surge started, she would move from the bathroom to a chair between the bed and the couch. Her comfort zone was standing and facing the chair while leaning forward, hands rested on the chair's arms. She swayed her hips back and forth as either I, the doula, or both of us performed light touch massage on her back, stroking up and down with the backs of our hands. All the while, I would count off:

"Five (two, three, four), Ten (two, three, four), Fifteen (two, three, four), Twenty."

This constant routine, which also included periods of pacing back and forth while I followed along pushing the IV stand, caused Sami's legs to weaken, and the frequency of the contractions left no time for recovery. During our routine I also used a stopwatch to time the duration of, and time between contractions. That entire second day, they were coming every two or three minutes and lasting at least 90 seconds. Finally, after a five minute contraction that felt like an eternity, my wife, who plans everything out to the very last detail, and who has better judgement than anyone I know, made the decision to let the staff administer an epidural.

At first, I was a little disheartened by this, and attempted to encourage her that she could do without it. The biggest thing for me was that I didn't want her to miss out on that natural high we had learned so much about during our hypnobirthing classes. I thought that using the crutch of the epidural would undermine all of our efforts, and would render all of our efforts preparing for a natural birth by hiring coaches, studying and practicing, moot. Our doula suggested that we talk it over and come up with a decision together, but by this time, Sami's mind was made up. To be honest, I wasn't completely on board with the decision and left outside to get some air and clear my head, while the staff came and did their thing. I laid down on top of a short retaining wall on the sidewalk and dozed with arms crossed as people walked by.

When I came back inside 20 minutes or so later, Sami was asleep on the bed. I curled up on the couch and listened to my iPod. James Taylor. Easy listening. Half asleep, I heard an intern come in and say that Sami was at 6cm. This was the most progress we had made in nearly 40 hours. All it took was for Sami to listen to her body, which was telling her to relax, and that she was trying too hard. The epidural turned out to be a smart decision. If we would have tried to go without it, the doctor may have opted tfor a c-section since it had been so long since Sami had lost her amniotic fluid. Shortly after, a nurse came back and we were at 10cm.

They moved us back into the delivery room, the same room we had spend the first night and day in. It was quite the production when a procession of nurses and myself moved all of the furniture and our bags out to prepare the room for delivery. They wheeled in a plastic bassinet that the baby would be placed in, and it was at this moment when everything became real. The time was 4:00 p.m. and we had been at the hospital for 39 and a half hours. Two incredibly young interns were there with the doula and me. One of them gave us updates and instructed Sami to push. Sami was a natural pusher and the intern complimented her and seemed relatively giddy at my wife's strength.

At 4:40 the intern said she could see the top of the head when Sami pushed. I couldn't see anything because I was at Sami's side. She said that she absolutely had to hold onto my hand on her left, and the doula's on her right. I thought that Sami was entirely focused, and almost on another level of concentration, so I was surprised when she instructed the interns that under no circumstances were they to administer an episiotomy. Apparently, she was able to hear someone utter the 'p' word. Whether it was in English or Korean, I will never know.

At around 5:00 p.m. I saw the top of the head. I couldn't believe how much hair there was, and I relayed this to Sami who was thrilled, not so much about the hair, but by the fact that I could see and it was real. The doctors asked if she would like a mirror, but she declined, preferring to focus all of her energy on getting the thing out of her. Soon, a number of nurses joined in the tiny room. Too many I thought, and Sami became uncomfortably hot. One of the nurses, no doubt in need of a job, and the doula attempted to cool her off by fanning her with brochures or stapled packets of paper.

Sami getting fanned

At around 5:15 or so (whatever time it was, in hindsight, I will always remember it as the last possible second), the doctor came in. All of a sudden, Sami ceased to be the most important person in room as all of they young women swarmed to attend to the doctor. He slowly, but deliberately got all of his things in order including draping Sami's lower half with a canvass blanket that had an opening for the baby. Sami was instructed not to push while all this was going on, despite a desperate urge to. The doula had her opening her mouth and letting out short, breathy, "ha, ha, ha"s.

The doctor was extremely calm and made me feel comfortable that everything was occurring at the normal rate. It seemed like for the longest time I could only see that silver dollar sized piece of crown. Sami lifted her hips while pushing, and the doctor told her not to, but then said that she could if it made her comfortable. I was watching the whole time and thought that there was no way a baby was making it out of such a tight space.

Just as I was thinking this, however, her head popped out and a swarm of hands descended on her, one holding a suction squirter that they put into both nostrils. It was 5:36 p.m. I looked at her, coneheaded, purple and covered with slimy vernix, and a wave of love rushed over me. I was snapping pictures with my camera, no doubt thinking about this blog, when someone handed me the scissors and instructed me to cut. Then the baby was moved to Sami's chest. We looked into her tiny marble eyes, saw her red mouth and impossibly long fingers and both cried tears of joy. I was so proud of Sami this moment, and just couldn't believe how much work she put in to getting our baby out.

Pretty long baby for being 4 weeks early. Her feet look just like her mom's and her hands look just like mine.

Those are my hands there with the scissors.

I was about 5 or so minutes too slow, but you get the idea.

In hindsight, nothing really went according to plan during this, our first, birth experience. We weren't able to make it to our first choice of a birthing center, but we still had a birth plan listing all of our wishes. We wanted to avoid having an epidural, but Sami knew her body and made the correct call. We wanted to refrain from clamping the umbilical cord, but the nurses did this immediately. We wanted the vernix to remain on the baby's skin for as long as possible, but they wiped her down right away. We wanted to birth the baby in a position where gravity could help do the work, and we definitely didn't want her to strain. Instead, she birthed on her back (legs were just too tired to squat), and she pushed just like they do in the movies.

Despite all of this, we will always look back fondly on all of the steps taken during the nearly 42 hour labor. With each day that passes, we forget a little bit about the experience, but our love and understanding of our resulting daughter only continues to grow.

Baby (name undecided at birth) born July 26, 2011 at 5:36 p.m. Soonchunhyang University Hospital, Seoul, Republic of Korea

Charlotte is Born Part Two

2011-08-03T23:08:00.000+09:00

While Sami was being examined, I was given a six or seven page form to fill out. Most of the questions were in broken English so some of them were quite funny. Questions like, "Do you have vagina bleeding?" and "How often is your contraction going?" I took a quick picture of one page. One of the questions asked was "Do you want me to induce labor?" to which we replied with an unequivocal penned "no." We were both bought in to the hypnobirthing method and had every intention of performing this birth without intervention.

Here is the document I was given. A little hard to read. My heart was probably racing when I took the picture.

We chose to use a private birthing room instead of the communal area that had about a half dozen beds sectioned off with ceiling to floor curtains. This cost 250k wan more, but we felt it was worth it to be alone. Not too long after we were settled, another intern examined Sami and informed us that she had not yet dilated at all. This was confusing as the first intern had said she was at 4cm. A nurse explained to us that the first intern was less experienced, and apologized for getting us excited. This became a common theme throughout the labor as she was examined by a new person every time, each with a different idea of what a centimeter was.

Here is the room we were placed in, and then later moved from, and then later moved back into for the delivery. Like the wallpaper?

By this point, it was past 1:30 in the morning and I was exhausted. While I fought to keep from dozing, Sami and our doula seemed to be running on boundless reserves of energy. They talked and fell into calming rituals with each irregular contraction. In hindsight, we both agree that Sami should have tried to get rest that first night, and indeed all of the next day. The problem was that Sami had a difficult time laying down during her contractions, which were at this point only registering a 2 to 3 on a 10 point pain scale and came only a few times every hour. I somehow slept on the narrow vinyl covered sofa which faced Sami's bed from 3 to 5 a.m. Our doula Stacey caught a few winks sitting in a chair and Sami laid awake all night.

So little progress was made the next day that, by the evening, they moved us out of the private room used exclusively for delivery, and into the room next door. Sami worked hard all day, no doubt motivated by the threat of an unwanted cesarean section which we believed would be enforced if she didn't deliver within 48 hours of her water breaking. We settled into a comforting routine of light touch massage and swaying to help cope with the contractions. At the time, Sami felt like the contractions were powerful enough to move the process along, but the numbers didn't change.

Sami found her comfort zone (especially the last day) swaying back and forth while holding onto the arms of a chair during contractions. Notice that she had to have an IV of antibiotics put in due to her water breaking.

Sometime in the afternoon we were visited by a group of high school students who must have been touring the hospital as some sort of job shadow assignment. The head nurse (who was very sweet and quickly became the only person we completely trusted) asked for our permission to let them come in, and we obliged, being no strangers to stares these past two years. The head nurse explained a few things as the dumbstruck kids looked on. As they left, one of the students offered up a "congraturations" which brought chuckles from the others. I kicked myself for not taking a picture of the students. How many mothers have a group of adolescents stop by to gawk? Not many I suppose.

At one point I stepped out to get some fresh air. To be honest, I felt a little useless with Stacey in the room. She was great at comforting Sami, and talking her through the day. I have always been one who needs more quiet and privacy than most, so for a few minutes in the afternoon, I walked the streets outside the hospital and took pictures of the surrounding area. The hospital is located in Hannam, which is an old section of Seoul along the Han River. Although it is a popular spot for tourists and ex-pats, it still has a very foreign vibe, and I wanted to take as many pictures as I could to capture the sense of place where my first child was born. It was astonishing to me to think that it took me 26 years to get to one of the world's major cities, and yet, my daughter was going to be born into one of the 5 largest cities in the world. It is difficult to explain, but being from a town of 10,000 residents makes me look at situations a little differently. However, the surrounding neighborhood felt smaller, with two lane streets and back alleys where fruit and fish vendors set up shop.

Sami delivered on the third floor of this building and we have been going back here for check-ups.

Just a view down one of the side streets across from the hospital.

Soonchangyung Hospital

For breakfast and lunch I ate the same snacks I had packed the night before and now my tongue was raw and salty from the Costco cache. Sami was given a decent tray of hospital food. They asked her if she wanted Korean, or Western style. Her first impulse was to go Korean, but when she realized that she would only be given the miyakgook (seaweed soup) that pregnant Korean women feast on exclusively, she went for the Western. I didn't want to steal her food like I normally do, even though she said I should because she couldn't eat. Instead, I ventured out to a Korean restaurant up the street and ordered a bowl of kal-gook-su (knife cut noodles) for only 5k wan. The ajuma running the restaurant was asleep on the floor when I walked in at around 5 o'clock. I had to wake her up by tapping her on the shoulder and saying "shi-an-hamnida." She smiled, and happily served me my noodles with plenty of clams. I enjoyed the meal immensely and got a little sentimental thinking that this would be my last meal as a non-parent. Afterwards, I walked up to Paris Baguette and bought a patbingsu for the three of us to share. I thought that Stacey wouldn't like the frozen treat because I hadn't liked it the first time I tried it either. It has since grown on me and I find it refreshing on a hot summer day.

Of course I had to add the spicy pepper paste to it. Wouldn't you? I could eat noodles every day of my life and be happy.

At 6:30 or 7ish Sami had her last exam and the woman performing it notified us that the baby would not be coming tonight and that we should get some rest. We decided to let Stacey go home, and although it didn't cross our minds at the time, this decision probably saved us some money. Before she left I got a call from one of my co-workers who said that she wanted to come by. I wasn't really sure if we could accept visitors in the room, but before long she was at the door with my Vice-Principal and two other of my closest teacher friends. They brought us snacks including a green tea cake and my VP even gave us an envelope with 50k wan. Again, I wished I would have thought to take a picture of them at the door.

Finally, they moved us out of the delivery room and into the less urgent room, which had a tv. I flipped through the channels, but nothing was on. It was nice to have just Sami and me in the room. We were slightly discouraged that no progress was made, and very tired. The process of actually becoming parents felt a world away as we sat alone in the dark.

Charlotte is Born Part One

2011-07-31T22:00:00.000+09:00

Sami woke me up early Sunday morning, before sunrise, with what I thought was bad news. She sat in the dark on the edge of her bed and explained to me that she had lost her mucous plug. Having no idea what this meant, I took her quiet confusion as a sign that something was wrong with our baby. The due date was still a month and two days away. She researched a few things online, told me everything was fine and then I went back to sleep.

We took it pretty easy that day, chatting with my parents and one of Sami's friends on Skype. The day before we took the subway deep into Seoul for Sami's acupuncture appointment and later we ate dinner at her favorite Korean restaurant to celebrate her birthday from earlier in the week. At 10 o'clock at night, I was surprised when Sami came into the room I was reading and got on the computer. She said that she couldn't sleep for whatever reason, which was completely abnormal as she is usually out without a problem by 8:30 or 9. She went back to bed, and at some point, I tried to download a movie- a documentary about Joan Rivers. Like most people, I have a difficult time falling asleep Sunday nights with the impending work week looming ahead, and I knew that the documentary was well received.

Before I could start the movie, however, Sami rushed in and exclaimed that her water broke (or, to be more PC- "her membranes released"). The shorts she had been wearing were soaked and she left a trail of amniotic fluid oh her way to the bed. She calmly but assertively explained to me that this was a sign that the baby would be born in 24 to 48 hours. I got her the phone so that she could call our doula who was on vacation in Canada, and started to back our bags for the hospital.

All along Sami had a feeling the baby would be early. We were both surprised by the original due date given after the baby's first ultrasound, thinking that it should have been earlier. Sami was also concerned about how tight her belly had become even with five weeks to go, and she experienced contractions (or "surges" to again use the PC term) every night. We both openly wished for her to come early and alleviate any possible complications in trying to get her out of the country and remain on the national insurance plan before our contracts wore out at the end of August. Of course, we still weren't prepared for this early.

Not long ago, we had made the decision to have the baby in a birthing center with a midwife we liked and trusted. However, we knew that the midwife seldom took mothers that were less than 37 weeks along, and when Sami talked to her, she said that she would like for us to go to a hospital first, and if they said it was ok, then we could go to the birthing center.

As Sami calmly talked things out alternately with our doula in Canada, the back-up doula in Korea, and the midwife, I frantically scrambled to find items listed in the "what to pack" section of the baby book. Luckily, Sami had already packed a bag for the baby (like I said, she had a feeling she was going to be early) so all I had to do was pack a bag for us. I got all of the clothes and I knew that we had to have snacks on hand. We hadn't gone grocery shopping like we had planned to that weekend, but we did make it to Costco a few days prior so all that was on hand were American comfort food stand-bys such as plain and blueberry bagels which I toasted, schmeared, and wrapped in aluminum foil, some cheddar cheese, barbecue pop chips (which by this point I was growing sick of because the salty yet delicious seasoning was rubbing my tongue raw) and a bag of granola.

I thought I was doing pretty well until I came across a curious item on the list. It called for a hot water bottle, or raw rice wrapped in a sock as an alternative. Strangely enough, I did have a sock full of rice around from when I was going through a bout of knee soreness earlier in the summer. The book said to microwave it for 3 to five minutes. In hindsight, I should have realized that it was way to early to microwave the rice, and that it wouldn't keep the heat by the time we got to the hospital. Sami was in no visible pain now and wouldn't be needing it. Still, I popped it in for five and of course, after about three and a half minutes, it started to smoke up the apartment. I took it out with a pair of tongs, dropped it in the sink and ran cold water over it which unleashed a heavy plume of acrid steam.

Here is the sock I burned

At 11:40 I sent an e-mail to my co-worker explaining what had happened and that I would not be in school tomorrow, and probably not Tuesday either. Soon after we were out the door with a backpack full of overnight stuff, a bag of snacks and the baby bag. I wanted to grab an umbrella, but Sami said no let's go. It was dark and quiet outside and usually there is a row of taxis that line the street outside our apartment. It is kind of like their hang out place where they smoke cigs and drink heavily sugared cups of coffee out of the 400 wan (40 cent) machine. At this moment, however, they were nowhere to be found and we had to walk an extra 10 minutes up the the busier area of town near the train station. We eventually found a taxi, and to show you what prudes we are, I have to explain that our biggest apprehension was that he wouldn't take a credit card. Here we are in the year 2011, and Sami and I are paying for everything in cash. The driver did take plastic, but he wasn't too friendly, even for a Korean taxi cab driver. Also, it started to rain a little bit on the drive and I was thinking I knew that we should have grabbed those umbrellas.

We got to the hospital at 12:30 am. First we went to the emergency room and they re-directed us to the Maternal and Child Health Center across the parking lot. We met Stacy, the back-up doula on the walk to the parking lot and then went in the the examination room where a young intern told us that Sami was 4cm dilated. I guess we wouldn't be transferring anywhere tonight. In our minds, we were half way to being parents already.

Chungcheongbuk-do Part One

2011-07-22T23:30:00.002+09:00

On Tuesday I celebrated the start of summer break by joining my fellow Guji Elementary school faculty and staff members on an overnight trip to Chungcheongbuk-do Province. Chungcheongbuk-do is south of Gyeonggi-do, and is the only landlocked province in South Korea. I have tried my best to remember the names of the places and towns we visited on the trip, but it hasn't been easy, and I may mess up here or there. One thing I won't forget is what a great send off it was for me, as I prepare to reassimilate to the states in a few weeks' time. The weather was perfect (after weeks of hot, endless rain), the food was incredible and the people, of course, are unforgettable.

The first restaurant we stopped at for lunch was the only place I didn't take pictures of. I regretted leaving my camera on the bus when I saw the spread of food the ajumas brought out. Korean cuisine is famous for its banchan (side dishes), but this was overkill. They actually brought out table tops loaded with dozens of communal plates that they slid onto the empty tables we occupied. It was crazy watching them skillfully maneuver the carts used to wheel the tops. The meal was great- whole fish prepared two ways, pork belly, tofu soups and kimchi galore, but I can't help but pity the person responsible for washing all those tiny dishes.

It wasn't too long after we got back on the bus that our vice principal queued up the karaoke machine. Actually, it started when one of the teachers in charge of the logistics of the trip (the youngest or rookie teachers) came up to me and asked me to pick a song to sing. I thought that I could get out of it by saying that I was shy, but it didn't work. Eventually, I had to step up and belt out some Peter Frampton. Karaoke is funny here, everyone just steps up to the plate and does it. The best singers usually make a show like: "no, no, not me, I am no good." and then they step up and just kill like an Asian Tom Jones or Tina Turner.

Here is my VP up at the front of the bus getting the karaoke started. The best part is the images they show on the screen that have absolutely nothing to do with the words the scroll below. Sometimes during a soft love song you will get images of a car chase scene or something. No one seems to mind.

Our first destination was a ferry boat tour of what I believe was Chungjuho Lake. On the loading dock, I teased my friend Kwan Yang about his lack of a girlfriend, and when I saw one particularly attractive young female with a fat boyfriend, I told him that there is still hope for someone as pudgy as himself. It is nice to be able to joke around with someone, even if they don't completely get what you are saying. Anyway, here are some pics from the ride:

The weather was so nice that most people went out on the narrow deck to observe and take pictures. This was taken when the captain was making his announcement which of course, I understood none of.

Our next stop was to Gosudonggul Cave. This incredible cave is located near the film site of one Korea's most popular historical dramas. There is a huge set that looks just like one of the palaces in Seoul or Gyeonngju, but we walked right passed it to the entrance of the cave where we put on our hard hats. In the last year, I have visited some incredible caves, and they never cease to fascinate me. This one didn't have any bats, but I will always remember how cramped some of the tunnels were.

Walking down to the rack of hard hats which saved my dome more than once inside the cave that featured clearings less than three feet high. You can see the entrance of the cave off to the left in this picture.

More than any cave I have explored in the past year, this one had a solidly built walkway and hand rails. It even had this glass roof over a portion of the cave that receives continuous drippage from above.

After the cave, our next stop was to be the Guinsa Temple at Sobaeksan Mountains. We ate lunch earlier than normal and it became clear that with our pace and agenda, dinner would be late, so someone passed out ears of corn that they purchased from a streetside vendor. I had only tried Korean corn once, and it was gummy and I hated it, but the second time wasn't so bad. I think it is gummy because they steam the hell out of it.

At the temple I walked for a ways with my vice principal who saw a sign offering help to English speakers. I went inside and got set up with a personal tour guide- a young man from Ulsan. He told me of his plans to open a private English academy in Ulsan and said that the reason he visited the temple all the way up here was to pray for the future success of his new business. He is a Buddist of the Cheontae Order. The only thing I learned about that particular branch Of Buddhism is that female monks do not have to shave their heads. My tour was cut short when my vice principal said that we only had five minutes to get back to the bus, so my new friend kindly game me an English book with all sorts of info about the temple.

My tour guide was nice, but he insisted on having me pose for a picture on this spot. I tried to convey my thoughts on the unattractiveness of the construction site, but relented anyway.

At sunset we stopped off for dinner and a karaoke contest. The beers and soju started flowing at dinner, and I was asked to be a judge. Tipsy and clueless as to what constitutes a good Korean singer, I gave arbitrary scores- 99.876 and 99.875 for example. I did give out a 100 and a 101 to a couple of my favorite teachers, but it had nothing to do with their singing ability. Later, awards were given for the highest scores and for the worst singers as well.

Instead of sitting on the floor, we used these bad boys.

A spicy fish soup which was quite tasty.

My scorecard

Some panties were given out as awards. I have no idea why, but it was funny.

After the awards had been handed out half of the teachers took a bus home while the rest drove to the spot we would be staying for the night. We got to the "pension" which is what they call the outdoor sort of hotels or cabins in the countryside here after 10 or so. We six men had our own cabin and got started taking showers and watching baseball highlights. I didn't really feel the need to shower, but didn't want them thinking that all Americans are dirty slops, so I obliged. Then we met up with some other teachers and drank into the night. I used an excuse to sneak out early when my bedtime was near. I knew that the rest of the crew would be up until 3:30, but that just isn't in this old man's arsenal anymore. I was told I stayed up until after 2 in the morning, but I think they were just being nice.

The cabin the boys stayed in

Upstairs loft

Teacher party

I was proud to see that someone brought a bottle of wine from my neck of the woods. However, when I explained that I live near this vineyard, no one was that impressed. Also, the picture quality is terrible because I was good and drunk by this point.

Click Here for Part Two

A Less Cynical Reflection of Teaching in Korea

2011-07-19T15:21:00.001+09:00

I woke up this morning at 5:30. For the last couple of months the baby seems to sleep when I go to bed, but she usually starts moving at around 5 am making sleep impossible. I always start my morning the same way: breakfast, e-mail, stretching, and then a shower. This morning I decided to see if Joe had written a blog last night. He said he wasn’t going to, but sometimes he changes his mind. As I read through his extremely cynical, borderline angry blog entry, it was evident that this semester hasn’t been the most enjoyable for him. I believe over time he will forget the negative experiences he had solely teaching 6^th grade this semester, mostly without a co-teacher, but for now they are still fresh in his mind.

Though Joe is finished teaching, I still have 2 days to go. Unlike Joe, I teach 1^st-6^th grade. This means a lot more lesson planning, but I only see each class 1 time per week. I realized at the start of this semester that I have now taught every age of student except for kindergarten. Pretty crazy considering I have only been teaching for 6 years! Technically I have been a part of three school years in Korea despite only being here two years (school years starts in March and we came here in August). I have watched my little 3^rd graders become 5^th graders, and my 4^th graders become 6^th graders.

Something happens to 6^th grade students in Korea. They go from being completely wonderful as 5^th graders to almost impossible to like (hence the tone of Joe’s blog…) I finished teaching my 6^th grade students this morning. The experience was completely underwhelming. A few students said goodbye, but for the most part there was no acknowledgement that I was leaving the school after teaching them for 2 years.

I also finished teaching my 5^th grade students today. I have a special bond with the 5^th grade students because I taught them this semester without a co-teacher. Their homeroom teachers usually stayed in the classroom to help me with classroom management and the language barrier, ensuring that their behavior was impeccable. I said goodbye to my first 3 classes of 5^th graders last Friday. They were shocked to find out that I was going home, and many students gave me letters or cards to say goodbye. The goodbyes commenced today as I said goodbye to my least favorite and favorite 5^th grade classes. I arrived today ready to teach the 5-6 class, without a doubt the worst class I have ever taught, to find that they had all written me goodbye letters or cards. After they presented them to me, their homeroom teacher told me to, “Go take a rest.” I dreaded teaching them every week, so I am glad I have a positive final memory of that class.

However, without a doubt I had one of the most special moments of my teaching career when I taught the 5-5 class today. We started with a quick warm-up reviewing the songs, chants, and vocabulary we learned this semester. My plan after that was to watch excerpts from Mr. Bean. Korean children absolutely LOVE Mr. Bean. They laugh hysterically (to be honest, I do too), so I figured it would be a great way to end the school year. About 10 minutes before the end of class, one of my students approached me and said, “Sorry teacher. We stop the movie now.” I quickly made my way to the computer and stopped the DVD. All of the students were tittering excitedly, so I knew they had something planned. As 1 student navigated the Korean version of youtube, the rest of the class started passing forward letters and cards. One even included a gift from a boy consisting of a used glue stick and 100 won coin (the equivalent of about 10 cents). Once they found the right website, the classroom erupted into 30+ Korean children singing along with a music video in Korean. In addition to serenading me, they had also choreographed a dance consisting of mainly arm movements that the entire class participated in performing. As I looked around the classroom many students busted out signs that said, “We love you,” “Good bye,” and “We’ll miss you!” Those who know me well know that I rarely cry for sentimental reasons, but I fully admit that I had tears in my eyes. As the song came to an end, I was at a loss for words (not necessarily a bad thing when no one can understand much of what you say anyway). I thanked them, told them I would miss them, and then waved goodbye as I left their classroom for the last time. I feel so blessed to have had such a special moment.

As I reflect on the experience of teaching in Korea for the last two years, there is no doubt in my mind that it has been completely transformational. Despite the daily challenges of living in a foreign country, I know that this experience has helped our marriage get off to a solid start, and I am a better (and much more relaxed) person as a result of my experiences. While I am excited for the next chapter of our life to begin, I am so happy that Joe and I got to have this experience together.

Now, for your entertainment, I typed up my favorite quotes from the different letters I received.

- Congratulations! I heard you are having a baby!

- I heard the news, I am so surprise. Teacher, I think you will have a pretty baby. Good bye teacher!

- I’m sorry to hear that you have to go back to your country. After giving birth, please come back to Mi-geum school.

- I love you and your baby cute.

- One student gave me a card that simply said “Goob” (goodbye)

- Congratulations! Because you has baby. Baby will be very cute. I’m so happy you teach we. Teacher! You lay after! You have to come in Korea. Okay?

- Chear up I will miss you

- Teacher baby very good!

- Goodbye. Where are you going?

- I wish teacher and baby will healthy and baby grow kind and handsome or pretty.

- I like you. You like me? You are very beautiful. Me too.

- How are you today? I’m fine thank you and you? Do you like banana? I’m yes I do. Good bye!

Teaching

2011-07-18T22:50:00.002+09:00

Today was my last day being a fake elementary school teacher. Actually, I have to teach three weeks of half-day English camps starting Thursday, but for all intents and purposes, I am done-zo. All things considered, I shouldn't really complain, but that doesn't mean I won't. Let's just start off by saying I am going to miss my school lunches ten times more than any of the students.

When my wife talked me into teaching English in Korea, the actual work was an afterthought. Getting away from the stresses of life at home and the opportunity to travel were what sold me on the experience. Yeah, I knew I was going to be spending the majority of my time in a classroom, but I'd have a co-teacher to translate, and the subject matter is so simple I figured I wouldn't have to worry about prep-time.

In hindsight, the first year moved along rather smoothly. I taught 3rd and 5th graders that were eager to learn and I had a co-teacher that was a true disciplinarian. My contract started at the end of the first semester, which meant I only had half a year with these particular students before they moved on. The next year's 5th graders sucked. Individually, they are all nice kids, but together they are satan's bastards. They were even worse as 6th graders and, as luck would have it, I was informed by my Vice Principal at the end of the year that I would be teaching 6th grade exclusively. Also, they will have English three days a week instead of two. Also, I was assigned a new co-teacher who left me alone 95 percent of the time.

As I said, individually the kids are great and there are a few really good ones- maybe two or three in each class. But teaching sucks and here are five reasons why: (note: I am only talking about teaching ESL in Korea- and my opinion is probably skewed because I don't like kids as much as some others might and like I said, I taught only 6th graders who were the highest grade in the school and thought they were badasses- 3rd, 4th and even 5th are great)

1. They never stop hitting each other. And not just the boys either. Boys hit girls, girls hit girls, girls hit boys and boys hit boys. Mostly hard, open handed slaps to the back and punches to the arm. It takes all I have not to throw my weight around in the mix. In the states, if you hit a girl you would be in big trouble. KEEP YOUR GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING HANDS TO YOURSELVES!!!

2. The students never shut up. They can't even shut up during silent ball. They just don't get it. The only time I have ever had complete silence is after I have lost it and screamed at the top of my lungs. I felt a little ashamed after and went outside to cool off, but when I came back in the room you could have heard a mosquito fart. IT WAS BLISS.

3. Korea has a messed up private academy system where parents who can afford it send their kids to hours and hours of extra schooling. That along with students who have parent that speak English or have spent time abroad created a huge learning gap. I have students that can read Shakespeare (ok not really, but maybe J.K. Rowling), and students unfamiliar with the alphabet.

4. God, I hate it when they look over my shoulder at my computer screen before class starts. YES, SO MANY WORDS IN ENGRISH-EY OOOOH FASCINATING!!!

5. Even after two years, students still shit their pants when they see me walking to school or in the hallway. YES, I AM WHITE AND NO I AM NOT GOING TO EAT YOU. Unless you peer over my shoulder at the computer screen that is.

So yeah, I guess it is a good thing that today was my last day. For the sake of my health and the students' safety.

Bali Part One

2011-07-16T23:12:00.000+09:00

The Korean school schedule is a little wacky. They have winter break the last week of December and all of January, then a week long holiday the first week of February, back for two weeks and then another week off for the end of the year before starting right back up again March 1st. We took advantage of the random week off by sneaking away to Bali. We bought the tickets before we asked for permission from our schools and way before we found out we were pregnant. It was a gamble that paid off (tickets were only $325 roundtrip), but because of Sami's state which alternated between exhaustion and nauseousness, we opted to stay low-key and relaxed most of the week away.

While Sami napped in our king sized bed, A/C full blast, I watched college basketball re-runs on tv and even found the NBA all-star game streaming online. We spent a lot of time at the hotel pool, trying to make myself believe that I am capable of tanning while wearing 50 spf sunscreen. At night I sat out on the balcony, calmed by the heavy rain and distant thunderstorms that occurred almost nightly. We had a weak wireless connection on the balcony, so I caught up on some of the movies that were nominated for Oscars. "Winter's Bone" was one that I really enjoyed.

Here is where I spent most of my evenings while Sami went to bed at 7:30. Notice the mosquito repellant. An absolute must.

Most days we walked down to the beach and ate at one of the seemingly identical restaurants that line the strip. The food wasn't super cheap, but reasonable. Neither of us could find the one thing we were looking for- I for something authentic (I still don't think I know what sambal is even though I know I had it), and Sami for something that wouldn't make her puke. At least the scenery was incredible. There was a big wedding chapel along the strip we walked each day and it featured a giant glass house in the shape of an engagement diamond. It was incredibly tacky and out of place, but then again, the giant lobster stone carving didn't seem completely natural either.

Last Moments in Palawan

2011-07-13T22:03:00.000+09:00

We planned to take a night firefly watching excursion on the Iwahig River the day we lounged and picnicked at Estrella Falls, but for whatever reason, there was a delay with the family who runs the tours so we were content to sit on one of the picnic benches overlooking the dock and mix 30 cent pints of Tanduay Rhum with Coca-Cola or pineapple juice. When it got to be too late, we all decided to head back into Puerto Princessa for the night and try again after we got back from El Nido.

It was well into dark when we arrived and divided into two canoes. The boys- Tor, Ben and myself occupied one canoe and the girls- Becky, Alicia and Sami followed in another. We were surprised to find that our young Filipino guide was a volunteer, and received no pay. His knowledge of fireflies and the surrounding area was impressive. Among the tidbits that I did not forget was the fact male fireflies flash while flying and females flash while perched. I had expected the fireflies to cover the area in a green glow, but actually, all of the fireflies hung out on a certain type of tree along the bank, and lit them up like they were covered in tiny white Christmas lights. We could also see glowing green plants in the water below. The plankton became a scurrying green fuzz when we slapped the water with out paddles. Our guide was not all business however. When we told him that we lived in Korea he eagerly offered up his opinion of Korean women. "They're hot," he said.

On a more serious note, he did inform us that the river we floated on so peacefully gazing at translucent bugs was the escape route of the few American World War II POWs who escaped their Japanese captors in what became known as "The Palawan Massacre."

Original gate of the Japanese POW camp that was the site of "The Palawan Massacre"

In December 1944, Japanese guards, believing that enemy aircraft was heading for Palawan, ordered the POWs into air shelters, which they soon doused with gasoline and lit on fire. Only 11 POWs escaped and made for the river, while the rest were shot, clubbed, gunned, bayoneted or decapitated as they ran engulfed in flames.

Monument to the fallen POWs

On our last day in The Philippines, Sami and I visited the location for the former POW camp and the site of the massacre. The memorial itself was a harsh statue of a malnourished POW in horrific agony. There was a church nearby the park where the memorial to the POWs stood. The church was big and quiet and we took shelter inside as it started to rain harder. We tried to wait out the storm, but it never subsided so I hailed a covered motor scooter back to the Hibiscus Garden Inn.

We had some time to use up after check-out and the staff there was kind enough to let us sit under the cover of the thatched roof restaurant as it poured. The rain was violent and unforgiving. The timing of the monsoon had me believing that God wishes to extinguish any memory of the horrors that took place at the POW camp up the road. The rain also signified the end of our Southeast Asia vacation. A vacation that brought us to WWII POW camps in The Philippines and Thailand, to torture prisons and mass graves of genocide in Cambodia, to Vietnam War battlefields, to Muay Thai kickboxing arenas, to the embalmed body of Ho Chi Minh, and to a foggy pirate boat tour of Ha Long Bay, where a dozen tourists would drown just weeks later. Yes, the rain felt quite an appropriate end to our journey, and I snapped final pictures of the weather beaten, mysterious and yet not out-of-place wood carvings that made their home at the Hibiscus Garden Inn. And then we loaded our bags and drove to the airport.

Hibiscus Garden Inn, Puerto Princessa, Palawan

In this picture of the courtyard, you may be able to see how heavy the rain fell.

July 11th

2011-07-10T22:26:00.000+09:00

They tell you to try your best to remember all you can of your wedding day. The day goes by so fast that it is impossible to recall every minor detail. Funny, but it is the minor details that stick out the most, especially those leading up to the ceremony and reception, before scotch and sleepiness stole recollections of the rest.

The ceremony and reception was held on Sami's mom and stepfather's property. Their neighbor friends let me shower beforehand at their house and it was one of those nice showers with natural light from the surrounding forest engulfing the room in calm whiteness. It had stone floors and a glass encasement, and for the first time in days, I felt peaceful. My groomsman got ready across town in a friend's piss-stained tub/shower combo.

One of my groomsmen and I played ping pong while waiting for the photographer. I lost even though I am pretty sure he was trying to let me win. Since I have started playing more here in Korea, I realize that I needed to crouch down more and finish my follow through with the side of the paddle up between my eyes. When everyone was tuxed and ready, we took shots of jaeger bombs. My dad had one and he thought it was pretty tasty. When we got to the site we were all shocked to see that the bridesmaids had polished off their own half gallon of jaeger (compared to our fifth) and more than a few bottles of wine.

Sami and I opted to have pictures taken before the ceremony, so we posed for what seemed like hours as guests arrived. I admit to being a little cranky through the process as well as dehydrated. When we all gathered to prepare for the walk, I felt hungover, and needed to pound a bottle of water.

I was the first to arrive at the designated spot and Sami was the last. I had chided her for choosing a Celine Dion song, but when I saw her and her dad walking down, I got a little choked up. Apparently, my emotions started a chain reaction and in later pictures you can see my sister and other bridesmaids misting up as well. Months of wedding planning cannot prepare a man for that moment.

Tomorrow is our two year anniversary, and as we sat together this evening and felt the baby stretch and turn inside her belly, we reflected on married life to date. It hasn't always been easy. Six weeks after our wedding we moved to Korea, away from family, friends and distractions. We were all we had and it was not easy at first. It was a frustrating feeling of powerlessness to be an outsider, with so many accepted freedoms gone. I admit that I was not the easiest to live with that first week. However, over time we grew even closer, we became a team and a support system. We became self-sufficient, we created a plan for our future and started a family. I couldn't imagine life without her. She is the strongest, most intelligent and supportive woman I know and I am trying my best to recall every minor detail of every day with her.

Happy Anniversary.

El Nido (Part Two)

2011-07-07T21:41:00.000+09:00

The sky was overcast and needle rain fell in harmless intervals during most of our two and a half days in El Nido. Either the weather or a vain attempt to hide her noticeable-only-to-her two month pregnant belly kept Sami out of the water on our second, and more noteworthy snorkeling excursion.

We were joined on our day trip by a skinny young Englishman with bad teeth (clearly habitual smoking induced and in no way a stereotypical British hygiene jab), a young and worldly Dutch woman who used a British accent when addressing said Englishman, a fat and handsy Italian couple, a slim couple of undetermined origin, and a big Italian woman with a fancy underwater camera. (as a side note, we sometimes watch Kathy Lee and Hoda in the mornings, and not too long ago they mentioned a survey that showed the first thing women registered when seeing another woman for the first time was her weight. So based on my introduction of out shipmates, the moral of the story is I am a judgmental woman.)

The horny Italian couple wore custom flippers and facemasks which led me to believe that maybe they had a thing for fish voyerism. She wore bikini bottoms that left a large crescent of ass on both sides, and they stole off to steal kisses at every opportunity. I glided partnerless at a safe distance trying to find Nemo. When I pulled myself up onto the boat heavy and awkward with my fins, I was surprised to see the thin European woman topless. Sami later explained to me that it was smart of her to change into a dry top out of the water and shield herself from chills. I turned my head embarrassingly, and later wondered if some of this European modesty had rubbed off on my wife.

The snorkeling was incredible, despite the weather, but without a proper waterproof camera, the images are left fading in my memory. There was a secret beach we were led to through a cavernous opening in one of the countless floating limestone jungle mountains. What seemed like hundreds of snorkelers brought in from similar boats swam through and marveled at the natural wonder. The large group, which fought feverishly for real estate away from rocks and coral, took away from the serenity of the setting.

Later on we frog paddled to a similar setting that existed just fine alone for thousands of years before gangly schools of aliens started appearing like clockwork in the afternoon, bloated, hunter orange vested torsos with giant bug eyes and curled upper lips.We floated in ankle deep water and tried our best to avoid choral scrapings. While colorful fish paced nervously in droves, one badass black one propelled right toward my facemask. Anyone who reads this blog is by now familiar with my aversion to/fascination with small creatures such as mice, rats, bats, spiders and snakes. I did not anticipate adding small tropical fish to that list, but when he torpedoed at me, I flailed and shrieked, releasing air bubbles and banging choral in the process. I fared better when the big Italian woman from our boat pointed out a sea snake. Black and blue, it came up for air periodically, and I was one of the few to catch a glimpse. While I managed to avoid any contact with what I later learned to be one of the most poisonous snakes in the world, I did get sideswiped and bitten by the little torpedo fish on the way back tot he boat.

At one point we beached and were served lunch. There was enough for everyone in our posse to have one whole small fire grilled tuna and a skewer of chicken pieces. The female half of the horny Italian couple took two chickens instead of the one fish, leaving the topless Euro with none. I gladly would have taken two fish to even the numbers for her, had I gone first. The chicken was fatty but the tuna was bomb.

We laid in the sand as light rain fell and tried to shed our open book pages from the drops. One thing I've known for a long time, but always seem to ignore, is that you can get sunburned in overcast skies, especially being as close to the equator as we were. I wore a cutoff shirt the day before, which left me with pink arms and a white belly. Sami, had a less visible problem. She really had to pee. I was unsympathetic to her plight, having relieved myself multiple times out in the discreet South China Sea. However, she made me her culprit by handing me the camera and instructing me to snap pictures of her waist deep in the ocean. Apparently, she thought that this act of tourism would disguise her true motive of dirtying the water with warm urine. I guess the Euro modesty didn't change her after all.

Our boat

Lunch on the beach

Sunburned arms and a white belly

4th of July Camping

2011-07-04T22:39:00.000+09:00

It's funny that we referred to our Fourth of July weekend activity as "camping" because we stayed in the nice Korean countryside "pension" pictured above.

The pension sat on the bank of a reservoir created by a nearby dam, the water of which irrigates nearby rice paddies and corn fields. The water flow from the dam was shut off due to the threat of rain, which severely handicapped our fishing efforts (no excuses though right).

We never did use the pool, although I did bring my trunks.

I woke up earlier than everyone else on Sunday morning and took pictures of the mist that crept over the hillsides. They call Korea "the land of the morning calm" and I believe it. It is very uncommon to see any Koreans stirring about in the morning unless they have stayed up all night- notorious night owls .

Two of our crew- Allyson and Anne Marie attended an outdoor music festival at nearby Nami Island. Allyson's husband Jay drove them to the concert, and I tagged along to pick up groceries. There are few things more hectic than trying to shop quickly for a camping trip without a list. I ended up running back in a couple of times for small items. Of course, one thing we didn't forget was the alcohol. The six pack on the floor next to Tor is soju- the ubiquitous Korean spirit that tastes like a weak vodka and gives me a wicked hangover.

While Anne Marie and Alysson were at the concert, Sami and Becky lounged around while the men attempted to fish.

Actually, the first hour and a half Tor and I drank beer and watched as Jay assembled the fishing rods. He brought over $2,500 worth of fishing equipment in a leather bag big enough to carry a full set of golf clubs. In the picture above, I was proud of myself for finding Budweiser that was cheaper than Korean beer. Later I was told that Budweiser sold the licensing rights to OB, a Korean beer company. Makes sense. Still, the label is cool.

Here is the bag with all of his equipment.

A close-up shot of the "bobbers."

Each pole had to have been about 15 to 18 feet long. He sets up as many as 10 poles at varying depths to fish for carp(!). The poles do not have reels. You catch a fish by simply pulling up on the rod (that's what she said).

As you can see, Jay has a very nice set up with holders for multiple poles screwed into the dock. Here he is seen mixing up one kind of bait, which I believe is mainly grain and ground dehydrated shrimp. It smelled just like Grape Nuts cereal.

His second bait source, which he placed on the ends of alternating lines, was this potato starch.

He just added a little bit of water to the potato starch to make a thick paste.

And then placed it on the hook.

Same with the grape nuts.

No this is not more bait. This is the bigger of the two actual fish we caught. Could have been good bass bait. Actually, Jay said that these waters are stocked with large mouth bass, but they are non-native and therefore invasive.

When it got too dark, Jay snapped on these nice glow in the dark bobbers. Pretty cool looking, but it didn't improve our luck.

So we barbecued up some weiners and samgyupsal (unsalted pork belly) instead.

We also heated up this smoked duck, which is very popular in Korea. It is delicious and leaves your skin smelling like smoke and duck fat.

After snapping a few pics in the morning, the owner of the pension invited me in for coffee. Best I've had in Korea.

I was in charge of cooking up breakfast and I made bacon, omelets and French toast. I only had two small pans so it took forever to fry up all of the bacon. Luckily, Alison kept me hydrated with a steady flow of Kahlua and coffee and soju jello shots.

We kept the French toast warm in the rice cooker, which I thought was pretty brilliant. Yet another victory for a rice cooker. Now if only we would have had some fish to throw in there...

Cheeseburgers in Paradise

2011-07-01T20:19:00.000+09:00

An outdoor hamburger stand is located across from our hotel in the gravel on the side of the road. There is a wooden picnic bench and a standing flat grilltop the size of first base. One woman leisurely flips burgers and heats hotdogs as big as Pinocchio's nose after a giant whopper. I was drawn to the stand for the simple fact that burgers were somewhere around 50 cents (I remembered them as 10 cents, but after conferring with Sami, 50 is probably closer to the truth).

My fascination with cheap burgers runs deep. In high school, whenever McDonald's would run it's 29 cent hamburger or 39 cent cheeseburger special, my friend Josh and I would purchase the maximum allotment of 20. We would take them to his house, unwrap them, and stack them on a plate pyramid style in an attempt to class up the appearance of our feast (note to any female readers: this is how teenage boys think). Of course, what we should have realized was that the paper serves as a necessary heating element, and cold burgers (especially Mickey D's cheeseburgers where the processed cheese gets all congealed and waxy) are nasty. Once we had our girlfriends over and they watched in horror as we stuffed our faces on cold beef and bread. They conveniently left well before we finished so we sat alone and consumed the remainder feeling fat, farty and ashamed. We'd get new girlfriends eventually.

Past experiences should have taught me to abstain from any cheap, roadside burgers in El Nido, or at least temper my expectations regarding flavor. They did not, in either case, and I ended up sampling something inferior to even McDonald's (full disclosure, I actually do love McDonald's. Especially a Big Mac. Former co-workers brought in Big Macs for my birthday one year and I ate two of them shits. One even after my boss took a giant bite and left a sloppy 'U.' I am dirty). It wasn't terrible, but it reminded me more of a burger you would find in Korea- too sweet. Also it had a strange sauce the lady said was ketchup and mayonnaise. No way. Chili sauce and mayo maybe which is too sweet as well. Proving that I have no control whatsoever, I later had one of those long hot dogs. It had that same sauce and it wasn't very good either and I ate every bite.

Eastern Medicine

2011-06-30T20:20:00.004+09:00

My last doctor’s appointment took all of 10 minutes and cost the equivalent of $2 USD. The 90-minute roundtrip subway ride was more expensive (and time consuming). Upon arrival the nurses quickly checked my blood pressure, weight, and urine, and then I was ushered into my doctor’s office for a quick meeting. After a quick check for anemia and swelling I was pronounced very healthy. The doctor then briefly checked the baby’s heart rate and position using the ultrasound. She was pronounced healthy and in the correct position for birth- the same spot she has been in for the last 7 or 8 weeks now.

We don’t have another doctor’s appointment until the middle of week 36. Joe is going to join me at that appointment so he can see the baby on the ultrasound since he wasn’t previously allowed in the room when I had ultrasounds. By that point there probably won’t be much to see considering she will probably be pretty cramped, but I guess we won’t have to wait much longer before we get to meet her!

In addition to my doctor’s appointment, I decided to give acupuncture a try this week. I have very few pregnancy discomforts at this point, but in Asia acupuncture is revered as a cure-all for even the most minor ailments. Occasionally I experience heartburn/digestion problems or lower back pain at night, so I figured I might as well try it out and see if I like it, possibly reducing my discomfort. As a side note, I mainly notice heartburn/digestion problems on days when I don’t stretch in the mornings. Apparently research shows that yoga/stretching does improve digestion/heartburn.

The appointment started with suction cup therapy. 8 suction cups were positioned at various points on my back and hooked up to a machine. The machine then causes the cups to rhythmically tighten and release. This practice has been around for thousands of years in various forms and originated in China. It is used to improve circulation, digestion, and aches and pains of various sorts. I was trying to practice my relaxation breathing while all of this was going on, but the baby was moving around so much that I couldn’t focus. Whenever I lay down on my left side she seems to think it is play time, squirming around for 15-20 minutes before she relaxes again.

The cups leave marks for a couple of days- they look much worse than they are.

After the suction cup therapy ended the doctor carefully placed small needles on various different acupuncture points: my ankles, back, knees, ears, head, and wrists. The ones on my back stung briefly when they were inserted, but for the most part this process was painless. Once the needles were placed I felt extremely relaxed. It helped that the baby was now relaxed as well.

I have now had the treatment two times and I have another appointment tomorrow. Next week I will go two more times and then won’t return until 35 weeks. At 35 weeks the acupuncture points change and the focus is on helping prepare my body for birth. Apparently research shows that acupuncture can shorten birth times, improve the body’s ability to relax, and improve the overall health of mother and baby. It can also help turn a baby from breech to head down. If the baby is late, there are acupuncture points that can stimulate contractions and help get things moving.

As far as results, I didn’t notice anything different after my first acupuncture session, but I did experience positive results after the second session. I actually had heartburn when I arrived at the clinic, and I was pleased to find that after the treatment my heartburn was gone and I continued to feel good after consuming one of Joe’s spicy fish tacos.

El Nido (Part One)

2011-06-28T21:30:00.000+09:00

When planning for the Palawan leg of our vacation, we debated whether or not to spend time in El Nido. There is no flight linking Puerto Princessa to El Nido and we had heard that the bus ride there is well over seven hours long (it was actually closer to five). In the end, the promise of its diverse marine life and unique scenery won out. Besides, I've found that covering so much ground isn't so terrible when experiencing a terrain for the first time.

We arrived too early for our departure. Our hiker's backpacks were taken from us and thrown in a storage bin built into an old school bus. The driver looked at our printed out e-mail confirmation and pointed us over to an area where vans were parked. Apparently, we paid a little more for the van ride, which we pretty much realized when we saw that the bus was full of locals. Our bags were removed and then strapped to the roof of the van where they ended up covered in a red dust that had the consistency of clay. A result of high speeds and dirt roads.

Sami and I sat shotgun in the cramped van. My knees were in my chest and the bench seat was worn down and slanted toward the passenger door. My right butt cheek inevitable fell asleep from the angle, so I placed my paperback underneath to compensate. I can never read in a moving vehicle anyway.

We each shared an earpiece to my iPod to pass the time. I remember we listened to Bob Marley, which I am quickly figuring for anthem music anywhere there is sun and an ocean view. The restaurant we dined in played hits of the dreadlocked Rasta later that night. The sound was tinny because of the shared audio accessory, but that didn't stop Bob from helping us appreciate being away from cold and responsibilities in a beautiful, warm, lazy locale.

We stopped somewhere midway at a little roadside eatery. They dished out local specials like the pigs blood tripe stew dinoguan for about a buck a slotted spoonful (43 Filipino pesos I believe). I got some of that and a glass bottle of coke. I am sure we got some chips too or maybe crackers being they were one of the few foods Sami could keep down during her first trimester of pregnancy. I fed a lot of my food to a skinny dog that didn't bring to much attention to himself, just happy for the scraps before moving on.

The ride was smooth for the most part, until the tail end. When I was in college, I worked for the Bureau of Land Management fighting wildfires. We once patrolled an area known as the Jordan Craters, out near Jordan Valley, Oregon. It was basically an endless field of volcanic boulders and sage brush. Anyway, the final leg to El Nido wasn't as bad as that.

I wish I would have taken more pictures of the road, or at least jotted down a few notes or sketched a picture. Lets see, the dirt roads were kind of orange, lots of motorbikes putted along in front of us and our driver would whip by them with a honk, and when the ocean finally made its appearance it was a magical experience. That's about all I can recall.

Our little hotel on the beach was quaint, but featured a spectacular view of the limestone cliffs that line the bay used as a jump off point for day rides out the the islands that freckle the waters nearby. We took a seat at an outdoor restaurant on the sand. Sami tried to eat pasta and I had a whiskey. They didn't play any Bob, but I hummed a tune in my head, happy to be on vacation and happy we made the decision to come.

DMZ

2011-06-26T22:53:00.000+09:00

The Demilitarized Zone (DMZ, the guarded piece of land sprawling the 38th parallel which creates the agreed upon border between North and South Korea) was about the only tourist spot we knew of when we first came to Korea. It was the one thing everyone asked us about before we left and the first subject we broached with our handlers upon arrival. Finally, after nearly two years, we made the trip this weekend.

We woke up at 5:00 am in order to reach the Camp Kim USO office at US Army Garrison Yongsan in Seoul. This wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't been up so late the night before farting around on YouTube and making potato salad for the next days lunch. I was pleased with the salad, the trick being, as always, to leave the potatoes slightly undercooked.

The sun was up when we started out walk out, which somehow made it easier. A group of old men occupied the public pagoda nearest our apartment playing mahjong or some kind of domino game. We passed intermittent piles of barf on the sidewalks, further evidence of Korea's puke-and-rally soju drinking philosophy. At the train platform, I played my favorite game- a staring contest with the locals. You see, even after all this time, intrigued strangers feel compelled to study our facial features as if to memorize it for later use. Yes, we get it. We are white. Still, they don't like the tables being turned, which is why, much to my wife's horror, I will sometimes stop in my tracks and stare back, daring them to break eye-contact first. I always win.

While I have grown reluctantly accustomed to occasional Korean quirks, I understand that some serious reverse culture shock is in store for me upon our return to the states. I got small taste of this in the waiting room at the USO office. The people were huge! It is rare for me to pass someone in the street that is taller than me, but at the Army base, I felt like a shrimp. The ones that were shorter felt taller for their broad shoulders, wide necks, bulbous heads and swollen bellies. It was intimidating.

Later, on the bus, I got another taste of whats in store. A young woman talking on her cell phone consoled a friend who had just experienced a break-up by using words and phrases I hadn't heard in ages. Things like "doucebaggy," "chubby chick," and "what the fuck." When she compared her friend's emotional state to the one she experienced during her miscarriage, I began to appreciate the Korean people's penchant for modesty. Still, it's always a pleasure to revel in the colloquialisms of my fellow countrymen. When she said "New Orluns" and copped to being a resident of the Crescent City, I finally felt like I had learned how it was pronounced. Of course, this was before her husband or boyfriend chimed in with a "New Orleens." Either way, it wasn't "New Orlee-uns," as I had for so long figured.

Our tour guide was a smiling, energetic and cross-eyed Korean university student named Eun Jong. She decided that Eun Jong was too difficult for foreigners to say let alone remember, so she instructed us to call her "Bok Choy" like the Chinese vegetable. Bok Choy tried really hard to get the group rallied and excited, but the hour was not right. Her attempts at jokes were me with snickers at best. If this were a crew made up of native English speakers who chose Korea for employment in an elementary school, things would have been different. Instead, this group of mainly military, felt no obligation to play the game and ease the tension. When Eun Jong asked if anyone was from a country besides the US, someone blurted "Texas," to much delight.

It took an hour and a half to bus from Seoul to the DMZ where we were first treated to a presentation at Camp Bonifas before a tour of the Joint Security Area (JSA). The presentation, performed by a soldier who had long ago memorized all of the lines and barked them out like a drill sergeant, was short but impressive. He highlighted two conflicts that have taken place at the DMZ over the years: The 1976 Axe Murder Incident and the 1984 Soviet Defector.

On August 6, 1976, before the JSA was completely sectioned off, South Korean workers were chased off by North Korean guards while they attempted to cut down a poplar tree that was blocking the view of one of the guard posts. Considering the protests, US soldiers decided only to trim the branches from the tree on the 18th. The North Koreans interfered with the American officer who explained that the actions were legal. The North Koreans killed the captain and lieutenant on the spot with axes. After the incident, the US and Korean Armies went into DEFCON 2 and cut down the tree. That afternoon, an apology letter was sent from North Korean President Kim Il Sung and later a military boundary was drawn in the JSA.

On November 23, 1984, a Soviet citizen on a communist led tour of the Military Demarcation Line dashed across to the South Korean side. He was pursued by KPA officers firing weapons. Two South Korean soldiers were killed and three KPA were killed in the firefight.

Another item of interest touched on during the presentation was the explanation of two villages permitted to remain in the DMZ under the 1953 armistice agreement. In the south, the villages are knows as Freedom Village and Propaganda Village. South Korean residents of Daeseong-dong (Freedom Village) pay no national taxes, but must follow strict curfew rules. A man may marry a woman outside of the village and bring her in, but an outside man cannot marry into the village. Kijong-dong is called Propaganda Village after the incessant blaring of messages over megaphones accosting their southern neighbors to join their side. It is rumored that no one actually lives inside of Propaganda Village. The windows are painted on the buildings and there is hardly ever electricity. Still, Propaganda Village boasts the second largest flag in the world, built as a response to a large flag which was donated by the Olympic Committee to South Korea, who in turn donated it to the Freedom Village. The flag at Propaganda Village weighs 600 lbs. It takes a mighty wind to move it from its flaccid state.

Propaganda Village with the world's second largest flag

After the presentation we were passed along to a young Military Police who rode with us to JSA. Along the way, he explained to us that North Korea has the worlds 4th largest army, and its men are required by law to serve for 10 years. On a personal note, we found out that our young guide was only 19 years old and from Florida. It is crazy to think that a year ago he was a high schooler who didn't give two shits about Korea and now he is an expert on the history of the DMZ.

We were instructed to form two single-file lines as we approached the JSA. We walked through the Freedom House on the south side to face three blue shack looking buildings and two bookend gray buildings of similar construction. Directly in front of us was Panmun Hall. North Korean "tourists" moved about on the upper balcony of Panmun Hall and pointed and gestured at will. Two things we were specifically asked not to do.

Not sure if they are tourists or KPA soldiers looking at us across the way on the top balcony. I thought they appeared uniformed. Either way, it was a tense moment.

The JSA is the only spot on the DMZ where North and South Korean Armies face each other directly. We walked into one of the South Korean blue buildings used as a place for diplomatic engagements- something that hasn't happened for many years. The room itself was rather unspectacular save for the imposing guards that stand in a tae kwan do ready position with sunglasses and clenched fists. We were encouraged to pose with the guards, but not too close as they were liable to forearm us out of the way. Our guide explained that there are always two guards in the room to lock up the door because one time a KPA tried to bust in and pull one out.

Blue building is run by ROK, gray is KPA

After the JSA we drove past the Bridge of No Return, out to where we could get a better view of the opposing villages. Later, we spent time at a museum before venturing into the 3rd Infiltration Tunnel.

After the war, POWs were returned from both sides. The former prisoners could choose where they wanted to go, north or south across this "Bridge of No Return," but could not go back after making their decision.

The 3rd Infiltration Tunnel is one of four known "tunnels of aggression" created by North Korea as an attempt to reach Seoul. At first, North Korea denied that they were responsible. They claimed they were only mining for "coal" and pointed to the granite that they had painted black. It is believed that dozens more tunnels exist.

We entered the tunnels and grabbed hard hats from shelves. It is very steep going down and eventually, I had to crane my neck and crouch as we went along. There was a large group of students and scouts down there with us making noise. Some of them got a little pushy with Sami and this put her in an aggressive mood the rest of the way.

Next, it was time to eat lunch. Sami and I were the only people out of the whole group that brought a lunch with us. This wasn't so bad as we found a waiting area to eat and nap in while everyone else was upstairs. Waking up at 5 had finally caught up with me and I had one of those naps where you blink and 30 minutes are lost.

Our last stop was the Dorasan Station. Dorasan is the station that links North and South Korea. All Koreans, in their dream of unification, believe that it will once again carry passengers from one end to the other. For now, we had to settle for a novelty ticket stamp.

Inside Dorasan Station

Afterward, it was back to the bus where, hopefully, the girl from "New Orluns" was as sleepy as I was after lunch. I was ready to get back to the leftover potato salad in our apartment southward and safe from the DMZ.

Where will Baby Boyd be born? Part II

2011-06-21T17:12:00.009+09:00

Last weekend was one of our most eventful weekends in months. We visited a birthing clinic in Ansan (about 2 hours away by subway), met Tor and Becky for lunch afterwards, and then visited the House of Sharing on Sunday (see Joe’s previous blog). It may sound strange, but so far I am really enjoying the third trimester of my pregnancy. I seem to feel better with each passing week, and lately I have WAY more energy than I had during both the first and second trimesters (but still no nesting…). Because of the stories I have heard from everyone about the third trimester I figured I wouldn’t want to do much of anything, but I am sleeping better and seem to feel my best when I am active and busy. Hopefully things will stay this way for a few more weeks.

The exciting news: we officially know where we plan on having our baby! We made our decision after visiting midwife Rosa’s clinic in Ansan. As I stated previously, it takes about 2 hours to get there from where we live by subway, but it takes only 30-40 minutes by taxi. It is always comical to me when people express concern about the length of the taxi ride and bring up the possibility of me delivering in the taxi. Let’s be honest- I am probably going to be in labor a LONG time, although a short labor would be nice…

Joe gets super irritated whenever we have to take the subway. People are supposed to yield to older people, pregnant women, and women with children. At this point, I feel like I am obviously pregnant, but I am only offered a seat about 30% of the time we ride the subway. Usually people pretend to sleep or keep their eyes glued to whatever portable electronic device is entertaining them. I have even had people cut me off in order to get to a seat before I can. Joe says it is because I don’t act pregnant enough. He says I need to act like my back hurts and rub my belly the way Korean women do, but I just can’t bring myself to engage in these kinds of pitiful behaviors. Maybe in a month or two when I am super pregnant and the weather is hot and humid, but for now I refuse to act like a weak pregnant woman.

We arrived in Ansan and met up with Lisa (our doula) and Stacey (our back-up doula) and we made the short trek to Rosa’s clinic. Rosa is a Korean midwife who has delivered more than 10,000 (no joke) babies. She speaks great English, and I liked her immediately because she told me I am very small, even by Korean standards. What woman doesn’t want to hear that they are small when they are 7 months pregnant?

The bulk of our discussion was focused on our concerns regarding birthing at her clinic or birthing at home. We like the idea of birthing at home because it is where we are the most comfortable and we could avoid taking a taxi to and from the birthing center. However, we don’t have an air conditioner, and the thought of laboring during hot and humid August doesn’t sound all that appealing. We also have a lot of trees near our apartment, and the cicadas are quite obnoxious during the month of August. Our biggest concern with birthing at the birthing center is the fact that we have to take a taxi there, but we really liked the air conditioning, comfortable room, and cost of birthing there.

Ultimately, the air conditioner made the decision much easier for us, and we have decided to have the baby at the birthing center. Once my contractions are getting stronger and closer together I will call Lisa. She will either meet us at home and travel with us to the birthing center, or she will wait and meet us at the birthing center. It all depends on how I am handling labor.

We have to make the journey to Ansan one more time before the birth when I am around 37 weeks pregnant. Rosa will check the baby’s position and we will go over any final details before the birth. I was also advised to have acupuncture starting around 35 weeks. Many Asians swear by acupuncture as a way to make sure the baby is correctly positioned and comes on time. It is very cheap in Korea- between $5 and $7, so it is definitely something I am going to look into.

The room where I will likely give birth

It may look like a tree, but this was made from someone's placenta!

After our appointment we ventured 3 subway stops further to meet Tor and Becky for lunch. Last weekend was the first of 3 weekend outings we have planned. Next weekend we are touring the DMZ, and the weekend after that we are going camping close to Nami Island. We had to decide between Indian food, sushi, or Uzbeki food. Joe really wanted Indian food, so we started at the Indian restaurant for lunch and went to the Uzbeki restaurant afterwards for beers (water for me) and meat pies. My taste buds are still completely off. The dish that everyone found extremely spicy wasn’t spicy at all for me, but another dish that no one found spicy was making my eyes water.

Kantipur, Ansan, South Korea

We do not know why the waiter decided to take a crooked picture.

Along the walk to the Uzbeki restaurant we passed this vendor selling fresh dog meat.

Uzbeki Restaurant

Note: If you eat Indian food and Indians are present, they will probably stare at you if you eat with your left hand. Why? That’s the hand they use to wipe their butts.

House of Sharing

2011-06-20T21:15:00.001+09:00

Yesterday we visited the House of Sharing in Gwangju. The House of Sharing is the residence of eight Korean survivors of systematic rape enforced by the Japanese empire during their occupation of east and southeast Asia beginning in the late 1930s and lasting up until the end of World War II. It is estimated that between 20,000 and 80,000 women were taken from their homes to "comfort houses" where they were raped by as many as 40 Japanese soldiers a day. The House of Sharing is also home to an impressive museum which details these seldom discussed horrors of history and pays tribute to the women who have come forward to share their stories.

Soon after arriving, our group was shown a documentary featuring one of the first and most outspoken "Halmonies" (the honorific name given to survivors of the travesties meaning grandmother in Korean) of the house of sharing. She had made it her life's mission to see that the Japanese government concede to their demands which include compensation, a formal apology, a memorial, the release of all documentation relating to forced sexual slavery and to be written into the history books. She was among the crowd gathered every Wednesday afternoon outside the Japanese Embassy in Seoul to protest. During her time living at the House of Sharing, she took up painting as a form of therapy. She stated in the documentary that it was her wish to paint a picture that would depict the punishment of the Japanese government. Here is the finished product:

Later we visited the museum, where we were guided by two English speaking volunteers. They explained that the "comfort houses" came about as a result of the Rape of Nanking which drew ire from the rest of the world. The Japanese government believed that rape was a necessity of war, but needed to find a way to keep it out of international newspapers. Also, they looked for a way to stop the spreading of sexually transmitted infections. Their solution was to create designated rape areas, or "comfort houses," occupied by women and young girls brought in against their will. One survivor noted that the most humiliating aspect was when a rape had reached its conclusion, as each time she was ordered to remove the condom and wash the man's penis to stop the spread of STIs.

Replica of the inside of a "comfort house"

Women that did become infected were often treated by having a hot iron rod inserted into her vagina. Doctors made weekly visits and if a woman were to become pregnant, the unborn child would be aborted through any number of inhumane means. Our guide in the museum read us a letter from a survivor who recounted women's bellies being sliced open, and babies murdered after birth.

Many students, including Japanese visit the House of Sharing and leave mementos.

After touring the museum, we participated in a small group discussion. One of the things we talked about was the role of women in Korean society today. Korea has the world's 12th largest economy, yet in terms of women's impact in the job market, it ranks 131st. In many cases, women are pushed by their parents to marry for wealth and status, rather choosing a life partner based on love, respect, and emotional connection.

Although the halmonies continue to protest every week, it seems little progress is being made, and that Korean society in general is reluctant to join in with their full support, almost as if they would rather forget and erase the past entirely. In 1965 the Japanese government paid a large sum of money to Korea as reparations for horrendous acts. Instead of dispersing the funds to victims of the occupation, the Korean government used it to build up the economy and fund the enormous and sprawling infrastructure that stands today.

There is no doubt that the Japanese reparations jumpstarted Korea's economic comeback. However, I cannot help but think that the decision to ignore the suffering of so many women is in step with a larger societal role in Korea where women are viewed as less than equal.

During the discussion, I tried to bring up the point that the Unites States has it's own dark history with women's and civil rights. However, it wasn't until the group itself, be it suffrigetes or African Americans, stepped forward and refused to be ignored, that real change was achieved.

Do women in Korea really wish to change things? I sometimes wonder if many are happy with their position in life. I really don't know. Through the work of the halmonies, lets hope that Korea as a whole looks back to the dark past, in an effort to create a brighter future.

After the tour and discussion, we had the opportunity to meet some of the halmonies. Some of the more talented tourists sang and danced for them.

For more information on the House of Sharing, visit www.houseofsharing.org

The Ar-Cee

2011-06-18T22:35:00.001+09:00

My school has a lot of money. It is a public elementary school so don't ask me why, or how come Sami's school just around the way is so worse off. All I know is that it has a lot lot of money and I can tell because it built an entire English Adventure Zone next to my classroom. The area was constructed with the single purpose of helping students become more comfortable using English in real-world situations. In it, there is a mock supermarket with painted, plastic and styrofoam fruits and vegetables that, be it not for their unfamiliar weight and lack of smell, would fit right at home in any brownbag lunch or icebox. There is a doctors office with waiting room and operating tools, a movie theater with working screen, a mock, sliced open passenger airplane, a customs counter, and a restaurant. Other, non-English related hints of wealth include 50 inch plasma televisions in each classroom, plush leather recliners in the teachers' rooms, and recently purchased ping-pong tables and equipment strictly for teacher use. And not some ratty used tables you would see in a basement, wobbly legged and liable to crash if bumped. These are nice tables.

With this in mind, I was pleased, but not altogether surprised when my advisor asked if there was anything I needed for our apartment. Apparently my school had come into even more money and was looking to spread it around outside of the classroom.

I asked for a rice cooker, mainly because the contract called for the school to provide either that or a toaster and we got the toaster. Also, cooking rice was a real pain in the ass. Back in the states I always just used the instant stuff, but over here, they would sooner eat rat poison (and I have become a convert as well. Instant rice sucks). First I would put the rice in an amount of water I guessed was right and then turned on the burner. When the water started to boil I lowered the gas fueled flame to barely flicker. Because the gas burner is too powerful, even at the lowest setting, the water would over flow. I would lift the lid to cool it and drop the level while giving it a good stir. At first I only muster mush and a burned bottom. Eventually, I learned how to baby it the right way, but who has time for that?

When I made the request for the rice cooker the teachers looked at each other and shared a secret smile before offering me a toothy grin and a thumbs up. As if I had said the magic words and gained admittance into a secret society. When the apparatus came days later, they clapped and pranced as if it were Christmas morning in 1983 and 1955 respectively.

The rice cooker is big, the size of a football helmet. Not a normal sized one though think of the one Steve Tasker wore with an extra layer of protection. An aesthetic compromise made after too many concussions. It is white and has four buttons whose function I could not translate. When I kindly asked for instructions on how to use it, the older of my co-teachers extended herleft index finger and created a level line across the second knuckles of her right hand.

"Water here," she instructed.

"I don't understand," I said.

"Water here, and push," she said, making the same gesture with both hands and then pointing to the big red button.

"Uh, ok."

I eventually learned to cover the rice with enough water that, when pressing my hand down flat against it, the water level just reached my second knuckles. This trick works perfectly no matter how much rice I put in. These people know their rice.

Through experimentation, I have also taught myself how to cook other food stuffs. Oatmeal is easy, as is chicken which always comes out moist, and I really like to make pasta and mashed potatoes (when the potatoes are done, stir in your butter, milk, cream cheese, scallion whatever). The pasta took some work as it came out a little gummy at first, but the magic that occurs when the lid is locked creates an incredible concentration of flavors. I even make pork sandwiches with homemade barbecue sauce- ketchup, brown sugar, splash of soy sauce, pepper, garlic and a can of coca-cola all in the Ar-cee. Yes, I named my rice cooker and yes, the name is a play on its initials. I took the idea from Arby's.

As our time in Korea is winding down, I know I am going to miss the Ar-cee, the good times we've had, the good food we've created, however at this moment, four large Rubbermaid storage bins are collecting dust in my grandmother's basement. Our unopened wedding gifts from two years ago sit stacked in the quiet darkness of those bins. I know there is a table top deep fryer in there, and I've often thought of frying up my own chicken wings on a Super Bowl Sunday. There is an iron skillet that is going to be perfect for camping. I plan on somehow mounting it over an open fire, sizzling up bacon and frying the eggs in the drippings on a cold, woodsy morning. Of course, there is a rice cooker in there too, and that's the first thing I am going to use. I probably won't even pull out the instructions. I already know that all it needs is water up to there (points to knuckles).

Puerto Princesa Subterranean River National Park

2011-06-16T20:35:00.001+09:00

The Philippines. Looking back through the pictures, I can see why I liked the place so. Friendly people? Yes, but that's not what I'm getting at. The food? Greasy and fatty...and that's not a bad thing. The booze? Cheap as hell, but no, the picture I'm referring to is a regulation basketball hoop backed up against the ocean. In it, the sky is clear and blue. There is no wall to keep the ball or a player from plunging into the Pacific, as if the goal is saying "you better not miss."

We saw more outdoor basketball courts in The Philippines than all of the other countries we visited in Asia combined. The TV in our hotel room had a channel devoted solely to the NBA called BTV-kind of a ripped off NBATV. Commercials touted basketball camps with regiments of youngsters dribbling and pivoting simultaneously. It felt so good to be among sane folk who appreciated a true sport.

We came upon this particular court during our trip to the underground river in Puerto Princesa, and loaded into a boat that would take us there from its sideline boundary. As we waited to be taken out to sea, small returning skiffs carrying four passengers rocked toward the concrete ramp. The wind picked up and created treacherous swells. The experienced crew expertly navigated the vessels to the landing zone, but tourists were on their own attempting to descend back onto land. Many lost flip flops as waves crashed into their backs, and one woman badly bloodied her foot and cried.

Somehow, we managed to board without injury along with two young Frenchmen. The young boys were tall, thin, bushy-haired and hairy-legged. They both wore stylish leather loafers as aqua socks and I once again marveled at the way Europeans left my own choice of footwear appearing tacky and unrefined. We motored along up and over the waves as warm salt water soaked their loafers and our legs.

At our destination we were greeted by a strip of beach leading to the entrance of the Puerto Princesa Subterranean River National Park. Limestone cliffs towered over our landing zone, so high that attempting to pose for a picture beside them failed pathetically. Our guide gathered our group- eight or so of us who took the same van in from the hotel, but had since been split up in small boats. Wooden signs marked with blue paint welcomed us and touted the parks UNESCO designation and nomination as one of the new seven natural wonders of the world. Actually, you can still vote- they are up for nomination online until November 11th.

Soon we were outfitted with life preservers and hard hats. The lagoon area leading in to the underground river was crowded with tourists, and we spent a long while waiting our turn. To pass the time, Sami and I left the group to take pictures of the entrance of the cave and the two of us. The water leading in was an amazing blue-green that reminded me of one of the three colors present in freshly squeezed Aquafresh toothpaste. In the daylight, the mouth of the jagged cave entrance had lost it's spooky vibe, but I knew that flashlights could never fully vanquish the mood created by the eerie inner landscape.

Eventually, Sami and I were summoned as the last two passengers to complete a partial group, much to the dismay of a few in our original pack. We sat in the second row, behind an Asian couple that was in charge of the million candlepower spotlight, and in front of two older Frenchman whose footwear I failed to discern.

A passing boat inside

Like all of the guides in The Philippines, our navigator started each sentence with the phrase "Mamsir," a title of respect that covered both sexes.

"Mamsir, please keep your mouth closed. You may get limejuice. Mamsir, you know limejuice, it batshit."

The friendly guide repeated this joke at least a dozen times inside the cave, basically every time he wasn't instructing to the Chinese couple to point the torch at points of interest. Due to the guide's broken English, and what I could only imagine to be a less than fluent level of understanding on the part of the Chinese, the torchlight darted about and seldom landed on the intended target.

Inside view of the cave entrance, Puerto Princesa Subterranean River

Despite this, the underground river was a true joy. I guess I could liken the experience to The Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World, only with an extra terrestrial lunar landscape and thousands of sleeping bats. As you could have predicted based on previous posts, I shrieked with delight and horror as bats zipped by our boat at face level. They are so skilled and quiet that they never made contact, but they still freaked me the hell out, and I turned into a little girl, much to Sami's dismay.

On the way out we stopped and said hello to two creatures I have yet to develop a phobia from. Monkeys and monitor lizards who both (a sign informed us) help keep the park clean. After that it was back to the choppy water, a long van ride, and, hopefully, a little BTV.

Monitor lizards roamed near the entrance of the subterranean river

Estrella Falls

2011-06-14T19:16:00.004+09:00

I read Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex during our time in Palawan. I buried myself in the novel every chance I could, and when a moment called for social interaction, I coyly stole glances and feigned listening. Later, I would bring to book along with me snorkeling in El Nido. If I could have thought up a way to keep it dry underwater, I would have. About the only place I couldn't read was inside a moving van. We three couples rented one and an accompanying chauffeur our second day in Puerto Princesa. Instead of pressing my luck with an inevitable bout of car sickness, I put the book down and enjoyed the scenery of The Philippines' largest province as we ambled along toward Estrella Falls.

I am not certain who first heard of the falls, or how we came about making the decision to go there. We had planned on boat touring a river famous for its night firefly watching, and must have figured that the park at Estrella Falls would be a great place to wait out the day.

After a quick group picture in front of the welcome sign, we walked down a short path to the river. A stout and powerfully bursting waterfall was heard coming from our left. Its overflow sent the stream moving lazily down toward a series of natural swimming pools. A group of local kids swam in the shallowest and furthest from the falls. On the other side of the bank, a group of long tailed macaque, the only monkeys that live in The Philippines, watched attentively, having long ago learned that with swimmers comes tossed or forgotten food scraps. We waded in, intent on feeding and observing our furry cousins. I threw pieces of bread leftover from snorkeling and a local gave Tor a banana to try his luck with. The monkeys were apprehensive, and it soon became apparent that an alpha-male was set on recovering every thrown item. When a female or smaller monkey crept toward the treat, the fat, bearded alpha male would sprint toward it and unleash a violent grunt and subsequent swipe. The smaller, stricken primate would then squeal and bolt. We amused ourselves by throwing scraps directly at the meek creatures to the extreme left and right of the alpha male, and he dizzied himself running to and fro. Eventually everyone ate.

Ben and I set off to antagonize the monkeys

A group of locals occupied a covered picnic area above the pool where the monkeys loitered. They must have been impressed with the way we toyed with the alpha-male because they invited us up to join their party. Either that, or they were just wanting to chat up some foreigners.

The cast of characters included two brothers who handled all of the English for the group- one gray-haired, one immensely bellied, both browned, bare chested and drunk. They drank Red Horse beer, which I have since dubbed sleepyjuice from its high alcohol content.

Like all of the Filipinos we encountered on our trip, the brothers and their families were kind and welcoming. I struck up a conversation with the fat one, meaning I smiled, nodded profusely, and pretended that I could understand more than the 40 or so percent I did. Apparently he is a security worker and he wants his daughter to go to college in the US, where he could follow her, get work, and keep prospective boyfriends on their toes.

Our hosts invited us to partake in their feast, the showpiece being lechon, a suckling pig that had been roasted over an open fire. I wasn't too shy to flake of a piece of crunchy ear and accept a plateful of this most delicious pork from the oversized and overprotective security guard. As he hacked away, wet pieces of hot pig flew and landed on his chest where it stayed- he being too drunk or too proud to notice and I with no intention of calling him out.

Picking at the lechon.

Hacking away

Other served national delicacies included dinuguan, a kind of pork blood stew with tripe and other parts of the pig I could not define. It was black with lots of hot green peppers. It was spicy, savory and left a satisfying coat of fat on my teeth and upper palate that no amount of sleepyjuice could wash away. I feel I must have eaten more than I should have for I paid for it with the early morning arrival of skitters. For dessert we had a casserole of glutinous rice with sugar, and coconut milk topped with cheese and bacon. They gave me a big hunk of it wrapped in cellophane to take home.

Filipino dessert

After peeling ourselves away from the overwhelming generosity of our new friends, we moved upstream and explored another of the cool wading pools. Clusters of shadows darted about the clear water, made jungle green by the reflection of the trees. Upon closer inspection, we learned that these were schools of tiny fish. We put on our goggles for a closer look and fed them bread crumbs from our hands. Later, we fed them from the bank, squatting down to get close to the surface, dropping the bread and quickly swiping the feeding fish onto the rocks. The technique worked surprisingly well. Convincing Sami to swallow one whole did not.

Fishing

Got one!

While we fished, the group of youngsters we came across earlier busied themselves on a rope swing. Naturally, I decided to give it a try. I climbed on top of an opposing boulder while one of the locals handed me the wet rope. I realized mid-swing that my size was going to cause some problems. Having attempted to hold on for maximum clearance, I failed to release at the apex, and soon came barreling backward toward wall of unforgiving stone. Luckily, I released at the last possible moment during the return swing and avoided injury.

This is the point I should have let go

Finally, we retreated toward a viewing spot overlooking the waterfall. The rush of water provided the perfect white noise to relax to, and our monkey friends stayed back a the opposite end allowing peace. We each picked out a spot to nap and read and I could finally get back to that book I was so into.

Palawan Day One (Part Two)

2011-06-12T12:08:00.001+09:00

The Puerta Princessa Airport is small and welcoming. Maybe I remember it that way because I was so happy to exit from a small airplane out into a less crowded city than those we had visited prior to landing. Saigon, Phnom Penh, Hanoi and Bangkok were incredible, but dizzying itineraries and overpopulated streets had left us exhausted. We were looking forward to reuniting with our friends Tor and Becky and finishing out our final week of vacation the way I've always enjoyed it most- with a surplus of warm sun and cold beer, good food and better books, ocean swimming and a little snorkeling.

Of course, we couldn't just jump straight in to all that relaxation. First order of business was a much needed nap. Our perilous red eye flight from Bangkok to Manila and then Manila to our present location had left us depleted of sleep, cranky and confused. How could the sun shine so brightly? What time is it? It must be morning because the air is too cool to match the blue still and cloudless skyscape.

To remain awake throughout the course of an overnight flight is to experience time travel. I sympathize for the long haul truck driver, the graveyard worker who greets the colors of dawn with shame, for how can you appreciate the glory of a new day now that the mystery of its turning has been laid bare. Like sitting beside the bed of a dying loved one until she passes, only to realize you had the wrong room number. We walked down the stairs wheeled against the side of the plane and walked into the airport, and although we had experienced an additional seven or eight hours of life, something was lost.

We slowly began to reclaim our bearings and accept the morning. Everything we saw upon arrival hinted at the slower pace we had so hoped to cherish. The lone baggage claim belt, beat up and shin-high, pathetically conveyed luggage forward, and as it did the sight of our familiar packs helped restore normalcy. The young girl assigned with transporting us to the Hibiscus was dressed casually in shorts and flip flops. She drove us a short distance over unshouldered roads shared occasionally with motorscooters converted into covered carriages. Sort of a Beverly Hillbilly's version of a tuk-tuk.

The Hibiscus Garden Inn is an Eden of relaxation. Sleepy wood carvings litter the lush green courtyard giving way to expertly constructed oversized hammocks which line the walkway connecting guest quarters. Inside we were greeted by our first soft mattress in Asia. A glorious California king with enough plush pillows to construct a fort of equal size. To cap it all of, the cable package (for I never neglect the television, no matter how tired) included a channel devoted solely to my cherished National Basketball Association. It was as it the combination of comfort and entertainment ordered me to stay in and rest.

It was at this time that Tor came banging on the door.

"Get your trunks on, we're going out on a cruise. Van comes in ten minutes."

With this simple instruction, we abandoned our plan of recovery and set forth. Tor's charisma and overall zeal for adventure trumped our slothful ways. We soon were introduced to Tor and Becky's friends Ben and Alicia who had flown in from Oregon the night before. Although their flight was infinitely more draining than ours, they were fired up for day one in The Philippines. Even Alicia, who early on announced that she is often overcome with motion sickness, endured the bumpy van ride and upcoming rocky boat cruise without a hint of trepidation.

At the Honda Bay loading dock, we searched for cruise supplies. There was a decent sized outdoor market, but unlike most markets we frequented during our Southeast Asia vacation, no one beckoned us to take up any goods for sale. Tor searched frantically for snorkeling gear to rent. The shop was out of equipment so we begrudgingly purchased cheap goggles as an alternative. I bought some bread that was touted as the best fish food knowing full well I couldn't help but snack on it myself later.

We shakily boarded the boat by walking up an overused, thin wooden plank. It was immediately evident that someone, perhaps after too many beverages, was going to trip and fall up or off of the shoddily constructed ladder at some point during the excursion. In addition to we three married couples from Oregon, we were joined by a young Spanish couple who happily served as our photographers, and laughed at jokes they wouldn't have found funny, even if they could understand them.

The weather on that first day was the best it would be during our week and two days in Palawan. Blue sky and ocean to match, wispy clouds as white as a blank Word document. We looked out over green mountain islands and decided the landscape rivaled any we had seen to date in terms of beauty. One of the islands we visited was aptly dubbed "Starfish Island," and after a successful descent from the rickety ladder, I reached into the shallow water and held a namesake creature. After posing with it, I was told to put it down, as it shouldn't be out of the water for longer than a few seconds.

Posing with a starfish on Starfish Island, fish bread in hand.

There was a hut to buy food and drinks on the island. I bought my first beer from The Philippines, a Red Horse, which at 7.5 percent alcohol turned my mindset from sleepy to happily hazy. Ben ordered an absurdly large and delicious coconut water and downed it before we made our way out into the ocean with our goggles. We realized instantly that the bread was a good idea as fish clamored around us without a hint of modesty.

Later, we boated out to a swimming spot near a strategically constructed floating store. A narrow floating pathway led to a covered jumping off point. The girls stayed behind, shivering in the newly formed breeze, while we boys attempted to maintain vision below the sea. The push and the pull of the waves, combined with our semi-intoxicated state hampered our ability to observe the fish, and so we gave up and dog paddled back to the platform. If ever there was a time to fall overboard, it was here walking back over the swaying dock pathway and up the now soaked boat ladder. Amazingly, we all made it. And now it was time to circle back home and experience a more pleasant version of that back and forth rocking, in the safety and comfort of a hammock. Where I could finally get the rest I craved. A second start to a perfect vacation.

Hypnobirthing Classes, Part III

2011-06-10T17:29:00.005+09:00

Lisa requested that we bring a large exercise ball to our final Hypnobirthing class. I worried about this for 3 weeks, mainly because the subway is extremely crowded on Saturday mornings when we travel to Seoul for our classes. Of course I felt like an idiot when I brought up my anxiety in class only to find out that I could blow the ball up when I arrived at the class, and then easily deflate it before our subway trip home. Once again, I blame baby brain. Lately it seems that common sense has abandoned me.

Our final birthing class was my favorite of the four classes. We started with a discussion of the signs of labor, but with Hypnobirthing, we speak in euphemisms to keep things positive. A mucous plug sounds pretty nasty, so we instead call it a uterine seal. Bloody show is instead referred to as “birth show,” contractions are called “surges,” and our water doesn’t break, our “membranes release.” Actually, I got all of the answers wrong because I forgot to use the euphemisms, and somehow I don’t think I am going to care what contractions should be called when I am experiencing them! Lisa informed us that another sure sign of labor is that the mother poops a lot in the days leading up to labor (body’s way of clearing everything out and making room)- no euphemism for pooping, but Joe suggested the usuals: taking a dump, dropping the kids off at the pool, or good old “shitting.” We also talked about nesting. I was happy to find out that true nesting doesn’t usually happen until a few weeks before the baby comes. I can barely find any motivation to clean at all. You know things are bad when Joe’s closet is more organized than mine.

After we finished talking about the days prior to labor, we completed a hypnosis activity geared towards releasing our fears surrounding birth. Most of our concerns are financial/logistical, and they all revolve around something that is completely out of our control: when the baby decides to come. So, for the first time in my life I have decided not to worry… at least for now. By putting this in writing, if I start to worry closer to baby’s due date, please remind me of what I just wrote.

Next we practiced exercises and positions that we can use during contractions and pushing. I have the option to birth in any position I want. When I tell my Korean co-workers that I probably won’t be lying down, strapped to a bed, they usually make comments about how westerners are more concerned with pain than the safety of their baby. One thing you learn quickly about Koreans is that it is pointless to argue with them. Most Koreans do exactly what is expected of them and they rarely behave (or think) outside of their cultural norms. I do a lot of smiling and nodding.

We finished the class with a birthing video that was about as close to porn as you can get. The women were enjoying their births so much that it was disturbing, and the music definitely added to the porn vibe. Note- this was not why I enjoyed the last class so much!

The week after our final Hypnobirthing class, we attended a class focused on what to do after the baby is born. Of the four original couples, one was missing because their baby boy arrived 3 weeks early! 2 new couples joined us for the class, both ready to pop at any moment. 1 couple was from the states and the other couple was from Thailand. This class was primarily focused on breastfeeding, and I am really happy that Joe was present. He was shocked to find out that breastfeeding is practically a full time job when the baby is a newborn. However, when he found out that men too can breastfeed, he didn’t volunteer to share in the burden! One of the men present actually knew someone in high school that was able to shoot milk from his nipples. I guess he wasn’t very popular.

In addition to breastfeeding we practiced swaddling, calming the baby, and burping the baby. Joe got pretty into it, as you can see from the pictures.

Paying Off Debt/First Day in Palawan (Part One)

2011-06-09T16:08:00.001+09:00

Payday comes in about a week and with it the last payment to cover the remaining balance of the last remaining credit card. It has been a long road to debt-free, but truth be told, it wasn't too difficult. All we had to do was remove ourselves from our home country for two years. To say we've lived frugally in Korea is an understatement. However, I cannot say that living any differently would have been more fun. Sami may disagree. She may say that she has been the one to sacrifice, whereas I have been prone to bouts of indulgence. Yes, the NBA Playoff Package has been a blessed joy that has carried me through these last couple of months, while Sami has reduced herself to reading the same used paperbacks over and over.

We came here with over $20,000 in credit card debt, mainly from our memorable wedding performed six weeks prior to our departure. Even though our combined household income is less than half of the amount it was before we left, we have been able to chop that amount down monthly due to decreased expenses. No rent, no gasoline, no car insurance, no cable, no cell phone bill. Okay, scrap that last one. We do have a cell phone and pay the equivalent of about ten bucks a month. It is pink and has a sliding screen. It "wakes" me at 7:45 am each morning with what sounds like porn music, even though I have been getting up an hour earlier with the sun. When it rings, Sami and I run from it, fearing we may be required to use our horrid Korean. It doesn't have a keypad so my texting skills have severely diminished. When we visited the states last August, I attended a friend's wedding and was immediately struck by the cell phone worship performed by my old fraternity brothers. They admired each others and coddled their own the way we used to treat fake IDs. Passing them around like proud parents.

True, this is only one example, but I have grown so accustomed to living minimally, that I know I am going to experience a reverse culture shock when we go back. I can see myself now in tears realizing how many television channels there are, or having a mental breakdown in a bookstore. Right, I know. There aren't any bookstores anymore, just Kindles or whatever.

Speaking of home, Sami and I purchased tickets for our return flight in September today. They were around $1,250. Maybe a little expensive, but I don't mind paying more for a reputable airline like Korean Air. Especially when our employers are reimbursing the cost. Comfort is of the upmost importance when flying long distances, especially since we will be alternating turns cradling a newborn for the duration. At first I was a little skeptical of being "that couple" who brings a baby on board, but have since learned that newborns are a cinch. Their lungs are too weak to really belt out a cry and they sleep all the time anyway (he says while crossing fingers).

Another reason I don't mind using a nicer airline, is that the haunting memory of our last trip still resonates. It was the final leg of our Southeast Asia trip from Bangkok to Palawan in The Philippines (and then from The Philippines back to Korea, but that is a story for later). We took a red-eye flight and, before leaving for the airport, spent our remaining hours in Thailand plowing through our remaining baht. You see, Sami had divided our cash out for each country and, unlike Vietnam, we had a small surplus. Sami quite enjoyed the unusual opportunity to spend freely and ended up snagging a fistful of balled summer dresses at around five bucks each. The only criteria being that they cover her then imagined baby bump.

We waited for our van to the airport outside of a travel agency along a semi-main street. A night noodle stand had set up shop and a large rat roamed the curb, twitching its whiskers and quickly shuffling its fat body with tiny feet. I will never get used to seeing rats. Eventually, the van picked us up and crawled us through a herd of partiers- bar after overflowing bar and white people in overstuffed recliners getting massaged.

We flew Cebu Air. I know everyone complains about lack of leg room on flights, but my balls were on the seat in front of me. Sleep was not happening, not even after an unhealthy dose of melatonin. Cups of water and pillows had to be purchased. All of this wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so hot and sticky. We had hoped landing would be a relief, but customs in Manilla was the worst we had ever seen. It was four or five in the morning and everyone was cranky. A little girl in a line over from us cried and cried out of exhaustion. We kept hoping someone would let her family cut in line to the front and save us from the nightmarish howl. No one did. Later, while waiting for our connecting flight, we watched the riots in Cairo.

The connecting flight to Puerta Princessa in Palawan was just as bad, but short. We got in early in the morning with nothing in mind but sleep. Our friends who had already checked in the night before had other plans. Let's go out on a day cruise. Screw it. Let's do it.

Teacher Sports Day

2011-06-04T20:20:00.000+09:00

I started running again in the mornings this week. I put a halt to my thrice-weekly routine after experiencing a chronic, dull pain on the outside of my right knee. At first I attempted to self diagnose and treat the problem. I had it figured out that my issue stemmed from tight hamstrings and a tight iliotibial band and proceeded on with a daily regimen of rest, ice and stretching. My condition only seemed to get worse, so it was a great relief when I came across a passage in "The Complete Book of Running" that dealt with knee pain. I bought the book at an English bookstore in the foreign neighborhood of Seoul last weekend. It is normally the type of book I wouldn't buy- more like something I would look at, try and garner as much important info as possible, maybe even take notes, and then put back on the shelf. Workout books and business sales books are great for that. However, on this occasion, we were exchanging our old books for their old books- an increasingly common occurrence as we attempt to rid ourselves of unnecessary materials in preparation for our return flight to the states.

For my condition, the book recommended that I not stop running entirely, and offered that overstretching may lead to more problems. Its recovery plan called for slowly working my way back up to where I was before the injury and partaking in a new stretching routine called "Power Yoga." I have performed this pre-run routine before in the comfort of a yoga studio, but never in public. As you can imagine, since starting the stretching ritual this week, I have elicited an even larger number of befuddled stares from the elderly women who walk around the track where I run in the mornings. However, I am happy to report that my knee pain has subsided after introducing the "Power Yoga" pre-routine and post-routine stretches.

# # # # #

My brief running hiatus coincided with my school's inaugural sports day for teachers held last week, but I wasn't about to miss out on the opportunity because of a bum knee. As with all Korean activities, the details of the sports day were planned on the fly. Initially, I had heard that teachers would have a choice to play either ping-pong, badminton, some sort of volleyball/soccer hybrid that is all the rage around town, and volleyball. I have no interest in any sport where hand usage is frowned upon, so that ruled out the soccer volleyball for me, and although my ping pong skills have improved since weekly Friday afternoon lessons, I still have trouble with the relentless returns of my Korean competitors. Badminton is always good fun, but the athletic opportunity I relished most was volleyball. I had a picture in my head of owning the net with a splendid array of blocks and spikes, striking fear in my shorter and more feeble opponents.

Of course when the time came to hit the turf, the idea of volleyball and the other previously discussed sports was naturally scrapped in favor of kickball. At least we used a volleyball instead of the American standard red rubber.

Since there were so may teachers participating, the infield was littered with defensive players. The outfield, however, remained sparsely covered as the median player age titled somewhere north of a half century and, not coincidentally, kicked balls mostly rolled no further than the pitcher. I took advantage of this fact by blasting the volleyball out into the outfield and into the bushes. I sprinted all the way home in time for someone to translate instructions from my unimpressed principal. He awarded me a ground rule double, and when I trotted back to second, he made sure I knew that next time up, I would have to use my left foot. When I made a diving catch to end the game, he said I should have dropped it to make the game more competitive.

Afterward, I did partake in a friendly game of soccer/volleyball with the rules slightly altered. We played five on five and the nine female teachers were allowed to use their hands volleyball style to advance the ball over the tennis net, but I had to use my feet. All was well and good until it was my turn to serve. I gently kicked the ball over the net to a position an equal distance between two competitors. They crashed into each other and fell on the concrete. One teacher appeared to me to be laughing, but it quickly appeared that there was nothing funny about the situation. A tight circle of bodies quickly converged around the injured and crying player and teachers from all over the field came rushing over to join in the spectacle and offer help. She was taken to a hospital where it was later explained to me that she broke her wrist and that "the bone turned to dust." I guess that is a Korean phrase that is untranslatable. I guess I better stick to running alone in the morning from now on.

Snakes and Other Animals (Last Day in Bangkok)

2011-06-03T22:02:00.000+09:00

If the itinerary for our last day in Bangkok looks to you like something an eleven year-old boy came up with, it is because I was put in charge of planning. The first place we visited was the Queen Saovabha Memorial Institute, which is one of the largest snake farms and venom research institutes in the world. Our goal was to make it in time for the morning milking, but we arrived late to an empty museum. Luckily, Sami found a door to the auditorium and we moved quickly down the stairs where a group of onlookers- families with young children and college aged tourists- sat facing handlers behind glass hoisting a king cobra with a hooked rod. The researcher in charge wore a white lab coat and prattled off Thai and English factoids through a headset microphone. As he spoke, two men forced the cobra's upper palate over a glass to release the poisonous discharge. From our distance, the snake looked like a thick bullwhip held the wrong way and after it was milked of its venom it snapped violently at its molesters and elicited a collective frightened gasp from the onlookers. Coyly undeterred, the experts efficiently packed the reptile away to its home inside the museum, where it would remain untouched by human hands until its next scheduled milking in three months.

The museum houses dozens of exotic snakes from Southeast Asia and other tropical areas around the globe. When the snakes aren't being rid of their toxic poisons for use in anti-venom, they can be viewed in their individual living areas by visitors like us. Some of the snakes, like the albino king cobra, were easy to spot, while others hid camouflaged in trees or discreetly coiled in corners. Sami and I made a game out of trying to spot each snake before the other. She won most of the time. I would love to take this time to provide the scientific name for each snake we viewed in addition to an artistically detailed description of the beauty of these misunderstood creatures, but Sami erased most of the pictures I took. In her defense, I did take too many, and it can become a pain trying to download all of them.

The signs on the outside of each cage had great info like where the fangs are located, what habitat the snake prefers, does it lay eggs or birth baby snakies, is it nocturnal, how poisonous etc.

Here is the albino cobra

I forgot most of what we learned upstairs in the museum portion of the institute, but I fondly recall the moment we both realized that the male snake actually has two penises, or hemi-peni. We took delight in telling our friends that what the organ they ate of a snake in Vietnam wasn't what they thought it was, and was in fact a double portion.

Afterward, we took a cab to Dusit Zoo. Even though by mid-day it was scorching hot, the zoo was a nice refuge from the noisy city. There is a large lake in the middle of the zoo where you can rent paddle boats, and lots of shade along the paved walkway. We found the zoo quite large and a little difficult to navigate. Despite its spaciousness, it doesn't seem like many of the animals have much room to roam. For instance, the giraffes (who crane their necks down to take food from patrons and have heads the size of Volkswagens) have only a small circle of space to roam around in. My theory is that this forced claustrophobic state distresses them, and they take out their aggression on the poor ostriches that share the same cramped quarters. One ostrich walks around with its tail feathers all plucked to shit and looking like discarded fish bones. Similarly, the tigers and Asiatic bears occupy a space no bigger than our apartment. It is a little depressing.

Giraffe and ostrich

Tiger don't seem worried bout lack of space

Nor does the Asiatic Black Bear

This komodo dragon what just roaming the park. At least I think it is a komodo dragon. At the time I thought it could have been a monitor lizard, but then I did see monitor lizards in The Philippines and they were much smaller. Anyway, I thought I should take a picture with it.

But I was too chicken to get any closer than this.

Don't get me wrong. I had a great time at the zoo. I always do. What made this one even more special, in addition to the impressive display of colorful and exotic birds, were all of the unique signs and questionable translations. You can judge for yourself. Maybe it's the type of humor only an eleven year old can appreciate. And me.

In Vietnam, we were told that code for taking a #2 is "singing karaoke." Must be the same here.

Real? I sickly kind of hope so. "This here's real sturdy. Made of wood." (Guess the movie?)

Zebra bonch

Bangkok Street Food

2011-05-31T22:11:00.000+09:00

For some reason, I was more excited about the food in Saigon and Hanoi than Bangkok. I don't know why. Maybe it sounded more exotic or something. In hindsight, Vietnam had some great hits. The thought of an iced coffee makes me salivate, and I could eat a bahn mi once a day 'til I die. However, of all the places we traveled to over the last two years, Bangkok turned out to be the king of cuisine. We barely made a scratch in the famous street munchies that make the city so famous, but at least we took pictures.

Okay, so this first example isn't necessarily street food. We stopped off in this restaurant on Khao San Road on our way to the Grand Palace. Khao San Road evolves into a hopping party when the sun goes down, but at this hour, we and hundreds of additional tourists were just searching for a cool place to avoid the heat. We sat inside and Sami ordered greasy Pad Thai (hey, someone had to do it). I had an appetizer of fried pork strips. I wanted to save my appetite for tasty street food along the walk. The pork, fried with sesame seeds, was crispy, hard and dry. The Thai chile sauce it came with was good though. All around it was not the best introduction to Thai cuisine.

This was something I snagged after the restaurant on the walk to the Royal Palace. These little guys are everywhere, and if we hadn't exchanged our Bangkok Lonely Planet at the English Bookstore in Korea, I would look up the name. I like to think of them as little Thai tacos. The yellow that you see is not cheese, but rather caramelized coconut shavings. They say they come in two kinds, savory and sweet but the sweet one is pretty savory and the savory is quite sweet. I actually bought another variety in Kanchanaburi, but I guess I forgot to take a picture. They are all about 3 for a dollar.

Having struck out in finding famous grilled chicken in Hanoi, I couldn't pass up the grill lady who set up shop just across the street from our hotel. She had a great English menu that listed the prices for each different piece. I bought two skewers of skin and back meat. Being a foreigner, she tried to skimp out on the sauce, so I made sure to point and the condiments and grunt approvingly. She got the message and placed the skewers in a plastic bag, squirted in a stream of soy or fish sauce, and then dusted in some salty, spicy seasoning. With my hand on the outside of the bag, I rubbed the tasty goodness all over the hot skin. Usually, I don't like fatty meat, but the juju she threw over the chicken pieces left me gnawing on every tendon. I made a mental not to visit her again for a piece with more substance.

Obviously, I wasn't expecting my best meal in Thailand to be found at the Bangkok zoo, but this salad was incredible. Hot and sour, salty and crunchy. Probably the same thing I glance over on Thai menus in the US in search of Pad Thai.

This was our favorite dish in Bangkok, and I say "ours" because Sami stole most of it from me. Tom Yam noodle soup purchased at a street stall on Khao San Road for around a dollar. The coconut milk tried its best to mellow the fiery heat, but I still sweated like Glen "Big Baby" Davis throughout spoonfuls. The rice noodles are a little more firm than the ones we sampled in Hanoi Pho, and overall I find the freshness of Tom Yam preferable to the Vietnamese specialty.

Sami's first pregnancy craving was the fruit in Bangkok. Every morning I woke to the sounds of a fruit vendor hacking away at watermelon and carving up papaya. Right now, you can purchase a small watermelon in Korea for about twenty dollars. When we were in Bangkok, we bought giant bags of the sweetest watermelon for about a quarter. Sami was in love with the watermelon, whereas I chose to be less monogamous, venturing into pineapple and papaya territory as well.

The fruit is served in plastic bags with a bamboo skewer, and I told myself not to worry about future environmental repercussions while sampling God's juicy fine fare.

These wontons I bought were served the same way. I actually don't remember much about this item except for the fact that a fellow foreigner came up behind me and quizzed me about it. "What's that?" "Is it good?" How much is it?" I don't know dude, everything is good just get it.

This is a terrible picture, but this sausage type thing stuffed with rice was bomb. I think it is just a good rule of thumb that if it is served on a stick, it's awesome. I should have eaten about thirty more of these, but it was one of those things where I wasn't really hungry and I wasn't sure how much it cost.

Finally, on our last night I decided to ignore my bulging stomach from the street food extravaganza and follow up on the promise I made to revisit the grilled chicken lady. Here is a better pick of her station.

Before she throws on the sauce and Asian taste dust, she warms the piece over a charcoal grill. This sweats the skin and makes the dust stick. This worked great with the tiny skin strips I ate earlier, but with this leg, she should have left it on the grill for another half hour. There is nothing worse than slimy chicken.

Sure enough, slimy and undercooked. I couldn't eat it. So much for my theory about food on a stick.

Muay Thai and Lady -Boys

2011-05-28T22:47:00.001+09:00

As much as I envision myself plugged in to American culture and events, living abroad the past 21 months has undoubtedly hampered my ability to share in my home country's collective conscience. Sure, I know when the big things occur- killing bin Laden, the Ft. Hood shooting and Gabby Giffords for example- and I can probably even recite the weather forecasts from the Pacific Northwest further out than many current residents. But that doesn't mean that I can imagine the cold rain steadily dropping and soaking the front of a pair of khakis. I experienced terror and shame when I read of the senseless violence in a Tucson Safeway parking lot, but it felt a world away. Like reading from a novel. Even the reactions espoused from comparatively meaningless occurrences- the likes of which are obsessed over by my generation- are lost on me. I can't for the life of me understand why so many people hate LeBron James for taking less money to play for a contender, and I don't see even ironic humor in "The Jersey Shore."

When it comes to movies, I am downright pathetic. No, I have not seen Avatar. The last movie I saw in a theater before we left for Korea was The Hangover. Now the sequel is out and I recently learned that the plot of The Hangover II is set in Bangkok. While Bangkok has a reputation as a debauched city specializing in sexual deviancy, I can safely assure all friends and family out there that our experience in the Thai capitol was nothing like that of Zack Galifianakis or 'Nard Dog. In fact, the only real taste we got of that famous gender ambiguity was from our lady-boy hotel receptionist. He/she wasn't all that friendly, and the only thing that sticks out in my mind from our encounter was the confusing tickle of his/her fingernails scraping my palm as she dispensed the change from a root beer purchase.

We did, however, seek out something Bangkok is equally famous for- Muay Thai, the national sport of Thailand. Muay Thai is often referred to as Thai kickboxing and, although I am far from an expert, I would call that a fair comparison. The only difference that I see is that Muay Thai competitors are tiny, the heaviest fighters were under 120 lbs. or around 55 kg. Some were even under 100 lbs.

Our plan was to buy tickets at the door. We walked into the stadium and before we reached the ticket counter we were accosted by good looking young women who attempt to sell only to foreigners. Their job is to sell the ringside seats, and downplay the rest of the auditorium by making false claims such as it is standing room only or too far away to see. By an unusual act of persistence brought on by lack of funds, we were able to persevere past the hot hawkers and buy tickets at the counter for the cheap seats.

We arrived early to an empty stadium, but we could already see that we made a wise choice. Fat white people in shorts and sandals, and young MMA wannabes sat ringside in cushioned chairs while the true fans roamed our section taking and placing bets. There were ten fights on the card and with each match, more and more of the true fans came in. Eventually, we moved out of their way and peered through the chain link fence in a calmer section.

The stadium was over 30 years old and looked it. Seats were concrete slaps and the timer and scoreboard looked like something out of the movie Hoosiers. Before each fight, the competitors would perform a strange squatting dance ritual called Wai Khru Ram Muay, which is done to show respect for the opponent and the crowd , and also serves as a prayer to Buddha.

The fighting itself is fast and furious. The fighters perform strikes with their fists, elbows, knees and feet in addition to clinching and grappling techniques. We found that the first round or two would start out slow as each fighter attempted to figure the other one out, but by the end it was a free for all swinging frenzy. We never could figure out how the score was kept, and no one was ever knocked out. The gamblers in the crowd gasped and cheered at actions we couldn't figure out. They were quite partial to the kicks to the legs, while we looked forward to punches in the face. Soon we decided to make our own little game of guessing who the winner was at the end of the fight. I think we were right a little more than half of the time.

Afterward we went back to the hotel where I hoped to hop online and catch up on the news from the states. Remembering that our laptop was broken from the night before, I sat down with the lady-boy receptionist and talked Muay-Thai.

Hypnobirthing Classes, Part II

2011-05-24T16:35:00.001+09:00

You would think that after the second time attending our birthing class I would remember how to get there, but of course, before our 3^rd class I went the wrong way and we ended up 10 minutes late. I blame the so-called “baby brain” that affects women in the 3^rd trimester, or possibly it is the steadily decreasing amount of sleep I am getting each night. Whatever it is, Joe is very distressed over the fact that my memory hasn’t been the best lately, especially considering that he isn’t the best at navigating…

We started the class with a discussion about nutrition during pregnancy. Being that we are a multicultural group, it was interesting to hear how greatly advice regarding nutrition can vary from country to country. For example, Koreans and Japanese eat raw fish throughout their pregnancy. In US, we are warned to eat fish and seafood in moderation, but Koreans often increase the amount of fish and seafood they eat during pregnancy because research shows that it has a positive impact on the baby’s intelligence. While protein is encouraged, Koreans are encouraged to limit the meat that they eat. Note that Koreans do not consider fish meat. This can cause a lot of confusion for vegetarians that visit Korea. Most Koreans also take iron in addition to their prenatal vitamin, whether they need it or not. Once they know the gender of their baby, they eat certain foods to make the baby more attractive. Eating fruit while you are pregnant with a girl supposedly makes her prettier.

All Koreans, no matter their size, are told they should gain no more than 12 kilograms (approximately 26.5 pounds). If you gain more than that your doctor will probably tell you that you are fat (Koreans are pretty blunt about weight), and sometimes they will refuse to give you an epidural or won’t allow you to have a natural birth (in Korea a natural birth is defined as the absence of a c-section). Korean babies are typically a little bit smaller than western babies, but I have heard that this is changing as a result of increased hormones in their foods. At our last ultrasound (5 weeks ago), the doctor informed me that my baby’s head was small (the baby definitely gets this from Joe- my head was huge when I was born) and that her arms and legs were very long. Actually, the length of her arms and legs pushed her due date up by almost 3 weeks. However, Korean babies are known for their large heads, and Koreans in general have much shorter arms and legs than Caucasians.

Our next topic was birth plans and what they should include. A birth plan expresses your wishes (pre-labor, during labor, and after the baby is born) to your care provider. Unless the baby is born early or we have to be transferred to a hospital, we shouldn’t need a birth plan. All of our care providers have worked with Lisa (our doula) before, so they are very familiar with what her mothers want.

These are the highlights from our discussion on birth plans:

- Korean males are typically not circumcised until they are 9 or 10 years old, and about 50% of the male population in Korea is circumcised. Doctors don’t like to perform the procedure on infants because they believe it traumatizes them.

- Vernix, the white stuff that is all over babies after they are born is actually very good for their skin. No lotion compares. It is much better for the baby’s skin if you don’t give them a bath for 24 hours after they are born in order to allow the vernix to soak into their skin. I apologize in advance to my daughter that all pictures of her during the first 24 hours of her life will include the sticky white substance!

- It is better for the baby not to cut their cord until it has stopped pulsating. This ensures that the baby has the maximum amount of blood in their system when it is cut. If you want to save the cord blood, the cost is around $2000 in Korea. This can potentially help if your baby develops certain disorders, but it does require the cord to be cut immediately.

- After the baby is born it takes a while for the mother’s milk to come in. I guess the Germans swear that Guinness helps speed the process along, the Koreans say that seawood soup does the trick, and many European countries encourage new mothers to drink red wine. I am thinking the Guinness option sounds the best!

Hypnobirthing Classes, Part I

2011-05-19T12:54:00.003+09:00

Joe and I have now attended 2 out of 5 of our hypnobirthing classes. The classes are located in Seoul, so we have to take the subway and then walk about 40 minutes after that. There is actually a closer subway stop, but it requires 3 transfers and I prefer the walk, especially when the weather is nice. The class consists of two instructors: Lisa (our doula) and Stacey (her back-up doula). There are four different couples including Joe and myself- 3 people from the US, 1 man from Morocco, 3 people from the Netherlands, and 1 woman from England. Everyone speaks English very well, and the variety of perspectives is fascinating.

The first session of the class primarily focused on what the body and baby are doing during childbirth, and the second session of class focused on relaxation techniques. During both classes we watched several birth videos, but these were nothing like how childbirth is typically depicted on TV or in movies. In fact, the births were all so relaxed that I am worried Joe is going to be frustrated with me if I am not that calm- hopefully I won’t let him down! We practiced 3 different breathing strategies, but they were all very calm and slow, similar to the kind of breathing I have practiced in yoga. Hypnobirthing advocates “breathing your baby down” rather than forced pushing. It is similar to pushing, but it is a lot more fluid. You take a quick, deep breath, and then a strong, directed breath out. We tried a few visualization strategies, but they weren’t as effective for me as breathing. Perhaps it is the years of dance classes I have taken that made rhythmic breathing the easiest way for me to relax. The best part was the massage techniques they had us practice on one another. The first was called light touch massage and it consisted of lightly running the back of your hand up and down the back, arms, and neck. This was very relaxing for me, but Joe didn’t get much out of it (I doubt I will be giving Joe a massage during the birth anyway). The second massage technique we practiced was deep touch massage. We used the palms of our hands firmly along the back and arms. I also found this to be very relaxing, unlike many massage techniques that cause me to tense up.

We spent a lot of time during both classes discussing the different birth options available in Korea. Joe and I are strongly considering having our baby at home with a midwife, an option that less than 1% of women in the US select. 3 of the 4 couples (including us) in our birthing class are leaning towards homebirth, while the other couple is going to have their baby at Mediflower (where I am doing my prenatal care now). The homebirth discussion began with a warning from Lisa about sharing this information with friends and family. She said that usually the idea of homebirth, or even birth with a midwife, is not positively received. When Lisa finished giving her warning she asked, “Have any of you experienced this?” She received an affirmative from the Americans, but everyone else was looking at one another with surprise. The three individuals from the Netherlands had a completely different perspective- their families were thrilled that they were birthing outside of hospitals, with midwives rather than obstetricians. In Europe and Japan, midwives attend over 70% of the births, and homebirth is widely utilized. In the US, less than 8% of women give birth with a midwife, and 99% of births take place in a hospital. The fact that the US has the highest infant mortality rate and one of the highest mother mortality rates of all industrialized countries, while spending 3 times as much as any other industrialized country per birth, was shocking to hear. Immediately apparent, however, was the difference in how childbirth is viewed in Europe and the United States. In the US, childbirth is viewed as an inherently dangerous medical event, whereas the Europeans in our class have been encouraged to pursue the least medical options possible.

For me, I am happy that I will have the option of having a c-section if I need one. I will not be disappointed if this is the route I have to take because I know that I will have done everything possible to have my baby naturally. However, I don’t want to bring about a c-section by unnecessary interventions such as pitocin or an epidural considering they both greatly increase your chances of having to have a c-section.

After our first class, Joe and I went home and watched “The Business of Being Born.” I highly recommend it if you are interested in learning more about the problems with childbirth in the United States.

The Bridge on the River Kwai

2011-05-17T22:24:00.000+09:00

In preparing for a vacation, Sami will spend months pouring over guidebooks and scrolling through travel blogs searching for the most interesting activities and least expensive, quasi-bearable hotels. Sites of cultural and historical significance are high on her list as are multiple-reviewed eateries (her logic: if a restaurant is in a guidebook, it has a name, and if it has a name, it is not a dirty food stall, and hopefully even serves the old Western standbys because when you travel anywhere away from Korea, even to one of the top foodie havens of the world such as Bangkok, chicken strips must be found and devoured with ranch sauce). She creates up to the hour schedules that include travel time, addresses, phone numbers and directions. I fully admit that this is the smart way to go and she always sends the info to our family members to potentially shorten the amount of time our bodies would decompose should something happen to us. However, it does take some of the spontaneity out of travel.

After deciding that she had enough of playing the role of master scheduler, Sami put me in charge of creating the itinerary for our three days in Bangkok. I started my research by watching the Hollywood classic "The Bridge Over the River Kwai," and quickly decided that we would take a day trip to see the site of the famous bridge built by mainly English and Australian POWs during WWII. I enjoyed the movie so much that I decided to watch "Apocalypse Now," "The Quiet American," and "The Killing Fields" even though I knew I would have nothing to do with the itineraries for Vietnam and Cambodia.

We took a bus to Kanchanaburi, a small town in southwest Thailand that is the home of the bridge and Death Railway, numerous museums depicting POW life under Japanese rule, and the Kanchanaburi War Cemetery. The bus had no A/C, rattled uncontrollably, had narrow, worn out seats. There was the kind of bathroom in back where you ladle water down the hole and let the natural level dilute and carry the waste away in some act of primitive and mysterious physics common only outside of the first world. Sami took one look and decided to hold it.

I couldn't help but listen in to the conversation a young couple was having in the seats behind us. They were comparing the bus to others they had ridden on in India and to the Greyhound they took from Eugene to Reedsport. Yes, that Eugene and that Reedsport. I turned and enthusiastically notified them that we were from Oregon as well. Not only that, they were pregnant just like us, and the girl's brother had actually been one of Sami's students at Glencoe High School in Hillsboro. Small world right? I dozed for most of the rest of the ride while Sami compared pregnancy notes with our new friends, confident that she was pleasantly entertained by common talk of health and home. Turns out I made an unwise decision and was later scorned for leaving my wife to carry the conversation. Apparently I have a bad habit of starting conversations with strangers and then letting Sami do all of the talking. Not that she didn't want to talk to the young couple, just that she thought I was coming off as anti-social. My rebuttal is that most of the time I just wait a second longer than she does to fill in an empty space with words. I try not to interrupt. It's what I would like to think of as politeness. True, sleeping in that situation aint polite, but I was tired.

We decided to walk from the bus station in Kanchanaburi to the Thailand-Burma Railway Centre, which is the newest museum dedicated to the "Death Railway" and also the one the Lonely Planet recommended as the must see. First, we traipsed over to the tourism board to snag a map and soon after picked up a street snack from an independent vendor. I am planning to reserve a blog entry exclusively on the Bangkok street food I ate during our trip later on in the week so I will save my description until then. However, I must mention the Thai iced tea I fell for at a coffee shop later on this same walk.

Here is a Thai iced tea I had another time in Bangkok

Kanchanaburi sort of reminded us of Korea. The main thoroughfare we walked on was lined with uniformly boxed buildings similar in style and height to those in smaller Korean towns we've visited like Jeonju and Sokcho. The difference of course was that the weather was extremely hot in what was late January. We stopped off in a coffee shop we knew was air conditioned and that is where I ordered my Thai iced tea. If you've never had one, it is strong black tea severely sweetened and spiced with what I think is anise. Milk was added to it and it was the perfect drink for a hot day. Pretty sure I will order it every time I see it on a menu from now on and it will trump even my favorite alcoholic standbys.

On the street in Kanchanaburi. Much more modern than small towns in Cambodia and The Philippines. Kind of reminded us of places we've visited in Korea.

The Thai-Burma Railway Centre in Kanchanaburi. An absolute must see if you find yourself there.

The Thai-Burma Railway Centre is an extraordinary museum. The curator, Australian Rod Beattie, has dedicated his life to uncovering every possible piece of information that exists about this misunderstood piece of one of the darkest times in world history. It was here that the Japanese Imperial Army used Burmese "volunteers" and British and Australian POWs to construct a supply railway running from Burma to China. As you can imagine, the true story is nothing like the movie "Bridge on the River Kwai" where the English POWs are treated to a live show and celebration at the completion of the project. The Japanese guards (actually, it was interesting to hear that most of the guards in this area were Korean- Korea being part of the Japanese Empire 1910 until after the war) were extremely harsh on the prisoners- working them to death in many cases.

Kanchanaburi War Cemetery

In addition to extensive information and large scale models displaying the logistics and geography of the railway, Mr Beattie made frequent use of the journals of POWs to present an accurate and brutal account of life in the camps. Nearly 100,000 soldiers died of diseases such as dysentery and cholera and were fed no more than a few spoonfuls of rice a day. The most harrowing image inside the museum is a sculpture of a bony thin Allied soldier slumped and held up at the shoulders by two like-framed friends. His pants are at his ankles as he is being dragged along, undoubtedly dying from dysentery.

More scenes from the War Cemetery

After that sobering experience we rented bikes and peddled to the reconstructed Bridge over the River Kwai. Along the way there were dozens of little bars and discos and hotels. According to the Lonely Planet, this little section of town actually gets pretty jumping after dark.

The bridge itself was clean and surprisingly well maintained having been rebuilt only a few short years after the war. Being there had none of the mystique of the movie, which is just as well because I later learned that the film was shot in Sri Lanka (I was equally bummed to find out that "Apocalypse Now" was famously shot in The Philippines, but I guess I should have known that Vietnam was not the most US-friendly place circa 1978). It was such a nice late afternoon and there were so many smiling tourists around that all of the evil we learned of inside the museum minutes earlier was unfathomable.

Tourist pics

After taking enough pictures against the backdrop of the bridge, we rode past to a restaurant Sami found highly recommended. It was a large but empty establishment being that we walked in at an awkward hour between lunch and dinner. We were seated outside, overlooking the bridge. We ordered an appetizer of wontons stuffed with shrimp meat and later I had an incredible green curry. There was a Chinese party at a table near us smoking cigarettes and drinking from a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red. I was surprised when the left and took the bottle with them. Apparently, the Thai custom is to bring your own and only be charged a small corking fee. It is a great idea, but not as good as a Thai iced tea.

Green curry

Stuffed wontons

A Movie Makes Joe Think

2011-05-15T21:57:00.000+09:00

We flew Qatar Airlines from Hanoi to Bangkok. Only a few dozen passengers sat scattered in plush, roomy seats on our red-eye flight. Anyone who chose to had an aisle to themselves. Sami and I sat across from each other in one and immediately set into thumbing our remote controls, scrolling through the impressive menu of movies, TV shows and games. I passed on old episodes of Mad Men and The Office in favor of The Social Network. Sami picked The Rescuers. I know. All those quality shows and she chooses a thirty year-old animated Disney feature about detectives who are mice. Her selection was met with little more than a halfhearted eye-roll from me though. I have grown accustomed to her head scratch inducing tastes.

It goes without saying that The Social Network was incredible and, if I can be honest, probably one of the highlights of my time in Southeast Asia (and this has more to do with the fact that living in Korea makes it a little more difficult to see new releases or semi-new releases in this case- unless it is in low quality on my small computer screen). However, I am not ashamed to admit that the movie left me pathetically envious of kids around my age who were able to become so successful so quickly. It wasn't the technical skill nor programming prowess I coveted- let's be honest, I have a hard enough time figuring out the buttons on the microwave, and if I did have the tiniest bit of computer knowledge, the first thing I would do would be to retrieve all of the old blog posts that didn't save (nothing frustrates me more!).

No, it was the way that these fellows were able to capitalize on something as simple as the way college students communicate with each other that really got me. I was in school during this same time period where technology was just minutes away from launching into an entirely new frontier. Yes, we all got cell phones our Freshman year, but no one used them to text. It was too slow, clunky and expensive. If we wanted to communicate without talking we used AOL Instant Messenger. Everyone had goofy screen names- I was JBoydstyle. It was much easier to talk to people- especially girls who were out of your league- by typing witticisms. How else do you think I was able to land a date with tigra1341 (aka my future wife Sami)?

Having a child on the way has made me evaluate the world I was born into and how it differs from what will be my daughters birth year. When I was a kid, the years my parents were born in seemed like a foreign country- Korea, Thailand or Vietnam, something out of reach to be seen only in the pages of books. Now that I have traveled and lived abroad, the world is smaller, and I've come to realize that 1960 and '61 were not that different than 1982. I believe an employee from Sterling-Cooper-Draper-Price could walk into an ad agency in 1982 and hold his own. Transport him into 2011 and he'd be so overwhelmed he'd drink himself to death.

On our first night in Bangkok, I stupidly left our laptop on the hotel room floor overnight. As I should have envisioned, Sami stepped on it during one of her frequent pee trips. The screen cracked and was rendered useless. We spent the rest of the trip unable to check our Facebook pages, which wasn't such a bad thing. The only person I really needed to talk to was the person who loves me even though I haven't come up with that great business idea. Someone who understands my fear of technology and how it will shape the future. Tigra1341.

Go-oon-mahm Card

2011-05-09T14:28:00.002+09:00

I have had the last 5 days off of school. Tomorrow makes day 6 and then I return to school on Wednesday. Pregnancy has made me really lazy, at least when it comes to cleaning, grocery shopping, and running errands. The first trimester I had an excuse, but now it is just getting ridiculous. I keep waiting for that "nesting" urge to kick in so that I will have some motivation to clean my apartment, but I am starting to worry that it isn't going to happen. During the last 5 days, there has only been one item on my to do list: go to the local Kookmin Bank and complete the application for the Go-oon-mahm Card. Today was the last possible day I could go without taking time off work, and I still barely made it out the door. It didn't help that the weather was dark and dreary, threatening thunder and lightening at any moment.

The Go-oon-mahm Card is one of the perks of having our baby in Korea. The Korean government offers every pregnant woman in Korea (including foreign residents) 400,000 won (about $370 USD) to help cover the costs of prenatal care. 60,000 won (about $55 USD) can be used at every appointment. I have heard you can also use it towards birthing expenses, but I haven't confirmed that information. I have 6-8 prenatal appointments remaining, as long as my pregnancy remains low risk, so I am pretty sure we will use it all up by the time the baby decides to arrive.

Korea offers this card as an incentive for women to have more children. Just like Japan, Korea's population is aging. Women are choosing to have a career over a husband and a family, and Korea's birthrate is plummeting. Though Korea is one of the most densely populated countries in the world (55 million people in a country the size of Indiana), the decreasing birthrate will cause huge problems in the future. Without a young (tax-paying) population, there is no way Korea will be able to sustain their current healthcare and pension system long-term, so the financial incentive is one way they are trying to combat this looming problem.

In some ways Korea is a great place to have a baby, particularly for those who work in the public sector. Women can take a 60 day paid maternity leave, and an additional 30 days at half-salary. Unfortunately, most women will tell you that the rights of women are far from equal to those of men. Many women are told they will be fired if they get pregnant, and there are few legal protections in place to keep this from happening. While the financial incentive is nice, unless Korea targets the social problems keeping women from having children, I don't expect that it will make much of a dent in increasing their birthrate.

As I made my way towards where I thought the bank was (I had never actually been to this bank), I felt slightly guilty that I was going to apply for the card. Considering we are leaving Korea as soon as we can after the baby is born and our baby will be an American citizen, I am not really the type of applicant the card is intended for. I kept reminding myself that I pay into both the healthcare and pension system in Korea, therefore I qualify for the financial assistance.

I was able to find a branch of the bank after a short walk through the area of Guri (the town where we live) that has just about every business that exists in South Korea. I took a number and waited 20-30 minutes before my number was called. I always get nervous anytime I have to interact with Koreans outside of my school. My Korean is very limited, particularly my speaking ability. I feel guilty using English because I am living and working in their country, but expecting them to use my language. Fortunately, the man who helped me spoke English very well. He tried to use Korean with me at first, but after I in told him in Korean that I couldn't speak much Korean, he kindly switched to English. Koreans are very modest about their ability to speak English, but almost all of them have studied English in school and can understand and read it when they need to.

The whole process was quick and simple, and I felt pretty silly afterwards that I had been anxious about going. The card should arrive in 5-6 days, plenty of time before my next doctor's appointment. The best part- it didn't rain, especially considering I forgot my good umbrella at the home of the woman hosting our birthing classes.

Wrapping Up Vietnam

2011-05-07T20:15:00.001+09:00

A few last ramblings about the Vietnam leg of our trip...

-The night we stayed in a hotel on Cat Ba Island I woke up at 3 or 4 or some crazy hour of the morning to watch football. It was the NFC Championship game. The Packers were at the Bears and it was that strange game where Jay Cutler was supposedly hurt, but stood on the sidelines looking like an asshole. Everyone thought that he wasn't really injured and he didn't seem to be encouraging his back-ups or showing any emotion. It was pretty bizarre. Anyway, Tor is a big Bears fan so he wasn't too happy to hear it. Two weeks later we landed back home in Korea on Super Bowl Sunday (which was actually Monday for us). I hustled to a PC bang (public computer room where all the gamers spend every spare minute) to watch the big game. But that is a story for another day.

-The first book I read on our vacation was Matterhorn, a novel about Marines in the Vietnam War. It was a good story and I recommend it, but I kept trying to imagine scenes from the book playing out in the landscape around me and I just couldn't. Maybe if we had been camping at night out in the mountains it would have gotten to me, but as it was, we were engulfed in the neon buzz of the major cities and surrounded by either fat, middle aged tourists in shorts, socks and sandals, or tattooed and dreadlocked backpackers who never went home. Anyway, I plowed ahead in the book almost every opportunity I had. When I finished we were being ferried back across Ha Long Bay to the van that would take us to Hanoi. Since I require constant entertainment, the four of us played a game of pinochle. Sami and I were on opposite teams for once, and this was probably a good thing. We've never really meshed as pinochle partners. She takes too few risks and I take too many.

-Shortly after the banana incident in Hanoi, we bought tickets to see the water puppet show at the Thang Long Theater. After the Chinese acrobat show in Shanghai a year ago, this was the most incredible and authentic live performance I have seen (and yes, if 25 year old me would have read that sentence three years ago he would have rolled his eyes and gone back to playing Tiger Woods Golf on Playstation). The theater was built during the Vietnam (or as they say- American) War. The seats are set at a steep incline looking down into a square pool of water. A live orchestra featuring musicians and vocalists adorned in traditional garb stood to the left of the pool. The wood puppets are supported by an underwater rod and are controlled by puppeteers hidden behind the pool and pagoda setting. The implements seemingly dance across the water and re-create nationalistic fables of farmers and royalty. The live music is a shrieking combination of what sounds like Beijing opera, drums complete with crashing symbols and the ubiquitous sounds of stringed instruments so stereotypically far east. The only drawbacks were that the rows of seats were set painfully close together and no one was asked to refrain from taking photos. As a result, the place was lit up with illuminated view screens and constant flashes. Despite the distraction, I am certain that none of the pictures turned out very well. At least mine didn't.

Can you see all the camera framing screens?

-The next day, we rose early to get to Ba Dinh Square, the location of the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, where the famous communist leader's embalmed body can be viewed. It took us awhile to find the place and when we did there was a big grass field between us and the mausoleum. We attempted to cut through it but were thwarted by what appeared to be elderly gardeners. Fearing we had unknowingly performed an horrifically insensitive act of disrespect, we walked around, but soon noticed that large numbers of Asian people cut across without admonishment. We had to go through a long security line and pass through a metal detector before entering. Everyone's cameras (even those belonging to Vietnamese) were confiscated and would be returned after the viewing. The guards even attempted to disallow Sami's prenatal vitamins and morning sickness pills. They relented after an impressive display of frantic arm waving and facial pleading from my wife. Inside, the long single-file line moved fluidly over a red carpet that directed us in a rectangle around the raised glass coffin. At least a dozen impeccably uniformed guards watched over every step. The scene was eerie and the mood intensely serious. The body was small and thin. The face waxy and deeply lined with the famous goatee intact. The entire process of walking past the body probably took less than two minutes. When we left and walked back out into the brightness of outside, I joked "Mommy, Mommy! Let's go on the ride again!"

The mausoleum and the field we tried to cross

-My biggest regret in Hanoi was that I never was able to find the vaunted "Chicken Street" supposedly lined with vendors all selling grilled cuts of bird over an open flame. We were slated for a red eye flight to Bankok so an hour or so before we left for the airport, I decided to walk around the alleyways near our hotel looking for some. I knew I wasn't on Chicken Street, but I figured the taste of anything I found couldn't be that different. What I didn't count on was how difficult it would be to find the local culinary treasure. I circled blocks for nearly a half hour before finally giving up and settling for chicken pho. It was one of those authentic street restaurants with tiny red and blue plastic stools. There were easily 100 locals dining in this small area on the sidewalk. I pointed to the nastiest looking cuts of meat and made my order. Sadly, I didn't have my camera with me, but the soup arrived with all sorts of tendons and what looked like gray rubber golf balls on a string. There were at least a dozen of them and when I bit into one I noticed the texture of a hard boiled egg, but with a runny yolk. Of course, it wouldn't be Hanoi without being ripped off. This time, I didn't have enough money to pay for my soup and beer even though I was obviously being charged more than twice what the locals paid. The server stood there angry as hell, but I just shrugged my shoulders more embarrassed than I have been in years (of course, I didn't want the beer and didn't ask for it, but she set it down on the table and like an idiot I opened it). I was feeling the eyes of every diner turned on me when the couple sitting next to me offered to pay the difference. The server accepted the payment of what turned out to be the equivalent of a US quarter and gave me one last scowl. It turns out that the woman at the table was an English teacher in Hanoi, and she kindly explained to me that, as a foreigner, I was expected to bargain with the server beforehand. Her sympathetic husband, noticing how flustered I was, offered me a cigarette. Even though I don't smoke, I took it and smoked and drank beer and ate hot soup with runny golf balls. I consumed all three poisons as fast as I could, knowing full well that my tardiness was most likely stressing Sami out.