Showing posts with label USA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label USA. Show all posts
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Out of Doors: Hot Springs
I was raised in the dry and desolate Treasure Valley, which hugs the Snake River, in the area where that twisted waterway forms Oregon's easternmost nipple. At first glance the land appears to have little to offer outside of farming. Scattered small towns exist under the scented clouds of local food processing plants- onions and potatoes from Dickinson Frozen Foods in Payette and Heinz in Ontario, sugar beets from the Amalgamated Sugar plant in Nyssa, and hot chicken shit which fertilizes mushrooms and perfumes the morning air in Vale.
The population of towns on the western side of the Snake haven't budged in decades. Land use laws and property taxes have played a part in my hometown's demise, but the absence of a sales tax in Oregon keeps the consumers rolling in to Wal-Mart and Home Depot during daylight hours. The towns out there dot the map like moles on a newborn baby's back. Too small and scattered to concern yourself with.
The endless expanses between towns don't offer much at first glimpse either. Commonly, commuters driving eastward from the coast comment on how the beauty of Oregon stops just past Bend. This is precisely the way local residents prefer they think. True eastern Oregonians understand that the sparsely populated, forgotten land is an outdoorsman's paradise.
Canadian honkers rest just off the side of the highway. Flocks of hundreds hunkered down for a short break from their thousand mile journey. Off in the distance white chested pronghorn blend in with livestock amongst the jade colored sagebrush desert. Elk and mule deer roam the same juniper laced hills as fleet footed quail and chuckar partridges. Gray-brown ground squirrels and coyotes are difficult to spot against the dusty habitat, and yet so are mallard ducks and rooster pheasants, despite their flamboyant plumage.
I would like to consider myself an outdoorsman, but in good faith, I cannot. "Nature Lover" would be a more accurate label, but even this self-realization came later in life than it should have, given the circumstances of my upbringing.
My dad is and always has been an avid hunter and fisherman. His dad, my grandfather, is the same way. Given their druthers, these men would spend the bulk of their days out of doors scaring up ducks or casting for crappie.
Of course, they brought my brother and me along with them on numerous excursions, but I never really had the passion for it. I was involved in sports in high school, so that took away my Saturdays, but on Sundays I was more content to skip the cold hikes in favor of NFL on TV and a warm Hot Pocket (little has changed in 15 or so years, just add beer to that equation). Plus, I was a terrible shot and the fish seemed to stop biting when I was around.
In college, my dorm was filled with young men from large cities: Phoenix, Los Angeles, San Francisco. The fraternity I joined was ninety percent Portlander. I became the resident redneck. I was expected to tell tales of my life as a yokel on the farm and, having none, I made them up. For the first time, I felt how big the world was (and I hadn't even traveled outside of the country yet!) and how insignificant me and my hometown were.
Luckily, I was hired on as a seasonal wildland firefighter for the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) in Malheur County during the summer after my Freshman year at U of O. My love and appreciation for the outdoors came from that experience.
Some of my best memories from my time with the BLM were when we weren't on a fire. We fished for trout in the deep Owyhee River canyon just outside of tiny Rome, hunted for jack rabbits with spotlights, and even trekked to desolate natural hot springs- one in Juntura that was easy to find, one somewhere around Burns Junction that we didn't find, and one off the side of the road that we wish we hadn't found. Snively is the natural hot springs I refer to in the latter. It is a popular spot on the way to Owyhee Reservoir, well marked and easy to find. The problem was that we drove up at the same time as the springs was being occupied by a few naked hippies- which might not have been so bad if they weren't actual hippies from the 1960s.
I had Snively in mind when Sami suggested we visit a hot springs during our vacation in McCall, Idaho. The two of us, along with my brother Steve and his fiancee Maryanne drove north to New Meadows and Zim's Hotsprings.
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| Inside had on old-fashioned pool hall feel. Maybe I am just saying that because there is a pool table. |
We were proud of ourselves for finding the turnoff and wondered how a place could stay in business in such a remote area. Inside the place had an air of old western saloon/arcade. The country art, carved and painted plaques of cowboy wisdom and decades-old vending machines inside charmed me. This smoky, single floor space with its low ceilings, was something completely unlike what I had experienced during the past year in Korea.
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| I mean, even the bench area outside, the rustic wood columns, skull and antlers on the wall. Classic Americana. |
Outside there were two large pools. This confused me immensely as I had naively assumed that all hot springs were set out in the country amongst the rocks.
The water was brought in from a natural source. There were two pools and-this being the middle of the week- a few simple, local families. The big pool (the colder one at 93 degrees) had a basketball hoop on the shallow end. I asked Steve to throw me a few alley-oops, but couldn't jump high enough out of the water for anything other than a Shaquille O'Neal two handed throwdown.
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| A little dirty and beaten up. The pool doesn't look so hot either. Hiyo! |
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| There is that hoop I dunked on. |
If I hadn't come from a year overseas, I might say that it was too far out of the way, too dirty and too expensive ($7 a person). However, my traveling experiences have taught me to look at everything with new eyes and soak it in. We soaked it in until our feet were wrinkled and I loved it.
A few days later, we went to Gold Fork Hot Springs near Donnely with Sami's family. This hot springs is very well taken care of- the woman at the desk even inspected our sunscreen to ensure it didn't contain any disallowed oils.
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| Gold Fork Hot Springs |
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| I don't think the parents liked me taking pictures of their half naked kids. Sorry! Gotta blog! |
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| Sami's family |
Much like the countryside I grew up around, sometimes you have to look a little closer into a place to discover its beauty.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Rafting the Salmon River
On the second full day of the Idaho portion of our American vacation, we drove an hour north of McCall to Riggins to raft the Salmon River. As I had mentioned in a previous post, we went on a rafting trip in Korea earlier in the summer and it was lame. The scenery was awesome (standard green and brown mountains and even waterfalls showering down on us), but the rapids were weak and our guide made Sami and me re-create the scene from Titanic where they are on the bow with outstretched arms, and then pushed us in the back into the water.
This was some REAL rafting with class 4/5 rapids and American scenery that would look dandy on any postcard. The gray-green river cut through a massive dry canyon beset with tall pines that put the stumpy, twisted Korean variety to shame. Having grown accustomed to rows of 20 story apartment buildings, we were mesmerized by how far the royal blue sky expanded. Billowy white pillows of clouds were welcome relief from the smoggy Seoul skyscape.
Our tanned, muscular guide was a student at the University of Idaho, so my dad and he bonded over their mutual hatred of Boise State. Also, being the outdoorsman that he is, my father felt naturally compelled to inquire about the status of fish and game in the area. How many deer are around here? How many salmon do the Native Americans get to keep? Do they use nets? When is the salmon run?
The guide told a ridiculous story of seeing two bald eagles attempt to carry off a young fawn. They would lift it up a ways and then drop it to the ground in an attempt to break its legs. I don't know if it was true or not, but it made for a pretty crazy visual.
At one point during the trip we were allowed to exit the raft and float a section of the rapids. This was great fun despite the cold water temp and the fact that, lacking the proper shoes, I soaked my favorite Asics. They still stink like river water.
Later on, I got to sit on the front of the raft, facing the water and hold onto the rope that ran around the front cowboy style. I felt confident that I could hold on, and did, but the weight of the wave knocked me flat on my back, asics in the air like a baby during a diaper changing. Later my brother's finacee would take over the reigns and remain upright through much harrier rapids.
Afterward, I had even worse luck in one of the more traditional positions along the side of the raft. During one giant swell, I slipped from the foothold and tumbled into the water. With oar still in hand, I kicked myself toward the top. Just as I thought I had reached the surface, my head bumped the bottom of the raft and sent me downward. My left knee struck a boulder, which I knew I was going to pay for later on. At the moment adrenaline had numbed my senses. My only concern was to hold my breath long enough to make it to oxygen. When I finally got there I was greeted by the smiles of the guide and the remainder of my family (my sister had gone overboard also). Despite their jovial attitude, I knew that I had a close call and the concerned faces of a rafting party nearby seconded my notion.
Afterward, I tried to play it cool as we boarded a rickety shuttle bus back to the jump off point. It might be awhile before I enter another raft, unless of course it is back in the puny rapids of a Korean river.
This was some REAL rafting with class 4/5 rapids and American scenery that would look dandy on any postcard. The gray-green river cut through a massive dry canyon beset with tall pines that put the stumpy, twisted Korean variety to shame. Having grown accustomed to rows of 20 story apartment buildings, we were mesmerized by how far the royal blue sky expanded. Billowy white pillows of clouds were welcome relief from the smoggy Seoul skyscape.
Our tanned, muscular guide was a student at the University of Idaho, so my dad and he bonded over their mutual hatred of Boise State. Also, being the outdoorsman that he is, my father felt naturally compelled to inquire about the status of fish and game in the area. How many deer are around here? How many salmon do the Native Americans get to keep? Do they use nets? When is the salmon run?
The guide told a ridiculous story of seeing two bald eagles attempt to carry off a young fawn. They would lift it up a ways and then drop it to the ground in an attempt to break its legs. I don't know if it was true or not, but it made for a pretty crazy visual.
At one point during the trip we were allowed to exit the raft and float a section of the rapids. This was great fun despite the cold water temp and the fact that, lacking the proper shoes, I soaked my favorite Asics. They still stink like river water.
Later on, I got to sit on the front of the raft, facing the water and hold onto the rope that ran around the front cowboy style. I felt confident that I could hold on, and did, but the weight of the wave knocked me flat on my back, asics in the air like a baby during a diaper changing. Later my brother's finacee would take over the reigns and remain upright through much harrier rapids.
Afterward, I had even worse luck in one of the more traditional positions along the side of the raft. During one giant swell, I slipped from the foothold and tumbled into the water. With oar still in hand, I kicked myself toward the top. Just as I thought I had reached the surface, my head bumped the bottom of the raft and sent me downward. My left knee struck a boulder, which I knew I was going to pay for later on. At the moment adrenaline had numbed my senses. My only concern was to hold my breath long enough to make it to oxygen. When I finally got there I was greeted by the smiles of the guide and the remainder of my family (my sister had gone overboard also). Despite their jovial attitude, I knew that I had a close call and the concerned faces of a rafting party nearby seconded my notion.
Afterward, I tried to play it cool as we boarded a rickety shuttle bus back to the jump off point. It might be awhile before I enter another raft, unless of course it is back in the puny rapids of a Korean river.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Supermarket Sweep
The plan was to leave for McCall sometime in the afternoon on Sunday- our first full day back in the states. We spent six days in the Western Idaho resort town, the first three with my parents and siblings in the vacation home of a family friend and the remaining three with Sami's folks. Before we left, I accompanied my mom to Red Apple, her grocer of choice in Ontario, Oregon.
While this near-weekly ritual can hardly be considered my favorite activity, I jumped at the opportunity to hunt for ingredients impossible to find at my current residence. Before we left, I took great care in creating a three day meal plan centered around the types of cuisine I had been hankering about the past year. Foods I used to take for granted like beef tacos, barbecued chicken and pasta. Even something like a simple sandwich with whole wheat bread isn't easy to come by in the land of rice, soup and kimchi.
As I scattered about the store searching for hidden treasures like a wonky-legged puppy, my mom plodded behind methodically, clutching my wish list in one hand and the cart handle in the other. I marveled at how she seemingly knew every employee and fellow employee in the store. After over twenty years teaching at the middle school across the street, she inevitably ran into former students stocking shelves and slicing deli meat. In one breath she would inquire about a child or sibling, and in the next ask which watermelons had been sitting the longest.
I strolled through the extra wide aisles designed for extra wide asses and took note of how few patrons roamed along side me. If Lotte Mart, the supermarket we frequent back home, is a Tokyo subway, the shopping cart I held in my hand at Red Apple was a horse and buggy. Just then mom caught up from behind me.
"Jeez, it's busy today," she said without a hint of sarcasm.
In addition to being considerably more spacious, the aisles at Red Apple were loaded with food items I forgot existed. The produce aisle was considerably bigger and contained a near endless cornucopia of seasonal (and non-seasonal) fruits and vegetables that cannot be found at any time in Korea. The cereal aisle completely dwarfed ours back at home even though our city is 30 times more populated.
The biggest difference was the dairy section- a back wall lined with milk jugs lit up like large, florescent bulbs, and tubs and tubs of butter, yogurt and cottage cheese. Back in Korea you will find a single file line of five or six cartons of milk- never more than 100ml. You might be able to find a stick of butter if you ask, but it will cost you.
This may not be such a bad thing. I am convinced that the reason I have been able to lose weight in Korea is because I have removed nearly all dairy from my diet. I fell off the wagon in the states and came back weighing six and a half extra pounds heavier. By the end I was having trouble breathing while laboring around with a swollen belly- praying for the day I would finally give birth to my cheese baby.
I also took note of what Red Apple didn't have. There were no aisles dedicated solely to spicy ramen, giant packages of dried and salted seaweed, or (saddest of all) no young girls in short shorts hawking products in a language I don't understand. When I asked the woman behind the seafood counter (unattractive, fully clothed) if they have whole shrimp with the heads on she gave me the same look she would have made immediately after learning her daughter was doing Osama Bin Laden.
"Why would you want the heads on?" she snarked.
"Because I like to suck out the brains. It's the best part."
"Eeew. No, we don't have whole shrimp. We don't get them whole and no where else around here does."
Next she pointed me to an area of the store that had bags of large frozen shrimp, in a typically American attempt to substitute size for flavor. I surveyed the flash frozen crustaceans and walked on.
Maybe it is better when no one understands me.
While this near-weekly ritual can hardly be considered my favorite activity, I jumped at the opportunity to hunt for ingredients impossible to find at my current residence. Before we left, I took great care in creating a three day meal plan centered around the types of cuisine I had been hankering about the past year. Foods I used to take for granted like beef tacos, barbecued chicken and pasta. Even something like a simple sandwich with whole wheat bread isn't easy to come by in the land of rice, soup and kimchi.
As I scattered about the store searching for hidden treasures like a wonky-legged puppy, my mom plodded behind methodically, clutching my wish list in one hand and the cart handle in the other. I marveled at how she seemingly knew every employee and fellow employee in the store. After over twenty years teaching at the middle school across the street, she inevitably ran into former students stocking shelves and slicing deli meat. In one breath she would inquire about a child or sibling, and in the next ask which watermelons had been sitting the longest.
I strolled through the extra wide aisles designed for extra wide asses and took note of how few patrons roamed along side me. If Lotte Mart, the supermarket we frequent back home, is a Tokyo subway, the shopping cart I held in my hand at Red Apple was a horse and buggy. Just then mom caught up from behind me.
"Jeez, it's busy today," she said without a hint of sarcasm.
In addition to being considerably more spacious, the aisles at Red Apple were loaded with food items I forgot existed. The produce aisle was considerably bigger and contained a near endless cornucopia of seasonal (and non-seasonal) fruits and vegetables that cannot be found at any time in Korea. The cereal aisle completely dwarfed ours back at home even though our city is 30 times more populated.
The biggest difference was the dairy section- a back wall lined with milk jugs lit up like large, florescent bulbs, and tubs and tubs of butter, yogurt and cottage cheese. Back in Korea you will find a single file line of five or six cartons of milk- never more than 100ml. You might be able to find a stick of butter if you ask, but it will cost you.
This may not be such a bad thing. I am convinced that the reason I have been able to lose weight in Korea is because I have removed nearly all dairy from my diet. I fell off the wagon in the states and came back weighing six and a half extra pounds heavier. By the end I was having trouble breathing while laboring around with a swollen belly- praying for the day I would finally give birth to my cheese baby.
I also took note of what Red Apple didn't have. There were no aisles dedicated solely to spicy ramen, giant packages of dried and salted seaweed, or (saddest of all) no young girls in short shorts hawking products in a language I don't understand. When I asked the woman behind the seafood counter (unattractive, fully clothed) if they have whole shrimp with the heads on she gave me the same look she would have made immediately after learning her daughter was doing Osama Bin Laden.
"Why would you want the heads on?" she snarked.
"Because I like to suck out the brains. It's the best part."
"Eeew. No, we don't have whole shrimp. We don't get them whole and no where else around here does."
Next she pointed me to an area of the store that had bags of large frozen shrimp, in a typically American attempt to substitute size for flavor. I surveyed the flash frozen crustaceans and walked on.
Maybe it is better when no one understands me.
Americans Are Monocellular
During our layover in Tokyo on Wednesday Sami and I sat and watched a tv screen downstairs in a waiting room that ran the news, the weather and even an informative piece on the cultivation and countless culinary preparations of wasabi root. As I sat dreaming about all the sushi I cannot afford a rolling scroll near the bottom of the screen shifted my attention. Apparently, a Japanese law maker who plans on running for Prime Minister had recently visited the US and, while praising its great democracy, labeled all citizens of my birth nation "simple minded" and "monocellular." Basically, he thinks we're stupid.
I was outraged and let fly a series of expletives Sami did not approve of. I was insulted, and angry that fellow countrymen seated near us read the same message and didn't bat an eye. What gives this guy the balls to slander a nation of hard-working, free-thinking and insanely diverse individuals. This guy must be off his rocker, I thought...and then I read this.
FML.
Has it always been like this, or do I just notice it more now that I have been gone for so long?
I was outraged and let fly a series of expletives Sami did not approve of. I was insulted, and angry that fellow countrymen seated near us read the same message and didn't bat an eye. What gives this guy the balls to slander a nation of hard-working, free-thinking and insanely diverse individuals. This guy must be off his rocker, I thought...and then I read this.
FML.
Has it always been like this, or do I just notice it more now that I have been gone for so long?
Thursday, August 26, 2010
USA- Travel Day
A combination of excitement and unrelenting humidity kept me from even a minute of sleep the night before we left for our 17 day USA reunion tour. Earlier in the day I had finished summer camp and had a final Korean lunch of salted makerel, rice and kimchi. I have learned to submit to the fact that my new country's favorite little fish are littered with bones. I probably chew and ingest more than half of them these days.
After lunch I came back into my classroom, moved all of the desks and chairs against the wall, slipped on some heavy duty rubber gloves and began to scrub the recently swept floor with a combination of stripper and water. During the school year a rotating group of students clean my classroom after school. They mean well, but their collectively weak hands and indifferent disposition do little to erase constant scuff marks and dirty feet leavings. They lazily wipe down tables with dry rags and my co-teacher doesn't care enough to tell them otherwise.
I left school with nice sense of accomplishment and decided that I would reward myself by not doing much of anything at home. The packing had all been finished and I wasn't worried about how much sleep I was going to get at night. I figured I would sleep if I was tired, or on the plane. My parents had planned a barbecue for the night we were to arrive stateside, and I was confident that I would rally regardless of my fuel level. I stayed up and watched Craig Fergusen which ends at 1:30 in the morning. Sami wanted me up by 6 to catch the charter bus to the airport at 7. With no other shows of interest airing, I attempted to sleep.
Huge thunderstorms and my tossing and turning kept Sami up intermittently. By 4:30, we had given up hope. We made coffee and I was starving and made 2 bowls of udon which scorched the roof of my mouth instantly. For the next three days I complained about how I had burned myself on stupid plain noodles and, given my oral handicap, wouldn't be able to properly appreciate the American fare I had been craving for a year.
We left earlier than we had planned and dragged bulky black suitcases behind us toward the bus stop. Until now, we had always opted for the subway, but the charter bus to the airport would cut down our travel time by more than an hour. We opted to forgo covering our suitcases with plastic ponchos and, because of this, the rain started up again halfway through our walk.
No one stood near us at the bus stop which Sami attributed to prejudice. I just thought that they were being shy. I slept the entire bus ride.
At the airport, we got Sami some KFC. She got a snack wrap and I ordered myself a couple of overpriced but awesome hot wings. I didn't want to eat too much because I love airline food. I get really excited when I don't know what I am going to eat. I really wish that, at restaurants, someone would order something for me. Reading a menu just opens up an unwinnable, internal debate. I rarely finish a meal out without experiencing entree envy. It is a curse.
On the plane I was quickly reminded of how much I love Asian airlines. We flew Delta and the seats were too close to fall asleep, the stewardesses were sloppily dressed and hovered over our garbage like vultures. I still love flying and Delta was fine, but I missed my tightly skirted Asian stewardesses strolling every half hour with a new treat and freely pouring wine.
We had a layover in Tokyo (Narita) and I am pretty sure that the airport is a good distance away from the city because we saw tons of green, flat farmland- very different from mountainous Korea. Inside I started to feel bad that we didn't bring any treats from Korea to share with family and friends. It would have been interesting to see how they would take to songpyun- sweetly stuffed and soft bites of rice cake, squid jerky or even kimchi. Luckily, I was able to find something uniquely east Asian at a small convenience store at the airport- a bag of candy coated crabs. Each hard crab was about the size of a quarter and coated with sweet miso glaze and sesame seeds. If anything, the sight of the foreign creatures would surely interest my family.
Minutes before we left for the plane a message came over the loudspeaker: "Sami Hayden, please come to gate 24. Sami Hayden."
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but this really freaked me out. I ran around frantically searching for gate 24, while Sami waited at our gate thinking that they might have confused the numbers. When I got to gate 24, there was an American couple in front of us who were not happy with their service and letting the poor people behind the counter know about it. I waited an uncomfortably long amount of time before approaching. Thoughts like: "What happened to who back at home?" and "What did we drop and where?" raced through my mind. Turns out that the page was for someone named Sam Aden headed to Bangkok.
Sami and I sat across the aisle from each other on the flight to Portland. It wasn't a big deal to us, but it is another example of something that seems to only happen on an American airline.
When we finally landed I was struck by how small the Portland International Airport now seemed to me and how big the people wandering around were. I was nearly always the tallest person on the subway in Seoul, and now teenagers were towering over me. We sat down for a minute to get on our laptop and I couldn't help but eavesdrop on a mother and daughter conversing at a table positioned behind me. I felt so intelligent just being able to completely comprehend what was being said.
We decided to grab a slice of Pizza Schmizza which had just opened minutes before at 9:00 a.m. I was blown away be how friendly the young girl behind the counter was. I even switched up my order after she had warmed my slice in the oven and she didn't bat an eye. I am not saying that Koreans are not friendly in the check out line, but let's just say it is a little more subtle. After our meal, a complete stranger, after watching me attempt to use the recycling engaged me in a ten minute conversation about the current recycling status and regulations at the Port of Portland. OK, so maybe my people can be a little too friendly sometimes. I really didn't care.
The flight to Boise was short and I slept through the young boy in front of me, probably the same age as my students, blathering on about NASCAR. Kids are so much cuter when you can't understand what they are saying.
The drive to Ontario from Boise really made me realize just how big and desolate the US can be. I reveled in the brown, burned scenery most people wouldn't even think to acknowledge. I became a little sentimental at the lazy, slow turn exit into my hometown. Not too much has changed. Wendy's burned to the ground, but there is an A&W now and even a couple of new sandwich places.
At my parents' place we were greeted by the dogs who ran across the lush green lawn my dad spent all summer nurturing. Even the wealthiest people in Korea wouldn't dream of owning land and a home as big as my parents' in the quiet, bedroom town of Ontario. Owning land is something uniquely American to me. I now realize how fortunate I was to grow up in such a privileged manner.
That night my parents hosted what was to be the first of many gut busting barbecues we would attend during our stay in the USA. This one was made all the more special because my brother and his fiancee flew up from Arizona to visit. We had chorizos, fried fish, mafa chukar and pheasant, grilled seasonal vegetables, baked beans, salad and a decadent caramel cake that Sami's stepmother made. I took a picture to commemorate my first meal back in the states. I served myself one fruit/vegetable plate and one protein/junk food plate. Unfortunately, no one really grooved on the crunchy crabs, so they were used as dog treats.
My friend Sonny and his fiancee and baby boy were nice enough to stop by with a bottle of Chivas. The whiskey and heavy microbrews were a welcome respite from the flavorless Korean beer and soju of the past. The lack of solid sleep accelerated my buzz.
I went to bed that night with a bursting belly and a mind fuzzy warm with scotch. Lying in the soft upstairs bed, icy-cool air conditioner loudly humming. The transition home had been seamless. How could I not enjoy the forgotten comforts of home? The wide open spaces? The cool grass at night, the dry and cicadaless days? The air conditioner and the soft bed? Yes, this was a much needed vacation, and I intended to soak it all in slowly. Right after a good night's sleep.
After lunch I came back into my classroom, moved all of the desks and chairs against the wall, slipped on some heavy duty rubber gloves and began to scrub the recently swept floor with a combination of stripper and water. During the school year a rotating group of students clean my classroom after school. They mean well, but their collectively weak hands and indifferent disposition do little to erase constant scuff marks and dirty feet leavings. They lazily wipe down tables with dry rags and my co-teacher doesn't care enough to tell them otherwise.
I left school with nice sense of accomplishment and decided that I would reward myself by not doing much of anything at home. The packing had all been finished and I wasn't worried about how much sleep I was going to get at night. I figured I would sleep if I was tired, or on the plane. My parents had planned a barbecue for the night we were to arrive stateside, and I was confident that I would rally regardless of my fuel level. I stayed up and watched Craig Fergusen which ends at 1:30 in the morning. Sami wanted me up by 6 to catch the charter bus to the airport at 7. With no other shows of interest airing, I attempted to sleep.
Huge thunderstorms and my tossing and turning kept Sami up intermittently. By 4:30, we had given up hope. We made coffee and I was starving and made 2 bowls of udon which scorched the roof of my mouth instantly. For the next three days I complained about how I had burned myself on stupid plain noodles and, given my oral handicap, wouldn't be able to properly appreciate the American fare I had been craving for a year.
We left earlier than we had planned and dragged bulky black suitcases behind us toward the bus stop. Until now, we had always opted for the subway, but the charter bus to the airport would cut down our travel time by more than an hour. We opted to forgo covering our suitcases with plastic ponchos and, because of this, the rain started up again halfway through our walk.
No one stood near us at the bus stop which Sami attributed to prejudice. I just thought that they were being shy. I slept the entire bus ride.
At the airport, we got Sami some KFC. She got a snack wrap and I ordered myself a couple of overpriced but awesome hot wings. I didn't want to eat too much because I love airline food. I get really excited when I don't know what I am going to eat. I really wish that, at restaurants, someone would order something for me. Reading a menu just opens up an unwinnable, internal debate. I rarely finish a meal out without experiencing entree envy. It is a curse.
On the plane I was quickly reminded of how much I love Asian airlines. We flew Delta and the seats were too close to fall asleep, the stewardesses were sloppily dressed and hovered over our garbage like vultures. I still love flying and Delta was fine, but I missed my tightly skirted Asian stewardesses strolling every half hour with a new treat and freely pouring wine.
We had a layover in Tokyo (Narita) and I am pretty sure that the airport is a good distance away from the city because we saw tons of green, flat farmland- very different from mountainous Korea. Inside I started to feel bad that we didn't bring any treats from Korea to share with family and friends. It would have been interesting to see how they would take to songpyun- sweetly stuffed and soft bites of rice cake, squid jerky or even kimchi. Luckily, I was able to find something uniquely east Asian at a small convenience store at the airport- a bag of candy coated crabs. Each hard crab was about the size of a quarter and coated with sweet miso glaze and sesame seeds. If anything, the sight of the foreign creatures would surely interest my family.
I didn't think they were too bad. Very strong seafood flavor. Not for the weak.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but this really freaked me out. I ran around frantically searching for gate 24, while Sami waited at our gate thinking that they might have confused the numbers. When I got to gate 24, there was an American couple in front of us who were not happy with their service and letting the poor people behind the counter know about it. I waited an uncomfortably long amount of time before approaching. Thoughts like: "What happened to who back at home?" and "What did we drop and where?" raced through my mind. Turns out that the page was for someone named Sam Aden headed to Bangkok.
Sami and I sat across the aisle from each other on the flight to Portland. It wasn't a big deal to us, but it is another example of something that seems to only happen on an American airline.
When we finally landed I was struck by how small the Portland International Airport now seemed to me and how big the people wandering around were. I was nearly always the tallest person on the subway in Seoul, and now teenagers were towering over me. We sat down for a minute to get on our laptop and I couldn't help but eavesdrop on a mother and daughter conversing at a table positioned behind me. I felt so intelligent just being able to completely comprehend what was being said.
We decided to grab a slice of Pizza Schmizza which had just opened minutes before at 9:00 a.m. I was blown away be how friendly the young girl behind the counter was. I even switched up my order after she had warmed my slice in the oven and she didn't bat an eye. I am not saying that Koreans are not friendly in the check out line, but let's just say it is a little more subtle. After our meal, a complete stranger, after watching me attempt to use the recycling engaged me in a ten minute conversation about the current recycling status and regulations at the Port of Portland. OK, so maybe my people can be a little too friendly sometimes. I really didn't care.
Here is the slice I ingested from Pizza Schmizza. Looks perfect don't it? I was surprised at how much saltier many foods tasted after becoming accustomed to Korean cuisine.
The flight to Boise was short and I slept through the young boy in front of me, probably the same age as my students, blathering on about NASCAR. Kids are so much cuter when you can't understand what they are saying.
The drive to Ontario from Boise really made me realize just how big and desolate the US can be. I reveled in the brown, burned scenery most people wouldn't even think to acknowledge. I became a little sentimental at the lazy, slow turn exit into my hometown. Not too much has changed. Wendy's burned to the ground, but there is an A&W now and even a couple of new sandwich places.
At my parents' place we were greeted by the dogs who ran across the lush green lawn my dad spent all summer nurturing. Even the wealthiest people in Korea wouldn't dream of owning land and a home as big as my parents' in the quiet, bedroom town of Ontario. Owning land is something uniquely American to me. I now realize how fortunate I was to grow up in such a privileged manner.
That night my parents hosted what was to be the first of many gut busting barbecues we would attend during our stay in the USA. This one was made all the more special because my brother and his fiancee flew up from Arizona to visit. We had chorizos, fried fish, mafa chukar and pheasant, grilled seasonal vegetables, baked beans, salad and a decadent caramel cake that Sami's stepmother made. I took a picture to commemorate my first meal back in the states. I served myself one fruit/vegetable plate and one protein/junk food plate. Unfortunately, no one really grooved on the crunchy crabs, so they were used as dog treats.
I gained six and a half pounds in a little over two weeks. Here is one reason why: Plate #1 (clockwise from top): mac salad (already half eaten), grilled squash and zucchini , watermelon, fruit salad. Plate #2: baked beans, Tim's Cascade Hawaiian Luau Sweet and Spicy BBQ chips, chorizo with mustard, onions, mayo and relish, and four pieces of marinated, battered and fried wild upland game birds. (Not pictured: everything I drank, a huge hunk of cake, a piece of cheese and a Hot Pocket I ate later)
My friend Sonny and his fiancee and baby boy were nice enough to stop by with a bottle of Chivas. The whiskey and heavy microbrews were a welcome respite from the flavorless Korean beer and soju of the past. The lack of solid sleep accelerated my buzz.
I went to bed that night with a bursting belly and a mind fuzzy warm with scotch. Lying in the soft upstairs bed, icy-cool air conditioner loudly humming. The transition home had been seamless. How could I not enjoy the forgotten comforts of home? The wide open spaces? The cool grass at night, the dry and cicadaless days? The air conditioner and the soft bed? Yes, this was a much needed vacation, and I intended to soak it all in slowly. Right after a good night's sleep.
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