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.
Showing posts with label married life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label married life. Show all posts
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Where will Baby Boyd be born? Part II
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.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Having a Baby in Korea, Part 2
After 5 weeks without seeing a doctor I ventured to Asan Hospital last Tuesday. It usually takes me 80-90 minutes to get there by bus, subway, and then a 15-minute walk. I arrived at the hospital to learn that my doctor was in surgery and that my appointment was delayed, but I didn’t mind because I was able to chat with another couple who were also expecting. They were the first couple I have met in Korea who are having a baby, but I think it is quite common for expats to want to birth in Korea. The health insurance, technology, and low cost make Korea a great place to give birth, especially if your pregnancy is low risk and you can avoid a hospital birth (and likely c-section)… Also, at least for public school teachers, the guaranteed maternity leave is way better than what most jobs offer in the states. You are guaranteed a 2-month paid leave and you can take a third month unpaid. I will only be taking the month of August off, so I don’t get the second paid month off because my contract ends on August 31st. However, this is still more paid leave than my teaching job in the US offers.
Unfortunately, the couple informed me that they visited Mediflower Women’s Clinic and really liked it, but due to the high cost they were seeking alternative options. They did have some other suggestions of places to give birth, and so in addition to visiting Mediflower on Saturday, Joe and I are going to make an appointment at an additional birthing clinic located in Bucheon (about 45 minutes from where we live), and look into possibly giving birth at home. The advantage of birthing at Mediflower is that a doctor attends your birth, but he is primarily there to observe, and won’t intervene unless there is an emergency. The other birthing clinic we are going to look into does not have a doctor, so I would give birth with only a midwife. If I want an epidural or have to have a c-section, we have to transfer to a hospital no matter which birthing center we choose, so at this point we are exploring more cost-effective options.
At first I was really skeptical about giving birth at home, but lately it is looking more appealing. It would be nice to give birth and not have to travel with a newborn from the birthing center after the baby is born, especially considering we don’t have a car. Our only options would be to take a taxi or the subway home, and the taxis here usually are not equipped with seat belts. As long as my pregnancy remains low-risk, having the baby at home is an option we are going to strongly consider.
Back to my appointment… All of my appointments are scheduled through the International Clinic at Asan Hospital. An English-speaking volunteer then guides me to the various places I have to go and helps with any necessary translating. When I expressed my interest in finding out the sex of my baby the volunteer informed me that I couldn’t directly ask the ultrasound technician or the doctor what the gender of my baby was. I instead had to ask a less direct question such as, “Does my baby like pink or blue?” Because Koreans used to abort their babies when they found out they were having a girl, legally a pregnant woman is not supposed to be informed of her baby’s gender until after the 7th month. This is no longer a common practice in Korea, but they still haven’t changed the law. Koreans still want boys, mainly because the sons traditionally take care of their parents as they age, but most Koreans would no longer abort their baby just because it is a girl.
My baby is a little wiggle worm. She is constantly nudging me throughout the day and at night she is even more active. She was moving around throughout the ultrasound appointment, so much that the ultrasound technicians were laughing. One of them looked at me and said, “Your baby moves a lot,” as she struggled to perform all of the necessary tests and measurements. Her little hands were balled into fists, and it was comical to watch her continuous jabs at the ultrasound equipment as they attempted to navigate around her movements. Even though she was moving around constantly, it was very apparent to me (and I am not experienced at reading ultrasounds) at several points that it was probably a little girl. When the appointment was over, I asked the technicians, “Does my baby like pink or blue?” They both started laughing before they told me that my baby liked pink.
I was ecstatic to hear that I was carrying a girl. Joe and I were convinced that it was probably a boy, even though every old wives’ tale pointed towards a girl. I had terrible morning sickness, and I have read that there is scientific evidence that women are more likely to experience severe morning sickness when they are carrying a girl. I have also craved sweets, mainly fruit, since the end of the first trimester. So far, I am carrying this baby high, and I haven’t needed to buy any maternity pants at this point. I am sure that will change within a few weeks! All of those characteristics traditionally point to the likelihood of a girl, but based on how active this baby is and the ultrasound pictures, we both figured it was a boy. Lesson learned- 13 week ultrasound pictures are unlikely to be indicative of your baby’s gender!
I was also convinced that it would be a boy because I consider Joe to be the lucky one in our relationship. Things almost go his way. The night before my ultrasound appointment I had a very vivid dream about the baby, and it was definitely a boy in my dream. I told Joe the next morning that I was almost positive that we were having a boy. He of course gave me a huge smile- he was really hoping for a boy.
I was pretty quiet during the journey home, partly because I was starving, but mostly because I knew that I was going to have to tell Joe he was going to have a daughter when he really wanted a son. Fortunately, there is no doubt in my mind that Joe will be thrilled when he finally meets his daughter!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Having a Baby in Korea, Part 1
We found out I was pregnant a few days before Christmas. The weekend before Christmas we had some friends over, Joe cooked dinner, and we headed to the noraebang (Korean karaoke room) to sing some Christmas carols. It was a fabulous night, and everyone was drinking except for me. You can imagine my surprise when I woke up the next morning with what felt like a very severe hangover. I remember feeling slightly irritated that my husband, who was feeling no pain the night before, seemed to be fine the next morning. I, on the other hand, could barely get out of bed and felt repulsed by all of the foods that had tasted so wonderful only the night before. A few days later my pregnancy suspicions were confirmed by the bright red line on my Korean pregnancy test. Luckily I speak enough Korean that I was able to confirm that the line did in fact mean I was pregnant!
Shortly afterwards I made an appointment at Asan Hospital in Seoul. A friend of mine had surgery there and had a positive experience. She had informed me about their international clinic, where volunteers who spoke English helped foreigners navigate the Korean hospital system. Knowing nothing about having a baby, let alone having a baby in Korea, just having someone who spoke English soothed a great deal of my anxiety. Making the appointment was simple. At the appointment I found out I was 6 weeks pregnant (not as far along as I thought I was) and was able to see the baby on the ultrasound. Joe came to the appointment with me, but unfortunately he wasn't allowed in when I had the ultrasound or when I met with the doctor. The fathers are almost completely left out of the birthing process in Korea at most of the major hospitals, a fact that didn't really sit well with either of us. When I met with the doctor I was thrilled to find out he spoke English quite well. I didn't even need the international clinic volunteer to stay with me. My main concern at the time was getting a prescription for something that would help with my morning sickness. We were leaving in three weeks for a 24 day trip to SE Asia, and I had been very ill for over 2 weeks at that point. I was rapidly losing weight and barely keeping fluids down, so the doctor prescribed me Vitamin B and an anti-nausea drug that is commonly taken here. While it didn't cure the morning sickness, it definitely made it bearable.
I didn't have another appointment until 7 weeks later because of our trip. When we returned I ventured to Asan Hospital on my own (no point in Joe going since he couldn't participate in anything). I was very anxious about the appointment, especially considering that the only pregnancy symptom I had was morning sickness. I couldn't feel the baby yet, and until I could feel my baby moving, I worried every day that I was going to lose it. My fears were immediately placated when I saw my little one on the monitor. I can honestly say that no moment to date, other than my wedding day, comes close to equaling the joy and amazement I felt when I saw my baby kicking and punching at the ultrasound equipment. Feisty little thing- no surprise there! It is amazing how much they look like a baby at 13 weeks, especially when you consider that the first 4 weeks of pregnancy they aren't even implanted in your uterus. I met with the doctor and was relieved to have him inform me that my baby appeared to be completely normal and that he considered my pregnancy very low risk. He then talked with me about the series of tests he wanted to run at my next appointment- screening for genetic abnormalities. While he was a little hesitant to have me take the tests because I am not Korean, he advised me to take the tests to rule out certain potential disorders. Completely naive, I agreed and made the next appointment, learning later that these tests are rarely performed in the United States without reason.
After we came home from Bali, Joe and I began to seriously discuss what type of birth I should have. Our situation is rather complicated. Baby Boyd is due to arrive around August 23rd. Our employment contracts in Korea expire August 31st, meaning we will no longer have our apartment or health insurance after that date. In addition, we have to leave within 10 days of our contract expiring in order for our schools to pay for our airfare home. Our original plan was to have a planned c-section at 39 weeks (August 16th) so that I would have enough time to recover to travel home on September 10th. In Korea, almost 50% of women end up having a c-section. Women are strapped down during the birth, and if their labor isn't progressing fast enough, they will be forced to have a c-section. You can imagine the complications this could cause if I were to have an unplanned c-section on August 31st. With nowhere to live and no health insurance, it wouldn't be a very positive situation to bring our little one into. So, we figured let's be proactive and just schedule a c-section, hoping to avoid complicating our situation further.
Around this time, I started researching c-sections, particularly how to prepare for them and recover from them. It didn't take me very long to realize that I REALLY didn't want to have a c-section. I decided I needed to talk with my doctor about everything at my next appointment and see what he thought. When I met with him, his solution was simply to have me try to have a natural childbirth. He advised induction around the 28th of August if the baby still hadn't come. I left the appointment determined to do everything possible to prepare for a successful natural childbirth.
In addition to my newly found determination deliver this baby naturally, I started to realize that perhaps the traditional Korean hospital route was not going to be the right fit for me. As an American, used to making my own individual decisions, it can be really frustrating to live in a country that has standard procedures and rituals that are followed by almost everyone without question. For example, after a woman gives birth in Korea they believe that she should only eat seaweed soup for a month. They also believe it is important for the woman to be hot, meaning lots of blankets and no air conditioning, even in the summer. I happen to hate seaweed soup. I know it is healthy, is rich in iron, and is probably a good food to eat after having a baby, but the stuff makes me gag. When I informed my co-teacher (who is also pregnant) that I didn't think I would be able to eat seaweed soup after the birth she looked at me like I was crazy and told me that the hospital would not allow me to eat anything else. As silly as it may seem, the possibility of being forced to eat seaweed soup was what inspired me to start researching options other than birthing at a hospital. Because they force you to stay at the hospital after the birth for 2-3 more nights, I could not imagine sweating profusely in my hospital bed being forced to eat seaweed soup. It just wasn't how I wanted to start my experience as a mother.
Fortunately I came across Birthing in Korea run by Lisa Fincaryk. She runs childbirth classes in Seoul and works as a doula. A doula is someone who offers non-medical support during pregnancy and childbirth, and statistics show that they reduce c-section rates, shorten labor, reduce the need for interventions and medication, and increase the mother's overall satisfaction with the birth experience. We met with Lisa a few Saturdays ago and were thrilled to find out that we did in fact have options other than having our baby at a hospital in Seoul, and if we did decide to have our baby in a hospital, some hospitals are more flexible than others. Since our meeting we have signed up for birthing classes that are focused on the Hypnobirthing method (more on that later), hired Lisa as our doula, and set up an appointment at Mediflower Women's Clinic and Natural Birthing Center. I am really exited about visiting Mediflower. Not only are the costs comparable to a Korean hospital, but they emphasize birthing your baby as comfortably as possible, allowing the mother to move around, even birth in the tub if that is what she wants. After the birth, the baby is immediately given to the mother, whereas in Korean hospitals you barely see the baby until you take it home. The rooms are free of medical equipment and look like a wonderful place to give birth. They don't force you to stay there if you don't need to be there, unlike Korean hospitals where you are forced to stay for the mandatory 2-3 nights. I was also informed that since the clinic opened, they have only had to transfer 3 women to nearby hospitals for a c-section. And yes, I would have the option of having an epidural, but I am very focused on avoiding medication during the birth.
I have one remaining appointment at Asan on Tuesday to have an ultrasound (hopefully we will be able to tell if we are having a boy or a girl), and at that point I am going to ask them for all of my files so I can pass the information on to whatever hospital or birthing center we decide on. Even though we don't yet know where we are having the baby, I feel a lot more confident and happy about having the baby in Korea.
Shortly afterwards I made an appointment at Asan Hospital in Seoul. A friend of mine had surgery there and had a positive experience. She had informed me about their international clinic, where volunteers who spoke English helped foreigners navigate the Korean hospital system. Knowing nothing about having a baby, let alone having a baby in Korea, just having someone who spoke English soothed a great deal of my anxiety. Making the appointment was simple. At the appointment I found out I was 6 weeks pregnant (not as far along as I thought I was) and was able to see the baby on the ultrasound. Joe came to the appointment with me, but unfortunately he wasn't allowed in when I had the ultrasound or when I met with the doctor. The fathers are almost completely left out of the birthing process in Korea at most of the major hospitals, a fact that didn't really sit well with either of us. When I met with the doctor I was thrilled to find out he spoke English quite well. I didn't even need the international clinic volunteer to stay with me. My main concern at the time was getting a prescription for something that would help with my morning sickness. We were leaving in three weeks for a 24 day trip to SE Asia, and I had been very ill for over 2 weeks at that point. I was rapidly losing weight and barely keeping fluids down, so the doctor prescribed me Vitamin B and an anti-nausea drug that is commonly taken here. While it didn't cure the morning sickness, it definitely made it bearable.
I didn't have another appointment until 7 weeks later because of our trip. When we returned I ventured to Asan Hospital on my own (no point in Joe going since he couldn't participate in anything). I was very anxious about the appointment, especially considering that the only pregnancy symptom I had was morning sickness. I couldn't feel the baby yet, and until I could feel my baby moving, I worried every day that I was going to lose it. My fears were immediately placated when I saw my little one on the monitor. I can honestly say that no moment to date, other than my wedding day, comes close to equaling the joy and amazement I felt when I saw my baby kicking and punching at the ultrasound equipment. Feisty little thing- no surprise there! It is amazing how much they look like a baby at 13 weeks, especially when you consider that the first 4 weeks of pregnancy they aren't even implanted in your uterus. I met with the doctor and was relieved to have him inform me that my baby appeared to be completely normal and that he considered my pregnancy very low risk. He then talked with me about the series of tests he wanted to run at my next appointment- screening for genetic abnormalities. While he was a little hesitant to have me take the tests because I am not Korean, he advised me to take the tests to rule out certain potential disorders. Completely naive, I agreed and made the next appointment, learning later that these tests are rarely performed in the United States without reason.
After we came home from Bali, Joe and I began to seriously discuss what type of birth I should have. Our situation is rather complicated. Baby Boyd is due to arrive around August 23rd. Our employment contracts in Korea expire August 31st, meaning we will no longer have our apartment or health insurance after that date. In addition, we have to leave within 10 days of our contract expiring in order for our schools to pay for our airfare home. Our original plan was to have a planned c-section at 39 weeks (August 16th) so that I would have enough time to recover to travel home on September 10th. In Korea, almost 50% of women end up having a c-section. Women are strapped down during the birth, and if their labor isn't progressing fast enough, they will be forced to have a c-section. You can imagine the complications this could cause if I were to have an unplanned c-section on August 31st. With nowhere to live and no health insurance, it wouldn't be a very positive situation to bring our little one into. So, we figured let's be proactive and just schedule a c-section, hoping to avoid complicating our situation further.
Around this time, I started researching c-sections, particularly how to prepare for them and recover from them. It didn't take me very long to realize that I REALLY didn't want to have a c-section. I decided I needed to talk with my doctor about everything at my next appointment and see what he thought. When I met with him, his solution was simply to have me try to have a natural childbirth. He advised induction around the 28th of August if the baby still hadn't come. I left the appointment determined to do everything possible to prepare for a successful natural childbirth.
In addition to my newly found determination deliver this baby naturally, I started to realize that perhaps the traditional Korean hospital route was not going to be the right fit for me. As an American, used to making my own individual decisions, it can be really frustrating to live in a country that has standard procedures and rituals that are followed by almost everyone without question. For example, after a woman gives birth in Korea they believe that she should only eat seaweed soup for a month. They also believe it is important for the woman to be hot, meaning lots of blankets and no air conditioning, even in the summer. I happen to hate seaweed soup. I know it is healthy, is rich in iron, and is probably a good food to eat after having a baby, but the stuff makes me gag. When I informed my co-teacher (who is also pregnant) that I didn't think I would be able to eat seaweed soup after the birth she looked at me like I was crazy and told me that the hospital would not allow me to eat anything else. As silly as it may seem, the possibility of being forced to eat seaweed soup was what inspired me to start researching options other than birthing at a hospital. Because they force you to stay at the hospital after the birth for 2-3 more nights, I could not imagine sweating profusely in my hospital bed being forced to eat seaweed soup. It just wasn't how I wanted to start my experience as a mother.
Fortunately I came across Birthing in Korea run by Lisa Fincaryk. She runs childbirth classes in Seoul and works as a doula. A doula is someone who offers non-medical support during pregnancy and childbirth, and statistics show that they reduce c-section rates, shorten labor, reduce the need for interventions and medication, and increase the mother's overall satisfaction with the birth experience. We met with Lisa a few Saturdays ago and were thrilled to find out that we did in fact have options other than having our baby at a hospital in Seoul, and if we did decide to have our baby in a hospital, some hospitals are more flexible than others. Since our meeting we have signed up for birthing classes that are focused on the Hypnobirthing method (more on that later), hired Lisa as our doula, and set up an appointment at Mediflower Women's Clinic and Natural Birthing Center. I am really exited about visiting Mediflower. Not only are the costs comparable to a Korean hospital, but they emphasize birthing your baby as comfortably as possible, allowing the mother to move around, even birth in the tub if that is what she wants. After the birth, the baby is immediately given to the mother, whereas in Korean hospitals you barely see the baby until you take it home. The rooms are free of medical equipment and look like a wonderful place to give birth. They don't force you to stay there if you don't need to be there, unlike Korean hospitals where you are forced to stay for the mandatory 2-3 nights. I was also informed that since the clinic opened, they have only had to transfer 3 women to nearby hospitals for a c-section. And yes, I would have the option of having an epidural, but I am very focused on avoiding medication during the birth.
I have one remaining appointment at Asan on Tuesday to have an ultrasound (hopefully we will be able to tell if we are having a boy or a girl), and at that point I am going to ask them for all of my files so I can pass the information on to whatever hospital or birthing center we decide on. Even though we don't yet know where we are having the baby, I feel a lot more confident and happy about having the baby in Korea.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Sprints
Today I finished week two of a new three-day-a-week morning sprint interval regiment. Sami came up with the idea to run in the mornings. She had read in one of her pregnancy books that mothers who perform light exercise while pregnant lose post-birth baby fat faster than those who don't, and politely suggested that I show my support by accompanying her in her endeavor. I responded the same way I respond to all of her ideas by first vehemently opposing, then politely declining, then leaving it up for debate, and finally consenting. I can't stand a guilty conscience and so I always come around. It went something like this:
Me: "You're mad I'm not going to run with you aren't you?"
Her: "No, it's fine."
Me: "I'm sorry, but it's just that I hate running and I hate waking up early."
Her: "It's fine. I'll go by myself. I knew it was a long shot."
Me: (Heavy sigh) "Fine. Maybe I'll do it even though I don't want to. Let me think about it."
Her: "Joe. It's ok. Seriously, don't worry about it."
Me: "Fine, I'll do it. Whatever."
The worst is when, as in this instance, my initial negative reaction to an idea doesn't seem to bother her. She plays it off like it's no big deal, but it's ALWAYS a big deal. Right? Maybe. Who knows? I don't think man will ever understand the complexity and mystery of woman. Because I cannot be sure of her true feelings, (and I am slowly beginning to feel that a husband is secretly tested a half dozen times every day) I play it safe and give in. Also, I seem to be more comfortable doing something against my will.
Weeks passed and we kept putting off our start date claiming that the weather was still too cold. Finally, after staring down at my muffin top of a stomach, I decided it was time to go for it. By this time, however, Sami had lost interest and embarked on a new endeavor of "hardcore" stretching.
Why did I continue on without her? Easy. I borrowed a stopwatch from school. There is just something obsessively appealing about the chirping sound of the start and stop button, and to look down and read numbers so exact.
The first day I went, it was cold and windy out, which did not bother me during the workout. It was only after I had returned into the warm apartment that my ears began to throb. Since then I have worn Sami's girly earmuffs which I can get away with here, being a strange foreigner and all.
There is a turf field next to the subway station about a three minute light jog away from our doorstep (and believe me, this is accurate. I have a stopwatch). This is where I do my sprinting. That first day, I could only manage four down and backs at around 20 seconds each with a 90 second jog in between. This doesn't sound like much, and it isn't, but I finished begging for an extra pair of lungs. I have gradually worked my way up to five down-back-down-backs at 40 seconds each- more than double what I started. I may choose to keep going for more, but I run before school and prefer to sleep in as long as possible, leaving me just enough time to get ready for the day when I return.
While my lungs have adapted slightly, and increased their capacity, my leg muscles still ache like the first day. My hamstrings in particular are as tight as piano wires. I stretch before and after and even throughout the day, but to no avail. Luckily, we wear indoor slippers at work, so I can shuffle around like the rest instead of walking like a 90 year old man who needs to poop.
During my run I am usually accompanied by one older woman who speed walks the perimeter of the field, and a man who reads the paper while hula-hooping. Hula-hoops are big here and even taken seriously as exercise. A woman at my gym stands and watches TV for 40 plus minutes, gyrating and thrusting and spinning that damn hoop all the while. I on the other hand, can only hula-hoop for three to four revolutions, depending on how fast I can get it started spinning with my hands and how fast gravity works.
Ideally, I would like to sprint Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but this week muscle soreness and laziness pushed me into Saturday. The great part about running on Saturday is that I was able to sleep in, however, this meant that more people would be occupying my running space. Koreans have school every other Saturday, and today there were a group of them bunched in my field farting around with badminton racquets and shuttlecocks. As I jogged to warm up many of them said hello, but I ignored them and acted as if the combination of my girly earmuffs and the blasting volume on my iPod was enough to drown their greetings. This may sound cruel and inconsiderate, but after nearly two years in Korea, you get a little tired of being a spectacle and just wish for nothing more than to blend in and be inconspicuous. This is impossible given the current situation because 1) I am white and no one else is white and 2) I am running outside for exercise and this is unheard of.
As I started my first sprint one funny guy, the class clown, decided to run along with me in a mock race. This was mildly annoying, but he quit after a down and only half of an up. As I charged ahead I told myself that if anyone got in my way I was just going to run them over. I was in a surly mood. After all, I was doing something I never wanted to do without the person I wanted to be doing it with. The one back at home doing the hardcore stretches whom I still can't figure out.
Me: "You're mad I'm not going to run with you aren't you?"
Her: "No, it's fine."
Me: "I'm sorry, but it's just that I hate running and I hate waking up early."
Her: "It's fine. I'll go by myself. I knew it was a long shot."
Me: (Heavy sigh) "Fine. Maybe I'll do it even though I don't want to. Let me think about it."
Her: "Joe. It's ok. Seriously, don't worry about it."
Me: "Fine, I'll do it. Whatever."
The worst is when, as in this instance, my initial negative reaction to an idea doesn't seem to bother her. She plays it off like it's no big deal, but it's ALWAYS a big deal. Right? Maybe. Who knows? I don't think man will ever understand the complexity and mystery of woman. Because I cannot be sure of her true feelings, (and I am slowly beginning to feel that a husband is secretly tested a half dozen times every day) I play it safe and give in. Also, I seem to be more comfortable doing something against my will.
Weeks passed and we kept putting off our start date claiming that the weather was still too cold. Finally, after staring down at my muffin top of a stomach, I decided it was time to go for it. By this time, however, Sami had lost interest and embarked on a new endeavor of "hardcore" stretching.
Why did I continue on without her? Easy. I borrowed a stopwatch from school. There is just something obsessively appealing about the chirping sound of the start and stop button, and to look down and read numbers so exact.
The first day I went, it was cold and windy out, which did not bother me during the workout. It was only after I had returned into the warm apartment that my ears began to throb. Since then I have worn Sami's girly earmuffs which I can get away with here, being a strange foreigner and all.
There is a turf field next to the subway station about a three minute light jog away from our doorstep (and believe me, this is accurate. I have a stopwatch). This is where I do my sprinting. That first day, I could only manage four down and backs at around 20 seconds each with a 90 second jog in between. This doesn't sound like much, and it isn't, but I finished begging for an extra pair of lungs. I have gradually worked my way up to five down-back-down-backs at 40 seconds each- more than double what I started. I may choose to keep going for more, but I run before school and prefer to sleep in as long as possible, leaving me just enough time to get ready for the day when I return.
While my lungs have adapted slightly, and increased their capacity, my leg muscles still ache like the first day. My hamstrings in particular are as tight as piano wires. I stretch before and after and even throughout the day, but to no avail. Luckily, we wear indoor slippers at work, so I can shuffle around like the rest instead of walking like a 90 year old man who needs to poop.
During my run I am usually accompanied by one older woman who speed walks the perimeter of the field, and a man who reads the paper while hula-hooping. Hula-hoops are big here and even taken seriously as exercise. A woman at my gym stands and watches TV for 40 plus minutes, gyrating and thrusting and spinning that damn hoop all the while. I on the other hand, can only hula-hoop for three to four revolutions, depending on how fast I can get it started spinning with my hands and how fast gravity works.
Ideally, I would like to sprint Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but this week muscle soreness and laziness pushed me into Saturday. The great part about running on Saturday is that I was able to sleep in, however, this meant that more people would be occupying my running space. Koreans have school every other Saturday, and today there were a group of them bunched in my field farting around with badminton racquets and shuttlecocks. As I jogged to warm up many of them said hello, but I ignored them and acted as if the combination of my girly earmuffs and the blasting volume on my iPod was enough to drown their greetings. This may sound cruel and inconsiderate, but after nearly two years in Korea, you get a little tired of being a spectacle and just wish for nothing more than to blend in and be inconspicuous. This is impossible given the current situation because 1) I am white and no one else is white and 2) I am running outside for exercise and this is unheard of.
As I started my first sprint one funny guy, the class clown, decided to run along with me in a mock race. This was mildly annoying, but he quit after a down and only half of an up. As I charged ahead I told myself that if anyone got in my way I was just going to run them over. I was in a surly mood. After all, I was doing something I never wanted to do without the person I wanted to be doing it with. The one back at home doing the hardcore stretches whom I still can't figure out.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Reality Check
I certainly don’t consider myself a bad person. I don’t do drugs, always offer up my seat to elders on the subway, never steal or cheat and seldom lie. I have even cut down my drinking consumption to one or two watery Korean beers a week. I consider myself a loyal friend and an above-average son. However, I have a glaring personality flaw when it comes to my marriage and yesterday I received the gift of a much needed reality check.
I am inclined to selfishness and often act with my sole interests in mind. My credo might as well be: “What’s mine is mine and what’s yours is ours.” As petty as it sounds, this darkside often manifests itself during a meal or snack-time. A prime example occurred two nights ago. After returning from our Korean lesson an hour’s commute into the city (here it is worth noting that it was my idea alone to attempt to pick up the language through professional tutelage- Sami wanted no part of it, but still consented to participate and even spends hours creating study sheets to aid in her reluctant endeavor) we sat down to watch Modern Family online. Sami had two cookies and I wanted one. She had already fixed us both a snack and I had already downed a snickers bar and a beer, but I wanted one of her two cookies. She said no. I already had my treat and this was hers. How about a half? After she finished the last bite I smacked her empty water cup off of the table and onto the floor. It was a juvenile. It was stupid. I knew it, but didn’t want to discuss it. While Sami attempted to calmly explain how this incident was only the latest in a pattern of self-centeredness, I walked off into bedroom #2. I knew that I had hurt her feelings both by smacking the cup and walking out, and that she would retire to bedroom #1.
I woke up at 2:00 am and tried to get back into her good graces, but still couldn’t bring myself to apologize. This only upset her more. I went online and searched out the latest occurrences taking place on the other side of the world. Earlier in the past morning I browsed an article on the first living recipient of the Medal of Honor from the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. The ceremony was held at the White House the day before. I was stunned to read that one of the central players in the recipient’s moment of heroism was a high school acquaintance of mine.
I knew Josh Brennan as a tall, skinny, quiet hurdler on the track team. He was a sophomore when I was a senior, and unfortunately, I don’t remember any specific interactions we had. More likely, I was too caught up in my own clique and self interests to notice anything outside of my very small, immediate world.
I had known Josh had been wounded in Afghanistan and was sent back home, but it was only this week that I learned Josh had won the Bronze Star, been named Soldier of the Year, and later sent back to Afghanistan where he was killed in action.
There was a 60 Minutes segment on circumstances surrounding Josh’s death and the actions of a fellow soldier that would earn him the Medal of Honor. In the middle of the night, while my wife drifted disappointed in the turn her evening took, while friends and family in Oregon and elsewhere cradled warm mugs of late morning coffee, and while the sun dropped cold and low on the mountainous war terrain of Afghanistan, I watched.
I watched and learned that Josh was in the lead of a march straight into the teeth of an ambush. I watched and learned that two infidels attempted to carry Josh’s mortally wounded body off into some nightmarish locale, uncharted and devoid of friends, safety- the godforsaken evil of the unknown. I watched and learned how one soldier ran into a wall of bullets and killed the infidels carrying my track teammate.
The soldier had earned the Medal of Honor and yet all he could talk about was how he was only a mediocre soldier. How he was uncomfortable with the accolades. How he had given nothing. How Josh Brennan gave everything.
Online there were extras to the 60 Minutes story. Pieces that had to be cut due to TV time constraints. They interviewed the Medal of Honor recipient and his wife. The soldier gushed about how he owes all of the good that he has to her.
Watching this and remembering the incident earlier with the cookies and the water cup made me feel ashamed. I am not the most spiritual man in the world, though like many people I believe there is someone looking down at each of us every second and judging our actions. When it’s needed most we receive a much welcome reality check.
I had heard someone say once that if a man is a certain way at 29, he’s the same at 39, the same at 49, the same at 59 and so on. I am 28 now, so I better get hurrying on making myself right.
I am inclined to selfishness and often act with my sole interests in mind. My credo might as well be: “What’s mine is mine and what’s yours is ours.” As petty as it sounds, this darkside often manifests itself during a meal or snack-time. A prime example occurred two nights ago. After returning from our Korean lesson an hour’s commute into the city (here it is worth noting that it was my idea alone to attempt to pick up the language through professional tutelage- Sami wanted no part of it, but still consented to participate and even spends hours creating study sheets to aid in her reluctant endeavor) we sat down to watch Modern Family online. Sami had two cookies and I wanted one. She had already fixed us both a snack and I had already downed a snickers bar and a beer, but I wanted one of her two cookies. She said no. I already had my treat and this was hers. How about a half? After she finished the last bite I smacked her empty water cup off of the table and onto the floor. It was a juvenile. It was stupid. I knew it, but didn’t want to discuss it. While Sami attempted to calmly explain how this incident was only the latest in a pattern of self-centeredness, I walked off into bedroom #2. I knew that I had hurt her feelings both by smacking the cup and walking out, and that she would retire to bedroom #1.
I woke up at 2:00 am and tried to get back into her good graces, but still couldn’t bring myself to apologize. This only upset her more. I went online and searched out the latest occurrences taking place on the other side of the world. Earlier in the past morning I browsed an article on the first living recipient of the Medal of Honor from the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. The ceremony was held at the White House the day before. I was stunned to read that one of the central players in the recipient’s moment of heroism was a high school acquaintance of mine.
I knew Josh Brennan as a tall, skinny, quiet hurdler on the track team. He was a sophomore when I was a senior, and unfortunately, I don’t remember any specific interactions we had. More likely, I was too caught up in my own clique and self interests to notice anything outside of my very small, immediate world.
I had known Josh had been wounded in Afghanistan and was sent back home, but it was only this week that I learned Josh had won the Bronze Star, been named Soldier of the Year, and later sent back to Afghanistan where he was killed in action.
There was a 60 Minutes segment on circumstances surrounding Josh’s death and the actions of a fellow soldier that would earn him the Medal of Honor. In the middle of the night, while my wife drifted disappointed in the turn her evening took, while friends and family in Oregon and elsewhere cradled warm mugs of late morning coffee, and while the sun dropped cold and low on the mountainous war terrain of Afghanistan, I watched.
I watched and learned that Josh was in the lead of a march straight into the teeth of an ambush. I watched and learned that two infidels attempted to carry Josh’s mortally wounded body off into some nightmarish locale, uncharted and devoid of friends, safety- the godforsaken evil of the unknown. I watched and learned how one soldier ran into a wall of bullets and killed the infidels carrying my track teammate.
The soldier had earned the Medal of Honor and yet all he could talk about was how he was only a mediocre soldier. How he was uncomfortable with the accolades. How he had given nothing. How Josh Brennan gave everything.
Online there were extras to the 60 Minutes story. Pieces that had to be cut due to TV time constraints. They interviewed the Medal of Honor recipient and his wife. The soldier gushed about how he owes all of the good that he has to her.
Watching this and remembering the incident earlier with the cookies and the water cup made me feel ashamed. I am not the most spiritual man in the world, though like many people I believe there is someone looking down at each of us every second and judging our actions. When it’s needed most we receive a much welcome reality check.
I had heard someone say once that if a man is a certain way at 29, he’s the same at 39, the same at 49, the same at 59 and so on. I am 28 now, so I better get hurrying on making myself right.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Boryeong Mud Festival, Part 4
Though our final day at Mud Fest began at 4 am with snoring so loud that it reverberated beneath the thin pads we were sleeping on, the sun was out and it wasn't raining (something that is rare during Korean summers), so we couldn't have been happier. We decided to spend our day on the beach, renting tubes and an umbrella to sit under.
Tor and Joe promptly turned into 8 year old boys, giddy and excited that they were going to get to play in the ocean. Fortunately, Becky and I had managed to force some sunscreen on them at breakfast because once we arrived on the beach they grabbed a tube and made a break for the ocean. Joe even told me later, after I forced him to let me put more sunscreen on him, "I can't eat lunch right now. I don't want to waste a minute of the time I can spend playing in the ocean." I watched Tor quickly spray some sunscreen on himself to appease Becky, only to see him immediately run back into the water without letting it soak in.While the boys were splashing about and riding the waves, the girls decided to grab some lunch. We enjoyed one my favorite Korean foods- bi-bim-naengmyeon which consists of cold noodles, vegetables, and red pepper paste all mixed together. We were all completely relaxed, enjoying the day, and when the question came up about what time we had to head to the bus, none of us were too alarmed when no one knew the answer. Becky had a copy of the itinerary from online that said the bus departed at 4 pm so the decision was made to head to the bus at 3:30.
Around 1:45 pm Tor and Joe's appetites got the best of them. Joe made a huge production of asking me for lunch money (he likes people to feel sorry for him and blame me for being on a budget) and then the boys were off in search of lunch. Before they left they double checked what time the bus was leaving and reassured us that they would be back in plenty of time. For some reason, I couldn't shake the feeling that the bus was leaving before 4 pm, but I was trying really hard to play it cool. Anyone who knows me well knows that this is extremely difficult for me, but after 5 months of yoga I have made some progress. My anxiety continued to increase as I watched a group I recognized from our bus pack up their stuff around 2 pm. I looked at the girls and asked, "Weren't they on our bus?" Someone responded that they were probably just going to get lunch. No need to worry.
By 2:30 pm I couldn't take it anymore. I turned to Becky and asked, "Do you want to go with me to where the buses are parked to double check what time we leave?" My asking Becky was strategic. There is a definite reason that Tor has nicknamed us the "nerd twins." We both worry and plan way more than the average person, resulting in merciless teasing and torture from our spoiled and carefree husbands. Becky immediately agreed that it would be good to double check and Leana and Yujung smiled at us and asked us to let them know if the buses were leaving before 4 pm. You could tell they thought we are being paranoid, but they were polite and didn't try to stop us.
It turns out, I was right to be worried. Once we arrived where the buses were parked we leisurely began searching for empty seats. Our pace increased as we realized that almost every available seat was filled. If the bus wasn't leaving for over an hour, what was everyone doing on the buses? I turned to a nearby passenger and asked nonchalantly,
"What time do the buses leave any way?" She smiled and said, "They leave at 3 o'clock." I was immediately propelled into action. With Becky still searching for empty seats I immediately tried to call Tor (Joe doesn't have a phone- we share) but no one answered. I then tried to call Leana and no one answered. As Becky made her way off the bus, reporting that she had found a few seats close together I told her, "Becky, the buses leave at 3 pm." I am pretty sure she responded with an expletive. "I'm going to the beach. Can you try to hold the buses for a few minutes?" I was off before I heard her respond.
I ran as fast as I could in flip flops and my bathing suit, but it was hot and my food hadn't completely digested, making for a fairly uncomfortable run. As I approached our umbrella and towels I saw only Leana and Yujung. They sprung into action once I told them that the bus was leaving in 5 minutes and I took off in search of Joe and Tor. I ran all along the stretch of restaurants that lined the top of the beach but they were nowhere to be found. By this point I was hot, worried, and very angry, but I couldn't figure out who to be angry at and and that just made me even angrier. I tried calling Tor's phone repeatedly but no one answered, so I made the decision to return to the buses.
When I made it back to the parking lot I found Becky looking stressed and dejected. She reported that the buses were going to leave any minute now, so we made the decision to remove all of our belongings from the bus and take an Express Bus home (however, we had no idea where the bus station was so this was quite problematic). Becky tried calling Tor's phone again only to hear it ringing from within her own bag. Once we had all of our bags off the bus we began the walk back towards the beach at a very slow pace. Becky had two full sized bags and I had our large bag, a back pack, and my purse. We hadn't made it very far when Leana came running to tell us that the buses would wait a little bit longer. Once again, I was off and running for the beach.
By the time I made it to the beach my entire body was shaking, but I was elated to find a very confused looking Joe and Tor. Later Tor told me that they were going to write BUS in the sand and then head to the parking lot. I was jealous- why didn't I think of writing bus? I made eye contact with Tor and said, "We've got to go now." Tor started running immediately while it took Joe a little longer to catch on. Once Tor caught up to me I filled him in, breathing so hard I could barely speak. Joe piped in from behind asking, "Why are we running?" I turned around and snapped, "So we don't miss the bus." Joe shrugged and didn't seem concerned.
We arrived at the parking lot to find an anxious Becky surrounded by our bags. "Why did you take our bags off the bus?" Joe asked in an annoyed tone. I gave him a death glare and snapped back, "The buses were supposed to leave at 3 pm. We thought we were going to have to take an Express Bus." I grabbed our bags and started making my way to the bus realizing half way to the bus that Joe wasn't carrying anything. I heaved our bag towards him saying, "Here. You carry it. I'm tired." Once again Joe was cool as a cucumber as he grabbed the bag from me and advised me to relax. Oh the irony.
Even though we sat behind a group of obnoxious and annoying girls on the bus ride home, once I relaxed and was able to breathe normally again, I was relieved that we didn't have to find another way home. Not to mention, they showed The Blind Side on the way home, so I was able to tune out most of their stories about how drunk and wasted they were all weekend. Blah blah blah, like I haven't heard all of that before.
Tor and Joe promptly turned into 8 year old boys, giddy and excited that they were going to get to play in the ocean. Fortunately, Becky and I had managed to force some sunscreen on them at breakfast because once we arrived on the beach they grabbed a tube and made a break for the ocean. Joe even told me later, after I forced him to let me put more sunscreen on him, "I can't eat lunch right now. I don't want to waste a minute of the time I can spend playing in the ocean." I watched Tor quickly spray some sunscreen on himself to appease Becky, only to see him immediately run back into the water without letting it soak in.While the boys were splashing about and riding the waves, the girls decided to grab some lunch. We enjoyed one my favorite Korean foods- bi-bim-naengmyeon which consists of cold noodles, vegetables, and red pepper paste all mixed together. We were all completely relaxed, enjoying the day, and when the question came up about what time we had to head to the bus, none of us were too alarmed when no one knew the answer. Becky had a copy of the itinerary from online that said the bus departed at 4 pm so the decision was made to head to the bus at 3:30.
Yujung, Becky and I tried to stay out of the sun.
The rest of the group spent most of the time in the ocean. In fact, Tor was probably already in the ocean at this point because he isn't in any of the pictures.
Around 1:45 pm Tor and Joe's appetites got the best of them. Joe made a huge production of asking me for lunch money (he likes people to feel sorry for him and blame me for being on a budget) and then the boys were off in search of lunch. Before they left they double checked what time the bus was leaving and reassured us that they would be back in plenty of time. For some reason, I couldn't shake the feeling that the bus was leaving before 4 pm, but I was trying really hard to play it cool. Anyone who knows me well knows that this is extremely difficult for me, but after 5 months of yoga I have made some progress. My anxiety continued to increase as I watched a group I recognized from our bus pack up their stuff around 2 pm. I looked at the girls and asked, "Weren't they on our bus?" Someone responded that they were probably just going to get lunch. No need to worry.
By 2:30 pm I couldn't take it anymore. I turned to Becky and asked, "Do you want to go with me to where the buses are parked to double check what time we leave?" My asking Becky was strategic. There is a definite reason that Tor has nicknamed us the "nerd twins." We both worry and plan way more than the average person, resulting in merciless teasing and torture from our spoiled and carefree husbands. Becky immediately agreed that it would be good to double check and Leana and Yujung smiled at us and asked us to let them know if the buses were leaving before 4 pm. You could tell they thought we are being paranoid, but they were polite and didn't try to stop us.
It turns out, I was right to be worried. Once we arrived where the buses were parked we leisurely began searching for empty seats. Our pace increased as we realized that almost every available seat was filled. If the bus wasn't leaving for over an hour, what was everyone doing on the buses? I turned to a nearby passenger and asked nonchalantly,
"What time do the buses leave any way?" She smiled and said, "They leave at 3 o'clock." I was immediately propelled into action. With Becky still searching for empty seats I immediately tried to call Tor (Joe doesn't have a phone- we share) but no one answered. I then tried to call Leana and no one answered. As Becky made her way off the bus, reporting that she had found a few seats close together I told her, "Becky, the buses leave at 3 pm." I am pretty sure she responded with an expletive. "I'm going to the beach. Can you try to hold the buses for a few minutes?" I was off before I heard her respond.
I ran as fast as I could in flip flops and my bathing suit, but it was hot and my food hadn't completely digested, making for a fairly uncomfortable run. As I approached our umbrella and towels I saw only Leana and Yujung. They sprung into action once I told them that the bus was leaving in 5 minutes and I took off in search of Joe and Tor. I ran all along the stretch of restaurants that lined the top of the beach but they were nowhere to be found. By this point I was hot, worried, and very angry, but I couldn't figure out who to be angry at and and that just made me even angrier. I tried calling Tor's phone repeatedly but no one answered, so I made the decision to return to the buses.
When I made it back to the parking lot I found Becky looking stressed and dejected. She reported that the buses were going to leave any minute now, so we made the decision to remove all of our belongings from the bus and take an Express Bus home (however, we had no idea where the bus station was so this was quite problematic). Becky tried calling Tor's phone again only to hear it ringing from within her own bag. Once we had all of our bags off the bus we began the walk back towards the beach at a very slow pace. Becky had two full sized bags and I had our large bag, a back pack, and my purse. We hadn't made it very far when Leana came running to tell us that the buses would wait a little bit longer. Once again, I was off and running for the beach.
By the time I made it to the beach my entire body was shaking, but I was elated to find a very confused looking Joe and Tor. Later Tor told me that they were going to write BUS in the sand and then head to the parking lot. I was jealous- why didn't I think of writing bus? I made eye contact with Tor and said, "We've got to go now." Tor started running immediately while it took Joe a little longer to catch on. Once Tor caught up to me I filled him in, breathing so hard I could barely speak. Joe piped in from behind asking, "Why are we running?" I turned around and snapped, "So we don't miss the bus." Joe shrugged and didn't seem concerned.
We arrived at the parking lot to find an anxious Becky surrounded by our bags. "Why did you take our bags off the bus?" Joe asked in an annoyed tone. I gave him a death glare and snapped back, "The buses were supposed to leave at 3 pm. We thought we were going to have to take an Express Bus." I grabbed our bags and started making my way to the bus realizing half way to the bus that Joe wasn't carrying anything. I heaved our bag towards him saying, "Here. You carry it. I'm tired." Once again Joe was cool as a cucumber as he grabbed the bag from me and advised me to relax. Oh the irony.
Even though we sat behind a group of obnoxious and annoying girls on the bus ride home, once I relaxed and was able to breathe normally again, I was relieved that we didn't have to find another way home. Not to mention, they showed The Blind Side on the way home, so I was able to tune out most of their stories about how drunk and wasted they were all weekend. Blah blah blah, like I haven't heard all of that before.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Shanghai: Yuanyuan Garden and the French Concession
Once again Joe has come to the last couple of blog entries to finish writing about one of our trips, and once again I was "invited" to guest author the final entries. This time I get to write about the last couple of days we spent in China which I spent sneezing, coughing, and blowing my nose. Should be an exciting couple of entries...
After enjoying our delicious dumplings we decided to check out the Yuanyuan Garden. We read that it would likely be crowded and that we should visit in the morning, but our walk around the garden was peaceful and devoid of tourists, for the most part.
As the day went on, I felt worse and worse, and my mood darkened significantly. I really wasn't very pleasant during the walk home, mainly because I wanted to take the subway, and Joe wanted to walk and take photos along the way. The walk took almost an hour, and Joe and I were in constant disagreement about whether or not to take pictures. Joe likes to take pictures of everything, which we appreciate later, but while it is going on I get a little irritable. I always worry that people won't want their photo taken by tourists, but it doesn't seem to bother Joe in the slightest. It didn't help that the few tissues I had disintegrated further with each passing minute as a result of the constant nasal drippage.
Once we made it back to the hotel, I am pretty sure I passed out and Joe went back out in search of food (most likely ice cream or the cruellers we both craved). After an hour or so of rest, I knew I had to rally so that we could check out the French Concession, the area of Shanghai that Lonely Planet describes as the "coolest, hippest, and most elegant."
Our first stop was the original headquarters of the Chinese Communist Party, a little known tourist attraction and museum included in Lonely Planet's Shanghai City Guide. Joe acted like I was torturing him by wanting to check it out, but what does he expect? He married a history teacher.
After enjoying our delicious dumplings we decided to check out the Yuanyuan Garden. We read that it would likely be crowded and that we should visit in the morning, but our walk around the garden was peaceful and devoid of tourists, for the most part.
They had a lot of these cave-like structures.
Unfortunately, this photo was marred by the tourist who barged through mid-picture.
As the day went on, I felt worse and worse, and my mood darkened significantly. I really wasn't very pleasant during the walk home, mainly because I wanted to take the subway, and Joe wanted to walk and take photos along the way. The walk took almost an hour, and Joe and I were in constant disagreement about whether or not to take pictures. Joe likes to take pictures of everything, which we appreciate later, but while it is going on I get a little irritable. I always worry that people won't want their photo taken by tourists, but it doesn't seem to bother Joe in the slightest. It didn't help that the few tissues I had disintegrated further with each passing minute as a result of the constant nasal drippage.
Joe is always asking (actually, there are usually no words spoken, just elaborate hand motions) if he can take a picture of people's shirts.
Drying laundry outside of your window is a common sight in Shanghai.
At least they offer some variety...
I always wonder what I would think if foreigners started snapping pictures of my kids (future kids, that is).
Our first stop was the original headquarters of the Chinese Communist Party, a little known tourist attraction and museum included in Lonely Planet's Shanghai City Guide. Joe acted like I was torturing him by wanting to check it out, but what does he expect? He married a history teacher.
I didn't understand the point of making us get a ticket considering the museum was free, but whatever, when in China don't ask questions.
Joe posing with the communist flag. Why the sad face? No idea.
The outside of the CCP Headquarters.
By the time we finished viewing the headquarters/museum, it was late in the afternoon. Ironically, though I had to drag Joe to the museum, I also had to drag him out of it. I don't know if he will admit it or not, but I know he enjoyed the visit. We stopped off for afternoon tea which consisted of a beverage and an appetizer, and then moved on to the Shikumen Open House Museum. The term Shikumen refers to Chinese homes that first appeared around the 1860s, combining Chinese and western architecture. The fact that we couldn't take pictures coupled with my worsening runny nose is the reason I don't have a lot to say about this experience. When we finished our tour, nothing made me happier than arriving back at the hotel and going to bed immediately.
Joe thinks it is fun to take pictures of me when I am unprepared.
It's not like people don't already know I am a tourist, so why not give them the full effect by referring to the guide book in public?
I really can't understand the point of this photo, other than to make fun of my husband's excessive photo taking.
I am pretty sure I took the camera away shortly after this picture was taken.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Busan Jagalchi Fish Market
The smell of fresh sea creatures. Some find the briny odor irksome. Others salivate dreaming of the sweet tastes they signify. Sami belongs to the former group. As our days spent on the Korean peninsula have increased, my wife's tolerance for all things oceanic has declined exponentially. It's a shame because she used to revel in the joys of fresh salmon, halibut and my dad's famous fried crappie fillets- hand reeled, battered and fried (not from the ocean, but whatever). Part of the problem, I believe, is that most of the fish we eat at school is salted mackerel. She is not really into anything "fishy" (a culinary criticism I fail to comprehend- can a chicken be too chickeny? Spaghetti too spaghettiey?) and doesn't groove on all the bones left in. Myself? I say the more bones the better, keeps it moist. Plus, they are small so most of the time I just chew real good.
We walked into the famous Jagalchi Fish Market with the intention of trying san nakchi- raw, recently chopped octopus tentacles still squirming. There was trepidation in Sami's eyes when she stepped into the damp, putrid warehouse, but she persevered, if only to please our friends Tor and Becky who joined us in our long weekend in the southern coastal city of Busan.
We sauntered through the aisles snapping close up pictures of abalone, urchins, cuttlefish, sea squirts, sharks, crabs and more. The colors inside the tanks nearly overshadowed the smells- fleshy pinks and vibrant orange and blues. One merchant picked up a sea squirt gun and sprayed us with stinky water.
After making the rounds we climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor which housed the dining area. Small restaurants all competed for business in the large, but crowed space. One elderly woman shoved a menu in our hand and tried to usher us to her corner of the room, no doubt attempting to take advantage of our lack of communication skills. We artfully sidestepped her and met a man who could get us the octopus. We were initially under the impression that we could buy something from downstairs and have the experts prepare it for us. Sadly this wasn't the case. We settled for a plate of sashimi, assorted side dishes, soup and the san nakji.
I snacked on the salted mackerel, ate one side and then turned it over to search for more bits of meat. Unfortunately, there were only guts. Tor and I ate the stranger items next. The sea cucumber was good and the sea squirt was ok, but looked and tasted like tongue. A few sips of beer and a shot of soju helped it down.
Soon the squirming plate of translucent tentacles arrived coated with sesame oil. I struggled to pick one up as the suction cups of the detached arms clung to the plate in one last attempt to remain unharmed. Eventually I snagged one, dipped it in red pepper paste and let it crawl around on my tongue. After a few minutes of playing with my food I made sure to chew the raw, moving seafood completely. I had heard stories of people choking to death while swallowing san nakji it stuck to their throat and would not release. My theory is that these people were drunk and stupid.
Next it was Sami's turn to try. I had given up on peer pressure many years ago, but somehow Tor and Becky were able to convince her to try it. I looked on dumbfounded as she raised the chopsticks to her mouth. Is this really happening? All these months of avoiding seafood altogether and now she is jumping right back in with raw octopus no less?
She put it in her mouth and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Careful not to die. And chewed. And swallowed. She liked it. I guess it wasn't "fishy."
Monday, March 29, 2010
Khmer Massage
The Kazna is only a ten minute or so walk from Bar Street and, eventually, we became familiar with the route. We only had one minor mishap on the second or third day where we trudged an extra five miles to get 500 feet to the hotel. I admit to being moderately challenged when it comes to directions, but I think this is the first time that I have actually unknowingly walked to the doorstep of my destination, only to circle back completely mystified.
During a less eventful walk, we decided to stop into one of the many massage parlors for an authentic Khmer massage. It is impossible return from a walk around Siem Reap without a half dozen half page fliers touting cheap massages.
We chose the place pictured at left because it was the closest to our hotel, and since it was a bit removed from the hustle and bustle, we reasoned it received fewer patrons. Why not throw them a bone?
We were handed a menu and decided upon the $6 full body.
Full disclosure: Although I've started to come around, I have never really been into massages because I am embarrassingly ticklish, especially my feet. Also, only a few days prior to arriving in Cambodia I had finished a leg workout complete with squats, sissy squats, leg curls and lunges. My recovering leg muscles felt like they had been mauled by a bear. A little bit of research and I would have been keen to the fact that a Khmer "full body" massage is 55 minutes of the masseuse working your legs and feet like eggs and breadcrumbs into a raw meatloaf. The last 5 minutes she throws a couple of karate chops into your back.
While we were still in the waiting area, the girls brought out bowls of warm water and washed our feet. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes to keep from screaming like a girl, but still couldn't hold back a snort of a laugh accompanied by a quick, uninvited fart.
Rightfully embarrassed, we were politely guided up a set of stairs to the room where we were to receive our tickle torture. We were given a set of comfy cotton pajama pants and shirt to change into. Sami's pants had a drawstring. Mine, while big enough to fit Ron from "The Biggest Loser: Couples," did not. I improvised and tied a knot with the excess material. All I could do was cross my fingers and pray that my doodle would remain hidden during this ordeal.
The girls started out on our feet, and having relaxed after ridding myself of that pesky little gas bubble, I found that I enjoyed it. That is, until she worked her way up to inside my knee. The lightest touch to areas sore from lifting weights had the effect of a stabbing. I must have made some sort of noise as she dug in deeper because she asked:
"Does it hurt?"
"No!" I lied.
So she dug in deeper.
Hoping for relief as she moved her way northward, I was stunned when her hard forearm dropped down millimeters away from the most sensitive of areas. I could feel my femoral artery pump blood louder and louder as she continued the downward pressure. The blood was directed to the one place I prayed it wouldn't.
I turned and looked at my wife, looking serene with eyes closed. What would she say if she knew? Would she laugh? Would she be angry? Would she be as embarrassed as she was when I bumped that squeeker in the lobby?
Lukily, I was saved by Sami's masseuse who let fly a barrage of phlegmmy hacks. When she left the room, the unsexy sound of wet coughing and bubbly nose blowing brought me down.
Finally, after a couple of karate chops, we were finished. We were led downstairs and served tea barefoot. They even charged us $10 instead of $12. A few days later, my legs had recuperated and Sami came down with an horrendous cold.
During a less eventful walk, we decided to stop into one of the many massage parlors for an authentic Khmer massage. It is impossible return from a walk around Siem Reap without a half dozen half page fliers touting cheap massages.We chose the place pictured at left because it was the closest to our hotel, and since it was a bit removed from the hustle and bustle, we reasoned it received fewer patrons. Why not throw them a bone?
We were handed a menu and decided upon the $6 full body.
Full disclosure: Although I've started to come around, I have never really been into massages because I am embarrassingly ticklish, especially my feet. Also, only a few days prior to arriving in Cambodia I had finished a leg workout complete with squats, sissy squats, leg curls and lunges. My recovering leg muscles felt like they had been mauled by a bear. A little bit of research and I would have been keen to the fact that a Khmer "full body" massage is 55 minutes of the masseuse working your legs and feet like eggs and breadcrumbs into a raw meatloaf. The last 5 minutes she throws a couple of karate chops into your back.
While we were still in the waiting area, the girls brought out bowls of warm water and washed our feet. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes to keep from screaming like a girl, but still couldn't hold back a snort of a laugh accompanied by a quick, uninvited fart.
Rightfully embarrassed, we were politely guided up a set of stairs to the room where we were to receive our tickle torture. We were given a set of comfy cotton pajama pants and shirt to change into. Sami's pants had a drawstring. Mine, while big enough to fit Ron from "The Biggest Loser: Couples," did not. I improvised and tied a knot with the excess material. All I could do was cross my fingers and pray that my doodle would remain hidden during this ordeal.
The girls started out on our feet, and having relaxed after ridding myself of that pesky little gas bubble, I found that I enjoyed it. That is, until she worked her way up to inside my knee. The lightest touch to areas sore from lifting weights had the effect of a stabbing. I must have made some sort of noise as she dug in deeper because she asked:
"Does it hurt?"
"No!" I lied.
So she dug in deeper.
Hoping for relief as she moved her way northward, I was stunned when her hard forearm dropped down millimeters away from the most sensitive of areas. I could feel my femoral artery pump blood louder and louder as she continued the downward pressure. The blood was directed to the one place I prayed it wouldn't.
I turned and looked at my wife, looking serene with eyes closed. What would she say if she knew? Would she laugh? Would she be angry? Would she be as embarrassed as she was when I bumped that squeeker in the lobby?
Lukily, I was saved by Sami's masseuse who let fly a barrage of phlegmmy hacks. When she left the room, the unsexy sound of wet coughing and bubbly nose blowing brought me down.
Finally, after a couple of karate chops, we were finished. We were led downstairs and served tea barefoot. They even charged us $10 instead of $12. A few days later, my legs had recuperated and Sami came down with an horrendous cold.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Cambodia: Day 1
The Kazna Hotel has the same exquisitely bizarre feel I will forever associate with Cambodia. I was instantly smitten by the heavily polished hardwood floors and local decor of the lounge which included, among other treasures, a small taxidermic Leopard Cat forever fierce and prowling atop an old box television set.
The family that owns and operates the Kazna is warm-hearted and accommodating. In fact, if you go to their Web site, the same young man you see on their homepage became a fast friend during our stay.
The night we arrived we were jet-lagged but excitable and easily buzzed from the Angkor beer out of the mini-bar. I quickly found the hotel information guide while Sami unpacked. I learned that we could order complimentary breakfast for the next morning and did so. Ordering tomorrow's breakfast before bed became a nightly ritual. There were about five or six different options to choose from and I selected a different option each day. Sami had eggs and toast every time. For my first morning in Southeast Asia, I went with a seasoned pork sandwich with tomato and onion.
The next morning we dined upstairs in the large, stone-tiled, covered terrace overlooking Siem Reap. We chose a table next to the most out of place looking pool table I had ever seen and, in the warm, still, open air, soaked up the jungle scene of nearby shops facing dusty gravel side streets. In the distance, palm and coconut trees cut through faraway rooftops and sputtering thuk-thuks encircled paved roundabouts.
For our first foray into town, we instructed our thuk-thuk chauffeur to deliver us to Wat Thmei- a Buddhist temple and stupa memorializing victims of the Khmer Rouge. The human relics were a somber and sobering site. One of my favorite photos from this trip was one I was able take of a side view of an eternally serene Buddha statue juxtaposed by a sliver of encased human remains.
For our next stop, our driver suggested that we visit some of the temples. We had planned our temple visits for the last two days of our vacation, but because it was still early and because a three day pass is cheaper than two one day passes, we went for it.
Simply riding in the thuk-thuk and feeling the open breeze and rush of motor scooters passing was a pleasure. Gliding forward, I set our cheap camera to sport mode and tried to snap off adequately framed photos of our surroundings.
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We landed at what came to be known as "that mystery temple," until Sami somehow miraculously found it online and we were able to refer to it by its proper name: Wat Atwea.
Since Wat Atwea is a outside of the regular temple complex, we were the only tourists present. Luckily, a few locals were on hand to show us around. First, I met a couple of youngsters who seemed to view the temples as their own, private, 800 year old fort. It wasn't too hard to convince them to pose with me.
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Later, a university student didn't mind acting as an impromptu tour guide. He showed us around the adjacent active temple and explained that many local Buddhists elect to keep their cremated remains stored inside the temple.
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After we parted ways with our young guide and tipped him a buck or two, we asked our driver to take us back to the Kazna. I think that he was a little confused that we weren't going to take advantage of our temple passes, so we tried to convince him that everything was ok and that we would get more than our share of temple experiences at the end of our trip. For now we were hungry.
(FYI- cost of thuk-thuk for about 3 hours was $5).
I don't know if mutually deciding upon a restaurant gets easier the longer you are married, but for us newlyweds, it never ceases to be a point of contention. The frustration level exponentially increases as our blood-sugar level decreases. I want to choose either street food or the smallest, dirtiest place around because I feel that is the most authentic way to go. Fearing illness, Sami prefers to play it safe and choose somewhere big and clean and touristy. We eventually decided upon a Chinese restaurant and order big Tsingtaos for 75 cents apiece. The beer calms our frustration. I have a big bowl of noodles and pork for about $3. It tastes porky and garlicky and I am happy. We recognize the sound of nearby patrons speaking in Korean and it makes both of us happy.
After lunch, we ventured to Bar Street to shop in the open market and practice our bargaining skills. I began phase one of my search for durian and come up empty handed.
Later on that evening we attended a Khmer dance show and buffet that one of the big hotels puts on every day. It was fine. The food was ok and the show was exotic and entertaining, but it was very touristy. The highlight for me was a Cambodian dessert of fried bananas with black sesame seeds. So crispy and squishy and sweet and delicious. I can't believe I used to think that I knew what a banana tasted like before I visited places like Cambodia and Fiji.
After the show it was back to the Kazna to pet the stuffed Leopard Cat and order breakfast for tomorrow. I will opt for the potato and onion omelet. Sami orders eggs and toast.
Coming in Part 4: Quad adventure!
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