Eastern Medicine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

El Nido (Part One)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DMZ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Propaganda Village with the world's second largest flag

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

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

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

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

Blue building is run by ROK, gray is KPA

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inside Dorasan Station

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

Where will Baby Boyd be born? Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room where I will likely give birth

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

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

Kantipur, Ansan, South Korea

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

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

Uzbeki Restaurant

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

House of Sharing

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

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

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

Replica of the inside of a "comfort house"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ar-Cee

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

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

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

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

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

"Water here," she instructed.

"I don't understand," I said.

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

"Uh, ok."

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

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

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

Puerto Princesa Subterranean River National Park

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 A passing boat inside

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


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


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

Inside view of the cave entrance, Puerto Princesa Subterranean River

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

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

Monitor lizards roamed near the entrance of the subterranean river

Estrella Falls

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

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

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

Ben and I set off to antagonize the monkeys

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

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

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

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

Picking at the lechon.

Hacking away

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

Filipino dessert

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

Fishing

Got one!

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

This is the point I should have let go

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

Palawan Day One (Part Two)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hypnobirthing Classes, Part III

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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