On Football Fandom and Kyle

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I dunno dude. Our defense is suspect."

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

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

11:37 AM me: fudge you

  what kind of alumnus says soup like that?

  you should be ashamed of yourself

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

  sorry

  it would do very little for me

 me: what does that have to do with anything?

  we aren't losing that game

11:39 AM Kyle: dude

  i dont know

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

  38-24

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

  I'm still not that over it

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

 Kyle: good

  i still think we will lose

  we have no defense

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

11:44 AM just my gut feeling

 me: you're wrong about us having no defense

 Kyle: how can you possibly say that?

11:45 AM me: bcuz I follow the team

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

  i can't let that go

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

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

  lose

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

  enough barley soup

11:50 AM you are creating bad mojo

 Kyle: sorry bud

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

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

  you need your head examined

 Kyle: dude, its a fudge-icing tease man

11:52 AM me: life is a journey kyle

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

 me: seek help. for your sake and mine

  put money on lsu. that way you win either way

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

11:53 AM $500? $1000?

 Kyle: no

  zero

  dollars

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

11:54 AM Kyle: jesus

  ...

 me: find the good Kyle

 Kyle: dude

 me: find the good

 Kyle: stop that soup

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

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

 me: think of it as building blocks

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

  we need to be expecting a win every game we play

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

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

 Kyle: dude

  no more

  im out

11:58 AM me: get cocky!

  we've earned this

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

 me: be confident then

  never predict a loss again! promise me that

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

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

  not just in football

  for in general

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

 me: life is a journey not a destination

  don't you listen to aerosmith?

 Kyle: no, i listen to grunge

  that came after

  aerosmith

 me: this convo isn't over

  gotta bounce for a few. stop being a butterfly

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

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

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

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

"Has he ever bedded a woman?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Driving Would Be Nice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is she like, hours old?"

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

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

Bali Cycle Tour

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

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

Apparently not poisonous.

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

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

At that age, I would have run away.

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

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

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

Rice farmland in a village in Bali.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cocoa for chocolate I believe.

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

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

Bali Traditional Tour

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

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

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

Putting on the sarong.

Inside the family temple

Sami examines one offering made from rice cake.

This is easier than plucking, but probably not traditional.

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

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

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

Gunung Kawi

Rice terraces at Gunung Kawi

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

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

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

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

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

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

Going in for a drink of poop!

Even Sami tried it!

The sludge at the bottom

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

Pura Tirta Empul

Pura Tirta Empul

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

Chungcheongbuk-do Part Two

Click Here for Part One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were also some ancient tombs inside the compound.

This was just too interesting not to photograph.

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

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

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