Hello Seoul!

It's 8:30 and I'm standing next to the front desk at the Chung Jin Motel in Seoul typing furiously. There's free Internet service at this computer, and since we just arrived here a few hours ago, I've yet to track down the local PC lounge. I must give thanks to my Grade 9 typing teacher who insisted on all those drills; I've been a fast and accurate typist ever since!

Our motel is but a few short steps from the American embassy, outside which dozens of police patrols are stationed, backed by armoured personnel carriers. Just this weekend, the U.S. and South Korea began joint military exercises off the coast in an effort to stand up to North Korea's Kim Jong Il. This motel is either the safest or the most dangerous place to be right now, but given the police presence, I think the former.

This morning we were back in our Gwangju apartment packing up. Last year, I won a beautiful set of Swiss Air suitcases at the wedding social for our dear friends, Kimmie and Kurtis. Little did I think that I'd put this luggage to such good use, and so soon! Who knows? Maybe that win was what got the ball rolling!

Diane, Ryan and Karl give us a rousing sendoff at the train station. We are treated to New York hotdogs, mine with cheese, and Rob's with a sweet, crunchy, garlic sauce. Of course, thanks to a golf ball sized bladder, I have to check out the bathroom before departing, and it's a revelation. Being used to the dingy facilities in most North American bus and train stations, I'm pleasantly surprised to find a well-lit, elegant, facility, much like those found in The Bay and Eaton's department stores in Canada in the 1960s.

As we pull out of the station at 10:20 a.m., we look out to see our trio of hosts waving enthusiastically. Rob takes a picture of me, eyes brimming, but I suspect it's to both deflect and reflect his own feelings. The strains of "Let it Be," as interpreted by traditional Korean instrumentalists, waft through the train. It's a fitting message. I've always had trouble with goodbyes, but this is more of a "So long." Life is good, so roll with it. Funny enough, today Kyle is wearing his "Let it Rot" shirt, an image made famous in Eric Idle's satire of The Beatles, called The Rugles.

Though this bullet train clips along at 300 kilometres per hour, we are treated to a colourful show. Elderly women pick their way through railside rice patties. Every square inch of space is packed with vegetabe and fruit gardens. We also see a cement factory and mines. As mentioned previously, this still shocks. In North America, we don't like to see where the sausage is made. At every stop, the conductor bows as he enters and exits our car.

Again, like a three year old, I have to visit the washroom. This time, I bump into twenty year old Esther in the walkway between the cars. Her Korean name is Dasom, which means "love." Esther and her little brother moved to Pensacola, Florida seven years ago. She attends university in Gainesville, where she's studying to be a pharmacist. This is her second time back to Korea. She says things have changed immeasurably, and she feels like part of her childhood is now gone forever. Things just don't feel the same.

Esther is on her way to Seoul where she had eye surgery only five days ago. In fact, the first thing she does is apologize for her eyes. She hastens to say that she needed to fix her crossed eyes for health, and not beauty, reasons. Ah... I well remember the pre-emptive apologies I used to make, fearing someone would notice something amiss. I assumed others saw the same flaws that were all too noticeable when I looked in the mirror each day.

I explain to Esther that I've had four such surgeries, one for health, and the other three to correct the damage done by the first. I assure her that much has changed in the 42 years since my first surgery, so she'll be fine. What fascinates me in this exchange is how very much my attitude toward this matter has changed.

I used to feel like a freak for seeing double, and having eyes that don't work in concert with one another, but now, I think it's pretty special. It sets me apart. It's almost magical. Sometimes I feel like Mad Eye Moody in the Harry Potter stories. Am I looking at you, or aren't I? Oddly enough, little Harry Potter himself is chasing the quidditch snitch when we click on the TV in the hotel room.

The cab ride to get to this place was not especially noteworthy, that is, until we got our first view of the spectacular main street out our door and down the lane. There's a big boulevard in the middle, on which is set two enormous statues. At the end of the street is a stunning, massive, building with the traditional pagoda style roof. And in the background, the piece de resistance, the ultimate mural: a row of stunning, rugged mountains.

We cross the back lane for a late lunch of mandoo (dumplings) and rice. In Gwangju, the dumplings are six for 1000 won. Here, they're eight for 3000 won. As Rob would say, "We not in Kansas anymore." A 30 year old gent at the next table assures us this place is famous for having the best mandoo in Seoul. Hyun Bae, who goes by the English name David, lived in Los Angeles for a year where he attended the University of Southern California and majored in English Literature. He's now teaching middle school students across town.

Hyun Bae walks us to a number of key tourist spots in the area, and it's now that we fully appreciate our good fortune. For 40,000 won per night (or, about 32 dollars) Diane has found us a clean, safe, centrally located motel. This is the same place one of the Ugly Americans found to be "beneath" her "comfort level." I don't know what she expected for this price, but it's pretty hard to complain.

A late day walk brings a bit of a surprise as we cross paths on the street with the California couple and the mother-in-law we had met on our climb up Mudeong-san in Gwangju. What are the chances? A little farther on, we stop at another Beautiful second hand store, that happens to look like a chic Japanese chalet. For 3500 won I find a fun little gauzy greyish pink shirt dress with black little stars. We also stop in at Hank's book store, where we get to witness an Ugly American beat-down of a shy little lady clerk. He wants another copy of a poster. He wants a cardboard container for it. He wants a better price. And so on. Minimum wage here is a bit more than 3000 won. That bully makes that much money in a couple of minutes. He really ought to be ashamed of himself for making that woman work so hard for her pay. I wonder if people who behave like this are aware, or care, what others think of their antics. (That, of course, is a rhetorical question.)

It's been a very full day, so we retreat to our room by 6:30 for chips, beer, and R and R. We can't wait to start exploring this beautiful city tomorrow. As I stand by the front desk computer, a gaggle of ten year olds very loudly enters the building. Their "guide" can barely keep them in check. I can only hope they're not on the fourth floor! As I wrap up an hour and a half of typing, the twenty-something clerk takes pity, and surprises me with a cup of iced coffee. Yes, it's pretty hard to complain!