Sang Dae, Sunday

It's a sleepy kind of Sunday. We putter around the apartment for a bit and then decide to finally avail ourselves of one of the many toast shops in the area.

Traditionally, Korean meals have been interchangeable, but in today's hustle and bustle world, Koreans have adopted the North American attitude toward "the most important meal of the day." They slog back instant coffee and pre-fabricated, hyper-processed cereal, or rush off to the omnipresent Dunkin' Donuts for a 3,000 won Americano and a donut.

Each day, I've walked by the toast booths and wondered what makes them such a draw. Is there an art to browning white bread? Today we'll find out. Or not. An hour into our search we cave in, and stop at the aforementioned Dunkin' Donuts where patrons serve themselves using trays and one time use tongs; they're washed immediately afterward. The day we'd see a self-serve, honour system, donut place in North America! Rob chooses an orange mango chewisty (twisty) and I, a watermelon jelly jam buster. They both have surprisingly realistic flavours and are light, as donuts go.

After the donuts, we resume our quest, but once again fall short. Coming to the conclusion that toast shops aren't open on Sunday, and that it's now one o'clock, we're ravenous. We just happen to be in the vicinity of our favourite barbeque spot in Sang Dae. It's the place where the women tittered over my childish hair accessory - a big blue flower barrette.

Lunch is once again top-notch. As we're walking out the door, who should walk in but sweet young Eric, our American friend. He's hoping to finally partake of the meal he was denied when we found the place closed yesterday. We sit with him and chat about a wide variety of subjects, including the local flora and fauna. As a botanist, Eric is the font of all knowledge regarding the splendiferous coniferous and deciduous displays at Chonnam University.

Chonnam has sycamores, previously mentioned Japanese and Korean pine, magnolias, with grand white flowers with pink centres, and tulip trees, just to name a few. The tulip tree is unrelated to the flower. It's also unrelated to poplars, yet is sometimes known as the tulip poplar or yellow poplar. Some have delicate greenish yellow flowers with an orange flame in the centre. The leaves look like Canadian maple leaves with the top cut off in an upside down V shape. We've also spotted ginkgo trees, from whence comes the ginkgo biloba medicine. With no living relatives, these ancient trees form their own division, or class. Today, Eric even knows the type of leaves we've been using to wrap our barbeque fixings: these minty numbers are sesame leaves.

We've been in Gwangju almost three weeks, and two things strike me: We've learned a tremendous amount in a relatively short period of time, and, things that once seemed shocking or strange, no longer do. Girls flying by sidesaddle or driving motorcycles in mini skirts and high wedge sandals no long prompt "sklitch" head turns, ala Don Martin cartoons in Mad Magazine. Further, people with full surgical masks walking down the street, and elderly people slowly pedaling bicycles or pushing gigantic vendor carts through rush hour traffic don't even merit a second glance.

Sweet potato pizza, pizza with roast beef or squid, coffee vendors cocking eyebrows at the thought of adding milk to Americanos (you must want a latte) and the constant strains of European classical music in the oddest of places, now seem the norm. Heck, even the 7,000 won 500 ml jar of peanut butter don't jolt, though Crunky (crunchy) chocolate bars continue to amuse. I still also get a charge out of students calling me, "sir." (Maybe Rob was right about the moustache!)

The evening is spent trying to decipher Korean computer prompts when downloading pictures from the camera to the USB key. At one point I exclaim, "Eureka," but my enthusiam is rapidly quelled when the images disappear into the ether. Thankfully they remain on my camera. When one captures hundreds of images a day, the weight of possibly losing three weeks of work is disconcerting, to say the least.

By the time I give it up, my nampyeon (husband) is fast asleep. As a good buin (wife) I quietly slip in beside him, and drift off.

(Note: For the longest time we thought husband was dumpyeon, as in dumb peon. Hopefully this doesn't say something about our relationship!)