Good Vibrations

As much as I love visiting temples, I simply don't think I can take another day of mountain climbing, so Husband and I decide to enjoy a little private time this afternoon. I will visit with friends, and he will trek the north side of Mudeung-san, straight through the mountain from where we were the day before yesterday.

Wonhyo-sa is a temple, one of several, founded by Wonhyo, the fellow who left such an impression on me at Songwangg-sa last week. He's the horrified guy in the painting who has discovered the delicious water he drank from a golden vessel is actually dirty water from a skull. Wonhyo is considered the fountainhead of Korean Buddhism.

Before he heads off, Rob joins me in a cup of coffee shared with Head Teacher Scott at Angel In Us coffee shop near the LEC. We have a good laugh as we tell Scott that we have fallen victim to the same affliction he mentioned having at the start of our visit. In working with L2 learners, or, in the common vernacular, English language learners, he has lost some facility with his mother tongue. In four short weeks, Rob and I are developing the same condition. We speak more slowly, drop articles, such as "a" and "the," and break words down, syllable by syllable, in ordinary conversation.

We tell Scott that his gig at Chonnam University is a teacher's paradise. Students are respectful and hard-working. The pay is good, the climate terrific, and the general atmosphere conducive to a healthy and happy lifestyle. He agrees wholeheartedly, and wonders whether he'll ever be able to transition to the North American classroom. Rob and I are beginning to wonder the same of ourselves!

While we chat, I'm gobsmacked to turn around and see our American friend, Andrea, walk through the door! I had thought her long gone. It turns out she's still in Gwangju with her daughter. We had earlier met one of her girls, but this lass is here to stay. She's an English teacher, and, just like her mother, she's filled with joie du vivre. We chat for a time while Rob and Scott go off to take care of some business, and the daughter has her interview.

Andrea shares an article her daughter has written about teaching, and the "voice" is so familiar to me, it's as if I'd written myself. This young woman, like her mother, is a natural teacher. She loves the work and the students. I'd hire her in a heartbeat. As Rob would say, I'd even let her babysit my dogs. But it's no wonder this kid is so together - her mother, Andrea, is an inspiration. I very much would like to keep in touch.

When Scott leaves to teach, and Rob heads off to Wonhyo-sa, I meet with dear little Geumran/Natalie and her TA/Assistant Sueyun. Geumran, you may recall, took English language classes in Winnipeg last winter. Why they recruit these kids to come when it's 50 below is beyond me! It's a huge shock to the system, and combined with a heavy workload, strange food, a tight time frame of just a few months, and being far from home, only the very committed can survive. Geumran is a bright and determined gal, so she rose quickly to the top. She tells me this has something to do with the Korean student's ingrained capacity for dealing with intense competition. Sueyun agrees.

Sueyun is a crackerjack, sharp as a tack, slip of a thing who schools in Seoul for much of the year. She's home visiting family, and of course, working. She says all work and no play may make Jack a dull boy, but it's status quo for Korean youth. We talk about the propensity for this kind of thinking in nations that rebuild from war. And when you think about, in just sixty years, Korea has come pretty far. They didn't do it by sipping juleps and lazing around in the summer heat.

Geumran gives me the best news possible on this working vacation: She tells me that the Summer Exploration students rated me their Number One Teacher! This makes me unspeakably happy, not because it's some sort of popularity contest, but because I work very hard to make learning interesting, fun, and by extension, easy for students. I truly believe this is the best way in which to encourage the development of life-long learning habits. I credit my life-long learner parents, my Grade 10 History teacher Joe Cymbalisty, Grade 11 English teacher Cal Sommerville, and most of all, my Grade 8 English teacher Dorothy Beach, for showing me the path to good teaching through excellent role modeling.

I walk my friends back to their office next door, and on the way out of the building I bump into TAs Sang Seop and Gun. We hug and laugh, and promise to stay in touch. You know, a friend once told me that the key to emotional health is to recognize those who give you energy, and those who take it away, and to avoid the latter. Today, every person with whom I've had contact has been an energizer. It's a bountiful, and fulfilling Friday!

By 2:30, I'm famished as I haven't eaten since 9, and then I only had a little fruit and yogurt. I stop by Iris toast to take out a bite. The owner now recognizes our predilections and asks, "Hem and chiss?" I tell her I'd love a ham and cheese omelette. She points to another spot on the menu and nods. Thinking it must be a version of the same, I nod back. I plan to stand and wait, but she ushers me to a table and, like yesterday, brings the fan near and switches it to max. These poor Koreans worry so when they see big, sweaty, North Americans. No matter how scorching the day, they just don't break a sweat.

Imagine my surprise when my bulgogi burger reaches the table, and it's eat-in. It turns out this little lady is taking time to sit with me and chat. She points to the empty chair next to me and says something in Korean. Taking an educated guess, I explain that nampyeon is visiting a temple at Mudeong-san. She is shocked, and indicates, like yesterday, that she hopes he's wearing a hat. I tell her lunch is "mushiseumnida" (delicious), we bow to each other, and I head out the door to seek the haven of our air-conditioned apartment.

Husband stumbles in the door around 8. He's spent much of the day attempting to walk eight kilometres straight up a mountain, because walking gains more merit. Eventually, better judgment took over, and he bussed the remaining TWO kilometres, a fifteen minute bus ride. On the ride home he's a minor celebrity, apparently due to his ability to grow an incredible quantity of facial hair! One middle-aged fellow, fully decked in long sleeved, long legged hiking gear, proclaims, "I love you!" It's his version of, "Hello." The only thing more impressive than Husband's beard, or ability to walk six kilometres up a mountain in 30 plus heat, is that he even managed to get a perfect picture of the black butterfly I was unable to capture on film the other day. Well, maybe not that exact butterfly, but one just like it!

We have a late dinner in Hu Moon at a funky Japanese restaurant, one of those with the food that rolls by on a belt on an oval shaped track. That method of presentation always seems so Blade Runnerish to me. We each have a "set," or, combo. Rob has a roll, and I have the real deal sushi/sashimi. We both are served delicate miso soup, and a wondrous noodle, seaweed soup.

The Japanese owner is most pleased with our obvious rapturous response to the meal. When we pay our bill, I notice he hasn't charged for the dessert, a cheery strawberry ice cream with sprinkles and toasted rice flakes, served with two dime sized spoons. He says it's his pleasure to give us this gift. I tell him the pleasure was all ours; it's the best sushi I've had since eating in seventeen years, comparable only to that found right in Japan.

A perfect evening ends curled up with Husband and Aravind.

Concepts of Time and Distance

Yesterday we explored spirituality and the essence of Buddhism which includes taking the middle path, meaning, finding balance in all things, including the pursuit of enlightenment. Therefore, it's fitting that today we balance our studies of all things Korean with a journey to the other end of the spectrum: We are going shopping.

Well, actually, the aim is not necessarily to buy, rather, to take a look around a traditional Korean market. Program Assistant Ryan says there are several, but the best old school place is a ten minute walk down the street from our apartment. We decide to look up Malbau Market on a map before heading out, and we realize Ryan's guesstimate was based on Korean time and fitness. In other words, he could make it there in ten minutes, but Rob and I would take all day.

Before grabbing a bus, we visit our lady friend at Iris Toast. This time, instead of ham and cheese with egg, I have a chili burger and Rob has a bulgogi burger. Both are very sweet, and Rob's has a thin slice of spicy meat that is somewhat reminiscent of bulgogi. They're very good, and we thank our friend with a Winnipeg pin. She excitedly tells us, "bedgy, bedgy," and indicates that badge is going right on her shirt. These tiny gifts have a big impact on people who are extremely interested in Canadian culture, and in learning English. In Korean culture, where designer names are much sought after, these pins are mini markers of status because they say, "I have a friend from North America."

Malbau Market is what one would see if one were to open up the brain of someone with a severe case of ADHD. The sights, sounds, smells, and tastes, swirl about producing an intoxicating blend that is LIFE writ large. Through miles of cramped city blocks, vendors display their wares on tables, racks, trucks, and on the ground. Dior knockoffs hang next to smoked pork hocks and caged chickens and ducks.

As unsettling as it may be to see animals lined up to meet their maker, I reflect on a tour I had of a chicken and egg factory in Canada. It was sterile, alright; the birds were kept in metal cages so small, they couldn't turn around. They ate food peppered with artificial filler to plump their breasts up to Dolly Parton standards. And they never spent one second running around outside, pecking gravel and scratching through grain. It might not be pretty, but at least these birds have a leg up on their spotless, sequested counterparts back home.

Rob needs sandals, and I spot of pair of men's Hang Tens, stacked amidst little girls sandals, womens runners, and mens loafers. Surprisingly, they're a perfect fit, and they cost just 15,000 won or about 12 bucks. The owner comes over to join his wife who is explaining to us that their children are studying English in high school. It's really remarkable how much one can convey with just a couple of base words. In any event, the man feels compelled to cut the price of the sandals by one-third. Try as we may, we cannot convince him otherwise. We give them both pins, and they think this a superior exchange.

We walk through miles of unrefrigerated fresh fish and chicken, and there's not a fly in sight. We just can't understand any of it. We're fanatical about the handling of food in North America. Is the difference that this is so fresh and the turnover so high? Further, there's no smell of insecticide, and all the food is laying out in the open, in the heat. How can this be? We stop at a bake stand and pick up a small loaf of some sort. The vendor throws in a, fresh from the pot, Korean version of a jambuster doughnut filled with bean paste. It's to die for! The loaf is light, not especially sweet, and topped with fresh walnuts and some kind of crumble. Unreal! We continue to marvel at how meat and potato chips are sweet, but baking is not.

We exit the market through a very narrow lane lined with elderly women on either side. There's just enough room to walk through, single file. Low hanging tarps cover some areas, and we must duck to get by. The women are peeling, dicing, slicing, and organizing vegetables and fruit. Everyone is fully dressed, and many sit in the direct sunlight on this 30 degree, very humid day.

The market is a community within a community. People call out to one another, hang off truck boxes to chat with neighbours sitting on wooden packing crates, and visit while pushing broken-down old carts from one area to the next. The mobile vendors call out to potential customers. One old chap has decided to use technology to make his job just a bit easier; he has hooked up a mini-speaker from which his distorted message blares, non-stop.

As we step out of the market and onto the sidewalk, where the de facto market continues for miles, a man approaches. He tells us he's a pharmacist, and he has visited Vancouver. When he stumbles over his broken English, he giggles and covers his mouth in that shy, very Korean, way. We do the Korean thing, and ask if we can take his picture. He's happy to oblige, and we agree to email him a copy.

When we quit Malbau, we deke over to see the Gwangju National Museum. A little boy and his mom approach us in the parking lot, and the mom prompts him to speak with us. This smaller version of the pharmacist from Malbau giggles his way through an introduction. We reward him with a Winnipeg pin. Ten minutes later we look back to see them sitting on a bench, where mom is clipping the pin to the boy's shirt. Little Dong Ah flashes a toothy grin and gives us a big wave.

The museum is very impressive. While artifacts in our museums are often just a couple of hundred years old, here we see remains from thousands of years ago that have been unearthed in this very area. We even see a sarira reliquary and the remains of a monk. "Sarira" means body, and when a monk is cremated, what is left is put into a reliquary and then placed inside a stupa, or, big rock monument. The remains on display here include a couple of small bits of bone and a shiny green crystal.

The volunteer who has very kindly given us a personal tour, complete with detailed information about each exhibit is Mr. Kim, a former Education Department Supervisor. When he learns that we're leaving here to visit the Folk Museum, he gives us instructions. "It's across that highway. A fifteen minute walk." Once again, Korean perception in regards to physical capability and time does not exactly fit our North American reality.

Rob and I cross the highway, alright, but then we end up wandering around Ounam Reservoir for a while. It's a lovely mistake as the area is quite beautiful. It's astonishing how Koreans can take the slightest bit of land, even that at the edge of an expressway, and maximize its potential. Every square inch is terraced, cultivated, and productive. We see produce such as corn, watermelons, and peppers dotting the landscape. For all we know, there may be vandalism and theft, but there's sure no sign of it. This makeshift farmland appears to be very well tended.

We eventually end up near the Folk Museum, but decide instead to look through the Gwangju National Art Museum. Out front, there is a massive statue of a famous Korean poet who lived in the 1500s. It strikes me that I, like most people, have very limited knowledge of great talents outside my own culture.

The museum is beautifully designed and stocked with a wide variety of works. There's even an extensive children's section. Rob and I marvel over the contemporary pieces which include one with several computers showing time lapse film of a lake. The computers spin around while ethereal music plays. I'm sure it all symbolizes something very deep and important, but to the artistically deficient it looks like what happens when one has too much soju to drink.

In the end, we skip the Folk Museum; we have seen several examples of folk culture, and can always visit again at another time. For now, we need to eat and drink. We have been walking for six hours! We do stop to take photos at the koi pond on the Folk Museum grounds. Like the koi at the Golden Temple in southern Honshu, in Japan, these speckled, bright beings swim toward us en masse. It's a spectacular sight as they weave back and forth and the sunlight shimmers through the rippling water.

Our diner of choice is a small shop with extensive vegetarian and meat menus. Rob has yoochobap, vinegar rice stuffed in fried bean curd, and I devour mandookuk, or dumpling soup. The restaurant staff are watching a positively dreadful North American science fiction movie. We can't figure the thing out, and we speak the language. All we can discern is that it's something to do with humans being forced to serve a machine, ala The Matrix, people fly about in plastic pink car sized flamingos, and celebrated thespain Colm Meany has made one helluva career choice!

We debate whether to cab or bus it home, and then Rob looks down the street and thinks he spots Sang Dae, the neighbourhood next to Hu Moon. We hoof it another mile, or so, and sure enough, there we are, a stones through from our apartment! By the time we get home, we're so fagged out that we spend the evening reading, writing, and regenerating. But once again, that bloody Aravinda Adiga keeps me up until all hours fretting about his anti-hero Balram Halwai.

The Spirit of the Mountain

It's just 10 a.m., but it's already smokin' hot, the kind of day when you actually hope for cloud cover, and maybe even rain. The heat is of no concern to the 30-something woman in a hat with a full mask and running gear working hard on the stairmaster in the park we pass on the way to Mudeung-san. She's still running up her artificial hill long after we've turned the corner and left Hanbit Dental Centre and the Western Macaroni Theme Park in the dust.

Our first stop once we reach the foot of the mighty mountain is a climbing gear shop. We're only looking for a place to lay out our map, but we end up picking up a few headscarves with maps of the area on them. I pick up an auspicious flaming orange one for Rob, and he immediately puts it on, to the delight of the ladies in the store. (Like he didn't stick out enough already!) While in this giant, German owned store, I'm appalled to see the legendary American Aboriginal leader Crazy Horse shilling neckscarves. To use the only known image of this incredible man, one of the world's most important human rights activists and environmentalists to sell merchandise is beyond the pale.

I will say this: Though Mudeong-san is a major attraction for tourists and locals alike, the prices in the shops are on par with those anywhere else in the city. Even the aluminum hiking canes are a bargain at 5,000 won. Thankfully, this year, I won't be needing one. We stop for kimbap and Americano before beginning our ascent.

We're heading for Jeongsim-sa, but part-way there, we happen upon the smaller Munbinjung-sa. This temple was founded in the 1960s by Madame Jang mun-bin, whose Buddhist name was Borism, meaning, "enlightened mind." We see a chindokae dog and a big old chow, who fluffs himself up as big as can be.

A monk comes along and invites us in for a truly heavenly nutty green tea. I must confess that I could never find words appropriate to fully define the magnificence of this drink. The young man tell us that when it is hot outside, we must drink hot liquids, for to do otherwise is unhealthy. Oddly enough, I was just explaining this theory to Rob earlier in today. (Once again, mom was right.)

The monk, who never offers his name, makes tea with the same calm and precision employed by the monk at Songwangg-sa. I finally get an inkling as to the meaning of the Buddhist monk's advice regarding what to do when the going gets tough. We must simply, "Cook rice, and drink tea." Seeing the contemplative way in which these monks go about their business, the message becomes much clearer.

This monk has been studying for ten years and he says he's very tired. The aim in life is to find the Dharma body, to become enlightened, and to know the truth. He says the goal is quite similar for Hindus, Christians, and Muslims. In his mind, we're all the same. He tells us that one can study religion for years, but one cannot gain enlightenment through concept; one must practice.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but salvation or redemption don't come easily. We must work. And this man, who has spent the last decade focused solely on this task, says his energy is low because his "mind is too busy with things that don't matter." This statement knocks me flat! This holy man is admitting that he's in the same boat as the rest of us, and he devotes his life to this work, presumably without distraction. What does this mean for the rest of us?

Oddly enough, I take tremendous comfort in his statement. In Buddhism, no one is more equal than another. We all have to think, and work, to be all that we can be. But in a way, that's the most liberating thought of all. There's no magic bullet. A certain number of prayers, donations to the church, or a last minute apology for all our wrongdoings in life won't cut it for a Buddhist. It's about being a good person day after day after day. There's no deus ex machina to pull us out of the fire. We all have to work, just like this monk has to work. We have to make a conscious effort to do no harm as we walk the middle path, trying to achieve balance in all aspects of our lives.

As he stares at me through his rimless glasses, I feel as if this monk is peering directly into my soul. He sees the ghosts within. He knows that I understand emotional clutter and preoccupation with "things that don't matter." The fan beside me on the floor whirs, the wind chimes sway and ring, and the birds and cicadas chirp. This moment has more meaning and truth than thousands before it spent kneeling and bowing in ornate gilt and marble filled buildings.

After tea, we walk around the grounds and stop off at the lotus pond. The flowers are the size of my head, and the leaves so large, I can't put my arms around them. We walk on and I notice a gigantic rock from which a giant face appears about to come to life. Rob tells me that mountains are venerated in places like Korea because they're a place where dead ancestors, those who provided life for their families, go to spend eternity. Also, the mountain provides water that spills down to nourish crops, providing food for all. Thus, the mountain spirits are seen as benevolent protectors. That is why so many make the trek up the mountain to pray in her temples.

As we continue to climb, we pass little girls with rolled up pants, splashing about in the stream catching minnows in cups. We see fully dressed senior citizens power-walking past us in their hiking gear, stopping only to scrub their shoes in the stream. An old gent stops us to ask where we're from and to give us a bit of information about the place. He says "Mu" means nothing and "deong" means great, so together "Mudeong" means nothing greater. He tells us this is the only 1000 metre high mountain in the world right next to a city of a million-and-a-half people.

By the time we reach Jeongsim-sa, I feel we can touch the sun. The last stretch, in particular, has been at a good 45 degree angle. Two years ago, I couldn't walk to the coffee shop 500 yards from our house. Today, I'm climbing a mountain! We find a man doing tai chi outside the temple; we later see him saying prayers before leaving in his SUV.

The squirrels, birds, and dragonflies seem to pose for photos. Perhaps they are rewarding my patience in trying to capture their beauty. I take many temple pictures for Rob to use in his studies, but take care not to include any other visitors or monks. As we're leaving the temple, we spot one black butterfly and one white one playing together. Rob says this is only fitting, because together they are gray, and that is the "the middle way." I err on the side of caution and choose to head back down the mountain, while Rob continues onward and upward to Yaksa-sa. The funny thing is, he doesn't get to record the visit for the camera card is full! He sees this as a sign that he must return one day.

As I walk down the mountain, an older man and his wife come up behind me. He's beautifully singing a folk song at the top of his lungs, and his wife tries to make small talk. We mime our way through a little conversation, conversing just long enough for me to miss the building where I am to meet up with Rob when he leaves Yaksa-sa. I don't realize this until I reach the bottom of the mountain.

While I'm descending, I'm delighted to be provided with a little cloud cover and a gentle breeze. I thank God for my good fortune. Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot something black and about the size of a tea cup saucer floating through the air. Over at a nearby fountain, I see the most delicate, velvety creature. It's a butterfly like none I've ever seen. It has a very wide wing span that narrows dramatically toward the bottom. It looks like an elegant, paper thin, angel. The top half of the wings have narrow black and ivory stripes, and the tips on the bottom are dotted red and yellow.

The butterfly soars, and then circles the rocks at the base of the fountain, before dipping down again for a drink. Ever so softly, she floats around in the breeze, stopping long enough for me to take a good long look. To drink up the scene. To really let the image soak into my mind. To take root. I have no camera, but even if I did, it could never do this creature justice.

A little girl in a yellow sundress runs up. The butterfly doesn't fear. She knows the little girl is a gentle soul. Little Miss Sunshine calls out, "nabi, nabi!" Her mother tells me that "nah-pee" is, simply, Korean for butterfly. A rose by any other name, as Shakespeare would say. This makes me think of my old radio friend, Mr. Paul Palace. He was blind, and had some major health issues, but he had all the optimism one could hope for, pun intended. Paul was the King of Puns. He called butterflies, flutterbies, because he thought it more fitting. I give thanks before continuing my journey down the mountain.

At the base of Mudeong-san, I buy some fragrant acacia gum to make change, and then call Rob from a pay phone. We hook up at a coffee shop, and make plans for the evening. I order a green tea latte, and for some reason, I'm really surprised when it's loaded with liquid sugar. We check our email on the cafe's computer to make sure that we don't have to meet anyone, and then head for the shopping area and artist's street downtown.

When we step off the bus, someone calls out to us. It's eagle-eyed Dr. Shin! Rob tells him that he must have clones because we see him all over the city! We also bump into two young lads who are GIC volunteers. Rob's temple driver, Kim, immediately volunteers to burn our photos to disk, while the other, Scott, acts as our tour guide. This is just another example of how our Koreans friends have gone far and beyond the call of duty to make our stay pleasant!

We eat a spicy hotdog from a vendor, and then drop into a nearby shop for ddeukboki (big fat rice noodles) and tempura. Again, helpful Korean youngsters jump in to offer their assistance in translating for us. We are grateful because the server certainly doesn't need any more stress. This poor little Korean woman, who is about a day-and-a-half from giving birth, has been racing around on heels in this scorching heat, serving a packed restaurant.

We walk around the neighbourhood for a while, stumbling upon some very traditional Korean women's clothing stores, and picking up a couple of treats for home. We turn in by 10, but that damned Aravind Adiga keeps me up past midnight with his White Tiger. Ah, the curse of a good book!

Nourishment for the Body and Mind

We're standing in the drizzle waiting for a bus downtown when three young lads call out to us. They ask us where we're from, and when we say, "Canada," one boy, in particular, is thrilled. His uncle lives in Canada. Of course each boy must take a picture of us with his cell phone before we go our separate ways.

The purpose for our outing is to go the the Gwangju main bus terminal's XP Books store. This place, with a reasonably sized English book section, is very stylish and upscale, not at all your typical downtown bus depot. Rob picks up an extremely dense, difficult to decipher, academic text called The New Horizon to Ancient Korean History. As we say, reading it will be, "heavy sledding." I choose the 2008 Man Booker Prize winner, The White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga. It's about social and economic injustice and globalization as depicted through one man's story.

I've been wanting to read this book ever since the author received his controversial award. The literati, though admitting Adiga is a huge talent, thought it unseemly that a first time novelist should win such a prestigeous award. This literary prize for fiction is given each year for the best original full-length novel written in the English language by a citizen of The Commonwealth of Nations, Ireland, or Zimbabwe. Past winners have included Michael Ondaatje, Arundhati Roy, and Margaret Atwood. As promised, The White Tiger is a page turner; I have to force myself to put it down.

At noon, Diane hosts a goodbye lunch for SharaLee and we're invited along with Ryan, Karl, and Krishad, a young exchange student from the Bahamas, via Delaware State University. The pork rib barbeque includes toasted corn, and a couple of dozen other dishes. It's the ultimate Korean send-off, and SharaLee is touched.

Once again, it's interesting to me how very little Koreans drink with their meals. Often, it's no more than a quick glass of water at the end. Today, we splurge and the table of seven shares three small bottles of pop. In North America, each person has a 20 - 32 ounce glass of their own, and often has refills! After we eat, Rob and I give SharaLee a little travel pack of provisions for the journey. It's filled with Korean goodies, like shortbread mushroom shaped cookies with chocolate, veggie chips, and fragrant gum.

This lunchtime get-together is the first time I've had much of a chance to talk with Krishad, and I feel for the kid. He's finding being black to be a bit of a challenge here. People stare at him, and sometimes act strange, and understandly, this hurts his feelings. I explain that people do the same to us, because we look different than them, but that's cold comfort to a young man who is alone, and far, far from home. I think of how I might feel at that age, and on my own. I feel very lucky to be travelling with my sensible old shoe, my lovable old black lab, my pati-dev, Rob. Every day someone comments on how well-suited we are to one another, and I must agree. When I say to Diane, yes, we're both slightly off, so we fit, she replies, "Even a straw shoe has a mate!"

We get some very good news in the afternoon. We learn that we can stay in our apartment for another week, and at no charge! This saves us seven nights of hotel bills, which allows us to comfortably cover the thank you dinners we've been hosting. Once again, the Lord provides! It's an embarassment of riches.

In the evening, Sue invites us to dinner with SharaLee. We have an outrageouly delicious and nutritious cold soup. Rob's "mae mil meung myeon" has buckwheat noodles and my "chik neung myeon" has arrowroot noodles. These soups are sweet and vinegary, and they contain slices of pear. Our table gets a free mountain of grilled pork for ordering the soups.

Slim, gorgeous Sue receives her soup and uses scissors to slice the noodles and mix the ingredients at warp speed. She inhales everything, and then orders more noodles! We are incredulous as she downs those at the same speed. Let's get this straight: Sue is young, beautiful, smart, speaks a couple of languages fluently, has a rich, rolling, laugh that erupts through her body, can sing like a bird, eat like a horse, and stay slender. She's nice too. It just isn't fair.

In the evening, Rob and I walk to a neighbourhood outside our gate, and in the opposite direction of Hu Moon. We find an entirely different crowd of young, less hip, Koreans, and average families. We pick up a couple of bags of fruit, and when Rob hands his soju to the middle-aged cashier, she laughs aloud. This must be quite the scene for this traditional Korean shopkeeper, because most Westerners hate soju. Rob has grown rather fond of it, and this is a guy who has a drink, maybe, twice a year.

We read ourselves to sleep, to dream of tomorrow's trek up Mudeung-san.

So much to eat, so little time!

Intense sunlight and high humidity make simply walking from A to B an effort today.

We meet Varahanambi, to be known henceforth as Dr. S., for the sake of brevity, at 1 PM. Though it's just a ten minute walk, by the time we reach him, we are both hot messes.

He leads us to a fusion restaurant in Hu Moon that, thankfully, is nicely air-conditioned. The moment we enter, we are approached by Yeong Ju Ahn, the young man who introduced Rob at the GIC on Saturday. He's dining with two female family members, and when Rob stops by their table with a couple of Winnipeg pins, they're tickled pink.

Dr. S. is his usual thoroughly entertaining self. I order the bacon carbonnara, while Dr. S. and Rob get barbequed chicken and fries. But when the food arrives, it turns out they're getting chicken breast in a mushroom sauce with rice. Dr. S. cheerily says, "Well, we missed it," and then he tucks in with gusto. The food is all top-notch. The bacon in my carbonnara is smoky and sweet, and there's a thick blanket of several types of cheese. These meals would easily cost $20 a plate at home, but here, it's less than $5 Canadian, and remember, tipping is not allowed.

Dr. S. holds forth on a range of subjects. On marriage: "My father wants me to marry," but apparently he is no longer a worthy candidate. "I'm 33. Over the hill. If you're under 30, you're on the way up the hill. 31, 32, you're on top of the hill. By the time you hit 33, you're down the other side!" He's already built a home in India, but he's quick to correct himself and say that it's not really a home, but a house.

He tells us his father is a physically fit man who does yoga every day. Dr. S. is in pretty fine shape himself, yet his father chides him for his slight tummy, to which Dr. S. responds, "Thank you, Korea!" He questions, "Don't you like your food?" When we say, "Yes, very much," he says he's been worried because we're not eating fast enough.

Dr. S. is overjoyed to hear Rob speak of India, and to tell stories using a thick Indian accent complete with the requisite head bobbing. They talk of motorcycles; Dr. S. has an Enfield, a bike often owned by police and army officers, who are kind of considered the rogue bikers of India. Dr. S. says he just loves the sound his bike makes, "tick tick tick tick." He says it's such an imposing sound that when people hear it, they think, "Who's that coming?" When Rob jokes about his 750 Honda Shadow struggling to haul around our fat bottoms, Dr. S. exclaims, "Are you kidding me, Sir?" He says back in India a 125cc bike is, "king of the road!" Rob kids that with a 250, an Indian could "be a maharajah!"

All of Dr. S.'s commentary is delivered with descriptive hand gestures, dancing eyes, and a ready smile. I could listen to him talk for hours, but he has to get back to work. Rob reaches for the bill. His hand is right overtop of it, when suddenly, Dr. S., as Rob says, moves "like a cobra" to grab it. This sleight of hand happens so fast, I doubt my own eyes. But there's no way around it. Now, the idea was that we were going to treat Dr. S. since he was so kind as to buy me lunch the other day when Rob and I failed to connect. Buying a meal seems such a natural, and mutually agreeable method of showing someone thanks, but on the walk home we try to think of another way to go about it. Dr. S. shares his gifts of humour, intellect and wealth quite freely. Regarding the latter, he lives on just half his salary, as he dutifully sends the other half home to India.

At 5:30 we meet with Sue for our Korean class, but we're the only ones there. The other students have either left town, or are preparing to. While walking to class, Sue and Rob are talking about the ridiculous lengths people go to in the name of beauty. Just then, Sue looks down and sees a big fat two inch lime green caterpillar with a giant red horn. He's wedging himself between two pieces of hot concrete. I take a paper from my notebook, carefully scoop him up, and take him to the cool shade of a nearby tree. In class, Rob impresses Sue with his superlative language acquisition skills. He's managed, in a couple of weeks, to sound out and construct Korean words. While I'm far behind in my learning, I do manage to figure out how to spell his name using the Hanguel script.

In the evening, we take Ryan and Karl for their thank you dinner. They choose a chicken place where we have ultra tender chicken fingers, home-made potato chips and salad. The salad, of course, comes drenched in syrup! So much for trying to be health conscious. What makes this all the more amusing is that today is the first of three days, each three weeks apart, set aside each summer on which Koreans celebrate good health by eating chicken. That it is breaded and deep-fried is of no-nevermind.

Ryan shows us pictures of his beautiful dogs, and we finally find out about this popular breed we've been seeing in Korea. This type of dog is called a chindokae, and it looks like a white German Shepard, but a few pounds lighter. Ryan's dog's English names are Solidarity and Love. His family will care for them when he leaves next month for an academic year of study in Missouri. He's hoping to come up to Canada to visit us for Christmas, and we're hoping to take him ice skating and tobogganing. Shy, quiet Karl opens up as the meal progresses, telling us that he studied in Sydney, Australia for a year. He fondly recalls Bondi Beach, and most especially seeing a surfing Santa Claus at Christmas.

We're home by 9:30 to do some laundry, read, and plan for the week ahead.

Solving the World's Problems

Sundays have somehow become catch-up days, when we do housework, read, and blog. It's funny how this pattern has continued, even here in Korea. The only outing happens when Rob pops over to Iris Toast to pick us up some lunch. He serves our ham, egg, and cheese with watermelon and coffee.

Much hilarity ensues when Rob accidentally sets off our alarm, and has to re-enter the apartment. He does so without warning, and some poor, defenseless, caucasian fellow is visually assaulted as he gets a flash of me, sans makeup, walking around in nothing but a long, lime green, tank-top. Yes, I'm sure it was a grim as it sounds!

My neck and back irritation is approaching Barton Fink proportions. This condition is named after an incident in which we were watching the Coen Brothers movie of the same name, and my migraine became so severe that it impaired my vision and I couldn't turn my head. I had to just lie still for hours. Though I love the Coen Brothers, I can barely remember the storyline, however, the movie is forever emblazoned in my mind's eye. In response to today's situation, I lie still for a couple of hours, take some muscle relaxants, and do my level best to just "be."

At 6, we meet up with Santiago and Maria, whom we first met on the trip to the 5-18 Memorial Cemetary. They lean toward vegetarian, so we settle on the Korean Traditional Porridge Restaurant. Good old sensible Rob chooses his favourite, the red bean soup, Santiago and Maria take my go-to, the vegetable cheese, and I try the pumpkin. I'm pleased with my choice as it's rich and satisfying. It includes rice balls, and little black bits, which I fear may be pupae. Upon closer examination, I recognize them as some kind of nut or bean. I hope.

We have a lively discussion about politics, social concerns, and ethics. The stunningly beautiful , and remarkably well-informed Maria tells us that her country, Bangladesh, is gradually pulling itself out of poverty, but it's a slow climb. Santiago says it's a shame that East Timor is a developing nation facing huge hurdles, especially since it has valuable natural resources such as oil and marble. He says Australia is keen to establish an oil industry there, but reluctant to hire local workers. It's the age old dilemma of superpowers trying to help poor countries by swooping in, raping the countryside, putting little into the local economy, and then acting like they're doing the host nation a favour by even being there.

Both Maria and Santiago are in Korea working for The May 18 Memorial Foundation Culture and Solidarity Team. They are politically and culturally aware, and very determined to, not just help at home, but work to make the world at large a better place. They are passionate about their efforts and are as sincere as the day is long. Santiago, in particular, seems to have lived through more than he'd care to remember, having been in an out of jail for his involvement in protests since he was just nine years old.

We move on to a nearby coffee shop and over a banana shake, cappuccino, and an Americano we we hash over pressing global issues, and smaller local ones, such as the dearth of true vegetarian restaurants in town. We try to come up with workable solutions to poverty in East Timor. We discuss the possibility of establishing an eco-tourism industry. I can't help but reflect on an article I read this very day about fifteen environmentally sensitive sites around the world that are now in peril due to eco-tourism.

We settle on the importance of education in instigating any real change. Staring through his plaintive eyes that seem to see forever, Santiago tell us that East Timor has recently established ties with Cuba to learn how to emulate that country's very successful education system. Whatever opinions one might have about the communist system, Cuba is one of the few places in the world where even hookers have university degrees.

After we go our separate ways, Rob and I walk for an hour to try to shake off some of the calories we've taken in this evening. Then we head home for "Diget" digestive cookies and watermelon, as we lay on the floor and watch old Get Smart episodes on youtube. One episode centres on bombs being planted by espionage agents during the construction of a high rise. A commenter on the webpage points out that the World Trade Centre was under construction at the time this episode was being made and the commenter questions whether this is synchronicity.

One this is for certain: Trying to solve all the world's problems is exhausting business!

Gora Guru

This is Rob's big day. He's presenting at the Gwangju International Centre. The GIC is yet another initiative of that little man with very grand ideas, Dr. Shin. The centre was established several years ago as a place where interested citizens and foreign nationals can gather to discuss a range of issues. Today, Rob's topic is Buddhism: A Westerner's Perspective.

When we arrive at the GIC building, we're greeted by roaring engines and burning tires out front. The streets have been blocked off and there's a drag racing demonstration going on. Acrid smoke fills the air, and we give up on trying to talk because we can't hear one another. We laugh at the timing of this event. It will take a Buddhist's calm to outperform this competition.

We're treated to a lunch that is delivered in a tri-layered metal box. Like clowns packed into mini cars at the circus, a dozen metal and plastic serving dishes and a few boxes are pulled out and set on the table. There are two varieties of soup, two types of sushi, noodles, and ddeukbokki, my favourite big fat rice noodles. Diane is the hostest with the mostest, and this is just one more example of how she pays careful attention to her guests.

Quiet little TA Hye Seon is here today. The most retiring of the TAs is turning out to be one of the most likely to branch out, explore, and take social chances. TA Hao has shown up for the address, even though he's leaving tomorrow for Disney World, and won't be back home until the new year. He wants to hear Rob, and he wants to have a chance to say goodbye to both of us. A student from our shared class, Ju Jyun, has shown up for the same reason, but also to say goodbye to Hao. We've formed some strong ties over a three week program, and this does Dr. Shin proud, for it is exactly what he had in mind when Summer Exploration was but a gleam in his eye.

After lunch Diane and I run down the street to pick up coffee. We have a nice chat about the program and Rob's and my experience in Korea. I'm very honest with her, telling her that we've had a remarkable time, with the only downside being the Ugly Americans. Of course I'm considerably more diplomatic in my explanation, while staying true to myself in answering her questions. Diane is a very astute observer, and she hits the nail on the head when she says it's about maturity, and having a strong enough sense of self to be able to immerse oneself in another culture without feeling threatened.

Just before he speaks, Rob is greeted by an older gent who just happens to be studying International Law at Chonnam. No retirement for this razor sharp fellow. In fact, he recently took a tour of Western Canada, including Vancouver, Banff, and Calgary, and he loved it so much, he wants to return. This man is representative of his generation's attitude toward education; for them, life-long learner is more than just a catchphrase.

At 3 PM, Yeong Ju introduces Rob, and he, like his competition, is off to the races. (Thankfully, on the fourth floor, the cars simply create a distant din.) Rob's provides an overview of the history of Buddhism, and his message comes down to this: Buddhism is many things in many places, but he personally sees the underlying theme as "ahimsa," or, non-violence. He says two facets of the faith are driving forces in his life: upaya and the idea of personal responsiblity. Upaya simply means modifying the message to suit the audience, so, having good communication. Personal responsiblity means that one must work for salvation; it isn't just handed over.

The audience is fully engaged, and the forty minute presentation is followed by 50 minutes of discussion. Afterwards, many people come up for a private audience, and want to have their photo taken with the silver-haired, silver-tongued gora guru. (Note: Gora is the Hindi word for "white.") In his talk, and the subsequent question period, Rob has been able to draw parallels between disparate religions, and validate all interrogators. He has somehow managed to talk religion to a group of very well informed, highly opinionated, people from different cultures, with different faith systems, and everyone feels enriched for the experience. He is walking the Buddhist walk, and this crowd gets it, and appreciates it. Above all, Dr. Shin is very pleased, telling Rob it was the most informative and comprehensive dissertation he's ever heard on the subject.

For dinner, we repair to The First Alleyway, the Canadian restaurant a stones throw from the GIC. Rob and I share a brain, so we both end up ordering the falafel on pita, and we're ever so happy for our choice. It's amazing, on par, and in some cases better, than that I've had at Middle Eastern establishments. It's served with a strong garlic-lemon aeoli, that I would dearly love to duplicate at home. The side dish onion rings are succulent and sweet, and the batter is light and airy. In the Korean way, we share dishes around the table, and others agree with our assessment.

Though we are stuffed, Diane and her husband, Jon, treat us to dessert at a cafe down the street. We share a giant waffle with ice cream and chocolate sauce, and a green tea ice cream, flake dessert which smothers a red bean, rice crisp interior. The curious blend of salty bean and sweet ice cream in the second dish reminds me of the Filipino treat, halo halo. (Note: Halo halo is pronounced hal-o, hal-o.)

We're home before 10, but it feels as if we've lived two or three days in one. Perhaps you recall the 1980s pop song, "I think I'm turning Japanese (I really think so!)" Well, given our schedules these days, I think we could simply insert "Korean" into the title, and we'd be on the mark. I really think so!