Taking a Sunday Walk in Suwon

We've often said that attaching an adjective like Happy or Beautiful to a town might as well be dooming the place. I'm not sure that I've made up my mind about Suwon being 100% "Happy" or "Harmonious." I do know that there was fabulous thought put into the sewage drains here, might as well make people think of happiness as the unkind Korean street smells waft up from the drains.

Anthony and I joked that maybe the people of Suwon dance here to find their happiness. Looking back now, if I were to choose a winner for the "Boss Dance Battle" I might choose the dancer in the middle, she's nearly elevated.

Often I find myself looking up to the signs and sky on these walks. I've found that Sunday afternoons always call for a little color. This is what makes me happy: finding space in the sky between the neon colors.

As Buddha's birthday is approaching, the cities are covered in colorful lanterns to wish Buddha a Happy Birthday. We stopped in front of a Buddist Temple to check out the lotus lanterns; I've been thinking about using these for our wedding decorations. I stopped for a while, and pondered the petals on the top of the temple, then we wandered on.

Later we fell upon this beauty: this bike certainly made me happy; it's the same version of the bike that I rode in Gangchon, though this one is yellow, and probably hasn't seen as many miles. I like to think that the owner of the bicycle was inside the restaurant eating dungas (deep battered pork) happily. Though the bike itself could have been for mere decoration: same as the lanterns, same as the plastic food in the display case, same as the 'Happy Suwon' grate. Korea must always be colorful on the surface, inevitably to splash come character onto the streets lined with grey buildings.

Escaping the Neon

Living in a city can have a strange effect on a person, living in a city in Asia, can have an even stranger effect. It's as if the shades are pulled down half of the time: bumping into people or being randomly poked by an umbrella naturally happens on a daily basis (as Koreans carry umbrellas no matter the weather). As much a part of the frenzy and bumping as anyone else in Mae tan dong, we decided that we needed some breathing space. Taking a bus into the country-side was the first step. Though we left Friday night, fate would not allow us outside of the Seoul Metropolitan area until Saturday morning. Friday night was spent unwinding in the Cocaine Bar, listening to The Beatles and drinking wine (Anthony and Shannon preferred White Russians). Saturday morning it was off. The country-side was lovely to watch as the bus blurred passed cherry blossoms, rivers, orchards, and the train.

We first arrived in Chuncheon, a relatively small town compared to Suwon. Here we found latterns celebrating Buddha's upcoming birthday, and a lot of "hellos" (in both English and Hangul). We hopped a bus, after what seemed like forever, to ride towards the jade mine; first we debated over whether to take the 65 or the 74, but when the 65 came barreling down the road, we decided we'd better get to the jade mine as long as it was day-light. The ride was longer than we had anticipated, the bus was mostly filled with older woman that slowly got off from stop to stop. Finally we were so far out in the country that the idea of a neon light was preposterous. We eventually pulled up to a restaurant in the making, circled, then the driver parked on a dirt road. We figured we weren't going anywhere fast when he opened the window, and lit a cigarette. (This was surely escaping the city hustle). Ten minutes must have passed. He finished his smoke, stood up and changed the bus numbers; low and behold we had been riding both the 65 and the 74 the whole time.

The Korea Lonley Planet guide-book warns that the jade mine can be difficult to get to, this is something of an understatement. When we arrived the only thing in sight was a store and a bath-house. The sales lady told Anthony (in Korean) that there was no jade mine. We were now not only in the middle of nowhere, but more perplexed then while sitting on the bus. Determined, we finally found the mine, not what we expected as it was in the basement under the bath-house. We did fall upon a row of lovely jade-beds. Shannon laughingly called it a pod. The jade could be heated, and certainly felt relaxing after hours of travel. (I'm still not sure whether or not we were meant to pay for them). After going to the saunas and sweating out the negative energy from the work-week we each took little naps, and then headed down the road. We thought we'd find the little town that we'd passed earlier, but it didn't easily happen. Luckily, a very charming and rather stylish woman picked us up on the country-road. She drove us into town, and we had dak galbi (Chuncheon is famous for dak galbi-- a spicy chicken dish-- S. was in heaven). We stayed the night in Chuncheon, after hotel-hunting A. finally called the hotel in the Lonley Planet, and just as it said, the owner came and picked us up.

On Sunday we took a trip into Gangchon, Anthony's smile reflects the happiness that small mountain towns can bring. We were quite the adventure-seekers as we rented ATVs (hey when you're in the country, why not really BE in the country-- we certainly embraced the way of life). Riding through the mountains was really picture-esqe and theraputic. I never thought I'd really love riding a four-wheeler so much (certainly beats the Seoul subway!)

After ATVs we rented bicycles, eventually found the bike trail, and rode to the furtherest point that we could. Then we hiked the rest of the way up to the waterfalls-- the mist was both visually and physically stunning. This weekend, we three left with the same expression in all of our minds: I Love Gangchon. (Someone should really market a tee-shirt stand in this place!)

Hwaseong in the Spring

Each season, we usually visit the fortress in Suwon. It's refreshing to see the changes that happen every few months. This past weekend I took a trip with a new friend, Shannon, to view the blossoms and the re-birth of everything surrounding. We happened upon a traditional show; there was dancing, acrobatics, and comedic rope walking; we couldn't understand the lot of what the comedian was saying, but it was still visually entertaining.

Watching the ribbon dancers, I pondered the dizzyness that must come from such spins. The show somehow brought upon memories of childhood: standing in the middle of a room, twirling in circles, blood rushing to my head, falling to the carpet. The performers, however, remained standing, not a single mistake.

Balance seemed to be the theme of the entire show. How a person can trust themselves to hop across a rope, laughing the whole line, is beyond my mind. This man was another illustration that Koreans do what they do well, no questions beyond that.

Past the festival, the blossoms colored the space between temples and sky. April is a time for celebration as the grey of Korea has at once been bombarded with pink color.

Making Dirt

I was asked to teach an extra class for a spring program that the school is putting on. The class happened to be a cooking class, but without a stove I was limited. I decided to go for the most tactile and messy food I could think of; I thought it would be fun to send the kids home with lots of sugar in their little bodies because that's when we have the most fun in childhood: with cookies and chocolate. I taught them how to make something that I've never even made before: Dirt and Worms Dessert.

"Gemma" helped with the translations. First came smashing the cookies. Some of the girls were confused by such a thing, though others relished in the crumbling.

They were all quite proud of their creations, which slowly became murkier and more chocolate-y then I had expected.


The last five minutes of the class they ran around like crazy trying to release the sugar rush, no doubt. I had them all pose to occupy the extra time.

Making Dirt II

Spring Marches

The March air is more bearable at night than February. Strange, how in a little week, nighttime can feel like the daytime did, but days ago. Seeking some quiet, and a little bit of imagery change I took a nice walk tonight. The animals in the crane machines all begged to come along. Sadly, coinless, I had to leave them behind.

The birds were locked up in their birdhouse too. March is coming in like a lion as each creature calls for spring.

Tonight even the concrete prepares for the mating season.

Walking along, I found, no matter the season, the advertisements are what provide the most colour on the ground.

I almost stopped in for a beer at the local Hof house, but decided to drink wine at home instead. Cheers to the spring-time! Cheers to change!

On Sunday

Sundays really are the perfect leisure day, with nowhere to be, and time to lie-in, and the time to lazily make way to a leisure activity of choice, time just doesn't matter on this day of the week. Instead of staying in bed and reading, we made our way to Seoul with Kristin and Todd. This time it was to check out the Korean War Musuem. On the outside, plenty of international flags adorned this place in the sky.

The entrance had a sculpture of a blade and a bullet. The blade had intricate detail carved into it, and the bullet was simple smooth stone.

Not a fan of war, but wanting to understand more of Korea's history, I wandered the halls. The sand and light room was of peacefulness; the strange glowing orbs created a womb-like effect. I wanted to bounce off of the light, and forget about viewing the weapons and violence of the past.

My interest was more with the artistry used by the miltary: the bold and colorful mural of the calling drums, the intricate uniforms, the miltary banners with traditional cultural symbols of multi-hued dragons and fierce orange tigers.

Yes, leisure time is good on Sundays, and this Sunday was spent leisurely learning about how it all works that today Korea is the strong country that it is because of its horrifying past. I am happy to be here now, I am lucky to see the things I'm seeing. More and more I feel a strange equlibrium with both being at bay and at ill-ease with my identity as an American.

Paces in Cambodia

On feet we moved through so many places: city streets, alleys, temple doorways. How many worlds there are in this country, how many stories, how many tragedies, but how much hope.

From the Port to the Town

Tuk tuk? If the miles are long (from the port to the city) we best answer, "yes."

Had the hats been taken off, the tuk tuk top down, well then we would have become the heat that surrounded us. The motorbike brought a breeze, the open air cooled our burns, we once again watched the country as we rolled on by.

Shantys, the river, the land. This is a world so far from where my mind had ever gone.

What the Country Said

Waking at six in the morn to grey sky and colourful sounds made the rest of the day even more unreal. The Tonle Sap River begged come, come ride my waters, come see Cambodia.

A celebration of the Lunar New Year was the morning bell for Wednesday. Children under dragon costume, wiggled down the street in Phenon Phen. Drum beat, their feet, rang it in.

We listened to the river. We got on board, watched the sun rise, marveled sleepily. This was our second greeting from the country.

We watched from the boat, survivors without legs, missing one arm rowing boats, sun on their accepting faces; children in barefeet, in rags, happily waving from farm land; children cleaning up their country-side.

We watched as the Cambodian people paddled, fished, lived their lives. In these few hours my own life became so drastically different.