So, that was an interesting 65 minutes...

Working as a teacher in Korea, I've experienced some fairly crazy things.  Sock racing, not withstanding, I am going with "staff meetings" as the most ridiculous.

If you are a teacher back home, you know the drill: snack, snark, and sharks...wait, now, I was just going with alliteration.  Try again: snacks, snark, and then getting down to the proverbial brass tacks, although I quite prefer push pins over tacks, but that isn't important.  I actually found some of my staff development days enjoyable, but that was usually when I sat with Nancy, and we both recognized that, in situations like that, there will always be too many cooks in the kitchen.

I digress, so, today, there is a staff meeting with some muckity-mucks from the uppity-ups of Busan Metropolitan Office of Education. Usually, I am graciously dismiss, and I can go into the office and nap or claim adult responsibility and do work But, lesbie honest, who does that?

However, today is different.  James, my co-teacher, says, "Maybe, you'll have to stay for the meeting?" Blerk, mmmmkay.  "Do I hafta understand it?"  Evidently, not.  I just have to be there.

If you take out the snacks, snark and sharks of American teacher's meetings, add Korean, a seven page agenda AND be sitting directly port-side of the principal, you have my life. Right now. At this very minute.

Now, I can imagine my mother's face right now, "Kathryn Marie! How can you be writing while you're in a meeting?  At least look like you're paying attention."

Oh, crap, I missed a page turn while my Brain-Mom was berating me.  And, the pop sound a Snapple bottle makes just happened.  From my orange juice. Resounding through the room. I catch the eye of the new guy who smiles at my noisy juice debauchery.  Shoot, I missed another page turn.  These sneaky Korean, flipping pages like it's their job. Like they're stealthy wild cats sent to...flip...pages...quietly?  What? Doesn't matter. I can't even pretend to keep up. Blast it all!

Now, one of the Muckity-Mucks talks  She seems like a lovely woman.  She makes excellent eye contact, but listening to her is like hearing a song.  She has one of the most fluctuating speech patterns I have ever hear. And I watched Gilmore Girls.  She just did the action for an alligator catch in Ultimate -OR- the "Teenage Shark" motion, if you're privvy to the Shark Song.

I think if I had a super power (other than water control), I would like to dabble in voice throwing.  If I could throw my voice to the other side of the room right now, I would probably whistle or play the harmonica and confuse the crap out of the people here.  Miss Kim, if you're reading this, I didn't ever throw my voice.  Not even once.  Mostly, because my only super powers are my humor and wit like a rusty trap.

Ahhhhhh! I make eye contact with the other Muckity-Muck...and nodded! I might have just agreed to sell my soul or bear a child and name Him Buddy Christ.  Although, both of these scenarios seem unlikely. I do not think I would be a good mother to a Messiah.  I have trouble watering my plant.  I probably just agreed to use only the squatty potty for the rest of time. Forever and ever. Amen.

Side note: knuckle/elbow cracking is frowned upon.

Segue. No one is doodling. This seems rather weird. Maybe, doodling isn't a thing here.  I mean, I have never really been much of a doodler myself (mostly, because everything I drew looked like a Georgia O'Keefe painting. Foreshadowing?  Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?). But, let me tell you, during staff meetings in America, I got my doodle on. Abandoning Georgia, I specialized in geometric shapes and color dimensions. Wow, so not the point.  All I am trying to say is everyone is doing a damn good job of pretending to pay attention, or, even more disturbing, actually paying attention.

Oh, crap. I hear my name.  Now, James is talking.  My head swivels, following the back and forth of the speakers.  Every one laughs.  Oh, man.  There is a difference between being completely clueless and knowing someone is talking about  you and still being clueless.  It is times like this, when I try to conjure up Spaceman Spiff and escape to unexplored planets in my super awesome red flying saucer with a bubble canopy.

End of meeting. What. Just. Happened.

So, this has just been a weird, weird 168 hours.

There were lotsa firsts last week, friends.  I will not bore you with all of them, but I have a few I would certainly love to highlight.

All of last week was a lounging around beach vacation week.  Except on Monday, which was the only day I had planned on going to the beach.  I was supposed to meet up with some friends from out of town, and do some home-grown, good ocean swimming.  Mostly, because I wanted my hair to behave, and it does that after a dip in the salty waters.  But, alas, it was raining.  So, the most decisive crew of which I have ever been a part (said with extreme sarcasm), met up at a coffee shop to figure out what to do. We decided on a Wii Bahng.  Let me tell you what this is, if you're a bit fuzzy. True confession, I didn't know my own self. The only Bahng I have been to here, is a Norebahng (singing room), everything else is this magical unexplained mystery.  And, finally, I got to be a part of it.

We walked into this large, dark room.  On every conceivable wall, there was a HUGE television screen, with these dark pleather couches reclined in front of them.  On every single screen, there were high school boys playing Fifa soccer.  We, the big scary way-gooks that we were, promptly pointed to MarioKart, and they took us to our own screen.  In the way far back, sequestered from all other people. It was probably a good thing they did that, because we were way-gooks, we were loud and generally socially inappropriate for Korea (see any and all times I have been yelled at on the subway).  And, Good Lord, were we loud. Examples:  "Holy Shit, why'd I just get squid inked? Who does that.?"
"Now, now is the time I need that speedy bullet to get me the hell out of 12th place!"
And my most favorite, "Not the hole again! Why, why do I always fall off right at this damn spot."

Our noise level was egregious.  They put us in the back, knowing full well, they would hear us in the front, but resigned to the fact that there was nothing they could do about it.

Tuesday night.  What a trip.  I went to meet some friends in KSU, a way-gook hang out area.  Hell, that's not true.  It's an everyone hang out area, where humanity reeks of gin and bad decisions.  That isn't always the case.  There is also a kebob man, to whom I have several times over professed my undying love and affection if only I could have a lamb kebob.

ANYWAY, so I was in KSU, and my friend suggested darts.  And, I was bad.  That wasn't the weird part.  If anyone has ever played darts with me (with the exception of the one time when I played Beer Darts), knows that I am pretty crappy at them. At this particular dart board, we had to keep our own score.  This was a little weird, although not unheard of.  The ACTUAL weird part was that as I was adding up the scores and tallies, I started to be bad at math.  Now, I have never really enjoyed math, but I was always good at it, or at least competent (unless the problem involved fences and rivers banks and finding the most productive use for the space that could be contained.  My answer was always "tree fort," which generally was not correct).  But, seriously, I would look at the numbers and they would refuse to add in my head.  It was a super strange out of body experience.  I wasn't even drunk!  That is the craziest part.  Frankly, sorry Mom, if you're reading this.  But, I was NOT drunk and still bad at math.  And, I feel like a failed you a little bit.

Moving on.

Wednesday was a day off for everyone, not just me.  It was the South Korean Independence Day. I played some pick up on the beach, and then just waited around for open mic night.  We walked into the club around 11:00 only to hear Jen playing one last song.  I was a bit bummed, because (although she doesn't know this), she is my favorite.  I love, love, love hearing her music.  She is incredible.  Then, a couple of other acts went on, and then a woman whom I had never seen before got up to the keyboard.

Her fingers hit the keys and incredible jazz riffs leaked out of the speakers, slowly at first and then exploded into bright moments of happiness, longing, peace, and unadulterated joy.  I closed my eyes, and just felt the music course through me.  Compartmentalized everything going on in my brain into its neat little box so that I could wholly feel the music. After the first two songs, she said, "Hey, anyone a drummer?  A guitarist? Get on up here.  Blues in C Minor."  After a little cajoling from friends and company, a bassist, drummer and guitarist strode up to the stage.  These people have never before played together. But, they just started wailing.  Each instrument-its own independent part, but together, they made something completely and intangibly phenomenal.  The onlookers  could do nothing but just take in the notes.  There was such a sense of general consciousness that no one has ever experienced this time, this moment but us, and that is something worth having.

Thursday and Friday passed rather uneventfully.  We had our weekly Ladies night, at which my friend Kendall asked me, "Hey, whatcha doin on Saturday?" I had planned to go to the beach and just be lazy, so I obviously said, "Not a whole lot. What's up?"  Then she asked if I wanted to be in a movie.
"Ummmm, yes. Question mark?"
To which she responded, "Awesome, meet me at 7 am in Namcheon."
"Oh, yiiiikes, I am busy that day...aghhh, okay, I will be there." I am a sucker for the stage, errrrrr, film.

So, I wake my butt up at 6 am on a Saturday (not like I had been working all week, but it was a Saturday). And, found my way to Namcheon.  Now, I didn't know exactly where I was going in Namcheon, and I was already 3 minutes late, so I ran amuck like a little ferret trying to figure out where I was supposed to be.  Kendall was on the phone not knowing where I was, and so therefore could not give me proper directions.  Neither of us had had coffee, and we were both grumpy pandas.  Anyway, I figured out where I was supposed to be, and I load up into a van. For three hours. What?  I didn't know that there was a three hour drive involved. Meh, well, I was there, and it was happening, and there really wasn't anything I would do about it. Kendall, Jil and I just girl-talked the whole way and watched youtube videos to help us get into character: missionaries trying to start up a school for the needy children in the Choseon Dynasty. Anyway, so we arrive at the place where they were filming, and we had an hour or so to explore this beautiful village.  Then, we got called to come back to the set. And, Harley, a man so confident in his swagger that he would try to charm a tree, (he would also fail to charm said tree, and anything with Lady Parts, and probably man parts, too.  Brother had no game. That's all all trying to say) handed each of us a dress.

Let me explain something about clothing here.  Korean sizing and Western sizing are two very different animals.  One, is like a mewing little kitten, and the other is like Sarabi from The Lion King. I take one look at the dress, and think to myself, "There is no way in hell that shit's gonna fly." Outloud, I gave a skeptical look, and said, "Maybe, too small?"  But, of course it was all they had.  So, we traipsed to a hut and got changed.  And, it did not fly. My dress zipped about 1/4 of the way up my back, and the shoulders were so tight, I looked like an East German swimmer. The back of my bra was on display in front of God and everyone.

Then, we got our hair and make up done.  And, for the first time in my life, in my ever, I had the longest hair. That got real weird. They floofed it up and pinned it back.  I looked like a real live Martha Washington. Then, we had make up. I needed to look "Put together, but not professional."  I was a missionary of course, chaste and what not. We trekked back to the set, all dolled up in out 19th century garb.  The set people handed us a tray with food on it.

First rule of thumb in life, Know. Thy. Self. Katie + White Dress + any other variable= Disaster.  I told the director, I didn't want to eat because I would spill on my dress. But, he insisted.  True to form, I spilled hoisin sauce on myself, and swiftly stumbled to the water fountain.  I did this with the same amount of grace as a drunken duck-billed platypus, what with the absurdly long-not fully zipped-too tight dress that made me look a little bit like an olde fashioned lady of the evening.  Not very missionary like.

Finally, they called Kendall, Jil and me to the set.  And, we rehearsed our lines, and tried to keep our acts together.  All of our dresses gaped in the back.  We were duct taped into them. And our lines didn't really make sense.  So, after several takes, and about 12 close ups, we finished our taping.

At this point, I would like to say that is was hot. Like, hella hot. And we were filming in this little room with nothing but the light of day. It was stagnant heat. It was like breathing in solidified Jell-o.*  Captain Harley, wooer of white women, told us we were done filming and we could return to our base.  Within seconds, Kendall had changed out of her dress, and I was well on my way.  And Harley said, "Wait, wait. They might need another shot of you."  We all gave him the teacher stare and waited in our half garbed state to see if we needed to stay in costume.  We didn't.

After a long hot day in the sun, in time period sensitive garb, we drove three hours back to Busan, and I have never felt more content to just pull a Pooh Bear and Christopher Robin and do, "Oh, nothing."












*Any and all rights to this metaphor belong to my friend Kathy, who was featured in a post last month.

So, my mother is kifing my blog for this one

I have tried to write an account of how beautiful and amazing my week with my family has been.  However, I am prideful and verbose and far too in love with my own language that the words that tumbled from me became too convoluted and complex.  But, my mother, with her ability to balance logic and emotion, reflected on the week.  It is far better than anything I could write about it. So, from this point forward, you will read the wonderful words of my wonderful mother.

Love,
Katie

I desire to describe the sights and sounds of a world thousands of miles away, yet  is now called home by my baby girl.  I will try to gather the moments to savor them, but fear the memories too beautiful to capture.

My scrapbook of memories begins the first day with visiting Katie’s class, and the joy as her students laughed at our jumbled greetings in Korean, described their school days, shared places we should visit and taught us how to play Kawi Bawi bo (rock, paper, scissors on steriods).  Katie is so blessed in her school with teachers/staff that have helped and befriended her.  Our family was so grateful for the many acts of kindness and friendship shown to us by her fellow teachers. 

 

Nature abounded as we hiked one of Katie’s favorite mountain paths, complete with a rock outcropping perfect for pondering life as we drank in the beauty of the crashing waves below.  Or as we hiked the path of Oedo Botanical garden, I was sure only God can paint in such vivid and gorgeous colors and patterns.  Or as we took in four different beaches, each with its own atmosphere and beauty.  Or as my son in law Brian scooped up a fish that escaped its tank at Jagalchi Fish Market to the applause of the locals.  Scenes we thought only came about by special lighting and photography for shows like National Geographic or Planet Earth, but we reveled in these times and places.

We were honored to learn more about this proud country as we wandered through palaces, temples, museums and burial grounds.  Lotus lanterns symbolizing the hopes and prayers of so many, bigger than life carved statues guarding temple gates, stern faces of the palace guards as they march a ceremony that spans hundreds of years, treasured pagodas and our sheepishness as we realize the pagodas we had been searching were statues and not buildings!

Now, a moment about the food!  Sarah and Brian were ready to gallop through new food experiences, while I with a more cloistered food palette braced myself for eating a lot of rice if need be.  We turned the week into a much enjoyed  international adventure of seafood, Japanese noodles, Korean barbecue (twice!), Indian curry, Vietnamese spring rolls and Pho, Korean fish dinner, seven course temple meal, and a beautiful fait accompli with our last meal being at the only Tibetian restaurant in South Korea. 

How can this tale be complete without describing the people?   The cab driver eager to show us the beauty of his island and picture of his son, the restaurant ladies who kept bringing us food while waiting for take-out (although they were enjoying and laughing at my chopstick mishaps), the teen at the beach eager to speak in English, the hal ahbuji (grandpa or elder) on the subway so excited to visit with us (and called me handsome), the holiness of the monk chanting prayer  at Yonggung-sa, the pleasure and smile of the airport security guard as I said kam seumnida (thank you) for the last time.

Finally, we met so many of Katie’s friends, both Westerner and Korean.  We laughed about being 10,000 miles from home and still can’t walk down the street without Katie running into friends!  We were so blessed with the many gestures of kindness and friendship, and the times of sharing meals, drinks, desserts, games, songs, walks, touring, and visiting.  Suffice it to say I loved meeting you all. 

So, a funny thing happened on the way to the festival

I know, I know, I know! It has been too long, my friends. After three weeks of desk warming, I actually had a job I needed to do. Right? The audacity!

Anyway, so July 14, I headed to the annual Boryeong Mud Festival. Evidently, this is like college 'spring break' where a bunch of young people come to party and run around and be reckless.

So, on Saturday morning 8:00 am, my friend Sandra and I arrived at the proper subway stop to meet our bus. As we're checking in, my Bus Mama (the ringleader of the motley crew of Boryeong Bus Number 1), offered me a beer.

Now, I am from Wisconsin. Drinking early is not usually a big deal, but it was 8 am. We only drink that early on public holidays like St. Patrick's day, the Fourth of July, and Packer Sundays. So, I declined. But Sandra, a rocking woman from limerick Ireland, said, 'Well, might as well put it in my bag.' Always thinking ahead, that one. Maybe someday I will be as cool as her.  Likely as not, though.

Anyway, so we plus Tegan, whom we picked up on the way to forage for breakfast, wandered onto our bus into the seats my friends Daisy Maize and Jessica saved for us.

Five people, two seats per row, meant one unlucky Tegan. At 8:34, Cooper climbed on the bus with his back pack and cooler and shouted Sprrrrrrrrring Breeeaaaaaaaaak! Sadly, the only seat left was next to Tegan, right behind me. Now, I love this guy, I really do, but those of you who have seen me at 8 am know to proceed with caution, because I might kick you in the shins until they bleed.

So, being trapped in a very small bus with an ever more inebriated Cooper, got a little tiring. Sandra and I hung out and enjoyed the scenic four hour drive through the Korean mountains.

As we arrived to Boryeong, several on the bus were already tanked, and I was just stoked to be out of that place. It was like being so ju hot boxed. Rather unpleasant.

We checked into our hostel, and changed into our swim suits. We followed the way-gooks and smell of fun down towards the ocean. Finally, we arrived at the Mud Mecca. Being formerly nicknamed, 'Mudbucket,' I felt right where I needed to be. We literally painted mud onto our bodies. Strangers came up with muddy hands and painted our bodies for us.One thing I have learned in this country is that physical contact holds so many different connotations than it does in America. People. Will. Touch. You. Get over it.

We bought, swindled, and found wristbands to allow us into the bouncy rides. We waited in a giant line for  a big bouncy slide. It was obvious that this line was super boring. So, we decide to spice it up. Of course, Tegan brought an elephant back pack water gun. So, we decided to sneakily shoot unexpecting bystanders, then look around for the culprit. Our maturity level was maybe that of a 13 year old boy.

So, as the day progressed, we did things like forget to eat, while also lightly imbibing. We didn't really realize how hungry we were because we were having too much fun. Then, we meandered down to the beach to clean off our muddy selves.

On our way to the beach, we found a giant gaggle of way gooks around a beach DJ. Obviously, the only course of action was to dance through the crowd. As we were bustin' our moves, all of a sudden, mud water came flying out of these huge cannons. Mud and rain and debris fell on us, and all we did was lift our arms to the heavens and let it rain.

It was such an amazing experience being surrounded by foreigners, Koreans, mud and joy. The moment in which freedom becomes tangible allows nothing but that time and space to matter.

So, sometimes things suck

Like right now, 12:13 am, there is rhythmic thumping going on in the apartment above me with interspersed,"oh yeah" I am pretty sure they are choreographing a dance to this or they could also be moving particularly large piece of furniture and want to affirm their strength. One of those two things, probably.

Other things that suck are people's due dates. I know I have talked about this before, but everyone here has an exportation date. September, November, February, never.

One of my Sisters is leaving at the end of August. I do not mean sister biologically nor in the traveling pants sort of way, but in a way of kinship and shared appreciation for the finer things in life. This past Saturday, we celebrated her and all of her awesomeness.

We met up for the game outside of Homeplus, a pretty big space.  But, no worries, the best part about being a foreigner in Korea is when you're trying to find people. All you have to do is look to where all of the Koreans are gawking, and you will find a rag tag gaggle of waygooks.

Trying to get anywhere with the Sisters is like herding cats. Every one of us are more or less independent women who think and act for ourselves, and are generally very vocal about it. So, when you have a group of 15-20, that gets to be a lot of opinions. So, finally after some starts, beer stops, head counts, and buddy checks, we made it to the stadium.

We found the other half of our group sitting in the right field bleachers. The thing I love about this group of friends, is the undeniable joy in one another's presence. When new folks walk up, it is just like being greeted by family. Their eyes light up, and you are greeted with a resounding 'Heeeeeeeeeey!" I cannot express how amazing it feels to be so immediately included.

 
A big part of that reason is my dear friend, Kathy. From the moment I met her, she just spoke to me as if she's been my friend for years. It was a little off-putting at first, because I don't make friends very quickly. And the fact that she was so ready to be my friend came off as a pleasant albeit weird surprise.   Kathy has been a part of this group for three years, and I know that she will be in each of our minds as we all live out our adventures.

Okay, less sappy more baseball. Got it. I have been playing and watching baseball my whole life, so it baffles me when people do not know it or understand it.

I sat by my friend Kelly (who is a Cardinals fan, although we all have faults), and after the second baseman messed up the play for the third time, we both got super feisty.  Let me be clear, I do not know this team or this league; I don't really even like them.  But, if you drop the ball three times, you deserve to be kicked in the shins.

Kelly shouted insults, I got all ruffled, and we both came to the conclusion that we should probably just go out there and show him how to do it. That didn’t happen.  Because, you know the language barrier.  And, I don’t look good in orange, so really, the feistiness was all for naught.

The game continues, and after lively conversations rife with smack talking and innuendo, we departed the stadium in a gargantuan gaggle.  For the record, Lotte won and Samsung did not. 

We took a bus to Seomyeon and went to dinner.  Now, trying to seat and feed 20 foreigners is usually a big deal in this country.  Doing that with one ajumma in the back cooking, was probably a poor choice on our part.  But, we livened up the evening with several games of pool (all of which I lost. Sorry, Mom!) and some spirited dancing.  Only one or two of us hit the dance floor, but it was enough to make everyone in the bar think that we were a bunch of crazies.  

Right after dancing, we ordered a “fire show” for our friend Kathy, for whom this whole celebration happened.  Each of the bartenders spun bottles through the air, all of which were alight with fire.  Not as cool as Knorch juggling, but cooler than taking a standard shot, no matter how saucy the name.  They stacked a shot glass filled with rainbow colored liquor atop a pyramid of glasses, and the last bartender started the shot on fire, which ran down the pyramid and made it look like the sunrise in Egypt.  I am not saying I have seen a sunrise in Egypt. I am just saying.

After we sorted our bill, we headed to a dance club.  Now, this group of women love to dance.  That might be a lie.  I love to dance, and so do a fair few of others.  So, immediately after entering the club, I grabbed some water, downed it, and Kelly and I shuffled onto the dance floor.  Obviously, we start busting moves, because that is what BAMFs do on the dance floor. 

Now, here is a small confession.  I had noticed a small rip in my pants pocket during the ball game, but thought not much of it.  Somehow during the beginning of the night, that rip became a bit larger.  Then after an instant drop to reclining hero’s pose, I heard a tell tale rip.  Whelp, the back of my trousers now had a moderate rip in them, too.  No worries, though it was dark, so the obvious course of action was to keep dancing.  At this point in the evening, my friend Kelly and I had a legitimate dance off.  The whole dance floor was ours: jagged edges and all. It is tough to say who won.  Chickadee, has some sweet moves.  During this dance off, I dropped into a front splits, and low and behold, the front of my pants gaped open. 

It was at this point of the night, where I pulled my shirt down, hid my shame, and told my friends I was leaving.

 

Them: “Why are you leaving?” 

Me: “I am no longer wearing pants.  They are shredded!” 

Them: “Not one person in this club cares whether you wear pants or not.” 

Me: “Hmm, Maybe.” Then Catholic guilt bludgeoned, “Oh, God, no. NO! I can’t. Maybe….Nope, no way.”

So, after saying my goodbyes, I get to the elevator.  My friend Jax said, “And where do you think you’re going, Miss?” 

I looked about the club, thinking the rather obvious response is that velociraptors were chasing me, but instead I said,, “My pants are no longer pants right now…”

“That’s not a good enough reason.”  With that, she took me near the elevator, took off her pants handed them to me, and said, “I’ll trade.” 

Since, I am a glutton for awesomeness, I traded trousers with her and went back to the dance floor like Lazarus raised from the dead.  I tossed about some more moves.  We had a big way-gookin’ party on the floor as a last and final hurrah for Kathy. 

So, I went home in another woman’s pants, which is something that has never happened before.  As I reached home, I sat in my bed thinking about all of the things that happened today. 

I keep coming back to this idea of transience and depth not length of friendship.  Kathy has been such a rock in this sisterhood for many expiration dates before me, and there will be women in that group for many dates after me.  I am so thankful and so blessed to have found this group of people who are so phenomenally strong and connected.  I will say this, folks, Busan (and Daegu) have some of the most amazing people you will ever meet. 

So, it sucks that you're leaving, Kathy. But, I know that Taiwan is gaining a rock star force of nature.  Knock ‘em dead, kid.  Or, not actually dead, that’s a lot of paper work.  But, Go get ‘em, slugger.  And all other meaningless aphorisms.  We’ll miss you.

So, I spent a week at home

One of my best friends from college asked me to be in her wedding two years ago, so it wasn't like it snuck up on me. After a chat with the principal telling him I loved working at his school, and I promised to come home. I got the green light.

I will split this blog into three parts: flight home, duration of stay, flight back to Korea. Please feel free to pick and choose your adventure.

Flight home:
After a ridiculous folly of taking the long way to the airport, I showed up to my international flight winded hot and only one hour before my flight. Let me break this down: when I was a child, my father flew about the country and my mother is absurdly early for things. They raised me with the mentality of being at an international flight at least three hours before boarding. So, arriving at the airport subway stop with a meager 57 minutes nearly gave me a heart attack. I sprinted towards international departures, only to find myself in the international arrivals floor. I gasped and gaped around for five minutes until bellying up to a help desk to explain my situation. The woman printed my ticket and pointed me upstairs. I hustled upstairs expecting hoards of people jockeying to get through customs and found this wide open expanse. No customs, very little security,   No lines. Just space. A giant sign for my flight. I sat down at my gate completely baffled with 51 minutes to spare.  All of that fretting all for naught.  I hear my boarding number over the pa system. I boarded this little jumper (my layover was in Japan). I glance over at the man sitting next to me. Honest to God, Brother had a legitimate Walkman, fuzzy headphones and all. About halfway through the flight, I see him push a button. EJECT A TAPE. Flip it over and press play. This was my thought process: “oh, man oh man oh man oh man. I wish I had immediate Internet access. All of my friends need to hear about this.” But alas, I devoted a Facebook status and a blog post to it, so I feel delayed gratification, which fits really tight and uncomfortable on my skin. I am, if anything, a spoiled youngest child.  If you would like a play by play of the most high maintenance person I have ever seen or the witty an mildly inappropriate banter between Captain Marine Pants sitting next to me, please email or Facebook me and we can set up a time to Skype, because these things need ridiculous facial expression and melodrama.

Time spent home:
The wedding was beautiful. Amie was absolutely stunning and Kyle was debonair. We danced the night away like crazy fools.  I loved spending time with the party, and our transporation was a school bus, so I call that a life win.

On Sunday, I went hiking with my sister and brother in law. It was a beautiful park, and lo and behold, I saw some members of my church hiking at the exact same park (300 miles away from where the church is). PS I love and miss you, Congregation. You are in my thoughts everyday!

I saw the movie Brave, which was awesome despite my complete inability to understand animated Scottish accents. There are some skeptics that suggest that the main character is a lesbian based on the assumption that she wanted to make her own decision on her life partner, and she didn't want to marry a man that just won all of the Highland Games. That doesn't make her a lesbian, that makes her a progressive woman. However, if there was a left field lesbian experience in any Disney-esque flick I would be completely and 100% in favor of it, lesbie honest.

I went to Wisconsin Dells, which is the water park capitol of the world. I spent the day amongst family and friends, soaking up the sun and loving my life. I went camping and started the fire with only one match, because I am part girl scout, but mostly rock star.

On Wednesday, I relaxed and recovered from jet lag, camping and sleep deprivation.

Thursday I spent the day with my godson, his sisters, my beloved, Gabe and Aunt Mary and Uncle Paul. We went swimming and hung out. I found out that my dairy ingestion was no longer as strong as it once was. I could no longer finish a bowl of Wisconsin Mac and cheese, and that made me real sad.

Friday was just a mish mash of stuff. I had brunch with my dad, went for a walk and then saw Madagascar 3. Then, I hit the dusty trail.

Plane ride back to Korea;
Super grumpy flight attendants.  This woman looked at me and said, “Whaddya want?”  I politely asked if there was shellfish on the noodles, and she responded, “I don’t know that.  You can’t expect me to know these things.”  Actually, yes, I can.  But, maybe she’s having a bad day. So, I took the high road and decided to vilify her behind her back over the internet.  Sounds mature.  Meep, oh well. 

This is the actual cool part.  So, I left Chicago just after the sun had set.  We flew north through Wisconsin.  I saw Milwaukee, Fond Du Lac, and Green Bay, then just expanses of water.  As we flew west, we chased the sunset.  Out of my window, I could see the sun setting ahead of us, the moon rising behind us and the northern lights were seriously right outside of my window.  The river changed green to blue to purple, and it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.  I watched the lights dance and stars come out for about 40 minutes.  One thing I do not like about Busan, is that I do not see stars.  

This post is ridiculously long, and rather unnecessary.  But, I thought it would be nice to recap some of the week.  There is a pretty good story about me almost being kicked out of China and catching a cab with a Russian man I’ve never met (imma call him Dmitri Vladimir Raskalnikov).  Don’t worry.  I didn’t end up dying or even a little scathed.  But, I do not have room, and you do not have time to read it right now.  But, if you want to know facebook or email me, and we can figure this business out!

So, I bitch-slapped a jellyfish

I mean there's more to the story.  Although, just keeping it at that could be fun, too.

Anyway, so this past weekend, I went to Geoje to hang out with one of my friends who will be leaving soon.  I left my high school and walked to the subway station.  I grabbed some food at Shinsegae, because Mama's gotta have something in her tummy.

As I was eating my orange sesame chicken on the terrace, I spotted a gaggle of way-gooks come up the escalator.  Now, there are two different types of way-gooks in Busan.  The word "bunch" describes group one.  Whereas, "gaggle" can only describe group two...and geese.

Type 1.  The seasoned Busan-ite who either lives or works here.  You can tell who these people are by the giant hiking back pack OR no pack at all, sandals or flats, and a subtle awareness of knowing we are foreign. 
Type:2. These people have their Nikons hanging round their neck, money belts not so skillfully disguised under loose fitting Hawaiian shirts, tennis shoes, and a complete lack of awareness that they are the other OR complete and utter awareness that they are the other.  Both responses have them swiveling their heads from side to side like that rollie chair that your mom had for her office that you weren't allowed to sit in because you'd break it.  Yeah, that one.


Right.  So, this gaggle of way-gooks crosses my vantage point.  It was a hilarious moment.  I watched as 4 middle aged couples maneuver the escalator.  They stood right at the top of the escalator to decide what they would do next.  While stopped, Koreans ninja-ed around them, throwing scowls and natural bemusement at these people who cannot figure out how to handle themselves. Several threw furtive glances my way, and as I was about to walk over to help them out, no shit out of my seat, one woman tossed her hands in the air, turned on her heal, and entered the basement of Shinsegae.  Everyone shrugged their shoulders and followed her. 

Now, the revolving door at Shinsegae is huge.  Each of the three partitions could probably fit Clay Matthews, AJ Hawke and Ryan Grant comfortably.  But, in the States, the revolving doors are so small, you go through one at a time.  So, each of these people wait for their own partitions, much to the chagrin of all the Koreans queuing behind them.  After about 1 minute 30 seconds, the whole gaggle is in the store (the first woman impatient as all hell).  Then, the Koreans start piling through the revolving door 4-6 at a time.  On the other side of the glass, the way-gooks face palmed at the ingenuity of going more than one at a time.  They all guffawed about their silliness, while everyone else was plotting different ways to kill them, and I just quietly giggled.

That was the start to this adventure.  I took a subway and then a bus to Geoje.  I have been so immersed in my book that I took in absolutely zero surroundings.  When I disembark (which is seriously the antonym for embark....I thought it was too clunky, but alas, Thesaurus.com never lies, right?) the bus, I spot my friend Louis.  We wait at the bus stop for our friend, Daphne, to collect us. 

Daphne arrives with a tag-team of awesome Jenna and Jen.  We fuel up and catch the next bus to Gujora Beach.  When I commented to Daphne, "Oh, wow, there is a lot of coast here."  She sort of looked at me like a corgi always looks--head tilted to the side--, and said, "Well, Katie, it is an island." 

It was at this point that I mumbled and looked away.  It was a comical moment.

Our bus snaked around the island for about 45 minutes.  We passed giant shipyards and sunken beaches.  Finally, we arrive at the last stop.  We just had to cross over a ridge, go through a mildly sketchy part of town, then descend to the beach.

Once there, 3/5 of us went into the water.  I am a sucker for water.  I feel like Poseidon could have been my father.  I went in and under right away.  The salt water burned my eyes, my throat, my hair.  It was such an amazing feeling.  Jen, Daphne, and I swam out towards a smaller island in the distance.  About halfway, Daphne bid us adieu, and it was game time for Jen and I.

We didn't know each other, really at all.  We had met briefly, and I was super intimidated by this woman.  She is tall, beautiful, and fabulous.  The middle-schooler in me shrank back in fear that she wouldn't like me, but the adventure seeker in me said, "Put a sock in it, Insecurities.  I wanna go to that island."

We started swimming towards this island.  It was about 500-700 meters away depending on the diagonal.  I had been rocking the lifeguard approach stroke, but then my arms felt like they were going to fall off, so I switched to breast stroke.

Jen and I were talking about life experiences and whatever one talks about while swimming to a rocky shore.  I commented about how amazingly blue the water is.  About 130 meters from the shore, I could still see my feet as if I were looking through glass.  I pushed into the glide motion (rocket ship) of breast stroke, and I smacked into something less solid than rock, but more solid than water.  I looked down into the water and it looked like a clear swim cap full of water. 

It took me a split second to register that clear swim caps do not hang out in salt water.  Then, I screamed--like a child.  I freaked the hell out.  With a chorus of "Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!" I sputtered over towards Jen.  I explained that I just bitch-slapped a jelly fish in the face and that I was terrified that she would get her tentacle-y revenge.

She said, "Oh, yes, Gujora is known for their jellyfish population."

"Budegabah! What? Now is the time y'all let me know?  Aw, shoot."

At this time, we were only about 100 meters from the island, and I was too skeered to go back and face the Jelly, so we pressed on.

I am so glad we did, because we finally reached the island and pulled ourselves up on the rocks over the zebra mussels.  (Neat! Now I have blood to attract the sharks that are just jonesin for my sweet Wisconsin blood.) We scrambled about this giant rock pile, taking in the greatness that surrounded us.  The isthmus of land, the other bay, and the mountains enclosed us in this perfect time and place. 

As we surveyed our landing, we spied two sea caves.  We had to cross a small water path to get onto that island. Jen and I found a pretty good spot to start climbing this rock face (a solid 10 meters off of the water).  We boulder scrambled over to the caves and just took in their abyssal beauty.  We wanted to swim in them, but then decided against it for fear of being swept with the tide.


As we traversed back to shore, we simply marveled at what we accomplished.  I thought of the privileged life I live surrounded by so much fantastic beauty.  It really makes me think of how humans can possibly make something so amazing more perfect.  Then, I realized, we can't.