tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18678067867819049382024-03-15T18:09:08.501-07:00New Life: Korea Lantinga FamilyA middle-aged American woman's often-sassy reflections on living in Pohang, South Korea.
(Enter your e-mail below for notifications of new posts. :)Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.comBlogger169125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-63066352143221128902019-06-18T18:43:00.001-07:002019-06-19T12:28:43.178-07:00Law of the Jungle: Korean Garden Barbie DramaSo this happened at the community garden this morning....<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Help! Help!" screamed the tiny, dark-haired woman.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She motioned for me to follow as she fled along the path.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She gestured ahead as we ran.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She stopped and silently indicated something across the Bailey's garden.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creeping closer, she pointed again, beyond the lettuce.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh! Dear Lord! IS THAT AN ARM??</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And what lay further, beyond the arm??</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OH NO! BARBIE, NO!!!! </td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Dedicated to John Bailey, whose garden has many surprises. :)</span></div>
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Special thanks to the Tia the Jindo Dog, props manager.</div>
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And if you like bloopers, we did have a wardrobe malfunction ... </div>
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<br />Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-76666150994987079782019-06-07T23:01:00.001-07:002019-06-19T12:29:19.928-07:00Dog Mommy: Childless Korean WomanA lovely Korean woman and her boyfriend/husband came to the seaside cafe where I was hanging out with friends (<a href="https://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g676092-d16763186-Reviews-Page_38_Cafe-Pohang_Gyeongsangbuk_do.html" target="_blank">Page 38 cafe and pension</a> - between Odo-ri and Wolpo-ri). As they set up near us, I noticed that their tiny dog came with baggage, including a halter top and its own folding chair. Now, Koreans with small, well-dressed dogs is not uncommon. But this? I could not stop staring at the hour-long photo shoot and utter neglect of the boyfriend/husband. Here's photo proof; I can't make this up. ;)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLAq1PKWVJbEu30WXOVdfbheZzHtluf74Dz3hHuBtsE0cOQHFbBjsUhMmPQkn1hcY0ESyG8PlFpUupQEj_subImH2oWW6ya46rU4U72s1p0ATG5RVshMeG0ojJr6cfRyyV_uoTjbxsVVH-/s1600/20190601_145500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1214" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLAq1PKWVJbEu30WXOVdfbheZzHtluf74Dz3hHuBtsE0cOQHFbBjsUhMmPQkn1hcY0ESyG8PlFpUupQEj_subImH2oWW6ya46rU4U72s1p0ATG5RVshMeG0ojJr6cfRyyV_uoTjbxsVVH-/s640/20190601_145500.jpg" width="483" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woman in lounge chair photographs dog in its own chair. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dog replaces woman in lounge chair. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8P1SspTt6Pn9WpQfKcG8r5hQvLZtNsrSGJ2THDGhjrL-aRIVBq4_ZIG-n1rW0_QduAnmrw7OL3Ypjx8p8n2xzOccbZ6fkcoD7d4zkDykXf2g7_MuqVzEhj8OS9JMEeMnNtWFRfnU4XiF/s1600/20190601_150706%25280%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8P1SspTt6Pn9WpQfKcG8r5hQvLZtNsrSGJ2THDGhjrL-aRIVBq4_ZIG-n1rW0_QduAnmrw7OL3Ypjx8p8n2xzOccbZ6fkcoD7d4zkDykXf2g7_MuqVzEhj8OS9JMEeMnNtWFRfnU4XiF/s640/20190601_150706%25280%2529.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Um. She is suggesting poses for the dog. But what's that picture on her phone case?? </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8DtbyIiajfPcKSoirzw5nBcgmABBKPByY5uica2-yOoXxFCXOgXeYZ8VsNRh-wssQIImDsiqCJBoDkDQjiUncwjhVl5yn1uTYcNqbmjzfof_Tu2VmpXS31puLV9ixh5R15Bmla5a7graJ/s1600/20190601_150706%25280%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="779" data-original-width="584" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8DtbyIiajfPcKSoirzw5nBcgmABBKPByY5uica2-yOoXxFCXOgXeYZ8VsNRh-wssQIImDsiqCJBoDkDQjiUncwjhVl5yn1uTYcNqbmjzfof_Tu2VmpXS31puLV9ixh5R15Bmla5a7graJ/s640/20190601_150706%25280%2529.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I. Just. Can't.</td></tr>
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<br />Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-40617804141274068792019-01-18T23:48:00.001-08:002019-04-09T16:22:39.531-07:00On today's clothesline: Octopus<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojWxvX1taeBWM5uWiOpAgYTubI_nVPgC4eHBGABqq9BdRS60hVMPceqJ55rGOYAy5rNVdpVGFtVxNGh8PNWXHj-yPhXNHwPmcFhRMPJNQ4ANMj3BUpcIiIdeKqqCBcjZmQE-t0V7YzmLA/s1600/IMG_4691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojWxvX1taeBWM5uWiOpAgYTubI_nVPgC4eHBGABqq9BdRS60hVMPceqJ55rGOYAy5rNVdpVGFtVxNGh8PNWXHj-yPhXNHwPmcFhRMPJNQ4ANMj3BUpcIiIdeKqqCBcjZmQE-t0V7YzmLA/s640/IMG_4691.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She hates the water. But birds? This silly pup will slip her collar <br />
to "chase" birds up trees or track flying crows.</td></tr>
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It's a fairly warm day in January: mid-40s (F), sunny blue sky, light wind. Let's go to the beach, we said. Run the dog around a bit. See what's happening in the local villages.<br />
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We see some new pensions (like small motels) with inexplicable names like "Do Not Disturb" or inexplicable mascots like Disney's Pinocchio.<br />
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We see some men fishing from shore. A few young couples take selfies against the lovely blue water. We see lots of seagulls, which makes our dog wild.<br />
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Finally, driving back home, we see that some folks have hung their laundry out to dry. Next to the road. And... we see what they're having for dinner. :)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrY5WGlsnNjT_IF6EkL7r9g0aHwYyUJ87MrFWDl4h0ZdoAqhJkN6xIkeTw2PvYHSVCM6st-K2unjsX1x78AQN7BzaciDXlceYhSwvxYO6x5p4t2FjiO_dD9dlP-Jv28OW9M7aXJ3M6WRbw/s1600/IMG_4701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrY5WGlsnNjT_IF6EkL7r9g0aHwYyUJ87MrFWDl4h0ZdoAqhJkN6xIkeTw2PvYHSVCM6st-K2unjsX1x78AQN7BzaciDXlceYhSwvxYO6x5p4t2FjiO_dD9dlP-Jv28OW9M7aXJ3M6WRbw/s640/IMG_4701.JPG" title="Odo-ri Pohang South Korea" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yup. Steamed octopus.</td></tr>
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<br />Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-67275613103265256692018-06-24T07:18:00.002-07:002019-04-09T16:27:44.448-07:00Tomato in a TreeThis June morning, I went up to putz around the community garden before the day's promised assault of heat. First, though, I sat in the pergola and ate a choco muffin, looking around at the 10 plots filled with veggies and flowers. As I did, my eye caught a red spot in a pine tree, about 10 feet above my garden. Curious. I inspected. It looked like a plum tomato, but why would it be in a tree? Only one garden is even growing a dwarf plum tomato plant this year, but those folks are in South Africa for the summer. Maybe a roving child had illicitly picked a ripe fruit and then tossed it just so into the pines?? I looked again: no way it would have just landed there, balanced neatly on a branch. <br />
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I set about tidying the garden, still pondering the red orb glowing in the early sunlight. Maybe a squirrel had put it there? Probably not: I've only seen one squirrel this year, and I just don't think they do a lot of storing tomatoes on a tree branch. Ok, maybe a bird? Well, the few birds we have around here are either way too small to carry a tomato or they would have just pecked it <i>in situ</i>. Maybe...?<br />
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An hour later, I had given up finding a sensible answer to the mystery. As a delightful distraction, however, a Eurasian jay landed on the fence; I held very still, pleased to see this skittish bird so close up. Her more brightly-colored mate joined her a minute later, confirming that I was still undetected behind the gaillardias and daylilies. After looking around the garden for a moment, the female swooped down with practiced ease to the plum tomato plant, and... yup. She neatly plucked a ripe tomato and flew away with it into the pine forest, conclusively solving my mystery but perhaps beginning a new one for another curious human.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for eurasian jay korea" height="427" src="https://photos.smugmug.com/EAsianBirds/ACrows/i-ZzZ9dfg/1/92420069/S/IMG_5273-S.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo from https://www.patrickblakephotography.com/EAsianBirds/ACrows/</td></tr>
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Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-67981296614509496972018-06-08T02:14:00.001-07:002018-06-24T07:19:17.484-07:00Gynecologist visit: Google Gone WrongI went to the doctor with E today. We had all the usual Korean hospital drama because (a) we can't understand the signs and (b) the looks of dread exchanged by the receptionists' faces when they saw us were pretty obvious. But today's visit was EXTRA special: it had the added drama potential of being a gynecologist clinic. Yay!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM08v7O04UaVZ_-E-SL4PyhG1BevMCPJO3LzyQ0bX5Zg7Ds3tqPBzQd7VtK9C8I2VOrspeB1T9ZookSPxG3L10IupdYmMMtcHBtLaFKv6prnw74PIEpJHruFskLLQVK7l9VbTxu5LjEJ30/s1600/CAM03543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM08v7O04UaVZ_-E-SL4PyhG1BevMCPJO3LzyQ0bX5Zg7Ds3tqPBzQd7VtK9C8I2VOrspeB1T9ZookSPxG3L10IupdYmMMtcHBtLaFKv6prnw74PIEpJHruFskLLQVK7l9VbTxu5LjEJ30/s640/CAM03543.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For a country that prides itself on English education, this is ridiculous. </td></tr>
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Before seeing a Korean doctor, even one who speaks fluent English, one is interviewed by his/her nurse-type person who never, ever speaks English.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZCuqREF9RjKYMlNZDmfOyTxF7G_Bzo1O5eJ8WZLPUe81ZwWGP7vZAHL8PyvKrQJxB3A5WV7YCY-ebj_7MRSG-p8o0Ye2JGTevBMeIj5W4VA59zLNGw4nsRCtBVS-lWEwHUS9gDPuDwlld/s1600/CAM03544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZCuqREF9RjKYMlNZDmfOyTxF7G_Bzo1O5eJ8WZLPUe81ZwWGP7vZAHL8PyvKrQJxB3A5WV7YCY-ebj_7MRSG-p8o0Ye2JGTevBMeIj5W4VA59zLNGw4nsRCtBVS-lWEwHUS9gDPuDwlld/s640/CAM03544.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Whoever designed today's interview closet apparently believes that nurse-patient eye contact is dangerous.</span> E was seated to my immediate left and with some awkward stretching could peek at the nurse's face.</td></tr>
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Today's nurse believed that using a smartphone to translate sensitive questions for foreign patients is a good strategy. Let me tell you something very clearly, dear reader: If you are at death's door in a foreign land and need phone translation to survive, just choose death and keep your dignity intact.<br />
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The nurse asked some basic questions by pointing to a laminated English cue card: name, age, etc. But as E's symptoms became more specific, the card options ran out and the nurse picked up her phone. To call for a translator? No: her hand snaked out from behind the computer to show us a question typed in Korean, followed by what <i>she</i> thought was an appropriate English translation. Sensitive readers: you might not want to read further. This gets awkward in a hurry.<br />
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Phone Screen English Reveal #1: "Do you have a lot of fancy during menstruation?"<br />
Our gasps caused a quick retraction of the phone and then a revised (but not improved) translation: "Do you have a lot of fur during menstruation?" Um. Not better.<br />
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E maturely decided to secretly read the questions in their original Korean while I craned my neck to read the English version and madly took notes.<br />
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PSER #2: "Do you have a lot of fingering and cramps?" I again gasped; E explained that the Korean meant "heavy bleeding." Not the same, Google. Not even close.</div>
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PSER #3: "I'll see if there's something wrong with my uterus." Wait: are we ALL checking our uteruses today? Perhaps a "the more, the merrier" approach?</div>
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PSER #4: "Ultrasound without sexual experience is anal sonogram?"<br />
E blanched at this, as the English translation <i>was correct </i>but she didn't quite understand what it meant<i>.</i> I used my sternest voice to say AH-NEE-YO (that's "no" in Korean) and "AHB-DOM-IN-AL" (which is English for keep your scary probes away).</div>
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PSER #5: "Male doctor?" Seriously? After asking about anal probing? NOT A CHANCE. A firm AH-NEE-YO to that one. </div>
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We were ushered out of the interview closet to a room where E got weighed next to a display of the parts of one's baby that could <i>be bronzed. </i> Not bronzed baby SHOES, mind you: baby parts.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXpdnvITsT1BriX2DRFLu_D_EPYOWsFLZT54Vk12wmW5owgip9vU1bscHFSfPrCypIOGCMTB5sQvYMlhKpglq2INh-i_cq74QKd63aDWzG7cUb5nh8YA8GVOubRKm46whUOW_K-xyqrArP/s1600/CAM03546.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXpdnvITsT1BriX2DRFLu_D_EPYOWsFLZT54Vk12wmW5owgip9vU1bscHFSfPrCypIOGCMTB5sQvYMlhKpglq2INh-i_cq74QKd63aDWzG7cUb5nh8YA8GVOubRKm46whUOW_K-xyqrArP/s640/CAM03546.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The photo quality is terrible, but it's still proof:<br />
someone out there has a job making casts/molds of babies' hands, feet, and... boy parts. </td></tr>
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As we waited for the doctor to who we'd been assigned (not actually the one with whom we'd made the appointment), we exchanged laughs at the way E's name was displayed on the monitor (no privacy in Korea, folks: TINGAELRIS. Yup. Our family name first (part of it, anyway) and an awkward "Konglish" version of part of E's given name.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We also shared horror-laughs at the giant posters/ads on the waiting room walls.<br />
E made the mistake of translating these.<br />
I did not want to know about plastic surgery options for a body part I hope to never see.<br />
Perhaps the ads were for the benefit of the men waiting for the wives?</td></tr>
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After 15 minutes, the nurse approached us with a final PSER: "I have a few waiters in section 2 so you can go to section 2." I was confused about the reference to restaurant staff until E interpreted: there are fewer people waiting for the doctor in room 2, so we had been re-assigned. And, as it happens, it was the fluent-English doctor with whom we'd <i>made the appointment. </i>The doctor was great - just your normal gyno visit. :)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUDtn5XcoHrL8Kjx-e5cfCWKUtx0ZK6Dj5Ogz8wrEtcvkrTUnoWfXNifRhiLae3RNQwUw44vqq42wxRrih4ZhxozS9hPyx_-SdTKERIOQT4aFndpHITZnXsdgwsG96l4AClEPDqKtSjjF/s1600/elisabeth+tiger+statue+May+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="709" data-original-width="532" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUDtn5XcoHrL8Kjx-e5cfCWKUtx0ZK6Dj5Ogz8wrEtcvkrTUnoWfXNifRhiLae3RNQwUw44vqq42wxRrih4ZhxozS9hPyx_-SdTKERIOQT4aFndpHITZnXsdgwsG96l4AClEPDqKtSjjF/s640/elisabeth+tiger+statue+May+2018.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way out, we stopped in the Photo Zone to commemorate our gyno visit.</td></tr>
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Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-55263698598940720672018-05-23T20:17:00.001-07:002018-06-24T07:20:05.161-07:00Roses and Rices: International Adventures <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGcU27aK4szML_bZh9iaNKkMUnJYVI7Z6Rca_sjuKJ_ltdIEwZIeeRVbX1bitPq0j0JB4isJ-6Tv0-5FlTa4u3aPgvh_naz2OHjkjjIJ7cXNsArzPpkaUEczTdTgrecJTW-QVqnoi6BU_Q/s1600/Tracey+sherri+rose+garden+bukbu+May+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="741" data-original-width="1112" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGcU27aK4szML_bZh9iaNKkMUnJYVI7Z6Rca_sjuKJ_ltdIEwZIeeRVbX1bitPq0j0JB4isJ-6Tv0-5FlTa4u3aPgvh_naz2OHjkjjIJ7cXNsArzPpkaUEczTdTgrecJTW-QVqnoi6BU_Q/s640/Tracey+sherri+rose+garden+bukbu+May+2018.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tracey, a passionate lover of roses, took us to the Bukbu (Youngildae) Beach gardens in Pohang, South Korea.<br />
I got myself educated on differences between tea roses and floribunda, etc.<br />
And, in true Korean style, we were forced-ish to don headbands and pose for pictures in the "poto jone."</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing and bush roses near Pohang's landmark pier.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This ajumma chose an unusual semi-squatting selfie by the roses.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWes8v15wDPxPmeFLDcMyDAMZcj65RFltXQRBBcmsHId9HbgOHuyIpqH_1f9GUi-5CtkE7jKphRjEbuBPK36ZY17YyR3MPoKXa1Hv1KpD-2UjKXPSq9ddTXreG4LyDZdJRLu9J4IIiqkRs/s1600/IMG_3857.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWes8v15wDPxPmeFLDcMyDAMZcj65RFltXQRBBcmsHId9HbgOHuyIpqH_1f9GUi-5CtkE7jKphRjEbuBPK36ZY17YyR3MPoKXa1Hv1KpD-2UjKXPSq9ddTXreG4LyDZdJRLu9J4IIiqkRs/s640/IMG_3857.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A garden volunteer was happy to answer all the questions Tracey didn't even have.<br />
Then we escaped for some coffee and pastries.</td></tr>
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The next day, friend Judy and I visited the local fields to watch farmers plant the rice seedlings, which are grown in local greenhouses. (You may recall my earlier <a href="https://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2013/11/harvest-time-rice-and-radishes.html" target="_blank">blog about rice harvesting</a>.) Judy did lots of chatting with the folks in Korean while I snuck pictures.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8c_RzZMlRTrTUEJqY8vV050nrWQquDBIzf9qGz9L0m1avVimFjLsMLVJkMcoRCSX1qpffkP5pV4l2_r65ojy8-Go8QDvjcku7mft_pPVVZ_FLFUdsiMf5GsVpfpI5OuusE_-9x6TUDpOh/s1600/IMG_3862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8c_RzZMlRTrTUEJqY8vV050nrWQquDBIzf9qGz9L0m1avVimFjLsMLVJkMcoRCSX1qpffkP5pV4l2_r65ojy8-Go8QDvjcku7mft_pPVVZ_FLFUdsiMf5GsVpfpI5OuusE_-9x6TUDpOh/s640/IMG_3862.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This family plants fields across the highway from our home, Handong University<br />
(the campus power tower is on the far right horizon).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqCP3K8LaZoondCRm3Rz-zraqlYLRqHR-qiRcgi8MMuGMFKNDISAVnLn7e0LGHemoSLYyx-4Vnvh9zj8gXYoBbAVjQXf1mF8guSXsP791-y-6IroTqcn0AFWApoW3km-pgXYgVEj_UnS4/s1600/IMG_3880.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqCP3K8LaZoondCRm3Rz-zraqlYLRqHR-qiRcgi8MMuGMFKNDISAVnLn7e0LGHemoSLYyx-4Vnvh9zj8gXYoBbAVjQXf1mF8guSXsP791-y-6IroTqcn0AFWApoW3km-pgXYgVEj_UnS4/s640/IMG_3880.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The man of the family always drives the plows and planters. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3RMRGZFJoPc70ZctkBCaU32eCFNvOyjp_bR9mVmuy74g3oy0xkS3NsB9Lh2kdsgfu4uPmqb1czkMOHzKO4tO0qRqiongV8WsjI66wLDAJBVAb75YXoNkZbng6ZeoXYcK-vB0wjCzzHvQ/s1600/IMG_3886.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3RMRGZFJoPc70ZctkBCaU32eCFNvOyjp_bR9mVmuy74g3oy0xkS3NsB9Lh2kdsgfu4uPmqb1czkMOHzKO4tO0qRqiongV8WsjI66wLDAJBVAb75YXoNkZbng6ZeoXYcK-vB0wjCzzHvQ/s640/IMG_3886.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wife assists from the field edges by reloading the planter and shouting things at her husband.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1-6vJIOcs-WKkBmJtwcC9vXltQGNRLS3L7kUksMbAe0yXLgEntYBolZnWkXMGvR3MeM3Wnqyt1vVtN-qXQ7LCNerUcvY22x5Cict69tsRmU6mC8mSkQmGMpA5WjOzWTAYHx8hYG7F1ZZ/s1600/IMG_3873.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1-6vJIOcs-WKkBmJtwcC9vXltQGNRLS3L7kUksMbAe0yXLgEntYBolZnWkXMGvR3MeM3Wnqyt1vVtN-qXQ7LCNerUcvY22x5Cict69tsRmU6mC8mSkQmGMpA5WjOzWTAYHx8hYG7F1ZZ/s640/IMG_3873.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daughters/helpers also dress in colorful layers to guard against mud and sun;<br />
they easily stand out against the muddy fields and green trees. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikbECyOY7uveB75qcSzF2OLYW2M4GiScF5wUNwVRsji4r-81dO1uaoGmaqTmhF6JdEey1HbYXoboSye8lsdu2Vo6isMyqi63_2FHHlZQW7w2KLXvaXBzpO28aBSJ2PmEpxAY7PBD3-TXhp/s1600/IMG_3867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikbECyOY7uveB75qcSzF2OLYW2M4GiScF5wUNwVRsji4r-81dO1uaoGmaqTmhF6JdEey1HbYXoboSye8lsdu2Vo6isMyqi63_2FHHlZQW7w2KLXvaXBzpO28aBSJ2PmEpxAY7PBD3-TXhp/s640/IMG_3867.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks to modern technology, there's always time for selfies in the rice paddies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirS5tTj_Na_IFdevtoGiuv0sXokNT2sCWc7i7HopI8AM3r1OCFsIlC1Kk0UWieQYOGGUaF1LA1jh2ZEoDb1-UnArK1lNGbsWenzCatfjymsxcoCa_CY-UrHqGCRgjAGMBXlRf9yqhoIgPf/s1600/IMG_3894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirS5tTj_Na_IFdevtoGiuv0sXokNT2sCWc7i7HopI8AM3r1OCFsIlC1Kk0UWieQYOGGUaF1LA1jh2ZEoDb1-UnArK1lNGbsWenzCatfjymsxcoCa_CY-UrHqGCRgjAGMBXlRf9yqhoIgPf/s640/IMG_3894.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rice planters are amazing machines - fingered wheels pluck<br />
each plant from a horizontally sliding tray of seedlings and stuff them into the mud with a bit of fertilizer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt74ETsZ04yXsNz0MiLC5hCdthcnrpke7rC0kKwal8FsrGwfHmu-Wt3ICcajL-KM7wl75q0F4r_3EI5AHDlos0udGi4-AjqJnkCiLpzdpiErSNPyRNZoJ4j5ZJH9Ze_wceYcW0KKqQKGqk/s1600/IMG_3890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt74ETsZ04yXsNz0MiLC5hCdthcnrpke7rC0kKwal8FsrGwfHmu-Wt3ICcajL-KM7wl75q0F4r_3EI5AHDlos0udGi4-AjqJnkCiLpzdpiErSNPyRNZoJ4j5ZJH9Ze_wceYcW0KKqQKGqk/s640/IMG_3890.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This man (brother/uncle?) said just one thing to Judy: "Diet!"<br />
Harrumph. Now I have posted this unflattering picture of him.<br />
Take that, rude beer-belly man.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-80480966494493301322018-05-01T16:27:00.002-07:002019-04-09T16:29:43.441-07:00True Mac n Cheese ingredients: REVEALEDYesterday's impulse buy at the campus convenience store: microwavable macaroni and cheese. OH! I miss Kraft. Stop judging me.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I got home and searched for instructions on the little container. Nothing in English. I took a picture of the Korean and asked my Google Translate app to help me out, like you do. And I was horrified at what I learned: Either Google is doing a TERRIBLE job at translation or Korean food manufacturers are far scarier than I thought...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Ingredients of Penne's Raw Ingredients: Rich Cheese teanI Chihuahua 1982 Sushi RE) a Milk Milk Pork 1: 01 Made turtle Mail Peanut and prawns Peach Tomatoes Pickled shellfish International folie Mug egg Cooked or hot, </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Please note that this product may be injured by the jam of the surge arrester such as the one with the included product. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Please keep this product in the refrigerator for as long as possible. You can get a testicle or a reward for a legitimate consumer. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span></span></div>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-40766148042637036922018-04-22T16:20:00.000-07:002018-05-23T20:18:11.608-07:00Rice cakes: Sweet treats or dry as a desert?This new shop got its big English sign right, if one wants a tasty sweet rice treat. The sign on the door, though, suggested a rather different sort of experience waiting inside.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN_5GV9RTw7oIZmYRf0MVKJzXfOH0KGHwfbdi9f-YgQd6z0PkzYi6eNb947iNZlVy3KtDnxSuAW6ludigaaXPgDXGJXRMzrLJ4LtVxUB3Te326ynuFGllEFX9dDDfDpYgQxezWcvsXtgva/s1600/CAM03438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN_5GV9RTw7oIZmYRf0MVKJzXfOH0KGHwfbdi9f-YgQd6z0PkzYi6eNb947iNZlVy3KtDnxSuAW6ludigaaXPgDXGJXRMzrLJ4LtVxUB3Te326ynuFGllEFX9dDDfDpYgQxezWcvsXtgva/s640/CAM03438.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHmKKxurwUFMi1oIHARbfSx3MMcVZW5BjBpjO0L9alfgjzyibCpCUs4TsaugYHepen4tBlrcNoTlQyJqqp7kU60U89pxKbWEBhZyYXr3D7Yb7gG3R5TbOfS2z0QFMZ_KYMtkm5RLzfbCq1/s1600/CAM03439+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHmKKxurwUFMi1oIHARbfSx3MMcVZW5BjBpjO0L9alfgjzyibCpCUs4TsaugYHepen4tBlrcNoTlQyJqqp7kU60U89pxKbWEBhZyYXr3D7Yb7gG3R5TbOfS2z0QFMZ_KYMtkm5RLzfbCq1/s640/CAM03439+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-71388993632386610612018-04-22T01:19:00.002-07:002018-04-22T01:19:51.894-07:00The old Bread in the Eye problem It's a story that does not improve with length or details, so here is the version I'm telling.<div>
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<div>
Elisabeth whipped a very stale heel of a baguette at brother David, but it missed him and hit me RIGHT IN THE EYEBALL. </div>
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The pain was real. The bread crumbs I had to scrape off my eyeball were real. Now, a day later, all I have to do is give her a meaningful look, open my eye wide to show the bloodshot spot, and she will do anything I ask. </div>
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P.S. Why didn't I go to the doctor for treatment of my corneal contusion? Because it's hard enough talking to Korean medical staff about normal problems; how in the world could I possible "daughter - old bread - eyeball" and not be put into a mental hospital? :)</div>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-28050959767252900382018-04-13T18:35:00.003-07:002018-05-24T01:59:11.623-07:00Strange death pronouncement (AND a grand re-opening)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
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Beloved readers: I am not really sure how I painted myself into the "blogs are fully researched documentaries" corner, but I no longer wish to write those. So for now, I shall use this space for brief observations from daily life on a university-owned mountaintop in rural Korea.<br />
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<a href="http://img.yonhapnews.co.kr/etc/inner/EN/2018/04/12/AEN20180412001251315_01_i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The photo taken April 12, 2018, shows Coast Guard officials carrying out rescue work after a local fishing boat collided with a Tanzanian cargo ship in waters off the country's southwestern coast of Sinan, leaving one dead and five missing. (Yonhap)" border="0" height="240" src="https://img.yonhapnews.co.kr/etc/inner/EN/2018/04/12/AEN20180412001251315_01_i.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Today's Korean newspaper reports that a small fishing boat hit a huge reefer ship in the night. In a strange decision by the writers (and editor), this little detail was reported:<br />
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"One sailor was found around 1:25am. He was not breathing and did not have a pulse. He died soon after."<br />
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Huh. Yup. Sounds dead to me.<br />
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P.S. I had to look up "reefer ship." And, indeed, it is NOT a big old marijuana transportation device, but a refrigerated cargo ship. Ah.<br />
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Source: http://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/news/article/article.aspx?aid=3046868 and http://english.yonhapnews.co.kr/news/2018/04/12/0200000000AEN20180412001251315.htmlSherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-55390800547502976862018-01-31T22:57:00.004-08:002019-04-09T16:41:43.172-07:00Bums, Bosoms, and Bellies: Korean Bathhouse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZGTF5MmMDWci5BqDggAFpPx1tBkI2fgE7yfNEsAaVvctGteqyA6Y0ju3POiTikGm-CJiy4M6Lb2rnxopypJyhoXYQyhwoMVUyPAgXAwiG92R58YrNfW-uDljz510qoGEm6K5zVDtMD-6r/s1600/sauna+guide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="1488" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZGTF5MmMDWci5BqDggAFpPx1tBkI2fgE7yfNEsAaVvctGteqyA6Y0ju3POiTikGm-CJiy4M6Lb2rnxopypJyhoXYQyhwoMVUyPAgXAwiG92R58YrNfW-uDljz510qoGEm6K5zVDtMD-6r/s320/sauna+guide.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><b>Dedication:</b> To Sonia, who quite nakedly shook me awake for our
first day of college orientation and introduced me to the idea of, well, nudity. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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In December, an expat friend finally convinced me to get naked at a Korean bathhouse and stroll casually around like, “hey, this is
cool. Wanna scrub my back?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A jjimjilbang (<span lang="KO"><span style="font-family: inherit;">찜 질 방; literally "heated room)</span> <span style="font-family: "malgun gothic" , sans-serif;">= </span></span>Korean bathhouse, which includes a gender-segregated naked section (showers, hot tubs, saunas, snacks) and non-segregated clothed-in-provided-pajamas section (sleeping areas, more saunas, and a restaurant). These are very popular in Korea; most are open 24/7.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Short version for readers who really don't want details: Judy
and I were the largest and whitest naked women among 80+ naked Korean women in a
public bathhouse. After a
near-debilitating attack of the panics, I shocked myself by loving the experience.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here is the much longer version (rated PG-13 for the stock photos showing ladies' bums).</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYmbVbkeBgitrs04WF9JSU7zzNQbycvH3sPuNytcCOx9-Jig2LiHxljWtEPnwUhuxxPQbzd2KiRb60j8reU1xNSR_e7_LfURxyR1ikp2rUeg-Z4ez1lUJHR6KDFP2G7m6-dirTINnIXht/s1600/korean_sauna_shower-300x199.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="300" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYmbVbkeBgitrs04WF9JSU7zzNQbycvH3sPuNytcCOx9-Jig2LiHxljWtEPnwUhuxxPQbzd2KiRb60j8reU1xNSR_e7_LfURxyR1ikp2rUeg-Z4ez1lUJHR6KDFP2G7m6-dirTINnIXht/s400/korean_sauna_shower-300x199.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Photo
from <a href="http://teachingadventuresinkorea.blogspot.kr/2012/04/korean-bathhouse.html">http://teachingadventuresinkorea.blogspot.kr/2012/04/korean-bathhouse.html</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Backstory: I was raised as a conservative, mid-western
Caucasian-American to believe that body privacy was probably more important
than life itself. <i>Proper</i> women, I learned well, do not sweat, burp, poop, fart, spit, or
have any other revolting bodily functions. Proper women are very modest when changing clothes, using the toilet (any potential smelly business should be done in the furthest bathroom), and bathing; no one should see your bits unless they have a validated marriage license.<br />
Finally: If a proper woman DID accidentally reveal revolting behavior or other private bodily business, it would be better to die than admit to it. <br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Culture shock. Koreans (as a generalization) place a high value on bathing (and scrubbing the top layers of skin off their bodies) for hours with lots of equally naked friends, family, and strangers. So there’s a little source of tension for me. Add to that the fact that I’m living among
people built like chopsticks, people who believe “round” (like, for example, my
traditionally-built, German-English-American, sedentary middle-aged self) is at
least a serious moral flaw if not quite a deadly sin. Thus, the likelihood of me EVER visiting a
Korean bathhouse has hovered at or below -40%.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But… I made a new expat
friend this year (also a middle-aged Caucasian but Canadian) who loves the
Korean bath experience despite her own traditionally-built self. And she’s very, very persuasive. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On the plus side, this is one of the only Korean activities
that requires no equipment beyond one’s birthday suit and some cash. On the down side, this activity is extremely
risky for one’s social-emotional health.
It did not help matters that the Saturday morning parking lot was
overflowing. In the bustling lobby, similar
to a nice hotel, I paid 16,000 won (about $15) for BOTH of us. Judy pointed to
the stacked rolls of clothing and said “Big!”; the desk woman (she had all her
clothes on) laughed kindly, having already perceived our non-Korean builds. She
handed us our numbered receipts, cotton sauna shirts and shorts, and two hand
towels each.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Deep breath. We
removed our shoes at the edge of the lobby and stored them in the nearby
section adorably labeled “Rocker Room.” We
then went up to the women’s bathhouse on the 2<sup>nd</sup> floor (the men’s
area was on the 3<sup>rd</sup> floor).
Judy chatted about the décor while I faked being calm as we turned the
corner and HOLY COW THERE ARE TOTALLY NAKED LADIES <b><i>EVERYWHERE</i></b>. We, of course, were still wearing our winter
coats and sock-feet, so WE looked like the weirdos in this context. Back to the women. They were sitting on wooden platforms, walking
around buying drinks or little packets of shampoo at the front counter, chatting
with each other, putting on make-up in front of giant mirrors…. Like you do, apparently, when you’re in a room
of naked people.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ok. I had to take
more deep breaths that were tinged with shades of panic. Judy, meanwhile, pointed out the various
single-use packets of soaps and other shower/bath supplies for sale at the
counter, where a friendly woman WHO WAS THE ONLY ONE BESIDES US WITH CLOTHES ON
IN THE ROOM answered Judy’s questions. I did not CARE about particular scents
or flavors or costs or whatever so I just handed over some money, nearly
dropping my change into the fuzzy slipper display. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We went to find our assigned lockers, which by a miracle
were in different rows, so a tiny shred of privacy remained before our
friendship faced, well, you know. Lots of new information about each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I found my locker and stripped. Taking the tiny towels (Korean bath towels
are about the size of a business card) and new-bought packets of shampoo,
conditioner, and body wash, I met Judy back in the main area. I wore only my ponytail elastic; she wore
only her eyeglasses. Well then. Our friendship had reached a new level. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKdgXTM4ZkaAsos7fRb7tXbT5S28h2BR4ivXjq4c0Hr0jUImE_qucYx5ajDbhM2sMyUOG7dQAHC5w4vBlm_pqwm2leafmKghLa2YK73Aaotwlj6qQGNaYT3zrb4XL8R5N5tD6l5xUVUPj/s1600/bathhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="759" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKdgXTM4ZkaAsos7fRb7tXbT5S28h2BR4ivXjq4c0Hr0jUImE_qucYx5ajDbhM2sMyUOG7dQAHC5w4vBlm_pqwm2leafmKghLa2YK73Aaotwlj6qQGNaYT3zrb4XL8R5N5tD6l5xUVUPj/s320/bathhouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoCaption">
Photo
from <a href="http://www.urbanhikers.com/public-bathhouse-heaven/">http://www.urbanhikers.com/public-bathhouse-heaven/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As expected, we were the only white people and were certainly
the largest. But no one seemed to care. Only the American (that would be me) even seemed
to NOTICE all the different body bits walking about. Bigger and smaller; flatter and rounder;
firmer and saggier; darker and lighter; older and younger; scarred and
smooth. The oldest among us was perhaps
70 years old; the youngest was around two.
And did I mention this already?
No. One. Cared That I Have a Misfit Body. Suddenly, my heart was calm. I could do this. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Renewed in spirit, I strode through the glass doors into the
bathing area. Dozens more naked women were
showering in mirrored rows; Judy and I washed our hair and rinsed off our
bodies in preparation for the next step.
We then walked down the long aisle, every bit of us open to potential scrutiny,
to find adjacent scrubbing areas. We sat
on low, plastic stools by a flexible nozzle where one commences to scrubbing oneself
from this near-squatting position. This is
not a rushed, whap-some-soap-around-and-dash-to-work kind of bathing. Nope.
This is a luxuriously long self-scrub (with a cloth comparable to those
green kitchen scrubbies), taking all day if one so wanted to use various emollients. Judy offered to scrub my back, but I drew a
firm line right there. Back-scrubbing is a sign of closeness in Korea, and we
saw it happening among friends or mothers and daughters of all ages, but shaving
one’s pits and legs while chatting with one’s naked friend just inches away in
an echoing, steamy room of naked ladies is <i>quite
far enough</i> for one day, thank you.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Scrubbing done, we rinsed off and went into the hot baths (which
here means “shockingly hot 3’ deep cement pools into which one gingerly lowers
one’s naked private regions to set by steaming strangers”). I adjusted quickly to the 40 degree Celsius
water (104 F) and sat on the bottom, my head just above the surface. From there I was a crocodile, peering around
the central concrete sculpture (baby Buddha riding a concrete fish-- why??) to covertly
observe ladies sharing gossip and scrubs, their thin gold chains or earrings
catching the light. I enjoyed watching a
little girl of about 3 years; her mom set out a small blue plastic tub, filled
it with water, and tossed in Barbie, her incongruous blond hair floating in a
wide circle. I skipped the various milk and tea and “event” (?) baths and next opted
for the enclosed “open air” with steamy windows open to the pine hillsides. Some women quietly chatted while perched on
the side, with just their feet in the water; another woman helped her elderly
mother (mother-in-law?) out of the steep bath.
(Wow. I cannot imagine doing a naked mother-daughter outing.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUuBWeNQtGbHwhnR0FB2rcyLf3v9sh3lobLyB5DbTOSaQfXL7UWoTLcxtYJ-GjXg4FOpRmcMPz6BAymlT8V0QeHzudEzKKYMMoTyjw2qAkjJ7spRrMkecfMvblQ_7u0OOWlkt4BrpgOrAL/s1600/korean+hot+tubs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUuBWeNQtGbHwhnR0FB2rcyLf3v9sh3lobLyB5DbTOSaQfXL7UWoTLcxtYJ-GjXg4FOpRmcMPz6BAymlT8V0QeHzudEzKKYMMoTyjw2qAkjJ7spRrMkecfMvblQ_7u0OOWlkt4BrpgOrAL/s320/korean+hot+tubs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Imagine 5-10 naked people in each tub. And another dozen wandering around, towel-less. Yup.<br />
Photo from www.10mag.com/6-things-youll-love-at-a-jjimjilbang-during-winter/</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At this point, I was a tiny bit drowsy. The cold bath woke me right up though; the sign above it said “No mask or flippers/fins” (as if one carries those in one's birthday suit pocket.) From there we observed several women, laying
fully uncovered on tables, getting vigorous full-body scrubs (some call it
massage and some call it exfoliation) and periodic hosing from ajummas wearing uniforms. If you want to call black panties and bralets
a uniform. Our next stop was a steamy sauna,
where my very eyeballs seemed to fog; on the plus side, I couldn't even see the woman sitting next to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a final rinsing shower, we returned to the locker room
to blot our hair and faces with the tiny towels then stand in front of fans to dry the rest of our selves. As we walked past a weight scale, Judy firmly exclaimed “HA! No!” as though she was training a bad dog.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So that was the bathing part of the bathhouse (often called the "mogyoktang"). Next we prepared for the dry sauna/sleeping/eating area by donning underpants and the provided short/shirts. We descended to the basement, which is not gender-segregated. Thin vinyl sleeping pads were
dotted about the floor with men, women, children, and couples snacking,
snoozing, watching the big-screen TV, or playing on their phones (people can stay here overnight – that $15 goes a long, long ways). A quick tour of the shellacked-crystal hallways led us past dark sleeping rooms; a salt-block sauna (a woman checked her phone while her husband dozed next to her, his head support by a brick-sized cushion); and a red clay sauna. We visited the 85C sauna (185F),
entering a tiny hobbit-door into a small clay hut that's basically a pizza oven. Several
sweaty, giggling women with giant jugs of iced coffee welcomed us in and
gestured for us to sit with them on the bamboo mat. We could barely communicate, but our shared
sweat and giggles (and interacting while semi-dressed) was delightful. After just a few moments,
we escaped back through the hobbit hole to find some food.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the little restaurant, we ordered sweet and sour pork,
seating ourselves on the floor in traditional style while wearing the pajamas. After eating our fill (and more), we returned to the bath
area to get dressed, toss our towels and cotton clothes in the laundry bin, and return to the cold winter air.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt completely clean and relaxed by this strange (to me) experience. The entire place was meticulously clean – not a speck of dust or dirt anywhere – and I felt very safe despite the utter lack of privacy. I will long remember the
sounds of water splashing, people talking, the hollow clank of plastic stools
and bowls being moved; the smell of something rich and old underneath the shampoos and body/facial scrubs. I was excited enough to convince Elisabeth to go with me again in January; perhaps a mother-daughter ajumma scrub is next, or even spending the night soaking up the healing powers of salt and clay. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVPIXQE-OIAzgmU5wpP4fnch90oFcsnu-XbnhNgC9iDysAgUcr0dOl1uQGipvhP9yq3hbfjymCyVueyLhPEsOc-9467HFqVhbaoFxoWNgzhPl1FcKKkOxtkghHo4S1sRQPRYTLklrZSfC3/s1600/bathhouse+sherri+elisabeth+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="809" data-original-width="539" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVPIXQE-OIAzgmU5wpP4fnch90oFcsnu-XbnhNgC9iDysAgUcr0dOl1uQGipvhP9yq3hbfjymCyVueyLhPEsOc-9467HFqVhbaoFxoWNgzhPl1FcKKkOxtkghHo4S1sRQPRYTLklrZSfC3/s400/bathhouse+sherri+elisabeth+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweating with Elisabeth in the clay sauna pizza oven (85C).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNd5FKDmjw83drK7lqH959P_qCd9uTPtekIB4rJaxPUoaw1Ropv52phU66IdQPnhrQkJpWtBz_gvff2qT3ZPKK6WQQPuaskz_QfYl4L7bXrw5qNV-9o1pRN2M87E_FuJh0MIintCa4vxo/s1600/bathhouse+sherri+elisabeth+%25283%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNd5FKDmjw83drK7lqH959P_qCd9uTPtekIB4rJaxPUoaw1Ropv52phU66IdQPnhrQkJpWtBz_gvff2qT3ZPKK6WQQPuaskz_QfYl4L7bXrw5qNV-9o1pRN2M87E_FuJh0MIintCa4vxo/s400/bathhouse+sherri+elisabeth+%25283%2529.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elisabeth and I sweating (and snoozing) in the salt sauna room.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjouQ7K3zDLUgr7OR2ZInSy9QejhUGpLXeQzJl0cZslaMqQ3l0Drkdu_hw1Kdj_vpVBVNMp67FfkkhKidebdZTXEIhwWsRPJ-ZdSAZy_HReK06DCSDHVTlTF3GHfYEixbO26Fbh1qFOGr0V/s1600/bathhouse+sherri+elisabeth+%25285%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjouQ7K3zDLUgr7OR2ZInSy9QejhUGpLXeQzJl0cZslaMqQ3l0Drkdu_hw1Kdj_vpVBVNMp67FfkkhKidebdZTXEIhwWsRPJ-ZdSAZy_HReK06DCSDHVTlTF3GHfYEixbO26Fbh1qFOGr0V/s640/bathhouse+sherri+elisabeth+%25285%2529.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for lunch in the traditional Korean restaurant. Do you love our matching cotton sauna outfits? :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-14692068730255515882017-12-11T17:52:00.001-08:002017-12-11T17:52:36.493-08:00Red Light District: First Impressions<div class="MsoNormal">
Isaiah met Katherine and
I at the downtown McDonald's on Friday evening to lay the ground rules. He has done this for years and would do all
the talking. If asked, we should just
say we’re from Handong University; we should certain not talk
to any men in suits; never open a window/door (just knock and wait); if we’re
waved on, then don’t be pushy; don’t interfere with the business; we’re there
to offer love (not judgment).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRe6hNCTaDht-1p5u5DkTerFjYk7QO7I7jdF73OZ7gU1aFL50SjYBK0mtPASUNUcyhtvc48j7pTP7dh3ut2OS5Yh8VVRrjIvAgd2-Vp2BIrlYMZ2Qr-Cr1md-QVGixx1VkpcRyA_4n34i/s1600/red+light+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRe6hNCTaDht-1p5u5DkTerFjYk7QO7I7jdF73OZ7gU1aFL50SjYBK0mtPASUNUcyhtvc48j7pTP7dh3ut2OS5Yh8VVRrjIvAgd2-Vp2BIrlYMZ2Qr-Cr1md-QVGixx1VkpcRyA_4n34i/s640/red+light+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from <a href="http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/world-news/sex-lives-north-koreans-exposed-9423027">www.mirror.co.uk/news/world-news/sex-lives-north-koreans-exposed-9423027</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ok. After a short prayer we walked to the red light district, just one block from
the most popular shopping area in the city.
Dark, narrow, crooked alleys were lit only by the bright pink lights spilling from spotless sliding glass doors. Isaiah led the way,
noting the presence of CCTV cameras. I wondered who
was watching: probably not the police,
whose station flanked one end of this illegal district. Through each window was a tidy sitting room; nearly all had space heaters
and a cheap plastic chair by the window, facing the grimy alley; one had a tiny kitchen, with clean dishes in the rack, bananas on the countertop, and
cute décor on the walls. Another had a
washing machine, resting between loads. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We passed a few well-lit rooms with no one in the chair or answering Isaiah’s knock. A silhouetted,
stub-tailed cat waited patiently outside one door; plant pots, filled with dirt, sat next to others. Isaiah carried a box of instant coffee as a prop; he also had a bag of heart-shaped notes, written with kind Korean greetings by his wife and children, taped to packets of instant coffee. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ySYrENkaX4eF2uQwnUBTe4p13mVnjDLU2lWp5cWNdtoQ5AL-o-sfGuFihOot0dJ7ieeXTIEUkPuq_HJCUsjKykjurO5r9P-o7-cs9Ub78D0O_pu_cwWw61mZEXHnY2aSObGDU55eUq-i/s1600/red+light+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ySYrENkaX4eF2uQwnUBTe4p13mVnjDLU2lWp5cWNdtoQ5AL-o-sfGuFihOot0dJ7ieeXTIEUkPuq_HJCUsjKykjurO5r9P-o7-cs9Ub78D0O_pu_cwWw61mZEXHnY2aSObGDU55eUq-i/s640/red+light+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo from <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/the_wrath_of_khan/2830718332" style="text-align: start;">www.flickr.com/photos/the_wrath_of_khan/2830718332</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We stayed in the B alley, where the older, less attractive
women work. Isaiah was reluctant to take
us to the A district, with young women for sale, because it’s busier and more closely
guarded by pimps and the gangsters who run the business. Besides, he didn't have enough notes just for the B women. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We continued down the wandering pink-lit alleys; I wondered
if I could touch the windows on both sides if I stretched out my arms. At one place, a little dog barked ferociously at us from the floor next to the empty chair. A heavy-set thirty-something woman came to the door, just out of the shower with an elasticized pink towel wrapped around her dewy body. She did not open the door to Isaiah’s “hello” or “we’re not selling anything,” but did once he showed her the paper hearts and coffee. Another woman happily greeted Isaiah, calling him “Baby Daddy” from previous visits he had made with
his young family. Some women, clearly
bored, re-applied their makeup as they gazed into their smartphones, waving us
on. Some were cautious but reluctantly accepted the gifts. Isaiah played up
his American accent, making Katherine giggle at his terrible-sounding Korean. I wondered if this helped down-play his power advantage as a male, or helped ensure a short visit limited to comments on the cold weather and the small gift. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One woman pointed to me and asked if I was a missionary (I don't actually know what Isaiah told her). In one window, a middle-aged woman, with a single, central
tooth, welcomed Isaiah warmly while pushing the seated overweight girl behind
her. This woman had apparently “aged out”
of the sex worker trade and was now a manager, in charge of several girls. I
couldn’t help but wonder whether her teeth were lost to abuse or just years of neglect.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing was as I had imagined it would be. We saw only one man, a shambling, heavyset man in workman's clothes who did not make eye contact with us. None of the women were dressed as I’d imagined, perhaps
because they were the “B-level” ladies.
One seated lady wore an old bra with gaudy silver spangles glued around the
top edge, but any provocative effect was muted by the pink fleece “Hello Kitty”
blanket that covered her shoulders, lap, and legs. Some wore gaudy high-heeled shoes that had seen years of service. The women looked bored, suspicious, or blank-faced -- none used the dead snake-eye or “come
hither” looks I’m used to seeing in Western movies and ads.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnCs_oTnMGZ02-mjWQC84y5DRjh7Qa0qxbLetJeYpM9pdBilWBaBdWunpt4hLdPhvG6wQJ3zMomM2WX25gNz-Sk1Y0DCQp-ywPDLllSFUKwauTpj4bo_6gWA3-kLFTVdf3CscG6SzjAzR/s1600/red+light+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="675" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnCs_oTnMGZ02-mjWQC84y5DRjh7Qa0qxbLetJeYpM9pdBilWBaBdWunpt4hLdPhvG6wQJ3zMomM2WX25gNz-Sk1Y0DCQp-ywPDLllSFUKwauTpj4bo_6gWA3-kLFTVdf3CscG6SzjAzR/s640/red+light+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/21/world/asia/suit-has-south-korea-looking-anew-at-its-hard-line-on-prostitution.html">www.nytimes.com/2015/06/21/world/asia/suit-has-south-korea-looking-anew-at-its-hard-line-on-prostitution.html</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After 30 minutes, we had run out of heart-notes, and we
slipped back out to the main street. Walking
back toward our cars, we passed a tiny, brightly-lit store with rows of cages
in the window, showing little dogs sleeping, sitting, barking, or just looking
out into the night with a faint look of despair in their eyes. </div>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-90550500811528525972017-11-21T06:22:00.002-08:002017-11-21T06:22:19.805-08:00Unintentional Travelers (or: Goosenecks & Trash)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEysoTrgczN-8DXAHvWABCczBR4-IvPbixo0hmg8YlO7kAagcTOiDIbo4QVXeETP7x4rWKLxK0XTg5AbYe6PrzEFdIplsA10_-2iOc7wPAMeLFuiJ3zFNwAMnJ-DDbMQ9_A5nzMyOV0bY/s1600/IMG_1876+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="1562" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEysoTrgczN-8DXAHvWABCczBR4-IvPbixo0hmg8YlO7kAagcTOiDIbo4QVXeETP7x4rWKLxK0XTg5AbYe6PrzEFdIplsA10_-2iOc7wPAMeLFuiJ3zFNwAMnJ-DDbMQ9_A5nzMyOV0bY/s640/IMG_1876+%25282%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
When we moved to Korea (a.k.a. "when I became obsessed with the beach"), we discovered a lot of strange marine creatures (e.g., <a href="http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2013/07/rare-critter-sighting-argonauta-nodosa.html" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2013/10/at-beach-introducing-some-blue-creatures.html" target="_blank">here</a>, and <a href="http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2013/07/more-beach-fun.html" target="_blank">here</a>) and a panoply of trash. Both categories initially fascinated me, but gradually they became part of the ignorable background.<br />
<br />
But last month at Youngilman port's tiny "surfer beach," instead of perceiving "creatures" and "trash" as separate categories, I noticed how they interacted: (a) one of God's creepier creatures enjoyed attaching itself to (b) human flotsam and jetsam. Let's look a little closer.<br />
<br />
Today's creepy creature is the gooseneck (or goose) barnacle, pictured above. They have some good features: they filter the water to catch tiny food bits, they have nice white shells, and they seem to have rich social lives as I've never seen one alone. They also have some weird features: as youths, they cement themselves to stuff with a rubbery red-brown neck/leg/stalk and wave their heads about to <strike>do the hokey-pokey</strike> eat or possible cheer their friends. And as they wave about, the shell opens, and a dark, 12-fingered hand/filter thing emerges. This scenario might not be horrifying in some universe. But when you are peering rather closely at 10 or 50 or 1000 of them doing this together, dying slowly on a poorly-chosen home that's washed ashore, one's revulsion is disproportionate to their small size. (Side note: People eat these. Spanish people. Maybe other people. I can't bear to think about it. Eww.)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnhcT9J6lfs8l7ab_5OL93-I3e1kDHtSqgFqupqsfG-jeNO8yQ3f1rtWABOGkAYXafHfwr0f4eFKu7rh9IHX-I-bH9nlLVtbfrF4pn-rhVlJF4O9A9oB-NkHcaQcDLjyMDahtCyNH6PZ5/s1600/gooseneck+barnacle.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="437" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnhcT9J6lfs8l7ab_5OL93-I3e1kDHtSqgFqupqsfG-jeNO8yQ3f1rtWABOGkAYXafHfwr0f4eFKu7rh9IHX-I-bH9nlLVtbfrF4pn-rhVlJF4O9A9oB-NkHcaQcDLjyMDahtCyNH6PZ5/s320/gooseneck+barnacle.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Goose Barnacle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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What struck me is that in the right context, these creatures are well-adapted to serving the marine ecosystem. But when they choose the wrong things to attach to, when they choose what seems like a solid idea but is just trash destined to eventually wash ashore, these creatures are doomed to slow deaths, waving their last goodbyes to passersby like me. And here is our Metaphor for Life: to what do I attach myself? Where do I pin my hopes and dreams and illusions of security? (Ooh - theology/philosophy and marine biology in one blog!). Let's look at the strange homes of some goosenecks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCi-DxrkUMlWdOzs8TRzVpHwXskQm0cZA1LKjEX2R64Nw4hANlLRJ6Cc07B5f759WMg2bnr1Iz9PWEOwOvmHNe0-1XkwMSOZAzua4r1PmXvh4le2U21CSc7psq5Ea7wyI7c8G2nwAzFmfr/s1600/IMG_2014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCi-DxrkUMlWdOzs8TRzVpHwXskQm0cZA1LKjEX2R64Nw4hANlLRJ6Cc07B5f759WMg2bnr1Iz9PWEOwOvmHNe0-1XkwMSOZAzua4r1PmXvh4le2U21CSc7psq5Ea7wyI7c8G2nwAzFmfr/s640/IMG_2014.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Milk Peanut. Some sort of Chinese drink?<br />
(ooh - see those horror hand/filters sticking out?<br />Now just imagine a classic <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wilhelm_scream" target="_blank">Wilhelm Scream</a> dubbed over that)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqiRPWPQW-xq8zijFAI1wul6TaiyX9fLOUzsLvfUI7tSyPaFdUV4FXbHHEUbeeLRzA43RDrxpzgzmG9UDcF2ztwal7Xdzk2xelKEf1YcjOWPYW3PGAPnmCh6JTeI8ZkvrFcFIDolFyFB4/s1600/IMG_1880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqiRPWPQW-xq8zijFAI1wul6TaiyX9fLOUzsLvfUI7tSyPaFdUV4FXbHHEUbeeLRzA43RDrxpzgzmG9UDcF2ztwal7Xdzk2xelKEf1YcjOWPYW3PGAPnmCh6JTeI8ZkvrFcFIDolFyFB4/s640/IMG_1880.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think this flask is from China. Not that the goosenecks care to read. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0pV0jLdOqeskp-rQflZGn0MDuq-I1JjO4OIWhw_7NvnZfVTDQ5G8hAHdu-pwTXeUSUpYuyldpuZ3bg8ZWyTHM4lPnhvfmMThSdtiIOxGEY-B_VXrH4xZc9MN0wFjmMg0QQ0jMcznvqJd/s1600/IMG_1893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0pV0jLdOqeskp-rQflZGn0MDuq-I1JjO4OIWhw_7NvnZfVTDQ5G8hAHdu-pwTXeUSUpYuyldpuZ3bg8ZWyTHM4lPnhvfmMThSdtiIOxGEY-B_VXrH4xZc9MN0wFjmMg0QQ0jMcznvqJd/s640/IMG_1893.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Korean spray paint, I believe.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg6NZcLJtzB9P8A1X72-ORAs5TcYsh_xf9ZqjBPGRcL60sFJmbz_1hD0lGtAaFqM78Y8dhlJM9B2jVYxgPH7wzOLCzVzL42x6K_rb5VXe3YhIDTXjMAtgu8TjPBlWlWz8R_KJZ3rAdA4_3/s1600/IMG_2033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg6NZcLJtzB9P8A1X72-ORAs5TcYsh_xf9ZqjBPGRcL60sFJmbz_1hD0lGtAaFqM78Y8dhlJM9B2jVYxgPH7wzOLCzVzL42x6K_rb5VXe3YhIDTXjMAtgu8TjPBlWlWz8R_KJZ3rAdA4_3/s640/IMG_2033.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIuweRshSLO853LasxM6Ud-CceKf4L0YYt1JwnadJRmFD2rRdeNkE82IQTLY2ry-AJeOJc1OraSfwTlS-dL60tBDf38XjunPVoVGDy8sLMOLCq6v2F21lw-qh-KZoGCvE0XyrfyXyzZXV/s1600/IMG_1860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIuweRshSLO853LasxM6Ud-CceKf4L0YYt1JwnadJRmFD2rRdeNkE82IQTLY2ry-AJeOJc1OraSfwTlS-dL60tBDf38XjunPVoVGDy8sLMOLCq6v2F21lw-qh-KZoGCvE0XyrfyXyzZXV/s640/IMG_1860.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's not a Korean beach unless you find a shoe or seven.<br />This one has bonus barnacles.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOz1Pt-XxhNddoqXbDahgrNPAQzPYBepN21rNdY802HVFC5s5Ma2K3ChLI2dggr8u80cEIa5L24EzOl7nxs3dwSvj46xV5JqSo9Mk9d_uja0_5Tq0M1rbyQICQswuuVYtXysHMOFdmdH84/s1600/IMG_1981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOz1Pt-XxhNddoqXbDahgrNPAQzPYBepN21rNdY802HVFC5s5Ma2K3ChLI2dggr8u80cEIa5L24EzOl7nxs3dwSvj46xV5JqSo9Mk9d_uja0_5Tq0M1rbyQICQswuuVYtXysHMOFdmdH84/s640/IMG_1981.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqDTcOAgR3nZ7JYiRPTzMMgYWuAsHjs27cyFqh2Uyk00P72533gCMAZ0Ht3_oyxtoCIaecpzjTx9pOJmfstPE56tNPQvU97E6iyNc4ojsMmHNUy7BApsKpefzp0Lf_vdn3WUCw5UzNDfA8/s1600/IMG_1882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqDTcOAgR3nZ7JYiRPTzMMgYWuAsHjs27cyFqh2Uyk00P72533gCMAZ0Ht3_oyxtoCIaecpzjTx9pOJmfstPE56tNPQvU97E6iyNc4ojsMmHNUy7BApsKpefzp0Lf_vdn3WUCw5UzNDfA8/s640/IMG_1882.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-IHvmLTX624dqqDAdJ5V2AdvZmHQRovTvsJcL-0JKQEOJA-VVrGGCdh6oJkzcL_1vFBkHqPRkqLLPWT7Gtt9H3mp8sGLCRzhpRaxHXYb_CMf3hBb1fb1QafbAurLjxeHn24SFE6n7zfA/s1600/IMG_1953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-IHvmLTX624dqqDAdJ5V2AdvZmHQRovTvsJcL-0JKQEOJA-VVrGGCdh6oJkzcL_1vFBkHqPRkqLLPWT7Gtt9H3mp8sGLCRzhpRaxHXYb_CMf3hBb1fb1QafbAurLjxeHn24SFE6n7zfA/s640/IMG_1953.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big styrofoam fishing float; very commonly beached after storms.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSKyY2-0guUWcb_zQWPaXIGlcbFV7_p3BbJqwc-RmtoVfttZsYj7ba4hRyYDroSq5msFHt-H6QVwok3lXhWtqt8p4Ezj2iT4n_UCUHnpD6w-BB1j2sBKAVaru5skxUINa-mQ4BXzVGB_A/s1600/IMG_1952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSKyY2-0guUWcb_zQWPaXIGlcbFV7_p3BbJqwc-RmtoVfttZsYj7ba4hRyYDroSq5msFHt-H6QVwok3lXhWtqt8p4Ezj2iT4n_UCUHnpD6w-BB1j2sBKAVaru5skxUINa-mQ4BXzVGB_A/s640/IMG_1952.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All done waving. Pretty shell variations, though.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2umh8hXNKfARWVoBFWI-AhckPq3Li638qSq_0caMS6nboAeHXj7b-GBcyWL68Tukzn36dEHU-RWkK7rQfoK1P88Z9-J8h0Tz-GtzXGy8dL9bMmdsutgDxz2VXdBlbscyIsCR660DL_bFs/s1600/IMG_1884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2umh8hXNKfARWVoBFWI-AhckPq3Li638qSq_0caMS6nboAeHXj7b-GBcyWL68Tukzn36dEHU-RWkK7rQfoK1P88Z9-J8h0Tz-GtzXGy8dL9bMmdsutgDxz2VXdBlbscyIsCR660DL_bFs/s640/IMG_1884.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have to wonder what happened to the person <br />
who was supposed to be wearing the no-longer-attached Chinese life jacket.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8WBToafAnafBC0gsYd8_fR_jUAqDKCL15KSHWcygtc6csK3nkVxrYu5yOqZa3v8FwuNJ1s_QRVUg3zDFKBNM1frA1ZEU4Wvq10wt4WCfB-2W1azcRRayf_tuADZMnbNETts4hecUcg2p/s1600/IMG_1890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8WBToafAnafBC0gsYd8_fR_jUAqDKCL15KSHWcygtc6csK3nkVxrYu5yOqZa3v8FwuNJ1s_QRVUg3zDFKBNM1frA1ZEU4Wvq10wt4WCfB-2W1azcRRayf_tuADZMnbNETts4hecUcg2p/s640/IMG_1890.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barnacles on a string. <br />Doesn't quite have the same rhythmic appeal of "soap on a rope."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYpIcEIWiTmjvZ8cZkZ1-N2IJ4uuRGudSEM4iAda_YQXADMnHhQ09nVLkGJyDRv3ILo_LvHftonFHQyxYfqiIgpwMMSchf106xj4H3bJJGT-xVKvT8ElcZJhq7G7FHtAKZ8IzvSi5ftp8z/s1600/IMG_2042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYpIcEIWiTmjvZ8cZkZ1-N2IJ4uuRGudSEM4iAda_YQXADMnHhQ09nVLkGJyDRv3ILo_LvHftonFHQyxYfqiIgpwMMSchf106xj4H3bJJGT-xVKvT8ElcZJhq7G7FHtAKZ8IzvSi5ftp8z/s640/IMG_2042.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fluorescent light bulb (weirdly common on the beach) </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozq-Qjtq4wiGbL914jTugUczefLDnmZURaP34fSDDTWtGZp92hjvwFI7w-jPueG9ZHlXyt_m2ZRbFuePiLDIOyIm-y9NInMSCYaVf-uMnX134lDdB9QdiJW7R5kXxtpmkjF5cgl7pp_qB/s1600/IMG_1916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozq-Qjtq4wiGbL914jTugUczefLDnmZURaP34fSDDTWtGZp92hjvwFI7w-jPueG9ZHlXyt_m2ZRbFuePiLDIOyIm-y9NInMSCYaVf-uMnX134lDdB9QdiJW7R5kXxtpmkjF5cgl7pp_qB/s640/IMG_1916.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even tiny barnacles on a lighter.</td></tr>
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<br />But wait! Goosenecks apparently won't attach to just ANY kind of trash. They have standards!<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49AG357_K8dwAn2gaJAuO-7HasavRd8_OjD_RJ-O5LyVuO2m3bX-gfHFx6F9CUT7_9F1RfhEXZ4Mvhm2r362Rf-njJb69Alwts8DuhqVES0cvUCEapZILcOr_uBRhjZRcjOXKdKURdOH5/s1600/IMG_1964.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49AG357_K8dwAn2gaJAuO-7HasavRd8_OjD_RJ-O5LyVuO2m3bX-gfHFx6F9CUT7_9F1RfhEXZ4Mvhm2r362Rf-njJb69Alwts8DuhqVES0cvUCEapZILcOr_uBRhjZRcjOXKdKURdOH5/s640/IMG_1964.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WHOA! What's this?<br />
No goosenecks seemed to find Barbie's torso attractive. </td></tr>
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And, so, our moral: Be careful what you attach to (lest you float ashore to die where an alien takes intrusive pictures of you dying with indignity).</div>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-9169051150118892522017-10-18T04:05:00.000-07:002017-10-18T04:05:35.129-07:00Library Love: 10 steps, 8 days, $0 <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfymp82aacmk2zl1srBLNl7dsPGi9IVXjMeffMwjelzGmXVgrH7n5wrGKq5X3a97pYG1uysUoZqzhHroEYWOGwtYHvgUgwvWqCTPYdltMbk_EP3e3t5feDOdXdhempv6L2yJAjcuHp1INr/s1600/CAM03160.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfymp82aacmk2zl1srBLNl7dsPGi9IVXjMeffMwjelzGmXVgrH7n5wrGKq5X3a97pYG1uysUoZqzhHroEYWOGwtYHvgUgwvWqCTPYdltMbk_EP3e3t5feDOdXdhempv6L2yJAjcuHp1INr/s400/CAM03160.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Box bits from boxed book collections</td></tr>
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I love reading. And organizing. And learning. Put those together and I have enjoyed many an hour volunteering/tidying at the school library. After over a year of doing so, I can quickly tidy the library, alphabetize and shelve books (even in Korean!) and direct kids to good books. Mmmm... :) (Don't make me manage the kids, though. I don't get paid NEARLY enough for that thankless job.)<br />
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Now, as a social psychologist, I can't analyze your unconscious urges but I can sure analyze social environments. And our library is...kind of...low on visual joy for those folks who don't swoon at the mere sight of tidy shelves of books. The elementary side got a great upgrade earlier this year (beanbags! colorful floor mats!) but the rest of the place looked a little tired. And its dusty corners were filling with books needing processing/repair or a trip to the Big Book Beyond.<br />
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I longed to add a little happy to the place, but I had no budget. But I did have (a) a near-idolatrous addiction to transformational reality TV shows; (b) decades of experience as a scavenger (see <a href="https://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2016/01/the-mother-of-all-trash-treasures.html" target="_blank">here</a>, for example), and (c) after-hours door code access. So, while our beloved Library Guy was away earlier this month, I initiated Operation Library Love. Here was the plan:<br />
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(1) Sort and move stacks of books-to-be-processed to a more discrete location.<br />
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(2) Move giant book display shelf/stand away from wall. <br />
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And that's as far as the actual plan went. But more ideas came to mind gradually, so here's what happened.<br />
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(3) Select pages from a sad old broken English dictionary; affix pages to wall (pages: free; white glue I already had + water = free "modge podge"). Recoat a few times for durability (thank you, Ashley!).<br />
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(4) Cut up the (free) boxes that come with many book collections (see top of page). Arrange. Rearrange. Fuss with some more. Frown. Take pictures. Frown more. Go home to sleep on it.<br />
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(5) Wake up with revelation - we needed a focal point! Ponder. Idea! Google how to make giant 3D cardboard letters. Go to the dumpster to get cardboard. Darn: Box Man had already come, so no cardboard. Heart deflates. Voice in head whispers, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">"look in the dumpster again."</span> Voila! Sheets of 1" styrofoam! Heart re-inflates.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EBaq4Na3H4Fkwhan5XnXUf27X_Xc5KP2IU9z3GyNo_d3ireiVIBpl7SR5cWydUp44kTnDxF9dXg9BlGs3vkD2M8bSSU22sWoLQ1B959E7rZ6qa0jxQlPJpg62FSz0wHsDnhpXhh5ATjW/s1600/CAM03166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EBaq4Na3H4Fkwhan5XnXUf27X_Xc5KP2IU9z3GyNo_d3ireiVIBpl7SR5cWydUp44kTnDxF9dXg9BlGs3vkD2M8bSSU22sWoLQ1B959E7rZ6qa0jxQlPJpg62FSz0wHsDnhpXhh5ATjW/s400/CAM03166.jpg" width="266" /></a>(6) Design and cut out styrofoam letters. Spend much time cleaning static clingy beads from table, chairs, floor, wall, and clothing. Google how to glue stuff to styrofoam. Learn useful tips like "superglue dissolves styrofoam." Ooh. Good to know.<br />
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(7) Note on calendar that Library Guy returning to work in just 3 days. Assign each family member a letter and a primary color; force them to cut out appropriate pictures from dead books and arrange on styrofoam letters. <br />
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(8) Use white glue + water to affix pictures to styrofoam. Admirably restrain excessive cursing at glue failures, static-clingy styro bits, etc. Recoat letters for durability.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Scarlet A (hee hee - English Lit insider joke!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Green D (does that have an English Lit meaning? anyone?)</td></tr>
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<br />(9) Trim and lightly sand edges of dictionary wall pages (thank you, Judith!). Fetch glue gun from home. Fetch husband to help stick letters to wall. Stick book box pictures to wall. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making much progress the night before<br />Library Guy returns to work...</td></tr>
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(10) Final touches: Move a mat and beanbags to make a cozy reading spot. Take pictures and await Library Guy's return. Hope he likes it. :)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TA DA!!!</td></tr>
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<br />Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-19323993459083342372017-08-25T04:33:00.000-07:002017-08-25T04:33:17.942-07:00South Korean Civil Defense DrillDear Trevor (and others curious re. how South Koreans see the current political/military situation):<br />
<br />
So much to say. I shall limit myself, however, to a story about South Korea's annual Civil Defense Air Raid Drill (now in its 45th year; in Seoul they do this drill about 8 times per year). My hope is that you will pick on some nuances that convey a great deal about current attitudes. <br />
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Now, this drill has been held <i>since 1972. </i>And citizens are encouraged to attend. I, as the mere wife of a foreigner, have not been educated about the time/date of such drills (not clear whether that's a university communication glitch or a marital one). That said, our kids' school does the drill faithfully. Last year, however, the drill was aborted when the door to the underground air-raid shelter <i>was locked</i> . And, maybe that's just as well! Because access to said door was obstructed by a pile of old/broken university furniture. Let us pause a moment here or reflection. Last year, our campus shelter for 4000+ people was inaccessible for the announced, annual drill LET ALONE READY FOR ACTUAL BOMBS.<br />
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This year, I decided to take part with the kids' school. I didn't know what to expect, so I asked google. The most information I could find for foreigners basically said, "when the sirens sound, follow Koreans." (Ok, that's not <i>quite </i>fair; the best information was given in an adorable video made by a couple of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4EzIhQnam8" target="_blank">tween Korean girls</a> concerned about ignorant foreigners; they recommended a complicated shelter-seeking website that (a) is entirely in Korean and (b) has completely changed its layout since their filming so ... good luck, foreigners). Yup.<br />
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Ok. So where's the shelter on campus? No clue. There are no signs. Asking around led to information that the shelter was under my very office/classroom building! Just a few minute walk from home. Happily, a week ago I saw a <i>laminated paper sign</i> get taped up with arrow pointing downstairs. The rest of the sign, like most things around here, was completely in Korean. For all I knew, it was indicating the way to a faculty bar.<br />
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At 2pm on the designated Day to Practice Avoidance of Falling Bombs, a siren sounded (glad I was outside by the school already, as there were no other audible sirens on campus) and rapid Korean instructions issued from loudspeakers. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlpPjGxFr0xAgS6Duhcxq0gnuGQw7VCk3g1cDApAcZEHzn89cQth5UkYQ-oUQmbxVGkMP0DxRYFewwlg1DNEqKOIoMmDP4vtowYeLpAh_OfAlj0S47Li_4APHLmY8fH5mNYw633t6ZDOz/s1600/IMG_1265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="1600" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlpPjGxFr0xAgS6Duhcxq0gnuGQw7VCk3g1cDApAcZEHzn89cQth5UkYQ-oUQmbxVGkMP0DxRYFewwlg1DNEqKOIoMmDP4vtowYeLpAh_OfAlj0S47Li_4APHLmY8fH5mNYw633t6ZDOz/s640/IMG_1265.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teachers quickly got their grade 1-12 students into lines.<br />And, yes, those are twins.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Students followed their teacher in line across campus to the shelter. And, hooray! <br />The door was open!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ytriFazSIidgiSdJVY7OpJ0n9qDnnhTvAxRWBm25vOZMUGN5O4tnndeNwmQ31Vh-39ALF15-L6a_KI37SspJpMI3uuZntvdpk0ZdoPIH-7wjkU4YWdrLezOOs2RrOUYpr8m5QyBrIaRR/s1600/IMG_1268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ytriFazSIidgiSdJVY7OpJ0n9qDnnhTvAxRWBm25vOZMUGN5O4tnndeNwmQ31Vh-39ALF15-L6a_KI37SspJpMI3uuZntvdpk0ZdoPIH-7wjkU4YWdrLezOOs2RrOUYpr8m5QyBrIaRR/s640/IMG_1268.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is the cement shelter/tunnel. It is lined with pipes and cables. <br />I did not see any food, water, toilets, or first aid kits. <br />Several spiders, though. And some puddles.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6tcLC6ZqrVrkWnk4fNEGJaCVmPCyeMoDj73DxW1vAQTBttTAtAq3adnn-S1gRGzsu9C31WphX3-XBKUQt2xoOWUyRea6YXy3TyD3zlcN-uqLeTg1u5KLAicikLQXOHxqVnxeabEcgYKf7/s1600/IMG_1270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6tcLC6ZqrVrkWnk4fNEGJaCVmPCyeMoDj73DxW1vAQTBttTAtAq3adnn-S1gRGzsu9C31WphX3-XBKUQt2xoOWUyRea6YXy3TyD3zlcN-uqLeTg1u5KLAicikLQXOHxqVnxeabEcgYKf7/s640/IMG_1270.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We walked and walked through this narrow space, passing many danger signs <br />(why? were the cables a threat?).<br />Do the children look worried? No. They do not.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Pbej9dzCpZ88OtGl6b_LpBbV3KUjVImts1cca6by6NoJRMH7x8ORDg0uc1_hQEkoQpAXJyk79RDmETbMWCjRXDSQA-VZZWb_HzgcSCLuUrPcZ1n1HazJVFcP5vqEhhzXtmA7_StKXmwN/s1600/IMG_1275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Pbej9dzCpZ88OtGl6b_LpBbV3KUjVImts1cca6by6NoJRMH7x8ORDg0uc1_hQEkoQpAXJyk79RDmETbMWCjRXDSQA-VZZWb_HzgcSCLuUrPcZ1n1HazJVFcP5vqEhhzXtmA7_StKXmwN/s640/IMG_1275.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And on and on, until we descended some rickety and slippery/wet steps...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicgiHXhTg_GB91WE3yX-GNztr0E9K71_cXSKLYVBXLiDJ5-N9clPdJDg_JtUzklW_CKjyJt6Zw9d7kalY7MTL7OEMW6J7nL3zuxfF0yRv_mPPt2xawwScC60u5Kv0qA9WE-v2NH1eotfZW/s1600/IMG_1274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicgiHXhTg_GB91WE3yX-GNztr0E9K71_cXSKLYVBXLiDJ5-N9clPdJDg_JtUzklW_CKjyJt6Zw9d7kalY7MTL7OEMW6J7nL3zuxfF0yRv_mPPt2xawwScC60u5Kv0qA9WE-v2NH1eotfZW/s640/IMG_1274.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...where we met up with Military Guy and Scary Plasticized Gas Mask Guy. <br />The latter of whom I thought was a robot. <br />Because they have those as flagman along highways; and in stores to promote smart phones.<br />Oops: He was not a robot.<br />(note: the wet floor was smelly - not the Guys)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKu7bKA8YiCjXFQmSmGI-X1hmsvcB43hA8STUMtdAiJZdWKd-Y2ELu94BSFLIpDENNEvwuDLYq0yjZh_faGGHeKs26cAIqvfbSfdvvyz5kekazknRod7542ruO8PjnSYMUQINKOQ5n7c5/s1600/IMG_1276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKu7bKA8YiCjXFQmSmGI-X1hmsvcB43hA8STUMtdAiJZdWKd-Y2ELu94BSFLIpDENNEvwuDLYq0yjZh_faGGHeKs26cAIqvfbSfdvvyz5kekazknRod7542ruO8PjnSYMUQINKOQ5n7c5/s640/IMG_1276.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally! Going up the stairs to exit the tunnel/shelter, <br />were greeted by Scary Plasticized Gas Mask Guy #2.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuG9h5gu1Uoc-LWn3DWOSuxMXQjXoCJMrcluEPFvlrUStlFk6wPOpwAy256Y6K5gyg-bcm72hNcxL56FlNBXs3ASKwKmgK2HJwuraSuTkdkaU_vyLgNWZpQYhO3t0_-Wdz69kMr4gwkMJ_/s1600/IMG_1277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuG9h5gu1Uoc-LWn3DWOSuxMXQjXoCJMrcluEPFvlrUStlFk6wPOpwAy256Y6K5gyg-bcm72hNcxL56FlNBXs3ASKwKmgK2HJwuraSuTkdkaU_vyLgNWZpQYhO3t0_-Wdz69kMr4gwkMJ_/s640/IMG_1277.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And Plasticized Guy who said "good-bye" in Korean to every. single. person.<br />Do these children look frightened?<br />Sweaty and bored, maybe. Certainly not scared of bombs.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4QpGhVO0aGkxHcZxvacGTbOQySn5qbNSuxAEKLYxE3Zi2GlEY2yo2vK9EH2su4SBkgx0sOiHYSVD35TgaWSw6oDIEW3d0QXBlleKTjRHQrsHuLzUaYn_eNzRf41tN1tcztn0UWR9i_xx/s1600/IMG_1280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4QpGhVO0aGkxHcZxvacGTbOQySn5qbNSuxAEKLYxE3Zi2GlEY2yo2vK9EH2su4SBkgx0sOiHYSVD35TgaWSw6oDIEW3d0QXBlleKTjRHQrsHuLzUaYn_eNzRf41tN1tcztn0UWR9i_xx/s640/IMG_1280.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Students headed back to school just 15 minutes after the siren sounded. </td></tr>
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I asked around campus - long-timers mostly didn't bother doing the drill. And people who were in the city at the tie said that no one was seeking shelter during the air raid drill. <br />
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So: do you get any sense that South Korea is freaking out about threats of war. Nope. Neither do I.<br />
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<br />Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-84202252821435443262017-08-19T04:38:00.000-07:002017-08-19T06:17:27.418-07:00Korean hospital: Some surprises<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYE19UAuQrzJJFdMVnVhCaQNuNh2a4i1CQ6quFhedUEUDXBnY4ee_W1_IYH-Ko8-pLt94wv-3k0zHpP_lgBNyDFkFwVVkl3vffK4odlOoyIGpe2-5BstdcHZA9jKM46x1cUUa2ZDOTDC7B/s1600/CAM02889.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="1600" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYE19UAuQrzJJFdMVnVhCaQNuNh2a4i1CQ6quFhedUEUDXBnY4ee_W1_IYH-Ko8-pLt94wv-3k0zHpP_lgBNyDFkFwVVkl3vffK4odlOoyIGpe2-5BstdcHZA9jKM46x1cUUa2ZDOTDC7B/s640/CAM02889.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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This summer, Elisabeth had severe abdominal pain and became an in-patient at a local Korean hospital. I, on the other hand, as her intrepid mother (who might have lost rock/paper/scissors with a certain husband), got a chance to glimpse the workings of said local Korean hospital. </div>
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Now, you should know right away that I splurged on a private room. Judge me if you want, but wait just a moment until you know more.</div>
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(1) Korean hospitals speak Korean. Which is totally their right to do so. I, however, can really only speak English, Medical, and enough Spanish to get to the beach. My Korean skills are reserved for entertaining two-year-olds. Thus, communication with any other patients in a room, let alone their presumably nosy visitors, would be nigh unto exhausting.</div>
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(2) Sleeping and healing among a multitude of sick strangers really didn't appeal to Elisabeth. Further, we did not know whether the non-private rooms (with 2, 4, or 8 beds) were gender-segregated, and sleeping with a bunch of men was right out. </div>
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(3) In Korea, overnight stays by family members are standard and thus each hospital bed has a pull-out cot underneath. So, doing hospital math, a 4-bed room actually sleeps 8 people. This compounded problem #1 and made problem #2 now apply to me. Ah, no. I didn't need men in the room OR scary ajummas.</div>
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(4) And, as I suspected, compared to US prices getting a private room was quite reasonable. We paid the total bill when we checked out (I do love that feature): the private suite, CT scan, x-rays, consultations with a doctor, blood draws, IV, and pain meds came to a total of.... About $400. Judge me if you will. </div>
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We didn't get a diagnosis for Elisabeth's abdominal pain (it wasn't appendicitis but could have been diverticulusis/-itis). Even so, you might be interested in some highlights via pictures. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgbf8GB6zMiTZ2PBjzYLk-Vnpeo8xooLfOflnLZ1fRw74k8ZAIq9gAh5kZsaM8ySAoDuUf3Apl0R3D1oC-cXDLl24HSdEijumTW49Pe0hibDbZKF-7i_koJ9Y8z8Wme01xWXJb7L2flnG/s1600/CAM02875.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1162" data-original-width="1600" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJgbf8GB6zMiTZ2PBjzYLk-Vnpeo8xooLfOflnLZ1fRw74k8ZAIq9gAh5kZsaM8ySAoDuUf3Apl0R3D1oC-cXDLl24HSdEijumTW49Pe0hibDbZKF-7i_koJ9Y8z8Wme01xWXJb7L2flnG/s400/CAM02875.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My beloved TA helps Elisabeth get checked into the hospital.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3awcfZe_TahIWC2IVDLspk2-3z0U88sEia0LxnHKXSxUp4flVaIsp_cXdg0d4AN7A9lZ9kKzrgg0lgN7vEdwz9iYqDqUZcxbG1OTL0Xy45WY_0hsOkVTT77dZHUw6LlYhwgFDM6OpkjHR/s1600/CAM02880.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1052" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3awcfZe_TahIWC2IVDLspk2-3z0U88sEia0LxnHKXSxUp4flVaIsp_cXdg0d4AN7A9lZ9kKzrgg0lgN7vEdwz9iYqDqUZcxbG1OTL0Xy45WY_0hsOkVTT77dZHUw6LlYhwgFDM6OpkjHR/s400/CAM02880.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My TA is called into the CT room to teach Elisabeth key Korean<br />
words like, "breathe."</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ydhVZ5oYbhEbJPzkp9y96MSQVh7eWzofzIkq6uMeFGLkIkhu3m92ZEisjmEP-4vO9o8-gffJdUVD8XJB8hhBjjy2I0NRPdi8dtg0oZVHn-SEnRf722SGaA7Cx89Cr1CmLx7C15B2xaco/s1600/CAM02881.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1178" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ydhVZ5oYbhEbJPzkp9y96MSQVh7eWzofzIkq6uMeFGLkIkhu3m92ZEisjmEP-4vO9o8-gffJdUVD8XJB8hhBjjy2I0NRPdi8dtg0oZVHn-SEnRf722SGaA7Cx89Cr1CmLx7C15B2xaco/s640/CAM02881.jpg" width="470" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ooh! When the radiology tech guy stepped away<br />
I got to peek at Elisabeth's innards. So cool.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSuLUbLqcnZLZXmN7Yd3LKnaE7yY68nui0_lHIWaKWK2qm-y8nou93PtxGoR6x1GErjWwz6Auc0SBHCXcleWWMSPOsp3RuWz43ZB6y_dXMyU-gb_pbM8beB4ksOTwaQ4UOQ8G-GBfYgScB/s1600/CAM02882.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSuLUbLqcnZLZXmN7Yd3LKnaE7yY68nui0_lHIWaKWK2qm-y8nou93PtxGoR6x1GErjWwz6Auc0SBHCXcleWWMSPOsp3RuWz43ZB6y_dXMyU-gb_pbM8beB4ksOTwaQ4UOQ8G-GBfYgScB/s640/CAM02882.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elisabeth gets admitted and up we go to her private room. <br />
Western readers might notice that the bed is super low, <br />
which certainly makes it easier for the patient to board and deplane (disembark?).<br />
The squatting nurse, using the bed as a desk, is a bit harder to explain.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegh0Bw97mPFGITnPrY2FA6vKgR-SDmzUsGAhTiKziLySNLFUzH9m8aC_cDsLw7H0PU7kcrjgxgoCV7pZUMaJ_S3hhpyBudMaVeTYSdOjuf7kduYyjYQUXGsoMfFzW2nT2A4rkEtTdEu3M/s1600/CAM02883.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegh0Bw97mPFGITnPrY2FA6vKgR-SDmzUsGAhTiKziLySNLFUzH9m8aC_cDsLw7H0PU7kcrjgxgoCV7pZUMaJ_S3hhpyBudMaVeTYSdOjuf7kduYyjYQUXGsoMfFzW2nT2A4rkEtTdEu3M/s640/CAM02883.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elisabeth rebels against wearing the hospital pants (yea for soft yoga pants from Oma and Opa!).<br />
We move to the sitting room where my TA translates instructions for me (far left).<br />
And I can't help but notice that Elisabeth is getting her blood drawn by Squatting Nurse.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFqAvdNsyQrXZQsObe_gcUV_3n9xXY49dV8FMUtroELKzI-mk7wvKr27h3-6akGOZrn7BhGSKlwHn1ZdE5scsHunWlEzoWEd1CggbLmqqYewYBAJdurHmKPWhlY1d7VwKF5D7p-_wfOx6u/s1600/CAM02884.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFqAvdNsyQrXZQsObe_gcUV_3n9xXY49dV8FMUtroELKzI-mk7wvKr27h3-6akGOZrn7BhGSKlwHn1ZdE5scsHunWlEzoWEd1CggbLmqqYewYBAJdurHmKPWhlY1d7VwKF5D7p-_wfOx6u/s640/CAM02884.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hmm. No gloves for Squatting Nurse. Ok. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1gByDgYQtqI9Xr4gvzo03vQe74f1u63SVrx5Fhu-Qe2f0HyFr8UPknDCIjJ1nnz-gAz4-IrsPYQL6HwaOwKK0R2d2HLIrUnJuocklzHcvyw1qdycP2TyicF-u-AAUafZ3-bnK624rRr1P/s1600/CAM02885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1168" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1gByDgYQtqI9Xr4gvzo03vQe74f1u63SVrx5Fhu-Qe2f0HyFr8UPknDCIjJ1nnz-gAz4-IrsPYQL6HwaOwKK0R2d2HLIrUnJuocklzHcvyw1qdycP2TyicF-u-AAUafZ3-bnK624rRr1P/s640/CAM02885.jpg" width="466" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hmmm. Popping off the needle cap with one's teeth. <br />
Squatting Nurse is just full of surprises.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbP0kN-RiZJ7Z3bw27ue1FwuCvPBG_6Ghj7TKARcvSjPJ1kzxwR8UlaVyJvr6X5D2V_4lcV73b8ZJprNaugSIz5gA_3pHQdNBAraerTiCPGNeg9khY5Ju5kXJ1fzyjc96ozZbrOtQhswp3/s1600/CAM02890.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbP0kN-RiZJ7Z3bw27ue1FwuCvPBG_6Ghj7TKARcvSjPJ1kzxwR8UlaVyJvr6X5D2V_4lcV73b8ZJprNaugSIz5gA_3pHQdNBAraerTiCPGNeg9khY5Ju5kXJ1fzyjc96ozZbrOtQhswp3/s640/CAM02890.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once the pain meds take effect, Elisabeth works on her microeconomics <br />
and has a skype call with her teacher. <br />
Note the cool TV monitor attached to her bed; <br />
the tabletop is part of the footboard that swings up. Cool stuff.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Tmk46-SeFf9DcNeoSOGrHrFkw982l8nOJwQI_0b4ZqPHPyks2VZq3y7OTo_oxbJWFOcM6vShzJocxH-CZvcfKX9AsfcNOCc2ZOUJnqEOXkMaXpKGhufLN5ixPIR5TwyvjMztAkynLZuH/s1600/CAM02887.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Tmk46-SeFf9DcNeoSOGrHrFkw982l8nOJwQI_0b4ZqPHPyks2VZq3y7OTo_oxbJWFOcM6vShzJocxH-CZvcfKX9AsfcNOCc2ZOUJnqEOXkMaXpKGhufLN5ixPIR5TwyvjMztAkynLZuH/s640/CAM02887.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elisabeth settles into her cozy bed behind her giant No Food sign. <br />
Thus, we didn't get to sample hospital food.<br />
I might have gotten Nick to bring McDonald's food for my dinner. :)</td></tr>
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Any questions you have? Other adventures or places you'd like to see featured? Happy to accommodate. :)<br />
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Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-46416807309598494852017-08-16T17:36:00.000-07:002017-08-16T17:36:04.556-07:00Meeting a Mole: Bad Samaritan<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5K_9CuObJJeox_boPtBto5qp5inKeeKQxRzd9i_8jFWlM1KOad28RvkeXGDdrulCFCXl0bO6mZ_R27i42pq6P2NACHay40e_LnVv93tkf3TPfG5-IVIFVqVw5NskJZ4e9fJsGtI-2hhF/s1600/IMG_0947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5K_9CuObJJeox_boPtBto5qp5inKeeKQxRzd9i_8jFWlM1KOad28RvkeXGDdrulCFCXl0bO6mZ_R27i42pq6P2NACHay40e_LnVv93tkf3TPfG5-IVIFVqVw5NskJZ4e9fJsGtI-2hhF/s400/IMG_0947.JPG" width="400" /></a>Apparently, it is NOT ok to ask your daughter’s visiting friend to touch your mole. Even if it’s a very cute mole.<br />
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So, remember the day I “saved” that <a href="http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2017/07/beetle-drama-good-samaritan.html" target="_blank">beetle</a> from its own foolishness? Later that same day, I saw another animal in distress. Here's how it happened. <br /><br />David and I drove to the campus convenience store (yes, we drove because...he needed the driving practice?? it was hot out?) and along the way, in the right-hand gutter, scuttled a wee furry critter. “A mole!” my brain registered just as we passed it. “Back up!” I ordered hapless David, who was on an entirely different wavelength what with traffic and short-skirted pedestrians all about. Being a good boy, he did as instructed, trusting my judgment.<br />
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I leapt from the van, a clutch of tissues in my hand, and (way too easily) swooped up our new friend. I wanted to look at him – never having seen a mole up close – and intended to release him to a more suitable home than a plastic-guttered campus thoroughfare. <br />
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I hopped back into the van and commenced with close observations and amazing cooing sounds as David completed out brief journey to the store. Oh, wait, I realized: I can’t bring this velvety joy inside the store. Hmmm…aha! I dumped the contents of the glove box (a fake-velvet-lined, little dark place) to create a cozy if temporary home for Mole. I popped him (her?) and the tissues into the box and into the store we (David and I, not the mole) went.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7atf0n-s1XnGn2p1Sh3i3QkhwbmEjocvx-FKntD62Wm6meYJhtHKRErdiWSlNc4ITifyyuQCfHoKza7rWUaFi3wklRkuZpRb6rmH2RivgkHaeLYU7lKu4sL4V7FXZrkFlQ76JXycJKLwa/s1600/IMG_0943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7atf0n-s1XnGn2p1Sh3i3QkhwbmEjocvx-FKntD62Wm6meYJhtHKRErdiWSlNc4ITifyyuQCfHoKza7rWUaFi3wklRkuZpRb6rmH2RivgkHaeLYU7lKu4sL4V7FXZrkFlQ76JXycJKLwa/s640/IMG_0943.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So soft! So cute!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Minutes later, laden with soda, ice cream, and some new novelty socks, we returned to the van and drove home, eager to show the family our new fuzzy friend (ok, I was eager; David was frankly horrified). We parked, David grabbed the groceries, and I unlatched the glove compartment door, ready to (gently) seize Mole for our upstairs jaunt.<br />
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Oh…. Grabbing wasn’t necessary. Mole was sleeping! So soft and still. I scooped him up and noted a bit of a wet stain on the floor of the box, near Mole’s chin. Odd. I dabbed at it briefly with tissues, then hurried upstairs to share the wonder of this rare creature.<br />
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Did I really think Mole was sleeping in my hands, after having run a mole-marathon down a hot summer tarmac, being grabbed up by a giant tissue claw, and stuffed into a heated box for 10 minutes? Well, maybe. Did I believe this even after Mole had released a goodly amount of fluid from his front end AND was no longer moving? Well, maybe not.<br />
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Even so! This little guy was a treasure to behold. Marvelously soft fur, akin to the softest polar fleece; near-invisible eyes; and tiny pink baseball-mitt feet.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ko43YYYltE6pj1CDhIYkbiRJO4rHaChxqbeV-Ejb4YiwIgofo7Z5Ox69mUjZ0C1fdZLlfOOm1x-7Dp_jxtdpgyuDag-oWbB5lkF8t3TQV0OirH-GZ1MYWD8ALNeWU56vv7n128-gFgNR/s1600/IMG_0944.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ko43YYYltE6pj1CDhIYkbiRJO4rHaChxqbeV-Ejb4YiwIgofo7Z5Ox69mUjZ0C1fdZLlfOOm1x-7Dp_jxtdpgyuDag-oWbB5lkF8t3TQV0OirH-GZ1MYWD8ALNeWU56vv7n128-gFgNR/s640/IMG_0944.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An amazing little paw/claw/digger</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />“Look!” I exclaimed to the household after bursting in. “Look what we found!” Surely this creature would be greeted with more enthusiasm than my ill-fated morning beetle!<br />
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I belatedly registered that Elisabeth’s friend Jenny was visiting. But she’s an adventurous third-culture kid and so I immediately offered her, our guest, the first touch of my mole. "Do you want to touch my mole?" In hindsight, I realize that she hadn't seen what was in my hands and had a rather different perspective on the situation. I see now that she was rather concerned about the dubious honor of touching my mole, but she was a well-bred young lady and quite polite. (After all, one must honor the principal's wife, even if the woman sounds crazy.)<br />
<br />
“Um, sure?” She hesitantly reached out her hand and I gladly proffered my handful of wonder, which she gingerly stroked with some confusion. <br />
<br />
Elisabeth may never forgive me for embarrassing her. David will never let me forget the day I killed a mole AND a beetle. Nick just shakes his head. Maybe I should stop rescuing animals.<br />
<div>
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Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-6536575865006039842017-07-12T16:59:00.000-07:002017-07-12T16:59:28.619-07:00Beetle Drama: Good Samaritan <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJRxdJ9T71zOJ2_tJayh3XjzCAPIaJy9ZSBS-3B3gQXkoby1aC2wc9UdyEGnzGHjFpxgMPCDpHjQLLl4okPrAlN2jBC5fTaNktGbBtZaTfZ7Fb1PYCt_2of3TzoCAIt9pyT0p66a8PlPu/s1600/CAM02987+beetle+garden+fence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1081" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJRxdJ9T71zOJ2_tJayh3XjzCAPIaJy9ZSBS-3B3gQXkoby1aC2wc9UdyEGnzGHjFpxgMPCDpHjQLLl4okPrAlN2jBC5fTaNktGbBtZaTfZ7Fb1PYCt_2of3TzoCAIt9pyT0p66a8PlPu/s400/CAM02987+beetle+garden+fence.jpg" width="270" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I found this beetle in the community garden early this morning, stuck on the mesh fencing. I believe it's a cockchafer beetle (related to American June bugs and Australian Christmas beetles). And I think it's the adult version of our giant compost grubs. </span><div style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was really, really stuck, and despite his horror-show appearance, I felt kind of bad for him. So I looked more closely: he'd apparently had his wings open while sitting/landing at the top of the fence and when he tried to re-fold them, the inner wings got all wrapped around the top string. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took a deep breath and wrangled for several minutes with those really clingy claws grabbing onto me. I finally realized the string couldn't just be unwound or pulled out without causing a lot of damage. Physical damage to him; psychological damage to me now that I was on this mission.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alas. I cut the string attaching him to the fence and brought him home. Like you do.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lz_GFNOOqIngZraztE8bWDoJV5tSSCeRtV3-ovcPlunf_yqFdAvMS6FeQ2XHKyJLHQEiZin9hxM3_ByWyINcESpJ_8s_-dGBVz6LCA8EqBW4tkpnsZrw137DAv3oSm2c9drFt5z7WLAJ/s1600/CAM02991+beetle+surgery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lz_GFNOOqIngZraztE8bWDoJV5tSSCeRtV3-ovcPlunf_yqFdAvMS6FeQ2XHKyJLHQEiZin9hxM3_ByWyINcESpJ_8s_-dGBVz6LCA8EqBW4tkpnsZrw137DAv3oSm2c9drFt5z7WLAJ/s400/CAM02991+beetle+surgery.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After disturbing my just-waking children with the giant beetle, I gathered my make-up tools and did some minor beetle surgery. I removed the remaining string bits and he quickly readjusted his wings. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Success! Just like new! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At which point he ran headlong off the table and fell right into my lap. Ok, it's time to go, buddy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not wanting to do the whole elevator ritual with a giant beetIe plus hordes of little kids heading to school, I walked my new friend over to our sliding door, calculated all the wind speeds and throwing forces needed to get this guy over the cement driveway and into the trees and grass where he could resume his beetle-y life.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ_utbH0YFCeqwIZe2rWzU0Q_pRDrMIYcUJRJOGoXXRHsrKgvr-0AP8P2w6uPUg_ppMPllT3MZ0-F_fkTFC_i38iCjS3THE0CubAC46yQQoTUiJKprpZHN7yw_8fvNe_80HW0lv6X5Ptdm/s1600/IMG_0934.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1047" data-original-width="1600" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ_utbH0YFCeqwIZe2rWzU0Q_pRDrMIYcUJRJOGoXXRHsrKgvr-0AP8P2w6uPUg_ppMPllT3MZ0-F_fkTFC_i38iCjS3THE0CubAC46yQQoTUiJKprpZHN7yw_8fvNe_80HW0lv6X5Ptdm/s640/IMG_0934.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Freed beetle. Tools. String bits.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-size: small;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I really, really expected him to fly, or at least glide, or do <i>something</i> at all useful in his own rescue. Nope. Five long stories below, at the edge of the grass he bounced. Twice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Idiot.</span></div>
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Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-37592301731591592232017-06-28T03:37:00.000-07:002017-06-28T03:37:58.482-07:00Adventuring Alone<div class="MsoNormal">
You might imagine from 4 years of blogs about South Korea that I would be some sort of courageous
person. Bold! Fearless!! Capable of facing ajummas and
octopi alike!! But, you would be quite wrong. I never, ever venture alone. It’s <i>way </i>too intimidating. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until yesterday, that is, when I finally decided to sneak
past my twin mind guards of Fear (“What if something <i>scary</i> happens?” is his
favorite taunt) and Guilt (“Why aren't you being productive?" is his). My
semester’s grades were freshly submitted to the various electronic and
secretarial overlords, our apartment was in decent order, the gardens were all
tidy, and on day 1 of my vacation, I was already bored. I don’t like bored. It
makes me grumpy.</div>
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I longed to go snorkeling.
The season here is very limited (June-September between 8am and 4pm on
sunny days when the water is calm and clear) and the conditions today were
<i>perfect.</i> My family and friends were all (a) working, (b) traveling, or (c) not fans of the ocean. No co-adventurers there.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Crap. On days like this, I usually sigh a lot, surf the internet, take naps. I’ll find
some vaguely productive task so I feel less guilty for lazing around. And I did all that and it was only 10am. So I just sat, miserable.</div>
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This. Is. <i>Dumb</i>.</div>
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So, deep in my mind, in a secret place the Guards don’t
know about, I made a rash decision: I would go snorkeling at a safe, shallow sandy beach. I quietly changed into my swimsuit. Casually, I walked around the house, pretending
to be tidying but actually collecting snacks, camera, and
purse. Then, before the Guards realized what
was happening, I made a run for it, grabbing the snorkeling bag on the way out
to the van. </div>
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I drove through the gloriously green rice fields, like you do, even stopping
to take pictures of ducks, herons and egrets. And just 5 minutes later, I had arrived at the East Sea (called the Sea of Japan by non-Koreans). I parked and stepped over the low rock wall onto the sandy beach. Still anxious about the Guards, I dropped my stuff on the beach, grabbed my fins and
mask/snorkel and rushed into the flat water to put on my gear. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There was nothing left to do but snorkel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And so I did. Schools of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grass_puffer" target="_blank">grass puffers</a> (I know, I know - it's a hilarious name), a tiny flounder, some <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_whiting" target="_blank">silver whitings</a>, and other underwater friends greeted me as I happily glided over their home turf. I lost track of time and reluctantly came in only when I became cold. Resting on the beach, I watched crabs hurling sand from their burrows; smiled at surfing school students; organized all the stuff I could find in a square foot of beach. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVutIHJ5VllT8CBbRt_Sd4WSP6iqLqhN3Kvz_NmyYTFWyT55JEbDaykOUcvO5QJy1etdJ59fnOVLD8oO8C0kXGvAbERN0TLXK5hPAKm8qny2n9oWuqQ_dc6q7s8Fq1RjdHcdik3Z2MeSQI/s1600/beach+port+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVutIHJ5VllT8CBbRt_Sd4WSP6iqLqhN3Kvz_NmyYTFWyT55JEbDaykOUcvO5QJy1etdJ59fnOVLD8oO8C0kXGvAbERN0TLXK5hPAKm8qny2n9oWuqQ_dc6q7s8Fq1RjdHcdik3Z2MeSQI/s640/beach+port+3.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four years ago, this beach was FILTHY. <br />It looks amazingly clean to me now, <br />though I suppose other opinions may vary.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwcfgMZBjP1khqn9RstYEXyc4CR2X54Mvaf7GKdAMx8P15p3sFUyIrYhDYvyaG_wKOpnRTFfnOcBRWOhRdgT91M11IyVbzXwU_kRQlBsHfptetP35iQscsnAbe0Q57RaUHi3G8ZzXhKyY/s1600/IMG_0631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwcfgMZBjP1khqn9RstYEXyc4CR2X54Mvaf7GKdAMx8P15p3sFUyIrYhDYvyaG_wKOpnRTFfnOcBRWOhRdgT91M11IyVbzXwU_kRQlBsHfptetP35iQscsnAbe0Q57RaUHi3G8ZzXhKyY/s640/IMG_0631.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I kept laughing and scaring these guys. :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ifbSdpz-5Y4fd_BKbzDmOB0uPXDG7h0vd2Zw9P7dzWIckkM5T7QWgt3Ov5WOJkFSsn0c-L7zqEcyfXu-ASYIcgdV_BR5buk2LOJ0AcC-vj6OJXJ_45p9FxilvSvo_B94pgOHpC4JbkLb/s1600/IMG_0621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="986" data-original-width="1480" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ifbSdpz-5Y4fd_BKbzDmOB0uPXDG7h0vd2Zw9P7dzWIckkM5T7QWgt3Ov5WOJkFSsn0c-L7zqEcyfXu-ASYIcgdV_BR5buk2LOJ0AcC-vj6OJXJ_45p9FxilvSvo_B94pgOHpC4JbkLb/s640/IMG_0621.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To see this kind of crab hurling arm (claw?) loads of sand,<br />click <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUn8cmgFiOQ" target="_blank">here for a short video</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHq8HrV7SgONgxG0JdeaZzBz7EnX_PJQZzY1VLHNIDOxDhiueB1u1Qnl1sfhPtQNsJ8O2ZjMVNIy51WZVgX1eDBhXFDx-Yj4c2j9PPgVpiXg3AVa-Rv0sQtiBzeCQ7ePaaw_pmuXfcCsd/s1600/IMG_0571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHq8HrV7SgONgxG0JdeaZzBz7EnX_PJQZzY1VLHNIDOxDhiueB1u1Qnl1sfhPtQNsJ8O2ZjMVNIy51WZVgX1eDBhXFDx-Yj4c2j9PPgVpiXg3AVa-Rv0sQtiBzeCQ7ePaaw_pmuXfcCsd/s640/IMG_0571.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surf School: Youngilman Port, Pohang, South Korea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCjuuctIOmBsFe140fTjr1QVF9PbklMCMgPn5AeEV1muVeS1zPA86u988K_6KufMT4USXpFBQ9_HiQ3y18HM_B4JuPwzEHdufBhN24MOxGGxqEYKJi2fZGHMmPuMjLiNi1qnG9VeLK7ml/s1600/beach+port+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1201" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCjuuctIOmBsFe140fTjr1QVF9PbklMCMgPn5AeEV1muVeS1zPA86u988K_6KufMT4USXpFBQ9_HiQ3y18HM_B4JuPwzEHdufBhN24MOxGGxqEYKJi2fZGHMmPuMjLiNi1qnG9VeLK7ml/s640/beach+port+5.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Much to my astonishment, a perfectly ripe roma tomato rolled ashore. This would be a rare find in a market here, let alone at the beach. It felt like an undeserved gift. It tasted of warm sun and utter contentment. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFI9a7ec9sAPtPevLkSkcauUJpdVBYN30tCGDiZSOm6TmNEDTeaJnifkELEhm5xeuiAE8GyQfJ04zBqVY-_eF4T7qgzPi9Koq7HZ_GlX54AKZWetdygEQ_tO-rK2ot5J2lVHz8mVRm3Tm/s1600/IMG_0643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFI9a7ec9sAPtPevLkSkcauUJpdVBYN30tCGDiZSOm6TmNEDTeaJnifkELEhm5xeuiAE8GyQfJ04zBqVY-_eF4T7qgzPi9Koq7HZ_GlX54AKZWetdygEQ_tO-rK2ot5J2lVHz8mVRm3Tm/s640/IMG_0643.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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I'm still not courageous, or bold, or fearless. But on this day, I learned that the mind guards are far weaker than I'd expected. And that joy is an excellent co-adventurer.</div>
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Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-32415789228051928752017-06-09T04:26:00.002-07:002017-06-09T04:26:47.598-07:00Flower Arranging Class: A Win for the White Lady<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5a02PgVsuP99xuVvg3bS5WcyV49flZ2-qD-H9tyGz9ngXz77YoDMfyNyqJFsAixnvavE8NReGwM9i0_e3LHa0V35x8nVMkjZnGJ5zPl1I9mCCyi_thbYB5P60X1WVCfsvsPfk1I_PEyR/s1600/1477398941710.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="661" data-original-width="441" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5a02PgVsuP99xuVvg3bS5WcyV49flZ2-qD-H9tyGz9ngXz77YoDMfyNyqJFsAixnvavE8NReGwM9i0_e3LHa0V35x8nVMkjZnGJ5zPl1I9mCCyi_thbYB5P60X1WVCfsvsPfk1I_PEyR/s400/1477398941710.jpeg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lovely Grace. <br />Wrangling with a hand-tied bouquet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Late last year, my lovely friend Grace invited me to a flower arranging
class (you may remember Grace as a <a href="http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2015/04/plants-and-pots-joy-at-nursery.html" target="_blank">co-gardener</a> and <a href="http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2014/06/ex-pat-lunch-date-reveals-korean-culture.html" target="_blank">co-adventurer</a>). Now, I love sticking garden flowers in vases, but I don’t know
anything about Formal Floral Arranging (and that is fun to say in a Korean accent). So I was intrigued by her kind offer, but also stressed about being Token Dumb White Person among a group of wealthy Korean women. I could bring great shame upon the reputations of white people everywhere. (Nick suggests I'm a wee bit irrational on this point). But...lovely Grace promised to translate for me. And hold
my hand. And possibly feed me chocolate ice cream
if my fragile self got overwhelmed.<br />
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So...I agreed. I can’t afford the weekly class, but the teacher –
a licensed floral arranger and mom of an adorable 2nd grader at my kids’ school – lets me pay <i>ala carte</i> for monthly visits to the class. And after 4 classes, it's high time to report on the
experience for my dear (if lately neglected) readers.</div>
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The class is in a humongous Korean church that promotes community education-type programs (see the earlier nail salon <a href="http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2014/09/the-power-of-pretty-nails.html" target="_blank">here</a>) . Now, when I say “class” and “humongous
church,” you'll need to revise the picture in your head of a cavernous space filled
with rows of Koreans working in robotic unison. No. Seriously, folks. The biggest
class I’ve been to had 6 people, including me and Grace, and we meet in a little
conference room with perfectly normal people.) </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two students, the teacher, and the requisite cup of coffee.<br />Which you have to accept graciously <br />but you don't have to drink. </td></tr>
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When we arrive, we usually help the teacher set up the room. Note: I do not know the teacher’s name. In Korea, names are far less important than status-related
titles like “teacher.” (My own newest title is “Wife of an Important Man” because
Nick is the school’s headmaster. And, for
the curious feminists, the answer is “no.”
There is no Korean term for “husband of an important woman.”) <o:p></o:p></div>
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Teacher (선생님) writes the names of today’s featured arrangement and flowers (Korean and English) on the rolling white board. She talks about the arrangement <i>de jour </i>e.g., hand-tied bouquet) and educates us about focal points, neutral and dominant colors, and the wonders of floral foam.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flower Teacher Lady.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flower Teacher with Floral Foam.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2ssYuICpkx8B44MNF07ZwztHxZpuiOAqg9Tgz5CmN94bBW4pwJ0FPpiGCLNKz3IfoNkdzs5KA-Pe59JLQxDiLwytD12R0gJWWY_r3pw_BLY6ftlRheX1_xX_YB2A-VAOhoCXKzg4xetU/s1600/CAM02326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2ssYuICpkx8B44MNF07ZwztHxZpuiOAqg9Tgz5CmN94bBW4pwJ0FPpiGCLNKz3IfoNkdzs5KA-Pe59JLQxDiLwytD12R0gJWWY_r3pw_BLY6ftlRheX1_xX_YB2A-VAOhoCXKzg4xetU/s1600/CAM02326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRfaXYgS8C4cmIaajM4BaNBsUVu8p8xUYbl-DzVqSgHSenOHFA2923NcT7uG4aa-MDXrZom7Zs7tzDwwO4X8NkdIPhby4vgd2fj5tiV_2Znlom9bPRPEjjPVgv7S70cC5fYkE1ap6C0nw/s1600/CAM02325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRfaXYgS8C4cmIaajM4BaNBsUVu8p8xUYbl-DzVqSgHSenOHFA2923NcT7uG4aa-MDXrZom7Zs7tzDwwO4X8NkdIPhby4vgd2fj5tiV_2Znlom9bPRPEjjPVgv7S70cC5fYkE1ap6C0nw/s1600/CAM02325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRfaXYgS8C4cmIaajM4BaNBsUVu8p8xUYbl-DzVqSgHSenOHFA2923NcT7uG4aa-MDXrZom7Zs7tzDwwO4X8NkdIPhby4vgd2fj5tiV_2Znlom9bPRPEjjPVgv7S70cC5fYkE1ap6C0nw/s1600/CAM02325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRfaXYgS8C4cmIaajM4BaNBsUVu8p8xUYbl-DzVqSgHSenOHFA2923NcT7uG4aa-MDXrZom7Zs7tzDwwO4X8NkdIPhby4vgd2fj5tiV_2Znlom9bPRPEjjPVgv7S70cC5fYkE1ap6C0nw/s1600/CAM02325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRfaXYgS8C4cmIaajM4BaNBsUVu8p8xUYbl-DzVqSgHSenOHFA2923NcT7uG4aa-MDXrZom7Zs7tzDwwO4X8NkdIPhby4vgd2fj5tiV_2Znlom9bPRPEjjPVgv7S70cC5fYkE1ap6C0nw/s1600/CAM02325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRfaXYgS8C4cmIaajM4BaNBsUVu8p8xUYbl-DzVqSgHSenOHFA2923NcT7uG4aa-MDXrZom7Zs7tzDwwO4X8NkdIPhby4vgd2fj5tiV_2Znlom9bPRPEjjPVgv7S70cC5fYkE1ap6C0nw/s400/CAM02325.jpg" width="300" /></div>
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Teacher then hands out the flowers (e.g., roses, ranunculus, delphiniums)
and supplies and we set to work. Depending on the arrangement type, we remove stems (it felt
terribly wasteful at first), de-thorn as needed, and try to abide by the guidelines
as we place flowers and greens. We grumble
quietly at our difficulties, share tips for stabbing weak stems into sturdy
floral foam, and sneak peeks at others’ creations to measure our own progress. Teacher, being entirely Korean, comes around to
correct us. I, being entirely American, expected to receive affirmation just
for effort. Nope. She is kind, but has standards that she is
quite willing to repeat. Repeatedly. Accompanied by the plucking
out of poorly-placed flowers.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace in action.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYlbkl85vkuc-eebIaGyPYrdVvisBHSjJdsfNaHYTX3tWRWlbMnsPJRNexnYJOGPoibgURsko5BF4W1BKcZt4RIfF_3CjHjObiE7tAT_yAB1_Jz0QgNk8WK8LKvaCiCQRVA4Tn6tnuhXw5/s1600/1477398937802.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="235" data-original-width="352" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYlbkl85vkuc-eebIaGyPYrdVvisBHSjJdsfNaHYTX3tWRWlbMnsPJRNexnYJOGPoibgURsko5BF4W1BKcZt4RIfF_3CjHjObiE7tAT_yAB1_Jz0QgNk8WK8LKvaCiCQRVA4Tn6tnuhXw5/s400/1477398937802.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, about to throw this impossible hand-tied bouquet<br />across the room.</td></tr>
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At the end of an hour or so, it’s time for the Korean Photo Ritual. Our arrangements are
displayed together (sometimes we pose with them) and photographed half to death
by every person in the room (and sometimes the church photographer). We are very nice to each other. We each secretly believe our arrangement is the best. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibilbCGlN89HBkXFxIaxze4meHeqaZmV4-XK5LfQZ-eclQSfeJu2VKo2ilsH3JFt4ND4tNlAX6DkGIlOku_AEQZwOpY7dwRJLPu6mY4PEHb5WzuI1ChPzSGz7ELx2Rek0jzjoCd3A509o3/s1600/1477398888281.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="810" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibilbCGlN89HBkXFxIaxze4meHeqaZmV4-XK5LfQZ-eclQSfeJu2VKo2ilsH3JFt4ND4tNlAX6DkGIlOku_AEQZwOpY7dwRJLPu6mY4PEHb5WzuI1ChPzSGz7ELx2Rek0jzjoCd3A509o3/s640/1477398888281.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hand-tied bouquets with neutral wrapping tones are IN this season.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKX3gktUAbHZrkR3hV06PMguDKU_b5ey-HsQ14yOxZaEYa0_QVX4b_I4TnaKcOK24e6oZBg-zLkxmn2QZKunKqGQzgc-wCVy6bYTK04VskrXENZ2hKZyTm4TfrlQT9BvEA-WinA2eJR4K/s1600/CAM02802.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="591" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKX3gktUAbHZrkR3hV06PMguDKU_b5ey-HsQ14yOxZaEYa0_QVX4b_I4TnaKcOK24e6oZBg-zLkxmn2QZKunKqGQzgc-wCVy6bYTK04VskrXENZ2hKZyTm4TfrlQT9BvEA-WinA2eJR4K/s640/CAM02802.jpg" width="435" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heart-shaped wreaths. Can you see which one is mine?<br />It's the best one. Obviously. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-Bh1hD3N6afqoJxqSAGRKevxaUNlcwFiM8PxqJeKc1mOsy7BQzHEM1rUpKjTnjJKzHHPkbsxSImEBXH4JZpHh3kBzlPag8W7f4YMbI1ewQxg4y4R2boGbCiE_Yr4hTvjRHa4CrXZv2lv/s1600/CAM02342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-Bh1hD3N6afqoJxqSAGRKevxaUNlcwFiM8PxqJeKc1mOsy7BQzHEM1rUpKjTnjJKzHHPkbsxSImEBXH4JZpHh3kBzlPag8W7f4YMbI1ewQxg4y4R2boGbCiE_Yr4hTvjRHa4CrXZv2lv/s640/CAM02342.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Candlestick centerpieces (the wall sign says Joyful Church). I got a bonus orchid this week,<br />just for being white. Poor Grace.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJjIjQQt-q10AkClGRhoHPpykLR4LvOM7FCQFObsRTUshfYBYmL6f53isQvRWrdtZgjRfpPxOxHasQ1lVySbsSF9KeSuHwi5k9cUweF9nI13AwjYRYeyM1IE3QcVSJIYVg3HXO1Jp6mcj/s1600/CAM02338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJjIjQQt-q10AkClGRhoHPpykLR4LvOM7FCQFObsRTUshfYBYmL6f53isQvRWrdtZgjRfpPxOxHasQ1lVySbsSF9KeSuHwi5k9cUweF9nI13AwjYRYeyM1IE3QcVSJIYVg3HXO1Jp6mcj/s640/CAM02338.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Herding.</td></tr>
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Finally, Teacher helps us wrap our arrangements, which includes a dizzying array of carefully-folded plastic tissue
paper, ribbons, and classy stickers advertising her floral shop. Packaging is an art for which I do not have
much patience; Teacher always always re-ties my bows. I try not to be resentful.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, I've done this four times. Is the social stress worth it? Yes. And again, yes. I really enjoy the class once I’m there, and I love having a gorgeous arrangement
of flowers in my home. Which I might parade around the house, saying “Hey! Do you know who made this amazing
arrangement? ME!” You're welcome, White people. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3mr-5qaKp7FEofecjsjARLamxeCb7x3adNqD8EQetmvw18KioStJSTI0IMP5UA2fEx6dXeeaXzKTWL4TAsFQJRTOK5BEb8L4h9ATee5UAP328cWhG4fozoWq5kLY8n2iN6rQCLBn8jUQ/s1600/CAM02800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3mr-5qaKp7FEofecjsjARLamxeCb7x3adNqD8EQetmvw18KioStJSTI0IMP5UA2fEx6dXeeaXzKTWL4TAsFQJRTOK5BEb8L4h9ATee5UAP328cWhG4fozoWq5kLY8n2iN6rQCLBn8jUQ/s320/CAM02800.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">P.S. Another white lady has joined the class! <br />Adre is a delightful German South African <br />who's lived in Korea for 10 years.</td></tr>
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<br />P. P. S. I've posted <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFwU3_CIWgA" target="_blank">several brief videos of our last flower class,</a> including the Serious Korea Wrapping Process. Enjoy! </div>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-24896613549093619242017-02-21T17:27:00.001-08:002017-02-21T17:27:11.755-08:00Malaysia 3: Laughing with the Fishes (plus diving/snorkeling tips)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-GNtI1rPfNVMypSAXnTsxKjXb6KG3Fg0CrTj3tUYOwV2333fCb6PviI5epuGDYz5WOUfzknups4YERNT4cwO_a6k9VwitOc71z21ojQT0gXUChVHaae30pc-HLxJGslcZKt1FPgWhizQ/s1600/ocean+split+view+national+geo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-GNtI1rPfNVMypSAXnTsxKjXb6KG3Fg0CrTj3tUYOwV2333fCb6PviI5epuGDYz5WOUfzknups4YERNT4cwO_a6k9VwitOc71z21ojQT0gXUChVHaae30pc-HLxJGslcZKt1FPgWhizQ/s640/ocean+split+view+national+geo.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Split view of ocean (photo from http://www.nationalgeographic.com.au/people/10-things-you-can-do-to-save-the-ocean.aspx)</td></tr>
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When once I gazed upon a lake or ocean, I simply admired the rhythmic waves and dazzling sun glinting off the inscrutable surface; what might be below that thin shiny film was alien, not compatible with human flourishing. Dipping ones eyes below was accompanied with fear akin to near-miss experiences with death. Now, however, I know better. Now I long to slip through that transparent skin between worlds, to snorkel among the strange creatures in their universe. And now I regularly dream of flying underwater, wondering at this other half of creation. </div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">Which sounds all wonderful, but here is the thing. Snorkeling means you're within an arm's reach of air, of that joyous invisible lifesource. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">However, from the nanosecond we booked our flights to Malaysia (see our other adventures <a href="http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2017/02/malaysia-1-wisdom-of-primates.html">here</a>
and <a href="http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2017/02/malaysia-2-of-cross-cultural-panic-and.html">here</a>),
Nick beseeched us to pretty please try scuba diving again. </span><span style="line-height: 21.4px;">(</span><span style="line-height: 21.4px;">Backstory: O</span><span style="line-height: 21.4px;">ur family did a Discover Scuba class in the Philippines last year. I strongly failed to appreciate unlearning things like Up = Air = Life. Beloved Husband and oldest son, however, were ecstatic. The other two kids were, well, whatever. You know.) Back to beseeching: </span>We the family gathered a formidable array of counter-arguments: David’s ear hurts
terribly more than 2 meters underwater (he was later banned from diving by a Malaysian
ENT doc/diver), so the pressure was off him (ha! A diving joke!). For her part, Elisabeth was concerned about torture by things who bite/sting/rip or generally look weird; I, on the other hand, prophesied death by frenzied drowning. We fought with vigor, but
in the end Mr. Cajoling Puppy Eyes wore down the resistance from our Death Panic Eyes. *Sigh.* </div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">So, we found a (truly wonderful) dive
shop owner who booked a Discover class for us two days hence. Summary (and s</span>poiler alert): We had a fantastic time. Nick, overjoyed at his victory, slavered
all over the dive shop (and then on the boat ride to the islands, and then even more while diving like a manic eel, which got him into a wee spot of oxygen-less troubles later, but even THAT didn’t diminish his wiggly joy). David snorkeled (jealously) above
us; Sunny took excellent care of my irrational self; and Elisabeth was quite distracted from her fears by the personal attentions of a rather attractive young dive instructor. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdOl_AF0F-_URMTDJD_U7HTztDGpBqrudv_D6toeR9V5RFH8hXst9YUyFe4q6rH2DZLPobzOxAYFFdWfRJwU4LarPgSeQbolmASEz5AGdv7aQE_Tqe9HhZ7hW-k6E3x_3BwUTV4bjnJA7/s1600/IMG-20170122-WA0000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdOl_AF0F-_URMTDJD_U7HTztDGpBqrudv_D6toeR9V5RFH8hXst9YUyFe4q6rH2DZLPobzOxAYFFdWfRJwU4LarPgSeQbolmASEz5AGdv7aQE_Tqe9HhZ7hW-k6E3x_3BwUTV4bjnJA7/s640/IMG-20170122-WA0000.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">From left: me (failing to non-verbally cover regretful panic), joyous Nick, distractingly attractive dive instructor Nathan, suddenly-shy Elisabeth, David the causal, and Sunny (owner of Sunny Reef Divers, Kota Kinabalu and photo credit guy). </span></td></tr>
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<br />For those of you who have not yet experienced the joy of this “lazy man’s sport” (quote from Sunny), I shall now offer some tips. Because I have 3 whole dives under my weight belt (ha! another diving joke!). So I'm an expert beginner. Fear me.</div>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">(Tip 1) Get a dive instructor who talks incessantly about safety. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Seriously.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> While fitting us for equipment, Sunny shared stories about stupid divers, and his responses were reassuring (e.g., a guy who lied about his experience and couldn't do the basic skills wanted Sunny to certify him anyway. Nope.). When we got on the boat, the first things he (Sunny, not the lying diver) pointed out were the fire extinguisher and the first aid kit. Thus, many of my fears about potential </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">problems
(like, say, leg cramps or giant jellyfish or a certain husband swimming
himself out of oxygen) were considerably eased. I did ask Sunny why in the WORLD he had a giant knife strapped to his leg, fearing the worst (large populations of underwater person-eating monsters). Nope: he carries it to slash open illegal fishing nets and thus release the captured creatures. Sunny gained so many points.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">(Tip 2) Actually getting oneself into the water from the boat is the very scariest part.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">That backwards rolling “SPLOOSH!” <strike>into death-infested
waters</strike> </span><span style="text-indent: -24px;">with 60+ pounds of gear </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">is nearly as scary as walking down the wedding aisle.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Or birthing babies, or going to dinner
parties, or whatever terrifying stuff you’ve lived through. The terror only lasts a few disconcerting seconds before your buoyancy vest pops you to the surface again and you laugh with joy that you're not dead.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">(Tip 3) Once you’re
in the water, you only have 1 job!</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">JUST ONE!</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> Forget all those gadgets and gauges and gear and just do your one </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">job: breathe.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> I</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">iiiinnnnnn….. ooouuuttttt….. iiiiinnnnn……
ooouuutttt….</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> Listen to those soothing bubbles. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">You don’t even have to keep
your eyes open. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When you’re ready to open your
eyes AND keep breathing, dive guy will steer you around and point out all the pretty fishes and hopefully check your gauges and stuff.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">(Tip 4) This one is
true for both snorkeling and diving: Try not to laugh while under water. Doing so rapidly
fills your mask with water and then you can’t see the pretty fishes even with your eyes open because
you’re </span><s style="text-indent: -0.25in;">freaking out</s><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> a tiny bit distracted by all the water now sloshing inside your nose holes.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> To be sure, f</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">ish are surely
funny and wonderful, and I am a big laugher on land, but refrain from such underwater behavior until you are skilled at mask-clearing. I, after several laugh-related near-drownings, am now a mask-clearing expert, which allows me to chortle rather often. This initially startled Sunny, but then he got over my switch from Panic Eyes to Joyous Bubble Face and let me do more of my own steering. Once he had me reach out toward a mid-sized clownfish (think Nemo), which happily approached and bit my finger. And I laughed and laughed and blew the water out of my mask, ready to breathe again and see what else I could see under the watery ceiling.</span></div>
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So. Elisabeth and I are willing to do more scuba diving, but please don’t tell Nick, because you KNOW he’ll next beg us to dive in caves and at night and with electric eels and who knows what else. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwyVZNunC8lwmtV2h7zEM67ltBbr09a3e4LNFeQRHmDRfc6N_PoMbmfAxeQQ2qPQuk2zd0IfU8E3_kY_2ZKyem6-kVv0XI2xF0HJPHHwfvpTKswgayp6hFdBdJXbOB9iAKeYdwN9NJwiD/s1600/DSCN0350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwyVZNunC8lwmtV2h7zEM67ltBbr09a3e4LNFeQRHmDRfc6N_PoMbmfAxeQQ2qPQuk2zd0IfU8E3_kY_2ZKyem6-kVv0XI2xF0HJPHHwfvpTKswgayp6hFdBdJXbOB9iAKeYdwN9NJwiD/s640/DSCN0350.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elisabeth & me. Photo by Nick.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_g422_tQ2MeOo5PsnbGXzvzbNeUoefQtNh_eCKK7i9aFx0bZEChe5_KqsDiLUTtK-tYkZBEDGa2f3nF4VBcnRRV3vQq33MvmC1F-SyOm0VnMEeb6vJqfQFcFralONyFuOhXozAcaSZkb/s1600/TARP+map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_g422_tQ2MeOo5PsnbGXzvzbNeUoefQtNh_eCKK7i9aFx0bZEChe5_KqsDiLUTtK-tYkZBEDGa2f3nF4VBcnRRV3vQq33MvmC1F-SyOm0VnMEeb6vJqfQFcFralONyFuOhXozAcaSZkb/s400/TARP+map.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kota Kinabalu at the bottom of map; <br />Jesselton Pier to the right of the labeled Resort.<br />We went to all but Sulug Island.</td></tr>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">P.S. Wondering what we saw and where we went? We snorkeled and/or dived off four of the five TARP marine park islands (20 minutes off the coast of Kota Kinabalu). </span>We saw so many, many, many kinds of fish and corals plus some medium-sized sting-rays, giant urchins, starfish and even a big cuttlefish (oh, be still my heart!!)! Here are a few of our pictures plus a list of the fish that Google and I could identify - perhaps only 1/3rd of the species. :)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglyWNf3htka7MYpQTfqvyGThU8V3VGzaV6P6oipODMwsr47AwL8OMNrBEiTqnI2l_D-6UDlHy79X4N2iuyWhInNmMULJBQY25C7zkllLR1-sYIOr8b7lSw3SfuWpMeA7ajwtyoef1jIdfX/s1600/fish+collage1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglyWNf3htka7MYpQTfqvyGThU8V3VGzaV6P6oipODMwsr47AwL8OMNrBEiTqnI2l_D-6UDlHy79X4N2iuyWhInNmMULJBQY25C7zkllLR1-sYIOr8b7lSw3SfuWpMeA7ajwtyoef1jIdfX/s640/fish+collage1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9OWKqVoWt3iLJK9Jj7bkdxhldv2jmR1cU017zimuAGH3F0Dlgp_IDUljyupf42HKfnLoessIJf4Cv8a9KtN7pkA3XtuP5n0aJaInxJcpB55DAWJTGMqv6QntHOFZcMhkJE9WVLWaIm3b/s1600/fish+collage2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9OWKqVoWt3iLJK9Jj7bkdxhldv2jmR1cU017zimuAGH3F0Dlgp_IDUljyupf42HKfnLoessIJf4Cv8a9KtN7pkA3XtuP5n0aJaInxJcpB55DAWJTGMqv6QntHOFZcMhkJE9WVLWaIm3b/s640/fish+collage2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwucgZjgdTUnKjiGxH8HC2K850vQyXWSo5P_6kgPdL3MYIUF3ZqrRaBd3UMVCb4lTs2pnbJg8C7MuwMNIWfljQdjtKHL0nG4LozTfsnH4qSvkWnupW5iRZ92dQxapibTyH9DGLUSQTNQyw/s1600/fish+collage3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwucgZjgdTUnKjiGxH8HC2K850vQyXWSo5P_6kgPdL3MYIUF3ZqrRaBd3UMVCb4lTs2pnbJg8C7MuwMNIWfljQdjtKHL0nG4LozTfsnH4qSvkWnupW5iRZ92dQxapibTyH9DGLUSQTNQyw/s640/fish+collage3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Fish:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moon_wrasse"><b><span style="background: white;">moon wrasse</span></b><span style="background: white;"> (<i>Thalassoma
lunare)</i></span></a><b><span style="background: white; color: #252525;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Platax_teira"><b><span style="background: white;">batfish (</span></b><i><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">platax teira</span></i><b><span style="background: white;">)</span></b></a><b><span style="background: white; color: #252525;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parrotfish"><b><span style="background: white;">Parrotfish</span></b></a><b><span style="background: white; color: #252525;">
(common and Bleeker’s; </span></b><span style="background: white; color: #252525;">Scaridae<b>)<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acanthurus_lineatus"><b><span style="background: white;">Lined surgeonfish</span></b></a><b><span style="background: white; color: #252525;"> (Acanthurus lineatus)<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Damselfish<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergeant_major_(fish)"><b><span style="background: white;">Sergeant major</span></b></a><b><span style="background: white; color: #252525;"> (</span></b><i><span style="background: white; color: #252525;">Abudefduf saxatilis</span></i><span style="background: white; color: #252525;">)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Pufferfish
& boxfish<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Several
species of clownfish (saddleback, false, etc.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Lionfish<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Wrasse
(bluestreak cleaner; red breasted)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Yellowback
fusilier<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Beaked
butterflyfish<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Harlequin
sweetlips<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Anna’s
magnificent slug<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Blue
Sea Star & burgundy sea star<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Giant
clam<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Sherri%20Lantinga/Desktop/Blog%20Drafts%20&amp;%20Ideas/Diadema%20setosum"><span style="background: white;">Black long spine urchin</span></a><span style="background: white; color: #252525;"> (Diadema setosum)</span></span><span lang="EN" style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Pharaoh
cuttlefish<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<h1 style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #252525; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cornetfish (or, flutemouth; </span></span><i><span style="color: #317d84; font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fistularia petimba)</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></h1>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-1745271785471357102017-02-13T23:39:00.001-08:002017-02-13T23:39:13.328-08:00Malaysia 2: Of Cross-Cultural Panic and Shofars<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">Dear readers: Thank you for your concern about our well-being
amid the monkeys, fishes, and snakes in our last post (see here if you missed
it: </span><a href="http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2017/02/malaysia-1-wisdom-of-primates.html" style="font-size: 10pt;">http://korealantinga.blogspot.kr/2017/02/malaysia-1-wisdom-of-primates.html</a><span style="font-size: 10pt;">).</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I here present a very different sort of human
interest story, wherein my beloved husband dragged us to a Malaysian church (he
is a good man, just misguided as to family vacation expectations).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I wish to clarify at the outset for any lawyers or
anthropologists out there that I suspect this particular church does NOT
represent the mood/practices of regional churches as a whole. That said, this little 2.5 hour adventure was
FAR more nerve-wracking than toothy monkeys and 2-meter swimming snakes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">A Canadian friend knew a guy in Kota Kinabalu (KK) who was happy
to take us to his church. We shall call this
man Peter. Peter was well-educated, very
kind, and made excellent conversation as he pointed out KK landmarks during the
20-minute drive. I had warm fuzzy
feelings about this man and our Canadian friend’s judgment. As we arrived at the church, Peter did
caution us that this church was a little unusual. “It’s a rather, um, … <i>vibrant</i> church,” he said.
Hmm. I wondered briefly about his
verbal pause and the implied italics. We
climbed the narrow, creaking stairs next to a coffee shop to get to this
second-floor church and opened the wooden door.
It immediately struck me that we were (a) the only white people, (b) the
biggest people there by numerous inches and pounds (sorry: centimeters and
kilograms), and (c) the only ones beginning a panic attack. Oh, wait, that was just me. Ok, so, we were greeted by many of the 15 or
so people already there. Then a teeny
tiny woman with a personality like, well, a cross between my mother-in-law
(that’s a good thing) and a chipmunk (not so good), warmly greeted us and introduced
herself as the pastor (we shall call her Samuela). She lightly noted that this church was a
little different: “We’re a rather, um, …
<i>vibrant</i> church.” Hmm. Panic meter increased a notch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">As we crept toward some empty seats, we noted the room’s atypical
set-up: folding chairs lined three sides, a praise team stood at the fourth,
and a huge central space was left open. I
pondered this. Maybe Samuela was an
active preacher? Maybe there would be a
children’s program? Curiosity helped
calm me. A tiny bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The service began with impassioned singing (with powerpoint slides
in English and Chinese). People were not
shy about singing out or accompanying themselves with energetic motions. And by “motions,” I do not refer to young
children synchronously waving their hands in well-learned patterns from the
privacy of a pew. No, that is not what
happened here. Nope. For the song “</span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBL871wDbsk"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Deep Cries Out</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">,</span></span><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“ most adults were moved by Samuela’s loud
encouragement to “Be free!” And they scampered
to that central space, exuberantly moving to “jump jump jump in the river” and
“dance dance in the river” and “shout shout shout in the river.” The river was
created by draping long strips of blue satin cloth on the floor, taken from a
mystery box in the back. Amid her “Be free!”
admonishments, Samuela requested shoe removal to reduce blue cloth laundering needs
(are bare feet cleaner than sandals?). This
song repeated many many many times. Which
allowed time for creative embellishments.
Some found large flags (thank you, mystery box) printed with “Yahweh” or
“Jesus” (one was the flag of Israel superimposed with Aslan the Lion’s head
shot) and they commenced to vigorous waving while dancing/jumping/shouting.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">But that’s not all. Nope – we haven’t reached the full
meaning of “vibrant” yet. This little church
blows <i>shofars</i>. Wait, what?
Um, yes. They have apparently been
persuaded by the Old Testament to worship God by blowing horns taken
from the heads of kosher rams and antelopes.
The sound that emerges from this instrument is indescribable, though I
kept picturing a water buffalo during a difficult labor while a crocodile
gnawed her face. Now put 40 people AND THEIR
20 RANDOMLY GROANING SHOFARS atop a backdrop of drums, keyboards, and singing
plus all the river dancing/jumping/shouting and flag-waving. For a half hour or so. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMZUaKK9AC1d3S-BJBkP2mianVZjmqqJ_zbqG8qkwWyCZXD8RdQEAUEbxQLE9GEZXm5M5P_TWu6EbW1fPWc_PJ272L4HPB-qkv00pNvwMAJ7mGM0BB-HjPWEsR-VqsJnJUzrKCNWPf182/s1600/malaysian+church+shofars.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMZUaKK9AC1d3S-BJBkP2mianVZjmqqJ_zbqG8qkwWyCZXD8RdQEAUEbxQLE9GEZXm5M5P_TWu6EbW1fPWc_PJ272L4HPB-qkv00pNvwMAJ7mGM0BB-HjPWEsR-VqsJnJUzrKCNWPf182/s400/malaysian+church+shofars.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I stole this picture from the web just to help you imagine the scene.<br />(from http://beritacalvary.blogspot.kr/2012/09/blog-post_17.html) </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We shall pause here for you to regain your composure.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">You may wonder how our family responded. Ahem.
We are a white, middle-class, mid-western American family descended from
Dutch, Germans, and Brits. We do not
dance in church. Or wave flags, or jump barefooted
in fabric rivers, or blow dead ungulates’ head ornaments. Wanting to be polite yet not abandon our own
heritage, we joined in by swaying a little to the beat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Once the singing/dancing/chaos was finally over, the river
was put away, chairs were lined up in the central space, and Samuela gave a sermon
about trees. Then we heard a testimony (“just
5 minutes, please,” asked Samuela) which wandered for 25 minutes through a
confusing array of topics with people hopping up to repeat or challenge details. Yup. Ok, it was finally time for prayer,
which often is a wonderful time to rest my spirit, but I could not help but be
distracted by the lengthy prayer for…elephants.
And President Trump. Ok, no rest to be found just yet. Next came “organized” shofar-blowing: the
lead guy (“He of The Biggest Horn”) gave 7 “shevarees” (sets of 3 short blats)
and then he and the second-longest-horn alternated giving 7 “shahrooahs” (sets
of 1 long and 8 short blasts). Then 15+
other people just joined in with random blasts until the orgy of sound grew to
a fevered pitch. And I don’t remember
anything else because my soul had retreated away, longing for the peace of rude monkeys and colorfish fish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">P.S. That Canadian "friend" I mentioned? When we got home, he came over, wanting to chat about our trip. And he brought into our house...his very own shofar. Which he blew often. </span></div>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-79658638194642620222017-02-04T00:48:00.002-08:002017-02-04T01:03:24.749-08:00Malaysia 1: The Wisdom of Primates<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHyoNcFWu4-rgGEyODz5Z_xfvAQU5tjLX6Mk3SqkiTvU7RXfalzimuG261mDmvEH5Hutak99kNEFlcggxqHf39-_C6QZ_k3CzgqVZF9olHj-vcM3NbRyFw1ZNAG6Wv9_kH5NwH8v3k143/s1600/DSCN0096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHyoNcFWu4-rgGEyODz5Z_xfvAQU5tjLX6Mk3SqkiTvU7RXfalzimuG261mDmvEH5Hutak99kNEFlcggxqHf39-_C6QZ_k3CzgqVZF9olHj-vcM3NbRyFw1ZNAG6Wv9_kH5NwH8v3k143/s640/DSCN0096.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ready to begin Malaysian Snorkeling Adventure (Gaya Island, KK)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We went to Malaysia sort of accidentally last week. We <i>were</i> going to do an amazing winter vacation (the past two Januarys we’ve visited Taiwan and the Philippines), but then our oldest kid informed us of his US wedding celebration this summer, which means we needed to save money to fly home. So, like responsible adults, we sadly decided to do a “stay-cation” and check out more of Korea. But…. Korea is the size of Iowa, so trying to “see more” than what we’ve already seen these last 3.5 years doesn’t exactly ring the bells of family excitement. And it's winter and cold and grey.<br />
<br />
So, like irresponsible adults, we re-decided: savings be damned! We google-searched for “southeast asia cheap tickets” and found a great deal to warm/tropical Cambodia -- hooray! But in the infuriating amount of time it took for the airline to decide we were neither drug smugglers nor NSA spies, the ticket prices expired. Grrr. But then Malaysia went on sale -- hooray! (Before that moment, I could not have (a) found this country on a map or (b) correctly spelled this country’s name. Whenever people mention Malaysia, I always envision “Mal-Asia,” which I translate as "the rough side of the Orient.”) <br />
<br />
Anyway, Nick quickly snapped up cheap tickets, I booked a very cheap hostel room for the week, and off we went a few days later. (Seriously. We really don’t plan our vacations until we get there. Because we’re irresponsible adults. Who happen to have excellent contacts named Google and Trip Advisor.) <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQSrzswYWUvP2anc4qIphwiwKjSGLchMGMHo8Jv8_Y1-qh8sow4nYFyoybgv593k3CBkXbJFNJgSJ8O5Buo9DbiluCjDP88h7vxLVhlIO-SUrscFISIm8Q_JCm4ITlQbkLU3oDxTRbdmO/s1600/malaysia+map.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQSrzswYWUvP2anc4qIphwiwKjSGLchMGMHo8Jv8_Y1-qh8sow4nYFyoybgv593k3CBkXbJFNJgSJ8O5Buo9DbiluCjDP88h7vxLVhlIO-SUrscFISIm8Q_JCm4ITlQbkLU3oDxTRbdmO/s400/malaysia+map.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
Education Note: The country of Malaysia now includes a peninsula and a historically oft-traded island that is now shared by 3 countries. Kota Kinabalu (KK), where we flew in, is the capital of the Malaysian part of Borneo Island and roughly means “city of fire” or “fort of the dusty ancestors,” depending on who you ask.<br />
<br />
Now, this post shall not be a dull vacation slide show. (Dear younger readers: “dull” and “vacation slide show” are synonyms which here refer to torturous hours in a dark, mildewed living room squinting at other people’s enlarged blurry pictures of places in which you have no interest. Similar to history class, perhaps.) Instead, I shall here highlight some animal encounters and downplay gorging of pizza and KFC and excessive selfies by certain persons.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCawwLyD_p4azefe0Nu_Hra8VrcAuiw2xlNpj-DKu_zMDj8aR_Cb2v5AZ_BDfMZVI-12Y6g9-rUTINxjcyTK4Xcy7LS1quWyi9qYGH3YXuSxuwFbLpTF19GF6qr2olc5kJWKXuu84TV_Te/s1600/TARP+islands+map.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCawwLyD_p4azefe0Nu_Hra8VrcAuiw2xlNpj-DKu_zMDj8aR_Cb2v5AZ_BDfMZVI-12Y6g9-rUTINxjcyTK4Xcy7LS1quWyi9qYGH3YXuSxuwFbLpTF19GF6qr2olc5kJWKXuu84TV_Te/s400/TARP+islands+map.gif" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outstanding marine park off the coast of KK.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6BiqH0gjjvh6u4RIedNeG2JL5NtGYIFYprfBacchMsMCuvPBr5RCSCz7ltkQXmD4PqbN4txefdbJcUDn7KM5p2IXo6Y879vEz5PYzRUuIeiLjxlKTWW5GeY0AiInOnk2IcoGFIa3F6FAE/s1600/IMG_9234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6BiqH0gjjvh6u4RIedNeG2JL5NtGYIFYprfBacchMsMCuvPBr5RCSCz7ltkQXmD4PqbN4txefdbJcUDn7KM5p2IXo6Y879vEz5PYzRUuIeiLjxlKTWW5GeY0AiInOnk2IcoGFIa3F6FAE/s640/IMG_9234.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick is a friendly giant.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our first afternoon, we went to Jesselton Point/Pier and booked a speedboat taxi/ferry to Gaya Island, the largest island in the TARP marine park off the coast of KK. On our walk to the <strike>old bomb shelter</strike> changing rooms between the strip of beach and Serious Jungle Territory, we spied a troupe of adorable macaque monkeys, romping through a fiddler fig tree of nightmare proportions (imagine a houseplant the size of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man). Under the tree of unusual size was a family of hairy wild pigs, rooting around in the sandy soil, as pigs do. We were quite pleased to see this un-announced petting zoo (which, of course, it wasn’t), and looked forward to some post-snorkeling wildlife interactions (which, unfortunately, we had).<br />
<br />
Into the water we all went, ditching our bags on the tiny, empty beach near the two trustworthy-looking sunbathers. Exploring the shallow waters under the long pier, we were thrilled to find many colorful, small fishes that didn't mind us. The white, sandy bottom (ancient coral dust) and the clear water gave us a perfect way to re-introduce the kids to snorkeling and erase fears of sharks and other aquatic bite-y things. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmTHtHv1ZTEXxGY6aLNRC3P9K8QdXUuDiicbCakeRY29KqrdLJVhc7a5f0xh4iGX-JkcuXN1g180TUky8YWAB7j_9M3qLps7bYfl04XO4sRuvpdeOMuE50Z-fSt8hB8w5eJvrHhCZd8lTb/s1600/DSCN0107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmTHtHv1ZTEXxGY6aLNRC3P9K8QdXUuDiicbCakeRY29KqrdLJVhc7a5f0xh4iGX-JkcuXN1g180TUky8YWAB7j_9M3qLps7bYfl04XO4sRuvpdeOMuE50Z-fSt8hB8w5eJvrHhCZd8lTb/s640/DSCN0107.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David enters the South China Sea.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9PH_R0vysHUOKEMkRjpsFZA6X4IkMdpccv34NF6h9Ratl-7Nxhw55VckTMePsWFIXPMi7Ce3NiAjVtrM4XHCb8gvAaOqbbupv8bB1nlM5dVF11AG8FAz2nczQH65rl8sfArHlt1F0zsN/s1600/DSCN0146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9PH_R0vysHUOKEMkRjpsFZA6X4IkMdpccv34NF6h9Ratl-7Nxhw55VckTMePsWFIXPMi7Ce3NiAjVtrM4XHCb8gvAaOqbbupv8bB1nlM5dVF11AG8FAz2nczQH65rl8sfArHlt1F0zsN/s640/DSCN0146.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elisabeth makes peace with snorkeling (and seaweed)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIUV22mIXdcm5B2mZH2t8Dqep-UsdxJLbbigoOWAXNvLm7_qMV_mXZEMtlOcLTZ_n7GkCzWxdj4yPuOXPjJuntiPocG_PDODRmeegu8LIdTwN9IA_WdfVrIZpAb6gaeMvDuL_6SQtBP8j/s1600/DSCN0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIUV22mIXdcm5B2mZH2t8Dqep-UsdxJLbbigoOWAXNvLm7_qMV_mXZEMtlOcLTZ_n7GkCzWxdj4yPuOXPjJuntiPocG_PDODRmeegu8LIdTwN9IA_WdfVrIZpAb6gaeMvDuL_6SQtBP8j/s640/DSCN0111.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moon_wrasse">A 10" moon wrasse (Thalassoma lunare</a>) - isn't it lovely?</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpGinwvVshAG5_Pa-_TZ_YpNTUD8oh4y5G47AhznmpWHN6ju_9NzEYtJVqmrhtWm9Qc1hglw5vjFAeeWmkqj75UfWLTE0bPjFDfEYIuq5hpgE9yLO1DFz4aSiOAcbFn-dqquUUJwvgg3lB/s1600/DSCN0125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpGinwvVshAG5_Pa-_TZ_YpNTUD8oh4y5G47AhznmpWHN6ju_9NzEYtJVqmrhtWm9Qc1hglw5vjFAeeWmkqj75UfWLTE0bPjFDfEYIuq5hpgE9yLO1DFz4aSiOAcbFn-dqquUUJwvgg3lB/s640/DSCN0125.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">A 12" tall <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Platax_teira">batfish (platax teira)</a> -- isn't it weird?</td></tr>
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All too soon, the island closed to the public at 5pm (something our boat guy didn’t happen to mention when we arranged a 5:30 pick-up time). As the sunbathers and park ranger went to board their boat-taxi, they shouted at us from the pier; rising reluctantly from my beloved sea-heaven, I saw them gesturing wildly back to the beach. Oh dear. The wildlife was apparently not as tame or trustworthy as the humans. The troupe of monkeys had made short work of our stupidity: they happily and energetically divested our bags of wallets, toilet paper, undies, and snacks. We swam back to chase the monkeys away and reviewed the damage. Arg. </div>
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The kids decided to guard our belongings while Nick and I swam out to the not-exactly-allowed-but-no-one's-here-to-kick-us-out area to find even more fishes in the deeper reef (OH! Parrotfish, sergeant majors, clownfish, etc.). Soon, we heard some odd noises and, again rising from our sea-heaven, saw that we had company on the pier. Not human, though: the monkeys had decided to open up the proverbial snack shop (trash can). They smugly sat atop the railings, flinging bottles and bags and cans into the sea around us. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zyiDdxH97JYh7lWg1gcM8fYE1XuuaKZWoAy2cNR6-AkB5mktc2paM6ozmZyAtZbuqeu6Vy18zFk4QX66Q4laVXCtsI3qeo_zOT_tbu5sqeJaSAvPH3spwRtswYMFtzeE2rrNkA94EMLn/s1600/IMG_9385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zyiDdxH97JYh7lWg1gcM8fYE1XuuaKZWoAy2cNR6-AkB5mktc2paM6ozmZyAtZbuqeu6Vy18zFk4QX66Q4laVXCtsI3qeo_zOT_tbu5sqeJaSAvPH3spwRtswYMFtzeE2rrNkA94EMLn/s640/IMG_9385.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Long-tailed macaque monkey.<br />
Stupid primate.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At this point, for some reason, the monkeys still seemed nice and cute, even if not environmentally sensitive or respectful of private property. We returned to snorkeling, swimming slowly toward the beach. As we finally stood in the shallows to remove our gear, Nick was confronted with a dozen growling monkeys, approaching in a semi-circle of orange pointy teeth and clear expressions of malice aforethought. I (being me), backed away fearfully into the water; Nick (being him) dashed forward and threw some rocks, which resulted in a temporary truce and access to the beach.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
While waiting for our boat, Elisabeth and I took a short stroll and were quickly surrounded by the rude monkey monsters (WHY didn't I see this coming?). I should have been the tough protective parent, but no. Elisabeth brilliantly discovered that a metal grass rake, pushed ahead of us on the cement, transformed into a screeching, screamy, dancing spider that provoked a hasty retreat by the pugnacious primates. Maybe they had gotten our snacks and caused us some fright, but we won in the end! HA! <br />
<br />
Time to go. “Oh, and mama?" Elisabeth asked casually as we walked down the pier. Yes? "I like snorkeling, but I don't want to go here again." Ok, why? because of the monkeys? “No," she continued in her off-hand voice. "Because while you and Papa were out swimming, a 2-meter python swam past David and I at the beach. We got it on video.” <br />
<br />
Oh dear. We kind of lost the responsible adult award today....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZy7-lVAYxBbnmXUnAWVsInMWi1KlkZSYWsseOBA_Sp985lIEOkyvCIa929lsF6uUKvgkj1r3E3K3uRG8-abcFm_4gzqCSvWHPHflgoDOQ2RkaoINvgP6h_BEsXF9-FSmhKWGNIifoCfx/s1600/IMG_9241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZy7-lVAYxBbnmXUnAWVsInMWi1KlkZSYWsseOBA_Sp985lIEOkyvCIa929lsF6uUKvgkj1r3E3K3uRG8-abcFm_4gzqCSvWHPHflgoDOQ2RkaoINvgP6h_BEsXF9-FSmhKWGNIifoCfx/s640/IMG_9241.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our post-Gaya-Island taxi awaits.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-40413848181881421852017-01-12T07:14:00.002-08:002017-01-12T07:14:12.164-08:00Crash Course: Korean Skin Care<div class="MsoNormal">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiaReUFCdApHMITIsM9sEHuAwSjBlJepsF1a-bTW1iVvwDh5g3CvzpTMH86FsXuzhFSA3-obTDeEFms9RZK56KOTpy_24mC3I1kjGsI5oyJwmAseSYda8UIel5Lpg3fd9SPELZeGEOkg1V/s1600/cover+girl+makeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiaReUFCdApHMITIsM9sEHuAwSjBlJepsF1a-bTW1iVvwDh5g3CvzpTMH86FsXuzhFSA3-obTDeEFms9RZK56KOTpy_24mC3I1kjGsI5oyJwmAseSYda8UIel5Lpg3fd9SPELZeGEOkg1V/s400/cover+girl+makeup.jpg" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Seriously. This was 1980.<br />(http://imabeautygeek.com/2011/10/17)</span></td></tr>
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When I was a young lady approaching the pivotal pubertal rites of Shaving, Deodorant, and Make-Up, CNN was just being born
(shush, you young ones). When my friend’s big sister got on the bus the first day of 8th grade, my mental make-up map was complete: the sophisticated mid-Michigan<br />
14-year-old should wear heavy foundation, a coat of glittering blue shadow, clumpy mascara, and clown-circle blusher.<br />
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(Yeah. I’m also cringing now.)<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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As an impressionable girl, I embraced her example and
commenced to slathering my own face in color and clumps. Until college, that is, when my beloved Dutch roommate liberated me from the patriarchal American tyranny of
oppressive cosmetic consumption. Thus, as the
years have passed, I rarely used make-up and ignored facial fashion follies. Now, however, 30-some years later, I have two significant challenges to my intentional ignorance: (a) my daughter has reached the triple pubertal gates and (b) we live in the Skin Technology Capital of the Universe. South Korea is supposedly 10 years ahead of
the US in skin care science, and now
that my face is getting, um, more experienced, the time had come to introduce my face to facial experts.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj01KSmn4WI90Ym4t30OBSTZs43_lP2MIDrLpDtErJmrs2NQ5Doal1U9lROTibcvuffk2HiJDK3J7U1tZVT_x7J3QMSKNQIKSMhuqMAxxFR5AzbGo9-H-duVcbzuYpHwnbw3n8bv90UN_W/s1600/RuDa+Lee+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj01KSmn4WI90Ym4t30OBSTZs43_lP2MIDrLpDtErJmrs2NQ5Doal1U9lROTibcvuffk2HiJDK3J7U1tZVT_x7J3QMSKNQIKSMhuqMAxxFR5AzbGo9-H-duVcbzuYpHwnbw3n8bv90UN_W/s320/RuDa+Lee+%25282%2529.JPG" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">RuDa, just sitting in a coffee shop.</span></td></tr>
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Enter my gorgeous TA, RuDa, who agreed to facilitate the introductions. RuDa recommended going to a Real Make-Up Store rather than dashing into a local convenience store. I reluctantly agreed, assuming we’d just get some basic
information. She had other ideas, however.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Lotte Department Store is the home of high-end make-up and clothing in our
city. The white-gloved parking attendants carefully direct customer cars through the garage and manage not to sneer at our sad old van among the common luxury cars. <o:p></o:p><br />
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To say that Lotte is a department store is a bit misleading
for my North American readers. It's more like a very high-end street
market, crowded with stalls and goods, only this is shiny and stately. And, frankly, rather o.v.e.r.w.h.e.l.m.i.n.g. Here I present my Lessons Learned.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for lotte department store parking attendant" src="https://img.yonhapnews.co.kr/etc/inner/EN/2016/02/22/AEN20160222003000320_01_i.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It wasn't this crowded the day we went to Lotte. But it FELT this crowded.</td></tr>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->(1)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->The women who work in these shops show no discomfort with personal space invasion. I, on the other hand, should have perhaps investigated the wine department prior to entering skin land.<br />
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2) Scientifically testing the sensitivity and pH of one’s skin
(among other things) are apparently basic pre-requisites to proper product
selection. And, of course, </span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;">there are apps</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> for those tests: one holds
very still while a saleswoman rests her phone on one’s face. Then one gets to see a very close-up photo of one’s
skin, or perhaps it is the back end of a baboon, and we all pretend not to be
horrified.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->(3)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Having strangers expertly apply products to one’s face while one is very nervous can make for much cringing. For example, a lady used a tiny little brush to apply lipstick; it tickled SO
MUCH that I could not repress small snorting noises. Another lady applied "cushion
foundation,” which is a Korean technological wonder of a liquid
foundation delivered with a compact powder puff thing. Except … it felt like she was slapping me
with a baby crib mattress, and once <i>that</i> image came to mind, I couldn't stop giggling. Poor RuDa.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDpz52U-CjgJX5q0qlFtZFqeMJKR0DLloEC2Y2vaGCuZkC2_xF-8gh3E6b2RWSH2ZYYXsVVBnFdMQX32RL92bXWLJI9v3RXreT8QP_Zq60BvpjPTHIkybnSUMCoD4PV5W8IcwJT4u7ksIG/s1600/sherri+makeup2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDpz52U-CjgJX5q0qlFtZFqeMJKR0DLloEC2Y2vaGCuZkC2_xF-8gh3E6b2RWSH2ZYYXsVVBnFdMQX32RL92bXWLJI9v3RXreT8QP_Zq60BvpjPTHIkybnSUMCoD4PV5W8IcwJT4u7ksIG/s1600/sherri+makeup2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Hera saleslady pats my face to death.</td></tr>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">(4</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">sales women were quite kind to my baggy sun-damaged, middle-aged skin, at least to my face (let's just say that RuDa didn't translate everything). They were also fairly patient with my utter ignorance of their products, how to apply them, and the proper "detached" face expected during a makeover. </span><br />
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">5)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Here's one I sure didn't see coming: Under no circumstances should <i>soap </i>be
applied to one's face. EVER. There are </span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;">products</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
for cleaning one’s facial skin--and soap is NOT among them. You'd think I had been bathing bunnies in bleach. I shall repent of this skin sin.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">6)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">One could literally spend all of one’s income on skin care and make-up. Then again, the major ingredients include things like snake venom, placenta, plankton, and gold dust; as one store's slogan had it, "ingredients extracted from nature and enigmatic state" (true THAT). Happily, RuDa knew that the same products we were testing were sold by discount shops on another floor. I decided I can live without a flashy brand names on my snail goo cleansing foam.<br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClWbGZxQTsajiWcth-C6bx8wVk4ABY_MStbAKkUbyW696LyKa6I1FitVJFpCiJFPZQbFXXEDusKm4l_0k80XBnenkHTlZfI7x5KRcVhEiTMSh71ZHPaWXYdiS6LNhuMfF3SIWOVeZ1tOt/s1600/CAM02256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClWbGZxQTsajiWcth-C6bx8wVk4ABY_MStbAKkUbyW696LyKa6I1FitVJFpCiJFPZQbFXXEDusKm4l_0k80XBnenkHTlZfI7x5KRcVhEiTMSh71ZHPaWXYdiS6LNhuMfF3SIWOVeZ1tOt/s400/CAM02256.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">7)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Make-up shopping requires significant training. I had imagined we'd have light-hearted breezy conversations like “oh, here’s a rack of 5 shades of lipstick – what’s the right
color for me?” Ah, no. Store after store had HUNDREDs of shades of lip tint,
lip stain, lipstick, lip liner, and who knows what else. We used testers all over our hands to compare colors and textures. Then RuDa suggested I select more of
a “fall” color rather than something with "too much summer” and I nearly lost my ignorant mind. I was the dumbest kid in class. </span><br />
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">8)</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Having good skin is a LOT of work. Here’s the rough order in which stuff
apparently goes onto the Korean adult face (male and female) <i>at least once </i>EVERY SINGLE DAY:</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->(a)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Make-up remover (as needed)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->(b)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Cleanser<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->(c)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Toner (or, at the very least, another round of
cleanser)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->(d)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Essence (skin repair stuff)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->(e)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Acne lotion (as needed)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->(f)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Moisturizer (softens skin and prevents future
damage; the fashionable stuff includes bleaching/whitening agents)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(g)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Eye cream (RuDa is ashamed that she hasn’t
started using this yet)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(h)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Sunscreen (at least 50 SPF; preferably with more
whitening agents)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(9)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Now that the skin is ready, it’s FINALLY time for the
make-up – and there is so much used to achieve the popular Korean "naturally dewy" look that I’m
sure I’ll never master it:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(i)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Primer (bright purple or green to even skin tones
and reduce redness)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(j)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Cushion foundation (slightly lighter than
natural skin color)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(k)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Powder <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(l)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Blusher <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(m)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Eyebrows: powder or pencil plus trimmers, combs, and gel<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(n)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Eyes: liner plus 2-3 shades of shadow plus
1-3 layers of mascara<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(o)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Lips: primer plus stain/stick/gloss/pencil <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->(p)<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Setting spray (like hairspray for the face)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, it's no
wonder that my students hate 8:30am classes – they have to get up at 6:30am just to make their faces presentable. Maybe I'll call up my Dutch friend again for a refresher about the tyranny of cosmetics.<o:p></o:p></div>
Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867806786781904938.post-64373055200950141492017-01-08T04:16:00.002-08:002017-01-08T04:16:32.598-08:00Running Errands: Adorable, Awesome, and Awkward<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmhRPp5e-YFKgQVonFVo5MgPlt_2f0GJxcqpPCO-ilEJANzqztsI9s3zuFVkpcBUdXUfa0SquDAfIM3-97VwQGB5CVH5KLK3VmHqDuacskI5P_NVuSAjYxsDB5nzv-CuuzEgp4iA55m-P/s1600/CAM02410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmhRPp5e-YFKgQVonFVo5MgPlt_2f0GJxcqpPCO-ilEJANzqztsI9s3zuFVkpcBUdXUfa0SquDAfIM3-97VwQGB5CVH5KLK3VmHqDuacskI5P_NVuSAjYxsDB5nzv-CuuzEgp4iA55m-P/s320/CAM02410.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
We had 4 errands to run in town this morning. Easy peasy, right? But there are always surprises, which makes errands = adventure (or exhaustion, but it's better to stay positive). <br />
<br />
To whit: David, Elisabeth and I (they’re only 3 weeks into their 10-week winter break) planned to do 4 errands:<br />
<br />
1)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Meet an ex-pat to pass along spices from a leaving-Korea ex-pat<br />
2)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Get 2 pictures printed.<br />
3)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Buy a headset for Nick.<br />
4)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Get the van’s broken taillight fixed.<br />
<br />
Here is how things actually went:<br />
(1)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Spice recipient Kate sort of forgot our meet-up plan so I texted her from our designated meeting spot outside the Fuji film/photo shop. Moments later, she ran down the street in pink leopard fleece pajamas and plastic shower shoes. Passersby = shocked, but I'd color that adorable.<br />
<br />
(2)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As the Fuji film/photo studio guy turned on his computer and printer (this is an inexplicable process no matter what time of day I show up), David and I browsed the various displays with some amusement (see photo). As we did so, a middle-aged man came in, walked directly to the back mirror while chattering aloud to our film guy, and vigorously plucked hairs from around his ears. Eww. Not adorable.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAzzdDkq_ltjpsSnMQpaDpzhJVwQVNu5YgxhEps9KGgiRgirS2BrD3En2OCBm6HYV1aO_zYqbQ-r_JtoAC44FDYl44SvDEuzHHLAV3wz2TCI7zq21XjDvBGkYp1_QGFYucnTXsNCy2ZDeQ/s1600/CAM02406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAzzdDkq_ltjpsSnMQpaDpzhJVwQVNu5YgxhEps9KGgiRgirS2BrD3En2OCBm6HYV1aO_zYqbQ-r_JtoAC44FDYl44SvDEuzHHLAV3wz2TCI7zq21XjDvBGkYp1_QGFYucnTXsNCy2ZDeQ/s400/CAM02406.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo was prominently displayed at the Fuji shop.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqD0b5a-3dpc6JtwEdMTIGY2TFDIt1iqJruGg-6WgNtjm2Gf0G8UsC1RTZEXriXEkUbslMbpV8vMUz2shzYs85D6PalBrnxxW3-X-E1GqsV3oqylU1gQlRkk0MoBcMFuFXu7STFt17HAQk/s1600/CAM02409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqD0b5a-3dpc6JtwEdMTIGY2TFDIt1iqJruGg-6WgNtjm2Gf0G8UsC1RTZEXriXEkUbslMbpV8vMUz2shzYs85D6PalBrnxxW3-X-E1GqsV3oqylU1gQlRkk0MoBcMFuFXu7STFt17HAQk/s400/CAM02409.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And displaying it in multiple sizes allowed the customer <br />to choose which size he/she wanted to have. <br />Photo size, that is.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
(3)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Then to Hi-Mart, our local electronics store. It appeared open, but as I touched the non-responsive door-opener button, Elisabeth noticed that the employees were having a meeting. Ok, no big deal, so we headed back to the van. A be-suited salesman rushed out, however, and invited us inside the store. Upon entering we noted that his eight be-suited coworkers and their boss man abruptly paused their meeting, sitting silently now in the middle of the store, just waiting. They did not stare at us (that would be rude), but we detected giggling at our poor salesguy’s attempts at English as we browsed the headsets, trailed him past the centrally-seated group to the cash register, and then trailed back again as he escorted us to the door. Painfully awkward -- for all 13 of us. I wonder if they laughed as hard as we did.<br />
<br />
(4)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Finally, to “our” mechanic shop. When Spiffy Car Guy came out, I pointed to our van’s smashed taillight (the driver at fault for backing into a cement wall? he shall remain nameless). Car Guy began a speedy Korean monologue, eschewing non-verbal niceties like eye contact to see if we understood anything. FinallyThus, resorting to higher-than-average levels of gesturing and Korean questions (thank you, Elisabeth), we indicated that we’d walk to a nearby coffee shop and he could text me when he was done (no appointment needed!).<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTa1efYflh5iKbBepuyJmgaVKzFhmW1W4dbVo0UbswPdjcUumfdIJGaiwoppwe0UlE-NNh06EopS4zdj6XnNTvujrMw0vLDuaCjeXYe6axsiiwCGY1T2aJfuJmO0Uk7CbcrUe6rJSindiv/s1600/CAM02413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTa1efYflh5iKbBepuyJmgaVKzFhmW1W4dbVo0UbswPdjcUumfdIJGaiwoppwe0UlE-NNh06EopS4zdj6XnNTvujrMw0vLDuaCjeXYe6axsiiwCGY1T2aJfuJmO0Uk7CbcrUe6rJSindiv/s400/CAM02413.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spiffy Speedmate Car Guy <br />ordering our new tail-light.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
About 30 minutes later, Car Guy suddenly appeared at our café table. Oh, um, ok. He monologued for about 2 weeks, and as he windily continued I just got up to ask the coffee shop woman (who had tried out her English when we ordered) if she would please translate for me. She gamely agreed and we returned to the still-talking Car Guy (sorry kids). That conversation went something like this:<br />
<br />
He: "blah blah blah."<br />
<br />
She (to me): “Um, car part? Um…new? Awb-saw-yo?” and she crossed her wrists in front of her face. <br />
<br />
Me: “Oh...ok. Lamp? He doesn't have new one?” And I crossed my forearms, repeating "awb-saw-yo."<br />
<br />
She (relieved): “Yes!”<br />
<br />
He: “blah blah blah.” Note that he didn't stop talking during the translation - he just kept right on going.<br />
<br />
She (after I gestured for a mid-stream report): “Um, his car? Same part? One part more today afternoon. Another part Friday.” <br />
<br />
Me: “Ok.... So... he can fix our car this afternoon? And another part comes on Friday?”<br />
<br />
She: “Yes!"<br />
<br />
He: “Blah blah blah.”<br />
<br />
She: “You car can drive? Come today afternoon? <br />
<br />
Me: “Oh! We can drive our van now?” She nodded then ran away to hide behind the counter, a mixture of terror and relief and pride on her face. After telling Car Guy we'd be along shortly (thank you, David), he exited Cafe Ancy (yeah, we don't understand the English name either). <br />
<br />
We finished our yummy non-coffee drinks and returned to the SpeedMate car shop (no clue about that name, either). Car Guy had apparently done an eye transplant (not literally - that's gross): he replaced our shattered taillight with one from his own van so we could drive home and come back later once the new taillight came in. Wow – that is the most awesome and yet rudely awkward customer service I’ve ever had.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2XwPQD1zq0ZJsoAAoHZdDiAL9Rdd5mR7vQp4oYEoQqpYuN4CvmHVPYbvDDIzl2TieQscMZtnbvo89SGEEgX_chmvwtKJYaPHUEEAAaQc5JpiTR6YI00mHUqHjSyGLPmsDjKK16bHXSNuk/s1600/CAM02414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2XwPQD1zq0ZJsoAAoHZdDiAL9Rdd5mR7vQp4oYEoQqpYuN4CvmHVPYbvDDIzl2TieQscMZtnbvo89SGEEgX_chmvwtKJYaPHUEEAAaQc5JpiTR6YI00mHUqHjSyGLPmsDjKK16bHXSNuk/s640/CAM02414.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eye transplant from his van to ours.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This week maybe we'll go really big and try to get our laptops or bikes fixed and maybe even my wedding ring resized. Then again, maybe I'll stay home and store up more energy before setting out onto the high seas of errand adventures.<br />
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Sherri Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529751214013430587noreply@blogger.com0