Helpless

There are times I feel as helpless as a newborn kitten here in South Korea, and it’s never more so than when I need medical attention.

Wide-eyed, I stumbled into a dentist’s office bearing the confidence-inspiring name, Mint Boo Boo Dental Clinic. In the time it took me to get form the door to the receptionist’s desk, everyone in the clinic was aware there was a foreigner in the house.

“Cleaning,” I typed into my cell phone dictionary. In the past, I’ve typed “bronchitis” and “cold” at other doctors’ offices. I’ve strung together “foot” and “hurt” at the sports medicine clinic, and could come up with nothing but tears when the ear, nose and throat doc told me I needed the internal medicine specialist instead of him. Once, I simply smiled to reveal half a missing tooth.

I present my symptoms and my cell phone dictionary, and then I put myself in their hands hoping they’ll be able to accurately diagnose and cure whatever is incapacitating me that week.

I handed my cell phone to the receptionist. She read the translation smiling and nodding. Wordlessly, I gave her my insurance and alien registration cards – two documents I carry at all times. I couldn’t read the medial forms, so she filled them out for me.

She gestured to a couch, and there I waited until I was ushered into a dental chair. Everyone is wearing gloves. Good. I’ve heard some dubious stories about the lack of hygiene in medical facilities. We foreigners are always pondering the manner in which urine samples are collected here. You pee into a Dixie cup. There’s no lid or label. And then you give it to the nurse, who sets it on a tray with lots of other urine specimens, also uncovered and unlabeled. Sometimes, there are dribbles of urine on the tray. This nurse does not wear gloves. She is also the nurse who draws your blood, which she does with alarming efficiency – God bless her. Sometimes there’s a little bit of blood on the table or wall, next to the urine … but I digress.

The dental hygienist was wearing gloves, and I was happy. Then I saw her poking in someone else’s mouth with the same pair of gloves, and I was less happy. But, there wasn’t much I could do about it at that point, so I said a silent prayer, leaned back and tried my best to relax as she went to work on my teeth.

In less than an hour, I was out of there, breathing a heavy sigh of relief and happy to have another first out of the way.

Honesty, honestly

Honesty has been bred into the culture, here in South Korea. It’s not only valued, it’s expected. It’s a given that one will tell the truth in any given situation, and I, for one, am grateful.

When I left my purchase in a convenience store and returned three hours later to claim it, it was given to me, no questions asked, even though someone new was manning the counter – someone who’d never seen me before in his life. (While we’re on the subject of honesty, I suppose I should admit I did that more than once.)

More than 100,000 people signed up for a fundraising walk-a-thon. No lists of names were kept, and when participants arrived to pick up their gift bags, they were given freely, safe in the knowledge that everyone had already paid their participation fees. Conceiving of dishonesty almost doesn’t occur, even in a city of nearly 4 million people.

Steven and I usually didn’t bother locking the door at night, though we did when we were both out of the apartment. I never worried about leaving my purse on chairs in restaurants and bars, confidant that it would still be there – with all its contents – when I returned.

Kids generally don’t cheat on tests, and any attempt to tip at a restaurant is taken as a mathematical error on the customer’s part. I’ve actually been chased down the street by a distraught waiter who was convinced my overpayment was a mistake. He bowed and apologized profusely as he handed me the money, even as I protested.

It’s nice to feel so safe here. No, not each and every Korean is 100 percent honest. I’m pretty sure some of my students sneak a lollipop out of my candy jar when no one’s looking. But really, it’s the foreigners who you’ve got to watch out for. My pal, Dani, has had her purse stolen twice in Korea – both times in expat bars. Sometimes I feel a bit ashamed to know it’s “my kind” that’s the problem here. One can only hope the good example Koreans set will rub off.

Springtime Island Hopping - Part II

Back on the ferry, we made a quick trip to the second of the three islands on our itinerary, Dae-maemul-do, or Big Maemul Island. While So-maemul-do, or Small Maemul Island, is a popular getaway for many Koreans and tourists, many haven’t even heard of Dae-maemul-do. We made our camp on the lawn and in the classrooms of an abandoned school-turned-art studio. After the forth shower, we ran out of water and had to rough it. While most of the party went to swim and sun on the pebble beach, I couldn’t handle the beach cockroaches and opted to bake on the lawn.

We’d been told we’d have to feed ourselves on this trip, but in true Charles fashion, along with his sidekick and chef, Samcheon (meaning “uncle” in Korean) we were fed to bursting on roasted pork, pork and kimchi soup and rice. Most people seemed to have brought something to share, and ate extravagantly.

Night fell, and the camp fire lazed, but because of our early start, most of us turned in before midnight, though a small group found their way to the norae (karaoke) tent by the water and sang the night away. In even the smallest, most isolated of locales in Korea, you will find karaoke – it’s a way of life.

The day dawned gray and drizzly and most opted out of the morning hike. But the less-than-optimal weather allowed for mysterious and dramatic, could-swathed landscapes, and the exertion of the climb kept the chill away.

The incoming typhoon did us a favor and held off until we were safely in our mimbok (Korean-style hotel) in the third and last island of the trip, Bijin-do, or Bijin Island. Be had scarcely closed the door before it blew a gale force and unleashed a fury that kept most of us inside for the rest of the day. The storm was so ferocious that I couldn’t even make it from my room on the first floor up to see friends on the second floor.

Eventually, the storm subsided enough for the bravest amongst us to do some skinny dipping in the turbulent ocean. (I held the clothes.)

We thought the worst was over, but we were evacuated off the island the next morning, thus canceling that day’s activities. I toyed with the idea of not getting on the ferry, and being stranded on the island for the next couple days, thereby conveniently missing work. But knowing that simply wouldn’t fly with Bossman Nick, I hoisted my pack on my shoulders and got out of Bijin-do with the rest of the gang.

Springtime Island Hopping - Part I

In South Korea, Buddha’s birthday, in late May, is a time for visiting temples, bowing to golden statues and eating the free bi bim bap – rice topped with fresh veggies and red chili pepper paste – the monks dole out. Really, for the largely unfervent population, it’s a nice three-day weekend in the spring. And despite the forecast for spring storms, Charles took advantage of our time off to host an island-hopping adventure: three islands in three days.

So, I found myself boarding a bus at 3 a.m. – usually the time of night that’s closer to bedtime than up-and-at-‘em time. Trying to get any shuteye would have been a waste of time, so I made do with a nap on the two-hour bus ride from Busan to the port town of Tongyong, where we boarded a board for So-maemul-do, or Small Maemul Island.

Here, I discovered Korean ferries are a little different from the ones we’re accustomed to. Instead of seats or benches, the cabin was filled with traditional heated ondol flooring, and passengers left their shoes in the center aisle before sitting or lying down on the delightfully warm floor.

Charles, hiker extraordinaire, had his drill sergeant face on when we disembarked.

“Leave your bags here. Start hiking. Go fast,” he barked, as most of our group of about 25 rubbed the sleep out of our eyes and stared dumbly at him.

“It’s 7:30 in the morning,” we grumbled. “Why is he making such a fuss?”

Turns out our hike of the say was across the island to a lighthouse accessible only during low tide. On the bright, glorious late spring day, we trooped into the hills of the small island, breaking into smaller groups along the way.

To date, So-maemul-do is the most beautiful place I’ve visited in Korea. The gentle hills were bursting with plant life, flowers and shrubs arching for the sun, shadowed periodically by evergreen trees. Dramatic and graceful rock formations dotted the coast, and the aquamarine sea glistened. There was no trace of the infamous Korean haze. The air was pure, and we all felt a sense of accomplishment to be hiking at 8 a.m., instead of stumbling home from the bars.

Emerging from the hills, we descended onto a beach of large, sun-bleached stones, crossing over to the lighthouse where we resting in its obliging shade. A half hour later, when we started back, half the beach had already disappeared. I guess Charles knew what he was talking about.

We sunned ourselves on the boulders until it was time to get back on the ferry at 12:30 p.m. I’d gotten more done that morning than I usually get done all week.

Honing the art of Japanese simplicity

This is the ninth, and final, post about my six-day trip in Japan.

It was our last full day in Japan. For the last five days, we’d been giving new meaning to the term, “power vacationing.” On the itinerary for this, our last day in the Land of the Rising Sun: one last temple in Kyoto, lunch in Osaka, three-hours of horrific history in Hiroshima, dinner in Fukuoka, with a total of six hours in a train.

What were we thinking?

As we surveyed the 360-degree view of Osaka from the 34^th-floor Windows on the World restaurant, coffee and dessert in hand, we scrapped what promised to be an action-packed, emotionally-exhausting day in favor of … the aquarium.

Don’t laugh. Osaka has a world-renowned aquarium with the only tiger and whale sharks in captivity, along with a slew of otters (I love otters), penguins, dolphins, porpoises, hammerheads and other standard aquarium creatures that both Kat and I can, and did, spend many happy hours gazing at.

So instead of rushing through the day, trying to fit it all in, and sweating up a storm along the way, we opted for the climate controlled luxury of Kaiyukan, the Osaka Aquarium, and never looked back. Trust me, being up close and personal with the biggest fish in the world is an awe-inspiring experience. An aquarium might sound like something you do to entertain the kids for a few hours, but this one is not to be missed.

We were so happy at the aquarium that we got into Fukuoka sorely late and hurried to our ryokan. On this, our last night in Japan, we were forgoing the hostel an splurging on a ryokan, a traditional inn where rooms are enclosed with wood and paper walls, flooring is made of tatami mats (so shoes off) and you sleep on a futon with a bag full of beans as a pillow.

It was spacious and light and so very comfortable. We peered into the little Zen garden, scrubbed down in the communal bath house, and the next morning, we sat down (on the floor, of course) to a massive traditional breakfast of fish, rice, tofu, sausage, egg, fishcake, fruit, veggies and green tea – just the sort of thing to get us going for the ferry ride back to Busan.

Oh, what a trip it had been.

Check out the photo album, "Not just another bowl of ramen," on my facebook page.